Finally, it had ended. I was wrapping up "live" blogging and chatting with Daniel S. as Grace Schneider of the C-J interviewed Paul Haub. The rest of the council stole away fairly quickly after the final flip from the 2nd district.
In fact, the entire council with the sole possible exception of Steve Price (introspection's just not a skill set with him) displayed concluding body language not so much of exhaustion following the three-hour, self-imposed ordeal. It was more like they felt palpably, demonstrably dirty, as though they were walking out of a peep show and checking the parking lot to make sure no one was looking.
I felt bad for the people who came to air their drainage grievances. Led by Dan Coffey, the council spent the evening shrieking about accountability and suggesting that pretty soon, every last line item will have to come before them for approval. To those newbies in attendance, please try to understand that this concern has nothing to do with the council's ability to actually help the drainage situation.
It took decades of zoning and planning and building decisions to bring us to this juncture, and there's not a single person serving at any level of local government who has the ability to wave a magic wand and stop the rain. Not one. However, there are nine council memers who need a vote, and a council president who needs his pudgy finger in every pie that comes across the assembly line, and that's what tonight's inexcusable grandstanding was about.
It was shameful, and almost certainly a new low, but we don't have enough money to invest in measuring device that might determine exactly how low they can go. I hear they use them in the South African diamond mines.
And yet this is NA, a monument of sorts to the art of graceless redneck limbo dancing, and there's always a way to lower oneself even more, as I learned upon exiting the building. Standing outside was the quartet (charitably speaking; they might have two lungs between them) comprising Citizens for Anonybility, including the transgendered, nutty professor herself.
I walked toward Spring Street and home, and heard the palsied poseur's words behind me:
"Boy, I'd like to have my sidewalk paved."
I'm not sure about that, Erika -- I mean, Vickie -- but if you invest roughly $750,000 in downtown, you might be able to score some new concrete. Worked for me. You DO have three quarters of a mil, right?
A final note to stay-at-home progressives: This was an offensive, ridiculous evening of bile and parody. Except for Mark Cassidy, who was there, you all owe me a beer, and you ARE GOING TO PAY me.