My neighbor Linda has a Mexican fan palm. It is by far the tallest, skinniest, ugliest thing on the block. Also the messiest. The city may trim its trees, but hers aren’t so assiduously tended. So each time the Santa Anas blow, giant dead fronds whirl through the air in every direction. No year is complete without some parked car getting buried in brittle palm branches. What it’s doing in her yard is unclear—she didn’t plant it. It just showed up and began growing. It provides next to no shade and adds next to no value, and one of these days it’ll probably topple and knock a hole in her tile roof. But no amount of pesticide or neglect seems to kill it, and odds are if she chopped it down it would only grow back. So everyone on the block just keeps a broom handy and covers their cars when the winds come. What can we do? The thing wants what it wants.