The Garden State

New Jersey is the Rodney Dangerfield of the United States. From Ben Franklin's comment that it's a keg tapped at both ends to Andy Warhol's quip the the state bird  is the mosquito, Jersey gets no respect. Jersey is the only "New" state that regularly drops the first word in its name. The others don't say York, or Mexico or Hampshire. but ask someone from the Garden State where they live, and you will get a succinct, Jersey.

The first thing to understand about the state is it's schizophrenic nature. In colonial times, it was West and East Jersey. Now it's North and South Jersey. That indeterminate line lies somewhere around Trenton. This dual personality harks back to Franklin's comment as the state is overshadowed by New York City and Philadelphia. 

My home state is known as a dump for garbage and the mob's dead bodies, for syringes and condoms lapping up on our beaches, for toxic waste and chemical plants. In size, population density, percentage of open versus populated land and industrial development, New Jersey is comparable to Connecticut. But the latter is seen as a beautiful piece of New England and the former is seen as a smelly piece of...you get the idea. 

A reason for this could be that the two major highways through Connecticut amble past pastoral greenery while the Jersey Turnpike and Garden State Parkway bisect oil refineries and electric plants. 

Jersey has miles of beautiful beaches, the best diners, delicious tomatoes, juicy blueberries and the Pine Barrens - mysterious home of the Jersey Devil. Plus you never have to pump your own gas! Only someone raised in the loving, yet callous, bosom of New Jersey could persevere the brunt of endless jokes, the disdain of the other 49 states and remain the epitome of cool. - as ever - BB

"The curtain rises on a vast primitive wasteland, not unlike certain parts of New Jersey." - Woody Allen

This jive bows my wig!

Translation: This language excites me! 

Jive's murky history begins with the African American slave experience in which people of different languages and dialects strove to communicate in a hostile, foreign environment. Simmered like a gumbo in New Orleans, it absorbed creole phrasing and inflections. Early Jazz musicians added their riffs and carried it up the Mississippi to Chicago and finally New York. During this journey, jive assimilated nuances from the nefarious world of criminals, the imagery of poets and the sundry input of ne'er-do-wells.  Never stagnant, jive constantly changed meanings and revised words, so even the cognoscente struggled to stay hip.

As an example, take the word for someone who understands jive, or in the patois "has their boots on" - Originally a hepster, then a hep-cat, then a hipster, then transformed into an adjective "to be hip", and by the 1960s had morphed into the iconic hippie.

To experience the vibrancy of this colorful language, I recommend three sources: Cab Calloway's  The New Hepster's Dictionary, the Language of Jive, Milton "Mezz" Messrow's Really the Blues and any of the brilliant monologues from comic stylist Lord Buckley which are now available as MP3s  - as ever - BB

"Hipsters, flipsters and finger-poppin' daddies, knock me your lobes!" - Lord Buckley's jive rendition of "Friends, Romans and countrymen, lend me your ears." from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

Crazy Counsel

Many years ago, an old friend told me this fable. He attributed it to the founder of Hasidic Judaism, Ba'al Shem Tov. Whether or not that is accurate, I do not know. But it has always amused and uplifted me.

A rabbi was an advisor to a king. One day the king called him into his chambers. The king told the rabbi that through his spy network, he discovered that an enemy had poisoned the kingdom's water supply. The poison would not kill, but make all who drank it insane. The king had a private, secure water source. He asked the rabbi, "How can I rule my subjects? They will all be insane and if I remain sane, they will think me crazy. What should I do?"

The rabbi thought for a while and then told the king, "We shall mark our foreheads and then drink the poisoned water like everyone else. We will become crazy, but the mark will remind us that we chose to be crazy. That will make all the difference." - as ever - BB

"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are others crazy?" - Albert Einstein

Balls of Confusion

Friends continually suggest topics for my blog. I am remiss in thanking them, but appreciate their help.  Any assistance for ideas is welcome . Whether or not I follow up remains my prerogative.  Two such suggestions melded in my cranium and provide today's rumination.

First is the pawn brokers' symbol of three golden balls. Anyone who has passed a pawn shop knows this symbol. Great places to find bargains, they are usually located in the  seedier parts of town which provides an excellent opportunity to absorb local color. 

Several etymologies exist for the symbol. Banking pioneers, the Medici family's crest contained three gold orbs. The seal of the  Italian province of Lombardy has three gold coins. One side of the Jewish shekel had three pomegranates on a single stem. Any of these, or a combination of them could be the origin of the symbol. One interesting side-note is that St. Nicholas is the Patron Saint of pawn shops. Ironic as many of us could avail ourselves of this form of money lending to pay off our holiday bills.

The other blog suggestion was the source of the phrase "cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey". This expression is said to come from the storage of cannon balls on a ship. The iron cannon balls would be stacked on a brass plate call a "monkey". Cold temperatures would shrink the plate causing the balls to fall off. 

Colorful, but debunked by both the US Navy and the Oxford English Dictionary. Cannon balls were stored in shot racks on the spar or gun deck. The OED further notes that the phrase "cold enough to freeze the tail off a brass monkey" as preceding the testicular version. Small brass monkey figurines from Asia were popular gifts in the Victorian era. The editors believe the later embellishment was more for effect than accuracy. - as ever BB

"A man's errors are his portals of discovery." - James Joyce