For some unfathomable reason, several folks have asked that I weigh in on this whole issue of whether a mosque should be built at Ground Zero in New York. I’m not sure why anybody would really care what some pundit in Kentucky thinks about what is essentially a zoning issue in Manhattan.
But . . . here’s what I think.
I think it’s a damn shame that with all the issues of a really serious nature facing our country, our world, we have chosen this to argue about.
Last week I was able to chat with some friends who, do to business misfortune, have been forced to move, seeking work and income in other places.
“People don’t seem to really understand,” said Simone. (Not her real name.) “There just aren’t many jobs out there.”
Part of what she said is true.
There aren’t a lot of jobs in the marketplace for people who were making healthy incomes of $50,000 or more before the recession hit. And my sense is there aren’t a lot of positions going begging in lower income ranges. There are only so many needed to sell burgers under the Golden Arches.
Part of what she said is false.
A lot of people understand all too well that there aren’t a lot of jobs out there. It was most unusual to see a Help Wanted sign the other day when entering an Office Depot.
This stasis is manifesting itself in various ways, some oddly interesting.
This past year, the University of Louisville Law School had 500 more applications than the year before. Which number was 400 more than the previous highest year, which was sometime in the early 90s.
So, all of a sudden, a lot of twentysomethings want to become barristers at the bar?
Nah.
It’s simply that the positions as waiters, baristas, nannies, maids aren’t cutting it for college grads. Mowing lawns is not what a Big Ten grad expected to be doing with a B.A.
So, what the hell. Let’s try law school. Maybe that will open a few doors.
What does this have to do with that Muslim community center and mosque that is causing such a ruckus among the talking heads?
Nothing. And that’s my point.
The economy is going to take a dip again very soon. People need work.
The BP oil disaster in the Gulf of Mexico is far from the only environmental concern we should be considering. Global warming, and eventual global environmental disaster, are very very real.
How to deal humanely with the immigration problem that exists in America is something that must be faced. I mean, really, who is going to do the roofing across the land if we imprison then deport all the aliens?
That’s just to touch the surface of legitimate concerns that should have our attention.
Instead we fall hook, line and sinker — Mr. President included — for Fox News’ bait. We are now mired in a debate with minimal relevance to real world problems.
What do I think should happen with the mosque at Ground Zero?
Now that the trial of you know who concerning her “relationship” with you know who is yesterday’s spam, let’s consider a few other things, shall we?
* * * * *
While we weren’t paying attention, and after much ado about political posturing, Elena Kagan was confirmed as Supreme Court justice.
Just as she should have been.
Just as we always knew she would be.
Of course, since ‘87, there’s the borking process that must play out.
Robert Bork was a GOP nominee for the Court. He had been the hatchet man that fired Watergate independent prosecutor Archibald Cox during the Nixon administration in what’s been dubbed the “Saturday Night Massacre.” So, if only for that, the donkeys hated Bork, a bright and qualified jurist, albeit very conservative.
Besides Bork had that scraggly beard that was off-putting and made him look like some Colonial era Puritan preacher. Then there was his imperious manner.
Anyway the Dems were able to foil his nomination. The process has been repugnantly political ever since.
You may not like the politics of Scalia or Roberts or Ginsburg or Kagan, but they’re all qualified. And the country would be a lot better off if the Senate stopped looking at nominee’s politics and just at their qualifications.
* * * * *
Is it my imagination, or are there cicadas every summer now? Not just every 17 years the way Mother Nature planned the cycle.
What happened?
Well, maybe it is nature’s way.
* * * * *
What’s up with this Kentucky dirt that’s been hauled to Indiana by the appropriately named Kentuckiana Trucking Company?
It seems there are a few petroleumish contaminants in the soil from the new arena site. And the trucking company dumped it where it wasn’t supposed to. Frankly, I’m shocked, shocked I tell you that such illegalities occur.
Wonder if they considered hauling it down to the Gulf, to maybe soak up some of that sludge? Or, Mega Caverns, where’s there is plenty of room and they invite new fill?
* * * * *
Why is Charles Moore still on the Louisville police force?
* * * * *
Speaking of governmental shenanigans and police department inefficiency, the Film Babe and I are halfway through Season #3 of our annual marathon viewing of the entirety of “The Wire.” Two and a half seasons down, two and a half to go.
Which we’ll do in, oh, the next ten days or so. Those of you familiar with the old HBO series understand why it’s so compelling. A couple episodes a night are the minimum. One night last summer, we watched five. Not that we’re obsessed or anything.
Those of you who’ve never watched it, tsk, tsk.
One guy’s opinion: It’s the best dramatic series in the history of television. Period. It is Godfather quality. Yes, yes, it is.
How much in depth rumination can an Observer of the Scene consider when, long after coming into the AC, he’s still shvitzing like a pig on a spit after a morning jog?
Let’s find out.
Toll Booths ‘R’ Us. Like most other reasoning humans, I was aghast at the first mention of possible tolls on the new bridges, which structures have been on the drawing board since, I dunno, Charlie Farnsley was mayor.
Three bucks to visit grannie in Cementville.
Three bucks to make it back home.
At first blush, and perhaps at second, it seems a heinous exaction. I know I was ready to pull out my dusty “No Taxation Without Representation” banner. Then I remembered I lent it to my Tea Party neighbor across the street.
The article in this morning’s C-J gave some perspective on the situation. I know when visiting the Bay Area last year, we stayed in Mill Valley and thought nothing of paying the toll when crossing into San Francisco. Much to our chagrin however, we got no discount for the flowers in our hair.
I have no idea how this is all going to play out. I do predict that there will be no new bridges in Louisville built in my lifetime. And I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, though my instinct tells me we’ll survive without them.
Pols ‘R’ Us. Another interesting read in this morning’s C-J was Jim Carroll’s take on our major party candidates to fill Jim Bunning’s senate seat.
Not only are Rand Paul and Jack Conway seriously serious 24/7, they are, let’s face facts, B*O*R*I*N*G.
The desk holding the computer I’m writing on has more personality than both combined. And it’s standard utilitarian office equipment company issue.
Being a good Donkey, and being more than a little scared of Paul — actually, what he stands for — I’m sure I’ll vote for Conway. Understanding he’s never going to be confused with Henry Clay or John Sherman Cooper.
Trolls ‘R’ Us. It’s Day #3 of Hullabaloo. And for the third day in a row, I’m sad to say I’m taking a Pasadena.
I know, for years I’ve been ranting about the lack of a real summer music festival here in Louisville. Now that we have a legit foray toward one, I’m staying away.
Trust me, it’s not out of protest at the lineup which I find less than compelling. I intended to go out today with the Film Babe, plunk down our $150 and show our support. Terry Adams’ new band intrigues me. But he’s about to start playing as I write. Dwight Yoakam and Loretta Lynn are certainly worth hearing. Though I’ve seen the former. But, Sweet Loretta, it’s just too damn hot to stand in the sun and listen. Sorry.
It’s not gonna happen.
I hope the event is a financial success. I hope Churchill Downs figures out a way to have it when it’s less hot and steamy. I also hope they find it in their hearts to present a future lineup of acts with a bit more zest. Like, oh, say, they do at Forecastle. And New Orleans. And Nashville. And Milwaukee.
All of which is to say I’m a troglodyte for the day.
He was our guide when we took an exciting and informative air boat ride through the swamp during the Daze Between. Ernie grew up in the area of the Barataria basin, which contains the bayous we toured. My guess is that other than his time in Baton Rouge where Ernie majored in history at LSU, he’s spent most of his life at home in his familiar bayous. His appreciation and unfettered love for the land and waterways came through in his every word.
The bucolic area is a 20 minute drive from New Orleans. Thanks to the oil spill, it is in serious danger. They’ve started pumping fresh water into the basin, 4,000 cubic feet/ second from David Pond in St. Charles Parish. And it’s but one of many imperiled areas.
Just short of a quarter of a million gallons a day of oil is spewing into the Gulf of Mexico. By the time I write this on Friday morning, it’s probably already reached land. If that’s what you can call the already wetland depleted area down river from the Crescent City.
Best estimates say it will take a couple of months to cap the leak. The perils of slow and inadequate response to such a major crisis — default governmental character traits around here — are already rearing their ugly heads.
Some around town are complaining of the oily odor and other physical symptoms. The air is now being monitored more closely. Joanie has had a headache for the last day. Sinuses, she thought. Petroleum contaminants in the breeze, perhaps???
I’m inclined once again to invoke Randy Newman’s anthemic dirge about the perils of this land, “Louisiana 1927.”
Instead a line from Dylan comes to mind.
“Bury the rag deep in your face/ Now is the time for your tears.”
Last night on a return trip for sublime grilled oysters at Drago’s, our waiter expressed the increasing fear that the oyster beds will be a major casualty of this eco-crisis. So too, shrimp and other Gulf seafood. And birds. And plants. And the shoreline. And thus the economy and well-being of the denizens of this ill-fated land.
This is like some unlikely aftershock to the devastation of Katrina. And like that “natural” disaster, this one is, at the very least, exacerbated by the foibles of man, and arguably caused by us. Safety precautions are inadequate even in theory, and unworkable in execution.
While it’s not factually applicable, I’ve got to go here before ending this lament.
New Orleans and the Gulf Coast sure have gotten way more than their fair share of not fair.
A few more observations on the Crescent City before the music begins today.
The local newspaper, New Orleans Times-Picayune, remains profitable and robust. Yet another testament to the reality that this town is like no other in America.
The sports pages are thicker than the entire C-J on a normal day. Plus four other full sections, covering local news, national stories, local culture, arts & entertainment. Several thick sections of classifieds. It’s a real throw back. Former columnist Angus Lind confirmed to me what is obvious. People in this town are still old school enough to sit down in the morning and read the paper in print with their coffee and chicory.
* * * * *
Felisha — remember her from yesterday’s post, the gal who drove our van to the rental car lot — advises that her home insurance carrier did her right. That her house has been rebuilt in the now infamous Lower 9th.
“It’s up on stilts,” she advises.
“Above the flood line?”
“No.” She laughs.
Another case of almost doing it right.
“But the area is coming back.”
So it seems. The reign of totally ineffectual mayor Ray Nagin ends Monday a week. Mitch Landrieu then takes over and those around here who care about such matters — most everybody — seems pumped for some positive change. The new Hizzoner has task forces reporting to him on everything from sanitation to infrastructure rebuilding to cultural empowerment to a new police chief, etc, etc.
That the town has survived Katrina, Nagin’s doofus administration, Bush’s failure to help, the Army Corps of Engineers and the town’s default ways is stunning.
There is actually road work being done here. Slow, the New Orleans way, but in motion — slow motion — nonetheless.
It’s a sight to see.
Along St. Charles and Carrolton near Riverbend, you’d never know there was a Katrina
That said, there are plenty areas in town which remain Desolation Row.
Some friends drove into New Orleans from the east on I-10. They say there are still any number of barren vistas along that route.
You know the saying, Rome wasn’t built in . . .
* * * * *
As always, the Quarter is bustling with turista.
Bourbon Street remains a cesspool of drunkenness. Jackson Square is still full of “artist squatters.” Contrary to one report I read, they still serve beignets and coffee in and on ceramic ware at Cafe Du Monde.
One curiosity that might interest only me. Last night there was a line to get in Felix’s Oyster Bar, while there was no wait across the street at the eminently more famous Acme Oyster Bar.
What’s it mean? I dunno.
* * * * *
This year’s harvest of soft shell crabs is abundant. Gulf Pompano remains the fish to be eaten, with some crabmeat Meuniere on top.
I believe it was 1968 when segregationist/ pragmatist/ power seeker George Wallace held a rally at Freedom Hall. He was the American Independent Party’s candidate for POTUS.
He even toyed with tabbing Kentucky favorite son Happy Chandler to be his running mate. Until Wallace’s handlers pointed out to the Alabamian that Chandler was obviously a Commie, having, among other leftist transgressions, supported nay encouraged the desegregation of baseball by cooperating with the Dodgers when they put Jackie Robinson on the roster. Instead Wallace chose a Dr. Strangelovian military guy, Curtis LeMay.
But I digress. Wallace held a tent style revival political rally at Freedom Hall. The crowd warmed up to the partriotic sounds of Johnny Jones and His Red, White & Blue All American Band.
For a pinko poli sci major like me, just there with a date experiencing America’s political process at work, it was a scary sight. The passion and fervor of the acolytes was stunning. I was convinced that Wallace had a legit shot to become president. Fortunately, my abilities as a political prognosticator weren’t very acute.
Truth is, Wallace moderated his views as he got older, especially after being shot. But he never took to hangin’ with the Kennedys, if you get my drift.
Anyhow, after taking in the latest Tea Party shenanigans of one Sarah Palin, I’m again worried. And, given the times when media can manipulate the masses in a way never before, she’s got a significantly better chance to decorate the Oval Office with a moose head than Wallace ever had of setting a photo of Bear Bryant and him on the Lincoln desk. Lonesome Rhodes lives.
Which is to say, I am seriously scared that daffy Ms. Sarah might just wink and babble her way into the highest office in the land. You’ve got to take seriously any politico aggressive enough to use her Down’s syndrome baby as political prop.
Last week, I mentioned to some friends how I’m no longer as locked into the political process as I once was. It’s a selfish thing, I suppose. I started on Medicare the beginning of the month. I have less days ahead than I’ve experienced in the past. So there’s this pragmatic view I hold. Absent a meteor blasting its way through the atmosphere and landing in Spencer County or a terrorist attack that fells the internet and thus the world’s financial structure, not much is going to happen that is going to affect my life one way or another. Okay, maybe another bout with Big C, or a U of L national title.
But, given the stasis that now pervades Washington, not much there is going to move the meter more than a tick or two in either direction during my lifetime.
Other than if Sarah Palin, or somebody else similarly daffy bobbing in her wake, grabs the reigns of power.
I’m pretty settled here in Louisville. The Film Babe wants to get a place in Florida, and I’m even reluctant to consider that.
But what if our government is taken over by a know nothing Know-It-All like the former mayor of that strip mall known as Wassila, Alaska. I’m thinking someplace far far away with a moderate clime, serious broadband, access to ESPN 360 so I could follow the Card and half way decent pizza. Like, maybe, Sydney. I’ve always loved Aussie Rules footie.
These are strange times indeed. Pretty soon the star maker machinery may just rule the land.
As the new year approaches, there seem to be two topics toward which all conversations gravitate.
Actually three. But I have no intention of weighing in on the whole Tiger Woods weltschmerz.
But the other two matters are disconcerting.
One is the extent to how seemingly everybody I know is really looking forward to 2010. To the new decade. This has been a taxing 365 on just about everyone. And it’s not simply the economy, but that has a lot to do with it. While the clock’s tick to 12:01 on 1/01 is an artificial demarcation, it can bring about new attitudes. And hope for better days.
And a lot of folks are ready, really ready.
Issue #2 is the loss of faith in Barack Obama. So many Democrats have turned on the president that the GOP, which was flopping about, looking for some place to land, merely has to sit back smug and smiling and watch.
I am stunned that reasonable, intelligent, perceptive citizens are aghast that not a lot has changed since W was sent out to pasture. I’m not sure what people expected. Obama grew up in Chicago politics. He was a ward healer for heavens’ sakes. His acumen was the ability to compromise, to assess the landscape, find the spots where consensus could be found and to put himself there for the bounty. He’s never walked on water that I know of. At least, there’s no youtube footage.
He is not a messiah. He never held himself out to be a messiah. Yet that mantle was foisted upon him by supporters so disenchanted by what the Bush administration wrought, that they were looking for a Moses to lead them to a promised land. What those who have turned on Obama have forgotten in how bad a situation he faced when taking office.
Yet we are so used to instant gratification these days, that we — or certainly some of we — expected him to immediately right the economy, right the Middle East, right the environment, right everything as soon as he took the oath of office. Like he had a magic wand and could make it all the bad stuff disappear with a wave of his hand.
That’s simply not how things work. Life — politics — is much more complicated than that.
Health care reform is a no brainer. Yet there special interests and politicos and some really stupid people that have gone biblical in their damning of any change whatsoever, or the changes about to be enacted.
I’m not going to talk specifics about that. Or Afghanistan. Or the closing of Guantanamo. Or the bank bailout. Or the unemployment problem. Mostly because I don’t feel I know enough facts to provide any cogent observations. But what I know is that there is a lot to be done to attack all those issues and many others.
I’m glad there’s an intelligent thoughtful listener like Barack Obama who is going to be leading the way.
I understand it’s going to take awhile — a lot longer that it takes Google to find answers — for resolution.
Those who have turned on Obama like spurned lovers need to examine their own beliefs and unrealistic expectations. It is time to give the fellow some slack, to have faith that those traits of his we cherished before he was elected remain. That they will eventually right the ship that still lists because of the Bush administration’s malfeasance.
As for 2010 . . . I’m ready too. This has been a long, strange and stressful year. One to which I shall gladly wish a not so fond adieu.
Call me old fashioned. Call me a diehard red, white and blue patriot. Call me out of touch. Whatever.
But I know it’s gotta be a good thing when the duly elected President of the United States wants to talk to the nation’s kids about staying in school, and studying and achieving and setting goals and reaching them.
But . . . Nooooooooooooooooooooo!
Seems as if some zealots whose political persuasions are different from his don’t want the President of the United States to talk to their kids or your kids in school. He might, you know, pollute their minds or something. Try to convince them about some issue of the day. You know, brainwash them into thinking universal health care for everybody is a good thing, or some such foolishness.
No matter that Bush the Elder did it when he was President of the United States. No matter than Ronnie Reagan did it when he was President of the United States. No matter that Bush the Younger appealed to the nation’s children to support his war when he was President of the United States.
We don’t want that current guy to do it. You know, the President of the United States of America.
It is the latest sign yet that America is deeply divided politically. And that there’s a lot of misinformation being disseminated and digested in this Age of Overinformation.
And, one guy’s opinion, it is yet another sign that racism is cunning, sly and continues to insinuate itself in the subtlest of ways.
You think there would be such an outcry over the President’s upcoming address to the country’s school kids, if he weren’t, you know, uh . . . different? One wag’s opinion — mine — is that this uproar wouldn’t have happened even for Bill Clinton, who was really loathed by a lot of folks. Because, you know, Bill might be a scumbag and philanderer, but, gosh, he’s . . . one of us.
The school administrators who are bowing to the outrageous demands that some people’s kids shouldn’t be forced to listen to the President of the United States ought to be fired immediately for incompetence.
What in the world have we done to ourselves? We aren’t even willing anymore to listen and hear a diversity of ideas. We aren’t willing to let the duly elected President of the United States give a fatherly pep talk to our kids in school.
The Courier-Journal has provided a major public service by publishing the confidentiality agreement required by Cordish, before the developer would allow Mayor Jerry’s Five Stooges to “inspect” records regarding taxpayers’ $950 large that was to have been spent on Sports & Social Club at Fourth Street Live.
What is so stunning about this is that the city looks even worse than it did before the “audit” that wasn’t. That is something heretofore considered impossible. Believe it. This city administration has sold the soul of our town to Cordish. I gotta ask: Why?
Somebody got photos of somebody doing something they shouldn’t?
After some public outcry, Mayor Jerry sent his stooges to Baltimore — on the taxpayer’s tab one must assume — to audit Cordish’s records. They were to report back on what they found.
Instead, the five — Mike Norman, Bruce Traughber, David Morris, Ellis Shipley and mayoral wannabe David Tandy — signed away any power they might have had . . . to do anything whatsoever. They put their John Hancocks on an airtight confidentiality agreement that includes indemnification clauses and penalty clauses and a draft of how Mike Norman’s final report to Abramson should read.
Oh yes, I forgot to mention, they agreed that the information was not subject to the state’s Open Records Laws.
That is not a typo. Before they even got to look at the scraps of “information” that Cordish revealed as a “courtesy,” the Five Stooges had to agree on what and how they would report to our mayor. And that nobody could demand to see the results of the “audit.” Such as they are. Not even the mayor. Nor we the lenders.
This not only violates the city’s fiduciary responsibility to its citizens, it is an audacious display of dumbfounding incompetence and stupidity.
They acknowledge that Cordish was revealing whatever as “courtesy.” How could there not be any provisions for a full audit when taxpayers’ money is being handed over to a private entity?
Only Norman was allowed to take any notes about the information that was provided. And he could make no copies of any of it.
This is so aggravating that I can’t rant and rave anymore. Go read the documents yourselves and and make your own determination whether anything is being hidden? And who is the accomplice to this outrageous transgression? Take a deep breath and decide if there is the scent of chicanery in the air?
Frankly I’m stunned, even in this day and age when skulduggery is so commonplace in government that this issue doesn’t have more traction. Where is the outrage?
Here’s what a lot of us want to know now: How exactly was the money spent? Why has Cordish stonewalled? Why has the city aided and abetted that stonewalling? Why did the Five Stooges sign that confidentiality agreement? Why does the mayor keep telling us all is well, instead of simply showing us evidence of same?
There should be simple answers. Instead there has been nothing but obfuscation and political spinning of the highest order.
When are the citizens of this town going to go to their windows, fling them open and scream at the top of their lungs: “We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore?”
First of all, a message to Chad Carlton. He’s the spokesmen behind whose coattails Mayor Jerry Abramson has hidden after the non-report came back on questionable spending by Cordish after a forgiveable $950 large loan from the city.
Chad, if you and your boss can break away from the kissy kissy bumpety bump you and he have going with the Cordishes, hear me for a second. I am one of those skeptics with “less than full faith in the propriety of the expenditure.”
And, Chad, tell your boss that I and a lot of folks who have believed in him for years are not placated. If anything, Chad, we have more questions than ever about what happened to our $950 grand. We are now skeptics “with less faith than ever in the propriety of the expenditure.”
And, Chad, while you’re wandering about city hall this coming week, why don’t you stop by the offices of David Tandy, Mike Norman, Bruce Traughber, David Morris and Ellie Shipley and pass along this message from those of us who have “less than full faith in the propriety of the expenditure.” Tell them this: “You all are idiots.”
You might also get them to reimburse the city for the cost of their “official business” in Baltimore. While there, they did nothing of consequence . . . except maybe down some crabcakes on the taxpayer’s tab. Better yet, ask Cordish for a reimbursement. Or did they already agree to pay?
This Fearful Fivesome’s charge was to audit Cordish’s books to find out if the money was spent properly, then report back to the citizens of Louisville.
Instead they signed a confidentiality agreement with Cordish, agreeing not to share the info with anybody but themselves. I assume that means even Hizzoner Former Mayor For Life Abramson and Chad Whatisname aren’t even in the loop. Wouldn’t want to piss off Cordish would we? Heck, if we did, they might get soooooooo mad they wouldn’t take any further handouts from the city.
What could be worse? Oh yes, the five didn’t even complete a full and complete audit. They nibbled on the crumbs Cordish fed them, kneeled before the developer and, heads bowed, said “Thanks, Massa.”
Jerry, Chad, David, Mike, Bruce, David and Ellie — You think we’re stupid?
If Mr. Mayor thinks Louisville’s going to fall in lock step when he runs for Lieutenant Guv, he’d better come clean on Cordish. There are a lot of people asking a lot of questions. Carrying Louisville is going to be a lot more iffy if this stench isn’t abated.
And, if I were Mr. Tandy, I’d forget about running for mayor, and see if he can find a real job. One for an employer who will expect a task to be done properly, and for which he’ll be held accountable.
Right now, the stink around 6th & Jefferson is bad and getting worse.
I saw Louisville’s First Lady this morning at the coffee shop. Surprisingly she didn’t look a bit beleaguered. Good for her. Strong woman, she.
My java mates and I conjectured she might want to be worried. Because it seems to us that something must going on with Hizzoner No Longer For Life and those bad boyz, the Cordishes. Got to be. Things are just way too cozy. Somebody’s got photos of somebody in flagrante delicto. Gotta be.
Let me see if my facts are correct?
The 16th Largest Metro Area in the nation, that would be the City of Greater Louisville Metro, or whatever unwieldy name we’ve actually got now, offered/ gave The Cordish Cos. a $1.8 million loan to lure some hot shot restaurant to the first floor of the Starks Building. One supposes in the space where Rodes resided for decades.
But Cordish didn’t do the deal. Nor, it appears, did they pay rent. They were evicted. Cute.
So they asked if they could then use this taxpayer $$$ — that’s right, kids, it’s our dollars they’re playing Monopoly with — to rehab the space that used to be Lucky Strike. May it RIP.
Jerry said “Sure.” Without, it appears, running it by the Metro Council, or whatever the Board of Alderman is called these daze.
Then, when word got out that maybe some of the moolah didn’t go to refurbish the Sports & Social Club, that maybe some of it landed in the expensive handbag of Paris Hilton, people started asking questions. Including other local retailers run out of business by the city-underwritten Cordish project. And — yes, it’s twu, it’s twu — our once great newspaper, the Courier-Journal.
So the city, attempting to prove it has a backbone despite all evidence to the contrary, mustered the courage to do the right thing. Yeah, it’s under some extreme heat here, but let’s not be cynical. They sent a letter to Cordish, asking for an accounting of the $950 large.
To which request, Cordish politely said, “No. That info is propiretary.”
Let me translate that response into simple English for you: “Fuck you. We ain’t tellin’ nothin’, capeche?”
(At this point, I must advise that I’m not reciting the plot to either “The Sopranos” or “The Wire.” The above scenario is public info, reported to be true.)
Can’t tell ya, say the Cordish folks. Ladies and gents, those folks got some cohones.
Yet, yet, yet — stay tuned for more — that’s not even the punchline.
Which is that Hizzoner No Longer For Life, Jerry Abramson — a fellow apparently shorn of his cohones — duly elected leader of our city, said yesterday (Friday) that he is satisfied with the Cordish response, that he is convinced the money was spent appropriately.
Really, Mr. Mayor, how you be knowin’ that?
And, here’s the final guffaw: There is apparently nary a provision in the loan agreement, which allows the city to demand a legal accounting of the funds.
It’s time for some fresh air in city government. And simply opening up the windows ain’t enough to clear out this stink.
I’ve been reading a lot of articles and have watched several TV exposés about Bernie Madoff.
I’m still not sure what makes this guy tick. There is an evil pathology there that still escapes me. The guy — and probably his wife and some cohorts — simply didn’t care who they messed over for their own personal financial and social aggrandizement.
And, while I can’t say that these Cordish folks, who seem hellbent on fleecing as many cities out of tax dollars as they might, can quite be branded as Madoffian, I’m beginning to wonder.
Some Louisvillians who are experiencing bad times, their businesses having been plundered asunder by the white elephant we call Fourth Street Live, along with some other inquisitive taxpayers with an affinity for local interests and taking care of our own first, as well as some just plain taxpayers wondering what da fuh? is happening with our tax dollars, are starting to look beyond the gloss at Cordish.
Read sports rants, rumors & innuendo from my alter ego Seedy K. Click to check out Score! at leoweekly.com.
On the Radio
The Culture Maven reviews film weekly on WFPK 91.9. The reviews (and entertaining attendant shtick) are archived here. Hear them live Tuesdays at 8:05 a.m.
For some unfathomable reason, several folks have asked that I weigh in on this whole issue of whether a mosque should be built at Ground Zero in New York. I’m not sure why anybody would really care what some pundit in Kentucky thinks about what is essentially a zoning issue in Manhattan.
A few more observations on the Crescent City before the music begins today.
I believe it was 1968 when segregationist/ pragmatist/ power seeker George Wallace held a rally at Freedom Hall. He was the American Independent Party’s candidate for POTUS.
As the new year approaches, there seem to be two topics toward which all conversations gravitate.
I am stunned that reasonable, intelligent, perceptive citizens are aghast that not a lot has changed since W was sent out to pasture. I’m not sure what people expected. Obama grew up in Chicago politics. He was a ward healer for heavens’ sakes. His acumen was the ability to compromise, to assess the landscape, find the spots where consensus could be found and to put himself there for the bounty. He’s never walked on water that I know of. At least, there’s no youtube footage.
The President of the United States, that’s who.
The Courier-Journal has provided a major public service by publishing the confidentiality agreement required by Cordish, before the developer would allow Mayor Jerry’s Five Stooges to “inspect” records regarding taxpayers’ $950 large that was to have been spent on Sports & Social Club at Fourth Street Live.
First of all, a message to Chad Carlton. He’s the spokesmen behind whose coattails Mayor Jerry Abramson has hidden after the non-report came back on questionable spending by Cordish after a forgiveable $950 large loan from the city.
I saw Louisville’s First Lady this morning at the coffee shop. Surprisingly she didn’t look a bit beleaguered. Good for her. Strong woman, she.
