Best Crawl Ever

So I guess I've been charged with retelling the tale of our Pub Crawl drunkedness, which would be easier if I could remember it all. Hell, it'd be easier if I could remember most of it. Luckily I have our Twitter feed, pictures, and the memories of the soberer (aka everybody else) to help jog my memory. Without that we'd be completely screwed.

Regardless, we started off the night early because we always enjoy an opportunity to drink while it's still light out. Misaki's was fairly uneventful, mostly because all of us (sans Bris, the ultimate pregamer) were soberish still. After a quick round of Sake Bombs to remedy that situation we headed towards the Miracle Mile portion of the festivities. Centrale and Alder Market didn't participate this go around, which seems strange considering the only reason I even know about either of those establishments is because of the Pub Crawl.

The bars that were there stepped their game up and embraced the Crawl for all its drunken awesomeness. Valley Brew once again changed its menu from the last time we'd been there (surprise!) and for once, I was disappointed by their deep-fried mushrooms. I'm not sure if we just got an off batch or if they intentionally made them less crispy for the free grub vouchers, but they left a lot to be desired. Luckily ranch fixed that.

Next I'm told we headed to the back of Taste of Brittany, also known as Moulin Rouge. The name brings up memories of a horrible Australian musical, but it's actually a pretty cool place that serves a nice variation of one of my favorite drinks, the screwdriver. We chatted with the owner Dan a bit, he seems pretty cool. We all make a note to come back to next morning for some crepes. None of us make it.

The Matinee earned our derision last crawl with their lackluster Jungle Juice. This time wasn't that much better, but we did get a piece of alcohol soaked fruit to go with it. They packed a decent punch.

After jumping on the trolley towards the Waterfront Warehouse, we noticed the crowd had picked up considerably. While the crowd was still of the slightly-to-considerably older variety, it was still a pretty fun group as everyone was pretty hammered by now. So it was against our better judgement to chug the slurpees masquerading as premixed maitais that they call Hula Girls at the Sunset Grill (nee Waterfront Grill, Boiler Room). Granted, they were delicious going down. But mix all that sugar with the Long Islands, Jungle Juice, sake, beer, vodka, mushrooms, and deep-fried asparagus and the results aren't going to be pretty the next day. But for that night they were fucking awesome. Sunset Grill even had Samoan dancers for some reason.

After that it gets kind of hazy. If I remember correctly we made a quick Chitivas stop and then headed to Beach Hut Deli via trolley. As usual, Beach Hut had the best deal of $1 pints of any beer. A deal which I promptly wasted on Pabst because there was no way I could handle thicker, qualitier beer with all that sweet shit in my stomach. Sadly, Bradley's drink special was also the Orange Lazarus of alcoholic drinks known as Hula Girl, so I stuck around Beach Hut and ate some of their kickass nachos. Because, fuck it, my stomach's already going to hate me, might as well throw in some chips and salsa. Eventually, a band broke out in the corner by the door, which occasionally happens at the Beach Hut.

Eventually we all chugged our beers, and decided we were going to see what was up with ol' Paragary's. You may recall that at the last Crawl we didn't receive the best treatment when attempting to drink there. We drunkenly thought that surely they had come around this time in these hard economic times and take any comer and treat them as royalty. I mean, he's supposedly hurting for customers, right?

Well, we walk in and are immediately shot a dirty look and told that they're closed. Now, mind you the bar is about a quarter full as she tells us this and that it's 10:30 at night on a weekend. An hour and a half before the Pub Crawl ends and well before when any self respecting bar attempting to turn a profit would close. Naturally we ask "Closed? It's 10:30. Why?" and are told that they are in fact, out of drinks. Of course, seeing the full stocked bar behind her, a confused look comes over our face. We reason with ourselves that she means that they're out of the free Hula Girl candy drinks and I go "No, I have money" and proceed to whip out my wallet and display my impressive $45 wad.

I feel I should break here to note that this is probably a milestone in Downtown Stockton's redevelopment that a pessimistic native Stocktonian like myself would willingly open their wallet without fear of ramapercussions in the middle of the night. I mean, this is exactly what they want right? For us to open our wallets to downtown to generate revenue. I wasn't even doing it figuratively, I was doing it literally. And what do I get? I get a "No, we're out." So my friend and I go on a drunken rant about being a paying customer and Paragary's is losing revenue for this reason, and not for any lame subsidy excuses because, well, fuck Paragary's. So the next time Mike Fitzgerald tries to lament the fact that we're petty dicks with a hard on for subsidies, and that's the reason Paragary's has to sell, you can tell him he's dead wrong. It's because shit like this happens. Twice.

After this it gets incredibly hazy as we hiked on over to the Hippo Bar, which is massive, and drown our sorrows in they're late night drink specials (which I hear they have on a weekly basis) that extended past the Crawl. Around this time our group got separated, because that's always a good idea when you're completely plastered. I ended up on a trolley back towards Bradley's that was so packed that some chick came up to me and sat on my lap and then turned to me and said "Don't get hard." Yup, it was a Stockton kind of crowd. It was pretty awesome. Frankly, if downtown concentrated on more alcohol-centric ideas like this to get people down there on the warm summer nights (because, let's face it, booze one of the few things that we can all agree on), that whole revitalization thing might actually catch on.

An open letter to the Miracle Mile

Dear Miracle Mile,

First of all, sorry for your loss. Losing See's Candies must have been hard on you. I'd suggest medicating yourself with excessive amounts of chocolate but, well, you know.

That being said, fuck you in the goat ass with a red hot fire poker. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to close off half the side streets for repaving at the same fucking time!? Driving the Mile is already about as enjoyable as a Lori Gilbert column, taking away the escape streets is like taking her column and printing it on the front page every day of the week. I mean Jesus, was my drive down Pacific Ave not slow enough for you? Can't you just be happy with the old people who patronize the Mile driving 3 miles per hour and stopping at the light if they even get a premonition that it might soon turn yellow? Were you not pleased with the roughly 246 crosswalks that fucking stretch of road has slowing my commute down? You just had to seal off all my escape routes so I'm stuck behind Gladys for a half hour while she waits for there to be absolutely zero cars in sight (including mine) before she makes that left turn?

There's no point, just fuck the Miracle Mile. I hope Maxim's moves there so they can complain about all the darkies that aren't actually committing crimes.

Sincerely,

Reclaiming the Title

An Open Letter to the Las Vegas Wranglers

Dear Las Vegas Wranglers,

First of all, nice name. Ass Spelunkers taken already? Name homosexuality aside, I love your town, even if I did drunkenly call every scantily clad woman around me a hooker that one night. Man, that was a long elevator ride...

Anyways, I'm writing you because you just evened the series against our hometown Falcons Thunder team. Now normally, I don't give a shit about minor league hockey, but you guys have something we want.

You may have heard that we're the 5th most dangerous town in America, you may not have heard that we have a reputation as a fight town (or at least that's the rep we're trying to push). We're always fighting to be at the top or near the top of as many lists as possible, this is where you come into play. See, Las Vegas is the 4th most dangerous city in America. Which is kind of crazy since I had no qualms about walking around Vegas at 4 in the morning, but in Stockton if I'm outdoors at 4 in the morning I'm running for the nearest bomb shelter and waiting out the night to avoid roving bands of handicapped militias.

But I digress, I want to put our #1 ranking in affordable homes (a list in which you came in 3rd) against your #4 ranking in dangerous cities, winner take all! Either homes in Vegas become more affordable or we get little bit more street cred. Is it wrong to bet the safety of our city on a minor league hockey team? Probably. But I have faith that the Fresno Thunder Stockton Falcons Stockton Thunder have put together the best team picking the bones of your closest rival can provide and we're going to go all the way to the "whatever the hell the championship is named" Cup!

So yeah, think about it.

Sincerely,

Reclaiming The Title

Update: Today...at least I'm pretty sure today Tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure KSK's Nasty Fetish Tourney will be here today tomorrow. So if you're one of our readers looking for a writeup on Fitzy's latest column, that'll be here too. Just sandwiched between matchup between DVDA and Redheads or something. So if you're easily offended, see ya next week.

If you're here for the tourney, here's that post I did last week explaining the site. The matchups will be up when Punter sends them my way.

For those here for the KSK Nasty Fetish Tournament...

Hey guys, I'll save you some time and just explain the basic premise of this blog for all 3 of you who are curious. We usually focus on the shit that goes on in the city of Stockton, CA and any town within spitting distance (as well as swallowing distance). It's part-media watch part-local news analysis part-whatever the fuck we feel like. Most of it only really makes sense if you're from the area, but I think it's still an interesting read if you feel like getting a sense of what it's like living in a town that's claim to fame is being ground zero for the housing crisis (oh, and for being the home/personal playground for Chargers owner Alex Spanos). So if it sounds like something that interests you, feel free to look around. If not, I understand. I get bored writing about this shit sometimes myself.

So yeah, welcome to the site. Have fun freaking out some of my regular readers with your casual attitude towards stoma-fucking.

Come on man, everyone's doing it

Step aside bank robbing, volunteering is the new trend! Who knew Ann Johnston was psychic?

In case you needed any more proof that I am in fact the next great American sportswriter

About a month ago I wrote about dealing with the steroids era in relation to comparing different eras using statistics. I argued that steroids took our judgement of a player's quality out of the hands of mathematicians and once again made it a personal judgement call. You can't measure greatness with numbers. We each have to decide who's great on our own. Which is something we got away from once Moneyball and Baseball Prospectus became all the rage. Stats are a good guide, but they are by no means gospel. Which is something a lot of analysts seem to forget.

One analyst who apparently didn't forget is ESPN.com columnist Bill Simmons. In his latest column for ESPN the Magazine he pretty much tackles the same subject I did a month ago, but in typical Simmons fashion, somehow tied it all in with pop culture/movie references.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm the next Bill Simmons minus the whole insufferable chowderhead part.

The only time I'll probably ever partially agree with Lori Gilbert. Ever.

If you don't know what subject/story I'm tackling today, then you must be very new to the site. Hi, I'm El Duke. Nice to meet you. Now everybody please turn to Page A2. Yes, for one Lori Gilbert's not writing about old, dying people. She's writing about an old, dying profession.

Ok, I'm kidding of course. Journalism isn't dying. There will always be a need for someone to chronicle the events of our time. I could spend the next many paragraphs talking about how journalism is a job of passion, how you don't become a writer for the money, that you could work tirelessly for 10 years and then all of the sudden you're back at square one and I probably will get to that. But first I have to point out a couple of things from Gilbert's column.

First and foremost, Bill Davis' Mass Comm class isn't always full because of the quality of the class. While it is a fantastic class that I really enjoyed taking and would suggest to all of my friends, the reason it's always at it's 50-student limit is because it's a prerequisite or fairly easy elective for multiple degrees.

If you want to see the true interest in the profession of journalism you have to look to Mass Comm 2. A class that I tried to take multiple times but only actually took once because the class was never full enough to actually warrant having the class. Or look at the Impact/Collegian, when I was there the class never really topped 20 people. Again, that's not an indictment of Davis' ability. I credit the man with reenergizing my passion for journalism, but to present the Mass Comm class size as an example of the droves of kids who are essentially screwed if they're set on being in print is misleading at best.

Also in the Delta vein, we've heard whispers of a rumor that the Collegian might actually be going under. Possibly to become a club instead of a class. None of us really felt like running with it since rumors aren't really our thing, but if we've heard the rumor there's a good chance others have. I hate to break it to you guys, but we don't exactly have super secret inside sources. If we hear something, chances are everybody's heard it. So if you're doing to do a column about the sad state of print journalism, and you're interviewing the advisor and writers for a paper that's being dogged by rumors of shutting down, you should probably ask them about that. And probably mention it in your column.

Another thing, and this is just me nitpicking really, if you're going to mention the Pacifican (UOP's student newspaper) in the Record, it's probably a good idea to mention that it's Editor in Chief Devon Blount is the daughter of Shit seeer, January Rube of the Month and Record Managing Editor Don Blount. Granted Gilbert didn't quote her or anything, but some disclosure may have been necessary.

Now that I've gotten those out of the way I'm going to do something I never thought I'd do. Say something nice about something Lori Gilbert wrote. In the end she gets it right. While it's a scary time for any profession economically, in the end it boils down to passion. Nobody, I repeat, nobody gets into journalism for the money. Even before the recession, unless you're Bill Simmons or Rick Reilly you ain't gettin' paid shit. If you become a writer it's because you love writing. Hell, I can't even explain why I love doing this shit. I just do. And while everybody wants to talk gloom and doom about ad sales and readership plummeting and all the other shit, at the end of the day even the staunchest of newspaper supporters has to agree this is an exciting as shit time to be in the journalism field.

Look, I understand where all the old, crusty newspaper people are coming from. Shit's been the same forever and they don't want to change now. I get it, change can be scary. Especially because those changes could possibly mean losing their jobs. But, for those willing to learn, for those really into journalism for the love of it I can't think of a better time to be around. People debate the journalistic integrity of self-publishing, the lack of oversight, blogs whatever the fuck you want to call it but they're most people in that discussion miss the bigger picture. We're redefining journalism right now. It's truly becoming a multimedia field. Instead of being handcuffed to the print medium or to TV or radio, the world is a journalist's oyster. If you can't get excited by that, you're in it for the wrong reasons.

So while it's easy to ask why somebody would possibly push someone towards a field with such an initially bleak outlook, anybody with a true passion for the field of journalism can't help but be even a little bit exciting about the prospects for the future. Which I guess in the end means I disagree with Lori Gilbert (whew, all is right with the world). We shouldn't be asking "How could teachers push someone towards this profession" because why wouldn't they want to? It's one of the best times to be journalist...as long as you don't mind not making any money.

NBA proposes $1.9 B-B-B-B-Billion arena plan/Cal Expo revamp

Fuck.

(Kings beat writer) Sam Amick quotes the independent economist as calling the NBA's cost and revenue projections "optimstic" and saying that "this particular project has problems in terms of feasibility ."

Somebody pass the Cuervo

Shit to do for 2/27-3/1

TGISF. I'm pretty busy so this will be quick again. Sorry, I know you guys really like my commentary on bands I've never heard of.

Sexy Friday 2/27

The Great Oglee Moogle Blues Band plays tonight at 9 at the Matinee. $5

Saturday 2/28

Fuck, you try and decipher this. I'm only able to tell that the Plea for Peace Center will be putting on a Ska show (I know, surprising) at 7:30 on Saturday. $8/$10

Sunday 3/1

And for you mandatory Blackwater show we have The Black Horde, the Lobstrosities, and the Outlaw Dance Society playing and afternoon show at 2:30. $10

Kings Kolumn: Fear

I'm not afraid of much. I'm not saying that to sound tough, there are just very few things that truly instill the fear of God into me. Sure, there are things that scare me. I get uncomfortable around cops even though I generally obey the law. Some days I'm afraid I'll drink myself retarded but that usually subsides after a jack and coke or five. But those are nagging fears, something that I can usually push down inside and worry about later. I'm not here to talk about that kind of fear.

I'm here talk about something that I've been running from for nearly 8 years. Something that slowly eats away at my soul just thinking about it. Even now I'm having a tough time writing about it. It's something I've refused to acknowledge, even though I actually maintained a blog about it for a while. I'm deathly afraid of the possibility that the Kings will no longer be in Sacramento.

I know, it's irrational. It doesn't make any sense to worry about a group of pampered millionaires who play a game. Especially when half of them were just shipped off to other cities in exchange for what amounted to increased monetary flexibility....for a couple of billionaires. When billionaire team owners are making blatant cash driven moves, that's a real "Fuck you" move. Yet I still care. Sure, sports are an escape. But I care about that escape, basketball is my escape dammit. And to be completely honest, that's why my fear is so deeply-rooted.

Yes, I'm well aware that the Warriors are right there. But I don't want to be a Warriors fan. It's nothing against them, I'm just stubborn. My dad's a Warriors fan. Way back when the Kings and the Warriors would scrimmage at the Spanos Center, my dad took me to watch the game he loved growing up. But instead of cheering on the team my dad cheered for en route to an NBA title in the 70s, I fell in love with the Kings.

I honestly can't remember what it was. I couldn't have been more that 10 at the time. But for some reason, I made a choice and that choice was that I was a Kings fan. It's one of the earliest decisions I can remember making on my own. Thankfully my dad didn't try and change my mind. He didn't push me towards the east bay. In better financial times he would even spring for those mini-season ticket packages, even waiting with me outside the parking garage while I stood out there with a sharpie hoping one of my heroes would stop and sign my basketball. Yeah, I have an awesome dad. He respected the sports-related decision of a 10 year old. Considering we live in an age where one hears about overbearing little league parents on what seems like a monthly basis, I don't want to ruin that. As stupid as it sounds, part of me fears I'll have let my dad down if the team leaves. We bonded over becoming Kings fans. I don't want to lose that.

But it's more than that. More than the "If I had known back then that 20 years later you were going to leave me, I may have taken a second look at the Warriors" thing (I said "may" so it's not blasphemy). It's also something that developed a little later on in my Kings fan experience. Hope. During the 90s the Kings were the loveable losers. I remember losing my shit when they snuck into the playoffs as an 8 seed. Now, people are saying "championship or bust". I'm not in that camp.

It goes without saying (yet, here I go saying it) that 2002 changed everything. It wasn't like I was cheering against the team before, I just knew not to expect a long playoff run from the Richmond-led Kings. But 2002 made me think for the first time that perhaps little ol' us could go all the way. NBA Champion Sacramento Kings. It used to be a joke. KHTK even had it as one of their rejoiners that ended with "Sorry, we just wanted to hear how that sounded". But after '02, it was possible. Not only was it possible, it needed to happen. While 2002 brings up a lot of emotions that I'm still not entirely ready to discuss, the one thing it did was give us the hope that a championship wasn't just some silly joke. The Kings, our Kings, could be champions.

Of course it didn't happen. After watching Game 7, there were many thoughts running through my head. One of them was "We fucking need to get back there." But then Webber's knee went kaput and it all fell apart. But things had definitely changed. I was no longer content with just having my team to follow. I need a championship. I'm more patient than most fans nowadays but I still need that guttural, cathartic yell of victory that I was denied 7 years ago. I want to crack open that high end bottle of brandy Bris and I bought and sip the sweetest drink I'll ever taste.

I'm a pretty laid back guy to the point where people think I'm completely unmotivated, that I have no fire and that's not the case. There's a fire that burns deep inside me that can only be put out when I see Kings jerseys covered in champagne (Note to Mom: This is not my only passion, swear. I also love bacon.). One of my biggest fears, is that I'll never get a chance to extinguish that fire. That the team will move away and I'll have this incomplete part of me. A part that can only be filled when the Kings validate my choice to support them for pretty much my entire life and hoist the Larry O'Brien trophy over their heads.

Again, I know this is entirely irrational. I don't expect you to understand because frankly, I don't understand it myself. It's just there.

Why do I bring all this up? Well, tomorrow the NBA and the State of California present their plans involving Cal Expo as the site of a new arena for the Kings. Which is conveniently 2 days before the deadline for teams to file for relocation for next season. If it's good news, ignore this whole post. If it's bad news...well...there's always tequila. Lots and lots of tequila.

An open letter to the Delta hippies

Dear hippies that protest the war in front of Delta,

I don't know if you heard, but Bush isn't President anymore. I know, shocking. You'd think somebody'd have said something about it by now. But yeah, it's true. You know that guy Barack Obama? Black guy, the one running that didn't kind of resemble Skeltor. Only one who ran a competent campaign. Any of that ring a bell? Well yeah, anyways, he won. So he's President now. And well, and you may have missed this since you apparently think we still have a pro-war President, but he's bringing the troops back in like 18 months. So, you know, we won. Go the fuck home. And stop waving at me to honk while I'm stuck at the light. That's why I flipped your old , wrinkled asses off today.

On a related note, now that it's out that you're old people who have actually left the house Lori Gilbert should be calling you any day now. So be ready for that.

Fuck off,

Reclaiming the Title

A soft journalism piece in which we reveal the raging alcoholic within us

Generally, we hate soft features. Whether it be an article on healthy recipes with a tiny connection to New Years resolution so it doesn't seem totally random or another article about some old guy that basically says "Old people can be useful". Stories like those aren't news. They're boring filler.

But we also understand they're a necessary evil. It's not like news organizations can just make news happen. If shit don't go down then shit don't go down. We just wish the Record would print more interesting features. Especially because jack and shit went on yesterday. We would write about Fitzy's flood map column but none of us knows shit about insurance or flooding. Plus we suspect the source of his FEMA-rage is because he's probably one of the people affected by the higher insurance rates. I guess we could tackle it stylistically considering the first word in it is the letter "I" which is a big no-no. It does seem like a very bloggy column. Thing is, as much as we crack on the guy, he's actually a pretty good writer. It's his choice of topics and opinions that are in question.

Or we could write about the pending layoff delay, because Obama didn't just tell us last night we need to deal with these problems head on instead of putting them off until later.

Or we could say something about how if the past is any indicator we'll probably lose our slice of the stimulus pie before it even gets here. Completely fucking over our poor urban forest.

But instead, we're taking this opportunity to show that soft journalism can be interesting. It can be more than just reprinting recipes from some lame cookbook to fill space. It can be more than "Hey! Remember Chris Isaak!?" Features can still be *gasp!* informative! And we want to show that not all features have to appeal to fatty housewives or depressed old people. So what will our first exercise in soft news be about? Drinking of course. Namely, drinking on the cheap during the recession.

Now, we hate recession trend pieces as much as the next guys, but hopefully some of the knowledge we drop will be helpful. If not, then somebody leak a document revealing gross government misconduct so we'll have something to write about tomorrow.

Drinking on the cheap is fairly easy, especially if you're willing to part with that nagging part of your soul called dignity. Without dignity, the world is your inexpensive oyster. If you're a woman, just slap on a low cut top and you're set. Those titties are like two fleshy credit cards with no bill. Use them while they're still hovering well above your belly button.

If you're a guy, it's admittedly a little harder. Mostly because guys aren't too big on dignity to begin with. Bris Isaak will drink a dipping cup of ranch for $10, and that was before the economy cratered. So for dudes (or a flat-chested or fat chick), it comes down to being less picky. Don't like going to a bar like the Circus Room or Winchesters because they're shitholes? Well guess what? Those places are dirt cheap. If you don't give a shit about hitting on a member of the opposite sex that's still desirable when you're sober and just want to get good ol' fashioned shitfaced then dive bars give you the most bang for your buck. They're usually cover charge free and you usually aren't paying more than $3 for a beer. Plus you're not surrounded by douchebags trying to impress some hot broad by acting tough and starting a fight because there aren't any hot chicks to impress. So, bonus.

If you've got too much dignity to hit up a shithole then your other option is to pick a bar and plant your flag. Find a bar that you're comfortable in and patronize it regularly for months. This won't pay off immediately, you gotta spend money to make money after all, but eventually you'll befriend the bartenders and achieve "regular" status and you'll get all sorts of crazy drink hookups. Just remember to tip well, just because they're your friends doesn't mean you don't hook them up for hooking you up. And if you are going this route, don't show up every Friday at 10 and expect to have time to shoot the shit and befriend bartenders. They're busy serving other people. At least, if they're a good bartender they are. Nobody wants to wait 20 minutes at the bar to get a drink. That's the exact reason I don't drink at Brandenburg's/Touche, if you don't have tits or personally know the bartender it takes a half hour to get a drink.

Of course, if you really want to maximize your drunken fun then we've got one word for you. Pregaming. Why spend $20 to get a buzz going when you could down a 6-pack before heading out for a third of the price? You have to be careful though and not go overboard. Just ask Bris. You drink too much and you're the guy who's sloppy drunk at 8 hitting on sober women while trying to convince them your name is Houston Mandolph. Then everybody thinks you're a lush. My general rule of thumb is to down a tall can while you're in the shower. Kill two alcoholic birds with one stone. That way, you get just the right head change going before you head to the bar for an all out assault on your liver. Just make sure you have one of those rubber shower mats. We don't want to be responsible for MADD creating a shower drinking branch.

If none of these ideas will work for you, chances are you're way too poor to even think about heading out to the bar. We feel your pain. It's tough to decide whether you should spend your last $10 on hamster food or dollar beers. We hope Nibbles' ghost will forgive us. The solution, again, lies with your dignity. If you must stay home and drink, then hard liquor in plastic bottles is the way to go. Sure, $6 vodka tastes like pure gasoline, but you can barely taste it after your 10th shot. If you're too much of a pussy for the hard stuff, then we'd like to introduce you to your new friend Natty Light. It's ridiculously cheap, it tastes like ass watered down with ball sweat, and it gets you drunk. It's like Pabst Blue Ribbon without the lame punk/hipster stigma.

We could go on, but this thing is getting ridiculously long, and it wasn't nearly as informative as we'd have liked it to be. I guess that means we failed. So I guess that means Soft news/features really are totally useless except as a means to fill space. And we filled a lot of space today. Hopefully tomorrow this space will be filled with actual news.

Shit to do for the weekend of 2/20-2/22

Sorry for the laziness again today. We're all helping Slick move. Here's some shit to to for the weekend.

Sexy Friday 2/20

The Blameshifters, The Secretions, Jaked on Ridicule, and Bastards of Young play the Blackwater tonight at 6. $8

Saturday 2/21

Stooges in Lodi is having their Mardi Gras party Saturday night so hooray tits.

Also, the 209 All Stars play another free show at the Beach Hut Deli at 7. Free

Sunday 2/22

Miss football.

Oh shit, I'd better get my hipster glasses detailed now before there's a wait!

As an admitted fan of quasifolkishalternarock, I gotta say I'm pretty stoked for this announcement from the Plea for Peace Center.

via P4P MySpace
"Working on the line up for what I hope will be an annual event.
THE NOT QUITE FOLK FESTIVAL. If you are interested in being involved please get in touch. It will be on Saturday July 18th at the Plea for Peace Canter 630 E Weber Ave Stockton Ca 95202."

Hey, a music festival in the downtownish area, what a novel concept. Now if only 209Vibe were still alive to cover this.

Shit to do for Valentine's Day weekend

I'm beat. Sorry it's so late. This is a sorely needed 3-day weekend.

Sexy Friday the 13th

This Friday is both scary and sexy, scary sexy if you will. And in honor of that, and to make up for the lateness, here's some Sexy Friday goodness (from the linked KSK post).





Ok, so tonight at 8 Novacain, Odessa, Sandra D Jay and Dave, and Soul Simple play the Blackwater for the California Innocence Project. Which kind of sounds like a fake charity, like the Human Fund, but I'm pretty sure it's real. That website looks legit. Plus Novacain's pretty funny. $6

Saturday Feb. 14th (Valentine's Day)

I suggest heavy drinking, but if you insist on staying sober then head on over to the Plea for Peace Center at 7 to see The Shivers, Alitak, and Dim City Lights. Plus there's an art show. So yeah, Alitak. $5 (plus $2 yearly membership fee if you haven't been before)

Sunday Feb 15th (Or as married people call it, 364 days until your next blowjob)

Nothing's happening Sunday. Miss football yet? The NBA All Star game is on, so hey, meaningless basketball!

Lori Gilbert: Senoir citizen fetishist

Lori Gilbert needs to be stopped. I don't know if we need to get rhino tranquilizers or if we just need to lure her into a cage with the smell of Bengay and unclipped coupons, but this has to end. Lori Gilbert's fascination with old people needs to stop.

If she wants to live out her days chronicling the stories of the county's incontinent that's fine, just go become a biographer. This shit is boring as fuck. If I wanted to read about people who smell like death I would read the obituaries. I understand the Record's readership is mostly the people Gilbert writes about, but shouldn't they be writing stories to help expand the Record's readership? I hate to be the one to break this to the Record's marketing department, but contests alone don't bring in new readers. Interesting stories about interesting shit does!

But I would like to thank Lori for only waiting 2 days to prove my point. She is officially 1 or 2 more stories away from making this a full blown fetish.

When did Lori Gilbert join the senior tour?

In slightly less miserable news (but only very slightly considering the subject matter), we have a question about Lori Gilbert. Gilbert was removed from the Sports section earlier last year in what can only be described as a mercy killing and shipped off to the obscurity of the LENS section to write soft features. Because if there's one thing the Record needed, it was another feature writer.

I haven't had much of a problem with her since the move. Her sports writing was awful. The classic example I use is the time she set feminism back 50 years by claiming Mike Gundy was being sexist for tearing into a female journalist for criticizing a college athlete. Something we did to Bob Highfill just last week. But hey, equality schmiquality. We await Gilbert's bitching diatribe about how we're biased against fat, old dudes who's facial expressions never change.

So the fact that she's gone from the sports page made her easier to ignore. Mostly because it was easy to pick her apart based on fact in her sports columns because we know an assload about sports. Notsomuch with her new beat. Which brings me to the question I have.

When did Lori Gilbert get put on the old lady beat?

It's taken me a while to notice this, because I largely ignore her work in the LENS section. But since they've been putting her on the new "Page 2" thingy, her subject matter just kind of falls and can't get up jumps out at you.

Here's a sampling of just the past 2 months. There's the 80-year old Denny's waitress from today's Record which has no discernable point beyond that fact that old people apparently can hold jobs. Then a column about quilting which pretty much speaks for itself. Then there's the time she caught up with a member of the old Stockton chapter of the Mickey Mouse Club. And that time she talked to a 100-year old lady.

She's averaging two columns about old fogeys a month. And these are just the columns I pulled from her Lifestyle columnist page. I didn't even attempt to look at the actual articles she wrote. I'm glad she's gone from the sports page and all, but come on. This is a bit much.

Shit to do for the weekend of 2/6-2/8

Sexy Friday 2/6

The Magnolia District, Knock on Wood, and the Mumblers are playing a free show at the Blackwater tonight at 8. I haven't heard of any of these bands and this is apparently Knock on Wood's first show, but it's free. So hey, affordable entertainment for some of Stockton's freshly laid off finest. Free

Of course that show contradicts this show on Ian Hill's MySpace that says it's Snap Jackson and the Knock on Wood Players and it costs $3. So you know, beware. $3

Alitak, City Psychology, and Origami Ghost play the Queen Bean Coffee House in Modesto tonight at 7. The show's free provided that you actually buy something. Come on, this is a coffee house, not a library. As always, Alitak kicks ass. Freeish

Saturday 2/7

Yeah, nothing's going on Saturday. Just weaksauce comedy shows. Unless you want to help me decipher whatever the hell this is supposed to be. Might I suggest going to see The Wrestler in Manteca?

Sunday 2/8

Of course Sunday was meant to watch the Pro Bo... Ok, sorry, I couldn't finish that sentence without laughing uncontrollably. Origami Ghost, St. Pierre, and Save Our Ship are playing the Plea For Peace Center on Sunday at 6. Which leaves just enough time to catch every band before bedtime. Tell Middagh we said "What's crackin'" $5/$7 (Yeah, I'm confused too)

Even Manteca recognizes the drawing power of Oscar nominated movies!

Today's LENS section features a review of The Wrestler. Why would the Record print a review for a movie we can't see...holy shit! Manteca's playing it! (Modesto's Brenden Theater is playing it too.) And with the added hilarity of a 4:20 start time! Sure, it's not in Stockton, but it's a start. Arthouse flicks are slowly making their way to SJ County. (Quick Sidenote: Film Festivals do not count. We want the normal movie theaters to play shit. Mostly because we don't want to have to sit through 4 other shitty passion projects. We just want to see the Oscar nominated movies that Stockton doesn't see fit to play. Go peddle your pet project to myRecord. That's what it's there for.)

As far as the review goes, mine was better. Mostly because I understood Darren Aronofsky told a truthful story. One of my fears when watching the movie was that non-wrestling fans would think Aronofsky over-dramatized shit to make for a good movie. He did not. Necrobutcher (The Ram's staple gun wielding opponent in a hardcore match) does that shit every night. That movie was an accurate slice of a washed up pro wrestler's life. And now we can watch it just 20 mins away. Fucking sweet. Who wants to go see Marissa Tomei's tits with me? It's better than your options in Stockton. Unless you really want to see He's Just Not That Into You or Paul Blart: Mall Cop.