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.

earthquake

EARTHQUAKE IN POTTSVILLE AND SCHUYLKILL COUNTY

Yes, I am one of the survivors of the earthquake that pulverized Schuylkill County on Tuesday August 23^rd. I felt the earth move under my feet. But I am still alive to tell my story. I had the same sensation about ten years ago when Mount Laffee erupted. Ialso had a similar sensation the other day when my cell phone rang and I had it set on "vibrate."

I felt the sky tumbling down so I knew inside of me that something terribly was wrong.

When I began to sway after I left the Eagle’s Club on South Second Street in Pottsville in mid-afternoon I had a feeling of remorse. I kept saying to myself, “Why did I pay my school taxes already?” “Is it too late to stop payment on my check?”

As I made my way up Mahantongo Street I sat down and cried as I looked upon the devastation. Once a beautiful townhouse, the structure began to tumble down before me. There was nothing I could do. I felt sorrow for the absentee landowner, knowing that his beloved building can never be salvaged.

I made my way down to West Market Street and found that a beautiful brick residence was also in ruins. If you on Market Street it is across from Yanick’s garage. You can't miss it. Apparently the roof collapsed onto the porch. Luckily, anyone inside got out alive. It is quite a setback for the city as it is now an eyesore on what once was an attractive street. “What has Pottsville done to deserve such a wrath of God?” “Can Congressman Holden help these poor absentee property owners get federal aid?” “Can Barefield Development come to the rescue?” I hoped that the Code Enforcement Office would give the owner some slack in making repairs. Could this be our Katrina? We need federal assistance right away.

It wasn’t just Pottsville. Someone told me that there are areas around Shenandoah, particularly the Lost Creek and William Penn area that were hard hit. Others said it wasn’t true, as that area prefers to look that way.

In any event I pushed my way through the ruble and worked my way up to the courthouse. The place was hard hit by the tremors. It was reported that about half of the employees were awakened from sound sleep. It may take months for normal sleeping patterns to resume. The only good news at the courthouse was one employee who was adament that the earthquake cured her hiccups.

When I arrived, Grief Counselors were already on site. I told the grief counselor that I felt guilty paying my school taxes before the taxes were due in light of the impending Rapture or Apocalypse. I told the counselor that I had so much to live for. There was a splash party for dogs at JFK Pool on Saturday and I wanted to attend with my pit bull. “Would it be cancelled?” “What about the brick that I purchased for the Courthouse in honor of the bicentennial?” “Would I ever get to gather my family around for the formal dedication?” I was paranoid that the brick mason would misspell my name on the brick and I wanted to see it and touch it before it was placed into the courtyard. The counselor told me to take six deep breathes and get the hell out of his office as no one on the courthouse payroll is buying a brick.

I was afraid to sleep in my own house that night, not because of a fear of an aftershock, but because Mammy Trout was upset that I spent so much time at the Eagle's Bar. I made my way to Pocket Park and fell into a deep sleep.

Breaking News! Trout enters rehab

Unheralded and superficial dilettante, bb trout, is asking for a temporary leave of absence from his blog while he seeks professional treatment in the wake of his Twitter scandal.

His so-called common law wife, Mammie Trout, said that he would leave for professional treatment after he picks up a dozen sticky buns at Renninger’s Market, and will focus on "becoming a better common law husband and healthier person, probably in that order, but it is too early to say for sure."

The statement doesn't say what Trout would be treated for. There are conflicting stories circulating about his on-going sticky bun addiction as well as his inappropriate tweets and pokes. Schuylkill County's Warne Clinic, by the way, is noted for the treatment of food addictions and trout had been treated there in the past for bleenia (obsessive consumption of potato pancakes, preferably with onions). It is rumored that trout may be admitted there under an alias.

Just before the release of the statement, the leading Schuylkill County officials demanded that Trout step down as publisher of his blog and give up plans to run for Jury Commissioner in 2013.

"This sordid affair has become an unacceptable distraction for Mr. Trout, his so-called common law wife, and the children he sired through multiple relationships, including one with his cleaning lady. It is time for him to quit and get out of here. The office of county jury commissioner demands more of a candidate.”
Before Saturday afternoon's developments, trout told reporters in Pine Grove that "I have to redeem myself and I am going to try to get back to work. I let people down by failing to attend the Kiebossi Festival the other week. Sorry, folks! I will make it up to you. I also apologize to the five or six people who follow the blog religiously and were expecting a new article in early June."
Mr Trout’s handling of the scandal has been a public relations disaster. On Tuesday, he argued with a WPAM correspondent outside the Eagle’s Club on South Second Street in Pottsville, at one point calling the producer a “stick in the mud” and an “upstart” By Wednesday, he changed tactics, apologizing. He did interviews with WPPA, WMBT, and Sam Lasante. His attempts to inject humor into the controversy fell flat. “When your name is Trout, you get a lot of people who think everything you say sounds fishy. I made a total bass out of myself,” he told Sam.

Most puzzling to the media was Mr trout’s claim that he “could not say with certitude” whether the underwear in the photograph were his. “Don’t be koi, trout! You would know if this was your underpants, Didn't you notice the JP Morgan label? Isn't it true that you only wear underpants made in Tamaqua? It's time to come clean, Mr. Trout,” Lasante said incredulously as he waived the incriminating photograph in front of him.

Trout insisted that his Twitter, Facebook, and MySpace accounts had all been hacked and that he had been a victim of prank, joke or hoax by his opponents who were trying to sabotage his expected run for the office of jury commissioner in 2013 by sending tweets out to the entire membership of the Frackville D.A.R., the Sisters of Christian Charity and the Pine Grove Eastern Star. "I've been punked!"

It was Saturday that he fessed up to all of the photographs, prompting the release of the statement from Mammie Trout, his so-called common-law wife (who is finally getting some sympathy from the public). Apparently his problem began many years ago, before their on-again, off-again relationship had even started. It was at that time (long before Al Gore invented the internet) that trout drew an explicit self-portrait of himself on his Etch-A-Sketch and passed it around the Eagle's Club for all to see.
Apparently he spiralled downwards ever since.

The breaking point was his tweeting of an interesting close-up photo (taken in his house) of his junk.

health care ideas

I did not let my daughter, Santana, go to school the other day. I did not want her to be subjected to listening to the President tell her that she should study hard and make something of herself. It none of his business what she does with her life. I don’t want my child brainwashed by anyone not affiliated with the music industry or the pop culture. No sir-ee. Instead of school we spent the day bonding together. Instead of getting up early to drive her to the bus stop, we drove to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast, then headed down to the check cashing store on Centre Street before purchasing some smokes across the street. We then headed home to watch the Sam Lasante Show. A much better use of her time than listening to some president talk about personal responsibility. However I was curious about Obama’s health care plan and whether it will cover acute bleenia, or only cover not so cute bleenia. There is a difference you know.

After the hour of watching Sam interview Jerry the car dealer, we packed up and headed to Knoebel’s Grove. Since it was a school day it was not overly crowded, just dozens of other kids being protected from exposure to the president (all Republicans), dozens of nerdy home schoolers (mostly all Republicans), and dozens of truants (mostly Democrats).

I hate to digress, but I did notice that there were an awful lot of acutely obese people at the park, or I should say not so cutely obese people. There is a difference you know. Neither one of us had an answer but the Comet Rollercoaster had a hard time going uphill.

While waiting for a ride, we discussed health plan alternatives. I suggested that airports passengers could get full x-rays - not just their luggage or pocket items. This could be much more cost effective. Santana then cried out, “Papa, this could also be done at the courthouse as well as all other government buildings that require security checks!”
I think we trouts were onto something really big. We stumbled upon a way to put a dent in our multi-trillion dollar deficit! Prostate and foot exams as well as mammograms –even singing mammograms - could be done by the security personnel at every airport and government building! It would require some re-training of the security personnel, but that is what stimulus money is for, isn’t it?
Think of the medical savings accomplished with this simple preventative measure, some people would be getting checked once, twice or three times a day, day in day out. The X-ray machine at the Joe Zerbey International Airport as well as the one at the County Courthouse are turned on 24/7. All of that energy will no longer be going to waste.
I needed to talk to someone with authority…. I did not who to call. Then it dawned on me. I would confide with the Pottsville Surgeon General, who is under a Hippocratic oath not to divulge anything discussed by a patient. My…our…idea is bigger than the both of us and the Surgeon General would keep it a secret for now. By the way, he is neither a surgeon, nor a General but that is besides the point.

I called the Eagles Bar on my blackberry and got a hold of the Surgeon General. A press conference at the Courthouse with the Pottsville TV station carrying live coverage of maybe dental or eye exams being given at the entrance was suggested to demonstrate the cost effectiveness of the proposal. He also suggested that a different exam could be given every day of the week and if you passed five exams in a row, you get free large coffee and tastee cake at the Canteen.
Now that is what I call a non-partisan approach to a compromise on such a controversial topic. All the exams will be done by government employees, yet any treatment would still be done by private doctors.

The public and private sectors working hand-in-hand.

St. Patrick's Day

I will celebrate St. Patrick’s Day along with everyone else. I have a fondness for the Irish. The current Mrs. Trout is half-Irish for starters. I also love Irish music. I have downloaded so much U2, the O’Jays, and Sinead O’Connor, that I can hardly lift my MP3 player. I find this music so irresistible that my cell phone even rings to the harmonious melody of Donovan McNabb’s “Mellow Yellow.” I even coaxed Mammy Trout to audition for the local production of “Schuylkill Riverdance,” at the Sovereign Majestic Theatre. Sadly, she was could not keep up with the others. She will stick to making me scrapple in the kitchen.

I also admire the Irish contributions to our political process. Don’t you? Some of the Irish will tell you that they get into politics as it beats working. Well, I don’t blame them. Government pensions can’t be beat.

My favorite Celtic politician is Mayor McCheese. I said Celtic politician as no one is quite sure if Mayor McCheese was Scottish or Irish. His honor single-handedly got rid of the Hamburglar to the relief of the citizenry and is considered the Rudy Giuliani of McDonaldland. That’s what I like about him. Next to him I like the late Richard Daley of Chicago.

I am digressing as I really want to tell you why I celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

Last summer, I had trouble with snakes in my backyard. The snakes slithered their way down Sharp Mountain and onto my property. The current Mrs. Trout stepped on one while hanging her Irish linens one sunny Monday afternoon. She dropped her clothespins in panic and then called the police. With the help of their sketch artist, the snake was identified as a garter snake. Although it was not the Anaconda she feared, she wanted the snakes out of our yard.
“What does my snake problem have to do with St. Patrick?” you may ask. Well, I had heard that St. Patrick was famous for driving the snakes out of Ireland. I then thought to myself “if he could drive the snakes out of an island, then I could drive them out of my yard.”

*

“Where would I drive them?” “How would I ever get them into my SUV?” Questions kept running through my mind.

I went to the Pottsville Library and read up on St. Patrick while other patrons played solitaire on the computers. I learned that Pat was born in Britain, the son of Roman official. His birth name was Maewyn Succat. I am glad that he changed his name, and I am sure thousands of youngsters named Patrick are also. At the age of sixteen, Irish pirates kidnapped him. There were no “amber alerts” or pictures on milk cartons in the Dark Ages. Life was cheap. As a result, he was kept as a slave for six years before fleeing and becoming a cleric. Later he returned to Ireland and converted the island to Christianity. While he did drive, his vehicle of choice was a chariot. Death occurred on March 17th, 493. Yes, March 17th is the anniversary of his death. I doubt that many realize this, as Patrick is largely overlooked on the anniversary of his death, pushed aside by the hoopla involving plastic green hats and beer.

As for the snakes, I learned that Patrick rang his bell and drove those serpents off the island and into the sea. Ireland now has no venomous snakes. Patrick is now considered the patron saint of ophidiophobics (those suffering from a fear of snakes) and also the patron saint of engineers. I don’t know why engineers, as trains had not been invented in his time. Not even steam locomotives.

I went home and tried ringing several different bells in my yard. No luck; the snakes remained. However, my yard became overrun with children looking for the Mister Softee ice cream truck. Now I was confronted with two types of unwanted pests.

A trip to Laudeman’s Pest Control did the trick. One problem was now solved. Now how do I get rid of those annoying children looking for ice cream?

I will go and watch the St. Patrick’s Day Parade from The Eagles Club and ponder a solution over a cold Yuengling beer and also raise my glass to a remarkable man - Maewyn Succat.

* cartoon courtesy of http://blog.siena.org/ a Catholic blog