What’s keeping beds empty as streets are overflowing are both a lack of inspections to ensure that shelters meet basic federal health codes, and the inability to compel individuals to receive treatment. The first issue is one that can easily be remedied by requiring more frequent inspections, but the second requires that we fundamentally rethink our approach to homelessness, mental health, and substance abuse.
The California Review
What the California Republican Party needs is a new generation of leadership determined to take back this state—one wholly separate from the consultants like Chairwoman Jessica Patterson who make their fortunes managing decline, and from the policy and media illiterate baby boomers who, bless their hearts, still cannot get over Ronald Reagan and continue to uphold his—so holy is His name— disastrous, self-serving 11th commandment, “Thou shalt not speak ill of any fellow Republican.”
With the average installation cost of a home security system ranging from $600 to $1200, and monthly dues of $30 or more per month, many minority communities find this amenity sorely out of their budget.
A year ago, rapper, producer and fashion icon Tyler The Creator released his sensational album, Flower Boy awing a new generation of music lovers with its innovative and unique sound. Day one listeners of Tyler were given his most cohesive album yet, and new listeners were shown a side of Tyler that’s always been in his music, but has been hidden by Tyler’s layered of edginess and overlooked by media hit pieces. Now, having attended a live show and made use of a full year to digest the album, I’m able to give the in depth review this album deserves.
The California Review was first published on January 7, 1982 to serve as an outlet for conservative in libertarian thought at a time when campus culture suppressed all such thinking. It’s equally curious and disheartening how little things have changed in that regard…
Posted on behalf of Nicole Naoum
There’s nothing quite like taking a leisurely stroll down a cobblestone street that predates your own country by over a thousand years only to have your eye nearly gouged out by a selfie-stick wielding tourist moments later. Venturing further into the city, the potent aroma of sea salt, marijuana, and on occasion, raw sewage, wafts through the gothic spires and narrow alleyways. With the late afternoon sky tinged with vibrant hues of purple and pink, you begin to appreciate the silence, as distant echoes of street performers and roaring motorbikes fade into the horizon.