I wasn’t really sure what to write about this week, so get ready for a hodgepodge of half baked ideas. I was going to write about the rain, and how it makes every conversation seem that much deeper, but as of now, it’s brighter than Albert Einstein on Adderall outside. I guess I should start with something timely, so here it goes.
I started what I hope to be my last semester of college last week, and so far so good. There are a couple of...
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I used to be what the Spanish would call mucho punk rock (which means very punk rock). I used to take great pains to dye my Mohawk the most anti-establishment colors I could think of. Sometimes even purple! In short, I was a wet dream for punk ‘zines (ironically, I stole that line from Panic! At the Disco, a band I would have gladly dismembered back in the day). Being a teenager and all, nothing was more important to me than music. So if you...
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So here it is. One of those end of the year blowouts that tries to sum up the last 365 days and tie it all together with a neat little bow. A fun size review of the year, if you will. But how do you look back on such a monumental year and make it pop? How about with song?
525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. How do you measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife....
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Instead of my usual ranting and raving, I’m dedicating this here column to last Wednesday’s epic show at LaSalle’s. Twas the best of times and the worst of times, but more on that later. As anyone who is even remotely logged in to the Chico music scene already knew, the aforementioned show was supposed to be a rollicking good-time reunion for the boys of Number One Gun. Brighten and Marked for Death were along for the ride, and it was...
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Blondes have more fun. Or do they? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never dated a blonde. I’ve barely even kissed one. In fact, I could count the number of times I’ve been attracted to a blonde on one hand, and still have enough fingers left over to smoke a cigarette comfortably. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s repressed memories from childhood. Maybe I’m racist toward Aryans.
A redhead I find attractive is even more elusive than a blonde....
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I’m an atheist. For those of you unfamiliar, an atheist doesn’t believe in a god or gods. People often confuse atheists and agnostics. But agnostics are like atheists without balls.
I don’t believe in God or ghosts or any of that bullspit. But every now and then, no matter how hard I resist, a creeping fear of the afterlife sneaks up on me. It usually happens while I’m lying in bed, in those dark hours before I fall asleep. I don’t...
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