1. Memo to New York Drivers: When driving on a New Jersey Highway (We don’t call them “Freeways” or “Interstates”) and you have been passed on the right by two cars, or, in the alternative, passed by one car in which the driver gave you the stink eye or the finger), MOVE THE F**K TO THE RIGHT! How many stink eyes and fingers do I have to give to you maroons? Besides, it’s the goddamned law in this state. Where the hell is a state trooper when you need one?

2. At a blogmeet a few years ago, my pal and, first-class babe, Bou, mentioned that she had played the flute in high school, but that she didn’t play anymore. Of course, back then, I thought that she took the obligatory “instrument” in high school for a year, learned how not to horribly stink and then moved on. Little did I know that she played in one goddamned national award-winning high school band. Go listen. Holy cannoli!

3. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the mainstream media has managed to all but ignore the videos of ACORN people offering to help people set up a prostitution ring comprised of under-aged-illegal aliens and to evade income taxes, while at the same time exhausting every conceivable angle from and squeezing every single drop from the Joe Wilson (“You lie!”) story? Actually, that was a rhetorical question.

4. The glut of “Buy gold NOW” commercials I hear on the radio is somewhat unsettling, but I guess that’s the idea.

5. Anyone who managed to successfully complete fifth grade arithmetic knows (or damned well should know) that it is impossible – yes, IMPOSSIBLE, to parachute 47 million 30 million people into the healthcare system, all of whom will have access to “free” healthcare, and not have it negatively impact the system. Pay for it with “doing away with waste” in Medicare and Medicaid? I could piss my pants laughing. The problem is, there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

6. If explosive, debilitating diarrhea could be a human being, it would be Maxine Waters. People actually voted for this idiot?

7. Memo to Scotland: Bourbon is better.

8. Memo to Ireland: Bourbon is better.

9. Memo to Mark Lloyd: Kiss my ass.

10. Memo to Jon Corzine: Adios.

Velociman (a/k/a Kim Crawford) published his first novel.

Few people can turn a phrase better than V-Man. Indeed his prose always manages to convince me that my time spent at the computer keyboard might be better spent doing something else. Although his writing covers the waterfront, he can perform a verbal evisceration better than anyone I know. A while back he wrote a post about the “Red Hat Ladies,” which resulted in the ladies of the Red Hat Society taking out a contract on his ass. [Sorry, the search feature on his blog appears not to be working.] He also wrote a piece that managed to engender the ire and ridicule of big time blogger of the Atlantic Monthly Major Knucklehead, Andrew Sullivan [he gets no link from me], a badge of distinction.

Most recently, he had one of his posts quoted extensively at Salon.com.

I ordered the book, and I am anxiously waiting for my copy to arrive in the mail. I just know it will be an ass-kicking read.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that I have known V-Man for more than five years. I have supped with him in a civilized manner in a Jersey restaurant and have been in his company for several blogmeets, all in Southern venues. On one memorable occasion, he helped me down a steep flight of stairs and into the passenger seat of a car after I had suffered severe ataxia as a result of my tangling ass with homemade “Georgia wine.” As such, I’d buy the damned book even if it were written in Sanskrit.

Look, just buy the farookin’ book. If you don’t like it, it will make a handy place to park your drink while you read something else.

This video was posted in a comment by reader JimBob. I’d seen the video referred to in news broadcasts, but this was the first I’d seen it.

It struck a chord (no pun intended) with me, because I used to travel by air with my beloved Gibson Dreadnaught, which is forty-five years old (pictured here). I even foolishly checked it with regular luggage a couple times, only to watch it get bounced around on the luggage carousel. I learned that it is way better to “gate check” it, but even then it is at the mercy of airport luggage peeps, and, as the story in the video points out, sometimes that amounts to a giant FAIL.

I decided I needed a traveling guitar – one I could bring on planes and to blogmeets without worrying about it. Having admired a guitar that the Late, Great Rob “Acidman” Smith played at a blogmeet in Jekyll Island, Rob explained that it was reasonably priced and he said, “I can get you one like it if you want.” I said, “Sure,” thinking that it was a bit of blogmeet bluster.

I few days later I got a call from Rob who was calling from his buddy’s music store. He said, “Jeeyum, I found you a sweet guitar. Listen to it.” With that, he played it over the phone and observed that it “Played real nice.” He concluded, “Buy this guitar, and if you don’t like it, I’ll buy it from you.”

I bought the guitar (here is a picture from the web), intending that it would be a knock-around – don’t-worry about-it-guitar. That was in July of 2005.

I brought my Travelin’ Guitar with me to a Blogmeet in Austin, where I got the chance to play with Rob again. He was thrilled that I was happy with the guitar that he hand-picked for me. That was in May of 2006. Little did I know that Rob would be dead the following month. I wrote about his death and our improbable friendship here.

As you may well imagine, what was to be my knock-around, don’t-worry-about-it guitar is now precious to me. I have since bought another Washburn (similar, but not the same as the one Rob picked out), again from Rob’s friend’s store in Georgia, and it has become my travelin’ guitar. I think that Rob would agree that it “plays real nice.”

Strange how that humorous video brought all that back. Go figure.

I have returned from spending a weekend in Tennessee with a bunch of truly amazing bloggers and great friends of bloggers. If solitude and silence is your thing, a blogmeet is not for you. Get a bunch of half-assed writers in one place and the alcohol-fueled bullshit never stops flying. In addition, if such events were ever filmed (perish the thought!), a laugh track would not be necessary, because someone always seems to be laughing at any given time.

In addition to shit shooting, there was pool shooting (John Cox, artist extraordinaire, and Ken, my bodyguard pretty much ruled the roost at the table), pistol shooting, rifle shooting and shotgun shooting. Oddy, Erica and Elisson (Erica and Elisson being firearms virgins) dazzled the crowd with some kickass shooting.

John Cox, with the help of Johnny O, made a great fire, which provided a primo place to shoot the breeze and check out the stars. The fire also served to keep Dax warm at night, Dax being the only outdoor sleeper among us.

Zonker, probably the best known former blogger ever, gifted Ken and me with some Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka. I had read about the stuff at Joan’s place [fixed the incorrect link] and immediately looked on the web to see if it was for sale in Jersey. No! By a strange coincidence, Usual Suspect and fellow vodka hunter, Captain Art, called me while Ken and I were driving to Tennessee to tell us about the outrageous vodka he discovered while golfing in Myrtle Beach. Yep, it was Firefly. I told him that we would not be able to buy it in Jersey, so imagine my delight when Zonker handed me the gifties. Quite a guy, Zonker (and we share a birthday, so if figures he would be a cool guy).

Speaking of gifties, Recondo 32 and his wife, The Amazing Georgia, both longtime friends of bloggers and lifetime friend of the Late, Great Rob Smith, presented Zonker, Denny and me (all birthday boys) with gifts that … well … hmmmmm … some of what happens at a blogmeet stays at a blogmeet. Thanks youse guys for the gift. It was quite an eye opener.

Of course, Denny (the younger half of the Elderly Brothers) and I did our thing (John Cox handled the percussion, while Dax played guitar in the background, providing some class to the act), and on the second night we cleared the room faster than a beer fart. I think my singing a Bobby Vinton song in Polish did it. It was either that or when I swung into an Ink Spots number Mayyyyyyyybeeeee, yoooo’llllll think of meeeeee”; I’m not sure. I guess we played before people were completely oiled.

Other great bloggers were in attendance:

Bou, was there with sister, Morrigan and Sissy (who hasn’t blogged in a while). They arrived like the Marine Corps on Friday and whipped up a gorilla stompin’ batch of Eye-talian food for Friday night (speaking of food, Oddy brought homemade pies to die for). Bou, who could pass for a twenty-something and who is deadly funny and scary smart, is always a treat to be with. Morrigan, who may be the most radiant pregnant person I have ever seen, is as funny as Bou, and together they are simply deadly (I love how the exchange *blinks* upon hearing some goofy shit). Sissy is more reserved, but is as about as nice as they come.

Redneck (they tell me his site has caught a virus, so no link) was on the case, decked out in his Ohio State regalia and keeping the night shift at the Budweiser Brewery working. On the way home from Tennessee, Ken and I stopped at a Fireworks Superstore to marvel at all the explosives for sale (they’re contraband in New Jersey, you see), and who the hell was in the store buying stuff to blow up, but Redneck! Great minds.

I was very happy to see Jerry, because it gave me a chance to model the wonderful farmer duds he gifted me with last year. Even with the overalls, the Farmer Boy shirt and Indy Tractor hat, I just don’t think I could “pass” at the local feed store. ”Yo, how youse guys doin’? Yo, whadooo I feed dose bigass things out there? All dey eat is friggin’ grass. Dat can’t be good.”

Big Stupid Tommy took some time off work to hang with us. He’s big, but his very short on stupid and long on deadpan wit. Very good peeps.

Elisson and SWMBO were there, and they always light the place up. I believe I could shoot the shit with Elisson, who can whip out some doggerel at the drop of a colander, and who seems to actually know a lot about everything, and I say that in a good way. Hell, he may even know more stuff than I do, which pisses me off. Elisson was in charge of the Sunday eggs, while SWMBO made a Kugel that was so good I believe that several people were considering conversion.

Teresa arrived with her traveling companion, the Wiseass Jooette. Never was there a more unlikely pair of traveling buddies. Teresa executes her traveling arrangements with the precision of a drill sergeant, while Erica is about as together as a soup sandwich when it comes to travelling and keeping all her shit in one sock.

Teresa: I don’t know what’s keeping her. I texted her 8 minutes and 47 seconds ago, and she said she would be here in five minutes!

It’s a thing of beauty, I tell ya.

One of the great treats of attending a blogmeet is meeting new peeps. This year, I got to meet Richmond, who drove in from Wisfarookin’consin. She had me in stitches out by the fire doing her Fargo-Sarah Palin accent shtick. I also learned something about her that truly amazed me. She said in the course of a conversation where it really fit – no really, “I can whistle really loud.” So, naturally, a couple of us by the fire said, “Well, let one rip. We wanna hear.”

With that, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled so loud my ear drums rattled. Caused the dogs within a quarter-mile radius to start barking, it did. Amazing, that. She ought to enter a damned whistling contest. I look forward to seeing her again.

Eric’s pals from the area, Gary and his wife Connie stopped by. Gary, originally from New Jersey, now sounds more southern than Eric. Wassup wit dat? Speaking of accents, Gary’s wife Connie is from Switzerland, and she has spent years speaking English in the South. You wanna hear a great accent!

Finally, a word about Eric, our host, and Mrs. SWG, our hostess. It is impossible to imagine anyone being able to make a gang of reprobates feel completely at home for an entire weekend, but they pulled it off with grace. When Eric wasn’t giving tours showing all the neat stuff he has assembled (while sporting his new pith helmet, which led to lots of “pith” jokes – “Oooh I have to pith!” he was serving as the firearms/safety instructor. When he wasn’t doing that, he was grilling up ten pounds of his special country-cut, boneless pork REE-yubs covered with his signature sauce. I thank them both for a great weekend.

The worst thing about blogmeets is how much it sucks when they are over.

Note: If I have forgotten anyone, I shall blame it on the fatigue and the refreshments. Drop me a note and I will correct the omission.

I found this food meme over at Elisson’s Place a while ago (Elisson being a food swashbuckler — he’s eaten whale fer Chrissake), and I’ve meaning to get around to it. The meme’s origin is here, and it is called 100 Things You Should Eat Before You Die.

After having examined the list, I would be quite happy to throw the sixes without ever having eaten some of these gems. If I fail to fully or even partially identify some of the items on the list, you can hop over to the previous link for an explanation (and sometimes a picture).

Let’s get started, shall we? I’ve indicated the things I’ve eaten in boldface.

100. Venison
Ate it once in Germany, after lots of beer. I won’t be eating it again.

99. Nettle tea
Sounds thorny to me.

98. Huevos rancheros
I have not tried them, but I know I’d like them, because I like the ingredients.

97. Steak tartare
Raw, ground steak with spices and a raw egg in it. I tried it once in Germany. It felt raw. I damned near gagged. If it were cooked, it would be good.

96. Crocodile
Anyone who has spent more than a week or two around here knows the answer to that question. Of course, crocodile = alligator for purposes of this meme. Blecch.

95. Black pudding
A bowl of clotted blood? Are you shitting me?

94. Cheese fondue
Definitely, when it was cool to have a fondue set. I believe we still have one in basement, which hasn’t seen cheese in decades. I believe it is right next to the Simon Game.

93. Carp.
Fish – no thanks.

92. Borscht
Beet soup. Nope.

91. Baba ghanoush.
Some kind of eggplant thing. I like breaded and fried eggplant and eggplant parmigiana, but I never had this stuff

90. Calamari
Deep fried squid. My friends love the stuff. Tasted in once (I believe I was drunk), and it tasted like fishy sneaker.

89. Pho
What the phock?

88. PB&J sandwich
Probably thousands of them. One of the finest things in life.

87. Aloo gobi
According to Elisson, this is Indian cauliflower and potato curry. Never had it, but I’d give it a shot.

86. Hot dog from a street cart
Absolutely. It was always referred to as lunch/dinner “under the umbrella.” We always referred to the vendors of this culinary delight as “umbrella guys.”

85. Époisses
Supposedly seriously rotten, stinky cheese. I suppose if you ate that, you might consider eating a turd.

84. Black truffle
Aren’t these the things that pigs find in the ground and cost a zillion dollars per ounce? Anyway, never had one.

83. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
Sho ‘nuf. Had blackberry, blueberry and even dandelion (although I’m not sure that’s a fruit).

82. Steamed pork buns
I don’t know if this has anything to do with bread, or the boobs on a female pig, or neither. In any case, I never ate ‘em.

81. Pistachio ice cream
Green and delicious.

80. Heirloom tomatoes
Having read the description, I believe home-grown Jersey ‘maters fit the bill. Nothing like a Jersey ‘mater.

79. Fresh wild berries
Ate a bunch of unidentified berries as a kid. I guess I’m lucky to be alive.

78. Foie gras
No farookin’ way.

77. Rice and beans
Si!!

76. Brawn, or head cheese
We always called it (phonetically) “stoogarina.” It is perfectly horrible. When I was young, my uncle dared me to try some. I never completely forgave him for that.

75. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
I like hot stuff. I’d probably like this.

74. Dulce de leche
Sounds a bit like caramel pudding. I think I’d like it.

73. Oysters
I sooner eat a ginder.

72. Baklava
I had this somewhere, but I can’t remember where (drunk?), but it was sweet and delicious.

71. Bagna cauda
It contains anchovies, which for me is dispositive. I ain’t eating it.

70. Wasabi peas
I believe Elisson brought these to a blogmeet. I liked ‘em. Great with Shiner Bock.

69. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
Clam chowder would be great, except for the clams. Blecch. Right up there with oysters. I’d like to break up the sourdough bowel and use it for peanut butter and jelly sammiches.

68. Salted lassi
Apparently it is a yogurt based drink with salt, pepper and spices, mixed up with ice to be frothy. Sounds a bit funky, but I’d give it a shot, because there is no FISH in it.

67. Sauerkraut
Yes! We have a German butcher in town who makes the stuff fresh (to the extent that fermenting cabbage can ever be fresh). What’s a hot dog without kraut? I’ve also tasted it with caraway seeds in it. Excellent.

66. Root beer float
I probably had one as a kid. Never was big on ice cream sodas. To me, it screws up the soda and screws up the ice cream. Now, a milk shake or a malted milk is something else.

65. Cognac with a fat cigar
Definitely, and it’s gottdamned civilized.

64. Clotted cream tea
Elisson “avoid[s] foods and beverages with names containing the word “clot,’” and I completely agree.

63. Vodka jelly/Jell-O shot
Absolutely. Nothing quite like chewing your booze.

62. Gumbo
Fishy soup. No thanks.

61. Oxtail
I had oxtail soup in Germany on a train. I don’t believe I was drunk at the time, so there’s no explaining why I tried it. I think it was good, but after having thought about it (oxtail!), I haven’t eaten it again.

60. Curried goat
No way.

59. Whole insects
Good grief, no! By the way, to me lobster is just one bigass insecty thing.

58. Phaal
More super hot stuff. I’d give it a go.

57. Goat’s milk
Not interested, thanks.

56. Single malt whisky
Many a time, laddie.

55. Fugu
First of all, it’s farookin’ fish, so no thanks. And, I for damned sure would not eat fish that could kill one’s ass if not properly prepared.

54. Chicken tikka masala
Chicken chunks with a bunch of Indian stuff on them. Depending on where the chunks came from, I’d consider giving it a try.

53. Eel
A favorite of my grandmother. Oy! One time she cut off an eel’s head and skinned the damned thing, and it uncoiled out of the bowel. Ack!

52. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
Good, but way overrated. Maybe they’re a big deal in states where you can’t find a real donut.

51. Sea urchin
I’d have to be about to die on a life raft before I’d eat one of these.

50. Prickly pear
“If the outer layer is not properly removed, glochids can be ingested causing discomfort of the throat, lips, and tongue as the small spines are easily lodged in the skin.” I don’t think so.

49. Umeboshi
A Japanese pickled plum. I know more than a few Japanese peeps, and I’ve never seen them eat these. I would give them a try. I did try seaweed. Yes, I was drunk. It tasted just like you’d imagine it would. Blecch.

48. Abalone
Fish trying to disguise itself with a name that sounds like baloney. Nothing gets past me.

47. Paneer
I looked at the picture. The green shit in the cheese turns me off.

46. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
You haven’t had one? I don’t question your judgment, but I do question your patriotism.

45. Spaetzle
Jawohl!

44. Dirty gin martini
Tried it, but I’m a purist when it comes to martinis (gin) – extra dry, up with olives. Lots of things are called “martinis” now, and it’s not worth fighting about, but a real martini is as earlier described.

43. Beer above 8% ABV
I’m sure I had some in Germany. Burrrrrp.

42. Poutine
French fries with gravy and curds on them. Yo, the gravy is OK, but hold the coids!

41. Carob chips
Carob is bullshit, fake chocolate. That is all.

40. S’mores
I can’t believe I’ve never had one, even when daughter was a Girl Scout. What’s not to like?

39. Sweetbreads
Thymus glands. Where do I sign up? Blecch.

38. Kaolin
I believe this would be like eating dirt, and is one of the ingredient Kaopectate, which, I am happy to say I have not had to take in many a year.

37. Currywurst
German Wurst is almost always good, but hold the curry.

36. Durian
“Regarded by some as fragrant, others as overpowering and offensive, the smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust. The odour has led to the fruit’s banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in Southeast Asia.” Ooofah!

35. Frogs’ legs
Sorry, but I believe that peeps who eat these things and say, “they taste like chicken” should eat chicken. Farookin’ frogs? WTF?

34. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
Fried dough. Gotta love it.

33. Haggis
Grew up in a town where the Scottish butcher made and sold this stuff. I can’t imagine being drunk enough to eat it.

32. Fried plantain
They always looked to me like bogus bananas. If it didn’t taste like a banana (which I expect it wouldn’t), I’d be pissed.

31. Chitterlings, or andouillette
No thanks.

30. Gazpacho
I believe that soup should be hot. Period.

29. Caviar and blini
Turns out that blini is (are) sort of like oven-baked pancakes. That sounds OK, but dumping a bunch of eggs from an ugly-ass fish all over them? Blecch.

28. Louche absinthe
One of few (and I do mean few) adult beverages I am not particularly fond of. Tastes like licorice.

27. Gjetost, or brunost
Apparently this is some sort of brown cheese. I question the basis of its brownness and hence would not eat it.

26. Roadkill
Not even a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if it was squished by a tire.

25. Baijiu
Chinese booze. I have yet to encounter any form of liquor that I won’t try. Hell, I like slivovitz.

24. Hostess Fruit Pie
They were a staple when I was growing up. Haven’t had one in many years.

23. Snails
I don’t believe that anyone really likes these, but they order them for effect. Eat a goddamned snail? A snail? You gotta be shitting me.

22. Lapsang souchong
Smokey-flavored black tea. Never had it, but I’d try it.

21. Bellini
A very civilized drink.

20. Tom yum
It’s some kind of soup. I checked out the picture (a shrimp with the eyes looking up from the bowl at the diner). No thanks.

19. Eggs Benedict
This is another one I never got around to trying. Maybe it’s because poached eggs always seemed to me to need more cooking.

18. Pocky
”[A] biscuit stick coated with chocolate,” popular in Japan. Works for me.

17. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
I would probably find most of the things on the menu to be gross. I’d sooner have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk.

16. Kobe beef
I’d order it well done and probably end up in an argument with the cook.

15. Hare
Never had it, nor have I ever eaten tortoise.

14. Goulash
Yep. Very good.

13. Flowers
As noted above, I’ve drunk dandelion wine. Does that count?

12. Horse
Naaaaaaaaaay.

11. Criollo
According to the description, this is more of a style of food in Peru than it is a particular food, but I know I’ve never had food that fits that description.

10. Spam
Yes, in Hawaii, where they eat tons of the stuff. It came in the form of musubi, which is rice on top of Spam, wrapped in seaweed. I could really do without the seaweed.

9. Soft shell crab
Now, these are particularly disgusting. Eat the entire loathsome animal shell and all? Good grief!

8. Rose harissa
Hot sauce. Sounds good, but with rose petals?

7. Catfish
Disgusting. I apologize to my friends south of the Mason-Dixon line, but catfish are farookin’ gross.

6. Mole poblano
Apparently this is a chocolate chili sauce. Never had it, but I have had Swiss chocolate flavored with chili peppers. Sounds goofy, but it’s quite good.

5. Bagel and lox
Love bagels. Pass the cream cheese with chives. Hole the lox!

4. Lobster Thermidor
Lobster, as noted above, reminds me of a large cockroachy thing.

3. Polenta
I’ve had it in a couple excellent Italian restaurants. Very good.

2. Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee
Never had it, but I’d love to try it. Black, no sugar, of course.

1. Snake
This scores a solid 10 on the disgusting scale.

I can’t imagine that anyone has read this all the way through, but if you did, you should treat yourself to a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Now, that’s good eatin’.

The day started fairly early, packing in some morning errands before taking the Big, Fat, Black, Capitalist Car (BFBCC) to Ken’s (my friend and bodyguard) house, where I would turn over the keys to him for the duration. There were various pre-planned phone calls, which would enable us to meet Teresa (coming in from Massachusetts) and the Wiseass Jooette upon their arrival at Penn Station in beautiful downtown Newark. They met up, as planned, in New York’s Penn Station and trained into Jersey.

After a quick tour of the Ironbound Section of Newark with a side trip (no extra charge) to Kearny (my stompin’ grounds as a yoot) for a look-see (a bargain at twice the price), we aimed the BFBCC toward Princeton, which permitted our guest travelers to behold New Jersey’s tank farms on the Turnpike (What’s not to like?).

We arrived at the hotel, met up with Gregor and, within ten minutes, we all assembled at the hotel bar, where, as I previously noted, they stocked Three Olives Chocolate Vodka. Ken’s son stopped by to welcome us to Princeton and to share a pint or two. He also shot pool with Erica, who travels with a special pool glove (talk about dooshbags). I suspect she lost, even with the glove, because, had she won, the entire place would have heard about it.

At the appointed time, we piled into the BFCC for the short trip to the Triumph Brewery for the shindig. I must have already been pretty limber, because I programmed Mr. Tom Tom to lead us back to the hotel, for which I graciously accepted the ration of shit heaped on me by the vehicle’s occupants.

Upon arriving at the Triumph, I finally got to meet Fausta, who really did the heavy lifting to make the party happen. She is a delight, and the snazzy red heels were straight out of the Wizard of Oz. Very cool.

The place was full of old friends, whom I had met before: Suzette, TigerHawk, Shamrocketship, Mr. Surly (my son-in-law), KateSpot, and, of course, the incomparable Denny, the Grouchy Old Cripple, who motored in from Atlanta. There was lots of catching up going on.

I also got to meet some excellent new peeps, such as Eric of Classical Values, Judith of Kesher Talk, Joated of Compass Points, and Mr. Bingley of the Coalition of the Swilling. Time didn’t permit me to spend much time with Mary of Exit Zero or the Baron of Gates of Vienna, but I know there’ll be a next time to get to know them better.

The beer was outstanding as was the food, but blogmeets are mostly about blabbing, and there was plenty of that, for sure.

After the party broke up, those of staying at the hotel along with Mr. Surly returned to … you guessed it … da hotel bar for more chocolate vodka and bullshitting until the bar closed.

It was a great party.

Well, I survived another blogmeet, where I had fun meeting some old friends and making a few new ones.

I knew we would be in trouble when I saw that the hotel were we stayed in Princeton had Chocolate Vodka at the bar. The bartender had to keep going into the storeroom to get new bottles. Yeef!

Too tired and toxic to write at the moment.

It was a good time.

Yeah, I’m talking to those of you who have given some thought to attending the upcoming Spring BlogFest a/k/a Jersey Blogmeet on April 5th in Princeton, but who haven’t yet taken the plunge.

I suspect that you’re thinking runs something like the following, to which I will add my commentary, as a veteran of ten blogmeets in five different states:

Jeez, I won’t know anyone there.
It may take you all of three minutes to know a dozen people. Bloggers are an exceedingly friendly bunch. After ten minutes, you’ll find it hard to get a word in edgewise, because bloggers are not only friendly, they are also loquacious blabbermouths.

Princeton? I’ve heard of the school (Yeah, it’s the one that lost the first intercollegiate football game to Rutgers), but getting there is a pain in the ass.
Car – easy. Princeton sits on Route 1. Trains: They run from various places in Jersey and from Philly and New York. Teresa is making the trek from Massachusetts and the Wiseass Jooette will be schlepping in from the New York Shithole Brooklyn. The Triumph Brewery (the site of the festivities) is walking distance from the station.

What if it’s borrrrrring?
Bloggers? Boring? You’ll be surrounded by peeps who love to write and love woids and who are excellent bullshitters story tellers. Boring? No farookin’ way.

What if I think all the people there are jerks?
I suppose that non-bloggers might think that people who spend too much time sitting in front of a computer reading blogs and way too much time writing stuff to shoot out into cyberspace are jerks, but what the hell do they know?

Will they think I’m a jerk?
I suppose that’s possible, if you plan to show up needing a bath and spending a good deal of time picking your nose or ass and farting loudly and often. Come to think of it, I suspect that farting loudly and often might make you the life of the party. “My goodness, did you hear that? He farts like Hemmingway.”

I have nothing to say to these people.
You have nothing to say? You’re a BLOGGER, fer Chrissake.

My sock drawer needs arranging on April 5th.
Sorry ass. Look, I’ll even let you touch my great farookin’ hair. That’s a helluva lot better than arranging socks or some shit.

So, cut the crap and click HERE to sign up already.

I learned of this from Elisson.

Damned shame that Zonker has called it quits, but I’m really not all that surprised, because it appears that Life 101 has significantly cut into his blogging time. It could also be that blogging didn’t seem to be enough fun to be worth the time. In either case, despite my sadness at seeing Thunder and Roses close down, I completely understand.

Typically, bloggers “meet” online and become cyber friends. In rare cases, cyber friends get to meet in the real world (sometimes called, unflatteringly, the “meat world”). For me, it was the other way around with Zonker. I met him for the first time in Helen, Georgia in 2004, where he showed up without knowing a soul, and no one there (including me) had ever read his blog. Within minutes, he was one of the gang.

Since that time, I have been in his company at blogmeets in Jekyll Island, Tennessee (a couple times), Austin, New York City and most recently again in Helen. He manages to be a consummate gentleman and an ass-kicking party animal all at the same time, which is to say that he can seamlessly move from a serious discussion to wearing a mullet wig, fake tattoos or, most recently, devil horns, and it all works. Zonker is the guy who bought the dirndl that Velociman sported to everyone’s side-splitting delight in Helen last year (pic creds to Sam).

As a writer, he is among the best. He could dash off hilarious material, fire off a memorable rant, and occasionally tear someone a new asshole. Good stuff – all of it.

I will miss him in the Blogosphere, but he will remain a good friend in the “meat world,” and that’s a good thing.

I will be in Princeton, attending this gathering of blabbermouths, where I shall see some old friends and make some new ones. Maybe I’ll even have a couple a few more than a few adult beverages.

So, sign up already.