And now I am back from my NJ trip. It was certainly crammed with all sorts of adventures of busy times and laughter and shopping...man, it was just crammed. I am now taking a deep breath from all the cramming. Which of course sounds dirty, which is, of course, what I was going for. Are you laughing yet? Ha.

Well, we flew out in wicked turbulence. Not around Phoenix, of course, since all is pristine and clear in the Valley of the Sun. But over in the fair city of Newark the wind was howling away and it delayed our landing. Plus, at the precise moment I chose to lean over to Trish and say, "I'm surprised that, with all this turbulence that no one is throwing up yet," a woman two rows back began to heave and vomit repeatedly for the remainder of the flight. And it was the kind of puking that sounds like she was gargling on her own refuse. Oh, man, it sounded awful. I was waiting for a chain reaction thing, like when Lard Ass started throwing up at the pie eating contest in Stand By Me-- but as luck would have it, that didn't happen. Trish and I just started giggling and laughing silently, though. Why was it so funny? I don't know, except it sounded sort of like the sound South Park uses when people die on the show. It's hard to explain here, and frankly, I should get off the subject already and on to more interesting things about the visit.

We drove all over Monmouth County. In Belford, we were saddened to see that our old house looks sort of crappy now (and for some reason, it was speckled with over 5 satellite dishes... what the hell are they doing in there, anyway?) but we were excited because the small, overgrown and forgotten cemetary on the corner of Jane Street and Church Street had been cared for! Back in The Day, this cemetary of graves from the 1700s and so on was hidden from the road by dense trees and overgrowth. Me and my friend Cory stumbled onto it one day while playing there-- we saw all these broken tombstones and were amazed that a cemetary was right there and no one seemed to even know about it. I went back numerous times and tried to read the names on the broken stones over the years, even doing grave rubbings at one point. So anyway, to go back last Friday and see the trees cleared away, the stones washed and cared for-- hell, some of the broken white stones were even cemented back together!-- and a sign proclaiming it "Belford Cemetary"; it was so cool. We took lots of pictures and couldn't stop talking about it. I love it when people care enough to preserve the past. It's just one of my "things."

I also drove down through Navesink, where we visited another awesome cemetary at the Stone Church (yeah, I happen to really love cemetaries) and walked through dense piles of fallen leaves. I hadn't realized how much I missed the smell of dried, brown leaves and the sensation of my shoes crunching them underfoot and sinking into them up to my shins. Everything is so old and picturesque in Navesink. I love the old bridge and the little mossy ponds with geese swimming in them. The houses rock. You just don't get houses with two stories out here in Arizona. And they certainly don't have character or histories. I was imagining curling up with some hot chocolate in front of a window with slightly-off windowpanes in one of these houses we passed, and reading a good book while the rain came down.

Drove past all the old schools. They've all had additions or new buildings built on campus. Monmouth has a bunch of new buildings and parking lots; Bayshore doesn't even look the same, except for the scary, evil "dolphin" cartoon character on the wall out on Leonardville Road (the dolphin is wearing a blue and gold sailor outfit and is smiling a wicked smile that shows teeth-- this always disturbed me).

We ate in a lot of the old favorite restaurants, which was a mixed bag. Romeo's Pizza sucks now. I heard they changed ownership. Friendly's (which you can't find out here) no longer has that really good French salad dressing so we couldn't get a salad. (We believe that a salad isn't worth it if the dressings suck.) Steak N' Ale, alma mater of such Blogging superstars as Mike Toole, was delicious although the menu changed a little. We had a nice family dinner in which my crazy Oma started hassling me about my idea of adopting a kid from another country (she says a kid is better off not being adopted at all because they will, according to her worldview, get made fun of in school for being adopted-- and she knows it's true because she has seen it on TV!), and my Dad got hassled for putting salt on his food. Some racist comments were made and Trish and I got all loud and beligerent at the insanity of some older family members--OK, Oma. It was a hilarious, dysfunctional time over all.

Going back to NJ is somehow or other all about eating. Seriously, I don't know why that is, but we made sure to get NJ bagels, NJ pizza, NJ chinese food, and NJ subs. All this eating has got to stop. But damn it was tasty eats.

We also went shopping at H&M. At last. And it was damn cool. I wish they had one of these stores out here.

On Monday, me, my father and Trish took the Belford Ferry into Manhattan. We walked from the pier all the way around to fifth Avenue and up to Central Park, where we went to the zoo (which we all deemed a "rip off zoo") and then back down again to Rockefeller Center, where we stopped in the NBC store and watched an old Indian guy gracefully skate around the ice in R.Center as the tree was being worked on by the Light Hanging Crew, and finally taking a cab to South Street Seaport. Is it just me, or was SSSP once a place that had more going on? I thought it was more than a mini-mall with an old schooner parked along side it. Maybe we missed something. We also ate a very overpriced dinner off of Water Street and got annoyed at the lady sitting next to us on the ferry ride back to Belford. Yes, by the end of the day we were regular New Yorkers.

Let's see-- we also visited a crapload of people. Some of my favorites included seeing the Marsh family and watching home movies from 1986 or so; seeing Mike Toole again (an' he ain't that bad-looking either, ladies! Line up now!) as well as high school guys like the Rubinsons, Paul Basquil and the incomparable Kevin French. Kevin, if you are reading this, I was highly impressed with your instant crayfish reference. I love that you haven't forgotten that inside joke. (If you are not Kevin, ignore the following. If you are Kevin, I say: "I wanna look like Diana Ross!" in a high-pitched crayfish voice. Ha! Ha!); and finally, seeing Mike Sojka at Houlihan's bar yet another time. We are turning this into a yearly event.

Yup, it was a good time all around. I was bummed about coming back to Arizona for the first time since I moved out here. I think it is because I just feel like Arizona is a little sterile compared with the messiness and character of NJ. Granted, there was a time not that long ago that I really liked that. I was completely caught unawares that I would feel this way about NJ/AZ. It sucks because I wouldn't want to leave Arizona, either, to move back. Because there are so many things about this place I would miss too much. I feel like I have two homes, and I don't really want to move to a third home, ever, because I would be way too confused. But as the plane landed in Phoenix and I was looking out at the carefully-laid out landscape, sprawling in the afternoon sun and surrounded by pretty mountains, I thought about how Phoenix is a new city built on top of very old land. The history, the fabric of the place hasn't yet sunken into the ground and created a true personality yet. Phoenix is like an inexperienced college student. Sure, it's got great potential and all the essentials it needs to "make it," but the depth and the experience isn't there yet. New Jersey, particularly the parts that are still green and lush in parts, like Middletown, is a patriarch. Sure, he's crass and whiny sometimes, but when you look in his eyes, he has been around the block and has lots of unique stories to tell. NJ has had a chance to grow into its roots. It's an older human settlement, built on equally old land. You can feel its character in every old, battered tree and broken tombstone; in the rusted metal on the cars and in the stinky fish-water in the ponds and rivers. I really respect it now that I have been away from it for five years. And I am happy about appreciating the place where I grew up and formed all my opinions and tastes. Because, of course, I spent many years cursing the place and wanting to move somewhere "pretty." In reality, I know a lot of different shades of pretty now, and I love that.