Waiter: Good afternoon. What can I get for you ma’am?

Condi: I’d like some ice cream. What flavors do you have?

Waiter: We have vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, banana and coffee.

Condi: I’d like a scoop of the vanilla, please.

Waiter: Would you like some whipped cream on that?

Condi: That sounds great.

Waiter: How about a cherry on top?

Condi: Excellent; thanks.

Waiter: Good afternoon. What can I get for you ma’am?

Susan: I’d like some ice cream. What flavors do you have?

Waiter: We have vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, banana and coffee.

Susan: Racist!

Waiter: Excuse me? What in heaven’s name are you talking about?

Susan: You know damned well what I’m talking about. You listed the vanilla ice cream, the white ice cream, before the ice creams of color!

Waiter: (Sigh) Whatever you say, ma’am. What flavor would you like?

Susan: Chocolate, of course.

Waiter: Would you like some whipped cream on that?

Susan: There you go again! Are you a KKK member, or something?

Waiter: I only asked you if you wanted whipped cream on your ice cream.

Susan: Code! You’re using racist code words! You think I don’t understand what you mean by “whipped?” You’re making a reference to beating slaves, and you know it. I damned sure know it!

Waiter: Ma’am, I assure you that I meant nothing of the kind. I was merely referring to a dessert topping. Speaking of which, would you like a cherry on top?

Susan: That does it! Another dog whistle, racist code word right there. “Cherry?” That’s a code word suggesting sexually promiscuity? You’re saying that black women are sexually promiscuous. You wouldn’t dare say that to a white woman.

Waiter: Ma’am, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to leave.

Susan: I’m not leaving until I speak with the manager about his hiring of rabid racists. Call your manager over here right now!

Waiter: I own the business, and, another thing. I built it myself.

Susan: You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you hate women of color.

Waiter: No. My problem is that I hate women of assholery. Now leave!

UPDATE: As a public service, we at the House by the Parkway are pleased to provide you with a Politically Correct Guide to Racism for Idiots. (via Doug Ross)

A Happy Thanksgiving from the House by the Parkway.

Despite the current state of affairs in the country, when I look at the big picture, it is clear that I have much to be thankful for. I have been both humbled and inspired by the backbone, grit and optimism of fellow Garden Staters whose homes were swept into the sea a couple weeks ago. They are cleaning up the mess and beginning the rebuilding process. When asked about how they are coping with such a massive loss, they say that they are happy to be alive and to be with their families.

Yes, I do have a good deal to be thankful for.

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted anything for eleven days, as what I write here makes any difference in the big picture, or even the smallest of pictures, for that matter. The reason is that I was and still am in a state of mourning over the November 6th beginning of the end of the Republic. I admit that I was profoundly wrong about how the election would turn out. The polls be damned: I was convinced that the electorate has not become so screwed up that it would give another four years to a guy whose record, by any reasonable measure, has been one of colossal failure.

Yes, I was indeed wrong. I never thought that Americans would vote for this country to become a European-style socialist/welfare state, but that’s exactly what happened. Hell, today I read that, according to some damned exit poll, that, four years into the Obama administration, voters still blamed George Bush for the lousy economy (Well played, Barry), and, even worse, “young people” preferred socialism over capitalism, demonstrating that they could use a bit more time in the library (Well played, public education system).

To those who voted for the end of the Republic, please do me a favor. When you see businesses shrink or close and the economy crater under the weight of a gargantuan federal government spending truckloads of money it doesn’t have on “investments” bullshit programs to buy votes, when you see just how expensive “free” healthcare is, or when The One bypasses Congress and issues Executive Orders you may not like, don’t complain to me. If you do, I will tell you to talk to the hand. Or, maybe talk to the middle finger.

As for the future of this blog, I haven’t decided. There are already numerous blogs that tackle politics, and they do it better than I can. Besides, I am fresh out of patience for maroons who would eventually show up in comments screaming “Hater! Racist!” Maybe some political satire? Truth is, I don’t find anything about the current state of affairs to be even remotely funny.

Hey, maybe I’ll post pictures of my cats, except that I don’t have any cats.

I’ll have to think on it all.

Later.

I am still trying to collect my thoughts, none of them good at the moment.

It’s only a matter of time before the people who voted to re-elect this man are negatively impacted (or their children or grandchildren are negatively impacted) by their decision. At some point, the well will run dry, and the piper will still have to be paid.

Between the chaos and heartache brought to the citizens of New Jersey and other northeastern states by Hurricane Sandy and worrying about the outcome of tomorrow’s election, my emotions are raw and my brain is cooked. As such, I can only offer the following:

If you are determined to vote to re-elect President Obama, I truly cannot understand how you could come to such a conclusion, unless, of course, you vote for a living. At this point, nothing I can say will convince you otherwise. We will have to agree to disagree.

If you, as I, think that the constitutional republic, as envisioned by the framers, cannot survive another four years of the Obama administration, be sure to vote tomorrow.

Vote as if everything depends on it, because it does.

That is all.

Jersey Strong.

This is all that is left of a pier down the road. At the end of the walkway out into the bay was a section that ran parallel to the shore from which people fished and crabbed. We often spent time there reading, watching the boats and enjoying the view across Barnegat Bay. That section is completely gone.

Bummer.

As for me and mine, we are all safe and, as of very recently, we have power, although it was pretty hairy there for a while. I had left on Thursday to attend a blogmeet in Tennessee (see previous post), which would run from Friday through Sunday morning. It was great seeing so many bloggers and former bloggers, all of whom have become good friends over the years.

During the blogmeet, I had been keeping an eye on the weather forecast for New Jersey, and when Sunday rolled around, it was clear that any thought of driving from Tennessee to New Jersey during a hurricane was just plain nuts. Elisson and his bride graciously offered me and Erica (who, along with her camera, was riding with me) an invitation to ride out the storm at their home two hundred miles south, in Georgia. Their warmth, friendship and hospitality (and that of their lovely and charming daughter) were beyond excellent. I shall never forget how wonderful they were to us.

So, while I was safely tucked away in Georgia eating well and doing cocktails, Mrs. Parkway was home at the Jersey shore while the hurricane was pounding the Jersey Shore and knocking out the power. Daughter had driven to Pennsylvania to attend a business meeting and ended up with a canceled meeting and being stranded in a darkened hotel (Hotel staff: “Don’t worry; we have glow sticks.”)

When daughter learned that a large oak tree fell on a portion of her roof, two fences, the generator and her husband, she scrambled to make the trip from central Pennsylvania back to New Jersey, encountering road block after road block. What should normally have taken four hours, took eight hours. The emergency room docs have confirmed that son-in-law is OK, albeit a bit banged up and sore. Communication between Georgia and either Mrs. Parkway or daughter during all this was initially spotty and eventually all but non-existent. It made for some serious pacing and nail biting.

On Wednesday, when it appeared that the worst was over and that gasoline outside of New Jersey would not likely be a problem, we struck out for the now-battered Garden State, and 940 miles later I was home by midnight. I had a couple ample slugs of bourbon and spent a few hours catching up on all that I had missed.

Frankly, it’s all been a bit much to get my arms around, particularly when it comes to the breadth of the destruction in New Jersey. Most of the media attention has been given to the Jersey Shore area, where the storm made its landfall, but people all over the state are under water and/or without power, dealing with closed stores and critical gas shortages. The worst cases are, of course, people who have completely lost their homes to the storm.

New Jersey is a small, but densely populated state with lots of communities. As such, it is not uncommon, even in this small state, for us to never have visited or even know much about many of its communities. There is one huge exception to the rule, and that is Seaside Heights. I don’t know a soul who is unfamiliar with Seaside Heights, and most have many, many fond memories of the iconic shore town.

Working class families (such as my parents and extended family) would save all year for a week or two “down the shore,” which inevitably included either a rented bungalow in or near Seaside Heights and endless hours on the boardwalk enjoying the games, the rides and the food (I’m thinking sausage, pepper and onion sandwiches). Maybe it’s the atmosphere and salt air that makes the food on the boardwalk taste special. I never figured it out.

Anyway, it’s gone. Taken away by Hurricane Sandy.

To see numerous heart-breaking images and videos, Google “Seaside Heights Hurricane Sandy”.

One place in Seaside Heights that seems to have escaped any damage is the “Jersey Shore House.” It’s ironic, given the damage that that Snooki and that collection of reprobates did to the image of the real Jersey Shore.