Thursday, July 29, 2010

Touchy, Touchy, Touchy


"I'm not like a lot of people, I don't hate Bakersfield. I don't know why everyone rags on it so much. It's actually a great place to live. I thought about maybe moving somewhere else a couple of times but why should I? I have everything I need here. It's not fair that everyone is so down on Bakersfield all the time..."

I was at Supercuts and my "stylist" was getting a little worked up. Agitated. Angry even. The fact she was trimming my eyebrows at the time left me holding my breath. For a second I thought I might lose an eye for somehow besmirching Bako's honor. And I hadn't even said anything other than "so are you from Bakersfield?"

I've discovered from previous visits that if you engage in a little small talk you get a better cut. I've also learned never to mention I'm relatively new to town. It inevitably leads to "so how do you like it here?" and I'm not a very good liar.

I'd made it pretty much through the cut unscathed when she started talking about the fact she and her husband had just purchased their first home. That's when I asked the dreaded "so are you from Bakersfield?" Her mood turned instantly dark and the storm clouds moved in. At first she was defensive, then indignant, then angry.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

My God these people are touchy and thin skinned. They get so quickly riled up at any perceived slight to Bako it leaves me suspiciously believing whatever it is must be true. Us outsiders, always walking on eggshells.

To her credit, she quickly calmed down. She admitted she's really more a small town girl and proceeded to tick off all the things she hated about the big cities she'd visited - LA, San Francisco... Fresno.

"I'm really more of a rural person..."

Funny, I didn't really get that from the cropped, spiked black hair, the combat boots, the nose ring or the tattoos. To me that didn't say "I'm a Little Bit Country..." Then again, I've never been much good at reading people.

She said the house they bought was on the "outskirts of town", which in reality could be anywhere. This town is nothing but outskirts. Even downtown looks like it belongs on the fringes of a better city.

Mercifully our time together came to a close. I hate to admit it, but Lil' Miss Ticking Time Bomb gave me one of the better cuts I've gotten since I've been here. All the same, I doubt I'll seek her out again. As much as I appreciate a little style, I'm not willing to die for it.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Arts And Crap


There are two things never in short supply in Bakersfield - anger and disappointment. Today's case in point: art supplies.

In our diminished financial straits I wasn't going to be able to give the boyfriend the type of birthday celebration he deserved. But one thing I could do is create a piece of art. Something personal that showed my deep and abiding love for him.

All I needed was some basic art supplies.

But this is Bako, so as with everything else the answer is "no can do".

I googled "Art Supplies Bakersfield" and all it returned were page after page of scrapbooking stores. And an aquarium shop.

There's no way that could be right, so I just asked my boss where to go.

"For scrapbooking?" she asked.

What the hell is with these people and scrapbooking?

It would appear the only option I have is Aaron Brothers, a framing store with an "art supply" section no bigger than a walk-in closet. Instead of a lovely piece of art I could be proud of, it appears the boyfriend will be getting something made out of pipecleaners.

It's the thought that counts, right?

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

What Dreams May Come


We were supposed to be in Paris this week.

Or Venice.

We never had the chance to choose. The boyfriend turns 40 this week, and back on his 35th I promised him a grand excursion to mark this milestone. I love him and back then it was within our means.

And then the bottom dropped out of our lives and it became just another dream deferred.

I feel completely awful about it, that I can't give him the celebration he deserves. He's putting on a brave face, he knows the score. But I know deep down he's more than a little crushed.

But all is not lost. With the help of some very dear and generous friends, we're still planning an event for this weekend. What it lacks in spectacle it will more than make up for with love from everyone. I hope.

And thankfully, it won't be here.

The only thing worse than turning 40 is turning 40 in Bakersfield.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Can You Hear Me Now?


Day 3 of the IT hostage drama.

At least we have power today. Sometimes you get hints that the locals are well aware of how ass backwards Bako is and are none to eager to let the world in on their dirty little Third World secret. Case in point: the power failure. Power was out to about half of the city for over eight hours. Television and radio stations went off the air. But other than a brief "we're getting some reports of possible power outages downtown..." on the afternoon news Friday, the entire event appears to have disappeared down the memory hole. It was never mentioned again, we never heard about the cause and the story doesn't show up on any of the local media websites. I guess it never happened.

But back to the IT nightmare. I have internet access, obviously, but that's it. Other than that, this computer is nothing more than a really big digital clock. No one here seems to have a clue how to connect me to the company servers, and without that I have no access to jobs, to assets, to email. The response I get is "well it was working a couple of weeks ago...".

Thanks, that's helpful.

They keep looking at me like I can wave a wand and connect everything with nothing more than magical thinking.

They say there's outside help coming in to fix it all, but with the alleged power outage they say it could be days.

And then there's "Dottie". I have no idea what her real name is - no one here has bothered to introduce themselves since I started. I made an effort to take the first step, but every "Hi, I'm Eric.." is met with a blank stare or a "OK, great."

"Dottie" - she looks like a "Dottie" - is evidently their traffic manager. Or a crazy woman who wandered in off the street. That jury is still out.

"Hi Hon, I just put a new job on the server for you".

Thanks, but I'm not connected to the server and can't access it.

"OK, great!"

"I just emailed you a new job..."


Until I get connected to the server I have no email.

"OK, great!"

"You never responded to my email."


I don't have email and wont until they connect me to the company servers.

"OK, great!"

"Have you made those changes yet? The client is waiting."


I can't access any jobs and probably won't be able to for a day or more.

"OK, great!"


You get the idea. Rinse and repeat.

I will say there is something kind of liberating about this job. For the first time in my career I just don't give a damn. Usually when I start a new job I try to be pretty circumspect. I don't share anything about my personal life. I don't go out for a smoke break, at least until I discover the other smokers. I don't email or surf the web until I know just how nosy and paranoid the company is.

But here? Fuck it.

I've been chain smoking in front of the building since I have little else to do. I surf the web, and now I'm blogging.

What are they going to do, fire me?

A girl can dream...

Saturday, July 24, 2010

"Pat, I'd Like To Buy An Whadayacallit..."



The announced on the news yesterday that Wheel-Of-Fortune is coming to Bakersfield!

Oh Lord why? Haven't these people suffered enough? Coming just days after being rated the least educated city in the country I can't see how this is going to end well. Maybe if they just stick to words and phrases from Dr. Seuss.

I couldn't figure out why on earth the would come here, of all places, and then I remembered Pat Sajak is a rabid Right-Winger.

These are his people.

All the same, I think he may come to regret this.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Work Or Something Like It


"You're probably going to want to get a fan in here, it gets real hot..."

Those were the first words spoken to me when I walked into my new "office".

When someone from Bako, where people don't bat an eye when the temperature hits 106, tell you it's going to be hot, it's time to panic. As I mentioned before, my "office" is really the server closet. A windowless space with banks of servers against the back wall, each with a little fan blowing out hot air.

There was a desk that looked like it was picked up off the side of a road. And an ancient, ratty office chair. Four of the five wheels didn't work. The fifth wheel was missing.

Luckily for me, the first day ended up being brief.

I did have a fairly new Mac, so I sat down and tried to adjust and get the lay of the land with their computer set-up. I quickly discovered the computer wasn't connected to the server. I did what I could to connect to no avail. I contacted their IT person who gave me a bunch of codes to enter.

Still nothing.

I called him back to tell them it wasn't working and he came harumphing down the hall, already pissed at the new guy. He kicked me out of the decrepit chair and proceeded to enter the same numbers himself.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

And again... for the next 30 minutes he kept entering the exact same numbers and getting the exact same result, nothing. Over and over again. It was like watching a caveman try and make fire with two rocks... one of these times it was bound to work. Here we were sitting two feet from the servers, where all the work and email access rested, with no way to get to it.

And I thought irony was dead here.

After half an hour he finally threw in the towel and called their outside tech service. And this being Bakersfield, they said they'd try in get to it in a day or two. I offered to work from home and asked the IT guy to burn some jobs onto a portable drive for me. He grudgingly agreed and disappeared. After half an hour I went to his office to see what the holdup was and as I walked in he exclaimed "I just figured it out... I'll have it for you in a minute..."

Again, this was their IT guy.

So that was Day One - I was home by noon. Banged out their stupid little job in about an hour and then watched TV all afternoon.

Day Two was today. The computer still wasn't connected. I went to check with the IT guy to see what the ETA might be.

He's in Vegas today.

I called the outside tech company to check on our service call. They have no record of it. It's going to be a day or two they said.

What to do?

As luck would have it, I didn't have to make that decision... the power went out.

To half of Bakersfield.

My boss was out, so I sat in my little pitch black office waiting for the power to come back on. After 30 minutes I called her. "Just wait it out..." she said. The air conditioning was out so the office was getting steamy. After an hour someone finally thought to call the power company and they informed us we most likely wouldn't get power back for several hours.

I'd called home and discovered we still had power, a fact I decided not to share with my boss. I didn't offer to work from home. I'm going to be watching TV all afternoon.

Again.

I believe it all to the work of a Higher Power. A sign I'm not meant for this job. If I come in Monday morning and it starts raining frogs I'm outta there.

The New Job


Words simply fail me.

Actually, that's not true. I can think of four:

JUST
FUCKING
SHOOT
ME

I need some time to compose my thoughts.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

The Beginning Of The End


So I start my new job tomorrow. This may be the last post for awhile, what with the uncontrollable sobbing and massive alcohol intake.

I went and signed all the paperwork today. It felt a bit like renouncing my citizenship in the real world. I have a sneaking suspicion this won't end well. Call it a hunch. When I filled out all the paperwork I inevitably came to the part where you have to designate an emergency contact and I, of course, listed my boyfriend.

"Domestic Partner".

When the woman guiding me through the process, who'd been nothing but nice up until then, read that she screwed up her face like I'd just let the biggest fart in the world.

I also had to pass a drug test.

Never thought I'd be hoping to fail a drug test, but I was. It's a definite sign of age when you know there's little danger of them finding anything when you pee in a cup.

I had to go to the business office, which was in a lovely office building right next to the Stockdale Tower, the only skyscraper in Bakersfield, and the tallest building in all of Kern County.

It's twelve stories.

My old parking garage at my last job was taller, but whatever.

The office was quite nice, right next to the parole office. Nice, clean and modern. I won't be working there.

No, I'll be working at their other facility, the one in the drab, dreary industrial park, behind the abandoned and shuttered Mervyn's. Across the street from the rail yards.

Watching all the graffiti covered freight cars move slowly past.

If I had a window.

Which I don't.

My "office" is windowless and contains all the IT equipment. Where I come from, this is referred to as a "closet".

It's just as well. If I had a window it would overlook a playground... for developmentally challenged children.

The screaming, the yelling, the crying, the bullying... it's like a pint sized "Jersey Shore".

But I'll make the best of it.

At least I'll have privacy.

To look for another job.

Burn Me Once...


I did not know this. Part of the recent government health care overhaul was a provision excising a tax on tanning salons.

Who knew?

Well, one woman in Bakersfield is burning mad about it. Third degree burning mad about it. She owns a tanning salon, and she calls it like she sees it...

IT'S DISCRIMINATION!

AGAINST WHITE PEOPLE!!!!

Specifically, extremely light skinned white people.

We shall overcome! And I say that as an extremely light skinned white person. I didn't know it before, but now I feel violated.

She's filing a law suit, of course. On behalf of all white people.

The name of her salon?

"Git-Er-Tan".

Inside The Bako Mind


This is actually a follow-up to yesterdays post on Bakersfield being the stupidest, er.. "least educated" city in the country. On the late news last night they broadened the story to include "man on the street" interviews about what the locals thought about it. And the consensus view seems to be "that's fine if other people believe the report because otherwise the city would be overrun and ruined."

They really do believe they've discovered a little slice of Heaven here, a hidden jewel, a secret promised land. And if other people were to discover how wonderful Bakersfield is, they'd all rush to move here and it would spoil all the "specialness". So go ahead, you city slickers, believe all you want that this place is just a backwards, ignorant, hateful, polluted cesspool. Stay away! And leave this place to the backward, ignorant, hateful people it was meant for.

The story on the news, by the way, was preceded by two shootings, a gang rape and a cop that shot a family's dog.

Just another typical day in "Heaven".

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Is Our Children Learning?


I take no joy in reporting these things. Really I don't.

Really.

A new study is out from the Brookings Institute in Washington, a well known group of liberal pointy heads. And their findings?

Bakersfield is the least educated metropolitan area in the country.

By far.

This comes as absolutely no surprise to us locals. All you have to do is look around. These people can't even get a handle on ATM's or gas pumps. That's probably why this city is corrupt; the "low information" voters are so easily duped.

All the same, the news is sad to report. "Worst this", "worst that". This town just can't catch a break. It's is the Rodney Dangerfield of cities, it just don't get no respect.

Hmmm....

"DANGERFIELD".

Just a thought.

Telling It Like It Is


I was riding in the car earlier this morning when a radio spot came on for "Bakersfield's hottest nightclub!"

As far as I know there's only one, so that's a mighty low bar to clear.

It's called "The Nile" because it's housed in the former Nile theater. I've never been in, but from what I've been told it's pretty sketchy. I can't say I'm surprised. It's in a dodgy part of "downtown" and when I took the photo above I had to pan up lest you see all the drifters, drunks and drug addicts that were hanging out on the street in front of it at noon on a Saturday.

At any rate, the announcer for the commercial was obviously white, but he was doing his best to sound "gansta", and the unfortunate result was every time he said "The Nile" it sounded like "denial".

"For a good time in Bakersfield, there's only one place... denial."

"Looking for beautiful people and great music? You can only find it in... denial."

"Denial... for the best time in Bakersfield."


It's a good thing I wasn't driving or we would've ended up in a ditch.

Monday, July 19, 2010

The Green Mile


In my former career working in the entertainment business I dealt my fair share with young Hollywood celebutards. They all end up following such a predictable trajectory it's become boring. The extreme clubbing, the D.U.I.'s, the drugs, the sex tapes, jail time and often death. Natural selection in action.

And then there's Lindsay Lohan.

Don't get me wrong, she's just as big a fuck up as the rest of them. Probably more so because by most accounts she actually showed some talent and promise before she snorted it all away.

And yet I find myself feeling somewhat simpatico with poor Lindsay these days. She was sentenced to jail the same week I received a job offer in Bako, and her courtroom reaction, pictured above, was almost identical to mine. And as she waits for her day of reckoning tomorrow, when she's due to report to jail, I await mine.

I start my new job on Thursday.

There was actually some confusion last week as to whether or not I'd actually been offered the job. There is nothing these people can't screw up. As much as I need the money, I was kind of hoping I had dodged a bullet. But it unfortunately was straightened out and they wanted me to start today. I needed time to put my affairs in order, say good bye to loved ones, come to peace with my fate.

So I put it off until Thursday.

The good news, such as it is, is that the job comes with insurance. As soon as it kicks in I plan on loading up on painkillers and anti-depressants. Maybe I'll "doctor shop" and buy in bulk.

Seems I have more in common with Lindsay than I thought.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

A Correction

In yesterday's post I mistakenly implied that Bakersfield had something in common with Tim Burton's "Alice in Wonderland". It was an assumption based on what I'd seen in the trailers and online - the horrific creatures, the borderline madness, the desolate landscapes.

Having now seen the film I couldn't have been further from the truth. It has absolutely nothing in common with Bako. The film was colorful, interesting and a lot of fun.

Lost in Bako regrets the error.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Back Into The Wasteland


No, not Bakersfield. The "vast wasteland" of television, so described by Newton N. Minow, noted killjoy.

We're now a week into our new super-sized, hi-def lifestyle and our viewing habits have taken on a definite theme:

Big Brother.
Lock Up: Raw.
Cellblock 6: Women in Lockup.

Basically anything involving people trapped, exiled and unable to escape. Make of that what you will. The boyfriend seems to genuinely enjoy them. I watch to discover new coping mechanisms. And how to make a shank out of common toiletries.

I didn't think it possible, but the local news is even worse in HD. Alarming, actually. There are many things that are amazing in HD, but the Poultry Fair isn't one of them.

We finally got around to watching "Avatar". I have to admit I thoroughly enjoyed it even though it was really just "Pocahontas in Space". I would have loved to see it in a theater, but I'm glad we didn't here in Bako. I'm guessing all the locals were rooting for the evil mining company and probably weren't in a very pleasant mood at the end when they were defeated. Hope I didn't spoil the ending for anyone.

The boyfriend just rented "Alice in Wonderland" for our Saturday date night. A film that takes place in a topsy turvy alternate world full of frightening people and bizarre creatures, where little makes sense and nothing is as it seems, a world verging on becoming an inescapable nightmare.

Hmmm. Sounds familiar.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Keep Your Hand and Arms Inside The Vehicle At All Times


I used to really enjoy roller coasters, back before my life became one. But two years of ups and downs, mostly downs, has taken a toll. It isn't even frightening anymore, only tedious.

Back when I was in high school, I got a job at Disneyland. It wasn't my first. When I was 16 I was a toy soldier in the Christmas parade, marching twice a day down Main Street U.S.A. in 50 pounds of fiberglass. I had wanted to be a ride operator, but was banished to merchandise. I didn't much mind because any job at "The Park" was highly coveted and hard to get. It wasn't so much the cachet of working at the "Happiest Place on Earth", although there was that. It wasn't just the perks, like being to sign people in for free, a god-like power in the eyes of out-of-state relatives. It was the fact that back then Disneyland was union and paid union wages. A lowly food worker could easily make twice what McDonalds paid. And the princely ride operators were Teamsters and made as much as a school teacher just for punching a few buttons in a pirate costume. My mother found this neither amusing nor fair since she was a teacher.

At the time I started they were just finishing construction on the third Disney mountain, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. A notice appeared in the break room:

VOLUNTEERS NEEDED TO TEST BIG THUNDER.

How cool was that? Of course you wouldn't be paid for it - it was Disney after all. But the thought of being one of the first to ride the new coaster and be able to boast about it to anyone who cared (which ended up being about zero people) was too good to pass up.

I signed up.

There were already urban legends floating around about the new ride, about the early train full of executives that derailed sending everyone to the hospital. About the manager who accidentally dropped his ring of keys on the tracks at the load platform. The powerful electromagnets that moved the trains through the station shot them like a cannonball through all the fake rockwork and out into the river, almost decapitating an engineer in the process.

Allegedly.

So on the anointed day I arrived bright and early. I was shown my seat, near the back of the train. I would be sharing it with 40 pound bags of sand. Once we were all settled in and given a safety spiel we were dispatched for our first trip.

It was tamer than I had imagined or hoped, but it was fun nonetheless. We whooshed back into the station to whoops and whistles. The engineers huddled around the control panel while the managers all fiddled around with clip boards murmuring to each other. After a couple of minutes they turned to us guinea pigs and announced it was time to go again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

We rode it 8 or 10 times in the first hour. The thrill was gone. Unfortunately we had all signed up for an eight hour shift and there was no backing out. Soon we were returning to the station in bored silence. My fellow testers started trying to nap on the ride.

When we returned from a break we were informed we would now be testing the brakes. In order to run multiple trains at the same time, they needed to be able to stop them at any point in the ride. Now we wouldn't even be getting full rides. Thirty seconds into the trip they'd slam on the brakes, usually on a steeply banked turn. You'd slump against the side of the train at a 45 degree angle and then be crushed by 200 pounds of sand. And there they'd leave you for 15 or 20 minutes while they inspected the system. Finally someone would appear to release you and walk you back to the station. And the process began again. I don't even know why they needed us. It all seemed rather pointless.

I've flash-backed to that experience a lot over the past couple of days. The up and down events of the past week don't even seem to phase us anymore. Just when we seem to be gaining some momentum in our lives, when we think that we're finally on our way out of here, on slam the brakes and we're crushed under our own expectations.

Time to walk back to the station and try it again.

It still all seems rather pointless.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

A Series Of Unfortunate Events


"Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life... "


The bright side of life is overrated. Actually, it's worse than that. The bright side of life is actually dangerous. It blinds you to the next oncoming train. It exposes your weak spots and allows fate to target your last vestiges of hope.

In processing the new job opportunity here in Bako, the one that appeared to have shipwrecked us here for the immediate future, we tried to focus on the positives, such as they are. Rather than be overwhelmed by the negatives, we decided to find the good in the situation.

And we came up with exactly one positive - for the first time in almost a year we would have two steady, modest incomes. Enough to possibly, finally start crawling out of the financial hole we've been in for over a year.

And then yesterday around 3:00, the boyfriend called with the news he's been let go.

Laid off. Downsized. Phased out. Sacked. Shit canned. Fired.

The only growth industry left in this country anymore is coming up with new euphemisms for sending folks to the unemployment line.

So today we're accessing where we go from here. Anywhere but Bako. The boyfriend's been looking for a new job for months and there isn't anything for him here. I'll still take the job here for the time being, just so we have some sort of income. But it would appear the planned exodus is still on. To where I couldn't tell you.

I suppose I should be excited to get the hell out of here. But that would be looking on the bright side.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Television Without Pity


After the news of the job offer sunk in, we reacted as you would expect... uncontrollable sobbing. Actually, it was hysterical laughter followed by uncontrollable sobbing. There was really only one thing to do in a situation like this.

Buy a TV.

Listen, if we were going to be stuck in the Land of Misfit Toys for more than a couple of months, we were going to need a diversion. A big one.

We had no money, so we did the American thing and charged it. We received a circular in the mail from Sears ('Where America Shops©") and they were having a huge sale on flat screens over the weekend. And it just so happens the boyfriend has a Sears card. How or why he has it I don't want to know. It predates our unfortunate financial collapse. It may even predate me. Maybe he has some sort of secret white trash second life on the side. Again, I don't want to know.

So off we rode in the triple digit heat. We set ourselves a $600 budget. That seemed to be the responsible, prudent thing to do. It was also all the available credit on the card. When we bought our last flat screen in 2003, we paid $3000 and it was kind of a shitty TV. It was big, 42 inches, but it was first generation and the pixels were so large it was like watching TV through a screen door. For $600 we figured we'd settle for a 24" or 30".

So imagine our shock when we walked in and saw the prices! My lord, they're so cheap now. Screw the 30", we quickly moved up into the 40 range. A small gnomish old man appeared and offered to help us. He was really quite nice, and knowledgable too. He launched into a discussion about plasma versus LCD, or LED, or GED or something. Started rambling on an on about pixels and such. Listen, honey, that electronic mumbo jumbo may be fascinating to other people, but we were shopping on aesthetics - we's already dismissed a lot of the better TV's because we didn't like the shape of the base.

And then we spotted it, a sleek black Samsung. Fifty inches of white hot plasma.

FIFTY! FIVE-O!

And it just made our budget, remarkably enough.

The little old man seemed pleased and started writing up the order.

"Of course you'll be wanting the service agreement, right? he asked. How much? $150. Listen, I've read articles that detailed how places like Best Buy make almost all their profit on bogus service agreements.

We declined.

"You're really going to want the service agreement. Kern County has one of the oldest and least reliable power grids in the country. Power fluctuates greatly here and it really takes a toll on plasma TV's..."

My God, is there no end to the unpleasant surprises here?

We still declined. By the time the TV fails, we'll hopefully have some other options and it'll just be one less thing to pack. We may be momentarily detained, but the goal is still to get the hell out of here sooner rather than later.

We schlepped the TV home and had it up an running in no time. How I've missed TV. Although the size is taking some getting used to. Everyone is life sized. It's like constantly having people over. And high definition is doing some people no favors. Kelly Ripa, I'm talking to you.

So it's been an amazing couple of days - lights in the kitchen and television again. At this rate it'll almost be like being back in civilization.

Almost.

Monday, July 12, 2010

With Every Silver Lining Comes A Big Fucking Cloud


In preparation of our planned escape from Bako, in recent months I'd ramped up the job search. I've sent out scores of resumés, applied online to even more job listings. I even went to the trouble of having promotional postcards made with some of my best work and my website address - I figured everyone has gotten so savvy about dodging phone calls and email that perhaps an old school mailing might make an impression. And I also designed a slick e-mail promotion to send to people I've worked with over the last couple of years, people who hadn't yet blocked my email address.

The good news is, last week I received a job offer!

The bad news is... it's in Bako.

Bloody hell.

Now what?

Normally I'd just dismiss is with a polite "Thanks, but no."

But these are far from normal times. Most of the postcards I sent out probably went straight into the trash since the people they were addressed to are no longer there - I found out after I'd mailed them there had just been another round of massive layoffs in the LA advertising community. Half the agencies I'd worked for recently have gone under. Of my three marginally steady clients in LA, one went under two weeks ago, another is on death's door. I had hoped to see a small spike in traffic to my website, but when I checked the stats for June they'd actually gone down, the lowest number in over a year. In a business built on "connections", all of my "connections" appear to be out of work. I saw last week that one of my former bosses, a man more "connected" than I could ever hope to be, changed his Linked-In status to "Will work for food".

So what to do?

It would appear I have no choice but to accept the job. I have to let them know this afternoon.

I know I should feel grateful, that to be offered a job in this economy, at my age, in a dying business is a much needed lifeline. But I don't.

I feel like a prisoner who's just been denied parole.

It looks like we aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

Time to explore some other options...

(Just kidding - I'd never do that to the dogs or boyfriend. At least not yet. Talk to me in August when it's 116.)

Friday, July 9, 2010

Into The Wild


I have to admit I really miss all the wildlife of our former home. It's quite the reversal from a year ago when we were packing to move. At times it seemed like we were being run out of town less by financial circumstances and more by the critters that had laid siege to the house.

People think of LA as a strictly urban experience but the truth is great chunks of the city back up on untamed land. No one gives that much thought when they move into the fringes. We certainly didn't when we bought our house in the Hollywood Hills.

It all seemed somewhat charming and romantic at first, the hawks gracefully circling overhead, the distant howl of coyotes in the dead of the night. But you soon discover much of the wilderness experience revolves around death and that distant howl in the night means something has just been killed.

And odds are it was Fluffy from down the street.

The gracefully circling hawks will suddenly dive down and then you'd see them fly off with lifeless Thumper in their talons.

What little I knew about wildlife I learned from Looney Toons, so we were woefully unprepared for our new life in the hills. We were about to be schooled, and quick. The first day, in fact, when a two point buck leapt in front of our car on a canyon road just below Mulholland and almost sent us careening down into a ravine. Welcome to the neighborhood, clueless humans!

We'd only lived there a week when I took the dogs out for a walk. The boyfriend had to get up at 5am for work, and once he was up, everyone was up. We set off in the pre-dawn darkness, the morning fog making visibility even worse. As we walked up a neighboring street, I glanced to the left and saw a house cat approaching us. "What a friendly cat" I thought.

And big too.

It was little more than a silhouette in the fog, maybe 12 feet away, when something spooked it and it turned tail and ran. As we continued on our way and headed for home, I ran into one of our new neighbors retrieving his paper.

"You're a much braver man than I, walking your dogs in the dark..." he said. I must have looked puzzled because he quickly added "... because of the mountain lion." It seems that there was a mountain lion that periodically hunted in the neighborhood. It had disappeared for quite a while but had recently returned. We had just met it.

The coyotes were a bit of a disappointment the first time the dogs and I ran into them. They were much smaller than I expected and skittish too. At the first sight of us they scattered. What's the big deal?

They were babies.

The adults were a little more fearsome and brave. One morning the dogs inexplicably decided to sleep in, so I stepped into the backyard for a breakfast smoke. As I stood there with my coffee I got the uneasy feeling I was being watched. I scanned the yard and the back slope and saw nothing. But the feeling persisted and I looked around again, and this time looked up. There on the roof was a coyote as big as a German Shepard, eyes glowing like a movie werewolf. Our house backed to the hill and it was an easy two foot jump to the roof. Evidently our house was a perfect vantage point to keep watch on the street. And so it was on sleepless nights, coyotes pacing six feet overhead.

And then there were the poor birds. Our house was something like "blood alley" for the birds. The living room had 15 foot walls of glass, which was news to the birds. The sickening "thud" of the birds hitting the windows became fairly routine. When they weren't dying to get into the house, they were dying to get out having flown through an open slider. The dogs of course thought it was very exciting and fun and it turned into a grim game of "keep away" seeing who could get to them first. I did develop one unique skill - rescuing hummingbirds. For some strange reason I was able to snatch them in mid-flight and get them outside before they killed themselves smacking into the windows.

The raccoons were cute. At first. We didn't see them for the longest time, only knowing they were there by odd sounds and rustling on the back hill. But then one day up popped the most adorable face, just like in a Disney film. And then another, and another... it was a mother and four babies. How cute is that? There was only one thing to do, we thought...

Feed them!

So we started tossing up kibble. They may have been cute, but they were also ungrateful, and soon the kibble simply wasn't enough. They took to our plants, the cypress trees in particular, and proceeded to eat them like ears of corn, starting at the bottom and working their way up until there was nothing left but a stalk.

But at least they were harmless, to us anyway. There were other things to scare us witless.

The boyfriend and I each have but one phobia, spiders for him, snakes for me. Imagine how pleased he was when our next door neighbor knocked on the door to show off the 5 inch tarantula she'd just caught in a jar. Found in her garden? No! Her dining room! He rarely went outside after that. And how happy was I to discover our street was known locally as "the snake street", for all the rattlesnakes that apparently called it home. I never saw a live one, but starting in Spring I'd start finding them flattened on the road, each one a little closer to our house. One day firetrucks showed up at the neighbor's house. I saw firemen bounding up her stairs, but didn't see them unload any equipment. There wasn't any smoke, so what was the deal?

SNAKE!

They came down a few minutes later with a six foot rattlesnake, dead and draped on a rake.

The house was already for sale at the time, but if it wasn't, it would've been after that.

The final straw for us was the gophers. They actually do look exactly like they do in cartoons. We didn't know that at first. Mysterious mounds of dirt started cropping up in the backyard. What were they? Ant hills? But then the plants on the back hillside started tumbling into the yard, stripped of all their roots. They decimated almost everything and then set their sights on the big kahunas, huge ancient agave plants as big as Yugos. We had dozens of them and they had been there since before the house was built in the 50's. They were massive. But while they had stood the test of time, they were no match for the gophers and soon they were crashing down the hill too.

The whole hillside was quickly turning into a moonscape, and with nothing left to eat back there, they started moving around to the front of the house. We noticed a mound pop up next to a large crack in the driveway, and as we stood there examining it, the nasty little head of a gopher popped up. The boyfriend was incensed and went and grabbed a hose. He jammed it down the hole and cranked it to full blast. We'd drown him, the little bastard. And his little friends too. So we stood there and waited for the water to back up, a sign we had flooded their little domain.

And waited.

And waited.

For 20 minutes we let the hose go all out and it never backed up. The house was resting on top of an entire gopher city.

So, as sad as I was to lose the house, I took some comfort in knowing the wilderness nightmare was ending.

But then we moved to Bako, and there is absolutely nothing wild here.

Nothing.

Some birds, sure, the few not done in by the heat and pesticide. But that's about it. And now I find I miss it, the animals and the danger.

So as I want the dogs around our blandly safe neighborhood, we occasionally come across a house cat and I'll think back to the one that almost ate us.

And smile.

Let There Be Light


They say when you die you're met by a blinding white light that draws you in and envelopes you.

Now you can experience the same thing in our kitchen!

After three months the management company finally sent an electrician out to fix our lights. Damn it's bright. Or maybe my eyes have just adapted to the darkness. Like mole people.

The first thing I saw when the lights came back on was a roach.

Shocking, I know.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

From Today’s Police Blotter....


The things we see on our morning walks...

This morning?

Bloody steak knife in the gutter.

I've seen some barbecues go bad, but that seems a bit extreme. At first I thought/hoped it was BBQ sauce, but no, it was blood. Either from a very rare steak or a hapless gangbanger. It would appear to have been tossed from a fleeing vehicle, but that's just a guess based on watching too much CSI over the years.

I'll have to go online and see what mayhem has been going on in the neighborhood.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Survival Of The Fittest


I was catching up on the news online and I see the East Coast is suffering under triple digit heat,high humidity and bad air.

Just like here.

Back there, they're referring to the "heatwave", calculating the misery on a "heat index", opening "cooling centers" and checking up on people "at risk" for heat stroke.

Wusses.

Do you know what we call days like this here?

"Below average".

The record for this date is 116 degrees, so nobody here gets their panties in a bunch when it hits 102.

Anyone "at risk" either has the good sense not to live here or is already dead.

Nothing to see here, move along.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Home of The Brave


People here are up in arms over a recently released poll in Men's Health magazine ranking the top 100 patriotic cities.

Bakersfield came in a dismal 84th, just a few clicks above pinko, communist New York City.

There's no way that's even remotely correct. You should have seen this place on the Fourth! I can still smell the patriotism two days later. There are more flags than you can count in this neighborhood.

What's that?

They factored in volunteerism?

And spending on Vets?

And voter turnout?

Oh, well, sure, if you're going to include THOSE things...

Socialists.

At least we beat out Fresno.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Credit Where Credit Is Due

I admit I've been less than kind to the people of Bako, pointing out transgressions big and small for the better part of a year. But I'm nothing if not fair, and when they do something right they deserve some attaboys too. And let me tell you, these people do the Fourth of July right.

We weren't even supposed to be here; the plan was to spend this weekend looking for a new place to live. That didn't happen for a variety of reasons, but we did manage to spend the day out of town with friends.

We were on our way back, approaching the city around 9pm, when off to the left there was a sudden bloom of aerial fireworks. And another. And another. I was a little surprised because the last I had heard the city's annual fireworks show had fallen under the budget ax and had been cancelled. But then there were more, this time off to the right. And then they just kept multiplying as far as you could see. It soon became obvious that these weren't "official" displays; they were all being shot off from residential neighborhoods. Where did they get them? Maybe Mexico, although there's only one place I know to get professional grade aerial fireworks... Indian reservations. I know this first hand from a drunken road trip years ago that included a stop at a Navajo reservation in Arizona and ended with a tree on fire.

But that's a story for another time.

By the time we reached our exit the entire horizon was ablaze with fireworks and we ended up driving right into a wall of smoke. Seriously, the smoke was as thick as the Tule fog of winter, and the air was heavy with the smell of sulfur. As we continued on to the house, every side street was enveloped in smoke and sparks, fireworks going off in every direction. The mood was infectious and both the boyfriend and I started channeling our inner 12 year old pyromanic.

And we couldn't help but notice all the fireworks stands were still open.

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation - we were going to get in on the action. We stopped at the stand closest to the house, sponsored by the Mennonites. They may be pacifists, but they weren't above selling high explosives for a good cause. We allowed ourselves $20 and the boyfriend went out to get the most bang for the buck.

This must be how the phrase originated.

He returned with a bag of fountains, including a monster the size and shape of a carton of oatmeal which would be our grand finale.

We didn't even bother unpacking the car; the minute we hit the driveway we were out in the street with our mini arsenal...






And the grand finale...



... which was appropriately called "Hasta la Vista".

"See you later".

Kind of poetic, considering we're hopefully on our way out of here.

And now I can say I have one really fond memory of our time in Bakersfield.

Thanks Bako!

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Happy Fourth of July



The Bako Pledge of Allegiance

I pledge allegiance
to the flag
of the United States of ’Murka,
and to the Republicans
for who it stands,
one nation under Jesus,
indivisible (for now),
with Liberty
and firearms
for all.

I was reading a news report last week about a man who went into a discount store, in Dallas of all places, to purchase an American flag in preparation for the Fourth. When he got home he was surprised to discover the flag was manufactured in China.

And it had 61 stars.

He took it back to the store and the manager was a little shocked, not so much about the additional 10 states, but that he'd been selling them for weeks and this was the first time anyone had complained.

I don't know which is sadder - that we no longer even make our own flags, choosing instead to have the symbol of "liberty" and "freedom" churned out in a Chinese sweatshop for slave wages.

Or the fact that a lot of Americans don't even know what it's supposed to look like.

Or even care enough to notice.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Best DeFriends


I never followed through on my threat to commit Facebook suicide and deactivate my account. For many reasons, not the least of which being that in this digital age it's about as close to heresy as you can get. Plus, I already have age working against me and by jumping the Facebook ship I'd just be confirming my "old coot' status, yelling at the kids to get off the lawn.

I did make one change, however.

I "de-friended" someone.

His crime?

He is having a simply FABULOUS recession.

I don't begrudge anyone their good fortune, especially in these trying times. And his status updates seemed innocent enough about a year ago...

"Knock on wood this awful recession hasn't affected my business yet..."

But then it all quickly escalated.

"Business is Great!"

"What recession!!!"

"It's only Monday and I already have TWO new clients!!!!"

His success is completely baffling. He owns a small business that offers a service that would be considered discretionary even in the best of times. And he isn't that good at it - trust me, I used to use him. Then again, he's always been a master huckster, so more power to him.

But then came the posts about the new car, the new backyard, the trips to Mexico....

"Waking up with the birds singing outside my window and my pups kissing my face. It's going to be a GREAT day and I feel like shouting out to the World how happy I am to be alive!!!"

Yeah, well, fuck you. And enough with the exclamation marks.

Seeing as how these remarks always seem to come sandwiched between other people's comments about being out of work, losing their houses or being laid off it seems almost beyond insensitive. No real surprise there, he was always kind of a narcissistic asshole.

But over the past couple of weeks he's become messianic. This is no longer a recession, it's Judgement Day, and God has clearly picked the winners and losers. And he has absolutely no doubt which side he comes out on.

"Bad times happen to the passive and the weak. Here's to the assertive achievers that continue to thrive in these times meant for WINNERS!!!!!"

Well, enough of that.

Buh. Bye.

Karma's a bitch, "Winner". I hope the brakes on your new car fail.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Chico and the Man


We live in a nice middle class neighborhood. Probably "upper middle class" by Bako standards. It's All-American wholesomeness straight off a cliché checklist:

Tidy 70's era ranch style homes cloned from the Brady Bunch, painted in more shades of beige than there are stars in the heavens...

Check.

Neatly manicured, if waterlogged, lawns and hedges groomed like a poodle into odd spheres and spirals...

Check.

Gently flapping American flag from the eaves...

Check.

Lowriders in the driveway...

Ch... ?

WTF?

Yup... lowriders. Bakersfield is evidently home to a previously undocumented sub-species.

Middle Class Gangbangers.

When I saw the first one, I thought it was an aberration. But I've now noted at least three just in our neighborhood. I was more than a little surprised, because what little exposure to the gang life I had in LA didn't seem to imply the opportunity for any upward mobility.

From the outside the homes are indistinguishable from their neighbors - they're all just as blandly neat. The only clue that things are a little diferente are the vehicles parked in the driveway. Trucks lowered so far you'd be lucky to slip a piece of paper under them. Monte Carlos so detailed and decked out with chrome you'd be blinded trying to look at them in the sun.

I knew lowrider culture was big here. All you have to do is go to the mall on the weekends. They circle the building slowly like sharks, periodically blocking the entrances to put on a show of all their hydraulic awesomeness. Who knew you could made a car go almost vertical? I just assumed it was an East Bakersfield thing. If you know what I mean.

I've rarely actually seen the neighbors, but when I have it's been a sight to behold. The 40something Chica mom in the cha cha heels, unloading the groceries from the minivan with the spinner rims. Dad mowing the lawn shirtless, completely covered with prison tatts, his middle age paunch hanging over the boxer showing, butt crack baring, baggy shorts. (I don't care how fit you are, whether you're gay, straight or on parole - over the age of about 25 the "pants-on-the-floor" look is just wrong. Actually, it's just always wrong.)

The most amusing thing is watching them try to actually drive one of their lowered vehicles. I've watched as they've ever so slowly tried to inch their cars into the street from the driveway, the metal grinding on the asphalt as it tries to clear the gutter. Then speeding away at 5 mph, lest there be any dips or bumps in the street.

I'm sure they make splendid neighbors. Truth be told, I'd prefer living next to them than some of the Wingnuts around here. Or friggin' Mary. It's all just more proof that Bako is nothing more than one big happy melting pot.

In this heat, how could it not be?