Watertown, NY: The Political Clown Car Nobody Asked For
By Hans Wilder (if he were stuck in Jefferson County with nothing but a microphone and a migraine)
Let’s talk about the Watertown, New York City Council race—or as I like to call it: The Greatest Shitshow on Asphalt. You ever see a group of people argue over a mud puddle like it’s the future site of the Louvre? That’s Watertown politics in a nutshell. A town with potential, run by people who think “infrastructure” is something you get when you hold in a fart too long.
Let’s start with Anthony Velasquez, or as I like to call him—Captain Nosy Neighbors. This guy’s entire political strategy is based on commenting on dog poop and porch pirates on a Facebook page. Not knocking social media, but if your big idea to save a dying city is to stalk Ring doorbells and bitch about leaf piles online, maybe you shouldn’t be running for government, maybe you should be running for hall monitor. And the best part? Ask this guy a serious question and poof—he disappears like city money in a no-bid contract. He’s a crybaby with a WiFi password, and that’s about all.
Next up, we’ve got Mr. Burns—no, not the evil genius from The Simpsons, though that might actually be an improvement. This guy’s allergic to the word Trump. Can’t say it. Won’t say it. Starts twitching like he sat on an electric fence every time it comes up. This poor guy’s got a case of Trump Derangement Syndrome so bad you’d think the 45th president personally keyed his car. Look, whether you love or hate Trump, if you can’t say the name of a former president without your eye twitching, maybe you shouldn’t be in charge of potholes, let alone policy.
And then there’s Cliff Olney. Oh, Cliff. Cliff believes in progress. But only if it involves homeless tents and riverwalk dreams. Now don’t get me wrong—helping people is noble. But Cliff seems to think Watertown’s future is wrapped in flannel, holding a cardboard sign, and sleeping under a park bench. Cliff, my guy, the Black River isn’t a gold mine—it’s wet. It’s not Disneyland, it’s a glorified ditch with current. We don’t need paddleboats and overpriced coffee stands. We need servers, cooling tech, data centers—real jobs, real industry. But try telling that to Cliff and he’ll start talking about salmon and seasonal festivals like he’s pitching a Hallmark movie.
Meanwhile, my wife and I offered to sign Cliff’s petition and he never even showed up. That’s how much he wants it. Maybe he’s busy designing a river-themed gift shop. Who knows?
Now let’s talk about what really matters in this town: ugly trees, crooked powerlines, and cable spaghetti hanging from every building like a cybernetic rat’s nest. Watertown looks like it lost a war to the telephone pole mafia. AT&T, Spectrum, Verizon—they’re stringing lines around this town like it’s a jungle gym. Where’s the zoning board? Taking a nap under one of those trees Cliff won’t cut down.
And don’t get me started on zoning. We’ve got more random cables, collapsing fences, and trash-bag curtains in downtown buildings than any town with an airport has a right to.
But you know what? Watertown does have potential. The river, the proximity to Canada, the power—it’s all there. What it doesn’t have is vision. What it does have is a clown car of candidates who think small and argue big. They’re playing checkers while the rest of the world is coding algorithms on a hydro-powered server farm.
And while the City of Watertown circles the drain, the Town of Watertown is quietly building, expanding, getting ready to eat its urban cousin for lunch.
So here’s the future, folks: The city dies, the town rises, and Facebook guy cries into his ring doorbell while Trump-phobic Burns tries to outlaw red hats and Cliff floats down the river in a kayak filled with tax-funded soy candles.
Welcome to Watertown, baby.
Where progress goes to die, and local politics is a spectator sport with no refunds.
MORE TO COME:
