HOBOKEN–There has to beeee a morning affffteeeeer.
Dean Kemph, a Dawn Zimmer supporter who often sends out a send-up of the Hoboken campaign, gives his Wednesday morning analysis below. What do you think? Leave a comment!
“Give me your poll-tired, your tax-poor, your muddled candidates yearning to speak free…the wretched refuse of your collapsing shore…”
The people have…er…yelled.
Don’t you dare now. Let’s not hear, “well, 57% voted against her” or commensurate drivel. She outpolled #2 and #3 combined — this was as close to a mandate as it can get in the Mile Square. Yes, she’s underqualified. And yes, her supporters acknowledge that, at least all the ones that I know. With no compelling competitor, the populace opted for the promise of her intentions and the hope that she can find her way. And frankly, fairness. Because this election was also an overwhelming repudiation of the opposition’s incessant revisions to Dawn’s to-don’t list. So let’s not, please, hear any more cries about her non-accomplishments. Hush now. Don’t pretend that this was anything near normal, that three months of a non-transitioned and non-certified half-mayoralty, instantly beleaguered by circumstance-invigorated ego-fueled vultures and the immediate weight of yet another brutal do-over was a normal working environment. The people, if you remember them, would like to give her a chance. Let go of those weak and failed accusations of the last quarter, and re-calibrate your watches to real administration standard time. Take comfort, oh ye obstructionists, the time for howling and complaining about misdeeds, real and imagined, is nigh.
But not today.
So, anti-climax aside, how was your day?
I was in Hoboken only briefly. I always feel uneasy on election day. It’s those shadowy guys in the dark business suits and slicked-back hair that no one knows, presumably, state and county “operatives”. I love that word. You usually just don’t see that many suits in the middle of the day in Hoboken. They arrive out of nowhere, cell phones glued to their ears, self-importantly talking about “turnout” and “patterns” as if they actually have some influence over events, and then they’re gone just as quickly, never to be seen again. I guess that I’m just afraid that I’ll be standing too close to one when he’s sucked back to the mother ship, or Union City, or Trenton, or wherever, and that I might get caught in the vortex.
Then there were the sign-holders. I don’t know about you, but if I’m undecided I tend to go to the individual with the biggest or prettiest sign, depending on my mood, as this is usually much quicker than going through boring “policy” and “record” stuff. Beth was a little under-represented here, as she had been relying primarily on a highly-paid child-labor force, and they were still in school when I was in town. Unfortunately, I had unthinkingly donned one of my vast collection of Grateful Dead shirts, and the tie-dye rainbow of colors brought an onrush of campaigners who assumed I was undecided. I forgot that I couldn’t vote, and, in desperation, I demanded their candidates’ policy positions, and everyone except the green-shirted ones, who were the only ones I recognized anyway, shuffled away glowering and grumbling about overtime. I dispersed the green shirts by telling them I saw a truck with a sign marked: GRANT MONEY- ONE DAY ONLY stuck in some 4th ward flood waters and they all took off to help.
I did have one encounter with a candidate, and this I’m not kidding about. Kim Glatt was getting ready to cross Washington at 11th Street when I was waiting at the light. The light turned green, but I waved her across, figuring her time was more valuable than mine yesterday. Goofball that I am, I didn’t stop to think that the northbound traffic might not be thinking along the same lines, and Kim had to scramble back to the curb for her life. I called out to Kim that it wasn’t intentional. She was very good-natured and laughing about it. I was so glad it wasn’t Beth, and that I wouldn’t be facing attempted vehicular manslaughter charges.
Annie, always an unwitting “beneficiary” of my excesses, wasn’t so lucky as her visit to town yesterday involved run-ins with the Mason camp, including the candidate herself. Which was, undoubtedly, awkward for both but Beth was polite and gracious. My long-time friend, the ever-aspiring Ines Garcia Keim, wasn’t quite so restrained, calling over her shoulder to Annie that “your husband has become an insufferable ass”. Well, I have to take issue with Ines on that one. I’ve ALWAYS been an insufferable ass. And don’t you think Annie, of all people, knows that? Give her some credit, for Pete’s sake. But I think I’ve found the problem there. What Ines probably meant to say was: “your husband is NOW an insufferable ass because, although he has certainly had his criticisms of Dawn, he won’t completely buy into our fire and brimstone view despite what we keep telling him, as opposed to the last 20 years when we agreed on most things and I was rooting on his efforts as an astute and consistent observer”. So, I think we got THAT squared away.
And for the record, do I think there’s a good person inside Beth Mason? You betcha. Better than most. Which is why it was so disappointing to see that person disappear and the rationalize-any-tactic-to-win-the-mayoralty-for-myself one emerge. Let’s send it back to the darkness from which it came. After all Beth, if you did cut a deal with the devil on this, you got really, really bad value. There’s got to be some kind of return policy. But maybe you should stay away from union negotiations.
Finally, I’ll have you all know, not to puff out my chest too much, that I must have underestimated my considerable influence, because on Monday I received a PERSONAL PHONE CALL from the President Of These United States, yes indeedy, one Mr. Barack Obama. I saw the Washington area code pop up and thought to myself, “who could this be?”. Well, sure enough, the next words I heard were, “This is Barack Obama”. I didn’t even know he had my cell number, but it was pretty flattering. He was obviously in a rush, because as I was saying hello and asking him how he was doing, he was kind of talking over me. He was telling me a lot of his impressions of New Jersey politics and who’s good to vote for, because he knows I’m interested in that stuff. He’s real chatty, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise; then, as luck would have it, he apparently lost his signal…
Best of luck to my adopted and beloved Hoboken.
Dean