Night Sky Facing West, Elk Grove

I suppose all West-facing skies are gorgeous. I can't imagine that it's just the ones I see from my backyard. One after another, they are glorious and I've taken shot after shot of them. I don't get tired of looking at the pictures and I don't get tired of looking at the reality. If there is nothing else that says to me this world is bigger than my life, then these West-facing skies do the job. This one is another shot just from outside my backdoor. With my crummy camera. Would it be any more glorious if I was working with something good?

The next two are also West-facing, but I took them down the street a bit at the railroad tracks. Can you see the train going by?

The Wayward Wind

PhatMommy has writer's block. Me two...or rather, too. All of the wonderful things, the pithiest of my normally pithy comments, have gone the way of the wind...and it's a restless wind, that's born to wander......

Ahem--in today's mail I got a Xeroxed notice from the Family Life Center. At first, I thought it was one of the many varieties of Christian churches that have come to minister to Elk Grove's needs. But no, t'was an Employment Opportunity, two of them actually. The first was for a "mature couple" willing to minister in a "highly respected residential treatment program" for adolescents in "the beautiful countryside of Petaluma." Indeed, Petaluma is quite lovely, and since the job came with "Housing in a beautifully furnished country home including utilities, food and household expenses," I was enticed. Alas, I am not part of a couple, so that job could not be mine. But wait, wait, on the other side of the marigold sheet was another Employment Opportunity, and this one was for a mature, caring MFT Intern. Doesn't that just sound like me. I'm mature. I'm caring. I'm definitely an MFT Intern.

I got quite excited--was the universe offering me something new? I've been of a mind to move to the Bay Area and, hey, I think Petaluma qualifies. Or near enough. Plus this position offered the same beautifully furnished country home and a "competitive salary." In return, I would provide a "nurturing, stable home environment for four male students." Yes, I would, because I was mature and caring AND an MFT-Intern AND I like boys (I actually prefer them to girls, who I find to be rather MEAN). My imagination took of like a tumbleweed along the Texarkana border.

Yes, yes, I would apply for this job. I'm good with kids. Particularly wayward male kids. I would move to Petaluma and and and---.

I'd have to get up early, wouldn't I? And probably prepare three meals a day. And would I be keeping that beautifully furnished country home tidy? Oh no no no, that is so not me.

For I'm a wayward wind.....

Los Angeles, San Jose, or Elk Grove - Take Two

Here's what I like about living in Elk Grove, which is a suburb to the south of Sacramento.

1. It smells like the country. Last thing at night, when I take Molly out, if the wind is blowing my way, I can smell cows. That should surprise no one, since the dairies are still just up the road Not all of them; actually very few survived the land grab that has turned farms into housing tracts in the past five or so years. The Machados, for example, sold their dairy and now they have a little park with swings and a slide and I think there's a basketball hoop as well named in their honor. As a proud member of the Board of the Franklin Reserve Neighborhood Association, I attended the ceremonial cutting of the ribbon at Machado Park. It is a lovely little site (have I said little enough?), a splotch of grassy green in the middle of hundreds and hundreds and hundreds (have I said hundreds enough?) beige houses. The green is a welcome sight because so many of those beige houses are fronted by dead lawns and wind-whipped For Sale Bank Owned signs. But I digress: what I actually started out to say was that I couldn't stop myself from asking the current Mr. Machado what his grandfather would think to see what had happened to his dairy. I got no response. Still, when I go outside my beige house in the evening, I can often smell cows, and that pleases me.
2. When I actually leave Elk Grove to journey into the nether reaches of Sacramento, the freeway I take is picturesque beyond belief. Sacramento is the City of Trees, so they say. Not to mention creeks and rivers and the odd pond or two. Driving along Interstate 5 is often breathtakingly beautiful and how many city freeways can that be said of? This is not insignificant if you consider the stress levels that most freeway driving produces. When I'm driving on 5 and I take in the scenery, I can feel myself getting calmer. This, I imagine, can only add to my years of life, not to mention its current quality. No small thing, right?
3. I like that this area is still in a state of becoming, as opposed to LA, say, which is darn near finished. I feel as if the Sacramento area, which includes Elk Grove, is waking up, getting with the program, feelin' alive. That I'm here now means that I have the opportunity to be a part of creating the area. I've become involved in organizations in a way that I couldn't have in LA. Here, if a job needs doing and I say I'll do it, it's mine. In LA, I would still be passing the pretzels.
4. I like my house. It's mine. All mine. I can do with it whatever I want. Even if it is beige. Hey, I could paint it some other color. Or glue bits and pieces of broken crockery to the outside lintels. Or grow morning glories up one side and down the other. Okay, I tried that already, and for some reason the morning glories were not amenable. Despite my nicking the seed casing and soaking them in water, the little creeps did not sprout. The same thing happened with the moonflowers that I planted in along the back fence (the one I share, should you be interested, with DeathChic(k) who recently fed her morning glory seeds to her daughter, but that's her story, not mine.) However, all manner of other things do grow in my garden, and I love that. It is a veritable wealth of flora, etc. etc. etc. Roses, roses, roses like you've never seen or smelled before. And a huge peach tree that bears luscious white Freestone peaches in great number. A Meyer lemon tree, as well, which was so prolific that I ended up freezing a good number of lemons just to throw down my garbage disposal when it needs a bit of deodorizing.
5. Speaking of garbage disposals as we were, here's another thing I like about living here: my kitchen.
6. And I like the fact that there are seasons in Northern California. As a Pennsylvania girl, born and bred, I was offended by the puny little drop in temps to 62 degrees that passes for winter in Los Angeles. I like my Winters robust, requiring the wearing of many layers and the laying of many fires. I love that the trees do get Fall colors up here, and they bud out in Spring. We will not speak of that other season, because this is a list of all that I like about living here.
7. I like the fact that despite the enormous growth that overtook Elk Grove, nature will out and much of the landscape is returning to fields. Along with the things I planted in my garden, the wild flowers and grasses that were in what was formerly pasture are insistent on claiming the land as theirs.
8. I like that I'm just 10 minutes or so from the Delta which is, as well, wild and free.
9. I like that my backyard faces West, so that every single evening I get a sunset that is a Kodak moment.
Next I'll do what I like about LA. Or should I do what I don't like about Elk Grove/Sacramento. And what about San Jose? What's with San Jose anyway; why is it even in this headline? Ahhhh, tune in tomorrow for Take Three.

Los Angeles, San Jose, or Elk Grove

The subtitle for this post could be, "To move or not to move; that is the question." Not exactly Shakespearean, perhaps, but vexing all the same to me. The other day Karen of MidLife's A Trip posted a piece on Choices on MidLifeBloggers. It spoke to me because I've got this whole where shall I live thing going on.

When D left, much of my reason for living in Northern California slithered out the door as well. We moved up here because he hated LA. I didn't; I loved it. But dutiful wife that I was (so sayeth I!), I went along with the selling of the LA house and the buying of the Elk Grove house and the subsequent moving of much shit and a few good things to our brand-spanking new Elk Grove house, where we were supposed to live--tra la!--happily ever after.

I don't want to rehash the whole thing, but suffice to say the happy part was very short-lived. For him and for me. I never feel like one of The Gang anywhere I go, but up here in what is basically a suburb of Sacramento (which, forgive me, should really be considered be suburb of the Bay Area), I am that proverbial Sore Thumb.

However, I am a determined Sore Thumb and so I have, over the past almost three years, worked hard to make a place for myself here. And I have not been unsuccessful. Thus, when D left and everyone thought I'd hightail it immediately back to LA, I didn't. I bravely stayed put. I earnestly believed I was DOING RIGHT by make a new life for myself here, in my house, with my stuff. Then the housing market tanked and my new house was right in the middle of the implosion. Now it seemed important to me not to sell my house at a significant loss. So I've kept on keeping on.

Except that along with the housing market, the economy has now tanked and my house just sitting here minding its own business has lost considerable, VERY CONSIDERABLE value. That's equity, people. And speaking of same, that's what I'm living on, basically, 'cause the job, she is not coming. I'm starting to get a wee bit concerned. (I'm also starting to sniff Molly's dog food to see if I could actually eat it if I had to.) The fact is, I need to be earning money, and while I did cash my first BlogHer check the other day (hooray!), it wouldn't keep Molly herself in dogfood for a month. So what to do, what to do, what to do....

I'm not just telling your all this to entertain you (you're laughing at my misfortune, are you?). Rather, I'm telling you all this because in the next couple of days, I'm going to lay out the pros and cons of moving and not moving. I'm doing it because I believe your collective wisdom is exactly what I need right now. So will you please come along for the ride? It will be a short one, and while there's no prize at the end (okay, I could come up with something if you insist), you will have the tremendous satisfaction of knowing you've helped a pal along the way.

This Post Was Meant To Be About Something Else

Today Nanny Goats In Panties and I had coffee. Well, she had coffee and I had some strange iced tea blend that was a little more jasmine-y than I would have liked. Jasmine. What is jasmine doing in iced tea? Is this a cultural thing that I'm just not getting. And should be. Because God knows, Elk Grove is nothing if nothing not bi- and multi- and many-cultural. Despite this, it is not what one would call cosmopolitan. That is, to meet and have coffee, Nanny Goats in Panties and I met not at some sidewalk bistro but at the local Raley's. Raley's is a supermarket. This is what we have come to in Elk Grove, sipping our brew while relaxing in leather armchairs at the local grocery store. Nanny Goats in Panties went food shopping afterwards; I came home.

While we were enjoying our drinks in the, okay, pleather armchairs, we discoursed on:
the lack of interest our friends and family show in what for us is our passion, our blogs; the lack of salon-worthy companions in our separate circles of friends; the intellectual energy, the very zeitgeist of Manhattan, where we both wished we were; the fact that save each other, we had no friends off-line who also had an existence on-line.

Do you ever feel this way? Or are we the only sad sisters in the group and the rest of you have burgeoning and budding on/off-line relationships with multiple fascination geeks? Or do you too feel as if sometimes the people who understand you the best, who hear you the clearest, who give you the most of what you need are people you know solely through your blog? And if you do feel this way--how close are you to Sacramento??????

A Tale of Two Holidays

So Queen Esther was there--I saw her walk in wearing a pretty pink dress and, of course, a crown--and Haman undoubtedly lurked behind a door. Today's group of screamers was not quite so, shall we say, screamy as yesterday's. Yesterday they were wearing lots of green as they screamed. So does this prove that Jewish kids are quieter than Gentile kids? Perhaps.

Yesterday I was at a St. Paddy's day event. My host served corned beef, a brisket that he corned in brine for some seven or eight days. He also served this tidbit: that corned beef as a tradition of St. Patrick's Day is as Irish as the Pope. Seems the Lower East Side Irish immigrants borrowed the corning of a beef brisket from their Lower East Side Jewish neighbors. The Irish saw it as a cheap substitute for ham; the Jews, well, the Jews just liked the taste. Or maybe there's another fanciful story to go with it, but my host, who is a Yiddish-speaking Scotsman didn't say. He also made, from scratch, some Irish soda bread. It was--firm. I brought the cheese. In that family, they call me the Queen of Cheese because, I dunno, I buy good cheeses. But then I'm a Jewish girl and if there's one thing they say we know how to do, it's shop.

Today's event was a Purim party of sorts. An ad went out in the Sac Bee last week, kind of a Calling All Jews who are interested in having some sort of Jewish community in Elk Grove. I responded, of course, because--gee, I can't imagine that there's more than me here. But guess what! The room was full. (Yes, Virginia, we are everywhere--and we vote.) I got so excited, I forgot to eat my hamantashen. That's a lie. I don't like hamantashen; that's why I didn't eat it.

So I was hungry when I got to Trader Joe's and looking for something nice, you know nice, for my dinner. But there was an abundance of ham and pork in various forms and formats and having just left the company of a rabbi, I couldn't stoop to such tref. Instead I had a salad, and then ate all the candy that was in my Purim giveaway bag

Kninking..err, Knitting & Drinking

Another glorious night of it, my friends. This time at a lovely little wine bar in Elk Grove (don't you wish you lived nearby). We came and we ate and we drank and we knit. I think I've only dropped one stitch. At least just one that I know about. No one looked askance. Everyone seemed to feel it was perfectly natural for a group of seven and eight women to be knitting and drinking...kninking.

Here's a pitcher for you. Don't say I don't illustrate my posts, please:

This is Sarah

And this is Brenda The rest of the group is--well, they're reflected in the many wine glasses before Sarah and Brenda. We decided we're going to do this once a month, on the third Friday. Come join us.

Facing West - late winter, 2007

This is what I saw looking out my back door last April and early May. They were all taken a few minutes before or a few minutes after six p.m.

Interview With A Blogger: Me!

Herein forthwith follows the interview that Whoorl dreamt up for me as part of Citizen of the Month's Interview challenge. Whoorl's questions are in purple, the choice of color being mine, for no reason whatsoever.

If you were forced to blog about one (and only one) subject, what would it be?
ME! I know what Whoorl's trying to do, get me to focus on that one thing that stands between me and success: my inability to focus on one topic. But I can't. Don't you think I want to? Nor can I, it seems, professionalize this blog. That was my intention, and I did, in pursuing it, pay lots of money to go to BlogHer. But whatever they were selling doesn't seem to have taken with me. Maybe I'm just not cool enough or young enough or or--maybe I just don't care enough. I dunno. I see people to-ing and fro-ing with their blogs and pitching for blog awards and doing all this stuff that seems so incredibly "high school" to me. I simply can't sustain it.

What is your beverage of choice?
It depends upon the time I am choosing. In the morning, I’m a coffee-drinkin’ girl. I like it strong, full-bodied and rich, tasting like coffee, dammit. Come afternoon, I switch to Diet Coke, out of the can. Come evening, I prefer l'eau de potato, Russian preferably, over rocks with a twist. Stoly...Grey Goose. Or a Gin Martini (is there any other kind?) straight up with 3 olives. What I don't like are frou frou drinks: all those Tinis they've created to give people something sweet and sickly to get them gassed. Sissies.

Tell me why Northern California is a lovely place to live.
Who said it was? Not me. I've lived all over--here, there, and everywhere--and what I've learned is that every place and no place is lovely to live in. I'm here because my SoonTBX wanted to move here. Okay, okay, I wasn't exactly tied up and shipped to Sacramento, but if it hadn't been for his gentle urging, which manifested as constant whining and complaining and a pervasively permanent bad mood, I would still be living in LA. And probably right now my roof would be leaking because they're having terrible rains down there and that's what my roof did when it rained. Instead I am up here, sealed in tight, warm and dry in this wasteland called Elk Grove. And my SoonTBX is living elsewhere. And his roof is leaking. Ha! Karma!

Who is your favorite author?
Doing the coursework for a PhD in English Lit sort of ruined reading novels for me. Once you learn how to deconstruct a text, there's no going back to just reading for pleasure. When I did my MA, I did it in Southern Lit, and then Faulkner was my favorite. When I started my PhD, I thought I'd be an "Austen scholar" (la-de-dah), but my professor was insane and that sadly tinged my doctoral work with intense nutsiness. I haven't read Austen since I didn't have to, and I'm certainly not watching Austen month on PBS. Jane would be appalled.

What would your friends say is your most charming quality? Most annoying?
Oh, jeeze, I haven't a clue what they'd say is my most charming quality. Truth be told, I don't think of myself as one who could ever be labeled charming. I don't crook my little finger when I drink tea and although my manners are passable, I don't think the Vanderbilt's will be inviting me to join the cotillion. I will say that when I saw the film Steel Magnolias, I recognized a quality in the Shirley McLaine character that made me say, "that's what I'm going to be like when I grow up." And I believe I am, for good or ill.

That I speaketh the truth, even when I probably shouldn't is probably my most annoying quality. And that I speak it as if my truth is The Truth can and does create some moments of angst for those around me. I'm working on that, though, because I really don't believe in an Essential Truth, so to sound as if I do is antithetical to...to...my truth.

In 2006, you mentioned wanting to "be more present in you life". Do you feel you have accomplished this goal?
I am more present in my life, but it's an ongoing goal which I don't believe one ever accomplishes. I'm just starting out with little baby steps and lots of backsliding and falling down and smashing my nose flat. But one of the ways in which I have gotten better relates to the first question. I'm somewhere in the middle of working my way through the bullshit of being A Blogger. I am trying to quell all urges to write to please an audience. I am trying to at the least be true to me in this thing I do.

Facing West:

Facing West: 1/5/08
Originally uploaded by ByJane

The western sky from my backyard is glorious, particularly in the late afternoon. I've taken photos of it before, because it really moves me. This year I'm going to do a series, standing in the same place, aiming at the same point, not daily, but regularly. I'm curious about what a series will show.

Stormy Weather, tra la....

This is--or was--the gazebo in the backyard. It was a nice little gazebo. It gave good shade in the summer. RIP, little gazebo.

January 1, 2008

I would like to be clever, if not altogether witty, but I think I'm suffering from a smidgeon of not really a hangover, but you know that oh-so-tired feeling you get when you've been drinking all day and then you stop? In lieu of actual words, though, I've got some actual photos. Enjoy...

This was my view for much of the morning at Knitique, my LYS. I was slithered down in my chair at the table in the back, sipping my champers and pomegranate juice (is this an actual drink, maybe a primosa? or did I come up with the pomegranate juice because it is so very good for my brain cells?). Can you tell that Knitique is a vision of lime and hot pink? These are Danielle's favorite colors and we like them too. Which is a good thing.
This is Danielle, who owns Knitique. You can't tell, but she's wearing hot pink Uggs. I'm not sure what she's doing with her hand...
This is the view of the table where I'm sitting. That's my Treo...and my Denise needles...and my pink polkadotted cup of Primosa. The yarn is one of two skeins I got ON SALE (because that is what happens at Knitique on New Year's Day). I was swatching it here, and I decided to make a purse. Which you'll see when I'm done...some day.

These are the flying fingers of Kim (see the blur) at lunch. There was a whole long table of us. Some of us (who? me?) ordered dessert first. Some of us (who? me?) had a margarita. Most of us were knitting. The waitress was, fortunately, quite patient--and we tipped her well.

This is the lovely Teresa, who, having gotten to the store at 6 a.m. was, at this point, on her fourth or fifth wind.


And these are the things I bought. The object at one o'clock is a case for my doublepoint needles which, currently, are thrown in a mass mess into a drawer. There's a pattern for a Panda Silk Easy (so they say) Scarf and below it are two skeins of, hey, Panda Silk. Then my Crystal Palace Deco Ribbon that I got on sale and the beginning of the purse. I bought the Learn to Spin kit because--well, just because it seems like I should learn to spin. Even though I've never had the least desire to. And finally, two books and two magazines. If I was a better blogger, I'd link to them on Amazon but I'm not so I won't. You can read the titles and google them yourself.

I only spent one half of what I spent last year, but two or three times more than I intended to spend this year. Oh well--if you're a knitter, you understand; if you're not, you probably stopped reading this post ages ago.

G is for Garden...

This will not be a touchy feely post. I am not one of those souls who wanders 'round her garden being nurtured by the nurturing nature of things green and growing. For one, there are also things brown and gray and wiggly being nurtured. I once wrote an article about harvesting snails from one's garden. It was a how-to, written in the days when I took any writing gig that paid (okay, so those days have not ended). I researched the thing and as with my articles about things sexual, my readers benefited only from my research and not from my experience. So when I tell you that harvesting snails is no big deal as long as you put them in corn meal to eat and shit for some amount of time (which you can probably find out by googling, or I could dig up the article) before you actually eat the suckers. And I use that last word advisedly.

But back to my garden....self-analysis is a 24/7 thing with me, so over the years, I've learned this about myself via my garden.

1. I am a process person. I love the planning, the digging, the planting, the weeding. To actually harvest whatever, eh, not really. I no longer grow green beans because they get so big so fast that I could never keep up with them. One year I actually made green bean pesto, which was no small feat. And people ate it. Which just proves that garlic, basil, and a good olive oil will make a decent dish of any old thing.

2. I don't believe in watering. If those fuckers, whatever they are, can't grow on their own, they don't deserve to, is my motto. Consequently I have more and better and bigger tomatoes than anyone around. Because tomatoes don't like a lot of water. Which means they deserve to grow in my garden. Other vegetables, not so much, I confess. Like cucumbers. But chard--I once grew a magic potion of rainbow chard. Of course, at the time I didn't know what to do with it, so it just kinda bolted out in the ground, a blessing of red and yellow and green, until it became brown and moldy.

3. I am an organic gardener. Mainly because those chemicals scare me and I'm always sure I'll shoot them in my face--or in Molly's. So if there are pests in my garden, I take care of them naturally. I spray whiteflies with soapy water. I get whoever I can to pluck the tomato worms off the vines. I tried drowning snails in beer, but frankly, my heart broke for the poor unwitting snail, inching his way into that good smelling stuff, working so hard, covering so little ground in so long a time and then--splat, he falls into beer and can't swim and drowns and leaves all his poor snail children alone in the dark. The same with snails and salt. I couldn't bear to watch them writhe. Why not just crucify them? You'd only need one nail.

4. I love weeding. I may save this for W is for... because really, what I would reveal deserves its own post.

5. I rarely if ever sit in my garden. My excuse is that it's too hot, too cold, too wah wah wah, but really, I think it's a character issue. What I like about my garden is the making of it. It's the process, I tell you, not the product. My garden here in Elk Grove is beautiful. As well it should be since I paid Hugo some $10K (okay, that may be a bit high) to put it in. It's got a stone waterfall and a gazebo. Actually, the electronics on the waterfall have frozen, so this summer particularly it has threatened to be a little den of mosquito inequity. And the gazebo--well, it's not fastened down and on windy days, it walks. But the rest of the garden is gorgeous: rose bushes and Meyer lemons, peaches and sweet peas, and them there tomatoes that I mentioned above. And, oh, the grape vines. These were D's special request. I think he plucked one grape, and I got stuck with the rest. Typical. I cut them off the vine and thought I'd make wine, or jelly, but, eh! they ended up rotting. So now I've got huge vines and what the fuck am I supposed to do with them. I look at them and think--grape vine wreathes, esty--I should cut and twirl or twist them and then sell them. I should. I should. I should.

But I won't. Maybe I'll get Bob, who is the Fijian replacement for the Mexican Hugo, to cut them down. Maybe I will.

But probably I won't.

NaBloPoMo

Foreclosures, Pot Houses & Bad Architecture

Yeah, I know: this is not the sort of topic you expect from me. But here's the thing. If you've been listening to the news or even reading the headlines, you know that the real estate market is wallowing on the beach. My area of Northern California is particularly hard hit. Elk Grove was, two years ago, touted as the fasting growing city in the US. Hey, I was excited too. I may have given up LA, but I was getting a Happening place in return. And I was getting a brand-spanking new house, where I got to pick each and every piece of tile and trim on woodwork (well, sorta, within the confines of the builder's specs, that is).

I've written before of my shock when I moved here and discovered that my house was one of literally thousands, all painted varying shades of brown. But I've adapted. I love the inside of my house. And I'm one of the lucky ones; I don't have an adjustable rate mortgage that is eating up my income and threatening to bankrupt me. So I'm just an observer in the process which real estate expert Norm Schriever outlines in his blog today.

Norm is writing about the Franklin East Reserve area of Elk Grove. That's my area. I think you'll be reading about us soon, because we're going to become, I would bet, the poster child for the ills, varied as they are, of the US new housing market bust. Several weeks ago, The Sacramento Bee did a feature in the their Business section on just one of our problems: vacant houses, absentee landlords, lawns gone to seed. What follows this in any neighborhood, as the police will tell you, is the Broken Window Syndrome: crime, gang activity, further falling property values. The Wall Street Journal picked up the story, and their version is supposed to run on Friday.

I would say the lawns have gone to pot, but that's another problem that's put us in the news. Those absentee landlords? Some of them bought their houses to grow marijuana in. The newly-formed Elk Grove Police Department has gotten more press than it ever expected for their pot busts. Today's headline, above the fold in The Sacramento Bee: "Big pot operation busted in Elk Grove." The major busts several months ago were of houses totally dedicated to growing plants. This time, the growers got smart; they avoided neighbor's suspicions by keeping their lawns mowed, the first floor occupied and only growing the plants on the second floor.

And this is where the third part of my title comes in: Bad Architecture. Our homes were all built so that the living in them takes place in the back. You drive into your garage, and for the period of time that you're at home, you are never seen again. Nothing, I repeat, nothing happens out front. Neighbors? Huh, what are they? Come to think of it, who are they? The days of the front porch, of families watching out for each other, of the village raising the child--these are all non-existent, impossible even, in our area, thanks to the design of our houses.

For the two years that I've lived here, I've wailed about this. The [former] cultural critic in me has tried to deconstruct what it was about society that led to an entire generation of houses where no one was ever home. I know as a [former] cultural critic that the impact on society of culture is in some ways symbiotic. That is, it works both ways: a particular aspect of culture both reflects and refracts the society from which it comes. So these houses where the front yards were manicured, where the garages had trimmed windows that faced the street aping what should be a living room, where the living quarters were all in the far back of the house--these houses gave the appearance of perfect suburbia. But in fact, what they nourished was the underbelly of society: drugs, crime, and a host of social ills.

Cringe: May 17, 2007

Dear Diary,

It is now 2:30, 2:31, 2:32 p.m. and I have spent the better part of today doing sweet fuck-all.

Last night I went to a neighborhood meeting about a shopping mall that They want to build in Elk Grove. I should not have gone. First, because I don't intend to be here long enough to see the damn thing built. But second, and most important, because I HATE GROUP GROPES. I am allergic to them. I get internal hives that make me (a) twitch, and (b) say rude things in just a loud enough voice to annoy (or in some cases amuse) those sitting near me.

Last night's meeting was an exercise in oligarchy. Ostensibly we met to view our concerns about the shopping center. Actually, we were enticed (with promises of individually-wrapped cookies and Macy's gift certificates) to listen to a promotional presentation by GGP, the corporation that is hoping to get their plans for this whizz-bang mall okayed.

It was incredibly boring and incredibly disinformational (is that a word?) and, for me, incredibly maddening. I spent most of the morning trying to write about it in a reasonable manner. Report on the matter, as it were. If I tell you that that post was titled, Democracy Devolves to Dog and Pony Show, you'll get a whiff of why I'm struggling with this.

I hate stupidity. I loathe even more when those in charge assume those not in charge are too stupid to know when they're having a fast one pulled. Rather than an open airing of citizens' thoughts, we had to endure a host of woefully inadequate generalizations. We were told several times that GGP is a "high end mall developer" and is not in the business of building strip malls. I thought I saw Lady Macbeth wafting through the chamber at that one. The presentation was so short of specifics that I thought perhaps Louis, GGP's main guy, was more than a tad unprepared. In fact, were I to grade him, he would have gotten a C in presentation. He waxed eloquent on the "beautiful water features" whatever they might be and assured us more than once how excited GGP is about the project (well, yes, I guess so, since it's a profitable business for them). But his only response to the various issues we had about the project was, "that's what the retailers tell us they want." As in, go ask your mother. No, go ask your father. No, just do as I damn well tell you.

Instead of a democratic give and take, question and answer, We, the People were made to write our questions on a form and hand them in. Then They, the Oligarchs got to cherry-pick and edit, revise and summarize so that the builders could do their own cherry-picking of questions they would answer. That resulted in some breathtaking exchanges, like the response to the question about security. Seeing as we are perched on the edge of the Sacramento's gangland, what considerations have the builders given to mall security. Answer: Security is very important to us. We will hire our security from LA. Oh, good, because LA has such incredible security that they have had no problems with security at their malls. Hell, no. Well, maybe a little. Maybe a lot.

There was also a concern that the retail businesses would post objectionable material on their billboards. Oh, no, we won't allow that. We're very concerned about family values. Here's where my mumble turned to a hiss, "You're going to control Abercombie & Fitch?! Purveyors of the most sexualized and/or controversial ads in the marketplace. Good luck."

My question concerned who did their demographic research that resulted in only second tier retailers like Macy's being willing to come in. Answer: We hired a market research firm in Sacramento. They set up four focus groups, two of those who have lived in EG for over five years and two of those who have lived here for five years and under. Sounds fair enough, doesn't it. Until you consider that the vast majority of those living in Elk Grove fall into the second group. Was that inequity of demographic taken into consideration? Can't answer that one, because the oligarchs chose to edit it out.

I didn't mean to get into this rant. I meant to write a Cringe worthy diatribe against myself at public meetings. But that's not what came out, is it.

I flew out of the meeting to get home in time to see Melinda bounced from AI and my favorite blonde not even make it to the finals of America's Next Top Model. T'was not a good night for me....

How To Make Me Mad...

I guess I don’t need any help in getting mad after all. This article in the Sacramento Bee did it for me. The subhead says it all, as far as I’m concerned. “Elk Grove officials aren’t enthused by Target, JCPenny at Promenade.” Neither are Elk Grove citizens, particularly this one.

The back story is this: Elk Grove has been dithering over a huge mall for some time now—probably since we started our surge to become the fastest growing city in the United States. The mall, to be over a million square feet, is sited at the east end of the city, where a nifty little exit to Highway 99 would enable the masses for miles around to visit.

The purpose, according to the city fathers (and mothers one would assume) is to put Elk Grove on the map, mall-wise. Right now, we have, it would seem, more than enough stores. In fact, one might say, I will say that Elk Grove is nothing but new houses and chain stores. However, a Real Mall with Real Stores is what is wanted. In other words, Nordstrom’s and Macy’s and, one would hope, Restoration Hardware and Williams Sonoma. Like they have in Arden or Roseville. And West Hollywood or Century City. Or Short Hills. Or Manhasset. (I’m not sure about those last two, but you get my point.) A Real Mall confers status and tax dollars. Right now, all of Elk Grove’s Real Mall tax dollars are going to Arden and Roseville—or internet shopping.

So the powers that be have broken ground, dug some trenches, and put in some re-bar. But they still haven’t decided (1) what the mall will look like, and (2) which will be the anchor stores. The argument re design devolves to Indoor or Outdoor. The absolutely latest, oh-my-gosh-we-gotta-have-it in mall design is Outdoor. As in LA’s The Grove, about which I have written lovingly in the past. Indoor is so, so Yesterday. I don’t have a hard and fast opinion on this one. I see the points of both sides—bad weather versus community gathering. It is the anchor stores issue that has me seeing red.

According to the Bee article, the developers of the mall, a Chicago-based (read, carpetbagger) company, are close to a deal on the two anchor stores. Not Nordstom’s. Not Macy’s. Target. And JC Penney.

Well, big whoop. And gee whiz. And close your ears if you don’t want to hear me spew a blue streak. !@#$%^&*()_!@#$%^&*()_!@#$%^&*()!

Now I bow to no one in my appreciation of Target. In fact, I would be sans wardrobe if it weren’t for Target, even now, as I write this. But—hear me—ELK GROVE ALREADY HAS A TARGET. In fact, we have two. And Penney’s? When we already have Kohl’s and Mervyns? How many low end department stores does one city need?????
According to the Bee article, a retail “consultant” from the Bay Area who “scouted” the Sacramento region thinks these stores are just fine for Elk Grove, and really we couldn’t handle more. “It’s a fairly moderate market, not the kind of place that, say Nordstrom would come into,” opined the scout, one Jeff Green of Mill Valley. “You have a lot of younger families who move there to get a little more house for their money, so there’s not a lot of disposable income compared to areas north and east.”

I don’t know where Mr. Green did his scouting (I suspect he included very moderate Galt and Lodi in the mix), but he certainly hasn’t gotten our demographics down. I don’t at the moment have the actual data to spew out, but these young families only account for one portion of Elk Grove residents. Some of us live in million dollar homes. Some of us have gardeners and swimming pools. Some of us, goddammit, have charge accounts at Nordstom!

My journalist’s nose is twitching: I wonder who pays Mr. Green’s bills. The Chicago developers? Penney’s? Fortunately for us, thus far, not the mayor of Elk Grove or one of the city councilmembers. They are reportedly “not happy” and they are saying that the anchor tenant issue could “hang the project up.”

I hope so. And meanwhile, I will continue to send the bulk of my tax dollars outside of Elk Grove.

In Which I Try To Regain My Rantedness...

I used to be a lot funnier, and I think I'm losing my edge. I'm thinking it's Big Pharma that's done this to me. They're making me nicer, more thoughtful, more what-the-fuckish. Things and people that used to bother me, to get me fired up for a rant worth reading--now, I'm all "eh, aren't people interesting...." So I'm going to cut back on the dosage and see what happens. And practice being mean again.

As in:

I went to a meeting the other day --okay, it was yesterday, but I'm trying to disguise the facts so as not to hurt anyone's feelings. Ooops, scratch that. I went to a meeting yesterday, a meeting of people who live in my area of Elk Grove. We meet regularly because it's the only way we can get to know each other since our houses are constructed so that once we glide into our garages and push the down button on the door, we are hidden from the world. One might, if one were of a philosophical bent, say we stop existing. This in itself is worthy of a rant, but I'll save that for another time.

My topic today is: the meeting. We go around the room and introduce ourselves and say what our street is so that we can at least nod knowingly--oh, yeah, I remember that street...where is it again? I go first because I'm in the first seat, first row where us good girls always sit. I say my name, and then blank on my street. Which doesn't suprise me because it's such a dumb name for a street! And it has an apostrophe in it! Whatever. My point here--and yes, schmuck, I do have one--is the way in which every couple in that room introduced himself. Indeed, you read that pronoun right. "I'm Joe Blow, and this is my wife Wilma." Then Wilma would smile slightly or nod and the next Joe Blow would stand up. I was, to say the least, appalled. Is this not 2007? (I was going to write 1990, but--gee, how time passes when you're having fun.) Are these wives not entities of their own? Do they not speak? And if not, why not? This wasn't just an isolated incident; every couple in the room did this. And IT PISSED ME OFF....!

Topic number two: The cops came to the meeting. Yes, they were invited, and they drank our water and ate our cookies and one even brought her not-very-well-behaved child. The girl cops were in uniform, which fit quite stylishly and made me want to go right out and take the Civil Service exam. The boy cop--well, he was wearing a T shirt that had the name of his department, a kind of generic thing that they probably give out to the SWAT teams to wear under their armor. And he had a black leather belt to which was affixed his badge (which is VERY large). It wasn't a Sam Browne belt, I don't think. Maybe it was his Saturday meeting belt. In addition to his badge, it had his gun. A little snub-nosed something or other. And a little leather pocket in front of it that looked like it might be a good place to keep postage stamps. And on his other hip, he had--his phone. Well, duh. Of course. My point here--and yes, asshole, I do have one is this. After he introduced himself, with name and rank (and the serial number remember was on his badge), he told us he was undercover. So if we saw him on the street, we shouldn't greet him by name, rank and serial number. Or be hurt if he didn't say hi back. We should just walk on by.... Well, this perturbs me. I mean, doesn't under cover mean you're incognito? Hasn't he, by telling us this, just blown his cover?

And finally: a private, personal rant to you, over there, that neighbor who I have met on several occasions and who even when sitting across from me at a table, acts as if I'm not visible. I don't want to see you either. And get a better bra. Your nipples are pointing southward.

First I Stalked Her; Now I'm Pimping Her

It's over now, so I can talk about it.

One Sunday afternoon, while out and about on my way to Target, I spied with my little eye a different kind of licenseplate holder, one that I'd never seen before, at least not up here in the woods. It was an URL for a site called runnerblogger.com. Such a wondrous thing to come on in Elk Grove--or my life, for that matter--where I am, amongst those I know the rare one who blogs. I have felt quite lonely in that regard, so seeing in front of me an SUV that must I thought, I hoped contain a blogger was exciting beyond words. Someone like me. Someone to talk to. Someone who didn't think I was insane or just plain noodley for keeping a blog (and at your age, my dear).

So I did what any person lusting for friends would do (wouldn't you?): I followed that SUV. I was prepared to go some distance--maybe not way over to the South Side--but still, a ways. Except the runnerblogger pulled into the Target parking lot. Is that not a miracle? Or at least, kismet?

I parked my car any which way and ran to the SUV, from which was emerging a long and lanky redhead, with a kid in hand and one in arms. She was, I must tell you, gorgeous. Stunning really. And model tall. And model chic. And I loved her on sight.

So I accosted her. "Hi, I'm not a runner but I am a blogger," I said.

Witty.

She, bless her heart, did not shun me. Did not look down on me from those 72 inches and whither me with a look. Puleeze. Who are you? And why are you in my air space?

Rather, she stopped. She smiled. She listened to me blather, and then she gave me her actual url, Queen of Dysfunction

I've been visiting her site for several months now. She is amazingly funny. An English major now studying to be an undertaker (am I the only one who sees the similarity? Or must one be an English major oneself to get it?). She writes about her life and her kids and her funeral-whatever studies She's got a couple of latino fish who think pudenda is a new dance. And a husband known as the King of Dysfunction. She is, I have to tell you, the dooce of Elk Grove, if not all Sacramento. Yes, she's that witty and that smart and that right-on-the-edge.

So I've added her to my blogroll. And you should check her out.

Fortuitous Friday...

I don't know what it's fortuitous for, since I'm still feeling crappy. But it's Friday and fortuitous is just the alliteration I happened to come up with.

Red Tide Hits Elk Grove...

No, not the band (is there such a band?)--it's some schmutz in the water in the creek by my house. What is it? Will it multiply? And who sent it???????????????????