It’s been a rough and hectic couple weeks around here since the Dreaded Election Outcome.
I spent a lot of time going to and from SFO, where I waved goodbye to friends upset with the election results, all boarding planes and heading for Canada. Again.
Then, with President Joe (“Ol’ Rigor Mortis”) Biden leaving office in mere weeks, and knowing days of exercising my rights as a Social Justice Warrior were running out, I robbed Walgreens and Home Depot a few more times and then knocked over a display of Jewish Rye Bread at Raley’s.
Unity and Joy, dammit!
I went home and packaged all of My Democracy up in a cardboard box and hid it in the garage to keep Trump from stealing it. I will update the coming Reign of Terror in future columns; already rumors are floating about that some Safe Spaces could be reduced on college campuses.
The planet is imperiled.
CLEANING UP THE FILTH
All too often newspapers run another of those discouraging stories about volunteers helping clean the Russian River of the garbage, filth and environmental degradation caused people “camping” on the Russian River, Gibson Creek, etc.
Those stories remind me of ones that used to run every few months about an elderly Potter Valley couple who volunteered two or three times a year to clean the stoves, ovens and refrigerators at Plowshares. I wondered (and asked) why people who dined at Plowshares couldn’t clean the kitchens.
The answer? “Why, it would be demeaning!” they said. “It would rob them of their dignity!” they said.
Next Question: Why can’t homeless people who get motel vouchers, food stamps (EBT Cards) and other things we don’t even know about, help clean the rivers and streams? Why should citizens pay for their benefits, then clean the filth, waste, toxins, needles and used toilet paper left behind?
Dignity? Ha. Should we change their diapers too?
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Some of us remember Highway 101 signs welcoming folks to town via “Home of Masonite” with Kiwanis and Rotary emblems. They were replaced with Colonial-style signs meant to suggest a quaint village to those who’ve never been to Ukiah.
Now big rusty metal signs, nearly invisible to passing traffic, are in place at a cost city cheerleader Shannon Riley guesses at “around $100,000.”
And as the Colonial signs were being removed, the city was installing scores of Colonial-style lampposts up and down State Street.
The new lantern lamps will remind no one of 19th century Boston.
NO MORE DROUGHTS
You and I did not get the memo about a Ukiah future free from water shortages regardless of weather and no matter the rainfall.
But city officials did get the memo. They know our water woes are forever in the past.
How else explain the onslaught of new housing units springing up like weeds after heavy rains? There are hundreds of new apartments and/or condos looming above Gobbi Street, mega-developments on Brush Street, and a gargantuan complex northwest of the (out of business) Jensen’s Truck Stop.
If each unit houses humans who require water, how many peanuts can chipmunks eat that Joey Chestnut consumes while woodchucks chuck?
Hard to compute, huh? Well, don’t worry. The sharp minds at city hall have it all figured out, right down to the last pint.
But we might have to fight over that last pint.
THE SHOW WON’T GO ON
The good news is I went to see “Dial M for Murder” at the Ukiah Playhouse last Sunday. The bad news is it was the final performance.
What fun it would have been to write a review of such a show and such a cast. Emily Bishop, the busybody author having an affair with a semi-hysterical and deservedly paranoid Crystal Cooke-Fischer, still married to the cunning, conniving and sometimes smug Dane Nelson, who employs Tim Fischer, both a dodgy hitman and a dead man, in a tale of twists, turns, tricks and turnabouts only one Inspector on earth could have solved: Peter Winslow.
As unpredictable as the onstage action was the arrival of Kate Magruder to (voluntarily!) sit beside me the entire second half. I thought Ukiah’s Grande Dame of Theatah had a private luxury box, like mine at the ‘Frisco opera house.
Thanks, Kate; great show, Players!
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