Yep, the gophers are ready for summer
To paraphrase Coleridge, summer is setting in with its usual severity, leaving us all a little edgy. In particular, the gophers have gone wild, and there is little reason to think they won’t take the house and the cars before they are done.
These, of course, are the famed 30-year gophers, renowned for the devastation they cause. The other day, while out running, I paused with several other residents to watch a gopher pop its head out of a hole in some green space along the boulevard. Such is the level of sophistication in the place where I reside.
“I can’t believe we’re standing here watching a gopher,” one of the spectators finally said.
Me, I couldn’t believe more people hadn’t joined us. In our town, you could organize entire festivals around such events. And let me just note there is nothing boring about watching a little rodent trying to determine whether it is safe to leave his little subterranean condo and venture forth into one of the nicer L.A. suburbs at midday when everybody is out.
Little pal, let me just say this: It is never safe, nor is it sane. At least wait till happy hour, when folks are a little less frantic.
Speaking of the sauce, I have never seen so many sober moms in one place as at the end-of-the-year school carnival the other day — a frightening and unexpected sight. Usually, to assemble a gaggle of women of this caliber, you need to be serving adult drinks. Some of these women haven’t had a beverage in years that didn’t have a salted rim. Others wear wine on their lips like Chanel. When you kiss them hello, it’s like kissing Tuscany full on the mouth. Bottoms up. Yum.
Listen, I’m not being judgmental, for the warmer months are upon us, and doctors say it’s important to keep your fluids up.
Not this day, though. The school carnival is a major event, and no one was prepared to face it with anything but their full wits about them. There must’ve been a half-dozen bouncy houses on the school grounds, and you would not have believed the cake walk — I should’ve taken pictures. For five hours, they gave away cake after cake, and when it was over they gave away more cake. It was like the glory days of Florence.
The carnival took place in the perfect day in the perfect place; everybody said so. I have never seen quite so idyllic a venue as an elementary school in May. The flowers, they’re chronic, and the songbirds flit about as if about to make love, which they probably are.
There were beautiful moms and beautiful kids and fathers shaped like piggy banks. Pretty much the American dream.
In one tiny glitch, they had my wife, Posh, working the ticket booth, which is where most of the money changes hands. I love Posh for a million reasons, but not for the way she handles financial transactions. Thirty years later, we are still paying off our wedding, for example.
It was a good investment: The union gifted us with two adorable, appreciative kids (and two others as well). But our wedding probably could’ve done without the three pianists in Liberace suits and 12 accordion players. Though it seemed tasteful at the time, it was more than we could afford. Then again, how do you put a price on a fairy tale?
By the way, this just in: The Wall Street Journal said that the reason fixed-rate home mortgages have sunk so low is that European investors are looking to sock away funds in the U.S. after the recent calamity in Greece.
Hence, they are pouring money into long-term mortgages, which, as we know from the events of the past couple of years, is an absolutely fool-proof place to invest your money. Never has there been the hint of scandal or instability there. In my book, that’s just smart investing.
Yikes.
Hey, it’s not my world. I just live here.
