It finally happened
Temple, for all its provincialism, isn't really that strange. Every so often something happens that is pretty out of kilter, but ,sadly, it's usually a tragic death of some sort. Yeah, there are a few crazies, and more than a fair share of astoundingly annoying people, but I'd yet to see something that struck me as truly weird.
Of course that had to change.
Cue up tonight's school board meetings. During the layover in between meetings, I'm sitting there with my nose in a New Yorker while the city council chambers, where the meetings are held, fills up. It's mostly students and their parents for all the recognitions that lead off the meeting. Once things hit standing room only, I look up, trying to figure out just how much clapping inanity I'm going to have to sit through.
Panning the room, I see something sticking up into the air from the back row, about 10 chairs directly to my right. It looks like a wizard's staff. Six feet tall, polished cherrywood, thick like a winding tree root — with a ram's horn on top.
None of the dozens of people sitting and standing around Gandalf are batting an eyelash at this potential threat to the municipality. I lean forward to see a white-haired grandpa type, not apparently disgruntled, holding the glorified walking stick.
And there it stays as the meeting starts, sticking straight up, still, like a legionnaire's on the verge of battle, as education's dull crusade marches on.
Of course that had to change.
Cue up tonight's school board meetings. During the layover in between meetings, I'm sitting there with my nose in a New Yorker while the city council chambers, where the meetings are held, fills up. It's mostly students and their parents for all the recognitions that lead off the meeting. Once things hit standing room only, I look up, trying to figure out just how much clapping inanity I'm going to have to sit through.
Panning the room, I see something sticking up into the air from the back row, about 10 chairs directly to my right. It looks like a wizard's staff. Six feet tall, polished cherrywood, thick like a winding tree root — with a ram's horn on top.
None of the dozens of people sitting and standing around Gandalf are batting an eyelash at this potential threat to the municipality. I lean forward to see a white-haired grandpa type, not apparently disgruntled, holding the glorified walking stick.
And there it stays as the meeting starts, sticking straight up, still, like a legionnaire's on the verge of battle, as education's dull crusade marches on.
posted by Matt at 11:25 PM
|
<< Home