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.
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