July 30, 2003
Swamp Thing
Have I mentioned how unbearably gross, hot, swampy, roasting, damp, sizzling, sticky, boiling, muggy, clammy, stifling, it is here? Have I mentioned it’s becoming very difficult to breathe? Have I mentioned my dog is requesting a wet bar for the backyard? I mean, let’s face it, things are UGLY. And not only that, there’s a general crankiness in the air, not to mention who knows what else. We’re all going to have to don those SARS face masks soon, just to filter out all the gunk. But, despite the weary weather, life must go on for those of us popular people.
This past Saturday, I ventured out into the blazing heat for a little road trip with my Uncle David and his gal pal, Anne. Anne and I share many similarities, including the fact we’ve both been on unemployment recently, and that we both abhor this dreaded heat. She and I prefer the chilly climate of Monterey or the foggy air of San Francisco. So basically, we whine and complain a lot around here, without garnering any sympathy. In any event, the three of us headed for the lovely town of Hanford.…okay, it’s really not lovely, and to be perfectly honest, it’s just a dusty pit. There are lots of auto body shops, walnut orchards, a palm reader, and several closed down fruit stands. However, it is home to the wonderfully delicious Superior Dairy (more on that later), http://visithanford.com/downtownmap/
and a world renowned Japanese art museum.
No, I’m not kidding. Right out in the middle of nowhere, amongst one of the aforementioned walnut orchards, is the Sherman Lee Institute. http://www.shermanleeinstitute.org/ It’s a very serene Garden of Eden, set beneath the backdrop of the owner’s pagoda-shaped dwelling, which includes lily ponds and manicured gardens. The owner, according to my well-informed uncle, made a fortune selling bull semen. That’s okay, I’ll wait. I know it’s going to take you a few minutes just to digest that delicious piece of information. No, I don’t know what all the buyers do with it, but I’ve read it’s used for breeding super-bulls, and for a far more delectable reason – as an aphrodisiac. Gulp. In any event, the SLee Institute had a wonderful exhibit featuring the work of Fukami Suehara, who does the most amazing porcelain sculptures. He’s quite influenced by the sea, as you can tell by the celadon color and the wave-like movements in his pieces. They’re very smooth and calming, which is always a good thing in 104 degree weather. I was quite taken with a very large bowl, and even though I pleaded a good case, I don’t think I’ve quite convinced my uncle into purchasing it for my XMAS present. Hmmm, I’m sure it’s only a few hundred thousand dollars, and would be great for salads……I don’t get it. All in all, a beautiful exhibit, and might I add, a very well AIR CONDITIONED one.
After mentally preparing ourselves for the furnace outside, we drove off seeking cold comfort inside the lofty walls of the Superior Dairy. This fine establishment has been around forever, and it’s obvious from the décor, the scenery hasn’t changed with time. The pink barstools and booths have definitely been home to many a soda-sipping customer, and I’m positive the menu is that of 1929, the year the restaurant opened. With basic fare like tuna and turkey sandwiches, served with potato chips, the food selections are pretty generic. But, order up a milkshake or monstrous banana split, and you’ll never remember WHAT you had for lunch. I opted for the chocolate shake, while David and Anne split a vanilla one; wow, what an orgasmic experience. It was the perfect frozen ending, to a sweltering adventure out in the desert farmland. Now about that bull semen…
Posted by Wendy at 3:42 PM | Comments (1)
July 28, 2003
BANZAI!!!
I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oops, sorry....this heat is really starting to make me wacky(er). :-) My brain is fried. My toes are burnt. My scalp has been scalded. If it wasn't for the continuous stream of vodka tonics (and/or salty margos), I'd have melted into the sidewalk by now. Speaking of which, I'm pretty sure it's hot enough to whip up a big ol' pile of fried rice and sauteed prawns, with a sake chaser, of course. So break out your chopsticks, and dig into this 147 degree story, my fortune cookie friends. This past Friday, I went with my gal pal Susan (oh what the heck, let's just use her witness protection program name, "Margaret") to the lovely cowtown of Clovis. Why? Well, actually, I didn't really have a reason, but Margaret wanted to stroll down their TGIF themed Farmer's Market for fruits and veggies. I just went along because she promised me a) it wouldn't take long b) it would be fun c) that she would take me to dinner afterward. So basically, I was just tagging along for the cocktails. After the Shopping Queen acquired her 97 bags of Armenian cucumbers, peppers, figs, cherry tomatoes (what point DO they actually serve?), and various and sundry other edibles, we headed out to forage for foodage.
So off we sped in my little Honda, which is about the only good thing I managed to get out of my brief, but seemed-like-a-prison-term marriage. No, I am NOT bitter....it's just the acid in my keyboard. :-) But as the delightful Dame Edna might say, "Possums, that's another story best saved for the campfire." Anyhoot, Margaret and I arrived at a place she read about in the local rag, oops, pardon me....the wonderfully inventive Fresno Bee. It's a fairly new establishment called the Tokyo Steakhouse, where they perform live, exciting, theatrical tapen-yaki. Please forgive that spelling, I'm sure the Webster's people are all freaking out at this point. In any event, it's where they cook in front of you and several sweaty strangers, throwing rice bowls everywhere, tossing shrimp, chicken and beef to new heights, and basically scaring the be-jeezes out of any kid under the age of 7.
Let me just get to the point, so you can get back to your "Shipmates" episode, and I can plant my face into a pillow. This could have been an enjoyable dinner. This could have been an awesome culinary experience. This could have been a restaurant to rave about. And if you haven't already guessed it, "could" is the key word here. Because not only was it 104 degrees outside, but it was even HOTTER inside, due to the fact that there appeared to be a noticeable lack of air conditioning. But hold on to your remote controls, it gets even better....no A/C, no overhead fans, no circulation anywhere. Aside from the distressed, stand-alone fans scattered throughout this sticky hellhole, the ventilation basically SUCKED. We couldn't eat fast enough. We couldn't down our cheap vino fast enough. We couldn't plow through the door, and out into the muggy parking lot fast enough....the open air actually felt GOOD.
Yikes! This is when we knew we were in some serious mental trouble. When the weather outside is a billion+ degrees, and you actually WANT to breathe it in....well, there's only one thing left to do. Head for the pool! Which is exactly what Margaret and I did....we raced over to her casa (better known as the Club 6019), shimmied into our suits, and dove straight into the chlorine....AAAHHHH. With a couple of smart beverages in our hands, we floated atop the bath water, and vowed to never again seek another epicurian episode. Unless we call first, and pose the question all inquring minds in Fresberg need the answer to; just how low IS your thermostat set?
Posted by Wendy at 11:24 PM | Comments (1)
July 22, 2003
Baby, you can drive my car...
Well, you could drive my parent's car, except their Honda was stolen a couple weeks ago. Yup, in broad daylight, where it was kidnapped and joy-ridden around the baking streets of Fresno. It wasn't completely trashed, but I was amazed at the idiotic things the felons took; my mom's gym bag, and my dad's swim trunks? Huh? Geez, they must be really desperate for a dip in the mudhole. Crikey, I LIVE with my dad, and I don't think I'D even want to don those. :-) Of course my crazy mom's main concern was that they absconded with her Fresno State Women's Softball license plate....yeah, like THAT will be a real trophy in somebody's pool room. "Hey dude, where'd you get that cool plate? It's totally awesome!" Yeah, I can dig it. In any event, my parents are getting a new RED Acura (or ACCura, as my mom says) in a couple days...I'm sure they'll find it in a pasture somewhere out in no-man's land later on this year.........missing another sports related license plate, no doubt.
I've been playing the social queen lately, because that's what happens when you move back to your hometown after many moons. People want to treat you to a good time. People want to take you out and about. People want to show you all the stuff you've been missing out on. But more importantly, people just want an excuse to buy you smart beverages. And hey, isn't that what life is all about? So this past Saturday night, I went out with some old high school chums to a local establishment called "Club Fred", where a favorite band of their's was playing. They're called "The Beetles", and let me stop to give you a friendly piece of advice, just in case this ever happens to you. If you happen to be on your way to see a band called The Beetles, DON'T ASK what kind of music they play. This makes you look like an idiot, and it also reaffirms exactly what your vodka-induced brain is thinking; OH GOD, THEY ONLY PLAY BEATLES TUNES!!!!!!!! Yes muffy, that's ALL. For....4.....long.....hours.....zzzzzzz....
Actually, I did embarass myself on the dance floor a few times, but only after the aforementioned vodka inducement. No more Beatles.....ever again...
Also, a couple of weekends ago, I made a perilously HOTTER-THAN-HELL trip up to our very own little tar pit, called Millerton Lake. I went with my gal pal Susan (you remember the blonde with the pool) for her granddaughter's 17th birthday. And if you're thinking it was 478 degrees, and rocky, dry, and barren as the Sahara Desert, then you win the Kewpie Doll. It's like the cocktail that Alan "Hawkeye Pierce" Alda once requested in an episode of M*A*SH: "I'd like a martini bartender...a very dry martini....dry...dry as the Sahara Desert...a vertiable dustbowl of a martini". Yeesh, we survived only by our wits, our smuggled in bottles of hootch, and the fact that we were the only people out of 47 who remembered to bring along rafts. I just tried to avoid the endless possibilities of what might be lurking beneath that murky, swampy water....think "Caddyshack"............DOODIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tomorrow, I'll fill you in on my new job.....yes folks, I've rejoined the rat race after 9 long months.....it could be a good thing. Hey, I'd be happy to vacuum their floors, just so I could stay inside where the temperature verges on Arctic snowstorms. Ooooohhhhh.......hot outside.........ooohhh.....air conditiong......
oooohhhhh........Wendy......very......happy..............:-)
Posted by Wendy at 10:08 PM | Comments (3)
July 9, 2003
Cat on a hot tin roof...
It’s hot here. I mean really hot. And it’s just going to get hotter, my friends, as an incredibly nasty heat wave has struck the valley. Not only can you fry an egg on the sidewalk, you can rustle up a stack of pancakes and a side of bacon. I’m wisely staying indoors, with the A/C blasting, and all the fans on. I just look out the window at the parched scenery and I start to sweat. My mom, Dot, is one of those people who just don’t get hot. She thinks it’s “really nice outside” if the thermometer reads 98 degrees, and all her flowers are still alive. She refuses to turn on the air conditioning until the wallpaper starts blistering. I could literally be running down the hall with my hair on fire and the house going up in flames, and she’d just say, “Oh Wendy, it’s not THAT hot”. I’m the type who flips on the ceiling fan every time I enter a room, and my idea of “really nice outside” is anything 83 degrees and below. My brother-in-law, Jim, pretty much feels the same way. But he’s from Wisconsin, land of ice, snow, and thousands of cheeseheads. You can check out his geeky blogsite at www.thedude.com. Why I chose to move back to one of the hottest places on the planet, I’ll never know, but it was obviously a decision I made using very few brain cells.
Luckily, Fresno is the kind of place where you find a lovely group of people whom you definitely want to get to know better. The kind of people you seek out and long to be pals with…at least until September. That’s right, I’m talking about “pool people”, the brave souls who have paid their membership dues into the Chlorine Club. Those of us without pools must cling to the desperate hope that we might be invited over for a steak, a few margaritas, and the opportunity to drift aimlessly on a sticky raft. I just happen to know a bleached blonde named Susan, who not only owns a blue kidney in her backyard, but has a brick BBQ and plenty of tequila. Not that she doesn’t have other charming qualities; her big loud laugh, her generous spirit, the ability to spin a good yarn, and the effortless way she whips up gazpacho and sour cream chicken enchiladas. These are all fine characteristics in a friend, and they should be treated with honor, decency and respect. But let’s face it; I’m just in it for the pool.
Posted by Wendy at 3:54 PM | Comments (3)
July 8, 2003
You can't go home...
Well, that's what they say. Okay, I'll admit it, I'm a blog virgin...this is my first venture into the great unknown. And actually, you CAN go home again, and I've proven it. I'm 42 years old, and am living back in Fresno with my parental unit after a ka-jillion years, which is a lot. I'd been living in the Bay Area for 14 years, but as I visited quite regularly, I've been aware of my little hometown's growth spurt - quite amazing. In any event, I'm attempting to go through a divorce, find a job, and keep my sanity all at the same time. I have a "tripod" SPCA dog ("Hap") who is living quite comfortably in my parent's backyard; she's only completely freaked out when anyone in the neighborhood is mowing their lawn. And just for the record, they mow the lawn around here about every five minutes...I'm seriously considering a Prozac prescription for the mutt. Last night, my parent's Honda Accord was stolen...but that's another story. Right now, I must enjoy another glass of cheap swill, and watch Sean Connery in "Goldfinger" for the 47th time.....Bond, James Bond. Buh-Bye.
Posted by Wendy at 9:30 PM