A friend of mine is a teacher at a local community high school.  He is trying to start a recycling program for his “at risk” student population.  The plan is to teach these students about recycling and why it is important so that they will take that knowledge back home and into the community.  He is hoping to get several large plastic containers donated to the school so he can begin his program, and I agreed to do what I could to help.  If any of you have, or no someone who has a large, plastic bin that is not being used, it could be put to good use with this program.  Your donation would be very gratefully appreciated.   In fact, I’ll personally take you to lunch.

Please email me at baketown@gmail.com.  Thanks!

Y’all already know how agro I am about my battle with the plastic bags. I’ve written about it here, here, and here. Well, things are about to get much worse with me now that I’ve read this article. It’s a long read but worth the time.

Here are a few excerpts:

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“No matter how virtuously you toss your chip bags and shampoo bottles into your blue bin, few of them will escape the landfill—only 3 to 5 percent of plastics are recycled in any way.”

“There’s no legal way to recycle a milk container into another milk container without adding a new virgin layer of plastic,” Moore says, pointing out that, because plastic melts at low temperatures, it retains pollutants and the tainted residue of its former contents. Turn up the heat to sear these off, and some plastics release deadly vapors.

“That’s a concern as plastic proliferates worldwide, and people run out of room for trash and start burning plastic—you’re producing some of the most toxic gases known.”

“Except for the small amount that’s been incinerated—and it’s a very small amount—every bit of plastic ever made still exists,”

“Plastic crumbles into ever-tinier fragments as it’s exposed to sunlight and the elements. And none of these untold gazillions of fragments is disappearing anytime soon: Even when plastic is broken down to a single molecule, it remains too tough for biodegradation.”

“Meanwhile, every year, we churn out about 60 billion tons of it, much of which becomes disposable products meant only for a single use. Set aside the question of why we’re creating ketchup bottles and six-pack rings that last for half a millennium, and consider the implications of it: Plastic never really goes away.”

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The stories and articles about Scott Sturtevant started shortly after he passed away last month. Slim the Drifter, as he was known, had drifted away from Bakersfield once again, but it was immediately oblivious his spirit has never left this community.  I chose not to write about Scott mostly because I didn’t have all the information everyone else seemed to.  I didn’t know Scott because of his music, I knew him because of his humor. 

It’s hard to say how old I was went I met Scott but he was a friend of my older brother, so I must have been around 9 years old.  I remember he was funny and crazy and he made me laugh. And like my brother, he didn’t seem to mind having a snotty nosed little sister tag along.  Not that I hung out with the two much, but it was enough for me to remember him and his name. 

Years later as I attended shows in high school, I was surprised when Scott’s name popped up.  He didn’t look like the same Scott I had met years ago.  He and my brother had fallen out of touch as their live took different paths, but when I approached Scott and told him who I was, he flashed a great smiled and grabbed me up in a hug.  He asked all about my brother and always told me to give him his best.  He may have looked scary, but there was still a sweet man inside.

I would run into him now and again over the years.  He gave me a CD once to pass along to my brother, which I did.  But as time passed I became more concerned.  Scott didn’t look good and it was obvious his health was deteriorating.  It looks like all the hard living finally caught up to him.

I am impressed and inspired by the other stories and articles I have read since Scott’s passing.  I have learned a lot.  But none of it changes my memories my brother’s funny friend who took the time to be kind to a little girl.

There’s a bill board near my work I don’t care for.  It’s an advertisement for a Dodge Ram and it features a picture of a man’s arm with a truck tattooed on it.  Underneath the picture it reads, “Get a life at your local Kern County Dodge Dealer.”  What the hell?
 

Are they suggesting that you’re not driving one of their gas guzzling monster trucks you don’t have a life?  Or are they saying that until you are so enamored by your vehicle that you have its image tattooed on your arm, you have not lived?  I beg to differ.  I think my life is infinitely better because I don’t own a Dodge Ram.  I don’t have friends bugging me to help them haul crap all over town.  And I don’t have to spend hundreds of dollars on gas every month in order to propel my ass around. 

As far as I’m concerned, it’s when you start to think about tattooing a picture of your truck on your arm, that’s about the time you should start worrying about “getting a life.”

I received the best gift in the mail today EVER! My ex-boyfriend from high school, also known as the drummer from The Examples, sent me a DVD copy of the video recordings they took back in their hey-day. Oh the hilarity. Oh the bad 80’s hair. Oh the memories. For those of you who don’t know who The Examples are, they were a pseudo punk band in Bakersfield in the 80’s. They won Best Band of Bako in 1985 and 1986 at the Kern County Fair. The band consisted of three bad boy, hot Mormons from Highland High School. Their humorous songs included Charles Ingles, Happy Hippo, Fishing’s Fine, Fat Matt, and I Want to be a Chef – just to name a few.

Apparently I still feel I have bragging rights 20 years later.

I went to a local grocery store yesterday and I couldn’t help but notice as I walked in that there was a man a sleep in the corner.   I looked over, so as to better understand why a man would be sleeping in the corner of a grocery store, and discovered that he wasn’t really a sleep, he was just lounging there - with his shirt pulled up and his gut hanging out.  He seemed about ready to doze off when he saw me looking at him, so he perked up (just a little) and said, “Would you like a paper?”  I told him I already had one and proceeded to go about my shopping.

While I shopped I wondered what the good folks at the paper would think of this guy sleeping on the job.  I’ve been seeing their booths all over town, always with some poor schlep looking bored and trying to give away papers.  I kind of feel sorry for them.  It’s got to be hard to try and give away something people either already have or don’t want.  Sometimes I take one just to make them feel better.

They really need to get some more dynamic people to work their booths though.   Like maybe a kid with a Brooklyn accent yelling, “Papers!  Git yer papers ‘ere!”  You know, create a little excitement.

Lord knows a sleeping man with a gut isn’t going to do it.

There’s another article in the paper today about the Infamous Honking Trains of  Bakersfield.  They’re still trying to figure out how to stop the noise with out spending a bunch of money.  I have an idea.  Tell them to stop.  There, problem solved and it didn’t cost a penny.  Okay, so it’s more complicated than that.  I just can’t figure out why. 

Presumably the reason for all the noise is to alert people who might be on the tracks to get out of the way.  In other words, to wake up the bums passed out on the train tracks. (That doesn’t sound very comfortable, does it?)  I can understand the desire to help these people, but come on, is it really THAT big of a problem?  Has there been a rash of bums being squished that I’m not aware of?  If that’s the case, then I say honk away – but keep it within reason!

I often wake up early, especially in the summer.  It’s nice to get things done before it gets too hot.  So the other day while I was watering I couldn’t help but notice a train blowing its horn for a really long time.  This was no three second job.  This was really llllloooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnggggggg. I started counting when I noticed it and got all the way to 12 before it stopped.  That’s the thing that makes me mad.  Some dudes really lay it on.   There are others that seem respectful, maybe even a little peaceful.  Then there are the a-holes who blast away like it’s their own personal air raid siren.

I know how save money – ditch those guys

I was reading a blog earlier about Father’s Day and the silly things they tell us when we’re little.  One guy shared this story:

“My dad told me the worst swear word you could possibly say was "Bostonian". It meant "someone who has no private parts." My brother and I used the word until we were teenagers and my father giggled every time we said it, right before he sent us to our rooms.”

That’s too funny.  I guess the silliest thing my parents told me was that cows stood in the pools of water to keep their milk cool.  Every summer we would drive to Texas to visit relatives and I would see all these cows stranding around in ponds.  When I asked why this was the answer I received. I believed it until they finally told me the truth in high school.

The story about the famous actor arrested in Bakersfield is really starting to get good. Tom Sizemore is now claiming the meth found in his car belonged to a prostitute named Keisha. According to the paper, Sizemore, “admitted to sleeping with a prostitute while his girlfriend was upstairs in the same home.” He is also quoted as saying, “I’m kind of embarrassed because I consider myself a monogamist.” Apparently his definition of monogamy means sleeping with one woman at a time.

I don’t get how he can say “I’m kind of embarrassed” about any of this. He should be totally humiliated. First he threatens to beat up a hotel clerk, who by the way was told to not check out a room to Sizemore because the thrashed the last one. Then he’s found in possession of meth, which I guess is no big surprise. Now he’s blaming the drugs on a hooker. Oh yeah, they also found a bottle of Viagra prescribed to him, meth pipes and some other various pills. His car was a veritable rolling pharmacy.

If he’s not humiliated he must still be high.

Cody Picker has a problem.  He doesn’t like to masturbate in the privacy of his own room.  He prefers to whip out this willy in public and take care of business.  Unfortunately for him, local residents were less than enthused with Cody pulling the pud in the parking lot.  They held onto him yesterday until the police arrived.   

Mr. Picker has had penis problems in the past.   He was arrested in March for the same thing.  Apparently he gets drunk, then while driving home he is over come with the urge to make love to himself, so he just pulls over and goes at it.

Somebody really ought to tell him it’s unsanitary.

I don't know if you’ve heard the big news or not, but its going to be hot today! The paper has a front page story all about it. Maybe I’m just cynical, but I hardly think saying it is going to be hot in Bakersfield is newsworthy. You’d have to be a total moron not to know it’s hot here. And that’s another thing. Its summer – it’s supposed to be hot for goodness sakes. Didn’t they teach us that in kindergarten? Besides, Bakersfield is no where near the hottest place around. It was 113° in Baghdad yesterday. If Bakersfield and Baghdad were in a fight, Baghdad would totally kick Bakersfield’s ass.

The Rodeo Round-up Finalists are listed in the paper today.   Here are just a few of the names:  Marv, Cody, Dallas, Clayton, J.D., Justin, Wes, and Clint.  I couldn’t help but wonder, do we predestine our children’s future by what we name them?  I mean, we expect to see names like Cody and Dallas in the rodeo finalists.  You don’t expect to see Richard William III or a DeShawn.  The idea caused me to do some research, which led me to this article. I thought it was interesting.

I have a very distinctive name.  Let’s just say I didn’t have any trouble with other kids sharing the same name when I was in school.  I did however, have a lot of trouble with people saying my name wrong, and not knowing how to spell it.  It drove me crazy. I can’t really say how having a distinctive name affected me, but I’m sure it did some how.  Lord knows I’m one hell of a smart ass. My best friend though, she has a nice normal name, like Mary.  She’s the nicest person I know. 

My friend and I used to always read the birth announcements in the paper to see what people were naming their kids.  (I hate that they stopped printing those!)  It was highly entertaining.  I would often joke that a kid named Candy would become at stripper, so something along those lines.   I didn’t know what to make of the twins one woman named My-Onli Malicious and Mi-Own Delicious.  Seriously. 

So, tell me what you think.  How did you’re name affect the person you’ve become?  Or does it have no affect at all?

A Mojave man chose a different kind of way to celebrate his birthday this year.  He tied his wife up with duct tape, kicked her in the head, and threatened to kill her.   Robert Earl Grey (obviously no relation to the Earl Grey of tea time fame) was arrested when his wife managed to escape Wednesday night.  They had been married for just 3 1/2 months. 

Dang.  I’d hate to see what he does for their anniversary.

Daniel Willsey, the tweeker attorney accused of killing Deputy Joe Hudnall, has filed another claim against the county. Here is a good example of a dude who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. He filed a claim against the county last month saying his arrest has damaged his reputation. Now he’s suing KMC, alleging that they caused him, “severe emotional distress and anxiety” by leaving him in a cold room and not providing him with a bed pan. (From my experience every room in a hospital is cold. Suck it up.)

The thing he seems to be forgetting is that a Kern County Sheriff’s Deputy died and Kern County says it was his fault. You’d think he’d try to make himself look GOOD before he goes on trial here. Right now he looks more like a whiney bitch ass attorney who wants to blame all his problems on everybody else. Hasn't he ever heard of Mean Justice?

Photoby Alex Horvath/The Californian

I cracked up when I saw this picture on the front page of the paper today. Look at those teeth! Scary. The title “Gophers Gone Wild” is pretty funny too. It reminded me of own family's battles with the Mighty Gopher.

The house I grew up in shared a fence with Thompson Jr. High. All I had to do was hop the fence, and cross the field and I was in school. Of course if I did that I risked being grounded for a month. My dad didn’t want us climbing the fence for some reason I never understood. Anyway, very frequently the gophers that ran rampant at Thompson Jr. High ended up in our back yard and all hell would break loose. I seem to remember my brother sticking a hose down one of the holes to try and flush them out, but I may be making that up.

What I know for sure is that my family fought those gophers for real. They even got rid of my dogs one day while I was at school because they were digging up they yard trying to get to the gophers. The backyard looked like a battle field. I hated those little suckers.

I read the article about the gopher infestation at CSUB and the comment from the professor who said the gophers are “benefiting from our largess” and I couldn’t help but think, “Hey! I don’t have a large ass!” but then I realized I read it wrong. According to that dude gophers may seem like a pest but really they help us by tilling the soil and allowing for deeper water penetration. Tell that to my dad.

My friend came to work today with a picture of her dog. Is that not the sweetest face ever? Ella is a Beagle/Austrailian Shepherd mix and she's been missing since May 31st. She was last seen at Earl Warren Jr. High, running through their awards ceremony. She's a family dog, very friendly and playful. There is a reward for her safe return. She could be in the area around Old River and Buena Vista.

Please keep you're eyes open for Ella and email me @ baketown@gmail.com if you have ANY information!

How cool is that?