This is an outrage

It certainly is.  I remember fighting in the trenches to support the county code’s commissioner-style form of government against the rebels who proposed a change to home rule.  I remember defending the jury commissioners against the onslaught of criticism that they did nothing but cost the county tens of thousands of dollars per year. 

 It was guarding them during those turbulent years that I learned how to meditate and understand what the sound of one hand clapping. ( I will let you in on a secret, it sounds like the Mr. Softee truck coming down East Arch Street really fast).   It was then that I realized the importance of doing nothing. Watching those two sages accomplish nothing brought me enlightenment tenfold for which I am eternally grateful.

Now my rotary phone is ringing off the hook with the bad news.  On May 2^nd, a day that will live in infamy, our county commissioners abolished the elected positions of jury commissioners, with a stroke of a pen. Not a whimper from the old guard. It reminded me of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact of 1939, Yes, it is a bad day in our county’s history.

                                               

I realized that something was wrong when the jury commissioners were beckoned to the Courthouse with the ploy to participate in the Day of Prayer festivities. Such participation would be awkward as it would break their vows of doing nothing. Fearing that they were in danger and could be seized, I contacted them at their headquarters, a mysterious underground office that has always remained hidden from the view of the public.  I told them they were in danger and had to get up off their bean bag chairs and leave at once.

Quickly the two  disguised themselves, donning soiled baseball caps, frayed tee shirts and sweatpants, holding  ice tea cartons, voided powerball tickets and a slices of Roma Pizza, so as to blend in with the ordinary Schuylkill Countians. With an unexpected thunderstorm storm providing cover, the beleaguered twosome walked out to the streets totally unrecognized. The Jury Commissioners and their staff quickly shuffled towards Sharp Mountain, with the only delay being for the Walk sign to appear at the corner of Centre and Mahantongo Streets.  They began had begun their long trek to anticipated freedom in Northumberland County. 
This occurred just in the nick of time as the deputy sheriffs, county detectives, Pottsville Police and School Crossing Guards had just surrounded the hidden office complex where the jury commissioners peacefully did nothing for decades. 

 It was two days before the County Commissioners were advised that the jury commissioners had eluded capture after a thorough search of the headquarters.  Even with the prayer to St. Anthony, during the National Prayer Day festivities, the jury commissioners still could not be found. However the deputies managed to wrestle and confiscate the jury commissioners’ Wheel as well as apprehend six slices of cold Roma Pizza which they dutifully consumed.

For the unenlightened, the Jury Commissioner Wheel can be compared to the Ark of the Covenant and is revered by the stalwarts who believe that the County Code is sacred and should never be tampered with.  Now this hallowed Wheel is in the possession of the County Commissioners and its fate is unknown. Some say that it will be given to the Area Agency of Aging to be used for bingo at the Downtown Senior Citizens Center or at a stand at the American Way Fair. Others say that it must be destroyed so as to erase any reason for the Jury Commissioners supporters to rise up and restore the Jury Commissioners to their rightful seats of power. Only time will tell.

 After trekking nearly forty-eight hours, the Jury Commissioners and their party reached the Northumberland County border and stopped at the Dharamshala Trailer Park on Main Street in Herdon, where humanitarian sanctuary was offered.  This granting of asylum has touched off a major diplomatic firestorm between the two counties, with ambassadors being recalled.  

 For now, the Schuylkill County jury commissioners are remaining faithful to the oath they took after being duly elected to do absolutely nothing.  The mobile home (whose specific lot number will remain anonymous so not as to alert the police) is now the Jury Commissioners' Office-In-Exile-On-Main Street, where the two remain faithful to the oath they took after being elected by we, the people.  At this moment they are in their trailer doing nothing as they had done for decades.  In support of the Jury Commissioners, during the week of May 11^th people are asked to please wear the color purple.

                                             

the Jimmy Buffet House in North Manheim Township

I recently attended the County symposium on the causes of the warm winter we just experienced. It was held at the Pottsville Planetarium and the science community was there in full force, setting forth plausible explanations.

Obviously some believed it was due to the groundhog prediction, others believed it was caused by the elderly population going overboard on Hoody Hoo Day and pushed for a ordinance banning the practice of Hoody Hooism, and still others believed the temperature increased solely due to the proliferation of Zumba lessons throughout the area. The end result was absolutely no consensus and a fight soon erupted over which irish democrat the Planetarium should be named after .

Afterwards a group of us headed over to the newest entertainment establishment in the county. You know, the one devoted to Jimmy Buffet. It is located in North Manheim Township along Route 61 not far from the legendary Spa 61. It’s called the Buffet House and should be a major destination for Hawaiian-shirt-wearing aging yuppies on their way to or from Cabela’s. In fact there is plenty of parking for their Escalades and BMWs.

When we arrived I noticed the large grand opening sign in the front. I felt welcomed and at ease until one member of our group started to complain as he thought the place was devoted to Warren Buffet. I told him “No way, Jose” and we headed towards the entrance.

I think the owners of the place were expecting large crowds of Jimmy Buffet devotees (who are referred to as Juggalos) as a metal fence encircled the premises to keep the crowds at bay.

Before we entered I went into a trance-like flashback, remembering my visits to this location many, many years ago. This was the place that I first laid eyes on Mammy; she was doing the Hustle, all dressed up in her silver polyester outfit. That was the 70s. The rest is history. The dancehall was known to all then as “the Dusselfink” during those Mad Men years, when Willard and Cook ruled the County and everyone drank hi-balls, ate pop rocks, and smoked cigarettes openly and in your face. And of course everyone danced. Some called it a Wonderland while others called it a Pennsylvania Dutch Studio 54. We just called it ‘Das Fink’ where Lounge Music reigned supreme.

When I snapped out of my trance, we were already inside the Buffet House. It was quite rustic, but it had to be, as it was to convey the let’s pretend we are Castaways feelings that Jimmy Buffet exudes. We had no problem getting a seat as we were the only ones there. After about ten minutes I looked around. Not only were there no other patrons, there were no hosts or hostesses. I had my mind set on ordering the special that was advertised on the sign. Then I remembered it was a Monday and many restaurants were closed on Mondays, so we got up and left.

Someone in the SUV said it reminded him of a burned-out restaurant, like the old Manheim Diner, a pile of charred rubble that sat for years just a mile south of the Jimmy Buffet House. While he missed that old pile of charred pile of rubble, this new one was even better. It will be the new focal point of North Manheim Township. The Township was always proud to show off a burned out restaurant to passerbys.

We were still hungry and we wanted cheeseburgers in paradise, so we headed north to Margarita...I mean...Pottsville and stopped in at the Eagles Club. I switched shirts before we entered as the Hawaiian shirt I had on was inappropriate attire at the Eagles which has a very strict dress code. We would go the Buffet House another day. It will be there for years to come.

Possible changes in the renamed school of nursing

Remember, these are only possibilities....

* Classes will be shortened. Morning sessions from 10 A.M. until 11:45 A.M. and afternoon sessions will be from 2:00 P.M. until 3:45 P.M.

* Nurses white uniforms will be replaced by black gowns.

*Classes in "Art of Bedside Manners" will be dropped and nurses can remain grouchy.

*Nurses will be required to read the patient Miranda Warnings before asking him to stick out his tongue and say "Aw."

* School Cafeteria will be replaced with a Dunkin' Donut Shop.

* Tennis Elbow treatment will be the specialty of the school.

Why the Winter Carnival Queen Should Abdicate

Dear trout:

I am sympathetic to the Occupy Pottsville movement. However what gives with your demand that the Winter Carnival Queen abdicate her throne? I never saw such anger since the Shah of Iran was deposed or when the Maroons football championship title was revoked.

Royal Watcher

Dear Royal Watcher:

Neither the Winter Carnival Queen, nor the snowflake princesses, nor the snowdrop junior princesses represents county womenhood anymore. Sadly, the Queen has lost touch with reality. Why, you ask? First of all, if you follow the contest show me one obese contestant. I knew it. You can’t. Not one. Nada. Zippo.

What kind of message is this sending to the young plump girls who, right now, as you read this, are sitting on sofas, eating family-sized bags of barbecued Marsden potato chips and drinking liter bottles of mountain dew while watching Jersey Shore on TV and simultaneously chatting away on facebook and Myspace…telling the world what they like and dislike about Snookie? Don’t we owe them something for this multi=tasking?

Last summer at a Tuesday evening JFK Pool splash party, I stood up on a picnic table at the concession stand, trying my best to organize some of the heftiest middle-school girls to put down the family-sized bags of barbequed Marsden potato chips for at least an hour. I wanted them to rise up and overthrow the royal court. I gave a rally cry to storm the Winter Palace (which incidentally serves as the Catholic War Veterans Post during the off-winter month) but no one listened to me. In fact they were rather rude and told me to put down the bull horn and get off the table or they would smash the royal jewels and throw me over the fence.

Secondly, no contestant have been permitted to appear in the pageant wearing low-cut tank tops with short torn boxer shorts with the word “juicy” or “lager” on the backside with revealing, brightly colored thongs. Again, the Winter Carnival Committee is living in la-la land. They just don’t seem to get it anymore. They don’t seem to realize that many of our county’s shallow, materialistic young girls spend lots of money on these over-priced small pieces of threads, woven in third world countries which are passed off as “clothing” to the consumers who desire to express themselves.

Don’t we want to encourage self-expression and free them of the stifling dress codes hoisted upon them by the Carnival Committee. Again, what kind of message are the trying to send? I say that these clothes, which were good enough for my daughter to wear to her eighth grade prom, are good enough to be worn in Carnival competition. I recently wrote to Ms. Payne of the Carnival Committee and suggested that she get the DVD box set of Jersey Shore and then reconsider the dress code requirements.

I never got a response!

Thirdly, the talent competition is bor-ring… How many times must we listen to the Oscar Meyer theme song or watch Irish clog dancing? Aren't we all just sick of Irish clog dancing? Wouldn’t a pierogie eating contest be more exhilarating to watch? Wouldn’t it be more nostalgic; bringing back memories of the now defunct Pierogie Bowl held in the past every February? If that is unacceptable, then maybe a wings eating contest.

Fourthly, the question and answer sessions are bor---ring and time consuming. Since it is a Winter Carnival - not a Spring, Summer or Autumn Festival - the only question that should be asked of the young women should be weather-related.

My suggestion is that one short question, such as “How cold is it?” be asked to each and every contestant and the answer must be in one sentence only. For example: “How cold is it?” “It’s so cold that Mitt Romney changed his name to Mitten Romney,” “It’s so cold that I chipped my tooth on a frozen Marsden potato chip,” “It’s so cold that my torn boxer shorts are made out of flannel,” “It’s so cold that Bill Clinton thought that Hillary just walked into the room.” This would move the contest along at a rapid pace and it could finish well before its allotted eight hours. Much more interesting than listening to their aspirations and desires for peace and the elimination of hunger in the world. Speaking of hunger, I could use a Marsden potato chip right now.

None of my suggestions were acceptable to the Carnival Committee and that is why the Queen must abdicate her throne and the Winter Carnival governed by a people’s tribunal.

trout