A Site For Eyesores
“A man’s home is the government’s castle.”
That seems to be the sentiment in too many cities. For example, Franklin, Tennessee, where several aldermen are trying to strike a blow for aesthetics by banning construction of garages that (*gasp!*) face the street.
There’s enough of the old “pursuit of happiness” ethos in me to get riled up when Frasier Crane wannabes have hissy-fits over flag poles, basketball goals, pink flamingoes, life-sized Graceland sculptures made of ear wax, etc.
Granted, the snobbery of these glorified hall monitors has its positive side. They’ve obviously found a superior way to humiliate the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Forget about stripping them or ridiculing their religion ; you’ll have Amnesty International going ballistic if you just force detainees to wear T-shirts that announce, “Thank Allah, I own a front-loading garage.”
And I suppose the aldermen envision themselves as gallant heroes, bravely saving the unwashed masses from one faux pas after another. If Joe Blow insists on the vulgar path of building a front-loading garage, he’ll soon be using it for a big garage sale, because his kids will be rejected by all the Good Schools and wind up living in a van down by the river!!
Aldermen dismiss complaints that the new rule would require bigger, less affordable lots. They have faith that developers will be able to solve the problem, presumably while they’re also curing the common cold, working the kinks out of perpetual motion, and finalizing a safe response to the question “Does this dress make me look fat?” Hey, it could happen, especially if the developers get a noise variance for use of an Evel Knievel ramp, so the homeowners can jump over the house and land in the back yard.
The control freak who introduced the measure asserts that houses should emphasize the people living in them, not the cars those people drive. I suppose that means he’ll next sponsor a law requiring all new homes to have see-through walls. At least then you could ticket the scofflaws who are secretly wearing white after Labor Day.
It seems that communities funnel too much research and development money to The Committee For Finding Even More Things We Can Arbitrarily Call Tacky. Aw, it could be worse. The committee would be denouncing even more things if members didn’t get into slap-fights over whether the committee plaque matches the wood grain of the door.
No wonder the elitists are hung up on rear-facing garages. Their heads are stuck so far up their rears!
Don’t get me wrong. Building codes and neighborhood covenants have legitimate uses. I’ve been around long enough to know that extremes of eccentricity and slovenliness cannot go unchallenged. When I was 15 years old, I was hired to mow the lawn at an apartment house. Even though I loaded down a pickup truck with toys, bottles, cans, and other debris before mowing the first blade, I still managed to run the mower onto an automobile engine block that was concealed in the grass!
I hate that the aldermen dredged up such memories. Legend has it that somewhere in the yard, the skeletal remains of Henry Ford were up on concrete blocks. (“Hey, ya never know when you might need a spare part. . I intend to do something about Henry whenever I get around to it.”)
That seems to be the sentiment in too many cities. For example, Franklin, Tennessee, where several aldermen are trying to strike a blow for aesthetics by banning construction of garages that (*gasp!*) face the street.
There’s enough of the old “pursuit of happiness” ethos in me to get riled up when Frasier Crane wannabes have hissy-fits over flag poles, basketball goals, pink flamingoes, life-sized Graceland sculptures made of ear wax, etc.
Granted, the snobbery of these glorified hall monitors has its positive side. They’ve obviously found a superior way to humiliate the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Forget about stripping them or ridiculing their religion ; you’ll have Amnesty International going ballistic if you just force detainees to wear T-shirts that announce, “Thank Allah, I own a front-loading garage.”
And I suppose the aldermen envision themselves as gallant heroes, bravely saving the unwashed masses from one faux pas after another. If Joe Blow insists on the vulgar path of building a front-loading garage, he’ll soon be using it for a big garage sale, because his kids will be rejected by all the Good Schools and wind up living in a van down by the river!!
Aldermen dismiss complaints that the new rule would require bigger, less affordable lots. They have faith that developers will be able to solve the problem, presumably while they’re also curing the common cold, working the kinks out of perpetual motion, and finalizing a safe response to the question “Does this dress make me look fat?” Hey, it could happen, especially if the developers get a noise variance for use of an Evel Knievel ramp, so the homeowners can jump over the house and land in the back yard.
The control freak who introduced the measure asserts that houses should emphasize the people living in them, not the cars those people drive. I suppose that means he’ll next sponsor a law requiring all new homes to have see-through walls. At least then you could ticket the scofflaws who are secretly wearing white after Labor Day.
It seems that communities funnel too much research and development money to The Committee For Finding Even More Things We Can Arbitrarily Call Tacky. Aw, it could be worse. The committee would be denouncing even more things if members didn’t get into slap-fights over whether the committee plaque matches the wood grain of the door.
No wonder the elitists are hung up on rear-facing garages. Their heads are stuck so far up their rears!
Don’t get me wrong. Building codes and neighborhood covenants have legitimate uses. I’ve been around long enough to know that extremes of eccentricity and slovenliness cannot go unchallenged. When I was 15 years old, I was hired to mow the lawn at an apartment house. Even though I loaded down a pickup truck with toys, bottles, cans, and other debris before mowing the first blade, I still managed to run the mower onto an automobile engine block that was concealed in the grass!
I hate that the aldermen dredged up such memories. Legend has it that somewhere in the yard, the skeletal remains of Henry Ford were up on concrete blocks. (“Hey, ya never know when you might need a spare part. . I intend to do something about Henry whenever I get around to it.”)
posted by Danny Tyree at 3:17 AM
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