It’s a good day for the forces of reason. Today, the California Supreme Court ruled that California’s ban on same-sex marriage is unconstitutional, and hereby void. This means that homosexuals will now be allowed to legally marry each other in the state.

From CNN:

“There can be no doubt that extending the designation of marriage to same-sex couples, rather than denying it to all couples, is the equal protection remedy that is most consistent with our state’s general legislative policy and preference,” said the 120-page ruling.

It said that the state law’s language “limiting the designation of marriage to a ‘union between a man and a woman’ is unconstitutional, and that the remaining statutory language must be understood as making the designation of marriage available to both opposite-sex and same-sex couples.”

With the ruling, California becomes the second state to allow same-sex couples to legally wed. Massachusetts adopted the practice in 2004, and couples don’t need to be state residents to wed there.

Vermont, New Jersey, New Hampshire and Connecticut permit civil unions, while California has a domestic-partner registration law. More than a dozen other states give gay couples some legal rights.

Seven other jurisdictions around the world have legalized same-sex marriage: Belgium, Netherlands, Spain, South Africa and the Canadian provinces of British Columbia, Ontario, and Quebec.

Exactly 10 years since my own graduation from the hallowed halls of Willows High School, my alma mater is undergoing something of a Final Destination-esque string of tragic deaths within it’s current senior class. To put things in perspective, my graduating class was all of 99 people (the 100th got expelled the day of graduation) and the town hasn’t exactly exploded with growth since then. It’s a small town in the truest sense of the word. Nothing crazy really ever happens there. The only newsworthy death in Willows I can remember, until now, was my cousin Reed, who drowned in the Sacramento River after tying an ice chest to his ankle. They brought him back to life though. It was even on Rescue 911 ( albeit in a slightly edited capacity). But what’s been happening to the Class of 2008 is definitely something different for the residents of Willows, or, I’d imagine, any small town.

First there was the shocking death of Brian Parks, quarterback of the varsity football team, son of the head coach, and about as wholesome, All-American kid as they come these days. From the LA Times story:

Brian Parks collapsed Aug. 21, on a scruffy field, in the shadow of a badly bent goalpost. It was halfway through a Monday afternoon preseason football practice for the Willows High School varsity. Parks was a 16-year-old junior, a candidate to be the team’s starting quarterback. It was 92 degrees, a good 10 degrees cooler than at much of the previous week’s practices.

The person closest to Brian when he went down, about an arm’s length away, was the head coach. He was in his 29th year of coaching in the Northern Section of the California Interscholastic Federation, and the last 26 of those had been as a head coach. He also taught physical education, health and sports medicine at this school 75 miles north of Sacramento, and was the person best equipped to handle the crisis. Brian had fallen face down, helmet slightly embedded in the dirt. His arms were splayed to his sides, hands resting awkwardly. One of his teammates yelled at him to “Quit screwing around.”

When the head coach turned him over, he saw lifeless eyes. The head coach ordered a 911 call, then started CPR. Brian’s practice jersey was quickly cut off, then the shoulder pads. While an assistant searched for a pulse, the head coach continued mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, the procedure that he had taught and been taught.
It took less than three minutes for the paramedics to get there. In Willows, almost nothing is more than five minutes away. The sign at the city limits helps explain that: Population 6,250, Elevation 135. When the paramedics arrived, they found groups of teenage boys, standing in small clusters, their faces blank with a sort of collective inability to comprehend. Nearby, an assistant coach was down on all fours, sobbing. Once the head coach relinquished medical efforts to the paramedics, he thought of his wife, who had just driven up from their home, three blocks away. The head coach’s name is Curtis Parks, and he knew that he and Cindy had just lost their only son, a son whose middle name was Curtis.

Parks had died from an unknown heart defect: Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Fast forward to this year, and another prominent, stand-out Class of 2008 student, Kayla Arnold was stricken by an even more mysterious unknown ailment, dying after her family removed her from life support:

Kayla Arnold, 18, was taken off life support and died late Wednesday morning, according to family spokesman Curtis Parks, whose son Brian was a close friend and classmate of Kayla’s, but died in 2006.

“Kayla was a wonderful young lady and loved by a lot of kids,” Parks said Wednesday. “I know the community will rally behind her family the same way they did last time.” Parks said that an official cause of death had not been determined as of Wednesday and said an autopsy would be scheduled “very soon.”

“The doctors have been able to rule out a few possibilities. We know it did not have anything to do with drugs and meningitis was also ruled out,” Parks said. “But, we still don’t know what actually happened or why.”

The fact that the Arnold family spokesperson was Parks, the father of Brian Parks, should give you some idea of the close-knit community in which these two mysterious tragedies struck. In fact, Brian Parks and Kayla Arnold were buried only a few feet from each other in the Willows Cemetary. That two, tragic, untimely deaths had happened to the same class of kids was pretty rare in the annals of Willows High School history. People wondered how it was possible that two such unorthodox deaths could happen in such proximity to one another. Statistically speaking, it was all pretty bizarre. Then came the news today of Willows High School senior Stephen Furtado, pictured above, murdered alongside his prom date in the forlorn mountain outpost of Chester, CA:

A senior at Willows High School and his prom date were found dead Sunday afternoon by the girl’s mother in Chester. The Plumas County Sheriff’s Office said Steven Daniel Furtado, 18, and Chester resident Jennifer Carmen Carrigan, also 18, are the victims of homicide.

As it this all weren’t bizarre enough, after being informed of his sister’s death, Jennifer Carrigan’s brother Billy, drove from his home in Berkeley to be with his family. Only he didn’t make it:

After hearing about the death of his sister, Billy Victor Carrigan, 20, left Berkeley to be with his family in Chester. The California Highway Patrol reported that Carrigan was driving east on Highway 36 near Mineral when he lost control of his 2001 Toyota Tacoma pickup on a 30 mph curve. The truck skidded off the road, reportedly became airborne, and slammed into several pine trees. Carrigan was wearing a seat belt but suffered major injuries. He was flown by helicopter to Enloe Medical Center, where he was reported in critical condition today.

Now I don’t necessarily believe in curses, but I don’t necessarily not believe in them either. Maybe it’s just bad luck. Maybe its just one-in-a-million times 3. But some crazy shit is definitely happening in Willows, CA. Let’s all hope it stops.

UPDATE: Jennifer Carrigan’s brother Billy has died from the injuries he sustained in the crash:

Billy Carrigan died Tuesday at Enloe Medical Center in Chico, said Christina Chavira, a hospital spokeswoman. He had been in critical condition at the hospital since Sunday, when he got into the accident along Highway 36 outside his hometown of Chester, about 150 miles north of Sacramento.

Not that this is necessarily a broad scoped piece of news, but nevertheless, I feel like trying to stack up some sort of credibility today. My apartment, in the Tower of the Senator Theatre in lovely Chico, CA, will once again play host to a slew of acoustic sets by touring bands. Tonight’s lineup will consist of OG Tooth and Nail punks MXPX, Vagrant Records badasses Protest The Hero, all followed by a set by The Color Fred.

For a taste of what the fuck I’m talking about, check out last week’s acoustic set and interview with Armor For Sleep, as well as the interview with Metro Station.

I’ve always wanted to run my own venue… And not pay the bands SHIT. My dreams have come true!

The thing about living in California, which is by far the best state in the whole WERLD, is that you pay for the privilege in a litany of ways, from home prices, to taxes, to the price of gas. In fact, the California town of Gorda, a coastal hamlet situated on Highway 1 south of San Francisco, holds the distinction of having the most expensive gas in the United States, at $5.40 for a gallon of premium:

Tourists couldn’t believe what they were seeing, NBC11 reported. Many said they would never pay that much for a gallon of gas. Others said they had no choice. The gas station’s owner said one customer told him to go to hell and another said he should be shot for charging that much for gas.

The reason the gas costs so much is because the town gets all its power from a generator and they use the extra profits from the pumps help pay that bill. The other reason is that they can. They’re the only game in town.

“If you’re out in the desert without water and you want a jug of water and they charge you 30 bucks for a jug of water, I wouldn’t feel sorry for you. Look before you leap, right? said gas station attendant James Willman.

Besides, people bitching about $5 gas should try going to fucking Netherlands, where last week a gallon of premium came in at $9.14.

I remember my first South by Southwest experience pretty well, considering the whole kid in a candy store / free music, free booze thing that happens in Austin TX every March. But the one thing I remember most was how much my feet hurt after the second day, and how happy I was when I visited the Riot Act Media party and found out that they were giving away free shoes. Saucony Jazz sneakers. I had brought nice-looking, but ill-fitting kicks with me, and once slipping into a pair of comfy shoes I was good to go for the rest of the week. It was like walking on the wings of sponge-angels. I podcasted something to that effect on the Synthesis radio site. In fact, since 2006, I’ve bought nothing but Sauconies (How’s that for good marketing, yo? You’re welcome for the free plug, thanks for the free shoes). Having saved my feet in 2006, David Lewis will forever be a saint to me.

This year, however, I failed to make it to a party featuring free shoes, and right now my brown Saucony Jazz sneakers, going on 6 months old, are in flattened shambles. It’s true, as outlined in my astute friend’s blog, musicismyboyfriend, there’s pretty much nowhere to sit at SXSW for more than a minute. You’re on the go from venue to venue to venue the entire time because, honestly, there’s just too much to see and so little time to see it. Sure, there are rickshaws (known in these parts as pedicabs), and I did use one after Chiodos‘ set on Friday night since La Zona Rosa is kind of a long walk from the main drag on 6th street. Otherwise I was on foot, and as of Sunday I’ve been developing the gnarliest athletes’ foot you’ve ever seen. If it gets any more personality I may have to give it a name. Updates as they come. In the meantime, Check out Video Matt being a drunk ass on a rickshaw. Hilarity! Snoochy Boochies!

“Only two things come from Texas, son, and that’s steers and queers. And I don’t see no horns on you boy.”

Texas is a land of machismo. Oil wells. Cattle. Cacti peppering the dusty plains, where men chew gravel and spit out asphalt. Or maybe my mom just watched too much Dallas when I was a kid. I don’t know, but I certainly have an impression that it’s a manly state.

Still, the place is not without its more leftist lifestyles, including a healthy contingent of homosexuals. When I noticed the Gay Flag on a bar a block away from the hotel I thought, “well bless their hearts. The roughnecks haven’t driven the gays from the streets of Austin.” And yes I know Austin is the most liberal places in the state, but still.

The thing I noticed most about this gay bar was that it was full of regular old people watching rock ‘n’ roll bands. And that’s what Austin gay bars have in common with the countless UT frat bars that line the 6th street corridor: during SXSW their clientele is pretty much the same: industry people and hardcore music fans getting fucked up and watching hundreds of bands. Together. As One. Ommmmmmm…..
Rock Music: the great equalizer.

(UPDATE: I apologize for the brief all-caps diatribes about broken cameras and hating internets, which I have since deleted. I was drunk and shit was not uploading and Brit and Matt were telling me to hurry. It was an intense and frustrated moment. No offense intended.)