Who, besides yourself, would you nominate, and why?

To catch up with this magic-realism-based fact/fictional account of a fact-based fictional reality show, in which a fiction family from an all-too-real Bakersfield is restricted to two media sources (Bakersfield.com and Bakotopia.com), check the link below:

http://people.bakersfield.c...

Ed Baker consistently harped upon his son's predilection for nu metal and post-punk rock.  But he never thought, even for a moment, that his son, Billy, would abuse drugs.  On this sweltering late summer afternoon in Bako,  the mirthful expression on Ed's face, sparked by an unanticipated quip from his son, Billy, was suddenly replaced by a look of great shock and horror.  As he turned his head, he caught a glimpse of a sight Billy did not intend for his father to see---not now, not ever. 

Billy had carelessly left a compartment inside his guitar case wide open for his father to see his stash of hash. 

Ed began to almost literally begin to smolder, from the shoulders up, like a volcano gearing up to erupt.  "Er...ah...eh...is that what I think it is, Billy?!"

Billy tilted his head and suddenly saw what his father had seen.  A look of deep dread and undeniable fear overtook his visage.  Billy had nothing to say.  He couldn't even choke out a word in his own defense. 

"Bring that over to me RIGHT NOW!"  A deafening silence filled the room. 

Billy, nearly seeing his life flash before his eyes, did just that, his right hand shaking, and his right palm sweating profusely.  Billy just knew he was as good as dead.  The cancelled Korn Family Values tour performance, compliments of his punative patriarch, was now a walk in the park.  The restrictions imposed upon him, in which he was no longer allowed to read mattloch's blogs or random's not-so-random comments, seemed like a picnic in the same park.  There was hell to pay, and he was about to pay it in full---or so he thought. 

Mom, the family rescuer, the domestic violence buffer, and the social work student with just enough knowledge on the subject of family dynamics to be rendered a clear and present danger, thought as quickly as she could. 

"Oh, by the way, I know this isn't important, but did anybody see that comment Tully, aka Roy Tullis, made on Dr BLT's blog thread about our reality show?" 

An even more deafening silence now filled the room.

After a long pause, Ed fell, head over heals, into the trap that had been prepared for him.  "No, what did he say?"

"He said that this whole 'Meet the Bloggers' thing was not his cup of tea.  He said it was not very good writing and not all that interesting." 

"HE said WHAT!!!???"  Ed's face grew still flusher as he shook his newly shocked head.

The VH-1 cameras were rolling, as usual.  This time, the camera crew zoomed both cameras in on Ed, and his head.

 

“How could we not be his cup of tea?  Is he saying we're boring?!”  "How dare he even imply such a thing!  Ed's “rage-aholic” tendencies caused him to slobber a bit, like an over-heated tea kettle."

 

"Dad, you're not boring," Billy replied, in a transparent effort to kiss some serious butt and avoid heavy persecution for the pot.  "That's like the pot calling the kettle black...Well, er, ah, maybe that's not the ideal choice of words. What I'm trying to say is that maybe he meant Dr. BLT's blog series sucks, and not us, as a family."

Billy's consoling, if insincere, statement served as an ointment on Ed's narcissistic wounds.  &n bsp;

 

"Well, that may be true, son," said Ed with a marked sense of relief written all over his face.

 

"Sure it is," Janet said, reassuringly.  "And that little stash of hash you've just laid your eyes on, dad, is nothing compared to the 550 pounds of processed marijuana authorities stumbled across per rawreport's latest blog."

 

Janet was trying to rescue her brother from her dad's wrath.  But, while Billy's words were ointment, Janet's were the fly in the ointment that re-ignited the ire of her father.   His face turned red as a beet and he turned, once again, towards his son with hell, fire and brimstone in his eyes.  But before he could open his mouth, Billy spoke.

 

"Save your wrath dad.  You're not sending me to Juvie Hall again, you're not grounding me, and you're not keeping me from Ozzy Osbourne, Rob Zombie, Korn, and their Family Values Tour.  You're not even going to keep me away from my girlfriend from Anaheim, not anymore either. 

I've read Steve Swenson's blog about Nathan Stalker and his walk to Anaheim to propose to his girlfriend; I've read Nick Belardes words of praise, he's a modern-day Romeo in Belardes's blog; and I've read baketown's not so glowing report of Nathan's labor of love.  All press is good press. Call me a copycat if you wish, but I'm walking to Anaheim too--- to see my girlfriend.  I said it before, and I'll say it again: All press, I repeat, all press, is good press. 

Whether or not I get Belardesian praise or baketownian insults, the press, whether good, bad, or in between, will be much better than the rules, restrictions and cruel and unusual punishment that you usually dump on me every time I say or do something you don't approve of, dad."

 

"You're not talking about Disneyland Deb are you?"  Ed was prepared to act upon his rage in ways he had never acted before, but his rage soon turned to reluctant resignation.  He knew his son and his determination to defy him.  He knew his son would do anything that smacked of rebellion and reckless, ignoble recalcitrance.  While Ed scratched his head, waiting for his head to tell him how to respond, Julie Baker, Billy's mother stepped in.  She begged Billy not to leave.

 

"Billy, Billy, don't go.  This Nathan Staker fellow...it is Staker and not Stalker like you said...anyway, his girlfriend doesn't have a retraining order on him.  Your girlfriend does.  You'll go to jail for stalking the poor girl.  And you won't get sympathy either.  Bakersfield, or, at least Bakersfield bloggers, see you as a rich reality show star, not as some romantic poor boy with a love that knows no distance and no car.  This girl that your father calls Disneyland Deb...well, you remember.."  This isn't romance, it's obsession.  For God's sake, don't fall into the trap of that poor girl.  It's a fatal attraction waiting to happen.  Besides, I'm not ready to see you become independent. You're still my baby---even if you are a stoner baby and a stalker baby. "

Ed, Billy's father. interrupted.  "I call her Disneyland Deb because she's done everyone in Anaheim.  She's a home wrecker.  She takes men and even young men like Billy, for a ride and then treats them badly, forcing them to do things like stalk her.  She's a tramp, and a whore.  Billy, you don't need to go back to that crap.  Restraining order, or no restraining order, you're better off without her."

 

"She would be offended if she knew you called her Disneyland Deb, Dad.  I met her at a Halloween party in LA after a Green Day concert.  She was voted Halloween Queen at that party for a reason.  She's beautiful.  I may just propose to her.  She never liked me, but she always supported my rock n roll dreams.  Sure she called the police on me for loving on her in the way this Nathan dude is loving on his girl, but deep inside, she loves me.

Besides, I want to get out of this home once and for all.  It's an abusive household."  Billy was adamant.  There was no talking him out of his decision.  "Later, dudes!"  With these two words, Billy stuffed his stash of hash back in the guitar case, grabbed his guitar, threw it in, picked up the guitar case, and headed for the door.  There was deafening silence and then the dreaded slamming of the door.  More silence followed, then Mrs. Baker broke out in a lachrymal state of uncontrollable sobbing. 

 

Ed reluctantly put his arm around his sobbing spouse.  It was a rare moment of tenderness.  He had not physically touched her for nearly 7 months.  She immediately stopped her sobbing, swallowed her tears, lifted her head, and announced, "Let's eat dinner.  Today, I've prepared hash browns and pot roast."

 

"Mom," Janet quipped, "How about a little coke to wash it all down?"

 

"Damitjanet," her father replied angrily, "We don't joke about drugs in this house.  Your mother wasn't trying to joke about drugs.  She was just stating the facts.  So wipe that smile off your face, NOW----and by NOW, I DON'T MEAN THE NATIONAL ORGANIZATION FOR WOMEN!"

 

Janet didn't hear a word.  She didn't waste one opportunistic moment.  She grabbed the iPOD Billy had forgotten to bring, which he had set down right beside his guitar case, and began cranking Dr BLTunes like Halloween Queen, and songs by 3 Chord Whore, Korn, Adema and other local faves.  She didn't want to shut her mother out, so when her mother began to speak, she pulled off the headphones. 

 

"Let's go eat," Julie Baker, Ed's wife, said, and the three remaining Bakers walked slowly towards the kitchen.  Ed sat down first, then Janet, and then, Mrs. Baker. 

 

"Let's pray," Mrs. Baker said, "It's your turn, Janet."

 

"Okay, mom," Janet replied earnestly.  And she began to pray.  "Dear Lord, help Billy get through his trip.  And protect him from the cops as he knowingly and willfully breaks the restraining order held against him by that Anaheim whore of a ho.  I know he would feel like that poor dog that Charlee Talor talks about in her blog---the dog in the cop car that overheated and died due to the neglect of the policeman who was supposed to make sure the dog was okay. 

Don't let Billy turn into a billy goat either.  Spare him the fate of those poor goats woofwoof mentions in her blog---the ones who are sacrificed by Napal's state-run airline to appease some Hindu god, who is not even you, the one and true God with a big G. 

Dear Father in heaven, the cops and that dreadful woman want to shut Billy down.  Without the opportunity to stalk Debbie, and the sick game of I love you/I hate you that they play, he would be like the town of Arvin, after noholdsbar had her say over it.  He would be an abandoned ghost town.  Arvin is polluted plenty, and Billy is full of sin, but we can't abandon either one.

And Lord, help Billy to get saved like Brian Head of Korn did and go around doing your will---doing good things--- like taking Steve Swenson's advice and giving blood. 

Help him to start listening to more music like the music of Luciano Pavorotti, God rest his soul, and less Korn, Adema, 50 Cent, and nu metal.  And God bless paxchristi3 for praising Pavorotti and praying for his soul.  Help Billy to grow up like Fred Thompson, and not like Ted Kennedy, who looks like a good year blimp in Schumer's blog.  Help him to be like the good Fred Thompson that Tully alludes to in his blog.  And, speaking of Tully, forgive him for dissing this family and the Bakersfield blogger who created us."

 

The prayer grew even more prolix, but, even after nearly 20 minutes into her prayer, Ed had not interrupted her.  He had fallen asleep, his head now silently and snugly ensconced in the plate of hash browns and pot roast, that were set in front of him. 

And as he slept, he dreamed of raising, not his own son, Billy Baker, but a son of common sense and family values--real family values.  In his dream, he had the son he longed for---one who grew up to be just like an allRED, a Bill O'Reilly or a Sean Hannity. 

 

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***For those engaged in a quest to find the real meaning and hidden significance underlying this piece of magic realism-based fact meets fiction, I’d recommend reading Otto Rank and especially his writings on  the contest between life and death.  Rank felt we have a "life instinct" that pushes us to become individuals, competent and independent, and a "death instinct" that pushes us to be part of a family, community, or humanity.  He further believed that we feel a certain fear of these two.  The "fear of life" is the fear of separation, loneliness, and alienation.  The "fear of death" is the fear of getting lost in the whole, stagnating, being no-one.  The tension inherent in the juxtaposition of these phenomena, and the concomitant fears that are produced is the theme of this series. 

 

***The particular technique I am using to create this blog lit is magic realism as applied to literature.  For more information on magic realism, a technique originally applied in the visual arts.  For more information:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wik...

 

Those most directly impacted by a disaster such as 9/11 obviously have the most vivid and emotionally charged memories.  But that was such a profoundly terrible event that memories of terror were permanently etched in the minds and hearts of Americans and indeed international citizens of the world forever.  Where were you when it all went down?  What do you remember seeing?  Hearing?  Feeling? 

Depending on where you were, how you grew up, and what you held dear, the event impacted you differently than your next-door neighbor.  A cowboy may have been affected differently than a banker or a lawyer, but the event, its sheer magnitude and the horror hit most of us in the heart and ripped through our souls like a cold, sharp, steel knife.  Some were numb.  Some numbed themselves with alcohol and drugs.

Some blamed the terrorists.  Others blamed America and its policies.  But we all remember, don't we? 

Have you forgotten?  Has your memory faded?  Are you sick of seeing the same old images?  Would you rather leave it all behind?  Has 9/11 changed the way you pray?