It will be faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive.

It took me long enough, but I finally ordered a new computer. As we speak, the custom doodads are being placed under its hood. It is a kickass 17” notebook that contains the memory of a 100 herds of elephants and will be as fast as an F22 Raptor. It’s bad to the bone. The mondo unit will be WiFi’d so that I can create these pearls of wisdom from anywhere in the House by the Parkway and its immediate surroundings.

When I don’t feel like blogging from the Deck or from Mr. Recliner, I will be able to place it into its docking station and use a regular keyboard and mouse and check shit out on a new 19” flat screen. Screw something up? No problem. I’ll have an external drive that backs everything up. Hell, it’s even got a webcam in it, which will come in handy if I ever feel like mooning the ‘sphere.

Fortunately, a colleague and friend of mine, who is a serious computer guy, has graciously volunteered to come to the House by the Parkway and wire it all up and make sure it’s battle ready.

Of course, once he leaves, I’ll have to figure out how to make all of it work. I may have a question or two.

Can a digital camera be far behind?

Stay tuned.

I finally got around to buying a DVD Player.

Although finally buying something in 2007 that has been available since 1996 is pretty lame, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. We have a laptop DVD player and another one built in to the upstairs TV, but the built-in DVD player was on the fritz. What makes this a big deal is that I never had a DVD player hooked up to the TV in the room where Mr. Recliner resides. Don’t ask. It’s a long, boring story starring Yours Truly as the Techno-Doofus.

Anyway, a week or so ago when I tried to fire up the VCR (I had one of those, but I hadn’t used it in a couple years) to tape the final episode of the Sopranos for a friend of mine, the damned thing was obviously kaput. As a result, I had to move the TV (and the cabinet housing it) away from the wall to unplug the stuff that married the VCR to the digital cable box and the TV.

While I was behind the TV, I took the time to see what kind of inputs the TV has. I had always thought that because it is a very old TV (Don’t ask. Another long story), it lacked the necessary inputs to permit the hookup of a DVD Player. To my surprise, it looked to me (based on some recently acquired information about DVD Player hookupage) that hooking up a DVD player might not be out of the question. Visions of actually watching DVDs while sitting in Mr. Recliner began to dance in my head.

As it happens, Ken, my friend and bodyguard, was at the House by the Parkway to do me a huge favor (more on that at a later date), so he took a look and confirmed that a DVD player could be hooked up. Seeing as how he was headed out to Best Buy to look at some speakers, I decided to go along to buy TWO DVD Players – one for the upstairs TV and one for the room where Mr. Recliner resides.

I managed to find exactly what I was looking for, namely two DVD Players that do absolutely nothing more than – you guessed it — play DVDs. I don’t want to record TV programs, I don’t want to program the thing to come on and go off at specified times (as if I could if I wanted to), and I don’t want programmable electric asswipes. I wanted two widgets that PLAY DVDs – nothing more. They were on sale for $29.95 each!

Ken, being anal and all, and also knowing that I would wring my hands for months over actually plugging the units in, insisted we return immediately to the House by the Parkway to install them. He managed to do just that on both sets without reading any instructions, but rather by plugging and unplugging wires and pressing a shitload of buttons until it was right. I need to learn how to proceed with such reckless techno-abandon.

So, yesterday, I happily planted my ass in Mr. Recliner and actually watched a DVD, one that the Wiseass Brooklyn Jooette gave me in Kerrville, suggesting at the time that it was something that a Jersey Guy would like. I did — a lot. Perhaps more on that later.

Oh yeah. There is probably one benefit to waiting so long to get around to buying a DVD Player. I’ll bet you couldn’t buy one for $29.95 in 1996.

Dave from A Different Lemming, a member of the Montana Cabal, sent a couple of his “agents” to Jersey where they took photos of my house, my car and even some pictures that hang on the walls of the House by the Parkway. Invaded my privacy, they did.

I should have known something was up when I saw two guys in front of my house, who obviously were not from here. Both sported greasy mullets. One guy wore a ratty looking tee shirt on which appeared the words, “Larry’s Beef Jerky Emporium, Billings, MT” and the other wore no shirt at all, but he had a large horse’s ass tattooed on his back. They both were barefooted as they sat on the curb in front of the house picking their toes and spitting “backy” juice in the street.

They spoke very loudly so I easily overheard their conversation

:Jed: Hey Zeke, how’s she goin’?

Zeke: She’s goin’ real good, Jed. How’s she goin’?

Jed She’s goin’ real good, Zeke.

Zeke: Goin’ real good, is she?

Jed: Yep, Zeke, real good.

Zeke: It’s good when she’s goin’ real good, ain’t it Jed?

Jed: Yep, Zeke, it sure is.

Zeke: Got any beer?

Jed: Nope.

Zeke: Damn, just when she was goin’ real good too.

Jed: I know. She was goin’ real good, wasn’t she, Zeke? That’s a bitch.

Zeke: Wanna see if we can find us some horseshit to step in?

Jed: Great idea, Zeke.

As they got up and began to walk down the street in what certainly would be a futile quest for horseshit, I could still hear them talking

.Jed: Think anyone around here will know we’re from Montana?

Zeke: Nah, they only speak Eye-talian in these parts.

Jed: Oh, I forgot. How’s she goin’, Zeke?

Zeke: She’s goin’ real good, Jed. How’s she goin’?

I think the CIA could use these guys.

It was a very busy week, and I’m glad it’s over. I badly needed a cocktail when I arrived home, but what to drink? I was out of chocolate vodka, out of mango vodka and out of peach vodka (Stoli – very good). I had plenty of regular vodka, but it was not in the freezer, and the thought of straight vodka, vodka with fruit juice or even vodka with seltzer just wasn’t moving me.

Brown whiskey? I have an ample supply of that, but it seemed too warm for bourbon, and scotch hasn’t been my drink of choice for quite some time. Hell, I needed a garden-watering drink. I assume everyone waters the garden while drinking a cocktail. No? What is wrong with you? It’s most civilized.

I started pushing bottles in the liquor closet around until I spotted a bottle of Kahlua. Oh, yes! Black Russians. Absolutely.

I grabbed an On-the-Rocks glass (a nice size – not one of those bullshit glasses you get in a cheap saloon when you order something “On the Rocks”.) and filled it with, yes, CLEAR ice. Dribbled Ketel One Vodka over the ice until the glass was 2/3 full. Then, I added the Kahlua until the drink was just the right color. (Free pour and eyeball, Peeps. Measuring is for amateurs.). The appearance of the drink should fall somewhere on the spectrum between slightly watery Coke (vodka heavy) to iced coffee (Kahlua heavy). I opted for something in between.

I washed a couple of those down (one while watering Mr. Garden) and had another while da Boigers were grillin’. Sah-WEET!

The bad news is that I don’t feel much like blogging.

The good news is that I don’t feel much like blogging.

I think that I shall read a while, watch some tube and be most grateful that it’s Friday.

Update: I thought I had posted this at about 9 p.m. Obviously, I clicked the wrong button. Good thing I wasn’t doing surgery or packing parachutes. Damned Black Russians!

Well, LALOLKFATYK stands for “Learn A Lot Of Little Known Facts About Those You Know”. Anyone who has spent more than an hour in the ‘sphere knows what a “Meme” is. Such a person would also know that a Meme survives by virtue of those peeps having received it “tagging” others to join in the “fun”.

In this case, I was tagged by the Wiseass Brooklyn Jooette. She was tagged by Randy, a member of the Montana Cabal, who never seems to miss an opportunity to send me pictures of alligators and then mock me for being afraid of those prehistoric creatures (as if Montana was thick as fleas with gators).

I think that Randy and those Montana guys need something to do with their time other than staring into their farookin’ Big Sky. For openers, they could all use a good healthy dose of Sunday night northbound traffic on the Garden State Parkway in August. Hell, there are more peeps caught in Parkway traffic on those nights than there are in the whole farookin’ state of Montana.

As for the Wiseass Brooklyn Jooette, she suffers from Jersey Envy, because we actually have a tree or two and plenty of people who don’t talk like Chuck Schumer (the Lens Louse).

Still, being the goddamned prince that I am, I will answer the questions posed by the “Memers.” If you find yourself screaming and clicking before you get to the end, you have Randy, the Montana Lemon and Erica, the Brooklyn Jersey-Wannabe to thank.

You’ve been warned.

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
It would be very nice to be able to say that I was named after King James (of Bible fame), or James Madison, but, in truth, I was named after my father’s father and my father’s brother who died in his teens. I suspect that my father’s father was named after his father who for all I know might well have made his living by holding up saloons in Ireland.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I damned near cried on election night in November 2006 and wanted to slit my wrists the day that Nancy Pelosi took the “gabel” and became “The Speaker in the House,” but I managed to hold it together. I cried nine years ago while we petted Barney, our dog of fourteen years, when he regained consciousness long enough to look at us with sad eyes, after the vet gave him the injection that would end his suffering.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I do, but no one else seems to think very much of it. Besides, I can type way faster than I can write.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Lean, imported boiled ham, or German bologna from the local German butcher.

[Admit it. Isn’t this goddamned riveting?]

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Yes, one very excellent daughter with a seriously dormant blog.

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Absolutely, because then I would have a friend who likes good booze, good music and has a habit of picking up bar tabs.

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Never. Not at all. Wouldn’t think of it.

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
No, nor am I in possession of my appendix or my wisdom teeth, the latter accounting for my obvious lack of wisdom. My stindeens, although often frosted and sometimes broken, remain intact. Thanks for asking.

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Not now, but if I make it to 90, give me a bottle of bourbon, wait an hour, and ask me then.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Homemade granola. I keep a special pair of Birkenstocks and Joan Baez records handy for granola baking days. It’s totally groovy. I should consider a mail order business. Far out.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Always, when I’m sober.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
If that means “Can I lift really heavy shit?” the answer is hell no. If it has anything to do with eating beans, definitely yes.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Butter almond, Dutch Apple or Chocolate Anything.

[Oy! Am I almost done?]

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Teeth, hair, then, if a woman, boobs. Brains take a bit longer to see.

RED OR PINK?
I like dusty rose and long walks on the beach.

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Being a techno-chicken. I have to learn to click with abandon.

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My parents and ol’ Barney the dog. When it comes to blogging, shit shooting and guitar pickin’, I sure miss Rob.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Red shorts made of sweatshirt material and no shoes.

[This stuff is right up there with the Lunar Landing in the Interesting Department.]

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Chili with rice

[Yawn]

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The chili and rice working its way through my alimentary canal and gearing up to make me “strong”.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Is there a color called “Farookin’ Blue?” If so, that’s me.

[Did Baba Wawa write these questions?]

FAVORITE SMELLS?
Sausage, peppers and onions cooking on the boardwalk.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Mrs. Parkway. She wanted to know something about The Sopranos, proving I am not completely useless around the house.

FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Boxing, NASCAR and Synchronized Swimming (Proving beyond peradventure that I’m in touch with my feminine side. It’s a Dusty Rose thing).

HAIR COLOR?
Farookin’ great.

EYE COLOR?
The color of a healthy turd.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
God, no. Nor do I stick knitting needles or any other foreign matter in my eyes. ACK!

[Yo, I’m starting to fade here.]

FAVORITE FOOD?
Peanut butter, pizza. Anyone who eats raw clams or oysters could slurp up a big ol’ ginder. [A gratuitous snotty remark, I know, but I tend to do that when I begin to grow weary.]

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I have to go with happy endings. There is more than enough scary shit going on in real life. (e.g. Nancy Pelosi, Hillary).

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Clint Eastwood’s “Flags of Our Fathers” Feh!

I know what you’re thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I’ve kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya punk?

Now, that’s Clint Eastwood.

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Black Rutgers tee shirt. Boola boola!

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Seeing as how spring and fall are not an option, I’ll go with summer. I’m getting too old and cranky for Jersey winters, but the good news is that irrespective of the season, this is a Gator-Free State..

HUGS OR KISSES?
Either or both can be very nice, but then again, either or both can be awful, depending on who the hugger or kisser is. For example, if the hugger/kisser is Helen Thomas or the guy who cuts my lawn, then both hugging and/or kissing would be decidedly disgusting.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Home made apple pie.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
[I haven’t tagged anyone yet, but I guess it’s time]
Tammi (She’s too nice to tell me to piss off.)

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
[More tagging … ]
Velociman (He’s not a meme guy: He’s more of sex with barnyard animals guy. I’ll probably wind up with some sort of dung on my porch for inviting him to play.)

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
“Crazies to the Left of Me, Wimps to the Right” by Bernard Goldberg and “Team of Rivals” by Doris Kearns Goodwin.

[Jesus, is anyone still reading this?]

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
The Parkway Rest Stop Banner, a giftie from daughter a while back. Makes me feel like hot shit, it does.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Probably something on the History Channel (e.g. Hitler’s Belief in Mystical Shit and Waxed Stindeens) or something on “Modern Marvels” (e.g. bolts, or slag or some shit). I really can’t remember.

FAVORITE SOUND?
Good harmony and Hillary shutting the f**k up.

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
This is a real Sophie’s Choice. Musically, the Beatles, but they could never rock like the Stones.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Hawaii, I suppose.

[Anyone left out there? Anybody?]

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Just one? I am one multi-talented mo-dicker. And, I do laundry.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Newark, the Garden Spot of the East.

WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Jerry, Bou and Denny, all of whom are hereby tagged, which will no doubt come as an unpleasant surprise to them, because they surely didn’t read this drivel in its entirety.

Of course, if you have not been tagged and you’d like to endure this exercise, feel free to do so on your blog, and leave a link in the comments. If you are blogless (and therefore have a real life) fire away in the comments section.

Karla Katz, Governor Corzine’s Ex-Squeeze, State Employee Union President and recipient of lots of Corzine Cash.

and

Jacko the Freak

Bill Clinton, former President and Uebersweetheart of the Democrat party, blew into Jersey this past weekend to be the featured speaker at the Governor’s Gala Fundraiser thrown by Democratic State Committee.

He must have given a helluva speech, because it raised $2 million for the Democratic State Committee, which, according to the Jersey Journal, increased the Democrat party’s “already hefty money margin over the Republicans heading into the fall legislative elections”.

I wonder whether that “hefty money margin” resulted from donations from poor and working people, because, as we know, the Democrat Party is the party of the poor and working people. Surely, the money didn’t come from Corporate Fat Cats, and well-moneyed special interest groups, because everyone knows they’re Republicans.

Speaking of Republicans, when George Bush came to Jersey a week earlier to raise money, the visit produced a mere $675 thousand. Damn those chincy Corporate Fat Cats and well-moneyed special interest groups!

I assume my invitations to both events were somehow lost in the mail.

I’m not religious, and I am of the view that there is plenty of time and plenty of opportunities to pray to one’s heart’s content outside of public school. That said, I have often been shocked at the antics of some, with the enthusiastic support of the ACLU, calculated to eradicate any trace, no matter how small, of the Judeo-Christian tradition, which forms the very basis of the Republic.

So where’s the A.C.L.U. now?

Probably at a John Edwards Rally.

OK, I am assuming everyone who is reading this falls into one of three categories: (a) You have seen the Final Episode of The Sopranos, (b) You have not seen the Final Episode, but you really don’t much give a damn about the Sopranos, or (c) You haven’t seen the Final Episode, but you intend to see it, either on tape, DVD, or “On Demand”. If you are in Category (c), you might want to move on.

The level and amount of media noise and water cooler chatter that was heard before the Final Episode aired was probably exceeded five-fold by the uproar that was created by the unexpected trick played on the audience by David Chase.

Sure, I get it – the blank canvas and all, leaving each to come to his or her own conclusions about an “ending,” seeking clues and, even more nuts, seeking symbolism in the story line. (e.g. “Da cat was Adriana reincarnate, ‘cause it was staring at the picture of Chris.”)

To me, it too cute and clever by at least half. I would have preferred an ending – a real ending, no matter what it was. Tony dies, Tony lives, Tony runs off the circus … I don’t care, as long as it’s the end of an eight-year saga. Oh, there are many on local fan forums, who deride those of us who wanted an “ending” as knuckle walkers, who don’t appreciate nuance. But, I figure they were Kerry voters, who are deeply into “nuance,” so their opinion matters zilch to me.

The Final Episode struck me much like a song in which the final note does not resolve to the tonic. Don’t worry about the link: It is complicated and a snoozer. Rather, consider the song “Happy Birthday” as would be sung to a person with a nice, neat two syllable name:

Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday dear Edward.
Happy Birthday to you.

See how nice and tidy that is? It ends in a nice, comfortable place, much like where it began.

Now, hum it to yourself, only this time STOP just after the word “to” in the last line — before the final “you,” and hold that note.

If that doesn’t leave you feeling verrrrrrrry uncomfortable, then you probably don’t give a shit that The Final Episode stopped one word away from the end of an eight-year long “song”.

Drove me downright nutso, it did.

I am wired.

Tonight is the final episode of The Sopranos. Speculation about how it will all end is rampant in the national media. You can safely multiply the hysteria times one hundred when it comes to local media.

The Sopranos series is very special to those of us who live in the Garden State. As I have mentioned before, many of the location shots in the show were filmed in the town where I grew up (Kearny). For example, when Tony and the guys sit outside “Satriale’s,” (formerly, the West Hudson Auto Parts Store) they are sitting at the intersection of Kearny Avenue and Afton Street. When the camera angle moves to show the street north of Satriale’s, you can see St. Cecilia’s church and the State Farm Insurance Agency office.

The town itself has made a bunch of money (permits, etc.) from the show, as have the local businesses. I understand that the actors and crew are particularly fond of the Kearny’s fish and chips restaurants (The town has deep Scottish roots).

Even though this final season has effectively reminded those might have thought otherwise that Tony Soprano is a really, really bad guy, I will still miss him and the crew.

So, Jimbo, how do you think it will all end?

O.K. For what it’s worth (which is absolutely nothing), my guess is that Paulie Walnuts will try to go over to the NY Mob to save his ass (He made such an overture in the past) and will get whacked, quite possibly by the NY guys. Phil (the Head of the NY Mob) will die, along with his captains, probably in a large, messy gunfight. I think there will be a montage showing Tony being convicted of major crimes and sentenced to a term of … forever. This may well be followed by an epilog showing what becomes of his real family (I can imagine a scene that shows Carmela waiting tables in a diner on Route 3).

There you have it, in all its worthlessness. Now, we’ll wait to see what happens.