The Villages

Every car’s turn signals clicked in staccato un-rhythm waiting at the light on Avenida Central to turn left into the parking lot of the Comfort Suites in The Villages.  Florida’s premier retirement community deserves every ounce of derision the young can give it.  Unfortunately, its not for the young.  This bustling un-city, covering four counties and 45-back-road-laden minutes north of Orlando is the perfect place for those older than 55.  That isn’t a sales pitch. It just is a fact. Some youthful cynicism about a place that bans humans under the age of 18* and has no industry besides healthcare to keep the local economy going deserves our derision, but also let’s explore why it just makes sense.

Perhaps you can’t shake the feeling that those golf carts seem kind of wrong.  Well, its the main mode of transportation.  Everything is centrally located, so golf carts kind of make sense.  Some are even hybrids or full electrics. There are even separate roads for golf carts that dip under major intersections.  However, being the main mode of transportation for the boomer generation, they do sometimes pimp them out.  Occasionally there are golf carts with Porsche or Bentley body kits.  What this says to the X-Gen observer is a feeling of overwhelming sadness and loss.  That the American dream never yielded actual opulence for these never-quite-as-good-children of the Greatest Generation.  Instead, theres just a heavily discounted and sub-cultured variant to placate that crying child inside your flabby chest in the form of a ~$3,000 body kit for your golf cart that tops out at 20mph.  It’s all very sad and Post-Modern and reminiscent of American Beauty.

Don’t forget. The Villages are in God’s country.  You know, that part of Florida with hills, cattle ranches, the leftovers of plantations, where everyone votes Republican and wishes they could live in that one Plantation-revival style house visible from I-75 seated on a respectable hill overlooking vast acreage of prime cattle land punctuated with some very gorgeous old hardwoods.  You know, this part:

God’s Country. Where Adult stores and titty bars are unashamedly advertised along any major traffic artery. A place where the millisecond you exit the highway and hit the back roads you see a filthy American pickup with Vietnam Veteran bumper stickers, a driver wearing a sleeveless tee and hat, and the utterly inoffensive addendum to his bed gate: “Don’t Mistake Liberals for Americans”.



4 Responses to The Villages

  1. Pingback: Retirement Un-Paradise « Obey This Journal, M.D.

  2. Pingback: Rick Scott from The Villages « Obey This Journal, M.D.

  3. Pingback: Hence and Therefore: The Villages « Nerd Runner

  4. Pingback: Necessary Self Congratulation « Nerd Runner

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