Here is yet another gem from reader and contributor Infotainme....
Election #3 or So - a Pre-Mortem - by Infotainme
I had considered the title “The Big Election: A Premature Evaluation” but was advised against it. Changing it to “A Revealing Look at a Massive Election” was also rejected. Is it me?
In any event the fitful writhing of seven ethnically, racially, financially, and genderically* diverse bodies ends Tuesday, and only one of them will be achieving la petite mort of victory for all their … efforts. The rest will have to settle for a tube of the home version of the game and a quasi-heartfelt “No, I don’t need a pen, I’m sure I’ll remember your number…” from the electorate. Since no one this side of the grave wants to see even 5 more minutes of this spectacle, now is as good a time as any to proceed to the afterglow. Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em.
(*Well, it’s a word NOW…)
The Big Questions Were Answered
Council-person Beth Mason, the noted ethical gymnast, concluded her faltering year-long balance beam routine with a spectacular Inverted Sally Field. This is the dismount where the candidate, after two consecutive disastrously bad finishes, declares wistfully, “You don’t like me. You REALLY don’t like me.” Apparently not. People always flock to see the contortionist at the circus, but they flock to leave just as quickly, as “How does she do that?” soon gives way to “Yikes, I wish she’d stop doing that.”
Swibinski should have taken a page from that other brilliant political strategist whose name begins with an ‘S’ – Charles Dillon Casey Stengel: “The key to good management is keeping the nine guys who hate your guts away from the nine guys who haven't made up their minds.” With an ugly, high-gloss / low-information campaign that relentlessly reminded voters of the win less win-at-all-costs crowd she runs with, Mason let the decided and the previously undecided all drift together like so many ethnically, racially, financially….. You get it. An orgy of rejection ensued.
Speaking of ‘no’, businessman and renowned party-giver Frank Raia received an answer to the burning question “Is the 12th time the charm?”
No.
But as the combination of Raia and Glatt comfortably out-polled Mason, some satisfaction was still had in born-and-raised-and-not-easily-fazed Hoboken. They are 2nd, not 3rd in the hearts and minds of the voters. The lesson learned: it’s easier to get your ducks in a row when there’s only one duck. Watch for a duck reduction exercise in the next race.
Does Brinkman have a future? To the extent that we all do, yes. But as mayor, no. Not yet anyway. But it’s not a bad time to scout out homes in the 2nd ward. That seat is up for grabs. Just watch what you put in your trash. Others will be doing likewise.
And speaking of 411, or, as it has come to be known, the Masonic Temple, clouds are massing on the horizon. A reputation as an election pawn-maker is now firmly established. After endless waves of pathologically Zimmophobic ‘analysis of events’ and ‘emails people really sent me, honest to God, I swear’, a straw poll on the site had Mason losing so badly that it was quietly taken down. Less easily taken down, deleted, banned, or put in an endless wait for moderation - is a growing disaffection with sightings of wandering free masons behaving mysteriously or worse ( http://www.nj.com/forums/hoboken/index.ssf?artid=88104) The comic threat to sue for a letter of concern to advertisers suggests drunken flailing at its drunkest and flailingest. Stay off the balance beam, kids. And for God’s sake, get a bigger soccer ball. For dog lovers, some doggerel:
When one one four met four one one
The angels hid behind the sun.
Will four one one cheat one one four?
The devil knows and keeps the score.
And now, let’s change the subject radically – to winners: me. El Info.
Apart from not learning a thing, the campaign trail was a great learning experience. At each stop the InfoCruiser, a 40’ flatbed with Marshall stacks cranked up to 11, cracked windows and set off car alarms as the hymn selected to remind the great unwashed that mine was a religious quest crushed all thought: “Your own… personal… Jesus.” (Yes, I switched to the Johnny Cash version when visiting the seniors, but I played it a lot louder.)
As I would greet the crowds and pretend to look at your faces which I’m sure many of you probably have, the leader of my Praetorian guards would grab the microphone and roar: Are you not… INFOTAINED!!!
Given the above analysis of the other candidates, clearly my only competition would be this Zimmer. I quickly saw that Glatt was half-right that Zimmer’s approach to flooding would never bring relief. And Mason was half-right about the dual jobs criticism. But apart from what amount to lucky guesses on how to attack Zimmer, the two future has-beens predictably missed the boat entirely otherwise.
On flooding, we have two problems. One requires an engineering solution, and the other requires, let’s say, citizen involvement. We simply don’t have the kind of skyline-dominating edifice needed to properly sacrifice a virgin to propitiate the angry flood gods. And by lunch time on St. Patrick's Day every year, we don’t have any virgins. Unless we are prepared to tackle these two problems head-on, the flood gods will just laugh at our silly little toy pumps.
As for Mason’s dual jobs critique, it had the virtue of being so completely hare-brained that you didn’t have to waste time deciding which parts to retain. In the wake of the Cammarano scandal, her own city council website explained matter-of-factly that Zimmer would be sworn in as acting mayor. Like her painfully unhelpful straw poll on 411, the text quietly disappeared from Mason’s site.
Zimmer’s crime was not in having two jobs but in failing to exploit her combined powers. For example, when the soccer field started falling in the river, what was the logical action to take?
Exactly: Invade Weehawken and annex their superior athletic fields. How complicated is that? Think we couldn’t kick their cotton-candy asses without breaking a sweat? First thing we do is un-stopper the cannon at Stevens and get it operational. Then we sink a few of the Waterway ferries as they chug by, claiming they have violated Hoboken international waters in a repeated and provocative manner. Once we controlled the sea lanes, taking out the leafy little berg would have been cake. The high school football team could probably do it for pizza and Gatorade. And, with the added subject population, we’d finally have a source of virgins for the flood gods.
Real world solutions for real world problems. Reach out, touch faith.
Yes, it was all looking pretty rosy. But then my legal team of – and I am more than a little tired of hearing them demeaned as ‘jailhouse lawyers’ – of … prison attorneys… uncovered some deal-breaking limitations in the powers of the office to which I had previously aspired.
Apparently – and someone correct me if this turns out not to be true, because those bastards can totally rot in prison if they screwed this up – apparently I cannot print my own currency. How nuts is that? Nor can I maintain a standing army. What’s the point? How am I supposed to govern? Wouldn’t I need to pay the citizenry a stipend of Info Dollars for quartering the army in their homes? And don’t I need an army at the ready when the citizenry find out they can’t spend the Info Dollars outside the city, and I won’t even accept them as legal tender for municipal tax? Wouldn’t I need to be protected then? Where’s the sense of fair play?
I’m sorry, if this is the city you want, you can have it. I thought you were looking toward the future, but I guess I was mistaken. You want the green shirts? You can have ‘em. Zimmer isn’t even an Irish name. Goofballs.
◦
Election #3 or So - a Pre-Mortem - by Infotainme
I had considered the title “The Big Election: A Premature Evaluation” but was advised against it. Changing it to “A Revealing Look at a Massive Election” was also rejected. Is it me?
In any event the fitful writhing of seven ethnically, racially, financially, and genderically* diverse bodies ends Tuesday, and only one of them will be achieving la petite mort of victory for all their … efforts. The rest will have to settle for a tube of the home version of the game and a quasi-heartfelt “No, I don’t need a pen, I’m sure I’ll remember your number…” from the electorate. Since no one this side of the grave wants to see even 5 more minutes of this spectacle, now is as good a time as any to proceed to the afterglow. Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em.
(*Well, it’s a word NOW…)
The Big Questions Were Answered
Council-person Beth Mason, the noted ethical gymnast, concluded her faltering year-long balance beam routine with a spectacular Inverted Sally Field. This is the dismount where the candidate, after two consecutive disastrously bad finishes, declares wistfully, “You don’t like me. You REALLY don’t like me.” Apparently not. People always flock to see the contortionist at the circus, but they flock to leave just as quickly, as “How does she do that?” soon gives way to “Yikes, I wish she’d stop doing that.”
Swibinski should have taken a page from that other brilliant political strategist whose name begins with an ‘S’ – Charles Dillon Casey Stengel: “The key to good management is keeping the nine guys who hate your guts away from the nine guys who haven't made up their minds.” With an ugly, high-gloss / low-information campaign that relentlessly reminded voters of the win less win-at-all-costs crowd she runs with, Mason let the decided and the previously undecided all drift together like so many ethnically, racially, financially….. You get it. An orgy of rejection ensued.
Speaking of ‘no’, businessman and renowned party-giver Frank Raia received an answer to the burning question “Is the 12th time the charm?”
No.
But as the combination of Raia and Glatt comfortably out-polled Mason, some satisfaction was still had in born-and-raised-and-not-easily-fazed Hoboken. They are 2nd, not 3rd in the hearts and minds of the voters. The lesson learned: it’s easier to get your ducks in a row when there’s only one duck. Watch for a duck reduction exercise in the next race.
Does Brinkman have a future? To the extent that we all do, yes. But as mayor, no. Not yet anyway. But it’s not a bad time to scout out homes in the 2nd ward. That seat is up for grabs. Just watch what you put in your trash. Others will be doing likewise.
And speaking of 411, or, as it has come to be known, the Masonic Temple, clouds are massing on the horizon. A reputation as an election pawn-maker is now firmly established. After endless waves of pathologically Zimmophobic ‘analysis of events’ and ‘emails people really sent me, honest to God, I swear’, a straw poll on the site had Mason losing so badly that it was quietly taken down. Less easily taken down, deleted, banned, or put in an endless wait for moderation - is a growing disaffection with sightings of wandering free masons behaving mysteriously or worse ( http://www.nj.com/forums/hoboken/index.ssf?artid=88104) The comic threat to sue for a letter of concern to advertisers suggests drunken flailing at its drunkest and flailingest. Stay off the balance beam, kids. And for God’s sake, get a bigger soccer ball. For dog lovers, some doggerel:
When one one four met four one one
The angels hid behind the sun.
Will four one one cheat one one four?
The devil knows and keeps the score.
And now, let’s change the subject radically – to winners: me. El Info.
Apart from not learning a thing, the campaign trail was a great learning experience. At each stop the InfoCruiser, a 40’ flatbed with Marshall stacks cranked up to 11, cracked windows and set off car alarms as the hymn selected to remind the great unwashed that mine was a religious quest crushed all thought: “Your own… personal… Jesus.” (Yes, I switched to the Johnny Cash version when visiting the seniors, but I played it a lot louder.)
As I would greet the crowds and pretend to look at your faces which I’m sure many of you probably have, the leader of my Praetorian guards would grab the microphone and roar: Are you not… INFOTAINED!!!
Given the above analysis of the other candidates, clearly my only competition would be this Zimmer. I quickly saw that Glatt was half-right that Zimmer’s approach to flooding would never bring relief. And Mason was half-right about the dual jobs criticism. But apart from what amount to lucky guesses on how to attack Zimmer, the two future has-beens predictably missed the boat entirely otherwise.
On flooding, we have two problems. One requires an engineering solution, and the other requires, let’s say, citizen involvement. We simply don’t have the kind of skyline-dominating edifice needed to properly sacrifice a virgin to propitiate the angry flood gods. And by lunch time on St. Patrick's Day every year, we don’t have any virgins. Unless we are prepared to tackle these two problems head-on, the flood gods will just laugh at our silly little toy pumps.
As for Mason’s dual jobs critique, it had the virtue of being so completely hare-brained that you didn’t have to waste time deciding which parts to retain. In the wake of the Cammarano scandal, her own city council website explained matter-of-factly that Zimmer would be sworn in as acting mayor. Like her painfully unhelpful straw poll on 411, the text quietly disappeared from Mason’s site.
Zimmer’s crime was not in having two jobs but in failing to exploit her combined powers. For example, when the soccer field started falling in the river, what was the logical action to take?
Exactly: Invade Weehawken and annex their superior athletic fields. How complicated is that? Think we couldn’t kick their cotton-candy asses without breaking a sweat? First thing we do is un-stopper the cannon at Stevens and get it operational. Then we sink a few of the Waterway ferries as they chug by, claiming they have violated Hoboken international waters in a repeated and provocative manner. Once we controlled the sea lanes, taking out the leafy little berg would have been cake. The high school football team could probably do it for pizza and Gatorade. And, with the added subject population, we’d finally have a source of virgins for the flood gods.
Real world solutions for real world problems. Reach out, touch faith.
Yes, it was all looking pretty rosy. But then my legal team of – and I am more than a little tired of hearing them demeaned as ‘jailhouse lawyers’ – of … prison attorneys… uncovered some deal-breaking limitations in the powers of the office to which I had previously aspired.
Apparently – and someone correct me if this turns out not to be true, because those bastards can totally rot in prison if they screwed this up – apparently I cannot print my own currency. How nuts is that? Nor can I maintain a standing army. What’s the point? How am I supposed to govern? Wouldn’t I need to pay the citizenry a stipend of Info Dollars for quartering the army in their homes? And don’t I need an army at the ready when the citizenry find out they can’t spend the Info Dollars outside the city, and I won’t even accept them as legal tender for municipal tax? Wouldn’t I need to be protected then? Where’s the sense of fair play?
I’m sorry, if this is the city you want, you can have it. I thought you were looking toward the future, but I guess I was mistaken. You want the green shirts? You can have ‘em. Zimmer isn’t even an Irish name. Goofballs.
