Bako Bits

Here are some fun facts about Bakersfield. Feel free to casually drop them into your next cocktail party conversation:

• It's the 9th largest city in California and the 51st largest city in the United States.

• Bakersfield is the 8th most conservative city in the nation.

• In 1851, gold was discovered along the Kern River in the southern Sierra Nevada, and in 1865, oil was discovered in the valley. The Bakersfield area, once a tule-reed-covered marshland, was first known as Kern Island to the handful of pioneers who built log cabins there in 1860. The area was subject to flooding from the Kern River, which occupied what is now the downtown area, and experienced outbreaks of malaria

• At its founding ceremony in 1869, it was named Bakersfield to honor Colonel Thomas Baker. The area's name changed from Kern Island to Baker's Field.

• Bakersfield is one of the sunniest cities in the U.S. (just behind Yuma, Arizona and Palm Springs, California).

• According to the 2010 census, there were 347,483 people, 83,441 households, and 60,995 families residing in Bakersfield.

• It is estimated by local officials that Bakersfield and its outlying suburbs will reach a population of over one million people by 2020.

• Bakersfield has more jails than colleges.

• Bakersfield is home to the largest carrot producing operations in the world.

• Every year during the summer, Bakersfield hosts the Lowrider National in the Kern County Fairgrounds.

• 125th largest television market on the nation.

• In addition to Buck Owens and Merle Haggard, Bakersfield was the birthplace of rock groups Korn and RIOT!

• Bakersfield is a Sister City to Minsk, Belarus.

• For three months in 1949, George H.W. Bush and his family, including George W. Bush lived in East Bakersfield.

• Famous residents include: Brandon Cruz, who played "Eddie" on "The Courtship of Eddie's Father" and is a recovering addict, Prussian Blue, famous White Nationalists, Rodolfo Cadena- Rudy "Cheyenne" Cadena, one of the founders of the Mexican Mafia and Justin Berry, former teenage webcam pornographer.

• The movie The Running Man opens with the Bakersfield Food Riots, where Arnold Schwarzenegger's character is framed as "The Butcher of Bakersfield."

• Cast Away, starring Tom Hanks, has a porta-potty outhouse wall that says Bakersfield on the side.

• Any reference to Bakersfield by the writer Stephen King usually does not end up in a positive light.

Til Death Us Do Part

I was tempted to get up at 1am to watch the Royal Wedding, just not enough to actually do it. I figured they'd be re-running it endlessly all morning, and I was right. It looks like it was a lovely affair. I was amused that the two newlyweds promised to love each other "for richer or poorer". I'm pretty sure "for poorer" isn't going to be much of a concern. But good for them.

I am a sucker for all the pomp and pageantry, and luckily there's no shortage of it here. In just a few months, we'll be crowning a new Rodeo Queen. Can't wait!

Four Simple Words

The boyfriend made the drive into LA yesterday for a couple of doctors appointments. I was planning on accompanying him, but just had too many deadlines to escape for the day.

We originally kept our LA doctors because our belief was that our stay in Bako would be brief. Embarrassing, but brief. Like Lindsay Lohan in rehab. Even when that proved not to be the case, we still did it. If you saw all the local doctors hawking their wares on TV like used car salesmen, you'd understand.

We both miss LA desperately and driving back is always so heartbreaking. You can't help but be consumed by thoughts of what once was and might have been. And you notice everything that's changed and you realize that the city is moving on without you.

He took the opportunity while he was there to drop by some old friends and stop for lunch at one of our favorite neighborhood restaurants. And it was there that that the reality of our changed lives really hit home, because it was there that the waiter spoke those four magical words...

"Would you like anchovies?"

The boyfriend almost broke down in tears.

Because, you see, not only can you not get anchovies in Bako, they've never even heard of them here.

"Come again? An... what?"

Since the boyfriend is quite fond of Caesar salads, and you can't have a proper Caesar salad without anchovies, it's been a particular loss. Ask for anchovies in Bakersfield and they'll look at you like you just ordered yak. It was the highlight of his trip and the first thing he mentioned when he got home.

And that's the thing about Bakersfield. On paper, it probably doesn't look that bad, but once you live hear it's like death by a thousand paper cuts. When it comes right down to it, it's the little things in life that make it worth living.

Like little, little fish.

Cirque du Freak

Some of my previous posts may have left the impression I'm some kind of online Luddite. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My only issues, really, are with Facebook. I honestly just don't get it. Sure, there's the initial thrill of reconnecting with old friends from high school and college, but then you quickly realize there's a reason you haven't spoken to them in twenty years. I don't really care what I had for breakfast, so why would I give a fuck what everyone else had? With pictures!

"Mmmmm.... Grand Slam Breakfast at Dennys!"

In Utah. You'll be unsurprised to know they look exactly the same there as here.

Give me a break.

You can spend hours weeding through all the farms and Mafias and videos of giggling babies and piano playing cats and petitions and be left exhausted and none the wiser.

But finally I've found something on Facebook I can whole heartedly recommend. My friend in LA, Lou Beach, noted artist and illustrator and all around raconteur, has started writing short stories.

Really short stories.

420 characters long to be exact.

It seems that 420 characters is the maximum limit you can write in your Facebook status update. Including spaces. So almost every day, Lou starts a new story in his status update. You get the first 420 characters of the story, and then that's it. It's up to you to finish it in your own imagination, because the next day, he'll have a new story. Or the beginning of one. You don't even have to read them yourself - he has audio clips of his high powered friends reading them. People like Jeff Bridges. Do check it out, won't you?

But back to me. Me, me, me. Rather than being web averse, I realized a long time ago I needed to beef up my online presence. It actually could be a tremendous opportunity. If, as they say, "In space, no one can hear you scream", than it's equally true that "Online, no one needs to know I live in Bako". If I can get my work out there and get clients from the online world, than I no longer have to prop up the house of cards charade that I still live in LA, which coincidentally almost came crashing down yesterday when one of my big LA clients called a sudden meeting. To them it was no big deal, because they still think I live a few miles away. I had to do some fancy footwork to get it changed to a conference call. So, making a bigger footprint online has become a priority.

Then the question becomes... where? There are thousands of online professional sites and portfolio portals and it would be impossible to try and join even a fraction of them. So, to get a better idea of where to go, I started stalking. Most of my former colleagues and co-workers are struggling to keep their heads above water just like me. But a few of them are doing OK. Better than OK, actually. So I selected a handful of them and have been stalking their online world, seeing which sites they belong to, what services they use, which appear to be effective, which appear to be a waste of time or simply too much effort. And after a couple of months I had compiled a list and finally set off to make a splash online.

Some, I was already involved with. I beefed up my Facebook business page. Yes, I have one. Not happy about it, but it's all but required these days. Same with my Linked In profile, although I long ago became convinced that the only people "Linked" are all unemployed. And then I went on a joining spree... Coroflot, Creattica, Behance, Tumblr, Flickr, Twitter... on and on and on. I even started another blog, a "nice" one.

It's a full-time job keeping it all up to date, and often, after the boyfriend goes to bed, I'm up until the wee hours trying to keep all the plates in the air.

And then there was Deviantart.

I have to admit I thought it was a bit dodgy. It evidently started as a geek site for people to post their unicorn paintings and Kirk/Spock erotic fiction. But it's evolved over time to be a portfolio site, and all the people I was following had a page. So I figured what the hell.

So late one night, I opened an account and started uploading my work.

And the weirdest thing happened.

I noticed in my account mail box I had several "likes". Actually, as soon as I uploaded a piece, someone "liked it". Not only that, but each piece was being added to someone's "favorites".

Well, how flattering is that? What a nice little ego boost. Somebody out there likes me! And my work! The commissions are going to start rolling in!

Being new to the system, I didn't realize at first I could check out who my fans are. But once I did, I discovered all the "likes" and "favorites" were for the same person. Whoever could it be?

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my Number One Fan...

"Mr. Kitty Cosplay".





He lives in Australia.

It's nice to know I'm big Down Under.

I have to admit, it's given me pause. I had convinced myself that jumping through all these hoops would be our ticket out of here but now I'm starting to believe it's all just one big circus. Or giant Fairy Forest, if you're into that sort of thing.

At any rate, I hope something comes of all the effort. I don't think I can take much more crushing disappointment.

Here Come The Sludge

Last night on the news they had a report that was both disturbing and more than a little ominous.

It was about sludge.

Sludge is the byproduct of the water treatment process. It's referred to as "Biosolids", but you probably know it better by it's common name, "shit". Human shit. For decades Los Angeles had been trucking it's sludge up here and paying the powers that be to discretely get rid of it. The locals spread it over the fields as fertilizer and placed helpful signs like the one above.

Remember that the next time you order a salad.

Then there was a lawsuit to stop the practice, probably filed by some wacko tree-hugging hippies. It took years to wend it's way through the courts, with LA kicking and screaming the entire time.

I remember the coverage when the suit was finally lost. They interviewed representatives from LA, who were understandably upset. They have a lot of shit, and now what were they going to do with it? But then they interviewed some local officials. I expected they would be jubilant that they had won, but they weren't. Not by a long shot.

"We make a lot of money off that sludge" said one. "That's gonna be a huge loss of revenue".

I can't say I'm surprised. In Bako, making a quick buck trumps all other considerations. I figured it was only a matter of time before they came up with some crazy scheme to keep all their sludge money. And watching the news last night, I think I may have glimpsed the future of sludge.

As "spa treatments".

Last night on the news was a glowing report out of Azerbaijan. Yes, Azerbaijan. Known the world over for forward thinking. It profiled a "resort" in Azerbaijan which is famous for it's "sludge treatments". And it isn't just a beauty thing. According to the Azerbaijanis, the sludge is a miracle cure for everything from arthritis to zits. They showed toothless Azerbaijanis slathering themselves in sludge and bathing in the muck up to their necks. According to this report, it's way better than Glen Ivy Hot Springs.

They cut back to the bubbly local anchors who were giddy with the news.

"Who would have ever thought sludge could be so good for you?!? Imagine that, sludge! A miracle cure! For everything!"

I'm not buying it. I think it's the first salvo in a propaganda campaign to condition the locals to love sludge. If they can't spread it on the fields, they'll spread it on the people. I expect to see a raft of new "day spas" opening in the coming months.

But even if every man, woman and child of Bako was dipped in sludge, I can't imagine it would make a dent in the supply coming out of LA. Which to me, means only one thing... packaged beauty products.

Oh sure, laugh all you want. But the next time you're in Bed, Bath & Beyond and you see "Buck Owens' Relaxing Facial Mud Mask", don't say you weren't warned.

Up In Smoke

After my unpleasant teabagger experience in the grocery sytore a few weeks ago, I've gone back to buying my smokes at the corner gas station. Or attempting to. Because if you go to the corner gas station, you're going to have to deal with Tracy.

Tracy is a late 20's black girl with attitude. And a magical, shapeshifting weave. No matter how many times you go in, you'll never see the same look twice. She's aptly named because she looks and sounds just like Tracy Morgan in drag. Technically, she's a cashier, but there's little chance you'll be seeing any of that going on since she's always on the phone.

She talks about her kids and her mother and her girlfriends and her nights on the town. If you attempt to speak to Tracy you'll get her open palm in your face telling you to back off. If you persist, she'll break her conversation and tell you to wait "until I finish my story." If that story involves her no-good boyfriend Deshawn, you might as well just cut your losses and leave. Often times a small line will form at the register, and once it gets to be about three or four people long, she will end her phone call. Then she'll slap down a "this register closed" sign and announce to everyone she has to pee and disappear into the back. Again, you're better off leaving at that point. On the extremely rare occasions she isn't on the phone, she'll be admiring her reflection in the side of the slurpee machine and fussing with her weave. The end result is the same - to Tracy, you don't exist.

If she likes you, and I think she likes me, and the transaction is simple, like a pack of smokes, and the stars are aligned, she'll give it a go. But she won't be happy about it as she stabs the register with the eraser end of a pencil so as not to mess up her three inch acrylic nails. French tips.

One time I walked in on the tail end of an altercation. There was a middle aged Bako housewife at the counter and she was apoplectic. Her face was bright red and her veins and eyes were bulging. Her Bakerdoo was vibrating with rage.

"I demand to speak to the manager" she said.

"Now why you wanna go and do that?" said Tracy.

The woman persisted.

"Well, duh, he's not here" Tracy responded.

The woman exploded and demanded Tracy get the manager or owner on the phone immediately.

"Whatever..." said Tracy as she dialed the phone.

"This is Tracy at #136 and there's some crazy woman demanding to talk to you" she said when the phone was answered. She handed the woman the phone and the woman launched into a laundry list of the insults and rudeness and unprofessionalism she'd had to deal with. Tracy went to the side of the slurpee machine and whipped out a pick. After the woman had vented, she appeared to be getting the apology she deserved from the manager or owner on the other end of the line. She nodded her head several times and then handed the phone back to Tracy.

"He wants to talk to you" the woman said.

Tracy took back the receiver and from several feet away I could hear her boss start screaming. But Tracy simply reached around, without looking, and hung up the phone.

"Do you feel better now?" she sarcastically asked the woman.

"Well, that's it for Tracy" I thought. "She's finished now".

When I went back last week I see she's now assistant manager.

Not that it really matters. I won't have to deal with her for long. The boyfriend and I decided to finally quit smoking. It seems that lately almost everyone in our lives has brought it up and begged us to stop. "It's bad for you health, you'll shave 20 years off your life" they say. I know they mean well, but I live in Bakersfield and that actually doesn't sound half bad. But over the weekend, my mother implored us. After all her recent health issues and the sad, untimely death of a relative who smoked, it finally hit a nerve and we decided enough is enough.

The boyfriend had previously scheduled a doctor's check-up this Wednesday with our primary care physician back in LA. I know it seems silly driving all that way to see a doctor, but better safe than sorry. I'm sure the Third World doctors here are lovely people, but there are just too many stories on the news about wrong limbs amputated and wrong organs removed.

I'm going to try and tag along and see if we can get a prescription for Chantix. We've tried just about everything else. They say there's an itsy bitsy chance you'll turn suicidal, but living in Bakersfield, I'm not sure we'd notice.

The Long Road Home

I have to admit, it's getting easier.

It used to be when we returned from a weekend away we were both in tears by the time we got to the city limits.

Then, for a long time, it was just a shellshocked numbness, like we were returning to prison from a weekend furlough.

But today I found myself relieved to get home. And by "home", I mean the place we keep all our crap. Home may be where the heart is, but there's little chance of me leaving mine in Bako. And by "relieved", I mean three hours with two hot, squirmy dogs on you lap in the car is too much.

But all the same, I was surprised at how happy I was to be back.

That in itself may be a bad sign. It's a little worrying.

Sunday Inspiration

Party In The Back

I just returned from my favorite hair salon, SuperCuts.

And extremely attractive kid, with a full mane of hair walked in.

His name was Kyle, and as they walked him back to a chair they asked him what he wanted.

"Mullet".

And he wasn't kidding.

Never in a million years did I ever picture myself living somewhere where not only was a mullet not ridiculed, it was desirable.

Not So Bad Friday

I have to admit that lately I've been fortunate. Ever since I returned from my unexpected sabbatical, caring for my mother in February, I've been pretty much swamped with work. Which is a good thing, seeing as how the State of California didn't take kindly to my absence. I wasn't getting my mail and didn't return my unemployment forms in a timely matter, and when I returned, they had cut me off.

But not to worry. The day after I returned, I picked up a really great local client and the work has been steady ever since. And the best thing about them is they pay quickly. I turn in an invoice and two days later, I get a check. It's like magic. I'm used to waiting four months to be paid, so it's a little disorienting. I've picked up some other local work, but if I can just score a couple other large clients we may actually start being OK.

I still get the occasional project out of Hollywood, but at this point it's really nothing more than an afterthought. That industry is still reeling from the one/two punch of the recession and the sudden and drastic switch from traditional advertising to the online space. Although many say the economy is showing signs of recovering, in the Hollywood ad world the carnage continues unabated. Just last Friday, one of the oldest and largest agencies unexpectedly closed their doors, dumping over 100 competitors into an already over-saturated freelance market.

There have been a couple of unfortunate side effects of my relatively recent success.

For one, I think I'm becoming agoraphobic.

I almost never leave the house. All my work is handled online, all my communication with the outside world through e-mail. Projects are uploaded and downloaded without any human interaction. I sit in my little office cave and seldom leave. Oh sure, I still walk the dogs. It's the only time I actually see the sun. But those are just little quick spins around the neighborhood and usually the only soul we see is Jim weaving around the neighborhood on his beach cruiser, Jack and coke in hand. Actually, the only time I venture out into the real world is for a random run to the market or my daily trip to the corner gas station for smokes. In fact, if I didn't smoke, I might go days without any human interaction. It puts me in an odd position: if I continue to smoke, I'll probably die of lung cancer. But is I quit, I'll probably go insane. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

That's not to discount the boyfriend. Of course I see him every evening. But he works such long hours, when he comes home in the evening he isn't much the conversationalist. It's usually a dinner of Helper, a little TV and then off to bed. We try an make up for it on the weekends, but it still leaves the weekdays pretty lonesome.

Which brings up the other side effect: I'm quickly losing my social skills. With no human interaction, I now get frazzled on the rare occasion the phone rings. On a day to day basis, the only people I talk to, and they're people to me, are the dogs. Needless to say, the way you speak to dogs and the way you speak to adult humans is demonstratively different, and at the rate I'm going I run the risk of telling one of my clients he's a "good boy".

Luckily, I'll get a chance to re-enter polite society and refresh my skills this weekend. We're blowing out of town later today to spend Easter with the family. I suppose that means I'll have to shave and ditch my casual Unibomber work look. I'm sure the boyfriend will appreciate that. Easter is the time of rebirth, and for me that means getting reacquainted with shoes.

Random Good Things About Bakersfield #15

The cost of living.

It's still a little shocking how much our income has dropped in the past three years, fresh in the mind having just done our taxes. Softening the blow just a bit is the cost of living here. There's just no getting around the fact that Bakersfield is a crazy cheap place to live if you want to live in California.

The mortgage on our new home is several hundred dollars less than what we were paying in rent a few months ago. And the rent then was about the same as I paid for my LA apartment... back in 1991. In fact, our mortgage now, on a three bedroom home, is about one sixth of the mortgage on our much smaller home in LA.

Obviously, if we still lived in LA, owning a home would be out of the question. We'd have to rent. But our current mortgage is still probably about a quarter the cost of a lease on an apartment in a decent part of town. So my morbid curiosity got the better of me and the other day I went to Craigslist to determine where in LA we'd currently be living for this price.

Before I even started, I took an educated guess. It seemed pretty clear we'd have to live in some of the less savory neighborhoods of Greater LA.

I guessed Watts. Or Compton.

I went to Craigslist and entered our current mortgage as our maximum rent and... I was wrong.

We couldn't afford Watts!

Out of our price range. Yikes.

So I kept looking.

I did find quite a few located in Koreatown, but something about them all seemed a little fishy. They gave no addresses and the descriptions of the units were unbelievably vague. And strangest of all, they were all managed by the same person... "Mr. Ji." Something tells me Mr. Ji is up to no good. Fill out a rental application for Mr. Ji and you'll probably find yourself imprisoned in a downtown sweatshop. Or shipped off to Korea as a mail order bride.

After looking over the listings, it would appear that the only places we could afford to live for this price are the barrio of East LA or out near the auto salvage yards in the industrial wasteland part of the Valley. As bad as Bakersfield is, I tend to believe either of those choices would be considerably worse. At least here, we don't have to deal with cockfighting. At least not in this neighborhood.

So all in all, if your choices are either living in Bakersfield, or renting a room in a crackhouse in LA, I'd have to choose Bakersfield.

Especially when you factor in the bonuses. Because when we bought a home a Bakersfield, we didn't just get a house. We also got all the Modern Marvels the 70's had to offer...



Like a trash compactor!

How is it I've lived this long never knowing the joys of a trash compactor? Let me tell you - once you compact, you never go back. A whole week's worth of trash, in one densely packed, unbelievably heavy bag! And it worked out well since we gave up on recycling. Not by choice, mind you - after four months, the city still hasn't delivered a blue bin. Not that it would matter; I've yet to ever see the recycling truck even trundle down the street.

I got the hang of it pretty quick. There are, of course, some "Do's" and "Don'ts". You shouldn't put glass in for obvious safety reasons. Nothing like trying to haul out a relatively thin plastic bag full of shards of broken glass. Although, I have to admit, if I'm in a bad mood, I sometimes do it anyway just to hear it shatter. And you have to watch what foodstuffs you put in it. I discovered leftover pasta is a bad idea. That's a mess I never want to have to clean up again.

And then there's the midrowave! Sorry - "Radar Range"!

It looks like Mr. Peabody's Wayback Machine. No buttons here, it's all elaborate dials. It's so old it appears nobody knew how to work it. When we looked at the house it had a big sticker on it saying "Does Not Work", but the boyfriend quickly figured it out and it works just fine. At least I think it does. Although I suspect every time I heat up a cup of coffee I'm getting a chest X-ray. I'll be watching the news and a report will come on about radiation in Japan and I just eye the "Radar Range" suspiciously.

So all things being considered, in our current circumstances, we could do worse than Bakersfield. Never thought I'd ever say that. For once Bakersfield comes out on top.

Compared to living in a cardboard box off the 101 Freeway, it's a winner.

Holy Moly

I'm going to date myself, but back when I was a kid we traditionally had this week off for Easter Break.

Not "Spring" Break... EASTER Break.

Everybody knew why they were getting the week off, and nobody made any bones about it : JESUS

Sure, people still took the opportunity to go on vacation, but it was clear it was courtesy of Our Lord and Savior.

Then, somewhere along the line, the communist, socialist, feminist, homosexual atheists made a stink and it was renamed "Spring Break". Once it was decoupled from the holiday, schools started scheduling just as they pleased and "Spring Break" stopped being any one actual week. My niece and nephew are both in college; she was off three weeks ago, he had last week off. This week they're back in classes and not even coming home for the weekend. Even when I started working, we still were given Good Friday off. I don't even remember when that was dropped, it was so long ago. So "Spring Break" has lost all it's religious significance and is now more about doing jello body shots down in Cabo.

Of course, being gay, the week still had some religious significance. It's the week of the White Party down in Palm Springs, a four day bacchanalia of dance parties, pool parties, casual sex, booze and an entire alphabet of recreational drugs. In the right combination, it could truly be a religious experience.

Or, so I've heard.

Actually, I haven't done the White Party in ten years, but I have fond memories of it. Not a lot of memories, but the ones I have are fond. The week usually caps off with a surprise superstar performance. One year it was Madonna. At least that's what we were told - no one in my group could remember the next day. Another year it was JLo. I think it was JLo. My eyes were vibrating so much I had a hard time focusing. Ah, wasted youth. In more ways than one. But I digress...

So, the point of this post was how Easter Week had kind of lost it's punch and wasn't any big deal anymore.

Except here in Bako.

Here, it's still Easter Week with a capital "E". All the schools are off, places are closed, people are gone. On the local news they're promoting all kinds of Easter festivities. I'd actually started to build up some momentum with work here, but this week it's come to a screeching halt. I call or e-mail and discover nobody's home. They're all off... for Easter.

I don't know why everyone's getting so pious about it. I know for a fact one of my clients is actually down in Cabo, although the thought of her and jello shots is a little too much to picture. And I was informed that another client is away at a "business conference".

A business conference? Over Easter weekend? That seems a little odd. What about the wife and kids?

Not a big deal, I was told.

"He'll be back on Sunday. He's just down in Palm Springs..."

Just in time for church, no doubt.

Nevermind

I wrote a post about a month ago about our surprising lack of cockroaches.

Yeah, well... you can disregard that. They're back.

Evidently I jumped the gun and engaged in some wishful thinking. You'd think by now I'd know better; Bakersfield is where wishful thinking goes to die.

We first started noticing them last week and over the weekend they started coming out of the woodwork. Literally. Sunday night I was jolted awake by one skittering across my face. It took me hours to fall back asleep.

I just don't get it. In my adult life, I've lived in some shithole apartments in unsavory parts of LA, and I NEVER had a problem with roaches. People say "Oh well, it's because you're in farm land..." Listen - my grandparents lived on a farm and I spent summers back there and I never saw cockroaches. Junebugs, yes. And I'll admit, they're basically flying cockroaches. But I never saw anything like this.

Every morning now it's like "The Deadliest Catch", checking to see what the nightly haul was. This morning, we found seven just in one bathroom. Right now they're small, but it's early in the season. By July they'll be as big as coasters.

The locals just shrug it off. I guess they have no other choice.

I suppose they day the roaches stop bothering me will be the day I've given up all hope of leaving here.

Let's hope that day never comes.

Bako By Design

I'm nothing if not fair, so when the Bako does something right, I'll be the first to give them props. And today we're talking about graphic design and the Mark of the Beast, the official logo of the City of Bakersfield.

Until shortly before we moved here, this was the official logo...



It still appears on the fire trucks and other municipal vehicles, but it was really hard to track down a copy online. This version comes from the city's website for property management, which still uses it. Because I'm in a generous mood today, I'm going to overlook the fact that they misspelled the name of the city on the city's official website. That's to be expected here.

As a professional graphic designer, I have only one question: What the fuck is that supposed to be?

Are those mountains? The sun? If it is, then the mountains are melting and the sun has gone supernova. True, that's how it feels here come August, so I guess we can give the city high marks for truth in advertising. Still, I'm not sure that's anything you want to be promoting.

To be honest, every time I see it I think of this...



... the dust cloud of someone getting the hell out of town as fast as possible.

Now, I love the 80's as much as anyone, and the logo does have a spare, April Greiman-ish, early Duran Duran charm about it. But as far as civic branding goes, I think it probably ranks as a FAIL.

But not to worry. The city evidently saw the error of their ways and in recent years adopted this...



Let's just ignore the ridiculous tagline, which comes across as either a cruel joke or a Gypsy curse. Looking at the logo itself, I have to say it's a huge improvement. Unlike the city itself, it's clean and elegant. The Bible script is a nice hat tip to the Jesus people. Probably a smart move in a town where people drive around with life size wooden crucifixes in the beds of their pickups. And the little leaf is a subtle wink and a nod to the vast Ag influence. To outsiders it probably reads as a fresh, new sprout. If you live here, you'd see it as wilting in the heat. Works wither way.

So overall, I have to say, well done Bako.

Sunday Inspiration

The Mystical Power of Lesbians

I had promised my dogs an extra long walk yesterday. I had been so busy with work this week that I hadn't been able to give them the attention they so richly deserve. I delivered on my promise and we were almost home, when we rounded the last corner and I saw a frantic Jack Russell terrier darting through yards and out into the street. Hot on her heels were two tiny puppies. Someone must have let them out, I thought and as I walked a little further I saw a woman standing by the open slider of a mini-van trying to coax the dogs to her. I just assumed they were hers, but as we got closer, she asked me if I could help. She said she'd seen the dog and her puppies aimlessly roaming the neighborhood all day, and the mother dog kept running into the street and nearly had been been hit several times.

The terrier came over to check out my dogs, but she was horribly skittish and ran away anytime I got close. I could see the dog had no collar. There wasn't much I could do as long as I had my own dogs, so I told the woman I had to go drop my dogs off at home and I would come back. I returned with one of my dog's harnesses, hoping I could get close enough to catch her and hook her up. The puppies had run off into some bushes to hide, and when we found them they had curled up against each other and were fast asleep.

For 20 minutes we tried to catch the dog, but it was hyper and frantic because it didn't know where it's puppies were. I got the bright idea to try and lure her with her kids, so we retrieved the puppies from the bushes and I sat on a lawn with them in full view. It did the trick, to a point. The terrier came to me and inched up to her babies, but every time I made even the slightest move, she was off again.

I then thought perhaps if we could lure her into our backyard, at least in a confined space she'd be easier to catch and would at least be out of traffic. I picked up the puppies and started walking home. The terrier followed behind at a distance and the woman trailed us all in her mini-van. Along the way, we ran into several neighbors and I asked each if they knew who the dog belonged to. They mentioned they had seen the dog in the neighborhood for the past several days but didn't know who it belonged to.

We got to the house and I opened the gate and carried the puppies so the mama dog could see where we were going. The woman parked and I told her to come up from behind and when the dog entered the backyard to close the gate. The plan almost worked, but the terrier is smarter than most people here and just as she was about to come into the backyard, she realized something was up and turned tail and ran. We tried it a couple more times, but the dog was on to us, so finally I brought the puppies back out onto the front lawn and once again tried to lure the dog with her babies.

The puppies were adorable (see above) and several times we were close to catching the dog. But she seemed terrified of people and I could only imagine what kind of abuse she must have endured. We were on full view with our dilemma and slowly other people stopped to try and help. It was heartwarming to see how many people truly cared. Some people tried to catch the dog, others stood in the street to slow down cars, a couple of people brought out dog food and water. But in the end, it may have been too many people, because soon the terrier was running far down the street and disappearing completely for long stretches of time. By this time an hour and a half had passed and I didn't know what we were going to do. We had the puppies, but they couldn't have been more than a couple weeks old and I was pretty sure they hadn't been weened. And abandoning the mother to save the pups seemed cruel.

The woman suggested we call the dogcatcher.

They have a dogcatcher here?

Eventually people started to give up and leave and I hadn't a clue what to do at that point.

And then, out from the neighboring condo complex, lumbered Deena, the lesbian.

"What's going on? " she asked.

We explained the situation and Deena said she'd seen the dog a couple of weeks ago. She said, in fact, a friend had seen her too and mentioned that if they were able to catch the dog, she's be happy to adopt her.

"Let me make some calls..." said Deena.

She disappeared for about ten minutes and when she returned she was carrying a dog crate.

"I talked to my friend and she's on the way. Says she'll adopt the mother and the babies too. Take them to the vet and get them all checked out and healthy."

That was great news, but we still had to catch the mother.

Deena stomped into the yard and plopped herself down on the lawn sitting Indian style with the crate behind her.

"Give me the puppies" she demanded.

I know from experience you don't fuck with Deena, so I handed over the pups and she placed them in her lap.

At this point we hadn't seen the mother in about 20 minutes. I didn't even know if she was in the neighborhood anymore, although I suspected she wouldn't abandon her kids.

Deena sat with the pups. And whistled.

A loud, shrill whistle.

Suddenly, across the street, the terrier's head poked out from behind our juniper. The juniper the boyfriend had accidentally butchered over the weekend. Deena whistled again, and the terrier calmly trotted across the street and slowly approached her. Deena sat there, unmoving, and the terrier circled her a couple of times.

And the the terrier sidled up beside her and laid down!

Deena reached over to pet her, and I figured this was when the dog would bolt. But it quietly sat there and let Deena pet her. Deena stroked her back and slowly rubbed her ears.

And then, in a flash, she performed some lesbian jujitsu and the dog was in the crate.

Seriously, I didn't even see it happen, it was that fast. Dog on the ground, dog in the crate, in the blink of an eye.

The dog freaked out at first, but then we placed her puppies in with her. Once they were reunited, everyone calmed down.

Deena got up off the grass, picked up the crate, said a terse "Thanks", and she was gone. Crisis averted. After two hours.

I always thought of lesbians as cat people, but not anymore. Deena is a "Dog Whisperer".

Something Brewing

Both the boyfriend and I were having a bad day yesterday, or as we refer to them, "the usual". Actually, it was worse than usual, so when he came home from work, we decided to go out for dinner. Normally, the idea of going out to eat can be even more stressful, since our choices here are so limited. But this time, we had a destination already in mind...

Desi's.

When we'd gathered with our neighbors last Sunday, the topic of restaurants came up and they all came with a ringing endorsement for Desi's. It was the best, they said, and reasonable too. The best Indian restaurant in town. And since we were craving some food with some flavor, off we went.

To Desi's.

We drove clear cross town, through abandoned subdivisions and newly sprouted cornfields until finally we arrived at the appropriate strip mall. Everything here is in a strip mall. And with much anticipation we drove up to the restaurant and discovered...

It was closed.

Actually, it was more than closed.

It had been evicted.

At least, that's what the notice on the door said.

So, like almost every outing here, it was time for Plan B, which in reality wasn't so much a "plan" as meandering around trying to figure out what to do. As we were cruising back to our part of town, something caught the boyfriend's eye and he abruptly turned into what looked like an industrial park. And it was there that we found Lengthwise Brewing, Bakersfield's only micro-brewery and pub.

I'm actually a little surprised this would be the only one. This strikes me as a beer town. Then again, the big sellers in the grocery store appear to be Schlitz and Pabst, so I'm guessing the subtleties of a micro-brew would be a little lost on the locals.

As soon as we walked in the door, a scream went up from the bar, and seated there was our dinner couple from two weeks ago. It turns out this is their regular hangout because the atmosphere is fun, the food is good and it's off a back road so you can drive home drunk. All qualities you look for in fine dining in Bako.

I can't vouch for the last one, but I will say the atmosphere and food was good. Basic pub food and burgers, but done really well.

"The tri-tip sandwich is good, but it comes on funny bread" said the husband.

I ordered it and it came on focaccia.

We had a great time and will definitely go back. The boyfriend finally got his heartfelt thanks for the lavish meal he had prepared and we got another invite to come over for "beer chicken" - this chicken better be fucking incredible for all the build up it's getting.

So what started as a bit of a bummer of an evening actually turned out not so bad. We definitely returned home in better spirits than we left. Can't ask for much more than that I suppose.

Where There's Smoke...

Boy, you really have to watch what you say in this town, as I unfortunately learned yesterday at the supermarket.

I'd stopped to pick up a few things and was at checkout. My checker was Gary, a mild mannered, middle aged man who reminded me of Ned Flanders from "The Simpsons". We were exchanging harmless small talk as he scanned my groceries, when I said it.

"And I'd like a pack of Marlboro Lights, please."

See, the government recently cracked down on labeling cigarettes as "light". Because they really aren't. In fact they're probably more toxic than "regular" cigarettes because of all the chemicals they add to bring down the tar and nicotine the microscopic amount that classifies them as "light". Which isn't even a scientific determination, but rather a strictly marketing label. I'm a smoker; I know these things. Labeling a cigarette as "light" makes about as much sense as labeling a Big Mac as "light". So they aren't allowed to be called "light" anymore.

Gary didn't like this. He turned to his dull witted boxboy and said, loudly, "Get the man a pack of Marlboro Lights, oh wait, you can't say that anymore, they're Marlboro "GOLDS", get the man a pack of Marlboro GOLDS..."

The boxboy loped off to the counter at the front of the store where the cigarettes are kept under lock and key. Gary turned to me, and he was off...

"That's the government for you, meddling in everyones' life, tellin' you what you can and can't do, tellin' you what you can or can't say..."

Now I was uncomfortable. I glanced around at my fellow shoppers to see if they were as mortified as I was, but they weren't. Most looked nonplussed, but several were silently nodding their heads in agreement. Gary was preaching to the choir and he was on a roll. And his voice was rising.

"WHAT'S NEXT? THEY GONNA TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN'T EAT? YOU TELLING ME I CAN'T EVEN SAY THE WORD 'LIGHT' ANYMORE? THEY GONNA TELL ME WHO I CAN HANG AROUND AND WHO I CAN'T? THEY GONNA TAKE AWAY OUR GUNS..."

Of course, guns. It really always comes down to guns, doesn't it?

Where the fuck were my cigarettes? I shot a panicked look to the boxboy, who was slow in more ways then one. He couldn't find the key, and when he did he couldn't figure out how to open the cigarette cabinet. It was taking an eternity.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO FREEDOM? AND LIBERTY? THIS IS SOCIALISM, TELLIN' FOLKS HOW TO LIVE THEIR LIVES. IT'S NOT AMERICA ANYMORE..."

Finally Jethro reappeared with the smokes and I was able to quickly wrap up the transaction and get the hell out of the store. It was a little unnerving, to say the least.

I suppose, looking on the bright side, it just gives me one more reason to quit smoking.

Or not.

I'll just get them at the corner gas station from now on.

Because to quit smoking now, feeling bullied, would mean the terrorists have won.

And that's just Un-American.

“Back To You, In Space...”

God help us. The local news has discovered Google maps. Now every story, no matter how mundane, begins out in space and we ZOOM in to... East Bakersfield!

It's a bad habit they've picked up from the network nightly news, where it at least makes a little bit of sense as you hopscotch from trouble spots all over the globe. Not sure it makes much sense for a stabbing at the Deja Vu strip club.

Just A Nip And A Tuck

The weekend started on a bit of a low note - we finally received our tax returns.

Talk about demoralizing. And I'm not talking about the taxes; those came in about as expected. What was so depressing was seeing the final tally of my income for the year. I had a rough idea of what I made, but I just didn't have the stomach to actually add it up before everything went off to the accountant. Now I was staring at it in stark black and white. Feeling masochistic, I whipped out a calculator to determine just how far I'd fallen and figure out what percentage of my 2007 income I was now making. And the gruesome answer?

25%.

I should have just skipped college and gotten a job at McDonalds. I'd be middle management by now.

The boyfriend fared better than I. He's making close to half what he once made. But all told, it cast a horrible pall over our weekend. We needed something to take our mind off our financial troubles and decided the best answer was...

Agressive yard work.

And I mean aggressive... we broke out the chainsaw.

I know what you're thinking... two gay men and a chainsaw, there's something you don't see every day.

We actually bought it when we bought our house in LA. We had one large, somewhat mangy tree, dead center in our backyard. All it really needed was a trim, but in those first few months, we were house poor and so we couldn't really afford a professional trimmer. But how hard could it be? We'd do it ourselves.

I was up on a ladder, wielding our new chainsaw. The boyfriend was down below, art directing. There was a steeper learning curve than I had imagined with the chainsaw. Wrong limbs cut, or cut too short. Cutting through one limb and accidentally nailing the one behind too. Eventually, I got the hang of it, but it was too late. The tree looked like a celery stalk.

It would grow back, we said. In time, it would grow back. But it was truly awful to look at and we didn't have the patience. The following weekend we used our new chainsaw to cut it down at base and covered the stump with a potted plant.

This time would be different, we'd learned from our mistakes. Or so I thought.

Initially, it went well. We trimmed several trees with the lightest of touch. But then I handed off the chainsaw to the boyfriend as I went to tend to my weed garden.

The first sign of trouble was the trees on the side of the house. Four smallish trees spaced out down the side yard. We had thought they might actually be dead when we bought the house, since they had no vegetation and seemed somewhat brittle. But it was winter and they were only dormant and over the past couple of weeks they had started to bloom.

Well, they're dead now.

"Looks better, dontcha think?" I heard the boyfriend say behind me.

I turned around to see the four tree carcasses piled on the sidewalk. It did actually look better, and it certainly makes my job of mowing the lawn that much easier. Still, it seemed a little brutal.

Next, he decided to "trim" the juniper on the corner of the property. The juniper is large and old and hasn't been tended to in probably 30 years. The lush greenery on top covered an impossible tangle of gnarled roots and twisted branches. He was just going to "clean it up". He pointed down the street to a neighbor's juniper, one that had lovingly been trimmed, probably for years, into an elegant bonzai shape. That was his goal.

I went back to my weeds and I heard the chainsaw ripping through branches. After about a half an hour I went to check on his progress.

It looked like a truck had plowed into the juniper.

He had given it his best shot, but it was clear this was going to have to be the job of a professional. I could tell he was disappointed, and I promised him we'd get someone out to fix it.

It was about at that time that Jim crossed the street, cocktail in hand. He invited us over for afternoon drinks with his gay father and other neighbors, and we said "sure, why not".

So as the sun set, we joined about a half dozen of our new neighbors for strong drinks and conversation. The main topic was one of our other neighbors, who wasn't there. An older man who lives about five house down. He owns quite a bit of rental property in Bako and had a penchant for renting to young women and single moms. When times got tough, he graciously offered to accept sex in lieu of rent. And he recently got caught. As if that isn't bad enough, his immediate next door neighbor is the District Attorney. AWKWARD.

We really had a lovely time and it certainly ended the weekend on an up note. It turns out quite few of our neighbors have something in common...

They all work at WalMart.

That will come in handy.

I should have an "in" when I eventually apply for a job. Because, after looking over my tax returns, I'm afraid it's just a matter of time.

Sunday Inspiration

The First Step Is Admitting You Have A Problem

New York changed everything.

Before New York, if you would have told me I'd be the type of person to sink this low and deal with an addiction, I would have told you you were crazy.

But it happened, it's nothing we're proud of, it ended, time to move on.

But then came Atlanta, and it happened all over again. By now we both realized we had a problem, but we thought we could manage it. Turns out, we were wrong, because by the time we reached Beverly Hills, we knew we were probably beyond hope and we just had to accept it.

Accept the fact that we're addicted to the Real Housewives.

Not all of them, mind you. We have our standards. They're low, but we have them.

Never watched the original OC version. It had absolutely no appeal to me because I grew up there. Of course, back then it was still a right wing backwater, not unlike Bako, and we all joked about living "behind the Orange Curtain". But somewhere along the line people realized that beachfront real estate was beachfront real estate and southern OC morphed into a Nouveau Riche Gold Coast. Make that "Gold-Plated Coast"... there isn't much substance below the veneer of gaudy opulence. At any rate, no thanks.

Didn't watch the DC version. It just lacked the pizazz. While I'm sure a dinner party with the Secretary of Agriculture is fascinating in it's own way, there was no way it could compete with drunken psychics at Camille Grammer's Malibu hacienda. Doesn't matter anyhow because it was cancelled this morning.

We're on the fence with New Jersey. Didn't watch the first season, but got oddly sucked in last year. It could go either way this season, although I think the whole Jersey Guido schtick has played out.

But as far as the others - New York, Beverly Hills, Atlanta and Miami - we are all in. And not ashamed about it. Not any more.

Last night was the season premier of New York, and it was just like old times. The Countess, Crazy Kelly, Jillzarin, creepy Alex (who looks like Herman Munster's love child), slutty Sonia and new warrior princess Cindy.... I'm getting Ramotional just thinking about it. Good times.

We planned our whole evening around it. The boyfriend called from work and we decided to splurge and order in. But here's the odd thing. He said he had confided in a co-worker about our evening plans, barely concealing his excitement. And it turns out just about everyone he works with was planning on doing the same. They're all closet Real Housewives fans. Even the guys. Actually, especially the guys.

Hmmmmm.......

Something about that just doesn't feel right. There may be more here than meets the eye.

You Can Bank On It

The locals inability to conduct basic day to day business has been well documented here. I even gave it a name... B.T.D.

"Bakersfield Transaction Disorder"

You usually encounter it at the supermarket, but by far the worst offenses occur at the bank.

I was a little distressed at the thought of having to open a new bank account when we moved here. I banked at a credit union affiliated with the film studios in Hollywood, and needless to say, that was going to be a problem here. Or so I thought. It turns out they're part of a network and there's a partner credit union just down the street. Perfect!

Luckily I can do all my banking through the ATM, but I noticed my new local branch seemed unusually busy. Often times the teller line stretched all the way to the front doors. I wondered why this particular branch was so popular, but I quickly realized it's not. It's that the customers are incredibly stupid.

I can't vouch for what the problem is inside, but I can tell you the idiocy extends outside to the ATM. This particular bank has an ATM interface that's Playskool simple and uses ridiculously large text and, being tall, I can usually see over people's shoulder and watch the drama unfold. And from my observations I've determined my fellow bankers can be divided into two groups...

Gamblers and Morons.

The Gamblers have no clue how much money is in their account. If any. So the transaction usually goes something like this:

Insert the card.

Request to withdraw $200.

"INSUFFICIENT FUNDS"

Spits the card back out.

A few moments of dumbfounded silence. Then...

Insert the card.

Request to withdraw $180.

"INSUFFICIENT FUNDS"

Spits the card back out.

$160, $140, $120, $100, $80, $60, $40, $20.....

When we finally hit zero they take their card and walk away, after about ten minutes.

The second group is the Morons. People who either can't read or find the Preschool level instructions too difficult to comprehend. It's absolutely astounding. Even the most basic questions turn into million dollar answers on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire", with the hemming and hawing and staring at the screen, searching for the right response...

"Checking or savings??? Can I phone a friend? Ask the audience?"

The other day the woman in front of me got so flustered by the screen asking her if she wanted a receipt that she cancelled her transaction and walked away.

It's gotten so bad that now when I go to the bank, if I see even one person at the ATM I just drive on by because I know I'm about to lose a half hour of my life.

And that's not even the worst of it. Do you know what credit union it is?

Kern Schools.

These are... teachers!

Oy vey.

In the immortal words of George W. Bush, "Rarely is the questioned asked: Is our children learning?" In the case of Kern County, I'm afraid the answer is unfortunately "yes".

R.S.V.P.

The boyfriend is more than a little miffed that it's been a week and a half since our first dinner party and he's yet to receive so much as a "thank you" call. I don't know why he's surprised. Nice as they were, our guests didn't know what the salad forks were for, so I'm guessing they aren't really up on all the latest etiquette do's and don'ts.

But I do understand his disappointment. He really went above and beyond and slaved away in the kitchen for most of the day. He served an absolutely phenomenal meal - petite filets topped with brie, crab stuffed mushrooms, baby asparagus in a Hollandaise sauce and Lyonnaise potatoes with leeks. If that doesn't deserve a phone call, at the very least, I don't know what does.

In their defense, though, our guests did offer to reciprocate.

They promised they would have us over very soon for "Beer Chicken".

Now... as it was explained to us, "Beer Chicken" involves taking a can of cheap American beer, popping the top and then shoving it up the ass of a chicken. Place it on the grill over medium heat. That way the chicken is infused with all the subtle flavors and aromas of Schlitz and recycled aluminum.

Sounds refreshing.

I wonder what you serve it with? Tater tots? Some sort of jello mold? I guess we'll find out soon enough. I'll be sure to be on the look out for that engraved invitation.

Shell Shocked

It's easy to get lost in your own little pity party when you live here. Then again, if you're reading this blog that's not exactly a shocker. But sometimes something crosses your path and you find yourself saying "There, but for the grace of God..."

And if it comes flying at you from across the street, you really notice it.

I was walking the dogs Sunday morning. It was early and the sun was just coming up. There wasn't a soul around as we ventured down one of the streets near our house, when suddenly something came flying across the street at us. It landed about 20 feet ahead and I couldn't tell what it was. But a few moments later, another one came whizzing across the street, and this time it landed close enough to see that it was...

A snail.

WTF?

I scanned across the street to see where they were coming from, and that's when I spied a woman out in her yard. The house was kind of shabby and the front yard was nondescript and unkept. But dead center in the lawn was a huge rose bush that was bursting with blooms. And bent over it, with her back to us, was a middle aged woman who was picking snails off the roses and furiously hurling them over her shoulder into the street.

She obviously didn't know we were there, so I cleared my throat to announce our presence so she could adjust her aim. It seemed to take her by surprise and she turned to face us. I expected she'd apologize for winging the snail in our direction, but instead, she just nodded at the rose bush and said...

"It's the only beautiful thing in my life, and it's being attacked by snails."

She sounded so sad it almost broke my heart.

And with that, she turned and shuffled back into her house, head down, defeated.

For the rest of the walk I get trying to imagine what tragedy had befallen this poor woman that the only thing in life she had to going for her were her roses, and now they were under siege. It got me to thinking how lucky we really are. Although we aren't where we'd like to be in our lives right now, we have each other, and the dogs and a warm loving home. We appear to have weathered the worst of the downturn and things seem to be looking up. For all the bitching and moaning, things could certainly be worse.

As much as I may think my life sucks day to day, at least I'm not picking snails off it.

Random Good Things About Bakersfield #14

April In Bakersfield.

It's not exactly "April in Paris", but we'll take it.

April is by far the nicest time of the year here. If you're planning a trip to Bako, and I don't know why you would, now would be the time to do it.

April means the cold, clammy winter weather has passed and temperatures are lovely in the 70's and 80's. Everything is in bloom and vibrant with color. And the sky is blue... ish. Not quite really "sky blue", but it's about as close as it's ever going to get here.

You only have a matter of weeks to enjoy it, because as we roll into May the temperatures will start creeping past 100 and stay that way through September. All the greenery will start to wither in the heat and the city will become a ghost town as everyone goes into air conditioned lock-down for five months. And the once almost blue skies will turn the color of a used coffee filter. C'est la vie.

Of course, there's a downside; there always is here.

With the lovely April weather comes... the smell.

I actually had come to believe I had grown so acclimated to living here that I didn't notice the smell anymore. But it turns out the smell has been on winter hiatus. And now that the temperatures are warming up, it's back.

With a vengeance

To get a sense of what it smells like here, take a bag of fertilizer, throw it in your oven and bake at 450 degrees.

For five months.

But other than that, and that's a really big "but", it's really quite pleasant.

Sunday Inspiration

Thinking Big

One of the reasons I love April Fool's Day is it allows me one day where I can actually write something nice about this place. Even if I have to make it up.

Obviously, everything I wrote yesterday isn't true. But it got me to thinking... what exactly could put Bako on the map? And in a good way, not the countless "worst" lists it always tops. I've thought through many scenarios, and I think I may have just the idea.

First, there are a lot of things that are just off the table. It's pointless to try and sell the natural wonders and beauty since there simply aren't any. Unlike Fresno, which gets a lot of mileage as the "Gateway to Yosemite", we aren't even adjacent to anything pretty. You want natural beauty, you're going to have to drive a couple of hours. So scratch that.

Actually, scratch any type of tourism. I know there was a time when Bakersfield fancied itself the "Nashville of the West", famous for what was dubbed 'The Bakersfield Sound". Now, when I think "Bakersfield Sound", I think big rig airhorns and gunfire, but evidently there was a time when it was a well known form of country music, made popular by native son Buck Owens. Mr. Owens even built a shrine to it, the Crystal Palace, which was supposed to be the Grand Old Opry of the west coast. But Mr. Owens died, and with him went the dream. Now the Crystal Palace is known for it's all-you-can-eat Sunday brunch and even the long-in-the-tooth, retreaded 70's acts bypass Bako for the Indian casinos 100 miles north of town. You just missed Engelbert Humperdink a couple of weeks ago. If you hurry, you can still get tickets to Air Supply.

I suppose you could try and go the "higher learning" route. It's worked in places like Redlands, which is similarly in the middle of nowhere and mostly agricultural and yet boasts a world class university. Of course, they've been working at it for 100 years and have the Ivy League architecture to back it up. That's a lot harder to pull off with the type of strip mall architecture popular here, even if anyone was so inclined. And their not. Book learnin' isn't really big here, and Kern County is rated the least educated county in the state. So all in all, it's probably not the way to go.

The best shot at achieving any type of notoriety, the good kind, is probably going to depend on business. They've done it before, after all. This place was built on the oil industry and that's what it originally made it's name on. Who's to say it couldn't happen again? I know the oil industry is pushing big into renewable energy. They aren't stupid, they know the oils fields here are tapped out and they have a lot of toxic land to try and repurpose. But surprisingly, the oil companies are getting some pushback from the locals, who view wind power and solar as some sort of Socialist plot. If the locals aren't onboard, I don't know what the chances of success are. Probably nil. And besides, even if it worked, it'll be decades before it would really turn this place around, and quite honestly, Bako needs some help NOW.

So what to do?

That's where my brilliant idea comes in. In situations such as this, there's really only one answer...

What Bakersfield needs is... a "gimmick!"

Think about it. Santa Cruz has "The Mystery Spot". San Jose has the "Winchester Mystery House". Roswell has their aliens. Why can't Bako cash in on something similar? Lord knows there's a lot of military weirdness lurking around the edges of town, so why not capitalize on it? And I think the obvious answer is...

CROP CIRCLES!

It's a no brainer! They have the land, they have the crops, there's really no infrastructure needed. It could be up and running in months, not years. Of course we'd have to bring in outsiders to fabricate them. If you leave it to the locals you'll end up with a corn maze and then they'll all get lost inside it. But still, it's absolutely doable at minimal cost.

I should forward this to the City Council. I think they'll be very receptive.

Dawn of a New Day

Everyone here is simply over the moon with the announcement that Google has chosen little ole' Bako to build a state-of-the-art research and development center focusing on emerging technologies. The plan is to eventually expand it to the point that it will make Kern County a major technology hub.

They cited the huge investment the county has made in renewable energy a major draw, as well as the fact that the area is well situated between Silicon Valley and the media companies of LA. If and when they build high speed rail, it'll make Bakersfield an easy hop from either direction. And of course, there's the low cost of land and the "friendly" business environment. I guess all that corruption finally paid off.

I'm sure the City and County gave away the store to get them here, but I don't think anyone here is complaining. Everyone's property values probably just doubled overnight. Rather than being exiled to a provincial backwater, it now looks like we'll be here to get in on the ground floor of something really great. Who woulda thunk it?

They hope to break ground within a year and hope to have Phase 1 up and running on this date in 2013, so everybody mark your calendars!