An uncaged city

The bounds of reason know no limits.

I have an inkling why the caged bird sings.  It sings for thee and me.

New Orleans is not about keeping animals in cages, except at the zoo.  New Orleans is about setting ambition free.  As I witness the chickens and peacocks that inhabit yards on Prytania Street, I am struck by how much freedom of movement and display exists in this freewheeling city where everyone is a talker except the dumb.  Well, even the dumb talk, just go to any watering hole with a congregation of Tulane students.  The mute don't.

New Orleans City Hall at night.  Some lights need replacing.

They say New Orleans' government is broken.  I think it's on the mend.  I haven't met anyone who says that things are worse now than during the past administration.  I also haven't heard anyone say that the form the city's government has taken over the decades is what is best for the city. New Orleans seems to run on a Tammany Hall model, if that is possible in this age of transparency and civic activism.

People have good things to say about Mayor Landrieu, but they are hesitant things.  So far, so good, but the proof will be when nobody is arrested for corruption after the fact.  So far the administration seems clean.  The mayor seems honest in providing an administration that works for the citizens.  The mayor, as promised, knows what to do and how to do it.  It isn't a smooth road, but it is much better and professional than I expected.  The decay that has been ever-present in New Orleans may reverse.  There is nothing wrong with decay when it doesn't impede progress.  There is something wrong with neglect.

I don't see the present administration neglecting its responsibilities.  It is active and robust and seems to strike the right balance between renovation and renewal.  Time will tell, of course.  In the meantime, the only consistently positive I hear is that Mitch Landrieu is no Ray Nagin.  Faint praise, perhaps, but in this case it seems to be that anything is better than the devil you know.

Excelsior!
WK





 

Politics at its best

I'm not tempted to run for office at the moment.  I have no idea of what the lay of the land is here.  If I were though, I would take a page out of this cat's book...


Yep, this ad is from this year.  Hot off the camcorder.  Brilliant.  I'm not familiar with anyone in office at the moment except the mayor but I'm not sure if they are all as squeeky clean as this chap presents himself to be.  One can hope.

WK

The anti-Landrieu

I have no opinions on the website being advertised in the video above.  My interest is on the spokesman. It's Boston's current and longest serving mayor.  I've watched this four times and I still think he's saying "George Washington dot com."

He seems to be an able, if uninspiring, manager.  He is always out and about and his name is plastered everywhere.  He must have some asset to make up for his lack of charisma but in three years I was never able to observe it.

He's like an anti-Mitch Landrieu, the most telegenic mayor I've ever had the pleasure to see in person.

A tip of the fedora to Universal Hub for the clip.  Read the local Bostonian comments here.

Barack Obama eats at Parkway Tavern

I read in the newspaper today that the sitting President ate lunch yesterday at Parkway Tavern and Bakery.  I don't blame him.  We go there fairly frequently, so frequently that the woman at the register and I know we share the same last name though we may be only very distantly related.  There are a lot of Kings in the world according to phone books but I rarely ever meet one.  Interestingly, all the other Kings I've met are either African American or hail from the Caribbean.  My own surname hails from upstate New York, a town you've never heard of south of Buffalo.

Since I first spent extensive time in New Orleans, I've been a Parkway fan.  I still can't eat a whole regular sandwich and the woman at the counter knows that my wife and I like it cut in half so we can share.  I'm partial to the reuben, but the barbeque beef also finds a soft spot in my stomach.

I was thinking of going to Parkway for lunch yesterday but I opted instead for Bud's Broiler.  I know, the food isn't exactly in the same league but I admire any place that's open twenty-four hours as the City Park location is.  I also think Bud's serves the best hot dog in the city, which is what I ordered:  #9 without onions.

The lady of the house was reading the newspaper this morning and asked if I had already read it.  Of course I had.  It arrives promptly at 3:30AM every day.  I admitted I had considered Parkway for lunch yesterday.  "And you didn't say anything?  I would have taken Parkway over Bud's Broiler any day!"  I know.  That's why I didn't mention it.  I was hankering for a #9 without onions.

Maybe I should have shared my thoughts.  Then in the course of a single week I could have bumped into  two White House occupants.  It doesn't bother me too much because I got to rub shoulders and elbows with New Orleanians rather than Washingtonians yesterday.  Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with that at all.

I have to admit that now that the colleges and universities are in session the tenor of the clientele at some of my hangouts has changed.  I won't say if its better or worse.  Let's just say I'm getting old.

Religion, politics and Satchmo

St. Joseph Cemetery, Central City. 

I was trying to find the "Vieux Point" column from last week's Thursday Times-Picayne but their website is being uncooperative.  Allow me to summarize.

It was about the Jazz Mass at St. Augustine Church in Treme during the Satchmo Summerfest.  I was there.  It was a great and uplifting ceremony with local musicians, the church's regular choir, the priest who delivered a relevant and thoughtful sermon, an august ceremony, and a moving celebration of communion.  After that was done the priest ceded the floor to politicians and the Summerfest coordinator.  That killed the celebration and the spirit why we were all gathered that Sunday morning.

The main speaker was a council member, a woman in her fifties.  I took it that she was the head of the City Council but I may be wrong.  She spoke at length about Summerfest and how she had attended all the jazz masses from the beginning and how important the event was to the city.  Then she introduced the newly elected council member representing the district, a younger woman of the same mold who had sat with her young daughter in the VIP pew.  The VIPs were the council members, a rector, and the priest when he squeezed into an available seat while the politicians were speaking.  The younger council member read a proclamation from the City Council and recognized the organizer of this year's Summerfest as well as a former organizer.  They posed at the pulpit for pictures.  I may have some details wrong.  I tried to erase it from my memory so as not to spoil the otherwise positive impression of celebration and piety.

The whole display was very inappropriate for a time of worship.  It would have been better performed on one of the stages.  It should have been.  Instead of being a mass in the key of Armstrong and Jesus, it was co-opted by grandstanding hacks.  No way to end a religious service.  

Politics have their place but so does life.  Life encompasses more than politics and politics and backslapping don't belong in church no matter what the occasion.  Maybe this happens every year, a tradition.  It should stop.  Hymns praising the eternal have no truck with the transient fortunes of politicians or demagogues or advancing careers built on promises that are often left unfulfilled.  The tail end speakers must have been pleased to find themselves in front of their captive audience.  I found the whole thing distasteful.  

It's a shame.  The priest handled the ceremony well and brought dignity to the proceedings, keeping enthusiasm in check and respect in place for the important aspects of the service.  He commanded attention and reverence for the miracles and mysteries implicit and evident in the mass.  While he elicited charm and warmth, he never abandoned gravitas.  Too bad he gave up control at the end.  I'm not one to judge anyone's motives, which are always more complex than they seem, but the place for secular concerns belongs in the secular world.  If you want to congratulate a successful festival, do it at the festival grounds, not in a church after communion.

If you've still got last Thursday's Times-Picayune, fish it out.  I'm not the only one with this opinion. 

Be one for the Gulf

I suppose I'd be remiss if I didn't post the link to this commercial and campaign.  If you're not from Louisiana you are encouraged to click the link and watch the video.  The accompanying Times-Picayune story is here.  The story explains what will be done with the petition you are encouraged to sign.  Though I am not an easily recognizable celebrity, Whalehead King encourages you to sign up your support.

A lot of New Englanders stop by the Dot Matrix.  The BP fiasco in the Gulf isn't a local problem.  It is national.  Any support will benefit us all in the end.

Thanks,
WK

City Hall, New Orleans

Now that's a city hall pictured above.  New Orleans City Hall is a non-descript, International Style building.  I presume it was built in the late 60s or early 70s.  I also assume Detroit has replaced the architectural marvel above with something more modern.  

New Orleans City Hall has "CITY HALL" spelled out in red neon letters just under the roofline and a schematic of the river running behind them.  A fleur-de-lis is placed between the two words.  Otherwise it's a non-descript edifice that could easily be mistaken for the library a block or two away built in the same style.  

The halls on the first floor of New Orleans' city hall does have some nice artwork running just below the ceiling.  Street names are painted in that distinctive tile typeface you find embedded in the sidewalks.  There are also trompe l'oeil bits of sidewalk detritus scattered over the inches thin and blocks long mural.  Security is light and I was able to walk the hallways in both wings to admire the artwork.  Nobody bothered me.  It wasn't a very busy place despite the new administration working hard to change the political culture with eyes wide open.

The Sacred Cod

We took a tour of the State House today.  If you ever visit Boston, I recommend it.  It's free and the memorials all over the inside the building (which is much bigger inside than it looks from the outside) are fascinating.  The memorial hall in the central rotunda is breathtaking.

We happened to have timed our visit just right and we were given the tour of the Senate chamber by Senator Brian A. Joyce himself.  Likable man.  He had his picture taken with a group of three Germans, one Englishman, and one Nutmegger (what we call people from the foreign land of Connecticut --- that's me).

The Sacred Cod is the gilded codfish that hangs in the House of Representatives chamber.  No law can be passed unless the Cod is in the chamber.  The Europeans found this very odd until I explained that Massachusetts is the Land of the Bean and the Cod, and why the codfish is so important to Bay State history.

If only

If only this link were true.

If you are wondering why I was at the Parker House yesterday, it's because that is where the lady of the house and I spent our first night of matrimony.  I have a gaggle of Europeans visiting and they ask me about the Gulf oil spill.  What can I say besides that it is criminal?  BP has black hands but so does every other involved party, my own federal government included.  It is a difficult time to be patriotic.

I tend to keep politics off the Dot Matrix because I tend to be mostly apolitical.  This is a sad time to be in America and to be an American.  Not only because of the man-made environmental disaster but because our government, one that I believe is the best in the world, turned out to be something less than effective.  This event is my Watergate and I had little faith to begin with in Washington's abilities.

I hate to be cynical but I can no longer suspend my disbelief.

Thanks, as usual, to the  New Orleans Ladder for the above illustration.  I will be in New Orleans for good next week, bombarded by bad news.  New Orleans, witness to its share of tragedy, maintains the high moral ground.  An odd position for a place many people associate with easygoing sin.

Our more usual fare will reappear tomorrow, but I wanted to vent my disgust at this whole situation.  Over the years, it hasn't always been easy to be a proud American, but I have done it.  In this case I find it impossible.

I don't follow the mayor

I don't follow Thomas M. Menino on twitter but he follows me.  Today, I asked him to cease and desist.  I doubt the Urban Mechanic himself checks in to see what quip I have to say about Dorchester on a semi-daily basis but it bothers me that some lackey is getting paid to monitor his twitter account and report back during a daily meeting.  I'd rather my tax dollars go toward keeping library branches open.

I don't hate Mayor Menino, but to say I love him would be a gross overstatement, as gross as blubbery lips, ham hands, a thick tongue, cross-eyed myopia, a bleached rollie-pollie belly as big as a sow's in a political cartoon.  I don't disagree with Mayor Menino though I'm obviously not looking for a patronage job.  I think he is a fine public servant.  I think he's a decent mayor.  While I think Boston can do better, I also think it could do much, much worse in the chief executive department.  To say Menino doesn't inspire me is an understatement and I find this to be relatively true among the people I talk to.  Menino doesn't depress me either.  He makes me shrug, "Meh!  It could be worse."  Not high praise, but hardly damnation.

The less I see of the mayor's mug, the better.  I don't want him following me on twitter or on the street.  I don't go out of my way to bump into him and there's a reason for that.  I hear his handshake is clammy and that he spits when he talks.  That's reason enough for me to avoid civic ribbon cuttings.

Wanna see him for yourself?  Here: click this.

Readership and ridership

Does the core readership of New Yorker magazine understand MBTA-based humor?

I'm not clear on who drew this cartoon but since it's copyrighted to the Cartoon Bank, I can only assume it originally appeared in the New Yorker magazine.

As anyone who has stood on an MBTA platform for any amount of time knows, the T's riders are the eyes and ears of transit police.  If we see something, we are encouraged to say something.  Somebody's got to be on patrol during coffee breaks.  If something has a hint of sophisticated humor about it, should it be reported to the MBTA's finest?  Will it be passed on to the next level or will it be dismissed as some bright boy trying to be funny but failing.  A good sense of humor is a good indicator if an officer has a good sense of menace.

Does the New Yorker's core readership understand MBTA-based humor?  I guess that's the flip side of the question, "Does the MBTA's core ridership understand New Yorker-based humor?"

I've a pretty good idea that the New Yorker's editors think their Boston-based subscribers are unwashed, beer-swilling, ball cap-sporting, vocational school dropout cavemen.  Heck, when I leave the boundaries of Dorchester and Roxbury, I think that sometimes too.  Especially around back of the Capitol Building on a weekday at the legislators' entrance.

If you see something, you should say something.  If you see trouble, you should report it to the authorities.  If you see trouble with the authorities, you should say it at the ballot box.      

Missed holiday

Yesterday was International Pipe Smoker's Day, a day when pipe smokers are supposed to make the rest of the public aware that they still exist.

Dorchester doesn't have any tobacconists that cater to pipe smokers.  There aren't any dedicated tobacconists at all that I know of.  If you are in the market for a cigarette, there are plenty of convenience stores and gas stations.  If you are looking for a mass marketed cigar, you can find them in the same locations.  If you are looking for a bit of a higher quality cigar, some liquor stores have cabinets, if not actual humidors.  If you are looking for a briar or a corn cob bowl or a tin of pipe tobacco, you won't find them in Dorchester.

The nearest pipe shop you'll get to anywhere in Dorchester is L.J. Peretti, still going strong since 1870 at 2 and 1/2 Park Square on the corner of the Common.   Peretti has a selection of tinned tobacco prepared elsewhere, but the appeal of this Boston institution is that it still mixes it own blends.  This is a rarity in the pipe tobacco world and Boston is very lucky to have L.J. Peretti's established expertise around.   The irony is that Boston is officially a tobacco-hating city despite the Nobel laureates and cultural icons who have lived in Boston and cooked up their best ideas while puffing on a long stem.

There is another pipe shop in Brookline and there is another tobacconist that doesn't specialize in cigars in Harvard Square.  Piretti is  the only one that still mixes their own tobacco and can speak knowledgably about it.  If you want a Dutch Masters cigar to go along with your lottery ticket, Sunny's Cigar in Mattapan Square is recommended.  I have yet to find a tin of Price Albert or Captain Black in Boston.  This is probably because L.J. Piretti is selling their own superior blends at reasonable prices.  That and the fact that pipe smoking isn't much in favor in Boston anymore.  Next year on Feb. 20 Boston's pipe smokers should celebrate International Pipe Smokers' day en masse on the Common the way the marijuana smokers do.  I walked through Boston Common this weekend and I didn't see a single pipe smoker.  Myself included.

Next year.

Menino Dusk

A fifth term of Menino.  How's it feel?  Pretty much like the fourth, if you ask me.  It isn't the twilight of the reign yet, but if term number five ends like it began, this is going to one long whimper with no bang.

I'm not suggesting Flaherty would have been better.  I'm not suggesting Yoon would have been better, though he would have been different.  As for the Floon combo, while peanut butter does taste good with chocolate, opposites don't always attract.  Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson made a more attractive duo...  It would have been more interesting than today though.

Are the times a'changing?  Not in my neighborhood.  How about yours?  Any Menino staffers care to post the party line in the comments?  I don't see signs of a new age dawning over Boston.

Your post election meal

Foul weather has done a number on the sale signs in the front window of Brothers II Supermarket on Dudley Street, Upham's Corner.  The store's interior is none the worse for wear, but only two posters are left hanging in one piece in the window.

So, carnivores rejoice!  Brothers II has your protein covered no matter which senatorial candidate you vote for.  Red meat Republican?  Fresh shoulder London broil is $1.99 a pound?  What better way to cement your arteries and your solidarity with Scott Brown?  Prefer the other white meat and a public option?  Brothers II has you covered with FRESH MEATY PORK CHOPS at $1.69 a pound.  That's the kind of meal a Martha Coakley supporter would be proud to put in his pie hole.

Offer good while supplies last.  I asked one of the cashiers if the sale was electorally themed.  She answered, "Isn't it too early for Obama to run again?"

Size doesn't matter.

"My neighborhood is bigger than yours!"  So what?  Your mother wears army boots.

Dorchester is big, but bigger isn't necessarily better.  After all, it's not the size of the tool but how effectively you use it.  Does Dorchester live up to its potential merely by being the biggest and most diverse jurisdiction in Boston?  In some ways.  The situation works very well for very many individuals.  That isn't to say there isn't room for improvement.  Parts of Dorchester are impoverished.  There is an abundance of dearth and a squandering of unrecognized potential.

Despite its bulk and area, Dorchester more often seems an appendix to the metropolitan body politic than a vital organ. All of the neighborhoods that don't suck at the tourist industry's teat seem that way.  Boston has an identity, but Dorchester's part in that isn't what sells airline tickets or hotel rooms.  It's a shame because a narrated bus tour around Dorchester would highlight any number of fascinating, historical facts.  The same can be said of Roxbury, East Boston and Charlestown.  I'm not so sure about Allston/Brighton, Hyde Park or West Roxbury, but people more familiar with those parts of town will probably make the argument that they equally deserve attention and promotion.   They do.  If  a visitor wants to know Boston in the round, he or she will venture outside downtown.

Beacon Hill, Chinatown, the North End: they are smaller than Dorchester.  Newbury Street is a snippet of Dot Ave's length.  It's not how much you have, it's how you use it.  This isn't only about attracting tourists because, after all, who needs them?  It is about having a voice in the government and getting a fair share as well as more than a glad handshake and a fair weather how-do-you-do.  Dorchester's citizens should be better represented and better better understood as the vital part of the larger city that it is.

Because I live in Dorchester, I can say without worrying about contradiction, "My neighborhood is bigger than yours."  You can say in reply, "Yeah, but your mayor wears army boots."  Well of course.  He's got to cover his Achilles heels  and clay feet somehow, doesn't he?

Boston's in-crowd

Boston's stars revolve around Dorchester. Boston's center of gravity resides, imperturbably, in Dorchester. Both light and opinions bend according to Dorchester's pull.

Dorchester contains more Bostonians than any other of the city's neighborhoods. It is a good place's nature to suck the cream off the available milk. When outsiders think of Boston's more desirable residential neighborhoods, they think of the Back Bay and Beacon Hill. They think of the North End or the South End. That's why they are outsiders. Insiders know the real deal and from where the butter comes that coats the side of the bread that falls face down.

Just as the most desirable things are rarely marketed to the masses, the value of Dorchester real estate and culture isn't promoted to the hoi polloi. Dorchester has the upscale cachet of an exquisite wrist watch with a brand name you've never heard of, or an automobile more rare than a DeLorean. It may look odd and out of place, but that's the idea, the cachet, the je n'est sais quoi. When you put your finger on what makes Dorchester so good, you'll feel a rarified pulse. It is like palpating the carotid artery of an opera singer who has overdosed on ether just before she regains conciousness to sing another aria from the top of her ample lungs and bring down the house.

There are more millionaires in Dorcheseter than there are in any other part of New England, including Fairfield County, Conn. Through sleight of tax return and property maintenance, this statistic is a secret. Only the Illumadotti know the truth.

If Tom Menino gets re-elected to be the longest serving mayor in Boston's history, it will be because the collective will of Dorchesterites makes it so. If it is Michael Flaherty's fate to break Mayor Menino's winning streak, it is because the population of Dorchester has rallied behind his unofficial deputy, Sam Yoon, a transplanted Dorchesterite who the locals respect.

Ignore Boston's biggest and best neighborhood at your peril. Those in the know, know Dorchester pulls Boston's strings.

Dorchester demographics

A pre-2010, unofficial census report contains some interesting statistics.

Dorchester's total population on August 12, 2009: 113,311.

Ethnicity:
African American or Black: 34%
African American: 20%
Haitian: 5%
Dominican: 3%
Other Carribean descent: 4%
African descent (not naturalized): 2%
White non-hispanic: 32%
Irish-American: 12%
Uncommitted Euro-American: 10%
Polish-American: 5%
Foreign born Europeans (not naturalized): 3%
Etruscan-American: 1.5%
Boston Brahmin Blue Blood: 0.5%
Hispanic or Latin: 8%
Asian or Pacific Islander: 20.5%
South Vietnamese-American: 12%
Foreign born Vietnamese (not naturalized): 4%
Chinese-American: 3%
Korean-American: 1%
Tibetan-American: 0.5%
Cape Verdean: 4%
Some other race (including one or more claimed and Native Amercian): 1%

For a frame of reference, Wikipedia provides the following stats: "As of 2000 the population of Dorchester was 92,115 and the ethnic makeup was 36% African American or Black, 32% White non-Hispanic, 12% Hispanic or Latino, 11% Asian or Pacific Islander, 1% Native American, 4% some other race, 5% two or more races."

The article's anonymous author also notes that when Dorchester was annexed to Boston in 1870, the town was primarily rural with a population of 12,000. After annexation, the population grew to 150,000 in 1920. Though it shrank after 1950, it is on the rebound and increasing again.

These more recent, unofficial numbers and additional categorization lends credence to the accepted notion that Dorchester is a neighborhood open to anyone who cottons to moving here. It also speaks well of Dorchester that so many cultures co-exist side by side with little strife and nary a kerfuffle. Dorchester really is Boston's most welcoming neighborhood where opportunity abounds. Immigration is up along with accompanying gentrification. Dorchester remains an affordable neighborhood overall, however, and hence the net gain in population.


Be warned, the statistics cited in this article have not been verified by an independent agency, nor are they endorsed by or reported by the federal government or any other official or quasi-official municipal agency. Figures were determined by a secret formula and direct observation by the Illumadotti. Inquiries as to methodology and sample populations can be directed to that organization's secret address.

Mayor Menino is following me

I checked my email today and I found a fine how-do-you-do. Tom Menino is following me on Twitter. He doesn't give his official title, but his picture curdles milk so there's no doubt who it is: Boston's chief executive. He is following me and 2216 other people as of this moment. It will no doubt be more by the time I am done spellchecking this essay. No one can argue that the incumbent isn't trying to keep in touch with what's going on in the neighborhoods. I am tempted to make up more folderol than usual.

Tweet: "I saw Tom Menino's profile on a slice of moldy American cheese, the processed kind that doesn't normally get moldy, just hard." Not really. Just practicing. I didn't even count the letters and spaces. You can follow me on Twitter to see the edited version.

Regular readers of the Dot Matrix know that while Whalehead King is not beholden to the current municipal administration, he is not entirely against it either. Why me, Mayor Menino? Why select me for your special attention? I am not your enemy, though I am certainly not your friend and whatever I have to say, especially in the space of a gross of characters, cannot interest you. I think you are more interested in me following you than the reverse. Sorry, I'm not signing up. I see your name and the results you leave in your wake enough as it is. I don't need regular updates of your gross of characters as you choose to delegate their release.

Don't worry. I read the papers. I am up to speed on what is unfolding in City Hall's bunker and I have my opinions. I keep most of them to myself. Your soiled laundry isn't mine to rinse and strain and hang out to dry. I can't say I appreciate your attention. In fact, I would prefer you unsubscribe. If you really want to know what I think, why don't you follow this blog rather than my Twitter account. It's in the Dot Matrix that I describe what I experience as a Bostonian, and, more importantly, as a Dorchesterite. I see my traffic goes up when your name is mentioned. I can only conclude your minions are at work. I can't imagine that as many people in the world are googling Tom Menino as they are Nicolas Sarkozy. In the country of the seeing, the tongue-tied man is king.

So now I am a bit larger a mote in the Mayor of Boston's eye than I was yesterday. I cannot say I am flattered so much as I feel damned. Luckily, I don't conduct business with the city and I have learned where to park to avoid tickets. If the my Little Ninja motorcycle gets any unjust tickets soon, you'll read about it here.

Tweet: "I just parked my yellow Ninja 250 in Franklin Park in front of the back gate." Just practicing again.

If you are interested in past observations of Boston's incumbent mayor, please click on the links to mayor or politics below.

Flaherty-Yoon

Candidate Flaherty is tag teaming together with Dorchester's own Sam Yoon, against the incumbent in what is turning out to be an interesting mayoral election in Boston. When I first heard the news at Saint's Diner this morning, I wasn't impressed. I've had some hours to think about it though and I've heard a range of opinions and I think I am for the coalition (thanks, Yellow-Eye!).

There's always been a strong Southie-Dot axis (we call it Dot Ave in both neighborhoods) and marrying these two councillors-at-large into a single ticket brings out both of their strengths. Flaherty's been around awhile. He knows whose bread needs buttering. I'm sure he's got the dull knife ready to do it. Yoon has a heart of gold and he's smart enough not to tarnish it. Yoon may be relatively untested, but he hasn't compromised his principals yet. Not an easy feat for a politician. If Flaherty and Yoon are an odd couple, so were Oscar and Felix and, years after the fact, you know exactly who I am referencing. Flaherty-Yoon can make an enduring mark.

In twenty years, no one will know who Menino was or why his name appears on odd monuments around Boston. That's a statue that will make babies cry so let's hope it never gets cast in bronze. While I don't necessarily think Flaherty is tinder, I know that Yoon is spark. The two of them together just might generate enough heat to fire up Boston's potential more than the status quo. Maybe.

I'm skeptical and I am not in favor of change for change's sake. That said, I also think there is such a thing as too much mediocrity. I don't think any Bostonian would complain about a little more meritocracy. That's what Yoon promises and that is what Flaherty is introducing to his platform by inviting Sam Yoon into his administration. It's a win-win for both men and a win for Bostonians.

Another 4 years of Menino anyone? You can unbuckle your seat belt. Despite whatever enthusiasm the Flaherty-Yoon ticket generates, the incumbent's minions and henchmen can be counted on to turn out in force. Some zombies are kept breathing with a promise of regularly scheduled trash collection. It will be an interesting election but I suspect the result will be a bit more of plus ca change plus c'est la meme chose. A revolution is coming, but will it be this year?

Estrogen and tonic

Dorchester, Mass. is home to Boston's most refreshingly resilient women. You can cast your vote for mayor, but the real people who can turn this city around reside between Washington Street and Blue Hill Avenue. While some talk about charter reform has been bandied about the electorate recently, no one has proposed what would probably be the most effective form of reform: a Dorchester-based matriarchy.

You may argue that this form of government has some reverse sex-discrimination issues. I reply, let the best women do the job for which they'll be elected. I'm not talking about an Amazon kingdom [sic] but a council of legislators who have experienced the best and worst Boston has to offer: the single mothers, the married mothers, the mothers who are involved in commited relationships without the benefit of legally binding contracts, the women who know how to balance a budget with no fat to cut and keep miniscule economic units running within an unfathomable machine between booms and busts. With that much common sense and hard sense around one table, Boston would have the best bond rating in the world.

Bad economy? The women of Dorchester know how to weather that and come out ahead at cycle's end. Tight credit? Dorchester's women know how to haggle and leverage advantages. Slow job growth? Dorchester women know how to keep many hands occupied and out of mischief.

Sam Yoon was right about this: Boston needs change. Business as usual is working but business could be better and Boston needs a shot in the arm. Mr. Yoon was partly right with his prescription. There does need to be less testosterone at the top. Boston needs a shot of estrogen and tonic. What neighborhood is better equipped to provide it than Dorchester, a place where households defy all odds to keep their hearths welcoming, nourishing places where the next generation of upwardly mobile citizens learn their lessons, get their bearings and learn to stand on principals.

There is a League of Women Voters in Dorchester. It's about time there was an official League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen ensconced in City Hall. This would at least be a layer of bureaucracy that people could identify with. Everyone has a mother and most people have a sister. Quite a few men have girlfriends. Few Bostonians have their own lawyer.

A citizen of Dorchester is called a Dorchesterite, this includes both genders because English doesn't distinguish. In Italian, they are divided: Dorciestriano for a man and Dorciestriana for a woman. In the 1960s and early 70s Dorchester's women would be called Dorchesterettes! with an exclamation point added for extra allure. If I may borrow a hackneyed metaphor to title Dorchester's women, I suggest we call each one a pillar of the community. Every man in Dorchester should wear a hat. That way they can tip thier hat in respect to the Dorchester women they pass on the street.