Downtown Bako, such as it is, is actually a pretty short drive from our neighborhood. Actually, everything is a short drive from our neighborhood. Everything except my sanity.
To get downtown, you cross a bridge over a wide, shallow, trash filled drainage ditch which I only recently discovered was the Kern River. Or rather, the remains of it. Back in the 50's, when they built the shoddy, soon-to-fail dam at Lake Isabella, the water supply was cut off and it became the civic gulch that it is today. They've added some bike paths along the "banks", if pedaling along a landfill is your thing.
Even though the "river" is but a misty watercolor memory, it hasn't stopped the hucksters and charlatans of this town from coloring it blue on the map like it's a viable body of water. The nearby housing developments sport names such as "River Oaks", "River Run Blvd." and "Roaring River Drive". I don't know if it's an act of brazen deception or delusion, but I pity anyone who buys a house there. Sold on the gauzy image of watching sailboats drift lazily by, they're going to quickly discover that the only thing that floats down the Kern River are shopping bags and Slurpee cups.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like...
Colossal disappointment. That's my reaction to the dismal showing this weekend on the Christmas decorating front. I was expecting an orgy of lights and plastic. Instead? An anemic showing of random wreaths, some bows, that's about it. A handful of houses went all out with the lights. But in every single case it was only white "icicle" lights, which leads me to believe it must have been a doorbuster special at WalMart on Friday. One house was obviously unclear on the concept of "icicles" and had stretched them out like fish nets across the front of the house, making it look like a trussed up electric ham. Points for subtlety go to the house that hung a huge electric cross from their personal flagpole.
The one bright spot, as always, was Jim. The Thanksgiving turkey was long gone by the time we returned on Friday. The last time I saw him he had been surrounded by giant candy canes and was staring forlornly out from his peppermint jail. Snowmen now hang from the cast iron turtles in the trees. Not much movement on the Parisian theme, but the massive pile of deflated plastic on the roof has been revealed to be a ginormous inflatable carousel. Twenty feet square and 15 feet high, it features inflatable elves riding inflatable reindeer, all rotating silently to the whir of the air compressor. He really needs to consider some music. The lights have started to go up, and several huge boxes labeled "Christmas" await unpacking in the driveway. I have a feeling he's just getting started.
The biggest surprise came next door. We came home a while ago to discover the Wicked Witch had hung colored lights all over her shrubs.
I'm not buying it - I think it's some sort of trap.
The one bright spot, as always, was Jim. The Thanksgiving turkey was long gone by the time we returned on Friday. The last time I saw him he had been surrounded by giant candy canes and was staring forlornly out from his peppermint jail. Snowmen now hang from the cast iron turtles in the trees. Not much movement on the Parisian theme, but the massive pile of deflated plastic on the roof has been revealed to be a ginormous inflatable carousel. Twenty feet square and 15 feet high, it features inflatable elves riding inflatable reindeer, all rotating silently to the whir of the air compressor. He really needs to consider some music. The lights have started to go up, and several huge boxes labeled "Christmas" await unpacking in the driveway. I have a feeling he's just getting started.
The biggest surprise came next door. We came home a while ago to discover the Wicked Witch had hung colored lights all over her shrubs.
I'm not buying it - I think it's some sort of trap.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
When It Rains, It Pours
So it does rain in Bako. Color me surprised. Of course, for the neighbors, that can mean only one thing... time to water the lawn.
I don't understand these people at all.
I don't understand these people at all.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Back To Square One
Leaving is so exhilarating. Returning, not. Had to get up before dawn to head back to Dogpatch. The boyfriend couldn't get the day off, sadly. Two days away is definitely not enough time to heal the psychic scars of living here.
The trip out was pretty uneventful. About 20 miles out, near Mettler, we discovered we had stowaways... flies.
Stupid flies.
If only they'd lay low they'd be living the good life in Orange County right about now. But instead they had to start buzzing about the car. A quick touch of the window button sucked them out into the oblivion that is Mettler. They're going to wish they'd stayed in Bako. Still, I felt a little bad about it - they obviously worked pretty hard to get into the car and must have wanted to escape this place as much as we do. You know it's bad when even the flies are staging prison breaks.
Thanksgiving was lovely, up to a point. That point was when the Republican wing of the family showed up. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with those people? Evidently the only skill they still possess is clearing a room. Twenty minutes after arriving the conversation went something like this:
"Boy, this sure is unseasonably warm weather we're having..."
"Yeah, and Obama's a Socialist..."
Then somebody brought up Sarah Palin, and it was as if a giant fart had been ripped in the center of the room. After a few moments of awkward silence everyone self-sorted themselves into opposite rooms. In one, the sane, rational, festive people. In the other, the bitter, angry Dittoheads. Thanksgiving dinner was declared non-partisan and went off without a hitch. The Republican malcontents ate and ran. Figures. Probably had to rush home to watch "Red Dawn" on TBS. The rest of the stay was wonderful, but all too brief.
So now I'm all alone with the dogs, here in Bako on Black Friday. Every Friday here is black, trust me. Saturday through Thursday too. Maybe we'll go take a walk and see how the Christmas decorations in the neighborhood are proceeding.
The trip out was pretty uneventful. About 20 miles out, near Mettler, we discovered we had stowaways... flies.
Stupid flies.
If only they'd lay low they'd be living the good life in Orange County right about now. But instead they had to start buzzing about the car. A quick touch of the window button sucked them out into the oblivion that is Mettler. They're going to wish they'd stayed in Bako. Still, I felt a little bad about it - they obviously worked pretty hard to get into the car and must have wanted to escape this place as much as we do. You know it's bad when even the flies are staging prison breaks.
Thanksgiving was lovely, up to a point. That point was when the Republican wing of the family showed up. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with those people? Evidently the only skill they still possess is clearing a room. Twenty minutes after arriving the conversation went something like this:
"Boy, this sure is unseasonably warm weather we're having..."
"Yeah, and Obama's a Socialist..."
Then somebody brought up Sarah Palin, and it was as if a giant fart had been ripped in the center of the room. After a few moments of awkward silence everyone self-sorted themselves into opposite rooms. In one, the sane, rational, festive people. In the other, the bitter, angry Dittoheads. Thanksgiving dinner was declared non-partisan and went off without a hitch. The Republican malcontents ate and ran. Figures. Probably had to rush home to watch "Red Dawn" on TBS. The rest of the stay was wonderful, but all too brief.
So now I'm all alone with the dogs, here in Bako on Black Friday. Every Friday here is black, trust me. Saturday through Thursday too. Maybe we'll go take a walk and see how the Christmas decorations in the neighborhood are proceeding.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Time Off For Good Behavior
I've said it before, and I'll say it again - the best thing about Bako is seeing it in your rearview mirror. And that's the distinct pleasure I look forward to in the morning as we head out of Hooterville and back to civilization for Thanksgiving. So much to look forward to.... Family, friends, breathable air. Of course, my excitement is tempered with the knowledge we'll have to come back. Unless we win the lottery, or as I call it, "my retirement plan". But I'll worry about that later. For now I'm just blissfully looking forward to leaving.
Happy Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving
Joyeux Noel!
So just got in from walking the dogs, and I'm afraid Jim has lost his focus with the decorating. Yes, Christmas is slowly overtaking the poor turkey with a 12 pack, which he doesn't even bother to inflate anymore. There's an enormous inflatable now on the roof - I don't know what it is yet because it was flaccid, but it's red and green so obviously Christmas related. He'd better be careful though because it's awful close to the American flags and I'm afraid in a stiff breeze it'll be punctured.
But it's with the tree in front where I think he's taken a wrong turn. There are a bunch of new ornaments, sure, but now there's also ceramic roosters and hanging cast iron frogs. And capping it off, there's now a two foot replica of the Arc de Triomphe in the crux of the biggest limbs. WTF? The concept is a little lost on me.
He may be pressing his luck if he's planning on a Parisian theme, because he lives just a few doors down from the people who want to Boycott France. I wouldn't want anything to mar the holiday season here in the neighborhood.
But it's with the tree in front where I think he's taken a wrong turn. There are a bunch of new ornaments, sure, but now there's also ceramic roosters and hanging cast iron frogs. And capping it off, there's now a two foot replica of the Arc de Triomphe in the crux of the biggest limbs. WTF? The concept is a little lost on me.
He may be pressing his luck if he's planning on a Parisian theme, because he lives just a few doors down from the people who want to Boycott France. I wouldn't want anything to mar the holiday season here in the neighborhood.
A Mall and the Night Visitor
So, I made my first foray to the local mall. Man, what a dreary experience THAT was. If you're prone to depression, I suggest steering clear, because a visit could just send you over the edge. From the street it looks like a minimum security prison - a low slung pile of concrete and cinder block. No windows that I could see. Inside, it is what it is and has always been - a 70's era enclosed mall. It doesn't appear that there's been much effort to change with the times and spruce it up over the years. And really, why should they bother? There isn't another mall for 100 miles in any direction. When you're the only hooker in town you can afford to let yourself go.
If anything, the Christmas decorations made the experience worse. A smattering of limp, dingy wreathes and a couple of oversized, ratty teddy bears that have seen better days. It had all the charm of Christmas at an animal shelter. I made it about halfway through and then was overcome with the desire to leave.
I believe this year I'll be doing my holiday shopping online.
If anything, the Christmas decorations made the experience worse. A smattering of limp, dingy wreathes and a couple of oversized, ratty teddy bears that have seen better days. It had all the charm of Christmas at an animal shelter. I made it about halfway through and then was overcome with the desire to leave.
I believe this year I'll be doing my holiday shopping online.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thanksmas Hits Home
"Hey, I have an idea... maybe we could put up the tree?"
Oh God. The tree.
We were having a lovely, lazy Sunday afternoon and had just opened a nice bottle of cheap wine. And now this. A shiver went down my spine. The tree. Although it had been phrased as a suggestion, it was clear this was a done deal.... the Christmas Tree was going up.
I had a sudden pang of guilt. Here I had been mocking the neighbors for jumping the gun on Christmas decorations, and now we were going to do the same. Pot. Kettle. Black. We always decorate, but always after Thanksgiving. There was a certain logic to it all - we're going to be away for Thanksgiving, and with the boyfriend's schedule it could be weeks before we could do anything, and then by then half the season would be gone. But still.
Christmas is my partner's favorite holiday, which is only worth noting because he was raised Jewish. As long as we've been together we've always pulled out all the stops. But unlike our new neighbors, we always do it tastefully, sophisticated and chic. (There was one notable exception - the year I overruled my partner and decided the "theme color" for that year would be orange. Don't ask me why. We spent the better part of the Saturday after Thanksgiving scouring Greater LA for every available orange Christmas light, and then another couple of hours stringing them all up. As the sun set it was time to check out our handiwork, and with a flip of the switch, the house... went SUPERNOVA. The entire neighborhood looked as if it was under a heat lamp, or on fire. Once your eyes adjusted it wasn't as bad - the house merely looked like a Taco Bell. Within 10 minutes the lights were off, and the next day they came down. And I've been relieved of all decorating decisions since.) At any rate, we always do a stylish job. Nothing inflatable.
Which brings us to the Christmas tree.
It's aluminum.
Our house in LA was a Mid Century Modern, built in the 50's by a name architect. The living room was all glass, and the tree was always the focal point of the decorations. For several years we bought a fresh tree and did it up all Martha Stewart-ish. But one year my partner decided we should really decorate "of the era". Vintage. Think Jet Set, Rat Pack. And that could only mean one thing.... an aluminum tree. Unfortunately, they no longer make them, at least nothing of quality. Which left only one choice: Ebay.
My partner is a master Ebay-er. Over the years I've watched him buy and sell countless items, swooping in like a Ninja in the final three seconds to snatch a prize away from some poor schmuck who'd been bidding for a week. And sure enough, within a day, he found our tree - a genuine 1968 Alcoa Aluminum Tree! And it revolved! And even had separate spotlights with color wheels! Only used once!
And now the bad news.... he'd bid $400. $400? For a fucking Christmas Tree? Was he out of his mind? Evidently, not just yet, because someone started bidding against him and it started creeping up in $10 increments. This was madness. It had to stop. I told him in no uncertain terms that if it hit $500, we were out.
But here's the thing... there's CRAZY, and then there's EBAY CRAZY. I'm not sure what happened, it's still kind of a blur. The bids quickly blew past $500. Somewhere around $750 even my boyfriend started to get cold feet. But I was possessed. It was our tree, and I didn't care if I had to sell a kidney to pay for it.
Ultimately we prevailed. For only $1000.
The tree arrived as advertised - pristine condition, only used once. We knew this because it was delicately packed in the December 26th, 1968 edition of the Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph. Who knows what family psychodrama played out that had the tree packed up so quickly, never to be seen again. It was ours now.
I'm not sure exactly what we were expecting. I guess we somehow thought it would just open up like an umbrella. But spread out before us were 300 individually wrapped and color coded tree branches of the best American aluminum 1968 had to offer. It took hours to assemble, and I quickly grew bored and started reading the old newspaper ("Chugwater man saved from drowning... record albums for $1.26!... women's dresses starting at $4.00!...) Feelings were hurt, nerves were frayed and by the time the thing was assembled there wasn't much Christmas cheer left in the room. But it did look AMAZING.
So here we were, ready to do it all over again. I wondered if we'd be speaking to each other by the time it went up, but to my immense relief our prior experience paid off and it went up fairly quickly.
I have extremely mixed emotions about the tree. It actually makes me really sad to look at it, because it so reminds me of our old house and the life that once went with it.
On the other hand, it cost a fucking thousand dollars and we're damn well going to get our money's worth out of it.
Oh God. The tree.
We were having a lovely, lazy Sunday afternoon and had just opened a nice bottle of cheap wine. And now this. A shiver went down my spine. The tree. Although it had been phrased as a suggestion, it was clear this was a done deal.... the Christmas Tree was going up.
I had a sudden pang of guilt. Here I had been mocking the neighbors for jumping the gun on Christmas decorations, and now we were going to do the same. Pot. Kettle. Black. We always decorate, but always after Thanksgiving. There was a certain logic to it all - we're going to be away for Thanksgiving, and with the boyfriend's schedule it could be weeks before we could do anything, and then by then half the season would be gone. But still.
Christmas is my partner's favorite holiday, which is only worth noting because he was raised Jewish. As long as we've been together we've always pulled out all the stops. But unlike our new neighbors, we always do it tastefully, sophisticated and chic. (There was one notable exception - the year I overruled my partner and decided the "theme color" for that year would be orange. Don't ask me why. We spent the better part of the Saturday after Thanksgiving scouring Greater LA for every available orange Christmas light, and then another couple of hours stringing them all up. As the sun set it was time to check out our handiwork, and with a flip of the switch, the house... went SUPERNOVA. The entire neighborhood looked as if it was under a heat lamp, or on fire. Once your eyes adjusted it wasn't as bad - the house merely looked like a Taco Bell. Within 10 minutes the lights were off, and the next day they came down. And I've been relieved of all decorating decisions since.) At any rate, we always do a stylish job. Nothing inflatable.
Which brings us to the Christmas tree.
It's aluminum.
Our house in LA was a Mid Century Modern, built in the 50's by a name architect. The living room was all glass, and the tree was always the focal point of the decorations. For several years we bought a fresh tree and did it up all Martha Stewart-ish. But one year my partner decided we should really decorate "of the era". Vintage. Think Jet Set, Rat Pack. And that could only mean one thing.... an aluminum tree. Unfortunately, they no longer make them, at least nothing of quality. Which left only one choice: Ebay.
My partner is a master Ebay-er. Over the years I've watched him buy and sell countless items, swooping in like a Ninja in the final three seconds to snatch a prize away from some poor schmuck who'd been bidding for a week. And sure enough, within a day, he found our tree - a genuine 1968 Alcoa Aluminum Tree! And it revolved! And even had separate spotlights with color wheels! Only used once!
And now the bad news.... he'd bid $400. $400? For a fucking Christmas Tree? Was he out of his mind? Evidently, not just yet, because someone started bidding against him and it started creeping up in $10 increments. This was madness. It had to stop. I told him in no uncertain terms that if it hit $500, we were out.
But here's the thing... there's CRAZY, and then there's EBAY CRAZY. I'm not sure what happened, it's still kind of a blur. The bids quickly blew past $500. Somewhere around $750 even my boyfriend started to get cold feet. But I was possessed. It was our tree, and I didn't care if I had to sell a kidney to pay for it.
Ultimately we prevailed. For only $1000.
The tree arrived as advertised - pristine condition, only used once. We knew this because it was delicately packed in the December 26th, 1968 edition of the Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph. Who knows what family psychodrama played out that had the tree packed up so quickly, never to be seen again. It was ours now.
I'm not sure exactly what we were expecting. I guess we somehow thought it would just open up like an umbrella. But spread out before us were 300 individually wrapped and color coded tree branches of the best American aluminum 1968 had to offer. It took hours to assemble, and I quickly grew bored and started reading the old newspaper ("Chugwater man saved from drowning... record albums for $1.26!... women's dresses starting at $4.00!...) Feelings were hurt, nerves were frayed and by the time the thing was assembled there wasn't much Christmas cheer left in the room. But it did look AMAZING.
So here we were, ready to do it all over again. I wondered if we'd be speaking to each other by the time it went up, but to my immense relief our prior experience paid off and it went up fairly quickly.
I have extremely mixed emotions about the tree. It actually makes me really sad to look at it, because it so reminds me of our old house and the life that once went with it.
On the other hand, it cost a fucking thousand dollars and we're damn well going to get our money's worth out of it.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Resistance Is Futile
So I think the boyfriend has come down with Stockholm Syndrome. Either that, or he's starting to cross over. This morning he put on Country music. On purpose. I put a quick stop to that, but it has me concerned. Maybe that's how it starts, that's how the hook you. They suck you in with a catchy little song about how your man's done you wrong, and the next thing you know you're buying a gun and voting Republican. We're being assimilated. Like the Borg on Star Trek.
Damn you Carrie Underwood.
Damn you Carrie Underwood.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Pedal To The Metal
So a report came out last week ranking Bako as THE most dangerous city in the state, possibly the nation, for pedestrians.
And my first thought was "They must be joking... what pedestrians?" I've never seen 'em. Maybe there used to be some, but they were all run down before we moved here. I rather doubt it - in my neighborhood people drive to the curb to pick up the mail. In this town, walking is for pussies.
The "dangerous" part I totally understand. These people drive crazy fast. Going 60mph on surface streets is pretty common. At first I just chalked it up to watching too much NASCAR. But you don't have to live here long before you begin to see the method to the madness. The stoplights here are ridiculously long. I mean L O N G. I've listened to entire stories on NPR at one stop light. (Yes, they get NPR here, but it's broadcast out of Fresno - beamed down to us lost souls behind the Alfalfa Curtain like Voice of America during the Cold War.) And the stoplights aren't timed either, even on the major thoroughfares. So the only way to go more than a half a mile without hitting a stoplight is to FLOOR IT. Why they aren't timed is a mystery. Maybe they've never heard about the concept. Or maybe they did and just dismissed it as another sign of creeping Socialist mind control.
And we'll be having none of THAT here, thank you very much.
And my first thought was "They must be joking... what pedestrians?" I've never seen 'em. Maybe there used to be some, but they were all run down before we moved here. I rather doubt it - in my neighborhood people drive to the curb to pick up the mail. In this town, walking is for pussies.
The "dangerous" part I totally understand. These people drive crazy fast. Going 60mph on surface streets is pretty common. At first I just chalked it up to watching too much NASCAR. But you don't have to live here long before you begin to see the method to the madness. The stoplights here are ridiculously long. I mean L O N G. I've listened to entire stories on NPR at one stop light. (Yes, they get NPR here, but it's broadcast out of Fresno - beamed down to us lost souls behind the Alfalfa Curtain like Voice of America during the Cold War.) And the stoplights aren't timed either, even on the major thoroughfares. So the only way to go more than a half a mile without hitting a stoplight is to FLOOR IT. Why they aren't timed is a mystery. Maybe they've never heard about the concept. Or maybe they did and just dismissed it as another sign of creeping Socialist mind control.
And we'll be having none of THAT here, thank you very much.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Time Flies
So Juan's handiwork is starting to deliver results - our front lawn now looks like it has hair plugs. Flies are still here, at least the ones that managed to get inside before the weather changed. I've stopped caring. I just consider them part of the extended family. I opened the dishwasher this morning and two of them flew out. I guess that's their day spa now.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Happy Thanksmas
So just came in from walking the dogs and I couldn't help but notice Jim has jumped the gun and started putting up Christmas decorations. I don't know whether he couldn't control his enthusiasm or if he just got bored with the limited possibilities Thanksgiving offered, but in either case, all the hanging crap in his tree has come down and been replaced with large plastic ornaments. They hover over the poor turkey with the 12 pack like a giant mushroom cloud. It's a very mixed message - I hope the children aren't confused.
And Jim isn't alone. Christmas wreaths and lights have been popping up all over. Christmas is going to be much bigger than I imagined. I thought once Jim started decorating for Halloween that perhaps the entire neighborhood might go All-Hallows-Crazy, but it quickly fizzled, leaving Jim as a lone wolf. But that was the Devil's holiday, and now we're talking about the Baby Jesus, so I think it's going to be HUGE.
And Jim isn't alone. Christmas wreaths and lights have been popping up all over. Christmas is going to be much bigger than I imagined. I thought once Jim started decorating for Halloween that perhaps the entire neighborhood might go All-Hallows-Crazy, but it quickly fizzled, leaving Jim as a lone wolf. But that was the Devil's holiday, and now we're talking about the Baby Jesus, so I think it's going to be HUGE.
I Can See Russia From My House
So I caught the Sarah Palin interview on Oprah yesterday. Meh. I used to think it would be awesome if she got the nomination and ran for President in 2012. The combination of her militant ignorance, beauty pageant vapidness and the rabid, mouth-breathing fringe she inspires promised to be an epic flaming train wreck, one that would hopefully doom the GOP to irrelevance for a generation or more.
But then I moved here.
The interview led into the local news, and the breaking headline was a breathless, live report from one of Bakersfield's two bookstores about the imminent breakout of Palin-mania! The reporter was overcome with excitement, detailing how many copies would be on hand and what time the stores were planning to open (in case you wanted to camp out). One of the store owners opened a box of the books (which were embargoed until today) and let the reporter hold it. I thought she might faint. You'd think she just touched the Holy Grail. I suppose for the deranged people who worship her, it probably is. She proceeded to interview random passersby about the Second Coming of Caribou Barbie, and their plans for buying the book, and in Bako's defense, a few of them offered a fairly blunt "not a chance in hell". But the rest were rapturous. Palin had "important things to say" and "we wouldn't be in this mess right now if she were running the show..." ("John who? McCain you say? Never heard of him...). And to think I used to believe there was no possible way 51% of this country could be so gullible and brain dead as to elect an imbecile President. Again.
Never, ever, underestimate the aggressive stupidity of the American people.
But the good news, such as it is, is that I don't believe she's going to make a run for it. Oh, she's going to milk the speculation for all it's worth for the next year. But at the end of the day, I think she'll pass. She wants the fame and celebrity, maybe a talk show. And more than that, she wants the cash. But she doesn't want to work for any of it. She wants it bestowed on her, like a sash at a pageant. I think it's really all about the money to her, and for the foreseeable future she can make big bucks traveling around to all the fringe groups and delivering her stock Hockey Mom schtick. She may be dumber than a post on most issues, but when it comes to fleecing the rubes, I think she's got it all figured out. If she runs, and loses (and loses badly), it's going to drastically slash her speaking fees. Better for her to remain the what-could-have-been Wingnut wet dream and ride it all the way to the bank.
But then I moved here.
The interview led into the local news, and the breaking headline was a breathless, live report from one of Bakersfield's two bookstores about the imminent breakout of Palin-mania! The reporter was overcome with excitement, detailing how many copies would be on hand and what time the stores were planning to open (in case you wanted to camp out). One of the store owners opened a box of the books (which were embargoed until today) and let the reporter hold it. I thought she might faint. You'd think she just touched the Holy Grail. I suppose for the deranged people who worship her, it probably is. She proceeded to interview random passersby about the Second Coming of Caribou Barbie, and their plans for buying the book, and in Bako's defense, a few of them offered a fairly blunt "not a chance in hell". But the rest were rapturous. Palin had "important things to say" and "we wouldn't be in this mess right now if she were running the show..." ("John who? McCain you say? Never heard of him...). And to think I used to believe there was no possible way 51% of this country could be so gullible and brain dead as to elect an imbecile President. Again.
Never, ever, underestimate the aggressive stupidity of the American people.
But the good news, such as it is, is that I don't believe she's going to make a run for it. Oh, she's going to milk the speculation for all it's worth for the next year. But at the end of the day, I think she'll pass. She wants the fame and celebrity, maybe a talk show. And more than that, she wants the cash. But she doesn't want to work for any of it. She wants it bestowed on her, like a sash at a pageant. I think it's really all about the money to her, and for the foreseeable future she can make big bucks traveling around to all the fringe groups and delivering her stock Hockey Mom schtick. She may be dumber than a post on most issues, but when it comes to fleecing the rubes, I think she's got it all figured out. If she runs, and loses (and loses badly), it's going to drastically slash her speaking fees. Better for her to remain the what-could-have-been Wingnut wet dream and ride it all the way to the bank.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Be Seeing You
So I watched the AMC re-make of "The Prisoner" last night. Boy, did that hit close to home. I too wake up every morning wondering how the hell I ended up here and trying to plot some form of escape. They could've filmed it here too - a provincial backwater in the middle of nowhere. It'll be interesting to see where it goes. I hope at least one of us gets out.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
(A) Home For The Holidays
So I finally met Jim, the Exterior Decorator. He lives around the corner and I see him every morning between 7:30 and 8:00 when I walk the dogs. We hadn't met until today because I've never caught him between sets - Jim has weights in his garage, and every morning as we pass by, there he is, grunting loudly through presses and squats. Garage door wide open. Whitesnake blaring from a boombox. No need for an alarm clock if you live near Jim.
Only the left side of the garage is set up for working out. The right side is reserved for afternoons and evenings, with recliners and lawn chairs facing the street and coolers as foot rests. It reminds me of his mullet - business on the left, party on the right. I see him almost every afternoon too, but usually by then Jim and his buddies are too blotto to offer up more than a wave.
As near as I can tell, the only job Jim has is decorating his house. The walls are hung with everything from wrought iron sunbursts and signs of positive affirmation to numerous San Francisco 49er pennants. A sign over the entryway proclaims "Happy Hour 24/7", as if you hadn't already figured that out. Every flat surface, along the walls and roofline, is crowded with potted plants and other ornaments. And then there's the tree. Smack dab in the center of the yard is a large tree which Jim has accessorized. Dozens of hanging plants, in macrame hangers, bird houses, feeders and lanterns. Not stopping there, he's nailed up wooden platforms in the crux of the limbs to display ever more potted plants. "Overkill" does not appear to be a word in Jim's vocabulary.
But it's the holidays where Jim truly shines. His was the house that sprouted Halloween inflatables promptly on October 1st. A huge inflatable Grim Reaper and witch to start. And every single day throughout October brought a new addition. Bats, ghosts, spiderwebs, zombies, Frankenstein, cauldrons, severed heads, more witches, more bats, more, more, more. By the time Halloween rolled around you could barely make out the house. Whatever wasn't inflatable was motion activated, which scared the shit out of the dogs. Literally.
And then, just like that.... gone. The morning after Halloween, the dogs and I were making the rounds around 7:30am (they don't believe in sleeping in, ever) and as we rounded the corner you were hit with.... nothing. Not a trace. Not so much as cobweb remained. Why on earth would he go out in the dead of the night, or the crack of dawn, and remove it all?
To make way for Thanksgiving! By the afternoon walk, his front yard was sporting an 8 foot inflatable turkey in a pilgrim hat. His pace has been much less frenetic over the past two weeks. So far he's only added some smily face scarecrows, a smattering of pilgrims and tiki torches. I'm really not getting the torches, but whatever. Oh, and the turkey is now holding a case of Bud light. I'm still hoping for some indians, or maybe even a Mayflower, but I realize he's working with a much more limited palette.
But the thing that has me really excited is that I believe all of this has just been a dress rehearsal, a warm up to the big kahuna.... Christmas! I have a feeling Christmas is going to be S P E C T A C U L A R!
Only the left side of the garage is set up for working out. The right side is reserved for afternoons and evenings, with recliners and lawn chairs facing the street and coolers as foot rests. It reminds me of his mullet - business on the left, party on the right. I see him almost every afternoon too, but usually by then Jim and his buddies are too blotto to offer up more than a wave.
As near as I can tell, the only job Jim has is decorating his house. The walls are hung with everything from wrought iron sunbursts and signs of positive affirmation to numerous San Francisco 49er pennants. A sign over the entryway proclaims "Happy Hour 24/7", as if you hadn't already figured that out. Every flat surface, along the walls and roofline, is crowded with potted plants and other ornaments. And then there's the tree. Smack dab in the center of the yard is a large tree which Jim has accessorized. Dozens of hanging plants, in macrame hangers, bird houses, feeders and lanterns. Not stopping there, he's nailed up wooden platforms in the crux of the limbs to display ever more potted plants. "Overkill" does not appear to be a word in Jim's vocabulary.
But it's the holidays where Jim truly shines. His was the house that sprouted Halloween inflatables promptly on October 1st. A huge inflatable Grim Reaper and witch to start. And every single day throughout October brought a new addition. Bats, ghosts, spiderwebs, zombies, Frankenstein, cauldrons, severed heads, more witches, more bats, more, more, more. By the time Halloween rolled around you could barely make out the house. Whatever wasn't inflatable was motion activated, which scared the shit out of the dogs. Literally.
And then, just like that.... gone. The morning after Halloween, the dogs and I were making the rounds around 7:30am (they don't believe in sleeping in, ever) and as we rounded the corner you were hit with.... nothing. Not a trace. Not so much as cobweb remained. Why on earth would he go out in the dead of the night, or the crack of dawn, and remove it all?
To make way for Thanksgiving! By the afternoon walk, his front yard was sporting an 8 foot inflatable turkey in a pilgrim hat. His pace has been much less frenetic over the past two weeks. So far he's only added some smily face scarecrows, a smattering of pilgrims and tiki torches. I'm really not getting the torches, but whatever. Oh, and the turkey is now holding a case of Bud light. I'm still hoping for some indians, or maybe even a Mayflower, but I realize he's working with a much more limited palette.
But the thing that has me really excited is that I believe all of this has just been a dress rehearsal, a warm up to the big kahuna.... Christmas! I have a feeling Christmas is going to be S P E C T A C U L A R!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Sending Us A Message
So it's Friday the 13th. They say today is unlucky, but living in Bako, that's all relative. The last 61 days have seemed pretty damn unlucky, so God knows what else today holds.
It certainly isn't starting out well. Wednesday was trash day, and I had absent-mindedly left our trash bin out at the curb. One of the neighbors evidently took exception to that. And threw it up against our entryway in the middle of the night. Wouldn't want to mar the lovely aesthetics of the street, block the view of the vacant dirt lot across the street with the decaying squirrel carcasses littering it.
The Prime Suspect would, of course, be Mary, the harpy who lives next door. But she appears to have been out of town the past few days. Maybe the smoke drove her away, or there's a Bitter Old Scold convention going on somewhere. At any rate, she's been blissfully MIA for days. Plus I doubt she has the upper body strength to fling a trash bin 20 feet. No, it's someone else. Someone new. And they hate us. And they want us to know it.
And to think I had been ever so slightly warming up to this place. I won't be making that mistake again.
It certainly isn't starting out well. Wednesday was trash day, and I had absent-mindedly left our trash bin out at the curb. One of the neighbors evidently took exception to that. And threw it up against our entryway in the middle of the night. Wouldn't want to mar the lovely aesthetics of the street, block the view of the vacant dirt lot across the street with the decaying squirrel carcasses littering it.
The Prime Suspect would, of course, be Mary, the harpy who lives next door. But she appears to have been out of town the past few days. Maybe the smoke drove her away, or there's a Bitter Old Scold convention going on somewhere. At any rate, she's been blissfully MIA for days. Plus I doubt she has the upper body strength to fling a trash bin 20 feet. No, it's someone else. Someone new. And they hate us. And they want us to know it.
And to think I had been ever so slightly warming up to this place. I won't be making that mistake again.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Doing Time
So here we are at Day 60. Two months. My how time doesn't fly. It seems like it's been so much longer. I don't even know why I still count the days. Maybe it's a sign I haven't completely abandoned hope - people facing the possibility of parole probably count the days, people on death row probably don't.
When we first moved here I kept picturing myself as Meryl Streep in "Out of Africa". Gay, I know. Bako was playing the part of Africa, minus the charm, but with indoor plumbing. I related to the story of a woman moved against her will to a strange and primitive place, facing hostile colonials and scary natives, utterly lost. But she picked herself up, dusted herself off, grew a little coffee and ultimately got to go home. Of course the analogy fell apart once we got to the supporting cast. The boyfriend would end up in the Robert Redford role, and things didn't really end well for him. But I kept searching for the perfect film to mirror my own predicament. "Too Wong Foo". "Midnight Express". "Aliens". I went through quite a few.
But I finally settled on Tom Hanks in "Cast Away". Marooned on a deserted island, presumed dead to all who knew him. Fighting for survival and his own sanity. He builds a raft to try and escape, but without any means to sail it he's constantly met with failure. Until one day, after a storm, a plastic Port-a-Potty washes ashore. He fashions the flimsy plastic into a makeshift sail and is finally able to escape and is ultimately rescued. He finally makes it home. Sure, he's lost everything, but he's alive. And he's lost an amazing amount of weight. I should be so lucky.
But the thing that sealed the deal for me?
That Port-a-Potty that washes ashore?
It had a name printed on the side.
The name of a city.
B A K E R S F I E L D
When we first moved here I kept picturing myself as Meryl Streep in "Out of Africa". Gay, I know. Bako was playing the part of Africa, minus the charm, but with indoor plumbing. I related to the story of a woman moved against her will to a strange and primitive place, facing hostile colonials and scary natives, utterly lost. But she picked herself up, dusted herself off, grew a little coffee and ultimately got to go home. Of course the analogy fell apart once we got to the supporting cast. The boyfriend would end up in the Robert Redford role, and things didn't really end well for him. But I kept searching for the perfect film to mirror my own predicament. "Too Wong Foo". "Midnight Express". "Aliens". I went through quite a few.
But I finally settled on Tom Hanks in "Cast Away". Marooned on a deserted island, presumed dead to all who knew him. Fighting for survival and his own sanity. He builds a raft to try and escape, but without any means to sail it he's constantly met with failure. Until one day, after a storm, a plastic Port-a-Potty washes ashore. He fashions the flimsy plastic into a makeshift sail and is finally able to escape and is ultimately rescued. He finally makes it home. Sure, he's lost everything, but he's alive. And he's lost an amazing amount of weight. I should be so lucky.
But the thing that sealed the deal for me?
That Port-a-Potty that washes ashore?
It had a name printed on the side.
The name of a city.
B A K E R S F I E L D
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Random Good Things About Bako: #2
Fall.
I've never lived anywhere previous to here when I was able to experience Fall. LA doesn't have seasons in the traditional sense - "Fall" means wildfires, "Winter", mudslides. "Spring" is basically what we called "June Gloom", the cold, clammy weather that moves in in late April and lingers oftentimes into August, pissing off the tourists. The best way to tell what season it was in the rest of the country was to drive down Sunset and check out the background on the Marlboro billboards. Cowboy in snow? Must be winter. When the PC police had those taken down, you were basically on your own.
We had "Faux Fall" at our house in the hills owing to the huge number of sycamores and oaks. But lacking the hard freeze necessary to get the color ball rolling, the leaves usually just went from green to dead and bypassed the pretty part. So we got all the leaf cleanup, without any of the magic.
But here in Bako they have the real deal. About two weeks ago the temps briefly dipped below freezing at night, and it's as if someone fired a starter's pistol - all the trees seem to be racing through the full color spectrum. Most of them are still in the golden orange phase, but quite a few have moved on into brilliant reds.
I'm pretty sure it all natural, and not the trees rusting in the toxic air, but either way, it's beautiful.
I've never lived anywhere previous to here when I was able to experience Fall. LA doesn't have seasons in the traditional sense - "Fall" means wildfires, "Winter", mudslides. "Spring" is basically what we called "June Gloom", the cold, clammy weather that moves in in late April and lingers oftentimes into August, pissing off the tourists. The best way to tell what season it was in the rest of the country was to drive down Sunset and check out the background on the Marlboro billboards. Cowboy in snow? Must be winter. When the PC police had those taken down, you were basically on your own.
We had "Faux Fall" at our house in the hills owing to the huge number of sycamores and oaks. But lacking the hard freeze necessary to get the color ball rolling, the leaves usually just went from green to dead and bypassed the pretty part. So we got all the leaf cleanup, without any of the magic.
But here in Bako they have the real deal. About two weeks ago the temps briefly dipped below freezing at night, and it's as if someone fired a starter's pistol - all the trees seem to be racing through the full color spectrum. Most of them are still in the golden orange phase, but quite a few have moved on into brilliant reds.
I'm pretty sure it all natural, and not the trees rusting in the toxic air, but either way, it's beautiful.
Eric and the F Word
That would make a great children's book title.
Actually, I was looking over the blog and grew a little alarmed at how often I drop the F-bomb. My mother, the school teacher, would be mortified if she read this. I really have no excuse. It's just a sloppy, lazy habit picked up during my years in the entertainment biz. In Hollywood, the F-word is used so casually and so often it doesn't even raise an eyebrow. It's become kind of the go-to, catchall word suitable for all occasions. Spoken in anger or in joy, frustration or despair, it's a noun, a verb, an adjective, whatever you want. It has 101 uses, like baking soda.
But I need to clean up my act, especially now that I live in Bako. People here don't cuss, as far as I know. The harshest thing I've heard was SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL, and that was by a grown man. A grown straight man. I accidentally dropped the bomb in a meeting with a new client, and if it were a movie, it's where everyone would freeze and the music would cut out with the sound of a needle scratching across the vinyl. Which come to think of it is another sloppy and lazy Hollywood habit - how many times have you heard that in movie trailers? Anyhow, I still got the job, but I think they're keeping an eye on me. So from this point on, I vow never to use vulgar language unless it's absolutely fucking necessary.
Actually, I was looking over the blog and grew a little alarmed at how often I drop the F-bomb. My mother, the school teacher, would be mortified if she read this. I really have no excuse. It's just a sloppy, lazy habit picked up during my years in the entertainment biz. In Hollywood, the F-word is used so casually and so often it doesn't even raise an eyebrow. It's become kind of the go-to, catchall word suitable for all occasions. Spoken in anger or in joy, frustration or despair, it's a noun, a verb, an adjective, whatever you want. It has 101 uses, like baking soda.
But I need to clean up my act, especially now that I live in Bako. People here don't cuss, as far as I know. The harshest thing I've heard was SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL, and that was by a grown man. A grown straight man. I accidentally dropped the bomb in a meeting with a new client, and if it were a movie, it's where everyone would freeze and the music would cut out with the sound of a needle scratching across the vinyl. Which come to think of it is another sloppy and lazy Hollywood habit - how many times have you heard that in movie trailers? Anyhow, I still got the job, but I think they're keeping an eye on me. So from this point on, I vow never to use vulgar language unless it's absolutely fucking necessary.
Monday, November 9, 2009
There's Something About Mary
So we both started smoking again. There's a shocker. This particular effort to quit was doomed from the start. When my partner announced in early August "we" would be quitting that week, my first reaction was "Are you out of your fucking mind? NOW?"
He was on unemployment, with absolutely zero prospects. I hadn't worked in months, nor been paid for the work I did prior to that. The house was about to enter escrow as a short sale, in an effort to stave off foreclosure. We were in the process of packing up our things with no idea where in the world we were going. What a simply fantastic time to sneak up behind me and kick out the last crutch I had. "But we need to think about our health" he said. No shit. I thought about my health everyday, wondering if the constant chest pains were merely from stress or the warning signs of a major coronary. I didn't have time to worry about my health sometime in the mythical future. But he was undeterred, and just to maintain peace in the family I went along with it.
And the first few weeks were actually OK. Didn't miss it at all. It looked for awhile like this time would finally be IT, the final triumphant attempt to kick the habit. And then we found out we'd be moving to Bako.
I started cheating immediately. Sneaking them when he was at work or when I walked the dogs. I thought it was curious he didn't smell it, but it ends up that's because he was cheating too. He denies it to this day, but when you do a load of laundry and out fall a half a dozen lighters, and they aren't yours, then I think it's safe to say he's being a bit disingenuous. But no matter - it is what it is.
So we're out on the patio having a smoke last week (we don't smoke in the house), and all of a sudden, from over the fence we hear a horrible hacking cough, followed quickly by a door slamming. And it was a fake cough, the kind you do when you're calling in sick, but you really aren't. The type of over-production that isn't fooling anyone.
It's Mary. The neighbor. And she's sending us a signal.
My boyfriend thought I was being paranoid. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she just accidentally slammed the door. Why did I always have to think the worst of people? ( I just do.)
Anyhow, the next day it happened again...
Cough, cough, HACK, cough... SLAM
Oy vay. OK, we get it. We decide to do the considerate thing and if we must smoke, we'll just go to the opposite side of the yard, at the edge of the dead lawn, next to the fence we share with Cindy, the nice neighbor. And Cindy's a smoker too, so it's cool. Forty feet from Mary's fence, I light up a smoke and...
Cough, cough, HACK, cough... SLAM
You have GOT to be kidding me. Doesn't she ever go inside? And how could she smell it two seconds after it's lit? Mary's a bitch. But neither one of us are in any mood to start a feud with someone we share a wall with. So we decide we just won't go outside if Mary is outside. You can usually tell when she is, because her yard is festooned with tiny white Christmas lights and she turns them on when she goes outside. Such a magical look for such a miserable person. So that becomes the drill - we poke our heads out the door and see if the coast is clear. And that worked exactly twice. The third time, we see no lights and step outside on the patio and light a smoke, and 10 seconds later we hear a window slide open and then hear
Cough, cough, HACK, cough... SLAM
Now I'm just pissed. At least have the decency to talk to us. But no, she always just scurries away whenever we run into each other in the front yard. Just like her little cockroach friends. I'm beginning to wonder where this is all headed. Well, yesterday, we found out.
We came home Sunday afternoon to discover Mary has shrunk-wrapped her patio. Hung heavy gauge plastic and turned it into an outside ICU. Never say Mary doesn't know how to make a point.
My boyfriend looks at me and says "Do you think that's because of us?" Um... exactly what other reason could there possibly be? That the City of Bakersfield has quarantined her with an infectious disease and neglected to mention it to us? No, I think it's safe to say it's because of us. God I hate her.
So the saddest thing about this whole episode is we were going to give quitting another shot around the holidays. With the house gone, and things starting to settle down in our lives (albeit in Bako) we figured we should give it a serious try. But not now. We're going to keep smoking to spite her. I'm on my way out to pick up a carton right now. Fuck her. And her little dog too.
He was on unemployment, with absolutely zero prospects. I hadn't worked in months, nor been paid for the work I did prior to that. The house was about to enter escrow as a short sale, in an effort to stave off foreclosure. We were in the process of packing up our things with no idea where in the world we were going. What a simply fantastic time to sneak up behind me and kick out the last crutch I had. "But we need to think about our health" he said. No shit. I thought about my health everyday, wondering if the constant chest pains were merely from stress or the warning signs of a major coronary. I didn't have time to worry about my health sometime in the mythical future. But he was undeterred, and just to maintain peace in the family I went along with it.
And the first few weeks were actually OK. Didn't miss it at all. It looked for awhile like this time would finally be IT, the final triumphant attempt to kick the habit. And then we found out we'd be moving to Bako.
I started cheating immediately. Sneaking them when he was at work or when I walked the dogs. I thought it was curious he didn't smell it, but it ends up that's because he was cheating too. He denies it to this day, but when you do a load of laundry and out fall a half a dozen lighters, and they aren't yours, then I think it's safe to say he's being a bit disingenuous. But no matter - it is what it is.
So we're out on the patio having a smoke last week (we don't smoke in the house), and all of a sudden, from over the fence we hear a horrible hacking cough, followed quickly by a door slamming. And it was a fake cough, the kind you do when you're calling in sick, but you really aren't. The type of over-production that isn't fooling anyone.
It's Mary. The neighbor. And she's sending us a signal.
My boyfriend thought I was being paranoid. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she just accidentally slammed the door. Why did I always have to think the worst of people? ( I just do.)
Anyhow, the next day it happened again...
Cough, cough, HACK, cough... SLAM
Oy vay. OK, we get it. We decide to do the considerate thing and if we must smoke, we'll just go to the opposite side of the yard, at the edge of the dead lawn, next to the fence we share with Cindy, the nice neighbor. And Cindy's a smoker too, so it's cool. Forty feet from Mary's fence, I light up a smoke and...
Cough, cough, HACK, cough... SLAM
You have GOT to be kidding me. Doesn't she ever go inside? And how could she smell it two seconds after it's lit? Mary's a bitch. But neither one of us are in any mood to start a feud with someone we share a wall with. So we decide we just won't go outside if Mary is outside. You can usually tell when she is, because her yard is festooned with tiny white Christmas lights and she turns them on when she goes outside. Such a magical look for such a miserable person. So that becomes the drill - we poke our heads out the door and see if the coast is clear. And that worked exactly twice. The third time, we see no lights and step outside on the patio and light a smoke, and 10 seconds later we hear a window slide open and then hear
Cough, cough, HACK, cough... SLAM
Now I'm just pissed. At least have the decency to talk to us. But no, she always just scurries away whenever we run into each other in the front yard. Just like her little cockroach friends. I'm beginning to wonder where this is all headed. Well, yesterday, we found out.
We came home Sunday afternoon to discover Mary has shrunk-wrapped her patio. Hung heavy gauge plastic and turned it into an outside ICU. Never say Mary doesn't know how to make a point.
My boyfriend looks at me and says "Do you think that's because of us?" Um... exactly what other reason could there possibly be? That the City of Bakersfield has quarantined her with an infectious disease and neglected to mention it to us? No, I think it's safe to say it's because of us. God I hate her.
So the saddest thing about this whole episode is we were going to give quitting another shot around the holidays. With the house gone, and things starting to settle down in our lives (albeit in Bako) we figured we should give it a serious try. But not now. We're going to keep smoking to spite her. I'm on my way out to pick up a carton right now. Fuck her. And her little dog too.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Turkey Club
I have glimpsed the future. I stumbled across one of those corporate experiments, a "test concept". It was out of the way, incognito, with little or no signage.
It's a deli. It's a bakery. It's a gas station!
"Gimme pastrami on rye and ten bucks on #4..."
Who the hell comes up with this crap? Do they just throw darts at a wall full of options? Pull random businesses out of a hat and see if they can Frankenstein them together?
"Hey Phil - you got 'lube job/pedicure', see if you can make that work".
I don't know.... I'm not sure this thing is going to fly, but who knows - it certainly wouldn't be the first deli where I got gas. Ba Dum Bump.
And they cater! I sure hope the aren't counting on word of mouth -
"Betty, these canapes are divine, wherever did you get them?"
"The Shell station".
I don't see that happening, not even here in Dogpatch, where they worship the oil companies. And obviously Shell Oil (who I'm guessing is behind it since it's their product out front) figured that out too. That's why they've given it the focus grouped, market tested, blandly idyllic, yet utterly meaningless name of "Brookside". Sounds nice, right? Well this one is across the street from a vast, vacant dirt lot. The nearest "brook" is the fetid irrigation canal a block away.
It's obvious this aint no mom and pop operation - there is some serious money being thrown at this thing. Richly appointed, all dark wood and marble inside. And charging exorbitant prices that should defray the cost pretty quick. If people go for it, which I'm not sure they will.
Listen, I love people watching as I sip my latte as much as anyone - that's why God made Starbucks. I'm just not sure "watching people pump gas" is much of an incentive to switch to Brookside. Although there were quite a few people inside.
Ad therein lies a major problem, one I would think would be fairly obvious to the geniuses who thought this up - while every pump was occupied, no one was pumping gas. Not a soul around. They were all inside having nosh.
No, this one need to go back to the lab for a re-think. Start with "parking".
It's a deli. It's a bakery. It's a gas station!
"Gimme pastrami on rye and ten bucks on #4..."
Who the hell comes up with this crap? Do they just throw darts at a wall full of options? Pull random businesses out of a hat and see if they can Frankenstein them together?
"Hey Phil - you got 'lube job/pedicure', see if you can make that work".
I don't know.... I'm not sure this thing is going to fly, but who knows - it certainly wouldn't be the first deli where I got gas. Ba Dum Bump.
And they cater! I sure hope the aren't counting on word of mouth -
"Betty, these canapes are divine, wherever did you get them?"
"The Shell station".
I don't see that happening, not even here in Dogpatch, where they worship the oil companies. And obviously Shell Oil (who I'm guessing is behind it since it's their product out front) figured that out too. That's why they've given it the focus grouped, market tested, blandly idyllic, yet utterly meaningless name of "Brookside". Sounds nice, right? Well this one is across the street from a vast, vacant dirt lot. The nearest "brook" is the fetid irrigation canal a block away.
It's obvious this aint no mom and pop operation - there is some serious money being thrown at this thing. Richly appointed, all dark wood and marble inside. And charging exorbitant prices that should defray the cost pretty quick. If people go for it, which I'm not sure they will.
Listen, I love people watching as I sip my latte as much as anyone - that's why God made Starbucks. I'm just not sure "watching people pump gas" is much of an incentive to switch to Brookside. Although there were quite a few people inside.
Ad therein lies a major problem, one I would think would be fairly obvious to the geniuses who thought this up - while every pump was occupied, no one was pumping gas. Not a soul around. They were all inside having nosh.
No, this one need to go back to the lab for a re-think. Start with "parking".
Friday, November 6, 2009
It's The Water, And So Much More
All these posts about the shitty air, and not a single one about the shitty water. I'm being remiss.
We get mineral water here. Oh no, not the fancy schmancy Pellegrino stuff. I'm talking real minerals. Probably lead and arsenic too. And God only knows what else. It comes out of the tap white as milk. If you let it sit for about 10 minutes, all the crap it in settles and it resembles "water". But it didn't go anywhere. It's still there... waiting for you. Nobody here drinks it. God no. Not even the locals. The first week we were here I asked a waiter for a glass of water and he looked at me like I just ordered blowfish. If you want to get rich in Bakersfield, go into bottled water.
Most of the houses in this neighborhood sport wooden fences between them, and walking the dogs through the 'hood, you can't help but notice that wherever the sprinklers hit the fences, they've become bleached bone white. And then you think... "I bathe in this crap!" Wash my clothes. Do the dishes. Maybe it's something that occurs naturally. I doubt it - nothing here appears to occur naturally. Maybe the people up north, watching us steal it and waste it have poisoned it out of spite. Can't say I'd blame them.
I tried to do some research online. I googled "Bakersfield's Shitty Water" and got the City's website, which made me laugh. And there I learned "Anyone who has lived in California knows that water is a precious commodity that has been a source of rivalry between northern and southern California since the early Gold Rush days..." No shit. That's why they steal it.
At any rate, I never found out the secret to our "White Gold". I did find out some other fun facts though. I discovered that the municipal reservoir, Lake Isabella, northeast of Bako, is held back by a dam considered the #1 risk of failure in the entire United States. It even showed a map of what the flood would look like when the dam fails (their word, not mine) and basically Bako will be under 3 or 4 feet of water. Something to look forward to.
So the moral of the story appears to be, if the air doesn't kill you, one way or another, the water will.
We get mineral water here. Oh no, not the fancy schmancy Pellegrino stuff. I'm talking real minerals. Probably lead and arsenic too. And God only knows what else. It comes out of the tap white as milk. If you let it sit for about 10 minutes, all the crap it in settles and it resembles "water". But it didn't go anywhere. It's still there... waiting for you. Nobody here drinks it. God no. Not even the locals. The first week we were here I asked a waiter for a glass of water and he looked at me like I just ordered blowfish. If you want to get rich in Bakersfield, go into bottled water.
Most of the houses in this neighborhood sport wooden fences between them, and walking the dogs through the 'hood, you can't help but notice that wherever the sprinklers hit the fences, they've become bleached bone white. And then you think... "I bathe in this crap!" Wash my clothes. Do the dishes. Maybe it's something that occurs naturally. I doubt it - nothing here appears to occur naturally. Maybe the people up north, watching us steal it and waste it have poisoned it out of spite. Can't say I'd blame them.
I tried to do some research online. I googled "Bakersfield's Shitty Water" and got the City's website, which made me laugh. And there I learned "Anyone who has lived in California knows that water is a precious commodity that has been a source of rivalry between northern and southern California since the early Gold Rush days..." No shit. That's why they steal it.
At any rate, I never found out the secret to our "White Gold". I did find out some other fun facts though. I discovered that the municipal reservoir, Lake Isabella, northeast of Bako, is held back by a dam considered the #1 risk of failure in the entire United States. It even showed a map of what the flood would look like when the dam fails (their word, not mine) and basically Bako will be under 3 or 4 feet of water. Something to look forward to.
So the moral of the story appears to be, if the air doesn't kill you, one way or another, the water will.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
A Roz By Any Other Name
I'd begun to think perhaps I'd only imagined her, I hadn't seen her in weeks. Roz. Or rather "Wild Roz"... that's what it says on the vanity plates on her late model Vette - WLD ROZ. She's been elusive, the neighborhood sasquatch. I saw her twice in the first weeks we'd lived here, tooling around the neighborhood. But then since then, nothing. Until this morning.
I like Wild Roz. She's a magical glimpse into the past. 1985, to be specific. You can tell by the hair, bleached blonde and teased up like a standard poodle. She looks like Joan Cusack in "Working Girl". And the clothes. The first time I saw her, and then again today, she had shoulder pads on the size of an aircraft carrier. The second time I saw her it was a red "Thriller" leather jacket, although I'm guessing it was probably pleather. She's gotta be in her mid 50's, but I get the impression in Wild Roz's world, it's always Morning In America and We Are The World. She looks to be a former all-access kinda gal, a groupie. I can easily see her lolling about backstage at a Bon Jovi concert. Or more likely, Poison.
But what tips Wild Roz from being "mildly interesting" into the "fascinating" column is her doppleganger - we'll call her "Lil Roz". Perched on the edge of her dashboard, staring back at her, is a doll. Could be a Barbie, although it looked to be a little too plus -sized for that. A doll clutching a guitar.
Rock on Lil Roz.
Every time I've seen them, Lil Roz is decked out in exactly the same outfit as Wild Roz. Twins. They must dress each other every morning. Creepy, yes. But also kind of oddly sweet. I think Wild Roz's world is probably blissfully happy.
In fact the only thing that probably pisses Wild Roz off is the fact that someone else in California got the WILD ROZ plates first.
I like Wild Roz. She's a magical glimpse into the past. 1985, to be specific. You can tell by the hair, bleached blonde and teased up like a standard poodle. She looks like Joan Cusack in "Working Girl". And the clothes. The first time I saw her, and then again today, she had shoulder pads on the size of an aircraft carrier. The second time I saw her it was a red "Thriller" leather jacket, although I'm guessing it was probably pleather. She's gotta be in her mid 50's, but I get the impression in Wild Roz's world, it's always Morning In America and We Are The World. She looks to be a former all-access kinda gal, a groupie. I can easily see her lolling about backstage at a Bon Jovi concert. Or more likely, Poison.
But what tips Wild Roz from being "mildly interesting" into the "fascinating" column is her doppleganger - we'll call her "Lil Roz". Perched on the edge of her dashboard, staring back at her, is a doll. Could be a Barbie, although it looked to be a little too plus -sized for that. A doll clutching a guitar.
Rock on Lil Roz.
Every time I've seen them, Lil Roz is decked out in exactly the same outfit as Wild Roz. Twins. They must dress each other every morning. Creepy, yes. But also kind of oddly sweet. I think Wild Roz's world is probably blissfully happy.
In fact the only thing that probably pisses Wild Roz off is the fact that someone else in California got the WILD ROZ plates first.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
If A Tree Falls In The Forest...
So I'm seriously contemplating committing digital suicide - deleting my Facebook account. I never really understood the attraction of it, but since simply everyone was on it, and I was told it was a great way of generating work, I signed up. Well, the work part never really panned out, so what's the point?
It says I have 182 friends. Or rather "friends". I don't know half of them. Never met 'em. People would "friend" me and maybe I recognized the name from the agency biz, or I knew they were a friend of a friend, or I hadn't the slightest idea who they were, but they knew me, so what the hell, I hit "accept". But the fact of the matter is I couldn't pick most of these people out of a police line-up. It was fun for about a month, but then it just got tedious. Besides, I think almost all of them have "hidden" me. I don't take it personally because I've hidden almost all of my "friends" too, especially the people from High School. We weren't friends then, so why the hell would we be friends now? I stopped posting anything months ago because I never would get any response, not even a "like". When the cute photos of my dogs didn't even get a "thumbs up", I was pretty sure I'd been disappeared by everyone. Probably because I refused to join their "Mafia". Whatever. No great loss. I'm not going to miss "Lil Blue Cove" or the poking - if anyone poked me in real life they'd get slapped upside the head. And I'm pretty sure I'll survive without knowing my Leprechaun or Klingon name.
But the real reason I may pull the plug is it's just too depressing reading about home. Makes me feel like a ghost, looking down on the living.
Plus it's only a matter of time before someone from Bako "friends" me, and then my whole charade will collapse like a house of cards.
It says I have 182 friends. Or rather "friends". I don't know half of them. Never met 'em. People would "friend" me and maybe I recognized the name from the agency biz, or I knew they were a friend of a friend, or I hadn't the slightest idea who they were, but they knew me, so what the hell, I hit "accept". But the fact of the matter is I couldn't pick most of these people out of a police line-up. It was fun for about a month, but then it just got tedious. Besides, I think almost all of them have "hidden" me. I don't take it personally because I've hidden almost all of my "friends" too, especially the people from High School. We weren't friends then, so why the hell would we be friends now? I stopped posting anything months ago because I never would get any response, not even a "like". When the cute photos of my dogs didn't even get a "thumbs up", I was pretty sure I'd been disappeared by everyone. Probably because I refused to join their "Mafia". Whatever. No great loss. I'm not going to miss "Lil Blue Cove" or the poking - if anyone poked me in real life they'd get slapped upside the head. And I'm pretty sure I'll survive without knowing my Leprechaun or Klingon name.
But the real reason I may pull the plug is it's just too depressing reading about home. Makes me feel like a ghost, looking down on the living.
Plus it's only a matter of time before someone from Bako "friends" me, and then my whole charade will collapse like a house of cards.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Lord of the Flies
So it's been with a sense of dread and sick anticipation that we awaited the next plague. We'd already been invaded by cockroaches and blasted by killer dust storms. And that was only in the first month. Surely there was going to be more, it was just a matter of time. I'd put my money on locusts. I was wrong.
It's FLIES.
In all fairness to Bako, this is not a naturally occurring phenomenon, it's entirely man-made.
And that man's name is Juan.
Our duplex comes with a stamp-sized front and back yard, and the rental deal includes a once a week gardener. That would be Juan. Clearly, he isn't very good. Both lawns are dead. All the shrubs too. The rest of the neighbors have lawns that look like lush, submerged rice paddies. Ours looks like a recently plowed alfalfa field. The shrubs, whatever they may have once been, are now nothing more than rooted balls of kindling. And yet he comes, dutifully each Thursday, to rake the dirt. God bless him.
While the shrubs are beyond hope, we were pretty sure the lawns could be salvaged, if only they were re-seeded. We proposed this to Juan, and he seemed genuinely excited. So imagine our surprise when we came home a few days later to a freshly seeded front lawn... covered with an inch and a half of manure. Real, honest to cow, manure.
The smell hit you first, and it hit you hard. But you were quickly distracted from that by the flies. Thousands and thousands of flies. They enveloped the house, and hid by the doors, just waiting for a chance to make it inside. Which they did. In droves.
It's been almost two weeks now, and the smell is long gone. The flies are not. In fact, I believe they've now taken up permanent residency, along with the cockroaches. They've taken a particular liking to my car, which they blanket as if it were a giant rotting melon. The boyfriend takes sadistic pleasure in killing as many as he can. The dogs eat them. I've just thrown in the towel and await what's next.
My money is still on the locusts.
It's FLIES.
In all fairness to Bako, this is not a naturally occurring phenomenon, it's entirely man-made.
And that man's name is Juan.
Our duplex comes with a stamp-sized front and back yard, and the rental deal includes a once a week gardener. That would be Juan. Clearly, he isn't very good. Both lawns are dead. All the shrubs too. The rest of the neighbors have lawns that look like lush, submerged rice paddies. Ours looks like a recently plowed alfalfa field. The shrubs, whatever they may have once been, are now nothing more than rooted balls of kindling. And yet he comes, dutifully each Thursday, to rake the dirt. God bless him.
While the shrubs are beyond hope, we were pretty sure the lawns could be salvaged, if only they were re-seeded. We proposed this to Juan, and he seemed genuinely excited. So imagine our surprise when we came home a few days later to a freshly seeded front lawn... covered with an inch and a half of manure. Real, honest to cow, manure.
The smell hit you first, and it hit you hard. But you were quickly distracted from that by the flies. Thousands and thousands of flies. They enveloped the house, and hid by the doors, just waiting for a chance to make it inside. Which they did. In droves.
It's been almost two weeks now, and the smell is long gone. The flies are not. In fact, I believe they've now taken up permanent residency, along with the cockroaches. They've taken a particular liking to my car, which they blanket as if it were a giant rotting melon. The boyfriend takes sadistic pleasure in killing as many as he can. The dogs eat them. I've just thrown in the towel and await what's next.
My money is still on the locusts.
Greetings from Wingnuttia
So this past Sunday I decided to do something I hadn't done in months - read the Sunday paper. With everything going on with the move I hadn't really had a chance to just kick back and catch up on the news. Running up the street, I reflexively went for the LA Times which, surprisingly, still distributes up here. But my heart sank at the thought of reading about the people and places I'd sadly left behind. Too soon. Maybe one day, but not today. So instead of the newspaper, I picked up the Bakersfield Californian.
Oh sure, it looks like a newspaper, but don't be fooled - it's a collection of press releases and talking points from the Kern County Republican Party. The front page headline was about the "rising tide for the GOP". Next to that was a photo of Darth Vader himself, Dick Cheney. Seems he's going to be coming to town to address the Bakersfield Business Forum. That should prove to be interesting - what on earth will he talk about? Boosting sales with electro-shock and rubber hoses? Inside there were profiles of 12 "up and coming Republicans", 10 of them pudgy white men. A glowing puff piece about the Teabagger "movement". Beneath that was a brief rundown of all the electoral races coming up in the county for 2010. In a nutshell, the choice in each race is between a stark raving mad conservative Republican, and a bat shit insane uber-conservative Republican. What news stories there were were presented through the Republican perspective. There was no crisis too large, no problem too small, that didn't present a tremendous opportunity for the GOP. And they had solutions for each problem! The fact that in most cases, the Republicans created the problems in the first place was conveniently omitted. Budget crisis in Sacramento? TAX CUTS! Healthcare? STICK IT TO THE TRIAL LAWYERS! Water shortage in Kern County? BUILD A MASSIVE CANAL AND STEAL THE WATER FROM UP NORTH! State Parks closed for budget reasons? VEND THEM OUT TO DEVELOPERS AND STRIP MINE THEM!
This comes on the heels of my first, and let's hope last, exposure to Glenn Beck. I had to take my dogs for a routine check-up at the vet last week, and there he was, on the waiting room plasma screen. It was an up close and personal view of the Bizarro World of the Wingnuts. He was railing on about secret plot of the UN to take over this country and subject us, against our will, to a NEW WORLD ORDER. For 20 minutes I watched him ramp up the paranoia, with a scary mix of fear and obvious glee. As with most conservative conspiracy theories, as much as they feign horror at the thought, they seem to actually be hoping for it to come true. He wound it up to a fever pitch - they were going to take away our rights! Our liberty! Our GUNS! And then he threw it out to his two guests -
"UN takeover..... imminent? Or ALREADY UNDERWAY!!!!"
Those were the only two choices. Both guests chuckled. They scoffed. I thought "Thank God - someone is going to be the voice of reason here.." Only to have them both suddenly glower....... " I M M I N E N T".
And more frightening than was what was happening onscreen was what was happening around me - everyone was sitting in absolute rapt attention, several of them bobbing their heads in you-tell-it-sister agreement. I now live with these people.
It would be easy to just kind of laugh all this off. Hope that in time, as none of these vast conspiracies bear any fruit, that people will come to their senses. But then that wouldn't be good news for the GOP, so they have a vested interest in constantly banging the gong and whipping people into a frenzy. These people have been turned into tightly wound springs just waiting for their "Red Dawn" moment.
There's a bumper sticker you see around town.... GOD BLESSS THE TROOPS - ESPECIALLY THE SNIPERS!"
No - God help us.
Oh sure, it looks like a newspaper, but don't be fooled - it's a collection of press releases and talking points from the Kern County Republican Party. The front page headline was about the "rising tide for the GOP". Next to that was a photo of Darth Vader himself, Dick Cheney. Seems he's going to be coming to town to address the Bakersfield Business Forum. That should prove to be interesting - what on earth will he talk about? Boosting sales with electro-shock and rubber hoses? Inside there were profiles of 12 "up and coming Republicans", 10 of them pudgy white men. A glowing puff piece about the Teabagger "movement". Beneath that was a brief rundown of all the electoral races coming up in the county for 2010. In a nutshell, the choice in each race is between a stark raving mad conservative Republican, and a bat shit insane uber-conservative Republican. What news stories there were were presented through the Republican perspective. There was no crisis too large, no problem too small, that didn't present a tremendous opportunity for the GOP. And they had solutions for each problem! The fact that in most cases, the Republicans created the problems in the first place was conveniently omitted. Budget crisis in Sacramento? TAX CUTS! Healthcare? STICK IT TO THE TRIAL LAWYERS! Water shortage in Kern County? BUILD A MASSIVE CANAL AND STEAL THE WATER FROM UP NORTH! State Parks closed for budget reasons? VEND THEM OUT TO DEVELOPERS AND STRIP MINE THEM!
This comes on the heels of my first, and let's hope last, exposure to Glenn Beck. I had to take my dogs for a routine check-up at the vet last week, and there he was, on the waiting room plasma screen. It was an up close and personal view of the Bizarro World of the Wingnuts. He was railing on about secret plot of the UN to take over this country and subject us, against our will, to a NEW WORLD ORDER. For 20 minutes I watched him ramp up the paranoia, with a scary mix of fear and obvious glee. As with most conservative conspiracy theories, as much as they feign horror at the thought, they seem to actually be hoping for it to come true. He wound it up to a fever pitch - they were going to take away our rights! Our liberty! Our GUNS! And then he threw it out to his two guests -
"UN takeover..... imminent? Or ALREADY UNDERWAY!!!!"
Those were the only two choices. Both guests chuckled. They scoffed. I thought "Thank God - someone is going to be the voice of reason here.." Only to have them both suddenly glower....... " I M M I N E N T".
And more frightening than was what was happening onscreen was what was happening around me - everyone was sitting in absolute rapt attention, several of them bobbing their heads in you-tell-it-sister agreement. I now live with these people.
It would be easy to just kind of laugh all this off. Hope that in time, as none of these vast conspiracies bear any fruit, that people will come to their senses. But then that wouldn't be good news for the GOP, so they have a vested interest in constantly banging the gong and whipping people into a frenzy. These people have been turned into tightly wound springs just waiting for their "Red Dawn" moment.
There's a bumper sticker you see around town.... GOD BLESSS THE TROOPS - ESPECIALLY THE SNIPERS!"
No - God help us.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Home Sweet... Whatever
Aaaaand... I'm back. Just got home from LA awhile ago. And heralding my arrival was the creepy ice cream truck. Like clockwork! Even with Daylights Savings! Seriously, someone needs to check the back of that thing. Probably piled high with bones.
They say misery loves company, and on these trips back to LA, my company is my iPod. I usually just throw it on shuffle.
And the shuffle knows.
It's uncanny. I've made four trips back to civilization since the move, and this has happened EVERY SINGLE TIME. Headed out of town, about the time I hit Mettler, the shuffle shifts to happy music - mostly dance music from my decadent past and Madonna. Coming back from LA, once I pass Ft. Tejon and head down the Grapevine, the shuffle switches to mostly "Les Miserables" and classical dirges. (I mentioned I was gay, right?) The shuffle knows my pain.
Anyway, the trip was mostly painless. It wasn't technically to LA, but rather Burbank, which has it's own charm issues. Could be a Bako sister city. The "sophisticated" sister.
And as I made the decent down the Grapevine I was shocked to see Bako, and in fact the whole San Joaquin Valley, had been wiped off the map! Oh happy day! But who's kidding who - I knew it had just been swallowed up by the bad air. The air is grey, the sky, such as it is, is grey, it all just blends together and gives you the impression you're just descending into a void. And sure enough, the outlines of Hooterville appeared through the haze soon enough.
They say misery loves company, and on these trips back to LA, my company is my iPod. I usually just throw it on shuffle.
And the shuffle knows.
It's uncanny. I've made four trips back to civilization since the move, and this has happened EVERY SINGLE TIME. Headed out of town, about the time I hit Mettler, the shuffle shifts to happy music - mostly dance music from my decadent past and Madonna. Coming back from LA, once I pass Ft. Tejon and head down the Grapevine, the shuffle switches to mostly "Les Miserables" and classical dirges. (I mentioned I was gay, right?) The shuffle knows my pain.
Anyway, the trip was mostly painless. It wasn't technically to LA, but rather Burbank, which has it's own charm issues. Could be a Bako sister city. The "sophisticated" sister.
And as I made the decent down the Grapevine I was shocked to see Bako, and in fact the whole San Joaquin Valley, had been wiped off the map! Oh happy day! But who's kidding who - I knew it had just been swallowed up by the bad air. The air is grey, the sky, such as it is, is grey, it all just blends together and gives you the impression you're just descending into a void. And sure enough, the outlines of Hooterville appeared through the haze soon enough.
Burn, Baby, Burn
So they announced on the news this morning that today is a "No Burn Day".
Hmmm.... "No Burn" what? Books? Witches? They didn't say.
Obviously it has something to do with the wretched air quality here. Maybe they're afraid it's going to spontaneously combust today. Certainly wouldn't surprise me. The air quality is measured on a sliding scale, with nifty graphics on the newscasts. At one end, you have "Good", which you never have to worry about because you're never going to see it. They might as well as labeled it "Unicorns". At the other end, you have "Hazardous", which I imagine leaves people collapsed on the ground in spasms, gasping for air like fish on a boat deck. Haven't seen that yet, put everyone acts as if it's right around the river bend. Which leaves every day in this great nebulous middle range labeled "Unhealthy for Sensitive People". "Sensitive People" is code for "People With Lungs". At any rate, it's not something I have to worry about today, because I'm off to LA to pick up a job. Never thought I'd look forward to LA for a breath of fresh air, but there you go.
Hmmm.... "No Burn" what? Books? Witches? They didn't say.
Obviously it has something to do with the wretched air quality here. Maybe they're afraid it's going to spontaneously combust today. Certainly wouldn't surprise me. The air quality is measured on a sliding scale, with nifty graphics on the newscasts. At one end, you have "Good", which you never have to worry about because you're never going to see it. They might as well as labeled it "Unicorns". At the other end, you have "Hazardous", which I imagine leaves people collapsed on the ground in spasms, gasping for air like fish on a boat deck. Haven't seen that yet, put everyone acts as if it's right around the river bend. Which leaves every day in this great nebulous middle range labeled "Unhealthy for Sensitive People". "Sensitive People" is code for "People With Lungs". At any rate, it's not something I have to worry about today, because I'm off to LA to pick up a job. Never thought I'd look forward to LA for a breath of fresh air, but there you go.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Random Good Things About Bako: #1
Our relatively successful Halloween has gotten me thinking: Perhaps I've been too harsh about this place. Perhaps I'm choosing to only see the bad things. Perhaps I'm, oh, what's the word..... B I T T E R. No place is entirely loathsome, or so I keep telling myself. Maybe it's time to look on the bright side, walk on the sunny side of the street, look at the glass as half full for a change. So in an effort to be fair and balanced, I'm going to present the good along with the bad, however rarely they may come up. And with that in mind I present "Random Good Things About Bako: #1":
Nobody Here Picks Up Dog Shit
As a dog owner myself, it's quite liberating. Oh sure, the sidewalks are minefields and the lawns that haven't been turned into the Everglades with all the constant watering are pooped all to hell. But no one seems to mind. No one. Everyone in this neighborhood has dogs, so maybe it's just a tit for tat thing. Or shit for shat, as the case may be. You can't really get pissed about dog shit on your lawn if you've allowed yours to do the same thing to everyone else. Whatever the reason, it's just one small thing off my "to do" list.
I used to be the type of person who believed the content of your character was measured in no small part by what you did when no one was looking, and so from the moment we got the dogs I always did the conscientious thing and scooped the poop. Until one of our neighbors in LA left a big steaming pile on our doorstep. I was pretty sure who did it, and as luck would have it, a couple of days later I was able to return the favor. But that was it. Honest. And it was justified. The one exception to the rule. OK, almost the only one. There was also the asshole producer who lived at the top of our hill. He was a dick. But really, just those two. But you know, as with most things in life, it's a slippery slope, and the next thing you know I was completely ambivalent about it. More often than not, I still took care of the business, but it really came down to a quick calculation of how dark it was and neighborhood sightlines.
And then we moved here and I reverted to my old, thoughtful ways. Out of fear. These people scared me, and more likely than not, they were armed. But it soon became clear that rather than be a capital, shootable offense, it was... nothing. The sense of freedom is rather surprising. Like joining a nudist colony, I imagine. I still carry bags, but their just props. Or for the rare occasion when the deed happens right in front of a glowering homeowner. And occasionally I still pick it up, for old times sake. I'm nostalgic that way.
Nobody Here Picks Up Dog Shit
As a dog owner myself, it's quite liberating. Oh sure, the sidewalks are minefields and the lawns that haven't been turned into the Everglades with all the constant watering are pooped all to hell. But no one seems to mind. No one. Everyone in this neighborhood has dogs, so maybe it's just a tit for tat thing. Or shit for shat, as the case may be. You can't really get pissed about dog shit on your lawn if you've allowed yours to do the same thing to everyone else. Whatever the reason, it's just one small thing off my "to do" list.
I used to be the type of person who believed the content of your character was measured in no small part by what you did when no one was looking, and so from the moment we got the dogs I always did the conscientious thing and scooped the poop. Until one of our neighbors in LA left a big steaming pile on our doorstep. I was pretty sure who did it, and as luck would have it, a couple of days later I was able to return the favor. But that was it. Honest. And it was justified. The one exception to the rule. OK, almost the only one. There was also the asshole producer who lived at the top of our hill. He was a dick. But really, just those two. But you know, as with most things in life, it's a slippery slope, and the next thing you know I was completely ambivalent about it. More often than not, I still took care of the business, but it really came down to a quick calculation of how dark it was and neighborhood sightlines.
And then we moved here and I reverted to my old, thoughtful ways. Out of fear. These people scared me, and more likely than not, they were armed. But it soon became clear that rather than be a capital, shootable offense, it was... nothing. The sense of freedom is rather surprising. Like joining a nudist colony, I imagine. I still carry bags, but their just props. Or for the rare occasion when the deed happens right in front of a glowering homeowner. And occasionally I still pick it up, for old times sake. I'm nostalgic that way.
They Live
So, Bako didn't let me down last night! Never thought I'd ever write that sentence. But the truth of the matter is Halloween proved to be a moderate success. We're still arguing over how to tally the night, either by knocks on the door (7), versus number of customers served, like McDonalds (15), but any way you slice it it was a vast improvement over our last attempt. All in all it was a lovely day. Spent most of the day fine tuning the decorations, and I carved a likeness of our dogs into a pumpkin - my parents will be thrilled to know that expensive art school education isn't going to waste. The cocktails came out early, dinner was great and we got to scare some kids. What more could you want?
If there was a disappointment, it was trying to find a good scary movie to watch. All week long every channel seemed to be running all the great horror films, but on Halloween itself, the pickens were slim. We started watching "Night of the Living Dead", but once you've been to the mall here, it kind of loses it's punch. It too closely mirrors day to day life in Bako. I suggested "Australia" - if Nicole Kidman's over-acting doesn't qualify as scary I don't know what does. But that got nixed as not Halloween-ish enough. We finally settled for some forgettable film called "Circus of Horrors", which was a little light on the "horrors" and a little heavy on the "circus". There's a reason it was forgettable. We fell asleep.
If there was a disappointment, it was trying to find a good scary movie to watch. All week long every channel seemed to be running all the great horror films, but on Halloween itself, the pickens were slim. We started watching "Night of the Living Dead", but once you've been to the mall here, it kind of loses it's punch. It too closely mirrors day to day life in Bako. I suggested "Australia" - if Nicole Kidman's over-acting doesn't qualify as scary I don't know what does. But that got nixed as not Halloween-ish enough. We finally settled for some forgettable film called "Circus of Horrors", which was a little light on the "horrors" and a little heavy on the "circus". There's a reason it was forgettable. We fell asleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)