Saturday, November 9, 2024

Dinosaurs Walk Among Us

Dinosaurs walk among us. These relics of an earlier age, with their slow, cold-blooded ways, should have been left behind as quicker, nimbler alternatives have evolved. Yet somehow they survive, refusing to go peacefully into the dustbin of history as they so richly deserve. They continue to muddle on, reminders of times long past.

And no, as obvious as it might seem, we’re not talking about Carty.

These aren’t individuals. Instead they are structures and processes lost in time. They are not adapted to the pace of twenty-first century life. And they should darned well do the right thing and join T. Rex and Dimetrodon, along with the telegraph and rotary phones, in extinction.

Here are a big three useless relics that should be extinguished. You can probably think of more.

The County Recorder. We’re not talking about the current office-holder Phil Copeland, although he should probably think about retirement, too. The entire office is pretty useless.

Here are two other related offices in county guvmint. The county auditor decides how much each property in the county is worth and assesses taxes on that value. The county treasurer collects said taxes. It makes sense that these two functions are separated to avoid any conflicts of interest.

But what about when a property changes hands? Just like when the venerable Scott family deeded a tract of land back in the early nineteen hunnerds, the county recorder must take out the big, dusty record book of county deeds and duly record the transaction in legible, but flowery, script. 

Just kidding. Of course that isn’t how it works anymore. Back in the day, when triceratops roamed the Earth, it did. The person entrusted with the office had to be literate and loyal, and have impeccable penmanship. But now? Basically the job requires keeping paper in the copier and the wifi link up and running.

Can we abolish this silly office, please? 

Voter registration. Another anomaly from a time long past. Years ago, many babies were born at home, sometimes out in the hinterlands. They may not even be recorded in the birth records until years later, if ever, since that hazardous ten-mile trip to the county seat could take days. Weeks if the crick was up. And folks moved around a lot, always building a new cabin a bit closer to the honey locust grove.

Who could keep track of ‘em all? Not to mention the new arrivals from all over Europe, the wretched refuse, yearning to breathe free?

The only way to make sure what was what and who was eligible to vote was to have everybody sign up, so the board of elections could write ‘em all down in a big ol’ book.

Fast forward to the twenty first century. Every retail company knows your whereabouts, what you bought on-line, and which sites you browse. And your most sensitive transactions, namely financial ones, can all be done securely online.

Why can’t we translate this into voting? Big Brother already knows who you are and where you live. Registration to vote should be automatic, and casting your vote should be as easy as hitting “like” on that cat video on Facebook.

Grumpy cat for county recorder!

Townships, and township trustees. Witness the Spencer Township debacle, as we chronicled last column. Another relic from back when living a few miles from the county courthouse meant you were effectively shut off from civilization. The only way to ensure democracy was to set up smaller tracts and call ‘em their own political subdivisions. Even though they only encompassed a few hunnnerd folk.

So Clem and Cletus gallumphed down to the township hall and cast their ballot for the three most inscrutable of their far-flung neighbors to represent ‘em as township trustees. Yee-haw! No need to pack up the sled for that two-day muddy trek to Toe-Lee-Doe and the county seat. Clem and the boys could govern theys’selves. 

These days, why can’t these silly townships just join another political entity? Either the nearest municipality, or the county as a whole. And eliminate the silliness of dozens of trustees countywide representing a few thousand of their township-mates.

Split ‘em up and dole ‘em out. Efficient, democratic, and representative. It’s not just a good idea. It should be the law.

There’s plenty more outdated relics where these three came from. Don’t get us started on that silly “first Tuesday after the first Monday” Election Day BS. But three’s enough for now. Save the rest for another day.

Gone by.

Dinosaurs walk among us. These relics of an earlier age, with their slow, cold-blooded ways, should have been left behind as quicker, nimbler alternatives have evolved. Yet somehow they survive, refusing to go peacefully into the dustbin of history as they so richly deserve. They continue to muddle on, reminders of times long past.

And no, as obvious as it might seem, we’re not talking about Carty.

These aren’t individuals. Instead they are structures and processes lost in time. They are not adapted to the pace of twenty-first century life. And they should darned well do the right thing and join T. Rex and Dimetrodon, along with the telegraph and rotary phones, in extinction.

Here are a big three useless relics that should be extinguished. You can probably think of more.

The County Recorder. We’re not talking about the current office-holder Phil Copeland, although he should probably think about retirement, too. The entire office is pretty useless.

Here are two other related offices in county guvmint. The county auditor decides how much each property in the county is worth and assesses taxes on that value. The county treasurer collects said taxes. It makes sense that these two functions are separated to avoid any conflicts of interest.

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But what about when a property changes hands? Just like when the venerable Scott family deeded a tract of land back in the early nineteen hunnerds, the county recorder must take out the big, dusty record book of county deeds and duly record the transaction in legible, but flowery, script. 

Just kidding. Of course that isn’t how it works anymore. Back in the day, when triceratops roamed the Earth, it did. The person entrusted with the office had to be literate and loyal, and have impeccable penmanship. But now? Basically the job requires keeping paper in the copier and the wifi link up and running.

Can we abolish this silly office, please? 

Voter registration. Another anomaly from a time long past. Years ago, many babies were born at home, sometimes out in the hinterlands. They may not even be recorded in the birth records until years later, if ever, since that hazardous ten-mile trip to the county seat could take days. Weeks if the crick was up. And folks moved around a lot, always building a new cabin a bit closer to the honey locust grove.

Who could keep track of ‘em all? Not to mention the new arrivals from all over Europe, the wretched refuse, yearning to breathe free?

The only way to make sure what was what and who was eligible to vote was to have everybody sign up, so the board of elections could write ‘em all down in a big ol’ book.

Fast forward to the twenty first century. Every retail company knows your whereabouts, what you bought on-line, and which sites you browse. And your most sensitive transactions, namely financial ones, can all be done securely online.

Why can’t we translate this into voting? Big Brother already knows who you are and where you live. Registration to vote should be automatic, and casting your vote should be as easy as hitting “like” on that cat video on Facebook.

Grumpy cat for county recorder!

Townships, and township trustees. Witness the Spencer Township debacle, as we chronicled last column. Another relic from back when living a few miles from the county courthouse meant you were effectively shut off from civilization. The only way to ensure democracy was to set up smaller tracts and call ‘em their own political subdivisions. Even though they only encompassed a few hunnnerd folk.

So Clem and Cletus gallumphed down to the township hall and cast their ballot for the three most inscrutable of their far-flung neighbors to represent ‘em as township trustees. Yee-haw! No need to pack up the sled for that two-day muddy trek to Toe-Lee-Doe and the county seat. Clem and the boys could govern theys’selves. 

These days, why can’t these silly townships just join another political entity? Either the nearest municipality, or the county as a whole. And eliminate the silliness of dozens of trustees countywide representing a few thousand of their township-mates.

Split ‘em up and dole ‘em out. Efficient, democratic, and representative. It’s not just a good idea. It should be the law.

There’s plenty more outdated relics where these three came from. Don’t get us started on that silly “first Tuesday after the first Monday” Election Day BS. But three’s enough for now. Save the rest for another day.

Gone by.

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