It’s a beautiful day here in the Garden State, so I am off to spend it on The Deck with the Usual Suspects. Vodka, hot dogs and other treats, lots of great music, bobbing about in the pool and just generally enjoying a slice of Life 101.

Later.

Update 7/11/04: It was yet another great day (and evening) on The Deck. Ken, the always-attentive, anal cruise director, had purchased a more space-efficient and easier-to-manage cooler to hold ice on the bar and added a stainless steel scoop, all of which made making drinks easier and, more importantly, faster. What a guy.

Original Bill and Mrs. Original Bill, the Quietly Sinister Linda, arrived late, having spent the earlier part of the day in Ocean County Down the Shore at a family birthday party. They arrived during the live, extra LONG version of “Southern Man,” by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Of course, Bill hated it, which provided him with ample opportunity to pitch a bitch about the music — “You can’t dance to this shit.” We love it. His bitching is even better than the music.

The Other Bill (Bill the Ham) showed up with some excellent cigars for the boys and then spent the balance of the evening making “berrytinis” for him and several of the women Usual Suspects. (Skyy Berry vodka, cranberry juice, and a splash of lemon soda – shaken and served up in a chilled martini glass).

Shelley, our Jewish Usual Suspect, insisted that she doesn’t have a Jewish accent, but only a Jersey accent, to which I respond that she clearly is meshugeh. She pronounces the last name of the singer Billy Joel as “Joe-Well.”

I farookin’ love it.

The Bridal shop that I walk past in the mornings, and which I have previously described here and here, is at it again. This morning I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at a new, hand-lettered sign in the window (to the bemusement of a person waiting for a bus). The sign read:

VIEL’S $49.99
Viel’s???

I wondered, “What is it that belongs to Mr. Viel (or Ms. Viel?) that is being sold for just shy of fifty bucks? Is it everything he or she owns? Or, could it be that his/her belongings are being sold piecemeal? Might he/she have failed to pay for a Bridesmate, or for five individual purchases of shoe? Does Mr. (or Ms.?) Viel know this is happening?”

Voice Inside my Head: Yo, Jimbo.

Me: WHAT!!! Can’t you see that I’m busy blogging here?

Voice Inside my Head: Jimbo, this is just silly.

Me: What the hell are you talking about? This is a real store. This is a real sign. I saw it this morning!

Voice Inside my Head: Jimbo, everyone knows that the shopkeeper, who obviously does not speak English very well, was selling VEILS. All this “Mr. Viel” stuff is just way too silly.

Me: Screw you, Voice.

So, that’s what the new sign said. Gotta go.

I had good blogging intentions. Really I did. However, Life 101 has worn me out today. So, as in the past when this happens, I will fall back on a gem that my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet, sent to me.

A small boy was lost at a large shopping mall.
He approached a uniformed policeman and said, “I’ve lost my grandpa!”
The cop asked, “What’s he like?”
The little boy replied,”Harley Davidson Motorcycles, Jack Daniels, and women with big tits”.

The hell of it is, I think I know the guy the kid is looking for.

Nicolo MachiavelliA federal grand jury charged a Democrat fundraiser for New Jersey’s Governor for extorting cash and political contributions from a citizen in exchange for favorable treatment by the state.

Here are the high points:

A Jersey Farmer named Halper has land that the state wants to condemn. The State offers farmer $3,000,000. A Democrat fundraiser for Governor McGreevey, named David D’Amiano, (who, when not raising funds for the Governor operates a waste hauling and recycling business) approaches the farmer and offers the state’s help with the condemnation in return for a payment of $20,000 in cash and another $20,000 contribution to the State Democrat Party.

Unbeknownst to fundraiser, farmer goes to FBI and wears a wire for future meetings.

Farmer tells Democrat fundraiser that he wants a meeting with the Governor and some county officials to discuss the price of his farm. He also tells the fundraiser to tell the government officials to use the word “Machiavelli” during the meeting as a code word in order to signify that the government officials knew of the deal and approved of the political payoffs.

At a future meeting, one of the county officials was recorded using the code word “Machiavelli”

Apparently yet another government official also used the same word:

About a month later, D’Amiano introduced Halper to the governor at a fund-raiser at the East Brunswick Hilton. During their conversation, McGreevey allegedly told another official there that Halper “was reading from ‘The Prince’ by Machiavelli to learn how to deal with the negotiations involving the farm,” the indictment said.

When recently asked about his use of the code word, the Governor responded, “It is not a code word, it is a literary allusion.” He continued, “For those of you who know me, in New Jersey politics ‘Machiavelli’ is not a far-off, remote word but all too often describes certain political antics.”

Halper eventually paid approximately $40,000 in cash and political contributions, and the state changed the price it was willing to pay Halper for the farm from $3 million to $7.2 million.

And, a good deal of it is on tape.

This could be one to watch.

Update 7/8/04: Governor McGreevey responded to the indictment, which he concedes refers to him and does so 83 times, as: (a) politically motivated, (b) conjecture and innuendo, (c) an attempt to besmirch his character and integrety, and (d) entrapment. Time will tell, I suppose.

This morning on the radio I heard a recording of Teresa Heinz Kerry stating how she and Mr. Kerry (and his new pal, John Edwards) plan to visit and campaign in several states, including “The Tennessees.” When did that happen?

I presume that she and Mr. Kerry will take a private plane from their home in “The Massachusettses.”

This will be a helluva four months.

I am growing a zit, which is approximately the size of Finland, next to my nose.

I could use some Windex.

I have lived all my life in New Jersey, so I think that I can say with some confidence that the Garden State is not generally known for the friendliness of its citizens. Maybe it’s because there are so many of us packed into such a small state. Maybe it’s because we have more than our fair share of con artists and wiseasses here, and we have learned to be wary of people’s motives (i.e. “What does this guy want?”). Who knows?

By contrast, I have noticed in my travels that people generally seem friendlier in other parts of the country. Passing someone, one on one, on the street almost always begets a “hello,” or “good morning.” I found myself wondering whether I may be partly to blame for my take on the apparent lack of congeniality of many Garden Staters. Although my habit is to greet each person I encounter, one on one, during my morning walk, I thought a little “experiment” was in order.

Accordingly, the other day, I made sure that I smiled and said “good morning” the same way to each person I encountered, one on one, and I kept track of the kinds of responses I received in return. On that day, I encountered and greeted six people. Three people ignored me, and two grunted something unintelligible. One person responded, “Good morning. Isn’t it a beautiful day to be outside?” What was interesting and a little sad to me was that the person who responded in kind (and then some) spoke with a clearly recognizable Eastern European accent.

I concluded from my less-than-scientifically-rigorous observations that if you’re from Eastern Europe, you appreciate being able to walk free on a nice day. It’s a bit of a shame that we often seem to be too busy, too rude, too self-absorbed, too jaded, too callous, too cynical, or maybe just too damned stupid to appreciate what we have.

Note: This is being posted several hours later than I had intended. As I was completing the final paragraph, we lost power in our neighborhood. I read outside for a while by candlelight, which made my eyes tired and served to remind me of the value of Thomas Edison’s invention. I then made myself comfortable in Mr. Recliner in a candlelit room and listened to a small transistor radio. Not a bad way to spend the evening. I’ll bet that the guy from Eastern Europe would agree.

Update: This morning’s scorecard: Three averted sets of eyes, one smile, and four “good mornings” (three of which preceded my “good morning”). Maybe those three people are not from here, or maybe they remember me from previous “good mornings” and have decided that I am neither a kook nor a mugger. 🙂

It was a great party.

We went through a couple hundred pounds of ice, a gallon and a half or so of vodka and several bottles of other kinds of spirits and loads of beer. There was also bottled water and soft drinks on ice, for those not booze-inclined, the diabetics, and the designated drivers.

There was Italian sausage, kielbasa, baked ziti, chicken, and a small boatload of hot dogs and burgers, and salads of all descriptions. Finally, there was an array of desserts (many home-made) that could send one into sugar shock just by walking too close to the table.

Ken and I did not fare that well in the horseshoe pits, losing initially to our archrivals, and being mercilessly taunted by the bastards, the poor winners that they are. They took great joy in reminding us that our loss to them put us in the LOSERS’ brackets. We then went on to beat one other loser teams (Eddie, the mechanic, and his wife, who never played horseshoes before – not a victory we could brag very much about). We then lost a close one to another pair of losers, one of whom (Bill the Ham) threw off his right foot (like a girrrrrlll) and the other, born and raised in Scotland and who probably would be a great horse shoe player if he were allowed to kick the horse shoes instead of pitching them (it’s that soccer thing). Since last night, I have been pondering credible excuses to explain our less than stellar performance. I think I’m going with “bad ice.”

A couple memorable (at least to me) quotes that I can remember.

I hate that fiddley shit
The Original Bill on his opinion of the Dixie Chicks.

I never had a haggis until I came here.
Jim, from Scotland, on his experience with that dreadful Scottish specialty.

Do you think you could go higher?
One of the female Usual Suspects (who, for obvious reasons, shall remain nameless) on her thoughts during a recent foot and leg massage by “Gio,” which precedes a pedicure.

So, have you assholes found anyone you can beat?
One of our arch rivals who were blessed with incredible luck yesterday in the pits.

It really was a great day.

On a more serious note, one of the archrivals, the ever-hilarious Art, will be going into the hospital tomorrow for some cardiac surgery (to prevent potential problems down the road). We all are pulling for his speedy recovery. Of course, this means that the next time we kick his ass, he’ll be blaming the heart thing.

HAPPY FOURTH!!

Tomorrow the Usual Suspects, along with a couple dozen Honorary Usual Suspects, will gather on “The Deck” for the annual Fourth of July Bash. This year, the gate to the yard will bear the sign you see above, which was created by Mark, a young, but long-time friend of the Usual Suspects. Excellent job, methinks.

As in the past, the shindig will be hosted by Ken, the Anal Cruise Director, and his wife Kathy, the Deckmistress. There will be all sorts of things to eat that are bad for you, although there will also be a veggie platter for those so inclined. Naturally, we are hoping for good weather, but the Deck is a covered and lighted affair, much like an outdoor saloon in Key West. So, we go straight ahead, rain or shine. Also much like a Key West saloon, the place will be awash with booze and beer.

The music (quite varied, but absolutely no rap) will be loud and always serves as a constant source of banter and verbal jousting. It always has a familiar pattern:

Original Bill: “What the hell is that?”

Jimbo and Ken: “That’s Jimmy Buffet, the Live Album.”

Original Bill: (Makes an unpleasant face)

Ken to Jimbo: “He hates it.”

Original Bill: “I don’t hate it, but I don’t like it.”

Jimbo: “Oh yeah. So we should play some shitty Four Seasons songs?”

Original Bill: “Well, it’s better than this shit.”

Jimbo to Ken: “OK. It’s settled, for his next birthday Bill gets two tickets to a Jimmy Buffett concert, and I’ll spring for a hat with a farookin’ parrot on it.”

Original Bill: “Screw you guys. I’m gonna get a drink. You need anything?”

Invariably later in the evening something like the following always takes place. Imagine, if you will, that Paul Simon is singing, “Call Me Al,” while everyone is sitting around a large table shooting the shit.

Jimbo: “Wait. Wait a minute. Listen…. Just listen for a minute. It’s coming up in about five seconds. This is an absolutely amazing bass lick. Ya gotta listen to this.”

Everyone: (ignoring Jimbo and continuing to talk)

Jimbo: “I can’t believe you’re not listening. Just listen to this amazing bass lick.”

Everyone: (Most quiet down, wondering what the hell I am talking about)

Jimbo: “OK. Listen….Here it comes…..One more second…..NOW!”

[Bass lick plays}

Jimbo: “Wasn’t that absolutely amazing?”

Everyone: “WHO GIVES A SHIT!!!!!” (talking resumes)

Jimbo: “Assholes.”

In addition to the music and the inevitable sideshow it spawns, there will be swimming. I must admit that it is a bit disingenuous to call it swimming, because it really is better described as standing around in the water, drinking, smoking and occasionally eating some Italian sausage or kielbasa that is being passed around by someone outside the pool. It’s not exactly a Mark Spitz swimming thing.

Throughout all this, the Never-Ending Horseshoe Competition proceeds. Ken and I are a regular team, and we are the reigning champs, although there are a couple guys who regularly insist otherwise. Ken, the Anal Cruise Director, has placed drink holders, ashtrays and towels at both ends of the pits. That is very civilized, even though the competition for bragging rights is anything but genteel. Gloating after a victory is an absolute must, as is insisting that the winning team just got lucky.

Bottom line: It is a great way to spend a day with good friends. I can’t wait.