Well I was back in my home state last weekend after making the trip to the Paris of the Armpit of America, AKA, Jersey City.  What I didn’t count on was this journey including an extra 45 minutes of driving around looking for parking. Anyway, the trip was well worth the effort, as the plan was to head to a bar I’d never heard of until that night: Barcade.

Barcade is exactly what it sounds like – a bar with an arcade in it, or, if you see the glass half full, an arcade with a bar in it. But this isn’t just any bar – they have a bunch of obscure and local beers on tap, and even barley wine. Barley wine!? Who even knew such a thing existed? And it is more than just an arcade – there are like 30 classic consoles that are lovingly cared for and maintained – no need to worry about putting in a quarter and the stupid machine not playing.

My three companions and I played the vintage Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles game, which brought back so many memories of my youth, like the years I spent in a Saturday morning bowling league, waiting for those two hours of shitty bowling to be over with so I could go to the arcade and waste a bunch of quarters playing the TMNT game. Though we all knew Donatello and his bo staff were most effective at killing the foot clan soldiers, Rafael was always my favorite and of course I had to play as him that night.  And just like in my youth, we all died, or as the game’s lingo presents it – became shell-shocked – during the epic battle with Bebop and Rocksteady.

But this walk down memory lane didn’t end there; Barcade also had the classic Simpsons arcade game. Once again, just seeing it brought back so many memories: back in ’94 or so, a friend and I spent an entire afternoon at the previously mentioned bowling alley trying to beat it. With pockets full of quarters, a dream in our hearts, and not a care in the world, us two nerdy, awkward 6th graders finally beat the game – an achievement I have yet to follow up with anything so meaningful. Anyway, the Simpsons game was one of the more popular ones that night, so I never got the chance to see if I could still win it.  Instead, we played this weird little game called “Gauntlet,” some kind of fantasy game where you go around killing monsters and looking for giant drumsticks.

I could go on and on about this place and all the nostalgia it brings – every single console in the place has to be at least 20 years old.  And there is not a single first-person shooter or bulky racing game in sight. Barcade just delivers the classics: your Donkey Kongs, your Pac-Men, your Tetri, and the like. And the fact that you can drink alcohol while playing these games, instead of the Crystal Pepsi that accompanied my early 90s arcade experiences, makes it all the better.  So the next time you can’t make up your mind whether to spend the night at a bar or an arcade, go to Barcade and do both. Yeah, I know you could do the same at Dave and Busters, but that place just sucks compared to this one.

I am no longer a resident of New Jersey.

No, Chris Christie hasn’t exiled me for all the shit I’ve talked about him – it’s due to personal reasons. After 29 years of living within a 30 mile radius of my birthplace, I’ve left the only state I’ve ever lived in and relocated to the North Shore of Long Island. Based on my first two weeks of living here, it is clear that Long Island is more like New Jersey that New Jersey could ever hope to be.

From the strip malls and strip clubs to highways and loud obnoxious people, I doubt I’ll ever get homesick.  If New Jersey is the Armpit of America, then that would make Long Island the smelly pit hair of America.

Anyway, so what does my relocation mean for this little blog?  I’ll still update as infrequently as you’ve come to expect.  And I’ll still be writing about New Jersey. If that makes me a poseur, then so what? It’s my blog and I’ll do what I want.

Despite being in New York, my heart still hasn’t left New Jersey.  That’s why I will still try with all my might to avoid pumping my own gas.  Even if that means taking a trip back to Jersey for the sole purpose of having someone else do it.

As sad as I am to have left the Armpit of America, things could always be worse….I could have ended up on Staten Island!

Let me start by saying this isn’t the greatest movie, not by a long shot. It moves incredibly slow, it’s impossible to identify or sympathize with the characters, and the plot is kinda dumb.  So why blog about it?  Because the movie takes place in New Jersey!

Starring a young and fresh-faced Ellen Barkin (before she became an old yet still oddly fresh-faced Ellen Barkin), and a bunch of no-name character actors from the 80s, the film tells the story of Jersey Shore bar band, Eddie and the Cruisers.  Though briefly successful in 1963, the band disbanded when lead singer Eddie Wilson seemingly committed suicide after the record label refused to release their second album, because it sucked.  Eighteen years later, with the re-release of the band’s premier album, Eddie and the Cruisers are more popular than ever.

Under these circumstances, Barkin’s journalist character decides to interview the surviving band members to find out two things – what happened to the recordings for the second album, which somehow disappeared the day after Eddie disappeared, and whether there’s the possibility that Eddie might have faked his own death. Yadda yadda, I told you this wasn’t the best movie.

What makes the movie interesting though is the music – which is pretty much identical to Bruce Springsteen’s.  In fact, the entire band is pretty much a recreation of Bruce and the E Street Band.  You have the brooding, strong-jawed lead singer growling through each song (Springsteen), the talentless female backup singer/tambourine player who’s just there because she’s sleeping with the singer (Bruce’s wife, Patti), an African-American saxophonist (Clarence Clemmons), and a guitar player angling for the spotlight (Steven van Zandt).  And just like the real E Street Band, there are a couple other generic members who just kind of blend in.

Even the main theme from the movie, and Eddie and the Cruisers’ biggest hit, could easily pass for a Bruce song.  “On the Dark Side,” which appears on the radio everyone now and then, would not be out of place at all on a Springsteen album – the name is obviously inspired by “Darkness on the Edge of Town” and the song itself is reminiscent of “She’s the One.” Keep in mind, the story takes place in 1963, yet the music is clearly inspired by mid-70s rock. So, how does the movie explain that discrepancy? Eddie and the Cruisers were clearly ahead of their time!  In fact, that’s why the record label hated the band’s second album – the 1963 audience couldn’t appreciate it!

So, whatever happened to the lost recordings?  And is Eddie really alive after all of these years?  And why the hell does the end suddenly turn into a horror movie?  You’ll have to see it yourself to find out – or at least watch the last five minutes, when all loose ends are neatly and conveniently tied up.  Ok, despite the negative review, it is still a fun movie, with plenty of Jersey references to make it worthwhile.  If you live outside the state, though, don’t waste your time.

Now, Chris Christie and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on a number of issues.  And I know making fun of his weight has gotten old and tired.  But strangely, I see this T-shirt as rising above all that political nonsense and the superficial comments on his weight.  It simply conveys what a pugnacious tough-ass our governor is.  Maybe it’s my inner Jersey trashy side talking, but I kinda respect that about him.  And, fat or not, he can indeed kick any other governor’s ass (especially since Jesse Venture is no longer in charge of Minnesota!).

In an ironic twist of fate, this medium shirt proved to be anything but.  After I put it on, I looked like an overstuffed sausage, allowing me to further identify with our overstuffed governor.

.

Teresa Guidice: The Toad

That wrinkly, brown skin.  The giant wide-set eyes and even wider mouth.  The endless loud croaking.  A tendency to eat flies, worms and other crawly things.  Teresa sure has a lot in common with the common toad.

.

Caroline Manzo: The Rooster

With her spiky red hair, Caroline always reminded me of a rooster.  Add in the fact that she likes to strut around like she’s in charge, ruling the roost and clucking condescendingly at everyone in her path, and the resemblance is uncanny.

.

Jacqueline Laurita: The Cow

That Jacqueline Laurita is a such a cow – and I mean that in the nicest possible way. With those big brown eyes, long eyelashes, giant milk jugs, and Hoover-like mouth, I can’t imagine an animal that she better resembles.

.

Melissa Gorga: The Praying Mantis

With her long, skinny body, huge forehead tapering to a pointy chin, and habit of clasping her hands together and thanking Jesus for all he has given her, Melissa really is a human praying mantis.

.

Kathy Wakile: The Owl

As the only somewhat normal housewife, Kathy is often seen in a constant state of wide-eyed surprise at the craziness surrounding her. And with those sharp, giant eyes and brand new streamlined beak, she could totally pass for an owl.

.

Speaking of Kathy, I couldn’t resist sharing what I think her husband looks like – the unwanted result of a one night stand between Qaddafi and Eugene Levy:

Yes, this is a completely un-doctored photograph of a London broil almost somewhat resembling the shape of the Armpit of America.  And no, I didn’t cut it too look like that – apparently it came that way right out of the package, according to my brother.  My guess is that either someone at the meat department at Shop-Rite was having a little fun with his knife, or this piece of steak came from a Jersey cow.  Get it?  If not, read this.

Anyway, just like the real state, this New Jersey-shaped piece of meat looks like total crap swimming in more crap.  However, once I pushed aside the sludge and got past the tough edges, the meat was delicious.  And I’m sure you can all see where I’m going with this allegory…

After viewing these before and after pictures and seeing the drastic changes that excessive tanning has caused to this once attractive woman, it got me thinking about the cast of “Jersey Shore” and what they will look like in 20 years.  Using the most advanced age progression technology (Google image search and Microsoft Paint), I have created some images of what I think Snooki and friends will look like after two decades of tanning and partying. Enjoy!

.

Snooki

.

Paulie D.

.

Sammi Sweetheart

.

Ronnie

.

The Situation

.

J-WOWW

.

Vinny

.

Deena

After going there for the first time in 2012 last weekend, I take that all back.

The place has just changed so drastically since I started going six years ago. I’ve mentioned this in a previous post, but Bar A’s trademark sand volley ball court, right in the middle of the outdoor section, is now populated by stupid-looking faux beach cabanas.  While the intention was to make it look like a Miami bar, they still don’t hide the truth that you’re in New Jersey on a reconfigured volleyball court.  In the old days (like three years ago) the volley ball court was a nice respite from the crowds of sweaty Jersey Shore-ians fist pumping to bad techno music – it was dark and quiet, with just a few cheap plastic chairs scattered around. Now you’re lucky if you can find any chair in the entire bar – unless you pay for it.

In the past, there were tables and chairs scattered all over the place. Today, all those tables are now quarantined off into various VIP sections where you have to fork over $400 for the privilege of sitting.  Sure, you might get lucky and find a spot on the ledge surrounding the landscaping – until one of the Magilla Gorilla bouncers shoes you off.  And, as happened to me last summer, those bouncers won’t just throw you off the ledge, they’ll physically remove you from the bar if you don’t play by their stupid, biased rules.

What troubled me most about my recent visit is their new stamping policy.  You know the drill – if you need to leave a bar, you get your hand stamped so you can get back in without having to pay the ridiculous $10 cover.  Well, on this last visit, I had to leave for a bit and planned on coming back.  When I got to the exit, I presented the back of my hand to the bouncer, expecting to be stamped in this typical spot.  I was then instructed to turn my arm over, and received my stamp.

As I walked out of the bar, I looked at my arm and was shocked – the stamp wasn’t the typical star, or smiley face, or whatever.  It was a bunch of random numbers.  On my forearm.  You don’t have to be Jewish to understand how offensive this is.

Bar A has always run a tight ship – I just had no idea that ship was a U-Boat full of Nazis. Tan, greasy, bulked-up-on-steroids Nazis.

Things started out easy enough – I did the border first, just as they teach you in puzzle class.  But when it came to putting the cast together, I ran into some serious problems.  Why, you ask?  Well, it’s pretty difficult trying to figure out which piece belongs to which person when they all have shiny orange skin, manicured nails, and way too much jewelry:

So, I had to continue working from the outside in; it was easier to follow the grain in the wall and the pattern of the carpet than to determine whose orange leg or greasy hair belonged to whom. The clothes helped a bit in putting these idiots together – purple dress for Sammi, leopard print for Deena, overly stretched out black pleather for Snooki.

Eventually everything came together and I was almost done with my masterpiece. I just had a few more pieces to fit in before I could call this puzzle finished.

After figuring out where to put Snooki’s wonky eye:

Pauly D’s scalp:

J-WOWW’s tits:

and Deena’s sexy cankle:

I have a finished puzzle!

Even I’ll admit that joking about our governor’s weight is not only getting tired, it can be mean – and Kimmel’s first joke was a tad too much. For those interested, he said something about how inside each governor is a president waiting to get out – in Christie’s case you can still hear him screaming.  But after that cheap shot, he said something genius.

He suggested that Christie was confused and thought New Jersey’s nickname was the Olive Garden State.  Okay, maybe it’s not the best joke ever, but I think it works on so many levels, beyond just making fun of our governor’s girth. Drive past any of the many strip malls on the many highways in the Armpit of America and you’re bound to see an Olive Garden or three.  Aside from that, Olive Garden serves its patrons faux-Italian food, just like the many faux-Italian people calling this state home. And just like olives have a nasty stench, so does this state.

You can check out the whole Chris Christie thing below – starts at about 1:45: