Initiation By Tire

We're here, we're here. I didn't just forget about this blog, indeed no. We have simply been running around like complete and total maniacs, I haven't had time to update.

Patrick arrived here in New Jersey on June 12 (two Saturdays ago), and literally within a few hours of his arrival we started running around and seeing the sights all around New Jersey and New York - aaand we still haven't stopped (though, seeing as Pat pulled a muscle in his leg in Pennsylvania the other day, we are taking it easy at the moment). Patrick, who spent most of his life south of the Mason-Dixon, vowed to himself some time ago that there are two places on the planet he would never visit: New Jersey and New York City. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha!

But, I think I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. It's time to back up a little.

The reason I created this blog was so that people who, like I used to do, are wondering what it's like to hook up with a relative stranger and run away with said relative stranger, can know precisely what it is that happens amidst the flotsam and jetsam left over once these decisions are made. I think an important part of the story, then, is my relationship with Patrick - the ins and outs and terrifying moments and marvelous moments and the general struggle that you face when you're still coming out of one life and trying to force your way into another (in other words - hitting the Rebound Road).


I, like anyone would be, was nervous about Patrick coming home to meet my parents - not like my parents are difficult people, but I think anyone bringing a significant other home for the first time will be a little on edge. Then of course there is the fact that Patrick is pretty much the opposite of anyone I have ever dated before, ever, and that my parents had a great relationship with my ex-boyfriend (whom I dated for three years before Patrick) - so anyone trying to step into this role with me will have big shoes to fill in their eyes.

So it was a good thing (or was it?) that my mom was away in Atlanta with a League of Women Voters convention on the weekend Patrick showed up. Patrick then had only to contend with my father when he arrived - good because there was only one parent, rough because fathers are usually the one prospective gentleman callers fear most.

I say all this like it was a scary experience. It wasn't. My parents are fantastic people. I love them more than pretty much anyone on Earth. But they also love me (and my brother) more than anyone on Earth, so they are rightfully protective and just want what's best for me.

Of course, when Patrick got in at about 1:30 pm that Saturday, he was perfect. Perfectly respectful, appropriately talkative, and eager to make a good impression. Something I have always said about Pat is that he's just a downright likeable guy. It's really hard to dislike him, and I think it helps him in all aspects of life, from traveling to making friends to getting jobs. As a result, my dad liked him. I don't even really remember what we talked about when Pat first arrived, but we sat around the kitchen table for an hour or three and got accustomed to all being in the same room together. And then, after a little while, my dad said we should all load into the car and go to Liberty State Park.

Being rabid in our New Jersey pride, my family loves to drive home the point that all those famous pictures taken of New York City are, by default, taken from New Jersey - and most were probably taken from Liberty State Park. It's a long swatch (1,122 acres) of shoreline in Jersey City, featuring large fields for sunbathing and sports, tons of picnic tables, a lengthy boardwalk along New York Harbor with great views of the New York skyline, Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, a historic railroad station (the Central Railroad of New Jersey) that ferried Ellis Island's immigrants all over the country, and docks for ferries to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and Battery Park.

Another thing you need to know my dad is that he knows pretty much everything there is to know (okay, well, maybe not everything - but a large fraction of everything), and he can rattle off decades of history about the park. Before it was turned into a park, it was a really undesirable tract of land, all full of rotting docks, old sunken boats, and all sorts of other unfortunate aspects of city life. When the state announced that it was going to clean up and revitalize the area, no one believed that anyone would ever want to spend time in the area - was just too run-down.

But sure enough, they fixed it up, and on June 14, 1976, it was dedicated as a state park. I'd probably say it's one of the most popular state parks in New Jersey, both for tourists wishing to get a great view of everything in New York Harbor, to locals who want to go for a jog or have a picnic or cast a fishing line.

Of course, going to and from Liberty State Park entailed a lot of driving on New Jersey's famous highways. Pardon me, infamous highways. Having learned to drive on them, I don't find them nearly as scary as I think most people do - and having grown up in New Jersey, I know that this state is much more than just a bunch of asphalt and refineries and run-down warehouses. But driving from my house to Liberty State Park, you would think all the rumors are true. We had to take Route 78 (that would be I-78, if you're thinking about my entry from a few weeks ago about US roads versus interstate roads) east until it turned into the New Jersey Turnpike extension.

The Turnpike is probably the road that gives New Jersey its bad reputation - it has been called the ugliest road in America, and I wouldn't challenge that. The road, which is I-95 on either side of New Jersey, essentially runs from New York to Philadelphia (well, actually from Deepwater, NJ, a small town just on the NJ side of the Delaware Memorial Bridge, to Fort Lee, NJ, from which you can hop onto the George Washington Bridge to cross the Hudson). As a result, anyone who decides to visit the Northeast and lump New York City and Philadelphia into one trip has the pleasure of driving the Turnpike, and that's probably all of New Jersey those people see or will ever see. If the visitor flew into Newark Liberty International Airport, as many of them do, they then get to experience one of the ugliest airports in America, so their impression if Ugly New Jersey is complete.

These people, as we all know, are dumb for thinking New Jersey is the Turnpike and the Turnpike is New Jersey. After all, they didn't even see the Pulaski Skyway!

Built in 1932, the Pulaski Skyway was, for a time, the world's longest bridge, spanning a length of just over three and a half miles. A lot of thought and careful planning went into the bridge's design and construction, but you would never guess it today. So now, in a separate entry, I present to you a fantastic excerpt from Steven Hart's The Last Three Miles: Politics, Murder, and the Construction of America's First Superhighway. (I started to type it in this entry, but it just got too long and warranted its own entry.)

So we drove over the Skyway and through bits and pieces of Jersey City and down Route 22  - so, essentially, though all the most commercial, busy, traffic-clogged, hideous, terrifying parts of New Jersey that we could find. Initiation by fire, if you will, for my darling.

After the first few hours of his stay in New Jersey were spent talking to my dad and driving the roads of North Jersey, we pretty much figured it was all smooth sailing from there. And we were right.

As I write this, it's Wednesday, June 23. Pretty much every day since Patrick arrived on June 12, we have been busy doing something - seeing some kind of sight, touring some other part of the state, visiting some other National Historic Site. We've been busy and it has been fantastic. That we are just hanging out this morning feels a little weird. But that gives me time to blog, so I'm going to try and keep blogging.