I've been eating a lot of Tums lately. Salem was weird, but this is starting to get even stranger.
Who would have thought that I was going to be interrogated like a common criminal? You-know-who has called out her McGruff dogs over the tax leak. Like they've got nothing better to do in the Police Bureau than chase down who's talking to reporters. I'm being pulled over for GWI -- "Governing While Intelligent."
Then there's the election. When I got one look at that ballot, I felt the bento I had for lunch start working its way back up my craw. I'm absolutely buried in that list of candidates. Freaks on top of me, freaks below me. Why can't they do like they do with the judges and put "Incumbent" under my name? How are the voters going to find me tucked in there between Paul Leistner and Mark Lakeman?
I need brand-name recognition, and I need it yesterday. Something easy for the voters to remember. I was thinking -- why not try to capitalize on the "RL" monogram? RL for Council.
We wouldn't have to go far for graphics -- we could just pick up on some of those Ralph Lauren ads with the RL's all over them. I was thinking maybe something like this.
Did I tell ya? Huh? You name the issue, and I can be both for it and against it.
It came out over the weekend that Her Honor wants to jack up the parking meter rates and leave the meters on at night and on weekends. It's my bureau, so of course the media types wanted to know what I thought. And what did I tell them?
I'm against it -- at least for now. Get it? At least for now. Maybe not later! He he! Oh, man. I got a million of 'em.
Shoot, look at the time. I've got to go try to out-slogan Potter at another Kiwanis breakfast. Better splash on some Brut and get this show on the road.
I see some of the commenters on this weblog have been giving me the usual razzing about being invisible. What have I accomplished? they ask. They don't see the work I do behind the scenes. As a trained professional, I actually know something about the bureau I'm running. And I figure if I do a quiet, capable job, it will redound to my benefit when it comes my time to go back to the public for their votes.
It's like back in my college days at Cornell. I was never Mr. Big-Man-on-Campus, but I made my mark when I got the chance. One Friday night, one of the toilets in the dorm went on the blink, and let's just say it made the women's lavatory on our floor a rather unpleasant place to go. Since the men's room was always too gross for the ladies, they were in need of a guy who could fix the plumbing. The R.A. was passed out, and we weren't going to get any help from the maintenance people until Monday. This was a big weekend, too, since we were playing Brown in football and the co-eds all needed to look their best on Saturday.
Now I was never a flashy guy, not even in those days, and the fellows used to poke fun at me. "Bland Dan-na," I think was my nickname. But they weren't so smug when I grabbed the tools out of the trunk of my Karmann Ghia, went in there and fixed the john. I had to take just about everything apart inside the tank, and cannibalize some parts from a crapper on the next floor down, but I got it up and running fine again in no time.
I remember trying to explain to a couple of English majors what I was doing. None of them had a clue. But one guy heard me talking about re-seating the ballcock, and he seized on it. From that fateful night until graduation, all the liberal arts types called me "Ballcock."
Hey, I laughed right along with them. I knew who I was. Still do.
So glad to see Diane blogging. You go, girl.
I was surfing the internet the other night. Boy, you could waste a lot of time on that thing, but I was productive. Clicked around until I found the best price on Prada pumps. Tomorrow night I'm going to Google "aerial tram" and see if there are any deals out there.
Then I took one of those cute quizzes. You know, you answer a bunch of multiple-choice questions and the internet gives you a conclusion. Kind of like a meeting with Jeff Rogers. Anyway, this one was called "Which Old TV Sitcom is Your Workplace?" I put in all my answers and it came back "Leave it to Beaver."
It makes perfect sense. Dan is Wally. Jim is Ward. Randy, of course, is Eddie Haskell. And Erik is our lovable Beaver.
How do people come up with these internet thingies? It's uncanny. When I do housework, I wear pearls, just like June. And I think Mike Schrunk looks a little like Lumpy's father, don't you? Well, maybe that's a stretch.
Just call me the Idea Man. I may be short, but I think big. I'm talking New York Times here, folks. And those hippie policy magazines they sell at Nature's (or whatever they call it now).
Take my latest: local campaign finance reform. It's a beaut. Public funding of local election campaigns. With this system, I might actually be mayor some day without having to kiss up so much.
How will we finance it? Heck, I don't know. I was thinking maybe a tax on pizza deliveries, but that went over like a lead balloon. Maybe a tax on lobbyists -- yeah, that's the ticket.
Mom says she's with me, but the three other guys on the Council look like they're no's. Geez, I wonder why?
The other thing I'm all about is persistence. I'll keep beating this drum. We're at, what, over $1 million spent on the PGE deal? So don't think I'm going away after only a hundred thousand on this one.
UPDATE, 5:48 pm: Aha! Victory! How interesting that Gentleman Jim came on board at the last minute. He had a few suggestions. Yeah, like whatever we do, it should start no earlier than Nov. 10. LOL.
In the old days, I'd be off to the Lucky Lab for a victory party with the OSPIRG crowd. But the times they are a'changin', folks -- I've got a date with the Diaper Genie.
I've got another appointment with my therapist, Felicia, tomorrow. It's going to be a busy hour. That cartoon on the front page of the Trib has me pretty steamed. I don't mind being the big fish getting nipped at by all the minnows, but jeez, that face was awful. Kind of like a cross between Freddy Mercury from Queen and Bluto on Popeye. Not very flattering.
Remind me to knee Phil Stanford in the 'nads the next time I see him.
