No paparazzi.
I was wistfully watching the Academy Awards last night, drifting through misty, watercolored memories of Oscar parties past. Other people staked out Halloween or Christmas, but the Oscars were "my" signature event and for years I threw a huge Oscar bash. Catered, of course.
The last year I held it was 2001, and it was a disaster. Fat Lisa showed up early and plowed through all the food before they'd even given out "Best Supporting Actress"...
"Those appetizers were great. What else do you have?"
Those weren't appetizers. It was all the food that I had, enough to feed 20 people. And it was all gone. All, except the crudité - Fat Lisa didn't do vegetables.
And then there was my obnoxious (ex)friend Debra from New York. She went off her meds and decided to entertain the room with a non-stop, viciously nasty, running critique of everyone who popped up on TV. "Make her stop, please" my other friends pleaded, and Lord knows I tried. I even tried to kick her out. But she thought she was bringing the house down with her witty, solo, New York repartee. People left in droves, and by the time "Best Picture" finally arrived there were only three people left, and Debra was one of them. We haven't spoken since.
The next year, in the aftermath of 9/11 and the just then launched war in Afganistan, the Oscars opted for a muted, somber approach and I decided to pass on a party. And that was that. Never did it again.
But I digress.
So, as I was watching the Red Carpet arrivals and all the jostling paparazzi a thought popped into my head...
"I sure as hell don't miss that."
If you've ever had to run the gauntlet of them at baggage claim at LAX as they stalk B-List celebrities, you know what I mean. I had a whole convoy of them in black SUVs run me off the road on Sunset as they pursued poor LiLo as she tried to get a latte. And I've been stuck in gridlocked traffic on Robertson as they spilled into the street trying to capture Paris as she shopped at Kitson. Our house in LA wasn't far from the Michael Jackson death house, and for weeks it was like a scene out of "Apocalypse Now" as news helicopters hovered and buzzed the neighborhood..
No, I don't miss that.
And now that I live in Bako, it isn't an issue!
There isn't a paparazzi for over a hundred miles, because there isn't anyone famous for over a hundred miles. Not unless you count the high school football heroes, past and present. They walk as Gods* among the people of Bako. A couple of people have told me that Tommy Lee Jones "secretly" lives here. I can appreciate that. I basically "secretly" live here too - I'd never admit to living here in a million years. All the same, I think it's ludicrous and wishful thinking.
People also hint that "Big Hollywood Celebrities" come to Bakersfield to get plastic surgery away from the limelight. There might be some credence to that - there are a ton of plastic surgeons here, and one of the biggest has offices in Malibu - I just saw him on "Million Dollar Listings" selling his beach house for $5.4 mil. But seriously, celebrities can go to just about any corner of the globe to escape the limelight, and I rather doubt they'd choose Bakersfield.
Switzerland? Sure. Bakersfield? Not so much.
*The link shows what passes for celebrity stalking here in Bakersfield. David Carr was a local football hero and now plays for the 49ers. He was in town over the weekend. Buying a Camaro.
