Life is a compilation of events that in the end don’t amount to much. However, they usually are more cohesive if you set them to music. This is one of the things that goes through my mind as my dad and I drive through the Berkshires, though honestly it could have come to me at any point on our 200+K drive back home. Because Whenever I go on a long trip with my father I spend about half of that waiting for him to get off the phone, and one of my few diversions is to think up the weirdest/dumbest sentences or thoughts that I can just to keep myself amused. Amused may be a strong word though, as it’s really just a practice to kill time.
Usually this is when I have given up on my current Cormac McCarthy novel and my headphones are just a bit too far out of reach so I just stare out the side window and look at the pretty scenery. Except in when we travel through Jersey, when I simply stare at the book’s cover, reading and rereading whatever Harold Bloom blub they’ve slapped on the front. This isn’t to say that I dislike New Jersey. It’s just to say I’d rather read a quote from a man I despise then look at it. (By the way, the reason I hate him can be found here: . And if you don’t hate him after that article, you clearly didn’t have a childhood).
I would now like to apologize to everyone who lives in New Jersey, and if it makes you feel better, Jersey is still about 10, 345 times better than Essex.
