A very wise, albeit fictional (and dead) man once posited, “What’s more chickenshit than fucking with a man’s automobile?” And while it was clearly intended as a rhetorical question, even a strongly worded one, it’s one I’ve found myself asking with similar vigor since this weekend.

All I wanted was to do my laundry. I woke up late Sunday morning with a bit of a headache and a scratchy throat, products not just of my trip to the (outstanding) Badger hockey game the night prior and the ensuing celebration, but also of the cold, rainy walk home at well-past bartime. My clothes lay piled in a sopping mess on the hardwood floor, and I felt inexplicably certain that if I washed and dried them, my headache would clear up too.

Fresh out of bed and plenty bamboozled, I went out to my car to grab the roll of quarters that had been riding in my center console since my trip to the bank earlier that week. The warm temps that had prompted the mid-January monsoon the night before were beginning to take a turn for the subfreezing, but everything was still fresh and wet.

I opened the car and right away saw the quarters weren’t where I thought I had left them, but climbed inside and tried to cipher my way out of the predicament anyway. I opened a few compartments and the glove box before determining this was a mystery best solved after I’d had my morning coffee. I locked the car back up and wandered inside, having lost the battle but not conceded the war.

After poking around inside to make sure I hadn’t already brought the ten-dollar roll of quarters inside, and with another half-hour of consciousness and two cups of double-black sharpening my senses, I returned to the car in the street. An initial inspection revealed that, nope, those quarters definitely were not in fact sitting in plain sight where I had (in hindsight, stupidly) left them. I rolled back the driver seat and scratched amid the clutter underneath, then opened the passenger side door to do the same.

But when I touched the passenger seat, I recoiled a little sickly. It was just as sodden as the pile of clothes on my floor inside (still waiting, still unwashed and undried). I shrugged it off at first, still preoccupied with the notion that I needed to find the damn quarters and everything else would fall into place, but when I touched it again, I realized that is was more than just wet. It was soaked, and not just the casual soaking one finds occasionally in an aging ragtop convertible either.

Utterly puzzled, I turned my eyes to the sky in search of answers, and my stomach sank.

Now, I don’t drive the finest automobile in the city of Madison. She’s nearing 190,000 miles, and the rickety, very occasionally leaky pushbutton convertible top stopped working within months of my purchasing the vehicle for what I assumed to be a steal at the time. She’s accumulated her fair share of dings, dents and scrapes in four years of full-contact parking on the mean streets of Madison, and the antenna is perpetually being broken off by drunks or sheered off by passing plows or bent sideways by supernatural forces that just seem to haunt material possessions that come under my ownership.

And don’t even get me started on the current state of her suspension.

But, damnit, there’s gotta be a line out there somewhere, and this crosses it. In spite of my slightly antagonistic relationship with this car, I’ve grown quite fond of it over the years. Not to mention I have neither the time, patience nor especially the money to sink into proper roof repairs, which the internet tells me could run a grand or two. Call me a poster child for the insurance industry, but there’s no way in hell you’d catch me carrying a comprehensive plan on a vehicle the resale value of which is at best quadruple the deductible I’d pay to fix this mess.

Of course, while all of this should have been occurring to me at the time, I was instead busy getting healthily enraged about the fact that all signs pointed to my not getting to do laundry on this particular Sunday. After a momentary introspective double-take, I straightened out my priorities and directed all my karmic indignation at the knife-wielding fucktard that had slashed the top on my ride.

With some quick detective work, I established a motive for the crime, simultaneously solving the mystery of the missing ten dollars in quarters and proving someone determined enough could unlock the door through the unconventionally converted top. I then formulated a working psychological profile of my perp, but quickly abandoned the exercise as fruitless when I realized I couldn’t conceivably go around punching homeless boozehounds and 14-year-old thugs until someone coughed up my change.

Instead, I put my mind to work inventing a scheme to prevent any more precipitation from penetrating the interior of the vehicle. This temporarily proved to be too much for my overstrained psyche to handle, so I went back inside, put my feet up, drank some more coffee and read some Douglas Adams.

An hour later, I went to the hardware store, and settled on a heavy canvas needle, some 20-pound-test fishing line, vinyl sealant and vinyl tape. Then I set up in the alleyway next to my house and got to work on what I’m affectionately calling the Frankencar.

I stitched her up satisfactorily, then slapped the sealant and tape over the repair work.

It ain’t pretty, but it’s only temporary and it seems to keep the elements out. It only has to last until it gets warm enough for me to do some more respectable repair work, or I trade the car in for an upgrade, or some further unspeakable act of Godforsaken fate finally kills my freakin’ car for good. So far it’s held one day and counting.

In the meantime, if you see some knife-wielding hoodlum doing laundry or playing games in an arcade with what seems to be suspicious enthusiasm, sock him in the gut for me. I’ve got my own laundry to do.

That’s it, I’m putting my foot down. I’ve had it with the teen-vampire craze, particularly the Twilight novels and movies. I propose an immediate Madison police policy of threatening any eyeliner-sporting pale-skinned guy with a wooden stake to the heart.

Think my reaction’s a little extreme? I bet you the jogger in this Madison police report would agree with me:

You read it here first — either some member of the lunatic fringe is convinced he’s a character in one of these crappy vampire stories that are suddenly everywhere, or the daywalkers are really among us. Either way, sound public policy dictates that we hunt down anyone who looks suspiciously emo, whose skin is just a bit too pale or whose clothing is too strategically disheveled, and we stake ‘em.

As for this poor jogger’s mystery assailant, I’ve rounded up the usual suspects and put together this lineup. Male? White? Twenty-something? Slender? Spiky brown hair? Gray T-shirt? Propensity to hiss? I think we have our suspect.

Stake 'em. All of 'em.

It’s no secret I have a penchant for things that are big and flashy. I like my football games high-scoring, my bonfires barn-sized and my final showdowns epic… and possibly filled with lasers.

So prior to the big Edgewater redevelopment city council debate, you bet your sweet bippy I did what I could to fan the flames of hype that swirled up around the story. How often is it, after all, that a zoning issue gets that kind of attention and stirs up that kind of opinion, for and against, among the general populace? I had friends I have never known to take an interest in politics let me know their feelings about this project.

But in terms of what I expected from the “Super Bowl of City Council Debates” and the 11-hour marathon session the council delivered, I was quite frankly taken aback. While one would be hard-pressed to label the council’s deliberations “insubstantial” or the public discourse anything but “robust,” it doesn’t take a doctor to tell you the process itself was “unhealthy” on a very basic, physical level for those involved.

So when Alder Michael Schumacher told me today he was leaning toward moving for a reconsideration of the vote, my first question for him was, “How many death threats have you gotten already?”

Schumacher and two other Alders were absent from the big meeting on a motion that failed by two votes. It’s very likely that with a full house present it would have gone through. So even though it’s Schumacher’s privilege to move reconsideration, the notion of taking the issue up again raises mixed emotions in me.

While I feel very strongly that Hammes Company’s proposal is a piece of architecture worthy of a vibrant and growing city, part of me never wants to hear the word “Edgewater” again. I know I’m not the only one getting burned out on the issue and the constant struggle around it, and that’s not just the (pretty minor) hangover talking.

But the thought of this project getting bullied out of existence just doesn’t sit well with me. Maybe it’s reached a point where that’s inevitable, and if so, that’s too bad. As Madison’s landmarks ordinances are written the awful cliche holds true. The Edgewater redevelopment would be “out of character with the neighborhood,” though one could argue the existing hotel is already “out of character with the neighborhood.”

The thing is, all of my favorite buildings in Madison — the capitol, the Monona Terrace, the Red Gym, US Bank, the Overture Center, Machinery Row, the court house — all of them are grossly out of character with the surrounding buildings. If I wanted architecture that “went along” with the rest of the neighborhood, I’d live in the suburbs, and I assure you it will be a cold day in hell if that ever happens.

And I’m still waiting for someone to tell me how a brand new hotel plaza and tower would detract in any way from the other historic architecture in the Mansion Hill neighborhood. This isn’t Colonial Williamsburg, for God’s sake. Variety is the spice of life. If you want an example of what happens when a place goes too long without any fresh development, take a drive through Beloit, or Superior, or Rockford (IL), or Bloomington-Normal (IL), or Waterloo (IA), or any of the other midwestern cities that would step all over themselves to get one developer interested in building any project at all, let alone one of this caliber.

I understand that here in Madison, we have a history of fighting the man. I enjoy fighting the man myself. Hammes company is a corporation, corporations are driven by a desire to make money and the desire to make money is very often the root of all that’s evil. But I don’t see anyone lining up a grassroots effort to raise millions of dollars and build an architectural landmark that makes my city a more colorful place to live.

Using a corporation to our benefit as a city — and I do think that’s what we should strive to do, as they strive to use us to their benefit all the time, and in a perfect world, it’s mutually beneficial — is contingent on having rules in place that strike a balance. The Landmarks Commission, in rejecting the proposal, was following the rules set before them. And when it came time for the full city council to consider overturning their ruling, one of the swing votes that derailed Edgewater as it stands belonged to Alder Satya Rhodes-Conway, whom I admire and respect greatly but completely disagree with in this case.

She says a constituent advised her that if she couldn’t articulate why the Landmarks Commission should be overturned, she should vote against overturning. I see that as a backwards way to approach the subject. I think if a developer approaches the city with millions of dollars to sink into buoying the local economy and improving the aesthetic quality of life, the city should have to be able to articulate an actual harm that would befall the city if the project goes forward in order to stop it.

Leveling a historic neighborhood to build a strip mall does harm to a city. Improving a squat, lifeless, aging building within a historic neighborhood does not. And if the city’s process is not able to arrive at that conclusion, than I maintain that it needs to be reexamined and possibly fixed for the sake of the vibrancy of the city.

In the meantime, I’ll be content to talk about something non-Edgewater-related for the next handful of weeks.

***UPDATED… The city council is postponing their meeting tonight due to the weather, so we will postpone the watch party as well… See latest post for more info***

To rehash — Starting at 6:30, the Edgewater Debate Watch Party will get underway at Amy’s Cafe. Everyone is welcome, and stimulating discussion is encouraged. The bar staff should be expecting us and will have the game… rrr, the meeting on TV, and maybe even some bar specials for us. The snow might slow down some of the people from the outlying regions, but the event will occur as long as the meeting itself happens. If the city council meeting is cancelled, so is the watch party, which makes sense I guess.

I hope to see a good crowd of interested citizenry, and in addition, I expect a few bloggers, pundits, politicians, former alders and media types, so it could be insightful as well as entertaining. Dane101 will certainly be well-represented. Bloggers are encouraged to come armed (with laptops), and provide amusement for members of the city council, as they are providing amusement for us. I do not have the technological capacity to set up a webcam, but if you do, Alder Mark Clear would appreciate it.

I’ll print off a couple sets of Jill Sixpack’s Madison Common Council Bingo cards for interested players, and I’ve also compiled a final list of rules for the Edgewater Debate Drinking Game. I had some help from readers and a certain Cap Times city reporter, but here’s how the game is played:

See you at Amy’s!

If any of the back row regulars at city council meetings had a nickel for every time they’d heard me lament the fact that I didn’t have a drink in hand, they’d have a pile of nickels you could respect the hell out of.

Of course, as storied a history as journalism and alcohol have together, I don’t think I would ever actually cross that line and sneak a flask or a forty into the council chambers. Never mind that it would be incredibly unprofessional, uncouth and the potential grounds for my termination. I was raised in a family where you brought enough for everybody or you didn’t bring any at all. There are a lot of people in that room, and I get the impression quite a few of them are very thirsty.

Nonetheless, I might finally get my chance to watch a city council debate while throwing a few back.

As many of you may know, what is debatably the most controversial, divisive issue to come before the city council this year — the proposed redevelopment of the Edgewater Hotel — will be taken up at next Tuesday’s city council meeting. Basically, if the Mayor isn’t able to get 14 yes votes to overturn a rejection by the Landmarks Commission, the plan, as it stands, is dead in the water. Under pressure from his board of directors and investors, developer Bob Dunn has said in no uncertain terms he will NOT seek to retool the project to appease the commission.

So high noon falls at 6:30 PM on December 8th. Dozens of worked up supporters and detractors of the project will pack the city council chambers to sound off during public hearings. Then, in the first real item on the agenda, the alders will get their turn, and the real fireworks will begin.

But on the night of the Super Bowl of city council debates, I’m going to be sidelined.

We’re in a recession. Our news room was understaffed. Then my buddy Erik left the news room to take a job in the governor’s office, and now we’re uber-understaffed until we hire a replacement. I’m told it’s something they’re working on, but until it gets done, I’m basically chained to an anchor’s desk on daysides.

I gave brief consideration to attending the meeting off the clock, and I haven’t ruled it out. But my mind got to percolating, and I decided I might be more comfortable watching the meeting from a couch or a barstool. Then I got really delusional and got to wondering if there might be anyone else as warped as me.

So I’m inviting fellow engaged citizens, bloggers, media-types, political junkies, policy-makers, masochists and anybody else who isn’t afraid to combine beer, politics and crass humor to the first ever CITY COUNCIL SUPERBOWL WATCH PARTY. Anyone’s welcome, supporter or detractor, as long as we’re agreed the debate will remain in the realm of civil, good-natured ribbing. Just let me know by Monday night if you think you want to come — leave a comment on the blog or shoot me an email.

If the interest is as minimal as I’m expecting, I’ll fire up the grill and host in my living room with a couple cases of beer. If enough people want to spend an evening watching city council debates and talking smack, I know a couple bars I think we could take over without too much trouble.

Of course, what’s a watch party without an associated drinking game? I’m working on the rules for that right now, and need suggestions — again, comment them or email me. I briefly considered making the rule that, “as long as Thuy Pham-Remmele is talking but NOT making sense, chug your drink,” but decided an ambulance visit would really dampen the evening. However, some other potential rules:

1. Any time an indecipherable city planning acronym is mentioned (TIF, RFP, UDC, etc), last person to blurt out what it stands for takes a drink.
2. Any time the mayor yields his seat to the city council president, players must sip from the opposite side of their glass for the duration or take an additional penalty drink.
3. Any time a city staffer is flummoxed by a baffling question, take a drink.
4. If the council takes a recess, players must take a drink for every minute beyond the allotted time the council waits to reconvene.
5. Any time Alder Tim Bruer makes a bad pun, take a drink.
6. Any time Alder Tim Bruer makes a good pun, finish your drink.
7. Any time one of the following terms or phrases is mentioned, take a drink — TIF, height limitation, historic district, right of way, waterfront, visually incompatible, media (more?)
8. Any time one of the following words or phrases is mentioned, finish your drink — hill people, turd spigot, bloggers, (more?)
9. When the final vote happens, supporters of the project buy the opposition drinks if the opposition wins and vice versa. Those who didn’t pick a side sit back and laugh at how worked up everybody else is, then secretly wish someone would buy them a drink.

Again, I need all the suggestions for rules and terms I can get. Email them to me or comment on the blog, and I’ll post a final draft of “Edgewater Debate Drinking Game” rules before Monday morning. Also, express your interest if you’re coming, so I can make arrangements to have a place to view the debate. The watch party starts at 7:00 Tuesday, and I’ll announce a location Monday night.

Did civic engagement ever sound so good?

Speaking of which, this is a big vote, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t urge you to contact your Alder and voice your opinion. I’m in support, so I urge you doubly so if we share that view.