I live in Northern Virginia (some savvy locals like to call it ‘Nova’), and I hate everything about it.  Virtually everything.  To me, Washington, DC is not a fun city, and the farther you travel from it, the worse things become as a particularly bland form of suburbia envelopes the people and their souls.

I currently work part-time in a gym in the wealthiest county in the US, and boy is it enlightening—in a negative sort of way.  Next to the patrons of the gym I look like a common street rat (Aladdin?), even though my family certainly was not destitute during my formative years. So I look with semi-envy as well-dressed and often surgically enhanced mothers roll into the parking lot in Land Rovers and Escalades and drop off their gaggle of poorly behaved children at swimming lessons.  I think of all the things I would do if I had that kind of financial security.

Then I look again and see the vapid eyes of the mothers, their absent but apparently very affluent husbands, and the restlessness of the children and realize that people in Northern Virginia are wildly unimaginative with their dough.  They have distant marriages and have kids.  It’s as if they looked around at their money, saw all the possibilities it offered, then said, “Nah, we’ll just sit tight.” The area, for all its inhabitants and all its money, has a stunningly low ratio of fun cultural things to do.  It instead has antique stores and average restaurants.  The museums in DC are nice, but after that things drop off.

In the face of this stale oppressive environment, I pray that if I do make money one day (God forbid), I’ll have the sense to spice things up.  And move out of NOVA.

Share this Post!