Fifth of July Round-Up

In more ways than one.

First, the trip to LA. Man, I'm getting good at that - four hours, door to door, including the meeting.

Trips to LA were always so bittersweet, but still I always planned to make of a day of it, swing by some clients, visit some old haunts, drop by my favorite bookstore. I never ever followed through on any of it, too afraid of stirring up too many memories.

But honestly, for the last couple of trips, my attitude was... meh. In and out, get it over with and, dare I say it, go... home. I can't believe I just typed that.

But here's the really scary thing. On this trip, I got... LOST!

In LA!

Where I lived for 25 years!

I still can't believe it. I was driving down the freeway and suddenly realized I'd forgotten which exit to take. I took the wrong one, but figured I'd cross over on surface streets, and then I turned the wrong direction and didn't even realize it. I drove about a mile before it dawned on me that I was totally F'ed up.

Lordy, lordy lordy... it's all fading. You really CAN'T go home again.

But enough about that, back to last night's extravaganza (pictured above).

There was a change in plans and we ended up celebrating in the Colonial tradition of our Founding Fathers... without electricity.

The power went out.

It was about 8pm and I was rushing to get the dogs out for a walk before the dusk light faded and the mayhem began. And suddenly the power sputtered off.

We figured it would come back on shortly and I went ahead to take the dogs out. All of the neighbors were already congregating in their front yards, everyone checking to see if it was the whole block. I passed one neighbor, Michael, who was locking his front gate and headed out with a lawn chair.

"You obviously don't think it's coming back on any time soon" I said.

"It's not" he replied. "This happens all the time in this neighborhood. Every time it gets to be over about 105 the power goes out and it could be hours before it comes back on."

Someone might have thought to mention that when we were in escrow.

I asked him where he was headed and he said he was going to set up camp in the vacant lot around the corner. He said it had a good view of the fireworks from the local country club and that there was supposed to be a rocket launch from Vandenberg around 8:45, which should also put on a good show.

The dogs were unhappy in the heat and did their business and pulled me back home. The boyfriend was sitting there in the dark, fanning himself with a paper plate. The original plan was to go Full Metal Bako and wheel the BBQ out to the front and set up shop in the drive. The heat put a kibosh on that plan, but we still had the picnic tableware.

"Maybe we should just go ahead and start shooting off fireworks?" I said.

"Not dark enough yet" said the boyfriend.

OK. Fine. Then let's just shoot them off inside because it was definitely dark enough there.

"Why don't you call up the power company and make a scene?" he helpfully suggested.

Well that sounded like fun. And my cell phone was fully charged.

So I called PG&E, our local utility, the fine folks who blew up San Bruno in a natural gas explosion last year.

I was greeted by a rousing version of John Philip Sousa's "The Liberty Bell March" and the message that due to the Independence Day holiday, they were short staffed. Most people would recognize the music as the theme song to "Monty Python's Flying Circus". At least someone at PG&E has a sense of humor. Or just stupid. I'm going with "stupid".

At any rate, I got a very nice lady on the phone, a lovely woman. She said there was crew en route and apologized for this "unforeseen" event - triple digit heat in Bakersfield is evidently "unforeseen" by PG&E. I shudder to think what else is.

At that point, we headed outside to light off our stash. It's a good thing we bought a lot because we had some time to kill.

Now, I was concerned that these "safe & sane" fireworks would prove to be too tame and boring. We had done a test run the night before, and while pretty, they seemed to lack that certain danger that I knew as a kid.

But I need not have been concerned - most of our fireworks proved to be defective.

The "Apache Fire Dance"? Those proved to be I.E.D.'s. We had two of them and they both exploded like a half a stick of dynamite, blowing us back off our feet.

Others exploded like mortars, shooting flaming projectiles 20 feet in the air and dangerously close to some very dry trees. Still others turned into flamethrowers, shooting off sideways towards our arsenal in the driveway. I almost knocked over my wine glass rushing for a hose. All in all, it seemed less like a celebration of "Independence" and more a typical day in Iraq.

The boyfriend's car had been parked in the driveway and he had thrown open the doors and cranked the tunes. There was only one song I remember...

"Livin’ On A Prayer", by Bon Jovi.

That pretty much sums up America 2011, as far as I'm concerned.

The finale was absolutely spectacular. Not the firework - that proved to be a dud as well. But just as the boyfriend lit it, the power came back on.

God Bless America!

Bang For Your Buck

We went a little crazy at the fireworks stand.

That $100 limit? Well, that was really more a "suggestion" than an actual "limit".

This is our arsenal. So far.

"That going to be quite a show!" said the plump little woman behind the chicken wire booth window. "I'm coming over to your house. How many people are you having over" she asked.

Just the two of us, the boyfriend replied.

Sally Fourth!

Today is the day! Today is the day the fireworks stands open!

At noon, to be precise.

Although it appears some folks jumped the gun. When I was walking the dogs last night I could here firecrackers and M-80's going off in the distance.

Or it could've been gunfire.

Hard to tell.

Either way, it was festive.

I thought you could only shoot them off on the actual Fourth, but Bakersfield has a very forgiving fireworks policy - you can shoot them off every day up to the Fourth from noon to midnight. So we're guaranteed four full days of news reports of burning houses and missing fingers.

We've budgeted $100 for fireworks. I haven't told the boyfriend that yet. Yesterday I observed several of the stands loading their stock in and based on that I think this year we're going to go with Christian fireworks. The Evangelicals around the corner seem to be stocking a lot more firepower than the Boy Scouts down the street. Pussies.

I'm not sure what to make of the Christians and explosives. Part of me finds the whole idea a little unsettling. I suppose it's just a sign of the times these days.

I'm not too worried; the ones around the corner are Mennonite.

If they were Baptists, I'd be concerned.

Gang Bang

Look what popped up yesterday! I am quivering with anticipation.

Before we moved to Bakersfield, I thought Fourth of July fireworks were nothing but a childhood memory. I was under the impression they had been banned in all civilized places. But, lucky for us, this place aint civilized!

They sell fireworks here, and a LOT of 'em. This place goes absolutely bonkers on the Fourth. And they don't limit themselves to the wimpy "safe & sane" fireworks, they go to Mexico (or the nearest Indian reservation) and stock up on professional grade explosives. We were shocked last year to see Disneyland-quality aerials being launched from neighboring subdivisions. Sure, the odd house burns to the ground and fingers go missing, but that's how the Founding Fathers intended it. It's right there in the "Declaration of Constitution" or something.

Last year we were unaware of the local's proclivities and just barely caught the tail end of the festivities. It was an orgy of fire and flames and explosions, streets completely showered in sparks. The entire town was engulfed in a cloud of sulfur and smoke. It looked like Hell's Waiting Room, which, well...

This year we know better and we're going all in. We're going to get some sparklers and cones and candles, some Molotov cocktails and I.E.D.'s... you know, your basic "starter pack".

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!

Random Good Things About Bako #8

"Safe and Sane" Fireworks!

That's a blast from the past. Literally.

Fireworks stands started going up over the past few days in Bako. I hadn't seen those in years! Decades! I had assumed all civilized parts of California had banned fireworks. And I was right - that's why you can still get them in Bakersfield.

That brings back memories. It was always such a rite of passage as a kid, the official opening of summer. The stands always went up a week or two after school let out, and we used to ride our bikes up and drool over the rainbow array of sparklers, ground flowers, fountains, cones and pinwheels.

Piccolo Petes!

Roman candles!

You had to be 16 to buy them. If you had older siblings, in theory they could buy them for you. But that rarely happened. No, you were at the mercy of your parents, and the parents always went for one of the boxed sets displayed against the back wall. At one end was the "Family Pack", which was small, wimpy and lame. And cheap, so that was always the parent's first choice. With a minimal amount of whining you could usually upgrade to something more substantial, and we usually settled on the "Let Freedom Ring" assortment. At the other extreme was the motherlode, the Holy Grail, a monstrous box the size of a coffee table... "THE COLOSSUS"!

No one ever got The Colossus.

The Greek family across the street had a son around my age. Every year his father would make a quick trip to Tijuana in the weeks before the Fourth of July and return with an illegal arms cache of ladyfingers, firecrackers and M-80's, which he dispersed generously to the neighborhood boys. It pissed off the other parents and traumatized the girls because by far our favorite target for explosive destruction was... Barbie.

Skipper too.

Everyone raided their sister's Barbie collections and in the days leading up to the Fourth the street looked like a scene out of "Platoon"; singed Barbie limbs littering the gutters. And the occasional head. The heads usually flew the farthest and were gone for good.

The highlight of every Fourth was a fireworks extravaganza put on by a scary man who lived down the street. He was a colleague of my father's and taught chemistry. He was a "confirmed bachelor" and lived with his mother. Years later when I saw "Psycho" for the first time, I thought of him. He'd converted his garage into an industrial workshop, like a serial killer. He had an unhealthy obsession with fireworks and spent the entire year building elaborate Rube Goldberg contraptions to display them.

On the morning of the Fourth he'd wheel out his creations and spend the entire day maniacally rigging them with explosives. As night fell, the neighbors all gathered, the kids with uncontained excitement, the parents with a good deal of trepidation. As showtime approached, he'd emerge from his house with his mother. This would be the only time you saw her all year.

Finally, with a flourish, he'd light the first pinwheel. It would set off a chain reaction, like a game of Mousetrap, each firework triggering the next for 20 or 30 minutes. It was ingenious. It was a beyond spectacular.

Everyone went home happy and reeking of sulfur.

I understand the safety concerns that have led to so many places banning fireworks, but I have to admit the Fourth just isn't quite the same without them. I'm actually happy there are still places like Bakersfield, where True Patriots still cherish their God given right to put out an eye, blow off a finger or torch a neighbor's house in the name of American Freedom.

Sadly, we won't be here for the pyromania. We plan to be away that weekend looking for a new place to live.

Someplace a little safer. And saner.