Respect.

Okay. See, this is impressive to me. Here’s someone who believes so strongly in something that they’re willing to plaster it all over their car for the entire motoring world to see… but not permanently. You see, they hate Obama… and commitment! Because, you know, they could change their mind, right? You just never know. Not to mention that one needs to keep the resale value of one’s compact Japanese SUV in mind. Or it could be that this person believes so strongly that soon we’ll all live in a right-wing utopia where Obama is defeated and all media is controlled by Fox News, and there’s no class warfare and everyone’s Christian and unicorns and fairies don’t expect special treatment just because they’re magic, and bumper stickers like these won’t even be necessary anymore.

Or maybe they tape bumper stickers on the inside of their back windshield because while they hold these particular extreme viewpoints, they’re open to new ones. Maybe it’s up to some brave lefty to help them change their mind and replace those current stickers with “The Moral Majority is Neither” or “Coexist” or “Who Farted?” But, you know, with tape. On the inside.

Blight, continued.

Look.  I don’t mean to get all real and stuff. I know everyone’s just trying to make it through yet another 50-degree midwinter day here in New England, and it’s not easy, what with the clear roads and limber, painless back muscles from not shoveling snow. But you know what? Life happens. Like it or not. And sometimes it isn’t pretty.

Look at this. Don’t you dare look away.

That is --- or rather, it used to be --- a whole, functioning streetlight and street sign. Well, kind of. It only marked one of the streets that make up the corner (the other one apparently isn’t any of your business), and the light worked now and then. Anyway, one night --- last week, last month, last year (who knows?) --- it all came crashing down. Literally. Now it’s just laying there, dead, on the corner where my office is. That’s right. I have to look at this carnage every day on the way to my comfortable office job with enviable benefits. People ask me, “After all this time, don’t you get used to it?” And the answer is No. No, I don’t “get used” to it. Sure, I've learned how to hop over potholes and frost heaves and avoid the larger expanses of broken glass and scatterings of party cards with pictures of gigantic-bottomed ladies on them, but how do you forget about an entire downed streetlight that isn’t going anywhere? Even the metal pickers don’t want anything to do with this. How are they going to fit that thing in a little pickup truck?

And what about the children….’s parents? Or childless adults who drive or walk in the area? How will they know where not to enter? Or which way to the path to health? This is a travesty. This is blight.

Also, the State of the State address happened. You can read it here. The gist of it is, we’re broke, and we’re jerks. Go Rhody!

The year so far.

The anti-zeppole.

Is it St. Joseph’s Day yet?

Sorry, I’ve just been curled up in a ball on my couch, watching Downton Abbey and Project Runway All-Stars until a dump truck backs up to my house and drops off 100,000 zeppoles, in which I will then swim. As I’ve been waiting for that blessed day I’ve kind of tuned out what’s been going on in my adopted home state, but today I thought I’d check in and see what’s been happening since early December. And do you know what? Things have happened. Things, indeed.

First of all, Christmas happened, even though evil Governor Chafee insisted on calling the state Christmas tree a “holiday tree.” Lo, we have truly witnessed a miracle. Of course, this transgression may have released all kinds of negative mojo on our local government, because not long after that, someone who works at City Hall called in the intrepid ghost hunters of Ghost Hunters “after she heard a whisper in her ear while leaving the ladies’ room on the fifth floor.” Chances are this was just your everyday lobbyist trying to get a minute of the employees’ time, but since the Ghost Hunters are Rhode Islanders (it’s true!), this may be just a fantastic scheme to drum up some business for local paranormal experts and night-vision goggle manufacturers. Brilliant!

More recently, in hilarious criminal news, a state rep gotin trouble just this very morning after he was pulled over on suspicion of DUIand marijuana possession. The comedy comes from the fact that this guy gotpulled over last year on suspicion of DUI and marijuana possession in Connecticut and raised all kinds of stink about it, claiming that the New Haven police were out to get him because of their deep-seated bias against local politicians from Rhode Island. This time around, though, he gave up quickly and hilariously. As today’s ProJo tells it, South Kingstown police discovered Rep. Watson driving erratically on three wheels in the snow. And then:

[The police officer] said he told Watson to sit in his car to get out of the cold as he awaited the arrival of a second officer. When the two officers went back to speak with Watson, they found Watson holding a can of Natural Ice Beer.

[The second officer] said Watson was belligerent and cursed at the officers: "[Expletive] you, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, [expletive] you."

Watson was taken to police headquarters, where [the second officer] said he "attempted to explain to Watson that he was under arrest for possession of marijuana and not drunk driving at this time. Watson replied, 'Shut up! You got your guy!'"

First off, how on earth does one beat a drunk driving charge when a cop witnesses you doing just that? And secondly, please, Heavenly Father, if I ever screw up so badly to be arrested for anything at all, please, please give me the presence of mind to find some reason to say "[Expletive] you, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, [expletive] you." And then tell them to shut up. Also? That is one complacent mug shot.

Oh! And speaking of Heavenly Father, some kid in Cranston successfully sued to have a prayer starting with those words removed from the wall of her public high school’s gym, thereby unleashing a veritable shitstorm of general bad feelings in her direction. All I’ll say about that is this: public school, people. Whether or not you think the kid is a precocious twit who should have just kept her mouth shut is not relevant. And you know that death threats aren’t protected speech just because you make them in the comments section of the ProJo, right? Good luck, kid.

And speaking of shitstorms, Johnston kind of stopped stinking! Kind of. Enough to stop people’s hearts from racing and eyes from watering, that is. It’s good to see that Johnston is cleaning up its… oh, sweet Jesus. Sweet Zombie Jesus! Are you kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you, Johnston?

That’s it. I’m going back to the couch with a fuzzy blanket and a can of frosting. I really think this is Mondo’s year, don’t you?

Pretty green triangles with decorations.

Well, great.

Why is it that when Rhode Island makes the national news, it’s always about something stupid and/or embarrassing? Why is it always bankrupttowns and pension debacles and mob musicals, and never newborn okapis or princess visits? Why can’t we just for once do something awesome and get recognized for it?

Rhode Island’s most recent embarrassment is this whole “Holiday Tree” debacle. In case you haven’t yet heard anyone on Fox News keen and wail about it, our governor decided to refer to the decorated conifer in the State House this year as a holiday tree, not a Christmas tree, and the sky fell. When I first heard about it I put my head in my hands, not because I’m offended as a celebrator of Christmas, but because I knew that there was a good chance that Governor Chafee’s choice would become the 2011 flash point for this “war on Christmas” nonsense we hear every year. And you know what? It did! It totally did. Even though Chafee isn’t the first governor to call it a holiday tree. Oh, you didn’t know that? It’s true. The last governor – a Republican, no less – did the same thing.

HE DID THE SAME THING.

Of course, when he did it, the people who didn’t like him weren’t as loud or as organized, or they plain didn’t care, so no one made a stink about it. Or perhaps there were more egregious offenses against the baby Jesus to preoccupy them. I don’t know. What I do know is that yes, of course it’s a Christmas tree, and yes, calling it a holiday tree is probably a bit of a misguided, if earnest, attempt at inclusiveness. (Although I’m not sure what Carcieri’s reasoning was.) However, I also know that it’s worth little more than a headshake and a chuckle before you just move on already. If you want to host a “rival” Christmas tree lighting in front of your office, fine. Whatever. What you don’t do is get together a bunch of your asshole friends and go to the official lighting just to sing “O, Christmas Tree” really loudly out of spite. And you don’t, in doing that, try to drown out the children’s choir on hand. The one that is full of children who’ve spent who knows how many hours rehearsing for this big deal and aren’t yet old enough to understand why grownups would engage in such childish behavior over semantics. And then you know what you don’t do? You don’t take to the comments section in the Providence Journal,* try to call out the choir director for being rude because she had the gall to interrupt your interruption, and then chalk it up to an imaginary conspiracy:

47

8:46 PM on 12/6/2011
Some people started to sing, then realized the children were singing another stanza of their carol. Everyone stopped singing, then when the children finished that song, they started again. The choir director than motioned for the children to begin another song, AFTER "Oh Christmas Tree" was well under way. If anyone was rude, it was the adult directing the children. It was such an obvious set-up, everyone there could see it. Of course, it was intended to give the governor and his supporters something to complain about, as they look kinda stupid complaining about 200 plus people singing a Christmas carol.

Oh, for criminy. Yes, that's the stupid part. On the bright side, the whole mess made theDaily Show! Go Rhode Island.

In other news, I’ve decided that I shall rename my own Christmas tree Mrs. Timothy Mortimer Fancypants, and when my daughter complains, I shall blow an air horn at her. And Mrs. Timothy Mortimer Fancypants will be decorated with every single one of these ornaments, because they may be the best ornaments ever. 

* Sorry. I just couldn't stay away from the crazy. Comment on, you hilarious lunatics!

Ew.

Johnston. Stink lines added. (Map: RI Sea Grant)

I have a problem with Johnston. I admit it. Not the people in Johnston, necessarily; a good friend lives there, and my husband’s cousin, who’s a lovely person, does too. But Johnston also gave us Pauly D., and ruined zeppole day for a bunch of people last year. Also, it stinks. Literally. Johnston is where we Rhode Islanders send our garbage, and it gives the whole town the unmistakable odor of a pay toilet in Times Square. You know you’re passing through Johnston on 295 because that’s when you roll up your windows and hold your breath.

Lately, Johnston has gotten even stinkier. So stinky, in fact, that instead of the usual two or so complaints it receives each month about the smell, the Rhode Island Resource Recovery Corporation (RIRRC  the dump) has gotten close to a hundred in November alone, and some have come from neighboring Cranston.  From ecoRI:

The "active face" of the 100-foot trash pile is getting about half the amount of trash from four years ago, so there is less material to cover the older, exposed and decaying waste… [and] heavy rainfall each of the past two years has flooded the system of pipes in the trash mound. The pipes typically vacuum the methane to a nearby power plant. But the water has slowed the system, allowing the methane to release into the air.

Wait wait wait. There’s a hundred-foot trash pile in Johnston? That’s the width, right? Please tell me they don’t mean it’s ten stories tall. And it’s because we as a state are producing less trash that the smell has gotten worse? That… well, it stinks. Apparently the dump has sent letters of apology and explanation to everyone in Johnston and Cranston, and they say that the solution is going to be to lay a foot of topsoil over all of the garbage, which will happen in a few weeks. This, however, is not fast enough for the state senate. One of Johnston’s state senators, Frank Lombardo, wants it done a whole lot faster, and he’s introduced legislation to make sure the dump never gets that smelly again, ever. From GoLocalProv:

Senator Lombardo will submit legislation to ensure that RIRRC is acting to effectively contain gases and odors on an ongoing basis. The legislation will prohibit the use of construction debris, including wall board, as part of the soil cover that caps the active area of the landfill. Further, the bill would allow independent inspectors access to the landfill on a random basis, 24 hours a day and seven days a week, to ensure they investigate and monitor the material being used as cover.

The legislation will also mandate air quality testing in Johnston and nearby communities, as well as a health-oriented analysis to protect the Johnston residents living closest to the landfill. It would assess a $5,000 per day fine for each day that air quality and odors exceed a certain threshold.

To recap: there is a smelliness threshold in Johnston. It can be smelly, but not too smelly. Then, we’re changing some laws.

Nature? Not in My Backyard!

Look at this.

Isn't that nice? I took this today at the crack of dawn while I was walking my dog. We went to the nature preserve across the street from my house, which we didn't even know existed when we moved to Cumberland. But it's there, and it's a great place to walk, especially now that the leaves are turned and the path is (relatively) clear. There's a little pond in this preserve, and the remains of old stone walls, and the whole thing abuts the Monastery, a town-owned piece of land where monks used to make jam until most of their buildings burned down in 1950. (The monks fled to Massachusetts, where they remain today, still making delicious jam.) Today the remaining buildings on the property house our town library and a few social services, and the land is covered with beautiful walking trails that go on forever.

Not many people use this preserve. There's nowhere to park if you drive to it, so it's pretty much used only by those of us who live in walking distance. Once in a while I'll come across another human being on the trail, but not often. And yet nothing will ever be built on this land, or on the hundreds of acres in similar conservation areas around town. I had to do some research just to find out where the other areas were, because they're not widely advertised. The one I use is marked only by a small sign that you can't even really see if you're driving by. It's all very New England. If you need to know it's there, you will, and if you don't, it's none of your business.

So I was kind of surprised to read in my little local paper that a handful of people in Lincoln, the town next door, are up in arms about someone who wants to build on a piece of land there. This developer owns a handful of acres and wants to build 20 houses, and then he wants to turn the rest of the land into a conservation area. I understand why people might be concerned about new house building, especially in the current economy, but it turns out that they're none too happy with the idea of a conservation area, too.

Wait, what?

What I gather is that certain residents don't want people like me, with my obvious riffraff ways, walking their dogs and such so close to their homes. One guy's deed bars him from building a fence, so he'd be forced to see me, and another lady thinks only dangerous criminals enjoy undeveloped nature:

"Look at your police records. Do you want those people in your back yard?" She [also] said she does not want to have to change how she lives in her own house, and putting a public space or a development of houses in her back yard would do so.

Seriously. I am dying to know who she's talking about in these police records. Also, what I wouldn't give to have my house back up to a conservation area. It's a selling point in real estate, for crying out loud. If there was nothing but wilderness behind my house, I might never draw the curtains at the back of my house, ever, even if I wasn't wearing pants, which would be always. The thing is, there's already vacant land behind these houses. What they don't want is for other people to know about it, and be free to enjoy it; i.e., walk through it silently, perhaps with an adorable dog, first thing in the morning.

The neighborhood might never recover.

Halloween: it happened.

Happy Halloween, everybody! Say, did you get a big pre-Halloween snowstorm? We did! We got the kind of late-October snowstorm that dumps six inches of incredibly wet, heavy snow on you, breaks your trees in half, makes a giant mess, and then melts away within hours of falling. We had 10- and 12-foot sections of maple break off in our front yard, but, thinking the worst was over, I managed to move them aside enough for my daughter to make a tiny, adorable snowman. Later that day another 12-foot section broke off and crushed it, leaving me to wonder in horror what would have happened had we been building that tiny, adorable snowman at a different time. Anyhoo.

A few days earlier a coworker passed along free tickets to the Roger Williams Park Zoo Jack-o-Lantern Spectacular, which is kind of a big deal among some around here, so we counted ourselves $24 richer and headed out on Friday evening to see what was what. We got there just as the sun was setting, and I was a little disappointed that the animals weren't staying up to join in the fun with us; they turned in as usual while we were guided along a very specific path to the pumpkins. In any case, it was... nice? It's one of those exhibitions of thousands and thousands of pumpkins - some intricately carved, some simply - lit up along a walkway along which many, many people move very slowly. Personally I find large groups of slow-moving people to be incredibly irritating, but I find large numbers of softly glowing anything to be very pretty, as long as those anythings are not lava pits or plutonium rods. There were some smoke machines and piped-in music thrown in, too.

Tell me: when did an approximation of a human face become an inadequate design for a jack-o-lantern? Somewhere along the line people moved away from faces and toward just about anything else. There were recently-deceased business visionaries:


Photo by Rick Payette on Flickr

Bumper Stickers:

Photo by Rick Payette on Flickr

Golden Girls:

Photo by Svenstorm on Flickr

And Dexter next to Lightning McQueen, because why not?

Oh, right: all those reasons why not. There were also Snooki and Pauly D pumpkins, but I'm having a hard time finding pictures of them. Maybe those abominations won't photograph. Like vampires.

It turned out that this was all a very roundabout way of finding out that my daughter is terrified of jack-o-lanterns. But really: why wouldn't she be? With the exception of the ones that are used as artists' canvases, these are big vegetables with faces on them that are burning up from the inside while looking at you malevolently. In this instance, by the thousands. And hundreds and hundreds of people are puttering through, drinking hot cider, eating fried dough, and taking picture after picture after picture. It's cool, but it's also really surreal. I can't even imagine how confusing it must be for a three-year-old. Maybe we'll wait a few more years before we go again.

In the meantime, let's take a minute to thank our sponsors: