I am proud and pleased to have been named by Christina as the “GodFaddah” of the “Feisty Family.” In Jersey, being named a GodFaddah ain’t no small potatoes.

I guess I’m gonna have to get busy makin’ people offers dey can’t refuse, but foist I gotta go pick up da cannolis.

Tanks, Christina.

Christina has posted Chapter Four, and it’s a killer. If you’re late to the game, her site tells you where to find Chapters One through Three. So, go read, already!

If you signed up for a college course entitled, “History of political, social, and diplomatic developments that have shaped the U.S. since 1960,” I think you could reasonably expect to receive a survey course that provides an objective presentation of the patchwork of perspectives on the “political, social and diplomatic developments” that might shape our society.

Apparently, if you signed up for that course in UCLA and the course is taught by this professor, you will receive anything but an objective account of the political, social and diplomatic developments that have shaped America since 1960. In fact, according to a former student, you will be in for a semester of the “socialist rendition of history, with no regard for the many other sides of the account,” he describes as follows:

Her bottom-line version of recent American history was some cocktail of male hegemony, racism, class systems, and the vast right-wing Republican conspiracy. Early in the quarter, she went on a rant against capitalism and the market system, which she defined as “the weird faith that everything will work out fine.” “Capitalism isn’t a lie on purpose. It’s just a lie,” she lectured us, “It’s easy for us to look back and say these people [who believe in markets] are dorks.” And for the climax, “[Capitalists] are swine.… They’re bastard people.

Apparently, not only did this professor make no claim to objectivity, but she also was intolerant of opposing viewpoints, both in class and in handing out grades. Perhaps, at a minimum, the course should have been entitled, “A Socialist View of the History of ….”)

I understand, and I believe it is important that universities should be places where students are exposed to the vast marketplace of ideas. At the same time, I think it is the role of the faculty to fairly present a cornucopia of ideas and to foster discussion in a forum that encourages disparate views, showing intolerance only for those that are poorly reasoned, as opposed to simply being contrary to the professor’s personal views.

I absolutely do not think that it is the professor’s role to use his or her classroom as a pulpit from which to advocate a personal political ideology, with the goal of turning the members of the captive audience into ideological clones.

This has nothing to do with “academic freedom,” but has everything to do with academic professionalism and competence.

Via Chad Adams.

I actually had a bit of content that I thought might work, but it just wasn’t writing right. You know how that is, I’m sure. So it became a choice between trying to do radical surgery on content that was, at best, in guarded condition, or having a few cocktails and watching a movie. Cocktails and a movie won.

However, I did receive a joke in my e-mail from my friend Bill from Missouri, a Navy Vet, that I thought was pretty funny. I’ll dedicate this one to Dash, who lives in the Lone Star State.

—————————————

Two men were driving through Texas when they got pulled over by a State Trooper. The cop walked up and tapped on the window with his nightstick. The driver rolled down the window and WHACK, the cop smacked him in the head with his nightstick.
“What the hell was that for?” the driver asked.

“You’re in Texas, son,” the trooper answered. “When we pull you over in Texas, you better have your license ready by the time we get to your car.”
“I’m sorry, officer,” the driver said, “I’m not from around here.”

The trooper runs a check on the guy’s license–he’s clean and gives the guy his license back. The trooper then walks around to the passenger side and taps on the window. The passenger rolls down the window and”WHACK”, the trooper smacks him on the head with the nightstick.

“What’d you do that for?” the passenger demands.
“Just making your wish come true,” replied the trooper.

“Making WHAT wish come true?” the passenger asked.

“Because I know your type,” the trooper says, “two miles down the road you’re gonna turn to your buddy and say, ‘I wish that asshole would’ve tried that shit with me!’

I’ve decided that if you want a quick way to gauge how complicated your life is or is not, you need only reach into your pocket or purse and take a look at your keys.

For the first sixteen years of my life, I did not carry a single key. I didn’t even have a house key, because we almost never locked our doors (and I’m talking about New Jersey). My parents would lock the doors when we would go away for vacation, but even then the door was locked with a skeleton key, which was cleverly placed under the doormat.

That changed when I was sixteen and someone stole the family car, and my father installed a real lock on the door. That meant that I had to carry one key. The following year, I got my driver’s license and a set of keys to the family car, bringing me up to three keys.

Fast forward………..

Here is what is on the key ring that I carry now:

One big, fat, computer-chip key for the big, fat capitalist car
One trunk key for the big, fat capitalist car
One computer thingy (unlocks the car, etc.) for the big, fat capitalist car
One valet key (works the ignition, but doesn’t open the trunk or glove box) for the big fat capitalist car
One fat computer chip key for the “other” car (a big fat Ford)
One trunk key for the “other” car
One computer thingy (unlocks the car, etc.) for the “other” car
One key to office
One key to outer office door
One key to outer-outer office door
One key to desk
One key to alternate office
One key to Veteran’s Post
One key to house (front door)
One key to house (back door)
One cigar-piercing gadget
One small penknife
One discount plastic thing for Shop Rite Supermarket
One discount plastic thing for Wegman’s Supermarket
One discount plastic thing for discount liquor store (well worn)
One dog tag (with name, service number, social security number, religion and blood type)

See what I mean?

In the early morning hours, FBI agents descended upon several municipalities in Monmouth County and arrested three mayors and eight other government officials for various corruption charges ranging from extortion to money laundering. The arrests were made as a result of an FBI sting in which agents posed as contractors seeking government contracts. They got the contracts, but not until they passed envelopes full of cash to the elected crooks who were arrested today.

Jerseystyle.net has photos of the some of the more prominent arrestees and some interesting commentary. For a view of a Monmouth County blogger’s reaction to this, take a look at The Atlantic Highlands Muse.

One cannot live in New Jersey for as long as I have (i.e. my entire life) and not be cynical about state, county and local politics and the widespread corruption that is legendary at every level of government. However, as I grow older my cynicism has turned to outright revulsion.

In this case, all the FBI had to do was give these political hacks just a tiny whiff of payoff money and they hit the bait like hungry sharks. It’s disgusting.

What’s particularly shameful is that it took the FBI to mount this investigation. Noticeably absent is any mention of New Jersey law enforcement officials having been involved in investigating this widespread corruption. I do not think it unreasonable to suggest that, if New Jersey’s Attorney General is not part of the solution, he must be part of the problem.

Also, I have had it with a lifelong succession of politicians vowing to “clean up government.” As Sluggo points out, this investigation and the arrests were made by the FBI “[w]hile the pols in Trenton mumble aimlessly about reform and pay-to-play legislation… ..”

Perhaps most depressing of all is that if behavior of New Jersey’s voters at the polls is any indication, they don’t seem to give a damn about any of this. It’s just business as usual in the Garden State.

The other day I saw a young girl (I would guess her age to be about 13 or 14) on her way to school. She was wearing a skirt and knee-high stockings, the kind that women wear with slacks. It reminded me of the pre-panty hose days (Yes, I was alive then) when the old ladies would bunch their stockings in a knot just below the knee and wear them that way with a house dress.

I was wondering whether this “look” is now hip, at least around these parts.

I thought the kid looked pretty silly, but I’m sure if she were shown old pictures of me and my contemporaries marching off to school in boat-neck shirts and, later, with Beatle haircuts and wearing in Austin Powers – like duds, she’d think that we looked pretty damned silly too.

I was reading this post by Christina and this one by Sluggo, both of which are about the joys and challenges of raising little girls. Their posts caused me to remember something that happened to me a few years back.

After having worked particularly late one evening, I stopped at a local saloon for a drink. As I was sitting there nursing my drink and decompressing from the day, a young guy bounced into the place and walked briskly over to the stool next to mine and took a seat. He was absolutely beaming. I didn’t have to ask what had made him so happy, because he immediately volunteered that he had just come from the hospital where his wife had given birth to a baby girl just the day before. He proudly showed me the photo of his beautiful baby daughter.

His unbridled joy was contagious, and before I knew it, we were talking “daughters” and toasting his good fortune. We agreed that there isn’t anything more beautiful in the world than a little girl running around the house. It brought back wonderful memories, as, at the time, my daughter was no longer running around the house, but rather was away at college.

I liked the guy and was genuinely happy for him, so I thought I would give him the benefit of my experience in dealing with daughters. Of course, one could write a book on the subject, but I wanted to impart to him the single most important thing I learned from the experience.

I said, “I’m going to tell you something now, and I am asking that you remember it always.” He eagerly nodded. “In fact, in about a dozen years from now, I hope you say to yourself, ‘Jeez that guy I met in the bar all those years ago really knew what he was talking about.’ This advice, if heeded, will save you countless hours of frustration, aggravation and downright exasperation.”

I suppose he expected something more profound than what he next heard, but sometimes profundity creeps in on cat-like feet. I looked him in the eye and earnestly said,

”SHE. WILL. NOT. KEEP. HER. ROOM. CLEAN.”

I continued, “All the bitching, threatening, hollering, and stomping in the world will not change this cosmic truth. So, just understand the reality and be happy just to keep perishables from rotting in the place and attracting vermin. Otherwise, just learn to close the door.”

He thanked me, but I’m certain that he was too swept up in the moment to take me very seriously.

I, therefore, say to all of you with young girls in your house: Don’t fight it. You will most certainly lose. You may experience an occasional “victory,” but in the long run, it is like trying to sweep back the tide. You’re life will be much more pleasant if you don’t try to alter something that has been cosmically pre-ordained.

Now, laminate that advice for your wallets and gaze upon it as necessary.

That is all.

Thanks to my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet.

I don’t like seafood.

I know that, in this regard, I am an outlier. My experience is that most people do like seafood, including most of the folks listed over there on the left, some of whom have written lovingly about eating fish and the like. This is not to disparage seafood lovers. I celebrate your love of seafood. I just hate the stuff.

To me, seafood smells (and therefore tastes) like a tackle box smells and how I would imagine a tackle box would taste – “fishy.” I know…I know…You’re thinking, ”Yo, Jimbo, that’s because you haven’t eaten fresh fish. Fresh fish doesn’t taste ‘fishy’.” Well, I have tried “fresh fish,” and while it may not taste “fishy,” it doesn’t taste like anything, so what’s the point? And, if there is a touch of “fishy” remaining, the idea is to cover it up with lemon, paprika, tartar sauce, garlic, Tabasco, butter and Christ knows what else. Again, I ask, what’s the point?

And, then there is sushi. Jesus! The chef can make it look pretty like candy, but it’s still Raw Fish!! If one has to eat the stuff, it ought to at least be cooked. Hell, civilized people have been cooking food ever since some knuckle walker first harnessed fire. So why, all of a sudden, is eating raw farookin’ fish the rage? I tried raw fish (sashimi) once (I was really, really drunk at the time – honest, I really I was), and it tasted just as I imagined it would. FAROOKIN’ BAIT!!

Not surprisingly, if I cannot stand the thought of eating raw seafood, the thought of eating it while it is STILL ALIVE completely grosses me out. I’m talking about those people (including members of my own family) who slurp down raw clams and oysters. Dash (permalink is fried – see 2/9 post) and Rob have both written about eating raw oysters and the joy of chewing those live units. Gentlemen, you can have mine. To me, that’s life raft chow.

As I said, I know that I am in the minority on this issue, and I have gone so far as to learn to swallow without gagging eat shrimp (usually fried and doused with lemon juice and slathered with tartar sauce), just so I can go to seafood restaurants with seafood eaters and not look like a complete jyerrrrrkoff by ordering the “Landlubber’s Special.”

Don’t even think about getting me started about gott-damned crabs!