Danehy

It has been shown, through scientific study and real-life
observation, that intelligence doesn’t automatically correspond to
excellence in other areas, including such diverse disciplines as
spelling, writing and, for that matter, common sense.

That first part keeps me from screaming every time I hear about some
home-schooled kid winning a spelling bee. That doesn’t mean that the
kid is smart; it just means he can spell. Heck, if I were locked in the
house all day with Mom (and Jesus), I’d take up a hobby, too.

At the same time, no matter how smart one is (or isn’t), it would
probably behoove one to double-check things that are going out into the
public with one’s name attached, especially if you’re getting paid a
crapload of money to be, if not smart, then at least competent.

A few years back, the Weekly ran a cover story about a
drunken party attended by graduates of a local high school. (The name
of the school doesn’t matter, because I’m sure that stuff doesn’t go on
anymore at any school, anywhere, ever.) It just so happened that the
school at which I was coaching was playing against the drunken-party
school the night that issue hit the newsstands. I walked in the gym and
was surrounded by angry students and parents demanding to know why I
had written the article. I told them I hadn’t, but they insisted that I
had ghost-written it.

I ended the discussion by saying, “You guys know me. If I’m going to
piss on somebody, I’m going to use my own piss.”

Speaking of bodily waste, just last week, two different people sent
me copies of a memorandum signed by new Tucson City Manager Mike
Letcher. It’s addressed to the Executive Leadership Team and its
subject is “Problem Solving.” At first, I couldn’t believe that it was
authentic, but both senders confirm that it is. It contains errors in
grammar, syntax, punctuation and just about everything else for which
an English teacher would give you the stink eye. (I won’t go into the
ass-kissing tone, because that’s obviously part of the job
description.)

Here is the first sentence:

“As leaders and managers” (no comma) “we are faced with solving
problems everyday” (one word).

Then follows (exactly!): “Most problems you resolve Richard Miranda,
Assistant City Manager and are not required to act on..”

And, yes, it has two periods at the end (and is missing at least one
comma and a bunch of words). What the heck?! I know at least one
problem that needs fixing.

It continues, asking questions in bold-face and then (sort of)
answering them.

What is the Problem?

We know what we have to fix.

(I don’t recall ever being this bowled over by profundity. And the
“Problem” must have been a big one, because it was capitalized.)

How do we fix it?

Please do not come to Richard Miranda, Assistant City Manager or
me unless you have thought about how to fix the problem.

If they’ve already thought about how to fix the problem, why do they
need to bother the higher-ups? Also, every time he mentions Richard
Miranda, why does he follow it with “Assistant City Manager,” only
without the requisite comma at the end? Every time I read it, I hear
Michael Scott murmuring, “Assistant to the City Manager.”

How do we make sure it does not happen again?

Please do your homework on making any and all departmental
corrections so this does not Happen again, or is less likely to happen
again. This may involve working with other department heads that are
part of the process that need to be changed.

So that’s the key—doing homework. Find at least three things
that are wrong with those two sentences.

Anyway, it goes on, but you get the idea. My favorite part of the
first page is this particular Q&A:

How will this be consistent with Mayor and Council
priorities?

Make sure the solution is consistent with Mayor and Council
priorities.

Is it just me, or do you feel your IQ tick down a point when you
read that? It reminds me of that old Richard Pryor bit about pimps on
cocaine: “They be talkin’ all the time, but don’t be sayin’ sh–!”

Anyway, the memo saved the best for last. On the second page is what
at first appears to be a Venn diagram, with overlapping circles of
different colors (See it here). The six
circles form a ring with No. 1 (“What is the problem?”) leading to No.
2 (“How do we fix it?”). It sort of makes sense—in a third-grade,
Billy Madison-kinda way—but then, when you get to the final one,
No. 6 (“Is it working?”), an arrow leads you back to No. 1 (“What is
the problem?”). It’s a Venn diagram in an infinite loop.

Wasn’t there a Polack joke like that back in the day?

Perhaps most telling in this exercise in inanity is that inside the
ring of circles is the word “Solution.” It’s in a white space, not
touching any of the circles.

This article appears in May 14-20, 2009.