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FutureStarrWhat is New Jersey famous for?
The imported pasta. The dangling logs of salami and capicola. The bread — the freaking bread, man. No Italian-American family event — birthday, holiday, funeral — is complete without some delicacies from the local deli, of which there are dozens around New Jersey. the choices are endless, the costs are ridiculously high and also the smell of those places should be bottled and sold as perfume. A meteor the scale of Sicily might be headed straight for Morris County and as long because the impending apocalypse was catered by some trays of rice balls, sausage and broccoli rabe and mozzarella balls soaked in oil, it’d be a reasonably experience.
Let’s say someone invites you to dinner in an exceedingly town you’ve never heard of. You ask where the hell Winfield Park is. “Oh, it’s just a straight shot down the Parkway,” they say. Your heartbeat slows, your shoulders relax, your eye stops twitching. you'll be able to handle a straight shot down the Parkway. you recognize what meaning — no bizarre backwoods roads or unruly traffic circles, just that familiar stretch of asphalt and large green signs. then again you realize this dinner is meant to happen during time of day and you punch a hole through your windshield.
We New Jerseyans are well-versed within the ancient art of sitting in traffic. for a few folks, it’s an everyday slog. But is there any greater feeling than driving against the traffic on the Turnpike or Parkway — especially on summer Sunday evenings during the weekly shore exodus — and saying “ha, have a look at all those idiots, they’re gonna be there all night!” Meanwhile your side is completely clear. Praise be! Then karma bites and you’re stuck within the same jam per week later.
You can barely make it through kindergarten in New Jersey without someone calling you a f$%#ing a$#@%&. But the swearing — which we are apparently the simplest at, per several U.S. polls — doesn't pertain solely to moments of anger or sorrow. We curse the least bit times, for all occasions: maybe you bought a promotion at work (“congratu-f@%#ing-lations”), or it’s your aunt’s birthday (“holy s#&@, you’re 68 years old?”), otherwise you stubbed your toe on the bedpost (“GODD#% or you stubbed your toe on the bedpost (“GODD#%$&%#$ FU#$@$@%!!!!”)%#$ FU#$@$@%!!!!”). We enjoy our potty mouths and are unrelenting in our usage — don’t ask us to vary.
Sure, the 140 miles of Jersey coastline and also the dozens of beaches it comprises are cool and every one, but Jersey folks truly covet the accompanying boardwalks, which run the gamut from family-friendly spots like Point Pleasant Beach and Ocean City, which are loaded with games, rides and pizza, to quieter stretches like Spring Lake and Sea Girt where you'll be left the hell alone. Then there’s all those boardwalk runners, who live for the tiny bounce the boards give as they jog along and hear Lizzo. take a look at our ultimate ranking of all the New Jersey boardwalks here.
Oh, bennies, the tourists who Jersey Shore natives like to hate. Folks who live at the shore year-round trade their “can you suspect this guy” stories like currency, swapping tales of the Mercedes with the ny plates who double-parked in Bradley Beach, or the parent who let their kids throw a half-eaten Kohrs custard cup onto the beach in Wildwood for the seagulls to attack. The obnoxious behavior makes us feel better about our little lives and that we thank the out-of-towners for that, plus all the cash that keeps our favourite shore restaurants afloat
For those un-indoctrinated, local summer in New Jersey is that serene stretch between national holiday and whenever it gets cold when the bennies have left, the children have gone back to high school and it’s still warm enough to enjoy the shore in freaking peace. Jersey beach-goers love local summer because it means easy parking, lazy beach days, warm ocean temperatures and reminders why the Jersey Shore is simply about the simplest place on Earth. Also, don’t tell the bennies about local summer, promise?
So, there are many Jersey non-conformists who whine about not having the ability to quickly pump their own gas just like the remainder of the country (minus Oregon; stay strong, Oregon), but when it’s 15 degrees outside and you get to sit down in your warm car, paying attention to WFAN while some other person deals with funneling the 87 unleaded into your Honda, “$20 regular cash” could be a sweet, sweet little sentence.
For those who’ve been living in solitude for the last 40 years, The Boss is king here and everybody incorporates a favorite song, concert, and random sighting — “I saw Bruce figuring out in Red Bank, he’s a bit like me!” Then there’s the thrill of paying decades trying to convince your one dissenting friend or loved one to hitch you within the obsessive Springsteen cult: “How does one not like Bruce, man? Didn’t you hear that ‘Jungleland’ live version I sent you? you simply don’t get wise, Kevin.”
The most loaded question any New Jerseyan can ask you is “where does one order your pizza from?” irrespective of what you say, you'll be steamrolled by recommendations for a half-dozen other joints within the area that are far superior to your local Luigi’s. to mention we are pizza experts is to mention LeBron James is pretty okay at basketball. We are the pizza capital of the globe and our link to the present food goes far beyond intellectual understanding — it’s a visceral connection, just like the Na’vi which giant sequoia they plug their tails into to feel love or whatever (I haven’t seen “Avatar” during a while, sue me).
After what seems like millennia of jokes, jabs and barbs hurled in our direction, New Jersey people are quick to square up for our weird little state whenever anyone tries to land their latest New Jersey punchline. No, the full state doesn’t smell like swamps and nuclear waste. No, we don’t say “Joisey.” No, we aren’t all loud and unfriendly. This constant defense is our armor and albeit, all the crap we take is to our own benefit — imagine what percentage people would live here if they really thought New Jersey was nice?
Then again, we are some serious hypocrites: nobody is allowed to speak smack about New Jersey but we'll eviscerate borough every chance we get — whether or not half our family hails from the borough. We joke how it’s only 1 big dump, or how it could float away and nobody would care — basically all the identical stuff other states say about us. We’re just like the second-most-dubious lunch table within the cafeteria, shooting spitballs at the “losers” while everyone else throws pudding at our heads.
If New Jersey existed within the “Mary Poppins” universe, this is able to be our “Supercalifragilistic." This series of sounds, which summon a gloriously greasy breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil, simply falls out of our mouths in a very single breath, like we’re speaking in tongues. And if you would like to urge really crazy (or are particularly hungover), you’ll arouse a hash brown on top for extra crunch and carbs. Please leave your “it’s Taylor Ham” argument at the do