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COMMENTARY BY WILLIAM CARTER: Our Town - The spoon capital of the South

I’ve been asked, thousands of times, well … a few people have e-mailed me … okay, in my best guesstimate, there are probably three or four people who are thinking that maybe one day they might ask me why it is I sometimes in my columns ask questions no one seems to want to answer and why I sometimes point out things Our Leaders would rather leave hidden from the light of day.

The answers are many, but, obviously, the main one is my vitamin-A defi ciency. Underlying that are the lingering traumatic effects of – as a child – being attacked by a rooster named Kevin. There is also, I will admit, the sheer joy I feel seeing or hearing about someone suffering from Big Fish/Small Pond Syndrome puffi ng up like a giant, bloated toad anytime anyone deemed insignifi cant questions their Wisdom and/or Authority or fails to realize that their appointment to a bureaucratic position or election to a public offi ce is the equivalent of being kin to Jesus and/or Dale Earnhardt.

It’s not quite a tingling-inthe- nether-regions kind of joy…but its pretty close.

The fact is, though, I love Our Town and support, fully, the rights of anyone, even the bloated toads, to try and screw it up. I even support those folks and groups of folks who seem driven in the name of progress to treat Our Town like a faithful old dog that never bothered anybody his whole life by dressing him up in a humiliating costume then insisting that he likes it and then demanding everybody else like it, too, because … well … just because. I don’t agree with them … but I support their right to try.

That’s why, I guess, I’ve always kind of admired all the foundations and associations and groups and “friends of” in Our Town who seem to get everything they want in spite of legitimate protest and glaring, fi scal common sense. I would cite the never-ending injections of public funds into the Battlefield That Never Was and the recent “oohing” and “aahing” over the proposed “equestrian park” on public land that once housed a horse no one really remembers but was connected to a “sport” that is currently mired in the scandal of physically abusing animals purely and simply in the name of entertainment and amusement for humans, but I stay in enough trouble as it is … so I won’t.

It’s because of the infl uence of the groups I mentioned above that I have come up with an idea that is guaranteed to be accepted and championed by any and all reasonable people in Our Town.

I propose that we, with all due haste and with very little research and with no regard at all for fi scal responsibility, begin steps to promote Our Town as the Spoon Capital of the South.

Everybody wins because: Fact: most people in this country use or have used or are aware of the existence of spoons. Fact: the spoon was invented in Our Town and even if it wasn’t I don’t care because it doesn’t support my narrative. Fact: spoons are not forks. Fact: Einstein ate a very tasty soup employing the use of a spoon three days before he came up with the Theory of Relativity.

Our Town can very easily become a “tourist destination” for spoon aficionados throughout the world by following a few simple steps: First, of course, Our Town needs to hire a renowned Spoon Consultant to agree with us and then pay him much more than most people will earn in their entire careers. There are three to choose from. Google it if you don’t believe me. Second, implement Spoon Awareness Week by giving away SpoonStrong bracelets and reusable SpoonStrong water bottles with those little belt clips on them that nobody uses. Third, inundate local television with seven-minute commercials showing picture after picture of sadeyed forgotten, discarded, and abandoned spoons that need our help. The ads will be aired, repeatedly, during marathon episodes of “Duck Dynasty” and re-runs of “Celebrity Chopped.”

Fourth, convert City Hall into a hotel/Spoon Museum. In Our Town alone, I’m sure there must be two, nay, three, let’s say three, spoons hidden away in dusty attics that were instrumental in the South, uh, coming in second in the Civil War. Why, I bet if we dig hard enough at the site of an unnamed money pit … ahem … horse farm, we can unearth a spoon once used to ladle acid on to the hooves of happy horses eager to be maimed in the name of “sport.” These spoons belong to the ages. Fifth, sponsor a yearly Spoons and Wine around Town where Our Townians escort their favorite spoons through a parade of our historic district … then get drunk and vomit. Sixth, sit back and count the money!

I know … genius.

And remember…only YOU can prevent spoon indifference. William Carter is a longtime Franklin city employee and published author. He may be contacted at wcarterfranklin@ aol.com.
 

Posted on: 4/26/2013

 
 

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