Labor, n. One of the processes by which A acquires property for B.
Land, n. A part of the earth’s surface, considered as property. The theory that land is property subject to private ownership and control is the foundation of modern society, and is eminently worthy of the superstructure. Carried to its logical conclusion, it means that some have the right to prevent others from living; for the right to own implies the right exclusively to occupy; and in fact laws of trespass are enacted wherever property in land is recognized. It follows that if the whole area of terra firma is owned by A, B and C, there will be no place for D, E, F, and G to be born, or, born as trespassers, to exist.
— The Devil’s Dictionary, Ambrose Bierce
A: Yep. I can smell ’em from here.
Okay, a theoretical. Let’s take the old political line famously uttered by Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards and double down on it: What if President Gag is caught in bed with both a live boy and dead girl?
Will his supporters at last flip on him?
Come The Crowd
Okay, Bloomington wants to build a big, snazzy new convention center and so city bosses are slapping an extra penny on the dollar tax on all our purchases of bourbon (neat, natch) and pizza.
Bloomington, the big shots say, desperately needs the new meeting place so our town can grow, grow, grow.
Indianapolis, the big city a mere 50 miles north of us has its own humungous convention center (not far away, in fact, from Indy’s Giordano’s franchise on Illinois St., I might add). Some 50 miles to the south, the resort town of French Lick has a couple of hotels that offer a variety of convention spaces. Plainfield, situation between us and Indy, is building a hotel and conference center. Terre Haute, another 50 miles due west of us, is trying to build its own convention center in the worst way. Muncie’s nearly a hundred miles away and it, too, boasts a convention center.
And, of course, if you’re in a mood for a Hot Brown after your conference duties are all wrapped up, you can make sure your event is scheduled for Louisville, just a two-hour ride away via I-65.
All of which begs the Q: How the hell many conventioneers are dying to swarm this little corner of the Earth these days?