Driving through northern New Jersey, you see lots of highways, and lots of gas stations, and lots of swamps. Suburbia is nestled away inside tall pine trees, well out of sight. I associate it with friends encountering comically-bad NJ Transit train delays and drivers cursing each other out on the way to work, while my dad associates it with Bill Parcells’ coarse Jersey accent screeching just a few miles down the road from the Mill Creek Marsh in Secaucus. It’s not the most appealing of sights, sounds or smells, which is why the Garden State is America’s right armpit.
Northwestern is stuck in traffic in the middle of New Jersey
