New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie always is large and in charge, which makes him hotter than a waffle iron as a potential Republican presidential candidate.
His brash handling of the Hurricane Irene crisis in which he told people to “Get the hell off the beach. You’re done. It’s 4:30 p.m. You’ve maximized your tan,” only further increased the percussionist tempo of the drumbeats of a draft movement.
But apparently the Fat Man, who evidently goes through meals like they are piles of shaving cream, doesn’t want to sing that song.
“If I don’t feel it, then I can’t do it,” he said. “It’s really not a lot more complicated than that.”
Which must be a relief to Barack Obama, whose Caspar Milquetoast leadership skills would be in stark contrast to Christie’s my way or the highway style.
The Eagles keep emptying their maassive vault and now they’ve shoveled $100 million over six years, including a whopping $40 million guaranteed, to Michael Vick.
They totally overpaid for a 31-year-old quarterback whose risky style of play makes him more brittle than expensive china, who has a better shot at picking up a refrigerator than he does a blitz, and who only played like one of the NFL’s elite quarterbacks in spurts last year.
The former felon turned face of the franchise now is the third-highest paid QB in the league behind Tom Brady and Peyton Manning. If he’s the third-best quarterback in the league, I’m singing opera at Carneigie Hall next month.
As least the Vick deal clears enough cap space for the Birds to redo DeSean Jackson’s contract. Right now Jackson is playing for about $1.75 a game. Fry cooks at Denny’s make more than Jackson.
With the Eagles going on a spending spree that would even shock Paris Hilton, look for season ticket prices to jack up higher than the moon next season.
The White House is going to announce a major new jobs initiative after Labor Day. This is, of course, in response to jobs being placed on the endangered species list. We all know that the cobweb-dark economy has devoured jobs like so much barbecued shrimp.
To get things kick started today, President Obama named Alan Krueger, one of the nation’s top labor economists, next chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers.
Krueger’s Mission Impossible is to jump start the economy, thus tautening the strap that slingshots Obama to a second term.
Good luck with that.
Fixing the economic mess is a tad more complex than adding a little Rust-Oleum so everything looks better.
At the helm, Krueger will be restrained only by the injunctions of wind, tide and partisan politics.
When I finally went to bed early this morning, I expected to wake up dead — courtesy of a large evergreen tree crashing into my bedroom. Which certainly would have put a big crimp in my plans to have a chili dog for my Sunday brunch.
One chili dog later, I still am here and so is the East Coast. Imagine that.
Well, it seems as if Nostradamus has all our television folks licked in the prophecy department. No wonder none of them ever play my “Can You Beat Zeke?” pigskin prognosticating party. They apparently couldn’t predict sunrise or sunset.
Granted, Irene did knock out power to more than 4.5 million homes along its path, triggered physical damage and flooding, and caused a handful of deaths.
But Irene hardly was the apocalypse that television trumpeted incessantly and insanely.
The three major Philadelphia TV stations suspended all other programming so their news teams could sound like broken records for eternity. After hearing all that drivel, one almost would have welcomed being washed out to sea and into the belly of a shark.
While the airwaves sizzled with doomsday scenarios from platoons of anchors, meteorologists and reporters moored in the rain, all with a fiendish gleam in their eyes, Irene wasn’t bad enough to toss luxury ocean liners into neighborhood yards while shearing the Carolinas, Virginia, Delaware and New Jersey from the U.S. mainland.
No wonder we’ve become a nation of hysterics, guppies caught in an immense, violent wave of our imagination.
More than 300,000 people were told today to evacuate New York to dodge the wrath of Hurricane Irene.
Someone in the office asked where they all will go.
A question dumber than asking why Mafia dons don’t have email addresses or Facebook friends.
They’re all coming to Reading, of course. Don’t they all?
Wait until all 300,000 New Yorkers cross the Penn Street Bridge. It’ll have more cracks than a nightclub comic.
Been a helluva week in Reading so far, huh?
First an earthquake, now Irene and the massive exodus of New Yorkers coming to town.
I guess whosoever shall not fall by the sword or by famine or by pestilence will either be crushed or drowned.
Have a good weekend.
Granted, the Philadelphia Eagles did dominate the Cleveland Browns 24-14 in a soggy exhibition game at the Linc last night.
So what? That preseason scrum has as much lasting value as a dollar bill left out in a heavy downpour.
But what really was important about Thursday night is the Birds’ Dream Team will be a screaming nightmare, especially for Michael Vick, if rookie center Jason Kelce, rookie right guard Danny Watkins and stiff right tackle King Dunlap don’t quickly find the ability to block more than a hat.
Not saying we all should turn pulpy with fear, but apparently Hurricane Irene could plunge the East Coast into a world of deep doo-doo this weekend.
Batten down the hatches, because we could get walloped. Snorkeling, anybody?
Rick Perry gets out of the starting blocks faster than a NHRA Top Fuel dragster.
According to our good friends at Gallup, Perry has surged into the lead in the race for the Republican nomination, rocketing past Mitt Romney.
Perry is first with 29 percent support, leaving Romney spinning his wheels in second at 17 percent.
Guess that double hair spray is working for Perry.
Romney’s campaign aides had better crank up a six-volt battery and shoot some juice into him. Perhaps it’s time for Romney to go back to the silk ties, too.
Somehow Ron Paul is third with 13 percent and Michele Bachmann is next with 10 percent.
Of course, the finish line still is a distant dot on the horizon. Besides, it would spoil all the fun if the race wraps up quickly.
I guess Mother Nature’s GPS or compass or whatever cracked today because the East Coast got a stunning case of the shakes with a 5.9 earthquake.
After all, aren’t quakes supposed to happen only on the West Coast in retribution for the Dodgers moving to Los Angeles from Brooklyn and the Giants moving to San Francisco from Upper Manhattan?
The epicenter was about 4 miles southwest of Mineral, Va., near Richmond, and about 80 miles south of Washington, D.C.
While none of the D.C. monuments toppled from the quake, it did rattle things enough here in Reading to close the Penn Street Bridge. Apparently they found a crack. Of course, since the bridge already was fissured extensively with cracks, how they spotted a fresh crack remains open to rampant speculation.
Hope PennDOT has plenty of SuperGlue. Hope gridlocked commuters have plenty of Advil.
No word yet on whether the Tea Party is blaming Obama for the East Coast earthquake, but give those folks time to brew up some allegations.
I can already hear Michele Bachmann saying, “See what happens when things tilt left!”
Looks as if the ghost is up for Gadhafi in Libya, who as of this writing likely was holed up in one of his weird hats as the rebels already seized 95 percent of Tripoli.
Of course, we didn’t need President Obama to take a break from his vacation in Martha’s Vineyard today to tell us that the gig is up for the Gadhafi regime. I think we sort of deduced that by now.
Granted, what next for Libya, where things figure to be more unstable than a nuclear reactor in the midst of an earthquake and tsunami?
Already the rebel leader is warning against a lack of discipline and has threatened to resign.
And already Obama is promising that the U.S. will be a friend and partner to the Libyan people and will offer humanitarian help.
That’s the ticket. Send Libya boatloads of dollars while our economy and our infrastructure tanks with a bigger splash than the Titanic.