My mom had no appetite, but Estelle Getty (Golden Girls) had died. The Insider showed a fat lady scarfing Rocky Road (out of the carton), Doritos, Colt 45, peanut butter cups; then a hippo attacked that idiot in a hippo suit (Undercover Hippo). Pat O'Brien gesticulated wildly. The creature was "inches from snapping off limbs." The daughter of Olivia Newton John was bragging about writing songs barefoot in the rainforest. I changed channels, to manure treatment plants, "provocative 11-year-olds," and pureed crickets. I decided to eat the dead bug in the air pocket in my garlic bread. [I had to eat the eggplant Parmesan a neighbor made for my mom (who eats half the entrees, arriving every other day). I'm like the police inspector in Hitchcock's Frenzy, (whose wife was taking a gourmet cooking class) forcing down vile demitasses.] 

Indian Story 

A few months ago, Alec, my one-time little neighbor kid who's all grown up now, came by the bike shop. He's my credit-card representative and he knows I've always been into motorcycles. As such, he brings me a couple of model bikes-two beautiful Indian Chiefs, the classic American motorcycle that saw its heyday during the first half of the 20th century.

Spurred by the raging debate over national (and global) energy policy, in mid-July, I traveled to the mountains of southwestern Virginia. While famous as the birthplace of country and bluegrass music and full of authentic Appalachia culture, it was the coal in "them thar hills" that sparked my visit. My destination was Wise County and the small town of St. Paul where for two years a fierce, indeed classic battle has raged between the powerful coal industry and a variety of less powerful citizens groups over the building of Dominion Power's Virginia City hybrid coal-burning power plant.

 Humboldt Road Burn Dump

Back in 1890 somebody, somewhere in Chico got the bright idea of creating a city dump where citizens could haul their empty bottles, rusty tin cans and other unwanted or otherwise on-longer-useful useful materials. This would be far better than burying such crap in the backyard, as was the custom at the time.

In Steven King's The Mist, a mountain community is trapped indoors, afraid to go out into a vaporous cloud of certain death. This was the fate that awaited me, returning to Paradise from the city. My "prophecy has come to pass" (see "Cohen Plays.."). The sky was black at 8 a.m., white ghak falling from on high. Later it was 110, burnt orange breaking through, but I froze from AC. It dispelled the smell of smoke, as the back windows didn't seal. I futilely tried masking tape. The air was "Hazardous," a step above "Unhealthy For All." Taking out trash was like smoking a pack. I was a smoked bee, unable to think, only watch TV and sleep. 

The proud parents show off the male-half of their set of twins, litttle Knox. Angelina is reportedly doing well, and hopes to shed that extra weight that comes with pregnancy, pronto!

While the northstate stews in a soupy mix of fire, ash and yellow smoke, we wait for the final tally of damage in total acres burned (702,395 statewide to this point), sructures lost and the monetary costs to fight the fires.

 Anthony Sayegh

Anthony Sayegh waits patiently behind the counter at Anthony's Liquor while a woman wearing long underwear on a scorchingly hot day gathers the commodities she needs, nervously going from shelf to shelf in the neatly stocked store.

Enloe Medical Center service unit employees and the hospital's administration are now in their 16th month of contract negotiations, trying to hammer out the toughest, and most basic issue-wages and benefits.

By Robert Bowman

Each Fourth of July, I give thanks for our forefathers, their wisdom,courage and personal sacrifices in creating our great country and tothose since who have served in so many ways to preserve our country aswell as the many who paid the ultimate sacrifice in defending thecountry. The editorial "The Governed take precedence" in the ChicoEnterprise-Record reminded the reader about what is really important:The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution and the "We thePeople" of this country.

 On these extended S.F. cat sits, I'm Jack Torrence (The Shining)/Paul Kersey (Death Wish) within 10 days. Hooligans yield the sidewalk, when they see a protruding palm poised for a lethal septum strike. I cheer on the little sleeveless longhair who stands in the street, proclaiming the populist to be "Fucking Assholes." Everyone's auditioning for The Exorcist. Constant sirens, car alarms, salsa blasts and fireworks create a cacophonous menudo. [The windows won't close because of fresh paint and broken cranks.]

 Just said "no."

Enloe Service workers have rejected the hospitals contract offer and instead voted to OK what could be a four-day strike.

 Sue Hilderbrand

In response to the Butte County Clerk-Recorder's decision to no longer conduct civil marriage ceremonies in the county offices, the Chico Peace and Justice Center is picking up the slack and offering its facility to those couples who wish to tie the knot.

 Chico Creek Nature Center

Tom Haithcock is nervous. The director of the Chico Creek Nature Center is answering questions about the new building recently completed next to the old facility near Cedar Grove in Bidwell Park. The building's very existence is the unlikely result of a collaboration among a diverse group of private, public and governmental entities-an effort that has Chico written all over it.

After more than a year of meetings and 40 bargaining sessions with the Service Employees International Union, Enloe Medical Center's administration has made what it calls its "last, best and final offer" to the union.