Crappy-ass manger scene redux

Here's another photo I took the other day. Actually, this little delight was about 30 feet from the "Disco nightclub in our neighborhood????" flyer.

I call this photo, "Away in a manger, no room for a bed, but plenty of room for a couple of power strips and enough wiring to choke a camel."

It looks like your standard lame manger scene with plastic figures, including angels and two random guys (Are they in the Bible? I'm admittedly not a religious scholar.)

But why all the electrical equipment? First of all, do the figures really need to light up? Why not just put up a faux north star or some spotlights and call it a day?

This thing is a monstrosity, with surprisingly thick cords coming out the sides of the animals. Even if they were insistent on having everything light up, it wouldn't have been that difficult to mount little boxes beneath the manger platform, put the power strips in there and conceal them with some straw (or, in this case, plastic that resembles straw).

Actually, you know what? I don't really care that much. But it's funny to look at.

I'm back! ... Again!

It's a new year and a new soon-to-be-failed attempt at maintaining a blog nobody reads!

Seriously, though, I'm bored, and when I get bored, I make fun of stuff, deserving or not. Here's a picture taken with my not-so-classy cell phone camera:



I saw this sign on the corner of Pavonia and Baldwin in Jersey City while on my way home from the DMV Wednesday morning [by the way, I'm an official Jersey resident now (with a Jersey driver license and everything!); it only took two years].

So back to the sign: I can understand the middle three complaints. Everyone wants clean, pothole-free streets with nice sidewalks. What drew my eye, though, were the first and last complaints (the massive bold font helps).

Complaint 1: Why did whomever made this sign think it would be a good idea to cuss right off the bat? Also, who crossed out the word "shit" (or "crap," I guess)? Was it the person who made the sign -- realizing his/her mistake -- or an offended passerby?

Complaint 5: Won't somebody PLEASE think of the children?!

Mighty J-Hal has struck out

I went to a private New Year's Eve party with a bunch of smarty Harvard kids at a bar in the Lower East Side last weekend. I didn't actually know any of the smarties, but I had a connection -- I was part of the connection's entourage. It wasn't nearly as chic or exclusive as it may sound.

At the party, I chatted with a girl named Geneva. Dumbass that I am, after she introduced herself, I said, "Like the Geneva Accord?" which I'm sure nobody has ever asked her. (Actually, most people probably say "Like the Geneva Conventions?" since they're just a wee bit more famous.) She said her parents were hippies and raised her as such, quickly following said disclosure by telling me she works for a hedge fund.

After I started talking about politics -- 0 for 2! -- she excused herself and went to the bathroom, saying "I don't want to talk about politics. I just makes me angry." When she came back, I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just sat down.

Despite my lameness, I still had a pretty good time.

Full disclosure: I edited this post because I stupidly wrote "Geneva Connections on my first attempt. I paid Boston University $140,000 to get this dumb.

Wet your whistle under the mistletoe

Happy belated holidays ... to me, I guess, since I'm the only person who reads this. Sigh.

Anyway, I just returned to the JC after spending one glorious week effectively separated from society at the Halpin family estate in Voorheesville, N.Y. Dial-up Internet, combined with the absence of cable TV, will do that to you. So I spent the week recharging my batteries/lazing about. Without a car during the long, lonely days in sub-suburban Upstate N.Y., I plowed through my newly acquired DVD set of the first season of Arrested Development in three days, all while drinking beer to my liver's content. Also, I met up with the only two friends from high school that I actually maintain semi-constant contact with. So there's that.

Here's today's mini-story:

Nowadays, Mom spends Christmas Eve upstairs wrapping our presents, then descends the stairs and tosses all of our schwag under the tree. It's not jarring anymore. Not jarring like the Christmas during my freshman year of college, when all of the presents were under the tree when I got home the night of Dec. 22. I had obviously learned about the Santa myth by then, but there had still existed the element of surprise -- maybe I'm a dork, but I liked that part of it.

Which brings us to the worst Christmas ever.

I was 12 and wanted video games and assorted other crap I probably used for two months then lost interest in. And I knew there was no Santa Claus. And for some stupid reason, I was arrogant about it.

My sister and I had it all figured out. We knew why Mom and Dad snuck out to the mall without us after dinner and why they mysteriously spent three hours there, yet walked back into the house empty-handed. Clearly, they were buying shit for us, hiding it in the trunk of the car until we went to bed and then transferring it to a hiding place somewhere in their room.

Idiots that we were, we decided to prove ourselves right one night when they were out of the house. It didn't take long to find the presents -- they were all just staring us in the face when we opened the door to my parents' closet. We rifled through all of the bags in there, getting a good look at all of the goodies we could expect to find Christmas morning, thoroughly ruining Christmas in the process.

It was the only agonizing Christmas in my memory. Up until that point, Lindsay and I would wake up at about 5 a.m., before sunrise and before we could even see the presents under the tree. We let the scent of fresh Scotch tape guide us to our haul. We'd spend some time examining the boxes -- without touching, as the parents demanded -- and looking for the initial in the corner -- J, L or M -- which would tell us whose gift it was. Then we'd sit on the couch and stare at the presents until 8 a.m., when we'd finally wake the parents and get things going.

Suffice it to say none of that happened when I was 12. We had no need to guess whose presents were whose because we pretty much knew already. We did get up early, but it was mostly to practice being surprised. To top it all off, my parents forgot to wrap one of my presents and put it under the tree, and I knew it but couldn't say anything.

Merry Christmas, eh?

J-Hal is an ignoramus

Thanks to a quick Google search, I've learned that my post from Saturday needs an addendum.

It turns out the holiday display in question also includes Hanukkah and Kwanzaa symbols -- I didn't see 'em -- and was the focus of a federal case that was decided by the U.S. Court of Appeals -- 3rd Circuit in 1999. We'll let Circuit Judge Samuel Alito, now a nominee to the U.S. Supreme Court, expound. Here's an excerpt from his opinion:

"This appeal concerns the constitutionality of two JerseyCity 'holiday' displays. The first, which featured a menorahand a Christmas tree, was annually placed in front of City Hall for several decades. In 1995, the District Courtpermanently enjoined the City from continuing the practice of erecting this or any substantially similar display, see ACLU of N.J. v. Schundler, 931 F.Supp. 1180 (D.N.J. 1995), and a prior panel of our court affirmed that decision. ACLU of N.J. v. Schundler, 104 F.3d 1435, 1444-50 (1997). Jersey City subsequently moved for relief from that order under Rule 60(b)(5) of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, contending that the Supreme Court's intervening decision in Agostini v. Felton, 521 U.S. 203, 117 S. Ct. 1997 (1997), had undermined the panel's reasoning. The District Court deniedthis motion, and we now affirm that decision.

"Jersey City also challenges the District Court's most recent decision regarding a modified holiday display that the Cityput up after the original display was enjoined. The modified display contained not only a creche, a menorah, and Christmas tree, but also large plastic figures of Santa Clausand Frosty the Snowman, a red sled, and Kwanzaa symbols on the tree. In addition, the display contained two signsstating that the display was one of a series of displays put up by the City throughout the year to celebrate its residents' cultural and ethnic diversity. We find this modified display to be indistinguishable in any constitutionally significant respect from the displays upheld by the Supreme Court in Lynch v. Donnelly, 465 U.S. 668 (1984), and County ofAllegheny v. Greater Pittsburgh ACLU, 492 U.S. 573 (1989) (hereinafter 'Allegheny County'), and we therefore hold that Jersey City's modified display is likewise constitutional."

Read the full opinion, if you're into that sort of thing.

So, I see two morals to this story. One, don't blog without the facts. Two, if you're a public entity desperate to display the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay, put a menorah in his hand and make sure he clearly embodies the Seven Principles of Blackness.

Ascend to Heaven!

While making my way to the main post office here in the J.C. today, I meandered through the downtown/Grove Street part of town. As I passed City Hall, I notice that there's a manger scene on the lawn in front of the building.

A manger scene ... at City Hall.

So imagine my (lack of) surprise when I realized the babe in swaddling cloth was missing, replaced by a cardboard sign whose message started with the phrase "Ascend to Heaven!" and finished by delegating -- until such time as the Christ child returns -- all authority to the First Amendment.

As I began to make my way on to the post office, somewhat proud of the protest of the most shoddy-looking manger scene I've ever witnessed (the three wise men all had holes in their backs where you can reach in and change their bulbs), I had the following conversation with a guy walking his two hounds:

Guy: "Is Jesus dead?"

Me: "Jesus is gone."

Guy: "Oh. When they first made this display, because of the straw, she [points to dog] climbed up and laid down next to the baby Jesus."

Me: "Ah. Somebody took the baby Jesus and replaced him with a sign."

Guy: "Maybe we should pray for his safe return."

Museo de jamón

Quick story:

When I was in elementary school, my dad packed my lunches. He apparently had no concept of appropriate portions for young children, so as an eight-year-old, I ate two-inch-thick turkey sandwiches and plastic bags loaded to the point of stretching with animal crackers for lunch. To say I was lethargic in afternoon lessons is a massive understatement. I laid my head down on the desk and silently sang spirituals about my gastroenterological woes:

"Waaaaaiiit for your waaaaatttle
waaaaiiit for your wat-tle chil-dren
waaaaiiit for your waaaaatttle
God's gonna give you a waaaaatttle"

Thanks to a highly active thyroid, I survived through my teenage years without getting fat. Of course, it's all starting to catch up to me now. Yeah spare tire!