RUDIMENTS 120.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 120

Making Cars

Another thing about all those local

town meetings  -  they are very

distorting; like fun-house mirror 

things. The smallest, tiniest concerns

  -  I mean even down to things like

the size of the sidewalk squares, the

lighting, the hours of operation of

an establishment, their lighting, their

noise  -  each of these tiny, quite

parochial concerns, get blown up 

into issues of great import, and

sometimes anger too. It's very much

a rumble, with the hearings and the

locals taking the mike. Everyone's 

got a beef about something, and they

get completely absorbed by it. I often

had to sit there and listen to all this

emotional gibberish, and then seek

out the speaker, get the person's name.

maybe some background info, what it

was they just said, or tried to say anyway.

Many of these people were not very 

articulate or precise about their words.

And then, once they realized I was a

'reporter', and with the Star Ledger, no

less (whooo!), they instantly became a

superstar in their heads, turning on

the grandiose and the inflated. Yes,

and I just had to withstand it.

-

In Metuchen, there was a Mayor 

named O'Brien, for years, three or

four terms. Rather a jerk, a really

chubby elementary school principle,

and he treated everyone else as a second

grader, and subject to his 'guidance.'

He was tolerable to watch, only because

he was round and funny. There was a

junky little bar in town ('NJ's'). Maybe

it stood for New Jersey's, or maybe

for Nick Baumle's. Don't know. It

was a dive, shot and a beer joint, with

a pool table or two, a pool league, etc.

Their little parking lot was always a

trouble-spot: people urinating, making 

out, fighting, smoking, throwing butts 

and bottles, etc. All the usual. Neighbors

would come to meetings, going on about

late night noise, illegal activity, fornicators,

etc. They wanted it closed up. They wanted

the outside pay-phone removed, because

drunks were making deals outside, drugs

were exchanged, blah, blah. Maybe true,

maybe not. No one knew. But for at least

three years this O'Brien guy did everything

he could to have the place shut-down, put

out of business, removed. Always going on

abut quality of life BS, violations, etc. 

He'd get all high and mighty, and

haughty, saying things like "I've always

said there's room in this town for a nice

tavern with food, where I could bring my

family to dine and not have to worry. It's

OK if people want to drink with their meal,

but this bar-life stuff has to be stopped...'

On and on. Funniest thing, once he

leaves office, 'NJ's' is gone, and all of a

sudden there's this totally presentable,

fake 'bar' on Main Street, with food, 

and happy people, no offenses, and with

a restaurant format too, and well-lit. I

asked once or twice who actually 'owned'

the place, what the names were on the

legal papers, but I got nowhere. I'd be 

willing, though, to bet my shirt that the

proprietorship of 'Haley's Harp' (faux Irish

bar) involves the O'Brien family, father

and son (Public Works Dept. Manager),

is on that list, blind trust, or whatever

it is. Just a reporter's hunch.

-

Going to all these meetings after a 

while did just wear me out  -  there's 

only so much of 'normal' life and its

concerns I can take. There were moments

where people would turn in their neighbors

for un-mown grass, and high weeds. Complaints

about traffic, pedestrian access, handicapped

stuff -  it was all tedious and I thought the

people very lame. They ALL seemed

handicapped to me  -  next they'd all

want a ramp. There were times I did just

wish to stand up and scram out 'What's

wrong with you people? Are you all 

insane?', but instead I'd have to be the

little squid with the pencil and pad asking 

them the spelling of their name. I never

got to the bottom of whether or not that

all was really what was meant by the term

'participatory democracy' as we'd learn

about in Civics class, but I thought if it

was it pretty much sucked and was dangerous

too. It was THAT close to mob rule and not

much else. A bunch of crank-ass people

jealous of or angry over their 'neighbors'  -

which, of course, automatically makes 

them not 'neighbors' any longer, but more

like 'antagonists.' But they were all too

blind-stupid to see any of that. The Council

clowns would report on their little committee

meetings  -  the seniors fair, the Little League

party, the recreation dept. bowling trip,

on and on. The Boro Engineer would go on

about plans for the new firehouse extension

or the installation of new restrooms and

playground equipment on Mason Street,

or the parking study at the municipal lot.

I wearied, prematurely. It aged me. I

quit it.

-

Most of my personal, mental notes and

references were still all about being an

artist, and a writer, and New York, and

NOT following rules, not doing things the

established, way, NOT, for pity's sake,

tucking my shirt in  -  and there I was

funding myself nightly in a room with a 

bunch of foul men and women in suits. 

My references didn't work, my 'location

synapses' were not connecting. I knew that.

The men in the foul suits, well, to me they

were understandable  -  stupid, dumb, dicks,

just like when I was a kid, and my friends,

posturing stupid-ass boys  - but it saddened

me (and still does) to see a woman put herself

through ll that. Pant-suited or not, they all

come across like Hillary. Too bad. The

Madelaine Albright Express must be 

giving away free tickets at Woodbridge 

Town Hall, because that's what you get 

and that's what you see  -  a woman just 

tarnishes herself when she thinks acting

like a man is something sensible to do.