The Good Bye State

Government Regulations: Do not pass go, do not go to work!  
But Do collect your $200.

I grew up south of the Mason Dixon line and for years, behind closed doors we were taught History and that History usually had a local panache to it, like when we discussed when the King Will Return which was basically a coded euphemism for the South will Rise Again (I’ll fill you in on this one soon, and don’t worry there is a bunny hopping around here somewhere).  So while I thought I was well versed in the grand scheme of things (we still await his return) I found that I was a bit lacking in the local particulars.  For example, by some stroke of luck, which can only be interpreted as the gods playing an evil joke on the unsuspecting, I ended up in the Western Provinces of New Jersey and didn’t have a clue it was the first peach capital of the states (oh Georgia, don’t listen), before the blight set in.  Now, I’m pretty sure that the historic reference to the peach blight had more to do with a natural pest than a bureaucratic miasma, but I’ll have to check on that one.

This of course leads one to a history of New Jersey, from a contemporary point of view.  When I was very, very young my family would, twice a year, travel from Virginia to Long Island and, no matter how many times my father looked at the map, or no matter how many times he turned it around and looked at it from a different direction (he worked for the Federal Government), we had to travel through New Jersey and…, hold our noses.  Back then all of those very, very rich oil magnates had sent their dirty laundry to hang in spots that bordered interstate 95 just north of Perth Amboy and just south of, well of Canada, while they stayed home (read; up wind) in Manhattan, or even farther up wind like in Newport or Martha’s Vineyard (one of those island states).  It was my first exposure to the ‘garden state’ so I could only wonder what it would smell like if we ever passed during harvest season instead of the fertilizing period.  Many years later I would travel around this wonderful country of ours (more stories coming on this topic) and invariably I would run into transplants, from New Jersey.  The first ten or twelve times I ran into a displaced Jerseyian it didn’t really raise any flags, but now that I’ve been sitting here in the garden of all political tax brackets I am beginning to see the problem.  Most people cannot afford to live here once they have moved beyond those prime income years.  It is kind of like living in an amusement park.  After a while you cannot afford the popcorn anymore.

Don’t worry I am not digressing, yet.  Right now the countries attention is focusing on the run away Democrats in Wisconsin (or is that Demon-crats).  Just like that we get a birds eye view of the great American system in action.  The voters turned out, the voters picked what the VOTERS wanted and then what happens?  The Democrats run away like a bunch of spoiled children who won’t take their medicine.  AND THEY GET PAID FOR IT.  Sorry, I got emotional.  We’re in a recession, I have no work and I see how those in the government (is it still called a government in Wisconsin?) go on leave, with pay.   Now, I live in New Jersey near the home of the commissary general of George Washington.  That commissary general was Colonel Charles Stewart and his home can also be called Union Farm or Landsdown. 

There is another historic landmark nearby known as the Solitude house.  This house served as the homestead of five generations of the Taylor Iron and Steel Company president.  The iron works was one of the largest munitions factories during colonial days.  I had no idea, but when I do walk the dog up on the Columbia trail we pass the original damn which channeled (still does) the water for the original mill.  The house was so well known that John Penn, the last Royal Governor of Pennsylvania, as well as his Attorney General, Benjamin Chew, vacationed there, as prisoners of George Washington's Board of War under the watchful eye of patriot Robert Taylor (who also happened to be the president of the iron works at the time).  That lucky industrialist had access to business, pleasure and politics without having to leave the house. 

Now stick with me, there is a correlation coming and it runs something like this:  In the old days, to keep the governor from voting you put him under house arrest and sent him to the next state so he wouldn’t raise any rabble.  In the new age, to keep the governor from voting, the legislature packs their bags and travels to…, the next state.  Of course they still continue to raise that forsaken rabble stuff.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it is nice that the government buildings in Madison are now being used for flash mob parties by those a little two bored with the winter chill, but after a while one has to wonder what all this activity will do to the heating bill.  And who will pay for it, after all, those that work there are on holiday.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

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