“This month, an estimated 2.7 million people lost power in northern California due to PG&E’s preemptive power shutoff on October eighth and again on October twenty-forth. There were also preemptive power shutoffs in the L.A. and San Diego areas,” Riha said.
In the beginning of his career at the reserves, Hamilton built a laserdisc, which he called a “data management system before the internet.” The device, which employed interactive touch screen technology, stores and plays video, audio, and data.
Moments after taking the last exam of my freshman year — before preparing to head home to Los Angeles — I walked into Lincoln Hall, found an unoccupied music room and cried silently, fiddling aimlessly with piano keys. It wasn’t for the reasons you might expect. I wasn’t crying over the difficulty of the exam or just how “average” of a Cornellian I was. I was crying because I didn’t want to go back home. I sometimes receive sarcastic remarks like “lucky” or a high-pitched “why would you leave?” when I tell other Cornellians I’m from Los Angeles, Calif.
As the number of members in a given band decreases, the worries of a “Ship of Theseus” transformation increase if band members join on or drop out. As such, Blink-182’s decision to slot in Alkaline Trio’s Matt Skiba in place of former vocalist and guitarist Tom DeLonge 14 years into their career must have elicited trepidation amongst many long-time fans. In “Bored To Death,” the first single off of Blink-182’s California, which is slated for a July 1 release, fans get a glimpse of Skiba’s contributions to the trio. The new collaborators have seemingly decided to pass on delving into radically new material in their first public debut, instead offering up a song that could easily slot into any of Blink-182’s most middle-of-the-road, polished releases (Enema of the State, Take Off Your Pants and Jacket). “Bored To Death,” however, evidences the darker, more mature tone that Blink-182 has started moving towards as its band members near their mid-40s.
Embarking on my potentially final freedom summer (if you will) of life, unless I become a teacher, (which seems unlikely considering the criminal record I plan to accrue), I have begun to reflect upon the parallel time of my life. This post-college summer may or may not mirror the summer of 2005, right after I was finally unshackled from the emotional and physical fetters of boarding school and let loose with my middle school homeslices in NorCal, where the possibilities seemed endless and life seemed like it was really getting into gear …
It was all the simple things back then: Just me, my friends and a giant cup.
Last Saturday I squeezed ten mostly unrelated friends into my tiny studio apartment. They drank my drinks, they annoyingly touched my things, the usual. But as they sat on my bed, my desk, my counter and a rogue table which usually holds up several tons of not-quite-dirty clothes from the abyss of the floor, they complained about the lack of ergonomically correct devices they referred to as “chairs.”
Every summer my parents sent us to summer camp in Bumfuck, CA, in the central valley. No man’s land, if you will, where a crisp 104 degrees is just how the malaria-carrying insects like it. I would write home every day in the stationery they gave me to plead with them to bring me home. When that didn’t work, they certainly regretted giving me my grandparents’ addresses. My nearly-90 year old grandfather barged into their living room one Saturday in early July demanding to know why they sent me to a place where they made me eat spiders.