I am having one of those days where I cannot think of anything I feel like writing about, and I am convinced that I will never again have anything to write about. So, rather than simply submitting to the mush that is between my ears at the moment, I will give myself a few minutes to do a bit of stream of consciousness, at your expense of course.

1. 24. I thought I was the only person in the United States who has never watched “24” on television. Funny thing is that I said that to four people I was having lunch with and three of them had never watched “24” either. That made me feel better.

2. The Sunday Blowhards. This past Sunday I tried to watch Meet the Press, <,I>The Chris Matthews Show (whatever it’s called) and The McLaughlin Group. Big mistake. I thought I might need an ambulance.

3. Disgusting Food. Elisson blogged about a sandwich, the mere thought of which almost made me throw up in my mouth.

4. Sock Drawer. It wasn’t easy, but I finally threw away my olive drab Army socks (the ones that I wore under my combat boots). I figure they have been sitting my one of my dresser drawers unworn for thirty-five years, so maybe it was time. I’ve been to blogmeets where I tell peeps, “I have socks older than you.” I don’t know what I’ll tell them now.

5. College Sweatshirt. I also threw away a college sweatshirt that is older than my Army socks. Boola boola.

6. Department of Irony. Scooter Libby is on trial for not being able to remember stuff and Hillary is running for President. What a country.

7. Nostalgia. I feel like taking a ride to the town where I grew up, and cruising around a bit, just for the hell of it. I don’t know why I don’t do it, because it’s only about twenty minutes away. Maybe I’m afraid that I’ll be bummed out by the changes. Then again, maybe I’m just farookin’ lazy.

8. My High School German Teacher. I wonder if she’s still alive. She’d be pretty old by now. I wonder if she met me would she still say, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

9. Political Fatigue. This week I have been Hillary’d and Obama’d damned near to death. There’s nowhere to hide.

10. Techno-Revelation. I learned that I can take pictures with my cell phone and send them to my e-mail address. I figure that by next year I’ll be ready to hook up a DVD player.

That is all.

Barry, Barry bo arry Bonana fanna fo Farry
Fee fy mo Marry, BARRY!

Have you voted yet for Sgt. Hook, our favorite Command Sergeant Major and a son of the Garden State?

If you don’t know what I’m referring to, look here.

If you have not voted yet, please go VOTE NOW.

That is all.

Once again, I will be heading to the Post to sip a few cocktails and hang with The Usual Suspects. I’ve known most of them for about twenty years, so they definitely qualify as old friends.

Last night I attended a wedding (my Best Man’s daughter), which was attended by a handful of friends I have known since high school and at least one of them since seventh grade. I hadn’t seen them in more than thirty years. The Bride’s father didn’t tell me they were coming, and he didn’t tell them I was coming. He only told them that there would be a “surprise guest.”

Although we’ve all changed in thirty plus years, we recognized one another instantly, and in two minutes the thirty years evaporated. Everyone’s hair has turned gray to one degree or another and a couple of the guys have lost much of their hair (I took a fair amount of ribbing for having kept all of mine).

Even though everyone’s appearance had changed (thirty years will do that to you), I noticed that none of their voices had changed at all. When I closed my eyes when people were talking, it was 1968 all over again. We were seated at the same table, which gave us plenty of time to re-tell old stories, laugh hysterically and generally have a great time.

At the end of a terrific night, we exchanged phone numbers, e-mail address and promises not to let another thirty years go by (as if any of us will live that long).

I, for one, intend to keep my promise.

Dear Jimbo:

I have this problem with my wife. All she does is whine and complain about everything. She tells me that everything I do is stupid and that I’m stupid. She even calls me names. When I ask her how she would like things done, she just continues to say that she hates my way of doing things and that I’m stupid. She is spending us into bankruptcy, and when I tell her we can’t afford things, she tells me “go get a raise from your rich boss.”

Can you help me?

/s/Frantic in Freehold

Dear Frantic:

Oh, and next time around, don’t marry a democrat.

Dear Jimbo:

Dude, I live in New Jersey too!!! I read your blog every day, and I think it is way cool. I read it aloud to my pet snakes, and they always laugh and tell me how much they love your blog too. I was wondering if we could get together at your place (I’ll bring the snakes), and we could read your blog out loud together and then maybe play some guitars. I don’t know how to play guitar, but, if you have an extra one, I could pretend I’m playing along with you. The snakes would love that. What do you say, buddy?

Your pal,
/s/Randall (Call me “Randy”) Rudolf

Dear Mr. Rudolf:

I think you should move to Florida and buy yourself an alligator.

Dear Jimbo:

I figure you can help me with this problem. You see, I have an unusual hobby. I like to walk into bars and, as soon as I walk through the door I say really loud, “You’re all assholes, and I can kick the shit out of every sonofabitch in this place!”

My problem is that I’ve tried this a couple times in Jersey and got my ass kicked. The same thing happened when I crossed the river and tried out my hobby in Harlem.

I figured I’d try heading south. So, I drove to Georgia, making a couple hobby stops in Tennessee along the way. In Tennessee, I got a major beating and damned near got myself stabbed. Georgia was worse. I ended up in the hospital.

Do you have any suggestions?

/s/Rocky Randucci

Dear Rocky:

One word. … Berkeley.

Guess in which state the most expensive house sold in the United States in 2006 is.

Yes, indeed. It is New Jersey.

The 7,000 square foot house on 63 acres of property in Alpine, New Jersey was sold for $58 million by Henry Clay Frick II, “the grandson of the steel magnate who founded the Frick Collection, one of the finest collections of European paintings in the United States.”***

Being a regular Garden State property tax victim payer, I can only imagine what Mr. Frick’s annual property tax bill must have been.

***It is not all that surprising, given that Alpine is located in a very desireable part of Bergen County, which is in the northeast corner of the state and just across the Hudson River from New York. In 2005, Forbes magazine ranked Alpine 8th on its list of “Most Expensive ZIP Codes. Over the past couple of years, Alpine has attracted several well-moneyed entertainers (e.g. Wesley Snipes and Stevie Wonder) and (occasionally arrested, imprisoned, shot, or otherwise engaged in gunplay) rappers, including Fabolous, Li’l Kim and P. Diddy. Other celebrities such as Russell Simmons and his brother Joseph Simmons a/k/a “Dr. Run” of Run-DMC, live in nearby towns in Bergen County.

Given the momentous issues confronting the nation and the deep divisions among Americans concerning the proper way to address those issues, it is uplifting to see something that has been reported as bi-partisan agreement on this most important matter.

[W]ith the ascent of Nancy Pelosi, 66, widely recognized and admired for her Armani and easy fashion savvy, the days of the dowdy Washington dress code may be numbered. At least that is the hope of a number of women on Capitol Hill, Republicans and Democrats, who see Mrs. Pelosi, the new speaker of the House, as a fashion leader, too.

[snip]

During her first week on the job, Mrs. Pelosi clinched votes in the House on the minimum wage, financing for stem cell research and Medicare drug prices, drawing two veto threats (for research and drugs) from a notoriously veto-averse president.

And she did it looking preternaturally fresh, with a wardrobe that, while still subdued and overreliant on suits, has seldom spruced the halls of Congress. On Jan. 9, a Tuesday, she wore an impeccable black and white tweed skirt suit, with strong shoulders and the jacket nipped at the waist; on Wednesday, she draped a red shawl insouciantly around a red suit outside the White House; and on Thursday, she appeared in a mod, deep-blue velvet, slimming pantsuit.

Fashion authorities say Mrs. Pelosi should be applauded for her color choice (burgundy on Jan. 4, the day she was sworn in), her playfulness with jewelry (chunky, but tasteful, including signature Tahitian pearls) and her suit selection (from velvet to tweed), all of which can be imitated at a more affordable price by women who are not wealthy. Women are already taking note of her style; orders of Tahitian pearls have skyrocketed.

Tahitian Poils!!! Who knew?

What does one do when, despite a bracing walk in 18-degree weather with a stiff wind (finally!), one has nothing of particular interest to write about? Why, one writes about blogging, of course. And, when one can’t think of anything particularly profound or humorous to say about blogging, what does one do?

One categorizes and counts stuff, of course.

Which got me to thinking about where in the world the peeps come from who have found their way to my blogroll. I have, therefore, decided to list the fifty states and highlight those states that are represented on Mr. Blogroll. I have also noted those places other than the fifty states from where Peeps on the Mr. Blogroll are blogging.

Please note that there are at least a couple dozen entries on Mr. Blogroll, the home state of which I am not certain. If you are listed in Mr. Blogroll and your state is not highlighted, please let me know.

Here goes:

STATES
ALABAMA
ALASKA
ARIZONA
ARKANSAS
CALIFORNIA
COLORADO
CONNECTICUT
DELAWARE
FLORIDA
GEORGIA
HAWAII
IDAHO
ILLINOIS
INDIANA
IOWA
KANSAS
KENTUCKY
LOUISIANA
MAINE
MARYLAND
MASSACHUSETTS
MICHIGAN
MINNESOTA
MISSISSIPPI
MISSOURI
MONTANA
NEBRASKA
NEVADA
NEW HAMPSHIRE
NEW JERSEY
NEW MEXICO
NEW YORK
NORTH CAROLINA
NORTH DAKOTA
OHIO
OKLAHOMA
OREGON
PENNSYLVANIA
RHODE ISLAND
SOUTH CAROLINA
SOUTH DAKOTA
TENNESSEE
TEXAS
UTAH
VERMONT
VIRGINIA
WASHINGTON
WEST VIRGINIA
WISCONSIN
WYOMING

PLACES OTHER THAN STATES
District of Columbia
Canada
Germany
Ireland
The Netherlands
Africa

Not surprisingly, Garden Staters are the most prevalant on Mr. Blogroll. Texans (Blown-Eyeds) are next, with Georaia and Florida tied for Second and Illinois, Massachusetts, Montana and California tied for third.

Pretty amazing, the Blogosphere, no?

As the SPEAKER was nodding off while resting after her Botox treatment, working on her tan and a bottle of Cristal, Rosa, her housekeeper, was picking up empty bottles near the place where the SPEAKER was resting.

Nancy: Dammit, Rosa. Can’t you see I’m resting?

Rosa: I’m sorry Ma’am. I didn’t know you were sleeping.

Nancy: You didn’t know I was sleeping? Didn’t you see that my eyes were closed?

Rosa: No, Ma’am. I could not see your eyes, because you had them covered with – are they pickles?

Nancy: No, they’re not pickles, for Chrissake – they’re cucumber slices – organic goddamned cucumber slices.

Rosa: I’m sorry Ma’am. But, now that you’re awake, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.

Nancy: Well, now that you’ve screwed up my nap, you may as well ask. What is it?

Rosa: Remember a year ago when I asked if I could get a raise?

Nancy: Oh, Jesus. Is that what you want to talk about? I really don’t want to get into that shit all over again.

Rosa: I know you don’t like to talk about it, Ma’am, but I really am having trouble making ends meet on $2.50 an hour. I was hoping that you could raise my pay by a dollar an hour.

Nancy: Are you shitting me? That’s a forty percent increase!! You are one ungrateful cow! You think it’s all about money? Don’t I let you use the kitchen to make your lunch?

Rosa: Yes, but I bring my own food to cook.

Nancy: You think electricity grows on the friggin’ trees, Rosa? Christ, I give you all my old copies of People magazine, I give you two ten minute breaks a day, I give you my old lipsticks, and I let you take stale bread home to make whatever the hell it is you people make with it. On top of that you want to be paid $3.50 an hour? Don’t be ridiculous.

Rosa: Well, Ma’am. I just thought that, you know, when I saw you in the news talking about raising the federal minimum wage, you might ……

Nancy: What the hell are you saying?

Rosa: Please, Ma’am. I’m not asking to be paid the minimum wage, even though the lady at the Department of Labor said I was entitled to it.

Nancy: You called the Department of Labor?

Rosa: Don’t worry, Ma’am, I didn’t tell them who I am.

Nancy: You listen to me, bitch. You pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll ship your ass back to Shitholas, or whatever you call that dump you’re from.

Rosa: I apologize, Ma’am. It won’t happen again. I promise. But, what about the raise? I really could the extra money.

Nancy: No friggin’ way. You comprende? Now, bring me two fresh slices of cucumber and another bottle of Cristal.

Rosa: Right away, Ma’am.

After a too-long hiatus, he’s back.

Go look.