So, this is my blog -- which, weirdly, a number of people have been encouraging me to start, so I guess some of you find this kind of crap interesting. Topics so far seem to include Books I'm Reading and Stuff that Occurred to Me, though I should warn you that if I actually stick with this we're likely to get into super-geeky territory, by which I mean TV and sci-fi and other stuff that a lot of you probably don't even know that I'm into because I don't talk about it because it's not very "cool." So when that happens, you'll just have to deal with it or skip those posts or stop reading or whatever.
Re: the blog's title: About a month before I first moved to the east coast, I came out to New York with a couple of my future roommates to find somewhere to live. Being a) clueless and b) lazy, we took the first place we found -- which happened to be in Jersey City Heights, New Jersey -- because a) hey, it didn't seem like all that bad a commute (it was) and b) hey, if we sign for this place today, we can spend the rest of the weekend drinking (we did). Anyway, on our last night in town, my two future roommates (a couple) took a romantic carriage ride through Central Park. They mentioned to the driver that we were moving out here, and he asked where we were going to live. They told him, and he helpfully explained to them that "New Jersey is the bastard stepchild of the world."
Not of the New York City Metropolitan Area. Of the WORLD.
That's where I live. And fuck you if you don't like it. (Especially if you live in Brooklyn. Because then seriously: fuck you.)
1 comment:
Less irony and more blogging! :)
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