A Site for Shore Eyes

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.

The Wildwood budget suffered a bit of a setback when the city settled Morey’s tax appeal by arbitration. It seems that Morey’s, Inc. felt that the $90 million assessment for their several amusement piers and other holdings was a bit much, so it was miraculously reduced to $15 million. Seems to me that one of them bragged, not too long ago, that the one roller coaster cost more than that, and they have three of those big boys. The new cars for the Great Nor’easter cost several million. I also know that your standard water park doesn’t come cheap, and they have a couple of those that rank way above standard. Fortunately, I don’t have to pay for them, living just north of the city line.

Anyway, the city now faces refunding a massive amount of overpaid taxes, and this has the citizens up in arms, although they were already up there over a number of other things. Not to worry, though, some crafty thinkers in the audience suggested charging a fee to go on the boardwalk. This is one of those flashes of genius we don’t often see. Let’s see, one of the biggest selling points of The Wildwoods is that the island remains as one of the last resorts to not charge a beach tag fee, so why not become the first place in the world to charge people to walk on the boardwalk? That will pack ‘em in! This is what we call myopic thinking, which seems to be very common around here. Whoever suggested that should run for mayor.

A tactic such as this would probably succeed in driving overnight visitors to Stone Harbor, Avalon, and Sea Isle City. They can go to the beach for free in the Wildwoods, then head north to Ocean City for some free boardwalk. Every town has its own identity, and Wildwood seems determined to shed the one it’s had for so long. So far, all we see are many visitors looking for their pasts and expecting to find them pretty much intact, but with a few changes. The ones looking for Avalon go to Avalon.

One of the commissioners, along with the city clerk, announced the possibility of a 21-cent tax hike for next year. The mayor says he thinks it’s closer to 3 to 5 cents. Whatever it is, it seems strange to buy giant beach balls for the end of Rio Grande Avenue when the city can’t even pay for its essential services. Does no one in city government notice that the streets are worse than they were 40 years ago? At least they mostly took care of Rio Grande Avenue, so vacationers can cruise into town and go straight to the beach balls without replacing their shock absorbers.

The Greater Wildwood Chamber of Commerce (GWCC) met and discussed efforts of the Greater Wildwoods Tourism Improvement & Development Authority (GWTIDA) to promote tourism to the island. They pretty much said that the slogan, “Those Wildwood Days,” only succeeded in bringing old fogies (baby boomers) to town, rather than the younger generation. Seems like a problem to me. Why would you only want to attract the best-behaved people with most of the money? Maybe they think college kids want to spend their summers in $200.00/night 27-story high rises that the mayor keeps pushing and nobody wants.

The massive condo conversion worked out well. Most of the motels that converted to condos are operating, well, like motels. Only difference is that each unit is owned privately by others. That is, for the motels that succeeded in selling most of their units. Those sage investors who bought condos and expected to get a few thousand a week are finding the market much tighter than expected. Wildwood visitors simply don’t want to spend $400.00 per night, but maybe that will change when they succeed in attracting the younger crowd. Speaking of which, who exactly do they expect will attend all of the oldies concerts they hold several times each year?

The sun is on its way north so it can get back to it’s rightful location, in the west. In the fall it heads south, following the laughing gulls, I suppose, and by December it appears almost due south. It starts its journey back north before the gulls, but they’ll be winging it back in a couple of months. Most of the herring gulls do the snow bird thing, too, but a few hang around for the entire winter. Yesterday I noticed a gull perched atop an osprey’s nest, abandoned during the off season. He or she is not likely to win the dispute upon the osprey’s return.

Of course, we all know that the sun actually doesn’t move, right? It’s that silly 23.5 degree tilt of the Earth’s axis that makes the sun appear to move, and causes the four seasons. If you don’t like it, move to the equator, where it’s always the same. The people there never rake leaves or shovel snow.

Nor do I. We have no trees, and in the unlikely, but sometimes possible case of significant snowfall, a snow blower sits in the garage, feeling quite neglected, but always ready to go. And so am I, although I don’t feel the least bit neglected.

A few weeks ago, I looked out the front window and noticed the rear hatchback window on my car was covered with ice. Strangely enough, the windshield was clear, as were the windows of other cars on the street. I shrugged, and chalked it up to strange phenomena. I usually keep both cars in the garage, but due to some rearranging while getting out Christmas ornaments, I moved it outside temporarily.

The next day I became slightly (meaning very) concerned when I noticed the same thing. “Hey, Jackie,” I yelled, “come look at my car and tell me if you think this is ice!” She said that she thought the window was broken. I said I had reached the same conclusion but wanted someone to tell me I was wrong.

I suspected a clam attack, because killer clams often fly in with little warning, doing their little Humpty Dumpty thing in the middle of the street. Lacking opposing thumb claws, herring gulls haven’t learned the art of properly opening clams using a knife, so they limit their shucking to dropping the bivalves onto a hard surface.

Closer inspection of the rear window showed a small hole, which caused the entire sheet of glass to shatter. A mussel, attached to a clump of seaweed, or vice-versa, rested under the rear spoiler. The shucking attempt failed, and the seagull apparently lost interest, or maybe he just flew away, feeling much like a kid who broke a window with a baseball. I suspect that the seaweed caught a gust of wind, causing the morsel to miss its intended target.

Thankfully, I have insurance, so I called the company and they told me to get in touch with their glazing department, which I did. They told me I have a $500.00 deductible. This doesn’t sound as bad when you’re buying the insurance, but now I felt a little less penny-wise than before.

The glass man showed up the next day with a new window. It started raining, so he asked if I could move the car into the garage. I did, after moving the other vehicle to the street. A new Shop Vac is on the way to clean up the glass he left on the garage floor.

The whole operation took about an hour or so, and when he finished he presented me with the bill, which came to about $536.00. It’s a good thing I have insurance, I thought, as I wrote a check for $500.00. If not, I would have had to come up with the extra $36.00. I think I’ll check my premium, and while I’m at it, I’ll see how much the fine is for shooting a seagull. I think it’s called cost-benefit analysis.

About a year ago I changed cell phone providers and got a new phone. When it came in the mail, I looked out the window, expecting to see a crowd of network people, but the street sat empty. The phone appeared to work okay, but never held a charge for very long. Recently, it got to the point where it wouldn’t hold a charge for a day, even when it wasn’t being used.

I searched the internet for batteries and found a number of retailers that carried that battery. They only offered batteries online, however, and my wife reminded me that all of those people were supposed to be standing around offering assistance. I called our cell phone provider and explained the problem. The lady said my phone was still under warranty, but only until the end of the month, and that they would fix or replace it. She told me the nearest place I could take it for service was forty miles away.

Off we went, and I expected a procession of vehicles, led by the “Can you hear me now?” guy with the black-rimmed glasses, but they kept themselves well hidden. I figured they would follow us into the store when we reached the mall, but we got out of the vehicle and looked around, and saw only a few shoppers. Okay, so they’d be waiting for us inside, I was certain.

My wife had other errands to run, so I approached the counter and the seven or so individuals were either helping other customers, or standing around talking. The first person I contacted told me to take my phone down to the guy at the end, which I did. He hardly acknowledged my presence, but I explained the problem. He removed the battery from my phone and said it had been overcharged. He then placed it on the counter and gave it a spin, explaining that it wouldn’t spin if it hadn’t been overcharged. Way too high-tech for my mind.

A few minutes later, I left with a brand new battery in my phone. He said it was best to let it reach a low reserve before charging it, but that it wasn’t really necessary. He also said to not talk on the phone while it was charging.

I fully charged it the next day and was glad to see that it still showed a full charge the morning after that. At some point someone called me and we spoke for about three minutes. That evening, the battery was totally discharged, and I felt that maybe the crowd of network people assigned to me were sleeping on the job. I recharged the battery, and it held its charge for less than a full day, with no phone usage. Finding no crowd of people outside our home, I gassed up and we set out on the first leg of another 80-mile round trip.

Again, no procession, and no team waiting for us. The same individual seemed even less interested in my problem than during the first encounter. He asked me if I had many bars in my home town. I said there were a few, but some were closed during the winter, and, who really cares, because I don’t drink. He said that no, he meant how many bars did I have on my phone? I told him I had none, just a couple of pizza places and a seafood joint. He seemed frustrated, and explained that he meant the little bar symbols on my phone that indicated signal strength. I said that the guy with the black-rimmed glasses was supposed to take care of that for me, no matter where I went.

He told me to come back in about 45 minutes, so we spent the time eating in a Chinese food place. After some pretty decent orange chicken, fried rice, and lo mein, we returned to the phone counter. Without saying a word, another guy who worked with the other surly individual, handed me a new phone.

I asked what I should do if the problem persists, and he told me to call, and they would send someone to our area to test signal strength, and if it wasn’t strong enough, they would add some boosters or something to the towers. I expected workers with hard hats to drop down on cables from the mall ceiling, but not a one appeared. I continually checked the rear view mirror on the trip home, but all of those network people must have been following someone else.

In a small barrier island resort town:

Judge: “You are charged with making an illegal turn on red. How do you plead?”

Defendant: “Not guilty by reason of insanity.”

Judge: “So you’re saying that you’re insane and the charges should be dismissed?”

Defendant: “Yes, Your Honor. These stupid traffic lights with no traffic are making me crazy!”

Judge: “So you’re saying that you think you can simply break the law at will if it doesn’t suit your needs?”

Defendant: “I thought this was stuff you asked me during testimony. I brought an expert witness who will be more than happy to attest to the ridiculous nature of these traffic signals.”

Judge: “Very well. Lets’ get on with this case. Officer Krupke will tell his version of the events first. Please take the stand, Officer. You swear to tell the truth and all that, don’t you?”

Krupke: “Pretty much. I can’t reveal any federal, state, or local secrets, however.”

Judge: “Do you know of any?”

Krupke: “I’ve heard of a lot of them. I just don’t know what they are. Well, except for the fact that the traffic signals are our biggest source of revenue, and the “No Turn on Red” sign was put up on a whim, but I can’t divulge any of that.”

Judge: “I thought the sign was on a standard signpost?”

Krupke: “No, I’m pretty sure it’s on a whim. That’s what I was told, but I’m not allowed to tell you that.”

Judge: “Just a whim, or more than one whim?”

Krupke: “Unless I’m mistaken, we’re talking multi-whims here.”

Judge: “Okay, whatever. Tell us what occurred on the night in question.”

Krupke: “I’m not sure whether or not it was night. It was two a.m., so I think that’s considered morning, not night, is it not?”

Judge: “We’ll get a ruling on that later. Did you happen to observe the defendant acting in a strange manner?”

Krupke: “Well, it seemed pretty strange to me.”

Defendant: “Objection! That leads to speculation!”

Judge: “No, it doesn’t. It is speculation. Sustained. I don’t know what we’re sustaining, but they only gave me ‘sustained’ and ‘overruled.’”

Krupke: “Okay, then I declare it as definitely strange. The defendant was traveling east and brought his vehicle to a complete stop, as required by the red color of the signal. He then proceeded to make a right turn in defiance of the signs posted on whims. I pursued him in a high-speed chase, although I’m the only one who drove at a high rate of speed. A low-speed chase is considered undignified in one of those souped-up cars they let us drive. I turned on my overhead lights and the defendant brought his car to a stop by the curb.”

Judge: “Did he have any ID?”

Krupke: “No, Your Honor. He said he didn’t know why I stopped him.”

Judge: “Idiot! I mean did he have any identification?”

Krupke: “Yes. He showed me his driver’s license, registration, and insurance card. This isn’t that important, but I also noticed that he’s a member in good standing of the Magic Kingdom Club.”

Judge: “Did he explain why he made the illegal turn?”

Krupke: “Not really. He said there was nothing coming for five miles, which is the length of the entire island.”

Judge: “Was he right?”

Krupke: “Yes and no. He was right that there was nothing coming, but he was wrong in making the turn before the signal turned to green. We only have a few intersections with “No Turn on Green” signs, and this wasn’t one of them. I read him his rights, then issued a summons.”

Judge: “You only have to read someone their rights if you arrest them.”

Krupke, laughing: “Oh, no, your honor, not those rights. I read him the law about not making rights on red when a sign is posted on a whim. I also informed him that it’s usually okay to make rights on green, with certain exceptions. While we’re here, I wanted to clear something up, for my own sake. Do we really have to READ people their rights, or is it okay to just recite them? I’m not a great reader, so it takes a while.”

Judge: “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I think it’s okay to pretend you’re reading. Did we establish motive? That’s usually important in proving your case. Never mind. I think you’ve submitted enough evidence already by showing me the traffic ticket. This is considered a moving violation, if I’m not mistaken.”

Krupke: “Right. If he didn’t move his vehicle he wouldn’t have incurred a violation.”

Judge: “Okay, let’s hear from the defendant. You can step down and listen for any contradictions.”

The defendant takes the stand.

Judge, after swearing in the defendant: “Okay, let’s hear what you have to say.”

Defendant: “Your Honor, in lieu of the circumstances, at two o’clock in the morning, with no traffic within five miles, I believe the officer should have used discretion in issuing a summons.”

Judge: “Well, I believe he did. He didn’t put it on the 11 o’clock news, or anything like that. I don’t think he even mentioned it to his fellow officers.”

Defendant: “What I mean is, it’s important to uphold the law, but it’s also important to determine whether or not my actions violated the spirit of the law. The obvious intention of these signs is to prevent traffic accidents. If no cars are visible within five miles, an accident can’t possibly occur.”

Judge: “I wouldn’t say that. You could have run into a pole, or a parked car.”

Defendant: “But I could have done that no matter what. Anyway, I thought that “No Turn on Red” meant if the light was red in the direction I was making the turn. This isn’t really explained on the signs.”

Judge: “Well, I suppose I’ll have to consider that during the sentencing phase of this trial. The jury should also consider that.”

Defendant: “Your Honor, this isn’t a trial, and there is no jury. This is traffic court.”

Judge: “I suppose you’re right. I’m not used to this, because you’re supposed to just come in and pay your fine. This is a whole new area for me.”

Defendant: “Your Honor, my contention is that these traffic signals serve no purpose during the winter months, because there is no traffic to speak of. The signals should either be turned off or changed to flashing signals.”

Judge: “We can’t change them to flashing signals. The lights would be red in the east-west direction, so you wouldn’t ever be able to make a right turn. I don’t think the municipality is prepared to pay its workers to remove those signs from the whims and put them up again in the spring.”

Defendant: “You could just put tape over the signs.”

Judge: “I’m not going to do anything like that! I’m a judge! That’s why we have a road department! Or maybe it’s Public Works, I’ll have to check on that. Anyway, who would pay for the tape?”

Defendant: “I’ll donate the tape, if it comes to that. Your Honor, I’d like to introduce my expert witness, Mr. Al Gore.”

Judge: “I don’t know what global warming has to do with this, but let him take the stand. I’m a little leery of this, because so far, I’m not so sure he’s ever told the truth about anything.”

Gore, after swearing in: “Your Honor, this municipality has a carbon footprint a thousand times bigger than that of Godzilla! It’s even bigger than mine! For over fifty years, cars have been sitting at traffic signals here, burning untold gallons of gas, polluting the air, and all for traffic that doesn’t exist! Traffic signals are intended to regulate traffic. If there’s no traffic, or very little traffic, they become gas-guzzling behemoths! And these “No Turn on Red” signs should be removed immediately! They’re not supposed to be put up on whims; they should be properly placed on signposts, and only where making a right turn on red would pose a danger because of lack of visibility. Of all places, this little seashore resort town will be among the first to succumb to the sea when all of the polar bears melt!”

Judge: “Your point is well-taken, but what does all that have to do with whether or not this individual blatantly violated the law of the land? Didn’t you once say something about the rule of law?”

Gore: “I don’t remember anything like that. If I did, it was during a campaign speech, or debate, or something like that, and none of those count. You can pretty much say anything during those times, and it’s okay. This is much more serious! We’re talking about the demise of an entire planet, just because some little insignificant police department wants to make it through the hard times during the winter. Well, there won’t be any hard times, or even any winter, if the entire planet goes up in flames, will there? It’s happening already in California, and will soon be making its way east. If you think this isn’t real, consider this: Just last week I observed several individuals in Pennsylvania eating pralines! Yes, global warming is on its way, and you’re not helping it with your stupid traffic lights!”

Judge: “I could find you in contempt, if I knew where it were, but luckily for you, I don’t. I could bring slander charges against you, because traffic lights are inanimate objects, so they can’t be stupid!”

Gore: “They’re only inanimate when they’re off, so they can be stupid when they’re on. They’re quite animated, you know.”

Judge: “Well, they’re pretty much a tradition here, and traditions either die slowly, or live forever. Business isn’t that great at the gas stations over the winter months, so it’s good that you pointed out that we’re helping them eke out a living. If I rule in favor of the defendant, can we keep most of the traffic lights on? The municipality will pick up your travel expenses, and we’ll let you make turns on red whenever you visit.”

Gore: “I don’t see how that will solve the global warming situation, but as long as you’re willing to pick up the tab for my jet, limo, and a couple of days of utility bills for my 20,000 square foot home, I just remembered something. Aren’t there salt marshes nearby?”

Judge: “Yes, the island is completely surrounded by salt marshes, at least on the west side.”

Gore: “Well, salt marshes teem with the red-tailed anorexic muskrat, which has a huge appetite for gold, making it virtually a living catalytic converter. These are what we call ‘carbon offsets.’”

Judge: “They’re anorexic? All along I figured they were bulimic, judging, no pun intended, by the strange odors coming from the marshes. There’s gold in the marshes?”

Gore: “No. They swim across the bay every night then skulk along the streets to the beach. On the beach, they dig for lost jewelry, so that explains the gold. In light of this development, I think we can mail you some carbon credits, which will reduce your carbon footprint considerably. The little critters themselves have rather small footprints, but you get the idea. You’ll have to supply an SASE, however.”

Judge: “Officer Krupke, do you have any objections to my dismissing the case for lack of evidence, or something like that? I can’t declare a mistrial if there’s no trial.”

Krupke: “I’m willing to make an exception, as long as I can get some carbon credits, too. I don’t have any envelopes handy, though.”

Gore: “I can send them all in one envelope. I’ll put your name on the ones for you. Your cooperation makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and thankfully, it’s not due to any contribution to global warming on your part.”

Judge: “Case dismissed! The defendant is free to go, whenever the light is green.”

By Monday, the TV writers may or may not be on strike. Let’s hope they strike and give us some relief from the silly fare they’ve produced for the fall season. I already stocked up on some books, including the latest Ken Follett epic novel.

Most of the hastily-written episodes on TV, especially the various crime and forensic series, have stretched my imagination way past the point of credibility. I finally made the decision to never again watch CSI Miami, despite the impressive cinematography. Horatio’s ridiculous melodrama and the ditzy blonde’s recitation of her lines as if she’s in a grade school play, are just too much for me to take anymore.

I don’t get grossed out by the autopsy mockups on the CSI programs, probably because I know they’ve been created, and the odor factor doesn’t penetrate my TV. Apparently the writers have never been anywhere near a decomposing body, especially one with exposed body cavities, which explains the various personnel standing around talking casually and sometimes eating sandwiches, sipping coffee.

The premises for many of these shows are very weak, and very unbelievable. In one episode we saw a murderer perform a “practice killing,” I guess to see if the intended one would work, or something like that. Doesn’t make any sense.

Even on The Ghost Whisperer, we see a lady taking photos of herself underwater with her cell phone and sending them to her lover. Try it and see if it works.

I’ve also grown tired of the language, some of it pretty much inappropriate, much of it centered around sexual topics or various parts of the anatomy that decent people generally don’t discuss at the dinner table and shouldn’t be subjected to on TV. The “A” word pops up everywhere, including in the monologues of the various comedian/hosts of talk shows. They’ve now migrated to the “P” word. Humor works without either of those, and without many others.

Some, and by some I mean many, shows, whether serious or not, seem to work in drugs, homosexuality, and transgenderism not only as things acceptable to all, but as if they’re just funny little quirks that add a bit of humor to everyday life.

The shoot-‘em-up scenes in some of the programs also offer quite a laugh, with automatic weapons bursting steadily for 30 seconds or more. Some weapons have a bit more staying power than others, but as an example, an M-16 lasts only a couple of seconds on full automatic, a bit longer with a banana clip. Then they show cops qualifying on 45’s and the gun kicks like a pellet gun. I guess that’s why Horatio always goes for the dramatic pose with the gun right in front of his face. He looks ridiculous!

A recent show, and I think it took place in Miami, has a guy strangle someone during a total eclipse, while everyone is looking up at the sun (something that’s not a good idea). Turns out he used a little cable that pulls out from his watch stem knob. Where do you buy one of these watches, and why would anyone make one? The investigators figured out that he had a telescope electronically programmed to pick out his victims. Huh?

Yes, I think the writers need a rest. They must be very tired, churning out stories that don’t make any sense and that usually include all manners of drugs and sex. Or maybe we can just let them go on strike and bring in a fresh batch of writers that actually use their minds and keep them fairly clean.

I always know when winter is approaching, because even the sun heads south.

The Fabulous Fifties concert a couple of weeks ago provided just about the last gasp for the extended season on weekends. About 7,000 people showed up, the first sell-out crowd for the Wildwood Convention Center. They promised to end the free-for-all seating arrangement with reserved seating next year. I suppose that means taping paper tags to the seats, but we’ll just have to wait with bated breath.

Sometimes I wonder why we attend these oldies concerts. Yes, they’re entertaining, and dredge up memories of the past, but they also make us feel a bit old, probably because we are. Sort of, anyway.

Charlie Gracie opened the show, and if you don’t know the name, you probably should be attending a Silly Seventies concert. He did one of his biggest hits, Cute Butterfly, and sounded just like he did forty-some years ago. Well, not exactly, but he still sounded good.

A string of entertainers ensued, the most memorable performances by Little Anthony and the Imperials (sensational), The Chantels (great), The Cadillacs (pretty good), and finally, Bobby Rydell, sounding true to form and getting around the stage pretty easily with his new hip. See what I mean?

Some version of The Coasters made an appearance, and they performed well, but they’re not The Coasters, really. They did some of the old hits, but mostly they did other people’s stuff. I’ve never actually seen an Elvis impersonator live, but I suppose it’s pretty much the same thing.

We also suffered through some act (twice) they called Martin and Lewis, which was quite painful. The one who neither looked, sounded, or acted like Dean Martin also performed a Sinatra number. The one who sort of looked like a younger Jerry Lewis apparently thought that Lewis spent most of his time yelling, “Hey lady!” Enough said.

Lou Costello, not the dead one, who would have been more entertaining, hosted the show and droned on and on about one thing or the other, none of it making much sense. He told a few off-color, stale, and not very funny jokes, and also made some senseless remarks, one of them about his Jockey shorts. I didn’t know they made them that big. Eventually the crowd tired of his rambling and stomped him off the stage. Hard to believe this guy is on the radio, but that’s Cape May County.

Yes, for the most part the concert was quite good, and way too long, and this is probably the first time I’ve complained about a concert lasting too long, but four plus hours is a bit much.

Enough of that. I rode my bike on the boards yesterday and noticed that The Fudge Kitchen was open. Most of the stragglers on the boards were either walking or riding for exercise and were not likely to be seeking high calorie supplements. But it was nice to see something open. Reminded me of summer, only without all the people, fun, and excitement. Right.

Saw a few people surf fishing, presumably for stripers and blues. Some parked their vehicles near water’s edge. Seems to me I remember some guys I knew going conching years ago and watching their car disappear into the mud. That really happened.

And that’s about it from the island. Winter is dullsville, one of the things that makes it so great.

The laughing gulls, along with most of the herring gulls, took off for warmer climes shortly after Labor Day. They seemed to care little about the upcoming “big” weekends planned for the extended season.

Indeed, the weekends were very big, in terms of visitors. The fireman swarmed the island for their convention, and the “Roar to the Shore” brought thousands of motorcycles, which never seemed to stop roaring, even during the wee hours of the morning. The Irish Festival, coupled with a classic car show and auction, brought so many visitors it almost seemed like the Fourth of July revisited.

We cruised the island during these weekends just to look around. All the surviving motels were packed, probably surprising no one . The firemen are bailing out in 2009, despite the new convention hall. They like motels, where they can gather in groups, which is what a lot of people tried to tell the pro-condo people a few years back.

That leaves two groups of smart people on the island; the ones who stuck with the motels and the ones who sold some of the overpriced condos to the suckers who took the bait. Many bought condos as income property and they still may make some money if they can move them over an island or two, where the condo vacationers go.

Back in the 60’s motels popped up all over, like mushrooms after a heavy rain. That set the tone for the island, and the pitch hasn’t changed a bit, at least in the minds of the visitors to the Wildwoods.

Making Wildwood look like Ocean City won’t make it so, and it won’t attract the throngs in the long run. With all the motels running at peak during weekends a few weeks after the summer season, most of the rental condos sit dark and vacant. Someone must be saying, “I told you so,” by this time.

One of the problems, or perhaps the main problem, is that the same characters keep getting elected, and their goal is to ignore the wishes of the residents and follow their own whims, especially if they have a vested interest in doing so.

Someone (an attorney) finally pointed out that having the mayor oversee the construction office may not be such a good idea, being that the mayor’s family owns a concrete business. They turned this over to another commissioner to avoid the “appearance” of a conflict. I suppose that means the conflict will still exist, but as long as it appears that it doesn’t everything is hunky-dory, whatever that means.

So Wildwood keeps trying to push the 25-story high rises on its citizenry, need them or not. They should be a real boon to the concrete business, but who’s going to stay in these towers? Certainly not the firemen, remember, they’re leaving after ’09. Conventioneers want outdoor common areas where they can gather, drink, and make a little (or a lot) of noise. You don’t get that with condos and you don’t get it with mini-skyscraper hotels. I guess they can bang on the windows on the 23rd floor, but it’s not quite the same thing. . .

Another reason the city wants high rise hotels is to sell their unmarketable liquor licenses at $250,000 a pop. The site of the long gone Rio motel still awaits CAFRA approval after its first rejection for a high rise. Someone has a lot at stake here, so its no wonder the commissioners can’t hear the shouts of the residents.

The voters have only themselves to blame. They elected one commissioner who is virtually ineffective because of a conflict of interest stemming from his leave of absence as a police officer. They reelected a mayor whose family owns a construction business, creating many conflicts, possibly explaining why he’s the driving force behind the high rise movement. That leaves one fully effective commissioner, at least from a legal point of view.

Instead of fixing the deplorable condition of many of the streets, the powers that be turn their attention toward decorating the island, whether it be the giant beach balls at the end of Rio Grande Avenue, or the replicated arch in the Crest that serves no apparent purpose. These aren’t necessarily bad things, but they contribute nothing to preventing broken shock absorbers or stopping the street flooding during every 5.7 foot tide. Here in North Wildwood, the backflow preventers on the storm drains would work great if Richardson’s Creek would just stop its silly insistence of gushing through the bulkhead seams.

The elected officials of the communities comprising The Wildwoods seem to have vision for the future of the island. All they need now is an eye examination.

Wildwood vacationers mostly abandoned their search for the summer season, which slipped away unnoticed. Many had seen it hanging around until late afternoon on Labor Day, but it vanished sometime before evening.

Several vacationers said they thought they saw it heading out of town, and hoped that the police would put out an APB and attempt to bring it back.

“If they don’t get it soon,” said a vacationer who gave his name as Joe, from South Philly, “we’re not going to bother hanging around. That’s what we came here for, and without it, our vacation is pretty much shot.” When asked why his family waited until so late in the year to take a vacation, he said, “Summer ain’t supposed to end until sometime later in September. I think we got cheated.”

When asked why they thought it left in such a hurry, several visitors offered different theories:

“I think it has something to do with the slight chill in the air that crept in on Sunday night,” said Joanne, from Upper Darby.

“I think it had to go back to school,” Johnny, a seven-year-old from Gloucester opined.

“I don’t know why it left, but it always seems to come back,” a construction worker from Manayunk said. “It might even be back next weekend,” he suggested. “You just never know for sure until it happens.”

Police said they had no evidence that a crime was committed, but a number of visitors had filed complaints stating that it had sabotaged their vacations when it left.

“It stole my vacation money when it left!” a middle aged woman who said she’s a regular visitor, complained. “Okay, maybe it didn’t steal it, but it may as well have. What good is a vacation at the shore if summer isn’t here? I thought summer was guaranteed until the first day of fall, but nobody seems to be honoring that guarantee!”

One man, while packing up the family car, said, “I don’t know what all these people are complaining about! It leaves every year on Labor Day and drops in on weekends until about the middle of October. Then it heads for warmer climes and you won’t see it again until sometime around Easter, sometimes later, and then it’s only here on weekends again. It settles in for good again right about Memorial Day weekend. These people should know that.” He then herded his family into the car and drove away.

I don’t know where it went, but I think it used to be a bit taller. It seemed pretty short this year, but that could just be my perception. I think I saw autumn roll into town to have a look, and I understand it booked reservations starting sometime around the third week of the month. I think it will probably stay for awhile, because it’s pretty much a requirement for football. I’m looking forward to it, and the lonely streets aren’t such a bad thing, if you plan on hanging around for awhile.