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Chest Press, Lat Pull, Squats, Leg Press, Ar ms, Abs, Hammer Strength, etc.
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Volume 21 Issue 16 December 8, 2014
For 20 years The Synthesis’ goal has remained to provide a forum for entertainment, music, humor, community awareness, opinions, and change.
Columns This Week...
Publisher/Managing Editor Amy Sandoval amy@synthesis.net
Creative Director Tanner Ulsh graphics@synthesis.net
Entertainment Editor Arielle Mullen arielle@synthesis.net SynthesisWeekly.com/submit-yourevent/
Associate Editor Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff emilianogs@gmail.com
Designers
Liz Watters, Mike Valdez graphics@synthesis.net
Deliveries Jennifer Foti
a shapeless thief. A woman’s battle to come to terms with her mother’s mental illness. A Pushcart-nominated essay.
Letter From the Editor by Amy Olson
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amy@synthesis.net
PAGE 4
Letters to Desmond by Zooey Mae
zooeymae@synthesis.net
Productivity Wasted by Eli Schwartz
pwasted@synthesis.net
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Review
Wanderers & Wolves: Down in the Water
PAGE 10
Contributing Writers
Zooey Mae, Bob Howard, Howl, Koz McKev, Tommy Diestel, Eli Schwartz, Mona Treme, Emiliano GarciaSarnoff, Jon Williams, Sean Galloway Alex O’Brien
Immaculate Infection
by Bob Howard
Madbob@madbob.com
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Photography Jessica Sid Vincent Latham
Nerd
Dain Sandoval dain@synthesis.net
The Frugal Terran by TripHazard
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Accounting Ben Kirby
Director of Operations Karen Potter
Howl howlmovesmountains.tumblr.com
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. All opinions expressed throughout the Synthesis are those of the author and are not necessarily the same opinions as Apartment 8 Productions and the Synthesis. The Synthesis welcomes, wants, and will even desperately beg for letters because we care what you think. We can be reached via snail mail at the Synthesis, 210 W. 6th St., Chico, California, 95928. Email letters@ synthesis.net. Please sign all of your letters with your real name, address and preferably a phone number. We may also edit your submission for content and space.
210 West 6th Street Chico Ca 95928 530.899.7708 editorial@synthesis.net
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Free Culture by Alex O’Brien amateurzen.us
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Supertime!
by Logan Kruidenier logankruidenier.tumblr.com
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Kozmik Debris by Koz McKev
kozmckev@sunset.net
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From The Edge
by Anthony Peyton Porter
PAGE 22 FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 3
PET OF THE WEEK
The Ghost of Christmas Past Jackson Jackson is a friendly, scruffy little man who is ready for a cuddly furever home!
2580 Fair Street Chico, CA 95928 (530) 343-7917 • buttehumane.org
Now Hear This SYNTHESIS WEEKLY PLAYLIST Ghostface Killah
Tanner Ghostface Killah - “The Battlefield” Al Tom Petty - “It’s Good to Be King” Liz The Lennings - “You’re the One That I Want” Tara Bruno Mars + Mark Ronson - “Uptown Funk” Dinah Breabach - “The Desperate Battle” Becca Michael Buble - “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” Haley Childish Gambino - “Hold You Down” Alec RL Grime - “Kingpin” 4
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
Growing up, I loved everything about Christmas. The magical lights and the music and the spirit of generosity, the tree and the cookies and the eggnog. I liked to pretend the “from Santa” gift labels in my mom’s handwriting were real; delighted in the little rituals like the chocolates in the advent calendar, the crackers with the paper crowns and corny jokes, the Christmas Eve opening of the strange foreign presents from my Nanny in England. I loved that my stocking always contained three mandarin oranges, a Cadbury’s chocolate bar, a tin of kippered herring, and a toothbrush.
was never the same.
We lived in Forest Ranch where it usually snowed before Christmas, and with the days off from school we would sled and have brutal snowball fights, then come in and dry our shoes and gloves on the hearth while we thawed our hands and feet in front of the fire. We would go carolling around the neighborhood and have hot cider or cocoa and cookies with the people who invited us in. I loved the anticipation, staying up late and then waking up before dawn and waiting in front of the tree for the rest of the family to roll out of bed. Once, when my cousins were visiting, one of the grown-ups snuck outside our window and gently shook sleigh bells—we lost our minds with happiness.
Dain is slowly wooing me back from the dark side. The first year we were together I groaned when he put on his Christmas Pandora station, but then we went and got a tree to decorate, drank a few gallons of eggnog, and sat in front of the fire... I’m finally at the point where I enjoy it genuinely, but I still feel the loss of wonder.
Right around age 12 or 13 it was like someone had opened the door to adulthood and the air was suddenly sucked out. I wrote about it in my journal—“Somehow I just can’t get into the Christmas spirit. I’m trying really hard, but I just feel like it’s any other day but with presents. I even slept in until 8:00. I wish I could be excited.” I still found things to enjoy after that, like watching people open the gifts I’d bought them and having a nice dinner, but it
My first husband came from a huge Italian family in New Jersey, and—as nice as they were (super nice)—I hated the annual trip back East. Between the frustrating air travel, the bitter cold, and the series of high pressure holiday parties with the interrogation-style small talk from drunk cousins, I came to dread the mechanical obligations of the season. From mid-October on, every red and green supermarket display and canned Christmas carol triggered Pavlovian anxiety. Just thinking about it scrunches my shoulders up.
I suppose it’s natural that the deep magic of the season could only exist in the world of childhood, but I also see that the world I was so happy in was constructed by my parents and the adults in my life. And it wasn’t just the fact that they put up trees and lights and wrapped presents, it was the fact that they changed the way they behaved toward us, played a big game of pretend and indulged our innocence. I don’t know whether it’s possible to do that for myself, what it would take to fall in love with Christmas again. At the very least, I’m working on cutting the anchor of cynicism and eating a shit ton of cookies.
Letter From the Editor by Amy Sandoval amy@synthesis.net
Winter is Coming! Congratulations, guys. Despite all your best efforts of boozing and other activities driven by depression, you’ve made it to another installment of pine-scented anxiety season, known by most as “Christmas season.” This time of year there are a few things you can lean on (heavily) to ensure you make it through (with the least amount of time possible spent lying on the floor, sweat breaking out and b-hole clenching every time there’s a knock at the door or the phone rings). Knock knock. Who’s there? Anxiety. Now that you’ve finally schlepped through pumpkin-flavored-everything season, you’ve stumbled on peppermint. On the Candyland board of 2014 we’ve made it past “Plumpy,” the green Teletubbie with a Fu Manchu (see also: Wilford Brimley with Fu Manchu. Either way, you know that fucker has a pressing case of Diabetes). Now we’re on to “Mr. Mint,” who looks like an alternative universe Waldo (of Where’s Waldo fame), with a penchant for pink and a wicked coke habit (as demonstrated by the giant pink nose). So. ‘Tis the season for minty fresh libations, particularly peppermint schnapps. I recommend carrying a thermos of hot chocolate around at all times, as well as a Camelbak backpack stuffed to the gills with more schnapps. Employing this method will ensure you are at least 7-12% more enthusiastic about the stupid hoops you have to jump through every day. Assigned a group project in school? Peppermint schnapps! Caught in a sudden downpour? Peppermint schnapps! Keep stepping in the same pile of dog shit outside your front door? PEPPERMINT
SCHNAPPS. Once you’ve felt ol’ Peppy Schnauzer take hold, before leaving the safety of your house, wrap a scarf around your face. Heck, wrap two. Something needs to be there to deafen the minty fresh burps that will come periodically blasting from your most prominent face hole. Also, don’t forget your headphones. The coldest rain and the worst winds can’t darken your brain folds when the sweet sounds of Cuban songbird Miss Gloria Estefan are in your ears. I recommend “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You” and “Hot Summer Nights” on a loop. After the day is done, the hoops are laid to rest, and you’re back in your Fortress of Solitude with Peppy and Gloria, now is the time to revel in electricity. Specifically when combined with a blanket. I was gifted an electric blanket when I lived in the Pacific Northwest, and it’s still my favorite gift I’ve ever received. Having a reprieve from the outside world like Electric Blanket Land to return to at night is the very best. If you’re like my fellow columnist Sean Galloway and you prefer a home within a home (we’re talkin’ ‘bout forts, here), then take it from me; an electric blanket as the foundation of your fort is the best way to fortify (see what I did there?) your acropolis. Now. Gather your supplies, and prepare yourself. Winter is coming.
Letters to Desmond by Zooey Mae
zooeymae@synthesis.net
FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 5
a shapeless thief. PART 1 BY MARIN SARDY
Author’s Note: “A Shapeless Thief” was originally published in July 2014 in The Missouri Review, just days before my brother, Tom, committed suicide. His death followed many years of painful struggles with schizophrenia. This printing in Synthesis is dedicated to his life and memory.
My mother knows the earth’s surface is composed of tectonic plates, and that these plates move hundreds of miles with ease. They arrange and rearrange themselves, very quickly sometimes, creating natural phenomena when they shift. There is one place, the Shear, where the plates have fallen away, leaving a bare, scraped expanse extending for hundreds of miles. In another place, near Monterey, California, a plate dropping into the ocean has created a series of horizontal shelves at the continent’s underwater edge. On one of these, she says, a city thrives beneath the waves. Sometimes plates duplicate or multiply, resulting in two or more that are nearly identical and seem to contain the same location. For this reason, she says, it’s important to pay attention to details when you travel, to make sure you stay on the right plate—in the correct Roswell; in the Anchorage where you grew up. Each Roswell, each Anchorage, is a distinct colony. And if you accidentally end up on the wrong plate, you won’t find the people you know because they’re not there. This is why flying is tricky. You go up in the air, and when you come down, there’s no real way of knowing if you’ve landed on the right plate or another by the same name. You fly 6
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM
to Santa Fe to see your sister, but when you go looking for her, you may not be able to find her. So check the sky. See if it looks different today. Strange. See if it looks like a different sky than the sky you remember seeing over Santa Fe. And if you go to your sister’s house and she’s not there, look at the pillows. They might be the wrong color. These are the little things that help us know where we are. In bits and pieces over many years, my mother has described to me this earth, the one she inhabits, expansively elaborating on the theme of plates and colonies, as well as the Assay, a natural force that continually sorts us according to where we belong. It’s more than a single fantasy. It’s a whole system of rules and perceptions that together constitute an alternate world—a foundational delusion that emerged slowly in her mind when I was in high school and developed into a full-scale paracosm by the time I finished college. I’ve been told that when I was very young and my mother was still sane, she sometimes spoke of the universe as existing in two streams. First Stream was our tangible, everyday reality. Second Stream was
DECEMBER 8 2014
a separate, inner place, the realm of the imagination and spirit. Then the boundary between realities became so porous that she lost track of the difference between metaphor and physical fact. The two streams ran together and fused. Now she doesn’t bother to explain much, because she knows I understand the basics. She’ll bring up the topic only if there are new developments, usually as a prelude to offering important advice: “Stay away from California for a little while.” Or, “Make sure you have plenty of gas!” This isn’t overprotectiveness on her part; it’s reasonable concern. Her world is one that is capable of shifting beneath her feet. The houses she has lived in, the cities they were built in, the very rock they stand on—all can be yanked out from under her. This may explain why she moves regularly through several states, never living in the same place for longer than a year but instead looping back to visit the same spots again and again. She never flies anymore. She’ll take the train from New Mexico to Monterey. She’ll work her way by bus up to Bellingham, and maybe take the ferry to Anchorage, sleeping in hostels and befriending the twenty-somethings
she meets there. Sometimes she gives me a name and a number. “Hang on to that,” she says. “If you find yourself in a bad situation, this is someone you can contact for help.” Or: “Remember this name. If you meet someone by this name, you could take her home and give her a place to sleep for the night. She might become your roommate!”
into a cab, and disappeared into the night. She resurfaced with a phone call, two weeks later, from the other
...the effort reached an unexpected climax when she bolted across a parking lot, jumped into a cab, and disappeared into the night...
My mother’s travel habit began in the grip of her descent into psychosis, twenty-seven years ago, when she was nearly forty and I was eleven. She spun into a manic six-month round-the-world romp that stretched from Hawaii to North Africa to Australia, and then returned periodically to many of those places over the next several years. This was spurred by a belief that someone was after her, and it may have started because my grandparents were trying to have her hospitalized. After a few months in and out of clinics in Alaska, she went along with their plan to try one in Dallas. There the effort reached an unexpected climax when she bolted across a parking lot, jumped
side of the world. I was offered few explanations for my mother’s behavior beyond being told by my father that she was “ill” and it was not her fault. At some point the word “schizophrenia” reached my ears, but it meant little to me. In place of understanding, I took hold of the tokens of her travels, as if they were crumbs I could follow to this new place inside her. Whenever she returned from a trip, she would bring back such wonders for my sisters and brother and me to pore over—embroidered housedress-like garments from Algiers; all kinds of currencies.
The Australian coins were our favorites: kangaroo, platypus. Once, my older sister, Alicia, organized the coins into a booklet and labeled them. Although we were savvy enough to sort out the sources of the various European currencies, there were a number whose origins we couldn’t decipher from the script. We asked our mother, but she didn’t know. She had gone missing in more ways than one. Alicia labeled all of those “Arabic Nation.”
I rarely found words for what I saw my mother do, what I heard her say, so her illness seemed to always live in the shadows. In the closet, under the bed. As a child I felt schizophrenia to be a dark, shapeless thief. What other image fit what I had seen? How does a child articulate the absence of what is necessary? The absence of sanity. The absence of the mother I had known. To my eye it appeared that, more than anything, she had been stolen.
To this day, my mother has never accepted the idea that she has a mental illness, and as far as I know she has never taken medication for it. She has never been officially diagnosed with schizophrenia, either, but she knows this is what people say about her. At least two doctors have said they believe she has some form of it. And it runs in our family—my brother began to show similar symptoms about a decade ago and eventually received that diagnosis. (He, too, resisted the idea and ultimately abandoned treatment.) But official diagnosis for my mother would require a doctor’s observation that her symptoms have lasted longer than one month, and none have examined her repeatedly over such a period of time. For nearly a quarter century, she wouldn’t allow any doctor her to examine her at all. My sisters and I, on the other hand, have observed that her symptoms have lasted for twenty-seven years.
Now, grown and far more educated, I feel nearly the same. Schizophrenia still defies the most fundamental question about it: What is it? I can tell you it is a brain disorder that causes distortions in perception, thought, and emotion. I can explain that it arises by way of chemical and physical processes inside the brain. But if I reach much further, I soon arrive at the edge of human knowledge. We have not yet grasped how the brain creates perception, thought, and emotion to begin with, let alone such spectacular distortions. One important study compared contemporary researchers’ various hypotheses to the fable of the three blind men of Hindustan: each, when asked what an elephant looked like, felt a different part of the beast and described it. One, feeling its trunk, said it was shaped like a snake. Another, feeling a leg, proclaimed that it was shaped like a tree...
Even as a child, the word schizophrenia struck me with its frightening poetry. Its exotic and convoluted array of letters captured the sense I had of the illness— confusing and bizarre, mysterious, infamously inscrutable. During the first few years of my mother’s illness, I witnessed what I can only describe as a disintegration. She went from leading a healthy, engaged life to being a mistrustful recluse who lived off cigarettes and screwdrivers. For a while she nearly imprisoned us in our own house, barring the door with heavy pieces of furniture and having lengths of wood fit to the windows so they could not be slid open. She was so afraid of assassins that her fear seeped into me, too. I did as she asked for a long time. After a while, though, I rebelled, and eventually I just gave up, choosing instead to detach myself by playing video games all afternoon while she fitted the TV antennae with balls of foil or simply sat very still for hours on end.
I have only what I have seen. For instance, that the inherited wealth that paid for my mother’s globetrotting is now long gone. In recent years, needing an allowance from my grandmother, she began living near the epicenter of her family—New Mexico— hopping once or twice a year between Roswell, Santa Fe, Denver, Colorado Springs, and Tucson, where her six brothers and sisters and various other relatives live. This was for her a fairly circumscribed and blessedly consistent movement pattern, although she still ranges farther from time to time. Right now she lives in Ketchikan, Alaska. Because I lived in Santa Fe for several years in my early thirties, I could see her regularly. She also called often, which was important to me since she had no telephone for most of that time, so I couldn’t call her. She was too paranoid to keep a phone of her own, but she would use pay phones and relatives’ phones. She just wouldn’t leave a message,
ever, and while on the phone she wouldn’t refer to people she knew by name, and if you lingered without speaking for more than a couple of beats, she’d hang up on you. If behind this paranoia there was a delusion, however—some false belief that would make sense of it—she has never explained it to me. A new pattern emerged when I moved to New York, and she stopped calling me. Before moving I reiterated several times that I wanted her to call me regularly, but she skirted the issue, and it was only after I left that I realized there was something in her mind getting in the way. When I visited Santa Fe a few months later, I tried again, although I didn’t think it would make a difference. “Mom,” I said, “call me.” “Oh, well, you’re over there now,” she said. “So far away! I think it’s better to—to stay close.” “Yeah but, Mom. Why does that matter? It’s a phone.” “Hmmm. I try to call Sadie,” she said, referring to my younger sister, who lived in Santa Fe too. “I’ve been trying to call Sadie! She never answers.” “Sadie has to turn her phone off when she’s at work. So call me.” “Well. I think I’m just going to stay focused on what’s nearby. I just think that’s a good idea right now.”
Its exotic and convoluted array of letters captured the sense I had of the illness— confusing and bizarre, mysterious, infamously inscrutable. ...inexplicable refusals—inflexible positions she won’t relinquish and won’t, or can’t, explain. They emerge from nowhere and stick like cement.
Our conversations are riddled with these inexplicable refusals—inflexible positions she won’t relinquish and won’t, or can’t, explain. They emerge from nowhere and stick like cement. A decade before, when I lived in New Hampshire, she called me often. But in New York it was as if I had fallen off the edge of the world. Eventually she got a phone again. Now I can call her, and she’s delighted when I do, but she still won’t call me herself. Certain places, it seems, must be avoided. When Alicia got married in Bozeman, Montana, my mother missed the wedding. I cajoled and then harassed her about it as the date approached, but she was evasive. Every time I brought it up, she shifted the focus to the lovely wedding gift she had bought.
FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 7
“I’ve learned about a few things that I think you might want to do. I have found out—I’ve found out that now is a good time to move to Pluto.”
attending a crowded event, so I tried bargaining. “You don’t have to go to the reception,” I told her. “You can just go to the ceremony.” When that failed, I went all the way. “You don’t even have to go to the ceremony,” I said. “You can just see Alicia beforehand, on that day. Or the day before that.” I got nowhere. She wouldn’t relent, and wouldn’t say why. I have since racked my brain trying to understand what it is about Bozeman. If it is Bozeman at all. But her whole world is a cipher, and in it there are codes I can’t break.
*** In her youth my mother was one of those people who seemed to catch everyone’s eye. “Like a sprite,” my aunts say. “Like an elf.” Petite and pale, with a heartshaped face and a delicate smile, she was beautiful and alluring and had a distinctive, distant charm. Now approaching seventy, thick around the middle, with her once dark hair a peppery gray, she still seems somehow like a pixie. Her eyes dart about her and her hands flit with precision as she speaks. When quiet, she turns inward, and it is almost as if I am watching her 8
curl her head under a wing. She isn’t beautiful anymore. Jowls hang low on her face, and when she smiles she reveals teeth weathered and crooked from malnutrition. But her blue eyes seem to have intensified in color, and her bony fingers are as articulate as ever. These days, my mother has a very clear sense of what kind of information upsets others—things “people don’t like to hear about.” So she has been in the habit, for nearly two decades, of reserving the discussion of such topics for my sisters and me. “Marin, I’m glad you’re here, because there are some important things I need to tell you about,” she says, peering at me with wide eyes, her hands clasped politely in her lap. “I’ve learned about a few things that I think you might want to do. I have found out—I’ve found out that now is a good time to move to Pluto.” Despite her refusal to accept her illness, she knows that the world reaches her in a different form than it reaches others, and I am almost certain she knows that something about this cripples her. But she still fights for the validity of her
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
I want you to know that the condo belongs to me. It’s mine, and he— somebody—took it away from me.
thoughts, as anyone else would. “Pluto?” I ask. “Like, the planet?” “There are some exciting developments happening there right now, and you can buy a home at a good price. Right now, before it really catches on. They’re setting up a colony there. Homes for young people, and you’re at the age that you could go there and really get started on your life.” “Mom,” I say, “I have a life.” “Oh but this is such a great opportunity! It’s so affordable! You could really find a nice house there, and have a nice place to live.” There is no point in arguing with delusions, but I also hate to play along with them either. Usually I engage just a little, to show I care. I offer something like, “So, how do you know they’re colonizing Pluto?” But I’m not very good at hiding my impatience. “I’ve seen it! I’ve seen—I know this, Marin. I’ve—I understand this.” She pauses, her eyes searching. I can practically see the wheels turning as she sorts through her mind looking for a response solid
enough that I won’t silently reject it. As much as she’s shared the material of her delusions with me, she’s almost never let slip anything about where they come from or how they’re formed. And she knows I’m a skeptical listener. “Such a beautiful place! Do you know the oceans there have waves that are capped with fire? Can you imagine? Fire-capped waves?” “That’s a beautiful image, Mom,” I say, genuinely, picturing it. “It kind of takes your breath away.” “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? And there are all these condos for sale there now! You might want to do that!” “Mom,” I say gently, “I just really want to be here right now, okay?” “Well, think about it and see if you don’t change your mind. Also, there’s something else I want to explain to you, too. Your uncle Robert has been staying in the condo in Santa Fe, and I want you to know that the condo belongs to me. It’s mine, and he—somebody—took it away from me. Now, while I don’t have a home at all, Robert goes and stays in that place and acts like it belongs to him.”
I’m annoyed now, inevitably. I rub my forehead. I say something like, “As far as I know, the condo has always been Robert’s.” I say it wearily, not to convince her, but just because it’s a reasonable response that is neither condescending nor untrue. The condo does belong to Robert, but I qualify the statement because I recognize that I’ve never actually seen the deed. “Well, it wasn’t always his,” she counters. “He went and got the papers from where they were filed, and the people at City Hall didn’t notice, and now he’s told everyone it’s his, and there are no papers, so everybody thinks it is his. But maybe one of these days, Marin— this is why I’m telling you this— those papers might turn up. So if you see, at some point, some papers that look like they have to do with a house, if you find them lying around somewhere, I want you to take them and keep them someplace safe. Because then I might be able to get my house back.” “I don’t think they would leave those kinds of papers just lying around.” “Well, you never know. You never know!”
The paintings were looking at her, talking to her, and when they upset or frightened her too much, she had to escape them
Sometimes I just stare at her and remind myself that she’s on her own trip and it’s not my job to fix the unfixable. But she generally persists until I say something like “If I happen to come across some papers that look like the deed to Robert’s condo, I’ll do that.” “Good,” she’ll say. “Now, what are you up to today?” Other times, though, her voice might turn sad. As in dreams, much of the symbolism in her delusions tends to express her own feelings about her life as she struggles to understand it. But this is a dream she can’t wake up from. “All these homes I’ve had, that people have taken away from me!” she once said plaintively. She lifted her chin and gazed into the distance with innocent eyes. “It’s almost too much for a person.” And that was too much for me. Although I know that nobody has ever taken a home from her or even claimed any property that was rightly hers, I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. But I could never say that, really. I’ve never been able to protect her from anything.
For a decade or more, since my mother sold her last residence, she has been wondering how she lost her home. She keeps searching for a place where she can live and be safe for the rest of her life. But she’s too erratic and irrational. She has spent all the money that bought her former houses—a trust fund from my once-wealthy grandfather, a divorce settlement, her own sporadic earnings. Now she rents small apartments, one after another, rarely committing to a lease longer than six months. To explain this, I have only a theory: When she arrives at a place, it is new, unsignified, a clean slate. Then her visions and voices begin interacting with this physical environment, and slowly, over the course of months, meanings accrue. All the powers of the universe work their way into the smallest details. Here is where a bright light visited me one night. I stayed quiet for it and watched. Loaded with emotional import, the details often turn ominous or antagonistic. Someone has been burying horses in the backyard. I’ve seen the teeth coming up out of the ground! Eventually, every detail of the place seethes and echoes so resoundingly with the influence of powers only
she can see—everything pointing back to her, for her, about her— that the only way to keep it under control is to flee. This is, I think, why she wouldn’t live at her mother’s house in Roswell, her hometown, despite being welcome to live there for free until my grandmother passed away last year. The dozens of paintings on my grandmother’s walls made her uncomfortable. She started moving things around, hiding things. It baffled my aunts and uncles and frustrated my grandmother. I could only glean what my mother wouldn’t say outright: The paintings were looking at her, talking to her, and when they upset or frightened her too much, she had to escape them. She put them away in corners to sap them of their power, and when my aunts and uncles tried to convince or force her to stop doing this, she moved out. Nowadays she rents an apartment for a few months or a year, buys a white comforter, and keeps nothing on the walls but a small cross and an image of whatever saint has recently caught her attention. I think if she had a house of her own, she would still leave it periodically for months at a time. But she wants
that house, her house. She wants to see the return of at least one of the many homes she has lost in her lifetime, which she believes were stolen. And the weird truth is that, in a way, they were stolen. Schizophrenia stole them, by taking away her capacity for long-term planning and remembering. The ability to keep track of time is a prerequisite for virtually everything a person can have or do in life. In the timeline of the universe, my mother lives in a bubble that disintegrates into chaos two weeks in either direction. That’s about the extent to which she can pin reality down well enough to at least manage her life within it. Beyond that it becomes too warped to be of use. She can manage a weekly budget but not a yearly budget. She can sublet a room, but she can’t get through the paperwork required to qualify for low-income housing. In her paranoia, she often refuses to sign her name on official-looking documents. She hasn’t worked in more than a decade. For several years she has lived on Social Security benefits and an allowance from the family. She can do fairly complex tasks like shopping, cooking, or balancing a checkbook,
but she has trouble maintaining the relationships required to keep a job. Momentary concerns overwhelm the bigger picture, which dissipates into mist. Trying to help my mother is a frustrating and usually useless effort. She won’t often accept help, preferring, she says, to take care of things herself. The harder we push, the more she resists. I try to be as cooperative as possible, hoping she’ll go along with my plans if I act optimistic. But mostly, my hands are tied. Over the years, we in her family have sometimes tried to maneuver around her to get her finances under control, but we couldn’t do much without her permission. No one could have forcefully intervened. She functions far too well to be declared incompetent. This is how it happened that she spent and wasted all she had, spending more to live than she could earn, buying and selling a long series of houses, condos, apartments, and cars, each time losing money on the deal until she had nothing left. To read the second half of this Pushcart nominated essay, please visit synthesisweekly.com, or pick up a copy of next week’s Synthesis. FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 9
Dragon Age: Inquisition A SPRAWLING, FLAWED MONSTERPIECE Inquisition is the third of the well-received Dragon Age series, highly customizable RPGs with loads of dialogue and lore backed up with the budget for voice acting and loads of dialogue options. The series is a continuation of developer Bioware’s legacy of characterdriven, dialogue-laden RPGs so tactical that pausing mid battle is not only possible, it is encouraged, so that the player may carefully strategize their team. Reviewing Inquisition has proven to be difficult; not because it is so complex a work, but rather because it is so damned large. Much of a player’s time in-game will be spent staring slack-jawed at the screen, struggling to believe that yes, in fact, there are still more areas for the player to explore. The first two Dragon Ages had one High Dragon as an optional boss fight; Inquisition has ten, and all are harder than most storyline bosses. Once one begins to get a handle on the sheer number of quests, areas, monsters, and loot, they will begin to notice that there is dialogue for everything. In between missions, I spent literally hours at my home base, just talking to my teammates and setting up operations across the continent. Your eyes will burn from the reading, and your ears will ring from all the talking. Just about everyone has something to say, and it’s surprising how often just walking past a group of gossiping commoners will start a new questline, or give you a key piece of info to speak about to one of your well-written and well-acted followers followers. With loads of items to procure, a wide berth of teammates to run a party with, and a fantastic new item crafting system, Inquisition seemed ready to make combat more tactical and personal than ever. This eventually proved not to be the case. 10
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
All characters are limited to only being able to use eight abilities, despite being able to learn dozens by means of leveling up. The player’s character can only choose from a few specialized skill trees, which are already available to other party members. This combined with the fact that the player can no longer change the attribute stats of any character massively cuts back on the ability to make character stats seem at all different. The player character becomes just a blank copy of another teammate. They just threw core mechanics out the window, for some reason. None of this is helped by being constantly plagued with bugs large, small, hilarious, and infuriating. It’s inevitable and almost forgivable in such a huge game, but more than few quests became permanently stuck due to a glitch. All of these issues seem to fade in comparison to the hugeness of the well-developed land of Thedas, but at the end, I found myself bored and demotivated by a terribly short ending devoid of closure and agency. I killed the bad guy and made out with someone on a balcony, watching the sun rise. It didn’t have to be a complete subversion of my expectations, but it could have at least tried to add some conflict. Ultimately I’m left unsure of Inquisition. Its ending was dissatisfying, but its journey was captivating. Its combat was less than thrilling and bizarrely shackled, yet its characters were vivacious and varied. A fascinating journey among good company through a huge and deeply developed land, Inquisition never failed to impress, it just left me wondering why it wasn’t what it could have been.
Down in the Water Wanderers and Wolves REVIEW BY AMY OLSON Wanderers and Wolves—featuring Gabriel Reyes on bass and vocals, Joe Stone on drums, and Christian Crandall on guitar—have been around for about a year now, and wasted no time in recording a solid rock EP at Origami Lounge titled Down in the Water. It just came out last week. Allow me to break it down track by track: “Down in the Water”: The title track crashes in with all the noise, splashing cymbals and hard drums against a wall of bass and guitar, then opens up space for greasy vocals to slide in, talking about panties and stuff; it sits deep in the clutches of a dirty couch at a late ‘70s basement party, bathed in cocaine and black light. The dominant riff sways like a drunk wandering off into the bushes looking for a good place to piss, but then they run into some people who get them talking about sweet vans with carpeted interiors. “Over and Over”: The vibe lifts on the second track, but in a dizzy, manic sort of way. We’re in that kick-ass van now, driving way too fast through deserted neighborhoods at midnight, still have to piss, slowing to drift through a stop sign here and there, then barrelling out into the open country on the edge of town. “Sit Down”: The third track rolls—it tumbles over and over like a shopping cart full of flaming tallboy boxes that you pushed off a cliff into the ocean. This is the best
night of your fucking life, and you throw up everywhere without any shame and commence to throwing empty beer cans after the burning wreckage. “Only Already”: By the fourth song you’re rocking an empty stomach and a second wind, and you hit the road again. You’re a little off kilter and out of control at this point, but everything keeps moving at full speed— propelled by the momentum of two tons of steel and a bitchin mural of a viking chick riding a polar bear. “Fear and Framing”: The final track comes in unexpectedly buoyant and poppy, bouncing like a beach ball on the edge of whatever it was you were trying to say just now. Then, suddenly, it slips into dreamy nostalgia, telling the people you just met how much you’ve always loved them—how they’re what it’s all about, man. Fade to black. Check out a few songs from Wanderers and Wolves new EP, Down in the Water, at wanderersandwolves.bandcamp.com, and marvel at the accuracy of this review
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SUNDAY
49ERS VS SEAHAWKS | 1:25 PM
$3 WELL BLOODIES
$2 MIMOSA FLUTES $5 MIMOSA PINTS
Food & Drink MONDAY TUESDAY
FREE POOL AFTER 10PM
WATCH ALL THE
GAMES HERE
344 west 8th St | chico, ca | 530-343-2790
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY FRIDAY
Closed. We need to drink, too!
Closed
Mon-Fri Happy Hour 12-4pm $3 Sierra & Domestic Pints 6PM - close $1 Off Pitchers $5 Sailor Jerry DBLs All Day Every Day
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7pm PBR $2.25 Everyday!
Open Mic Comedy Night Every Other Week! Happy Hour 2-6pm M-F $1.00 off Sierra and Dom Pitchers $1.00 off PBR & Olympia Pool Rates Cut in 1/2!
$6.99 Pulled pork sand w/ fries or salad Wings 5 for $3 from halftime 'til they're gone! MONSTER MONDAY SPECIALS 6PM-CLOSE BEER $3.50/4.50/5.50/6.50 FREE Pool after 10PM
Come see our beautiful Patio! Happy Hour 4-6: Menu cocktails $1 off. Sierra Nevada Draft $3
Closed
$2.50 TUESDAY: Tacos, Corn Dogs, Fries or Tots, Chips & Salsa and Motzerells sticks only $2.50 ALL Day! Homemade Soup Daily $3 Sierra and Dom Pints $ 3.50 Kamis ALL DAY!
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7PM PBR $2.25 Everyday!
Two Dollar Tuesdays! $2 PBRs $2 Tacos! Happy Hour 2-6pm M-F $1.00 off Sierra and Dom Pitchers $1.00 off PBR and Olympia Cans Pool Rates Cut in 1/2!
Chicken Strip Sand only $6.99 before 6 PM TWO BUCK TUESDAY 6-11pm $2 Rolling Rock, Olympia & Single Wells $2.50 PBR, Coors and Double wells
Come see our beautiful Patio! Happy Hour 4-6: Menu cocktails $1 off. Sierra Nevada Draft $3 Live music 8-10
Closed
WING WEDNESDAY! $2 for 3 Wings w/ drink purchase 8pm-Close $4.50 Shooter of the Day $5.50 DBL Bacardi Cocktails $5 Sailor Jerry DBLs All Day Every Day
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7pm
Chicken Waffle Wed.! 8 ball Tourney 6pm sign-up Happy Hour 2-6pm M-F $1.00 off Sierra and Dom Pitchers $1.00 off PBR and Olympia Pool Rates Cut in 1/2!
Reuben Sand w/ fries or salad $6.99
Come see our beautiful Patio! Happy Hour 4-6: Wander Food Truck on the Patio 6pm
Closed
Mon-Fri Happy Hour 12-4pm $3 Sierra & Domestic Pints $3.50 Soccer moms $6 Dbl Roaring Vodka Homemade Soup Daily $5 Sailor Jerry DBLs All Day Every Day
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7pm PBR $2.25 Everyday!
Open Thanksgiving Evening
Baby Back Ribs $11.99 Philly Cheesesteak $7.99
Special Holiday Food & Drink Menu
6pm-Close $4.50 Grad teas $3.50 All beer pints FREE Pool after 10PM Coors Light Promo 6-8PM
Join us for Beers on our Patio Bar! Happy Hour from 4-6.
Open 9PM Bartender Specials $3 14oz. Slushies $4 20oz. Slushies
Mon-Fri Happy Hour 12-4pm $3 Sierra & Dom Pints Weekend Blast Off!! 8-close $6 Dom Draft & Jack or Jack Honey Shot
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7PM
Rock Out at The DL! Enjoy Live Music, Great Grub, and 10 9' foot tables Open @11am All ages untill 10pm
10 oz. Tri-Tip Steak w/ Fries or Salad & Garlic Bread $8.99 8pm-Close $4 J채ger $5.50 DBL Vodka Red Bull $2.50 Kamikaze shots FREE Pool after 10PM
Jack Daniels Honey All Night
EAT. DRINK. PLAY.
Find Out How you Can Play Pool
for Only $1/Day!
LESSONS, LEAGUES AND TOURNAMENTS!
GREAT FOOD! LIVE MUSIC!
We open at 12:00pm.
SATURDAY SUNDAY
Tacotruck.biz and Beers on the Patio!
Open 9pm Bartender Specials $3 14oz. Slushies $4 20oz. Slushies Patron Incendio Promo 10pm - close
WE OPEN AT 12:00PM MIMOSAS WITH FRESH SQUEEZED OJ FOR $5 UNTIL 5PM.
CLOSED
Homemade Soup Daily
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7pm Full Bar in Back Room Weds, Fri & Sat Nights! PBR $2.25 Everyday!
Rock Out at The DL! Enjoy Live Music, Great Grub, and 10 9' foot tables Open @11am All ages untill 10pm
Baby Back Ribs w/Salad, Fries & garlic bread $11.99 8pm-Close $4 Single/$6 Double Jack or Captain $3 Sierra Nevada Pints FREE Pool after 10pm
10am -2pm $5 Bottles of Champagne with entree $4.50 Bloody Mary $5.50 Absolut Peppar Bloody Marys OPEN FOR CHRISTMAS PREVIEW
Daily Happy Hour from 4-7pm PBR $2.25 Everyday!
Free Pool with Purchase! 1.00 off Sierra and Dom Pitchers $1.00 off PBR and Olympia Cans OPEN FOR CHRISTMAS PREVIEW
$5.49 Grad/Garden/ Turkey Burger w/fries or salad Bloodies $3 Well, $4 Call, $5 Top, $6 Goose Mimosas $2/flute, $5/pint $6 CHEAP Beer Pitchers FREE Pool after 10pm
12
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
OPEN FOR CHRISTMAS PREVIEW
F r i d ay 4 - 7 p m
HAPPY HOUR!
DANCE NIGHT DJ SPENNY & JEFF HOWSE PLEASE DRINK RESPONSIBLY
HAPPY HOUR 4-7PM Beer Week Guinness cocktail specials Beer coozie giveaway at back bar
8pm-Close Pitcher Specials $6.50/$9.50/$13 FREE Pool after 10PM
Open at 11am $4.50 Bloody Mary $5.50 Absolut Peppar Bloody Marys Noon - 6PM $1 OFF SN & Dom Pitcher $5.50 DBL Bacardi Cocktails
Wednesday 9pm
319 Main Street (530) 892-2473
Full Bar in Back Room Weds, Fri & Sat Nights! PBR $2.25 Everyday!
THE PUB SCOUTS shirts 2 for $20 while supplies last
(530) 343-7718 337 Main St
Closed
Go DownLo
BEAR-E-OKE BURGER MADNESS! Bear Burger with fries or salad for $5.49. 11am-10pm.
Happy Hour 11-6pm select bottles & drafts $3
CLOSED
2 FOR 1 BURGERS ALL DAY !! MINORS WELCOME!
CLOSED
Call for New Yar’s Eve Reservations 898-9898
$2.50 Select Sierra Nevada or Dom Drafts $2 Kamis -any flavor All Day
$3.50 Tea of the Day Bartender Specials Happy Hour 4-8pm
Happy Hour 4 - 7pm
Progressive Night:
Closed
$1.50 sliders and other cheap eats!
8 - 10pm $1 Dom, Wells & Sierra Nevada Pale Ale 10pm - Close: Up $0.25 per hour til closing
All 16 oz Teas or AMF $3 All Day
$3.50 Skyyy Vodka Cocktails $3.50 Tea of the Day Bartender Specials Happy Hour 4-8pm
1/2 OFF EVERYTHING!!!
4-6pm $1 Dom Drafts $2 SN Drafts & Wells $5 DBL Captain Buck Night 8-Close $1 wells, SN Pale Ale, Rolling Rock, Dom Draft $3 Black Butte $4 Vodka Redbull
Call for New Yar’s Eve Reservations 898-9898
Happy Hour 11-6pm $3 select bottles & drafts
9pm - Close $2 12oz Teas $3 20oz Teas $2 Well, Dom Bottles & bartender Specials $5 Vodka Red Bull
Happy Hour 4 -7pm
4-6pm $1 Dom Drafts $2 SN Drafts & Wells $5 DBL Captain 8pm - Close $4 151 Party punch 22oz. 8 - 9pm $1 Pale Ale & Dom.Draft Up $0.25/ hr until close
Closed
$3.50 Tea of the Day Bartender Specials Happy Hour 4-8pm
Happy Hour- 4-7pm $5 Fridays 4-8pm Most food items and pitchers of beer are $5
Power Hour 8 - 9pm 1/2 Off Liquor & Drafts (excludes pitchers) 9PM - Close $3 Domestic Drafts $9.75 Pitchers $5 Dbl Sugar Island Rum NO COVER
Open at 9pm
Hot "Dawgs" ALL DAY!
Mon. - Sat. 4pm - 6pm $1 Dom. draft, $2 SN Draft and Wells Power Hour 8 - 9pm $3 Domestic Drafts $9.75 Pitchers Patron Incendio Promo 10pm NO COVER
BOTTLE SERVICE Now Available! Call for New Yar’s Eve Reservations 898-9898
CLOSED
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LATE NIGHT EATS! kitchen open until 1 AM Closed
Go DownLo
BEAR WEAR! 1/2 off while wearing Bear Wear. MUG CLUB 4-10PM LATE NIGHT EATS! kitchen open until 1 AM
WACKY WEDNESDAYS (8pm - close ) DJ Party 4 different DJ’s $1 wells $2 calls $2 domestic bottles $6 pitchers of well drinks
Go DownLo
Happy Hour 4 - 8pm Ladies Night! 8pm - CLOSE $5 Pabst pitchers $2 shot board $4 Moscow Mules $3 Jamo and Ginger Buck Hour 10:30 - 11:30
Early Bird Special 9-10PM 1/2 off wells
Happy Hour 4 - 8pm
Early Bird Special 9-10pm 1/2 off wells
FIREBALL FRIDAYS!!! 8pm - Close $3 Fireball Shots $4 Big Teas $3 Coronas
TRIKE RACES! Post time @ 10pm. Win T-shirts and Bear Bucks. MUG CLUB 4-10PM LATE NIGHT EATS! kitchen open until 1 AM
1/2 OFF COVER before 10PM
BURGER MADNESS! Bear Burger with fries or salad for $5.49. 11am-10pm. MUG CLUB from 4-10PM
LATE NIGHT EATS! kitchen open until 1 AM
$2.50 16oz Wells All Day
Select Pints $3
LIVE MUSIC 1/2 OFF COVER before 10PM
Opening at 8pm for 80's NIGHT!! 8 pm - CLOSE $4 Sauza Margaritas $3 Kamis $3 Shocktop & VIP pint
Early Bird Special 9-10pm 1/2 off wells
KARAOKE "INDUSTRY NIGHT" 8 PM - CLOSE HALF OFF ALMOST EVERYTHING!(Except Red Bull and Premium Liquors) Specials All Day!
OPEN FOR 36 CRAZYFISTS SHOW
Jack Daniels Honey All Night
LATE NIGHT EATS! kitchen open until 1 AM
LIVE MUSIC 1/2 OFF COVER before 10pm BURGER MADNESS! Bear Burger with fries or salad for $5.49. 11am-10pm.
$4 Sex On The Beach $4 Sierra Nevada Knightro ON TAP $1 Jello Shots 7-10pm $3 Fireball
$4 World Famous Bloody Joe $5 Premium bloodys your choice of vodka
$3.50 Tea of the Day Bartender Specials Happy Hour 4-8pm
$1.50 sliders and other cheap eats!!
Patron Incendio Promo 10pm - close
Champagne Brunch 11am - 2pm $4 Champagne with entree
Champagne Brunch and SPORTS!
3 WINGS FOR $2 4:00 - 5:30 PM
134 Broadway St, Chico, CA | 530.893.5253
191 E. 2ND ST • 898-0630
BOTTLE SERVICE Now Available! Call for reservation 898-9898 Large selection of wines, sangrias and Martinis.
Open at 9pm Large selection of wines, sangrias and Martinis.
NEW THIS WEEK... TUESDAY $1 WELLS, DRAFTS, DOM. & SIERRA NEVADA 8-10PM PROGRESSIVE 10-2AM UP 25¢ PER HR. UNTIL CLOSE
WEDNESDAY $1 WELLS/ROLLING ROCK, PALE ALE & DOM.
LATE NIGHT EATS! kitchen open until 1am
$3 BUTTE PORTER
Sunday
$4 VODKA REDBULL
THURSDAY $1 PALE ALE & DOM. UP 25¢ PER HR. 8PM-CLOSE
Champagne Brunch 10am-2pm Every Sunday $3 champagne with purchase of an entrée
FOOTBALL
$4 151 PARTY PUNCH $5 DBL CAPTAIN
177 E 2nd St, Chico (530) 895-8817
no cover friday & sat 9-c lose sugar island rum $5 d bl.
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This Week Only... Fine Dining in the Tradition of Southern Italy
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BEST BETS IN ENTERTAINMENT
SICILIAN CAFÉ
Celebrating 30 years !
Farm. Fresh. Italian. 1020 Main Street Chico 530.345.2233 14
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
Monday, December 8th
Thursday, December 11th -21st
FOUND FOOTAGE FESTIVAL
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
PAGEANT THEATER
BLUE ROOM THEATER
Saturday, December 13th
Saturday & Sunday, December 13th & 14th
Are you a child of the ‘80s with a penchant for VHS and hilarity? Wondering about “the angriest man in the world”? This show WILL sell out, so don’t miss the (10th anniversary) Found Footage Festival at the Pageant! 7:30pm, 18+, $10. Presale tickets available at pageantchico.com
BOGG CD RELEASE CAFE CODA
Wondering what it would be like if Bogg played Cafe Coda at night? Come witness the release of their newest album, which features a range of covers from Charlie Parker to System of a Down! Openers include Aubrey Debauchery and Pat Hull. All ages, $5, 7:30pm.
This week at...
On
SHOOK TWINS W/ MARTY O’REILY & THE OLD SOUL ORCHESTRA
DEC
11
Still have the taste of Jim Carrey’s 2009 CGI’d Scrooge balls in your brainmouth? Come absorb a theatrical palate cleanser, or “Blue (Room) balls” if you will. (Shoot for one of the weekend shows, as they’re followed by a late-night production of David Sedaris’ “Season’s Greetings.”) 7:30pm, all ages, tickets available at Lyon Books and at blueroomtheatre.com
CHIKOKO’S BIZARRE BAZAAR CHICO WOMEN’S CLUB
Come get bizarre with Chico’s favorite professional weirdos. Excessive nudity and general oddities are practically guaranteed! Bonus: you’re sure to find strange and unusual gifts you won’t find anywhere else. 10am-5pm, Chico Women’s Club, all ages.
WINTER LAMBSTOCK
W/ SWAMP ZEN & DYLANS DHARMA
DEC
12
THE ENGLISH BEAT W/ BLACK FONG
Main DOORS OPEN AT 9PM | HALF OFF DRINKS BEFORE 10PM
DEC
13
New & Exciting: 8 Monday
Pageant Theatre: Found Footage Festival, An all-new celebration of odd and hilarious found videos. Hosted by Joe Pickett (The Onion) and Nick Prueher (Letterman). 7:30pm, 18+
9 Tuesday
LaSalles: Happy Hour + Live Music with Bull Moose Party, Benchmaster Ruckus, 4pm-8pm, then Tuesday Metal Show at 9pm, 21+ Wine Time: Painted Cellars- Where Art and Entertainment Collide. 6pm8pm, 18+, $40
10 Wednesday
Senator Theater: Pepper, w/ The Movement, New Beat Fund. 7:30pm, $20 in advance
11 Thursday
1078 Gallery: Keepsake, Bite Back, Smak City, Tri-Dirts-Comish. 7:30pm, all ages, $5 Blue Room: A Christmas Carol, 7:30pm, all ages Chico Theater Company: White Christmas, 7:30pm, all ages LaSalles: Happy Hour + Live Music with Matt McBride, 4pm-8pm, 21+ Lost On Main: Shook Twins// Marty O’Reilly & The Old School Orchestra. 9pm, 21+ Monstros: Glitter Wizard, HEAVYASSDICK (formerly Witch Dick), Trox & The Terribles. 8pm, all ages, $5
12 Friday
1078 Gallery: Boom City (CD Release), Fight Music, United Defiance, Michelin Embers. 7:30pm, all ages, $5 Blue Room: A Christmas Carol, 7:30pm, all ages. Followed by The Bare Bones Theatre Project Presents “Season’s Greetings” by David Sedaris, 10:30pm-midnight, 18+, $10 Cafe Coda: Circle of Songs: Alli Battaglia, Jeremy Gerrard, Mark McKinnon, and Friends. 7:30pm, all ages. Chico Theater Company: White Christmas, 7:30pm, all ages LaSalles: Happy Hour + Live Music with Cee Dub, 4pm-8pm, then Hooligans on at 10pm. 21+ Lost On Main: Winter Lambstock featuring Swamp Zen & Dylan’s Dharma
Ongoing Events: Maltese: Sons of Jefferson with Matthew Songmaker, Cole Thomason, 4 Pounds of Lightning. 9pm, 21+ Paradise Grange: Bright Blue Gorilla. Dinner at 6pm/$7, Drinks/$4. Show 7pm-10pm, all ages, $15 Women’s Club: Chikoko’s Voom Voom Variety Show, 6:30pm, all ages
13 Saturday
Blue Room: A Christmas Carol, 7:30pm, all ages. Followed by The Bare Bones Theatre Project Presents “Season’s Greetings” by David Sedaris, 10:30pm-midnight, 18+, $10 Cafe Coda: BOGG: CD Release with Pat Hull and Aubrey Debauchery. 7:30pm, all ages. Chico Theater Company: White Christmas, 7:30pm, all ages King’s Tavern (Paradise): Get Foxy, Sofa King. 9pm-1:30, 21+, free. LaSalles: Happy Hour + Live Music with This Glass Haus, 4pm-8pm, 21+ Lost On Main: English Beat, Black Fong. 9pm, 21+, $20 presale, $30 after presale are gone/at door Maltese: The She Things, Bunnymilk, Los New Huevos. 9pm, 21+, $5 Senator Theater: Exodus. 7pm, $18 in advance, $20 at the door. Women’s Club: Bizarre Bazaar. 10am5pm, all ages
14 Sunday
Blue Room: A Christmas Carol, 2pm, all ages. Chico Theater Company: White Christmas, 2pm, all ages Pageant Theatre: Bright Blue Gorilla screens their new film “Go With Le Flo” Women’s Club: Bizarre Bazaar. 10am-5pm, all ages
8 Monday
100th Monkey: Healing Light Meditation, 7pm-8:15pm The Bear: Bear-E-oke! 9pm Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am-4pm Chico Womens Club: Prenatal Yoga. 5:30-6:30pm DownLo: Open Mic Comedy Night. Free. Maltese: Open Mic Music, Signups at 8pm, starts at 9pm. Mug Night 7-11:30pm The Tackle Box: Latin Dance Classes. Free, 7-9pm University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Yoga Center Of Chico: Sound Healing w. Emiliano (no relation). Breathwork, Meditation, Healing.
9 Tuesday
100th Monkey: Fusion Belly Dance mixed-level class, with BellySutra. $8/ class or $32/month. 6pm The Bear: Open Jam Night, featuring a different live band opening each week. Bring instruments, 9pm-1:30am Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am-4pm Chico Women’s Club: Yoga. 9-10am. Afro Carribean Dance. $10/class or $35/ mo. 5:50-7pm. Crazy Horse Saloon: All Request Karaoke. 21+ DownLo: Game night. All ages until 10pm Holiday Inn Bar: Salsa Lessons, 7-10pm LaSalles: ’90s night. 21+ Panama Bar: Tropical Tuesdays ft. Mack Morris & DJ2K. 10pm Studio Inn Lounge: Karaoke. 8:30pm1am The Tackle Box: Karaoke, 9pm University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Woodstocks: Trivia Challenge. Call at 4pm to reserve a table. Starts 6:30pm
10 Wednesday
The Bear: Trike Races. Post time 10pm Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am-4pm Chico Women’s Club: Afro Brazilian Dance. 5:30-7pm
DownLo: Wednesday night jazz. 8 Ball Tournament, signups 6pm, starts 7pm Duffys: Dance Night! DJ Spenny, Lois, and Jeff Howse. $1, 9pm Farm Star Pizza: Live Jazz with Carey Robinson and Friends. 6pm-8pm The Graduate: Free Pool after 10pm The Maltese: Friends With Vinyl! Bring your vinyl and share up to 3 songs/12 minutes on the turntable. 9pm-1am The Tackle Box: Line Dance classes. Free, 5:30-7:30pm. Swing Dance classes. Free, 7:30-9:30pm University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Woodstocks: Trivia Night plus Happy Hour. call at 4pm to reserve a table. Starts at 8pm
11 Thursday
The Beach: Live DJ, no cover, 9pm Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am-4pm DownLo: Live Jazz. 8-11pm. All ages until 10pm The Graduate: Free Pool after 10pm Has Beans Downtown: Open Mic Night. 7-10pm. Signups start at 6pm Holiday Inn Bar: Karaoke. 8pm-midnight LaSalles: Free live music on the patio. 6-9pm Maltese: Karaoke. 9pm-close Panama Bar: Buck night and DJ Eclectic & guests on the patio. 9pm Pleasant Valley Rec Center: CARD World Dance Classes. 6-7pm/youth 1017, 7-8:30pm/adults. $20/4classes Quackers: Karaoke night with Andy. 9pm-1am Tackle Box: Karaoke. 9pm-1am, 21+ University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm Woodstocks: Open Mic Night Yoga Center Of Chico: Ecstatic Dance with Clay Olson. 7:30-9:30pm
12 Friday
The Beach: Live DJ, 9pm Cafe Coda: Friday Morning Jazz with Bogg, happy hour. 10am-2pm Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am-4pm Chico Creek Dance Center: Chico international folk dance club. 7:30pm, $2
DownLo: ½ off pool. All ages until 10pm. Live Music, 8pm Duffys: Pub Scouts - Happy Hour. 4-7pm The Graduate: Free Pool after 10pm Holiday Inn Bar: DJ Dance Party. 8pmmidnight LaSalles: Open Mic night on the patio. 6-9pm Maltese: Happy hour with live jazz by Bogg. 5-7pm. LGBTQ+ Dance Party. 9pm Panama Bar: Jigga Julee, DJ Mah on the patio. 9pm Peeking: BassMint. Weekly electronic dance party. $1-$5. 9:30pm Quackers: Live DJ. 9pm Sultan’s Bistro: Bellydance Performance. 6:30-7:30pm University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm
13 Saturday
The Beach: Live DJ, 9pm Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am-4pm DownLo: 9 Ball tournament. Signups at noon, starts at 1pm. All ages until 10pm The Graduate: Free Pool after 10pm Holiday Inn Bar: DJ Dancing. 70s and 80s music. The Molly Gunn’s Revival! 8pm-midnight LaSalles: 80’s Night. 8pm-close Panama Bar: DJ Eclectic on the patio. 9pm Tackle Box: Karaoke. 8:30pm-midnight, 21+ University Bar: Free Pool 6-8pm
14 Sunday
Chico Art Center: Salon d’Art, a holiday sale by local artists. 10am4pm 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 10pm LaSalles: Karaoke. 9pm Maltese: Live Jazz 4-7pm. Trivia 8pm Followed by: Smashed Spelling Bee. 9pm.Trivia 8pm Tackle Box: Karaoke, 8pm
FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 15
Faster Than the Speed of Reason TECHNOLOGY HAS TURNED MY LAPTOP INTO A DOORSTOP, HOW TO MAKE RAIN, AND SOME THOUGHTS ON HOW MEDIA DISTORTS OUR COLLECTIVE PERCEPTIONS OF EACH OTHER I decided to get fancy and enter into the early part of the 21st century by wirelessly connecting my laptop to our newly acquired, high-speed internet line. I write this column each week on my laptop, and I figured I could use the internet connection to fact-check, and to submit the column via email. Typically I transfer this to our desktop computer to do all that technical stuff. Well the plan may have been sound, but this has turned out to grind progress to a halt. My laptop is what you might call “vintage.” It might even be pre-millennium. It is definitely slow, and big, and apparently unable to multi-task. Being connected to the internet and serving as a word processor is simply too much for the old beast, so it’s back to the old-world style for now.
it looks like it is going to come out lightcomplexioned and refreshing.
Rainmakers
It’s also equally dismaying to see how the word “thug” is now consistently being applied only by people being critical of the actions of African-Americans. It strikes me as code for certain words the racists know they can’t publicly use anymore.
You can thank Trish and me for all this rain. I got the Death or Glory completed just before the rains came. The final step calls for having a friend of ours come out with an earth mover and push a bunch of dirt back into the opening we dug out of one of the earth berms, and then to cover the roof of the buried pub with a layer of soil. Well, moving earth requires at least a week of dry weather, so the machines can move and so the soil doesn’t disintegrate as it is being pushed around and picked up. We haven’t had even a few days of dry weather in a row, and it’s starting to look like the grand opening may be delayed until the spring. You’re welcome, California.
On The Town 16
PHOTOS BY VINCE LATHAM FACEBOOK.COM/VANGUARD.PHOTOGRAPHY
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
That’s okay, more wines will be ready to drink by then anyhow. The most recent batch I started is about two and a half gallons of persimmon wine. At first glance and taste
Observations on Ferguson The on-going protests and debate over police officer Darren Wilson’s shooting of unarmed teenager Michael Brown has been at times uplifting and at other times hopeless and harrowing. I find myself consistently dismayed when outside observers lump all the residents of Ferguson together, as if they are a homogenous, cohesive unit that share a single, pulsing brain. It’s insulting to human beings. We are not of a single mind, any of us. We are each our own unique individual set of experiences and ideas, we each walk our own path through this world.
It would be good if we could stop making grand sweeping judgments of our fellow humans based on the media portrayal of these individuals when they are at their worst. This goes for African-Americans, white people, Plutonians, Martians, Vesuvians, cops, protesters, what have you. If you took any one of us and highlighted us in the midst of our very worst moments, I’d wager we’d all pretty much look like monsters.
Immaculate Infection
by Bob Howard
Madbob@madbob.com
The Cost of Convenience AND THE PRICE OF A MEMORY Everyone can acknowledge that in current American society, the price of any random goodie from a convenience store generally costs more than that same random goodie would cost when purchased from a larger location such as a department store, grocery store, etc. When asked why this occurs, everyone notes that the answer lies in the name: convenience store. You pay more because you’re paying for the product plus the convenience of getting that product at this location (while you’re concurrently fueling your vehicle, for example.) The concept is related to that old adage, “Time is Money,” which is a phrase worthy of much consideration in a later column. Say your random goodie was a pair of earmuffs, because it’s a particularly chilly day. The cold is bothering you sufficiently that you’ll buy a pair here for five bucks, even if they are flimsy. You just want them to last through the day, until you get home and dig out your favorite winter hat. When you get home, you toss the earmuffs in a closet and never wear them again. Alternatively, you could have saved those five bucks, drove five minutes to a thrift store and purchased sturdy earmuffs for three bucks. Yet when you got home, you discarded these earmuffs into the closet just the same. Various other possibilities exist—you suffer for a few minutes and buy no earmuffs; you decide to order the top rated/expensive earmuffs online—but all of them engage a balance of want, time, and money. We’re in the midst of the seasonal sales storm, and there are innumerable Sirens
of Convenience, singing their songs to lure you in, Ulysses. It’s a rare moment when the price of convenience is reversed: the stores are desperately seeking to make things as convenient as possible for you for this small window of days. Ask yourself—what makes my time and money and attention more important or valuable on Black Friday/Cyber Monday than it’s worth any other day of the year? One answer, by no means exhaustive or even most accurate, is that the company is paying you for your positive memory. The psychological attachment we make to gifts we purchase for others often gives us a good feeling that we attach to the store or seller or product. The same product, purchased on a random day (e.g. July 19) even for the same price won’t give us the same internal oomph (neural connection) that a holiday purchase will—and that’s worth it all, in the eyes of the store. (If you mentally pictured the fox trapping the gingerbread man, I’m sorry that metaphor seems apt.) This week’s assignment, dear reader, continues on the trend of internal examination. Think about a store you like shopping at. Ponder how much you would spend on the same products if they were sold in a dusty horror movie basement. The difference tells you how much of the cost of the product is tied to the store experience.
The Frugal Terran by TripHazard
PHOTOS BY VINCE LATHAM FACEBOOK.COM/VANGUARD.PHOTOGRAPHY
On The Town
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The State of the Commons, Part Three Dig this proliferation: The Beer-ware License, the Do What The Fuck You Want To Public License, the Inconsiderate License, the Unlicense. Here’s some of the Nietzsche Public License:
Sitting With Fear At the Movies “How’s the movie?” whispered a voice next to me. My heart jumped, and my head turned sharply to the adjacent seat that I’d thought empty. “I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch tha… uh…” The chair was still empty… mostly. My forehead creased in concentration; I could make out a violet fuzziness, and I felt a certain faintly familiar presence emanating from it. “Ah… Do I know you?” “Sure you do,” came the whispered reply, “I’m your fear.” A ripple passed through its fuzziness. “I thought it’d be nice to sit through a movie with you. It’s been awhile since we did this, you know!” A quick glance around the theatre made it clear that no one else was aware of my slightly visible companion. With a shrug, I told myself the chair to my right was indeed empty, and I turned to the movie with renewed focus. Denial has never been my strongest trait. I started to sweat; my shoulders tensed up. The people on the screen were speaking English, but I couldn’t follow the dialogue for more than a few words at a time before my mind trailed off into vague worries about where my life was heading. It was no use. I gave a sigh and made to leave the theatre—then stopped. The slight fuzziness distorting the space of that adjacent chair had returned, and I could feel it regarding me. “Hey there! I lost you for a moment,” it whispered. A tingle flashed up my arms and stood my hairs on end, and I could hear something like laughter. “It’s easy to forget that you think you’re real!” 18
SYNTHESISWEEKLY.COM DECEMBER 8 2014
“That I’m real?!” I exclaimed, then blushed furiously as a woman sitting near turned to shush me. “I think I’m real?” I whispered. “You’re the hallucination here. You said yourself, you’re my fear. You’re in my mind, I’m the one imagining you.” More of that tingling laughter passed up and down my forearms. “Whatever you say, Howl,” the fuzziness replied. It said nothing more, and after glaring at its violet hue for a moment, I turned to watch the movie. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world to sit there with my fear, but it wasn’t so bad, either. Knowing it was all right there in that chair gave me a sort of peace: knowing that, for the moment, it wasn’t an invisible, insidious force, undermining me from within, without my conscious knowledge.
Copyright is dead. Copyright remains dead, and we have killed it. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? [...] What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become authors simply to appear worthy of it? Most of these licenses aren’t so poetic. All I listed and many more are compliant with the Copyfree Initiative, which works on “way[s] to make both your life and others’ lives easier, to enhance the visibility of both creators and their works, and in general to make the world a better place.” These licenses are for use with all sorts of creative work from software to songs to the historic sophistry and scholarship of Gates Foundation grant-recipients.
I gave a shout at a sharp poke in my side. “Check these out!” it whispered. The violet distortion was holding a small pair of very physical binoculars.
They serve the purpose of allowing the creator(s) of the work to selectively expand upon the default liberties granted to those who buy or otherwise acquire the copyrighted material. This is achieved by posting a license that compliments and/or renders toothless some or all aspects of copyright. If you’re confused with my use of “buy”, let me clarify that creators can charge money for purchases of these works. Offering products free of cost is not a prerequisite for using any of these licenses.
My hands only trembled a little as I reached for them, then looked through them at the space where my fear sat.
These diverse developments of alternatives to the current copyright system are of immediate concern (at least to fetishists like me) because:
What I saw was not in the shape of a person. There was instead a mass of bubbles, or spheres, rolling, floating around each other, most of them a deep cobalt blue, with a few blazing a radiant red. When it spoke now, all the spheres could be seen vibrating with the words. “I just got these red ones! How do they look?”
In the United States, as of 1988 when the nation joined the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works (also known as the Berne Copyright Convention) copyright is applied automatically to all new works, in contrast to the former system of requisite, formal registration.
Howl howlmovesmountains.tumblr.com
Plenty of high-minded collusion among noble, unelected pillars of humanity such as the World Intellectual Property Organization and the United Nations led to the majority of nations of the developed world, U.S. included,
drafting a standard minimum copyright term of “Life + 70 years”. There is a vast spectrum of ideologies, initiatives, and licenses between copyfree and traditional copyright. Bill & Melinda Gates’ foundation recently decided to require (effective Jan. 2015) all their grant-funded research to be licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license (CC BY). The open source web browser I’m using to write this column, Mozilla’s Firefox, licenses its software with an infectious copyleft license of their own design, while using CC’s ShareAlike license (CC BY-SA) for their documentation. Lastly are CC’s NonCommercial and NoDerivatives clauses, both of which cast a chilling effect upon this columnist/producer. They’re widely used, but beyond the scope of this column and my legal understanding. These disparate approaches all fall under a copyright reform and circumvention umbrella, but their differences clearly illustrate a common growing pain of social change; that is the difficulty of achieving a broad consensus on the ideals as viewed under the microscope of the law. (Holy smokes! I almost capitalized and printed that last word in red.) Our conscious thoughts are remixes, derivations, and (at our most lax) copies. The etymology of com-pose can be traced back via the French and Latin languages to mean putting together an arrangement and laying it down. Many believe this behaviour is what allowed us to reach our current status as Big Man over all Earthly things. Freedom, fuck yeah.
Free Culture by Alex O’Brien amateurzen.us
On The Town
PHOTOS BY JESSICA SID FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 19
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GREAT SHORT STORIES Lotus Land, written by local writer William Wong Foey Local writer William Wong Foey author of best selling novel: Winter Melon releases his new book Lotus Land, a short story collection of bold and amazing stories of desire, despair, courage, and redemption. Available at Lyon’s Book Store at 135 Main (Chico) and in paperback & e-book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, & Direct Music Cafe. A special thanks to all the people who purchased my debut novel: Winter Melon. ADVERTISMENT 20
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DECEMBER 8 2014
by logan kruidenier logankruidenier.tumblr.com
December 8, 2014 – By Koz McKev Aries
Taurus
Gemini
Cancer
Leo
Virgo
You are ready to have a more exciting life. You have daredevil friends around you who will help lead the way. Put more energy into future planning. Pay more attention to your studies. Wednesday and Thursday are high powered creative energy days for you. Good fortune is at every bend in the road. Venus moves into your midheaven allowing you to do something beautiful. The weekend looks good for taking care of business, getting organized, paying attention to health issues or working for a charitable cause.
Dark times can make for some good art. There would be no blues if it wasn’t for hard times, we make lemonade out of lemons, and we repair garments with old rejected scraps. During the first part of the week it’s good to focus on personal ambitions. Venus moves into your ninth house Wednesday inspiring long distance relationships, musical projects, and exploring the creativity of other cultures. The weekend looks good for creative projects, love affairs or just playing with your kids. You may need to borrow money in order to fulfill your ambitions.
Everything valuable needs to be done for love. This week you come down from last weekend’s full moon. It’s time to take care of your personal life. You might need winter clothes or snow tires for your truck. You’ll maintain a good relationship to others by paying your bills and following through on your propositions. Practice diplomacy and be the lover that you wish you had. The weekend looks good for visiting parents, taking care of domestic duties, and researching your family history. Partner up with people who have a vision.
You begin the week on a strong note with the moon in Cancer on Monday and Tuesday. You are conscious of what you need to do to get things right. Avoid being too much of a perfectionist but attempt to retain some sort of order. Continue to watch your health and avoid excess sweets. Be a team player. Group projects go well during this period. Your love life gets more interesting as Venus visits your seventh house. The weekend looks good for short trips, educational projects and getting caught up on the local gossip.
Good times continue to roll for you. With Jupiter in your first house and the sun transiting your fifth house, being both conscious and playful comes easy to you. Enjoy your children more if you have kids. Spend more time on creative projects. Let loose your inner clown on occasion. The moon will be in Leo the evening of the ninth through the wee hours of the twelfth. Your influence is strong and people are attracted to your warm hearted generosity. The weekend looks good for focusing on finances, family and food planning.
This is where staying home and cabin fever begin. This is a good time to honor your parents as well as grandparents and elders. You tend to do things to make yourself feel more comfortable. Even if you don’t have immediate family near by you tend to gather a tribe of people around you. You are slowly able to take on more responsibilities. The weekend will feature the moon in Virgo. You can expect to be busier and more popular. Stay on task with your career keeping a balance with your family concerns. Venus moving through your fifth house will make you
Libra
Scorpio
Sagittarius
Capricorn
Aquarius
Pisces
Clear communication is what it’s all about. Have you ever fudged the truth so that what you’re saying sounds nicer to the person listening? They may feel good, yet they clearly don’t understand what you meant. Now is the time to focus on your local environment. Venus moves into your fourth house this week possibly inspiring some home decorating for the holidays. You’re likely to be a little more introspective and a little more oriented towards your personal feelings. The weekend looks good for laying low and catching up on sleep or for helping someone that’s isolated.
Not all values are shared universally. Men holding hands tends to mean different things in different cultures. Begin the week by being open to learning new things. Career and economic opportunities are especially strong on Wednesday and Thursday. Learn the art of giving someone a compliment. The weekend should rev up your social life. The right people will show up at the right time. Be practical with the gifts you share with others. Be aware of ways in which you can improve your domestic situation.
Social networking and spontaneous planning are two of your strong points. As you strike out in the world and present your new manifesto realize that everyone else may or may not be on the same page. On Wednesday and Thursday you are able to appeal to a larger audience and are able to adjust your goals to fit a larger picture. It will be difficult to resist sweets and luxuries as Venus passes through your second house. The weekend looks good for displaying your talents and skills. Be aware of the ways you fulfill others expectations.
Your romantic life could improve some this week. The moon will be in your seventh house Monday and Tuesday firing up amorous activity. On Wednesday Venus moves into your first house making you more approachable and attractive.A warning you before you jump in with both feet: Your sun is transiting the twelfth house of your own undoing, thus what appears to be real on the surface may have some hidden flaws. The weekend looks good for travel and education. Make it a point to help others who are isolated and the good karma will
You are super charged up and ready to go with Mars in your first house. A spirit of independence has taken over. You appear to be more dynamic and physically capable. Begin the week by taking care of the details and doing some organizing. By Wednesday and Thursday you’ll be engaged with negotiations, confrontations, romance and conscious opportunities. Good friends are always nearby to help you. The weekend may require some letting go as well as allowing other people to help you reach your goal.
A strength exists in you that you allow few people to see. Your best talents and skills are being seen. In many ways you’ve been able to rise up to leadership. You are aware of what the public demands from you. With Mars in the twelfth house it’s possible that someone deceptive doesn’t have your best interests at heart. You begin the week coming from your heart in an open and positive manner. Some of your toughest work will be done on Wednesday and Thursday. By the weekend you’ll be ready for relaxation, romance and recreation.
Koz McKev is on YouTube, on cable 11 BCTV and is heard on 90.1FM KZFR Chico. Also available by appointment for personal horoscopes call (530)891-5147 or e-mail kozmickev@sunset.net
FACEBOOK.COM/SYNTHESISCHICO 21
DREADLOCKS, ENTERTAINMENT My hair is longer than it has ever been before, and I’ve been considering going rasta and trying dreadlocks again, or maybe allowing dreadlocks to form, since I’ve heard that if I don’t do anything—including combing or brushing it—dreads will happen with no effort on my part. “You see what can happen when you don’t brush your hair?”
head start the dreadlocks would be delighted to stay that way, if they were on their way there anyway, but no. The initial teasing and wrapping and massaging is the beginning of what looked at the time like a lifetime of careful tending, which sent chills down my spine, and after a week or so I undid all his good work and settled for a tiny ponytail. My ponytail is a few inches long now, and I might be ready to try dreads again, but probably not. Now my son has dreads, as does his lover and their housemate. I admire their hair.
I met a young woman once whose dreads were neat and orderly enough to satisfy my old-school leanings, and I complimented her. She was old-school enough to respond politely and new-school enough to give me some new information. She said that a friend of hers had cautioned her about referring to them as “dreads” or “dreadlocks,” because of the words’ etymology. She said the terms had come about because the Europeans, presumably English, who first encountered people with hair like that had found the look “dreadful.” So her friend had told her that she shouldn’t say “dreads.” Silly. I don’t know if any of it is true, and it’s silly anyway.
I watch a lot of stuff on YouTube and Netflix and sometimes Hulu, and I’ve run across some gems that you might not like and that I’ll tell you about anyway. I love Julia LouisDreyfus, and Veep is as well written and smart as she deserves. Tony Hale as her assistant is a bonus.
No sane person thinks of dreadlocks as “dreadful.” I used to, but I’m not so crazy anymore. I remember approving of dreadlocks primarily because I thought they made me look better for lack of them. Last year my son made dreads for me. My hair wasn’t very long then, and I didn’t find the pickaninny look flattering, but the dreads had to go for a different reason altogether— dreadlocks are a lot of work. Making each dreadlock is as tedious as one might want, and after hours of work it’s still not over because, left alone, the dreadlocks would start to come apart. I had thought that with a
True Detective is dark and gritty and as well done as anything that’s ever been. I admit cringing occasionally and putting off an episode until I thought I was ready, but I couldn’t stop watching altogether. It’s as good as The Sopranos. It’s as good as Breaking Bad or Rome. It’s probably as good as Game of Thrones, but I haven’t seen that yet. I have a penchant for British television, and there’s hardly anything better than QI or Knowing Me, Knowing You with Alan Partridge or The Catherine Tate Show or Mock the Week or Clatterford or Absolutely Fabulous or A Bit of Fry and Laurie or That Mitchell and Webb Look or Black Adder or Never Mind the Buzzcocks. Take heed.
From The Edge
by Anthony Peyton Porter A@anthonypeytonporter.com
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