The Virtual Leash
This morning, while I was doing my morning walk, I saw a guy walking a little yip-yip dog on a leash. The dog remained about three paces behind the guy. I noticed that the leash came off the yip-yip dog’s neck and that the guy walking the dog didn’t notice. He kept on walking without ever looking back at the dog.

The dog remained the same three paces behind the guy while he was dragging the leash behind him with no dog attached to it. The yip-yip dog looked across the street at me, and I could damned near see a thought bubble over its head saying, “Yeah, I know. But, he’s really not that stupid most of the time.”

Pedicure and a What?
The Hair Salon in town that offers EyebroW Threading (I wrote about it here) has a new sign up. It announces that, with each EyebroW Threading, you get a pedicure “and filling”. Filling? Why would anyone’s feet need “filling”? Filling with what? Seems to me that when one gets a pedicure, the idea is to have things taken away from your feet (e.g. toenails, maybe calluses and other stuff too punky to mention). But, “filling”? WTF?

The Bridal Shop
The signage at the local bridal shop has provided me with blog fodder in the past, and I’m happy to report that, after a rather long period of seeing signage that made sense, today I was treated to the following:

Selling “bridalmaids”? Bridalmaids? Mothers and a Prom are on sale? I think I get the idea, but Sheesh. Press 1 for English.

Hair!
For some time now, I have been walking past a store that sells wigs. This conclusion was based on the white ceramic-appearing heads in the window, each of which sports a different “do”. Today, I was walking on the opposite side of the street and noticed the large sign over the store (How did I miss it before?), which reads:

Gadzooks! These people are trafficking in human hair! Farookin’ hair merchants!

Now that I think of it, I believe that, in the past, I have seen people from that store checking me out as I strutted my shit past the shop window.

A word to those hair-selling shits. Keep your greasy eyeballs off this magnificent mane! It is NOT for sale.

One evening during my exile to Comcastic Island of the Damned, a colleague asked me if I would be interested in schlepping into the City (which is how we North Jersey folks refer to New York City) with him to see Jersey Boys. It seems that when he purchased the tickets months ago he miscalculated the date his family would be out of town visiting his in-laws, and he (a genuine Jersey Boy) thought that I, also a genuine Jersey Boy, and one who has banged around the music business, would appreciate the story of the genesis and ultimate success of the Four Seasons.

Truth is, I was never a big Four Seasons fan. Except for Rag Doll, which I always thought to be a great tune, I found much of their music at best boring and, at worst, screechy and annoying. Several months ago, some of the Usual Suspects (several of whom are huge Four Seasons fans – particularly the Original Bill) had seen the show, and, to a person, they reported that the show was absolutely fabulous. They insisted that I would love it.

I, therefore accepted the offer of the ticket, and it turns out that the Usual Suspects were absolutely right about the show being absolutely fabulous. I absolutely loved it.

The music was beyond wonderfully performed by the four guys who play the Four Seasons (particularly the actor who plays Frankie Valli). Indeed, I found myself wondering whether the real Four Seasons would have performed it as well live as did these guys.

The story of the four Jersey street guys who became internationally famous was engaging and chock full of “Jersey stuff”. I “got” it, as did the numerous big-haired folks in the audience who had come to the City from the Jersey side of the Hudson River. We loved the references to “eating at the Belmont” (a famous, but very plain Italian restaurant on Bloomfield Avenue that is best known for Chicken Savoy and a Sopranos-like clientele) and the references to the “Four Seasons Bowling Alley”, which was the inspiration for the group’s final choice of a name, and which was about three miles from where I live.

Perhaps, more importantly, the actors had “Jersey” down pat. In one of my favorite scenes, Frankie Valli is explaining to a Jersey girl that he changed his name from Frankie Castelluccio to Frankie “Vally”. It went something like this:

Frankie: My name is no longer Frankie Castelluccio; it’s Frankie Vally.

Girl: How do ya spell it?

Frankie: V-a-l-l-y.

Girl: It can’t be V-a-l-l-y. It’s gotta be V-a-l-l-i. It’s gotta end in “i” not “y.”

Frankie: Why can’t it end in “y”?

Girl: ‘Cause “y” is a BULLSHIT LETTER!

Pure Jersey snark, that.

Although I believe the Jersey peeps in the audience particularly appreciated the show, I overheard many out-of-towners (several of whom were clearly from way, way below the Mason-Dixon Line) raving about the performance. They, like the locals in the audience, wildly applauded each number and ended up giving the entire cast a well-deserved Standing O.

The bottom line is, if you’re from Jersey take the trip across the river to see this one. You will not be disappointed. If you are not from around here, but you plan to be in New York, call ahead and make reservations to see Jersey Boys. I guarantee you two and half hours of first-class entertainment.

Voice Inside my Head: “Yo, Jimbo. What is this crap? You see a show about the Four Seasons and all of sudden their music is no longer screechy and annoying? And now they’re the best freakin’ thing since pepperoni pizza?”

Jimbo: “Aaaay, I’m jus’ sayin’”

I got an e-mail from Amazon today informing that Matty o’ Blackfive’s book is on its way to the House by the Parkway. I hope lots and lots of peeps got the same e-mail.

Can’t wait to read it.

Best o’ luck, Matt.

Listen, I gotta head out the door for a bit o’ dinner (and perhaps a cocktail or two), but I ask you – If you had access to 121 tee shirts, wouldn’t you want to put them all on at one time?

No?

Well this guy did just that for a world record. Check it out.

Via The Ultimate Insult

This will be the first and the last time the name JonBenet Ramsey appears here.

The macabre fascination that people have with the horrible murder of this little girl is appalling to me. Now, more than ever, with the arrest of John Mark Karr, this unspeakable crime has become a hideous parlor game presided over by talking heads on cable news stations. The usual cast of blowhard lawyers, windbag pundits and so-called “experts” of every stripe have re-emerged to spew nonsense and to re-fill their bank accounts, all at the expense of this dead child.

Then there are the radio talk shows where people who drive fork-lift trucks or are landscapers give their “opinions” not just on the guilt or innocence of Karr (of which they are somehow certain), but also their “opinions” on things such as the admissibility of evidence and the usefulness of “degraded DNA”.

Lawyers are fighting with one another to get a chance to represent Karr, even for free – just to get the camera time. Karr’s relatives are already trying to sell media rights. Psychics, conspiracy kooks and freaks of all kinds are clamoring to get a piece of the action.

It’s positively maddening, and, what is worse, the media frenzy has a huge potential to corrupt the system. It certainly did just that in the O.J. Simpson case. Can there be any serious doubt that, had O.J. Simpson been a regular guy, and had the justice system proceeded in its normal fashion, the evidence against him would have put him away forever?

If John Mark Karr did kill this child, I hope he is convicted and punished as severely as the law will allow. It would be nice if the system were simply permitted to work as it does thousands of times every day in courtrooms all over the country.

So, as far as I am concerned, nothing will produce a television or radio station change, a page turn, or a mouse click faster than a bunch of JonBenet Blather. You sure as hell won’t get any here.

Expert astronomers meeting in Prague have decreed that Pluto is not a planet.

In a related story, expert zoologists meeting in Geneva have decreed that Mickey is not a mouse.

It happened in Jersey, but this guy is not me.

Neither is this guy.

This, from my lawyer friend Jack., who is a lawyer and a democrat. I’m cool with the lawyer part, but I figure that the democrat thing must be due to some kind of virus.

A guy walks into a bar and sees a gorgeous woman nursing a drink.

Walking up behind her he says, “Hi, there, good lookin’? How’s it going?”

Having already downed a few power drinks, she turned around, faced him, looked him straight in the eye and said, . . .

“Listen up, buddy. I screw anybody, any time, anywhere, your place, my place, in the car, front door, back door, on the ground, standing up, sitting down, naked or with clothes on, dirty, clean … it just doesn’t matter to me. I’ve been doing it ever since I got out of college and I just flat-ass love it.”

Eyes now wide with interest, he responded, “No kidding. I’m a lawyer, too. What firm are you with?”

Can I get a rimshot?

It’s been quite some time since I’ve addressed some of the finer points of Jerseyspeak. Pay close attention to the following, because it might keep you from getting your ass kicked when visiting the Garden State. You got a problem wit dat? No? OK, let’s go.

One of the examples of Jerseyspeak that I have always found to be interesting is the use of the terms “Not for nothing”** (which is pronounced “nah-fuh-NUTTIN’”), and “I am just saying” (which is pronounced “I’m-jus sayin’”).

The former is used to introduce one’s gratuitous opinion on a matter, particularly when the person offering the gratuitous opinion has some reason to believe that the opinion may not be well-received or believed by the listener. The latter is immediately employed in cases where the gratuitous opinion is challenged.

Consider, if you will, the following exchange between Tony and Angelo, two business associates:

Tony: “Yo, nah-fuh-NUTTIN’, but I think that guy Sal is ripping us off.”

Angelo: “You gotta be nuts! I know Sal for years. He may be an asshole, but he ain’t a teef!”

Tony: “Aaaaay, I’m jus sayin’.”

As you can see, the “nah-fuh-NUTTIN’” linguistic device permits Tony to subtly alert Angelo that he is about to make a statement, which may be outlandish, insulting, or just wrong, and from which Tony may have to distance himself, depending on the Angelo’s reaction to the statement.

The “I’m jus sayin’” device permits Tony to escape responsibility for having said such a thing, ironically by asserting that he was only saying it.

Jerseyspeak – It’s an art form.

** One could scratch one’s head bloody trying to discern the literal meaning of the double-negatived verbal tic “not for nothing”. “Not for nothing”? If something is “not for nothing”, doesn’t that mean that it is “for something”? I have to stop thinking about it, as I am getting blood under my fingernails and screwing up my great farookin’ hair.

Dear Jimbo:

I’ve been out of college for three years now, and I haven’t been able to find a job. Got any tips?

Sincerely,
Timmy “Skeets” McManus
Jersey City, New Jersey

Dear Timmy:

Let me know how you make out.

Yo, Jimbo,

I just turned 57, and I’m thinking about having my ear pierced and getting one of those cool diamond studs for my ear. Waddya think?

Rock on!
Ron Steuben
Madison, New Jersey

Dear Ron:

You’re clearly an asshole. You should spend your ear piercing, diamond stud-buying money on something more age-appropriate. Good whiskey comes to mind. Unless, of course your current job involves piracy, in which case you should have both ears pierced, have one of your eyes gouged out and buy a parrot.

Dear Jimbo:

I have like this really cool idea. I think they should build a bridge that connects New Jersey and England. That would be like so totally cool. There could be an exit on the Parkway somewhere around Seaside Heights, and the sign could say, “Exit 82 – Seaside Heights, England”. This way you could stop off in the afternoon at Seaside Heights for a swim and a walk on the boardwalk, and then head off to England for dinner.

They could get the English people to build half of it, and where the two halves come together, there could be something like the golden knot they tied at Purgatory Point when the railroads came together. You know about that, right?

Super bonus!! We could put a tollbooth on our side, and the bridge would pay for itself.

Great idea, no?

Your pal,
Maxwell V. Stoner
Point Pleasant, New Jersey
P.S. Jimbo, please keep this to yourself, because I am thinking about trying to get a patent.

Dear Maxwell:

Here’s my suggestion. Try staying away from the weed for about three weeks, and if at the end of that time you still think this is a swell idea, I suggest that you consider some prescription meds. Or, perhaps try swimming to England for dinner.