Bagging A Xanadu

Some Friday Humor, from the Star Ledger:

On the hunt for Giant Xanadu

Before I knew the Jersey Meadowlands, I had never heard of the Giant Xanadu. I met but few hunting men who claimed to have bagged one. Nor did I harbor the fondest wish of any big game hunter in my native state -- to track down this amazing beast and put it between the crosshairs of my trusted shotgun.

Roughly described, the Giant Xanadu is the 2 million-square-foot offspring of the Great Mall and the Great Adventure. These parental units were apparently successfully coited at Mills, Mack-Cali, the development company that claims creation of the Xanadu.

When fully grown, the whole thing may cover most of the ancient Mafia burial grounds between the Jersey Turnpike and Union City. But despite its gargantuan size and hideous appetite for the uplands and downlands, the Xanadu remains elusive. And fickle. Sometimes it takes on the shape of an innocent entertainment complex, with a snow dome for those many North Jerseyans who enjoy the sport of skiing over a frozen Slurpee and a minor league ball park, employing thousands, though at baby's first wages.
...
The Giant Xanadu may be killed in just one fashion: You must bait the meadows with subsidies, incentives and lucrative subcontracts, then wait patiently for the Giant Xanadu to fall down by the weight of its own stupidity and arrogance. This can take years.

And so on a recent sweltering morning, I plunged into the Meadows, letting Daddy Codey be my guide and guru.
...
For hours we trekked, sweating bullets but admiring the natural beauty of the Meadowlands. The delightful ooze of smog surrounded the Turnpike and rose like a sweet perfume from the Route 3 corridor. The muck beneath our boots shimmered and shone in a pallet of petro-purples and heavy metal silvers and grays.
...
What I saw next chilled my spine like a swizzle stick in a margarita. From the heavy scales of the Giant Xanadu hung Bergen County Democrats and North Jersey power brokers, heavy construction contractors, Sports and Exposition Authority execs and a few hundred lawyers. There was even a guy from New Jersey Transit in short pants.

They were holding on for dear life, while the great beast shook and shivered.

"Ohmigod," I muttered. "I'll never get a clear shot now."