The same ambition can destroy or save,
And makes a patriot as it makes a knave.
Imagine you’re Auntie V.
Imagine also that you’re an inveterate behind-the-scenes schemer who, among other bizarre double-naught spying activities, regularly abets an anonymous Internet flame queen while denying even the slightest interest in the existence of the information superhighway.
Ah, but like Mark Twain … I repeat myself.
Instead, imagine that you’re an aspiring GOP politico who campaigns for a providentially vacant position on the city council by enabling your guileless, tail-wagging flunky to stump on your behalf by means of artlessly lampooning the very party stalwarts who’ll vote to determine who occupies the seat.
Of course, you don’t spread the insults yourself, as even the most sophisticated of dry cleaning techniques won’t take the smell of manure out of a pair of white silk gloves, but you farm it out to your eager Sancho Panza of an incessantly enraged minion, Prof. Erika, who provides useful cover and lacks the insight to object to being used in such a humiliating fashion for so long as someone – anyone – continues to pay attention to her antics.
Especially her patrician idol.
Not unexpectedly, you lose the race to fill the seat, and you emerge from the predictable defeat — the most recent public relations debacle — looking exactly like Wile E. Coyote after the stick of dynamite inserted in his ear by the speedily departing Roadrunner ignites, and an earsplitting boom fills the air with confetti, soot and the laughter of both children and adults, all of whom are saying to themselves, boy, that coyote just doesn’t seem to get it … ever … just keeps on repeating the same mistakes, again and again, thinking it’ll turn out differently next time.
So clinical … and with another Putsch attempt derailed, what can you possibly do to regain some measure of equilibrium – to restore the proper balance of nature between yourself and the slider-slurping “noodleheads” and unresponsive sow’s ears who can’t seem to understand the majesty of what you’re proposing to do for them?
Why, start by attacking the New Albany city clerk, of course, and follow by offering two flagrantly willful misinterpretations of recent council activity, and maybe, just as a change of pace, blame it all on the building commissioner, or the Mayor, or anyone else who wanders into the line of fire.
That’s it. Stress relief for the social saboteur.
Do we feel better, yet?
Auntie V’s latest salvos in the ongoing political flame war-by-proxy were launched with clocklike regularity in a Freedom of Speech blog posting Saturday, with another following on Sunday, and yet another some time after that (among other things, Erika can’t fathom the workings of the time/date stamp at her blog), and as always, onlookers lucky enough to emerge from the sliming session without collateral spitwads lodged in their own eyeballs are left to lament the recurring disingenuousness – the sheer volume of disinformation disguised as “outraged taxpayer” verbiage – that hangs thick like a pea soup fog within the confines of the Admiral Bicknell war room.
Consider Auntie V’s sentiments, as translated by the ever willing psychophant Erika, here: HERE WE GO AGAIN!…IS THIS ANOTHER POLITICAL FAVOR FOR JIMMY’S RE-ELECTION?
Be aware that at the Dec. 4 council meeting, the ordinance in question, which in essence is a routine bonding mechanism to allow the use of money already collected for tourism-related projects, passed its first reading by a 6-2 vote, with 1st district ward heeler Dan Coffey stridently objecting before meekly abstaining, and 3rd and 4th district councilmen Steve Price and Larry Kochert, respectively, voting against.
Go here to examine the state law referenced therein: Floyd/Clark County Innkeeper’s Tax. Know that nothing in this ordinance merits the attention being given it at Freedom to Screech, beyond the need of the chronically dysfunctional to maintain disaffection amongst imagined future cadres of mad-as-hell squirrel brain eaters.
And know that the ongoing personal attacks against city clerk Marcey Wisman are both unwarranted and tactless, not unlike the majority of the vitriolic drivel oozing from Ms. Denhart’s (a.k.a. Erika’s) poison crayon – but never without the approval of the aspiring Ms. Bolovschak.
It’s sad that we must continue refuting churlish childishness rather than devoting column inches to the many examples of positive news in New Albany, but when the shameless slander vandals push, even feebly, genuinely decent people must push back, and that’s what I’m doing, because make no mistake: When it comes to the venom of FOS, there is an ultimate source, and it isn’t the masquerading collegiate site manager.
It isn’t Erika, it’s Ms. Bolovschak, and as the months slip past, it becomes so insanely surreal that one is forgiven for believing that it’s Groundhog Day all over again, and again, and again.
I’m no longer concerned with the possibility of rifts, feuds and other manifestations of the New Albany Syndrome, so let’s say it publicly.
Ms. Bolovschak, you’ve got much — perhaps even all — of what it takes to succeed. You possess a work ethic, abundant smarts, good looks, sufficient money, proven business acumen. These combine to create an enviable potential foundation from which to seek any political office you so desire.
Why must you stoop in this continually abhorrent manner to conquer?
Why the ceaseless games, the empowerment of anonymity, the cloak-and-dagger nastiness?
With so much to offer, why hurt so many undeserving people by enabling Erika’s malevolence, and by using people for whom you feel nothing as a Auntiebellum corduroy road to drive atop in pursuit of your own ends?
Do you feel that you’re forced to do it? As a woman, as someone who “isn’t from here”? That unless you do the funky Machiavelli, they’ll not take you seriously?
Is there a conscience in there somewhere?
What happens to these pillars of support once you’ve achieved your goals, and they’re no longer needed?
It isn’t as if you don’t know this already, but the buffoonish mock Professor Erika, the knee-jerk flatlining 3rd district uncouncilman, the clamorously vacant denizens of the Luddite Bar & Grill – all come to us largely unable to comprehend diversity, generally absent any unified vision for the future, and sadly unable to see a place for themselves and their own milieu in a world that must, by necessity, change and renew. That’s life, and if we’re to accept a planet teeming with human diversity, a certain percentage of the unreconstructed throwing themselves in the path of progress certainly constitute standard equipment during the course of any substantive journey.
You know as well as I do that often these folks often become frightened, panic, and seek reassurance and succor from others whom they perceive as better situated to “lead” them, but here’s the important difference between those duly chosen to “lead.”
Some are born to transcend the limited options afforded them, and do so by their own talents and on their own merits without taking advantage of others, and seek to educate, empower and improve the options of the less fortunate.
But others choose to pursue power more cynically, by riding on the backs of those less able to discern reality while they’re perpetually face down in the mud … and populism of this calculating variety always brutally mocks the very people it purports to rescue.
Every time a FOS posting goes merrily into orbit, those among us capable of a fundamental clarity as to which leader is which have an obligation to expose the transparency of the fawning charade – of the sheer, hide-in-plain-sight chutzpah emanating from whichever of Sybil’s personalities awoke this morning and ventured into the cold light of day in pursuit of whatever it is, and is so important to obtain, right now, that it has been deemed necessary to publicly disassemble, to enable semi-literate Internet attack dogs, to construct one after another elaborately staged theatrical presentations, and to earnestly promise the “little people” – these same sincere citizens oblivious to the otherwise palpable “noodlehead” contempt showered on them behind closed doors — that there’s someone who’ll look after them and be their savior.
But this town doesn’t need a savior, at least not under such unfavorable terms. It needs multiple saviors, preferably one on each city block, and a few in city hall, and a few more business owners, all of whom willing to work together as equals to improve the quality of life and the prospects for all people choosing to live here.
You’ve undoubtedly done good things toward this end, and you are to be commended for the persistence and hard work.
Seemingly, you have it all.
Why isn’t all enough?