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Never confuse bohobo with bonobo

 Author Paul Bowles wrote in his novel, "The Sheltering Sky," "[An] important difference between tourist and traveler is that the former accepts his own civilization without question; not so the traveler, who compares it with the others, and rejects those elements he finds not to his liking."

Bowles did not, however, mention the "boho-hobo," who is both tourist and traveler but in that artsy, homeless kind of way. The boho-hobo or "bohobo" (there, I shortened it - snappy, eh?) accepts and rejects pretty much everything in his own civilization in accordance with the acceptance and rejection he experiences himself. Of course, we can't fault Bowles for omitting the bohobo - the term hadn't been coined at the time he was writing, which is to say, by me, just now.

A contraction of "bohemian" and the traditional "hobo" as in "one who wanders from place to place without a permanent home or a means of livelihood," this hybridized transient is usually a creative professional, traveling between opportunities through locations of cultural interest and generally urban and urbane (and if he were in the suburbs he'd be sub-urbane). I was one myself when I first landed in Sonoma with little more than a reporter's notebook and a desire to live indoors. Now that I'm rich and famous, I spend much of my time traveling in the Bowlesian sense and have concluded that my chosen civilization, Sonoma, is missing an opportunity to squeeze some of the last drops of precious equity from its homes.

When the bohobo finally receives a freelance check for some hipster design project or 1,500 words of narrative non-fiction that represents the sum of liquid assets, they invariably feel they must cleanse their souls. After all, they've prostituted their talents yet again, and nothing abates self-loathing better than a wine country vacation. Though one may not be able to forgive oneself for taking the filthy lucre, our wine will at least help you forget you did it in the first place (and once your pockets are empty and your head is pounding, you might also forget the very reason for which you care to live at all).

In my experience, there is no better salve for a sickened soul than Sonoma. Not only does the wine flow but bohobos will find a community ready to embrace them because of their intrinsic interest in creative people and dire need to expand the gene pool. Seriously, to be single in this town is to represent that last of a lineage. In fact, a random bohobo might be able to help in this regard. However, you shouldn't confuse bohobo with bonobo, the randy primate that makes Monkey Island the happiest place on earth.

Consider listing your spare room, couch or that air mattress in your hall closet on AirBnb.com, a site that brokers these and other such accommodations to travelers looking for a deal. As the site instructs, "You list your space: upload dazzling photos, name your price & set your availability." Then you can accept or decline reservations as they come in. At present writing, AirBnB lists only two Sonoma offerings and one in Boyes Hot Springs.

I know there is a helluva lot more wasted real estate out there. And by real estate I mean the floor space behind the TV or your ungrateful kid's room or the backseat of that eyesore permanently parked in your lawn. A bohobo will rent it for the night and wax sentimental over the "authenticity." That ping pong table underneath the carport? Throw in a sleeping bag and it's a B-n-B. Which reminds me, I need a place to crash next week and I've got $20 with your address on it - please confirm my reservation in the comments online.

P.S: The winner of the $100 gift certificate to the girl and the fig for helping title my forthcoming collection of columns goes to fellow scribe Lin Marie deVincent who helped clear the creative path to "Wax Wings & Wine: Daedalus in Wine Country." Thank you and congrats! Also, thanks to all who made suggestions here, there and everywhere. Your contributions are appreciated. - DH