Sarah's Blog

All They Want For Christmas Is...

2009-12-06T14:12:00.000-08:00

So the holiday season is finally here. And what do we do to celebrate this tremendous occasion? Buy frivolous things in bulk, of course!

But I digress. Christmas is a pretty awesome holiday. Every year we always look forward to it and we attempt reflect on the year's milestones with our loved ones. That's if we're not knee-deep in newspaper ads or watching Christmas specials on television, of course. But regardless, this is the precise time to remember what's truly important in life.

It's not about the Playstation 3's, the iPod's or the ugly sweaters your grandma makes you every year (but admit it, you secretly really like them). It's about being thankful for everything you have in the here-and-now and giving to those who are unable to.

We have blown Christmas up into a business and a commodity rather than a celebration of what's important in our lives. Sit down, relax. The mall isn't going anywhere and you don't want to lug those big bags like a pack mule anyway. Instead, have a cup of hot chocolate and reminisce of holidays past. Plus, you don't have to get a gift receipt for that.

But despite the joy of the season we experience, we often take that for granted. We must remember those who don't have that luxury this time of year.

Instead of rushing into the store to get the "best prices" on materialistic things that may be used once or twice (if that at all), take a dollar or some pocket change and give it to a charity in front of the store every time you walk in. It may not be much (it's not like they're asking you to pull an Angelina Jolie or anything), but it goes a long way, and you can feel good about helping someone less fortunate out. Because that's what the season is all about, right? Right.

According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, the national unemployment rate is currently at 10 percent with a total of 135,000 jobs lost monthly. That means a lot of people won't be able to afford a Christmas this year.

As being a victim of this recession (twice!) and a victim of the seemingly unpredictable Unemployment Benefit Program, it's definitely hard to provide on meager wages set by the California government. But despite that, I'm thankful that I've managed to get back on my feet and am able to give a little bit of Christmas cheer this year.

Every Christmas I try and do a gift donation to a charity, like The Salvation Army Angel Giving Tree, and make someone's holiday a happy one. While looking at the wishlists this year, it's incredible that the simplest things are on the top of their Christmas list. Everything from a cartoon character toothbrush to even socks is what these kids want more than anything. It's also enlightening to me because we often take these things for granted, when some are struggling just to get the necessities.

So just remember not to be a Grinch and pay it forward. Not only will you be putting a smile on your loved ones' faces this Christmas, but you'll make others smile too. And happiness is one of the greatest gifts that you can give to others and yourself.

An Open Letter...

2009-12-05T14:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Lady Gaga,

First of all, how can anyone with that name be taken seriously? Whenever I hear some little girl with multi-colored skinny jeans and ratty hair go, "Oh my gawd, did you hear that new Lady Gaga song?", I honestly think that it's the new version of The Wiggles or Sesame Street. Seriously, stop making me feel so old. I still have some kind of reputation to uphold with my 22 years of age, you know.

But that's besides the point. I'm writing because I have a bone to pick with you, Ms. Gaga. You've been popping up on my radar more times than I can count lately. From your little stunt on the MTV VMA's to your new album The Fame Monster, you've been the talk of the town when it comes to the purveyors of pop culture. And trust me when I say I read gossip blogs more than I'd like to admit.

It seems like you've gone beyond your cult popularity status in New York and Yahoo! searches trying to figure out if you're a man or not (which even I'm not entirely sure to this day). In all honesty, when your song "Just Dance" came out last year, I thought you were just going to be a one-hit wonder. Because let's face it, whatever song Akon touches loses a lot of credibility. "Konvict music"? Please.

But you've manage to claw your way up the charts with your hair bows, leotards and exploding bras. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?

Also, your music video for "Paparazzi" is what bad acid trips are made out of. Gilded suits and shoe licking? Okay. And stay away from my man Alexander Skarsgard while we're at it. I don't want you tainting his European awesomeness any more than you already have.

And you can't speak Swedish to save your life, by the way.

But through your kitsch and you looking eerily like a young Donatella Versace, I can't help but be sucked into your music, Madam Gaga. Your pop sensibility is undeniable and your appearance on Saturday Night Live made you incredibly likeable (I mean, who wouldn't want to pull Madonna's hair?). It almost made me want to go out and buy a bubble dress for myself. Kind of.

Your new album is so good that I've been playing it for weeks. My friends and I have already dubbed "Dance in the Dark" our official car jam; we get stares from old people when we sing along to it. Again, I do have a reputation that doesn't uphold itself! You think I like being laughed at by old people and teenagers in their fast cars? Hell to the no.

Oh, and your video for "Bad Romance" totally makes up for your lame earlier ones. Bear-skin robes and crazy eyes? Yes, please.

So, in short Lady Gaga, I have been converted to your pop-centric circus. I hope you're happy. I even became a fan on Facebook! Now that's dedication.

To be honest, you're not so bad after all. But girl, you gotta put some pants on.

So This Is Why They Call It "Black Friday"...

2009-11-30T19:16:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving. So we meet again.

It's the season for gluttony and watching "It's Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown!". But I have to admit, I did partake in both activities. And no, I didn't feel bad.

Thanksgiving for my family is usually quiet and low-key. Our tradition goes as follows: we help make the food, we eat the food, say what we're thankful for this year and then go into a tryptophan-induced coma. Is it conventional? No. But it works.

But this particular Thanksgiving was different. This year, I was going to endure my first Black Friday shopping adventure.

After our hour-long nap, my mom and I convened to buy a paper to look over the ads to plan our route. Little did we know, trying to find one on Thanksgiving would turn into a two-hour goose chase. I knew this was a sign of things to come.

We plan what stores to swarm, get a team compiled of my mom, my godmother, her 10-year-old daughter Emily, and I. The meeting time was 7 a.m. (even though Emily insisted we meet at 3 a.m.) in Folsom. I was pumped.

The excitement went away when I woke up at 5 a.m. I don't even remember the last time I left the house and it was still dark outside. A trip to Starbucks was definitely in order, even though it took almost 20 minutes to get my precious caffeine.

Fast forward to Folsom. We start at a small shopping center that conveniently had all the shops we wanted to hit. What wasn't convenient was that it started to pour rain and I hadn't worn the most appropriate attire. I blame the weather man for telling me lies the night before.

After hitting several stores to no avail, we go to the mother of all Black Friday sales: Target. Little did I know that I would have to bust some elbows trying to make my way through the store. Not only did it look like a tornado had gone through the store, but the amount of rude old women fighting over Wii games was too much for me to handle. We left to the outlets in hopes of better luck.

Bad idea.

The place was swarming with the most boorish people I have ever seen. So much for this season being jolly. Plus, I was feeling the effects of 9 hours straight of shopping.

As I sat down on a bench in the Puma outlet to rest my weary feet among the mass of people trying on ghastly overpriced shoes, a young couple decided it would be a great idea to scoot me off the bench in order to get some cuddle time in.

Enough was enough.

I got up, gave the couple a dirty look and blatantly told the two to "get a room". I stormed out of the store, whispering obscenities under my breath, which led to a loud 5 minute rant to my godmother. Why must people go out of their way to make others miserable? And there's a time and a place for cupcaking. The Puma outlet on Black Friday definitely not being one of them.

I took a deep breath, and realized a negative attitude was not going to get me anywhere. Plus Emily was nice enough to buy me a soda with her own money (which was a BIG deal). I regrouped and proceeded to Banana Republic. Hey, everything in the store was 50 percent off. You can't beat that!

The shopping day ended with a spontaneous thunder storm, which to me was a symbol that we should cut our Black Friday loses and drown our sorrows (and hurt feet) in beer and pizza. Sadly, the pizza was probably the highlight of my Black Friday.

Would I do it over again? Maybe. If I was ensured I got my coffee in less than 20 minutes and I wouldn't want to shank someone prison style in an outlet mall.

My Life, The Rollercoaster

2009-11-09T20:18:00.000-08:00

"If I don't get this job, I swear I'm going to punch a baby."

It seemed like an eternity driving on I-80 going to the Contractors State License Board, the location of my latest job interview. Nine Inch Nails blaring in my car, the bass making my old '97 RAV4 shake like a tin can to drown my chaotic mind.

My mind was racing with the million-and-one things going on that day. This interview, a phone interview from unemployment (which I was dead set on getting off of. Holding my check for 3 weeks for saying I sent my claim "late"? No ma'am.), going to class (which my homework was still not done for) and then taking my dog to the vet. Yeah, multitasking!

It was 10:30 a.m. when I pulled into the small parking lot. Great, 30 minutes to study what I had written the night before: a page of all my star qualities that made me a shoo-in for the student assistant position.

10:35 a.m., I decided to play on my phone instead.

I walked into the vast white lobby around 10:45 a.m. I wanted to get it over with, and getting to level 10 on Brick Breaker got kind of tedious after a while. I got my visitor's pass and took a seat waiting anxiously for whoever it was to come fetch me from the boring blue and gray reception area. I can only look at portraits of ugly old white men trying to find solace in them for so long.

Before I knew it, the interview commenced.

"Tell us a little about yourself."

"What are your strengths?"

"How do you see yourself fitting into our office?"

All the while, the inner voice is going, "S@%$, I don't remember what I wrote down!"

With a smile and a handshake, it was over. I looked at my cellphone and only had 30 minutes to book it home. At least the drive didn't seem as perilous.

I came home to dog vomit on the carpet and my dog looking like death itself. Great. The dog totally took away my post-job-interview high. I text my mom to let her know the developments. She was on her way home.

The phone rings. The the timid lady from unemployment gives me a slap on the wrist for "turning in my claim late". Really? Goes to show our tax dollars at work for wasting five minutes of my life with a "warning". I'm still bitter.

Mom comes home and looked at the dog, who by now is laying on a Winnie the Pooh towel along with her favorite toy I had provided for her and foaming at the mouth. We loaded her up into the car and speculated the causes of her ailment.

Stomach flu? Food allergy? Stress? The possibilities were endless.

All theories were blown away when the vet came in and gave us the diagnosis.

Parvo Virus.

My mother and I just began to cry uncontrollably. We thought it was certain death for our beloved dog. And when I looked at the clock, homework and class just didn't matter any more.

But, oh, what $300 and some begging can get you. They sent us home with some IV fluid bags to give to the dog, which meant we had to stick 18-gauge needles into her every six hours. Yuck!

We came home. Collectively defeated. I hoped the next day would be better.

And lo-and-behold, it was. The next day I got the job, I got my unemployment check in the mail, found out the class was canceled and my dog has since made a full recovery.

You just have to roll with the punches. No matter how hard they are.

Leah Garchik, the Original Gossip Girl

2009-11-02T20:20:00.000-08:00

With everything going on in the city of San Francisco, it can be a little chaotic. This includes the people and the places, but there's nothing like a little about-town gossip and eavesdropping to make things even more interesting. Thankfully, Leah Garchik puts all of this and more into her daily column for the San Francisco Chronicle.

Garchik, a Brooklyn native and "a woman who has never owned a car with push-button windows", is married to her husband, Jerry, and has two sons, Sam and Jacob. Although her educational background is not clear, she states that she "...typed to put [her] husband through Harvard Law School".

She began her career at The Chronicle in 1984 where she began writing her daily gossip column. Garchik's column has earned notoriety and acclaim with being named "Best Items Column" in the country in 1992 by the National Society of Newspaper Columnists and being named "Best Columnist" by San Francisco Bay Area Publicity Club for 1998, 2001 and 2004. She was also named "Best Gossip" in a San Francisco Chronicle readers' poll.

Garchik has a no-holds-barred approach to her column, letting the subject of her written assault make their bed and Garchik making them sleep in it. She also states that "the further away they are, the nastier I am." This can be exemplified in her latest column about author Stephen Elliot:

"Stephen Elliott has been promoting his newest book, a memoir called The Adderall Diaries, with a series of readings at private homes around the country. Many guests have never been to a book reading before, and Elliott calls the tour 'like a giant sociology study.' (His Bay Area readings start this week.)

'Last night in Fort Lauderdale,' he e-mailed last week, 'I made out with a girl at the home event who made a point of telling me she hadn't bought my book. I think she thought that since we were making out I would give her a book, and I felt that because we were making out she would certainly buy one.'"

What also makes her column so unique is that not only does she let you live vicariously through her in order to get in on exclusive events and get the skinny on local and international celebrities, but she lets the reader themselves in on the fun. Garchik's column includes reader-submitted quotes from eavesdropping around town. This particular aspect has become so popular that she's compiled a book titled Real Life Romance filled with bits of romance advice overheard around San Francisco.

It's important as a writer to be versatile, and Garchik brings just that with her column. One can't be too sure where she'll end up. One time she could be at an opera performance, critiquing an actress' choice of dress, to a charity event among such stars as Nicholas Cage and Maria Menounos. I mean, if you consider them stars, anyway.

The random nature of Garchik's column brings a breath of fresh air amidst a time where columns are dominated by news and politics. She brings fun and a sense of accessibility to her writing, which seems to bring readers coming back for more. Who doesn't want to see public figures cut down to size once and a while?

And let's be honest, a little gossip never hurt anybody either.

The Habit Burger Grill: A Tragic Tale

2009-10-26T18:12:00.000-07:00

Hidden discretely in a small strip mall in the heart of Elk Grove's Laguna area lies The Habit Burger Grill. And frankly, it should remain hidden for a long, long time.

If you're looking for a menu void of variety, outrageous prices and mediocre food, then The Habit is the perfect place for you to waste your money.

Upon entering The Habit, one might think that it's the poor-man's In-n-Out Burger, but The Habit doesn't even deserve to be compared to that establishment. It's a seat-yourself-while-waiting-for-your-number kind of restaurant decked out in every kind of brown you can imagine.

Brown counters, brown tables, brown seats and brown tile. Yeah, this place screams fun and excitement.

The Habit has both patio and booth seating with majority of said seats being against windows. While window seats are just dandy, looking at a barren parking lot and the occasional bird picking at fries left on the ground is not necessarily scenic.

The menu brings two kinds of emotions: disappointment and shock.

Disappointment comes from the ability to order only three kinds of food: burgers (called "Charburgers", and if that's not pretentious I don't know what is), sandwiches and salads. And the choices from what's available is even more restricting with each having each food item having about four or five variations. These include your run-of-the-mill cheeseburgers and chicken club sandwiches. Yawn. It's underwhelming to say the least.

Shock comes from jaw-dropping prices listed on the menu above the cashier. A burger from The Habit costs an average of $7 or $8. And don't think by taking the healthy route will save you either; a salad and a small drink comes up to a total of nearly $10. It just doesn't seem very fair since the extent of making it is throwing lettuce, chicken and dressing on a plate. Needless to say, one has to feel a bit cheated and has to wonder where all of this money is going.

While ordering the salad the friendly cashier asked if I wanted to have teriyaki drizzled on my caesar salad. Uh, teriyaki and ceasar dressing? Sounds like a recipe for disaster, but looking back, nothing could have saved this salad.

The time it took to actually get the salad seemed a bit outrageous, as it seemed everyone else got their order much faster. You would think that the salad was easiest thing to make!

Mmm... tastes like failure.
After sitting down with soda in hand and taking the first bite of this salad, the taste of dirty socks and old lettuce filled my mouth causing a cringe or two. I wondered what I had done to deserve such a revolting taste in my mouth, but then I remembered it wasn't me, the salad was just downright disgusting. And to top it off, the chicken tasted as if it were made out of rubber. Tasty.

Ten dollars apparently gets you a life-affirming experience, questionable breath and a small drink these days.

Even though The Habit does have a clean atmosphere and friendly staff, it doesn't make up for the lack of quality of their food. Funny, since their slogan is "There's no substitute for quality!"

Yes, there is, and that substitute is eating somewhere else.

Muse's "The Resistance": A Review

2009-10-19T19:28:00.000-07:00

Let's just get it out there: sci-fi rock operas are all kinds of awesome.

With that said, coming with something straight out of the pages of Orwell's 1984, the British sensation Muse releases The Resistance. Muse, whose popularity has grown rapidly in the states with being featured on the soundtrack for the movie Twilight, brings more of their science fiction-tinged rock. But this time around, the band adds even more layers to their sound; from straight up Queen-esque rock anthems to the classical stylings from Chopin, there's a lot to take in, which says a lot coming from Muse.

Despite the complexity of the album, the Teignmouth trio manage to pull off the genre bending. Who would have ever thought Freddie Mercury and Chopin would ever come together, let alone sound so good?

The album opens with the pulsing, clap-your-hands worthy anthem "Uprising". This track tends to set the mood for the rest of the album, and that mood is sticking it to the man! Guitarist and vocalist Matt Bellamy (and, let's face it, pretty much the sole writer and composer of the album) sets the bleak scenario filled with governmental totalitarianism and mind control. And you know what, he's just not going to take it anymore!

But let's be honest, it does speak to many as we all have a little rebel that wants to act out inside of us, right?

The next track, "The Resistance", follows closely in suit, painting a world filled with "thought police" and the need to go into constant hiding. Weirdly enough, the song at times tends to have a happy melody to it.

Yay! Despair!

Albeit the doom and gloom, the track is extremely catchy, and you'll probably find yourself singing along.

The track "Undisclosed Desires" is one of the redheaded step-children of the album. Upon hearing it for the first time, the listener may ask why Timbaland or Lady GaGa showed up randomly on their Muse CD. The rythm-heavy song seems to be way out of left field, and would actually be better suited as a b-side.

The epic gets cranked up a notch with the track "United States of Eurasia (+Collateral Damage)", which can be considered as Muse's magnum opus of The Resistance. The track is just so energetic that you'll probably pull a Wayne's World and thrash around the car. No joke. This track is definitely a strong point in the album having a good balance of energy and subtly.

Another track that tends to stick out like a sore thumb is "I Belong To You (+Mon Cœur S'ouvre À Ta Voix)". Try saying that three times fast. Anyway, the track has its high points, but the lyrics and odd bass line makes it a track to pass on. The cringe-fest only gets worse when Bellamy attempts to speak French. And by "attempts", I mean he totally butchers it. And it has a clarinet solo. Yes, a clarinet solo.

The album finishes with a trifecta of "symphonies", each having their own distinctive feel to them. These tracks sound like they could come straight out of a movie or Italian opera, which is pretty much what Muse was going for. The tracks are heavy on instrumentation and bring the album around full circle, which makes the journey quite enjoyable. If you want to find out the ending to Muse's space opera, you'll have to listen for yourself.

The Resistance may be foreign to many expecting to see more of the same from Muse and might be written off at first listen, but when given the chance, the album is definitely a grower. The concept of the album is interesting itself, and provides a fun musical ride for the listener. All in all, despite some bumps in the road, Muse succeeds in making an operatic and epic album.

The Resistance is in stores now.

http://muse.mu
http://www.myspace.com/muse

California University of... Phoenix? Say What!?

2009-10-12T19:00:00.000-07:00

So here we are once again with the California State University system trying to find some kind of solution to their ever-growing fiscal woes. Rising fees, furloughs, dropping enrollment rates, oh my!

But according to this article, William Tierney, a professor of higher education at the University of Southern California, seems to think he has the answer: sell the CSU system's assets worth $2.3 billion and all 23 campuses to the University of Phoenix, a for-profit university.

This drastic decision is proposed to save the CSU system from utter chaos in the future and to protect their mission of "giving students greater access to quality higher education at an affordable price, keeping them in school and sending them into the labor market with bachelor's degrees."

Now, I don't know about you, but when I think of the University of Phoenix the image of the full-time dead-end job employee with an education as worthless as the piece of paper it's written on comes to mind. You cannot be serious when your target audience watches your commercials during Maury and Judge Judy. Reach for the stars there, guys!

The University of Phoenix's main student body consists of part-time working adults who want to get a better education to achieve better job opportunities. The CSU's, on the other hand, consist of quite the opposite consisting of full-time students ages 18-25. One has to wonder if the University of Phoenix put their hand in the pot, this attitude may change. Will the "college life" mentality be lost? Is the CSU system going to become nothing more than a night school? Would the integrity of the CSU's be lost? This is only just the tip of the iceberg.

Students of these for-profit schools rely heavily on financial aid in order to continue their education. This money usually comes from the federal government or the institution themselves. Where is this money going to come from to support these students? How does that get the CSU's out of the hole?

Another note to make is putting instructors through some kind of instructional Darwinism to "weed out weak teachers and to ensure that those who graduate are prepared to teach." Now, how is pitting professors against each other beneficial to anyone? Explain how that would bring any kind of relief in any shape or form? It doesn't, that's the answer. Professors shouldn't have to prove their worth; they got the job for a reason! Teaching styles tend to be objective anyway; one instructor may be more beneficial to one student than to another. I mean, that's what ratemyprofessor.com is for anyway now, right?

According to Tierney's article, if the University of Phoenix acquires the CSU system, it will be more apt to produce graduates ready for the work force in hopes to combat a 12.2 percent unemployment rate. But who's to say that the CSU system doesn't already do that? Employers are more likely to take someone who's been through the CSU system with a bachelor's degree more seriously for a position than someone who took an 18-month course online.

Jobs may be scarce now, but in time this recession will have a turn-around. If anything, with the bad economy, CSU's should promote their graduate programs to continue students' higher education.

Has anyone gotten a graduate degree from University of Phoenix? Doubt it. Would anyone want to anyway? Doubt it.

So if the University of Phoenix does end up buying out California's higher educational system, just be prepared to see a commercial for CSUS during afternoon television. Hopefully it doesn't interrupt you from watching Maury.

Proposition 8: When Karma Attacks

2009-10-05T18:27:00.000-07:00

Gay marriage.

These two simple words can polarize a group of people right at its utterance. This touchy subject has become even more of a hot-button issue after last year's ballot initiative. After Proposition 8's conclusion and decision, many same-sex supporters still have a sour taste in their mouths. But who could blame them? The right to marry that was once available and in the blink of an eye was snatched away.

Now after the screaming, the crying and what seems to be endless amounts of appeals, those who supported the ban are now being ordered to reveal themselves and the true nature of the "Yes on 8" campaign.

According to an article from the San Francisco Chronicle, a federal judge has ordered those who sponsored the "Yes on 8" campaign to hand over campaign strategy documents in order to see if the campaign itself was "motivated by prejudice against gays".

Well, duh.

And of course, the "Yes on 8"-ers are waving their hands in the air demanding we've got it all wrong. It's not that their campaign was solely based on bigotry and bias. Oh no. They just want to keep the sanctity of marriage. As a result, they are insisting these documents be kept confidential because it "allows the losing side of a campaign to pry into the most intimate strategy discussions."

Is there such thing as a sore winner?

And by admitting fault, the gays win. And we just can't have that, can we?

Not only have the "Yes on 8" campaigners been shady about their dealings and campaign plans, but also about the people themselves who've supported them financially last year. In January, a federal judge ordered the "Yes on 8" campaign to release the identities of those who had submitted donations. Even though these records usually become public after the actual voting decision is finalized.

The "Yes on 8" campaign raked in over $30 million toward their campaign and refused to disclose the over 1,500 names of supporters. According to an article by MSNBC, the secrecy was necessary because it would "put the donors at risk of personal harassment or boycotts to their businesses". The judge later denied their appeal and the records are now open for public view.

How does that saying go again? If you lay down with the dogs, you get up with the fleas.

It's nice to see that many are becoming weary of their constant doublespeak. You cannot base your whole campaign on prejudice and expect to come out unscathed. It's apparently not about the children or about marriage anymore, it's about saving as much face as you can.

If someone can be openly gay and proud of it, then a Proposition 8 supporter should have to do the same and not hide behind a piece of paper or a lawyer. It takes courage to be yourself and be apart from the status quo, and it looks like those who support the ban are still coming to terms with that.

How does that saying go again? If you're going to dish it out, you better be able to take it.

It's their turn to have the sour taste in their mouth.

Oh, and if you're feeling a little vindictive, you can view the list of donors here.

Surviving Hurricane Grandma: Redux

2009-09-28T14:09:00.000-07:00

"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.

Surviving Hurricane Grandma

2009-09-21T17:32:00.000-07:00

"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.

Long Island band releases dark, eccentric fourth album

2009-09-14T21:46:00.000-07:00

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

CSUS Campus Protests, Falls Short

2009-09-07T12:05:00.000-07:00

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.