Election wrap, and pain of ‘Bachelor’-hood
Supervisors. They’re kind of like girlfriends, Nevada County: Sexy, smart and sane – you get two out of three. Drew Bedwell is certainly sexy. I’m not sure which one of the other two adjectives applies to him, but you’ll find out soon enough. I won’t. I’m moving.
As for Robin Sutherland, I honestly never learned anything about her – I didn’t have to, because I knew I was moving – except that at one point she couldn’t remember the name of Western Gateway Park, easily the largest park in her district. And she may or may not have paid some taxes at one point. But c’mon, can we really find fault with that? Taxes are the worst.
Except for the library tax, which I was relieved to see passed by a strong margin. I’m trying to imagine what sort of people vote against spending – or rather, continuing to spend – a minuscule amount of money on libraries. Nazis? Glaucoma sufferers who haven’t heard about books on tape? Or maybe . . . maybe they’re folks who want to build a Borders where Friar Tuck’s used to be.
That’s it. We now have a pro-development Board of Supervisors, and the neo-hippies in Nevada City will be reeling with dismay over that fact for just long enough that they won’t notice these plans being pushed through.
A Borders bookstore in Nevada City’s historic downtown. This is the awesome-est conspiracy theory since . . . oh, NH 2020, I guess. I came up with it, but feel free to use it. I’m moving.
Izzy Martin will probably return to the political stage. When she does, I have two pieces of advice for her:
1. Find comedian Martin Lawrence. Get him to do a bunch of ads and public appearances that involve him screaming “MAAAAAAAHHH-TIN!” like he sometimes does, or like people on his sitcom do. Believe me: He had time to make “Black Knight,” he has time to help you, Izzy.
2. Try not to . . . um . . . Don’t be . . . uh . . . How do I say this? OK: Take a few weeks, maybe go to a tantric retreat or something, work on being nicer. It’s not necessarily the politics. A lot of people perceive you as … aloof. Bordering on . . . cold. Bordering on . . . robotlike. And as we all learned from XX-254’s ill-fated campaign back in the 1980s, robots don’t play well in Penn Valley.
For the record, this is expert advice. I was elected to speak at my high school graduation, and I once mounted a come-from-behind campaign to beat this girl named Jennifer for the presidency of some club in college. I’m like Bill Clinton, without girls.
Speaking of girls, tonight I managed to watch a few minutes of “The Bachelor,” completely inadvertently. You couldn’t pay me to be on that show (a conclusion that startled me as much as it probably startles you).
The hanging-out-with-girls part looked OK. The going-on-expensive-dates part looked OK.
You know what part looked horrible? The part at the end where he has to break up with the girls. And then he has to go through the whole “I’m sorry, because you’re great, and we had some great times, but, you know . . . .”
You couldn’t pay me to have to do that with that many women on national television. I stopped dating entirely for a while because I was tired of breaking up with people. Honestly, it’s easier just to move.
And here in Nevada, where I’ve been doing some work for the last few weeks, voters failed to approve the decriminalization of possession of small amounts of marijuana. You can still be first, California. You can still be first.
Doesn’t matter to me. I’m moving.
Josh Wimmer lives in Nevada City – for now. His column appears on Fridays. E-mail him at email@example.com.
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