Tuesday, August 05, 2008  Driving While Southern August 5, 2008
In Secaucus, I look carefully over the rims of entrance and exit
ramps, none of which seem to lead anywhere, as each turn seems
to hold the promise of some monster from the blog. The whiz of
things seems to sting the air, make it an uninhabitable place
where you cannot breathe. It is part of the mythology of New
Jersey, that the only part of the state is that visible from the
turnpike, the capitol of which is the layering of upright pipes
that line the landscape like muted priests, solemn and
overwrought with knowledge of the earth. In Secaucus, I get a
severe test of my ability to drive, to take to the curves and
feel the car’s center of gravity roll into the grave of the
curve so that I know when to apply the brakes and how to keep my
focus on the present moment of things, that steady American
meditation of driving, knowing the car and the road as the only
thing happening when there are countless stories around you,
unfolding in bewildering ex