Where The Wind Comes Sweepin’ Down The Plain

I think a big part of the reason why this place is such an epic failure is the fact it's really nothing more than a faded, third generation copy of Oklahoma.

Call it... "BAKLAHOMA!". With an exclamation point - ask any marketer and they'll tell you an exclamation point adds excitement, and Lord knows this place can use all the help it can get.

There isn't anything inherently wrong with faded, third generation copies. A faded, third generation copy of San Francisco or New York would probably still be pretty interesting. The problem lies with the source material.

I mean, you have the same dust bowl agriculture as far as the eye can see. You have the same rusting oil economy. You have the same Hee Haw culture. You even have the same people - I see half a dozen Oklahoma license plates in just the immediate neighborhood, and during football season the houses are festooned with "OU" and "Sooner" pennants and flags. And yet absolutely none of it seems authentic.

But enough about that.

There's a reason you never see a "Top Ten Things To Do In Bakersfield" list, and that's because there's really only one thing to do here...

LEAVE.

Which is what we plan to do later this afternoon. I've learned not to get too excited about leaving for long weekends because it just makes the re-entry that much harder when you have to return.

There's always the chance this place might get wiped off the map while we're gone. Silly, I know. But if you don't have your dreams, what do you have?

As If There Were Any Doubt...

It's official! We're #1!

Or #67, if you want to get technical. Portfolio magazine ranked the 67 largest metropolitan areas of the United States, and just about any way you slice it, Bako is worst.

On the morning news they were interviewing people at a Starbucks about their feelings about being ranked Worst in the Nation. The most charitable comment they got was "Just because we're backwards doesn't necessarily make us worst".

Spoken like a true Bakerpudlian.

All Cows Go To Heaven

The other day I met up with a bunch of the locals I've been working with for a lovely lunch at a charming outdoor cafe in a quaint part of town...

Oh who am I kidding - it was a chain restaurant at the prison-like mall. But the lunch was, in fact, lovely. Nice people. Good conversation. The only Bako-ish moment came when one of the women was recounting her recent trip to upstate New York:

"Everything was so lush and green everywhere it really became monotonous. I really couldn't take it anymore..."

Yeah, who would want that when you can be surrounded by endless miles of parched wasteland?

At any rate, the conversation soon turned to the subject of the air we breathe and I was relieved to hear that even the locals think this place smells like shit. And then the woman to my right piped up...

"And it's really bad on the days they burn the cows..."

???????

Exsqueeze me?? "Burn the cows?"

Yup. It turns out that twice a month, Kern County allows the locals farmers to burn all their deceased livestock. Deceased livestock that's been sitting around rotting for two weeks, as the case may be. Funny - they apparently left that part out of the "Happy California Cows" commercials that run on TV. To be honest, the thought of dead livestock never really crossed my mind. I guess I just assumed they all when to the Great Golden Arches in the Sky.

It certainly puts a grim pall over your day when you head out the door and get hit with the smell. Now instead of thinking it's just cow shit and fertilizer, I'll be thinking of Auschwitz.

The Grand Finale

So I tuned in for the grand finale of LOST Sunday night, the night when ALL WOULD BE REVEALED. I'd been a pretty rabid fan for the first two seasons, but then I'd miss an episode here and there and be baffled the next week. And then when the time travel nonsense started it was "Check please..." But I became re-engaged for the final season and tuned in for the big finale, and I'm glad I did.

What I'm not glad about is that I watched it live. Oy vey.... the avalanche of commercials was beyond infuriating. Especially in the last hour when it seemed like you got one minute of program for every five minutes of ads.

*Spoiler Alert*

So it ends up they were in Purgatory all along. Six years in Limbo. I can relate to that. Six months in Bako feels like six years. But in the end, they finally saw the light and went to meet their Maker.

Just like our TV.

It gave up the ghost the very next day. Bought the farm. Kicked the bucket. It's gone for good this time I fear. It's... LOST.

And that wasn't the only thing. Just as soon as I wrote yesterday's post, my hard drive crapped out too. Twenty years of working on Macs and it was the first time I'd ever had that happen. I'm back up and running, a day's work and a thousand dollars... LOST.

Must be something about this place. There's death in the air.

Literally.

More on that tomorrow...

What About Bob?

Once again, Bako makes the national news, and once again, it's ridiculous.

They're opening a new Bob's Big Boy restaurant not far from where we live, and no sooner had they installed the iconic fiberglass Big Boy statue, it was stolen.

The theft doesn't really surprise me; this town is full of hooligans with nothing to do. What surprised me was that they were opening a new Bob's Big Boy restaurant. I didn't realize the chain still existed. There used to be one near my folks, but it closed in the 80's and I haven't seen one since. There's the shrine like, googie style one in Burbank, but the only reason it remained was the fact the city declared it a landmark and it can't be torn down.

At first I thought it was just another indicator that Bako is about 40 years behind the times, but then I realized that it's probably just the case of Bakersfield being the national petri dish for the big restaurant chains and the decision has been made to reboot the franchise.

At any rate, the stupid part of the story (as if it wasn't stupid enough) is that the restaurant now claims the theft will delay the grand opening.

Huh?

Someone needs to sit them down and explain to them that although the Big Boy statue carries a hamburger, he doesn't actually serve the food. I'm pretty sure they can open without him.

The Phantom Menace

We rarely go in the backyard anymore, especially since Mary launched her sonic offensive featuring KUZZ - "Bakersfield's Best Country Music!" So I have no idea when this went up. It's the latest addition to her ever expanding al fresco ICU unit, her line of defense against the non existent second hand smoke.

I'd hate to see all that hard work be for naught, so I lit a bunch of incense next to the fence.

Location, Location, Location

I picked up some work from a local realty company. Not a big deal. Once upon a time I did similar work back in LA, and once you've seen one realty listing, you've seen them all. Take an LA property, swap out "Beverly Hills adjacent" for "zoned for horses", change "city and ocean views" to "RV parking" and shave off half a million bucks and Voila!, Bakersfield.

There are some minor differences. I don't recall anyone in LA mentioning "paved roads"... that was kind of a given. And among the amenities I've never seen "has own well" listed.

Must be Bako's version of a "soaking tub".

Nothing But The Tooth

Just got back from dropping my dogs at the vet to get their teeth cleaned. They've needed to have it done for a long time but truth be told, we couldn't afford to send me to the dentist, let alone them. But then a couple weeks ago, my little one coughed up a tooth and we figured we had to find a way.

While I was checking them in, the nurse asked if they were up to date on their shots and if I knew when they'd had them.

September 12th, I told her.

She was surprised I knew the exact date and I explained that that was the day we moved to Bakersfield. I had boarded the dogs for the morning so the movers could pack up the house, and I'd had the vet get them up to date at the time.

"So why did you move to Bakersfield?" she asked.

She caught me off guard with the question and I sat there dumbfounded for a moment before replying...

"I wish I knew..."

CSI:Bako

The top story on the local news yesterday was the fact that Bako is number 3 in the nation for car theft (per capita). I have to admit that surprised even me.

But what intrigued me even more was the anchorwoman's intro...

"Tonight Bakersfield has the distinction of landing on yet another list of dubious achievements...."

Another?

Sure enough, google "worst +Bakersfield" and you'll discover that Bakersfield is among the ten worst cities for:

• Air quality
• Pollution
• Allergies
• Men's AND women's health issues
• High school dropout rates
• Real estate
• Transportation

And that's just the first two pages.

But back to the car thefts. Bako was beat out by Laredo, Texas and Modesto to the north of here. There's always next year Bako!

Is it just me, or does it seem like all these right wing, "law and order" cities seem to have more crime issues than their pansy ass, liberal neighbors? All I know from living here awhile is that there is an awful lot of mayhem going on for a city this size. Gang shootings, police shootings, drug dealing, carjacking...

I don't have kids, but if I did, I wouldn't want to raise them here. I'd move somehwere safer.

Like Detroit.

Let Us Spray

The property management company finally agreed to send out an exterminator and I was told to be home last Thursday between 2 and 3.

And sure enough, right at 2, Gomer showed up. I'll say this about these people, they're punctual.

Amiable but dense, he explained he'd be spraying the baseboards in the "problem" rooms.

"So which room are you having the problem in?"

Well, let's see.... all of them.

I asked him whether it was safe for the dogs, and he said yes. But he suggested we go outside while he was doing it because dogs get curious and tend to come up and try and sniff it as it's going down, which wouldn't be good.

So I wrangled up the dogs, poured a cup of coffee and grabbed the new Crate & Barrel catalog and went out on the back patio, taking a little break to look at all the nice things we can no longer afford. And no sooner had I put my reading glasses on, Gomer poked his head out and announce "All done."

All done?

"Yup."

The entire house?

"Yup."

In five minutes?

"Yup."

I asked him to indulge me and show me his technique. So he walked the perimeter of the room piddling out some pesticide every few feet, like a dog marking a bush.

Oh, OK. That'll work.

He said he'd get to work outside and I told him to go to town. Five minutes later the outside was "done" too. You get what you pay for and he was free, so, whatever.

But damn if it didn't work! For days we were cockroach free. I felt bad for doubting poor Gomer.

But this morning, they're back. Either it was the freak cool snap that sent them into hiding, or they've adapted to the pesticide. Whatever the case, it looks like they're here to stay.

If only I could adapt so easily.

If You Can't Beat Them, Friend Them

In what will either prove to be an act of shameless self-promotion or an indication of how much free time I have, take your pick, I started a Facebook page.

I know... Facebook. Oy. But there's no stopping it, so may as well jump on the bandwagon.

So... won't you be my friend?

Just look up "Eric N. Bako"... yes I now have a middle initial.

There's actually someone named "Eric Bako".

Poor dear.

Obsessive Compulsive Behavior

I need to have a little talk with the dog about his balls. I humored him at first, but it's really gotten out of control. Once he discovered the balls, it's like he can't think of anything else. He has balls on the brain.

The bottom line is he has way too many balls.

Over the past eight months we've settled on a handful of routes for our daily walks, and one of them takes us past some tennis courts. I rarely, if ever, see anyone playing, and yet the narrow lawn between the fence and the sidewalk is always littered with tennis balls.

I guess we can add "tennis" to the list of "Things People In Bakersfield Don't Do Well".

It was cute at first, my older male dog going mad for the balls. He'd get frantic at the sight of them, simply had to have one, try and fit several in his mouth and ultimately settle for one. He'd carry it for a block or two and then start a roving game of fetch by dropping it at my feet.

It was still cute a few days later. Sort of.

The problem is the minute we get home he looses all interest in his balls. Drops them in the foyer and never gives them another thought. And they've begin to kind of pile up, to the point that the living room now looks like a bad day at Wimbledon.

So we're going to have to have a little talk, me and him. He's going to have to adapt to a life without balls.

It won't be the first time.

Great Moments In Photojournalism

I've been accused of making up Roz. But here, for the first time, is irrefutable proof. Although it's not a picture of her, it's the next best thing... her lair. On the left, the black Vette with WLD ROZ plates, on the right, the yellow Explorer with GODDES plates.

Sure, it could be clearer, but I'm not going to die to get a shot. Now that I've seen her up close she kind of scares me.

With Twelve You Get Egg Roll

The good news is we finally found a decent Chinese restaurant that delivers.

The bad news is the boyfriend didn't understand the nuances and intricacies of the online menu.

So he ended up ordering us food for eight.

Truth be told, it was enough food for twelve or more, but it only came with eight fortune cookies, so I'm guessing that's how many people the restaurant thought they were feeding.

It arrived at the front door in three large grocery bags, delivered by a pudgy blonde gay boy. Go figure.

"Better get your stretchy pants on" he cheerfully suggested when he saw the shocked expression on my partner's face. And then he pranced away.

It was enough food to feed the Chinese army and we barely made a dent in it. We'll be eating it for days. By the time we finish it, someday Sunday I'm guessing, we'll be so burned out on Chinese it'll be a long, long time before we order it again.

Which is a shame. It's quite tasty. Of course, let's see if I feel the same way in three days.

May Madness

It's May Sweeps, the month where the TV ratings are monitored to set the ad rates for coming season. TV stations across the land usually try and goose their numbers by running all kinds of tabloid stories and stunts. In LA it usually meant an "in depth look" into sex clubs, or a five part series on boob jobs.

Things are a little tamer in Bako. We're currently in the middle of a five part series on "cool jobs".

So far they've profiled a trash picker at a recycling center and a street sweeper.

"Cool" is evidently a pretty low bar to clear here.

Oh, and there's an online contest to predict the first day we cross over 100 degrees.

Can't wait!

The Road To Recovery

The main road near our house didn't appear to be in bad shape, so I was surprised when a sign popped up a couple of months ago announcing that a major "road improvement" was set to begin May 3.

Expect delays, it warned.

Even worse, the project was being paid for by the "American Recovery and Reinvestment Act", otherwise known around these parts as the "Socialist Stimulus Package".

The same Stimulus money the Teabaggers protest when they rally downtown at the Liberty Bell.

Yes, there's a Liberty Bell.

A small one.

A really small one.

Like you find in the gift shop at Knott's Berry Farm, which is where it probably came from.

At any rate, the work started on May 3rd as advertised and I have to admit it's been a model of efficiency. It's been a minor inconvenience, but I've been impressed with how quickly they're getting it done. Score one for Bako.

Or so I thought.

This morning as I was leaving the house I noticed a familiar insignia on the safety vest of one of the workmen.

"City of Los Angeles Department of Transportation".

I first thought it must be a memento from a previous job, but then I noticed others wearing them. And a lot of the work trucks had "818" numbers on the license frames... the San Fernando Valley.

You've got to be kidding me... they're outsourcing public works? To other cities?

So that's the key to smaller local government? Pawning the work off on the neighbors?

Or maybe the powers that be just realized if you want something done right, you can't rely on the local talent.

I know I wouldn't.

UPDATE: Gotta love small town living. What would appear to me to simply be a lane closure on a surface street has now officially been christened a "TRAFFIC NIGHTMARE" by the local news. We have "full team coverage"!

They warn it may add "up to 5 minutes" to your commute".

They've clearly never been on the 405.

Cat Got My Tongue

I've been in such a funk lately I haven't been in much of a mood to write anything. Nothing's been able to cheer me up, not even the sight of Roz in a black spandex catsuit with knee-high leopard skin boots. With matching belt.

I see she's rockin' a new coif. Big Texas hair. Very Heather Locklear/Sammy Jo/Dynasty circa 1985. With highlights so bright you can see them from space.

The first thing that went through my mind when I saw her was "Dolly Parton as Catwoman".

Come to think of it, she does have a lot of cats.

OK, I'm starting to feel a little better.

Better Homes & Gardens

What the fine folk of Bako lack in sophistication, they make up for with style and flair.

Just look at this.

It's like it was ripped from the pages of "Martha Stewart Living".

It's A Miracle!

So I have a dirty little secret. We have TV.

We've actually had it for a week, but I was reluctant to write about it for fear of jinxing it. Because, you see, it's the old TV, risen from the dead.

Hallelujah!

We actually went a week without it. I thought we'd just go out and buy a new one, but the boyfriend has suddenly morphed into "Mr. Thrifty" and claimed we couldn't afford it. I offered to skip a car payment to cover it. I figured my credit is already shot from the loss of the house, so I had nothing more really to lose. Besides, they wouldn't repossess a car for just one missed payment, would they? I have to admit my financial judgements lately haven't been what you would call "spot on".

So we soldiered on for a week without TV. I took to turning the stereo to "Radio Free Bakersfield", the NPR station out of Fresno, for news from the outside world and their bizarre lineup of evening programs. The strangest of all was "The Jefferson Hour", an hour long show where an "actor" and "Jefferson scholar" was "interviewed" about current events, answering everything based on the writings of Jefferson. Who knew Jefferson had an opinion on broadband? You'll just have to take their word for it.

With the current state of the economy, me and the dogs huddled around the radio, and the boyfriend in the kitchen cooking by candlelight (we still have no lights in the kitchen), it was like a magical trip back to The Depression. You half expected FDR to come on each night and tell us we had nothing to fear but fear itself.

But then we remembered we had a shitty little TV in storage. It used to sit in my office, but the picture quality was so fuzzy it was like watching TV underwater and we had abandoned it. But now it would have to do. It was better than nothing, even if it did give you a frightening glimpse into a future with cataracts.

So the boyfirend decided to hook it up, and pulled the old dead flatscreen away from the wall to access the jungle of cables behind it and...

The damn thing just came on!

We have absolutely no idea how or why and we don't care.

We just assumed it would be short-lived, but every day it pops back up. It's at a 30 degree angle from the wall, but we're afraid to move it. We operate it from the remote for fear of touching it and breaking the magical spell that resurrected it. It doesn't make for optimal viewing, unless you're lying on the dining room floor. But I'm not complaining. As Tyra Banks says on "America's Next Top Model"... it's all about working the angles.

The New Coke

I've been doing a lot of soul searching the last couple of days regarding my career. Or rather, the tattered remains of what once was my career. I've come to the point where I decided that maybe it was time to just throw in the towel. But then I realized there isn't much left to throw the towel in on. Advertising, as I knew it, is on life support. It was jumped in a dark alley, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die in a gutter.

By Marketing.

They aren't the same, advertising and marketing. "Advertising" was known as "The Art of Persuasion", and like any art it required talent. To produce good advertising you needed to be a writer, or producer, or designer. You had to be clever and conceptual. To have ideas. You had to be a showman (or woman).

In a word, you had to be creative.

For years now it's been portrayed as a sexy profession. From "Bewitched" to "Thirtysomething", it was the cool, hip, exciting job. Of course, they never actually showed anyone doing anything. Just hanging out in stylish offices in converted warehouses, kicking back in designer furniture, throwing pencils at the ceiling. That looked like fun! Everyone wanted to do it.

But there was that talent thing. Couldn't do advertising without talent.

Well how fair is that? That's discrimination! What about all the talentless people?

Well, for them we'll create... "Marketing".

In marketing, you don't actually have to produce anything. You don't need to actually create ads. All you need is an opinion on advertising. An opinion you're willing to share with just about everyone. Loudly. An opinion that you can place into flowcharts and graphs and PowerPoints and Venn diagrams.

But who's going to pay for that?

Nobody. So we need to confuse them. With words. Lots and lots of words. Meaningless words. Made up words. Take... "brand". Let's make it a verb... "branding". It sounds important, yes? And it's a whole new billable category!

In fact, let's bill by the word. Whereas the goal of "advertising" is to get someone to "buy something", the goal of "marketing" is to talk about "robust, world-class visual solutions, and benchmarking the metrics to incent your audience to become stakeholders and create a positive end-user experience". See! That's 12 times as many words! And we didn't have to create a thing! Bill 'em for it!

So now it's about "providing a customer-centric pro-active solution" and "being a next-generational player". It's about being "strategically focused on a go-forward plan" and "creating a value proposition based on maximizing synergies." We now strive to "be first to market with leveraged, value-added deliverables". We're all about "creating the opportunity space on a level playing field" and "monetizing scalable supply chains" with "seamless integration". String it all together with some pointless metaphors like "skating to where the puck's going to be" and "blocking and tackling". Because, "at the end of the day", you have to "push the envelope until it's outside the box".

What does all that mean? Beats the hell out of me. Who cares? You could bill that last paragraph for $15K.

But wait... we still don't have an ad campaign, and the budget is all gone. What will we do?

Easy. We'll "borrow equity from an existing brand and trade on past emotional responses".

In other words, just rip off that iPod ad that won all those awards.

Or better yet, have the interns bang out something hip. They know what the kids like.

We'll be at lunch.

Don't believe me? Check out this. That's $50 million you're looking at right there.

Even I have to admire the chutzpah. Linking the new Pepsi logo to the Mona Lisa? With a straight face? And getting someone to pay for it? That's pretty amazing. Maybe marketers aren't so uncreative after all?

The best thing about marketing is there is absolutely no failure and no shame. The same agency behind the Pepsi logo was also tasked with "rebranding" Tropicana Orange Juice, for an equal price. Armed with reams of mission statements, and position papers, and PowerPoints and focus groups, they launched the "rebrand"and within a month, sales fell 25%. Panic set in and within six weeks they'd reverted to all the old packaging in an attempt to stop the freefall. And do you think the agency gave back the $50 million?

All I know is that now the only thing that matters is process and strategy. The end product is often superfluous and an afterthought. And it shows. But who cares? No one really. With the software that's widely available, everyone has a nephew in high school that can do what I do for $15 an hour. Or so I'm constantly told. Worse still, there are millions of people spread out across every third world country with the same software, willing to do the job for $15 a day. And they're all just a mouse click away from Madison Avenue.

I'd held out dim hope over all these long months, but over the weekend came the final blow. I received my latest issue of "Communication Arts". It's been the bible of the commercial art field for decades and it's the only magazine I still subscribe to. And there, in a lengthy editorial, was the eulogy. They rather bluntly admitted that it wasn't possible to make a living being a graphic designer anymore. The only way to survive was to "become a strategic partner with your clients in assessing their branding needs".

To become a... "marketer".

Oy vay.

Well, good luck with that. It's not like I haven't tried. To a certain degree I saw this coming and I tried to drink the kool-aid, to cross over to the Dark Side. But my bullshitting skills, while more than adequate for advertising, simply weren't up to the task for marketing. That, and I could never keep a straight face in marketing presentations.

So, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. No use crying over spilled Pepsi. Time to figure out what's next.

Time to "rebrand" myself.

¡Cinco de Mayo!

I actually heard this a couple of weeks ago, back when we had TV, and it had slipped my mind until now. They were doing a report on unemployment in the area and they reported that for April the unemployment rate here was 17%. Which was appalling enough, but then the reporter cheerfully added...

"But it could be worse. If we included farm labor, the unemployment rate would actually be around 32%!"

Well heavens! We wouldn't want to count THOSE people. The people who put all the food on our plate. The people who generate all those billion dollar profits for big agribusiness. THOSE people.

And yet, I'm sure everyone will be out doing shots of tequila tonight celebrating Cinco de Mayo. Viva Mexico.

Seeing Pink

To the casual observer, there sure do appear to be a lot of pink Mary Kay cars in this city. I'd seen maybe three in my lifetime before moving here, but now a week doesn't go by that I don't see one tooling about town.

I bet you $10 each one has a trunk full of Mona Vie too.

These people sure do loooove multi-level marketing. I also see a lot of Amway decals. Do they all just spend their evenings selling each other crap? It would appear so.

I wonder if they still do Tupperware parties here, because we could definitely use some. Something for the tuna/tot casserole leftovers.

Gotta make those food dollars stretch.

Another Day, Another Roach

The boyfriend snapped Friday night.

We had turned out the lights when suddenly he bolted out of bed in a cloud of F-bombs.

Roaches.

In the bed.

He immediately called the management company and left a nasty, curse laden message that was so vicious it sounded like... me.

The next morning he called them again, and the helpful drone who answered the phone explained that they would see what they could do, but that part of the problem was the City of Bakersfield regularly sprays the sewer system for roaches, forcing them up out of everyone's drains.

Come again?

They spray the sewers for roaches?

God forbid there would be cockroaches in the sewer! That would be unsanitary! Better to force them into everyone's home.

I swear this place makes absolutely no sense.

Reading Is Fundamental

I was in the pharmacy, trying to pick up a prescription, hopelessly stuck in line behind a woman baffled by the checkout process.

You know, the usual.

And then I noticed a nearby display of books labeled "Bakersfield's Bestsellers".

So people here can read. Oops, I mean "do" read. Freudian slip.

The "bestsellers" on display offered an interesting glimpse into the Bako psyche.

Number 1 was "Socially Smart in 60 Seconds". Honey, listen, I've been here long enough to know 60 DAYS would be wildly optimistic, but have at it.

Number 2 was "30 Days To Taming Your Tongue". I find this curious because no one here cusses. The worst I've heard is "sweet mother of pearl" and "shut the front door". I, on the other hand, drop F-bombs right and left, which is why I've found it best not to talk when I'm out in public. Still, there must be a market for it. Maybe a pack of smack-talking malcontents I've yet to run across. I'll have to keep an eye out for them - I'd probably fit right in.

Number 3 was "Setting Boundaries For Adult Children", which makes sense if books number 1 and 2 didn't work. No one wants a bunch of ill-mannered, potty-mouthed adult children running around without boundaries.

Number 4 was 'Against All Odds: My Story by Chuck Norris". Because, really, you can't get enough valuable life lessons from "Walker, Texas Ranger".

Number 5 was "The Big Book of Church Jokes". I think this one's a trap. A test of faith. Buy this book and you'll be branded a heretic and reported to the authorities and find an angry mob at your door ready to run you out of town on a rail.

And number 6 was "Sanity Secrets for Stressed Out Women". You want to know a sanity secret? Move the hell out of Bakersfield! All the same, maybe I'll have to give this one a look.

Psych Ops

I was in our postage stamp sized back yard last week and I was afraid I had finally cracked.

I was hearing voices.

Shania Twain, to be exact.

I'm not sure which was scarier - that I thought I was hearing it, or that I actually recognized who it was.

But it turns out I'm not losing it, it really was her, on the radio, playing so quietly you could barely hear her it.

And it was coming from next door.

From Mary.

Oh Lord, what fresh hell was this? We'd grown somewhat immune to her antics, the random thuds and pounding on the wall, the midnight vacuuming. It was like people who live near the airport and never hear the planes after awhile. And now, country music.

But then I heard a rustling of her mangy dogs from the other side of the fence and it occurred to me I hadn't seen her PT Cruiser in awhile. In fact, she'd rolled her trash bins out days before pickup, which was unlike her. She must be away, and she left the radio on outside, low, to comfort the dogs in her absence. How uncharacteristically sweet of her. We actually do the same with our dogs when we know we're going to be gone awhile, although we leave it on classical. Wouldn't want the dogs to turn stupid. I actually felt a little guilty for assuming the worst of her.

But if we've learned anything about Mary it's to never giver her the benefit of the doubt. She returned the next day, but the country music persists. It's been on 24/7 now for over a week, and every day the volume seems to get ratcheted up just a teeny tiny little bit.

She's fucking with us.

I'm assuming her goal is to make being outside uncomfortable, to keep us from smoking. If true, it's rather pointless - we grew tired of her regular performances of "Second Hand Smoke Dinner Theater" and once the weather turned cold we just started smoking in the house. Fuck it, it's a rental.

So she has no reason to do what she does other than pure spite, which is apparently her M.O. with everyone. She shares a driveway with a duplex on the opposite side. She can easily park her car in her empty two car garage, or on the street, but every day she positions her car in the middle of the driveway, as close to the center line as possible. She parks directly opposite her neighbor's garage door and it forces them to execute a 36 point turn just to leave the house. As far as I can tell, the only reason she does it is because she can.

What a bitter, miserable person.

If I might be so bold as to paraphrase Shania... that don't impress me much. Bitch.