Cockroaches Infest Our Schools

Did you ever have one of those roommates whose tolerance for mess, if not downright filth, far exceeded your own? The kind of roomy who never takes out the garbage, who piles dirty dishes in the sink without even a rinse? Someone rarely burdened with the need for soap?

If you did, did you also enjoy that life-altering event that so often is part of the total package? You know the one: when you get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, go to the kitchen, turn on the lights, only to see what must be hundreds of cockroaches, of every size, ability and socio-ethnic background, scatter to the four walls?

You have?

Good.

Now to answer the inevitable question: "what does this have to do with our schools---are you saying the cafeteria is infested?" No, dear reader, this is not about cafeteria food nor will it explain why the cornbread is so often crunchy.

This is about educators, parents, and testing. The recent testing scandals which threatened to expose the public school sham has nearly blown over and as bad as it may appear to the casual observer, the real problem has been adeptly obfuscated.

So let's explore this analogy.

Consider that the tests which public school apologists and propagandists have demonized are the light. And it is a diffuse but bright light, casting no shadow and leaving no dark corner.

And the cockroaches, well, those are our self-congratulatory educators. They are the teachers, principals, administrators, board members and "colleges of education" manufacturing the aforementioned, who feast on each morsel of denial cast off by parents who cannot, or more often simply will not, do what is right. It is these parents who are the filthy roommates creating a rich habitat for vermin.

These are also the roommates that will declare you a neat-freak, a neurotic who needs to lighten up. They may even blame the light, for without it there is no visible problem. Some will even go as far as to justify the roaches, claiming they fill a vital role in our ecosystem.

And the roaches are doing what roaches do, getting fat dining on what should not even be there and making more roaches.

And what are we, the responsible roommate, to do? For far too long we've avoided the inevitable confrontation with the roommate. We've left the light off, or worse, simply gone after what we want, ignoring the mess until it becomes unbearable, then doing only a hasty, superficial cleanup. But now we are way over these roommates, the mess has gotten far too large to ignore and the vermin are a clear and present danger. It is time to act. We must call the exterminator, clean up the mess and show those filthy roommates the door.

Going Our Way

Dunwoody is home to a new crowd of whiners. These folks, once ardent supporters of cityhood, now see things are not "going their way". They have stopped touting "local control" and are increasingly mumbling "out of control". Their new rally cry is "Not What We Bargained For!"

Those in The Other Dunwoody who were dragged, by these very fools, into this mess with eyes wide open are probably wondering, then as now, "what were they thinking?" Well, they weren't. And many still aren't.

They voted for a referendum while the powers-that-now-be withheld "task force" documents from the public. Once the referendum passed, these whiners elected a cadre of entitled refugees from a homeowners association, long frustrated that their only power lay in the law suit and gave these busy bodies the power to tax, the authority to write law and an armed force to ensure ordinary citizens knew and stayed in their place. They stood by as city positions were filled by those with connections rather than those with qualifications--after all, they felt they had connections as well. They all but cheered when the city did an end-around to effectively deny some their constitutional rights. They gave no notice to the city arbitrarily raising occupation taxes--without warning or explanation. Surely they could have acted when the council engaged in foolish antics around the issues of garbage, chickens and signs. Or become a bit alarmed that while our roads fall further into decay, the council is voting itself gold-plated benefits (not a raise, mind you) or heading off on junkets retreats. They did not.

One would have thought this dung heap they themselves piled up in city hall would be noxious to even their numbed nostrils. That this stench would be a clue, a sign that something was amiss. Not so.

But now a straw has broken the backs of even these sturdy camels. Someone is suggesting their cars are not pleasing to the eye--that limits must be placed on public display of their "automotive yard art". Yes dear readers, constitutional rights be damned, chickens are for frying and who cares whose friend is draining the city coffers, but you better not touch them cars! Dunwoody surely has more folks who are compensating than any other place on the planet.

But this is not the time to jeer and laugh at these poor unfortunates who are just now joining ranks with The Other Dunwoody. Instead it is time to embrace them, to soften the blow as they come to realize what many already know: "that in the real world, where we live, most of the time things don't go your way."

Keystone Cops

This weekend's Dunwoody Drama centered around an alleged domestic dispute wherein the heavy hand of the law called in paramilitary forces from neighboring jurisdictions. After much posturing for the TV crews establishing film footage sure to  be used in the upcoming justification for our very own SWAT team, the wily perp escaped.

That's right. Under the supervision of our much ballyhooed police both they and the SWAT-for-hire forgot to watch the back. Now bear in mind, were public safety a priority, our City would encourage all non-ground floor apartment dwellers to obtain a fire escape ladder, many of which can be had for well under $100.00. Obviously there is a difference between "fire" and "under fire" but the ladder serves equally well in each case, especially when the assault team can only get their minds around a "frontal assault."

But rest assured as incompetent as our modern day Keystone Cops may be, this same brain trust is going to lobby for their own paramilitary force complete with flashbang, tear gas, assault weapons and APCs. It will be quite the show come Fourth of July.

Family Ties...

...that bind.

Since politics became a profession it has been a "family run business" and our small town politics are no exception. We have an interesting race in the Republican primary to back-fill Fran Millar's vacant house seat.

In one corner we have "Who Knew I Had To Resign" Taylor whose mixture of family ties and politics raised eyebrows as the city was being formed. "Who Knew" sat beside Porter, the "Shill for CH2MHill" touting the benefits of outsourcing City Hall's responsibilities along with our tax dollars to his wife's former employer, with whom she remains on good terms. Awkward.

In the other corner we find "I Wrote It Down" Anderson whose claim to fame is recording secretary for pre-cityhood documents and being married to our City Attorney. This doesn't sound like much until you realize that a City Attorney whose resume wouldn't clear a simple "fit for the job" screen must have connections at City Hall. These connections are strong enough to overcome lack of academic background, lack of experience (fleeing a failed business adventure is hardly a compelling qualification) and these connections will probably serve the candidate well. However, should "Wrote It" clear the primary, search results on Ripoff Report might become embarrassing. Suppose a desperate Democrat would air that laundry?

Regardless, voters know how these connections benefit the politician and those near and dear, but neither has offered a clear statement of how they benefit the public. Apparently there's no connection.

Rights Righted

As of this Tuesday, with Governor Purdue's signing of Senate Bill 308, it is now practical for the citizens of Dunwoody to exercise their Second Amendment Rights. This bill removes the rather peculiar eighth of a mile halo around schools, public and private, that previously made otherwise legal carry by licensed, law abiding citizens virtually impossible in Dunwoody.

Some may wonder why anyone would or should be allowed to carry in Dunwoody, and probably are not receptive to the straightforward explanation that it is a constitutional right. Nor are they likely to accept the view that a citizen ought to be afforded the option of self-protection. Now keep in mind, some of these are the same folks who proudly displayed the yard signs welcoming a double-sized Dunwoody Police Force with the by-line "Bad Guys Beware!". But you cannot issue a such a warning without implying "Good Guys Be AWARE!" And the harsh reality is that outside of infrequent coincidences police show up after the crime, no matter how violent. If you don't want to become a passive victim you need to be pro-active.

Given that law enforcement is by necessity reactive and non-preventative, there is no justification for local governments to start playing soldier by establishing paramilitary forces (e.g., anti-terrorist, SWAT, and narcotics teams) that have a rather spotty record including the death of innocent, law-abiding citizens. Pop Quiz: how many SWAT team members are needed to clear the corpses left by a lunatic who kills and then commits suicide or simply turns himself in? Answer: not as many as needed to cover up after a no-knock warrant is "executed" at the wrong address. What these Tories see through their rosy lenses and blinding, flag-waving civic pride, is a parade of the Noble Uniformed who they believe could never fall prey to history or the failings of other, similar organizations. Not here. This is Dunwoody.

But the Second Amendment isn't really about self protection and even a casual study of American history of the mid to late 1700's reveals that the Bill of Rights was put in place to protect the citizens of a new nation. And it is equally clear from whom our founding fathers knew we needed protection.

Re-Refer Madness

In the event you're new to Dunwoody, or simply consider politics as much fun as changing any other soiled diaper then you may not know the back story to the Republican contest to fill Dan Weber's State Senate seat. It was the legislative Dynamic Duo of Dan Weber and Fran Millar (Senate and House respectively) who through any means necessary brought about the referendum for, and advocated the creation of, the City of Dunwoody. Now Dan is done, ready to scurry off to St. Simons, or Emelia Island or where ever else politicians past their use-by date are warehoused.

Fran is viewed by many, especially Fran, as the heir-apparent to fill Dan's seat. Unfortunately, word did not make it to James Sibold, who opposes Brother Fran in the Republican Primary. The Dunwoody Fan magazine has spared no ink in defense of sometimes columnist, who's overbearing zeal to balkanize our little part of DeKalb receives unending praise. Meanwhile Sibold is depicted as either not supporting the cityhood movement, or as one to be counted amongst those advising consideration and caution. Mentioning his name alongside that of "Shrill Jill" Chambers is clearly intended to rouse the rabble, though truth be told, Shrill Jill proved once again that it isn't what you say, but how you say it.

So the local media have painted a scene wherein a vote for Fran is a vote for Dunwoody, and a vote for James is a vote against. This characterization is nothing short of re-referendum on cityhood. But this time around there are some differences.

Unlike the first time, citizens have access to information and the city has a track record, whilst in the first go round the Citizens for Dunwoody conveniently neglected to publish task force reports before the vote. And though this is not an election year with the kind of voter draw one gets from personalities like Obama, Hillary and Palin, at least it will not be scheduled solely to manipulate the outcome.

Dunwoody fans like to point out that over eighty percent of those who voted (on July 15th in a presidential election year) favored cityhood. They neglect to point out that even with intense prosthelytizing they could barely entice forty percent of registered voters to the polls, so they only garnered a third of the registered voters' approval. Of course a high turnout wasn't the goal, else the referendum would have been coincident with the primary or better still the general election. The goal was to motivate most if not all of those in favor of cityhood with emotional pleas and frenzied hype to vote early and often. While a very high percentage of these voters did visit the polls, it is unlikely their numbers have swelled since the city was formed. As it turns out, there is an increasing level of buyer's remorse in Dunwoody.

Nonetheless, barring nightmare scenarios (like a candidate coming out in favor of late term abortion) we should enjoy a Republican primary synonymous with re-approving Dunwoody. And regardless of whether we get the single issue zealot or the thoughtful moderate we will likely be represented in the State Senate by a Republican that sits comfortably to the right of center.

Arts Redefined

Dunwoody, with its premier Arts Festival was not content to put on just another flea market style parking lot carnival of an arts festival. Yes there was a tent city that would be the envy of René Garcia Préval (we leave petty comments about tents not conforming to the Williamsburg overlay to those bloggers who can never find a good thing to say). There were indeed vendors hawking artery clogging blood sludge fare. And of course there were booths with art-student-oils, stained glass, knick knacks, and yard art, that had the council been paying attention would soon be as welcome in Dunwoody as back yard chickens.

But there was much, much more. Though the Dunwoody Arts Festival shared a common starting point with its more established artsy neighbors, Dunwoody has higher ambitions -- no less that redefining parking lot art.

And that they did.  Looking at the now rather common examples of stained glass the Dunwoody visionaries saw what they were convinced must be only the beginning of home related artistry. They embraced the struggling movement of "Home Renovation as Art" by inviting home "designers" and their "remodelers" to demonstrate the artistry behind "hand blown budgets" with well crafted "slip schedules".

A closely related, but distinct category of art was put on public display (well sort of) by a local artist specializing in RetroFoam. Dunwoody has, in one dramatic exposition, made accessible an art form that heretofore was appreciated only by the most discerning eye. Often mistaken for a performance art due to the aesthetics of injection hole placement, "wall foam" is actually a response to the recent trend of "found art"-- for this is Hidden Art. The work itself, comprised solely of foam inside a home wall, is intentionally created outside the view of the artist and presents a holistic connection between artist, art and the patron. This ethereal relationship is somehow made tangible by the full engagement of the mind's eye.

But there was true performance art on display, and what a display it was, for it was performance art in its oldest, and some say darkest, form--banking! An art considered by many to one of the most formal, often held in venues commonly associated with chained pens and bullet proof glass, banking took on a gritty, street-wise edge when performed under the sidewalk "little top". Passersby were regaled with the elegant pas de deux of high fees and fine print.

As stimulating and raw as "Banking as Street Art" was, it retained a certain orchestrated Cirque de Soleil quality, missing the informality of improv and thereby creating an artistic void that demanded to be filled. And the Dunwoody Art Community was determined to shake off an unfair characterization as an ultra conservative, intellectually restrained and aesthetically challenged arts backwater by presenting a burly, if not actually burlesque, display of "College Hunks Hauling Junk". The "Hunks" put on a series of bawdy plays in the shadow of their very own circus wagon garishly dominating the intersection of Chamblee Dunwoody and Mount Vernon. Oddly, alcohol was not involved.

Perhaps feeling that the "Hunks" might have pushed the envelope just a bit too far in one direction, the Dunwoody Arts Community showed a softer, but in fact no less edgy, foray into the performance arts with "Merry Maids". Spreading their own brand of pink, the Merry Maids added a warm undertone to the staid "Dunwoody Beige", reminding young and old alike just why these Maids made merry.

So there you have it. Not since the 1996 Olympics were declared almost the best ever have people in Dunwoody, and all across Georgia, had something to be this proud of.

X Marks the Spot

Many children's stories include treasure maps with a large "X" indicating the location of what is always described as the world's greatest treasure. Apparently this is true in the world of grownups as well.

Perhaps you've noticed the MARTA buses with a large Red X painted on the side. Or, perhaps your car is in the shop offering the opportunity to visit a rail station where some of the train cars have similar markings. Perhaps you've wondered what that is all about.

Well, dear readers, the recent Toyota recalls have opened up many opportunities to chat unofficially with MARTA officials at the Lindberg train platform. During a recent conversation the issue of the Red X came up.

So, what's with all the Red X's?

"It's all part of a PR campaign. See we want more money. "

Why?

"So we can spend it, duh! We want state funding for operations and capital expenses and this is all part of the plan to get it."

How will Red X's do that?

"Well, the Red X means that's a bus or a train car that we will take out of service. That does two things. First, ITP, it riles up the riders. You'll see 'em storming the statehouse, marchin' arm in arm, singin' "We shall over-COME!" That will be grand political theater. "

So, that will blow over...

"Maybe, but then there is the impact OTP. See all those conservative suburbanites who "pay more than they play" will see a bunch of empty buses with a big red X and think, "Finally! Somebody at MARTA came to their senses and we won't have all those empty buses barreling through our neighborhoods spewing fumes. At last they're using some of our money wisely". Once they perceive "we get it" then we've got them! They'll start thinking we are responsible stewards of the money they owe us and then we can crack open that "Capital Expenditures Only" lockbox and spend CapEx on operations. Before you know it all those buses, and more, will be back on the streets."

Won't that just pissfritter away the money that should be spent on new buses, train cars and rail lines? Why not just spend some of the CapEx on smaller, more efficient buses? Then you can improve services whilst decreasing operating expenses.

"That's exactly what's wrong with the general public. You seem to think this is somehow about efficient operation and top notch service."

At this point the unofficial official was interrupted by an announcement: "We are experiencing delays in our Northbound rail service".

"As I was saying...CapEx get's you nothing, it's all about OpEx. OpEx means more headcount. More headcount means a manager has a bigger budget..."

Which means the manager gets a bigger paycheck...

"...and a bigger bonus."

You get bonuses?

"You BETCHA! Big ones. The kind only public servants can get. And let me tell you, we don't want to lose them either. "

So if you spend all the money set aside for capital expenses on operating expenses what happens when you need new buses and cars, or you need to extend rail service?

"That's the beauty of this plan. Once we drain the CapEx funds we'll start pulling buses and trains out of service because they are too old and broken down. The the State will have to buy us new buses and cars to avoid a complete shutdown."

And since you've already spent every penny you have...

"...that's right. We still get our bonuses."

After the piercing screech of ill-maintained brakes deafened the crowd, this gleeful unofficial official boarded his train, a fitting end to this painful conversation.

Freaknik Weekend

Freaknik comes to town this weekend!

Get ready to party!

Most Prolific Writer

By far the most prolific writer, even before the Whirled Wild Web, remains Anonymous. And there are some folks that take issue with that.

A recent AJC editorial posits that anonymous posts and comments have no place in "legitimate journalism". Legitimate journalism is readily identified by phrases like "unnamed sources" or "remaining anonymous because he was not authorized to speak on the record" or "unidentified sources". That's where the irony gets knee deep. This editorialist cited a case where a judge may have disclosed information on a case that, well, that judge just shouldn't ought to have. That's right. Legitimate journalists are the only ones allowed to divulge information, especially when it is sensitive. But it gets better. Because this is the electronic age no one can really prove that the judge actually made the offending comments, or even that the judge's computer was used. The only thing that may be certain is that the judge's internet account was used.

Then it gets local. A Dunwoody blogger, who shall remain nameless, thought he might encourage greater and more lively debate by allowing anonymous comments. Indeed. This change also did what it generally does, which is remove any inhibitions some folks might otherwise have against vitriol. That anonymous posting degrades the quality of conversation is well demonstrated in local school and police blogs (where anonymity is rationalized as necessary to prevent retribution from the man). Anonymous rants on these blogs have rendered them virtually useless, totally predictable and incredibly monotonous. But there are large number of comments on any given post.

So this Dunwoody blogger gets blasted by a local blog-o-phile, we'll call him "Roger Luddite", who has a consistent non-stop rant about folks "hiding behind anonymous" and using "fake names".  He seems to think that the value of the comment is directly related to whether the poster uses his "real name", a pseudonym or simply remains anonymous even though the "real name" is the only one that cannot be verified. (As Thaddeus Osborne Dabell once remarked: "it isn't the name that matters, it's the initials".) Now Mister Luddite considers himself quite the mover and shaker and presumes that everyone in Dunwoody knows him, knows he really exists and assumes we actually give a rodent's rectum that he does and what he says. But in his rather narrow world, if you're posting on the internet, then by god, you should use your "real" name or your comments just don't count. But in taking such a strident view, he prevents open discourse by implying that given a "real" name he might launch an ad hominem attack to advance his own opinion, especially since he already engages in ad hominem in absentia.

Of course this ignores a few key realities. First, since the days of 1200 baudbps modems and bulletin boards, folks have been using "handles" when posting online, much like folks did and still do on CB radio. It is, and has been, the way these bulletin boards, and now the web, work.

And, if you follow Mister Luddite's logic, what must we think of "Poor Richard" or "George Sand", and other great intellects forced by circumstance--often an ignorant and bigoted populace--to use pseudonyms? Are their works somehow diminished  by the fact that the "real" author's name remained hidden or has the world been a better place because important ideas were offered to the public? Is a good idea, or a sound and legitimate criticism, any less worthy because the mind behind the words chooses to remain unknown? Conversely, is there any value, positive or negative, in knowing that it was indeed Mister Luddite who said something?

At the end of the day, if you cannot filter the sound comments, the profound analysis and the informed opinion from the increasing noise on the internet, regardless of the name on the tagline, then maybe you're not as smart as you think you are.