Tag: municipal

Shout-out #1: London, OH

A few weeks ago I chronicled the London, Ohio city council meeting. To refresh your memory, it was a real humdinger, with the mayor’s “fun fact” being that he lit a barrel on fire downtown. You know–the People’s Business.

Well, a little Buckeye Birdie told me that London City Hall took notice.

Sure enough, during last week’s city council meeting, His Honor the mayor had a few choice words for the Chronicles:

Mayor: Now on to the mayor fun fact. Some of you already know we’re starting to get some national attention. There’s a man out there by the name of Michael Karlik who has a hobby of reviewing city council meetings from all over the United States…everybody has their own hobbies, I guess.

[Collective sigh from council members. One councilwoman lays her head on the desk.]

Hobby? I think you meant “public service,” sir.

Mayor: I’m not sure how he stumbled upon ours, but he did. And he wrote about us and tagged me on Facebook and Twitter. And it was about our June 16 meeting. Most of the focus was on my mayor fun fact last month, which I talked about lighting a barrel on fire in downtown London for the movie. So I thought I would pay him the ultimate compliment by making him my mayor fun fact for this meeting.

I am genuinely honored, Your Honor! I’m sure the flaming barrel feels the same way!

Mayor: The writing was actually very witty and well done, I thought. I got a good laugh out of it and it was pretty interesting, so if you guys want to go back and look at it, most of you guys were mentioned in the article. It’s under councilchronicles.com. So you guys can check that out. I just thought it was pretty funny.

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Is anyone else crying because they have something in their eye?

I am deeply grateful to the mayor for his shout-out at the city council meeting. So much so that I am officially naming London, Ohio as a “Friend of the Chronicles.” With that status, of course, comes the right of prima nocta over all other city councils, plus this trophy.

TROP

Readers, if you ever find yourselves passing through London, remember to stop and give the mayor a pat on the back and a smooch on the cheek. Then gently whisper in his ear, “You’ve been chronicled!”

#34: Riverton, WY 7/5/16

Wyoming may be the Wild West, but this week’s Riverton city council meeting was anything but rowdy. It was downright calm. Sedate.

Even–as you’ll see–sad.

There was a glimmer of drama at the top of the hour, as some dum-dum booked the city council meeting AND the Finance Committee meeting for the same time. Great, now everyone has to wait on some loooooong, booooooring committee. Grab a pillow!

“I would move for claims to be paid in the amount of $189,402.59,” Council Member Martin Cannan began.

“I’ll second it,” responded Council Member Holly Jibben–coincidentally the second and only other person on the Finance Committee. “All in favor say aye.”

Two ayes–one bass, one soprano. “Meeting adjourned,” Council Member Jibben leaned back as the meeting fizzled after 55 seconds.

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Hey, Riverton, do they make your committees in men’s sizes?

The camera zoomed out to reveal Mayor John “Lars” Baker with shirt sleeves rolled up. He tapped his pen impatiently as the first public commenter approached–a man with a bushy mustache and a shirt as red as the Wyoming sunset.

“My wife and I, we have a, uh,” the man started, suddenly bracing himself against the podium, his voice cracking. “Excuse me…two-year-old German Shepherd. My wife caught the dog eating a piece of tar paper in our backyard. There’s tar paper, fiber glass insulation, home insulation” from a nearby construction project.

“May 3, our dog had a seizure. Up to this date he’s had nine seizures.” The man clutched his mouth and fought back tears.

“They’ve got all kinds of stuff stacked–it gets shredded in the wind and blows right into our yard. I would hope something can be done. We had to put a dog down two years ago,” he broke down once more at the memory, “and I don’t wanna do it again.”

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Sometimes city council meetings are sad, boys and girls.

Mayor Baker uncomfortably attempted to play grief counselor. “Well, this has certainly been quite an ordeal for you,” he winced.

A staff member jumped in: “We do quite often talk to [construction crews] about a lot of that. But obviously we need to do it more,” she looked into the citizen’s tearful eyes sympathetically.

“We’ll keep plugging away,” the mayor mumbled, staring blankly at the man with the sick dog. “Okay? Thank you.”

His Honor didn’t exactly radiate empathy. But here’s the thing: Mayor Baker does not show any emotion. Calling him “low energy” vastly exaggerates the amount of energy he has. The man could put a case of Red Bull to sleep.

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Someone pump up the mayor–he’s deflating!

Look no further than his reaction to news that the airport just added a flight. “We need to encourage people to use the airport,” the city administrator cheerfully explained. “Many of us attended the ribbon cutting ceremony. I think we put five passengers on there and they all felt like celebrities!”

Terrific story, yes, your honor?

“We’re excited about this airplane and, uh…boy, I just hope that people will fly,” the mayor sighed, sounding neither excited nor hopeful. “If people respond to that and fly Riverton, we will be in the airline business again.” I cannot convey how truly funereal Riverton’s mayor sounded. Except to tell you–I’m not exaggerating–that he barely paused before adding:

“The other thing today…we had a funeral for Dianne Tippets.”

Interview #5: Galesburg, IL Reporter Marty Hobe

I once passed through Galesburg on a train and thought, “Well, well, well: THIS place seems like they’d have some funky city council meetings!”

Like usual, I was right. I talked to the grand poobah of G-Burg, Marty Hobe, who reports on the city council for The Register-Mail. He told me about costumed performers, the Burgnado, and Galesburg’s survivalist mayor.

—

Q: How many people show up to city council meetings?

A: You can get quite a few people. We had the local humane society looking for its annual grant from the city. Every year, they flood the chambers with people who talk about cute little puppies they save.

Q: Do they bring in puppies?

A: No, they’ve never brought in a puppy!

Q: Hmm.

A: Once–so, a historical figure from Galesburg was Mother Bickerdyke. She was a nurse in the Civil War. We built an overpass recently and the city council was deciding what they should name it. Our mayor said we should just call it the Seminary-Kellogg Street Bridge because it’s Seminary and Kellogg Streets it physically goes over. But someone dressed up in historically accurate garb as Mother Bickerdyke and addressed the council as Mother Bickerdyke, asking them to name the bridge after her. It was quite the performance!

Q: So…did she sway the votes?

A: Oh, yeah. It’s called the Bickerdyke Bridge today.

Q: Wow!

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Galesburg, IL city council reporter Marty Hobe

Q: Other than the ghost of Mother Bickerdyke, does anyone do public comment?

A: Not really. We have people who are frequently in the audience, but they won’t sit up to speak.

Q: Weird. What’s their deal?

A: I don’t know if they’re just dedicated civilians or–I know there was one woman who would come to meeting after meeting. Turns out she wanted to run for one of the open alderman seats, and she ended up winning.

Q: I heard things went sideways when they voted on the city manager’s raise. A 4-3 vote, right?

A: That was a bit of an awkward day, anytime you’re dealing with salaries. We’re not dealing with celebrity-type politicians. These are still real people.

Q: Marty, what is the Burgnado?

A: It’s a tornado drill. The city council sits in and the Knox County emergency response team, they role-play. It was a kind of a walk-through of what would happen should an F4 tornado come through and decimate Galesburg.

Q: What’s the city council supposed to do? 

A: Mostly informing the public…one of the messages was just basically, “take the information back to your constituents and stay out of our way.”

Q: If you had to be stranded on a desert island with one of the city council members, who would you choose?

A: Oh, I have to play favorites?

Q: You absolutely have to play favorites.

A: Probably our mayor, John Pritchard. He’s a pretty funny guy. He likes to joke around a lot.

Q: Ah, so he’d be good company on an island.

A: Exactly. He wouldn’t be boring.

Q: Did he knock it out of the park during the Burgnado drill?

A: I think so. He’s got a lot of survival instincts in him.

Q: Do you think he could spear a fish in the water and cook it on a makeshift fire?

A: I don’t know how quick he is with a spear. I’d have to see that first.

Follow Marty Hobe on Twitter: @mhobe55

#33: Aspen, CO 6/27/16

If you get your jollies from talk of storm water fees or filling potholes, take your filthy mind far away from Aspen. In this luxurious ski hamlet, the city council had only the highest, most sophisticated affairs of state to discuss.

“We have a relatively light schedule tonight–and a relatively light council,” Mayor Steve Skadron waved his hands toward the two lone council members seated to his side.

“[Council members] Adam [Frisch] and Art [Daily] are traveling,” chuckled the mayor, who was sporting the most fashionable head of hair this side of Fabio. Like a true Aspenite, “Adam is golfing in Scotland!”

But this city isn’t all golf junketing and Eurotripping. They also had a very unpopular parking rate increase. Tell ’em how unpopular it was, mayor:

“One of the things we’ve done is used revenue from the parking increase to pay for–” GOLDEN TOILETS IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBERS?!?! –“the Downtowner, which are the electric cars that are driving around.”

Christ, what kind of utopia is this? You, there–shorts-clad citizen waiting to address the council! Surely you must have a complaint about how this city is going to hell in a ski lift!

“I’ve used the Downtowner. It’s a great service,” bragged the bespectacled man. “My dogs really appreciate it.”

Mayor Skadron pumped his fist. “Thank you for being such a cool local!”

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With hair like that, Mayor Steve Skadron is THE arbiter of cool.

Finally, midway through the meeting, there was some drama in paradise. A group of developers was seeking to add on to the Little Nell Hotel–and all three council members had to give the thumbs up. No abstentions. No nays.

All. Three.

“What we’ve tried to do is move away from a straight up solarium and create something that is more in line with the original architecture,” a cheerful young presenter explained.

The mayor swiveled to his right. “Ann, what do you think?”

“Well,” chuckled Council Member (and the local landscape architect) Ann Mullins, “it’s always difficult to add onto a building and have it blend in. This is an improvement over what you showed us originally–”

Would she? Wouldn’t she?!

“–but I don’t think it’s there yet….The amount of fenestration and especially the skylights, the glass ceiling, makes the addition somewhat cheap.”

There was a silence, presumably so people could look up the definition of “fenestration.”

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Barf! You call that a solarium?! My dog has pooped better solaria than that!

“Since there are three of us and it has to be unanimous, you get to have what you asked for,” Council Member Bert Myrin smiled nervously. “It’s okay. I’m comfortable with that.” He sounded anything but comfortable.

Turning to the lone objector, he sighed. “It’s entirely up to you.”

The tension was as thick as a Rocky Mountain blizzard. The developers huddled, frantically searching for a way to appease the Ski Queen.

Finally, they offered that the ordinance could make their building “replicate existing ground floor or second floor window pattern.”

All eyes turned to Mullins.

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Council Member Ann Mullins: the most powerful woman in the Rockies

“Okay,” she caved.

The vote was taken. Everyone was a yes. The developers were all smiles as the meeting graveled to a close.

Final thoughts: For driving a hard bargain, I give Council Member Ann Mullins 10 out of 10 Scottish golfing passes.

#32: Lebanon, IN 6/27/16

We are burning through Lebanons like beer cans on a bonfire. Our second stop on the whirlwind Lebanon tour is Indiana, where someone at city hall is a virtuoso with video graphics.

“First order of business will be the, uh, Pledge of Allegiance,” Mayor Matt Gentry announced, before being upstaged by a rippling animation of Old Glory.

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I pledge allegiance to the–wait, what’s happening to the mayor? Oh, god! It’s coming for him! Run, your honor! The humanity! Oh, the human–there he is again! With liberty and justice for all.

It’s tough to follow a screen-wiping flag, but one hotshot developer in a blue button-up sure tried. “There is, was, and still is a demand for nicer rental housing in downtown Lebanon. We’re dealing with a lot of young professionals. That is the kind of lifestyle they’re looking for.”

Yes, I bet many young professionals yearn to move to Lebanon, Indiana for the famous [look up something to put here] and the legendary [don’t forget to write something].

Youthful Councilor Corey Kutz wanted to know how the monied classes were living in Lebanon’s rival city. “What did the amenities look like? I know they’re maybe fetching $1,000 [per apartment] in Zionsville, but are they getting a pool? Are they getting a gym?”

The developer waved off the Z-town envy. “We’re in ‘downtown.’ We’re not sitting out in a corn field,” he slammed Zionsville, which is a puny little burg known only for [find literally anything interesting]. “We’ve got a historic gymnasium. You can’t compete with that!”

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Councilor Corey Kutz: “What about massage parlors with full release? Does Zionsville have those?”

But sadly, Lebanon has a dark, noisy underbelly.

“I am Lebanon resident,” a bearded public commenter addressed councilors. “Grew up here, very proud of our community. And the two things I always brag is: we’re very neighborly and we LOVE the Fourth of July. We celebrate like no other city in central Indiana.” Yeah, shove that up your tailpipe, Zionsville!

But when you love something too much, sometimes the relationship turns ugly. “Saturday night, I sat up until 11:45 listening to what sounded like cannon shots right outside my bedroom window.”

And did he take this lying down? F*ck no. “I started looking into the ordinances,” this proud Lebanoner announced. “I found one that was passed in 1875 and it specifically mentions fireworks. It says they’re only to be set off on four days: July 4, Christmas, January 1, and Presidents Day.”

Councilor Kutz was kutzcerned. “Indianapolis just updated theirs [ordinance]. We could use a revamp on that….I don’t think it’ll happen before the fourth though.”

“I’m not trying to be a party pooper,” the commenter protested.

The role of party pooper went instead to the police chief, who stepped up to the mic.

“If it was up to me, there’d be no bass speakers, no dogs, and no fireworks allowed in the city, period.” The room erupted in laughter, but the chief looked as serious as a funeral. “I’d ban everything. Make it all quiet.”

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More like Chief Buzzkill

Final thoughts: If the chief has his way, maybe Lebanon will at last have a cool factoid to its name: the quietest city in central Indiana.

#31: Seattle, WA 6/20/16

Seattle’s city council met at two o’clock in the afternoon–yet some council members in this java addicted burg were clearly in need of caffeination. Others, however, came out of the shoot ready to kick ass and read names.

In the latter category, Councilmember Sally Bagshaw hit a one-two punch on a tongue-twister proclamation: “I want to announce that June 20, 2016 is Facioscapulohumeral Muscular Dystrophy Awareness Day,” she said, not even slowing for the monster nine-syllable word.

“The core problem stems from genetic disturbance in the DUX4. DUX4 is a coding protein gene located in the D4/Z4 repeat array in the subtelomeric region of the chromosome 4q.” The brainy councilwoman peered smugly over her notes.

“I know all of you know what that means,” she winked. The room chuckled in bewilderment.

Council President Bruce Harrell had a less mind-numbing award to bestow. “We’re gonna honor the women’s golf team that has brought pride to this state and made national history–” he looked up and saw the University of Washington’s golf coach cradling a massive trophy.

“Wow. Look at that hardware.” The president remained as emotionless as an Easter Island statue, but he couldn’t stop staring at the golden prize…or calling it “hardware.” (“The hardware speaks for itself,” he murmured.)

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Nice hardware! And the trophy ain’t bad either–zing!

The council heard public comment from Tyrone, dressed head to toe in silver and looking like a backup dancer in an ABBA music video. “We have did so many damaging thing to foreigner peoples in other lands. We have took land and stole land,” he read haltingly, perhaps unaware that the city council has tragically little jurisdiction over foreigner peoples.

“You’re not sharing the REAL wealth–” he shouted before something unusual happened: his mic was cut. Not because he said the wrong thing, but because he said too many things and his time was up. Some places talk a mean game about sticking to your time, but the Emerald City actually lays down the law. Kudos!

And the council needed all the time they could get, for some hefty ethics legislation was ready–yes, Councilmember Debora Juarez?

“Correct me if I’m wrong here…I didn’t vote in favor of this,” she confusedly announced.

“Well,” the president mused, “I think you’re wrong. Just kidding!” he teased as the other councilmembers snickered. “Did you attend committee?”

Councilmember Juarez thought for a second. “Yes, but I didn’t vote yes!”

“It’s sort of a moot issue,” President Harrell tried to soothe her. But it backfired.

“Why are you smiling like that, Bruce?!” she cried out.

Councilmember Lorena González jumped in to mediate this weird spat. “Luckily, this is all videotaped, so you can go back and look. My recollection, Councilmember Juarez, is that in the committee, all three voted in favor”–including you, was the subtext.

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Bruce, why are you smiling? Bruce, why are you holding a knife? BRUCE?!

BONUS FEATURE:

I dug through vaults of microfiche to find out what actually happened. Here is the committee transcript:

Harrell: I’m ready to vote unless any of you have heartburn about it.

Juarez:

Harrell: All those in favor say aye.

Juarez: Aye.

Busted! Take a walk, Sister Mary Forgetful! YOU’VE BEEN CHRONICLED!

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Councilmember Juarez voted aye, and to the left; aye, and to the left; aye, and to

Final thoughts: Be ye warned: lapses of memory shall not stand!

#30: Lincoln, NE 6/20/16

Sometimes Nebraska lives up to its reputation as “the interesting man’s Kansas.”

But sadly, this week the Cornhuskers on the Lincoln city council were focused 100 percent on the soul-crushing, time-dragging nuts and bolts of the People’s Business.

“Can you please tell us about your application?” Vice Chair Leirion Gaylor Baird smiled at the nervous Middle Eastern man wanting a liquor license.

“I just applied…for selling beer for my restaurants. I’m trying to sell only beer.”

Silence.

“So…this is an existing business?” Councilman Carl Eskridge probed.

“Yes. I’m trying to sell just beer.”

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He is also the University of Nebraska’s intramural basketball coach, apparently.

But Councilman Roy Christensen had some bad news for this shifty-eyed beer slinger.

“I’m going to vote to disapprove your application,” the councilman kindly but firmly informed the sweaty applicant. “I don’t want you to take this personally.”

As mild as this exchange was, it was nothing compared to the coma-inducing Q&A between Councilman Jon Camp and the city’s pension officer.

JC: Considering the assumed rate of return is 7.5 percent or 6.4 percent…but really that 3.23 percent is before you’ve had those distributions.

PO: The 3.2 starts with the beginning value and recognizes all the tax receipts and how the values of the underlying asset change in terms of the income we receive from dividends and interest.

JC: It would appear on the investments that we only made $2.4 million when you take dividend, realized gains, and you subtract the losses.

PO: The investment earnings, if you factor all that in, is 3.23 perce–

Holy mother, I’m going to stop here. Not only was this incredibly dry, but they were the two most monotone, low-voiced people I’ve seen outside of a librarians’ convention.

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Before Councilman Jon Camp started talking, his hair was jet black.

Suddenly–mercifully–in the home stretch, we saw some action in the outfield.

“I would move to delay a vote” on the storm water plan, Councilwoman Cyndi Lamm beseeched her colleagues, “until July 11.”

But Councilwoman Jane Raybould made it clear: De-lay? No way!

“I am not going to support the motion because we heard loud and clear from our voters. To say that we’re not going forward with those projects when the voters vote in affirmation of these projects is sort of disingenuous.”

Tempers flared. Knuckles cracked. A vote was taken on a delay. The tally?

3-3. A tie.

“Uh, so,” Vice Chair Gaylor Baird fumbled, “the motion fails on a tie?”

“Any vote of the city council requires four votes to pass,” Councilman Christensen nodded.

Then, a move no one saw coming:

“I would be willing to vote,” piped up Councilman Eskridge, who originally voted AGAINST a delay, “in such a way that it WOULD be delayed.” The Midwestern Benedict Arnold sheepishly avoided eye contact with everyone but the floor.

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“Lol, j/k guys. I wanted to vote the other way all along.”

Cross-talk ensued. Lawyers were summoned. Fast-thinking Councilman Camp swooped in to finish her. “I move we delay this to July 11.”

The do-over vote was done-over. Result? 5-1.

A fuming Councilwoman Raybould silently rested her chin on her fists, thwarted by one rascally traitor.

Final thoughts: I gotta hand it to Councilman Jon Camp. He lulled us almost to sleep before surprising us with a quick-draw vote. I give him 3.23 percent…or 7.5 percent–wait, or

#29: London, OH 6/16/16

Grab a spot of tea and a bite of porridge, for we’re off to London! And I do mean one bite of porridge: the London, Ohio council meeting was over so quickly, you’d barely have time to boil water.

Getting started took some effort. As the camera rolled, council members giggled and gossiped with each other.

“Did you get my e-mail?”

“The one foot’s broken, but the other one’s swollen.”

“It’s been awhile since you’ve been here!”

“They only X-rayed the ankle.”

Council President Jennifer Hitt swayed her chair back and forth, patiently glancing to each side of the dais. When the endless chatter finally died down, alas! Council Member Brenda Russell hastily retreated to a back room with her cell phone glued to her ear.

“You’re holding up the meeting,” President Hitt teased when Russell eventually reappeared.

Finally, five whole minutes into the “meeting,” the meeting began.

“I did go to the Ohio Mayors Association meeting today,” boyish, bow tie-clad Mayor Patrick Closser announced. “But I wanted to get back and tell you guys my mayor fun fact.”

Something MORE fun than the Ohio Mayors Association meeting?! Please, Your Honor, talk quickly so I don’t die of anticipation!

But first, the mayor channeled his inner IT guy: “If you haven’t seen the city’s new website, check it out. Tell me what you guys think.”

Then his inner tough guy: “You all heard about the drug sweep that took place last week. Dope dealers: we’re gonna get ya. We’re gonna find ya.”

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Fun fact: only my grandpa and Mayor Patrick Closser call them “dope dealers.”

“Now, time for the fun fact.” FUN FACT! FUN FACT! “I was able to light a 55 gallon metal barrel on fire in the middle of downtown. Which was awesome.”

…Oh-kay. I’ll take his word for it being awesome. So why was London’s head honcho dabbling in pyrotechnics?

“The movie Last Riot: Madison has been filming in town for a couple weeks. During the night shoots, I got the overnight shift from 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. and Mr. [Joe] Mosier [the safety director] would come in–and NOT bring me breakfast. They needed some extra people to help. They said, ‘would you light a barrel on fire?'”

Everyone nodded approvingly. I guess this is as fun as fun facts get here–although I remember when Ohioans used to light an entire RIVER on fire.

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Doesn’t that look fun?

Not everyone had such a kickass week, though.

“Probably going to touch on a sore subject,” sighed Council Member Rex Castle, “but Mr. Mosier mentioned last meeting about property owners taking pride of their property.”

He became livid at these scofflaws. “There are some places that are just terrible to look at. Step up, people! Take pride in your city! Take care of your properties!” Now he was in a full lather. “They’re talking about the Zika? Possible pandemic? We keep this stuff mowed down, it’s gonna be in best interest of people’s health in this town.”

The council silently absorbed his rage. After a pause, President Hitt graveled the meeting to a swift close.

“Look at that. I doubted the time!” she laughed.

“Take care of business right, you get in and out,” sagely observed Council Member Russell.

Meanwhile, Council Member Megan Douglas worriedly whispered, “do you know if they’re spraying for mosquitoes?”

Final thoughts: I give this meeting 0 out of 1 flaming barrels.

#28: Phoenix, AZ 6/15/16

Triumphant news from Phoenix city hall! Like the mythical bird rising from the ashes, a shimmering new council member rose to fill the vacant District 3 seat.

“Welcome to Councilwoman Stark,” Mayor Greg Stanton congratulated the beknighted Sun Valley servant. “You have some tough votes today. Welcome to the dais.”

She was further welcomed by a few fair Phoenicians gently begging the council’s favor.

“I wanted to show you the lights here are LEDs,” said a professorial-looking man who shined a laser pointer at the ceiling as attendees craned their necks. “But in the center here are the yellow white lights that I have in my house,” he circled the laser like a TED Talk presenter.

“We’re just asking the city to take a careful look at the options. Soft white is a good choice,” he smiled, pocketing the pointer.

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Phoenix: come for the council meeting, stay for the light show.

“It’s my birthday today and I wanna share something,” a woman in a pink blazer gushed excitedly. “Monday, we did meet downtown–and what do we do every Monday? We! Get! Out!” she pumped her arms while chanting the catchphrase.

“We meet at The Corner restaurant. There are a lot of discounts! There are free raffle tickets! We walk or run and there’s music!” She slyly grinned at the council. “Happy birthday to everybody!”

“Thank you very much,” the mayor picked up on the cue. “I hope I’m not in violation of open meeting law by wishing Ms. Barker a happy birthday.”

“You’re good, mayor!” the city attorney hollered.

Next on the agenda were several liquor license applications. The mayor held a voice vote, with everyone voting aye. Suddenly, a screech came over the speaker.

Mayor Stanton’s eyes darted, until he realized what was happening.

“Councilwoman Pastor, are you on the phone?”

“Yes,” the councilwoman’s voice crackled, sounding like she was in a school bus full of kindergartners caught in a tornado.

“Did you vote aye on that item?” he asked into the abyss.

“Yes!” the voice screeched.

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The mayor’s “I-hear-voices” face

Because it was her first day, it was time for the hazing of newbie Councilwoman Debra Stark. Council members had to set a special election to see if the good Phoenicians wanted her to stick around.

“Councilwoman Stark, are you going to declare a conflict of interest on this?” Hizzoner inquired.

“I think I should,” she chuckled nervously.

There was only one comment, from a devoted Starkhead. “I personally prefer the person siting there,” he gestured toward the councilwoman, before chiding the staffer with a hot trigger finger. “I’m not sure when you start your clock, but please let me get to the podium, so when I start speaking–you probably are doing that, but I thought I heard the beeper go off before I even got out of my chair.”

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This man wants his FULL two minutes, Timekeeper!

The final ordinance? New retail at the airport, with one fancy addition:

“If this passes, Councilman Valenzuela will get his spa at the airport,” Mayor Stanton ribbed his exfoliated colleague. (It passed, much to the delight of the councilman’s pores.)

“That was one of our quicker meetings,” the mayor bragged, glancing way down the dais. “Councilwoman Stark, you brought us good luck!”

Final thoughts: New light bulbs, new spa, and new councilwoman. Wow! Talk about a mythical rebirth! I give this meeting 8 out of 10 soft white bulbs.