America, September 11, 2005
Perfection isn't my version of perfect
Avalon. Doesn't that sound nice. Avalon. Like a place you'd want to be for a while. Well I am here, in Avalon, NJ for a long weekend and it is a nice place to be. While not the Isle of Avalon of the Arthurian tales, it is somewhat mystical in its perfection. Wait, make that eerie in its perfection.|
Do you remember the Truman Show? Well Avalon, NJ is a real life Seahaven Island to me, complete with perfect homes on perfect streets, inhabited by perfect people. On my morning run around town I didn't see anything out of place.
Cars were new, houses big, grass cut, and people nice. I also didn't see anything different or unique. There weren't any tuner cars to break up the sedan and SUV duopoly, the houses all were way too big for one family, the lawns were manicured more than landscaped, and the people were cookie-cutter white and rich.
For me, this blandness was creepy and disconcerting. My DC neighbourhood doesn't look like this, nor would I want it too. Variety is the spice of life, even if sometimes its rough and dirty. Or too clean and too white.
Luckily, Avalon is a beach town and so to the beach I went often. On the first day I body surfed out at the deepwater break, shocking the surfers with my long lines sans a board. On the weekend, the overzealous lifeguards, not knowing that I am an Olympian, called me in and restricted us boardless body surfers to the small shore break.
I didn't mind much, as that meant I had to spend more time with my beachside companion, Tara. She's cute, sweet, and even sexy. Its only too bad she's not only taken, but also aloof too. Even worse, after we left Avalon, she left me and I'm gonna miss her.