The Best Thing About Bakersfield...

Leaving.


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I'll post an epilogue of sorts sometime next week with news, if any, of future plans.

Eric

Quivering With Anticipation

I was watching the news a week or so ago and they were showing the story of the Costa Allegra, the cruise ship which suffered a fire and subsequently lost power and spent several days adrift in the pirate infested waters of the Indian Ocean. Ultimately it was towed to port in the Seychelles and when it arrived there were reporters dockside to interview the passengers. One woman summed it up...

"It was horrible, it was miserable, it was frightening. The heat was unbearable, what little food there was was inedible, the people didn't seem to know what they were doing. But worst of all was the stench..."

Honey, you just described the last two years of my life.

Her voyage mercifully ended, and ours is about to begin. Within 24 hours in fact. I couldn't sleep last night, neither could the boyfriend. He drove back last night for the last time and we packed until 3.

With just one day left, I suppose I could be charitable. I wish I had some profound lessons learned to share at this point, but about the best I can come up with "to each, his own". I have to say that the vast majority of the people in Bakersfield wouldn't dream of living anywhere else. Most of them were born and bred here and their families go back for generations. All that inbreeding has resulted in an odd little ecosystem that suits them to a T. It can be rough on outsiders, but that's beside the point... it isn't meant for us.

It reminds me of a nature show I saw awhile ago where they profiled these bizarre creatures that lived on the sea floor. Specifically, they had adapted and evolved over the eons to live comfortably around some boiling hot sulphuric vents. That environment would be toxic to all normal creatures, but they thrived in it.

So who am I to judge? I couldn't stand this place, but most of the people here are happy as clams. Little, toxic, mutant clams.

So to the people of Bakersfield, I wish you all well. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope never to see you again. I'm sure the feeling is mutual.

One. More. Day.

Into The Great Unknown

I'm finding myself feeling somewhat adrift these days.

Part of it is the isolation; I've been in solitary confinement now for over a month, no offense to the dogs. And I mentally checked out of Bako weeks ago. I find on the rare occasion I leave the house or watch the local news, I've reverted to the same "what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-these-people" bemused detachment I had when I first moved here, before the reality and despair set in.

But the void has yet to be filled. I'm excited to be leaving, thrilled actually, but because I really have no idea where we are moving, rather than anticipation I'm feeling more trepidation. I have a vague idea where we'll be from the map and a few fuzzy online pictures of our future home, but other than that, it's a mystery to me. The boyfriend assures me it will all be great, but his continued use of words like "snug" and "cozy" isn't having the calming effect I think he thinks it does.

But in the end, it all doesn't matter. We'll be away from here and that's the important thing. I just want it over with already.

There’s Something Rotten In Bako

As I find myself wrapping things up and winding things down, I have to admit I've had pangs of guilt in regard to this blog. Have I been too mean? Have I been too hard? Have I been too judgmental?

And then yesterday I went to the market.

I found myself in line behind an attractive young guy. And then I noticed the giant tattoo on his forearm.

A swastika.

A big one too; you couldn't miss it.

I'm not sure which was more horrifying, the swastika or people's reaction to it, which was... nothing.

The woman in front of him chatted him up, the cashier cheerfully made small talk, the box boy happily offered to help him out with his bags, no one seeming to notice or care. But you couldn't not notice it.

I'm not so naive as to think there aren't neo-nazis or white supremacists lurking in any given part of the country, but I never thought I'd see them accepted as part of polite society.

It would be easy to dismiss if it was an isolated incident but it's not. A few weeks back the dogs took an unexpected detour through a vacant lot around the corner. The lot is huge and the neighborhood kids use it as a dirt bike park, building up mounds of dirt to make jump ramps. I was just gazing at the ground as we walked along when suddenly we came to a trench that had been dug in the hard dirt. It was about a foot wide and went in a straight line for about 20 feet where it made a sharp 90 degree turn. "What the hell?" I thought as we walked along and then I looked up and realized we were standing in the middle of a 50 foot swastika.

Why on earth would someone take that much time and effort to carve a 50 foot swastika?

I'm glad we aren't sticking around to find out.

“We Can’t Be Beat!”

We came up with a partial solution to our new dollhouse accommodations... Fire Sale!

The reality is our new place lacks both a family room and spare bedroom, so those are two rooms of furniture we'd have to pay to store, not to mention sundry other soon-to-be-homeless pieces of furniture. That simply isn't in the budget. And after moving three times in three years, we've decided to stay put for awhile, regardless of the circumstances, so there was little chance the stuff would be used again anytime soon. Plus, our move is going to be priced by the pound. A ton here, a ton there, it adds up quick. So if we can drop hundreds of pounds off the move, so much the better.

Everything went up on Craigslist last week and initially business didn't look promising. The only calls we received were from cracked out meth heads hoping we might be interested in, you know, giving it away for free.

Let me think on that a moment... NO.

Business picked up on the weekend. A woman called inquiring about the family room furniture and after checking it out, she decided to buy it. She said she'd return with some help to move it and was back in a surprisingly short time with what I assumed to be her family. There was a disheveled, middled aged man I took to be her husband, and three sketchy teenagers I guessed were her children. Turns out they weren't family in the traditional sense, but rather members of the same "group home", which was where our furniture was destined.

"It's a half-way house and it's right around the corner" the jittery teen girl announced. "There are a lot of them around here."

Well, that explains a lot.

And then there was Rachel.

Rachel and her husband were relocating here from LA. Her husband had accepted a job here six months ago and had been making the 300 mile round trip every day since. It had finally gotten the better of him and they reluctantly decided to move here. Rachel was interested in the bedroom furniture and came by to look it over.

She seemed anxious right off the bat and as she told her story she only got more so. When I told her that we too had moved here from LA, she looked to me for reassurance.

"It's nice here, right? she asked, almost pleading.

"Absolutely", I lied.

"Lots of things to do? Nice people?"

"Definitely", I lied.

Shameless, I know. But I couldn't afford to scare her off and lose the sale. Did I mention we pay for the move by the pound?

Rachel seemed visibly relieved and agreed to buy the whole room. She said she'd be back the next day with her husband to pick it up.

Sunday, they showed up to pick up the furniture and Rachel seemed somewhat stressed, her husband too. More than that, they both seemed apprehensive, maybe a little scared. I know the feeling well. That's how we were in the days before we moved here.

I wished I could tell them it would all be OK, but I'd already told enough lies for one weekend.

The Countdown Begins...

My last Monday in Bakersfield.

Just writing that brings a smile to my face.

And I do mean LAST. I will never set foot on this side of the Tehachapis again. Evah.

If at some point in the future I need to travel north, I'll fly. Won't even pass through this neck of the woods again. I'm afraid the smell will bring on PTSD.

Sunday Inspiration

Bloody Obvious

The Cat Fancier was back in the news, the man accused of barbecuing neighborhood cats.

He was in court for his arraignment where he denied killing cats. He did however admit to decapitating them, drinking their blood and then cooking and eating them.

I hate to be the one to state the obvious but once you've removed a cat's head and drained the blood, you more or less have killed it.

Then again, stating the obvious is a particularly Bako trait. In a somewhat related, following story, it seems the Cat Fancier's house has been repeatedly burglarized during his incarceration. They interviewed his neighbor...

"I saw someone trying to get in through the window, so I called the cops. I used a phone."

Well, what the fuck else would you use? Telepathy?

It reminded me of a sign I'd seen earlier that day while I was driving on a street bridge over the Kern "River"..."'NO DIVING".

The Kern River has been dead for years, a trash filled dry gulch splitting the city in two. This particular stretch probably hasn't seen water since the Eisenhower Administration. Is there really a problem with people gazing over the rail at the dried, cracked, concrete-hard dirt bed and thinking "Hey, that looks refreshing...?"

If was up to me, I'd ditch the sign. Save the city some money and hopefully thin the herd in the process. It's a twofer.

Spectator Sport

It's baaaaaack.

The state wrestling championships!

Three days of hot, young, nubile high school boys grappling each other, grabbing each others' junk, shoving their faces in each others' crotches, held in a city rife with pedophilia. Good times.

When it was held here last year, I though it was just an unfortunate coincidence. I assumed it rotated through other cities, but evidently it's ALWAYS held in Bakersfield. Can't imagine why that would be.

There's nothing wrong with wrestling per se, although I find it curious it seems to be most popular in the more homophobic parts of the country. What's creepy are the spectators who are just a little too... interested.

Last night on the news they showed footage from last year. The camera focused on two muscular boys, glistening with sweat, entwined with each other and then panned up into the stands, which were full almost exclusively with middle aged men with binoculars and cameras.

So very, very wrong. So very, very Bako.

A Hit And A Miss

Just to prove I'm not a completely heartless bastard I thought it would be nice to list some of the things about Bakersfield I'm going to miss. And I will, just as soon as I think of some. Seriously, it's harder than it looks. I spun through the blog looking for some forgotten highlight or memorable experience and came up blank. I even enlisted the aid of the boyfriend who generally has a sunnier disposition and is less hostile to all things Bako (but not by much). He had nothing. In fact, the only thing we agreed we would miss were the Fourth of July Fireworks. They were fun. Never underestimate the simple joy of blowing shit up.

The one thing I will miss is this blog. It's been immensely therapeutic and most days it's the only creative thing I get to do.

I'm on the fence as to whether to continue blogging. On the one hand, this blog was born out of desperation and despair, which I'm hoping will be in short supply once we move. Also too the bitterness and resentment which powered it for two plus years. It may have served its purpose and run its course and I wouldn't want to be accused of milking it and overstaying my welcome. Like the last two seasons of "LOST".

On the other hand, I do love writing. And after meeting Tina and looking back on Cindy, it's not like there won't be a wealth of fun topics down in the OC. If I do decide to keep on writing, it will be at a new blog with a new name. I'll close the last chapter on "Lost In Bako" and let it rest in peace.