A Jejune Look at Politics and Strange Bedfellows
I am now well into my thirties (so much so that if my life we're the brilliant TV show Thirtysomething, I'd be living in the second season; you know, where everyone is still kind of cute and shiny but starting to get cynical about and even bored with their own dreams? But, I digress...), and I am only just learning how extremely naive I am.
For instance, I have never thought of my childhood as particularly halcyon or sunny, but I had no idea the sexual politics at play within my own family. Eww, right? Over the years, as my father has lost more and more of his mind, and my brother has become more nostalgic about his "crazy childhood," and my mother has slightly released the valve on all her swallowed repression, I'm learning that things may have been going on that I had no idea were going on. I should clarify - I'm not talking about incest or anything, I just never thought of my family members as having thoughts or feelings beyond those I attributed to them. As someone who has often hubristically considered herself the smartest person in the room, let alone the most perceptive and cynical, you can understand how shocking it is to learn I'm the most clueless person in my tiny, ridiculous clan. But there it is.
I'm also only just learning that sexual politics in general get past me. I'm completely oblivious to most innuendo and ulterior motives regarding penis size, sadomasochism, swinging, sugar-daddyism, etc. On more than one occasion, a stranger has asked to take pictures of my sandaled feet "for research" or "to get a sense of the toenail polish the kids are wearing these days," and it was not until about the third time - after it had happened at the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and then on the lawn at the Washington Monument - that I even considered I might be attracting foot fetishists. And I still don't really believe that such a thing exists - not really.
What's worse, politics in general get past me. I once asked my first boyfriend who his favorite American president was, and he laughed in my face. They were all crooks and liars, he said. Even Kennedy? I thought (but dare not speak it). That was 16 years ago, and I only just realized (after reading the excellent book Nemesis, about how Ari Onassis was behind RFK's murder) what an idiot/puppet JFK was, and that even Bobby was hideous (not to mention Jackie). I've now decided that everyone in politics and/or with a certain amount of money/influence is probably a bastard (even so, I still love you Billy C.). And still, I'm probably being extremely naive.
Which brings me to Jersey City. We found our house in Jersey City after looking at numerous places in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan. As soon as we saw it, we said, "Wow, we can get all this, a couple of blocks from the train, for this price?" That's all we thought about. We've had various friends who lived in Jersey City, we knew it was cute and getting cuter - not as much as Williamsburg, but certainly in line with other places in Brooklyn we had seen (and definitely more than some, like Bushwick!), and closer in proximity to Manhattan than all of them (except for those in Manhattan, of course).
What we didn't know about (or at least I didn't) were the politics. Turns out, JC is known for corruption - mob-related and otherwise. Anyone who knows anything about JC or corruption - mob-related or otherwise - will know that to have missed this is to be pitifully, pathetically, ridiculously naive. We're talking hayseed from the Mayberry era. Again, there it is.
I consider myself a proud Democrat (more proof of my guilelessness), but not when it comes to local Jersey City politics. Calling yourself a JC Democrat is like saying you are a bloated, ineffectual idiot who misses the political charms of Jimmy Hoffa or Boss Tweed.
And it's an extremely political city. Even the most minor district races inspire sign posting the likes of which I have never seen. If you don't have a candidate's poster hanging in your window or yard, you eventually will. Stumping is not voluntary, and there are no undecided front lawns - you are either against us (read: you take the time to find your pliers and tear the sign off your fence) or for us (read: you can't be bothered to take it down even years after the race is lost).
We bought our house from a member of a political JC Irish Democrat family whose brother, a local sheriff, was living in the home before we moved in. Truly a man of the people, this sheriff really took the time to go out and shake hands with the everyman, specifically those among the city's crack-addled population. He was even kind enough to invite a few into his home (I won't go into the specifics of how we know this, but you can imagine). So, after we moved in, when we found out he was actively stumping for a particular candidate in the mayoral race, we decided to go another way.
And that's why we voted for Jeremiah Healy. Even after Herr Guitar met Healy outside the PATH train and he didn't seem particularly compelling. Even after it was reported that Healy was seen sitting naked on his front stoop one evening - during the campaign! As long as he wasn't the sheriff's choice, Healy was our guy. And then he won. And even when, at a recent community meeting regarding what to build on a former Superfund site, he came bellowing in like an asshole, asking questions merely for the sake of asking and then saying he didn't have any time to stick around for the answers, I had faith that he might not be a complete embarrassment.
Until last weekend, when Healy was arrested - not calmly taken in for questioning, but thrown to the ground and MACED - at Bradley Beach for getting involved in someone else's fight. The reported details are sketchy. But what about this naked stoop-sitting mayor isn't?
All of this makes me either want to run for the hills (preferably, the Sierra Nevadas) or run for office. Should I, an outsider with major gentrification hang-ups, try to fix the system from within? Or is that just extremely naive?
And does everyone have a creepy family, or is it just me?
For instance, I have never thought of my childhood as particularly halcyon or sunny, but I had no idea the sexual politics at play within my own family. Eww, right? Over the years, as my father has lost more and more of his mind, and my brother has become more nostalgic about his "crazy childhood," and my mother has slightly released the valve on all her swallowed repression, I'm learning that things may have been going on that I had no idea were going on. I should clarify - I'm not talking about incest or anything, I just never thought of my family members as having thoughts or feelings beyond those I attributed to them. As someone who has often hubristically considered herself the smartest person in the room, let alone the most perceptive and cynical, you can understand how shocking it is to learn I'm the most clueless person in my tiny, ridiculous clan. But there it is.
I'm also only just learning that sexual politics in general get past me. I'm completely oblivious to most innuendo and ulterior motives regarding penis size, sadomasochism, swinging, sugar-daddyism, etc. On more than one occasion, a stranger has asked to take pictures of my sandaled feet "for research" or "to get a sense of the toenail polish the kids are wearing these days," and it was not until about the third time - after it had happened at the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and then on the lawn at the Washington Monument - that I even considered I might be attracting foot fetishists. And I still don't really believe that such a thing exists - not really.
What's worse, politics in general get past me. I once asked my first boyfriend who his favorite American president was, and he laughed in my face. They were all crooks and liars, he said. Even Kennedy? I thought (but dare not speak it). That was 16 years ago, and I only just realized (after reading the excellent book Nemesis, about how Ari Onassis was behind RFK's murder) what an idiot/puppet JFK was, and that even Bobby was hideous (not to mention Jackie). I've now decided that everyone in politics and/or with a certain amount of money/influence is probably a bastard (even so, I still love you Billy C.). And still, I'm probably being extremely naive.
Which brings me to Jersey City. We found our house in Jersey City after looking at numerous places in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan. As soon as we saw it, we said, "Wow, we can get all this, a couple of blocks from the train, for this price?" That's all we thought about. We've had various friends who lived in Jersey City, we knew it was cute and getting cuter - not as much as Williamsburg, but certainly in line with other places in Brooklyn we had seen (and definitely more than some, like Bushwick!), and closer in proximity to Manhattan than all of them (except for those in Manhattan, of course).
What we didn't know about (or at least I didn't) were the politics. Turns out, JC is known for corruption - mob-related and otherwise. Anyone who knows anything about JC or corruption - mob-related or otherwise - will know that to have missed this is to be pitifully, pathetically, ridiculously naive. We're talking hayseed from the Mayberry era. Again, there it is.
I consider myself a proud Democrat (more proof of my guilelessness), but not when it comes to local Jersey City politics. Calling yourself a JC Democrat is like saying you are a bloated, ineffectual idiot who misses the political charms of Jimmy Hoffa or Boss Tweed.
And it's an extremely political city. Even the most minor district races inspire sign posting the likes of which I have never seen. If you don't have a candidate's poster hanging in your window or yard, you eventually will. Stumping is not voluntary, and there are no undecided front lawns - you are either against us (read: you take the time to find your pliers and tear the sign off your fence) or for us (read: you can't be bothered to take it down even years after the race is lost).
We bought our house from a member of a political JC Irish Democrat family whose brother, a local sheriff, was living in the home before we moved in. Truly a man of the people, this sheriff really took the time to go out and shake hands with the everyman, specifically those among the city's crack-addled population. He was even kind enough to invite a few into his home (I won't go into the specifics of how we know this, but you can imagine). So, after we moved in, when we found out he was actively stumping for a particular candidate in the mayoral race, we decided to go another way.
And that's why we voted for Jeremiah Healy. Even after Herr Guitar met Healy outside the PATH train and he didn't seem particularly compelling. Even after it was reported that Healy was seen sitting naked on his front stoop one evening - during the campaign! As long as he wasn't the sheriff's choice, Healy was our guy. And then he won. And even when, at a recent community meeting regarding what to build on a former Superfund site, he came bellowing in like an asshole, asking questions merely for the sake of asking and then saying he didn't have any time to stick around for the answers, I had faith that he might not be a complete embarrassment.
Until last weekend, when Healy was arrested - not calmly taken in for questioning, but thrown to the ground and MACED - at Bradley Beach for getting involved in someone else's fight. The reported details are sketchy. But what about this naked stoop-sitting mayor isn't?
All of this makes me either want to run for the hills (preferably, the Sierra Nevadas) or run for office. Should I, an outsider with major gentrification hang-ups, try to fix the system from within? Or is that just extremely naive?
And does everyone have a creepy family, or is it just me?
posted by j.m. at 10:35 AM
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