The Truth Behind the New Jersey “Drones”, Or, An Apology to Blake Lively
Author’s Disclaimer: This essay started as a deep dive into the mysterious New Jersey drones but morphed into an exploration of how we unfairly hate things we barely understand—like New Jersey and Blake Lively.
Please enjoy.
As someone who’s always been enamored with UFOs and pop culture, it’s not shocking that I was thrilled as a mufucka by the mysterious drone sightings terrorizing New Jersey last month. I live for hype like that. And it wasn’t long before I convinced myself the aliens were slowly getting ready to call checkmate. But if this really was the E.T. invasion I’ve always dreamt of, something didn’t sit right with my brain:
Fucking New Jersey?—of all places??
We’re talking about multiple UFOs the size of small SUVs coming back night after night for well over a month—to New Jersey. If you don’t think hanging out in New Jersey that long is mysterious behavior, you’ve clearly never been to New Jersey. I once left my wallet at a gas station in Hoboken and, when I realized it about three minutes up the road, I decided to just keep driving. I’d rather navigate life with no money or identification than spend any more time in New Jersey. Also, I never liked that wallet anyway. It was way too bulky from all the loose change and fast-food receipts.
As these drones scared the population more and more every day—something that really should have made my entire year—my brain became fixated on the location. Of all the cool, Independence Day-like scenes for an alien invasion—NY, DC, LA—why pick Bernardsville, New Jersey? No one wants to be in New Jersey. And if, for some reason, an unfortunate soul must bestow a morsel of their precious life on the Big Apple’s grotesque next-door neighbor, they’ll gladly leave their belongings behind just to get out.
So why, then, were these drones so drawn to Jersey? Most likely—the smell. It stinks like shit there. And since shit is used as fertilizer, that’s why they call it the Garden State.
Listen, I’m sure New Jersey is a wonderful state. Legend has it Frank Sinatra and Bruce Springsteen came from New Jersey, though there’s no way of knowing for sure. I’ve made fun of New Jersey my whole life, and my only real association with the place is briefly passing through on family trips to New York City. We made the trek at least twice a year, and the smelly, gloomy, industrial scenery surrounding the Jersey Turnpike was enough for me to sour on the entire state forever.
Kinda funny how that works, isn’t it? Like seeing a certain celebrity on TV and immediately thinking, “Yuck,” only to realize you don’t remember why you don’t like them in the first place.
Like Blake Lively.
New Jersey is the Blake Lively of U.S. states. If Blake Lively walked into the room right now, I wouldn’t even know who she was. But, somehow, through the magic of the internet, I was nudged into not liking her. The woman suddenly became the lead singer of Nickelback. She became pineapple on pizza. She became New Jersey. All because people are weak and go with whatever opinion is in the air at the time. (Not us, though. You and I are different. We have taste in who we hate. Like Josh Gad. And John Cena. And that guy from the Mint Mobile commercials.)
For my unfairness—and for the unfairness of the world—I bid the most heartfelt and sincerest apologies to Ms. Lively and to all who call the great, stinky state of New Jersey their home.
What does any of this have to do with drones, you ask? I’ll be goddamned if I know, but I promised myself I’d post something every Wednesday, so—this is what we’re stuck with.
Goodnight, everybody!
Love, Geno
