another gathering of ne’er-do-wells

Yesterday (Friday, December 7 [“A day that will live in infamy! I can still see that oily black pillar-of smoke TOWERING above that ship.”], 2007) was another gathering of the dreaded ne’er-do-wells, this time at El Pacifico restaurant, a Mexican restaurant near Canandaigua.
The meeting was to be at noon, but I was the first to arrive at 12:10. “At least five,” I told the greeter in my usual stumbling post-stroke gibberish.
Marcy and Mahooch (Bryan Mahoney) arrived about 10 minutes later, having driven all the way from Massachusetts; wherein faire Marcy got a $160 speeding-ticket.
Marcy is my number-one ne’er-do-well, and Mahoney is the best reporter the Messenger ever had. I say that because he rode the 100-foot-high waterslide at Roseland WaterPark (in Canandaigua) when it opened.
Bryan rode it despite advancing age (although he was only about 25 when he did it, but outta college). But to my humble mind the onliest way to properly understand that waterslide was to do it. I probably would have done it myself.
Marcy and Mahooch are now married, and I think it will work, since Mahooch is as wacko as Marcy.
Marcy and Mahooch both once worked at the mighty Mezz, although both quit and went to Boston without jobs.
“Are you guys crazy?” they were asked. Anything for them was better than the mighty Mezz, where they were both mucho stressed out.
Marcy’s income was so piddling she had to work two jobs; and Mahooch was parrying a mindless management minion.
But I came to Rochester without a job.
Mahoney is the Lexington Minuteman newspaper, and Marcy works as Marketing Coordinator at Hunneman real-estate services in Boston.
After about a half-hour of just the three of us, others walked in. But a half-hour was enough time to relate what few “Stooges” gags I remember.
“I’m an artist,” says Moe.
“So am I,” says Larry.
“Oh, a pair of drawers!” Curly says.
“Agent 12; reporting for duty, sir,” says Moe.
“Agent 14; reporting for duty,” says Larry.
“I’m Agent 15,” says Curly.
“What happened to Agent 13?” the General asks.
“We lost him swimming the Potomac River,” Curly says. “He died of Potomac poisoning; nyuk-nyuk-nyuk.....”
At this point cue Moe: “Here, see this?” POINK!
Quite a few were present, including Nano, Dreessen and Allison Cooper, all of the mighty Mezz. Nano is the oldest at 50 (or 51), and is formerly a ne’er-do-well, but so swamped with work as the staff artist she had to stop reading my stuff.
Nano is also Marcy’s aunt — and also plays cello (“We have decided to name you Yo-Mama”).
“Don’t worry, Nancy,” I said. “You’re not the oldest.”
All the others are in their 30s; although Mahooch is only 29 (Marcy is 31).
I feel sort of out-of-it, but only because I no longer work for a newspaper.
“Do I stop sending this stuff?”
“Absolutely not. We read it every day.”
Finally the Webmaster and the so-called “Hasidic-Jew” showed up — that’s Matt Ried and Dave Wheeler, Wheeler also like me a Houghton-grad.
“Aw man,” Ried said; “do we have to go back to work? Can’t we just not put out a Sunday paper?”
“Jessie will jump,” Wheeler said. Wheeler is the Sunday-Editor, and Jessie a Reporter also in attendance. (“Jump” means off the first page onto a follower.)
“Yeah, she’s long-winded,” Allison said.
“Lemme explain my two private hells,” Mahoney said.
“Government in the cradle-of-liberty is dysfunctional beyond belief.”
“There are no County governments in Massachusetts, but there are municipal governments; usually comprised of a town-board with as many as 180 members.”
“At Town meetings (one or 12 per year — I forget) each board-member gets two minutes to fulminate on each issue. That’s six hours already, and that’s only one issue out of maybe 40.”
Second hell: Apparently the Lexington Minuteman, like the Messenger since sold, is a Gatehouse Media Publication (I’m not sure of that), and Gatehouse is anxious to make their newspapers web-savvy.
“Um, shouldn’t we verify the factuality of what we put on the web-site?” Bryan asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” mindless management minion says. “Just get the story on the site.”
Triumph of the OxyContin®-King; factuality is for wusses — just get the story out.
“They’re telling me to put out an apathetic newspaper,” Mahoney crowed.
Mahoney was then relating how he and his staff were all given fancy-dan megabuck video-cameras with no training into how to use them; like focus, off-on, WHATEVER.
At this point Ried butts in and says “Dan (the ‘pyooter-guru at the mighty Mezz) tells me ‘Congratulations; you now have InDesign on your machine. I have no idea what it’s for or how to use it; so have fun!’”
Nano complained “I have no idea who my boss is.”
“Who’s the publisher now?” someone asked.
“Kelly Luvison,” someone said.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Previously of another Gatehouse Publication I once worked for,” Wheeler said. “He’s following me around the state.”
“What ever happened to Karl Helbig (previous publisher)?”
“He was replaced after he appeared in Police-Beat for breaking into the house of an ex-wife. That was a no-no.”
Our Mexican-fare was trotted out. Who knows if anyone actually got what they ordered.
I had ordered entree number-four, what appeared to be the least filling.
But what appeared as “number-four” had some kind of rice that wasn’t on the menu, as I recall.
Mysteriously, a plate of “fajitas” had appeared between Matt and me. Matt thought it was mine; and I thought it was Matt’s (or someone else’s).
After all our fare had been delivered, Matt asked “Who gets this?”
“Not me,” I said. “And I didn’t say what it looked like” — it had guacamole.
We began leaving. (“I got an interview showing up at 3 o’clock,” Dreessen said.)
“I really like the way you always redirect your story back to the punchline at the end,” Marcy said.
“I’ve done this long enough to know that sometimes the best thing to do is just shut up and let your characters do the talking.”

“Ne’er-do-wells” are all the people I send my stuff to via e-mail; I have a “ne’er-do-well list.”

I had a stroke October 26, 1993.

The “Messenger” (“mighty Mezz”) is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired two years ago. Best job I ever had.

A picture of “Marcy” can be found at Conclave of Ne’er-Do-Wells.

RE: “Hasidic-Jew.....” —I posted a photo of Dave Wheeler once, and my sister in south-Floridy, ever tolerant, suggested he looked like a “Hasidic-Jew.”

“Houghton” is Houghton College, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it. Houghton is a religious college.

“OxyContin®-King” is Rush Limbaugh.

RE: “And I didn’t say what it looked like.......” —Perish-the thought: I think “guacamole” looks like goose-poo.

So here I am yesterday (Friday, December 7 [“a day that will live in infamy!”], 2007), on 5&20 in the CR-V, returning from that gathering of ne’er-do-wells.
I am driving through the valley east of here, west of the mighty East Bloomfield town water-tower, and up the long easy grade into West Bloomfield.
I’m doing about 55, and fall in behind a giant farm implement.
I can’t pass because we are cresting that long grade that tops out on a curve, so the highway has a double-yellow at the top.
But the long grade is marked for passing — it’s just that at the top is no-passing, and I fell in behind the farm implement at the top.
Suddenly GrandPop blasts his white LeSabre around me, to pass both me and the farm implement. —Still before the double-yellow, but that begins before he’s even got by me.
Thankfully 5&20 was once a three-lane, so even though it’s now two-lane the lanes are about 20+ feet wide.
GrandPop encounters an approaching silver Datsun in the opposite lane, as we round the curve.
Since the lanes are so wide, the Datsun can avoid him, and GrandPop move to the right — although he’s still in the opposing lane.
Also thankfully he only encountered that one car, so he could complete his pass without endangering anyone else.
Sorry guys; I couldn’t see if his LeSabre had a Dubya-sticker to go with his Christian-fish and “Support-the-Troops” ribbons.

“5&20” is the main east-west road through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live.

“The CR-V” is our 2003 Honda CR-V SUV.

“Dubya-sticker” is a Bush-Cheney 2004 bumper-sticker. All insane traffic-moves seem to involve Bush-supporters. They seem to think they have the right.