North Carolina

When I'm in North Carolina, I leave the Plasma TV on, like a buddy I don't spend enough time with in New York. I fall asleep on the couch, wake up and move five feet to my favorite leather reading chair in the corner. I consider the screened-in porch, consider how the mild winter here is still too cold for lounging, consider checking my e-mail for the fourth time in an hour.

My mom and I make one trip per visit to Chapel Hill, scour the racks at the vintage store for one-of-a-kind items for five dollars or less. Sometimes we get bubble tea and walk on the campus, admiring the old buildings that the students probably never visit once they matriculate. When the sky is burnt orange, we go to the Carolina Brewery across from her development. I always want the locally-made beer to be more rich and flavorful than it is.

When we drive to my aunt and uncle's house, we pass Jordan Lake.
Its glassy waters seem to sprawl for miles beyond the four-line highway. The shores are tree-lined and have that mucky look that is unmistakably Southern, the Nawth Cahulahna woods. It is one of the few times I feel like I'm in the South down here - regionalities have been submerged under the Best Buys and Targets and Applebees of the world, like much of the country.

Something that always feels strange is the lack of centrality. Like the internet, this part of North Carolina stretches endless miles without any seeming destination. New Jersey always had New York City, and even in the city there's always Midtown for business and The Village for pleasure. How does someone decide where to live if there's nowhere everyone wants to be close to? What's the organizing principle down here?

At night, the crickets mingle with the light traffic speeding by on the highway behind the house. There's so much in every direction, but when it all looks the same, isn't it nicer to just stay home and enjoy the Plasma?