The New Math

And now a tale of multiplication and subdivisions.
If you want to see a snap shot of the Great Recession, how it all started, and why it probably isn't ending any time soon, all you need to do is take a quick spin around the endless suburbs of Bakersfield.

I had a few minutes to kill yesterday, so I did a 2 mile loop near our neighborhood.

Let's take a little tour, shall we?


A long time ago, in a housing market far, far away, the subdivisions of Bako marched relentlessly into the farmland, spreading like a virus.

Who was going to live in these houses? Who cares! Trade up!


So many "neighborhoods" to choose from, and more arriving every day!


Bella Terra, Terra Vista, Vista Terrabella, take your pick! Would you prefer an Estate, or perhaps a Villa? There's plenty to go around!


But it didn't last.


Now they're all sitting unsold, slowly rotting in the dust that blows in from the adjacent fields. Prices slashed. For the poor souls who bought, they might as well be called "The Villas at Altlantis" because they're going to be underwater for a very long time.

What do you do when the identical home next door sells for half what you paid?

You walk away. And they are.



And since they can't sell the homes they've already built, they've pulled the plug on "Phase Two".

And "Phase Three".

And "Four".

Imagine the folks who bought homes out here thinking they might actually, have, you know, "neighbors".


At least there's plenty of room for the kids to play. In the landfill next door.


Those schools and shopping we promised to build out here in the middle of nowhere? Maybe someday. In the future. When we all have flying cars.


So one thing seems crystal clear... it's going to be a long, hard road out of all this.

And I have a sneaking suspicion that road doesn't run through Vista Bella Terra.

Cali ornia

Let's take the "f' out of "California"!

The state is in the worst recession since the Great Depression...
The state is physically crumbling as we watch...
People are out of work...
Losing their homes...
The state is broken, Sacramento is gridlocked...

But yet...

There's one idea that has grabbed bipartisan support, caused lawmakers to set aside their petty differences and unite together to GET SOMETHING DONE!

The first week of March will officially be "No Cussing Week" in California!

Nice to see people have their fucking priorities straight.

We'll Leave The Lights On For You

"It's so hip and cool... it's like someplace you'd find in Sacramento!"

Well, there's a mighty high bar to clear.

Seriously, these people need to get out more.

The subject of the above comment was the newly re-opened Padre Hotel in downtown Bako. It's been a downtown landmark since the 20's, but had sat derelict and boarded up for years. The owner had a long running dispute with the city over his plans for the property, and he did what any sane businessman with a beef with the city does - he built a full size mock-up of a nuclear missile and had it mounted on the roof pointed directly as city hall. For years.

Bako-ites, nothing but subtle.

At any rate, he finally sold out to a group of investors several years ago, and they poured millions of dollars into renovating the hotel and finally giving Dogpatch a little hipness and class.

And by all accounts they've succeeded in spades.

Everyone is raving about it, and what I've seen on the TeeVee and off their website (where I stole the above photo, because I'm lazy) looks positively "Sunset Strip-ish".

Kind of "The Standard Hotel meets a dude ranch".

Even "Viceroy-esque", without the chartreuse.

Who, exactly, would stay there is anyone's guess. It's definitely designed for the "A-list" crowd, but I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for them to check in. Any hapless travelers who find themselves stranded here, either on business or because of a blown tire, have their pick of Ramadas out by the highway.

I hope they can make their money back at the bars.

I'm sure at some point we'll check it out... while it's still open.

Because here's the thing - if you talk to the locals you'll hear about countless people who, over the past 20 years, have opened up numerous chic, hip, cool, un-Bako restaurants, bars and clubs. And after an initial splash, a brief honeymoon, they've all failed within a year.

Probably because they didn't have drive-up.

At some point you realize Bako is the way it is because that's the way Bako likes it, and they don't need any city folk to tell them otherwise. When Sacramento is considered too cosmopolitan, you're banging your head against a brick wall.

Still, hope springs eternal. It looks really nice.

Thou Shalt Not Steal

These are hanging just over our back fence.

I'm constantly tempted to pick them.

But that would be stealing, and stealing is wrong.

Morally and ethically wrong.

Plus, I need a step ladder.

Down Right Neighborly

...AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT!

Death Takes A Side Street

A couple of observations about death and the streets of Bako.

And no, I'm not talking about Bako-ites Mad Driving Skillz.

The first is... rolling tombstones? Really? Is this just a Bako thing? Or is it a morbid fad sweeping the nation? I'm talking about cars with "In Memoriam" decals on the back windows. They're everywhere here. They're white and they always say "In Memoriam" in an arc over someone's name and their birth and death dates. They're never for anyone old - the oldest person I've seen so far was 25. And sadly, most are for children and infants. It's almost guaranteed to ruin your day - you're driving around, minding your own business, having as pleasant a day as is possible in Bakersfield, and then you come up behind Debbie Downer with a dead infant on her back window.

The dead children are just tragic, no doubt about it. But for the teens and twenty-somethings, I find myself searching the car for clues as to how they died. It's turned into a game. Sometimes it's poignant - the car festooned with Marine stickers and yellow ribbons leads you to believe the person died serving the country. Sometimes it's grisly - the truck covered with X-streme sports stickers paints a gruesome picture of a double back flip gone horribly wrong. And sometimes it's Darwinian - the truck covered with beer labels, Jack Daniels logos and a Hooters bumper sticker is just a matter of thinning the herd.

All the same, it's something I'd rather not have shoved in my face every time I get behind the wheel.

The second observation is just macabre. The blood bank is a big deal here, which it would have to be what with all the unnecessary surgery. It advertises all the time on TV, and is a huge sponsor of charity events.

Good on them.

But here's the thing... if you donate blood, you get a door prize. A lovely parting gift.

You get a license plate frame identifying you as a donor.

And entry into the "club".

Which club?

Well that all depends on how much blood you give. Casual donors become members of the "Platelet Club". More frequent flyers become members of the "One Gallon Club'.

Or "Two Gallon Club".

Or "Five Gallon Club".

I've seen one up as high as "25 Gallon Club", but the car was parked and as far as I know the driver may have been dead of blood loss on the floor mats.

The higher the number, the more unwell the drivers look. One Gallon Club members simply look anemic. Ten Gallon club members look positively cadaverous.

Taken together, it makes even a short trip to the market a rather grim experience.

Then again, why should that be any different than day to day life here.

Radio GaGa

Some things in life are simply unavoidable.

Like Ryan Seacrest.

In LA he was inescapable. Between his local morning radio show, American Idol, his mini-schmaltz empire at E! or the countless products he endorsed, you were bound to hear his voice at least once a day, and have his shit-eating grin bearing down on you from a billboard or the side of the bus.

You would think, living in outer Bumfuck, we would be free of him.

But no.

His morning LA radio show is syndicated.

And it's the strangest thing you'll ever hear.

It airs here in the afternoons, and evidently in an effort to trick people into believing Ryan is RIGHT THERE IN YOUR HOMETOWN, they've taken his morning show and stripped it of any local references, any mention of LA. They've also edited out any reference to the time of day, the day of the week, the day of the month, the month or the year, all the better to air it in any "shuffle-from-hell" that they choose.

Perhaps they were too clever by half, because Ryan sounds like a retard.

The edits are so bad it's laughable. Jokes have no punch lines, sentences just end, hanging in mid-air. They try and cover some of the more egregious cuts with his sidekick cackling over the splice. And then they randomly add pre-recorded station promos to make him sound as if he has multiple personalities.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I guess it works, and knowing Bako, people probably think he schlepps over Tehachapis each and every day to entertain the Greater Dogpatch Metroplex.

All I know is he's laughing all the way to the bank.

But he still sounds like a retard.

A Penney For Your Thoughts

So I was driving last week, listening to "Radio Free Bakersfield" (NPR) and they were about to interview a woman who had lost everything in the Bernie Madoff ponzi scheme.

She had written a book about losing it all and how to cope with it. Well, I've lost everything and could definitely use some tips on how to cope. This, I needed to hear.

Unfortunately, I had a meeting and missed it.

Then a few days later I came home and flipped on the TV and they had just wrapped up an interview with her on one of the afternoon talk shows.

Damn. Missed her again.

But this morning she was on "Good Morning America" and I was finally able to hear her important tips on coping with losing everything.

Her name is Alexandra Penney and her book is entitled "The Bag Lady Papers: The Priceless Experience of Losing It All".

And do you know what I learned?

I learned it helps to be a rich magazine editor in Manhattan who can call in favors from important friends and bang out a book in six months and then have your PR firm book you on every media outlet known to man.

Hmmm... I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to give that a try!

And thank God she didn't really lose everything... she still has the artist's studio in the SoHo neighborhood of Manhattan, a cottage in West Palm Beach, Florida and a "beach shack" in Wainscott.

Priceless indeed.

I think she's going to be OK after all.

Call it a hunch.

The Gay Jokes Write Themselves

"Once A Driller, Always A Driller!"

Amen to that sister.

I saw that on a bumper sticker around the corner. I was going to take a picture but I was afraid I was going to get shot.

The Drillers are kinda touchy.

The Way The Wind Blows

Needless to say, that's not the only thing in this town that blows.

I've written more than enough about the unique smell of Bakersfield. Suffice it to say it's not good. There are days when it smells less bad, but there's never a day where it's actually, you know, pleasant.

And there are days like today, when the wind shifts direction, and you open the front door and...

BLAM!

Like getting clocked in the nose by a 2x4.

Good Lordy Damn, as my dad used to say.

It is just rank out there today. I was having a hard time trying to find words to describe it.

My partner had no such problem.

"This town smells like a cow's ass."

Goooooood Morning Bako

Nothing like waking up to a big rig barreling right at you.

The Plath Less Taken

“I talk to God but the sky is empty.”

I had an Aha© Moment today. I hear Oprah copyrighted that phrase, so it's duly noted.

At any rate, an epiphany, of sorts.

You go about your life for years, thinking for the longest time that you're going to make an impact.
Through your work, through your kids, though your good deeds... your life is going to matter to some one, in some way, some how.

Or... not.

The day you realize that it's not going to matter, in any way, shape or form?

That's not a good day.

How do you deal with the realization that your life is nothing more than a cautionary tale?

DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Still kind of working that one through.

But if it has to be a cautionary tale, I hope they do it with pictograms.

I love pictograms - like the safety cards on airplanes. Picture a little figure in a life vest, crash landing in Bakersfield.

Now that I think about it, I wish our oven was gas.

Overheard In Bako

"This is America, and we call them 'bur-rit-TAHS'..."

And evidently "America" is pronounced "uh-MERK-uh".

Good to know.

Artsy, Fartsy

Public art gone horribly, horribly awry. Only in Bakersfield could an attempt at civic beautification have the exact opposite affect.

I'm not a big believer in public art because the art is always chosen by committee and you end up with abstract kitsch.

Or worse.

Like this.

The committee that picked this must have been smoking crack because it definitely has that "four-day-bender-with-a-glue-gun" look about it.

So let's put my expensive art degree to work.

If I was being generous, and what the hell, why not, I'd say this was an example of mid 80's postmodernism from the Memphis School.

Or... a preschool went out of business and no one wanted to see the playground equipment go to waste so they welded it into this.

Take your pick.

The scariest thing is that this is not an aberration, a one-off misfire.

There are many more where this came from...

Downtown

"When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go - DOWNTOWN
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know - DOWNTOWN
Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?"

Random Good Things About Bako #4

Spring is Spring, no matter where you are. And the first signs are always hopeful.

Even in Bako.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel...

... is actually in our entry "foyer".

That's French

For "home".

Although this is anything but.

Still, it reminds us of our somewhat glamourous past, and gives us hope.

It's from Home Depot.

If You Can't Beat 'Em...

Yes, those are Tater Tots.

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, How Does Your Garden Grow?

Not much has been heard from the immediate neighbors since before Thanksgiving.

Which was a good thing.

Until this week.

It's Mary, next door.

There have been ominous thumping noises coming through our common wall for days.

After much thought, we've determined it can only be one thing...

She's stacking bodies.

Or perhaps just stockpiling cat litter.

Who's to know?

The Devil Is In The Ice Cream

Demonic Ice Cream Truck. Just passed by.

Seriously.... a panel van?

Wouldn't want anything that screams "child molester", would we?

And yet the kids do flock to it - saw it just the other day.

Cute kids, too.

I'll look for them on the milk cartons.

I Dreamed A Dream

I had an amazingly vivid dream about our old house.

And then I woke up.

Nothing like starting the day down in the dumps.

Doctors Without Borders

Bakersfield is either the Hypochondriac Capital of the World, or a vast center of insurance fraud.

Probably both.

The city is only about 300,000 people, and yet they boast easily 12 hospitals, at least that's how many I've counted.

And they all advertise on TV, relentlessly. When did emergency medical care become like shopping for a car?

"Honey, walk away... let's check out the Catholics, they're offering half off on appendectomies, and they're throwing in a CT scan to boot..."

Seriously.

And it's not just the hospitals. Cardiologists, radiologists, dentists, plastic surgeons... it's a peddler's bazaar. Three quarters of any commercial break is medical services. And all of them pushing their state-of-the-art CT scanner.

When did CT scanners become the new flat screen?

But here's the thing... all the doctors hawking their wares are Indian. Not all... the plastic surgeons are mostly Iranian and the dentists appear to be mostly Chinese. But the bottom line appears to be that all the medical professionals of Bako are imported.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Actually, there's something kind of poetic about the most xenophobic people on earth completely dependent on a bunch of "ferriners" for their medical care.

At any rate, it isn't just a TV thing - on our unfortunate Swine Flu visit to the hospital a few months back you couldn't help but notice all the nursing staff appeared to be Filipino, the doctors Indian. What the hell?

Well, think about it. If you had endured 8 years of medical school, and incurred hundreds of thousands of student loan debt, what would you do with the prospect of working in Bako?

Exactly.

But to a doctor in Calcutta, Bako probably looks like a Reagan-esque "Shining City On The Hill".

Or a "Dusty Hellhole in a Valley".

Whatever. Lesser of two evils I suppose.

So they come... and bring the extended family. Now the huge Indian population here starts to make sense.

But potentially, it could be win/win - maybe all those CT scans actually expose everyone's chakras.

But that still doesn't excuse the fact you can't get decent larb in this town.

Taking The Plunge

Although this is definitely a football/NASCAR kind of town, it does boast one semi-professional sports team... hockey.

Go figure.

And in true Bako fashion, they're named after what's generally considered the ugliest bird on the planet, one that's nearly extinct.

"The Condors"

They play downtown in the local event venue, the Rabobank Arena. For weeks after moving here I thought it was the "RoboCop Arena", which, considering the vigilante nature of the locals, didn't seem all that kooky.

But it ends up it's named after a local bank.

At any rate, I mention this only because I'm home working today with the TV on in the background and they just did a promo for "Plunger Night".

That's right - February 20th is "Toilet Plunger Giveaway Night".

But only for the first 2000.

So mark your calendars and plan on showing up early.

You may want to take the day off work, just in case.

A Day Late...

... but worth the wait. Happy Belated Valentines Day from Bako.
(you really must click on the ad)

Appearances Are Everything

The boyfriend had to work on Saturday, so I threw myself into the housework. And I found myself oddly missing our old housekeeper, Teresa.

I say oddly because she wasn't very good. Actually, she was a bit of a fraud.

I realized that one morning when I got to the office and realized I'd left some files at home. I'd passed Teresa on my way out of the house as she arrived around 8:30, and now I had to schlep back to the house for the files. When I pulled back up to the house shortly before 10, she was gone. Long gone.

And yet the house appeared clean.

That was her trick. "Appeared". As long as you didn't look too closely, the house looked clean. The front row of glasses and the top plates were always sparkling, the top layer of clothing or towels in the drawers, always neatly folded. Throw in a couple of strategically placed and obvious vacuum tracks and call it a day. It was a pretty good scam.

But the dogs loved her. To this day I'm convinced they understand more Spanish than English, if they understand anything at all. We fired her once, and then hired her back out of guilt. It was just easier to overlook her obvious deceit and shortcomings... as long as the house "appeared" clean.

So as I mopped our fine "imported Italian" tile floors, in our Bakersfield rental home, I found myself strangely appreciative of all her half-assed work.

It isn't easy keeping up appearances.

You Can't Get There From Here

Our lives in Bako, just beyond "Surreal Rd."

Down By The Riverside

The Mighty Kern River. Stand clear of the banks, as we wouldn't want anyone swept away in it's raging fury.


"Riverwalk". Take a scenic stroll down the banks of the Kern River


"Riverwalk". Commune with nature in all her glory as you gaze across the river to the far bank.


There's even space for the little ones. Spend some quality family time in the tranquil children's park.


The "Financial District", as viewed from "Riverwalk". It's just like standing in Central Park, gazing back at Midtown Manhattan.

Roz!

Perhaps the best sighting yet! Yesterday afternoon. The black Vette looked freshly detailed and shimmered in the sun. Both Roz and Lil' Roz were decked out all in black leather.

Probably pleather.

It was like watching Darth Vader pilot the Death Star like a bat out of hell down the streets of Bako.

Come to think about it, it was more like watching Batman behind the wheel of the Batmobile. She's fast, that Roz. I had my iPhone with me but she was past in a flash before I even got it out of my pocket. Executed a smart bat-turn into the condo complex where her Bat Cave is located.

But, my god, what has she done with her hair!? Her dirty blond doo was completely frizzed out into an afro!

She looked like a dandelion.

It's clearly intentional, because Lil' Roz was sporting the same look.

Definitely needs to go back for a rethink.

"Arc de Tree-omphe"

Jim's tree. The "Arc" started out as part of the Christmas decorations, but is evidently now part of the permanent collection. You can't see the cast iron frogs and plastic roosters. Perhaps in a future photo.

Baku #4: "Spring"

The first signs of Spring!
Trees bloom, birds sing, the fog lifts...
Welcome back roaches!

Fine Dining, Bako Style

"Yes, we requested a table with a view of the large oil derrick out front..."

Coming This Fall...

We don't get out much. Obviously. Which means we end up watching way too much TV.

Reality TV.

We love it.

Our all time favorite was "The Swan" - you find two ugly women, give them an obscene amount of plastic surgery and then make them face off in a beauty pageant. It was brilliant. Sadly it only lasted one season. Can't imagine why.

But high on the list is also "Survivor". We've watched every single season.

But as we sat down to watch last night's season premiere, it occurred to me that it's getting a little stale. A little played out. A little... predictable.

What they need to do is shake it up.

They need to shoot it here. In Bakersfield.

SURVIVOR: BAKO

It's really not that much of a stretch - we have the bugs, we have the freaky weather, we have the natives. They couldn't film it in winter because there'd be little entertainment value in staring at a white screen, listening to people connive in the fog. But it's definitely doable.

So to get the ball rolling, I've created the logo above. You're welcome, CBS.

Now get cracking.

The Moronic States of America

I had decided weeks ago I was going to refrain from going political in the posts anymore. It wasn't that I had any less contempt for the Republicans and the Wingnut thugs on the Right. Far from it. It was just that over the past several months the Democrats have proven to be nothing but useless. Pathetic. As Will Rogers famously said “Democrats never agree on anything, that's why they're Democrats. If they agreed with each other, they would be Republicans...”
or "I am not a member of any organized party — I am a Democrat."

Enough. A pox on both their houses.

And then...

I happened to be at one of my local clients the other day, a realty office. As I was off in a corner, downloading some files, a commotion arose in the hallway. Older woman, late 50's I think. She'd come in to list her house as a short sale.

She was railing on to the poor unfortunate realtor about how "Obama had financially RUINED her and her husband..."

This was going to be good, so I accidentally on purpose listened in.

The gist of her story was this:

Back in 2004 (when Bush was President), the housing market started heating up and she and her husband hit upon the idea of refinancing their house, taking out as much money as they could, and investing it wisely for retirement.

Which they did.

And did again.

And again.

Over the next three years they refinanced their Bako home three times, took out hundreds of thousands of dollars, and prudently, thoughtfully stashed it in the safest of investments...

Las Vegas condos.

Bought four of 'em.

Then, in the Summer of 2007 (when Bush was President), the housing bubble burst.

Two of the places worst hit by the bubble burst were Las Vegas and.... wait for it... Bakersfield.

By the summer of 2008 (when Bush was President), they were underwater on five properties.

The story got a little muddy at that point, but it seems that by the day Bush left office, they'd already lost two of the Vegas properties to foreclosure, and the other two were on the way there.

And it's Obama's fault.

It's not just his fault... he personally set out to ruin them.

And now, here we were - they were going to have to sell their Bako love nest in a short sale because they owed four times what it was worth.

Because of O B A M A.

There was no dissuading her. No rationally questioning her. Not that the agent tried - he's not stupid, a commission is a commission. And besides, he probably believed it too.

Such is life in Bizarro World.

Abandoning reason and logic, I've attempted to reverse engineer her story to conform to the Wingnut master plan.

And it goes something like this...

Obama used the voodoo, Jedi mind tricks he learned in Kenya (where he was born) to bamboozle the God Fearing American People to vote for him, with help from his terrorist allies (from the Muslim Madrasah he grew up in in Indonesia). Once in office, he used his Socialist Time Machine to go back in time to trick the innocent, trusting Republicans of Bakersfield to make stupid investments so as to financially ruin them, all out of personal vengeance.


Or something.

Once upon a time, this sort of thing could be easily dismissed as the ramblings of the lunatic fringe.

Not anymore.

It's gone mainstream and is spreading like a virus. Like the H1N1 flu (which Obama cooked up at his super secret terrorist labs in Mexico).

Even members of my own family mutter darkly under their breath about "all the Socialism", and count the days until Sarah Palin is elected Palm Reader In Chief.

I fear there are some very dark days ahead.

Bako... Now In Living Color

That's right, photos. I was going back and forth about it for months. On the one hand, I'm a visual guy and thought the blog could use a little pizzazz. One the other... who has the time. But people ask me all the time if I make this shit up, and I figured the only way to prove it was to document it in pictures. So I'll be taking my own shots when possible, and interspersing it with appropriate images culled from the internets.

So let's start with this gem. There's so much wrong about it it's hard to know where to start. But "FUN" would be an obvious choice. And clearly "PROGRESSIVE" was a mistake. I have no idea when this photo was taken, but see that vast wasteland stretching off into the horizon? Looks exactly the same today.

I don't think this sign is still standing. I'm guessing they took it down because they discovered you actually can't fool some of the people all of the time.

XLIV

Super Bowl Sunday!

Meh.

Neither one of us is what you would call "football literate". We were talking about it this morning and I mentioned I didn't even know the names of half the positions, and the ones I did know, I didn't know what they did. Other than Quarterback - that one I get. The boyfriend claimed he could name the positions, and then proceeded to list "endzone", "cheerleader" and "hiker".

So, needless to say, we won't be doing play-by-play.

With that in mind, we picked a hell of a town to live in. Bako is football crazy, like small town Texas. The High School football players are treated like rock stars, with up-close-and-personal interviews on the local news. So I've found during football season, it's best to just keep a low profile.

Although I almost blew it big time a couple of weeks ago, one Monday, having a smoke outside one of my local clients. One of the big wigs joined me outside and started making small talk.

"Damn shame about the Vikings..." he said.

I agree. They should totally get more credit for discovering America.

Oops...

Luckily I realized he was talking about football before I opened my mouth.

"Damn straight" I said, stamped out my smoke and got the hell out of there.

The thing about the Super Bowl that cracks me up is the fact that they've stuck with the Roman numerals all these years, long past when most of their target audience could figure it out. They were probably OK up through the "30's" - "XXX" isn't that hard. But once they entered the "40's", XL, they probably left a lot of people scratching their heads in bewilderment...

"Extra Large? Huh...?"

Can't wait to see what they do in a few years for the grand celebration of the 50th Super Bowl when they'll be stuck with a big, fat "L".

We'll end up watching, if for nothing more than for the spectacle and the commercials. For us, the bathroom breaks come whenever their are people moving on the field.

And we'll put out the traditional Super Bowl spread... you now, brie, paté, a nice Cabernet.

Name That Smell

I love the smell of rain.

Or at least I used to.

Before I moved here.

Bako's relentless assault on the senses continues unabated. They've now ruined the smell of rain.

Bako smells bad even on a "good"day, "good" being a relative word.

But throw in a little rain and it goes from bad to worse pretty damn quick.

It's hard to describe, other than to say it's just awful.

The boyfriend probably pegged it best - it smells like wet dog shit.

With an industrial solvent aftertaste. A "finish" I believe they call it in the perfume business.

At any rate, it's just unbelievably rank.

It's a good thing it rains here as little as it does.

Bitter, Party of One

Every day I wake up in Bako I'm sad and depressed. But yesterday it was particularly bad. Just a dark, dark day. No idea why it hit so badly yesterday. But I know myself well enough to know that when I'm feeling that down, there's really only one thing I can do.

Make it worse.

I started by pulling up photos of my former home. It's a minor house by a major architect and as such it pops up on a fair number of LA architecture sites. For years I was listed as the owner. Not any more. The new owner made swift work of that and now his name is plastered on everything. Obviously, it's his right - he owns it now.

But I still hate him.

I'd hoped there'd be some sense of closure by now, it's been almost six months. But I fear the loss of the house will be an open wound for years to come. One of many, I'm sure.

Next, I decided to Google my former roommate. We'd started out together in the entertainment biz over 20 years ago. After a few years, he switched over into the fashion industry. After toiling in retail for several years he took a huge leap of faith and moved to New York. I lost touch with him over ten years ago, but I'd heard through mutual friends he was working at a prestige fashion industry ad agency.

I didn't find out much more about him through the search.

There were, however, a couple of photos.

One showed him at a Brazilian Vogue party in Rio. Posed with Karl Lagerfeld.

The second showed him art directing a Nautica photo shoot. In Antarctica.

I hate him too.

At least he didn't age well.

It wasn't all doom and gloom though. I saw on Facebook that several former colleagues, the few I knew who still had full-time jobs, were let go in the past two weeks.

That cheered me up.

Not over their misfortune - I wouldn't wish any of this on anyone. But it reminded me that all of this misery wasn't because of some epic personal failure on my part. At least that's what I tell myself. The advertising business everywhere has just completely collapsed. After 20 years in the business, I now don't know a single art director or designer over the age of 30 who's gainfully employed.

But I couldn't dwell on it.

Revisions to the Port-A-Potty ad came in.

Baku #3

Four O'Clock

Evil ice cream truck!
Children of the neighborhood,
The bell tolls for thee.

The Hand That Feeds You

Bako is evidently not without it's cultural institutions. There's someplace here called the "California Living Museum".

Hmmm... it actually sounds intriguing... a whole museum dedicated to "California Living". This is an odd place for it, seeing as how it's more Kentucky than California. But whatever. I had images of Shag paintings - starlets sipping martinis at a smart cocktail party, poolside, high in the Hollywood Hills, the lights of the city stretchced out for miles. California Living, baby.

It goes by the acronym "CaLM".

Calm.

Sounds so soothing, no? Spa-like.

Well it was anything but over the weekend. A caged raccoon escaped and bit the fingers off a visitor.

Huh?

Caged raccoons? At a museum?

So I looked it up online. Turns out it's the friggin zoo. Get it? Living Museum. Idiots. Anytime they try and be clever here they botch it.

And now they've completely shattered my image of "California Living".

Because in Bako, "California Living" evidently means vermin.

It Was All A Blur...

We were watching a "True Crime" TV show the other night.

Come to think of it, that's kind of all we watch these days. (Except for last week when we watched "Transgendered And Pregnant", which was fabulous...).

I don't really know why we've gravitated to these types of shows, but if I had to venture a guess I'd say we enjoy watching people who's lives are more fucked up than ours right now. Sad but true.

At any rate, the show was about a woman who murdered her husband.

Killed him with a hatchet.

Hit him in the face.

Sixteen times.

She also stabbed him 21 times, with what they didn't say. But really, once you've been hatcheted in the face 16 times I think the stabbing is probably a little beside the point.

Self defense, she said. Battered wife. And she might have been able to pull it off if there wasn't that surveillance tape at Home Depot showing her buying the hatchet, a tarp, duct tape and some bleach.

At any rate, they did the obsequious jail house interview where they asked her...

"What was going through your head.... what do you remember?'

To which she replied, of course... "It was all a blur..."

Tell me about it honey.

I was just realizing today that a year ago it appeared we'd weathered the storm.

My business went into freefall the Summer of '08, and by November I wasn't working at all. The boyfriend was bracing for the layoffs soon to come and we entered the Christmas season dreading the worst.

But by last January it appeared we were out of the woods. He'd dodged the layoffs (or so we thought) , and I had more work than I could handle (all too briefly). We'd joke about it all some day, we said.

But it ends up it was all just the last, short, lift hill on the rollercoaster, the one that takes you up to the peak for the final, steepest, most terrifying drop.

Everything was gone in a matter of months.

It was all a blur.

I think about that a lot, late at night, unable to sleep.

Staring through the plastic mini-blinds at the dead trees outside our Bakersfield rental.

The Loneliest Day Of The Week

Recycling Day.

Ever since Mr. Electric Car moved away months ago we're the only recyclers for blocks.

Judging by the glares of the neighbors you'd think I'd wheeled the blue bin out wearing nothing but ass-less chaps.

Recycling, homosexuality, it's all the same to them.... deviant behavior.

Because I'm All About The Kids...

So I just got home and walked the dogs, and I couldn't help but note the hoodlums up to no good in the vacant lot, the one with the dead squirrels, across the street.

And they were all wearing Bakersfield High School garb...

"Home of the Drillers"

BRAINSTORM!

They need to market that shit on Gay.com.

Any gay site, actually... are you kidding me? Who wouldn't want to show up at a gay bar with a "DRILLERS" T-shirt?

Maybe product placement, in gay porn? TASTEFUL gay porn... we have standards. Stuff in locker rooms and detention. With hot teachers.

Just throwing things out, spitballing ideas. Thinking outside the box... that's how we do it in advertising.

Money is money, and, hey, it's for the kids, right?

Tatooine is the Bakersfield of Star Wars

I didn't make that up... it's a group on Facebook!

The things you find on Facebook.

As one of the members so succinctly explains it:

"Dusty barren wasteland?
Check.

Agricultural?
Check.

Rough bar scene?
Check.

Relatives guilt-tripping you into staying around when all your friends have already gone on to bigger and better places?
Check.

"If there's a bright center to the universe, then you're on the planet it's farthest from."
Substitute "planet" for "city" and we've definitely got a check."

Other Facebook Groups of note:

Bakersfield is Full Of White Trash

Bakersfield Sucks

Bakersfield French Haters

Bakersfield Tea Party

Bakersfield Couples for Girls (!)

Bakersfield Extreme Ironing (?)

Yes... I'm From Bakersfield

Please!....I Live in Bakersfield!

Bakersfield. Need I Say More

And finally...

You've Been Potty Trained (Bakersfield Chapter) (?!)