It is said that every year certain members of the elite male Bohemian Club engage in what has been described as a ritualized burning of “Care”. This is evidently carried on in a pseudo-solemn , fraternity boy style complete with Klannish kloaks of anonymity and the sacrificial ignition of a youth size bundle in front of a looming (and I do mean looming) owl totem the size of Kong himself.

Having engaged in similar rituals in my youth as an undercover writer/ philosopher/ drunken samurai frat boy, I am still processing the psychological motivations and moral implications of this kind of behavior and why in hell I chose to participate in some of the shenanigans that seem so daft to me now. In my defense I was young and very intoxicated. Bohemians are powerful, wealthy grown-ups who make decisions that effect us all. Why would men of such distinction choose this form of entertainment?

The burning of “Care” suggests itself as a ritualized incineration of that still, small voice that keeps telling you that your success and power are borne by the suffering of others. Burn, Jiminy Cricket, burn! It takes a potent, alcohol-stoked , ritual like this to melt away the guilt of a busy year full of nefarious plans and accumulation of wealth at our expense, I suppose.

But, putting this suspicious cultish behavior aside (although it would get most of us arrested if we chose to do it in our homes) the Bohemians do provide coin for the coffers of local educational facilities, non-profits, and yes, in some cases, certain religious groups. They do this by staging an annual entertainment for the masses that inhabit the lower bowel of the Russian River. It is aptly called “The Bohemian Club Variety Show” and consists in large part of the talents of actual Bohemian Club members.

A lot goes into the production of this event. Many energetic community members pitch in to set up the stage, baked goodie tables, chairs, lighting and such. Great care is taken to create an environment of comfort for the 45 to infinity set who throng together to hear comfortable music and comfortable comedy for a good cause. This crowd prefers their music on the Welkian side and they don’t mind a few misogynistic mother-in-law jokes or mild ethnic slurs in the humor mix.

Although I usually choose alternate ways to contribute to local causes. I have been an unwilling spectator to these shows for many years. The amphitheater on the Monte Rio Union School grounds was the site for the show during the nineties and that’s scarcely a block away from my residence. Hey, I love free entertainment as much as the next guy, but I prefer seeking it out on my own terms. When I want to hear a fully articulated, showboat , overgrown boy tenor , MacArthur Park rendition of “Oh, Danny Boy” on Marshall amps in my face at 10:30 PM, I’d prefer it to be in a small Italian bar in the Bronx, anywhere but in my front yard on a work night.

But comfort was provided on a large scale to the folks who attended these events if the riotous response to the questionable humor and mostly mediocre music was any indication. An extremely good time was had by all. A virtual Woodstock of good intentions and merriment for all, unless you lived in the ‘hood, got home from work and found that you had no place to park in front of your own house.

Art Linkletter (or an animatronic version of the beloved raconteur/emcee*) served as host intermittently over the years, welcoming such household names as Dennis Day, George Ratzenberger, and Phil Harris to the stage. And there have been special guest appearances by such rock luminaries as Steve Miller, Bob Weir and Mickey Hart, or at least rumors of their appearances persist to this day. I myself never attended any of these legendary events, but I am currently undertaking a fact-finding mission to find personal testimony to corroborate these claims.

Just last night I was able to verify more recent quality talent sightings of the Country and Western variety. A friend attending last year’s show saw both Clint Black and Zack Brown. I hear they’ve booked Avery Bitasbad for this year, so maybe the shows have improved since they moved the venue out of my hood, thank you, Jesus.

If you like your entertainment a little less whitebread and more soulful I heartily recommend attending the Russian River Blues/Jazz Festival, usually held in September on Johnson’s Beach in Guerneville. Due to my fiscal restraints as a retired person on a fixed income I must view the proceedings from a distance on the opposite side of the river. From my vantage point high atop the hill above the river bank I sit in my truck enjoying Cuban smoothies and barbecue, watching the likes of Etta James belting out “Something’s Got A Hold On Me”, or Poncho Sanchez popping out a Latin version of “Knock On Wood”. It ain’t Bohemian, but it’ll have to do.

* Art’s life-long association with Walt Disney has spawned speculation in recent years as he approaches 100.