Keepin' it real...

I recently became very annoyed about the increasing ghetto-ization of our neighbourhood. Unfortunately, I don't mean fun and interesting ghetto-ization like where people play ghetto blasters on their stoops and wolf whistle at passing hotties. Instead I mean gritty and real ghetto-ization like where people smoke crack and expose themselves.

Because the last thing I am is afraid to confront a problem head on, I did what any self respecting individual would do and contacted my City Councillor. Embarrasingly, I have to confess that I did resort to referring to myself as a taxpayer and thus, had to endure the fleeting and painful realization that I have become my father. Believing that I would be written off as another self-important, nit-picky, elitist do-gooder, I never really imagined when I pressed "send" that I would be listened to or even better yet, receive a response. Well, receive a response I did, much to my chagrin because let's be honest, I never thought that anyone would call my bluff. I write an email, vent, get to bitch about politicians and how they don't care about anything, complain, moan, complain, moan and so on. A compulsive complainer like myself never expects to have someone actually suggest a solution, that would be downright ridiculous because everyone knows, solving a problem means no more complaining and what fun is that?

Giving credit where credit is due, my Councillor is Ward 28's Pam McConnell, so, kudos to Pam and her trusty sidekick who was entrusted with dealing with my complaint. I feel sorry for Pam's sidekick but console myself with the thought that possibly, my complaint was slightly more interesting that your average, "I don't like the pink geranium planters on College Street" or "please declare October 12 Love your Ferret Day". At least my email included words like "urination" and "indecency".

So, Pam's sidekick threw down the proverbial gauntlet and not only responded to my email but also suggested that I might want to join the local neighbourhood association who, as luck would have it, were having a meeting tonight to discuss the very issue of neighbourhood safety. I was genuinely upset to learn that I had an unresolvable conflict and suggested that Mr. Lemony Lemonade might want to attend. It seemed like a good idea because Mr. Lemony Lemonade complains about 300 times more strenuously about the gritty realness of our neighbourhood than I do. Much to my surprise, I got a one line response from Mr. Lemony Lemonade, "thanks, but I will pass on this."

Hot on the heels of Mr. Lemony Lemonade "outing" himself as an apathetic tax payer and not a hot head taxpayer like myself, I made the mistake of observing that where I was all piss and vineagar, Mr. Lemony Lemonade was verging on ambivalent. Being the king of "the last word" he retorted that perhaps I should have married an eco-warrior and instead of sitting in my comfortable abode, I could be chained to a tree or on a hunger strike. All this proves is that Mr. Lemony Lemonade clearly has no understanding of my complicated psyche at all. Now that I was earning my own keep and comfortably having achieved middle class status independent of my parents it is important that I be able to convince myself that in spite of my middle class malaise, I am still "keeping it real" even if "keeping it real" means banding together with other prissy "tax payers" to decry the injustices of having to step over homeless people on my way to work in the morning or being startled by the sight of public urination while walking the Pug.

In the end, we just agreed to disagree although I did announce rather triumphantly that Mr. Lemony Lemonade is officially banned from complaining about our gritty and real neighbourhood because clearly he wasn't willing to be part of the cure so I think that makes him part of the problem or at least a complainer without true objectives and goals like myself - a complainer who has EARNED the right to complain.