Monday, February 20, 2012

Shooting Pool With Joe

A short entry, but this will put Goddess’ mind at ease.

After I had my fill of New Jersey clams I back tracked to New Castle and cross over to Wilmington, Delaware. Knowing I was close to Joe’s house in Greenville, I knew I would be remiss if I didn’t stop in and pay my respects. Sort of. Knowing he never put two and two together last time we played pool, when I peed on the table, I got a warm and gracious greeting from the Vice President.

Joe is always a good sport about things. If you forget as much as he has, you have to be. We got down to business right away, racking up the balls and shooting pool. Joe thinks he is pretty good at this, but I’ve played with better, including Prince William last year at his bachelor’s party. Put a few brews in the VP and he thinks he rules to cue sticks. Not so much.

We watched Whitney’s funeral on the tube which kind of distracted Joe. He really got into that good old time religion stuff. I don’t care what the Democratic elite says about religion. They intuitively know that when it comes time to meet the Maker it is time to sing like the spirit moved you all along.

I decided not to mistreat my host this year and passed on messing with the house. Joe’s got a lot on his mind, with reelection and stuff. But it will take him a couple of days to find the cue ball. Hey Joe, got to keep you on your toes.

Took a look at the map and decided to head west. Mexico is a long ways south and if I am to return to NY by June, successfully accomplishing my Mayan mission I best make tracks.

Tracks. Yes, train tracks. Since Joe is a great fan of Amtrak, I thought I connect to a west bound train to New Orleans. I can hear Arlo now.

"All along the southbound odyssey..."

Monday, February 13, 2012

New Jersey

Some have been concerned about my delay in the Garden State of New Jersey. I have also caught some flack over the mystery of this stay. Come on, peeps and anipals! You sent me on a quest to find the secret behind the Mayan calendar, but how could I resist the secret of why New Jersey is called The Garden State? My search for the answers behind the Mayan’s The End of Times dilemma can wait. Maybe the world will end before I get to the jungles of Mexico? Meanwhile, the Eastern Shore puzzlement.

So, after I stowed away on the New York Giant float to celebrate their Super Bowl victory (Yes, Blumberg is an opportunistic oaf.), I shuttled with the team back to New Jersey where they wrapped up a thrilling season. I gave my congratulations to Eli and Victor Cruz and headed off to find the gardens of New Jersey. The boys told me I would find them back in New York City at Madison Square Gardens, but I already knew that wasn’t true.

The northwest corner of New Jersey use to have more cows than people, but that was when Goddess’ mom grew up there before WWII. There are the coolest mineral deposits in this neck of the woods. Odgensburg. The old zinc mine attracts rock hounds from around the world all in the hunt for rare fluorescent minerals. Pretty, but no gardens.

For a traveling cat the Turnpike and the Parkway is a precarious adventure. Skylines are littered with refineries and chemical plants and other intimidating gray materials (thinking asphalt highways, huge bridges and parking lots). Greenhouse effect has nothing to do with starting gardens. But interestingly enough the state is a low carbon emissions producer. One reason is nuclear power. Not green but glowing? Oyster Creek Nuclear Generating Station came online in 1969 making it the oldest operating nuclear plant in the country. Take that to your next trivia party. Still nothing looks like a garden.

It is winter but even in my wildest kitty imagination I can’t see green in this state.

The mystery of the name? I know for a fact New Jersey’s corn in mid-July is the best you can get. I love corn. So get over it. And Goddess won’t eat blueberries until the season hits New Jersey. She always said that blueberries raised south of New Jersey weren’t worth eating. But I’m not seeing the gardens.

So I trudged, accidentally into Camden. A tough hombre town. The last place on earth to find a garden. This is where I stumbled on the fact that a dude named Abraham Browning, of Camden back around the Centennial compared New Jersey to an immense barrel, filled with good things to eat and open at both ends, with Pennsylvanians grabbing from one end and the New Yorkers from the other. Well good things to eat sounded enticing, but when I hear anything compared to being an immerse barrel I think Governor Chris Christie. Not gardens. I think this is like naming Greenland, Greenland. A trick.

I prefer New Jersey’s other nickname. The Clam State. So I’m off to the shore. Following the old taste buds never did me wrong.

The classic view of Camden, New Jersey in 2010. Image Copyright and courtesy of The New York Times

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

Adventure Annnouncement

Well boys and girls, we are headed on an adventure for 2012. My ramblings this year have great scientific purpose. I embark on a journey on the same epic level as Perry to the South Pole, Hillary to the summit of Mount Everest and Indiana Jones to the Temple of Doom. I am going to, for once and for all, solve the meaning behind the Mayan calendar. Yes, fifteen peeps want me to unlock this mystery. That is fifteen out of seven billion. My public calls. However, I ask, “What the hell are the rest of you thinking?” The world is made up of more than Jersey Shore, Dancing with the Stars and Glee. Honestly.

You know the saying “curiosity killed the cat.” I just hope this proves untrue.

As soon as I get the Old Man distracted I’ll slip out the door. First stop New York City, baby I feel a bagel binge coming on.

To all those who voted, thank you so much. I think.