Resolute

At least being out of Dogpatch allows one a chance to reflect on the year ahead.

I'm not sure how I feel about the whole "New Year's Resolution" business anymore.

There was a time I did well by them. One year I resolved to get back the gym and get in shape, and I did and looked better than I had in years. Another year my goal was to travel more, and I ended up jetting all over the place. And then there was the year I was determined to buy my first house, and did.

More recently... not so much.

For 2008, I resolved to reinvigorate my career after being downsized in 2007. That didn't exactly go as planned, which led to my resolution for 2009...

Not to let the house go into foreclosure after my income dropped precipitously. That proved to be only a partial success - the house didn't go into foreclosure. But only because we were forced into a short sale. And we ended up in Bakersfield. So I'm going to have to classify this as a FAIL.

For 2010, the goal was to move Heaven and Earth to get the fuck out of Bakersfield.

Which was obviously an EPIC FAIL.

For 2011, against my better judgement, I opted for a do-over of 2010.

And here we are.

So for 2012, taking into consideration my blood pressure and hoping to avoid the usual bouts of suicidal depression, I've decided it's best to lower my expectations. To not shoot for the stars. To choose something achievable, something doable, the success of which will give me something to build on.

For 2012, my New Year's Resolution is to... floss more.

Greetings From Bako

Auld Lang Syne

We've never celebrated New Year's Eve in Bakersfield.

The past two years we've been able to escape and ring in the New Year somewhere more... hopeful.

This year it looked as if our luck had run out and we'd be chiming in 2012 in Lil' Ole B-Town.

I can't think of a more bleak and inauspicious new beginning. As far as shitty New Years go, I'm pretty sure it would top my personal worst, the Millennial Fiasco of 2000, something I thought not possible.

Fortunately, at the eleventh hour, we've been able to make other arrangements and later today we will be leaving for the weekend. To where? It doesn't really matter. In situations like this, anywhere works. Anywhere else.

Rhymes With Bad

Somehow I missed this, but to the long list of dubious kudos awarded to the fine City of Bakersfield we can now add the official designation of being a "Frown Town", one of the saddest cities in America.

sad
adjective, sad·der, sad·dest.
1. affected by unhappiness or grief; sorrowful or mournful
2. expressive of or characterized by sorrow: sad looks
3. causing sorrow: a sad disappointment
4. (of color) somber, dark, or dull; drab.
5. deplorably bad; sorry: a sad attempt.

Who am I to argue with the experts?

And the city is particularly sad today because on top of all the usual day to day indignities heaped on Bako, last night the Cowboy Monkeys were a no-show.

We can't even get fucking monkeys.

Feed A Fever

My experience, all these years in the ad business, is that work comes to a screeching halt after Thanksgiving and the period from mid-December to mid-January is a dead zone. It's just one of those things you prepare for as best you can. Last year was particularly brutal as work didn't really start ramping up again until mid-February.

So imagine my surprise when we passed Thanksgiving and not only did the work not slow down, it actually kind of picked up. Partially it was the result of diversifying over the past year, but part of it was just plain dumb luck. Either way, I'm not complaining. This week, however, things have pretty much come to a dead stop. It isn't surprising since a lot of ad related businesses actually shutter for the week. And to be honest, I'm a little relieved.

Because I'm sick.

I never get sick. In the 2+ years we've lived here I've never been sick. And before that I can't even remember the last time. But there's evidently a bug going around and it seems as if half the town has the flu and it hit me last week.

It started last Monday with a sore throat and by Wednesday had morphed into a pretty nasty cough. Afraid of keeping the boyfriend awake and disturbing his beauty sleep, I graciously offered to sleep in the Guest Room.

He shot me a withering look.

Oh...riiiight..... how could I forget.

The Guest Room is for show only.

Why we even have a guest room is beyond me. In all my adult years I've only ever had one overnight guest. Not counting one night stands, of course. In the ten years we've been together we've never had one. If people wouldn't visit us when we lived in Bel Air, what are the chances someone will visit us in Bakersfield? Zero.

But that didn't matter, it was a prerequisite for buying a house. And once we moved in, decorating it became a priority. The boyfriend did a fabulous job and did the whole room in a "Hollywood Regency" style, all black and gold and crystal.

And it will never be used.

"But what if your parents want to come up and visit?" he said.

That's fucking unlikely. They did come visit us for a weekend shortly after we moved here, out of pity more than anything else. On that visit they stayed in a nearby Comfort Suites. When we were in escrow on the house, I mentioned to my mother that we'd now have a guest room for them if they came up again.

"Now why on earth would we do that, dear?" my mom replied. At their age why waste a weekend in Bako. That's two days you'll never get back again. As much as they love the both of us, they will never come back here.

The boyfriend then prattled off a list of potential visitors, people who've never visited us in ten years and many we don't even speak to anymore. It was all beside the point. The Guest Room is really nothing more than a display.

So back to my sleeping arrangements...

With the Guest Room taken out of contention, I offered to sleep on the couch in the family room.

What I was expecting the boyfriend to say was something along the lines of...

"Oh Honey, you can't do that! The couch is right under the huge gaping hole in the ceiling. There's a constant draft and that side of the house is a good 10 degrees colder. If you sleep there you'll get pneumonia. No, you sleep here, with me. We'll be OK."

Instead, what he said was "There are extra blankets in the linen closet."

Needless to say, the next day my cold was infinitely worse.

But now, it appears I'm finally getting over it. But paradoxically, I've now entered the most frightening and dangerous phase of the disease. The phase where I've given it to the boyfriend.

He's been insufferable since he first got a sore throat on Monday. When he isn't acting out various deathbed scenes, he's just downright angry and nasty. You would think I had spiked his drink, poisoned his food or surreptitiously injected him with syringe of swine flu. Just about the only time he talks to me is to inform me I need to rub his feet/back/neck because of "what I did to him".

I'm just hoping he gets over it in the next couple of days. Starting the New Year like this doesn't bode well for the future.

YippeeKiYayMuthaF...

Monkeys.

Dressed as cowboys.

Riding dogs.

Herding goats.

On ice.

Try finding THAT in the big city.

Christmas Wrap(up)

Christmas wasn't giftless after all. On Saturday I received a lovely letter from those kind, hardworking, selfless folks at the IRS. As I had hoped and prayed, they'd seen the error of their ways and were writing to inform me I didn't in fact owe them $295,000.00, due this coming Thursday, paid in full. Truly a Christmas miracle.

Other than that, Christmas was a non-event for us. We regretfully passed on spending the holiday with my parents, as we usually do, which I know just broke my mother's heart. But with Christmas falling on Sunday and the boyfriend's work schedule, it would have meant packing up the dogs and doing a kamikaze round trip in under 24 hours. Considering half that time would have been spent on the road or sleeping, it just didn't make sense.

Besides, my sister decided it was her turn to cook, and the boyfriend and I have suffered enough for one year.

Sunday Inspiration

Two Lumps, Please

Let me preface this by saying it's never my intention to be Debbie Downer when I sit down to write these posts, really it's not. I'm just trying to chronicle the unplanned detour of our lives, the ups and the downs, and lately the "ups" have been few and far between.

For today, Christmas Eve, I had actually composed a heartfelt and touching message in the spirit of the season. But after yesterday, fuck it.

Although the boyfriend and I aren't giving gifts to each other this year, that doesn't mean life can't drop a couple of lumps of coal on top of your unassuming Friday morning.

Lump #1 came in the form of a 20 foot length of pipe. That's what had to be replaced yesterday morning when yet ANOTHER pipe burst in our family room ceiling. I walked into the kitchen to refresh my coffee and heard the sickening sound of running water. When I looked into the family room I saw a steady stream of water pouring down in front of the Christmas tree. It wasn't coming from the ceiling; we don't have one. It was coming from the heavy gauge plastic that's blocked off the exposed attic from the rest of the house since the last leak took out the ceiling. The plastic was sagging under the weight of about 5 gallons of pooled water which was slowly draining from a tiny hole. I quickly grabbed some trash cans and widened the hole to try and drain the water before the whole thing came crashing down.

As you can probably imagine, finding a plumber on the Friday before Christmas isn't an easy undertaking.

Or cheap.

The plumber who had done the original repair, the one who had been foisted on us by the insurance company, couldn't be bothered. He offered to come out next week. I called just about every plumber in Bako and only one returned my frantic call. Luckily, it turns out he's considered one of the better (and honest) plumbers in town and he and his crew were out within the hour. They made quick work of the repair, and he helpfully pointed out what he believed would be the next two pipe failures. It looks like we'll be doing quite a bit of business in the coming months. An hour (and $550.00) later, it was fixed. For now.

Now, the whole ordeal isn't without it's bright sides. Had we actually been able to re-drywall the ceiling, install new insulation and paint the repair after the last leak, we'd be spending this weekend tearing it all out again. And this leak narrowly missed the new TV and stereo which were replacements for the TV and stereo that were destroyed the last time.

Speaking of the new TV and stereo...

Lump #2: Walmart found me.

To be honest, I'm actually relieved. Contrary to what you may have gleaned about me from the blog, I do in fact have a conscience. Although it wasn't my fault I'd fallen through the cracks, it was getting increasingly difficult to justify my Walmart windfall, and really, any way you slice it, it's nothing more than theft. So I actually welcome the chance to make it all right. Besides, I did in fact fill out an application and sooner or later it was bound to turn up. Maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe sometime in a distant future where our lives our back on track, there would always be the specter of the Walmart SWAT team bursting down the door and hauling my ass off to the Walmart gulag somewhere deep in Arkansas. So at least I'll be able to sleep somewhat sounder.

So between those two events, what little Christmas cheer I'd been able to muster this year vanished. But I'm not without hope. I saved the nice post I planned for today and with a little luck, I'll be able to run it next year. So with that in mind, here's to wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas.

Short Attention Span Radio

I don't know if it's because everyone here seems to have ADD, but if you listen to the local radio it's a perpetual case of deja vu all over again.

The stations, no matter what format, seem to have a minimal playlist that they repeat ad nauseam in an infinite loop.

I first noticed it at an agency I worked part-time at when we first moved here. They had a local pop station tuned in in the background and it became obvious they played some songs a lot. In fact, I noticed the songs seemed to come on at exactly the same time every hour. I checked out the station's website and sure enough, their playlist was only 20 songs long and they played them exactly in the same order every hour, interspersed with local ads for tractors and gun shows.

Now that I work from home, I usually opt to have the local classical station on while I work. It's actually not local, but beamed out of the bastion of sophistication, Fresno. It has the added benefit of being an NPR station, so I also get the public radio shows I love and I dodge the local advertising which is a constant reminder of just exactly where I live. Nobody wants that. But if your only exposure to classical music was KVPR, you could be forgiven for thinking there are only 20 or 30 pieces of classical music in the entire world because they suffer from the same syndrome. Making matters worse, the people up in Fresno seem to be quite a gloomy bunch because their playlist is heavy with dirges and requiems. In addition, the morning host is, I've come to discover, Finnish. So you're going to learn to love Sibelius whether you want to or not.

Wednesday morning at 10 they announced that as part of their holiday programming they would be presenting a recording of the Holiday Concert of the Tulare Symphony. What was surprising was that Tulare has a symphony. Tulare is a town just north of here and it has a population of only about 60,000. Less than a minute into the concert I realized that by "Symphony", what they really meant was "Middle School". In the spirit of the season I'll be kind and just say... I didn't turn it off. I could've. Lord knows I thought about it many times.

Yesterday morning at 10 they announced that as part of their holiday programming they would be presenting... a recording of the Holiday Concert of the Tulare Symphony.

Good God, not again.

So, on a whim, I switched to a local pop station that has been playing nothing but Christmas music for the past month. Even though we're having a bare bones Christmas, I was in the holiday spirit and thought it would be nice.

The first song that came on was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas", which is my favorite.

And it's a good thing too, because over the next two hours I heard it 5 times.

Each time it was followed by José Feliciano's "Feliz Navidad", Burl Ives singing "Jolly, Holly Christmas", John Lennon's "So This Is Christmas", Mariah Carey's "All I want For Christmas", "Silver Bells" and then "The Christmas Song" ("Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...")

That was it.

In Bakersfield, there are only 6 Christmas songs.

After the cycle started again for the fifth time, I threw in the towel and turned back over to classical, the Tulare nightmare long over. The first song to come up was Chopin's "Funeral March".

You know, something festive.

Ice, Ice Baby

I took the dogs out for their morning walk around 6:30 after the boyfriend left for work. It was dark and the sun wouldn't rise for another half hour. It was 31 degrees and lightly foggy and I was bundled in a winter parka, gloves and a knit cap. Still, the damp cold ate through my jeans and I was freezing.

All the neighbors' automatic sprinklers had turned the sidewalks into treacherous sheets of ice, so we found ourselves walking slightly in the street, a death wish here. As we rounded a corner I heard running water in the pre-dawn darkness and there was one of our neighbors...

Washing her car.

This shit doesn't even faze me anymore.

"Cracked out on meth" I thought to myself. It's my "go-to" explanation for all the odd behavior you see here. It beats the alternative possibility...

That I actually live in an insane asylum.

Countdown To Extinction

So today is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year and the official beginning of Winter. And according to some people, it also starts the clock ticking on the End Of Times.

The Mayan calendar ends in exactly one year and many people believe that's it, game over.

Well guess what? Our calendar ends in 10 days and no one's freaking out. And you know why? Because WE BUY A NEW ONE. FOR THE NEXT YEAR. No big deal.

For the Mayans, the calendar ran 5000 YEARS. When your calendar runs 5000 years there's probably no rush to start work on the next one. The Mayans were probably sitting around, taking a break, figuring they had another 5 or 6 hundred years to carve the next one when the Spanish showed up. If the Mayans were still around, the next calendar would probably already be in stores.

At Hallmark.

With kittens on it.

Although I'd opt for the desk one. With 1.8 million days, the wall one would be a bitch to hang.

At any rate, if by some odd chance the world does end in a year, somebody text me. I live in Bakersfield and I'm not sure we'd notice.

Crushed

Well, this is simply tragic. Our 70's-era trash compactor died.

And it wasn't pretty.

I noticed it making some odd sounds on Saturday and then when I went to use it Sunday something went horribly, horribly wrong.

Immediately it started making a terrible grinding sound and the whole unit started to shudder and shake. I tried to stop it, really I did, but once it starts its cycle there's no going back. I stood by helplessly for the next 30 seconds to the sounds of plastic popping and cracking, metal shrieking as it was twisted and smashed. It was the sound of utter devastation, the sound of hopes and dreams being destroyed. At least, that's what I imagine mine sounded like when they were crushed.

Eventually we were able to pry it open and it was ugly. The machine essentially compacted itself to death. If I didn't know better I'd say it committed suicide. That's Bakersfield for you - eventually even the appliances lose the will to live.

It's clearly irreparable and replacing it would be prohibitively expensive. Now I don't know what I'm going to do. I'd really grown attached to it. Actually, obsessed with it. Crushing things was often the highlight of my day. Like they say, "Once you compact, you never go bact."

The boyfriend said he'd go on eBay and see if he can find a decent used one. While he's there I should have him check to see if he can find some pre-owned, lightly used hopes and dreams.

Some Enchanted Evening

Saturday night was amazing.

Not so much for the party.

The client throwing the party is a pretty small operation and even though it was at a swank Beverly Hills hotel I figured it wasn't going to be a grand affair. The words "Cash Bar" on the invite pretty much guaranteed that. All the same, we scheduled our departure to allow for traffic and yet arrive fashionably late. The party was to start at 8:00.

Unfortunately, due to someone's unexpected "hair issues", we ended up leaving almost an hour later than planned and then found ourselves stuck on the 405. By the time we pulled up to the hotel, it was 9:30.

And the party was winding down.

There were only about 20 people still there and whatever food there may have been was long gone. I finally found my client, we were meeting for time. He went around and introduced me to "the team", and I likewise introduced the boyfriend, who's hair, I must admit, looked amazing. We went to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks and made small talk with our new friends for about 10 minutes. I noticed the few remaining people were starting to trickle out and saw my client closing his tab at the bar. The party was basically over.

Normally I probably would have been pissed, driving all that way for less than 30 minutes of action, but the truth of the matter is my social skills are pretty rusty and that was probably the limit of my current abilities. Baby steps.

So there we were, waiting for the valet, at 10 o'clock on a Saturday night in Beverly Hills. Starving.

My first thought was, well, let's just grab some fast food and hit the road back. We could probably make it by midnight. I mentioned this to the boyfriend and he turned to me and said 'Fuck That".

And he had a point. It was the very first time the two of us had been back in the city together since we moved two years ago and it wasn't an opportunity to squander. He made a suggestion: we aren't giving each other gifts this year, we most likely won't be back in the city together for a long time, we're all dressed up for the first time in ages, let's splurge and have a nice dinner at one of our old favorite restaurants. A night on the town will be our gift to each other.

Maybe I've lived in Bakersfield too long, but I thought it prudent to call the restaurant and make sure they were still serving dinner. It's not that there aren't dining options in Bako at 10pm on a Saturday night, it's just that they all involve drive-up. I called the restaurant and the host must have thought I was a rube; of course they were still serving dinner, the kitchen was open until 12:30. God I miss the city.

We arrived at the restaurant, in the heart of West Hollywood, around 10:30. The street was teeming with people and the restaurant was packed with members of the tribe. I'd forgotten what it was like to be around other gay men. We proceeded to order a three course feast and just kind of basked in the warm glow of all the holiday decorations and good cheer. It was the best night the two of us had had in a very long time, since at least before we were exiled.

By the time our entrees arrived the restaurant had started to thin out and by around 11:30 we were almost the only people left. Without all the chatter you could finally hear the music playing softly in the background and just around the time we asked for the check, "Home", by Michael Bublé came on...

"Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all be all right..."

We left around midnight and were back in Bako shortly after 2.

It isn't home, and it never will be.

The Usual Suspects

When I think "Christmas", I think two words... "Mannheim Steamroller".

I just found out they played Bakersfield last Wednesday and we knew nothing about it.

Color me bummed.

Sunday Inspiration

Social Graces

Increasingly, for me anyway, the worst part of our exile isn't so much the "living in Bakersfield" aspect, although that's no walk in the park. For me, the unbearable thing is the isolation.

For over a year now, I've worked from home, alone. The boyfriend leaves at 6:30am and doesn't get home until 6:30pm and most evenings he's so tired he's not much of a conversationalist. All of my contact with my clients is through email, which means the only time I speak most days is to the dogs, and as you can imagine, it's a pretty one-way conversation.

I can't remember the last time I heard anything from friends and colleagues back in LA, and to be honest I haven't made the effort to stay in touch. Initially, I was so ashamed and embarrassed by our banishment to Bako, and so convinced it was going to be brief, that I only told a couple of people. Better to let people assume I was still in LA and the less I talked to anyone the simpler the web of lies I'd have to spin to keep the charade going. But in the end, I've dropped off everyone's radar.

We've made some feeble attempts at making friends here, but the bottom line is we have nothing in common with the people here and the more people we meet, the more resigned we are to just cocoon ourselves in our little tract house.

The end result for me is I'm starting to fear I'm losing my ability to function in polite society.

When one of my clients shockingly called me earlier this week, I found myself having difficulty forming coherent sentences since I'm so out of practice in speaking to humans.

And tonight, my grasp of social graces is going to be put to the test because we're driving into Beverly Hills to attend a Christmas party.

It's a company party, thrown by what's now my best and most important client. I wasn't surprised I was invited - I designed the invites. I've never actually met the client, he was referred to me by a friend and we've only ever communicated through email.

Initially, I declined saying we had a prior engagement. Schlepping two hours each way to mingle with strangers for an hour or so seemed ridiculous. Of course I couldn't actually say that since the client believes I live in LA. But he was insistent. We simply HAD to attend, he said. The "or else" was implied. And so we're going.

God I hope I don't fuck this up. I don't know if I can even walk and talk at the same time anymore, let alone be witty and charming, which is kind of what's expected at these things. Hopefully it's like riding a bike. Come to think of it, I don't know if I can even do that anymore.

I should have practiced.

Post Haste

There's been much in the news recently about the dire straits of the U.S. Postal Service. They've announced they are closing locations, possibly ending Saturday delivery and most recently they said they were ending one-day first class delivery.

Well, that last one won't even be noticeable here. We haven't had one-day delivery since we moved here. A lot of days we receive no mail at all.

Case in point: one of my local clients emailed on Monday to say she just dropped a check in the mail. Three days later, it's yet to arrive. She's three miles away. I have no reason to doubt her; we've done a ton of work together and getting paid has never been an issue. In fact, the invoice she was paying isn't even technically due yet. She just thought it would be nice for me to have the money before Christmas. Which, it looks like, isn't going to happen.

And it certainly isn't an isolated incidence. My parents have sent me things that have never arrived, or if they did show up it was weeks after they were mailed. We routinely receive ad flyers touting big sales weeks after they've occurred. We just got a solicitation from a local charity asking for donations... for Thanksgiving. I've received foreclosure notices for other people, for property that isn't even remotely near here. And recently I received a magazine I had forgotten I subscribed to because we hadn't received an issue in almost a year.

I'm not sure where the fault lies, either with the local operation or our particular mail carrier, who I'm pretty sure drinks. Heavily. Probably a fatal combination of both.

At any rate, when the Post Office finally goes bust, we'll be well prepared for it here in Bako. For all intents and purposes, it already has.

Bad Fences Make Bad Neighbors

We have new neighbors.

Can't tell you anything about them because I haven't seen hide 'nor hair of them since they moved in in early November. I know they're there - I saw the U-Hauls out front and now there are cars in the drive and lights on at night. But other than that, they've been invisible.

I can tell you one thing though - we dodged a bullet.

Back in October I was taking a break from work and had let the dogs in the backyard and was lost in thought. (Actually, I was having a smoke, but at the time I was still pretending I had quit, so let's go with "lost in thought".) The sound of screaming children was coming from one of the neighbors and it sounded like a schoolyard at recess. "What fresh hell is this?" I was thinking when suddenly I was startled by a high pitched woman's voice behind me...

"Hi y'all!"

I spun around to see a woman's head poking through one of the broken slats in the fence. She looked disembodied, like the head of a buck mounted on a wall.

"I'm Darlene and it looks like were gonna be neighbors!" she exclaimed.

Darlene was blond and looked to be early 30's. She was pretty in a cheap kind of way and spoke in a thick Texas twang.

"This house is just perfect for me and all my kids..." she continued.

It was only then that I realized all the screaming kids were in the yard behind her.

My dogs had wandered over to investigate the strange woman's head poking through the fence and as they approached there was the sound of a wolf lunging at the fence, the fence slightly buckling from the impact.

"We're gonna have to do somethin' about the fence 'cuz my dog will bust through this like nothin' and have your little dogs for lunch."

I was trying to absorb all this good news when one of the rugrats started pleading behind her...

"MommyMommyMommyMommy..."

Darlene's sunny disposition morphed into a scary looking scowl as she glanced behind her.

"GOD DAMN CHEYENNE NOT NOW. MOMMY IS TALKING TO OUR NEW NEIGHBOR!"

Yikes.

She turned her head back to me and the beauty queen smile popped back up.

"Y'all have a great day. And God bless."

Her head disappeared and I caught a glimpse of the pandemonium in the yard through the missing slat. We were fucked.

Back in September when I had created my little "Future Neighbor Poll" I had listed the choices as:

A. White Trash

B. Bible Thumpers

C. Shit Kickers

D. Section 8

It had never occurred to me to include "E. All of the Above".

Needless to say, Darlene never moved in.

Our first stroke of good luck since we moved here.

Grand Theft Bako

I met the neighbor from across the street on Saturday.

Not under the best of circumstances.

He came over to inform me that the day before, on Friday, he had been robbed.

Sometime between 3pm and 7 pm, thieves had broken in through his back sliding door and made off with a 60" plasma TV, a 40" plasma TV, a desktop computer and two laptops.

"Thank God they didn't find all my guns" he said and then rattled off a list of everything in his arsenal.

Well, yes, thank God for that. I know I feel safer knowing there's a massive gun stash right across the street.

The police came out that evening and made a report and since the only way everything could've been carted away was down the narrow path between his condo and his neighbors, they interviewed the neighbors.

And that would be Jim and his father Erich.

Erich informed the cops he had been at work during that time.

Jim told the cops he hadn't been home all day.

And that's where we have a little bit of a problem... that was a lie.

Jim was home all day. I know this because I was home all day and I can see and hear him from my office window. Not only was he home all day, but sometime around 3 o'clock he hosted a little cocktail party for his degenerate friends. I could hear them carrying on and saw their trucks parked across the street. Parked right in front of the path between the two condos.

It seems to me a truck would come in pretty handy to move a 60" plasma TV.

The neighbor told me he didn't trust Jim and had asked the cop to run his record and it ends up Jim has a rap sheet a mile long, mostly for dealing meth and robbery. And a several year stay in prison for... armed robbery.

That's a few too many coinkydinks for me.

How Time Flies

It seems like only yesterday when I started teaching, and here it is the last week of school.

Tonight is my final class and it's shaping up to be an adventure. Not the actual class, but the journey to and fro. There's a huge winter storm moving in and there's a good chance they may have to close the Grapevine due to snow. It's the mountain pass that links Southern and Central California and my only travel option.

I'm not worried about getting into LA - I happened to have scheduled some other meetings there today and will be leaving within the hour.

Getting home may be another matter.

If there's no post here tomorrow, you'll know I've been stranded and can call the authorities and send out search parties. Be sure to bring vodka. I hear it's good for the cold.

Sunday Inspiration

Love, Bako Style

The boyfriend unexpectedly had to work today because he graciously offered to cover for a co-worker. Her son knocked up some local girl and they threw together a shot-gun wedding in Vegas this weekend.

Sounds romantic. Nothing says "wedded bliss" like dollar slots and an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Actually, I don't know how much romance is involved. They're evidently only getting married so she can be added to the son's insurance, several months pregnant.

I'm not sure this thing has really been thought out. I'm no physician but I have to think that's an obvious "pre-existing condition".

But what do I know and who am I to rain on their parade.

Here's to long and happy marriage - mazel tov!

You Are What You Watch

Out TV viewing habits have recently shifted.

It used to be that almost everything we watched was a reality show. If someone got voted out at the end of the hour, more likely than not we watched it. But lately... not so much.

Don't get me wrong - there isn't a "Real Housewife" we will not watch (OK, not the DC one, but it was cancelled anyway). But the "Survivors" and "Amazing Races" and "Idols" and all the rest... gone.

In their places we now have two rabid favorites... "The Walking Dead" and "American Horror Story".

Seems fitting.

On any given day either one of them could describe our lives as they are currently lived.

Bread & Circuses

Add one more thing to the list of foreign, exotic, alien food that you can't find here...

Rye bread.

It joins the ever expanding selection of lost foods that includes, among other things, any cheese that doesn't come in an individually wrapped square or a brick.

The boyfriend added rye bread to my grocery list yesterday. He's a fan, but for me it's more of an acquired taste. Since I live to please him, I ended up wasting ten minutes in the bakery department of our local supermarket searching in vain for it. There's an entire wall of white and wheat bread and a much smaller section in the corner of "ethnic bread"... bagels, pita, english muffins and... raisin? Whatever. Surely I must just be overlooking it since as far as I knew it was pretty much a staple, right?

Finally, in desperation, I approached the man behind the bakery counter who, as luck would have it, was the "store baker".

"Yeah, we haven't had rye in a long while. We might be getting some in in a few weeks" he said.

Arriving, no doubt, on the next mule train.

In fairness, there is a sad, lonely Trader Joe's across town where you can usually find at least some of these un-American foods, but yesterday I had neither the time nor the patience to go on a scavenger hunt.

The boyfriend is just going to have to go without. Something you get used to here.

Greetings From Bako

The Holiday Spirits

Christmas has always been a big deal with us, especially when it came to decorating the house. "Go Big or Go Home" we always used to say and we always prided ourselves on being excessive, yet tasteful.

But not for the past four years.

Christmas 2007 was amazing.

Christmas 2008... not so much. At that point I had been out of work for months and the reality that we might lose the house was starting to sink in. There wasn't much holiday cheer, not to mention gifts, and we didn't bother to decorate. A month later, the boyfriend was laid off and the death spiral began in earnest.

Christmas 2009 found us shellshocked in the aftermath and living in Bakersfield. It never even occurred to us to celebrate the holiday, we were just too numb.

Christmas 2010 found us slowly adjusting to the "new normal" and packing to move into the house we currently reside in, moving a week after the New Year. No point decorating.

Which brings us to... the present.

The boyfriend and I finally just said "fuck it". Our circumstances haven't appreciably changed, but we have a garage full of Christmas decorations and by God we were putting them up, come Hell or high water.

And we did, over the past two weekends.

And I have to say, the end result is... spectacular.

The house is rimmed with tasteful lights, red, green and white. In less skilled hands it could probably look Mexican, but we're pros and the end result is magical. Balls of light line the entryway and in a corner of the yard there's a forest of lighted Christmas trees and a vintage Frosty The Snowman. Capping it all is another vintage yard display, from the 50's, a plastic Santa and his sleigh, pulled by Rudolph, launching itself off the front trellis.

It's like Vegas. But in a good way.

I'm not one to pat us on the back, but I have to say I'm impressed.

And that's what I was thinking as I walked the dogs Sunday evening, admiring our handiwork for the first time in the dark of night. As I was rounding the corner on the way back home, I noticed a car slow and come to a stop in front of our house.

"How cool is that?" I thought. "People admiring our work!"

And then I heard the yelling.

Soft at first, muffled, in the car. Some sort of domestic dispute.

Just my luck, in a town where everyone is armed.

I was hoping I could just shuffle by and up the driveway, unnoticed in the rage.

Right as I was in front of both our house and the car, the passenger door flew open and a women burst out screaming...

"FUCK YOU KIM, YOU'RE DRUNK".

As an impartial observer, my first thought was... lesbians.

Now, to transcribe what happened next would require typing the "F-word' several dozen times, not to mention the "C-word", and I have to say I'm just not up to the task. Surprising, I know, but it's even too much for me.

So I'll be using asterisks.

"F*** YOU KIM, YOU'RE DRUNK"

There was screaming from Kim in the driver's seat, but I couldn't really make it out. Perhaps because she was drunk.

The passenger seemed to gather her things and then started storming off up the street.

Just then the driver's door opened and Kim appeared.

"F*** YOU BITCH GIVE ME MY F***INK CAR KEYS YOU F***ING C***!!!"

Lovely. Kim was stopped in the center of the street, in front of our house, and it would appear she wasn't going anywhere.

"I'M NOT GIVING YOU YOUR F***KING KEYS, KIM, BECAUSE YOUR TOO F***ING DRINK TO DRIVE!"

"GIVE ME MY F***CKING KEYS YOU F***ING BITCH. I HAVE YOUR F***CKING WALLET, I'LL F***CKIN F*** YOU UP. BITCH!"

"NO YOU DON'T KIM, YOU F***CKING DUMBASS BITCH. I HAVE MY WALLET. YOU'RE TOO F***ING DRUNK!!!"

"WHAT THE F*** AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY CAR YOU C***!?!?!

"YOU'RE A BIG GIRL KIM, PUSH IT TO THE F***ING SIDE OF THE ROAD"

Yup, lesbians.

It continued for awhile, getting louder and louder as the passenger, who's name we never learn, walked further down the street.

At that point the dogs were scared and I wasn't about to get involved so I hustled everyone into the house and prayed there wouldn't be a knock on the door from Kim looking for assistance.

About an hour later, I peeked through the blinds and the car was still there. No sign of Kim, but I imagined her sitting on the curb nursing a 40.

An hour after that, before we went to bed, I checked again and the car hadn't moved. But the next morning it was gone.

Maybe it's the holiday spirit, but I like to think the two of them managed to patch things up, kiss and make up and continued on their tipsy way.

But the reality is probably that Kim pushed the car all the way home. Trust me, if you saw her, you'd know she could do it.

Bako Book Club

I'm slammed with work today and not able to put up a proper post, so in the meantime I'll just share some selections from my personal library. They make great stocking stuffers!

Save Money. Live Better.

This morning I find myself on the horns of a dilemma.

In a grave moral and ethical crisis of conscience.

And it involves Walmart.

The problem began back in late September when a water pipe leak in the attic took out most of our family room ceiling, leaving a gaping opening into the rafters of the attic. It still hasn't been fixed, by the way, due to a lowball estimate from our insurance company and $1000 deductible. I've just resigned myself to living with it and now refer to it as "the loft".

Additionally, the leak took out our relatively new TV and stereo system. You'll be unsurprised to know that most modern electronics aren't submersible. But in this instance the insurance company was jolly on the spot and showed up the following week to cart away the damaged goods and present us with a check for full replacement cost.

We were just going to go back to where we had originally purchased the TV but then one day a Walmart circular arrived in the mail and it turns out they were having a sale on TVs.

A big sale.

The exact same TV was going for hundreds of dollars less. And it looked like they had a decent selection of stereos for well under what we were paid to replace the old one. With the savings we figured we could get some much needed things for the house and stock up on groceries. It sounded like a win/win, even if it meant shopping at Walmart.

So that Saturday we trudged over to the nearest Walmart. We quickly found the electronics and then did a spin around the store picking up whatever else we needed. I wheeled the overflowing cart up to the checkout.

"Do you have a Walmart account?" the pleasant young man asked.

No I do not. To open a Walmart account is to admit defeat, to surrender to the Dark Side.

"If you open account, you'll save an additional 10% on your purchases" he teased.

Well, that was something to think about. It was a pretty big purchase and 10% off would mean a month of meals at Golden Corral. We'd just pay it off the first month with the funds from the insurance company.

So I took the plunge.

Fast forward to last Friday when I was paying my bills for the month of December. It suddenly occurred to me I had never received a bill from Walmart, nor any cards. Fearing our mail may have been hijacked, I place a call to Bentonville, Arkansas.

They're nice people, those Arkansans. I'd never want to live there, but the man on the phone was nice enough. I explained my problem and he assured me we'd straighten it out. He asked for my name and I gave it.

"Hmmmm" he said. "You don't show up in our system. Are you sure the account was opened in that name?"

What else would I open it up in... my Drag Queen Name?

No problem he said, he could find it using my phone number and address.

Again, nothing.

"Let's try your Social" he said. He was beginning to sound flustered.

Nothing.

"Would you mind holding while I talk to a supervisor?"

It dawned on me that now would be a good time to hang up, but figuring they already had all the info they needed to track me down, I hung on hold. For what seemed like forever.

Finally, he popped back on the line.

"I have to say, sir, we are completely baffled. We've never had this happen before. I've spoken to my supervisor, and he spoke to his, we've run your information through three different systems and you are nowhere to be found."

If Walmart can't find you, that's like being in the Witness Protection Program.

"Do you happen to have your store receipt?"

I was staring at it, the receipt, unsure whether I should reveal that or not, but before I could respond he added "it won't allow us to track you in the system because it only has a temporary account number which is your Social Security number, but it will give us the name of the clerk who helped you so we can... contact them."

Well I'm going to be responsible for that, siccing the Walmart shock troops on some poor unsuspecting high school dropout. I'm not going to have that on my conscience. I said I didn't have it.

"What was it you said you purchased?"

I hadn't, and now he was probing. If they didn't have me in the system, that also meant they had no idea what I had bought.

"Dish towels" I replied.

That wasn't technically a lie. There had in fact dish been dish towels wedged between the surround sound system and the 50 inch plasma TV.

After being put on hold AGAIN for about 5 minutes, he came back with the some news.

"Sir, no one here has experienced this before. The only thing we can think for you to do is to go to the store, contact a supervisor and re-apply for an account and we're hoping that the new application will somehow trigger the system to find your old one."

They were "hoping". And so was I. But not for the same thing.

So now I'm torn. I should probably just go ahead an do it. With my luck the original application will eventually pop up and Walmart will slap me with a fortune in late fees and penalties. Or have me arrested. On the surface, it would seem that that's the right thing to do.

Then again, it's Walmart.

Sunday Inspiration

The Forest For The Trees

It occurred to me this week that it's been a very long time since I issued one of my infrequent mea culpas to the fine folk of Bakersfield. I know this blog can be a little... harsh.

Actually, it's downright mean and nasty.

And really, it isn't their fault.

Not entirely their fault.

Maybe, like 49% their fault.

But mostly it's me, working out my anger issues.

A lot of the people here love it and wouldn't live anywhere else. And perhaps, if we'd chosen to live here, I'd feel the same way. But the truth of the matter is, we didn't. We were dumped here by fate after losing most of everything we had, so to say there are some rage and resentment issues would be an understatement. I'd probably feel the same way if we had been stranded against our will in, say, Paris. OK, maybe that's not the best analogy, but you get the point. And since I can't afford a therapist, I have the blog.

Something happened last night that may have softened my outlook. We were just preparing dinner around 6:30 last night when we heard a wave of sirens somewhere nearby. And then another. And another.

We stepped out front to see what was going on and when we looked to the west we saw a massive column of smoke rising from just around the corner. It must have been a huge fire because the smoke was rising hundreds of feet in the air and was glowing bright orange from the flames. Red hot embers were shooting skyward in the updraft.

We decided to investigate and as we rounded the corner we saw half a dozen firetrucks and a house fully engulfed in flames. I know the house well, the dogs and I walk by it almost every single day. In fact, we'd just walked by it that morning. I'd always kind of admired it because it was beautifully landscaped and immaculately maintained. And now it was gone. Or nearly so.

There was a gaggle of neighbors in the street and in the adjoining yards and as we approached we could see the homeowners, seated on a curb, sobbing, two firemen trying to console them. The fire was intense, like something I've never seen before except on the news. It was heartbreaking.

We suddenly felt a little guilty being lookiloos on someone else's tragedy, so we quickly left.

The phrase "count your blessings" is overused, and yet that's all I could think about on the walk home. And I have. We may not have what we once did, we may not be where we want to be, but at the end of the day we still have a lot, not the least of it each other.

So with that in mind, I'm going to try and make an effort to be more generous and kind.

I said "try". I make no guarantees.

In that spirit, I'd going to share something that I love about living in Bakersfield.

I'll give you a moment to get off the floor.

*****************

What I love about living in Bakersfield is... Fall.

I spent my entire life living in Southern California and of course we had Fall there too. Even had same maples and birch and cottonwood trees. But Fall in LA meant the trees went from green to brown to gone. We never had the cold *snap* that set the whole color spectrum in motion. This is my third Fall in Bako and each time is still new and magical to me. I love it.

These are shots from our backyard...





Sure, it would probably be nicer in New England.

But after last night, I'm just grateful to experience it at all.

Even in Bakersfield.

Bako On Parade

Last night was the annual Bakersfield Christmas Parade. It's a big deal and televised live.

For two hours.

It got off to a little bit of a rocky start. During the "pre-show", during the 5 o'clock news, they went out to a live remote with the weatherman. He was sitting curbside with a bunch of 4 and 5 year-olds. After a little light banter, he turned to the kids, and for no apparent reason said "You know kids, a lot of people say Santa doesn't exist."

You could see the kid's faces melt into horror and the weathermen seemed to sense he'd fucked up and cut away to a weather map. When they returned, the kids were all gone, sobbing into their mothers' arms no doubt.


But on to the show. Our hosts for the evening, Todd Karli and Jackie Parks, the evening news anchors. They're married. You know, one of the other pairs of local anchors is married too. I've never seen that before. Seems like it would be fraught with risk. But I suppose that's one way to keep the good ones from fleeing to a bigger market. Still, let's just hope and pray things are cool on the home front.


Generalissimo Harvey Hall, Mayor-For-Life, Supreme Ruler of All That Is Bako. Don't fuck with him or you'll be disappeared.


Mrs. Claus, sponsored by the local cemetery. Probably not the best choice, especially considering Mrs. Claus had on so much pancake make-up she looked like a corpse.


Marching Patriots. Are there any other kind?


What to say...


... I have no words...


The Department of Redundancy Department called, they want their sign back.


Oy vey.


It's a three-fer.... Miss Bakersfield, Mrs. Bakersfield and Miss Teen Bakersfield. No word on if they're related.


Christian bikers. Bakersfield in a nutshell.


And then the Sikhs. There are a LOT of Sikhs here. Why they settled here is an eternal mystery. That can't set too well with the Evangelicals.


And... the Sikhs won an award. Actually, every float won an award. It's like the Special Olympics that way.

At any rate, that was the first 30 minutes. We lost interest at that point and switched to "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire". But not to worry, I'm sure they'll re-run it ad infinitum.

I know I'm in the Christmas spirit now.