David Aguirre and I sit in the loft office of his studio/gallery and together ponder the future.

Things have been kind of uncertain for our community’s “creative class” lately – especially those whose livelihood depends upon the delicate downtown ecosystem.

Artists such as David used to be definitive of Tucson. Since Rio Nuevo, their footing seems less sure.

For some time an odd feeling of jeopardy has hung in the heart of the city.

Suddenly, threat has become reality. After nearly 20 years of peaceful tenancy and with little warning, the artists of the Steinfeld – a beautiful old railroad depot that is the keystone of Tucson’s historic Warehouse Arts District – have been served with an eviction notice courtesy of the Arizona Department of Transportation.

Of course, the issue here isn’t the fate of one building. It’s about what that one building symbolizes.

With so much conflict in the air over what downtown Tucson should become, more and more people are losing sight of what downtown Tucson is – what it always has been: a proud representation of our community’s uniquely woven culture, a subtle masterpiece of individualist spirit and community dedication. In a word, authentic.

Unlike the rest of the strip-mall sprawl around here, downtown actually has history and character, and despite shameful neglect has tenaciously clung to its identity even through the dark ages (aka the ’90s).

Anchored by a few local mainstays, the area has remained a haven for the idealists among us, especially the entrepreneurial ones.

Despite the near draconian rule of the suburban big box, gutsy local business folk continue to roll the dice downtown, bless their masochistic hearts. Often as not, these well-intentioned upstarts last less than a year or two.

Nonetheless, their dogged persistence has proved an invaluable life-support system for the ailing soul of our city.

Meanwhile, the fate of one of downtown’s greatest functional monuments, indeed one of the tent poles of Tucson’s heritage, is on the chopping block – and our artistic community’s collective neck along with it.

City leaders claim to support the cause of imperiled downtown artists. And to its credit, David assures me, the city is working with local arts leaders in an attempt to buy the endangered Steinfeld from ADOT.

Nonetheless, I muse, logic – or perhaps survival instinct – raises the question: With so much at stake downtown, is it really so paranoid to be looking over our shoulders?

“Supportive” or not, the city has big plans for downtown.

And as they’re revealed, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to see how struggling artists and small local businesses fit in.

Will the eviction of the Steinfeld go down in local history as the shot heard ’round Tucson? I hope not.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Downtown revitalization is a great idea.

I’ve also seen how easily these things can spiral out of control.

As Rio Nuevo morphs from concept to construction, an unwavering belief in Tucson will be our most valuable tool.

We the people, not some stack of feasibility reports, are responsible for the future of our community.

If Tucson turns into Scottsdale, we’ll have nobody to blame but ourselves.

For his part, David is ramping up involvement of the local arts community in Rio Nuevo planning.

I plan to recruit a motley crew of discontents and start a free press magazine dedicated to keeping Tucson real.

So what are you gonna do about it?

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

———

MORE INFORMATION

www.tucsonpimaartscouncil.org

www.downtowntucson.org

Central Tucson Gallery Association: 629-9759

Warehouse Arts Management Association, president Charles Alexander: chax@theriver.com

Alas, our time together wanes, withering like the last banana in the bowl, turned all brown and speckle-y in the space of a moment.

Oops, sorry. I tend to wax poetic when I’m blue. And I am, as I soon must relinquish my Miss My Tucson tiara. (OK, so I don’t have to relinquish it, since I bought it myself, but I probably won’t be able to wear it around town as much.)

So before I graciously pass the My Tucson torch to those job-stealing hacks, uh, I mean talented new writers, I must, for the sake of my rabidly loyal fans, hand down a few final edicts.

Hold close this, dear reader, the scant comfort of one final adieu. Sorry, doing it again.

● Anyway, bravo to Arizona for being the first state to vote down the Protection of Bigotry – I mean, Protection of Marriage – proposal. Get us, we’re progressive. Think they’ll finally stop with the MLK jokes?

● Bogus to Roses & More for discontinuing its marquee politics. The signs were representative of the spirit of Tucson, a symbol of our community’s moxie.

Suddenly, the stores’ owner claims he has no choice but to cave to the “conservative” pressure causing a plummet in sales.

With all due respect, Mr. Schwartz, really? You’re sure the decline has nothing to do with our lagging economy?

Isn’t it possible luxury items (such as flowers) just don’t sell as well when gas costs $3 a gallon? Hmm, I sound like one of your signs.

● Bravo to the Tucson Police Department, Southside Presbyterian Church and Councilman Steve Leal for getting it right, eventually, with a program to peacefully handle day laborers.

A year after “crackdowns” went awry, sparking tension between TPD and Southside residents, our boys in blue are finally free to address real problems. Cooperation: what a concept.

● Bogus to Pima County for its rush to purchase the old Bank of America Plaza.

Supposedly needed to house “burgeoning” county and city legal systems (soon to grow fat upon the persecution of illegal immigrants and meth addicts), the 22-story tower is pretty expensive for an impulse buy.

In addition to its $24 million price tag, the high-rise would lose the county money by way of forfeited property tax revenues.

I’m reminded of my little brother, whose Monopoly strategy was, “Buy now, ask questions never.”

● Bravo to the University of Arizona for its continued work with NASA. Their latest collaboration, the OSIRIS mission, hopes to shed light on the origins of life on Earth by studying the surface material of an asteroid named RQ36. Way-cool planetary science in our own backyard – far out!

● Bogus to UA President Robert Shelton for sucker-punching the city with plans to file an outrageous TIF request to build the downtown science center.

As a newcomer, maybe Shelton is unaware of the ire such threats strike in the hearts of Tucsonans. Perhaps, because he wasn’t around for the Rio Nuevo fight, he can’t conceive of the monkey wrench his little extortion scheme could throw into our city’s future.

It’s even possible he just doesn’t respect the delicate symbiosis of community and university that keeps him in paychecks.

At any rate, he should drop the strong-arm tactics, take a lesson from our beloved Peter Likins and play nice.

● Bravo to all El Tour de Tucson participants, be they riders or sponsors.

The annual event is more than a local tradition; it’s a kaleidoscope of fun, fitness and philanthropy.

And with thousands of riders, it’s safe to assume more Tucson parents took their kids to El Tour last weekend than to camp outside a Best Buy.

Whew.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

As Election Day neared, most talk around the water cooler centered on bunny slippers.

Nobody felt like discussing the congressional race or welfare issues.

But if you wanted a heated debate, all you had to do was mention Prop. 999,999, “The Bunny Initiative.”

On the face of it, Prop. 999,999 seemed pretty straightforward. Basically, it purported to ban the sale or use of bunny slippers within city limits.

Supporters (led by national special interest groups) had easily gathered the necessary signatures to get their cause on the ballot.

After all, plenty of communities were adopting anti-bunny slipper laws, and historically the city had supported increased pajama legislation.

All in all, it seemed a relatively benign proposal. Nobody saw the political firestorm coming.

It began with the cotton farmers. What would happen to the local economy if bunny slippers (traditionally the No. 1 selling slipper) were banned?

Small family farms would be run out of business, they insisted, since everyone knows that 80 percent of the average cotton grower’s crops are purchased by the slipper industry.

Their fear campaign prophesied that the passing of Prop. 999,999 would begin a disastrous domino effect on the entire community.

Meanwhile, supporters of the ban began protesting outside area big-box stores.

They harassed shoppers and handed out propaganda accusing the discount slipper giants of exploiting workers and destroying small business.

During a television news interview, one picketer even burned a pair of bunny slippers in effigy, sending dozens of local schoolchildren into psychotherapy.

Animal rights activists festooned every street corner in town with “Spare the Hare” signs and ran TV ads that portrayed ban opponents as cruel and small-minded.

“Values” voters deemed the ban unpatriotic, claiming bunny slippers to be an American tradition.

Civil rights groups threatened a discrimination suit, calling the ban “footwear profiling.”

Newspaper editorials cautioned voters against falling for pro-ban political spin, pointing out a hidden “sweatshop” clause in the proposition’s language that would deregulate workplace conditions and eliminate overtime pay at local factories.

Once the early ballots started rolling in, things really got ugly.

Projections forecast a close race, so both sides stepped up their efforts.

Exaggeration and pandering abounded.

Opponents of the ban played the race card, citing the high percentage of minority workers employed by the bunny slipper industry.

Ban supporters countered with fuzzy math linking slipper factories and high crime rates.

A whisper campaign accused city leaders of corruption, citing the council’s long-time desire to attract profitable wool sock manufacturers to the area.

Eventually the “issue” deteriorated into little more than name-calling and character assassination.

Turnout at the polls was record-setting that November, even if most people really just showed up to watch the fistfights.

In the end, the Bunny Initiative came to represent the insipid nature of 21st-century American local politics and the role such chicanery played in the decline of Western civilization.

An interactive educational exhibit detailing the debacle now resides in the Museum of Human Stupidity, lest we forget.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

I must have had my heart broken 20 times this year. There was the cute little Tudor, the fixer-upper with the greenhouse and the unbelievably well-located historic home.

It’s my own fault, really. I shouldn’t covet my neighbor’s hardwood floors.

I’m not in the market to buy a house. I want to be, but apparently I can’t afford to settle down in Tucson.

What? Tucson too expensive? I just can’t wrap my brain around it.

But it’s true. Fueled by recent growth projections that hyped the Old Pueblo’s expected population to soon top the million mark, a perfect storm of media spin, outside investor ignorance and house-flipping cable TV shows, our real estate market has spiraled out of control.

Adding insult to injury, every slumlord in town smells easy money and has slapped a coat of paint on his grungy old property, further bloating an already falsely inflated market.

(Note to sellers: You have a lot of nerve listing a rundown. 80-year-old one-story with swamp cooling and faulty plumbing for 300 grand.)

Meanwhile, the average working Tucsonan doesn’t even earn enough to make rent.

Not just “unskilled laborers” either, whatever that means; I’m talking about police officers, teachers, firefighters and nurses – the very heart of our community. Such disrespect is morally egregious.

And on a pragmatic note, subjugating the working class is just a bad idea.

I won’t pretend to be an expert on economic policy, but I can smell social unrest and I’ve gotta say, it’s getting pretty rank in here.

People won’t stay where they’re not appreciated, and “exorbitant dustbowl” isn’t much of a lure to new settlers.

If the city doesn’t do something to improve the lot of its average citizen, Tucson just might “speculate” itself right off the map.

Adding call center jobs won’t cut it. In a struggling economy, it’s tempting to refrain from looking a gift horse in the mouth, but a proliferation of entry-level positions won’t do much to elevate our average household income.

We need growth industries, not jobs that are easily lost to outsourcing or mechanization.

We need a livable wage for our public servants, not another tax on their rentals.

We need our city and state legislators to recognize that a community only thrives when its citizens do and to provide us with the real tools of prosperity: upward mobility and a reliable infrastructure.

Most of all we need homes we can call our own, because pride of ownership is a powerful incentive.

Let’s stop forecasting what Tucson could be and focus on what Tucson is – a community of decent, hardworking people who deserve more than grand promises and shoddy patchwork.

With respect for our populace and a little sweat equity, we can make this a community we’re happy to invest in because it has invested in us.

Imagine all the people, living life in affordable housing. You may say I’m a dreamer, but (with apologies to John Lennon) I’m not the only one.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

They’re ba-aaack! Freshly equipped with MP3s and fake IDs, scores of college coeds once again run rampant through the Old Pueblo.

For permanent Tucson denizens, the return of UA students each year is an unmistakable harbinger, perhaps our most palpable sign of autumn’s approach.

The leaves on the trees don’t change color, the temperature barely drops, but once we see that first SUV packed with a futon and overstuffed Target bags, we know the lazy days of summer are officially over.

Gone are the mercifully deserted streets. No longer will renting a video be an expedient process. Saturday night trips to the grocery store will once again put us in line behind glittery sorority girls and horny frat boys as they stockpile discount liquor.

This perennial onslaught tends to elicit one of two responses among the natives.

Local small-business owners, of whom there are plenty, naturally welcome the influx of customers, extending their hours and running back-to-school promos.

Landlords also rejoice, gleefully yanking sun-bleached “For Rent” signs out of the windows of dilapidated rental properties.

The rest of us heave a sigh of resignation and brace ourselves.

It’s not that we dislike the students. On the contrary, their presence here is what makes our city work.

Without the revenue the university generates, Tucson might never have risen above “sleepy little Western town” status.

Our community has a lot invested in the school; its success or failure to a large degree dictates our own.

But oy, the hassle. Try driving Mountain Avenue some Tuesday afternoon without plowing down a distracted cyclist. It’s enough to give you nervous fits.

Between the class time commuting and five-day-weekend partying, it’s often safer and easier to just avoid the campus area altogether.

Such logistical annoyances are, of course, what lie at the heart of Tucson’s mixed feelings toward the annual immigration of the students.

The city is just so peaceful when they’re not around. It has that hidden-jewel feeling, a mellowness that somehow evaporates with their return.

Being a townie is a badge of honor during the scorching summer. Something about riding out all those triple-digit days together bonds those of us who remain – something vaguely akin to a lifeboat mentality.

True Tucsonans are far more likely to wave someone into our lane of traffic in July than in November, or to overlook a neighbor’s rowdy weeknight party.

Ironically enough, we locals actually even smile at each other more during the dog days. And despite near-sadistic temperatures, the city becomes a really cool place to be.

But like the swallows to Capistrano, the students always return, bringing traffic congestion, noise pollution and the boundless enthusiasm and potential of youth.

For as much as they might test our patience, they are, indeed, the true lifeblood of our community.

They energize our ranks, reminding us of the importance of cultural regeneration and inspiring us to embrace life, complications and all.

Their ambition keeps our eyes trained on the future; their optimism gives us hope for what will come.

Their impact on our community is undeniable, and despite the inconveniences, I must admit we’re lucky to have them.

Welcome back, Wildcats!

Now watch where you’re biking.

Disclaimer: Savvy readers will note that Amy Lynn Glor is a former Wildcat herself. In her defense, she never left town for summer break. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

I have a list of bodily emissions so repugnant, it could turn the stomach of even the most obnoxious seventh-grade boy.

I’ll spare you the complete record. Suffice it to say, the list of things people flush down toilets regularly is enough to keep you up at night – if you face the prospect of drinking toilet water, that is.

And we are, at least theoretically.

The irony never fails to strike me during monsoon.

Every year the sky opens in a deluge of the precious stuff, yet officials project a water crisis for the area by 2050.

Many locals disclaim responsibility, wagging their fingers at new development and casting builders as ecological succubi bent on draining the very lifeblood of the land.

Oh, were it only that simple. Sure, it’s hugely irresponsible for developers to build yet another golf course, knowing full well that its maintenance will diminish an already struggling potable water supply.

But considering that most Tucson homes also draw solely potable water, is it less detrimental to our aquifer to hose off your driveway, fill your pool or insist upon watering your lawn at 2 in the afternoon?

No, I’m not perfect. I’ve lost track of time in the shower while rehearsing my Grammy acceptance speech (hey, it could happen), and I’ll even admit to having washed a single pair of jeans during a fashion crisis.

But after more than 20 years in the desert, I’ve observed time and again one simple, undeniable truth: Water is life.

I don’t mean that in a tree-huggy, Age of Aquarius kind of way. I mean if you don’t have water available at all times around here, you’ll die, plain and simple.

Still, it’s hard to get folks interested in a problem that won’t affect them for a few decades, especially when most Tucsonans drink only bottled water anyway.

It’s easy to overlook the 10 gallons of perfectly good water it costs to flush a squished spider down the toilet, or to take for granted a leisurely soak in a hot tub.

But such luxuries will dry up with our water table if we let them.

Then we’ll be forced to pipe our own wastewater back into our homes.

Mmm, shower, anyone?

I could be overreacting. After all, we’ve been assured that if Tucson ever does need to “recycle” toilet into tap, the resulting product will be perfectly safe – cleaner, in fact, than what we have now.

Yeah, right. I don’t care if it’s endorsed by the surgeon general and blessed by the pope. It will always be sewage.

So what’s a well-meaning (if easily disgusted) girl to do?

Developers keep building; politicians bemoan the situation but refuse to implement water-saving legislation; and Tucson Water considers the shortage a supply-side problem.

I guess it’s down to you and me. Let’s stop the lip service and get serious about conservation, if only to avoid brushing our teeth with urine.

Let’s harvest rainfall to water plants, dirty fewer clothes and dishes and (gasp) learn to love a dusty vehicle.

It won’t seem such a sacrifice when the punch at your 75th birthday party isn’t spiked with e-coli.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

———

ON THE WEB

For more information on water conservation, see:

Local Sierra Club chapter Web site: http://arizona.sierraclub.org/rincon

Arizona Native Plant Society’s “Conservation Committee:” http://aznps.org

U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s “What You Can Do:” www.epa.gov/water

Tucson Water conservation tips: www.ci.tucson.az.us/water

The bags are packed, the reservations confirmed. I’ve suspended newspaper and postal delivery and watered the rosebushes.

The recycling is on the curb, the dog-sitter found and yet, I can’t take my vacation until I clean off my desk, so to speak.

So enjoy the rant, because I ain’t taking brainwork to the beach.

First, I’d like to address the most ridiculous debate in Tucson, the controversy over the “stupid motorist law.”

I’ve heard our drainage systems compared with those of a Third World nation, our local officials accused of enmity toward hapless flood victims and a call for bridges to be built over every wash in town.

Please. That’s just a bunch of knee-jerk, reactionary liberal nonsense inspired by the law’s pithy but politically incorrect name.

Trust me, if it were called the “Rescue Relief Act,” we wouldn’t be having this discussion.

Next, the smoking ban. Climb down, nonsmokers, you all have bad habits, too.

I’m not convinced all of your SUV exhaust and cell phone waves aren’t giving me cancer.

Of course, considering the surgeon general’s recent prostrate position on secondhand smoke, it seems that the moral right will have little problem once more imposing its unyielding will on everyone.

Never mind that the tobacco companies’ initiative is quite comprehensive and equitable, containing smoke to the lungs of smokers without putting bars and restaurants out of business, ostracizing a large percentage of the public, raising taxes or creating unnecessary government.

No, the self-righteous nonsmokers will settle for nothing less than a statewide ban. Wise, considering how effective prohibition has proven in the past.

On to the Wingspan ads: Am I too sensitive, or are they kind of offensive?

Not because they feature gays and lesbians living and working in harmony with “the rest of us,” but because Wingspan apparently still thinks straight Tucsonans are small-minded bigots.

Sure, homophobic jerks are everywhere, and I’m sure Wingspan could regale me with tales of prejudice and even violence.

But that’s not Tucson on the whole. We embrace and support our LGBT neighbors, and to be accused otherwise, however subtly, hurts.

And the piece d’ resistance, ∑ our city’s sudden desire to end homelessness.

Hmm, the Board of Supervisors and City Council want to find all street-dwellers homes just after Rio Nuevo tax-increment financing is renewed. How convenient.

Then they cut funding to Scrappy’s, a homeless-teen club in the heart of the redevelopment zone – er, downtown.

Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I imagine it’s a lot easier to entice investors to a place blissfully free of distasteful sights like homeless vets and addicted orphans. Urban blight is so off-putting.

Not that I oppose city help for the homeless. It’s about freakin’ time something spurred the powers-that-be to action, however self-serving.

Because of its mild climate and low cost of living, our city is, was and always will be a haven for the displaced and, sadly, we can’t expect to find homes and jobs for them all.

Even if we did, more would soon fill their park benches.

Nonetheless, the fact that Tucson finally is going to take concrete action on this issue is a good thing.

‘Nuff said. Now it’s Florida or bust.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

It’s like some bad ’80s teen movie: The in crowd decides to turn a geek into a chic.

All atwitter from a junket to Austin, the local politerati have decided they actually could like Tucson if it weren’t so, well, Tucson-y.

Austin’s leaders apparently are a right friendly group o’ folks.

They all but rolled out the red carpet for our little think tank.

Somewhere in all the wining and dining, development mogul Pike Powers even found time to introduce them to every politically savvy waitress and cab driver in town.

Not to mention inundating them with proof of how cool Austin is. Did you know Willie Nelson lives there?

All Rovian jokes aside, I guess Texas knows politicking, because since the consortium’s return, all we’ve heard is “Austin this” and “Austin that.”

Sure, Austin done good. With the help of an uncommonly philanthropic tycoon, the sleepy town quickly became quite an economic turd blossom.

So Austin found a Sugar Daddy, big deal. If Austin jumped off a bridge, would we do that, too?

This is Tucson, and we need to deal with our own reality, which apparently includes apathetic leadership.

Whoa, missy – it’s not the leaders who are apathetic, it’s the people! That was the whole reason for the trip, to generate passion, to figure out how to get Tucsonans invested in Tucson’s future.

Really? I hadn’t realized what a pathetic backwater Tucson is until y’all came home and pointed out our inferiority.

What a hick I was not to realize how provincial our sad little excuse for a city really is.

We’re clearly behind the curve; we don’t have any good skyscrapers.

We do have Fiesta de los Vaqueros – the world’s largest nonmechanized parade – and the Fourth Avenue street fairs.

We’ve got KXCI and San Xavier del Bac, Cactus League baseball and the Tucson Boys Chorus.

We have the beauty of Sabino Canyon and the wonder of Biosphere 2.

We have a doggedly prolific music scene. Every year, we host one of the world’s most respected gem shows.

No city has more respect for locally owned businesses or a more supportive artists’ network.

We root for hometown sports, get involved in local politics and celebrate our diverse heritage every chance we get.

And what is this about local leaders not considering UA brag-worthy? Excuse me? ‘Round here, them’s fightin’ words.

Bear Down, Arizona, looks like we’ve got some bureaucratic butt to kick!

Don’t tell me Tucsonans aren’t invested in Tucson.

Sure, we might complain about it, fight over it, even neglect it, but threaten the Old Pueblo’s identity and we’ll come at you swinging.

“Local” status is hard-earned in these parts, and we don’t take kindly to corporate rustlers.

So here’s a fresh idea, Tucson leaders. Instead of following Austin, try leading Tucson.

Open your eyes to how amazing our community is and build upon its inherent strengths: science and technology, yes, but in equal parts with art and culture.

We don’t want to be Austin, and we’re not interested in making some “best of” list.

Most of all, we always will refuse to co-opt our heritage on behalf of the almighty dollar. That’s what makes Tucson special.

Instead of trolling for some high-tech Daddy Warbucks to change the face of our city, let us do what we’ve always done best: Be ourselves.

Of course we want to move toward the future; we’re just going to fight tooth and nail to make sure Tucson stays Tucson.

Think makeover, not plastic surgery.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

Brace yourself, Arizona, because our dusty little corner of the world is poised to make history.

Thanks to Dr. Mark Osterloh’s “million-dollar measure,” Arizona could soon find itself on the cutting edge of 21st-century government by infusing the drudgery of the democratic process with the compulsive delusion of gambling.

I can already envision the big news conference: Arizona’s newest elected official presenting an oversized novelty check to that one special voter, that American Everyman, whose civic responsibility finally paid out – I mean paid off.

The whole thing got me thinking. If turning elections into lotteries gets folks involved, why not expand upon the idea?

I mean, you gotta move with the times, right? Old-fashioned government just isn’t sexy. It’s time for a bureaucratic makeover.

We should start with the prison system. Real life crime and punishment is so dull. Why not mix it up a little?

I say, let the guards and the inmates switch places like on those wife-swapping reality shows. The best guard-inmate team would win parole and a Club Med vacation.

And is it just me, or is the judiciary branch slacking in the dazzle department, too?

I mean, I remember when high-profile murder trials were worth watching; racist cops, bloody gloves, rhyming lawyers, the whole nine yards.

Now we can’t get past a hung jury. Bo-ring.

I propose a phone-in public voting system for trials. In fact, with a little clever use of technology, we could eliminate the need for a courts system entirely – just hire a panel of bitchy local celebrities to serve as judges and coordinate witness testimony with a laser light show.

Broadcast on Fox, and by the second season, the whole state would be texting “fry him” to the 900 number at the bottom of the screen.

Not to mention how much more entertaining government meetings would be if our public servants had to eat a bug or something before they could comment on policy.

Or maybe we could make them compete in immunity challenges. Then, at the end of each meeting, we could vote somebody off the City Council.

That would definitely encourage public participation.

Ooh, ooh, we should see what happens when Arizona politicians stop being nice on, “The Real World: Campaign Trail!”

Just shove all the congressional candidates in one big tour bus, hire a camera crew and hit the road.

C’mon, Patty Weiss and Randy Graf fighting over empty ice cube trays – who wouldn’t watch that?

And why do primary debates have to be such snooze fests? What if instead we had a freestyle rap faceoff? Yo, yo, border reform in the hiz-ouse!

You know, bring it to the people. The candidate whose rhymes get mad love from the crowd gets the party nomination.

I’m just spitballing here. I’m sure we all have equally brilliant ideas that deserve a place on the November ballot just as much as does Dr. Osterloh’s proposal.

This is our chance, Arizona. Let’s once more prove ourselves as forward-thinking social pioneers by leashing the power of the real American dream – fame and easy money.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.

One of my favorite jokes is to threaten to put a brick on the head of a child I love to keep him or her from growing.

This suggestion never fails to get a laugh out of the child, along with a sage scolding on the plan’s impossibility. Even a 6-year-old knows all things must grow or die.

Unfortunately, brick-on-the-head logic seems to be the bane of Tucson’s rapidly decaying city streets.

Or rather, the squawking and scratching of local anti-growth proponents would make it seem so.

I’m no fascist. I respect social watchdogs. The right to stand up against the forces of government is, next to freedom of speech and religion, perhaps the greatest privilege afforded us by our Constitution.

However, the belief that all governmental policy is, by definition, inherently corrupt speaks less to freedom than to servitude.

Did I always feel this way? Hardly.

I came to Tucson nearly 20 years ago with a dream in my heart and a chip on my shoulder.

You see, I was raised in Phoenix. Yes, Phoenix, the evil empire to the north, the cradle of unholy corporate development.

Tucson seemed an obvious choice for someone seeking refuge from the soulless, enterprising ways of the Phoenicians.

Used to feeling powerless against change, I was absolutely smitten with the Old Pueblo’s enduring anti-growth movement.

My freak flag flew like a shrieking eagle during my first few years as a Tucsonan.

I surrounded myself with like-minded zealots, the lot of us hell-bent on sniffing out the “agendas” of corrupt legislators and greedy developers.

We were good; toss us any local news story, and we could show you the fraud behind the headline.

Offer a solution to a growing local problem, and we could dissect your ulterior motives like advanced placement biology students.

Threaten us with legislation, and we would go grass-roots all over your ass.

It was fun for a while. But the longer I lived here, the less I could respect the anti-growthers’ platform.

Their arguments started to sound flimsy and fraught with conjecture; their sources seemed less and less credible.

Everything was cause to fight. Eventually I found myself wondering whose agenda was really being pushed around here.

What happened? I grew up. I realized social progress is never perfect. I came to understand that my opinion is not the only one that counts.

I humbly conceded that the way I choose to live my life is not better – or somehow more ethical – than the lifestyles of others.

I saw through the veil of pious posturing that constantly threatens to undermine our city’s progress. I managed to let go of my distrust without sacrificing my principles.

Trying to keep Tucson small by voting down the RTA proposal is like putting a brick on the head of a child – futile and selfish.

We must not allow our fear of what tomorrow might bring to overwhelm the responsibility we have to our community today.

Digging our heels in and refusing to prepare for the reality of growth will hurt no one more than it hurts us.

I understand the impulse but condemn the action when self- righteous crusaders, no matter how well meaning, use propaganda and emotional blackmail in an attempt to hobble our city.

I, too, wish Tucson could stay the small town I fell in love with, but that’s just not realistic.

So grow up, Tucson. Kevin Costner is an actor, not a prophet; they will come – whether we build it or not.

Amy Lynn Glor is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Arizona journalism department. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com

As a Gen Xer, I’ve always been categorized as politically apathetic.

My peers generally limit social protest to overly synthesized music and narcissistic indie films.

Never big on activism, we ushered in the era of disaffected youth – or something.

When we were teens, this genesis of indifference seemed particularly offensive to our parents, the self-proclaimed “flower children” of the 1960s.

We were constantly lectured about the importance of questioning the status quo and eradicating prejudice.

We were guilt-tripped with tales of marches, sit-ins and boycotts.

Our Parents: an unstoppable force for justice, taking to the streets at the first sign of oppression, saving the world one cause at a time through sheer will and in unprecedented numbers, an entire generation wrapped in love beads and set to “Revolution.”

How ironic that 40 years after they made love, not war, the same flower children are the loudest voices maligning recent student walkouts.

But I guess things were different then. The nation was in a costly war few supported. Corrupt politicians were attempting to create a climate of fear and social stratification. Minorities were being exploited by big business.

Nothing like America today.

Really, it would be ridiculous to equate the civil rights activists of the past with the hooligans skipping class these days.

Back then, a newly enfranchised populace exercised its constitutional right to protest the treatment of its kinsmen.

Its chants gave voice to the unheard, demanding that the nation face up to a problem long swept under the carpet.

Completely unlike recent marchers.

Our Parents’ activism was much more legitimate because ’60s protesters were, without exception, well-versed in political, social and economic theory.

Indeed, flower children were characterized by their ability to doubt conspiracy and discount conjecture.

Doubtless any one of the thousands of May Day demonstrators who gathered around the reflecting pool in D.C. could have given an accurate, point-by-point rundown of the socio-political forces that led to America’s involvement in Vietnam and provide a realistic plan for peaceful troop withdrawal.

Surely nobody was there just to pick up chicks.

Not to mention that the summer of love was a summer, after all.

It’s not as if Our Parents ever cut class to attend some silly rally. Certainly, their marches and sit-ins were all legitimate, school-sponsored extracurricular events scheduled before or after official learning time.

Nobody dared hop in a VW van and head to Woodstock without first getting a few chapters ahead in the math book.

None of Our Parents ever went off half-cocked.

And let’s not forget the enduring devotion the flower children have shown to their principles.

Kids today are obviously too materialistic and self-centered to stick by their youthful convictions. Sure, it’s fun to cause a ruckus with a bunch of your friends, but how many of these new protesters will carry that resolve into their adult lives the way Our Parents have?

How many will work to create and maintain venues to further their cause?

How many will actually dedicate their careers to bettering our society and eschew personal gain for cultural progress?

Clearly not one flower child sold out.

So, it looks as if we Xers have failed Our Parents once again by turning out a generation of hooky-playing ignoramuses.

The walkouts were a nice try, kids, but take it from an Xer: All the real protesting was done by your grandparents’ generation.

Despite being an Xer, Amy Lynn Glor managed to graduate from the University of Arizona with a degree in journalism and a sense of right and wrong. E-mail: aglor2@hotmail.com.