Well, they finally caved. It only took a Category 7 nuclear disaster across the Pacific Ocean and a reality-television-scaled intervention from the likes of Lois Capps and the Alliance for Nuclear Responsibility (“PG&E, you have a problem,” Capps pleaded, as the camera slowly zoomed in on the tears in her eyes. Cue heart-wrenching music.) for PG&E to back off—or at least pretend to back off—from its relicensing bid for Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant.
To give PG&E its due, it’s only been three years since the ominous Shoreline Fault was discovered less than a mile away from the plant. Meanwhile everyone’s hooting and hollering about seismic studies. As if an earthquake fault line in close proximity to a nuclear power plant is cause for concern. I’ll bet you people believe all that crap about not peeing in a light socket, too. Alarmists.
PG&E declared it was filing an application with the NRC 16 years before its current license was set to expire because it had to secure a “slot” with the NRC. But after a warbling and prolonged chorus of “It Might Happen Here” in response to fact that the Fukushima Daiichi plant is now spewing radiation into the Pacific faster than a kid with a fake ID upchucking Jaeger on the pristine sidewalks of downtown SLO, good ol’ PG&E seems to be re-evaluating.
“I’d never hurt you baby. And if you want me to get tested, I will,” PG&E is now promising, though the “accelerated” studies PG&E is planning—no word from the company’s PR goons on what, exactly, they mean by “accelerated”—are more like code for, “I’ll get tested, baby, but if it turns out I have gonorrhea you’d better start stockpiling antibiotics cause nothing’s gonna change.”
According to PG&E, these high-density 3D studies will take until 2015 to complete, and there’s no word on how—or who—will review the studies once they’re done. So hypothetically, according to the vague press release, they could wrap their report in a nice Kinko’s binder, drop it in the NRC’s lap, and receive a license the next day.
Don’t you feel better now? I certainly do. In fact, I’m tempted to engage in one of my favorite pastimes: crashing a Little League game. Maybe I’ll hit up Morro Bay, where morale on the diamond is already pretty low.
It seems that councilwomen Carla Borchard and Nancy Johnson got their way at this week’s council meeting: Planning Commissioner John Diodati is on his way out. What did he do? Well, that reprehensible fiend had the gall to miss two meetings this year to coach his son’s undefeated Little League team—after the council switched the meeting nights halfway into Diodati’s term as commissioner.
Even with a strong show of local support for Diodati, the council majority created a new policy to oust any commissioner who misses four meetings in a year—which just happened to be the number Diodati was set to miss.
Why would the council pull such a thinly veiled attack on one teeny tiny planning commissioner? They tried to do it once before, after Diodati and other commissioners criticized the Waste Water Treatment Plant project, making the council majority look like a bunch of, well, buffoons. Truth be told, I love me a good vendetta. I get all goose-bumpy just thinking about those councilmembers grinding their teeth, vowing one day—one day!—to exact their revenge. And then Diodati comes along wanting to coach, and it’s like the sap walked right into their snare.
Most of the commission is gone now, save for Diodati—oops. Councilman Noah Smukler was the only one who called the decision what it was: “a very subjective change to the rules.”
To give Diodati credit, he didn’t back down, and told New Times that regardless of the council’s decision, he wasn’t going to “flake” on his kids.
Thanks for all your hard work, John. Now get lost! Carla and Nancy, we should get together. If you’d like, I can rideshare with Tiny Tim to the next city council meeting and we can take turns kicking his crutch out from beneath him.
Jump with me to a new topic: It looks like county law enforcement might have raided an actual meth lab! Saaay whaaat? It couldn’t have been easy. Those tweakers sure are sneakers, with their selective grocery shopping, non-descript appearance, and mild-mannered cut of their jibs.
If my memory serves me—and it usually doesn’t, at least not well—this would be the first meth lab bust in SLO County in quite some time, and it’s not even the super-special—and notoriously Gestapo-esque—County Narcotics Task Force who busted ’em! It was the sheriff’s department’s little narcotics unit.
So what’s the NTF been up to lately? Busy, I’ll bet, on a whole slew of investigations into medical marijuana collectives trying their best—despite a state law that’s read differently by every district attorney—to be legit.
Can’t wait to see what hardened criminal dope fiend they string up next! Will it be … the retired guy who makes deliveries five days a week to dying hospice patients? No, that’s too easy. Where’s the sport? The holistic therapist who brings in the massage bench to treat the undercover officer faking back pain. Now we’re getting somewhere! Can’t wait to see them crooks on Nancy Grace.
Word has it that the NTF has finally gotten around to searching the personal computer of one of the 15 defendants from last December’s big pot bust. You know—one of the three whose charges were rejected by the D.A. a month later. That’s right: No charges, but they’ve still got his computer—along with his business records, bank accounts, spare change, his sixth-grade school photo, and a suspicious looking sock he was wearing when they unceremoniously dumped him in a police van. Turns out they just got around to asking for a warrant to actually look at this guy’s computer. Those guys are workaholics, I swear!
The Shredder is a variety of –aholics. Take 12 steps to firstname.lastname@example.org.