Editor's Note: This is a beautiful rant sent to me by "559 por Vida," who bashed this out in an email after several vodka tonics and shots of sake this week in NY. I decided to post it as weekend reading.

Fresno is...?
Fresno was.

That's the primo numero unum point for me. Fresno is a then. A remember when. More of an experience than an actual place ... kinda like Disneyland. A dusty, depressing disneyland made up of poor farm workers, middle class teachers, and the uber wealthy GENERAL CONTRACTOR who recently moved from south of Shaw to Clovis. Not only to Clovis, but the part of Clovis where every OTHER house is exactly alike. Like the geniuses in the Bonadelli group really think that people won't actually ever meet their next door neighbors' next door neighbor.

One may think that I dislike the place, and you're right. 1.6% correct. Because in the last few years I've realized that I only spend 6 days a year in Fresno (not counting grocery stops en route to Huntington Lake). But in all honesty, this is the real quagmire that those who have left the valley live with on a daily basis....how can a place be so comforting to think about, so nostalgic, so attractive even...until you get there, when, within 5 minutes one is reminded of the exact reason(s) that one fled to begin with.

It's clear to me that the reason that we remember the valley so fondly is because of experiences … to wit … cold Budweiser on 80-degree nights in July, that first day of spring when the grey fart-cloud enveloping the valley finally dissipates, the Tower District, the Fig Gig, Christmas Tree lane. I don't hate the valley, I love the valley, I just can't go there for more than 6 days a year, save for grocery trips en route to Huntington Lake.