Since I'm still suffering from an inexplicable brain freeze, (is there an antibiotic for that?) I'm posting something by someone way more eloquent than I am, considering that for the past week I've produced practically nothing. My Technorati rating is sinking like the stock market; on the other hand, Cleo's (Hannah Fanna's) is steadily rising. Maybe she's stealing my thunder. By the way, go check out the name she gave her new stuffed animal -- it might make you laugh.
Thank goodness I have unlimited access to the inimitable Artypantys, as well as a certain degree of influence. She's given me permission to post the following piece of writing as a guest post; she wrote it for her freshman English class.
Umm -- yeah -- I said freshman English.
Enjoy.
"Somewhere between an Apollonian and Dionysian existence lies the city of downtown Napa. This is not the Napa of hills and valleys, neither is it the Napa of pamphlets, of wine tours, nor the Napa of a quaint bed and breakfast overlooking the vineyard. This is not the place your sister in-law recalls romantic weekends spent away from the hustle and smog West of the bay. This is not where your brother knelt upon a single knee on the terrace of a gourmet restaurant with a fancy French name to propose at the perfect moment of sunset, so I’ll spare you the grief.
"Forget the family vacation your grandparents have attempted to incite such arousal for in the distant future. This is the Napa of young adolescent boys whipping down the ruptured pavement, terrorizing the neighbor’s cat with their daily skate to and from school. There is a distinct aroma on rainy days, the scent of wildflowers, taco trucks, and wetted concrete sidewalks. A scruffy house robe awaits the morning’s perpetrators. It’s true; her front lawn generally attracts pedestrians of uncouth, unruly nature. Jaywalking is the only measure of heroism in this town: any individual willing to brave the many trucks raised above their intended height is a true agitator, a public enemy to main street. Traffic teases the rest of the cowards as they prepare for their signal, a ten second window being hardly enough time to cross even the first lane of cars.
The City of Napa, as it likes to call itself, is neither truly established nor is it willing to accept this fact. While several tourists wind up in its vacant hotels, there are hardly enough antique-ware enthusiasts for the beloved town to lay claim in and of itself, and many of the other inhabitants will attest to the strange dichotomy of this place. Café Globe is a small, yet substantial destination for local Italian cuisine, and one of innumerable exteriors boasting a faux patinated fresco of the vineyards. The paradox of Napa, a city which, in truth, dwells on the periphery of the countryside. Across the street is a church-run second-hand store. On Sundays, a considerable amount of their donations are lifted from the streets before they make inventory.
Napa is home to a professional dumpster diving, river dwelling, encampment of vagrants. Many spend their days on the shore of the Napa River, leaving their tattered mattresses in a field behind the Marley Brother’s furniture warehouse. Trampling through volumes of patchy grass, you’ll have to watch your feet for broken bottles. It’s worth it to hike at an incline for what seems like an eternity for the windswept elation of racing back down. In the meantime make a considerate gesture to leave things the way they were. There are always more backyards, more strange orphaned-items with even stranger histories.
Though it’s unlikely the terrier is actually a stray, it’s less likely he’s been fed in the past week. He wears no collar, but you needn’t call for him to follow. You reach an escarpment where the two of you situate yourselves momentarily. Across the river, it is possible to catch a glimpse of the farmers market, but this is not your typical scene. A maelstrom of foodies grazes the copious samples, each member with a complimentary glass of wine in hand, and yes, it is essential to accompany your meal with the appropriate choice of drink. It is a garden replete with sensory joy, an idyllic exploit, mounted, framed.
Clichés are fair game in California. The sun is practically fluid in the afternoon, and, depending on your direction, it’s possible to drink it in, the only intoxicating substance I know. There’s pastoral beauty as well as subtler varieties. One thing the most Napkins can agree upon is the power of sustenance in its many forms."
She's pretty talented, isn't she? She gets it from me.
