The Jersey Shore

Now those memories come back to haunt me

They haunt me like a curse

Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true

Or is it something worse,

That sends me down to the river

My Baby and I

Oh, down to the river we ride…

                        -Bruce Springsteen

There’s something about the Jersey shore that makes you nostalgic for things like Springsteen songs, dilapidated carnivals, burned-out autos on the side of the turnpike, ugly women, mean pricks, utter despair, gripping fear, douche bags, venereal disease, scam artists posing as legitimate businessmen and the dream as a lie, particularly if it comes true. It’s a land of dumb assholes who know better, but can’t help themselves from behaving like a cliché from a Scorsese film.

I’ve never felt more at home.

Albeit, I’m not on the shore that Bruce sang about. The not so gentle lapping of the Delaware River is at my door. And I’m on the wrong side of it.

Yes, my blogophiles, I am in Camden, New Jersey.

The second most dangerous city in America according to recent polls. It took something called Katrina and its aftermath for the Crescent City to wrestle the dubious honor of number one from my fair new home.

All kidding aside. Camden is a hellhole. But we like to call it home.

I joke that with MY arrival here, it has NOW become the most dangerous city in the U.S. of A.

I’m also working with the City Council and the Chamber of Commerce on a new slogan for the town.

“Come for the blight… stay for the forcible rape!”

Acceptance is tepid at the moment. They want to go more in the “New Aquarium” and “Revitalized Waterfront” direction.

To my credit, I’m being much more realistic about the city’s strengths. I think the allure of rape is really underestimated in a civic/tourism sense.

Here’s some 2007 Camden crime stats you may find interesting.

Based on a population figure of 80,000 residents:

There were 45 murders, 67 rapes, 781 robberies and 865 incidents of aggravated assault.

There were 1128 burglaries, 2311 instances of theft and 1161 car thefts.

There were 115 cases of arson.

Now, imagine walking down the street in Camden.

The guy to your left has a 4% chance of being a car thief or a hold-up man. The gentleman to the right of you may shiv you in a kidney or pop a cap in your patella, there’s almost a 1% chance of that. More comforting is the fact that the woman to his left only has a .143% chance of setting you or your possessions on fire.

We’ve heard stories about gas stations that run credit card scams off the clientele, water down the fuel, and overcharge due to location. I have no idea if any of these claims are true. I do know the following observation is real…

I was confronted by a man who wanted to fully serve me at the gas station. Nothing sexual. It was an actual “Full Service” gas station. Anyone remember those? An attendant would come out and pump your gas, clean your windshields, check your oil, fill your wiper fluids and radiator, then thank you for your patronage. A long lost art; like balancing four martini lunches or multiple affairs. At first, I thought I was being solicited by a male whore in full parka and scarf. An entirely frightening experience if ill prepared.

I was pumping my own gas like nobody’s business and this creepy guy shows up and asks me how I’m paying (hmmm? Cash, I guess?), then removes my gas cap for me (not a euphemism) and I think, though not sure, brushed against my thigh longingly. It was unsettling but, honestly, I was a tad flattered.

This, I fear, is what will happen all across the country when big oil finally takes over in full. Innocent citizens will be randomly accosted by men at the pump who speak rare strains of English and smell vaguely of fossil fuels and lilac.

I’ve never been one to worry about crime per se. Certainly, in urban areas, I get my radar on. I am a big fellow. And when I say that, I mean I am a strapping example of manhood. It is an unfortunate truth of human existence that the small and meek will be ravaged, destroyed and eaten by the larger few. I think that’s in the Bible somewhere, in between the bits about the cocaine and the vampires.

But I happen to fall into the “rich rewards” level of the “size lotto” for homo sapiens.

Truly, I am a magnificent prototype of the species. Six foot four, hovering around 235 pounds, with a perfectly cleft chin and a winning personality. Quite a specimen indeed. A handsome, striking figure of masculinity whose enemies cower and detractors shiver at the pure force of my basso.

I continually wonder why I never got more women. I’ve always been outgoing, eager to pick up a check, concerned toward the plight of the feminist, ever lending a shoulder to cry on and an ear to bend.

The tail always averted me however.

I’m veering off track a little here. Perhaps another time.

Well, Bitches, just wanted to let you know I am still alive and griping. The blog is officially back up and running after the move and we’ll be discovering more about crime, beauty, Jersey shore living, Camden, Philly and, undoubtedly, parts and people unknown. There will also be more film stuff and a short quiz to make sure you’re paying attention.

Until then.

C.

Comments

[Fitz]

Very funny comments CA, well done! As for not corralling skads of babes in with a winning personality et al, it may be because they have read your stuff. No, no, you are a fine writer, and women love to publicly self-accost over their own sensitivities. But like my friend several years ago who was an ardent (so she claimed) feminist, her head was turned not by our well-groomed and effete classmates, but by the guy who had played on the FSU scout squad and routinely dipped Skoal on the back row in a "Big Johnson" T-shirt. Point being, the fillies might be actually reading your political views and mistaking you for a Stuart Smalley wannabe. While you and I know better, you have to trust me on this: a steely-eyed defense of individual liberty and smaller government is just more manly, a serious aphrodisiac, and a big attractant, if purposely underreported by the dandified Keith O.

The right microbrew, a little Barry White on the turntable, and a belief in strict constructionism will get 'em every time. Good luck!

[flemcam]

I beg to differ. Have you seen C. Adolphs high school picture? Not for nothing but this guys was hot! If it's true what you say, your chick magnet is demagnetized, then it's due to the fact that you are too sweet. Too kind, Women hate that, feminist or not. We don't recognize niceness as an attribute. We do later when we're old and flabby, then it's too late.
LUV2U and your chick!