Rochester Writers

I handed her the picture and said, "now we don't have to wonder when you're here!"  The look on her face went from amused to confused to concerned as she realized the picture was of her and her cart, taken from a few floors up on one of the surrounding buildings.

She relaxed as I explained it to her, but you could tell there was still a part of her evaluating if she should call the cops.

I didn’t really start living in Rochester in earnest until a couple months after I moved my stuff here. Just getting over a broken collarbone and still having yet to be gainfully employed, I was understandably incredibly bored. I jumped at the opportunity to accompany some friends/former bandmates from Chicago (Chicago THE CITY; I never traded chops with Peter Cetera) as their current band toured across this fine land of ours. For a few weeks during the late summer, I toured all over this side of the Mississippi, functioning as roadie/band manager/van driver/impromptu mechanic/conflict resolution counselor/babysitter. Those weeks crammed into that Ford Econoline made me realize how much I missed the, uh, rock and roll lifestyle. Not necessarily the “playing dingy holes in the wall to fifteen disaffected punk rock kids” aspect, but just the camaraderie of it all. I have never been a dude’s dude – I don’t like sports, I can’t talk about cars or power tools or my golf game or any of that bullshit. Playing rock music, jumping around like a nimrod, driving around in a van with four other stinky dudes…that’s what my adult life male bonding consisted of.

   Let me preface this post by saying that I know that it will supposedly all even out in the end, that the proverbial tide will rise for everyone. Having said that, though, I feel as though I'm about to get soaked.

   I live in Gates, which just completed a property reassessment of all the parcels in the town. The value of my 11-year-old home, which sits on little more than a quarter acre, will be set at $177,000 -- up about 18.5 percent from the current $149,100 assessment.

   The notice is accompanied by the standard disclaimers about how tax rates work. I know my actual tax bill won't go up by 18.5 percent because most other homeowners are also having their assessments bumped up by double-digit amounts. But any artificial increase -- and that's what a reassessment is -- raises a red flag. My town/county/school bill has already zoomed from $4,256 in 2003 to $5,266 last year. That's about 23.7 percent in just two years.

   I've got to believe that my proposed percentage increase is higher than the average, which sets me up for a disproportional increased burden. The assessment notice estimates a 4.3 percent increase in actual taxes. By the time the assessment office makes various adjustments and the town's mis-administrators get done cuisinarting their budget it could easily be a 10 percent hit.

   Again, I'd be OK with this process if it all evened out in the end, which is to say that I was actually able to sell me house for the assessed price. And that's the problem. I can't get $177,000 for my house. I keep searching the lists of property transactions from recent years and the current MLS listings. Nothing comparable has sold for more than $155K recently, and nothing comparable on the market right now is listing for $165K.

   So it's going to be left for me to put the documentation together and show up for an appeal. I've never had to do that, but I've heard the horror stories and know how the farce will play out:

• I'll bring in supporting documentation that shows $155,000 to be a fair assessment.
• They'll inform me that my methodology is invalid for whatever reason.
• They'll cite a list of "comparables" for $175K that aren't really comparable because of location or type of structure, etc.
• I'll offer to compromise at $162,000.
• They'll counter-offer at $170,000
• I'll tell them if they write me a check for $170,000 right now I'll turn over the keys by the end of the day.
• They'll tell me to take it or leave it.

   One hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars? I'd like to think that number was set by someone who lives in my community. Truth is, though, that I'm not sure they're even on the same planet.

   I was asked recently if I had any thoughts on the appropriate length for a blog entry, whether it's here or on some other site.

No one wants to say it for fear of being labeled a cold, heartless sonofabitch. They will call you things like “cynical” and “soulless.” You will be branded an uncaring, unfeeling monster. Mothers will hold their children closer to them as they see you on the street. Your dog will begin to walk himself for fear of being seen with you. You will be let go from your job, given that your continued employment has turned into a PR nightmare for your employer. Your generous severance package will consist solely of a disguise that you can use to extricate yourself from the building, in order to avoid the teeming throngs of villagers with pitchforks and torches and rope of varying lengths outside. You will begin to receive death threats on the telephone. Packages wrapped in plain brown paper with excessive amounts of postage will appear on your doorstep in spades. In order to dispose of them, you will need to call upon all your MacGuyveresque skills to devise a protective suit comprised solely from components found in your basement, because you can neither leave your house nor get the police department to answer your phone calls. You will eventually be rounded up by an angry mob, duct taped to a chair, and shot into space, where you will form a leper colony of one, named Jerkus Facius-7. You will while away the remainder of your days in the cold, lonely vacuum of space. The people back down on earth will see this as fitting punishment for you, the miscreant who dared say:

“HOLY CRAP, I am SICK of hearing about this J-Mac kid!”

There, I said it.

I like what I'm not hearing about Renaissance Square.

The silence about public/private partnership is refreshing.  It looks like taxpayers are going to pay, straight up, for Ren Square -- no CATS-like Ren Square company will run the project.  Since there's no public/private talk, the resulting quiet about "profit" is also a balm to my ears.  Nobody is pretending that a subsidized public service should become a moneymaker. 

And everyone seems to have stopped talking about a massive private fund drive, which means that the project is going to be adjusted to the available funding.

Finally, I haven't heard much about big loans for stores and restaurants.  Maybe that idea is still floating around, but I hope I don't hear about it again.

In fact, the silence is so widespread that I have a feeling that this thing just might work.  So I'll  shut up now, because I don't want to jinx it.

Though most of Rochester's talk radio time is occupied by nationally syndicated hosts, mid-day talk radio listeners  have two home-grown Bobs to choose from:  Smith and Lonsberry.  With such a variety of local talent, choosing the right Bob is tough.  Perhaps the following table will help you make this difficult decision:

I'm no expert on what the kids are doing nowadays, but even I know that sticking faux bullet holes on your brand-new Japanese import does not make you an "Original Gangsta".   And that's the only kind of vehicle I've ever seen sporting these things.

I never will claim to be the cream of the crop when it comes to writing about music.  Even if someday I achieve greatness writing about music, I will not stoop to the level of Rochester’s local music critic, Jeff Spevak.  Spevak turned an article about a very entertaining, yet still unsigned, local band to complete rubbish by comparing them to Teddy Geiger because they have a strong internet presence.  If you read the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, you may have noticed Spevak’s virtual hard-on for Teddy Geiger’s boring made for tv music.  There’s a plethora of music coming in and out of Rochester but now that we have Teddy Geiger, he is now the be all to which any music that gets heard out of Rochester is compared to.  So this is a note to Mr. Spevak .. I am taking you to task.  Stop it before it gets worse.

And yet, I should not be surprised.  Spevak once called the bands who appear at the Bug Jar “significant national acts of no importance.”

There's a lot of hate for the suburbs in Rochester.  As a suburb-dweller, I'm not especially surprised by that, and sometimes I share the feeling.  But I think a lot of the hating that goes on misses the target.

Now hate, by itself, isn't the problem.  Even though it's gotten a bad rep lately, good old-fashioned hate has often been a positive force in the history of our misbegotten planet.

No, the real issue with suburb hating in Rochester is that it takes a small distinction -- where you live -- and focuses all the hate on that distinction.  The result is an emotion that doesn't get anything accomplished.

You can read about him on the front page of today's New York Times .  Maybe you saw his appearance on CNN or his lengthy newsmaker interview on the News Hour yesterday.   He's Major General (Ret.) John Batiste,  former commander of the 1st Infantry Division in Iraq, and current president of Klein Steel Services.  He's a member of the group of retired generals calling for the ouster of Defense Secretary Rumsfeld.  Whether you agree or disagree with his position, he's from Rochester and every major media outlet thinks he's news.

Except the D&C.  What's on their front page?  Yet another picture of J-Mac.

For those of you that don't know, I live over near the Ant Hill Cooperative in the Plymouth Exchange area, on the border of the 19th ward.  I live within sight of 2 abandoned houses (1 is sill owned, but unused), and there are another 4 I can see just by walking around my block.   Because of where I live, I also see a lot of kids & young adults out on the streets at all hours.

So, when I hear Duffy's plans to demolish backlogged buildings  I was happy.  Followed by his announcement to work towards a under-16 curfew (which I think is a bad stopgap, but  a useful stopgap) I was kind of surprised.  And getting a 311 system working ( like the recent addition of craigslist) might be enough to bring Rochester back into the category of 'city' in a lot of peoples minds.

My question ( as a relatively new Rochesterian) is how likely is this stuff to happen? And can a mayor's grand schemes actually shift the direction of the city?

Last week, Man About Town  discussed a story in the D&C about the spat between the new country bar in High Falls and Daisy Duke's.  What caught my eye  in that piece was the $400K of low-interest loans, along with $30K of outright gifts, that the High Falls owners received.

That bothered me, but I couldn't put my frustration into words until I looked in my closet the other day.  This picture shows three of the growlers I had stashed there.  In addition to the obvious story behind them ("I have a drinking problem"), they have another tale to tell.

Strawberries and cream
Unwavering search for truth!
Dang... I miss your news!

So part of the South Ave garage collapsed today.  I walk by that garage at least twice every week day.  Unless you're an idiot, how could you not notice that structural instability in the area that collapsed?  It was only a matter of time.  The "supportive beams" that held those ramps up looked like a futile attempt to keep the garage open for business as I would hear jack hammers coming from some where in the garage.

"Welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?"
"Yeah, I'd like a Veggie Whopper...make that a combo, with a Coke, please."
"One Veggie Combo with a Coke."

The luminous order sign flashes back at me: "1 VEGGIE"

"Anything else?"
"That's all."
"That'll be $4.19, please drive through to the first window."

At the first window, a girl takes my cash.

"Did you order the Veggie Whopper?"
"Yes."
"Well, we don't have Veggie Whoppers."
"Wha...did you run out?"
"No. We don't have Veggie Whoppers."
"Wha...but the sign -- "
"We don't have Veggie Whoppers. We have Veggie Burgers."
"..."

I am embroiled in burger semantics!

"Please pull up to the second window."

"Here you go, sir, here's your Coke!"
"Thanks."
"Can you please pull ahead into the lot? It takes a minute to make those Veggie Burgers."
"Uh...sure."

I pull up into the lot, and park close to a rear entrance from which I assume an employee will momentarily emerge carrying my VEGGIE BURGER®. After a few minutes, I see a woman in a Burger King uniform, wandering confused around the front part of the lot, carrying a paper sack. I pull up to the front part of the lot, give her a friendly toot and wave at her.

"Did you have the Veggie Buwgew?"
"Yes."
"You'we suppowsed to puww up by the fwont doow."
"Nobody told me where --"
"Just wemembew that fow newxt time."
"..."

I instinctively open my mouth and raise an index figure to argue, but at about the same time that I realize that arguing with developmentally disabled fast food employees is just not right, she turns on her heel and stomps back to the front door.

Maybe I should start eating meat again.

This year's county budget Kabuki is in full swing.  Maggie Brooks has issued this  pantsload [pdf] of a slideshow that contains her "community solution" to the perennial budget shortfall.  Her justification includes the usual list of terrible things that would happen if taxes weren't raised [page 3].  As always, "Close the Seneca Park Zoo" is there.  (Of course, "No more press releases" or "Maggie and her staff move to cubicles" are mysteriously absent.)

My message to Maggie:  Just Do It.   Close the zoo, immediately.  We'd all be better for it.

One of the great things about living in Rochester is that it gets you in touch with your inner Canadian.  You know that person - the reasonable one who lives in a quiet cul-de-sac of your psyche, right down the street from your flaming ball of American rage. 

Your inner Canadian always has a moderate solution to thorny problems.   Let's say an obnoxious, French-speaking minority wants to secede from the Union.  What's your solution?  If you're thinking "Start a war and kill half of the adult male population from 18-24", that's your ball of rage talking.  "Change every sign in the country, print everything in two languages, and go on with life" -- now that's your Canadian at work.

In yesterday's D&C, the mother of a young crystal meth chemist tells how she expressed her love for her son by calling the cops.  He's now spending some time jail, and the D&C is worried that crank is coming to Rochester. 

In other news, a few weeks ago Mayor Duffy raised a stink about a plan to locate a new facility to treat violent sex offenders at the Rochester Psychiatric Center on Elmood Avenue.  That location is right across the street from the Al Sigl center, which serves 2,000 developmentally disabled children and adults daily.

These two issues might seem unrelated, but leave it to California to find a way to address them both in one fell swoop.