In Defense of Doing Nothing

DAY LATE AND DOLLAR SHORT: I celebrated Monday morning by driving my car over a large and looming traffic-calming device lurking in plain on sight on Micheltorena Street, named after a former governor famous for not being able to ride his horse into a battle due to a debilitating case of hemorrhoids. Whatever memo the device — an elevated oblong island — was designed to send, I clearly did not receive it until the belly of my car found itself violently raked, scraped, and otherwise assaulted by its concrete protuberances. I experienced no calming effect in the moment, and even less when I saw the repair bill.

Some things just can’t be taught; stupid is one of them.

The moral of this story is I should have been riding my bike. This was God’s way of punishing me for getting in a car. In my defense, I can only say I had my reasons. I mention this by way of full disclosure so you can take what comes next with the requisite grain of salt.

First thing, I’d like to praise the deliberate non-action taken by the City Council about a month ago in response to what looked suspiciously like an attempted parliamentary sneak attack hatched by Mayor Randy Rowse and City Administrator Rebecca Bjork to get rid of downtown parklets located on cross streets — Victoria, Cota, Carrillo, etc. — and on private property. Because the COVID-inspired emergency legislation that gave rise to the pedestrian promenade and the parklets will expire at the end of this year, they argued, it was time to start dismantling Santa Barbara’s nascent Parklet-Industrial State.

I say “sneak attack” because no councilmembers — or members of the affected parklet cabal — knew this was on the agenda until just a few days prior when it was offhandedly disclosed during an early morning meeting of the Downtown Organization. In support of this plan, there was much talk about the “ripping off the Band-Aid” virtues therein. When the council balked, leaving Mayor Rowse perched all alone on top of the dais, he fumed about “kicking the can down the road.”

First, that’s what one does with cans — you kick them down the road. Second, that’s why councilmembers are given steel-toed boots when sworn into office. And thirdly — contrary to what all the learned experts on leadership will say — sometimes it’s actually better to do nothing than to do the wrong thing.

On the issue of parklets, I am mixed. No, they do not begin to solve the underlying root problems that bedevil State Street. But for all their ticky-tacky faults, they still remain the most conspicuous and immediate sign of life downtown. The ones on the side streets, typically, are among the nicest and most inviting. Remove them and it’s like yanking out the few remaining trees in what was once a forest. Every time I eat at the Olio Bottega parklet on West Victoria, for example, I feel I’ve been teleported to another time and space. The outdoor space created by the Rose Café’s parklet up on the Mesa is beyond magical. And there’s a new and energized social ambience at the Cajun Kitchen’s parklet on Chapala that doesn’t quite happen inside. 

High-priced consultants talk a lot about “activating spaces” and “fostering accidental community.” These places are actually doing it. And for that growing percent of the population experiencing hearing challenges, the outdoor acoustics of parklets are infinitely superior to the splashy din of many restaurant interiors. If parklet owners know they have three years left — as one state bill would give them — they’ll be better able to amortize the costs they’ll need to incur to make their parklets less of the eyesores that some actually are.

On the issue of bikes on State Street — both electric and acoustic — people need to stop wetting their pants. Not all bikes “whiz” down State Street, the inflammatory and invariable verb of choice deployed by those who feel threatened or who want cars back. Some of us actually meander, saunter, cruise, roll, stroll, or sometimes pant. Please get a new verb; do not conflate the act of riding a bike with the act of urination. 

As a side note, I’d also say the numbskull Teenage Mutant Ninja Rad bike riders whose clueless riding habits gave rise to such alarms last summer somehow got the traffic-calming memo that I missed. Maybe the new street signs helped. Either way, they’re notably less reckless in their youthful abandon, and I’ve even seen a couple of them actually fasten the chin straps of their helmets. 

Lastly, the presence of bike riders on State Street is not some rhetorical ideological bikes versus cars issue conjured up by the tree-hugger mafia. Bikes have been embedded in city master planning documents for some time now, but they have been part of downtown warp, woof, and weave since well before that. Given how we are intent on boiling the world alive, maybe now is not the time to go to the mattresses to bring back cars on State Street. But yes, trollies are a necessary addition. I’d suggest our friends at MTD dig into their linty sock drawer for spare change and buy a few deluxe e-bike rickshaws with the proceeds. What could be more enchanting and utilitarian?

What downtown really needs is for people to live in the old office space lying dormant or abandoned. For that to happen, City Hall needs to allow developers the requisite densities to make this attractive. If we don’t, we’ll just get even more new hotels than we’re already getting. There’s a qualitative difference in the quality of light and life infused by people who actually live in the area as opposed to people who are just visiting. While we love the latter, downtown absolutely needs more of the former.

It’s not rocket science, but then no one would ever mistake me for Wernher von Braun. Hell, I’m the guy who couldn’t avoid a traffic-calming device as big as the Titanic. I should have ridden my bike.