Sam McManis

This city, so justifiably smitten with its historic landmarks and tourist haunts, likes to go for the grand gesture, the bold statement, the self-consciously arty design that trumpets, "Woo-hoo, look at us."

Self-identifying nerds, nearly three dozen strong, gathered in midtown Sacramento one recent night to do what it is nerds do best.

Up and down a sleepy, tree-lined residential street in Davis, all is quiet and dark on this Sunday evening, save occasional flickering blue TV light leaking from drawn living-room curtains.

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

San Francisco's Mission District continues to evolve and there is always something interesting happening.

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.

Silent? I think not. My cilia were doing the Charleston inside my eardrums all night, as the likes of Stan Laurel flickered across the big screen and pipe organist Dave Moreno punctuated each frame with just the right aural accompaniment.

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.

Some time ago, when Alex Trebek's people telephoned the gregarious Bob Malowney, he might have considered saying he'd have his "people" call them back. Just to, you know, mess with those haughty TV types.

They would depart for China in two days. That had been the plan, anyway. The Collivers, Paul and Sharen, were all packed and prepped, eager for an adventure far removed from their lives as almond farmers south of Fresno.

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.

On the edge of the continent – and hoping not to be blown over the edge and out to sea – Tom and Michelle Rouse sling binoculars over their shoulders, unfold green canvas chairs and hunker down at the jutting promontory known as Bodega Head.

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.