Watch Waterfalls of Pity Roar

I spend most Friday afternoons into the early evenings catching up, via on-line reading, with the public meetings in my town, Norwich, Connecticut, that I meant to attend (or more accurately should have attended but ran out of energy, time, or intelligence) in the course of the week. I can check out the meeting minutes here as easily as clicking my computer mouse.

Some people with whom I share the city are unhappy about a large number of things we seem  to do less than well (and have good cause for their unhappiness), but one of those things they really shouldn't be complaining about is the municipal website because, and  not just for a city our size but for anywhere, it kicks butt. I'm not just saying that because I was lucky enough to be to work with some talented folks, led by Josh, who reinvented it, though that sure helps.

Today, as an example I'm wandering around on the banks of the Shetucket River, courtesy of an outing organized by Norwich Public Utilities of the hydroelectric facilities and the fish lift (two separate projects despite how I just wrote that) that I learned about from the website. I might need to get the old aquarium out of the basement and later the tartar sauce out of the fridge.

I was catching up on the topics raised at the second public hearing on the annual budget, a meeting now three weeks ago I really wanted to go to and then fell asleep on the couch in our living room and didn't even dream about attending.

In reading about the concerns and issues raised in the course of that evening by those with whom I live in this city, I read a reference to myself which, ever since the Great Side o' the Milk Carton Caper of '08, has made me uneasy.

The only thing the speaker could have been quoting was this and I fear the part she missed was from far earlier (in my life) when I explained to anyone who chose to read it that I write this stuff for me and for me alone. My words are all that I have to make sense of a place in space that seems to have very little left in it. Without them I'd be as crazy as the man I see when I close my eyes, and that guy is nuts.

In other words, if you are using anything I say or that you think I have said to help you find your way, be advised that the management is not responsible for lost or damaged items, be they hopes, dreams, aspirations or ideals. All sales are final and any conclusions you have reached are entirely your own.

As Dylan once offered: "...if my thought-dreams could be seen, they’d probably put my head in a guillotine. But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only."
-bill kenny