Inbound meet outbound

Two executive types stopped into Tom English's this afternoon.  You know the type: bespoke, chalkstripe, dark worsted woolen suits with cashmere scarves and camel hair topcoats.  Their silk socks matched their silk neckties and their pocket squares matched their handkerchiefs.  Squares.

These two executive types, reeking of hair oil and aftershave, took the two available seats at the bar between Drunk Charlie and Slats McAdam who were debating the merits of fluoridating water on one end, and Sliver Malloy and Molly, who were debating why Molly doesn't like sleeping in the buff anymore.  It was Inbound meet outbound.

One of the executive types told the barkeep, "I just want a shot of milk."  His companion remarked he was thinking the same thing.  The bartender, none too pleased to be pouring out an ounce of good White Russian ingredient at a low profit margin, asked for confirmation.  "Yep," Executive Number One answered, "Two shots of milk.  I would normally ask for whisky but something about this part of town calms my nerves and I want to keep my stomach settled.  It feels good in Dorchester and I don't want to ruin it by aggravating my ulcer."  His companion concurred.

Two shots of milk it was, neither shaken nor stirred.  The two executive types toasted each other and downed their shots.  They paid their two dollar tab with a three dollar tip, big spenders, and they headed down Dot Ave and then Crescent Street to the JFK/UMASS station.

Once the door closed behind them, Slats McAdam interupted Drunk Charlie's conspiracy monologue.  "I think they were spies," Slats confided.  Charlie looked out the plate glass window at the suspects' backs. "They're not spies," Charlie said, "their just speculators.  I'm gonna speculate they'll be around a lot more in the future."

A Council of Dunces

If a certain City Council meets enough times, it will eventually make a difference for the better. This will happen about the same time a room full of monkeys will type a Shakespearean sonnet.

Recent news reported in last Sunday's paper was that the new City Manager is getting along with the Council. He must stock bannanas in the candy jar on his desk. His predecessor had his bean-coutning job for fourteen years, all with the Council's blessing. Many of the same faces have sat on the Council over the last fourteen years. Birds of a feather flock together.

We wish no ill will toward the new City Manager. In fact, we wish him the best of luck in breaking the spiral of inertia that drives the particular city in question. The fact of the matter is the deck is stacked against him. This city's government is irrelevent to all but its employees and those who, for whatever psychological needs, seek election to the Council. Harsh words from a usually cheerful reporter.

Some city employees report that they like going to work now that a new manager is running the show. How nice. At least there is someone in charge. Maybe he will be able to make the city run efficiently and effectively. Then again, why change something about which no one cares? We hope the new city manager enjoys his salary and his tenure. The honeymoon is still in bloom. The daffodils that are sprouting out of the ground this time of year will wither and die. Euphoria, wherever you can find it as related to the city government, will soon turn to its usual ennui.

A word of advice to the new City Manager: Showing up is the easiest part of the battle. Sticking around will take the patience of a saint. Getting something accomplished will be the hardest task of all.

So Easy A New Londoner Could Do It.

New London is a city of brooding brows and ruddy complexions. It is a city that knows little of the modern world. New Londoners live in their own Golden Age during which theirs was a city people admired. That is why poets love New London. They also live in a parallell world that is full of promise and attention.

New London is a playground for Romantics. The sublime snuggles up with the mundane. There is ample material about which to feel remorse and joy. New London is the setting for operas and epics yet to be written. Dreamers recognize this fact and flock to New London to do something worth remembering.

There are 168 municipalities in Connecticut, but there is only one New London. There are 23 New London's in other states, but there is only one New London, Conn. There is an old London and there is a New London. In a contest of two, there is a winner and an almost-winner. New London doesn't recognize comparisons. This city is a champion.

The Berlin Pilgrim v. Whalehead King. Wed, Jan 17 at Kream, 8:00PM. Both are champions. At the end of the night one will be a winner while the other will be almost. It is so easy even a caveman could do it.