Originally printed in The Daily Targum, March 10, 1994
Welcome back from Spring Break! I hope you all had a wonderful time, because I know I did. In fact, I want to tell you all about my adventurous week.
The first thing I had to do was get some wheels, because my amazing journey required a vehicle. I was hoping to maybe rent a new car, but as funds were limited, I just dug my old yellow piece of junk out of the snow. It's been parked in front of Ford Hall now for a good four months, and it keeps getting plowed in, on, and under, and Parking 'Services' even gave me some tickets. Five, I think. Oh well. It's not registered. They'll never catch me.
So, with car in hand (so to speak), I drove off, heading south, like the birds. My first stop was to get some fuel for my weary 'car,' so I stopped off at a station on Route 18, where I was told I owed them eighteen bucks for the tank of gas. I didn't have eighteen bucks, so I just drove off. I don't think they got my license plate number, and my pale yellow piece of crap will blend right in where I'm going. They'll never catch me.
So I was cruising down the Turnpike at about seventy-five, radio blasting, tuned (of course) to WRSU, when this cherry-red Mustang pulled up beside me and challenged me to a race. I'm too old and mature for that kind of thing, though, so I just put my fake police light on the roof, and he slowed down. I don't think that counts for winning the race, but it felt pretty good.
In Virginia, the speed limit is 65. That means you can do 90. My car, however, was only doing about eighty-seven, so it was time to release some extra weight. I chucked my thesis. I was going 100 in no time.
I finally got to Florida, and promptly checked into one of those college-kid hotels in Daytona Beach. There were a lot of hot-looking bodies hanging around the pool in skimpy clothes. I wisely remained dressed. I recognized one guy down there--he was my ex-editor, now in hiding for the rest of his life. I knew I'd find him one day. He shouldn't have cut that joke about the turnips. I really liked it. A lot.
After some swimming and sunbathing (neither of which works well when you re fully dressed), I decided to check out the nightlife. There was some; it mostly involved giant bugs and a great deal of beer. Ah, Florida during Spring Break. To be a young entomologist again.
Then, of course, the highlight of my spring fling: I went to Disneyland. Or is it Disneyworld? Well, there were lots of screaming kids, and everything was really expensive. I'm not sure which one that makes it, but it was definitely Disney something.
I saw Nancy Kerrigan while I was there. She was complaining about how cheesy she felt plugging Disney. I understand now how Tonya feels. I wanted to club her, too.
You know what would be really funny? To rent a Mickey Mouse costume, go to Disneyland, and start stealing little kids' food. What could they do? Arrest Mickey Mouse? That would be a slide to show the relatives. 'Here's us having Mickey arrested on larceny and robbery charges. Don't little Mabel and Alice look cute? Look at those darling little smiles.' I read in the New York Times that some guy was dressed up as Barney the Dinosaur for a mall promo, and was beaten and robbed on the way to his car. What if I dressed up as Mickey Mouse and beat up on Donald Duck? Do you think that these cartoon figures carry any cash?
Evidently, I had a lot of spare time on my vacation.
After my Disney adventure, I went to that other great Florida paradise: Sea World. I discovered that even though the sign says we are allowed to feed the dolphins, we have to buy special food to feed them. This was explained to me while being escorted out of the park. The suit is pending.
I began the long drive home, pulling over only occasionally in Florida to practice target shooting at plastic pink flamingoes on people's lawns. Sometimes I hit my targets, but usually I only hit their flamingoes.
In Georgia, I met some people commonly referred to as 'crackers.' I'm not sure why, but I think I heard some brain cells crack as I tried to explain to them that the South lost the war. I wanted to put them out of their misery, but then realized that they were too stupid to be miserable. So I put them out of my misery.
Driving through Virginia, I was pulled over by the same cop who pulled me over on my drive down. It seemed that he had healed nicely, but he still hadn't gotten those teeth replaced. I didn't bother giving him any trouble this time, and just beat myself up.
Finally, I came back to New Brunswick, and before classes started, I had just enought time to kill all the people who told me that my last column was pointless.
It was a stolen gun. They'll never catch me.
Jason Gottlieb is a Rutgers College senior majoring in English and Japanese. His girlfriend refuses to have anything to do with him if he continues to drive that yellow piece of crap around. And her columns were much better than his, anyway. So there.
The real Jason Gottlieb is a Rutgers College senior who lets his girlfriend
write his bylines.