"Oh, dear, what is wrong with your hair?" my grandma said in her faint English accent to my mother. "It looks like a rat's nest!"
And thus began another semi-annual visit from the maternal grandparents. It seems like every time they come to town, the dysfunction seems to grow exponentially. And I can always expect my grandma taking over the television like a media-hungry fascist because she just needs to watch C.S.I. at ear-splitting levels and my grandpa drunkenly trying to teach me sudoku. It was definitely going to be yet another memorable visit.
As they got all their suitcases inside the house and unleashed all of their miscellaneous food stuffs like generic brand salsa and millions of juice boxes onto our unsuspecting kitchen, my family braced themselves for three full days of God knows what before they went to sunny Arizona for the winter.
After Grandma finally settled down and complained about her swollen ankles for 10 minutes too many, she asked where dinner was, expecting to be fed on the spot. Well, judging from all of the food they dragged in, I assumed it was here.
"Well, I was expecting pizza, or a calzone," she said as she scowled at my mother, who apparently didn't get the memo.
I looked at Grandpa, who just shrugged and reached for the vodka bottle he stashed in my grandma's walker. Nice. At least he came prepared.
And thus began the search for Hawaiian style pizza and the elusive calzone with sausage, peperroni and green peppers. My mom and I noted their order and ran to her red SUV of sanctuary, giving each other a look of relief to escape the almost realistic sounding gunshots coming from C.S.I.
"Remind me never to do that to you when I get older," my mom said. "Otherwise, just put a pillow over my face and put me out of my misery."
We drove aimlessly around Elk Grove, trying to remember the nearest pizza place that made tailor-made calzones. We drove up to Lampost Pizza and looked at the menu which seemed to be in fine print and saw no calzones. Great. We loaded back into the car and arrived at Pizza Guys. We asked the girl behind the counter, who had face full of makeup about five shades too dark and three layers too thick, if calzones were available. She looked around clueless as if a calzone was a thing of myth and legend.
We finally consulted 411 and went to Pizza Bell, nestled discreetly in Old Elk Grove. Our pizza prayers had been answered, but only about 40 minutes too late as we were reminded by an angry phone call from Grandma.
"I have to eat before seven, or my blood sugar will be low! Where are you getting pizza from, Italy?"
I guess she was going to either slip into a diabetic coma or turn into a pumpkin. Or both.
We finally came back with the bounty of gooey, cheesy goodness to the elation of my grandparents and brother (who had the daunting task of entertaining them while we were away). After we took in a sweet 15 minutes of silence, Grandma was ready for a round of shopping at T.J. Maxx. I looked at her plate and only about a quarter of the calzone had disappeared. All of that driving, endless nagging, and dropping eight bucks for a glorified pastry that she barely touched. Talk about frustration. Not that I could let Grandma know anyway, unless I had a death wish.
We all looked at each other and shook our heads in unison. Grandpa chugged the rest of his vodka down, preparing himself for the perilous journey ahead. The feeling of defeat was definitely looming in the air.
Well, on the bright side, at least I could take solace that my grandma didn't ask if I was a lesbian this time.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Surviving Hurricane Grandma
"Oh, dear, what is wrong with your hair?," she said in her faint English accent to my mother. "It looks like a rat's nest!"
And thus began another semi-annual visit from the maternal grandparents. It seems like every time they come to town, the dysfunction seems to grow exponentially. But there's always the norm of my grandma taking over the television like a media-hungry fascist because she just needs to watch C.S.I. at ear-splitting levels and my grandpa drunkenly trying to teach me sudoku. It seemed like it was going to be yet another memorable visit.
As they got all their suitcases inside the house and unleashed all of their miscellaneous food stuffs like generic brand salsa and millions of juice boxes onto our unsuspecting kitchen, my family braced themselves for three full days of God knows what before they went to sunny Arizona for the winter.
Once Grandma sat down (and complained about her ankles swelling for a good 10 minutes), she asked where dinner was. Well, judging from all of the food they dragged in, I assumed it was here.
"Well, I was expecting pizza, or a calzone," she said as she scowled at my mother, who apparently didn't get the memo.
I looked at Grandpa, who just shrugged and reached for the vodka bottle he stashed in my grandma's walker. Nice. At least he came prepared.
And thus began the search for Hawaiian style pizza and the elusive calzone with sausage, peperoni and green peppers. My mom and I noted their order and ran to her red SUV of sanctuary, giving each other a look of relief to escape the almost realistic sounding gunshots coming from C.S.I.
"Remind me never to do that to you when I get older," my mom said. "Otherwise, just put a pillow over my face and put me out of my misery."
We drove aimlessly around Elk Grove, trying to remember the nearest pizza place that made tailor-made calzones. We drove up to Lampost Pizza and looked at the menu which seemed to be in fine print and saw no calzones. Great. We loaded back into the car and arrived at Pizza Guys. We asked the girl behind the counter, who had face makeup about five shades too dark and three layers too thick, if they made calzones. She looked around clueless as if a calzone was a thing of myth and legend.
We finally consulted 411 and went to Pizza Bell, nestled discreetly in Old Elk Grove. Our pizza prayers had been answered, but only about 40 minutes too late as we were reminded by an angry phone call from Grandma.
"I have to eat before seven, or my blood sugar will be low! Where are you getting pizza from, Italy?"
I guess she was going to turn into a pumpkin in a diabetic coma.
We finally came back with the bounty of gooey, cheesy goodness to the elation of my grandparents and brother (who had the daunting task of entertaining them while we were away). After a sweet 15 minutes of silence, Grandma was ready for a round of shopping at T.J. Maxx. We all looked at each other and shook our heads in unison.
We loaded up the SUV and packed my grandma's red scooter, which later in the parking lot was used as a means of near-suicide by her cutting in front of cars and putting her hand out expecting them to, well, actually stop. As my mom and grandma raided the jewelry counter, I sat with my grandpa near the front of the store who was falling asleep in his chair. I leaned against him, thinking that he had the right idea.
The night proceeded with modeling jewelry, loud commercials for pharmaceuticals and stories of Vietnam. Before we knew it, they were ready to call it a night.
Well, at least my grandma didn't ask if I was a lesbian again this time.
And thus began another semi-annual visit from the maternal grandparents. It seems like every time they come to town, the dysfunction seems to grow exponentially. But there's always the norm of my grandma taking over the television like a media-hungry fascist because she just needs to watch C.S.I. at ear-splitting levels and my grandpa drunkenly trying to teach me sudoku. It seemed like it was going to be yet another memorable visit.
As they got all their suitcases inside the house and unleashed all of their miscellaneous food stuffs like generic brand salsa and millions of juice boxes onto our unsuspecting kitchen, my family braced themselves for three full days of God knows what before they went to sunny Arizona for the winter.
Once Grandma sat down (and complained about her ankles swelling for a good 10 minutes), she asked where dinner was. Well, judging from all of the food they dragged in, I assumed it was here.
"Well, I was expecting pizza, or a calzone," she said as she scowled at my mother, who apparently didn't get the memo.
I looked at Grandpa, who just shrugged and reached for the vodka bottle he stashed in my grandma's walker. Nice. At least he came prepared.
And thus began the search for Hawaiian style pizza and the elusive calzone with sausage, peperoni and green peppers. My mom and I noted their order and ran to her red SUV of sanctuary, giving each other a look of relief to escape the almost realistic sounding gunshots coming from C.S.I.
"Remind me never to do that to you when I get older," my mom said. "Otherwise, just put a pillow over my face and put me out of my misery."
We drove aimlessly around Elk Grove, trying to remember the nearest pizza place that made tailor-made calzones. We drove up to Lampost Pizza and looked at the menu which seemed to be in fine print and saw no calzones. Great. We loaded back into the car and arrived at Pizza Guys. We asked the girl behind the counter, who had face makeup about five shades too dark and three layers too thick, if they made calzones. She looked around clueless as if a calzone was a thing of myth and legend.
We finally consulted 411 and went to Pizza Bell, nestled discreetly in Old Elk Grove. Our pizza prayers had been answered, but only about 40 minutes too late as we were reminded by an angry phone call from Grandma.
"I have to eat before seven, or my blood sugar will be low! Where are you getting pizza from, Italy?"
I guess she was going to turn into a pumpkin in a diabetic coma.
We finally came back with the bounty of gooey, cheesy goodness to the elation of my grandparents and brother (who had the daunting task of entertaining them while we were away). After a sweet 15 minutes of silence, Grandma was ready for a round of shopping at T.J. Maxx. We all looked at each other and shook our heads in unison.
We loaded up the SUV and packed my grandma's red scooter, which later in the parking lot was used as a means of near-suicide by her cutting in front of cars and putting her hand out expecting them to, well, actually stop. As my mom and grandma raided the jewelry counter, I sat with my grandpa near the front of the store who was falling asleep in his chair. I leaned against him, thinking that he had the right idea.
The night proceeded with modeling jewelry, loud commercials for pharmaceuticals and stories of Vietnam. Before we knew it, they were ready to call it a night.
Well, at least my grandma didn't ask if I was a lesbian again this time.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Long Island band releases dark, eccentric fourth album
After three years of absence since their release of The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me, the Long Island group Brand New have put their newest (and secretive) effort forward with their simply titled Daisy. But don't let the album title fool you into thinking that this indie group has gone soft, as this release brings forth a louder, darker, albeit mature and complex feeling this time around. Along with the change in sound comes another notable change for the band. Instead of singer Jesse Lacey writing the majority of the record, that job has gone to guitarist Vincent Accardi. This may disappoint those who are looking for Lacey's biting and introspective lyrics, but the average listener may not even notice the change without looking at the liner notes, as Lacey delivers his heart-wrenching vocals as expected.
The album's opening track "Vices" starts off with haunting, gritty old recording of a woman singing in tandem with a piano. One might even question if they're even listening to a Brand New record to begin with, but just as doubt sets in, the band sets in with an assault of lo-fi guitars, pulsing drums and Lacey screaming, letting the listener know what they're in for for the rest of the record. This initial track draws comparisons to grunge greats like Nirvana and Sonic Youth with the use of messy guitars and shrill vocal work.
The second track "Bed" completely polarizes from the belligerent "Vices" showing the more familiar, mellow side of the band that one might have heard of The Devil and God..., slowly making the album a little easier to take in as a whole. Although the territory may be somewhat familiar, the band adds a sense of darkness and mystery that was absent from their previous works. This dark ambiance definitely sets the tone for the rest of the album.
The band's first single from Daisy, "At The Bottom", has rapidly drawn comparisons among fans to bands like Nirvana and even vocally to Modest Mouse. The vocal delivery from Lacey is definitely different this time around having a certain "twang" and the arrangement itself does have a grunge-era edge, but nevertheless, the track is distinctly Brand New. Their trademark sinister lyrics are still prevalent as ever, with lyrics that would make even the most seasoned Brand New fan cringe a little. Lacey screams, "I'd serve you drugs on a silver plate, If I thought it would help you get away".
The album seems to deter a bit with the filler track "Be Gone". The peculiar track begins with a southern guitar riff accompanied by choppy, indiscernible vocals. It's almost as if the members of the band said, "Hey, we're bored. Let's play with the production equipment while the producer is away for 90 seconds and see what happens".
But, thankfully, the pace and sensibility picks up with the songs "Sink" and the bombastic "Bought a Bride". The band makes another sonic assault with pounding drum lines, noisy guitar, and angry vocals. The morbidity we've all come to know and love from the band is stronger than ever, with Lacey proclaiming in the song "Sink": "I don't want to let you go, but it hurts my hands to hold the rope".
All and all, Brand New has once again put out a applause-worthy album. Those looking for some nostalgia and pop-punk sensibility from the Deja Entendu days, or even expecting something along the lines of The Devil and God... will be sorely disappointed. Brand New has used experimentation to their advantage and have a produced an aggressive and evocative outing this time around. Even though there are some bumps along the way, Daisy is a fun, although sometimes strange ride.
Album in-stores September 22, 2009
http://www.fightoffyourdemons.com
http://www.myspace.com/brandnew
Monday, September 7, 2009
CSUS Campus Protests, Falls Short
With the faint sound of the “Furlough Blues” being sung by student and faculty alike, the noon-time protest against fee increases and mandated furloughs on Sept. 2 was underway.
The group of around 200 converged upon Calif. State University Sacramento’s campus quad in an attempt to voice their frustration and unrest on the college’s Board of Trustees’ decision to manage the financial deficit left by the lack of state funding coming in. This decision includes raising student fees by 32 percent and forcing staff to take unpaid days off which adds up to a 10 percent cut in pay.
The hostility was definitely in the air, but seemed lack-luster due to the fact that a megaphone was seldom used. And when it was used, the message trying to be conveyed to the passing students seemed to be lost on them. Maybe it was because almost a quarter of those passing by had iPod ear buds in their ears, drowning out the anger the speakers were throwing out to their unenthused audience.
While the speakers consisting of students and staff did their short, seemingly hushed speeches, some staff had the daunting task of going around to the on-lookers begging them to do something, anything to stop this “madness” by passing out informational flyers. One such staff member pleaded to students to get everyone they knew to call or e-mail the college’s chancellor Charles Reed. He also suggested getting the older generation in on the fight saying that “the higher-ups only care about what the people with grey hair have to say because they vote and are involved. They don’t think the young ones have the voice to do it. So get your grandparents involved to help against fee increases.”
But let’s be honest, a good 75 percent of students at CSUS are in the age range of around 18 to 27 years old. They are adults, and they do not need Grandma and Grandpa helping them fight against the “tyrannical” actions of their college. By being adults, they should not scream and cry like children when something does not go their way (but without a megaphone, it really doesn’t give the same effect). This is a difficult time for almost everyone financially, and it could always be worse. In the instance for Calif. state workers, their pay cuts are up at 15 percent and state services have been compromised for the first three days of each month. Not only is it a burden on state workers financially, but it is also troubling for those looking to the state to get services rendered to them in a timely manner.
Another interesting not about these particular flyers is that they included contact information for the college’s president and chancellor and in bold letters at the bottom, the words “if you don’t complain, they’ll assume that everything is okay”. Well, of course it’s not okay. Paying more out of your pocket for anything is definitely a hindrance. But unfortunately, it is a necessary burden we have to bear, otherwise where else is the money going to come from to bridge the deficit? It might even come out of your Grandma’s and Grandpa’s social security or pension, so you might want to think twice about having them send an angry e-mail to the chancellor on your behalf.
But in any case, these are difficult times, and it does not help if one is being just as difficult. Look at our state government if you want a prime example of that. There needs to be some kind of flexibility and acceptance. This may be painful experience now, but hopefully this too shall pass.
The group of around 200 converged upon Calif. State University Sacramento’s campus quad in an attempt to voice their frustration and unrest on the college’s Board of Trustees’ decision to manage the financial deficit left by the lack of state funding coming in. This decision includes raising student fees by 32 percent and forcing staff to take unpaid days off which adds up to a 10 percent cut in pay.
The hostility was definitely in the air, but seemed lack-luster due to the fact that a megaphone was seldom used. And when it was used, the message trying to be conveyed to the passing students seemed to be lost on them. Maybe it was because almost a quarter of those passing by had iPod ear buds in their ears, drowning out the anger the speakers were throwing out to their unenthused audience.
While the speakers consisting of students and staff did their short, seemingly hushed speeches, some staff had the daunting task of going around to the on-lookers begging them to do something, anything to stop this “madness” by passing out informational flyers. One such staff member pleaded to students to get everyone they knew to call or e-mail the college’s chancellor Charles Reed. He also suggested getting the older generation in on the fight saying that “the higher-ups only care about what the people with grey hair have to say because they vote and are involved. They don’t think the young ones have the voice to do it. So get your grandparents involved to help against fee increases.”
But let’s be honest, a good 75 percent of students at CSUS are in the age range of around 18 to 27 years old. They are adults, and they do not need Grandma and Grandpa helping them fight against the “tyrannical” actions of their college. By being adults, they should not scream and cry like children when something does not go their way (but without a megaphone, it really doesn’t give the same effect). This is a difficult time for almost everyone financially, and it could always be worse. In the instance for Calif. state workers, their pay cuts are up at 15 percent and state services have been compromised for the first three days of each month. Not only is it a burden on state workers financially, but it is also troubling for those looking to the state to get services rendered to them in a timely manner.
Another interesting not about these particular flyers is that they included contact information for the college’s president and chancellor and in bold letters at the bottom, the words “if you don’t complain, they’ll assume that everything is okay”. Well, of course it’s not okay. Paying more out of your pocket for anything is definitely a hindrance. But unfortunately, it is a necessary burden we have to bear, otherwise where else is the money going to come from to bridge the deficit? It might even come out of your Grandma’s and Grandpa’s social security or pension, so you might want to think twice about having them send an angry e-mail to the chancellor on your behalf.
But in any case, these are difficult times, and it does not help if one is being just as difficult. Look at our state government if you want a prime example of that. There needs to be some kind of flexibility and acceptance. This may be painful experience now, but hopefully this too shall pass.
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