A Site for Shore Eyes

It’s once again time for my annual Memorial Day advice, although I don’t give it out every year. I did a thing on highway surfing last year, so I can officially call this my annual Memorial Day column.

If you plan on hitting the Wildwoods, you’re in luck, because most of the beach is still there, especially in Wildwood and Wildwood Crest. The Mother’s Day Nor’easter wiped out some of the beach in North Wildwood. Fortunately, they’re installing a sheet pile bulkhead at the end of our street, which should prevent future flooding. Unfortunately, I watched my car disappear on a flatbed yesterday. The insurance company told me they didn’t think it was a good idea to keep it any longer, due to water in the glove compartment. I watched sea water run out of the tailpipe and slosh around in the headlights when it got dragged up the ramp of the truck. The sheet pile arrived about a week-and-a-half late. Better late than never doesn’t always work out.

Year-round residents were dismayed when they realized that all of the giant beach balls, as well as the silly-looking palm tree street signs, survived the storm, as did all of the elected officials.

For those of you heading to Avalon and Sea Isle City, try to negotiate a discount on your beach tags, because most of the beaches in those communities disappeared.

The escape toll is in effect on all Ocean Drive bridges, so if you’re heading for Cape May or Stone Harbor from the Wildwoods, take the Parkway getting there, but come back for free along Ocean Drive. On the other hand, now that it’s cheaper to fill up your car with vodka, rather than gasoline, you just may want to pay the dollar for the shorter distance. For the first time ever, the one-way tolls are starting to make sense.

To avoid the rush to the shore, leave early, which means yesterday or the day before. If you come down 55 to Delsea Drive, you’ll be delighted to know that the interchange at 47 and 83 is complete. They installed a traffic signal so as to keep the 83 traffic flowing for the one or two cars per hour that turn left onto 47. This was a brilliant solution, and only adds about a three-mile backup on 47 during heavy weekend traffic. This will enhance the backup at 47 and 347.

In order to relieve frustration, and make the time seem to pass more quickly, travelers can indulge in a number of fun activities. If you have a talking GPS system, change the language to Japanese, and don’t look at the screen. Try to guess where you will end up. For even more fun, ignore the directions from the GPS and continue until it starts screaming, “Make a U-turn! Make a U-turn!” If it says, “You can’t get there from here,” you have achieved expert status.

The mayor of Wildwood wants everyone to know that the first high-rise has been approved. This is something he has been waiting for since he first started working in the family concrete business. In a few years, you Philly people can save a lot of time and money by just staying home, because both places will look pretty much the same.

As I reported earlier, Rio Grande Avenue is safe for travel. All other streets are pretty much the same as they have been since I first left town in 1972, only worse. The city purchased some new paving equipment for patching streets. The workers now have extra heavy duty work shoes to stomp down the asphalt fill. They were also given flatter shovels with baseball bat weights installed on the handles near the shovel heads. For those of you who don’t want to pay the price for amusement rides, just drive around town. It’s sort of like going on the dinosaur ride, or whatever it is, at Disney World, but a little scarier.

The Great Nor’easter, on Morey’s Pier, sports new cars with state of the art seats. The harness now comes down over your lap, instead of over your shoulders, allowing passengers more freedom of movement. Now you can fling your arms in the face of the person sitting next to you, and they can do the same.

The International Kite Festival will be in town over the entire weekend, and these kite flyers are really something to see. I’m not kidding. I’m not sure why anyone would devote so much time to mastering the art of flying kites to music, but it’s impressive to watch. Ironically, kite flying is normally banned on the beach. Go figure.

If you plan on staying at a motel in the Wildwoods, book your reservations early, like in 2002 or so, before most of the motels disappeared. Don’t waste your money on a Doo-wop tour, because there’s not much left to see. Let me clarify that statement. There’s still a lot of Doo-wop architecture, but most of the really classic stuff has been bulldozed away. There’s also quite a bit of neo doo-wop, but it’s not really the same thing. The doo-wop era of architecture ended long ago, and the contrived new stuff is way overdone.

Okay, so Wildwood doesn’t have any casinos, but you still could hit the jackpot if you fall through one of the rotten boards on the boardwalk. You know, the ones they keep threatening to replace. Some of the tram cars are new, and have improved suspension systems. I think that means they actually have suspension systems.

Parking meters got more expensive in Wildwood, so you now get only fifteen, instead of twenty, minutes for a quarter. This will generate enough additional revenue to buy some more giant beach balls, called “infrastructure” by the city officials. This was a necessary measure, because each new condo means fewer parking meters. Now they’re talking about building huge parking garages that will capture some of the money now being lost to private parking lot owners. Hopefully, plastic palm trees will be included in the design, along with a sign sporting a rotating ’57 Chevy.

So, come early and stay late. Enjoy the kite festival. All city officials plan on being in attendance, just in case there’s not enough wind.

So here we are approaching the big Memorial Day weekend and it was quite chilly today, due to global warming, or, as they now call it, “climate change.” Apparently, CO2 emissions cause both warming and cooling, and global warming can mean that it’s getting cooler. The approaching ice age is a result of global warming.

Just in case we actually do have a summer (the laughing gulls seem to be committed to the idea), it’s probably time to discuss crabology. Unless otherwise specified, crabs will mean blue claw crabs, one of the orneriest critters on mud.

Okay, let’s get some other crab types out of the way. The horseshoe crab, so named because it looks like a somewhat-flattened Army helmet with a tail, crawls up on the beach in early summer to lay eggs. It often gets flipped over by small waves, and that tail thing, which is not a stinger, is what the inverted crab uses to turn itself right-side-up. Apparently it doesn’t work very well, but it’s also used as a rudder, and perhaps it functions better in that capacity. Horseshoe crabs (also called king crabs, because they resemble flattened Army helmets) are edible in some parts of the world, not because they’re different, but because the people are. Unless you happen to be a red knot (a type of bird) or someone who uses the crabs for bait or fertilizer, that’s about everything you need to know about these prehensile creatures.

Then there’s the fiddler crab, formally known as the Stradivarius crab, so named because it makes screeching sounds somewhat like a violin. Okay, my research assistant just informed me that it gets its name because of its oversized claw on one side that sort of resembles a fiddle. She said it does not make screeching sounds. Only the male has the large claw. This type of crab is reluctantly ambidextrous. If it drops its fiddle, it grows another one on the opposite side, and if that one falls or gets ripped off, it grows another one on the other side. In other words, you can only keep it from pinching you until it grows another claw. Actually, it grows a mini claw where the big one used to be, and the mini claw on the other side gets big, but not immediately. I think. . . Yeah, that sounds about right. I understand that the function of the large claw is rather limited and is normally used only during special occasions, such as a hoe-down, or when acting in the musical, Fiddler Crab on the Roof.

Another crab related to the fiddler crab is the ghost crab. No one has ever actually seen one, but many people have sensed a feeling of a crab being nearby. I’m pretty sure I once stepped on one, but I was unable to confirm it.

The spider crab is probably one of the ugliest crabs around, not that a crab of any type would be considered photogenic. Strangely enough, the spider crab looks like a spider, only much bigger, and with a hard shell. Because it lives in the water, it is not considered to be a true arachnid. Like the wolf spider, it doesn’t spin webs. Its main function is to scare unsuspecting fisher persons by pretending it’s a fish. People are often horrified to discover that the sea bass they reeled in has morphed into a scary-looking creature resembling a large spider. Despite its appearance, the spider crab is relatively harmless, although you should never handle one if it has a red hourglass on its abdomen. It does play an important role in the ecology of the sea, but no one knows what it is.

If you happen to be from, or vacation in, Ocean City (NJ), you probably have a strange affection for the hermit crab. On May 1 of each year, Martin Z. Mollusk, a hermit crab, and the city’s mascot, somehow predicts whether or not summer will come early or late. It’s also one of the few places on earth that holds an annual beauty contest for hermit crabs. How weird is that? Weird people keep them as pets in a terrarium, no water required. The hermit crab, lacking a shell of its own, will attack a much larger creature, kill it, and steal its shell. Sorry. . . my research assistant has just informed me that the hermit crab is actually very docile, and gets some other denizen of the deep to dispose of the other shell’s occupant. It then applies for a certificate of occupancy, and once it’s granted, it drags the abandoned shell around as its permanent home. Most hermit crabs select empty snail shells, but some of the more wealthy crabs have been known to attach themselves to abalone shells. Many of the more domesticated crabs are actually given prefabricated shells made of plastic or some other high-tech material, such as titanium, although the latter is the exception, rather than the rule.

Other crab types exist at the Jersey Shore, including the apple crab. Never mind, I just learned that it’s the crab apple, so it’s time to move on to the topic of this article, the blue claw crab.

Blue claw crabs, no matter where they currently reside, all originated in Maryland, or at least that’s what the hype would have you believe. The people in that state (I lived there for a couple of years) also believe they invented the crab cake. Now we’re not talking an actual cake here, although some that I’ve tasted probably had enough batter mixed in to officially qualify. A crab cake is simply a mixture of crab meat and other herbs and spices, as well as something to hold it all together, the less of the latter the better. The ones dredged in bread crumbs or corn meal usually get deep fried, and others, lacking the external coating, often get broiled. But there I go again, putting the apple before the crab.

The easiest way to get blue claw crabs is to buy them, preferably already cleaned, from a store that sells them. Another way is to catch them yourself, an activity considered a “fun part of a vacation” by unsuspecting tourists. Most of these amateurs, lacking the knowledge or skills required to catch crabs via a hand line, opt for using a trap. This device needn’t be complicated, because crabs apparently never studied mechanical engineering. Most so-called recreational crab traps consist of a wire frame with doors that close when the crabber yanks on a cord, then pulls the trap from the water. Commercial traps function pretty much like lobster pots – the crab enters a large cage through ports designed to allow only one-way passage.

The more experienced crabber uses a hand line, simply a cord with bait and a sinker attached. When he “feels” the crab nibbling at the bait, he pulls the line up slowly, a hand net sitting ready to scoop up the crab. For those of you wondering how one pulls in a line and holds a hand net at the same time, there’s a simple explanation. Unfortunately, I don’t know what it is. I know, you’re probably saying to yourself, “But isn’t this more difficult, and doesn’t it result in a lower catch yield?” Well, the answer is, yes, but the number of crabs caught isn’t as important to the experienced crabber as the fun and frustration involved. These are usually the same individuals seen running through the woods with a knife, hunting everything from squirrels to deer.

One of the best parts of crabbing is watching someone new to the activity, usually accompanied by small children, attempt to capture an escaped crab. The crab also enjoys this, and scurries sideways, looking for either the water or a place to hide, all the while waving its claws in a menacing manner. This is very effective up to the point that one of the small children stomps on the crab to subdue it. Children consider crabs pretty much just big bugs.

There are several ways to pick up a live crab, but some of them are quite painful. If you’re not sure, use very long tongs. Otherwise, two methods are effective. The easiest is to grab it from behind, using your thumb (assuming you still have it at this point) and one of your remaining fingers on the top and bottom of the shell. Another is to place the thumb and finger where the paddle legs meet the shell. This works, but is a little more unstable than the first method.

Once you catch enough crabs, you’re faced with the decision of either cooking and cleaning or cleaning and cooking. Later you must decide whether to boil or steam, unless you’re talking about soft shell crabs, which is beyond the scope of this article. Assuming you want to steam the crabs, ask someone how it’s done. I’ve watched the process, but don’t care to participate, nor learn its nuances. It involves stacking the live crabs in a steamer, each with a coating of Old Bay seasoning. Note: Cooking live crabs in a microwave oven is NOT an approved method.

Boiling is simpler. You simply dump the crabs in boiling water, which can be seasoned according to your desires. The easiest way is to throw in a package of crab boil, consisting of spices contained in a net-like thing. Another way is to add the seasoning directly to the water, and this can involve allspice, Old Bay, or other commercial brands. Always add some vinegar, and preferably, some salt. Or just use vinegar and salt.

It’s impossible to cook live crabs, but they can be either live or dead before dropping them in the boiling water. This requires further explanation. If a crab dies of unnatural causes, meaning it was out of the water for too long, it’s a little iffy to bother eating it. However, you can clean the crabs before cooking them, in which case they’re officially dead before going in the pot. Either way, cleaning them is pretty much the same. Almost.

Cleaning live crabs involves subduing the creatures in some manner. Some people stun them with hot water, and others claim cold water works better. Or you can put them in the freezer or refrigerator for awhile, which puts them into a dormant state. Extremists like to kill the crab using a Samurai sword or a gun, but those methods are considered to be “overkill,” and are not recommended, especially for first-timers. Holding the crab from behind, lift the flap, pull it off, then pull off the upper shell to expose the gills and other innards. Scrape off the gills, then rinse the insides, including the mustard. If you like crab mustard, the crab should not be cleaned before cooking. With kitchen scissors, or a knife, cut off the mouth and eye stalks, and your crab is ready to go in the pot.

When crabs are cooked before cleaning, the cleaning method is pretty much the same, except that the crab is usually cleaned at the table, without using water. This gives you the added benefit of eating the “mustard,” if you so desire. I don’t eat the mustard, because I know it’s not really mustard, but some people swear by it. If you like sucking the heads of crawfish, you’ll probably go in for crab mustard in a big way.

Now, where the heck is the meat, you’re wondering? Well, some is in the claws, and a nutcracker or hammer is usually required. Experienced pickers use the handle of a butter knife. The rest of the meat is inside the body, so break the crab in half and start exploring. The easiest way to get the desirable “backfin” meat is to pull off the paddle, or backfin, and a large chunk of meat should come out. Then break open the cells containing the rest of the meat (the interior membrane is rather soft).

Cracking and eating crabs is a very rewarding experience, and often causes minor lacerations on the hands and fingers. Sometimes a tiny piece of shell lodges in the skin, resulting in an infection. Flying shell pieces also sometimes embed themselves in the cornea of the eye, but blindness is usually temporary, if treated promptly and properly. Hey, I’m only kidding – that doesn’t really happen, at least not all the time.

Okay, another fun crab activity is to go to a restaurant and order crab cakes, or crab meat au gratin, or some other prepared crab dish. This pretty much removes the element of danger, and transfers the burdens of catching, cleaning, and cooking to more experienced third parties. Have a crabby day!

Wildwood now wants to create a parking authority to oversee the possible construction of parking garages. With taxes out of control with no end in sight, additional debt just seems like a great idea at this time.

The mayor, possibly with trowel in hand, said the city will need more parking once the high-rise hotels (which most sane people seem to oppose) come into play. He said the city doesn’t have enough hotel rooms to support the new convention center, and that they face the prospect of losing some convention groups. This is old news, because the city has already lost one group – the firefighters who looked around and wondered what happened to all the motels.

Thinking along these lines is sort of like someone bumping off his parents, then demanding financial aid because he’s an orphan. Wildwood had more than enough motel rooms before condomania struck. The island was enjoying a resurgence after becoming the Doo-wop Capital of the World, because of the unprecedented number of sixties-era motels and other buildings. Motel owners thought about it, then decided to tear down the old structures and replace them with condos. Most of them made a bundle by doing so, especially since prospective buyers at the time thought the condo units were worth at least twice as much as they should have been.

Many of these new real estate moguls thought they would make out by buying condos and renting them out for thousands of dollars per week. Oops! They somehow forgot that Wildwood offered something for people not willing to spend vast amounts of money for a vacation, that is, something different from what was offered from Stone Harbor to Ocean City. So now many of the converted motels are operating just like motels, and fetching rates in line with those of motels. Over a hundred doo-wop motels disappeared forever. The Rio, a hundred-unit structure, went the way of the wrecking ball, along with the surrounding properties, and the lot has sat ugly for a few years now. CAFRA rejected the application for a 27-story hotel, pretty much saying, “Hey, this ain’t Atlantic City!”

If the kite flyers, many of whom stayed at the Rio for its convenience and camaraderie, find wind elsewhere, their East Coast Championships might also blow up or down the coast to a new locale. After all, this wasn’t the place of choice for the Wright Brothers.

The island will probably see high-rise hotels in the future, just as it saw an imitation pedestrian mall that destroyed the business district. The former business owners along Pacific Avenue were more than happy to have paid for the bricks given away free to residents who wanted them. The city then installed new silly-looking sidewalks, then the current sidewalks that aren’t quite as silly looking. The rocket ship street signs yielded to silly-looking palm tree street signs. The mayor claims his concrete company was excluded from participating in any of this.

You might wonder why the same characters keep getting elected in the city, when most people seem to reject the idea of high rises and other schemes. The answer is rather simple. Summer residents who own property are excluded from voting, but not from paying taxes. You would think they would have a say in how their tax dollars are spent, but they don’t. It seems logical that a person should only be allowed to register to vote in one location, but it also seems logical that exceptions should be made for local elections when a person owns property in that locale.

So now Wildwood has almost everything it needs, including giant beach balls. All it now lacks are the high rises, motels, and streets that don’t shake your teeth loose while driving around town. The city is also going to increase parking meter rates. Seems that all of those new condos required off-street parking, resulting in street parking spaces disappearing where rooming houses once stood.

NJ’s Governor Corzine wants to close many of the state parks, and many of the same people who voted for him are protesting. The proposed salt water fishing license requirement is sure to be another crowd pleaser. The state seems to have a real knack for promoting tourism, and the smoking ban in the casinos has already sent gamblers packing for the Pennsylvania parlors. Many out-of-towners will never revisit Atlantic City after the state closed the casinos due to budgetary problems a couple of years back. The escape toll is another delight for those returning to Pennsylvania, Delaware, and New York. Yes, it’s mostly just a one-way thing. They let you in for free.

And how many have already vowed to never return to the Wildwoods? Some will always come back, living on memories, many based on now non-existent places. When the high rises come they may work, but they hardly represent the shore vacation sought by vacationers. Anyone who has been to Myrtle Beach knows the difference.

Ironically, the laughing gulls returned the day after I wrote my previous article. Well, some of them did, and then they disappeared when the bad weather set in. It’s possible they’ve taken refuge in a motel room, but it’s not that likely, because it’s hard to find a motel on the island these days.

Obviously, they operate on the calendar theory rather than the climate theory, or else they would have stayed in Myrtle Beach, or wherever it is they go for the winter. It’s supposed to be springtime here, but due to global warming, we’ve had rather cold weather this month. That’s what the global warming alarmists say – that the fact that global temperatures have dropped since 1998 proves that the Earth is warming.

All of our faucets in the house are hooked up backwards, I’ve discovered. When I open the spigots marked hot, hot water comes out, and cold water comes out of the ones marked cold. The thermostat is also on the blink, because when I increase the setting it gets warmer in the house. It’s apparent that neither the plumber nor the HVAC man (actually, he’s the same dude) is familiar with the global warming concept.

The higher than normal tides played a role in the disappearing seagulls, and even the herring gulls, who stayed through the winter after attending an Al Gore rant, headed for higher ground. Luckily, none of the seasonal gulls bothered building nests, which would have been washed away as soon as they were completed.

It’s also possible they were scared away by Debra’s stuff. A large, white thing, probably some type of plastic, lodged in the marsh grass during the high tide. I asked a friend what he thought it was, and he said it was Debra’s. I asked him who Debra was, and he said it was nobody. I mentioned again that he said it was Debra’s, and he agreed that it was, but insisted that it wasn’t a person. He said it was just Debra’s, you know, floating trash, like flotsam. I asked if he meant debris, and he said I could say it how ever I wanted, but it looked like Debra’s to him.

Rumor has it that about a thousand laughing gulls are considering bidding on one of the condos due to be auctioned off next month. They amassed considerable wealth during their stay in Myrtle Beach, and hope the condo developer will accept bits of pizza crust and popcorn, both of which could become valuable if the national forced ethanol project continues. They insist that pizza crust will become scarce, or at least more expensive, due to the wheat shortage, and that popcorn is more efficient than unpopped corn in making ethanol. As of this writing, neither of the claims has been verified, but it sounds as logical as anything the government can come up with.

They also recently attended a council meeting in Wildwood proper, and their attempt at convincing the mayor that both pizza crust and popcorn have been used successfully as aggregate substitutes in concrete was met with raucous laughter. My alert research assistant just informed me that she attended the meeting and no one laughed at the gulls’ suggestion. She said the raucous laughter actually occurred during the presentation, because that’s the gulls’ only way of communicating.

A contingent of herring gulls challenged the claims, strutting indignantly across the table while pointing out that neither pizza crust nor popcorn contained any significant structural properties. They added that as far as they knew, they could be used as substitutes for Styrofoam peanuts, but had to be used rather quickly, especially in the case of the pizza crusts. They did, however, state that broken clamshells had been used in the past in concrete, and that they were sitting on a massive pile of them, just waiting for the right opportunity to come along. This actually was met by raucous laughter, and created quite a flap. When the other gulls finally quieted down, the mayor said that he was well aware of the structural properties of broken clamshells. He further pointed out that concrete on the island was only expected to last a few years before being replaced.

Council tabled the matter and moved on to more important business. One of the members suggested replacing the goal posts at the local athletic field with custom-made goal posts that looked like skate egg cases. A resident pointed out that to do so would probably cause an increase in injuries when players tried to run through the goal posts. Another councilman said there was no porpoise to the silly-looking palm tree street signs, and suggested adding a dolphin. That was voted down, and a discussion ensued concerning renaming Susquehanna Avenue to Bobby Rydell Boulevard, because it’s easier to spell, especially if you use the Blvd abbreviation. A council member pointed out that they should first consider renaming Youngs Avenue to Olds Avenue, because the present name wore out about sixty years ago. He also wanted to correct the spelling of Taylor Avenue to Tailor Avenue. One of the residents wanted to know what they were getting for their ever-increasing tax dollars. The mayor stated that they were considering a giant flashing sign across Rio Grande Avenue that reads, “Watch the Tram Car Please!” A motel owner asked why they had Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic Avenues, but no Indian Avenue. The mayor pointed out that there’s already an Indian Trail running from Route 9 to Delsea Drive, albeit that it isn’t actually on the island.

They adjourned after failing to come up with a suitable location for more giant beach balls, which are currently taking up space in an undisclosed location. One of the citizens suggested where the beach balls could be forcibly placed, but the suggestion was ignored.

The seagulls did what many citizens have wanted to do for a long time. They left their calling cards on the seats and on the floor.

While awaiting the return of the laughing gulls for the summer season I watched some National Geographic specials and also read some news headlines on the internet. They all pertained, in one way or another, to how life began in some primordial soup, mmm-m, mmm-m good!

I think their theories are a bunch of hogwash, although I’ve failed in finding either hogwash or primordial soup in any of the stores. Campbell’s says they haven’t carried any of the latter for millions of years.

We now know that Martians once grew peaches, or at least that’s what I got from the story. Scientists have somehow linked some microscopic fibers in peach fuzz to Martians, because both the Earth and Mars either have or may have once had, salt deposits. This theory makes a lot of sense if you happen to be a crack addict, and I suspect that most scientists fit this category, or maybe they’re still using LSD. I think that’s called, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” research, and I can see how that could readily lead to Martians growing peaches in Georgia.

This proves, at least in my mind, that your typical Martian had hair, which explains their keen interest in fuzzy fruit. So far, they’ve found no evidence of orchards on Mars, but the various rovers they’ve sent up there haven’t figured out how to gain entrance to the vast underground cities likely to exist there.

But enough of that – let’s get back to the primordial soup, which also makes quite a bit of sense, when you really think about it with an enhanced mind. It all started with a bunch of minerals floating around, growing tired of having no self mobility. They decided to join forces and become amoebas and parameciums. For a few thousand years, or maybe millions of years, they enjoyed dividing and multiplying. Eventually, they wondered if maybe there weren’t more to life than simple mathematics, so they started solving complex equations, which they called algae bra (I don’t know where the second word came from), later shortened to algebra.

While solving for an unknown, an amoeba and paramecium got stuck together and when they divided one of the terms they evolved to a pair of brine shrimp, but it wouldn’t be until the 1950’s, during the advent of comic book advertising, that they became known as sea monkeys. This in itself seems to prove that monkeys didn’t evolve from sea monkeys.

During the early, formative years, they enjoyed complete freedom, with no natural or unnatural predators. It would be millions of years before they figured out how to make predators, but when they reached that stage they became the only food source of the more evolved creatures they created, such as guppies and black mollies.

My research assistant just asked me what amoebas and parameciums ate, and what brine shrimp ate, if there wasn’t anything to eat? No one ever asked me that before, and I’m not really certain when Flintstones vitamins first came on the scene, so I’m going to have to do some more research before I finish this. For life to begin, wouldn’t the life have to have some source of nourishment? None of this is making much sense now.

Okay, here we go. The laughing gulls evolved from eggs. I’m quite certain of that, because I’ve seen it happen. The eggs evolved from the laughing gulls, because I’ve seen that also. I’m not sure which came first, but it may have been the chicken. Or the egg. Who cares?

I do know that the gulls will be back soon, and they laugh at everything, including bad jokes and bad stories. I hope they read this.

Meantime, I think I’ll go back to reading the Bible. It’s making a lot more sense now.

A friend of mine told me he’s glad someone is finally proposing a windfall profits tax on oil companies.

I asked why he thought it was a good idea.

“Those oil companies make too much money. Obscene amounts of money.”

“And you think there should be a limit on how much you’re allowed to earn?”

“Of course there should be. They’re charging us too much for gas.”

“And how much should a person or corporation be allowed to earn?” I asked.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to earn too much, especially when it costs the consumer.”

“I see,” I continued. “So we should come up with an arbitrary amount, and if somebody makes more than that we should tax them some more?”

“That’s the idea. Gas costs too much these days.”

“If gas costs too much, why not stop buying it? If nobody buys any petroleum products, the oil companies won’t make any money at all.”

“I have to buy it!” he said. “I have no choice!”

“So if gasoline were to cost $1,000 per gallon, you would still buy it?”

“No, I couldn’t buy it if it cost that much! It would cost me ten or twenty thousand dollars to fill up my tank! I don’t have that much money!” he ranted.

“So what you’re saying is gas doesn’t cost too much now.”

“That’s not what I’m saying! It costs way too much!”

“I don’t see it the way you do,” I said. “You said you wouldn’t buy it if it cost a thousand dollars a gallon, but you buy it now. What’s the difference? If you think it cost too much now, just stop buying it.”

“I can’t stop buying it, because I need it. I already told you that.”

“Right,” I said. “But you said you wouldn’t buy it if it cost a thousand dollars a gallon. Would you somehow stop needing it then?”

“No, I wouldn’t stop needing it. I just wouldn’t be able to buy it.”

“So you wouldn’t really need it, in other words,” I said. “You would figure out how to work around it somehow.”

“I would have to, wouldn’t I? Only the very rich would even have the capability of buying it.”

“So you’ve just told me again that gas isn’t too expensive at this time. If gas were a thousand dollars a gallon, and only the very rich bought it, the oil companies would go under in no time.”

“Yeah, but we should regulate how much they’re allowed to make. They’re making it because of us,” he said.

“Exactly! They’re making it because people are buying their products. Obviously, people might complain about prices, but the only way to measure whether or not prices are too high is by supply and demand. If demand decreases, prices are probably higher than they should be.”

“Well, they are higher than they should be. Those companies are making too much money!”

“Is Google making too much money? Should the government tell them they should only be allowed to make a certain amount? How about Starbucks? Wal-Mart? Target? What about Nike?”

“Well, they’re not oil companies. Oil companies are making way too much money!”

“How about,” I continued, if I told you the profit margin for oil companies was considerably less than that of the companies I mentioned? What would you think then?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t make as many billions as the oil companies.”

“Why not complain about what government has done to drive up the price of oil? They’ve forced us to use ethanol, which is about 20 to 30 percent less efficient than pure petroleum-based gasoline. It also costs more to manufacture, and uses vast amounts of petroleum products to manufacture and transport it. It has enough water in it to make it too corrosive to ship by pipeline, if such pipelines existed. It takes 1700 gallons of water to make one gallon of ethanol. Besides the regular government excise tax on gasoline, add another fifty-one cents per gallon to subsidize corn production. Subsidies for ethanol production are at least $1.05 per gallon. Gas prices haven’t gone up as much as food, everything from corn to wheat to dairy products and meat. We’re growing much less wheat and other crops which are being replaced by corn. Besides driving up the prices of vegetables, it costs more to buy feed for farm animals for dairy production and meat. We could bring in cheaper foreign ethanol, but your good old government has imposed a fifty-four cent per gallon tariff on that, to stack the deck in favor of the U.S. subsidized ethanol production.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Check it out yourself. And I haven’t even mentioned that China has ever-increasing demands for oil, and they don’t seem to care what it costs. That’s where the oil companies make a lot of their profits, and China gets a lot of its money from exporting its products to the U.S. And now some people are talking about taxing the oil companies even more? Do you think that will scare them into decreasing the price of gasoline, or increasing the price to offset the new taxes? Maybe I don’t know how all of this works.”

“That’s scary, but I still think we should do something about those huge profits.”

“Right. Let’s penalize people for providing a need and getting paid for it,” I told him. “Meantime, the government is adding about two dollars to every gallon of gasoline, through subsidies and taxes, and it’s affecting food prices even more than it affects the gas. And we’re letting vast reserves of oil sit in the ground due to over-regulation as well as bans on drilling. Makes sense to me, I suppose.”

“But I heard they were talking about decreasing the subsidy programs.”

“Yes,” I responded. “They expect to decrease farm subsidies by $4.5 billion, and instead provide incentives for conservation, which will increase by $7.8 billion. Whoopee! That’s quite a savings, don’t you think?”

“How do I know you aren’t just making all of this up?”

“Read the September 2007 issue of Amber Waves, a publication by the U.S. Department of Agriculture. You can read it online @
Amber Waves

“Okay, I’ll check it out.”

“As the late Steve Zeitz said, “You can fuel some of the people oil the time, and oil the people some of the time, but you can’t fuel oil the people oil the time.”

Each time I read about Strathmere residents wanting to secede from Upper Township and hook up with Sea Isle City, I wondered why they would want to do that. The last time Upper Township imposed a local purpose tax was during the reign of King Nummy.

That was also shortly before the last time I drove through Strathmere. No one actually goes to Strathmere, they only drive or ride through it. That is, except for the residents.

The other day I had occasion to drive through it once again, on our way to Atlantic City. Now I realize why the residents want to dissociate themselves from Upper Township. It’s all about money.

Strathmerians obviously love to spend money! The entire community looks snobby, although I’m not actually suggesting that any of the citizens actually are snobby. The lady pushing a dog in a baby carriage was actually in Ventnor, which I won’t mention. These are people who gain status by paying more than their friends and neighbors paid for the same things.

I’m different. I love a bargain. A couple of years ago I paid $162.00 for a set of four Bridgestone tires, mounted and balanced, taxes included. The “out the door” price, as they call it. About fifteen years ago I bought a brand new 54-piece set of Stanley socket wrenches for $6.00, at Wal-Mart. Someone from Strathmere would probably attempt to drive the same bargain up to about $400.00. “You paid $400.00 for a set of cheap socket wrenches?” a neighbor would ask. “Yep, and I almost got them to take four-fifty, but they just wouldn’t budge.”

Most of us common folk worry somewhat about money. Well, I guess we don’t really worry about it, but we at least ensure that we have enough available, or can get a big enough loan, before we buy something. They don’t worry about money in Strathmere because they’re not really sure what it is. It’s just there when they want it, so it’s natural that they would be insulted by the prospect of not paying any local purpose tax.

“I don’t get it,” a local resident told me during an interview. “Why won’t they let me pay a local purpose tax? We have nothing to complain about here! Sure, the state taxes soak up a lot of money from us, but with no local purpose tax, our tax bills look paltry compared with the rest of the state! Next thing you know, the riffraff will take over the community because they’ll actually be able to afford their subprime mortgages here!”

It’s not that I’m jealous of these people. Okay, so I’m jealous. I found it impossible to actually close my mouth until I reached the Margate city line, although I felt no less humble in that community, either. My jaw actually came back into place when I reached Ventnor, and I won’t comment on that community. Well, except to say that I wouldn’t want to live there, and that has nothing to do with its close proximity to Atlantic City. Ventnor is Ventnor, or maybe it’s Atlantic City, it’s hard to tell. I mean, if it weren’t for the monument, you would never realize you were no longer in Ventnor. Or maybe it’s that when you’re in Ventnor you would never realize you’re not in Atlantic City. So I just won’t bother to mention Ventnor.

No, I didn’t omit Longport. I just don’t know where it is. And if I did know, I’m not sure I could tell whether I was in Longport or Strathmere. Or Margate, except it’s bigger than the other two and has an elephant. I don’t know where all this money comes from, but most of it was here before they built the Taj Mahal. I mean the one in India.

Anyway, it feels good to be back in North Wildwood. I feel so much less humble here.

Bureaucrat: Department of Consumer Affairs. How may I help you?

Citizen: I want to report some businesses, especially restaurants, that print out the entire charge card number on receipts.

Bureaucrat: They can’t do that. Tell me the details.

Citizen: When I get the receipt, my entire charge card number is on the merchant’s copy, but only the last four digits are on my copy.

Bureaucrat: Oh, well that’s okay. They can do that. It only has to be blanked out on your copy.

Citizen: I don’t understand. The merchant’s copy is the one I leave on the table, for anyone to see, and the one that the merchant’s employees can view. I don’t need my card number hidden from me, because the number is on the card, which I also have.

Bureaucrat: I’m just telling you what the law says.

Citizen: I thought that Public Law 2002, Chapter 101, read, “No retail sales establishment shall print electronically more than the last five digits of a customer’s credit card account number or the expiration date of that credit card upon any sales receipt provided at the point of sale to the customer, except that the provisions of this section shall not apply to any sales receipt in which the sole means of recording the customer’s credit card number is by handwriting or by an imprint or copy of the credit card.”

Bureaucrat: Right. That means it only has to be blanked out on your copy. The store has to have the numbers so they can get paid.

Citizen: They get paid when they scan the card. They don’t have to print out the number. So where does it say that?

Bureaucrat: You just read it to me.

Citizen: Right, and it says any sales receipt provided at the point of sale to the customer. The store’s copy is provided to me, is it not?

Bureaucrat: That’s the store’s copy. It isn’t provided to you.

Citizen: If it isn’t provided to me, how is it possible that I sign it?

Bureaucrat: That’s their copy. The numbers aren’t on your copy.

Citizen: Well, it’s provided to me at the point of sale, so according to the law, all but the last five digits have to be blanked out.

Bureaucrat: Only on your copy. It doesn’t have to be on their copy.

Citizen: And where does it say that?

Bureaucrat: That’s what it says.

Citizen: Okay, read to me where it says that.

Bureaucrat: You read it. That’s what it says.

Citizen: And I want you to tell me specifically where it says that only my copy has to comply with the law. The law says, any copy provided to the customer at the point of sale.

Bureaucrat: Right, meaning your copy.

Citizen: Okay, explain to me why I would want to steal my credit card number from myself? I already know what it is. I don’t want a sales receipt with my entire credit card number sitting on the table for anyone to see.

Bureaucrat: Right, so it shouldn’t be left on the table.

Citizen: That’s usually the procedure. It sits right there on the table for anyone to see.

Bureaucrat: They shouldn’t leave it on the table.

Citizen: Have you ever eaten in a restaurant?

Bureaucrat: I eat in restaurants many times.

Citizen: And do they leave the sales receipt with your credit card number on it sitting on the table?

Bureaucrat: I always pay cash when I go out to dinner.

Citizen: I can see why you don’t understand the law. You’re still living in the sixties.

Bureaucrat: Are you insulting me?

Citizen: No, I think you’ve insulted yourself with this entire conversation. So are you saying you’re not going to investigate my complaint?

Bureaucrat: I’ll investigate it, just like the last time, but so far, all of these places are in compliance with the law. They don’t print the full credit card number on your copy, and that’s what the law says.

Citizen: Okay, I’m getting a bit frustrated here. Will you please read the part of the law that says it only has to be blanked out on my copy?

Bureaucrat: That’s what it says. You already read it to me.

In case you think this is ridiculous, or humorous, consider the fact that this conversation actually happened, both on the county and state levels. I have contacted my senator (no response) and The Answer Guy for the Press of Atlantic City (no response). I intend to pursue the matter further, but am trying to figure out whether or not I’m insane. Some of the establishments I’ve encountered who comply only with the law as interpreted by Consumer Affairs:

The Crest Tavern, Lower Township
The Bellevue, Cape May Court House
Casey’s on 3rd, North Wildwood
Fishtales, Galloway Township

Please check your sales receipts, especially the store’s copy. If you find your entire credit card number on the receipt, do what I do. Sign the customer’s copy and leave it on the table, and take the store’s copy with you.

If anyone can figure out how to get the NJ state government to enforce its own law, please let me know.

Things are looking up for flounder (or flounders, if you prefer) in New Jersey, although, admittedly, flounder are always looking up. That’s because both of their eyes eventually end up on one side of their bodies.

The New Jersey Marine Fisheries Council, in its infinite wisdom, set the legal size limit to 18 inches, up an inch from last year. The Council also shortened the season length.

This is, indeed, good news for the flatfish, and an influx of undersized flounder from other areas is expected. We saw this in 2007, with blue claw crabs. Crabbers found it difficult to catch any crabs large enough to keep last summer, and some felt that it was President Bush’s fault, but it was really just a clever ploy by the crabs themselves.

“Clem, don’t pay any attention to those ‘Eat Mor Chikin’ signs,” said a crabby wife to her husband. “Chickens don’t live in the bay. Send the kids in, because they’re not allowed to keep our kids.”

“But what if they keep them anyway?” Clem asks. “Sometimes they do that, you know. Chuck and Clara lost all their kids last year.”

“Those kids weren’t the sharpest claws in the mud. They could have easily slipped through the openings in the trap. I’m just saying don’t mess around with chicken or dead bunkers.”

We also saw a migration of dwarf crabs, known as LC’s or little crabs to the area.

And so the case will be within the flounder populace:

“Flora, take off that silly-looking tailpiece! If you get caught wearing that, you’re a keeper!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Fred. I stay away from lone minnows playing hooky from their schools. I can’t be fooled that easily! Hey, look! There’s part of a shedder crab floating a foot off the bottom! I just can’t resist shedder cr-a-a. . .ouch!”

The most educated flounder will consult with their crabby brethren, agreeing to provide part of their tail fins as food if the crabs perform the trimming.

A bigger question is whether or not the fishermen (and women) intend to comply. The commercial fishers have little choice, but those fishing for recreation may think differently. We interviewed one:

Interviewer: “Sir, do you intend to comply with the new rules for summer flounder?”

Sam (a fisherman): “I intend to comply, as long as the fish I catch are of legal size.”

Interviewer: “And what if they’re not?”

Sam: “Not much I can do about that. I don’t have any way of telling the fish to not bite if it happens to be undersized. I’ve got a family to feed, you know.”

Interviewer: “Right, but if you sold your boat you could feed your family.”

Sam: “Maybe for ten or twenty years, but then what? You reporters always think you have all the answers!”

We also wonder if the intent is for “zero-tolerance” enforcement.

Marine Police: “Sir, this flounder measures only seventeen and fifteen-sixteenths inches. I’m afraid you’re the one who’s going to spend the night in the cooler.”

Fish Person: “We’ll, it measured eighteen-and-one-quarter when I landed it. The sun must have shrunk it. I hardly think that’s fair. I think it’s supposed to be the length when you catch it, which is the pre-shrinkage length. You have to allow for shrinkage.”

Marine Police: “Tell you what. I’m going to let this one slide, being as you said it measured out at eighteen-and-a-quarter when you caught it. However, I have to charge you a twenty-dollar shrinkage fee, payable in cash.”

Fish Person: “Just for future reference, is that shrinkage fee the same for one that’s say, sixteen inches? Not that I’d attempt to keep one that small, although that’s really not small, but I was just wondering. . .”

So it seems that this restriction may be opening a new can of worms, although I’ve never seen them for sale, and flounder don’t like them that much anyway. I think they should go back to the standard of looking at a fish and saying, “Looks like a keeper!”

We seem to spend way too much time worrying about fish populations, while ignoring our own population problems, especially with respect to illegal immigration. A long time ago, Jesus proved that if God wants fish, He can make them, and He can make them legal size if the occasion requires it.

If you live in New Jersey and are considering moving to California because things just aren’t quite weird enough here, don’t waste your time. The Garden State thrives on weirdness, and I call the latest batch served up by the state, forced freedom, for want of a better term. The state Department of Environmental Protection, better known as the DEP, now threatens to withhold beach replenishment funds to any municipality not allowing 24-7 access to its beaches.

That almost sounds like a good thing, but the head honchos of various shore towns disagree. They fear people drowning, or even worse, that the towns post 24-hour lifeguards, probably equipped with night vision goggles. Other concerns include wild, unsupervised parties, people getting raked up by cleaning equipment, and loss of revenue from catching violators. I might have made that last one up, but probably not.

As a teenager I considered the beach curfew a double-edged sword. I only wanted to go on the beach at night for one reason, and it always included a girl. So while I resented the curfew law, it came in handy whenever I spotted the patrol jeep and instructed my female friend to get flat on the sand. We never got caught, although the spotlight’s beam danced around us many times. We must have looked like driftwood or something.

Back to the issue at hand. Wildwood’s mayor said the last thing he needs to worry about is the possibility of someone drowning at night. I’m not sure why he would have to worry about it, unless he were the one drowning, but he’s probably concerned that it would detract from his time worrying about how to get those 27-story high rises approved.

And why would Wildwood, of all places, care about beach replenishment funds? I moved away for a couple of decades, and when I returned, the only thing the fishermen could catch off the fishing pier were fiddler crabs, and now it requires a pretty good cast to even snag one of those. Wildwood and Wildwood Crest have so much beach they are in danger of no longer holding status as seashore communities. I haven’t heard the DEP mention anything about ocean replenishment funds.

But 24-hour beach access can be dangerous, and I speak from personal experience. Back in my Navy days, the Coronado beach was certainly cheaper than a hotel room, and much easier to manage than going all the way back to the ship. I slept there one night and woke up a bit late. I have no idea what the sun had against my feet in the instep area, but I had sunburn so bad I had a hard time walking. I almost got put on report for dereliction of duty, but finally talked my supervisor into allowing me to wear shower shoes (flip-flops to civilians) to the bridge for my duty.

Motel owners needn’t worry that they’ll lose business to the beach, because it’s just too inconvenient for most people, even if the price is right. And those sleeping too close to water’s edge could be attacked by a swarm of fiddler crabs, although I’ve never heard of it happening. Look what happened when Gulliver tried to save a few bucks by sleeping on the beach. I’m not sure that Jersey has Lilliputians, but if it did, they would be called something else. I’m just saying that no one really knows what goes on down on the beach at night, because it has always been off limits. We’ve all heard tales from the patrol people, but we’ve mostly written them off as folklore.

Cape May officials say that the DEP is threatening to withhold funds if the city doesn’t get rid of the feral cats on the beach, so there’s another compelling reason to avoid it during the darkest hours. Or during daylight, for that matter. Cats, I suppose, see the beach as nothing more than a giant litter box. If you go, take a small rake.

They also cite a case from 2005 when a police officer in an SUV ran over a sleeping tourist. The woman apparently suffered only bruises, but it could have been worse if the wrong equipment had been involved. A tractor could have run over her and raked up whatever was left, but I don’t think that’s something I should mention, because my articles are all rated PG or less.

For now, that’s about all I have to say, and I have to get back to my task at hand. I’m working on a design for headlights on surfboards.