Homesick for New Jersey - The things I miss...

I've been in Idaho for exactly four months.  It's alright.  I mean, it's pretty, and clean, and uncrowded, and has topographical variation.  In other words, it's everything New Jersey isn't.  Because New Jersey is a very particular sort of place.  Lately, it seems that the whole world wants a piece of it.  Whether that piece is desired for the purpose of mockery or sincere admiration is up for debate, but still, Jersey's kind of a big deal right now.

As this week's episode of South Park demonstrated, though, not every state can be New Jersey.  Only New Jersey can be New Jersey, and it's best for everyone if New Jersey remains within the confines of its current geopolitical boundaries.  Still and all, I miss it.  I miss it so.

Below you will find a photo montage of the things I miss.  Not all items on this list are Jersey-exclusive, but many are.  Some items are merely things that Idaho doesn't have because it is practically a third-world country.  Please also note that these items are not all in priority order, but I'm going to be sappy and place pictures of my family and friends at the top of the list because I totally miss them the most and even if I didn't I would still lie and say I did because some people might have their feelings hurt if I said I missed hoagies more than I missed them.

Mom, I'm sorry.  One could argue that this is the worst picture ever taken of us.

Okay I lied this might be worse, or at least more weird.

Ma and G-ma, deliberating over something vitally important, like which fork to use to serve the pickled herring, probably.

All these ladies.

And these folks, especially Keith for letting me grind all up on him.

These a-holes.

These creeps.

And all these people.  I think that about covers everyone.

Awww, this guy!

Hell yea I'm wearing footie pajamas and pretending to look surprised by the sight of the Christmas tree. 

Deciduous trees.  In the town and on campus, there are a smattering of deciduous trees.  But not enough for me to get my fix of fall colors.  And once you leave the town proper, it's nothing but rolling hills of brown, dead prairie grass or harvested wheat, and pine trees. 

So convenient.  So ubiquitous.  So delicious.

See above.  Possibly brewed with crack.

What I wouldn't give for a tuna hoagie right now.  It's unbelievable.  I would even settling for hearing someone call it a hoagie, rather than a sub or a hero.  It's a HOAGIE.  H-O-A-G-I-E spells delicious.

I-295.  Call me crazy, but I miss multi-lane highways populated by speedy, aggressive drivers in compact cars.  If you've ever been stuck on a one-lane road doing 45 behind a logging truck for 60 miles, you'd understand.

Yes, I'm posting this picture twice on purpose, because it's significance is twofold.  Not only is it a multi-lane highway where people drive like they have something to prove, it is also a prime example of a road that is both PAVED and FLAT.  No hills, no hairpin curves, no "unimproved sections."  We can all agree that 295 has plenty of room for improvement, hence it's status as perpetually under construction, but still.  When you drive down a road with "highway" in the name, you expect it to at least be paved, right?  Well, in Idaho, you can't make that assumption.

Guidos.  No, not Italian-Americans (although we could use some up in here - here being Idaho - because it is IMPOSSIBLE to find good crusty rolls or legitimate pizza).  I'm talking about anyone who tans to the point of looking like a suitcase, wears too much hair product, and single-handedly keeps Ed Hardy in business.  Guys who wear gold chains, multiple chunky rings, and who think a wife beater and gym shorts constitute a real outfit for going out.  Girls who think a hairstyle is skunk-streak highlights on a rats nest that has been flat ironed and subsequently teased.  I'm not really sure why I miss them, because, honestly, these people kind of suck, but I guess it's just a Jersey thing.  It's like comfort food.  You know that Cinnabon is going to make you gain 8 pounds and have 3 heart attacks, but it's so gooey and familiar.  Guidos pretty much play on the same sensations.  They are void of any and all value, but there's just something comforting about knowing they exist.

Punctuality.  As my former band director loved to say - "To be early is to be on time.  To be on time is to be late."  Everyone is late for everything here.  Showing up early gets you nowhere.  Showing up on time makes you look desperate.  Even if you are five minutes late for something, you will probably still have to wait for the person you are meeting, or wait for the event you are attending to start.  Everything takes forever because no one is in a hurry.  What the hell?  I'm just trying to get things done, is that so much to ask?

Full service gas stations.  Seriously?  You want me to pump my own gas?  Furthermore, to what are the slacker high school students supposed to aspire?  In New Jersey, at least you can rationalize their failure by saying, "Well, somebody's gotta pump our gas."  What are their alternatives here?  Flipping burgers?  Harvesting the potatoes that will become the french fries that go with the burgers?  Fortunately, I have an Andy, and he has become my full service gas station.  I have pumped my own gas exactly twice since leaving New Jersey.  Partly because I don't really need to drive anywhere except the grocery store and laundromat, and partly because I usually make sure Andy is in the car with me when I am close to needing a refill.

As you can see, there are a lot of things I miss.  I didn't realize how much I was missing all these things until I sat down and thought about it, and now I am sad.  At least I was sad for about 3 seconds until I remembered that I'm making veggie fajitas for dinner, and I have this sweet recipe for apple muffins that I want to try, and I made a bangin' veggie lasagna for dinner last night.  So, feelings for dinner.  And maybe for breakfast if the muffins turn out.  I like food.  And New Jersey.  This is becoming incoherent because I'm hungry.

Have a great weekend everyone!  And I hereby declare this weekend "Hug A Person From New Jersey" weekend.  Spread the love (but not the herpes - be selective about who you hug, and if possible, do not hug them if they are naked).

EDIT:  In reference to Kat's comment - "HELLZ YEAH! People here in England say I am very American. I think what they mean is that I am very Jerzey. I use acronyms constantly. I throw down terms like awesome, dude, word, and yeah yo."  I forgot all about the superb vernacular!!

Is it illegal to do something in New Jersey?  (Probably - I never realized how many rules there are in the East until I got to the West and found that I can pretty much do anything I want.  Shoot a bear?  Sure!  Drink and drive?  Probably not but the odds of getting caught are pretty low, there are like no cops anywhere.  But that's not the point.)  It's not illegal, it's illiggle.  And the Philadelphia Eagles?  Iggles.  

That small, trickling body of water that might also be called a stream?  Not a creek...crick.
All this discussion is making me hungry.  "Jeat yet?"  "No, jew?" 

A few weeks ago when I was on the phone with my grandmom, I realized just how Jersey she is.  She was talking about something being liggle that she felt should have been illiggle.  Then the conversation shifted to her impending 59-year high school reunion, and her apprehension about potential seating arrangements.  Apparently she didn't want to sit next to someone named Snooki.  I laughed, and she immediately explained that Snooki is an old man named Bill (or something else totally normal, I forget).  Because she knows who the Guidette Snooki is, and immediately saw the need to correct my confusion.  Ah, New Jersey.  South Jersey, anyway.  North Jersey might as well be another country.

 That's all.  Carry on.