PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

Soon, it will be no more. Y2K. The year that arrived with such

fanfare, however unwarranted, is nearly done. Finished. No mas. Basta.

Kaput. Can you believe it? Nor can I.

As years go, it was, um -- OK. I’ve seen better. I’ve seen worse. We

elected a president, sort of. Two scientists mapped the human genome,

which apparently would be very exciting if we only knew what a genome is.

Charles Schultz died, but Peanuts lives on. Elian went home, finally. We

had the requisite number of natural and man-made disasters. All in all,

it was a house wine of years. Be that as it may, it is time, once again,

for the Official New Year’s Peter Predictions.

Are you excited? I knew you would be. But first, some housekeeping.

As I write, and as you read, I find myself in the city of New York,

formerly New Amsterdam. We journeyed to the Really Big Apple to celebrate

Christmas, visit family, etc., etc.

New York is the capitol of Christmas and always fun for the holidays.

Rockefeller Center, with its giant tree perched above the ice rink, the

window displays at Saks and Macy’s, St. Patrick’s all dressed up for

Christmas, a dusting of snow in Central Park and the hansom cabs

clip-clopping along. Very lovely.

But I discovered something interesting on this trip -- something I

have been terribly wrong about for most of my drab, mundane life.

For years, I have dismissed anyone who complains about cold weather as

being weak and wimpy. Whenever my California friends and neighbors would

thank their lucky stars they didn’t have to contend with cold and wind

and snow and sleet, I would respond with some glib, condescending answer

about how “I really don’t mind cold weather, I almost prefer it, I find

it invigorating, blah, blah, blah.”

What a load of you-know-what! What was I thinking? Let me tell you,

this was weather that would have driven Admiral Byrd and Sir Edmund

Hillary back to their base camps and into their tents. An air temperature

of 7 degrees and a wind chill of 13 below zero -- which is exactly how

Christmas Eve dawned -- will cure your appetite for cold weather real

fast. “Minus-13” is what scientists call “really, really cold.”

We “strolled” down Fifth Avenue by darting from one store to the next,

which only made things worse. Just about the time the skin on your face

began to thaw out, it was time to force yourself back out into the cold.

I’ve seen pictures of soldiers on the Eastern Front in World War II who

didn’t look quite as miserable.

As everyone knows, the cold is not the problem. The wind is the

problem. You can run, but you can’t hide. It will hunt you down and make

you whimper like a baby. So to all of you warm weather lovers -- I salute

you. You were right. I was wrong. Now I know better.

Well, OK then. 2001. Just what does it have in store for us? Pay

attention. This will go fast.

The battle over El Toro will end abruptly in August, when the

Department of Defense rescinds its decision to turn over the base.

Classified operations from Nevada’s “Area 51,” including the alien

remains from the Roswell crash, will be relocated to El Toro, which will

be renamed “Area 405.” South County cities will file a suit against DOD,

claiming alien autopsies are not compatible with the Great Park plan.

Pollutants along the coast of Huntington Beach will be traced to a

Sichuan takeout in La Habra.

Southern California Edison and PG&E; will go belly up, the power

industry will be nationalized, and power will be available from 11 a.m.

to 3 p.m. only. Order, and power, will be restored when Edison agrees to

apply feng shui principles to its offices and finds out their desks are

pointed the wrong way.

Additional dredging in the Back Bay will unearth the wreck of the

Edmund Fitzgerald.

On April 23 at 2:40 p.m., a parking space will open up in the small

lot between Neiman’s and Bloomie’s.

His Royal Highness Prince William will relocate to Newport Coast and

marry a high-profile Newport Beach socialite 25 years his senior.

For 6 1/2 hours on June 13, there will be no construction on the Costa

Mesa Freeway. Construction at the freeway’s interchange with the San

Diego Freeway, however, will suffer a major setback when it’s discovered

that two of the flyovers connect only to each other, forming a perfect

circle.

In September, a Costa Mesa nutritionist will shock the nation with her

book, “Bran: The Silent Killer.”

And finally, Sid Soffer will return to Costa Mesa, and he will be

cranky.

So there you have it. The good, the bad and the remotely possible. Are

these shadows of things that may be, or that will be? Don’t ask me.

You’re on your own. I’m still trying to warm up. Have the happiest of new

years.

I gotta go.

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

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