Alright on the Jetsons

Some shore dwellers object mightily to derelict boats constantly before the picture windows of their vast houses. They have a point. It is important to validate the position of the "opposition". But when you have to get approval from a neighborhood association to moor in a marina, it is carrying things too far. One of the reasons I took up sailing, was to escape the gray/beige aesthetic of the American, urban landscape. My girlfriend just informed me that the BAMBI plan did, in a sense, call for a neighborhood association. That's the trouble with girlfriends, they have an irritating tendency to prick the self righteous bubbles of us menfolk.
But imagine , if you will, if the cliff dwellers of Athos had to conform to an officially ordained color scheme: Mediterranean blue with a dash of bougainvillea red. Or what if such fascist dictates were imposed upon the decor of gaudy, Mexican hacienda's? Pancho Villa would rise from the grave to lead that colorful citizenry in open rebellion.
I recently spoke to a local, well educated and tolerant woman who complained of her neighbor's color choice for his home. When I pointed out that it was the same hue and shade of the overhanging cedars, she replied: "Well, it's alright on trees!".
For a country that prides itself on our alleged liberties, we seem only too willing to abdicate our right to paint our dwellings whatever color we might fancy, whether it be chartreuse or viadurya blue. We cherish our freedom to choose between dish soaps over the freedoms that truly liberate us from the role of passive consumer; a role ruthlessly imposed upon our placid population by corporate "culture".
Once there was a live aboard in a lurid pink vessel that appeared to have zoomed straight out of the final frontier to land before the appalled citizens of the south shore, causing much gnashing of teeth among them. But the proud captain of this dilapidated, interstellar craft felt it worthy of a berth in the Museum of Science and Industry, and boasted of her status as a unique, Boeing prototype from Seattle's early sixties, golden age. Ah, but those days are long gone and I, for one, do not miss them. This was the era of the Jetsons aesthetic that brought us John Graham Junior's brutalist architecture and that phallic monument to Seattle kitch, the Space Needle. This abomination can be seen all the way from fair Wicca's deck. Can't some thing be done about that space hypo? I mean, it's alright on the Jetsons.