DICKIE DO & DICKIE DEE – Or, Life in New Jersey

Because we ordered something once from a catalog, we get dozens
of catalogs a month, from highbrow to the very low. One of the latter
offers t-shirts with the legend “The Dickie Do Club,” detailed
as follows: “My gut hangs out more than my dickie do.”
Would someone actually buy one for himself? Or do you send
an affectionate gift to husband or friend? And where would you
wear it? A family picnic? The local roadhouse? Does it help you
pick up women? What kind of women does it help you meet?
Dickie Dee’s, on the other hand, was a place in Newark to get
a Newark-style hot dog, fried in ancient grease, black with age,
along with cubes of potatoes, all stuffed in a small Italian loaf.
It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, but not as good as you might think.
Imagine making an evening of it: start with hot dogs at Dickie Dee’s,
wearing your Dickie Do t-shirt; down some brewskies further up
Bloomfield Avenue. Tomorrow is soon enough for string quartets,
brown rice, or a meditative hike in the Watchung Mountains.


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