Some people always see the tank as half empty
Greg Bean
Coda

We all have our special martial arts talents. My kids say that my wife, for example, is a black belt in Nag-Fu. They say I'm a grandmaster at Crotch-E-Tay.

A good friend and fellow columnist who lives out in one of the Red States and whose name I'm withholding for personal reasons (he's got a long memory and a talent for revenge) is one of the few living senseis of the ancient discipline Whi-Ning.

This friend, whose column is usually pretty funny - when he's writing about his kids or getting flummoxed by a home plumbing project - is absolutely serious about one frequent topic in his columns, and that subject is taxes.

A dyed-in-the-wool, traditional conservative, he hates taxes on general principle and never saw a proposal for any facility, project or staff increase he liked if those things would make his taxes rise. And when he writes about taxes, he takes on the zealous tone of an old-time tent revivalist. I've seen him talk about taxes in person enough times to imagine him as he's sitting at his computer writing - red faced, the little veins in his temples throbbing, his fingers pounding the keyboard like a jackhammer, heart thumping so hard he's popping nitroglycerin tablets like peanuts.

This guy really hates taxes. Hates them so much, in fact, that he recently moved from Nebraska back to Wyoming (where he worked in the '70s and '80s) in no small part because the taxes are much lower.

Last week, we were corresponding by e-mail and he mentioned his philosophical disagreement with the editor of the local newspaper, who is always supporting projects and proposals that would raise his taxes.

"He wants to turn this place into Nebraska," my friend groused.

I bit my tongue long enough to ask, "What's your property tax rate these days?"

"It's s eventy-three cents per hundred dollars of valuation," he whined.

In Wyoming, I should point out, there is no state income tax.

"And how much were you paying in Nebraska?" I asked.

"It was awful," he wrote. "They had us clear up to two dollars nine cents per hundred."

I got to laughing so hard at that I actually became woozy, and had to put my head between my legs to keep from passing out, because it's all a matter of perspective.

In East Brunswick where I live, the total property tax rate in 2006 was either $7.45, $7.52 or $7.54 per $100 in valuation, depending upon which fire district you live in. Of that, $5.03 per $100 went to the schools, $1.27 per $100 went to municipal expenses and the rest went to the fire district. And we paid about 8.9 percent of our income for state income tax on top of that.

If we could find a politician who'd come to East Brunswick - or any other community in New Jersey for that matter - and get our total property tax rate to the "awful" rate of $2.09 per $100 in valuation, we'd have ourselves a new state hero.

We'd build shrines to that politician. We'd commission heroic statues for town parks. We'd name a sports stadium after him (or her), maybe even a turnpike. We'd help elect him (or her) Governor for Life. Grade-school students would study his (or her) life story in history class. We'd make his (or her) birthday a legal holiday. Bruce Springsteen would write a song. We'd all sing it in the shower.

Can you even imagine how grateful we'd be to any politician who could whack our property tax rate down to the "awful" rate of $2.09 per $100 in valuation?

Me neither, but it sure is fun to try. And you can also see why I think my friend should just quit Whi-Ning, although he is a master of the form. You can't feel much sympathy for a guy whose property tax rate per hundred is less than the price of a Big Mac.

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Speaking of perspective, did any of you see the recent Reuters news service story about the 838 residents of Hong Kong who called on that country's Television and Entertainment Licensing Authority (TELA) to reclassify the Christian Bible as "indecent" because of its violent and sexual content?

TELA is still trying to decide whether the Bible violates Hong Kong's obscene and indecent article laws, but if it finds the Bible in violation, only those older than 18 will be allowed to buy it. And they'll only be able to buy it then if it's sealed in a wrapper and comes with a warning notice.

I've read the Bible (this will surprise some of my more critical readers), and I know it comes with a lot of slewing, reaving and sundering hip from thigh. It also comes with a whole bargeload of begats and a modicum of incest, especially in the Old Testament.

But I've never considered it indecent or obscene, and I even encouraged my kids to read it.

If they'd had to buy it on the sly in a plain brown wrapper, or get it off the Web like they did those topless photos of Pam Anderson, they might have been more motivated to do so. That's how kids are.

As I said, it's all a matter of perspective.

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Holmdel Committeeman Terence Wall is out of a job after getting the fewest votes in a three-way primary for two slots on the GOP slate for the committee race in that town. The Wall Watch is officially over.

After the provisional ballots were counted, incumbent Mayor Serena DiMaso received 970 votes, Wall's running mate Jerry Allocco had 572 and Wall got 564.

Although he lost by a whisker, Wall faced defeat graciously on one hand, curiously on the other.

I've been pretty hard on him in this column, but I have to tip my hat to his e-mail to supporters conceding the race to Allocco on the night of the race.

But then, at the Holmdel Township Committee meeting June 7, Wall stayed long enough to vote no on the 2007 municipal budget and then walked out without telling anyone why. He did not return.

Wall later told a local reporter that he left because of a prior conflict, but his colleagues on the committee say he never informed them that he would be leaving.

If that's any indication of how he'll be acting during the remainder of his term as a lame duck, it's gonna be a long slog until his replacement takes office.

Gregory Bean is executive editor of Greater Media Newspapers. You can reach him at gbean@gmnews.com.