Sitting downtown at a workforce kiosk, one veto over the line

One thing I hate about being on vacation is missing perfectly good column fodder. So last week, when my phone buzzed with news that the Iowa Supreme Court had slapped "unconstitutional" on Gov. Terry Branstad's 2011 line-item veto of state employment field office funding, I was dejected. Swiftly, I had the cabana boy bring another pitcher of anti-dejection juice. Much better.

Still, I regret not having a chance to weigh in when the news was red hot. But that has never stopped me before. This blog rules when it comes to lukewarm.

I've read a lot of articles about the court ruling, and was struck by a couple of things.

First, unless I overlooked it, I didn't read any quotes from the Supreme Court's persistent critics in the Legislature praising the justices for sustaining the legislative branch's power to craft a budget without wholesale gubernatorial editing. Basically, Branstad looked at a legislative spending directive, decided he didn't like it much, deleted it, and spent the money on something else. The Legisalture thought it was exercising its constitutional authority in making appropriations. The governor thought they were simply helpful suggestions.

Checking the governor's power play is a pretty big deal, and you'd think lawmakers of all stripes would toss the court bouquets in gratitude. But bouquets are French, clearly, and among theses justices remain four robed tyrants who brought down western civilization in 2009., so nah. Let the court-flogging continue.

And besides, the court ruled that the governor's bad-item veto also tainted funding for other Workforce Development functions, meaning that the state's workforce workforce could soon be leaving the workforce, unless lawmakers act now, or soon. Branstad, veto over-reacher and leader of the party of personal responsibility, swiftly blamed the folks who filed the lawsuit for this predicament. Naturally.

Second, this might seem complicated, but it really all boils down to kiosks.

Branstad wielded his faulty veto in order to close 36 Workforce Development field offices. The Legislature was all like, don't you dare close them, and the governor was all like, whatever, Senadorks. These pricey bastions of inefficient humanity were replaced with "computer based unemployment kiosks." Or, basically, designated computers installed in scores of public buildings and sites across the state, where folks in vocational distress, also known as the unemployed, could sit down and interface with helpful, convenient web-based state service portals. You're welcome.

The governor says this is better and cheaper, and insists he has the numbers to prove it. Democrats say staffed field offices beat kiosks hollow.

I, like the governor, have always had steady work. But if I were shown the door, I can't imagine being terribly happy about carting my unfortunate jobless self into something called a kiosk. But maybe that's just because I don't know much about kiosks. I mean, I know I can buy sunglasses, bejeweled cell phone covers and kitty calendars in kiosks, but that's basically where my kiosk knowledge ends. There must be more to kiosks than meets the mall. To the internets.

The origins of "kiosk" From The Word Detective:

..."kiosk" first appeared in English in 1625. Its original meaning was, to quote the Oxford English Dictionary, "An open pavilion or summerhouse of light construction, often supported by pillars and surrounded with a balustrade; common in Turkey and Persia, and imitated in gardens and parks in Western Europe." Not surprisingly, the root of "kiosk" is the Turkish word "kiushk," meaning "pavilion." The graceful kiosks of Turkey and Persia were social gathering places on estates and in public parks, much admired by European visitors, who carried the idea (and the word) home with them.

Back in Europe, kiosks sprang up by the hundreds in the gardens of the wealthy, but the general design of the kiosk (as well as the word itself) was also put to a more plebeian task -- selling newspapers. Small circular newspaper kiosks are still found in many European cities, and kiosks even dot American shopping malls, where they are used to peddle novelty license plates and similar knickknacks. Quite a comedown for a graceful word. If I were "kiosk," I'd sue.

A rich history, to be sure. Now, if I am ever unemployed (pause for prayer) retreating to a graceful summerhouse in a Persian garden seems like a very good way to collect one's thoughts and soothe one's frazzled wits. Something for Workforce Development to consider.

But, instead of focusing on the real issue of Persian vs. Turkish kiosk architecture, we'll just have more partisan debate over human-staffed offices versus computer-based kiosks, from now through the fall election. On the up side, it will keep campaign ad producers out of the unemployment kiosks.

Or, perhaps we can solve the whole thing now. Here's my compromise plan - Job-O-Mats.

Does anyone remember the old Fotomat booths, and assorted copycats? They were little one-person shops, or kiosks, if you will, that developed film. You had the critical human element, and the minimalist kiosk atmosphere, all in one.

Something to consider. Job-O-Mats. Just trying to help. No, seriously.