Lately, in this publication, there has been a lot of fur flying regarding Midtown people and suburban people (specifically from Roseville, Rocklin and Granite Bay). Insults have been flung back and forth from both sides of the issue. Terms like “Ed Hardy” and “hipster” have been volleyed around with the vehemence of a food fight in a middle school cafeteria. Stereotypes are flung from both camps: People who live on the grid are all tattooed, Rivers Cuomo-looking, “Flight of the Conchords” wannabes, and the suburbanites are all roofie-dropping, backward cap-wearing “Jersey Shore” wannabes. I was once told that I was the type of person who didn’t like my cheese moved, meaning I don’t like

Living in Portland Maine, one of my favorite things to do was go to a great neighborhood wing place. I would wait all day on my days off, for their happy hour special of all you can eat wings. The wings came in many flavors, they even came a flavor called Chernobyl; if you were able to eat a dozen, you got it for free and your picture on the wall.. When I moved back out to Sacramento, I was in search for wings, that were as good , as my neighborhood haunt back east. I tried Fanny Ann’s, Wing Stop, and to my own personnel shame even Hooters. I had gotten so desperate, I was even hitting every Asian buffet I could find, but always disappointed. I had given up my search. Then I heard a new

 My first year driving a cab, I was 22 years old, and I was having the time of my life. Every night was a new adventure. Before every shift, I would ask what would fall across my path that night. There was no such thing as a normal night, and as a Bukowski/Kerouac-wannabe, I was Augstus Gloop, and the nightlife was my chocolate factory. But like that overeager nearsighted kid with a black hole for a stomach, I finally bit off more than I could chew. I picked up a fare just going a couple blocks. When we stopped the fare, he reached over from the backseat and tried to grab me, asking for my money. I got out of the cab still holding onto my first real leather jacket. He ended up ripping m

One would think hearing a child's laughter would make a person feel better. Instead, I feel disdain and annoyance. The sound pierces my inner ear like Rosanne Barr singing the national anthem, not just once, but over and over again. I try to stay in areas where there will be no children. Like the Weatherstone's courtyard. Until about a year and a half ago when Old Soul bought Weatherstone from the once-mighty Java City empire, it was the courtyard where the rockers, chess players and a generation of grid kids pretty much grew up in. When Old Soul first took over, the only major changes were the sandwiches and the increased price of coffee. The quality of the coffee went down, but the San