In the Good Old Days when a group of common interest folk wanted to have a place to gather, they would toss their money together and build themselves a clubhouse, collect member dues for maintenance, set fees to cover their expenses and party on at their pleasure.
Nowadays seemingly the new route to private tree houses is all about snake-oil; trying to convince us all of the culturally uplifting and socially redeeming benefits of having a private membership club bestowing its presence upon our taxfree commons. In exchange for the exhilaration of collaborative euphoria that their presence will surely grace us with, the least, the very least, we the people should do is fund the mere 10 Mil pittance for its construction, volunteer to cover the yearly 1 Mil for its maintenance, and share in a partnering kind of way the cost of the user fees to aid all those poor indigent souls so common to private clubs.
And of course, lest we be so crass as to forget, we must, simply must… do it for “The Children”… for how could the little darlings go on to a lifehood of success having suffered the esteem-wrenching indignity of eating birthday cake without “The Immersion.”
For it is only a matter of time and research to expose the true ravages of dry feet cake consumption.
Furthermore, though I hold no malice towards swimmers and splashers, the need in government’s view to yank a supplementary dollar out of my non-swimming shorts every time a pool user decides to take a dip is really not my idea of a good time.
Five thousand pay so 150 can play.
So are steering committees necessary because there is no one else at the wheel? Just askin’.
Vilnis Neilands
Grand Marais
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