Mirror mirror

Just got back from a weekend in New Jersey, where we attended a wedding. The trip had a rocky start as the departure our flight from LAX was delayed for an hour, we sat on the tarmac (great Scrabble word) for ages, and had to get our rental car inspected an extra time. By the time we got to our hotel, it was 2:30 a.m.


But it's the fleabag hotel right next to the Washington Bridge in Fort Lee that's the real story. Cars and trucks are lined up on the highway all day and night, and when I arrived, there were a few sketchy people trying to get deals on rooms. "Don't charge me 80 dollars if there isn't a jacuzzi in the room," said one regular, who happened to walk with a limp.


The signage said it all. Not the "day rate" or "midnight special"--what, no hourly rate?--but the weird mascot with his hand out. Now that's creepy.


I was slightly taken aback when we stepped into the room and noticed floor to ceiling mirrors, but it turned out Eloise really got a kick out of that. Maybe we should install some at home?