Like Some Loves, Electric Paint Is Sure to Fizzle

Graffiti in large blue letters, spray-painted at the end of the Ventura Pier: “Lovers, like the tide, always come back.”

I can only imagine who wrote that.

It doesn’t take a trained investigator to conclude that it wasn’t some gang kid marking his territory.

Instead, we’ll call him Jason--so many of them are called Jason these days--a freshly rejected high school junior, pining away for the flighty Tiffany, contemplating betrayal and redemption one dark night at the end of the pier.

I feel for you, kid.

But you’re wrong.

When the history of lovers is finally written, Jason, it will be found that 97.2% of them never come back, send a birthday card or return your old green sweater. Of the handful that do make a return appearance, most leave again shortly, like the tides, which, at least never chirp, “But we can still be friends, can’t we?”

But here, Jason, is the more urgent point.

You shouldn’t have done the graffiti. For acts like yours--though usually a little less heartfelt--have so maddened public officials in Ventura County that they are contemplating ways to electrify spray cans.

That’s right.

Frank Schillo, the county supervisor from Thousand Oaks, is pushing for a ban on ordinary spray paint. The aerosol cans you have come to know and love would be replaced by a yet-to-be-developed type of can that must be tethered to an electrical outlet.

Without a nearby plug, there would be no handwriting on the wall. Like the ancient poets, who lacked both Cliffs Notes and the ability to read, you would have to stand at pier’s end and wail into the indifferent night: “Lovers, like the tide, always come back . . . “

That’s the idea, anyway. It’s a well-meant gesture, but it won’t work.

In 1996, a similar measure flopped in the state Legislature. You know the old saying, Jason: “Dumb ideas, like the tide . . . “

The paint people, predictably, aren’t keen on being required to market a gadget that could depress paint sales. They also aren’t sure they can add electricity to a pressurized container filled with highly flammable substances and not risk the incineration of an occasional consumer.

As for graffiti, there might be a sudden increase in sales of indelible laundry markers and the kind of blades you can use to etch your message in shop windows. Your 34-character “Lovers, like the tide . . . “ line might be a little long for scratching into glass, though; instead, how about a broken heart, dripping tears, with “Tiff” in one jagged part and “any” in the other?

OK, kid. It was just an idea.

The electric can might also send graffiti artists scurrying across county lines to buy old-fashioned, fully portable, nonelectric cans. There might even be a black market for them, with shady-looking guys on street corners having to say no more than: “Hey, kid! Pssst!”

There’s a better way, of course.

As usual, government hasn’t gone far enough.

If spray cans can be electrified, they also can be made to give the user an invigorating electric shock--a jolt strong enough to make the eyes bug out and the hair fly up, but not severe enough to scorch brain cells. Kids--no offense, Jason--will back off in a hurry, but gritty, middle-aged homeowners bent on painting a patio chair will go the distance, barring unconsciousness.

Of course, the obvious solution is to ban spray paint outright, in any form, electric or not. But it might be advisable for lawmakers to first try banning something less harmful--like assault weapons--before tackling the really serious stuff, like spray paint.

I’m sorry, Jason, that you lost Tiffany. But she’ll soon be replaced by Jennifer, who, at a time already inscribed in the Book of Lost Loves, will make room for Amber, of the bright eyes and the liquid laugh.

Until then, lay off the spray paint. And don’t even think about extension cords.

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Steve Chawkins can be reached at 653-7561 or at steve.chawkins@latimes.com.