Doesn't anybody care about good workmanship any more? Last week the dry cleaners pressed a wrinkle into my red tiger jacket the day before I planned to wear it on cable access. I sent my police bodyguard right back in there with that order and told him to get it done right.
It's been that way with my horoscope lately, too. Ever since Sydney Omarr died, I can't get a decent prediction out of any of the astrologer wannabe's that he left behind.
You would think one of them would have warned me that March wasn't my month to be around big buildings. The PGE Park thing has gotten ridiculous. What do these minor leaguers think, they can keep using the place for free? They don't know who they're dealing with. I've learned a landlord trick or two from my hard-nosed buddy Joe Weston. I have no problem throwing the Beavers out on the street.
Then there's Meier & Frank. That CEO still doesn't get it, does he? I sicced the fire inspectors on him, and he still won't do anything about upgrading that old monstrosity of a building. Ever since I rode with the guy in the parade, I've realized that he's only Nine West when what we really need is Fendi. It's time for a new use for that building. Erik thinks we should have all the Ninth Circuit judges live there, with secret tunnels to the Pioneer Courthouse. That way none of them will ever have to see the light of day. They can eat at the Georgian Room. Worth a half million to study it, anyway.
And don't get me started on the Major League Baseball deal. I don't know how I'm going to let that nice David Cohen down easy. We're tapped. There are no local taxes to pay for the stadium. The only hope left is to let the Expos play in all the empty space in the Convention Center. Either that or see if we can rig up a diamond inside the Memorial Coliseum. Or the Rose Garden if DOS Boy walks.
Nothing but trouble, the big buildings. Maybe I should go to Chinatown and see one of those feng shui people. I hate to walk down there, though — too many weirdos.
I'm loving my new "bite out of crime" theme. I haven't had this much fun since Dick Tracy died.
They ought to give me an extra badge. I've got more open cases than Lenny on Law and Order. First it was the "entrepreneur" housing inspectors, then the tax guy who cut all those back-room deals. They can run but they can't hide from the Long Arm of Lents.
Where's the DA? You would think he'd want in on the action. Then again, what does he care? Nobody's crazy enough to run against him any more. It's guys like me, who have the whole block party crowd on their case, who need the mileage.
Boy, a certain lame duck sure got her Chantelles in a wad over the newspaper coverage. I can't believe she sent the cops over to see what was on those computers. I hear all they picked up was a couple of NCAA pools and some links to the Sports Illustrated calendar.
Well, I'm not going to let her stop me from turning over every rock I find. Next up: all the cheats out there who don't pay their business license taxes. Probably a bunch of makeup saleswomen driving around in their pink cars. I want to see the looks on their faces when we come blasting in on their Tupperware parties. And freelance cartoonists! They may walk up on stage for their little Pearly "creative" grants, but I'll get five times that much back from them in taxes. Deadbeats, welcome to the city that works — you over!
Note to self: Have the campaign staff take the pulse on the tax thing. This is no time to go overboard and start drawing approval ratings as low as the IRS.
I'm no John Kerry, voting for something one year and against it the next year. I do the guy one better: I've figured out how to vote both for and against things at the same time.
I've got several variations of this one. Sometimes I'll say, "I started out against this, but I've done a lot of soul-searching, and now I'm for it." That always gets 'em. The opponents get to think I'm on their side, sort of, even when I'm giving them the royal screw.
Version 2 is, "I'm against this, but I'm voting for it because if we turn this proposal down, under our rules we'll be forced to approve something worse later." This is my favorite when we're letting some guy stick a pigsty in a neighborhood. I say yes to it, but only on the theory that our city code is so weak the developer could hammer the neighbors worse. So far, nobody's noticed that we're in charge of the city code. Sometimes, after I use that one, I'll go home and crank up Steely Dan's "Pretzel Logic" on the stereo.
Lately, I've been trying a new one with the park exclusion mess. I introduce an ordinance, and then refuse to support it myself. That'll keep 'em guessing.
Then there's the old standby, "I'm still really conflicted about this, I can see both sides, but here's my vote." I use this one as my default. It's great damage control on those sticky-wicket issues.
As Randy's finding out, you can't act too sure of yourself in this job. It ruffles too many feathers. You need a little toe-dance before you deliver the kick.
Gotta run, bloggy. We're brainstorming today on how to get a piece of the same-sex marriage publicity. You know me -- I try to keep it real. I don't go preaching about matters outside city jurisdiction. So far, I'm thinking: off-leash hours for gay dogs.
When I first arrived on the job here, I sized up my new position very carefully. Most of it was obvious, but the best parts were not completely visible.
I couldn't help but wonder about those two key features -- policy and process -- which stood out so perkily, like a couple of ripe casaba melons. They teased me, they taunted me, but eventually they fell out in the open, and I came to understand their synergies.
Nonetheless, the real object of my ambition was still obscured. I needed to see what lay at the intersection of of patriotism and environmentalism. My quest eluded me for what seemed like an eternity, but with my renewed investments, ever so slowly but surely, the answer revealed itself in all its glory.
And this being Oregon, I got to see things with a clarity that one just doesn't find elsewhere in the country.
And so my passion for sustainability came into full bloom. I'm ready to address the tough issues, again and again and again.
There are so many parts of this job that I'm going to miss. But I think the biggest loss is going to be the change in my relationship with Homer.
Ah, those romantic dinners at Lucy's Table. He'd have the goat cheese ravioli, I'd order the wild boar. And so many candle-lit nights, we'd talk tax increment financing and urban renewal "colors of money" until we closed the place.
I'll never forget the night Homer explained to me why the South Auditorium district was such a flop. He put down his salad fork and grabbed my hand. All those cold, tall apartment towers were lonely and out of place with that dinky little Corbett neighborhood to look down on. They needed some more big, tall towers to network with, and to protect them from those winter storms. He regained his composure, and I let him use one of my Gucci scarves to dry his eyes. And so the North Macadam plan was born.
Without Homer, how would I ever have figured out what a great deal a streetcar system is? We've kept the cost to the city down to $900,000 a year -- money much better spent than on street paving. The parking meters along the route pay for it all.
Such a gentleman -- always looking out for my best interests. (Not like Neil, who thinks he's Tony Soprano now.) I'll never forget the night that a couple of my Sierra Club friends and Manny Rose sat down at the table next to ours just before our food got there. Homer knew that I was in trouble, and so he insisted to the waiter that he had ordered the boar instead of me. I ate the goat cheese ravioli and avoided a major loss of face. As Burt Bacharach put it so eloquently, that's what friends are for.
And I'll always remember that horrible night in the summer of '99 when some homeless people were camping out in one of Homer and Joe's apartment construction sites down in the Pearl, and they caught all the particle board walls on fire! (What is it with these homeless people, anyway?) Oh my God, I was out of bed at three in the morning and I had the cops drive me down there to check out the damage. The hard hat look suited me pretty well, I must say. I still have the videotape somewhere. My message was clear: I won't sleep when a precious resource is being destroyed.
But what's left for me now? Homer's already splitting the boca negra with Sam Adams these days, and what do I get? Chopped liver at Kornblatt's with Deborah Kafoury? If that's all there is, my friend / Then let's keep dancing....
Jeez Louise, now I've got six more people coming out of the woodwork to run against me, all on the same day. Well, at least there's so many of them, they'll probably cancel each other out.
Shoot, now I've got to start thinking about dealing with a runoff election. There goes my spring "sister city" trip. [sigh]
On a brighter note, this new cell phone I picked up is pretty neat. It's got one of those mini-cams in it. I might need that if one of the bureaucrats that I'm freezing out tries to take a poke at me. Plus, you never know when you're going to have one of those "gorilla on a squad car" moments that demand an instant photo.
I still haven't decided on what melody to use for the ringer, though. I told the kid at the Verizon sales desk that I wanted the "Dragnet" theme, but she acted like she never heard of it. These kids. I'm looking at the list of tunes she gave me, and nothing seems suitable. Maybe "Mister Rogers Theme"? Nah. "It Don't Come Easy"? At the moment, I'm thinking I may have to go with "Backfield in Motion."
Gay marriage -- damn, why didn't I think of that? It's so simple. Oregon law says that marriage is between men and women. It doesn't say one of each!
Well, good for Diane. She'll get back some votes with this. She's going to need them. I know I appreciate all the gay voters who support me. I even let them believe I'm gay, if that's what they think.
It's been a rough week. That Rose Garden bankruptcy deal is really sticking in my craw. Here I had another one of my brainstorms -- there's no "off" position on the genius switch -- and it's being derailed. My idea for the Coliseum? Get the Salvation Army to use all that Kroc money it got for community recreation centers to help us turn it into a giant rock-climbing, Pilates, hot yoga gym.
Well, there's no way we can go forward with that if the Rose Garden's in bankruptcy. What is up with that Paul Allen guy? He's just another big shot raining on my parade. Kind of like Neil with the PGE deal. Pick on someone your own size!
Hey, how about this for the next campaign? A David and Goliath theme.
Oh well, now that Portland is a hub of gay marriage, it would have been quite a stretch for the Salvation Army anyway, even if the Blazers didn't go Chapter 11 with their building.
So it's back to the drawing board for the Coliseum. I still like my idea of filling it with drinking water and using it as a reservoir. It's already covered. Must remember to talk to what's-his-name about that.