Originally Published April 26, 2012
There’s something about Piscataway, don’t you think? To me, it feels like the the open plains of New Jersey. Imagine Busch and Livingston campuses extended into residential sprawl. When I visited this municipality recently, I had a strange sensation of being alien to the town’s geographical and architectural style. The houses are small and the lots are large. A part of me saw something romantic in these tiny little ranch houses that probably contained no more floor space than a double-wide prefab. They were probably, at one time, the cozy abodes of the working class. If our nation were still industrial, I could see myself returning home to my loving wife in Piscataway after a long day of work at the Edison Car Factory. We would snuggle up close to the fireplace, no matter where we were in the house. Unfortunately, this is not the case.
There’s something quaint about Piscataway, it’s true. But despite its flat sprawling mystery and exurban appeal, there is something bland about it. I do not recall the buildings there sporting much more variety than whites and beiges. I’m not sure if this is true or just the state of mind that Piscataway induces. It’s a feeling of plainness, and not the good type of plain found in Vanilla ice cream, more like the plain that would be found in ice cream that lacked flavor, if there were such a thing. The landscape is inexpressive, converted woodland that has no defining geographic features. The town’s architecture looks like it’s out of a textbook for generic contemporary housing stock. Even the few big “fancy” houses have almost no character. They are just big generic-looking houses. What happened here? The mystery remains.
Piscataway is a nice place to visit because it has its own special magic. I get a tingly feeling when I’m on Busch, but luckily I get to leave before the feeling subsides. I couldn’t live in this town; I want to set my roots down in a place where I could merely look out the window and be entertained. Piscataway does have some things to offer, like garden apartments. The community gardens seem to do their job, and for this reason I wouldn’t feel lonely there. Even though the population density is low, there is no spookiness, no sense of anything abandoned. Despite the deer I occasionally see near Livingston, Piscataway is decidedly not the wilderness; it is merely civilization spread thin. What I need, however, is bustle and excitement.
Ed Reep