Tea Party Boob Job

I was thinking yesterday of Pat Buchanan's 2000 Presidential bid. After announcing his break with the GOP -- calling it, as well as the Democratic Party, a beltway party (which one of the two lucid things he's ever said in his life. The other was when he cried for his binkie as a baby.) -- he more or less took over the Reform Party started by 1996 Presidential hopeful Ross Perot. Buchanan's political platform called for, among other things:

• withdrawing from the United Nations and the expelling  the U.N from New York;
• getting rid of the IRS, the Department of Education, Housing and Urban Development, and affirmative action programs;
• eliminating taxes on inheritance and capital gains.

In addition to losing the election, he also unhinged the Reform Party as a serious third party, which had, since Perot began, moved a bit left of center. Prior to Patty boy getting the nod, the Reform Party tried to get Natural Law candidate John Hagelin to carry it's banner. Hagelin is a physicist and proponent of Transcendental Meditation.

There were some pundits and politicos who suggested that Buchanan's run was not so much an attempt to get back into White House using the front door -- after all, he was a Nixon speech writer and an adviser to Nixon, Ford, and Reagan -- as it was an attempt to either change the direction of or completely unhinge the Reform Party. He did both. Yes, they're still out there. But they're taken about as seriously as the Green Party.

Now we have the Tea Party Movement -- which is a hobgoblin of social and economic conservatives, religious wackos,  disgruntled GOP'ers, and bigots. Enter Sarah Palin, far right wack job and late night spank material for uptight conservative white guys everywhere. Tea Baggers love her the way 13 year old boys love Bree Olson.

And they have Michele Bachmann, who won the Iowa Caucus in spite of confusing American movie icon John Wayne with clown costumed serial killer John Wayne Gacy;

 


While there are some uber-conservatives and evangelicals who like Bachmann, she won't survive a national campaign. Loony may play in Iowa, but not so well in other places. The same goes with Sarah Palin... although she seems amazingly immune from her own stupidity in a way that reminds me of George W. Bush.

So what if the Bachmann/Palin plan is really just the GOP's way of unhinging the Tea Party Movement as a serious political entity? I've been told that the Tea Party really isn't a political party. Some say they want to refocus the GOP. Some say they want to shoot Mexicans on sight. So who am I supposed to believe?

What if Bachmann/Palin is nothing more than the GOP's core attempting to redefine the same old platform using a religious psycho and a former beauty queen? Aging white men in America tend to move from their chairs for only a couple of reasons: to go to the bathroom and to see a pair of bouncing tits. In this case, it's a 2fer...

Monday Morning

You only know

who you are

early in the morning –

first thing, before

the daily news

distracts you

from facing

the reflection you see

when you close your eyes

and see yourself

etched on the insides

of your eyelids

as nature made you

not necessarily

as you and the world

would intend you to be.  

Daguerreotypes:Leon and Delilah's Night Out

Leon wandered the dark narrow bar, telling people who didn't know him he just got out of prison – 5 months – and would they buy him a drink. Underage Delilah hobbled around on crutches, sneaking pity beers from men old enough to be her father but young enough to appreciate her cleavage. One drunk couple, slopping all over the floor, stumbled out to the parking lot, fucked in the back seat of an '95 Oldsmobile, and returned. After two more shots, she started rubbing up on a woman playing darts and before long, they were dancing. Leon managed a few drinks before Underage Delilah ratted him out for a beer and a menthol cigarette.

“I hurt my leg in the river,” she said. “I'd show you my scars, but haven't been able to shave my legs.”

The Transfiguration of Rufus Skeen, Chapter 2, Part 1

His family's farm was part of the most fertile section of Seven Hills Valley. His father often sat around after supper was finished, puffed on his pipe and recited the family history, which, he said, could be traced back to the first arrival of white men to the region – the original trek led by Baptist minister Obadiah Blight and the Protestant faithful who set out from Boston in search of the land spoken of in the Great Book. The Skeen family was one of the original 77 families who set out with little more than faith to carry them across the heathen lands and were, by the grace of heaven one of the 12 surviving families who arrived and cut up the fertile valley into farms and into the central village of Blighton.

Rufus knew this history intimately because, besides the rain, the crops, and the Great Book, his father talked of little else. “It's important,” he'd say... and say... and say. “It's important to know your roots, where you're from. It's the only you have to know if you're acting like a man.”

He was sick of hearing his father talk about it and sick of having to think about it. All of it. Sick of hearing his father talk about it. Sick of having to recite it back at randomly. He could be working in the barn and his father would walk in and make him recite the entire lineage to present, with correct birth and (when applicable) death dates. Sometimes he would make Rufus recite the names of the the original 77 families. Rufus felt as if he were living in the past when the entire world around him was pushing its self into the future. The Village of Blighton was growing, and the people who lived there were growing with it. There was talk of a new dam and hydroelectric plant that would turn Apple Fork River into a lake, and there was talk of turning the area around the lake into a state park. So not only would Blighton benefit from newer and cheaper electricity, but it would create a destination, make it a Place People Go instead of A Place People Escape.

But that was the future and Rufus's father, Aloysius, would have none of it. The Skeen farm was the only farm in the valley not to sell out to the newly formed Seven Hills Energy Cooperative. More people were moving into the valley, trying to escape the city, and new houses had to be built. The other farmers sold out at healthy profit, became partners in the new energy cooperative, and were opening businesses in town to cater to the new arrivals. Restaurants and rooming houses and clothing stores. Old man Fettierre was opening a ladies' shoe store.

Every night Rufus went to bed praying his father would wake up and decide to sell the farm. After all, the phone calls and visits from cooperative representatives were almost a daily occurrence. And even as he prayed every night to leave, he dreamed each night of the places he read about in books and saw on television. All he wanted to do was escape. He wanted to live someplace with public transportation. Someplace that didn't require him to get his hands dirty when he worked. Someplace where people didn't look at you cross-eyed if they didn't see you walking into church on Sunday morning. He dreamed of moving to the city and changing his name to Luke or Robert or Stanley – a name that had nothing to do the Skeens, with the 12 families, with Blighton, or with Apple Valley.

Yet every morning when Rufus woke up to complete his chores, Aloysius was as intractable as ever. “Our family has always been provided for,” he'd say. “And that's more than most people will everbe able to say.”

Whenever Aloysius lit the burned bowl of his briar pipe after clearing his supper plate – the cue that he would once again begin to talk about the family and the Great Book – Rufus and his twin sister Selma would lock their eyes on one another and simultaneously roll them. They knew better than to interrupt or allow their lack of interest to show because their father believed deeply in the idea that sparing the rod spoiled the child; and no child of his would spoil on his watch. No sir.

Though Rufus saw the rod much more often than his sister. And every time he did, for whatever infraction Aloysius chose to punish him for, Rufus saw with increasing clarity that someday he would get out of Apple Fork, away from Blighton, and into the larger world.

And he also saw with increasing clarity – and no small bit of satisfaction – that it would break his father's heart.

Mick's Rules For Living: Another Revision

I've been working on this list, trying to whittle it down to something simple. The first list was ambitious, and not unlike the inner workings of my brain, a bit abstract. Not that there's anything wrong with abstract thinking. But, abstract ideas only work when they are tied to something concrete... that is, theories that can only remain theories are pointless. 


So, here we are. The updated list.

1. Do No Harm. Ever. I don't know how to simplify this. Violence begats violence and never creates anything lasting or positive. And the use of violence -- either actual or implied -- to force your ideas on other people helps to create stupid people.

2. Wear Clean Socks. I can't recommend this highly enough. If you must wear socks, either because you have a job that requires it or because it's cold, make sure they're clean. You can be a week beyond the need for a good bath, your clothes can be rags, and you could look like an extra from a zombie movie. But if you're wearing clean socks, you just feel like better. Trust me.

3. Read something non-essential everyday. People who read are less likely to develop Alzheimer's later. They're also less likely to be stupid.

4. Don't live any further from a bar than a 20-30 minute walk or 40 minute bus ride, unless you know you have a ride. Seriously. And if all else fails, drink at home. It's cheaper, anyway.


5. Never offend a bartender, secretary, or janitor. They run the world. Deal with it.


6. Be kind to all critters smaller than yourself. 


7. Only apologize when it's sincere, and never subjugate your will to the whims of others. Another consolidation of two previous rules. The only thing a person has in this life that's worth a damn is integrity. Let the bastards take that and nothing else matters.

8. Be honest. Even if it hurts. It often does.

9. You know you had a good day when you can sleep that night. Really. Any other qualification is false advertising.

10. The only thing you have to do in life is die. Everything else is an option. 

The Rose Tattoo (Or, Sketch of One of God's Little Left Overs)

Strictly speaking, Simpson was not a complicated person. He woke up each day ten minutes before his alarm clock sounded. He showered quickly and efficiently and shaved whether he really needed to or not. He liked his coffee black, but not too strong and his white toast lightly buttered with a minuscule dusting of cinnamon and sugar. Simpson left his home every workday at precisely 7:01 a.m. and arrived at Meladon Ficus and Associates, his place of employment for the past 10 years, exactly 45 minutes later. (Sometimes there was an accident or delay on the interstate that caused him to be late by five or ten minutes; but he was so punctual otherwise that everyone assumed he possessed some preternatural sense of traffic patterns and was in his corner cubicle by ten minutes until eight – whether he actually was or not.)

While at work he was focused and professional. His job was not a complicated one and it was not one that provided him with much power, affluence, or notice from his superiors. Fifty or sixty years ago, he would have been called a paper pusher. Now there's very little paper and most of what he does is transfer files from one folder on the server to another folder on the same server so that someone else can look at it after he goes over it. His job is to make sure that the person who saved the document in the file Simpson pulled it from didn't make any mistakes. The person who looked at it after him made sure that Simpson didn't miss anything. Eventually the files made their way to the Executive Board, where they were glanced over as visuals for a presentation that someone else – who had no part in putting the documents together – was giving. And it was that person who would get the credit for the hard work of all the invisible people who touched up document along the way. Simpson didn't mind this; losing out on the credit also meant that he lost out on the blame, too. And this was primarily where he drew satisfaction from his job.

On Wednesdays – which happened to be this particular day – Simpson ate his lunch at half past 12 instead of at noon. No one cared. Not even the the office manager Delores Filtcher. Delores spent most of her days fawning over the young delivery boy who brought FEDEX packages to the 15^thfloor office and talking to the small circle of women she drank with after work. Simpson knew the only reason she sexually harassed the FEDEX delivery man was because she didn't want it to get out that she and her was having an affair with one of the other telephone service specialists, a meek little mouse of a woman named Mildred.

Simpson also thought that maybe Delores was a little scared of him – though he couldn't really understand why.

He sat and ate his lunch – usually a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread (with the crusts cut off, the way his mom used to give them to him when he was bedridden and ill as a child), an apple, and a bottle of lemon flavored iced tea from the vending machine (Simpson didn't like the tarty flavor of real lemon, but he liked the saccharine taste of fake lemon flavoring. ) He said very little to anyone beyond vague pleasantries.

Wednesday was the day he allowed himself to watch Penelope. Penelope had the same job he had, but in another department. On Wednesdays she always wore her back in a pony tail. And while Penelope was a beautiful woman every other day of the week, long auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a well cared for physique. Simpson imaged by the sculpted curvature of her rear and the flatness of her stomach that she worked out at least two to three times a week. (Simpson himself did not.) And while that was an especially pleasant bonus, it wasn't those things about her that attracted his attention.

It was the tattoo.

A small rose tattoo, to be exact, just below her hair line on the back of her neck. It was small, ornate. Against her pale winter skin it looked like etching on fine porcelain. There was no indication that there were tattoos anywhere else on her body; Simpson had seen her in a variety of sleeveless, short, and long-sleeved professional outfits and there was nothing on her arms. She sometimes wore a skirt when the weather was warm and there was no ink marring her perfectly shaped legs. He supposed she could have tattoos other places; but he didn't like to think of her abdomen being marred with ink... or anywhere else, either.

No, it was just a small, single tattoo. He liked to sit and imagine the story of it as he ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off. He liked to imagine it was some brief bout of college indiscretion; in his more imaginative moments, he imagined that it wasn't a tattoo at all, but a rare birthmark. Something that made her precious. Rare. Distinct. But maybe she was unaware of what it really meant, and maybe she had always wanted to know... that thing that only he could tell her because it was knowledge that he was born with, something he had known his entire, dull existence, without even knowing WHY he knew it. But it had been there. Waiting. Waiting for the moment when the two of them would occupy the same space at the same time. Waiting so that he could tell her his secret knowledge... and in the knowing, together they would both be free.

He timed eating his sandwich to coincide with her finishing her egg salad croissant and stood so that he would reach the door before she did. He did this every Wednesday, so it required almost no thought. When they met together at the door, each and every Wednesday, Simpson thought that might be the moment he could tell her the meaning of the rose tattoo and free them both. He imagined the moment over and over again: the expression on her face as he mouthed the words that she had been needing to hear her entire life – words that she was unaware of, except for the great emptiness of their absence. He imagined her smiling, maybe touching the rose lightly, and a slight tear rolling down her otherwise perfect face. “Thank you,” she would say. “I always hoped it would be you.”

As he approached her, reaching for the door in order to open it, he prepared. The words, he knew were on his lips. He had only to speak. Then he opened the door, and she looked up at him and smiled a glorious smile.

Then her cell phone rang.

“Oh!” she said, hurrying through the open door and answering her phone. “Thanks, Simmons,” she hissed quickly over her shoulder.

Simpson stood there for a moment, then walked through himself. He didn't follow her down the hall. Instead he went back to his office and went about the rest of his day, wondering whether Penelope was aware of the company policy regarding cell phone usage during work hours.

Complete Text of an Expurgated Article Published This Week

Water Ordinance Amendment Discussed, Old Issues Surface

By Mick Parsons for The Prairie Advocate News

Mount Carroll – Changes to the city's Water Ordinance, as proposed by Tom Charles (Ward 3) were discussed at length, and the input of landlords and property owners being taken into consideration as the council works on the final draft. In spite of the generally favorable response to most of the changes to the amendment draft, however, some old issues surfaced delineating clearly the factions and tensions within the city council that many voters hoped to get rid of in the last election. And in spite of the fact that half the council being in their first term, the same old divisions that gave a sense of gridlock to the last council still pervaded the conversation.

Water On the Brain

The big discussion for the night was draft of amendments to the city's water ordinance. Even though the new ordinance calls for an additional $100 deposit for new water accounts – with only landlords and residential owners being able to get the deposit back after 12 months of timely payments – and it also provides a time line between the date the payment is due and when service is cut off for nonpayment... and essentially removes any discretionary ability on the part of City Clerk Julie Cuckler, who has been critisized by current aldermen Sisler and Bork and former alderman Nina Cooper for her more humanitarian and one on one approach in dealing with delinquent payments... the major issue among the more vocal residents present at the meeting still boiled down to whether or not a new water ordinance would do any good.

Before going over the draft, Alderman Charles (Ward 3) tried to organize the conversation into two parts. He intended to first discuss the water ordinance “going forward” and wanted to keep the more contentious arguments related to delinquent water bills as a separate issue. He was also careful to point out that the purpose of discussing the ordinance draft was so that area landlords and residential owners could give their input, ask questions, and voice concerns.

One local landlord, Leo Haag, insisted that the only problem with the current water ordinance was enforcement – or the lack of it. “Most of the mistakes with delinquent water bills have been made in the building.”

Trying to keep the conversation on track – or perhaps hoping that his elegant solution would calm the concerns of those present – Alderman Charles went on to read more of the proposed changes. If the proposed changes pass, the city will not turn off the water at any landlord's property without a notarized letter stating that the property is vacant... this is in response to a previous situation in which a landlord had a tenants water turned off while they were still living there. Also, landlords will be responsible for 2 months worth of delinquent water bills, if there are any, should a tenant move and leave a delinquent bill; that two months will be offset by the $100 deposit, however. If a landlord includes the water in the cost of the rent and gets behind on the bill, the city will leave the water on until the property is vacant.

The new ordinance would also add a $50 administrative fee for lien preparation that will be passed on to the landlord, along with the court establish legal fees.

Charles passed out copies of letters to delinquent water bill customers – one to property owners, and one to tenants. The language of both letters was pretty much the same, except that landlords and residential property owners would have to pay 10% interest on the past due amount and tenants would only have to pay 5%. This was met with some grumbles of displeasure from the landlords in the audience, but Charles said that since landlords are in business to make money, it's important that the city hit them where it will most affect them.

Alderman Bob Sisler (Ward 2) took issue with the “legally possible” clause. In other words, the state statute does limit the city in some respects. For one, no public utility can be shut off between December 1^st and March 1^st, and for another, it's illegal for any utility to be shut off when it will exacerbate a medical problem and place the resident at risk... and if the city did so, it would be open to legal action. City Attorney Ron Coplan pointed out, however, that there's no state law restricting evictions for non-payment of rent.

Alderman Doug Bergren (Ward 3) then asked Coplan whether or not it's true that state law makes landlords responsible for the unpaid water bills of their tenants, and Coplan conceded that Bergren was correct.

And while there weren't that many vocal objections to the the proposed Water Ordinance Changes, there were when it came time to discuss how the city will deal with delinquent water bills. After Andy Shaw asked what happened to large water bills left behind by former tenants who move out of the area, Charles reminded the audience that the city has found a collection agency, Tri-State Adjustments, to track those people down and attempt to collect the debt.

The biggest issue that those present – clearly landlords – had was that in the end, they could still be held responsible for the unpaid water bills of their tenants. As Bergren, Charles, and City Attorney Ron Coplan pointed out, however, that's the state law.

Mr. Haag also pointed out that no other utility operates the way Mount Carroll operates it's water utility. He insisted that neither JoCarroll nor Nicor would allow an account to get as behind as some of the delinquent accounts on the city's past due list.

Jan Handel, echoing Haag's complaint, asked “Why do the bills get so high?” She later added that there was already an ordinance on the books that wasn't enforced. She was echoing a criticism going back to the previous council, and to previous council meetings during which – like this one – the city clerk was openly critisized in spite of the fact that she, like the mayor, were re-elected. Alderman Sisler has made much of his stance in favor of going by the letter of the law, and others, like Alderman Bork and former Alderman Nina Cooper, haven't been shy of their public critiques of either the Clerk or the mayor. And while there was a point when it seemed like the tension on city council was going to dissipate so that while disagreements would remain that business could at least get done, it seems like the same old tensions and same old factions are again having sway.

And in this case, even though the proposed ordinance would do precisely what some critics of the city, the clerk, and the mayor have wanted – namely, remove the clerk's discretionary powers when it comes to dealing with past due water bills – there were still those who took the opportunity of a public forum to voice their dissatisfaction with what they see as a history of mismanagement. To hear the group present at last week's council meeting, one would think the entire town was in an uproar.

Of course, the other significant group of people who will be impacted by the new water ordinance – the tenants – was not present at the meeting; though to be fair, unlike the landlords they weren't expressly invited to what is an open public meeting. That they didn't come out themselves suggests that they've been busy on the phone with their aldermen, or there's an apathy to what goes on, or they think their thoughts don't matter.

One resident did speak up, however. Terri Evansberger pointed out that there are “extenuating circumstances” that might cause people to get behind on their water bill, and that those things should be taken into consideration. Alderman Charles pointed out that the new Health and Welfare Fund – which was approved by ordinance that same night – would give people options to pursue in trying to get their water bill paid.

Alderman Rose raised the point of seasonal restrictions again and Alderman Charles said, “We won't break the law.”

Alderman Sisler, wanting to get in one more dig before the conversation moved on said, “Not anymore.”

To TIF or Not to TIF

Another issue that continues to draw attention to the divisions on the board is the Mount Carroll TIF District and how TIF funds actually work. The TIF fund has been the focus of ire, complaints, and confusions among some present and past members of the city council; and even though one alderman, Doug Bergren, deals with TIF Funds in his day job and in spite of the exhaustive efforts of supporters as well as the media to explain how and why TIF works, when the issue came up last week the same old confusions bubbled to the surface.

The owners of Mount Carroll Bowling wrote a letter to the city council asking it to take action regarding their TIF request. According to the TIF agreement that Mount Carroll Bowl has with the city, it can receive 90% of it's TIF increment, and the owners are hoping they can use the TIF funds – which are tied to the Estimated Assessed Value (EAV) of the property – to make up some of the $78,000 they've invested since buying it in 2009.

The problem is that when the owners and the city went back to look at the business's 2007 EAV, it was inflated well beyond what the owners think the property was actually worth. And while that can be looked into, the end result is that because of the higher assessed value in 2007, Mount Carroll Bowl may not be able to draw from the TIF Fund because they haven't paid in.

To keep it simple – mostly because is simple – supporters of TIF Funds claim they are a way for localities to use local money for economic development. In the case of Mount Carroll's TIF District, which also includes Pearl City Bank, Schneider House Furniture, and Main Street Commons, the TIF Fund is fed by the difference between the 2007 EAV and what the business actually pays in property taxes. For example, If a business in the TIF District paid $3000 in property taxes in 2007, but they paid $4000 in 2011, that extra $1000 would go into TIF. Conversely, if they paid $3000 in property taxes in 2007 and $2500 in 2011, then nothing would go into the TIF.

Generally, a business only qualifies for TIF Funds – based on an agreement with the city requiring passage by the city council – if they pay in. The owners of Mount Carroll Bowl claim the 2007 EAV was so high and that it's dropped so much since then that there's no way they will ever get TIF money.

Mayor Carl Bates suggested two options:

1. They don't get any money, as per the agreement, since nothing has been paid in, or
2. The bowling alley and the city agree on an amount – a smaller amount than what they're asking. – and they get that.

The mayor was clearly pushing for the second option, saying he wanted to encourage a business that has helped bring people into downtown. “All I can do is suggest,” he said. “I feel we should participate at some level. That's my opinion.”

Alderman Bergen suggests a specific number: $15,000 – which could help Mount Carroll Bowl install much needed air conditioning on the lanes. The mayor said that is a separate thing and not really covered by the TIF contract.

The only concern that Alderman Mike Risko (Ward 1) raised was one of favoritism. “I don't want to play favorites,” he said.

As of the council meeting last week, the TIF Fund has a balance of $31,021.20. According to the agreement between the TIF District and the City of Mount Carroll, once disbursements are made to those businesses which get them – Pearl City Bank for one – the balance of the TIF FUND will then be transferred to the Water Fund to pay on the Debt Service.

Bergren, who was clearly displeased with the notion fo draining the TIF, said “If we keep a low number in TIF, we'll never be able to do anything.”

There was some talk that the TIF agreement needs to be reviewed in light of the issue with Mount Carroll Bowl. According to the mayor, it's an issue they are likely to come up against again in the future with other TIF businesses. But some alderman – Sisler and Risko – claimed to not understand how TIF works. Sisler claimed that it might make sense to “someone that's smart.” Neither Risko nor Sisler were on the council when the TIF district was formed, but the issue has been discussed so much that does beg the question as to whether it's a matter of being smart enough or a matter of being politically cautious enough and tip toeing around a topic that has been a contentious point among members of the current and past councils. In other words, if all else fails, play dumb.

Who's The Boss?

Some of the current tensions among members of the city council showed while Alderman Sisler reported some of the complaints and comments he'd gotten from some of his constituents. Sisler said he was fielding calls from residents in Ward 2 about pot holes on Washington Street between Clay and Main; that people in a town this size call their elected officials, many of whom are also neighbors and friends, isn't really all that surprising. But apparently, in spite of all the years of leadership experience boasted to by many of the aldermen, and in spite of all the focus lately on following proper procedure in wake of JoCarroll's Public Relations campaign of tutoring new alderman in Parliamentary Procedure, there's still apparently some stark philosophical disagreements on the role of alderman in a town the size of Mount Carroll.

“I don't understand the chain of command,” Risko complained. After essentially accusing his fellow alderman of nitpicking and micro-managing, Risko said the job of an alderman was to provide overall leadership and not to “get involved in minutiae.”

“You're way off,” Sisler said. And other members of the council, including Alderman Bergren, along with residents sitting in the audience, seemed to agree.

In other council news, Lou Schau of the CDC talked about the Historic Preservation Fund. It has $6,000 to hand out this year, and they have decided to lend $3,000 each to Deane King of Second Rose and to Mary Kernan of New Morning Glass. Since it's inception in 2006, $41,000 has passed through the fund and into improvements in the downtown district. Also mentioned that there are three more flower boxes downtown, all paid for by downtown business owners and that Bella's and Brick Street Coffee have extended hours. Alderman Doris Bork (Ward 2) asked whether all the loans from the Historic Preservation Fund have been repaid. Schau said that there hasn't been a problem or default yet. Risko praised the CDC for it's work and the way it's improving the downtown.

Alderman Sisler asked about the golf cart – which isn't running – and whether it is meant to run on the street. Charles pointed out that the golf cart is technically a city vehicle... which Sisler didn't think was an answer to his question. Generally, however, in order for a vehicle such as a golf cart to be street legal, it must have head and tail lights and be registered with the state and plated.

Len Anderson reported that the next Cruise Night is on 8/20. He also asked the council to consider another $800 donation for next year. This donation comes out of the band fund, and usually in 4 increments of $200. The council went ahead and voted to approve the donation.

Jeff Woodside from The Carroll County Chapter of Pheasants Forever was at the meeting to ask the city for it's annual $100 donation towards the Pheasants Academic Scholarship Program. It was motioned and passed after a short discussion. Risko did ask if the city donated to other organizations for similar reasons. The mayor answered no, but added that the city does donate to the After Prom and other worthwhile projects when there are available funds and when the council is approached.

Former Alderman Diane Lego was named to the Mount Carroll Planning Commission. Lego, who served on the council until she decided not to run last year, made quite an impression of her leaving when, at her last meeting as an alderman, she returned the $100 Christmas bonus check she received from the city because she was an alderman. Prior to Lego being voted onto the the Planning Commission, Alderman Risko asked her why she wanted to serve when she made her displeasure with the current city administration so clear. She answered that she simply wanted to serve and that the only reason she returned the check in such a grand manner was because she didn't feel that aldermen should get a holiday bonus.

During the general audience portion, Andy Shaw said that his property in Mount Carroll has sewage back up problems every time it floods and that he hopes the city will look into the issue, since it's clear that last year's flood wasn't the last flood of any magnitude that the city would have to deal with.

Jean Schintzler commented that the city still hasn't done anything about her water problem, even though city workers have been up to her house and tested her water. She maintains that the water she put in her pool was “as brown as the Mississippi River” and that when it comes out of the tap it often smells like rotten eggs. Alderman Sisler couldn't resist the urge to ask if that meant the water was “pot-able.” Schintzler went to say that when she called the mayor at home – again – to complain about the problem that the mayor told her he'd just shut the water off.” Bates later said that he said it out of frustration and that of course that wasn't the solution to the problem. During the meeting Mayor Bates said that even though the city has tested her water that it will take another sample and send it off to a lab in Sterling, which will test for more than chlorine and lead.

The Decay of The Art of Argument

The problem with argument in this Post-American Century America is that no one likes a good argument anymore. We like to fight with words – admittedly, fewer and smaller words than we used to – but it is still considered the intellectual's preference to rocks, sticks, knives, or guns. We stake out our territory and strike out, like our tribal ancestors undoubtedly did, with the sole purpose of mental evisceration. I think of it like the Catholic Church's Crusades of centuries ago – convert or die. This is the approach that most of us take. But these two things are not the same.

Running parallel with that massive chunk of cultural sewage is another crucial piece of infrastructure that keeps the whole mess moving downhill – the dire and politically correct desire to be “polite.” These two things aren't nearly as contrary as people tend to think. Fighting with words accomplishes nothing and no one ever really wins... although everyone tends to walk away feeling like they have.

There are times in the often violent exchange of ideas when being polite is a nice break. A palette cleanser, if you will. Graciousness will take you pretty far in the world... if that happens to be your goal.

But even in a well-reasoned argument, there is often reason NOT to be polite. Conceit, snobbery, bigotry, sexism, and xenophobia can all be thinly disguised with a polite tone and a long knife smile. We talk a lot about compromise in this country... mostly about the lack of it... but the truth is no one really wants to compromise. They want to win while still being able to take umbrage at the fact that the other party didn't simply agree and capitulate.

This is the problem. We've lost the ability to argue in any way that useful, or even entertaining. We like to sit around with people who think like us, who talk like us. We join groups on Facebook so we can dish in publicly private setting. Now we have “circles” on Google + so we can control what we say and show to whom... even though it's possible to do that on Facebook if you spend five minutes looking over your account settings. And really, there's nothing wrong with getting together with other people – either in real time or online – to share similar views. (So that's NOT what I'm saying here, you ninnies who want to throw a Constitutional argument at me. I know all about the First Amendment. It's my bread and butter.) And because we've been taught to actually believe that the hallmark of civilization is our ability to be polite and that America is near the pinnacle of perfect civilizations, we think that the sometimes heated arguments over ideas are unamerican.

First of all, if history, current and past, has, is and should teach us anything, it's that there's very little about civilization that's very civilized. A smile and a polite tone does not make for an intelligent and enlightened individual. In my experience, the biggest, ugliest, stupidest bullies are the ones that smile. We have a history of exclusion and of fighting over who we ought to include: Non-Christians, Blacks, Women, the Irish, The Chinese, The Germans, The Japanese, The Gays, The Arabs, The Mexicans. I'm leaving some out, I know, but the list really is long. We've blacklisted artists, actors, directors, writers, comedians. (And I say WE because anything that's done in our name with our consent is something we bear the responsibility for.) We are nearly as cruel to other humans as we are to the other critters that scramble over the Earth... and the argument could be made that we're even more cruel to our own because we're more apt to take pity on a starving dog or a pitiful looking cat than we are to give a panhandler a buck. (And before you say “Yeah, the panhandler should get a job,” keep in mind that cats are natural scavengers and most dogs are intelligent pack animals. Making assumptions about why someone's homeless, or not working is simply the way we justify our lack of humanity. It's rooted in the idea stated thusly to me during a conversation once at a bar: “If I have to work everyday and hate my job, so does everyone else.” Yep. The If-It's-Good-Enough-For-Me fallacy. Mostly I think people resent the homeless and the unemployed because they know they're a paycheck away from being the same way. Similarity, in addition to making Facebook have a point, also breeds contempt.)

The other thing that history should teach us that for all of our accomplishments, Sweden is more stable democracy.

The overall result? We fight with words instead of argue. We've let the dumb bastards who are in charge – and who are always in charge regardless of what political party has the majority – convince us that arguing is rude and unamerican. Our alternative is that we fight with words... which is petty, pointless, and juvenile. The only real bonus is that it can be mildly entertaining for the first two minutes, or right before the commercial break.

I suspect that down deep, beyond the social programming and the institutionalized cultural miasma that is modern education, the real reason people don't like to argue anymore is because to really and truly argue requires not only the ability to think critically, but a moral and ethical integrity. It's important not to confuse argument with debate. We should never be a society of lawyers. Debate, sometimes referred to as Forensics, – like they sometimes still teach in public schools instead of real history or science – encourages people to learn all about something but be prepared to argue any position. There's no moral or ethical inquiry involved. The Greeks called this Sophistry and it was the Sophists who had Socrates killed. People like this mistake debate for the Art of Argument. The difference is Argument, if it is to be an art, must have some ethical and moral integrity. Art of any kind... painting, sculpture, writing, motorcycle maintenance … must have those same components. It's part – though not all – of what makes Art.

As a result of this curricular and cultural confusion, we've mistaken cleverness for wit, eloquence for intellectual and spiritual depth. We would rather let everyone feel like a winner than consider the possibility that some of our ideas are wrong. The truly critically minded folks out there often reconsider their positions on things. I know I do. And I do change my mind... though not because I'm ever really compelled by word fights that contradict my own experience. I change my mind because it's important to be open-minded.

But that's not the same thing as polite, either... though many do mistake them. Often.

Sketch of One of Life's Great Middle Managers

When his alarm clock sounded promptly at six in the morning on this particular Thursday morning – like it did every Monday through Friday morning at six – Lawrence Fitzpickle met the day with the usual resignation that gave him no options and nothing to think about. Delores, his wife of more than 25 years, lay on her side, snoring and drooling onto the pillow. She didn't have to wake up as early and as a rule, she didn't because she worked 2^ndshift at the Juvenile Women's Correctional Facility located one town over. Lawrence sat up gingerly and slid off the bed; he was sore... more sore than usual. The only reason he budged at all was because the alarm was blaring and because after spending several hours being the bottom in Delores' Wednesday Night Strap-On Fantasy, his bowels were about to release a movement of semi-biblical proportions.

After he was finished on the toilet, and after making sure there were no more open wounds, Lawrence the hall towards the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Tumbles the cat ,sitting on the kitchen counter in front of the coffee pot, staring at him. Waiting. There had been a time when Lawrence tried to make his coffee before letting the cat out; but over the years the two of them had developed a sort of détente. Lawrence had agreed to let the cat out first and the cat agreed – in as much as cats can agree to anything – not to piss on his pillow.

Lawrence considered this one of his more successful negotiations, and tried to apply its lessons to other parts of his life. He especially liked that it required no words, no confrontation, no listing of demands.

Tumbles the cat, seeing that Lawrence was indeed going to continue to abide by their silent agreement, he jumped off the counter and flounced towards the back door. Lawrence followed him, unlocked the door, opened it, and stood there as the cat stepped grandly out into the day.

Closing the door behind Tumbles, Lawrence set about making coffee. When he looked in the cabinet, he noticed they were out of the coffee he liked; he'd forgotten to buy some on the way home the day before. The only coffee there was the hazelnut flavored kind Delores liked sometimes. He didn't like hazelnut coffee; it left an after taste in his mouth that he found unpleasant and reminded him of dirty socks. He put enough water and grounds in the coffee maker to brew a full pot even though he knew Delores would only drink half of one cup.

While he was in the shower, Lawrence thought about his day. Today would be like yesterday and like tomorrow. Even though the weekend was approaching, there was nothing exciting to look forward to, except for the extra two hours of sleep he would get. As the water trickled down from his balding scalp down his puffy frame, Lawrence looked down at himself and wondered what his life might have been like if he had been bolder. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife; it wasn't even that he hated his job, particularly. His job was a job like most others and he was sure Delores was a wife like most others. He felt like the people under him in his department liked him. He felt like the executive managers liked him. He hadn't been offered a promotion ever since he'd been the youngest employee to be made Department Manager. The trajectory had been clear, then; he had been sure he was the fast track. But the next bump never came; after a while, when his bosses were younger men than he was, Lawrence stopped hoping for that next promotion.

The only thing that was going to make his day bearable was the cup of coffee he planned to stop and get on the way to work. He'd have to stop at the coffee shop and stand in line; but it was Thursday, which meant that pretty young girl... the one who always smiled and who always remembered what kind of coffee he wanted … would be working. Lora. Her name was Lora. Lora with the long red hair, shiny eyes, and puffy lips. Lora who was working her way through college to be an elementary school teacher. Lora with the nose ring and tiny star tattoo on her neck. He often wondered if she had other tattoos and where they were. It would be improper to ask, of course. But he liked to imagine them, highlights on her young body, stories of a life still fresh with possibilities. He thought about her and he felt himself come alive. Just a little. But then Lawrence's excitement turned to sadness, then resignation when he realized he'd gotten too much soap in an open cut left behind by Delores' new strap-on monster, the Majestic 7000.

It's Not Easy

Looking for a place,

a place to hide

a place to revive

where strong words

are not reviled,

where open eyes

are not swollen shut,

where we really are

the image of ourselves

we sell to our children

like desperate used car

salesmen.

Looking for a place

a place to hide

a place that is more

than escape,

more than existing

than just out of spite,

more than the afterbirth

of a world politicians

and preachers and

blind optimists say

was simply

never meant to be.

Looking for a place,

but sometimes

it's just not easy.

There's no Home

for me to go to

though I dream of one.

Every place my feet

have carried me disappears

the moment my foot moves forward

and I am in the world

looking back,

seeing nothing,

remembering everything,

filled to the gills

with the memories of things

most people think

isn't worth the space.

Looking for a place

knowing it's ahead of me

knowing the map etched

in the memories

of things behind me

knowing I may not know

when I find it

because all the signs

have been worn away

destroyed by cement mixers,

buried under rusted machines,

erased by digitalized visions

of megalomaniacs

and mad men

with their finger on the button

and their boot heals

on each of our throats.