I decided to go to Lodi, New Jersey, birthplace of horror rock pioneers the Misfits.
A number of former Misfits still live in Lodi, apparently, including guitarist Franché Coma. It would be a real scream to bump into one of them somewhere at the end of a barren New Jersey street. That would be right up there with a Bigfoot sighting.
I am saddened to report I came across no Misfits nor evidence of any Misfits while hanging out in Lodi last night. I saw not one crimson ghost, nary a devilock, not even one single hellhound. Bonfires burning bright? Nope. Maggots in an iron lung refusing to copulate? Try again. None of the nightmarish visions Danzig predicted came to pass, I’m afraid, as I cruised through the town that’s prouder of its high school football team (the L.H. Rams, State Champs!) than the famous spook rockers what sprung from their loins.
Also, the Lodi Kmart is just that – a Kmart. These days, most every Kmart in America has been converted to a “Big K” (read: they knocked out a few walls and added groceries). Apparently the people of Lodi were just fine with the regular Kmart and demanded their gross, sub-Target retail outlet remain the same. That or the Kmart people forgot they have a store there. At any rate, it’s very striking to drive down Main Street and see that old-timey Kmart sign, harkening back to a simpler, cozier time (back when the Internet really was just a series of interconnected tubes!).
The creepiest thing that happened to me while visiting Lodi, though, occurred just as the sun was going down. I found myself driving slowly through an intersection when all of a sudden, without warning, a large group of pint-sized bicyclists came flying around a corner. There must have been thirty of them, all under fourteen, all with dirt and crazed looks smeared on their faces. The leader popped a wheelie as he whizzed by my car. The rest followed in blind allegiance, paying me no mind.
James Greene Jr will be back again next Wednesday; you can read his last column here
