Craig at mtpolitics has decided to give up blogging for the forty days and forty nights of Lent.

I’m kinda bummed about the prospect of not seeing his stuff during that time, but that is admittedly selfish of me. Knowing how important blogging is to Craig, I have no doubt that his decision was well thought through and deeply rooted in his faith. He’s definitely a good guy.

Da Goddess has it (the Diamond Edition) up and running here. She did a mahvelous job and has a particularly creative theme. I cannot imagine how much work goes into putting that all together.

Go read.

In fact, I think I will spend most, if not all, of my allotted blogging time tonight over there reading what others are saying. It works out well, because the needle on my creativity meter is hovering close to empty tonight. Who knows? Maybe something someone submitted to the Carnival will inspire me to flail away at these keys later, or maybe something will spark an idea for tomorrow, when I am hopeful that my muse isn’t continuing to actively ignore me.

Kudos, Joanie.

In a comment to yesterday’s post, one of my Montana blog buddies, TL Hines, advised me that Wachovia, which I was pronouncing as Watch-OVAH-ya, is really pronounced “Walk-OVAH-ya.” This was confirmed by a reader, Dex, who hails from Virginia, which he notes is the state in which Wachovia first surfaced.

As a result of receiving this important information, I decided to share my feelings with the people at Wachovia in the following open letter:

Dear Dweebs of Wachovia:

Yours is but one of the many banks that, for one reason or another, has taken up residence in my town. However, the thing that distinguishes your bank from the others that comprise this invading hoard is that your bank has a really dumb name. What the hell kind of name for a bank is “Wachovia”? Do you mean to tell me that people actually leave their money in a place with dipshit name like that?

Now I learn that, not only have you given your crummy bank a seriously lame name, but also that you pronounce it funny. How the hell do you get “Walk-OVAH-ya” out of Wachovia? No English speaking, right-thinking person would say it that way. Are you people from Mars? Estonia?

So, what’s the deal? Is this one of those instances where you say, “Well, Jimbo, It’s spelled ‘Wachovia,’ but it’s pronounced ‘Hornswoggledillyfuddywalawalabingbang’.” (Thanks and apologies to Monty Python) Baloney!

Look, I question whether our town is big enough for 15 banks, but I am damned sure that we don’t have room for a bank with a ridiculous name, which is made even worse by your insisting that it be pronounced in some dumbass way.

I believe that I speak for all the fine people of my town (many of whom, by the way, are veterans — something that is decidedly trendy these days) when I demand that you knuckleheads change the name of your bank to something that sounds more like a damned bank, rather than some Boy Scout summer camp. Wachovia, indeed. Feh.

In the meantime, I intend to continue to do all my banking at Augie and Tony’s Savings and Loan, where everyone who opens a new account gets a coupon for a medium pepperoni pie at Giglio’s Pizza-rama.

Get with it, or get outta town.

Yours truly,
Jimbo the Bank Crank

Rodger and the gazillion hits his site has received has smoked up his bandwidth for the time being. He can be found at his lifeboat site on BlogSpot.

Do a bookmark, so you don’t miss anything.

Banks keep popping up all over the place in the town where I live. I don’t get it. It is not a “wealthy” town by any stretch of the imagination, and yet it seems as if there are more banks in my town than there are in the city of Zurich. We have two Dunkin’ Donuts stores, one 7-11, and three Quick-Checks, but I’ll bet that we have 15 or 20 banks. WTF?

However, while the number of banks in the town and the lack of any apparent reason they are cropping up all over the place may be interesting (then again, maybe not), it is not the reason I started writing this post.

You can properly ask, “So, why are you boring us with this bank baloney, Jimbo?” I don’t have a good answer, other than to say that the words are already on the screen, and I hope that this post turns out to be at least as interesting as one of those quizzes that we all sometimes fall prey to (e.g. What kind of communicable disease are you?)

The reason for this post is that, this morning while I was walking, I noticed that one of the banks identifies itself with a large, modern sign in front of the building that that says, “Wachovia.” I thought, “Watchovia. Pretty strange name, that.”

It then dawned on me that “Wachovia” is excellent “Jerseyspeak” for “Watch over you.” You know, as in, “Don’t worry ’bout nuttin’ Kid; I’m heah to Watchovia.”

I hope, for everyone’s sake, that tomorrow’s walk results in something slightly more interesting.

It is hardly news that the HBO hit show, The Sopranos, will be returning on March 7th. Many of us in Jersey have a special affinity for the show for various reasons. Among them are:: (1) the story is set in New Jersey and makes references to real Jersey towns and other locations. For example, when Uncle Junior says that he lives on Watsessing Avenue in Bloomfield, we can relate; (2) the majority of the location scenes are shot in New Jersey (e.g. the famous opening montage; I recognize just about every snippet), and (3) many of us know (or knew) people who look, talk, and, to one degree or another, act just like the characters in the show. (Yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as organized crime in New Jersey.)

Over the weekend, we learned that a federal court judge in U.S. District Court in Newark ruled that a Jersey resident, Robert Baer, himself a judge in a Passaic County municipal court, was not entitled to share in the show’s profits.

Baer had sued David Chase, the producer/creator of the show, alleging that he (Baer) had discussions with Chase when the show was in its development stage and that he introduced Chase to people with real underworld contacts. According to Baer, in exchange for these discussions and introductions, Chase promised a share of the proceeds of the finished product.

The court ruled that “the essential terms of the contract cannot be determined, [and] that the alleged agreement is too indefinite to allow the court to ascertain with reasonable certainty what each party agreed to.” That is, of course, a legalistic way of saying that Baer’s case is as about as dead as headless Ralphie Cifaretto.

Bada-Bing!

I saw this over at A Secular Franciscan Life, and it absolutely cracked me up.

The Usual Suspects and others have been in their basements today digging out their old albums and 45 records, because tonight we are doing our first “Vinyl Night” at the Post Bar. Earlier today I picked through the couple hundred albums I have stored away in the basement to find ones that contain songs that people are not likely to have on CD. Among them are albums by: Lloyd Price, Steppenwolf, Paul Revere and the Raiders, and Little Richard. I am also bringing a box of 45’s that I played hell out of when I was in high school. There are some gems in that box, as well as some “What-the-hell-was-I-thinking-about” stinkers.

We set up three turntables and some kick-ass speakers, and Paulie’s brother, Willie (he deserves his own post), has volunteered to spin the “Stax o’ Wax.”

The food will be classic Jersey fare – pizza and subs (They would be “hoagies,” “heroes,” or – heaven forbid – “grinders” for you folks who are not from here). The bar will be open, and we even moved the pool table to make a bit of a dance floor.

I intend to have a few cocktails, enjoy all the tunes, scratches, pops and all, and I might even take to the dance floor.

It should be fun, and the Post will make a few badly-needed bucks.

Update: Vinyl Night was a huge success. The music was great to hear, and watching it come from those three turntables was something I hadn’t seen in quite some time.

Unfortunately, this morning’s headache, fatigue and general malaise serves to remind me that I proably enjoyed Vinyl Night a tad too much. It is even more unfortunate that I have to drag my weary ass back to the Post today, as it is my turn to tend bar.

It could be a long day.

George Will poses 28 questions to Mr. Kerry, and he promises more to come.

Via Newmark’s Door

It seems that Cousin Jack and another tax lawyer disagree about a tax law issue that Jack has spent a good deal of time thinking about and writing about.

This other fellow opined that Jack’s reasoning was circular.

Jack’s reserved and scholarly response is here.