Friday's Whims of the Time Traveler 48.0: February 5th, 2008
Overview
by Belinda Roddie
In Novato, next to nothing happens. It’s one of those suburbs just a little too close to the pastures and just a little too far from the next big city. So of course, nothing happens there. It’s not like one of those very small towns, though, like the ones with the Population: 2,500 signs, enveloped by low plains scorched brown from the summer heat. People in Novato are luckier than that; the sign that not so blatantly welcomes you when you drive down the highway says that Novato’s population is 49,500. I would hazard a guess that its population’s around 55,000 now, since every time I step outside, I always seem to find someone else that I’ve never seen before. Still, next to nothing happens.
The city isn’t much to look at; it’s divided into four separate regions, sort of like a pie on a cheap aluminum plate. Although hills impose their authority on the entire area, each region has its own little quirks. Bel Marin Keys is half surrounded by dark, questionable looking water; so is Bahia, but the lagoons near those houses are more mud than actual H2O. Ignacio looks like one of those spots that you stop at on the highway in order to get gas before heading off in the direction of a so very much more important destination. In Ignacio, there are stretched out outside plazas, a Jack-in-the-Box right next to a gas station that overlooks the overpass, and long roads winding like serpents up slopes and down ramps to houses crammed together as if they were being packaged and shipped to that same so very much more important destination. Then there’s San Marin, home of the downtown area. That’s where I live.
Just like the others, it’s not much to look at. There are a lot more trees, and the whole area just looks newer than the rest of Novato. Other than that, there’s not much else unless you head to the downtown, and even then, there’s not a whole lot more. You have your grocery stores, your small cafes, your five or so Starbuck’s, and if you’re lucky enough to have a car, there’s an outside shopping center right between San Marin and Ignacio. It’s where people go to get their fix of Target and Chevy’s; those two places are always the most popular, next to the movie theater, the only one we’ve got. We used to have an active small movie theater and a community house for shows in the Old Town area. Both are closed now, and every so often some deep-pocketed goof proposes reviving the movie theater only to zip away in his brand new BMW for so-called more important commissions.
There are two high schools in Novato, both on different sides of town. The students at both schools are pretty much the same, though they won’t admit it; the white boys dress in long shirts and baggy pants, trying and failing to look cool, while the girls paint their nails in class much to their teachers’ frustration and distaste. Sure, there are some differences in the programs and the racial distribution of students, but the only major difference is location; one school gets to smell horse manure each day because they’re right next to a ranch, and the other school gets to wander around aimlessly past walls of brick to get to their next class. And of course, each kid’s goal is always the same: to get out of there, diploma or no diploma.
Someone once tried to burn down one of the high schools; I don’t know if the kid was trying to avoid ever going to school again or just was drunk off of his or her ass and was playing with lighter fluid. Either way, the perpetrator didn’t do that great of a job, attempt or no attempt to destroy the oh-so-holy corridors of education. The walls of the science building were charred pretty badly for the next few months; it looked like a barbecue had gone terribly wrong. So much for being rebellious.
Not that a whole lot of people are rebellious here because there’s not a whole lot to be rebellious about. The worst thing this city’s doing is building a Whole Food’s over some forgotten property, and even with that, the only people who are complaining are those who want Novato to stay the way it is in its quiet, mundane existence; it apparently preserves our history, as they claim. As much as there isn’t much to do, there isn’t much to complain about, either. In a way, it’s a lose-lose situation. Nothing you can do, nothing you can’t do that interests you. It’s what comes with the package, simple as that.
I make the most of it when I’m home, though. My house is conveniently nestled close to downtown, so I can walk down there for a drink or a candy bar. There’s always a group of Hispanics playing soccer in the park across the street from the grocery store. I watch them play sometimes, listening to them shout out names and commands as they wrestle for the ball, now more brown than black and white, in the wet grass and thick mud.
“¡Domingo! ¡Rafael! ¡Pasa la pelota! ¡Pásala!”
I only catch some words after that, when they’re laughing and slamming each other on the back, mopping the sweat off of their brown faces, all smiles. They’re some of the few that enjoy what they’ve got in this town.
As I walk, I stop by the nearby Peet’s. There are familiar faces; two people play guitar, while a few more watch, dressed in worn out jackets, smoking cigarettes. One heavily pierced man walks by with a little terrier in his arms. I smile at the terrier; it barks at me. It’s hard to make new acquaintances here.
I normally pass the candy store if I still feel like walking. They sell gelato in there, but it tastes more like ice cream. They always play the Gene Wilder version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory near the back. If I feel adventurous, sometimes I saunter down the railroad tracks; they’re strangled with weeds now after a fire that burned down the train station about a half-century ago. When I’m done with that, I walk home on different streets, past the library, through one of the parks. The city’s building a new gazebo there; kids sure do love their fire.
The little things do help lift the spirit sometimes. But nonetheless, in the end, next to nothing happens in Novato.
The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since February 5th, 2008.
by Belinda Roddie
In Novato, next to nothing happens. It’s one of those suburbs just a little too close to the pastures and just a little too far from the next big city. So of course, nothing happens there. It’s not like one of those very small towns, though, like the ones with the Population: 2,500 signs, enveloped by low plains scorched brown from the summer heat. People in Novato are luckier than that; the sign that not so blatantly welcomes you when you drive down the highway says that Novato’s population is 49,500. I would hazard a guess that its population’s around 55,000 now, since every time I step outside, I always seem to find someone else that I’ve never seen before. Still, next to nothing happens.
The city isn’t much to look at; it’s divided into four separate regions, sort of like a pie on a cheap aluminum plate. Although hills impose their authority on the entire area, each region has its own little quirks. Bel Marin Keys is half surrounded by dark, questionable looking water; so is Bahia, but the lagoons near those houses are more mud than actual H2O. Ignacio looks like one of those spots that you stop at on the highway in order to get gas before heading off in the direction of a so very much more important destination. In Ignacio, there are stretched out outside plazas, a Jack-in-the-Box right next to a gas station that overlooks the overpass, and long roads winding like serpents up slopes and down ramps to houses crammed together as if they were being packaged and shipped to that same so very much more important destination. Then there’s San Marin, home of the downtown area. That’s where I live.
Just like the others, it’s not much to look at. There are a lot more trees, and the whole area just looks newer than the rest of Novato. Other than that, there’s not much else unless you head to the downtown, and even then, there’s not a whole lot more. You have your grocery stores, your small cafes, your five or so Starbuck’s, and if you’re lucky enough to have a car, there’s an outside shopping center right between San Marin and Ignacio. It’s where people go to get their fix of Target and Chevy’s; those two places are always the most popular, next to the movie theater, the only one we’ve got. We used to have an active small movie theater and a community house for shows in the Old Town area. Both are closed now, and every so often some deep-pocketed goof proposes reviving the movie theater only to zip away in his brand new BMW for so-called more important commissions.
There are two high schools in Novato, both on different sides of town. The students at both schools are pretty much the same, though they won’t admit it; the white boys dress in long shirts and baggy pants, trying and failing to look cool, while the girls paint their nails in class much to their teachers’ frustration and distaste. Sure, there are some differences in the programs and the racial distribution of students, but the only major difference is location; one school gets to smell horse manure each day because they’re right next to a ranch, and the other school gets to wander around aimlessly past walls of brick to get to their next class. And of course, each kid’s goal is always the same: to get out of there, diploma or no diploma.
Someone once tried to burn down one of the high schools; I don’t know if the kid was trying to avoid ever going to school again or just was drunk off of his or her ass and was playing with lighter fluid. Either way, the perpetrator didn’t do that great of a job, attempt or no attempt to destroy the oh-so-holy corridors of education. The walls of the science building were charred pretty badly for the next few months; it looked like a barbecue had gone terribly wrong. So much for being rebellious.
Not that a whole lot of people are rebellious here because there’s not a whole lot to be rebellious about. The worst thing this city’s doing is building a Whole Food’s over some forgotten property, and even with that, the only people who are complaining are those who want Novato to stay the way it is in its quiet, mundane existence; it apparently preserves our history, as they claim. As much as there isn’t much to do, there isn’t much to complain about, either. In a way, it’s a lose-lose situation. Nothing you can do, nothing you can’t do that interests you. It’s what comes with the package, simple as that.
I make the most of it when I’m home, though. My house is conveniently nestled close to downtown, so I can walk down there for a drink or a candy bar. There’s always a group of Hispanics playing soccer in the park across the street from the grocery store. I watch them play sometimes, listening to them shout out names and commands as they wrestle for the ball, now more brown than black and white, in the wet grass and thick mud.
“¡Domingo! ¡Rafael! ¡Pasa la pelota! ¡Pásala!”
I only catch some words after that, when they’re laughing and slamming each other on the back, mopping the sweat off of their brown faces, all smiles. They’re some of the few that enjoy what they’ve got in this town.
As I walk, I stop by the nearby Peet’s. There are familiar faces; two people play guitar, while a few more watch, dressed in worn out jackets, smoking cigarettes. One heavily pierced man walks by with a little terrier in his arms. I smile at the terrier; it barks at me. It’s hard to make new acquaintances here.
I normally pass the candy store if I still feel like walking. They sell gelato in there, but it tastes more like ice cream. They always play the Gene Wilder version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory near the back. If I feel adventurous, sometimes I saunter down the railroad tracks; they’re strangled with weeds now after a fire that burned down the train station about a half-century ago. When I’m done with that, I walk home on different streets, past the library, through one of the parks. The city’s building a new gazebo there; kids sure do love their fire.
The little things do help lift the spirit sometimes. But nonetheless, in the end, next to nothing happens in Novato.
The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since February 5th, 2008.
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