A green glow in the Oleander Street neighborhood - By N.L. Belardes

Vietnamese restaurant in the Oleander neighborhood.

I live in a strange Oleander street neighborhood. Just down the street the Bakersfield High Drillers (6th ranked high school football team in the state of California) just lost to the town’s Catholic school, Garces. I stopped by during the game last night to see a crowd of youth rushing the field after the game.

A few streets away headline news broke when a car chase led police and sheriffs to the edge of Forrest Street and H Street. Hoodlums were caught on Cherry Street. One street over, kids died in a tragic explosion—their souls hopefully in heaven and not wandering the Oleander ghost streets.

At night in nearby Beale Park, tennis courts fill with young dancers beat box or break dancing in huge crowds. During the day people roam the park. Skaters hang out. Families have parties. It’s inner city. Many white people avoid the park; just depends on the day. Sometimes trash fills the park and surrounds big blankets even though trash cans stand nearby.


A ghostly mansion of child spirits and past decadence...

Tonight I roamed around the neighborhood. I saw the old creepy Fritts mansion. I saw Thai Garden with a few customers inside, the Pantry also with a few. I passed by two Palm Readers and the old Weinerschnitzel.

And then I passed by the Saigon Restaurant.

I had to stop.

It was so green.

Would you have stopped?

Pati Poblete's The Oracles and 2nd Noveltown event coming up - By N.L. Belardes

The Oracles isn’t just a Filipino story. It’s a story simply about appreciating culture no matter who you are.

Pati Poblete understands the need for the culture of diversity in the newsroom; she has a new respect for the social and familial implications of the culture of myspace; and she’s also personally digested the impact of Americanization and cultural loss. In her memoir, The Oracles she explores such issues as Americanization and de-Americanization.


Cultural fashion differences = childhood anger.

Having worked with the San Francisco Chronicle since 1999, Poblete has since moved on to the Honolulu Advertiser as a deputy editorial page editor. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t stirred up controversy along the way. Her views are opinionated and prod a stick into the side of journalism no different than the words of Howard Owens on howardowens.com.

Bakersfield residents who follow the drama of local Bakersfield print news know Howard’s story. They’ve read between the lines on his blog and formed opinions regarding Central Valley news.

Don’t think all the scandal is in Santa Barbara and Los Angeles, folks.

But what about Pati Poblete’s book, The Oracles? It’s not scandalous unless you think cultural loss and the transformation of self-identity makes for a bad persona.

Well? Let’s look further…


She looks much different on her myspace page.



If you grow up an Americanized kid these days, you might watch Disney, the Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon and reality TV. You might worship the latest bohunks in American film like Brad Pitt, Colin Farrell and even that questionable new James Bond, Daniel Craig. Your favorite food? Try hamburgers, pizza and sugary breakfast cereal. No problem. You might even read magazines that feature the latest Hollywood hip parade.

Now imagine it’s the early 1980s and you’re Pati Poblete, a young Filipino-American girl staring googly-eyed at the Brady Bunch. I know I did. C’mon Marsha. You know you loved me.


"It's that Filipino culture, honey. They're different"

Suddenly your grandparents who live in different parts of the Philippines come to America to change everything you know about an American kid’s way of life.

What happens? De-Americanization and Americanization all at once. While your grandparents take on aspects of the American way of life, at the same time they dump culture into a young girl who tries to spit it back out like Castor Oil.

Is that bad?


Hawaiian Tiki culture meets 25% Mexican mostly Irish kid who like cocoapuffs and books on cultural connections...



Do you hate your grandparents for the cultural medicine they’re forcing on you? And if you do, for how long? Can such hate dissipate? How can you ever appreciate forced change?

Today your life might revolve around fast cars in a small town. How could you grasp culture when you might not care about a world farther away than the latest warehouse rave, field party or drag race? Maybe that’s American cartoons and Abercrombie and Fitch to a young kid. Take those away and most young Americans would kick and scream too.

And replace with what?


Dusty Gumby kid culture blocks the book. No Grandparents?

The appeal of The Oracles is reading about losing not what you love but in gaining what you didn’t know you could appreciate. Sure, Poblete’s portrayal of her grandparents is a harsh view of her reality. But then maybe the harshness was in the little girl herself who may not have appreciated her grandparents' way of life no matter how they would have presented culture.

The Oracles is a mantra about appreciating what a culture has for you, and not just what culture might have for the kid next door. It’s a story about what might happen when a culture forgets about you, just as you may have forgotten it (or never knew).

In the end, The Oracles is a charming memoir that revolves around a little girl’s hateful feelings toward who she might be: someone not as American as she thinks.

Now I know Malcolm Margolin of Heyday Books (And more on Malcolm) has a special place in his heart for Poblete. He recently wrote to me in an email:

Nick, I rejoice in your friendship, and I'm knocked out by what you and Noveltown seem to be planning for Oracles. Pati Poblete is utterly gorgeous, smart, genuinely likes people, and is utterly gorgeous. Not only that, but she's utterly gorgeous. She has terrific energy to promote the book, herself, and Filipino culture, she's fun to be around, and she's utterly.... But I repeat myself…

You can rejoice in knowing that Noveltown is bringing Pati Poblete to Bakersfield. “Celebrating the Oracles” is the name of the second Noveltown event coming this November 11th to Russo’s Books. If you missed the Chicano event, “Stories From Dust” you don’t want to miss this celebration of culture headlined by writer of The Oracles, Pati Poblete. More details to come…


"I can't believe I read that. I'm going to leave a comment on her blog!"

In the meantime, listen to Poblete read from The Oracles just a few weeks ago in the Pinoy Pod. It’s good stuff.

Here's our call for poets and poetry to be read November 11th specifically about The Oracles in your life. Send submissions to nick@noveltown.net.

Remember, every culture has Oracles; the wisdom of transplanted culture can teach both young and old. Who are the Oracles in your past? Grandparents, war heroes? Are you a kid who never understood your grandparents broken English?

Learn.



Purchase The Oracles through Bakersfield's Independent Bookstore, Russo's, online.

Zowietown 7 at the skatepark - By N.L. Belardes

At the skatepark filming the Condorstown video with Kenny MOTORMOUTH of the Filthies. Sorry Kenny, those pesky Hectic Films guys gave you a new name. I kind of like it better than Kenny "Motor" Mount. heheha.

I present you Noveltown's ZOWIETOWN 7:



Here's some more pics from the photoshoot at the park per the request of some local skatepunks...




















Is this the Superman Kenny has been looking for? (If anyone gets this inside joke I will buy them ice cream today)

Comedian John Wessling on youtube, a must see - By N.L. Belardes

Comedian John Wessling of the Red Eye Radio Show just posted this video on youtube. Watch it, laugh, cry, and be glad you don't live in Iowa. You'll find out why.

Ash on Bakersfield streets, Yemeni cigarettes, and the Superdome syndrome - By N.L. Belardes

In case you didn’t notice why your car is dusty, what the little pieces of grey snow are that have been delicately falling all day, and why your sinuses have been itching, it’s the ash fallout from the Day Fire.

I don’t remember Bakersfield ever getting coated in ash. Tell me this isn’t what fallout was like in downtown Las Vegas in the 1950s when gamblers stopped pulling slots just long enough to go outside and see a mushroom cloud appear in the Nevadan skyline.

You can go to Mt. Charleston just thirty minutes northwest of Las Vegas and park at a vista lookout carved by the old Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). From there you can see a map of the Nevada Test Site and a silhouette of the nearby mountain ranges. This was a popular spot to watch the explosions too. Lots of folks had picnics while watching the light show.

You didn’t see that on I Love Lucy.

Talk about American cancer clusters.

Here in the Central Valley we don’t need fallout from A-bombs or forest fires to get cancer. All you have to do is live in a small farming community like Delano or McFarland where toxins are still poured onto fields from airplanes and machines. Farmers do it because they’re obsessed with high productivity of agricultural output—numbers that consistently multiply the output of early 20th Century farms.

Bio-systems poisoned, cancer clusters, and soil wracked beyond repair—the cost of progress. Go organic when you can. The cost is higher, but society pays a smaller price in cancer medical bills. And the environment won’t get so wracked. (Read Blithe Tomato, the story of an organic farm and farmers’ market society. It’s a good book. It’s eye-opening).

I guarantee some of the readers of this blog have known young folks stricken with cancer in the Central Valley. Unexplained? Maybe. The truth? Think about it—kids playing in vineyards, parent fieldworkers eating grapes from the vine, sometimes gooey with pesticides.

Licking their fingers.

It’s called big money cover-up and news-suppression. That’s the valley we live in.

Google terms like “pesticides” and “Central Valley pesticides” for starters and see what kind of reports you come up with. It’s far worse than the stuffy noses we’ve all been getting from the Day Fire ash fallout.

Speaking of local news making national headlines within the last year or so: The Day Fire near Frazier Park is linked on major news networks—no news-suppression there; the intelligent design controversy and class closure at Frazier Park, the 40mm shell explosion in the Oleander area of Bakersfield, the Red Cross Katrina scam (Some perpetrators caught by our own Jesse Rivera I might add. He’s a damn hero. Why isn’t our All-American city honoring him?), Bill Thomas Shenanigans, Bakersfield as one of America’s most polluted cities (finally a ranking higher than Fresno!). No news-suppression there—except maybe in Bakersfield itself. I swear you can turn on the nightly news in Bakersfield and see the top of a gas mask nearly out of range as the local meteorologist out in the field says, “The weather today is Tony the Tiger grrrrreat in Bakersfield and its surrounding communities!” And then you see him reach for the mask as a Mauricios commercial starts screaming.

And then there’s the Yemeni-terrorist-Bakersfield-secret government document news story. This is the biggest news out of Bakersfield since the Lords of Bakersfield stories were exposed by conspiracy journalist Robert Price.

The local news was all over this story of scandal and secrets. Let’s talk terrorist associations in Bakersfield and question how many more are out there? I wrote about Hezbollah in Bakersfield, and then the Yemeni story happened? What’s next?

As a community, how do we deal with the knowledge of a Yemeni spy in our midst? If Amen Ahmed Ali was also trying to purchase government secrets, how do we cope with knowing he hated us while living among us?

On top of that, maybe you ate lunch with the Terrorism Task Force and you didn’t know it?

Google the incident. You’ll find Bakersfield news, national news, Yemen news, blog news. You’ll find mention of the story in the Shreveport Times, except no mention of “Bakersfield” whatsoever. Strange. Sounds like their reporter didn’t do proper fact checking.

I found MSN, SF Gate, Mercury News, and Fox News links to the story. The Yemen Times sent out a report about the incident in Bakersfield, Bossier City, and the knife in the book incident at a Detroit area airport. Knife in a book?

Scary.

All I can say is, go research. And while you’re at it, think about a new kind of march in Bakersfield, one that’s anti-terrorist in nature.

Why not? We marched for immigration rights. More than once. And Saturday there is a march, a convergence of Bakersfield religious leaders. When will the people march against terrorism? When bodies are lying dead in Bakersfield streets?

When a GET bus explodes?

And then our community will want attention like some kind of monstrous Terrell Owens swallowing pills and then waving to the TV cameras as if every American cared if he were all right, or we were all right.

Are we all right, right now?

We choke on our own pollution. Will we eventually choke on terrorism in our midst too?

Maybe we should just talk football. It’s getting too hot in here.

I hear the football rhetoric against Owens. “He’s the guy with the big ego,” “Every team he joins thinks he’s going to be their savior,” and so on. And then he fails. And then the apparent suicide attempt by pills—in my mind, an attention-getting means to try to politely sit out a season without getting a physical injury. Have you known an athlete with a big ego who suddenly cries wolf?

This guy has a multi-million dollar football contract and he’s depressed? No, he’s not depressed. He wants to sit and collect a paycheck.

Give me a break. Go to his official site and soak in the ego.

On the outside he bears the same ultra-confidence as the American government. But what’s wrong on the inside?

Reminds me of the Superdome. Oh here we go. Plug your ears.

Did you see the game?

Did you wonder who would win?

Can you say, “Atlanta Falcons took a dive”?

Just how will any football team play to their potential against the Saints in the Superdome?

And the American propaganda feeding into that game? I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s one thing to feel bad about Louisiana’s hurricane wracked communities. It’s another to exploit human tragedy in the name of football to rally American sympathy and pocketbooks.

Did the Falcons take a dive?

Did you see the face of Michael Vick in the first quarter? Why did he have the look of defeat so early in the game? Isn’t he a professional? He’s built to win. Or did he know all along his team was going to lose?

Why did the cameras keep showing Michael Vick’s face?

I heard a comment during the game after Vick made one amazing scramble that sounded something like, “That’s what Vick needs to keep doing in this game…”

He didn’t. Why not? Why did he stay in the pocket, or do rollouts and not run and mangle the Saints defense?

He gave up.

And his line gave up. Have you ever seen such blocked kicks and field goals?

Atlanta was defeated before their bus arrived.

Even if the Atlanta Falcons didn’t throw the game, how could they even want to win in the Superdome, where people died and 30,000 people survived, many in near-death experiences? How?

Would you have performed to your potential?

In the end I wonder why American football has fallen prey to the Superdome syndrome and the antics of multi-millionaires like Terrell Owens.

All I can say is, looks like ash is falling all over America, and it’s not just from forest fires and Yemeni cigarettes.

Do you want to be a Bond girl? - Rich Ferguson writes about 007 chick fantasies

Rich Ferguson is a riotous writer for thenervousbreakdown.com. I'm going to be featuring his work here on Paperback Writer in exchange for all his secret knowledge to spoken word and gut-wrenching lyrical prose. Check out what he has to say about Bond girls... -n.l.

If I Were a Bond Girl Life Would Be Easier...All The Problems With The Middle East, White House Incompetence, Mass Genocide, and Racism Wouldn't Worry Me as Much...Well, Maybe They Would...But At Least They Wouldn't Be As Worrisome If I Were a Bond Girl
By Rich Ferguson

LOS ANGELES, CA-

If I were a Bond Girl
I’d be Thunderball beautiful
Have a body like a smart bomb
Be Jill St. John, Britt Eckland and Barbara Bach
All rolled into one

If I were a Bond Girl
I’d be a geologist, a professor of Danish at Oxford
A fully trained astronaut working for the CIA
Run my own flying circus
Be a Japanese shell diver, an expert pickpocket

Or simply go by the code name: XXX

If I were a Bond Girl
I’d be Ursula Andres emerging from the sea in a bikini

Have a heavily guarded island filled with women
Be able to make love in scuba gear, while orbiting the Earth
Or in some remote location covered in diamonds

Last week I went to visit a psychic

Asked if I’d ever been a Bond Girl in a past life
Or had the chance of being one in the future

The psychic said: “Gimme my fifty bucks before I answer your question”

After I handed over the cash
All she said was:

“Fat Chance”

(Read the full article and LEAVE A COMMENT)

RICH FERGUSON has performed at the Redcat Theater in Disney Hall, the South by Southwest Music Festival, the North By Northwest Music Festival, the Henry Miller Library, Tongue and Groove, and Beyond Baroque. He will also be a featured performer in the sequel to One Giant Leap, a film by Jamie Catto and Duncan Bridgeman, due out in Spring 2007. His latest spoken word/music CD, Where I Come From, was produced by Herb Graham Jr. and can be heard here. Rich can also be reached by e-mail at fuzzydoodah@sbcglobal.net.

Obsessed reader pics and cameraman Dane - By N.L. Belardes

UPDATE: More entries! Keep sending! YEAH!


There's a brat I know who moved to Montreal and is way too hooked on Canadian hockey players. At least she likes my odor. She wrote, "Yeah, it's awesome. I know. You smell good."


More duality: My homeboy Mikee whose artist wife Laurin is having another bambino, writes, "Werd".


You've heard their music on Hectic Films... "Sorry I was also shameless."


Fortuna of the Georgetown University Lit Blog gets yappy with her pappies by showing off how she trained her curly albino muskrats to surf belarditoland.




The Ska King of Bobbletopia gets two submissions. Notice the Colonel Sanders slaughtering a chicken, the pizza skalicious treats, and bakotopia plug as shameless as matildakay...



Sunraycafe.com sent in this lovely home comp desk pic. I asked him what the little blue bird was on his comp and he said, "That's a manta ray." Oops. He also mentioned the clear bottles on his desk used to be filled with Crown Royal decades ago. His great grandpa polished those off.


I don't know who this is from but I love the tag line: "Yes, that is gonzo trying to jump to his death. Poor guy has to be here weekends too."


This image from New Leaves in March out of Houston is total widescreen! Melissa Ecker writes, "And look, the new blue matches my ipod cover."


Carefully read the notes around this Fresno photo from Dorktown. Mikie Seay writes, "Hockey season is comin' man, I've got some video of a Condor getting beat on my Falcons blog. Anyway, sending you a pic of my Belardes screen. Keep up the good work."


Matildakay writes: nlbelardes.com & matildakay.com-- when you're finished reading nlbelardes.com go read matildakay.com! She's being shameless.... :)


Woofwoof writes, "It's my birthday and I still have to read paperback writer as soon as I LOG ON!!"


chingpea sent in this photo of her work desk...


Who's taking anatomy 101?

Now back to your regularly scheduled blog:


Here’s an eclectic collection of photos for you.

Do you have a photo of your computer screen showing Paperback Writer or nlbelardes.com? Send one in. I was sent a pic by Norma who claims I keep her from her regular job of shuttling cockroaches in and out of a car dealership. Check out the stacks of papers on her desk!



The Red Eye Radio Show tends to check out the creepfest that’s often on my site now and then. Comedian John Wessling and Radioman Puck are getting freakier by the second. Here’s one of their latest promotional pics. You can see the cover of Thick White Crust and the little sculpture I made for it... I think there’s a ghost in this image somewhere…



Finally you can see pics of Dane B. from the Bakersfield Californian. He’s a part-time cameraman for their online video media. He shot myself and Rickey Bird of Hectic Films recently to talk about Cinema of the Lords. Due date: October 31st. That’s plenty of time to get your film on!


Wandering to the Californian for my interview with Dane...


Dane setting up...


Gulp... the camera is staring at me...

Finished product:



If you have a pic of your computer screen showing how you’re addicted to finding out what kind of story I might write next, feel free to email me. I’ll make sure to show you off….

Local coffeehouse security breach: the he-she coffee controversy revisited - By N.L Belardes

Jags has a new name. But here's a photo from inside...

Starbucks in the news, starfucking as they go.

I’m really trying to ignore Starbucks, but how can I when they’re hitting the top of the news, now with a lawsuit against them?

Starbucks employees blocking the entrance of a rival coffee store in Seattle by handing out free coffee and driving a store out of business? The Drudgereport reports, “Starbucks sued for squashing competitors,” and crosslinks to a story on the Reuters hotline.

Here’s a segment:

The suit also claims that, after Stafford found a space at one prime Bellevue office building, Starbucks employees "were directed to stand at the entrance of Ms. Stafford's business for the purpose of handing out free Starbucks drinks."

Stafford's store closed four months after opening. She still operates one other store outside Bellevue's main central business district. (Read the full article).

But why would I post such a story?

Because there’s a coffee takeover in Bakersfield. Because Starbucks have invaded and I doubt their coffee culture empire wants local coffee culture to wear anything but green smocks.


More Jags. I didn't ask permission. Oops.

Ahh for the lost days of the big downtown Java Jazz House. That was the purest moments of Bakersfield coffee culture... it was an unexplored local phenomenon.

And Starbucks doesn’t want their photos taken. You all read the report. I was walking away from a Bakersfield Starbucks, then came back to politely hand a business card to an employee in the shrouded (not really) darkness outside the White Lane Starbucks, only to get verbally abused by someone whose gender was not revealed in the dark Starbucks shadows.

VERBALLY ABUSED. And no one apologized. Not even one coffee coupon apology. Don't worry. I don't expect an apology. My skin is tougher than that.

Nope, Starbucks doesn’t allow coffeehouse photos even though no warning was posted on the door. There wasn’t a cell phone camera warning; and there wasn’t a little old Starbucks granny with a ruler swatting the ears of camera phone users for showing off technology outside of their man bags.


Coffee culture security breach?

I was clearly in the open taking photos. All the workers saw me except the irate he-she who we now know is a he, but hilariously I offended a small group of the local "easily offended" club who had accused me of insensitively playing the cross-gender card.

Whatever. Grow up. And no, I don't even mind that one local yokel wrote, "I am over it, and you."

Is she? Why was she offended in the first place?

let's get back to the coffee clash. Just who was breaking policy? Me? Starbucks employees? The he-she?

Think about this: local businesses love promotion.

It’s true! They do!

Now think about this: when you support a global 12,000 store establishment that is so paranoid as to say you can’t take photos, then what does that tell you about what they think about local culture and local business? Do they want to be a part of your world, or do they want to change your local culture to be like them?


Most of Bakersfield coffeehouse culture welcomes the support. Not Starbucks.

What’s wrong with my perception of Starbucks in photos?

Security breach?

Was it really?

Then I have breached Jags and Dagny’s integrity time and again. Someone needs to let them know that anyone inside their local business with a camera is a security threat.

Oops, did I fail to mention that everyone who is anyone from the Bakersfield Californian hangs out at Dagny’s? Just show up tomorrow morning.

Here’s a list of some of my local coffeehouse stories.

You know what I think Starbucks doesn’t like?

That I’m starfucking them back.

What culture are you a part of?


Check out links to a few security breaches at Bakersfield coffeehouses:

Jags Coffeehouse:

David Nigel Lloyd
Monty Owes Me Five Bucks
Buck Owens Drummer Reflects on Buck's Passing
Robbie Byrne Story
Enigma of Arrival

Dagny's Coffeehouse:
Loveday
Conspiracy Journalist Robert Price at the Coffeehouse (No Photo)
Laurin Lee

Photographer's Rights? LINK

Hectic Films throws out poster teaser for Lords of Bakersfield short film - By N.L. Belardes

Cinema of the Lords teaser?

There's still time to join the contest. October 31st is the deadline. Don't you have a short film in you?

Just for fun, here's Hectic Films behind the scenes part two:


These guys are nuts! And they have sound issues.

Hit and run on Bakersfield police on Forrest Street? - By N.L. Belardes

7pm: What's going down on Forrest Street?

On my way home from the Kern County Fair I saw Bakersfield police, Kern County Sherriffs and news media on patrol. I introduced myself to some of my neighbors and talked to the media: hit and run on police and a high speed chase in the Oleander area...


"Always something exciting going on in this area day or night," said one of my neighbors.


What's next?

UPDATE: A park ranger was hit... some of the occupants of the evading vehicle were dropped off on Forrest and H Street and caught on nearby Cherry St. (news)

Too many noob cannons - By N.L. Belardes

Too many noob cannons. What does this phrase mean? I know what it means. Do you know what it means?

Too many noob cannons.

I kept saying this phrase over and over in my head as I took a shower this morning.

Too many noob cannons.

Don't drop the soap. Why can’t I just let it go, ignore the words? They’re meaningless anyway? Right?

Too many noob cannons.

It’s a stupid phrase. It’s dumb. The soap is too small. I'm too lazy to open a new package. It squirts out of my hands.

Too many noob cannons.

I don’t like it.

Too many noob cannons.

I hate it.

I’m going to go to the fair and eat and get fatter than I already am. I’m going to go see pigs, cows, gangbangers with Raiders jerseys, and big-headed kids eating cotton candy. And all I’m going to think is too many noob cannons.

Kenny Mount came over a few weeks ago. He was kind enough to not make fun of the giant stacks of laundry everywhere, the eclectic collection of used furniture, and stacks of books and papers that surround my desk. He walked in while I blasted virtual heads like a child does ants with a magnifying glass… back in the 1970s. So I have practice. Sue me. Now I play World War Two shooter games like Call of Duty on my PC. I try to escape the real world and forget for a moment that I’m one of three boys vying for position in a messy house where writing blogs and playing video games takes precedence over doing the dishes and cleaning windowsills.

Sure, I hate the mess. I hate my used furniture too. I hate my hurricane desk, my hurricane bedroom, and sometimes even my hurricane life.

A few days later Kenny calls me. “You know, I was thinking. I walk in your house and there you are playing video games. Your kids are playing punk rock… All I could think was… I wish my dad was like you!”

Great.

What he’s actually saying is: there are giant stacks of laundry everywhere, an eclectic collection of used furniture, and stacks of books and papers that surround my desk.

And today, just as usual. I don’t care about all of that. I mean, I’m writing this aren’t I?

Earlier, right hand on my computer mouse, I clicked while my left hand worked the keyboard. I stared at the computer screen as virtual war erupted and sounds of battle thundered from my $150.00 computer speakers. I typically play the German side. I use a machine gun that I don’t know the name of, and the Happy-Penguin server always rotates the same African map of a adobe city with three machine guns placed at locations throughout. I'm addicted... in a way.

I run through the map happily capping virtual heads like gory fireworks, while I try to keep my kill batting average above .500. I die often. Or do I? Such a confusing phrase. OK, I'm a big kid. I die often. So sue me again.

Sometimes I get on the big machine guns and plaster my opponents. Today I did the same when I suddenly read, "Too many noob cannons".

What the hell?

I’m no noob. I used to play pong. I played the real Space Invaders. I spent my lunch money on Defender and Asteroids down at the Sno White burger joint.

Yet my kid looks at me weird sometimes too. He has that "you're a noob" look in his eyes. I hate that. If we had two computers capable of running Call of Duty I would splatter his virtual brains without blinking. He thinks the same of me, only with more confidence.

Damn him.

And cannons? These are machine guns. Yet even though there were 30 people in the game I knew these unseen 15-year-old gamers were talking to me. And they understood each other! The gamer didn’t make any sense. Yet someone knew exactly what he was talking about. More words flashed across the screen: “Some people don’t realize that it takes skill to use a shotgun.”

What? These punks don’t like people sitting on the machine guns? There’s suddenly rules to this virtual war! Sure, I carry a machine gun... er my virtual character manifestation of me... um... does.

Maybe it didn’t occur to these snotheads that it doesn’t take much skill to avoid the NOOB CANNONS! Get out of the line of fire!

Yet still…

Too many noob cannons.

Give me a break.

I’m not new at the game. How dare they consider me a noob.

Too many noob cannons.

I turned the game off.

But wait it gets better (To use a Blackdog Tower of Terror phrase). Earlier I was playing in a different server. Same thing. I was politely exploding opponent skulls with my popcorn killa big mounted machine gun when some spectator started making comments (A spectator is someone who can watch the game, literally fly through it and peer wherever they want as if their screen is a camera).

Suddenly the voice of Big Brother: “Son, you’re never going to get better at this game squatting on a machine gun like that.”

What? Rules? Self worth? Acceptance? I know this happens in England. But not to me!

Where’s my relaxation?

Why are there rules to virtual war? Did the Call of Duty gamemakers screw up by building maps with mounted machine guns?

Do soldiers in real war scenarios give up defensive positions on mounted machine guns because they’re accused of too many noob cannons?

That’s twice in one day.

Too many noob cannons.

Screw it. I’m going to the fair. And I’m going to get fat.

For real.

California Community College literary art movement in journals and web collectives, and a look at Gary Enns' dreampop empire - By N.L. Belardes

Premiere Junior College lit and art journal

There's a literary arts flowering in the community colleges of California and Gary Enns is right in the middle of it. Enns is one of those rare individuals who contributes to Bakersfield and Kern County culture in a big way: through music, literature and academics. He’s even part of a local Brit Car Club—talk about a subculture of car enthusiasts who eat, breathe and dream in terms of Brit cars. Could such enthusiasm have anything to do with Brit music? Read on…


Cortnie and Gary Enns at my house before a breakfast road trip


Has anyone named this car? I'm calling it "The Brit Banana"

As a creative writing and English composition professor, Gary runs the Metamorphoses (Met) literary and arts journal out of Cerro Coso Junior College in nearby Ridgecrest/Lake Isabella. Hands down, it’s the nicest lit journal out of Kern County, better than the Orpheus journal out of CSUB (The link only goes to the 2002-2003 edition, although I saw a printed copy of the latest edition. The layout was nice, but the printing wasn’t).



Met is about Kern County Writers. That’s important. My story Pinay is in there, as well as art, photos, poetry and literature from Janet Thorning, Jennifer K. Ellis, Angela M. Bell, Valyrie Ice, Joan Desmond, Angela Rose, R. D. Hermansen, J. Hermansen, Karen L. Mitchell, Melinda Sue Hutchings, and Dan Tuttle. Matildakay has some pieces within, and you can too. Met has a new hip website and will be taking new submissions through November 27th. You better believe I’m writing something special for the next edition of Metamorphoses. I’m thinking something more of a memoir piece, or a ‘streets of Bakersfield’ kind of literary exploration of the urban senses…




chingpea often steals CDs and books

I talked to Gary today and we spoke about the online creative writing community going on through the Met website. They’ve got a big poet coming in to do a free online workshop. I’ll be announcing here who the writer-poet is. So stay tuned.

You can also find some great local writings by the Russo’s Poets here in Bakersfield. The printing isn’t as good as the work within. But we’re talking a shoestring budget compared to the shoebox budget of Met. Support them all. Met is free. Just ask for a copy.

The nearest literary journal rival is Lee Herrick’s In The Grove out of Fresno College. He also publishes books of poetry. You’ll be hearing more and more about Valley poets in the coming weeks and months. I tried to find something going on at Bakersfield College in creative writing. I couldn’t come up with anything in my search. I need to track down David Moton of Bakersfield College creative writing department to see what he knows…

On another side note, where Lee Herrick is a Fresno City College professor making a literary splash, and Gary Enns is a Cerro Coso professor making a splash, Brad Listi is another community college professor causing a splash, only he is in LA with thenervousbreakdown.com, a nationwide literary collective in the vain of RiotLit and LitPark.


Gary found Cortnie's paint-by-number keyboard at a similar garage sale

What makes Gary Enns a mover and shaker is not only his creative writing talents and academic know-how. He’s also in Fresno/Bakersfield band, The Dalloways. They made a splash with their album Penalty Crusade, and now they’re recording 15 tracks for a new Brit Pop album. They call themselves California Dream Pop. I just call it good music in an 80’s vain. XTC, Morrissey, Lloyd Cole all ring a closeness to their own unique stylings. I’ll be helping them bring a show to the Silver Fox on November 2nd. More on that later. Let me finish with a link to a post from the Dalloways…


At the skatepark...


On a what??


Rock it...

Enns wrote in a recent blog article, “Dalloways in Studio with Marlon Brando”:

Cortnie and I drove to Fresno this morning for a frigid Friday studio session at Royal Dutch Company--Aaron's Fresno studio. The room is housed in a solid slab of a building. Burgundy paint covers some walls, gray carpet covers the rest, black ceilings press down from above--it feels like the sound lab it is. Posters of Marlon Brando as the godfather and Marilyn Monroe as a floosy keep us company.

We built what Cortnie called a carnival booth--a square corner of the room draped with tacked up blankets and comforters--in order to isolate the vocals. Then we went to work. I sipped orange ginger tea with honey as I sang in order to keep those vocal cords loose.

For this recording, the band scored a top of the line Neumann mic from the 1970's--the creme de la creme of pro studio mics, and coupled it with a Nieve preamp for an incredibly warm and distinctive sound. I could tell you more specs, but then I'd have to kill you. (Read the full article)

Brad Listi of Attention. Deficit. Disorder. gives fiery interview - By N.L. Belardes

It's never over with Brad Listi I've quickly found out. We've just begun to interact. We share a literary vision. Read on to find out what that vision is in this fiery interview with the author of Attention. Deficit. Disorder. ... oh yeah, and if you missed my review, read it.

INTERVIEW:

N.L.: Brad, it’s looking like people who like Nick Hornby might just like you as well. I know I’m a fan of both. I think it’s because your novel has some dark angst related to women and living day-to-day; how do you see the connection between you and Hornby in fans’ minds?

Brad: I’ve gotta be honest: I’ve never read Nick Hornby. But I’m familiar with his work, and based on what little I know about it, I’m flattered by the comparison. Sounds like good company.

N.L.: OK, let’s face it, Attention. Deficit. Disorder. is a controversial name for a novel. Are you pissing more people off than you’re impressing with your Prozac generation title?

Brad: Controversial? Really? That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that. To my mind, the title is far from controversial. It just seems relevant to me. It seems to fit the book, particularly when you consider the period at the end of each word, as each word in the title on its own is thematically relevant to what happens in the novel.

N.L.: I’ve been on two lit collective sites now where it looks like you and a few authors are trying to take over a section of the blogosphere as well as myspace.com: thenervousbreakdown.com and riotlit.com. Are you running both sites? Will the content vary much between the two? I noticed my comments were taken off riotlit.com. What’s the deelio? And I hear there’s going to be a contest?


At the grocery store...

Brad: This is the way things are going these days. Writers are building an audience online and interacting directly with their readers. It’s a matter of necessity, and it’s a natural application of the technology. The Internet permits levels of autonomy and interactivity that weren’t available ten years ago. The playing field is changing. Publishing is changing. And I like to think that we’re somewhere at the forefront of that.

I launched thenervousbreakdown.com this summer, but the real truth at the end of the day is that it’s a collaboration. The site exists because of the writers who provide its content. We’ve got some extraordinarily talented people working for the site, delivering new stories on a daily basis from all over the world. I like to call it an experiment in peripheral news and commentary, an experiment in entertainment. The thing is still mutating, still deciding what it’s going to become. Our audience has a tendency to be trapped in cubicles, or stoned, or suffering from insomnia, or all of the above. So I guess you could say we’re throwing them a lifeline. We’re juggling fire.

RiotLit was started by N. Frank Daniels, who wrote a book called Futureproof. He’s getting ready to go on a huge book tour up and down the east coast. LitPark was started by Susan Henderson, who contributes to thenervousbreakdown and the Huffington Post, and sites of that nature. She’s also an award-winning poet and one of the sweetest people around.

At present, RiotLit is a collective consisting of about nine authors, myself included. The site and the writers themselves tend to have a certain “indie rock” appeal, or so I’m told. It’s a similar spirit, anyway...a D.I.Y. ethos. We’re not going to sit on our hands and wait for somebody to wave some kind of magic wand. And at the end of the day, it’s basically a strength in numbers thing—writers working together, trying to stir things up a little bit and make some noise in concert. We operate on the premise that the readers are out there in droves, and they’re hungry for what we’re serving. It’s just a matter of fighting through the static and letting them know that we exist.

As to your comments being taken down at RiotLit—I have no idea why that would happen, but I imagine it’s a technical issue, a simple mistake. The site is built around the notion of interactivity, and we want people to show up and speak their minds. That’s the whole point. That’s what it’s all about.

To that end, we just held our first official author chat last night, which was a big success, and there will be more of those as time goes on. There are also message boards for people to play around on at the site, and those are taking off as well, as is the site’s official blog. It’s pretty good place to go get lost for awhile.

As to the contest rumors: I’m pretty sure that’s in the works, a writing contest of some sort, but I don’t have the exact details yet. It’s something that Frank and I discussed very briefly last week, but for now I think we’re still in the process of hammering that one out. So stay tuned.

N.L.: Is Santa Monica College the same as Santa Monica City College? Are you getting any shining star students in your classes that you feel comfortable with mentioning? Oh and I noticed you had a decent rating on ratemyprofessor.com, a site that originated out of
Bakersfield, Ca.


Brad and his sister's butt...

Brad: Santa Monica College is the new name. It used to be Santa Monica City College, but I think they eliminated the “City” because they felt that it carried a negative connotation. A stigma of sorts.

I teach an introductory creative writing course, and I’ve had the pleasure of working with a lot of talented people through the years. It’s tough to say who will wind up doing what, because writing is such a personal endeavor, and most of the time it takes several years of hard work to make substantial headway in the direction of publication. My students are usually just starting out, getting a feel for what they’re up to, and my role as their instructor is incredibly temporary. I’m serving as a tour guide for a few weeks—that’s the way I look at it. I’m less of a “professor,” and more of the guy who’s pointing things out along the way. Pitfalls. Stones. Landmarks. Wild animals.

I don’t think you ever really stop learning about this kind of thing, and furthermore I don’t think that you can actually teach people how to write. I think you can teach them how much hard work it takes to become a good writer, and I think that you can pass along a few tricks of the trade here and there in that respect, and I think you can teach them a bit about how to rewrite, and so on. But ultimately it’s up to the individual to do the work on his or her own. With a thing like writing, it comes down to taking your own education. It comes down to will. You have to actually want to do the work. Nobody can make you do it, and nobody can do it for you. You have to be diseased enough to want to sit there at the keyboard everyday and stare at a flashing cursor. That’s the number one prerequisite.

N.L.: What do you emphasize the most in your creative writing classes? And what books do you use? Or do you only teach composition as an adjunct professor? Any outside of class creative writing moonlighting sessions?

Brad: The number one thing I emphasize as a creative writing instructor is what I just mentioned about taking one’s own education. I try to give my students the confidence that they can—and must—teach themselves how to write fiction, if that’s what they really want to do. I encourage them to be aggressively autodidactic in their approach, and not to rely on me or anyone else to do it for them. To my mind, it’s the only way.

As to what textbook I use: I use a book published by the Gotham Writers Workshop, A Guide to Creative Writing, or something along those lines. It’s very good on the basics, and it only deals in practical advice. It doesn’t try to get abstract or philosophical, and it’s very efficient in its use of language. It gives you a few pointers, and then it has the decency to get out of your way.


Juggling in his boxers...

As for moonlighting: no, I don’t do anything like that. Don’t have the time. My schedule is crazy enough as it is. Just the classes at SMC, and for now I’m only teaching creative writing.

N.L.: What’s your next big novel about?

Brad: My next novel is called City of Champions, and we’re hoping to have it on the shelf sometime in 2007 or 2008. It’s an adolescent epic and a pretty expansive satire, a send-up of Middle America. It’s about children acting like adults and adults acting like children. It’s about adolescence—and not necessarily in the chronological sense. And it’s about American Values and how they often get turned on their heads by people holding weed-whackers. It’s got some pretty serious themes on its mind, much like Attention. Deficit. Disorder., but I think it’s a bit broader in its comedy. The goal is to make people laugh out loud while wincing. I want my readers to cough up beverage. I want liquid to shoot out of their noses. If that happens, I will have done my job.

N.L.: We want you to talk to us at Paperback Writer. We’re all about interaction. Please review the comments from the book review and answer one or more of them.

Brad: Big thanks to everybody at Paperback Writer for taking an interest in my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, and I’ll look forward to running into you here in cyberspace somewhere down the road.


Hey!

Buy Attention. Deficit. Disorder. through Bakersfield's Independent Bookstore: Russo’s online…

Starbleeped again? - By N.L. Belardes

Sorry, I couldn't help it after that last article. I did hang out at a Starbucks last night. No problems to report. I asked Matildakay to go to the window to order so they wouldn't think I was in the house to stir up trouble. And I didn't have coffee, just a water. I think it cost $25.

I wonder how much Starbucks is per barrel.

By Nichola Groom

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - U.S. consumers aren't going to balk at paying an extra nickel for their daily cup of Starbucks coffee despite high gas prices and other pressures on their wallets, analysts said on Friday.

Starbucks' announcement on Thursday that it will raise prices on drinks such as lattes and brewed coffee by 5 cents a cup came as a pleasant surprise to many on Wall Street, who said the move is sure to boost sales and earnings but unlikely to spook customers who see a trip to the chain as an affordable luxury. (Read full article)

New PIPEHEAD comic and growing pains - By N.L. Belardes

OK, I’m still having technical difficulties as Paperback Writer blog goes through growing pains. As you can see, the blog is now blue but there are formatting issues. It’s the same blue used on the Noveltown site. That’s because Paperback Writer is transforming into the official blog of Noveltown.

Why?

Because I need to talk to you about books and what Noveltown is doing. I want to ask your opinion, and I want to create products that fit your needs. I mean, really, we can't keep publishing "Lords" types of books if we're just catering to Bakersfiend... or can we?

What do you want to read...?

For a while I was reluctant to really talk about Noveltown except behind the scenes. I wanted to see the Indie publishing company grow on its own while I hid behind my blog. But now I want to go public, and detail for you and others out there what it’s like to start an Indie Publishing Company, and who we are. I want to reveal to you more about books, what our vision is…

I’ll write more this weekend.

In the meantime I hope you like the new format and the new comic: PIPEHEAD.

I was inspired by gapingvoid.com. I figured if he could do it, so can I.

So what is PIPEHEAD?

PIPEHEAD is a saga, an ongoing story about life. It’s also a comic about faceless bugs that live in a soup factory. They have no identity other than they know they’re alive. They’re surviving. They care about each other… They sometimes die and get boiled in big vats of soupy goo.



And they’re bottom feeders.

What else do you want to know?

Where I Come From by Rich Ferguson shoots from the hip - By N.L. Belardes

A smashed CD arrives in the mail with CD inside intact like a pristine poet moment...

If you think you’re not into spoken word, or if you think someone reading poetry sounds like a boring afternoon of nothing better than Gilligan’s Island reruns, think again. They’re not all boring. If you showed up for Noveltown’s “Stories from Dust” event, you experienced T.Z. Hernandez. His poetry is a musical experience.

He sang to you.

It was spoken word.

In comes Rich Ferguson’s album, Where I Come From, a spoken word masterpiece that blasts at you like a Robbie Robertson/Velvet Underground counterculture shotgun ripped from the hip.

Blam!

Only this is 2006 and the music is a fusion of LA sounds that represent the poetry and alt/trip hop music core of today’s nouveau Southland artists.


Some wayward post office machine went postal on this package...

Ferguson resembles a Johnny Depp Hollywood breeze wafted right in to the transcendent world of poetry meets tough talk. Johnny Depp? Yes, ladies. He even wrote to me about being told in a Hollywood grocery store, “I do get the Johnny Depp thing every so often. In fact, I was once standing in line at a Wild Oats Market in Santa Monica with my hat and shades on and some other guy leaned over and whispered in my ear, ‘I just love all your movies...especially Pirates of the Caribbean.’

As for me, I'd been in a phase around that time where it was happening every so often, so I was doing my best to not laugh my head off. Eventually, the guy figured out that I wasn't JD. He began apologizing profusely. Me, I was like: ‘Dude, don't apologize. If you told me that I looked like Marty Feldman, well that would be another story. But we're talking Johnny Depp here. Don't worry.’"


Not Johnny Depp but a poet with a word vengeance for you to inhale

Where I Come From is a great lyrical journey from a man who studied with beat generation Howl king, Allen Ginsberg. He takes the LA area and mystifies it into an experience as if you’re there walking the 3rd St. Promenade, West Hollywood Streets, or right behind some asshole actor who needs his heels kicked from under him. Ferguson does it with his bantering trip-hop talk poetry beat.

It’s that tough.

Put up your dukes you poetry sissy muses. Ferguson is going to blindside you.

Ferguson rests his shotgun voice between your eyes, taking you from trip-hop vocal sounds to alt screeching guitars, always with his voice taking you on a tour through life and LA thoughts as if he’s kicking your ass while serenading you.

Now a tour of some of the songs:

“All The Times” is a spoken word diatribe from the album that quantifies the human experience by both de-humanizing and humanizing at the same time. The song is really a lengthy poem of quantified instances of human experience. “All the times I murdered strangers in my thoughts: 541, family members: 3,567…” It’s probably the most intense song on the album, though intensity in Ferguson’s vocals lingers throughout.

His next song made me think that sometimes we don’t realize we’re all the same in that we’re humans made from carbon tissue. Deep down inside we’re just bones, right? That’s what grows and gets left over unless you fell in an Irish bog 5000 years ago. Bad trip. Does our inner self lie to us daily? Ferguson sings in “Bones”: “Sometimes I feel like I’m filled with bones… it was only because of these bones… these bones are wanted in 14 states, there are X-Rays of me all over America…” We guilt-ridden Americans who still go on beating each other and ourselves with our questionable actions. If we’d only listen to our bones. Unless they lie to us… it’s not our consciousness after all. It’s our DNA that’s the problem.

“Every Now Is Everything” sounds like a modern day urban Western theme song set in Hollywood that whispers and talks to us about our common city plight. Ferguson’s voice talks twisters in logic and thought. Yet the song is a swagger, a confident step through a spoken word tough attitude melody of pulling bass lines. It’s the drill of surreal reality jack-hammered from a city street of thoughts… dig it.

“With This Kiss” takes ambient guitar work in a non-apologetic treatise about acceptance. We are who we are, even if we are denizens, loveless and occasionally loved on Hollywood streets. “With this kiss there are revelations tattooed on our lips… I am beginning to see we are slowly, slowly becoming…”

One of my favorite songs on the CD is “L.A. Book Of The Dead”, a song about becoming the undead king of the LA social network by simply being dignified enough to stay alive. Ferguson questions the paths that people take in an LA scene of community conscience that is often confronted with violent dead-end lives. This “Day of the Dead” piece is as shaky, scary and celebratory as a Day of the Dead march through a Hollywood cemetery. “Santa Monica’s 3rd Street Promenade is really Dante’s Inferno…” Oh yes, “The only way to escape LA is to be LA…” he quotes and discusses minorities in a rich cityscape that caters to gangbangers and elitists. His intensity carries the song while the music rifles us into the barrel of his shotgun talk.

“It was at 8th and Agony. There was blood in the streets… the rain coming down in words of a suicide note… could have been some hallelujah dog gone hungry…could have been the way you told her with your eyes you had nothing for her…” Yes, “8th and Agony” is a painful song, a telephone call from a dark LA phone booth, a phone call from a lust-filled apartment, a phone call from a cell phone—lover to lover on midnight LA streets… this song almost turns punk though it does turn angry, intense, confused, and rattles talk so fast that I’m amazed anyone can remember so many words about… a goodbye.

The final song/poem is a destructive story from LA and Las Vegas: the mad city of lights… a slot machine moment across from the old Peppermill funk bar/coffee shop and Vegas streets and motel rooms. There’s an explosive theme that reminds me of a scene from my novel, Thick White Crust:

It’s a popular song, Jorgen Byrd thought as he suddenly stopped humming. ‘Slot Machines Bursting In Air’ could be the chorus. Now, what was that song?

Jorgen lay between two video slot rows: the latest Konami inventions of interactive money-sucking glee. Here, poker reality-games put you right in Hollywood with mega-stars who put their money down right next to yours in a Las Vegas style holographic manipulation of the senses. Jorgen ignored the games. He could see slot reels spinning in mid-air, and coins shooting from those straight through clouds of fire and debris, slot machine debris, as well as carpets, walls, people; their arms, legs, torsos, purses and sun dresses attached and detached in an explosive death of bursting bulbs and brand new red-white-and-blue attire—with people in them of course, staff workers and tourists, limp in their instant fire-and-money reflecting stares.

There was a sense of patriotism in this fiery moment that Jorgen noticed: like the immediate burst when a sparkler begins to emit its spherical shower of sparks. More than that, it was just then he’d realized that on this Fourth of July he should have been with his grandkids at the park in the 115 degree heat and tossing Frisbees and flipping burgers, complaining about the heat, that he shouldn’t have been in the casino where he’d spent so much of his life lecturing about Mobs, propaganda, and the casino industry; where within his endless joking, he regarded pit bosses as aristocrats, and floozy drink-girls in their Betsy Ross skirts that bared their entire G-stringed asses as ‘freedom-fighters’ for the hospitality industry.

At the moment of the explosion Jorgen had instinctively ducked to the ground. He fell onto a young girl blasted into a fetal position. She fell beneath him from God-knows-where as the explosion rent the mega-casino in two, ripped a gaping hole down the center of the casino floor, toppled one entire wing of its high rise North Tower rooms, which then crashed downward and inward in a cement-cracking, cement-dust broken-body-and-ash-filled explosion of fire and steel that sent one of the Mt. Rushmore heads off the facade of the 1776 Mirkan Resorts Casino directly over Las Vegas Boulevard. There it flew, as intended, by the militant soon-to-be called ‘terrorist American S.O.B.’ who watched via a telescope from the Excalibur Hotel-casino, with his scar-eye pressed sweaty against the eyepiece as Roosevelt and Jefferson’s plaster-and-steel framed heads went sailing over the perfect white nose of the Sphinx and smashed through the Luxor pyramid’s glass exterior and into its many casino hotel rooms.

There were no signs of the other Presidents’ heads.

So this is how the old cowboy ends? With his boots on even—that’s more American than capitalism itself. These were the thoughts of Jorgen, who in his pants-pissing moment wasn’t even sure he was talking or thinking or pissing as he was not purposely doing either. Comments that his mouth or mind blurted forth were according to his favorite Cowboy Pete movies that he hadn’t stopped watching since the onset of the Korean War propaganda films starring the red-haired, six-foot-tall John Kaboon, a.k.a Cowboy Pete: “Whoo-ee! That’s how you gotta die, May Belle. You see this hole in me? Clean it with whiskey. Spit in it if’n ya gotta. But I’m keeping my boots on in case I go—and don’t you dare take my goddam boots off if I get delirious!”

What was the name of that song: Was our flag still there? Jorgen wondered. The room continued to burst—and the power didn’t go out. Bells rang and neon burst and flames licked, and money: coins red hot disks like spaceships seared the air of the room and left their impressions on panicking faces, arms and legs of everyone lucky enough to be in the explosion of capitalism that froze and rent their tourist smiles.


Cover art by Andrei

Buy the CD. Listen to the storytelling, the poet-speak screams like a movie soundtrack. The imagery is lush and Ferguson’s voice and lyrics, commanding…

*NOTE: Rich Ferguson is also a regular writer on thenervousbreakdown.com

Zowietown Episode Six: Part 2 of Downtown Art Rave - By N.L. Belardes

Zowietown!

In the blog sack with Robert Scoble and Shel Israel's Naked Conversations - By N.L. Belardes

Writer-poetRich Ferguson's spoken word CD, "Where I came From" rests next to a copy of Naked Conversations at my work desk...


Lately the business blog I write for ProSoft Technology has been getting more readership. It’s a tough tightrope to walk, but I think verbally poking at the industry I work in is the way to go. Sure, you have to write in a funny engaging way. You all know me here as a mudslinger gunslinger blogslinger, a jokester, a lover of the arts, controversial novelist, and a prodder who loves to poke a stick into the side of the mainstream media; and I’m not afraid to say a few “gee whiz” curse words while I’m at it.

But for the business community?

You have to be careful. A business blog is a whole new world of blogging. You have to be strategic. You must be entertaining. And I believe you must engage others in critical thinking. But do you have to separate both worlds just because you write differently in one blog than the other?

No, there’s overlap.

I just finished Naked Conversations: how blogs are changing the way businesses talk with customers (2006) by Robert Scoble and Shel Israel. Naked Conversations is more than just a book about blogs and how cool they are. It’s a treatise on innovative thinking, innovative writing, and about engaging readers in conversations that are stripped down and to the point.


Out of control desk...



Naked Conversations is also a marketing piece in and of itself. Don’t let these guys fool you. They’re captains of their industry for Microsoft and Sun Systems—and if you think about all the industries and people these two gurus touch—they’re leaders in a universe still rapidly changing from yesterday’s big blog bang.

But is the blog universe out of control?

Not necessarily. Getting the good word out to individual bloggers is likely just as important as educating the business masses, and maybe even these guys spinning themselves into the main conversation regarding it all is not a bad strategy. They’re just trying to help the rest of us make sense of all the chaos, and to help us find the advantages of such revolutionary business and communication change.



Naked Conversations talks the good and bad of business blogging while sharing business blogs that fit a progressive new model in enterprise. You’ll find Design Sponge, Stormhoek, and more inside the book. One of my favorite blogs mentioned is a simple piece of marketing that is meant to be as informative as it is conversational. Stonyfield Farm offers organic yogurts for people into wellness for themselves and their children. They have two blogs: Baby Babble and the Bovine Bugle. I started reading their cow blog and suddenly found that I don’t have to talk soy smoothies, kid yogurt, or organic milk. I can ask questions about round vs. square hay, or how to get rid of barn rats, and I can get an answer. The conversation helps their blog traffic, and you never know… Maybe some parent out there will find their kid yogurt products through us just having a simple conversation.

Isn’t that how most products are discovered anyway? Selling becomes part of the word-of-mouth virus…

Naked Conversations is eye-opening not just for business bloggers, but for people in general who want to learn how to network with the world around them through blogging. It’s about human interaction, storytelling and conversations, and making a business or yourself part of an honest, transparent culture.

Blogging is a forum that changes the way media is perceived by both businesses and individuals. In a business sense, Naked Conversations points out that press releases are dead. That’s a one-way conversation aspect to dinosaur era marketing. Today’s business world needs two-way conversations that are online and face-to-face.



In humanizing communication, the modern press release becomes a relic, an unfashionable piece of paper or an annoying email that many blog-savvy media entities just don’t read.

So why do businesses still pour them out when media farms the blogs?

Because there are too many traditionalists out there as the world makes its transition to conversation-oriented business. Naked Conversations lets us know that though blogging makes business into a free-form structure of humanized capitalism, it’s still too new, still too dependent on culture and good writers, and damn good conversationalists, and on media hip to blogging. Their book is a noteworthy jumpstart to any blogger/media diet.

But there’s still work to do. Blogging must infect little towns and big urban centers...

And I should know. Noveltown only gets media attention beyond the Paperback Writer blog, Bakotopia, and so forth by sending press releases to TV stations and radio. Unless a company has the media as readers, businesses still have to maintain some traditional aspects.

You still have to interact through a traditional form of media contact… ala the dinosaur era press release.

But you might want to lead the media to your blog, to the conversation, to the written aspects of your company culture, or whatever it is you’re trying to promote.

Once you gain readers in the media and in people who want to join a conversation about the products you offer, as Naked Conversations points out, your business can become stronger, and you can find a sensible return on investment in blogging.

You can even be a rebel and wear a suit. Just ask Hugh. Or a pirate. Just ask Eric.

Buy Naked Conversations through Russo’s Online and support Bakersfield’s independent bookstore…

First Cinema of the Lords entry shockingly reviewed - By N.L. Belardes

What's this? Joey Minstrel, making his way through the streets of Bakersfield? Where is this young man going?

Greg Goodsell has submitted his entry for the Cinema of the Lords contest. His avante garde short film adaption of scenes from Lords: Part One is a disturbing and macabre slice of Bakersfield pop culture that will make your skin crawl...


Check out the interview with me and with Rickey Bird of Hectic Films by the Bakersfield Californian. We're promoting Cinema of the Lords. New due date: October 31st. So get your films in! 1000 dollars can be yours! All entries will be shown at the Bakersfield Independent Film Festival (BIFF!) this November!

If you were going to make a scene from Lords: Part One, what would your short film be about?

Temporary technical difficulties on Paperback Writer - By N.L. Belardes

Sorry about the technical problems with the site. Trying to get them fixed. Since you need something to do in the meantime. Please go vote for Bakersfield rural rock punk band, the Filthies on punkrockidol.com

It's a video contest.

They’d appreciate it. -n.l.

Two Straight Men - Christopher Allen Poe and N.L. Belardes on “How to break up with a fast talker”

Christopher Allen Poe - “The Manipulator”

I recently received an email from a close friend:

Hey what’s up man, sorry I haven't been around lately, but Jessica is a nightmare. No matter how many times we break up, we somehow end up back together. She's been driving by my house late at night to check up on me. She been going through my emails and deleting any girl's name. -Anonymous

His situation reminded me of one of my own, so I thought others might benefit from my past mistakes in dealing with this particular type of female, who I have dubbed the fast talking Manipulator. She is a dangerous adversary. So let us waste no time.

First, the process of separation. No one should break up over the phone. It's cowardly. Meet for coffee. Be blunt, not mean. "I'm sorry. You're a wonderful woman, but this isn't working."

Don't leave it open for discussion and don't drag on. Breaking up should not take longer than five minutes. Simple right? Wrong. Understand that men are inherently stupid, and we have trouble grasping this concept. The longer you hang around, the more she sees her opportunity to use sex as a weapon in her war to capture you. After all of the tears and goodbyes, if you have one last sexual escapade, you've officially ruined all of your hard work. In her teary eyes, you've only strengthened your relationship with a healthy dose of communication and sex.

After the separation is complete, comes the extraction. This sticky phase is where most men slip up. One small kiss, and then hit the door. Don't look back. If she tries to grab you, shake her off. Change your phone number. She will try to work her way back in for a few months, but you must not bend. Drunken dialing and text messaging are out of the question!

Finally, the most important point. The Manipulator is cunning. Never break up with her unless it's her time of the month. Then make sure that you never sleep with her again. Maybe this method sounds terrible, but I assure you that pregnancy—real or pretend—is her final and most devastating weapon. Many lives, hers included, have been ruined by foolish men who underestimated the Manipulator's desperation. Follow these simple rules, and you may just set yourself free. Follow them not, and I'll buy your first round of diapers.


N.L. Belardes - “Fast Talker Blues”

Recently I was at Bakersfield’s Marketplace. It’s the hub for cool dates, cool ice cream, and stadium-seating theatres. I munched on a strawberry shortcake sweet cream blend from Cold stone while I watched a couple sit at the next table. The guy wore a mild smirk of concern, a what-am-I-doing stare that thinly hid boredom. His date leaned in. He leaned away. She wore a halter top. Her breasts oozed onto the table. He kept looking while she kept talking. Neither he or I were listening to her.

Fast talkers.

They’re like salespeople standing at your door, their toe strategically stepped forward so you can’t slam wood in their face. You never really wanted a relationship with them. It was all about the sex. You played the game. She played the chatty spider. Maybe you loved her at one time. About two seconds before climax sounds right. This guy at the marketplace? He was thinking about a home run smacked right between the two-breast stadium in front of him.

I slurped on my ice cream, giggling.

This guy needs out. Sure. He wants to break up. Great. He’s focused on sex. Wasn’t a problem until he spun himself into her web. Something happened. I know what happened. She talked him into a near coma and he suddenly woke up.

Now he wants out.

He can’t get a word in edgewise and her fast-talking stories meant to corral him only makes him want to run to his Honda and leave her and her oozing breasts looking for a new popcorn thrill ride.

And don’t get me wrong. The roles can be completely reversed. You’ve seen the guy. He’s got hoops in his ears and he’s looking to cling onto you ladies like cling wrap on a smiley faced cookie—you’re caught in a permanent fake laugh because that’s the only face you can show him. He thinks he’s being the pleaser. He asks you to marry him after one phone call. You just want him to buy you a new Coach purse, then you’re out.

If you can get out.

My first bit of advice? Use technology to your advantage. You’re never going to corner her or him with your slow speech. They’re too fast. Her voice runs quicker than two unsexed Jedi after Darth Maul’s hot twin sister. His cheap talk would make it easier to arm wrestle a cobra.

Try sending a text message or an instant message. Be blunt. “I M BRKNG up with U. Dn’t cll me agn, EVR”. If you get a long ramble, just close the chat box and go have a beer. No sense in hanging around. She’ll be there when you get back anyways. He’ll be calling you.

Whether the fast talker is male or female you’ll be getting a steady stream of novel length emails detailing their life history and why their grandmother never really loved them and how you were supposed to be the answer to it all. Of course that will be mixed into some diatribe about coffee houses, car parts, purses, dog tricks, favorite music, devastating relationships, and everything you ever wanted to know about yourself.

Plug your ears.

Do not answer any of the emails.

If you’re stalked you will be required to have a face-to-face meeting.

I recommend downplaying yourself.

Be direct. You be the talker for once, though you don’t have to be fast with the hip break-up phrases. Beat yourself up. They won’t know what hit them. Next thing you know, they’ll be patting you on the back and walking away feeling victorious.

After all, an empty-handed victory is still a victory.

Get their attention and then let the self-deprecation commence:

“I have to say this. Let me talk or I’ll just walk away.” They’ll immediately shut up and pout themselves into their Jamba Juice cup. “I’m really sorry. I’m mad at myself. I’ve been really bad at choosing relationship partners. I’m a poor judge of character and a slow learner. I’ve realized I just can’t choose. I have a history of making poor choices and realize that I can’t even match socks. I’m torn up about it and I can’t keep up. I’m just a slow mover. I’m sorry. I have to do this so I can grow… it’s only fair.”

From that point on, ignore the fast talker at all costs. Just get a beer, delete the fifteen-minute voice mails and get on with your life.

Besides, as they tell their newfound love all about how long your wanker is they’ll have already started the process again.

Poor bastards.

Two Straight Men is a regular column on Paperback Writer about two straight guys comedic views on whatever the hell they want to talk about. Christopher Allen Poe is a writer/musician from Sacramento, Ca. Visit his website at christopherallenpoe.com. He welcomes any questions or comments. N.L. Belardes is a novelist and blogger out of Bakersfield, California. He’s on myspace.com/nlbelardes and www.nlbelardes.com.

Frazier Park threatened by fire - By N.L. Belardes

Nearby Frazier Park is a beautiful mountain community. Closeby, the few remaining wild Condors soar above the forest canopy, many with a wingspan of twelve feet.

But are they safe?

Fires have been raging for about two weeks in the mountains near Frazier Park. Today my sister informed me that the fire is getting a little too close. "We've packed our bags," she said. "Two weeks ago we packed because of a fire near here to sort of go through the motions. That way the kids could learn to choose what they can and can't bring. I think we've all learned. Our bags are lighter this time."

I asked if the fire was for certain going to rage into Frazier Park. She said, "Let's hope the wind changes direction. We're getting ash."

Her husband said, "It's smokey up here. The kids have to stay indoors. No outside playing."

I asked my sister what her plan might be, that I read online that the Frazier Park Community Center was open to provide shelter. "Well if it's open, nobody told us. If it gets to where we have to leave, we'll come to Bakersfield."

I don't have a big house, but I would enjoy the company. That's family. -n.l.

(VIDEO)