The Dallas City Council, that is. I'm not actually a member of the Council, of course; nor have I ever seen the Council in person: I'm a member of the vast eavesdropping public, who listen to the Council meetings each Wednesday on the radio.
I stumbled onto the Council meeting completely by accident: the lone classical-music FM station suspends the soothing tunes on Wednesday in favor of the always volatile Council meeting. Too lazy to get up and change the station (well, the radio is at least 5 feet away!), I first ignored, then tolerated, then actually listened to the weekly community battles.
Whether it's a fight about cable-TV boxes being placed in yards, zoning concerns, or potholes, there is always a screaming local 'activist' on hand to lay out the word of the common man. The City Council I suppose is one of the last places a less-than-average citizen can still get his 2 cents in, on the record. The Everyman demands respect in his council: "Stop talking to each other! Pay attention to what I'm saying!" I heard one day; apparently the speaker didn't think the Council Members were giving him their undivided attention as he ranted on. The Mayor-ess is brutal in her remarks, cutting long-winded speakers off instantly and shutting off their microphones with a perfunctory "You're done."
Today the main fight was in regard to a proposed tax exemption for a historic building, now the site of a nonprofit organization. The curators of this very large mansion were asking for a free ride on the tax rolls, provided they remained nonprofit and open to the public. "Open to the public?" one of the Councilmen laughed. "You're a private club for society ladies." They kept insisting that they were in fact open for tours, etc., at which point the Mayor asked "How do people know you're open for tours?" The curator replied very matter of factly "We say it in our newsletter." The newsletter that goes to those society ladies, we must assume. Suffice it to say this matter did not even come to a vote today.
My co-worker overheard the yelling on the radio and asked about the broadcast. I explained it was the weekly Council, then asked, "When we get old and retired, will we have time to go hang around the City Council and gripe about stripclubs and speedbumps, power lines and library hours?" All that and more, he promised...until our microphones are cut off, that is.