Lifting Under The Influence

I'd begun to grow concerned about Jim, my favorite neighbor, the Exterior Decorator. The holidays are long over, the showroom front yard has been barren for weeks, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since before Christmas. Maybe he'd run off to work the carnival circuit.

And then this morning, there he was, walking his snickerdoodle, or whatever the hell it is. But something looked off about him.

Before I could even say "Good Morning" he blurted out "I had a hernia operation".

People in Bako, always oversharing.

He was anxious to give me the details, but I begged off. Of all the things I don't care to know about, Jim's hernia would be high on the list, especially since I don't even know him. I wouldn't even want to know the details of my hernia, were I to have one.

Even without the specifics, I think one thing is clear - alcohol and barbells don't mix. Consider it a teachable moment.

He said he'd be right as rain in three or four weeks.

What a relief.... just in time for Easter!

Baku #2

The Supermarket

Quit hitting on me.
Old checker who looks like mom.
Let it go. I'm gay.

The Road To Nowhere

I heard on the news last night that the City of Bakersfield has decided to re-name one of the main drags into town, or at least a portion of it.

It's probably a good idea from a marketing standpoint. Not to mention the self esteem of everyone who lives here. The original name certainly captures the peculiar charms of Bako...

Weedpatch Highway.

I didn't happen to catch what they intend to change it to and I shudder at the thought.

Either the morons in the planning department will make a bad situation worse and re-name it "Drainage Ditch Highway" or "Diaper Dump Expressway", which, if nothing else, would be fairly accurate.

Or they'll just turn it over to the developers and we'll end up with "Calle Las Malas Hierbas Encantadas".

We All Scream

It's 4.00pm.

And there it is.

Like clockwork.

The Demonic Ice Cream Truck.

Seriously - does NO ONE find it odd that there's an ice cream truck trawling for kids in the middle of January in the fog? How many Brownies have to disappear before someone gets a fucking clue?

Look, I'm all for thinning the herd, especially here,
but... think about the children!

Baku #1

I have to admit it get's a bit tedious writing about how backassward this place is. I can only imagine what it's like reading it. But rather than give it up, the challenge then becomes how to make it more interesting. And I have an idea...

Haiku!

Bakersfield haiku.

I call it... Baku.©

And this is the first:

The great fog shivers.
While giant cockroaches play.
My life in Bako.

Clip, Clip Here, Clip, Clip There...

Got my hair cut today. Supercuts.

It's come to that, sadly.

In theory, it not such a big deal. My hair is easy - short on the sides, longer on the top, clean it all up, BAM, your done. A parakeet could do it. Why pay $60 when you can spend only $15?

And that's what I explained to the woman with the scissors ("stylist" would just be a cruel exercise in wishful thinking for her at this point).

She stared at me blankly in the mirror, not unlike my dogs when I talk to them.

And then we began, and she just wouldn't shut the hell up.

Talking, talking talking.

Not at me, at the woman cutting hair next to us. She talked over my head like I wasn't even there.

She was quite animated and excited. She had recently discovered Pier One Imports. I don't know if they're just new to Bako, or she's incredibly slow. I'm gonna go with "B".

You'd think she'd just discovered King Tut's Tomb. Or a yard sale. On and on she went... they had EVERYTHING... furniture and place mats, "art" and... well, just EVERYTHING. Even Mojito sets!

Funny, I had pegged her as a Jello Shot kinda gal.

She said she even went back just for "inspiration to decorate".

I wasn't aware Sweat Shop Chic had taken off.

And then our time was up, my haircut done.

The results are as you'd imagine - it looks like my head went through a wood chipper.

All the same, I tipped her. That's just the kinda guy I am. Hopefully she'll put the money towards cosmetology school.

And me? I headed to Pier One to see if they have any really big straw hats.

Take The F Train

A correction.

I had written in an earlier post about the romance of the trains and their being one of the few charming aspects of life in Bako.

I was mistaken.

Oh I still love the trains, it's just that I had yet to be stuck behind one.

I had a quick errand to run, one that took me to the other side of the tracks. To Petco, home of the dimwitted, three toed sloth-like sales "associates". Seriously, could people move any slower? It's like watching Tai Chi, without any of the balance and grace. And it was the exact same way in LA. It must be their "brand" - "Petco - The Special Pet Store". I say just put the parakeets in charge and call it a day, it would be a vast improvement.

BTW - the Petco is adjacent to the soon-to-open Death Star of Walmarts. Sure, they just opened one the size of Delaware two months ago, not more than five miles away, but this one could swallow that one whole, two times over. It opens this March. I know I'm counting the days.

But I digress. Back to the train.

So I leave the store and I'm in the middle of nowhere, two miles from my house (that's just how Bako is), and I pull up twenty cars back, mid train. Cant see the engine, can't see the end, the train is so long it's like the Great Wall of China. And it's chugging along. At 5 miles per hour. Five minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes... chug, chug, chug.

And then we... S T O P.

We pause.

And then we start... BACKWARDS! At five miles per hour. Ten minutes, 15, 20. By the time the engine finally appears and clears the gate and the little arms go up it's been 40 minutes. And the train hasn't gone anywhere. It's back where it started.

This is evidently normal. Part of the commute.

I'm sorry - I'll take back the 405 Freeway madness in a heartbeat after that.

I'm going to have to consult a train schedule before I venture out again.

And Madame Will Have The Loaded Potato Skins...

Fine dining in Bakersfield. Exactly as oxymoronic as it sounds.

The first thing to know about dining out in Bakersfield is that your grandparents would love it here. The dinner hour is between 5 and 6. Drive by popular restaurants around 6 and the line will be out the door. If you're feeling particularly elitist and snobbish, you can have a "late" dinner at 7. But go into any restaurant around 8 and it will be a ghost town. And the kitchen will be closing.

The restaurants here skew heavily towards the large corporate chains. Ask someone to recommend a good Italian restaurant and you'll get "Olive Garden". Steaks? "Outback Steakhouse". They congregate on the periphery of the gargantuan parking lots that serve the endless WalMarts, Targets and Home Depots. There are a few I've never heard of before, but I'm assuming they're in the "test" phase and will be coming soon to a strip mall near you.

We've tried to go rogue, go off the grid, and try a handful of mom and pop Chinese and Thai restaurants, always frustrated and disappointed. It isn't so much the questionable meat, although there's that - you do find yourself calculating just how quickly you could get to the hospital if need be. No, the biggest problem is that in every single case, they've leeched every bit of flavor out of the food. They've no doubt found they have to do that to appease the local palate. Use a spice, go out of business. But when the most savory part of the meal is the white rice, whats the point?

But not everything in Bako is bleak. Never thought I'd write that sentence on this blog. When it comes to food, there actually are a couple of bright spots.

The first is Basque food. The Basque community in this area goes back generations, working the land. Some of the oldest restaurants in town are Basque. I've only eaten at one, Wool Growers, and it was excellent. It won't win any points for decor and ambiance, but it more than makes up for it with the food.

And the second is, inexplicably, Indian. There is a HUGE Sikh population here. They just opened a good sized temple on the outskirts of town. Why they settled in one of the most xenophobic counties in the country is beyond me. A couple of times on the local news they've covered major Sikh events and they always add the disclaimer "Even though members of the Sikh community wear turbans, they are NOT Arab or Muslim...." That's reassuring. Wouldn't want any unpleasantness. At any rate, the Indian food here is generally pretty good.

And the best thing about both is, because it's the food of foreigners and terrorists, you never have to wait for a table.

Roz Colored Glasses

It's been months since I last spotted the elusive Roz. It had been so long I thought perhaps I had just imagined her, which wouldn't speak too highly about my frame of mind. I thought I saw her a couple of weeks ago in the dense fog, but I couldn't be sure. It was definitely a Vette, looked to be the right color. And I swear I could make out the silhouette of some Ming the Merciless shoulder pads, but perhaps I was just seeing what I wanted, hoped to see. In the fog, it was like a sighting of Nessie.

And then yesterday, the dogs and I were out for our afternoon walk through an adjacent condo complex. I like this walk because it's circular and impossible to get lost. The dogs like it because there are cats. Loads of 'em.

Cats are a new delicacy....er, experience for the dogs. Where we used to live in the Hills, you didn't see any cats because they made such tasty coyote treats. The only cat I ever saw was in the predawn darkness on a way too early walk.

"My god..." I thought. "That's the biggest house cat I've ever seen".

Turns out it was a mountain lion.

At any rate, we were cruising through the condos and we turned a corner and there it was...

Roz's Lair!

A garage door was open and there sat the Rozmobile... WLDROZ!

She exists! And she lives so close.

It would appear that Roz might have a little OCD - stacked high against every wall were plastic storage containers, each neatly labeled with the contents. I couldn't get close enough to read them, but I imagine it's mostly Lil' Roz's wardrobe.

I have to admit to a certain sense of relief. I hadn't imagined her, she's real.

That means I'm NOT going crazy.

Not yet anyway.

The End Of The World - Film At 11

Well I have to give Bako credit for one thing - it's nice not living under the constant threat of annihilation from the elements.

Just out of morbid curiosity I pulled up the local news from LA during the past week of El Niño storms.

Mudslides, evacuations, flooding, mayhem.

You know, "Winter in LA".

Sure we had some flooding too in Hooterville, but it drained surprisingly quickly, taking all the trash, dirt and pollutants with it. No doubt that'll be our drinking water for the next few months, but hey, it's Bako, what do you expect.

But LA... yikes. I'd forgotten what that was like. Living in the Hollywood Hills, you basically have only two seasons, Wildfires and Mudslides. You're either preparing for the worst or dealing with the aftermath. Had we not lost the house, I'm sure I'd be spending this weekend shoveling tons of mud out of the backyard.

Or worse, figuring out how to replace the failed retaining walls. They were already leaning like the Tower at Pisa last season, when we had little rain. I'd be very surprised if they're still standing. Not my problem anymore. The further we get from the loss of the house, the more I'm seeing it for the money pit it was, however stylish.

I hope the new owner has a Trust Fund, because he's going to need it.

Blue Man Group

I guess we're the only two people on the planet who haven't seen "Dances With Smurfs"...aka "Avatar". It's become such a cultural phenomenon that even without seeing it I know more than I care to about it.

Meh. Sounds like "Pocahontas in Space" to me.

I read yesterday that they're pulling the film in China. Evidently the storyline of military/corporate plundering of pristine, unspoiled resources and destroying once vibrant native cultures was hitting a little too close to home with the peasantry and the authorities decided it was best to pull the plug before things got unpleasant.

No danger of that happening here. In Bako I'm sure they're rooting for the developers. Where others may see untrammeled natural beauty, here they see future subdivisions. Or Subdivisions of the Future...

"Pandora Estates"

"The Villas at Pandora"

"El Camino del Rey Pan Dora"

Maybe we'll check it out when it comes out on DVD. We rarely went out to the movies in LA, and we certainly wouldn't do it here. There's only a handful of theaters and they are absolutely overrun with teenagers with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

It must really suck to be a teenager here.

When It Rains...

We've been hit with wave after wave of storms for the past two days. And by "wave", I'm talking a quarter to a half of an inch of rain at a time. Here, that's ark-building weather.

The rain has, however, exposed a somewhat fundamental fly in the ointment. It would appear the morons in the Hooterville planning department blew their entire budget on their too-clever-by-half, eternally exasperating rat's maze master plan. And so there was no money left for... storm drains.

A quarter inch of rain turns the entire town into the Everglades. I happened to be out driving during the last wave of rain and absolutely everything was flooded after 20 minutes. I thought maybe a drain was blocked, so I was checking the curb as I drove and I'd gone over a mile before I saw one. Turns out the nearest one to our house is four blocks away.

I'm sure it will all eventually drain before the mosquitos start breeding.

On a lighter note, after four waves of rainstorms, there was a brief break in the weather and I walked out front to see to see my crazy neighbor Mary doing what Bakopudlians do best...

Watering her lawn.

The Army Of Darkness

Last summer they finally fired up the Large Hadron Collider, the world's largest and highest-energy particle accelerator. What does it do and why does it matter? Hell if I know - I have an art degree. I only mention it because at the time I remember reading that a small minority of scientists were concerned that there might just be the itsy, bitsy, teeny, tiniest chance that when the switch was thrown an artificial black hole would be created which would swallow the entire planet and solar system in a matter of minutes.

Didn't happen, obviously.

But it appears that on October 9, 2010, another opportunity will present itself to create a fathomless black void, one that twists reality beyond all recognition and from which no light can escape.

I'm talking about the Bakersfield Business Conference.

Oh, don't let the name fool you. It's billed as a non-partisan business symposium, but in reality it's "Wingnut-A-Palooza". Started during the Reagan administration, it was held annually in a tent the size of a football field, emblazoned with the world's largest American flag. And then in 2005 it was discontinued under "mysterious" circumstances. C'mon... with that many Republicans involved how "mysterious" could it be? Financial irregularities? Misappropriated funds? Jail terms?

At any rate, it's back this year for a one-time-only encore, and it's going to be a doozy.

Scheduled to appear...

Darth Vader himself, Dick Cheney.

Mrs. Vader, "Dr."(!) Lynne Cheney. Doctor of what they don't say... Black Arts?

Long-suffering former First Lady Laura Bush.

Queen of the Tea Baggers, Sarah Palin. That had to cost a pretty penny; she won't open an envelope for less than $100K.

Empty Vessel, Mitt Romney.

Evil Turd Blossum, Karl Rove.

Serial Philanderer, Newt Gingrich.

Rudy "9/11,9/11,9/11" Giullani.

Nut Job Theocrats Bay Buchanan and Cal Thomas.

Amongst many others.

And just to prove they're "Fair and Balanced"...

Cathy Rigby and Goldie Hahn!

WTF? Goldie Hahn? I know she hasn't worked in awhile but has it really come to this? Poor dear.

New speakers are added daily, and whether they can reach critical mass and devour the entire planet is unknowable at this time. The only thing guaranteed to vanish is the rube's hard earned American money. It's $395 per person and doesn't include a torch or pitchfork.

Hopefully we'll be long gone by then, but if ever we needed an incentive to get the lead out and firm up our plans, this would be it.

Savory Goodness

You would think that living in the Breadbasket of America, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of acres of farmland, would entitle you to an unbelievable bounty of goodness. That putting up with all the dirt, dust storms and aerial toxins would be a small price to pay for access to a magical cornucopia of the best the land has to offer.

You'd be wrong.

We were pleasantly surprised to discover a couple of the largest and nicest supermarkets just minutes from our new home. It's kind of a big deal when your boyfriend is a gourmet chef. But it ends up they're Potemkin markets - there's no there there.

Produce? Sure, they've got your basics - potatoes, onions, apples and oranges. Anything much beyond that and you're pretty much shit out of luck, unless you can find it in the frozen section. Lest you think I'm being elitist and bitching about not being able to find Peruvian blood oranges or something exotic, I'm talking about Brussels sprouts.

Cheese? Take your pick - American or Swiss. And of course, the synthetically created, unrefrigerated, Frankenstein of cheese... Velveeta. Most stores carry Velveeta, but the respectable ones have the good sense to stock it discreetly, tucked away on a bottom shelf. Not here. Here, they build giant brick pyramids of it, blocking the aisles. They must go through pallets of it a week.

And where once we had the luxury of aisles of Hispanic or Asian foods, Middle Eastern or Indian or even Kosher, here you get a six foot length of shelving labeled "ETHNIC" which consists of little more than refried beans and Chung King Chow Mein. The entire world condensed down to a section a quarter of the size of the one devoted to all the various "Helpers", hamburger and tuna.

And the saddest part of it all is it isn't the store's fault. We discovered that when we went on what seemed like an innocent enough search... for basil.

Basil!

Couldn't find it anywhere. Asked a couple of clerks and was met with completely blank stares. Never heard of the stuff. Finally found a manager who explained that they used to carry Basil. But no one ever bought it and it ended up going bad, so they just discontinued it.

How long does a dried spice have to sit on a shelf before it goes bad? Years?

So they only stock what they can sell, and what they can sell is basically only things that can be mixed with Cream of Mushroom soup.

I'll have to check and see if it's possible to schedule emergency food drops from Whole Foods.

Done Deal

So..... we're leaving. There's a shocker.

We just can't stand it here. Neither one of us has been this depressed since they cancelled "Dynasty". The boyfriend despises his job, and they're screwing him on pay. And the advertising biz here is a joke. Aint enough Port-A-Potty ads in the world to make this place doable. I would have stuck my head in the oven long ago if it wasn't electric.

So over the holidays we started planning our escape.

In a perfect world, which this place isn't (not by a long shot), we'd just break the lease and go. But we aren't in a financial position to take that hit. So we're going to have to tough out the lease, hoping not to go completely mad. That gives us eight months, which we're going to need to finalize our plans.

They're still a bit rough, the plans. A bit sketchy. Unfocused if you will. Here's what we have so far:

Step 1: Get the fuck out of Bakersfield.

Step 2: ???

Step 3: ???

Step 4: Mai Tais on the beach at Kona

So as you can see, some work to do.

In the meantime, we'll count down the days, like Martha Stewart in jail.

Maybe I'll start a poncho.

Hi So-Ci-eTee

It must be the height of the Social Season here in Bako.

This weekend brings both the Monster Truck Rally AND the Gun Show.

And I don't have a thing to wear.

I guess I should inform the boyfriend it's time to break out the fur.

I hear it gets a little chilly at the lawnmower races...

The Check Republic

These people are Check Writers.

Personal checks.

For absolutely everything.

Young, old, in-between, male, female... doesn't matter. They all do it. Gas, groceries, gum - there is no purchase too small that it won't be paid for with a personal check.

Pack of smokes? Lemme write a check.

Cup of coffee? Lemme write a check.

It just reinforces the feeling you're living back in the 70's, before the age of the ATM. Why don't they use a card? Beats the hell out of me. I chalk it up to rank stupidity. The few people who attempt it seem mystified by the process. They swipe their cards with grand sweeping gestures like they're performing a magic trick. Followed by much gobsmacked staring at the machine, helpful pleading hints from the checker, mis-punched keys and usually at least one do-over.

The absolute worst is the supermarket. You choose your checkout line not by the number of people in it, but by the size of the purses ahead of you. Rest assured, while you stand there waiting, someone is going on the Expedition of the Lost Checkbook. The size of the purse helps determine whether it's going to be a short Search and Rescue mission, or a major archeological dig, with hairbrushes, make-up and the Lindbergh baby piled high on the counter.

With or without a search, once the checkbook is in hand, everyone reverts to Third Grade, when you first learned cursive. Ever so slowly the check is written out, silently mouthing each letter as it's written. When you finally hear the rrrrrip of the check and see it handed to the checker you think you're out of the woods, but no.

"Can I see some ID?"

So it's back into the mines, now in search of a driver's license.

Rinse and repeat.

I swear to God for everyone's sanity these people should just go back to trading with beads.

Luck Be A Lady

I'm really not much of a gambler. Unless of course you count ordering Chinese take-out in Bako. So I couldn't really tell you why I ended up in Bakersfield's only casino. Actually, I could, but it's hardly worth the effort.

Calling it a "casino" is a bit of a stretch. Everything here is a bit of a stretch. Since they lack any Indian co-conspirators, they can't offer slots. So it's basically just a card room. A double-wide card room.

It's in a bad part of town, all things being relative. That assumes there's a good part of town, and that's not an assumption I'm prepared to make. Like everything else here, it backs up on oil fields and train tracks. It's in what I'm guessing is Bako's "red light" district, judging by the number of "No Tell Motels" lining the street. The one across the street offers "convenient trailer parking".

The vibe was low-rent "Sopranos" and the crowd somewhat freakish - it made a Fellini cast look like the Osmonds.

I was too creeped out to stay long.

And I passed on doing any gambling.

I figured I'd already lost too much in this town.

Friends And Ememas

Monday was already shaping up to be a nasty piece of work and the last thing I needed was a constipated dog. So suddenly the schedule was scrambled to accommodate a trip to the vet.

We found a vet a couple of months ago, not far away in a new business park. I'm sure at one point this was to be the bustling hub of commerce for yet another new master planned community. But then the bubble burst and the homes never materialized and now it squats all alone, an oasis in a miles wide desert of vacant trash filled lots. Fading signs still trumpet "Model Homes Opening Spring '09" above the official Bakersfield logo and motto.

The good news was, they weren't playing Glenn Beck in the waiting room, like the last time. The bad news? There was a "blockage". The dog couldn't shit.

I thought of Jamie Lee Curtis in those "Activia" commercials.

The solution was simple. They would have to give the dog an enema.

Better them than me.

They took the poor guy away and after a few minutes a nurse came in.

"You don't have a nice car, do you?"

Why in fact I once did, in a previous life, but now I don't, and what the hell did that have to do with anything?

"We've given your dog the enema, and we tried to take him out back but he didn't go. Do you have a sheet or something because he could erupt at any minute..."

Well I try to plan for most contingencies, but I'll admit that that was one I didn't see coming. So no, I didn't have a sheet. But we didn't live far. We'd have to take our chances.

He insisted on sitting on my lap on the way home and we came to one of Bako's eternal stoplights. As I sat there scanning across the abandoned homesite wasteland, he blew.

In my lap.

I'm covered with dogshit, the light finally turns green, and I look up and the first thing I see is that faded real estate sign:

"Bakersfield: Life As It Should Be"

Dear God let's hope not.

Little Miss Sunshine

Hallelujah! The sun actually came out this afternoon, the first time in weeks. I saw my shadow... does that mean anything?

So to whoever sacrificed a virgin at the Buck Owens' alter, or whatever the hell you people do to chase away the fog demons, I salute you.

Random Good Things About Bako #3

Trains. And more specifically train whistles.

I've always been fascinated with trains and as a kid had one of the most elaborate train sets you've ever seen. The train ran through my hometown and I loved the sound of the horns and whistles in the distance.

So it was a pleasant surprise to discover them here. Bako is crisscrossed with train tracks running in every which way. Every way but south, sadly - the only track crossing the Tehachapis to LA and points south is reserved for freight.

But still, there's something reassuring about hearing the plaintive wail of the train whistles late at night, or early in the morning through the fog.

Takes me back.

A Touch Of Class

As hard as the transition to Bako has been for me, and trust me it's been hard, it's been absolutely devastating for the love of my life. He doesn't deserve this. Because you see, he's glamorous.

He grew up old school Las Vegas - we're talking Liberace, diamonds, money to burn. Rat Pack decadence in all it's glory.

And for many years I'd happily been able to help keep us both in the style to which he, and I, had become accustomed. An age gone by. The way life should be lived.

And then this shit happened.

We've lost almost everything, but still we have our priorities. Style counts for more than mental health when it comes right down to it. So he still has the diamond encrusted Rolex that was a Christmas gift in better times. So too the fur, bought on a family cruise to Alaska to celebrate my parent's 50th anniversary several years ago. That was a sight - the two of us going for a grand promenade, arm an arm, wrapped in albino Russian raccoon.

And he still has his Cadillac. Bustle trunked, carriage like. Not blinged out... that would be tacky. We don't do tacky. It's C-L-A-S-S-Y.

Living in Bako, for us both, has been, how shall we say, challenging.

So recently it just became too much for him. He announced one Sunday that he just couldn't take it any more and he was leaving...

...and came back an hour later with a cheap $29 "crystal" chandelier for the foyer from Home Depot. To shine a light, so to speak. On better times.

Glamor Will Set You Free

I love him more than I can say.

Extreme Makeover

Following up on the post from yesterday, it's obvious that Bakersfield has an image problem.

It's what we call in marketing a "damaged brand".

It's reputation is in the toilet, it's the butt of jokes, the name alone is a punchline. So, what to do? Do we set about trying to fix all the problems that caused the crisis in the first place?

Hell no. That would be a lot of work and could take years. Who has time for that?

No, the answer is "re-branding".

Give it a new name.
And hope all the negative associations follow the old name down the memory hole.

It happens in business all the time. Blackwater, the Bush administration's favorite mercenaries, recently changed it's name to "Xe". "Black" is usually not a word you want associated with your brand, especially if you're in the business of torture and killing. The new name is a calculated little piece of gibberish that looks like a typo and will be easily lost on the front page. Which is exactly the point. Phillip Morris, it's feelings hurt by constantly being associated with cancer, changed it's name to "Altria", which sounds positively benevolent. Tricon Global, the corporation that owns Taco Bell and KFC, changed it's name to "Yum!", which is just idiotic, but it's working for them.

It's not always a success. Pepsi recently spent $50 million to change it's logo to look like the mark of a third world airline and has become a luaghingstock. AOL recently spent almost as much to become... "Aol.", lowercase, with a period. That's a LOT of money for a period.

At any rate, "Bakersfield", is just irreparably damaged and it's time to flush it out to the fields. So what next?

Obviously this isn't a task to be entrusted to the locals. Judging by their work naming the endless new subdivisions, there's a better than even chance we'd all end up living in "EL CAMINO DEL REY MAR VISTA, CALIFORNIA". We can't take that chance.

So that's why I'm offering to help.

The first rule of re-branding is to not make the situation worse. So "Shitsville", "Dogpatch", "Hooterville", they're out. You also have to be mindful of how your name appears online, as the office chain Pen Island found out when they registered "penisland.com".

Rule two is it should sound pleasant, yet innocuous.

Thirdly, you have to be able to copyright it. That's why the SciFi network recently became "SyFy". Odd spellings of common words allow you to copyright it and, more importantly, sue people.

And finally, it should be fairly descriptive and, if possible, marginally accurate.

So taking all of that into consideration, and after a lot of careful thought, I've honed my suggestions down to what I'm convinced is a winner:

"Llandphyl".

*Update*

A friend just called with a brilliant alternative.... "Septic".

Although, for legal and copyright considerations I think I would go with "Ceptic".

Works for me.

Waste Not

Sometimes the stars align and a great truth is revealed.

Or, sometimes a friend sends you an internet link that just so happens to jibe with a thought you were about to post.

This morning it was the latter.

And the subject is "waste".

Not "wasting", although they do that here in spades. They go through more water than the Lost City of Atlantis, and they're in a desert.

No, we're talkin' trash. Garbage. And other...waste.

My original thought revolved around trash. They seem to have a thing for it here. The highway into town is literally littered with trash. The now dead river through town? Full of trash. Vacant lots? Trash dumps. With the fog, you could dump a dead body on your neighbor's lawn and, unless someone tripped over it, it could go undiscovered for days. But it's not just slovenly trailer park living.

It's a state of mind.

Several months ago my favorite morning news show morphed into "Good Morning Kern County", losing most of it's hickish appeal. Gone was the snorting bull logo and the old coot doing traffic. Gone too ,the loudmouth sports guy. It became generically bland, a high school version of a morning show. Nothing Bako about it.

Except for the opening....

Every morning show out of New York opens with misty shots of daybreak over Manhattan. In LA it was the sun rising over the skyline, light dawning on the Hollywood sign, maybe the moon setting in the Pacific beyond the Santa Monica pier.

Here?

It's a trash truck.

As the "morning music" tinkles in the background, you see a shot of the sun rising and then it dissolves to one of Bako's ubiquitous brown trash trucks. Its arm extends, it grabs a bin, hoists it high, shakes out it's contents, and then we dissolve to the loopy, grinning anchors at the news desk. The end. They've put your day in the dumper and you haven't even had coffee yet. It always makes me laugh. Your day has nowhere to go but up at that point.

And then this morning a friend of mine emailed me an article about the fact that for years, decades even, all of the er... "solids" from LA's waste treatment plants has been trucked here to Bako.

And deposited.

"I'm standing in front of a series of small poo-soaked piles of used condoms, toilet paper, rags and tampon applicators accumulating in the massive headworks building of the Hyperion Treatment Plant, where the majority of Los Angeles' sewage is treated..."

"But whether or not L.A.'s sludge represents a hazard to Kern County residents is, in a way, irrelevant. What's unfair to the people of Kern County is having to deal with stupendous volumes of someone else's exported poo."

(http://www.realitysandwich.com/how_save_world_pooping_bucket)

That explains it! These poor, downtrodden people have been pooped on! By society! For years! No wonder they have such a lackadaisical attitude for garbage. Why they, reluctantly I'm sure, embrace it.

Hmmm... there must be something I can do...

Bringing A Gun To A Knife Fight

Our neighbor across the street mows his lawn with a riding mower.

His lawn is about twice the size of our dining table.

I have never met him.

Nor do I care to.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discount Tents

I was beginning to get concerned about Jim, the neighborhood Exterior Decorator. The Christmas decor came down tout de suite and he had apparently vanished, gone into hibernation. We've now entered the holiday desert portion of the calendar year. What ever was he going to do? Theoretically, he could do Valentine's Day, but I just don't see that happening. St. Patrick's Day is a possibility, especially since it involves alcohol. But honestly, I don't see anything on the horizon until Easter, four long months away. How would he while away the days until then?

Now we know...

Sales!

He's turned his pageant stage into a showroom floor. Out on the lawn this morning was all manner of camping gear, priced to move. Two hundred dollars, OBO.

There's been hints of what was to come for the past several months. Random merchandise, placed off to the side of his holiday tableaus. Occasionally he'd place it front and center among the decorations and forget the "For Sale" sign, so you were left wondering if it was part of the show.

Why would Mr. and Mrs. Snowman need a Kenmore washer and dryer?

Would a witch really ride a tandem bike?

Was he being ironic?

Making a statement?

Commenting on society at large?

Well, now we know... none of the above.

"Craaaaazy Jim - He Won't Be Undersold!!!!!!"

At least it will be interesting to see what pops up in the coming weeks. It's kind of like a game show now.

And it looks like he finally sold the tandem bike after several attempts. When it wasn't for sale you could usually see Jim riding it in the afternoons. There he'd be, cruising the neighborhood, making lazy, wobbly "S" turns, "to go" cup in hand.

For his own safety, it's probably for the best that it sold.

And On A Lighter Note...

So Dogpatch made the national news last night. And which civic virtue landed us on ABC's World News Tonight?

Elder abuse!

If you want to talk elder abuse, let's start with Diane Sawyer's makeup. Yikes. She looked like a drag queen.

But I digress.

It seems the head of one of the area's larger retirement homes got fed up with some of his uppity elderly charges and decided the best solution was to drug them into a stupor with psychotropic drugs.

"Grandma used to be so feisty, but then we could never wake her up..."

Grandma is dead now, and she isn't alone, which is why the plan unravelled.

Evidently one poor woman was dosed for simply glaring at the guy.

And to think, if he really wanted to incapacitate the residents all he needed to do was let them drink the local tap water.

The Killing Field

I visited one of my local clients last Monday, a mere three days after Christmas. They're located across from a vacant lot.

Everywhere in Bakersfield is located across from a vacant lot.

I couldn't help but notice the lot had turned into a dumping ground for Christmas trees. Hundreds of them. And it's grown exponentially since then.

What a macabre scene - hundreds, maybe thousands, of Christmas trees, dead on their sides, their upturned little wooden crossbar stands forming white tombstones.

I hope they plan to recycle them, but this being Bako, they'll probably wait for the first hint of a blue sky to set them ablaze.

There's little fear of that happening anytime soon - it's been gloomy, foggy and cold for weeks, with no break in sight.

What a dreary start to the New Year.

The Stupid, It Burns

Retards. I can't say I'm surprised - they have a whole support system for them, B.A.R.C., "The Bakersfield Association of Retarded Citizens". But who knew it was half the population?

We left town to spend New Year's with friends, and driving back this afternoon we came upon a huge traffic jam.

What was it? Accident? Road closure?

Blinking traffic light.

And they didn't know what to do! It a fricking four way stop and everyone is just paralyzed like cows. Everyone just stared at each other at the intersection for several long moments, and then they all went at once, from every direction , creating instant gridlock. After a few even longer moments, they sorted themselves out. And then the next group did the exact same thing.

How these people feed themselves is beyond me.

It just reinforces the one resolution we both made for the New Year.... to Get The Hell Out.

If we're still here in a year I'll kill myself.