I’ve become used to the looks of horror passing over people’s faces when I tell them I’ve moved from the East Village of Manhattan to Jersey City, New Jersey. “Oh ... ” is the near universal response as they verbally start to back away. One friend asked “How do you get there?”, as if it might require a flight. Another wanted to know if I’d stolen my first car yet. And when I told a colleague about my relocation, she recounted a fearful tale of going to “Jersey” to buy her new Mercedes-Benz but feeling so embarrassed about having license plates from the state that, upon arriving home in New York, she removed them and kept the car in a garage until replacements came.

I’ll admit that Jersey City, New Jersey is an awkward name; two mentions of “Jersey” in the same breath is too much for most New Yorkers. And many people have long associated the town with severe industrial decay and political corruption.