Yesterday’s election in New Jersey proved to be a field day for incumbents. In the State Senate, all but three of the incumbents running for office were re-elected, while in the State Assembly, only one incumbent was booted. The obvious “takeaway” (I so hate that term) is that everything is just fine with the state of the State of New Jersey, thank you very much.

The more subtle “takeaway” is that the current state of affairs is fine with the majority of the 25 to 30% of the registered voters who actually bothered to show up at the polls to vote. And, in my view, most of them have some sort of a financial or political stake in maintaining the status quo.

For the 70 to 75% of you registered voters in Jersey who believe that being informed means never missing your favorite “Reality” show and who couldn’t drag your ass away from Oprah or your soap operas long enough to vote, I have the following bit of flash traffic for you:

By not staying informed and by not voting, you have waived your bitching rights. The next time a truckload of Trenton political rats is carted away in cuffs, or the next time your taxes are raised to the point of making you puke, kindly spare me your whiny bullshit. Don’t waste my goddamned time. You had your chance to change things, and you blew it.

A teeny-weeny ray of hope did appear in the election. Those who found the time to come to the polls voted down the referendum that would have played a shell game with the sales tax to enable further tinkering with the other shell game known as the “property tax rebate.” They also nixed the state’s borrowing of $450 million to fund stem cell research, a project so favored by the Governor that, at the eleventh hour, he tossed in $150 thousand of his own money for advertisements. Apparently, even many democrats are awakening to the reality of the state’s dire financial straits and did not fall for the ads that tried to turn a bond issue into a referendum on compassion or a lack thereof for people afflicted with tragic medical conditions.

I should also note that in several districts there were no incumbents running for office, due either to retirements or resignations of incumbents (often relating to ongoing criminal investigations or prosecutions), and, as such, there will be some new faces in the legislature. While, at first blush, it might appear as if that could signal the possibility of reform, I don’t believe it will happen. Once the newbies hit Trenton, the well-entrenched, recently re-elected good ol’ boys will show them how things work in Jersey government, and the newly elected (in most cases, after having been finically backed by the controlling party) will go along to get along. It will be more of the same ol’ crap.

Look for yet more Garden Staters to simply pack up and get outta Dodge.

Dear Garden Staters,

Today is ELECTION DAY. This is your chance to change things. If you don’t vote the current crop of cruds out of office, don’t even think about talking to me about the taxes and corruption in the state.

That is all.

Neither.

I took the picture with my cell phone this morning on the way to work. It’s just one of a zillion possible pictures that could serve to show that New Jersey is much more than tank farms and chemical factories. It also reminds me that the state where I have lived all my life (except for a couple years, courtesy of Uncle Sam) is worth saving.

Tomorrow, the rogues and crooks who have put the state on the brink of financial, social and economic collapse will all be up for re-election. Sadly, I have no doubt that the overwhelming majority of them (if not all of them) will be returned to Trenton by the voters of New Jersey, most of whom will stay home tomorrow, leaving the voting to those with a direct stake in continuing with the mess that got us to where we are now**.

I wish I were wrong, but I know I’m right.

We’ll know in roughly 24 hours.

** I find it notable that, as I write this on the night before the election, there is not a single story on the front page of NJ.com concerning tomorrow’s election – not one damned story.

You’ve Got Questions? I’ve got Answers.
Because I’m Very Smart, and You’re … Very Not.

Dear Senator Clinton:

First, let me say that I am very happy that you are willing to take the time from your busy campaign schedule to answer our questions. You are an exceedingly smart and very important person, and, as one of your most loyal supporters, I wish you the best of luck in the primaries and later in the general election.

Now, for my question.

What do you think of that Tim Russert guy having the nerve to ask you that “gotcha” question about the Governor of New York’s plan to give driver’s licenses to illegal aliens undocumented workers in New York, the state you represent in the Senate?

Sincerely,

Edgar Reynolds

Dear Edgar,
First, let me say that it is always a pleasure to answer the questions posed by politically astute people like you. While it is true that I am exceedingly smart and very important, I am, first and foremost, a people person. Ask anyone who knows me.

Memo to that Hamster Face bag of Buffalo shit: Once I’m elected, your ass is mine.

Dear Senator Clinton:

I am a lifelong democrat and one of your great admirers. Still, this is the primary season, and I am weighing my choices for who ought to be our standard bearer in the 2008 elections. In that regard, I would greatly appreciate your candid assessment of the other democrat candidates. It will be a valuable aid in helping me to make my choice in the primary election in my state.

Sincerely,

Martin Balzik

Dear Martin,

P.S. You’ll note that I did not mention that Mike Gravel guy. Frankly, I forgot about that nutcase, and I trust you did as well.

Dear Senator Clinton:

After enduring the unfair treatment you were afforded at the most recent debate by those so-called “men” on the stage ganging up on you, not to mention that turncoat moderator, are you taking any special steps to prepare yourself for the next debate?

Your loyal supporter,

Marilyn McDyke

Dear Marilyn,

Yes, I plan on using nipple clamps for four hours prior to the debate.

Previous Editions of “Ask Hillary”:

Vol. 1
Vol. 2
Vol. 3
Vol. 4
Vol. 5
Vol. 6
Vol. 7
Vol. 8

Nuttin’ today.

Chilly and damp outside.

Have to go out for the evening in a bit.

Probably have something tomorrow.

Play nice.

P.S. Don’t forget to toin yer clocks back one hour.

This horse has more rhythm and is a better dancer than most peeps I know.

Amazing.

Last Saturday, when we all dragged our hungover asses** to the excellent little restaurant in Tennessee where none of the cups, plates and silverware match, the exceedingly nice waitress ticked off what items were available at the All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast Bar. She mentioned eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, pancakes, biscuits ‘n gravy and “fried baloney.” (Yeah, I know it’s spelled “bologna,” but to me, “Bologna” is a city in Italy).

”Did she say ‘fried baloney?’”

Yowza! Say no more. I’m having at the Breakfast Bar.

You see, fried baloney was a staple in our house as I was growing up. We regularly had fried baloney sandwiches and baloney and eggs for breakfast, lunch or dinner. To this day I think that fried baloney and eggs are an important part of a hangover breakfast, which I have managed to cook at times when only one eye would open and I could barely swallow my own spit.

In the Tennessee Café, it was served in single, rather thickish slices. I liked it fine, but the way I have always made it begins with thinly sliced baloney. You cut the baloney into bite-sized pieces and fry it for about three minutes. Then, you dump scrambled eggs over the baloney in the frying pan and cook until firm.

You gobble that down with rye toast with lots of butter on it, and you wash it all down with strong, black coffee. The finishing touch is a cold, carbonated beverage (cream soda works well) to clear out all the grime in your throat.

Then, if at all possible, you take a nap.

There you have it.

You’re welcome.

** Except for Bou, Morrigan and Sissy, all of whom were farookin’ “perky.”

I’m feeling tired and completely uncreative, so I figure that those of you who are relatively new to this place might wish to read my take on Halloween.

Farookin’ BOO!!

Next Tuesday, New Jersey will hold an election in which all the seats in the State Assembly and State Senate are up for grabs. In a rational world, one would think that in a state that is corrupt to the core, a state that has taxed its citizens to the breaking point, a state that has taxed and regulated businesses to the point where it makes sense for businesses to go elsewhere, a state that is mired in BILLIONS of dollars in unfunded liabilities, a state where the governor acts more like the president of the state workers’ labor unions than the chief executive, the incumbents would be shaking in their boots.

Well, I looked over my sample ballot, and it turns out that the Republican Party didn’t even nominate a candidate for the State Assembly (two seats) or the State Senate (one seat) in my district. I will be voting for the candidates “nominated by petition.” I have no idea who they are, but I will vote for them because, even if they come from the planet Mars, they would be preferable to the three lemons who currently hold office.

The election also contains four referenda, three of which are worded so that the lames who go to the polls won’t realize that all three are designed to pick their pockets even more. One is an “additional sales tax to fund property tax reform” (I kid you not). The other two are bond issues (putting the state further into debt is a swell idea).

The fourth referendum is interesting. It is a referendum to amend the State Constitution concerning the right to vote. Currently, the state constitution prevents an “idiot or insane person” from voting. The new language would deny suffrage to “a person who has been adjudicated by a court of competent jurisdiction to lack the capacity to understand the act of voting.”

Passage of the amendment will ensure that the idiots and crazy bastards who brought us the current crop of crooks and jackasses will have their right to vote constitutionally protected.

No wonder so many people have chosen to vote with their feet and get out of this state as if it were on fire.

I spent this weekend in East Tennessee at the home of Eric, the Straight White Guy and Mrs. SWG. I met lots of old friends and made some excellent new ones. I also learned lots of neat stuff.

Ken (my friend and bodyguard) and I headed out Thursday in the Big, Fat, Black, Capitalist Car, and we spent a good portion of the ride in some pretty nasty rain. Still, we were doing OK, that is until we found ourselves in a massive rain-soaked traffic jam caused by the zillion or so people who were on their way to the Virginia Tech – Boston College football game.

Damn, those peeps are hardcore. They were all are wearing variations of orange and maroon, and they have “Go Hokies” flags on their cars, which also bear magnetic Virginia Tech logos and turkeys. Hell, they even tend to drive maroon cars! One guy was driving a maroon motor coach that was roughly the size of Finland on which was painted a Virginia Tech football helmet. Like I said, hardcore.

When we finally stopped for the night in Bristol, VA, we ended up watching the Virginia Tech game in the hotel lobby with few “Tech” fans. Geographically speaking, I should have rooted for Boston, but I felt a strange kinship with the Hokies, having spent so much farookin’ time surrounded by them on the rainy highway. The hardcore Hokie fans sat in the pouring rain, only to watch Boston College take the game in the final two minutes. I actually felt sorry for the very same people I would have consigned to hell just a few hours earlier.

We resumed our ride the next morning in nice weather, and the learning continued:

I learned that Tennessee hosts the self-proclaimed, “Ultimate Beef Jerky Outlet.” The billboard boasts that the Ultimate Beef Jerky Outlet sells over 200 kinds of beef jerky. Two-hundred kinds of beef jerky? Who knew?

I learned that in Tennessee the supermarket named “Bi-Lo” is pronounced “Bah-Lo.” When the young lady at the motel suggested that the “Bah-Lo” would be a good place to buy beer, I said, “Excuse me, but was that BALL-o or BAL-o. I didn’t quite catch it.”

She responded, “No, it’s ‘Bah-Lo,’ B – ah – L – O. BAH –LO.”

We headed off to the Bah-Lo and loaded up the cart with beer. That’s when I learned something else about Tennessee. The very nice lady said, “Sir, I’ll have to see some ID.”

I busted out laughing and said, “You really want to see my ID?” Pointing at my face, I said, “Take a look at this mug.”

She explained that it is a state law in Tennessee that everyone must show ID to buy beer, so I showed her my New Jersey driver’s license (I don’t think she gets many of those at the Bah-Lo) and told her that being asked for my ID was a genuine treat. Sure enough, my birth date appeared on the receipt.

Not too long after arriving at Eric’s with beer and chocolate vodka in tow, I got to meet Eric’s brother Josh, a nice guy who can shoot some serious pool. Johnny Oh, arrived a bit later hauling a teeny trailer that he would use for his backyard accommodations. When opened, the damned thing it contained a bed, table and chair. Amazing. I had met Johnny Oh twice before, and it was good to see him again.

Denny arrived in his Small, Sleek, Blue, Capitalist car with his guitar and some Shiner Bock. Friday night, he put his guitar to good use while serving as the younger half (by nine farookin’ days) of the Elderly Brothers.

At some point, Tommy (of Big Stupid Tommy) arrived, who is indeed big, but decidedly not stupid. I had met Tommy last year as well, but for all too short a time. This year, he got to hang on Friday and Saturday, which was a good thing. He’ll be working on a novel. Good on him.

As the gathering mob began to get hungry, Bou (wearing overalls just for me – bless her Celtic heart), Morrigan (Bou’s sister) and Sissy (a former blogger) arrived like the Marine Corps with a shitload of baked pasta, salad and garlic bread, which was attacked by the waiting jackals with gusto. It was most thoughtful and quite excellent.

After having spent way too much time caught in Atlanta traffic, Teresa and the Wiseass Jooette finally arrived in time for some of the excellent pasta. Teresa, as always, comported herself with style, unlike the Wiseass Jooette who, within moments of her arrival had already threatened to kick a few asses blah, blah, blah.

Eric’s friends Gary (a Jersey native!) and his wife, Connie (from Switzerland), showed up and instantly made lots of friends. Real good folks, them.

Also on the case, was Eric’s and Josh’s buddy Charlie, from whom I learned about Tennessee Walking Horses, yet another thing I didn’t know shit from Shinola about.

The serious consumption of adult beverages literary discussions commenced, with the Wiseass Jooette drinking nasty green shit and others learning the wonders of drinking chocolate vodka. The conversations grew louder and crazier by the moment.

Jerry arrived later, and on the following day slipped away just long enough to return dressed in overalls and a “Tractor Supply Company” ball cap. He was carrying a bale of hay in one hand and a bale of straw in the other, just so I could finally learn the difference. He also gifted me with a genuine home-grown ear of corn. It was funny as hell, but I did finally learn the hay-straw distinction. There is no substitute for visual aids, particularly for the farm-challenged. I promised that next year I would show up in overalls. I must have been drunk at the time.

On Saturday, Rick and Georgia, two peeps I’ve known since the 2004 Helen Blogtoberfest, arrived. They (mostly Georgia – Georgia does most of the talking, while Rick just shakes his head and sighs) told us all about driving to places like Belize and Costa Rica. Later, by the camp fire (yes, there was one, and it was great), Georgia treated us to a Girl Scout song or two, although they sounded more like Janis Joplin numbers to me.

Let me get the following out of the way, as I know it will be a matter of some dispute. On Friday evening, after many adult beverages, the Wiseass Jooette managed to beat me in a game of pool, but the only reason she won was that I had a hard time remembering if I was supposed to sink the low balls or the high balls. And, my supposed friend Ken bullshat me about which ones I was supposed to sink, so I went about sinking Erica’s. The following day, there was a rematch, which she was winning (I was a little ragged around the edges from the night before), but I rallied and was kicking her way-too-close-to-the-ground ass until I managed to scratch out by sinking the eight ball, thereby giving her a poor excuse for a victory. And, that’s the troot, no matter what type of baloney she will doubtless try to sell.

I also learned a shitload of stuff about cows, the milk kind and the eatin’ kind. Eric also told me all about the armed uprising that took place in Athens, Tennessee after WWII. I’m all about learning stuff.

Finally, on Saturday it was time to say good night, as Ken and I would have to skip the Sunday breakfast, opting to get an early start on the ride back home.

I hated having to say good bye to these excellent peeps, but the good news is that I know I’ll get to see them again.

Finally, a special word about my friend Ken, just one of the Excellent Usual Suspects. Between the Helen Blogmeet a couple weeks ago and the gathering at Eric’s place, we logged in about 3,500 miles in the car and had a few mini-adventures and tons of laughs along the way. He is definitely da bomb.