Betwixt And Between

The trip to LA was wonderful. If I didn't love the boyfriend and the dogs so much, I wouldn't have come back.

But I do, and I did.

This time.

I'm a little surprised at how excited I am to be teaching again. I hope I have a lot to offer the kids and maybe some of their youthful optimism will rub off on me. That's something that's been sorely lacking in my life these past few years.

I didn't even mind the drive. All those years of living in LA have conditioned me to accept long commutes I suppose. I once lived in Venice Beach and worked in the Valley and on a good day that was an hour and a half drive each way, not much better than the two hours it takes me to get into the city from here. And to be honest it was nice to be untethered from the computer for the better part of a day.

I have found myself questioning why we even still live here anymore. For the past three months absolutely all my work has come from LA. I've given up even trying to find work from the charlatans in this town, I've just been burned too many times. After watching how quickly the houses in this neighborhood rent (including next door, which is another story to come), we could easily rent this place out quickly.

So why are we still here?

The answer is twofold. First, the work from LA has ebbed and flowed pretty dramatically over the past two years. In fact, the reason we're even here in the first place is that it ebbed so badly and for so long we had little other choice. Without a more stable foundation it's hard to justify moving back.

And secondly, shocking as this may sound, is quality of life. Home life, that is.

The reality is I will never make anything even approaching what I once earned. That's just something I've come to accept. And for all of Bako's faults, which are legion, here we can afford a large three bedroom house in a decent neighborhood with a large yard for the dogs. For the same price, in LA, we'd be looking at a two bedroom apartment in a dodgy part of town and we'd either have to sell or pay to store a large part of our belongings.

So, without a little more to go on, we'll stay put for the time being

Unless our luck changes.

And I don't think I'd count on that happening any time soon.

The only trepidation I had when it came to accepting the teaching position was... the weather. The only route between here and LA crosses the mountains at the Tejon Pass and several times a year it's closed due to snow and ice. But after talking to several people I was assured that we rarely get winter weather before Thanksgiving and it's even rarer to get snow before Christmas, which falls several weeks after my class ends. I felt confident it wouldn't be an issue.

Tomorrow's weather forecast?

Rain... and SNOW!

Those Who Can’t, Teach

Back in the Fall of 2008, when my career was in freefall, I hit upon what I thought was a partial solution... I could teach.

I'd taught before, back in the 90's and I enjoyed it quite a bit. I would have continued teaching had my boss not gotten wind of it. She was a firm believer in the notion that if you had any type of personal life outside of the office, you were a slacker. I was given an ultimatum: your class or your job.

Without a Masters Degree, or teaching certificate, getting a job with a public school was off the table. But private schools were another matter, and that's where I had taught before.

I started by calling my pretentious alma mater, thinking that all the money my parents had given them through the second mortgage they took out to put me through school would count for something. I was wrong. I was condescendingly told that one didn't apply to teach there, one was invited. And they only invited the most distinguished and accomplished people, I was told. The mere fact I was looking for a job was all the proof they needed that I was neither.

Next, I called the school I had taught at before, which is when I discovered I wasn't the only person who had had this thought in the troubled economy. They informed me that they had no faculty openings and a waiting list of people who had already applied that ran over 600. That was pretty much the response I received from every school I called.

So imagine my surprise last month when I received a simple message... "Would you be interested in teaching?"

It came from the unlikeliest of sources... LinkedIn. I had dismissed LinkedIn as less than worthless, Facebook for the unemployed. The message came from a "2nd", a connection of one of my connections. He used to work in the same entertainment field as I did, and I'd actually met him socially once or twice. His career trajectory was almost identical to mine, although he's about 5 years ahead of me. Quick rise up to hot shot art director, a decent time at the top on a plateau, and then a disastrous crash to earth. He'd been in about the same position as I back in 2003, found the position teaching, and now was head of the department.

I immediately said yes, no questions.

On paper, it makes absolutely no sense. It's one night class a week. And it's in LA.

So, one day a week, I'll be making the 200 mile, four hour (if I'm lucky) round trip to teach one three hour class. And it pays so little I don't even know if it will cover the gas and the wear and tear on the car.

But here's the thing. If it works out well, they've already asked if I'd be interested in teaching more classes. And if I do, I'll qualify for insurance. And it will give us a concrete reason to leave Hooterville. They've also dangled some vague,long term possibilities that I don't want to jinx by even thinking about.

So I'm off to LA this morning for my first faculty meeting. Classes start next week.

Now all I have to do is pray it doesn't snow on the Grapevine on my night of the week.

Road Trip II: Electric Boogaloo

Off to LA, yet again. This time for a long planned Doctor's appointment. No offense to the lovely Third World doctors of Bako, but I'd just prefer to see my longtime physician... in Beverly Hills.

Actually, I'm not so sure I'm still considered a patient. I haven't seen him in four years and when I called to make the appointment they told me I had dropped out of the system. Seems I've been getting that a lot lately. They eventually found me... in the archive.

Doesn't that just make you feel young and fresh?

The reason I haven't been in so long is that when I lost my last "real" job, I also lost my insurance. I was so sure I would land a new job within weeks that I didn't even bother to sign up for COBRA.

Clearly, that didn't work out.

After going without for a couple of years, I grew concerned enough to seek out insurance on my own.

Basically, you quickly learn that if you aren't employed, the insurance companies just want you to die. Their cheapest plans for the self employed just come with a coffin. I was finally able to find a plan through a professional graphics organization. It's completely usurious but the best I could find. For $7000 a year and a horrendous deductible I get basically nothing but "catastrophic" care. I guess I'll find out what that means when I test drive it tomorrow - it's the very first time in two years I've attempted to use it.

I hope I have enough money left or the gas to get home.

Round Trip

Man, that is a long ass drive. But luckily, I hit no traffic.

The interview was actually in the heart of Downtown LA. I thought perhaps I was over the city, but... no.

I miss it horribly.

Will anything come of the meeting? Hard to say. I'll just lump it in with "winning the lottery" and hope for the best.

I have to say, Downtown LA was a lot cleaner than I remembered it.

Maybe it's all those older buildings being spruced up and converted to lofts.

Or maybe it's just that after living in Bakersfield this long, anything looks clean.

The Long Road Ahead. In More Ways Than One.

Off to LA today.

Last week I received a call from a recruiter in LA, wanting to set up an interview. Today's the day.

I suppose I should be more upbeat about it, but truth be told, I've been down this road before.

When I was first downsized back in 2007, the first thing I did was hit all the recruiters. At last count I think I was registered with 12 of them. Most of them, I never heard from again. I found out later that there are so many people looking for work, and so few jobs, that most recruiters thin the herd rather brutally. Even though it's illegal, if you're over 40, your application goes straight to the dead letter office more often than not. And most recruiters dump job seekers after 60 days. They figure if they haven't found you a job by then, they probably won't, your "sell by" date has passed and there's always a fresh supply of desperate people behind you to fill any job that may pop up.

I discovered all this a couple of weeks ago when I went to update my resumé at one of the bigger recruiters, only to discover they hadn't heard of me before.

"But I have a login and everything" I said. And then I told the helpful woman on the phone when I originally registered.

"Oh honey - you dropped out of the system years ago."

So, needless to say, I wasn't expecting much to come of it. Imagine my surprise when they called to set up an interview tomorrow.

So, we'll see. A three hour drive for probably a 20 minute interview. And they don't validate. That's always a bad sign.

Random Good Things About Bakersfield #18

Traffic. Or rather, the lack thereof.

Until we were forcibly relocated here I never really appreciated just how much time I had wasted in my car back in LA. In LA, no one thinks anything about an hour commute to work and it's nearly impossible to get anywhere in under 30 minutes.

But things are different here. Aside from the idiotic street lights, which tend to run four minutes if you hit a red, you can pretty much get to wherever you want to go in ten minutes.

A couple of weeks ago I had a meeting scheduled with a prospective new client. We were meeting at Starbucks, near our house.

Yes they have Starbucks here; they aren't complete barbarians.

I got there a bit early and ordered an iced mocha and just as I sat down, my cell rang. It was client and he was apologizing profusely. His previous meeting had run long and he was "clear across town" and would be late. He was there in three minutes.

But don't try telling the locals they have no traffic. Their perspective is different and to them traffic is horrible. When we first moved here I was working for a now defunct agency. The house we rented was about three miles from the office. Most mornings I could get there in a 5 or 6 minutes. I was chatting with the office manager one morning and she asked where we lived. I told her the neighborhood and she replied "Well, that's a really nice neighborhood, but I could never deal with that commute."

Every time I drive back into LA, my tolerance for the traffic grows thinner and thinner and I think that if we still lived there, this weekend would push me over the edge. Because this upcoming weekend is...

"CARMAGEDDON".

They're doing the unthinkable and closing a ten mile stretch of freeway for the entire weekend. And not just any freeway, but the 405, or as it's commonly referred to, "the Fucking 405". It's the only freeway the serves all of West LA. It's the major route to the airport and the beaches and they are taking it completely offline. The reason why is they're in the midst of what seems like a 50 year project to widen it. And to do so they need to demolish the Mulholland bridge.

It is going to be the Mother of all Clusterfucks.

It will bring that city to it's knees.

How bad will it be? Here's a clue: when I had to drive back into LA last week, the digital freeway signs, here, in Kern County, were flashing a simple message - "JULY 16-17: AVOID L.A." And this week, the local radio stations are running ads for several of the coastal cities saying "Since LA will be impassable this weekend, why not come and enjoy a day at the coast?" There are stories out of LA of people leaving town for the weekend to avoid it, businesses closing, people stocking up on supplies since the entire city will be gridlocked.

And if we still lived there, we would be doubly screwed because our house was off of Beverly Glen. It's one of only a handful of canyon roads that connect the city proper to the Valley, and it's the closest alternative to the 405. On a good day, in rush hour traffic, it could take up to an hour to descend out of the hills. This weekend, I'll bet you could probably triple that time. We'd be virtual shut-ins.

So I think I can honestly say, for the first time in almost two years, I sure am glad I'm not in LA.

Fifth of July Round-Up

In more ways than one.

First, the trip to LA. Man, I'm getting good at that - four hours, door to door, including the meeting.

Trips to LA were always so bittersweet, but still I always planned to make of a day of it, swing by some clients, visit some old haunts, drop by my favorite bookstore. I never ever followed through on any of it, too afraid of stirring up too many memories.

But honestly, for the last couple of trips, my attitude was... meh. In and out, get it over with and, dare I say it, go... home. I can't believe I just typed that.

But here's the really scary thing. On this trip, I got... LOST!

In LA!

Where I lived for 25 years!

I still can't believe it. I was driving down the freeway and suddenly realized I'd forgotten which exit to take. I took the wrong one, but figured I'd cross over on surface streets, and then I turned the wrong direction and didn't even realize it. I drove about a mile before it dawned on me that I was totally F'ed up.

Lordy, lordy lordy... it's all fading. You really CAN'T go home again.

But enough about that, back to last night's extravaganza (pictured above).

There was a change in plans and we ended up celebrating in the Colonial tradition of our Founding Fathers... without electricity.

The power went out.

It was about 8pm and I was rushing to get the dogs out for a walk before the dusk light faded and the mayhem began. And suddenly the power sputtered off.

We figured it would come back on shortly and I went ahead to take the dogs out. All of the neighbors were already congregating in their front yards, everyone checking to see if it was the whole block. I passed one neighbor, Michael, who was locking his front gate and headed out with a lawn chair.

"You obviously don't think it's coming back on any time soon" I said.

"It's not" he replied. "This happens all the time in this neighborhood. Every time it gets to be over about 105 the power goes out and it could be hours before it comes back on."

Someone might have thought to mention that when we were in escrow.

I asked him where he was headed and he said he was going to set up camp in the vacant lot around the corner. He said it had a good view of the fireworks from the local country club and that there was supposed to be a rocket launch from Vandenberg around 8:45, which should also put on a good show.

The dogs were unhappy in the heat and did their business and pulled me back home. The boyfriend was sitting there in the dark, fanning himself with a paper plate. The original plan was to go Full Metal Bako and wheel the BBQ out to the front and set up shop in the drive. The heat put a kibosh on that plan, but we still had the picnic tableware.

"Maybe we should just go ahead and start shooting off fireworks?" I said.

"Not dark enough yet" said the boyfriend.

OK. Fine. Then let's just shoot them off inside because it was definitely dark enough there.

"Why don't you call up the power company and make a scene?" he helpfully suggested.

Well that sounded like fun. And my cell phone was fully charged.

So I called PG&E, our local utility, the fine folks who blew up San Bruno in a natural gas explosion last year.

I was greeted by a rousing version of John Philip Sousa's "The Liberty Bell March" and the message that due to the Independence Day holiday, they were short staffed. Most people would recognize the music as the theme song to "Monty Python's Flying Circus". At least someone at PG&E has a sense of humor. Or just stupid. I'm going with "stupid".

At any rate, I got a very nice lady on the phone, a lovely woman. She said there was crew en route and apologized for this "unforeseen" event - triple digit heat in Bakersfield is evidently "unforeseen" by PG&E. I shudder to think what else is.

At that point, we headed outside to light off our stash. It's a good thing we bought a lot because we had some time to kill.

Now, I was concerned that these "safe & sane" fireworks would prove to be too tame and boring. We had done a test run the night before, and while pretty, they seemed to lack that certain danger that I knew as a kid.

But I need not have been concerned - most of our fireworks proved to be defective.

The "Apache Fire Dance"? Those proved to be I.E.D.'s. We had two of them and they both exploded like a half a stick of dynamite, blowing us back off our feet.

Others exploded like mortars, shooting flaming projectiles 20 feet in the air and dangerously close to some very dry trees. Still others turned into flamethrowers, shooting off sideways towards our arsenal in the driveway. I almost knocked over my wine glass rushing for a hose. All in all, it seemed less like a celebration of "Independence" and more a typical day in Iraq.

The boyfriend's car had been parked in the driveway and he had thrown open the doors and cranked the tunes. There was only one song I remember...

"Livin’ On A Prayer", by Bon Jovi.

That pretty much sums up America 2011, as far as I'm concerned.

The finale was absolutely spectacular. Not the firework - that proved to be a dud as well. But just as the boyfriend lit it, the power came back on.

God Bless America!

In Transit

I have to run down to the City of Angles for a quick meeting.

Stupid, I know. Six hours of driving for a 20 minute meeting, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

I'll have a full Fifth of July wrap-up later this afternoon.

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.

May You Live In Interesting Times

Truth be told, the drive back to LA isn't actually all that bad, other than the time invested, which is considerable - it's usually around 3 hours each way, depending on traffic. I've learned to schedule my meetings between 11 and 1 so as to beat the worst of the city's rush hours, which isn't saying much - mid-day traffic in LA is pretty horrible, especially if you aren't used to it anymore. It took me almost an hour this morning just to drive the 5 miles over the Sepulveda Pass.

But the first hundred or so miles, and the last coming back, are actually kind of blissful. I get on the highway and set the cruise control at 74 - I've been told by reliable sources that that is the limit of the CHP's beneficence and I can't afford another speeding ticket. I scoot into the second lane and let others blitz by me in the fast lane if they feel so inclined... or lucky. The thing I hate most is people who cut me off and make me actually, ya know, drive. Hit the brakes and have to actually pay attention. Don't fuck with my cruise control or I will tailgate you. If I time it right, I can be in NPR nirvana on both sides of the mountains.

Both meetings went well and resulted in work. For the first time in my life I actually wish meetings went longer. Three hours in, 20 minute meeting, three hours back. At least someone could offer me a coffee.

Today's meeting turned out to be something different and unexpected.

Years ago I worked with a woman I considered a good friend. We traveled around quite a bit, doing various photo shoots in interesting places and getting into too much trouble. She left the agency on not good terms and after bouncing around a bit, she called one day looking for leads. Another friend had recently opened a small agency, and although it wasn't much, I hooked her up.

Flash forward 10 years, and now the small agency had turned into a big deal, and so had she. As she had moved up the food chain, we had kind of lost touch, although I still considered her a friend. When I found myself suddenly unemployed, she was the first person I thought to turn to. I called her up and she graciously scheduled an interview.

It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life.

Not only had the agency grown large, but so had her head.

She was condescending and rude, cruel and mocking. There was never any intention of hiring me for anything. I felt like a fucking cat toy at she batted around the work in my portfolio. That was 2007, and I never heard from her again.

She was still on my e-mail list for promotions. When I sent one out last week, I almost deleted her since it seemed so futile. But what the hell. And guess who called yesterday as I walked in the door?

I met with her today, and she greeted me effusively, like the old friend I once believed we were. I've worked in "the business" too long to take wild mood changes seriously. You can usually chalk it up to meds, legal or otherwise. But for the first few minutes we chatted and caught up, everything about what I had been doing, minus the part about living in Bakersfield.

"So, it ends up one of my senior people just left. Would you be interested in a full-time position?"

You shittin' me?

YES! Didn't even think about it. When you've reached this level of destitution, you don't blink when someone dangles a six figure job in front of you. Did I mention we now drink box wine? Can't afford the stuff in bottles, not even the screw tops.

Is she serious? Who knows. In Hollywood, people mindfuck you for sport. And the meds will wear off eventually. But there's a... possibility? The job I picked up today is obviously a test. If I do well on it (and I always do) and play nice with others, there may actually be a pot at the end of the rainbow.

At least that's what I was thinking.

On the long drive back, the euphoria started to give way to the stark realities of our current life. How the hell would this happen? We just bought a house! In Bakersfield! We just moved in, and actually unpacked! The ramifications and emotional and physical jujitsu involved is giving me a headache.

I suppose there are much worse problems to be had, but this one's going to be a doozey if it comes to pass.

L’Chaim!

I had pretty much written Tevye off as nothing more than amusing anecdote. For two weeks I heard nothing from him. And then out of the blue he called yesterday with work! Unbeknownst to me I was in a bake-off with four other designers for an architectural client of his, and when the dust settled I was awarded the job. Unfortunately it meant another hike back into LA for a meeting this morning. Tevye is a man of few words, which ordinarily I find admirable in people. But driving 2 and a half hours for a ten minute meeting made me wish he was perhaps a bit more conversational. At least I had NPR all the way.

The job is actually perfect for me, a series of glossy ads that will run in Architectural Record. Ever since I was a child, my life's dream was to be an architect. Since the other kids on the block were vicious to me, I spent countless hours inside drawing fantastical skyscrapers and palatial homes. On my 13th birthday my parents gave me what every boy dreams of... coffee table books of the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, my idol. OK, maybe not every boy. In hindsight, that was pretty gay. It seemed my path was set and my senior year of high school I was accepted into a couple of prestigious architecture programs. I thought I'd give myself a leg up on the competition by interning afternoons in a local architect's office

And that's where the dream died.

First of all, nobody said anything about math. Not that I'm not good with math, but c'mon. The first assignment I was given was to calculate the total square cubic yards of cement that would be needed to pour all the curbs in a parking lot. What does that have to do with architecture? Where were the skyscrapers, the cathedrals, the cantilevered homes jutting out over the Hollywood Hills? Think again. Ninety eight percent of the work in architecture is total drudgery.

And then there are the architects themselves. A more depressed group of people you're unlikely to meet. Every afternoon when I came in it felt like someone was going to have to be talked in off a ledge. The most cheerless, morose group of Debbie Downers I've ever met. I took me awhile to figure it out. One day I walked into one of the architects offices and there on the wall was a stunning rendering of a church that looked vaguely familiar. "That's beautiful" I said. "Was it ever built?"

"Oh sure. Right down the street" he said.

I then made the connection to a drab, boxy church a block away. I could see a slight connection in the silhouette and some window details, but otherwise it was a mess.

"The Methodists. They ruined it".

He then added that every day he had to drive past it, and every day it was like a stab to the heart.

"Architecture is like that" he said. "Nothing but heartache."

I switched my major to graphic design.

I figured it was still very creative, the turnaround on jobs was weeks, not years, and I'd never have to drive past any of butchered designs. At least until I did movie billboards.

And years later I was able to get my Frank Lloyd Wright fix. Or at least Frank Lloyd Wright... Jr. We found a Lloyd Wright fixer up in the hills that was in horrible disrepair. The owner had inherited it from his father, the man who commissioned it, and he had rented it out for 25 years with no upkeep. Where other people wisely saw an endless money pit, I saw a jewel in the rough. We picked it up cheap and created what appeared to be a very generous budget for renovations.

The first thing you learn about owning an architectural home is they are usually beyond fucked up. Maybe it was built using unconventional or untested means. Maybe the budget ran out and sacrifices had to be made on the less showy parts like, oh, I don't, know, the ROOF. Or maybe the person who commissioned the house in the first place was a certifiable lunatic whose every erratic request had to be honored. In our case, it was all three.

Four years later, the house still wasn't done. The renovations had already cost twice our original budget and decimated our savings. When the economy tanked we were sitting ducks. And yet through it all, I still miss that house. Every screwy part of it. I guess I'll always be an architect at heart.

And at least now, one of my childhood dreams with be realized. My work will be featured on the pages of Architecture Record.

Selling ceiling tiles.

The Cost Of Doing Business

My plan, if you could call it that, is to aggressively pursue work here in Bako, approaching all the local clients I've done work for through the local agencies and offering to do the work cheaper by working for them directly. Is it the right thing to do? Probably not. Is it unethical? That's a debate for better times. A girl's gotta eat.

The only problem with the plan is it's going to take time and I need cash now. So Monday I did an e-mail blast to everyone in LA I've worked for over the past three years. It was done out of desperation more than anything else and I honestly didn't expect anything to come of it; if I had been getting any work from these people over the past couple of years we wouldn't be living in Bakersfield. So imagine my surprise when I started getting work within about an hour! By yesterday afternoon I'd racked up four jobs already. And then I hit the motherlode...

"Are you available for a project over the weekend?"

It was a big project for a former client, a lot of money for two days work, and easy work at that. How great is that? Am I available? Absafuckinglutely.

"Great. We'll messenger you a script and materials. What's your address again?"

SHIT.

I knew this would happen eventually. I'm actually surprised it hasn't happened before now. So far I've been able to maintain a charade that I'm still in LA, working from a secure and undisclosed location. Now someone needed to know where I really lived. The ironic thing is all these agencies already have my address, they just don't know it. In order to be paid I've had to provide my mailing address to all their accounting departments. The beauty of the system is that no one at an agency ever talks to anyone from accounting. I doubt anyone at an agency could pick their accounting department out of a police line-up. But now it looked like the jig was up.

I tried to think of some even remotely plausible reason to have stuff sent to Bako, but let's face it, there just isn't any. So I was left with just one option..

"Oh that's OK, I'll just swing by and pick it up in the morning."

That's a big fucking "swing", 2 hours plus each way. But like I said, a girl's gotta eat.

So it's off over the mountains. Again.

City Of Angles

I was running late this morning and only caught the briefest of news headlines, but I heard that a famous plastic surgeon-to-the-stars died yesterday when he flipped his car on PCH in Malibu while he was Twittering.

God I miss LA.

With Every Silver Lining Comes A Big Fucking Cloud

In preparation of our planned escape from Bako, in recent months I'd ramped up the job search. I've sent out scores of resumés, applied online to even more job listings. I even went to the trouble of having promotional postcards made with some of my best work and my website address - I figured everyone has gotten so savvy about dodging phone calls and email that perhaps an old school mailing might make an impression. And I also designed a slick e-mail promotion to send to people I've worked with over the last couple of years, people who hadn't yet blocked my email address.

The good news is, last week I received a job offer!

The bad news is... it's in Bako.

Bloody hell.

Now what?

Normally I'd just dismiss is with a polite "Thanks, but no."

But these are far from normal times. Most of the postcards I sent out probably went straight into the trash since the people they were addressed to are no longer there - I found out after I'd mailed them there had just been another round of massive layoffs in the LA advertising community. Half the agencies I'd worked for recently have gone under. Of my three marginally steady clients in LA, one went under two weeks ago, another is on death's door. I had hoped to see a small spike in traffic to my website, but when I checked the stats for June they'd actually gone down, the lowest number in over a year. In a business built on "connections", all of my "connections" appear to be out of work. I saw last week that one of my former bosses, a man more "connected" than I could ever hope to be, changed his Linked-In status to "Will work for food".

So what to do?

It would appear I have no choice but to accept the job. I have to let them know this afternoon.

I know I should feel grateful, that to be offered a job in this economy, at my age, in a dying business is a much needed lifeline. But I don't.

I feel like a prisoner who's just been denied parole.

It looks like we aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

Time to explore some other options...

(Just kidding - I'd never do that to the dogs or boyfriend. At least not yet. Talk to me in August when it's 116.)

Appearances Are Everything

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

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

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

And yet the house appeared clean.

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

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

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

It isn't easy keeping up appearances.

The End Of The World - Film At 11

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

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

Mudslides, evacuations, flooding, mayhem.

You know, "Winter in LA".

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

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

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

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

Home Sweet... Whatever

Aaaaand... I'm back. Just got home from LA awhile ago. And heralding my arrival was the creepy ice cream truck. Like clockwork! Even with Daylights Savings! Seriously, someone needs to check the back of that thing. Probably piled high with bones.

They say misery loves company, and on these trips back to LA, my company is my iPod. I usually just throw it on shuffle.

And the shuffle knows.

It's uncanny. I've made four trips back to civilization since the move, and this has happened EVERY SINGLE TIME. Headed out of town, about the time I hit Mettler, the shuffle shifts to happy music - mostly dance music from my decadent past and Madonna. Coming back from LA, once I pass Ft. Tejon and head down the Grapevine, the shuffle switches to mostly "Les Miserables" and classical dirges. (I mentioned I was gay, right?) The shuffle knows my pain.

Anyway, the trip was mostly painless. It wasn't technically to LA, but rather Burbank, which has it's own charm issues. Could be a Bako sister city. The "sophisticated" sister.

And as I made the decent down the Grapevine I was shocked to see Bako, and in fact the whole San Joaquin Valley, had been wiped off the map! Oh happy day! But who's kidding who - I knew it had just been swallowed up by the bad air. The air is grey, the sky, such as it is, is grey, it all just blends together and gives you the impression you're just descending into a void. And sure enough, the outlines of Hooterville appeared through the haze soon enough.

Going, Going, Gone

So escrow closed today on my house. My home. My Ex-home. And I just feel numb and empty. I had made my peace, as much as I could, and shed my tears the last time I was there two weeks ago. In my heart it was already gone and I knew it. But today it's official. It's now someone else's home. And I'm just filled with incredible sadness. Because it isn't just the home that's gone, it's also the last, tenuous link I still had to my former life. It's like sitting in a lifeboat, watching as the fantail of the Titanic finally dips below the sea, and realizing you are truly alone, in the middle of nowhere, adrift.

And unlike the survivors of the Titanic, help is definitely not on the way.

Missing Persons

Somedays, just to cope, I try and imagine I'm just in the Witness Protection Program. And in reality, it's not that far off the mark. Almost no one knows we're here. Either out of shame or embarrassment, we've simply decided not to spread the word. My parents know, of course, and the handful of friends who would actually miss us. A lot of my friends are now scattered around the country and the globe, and there didn't seem to be any compelling reason to let them know, since we stay in touch exclusively online.

Professionally, it's more a charade out of necessity. The handful of clients I've been able to maintain would pull the plug in heartbeat if they new I wasn't nearby. But the beauty of it is that no one has requested a face-to-face meeting in over a year. They e-mail me projects, and I upload the work a few days later. As far as their concerned, I'm still toiling away in the Hollywood Hills.

And no one misses me, because I stopped socializing with them years ago. I work in entertainment advertising, the hellish marriage of two of the sleaziest professions on earth. A greater collection of hacks and liars you're unlikely to find. I used to be quite social, mostly for political reasons. You never knew when you might find yourself on the wrong side of a palace coup or the semi-regular creative purges. Or more likely, when the partners cratered the agency out of ego and greed. In situations like these, it was important to "know people". And I "knew people". A lot of people. Fat lot of good it did me.

The same people who happily let you pick up the tab for dinner or drinks one week, would feign complete ignorance of you a few weeks later when your agency unexpectedly filed Chapter 11. "Will he know what's this is regarding?" Um, yeah..... I'm out of work and he told me to call him. "I'll give you his voicemail..." Dicks. So I stopped voluntarily hanging with these douchebags a long time ago. Life is too short. And e-mail allows you to maintain a veneer of friendship with people you loathe. One or two "heys" a month is really all it takes to keep the relationship on life support. And you can always up the ante by inviting them out for dinner or drinks when you know they're going to be out of town or otherwise unavailable. "Hey you.... I haven't seen you in FOREVER. How about we get together for dinner on Thursday? My treat! What? It's Yom Kippur? Damn.... some other time I guess."

And so the charade continues. I have this fantasy that things will turn around and we'll be able to move back to LA and pretend this unfortunate move never happened. Like that season on "Dallas" that ended up just being a dream. But each new day in Bako seems to make that a dimmer and dimmer prospect.

Thanks For Playing

So yesterday I had to drive back to LA to tie up some loose ends. And swing by my former home for the last time. Technically it's still mine for another week, but this would be the last time I'd see it. And it was immensely sad. It didn't really hit me until I peeled off my house key and gently placed it on top of the escrow docs. I had a good cry and just sat in the living room for a bit, watching the clouds roll by. And then I left. As the front door closed and locked behind me, there was a certain finality to it all. Not only wouldn't I ever set foot in in again, I couldn't.

And the County of LA saw fit to give me a lovely parting gift. A speeding ticket.

Don't let the door hit ya on the way out.