THE BELL CURVE:With the Costa Mesa council, jokes write themselves

Remember the old cliche about something being as easy as shooting fish in a barrel?

That’s the way I see the Great Seating Arrangement Debate at City Hall in Costa Mesa. I realize that I’m coming in on the backside of this caper and can’t improve on the delicious shots Steve Smith and Byron de Arakal — in his blog — have already taken. But I have neither the strength of will nor the discipline to resist.

This all reminds me of the late and great columnist Art Buchwald’s answer when he was asked how he felt about Richard Nixon’s resignation as president of the United States. Buchwald, who held a coveted place on Nixon’s hit list, said he deeply regretted seeing Nixon go. The reason, he explained, was that Nixon was a columnist’s dream. The columnist didn’t have to work at being funny. Instead, he could simply report Nixon’s words and actions accurately and come off hilarious.

That’s the way with this Mansoor crew. No clever verbiage or classical turn of phrase could possibly be as funny as just reporting what the Costa Mesa council majority is doing and saying.

After they resolve the Great Seating Caper, they should surely rethink their recent passage of a watered-down program enabling young people to observe at close hand the machinations of local government. If Costa Mesa is offered up as a model for these kids to follow, our country will go down the tubes faster than you can say “Scooter Libby.”

UC Irvine’s basketball season ended last week on two sour notes. The Anteaters were knocked out of the Big West tournament, and the handful of us present at the final rites had to cope with the Anaheim Convention Center, as well.

Since the team was expected to lose to Long Beach State, that didn’t frustrate me as much as the venue. The UCI team will return with for another shot at March Madness next year, but the venue — God, help us — will likely be the same.

The non-basketball irritations started on the first night of tournament play when the men’s room was declared off limits for some mysterious maintenance problem. Then the only operating snack bar for 5,000 or so spectators was inundated at half-time and between games despite the frantic efforts of an overworked staff to serve an inadequately policed line of hungry and thirsty people a football-field long — a situation that repeated itself at every session I attended. They just never got it right.

On Friday night, I left home early to thwart the traffic and arrived in Anaheim at 5 p.m. for a 6:30 game, in time for a relaxing martini at a nearby hotel to contemplate the night’s action. That vision was shattered when I found the parking lot blocked to incoming traffic and had to spend my drinking time looking for a place to park. When I finally got inside and asked why in God’s name the lot was closed on game night, I was told it was to prevent people who weren’t going to the game from taking up space needed for the basketball crowd.

There were other matters — like juicing up the price of each new session as the tournament progressed and little or no checking to see if tickets matched seats — that I suppose would have been less irritating if we had won. But we didn’t, and so I hope Long Beach State will defend the honor of our modest Big West conference by knocking off some of the hot shots in the big tourney starting tonight. And that the conference will seek a venue next year that doesn’t add to the irritation level of losers.

In the midst of splendid new homes and ambitious add-ons in our Santa Ana Heights (newly Bayshore Heights) neighborhood, we’ve also had a dash of reality. A few houses down from me, an already splendid home changed hands about a year ago and quickly sprouted a new paint job and impressive landscaping. The new owners didn’t join in many of the neighborhood activities which have often been described here, but they were congenial and offered an attractive addition.

Then, several months ago, the for-sale signs appeared. They came and they went, and they came again, along with the open houses. And the landscaping began to wilt and fray. And finally came the rumors of foreclosure, garnished with all sorts of details that may or may not be accurate. And then the message that even in our sanctified neighborhood, the party might be over, temporarily, at least. The million-dollar scores that follow in 24 hours after putting one of our houses on the market are no longer a given.

The house down the street is a daily reminder of another old chestnut: that death and taxes are the only things we can ever be sure of in perpetuity. But instead of bits of evidence to the contrary, it isn’t necessary, yet, to add declining real estate prices to that list, especially in this chosen corner of the world.

Finally, an example that the press can still exert modest pressure by calling absurd injustices to public attention. After news reports in the Los Angeles Times — and, possibly, a nudge from this column — Fullerton Police Chief Pat McKinley has decided that former Orange County Assistant Sheriff George Jaramillo won’t be allowed to reserve a room in the Fullerton Jail for 75 bucks a night after all. Jaramillo, you may remember, was offered the opportunity to buy his jail time for lying to a grand jury away from Orange County Jail to the upscale quarters in Fullerton.

The offer has now been withdrawn, ostensibly because Fullerton doesn’t have sufficient staff to monitor Jaramillo’s cellphone and laptop use while in the pokey. This monitoring was required by prosecutors because such equipment wouldn’t have been allowed him in Orange County Jail, which is where he should have been sent, if you follow me.

It appears that Fullerton’s second thoughts just apply to Jaramillo. Prisoners attracting less public attention — and with the 75 bucks a night — can apparently still buy their way into the rarified atmosphere of the Fullerton Jail.