Hate to say it, but St. Croix County — and sorry as we’re talking mostly about hoidy toidy Hudson here — has developed, or maintains, a corporate-like culture of control, that permeates various departments, and it really shown in the late night when I cover elections as a reporting stringer. In one fast but I am afraid not last gasp, two different departments at play.
The unfortunate uptake: We are a bunch of Barney Fife’s who think they are Andy Griffith. Just not quite, in general, as gentle or gentile.
So screw the first amendment. It is considered only a “courtesy.” More on that below.
— But first, Scotty doesn’t know, but now you do and so does your/their favorite uncle. Movie and music themes abound here.
Leading off at the GasLite in Ellsworth on Saturday is Scotty’s Run, one of those mega-motorcycle rallies that attract thousands to roam the highways and byways of western and even west-central Wisconsin, all on the same trip. And all those miles go to a good cause. Then when back, the music takes center stage …
This via rockers Uncle Chunk, who have been cranking it out since the previous Millennium, and these guys have the rough-edged look that goes with ramming out riffs since the years of grunge and before. And they mix in dance tunes also. Godfathers of classic rock? So yes Jimi, these men are experienced. So, so many pieces of eight when they come on at 8 p.m. —
Everyone was cordial at first when I was calling in recent election results to Associated Press, but then the ball dropped in my gig at the county government center. The latest in what has been an escalating trend.
The last voting results came in late, in a couple of big batches, so there was a lot to transcribe on much more than one page, then quickly call it in on my lifeline that is a call-center 800 number.
But so, its time to go. Now, a sheriff’s deputy and county clerk said.
Can you give me five more minutes? We’ve been here so long anyway — I was a Joe come lately, as the clerk and crew had been on duty since 7 a.m. — and I do know we’d all like to go home. But my bosses require certain things before I can go.
No on that request, the deputy said. I am immediately closing up shop.
My bosses require, as one of their stipulations, that a copy on the results be faxed to them before the whole place is under lock and key and we’ve all left. Again, the annual conflict.
I’ll do it, she said, if you pay the faxing cost. I’m assuming it would have to come out of my pocket, and I don’t have much of an expense account, if any. And I’d dropped my last buck for a two-buck soda when hitting the vending machine, early when nothing much was happening. And you can just get all the results off the internet site anyway, she said. (My bosses have always held the position that you must report in person, and then report results by phone. What if that one web site goes down?)
But out the door now, or apparently it was implied, I was going to be arrested for what, civil disobedience?
It is only a courtesy that we provide this room, open for your use, I was told.
It was implied that this courtesy could be withdrawn at will, at any time.
So I grabbed my writing stuff on the fly and was out the door, which was quickly locked behind me. They all left behind me and lights out. I had to make the call from my car — actually that of my driver and he had to walk me through the process of actually finding the county web site.
And then explaining to my bosses what had happened yet again.
— Another look at a dark scene.
Lets look at actress Anne Hecht. And give her some slack, (I can’t bring myself to use the word cut), because she was doing the best she could with a very difficult life, and then there came for her a one instance that may come to define her life — and death. None of us should be a slave to one bad decision. At first blush, the press was clamoring around her burn-unit bed and passing judgment on the admittedly awful circumstances brought by her erratic driving, as their are many victims if you look closely, but now that the remembrances from all around are filtering in and given a new course of marketable story material to grind out (word chosen if you are familiar with grindcore metal music). Sometimes I am not proud to be part of that profession.
In our sex-driven culture, my first exposure to Hecht’s work — maybe not her best but very tasteful — was an iconic and artsy love scene between her and Joan Chen (yes a woman) that was staple Cimemax material. It should be noted that Chen went on to a much more highbrow career and you don’t hear much about her role in that scene. I have to say Christopher Walken is the perfect choice to play an amoral-sliding-into-evil role.
I could pontificate so much on these themes, such as the need for our adults to be much more responsible for the treatment of our youth and form them much better, but that would only give these more credence as I’d be called a bleeding heart — is that so bad — I’m afraid. But a takeaway: Despite the fact that she was once named one of the 50 most beautiful women, you could see the wear on her face. So who among us is responsible, to a greater or lesser degree, for those deeply-carved lines on the sides of her face? Think about this key line from the Rolling Stones, quoting Satan’s role in the transformation of the world, and often repeated in song: “I shouted out who killed the Kennedys, when after all it was you and me.” —
I see the following in-office local observation as a separate but related facet, as it too reflects the lets-climb-the-ladder mentality — that starts when putting on your makeup in the morning. Yes, style choices. A majority of women tend to dress too-hot-for-the-office. Like they would if going clubbing. Granted, there is a bit of flashy flair involved, so kudos, but it does not stop there. A friend of mine showed up for such office work one day with that kind of attire, and she got written up. But that was across the river.
I see our beloved county as being a starter place for most government officials.
And then a place to get out of and head for the warmer climes of The Twin Cities.
And if you can’t make that graduation …
(I did like this style vehicle: One woman left her Covid mask dangle from her ear (singular) when talking to co-workers. Choice of which ear?)
On a lighter note. Enough seriousness. Let’s get silly. With Barfy the poodle.
I may have been premature with my statement that I was forced out, by the deputy of the day, of the One Medium Size Room reserved for us media types racing to scrawl out our notes on paper — all two of us. And that such action again almost kept me from fulfilling my appointed rounds (OK just one) for AP on this yet, another election.
It was actually that damn poodle.
And his insatiable appetite for paper, matched openly by a termite’s lust for the wood it came from.
Yes, as far as my term paper going into the night to write about those looking for re-election to their next term.
Yes the dog ate it.
And there were so many pages, with so many races. That the poodle got very sick because the printer’s ink used on behalf of AP, which had the ironic goal of being wholesomely organic, was actually quite toxic. So I was almost late to show up at my post, a chair and small table, cuz I had to rush the dog to the vet. No antibiotics, supply shortages. Like mortgages, takes much more time. So much more because all such poodles across our great land got together and tried to plot a class action suit. But they spent all the time yipping at each other, and used up all 57 minutes of their free consultation for naught.
So on the other end — no multi-page paper list of candidates to refer to, and write numbers of top of numbers, with seconds ticking before they closed up the government center in Hudson. But who showed up to save the day, where so many of their ancestors had gone before, to cross many miles and find their way home, or to where they are needed.
My poodle, having barfed up the last and final candidate page where the ending vote tallies could now be registered.
So let it be written … And will be in future posts.