Like many folks, I make increasingly futile gestures against the encroachment of age and decrepitude in the form of daily walks. On these walks I usually carry a small digital voice recorder, to capture stray thoughts and the like, or perhaps even my last words in the event I’m struck down by apoplexy or arrest. What follows are my audio notes from Wednesday’s wandering, during which I paid particular attention to the colors and quantities of political-candidate yard signs.
Out the front door, heading south-southwest: a Barr sign here, a Hicks sign there. Not much on this stretch of the street. In fact the candidate signs are outnumbered by leftover yard sale flyers from last weekend. Leaders come and go, but commerce is king.
Bending southward: a home with four Mercury Sables of similar, though not identical, vintage—early to mid-aughts, probably. Two in the garage and two in the driveway. Well-maintained relics of a bygone era. No yard signs, but the political message is clear: defiance of the New World Order. You might discontinue the brand; nay, you might discontinue an entire way of life! But we will stockpile these Sables, these sensible four-door mid-size sedans, and you can keep your crossovers and hybrids and SUVs and stick ’em you-know-where. We will buy Mercuries, and we will cruise them up and down the road until you pry our dead fingers from the steering wheels. Take that, Bilderbergers.
Approaching Man-o-War: A couple more Barr, a couple more Hicks. Opinion in this corner of KY-6 seems evenly split. Both varieties of sign emphasize blue text on a white background, though the Hicks version uses a lighter shade of blue than Barr’s navy. Does Hicks run the risk of committing the same sin as the organizers of the 1988 Democratic National Convention, who infamously chose to represent the ol’ red, white, and blue in mellow shades of salmon, eggshell, and azure? Azure doesn’t win Anderson County, Josh.
Across Man-o-War: Ken Towery’s Automotive is hiring, proclaims an enormous banner, but the Pizza Hut next door has recently closed. What does this mean? How could pizza delivery do poorly in a pandemic, while there’s a concurrent, desperate demand for automobile repair? Isn’t everyone staying home? I’ll have to think on this.
Down in the bottom: A gaggle of geese loiters by the pond. None wear masks, none maintain six feet of distance. This looks a lot like a super-spreader event. It is possible, however, that the geese have chosen to follow the Swedish model. In any event, I’ll keep my distance.
South still, up the hill: The farther you move outside Man-o-War, the bigger the houses, but the closer together they are. As a consequence, conflicting candidate signs are wedged ever more uncomfortably near one another. Here, for the first time, a proliferation of Trump/Pence signs, invading the personal space of a lone Biden/Harris. As I ascend in altitude, a breeze comes up and rustles the Trump/Pence signs, so that they appear to be breathing, hotly and heavily. Repulsed, I pick up the pace.
Approaching the Fayette/Jessamine County line: Barr and his handlers in the White House have established a commanding lead—a ratio something like four- or five-to-one at this point—and more often than not, they’re accompanied by drab purple-and-yellow signs proclaiming, “We Respect and Support Lexington Police.” I estimate the correlation to be about 90%.
Turning east: A gigantic McGrath sign on the corner, much larger than any we’ve seen thus far. This seems right: like her supporters, there aren’t many McGrath signs, but those few are quite loud about it. The yard is strewn with kids’ bikes, inflatable balls, and Halloween decorations. The grass could use one last mowing for the season, and the backyard fence has boards that need replacing. Across the street, a tidy brick house with careful edging and well-trimmed hedges displays a Barr sign. In fact there is a pattern here: Barr/Trump/Pence houses tend to be well-groomed and sensibly maintained, while McGrath/Biden/Harris houses look much more…lived-in.
Aside: There are no McConnell signs. None. How does he keep winning?
Cresting the hill: For several blocks now the clear leader in signage has been State Rep candidate Killian Timoney. His signs are bright green, and they stand out in the forest of blue and white. Presumably he’s chosen green to emphasize his Irishness, reinforced by the replacement of the “O” in Timoney with a shamrock. This sort of ethno-campaigning would be unremarkable in, say, Boston, but is an unconventional choice in the southern reaches of District 45. Whatever—it seems to be working for him. His signs are everywhere. Does he even have an opponent?
Descending again: Beasley for school board. I choose to assume, with nothing else to go on, that this is Pam Beasley, lately relocated from Scranton. I wholeheartedly endorse Pam Beasley for school board, yes.
Winding past the park: To my right, a sign exhorting park-going boys to “Join the Cub Scouts!” (Do it while you still can.) On the left: spooky-looking stylized letters spelling “BOO.” Yep, it’s Halloween season. No, wait: three more letters make the complete word “BOOYAH.” Here the homeowners have cleverly combined the spirit of the season with the name of a favorite stew of their Belgian ancestors. No word if they’ll vote for the Irishman.
Turning north: a late-model Camaro in shocking, astonishing, unholy green. It faces outward from the driveway, poised to strike, like a predator cat awaiting its prey. No yard signs in evidence, but that color tells the world everything: I may vote, and I may not. I don’t follow your rules. Is there a Quinnipiac poll that gauges the likelihood of outright badassery winning in November?
Back up the hill: Two Subaru WRX STIs in the driveway, clean and polished, each with aftermarket brakes and massive rear spoilers. By the front door, a sign reading “Go Army! My son is making a difference.”
On an unrelated note, I’ve figured out the auto-repair/pizza delivery enigma. What must have happened is that a deficit in the number of qualified mechanics led to a region-wide shortage of pizza-delivery vehicles. With no cars to run deliveries, Pizza Hut had no option but to close its doors. So, find some more mechanics, get your terrible pizza back.
Just past the Subarus, a cute, semi-rural apartment complex, with hedges and stonework and a gazebo and a cute, semi-rural name on the sign: “The Stables.” Whenever I pass, I always imagine cute, semi-rural women living there. But I don’t really know why they would, there more than other places.
On the plateau: Timoney signs everywhere. It’s gotta be a walk at this point. Close up the office, pack the bags, and shut it down. It’s over. But there’s another green sign there, hiding among the shamrocks—it’s for Amanda Green, running for school board. I have no idea why she’s chosen green to be her color.
Re-crossing Man-o-War: I get the walk sign and begin to cross, forcing some guy in a big truck, who’s looking to make a left onto MoW westbound, to wait for me to pass. He glares at me through the windshield, inches forward, and guns it as soon as I’m clear. Hm. I mean, son, like I won’t fuck you up?
On the homestretch: Finally, a Black Lives Matter sign—two, in fact—next door to a “Respect and Support Police” sign. The thing is, I’m juxtaposing the implications of those expressed positions as being somehow mutually exclusive, which is narrow, reductionist thinking. Then again, doesn’t the simplified language we use—slogans, yard signs, bumper stickers—to express our opinions dictate to a great extent the manner in which we’re able to comprehend the issues of our time? Does thought mirror language?
The final sign rankings: Barr and Timoney about neck-and-neck, followed by TP and R&SP. Whitney Baxter for Council made a late run to finish in the middle of the pack, while Hicks, McGrath, and Biden/Harris followed. Beasley, Green, and Willy Fogle for Council also ran.
Home now, stopping by the mailbox. Couple of bills, 47 candidate mailers, and my Poetry Magazine tote bag. A free gift: I recently subscribed.
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