The CEO of a prominent local winery sat cross-legged before her, just a few inches off the floor on a hand-sewn satin cushion stuffed with rice and dried aromatic herbs. The dim candlelight did what it could to flatter his face, but she could still make out ruddy splotches and dry areas around his cheeks and forehead. He didn’t mind the rashes, he said, because he was sure that the facemasks were making him more virile at work and home.
Her lip curled in a satisfied smile, invisible to the CEO because her entire face was hidden behind a different sort of mask—a papier mache deer’s head from which jewel-encrusted antlers branched off in all directions, forming a corona.
Last week, she had given him a tiny pouch—the type that a piece of costume jewelry comes in to make it feel like something valuable. Inside the tiny pouch was a tinier note and an unnamed powder. The powder was just some old chipotle and cinnamon from her spice drawer. She had suggested to the CEO that he should open the pouch at exactly 12:34am or pm and heed its instruction. The note advised whomever possessed the pouch to bring himself pleasure, save his emission and mix a pinch of the powder into it, then spread it on his clean face and allow it to dry before washing it carefully with warm water.
The facemasks weren’t making him more virile. They were just irritating his skin.
This was by design. In truth, she loathed the CEO as she loathed every other client she saw at Iconoclast Isle, but she loved her job as the club’s resident astromancer. Disdain lived inside her like a little pilot light in her chest. Making power-hungry men do senseless, stupid things was her fire’s accelerant.
She chose her first name using an online wizard-name generator. She chose the last name “Quixon,” a portmanteau of the surnames Quigley and Dixon, a reference to the astrologers who guided the Reagans and the Nixons. She wondered if Jeane Dixon or Joan Quigley ever purposely sowed minor chaos into the lives of their clients.
The candle’s flame danced across the CEO’s broad face. She peered at him through the eyeholes of her mask, which were covered with little one-way mirrors. She peered at him and he peered at himself. They saw different things, which was okay with her. She didn’t need him or anyone to know about her little ruse. She slept well at night.
Sarah lay awake in bed, flipping through a collection of short stories on her tablet.
She had come north with her family for a weekend in a white, rural rental house west of Petaluma. The AirBnb blurb had enticed her. Once used solely as a dairy farm, the family had branched out, renting the main house for family getaways and weddings. The property even starred in a Netflix Christmas movie.
The vacation was just what Sarah needed, a sample of the life she may have had if she’d chosen to leave the city at the start of the pandemic. Her office could have been a cabin in Tahoe or maybe a country home in southern Sonoma County. Instead, they had stayed in the city, witnessing the ever-evolving case study of staggering inequality.
The drive north had been lovely. Rejuvenated by weeks of rain, the rolling hills were a lush shade of green, spotted as always with cows grazing peacefully. That is, with one exception. As the family drove their Tesla to the rental house, a cow, brown and docile-looking, lunged at the vehicle. The car beeped a warning, but the animal soon faded into their rearview mirror.
What stuck with Sarah was the animal’s expression. Hours later, she was convinced that she had caught a look of pure hatred in its large eyes as they drove away. Luckily, the children in the backseat were distracted, gurgling about some sheep they had seen.
Suddenly, a scream wrested Sarah from her thoughts. Rushing to the children’s room down the hall, she found Charlie and Betty standing with their backs to the wall, staring at the window. A pair of black and white holsteins had forced their front legs into the room. They stood silently as the shattered glass and blood on their heads glistened in the moonlight.
“Run!” Sarah exclaimed, pulling the children into the hallway. She slammed the door shut and ran back to her bedroom. Her husband, Greg, groggily coming awake, gave her a confused look as she hurriedly told him about the cows.
She didn’t need to explain for long, however. From the window by the bed, there came a gentle, yet insistent series of bumping sounds. In the low light, the family registered a half dozen cows silently jostling with each other as they attempted to break through the glass pane.
Out of instinct, Sarah grabbed her cellphone, switching on the camera to film the half-ton beasts, while Greg tried to calm their screaming children. As she adjusted her camera, Sarah noticed dozens of Twitter notifications.
#TheCows was trending. Transported out of the bedroom, Sarah scrolled in horror through hundreds of images of cows, marching down city streets, crushing cars with their considerable mass and trampling humans.
“It’s not only here; it’s everywhere,” she whispered to no one in particular.
I’ve always had a deep and abiding passion for history. That’s why I took to Civil War reenactment and why, in the gray fog of this coastal summer mid-morning, I can be found sipping a cup of joe in my encampment, where I’ve been settling into my role for the past month.
It’s begun to feel a lot like home out here. See, I’m a method actor and, when it comes to walking in the footsteps of my great-great-grandfather (Confederate Petaluma Gen. Gerard Fitz I), I spare no detail for historical accuracy. Hell, I haven’t even used toilet paper since I got out here. Speaking of, that coffee sure is hittin’ the spot—time for a historically accurate shit in the woods.
I break down camp, piss on the fire to kill the last of the embers and set out for battle reenactment. But first, I need a cold one at the Washoe House. After all, this could very well be my last chance for a pre-battle beer. Not because I could die; no, we only shoot blanks. But because my wife, Martha, said she’ll leave and take the kids if I don’t stop playing soldier. Such is the woeful life of one enlisted by the confederacy reenactment club.
I shake my head at the folly of womenfolk and sit at the bar of the Washoe House.
“I’ll take a pint,” I say to the bartender, who is sadly not dressed for the occasion. The Rolling Stones shirt and khaki pants combo—very anachronistic. “Did you know that this bar was built in 1859?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool—lot’s of history here,” he replies. “A pint of what? We have some great craft brews and some local IPAs.”
“Just a pint of whatever you got that’s strong,” I say, disappointed.
And so, I have a beer at the Washoe House. And another. And, for good measure, I have a few more. As I drink, I regale my fellow bar patrons with tales of the Washoe of old.
“—-hic,” I say. “And they got too drunk—never made it to—hic—the battle.”
Next thing I know, I’m waking up, surrounded by the rest of the Civil War reenactment club. It’s dark outside and they’re congratulating me on my win. What win, I think. I never even made it to the fight!
“Exactly,” says the club president, proudly wiping a tear from his eye. “You won the most historically accurate soldier of the year award. You did good, son.”
I smile and order myself and the rest of my battalion another round.
I swear to God, if I get out of this, I’m marrying that man.
Maybe it’s that I thought he was boring. I don’t know. I’m the socialite; he’s the wallflower. My weekends are busy enjoying life, and he likes his tame and uneventful. Even our engagement was mild, popping the question on a hike out at Muir Woods. It was sweet, but it was also very…quiet. So I don’t blame myself for sometimes wanting more excitement in my life than him and his bird-watching hobby.
Of course, that gets to all be terribly ironic now. I can’t move, and looking up, I just get to watch the crows circle overhead.
“Hit-and-run” isn’t as much fun as it might sound, at least from my end of it. One minute I’m on an evening run on Petaluma Hill to clear my head while I mull over things with Thomas, and suddenly in the next I’m motionless on the roadside, forced to do nothing but stare up at the darkening sky and think.
The birds don’t even need to beat their wings, but once in every while. They go smoothly around in their same circle, twitching them occasionally against the breeze, so they almost start to resemble some slow-moving, macabre clockwork.
It’s spellbinding, really, like I’m being hypnotized first before they descend.
Though still, there remains a silver lining in any situation. And it is funny, the things you remember when you’re forced into a little quiet. I don’t remember exactly who said it, my Aunt Linda maybe. Whoever it was said being happy isn’t the burst of excitement you feel in a moment; it’s about those small, consistent drips of joy over time.
I feel several sensations touch my mind, sort of like droplets of different inks into a water glass, each one webbing and staining the liquid with its own color for a moment before blending together.
The first is the security of a strong hand lacing its fingers between my own and holding firmly. The next is the smell of a ripe tomato being cut to garnish the same old omelet that gets lovingly made every Saturday. One after that is the sound of an earnest, honest laugh at one of our dumb jokes.
“There is no music in war, only the movies. And love is the same.”
There’s an earnestness to love that’s quiet.
You know, I’ve heard of “terminal lucidity” before, and I hope that’s not what this is. Just as the sun’s setting, too. But the light, rainbow sherbert-colored clouds sure are pretty.
And I hope the flashing blue and red lights aren’t just my imagination.
Rebecca and I hiked Taylor Mountain again today. Summer feels like it’s racing towards us like a lion bearing down on the wounded gazelle that is my anxiety. Once we get through graduation, it feels like we’re getting set adrift in the ocean of Adult Life and being told to swim. We were lying on a grassy hillside near the top together when I told Rebecca that, and she laughed.
“I don’t know,” she chuckled. “Maybe not an ocean, but kind of like climbing a mountain.”
I made a show of shrugging my shoulders. “Oh, well, we’re already doing that,” I said, “so then no biggy.”
“Exactly.” She let a sigh escape through a brittle smile, then held my hand a little tighter.
I just watched the clouds drift lazily overhead.
“Mt. Adulthood, Expedition Log, Day 17,” I said, like I was speaking into a voice recorder. “It feels like years since leaving base camp, um, Childhood Charlie. The time goes by fast. The crew seems excited to reach the Early-Twenties Foothills, but looks like a lot of steep climbing from there.”
I could feel her looking at me, but she didn’t add anything right away.
“Day 28. Thirties Ridge is a lot closer now,” she said. “Some of the team are scared. It’s those damn economy nightmares again. They keep saying we’re going to be poor forever. It started a fight, with others saying we should have taken TikTok Trail earlier, made it to Influencer Station by now.”
I laughed. “Day 33. We got snowed in by another storm of marriage pressures the other night. We lost Jeff. Between that and losing John and Cheryl, our numbers are starting to dwindle. They left for Parenthood Pass yesterday. Radio-silent, beacons dark on radar. Hope they’re okay, but I hear those are some sleepless slopes.”
Becky turned to me. “You really think John and Cheryl stay together after graduation?” she asked.
I chewed my cheek for a second. “I guess not,” I said. “She wants to move to Arizona, right?” She shrugged her shoulders at that.
“Yeah,” she said finally, “but she also talks about studying abroad in France. She says a lot of things.”
“Oh, that’s a good point.” I clear my throat dramatically. “Day 45. A lot of us are scattered now. I asked our guide, Joel, if he thinks we’ll ever reach American Retirement Summit. He laughed and told me to focus on getting across the Mid-Life Narrows and then we’ll see.”
The wind blew up the hillside and whistled through the grass, neither of us saying anything.
“Or,” Rebecca whispered, “we could just burn the whole system down.”
“We’re here! This is the place!” Becky enthused, blue sky eyes twinkling with the assuredness of being in the right place among the right people.
“OK, you’ve talked me into it, but I still just don’t know how yoga is going to do anything for me. I just can’t stand the smell of incense; it’s so weird,” said Debbi.
“I told you, it’s not yoga! You’re not getting any younger, girlfriend. Just try it. If nothing else, everyone leaves with really good posture,” Becky replied.
“Well, as long as it isn’t all weird…” said Debbi, nose wrinkling at the imagined sandalwood smoke and sweaty brown bodies.
But no, it wasn’t like that at all. The closed venetian blinds swung and rattled slightly when they opened the glass door; the women and few men inside were all red-blooded Americans.
Soon, Debbi and Becky were settled on the mats, warming up, waiting for the class to begin.
“Oh, I’m so stiff,” said Debbi. “Right here in my back.”
“You slouch too much,” said Becky. “These classes are all about feeling proud of who you are. It’s your right to stand tall for Chrissake.”
“Well, I am sick of feeling bad about everything all the time. I just want things to be normal, you know?” Debbi looked around the room again as she reached weakly for the toes of one foot, then another.
Just when she was starting to wonder when the class would begin, a teacher came out with a headset mic and an outfit she was truly envious of—rock hard body sheathed in a MAGA-red headband.
“I’m Kaitlyn, y’all,” hollered the instructor into the PA. “I hope you’re here to get out of your own way, cause we’re about to kick your Debbie Downer in her flabby butt!”
Becky winked at Debbi.
The exercises started simple, then instruction got more specific. Kaitlyn’s corrections became more harsh, as the group became more in sync. Soon no deviation from the group in form or movement was spared a recrimination from the ruthless teacher.
“Whether you are ready or not, we’re going to get you there! You’re about to be who you really are! And-a one, and-a two,” said Kaitlyn.
Bodies moved in unison, backs, legs, arms, heads held just so, one bold, brave, uniform mass of unity visible in the mirror.
Debbi watched her reflection as she followed the shouted instructions. Each person stood tall and proud for Kaitlyn’s every word.
“Legs now! March in place!” she commanded. Debbi matched the others as they swung up their legs straight forward, then back down, left, right, left, right.
“Now, add your arms!” Kaitlyn shouted, “Like your life depends on it, and … Right! … Right! … Right!”
In the mirror there Debbi was, standing tall, launching forward her right arm, saluting her growth, her freedom, her right to be herself—one goose step at a time.
Ask Ann Tussey what motivated her to start Southern-style Sweet T’s Restaurant + Bar, and she’ll tell you it was her husband’s love of Southern barbecue.
She is the co-owner, chef and managing partner behind Sweet T’s, the family-owned and operated Windsor restaurant and the winner of the Best of the North Bay’s Best Restaurant and Best Fried Chicken categories for Sonoma County.
Ann is a charming, friendly Southerner who cajoles clients and teases staff and will pose in a selfie with you. She was born in Virginia but grew up in Arkansas. She also lived in Mississippi, New York and finally Georgia, where she worked in mortgage banking–a career path she had chosen when restaurant work proved unconducive to raising a child. This is where she met her future husband, Dennis Tussey, the inspiration behind Sweet T’s.
A Southern Californian with a 30 year career in mortgage banking, Dennis relocated to Sonoma County in 1983. Ann and her daughter, Megan, joined Dennis in Sonoma County in 2004.
In 2008, the economy went into a recession, particularly affecting the mortgage business, which was the impetus for starting Sweet T’s.
In 2011, Dennis suggested starting a Southern restaurant because of his fondness for chopped-pork barbecue, lima beans and all the other familiar accompaniments he experienced while working in Georgia.
Ann was skeptical that Nor Cal wine lovers and foodies would welcome such humble food and drink, but they found a beautiful ready-to-go spot in the Fountaingrove neighborhood of Santa Rosa. Sweet T’s opened its doors in November 2011 serving southern favorites such as Memphis-style BBQ, fried chicken, shrimp and grits, catfish and other Southern favorites. Similar to the more elegant restaurants of Savannah and Charleston, Sweet T’s also offered a full bar with an extensive bourbon and whiskey collection, a requirement of Dennis’s.
Their customer base grew tremendously through word of mouth as their neighbors on the hill began to share their neighborhood restaurant with friends and family. “Customers used to say, ‘I tell everybody about this place!’ Once we became busy, they started jokingly saying, ‘I’m not telling anybody else about this place; y’all are too busy! I can never get in.’”
Visit Sweet T’s Restaurant + Bar in Windsor, California, for some authentic Memphis-style BBQ.
The name Sweet T’s was in part to evoke the notion of sweet tea, often the beverage of choice throughout the South. Ann jokes, “When the staff asks me if the sweet tea is sweet enough, I tell them it’s sweet enough if your lips stick together.”
Sweet T’s is also a reference to Dennis’s demeanor–and the first initial of his last name. Ann’s late mother, Carol, originally from North Carolina, referred to Dennis as “Mr. T” and thought he was “the sweetest man in the world.”
They miss their original location and neighbors in Fountaingrove, but the new location in Windsor has proven to be a great second home after the Tubbs Fire. While Ann loved the charm of the original Sweet T’s, it was a lot of fun working with designers Mark Wilson and Yoko Ishihara to redesign the former Denny’s space into something “straight out of San Francisco.”
They reopened in their new Windsor location on March 7, 2019, and have been busy ever since. Their team includes local legend George Ah Chin and a lot of the original “OG’s” from Fountaingrove, much to their regulars’ delight. They’ve also recently hired a new GM, Summer Hamilton, and Director of Operations, Todd Philips, who’ve both recently relocated from Savannah, Georgia. Their backgrounds are in hospitality, and their focus at the moment is revamping the wine list to include more small-production wineries that are focused on sustainable farming and growing practices.
A large selection of southern favorites populate the menu at Sweet T’s.
Also new on the horizon, next door to its Windsor location, Sweet T’s is opening its take out operation “Sweet T’s On The Fly”. Featuring an a la carte menu, as well as weekly specials exclusive to the counter service eatery, they will also be offering bottled wine, a selection of bottled craft cocktails, and bbq rubs.
“Restaurants are more than a place to eat,” Ann said, describing the pleasure she and her staff get from seeing the expressions on customers’ faces when they’re enjoying the food. “We love what we do, and we love to eat. Hopefully that comes through in the food. ”
What’s the secret to Sweet T’s often-honored fried chicken? Ann characterized it as having a crispy outside and a moist, juicy inside. A lot of people love buttermilk fried chicken, but growing up, Ann remembers her mom cooking chicken in a cast iron skillet. That’s the inspiration behind their fried chicken.
“I tell my staff you’re only as good as the last plate of food you served. You can’t rest on your laurels. You have to care every single day and always put your best foot forward. And that way of thinking has paid off. Our customer base has grown extensively over the years through word of mouth. We’re thankful for that, and for the diverse community that we’re part of.”
Sweet T’s Restaurant + Bar, 9098 Brooks Road, South, Windsor, open 11:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday, 707- 687-5185, SweetTsSouthern.com.
The San Geronimo Valley Community Center makes a birthday wish on behalf of its recently retired youth team director, Howie Cort, and invites community members to celebrate her “Birthday Palooza” with her band, Howie’s Persuasion, with the release of their new Aunt June’s Basement. The gig starts at 6pm, Thursday, April 6 at Giaco’s Valley Roadhouse, 625 San Geronimo Valley Dr., San Geronimo. This is the first of several fundraising concerts hosted in partnership with the center and roadhouse—proceeds will benefit the center’s food bank, youth tutoring, childcare and athletic programs, and myriad arts and events. Tickets are $50 and are available at bit.ly/howie23.
Santa Rosa
Dynamic Duo
Montana natives turned Angelenos turned traveling musicians Joselyn & Don find their way to The Lost Church at 8pm, Thursday, April 1, where they will share the bill with local folksters The Musers. The duo perform a mix of modern folk/Americana with additional hues of blues and jazz (their recent release, Seeds & Bones, is currently number five on the Roots Music Report’s Americana Album Chart). The Lost Church is located at 427 Mendocino Ave., Santa Rosa. Tickets are $20 and are available at tinyurl.com/JoselynDonTheMusersApr1.
Petaluma
Whiskey School
Barber Lee Spirits head distiller Mark Barber invites whiskey fans of all persuasions (novice to expert) to an epic info dump that could aptly be titled, “Everything you wanted to know about whiskey but were afraid to ask.” The educational evening and tasting will explore the liquor’s different production methods, ingredients, the secrets to decoding whiskey labels, as well as the various histories of different whiskey styles by country—from Scotland, Ireland and the U.S. to Japan and Canada. Class begins at 7pm, Thursday, April 13 at Barber Lee Spirits, 120 Washington St., Petaluma. Tickets are $40 (and include notes, snacks and water). Visit bit.ly/whiskey-class.
Napa
Little Italy Historic Walking Tour
On Saturday, April 15, local retired judge and native Napan Ray Guadagni conducts a walking tour of Napa’s Little Italy neighborhood, which thrived in the mid-20th century. The two-hour tour begins at 10am, Saturday, April 15, in front of Avow Restaurant, 813 Main St., Napa (which is the site of the former Fagiani’s Cocktail Lounge and Liquor Store and where, incidentally, one of the most infamous murders in Napa history occurred. In fact, Guadagni presided over the 2011 murder trial and wrote the book, The Napa Murder of Anita Fagiani Andrews: A Cold Case That Caught a Serial Killer). Refreshments will be served at the tour’s end. For more information, visit Napacountylandmarks.org.
ARIES (March 21-April 19): Sometimes, I give you suggestions that may, if you carry them out, jostle your routines and fluster your allies. But after trying out the new approaches for a short time, you may chicken out and revert to old habits. That’s understandable! It can be difficult to change your life. Here’s an example. What if I encourage you to cancel your appointments and wander out into the wilderness to discuss your dreams with the birds? And what if, during your adventure, you are flooded with exhilarating yearnings for freedom? And then you decide to divest yourself of desires that other people want you to have and instead revive and give boosts to desires that you want yourself to have? Will you actually follow through with brave practical actions that transform your relationship with your deepest longings?
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): You have done all you can for now to resolve and expunge stale, messy karma—some of which was left over from the old days and old ways. There may come a time in the future when you will have more cleansing to do, but you have now earned the right to be as free from your past and as free from your conditioning as you have ever been. APRIL FOOL! I lied. In fact, you still need to spend a bit more time resolving and expunging stale, messy karma. But you’re almost done!
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Businessperson Robert Bigelow hopes to eventually begin renting luxurious rooms in space. For $1.7 million per night, travelers will enjoy accommodations he provides on his orbiting hotel, 200 miles above the Earth’s surface. Are you interested? I bet more Geminis will be signing up for this exotic trip than any other sign. You’re likely to be the journeyers most excited by the prospect of sailing along at 17,000 miles per hour and witnessing 16 sunsets and sunrises every 24 hours. APRIL FOOL! In fact, you Geminis are quite capable of getting the extreme variety you crave and need right here on the planet’s surface. And during the coming weeks, you will be even more skilled than usual at doing just that.
CANCER (June 21-July 22): The coming weeks will be a favorable time for you to become the overlord of your own fiefdom, or seize control of a new territory and declare yourself chieftain, or overthrow the local hierarchy and install yourself as the sovereign ruler of all you survey. APRIL FOOL! I was metaphorically exaggerating a bit—but just a bit. I do in fact believe now is an excellent phase to increase your clout, boost your influence and express your leadership. Be as kind you can be, of course, but also be rousingly mighty and fervent.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): In his poem, “The Something,” Charles Simic writes, “Here come my night thoughts on crutches, returning from studying the heavens. What they thought about stayed the same. Stayed immense and incomprehensible.” According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you Leos will have much the same experience in the coming weeks. So there’s no use in even hoping or trying to expand your vision. APRIL FOOL! I lied. The truth is, you will not have Simic’s experience. Just the opposite. When your night thoughts return from studying the heavens, they will be full of exuberant, inspiring energy. (And what exactly are “night thoughts”? They are bright insights you discover in the darkness.)
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): If there will ever come a time when you will find a gold bullion bar on the ground while strolling around town, it will be soon. Similarly, if you are destined to buy a winning $10 million lottery ticket or inherit a diamond mine in Botswana, that blessing will arrive soon. APRIL FOOL! I was exaggerating a bit. The truth is, I suspect you are now extra likely to attract new resources and benefits, though not on the scale of gold bullion, lottery winnings and diamond mines.
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Do you have a muse, Libra? In my opinion, all of us need and deserve at least one muse, even if we’re not creative artists. A muse can be a spirit or hero or ally who inspires us, no matter what work and play we do. A muse may call our attention to important truths we are ignoring or point us in the direction of exciting future possibilities. According to my astrological analysis, you are now due for a muse upgrade. If you don’t have one, get one—or even more. If you already have a relationship with a muse, ask more from it. Nurture it. Take it to the next level.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Dear Valued Employee: Our records show you haven’t used any vacation time over the past 100 years. As you may know, workers get three weeks of paid leave per year or else receive pay in lieu of time off. One added week is granted for every five years of service. So please, sometime soon, either take 9,400 days off work or notify our office, and your next paycheck will reflect payment of $8,277,432, including pay and interest for the past 1,200 months. APRIL FOOL! Everything I just said was an exaggeration. But there is a grain of truth in it. The coming weeks should bring you a nice surprise or two concerning your job.
SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Sagittarian poet and artist William Blake (1757–1827) was a hard-working visionary prophet with an extravagant imagination. His contemporaries considered him a freaky eccentric, though today we regard him as a genius. I invite you to enjoy your own personal version of a Blake-like phase in the coming weeks. It’s a perfect time to dynamically explore your idiosyncratic inclinations and creative potentials. Be bold, even brazen, as you celebrate what makes you unique. BUT WAIT! Although everything I just said is true, I must add a caveat: You don’t necessarily need to be a freaky eccentric to honor your deepest, most authentic truths and longings.
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Some of my friends disapprove of cosmetic surgery. I remind them that many cultures throughout history have engaged in body modification. In parts of Africa and Borneo, for example, people stretch their ears. Some Balinese people get their teeth filed. Women of the Indigenous Kyan people in Thailand elongate their necks using brass coils. Anyway, Capricorn, this is my way of letting you know that the coming weeks would be a favorable time to change your body. APRIL FOOL! It’s not my place to advise you about whether and how to reshape your body. Instead, my job is to encourage you to deepen and refine how your mind understands and treats your body. And now is an excellent time to do that.
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): I invite you to make a big change. I believe it’s crucial if you hope to place yourself in maximum alignment with current cosmic rhythms. Here’s my idea: Start calling yourself by the name “Genius.” You could even use it instead of the first name you have used all these years. Tell everyone that from now on, they should address you as “Genius.” APRIL FOOL! I don’t really think you should make the switch to Genius. But I do believe you will be extra smart and ultra-wise in the coming weeks, so it wouldn’t be totally outrageous to refer to yourself as “Genius.”
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Your body comprises 30 trillion human cells and 39 trillion microbial cells, including the bacteria that live within you. And in my astrological estimation, those 69 trillion life forms are vibrating in sweet harmony with all the money in the world. Amazing! Because of this remarkable alignment, you now have the potential to get richer quicker. Good economic luck is swirling in your vicinity. Brilliant financial intuitions are likely to well up in you. The Money God is far more amenable than usual to your prayers. APRIL FOOL! I was exaggerating a bit. But I do believe you now have extra ability to prime your cash flow.
Voted Damn Best Hair in Sonoma County—John Courage Trio, with special guest, 8pm, Friday, April 7. $10.
The Flamingo Resort
2777 4th St., Santa Rosa. vintagespacesr.com.
jackLNDN is a multi-instrumentalist, singer, writer and producer, known for electronic music (and aversion to vowels). 9pm, Friday, March 31.
21+. $15-$20.
Green Music Center
1801 East Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. gmc.sonoma.edu.
Yo-Yo Ma and Kathryn Stott (famed cellist and pianist, respectively) will thrash and trash everyone from Mendelssohn to Piazzola at 3pm, Sunday, April 2. Tickets $65–$175.
Hopmonk Tavern Sebastopol
230 Petaluma Ave., Sebastopol. Hopmonk.com.
Pete Floyd (a Pink Floyd tribute) wishes you were here. 8pm, Friday, March 31. $20.
The Lost Church
427 Mendocino Ave., Santa Rosa. thelostchurch.org.
Folksters Joselyn & Don and The Musers join forces and launch Folktopia. 7:30pm, Saturday, Apri 1. $20.
The Phoenix Theater
201 Washington St., Petaluma. thephoenixtheater.com.
Cartilage, Iron Front, Wroht, Hexen House, Postnasal Drainage. All ages, of course.
8pm, Friday, March 31. $10.
Peri’s Tavern
29 Broadway, Fairfax. peristavern.com.
Get wrecked and/or strange with the Wreckless Strangers when they play this beloved West Marin enclave. 9pm, Friday, April 7. $10-$13.
Special treatment
The CEO of a prominent local winery sat cross-legged before her, just a few inches off the floor on a hand-sewn satin cushion stuffed with rice and dried aromatic herbs. The dim candlelight did what it could to flatter his face, but she could still make out ruddy splotches and dry areas around his cheeks and forehead....
The bovinity of evil
Sarah lay awake in bed, flipping through a collection of short stories on her tablet.
She had come north with her family for a weekend in a white, rural rental house west of Petaluma. The AirBnb blurb had enticed her. Once used solely as a dairy farm, the family had branched out, renting the main house for...
History in the faking
I’ve always had a deep and abiding passion for history. That’s why I took to Civil War reenactment and why, in the gray fog of this coastal summer mid-morning, I can be found sipping a cup of joe in my encampment, where I’ve been settling into my role for the past month.
It’s begun to feel a...
Seized by the moment
I swear to God, if I get out of this, I'm marrying that man.
Maybe it's that I thought he was boring. I don't know. I'm the socialite; he's the wallflower. My weekends are busy enjoying life, and he likes his tame and uneventful. Even our engagement was mild, popping the question on a hike out at...
It’s about the journey
Rebecca and I hiked Taylor Mountain again today. Summer feels like it's racing towards us like a lion bearing down on the wounded gazelle that is my anxiety. Once we get through graduation, it feels like we're getting set adrift in the ocean of Adult Life and being told to swim. We were lying on a...
Yoga with an agenda
“We’re here! This is the place!” Becky enthused, blue sky eyes twinkling with the assuredness of being in the right place among the right people.
“OK, you’ve talked me into it, but I still just don’t know how yoga is going to do anything for me. I just can’t stand the smell of incense; it's so weird,”...
Sponsored by Sweet T's Restaurant + Bar
Ask Ann Tussey what motivated her to start Southern-style Sweet T’s Restaurant + Bar, and she’ll tell you it was her husband’s love of Southern barbecue.
She is the co-owner, chef and managing partner behind Sweet T’s, the family-owned and operated Windsor restaurant and the winner of the Best of the North...
San Geronimo
Holding Cort
The San Geronimo Valley Community Center makes a birthday wish on behalf of its recently retired youth team director, Howie Cort, and invites community members to celebrate her “Birthday Palooza” with her band, Howie's Persuasion, with the release of their new Aunt June’s Basement. The gig starts at 6pm, Thursday, April 6 at Giaco's Valley Roadhouse, 625...
ARIES (March 21-April 19): Sometimes, I give you suggestions that may, if you carry them out, jostle your routines and fluster your allies. But after trying out the new approaches for a short time, you may chicken out and revert to old habits. That’s understandable! It can be difficult to change your life. Here’s an example. What if I...
Elephant in the Room
177 Healdsburg Ave., Healdsburg. Elephantintheroompub.com.
Voted Damn Best Hair in Sonoma County—John Courage Trio, with special guest, 8pm, Friday, April 7. $10.
The Flamingo Resort
2777 4th St., Santa Rosa. vintagespacesr.com.
jackLNDN is a multi-instrumentalist, singer, writer and producer, known for electronic music (and aversion to vowels). 9pm, Friday, March 31.
21+. $15-$20.
Green Music Center
1801 East Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. gmc.sonoma.edu.
Yo-Yo...
