Doll Heads For Sale

Spotted this specimen atop a fire hydrant in the number and letter streets of Lumaville. The world is indeed a weird and wondrous place. Mostly weird – at least in this neighborhood. What creeps me out more than the doll head itself is the fact that doll heads for sale is apparently an SEO-worthy key-phrase (a plugin told me so as I made this post). Sure, as a phrase, doll heads for sale is benign on the surface… Then you have a David Lynch moment like I just did. Let’s see if this post ranks on Google, which would be creepiest of all.
Doll Heads for Sale

New Year’s Resolutions for Sonomans

You say you want a resolution well-el, you know? We?re all trying to change the world ? one broken New Year?s resolution at a time.

According to the UK?s Mirror, the top five New Year?s resolutions among Brits track with those of Americans (lose weight, quit smoking, spend less) apart from ?eat better food.? I?m not sure how they?re going to accomplish this feat since English food is like English weather ? grey. That said, given America?s obesity epidemic, our definition of ?good food? is probably about as expansive as our waistlines. In this country, ?good? might mean ?Choco-Taco,? which is really just another way of saying, ?I give up.?

In Sonoma, of course, our culinary pursuits generally reach for a higher bar. Or sometimes just the bar. This is why I felt it necessary to conduct an informal poll with friends and colleagues about their resolutions. Simply put, things are different here. Many outside our borders assume we?re an island nation surrounded by a sea of wine. Someday we might be ? we?re one industrial accident away from having our streets run red with zinfandel like some oenophile?s wet dream of Venice. I can already hear the gondoliers singing ?Sul mare luccica? whilst paddling to the Plaza. Until zin levels rise (we?ll call it ?Global Wining?), however, we should focus on improving ourselves and what it means to be a Sonoman.

Accordingly, here are three Sonoman New Year?s Resolutions:

New Year’s Resolution #1: Quit smoking e-cigarettes

…At least in public. Taking furtive tugs off a pen-shaped nicotine delivery device makes you look like the heavy in some 80s, sci-fi, Philip K. Dick adaptation. You instantly look like a dodgy dealer of mnemonic implants or something, which is almost acceptable until you sneak a drag from your oral fixation tube in a movie theater and it lights up the backrow every time you suck on it. Add your blinking bluetooth headset and you look like a low-rent, one-man disco. If you had a siren, I wouldn?t be sure if I was supposed to punch you in the face or pull my car over to the side of the road.

New Year’s Resolution #?2: Stop getting DUIs.

I once wrote the police blotter for a local paper and never, ever, had enough space to print all of the ?driving under the influence? busts. The phonebook people once called me and asked for my notes since I had the most frequently updated list of Sonomans. Here are your options: Call Vern?s Taxi, convince a local BMX-riding speedfreak to run a rickshaw biz between deliveries, or stand on the sidewalk and ask people for the time like Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence. Of the three choices, the third will take the longest but will result in the most interesting ride home. If the dude has a glass eye, all the better.

New Year’s Resolution #3:?Get organized.

This resolution proved divisive with the Sonomans I polled. The lefty, pro-union West-siders naturally assumed it pertained to organizing labor into a single, representative entity to aid their plight against heartless corporations. Those from the East-side, who own shares in those corporations, thought it referred to their walk-in closets. Chaos ensued until the bill came and an East-sider paid it, which the West-siders pretended to ignore. Technically, I?m a Petaluman, a town that?s also divided into East and West though the cultural polarities are reversed, so I kept my mouth shut. Until the Choco-Tacos arrived. They were bittersweet.


So, Hell Froze Over

Dear God, Supreme Being, Creator of All Things and Absentee Landlord –
Hope all is well up north. Down in hell, thanks to the super-frosty weather you’ve unleashed upon your dominion, everything here has arrived in the proverbial hand basket.

What’s with the cold snap, Daddio? Thought you should know the pipes burst last night, water flooded everywhere and now the Inferno looks like an ice rink. Yep, hell froze over.

Hell should be a place of fire and brimstone, not a winter wonderland. Frankly, it’s embarrassing. I’ve got Nazis making snowmen. I don’t believe this was part of the plan.

Obviously, this icy turn of affairs has more implications for you than for me since it’s your precious mortals who operate within the contractual clause, “When hell freezes over.” Good luck with that. I’m sure you’re already getting calls from would-be lottery winners and pubescent boys who now think they’re owed dates with supermodels.

So, what’s next, flying pigs? Besides the air-traffic congestion, have you considered the terminal velocity of airborne pig droppings? No, you haven’t, and don’t go changing history to say you did because I’m onto you. Like I’ve always said, you should never have moved forward with this whole probabilistic universe thing. Now, anything can happen and you know why? Science. Is that word even in your book? No. See what’s happening since you let the heat turn off? Your whole program is falling apart and now I’ve Robespierre passing out snow cones. Albeit they’re yellow snow cones (still got it, Robes!) but icy cold treats nonetheless. Icy cold treats in hell. Think about that a moment, would ya?

Whatever happened to global warming, by the way? Got bored and decided to go with another Ice Age? I’ve seen those movies and they suck. You know what sucks more? Figure skating on the Lake of Fire. I look out over what was once my wasteland of lost souls and instead I see Atilla the Hun making snow angels with Hitler. It’s wrong, man. So wrong. If it gets any colder, we’re going to need FEMA trailers down here. Wait, never mind, those are actually worse than hell. Can you just turn the heat back on?

So, did you hear that scientists are trying to bring back the wooly mammoth? Apparently they found some viable genes in the Siberian permafrost, which is like a mass mammoth graveyard (but you knew that, having smote them in the first place). Is this part of your climate change plan? Are you making it so damn cold to create a viable habitat for the blessed wooly mammoth? You know what’s going to happen, right? The same thing as last time – the mortals are going to kill them and wear their fur. This entire exercise is like Jurassic Park, but with a reason for PETA to get upset. Please note, if you keep this ridiculous freeze on, I too will soon be acquiring my own Snuffaluffagus coat. I don’t care if that takes me right off your Christmas list either. I’ve been a bad boy. Tell Santa to send me a lump of coal, we could use it down here.

Just chillin’,

Your pal, Satan.

Via SonomaNews

My Year-End To-Do List

There are three items remaining on my 2013 To-Do list that have haunted me since last January. I’ve been meaning to get to them all year, or rather, I’ve been procrastinating until the final weeks of this year to dare even mention them.
In the grand scheme of my ambition, they’re rather small feats to accomplish, but it still feels lethal to let them languish. What will get you in the end? As any immunologist will tell you, “It’s the little things.” For me, they are as follows:

1. Start a Tourism Bureau for Vineburg

The Wikipedia page for Vineburg, California, presently consists of exactly 35 words. Just about enough for a column inch. I’d quote them here, but they don’t amount to much more than “Vineburg is a place near Sonoma. It has a post office.” Why it even has this post office is beyond me since it has a total population of, like, eight. The mail person could just toss the mail at the border of Vineburg and Sonoma and be satisfied it would get where it’s supposed to go. This led me to the realization that Vineburg needs its own tourism bureau. It’s uncharted Wine Country. Obviously, we need to attract developers. If done right, could it be long before we have a new chain of franchise restaurants – Vineburger? A so-called grape and grill establishment? Get your vineburger and frites (because it’s never just “fries” in Wine Country – or “freedom frites” if you’re holding a grudge).

It’s branding is built into its name. At least there’s a “vine” in Vineburg, which is ostensibly wine-related. What does Sonoma mean? According to the native Wappo, it meant either “chosen place” or “big nose” depending on the translator. And if you’re a Wappo, might we consider chatting about a Vineburg Casino? I know a guy

2. Update ye olde fortune cookie gag

About 25 years ago, someone introduced me to the post-Chinese dinner tradition of reading one’s fortune cookie message, then adding the phrase “in bed” at the end. This resulted in much juvenile hilarity a la, “You will meet an interesting stranger – in bed.” During the height of the dot-com boom, circa 2001, a mutant strain of the gag got loose that added the Internet domain suffix “.com” to the end of fortunes. Thus was born “”

This ungainly URL is available and can be currently had for $12.99 at GoDaddy for those with a yen to start an online dating service. For that matter, is also available if you want to add an “adult” component. Neither one, however, speaks to my present dilemma of updating the fortune cookie trope. There are dozens of mobile fortune cookie apps (go figure), and the one I just downloaded advises me to “Act always in a way to do good.” Perhaps that means I should just let this one go since little good could come of it. Of course, I could just add “-o-gram” at the end of my fortune and flip to Facebook for a cool billion. YouWillMeetAnInterestingStranger-o-gram has a ring to it.

3. Create a holiday for August

Yes, this has been nagging me since the eighth month , when there is nothing to celebrate beyond National Left-Handers day (the 13th) and a handful of birthdays (none mine). But no real holiday. And by holiday, I mean a gift-giving, over-indulging reason not to turn up to work on Monday kind of holiday. The month’s namesake, Caesar Augustus, doesn’t offer much to springboard from, apart from despotism, which generally isn’t celebrated unless the despot is still in power. The dude died in 14 AD, so that’s out. In fact, it was August of that year – meaning – we could have a bi-millennial celebration of the death of Caesar Augustus next August. Mission accomplished.

One down, two to go. Sigh.

Via SonomaNews