After yesterday, I’ve decided to try to spend the day in my office writing, and looking for a new job.
The doors are locked, the alarm is on, and I’ve got the office door closed with music playing.
The crowds were already developing at the base of the hill at 7:30 am.
I can think of some folks I know down that way who are no doubt just “Thrilled” to have people gawking in their windows during breakfast, or their shower.
One way I thought of that might be fun to drive all these people away would be if all of us along the wash just got naked and opened our drapes. We could go about our business, have sex etc and give all these unwanted “guests” an education.
The problem with that is that in effect we’d be stripping the innocence from the children who’ve don’e nothing wrong. Their parents brought them up here, plopped them in the snow and didn’t give a thought to the fact that this is a neighborhood and they’re interfering with our living our lives.
So giving everyone a show would be morally wrong. There is a part of me that would love to see the court battle though.
“Yes your honor, that man was naked!”
“How did you see he was naked?”
“I was in his back yard looking in his window with my kids playing in the snow…”
“Oh so you were being a peeping tom?”
This whole sudden snowplayer problem has opened my eyes a bit.
There are many things I liked about Wrightwood. But those were things I liked 15 years ago or more.
Time has moved on. When I look at the Wrightwood of today, it’s not as endearing a place.
The negatives have begun to outweigh the positives by an increasing margin.
Victomville, to the North, is a cesspit. Phelan, also to the North often has a crime rate that rivals the inner city. Meth, gangs, prostitution, theft, you name it, are rooted deeply in the desert.
Both cities are within 20 miles of us and loaded with exactly the kind of trash we’ve seen up here in the past few days.
When I first moved here, The desert floor was dark. You could easily see the rest of The Milky-way. Constellations were clear and bright. Now the light from Victimville and Phelan obscure the sky.
It was easy to forget that just over the mountain was the cacophony of LA, Orange Country, and The Inland DIMpire.
At the time, Victorville was a smallish place populated mostly by Airforce personnel, their families, and various support staff. It was a growing place, that’s true. But when Clinton started closing bases and gutting the military, Lots of houses under construction in Victorville were suddenly without buyers.
That inevitably led to HUD housing and lots of people from South Central LA moved to Victorville.
In fairness these were decent folks trying to keep their kids off drugs and out of the gang lifestyle. But it was too late. the gang affiliations had already been made.
Now, I drive through Victimville just like I do South Central.
The only thing missing is my car saying, “WARNING! You have entered a Personal Hazard Area. Do Not exit your vehicle, Do not stop.” But I hear it in my head. Logan’s Run had a district where the little bubble cars on tracks would start playing a similar warning.
I actually accelerate. I just want to get out of those zones as quickly as possible. The problem is, those zones are crashing on the shores of our mountains. It’s only a matter of time before all the same ills that exist below exist up here.
I can’t help feeling like its time to sell the house before the property values drop. Looking at the homes for sale here it may already be too late.