Baldassare's dream

Baldassare Forestiere bought 80 acres of land in Fresno, California, in 1906; he planned to grow citrus. What he discovered was that he owned acre after brutal acre of nothing-grows-in-it hardpan. Forty years later, he left behind at least ten acres of underground tunnels, patios and living quarters. The land has been through a number of family disputes and a great deal of it was sold off (apparently there is a tunnel, still, under the nearby Carl's Jr/Green Burrito, which is used for storage). What has been saved is now open for tours.

Some years ago, I drove up to check it out, and the gates were locked. That was okay by me, as the only activity I saw was a man walking the grounds with a bottle of clearly marked rat poison and a six-pack of Coors'. This time, I went in, rats and watery beer be damned. My tour group included a woman who had been there ten times. She announced that, and she also offered her graphics services to our tour guide in order to spruce up the shabby signage and Web site. "I work at the prison, at this present capacity," she said, "But we could totes get you some seriously inexpensive graphic work through my connections there!" I think she meant she had a secret cache pf prisoners who knew advanced Photoshop.

At the end, when we had a Q & A, I asked if our guide knew anything about Baldassare the man. Were there stories about him being, umm, odd? It's surprisingly difficult to ask in front of a dozen Italian tourists and one angry, extroverted prison guard, if the artist whose home we just toured was, well, a whack job. I was told he was considered extremely reserved, but liked his family. I certainly appreciate how much room that leaves for interpretation.

I strongly suspect I will be that elderly woman one hears about, stopping at every follie and and tacky roadside stop in her dotage. I am so captivated by other people's visions, and whimsy and their madness. Why, Bladassare? I would love to ask him. The answer wouldn't really matter.

Take a look, and remember that everything you are seeing is at least fifteen feet undergound street level. My photos won't do it justice -I humbly direct you to a great collection from folks on Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=Forestiere+Underground+Gardens

Summer movies

I paid for and watched "The Proposal" today so now you don't have to. You are most welcome. My companion stated afterwards that it was "cute," which is damning with faint praise if ever I heard it. I am one of those people who actually enjoys a good romantic comedy, who appreciates laughing out loud and not knowing how things will end because This One Will Be Different.

Also, I very much like of the Ryan Reynolds. However, upon further reflection, it seems to me Mr. Reynold is actually a good-looking Muppet and not, in point of fact, a human male with a "guy-next-door" level of attractiveness.

I read somewhere that a romantic comedy is based on a series of lies - the leads lie to themselves about how they feel while getting further entangled in a series of snowballing lies to others about intentions and goals, which sounds a lot like politics, frankly, with less sexual tension.

I also saw "The Hangover," which I feared would be like "Porky's," only less sophisticated. Instead, I fell in love with and quickly had Zach Galifianakis' twins. So, yeah. That's kept me busy.

An Offer You Cannot Refuse. No, REALLY.

Hey, it's rough out there. Don't I know it? And you, you struggling writer, are you looking for that one gig to rule all others? Not to worry - the world is rich, indeed. Viz (and all [sic]):


Writer Needed For Ex N. Idaho Drug King Pin (San Fransico)
Reply to: mailto:job-eut3f-1255107035@craigslist.org?subject=Writer%20Needed%20For%20Ex%20N.%20Idaho%20Drug%20King%20Pin%20(San%20Fransico)
Date: 2009-07-05, 7:27PM PDT
Writer Wanted For Ex North Idaho Drug Kingpin: Looking for someone to write life story, unique story, unique Individual. Story consists of dealings with Colombians,Cubans, Mexican Federallies, 16 years in prison hanging out with mafia members from the Phildelphia Scarfo gang, Charlie Iannache, Anthony Pungitore, Gene Gotti-brother of John Gotti of the New York Mafia, being successful jail house lawyer. Story begins with the consequences for a boy with a gifted IQ who deals with uniagnosed ADHD and the path he takes in life through taking over the underbelly of the drug world,prison,self inflicted extrodinary rehabilitation efforts to his succesfull entrance back into society. This isnt some run of the mill drug dealer story! I SHOULD BE DEAD A HUNDRED TIMES OVER. GOD HAD HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER TO GET THROUGH IT.

ps: All Statue of Limitations are finished and all prison time completed. The story just needs to be told by a gifted writer.

TO SEE 6 PAGE SYNOPSIS GO TO: http://bobbyconvict.blogspot.com/ If interested, please submit writing proposal/compensation plans. I would prefer to give the writer a portion of proceeds, but would pay the right writer to do the story. Follow up to the book would be self help videos/books for children-parents-educators-inmates to not go down the path I took, or to change an inmates life through education. please email me at: write4me87@yahoo.com.

So much for that salad . . .

Why, we wondered, did Mabel always smell so sweetly of sage? And then I walked into the courtyard and came across this, in my herb window box.

My theory is that someone is slowly killing off everyone who has ever been on TV.

Not to stereotype, but it's probably an Amish serial killer.

DANG! Why do celebrities keep ruining prescription drug abuse for the rest of us?

Another weekend looming

So, okay. Here's what happened:

Many years ago, I was a mom who stayed home with her very young children and was a freelance writer, too. My husband made enough money for us to pay bills, with my freelance work paying for wacky things like cable TV and takeout. It was good. And then we lost everything due to poor planning and relentless optimism, and I vowed it would not happen again. I spent the past eight years working up my journalism credentials, as a writer and editor, so I would be hirey should (heaven forbid) the economy tank again.

Thank GOD journalism hasn't been hard hit!

Now my magazine is on hiatus while we all hold our breath and wait for the world to resume spinning on its axis. The good part is that I have been part of the workforce for a while (aka, hello, unemployment). The fascinating part is that both Andrew and I were both sent packing on the same DAY (aka, hello, panic attacks).

This blog has been kind of quiet, mostly because I have been too busy running in tight little circles while flapping my hands at my sides. It's hard to type that way. It is, however, an excellent cardiovascular workout. And rather adorable when I'm drunk.

Now I am looking at options, which means squinting at the computer screen and wondering if I could be an x-ray technician with no training and with carpal tunnel syndrome from all the flapping. Or maybe I can hire myself out as a bad baby bird impersonator. I'll figure it out. I think. But oh, weekends are not so much fun when they just are two more days that you know for sure won't be days on which you'll get a call or email about that resume you sent in.

What about you? How is your job?