Gangster shit

Now It All Makes Sense

So I've always been kind of fucked up and weird and scared of all sorts of weird shit but I didn't really ever know why. But I was hanging out with my mom the other night and she broke it down about how, back in the day, if they didn't know the date of conception for a fetus, they estimated age by the circumferance of the head. So when I,in utero, attained a certain head girth, they yanked my shit out of there. However, as has always been the case, my head is extremely large; my hat size is 7 5/8th, which for people who don't where baseball hats or football helmets, is pretty fucking big for kind of a short ass fucker like me. So long story short, I was pulled out of there way too early, thus earning me the distinction: premature baby. Now it all makes sense. Now at least I can be scared and have an excuse.

Fuckfaces

I went to the Modest Mouse show here in town the other night and though the show itself was fine and dandy, the crowd assembled was not really what I had expected. Modest Mouse, at least in my mind, are sort of an indie-pop band done good, along the lines of say Death Cab For Cutie or whatever, only with more hollering and less pouting. Needless to say, the crowd I expected was the usual mix of old school tight-shirts rapping about how they’ve “been into Modest Mouse for years,” fresh-faced dorm emos and kids who saw the video on MTV. But what I didn’t expect was all the dirtheads and Northface jock hippies; I guess now that Phish has called it a day those dudes have more time on their hands. Seriously though, just in my general area there was: a) dudes talking about how they drove “down from Humboldt” for the show b) some guy taping the show on his little digital recorder and c) two guys in hemp chokers rockin’ out “on ‘cid, man.” Wack. Even more pathetic was the kids trying to mosh. Moshing is awesome when you’re at a hardcore show, bro. Kung fu kicks, sweet whatever. But Modest Mouse is not hardcore. It’s not even emo core. Take your ritalin and hang out.

Photo by Scribbles

People are Fuckasses

So yeah around these parts its pretty fucking hot, which is more or less one of those self-evident, no-need-to-speak-about-it kind of deals. But this time of year every fucker you see on the street is like "whooo, pretty hot out here." Like its the only thing people know how to talk about these days. And what's even fucking stupider is the same people sitting there making you stand in the sun saying shit about "it's so hot" are wearing fucking pants and black shirts and shit. I saw this fucker today wearing a beanie. Fuck that.

Day Job

So just in case those reading this get the impression that my life is all rock music, fucking, alcoholic debauchery and immoral chicanery, here's an example of what I do on a day to day basis.



A Good Day for Ponds
Looking back on the 10th Anniversary Chico Pond Tour
Words and Photos by Daniel Taylor

A warm, July Sunday was an ideal setting for this year’s 10th Anniversary Chico Pond Tour, a laid-back expedition through various yards and gardens in and around Chico in pursuit of water features small and tall. Sponsored by the Worm Farm in Durham and Chico’s Sunchasers (who themselves were represented on the tour by a pond or two), the proceeds from this year’s tour benefited the programs of the Congregational Church of Chico and was, by all indications, a resounding success.
Ticket holders could tour any of the seven ponds on this year’s tour in any order they wished, further adding to the casual, comfortable atmosphere of the occasion. The ponds themselves ranged from trickling backyard waterfalls and streams, to serene, fish-filled water gardens. The settings for these ponds were also quite varied. Though most were at private residences, there was also a communal pond created and maintained by 14 neighborhood families, as well as what was probably the most impressive stop on the tour, the dual ponds at Box Brothers’ Nursery, which doubles as the home of the Box family. The front pond was more like a miniature lake, with teeming squads of koi and other fish swimming secretly in the depths while orange dragonflies circled overhead. More impressive though, was the more subdued back ponds, united by a meandering stream. An obviously proud Mr. Box detailed how his father installed and developed these ponds himself, slaving away in the 100-degree heat. This type of dedication seemed to be the shared theme for all the sites on this year’s pond tour; the obvious pride the respective custodians of the ponds took in their work was matched only by the pleasure those perusing the wonderful results. The organizers of this year’s tour were already excited about getting started on next year’s, so mark your calendars for July 2005, and hopefully we’ll see you there!

...you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.

FUCK YOU BRO

So somewhere in the middle of the list of shit I’m sick of are people who carry around those plastic water bottles and think their all smart and responsible and shit. Too bad that Nalgene the company that makes many of those bottles also makes devices used in animal testing, like restrainers for rabbits that get makeup poured in their eyes and other such Inquisition-like apparatuses. Sweet! And even if you don’t use a Nalgene bottle, recent studies have shown that the material used for these bottles leaches a chemical known as BPA which fucks with your hormones. Bummer for all those trust fund hippies who wreck tang with their little water bottles hanging off their back packs. Your shooting blanks bro!

Parrot Hunting in America

Its been a bad year for birding this year. First two of my parrots died death for no real reason. Then this weekend the three that are left flew out the fucking back door. One pussed out at the last minute and turned back but the other two motherfuckers flew stright to the top of the tallest tree and proceeded to mock me for 2 whole days and nights. I was kind of sick of it at first, but seeing the glee with which they soared above the treetops made me realize that for a bird, time is probably pretty damn arbitrary...I mean five days is probably pretty similar experientially to five weeks. So maybe quality of life is better than quantity. Maybe a couple days of flying free in the light are preferable to a few years of being confined. Now they are gone. To where, who knows. Most likely their carcasses are being ravaged at this very moment by one of the crafty native denizens of the Chico area. But at least they saw some shit.

Bums are bullshit

So yesterday I was out at Big Lots, a store which is more less the continuation school for shit that's too dumb for K-mart. It's not only a good place to observe white trash (and other colors of American trash as well!) in their natural habitat, but also come up on shit like big plastic containers to put all the worthless shit I buy at real stores in. However, they also have food there. And its so cheap its ridiculous. Like canned herring for 49 cents. It made me think: all these dudes who are always out on the street bumming for change saying they're all hungry, you know they probablu sucker people out of at least $10 or so a day, probably even a lot more. Now with $10, you could seriously go to Big Lots and buy 4 cans of fish, a box of cereal, a case of juice and all sorts of other shit and still probably have money left over for a cup of coffee from Circle K. But instead you always see those same fuckers holding the "hungry, homeless" sign getting some shit at Subway or buying a pack of cigarrettes. Fuck that shit. I'm more than happy to let whoever wants to be a piece of shit be that way. Have at 'er. But if you're gonna ask me for my change then buy a fucking footlong meatball sandwhich you can suck my dick. Another thing. If you're one of those train kids bumming for change and you have a fucking dog, seriously fuck off. Why don't you eat your fucking pit bull puppy cocksucker.

WHY I ROCK AND YOU DON'T

In the same day I rocked the Warped Tour


and then rocked Saddam Hussein's ass to Russia with West By Swan coming to a spock venue near you



Notice that by day I rock the Clark Kent-of-bros glasses and ballcap, but at night i turn into the Superman of rock drumming. Just because I can, here are two pictures that fully encapsulate the Warped Tour experience.

Frisco vet Z-man


and the always tastefully dressed Geoff Rickley from Thursday

Why the internet is the shit

Because there is this:

Fuck Glen Danzig

At one point in my life, I was more or less the only person I knew who didn't like the Misfits and/or Danzig. Something about that shit always seemed so ridiculously stupid; all these fucking tough fuckers idolizing some dude who's like Fabio's pissed off younger brother. So I take extra happiness in seeing some gruff ass hardcore dude knock Danzig (who has to be like 40 now anyway ) on his fucking ass here.

Not that I have anything against Glen Danzig personally; dude has been a super astute businessman and always got his shit done. But if you're gonna sing shit about "I want your skull" and whatever you better guard your fucking grill.

The Persistence of Memory

When I was a kid I remember looking at this fucking painting and wondering what the fuck he was rapping about "Persistence of Memory," I just saw a bunch of clocks that looked like old pancakes and some blob with an eyelid. But now I think I know what the fuck. You see I can't remember shit. Maybe its alcohol or all the times I hit my head in football or when I was fucking off in my younger years, but there are whole wide swaths of time in my life that are completely erased. Now while that is tragic in and of itself, its not the worst part. It's how these memories, or the lack thereof affect the present that sucks the most. it robs things of their context. Like I'll be hanging out with someone and they'll be super keystoning me, giving me the bitter beer face. And I'm like "what the fuck," only to find out later that I wronged them some time back and forgot all about it. Or I'll find a random item I obviously saved for some sentimental reason, only I have no idea what that reason was. So instead of having some eye-misting keepsake, I just have a fucking piece of junk. I think that Salvador Dali probably did enough drugs to forget enough shit to know what I'm talking about. The shit in the picture makes no sense, and it's not supposed to. It's what happens when you lose your context. it's like Alzheimers, or how people in Willows like to call it, " Old Timer's."

Fuck Jobs

People are always rapping about dream jobs and how "If I could only get paid to (INSERT ACTIVITY HERE) then I would be happy forever." The thing about me is that there seriously not one fucking job I would like to have ever. There's nothing that I could possibly do that would make me like having a job of any sort. My dream job is no job. My dream job is to sit on my fucking ass forever and be a piece of shit. I guess I could just be homeless. But I like to buy shit like mineral water and shoes and parrots and run the air conditioner. I could marry someone rich but rich girls are like a job in and of themselves. I could just glom off my parents and friends forever, but they are already sick of my shit. I think I'm just fucked to have to do shit I don't want to do for the rest of forever then I'll be fucking dead and it won't matter anyway that my life sucked. Thats the thing that rules about death is that it doens't even matter that you ever fucking lived in the first place. Unless you believe in some shit. That's something else I don't really get, is why the people who believe in "heaven" the most are so pissed off about abortion. I mean, if they believe that a) a fetus is a person and b) people without sin go to heaven, then wouldn't they be stoked that a fetus gets to bypass the bullshit of regular life and spend eternity in heaven? People are fucking stupid.