Posting a MySpace bulletin titled"Look at my dick!" when it's really just a flyer for your band doesn't help your cause. It just means your band isn't as cool as your dick.
There is no difference between The Album Leaf and John Tesh. None.
Your half-beard will be permitted only if you have the shopping cart and a collection of cigarette butts to go with it.
There are no good polka-core bands anymore.
Mullets are not cool. They are neither ironic, trendy, faux, quasi nor pseudo.
If you're older than 45, single and still hitting on scenester chicks at The Casbah, please stop. You're making the rest of us aging scenester men look bad.
If you do blow in the Casbah bathroom, the guys waiting for you should be allowed to drag you onstage to be publicy flogged by the mother of a deformed Colombian child (courtesy of the concentrated Round Up¢ the U.S. government sprayed on her village).
If you are drinking at Scolari's Office at 3 p.m., you are either what porn sites refer to as"mature" or an avid poster on the San Diego Punk Board (click here and start posting with other drunk punks!).
Yes, Tim Pyles has always known the massive branding potential of his bald head.
The Golden Hill house owned by the people behind Three One G Records used to be owned by Bradley Nowell of Sublime. No joke.
No matter how crowded it is, no one in San Diego says"excuse me" when trying to get by in a club. Let's get some manners, people.
Kadan's Tuesday night Guitar Hero II competition deserves way more attention.
Jukeboxes that allow other people to play their songs before yours should be destroyed.
The San Diego Sports Club is too close to a liquor store and a porn store to charge $5.50 for well whiskey.
Despite what your flyer says, playing 7-inch records of the most obscure music you can find does not make you a DJ. Just plug in your iPod and sit down with the rest of us.
Congrats to The Alibi, Livewire, Aero Club, Hamilton's, Lancer's, Whistle Stop and all the other bars that held on to their old-school jukeboxes for yet another year.
Shame on all the bars that sold out to TouchTunes, making their patrons pay to listen to the fucking radio.
There are no benches in San Diego. Has anyone noticed this?
Is it"about the music" or"about the deejays"?
The tall guy standing in front of you at the show feels really bad that you can't see, but also feels like you probably should have arrived earlier if you wanted to watch the band.
Supporting the local music scene is the new talking shit about the local music scene.
Approaching fatherhood the same way he approached rock 'n' roll, John Reis will spawn 2,487 children in 2007. They will come in assorted colors of vinyl.
Before the end of 2007, we'll all be working for Adam Gimbel, or we'll be dead by his hand.
Some Gaslamp asshole will finally get bitch-slapped for talking during the headliner at The Casbah.
Art Fag records will be slapped with a defamation suit by a New York painter with a curious lisp.
After reading Pitchforkmedia.com, aliens will abduct Rob Crow. Once aboard the mother ship, they will prod and poke and cut him in an effort to extract"this "cool factor' they speak of."
The sound guy will finally get the monitors straight.
The Casbah will add a side stage solely to accommodate Rob Crow's side projects.
Angels & Airwaves will be dropped, dropped hard, by Geffen.
+44 will enter a blink-182-tribute-band contest and come in fourth.
After dropping to fifth place in the division, the Padres will finally give Garth Brooks a call.
O'Connells will have entered 2007 as a dark horse but finish the year as the coolest joint on the planet. The owner will get a tattoo to commemorate the coolness.
Inspired by sites such as Gawker and Defamer, you will start your own blog based on celebrities in San Diego. Unable to find Rob Halford and realizing Tom DeLong ate at Sombrero's only because he was"really fucking broke" back then, you will stop.
A woman in a flower-print dress will close her eyes and twirl by herself on the dance floor at Winston's.
Cattle Decapitation will play a PETA conference and inspire the meat-deprived audience to devour each other.
Local band The Boy Raping Priests will spawn a side project named Child Touching P.E. Coaches.
Going against some very basic human impulses, you will finally give in and go to Stingaree. You will not get in.
At the 710 Beach Club, you will play the bartender in chess. Losing, you will play him in checkers. Losing, you will ask to join a pickup game of beer pong. You will be rejected. Loser.
Grand Ole Party will be tapped to play the Republican National Convention. John McCain will guest on keyboards.
After waiting 50 years, the cats at the Red Fox Room will finally score a record deal.
94/9's Mike Halloran will interview The Cure's Robert Smith and regale him with stories of how the two of them are connected. Smith will not get a word in.
Drummers as lead singers will be the dominant band dynamic of 2007. Shortly after the year is finished, we will go back to something that actually works.
From here forward, rap and pop groups will no longer be able to refer to their hometowns by area code. Such scene-specific lingo will be restricted to"MySpace" and"Facebook."
Grand Ole Party will become huge and thousands of little indie girls will wear headbands"just like Kristin."
Delta Spirit will become huge, officially making San Diego the most likely place for Fatherson & The Holy Ghost to hold their reunion concert.
You will finally realize what the mail slot at the Live Wire is really used for. And it will frighten you to the core.
The ceiling at Scolari's Office will finally succumb to its convex tendencies and eradicate most of the city's supply of skin-tight Levi's.
Dizzy's will benefit from a massive jazz renaissance, which will be started at the same place those flying monkeys came from.
High on acid, an off-duty fisherman will harpoon the Belly Up's great white.
More San Diegans will qualify as"haters" than ever before.
Tired of residents getting the name wrong, Golden Hill will finally add a second hill.
A new venue with great sound will open, but no one will go there because it's not The Casbah.
The Reader will publish another fascinating story about what songs nobody's ever heard of is on the iPod of some musician nobody's ever heard of.
Modest Mouse will come back to San Diego, insult the crowd, act like gods and play like shit.
Some mediocre band with a mediocre following will get on stage and whine about how San Diego doesn't support local music.
Mojo Nixon will knock up Anna Troy.
Rob Hagey will sell Street Scene to Java Joe.
San Diego fails again in its bid to become the next Seattle, getting lapped by Seattle, which becomes the next Seattle (again).
Mojo Nixon will knock up Tristan Prettyman.
A San Diego science lab invents a serum that will bring the dead back to life. They try it out on Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, John Bonham, George Harrison and Kurt Cobain who, immediately upon returning from the dead, will form a band and tour the country-skipping San Diego, of course.
In the first-ever lawsuit of its kind, Steve Poltz sues Jewel to have his name taken off the writing credits of"You Were Meant for Me."
Mojo Nixon will knock up Tim Pyles.
Every music fan in San Diego who isn't in a band will his or her own production company, and those production companies will produce one MySpace page and nothing else.
Fired Chargers coach Marty Schottenheimer will front a punk-rock band called Marty and the Shots of Heimer. They will advance to the finals of a national battle-of-the-bands contest, only to lose when Marty chokes on the mic.
Some asshole will put $5 in the jukebox, subjecting a bar full of innocent people to an hour of Sublime and Linkin Park.
Everyone behind the bar at the San Diego Sports Club will continue to creep out everyone on the other side of the bar.
Every four months, you'll forget why you don't go to the Gaslamp. You'll go, only to remember why you don't go to the Gaslamp.
Epicentre and Soma will host great bands. Fans of said bands will continue to find something else to do that night.
The 10 million new condos around town will be purchased by really cool artistic people who will make great contributions to our cultural community.
Thanks to the magic of MySpace, the six degrees of separation in the San Diego music scene will be reduced to two.
Only people with asymmetrical haircuts will be served drinks at the Beauty Bar.
Off the Record employees will continue to make people they don't know feel guilty for entering their store.
Hipster girls with dyed black hair and short bangs will continue to be incredibly attractive despite having obvious relationship issues.
The little girl whose bedroom is above The Casbah's smoking patio will form a non-profit smoking-cessation program aimed at"scary looking music people on drugs."
The guy downstairs will learn a new chord progression. Please.
Bars will be filled with people who look like they are in bands.
Lou's Records will open an even better location in San Diego, complete with cute, pale hipster chicks and unwashed old guys.
A surfer will emerge from the Pacific creating music that sounds nothing like Jack Johnson or Sublime, making the beach cool again.
Entirely decent people will listen to Tom Leykis because San Diego radio is just that bad.
More than a few musicians will regret sending their demo to CityBeat.