City council approves more ordinances to refrain from enforcing, declares victory, and returns home to carve the Christmas spam.

Last night's final city council meeting of 2013 is amply covered by Grace Schneider in the C-J. Surely she's cursing the misfortune of drawing the short straw.

Of Vicki "Erika" Denhart's favored council seat holders, Kevin Zurschmiede and Diane Benedetti were absent. It's an unscientific assertion, but I'll reiterate: Has there been such a recurring level of council absenteeism in the past decade?

I think not. Because gin was sounding far better than spin, I wasn't there, either. Then again, I wasn't elected to serve, which implies clocking in on a regular basis.

Shirley Baird was present, and offered an ordinance to suppress aggressive panhandling. It was passed on its first two readings, as was the port authority enabling legislation. The latter seems justified, at least until we see the strikingly poor caliber of usual suspects appointed to its governing board, and are duly repelled. As for panhandling, it brings to mind an array of stirring council memories, including porch furniture bans, prohibitions on novelty lighters and heroic objections to non-binding resolutions.

Really?

I'm not sure why non-binding resolutions get all the attention. Non-binding ordinances are far more common in this town.

Al Goldstein and New Albany DVD (Cleopatra's) both are dead. Somewhere, a dog barks.

2005 photo

But Larry Flynt lives.

Zach Everson had it pegged on Twitter yesterday.

Al Goldstein Dies at 77; Made Porn Dirtier // Best-ever @nytimes obit contains paper's best-ever correction http://nyti.ms/1fp9c7y

The correction:

This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

Correction: December 19, 2013

An earlier version of this article misstated the name of a movie Mr. Goldstein starred in. It is “Al Goldstein & Ron Jeremy Are Screwed,” not “Al Goldstein & Ron Jeremy Get Screwed.”

The obit: Al Goldstein Dies at 77; Made Pornography Dirtier, by Andy Newman

Meanwhile, Cleopatra's (formerly known as New Albany DVD is going out of business. In itself, this means quite little, but back in 2004/205 when the Main Street sex shop opened for business, the entertainment value was extreme, even by this blog's typically jaundiced standards.

Click here for "New Albany DVD" search results at NA Confidential

It turns out that the presence of New Albany DVD/Cleopatra's did far less to compromise New Albany's integrity than lingering one-way arterial streets. With the money spent to fight the store's presence, we could have purchased quite a few traffic calming measures.

One fine evening at the 5 o'clock network.

Your Community Bank issues the invitation, and I'm happy to help them out when it's time for another 5 o'clock network. Attendees sampled Houndmouth, Solidarity and Tunnel Vision, and I had a great chat with Scott from Huber about wines and the impending ramp-up of distillation.

ON THE AVENUES: Tight fitting genes, revisited.

ON THE AVENUES: Tight fitting genes, revisited.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

Last evening was the debut of New Albany: City by the River, and the documentary film by Daniel Frank and Philip Collins is quite good. The occasion wasn't without its surreal moments, and upon reflection, I'm reminded of this essay, which first appeared on June 23, 2011. Actually, I'm reminded of the last paragraph, which remains true then as now. 


Music does something to me, and I’ve never been able to explain why. It just does. Sometimes I walk into a supermarket, hear a pop song on the sound system, and my attention wanders. I forget the shopping list.

My earliest childhood memories have melodic accompaniment. When very young, I’d go to sleep to the cracklings of an ancient AM radio, and perhaps that’s why absolutely nothing about being five years old remains except hearing "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction."

The grooves on a LP collection of children’s music subsequently were worn and frayed. I recall two cuts in particular: An American folk song called “One More Day,” and Mozart’s “Turkish Rondo.”

The anecdotes are both endless and tedious, but the point is this: Music plays inside my noggin at all times, and has done so for as long as I can remember. It is central to my being. And yet, for all the ways that music is the soundtrack of my life, I possess no musical skills.

I cannot play an instrument, and my voice, once capable of carrying a tune, has digressed through decades of misuse and abuse to the point of shower stall braying alone, safely away from the ears of others. I listen, drum fingers, hum, whistle and participate as best I can. It’s enough.

My conclusion? There is a music gene, and I have it. Music has spoken to me from the beginning. Had my formative years been spent with musicians as role models as opposed to athletes, perhaps it all would have turned out differently.

As it stands, I’ve no complaints. The innate pleasure to be derived from listening to music is more of an essential heartbeat than an optional amusement, and I can’t imagine life otherwise. If the music in my head ever stops playing, it will be the unmistakable sign of imminent death -- and as all atheists know, death is a symphony without encores.

---

A musician like J. S. Bach certainly thought differently, regarding his considerable musical skills as gifts from God, intended to be used to glorify and exalt Him. The simplistic vision of angels cleverly arranged on cloudbanks, deploying a phalanx of harps to while away eternity, surely derives from this idea of music and holiness intertwined.

It doesn’t resonate with me. Music may well “have” its own gene, but its manifestation in a tangible, real world is a human construct. Liturgical music would strike that tuneful genetic chord no matter what, but the mysteries and meanings we read into it result from eons of conditioning, not a deity’s intervention.

Of course, if given the chance to choreograph my final departure, Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings would be a fine choice for greeting eternity. The music would play, it would end, and on the very next beat, so would I. There would be the final silence, and life would continue without me.

---

Yesterday I had a beer with a member of the Sojourn Church’s forthcoming New Albany congregation, which has purchased the sadly abandoned Silver Street Elementary School. We had a deep and enjoyable chat about life in Nawbany, and an atheist and a Christian sharing bar space over craft beer has to be a good sign.

One tidbit bears repeating, which is my statement to him that as an unbeliever, it matters surprisingly little to me what is said within the confines of a church so long as the sacred doctrine doesn’t result in secular discriminatory litmus tests outside its walls.

As an example, if church teaching casts gays as existing outside the celestial directives, will the ones living around the corner be declared ineligible for neighborhood outreach assistance? The answer I received was reassuring in its furtherance of love as Sojourn’s answer. We’ll see how it plays out in real life.

---

At some point in the conversation, I was asked if I could identify the source of my atheism. Was I rebelling against the religion of my parents?

No. While my childhood was not without general religious assumptions and a nebulous, largely unexamined “faith in something bigger” approach to talking points, there were no onerous obligations or regimented teachings, and overall, both my parents were tolerant. If rebellion were the only goal, I’d have likely become a fundamentalist owing to the absence of instruction.

Echoing the music gene, and adding to it my belief that homosexuality predates mankind’s insistence on concocting religions to assuage its recognition and fear of death, maybe what I lack is the God gene, a predisposition toward accepting one or more versions of a deity. I’m only guessing, since I’ve no experience with such a state of consciousness.

That’s because in all honestly, I cannot remember a time in my life when such a concept as God seemed plausible to me in the least. Rather, it was all to be regarded as mythological, a phenomenon for placing on dusty outmoded shelves beside ancient Greek small-case gods, Mayan sacrifices and Norse sagas.

Only later, in university, did I learn there was a name for the God gene’s absence: Atheism. It was the ultimate in revelations, for it was revealed to me that others felt the same way, and could explain their non-belief rationally. I needn’t embrace the palpably untrue, after all.

---

Yesterday, there was a moment of seriousness, yielding to mirth. Told that from Sojourn’s perspective, God is directing it to the city of New Albany to do His work, I replied that having charted the dimensions (dementia?) of the New Albany/Battered City Syndrome, maybe just this once, God didn’t know what a mess He was getting into. Genetic or not, this town is a strange place, indeed.

You're not a focal point: Here's what Main Street gets, and what your street cannot have.

Permit me to make this point yet again: If being an "urban street" is right for Main Street, isn't it right for YOUR street, too?

New Albany Main Street project plans approved by city; Construction bids are due by Jan. 21, by Daniel Suddeath

“It’s not like the other projects that we’re working on, as this one will be extremely visible from the start,” Mayor Jeff Gahan said Tuesday. “The aesthetics will be completely improved, there will be traffic-calming measures in place, and the project will be celebrating that whole residential district on Main Street that many people see when they come to New Albany.”

The project, estimated to cost about $1.8 million, is primarily intended to slow down traffic and to transform Main Street from a highway-type of route to an urban street. The design for the project originated from a plan garnered by the Main Street Preservation Association in 2006 ...

 ... Lighting features, historical markers and new curbs and sidewalks are also called for in the plan. Gahan said the project will improve a focal point of New Albany.

“I’m eager to get started,” he said.

Grain silos and cement factories and creative things.

Going way back in time here, with the broad topic being adaptive reuse.

May 30, 2006: Toss in Schonbrunn, and you've got a deal.

Of course, the grain silo still sits there, right where it has been for decades, untouched, and apparently too big to demolish. The old NAC post linking the silo to Hundertwasser came back to mind this morning when I saw this.

From The Outside, This Is An Old Shut Down Cement Factory. But Go Inside And… WHOA!

This is the "before" photo. The "after" views will blow your mind.

The craft beer market: Is loyalty to favorite producer a thing of the past?

I've no idea who Noah Davis is, but he manages to touch just about all the relevant bases in this excellent analysis of the current state of the craft beer market. It's an article I've been trying to write for a long time, and he's to be congratulated.

The Craft Beer Market Has Exploded, And Now Brewers Are Worried About A Collapse, at Business Insider

While NABC has had steady beer production growth the past few years, market fissures have been obvious for quite some time, paralleling Davis's central points.

The most rabid beer enthusiasts, whose "latest and greatest" collective viewpoint as a sort of priestly caste are disproportionate to the market share they support, which is small, are not inclined to be loyal to beer brands of any sort, and when they are loyal, they gravitate toward rare and esoteric beers from outside their own region.

Meanwhile, competition based on price point alone is impossible, whether it's Budweiser for two dollars a bottle, or Sierra a buck cheaper than anything a brewery NABC's size can afford to sell and still make any money at all.

Yes, there is a big middle ground of brand loyalists, and these are the folks (thank you) who drink our beer at the point of origin, in our own two on-premise establishments. With beer geeks and price-conscious shoppers out of reach, our bricks and mortar operations become ever more important to us.

I find all this challenging, but also encouraging. If a shakedown is coming and the market is pushing breweries our size into local and regional corners, that's a paradigm with which we're equiped to compete. We have strengths for such combat -- our own outlets, an existing customer base, great products and wonderful staff. There is no single beer sales rep working for a brewery located 1,000 miles away who can inform and please customers like the collective weight of NABC's 70+ employees.

If it means some redefining and reinvention in terms of plans and operations, that's also good. In fact, they've been underway for a while, and hopefully will begin hitting critical mass as the new year dawns. There are many things in the past we'd do differently if given the chance, but the most important point is where we are today, and where we're going tomorrow.

This is happening tonight: "New Albany: City by the River" film premiere, with good beer.

Local filmmaking, local venue and local beer.

This is what we're talking about: "New Albany: City by the River" premieres on Wednesday, December 18 at The Grand.

Also in the newspaper today, Amanda Beam writes about downtown's upturn, in which I agree with Nick Cortolillo, though for slightly different reasons:

New Albany Bicentennial: New Albany’s renaissance

"There'll Be Some Changes Made."

Two versions of a jazz standard, recorded 40 years apart and coming from very different places. It must be the season of metaphor.

Me? I have an ironclad alibi.

With just shy of 300 votes cast in Develop New Albany's on-line poll, 72% of respondents believe two-way streets would be beneficial. Meanwhile, Hillsboro is a city of 91,000, situated a short distance to the west of Portland, Oregon. New Albany business owners might consider the approach of Hillsboro's Kay Mattson (underlined passage below), who exercised two simple tasks by doing research and observing how two-way changes worked for the better in other places.

It ain't rocket science.

Old downtown Hillsboro revitalization push may get new boost with two-way street, development plans, by Katherine Driessen (Oregonian)

 ... An infusion of cash from an income tax-sharing program could help check a larger, long-planned task off the list: converting the downtown area's one-way grid to two-way streets. The move comes with its own inherent tension, both symbolic and substantive. Though an OregonLive.com poll with more than 300 respondents showed that slightly more readers favor the change, many don't believe it will do much for the area.

Artfull Garden owner Kay Mattson knows that logic well. When she first heard about the two-way idea, she didn'™t think it was wise. Mattson, once the downtown business manager for the now defunct Downtown Business Association, said her customers didn'™t seem keen on the idea, so neither was she.

œ"The buzz in here was pretty negative," said Mattson, whose store sells everything from candy to lattes to garden art. It'™s the kind of place where people linger and talk over a cup of coffee at clustered tables strewn with local papers.

But those customers, Mattson said, mostly live in the surrounding area. If the streets become two-way, neighbors will simply have to get used to the change out of necessity, she said. And for those driving from other parts of the city or county, Mattson said, the two-way format will make the stores more accessible.

What really changed Mattson'™s mind was research she did as the downtown business manager. Looking at similar historic downtown areas around the state, the two-way approach appeared central to their success.

(Doug) Sellers agrees. He is among a group of business owners that approached the city about the two-way change.

Coming in January: Walkable New Albany.

I won't kid you. My two-way street campaign has taken a back seat to the food and beer business as usual. After all, work is the curse of the reforming (read: drinking) class.

The good news: Some of us are working toward a Facebook page, which we hope will tie together the strands of neighborhood quality of life, indie business growth and overall civic self-improvement, as epitomized by Mayor Gahan's 2011 campaign tenet of making New Albany "fundamentally better."

The street grid is about as fundamental as it gets, right? After all, quality of life is a no brainer -- right, Scott?

Shouldn't it be for all the people, and not just internal combustion engines?

However, one-way versus two-way is only part of the bigger package. That's why the new Facebook site will be called Walkable New Albany, dedicated to the proposition that what makes us walkable, makes us fundamentally stronger. Look for it in January.

I'm reminded of a favorite quotation.

Never doubt that a small group of dedicated people can change the world. In deed, it is the only thing that ever has.
--Margaret Mead

It's a wonderful statement of intent -- assuming of course, that one really wants to change anything.

My my my myyyy ushanka.

The photo (I will not use that bizarre "selfie" word, which always strikes me as sexually fetishistic) was taken during our brief snow episode in early December. When I posted the photo on Facebook, a few friends asked about the fur hat. It is an ushanka, and Wikipedia explains:

An ushanka (Russian: уша́нка, IPA: [ʊˈʂankə], lit. "ear hat"), also called a shapka-ushanka (шапка-ушанка) or trooper hat, is a Russian fur cap with ear flaps that can be tied up to the crown of the cap, or tied at the chin to protect the ears, jaw and lower chin from the cold. The thick dense fur also offers some protection against blunt impacts to the head. While no match for a helmet, it offers protection far superior to that of a typical beanie cap should the wearer fall and hit his or her head against ice or packed snow. The word ushanka derives from ushi (у́ши), "ears" in Russian.

I bought the hat in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) USSR in 1985. It cost 25 American dollars in the hard currency shop, pricy by a normal Russian's standards of the time, and has had a remarkable life span, helped in part by its infrequency of use here. It seldom gets cold enough in the Ohio Valley to wear it. Now after all these years, my ushanka is starting to shed. My aim is to augment it with a căciulă, a characteristic conical sheepskin cap native to Romania. That is, if I can find one.

Upon seeing the photo, a friend wrote: "For a second, I thought an elderly racoon nestled on top of your head and napped. Too much vodka?"

For me or the racoon?

Back in 1985, when I attempted to translate the label, it seemed to suggest the fur as being arctic squirrel, but I've decided this must have been mistaken. Rabbit makes more sense. As for the vodka, of course both racoon and Roger had too much. It's Russia, for chrissakes.

"My Favorite Year" ... and rest in peace, Peter O'Toole.

Peter O'Toole's passing prompted the usual flurry of remembrances, and in several of them, I was heartened to see references to My Favorite Year (1982).

On Twitter, Keith Olbermann recalled interviewing O'Toole some years ago and confiding that My Favorite Year was Olbermann's favorite O'Toole film, to which the actor replied that it probably was his personal favorite, too.

In My Favorite Year, O'Toole plays a disintegrating Hollywood matinee idol coming to earth in the 1950s, a character based on the real-life actor Errol Flynn. In need of a paycheck, Allan Swann agrees to perform on television, but misses one crucial aspect of the gig. Flynn was dead by the age of 50, which was O'Toole's approximate age in 1982; given the latter's legendary drinking and carousing, the self-referential nexus of the role is fascinating -- and he lived another three decades. How he did so remains unclear.

The movie is not racy, profane or particularly relevant to the modern world. However, it is a delightful glimpse of a time when movies and television collided.

Who (or what) is New Albany's "Person of the Year" for 2013?

(8:30 a.m. update: It strikes me that my own cynicism invariably colors the choices presented below. There actually may be a person, group, machine or doctrine which is positive; examples might include Steve Resch, indie business owners, the Greenway, Houndmouth ... or some such)

This idea was thrown out for discussion in 2011, and the Sherman Minton Bridge eventually was declared the winner.

We renewed the conversation in 2012. My personal choice was Bill Allen, whose stunning decision to paint his dilapidated Main Street properties was meant to obscure the plain fact that a quarter-century had passed since he did anything to improve them, perfectly symbolizing the enduring Potemkin village mentality prevailing in New Albany. A full year later, the rubble is more attractive, but it's still a ruin -- and the city does absolutely nothing.

This year, there'll be a formal vote at our Facebook page. First, we need nominees. Here's the template.

Person of the Year (formerly Man of the Year) is an annual issue of the United States newsmagazine Time that features and profiles a person, couple, group, idea, place, or machine that "for better or for worse ... has done the most to influence the events of the year."

Here is an admittedly incomplete starter list.

One way street grid ... for something that has existed for only 1/4 of the city's history, misplaced urban arterials exercise a profound grip on the waking lives of city officials. As examples from the remainder of the country illustrate the myriad benefits to be derived from city streets functioning as they were originally intended, New Albany power brokers glaze over with terror at the prospect of being contemporary and pro-active (see Our local Democratic Party below).

Horseshoe Foundation ... it converts gaming losses into funds for the social services that Erika's taxpayers eschew, does so with consummate impartiality, and never, ever deigns to interfere in local governmental affairs conducted by those officials who actually were elected ... LOL.

Jeff Gahan … love him or hate him, it cannot be denied that during two years on the job, municipal government's daily operations bear the mayor's stamp: Inward and hermetic.

Dr. Thomas Harris … the health department's chieftain fought the law, and the law won. Apparently Harris views himself as television's House, although the Indiana Attorney General views Dr. Tom merely as wrong in every single facet of PourGate. As such, Harris becomes a vapid metaphor for the bumbling ineptitude of county government.

Main Street Improvement Project … because it's important to lift property values on Main Street where the nice mansions are, and if doing so diverts more heavy traffic to one-way arterials running through Midtown neighborhoods, thus lowering property values there, then all we need to is change the subject.

Our local Democratic Party … but logically speaking, can non-corporeal bodies capture corporeal awards? Quick, someone find a theologian -- or Connie Sipes.

Bob Caesar … impossible as it may seem, Caesar upped his game in 2013, presiding over an almost entirely wasted white-bread bicentennial year that taught us little of value about the city's experience and much about the startling vacuity of the political figure himself. In fact, seldom has a local "leader" become so reliably consistent in occupying the entirely mistaken side of any given issue, especially when it comes to anything pertaining to the general concept of "urban." CM CeeSaw's Bulova Watch Time? It's around about 1938, give or take a Roosevelt administration.

Quality of Life … as we've come to grasp throughout the year 2013, it applies far more to the area around an elected officials home, and far less a short walk away. Of course, they don't walk, do they?

What do you think? Give me some feedback, and I'll arrange a short list as a poll at Facebook.

Politicians, streetcars and money in Cincinnati.

A streetcar system is coming back to Cincinnati, except maybe it isn't, even though construction has started. There was an election, the political hand was rejigged, and now it's all muddy. Very, very muddy.

I won't pretend to try grasping the political undercurrents.  However, there are lessons to be learned from all of this. For a description of the project, Cincy Streetcar Blog is a good place to start. To update the situation: It's do or die week for Cincinnati's streetcar.

Digging deeper:

EDITORIAL: Localizing Operating Costs for Streetcar Sets Dangerous Precedent, by Randy A. Simes (Urban Cincy)

 On Thursday morning Mayor John Cranley (D) called a press conference for a “major” announcement. He was joined by leadership of labor unions representing city workers, along with Councilman Kevin Flynn (C).

So what was the big news? Well, Mayor Cranley had announced that he would be willing to continue the Cincinnati Streetcar project that has already received direct voter approval twice, support of City Council, appropriated funds for its entire project cost, and began construction, if streetcar supporters could come up with a private funding commitment that would cover all operating costs for the first phase of the system over the next 30 years.

Oh yeah, and he asked that those boosters kindly secure that $60-80 million commitment in one week’s time.

Peeling back the layers, it seems there's a back story, with the streetcar project just one aspect of the debate with respect to economic development, revitalization and gentrification.

Streetcar debacle hurts our reputation, by Chris Ostoich, founder and CEO of BlackbookHR.

I must say that this is the first time I have ever considered walking away from Cincinnati. One of the things being largely ignored here, or at least largely unspoken, is the fact that this debacle is affecting our reputation in the talent ecosystem.

If we want to be considered one of the next great American cities, we need every advantage to recruit and retain the brightest people. Bright people want to build things. Bright people want to be part of a renaissance. Bright people know that they are part of building something – whether that is their career, their company or their community. Scholarly research shows that happiness at work and in life depends greatly on feeling a sense of agency. This feeling of agency and the Streetcar was strongly evidenced by the reaction received yesterday at City Hall.

Calling this project quits will, I promise you all, have lasting effect on our ability to have a real conversation with companies and/or employees about choosing Cincinnati.

But what if the new political order was built, in part, with the cooperation of those feeling left out of the equation?

GUEST EDITORIAL: Get Over It, Then Get Ready, by Don Mooney (Urban Cincy)

 ... (Mayor) Cranley is hardly the first candidate to win an election by whipping up resentment in the “neighborhoods” about spending on development “downtown”. He won’t be the last. Many politicians have built entire political careers in this town on being against stuff ...

 ... Advocates of the streetcar – and I’ve been one of them – have allowed their pet project to be painted by COAST and Chris Smitherman as a wasteful contraption designed for Chablis sipping metrosexuals, who think they are too good for the bus or the family mini-van. Can’t these precious young professionals read their iPads on the number 24, or get stuck behind a truck on the viaduct like the rest of us? Don’t take it personally. It’s just politics.

We have not sold the incredible progress downtown and in OTR, despite the great recession, as a model for other neighborhoods with their own aspirations for cool restaurants, modern transportation and rising property values. So in Price Hill and Mt. Washington, your rising neighborhood is seen as a threat to theirs, not as a sign of good things to come to our city.

Those of you with skills and no kids to tie you down can’t be blamed for bailing out now. With Cranley in the Mayor’s office and a hostile Council majority, the streetcar is on life support, and the air soon may start coming out of the downtown/OTR balloon. No doubt there are bright folks at 3CDC, dunnhumby and all those hip new branding firms with OTR addresses already tuning up their resumes.

Much to think about, isn't there?

On Bamberg, winter drinking sports and seasonal spiced wine from Old 502.

Just this morning, we were talking about our Christmas (2009) in Bamberg, Germany, and the endearing custom there (and elsewhere in Northern Europe) of ignoring the chilly weather and drinking outdoors at or near the weeks-long Christmas market -- also held outdoors. Beer and spirits are available, but it seems like most of what is consumed is mulled wine. They've only been doing it for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years.

The memory has some wheels spinning. Perhaps a truncated outdoor Christmas winter solstice market in downtown New Albany? It's too good of an idea to entrust to the usual gussied up suspects, and besides, holiday foo-foo is already in abundance. We'd just need to find a few hearty vendors for a weekend, load up on beer and food, celebrate the solstice symbolism, and run the show at Lloyd's Landing, the outdoor area at Bank Street Brewhouse, which we're not using in cold weather, anyway.

Maybe next year, we need to begin to start using it. I might drink outside today anyway, just for the fun of it. In the meantime, Old 502 Winery understand the warm wine tradition.

Like potpourri that will get you drunk:’ Hot Old 502 wine for the holidays, by Kevin Gibson (Insider Louisville)

Hot wine? Yes, hot wine. And we’re not talking about trends, either — Old 502 Winery has a wine available for a limited time that is designed to be served hot.

"Beware, yuletide oupistidophobes. I’m watching": The 2010 column and subsequent reaction.

It is my aim to keep rewinds and reruns to a minimum, but I can't resist revisiting this topic on an annual basis. 

Once upon a time, I used my newspaper column's bully pulpit, now defunct thanks to humorless Alabama pensioners and their registered local agents, to mischievously bait prevailing intolerance in the community. The column reprinted in its entirety below (how many re- words can I use in one posting?) appeared on December 23, 2010, and predictably, those intimately resembling the subjects of my column immediately descended upon me, not unlike piranhas on a stray Boston butt, resulting in this wrap-up on December 29, 2010:

"Beer Money" fan mail pours in ... that's nice ... is it time for a beer yet? 

... Takes a lot of nerve to put it in print that you don't believe in God. I'm not surprised. Goes along with all your anger ... To the Tribune: I agree with the commenter who asked that you stop publishing Baylor's columns. He doesn't write anything to help the people. This article doesn't make any more sense than anything else he writes. I don't read this and only checked this one out because someone sent me a link. It's just filling space. Make it your New Year's resolution to get rid of it.

On the same day, I was overjoyed to learn that Vicki Ann Denschack was savaging me at Freedom to Screech.

I stopped reading at "We was told," but she don't like me very much, do she?

First, we forget that you actually pay Roger Baylor to write this tripe. "BAYLOR: Beware, yuletide oupistophober. I'm watching." Noneless, it is when good men sit back and do nothing that people like him get this kind of opportunity ...

... So what we want our readers to do is this. Here's a link to the story. If you're tired of reading crap like this, write to the Tribune to let them know that you want Roger Baylor's columns to stop running. They are giving him free space to write destructive nonsense that is unhelpful.

In nine years writing a blog, I've never laughed harder at the oft-observed phenomenon wherein the rebuttals to your position from enraged opponents merely serve as further proof of your position's basic veracity. So, here it is again.

I can only hope that Erika and Amy are reading.

---

Beware, yuletide oupistidophobes. I’m watching.

Phobias are among the most fundamental of psychological phenomena, and I feel for anyone who suffers from them.

I have a few phobias, including a mild fear of heights (acrophobia), and a bit of taphephobia, the fear of being buried alive, as in a grave. These lurk in the murky background of my subconscious, bubbling to the surface every so often to wreak discomfort.

As an atheist, I’m sometimes accused of hagiophobia, a fear of holy things, but the naysayers are the ones with the problem: They’re suffering from phronemophobia, a fear of thinking. Granted, unbelievers aren’t preferred dinner guests this time of year, so how is a fear of atheists and atheism described? One source suggests atheophobia as truest to the Greek origins of the idea, while another offers oupistidophobia, literally “no-faith-phobia.”

I mention oupistidophobia because Christmas truly never fails to inspire intemperate attacks on atheists and atheism. The closer we get to the biggest day on the Christian festival calendar, the more phobic frothing about an insidious, irreligious conspiracy of militant atheists, who although insignificant in numbers, remains intent on attacking the faith of vulnerable, pious Christians – themselves comprising more than three-quarters of America’s population.

My favorite recurring seasonal set piece is when Christians, easily the beneficiaries of the most pervasive and relentless propaganda machine in the history of mankind, express outrage whenever miniscule dollops of free thinking manage to elude the leaden grip of the mandated American theocracy, and suddenly pose an Ebola-like threat to the hegemony of Christianity’s indigenous edifice.

A couple years ago, the Freedom From Religion Foundation erected a sign on the capitol grounds in Washington state:

“At this season of THE WINTER SOLSTICE, may reason prevail. There are no gods, no devils, no angels, no heaven or hell. There is only our natural world. Religion is but a myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.”

(As an aside, the wording is largely superfluous past “prevail.” A theist believes in something, and bears the burden of proof, while those absent such belief cannot logically be expected to explain why something does NOT exist.)

Assuming one accepts the desirability of an open, pluralistic society beyond the bare fundamentals required to freely make piles of money for buying Chinese plastic trinkets, what’s so bad about equal time for opposing viewpoints?

The lawn in question abuts a building constructed by adherents of a non-religious political system that purports to represent all the residents of a secular state, not just the believers.

Alas, simplicity seldom is a part of this discussion. Just this past weekend, a local contributor to the Tribune bemoaned the current state of “Christless Christmas,” closing with a typical dose of seasonal alarmism:

“I feel strongly that we have lost much in our move to a Christless Christmas. It shows in our disregard for the value of human life. It shows in our fractured family relationships. It shows in our reluctance to form close ties with our neighbors as our grandparents did. Back then it was accepted, and rightly so, that this was a nation founded on Judeo-Christian values. Our laws are based on the Ten Commandments after all. No one was (and still are not) forced to attend church or worship anywhere. People were, and are, free to be of any or no religion. Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists were as free to practice their religions as Christians were theirs."

Really?

To me, this implies that if only Americans of differing creeds would grow up and cede the inevitability of Christian “truth”, choosing to play-act in public by embracing a beige uniformity that never once existed in reality … and if these non-Christians, including atheists, would meekly worship (or mock religion, or use peyote) without publicly challenging the purely Christian nature of the Republic … then this apologetic acknowledgement of Christianity’s pre-eminence would enabled the constantly threatened Christian majority to grudgingly tolerate, as opposed to respect, otherwise errant theological convictions … and voila!

All our societal ills would magically disappear, just like that.

I repeat: Really?

It’s always the same historically inaccurate ruse: In spite of those inconvenient Constitutional quirks, the United States must be touted with flexed muscles as an overtly “Christian nation,” with requisite displays of piety for outward show, especially at Christmas, and yet, even as they stare malevolently at a winter solstice sign in Olympia, Washington, Christians also quickly remind us that Christmas “exists in our hearts,” a place utterly impervious to the alleged wickedness of the outside world, where faith cannot ever be dislodged.

If that’s true, what’s the point of appearances, anyway?

The mere presence of other viewpoints hardly stands to bring Christianity to its knees. I've never understood why those of religious orientation (another one of those “chosen” lifestyles, eh?) are so insecure when it comes to considerations of alternative worldviews.

Maybe it’s Satan, the same imaginary force for “evil” once held responsible for heretical notions of cell structure, gravity and interplanetary exploration, as well as other scientific findings that caused the heads of so many learned fellow Christians to roll down bloody cobblestoned streets, their death warrants signed by you know who.

Oupistidophobia or not, it seldom matters to me until religion crosses the line, and given the global history of persecution and mayhem administered from a religious perspective, I'll say just this: There's a much greater chance of an atheist being harmed by religion than the other way around.

Just remember the Inquisition as you fill your stockings this holiday season.

Port authority or otherwise, you can bet we'll see two-way movement for bikes and walkers on the Greenway -- and no monster trucks.

There are two interesting pieces by Daniel Suddeath in the weekend edition of the Paywall Picayune.

New Albany may establish port authority; Gahan: Authority would aid in riverfront planning, development

NEW ALBANY — New Albany is set to take the first steps toward establishing a port authority — a move that could bolster the Ohio River Greenway and aid the city in constructing riverfront developments such as piers and a marina.

On Thursday, the New Albany City Council is slated to cast initial ballots on forming a port authority through legislation backed by Mayor Jeff Gahan. State statute allows local port authorities to construct facilities, improve canals and waterways and build dock lines and piers within its jurisdiction.

And ...

Ohio River Greenway likely landing $1M donation; Horseshoe Foundation considering a matching grant

NEW ALBANY — The Ohio River Greenway Commission likely will be the recipient of a $1 million donation for riverfront improvements in New Albany.

On Thursday, Greenway officials presented the Horseshoe Foundation of Floyd County with a grant proposal for the organization to match the $1 million donation. Greenway Commission Project Coordinator Shaunna Graf said Friday she couldn’t confirm that the donation had been made, but said the organization has “many conversations with various donors all the time.”

If you have the requisite hall pass, you may go there, taking care to dodge the Hansons that continue to come flying at you like a video game of old.

Indiana's code defines port authority, and I must digress here: Yesterday when I searched for the relevant code section, the search ended with a specific URL: IC 8-10-5 Chapter 5. Creation of Port Authorities by Local Governments

Today, every attempt to paste this same URL into my browser leads immediately to the Indiana General Assembly 2014 page. While I contemplate the message of this redirectional intrigue, the code still can be accessed here: Port authority as defined by Indiana code at Findlaw

Maybe this link will be direct and active again: http://www.in.gov/legislative/ic/2010/title8/ar10/ch5.html

NAC's 7,000th post: Seven years on, Vicki Ann Denschak still masquerades as "College Professor of Political Science," as city yawns.

A hearty "Happy Birthday" to Freedom to Screech, which expends its 59th posting of the calendar year 2013 to boilerplate back-slapping -- and who needs grammar, spelling and style guidelines?

We are sure others have discovered that it's not easy keeping a blog fresh and current.

Indeed, it is. NAC's 1,115 posts this year haven't been easy at all, but let's not be churlish on such an auspicious occasion.

The Palsied Poseur Abides, and we are immeasurably somnolent for it. Hip hip, hooray, because while she's opposed to big government spoying on its citizens, there's nothing wrong with eavesdropping on your own neighbors. That's America!

HEY...IT'S OUR BIRTHDAY!

 ... New Albany is really a small town and while you are enjoying breakfast, lunch or dinner at the local bars or restaurants, people are listening to your conversation and taking notes.

Will FOS be joining the innkeeper when she sells out and moves to balmier climes?

Stay tuned ... if you can stay awake.

Robin Garr on Cincinnati Chili.

In my world, chili always has been an omnibus concept. There needs to be chili powder in it, but like goulash (paprika) or borscht (beets), there is no end to creative regional and personal variations springing from the basic concept.

I'd never experienced Cincinnati-style chili until I was in my late twenties, working in downtown Louisville within range of a long-departed Gold Star outlet. While everyone else argues about meat, beans, spaghetti and other nebulous orthodoxies, I merely opt for the Cincinnati version and am quite happy.

Previously, I shared my recipe for Vegetarian Cincinnati Chili, which is a monthly household favorite. Earlier in the week, Robin Garr wrote about this culinary art form at his Eat.Feed.Love.Live. blog. He links to a recipe I might have to try ... with veggie ground beef substitute. That's because as an omnivore, I inhabit a (muchly) vegetarian domicile; when I want Cincy chili with meat and cannot make it to Ohio, there's room for an exception to my chain restaurant standards (it's all about shift) and visit the Skyline outlet in front of Louisville's Mid City Mall.

Cincinnati chili: No hating, please!

... From a food anthropology standpoint, it may help to recognize that this is just another strain of immigrant cuisine working its way into the American melting pot.