Big Daddy

Big Daddy

From deep in the mailbag of answered letters: 

Dear Big Daddy,

I’m a freshman Assembly staffer and I’ll be wrapping up my first legislative session. I keep hearing that August will be completely weird, but I want to know why everything is put off until the last minute. What’s that about?

–Befuddled in Bridgeport

Dear Befuddled,

Why do lawmakers put everything off until the last minute?

Well, let me ask you this:

Why does every suave, dashing, well-read powerful leader with great taste make scotch their drink of choice?

Why do fools rush in where angels fear to tread?

Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?

Easy.

Because they can.

There is actually a method to the madness and I’d break the frantic, end-of-session behavior into three different categories: 1) Crystallization, 2) Parkinson’s Law, and 3) Low-Ball.

Crystallization is the phenomenon whereby the big deals only come together as the Legislature begins to draw to a close. The players involved in the game have been playing chicken, betting, raising and bluffing one another for the better part of eight months, but once August 31 is in sight, someone has to call the hand and put the deal together. Back when being a member of the California Legislature actually meant something, this meant the governor, the assembly speaker, or the senate president pro tem would be the ones running the table and negotiating the deal. These days, it’s more likely one particular mother’s milk provider who will be the one calling the shots, with all the other parties climbing on board and asking the
Legislature to ratify what they’ve cooked up. It’s also known as “compromising to the lowest denominator” and it gives leadership a bad name. 

The fundamental premise of Parkinson’s Law, which is the category you can stuff the lion’s share of the bills (and their authors) into, is that “work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion” and nowhere is that more evident than the California state Legislature. It’s become the poster child for procrastination. Lawmakers, staff and lobbyists treat the bill introduction, policy and fiscal committee, amendment, ballot, and other deadlines as advisory only. The end of a two-year legislative session is really the only “true” deadline these folks every really face, so they lollygag their way into August before quickly realizing that there are no more rule waivers to be had and the window to put a bill on the Governor’s

desk will indeed close.

Big Daddy’s final category, the Low-Ballers, are an amazing group of people to watch, and the end of session is where they earn their keep. A successful low-baller is better than W.C. Fields’ favorite child, because if he’s doing his job right, he is neither seen nor heard.

Low-ballers can be members, staff or lobbyists, but, generally, you’ll find at least two of the parties involved in any successful low-ball. Unlike the Parkinson’s Law crowd, they’re procrastinators with a purpose, playing shuffleboard and working on their tans all spring and summer long, just waiting until the last week of session so they can slip something into a bill without anyone being the wiser. These folks don’t want to be noticed.

Rather, they’re counting on the chaos and confusion of the two houses during the last week of session so they can come in under the radar and drop their play into a bill, hoping that no one notices it until September 1, when it’s too late for anyone but the governor to do anything about it. 

How can you best survive the bedlam? Well, given that you’re reading this on the final day of session, I can only hope you’ve gotten the bills you’re responsible for staffing out of the pompous and rarified air of the state Senate. At this point, the best advice I can give you is to get your boss to take your bills up early in the morning so you can enjoy the entire evening.

Since you’re going through it
for the first time, bring a camera. Go pitch pennies into Isabella at midnight, then raise a highball filled with scotch 
and promise yourself that next year, the Legislature will return to the glory days of yesteryear.

Hey, it’s the last night of session, a time when dreams are dashed and fantasies are fulfilled. Why isn’t Big Daddy entitled to a fantasy of his own?


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