Check out a couple live clips of the always-badass Underoath, shot this last week at the Grand Ballroom in San Francisco. Video Matt’s interview with the band will also be coming soon, as soon as that dude gets his ass out of bed. Remember, if you think its annoying having to read about these videos on the blog, subscribe to our YouTube channel and we’ll spam your e-mail too.

A few miles up the road from our homebase here in Bumblefuck, CA is a town named Paradise, which is kind of a ballsy thing to name your town, especially one in semi-rural Northern California. Thus, it was lulz this summer when Paradise burned down, or at least some of it. But fire can’t keep the haters down; the parts of Paradise that are left are still full of aspiring klansmen and people who hate “niggers,” especially Barack Obama, as evinced by the following e-mail from the Paradise Center for Tolerance & Nonviolence:

Dear Friends,

PCTN has learned of three recent occurrences of Hate Graffiti / Incidents in our community.
An Obama sign was defaced with the word “nigger”.
WP (White Power) was painted on a wall.
A figure of a black man hanging by a noose was in someone’s front yard as a “Halloween decoration”. The Paradise Police Dept. acted promptly on this report and took steps to persuade the individual to remove the figure.

Insert Paradise pun here

Sometimes typos can make otherwise boring shit a little more lulzy. Take for example, our friends in AZ-emo outfit The Maine, who besides having the best fucking tour manager in the entire music industry, Peter Digby Sellers, also happen to have 234928237 13-year-old girls as fans. Thus they are partnering up with teen girl outfitter and longstanding staple of mallville Wet Seal for a promotion, which includes an exclusive shirt designed by the homie Jimmy Richards and a bunch of in-stores during the bands current tour. Cool enough for them, but not really headline making material. However, the e-mail from the band’s label announcing this promotion was enough to make anyone with a dirty mind (basically, anyone who works at Synthesis) have a good laugh.

In return for a good laugh, I’ll go ahead and post the press release after the jump for any who are interested: (more…)

[With heavy hearts we bring you the last installment of Emilie Clark's Bibliophile column.]

You Say Goodbye, I Say, “Get Lost, I’m Reading”

So, I contemplated a lot of different ways to write this last column. I’ve never been especially good at goodbyes. When everyone else was crying at high school graduation, I was making stupid jokes and eyeing the exit. Part of that was because I hated high school so much, but there’s also a part of me that is unable to fully recognize that a change is coming, so that I always end up at the other side of it a little confused and not fully prepared. I guess this is just the first time I’ve ever been forced to work it out in writing.
Getting the chance to write this column was one of the five best things to happen to me ever. It not only gave me a chance to write off book purchases on my taxes, and think about something other than pastries all day, but it put me in contact with a lot of other book-reading squares out there. Sure, I only ever really got e-mails when I disparaged the Beats, but it’s exponentially better than the amount of e-mail I was getting before (if you discount the ones offering to enlarge my penis).
So anyway, goodbyes are for suckers. And it’s not what they’re paying me the big bucks to do. You all are gonna need something to read while I’m in the City of Roses, and I’m not sure what my successor has planned for you. So here are some of the best things I read this year, which you should probably read this month, before school comes and takes away all your free time.

The Abstinence Teacher, by Tom Perotta: You might remember my review of this book, but if not, then know that it not only focuses on the national debate regarding abstinence education, but also features a pretty awkward love story. When you’re done with it, read Little Children, also by Perotta.

Black Hole, by Charles Burns: I was lucky enough to do an interview with Mr. Burns earlier this year. He may not know how to text message, but he remembers what high was like perfectly.

The Brief, Wondrous Life, Of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz: This guy has a pretty good handle on being a teenager as well. Plus the way he writes will pick you up and drop you right down in New Jersey. If you don’t want to read it, don’t fret; I’d bet money that someone is working on a movie adaptation.

The Kid, by Dan Savage: Do not say a word about gay adoption before you read this book. There isn’t much in the way of facts and figures to influence your decision, but if you don’t come away convinced that not only should Dan Savage be allowed to raise kids, but that he should probably raise your kids, then I’ll be mighty surprised.
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[The following entry was written by Synthesis Weekly columnist Emilie Clark. She can be reached at emilie@synthesis.net ]

I Was Told There’d Be Cake
By Sloane Crosley
Riverhead

I, like everyone else interested in book publishing, journalism, music or theater, have always fantasized about moving to New York City. That’s where it all happens, you know, and I heard if you can make it there you can make it anywhere. I discarded that pipe dream a while back, but NYC still interests me. Which is why I read Gawker on occasion and keep up on the New York literary world though the Internet. I guess it’s inevitable to know a lot about the city and its inhabitants since most media spawns from within its confines. This is a long-winded way of saying that I had some definite preconceptions about New York publicist Sloane Crosley’s debut book.
According to The New York Observer, Sloane Crosley’s path to writing started with a mass e-mail to some friends describing a story that would later become an essay in the book. The story is about how when moving from one apartment to another (three blocks away) she locked herself out of both apartments. It’s a funny story in the book and I’m sure it was a funny e-mail, but that’s not important. What’s important is that one of her friends — and therefore e-mail recipient — was the editor at The Village Voice and offered to publish a polished-up version of the story. This is essentially how Crosley became famous. And it’s also why I’m having a hard time liking her. I can’t help but wonder how different my life and writing career would be if I were friends with the editor of The Village Voice. But I guess my envy is really neither here nor there.

Now that we’ve whetted your interest, the actual review can be found after the jump… (more…)