The world’s a stage – what will we see next?

By Mike Redmond

Some years ago, when I was a young man trying to make his way in the exciting world of Big Time Professional Journalism, a man gave me some valuable advice: “Never say you’ve seen everything, because the second you do, something will come along to make a liar out of you.” I’m trying to remember who said it, and where. It could have been my father, which means we were probably in the Mongo Tavern enjoying the spécialité de maison, ham sandwiches and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Then again, it could have been when I was a reporter in Columbus, which means I probably got it from my editor Stu, which further means we were most likely in the Columbus Bar enjoying the spécialité of that maison, grilled tenderloin sandwiches and Miller Lite. Or, it could have been some miscellaneous drunk. Anyway, it’s good advice; which I herewith plan to ignore. For now I believe I have seen everything, and remember, this is from a guy who actually had a close encounter with the Oscar Mayer Weenie Wagon. I have seen eyelashes for cars. They’re on the Weird Wide Web, so you know they’re for real. I mean, who would go onto the Internet to lie about such a thing? What we’re talking about are rather large appliqués that go over the headlights of whatever you are driving, giving it what the mascara commercials call long beautiful lashes for any occasion, rain or shine. And, it should be added, turning any vehicle they are applied to into a sissy. I’m a little surprised it has taken so long for something like this to hit the market. Car fronts have long resembled faces, and not just in the cartoons. I had a great-uncle who drove a Plymouth that looked exactly like Edward G. Robinson, if Edward G. Robinson had four eyes and chrome lips. And there has always been a certain type of driver who simply could not resist “personalizing” his or her automobile with some sort of geegaw – a radio antenna festooned with a raccoon tail (or in the case of the true iconoclast, an entire raccoon); a naked lady hood ornament; a fake hand poking out of the trunk. At least, I think it was a fake hand. I see carlashes as mostly a girl item. I base this on my experience with one particular girl who always gave her cars cutesy-poo names like Violet and Annabelle, who moved her decorations (graduation tassel, stuffed animals, chrome accelerator pedal shaped like a foot) from her old car to the new, and who tended to choose her automobiles based not on mileage or horsepower, but on how well the radio worked and if it had well-placed cupholders. Oh, and if the color went with her wardrobe. Believe me, she would have been all over this headlight-eyelash business. I’m sure there are lots of people who will follow the same path. I suppose we all see our vehicles as extensions of themselves – I can certainly make that argument for my truck – and some folks just want to gussy up a bit. I guess it’s OK as long as they stay on the face end of the car. The time to start worrying will be when they begin putting makeup on their tailpipes. The cars’, I mean.

My remote may decide the playoff race

By Kevin Kane

Sometimes when I watch ESPN, I swear I’m dreaming, or time traveling, or maybe both. It’s September, and my beloved Cincinnati Reds have a multi-game lead in their division. If they can hold off their typical urge to choke down the stretch, they should make the playoffs for the first time since 1995. 787y6Yes, I’m talking about the Reds. Yes, I said playoffs. For the past 15 years, using those two words in the same sentence would have prompted people to quote Jim Mora’s famous rant: “Playoffs?! Don’t talk about playoffs. Playoffs?! Are you kidding me?! Playoffs?!” But despite my confidence that I’m one pinch away from the Reds being 20 games under .500, I’ve been assured that the team really is playing well, with a postseason berth in sight. As a hardcore Reds fan, I feel it’s my duty to do whatever necessary to get them into October, even if that means not watching their games. I’m not a superstitious person. I have no problem seeing black cats. I’ve never thrown salt over my shoulder and if the quickest path on a walk includes going under a ladder, so be it. I’ve experienced plenty of bad luck in my life, but I’ve never connected any of it to certain acts that I did or didn’t do. Additionally, it’s always driven me nuts when people have blamed their teams’ losses on something they did. I can still remember a friend of mine telling me the Pacers once lost a playoff game because she stopped eating chips. They apparently were cruising toward victory until she got full, and then they had no chance. As ridiculous as that sounds, stories like that are very common. People wear “lucky” clothes to games or have certain rituals they follow to, I guess, ensure the sports gods will look favorably on their teams. I’ve had no problem sarcastically pointing out the absurdity of these superstitions in the past. “Yes,” I’ll say, “Peyton Manning threw two interceptions because you wore the wrong hat.” But now, I feel like I may be hampering my team. Not long before my wedding, the Reds played the St. Louis Cardinals for the NL Central lead. The Reds were swept, and I thought their playoff chances were shot. I painfully watched all of those games, yet beginning Aug. 13, the day before my wedding; I didn’t watch an inning of Reds baseball for a week. The team won seven in a row, and the only game I did watch while in Mexico ended the streak. The first two games I watched back in town, they got beat by a combined 20 runs. I’d estimate that in the past month, the team has not won a single game that I have watched, with the exception of two against the Chicago Cubs during different series. Those wins shouldn’t discount the possibility that my viewing is cursing the team, though. I mean, they were playing the Cubs. That team’s curse trumps anything I can bring to the table. Still, it could be possible, I suppose, that I’m affecting the team’s play somehow. This is baseball we’re talking about, perhaps the most superstitious sport of all. Not only are teams said to be cursed, but so many players will adjust their batting gloves four times in between swings or never change their socks in hopes of keeping luck on their side. If something as stupid as me watching or not watching a game could have an effect in any sport, it would be baseball. So I have some thinking to do as the team nears yet another colossal series with the Cardinals this weekend. Should I stay away from the TV and play it safe or test the sports gods, which so many people are sure exist? The season, and the Reds’ playoff chances, may come down to what channel I’m watching this weekend. I know one thing, though; if I decide to watch the game, I’ll be eating chips for nine innings straight, just to be safe.

Beset and besieged by bugs

By Sherri Coner-Eastburn

So many life mysteries keep me wondering. For instance, I often I ask myself where all the dead birds go. Have you ever thought about that? Out of hundreds of birds in the sky every day, why isn’t the ground littered with their dead bodies when their lives end? What is the life span of a bird, anyway? Yep, when I’m not working, I think about the plight of dead birds and all kinds of other weirdo things I can’t answer. Now I have a new mystery. And it has to do with mosquitoes. Last Saturday night, I sat outside on the porch with my son and his sweet girlfriend- I was wearing pajamas, of course, since I hate clothes. I promise I never felt the first bug bite. Not for two days. On day three, however, I discovered 27 bites on both legs, between my knees and ankles. A day later, I found two more bites- these were on my big hind end. How did those mosquitoes travel from my ankles to my backside? Why would they want to? All the itching made me crazy- so crazy that I soaked a paper towel with rubbing alcohol and took a big swipe at the inflamed flesh on my right butt cheek. Gotta tell you, it stung so bad that I just about peed me pants. That incident reminded me of yet another insect drama. Several years ago, I was wearing a strapless bra with a strapless dress and just so you know, it was before my chest started looking more and more like Aunt Bea’s chest from Mayberry. Ok well, there’s no ladylike way to smooth it over. So I’ll just lay it out there. I got bit on the boob, by a monster mosquito. It left a huge welt which swelled and filled with fever and hurt and stung. Obviously, you can’t stand around in a crowd of people and scratch your boob- especially since every time I secretly scratched it, the bra fell a half inch down toward my waist or traveled to the side, since it was a little too big everywhere. So I went to the bathroom and wet a paper towel with cold water. Then I discreetly placed the towel inside my bra to relieve the growing pain on my throbbing boob. Happily, I returned to the party. Imagine my surprise when a friend’s eyes widened in horror as she pointed at my boob. That entire side of my pastel pink dress was wet, like I was leaking milk maybe, and in dire need to nurse a baby. The wetness of the paper towel had bled through the dress, of course. With my arms crossed tightly in front of myself, I hurriedly left the party. When I got to my car, I tossed the bra into the backseat so I could itch and scratch as much as I wanted, unhindered by the hardware. So I recovered from the boob bump and now I’ve got butt welts. For the next few days, I’ll be staying inside the house, in my pajama pants, so I have easy access to the itches. Who needs this kind of stress?

Daisies and Darts 09.02.10

By dstrez@ss-times.com

A daisy to Cheryl Agnew for the services she provided Beech Grove senior citizens at the Beech Grove Senior Center. A daisy goes out to Lisa at The Country Oven. This diner got good service and pancakes, but the coffee was absolutely great! A daisy to BGMS – way to go the Principal of BGMS for putting up cones so parents can be taught the right way to drop off their kids.  Way to watch out of our kids’ safety. A daisy to BGHS for keeping their eyes and ears open for problems and doing something about it. It is like sending my kid to a private school. A daisy to parents that know where their kids are and what they are doing. A dart to Mother Nature, please let it rain. A dart to BGPD, wow, really a speeding ticket. A dart for the budget cuts that resulted in Agnew losing her job at the Beech Grove Senior Center. Send your DAISIES & DARTS to news@ss-times.com or call 787-3291.

The City of Beech Grove is in default

By dstrez@ss-times.com

Editor: You saw Dennis Buckley’s letter last week about the over spending. Let’s look at some of the debt. Remember when the city needed to raise sewer rates a few years ago? It seems they squandered the money. The City of Beech Grove hasn’t paid Indianapolis for treating our sewage for two years. We owe them over $898,997.27. But they still collected it from us. This has nothing to do with property tax caps. This City of Beech Grove is flat broke. It’s all due to poor managing by Mayor Joe Wright and his two non-elected, appointed Board of Works members, Bruce Bye and Robert White, who approve the payments for the City. Also the Clerk Treasurer, Sarah Kincaid, that didn’t protest about these unpaid bills. She has recently resigned. As you might know, we do have a new clerk treasurer, Chris Duffer. He has inherited this problem so don’t blame him. He has had a mess dealt to him. Something needs to be done to stop this neglect. I am calling for the immediate resignation of Mayor Joe Wright; also the Board of Works members Robert White and Bruce Bye. These men are responsible for paying these bills on your behalf. We must bring together a non-partisan board to try to save this City of Beech Grove. This board cannot be picked by the mayor. I say at-large representatives Republican Mike Pence and Democrat Buddy Templin head it up. Heavy cutting needs to be done, including public safety. This is not counting what we owe in bond debt. It’s $16 million.   We spent over $1.3 million on wireless Internet that doesn’t work and never will. We continue paying monthly with nothing in return.  Mayor Joe Wright hasn’t attended a city council meeting in months. He’s attended maybe five times in the last two years. He has been a non-existent Mayor. I agree with Dennis Buckley, we have a rider-less horse leading this city, actually over a cliff. If something isn’t done soon, you might as well be in Indianapolis with a 46107 zip code.  Frank Mascari

Democrat response to budget cuts and layoffs

By dstrez@ss-times.com

Editor: Beech Grove Democrats have fought hard for our city and against Joe Wright, whose policies, vision and fiscal irresponsibility are detriments to our community. This won’t change. We will work with him only when it’s good for the city. Jobs are being lost as we speak, quicker than anyone can look for alternatives. Five civilian paramedics have recently been given their notice. City dispatchers will be gone by the end of the year. More layoffs are very possible. On top of all that, the mayor tells us he will be coming to the council for approval to take $1.6 million from the city’s Rainy Day Fund to cover expenses for the rest of this year. You can stick a label on us, “Better, Brighter, Beech Grove,” but the unsatisfactory reality is our city is failing because of our mayor. Our city is failing financially, administratively, and compassionately, because of our mayor; failing to meet its obligations to the people we serve and to the people who work so hard to serve us, because of our mayor. This is where Joe Wright has led us; into financial ruin, loss of services, and more divided than at any time in our history. He is the one who should be pink-slipped. As the Democratic minority on the City Council we: * Voted for the 2009 budget, a budget that kept every city employee, funded itself, and was supported publicly and privately by our Police Chief, former Fire Chief, and all other department heads. * Were not included in the budget process for 2010, and now again for 2011. * Voted against the 2010 budget because it couldn’t fund itself. * Voted against the 2010 salary ordinance for employees. The city just couldn’t afford the approximately $250,000 in raises at a time when the we were anticipating a significant loss in revenue due to the full property tax caps taking effect. * Repeatedly offered suggestions for budget cuts and savings, included hiring a local, cost-effective City Attorney, eliminating or reducing unnecessary expenses, such as public relations and consultants. We did this both privately and at public meetings. * Sought new leadership for the Redevelopment Commission, where questionable spending has stalled projects and jeopardizes the long overdue revitalization of Main Street and mediation of serious storm water issues. * With the help of private citizens who contacted the media, brought mold problems at City Hall into the light of day. * Sponsored and got council approval for a resolution in support of retaining our local dispatch center. * Tried to reduce the additional appropriation to the 2009 budget to include funding for only the park bridge, repaving Elmwood Avenue, and insurance expenses. Our attempt to limit the amount to fund only necessary infrastructure improvements and obligations failed, and we voted against the appropriation. * With that appropriation, only the projects and spending we supported were actually completed. What happened to the money that was to be used for Little League parking and the proposed, unnecessary roundabout at 17th and Albany? We will continue to stay the course and fight for what is right, conduct our own investigations, speak out on the issues, and cast our votes based on the best interests of our city. We are committed to: * Maintaining our independence * Looking at other cuts before letting people go * Providing the best in all city services * Maintaining and improving the city’s infrastructure * Supporting local businesses * Responsible spending * Improving communications * Uniting the city * Making Beech Grove once again a great place to live, work, and raise a family. We will work hard to bring new leadership to our city in 2012, but unfortunately that won’t come soon enough. We have another 16 months and two budgets under this mayor. Numbers being thrown out are much the same as they were during Joe Wright’s first term. He has stayed his course, and look where it has brought us. We will stand by the message we ran on with the Frank Mascari team, bringing integrity back to Beech Grove. We need everyone’s help in this fight, and we encourage you all to come to council and other city meetings, keep informed, and speak out. Let’s take back our city. Mary Stewart, Ed Bell, Bud Templin and the Beech Grove Democrat Council Caucus

Indianapolis Water bills under negotiation

By Elaine

Mayor Joe Wright discussed the current outstanding balance on the Indianapolis Water storm water sewer bill. He said that around 2005 or 2006 his office discovered billing errors (in Beech Grove’s favor), some of which dated back to 2001. His office contacted the City of Indianapolis to negotiate those as well as to capture the credit for fees from 2006 when Beech grove created its own storm water system. “Indianapolis had already collected storm water fees from Beech Grove and that money is due back to Beech Grove,” said Wright. “We began negotiating with the Peterson administration. Indianapolis had a change in administration so we had to start over. The negotiations are amicable, non-litigious and we hope to have a resolution very soon,” said Wright. He added, “The negotiated difference will be due and the City of Beech Grove will be capable of paying its obligations. Controller for Consolidated City of Indianapolis, Marion County, Dave Reynolds confirmed the on-going negotiations and hope for a resolution in the very near future. Reynolds said, “The City of Indianapolis has been in discussions on this matter since Mayor Wright brought it up to us prior to the current administration. We have an on-going good dialog on how we can rectify numerous situations on both sides and hope to resolve it in the very near future.” Wright said, “The information about the Indianapolis Water billing has always been available. It is now becoming an issue because it is politically motivated. The only thing that has changed is the political climate.”

The handwriting is on the wall: cursive is obsolete

By Mike Redmond

By now we’ve all seen the report that says this year’s incoming college freshmen are unfamiliar with cursive writing. Yep. The handwriting is on the wall for handwriting. Cursive, foiled again. I find people have one of two reactions to this piece of alleged news: “Oh, for crying out loud,” or “So what?” Which reaction you get depends on the age of the reactor. Age 40 seems to be the median. Older than that, and they can’t believe what the world is coming to. Younger, and they can’t believe the old folks are getting their briefs in a bunch over something so inconsequential as handwriting. As a card-carrying (AARP, library and pinochle) member of the oh-for-crying-out-loud set, I think I know why all of us grayhairs are reacting as we are: Resentment. Yes, resentment -- for all those hours in the classroom, making row upon row of loops on-lined paper with a Scripto cartridge pen that turned your fingertips a nice, necrotic blue; resentment for the cramp that would seize your hand somewhere between the 8000th and 9000th loop, wrenching bone and sinew into a useless, shriveled, blue-tipped claw; resentment for the fact that no matter how many loops you made or how many cramps you suffered, your handwriting was never good enough to satisfy your teacher, who insisted – despite all evidence to the contrary – that you, too, could form letters as perfect as the white ones printed on that green border above the blackboard. Or maybe that was just me. All I know is I was awfully relieved when I learned to type. It seemed to be different for girls. For example, my older sister Vicky has beautiful, flowing penmanship. For a guy like me, whose penmanship was so atrocious teachers felt compelled to mention it on report cards, it is miraculous. Except it isn’t, because just about every woman that age I have ever met has exactly the same handwriting. Bunch of teachers’ pets if you ask me. For older members of the pro-cursive crowd, the resentment runs even deeper, because they had to learn the Palmer method of handwriting, in which the writer actually uses his shoulder and upper arm to move the pen around the page. It makes for big, loopy handwriting that was all the rage until they discovered its dark secret. You know how great-grandma has gotten sort of lopsided as she has gotten older? That drooping right shoulder is worn out. It’s the ticking time bomb of the Palmer method. Kids, of course, don’t understand what the fuss is about. It’s handwriting, which they stopped using years ago. Pen and paper might as well be chisel and stone. They don’t write. They text. The teachings of the Palmer method have been reduced to how fast one can type on a miniature keyboard using only the thumbs. I text, too. But fossil that I am, I also carry a fountain pen. It forces me to slow down, to think about what I am saying, to form the words – and my thoughts – carefully. Texting is just the opposite. Texting is blurting, usually expressed in some weirdly abbreviated mutation of English. Using cursive, with a real pen and real ink, is writing. Even with penmanship like mine, which caused more than one teacher to swear under her breath. Why do you think they call it cursive?

Vacation makes me long for early retirement

By Kevin Kane

There may not be anything more depressing than returning from vacation. It’s hard to swallow leaving paradise to return to your regular routines and responsibilities, but I really didn’t mind coming home from my honeymoon Monday morning. I was actually looking forward to making a return to the U.S. after a week’s stay in Mexico. Yes, the fact that the people there hadn’t even heard of Mountain Dew was a factor, but mainly I realized how much better life is in the states. I’m not going to get sappily patriotic here, though. We enjoy great freedoms that aren’t available in other countries, but the ones I wasn’t provided aren’t really those on which the country prides itself. They’re just the little extras. For example, I missed being able go out in public without being pestered by five different guys selling fake silver jewelry. I missed walking down the street without having to eye the seven stray dogs wandering about while ignoring the random 3 p.m. rooster crows. Additionally, it’s nice having clean tap water even if the power takes a brief break. There, the water turned so dirty so quickly that I thought the maid had upper decked our toilet following a short power outage. Mexico was a nice change of pace and an interesting experience, but its lack of the minor luxuries present here made me miss home. One week of endless salsa and “The Simpsons” en Español was enough. I wasn’t sulking during my ride to the airport like I had done at the end of other vacations. I had no problem coming home, but I was not looking forward to returning to work. I know; that seems like an obvious statement. My fretting a return to the daily grind had nothing to do with my job or coworkers, though. I’m just one of many who only work out of necessity. There are some people, however, who wouldn’t dread coming back to the office. They actually enjoy going to work because they don’t know what else to do with ample free time, and I honestly can’t understand this. I know there are people out there like this because I just married one, but I also know a few others. These are the people who keep working average-paying jobs after taking home $100 million from the lottery. It has nothing to do with modesty or keeping in touch with co-workers, though. They have to keep working in order to maintain their mental health, for a lack of tasks to complete quickly leads to a lack of sanity. My wife Jess and I recently discussed a question that’s critically important for every couple: “What’s our game plan if we win the lottery?” While I said I’d only do the work I want to do, like perhaps writing a column, she remained suspiciously quiet. When I finally asked her if she could handle voluntary unemployment, she said “No.” Being on vacation, however, only reinforces that I am not one of these people. Time away from work reminds me of all the things I don’t get to spend my time doing because I’m too busy earning a living. I would have no problem staying busy if I suddenly fell into a large sum of money. Would I be spending my time on productive tasks? A few, maybe. Mostly, though, I’d be doing whatever made me happy, and those tasks can be fairly stupid and pointless sometimes. This past vacation, as these trips always do, left me longing for very early retirement. The idea of living completely carefree and unfettered by time commitments is a tough one to get out of my head. In fact, I just finished watching and reading “No Country for Old Men,” and even though Josh Brolin’s character’s luck later leads to his death, I found myself hoping I too could stumble upon a botched drug deal in the desert and take home $2 million. But even that amount couldn’t sustain a permanent return to the vacation lifestyle – that is, unless I’d be willing to head back to Mexico.

Culinary limitations vs. imagination: Winning by just knowing where you stand

By Sherri Coner-Eastburn

I just told a friend of mine that I must absolutely go grocery shopping today. Otherwise I will be serving shredded phone book for supper, with some ketchup squirted all over the top for taste. When it comes to food, I have no imagination. I can’t look in the cabinets like my grandma did, find maybe three ingredients and then happily throw something together and call it a meal that other people would actually eat. Sometimes I wish I could be different. So when I really want to shame myself, I watch the food network. I can’t get past my comfort zone of repeatedly whipping up the same four meals every week. Hamburgers. Hamburgers with gravy. Pork roast. Fried bologna. Some of that stuck-in-boring-food trouble is not my fault. The farmer would turn his nose up at a casserole or quiche anyway. He is strictly a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, no fluff- thank goodness. Here’s another part of the problem, though. I hate grocery stores. Even though my husband loves to go to the grocery, I can’t assign this task to him and expect to stay married. The last time I sent him to the store, I asked for a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs. He came home with corn curls, Mountain Dew and a load of bread. Not good. Many of my friends are creative, confident cooks who brag about their culinary accomplishments. But I know my limitations, buddy. I would never purchase fish of any kind, for example, unless it’s maybe fish sticks. I know I can’t handle the stress of trying to cook it, broil it, bake it, whatever. I don’t want to know how to cut up a chicken. And every Thanksgiving, I order a bird. The restaurant knows me by name. I won’t work with a recipe that has more than three steps. I know nothing about a hard ball stage. And my kitchen tools include a mixer, a wooden spoon and a take-out menu. I know what I’m good at- I’m pretty good at making dinner out of Big Macs, complete with a paper plate and a bag of barbeque potato chips, especially when there’s no phone book pages left to dip in ketchup.