PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

It’s over. Done. Finito. Summer is closed for the winter.

OK, there’s that autumnal equinox thing, but nobody pays any attention

to that. If God wanted summer to end on Sept. 21, he wouldn’t have

invented football. Summer starts with Memorial Day and ends with Labor

Day -- one of those special days we set aside to honor the three-day

weekend.

Know who started Labor Day? Peter J. McGuire, with the New York

Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, in 1884. Do you care? Neither do

I. What is a joiner, by the way?

I’m not going to pretend the end of summer is a sad time for me. I’m

not a summer person. I rarely go to the beach. It scares people.

I’m a winter person. Give me a troubled sky, a light drizzle and an

occasional gust of wind and I am at peace. And, yes, I’ve been told I

should move to Seattle. Don’t get your hopes up.

Of course, around here the “end of summer” is a euphemism. There is

the annual ruse of a little cool weather in these first few days of

September, immediately followed by six weeks of heat that would make the

Brawley Chamber of Commerce proud.

But I’ll take the fall anyway I can get it. I like it. Football, the

World Series, kids back in school and Silly Season.

Is there anything more entertaining? I think not.

Al Gore is still trying to get his words and his gestures to land

within five seconds of each other, and we now have a pretty good idea of

who the New York Times is not going to endorse.

There are about 49 candidates running for Costa Mesa City Council, but

not to worry -- the Campaign 2000 Buffa Election Guide is just weeks

away. Everything you’ve always wanted to know about politics but were too

disgusted to ask, will be there for the taking.

There is one thing I enjoy about the summertime and the marauding

bands of tourists, though.

People-watching.

It’s always fun, but especially in the summer. The high season for

people-watching is done for another year. Can you tell just by looking at

them, or is that a myth? Where people are from, that is. As you stroll

Fashion Island and South Coast Plaza -- our versions of town squares --

the shopping isn’t the only thing that’s world-class. The people-watching

can’t be matched.

So many questions, so little time. Who are they? Where are they from?

Are there no mirrors in their homes? Are they from some faraway land or

Seal Beach? What kind of accent is that? Montana or the Midwest?

Did you know there are people in the Midwest? I’ve never actually seen

them, but I know they are there. Having flown over the Great Middle Part

for years, I have seen buildings and roads down below on more than one

occasion. Clearly, there must be people down there.

Where were we? I remember. People-watching.

When I’m here, people just look like, I don’t know ... people. Next

time you’re out, try it. Look at people. There are all shapes and sizes

and ages, of course. But most people around here have a nice, nondescript

“people” look about them.

On the other hand, people who are not from here have a different look.

Not always, but often. Tourists are easy to pick out -- fanny packs,

T-shirts with cute sayings, etc. And if they have little kids or

teenagers with them, they look like French Legionnaires just coming off a

forced march with a field pack. They also have that vacant, “Is this

still California?” stare.

But what about that well-dressed couple with the slightly Euro look?

Where are they from? By the way, anyone wearing sandals and socks will

have a foreign accent. Sandals with no socks -- no accent. Sandals and

socks -- accent. It’s the law.

The converse is just as interesting. What do we look like to other

people? When I travel, do I stand out? Do people say to each other,

“Don’t turn your head, but look at the guy with the glasses to my right

when you can. Can you believe it? California, definitely.”

I’d love to know.

Then there is the matter of criminal fashion negligence -- a

fascinating matter for another day. No one is required to be good-looking

or stylish, but a little common sense would be nice.

Forget about where the woman in the Spandex shorts that are about to

detonate or the guy with the faded T-shirt that stops just short of where

his tummy does, are from. Do they not have mirrors? I don’t get it.

Oh my. I fear we have digressed from our original theme, “The End of

Summer & Its Implications.”

But you know all about that. Enjoy the change in seasons, such as it

is, and savor the cycle of life. And if you do fall into (Get it? “fall”

into?) a post-summer funk, just remember this: there are only 14 weeks

left until Christmas.

Don’t thank me.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays.

He can be reached via e-mail ato7 [email protected] .