Based in San Francisco, the Fear of Flying Clinic helps airplane-averse travelers get airborne
The weather-beaten sign out front proclaims "The Henry Miller Memorial Library
Where Nothing Happens."
Wherever you have a road, it seems, you have roadside attractions. Here in the redwoods, they line Highway 101 like so many squashed squirrels.
Rest easy, this is not another rant about how there's a Starbucks, sometimes two, on every corner. That complaint itself has become as vexatious as the coffee company's ubiquitous signage (in Freight Sans Black, for you typeface freaks) on strip malls far and wide.
Something about the towering presence of redwoods, those hulking and massive trunks, along the Avenue of the Giants can make a guy hungry.
In a moment, we will turn over control of today's column to Miss Odessa, the delightful dowager docent of Old Sacramento, the prim and proper queen of the underground tours, the self-styled Southern belle transplant with just a bit of a gossipy streak.
Self-identifying nerds, nearly three dozen strong, gathered in midtown Sacramento one recent night to do what it is nerds do best.
A quick detour off Interstate 5 in Redding to see the Turtle Bay Exploration Park's current exhibit of Dr. Seuss' work definitely worth the time
He is thin and so pallid as to be nearly translucent, befitting a sun- deprived Oregonian. Though pushing 30, his voice retains the escalating pitch and whine of adolescence. He dresses suburban casual, in jeans and T-shirt.
Noam Chomsky is rubbing spines with Ann Coulter. The Amish and Mennonites share space, presumably peacefully, with the Salem witches. Henry James and Henry Kissinger stand sternly side by side looking off at some fixed point, their visages oozing importance.
Scores of hard-bodied types adorned either in clingy Lycra or bike-messenger-casual came to Hot Italian, the sopraffino Italian bistro in midtown Sacramento, not to consume calories but to burn them.
Beyond the teeming produce aisles and savory baked goods, past the hubcaps and cutlery and Persian rugs, out of earshot of the migraine-inducing bass bleating from the car stereo tents, way, way, way in the back of sprawling Denio's Farmer's Market and Swap Meet in Roseville comes the sound of a man doing his darndest to hawk a case of Depends Adult Undergarments.