I aim for humor in my Los Gatan columns. The kind that elicits a chuckle, maybe a snort, not the kind that has readers questioning my grip on reality (though, fair point, the jury is deliberating on that one). Of course, I also try to sneak in some local relevance. Lately, though, my columns have been heavier than a San Francisco fog. My New Year’s resolution to lighten up? Let’s just say it’s progressing at the speed of government bureaucracy. Nevertheless, I press on. Because nothing says “fun” like self-imposed pressure.
Speaking of pressure, the Super Bowl just occurred. My fiancée, Lissa, is a Chiefs fan of the “raving” variety (and I use that word judiciously). During games, she transforms into a whirling dervish of questionable chants and enough nervous energy to power Los Gatos. I genuinely fear our neighbors suspect I’m running an underground cage match in our living room. I’ve considered investing in earplugs—for myself and the neighbors. Maybe even the squirrels in the trees.
Meanwhile, my alma mater’s basketball team, despite boasting (allegedly) two of the top five freshmen in the country, is struggling to achieve a winning record. It’s like watching a Shakespearean tragedy unfold in slow motion, but with more missed free throws and less iambic pentameter. And the Rutgers women’s team? Let’s just say their record is less “slam dunk” and more “air ball.” Which, I suppose, is a kind of victory in the existential sense? Bring back C. Vivian Stringer!
Closer to home, I enjoy my walks along Los Gatos-Saratoga Boulevard. It’s a lovely stretch, perfect for contemplating life’s big questions. However, I can’t help but notice the gigantic tree chilling in the nearby stream. Is it performance art? A commentary on the fleeting nature of existence? Or did someone just forget to call a tree removal service? Perhaps it’s part of a Los Gatos beautification project, a bold new initiative to “enhance” our waterways with strategically placed arboreal debris. If so, I eagerly await the arrival of the matching beaver dam.
Speaking of mysteries, have you tried parking downtown? It’s a competitive sport, a high-stakes game of vehicular Tetris where the grand prize is a parking spot within a three-block radius of your destination. You circle, you stalk, you strategize, all while trying to avoid parallel parking into a vintage Vespa. And don’t even think about visiting on a weekend. It’s a free-for-all. I once saw two cars engaged in a near collision duel for a single open space. The victor? A minivan. Naturally. I’m sticking to walking or the Billy Jones Wildcat Railroad. Much safer options.
I recently saw a Nextdoor post about the Grand Canyon–sized pothole on the Highway 17 north on-ramp. I’ve become quite adept at avoiding it. I’ve also wondered about the legal ramifications of filling it myself. Is it a misdemeanor? A felony? Does it involve orange cones?
And there’s the eternal debate: to bike or not to bike on Los Gatos-Saratoga Road. It’s perfect for a leisurely ride…if you’re not terrified of being flattened by a speeding SUV or forced off the road by a Lycra-clad cyclist going uphill at warp speed. It’s a delicate dance, a constant negotiation between two-wheeled enthusiasts and four-wheeled commuters. Maybe we should just designate certain days for each. Mondays: cars. Tuesdays: bikes. Wednesdays: rollerbladers.
Our Rotary Club recently held its annual Crabfest, a major fundraiser that always sells out. One of the auction items was a dinner for eight prepared by Lissa and me and a few other brave souls. We got some amazing bids! Which is hilarious, unless you’re a big fan of kale, almond butter sandwiches, veggie tofu scrambles and, courtesy of Lissa, leftover hamburgers and French fries.
So, there you have it. A little slice of Los Gatos life, seasoned with a dash of humor (I hope). Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go practice my parallel parking.
