the clean slate sweeps

The way I see it is that when I go to the Institute and there are no words there except the last ones that I have written, just as when I look at my doorstep in the morning and there is no newspaper, I have a right to complain.  On the other hand sometimes the dawgs have something else going on or maybe nothing to say that particular day and they have a right to not post, and they also have a right to complain about my complaining about their not posting.  I suppose I also have a right to complain about their complaining about my complaining but you can see where that goes.

I only went to current events in response to the previous post by Beagles, who I might add has a perfect right to change the subject whenever he feels like it, as does Old Dog who was not bound to comment on current events but could have continued the discussion of my old pal Steve and about army life if he was so inclined.

I smoke one pack of cigs every other week which works fine, except the weeks when I don't smoke I develop a strong urge and if I give in to it to just smoke one or two I know I will smoke the whole pack so I have taking up vaping a bit.  Not as satisfying as the real thing, but close, and if you are into the feel of throat at the back of your throat, and the sight of clouds leaving your nose and mouth, even better.

Yes, I meant to imply that most illegals are here to take low-paying jobs and not to cause trouble.


And here I am going to continue my story even though neither dawg has expressed interest because once I get started I am like the cowboy in the story of the spittoon, and because I have a right to write about whatever I want.

I was not to return to a board meeting until maybe five years ago.  Some woman had accumulated thirty-some cats with the resulting aroma problem.  They found a way to boot her out, but instead of dusting off their hands and patting each other on the back for a job well done they promulgated a whole series of cat rules.  Only one cat per studio, two per one bedroom, three per two bedroom, AND you had to register your cat(s) and pay five bucks per annually AND provide the board with up-to-date photos of your felines.  Outrageous!  Uncle Ken went down to the board meeting to raise a ruckus. 

Board meetings are, as I have noted, stultifying affairs, a lot of yak yak about things you don't know or care about, but there is a short period when the peons are allowed to shoot off their mouths.  As I was shooting off mine I noticed a subtle shift in the attitude of the board, they weren't saying so in so many words, but I got the impression that these rules were just window dressing for the cat-hating faction and they were not going to be breaking into apartments searching for one cat too many, but maybe if you had thirty-something and they became odoriferous this rule would make it easier to boot them. 

Well alright then. I never registered or submitted any photos of my cats nor did any of my cat-owning buddies and everything was perfectly fine.  I know Beagles hates a rule not being enforced, but I believe it is essential for the smooth running of a government or a condo board.

But then our popular board president died and his wife took his post because everybody thought that she would continue his moderate ways, but she was mad, mad, mad, was spending our money like water on frivolous projects and she had a majority on the board that did her bidding and kept the proceedings opaque and there was nothing that could be done to stop her.

Except her term was coming up.  Up rose the Resistance holding subversive meetings in the bar of the building and naming itself The Clean Slate and rising up to sweep the scoundrels out of office, every last one.  I was at the meeting when the ballots were counted.  For some reason us peons were ushered out of the room and we peons clustered outside looking in through the glass door, and then from inside the room exaltation, and then it spread to us peons.  Victory!  I felt the way I felt the way I felt in November of 2008 when all the Obama supporters were flowing north over the river under my balcony after their victory rally.  From now on everything was going to be just fine.

But of course the story was to be continued, as this one will be.