Highly unlikely

California might split into 6 states.

Yes, and I might win the Miss America competition in September. Both eventualities are remote.

Didn't we settle the question of how many states there are in 1865?

Sympathy for Al Gore

Yes, you heard me right.  I'm downright sorry for the man.  He buys a house for 8 million and change and can't even light a fire in his fireplaces!  What is this country coming to!  What's the use of being rich?

I don't know when the house was built but for a long time now you need a special permit for wood burning fireplaces and most of the houses built for the last 20 years are gas operated with faux wood for show.  I'm not saying that is what they have, but wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Another commenter chimes in:

Not only the difference in fireplaces built recently, but there are also restrictions on fireplace usage in CA.

My parents have a woodburning fireplace, and due to air quality restrictions, they aren't allowed to use it whenever they want.

My Grandfather was not covered by the restrictions, but that was because his fireplace was the main heating source for his ancient house.

Now picture this:  Gore is sitting in front of his cozy fireplace, toasting his toes, perhaps contemplating a restful massage, and the Fireplace Police drop in and give him a ticket,  ruining his pleasant evening.  Maybe they even haul him off to jail, poor soul, simply for using his own property in a way that he sees fit.

Our family used to drive down to Florida, sometimes using country roads.  A common sight was a large lot with a couple of derelict cars parked in front of a house that hadn't seen a coat of paint in a good long while.  Of course this was unsightly.  But I'd prefer having the neighbors park their cars in their front yards than have someone tell me what materials I can use to build  my house and what color it must be painted--as happens in California!  Really and truly!  It happened to someone I know.

Of course, around here they have laws against parking trucks in the street, but at least they are not watching the chimney or the electric meter to see if I am improperly heating or cooling my house.

Maybe that's next?

An expensive house

To understand this story, you must know it takes place in California.

A close relative has purchased some land and wants to build a house on it. Since it is unimproved farmland, she and her husband have to 1) build a road; 2) put in wiring to attach to the electric grid, under the road; and 3) install a phone line, also under the road. No telephone poles, of course, they're unsightly. I don't know what the other stuff is costing, but the least expensive item on this shopping list is the phone line, @$40,000, give or take a few thou. She won't tell me what the rest of it is costing, rightly fearing that I would have a heart attack.

For some reason, the local authorities--planning board or whatever--have never granted permission to build this house. It's been five years since they bought the land. The New Jersey solution--pay somebody off--is not available in this case. They have had to hire a lawyer to plot their course through the planning and permitting stage.

The deal-breaker for me is, this is in a so-called "scenic area," which means that you have to use approved materials and paint your house in certain approved colors, and no others. The house can't be too tall, or too short. God forbid that Californians out for a scenic drive in the country should encounter a--gasp--purple house. The shock! The outrage!

Back in the sixties and seventies, enlightened people used to sneer at the soul-destroying conformity of suburbia, where every house was the same, and no doubt filled with Republicans. There were even songs about it:

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

You get the idea. When other people do it, it's ticky-tacky, when Californians do it, it's scenic preservation.

I've always wondered...

why so many people want to live in California.

[W]ho on earth first got there and said “This looks like a GREAT place to raise fruit trees?” It’s a moderate miracle of human ingenuity that the place is the fruit basket of whatever percentage of the world. California consists of huge swaths of dreary, punctuated by breathtaking, with pockets of green and growing that still manage, somehow, to be dreary when compared to the cornfields of my Midwestern youth.

I've always wondered why people want to be surrounded by brown hills. The aforementioned hills remind me of piles of dirt excavated from a strip mine in West Virginia. Pennsylvania is 10 times prettier. Even New Jersey (in the right places) looks better--greener, lusher. But many people disagree with me, including lots of members of my own family, who can't get enough of the place.