Left Coast Cowboys

There are way more than ten reasons, but these are the very top reasons that come to mind.

1.) It’s not Napa. Sonoma is larger, arguably has more great wineries, but is a world away from the glitz and glamor of its trendier cousin. Sonoma is more Wild West than it is Hollywood. You still find wineries here where the tasting room is someone’s shed. And the winemaker hops off a tractor to give you a tasting.

2.) Sonoma is just as much if not more about growing food than it is about grapes. That’s food as in heritage, sustainable, organic and tasty!

3.) Case in point, a major bridge in Sonoma is named after a famous local cheesemaker (The Ig Vella Bridge.)

4.) Sure you’ll find trendy capuccino joints, but early in the morning, it’s guys with manure-spattered cowboy boots who are lining up for their morning “joe”.

5) The kind of issues that spark intense controversy are things like whether the local diner has too many statues of bears outside it.

6) Also whether or not residents can free-range their chickens on the Plaza (sadly, voted down due to a rogue rooster pecking a tourist kid.)

The controversial bears salute the flag outside The Black Bear Diner
(according to their mission statement, “The Best Damned
Bear-Themed Family Restaurant in California.”

7) There’s always SOMETHING going on in the Plaza. A farmer’s market. Mariachi Bands. Classic Car Shows. Or my favorite: the local fire department’s main fundraiser, a barbeque where they roast an ox.

People walk everywhere. For exercise, to get places and just for the the heck of it. And not just young fit people. But old people, pregnant women, parents with kids, fat people with dogs. Everybody.

9) I have yet to drive down one of the residential streets leading to the Plaza and not have someone wave hello to me.

10) And yeah, there is all that wine!

Into my second week of my second class (Beginning Photoshop) at CCSF (Community College of San Francisco) and I’m finally hitting my stride on this Photoshop stuff. The first two classes, I stumbled out of each FIVE HOUR CLASS (twice a week!) eyes glazed, mouth dry and brain fogged. All we’d done is go through the menus and walked through the various features.

As of last Tuesday’s class it was all making a bit more sense, although I still harbor the subversive opinion that Photoshop allows you to correct stupid mistakes that you never should have made in the first place if you’d been more mindful about your photography. Pole “growing” out of someone’s head? Photoshop it out. Wrong white balance? Change it in Photoshop! Lots of noise and blurriness in your picture. Fix that puppy up in Photoshop!

I persevered, I did the homework and now I’m starting to get the hang of the program and actually see the possibilities. (Well, for instance, the aforementioned mistakes? Yup, I make ‘em all the time.)

But what really keeps me coming back is the different way it makes my brain feel. Anyone who has spent sixteen or more years in school knows that the way we think in an academic setting and the way we think in our workaday life are completely different. After you settle into ten or more years of Work World, you look back on School World with the nostalgia of a former crackhead for the pipe. You miss that brain rush.

Hear me out here. With my first class, the hardest part in the beginning was to retrain myself to learn things from scratch. Which is the majority of what we’re doing in school. In WorkWorld, 90% of what we are doing is reprocessing existing knowledge to address various situations. I can say that coming from a field (advertising) where I seemingly had to learn new things every day. (Get a client who makes hard drives. Learn everything there is to know about the hard drive market. Get a client who does MIS consulting, learn everything there is to know about that.) Still, the core of my brain function revolved around taking what I already knew and reapplying it. Because face it, whether it’s tampons or hard drives or vacation packages, people buy for the same core reasons. The road you take them down to convince them your product fulfills those reasons has different landscaping, but you’re leading them down the same path. The result, I was still treading familiar ground for the most part instead of plunging into a new and exciting world of THINGS I DO NOT KNOW.

I can make a photo-collage with layers and objects I clipped
out of other photos.

Did I mention that scientists have now proven that it’s that “school” type of learning that actually makes your brain grow and staves off Alzheimers? (Yeah, I read that somewhere but can’t find the article to link to. Believe me, it’s true. Just Google: “continuous learning brain health” and see.) So after too many years with my mind operating like a gerbil on a treadmill, I was anxious to have it soar like a Eagle.

Anyway, I was glad that one of my favorite essayists, the incomparable Sarah Vowell, feels the same way I do. Especially because she can express it so much more articulately:

“I missed the random learning curve, how one day you’re counting haiku syllables and the next day they have you constructing solar-powered hot dog roasters out of tinfoil. Being a grown-up requires a twelve-month calendar, and that calendar is mostly filled up with doing things you know how to do.”

Yeah, Sarah, upward and onward to random acts of learning. I’m not sure if my brain is getting bigger. Or if I’m getting smarter. My brain certainly hurts after each class. Maybe those are growing pains.

NOTE. CCSF is still the best bargain in town. I’m learning Photoshop in a brand new state of the art computer lab, in the brand spanking new Mission Campus (which even has a daycare center) all for the bargain price of $85. Which is the same price you pay should you want to retrain for a Biotech career or learn MIS and other programming skills (which this campus specializes in.) This is truly our tax dollars at work for the best. Even a kid with NO money can get a top notch education here. Yeah CCSF! My new Alma Mater.

ANOTHER NOTE. Be sure you get a class with LOTS of young people. Glom on to one of them. Don’t segregate yourself off with the old farts. Well, actually, in my first class, Photography, some of us old farts were great to hang out with. But we were a minority, so our old fartiness was tempered by lots of 19 year olds. I’m serious, I’m convinced half the benefit of going back to school comes from hanging out with people who haven’t yet learned WorkThink and are still in SchoolThink.

Those of you who know me know I hate shopping. I’m dragged kicking and screaming out shopping once a year WHETHER I NEED IT OR NOT! One of the reasons I hate shopping is that clothing manufacturers do not design clothes for my figure. A figure that I think is a fairly typical woman’s figure. As opposed to the figure of a 14 year old boy with breasts.

Yes, I have what my more generous friends would say is a “curvy” figure. Not fat, but with a big differential between waist and hips — say more than 10 inches. So most clothes, especially pants, don’t fit me. Clothing designers can’t seem to fathom that someone with my hip size would have this small a waist. Or that someone with my waist size wouldn’t have “snake hips.”

Before you shout, “Well, lose weight, Fatso,” let me say that I’ve had a similar problem since I was 104 pounds and on the high school cross-country running team. So there.

Which should make it all the more surprising that I am devoting a whole post to The! Best! Pants! Ever!

Yes, I found the perfect pair of pants. Soft cotton. An elasticized drawstring waist that is teeny tiny and stretches. As opposed to most drawstring waists that are huge and have to be gathered in like a bunched paper bag. Plus the legs are roomy and full enough to be comfortable even in Sonoma summer weather. But not so baggy that they look like clown pants. And there are numerous pockets for storing car keys, USB drives, bits of string or whatever else you might carry.

The best part: they magically seem to make you look about ten pounds slimmer. And by you, I mean men AND women. Yup. These are “Unisex Pants” (that’s the official name) because they fit men and women. Andy and I each tried a pair on and thought they were so flattering that we immediately bought a black pair each. Then I ordered additional pairs in almost every color they had (chocolate, natural and red). They weren’t in stock because these pants are WALKING OUT THE DOOR.

They don’t look like much off.
But on they seem to make you
look 10 lbs. slimmer!

Which door is that? Well, here’s the best part. They are in a great store on the Plaza in Sonoma called South American Secrets. This is a fantastic clothing, jewelry, hat, etc. store featuring products from South America, especially Ecuador, where the owner’s wife is from. Andy got a great Panama hat and was eying the case of fine cigars. (Note: free cigars are given to servicemen in uniform!)

Even better: a large majority of the profits of the store are being used to fund underserved communities in Ecuador. (Read about it here.) And most of the products are manufactured in Ecuador in fair trade workshops.

That’s right. You can shop for great products — at great prices — and also do good. What’s better than that? It’s like hitting the Trifecta.

Owners Fred & Janneth Johnson
donate most of their profits to help
underserved Ecuadorian communities.
And Fred mixes a mean Martini at his
other job at The Girl and the Fig!

So take this from a non-shopper. Go to South American Secrets on the Plaza in Sonoma and BUY, BUY, BUY. And be sure to get a pair of Unisex Pants.

NOTE: The pants are made out of cotton, not Alpaca wool, but the picture of the pants wasn’t as cute as the Alpacas. And I once saw a lady with two Alpacas hanging out at the door of this shop. So the Alpaca shot is in.

Only a few weeks ago, I put together my “Bucket List” of things to do before I kick it. Some of the goals were doable, some were probably just pipe dreams. Like “Go to the Olympics”.

Then yesterday, Andy announced that his partner in Taiwan was being hosted to the Olympics by UPS and was given the opportunity to invite two other people. They chose us! That means, not only the Olympics, which would be cool enough if you only got the cheap seats. But UPS is a major sponsor, so we’re talking First Class all the way, hospitality suites, meet some of the athletes, get whisked around in private buses and limousines.

And THE OLYMPICS!!!!!

[Insert video of me doing that dance Eddie Murphy used to do in his standup routine when he was imitating kids.]

“Goin’ to the ‘Lympics. The ‘Lympics, the ‘Lympics. Goin’ to the ‘Lympics.”

Although this is beyond my wildest imagining, I’m ready. As you can see above, I’ve got red luggage, I’ve got guidebooks and a medallion of Chairman Mao from my first (and only) trip to Beijing when I glommed on to one of Andy’s Asian business trips.

I don’t know why this is such a dream of mine. I never even watch any of the Summer Olympic games. I prefer the Winter Olympics. They have great sports that involve large Scottish men sliding across the ice with brooms (curling). Or sports that combine handsome Nordic types and cross-country skiing. . .and guns (the Biathalon).

I told Andy, “I don’t even care if they send us to one of the really hokey events like Rhythmic Gymnastics or Balance Beam. We’ll probably just get sent to whatever event the luck of the draw gives us.”

“Weeeeell”, Andy said, “They actually asked me what events we wanted to see. And I said Swimming, Track and Field and. . .er. . .gymnastics.”

You know, I don’t care. I’M GOIN’ TO THE ‘LYMPICS. NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH. GOIN’ TO THE ‘LYMPICS.

So now I’m scouring the “up close and personal” sections of the official Olympics website. But I don’t really care. I’m cheering for everyone. Let EVERYONE win.

I’M GOING TO THE ‘LYMPICS!

Possibly even better, UPS is flying us to Beijing via Shanghai, where we’ll have a two day stopover on the way back. So I’m off to rent some of those great old Thirties movies about white women sucked into the depraved life in Shanghai — like Shanghai Express with Marlene Dietrich and The Shanghai Gesture with Gene Tierney. Just to get in the right frame of mind.

Now I have double, triple, quadruple incentive to get myself proficient with that Nikon D80.

And if you see the UPS man, give him a kiss. He’s sending us to THE OLYMPICS!

Taking my semi-regular power walk in Sonoma this weekend, I had a chance to check out some of the sights off the square that I usually drive past. One of the things that caught my eye was the historical plaque on The Blue Wing Inn, one of the oldest buildings in Sonoma. The plaque says the adobe building was built by the industrious General Vallejo in 1840 “for the accommodation of emigrants and other travelers”. Given the grief Vallejo was experiencing with the gringos pouring in looking for gold, he was probably hoping that directing them to an inn under his control would make it easier to keep an eye on these troublemakers.

There’s also a laundry list of famous people who stayed at the Blue Wing. Including, of course, Kit Carson. Travel around the West and you’ll find that Kit Carson showed up just about everywhere that anything was happening. And caused it to happen. (Asked once if he’d really been all the places and done all the things he was said to have done, Kit Carson replied, “Well, if you read about it, it must be true.” Carson was famously illiterate.)

But what really gave me pause was that Joaquin Murietta and his cohort “Three Fingered Jack” were listed on the plaque as having stayed at the Blue Wing. Given that we have more historical evidence proving the existence of King Arthur, I’m wondering how it was established that “The Robin Hood of Old California” was proven to have stayed there. I’m guessing he didn’t sign the guest book.

Whether you think Joaquin was a Robin Hood or just an early 19th Century version of a hood, I guess, would depend on who you were. Mexicans and the Hispanic Californians told stories about how Murietta avenged the many wrongs the Gringos were perpetrating by robbing from them and giving to the peasants. (It is said the legend of Zorro is based on Murietta.)

Contemporary “picture” of Joaquin Murietta

The Chileans and Native Americans even tried to appropriate him by claiming respectively that he was a Chilean who came up for the Gold Rush or a Cherokee. The Chinese weren’t asked to weigh in, but according to contemporary accounts, Murietta or some Mexican bandit killed 17 or so Chinese miners in the act of robbing various gold fields. They probably weren’t among his fans.

Zorro may have been inspired by Murietta’s legend.

What we do know about Murietta, is that we know absolutely nothing about him. There were Mexican bandits operating at that time. And many of them were identified as belonging to gangs led by some guy named “Joaquin”. In fact, Joaquin’s gang was alleged to include five Joaquins. At one point, every unsolved crime against a Gringo was said to be the work of a “Joaquin”. (The Gringos might just have well have said, “Well, Jose did it.” Perhaps “Joaquin” was the most common Mexican name at the time. And they could have added, “Well, they all look alike.”)

Historians have also pointed out that in mapping all the crimes allegedly perpetrated by “Joaquin Murietta”, you would have to conclude that he rode a horse faster than today’s fastest sports car to get between all the places it is “documented” that he robbed on the day he was said to have robbed them.

What is documented is that the new California governor (a Gringo, as by this time, the U.S. had “appropriated” California and dispossessed most of the original Hispanic and Native American inhabitants) was sick of this guy “Joaquin” or “Jose” or whoever he was and offered a large reward. A former Texas Ranger, interestingly named Harry Love, took up the challenge, cornered some Mexicans in a canyon not too far from Monterrey and shot them full of holes. Then just to stake his claim to the reward, he cut off the head of “Joaquin Murietta” and pickled it in a jar of brandy. For extra credibility, he also pickled a three fingered hand, said to be that of Murietta’s associate “Three Fingered Jack” (who was, according to accounts, named, surprisingly, not Joaquin, but Manuel.) Love also just happened to mention that as he shot “Three Fingered Jack”, another Mexican stepped out and said something to the effect of, “Wait, I’m Joaquin Murietta. I’m the guy you want.” At which point, Love promptly shot him.

Okay, who’s going to argue with the Native Sons
of the Golden West? They say Joaquin Murietta
stayed here at The Blue Wing Inn.

With this “proof”, Love took the head and hand on tour in the major settlements of the area, including San Francisco, charging a dollar a peep. Not only did he make a tidy sum at this game, but he carefully kept the jar away from the gold fields where someone who had been robbed by some Mexican named “Joaquin” might have been able to identify the head or say, “No this isn’t the guy”. (As for the hand, given the amount of manual laber people did with axes and cranky farm equipment and the number of guns that misfired and blew up in people’s hands, there were probably a lot of “Three Fingered Somebodies” walking around California at that time.)

However, about 17 people, who were conveniently far from the scenes of any of Murietta’s purported crimes, publicly “identified” the head as that of Murietta. No one ever investigated to see if they were paid to add drama to the exhibit along the lines of the fake medicine show man who pays someone to be “cured”. Contemporary accounts also state that one Senorita declared that she was Murietta’s sister and the head was NOT his. There is also a contemporary account of a group of Mexican horse drovers who claimed they were jumped by Gringos who stole their horses, killed some of their party and cut off the head of one of them. Coincidence? Hmmm.

What is in the contemporary accounts is that dozens of people up and down California claimed to have seen Murietta long after that pickled head was making the show circuit. (By the way, the head was apparently on exhibit until the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco, when it was lost.)

Which brings me back to The Blue Wing Inn. I’m not about to argue with the Native Sons of the Golden West. These guys do a bang up barbeque on Sonoma Square during Bear Flag Days and I don’t want to get on their bad side. But I’d like to know where they found the “evidence” that Joaquin Murietta stopped here on a brief vacation to Sonoma.

I’ll just echo Kit Carson: “If you read it, it must be true.”