Flotsam & Jetsam (28) for Monday, November 27, 2006
This story was posted today online by CNN, and I thought it was creepy enough to republish here, what with Christmas just around the corner. Read this, then read my piece below it, an essay I wrote 11 years ago.
DENVER, Colorado (AP)—A homeowners' association in southwestern Colorado has threatened to fine a resident $25 a day until she removes a Christmas wreath with a peace sign that some say is an anti-Iraq war protest or a symbol of Satan.
Some residents who have complained have children serving in Iraq, said Bob Kearns, president of the Loma Linda Homeowners Association in Pagosa Springs.
He said some residents believed the wreath was a symbol of Satan. Three or four residents complained, he said.
"Somebody could put up signs that say drop bombs on Iraq. If you let one go up you have to let them all go up," he said in a telephone interview Sunday.
Lisa Jensen said she wasn't thinking of the war when she hung the wreath. She said, "Peace is way bigger than not being at war. This is a spiritual thing."
Jensen, a past association president, calculates the fines will cost her about $1,000, and doubts they will be able to make her pay. But she said she's not going to take it down until after Christmas.
"Now that it has come to this I feel I can't get bullied," she said. "What if they don't like my Santa Claus?"
The association in this 200-home subdivision 270 miles southwest of Denver has sent a letter to her saying that residents were offended by the sign and the board "will not allow signs, flags etc. that can be considered divisive."
The subdivision's rules say no signs, billboards or advertising are permitted without the consent of the architectural control committee.
Kearns ordered the committee to require Jensen to remove the wreath, but members refused after concluding that it was merely a seasonal symbol that didn't say anything.
Kearns fired all five committee members.
Goodwill to Filipinos
(Barfly, Dec. 19, 1995)
THIS COULD have happened only to Filipinos, and only to Filipinos in the US. The story was told to me and Ishko Lopez at Sam's Diner a couple of weeks ago by film director Gil Portes, and I found it so funny that I got his permission to retell it here in Barfly. I may have embellished it a bit—you'll excuse my fictionist's meddling mind—but Gil swears (and he'll do this again, hand on a Bible) that the essential points of the story are, as they say, nothing but the truth.
We were talking idly about a
telesine I was scripting and that he was going to shoot in New York, when Gil remembered that he had to go back to New York after Christmas, to put in a court appearance, as a witness for the prosecution. (Or was it the defense? It doesn't really matter, as you'll soon find out.)
It seems that Gil—who's long been living in Queens—got this call from one of New York's Fil-Am busybodies. “Could you please be a member of the board of judges for the Miss Maria Clara of Lower Manhattan (or some such district) beauty pageant?” the other guy implored. Either feeling extraordinarily sociable or having nothing better to do at that moment but throw the garbage, Gil agreed, asking only that his cab fare from Queens and the cost of having his tuxedo drycleaned—about $40—be refunded by the organizers.
After the obligatory quarter-turns, interviews, talent show, and a slew of musical numbers, Gil and his co-judges picked out a winner—ta-rah, Miss Maria Clara of Lower Manhattan of 1995!—only to discover, as the poor miss did, that she hadn't exactly won, not just yet. The day's black-tie affair was only a preliminary event, prior to a runoff among the top finishers, with the final results to be decided by—what else—ballots to be bought and sent in by the Filipino-American masses of New York. That should've been enough to faze sensible people like Gil, who was understandably miffed (I never got to ask him if he got back his cab fare), but you don't know Fil-Am fathers and mothers.
Ballots were printed and sold like there was no tomorrow (although we don't know of too many Puerto Ricans, Italians, Lithuanians, Moroccans or even Koreans who bought ballots—must've been too busy with their own pageants). With just a day to go, it appeared that the preliminary winner, whom we'll call Miss A, was trailing the original No.2—Miss B—by so many thousand votes.
That's gross injustice in any Fil-Am parent's book, and so Miss A's mother promptly whipped out her checkbook, and dashed off a check—a postdated check, mind you—for an amount enough to put her girl over the top. Hooray! Victory! Justice! Or was it?
Miss B's folks certainly didn't think so, citing a provision in the fine print of the pageant rules, expressly prohibiting the acceptance of postdated checks for ballots. (And what this tells us is that they must've had even funnier experiences with postdated checks.) Miss A's mom asked what the problem was—the check, after all, did clear; she just wanted to make sure that another check she had deposited would clear first.
In any case, what do you think happened next? But of course—Miss B's parents sued Miss A's parents, and the whole feathery and sequinny pageant was soon marching into court—the girls, the parents, the organizers, and the judges, including Gil, minus his tuxedo. There was pandemonium as one family's boosters heckled the other, as the girls whined, as the judges reviewed their choices and vented their displeasure with the process itself, and as the organizers pleaded shrilly for sobriety.
The American lady judge banged her gavel and screamed above the fray: “Will somebody please tell me, what's a Maria Clara???”
The case is still being heard, folks, and—given the possibility that it won't be on CNN or on the cover of
Newsweek, although it should—we'll keep you posted as soon as we hear from Gil.
“Here we are trying to work out this silly
telesine plot,” I told Gil before he left Sam's Diner, “and you tell me this story. Let's shoot this one instead!”
Meanwhile, let's wish for peace on earth and goodwill to Filipinos—especially Filipinos in Manhattan.