For Valentine’s Day, we have tickets to the Neil Diamond tribute show at the Bakersfield Music Hall of Fame starring Jay White.
Tell me this doesn’t sound like a train wreck: Guitarist for a world-famous nu metal band, with custody of his 3-year-old daughter, tries to raise her in a mosh pit of drugs, dissolution and general dishevelment while he himself is wrestling with almost every demon known to man and the underworld.
Think Van Morrison with equally good material and a textured, New Orleans twang unlike any other voice in America and you have Andrew Duhon. The singer-songwriter’s upcoming performance at the Bakersfield Music Hall of Fame on Jan. 18 will be his third local appearance with Passing Through P…
For Christmas, Katie and Hunter gave me two Patagonia pullovers. A blue one and a tan one. The pullovers were miraculously light, miraculously soft and miraculously large.
Since Christmas vacation is a good time to see movies, we bought tickets for a Wednesday afternoon matinee of the new Mary Poppins movie.
Ray Mish called to report that he’s still alive. It was good to hear his voice since I thought there was a good chance he’d gone to the other side. I wouldn’t have bet the house on it but I would have refinanced it.
Earlier this week, I rode a Bird, one of those electric scooters that recently came to town. I wanted to wave to people and say, “Yes, this is me. I’m riding a scooter,” but I didn’t dare take my hands off the handlebars lest I fall or run over a soft, fleeing animal.
Recently, we had dinner at a friend’s house with five other couples. We raised kids together and now our kids have kids — 10 grandchildren between us. We’ve come full circle.
Last Saturday was the Bakersfield Master Chorale’s "Messiah" concert. This is the Christmas program, but Handel’s "Messiah" has a tendency to swamp the rest of the selections like high seas might a short-walled boat.
At home, she was Mom. It wasn’t until her children went to Alpha Beta with her before they realized their mother was bigger than Mom. She was a celebrity.
It is a luxury to fall asleep to rain, as we did last week, stir during the night to rain drumming on the composition roof and then wake up to rain dripping from the trees. That’s good-night and good-morning music.
Frank Fisher, aka Cranky Franky, eats breakfast at the “Pine” six days a week. That’d be seven if Fisher didn’t have coffee and a doughnut at church on Sunday.
I don’t know about anybody else, but I woke up stiff today. When I started walking, I was like a question mark with feet. My feel-age exceeded my chronological age by 20 years.
Jury duty is like hell: The quicker you accept that your options are limited, the better you’ll feel about it not being as hot as the literature suggests.
We were at Mel’s cabin near Glennville for a men’s night. I was doing dishes for a dinner that included spareribs, Luigi’s pasta with red sauce, salad with blue cheese and sweet, toasted pecans, and a pot of Italian beans.
Everybody can agree on Thanksgiving. If we can’t agree on Thanksgiving, we’re probably not going to agree on much. It’s an uncomplicated holiday or at least for someone like me, whose contribution is subliminal, rather than honest labor in the kitchen.
I’d never gotten a double flat before. A double flat says, “I’ve arrived in the pantheon of car repairs.” A double flat also says, “It may be awhile before I arrive because I’m driving on metal rims.”
When David Torres knocked on the door of Room 113 last Friday morning, he looked around as if to check for enemy fire. Good — coast clear. At 8 a.m., local defense attorney had already accomplished his primary goal, regardless of whatever ambush faced him later in court: Beat H.A. Sala to a …
I wrote the first part of this column (see below, starting with “Looking back”) last week, before we moved from our downtown offices at 17th and Eye to our new digs on Pegasus Drive out in the puckerbrush. I was sad then but now I’m singing a new tune and loving the melody.
The downtown coyote is like the midterms: Everybody has an opinion. Some people are for it, others are against it and the undecideds are awaiting more information before making up their minds.
Check his blood pressure. While you’re at it, maybe his sanity, too. Ken Wonderly is not only restoring a house built in 1895, he’s enjoying it, unruffled by the clouds of flying dust, high-pitched whine of the electric saws and nail guns that sound like small automatic weapons.
I hadn’t seen her in 40 years. “Hadn’t” was discounting a quick visit and Christmas cards that, although regular and heartfelt, are no substitute for face-to-face. If it hadn’t been 40 years, it might as well have been.
Cancer has gotten personal. Not good personal, not "I’m happy to see you personal" but for Michelle Tarner, it’s more like "I’m not sitting backing on my haunches and not doing anything about it" personal.
The garage fridge finally died. It was in hospice for months and last week, we said goodbye. Services will be private and limited to me and the two dogs who mourn its passing because they knew the fridge as a repository of chicken scraps, spaghetti and meatball leftovers and rib bones.
Craig Buckey is more popular than usual Thursdays at 3 p.m. when he picks up 50 chocolate and vanilla milkshakes from Dewar’s and then passes them out to the BHS varsity football team in the parking lot in front of the locker and weight rooms. On Thursdays, Buckey could run for president.
After filling up at the station on the corner of 23rd and F across from McDonalds, I locked the Jeep and went inside the store to buy a water. A tank of gas, a bottle of ice-cold Smart Water, what else did I need?
Today, the Dodgers beat the Colorado Rockies 5-2 to clinch the division title. It took every bit of the 163 nail-chewing games, but they prevailed. Pop the champagne, don the victory caps and above all, give thanks to the baseball gods who do not always cooperate.
Is it murder if somebody deserves it and I thought about it on Machu Picchu? Rather than calling it murder, which can be prone to misunderstanding and hurt feelings, maybe we could consider it human sacrifice in the Incan tradition of purification.
For dinner, I chose one of my best black shirts. The short-sleeved kind, one size too small, the sort that delivers an impression of fitness. Black focuses the attention on the black shirt rather than on a white, lumpy face.