Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Of wreaths and Oscar Mayer wieners
Perhaps you've already heard the story of the Great Peace Sign Wreath Fight of 2006. It's just an OK story now, because the homeowner's association of a deed-restricted community caved under the weight of The Associated Press, and decided to let homeowner Lisa Jensen avoid a $25-a-day fine and keep her light-decorated wreath up. They did so even though some clearly batshit-crazy neighbors were offended because they thought the wreath might have something to do with Iraq and soldiers and Satan.I grew up in a deed-restricted community. It had a guard house and a gate and a golf course in my backyard. It was pristine and pretty and perfect, except that it had no sidewalks. Now the planned, deed-restricted houses being built all over my hometown aren't only pristine and perfect, they are available in maybe 10, and only 10, pastel shades. They do have sidewalks. So it would be tolerable if they hadn't replaced orange groves and horse pastures with concrete to build those subdivisions. The vast swaths of concrete reflect the sun and change the way rain falls and evaporates, and will, scientists predict, alter the town's weather patterns. They also make people sick.
That makes them, of course, outrages.
Talking about pastel, deed-restricted, planned communities makes me want to go all "Fight Club" and Tyler Durden: "I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let's evolve. Let the chips fall where they may."
They also make me think of one of the best worst movies ever — "Demolition Man" — and Denis Leary in one of the best worst movies ever:
"You see ... I'm the enemy 'cause I like to think, I like to read. I'm into freedom of speech and freedom of choice. I'm the kind of guy who likes to sit in a greasy spoon and wonder, "Gee, should I have the T-bone steak or the jumbo rack of barbecued ribs with the side order of gravy fries?" I want high cholesterol. I wanna eat bacon and butter and buckets of cheese, OK?
I want to smoke a Cuban cigar the size of Cincinnati in the non-smoking section. I want to run through the streets naked with green Jello all over my body reading Playboy Magazine. Why? Because I suddenly might feel the need to, OK, pal?
I've seen the future. Do you know what it is? It's a 47-year-old virgin sitting around in his beige pajamas drinking a banana-broccoli shake singing, 'I'm an Oscar Mayer wiener.'"
Posted by J.B. West
