Republicans

Love (jam)
Courthouse
Ash (jam)
A Shame
Jazzy
Harmonic
Heartbeat
Right Out
Flashing

Cognitive
Love
Helter (jammin)

Esoteric - "The Way"

The mixing of Reggae and Metal should be cataclysmic, but Esoteric seem to switch genres effortlessly. You won’t find any riffage that combines both genres at any one moment, but both genres come into play in different songs and even back in forth in the same song. The seamless transitions almost turns what they are doing into something hardly noticeable, but what is noticeable is their good energy and that the music they have recorded on The Way should translate well live.
Kenny Williams, the vocalist, has a charm in his flaunts and flaws. He is a character, combining emotions moving from violent attacks to lyrics promoting peace. However his faults can take your attention away from his music, but with a little work smoothing out the edges, his voice could carry the band. Becka Nubell adds a smooth vocal backdrop on “I Freedom,” which is one of the better songs on the album.
Esoteric seem to groove very well when they aren’t trying to prove themselves to the metal crowd. They should focus more on reggae groves juxtaposed with melodic metal. They transition well from reggae into metal, but many of the hardest riffs played end up as waiting points for the grooves approaching. But they do succeed at times; an almost funky, metal guitar vamp opens up “Unite,” forcing much head bobbing. Conclusion: if you are tired of all the same metal convoluting the airwaves, then get this album (or at least see them live); if you aren’t tired of all the same metal convoluting the airwaves then please feel free to kick yourself… hard.

FUCK MYSELF!

please do

i just did

thought my presentation was thursday....

twas today

i've changed a lot since i have been single

i think i may need a gf just to keep me straight

cuz my friends in chico want me crooked

which is fine, cuz i do to

until i fuck myself

Man Law: Gun Control

Man Law: Gun Control

Chillin with the boys can be an anxiety-ridden experience when one is unsure of his chance at riding shotgun. Shotgun, for those nerds who think I’m describing a deadly weapon, is something else entirely. Shotgun is the crem’de’la’crem of seats in your vehicle besides the driver, so of course it’s besides the driver. Other seats include: left nut (seat behind the driver), bitch (aptly named for the tiny space reserved for the accompanying passenger so chosen) and, of course, right nut. You may think the need for shotgun is erroneous, but guess again. Shotgun privileges may include driver’s main man (implying others in back have not earned their rightful place at shotty), more radio say, first dibs at the drivers snacks and an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment (have some pride if you got it).
Problem is shotgun rules vary from friend to friend and driver to driver. You could find yourself in a sticky situation due to conflicting rules possibly causing an unnecessary heavyweight bout for the door. So, to help everyone out- this is the law… The Man Law.

Law #1 Driver’s Word must be respected

Most people will find this rule obvious, but in most situations the driver ought not to have much say at all in specific instances of the quest for shotty. The driver is important because he sets the ground rules. If you own the vehicle the first thing you must do after you name it after a long (lost) love or after a girl you met the week before at The Maltese, is set these ground rules. This does not mean the driver gets to straight pick who sits where, but he must be given some slack when extreme situations occur (as in your friends girlfriend’s not so hot friend and that trip to Mexico). After all, the driver should be paid some respect, he bought the damn car.

Law #2 Vocal Claims should not be binding

Most drivers allow the rule that “He who calls it gets it,” but this always leads to trouble. Your friend might call it in your house hours before you have left, but who is to say the other friend who called it on the walk to the car shouldn’t get it. What about the friend who claimed he called it, but you either didn’t hear him or he is flat out lying. The ambiguities are endless and almost always end up with someone annoyed. You may think that it is still ok for a driver to have “He who calls it gets it” rule if it is further specified. One example so follows, “Calling shotgun is binding if and only if the agent is in clear view of the vehicle and the driver as well as some other passengers (if applicable) can confirm said vocalization.” Which for practical purposes may be best for your group of friends; however, I can’t find good reason that justifies any different type of contextual speech (be it hours before the trip or near your Accord) over another. Therefore, I propose the following:

Law 3# Shotgun is Given to the Passenger who First Touches the Door of the Shotgun

I like this rule because it doesn’t reward anyone for simply being the first to remember what they desire. In most cases stating that you want the last of something (or the only something) you must first ask the others if they want it (you know, its called politeness). The last slice of pizza is not for the taking. In most cases, asking another if they want shotgun is equivalent to giving it to them. At least with this rule, some competition is added to the grab game. Usually it won’t be the fastest friend to get the shotgun, since gunning for the door also takes the memory of the rule to initiate a race in the first place. If the slower friend really wants shotty, he’s gonna have to work harder in that area and in finding creative ways to get to the door first, but this makes the quest for shotty much more interesting, especially for the driver. Competition should be heightened when no one can offer up any gratuity for the hefty chunk of change the driver coughed up for gas, running is respect.

Qualifications: If two friends both claim they touched the door first, they shall fight it out Rock/Paper/Scissors style, best two out of three. In fact, if everyone has a problem with Law #3, an all out war version of RPC (between all passengers) should be played until a victor is crowned his seat, and looser is given bitch. I also support the “Blitz Shotgun” set of rules (found in Tahoe and other areas with Blitz enthusiast). Which allows for one to call shotty, but the agent can be over ruled by another who yells “Blitz,” which causes an all out blitz for the desired seat. All runners should do what is in their power to win, but all races for the door should be done in a safe manner. Shotgun is not worth getting smacked by a car already on the road, remember, getting on the road is your ultimate goal anyway. And lastly, it is only fair for the one who rides shotty to give it up to one of the other passengers on following rides.

Gun control is important, that is why it is law.

A lack of meat

there has been, yet again, less t-bone steak than i intended

been putting all my energy into experimentation regarding rice krispee squares

and any extra energy into my alter ego from CAST

in five minutes i will be on my way to sacramento

wednesday night i will be in martinezzzzzz

I can't wait to see everyone

Observations

Friday night I failed to see my long awaited love "Borat (something like - we shoot movie film for benefit glorious nation of Kazestan ...) from every showing being sold out, so I saw the Departed. And man oh man. I use to think people in Chico were stupid, recently I thought that Chico people can be extremely intelligent, and now I’m back to the first theory. Because at the end of this movie (no spoiler, don't worry) a great deal of people acted really confused. Three girls to my right said "I don't get it," immediately after the hotel room scene. They bantered back and forth like the movie was some confusing lecture they had to attend to at 10am. Good movies don't have to make sense immediately. Most good things take time and energy to tease out before you ever receive its true value. At that moment, nobody needed to get what was happening, but these bitches absurd confusion got to me. It seemed like everyone else in the theater felt the same way. Why did he do that, why this? I didn't fully understand everything at that moment either; however, upon 10 seconds of reflection the ending became all too clear.
I am an American; I take consumption for granted. I live fast paced compared to most around the world, everything instantaneous. I know you hear a broken record in front of you, but trying to put all cliches aside, I still hate it when others expect so quickly. Granted I do much of what I denounce, but I feel like I am working on that. Conversely, I really don't know what the girl, her friends or the rest of the audience thinks, or even if any of them do act out of "non-immediate object aggression," they feel that they are working on it. Still, my better patients is worn down by (my interpretation of) their need for immediate satisfaction.



I think I’m on the brink of extinction, hook me up with a last taste

Couch Bandits

cont from last post

Fireplace chat:
Yes, it has been days since the third installment of Couch bandits. But I can’t receive blame due to my overwhelming amount of homework. I’m sure most my readers can relate to mid terms. It seems like this semester I have been the most busy I have in my entire life. Writings important, but so is my band, my schoolwork, my job and my pursuit of the poonanni (spelling? ALI G!!). So, after six hours of sleep and 3 shots of espresso it is time to express my account of a night not to be forgotten.

Story
2:00am: For those of my hommies that do not live in Chico, I should give you a clearer picture of the town. I relate to my town very well. I don’t have a car, but everything is in walking or biking distance. Since I am never operating heavy machinery I am afforded more opportunity to do whatever I want more often (if you catch my drift). I live kiddy-corner to the main Chico bike path. It runs parallel to campus and leads into downtown housing. Then parallel to the path on the opposite side is the train tracks. Which, of course means, I live as close as possible to a rock concert five times a night. Luckily, I have tuned out the sound. A five minute car ride will get you around what I consider the main part of town (downtown, campus).

The gang and I walked to Star liquor, bought the cheapest twelve pack they had, drank a couple on the way back to Rio Chico, and waited patiently. The absence of a sizeable moon, and streetlights made this stakeout easier than stealing a hot mother from a baby. We were directly in front of the house, in silence, sitting straight up, eyes glued to the window in front of us. Below the window was the couch we wanted; above the window was the resemblance of two dudes rolling a blunt coming from inside. So, the gist is- the property rights for these blunt smoking/out side couch owning beotches is about to change. Both of these unnamed individuals sat inside on another couch (as in a couch we weren't about to jack). Rio Chico is the closest street to the south-west side of campus (I live north-west), and sits perpendicular to the trail. It flows under an overpass when it crosses. The river separates the street from campus. Not twenty feet from the house in question was a fence that yielded enough room to carry a sizeable couch twenty more feet to the tracks. We would be seen only as long as it takes to cross the house. After that we would be free from any suspicious eyes wandering late night Rio.

The time wasn’t now, but it was near. We each had a beer, and by the completion of our brew the blunt was rolled and torched. Two men smoking a blunt at two in the morning equals two tired individuals. One of them walked into the other room, presumably to jerk off and sleep (what, reefer madness told me so), the other passed out on the couch. It wasn’t even thirty seconds after his eyes shut before we were on his porch. If it hasn’t been spelled out, you should know we all have had a few brews more than the average casual drinker. Fortunately, I only had a few beers over time and a glass of whiskey, so I could hold my own… easily. Tyler was decently sober, but he had definitely crossed the “shlacka lacka” boundary (point at which Tyler screams for no reason and laughs). Nick on the other hand was in Nick mode. He has trouble understanding what is going on at all points and times. I usually find this funny and try to play off of it during parties.

Tyler ducked down below the window and pushed the couch forward until he couldn’t be in possible view of the sleeping man . We picked the couch up and walked with some charisma in the direction of the train tracks until Nick screamed “Holy shit!” I dropped the couch, and looked back and there was no one outside. False alarm I guess, but that scared me like brown bombing. Nick didn’t realize that I only wanted him to give me the signal if we were in actual trouble. Nick and Tyler picked up the couch as I directed them to the bridge. We made it.

In an act of sheer drunken stupidity we dropped the couch on the tracks. Tyler wanted to declare victory. I was a bit skeptical, but if I were arrested I would be content with the consequences. So we sat down on the couch, Tyler and Nick smoked a cigarette; I took a picture on my cell. We chilled for a minute until my anxiety raised higher than I wished. A wanted the couch home before I could rest. Then in an act of sheer clutch brilliance while somewhat past non-shlacka lacka sobriety Tyler decided we should push the couch on the rails of the train tracks. It was perfect, no carrying required. The couch wasn’t heavy heavy, but we knew we wouldn’t last the whole distance carrying anything. Tyler’s lungs have crystallized from his glass blowing; we all had a number of beers. This was a prime idea. We each pushed an area of the couch forward effortlessly as the couch glided on the rail. .

Looking straight ahead towards home pushing my newfound couch I noticed a strong light pointed directly at us. The light moved slightly to the right and left of me, my hands tensed up; I let the couch fall off the rail. Professional party crashers (PPC), the bitches in blue, you know – police. Two cars were directly up ahead, they entered through the Nord Ave path connection. I freaked out, maybe my prior argument for tonight’s plan of action was a bit misguided. Maybe I don't want to be arrested tonight. Maybe I am not as down as I have previously thought. But enough analyzing, this is a time of action. I suddenly ran for the fence in hopes there was a hole. The dirt underneath my feet knew otherwise, because it gave out. I tumbled downhill nearly hitting my head on something sharp, steel and heavy. Oddly enough, the near early end of my night put me back in the game. In that moment I knew I was in fact devoted to the cause, because if I could just out run these cops and swoop in at the best possible future time, the couch could and hopefully would be mine.

We ran towards the path right into another cop car. The PPC intercom’d “Get off the train tracks, we have your couch.” Fudge Popsicle’s! Maybe these cops are really mad at three drunken kids upgrading their amount of comfort. When in fact we’d rather slang guns and dope. We walked onto the trail/we walked into certain danger/final chapter coming….

Now I understand

I understand you all must be restless

i haven't published due to my ill health, not cuz i lack the ill-communication

word up to my thugs and wack ass gangster ass wack ass

for life do i stay away from life do i?

hence, objectionable sarcasm, confused, you ought to, implies can