It was creepy. Sort of post-apocalyptic, in a way. When the Morlocks sounded that siren, and the Eloy got all stupid and hypnotized, walking like zombies to their deaths, at least there was a method. At least it was about something. Not this time. Just quirky, and inchoate. There were bits of something that looked like functioning, but they sort of didn't go anywhere. Watts seemed to speak against something, then voted for it. Cooper spoke definitively against something, then voted for it with everyone else. I'm not describing this so you can see it. Maybe because it was just that disorganized. Chickens don't really run around once their heads are removed. They can't, without their heads. They just sort of thrash around. Well, it was like that.
How can I tell this story? At the beginning, Jacobs suggested the Pledge of Allegiance. But he didn't lead it. It seemed he couldn't remember how. Ana Garcia led it. Then Noah just stood there. We all did. No one knew what he wanted to do. He didn't seem to know either. So we all eventually sat down. Then Noah sat down. He paused, then mentioned a long-time resident who had recently died. Oh, yeah, that's why he was standing. But he forgot. And he got her name wrong, seeming to confuse it with a similar-sounding name of another resident in attendance (not dead).
The minutes. Passed without amendment again. Two months in a row. If you don't come to meetings, you have no idea what this used to look like. Up to an hour spent struggling over those minutes, and how tragically faulty they were. How much was missing, how utterly wrong they were. And how nefarious were the omissions and distortions and anyone who didn't confront them. How vilely served the public were, now and in perpetuity. So for the second month running, not one amendment was considered necessary. Minutes complete and accurate. Same meetings, same minutes, same Clerk. I asked her last month if she had done something different. "No."
Then, Noah gave the gavel to Barbara. There was something he wanted to talk about, and he wanted some sort of action taken. Maybe. It was never clear. We'll come to Barbara and the gavel in a bit. So what he wants to talk about is how to redesign the minutes. The group starts on some sort of discussion, which was circular and vague, until Roxy reminds them of two things. One is that this matter was not part of the announced Agenda, which means they shouldn't be introducing it in stealth fashion. Why Roxy has to tell this to the arbiters of openness, transparency, and anti-secrecy, is not clear. But they go on discussing it anyway. (Think chicken sans head.) The other thing is that Noah's main proposal, that when the public speak, their topic of conversation should be noted in the minutes, is already in the standing Ordinance. Noah couldn't get this. Roxy read it to him, but he still didn't see it. He thought his reference and that in the Ordinance were somehow different, in some way, even though they were essentially identical. Roxy tried to point that out to him, but he insisted there was some sort of difference. So they went on like this for a while, until they finally voted not to continue the discussion. (Although the chicken is writhing and convulsing, it will eventually stop, due to loss of blood, if for no other reason.)
So Barbara and the gavel. No idea what to do with it. None. She giggled a bit, but had to be directed by the Attorney to ask for seconds, ask for a vote, whatever. She even said she didn't want the responsibility. Poor Barbara. She said she never wanted even to run, but run she did. Who knows if she wanted to win, but that happened, too. And now, having told people after the election that she didn't want to be Mayor, she winds up with that wooden hammer-like contraption. Well, only five more months to go, and she won't be Vice Mayor any more. Presumably, she hopes Noah won't feel inspired to make motions too often. And I have to say, I like Barbara. She's a very nice person. Just out of her element, as she herself notes. Do you know that she learned there were free Miami City Ballet tickets routinely available, and she called and snagged us about 30 of them? True. She will receive them, pass them along to Maria Camara, and anyone who wants to go is welcome to a ticket. So call Maria if you want to go. 305-899-8000.
Cooper had inspiration, too. He had this idea that he should be able to "direct" the Manager, or the Attorney, or someone, to craft Agenda items for him. He should just tell them sort of what he has in mind, and they should "handle it." And he shouldn't have to provide any back-up, either. This discussion took a lot longer than you might think. I don't know if Ana really didn't fully understand it, which is what she said, or she just couldn't believe it. Everyone seemed to try to tell Bryan it doesn't work this way. But he wants it to. Bryan is on strike against the Village, and won't come to any Village events. Even now that he talks as if he owned two other votes, the majority, and the Mayor, he won't come. And he's missed more meetings than any other Commissioner in the past two years. And now, he doesn't want to have to submit his own Agenda items. He wants someone else to do it. It's really not at all clear what he thinks his job actually is. The only responsibilities he accepts are smirking, blaming, and trying to order people around.
There were a few other topics of discussion. The log cabin, for example. It's in terrible need of major renovation. The Commission could only agree to look further on condition we get grants to fix it. The log cabin was described as a local, State, and maybe even national treasure, but we should only fix it if we can use someone else's money. And there was a good deal of scrutiny, much more than you might have imagined interested anyone, of mutual cooperation agreements with other municipalities and their police departments. Mitch Glansberg, Bob Anderson, and Ana Garcia tried to explain how standard and helpful they are, but some were just more skeptical than that. And again, the Commission could only accept these agreements after they were abundantly reassured that we only take from other municipalites: we are not called upon to give them anything or do anything for them. Hell of a social philosophy we have working here.
Bernard left a little before the end. Had enough? One of my friends says his wife probably texted him, and told him the party was over. Gaspar stayed through most of it. That's a first. He and Steve were in heavy consultation throughout. I guess we'll see how they decide to have Gaspar handle this in Gaspar's next column. Funny thing about Gaspar and his columns. He always says, as if it's a good thing for a reporter/"Correspondent", that he never talks to anyone. This is how he used to explain why he refused to talk to Ross, Anderson, and Childress, whom he never tired of trashing. But it seems he makes an exception for one of the two people, apart from himself, that he likes. Probably just a coincidence.
As Charlie Smith was leaving (no, not the Finance Director; the other Charlie Smith) he did that thing where you brush one index finger over the other in scolding. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. Remember elementary school? Anyway, he did it to me. So I figured he wanted to tell me something. I went with him to the lobby. He tells me I'm "mean-spirited." I gave a hard time to the new Commissioners, he says.
"I'm 'mean-spirited?,'" I ask.
"Yes."
"What about Steve and Bryan? Are they mean-spirited?"
"They mean well."
"They do?"
"Yes."
Oh.
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