Bah humbug!
In California, one must be careful uttering such a phrase, as it may require a permit, a public comment period, a carbon-offset fee, and/or a disclosure under Proposition 50 explaining who funded the sentiment. And even then, you may be called some kind of “-ist”. IYKYK.
Once upon a time (last week, to be precise), I awoke in the Golden State to discover that California had, once again, saved me from myself. This time, it was by protecting feelings by regulating my appliances, and reminding me that joy — like everything else — must be sustainably and ethically sourced.
Consider, if you will, the simple straw.
In most lands, a straw is a straw. In California, it is a moral referendum. One must now request a straw, as though whispering a dark secret to one’s server: “Psst … may I have a straw?”
The shame!
The guilt!
Tiny Tim never looked so disappointed. And if you are lucky enough to get one, and even then it is probably a paper straw that wilts in your drink within minutes.
Then there are the grocery and shopping bags. Oh, the bags.
Once free, now 5 or 10 cents — unless you bring your own, which you will forget, every time, because the reusable bags are still sitting in your trunk, next to the identical reusable bags you bought last week.
Californians now own enough reusable bags to clothe a small Dickensian orphanage, yet still must buy more at checkout.
Ah, but let us not forget the bountiful, helpful warnings. California bravely warns us that everything causes cancer. Coffee? Cancer. Parking garages? Cancer. The very act of existing? Probably cancer.
One half expects a sign reading: “Warning: Reading This Article May Expose You to California.”
Housing policy is an overcooked Christmas goose. The state in its infinite wisdom has declared that housing must be affordable, plentiful and approved by 17 agencies — each meeting only on alternating lunar cycles and only in leap years.
New homes are encouraged, yet regulated to death, making them cost prohibitive for average consumers.
Should one manage to secure a home, insuring it becomes a holiday miracle of its own. California’s insurance market has grown so “protective” of us consumers that the insurance companies are leaving the state, refusing to write homeowners policies, leaving homeowners to wander the marketplace clutching cancellation notices like Dickensian beggars seeking alms.
Oh, and don’t forget the state’s failure to manage fire risk properly. Regulators assure us this is “all for our benefit,” though it is difficult to enjoy protection from companies that are no longer writing policies here and being saddled with premiums that have tripled thanks to non-competition in the marketplace.
Automobiles fare no better. Californians pay some of the highest gas prices in the nation. We are assured this, too, is virtuous. We must drive electric vehicles to save the planet, if the power is not shut off because of wind warnings.
We must also refrain from charging the cars during peak hours, lest the grid faint dead away like an overworked Victorian clerk.
“You may drive,” says the state, “but only quietly, sparingly, and preferably downhill.”
And let’s not forget all the companies leaving California due to its hostile business climate, overregulation, overtaxation and general crappiness. This year employers like Valero, SpaceX, Tesla, Chevron, Oracle, Hewlett Packard, Charles Schwab, McKesson and Palantir Technologies said farewell to the Golden State.
All of this unfolds while our governor, a man of boundless “charm” and camera-ready concern, appears increasingly visible everywhere EXCEPT in California.
Californians watch with bemused eyes as Gov. Gavin Newsom, hair perfectly in place, delivers meaningless platitudes about leadership and responsibility while California is the worst in almost, well, everything by every metric.
Though still technically occupying the governor’s office, he seems to be governing more by press release than presence, leaving one to wonder whether the state is being run by the ghosts of Sacramento past, present and future while its elected governor traipses the country pre-running for the presidency.
Even childhood is not spared. Children may not play freely, for that would be unsafe, unregulated and possibly joyful. Helmets are required for activities not yet invented. Somewhere, Scrooge himself nods approvingly — fun, after all, is terribly inefficient.
Yet still, I must admit, there is something endearing about it all. California means well. It truly does. Like a well-intentioned but meddlesome ghost, it hovers constantly, whispering, “For your own good.”
So this holiday season, let us raise a reusable cup of oat-based, ethically sourced, sustainable, warning-labeled low-sugar beverage in a recycled glass and toast the Golden State. May it one day remember that common sense, like goodwill, cannot be legislated — only practiced.
And if not?
Bah. Humbug. I’ll file the paperwork.
Denise Lite is a Santa Clarita resident. “Right Here, Right Now” appears Saturdays and rotates among local Republicans.
