With Apologies to Shakespeare

Hamlet is reading the Star-Ledger this morning, commenting to his bud, Horatio, on the picture of Governor Christie at his news conference:

"Alas, Poor Chris, I knew him well...a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy of his own omnipotence. And now, look at him, how abhorred he is.

“Where be your jibes now, Chris, Your outrages, your flashes of temper that were wont to set the audience on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen?”

"Tell me, Lord Mayor of Fortress Lee: Dost thou think Chris will look to this fashion in the polls? And Smelt so? Pah.”

Horatio: “Just so, my Lord”.  

Ode to The Guv

Pity poor Christie

It makes my eyes misty

seeing him squirm

like a humongous worm

caught on a hook

not by a crook

but foisted by pals

including a gal

he put into jobs

where they could toss lobs

at at political foes

who might cause him woes.

What now Chris?

What else is amiss?

Your future plans

In the frying pans?

As Guvs go

So should you.

Now, not later,

alligator.

But knowing Chris

he'll hiss

and bluster,

muster his forces

to mount their horses

to attack and attack.

“There's no going back!”

But you may hit a snag

when your E-ZPass tag

won't pay the toll

to get out of this hole.

I'm Worried

No one asked me to endorse Chris Christie, so I didn't vote for him. Either time. Now I'm waiting for the traffic cones to be put up on my suburban street, blocking the kids from being driven to school.

Christie would say, let them walk, its healthier for them And it saves gas. They're probably democrats anyway.

Let's do some damage control, a la Christie:

1. Change the name of the George Washington Bridge. Call it the Bridget Kelly Bridge to Nowhere. She's already there.
2. Change the name of Fort Lee. Call it Trenton-lite. Just as snarled but more picturesque.
3. Give a toll-free day to all east-bound motorist using the bridge. Maybe several. It couldn't hurt.
4. Oh, and for heavens sake, (as Jon Stewart prompted) say you're sorry. 

Sure to be continued. 

Rescued by Michael

When last we left Mr. and Mrs. Muddler they had stretched a flannel blanket across the entrance to their den to keep the frigid air from creeping into the rest of the house, the room heater having lost its pilot light.

When Michael, a Public Service technician, arrived later this morning he was astonished at how cold the back room was, considering the rest of the house was fine. The blanket had done its work.

He was more astonished when he looked at the source of the problem. That gas heater was here when we bought our house more than 50 years ago. It was much older than Michael and he had never seen one like it.

Nevertheless, he was equal to the task and after a few false starts got it working. In less than four hours the den temperature was back to normal.

And, needless to say, so were we. It made my birthday a very happy one.

The Sheet Rocks!

Compared to what other folks are going through with this blast of Nordic air, we've had it relatively easy. Until this morning, when the pilot light on the gas heater in our back room went out. I assume high winds during the night knocked it out.

That heater is a Godsend. It was here when we bought our house 50 years ago and we rely on it to keep the den warm. When it goes out, the cold air creeps into the dining and living rooms and it's just uncomfortable.

In fact, during the 2012 Halloween snowstorm that knocked out our heat and electricity for six days, the only thing that kept our home habitable was that little gas heater in the back room.

As the temperature dropped near zero last night and this morning the back room got colder and colder. It used to have doors that we could close to isolate the room, but we took them down long ago to make a flow-through living area.

What to do until the cavalry (i.e. Public Service) arrives in the morning? My wife says “Let's put a sheet across the entrance to the room.” Great idea, I said, but why not something heavier?

Agreed. So we took the flannel sheet off our bed and I taped it across the entrance to the room. It's not perfect but it will help keep the house a little warmer until help arrives.

Brrrrilliant!

How to Avoid Writing

There are so many ways:

Wash the dishes.

Dry the dishes.

Slice chicken for supper.

Make Russian Dressing (what a mess that was).

Read the The New York Times (the real paper, not on line; great article by David Carr about a 472-page, 4.5 pound REAL BOOK (“Cool Tools”). Doubt if I'll buy it or read it but it was fun reading ABOUT it.

Answer emails, delete spam.

Play a game or two of Spider Solitaire.

Go back to the Crossword.

Get the laundry from the dryer.

All the while the blank screen stares at me.

I stare back and find some other piddling chore to do to delay the inevitable.

Write, scribe, write. Something, anything. Just, as Nike says, DO IT!

Done.