I don’t know whether I should thank The Advocate photographer, Adam Lau, for this picture, or smear his grinning mug all over the metro in gleaming hi-definition.
See, Adam and I are kindred spirits — turds of a feather — if you will. Sure, Adam’s still rig is a lot lighter than mine, but we don’t huddle under a desk of self-important gentlemen to compare lenses. We’ve got work to do.
Our bosses would have us believe that the folks at home hang on every word uttered in these frigid enclaves. We know better. The capitol committee room is a snowy wasteland of news. See, no matter what Ron Burgundy tells you, nothing ever happens here.
Oh, lots gets said. But nothing happens.
Gasbags from opposing sides sit, gently rocking in their rich Corinthian leather swivel chairs, while Betty Joe Housecoat passionately pleads for support of the Hoveround for the Homeless appropriation. Some even nod their heads.
It’s when Ms. Housecoat wraps up her testimony that things get good . . . or bad, depending on where you crouch. That’s when every member of this august body must hear his own voice. And he must hear it several times.
It’s not to deliver some salient fact or impart knowledge on the masses. It’s not even to sway the distinguished men on the dais. No, the good men from the gathered districts merely rise to state their opinion — in the form of a question of course. Making speeches is strictly verboten.
The sad thing is that this is merely a show for the cameras, the people at home, and the four activists in the room. The minds of the assembled members were made up long ago over drinks, hundred-dollar steaks, and fat cigars proffered by the side with the most money.
So if you see me, or Adam wearing a goofy smirk, just shoot us. Debate on the gun bill is up next.