You can't escape it.

In the countryside of Southwestern Ireland, there's a huge nature refuge called Killarney National Park. Amid all of the greenery, there's a lovely set of lakes, and you can take a boat ride from one end to the castle at the other side.

The boatmen provide facts about the scenery, along with some random conversation and Irish humor. During a lull in his presentation, Dermott, the boatman, asked me where I was from. When I told him "just outside New York," he asked where, exactly, adding that he had been to New York.

"Are you familiar with New Jersey?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he replied.

"How so?" I inquired, figuring he'd tell me that like many Irish, he has family here that he visits often.

That, however, was not meant to be. "When I was in New York City, I was looking for a Sears store," he told me. "I asked around, and they told me to go to a mall in New Jersey."

*sigh*

I travel over 3000 miles, and I still can't escape the "New Jersey, land of the Malls" label.

I guess it could be worse. At least he didn't ask me if I know Tony Soprano. Or what exit I live at.

What is going on in this world when an innocent sheep can't go out without being marked with graffiti like a common subway car?

Some cats take their jobs way too seriously.

Jack is a 10 year old cat who lives in the rural town of West Milford, NJ. He doesn't like people much and generally earns his keep by patrolling his family's yard and that of two neighboring homes.

A few weeks ago, Jack's neighbor was looking outside her back window and saw him on the ground, looking up at a treed bear. According to the Newark Star Ledger, she thought, "aw, look at the kitty staring up at the bear!" Then she noticed the bear was looking nervously down at the 15-pound cat.

The bear finally got up enough courage to inch down the tree and jump down. Jack took chase into the woods and treed the bear once again. The bear was rescued, kind of, when Jack's person called him back to the house. Reportedly, the orange tabby sauntered back home and rubbed against the amazed neighbors who'd stopped by to see what the fuss was about.

By explanation, his mom said, "He doesn't want anybody in his yard."

Just goes to show what you can do with an intimidating stare and some cojones. Jack has no claws.

Mystery door ... solved

Interestingly enough, it opened very easily when I turned the knob to the left rather than to the right.

Mystery door update

As Shellpile readers will recall, I've got a mysterious door in my garage that leads to who knows where. I've got a lead on a good skeleton key, but in the meantime, I noticed today that there's an industrial-grade electrical juncture-type box near the mystery door. On closer examination, it appears to have been a light switch at one time. The actual switch is no longer there, but the hole for the toggle remains. One would think that a light switch would be placed next to a door that led from inside the building to the garage.

Upon closer scrutiny of the building schematics, however, it appears the door may lead to storage space.

In any case, there's still light shining through the keyhole. Wouldn't it be weird if it led to the Asbury Park Casino?

Greetings from Asbury Park
Asbury Park, New Jersey, has seen better days... but apparently things are looking up.

The town was once one of the shining stars of the Jersey shore, with amusement rides, a great boardwalk and a Victorian-era Casino building that extended over the beach and housed a skating rink, tunnel of love and authentic carousel, among other things. Then, for a variety of reasons (corrupt government, urban decay plus the usual yadda-yadda about people forsaking the shore for other more exotic locations (and The Mouse)), the attractions fell into disuse, the buildings were abandoned and started collapsing into themselves, becoming haunted shells of what they once were. (Weird NJ has a great, and more detailed, description of the fall of the amusement mecca)

Now, I've been going down to the Asbury Park boardwalk for several years to take photos of the ruins, or, as the graffiti says, "the debris by the sea." I, like every other New Jerseyan, have heard for years that one scheme or another was going to pull the city out of its doldrums and back to its former glory. The latest attempt is in building a series of luxury condos and renovating the boardwalk attractions. There's already a growing and enthusiastic gay community, the $500,000 condos are selling like crazy, and and many of the shuttered storefronts downtown are now the homes of cute cafes and interior design firms. In other words, this might actually work.

Still, though, I couldn't get the "eeries" out of my system. Every time I go onto that boardwalk, I get this sense of foreboding. The first time I went there to take photos, they all came out blurry. And I'd always take photos of the casino, with its windows blown out and trees growing through its roof. My mind raced with thoughts of what it must look like inside those crumbling walls.

Imagine my surprise when I went down earlier this year and found that the Casino was partially open. It has a new owner who has pledged to renovate it, and they'd opened up the walkway that goes through the building to link the Asbury Park boardwalk with the town of Ocean Grove to the south. Standing at the doorway, I saw that the floor was made of marble, and looking up, I noticed netting up above, hung to catch any falling plaster. And to either side, there were plywood construction barriers on which were hung artists' renderings of the new condos going up. This didn't feel like another attempt doomed to failure. It felt real: maybe Asbury Park is coming back.

As someone else started walking in, I decided to take the plunge. If anything went wrong -- or the building swallowed me up -- I wouldn't be alone. It was chilly inside the building, and I stopped at one of the drawings so I could gather my courage to go farther in. Turned out the other person was a tourist from Holland. He'd been in New York on business and wanted to see the Asbury Park that Bruce Springsteen sings about. I nodded, and as I looked outside and saw people on the boardwalk, enjoying hot dogs and ice cream from boardwalk stores that hadn't been open in years, I said, "It sure is something, isn't it?" Only thing was, he saw the decay where I saw the possibility.

Still, though, it will be some time before I can go into any of those buildings without getting the creeps.

Lupita and Linda Blair and the Mother of All Hairballs

I went to Santa Fe about five years ago and stayed in this great B&B called La Tienda Inn . Great place – comfy, great atmosphere and friendly innkeepers. If you go to Santa Fe, be sure to check it out. When I checked in, I noticed this big cat walking around, and the innkeeper told me she was Lupita, she owned the place and once she planted herself on your lap, you were stuck for as long as she wanted to be there, which could mean a long wait. Later on, as I sat in the lounge, I could see her living up to her reputation on another guest’s lap. The guest, who clearly wasn’t a cat person, was visibly terrified at the prospect of trying to move her.

The next day, I figured I was acclimated to the altitude (7500 feet) and went out to Bandelier National Monument to do some hiking. I think I got a little stoned on the lack of oxygen, because by the time I got back, I was downright goofy. Lupita was waiting at the door of the little cottage I was staying in, so when I opened the door, I let her come in. She made herself at home on the bed, and we hung out to watch some TV. After a few hours, I figured it was time for her to go – I was ready to sleep, the innkeeper would be getting worried, and most importantly, there was no litter box in the room. However, Lupita had made up her mind to spend the night in my room.

That is, until something scary started to occur. I’d made a really BIG mistake by going hiking before I’d actually acclimated to the altitude, and it suddenly became very clear to me that I was about to get very sick. Again, I tried to get the cat out of the room, but she wouldn’t budge – a decision she came to regret. I ended up running to the bathroom to do the Linda Blair thing into the first plumbing fixture I could get to. When that first bout ended, I looked down to see the cat bolting for the door, which, of course, was closed. When I went to let her out, she had such a look of fear in her eyes! I can only imagine that she thought I’d hacked up the mother of all hairballs. She avoided me for the rest of the time I was at the inn.

I learned two things from this experience: wait at least 48 hours before you do anything remotely athletic when you’re dealing with altitude, and if you need to get rid of an obstinate cat, projectile vomiting works very well.

Ya gotta wonder what the guy is thinking...


...and what the world is thinking of the rest of us.

Rock bands, etc.


Coco mentioned that Smoking Caldera sounds like a punk band. Reminds me of a time when some sort of strange substance was found on the ground, having fallen like rain in a town not far from here. The newspaper headline read: Mysterious Goo Found in S. Plainfield.

"Mysterious Goo." You don't see that phrase often, especially in a newspaper. Made me think: it's a pretty cool rap artist name. 'Cept you'd have to spell it:

Ms. Teary S. Gu

And somewhere in between would have to be some sort of unpronounceable symbol. Thoughts?

No matter where you go...

somebody wants to sell you a souvenir (and a Coke).

After walking just about all the way up Mt. Vesuvius, you're greeted by a handwritten sign -- in four languages, no less -- announcing that you're almost to the top, to the smoking caldera.

Interestingly enough, the word "souvenir" needs no translation.

Don R.'s video

From the doghouse to the penthouse

This is my buddy Pete (the dude on the right). He spent over two years at the animal shelter where I used to volunteer. Great dog, very quirky. Some kind of mix of mastiff and bulldog and probably something else -- we couldn't figure it out.

Anyway, Pete and I got to be pals because I was one of the few people who could walk him without getting dragged. He'd see me coming with the leash, and he'd start jumping up and down like a Jack Russell terrier, except Pete is close to 100 pounds. It was amazing. Pete was partial to women, and after a while, he'd even sit in my lap gently, not putting his full weight on me.

Anyway, Pete finally got adopted by a nice couple. The man looked about the way Pete would look if he were human -- tall and beefy -- and the woman was petite and fussed over him, just as he likes. So after spending over two years living in a trailer next to the municipal dump and the police shooting range, Pete is living the life of luxury. He has a summer home on the Jersey Shore, and a boat, among other things. Most importantly, he has a dad who understands him and knows how to treat him when he steals someone's steak. Yup, Pete has the good life. He deserves it.

Sometimes I feel like a goat in a tree

How I got here, I don’t know.
Why I’m here, I don’t know.
But I’m here, so may as well enjoy the view.

Happy Independence Day

Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.

-Benjamin Franklin

The Nebraska Navy

Everybody knows about Kentucky colonels (Sanders aside) ... but did you know that there's an imposing naval force within the heartland of the United States?

It's called the Nebraska Navy.

Why would a landlocked state need a navy, you ask? Because you never know when there will be a surprise incursion from Kansas. Kansas, you ask? Oh, they seem really friendly in Kansas, and like the U.S. and Canada, Nebraska and Kansas have a broad, unprotected border and a history of friendly relations, but these days it never hurts to be prepared. I'm sure that the Cornhusker State got its fair share of Homeland Security dollars to bolster the navy's defenses.

Like any government entity, however, the Nebraska Navy apparently is not immune to political maneuvering and patronage. It has more admirals per sailor than any other naval fleet on the planet Earth. Reportedly, it has become a gubernatorial tradition to grant admiralship to any just about Nebraskan who asks.

By the way, the Nebraska Navy should not be confused with the Cornfield Cruiser, or the USS Rancocas, which protects the farmland of southern New Jersey. That's a totally different story.

The Cat Man

I used to work in the headquarters of an electric company, and when I first started working there, a co-worker told me about an employee who dressed up like Rum-Tug-Tugger from "Cats" for every employee event. I thought she was pulling my leg... but then I saw the Cat. It was Christmas Eve, the day that employees traditionally bring their kids to the office and put work aside for some holiday cameraderie. There was Leon, in the lobby, resplendent in his threadbare tights and fur that had seen better days, welcoming employees' children to the building. More than one kid shrank behind his/her parent's back, and I'm sure a few had nightmares about the pot-bellied, six foot feline who meowed at them and pawed at the air.

I never actually saw Leon without his costume and makeup on, but I did have one unfortunate encounter with him at a company-sponsored event. He sidled up to me and asked if I had a cat. I said no, but I'd been thinking about it. Bad move -- he replied, "Well, put a saucer of milk out on your doorstep, and maybe I'll stop by."

A few years later, after I left the company, "Cats" closed on Broadway and I heard that they were having a charity sale of all of the costumes and props. Somehow I had suspicions, and when I read the New York Times the next day, I found a picture of Leon, in costume, shopping for new fur among the used cast materials. He was quoted, "Sometimes you're having a bad day, you put on your fur and whiskers, and things turn for the better."

When you think about it, it's a shame Leon worked in the headquarters of the electric company. With his feline skills, he'd probably serve the company better working in the field and climbing poles.

The Mystery Door

I live in an old building. It was built in 1940, on an old estate, with a beautiful English garden courtyard. After a two year wait, I finally got to the top of a list for a garage. The building has about 40 individual garages, all located on the ground floor around the outer perimeter of the building.

When I first opened my garage, I found that there's a door on the wall opposite the garage door. It's an old metal door, with trim and one of those big keyholes you can squint through. Hoping it was extra storage, I tried the doorknob; it was locked. Mystery!

Of course, I couldn't just let it be. My first theory was that the door originally led to an interior basement hallway leading to the building, so that you wouldn't have to walk outside after parking in the garage. I figured that at some point, they'd locked all the doors and walled them off to create more storage areas for all of the residents. But when I looked at the building floor plans I got when I moved in, I couldn't find a hallway. Then again, the floor plans were copied and copied and copied until they were very faint when I got them.

The other day, when I came into the garage to get the car out for work, I noticed a glimmer of light coming through the keyhole. Hearing that spooky slasher movie music in my head, I approached the door and bent down to peer through the keyhole. All I could see was a well-lit, painted cinderblock wall about six feet away, with a bundle of cables running along it about three feet above the floor.

That light has been on for a couple of days now. Maybe there's someone back there, pushing a button every 108 minutes to keep the world from ending. On the other hand, maybe it's Dick Cheney's undisclosed location. Or there's someone (probably Dick Cheney) on the other side, waiting to jab a sharp stick in my eye if I get too close.

I am considering buying a skeleton key (do those things work?) to see if I can get the door open. Of course, I could always just ask building management, but that wouldn't be any fun, would it?

Any idea what's behind the door? I'm kind of afraid to find out, but I'm also dying of curiosity. I guess if I disappear, you'll know where to send the police.

The northern New Jersey town of Edgewater has an interesting distinction: one of its neighborhoods is inhabited by a flock of monk parrots.

The jury is out on how exactly they got there -- the popular story is that they escaped from an incoming cargo shipment at Newark Airport. However, there's a similar story about a flock in Queens and JFK Airport, so who knows.

Every once in a while, the Edgewater parrots get evicted from their homes. You see, they tend to build huge nests of branches and twigs on or next to power transformers; the pole-top equipment provides a warm place for them. They raise the danger of creating outages, so the local utility, with the assistance of NJ Fish and Wildlife, breaks down the nests and makes the transformers safe again.

Despite the fact that the entire neighborhood could lose power -- and the nests could go up in flames -- if this work wasn't done, the neighbors complain when the birds are evicted. On the other hand, one or two local people have exploited the situation by catching the birds and attempting to sell them to exotic bird dealers. Monk parrots are protected by law, so the poachers generally are arrested and fined. (The utility and Fish & Wildlife don't harm the birds.)

The monk parrots don't seem to mind the eviction, as much as they might squawk about it. Undeterred, they return to rebuild their nests as soon as the coast is clear.

A quick utility joke: Why do transformers hum? Because they don't know the words.

Here's the shell pile at Shellpile. Or at least one of them. Shellpile, New Jersey, is part of Commercial Township in Gloucester County, as are Port Norris and Bivalve. Yes, there is not only a Shellpile, there's a Bivalve, both named for the oyster harvesting and processing industry that brought the towns to life back in the 19th century.

Now, the shellpile isn't as big as it once was. These communities are virtual ghost towns, since the bivalve disease MSX decimated the oyster industry in the Delaware Bay back in the 50's and 60's. As you see, there are still bivalves to be had, but they are carted in from other places and just processed there. The oyster industry is also coming back as the Bay gets healthier and healthier, though I'm hearing now that DuPont wants to dump some sort of previously-noxious chemical several miles out in the bay. As we know, nothing is ever "previously noxious." If it were, the corporate decision makers wouldn't mind having it in their own back yards.

I've been mulling over the concept of electing lame ducks.

Here in New Jersey, we have a lame duck acting governor, Dick Codey, who as Senate president, assumed the governorship when the elected governor resigned. Nobody really cared that the elected governor was gay -- his excuse for leaving. Rather, the bulk of us were fed up because corruption swirled around him like a flushing toilet around a turd.

So... Dick Codey became acting governor because we don't have a lieutenant governor. He then proceeded to do stuff. Pretty good stuff. Stuff he definitely wouldn't be doing if he was running for another term. Or maybe he would, but the spinmeisters would be advising him to do otherwise.

I've been watching this with some pleasure: a New Jersey state politician doing the right thing. What really has gotten me recently is the TV commercials featuring his wife. Most of the time, we only see the governor's wife when she's reading to small children or perhaps co-starring in the customary "governor and his wife walking on the beach" tourism ad. Not Mary Jo Codey. Instead, Mary Jo has done a series of commercials about post-partum depression, something she knows a bit about. Not surprising, either, since both she and her husband have been very supportive of mental health initiatives. Not because they're running for anything, but because they care about it and it's the right thing to do.

Curious.