I suppose I am being unfair. I define Maryland on narrow terms — Rockville Pike.
Rockville, Maryland.
Maryland, of course, is 3 hours from the Atlantic, which is where Marylanders flock to in the summer. And then they go back to their diverse ways of living — rich, of course —in what many people around DC say about Maryland. They say it is a suburb of DC. But it’s not! Maryland is a Democratic State. And Virginia, the other DC suburb, is staunchly Republican. One pizza place in Virginia was offering discounts to customers who came in wearing their guns exposed!
Real cowboys, I suppose.
Those Virginians love their guns.
Anyway. Rockville, Maryland, is a 3-lane strip going North and likewise, one going South. I’m trying to decide whether I should tell you about the landmarks it possesses, or simply describe the strip? We have an upscale luxury mall on the right, and upscale living and shopping center on the left. Whole Foods. There are 2 gas stations directly across the street from one another. There is Old Georgetown Road. Then the bridge. Barnes & Noble on the right — and at least 3 McDonalds, 2 Popeye’s Chicken, The Container Store, etc…, etc…
You get the picture.
Nothing really memorable about it.
However, tucked between these buildings are also government buildings, which are probably what sustains the city. Interesting architecture.
But the people all look alike (even those with piercings… fewer and fewer each day). You just don’t see the variety you see in a big city, especially like Chicago.
And that’s what I thrive on.
I know people who are in their 60s, born here and who never moved away for very long, maybe to go to school, but who are happy with the way life moves here. They have never wanted to move away, they say. So, yeah. For some people, it obviously works.
Anyway.
I remembered the name of the band. It is REM. The quote-like is attributed to Michael Stipes, I believe.
Losing My Religion.
However, Rockville does possess one treasure that deserves mention, since it is the only treasure it possesses.
The grave of a great American write.
F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I keep saying I’m gonna go. I really want, you know. But I just can’t bring myself to get there and I don’t know why! But knowing he’s buried here, makes Maryland somewhat more tolerable.
