Hey boos.
I’m reporting to you from the Free Press HQ, where I am picking at my split ends while waiting for town clerks to call me with Town Meeting Day info. How, you ask, can I type AND look for damage to my hair at the the same time? Because I’m freaking amazing, that’s how. And because I have three arms. Whatever.
Multi-tasking mania!
Anyway, today was a pretty uneventful day. Nothing compared to last night’s rip-roaring Shelburne town meeting. Jeezum crow, was that thing exciting. I mean, the tension was unbelievable. The debate over whether to approve the town auditor’s report for FY08 was fierce. And by fierce I mean that everyone at the meeting held up their little pink sheet of paper, signifying their approval of the measure. It passed with flying colors. Or color.
So Town Meeting Day isn’t nearly as riveting as it used to be. Apparently. I mean, what do I know? I’m a flatlander and I’m reminded of that nearly on a daily basis. I didn’t grow up here and I’m not familiar with the whole small-town democracy thing. I’m a city kid and in the city, if we don’t like something a politician did or said, we just crack their kneecaps and give them a pair of concrete shoes.
But apparently, Town Meeting Day was a chance for neighbors to get together to eat down-home food and grouse about so-and-so’s pig that keeps getting lose and eating all of Mrs. Mayberry’s petunias. It’s not really that way anymore. Shelburne’s town meeting lasted about an hour and consisted of the Selectboard chair telling people what they were voting on. The hot topic was the repair of the seawall, which no one would disagree with since no one wants his kid teetering into the lake on accident.
Most of the folks there were old-timers. The average age in the room was about 68. I talked with a few of them. They griped about how young people were lame and didn’t care about democracy. I couldn’t really disagree, considering that I’m about as interested in politics as Barney Frank is in his appearance, bless his heart. But at least I voted. Granted, I almost committed voter fraud by trying to vote at a polling place that I wasn’t registered in, but whatever. Minor oversight slash laziness on my part.
The best part of the Shelburne meeting was the old feller who kept dashing around the room giving people the microphone. His name was Cullen Bullard and he was the cutest dang thing in his firefighter’s uniform. Apparently he’s been in the department since 1967, which by my calculations would make him about 105 years old. I kid because I love. But boy, for a man of advanced years, he sure zipped around the gymnasium like a high school track star.
Today was the big voting day. I went over to H.O. Wheeler with the GF to exercise my 19th Amendment rights. I’m not telling you who I voted for, but I will tell you that I’m sad that Sign-Guy Steve Ekberg wasn’t running in my ward. I totally would have voted for him if only to see him wear his wig and tie-dyed togs in City Hall.
Cuckoo time-traveler.
Currently, I’m waiting on results from all of Addison County. They’ve got about 800 towns down there and all of them do things in different ways. In the meantime, I’m taking photos of my coworker Joel being tres ridicule. Yes, I’m getting paid for that. But they’re pretty bitchin pics if I do say so myself.
Tres mysterieux.
All he needs is un petit chapeau, preferably of the beret variety.
Ok, I’m off to pray to the TMD gods that the phone lines start burning up. Soon. Please.
