sx~uth~~rn MA RCH 10 - MA RCH 16
For 20 years The Synthesis' goal has remained to provide a forum for entertainment, music, humor, community awareness, opinions, and change.
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THE SECOND HALF OF THE SOUP
THE WAITRESS ACCORDING TO MIKEy
Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff's feature on Chico's poor and destitute finishes strong, as he talks to residents of the Torres Shelter about what brought them to this point. Their stories are gripping, and painfully honest.
Rev up the time machine and join 1994 columnist MIKEy, as he attempts to bed a pierce-faced diner waitress with a murder-for-hire agenda and a twisted fetish for Black Flag. There may be complications.
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Karen Potter
OWNER Bill Fishkin bill@synthesis.net The Synthesis is both owned and published by Apartment 8 Productions. All things published in these pages are the property of Apartment 8 Productions and may not be reproduced, copied or used in any other way, shape or form without the written consent of Apartment 8 Productions.
One copy (maybe two) of the Synthesis is available free to residents in Butte, Tehama and Shasta counties. Anyone caught removing papers
will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
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All opinions expressed throughout the Synthesis are those of the author and are not necessarily the same opinions as Apartment 8 Productions
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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
THE MOTHER OF ALL MATTERS
Sometimes little bits of thoughts and feelings cloud my mind, then suddenly they all pull together and rain down my cheeks; tears that leave me cleansed like the air after a storm. It's coming up on a year since my mom died, and with the smells and sights that mark the changing of the season, I've been flashing back to moments spent walking from my car to visit her at Enloe; the scent of blossoms in the fresh air tinged with looming fear over what was wrong with her, the tight feeling in my stomach when I got the voicemail that her test results hame come back, our worst fears confirmed : cancer. Seeing the verdant fields with bright new grass below scattered clouds in the perfect blue sky, I can't help but remember driving to the hospital in Sacramento day after day, trying to think about anything that would give me respite from the reality I was about to walk back into, trying to be brave enough to see her swollen body and vacant eyes after she suffered that stroke while trying to recover from the failed surgery, her organs shutting down slowly. The moment we had to decide as a family to let her pass. Listening to her breath drawing with delicate falter, fading imperceptibly over a long hour, her cold hand in mine when it finally stopped. Death is a strange companion to Spring. My family and I bonded in a way we never had before through the raw emotion of this experience; sometimes we get together and share these pure human connections that are possible only because there are wounds from having
her torn away that made us vulnerable. I was talking about all this with my best friend the other day, and we got on the subject of fear and comfort. She asked me if it made me anxious about my mortality, and she seemed surprised when I told her no. Both of us are in our 30s, and there's an unwritten rule that it's coming up on time for a midlife crisis. She gets a sense of panic thinking about the fleeting nature of it all, fear that as each moment slips behind her she can never have it back, fear that it's all meaningless because when you die your thoughts and feelings will be forgotten forever. While death is certainly a very real thing to me, and I love my life with every fiber of my being, I find it to be a comforting thing knowing that it will end. To me the idea that none of this "matters" lifts a burden, makes it OK to live in whatever way I see fit. I can believe whatever I want, be as ambitious or unambitious, accomplish things or fail at them. I don't really believe in an afterlife, but I do believe that all time happens at once, and our consciousness is just reading it like a needle on a record. It's enough for me that I'm hearing this song right now, even if the record just sits on the dusty shelf of time, never to be listened to again. At the very least, I know my life matters to the people I love. I'm imprinting on them in ways that will weave through their songs, binding us invisibly and permanentlythe way my mother still lives as a part of me, her crooked smile shining on my quiet moments like the sun through the blossoming trees.
AMY OLSON - AMY@SYNTHESIS.NET
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MARC H 10 - MARC H 16, 2014
SYNTHESIS WEEKLY. COM
IMMACULATE INFECTION BY BOB HOWARD - MADBOB@MADBOB.COM
TERMITES AND TOILET PAPER
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HERE The System. I've spent a lot of time complaining about the system. Lately my thoughts and actions are directed more towards extricating ourselves from the system, as opposed to radically changing or demolishing it. Do you want to change the system, or do you want to bring it down? The superficial trappings of the system are everchanging. Examples of this include the institutionalization of lotteries nationwide, and the legalization of recreational marijuana smoking in two states and counting. But the system is more or less the same-the people with the power and money make and enforce the rules. This is nothing new by a long shot. I know some who advocate a violent overthrow of the system. It sounds nice in theory, but then you've got a power vacuum. Power vacuums are filled by those most willing to do whatever it takes to achieve power. After a period of time you find yourselves with essentially the same system, only functioning under a different name. Myself, I vote for no system at all. Ultimately, the system doesn 't exist if we don't let it. Bill Gates has amassed billions of dollars because we have collectively gone out and brought the products he sells. Gates seems to be considered one of the "good guys" when it comes to billionaires, I suppose because he donates a tremendous amount of money to various charitable organizations. A more villainous example might be the Wal-Mart heirs, who could fill an Olympic-sized
swimming pool with thousand dollar bills because we shop en masse at their stores. Reputedly even more insidious are the nefarious, billionaire Koch brothers, who enjoy such great wealth because so many of us average citizens consume their cattle and wipe our butts with their toilet paper. This brings me to my point. We can collapse the system by stepping away from it, and by taking one small action at a time. I think you can bring down a system like a termite brings down a house. You hollow it out from the inside-you methodically undercut the system's structure and support to a point where the system collapses in on itself. If you've hollowed it out well enough, and taken enough support, the collapse won't even be that painful-just hollow old wood finally falling down and being consumed by the ground. But then how do you keep the old power structures from reforming in the new landscape left behind? This requires determination, and it requires everyone to step up and act as their own leader. A system of anarchy isn't based on chaos-it is based on ultimate personal responsibility. I have written about toilet paper before as an example of the underlying fabric of the system. It 's something we take for granted; the thought being that one simply must use toilet paper. But it's not true. You could use a bidet to clean yourself, or a washcloth, or a basin of water and your hand. I know none of these ideas seem immediately appealing to our American minds. So assuming toilet paper isn't going to be outlawed like the disposable shopping bags, how about coming up with an ethical source?
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Shadowrun Returns came out back in July of 2013, but this isn't a new game. Nor is it just any old DLC expansion, no, Dragonfal/ is a whole new campaign of equal length, added on as a downloadable content. For those unaware, Shadowrun Returns is a turn-based RPG, with many of the classical elements of the tabletop, such as gridbased movement, stat checks, and plenty of out of combat decisions and skills. These similarities are not coincidental; the original Shadowrun is a tabletop RPG with some similarities to Dungeons & Dragons, dating all the way back to 1989. It was born from one of the chief desires of the early 90s/late 80s : to turn something beloved and old (in this case, high fantasy) into something modern and gritty. The result is something like a mash-up of Bladerunner and Tolkien, a bizarrely twisted future wracked by nuclear meltdowns, where cyborgs and omnipotent hackers live alongside (and sometimes are) dragons, elves, and trolls. Dragonfal/ isn't a continuation of the previous campaign, Dead Man's Switch, but rather an entirely new storyline, with entirely new characters, give or take a few omnipotent and omnipresent characters throughout the setting. Dragonfal/ takes us to 2054, Berlin. Now an independent entity after the collapse of Germany under the weight of disaster and race riots, its neighborhoods are divided into local governments based on power and trust. The Flux-State exists in pure, classic, anarchy. From there, the player character
is a mercenary, earning their bread in blood and stolen data, from corporate espionage and personal vendetta alike. Start a job that begins with death and deception, and ends with you taking your team of troll sniper, punk shaman, and mysterious cyborg through a maze of information, lies, and ever present danger, at the heart of which rests an ancient dragon. If none of this sounds exciting at all, maybe it's time to stop reading this article, pick up a beige, ceramic mug of lukewarm water, and read the phone book, because you're boring. Of course, some might accuse this game, which I'm unabashedly talking up, of being boring as well. There's an enormous amount of reading involved, as the only voice acting is in the noises people make upon taking a hit, and there are clues, conversations, and decisions everywhere in this game. One almost gets the feeling that you have an honest to god Dungeon Master sitting at a computer linked directly to yours, desperately reacting and crafting the world to your decisions. It's also tactical and turn based, which for some, is a dealbreaker. But if you consider yourself an RPG player, if you consider storyline a selling point on a game, and you don't think that reading is something only for other people to do, you should pick up Shadowrun Returns, play through Dead Man's Switch (which is quite good, also) and then jump straight onto Dragonfal/. And if you've already got the base game, and you didn't hate it, you owe it to yourself to pick up the new campaign. It's even better than the first.
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COMICAL RUMINATIONS BY ZOOEY MAE - ZOOEYMAE@SYNTHESIS NET
BRO-ING DOWN WITH BROAPP Let me explain. My brother Spencer is the likable one. He smiles easily, is great with people, and can make absolutely anyone laugh. That said, he's been known to make poor choices from time to time. Exhibit A: the time he did doughnuts in his '85 Toyota station wagon in a church parking lot to impress a girl, forgetting he'd left his gas cap off. Myself, my friend, and her older sister (the girl in question), stood on the sidewalk in front of the church watching as he jammed his foot on the gas, cranked the wheel, and approximately a third of the gas he'd just bought came gushing out of the tank. Exhibit B: The time he thought it would be funny to make a fake body by stuffing newspapers into an old mechanic's suit, then adding a mannequin's head and a large black, curly wig, positioning it by the side of Skyway then waiting behind the bushes with two friends and a video camera to see if anyone stopped. Spoiler alert : No one in Paradise gives a shit about (pretend) dead bodies on the side of the road.
Spencer isn' t what I'd call necessarily intellectual, but he definitely isn't stupid. I think he just doesn't like the idea of putting effort into an academic pursuit unless he sees a fairly immediate payoff from it. He chooses to apply himself only when he really cares about someth ing, but when he does he usually pulls some sort of Rainman-esque brilliance out of nowhere to learn everything there is to know about the topic. That long-winded intro is just to set the stage in your mind so you understand that when Spencer came to me a few years ago with an idea for an app, his enthusiasm and natural charisma almost fooled me into thinking it was a good idea. Almost. He explained that he'd come up with an app for heterosexual men who were in relationships and in need of a night out with friends. " How great would it be," he said "if there were an app that would text your girlfriend automatically if you were out with friends? Like for instance, it could text your girlfriend every hour or so, with something like 'I miss you. I wish I was home watching Real
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Housewives with you instead of out in this boring bar."' Needless to say, he left that idea by the wayside when he became a wine rep and didn't have time in his busy schedule for inventing realistic quips to populate the app. It turns out though, maybe it wasn't as terrible of an idea as I might have thought (that's a lie, it's still a terrible idea). There's an app that was just released for Android called BroApp that automatically sends prewritten messages to your girlfriend to give the illusion that you don't suck. According to their site, "... boyfriends
compose a number of texts, which can be timed to be sent automatically on a specific day, even if he is busy enjoying the company of his male friends. BroApp leverages advanced algorithms to intelligently determine the best time to send a text message to your girlfriend."That shit is bananas. I can ' t believe someone made an app like that. In other news, I have to go now, I've attained Candy Crush nirvana at level 515. Later, nerds.
MARC H 10 - MARC H 16, 2014
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Perhaps because of this, Franklin is an incredible mimic. He's hilarious. A few days later, on the same porch, in the same light, he read aloud from Rob Brezny's Astrology column in the back of the News & Review. He did my sign , Libra , in a perfect posh Londoner. Then, for a woman with silver hair, and in a stunning surfer-bro, Franklin read from Aquarius: " I'm guessing, that in a metaphorical sense, you 've been swallowed by a whale."
PART II
The Next Four Days: The Torres Shelter
The men 's dorm is a cavernous hall packed with rows of peeling metal bunk beds that tilt up like cruise ship deck-loungers. The minimalist wall art is distinctly less inspirational than that found at the JC. There are just two posters . One reads: "Adults, get help with your reading," while the other says: " More than half of all people will have an STD at some point in their lives."
Apparently, bedbugs are big enough to be pat down for, which is disturbing. The Torres bouncer tonight is a woman with an Andean build , wearing a "Carpe Diem " shirt and a wry smile. I'm clean. Well, of bedbugs, at least. Inside, I'm breathalyzed and a female staff member accompanies me into the bathroom where she stands staring into the corner while I piss into a cup. Clean again .
Number so is a top bunk, with a view through slatted blinds of the huge red letters of the Costco sign. After spending a few days with people who use electrical cords cut from broken lamps to tie together the trashcans on their can-collecting carts, I'm feeling the full brunt of the craziness of capitalism and the five-pack of Sonicare brush head-replacements I just had to buy at Costco last week.
I sit down for an intake interview with Johnny. Johnny is young and looks like he could be a barista at a hip coffee shop. He has sandy-colored bangs that fall in front of unblinking eyes and crudely lined tattoos across his fingers that read , " rock " and "roll."
The lights go out at nine. Soon, some sort of John Cage-esque experimental music piece begins. Snoring and farting come at unexpected frequencies, durations; tonal patterns. There are desperate sleep-apnea-gasps for air, and sleep talk , soft and melodic as Muslim prayer.
Johnny recognizes my byline and compliments me on a few articles. Then he eyes me skeptically. "This is not a flophouse ," he warns-something of an unofficial Torres motto as it turns out. He asks me questions like " did you attend Special Ed?" which, under normal circumstances, I might have taken offence to. But Johnny-one of those countless unsung American heroes-is cool; he 's respectful, he's doing his job.
At five, the lights come on .
A LOCAL WRITER LEAVES THE SHELTER OF HOME FOR THE HOMELESS SHELTER
by Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff photography by Shannon Iris Check out the first installment of The Soup and the Kitchen, wherein the writer leaves his home and stays in the park for three days, at our website, synthesisweekly.com
I get bunk number SO. The shelter is institutional and worn, with checkered linoleum floors and florescent lights; something between a county jail and an inner-city dental office. It's undergoing a serious remodel and expansion . Plastic sheeting billows over bare studs packed with fluffy insulation .
On a back patio, lit by a single halogen work lamp, I talk for a while with "Franklin." Franklin has perhaps the most alienating identity circumstances of anyone I've ever met. A gay black man adopted by a white Jehovah's Witness family as an adolescent after a childhood of physical and sexual abuse, Franklin says he's always felt too white for black people, too black for white people, too gay for straight people and-because he lacks any typical gay affectation-too straight for gay people.
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MARC H 10 - MA RCH 16, 2014
For another three days, I continue to hang out at the JC, wander the streets, and sleep at the shelter.
choose?
One starry black morning, out in front of Torres, I meet Jerry. Jerry tells me about once having money and property, about a divorce, about a lost job, about his unemployment running out, about the truck he wound up living in getting impounded, and , finally, about living in total isolation for three months up an Oroville fire road in a tent plotting his own suicide . For some reason he changed his mind and, just a few days ago, he came to the shelter. The headlights of au-turning car flash across his face and I see that Jerry has a white handlebar mustache, and eyes filled with tears and nearly-mystical pain . " I think I'll never go camping again," he says, and we both laugh. "Used to love it, but don't think I'll ever do it again ."
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A day later, we share breakfast at the JC. On the way to the table, I notice that he walks with a limp. He tells me he's been diagnosed with neuropathy, a chronic nerve abnormality that has left him with constant pain in his feet, like he's walking on coals. "They say the pain is real but that the cause is hard to find," he says. He shows me his Exitcare patient sheet, which says of his condition: " If neuropathy is not correctly treated there can be a number of associated problems that lead to a downward cycle for the patient. These include depression, sleeplessness, feelings of fear and an xiety, limited social interaction and inability to do normal activities or work."
One night, I sit with a few other men around the men 's dorm TV. A roundtable show analyzing the various merits of The Bachelor's sexy-accented himbo finally concludes; finding, with some unanimity, that he is indeed not only "sexy," but also "great." Then a CBS special marking the SO years since Lyndon Johnson declared his " War on Poverty" comes on . Ohio Congressman and misleading-syllogism-ninja Jim Jordan (R) appears on screen . " SO years of doing this, 77 different programs, and we have 46 million Americans in poverty, so obviously it 's not working," he says. CBS then edits back and forth between the Dems and the GOP, bringing out, from their flag flying podiums, the fundamental divide at the heart of our national politics concerning poverty. Are " we" too generous? Or not generous enough? And more importantly, who will The Bachelor
SYNTHES I SWEE KLY.CO M
well of pain come back into his eyes.
to stay in the shelter because, "You can't smoke weed, can't drink, can't do nuthin'."
"There are things I conceal about my past," he says. I can see how reticent and filled with shame he is to tell me his secret.
The indignation doesn't last long. If you hearthe stories, if you sit where others sit, if you really listen, something happens. Time and again, my heart, momentarily damned, comes breaking back open, overwhelmed, aware of my own wretchedness, forgiving, contiguous as an estuary with the ocean of others' experiences.
"They say the journalist's motto is 'charm and betray,"' I tell him. "Don't tell me anything you don't want to. I care about you more than this article," I say.
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He doesn't complain, but I think for a moment of all the invisible pain that can affect each of us; pain that others can't always make sense of. Jerry shows me blurry cellphone pictures of his fire-road camp, of his brother's "Indian" motorcycle, and of a woman he says he still loves but can't be with. "I used to be really conservative," Jerry says. "I would have said, 'you're just a weak little pussy, get over it,' if I saw myself now. I would have said, 'maybe you just like to be that way because you're lazy, because you're a sloth, maybe it's because you've got flaws in your character." "But you've got to lose it all to know ... " he says, then trails off.
"AV\<f w~eV\ ~e <fie<fi <feshtu.te, o.loV\e o.V\<f iV\ fO.iV\-I e-u.r-se<f Go<f."
He tells me that he's been surprised by how "normal" the people he's been meeting are, and about how their kindness has resuscitated him. "It's about people ... I've learned that the material things don't mean a thing. It's about people-even people you don't know." We eat and talk for a while more, then, suddenly, I see that
But he goes on. "You gotta understand, my brotherwho was also my best friend-see, he was almost na'lve, real godly ... truly, truly a good man." Jerry tells me that after a botched hipreplacement, he found his brother, who he lived with at the time, alone in his room, overdosed on painkillers. "He had drowned in his own vomit," Jerry says. "There was no color in his pupil. I could see right away that his soul was gone."
One day, as I'm leaving the JC's resource center, I overhear a woman with wild eyes and a head that is shaved except for a small circle of blond, thorn-like spikes at the crown, as she talks to a slight young man as he leaves. "Don't tell your sister you saw me here," she says. Outside, on the steps, the young man's angelic girlfriend sits rubbing his back. There are tears in their eyes. The love between them is palpable, profound. I go around the corner and cry into my arm for a moment, then go back and ask the young man if he's ok. "That's the first time I've talked to my mom in ... ever, really," he says, his eyes red and inflamed. The young man is 18. His grandmother adopted him as a baby. "I mean, I've seen her wandering around the plaza or whatever, and gone up to her, but this is the first time I've really tried to talk to her. She gave me away when I was three months."
Jerry tells me that a few months later, when a girlfriend offered it to him, he tried meth. He was addicted for the next four years, until about nine months before this breakfast.
The next day I sit with his mom at breakfast. She tells me about some recipes from a 1996 copy of Light Cooking Magazine she's carrying around. She gesticulates in jerky motions and interrupts herself each time she has a new idea. But, suddenly, after perhaps 15 minutes, there's a brief moment where her eyes go clear and lucid and her body relaxes, as if she had just slipped into a hot bath. She looks at me with her crown of thorny blond spikes and her eyes shimmer with a maternal kindness. "Are you cold?" she asks me, and she extends me her sweater. "You can have this."
"Man, my brother had this Indian [a Harley-looking motorcycle]" Jerry says, a bit later. "I've got it in storage. I'm going to get that thing running again," he says. "I'm going to get it back on the road."
The writer would like to thank all the people he met for sharing their time and stories with him and the Jesus Center and the Torres Shelter for their generosity and for the amazing work they do. Jerry: get that Indian back on the road, brother.
"And when he died; destitute, alone and in pain-I cursed God. 'God, F you,' I'd say. Stuff like that. That just did something to me. I just didn't care after that."
Then Jerry excuses himself to join the bible study that's beginning. "This is my nourishment," he tells me as he gets up. Sometimes, still, of course, I feel judgmental, angry, even disgusted. Like the time I see the two extremely pregnant women my heart has been going out to for a week chainsmoking together in the JC parking lot like it's nothing. Or when I find a crudely carved foam body suit, designed to make its wearer appear pregnant, in one of the alleys that leads away from the JC. Or the time the middle-aged, petty-drug dealer, who is staying, for the week, in a motel room his mom got him for Christmas, tells me, over free breakfast, that he refuses
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PREVIEW
SCENE REPORT
COTTON COMES TO CHICO
THE ZIGGY STARDUST FULL ALBUM TRIBUTE
BY DANNY COHEN
BY HOWL
ELVIN BISHOP, JAMES COTTON & RUTHIE FOSTER
3/15, Laxson Auditorium, presented by Chico Performances Although Elvin Bishop is the headliner, James Cotton is the real attraction here. Almost 80, and having contracted throat cancer in the '90s, he will not be singing (in my opinion, the most soulful vocalist of the three), but still cuts a ferocious Chicago blues harp. We can only hope he's not brought in at the 11th hour by a game show announcer.
Elvin Bishop (aka "Pigboy Crabshaw") is best known for "Fooled Around and Fell In Love," and other hits, but nobody cares about that now. With the recent trade-paper idolatry (and re-issue box set) of Mike Bloomfield, Bishop's role as his guitar foil in the Paul Butterfield Blues Band also takes on renewed significance, but it's like comparing Keith Richards to Jimi Hendrix. "I root for him [Bishop] because he's an underdog and he plays a 335. What more can you ask for?" (my L.A. friend Fidel, who concurs that Bishop's solo albums were lackluster). "He plays like a neanderthal, but these days that's refreshing."
Chico is a blues town, a poor man's Austin, but rarely has it seen such pedigree. Cotton may well be the last surviving blues master. He played with Howlin' Wolf in the early '50s, and Muddy Waters in the mid '50s through '70s. Mentored by the great Sonny Boy Williamson (whose band he inherited), he became the foremost exponent of country-style blues harp after the decline and death of Little Walter, whom he inducted into the Hall Of Fame.
He sounds like a high-school garage Fidel on Butterfield's East-West, but two LPs later, he's evolved into Bloomfield's jazzy psychedelia (being a scholar and Physics Major). Bishop gravitated to the Fillmore West scene, collaborating with Starship, The Dead, and The All mans.
The Chicago style emerged in the mid '40s at Pepper's Lounge, wherein the harp (harmonica) and a cheap bullet mike are cupped through a gritty amp-like being gloveless in the snow, or HBO fellatio. Cotton's technique has steadily evolved from his raw solo debut with the Jimmy Cotton Quartet (with Otis Spann) in the late '50s, and a subsequent band with string bass and bass trumpet. Charlie Haden played with him in the 90's, as did John Lee Hooker, and Clifton Chenier. Cotton won a gram my for Deep In The Blues and Muddy's Hard Again.
Even Bishop's not wild about his vocals, so luckily there's acclaimed newcomer Ruthie Foster : a gospel voice (thinned and mannered by youth) closer to Bonnie Raitt than Aretha, whom she's been compared to. I predict a strong barroom, roadhouse approach throughout. In the hands of masters, and away from You Tube, this could be great (but on "Juke Joint" it's numbing). I would crawl through my own vomit (like my dad when he was acting like "Nani") if Cotton would play slow and mournful and show these ponytailed boogie boys with bad Hawaiin shirts what it's really about.
10
MA RCH 10 - MA RCH 16, 2014
2/28, 1078 Gallery, presented by the Uncle Dads Art Collective The idea was simple enough : the Uncle Dad's Art Collective asked one local band to perform each song off of David Bowie's 1972 album The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars, creating an entirely new interpretation to present to a music-loving, Bowie-loving populace. I didn't know much about this album beyond Bowie's awesome fashion that got associated with it. I was pleased to see lots of Ziggy'd- out getups on this Friday night-lots of glitter, sequins, shiny leotards, and makeup-on women and men alike.
was totally lost before the next began. The greatest performances were consistently from the people who put the event on-that rotating, multitalented group of musicians who collectively form Aubrey Debauchery & The Broken Bones, Bogg, and Pageant Dads. No dramatic changes were made in their chosen songs, but they were much more comfortable, passionate, and at home than their peers. Matthew Weiner's violin solos, and Gavin and Alex's horrible makeup stand out the most in my memory. The LoLos had the honor of performing the centerpiece of the album, the classic "Ziggy Stardust." After a short space pretending they'd turned it into a bossanova song, they exploded full -force into the opening lick, and got everyone dancing (finally!). Drummer Kenzie Warner's great snare tone and singer Matt Heyden's sequined bird-vest-thing both let the audience know we were at a legit rock show.
The first really memorable, really ZIGGY performance was "Moonage Daydream" by Aubrey Debauchery & The Broken Bones. Aubrey was wearing an awesome red-orange leotard and tights, along with cool hair and facepaint. Alex Coffin and Gavin Fitzgerald in the rhythm section The big surprise of the show came as Pageant were rocking their man-boobs and some Dads were going onstage to perform the terrible-yet-amazing makeup. They tore finale, "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide." What looked into the song with remarkable gusto; like a shimmering, blue-green portal opened Aubrey especially brought the passion and up in the ceiling, and DAVID BOWIE HIMSELF the moves that I imagine made Ziggy such a was lowered by ropes into the room! He was timeless character. wearing only a subdued gray suit and tie, but no one cared. The whole room got on their The one flaw in this fun, strange night feet to scream and clap along with Bowie was the need for constant set changes. In between every three-to-five minute song as he sung the last song for us. As the last was a three-to-five minute period of relanote faded away, the audience rushed the tive silence, while one band switched its stage, but the beloved rockstar had already dissipated in a soft explosion that dusted gear out to make room for the next one. Any energy gained from one performance everyone nearby with orange glitter.
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MARCH 10 - MARCH 16. 2014
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177 E 2nd St, Chico (530) 895-8817 MARC H 10 - MARC H 16, 2014
13
THIS WEEK ONLY BEST BETS IN ENTERTAINMENT TUESDAY, MARCH 11TH
SATURDAY, MARCH 1STH JAMES COTTON , ELVIN BISHOP AND RUTHIE FOSTER LAXSON AUDITORIUM
CHAMB ER ORC HESTRA KR EMLI N LAXSON Chico is totally blessed by this rare opportunity to see some of Russia's premier talent. Soaring strings will reach out to you in your slightly uncomfortable Laxson chair and transport you to the Fantasia land of naked cherubs and angry gods. They'll be performing Mozart, Schoenberg, and Schubert. $5, 8pm.
FRIDAY, MARCH 14TH
Living legend James Cotton has rocked his harmonica through all the decades that counted. Elvin Bishop is an old-time party blues rocker, and Ruthie Foster is an award-winning blues songwriter. $33 Adults, $25 Students, 7:30pm.
SUNDAY, MARCH 16TH
LISA VALENTINE, MICHELIN EMBERS, AND UGLY AS HELL
DEADLY GALLOWS, SIX MILE STATION THE MALTESE Accordions, banjo, trumpets, stomping feet, and gang vocals! Pirates, too. These two troupes of crusty scaliwags will be bringing in rum-infused cheer to help us all prepare for St. Patty's Day. $3, 8pm.
CAFE FLO Lisa's voice pierces the heart with a flawless clarity; you might think she's just too short to have such auditory power, but there you go. Michelin Embers and Ugly As Hell bring unique folk/blues flava. $5-$7 sliding scale, 7:30pm.
OTHER NEW AND EXCITING THINGS 12 WEDNESDAY
14 FRIDAY
Cafe Coda: Story Road, Pub
Blue Room: Hoedown Variety Show. $10, 7:30pm DownLo: Bobcat Rob Armenti, 8pm Lost On Main: The Bumptet, Groovincible. $5 before lOpm, $8 after. Maltese: Mount Whateverest, Gentlemens Coup, Suns Of The Pacific. $5, 9pm Monstros: Poliskitzo, Slandyr. $5, 8pm Senator: The Expendables, Stick Figure, Seedless. $15, 8pm
Scouts. $5, 7pm Cafe Flo: Hand Made Moments: Jazz/folk trio from Arkansas. $5, 7pm Laxson: Jazz At Lincoln Center Orchestra, Wynton Marsalis. Adults $51, Students $39, 7:30pm
13 THURSDAY lOOth Monkey: lcko Sicko, Gorilla X Monsoon, Mr. Bang, Burning Monk. $5, 7:30pm
14
MA RCH 3 - MA RCH 9, 2014
TheTackleBox:JamesSlack. Free, 8pm
15 SATURDAY 1078 Gallery: Guitar Project w Warren Haskell & Friends. $10 General, $5 Seniors+ Students, 7pm Blue Room: Hoedown Variety Show. $10, 7:30pm Cafe Coda: Ha'Penny Bridge, Celtic Knights OfThe Sea. $5, 6pm Cafe Flo: Willy And The Flodowns. 7pm
Duffys: Los Caballitos de la Cancion. $5, 5-7:30pm Lost On Main: Bloody Roots, Disposable Heroes, Aberrance, Gigantes, Astronaut. $5, 9pm The Maltese: Dragopolis drag show. $3, lOpm The Tackle Box: Alyssa Audrey. $2, 8pm
16 SUNDAY Rowland-Taylor Hall: North State Symphony presents Vivaldi's Four Seasons. $22 Adults, $12 Students, 2pm
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM
ONGOING EVENTS
10 MONDAY
100th Monkey: Happy Healing
Hour: variety of healing modalities offered to the public. 5:30pm The Bear: Bear-E-oke! 9pm Cafe Flo: Jazz Happy Hour ft. Carey Robinson Trio. 5-7pm Chico Women's Club: Prenatal Yoga. 5:30-6:30pm
Wismer Theatre CSUC: Creation Stories. Student $6, Adult $15, add $2 if purchased at door, 7:30pm Woodstock's: Trivia Challenge. Call at 4pm to reserve a table. Starts 6:30pm
12 WEDNESDAY 100th Monkey: Open Mic. 7pm
Downlo: Pool League. 3 player
Cafe Flo: Live Jazz, 5-7pm
teams, signup with bartender. 7pm. All ages until lOpm Maltese: Open Mic 9pm. Mug Night 7-11:30pm
Chico Women's Club: Afro Brazilian Dance. 5:30-7pm
The Tackle Box: Latin Dance
Classes. Free, 7-9pm Turner Print Museum: "Angles and Plains" Art Exhibition. University Art Gallery CSUC: Luke Matjas large-scale prints exhibition opening day. University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm
11 TUESDAY 100th Monkey: Fusion Belly
Dance class with BellySutra. $8/ class or $32/month. 7pm. Israel & Palestine Series: Exploring the issues. 7pm Cafe Flo: Open Mic Singer-Songwriter Night with Aaron Jaqua. 7-9pm Chico Women's Club: Yoga. 9-lOam. Afro Carribean Dance. $10/class or $35/mo. 5:50-7pm. Followed by Capoeira, $3-$10. 7:30-8:30pm Crazy Horse Saloon: All Request Karaoke. 21+ Downlo: Game night. All ages until lOpm LaSalles: '90s night. 21+ Maltese: Karaoke. 9pm-Close The Tackle Box: Karaoke, 9pm Turner Print Museum: "Angles and Plains" Art Exhibition. University Art Gallery CSUC: Luke Matjas large-scale prints exhibition opening day. University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm
Downlo: Wednesday night jazz. 8 Ball Tournament, signups 6pm, starts 7pm Duffy's: Dance Night! DJ Spenny and Jeff Howse. $1, 9pm The Graduate: Free Pool after lOpm Jesus Center: Derelict Voice Writing Group, everyone welcome. 9-10:30am Panama Bar: Game Night. Free to play, prizes. 9-llpm The Maltese: Friends With Vinyl! Bring your vinyl and share. 9pmlam The Tackle Box: Line Dance classes. Free, 5:30-7:30pm. Swing Dance classes. Free, 7:30-9:30pm Turner Print Museum: "Angles and Plains" Art Exhibition. University Art Gallery CSUC: Luke Matjas large-scale prints exhibition opening day. University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Wismer Theatre CSUC: Creation Stories. Student $6, Adult $15, add $2 if purchased at door, 7:30pm Woodstock's: Trivia Night plus Happy Hour. call at 4pm to reserve a table. Starts at 8pm
13 THURSDAY The Bear: DJ Dancing. Free, 9pm Cafe Flo: Steven Truskol and The Next Door Blues Band 7-lOpm Chico Theatre Company: Heaven
Can Wait. $12 children, $20 adults. 7:30pm
Chico Yoga Center: Ecstatic Dance with Clay Olson. 7:30-9:30pm
Downlo: Chico Jazz Collective. 8-llpm. All ages until lOpm The Graduate: Free Pool after
lOpm Has Beans: Open Mic Night. 7-lOpm. Signups start at 6pm LaSalles: Free live music on the patio. 6-9pm Maltese: Karaoke. 9pm-close Panama Bar: Eclectic Nights. Buck night and DJ Eclectic spinning favorites of today and yesterday on the patio. 9pm Turner Print Museum: "Angles and Plains" Art Exhibition. University Art Gallery CSUC: Luke Matjas large-scale prints exhibition
opening day. University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Wismer Theatre CSUC: Creation Stories. Student $6, Adult $15, add $2 if purchased at door, 7:30pm Woodstock's: Open Mic Night
14 FRIDAY The Beach: DJ 2K & Mack Morris.
9pm-close. $2, $10 VIP. The Bear: DJ Dancing. Free, 9pm Cafe Coda: Friday Morning Jazz with Bogg. llam Chico Theatre Company: Heaven
Can Wait . $12 children, $20 adults . 7:30pm Chico Yoga Center: Friday Night Dance Jam with Mark Johnson. $10. 7-8:30pm Crazy Horse Saloon: Fusion Fridays, the best country, rock, oldies, 80s & top 40. Country dance lessons 9-10:30pm Downlo: Y, off pool. All ages until lOpm. Live Music, 8pm Duffy's: Pub Scouts- Happy Hour. 4-7pm The Graduate: Free Pool after lOpm LaSalles: Open Mic night on the patio. 6-9pm
Maltese: Happy hour with live jazz
by Bogg. 5-7pm. LGBTQ+ Dance Party. 9pm Peeking: BassMint. Weekly electronic dance party. $3. 9:30pm Sultan's Bistro: Bellydance Performance. 6:30-7:30pm University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Wismer Theatre CSUC: Creation
Stories. Student $6, Adult $15, add $2 if purchased at door, 7:30pm
15 SATURDAY The Bear: DJ Dancing. Free, 9pm Chico Theatre Company: Heaven
Can Wait. $12 children, $20 adults. 7:30pm Crazy Horse Saloon: Ladies Night Dancing. 10pm-1:30am Downlo: 9 Ball tournament. Signups at noon, starts at lpm. All ages until lOpm The Graduate: Free Pool after lOpm LaSalles: 80's Night. 8pm-close University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Wismer Theatre CSUC: Creation Stories. Student $6, Adult $15, add $2 if purchased at door, 7:30pm
WARM UP THE WINTER AT SICILIAN CAFEI
16 SUNDAY 100th Monkey: Death Cafe. Eat
and drink, and talk about death . 2pm Chico Theatre Company: Heaven Can Wait. $12 children, $20 adults. 2pm Dorothy Johnson Center: Soul Shake Dance Church. Free-style dance wave, $8-$15 sliding scale. 10am-12:30pm Downlo: Free Pool, 1 hour with every $8 purchase. All ages until lOpm LaSalles: Karaoke. 9pm Maltese: Live Jazz 4-7pm. Trivia 8pm Tackle Box: Karaoke, 8pm
1020 MAIN STREET CHICO "-•?) 530.3~5.2233 (G••" FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO • SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM
MA RCH 3 - MA RCH 9, 2014
15
ON THE TOWN
PHOTOS BY JESSICA SID
I ~b~~.. ~111+} Q~ ...
16
MARCH 10 - MARCH 16, 2014
SY NTH ES I SWEE KLY.CO M
CONSIDER THE PLATYPUS PHOTOS BY JESSICA SID
BY MONA TREME
ON THE TOWN
TEMPERS FUGIT (SORT OF)
So I recently saw The World 's End again, the third part of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost's Cornetta trilogy. You know how there are some movie sets you'd just love to be part of? For me, it's got nothing to do with the idea of being "famous" or whatever; I'm all about how cast and crew get along together (and also being part of a really hands-on special-effects crew, but maybe that's an article for another time). These guys have a job to do, and it gets done-and they seem to have real fun doing it. How frickin' awesome is that? Anyhoo, The World's End is my favorite in the trilogy for the same reason The Voyage Home is my fave in the original-cast Star Trek movies-it's the most humanistic. There's a choice of other takeaways, which I think have a lot to do with which life stage you 're in. One of the big ones for me is about how time moves on, but often in curious ways. Like when you escape from the tiny bullshit town in which you had to grow up and return to it, only to find certain elements haven't changed at all. My tiny bullshit town has itself grown quite a bit-where there were once open fields and locally-owned feed stores, there are now multi-story apartments and yoga studios. Most of the people I knew growing up have escaped-but a lot stuck around, mostly because of family or because they wanted to be big fish but could only do so
in a small pond. I've had to go back a few times (usually for family), and being there always makes my skin itch on the inside. Let's just say my formative years were a very special kind of sustained hell, and the majority of these aging " kids" were part of it. I'll carry the effects of that upbringing for the rest of my life, but have for the most part made peace with it. What amuses me no end is encountering old classmates-who of course want to appear as though they've matured and moved forward, but clearly haven't. Upon recognizing my many-years-older face, 99.9% of them get this terrified expression, as if I'm clutching a couple of axes and muttering to myself while glaring at them. I just smile quietly, maintain eye contact long enough to make it crystalclear I am not who I once was, and go on with my grown-ass day. Once in a great while, I'll cross paths with someone who dedicated real effort toward making my daily life a minefield. It's hilarious how little emotional progress such tinyminded people make-here it is a generation later, and yet they instantly regress to when we were 15. Well, that shit gets shut down, right there in public, with a quickness (and no small degree of have-some-karma -sucka pleasure on my part), which always visibly stuns them. It definitely helps relieve the itching.
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MARC H 10 - MARC H 16, 2014
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TIME CAPSULE
THE WAITRESS BY MIKEy I don't normally come into this place, but I'm too broke for Cory's and Oy Vey is so tired. I've decided that once you pass the age of 25, a hangover now lasts for two days. I'm not one to frequent a diner, but I usually get a kick out of watching the people who promote these eateries. I'm forced to sit at the counter, with a neon yellow swivel chair supporting my body. The ketchup bottle also has dried ketchup hanging from the sides, and my pepper shaker is missing. I look over at the gentleman next to me, and all his condiments are intact and untainted. This hand replaces my pepper, and asks if I'm ready to order. I jokingly ask if there are any specials. She grins widely, "Yeah, we have hamburger gravy over your choice of toast, with canned fruit." "And your soup is what, split pea with spam?" I throw in. "Ah, no. It's cream of phlegm." Good answer. She grins widely. I look up. There's this dishwater blonde with pale skin, a vitamin B-6 deficiency, and a tackle box face. (This is how I would describe the various hooks and hardware dangling from every orifice.) Still, she has a pulse and a personality. Earlier in the week I has words with what I now consider my Ex ... I wasn't pining, but I needed stimulation. It didn't matter if it was from a Kafka novel or a snappy diner waitress. I order. You have to wonder what a green and orange uniform do to you after a while. There's food I don't even recognize splattered all over her front side. Ten minutes later there's food I don't recognize peering from my plate. I can clearly see none of the food groups are represented, but if I put enough Tabasco on it it'll be grubbin. To my left there's a lady talking to herself and telling the world that she saw a midget in the women's restroom. The midget, she claims, has supernatural healing powers. She's covered with crystals and smells of patchouli. I peer out and spot my waitress, she's leaning up against the wall cackling with another worker. She sees me looking at her and strides over. "How's the slop? After a few bites it's not so bad. I know this place is somewhat of a loser magnet, but last week I waited on Morris fucking Taylor. That bastard only gave me 5 percent." I could tell she was full of stories. I looked up at her, and then it happened. We made that creepy eye contact. The no-bullshit, no looking away contact. Very probing. Very straightforward. She's not your typical cutsie diner waitress, she's an angry, sweaty girl. Still, she's as caustic as I am, and that scare the hell out of me. She leans in and tells me she will be leaving soon and gives me my check. Minutes later I'm outside. It's starting to rain a little. I spot
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MA RCH 10 - MA RCH 16, 2014
her smoking a cigarette by the phone booth. "Hey! Hey, give me a ride or I'll put a hex on you!" Knowing I've reached my hex capacity well before the fifth grade, I open her door. She hops in and starts fidgeting with my air vents, spots some gum on the dashboard and starts chompin' away. "I've made enough money today to have my boyfriend killed." There's an awkward silence that follows, I'm not sure how to react. "I said ... l've made enough money today to have my boyfriend killed." "Don't kill him, put him to sleep." I reply. "Nah, the prick's too smart. Every time I get him into the car he knows right where we're going. She grins widely, part serene/part fuckyou smug. I absent-mindedly pull into my driveway. She doesn't say a word, just pops out of the car. I'm not sure what to do at this point. My key slowly penetrates the lock, and we step inside. "You have a cool place, but what's up with the skull?" she asks. "It's my ex-girlfriend I had to kill for having such a horrible overbite." " You think I'm kidding about my boyfriend, don't you!" her posture and pursed lips carry a deadening sincerity. So, am I going to sit here and plot her boyfriend's death, or screw her? "There's good water in the fridge." I tell her. She opens the fridge, and seconds later lets out this little Jan Brady scream. "No way! I think I have met you for a reason." she says. "I don't get it." I reply. "The Visine! I thought I was the only one who puts Visine in the icebox!" she claims. " No, I think I was the one who started a trend with it. Everyone I know does it now." I add. It's like we had made this quirky little connection in her mind.
She starts looking through my CD collection. "I don't see any Black Flag." she blurts out. "How about Henry Rollins?" I suggest. "Doesn't count." she snarls. "I think I still have an old Black Flag album in my back closet." I reply. "I suggest you find it! " And with that she makes her way toward my bedroom. I'm feverously looking through all my old albums : Flock of Seagulls, Violent Femmes ... it's getting scary... I thought I sold back my Grandmaster Flash album? My heart is racing ... I dive for the phonograph, I grab my little raincoat, and begin to take off my clothes. She has no problem telling me what to do. I feel like I'm going to hell, like the guilt police are in my closet plotting my penance with my mom. Then she smacks me ... I continue ... she smacks me again. WHAT THE ... "The damn record is skipping," she moans. This could have been an interesting, stimulating little adventure. Somewhere my ex-girlfriend has just cut the penis off her voodoo doll, and I'm going flaccid. My waitress starts laughing. I dismount. It's raining pretty heavily now, the overflow is pounding ferociously on the pavement. The waitress lights up a cigarette. "That was pure comedy, I must thank you. You have a certain energy that I find stimulating. I'm glad we had this little adventure." she says. I feel somewhat better, but a little frustrated at the same time. There's something about getting that close to spewing your children, and then having the music fail you. It's a guy thing, I believe. I turn on the television. "DO YOU WANT TO MAKE MORE MONEY ... " ah, it's that fat Barbie doll gone wrong whiner from All In The Family. "GOD I HATE HER!!!" screams the waitress. "She deserves to die and have a pretend state funeral." I add. We start going off on all the people who have television shows who we would like to see killed. " But the worst is the people on MTV!" yells the waitress. "That fucking Burger King meathead sports guy Dan whatever his name is. The world would be a better place if we didn't have to consider him some sort of model for our youth. I would publicly humiliate him, shave him bald, and urinate on his face. Then I'd tie him up, put red ants all over his body, and watch him freak out for a couple of days!" she bellows.
LATELY l'VE HAD THIS INSATIABLE URGE TO EXPERIENCE SOME STRANGE. I HAD REACHED A POINT IN MY LIFE WHERE I WAS INCREDIBLY BORED.
"There's something you should know about me." she says. I'm thinking the worst at this point : she lives in Oroville, no, her boyfriend is practicing some ancient Chinese ritual by having her sewn shut so no one can tamper with her while he's out "The only way I can get off is by listening to Black Flag, and I think I should warn you now that my face isn't the only area that's heavily pierced." She grins widely. WAITER, CHECK PLEASE!!! If I wasn ' t in my own house I could easily have bolted out the side door, yet there was a certain challenge attached to her ... Lately I've had this insatiable urge to experience some strange. I had reached a point in my life where I was incredibly bored. "I've seen those dancer women in the bay area, with hoops and stuff hangin' down there; it's amazing what they can do without getting hurt."
Maybe it's the way the dried whatever is still hanging from her uniform, or maybe it's the way she painlessly quenched the cigarette's life beneath her thumb ... She grins widely. "Enough about Sally Struthers and Dan Cortez, I'm wondering if you can help me get rid of a little problem ...
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SPORTSBALL BY DAN O'BRIEN - AMALGAMCONSULTING@GMAILCOM
A SPORTS HANGOVER
When the NFL season ends, sports fans return to their neutral corners and take up cheering for those sports that we do not share as a nation. Basketball, hockey, baseball, and soccer (futbol) become the soup of the day, and were search for fellow fans in crowded and dark pubs. Football is an American sport; pundits and owners can play as many games as they need to in the UK and Europe, but it remains a North American obsession. These other, lesspopular, sports here in the States generally involve stars from around the globe. Fans of the NBA are treated to European players who look at American sports far differently than someone who grew up in Indiana or watches Hoosiers incessantly. Soccer is a truly international sport and we have to come to terms with our ignorance of geography when we look at the World Cup standings. So, if we're being honest, sports watched from the middle of February until the end of August are really just the Monday following a hard weekend of drinking and a Sunday Fun-day. As we grind through the season, we slowly start to think about what life is like with football on Sundays, Mondays, and (sigh) Thursdays. We contemplate a world where we get more variety for our insatiable lust for organized sports. Then, the Super Bowl comes and goes and we enter the end of the season for the NBA or the NHL-or talk about an impending World Cup. The malaise of
SCENE REPORT
NICKI BLUHM BY HENRY HUGGINS
spring training and a long MLB season teases October magic. We watched perennial All-Star teams dominate the NBA playoffs and hoist a Larry O'Brien Trophy; someone with a distinct Russian or Canadian flare will lift the Stanley Cup; maybe we groan about the Yankees buying another championship team or lament another disappointing Oakland Athletics season that might have been. Somewhere in June or July, the chatter about the impending NFL season starts. We get excited about Sundays filled with football, forgetting that we gradually become disappointed with the disproportionate skill level of the teamsirritated by the likes of the Jaguars and Browns.
3/4, Sierra Nevada Big Room
I've said it before, I'll say it again, the Big Room at Sierra Nevada has amazing acoustics, and they were showcased beautifully on Tuesday, March 4 for Nicki Bluhm and the Gram biers. Chico seems to be a favorite spot And just like that wild weekend and the for Nicki Bluhm to play, as they generally horrible hangover that followed, we charge make sure that their tours include a stop to blindly, chasing the idea of fun that should our little Northern California town. It was easy be associated with watching our beloved to see why at this show, with a sold out crowd national sport. I'm here to tell you, fellow that seemed to consist of equal parts young sports fan : it will never be as good as it was. earth-cookie types, "cool" moms and dads, You will never experience that exact moment and a liberal sprinkling of Wildcat bro types. watching your sport of choice again. Nicki Bluhm got her musical start in '07 at You will always be chasing it. the urging of husband and band member Tim Even so, I'll be parked right next to you, Bluhm (ofThe Mother Hips). Their onstage screaming at the top of my lungs. presence and interaction between each other is downright adorable. It was bordering on Ignorance and fun are best shared with sickening, but then Tim Bluhm's powder blue others, no? flared pants brought things back to Earth.
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The highlight of the night came when they covered Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody To Love." Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers are definitely worth going out of your way for. Bluhm's voice is a perfect mix of breathy and smooth, reminiscent of Etta James or Janis Joplin. Her live show is both energetic and intimate, and the onstage interaction between her and the other band members is really entertaining. This 70's inspired rock band brings to mind warm summer nights skinny dipping with friends and sunny days riding lazily around on a bike. Her personal style helps the overall retro feel as well. Tuesday she was wearing a belted floral romper, and looked incredible. She also has the longest legs in the world, which I know is a totally weird thing to comment on. The bottom line is, if you get the opportunity to see Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers, do it!
MARC H 10 - MARC H 16, 2014
19
ON THE TOWN
PHOTOS BY VINCE LATHAM FACEBOOK.COM/VANGUARD.PHOTOGRAPHY
OLD CROCK BY JAIM E O'N EILL - JAIMEANDKARENONEILL@GMAILCOM
DOPE, DOPES, AND DOPERS
As a representative relic of the '60s, I'm a pretty poor specimen. I smoked less pot than most of my long-haired brethren, and I never once dropped acid, though I was in the company of lots of people who did-including some of the very first pioneers of psychedelia who gathered for what were called "Acid Tests" at the Old Fillmore auditorium, where I'd joined a horde of hirsute harbingers of hippiedom to hear the Warlocks: the band that would soon thereafter reinvent themselves as The Grateful Dead. There was an enormous tub of apples at that particular gig, floating in water, and all those apples were spiked with tabs of LSD, a substance many people found absolutely necessary to make the noise the Warlocks were creating onstage tolerable. As bad as the Dead could sometimes be later, with off-note harmonies and self-indulgent "jams," the Warlocks were even worse. Jerry and the boys didn't have much in the way of chops just yet. But, if you were engaged in an extended rearrangement of your brain cells, the sound they were putting down sounded pretty fuckin' far out, man. I refrained from trying those apples, though I did a doobie, I think, or just floated up on the contact high from the fairly tame bud everybody was smoking back before all the growers got so inventive, employing more botanical skills than anyone would have suspected they'd
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ever know back when they were flunking out of high school biology classes. I dabbled in the demon weed, but I mostly didn't like it. For one thing, there was a lot of paranoia associated with doing a doobie in those days when nearly everyone whose ears weren't covered by hair was suspected of being a narc. Still, potheads seemed to like the various schemes for hiding their tiny stashes of seeds, stems, and oregano-laced dime bags. I knew a couple of people who experienced bad LSD freakouts, and I heard about others whose minds were forever blown from the experience. I was never attracted to "blowing my mind," since that organ seemed a rather vital piece of equipment. I liked my brain, so I decided not to roll those chemical dice, thus passing up one of the defining experiences of my generation. I went to lots of rock concerts, but I did 'em all relatively straight, if you don't count booze. Lenny Bruce once said that marijuana would be legal in his lifetime because he didn't know a lawyer who didn't smoke weed. Me neither. Nor have I met many teachers or certified public accounts or cops who didn't smoke the stuff. In fact, we've hardly had a presidential candidate in either party for decades who hasn't spent time in a purple haze. Lenny Bruce has been dead nearly half a century, but we still have thousands of people going to jail every day for doing what damn near every politician in the country did and does on a regular basis. And that's far fuckin' out, dude, but it ain't too groovy.
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UNSOLICITED ADVICE
PHOTOS BY VINCE LATHAM FACEBOOK.COM/VANGUARD.PHOTOGRAPHY
BY ELVIS ENWRIGHT
ON THE TOWN
YOU CAN SERIOUSLY GET ACTUAL FREE MONEY Want to let everyone know how awful they are at fufilling their petty existence? Unsolicited Advice is taking 500 word submissions! E-mail them to editorial@ synthesis.net. Here's a tip for anyone who's not currently retired : Contribute to your retirement before you file your taxes, and the federal government (F.G.) will probably GIVE YOU FREE MONEY. (If you've already filed your taxes this year, cut this article out and stick it on your fridge.) The F.G. is awesome in many ways-one of which is offering up to $200 in tax credits (AKA FREE MONEY), just for contributing to a retirement account. I'm talking about Form 1040, Line 50 : "Retirement savings contributions credit" and Form 8880. Go to irs.gov/pub/irs-pdf/f8880.pdf and follow along! You're eligible for a credit if (1) you owe taxes; (2) your Adjusted Gross Income doesn 't exceed a limit ($29,500 for single, $59,000 for jointly, $44,250 for HOH.) I'd wager you qualify, collegiate age readership. Note: You cannot take a credit beyond your tax liability, i.e. If you only owe $199 in taxes, you can only take a credit of up to $199. (See : Form 8880, Line 11.) Suppose you're single person who barely qualifies for the credit, and your AGI was exactly $29,500. You owe $3,975 in taxes this year, but paid in $4,000, so you'll receive $25 back without the credit. With the maximum credit, you'll get $225 back. But what if I didn't contribute anything in 2013? No problemo. More F.G. awesomeness-you can make your " 2013 retirement contribution" anytime before you file your taxes. (The deadline is April 15, 2014.) So you check your finances and figure you can contribute $1,000 to a retirement account. Awesome-you get to take the credit for an extra $100 back. If you can scrounge up $2,000, then you can take the maximum credit and receive an extra $200 back.
I retire? NOPE! The F.G. has got your back, via the Roth IRA! The Roth IRA is a retirement account wherein you can withdraw your contributions at any time without penalty. (Because you pay your taxes on your income/ contributions now, you don't pay taxes when you withdraw them later.) Note: You cannot withdraw any earnings from the Roth without penalty-ONLY your contributions. Plus, Roth IRAs are super easy to set up on line or in person at your credit union, and can be used to invest in anything! I have mine in low cost, low risk index funds through Vanguard, but you could buy all Google stock, if you wanted. So you can put $2,000 in a Roth IRA today, file your taxes and take your $200 credit. Then, next month, you can withdraw your $2,000 without penalty. As John Connor once said, " Easy money." Moreover, the incentive is stronger for those who earn less *cough* college students *cough.* If you had an AGI of $17,750 or less, you need to contribute ONLY $400 into your Roth IRA to get the maximum credit of $200. If you take advantage of this great advice and garner yourself an extra $200 back, you might consider adding it back into your Roth, or buying me a drink.
But won ' t that $2,000 be untouchable until
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MARC H 10 - MARC H 16, 2014
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MARCH 10 - MARCH 16
BY KOZ MCKEV
ARIES
TAURUS
GEMINI
CANCER
LEO
VIRGO
Mars continues its retrograde course through your seventh house. It's time to work on being a better diplomat. Sweet talk will work in your favor. Domestic issues, although challenging, are worth working on. The full moon ties service with romance. Old ego issues will need to stay on the back burner. By Sunday night you'll have some of your peace of mind restored. Keep on paying your bills and making good karma. If something unexpected comes up, at least you'll know you' ve done the right thing.
The only thing that is clear is that you have some good people around you. You'll have more responsibility put on you. The opportunity to use your creative skills is likely to come up by the weekend. Focus on friends and family. Use your intelligence to improve the things around you. Try to keep your rebellious streak at bay. Keep your commitment to being a better partner and staying in balance a priority. The full moon highlights love affairs, creative expressions, children, and leadership potential.
Think in terms of higher expression. Your mind is working full speed ahead. There is little room for confusion. Be aware of potential economic opportunities on Monday and Tuesday. Find friends who share similar interests as you. Career goals and needs continue to be in focus. The full moon bridges your family and domestic life with creative ambitions, playfulness, and love affairs. Keep on top of personal health issues. Be patient with projects that may need to be done over.
Things go well for you during the powerful moon in Cancer Monday and Tuesday. Part of your focus is being open to new things. Learn gratitude. Be constantly aware of what you need to be thankful for. Find a way to love the things that you' re afraid of. Your good fortune continues to run high. The full moon bridges your environment with your family tree. The personal is what counts here. You are more curious about birth, sex, death, and the occult. You may feel restless about where you live.
Not being in control is generally hard on your personality. You'd like to be empowered to do good things. Asking for help may be your only way out of the quagmire of doubt and frustration . Partnership issues are sweeter. The moon will be in Leo from Tuesday night until Friday morning. You'll be more conscious of what you need to do on these days. The weekend looks good for financial gains and putting on a new face. The full moon links voice with communication and a love of the environment.
You have a clearer vision of what you need to do. This is a good time for getting organized and for planning for the future. Be sensitive to the needs of others in your environment. The week begins with helpful friends and spontaneously meeting other people who could prove to be beneficial later on. The moon will be full in the later part of Virgo Sunday morning at 10:08am PDT. Be involved with things that enhance your ability to relate to others. Be open to romantic prospects.
LIBRA
SCORPIO
SAGITTARIUS
CAPRICORN
AQUARIUS
PISCES
Venus is travelling through your fifth house, inviting love affairs, creative expression and playfulness. Pay attention to female children. Learn to be a better financial planner. Your desires and personal lusts may seem to have intensified over the last couple of weeks. Find pleasure in all things artistic and creative. The full moon over the weekend will heighten your intuition and help you get a handle on your personal karma . The moon goes into Libra Sunday late afternoon bringing a sense of resolve and relaxation.
Learn to love the aging process. A few wrinkles and a gray hair or two are nothing to be afraid of. Real maturity means knowing how to work with your limits. Your memory is sharp. You are conscious of the need to add beauty to your domestic environment. Creative expression is healing. Pay attention to your need to have an open heart and to be more playful. Love and good fortune might just come easily to you. The full moon links your social life with your personal karma.
You 've been in a more sensitive space than usual. All the places where you feel vulnerable have been somewhat exposed. Know that your past history and the history of your ancestors have helped to create this present situation. Wednesday and Thursday are your luckiest days this week. The weekend will find you more in the public eye. Your leadership ability will be seen. The full moon links your talents and skills with your social life. Don ' t start something new until you've finished what you 've begun.
Being adaptable, as well as having a multitude of interests, is important during this period. You are striving to learn new things that will be financially rewarding in the future. Keep in mind your relationships with neighbors, siblings, and long term friendships. The beginning of the week is good for negotiations. The weekend looks good for travel, risk-taking adventures, and gaining some sort of advanced training. The full moon will help you to integrate what you've learned with what you need to do.
Getting your financial trip together is part of this weeks theme. You begin the week by providing service and support to others. Find a song that is uplifting and worth singing. Take care of oral health and get a neck rub if you need it. The weekend is somewhat out of your hands. Other people's decisions will affect how things go for you. By Sunday evening you'll have a sense of resolve. Stay focused on your personal values. Don 't allow other people's poor choices to ruin your day.
Your interpersonal relationships will be your focus this week. Monday and Tuesday are rich with creative energy and open-hearted feelings of love. Your ability to have compassion helps others to look up to you. Be sensitive to your workload and your personal health needs towards the middle of the week. The weekend looks good for romance, negotiations, and getting a contract. The full moon could intensify your connection to marriage, sex, and being able to compromise.
Koz McKev 1s on You Tube, on cable 17 BCTV, 1s heard on 90/FM KZFR Chk:o, and also available by appOJi7tment for personal horoscopes. Call (530)891-5147 or e-mail kozm!C:kev@sunset.net
GREAT WINTER READ Winter Melon, written by local writer Bill Wong Foey A defiant and passionate young woman survives the Rape of Nanking in this debut novel. Voted Book of the Month for July by Lyons Books "Lives of Asia" book group. In paperback online at Amazon.com and Lyons Book Store, 135 Main Street, or as an e-book from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple iTunes and DirectMusicCafe. ADVERT ISEMENT
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