INCITE
“Hella” - Loaded Phrases - The Exhibit - The Originalities
s t a f f editor -in- chief copy editor
Emmeline Domingo & Kristen Viray
Gilliane Richardson
marketing director director of fundraising and promotions creative director Nathan Osorio
graphic designers
Priya Gohil Gilda Nowparast
photographers Gilda Nowparast Michael Chin
web editors
Kristina Wong
Carly Lanning Joanna McCoy
Priya Gohil
cover art features
Benjamin Bray Suzanne Casazza Michael Chin Darius Dehghan
writers
Michael Chin Lori Ke Carly Lanning
Amber Di Ferdianand Amanda Kim Wes Koseki Carly Lanning
Neil Pu Gilliane Richardson Vatche Yousefian
Traci Lee Emma Shirley Kristina Wong
David Ritter Nate Van Dyke
THE MISSION:
Volume 4, Issue 2
bloggers
... is to create awareness beyond our common cultural community in an effort to educate, unite, and transcend barriers. We aim to provide our readers with insight into the world they live in, with the hopes of inciting activism.
letter from Welcome to a new school year and a new issue of Incite! The current staff has graciously dedicated this issue of art to our 2011 graduates. We hope that you gain inspiration from the pages. The pages of Incite provided space for me to speak and grow while I was a student at UCI, and for that I am grateful. Incite’s mission has always been to create awareness and transcend barriers. I urge you to engage in such work during your time at UCI, and use whatever tools and means are available. Writers and artists will always have a space in this magazine. While with us, may you Incite passion, activism and learning. Always in solidarity, Emmeline Editor in Chief, 2010-2011 Incite was never mine, it owned me from the start. It was a demanding master, whiny child, and nagging mother who only wanted to bring out the best in me. It gave me the opportunity to work with a very talented group of writers, designers, photogs, editors, bloggers, and internet trolls. Incite would not have been possible without their dedication, and of course the support from you, our loyal readers. It’s been a pleasure working with all of you, and being at Incite’s beckoned call. We’ve had our share of inspiring stories, editing gripes, internet lulz, and unforgettable experiences. There is nothing like the smell of newly printed issues, and creeping in the shadows of the shady warehouse where they are printed. My parting words of advice: be persistent. Be nosy. Hold everyone and everything accountable with your words. Read. Be forever curious, but above all, keep writing. Kristen Co-Editor in Chief, 2010-2011
T H E E D I T O R
table of contents Catching Phrases The Hella Movement Sticks and Stones
Chronicling
Vanitas: A Hundred Thousand Strands The Exhibit
Imagining
The Art Exhibition
pg 2 pg 3 pg 7 pg 10 pg 11
Fulfilling the Movement The Foam is Mightier The Originalities
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pg 16 pg 19
Catching Phrases
The “Hella” Movement by Kristina Wong
It’s the overly used slang term from NorCal. A naughty cuss word for children. Wicked’s cousin from Boston. The name of an indie rock band from Sacramento. The phrase Eric Cartman repeatedly says in the South Park episode “Spookyfish.” The hit song sung by No Doubt. A lighting corporation for automobiles conveniently located in the U.S. and Canada. A prefix in the Google calculator. 1027 or 1,000,000,000, 000,000,000,000,000,000. Hella. A hell of a lot of. Hell of. Helluva. Hecka. Very. Really. Totally. Lots of. Yes. That’s what “hella” means. A noun, verb, and adjective for informal conversation. Whether describing a “hella” cool party or a “hella” hard test, this slang word may be used in a variety of ways. I am “hella” from Northern California. That was “hella” tight! Although it is not exactly known how the slang term “hella” came about, there’s no question as to where it came from: Northern California. Like the Bostonian “wicked,” the slang term “hella” denotes a similar meaning for Northern Californians. Thought to have originated in the Hunters Point neighborhood of San Francisco, this slang word has been making an impact on the Californian region for the good and the bad. What started out as part of the lingo for teenagers in the Bay Area has gone through great lengths to be nationally recognized and accepted. In the 1998 Halloween special of the popular and controversial Comedy Central show, “South Park,” the overweight, foulmouthed, and obnoxious little boy named Cartman uses the word “hella” as a catchphrase for the “Spookyfish” episode. Although Kenny, Kyle, and Stan may have been hella annoyed by Cartman’s use of this phrase, the episode contributed to the
widespread knowledge of the slang term with Cartman’s uttered words “Man, you guys are hella stupid.” The 2001 release of No Doubt’s song “Hella Good” sparked even more interest in the word. While touring the Bay Area, lead singer Gwen Stefani admits that she borrowed the Northern California lingo for her funky song as a way of describing her mood. Thus, resulting in the lyrics: “You’ve got me feeling hella good/So let’s just keep on dancing/You hold me like you should/ So I’m gonna keep on dancing.” Not only did this No Doubt song hit number one on the U.S. Billboard’s Hot Dance Music/Club Play, but it also spread the usage of hella as a slang word. A petition was started in 2010 in order to establish “hella” as part of the International System of Units (SI), joining the ranks with kilo, mega, giga, yotta, and zetta. The petition, which was started by U.C. Davis student Austin Sendek on Facebook, has reached 63,705 fans so far, all in favor of having “hella” indicate the number one followed by twenty-seven zeros. However, what began as a joke turned into an international movement of the attempt to get “hella” on the radar. Sendek is one step closer to this goal, as Google got behind the “hella” campaign and officially added “hella” to their calculator in May 2010. Whether you love or hate the word, “hella” is not a slang term that will disappear anytime soon. An ongoing battle between Northern and Southern California has divided the state with a War on Slang. Southern Californians have upset those from up North by insisting that “hella” is not a real word. Meanwhile, Northern Californians retaliate with pride by saying that SoCalers are just “hella” jealous. My advice to all the “hella” haters… if you can’t beat them, join them.
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Sticks
Catching Phrases
and Stones
by Carly Lanning | Photos by Micahel Chin
“That was so easy! I totally raped that test!” Rape? You had sex with a test against its consent? Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me. We are taught this since childhood. We grow up with a false security that no matter what other people say about us or in our presence, our lives will be unchanged by their language. But anyone who has spent one day in the real world knows that words are sometimes harsher, sharper and more violent than any punch or kick. Wounds from words scar deeper. Our capacity for language and expression makes us unique as a species, but our ability to use words is both a blessing and a curse. One insult or comment has the capacity to ruin, empower, or hinder a person. Some words are so potent that they impact one’s identity and personal experiences. Sometimes, a broken bone can be the least hurtful wound because we never know the story written under someone’s skin. “That was so easy! I totally raped that test!” Rape? You had sex with a test against its consent? On college campuses, the meaning of the word rape has been morphed into something far from its original definition. “I totally raped that test,” is usually said by a student running out the door of an exam room, hands flying above their head with a look of glee on their face. But let’s widen this picture. As that student runs out of the classroom, telling their friends how they “raped” their test, they pass several groups of people as they walk along ring road. In college, one in four female students will have been sexually assaulted before they graduate. At UC Irvine, we have a student population of 26,000 and a female student population of about 12,000; that means that 3,000 students will be survivors of sexual assault before they graduate. These survivors are our fellow students that we pass everyday so it’s is important to
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be aware of how we language and the affect our words can have on the people around us. To these survivors, the word rape does refer to a test or excitement. It’s associated a most extreme form of disrespect, loss, and violence. Rape is defined as an act of sexual intercourse, the completion of penetration, that is accomplished against a person’s will using force, persuasion, or manipulation. By using the term rape in everyday conversation to refer to exams you’ve aced or good things you’ve done, you are not only being insensitive to victims around you, you are mocking their suffering. Having “raped” something becomes cause for celebration. It is important to be aware of the power behind your words. “When I think about people joking with this term, the biggest thing is that it is minimizing the issue by using it in this joking sense and making it seem like it isn’t something that actually happens to people,” says Right to Know coordinator Jessie Corral. Right to Know, a peer education group working under the Campus Assault Resources and Education Office (CARE) with the mission to provide resources and support to survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence. This is an issue Corral is all too familiar with through her work. She reiterates the importance of choosing your words carefully. “For me,” Corral shares,” I always tell people when they are joking or using “Oh, I raped that test” or “That was so expensive, I just got raped by the car dealer,” that they are not thinking about the people around them. We don’t know what people go through or who has been affected by what. That word, that one simple word in that sentence could really throw off someone’s day and really trigger emotions.” With this version of the word rape becoming more prevalent throughout language, the gravity of being a rape survivor or the severity of the action of rape is misunderstood and belittled. If no one takes a stand to correct
these words, survivors will feel unsafe and that the trauma of their experiences isn’t understood or even important in society. One word can set a survivor back in their healing and coping with the violence that has happened to them. “My exam is on Friday! That’s so gay!” Gay? Is the exam attracted to other exams? Within the LGBT community, common phrases such as “That’s so gay,” have a strong impact of the coming out process of LGBT members and their feelings of safety within the college environment. In this context, gay is being thought of as stupid, dumb,and confusing. In reality, gay is defined as a label that people place on themselves based on how they feel and who they are attracted to. Though people do not go out with the intention of insulting the LGBT community, the impact of hearing gay substituted for the word dumb, has more of an effect than people realize. Genice Sarcedo, program coordinator for the LGBT Resource Center on UCI’s campus, explains that when someone says “That movie was gay, it is equating someone’s identity, how someone labels themselves with something that is negative, bad, dumb, irritating, stupid. That can never feel good to hear your identity linked to things that are so negative. For people who are trying to come out, if you hear people using that language, it makes you feel that you can’t trust them with that part of your identity.” With the use of the word gay being thrown around throughout campus, it makes this campus feel as if it is an unsafe environment for someone who does associate with being lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender (LGBT). “People just don’t realize how hurtful it can be because you never know who is around you. For the LGBT community, because it is an identity that we can hide, we really key into language so it is important to have people around us that use inclusive language that doesn’t paint our identity as negative, says Salcedo. For the founder of the Trans-Social Group within the LGBT center, Chris
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Catching Phrases Rodriguez, third year psych and social behavior major, words have a lot more power within the LGBT community than society seems to realize. Hearing this language, “it paints onto that person’s subjectivity that gay is associated with something that is less then, something that doesn’t fit, something undesirable and nobody wants to assert that meaning to themselves. I would say, it provides a climate to for the environment that they are in,” says Rodriguez. Because the slang meanings of rape and gay has become firmly woven into our everyday language, it is difficult to make people aware about the importance of reevaluating word choices. But in order to make a change, to better the environment for survivors and LGBT students, it is crucial to start bringing awareness to the misusage of these words. Though the usage of rape and gay can have a strongly negative
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Words propel us, empower us, make us human...and more than human. We constantly struggle to say what we mean and mean what we say. effect on the students around you, you drawing attention and educating a student or friend about how their language is harmful, will give a voice to the people silenced by these words. Upon looking at someone, we never know the story that is invisibly written upon their skin. When hearing the word rape used around campus, Corral engages people by “putting it into perspective for them rather than telling them what they are doing is wrong or attacking them because I know it is not necessarily that individual’s fault because society has made it okay. I like to open people’s minds and share my thoughts with them that just makes them see it from a different perspective and from there they have the choice of what they want to do with this information.” It is not effective to condemn people for using these words because more times then not they don’t make that won’t be using these terms if they realized they were offensive. John Jonson, a peer educator under CARE within the group CHAMPS, Challenging All Men to Prevent Sexism, sees, “the survivors, advocates and ally populations really understand the definition of rape. But it is about bridging the gap between the public’s perception and the true word meanings. As peer educators, we are working to allow the public to truly understand and connect with the survivors. People don’t have to be in my position to foster common courtesy, to foster respect, they can easily just watch the words
they use and I feel that alone makes a big difference. Watch what you say, it is a great start.” For those in the LGBT community it can be difficult at times to draw attention to their reactions to the word gay. When it comes up, “it really depends on the amount of social safety that you have and how to approach it. If you are comfortable, I recommend throwing the interpretation back at the speaker asking, “What does gay mean?” Asking them to clarify the connection,” recommends Rodriguez. Everyone can make change, everyone can make someone’s day better by being an ally to their cause. It starts with the most basic step. Now, when you are walking around ring road, sitting in a classroom or hanging out with your friends, your language has the potential of empowering and educate the people around you. You can make a difference to those who feel silenced by their experiences. We just need to remember, though sticks and stones may break out bones, words will always hurt us. Words propel us, empower us, make us human...and more than human. We constantly struggle to say what we mean and mean what we say. But as we whisper and shout, stutter and spin, we create order out of the chaos around us. We are built of words, and we live by them, too. ---- Introduction to Be Inspi(red)
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Chronicling
Vanitas: A Hundred Thousands
By Traci Lee
I closed my eyes as the razor buzzed. “Are you ready?” Miss Peggy asked. I shifted in my seat, picking away at the chipped blue nail polish on my right index finger. There was a slight hesitation before I nodded. There would be no turning back now. It was August 2008 and I was sitting in the backroom salon chair of Peggy Tom’s third-floor offices in San Francisco. This was my eighth visit to see Miss Peggy in seven years and my fourth wig from her. I opened my eyes but avoided the
mirror in front of me. My gaze wandered around the familiar room that was cluttered with flat irons, curlers, hair extensions, bottles of hairspray, brushes and what seemed like every celebrity hairstyle magazine in print.
attention and concern, I was afraid that she would interpret my request as a sign of my giving up hope that my hair would ever grow back. My heart raced at the thought of it. I didn’t want to cause any more pain for her than I already had.
I was about to be completely bald.
The sound of the razor as it neared my head suddenly made the moment more real and I forced myself to stare at my reflection in the salon mirror. I held my breath.
When I first began losing my hair, I guarded any wisps that remained on my head, reluctant to watch the thick black strands detach from my scalp. I tried to imagine the scene through my mother’s eyes as she watched Miss Peggy pick up the razor. After 12 years of careful
Miss Peggy turned the razor off. I exhaled.
When I was seven years old, my mother found a small bald spot that was about the size of a dime on the right side of my head. “It’s normal,” my parents said, but their worried whispers and the visits they scheduled to doctors and dermatologists betrayed their reassurances. I believed them at first, not noticing that my older sister, Na, didn’t have the same problem.
“...I guarded any wisps that remained on my head, reluctant to watch the thick black strands detach...”
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“ I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror. Every time I passed a reflective surface, I sneaked a peak and tried to spot abnrmalities on my scalp...” Gradually, my hair would re-grow, only to fall out again. The cycle repeated month after month until I was nine and the hair loss became more apparent. The next round of visits to doctors and specialists finally led to the cold, clean offices of Dr. Vera Price in San Francisco. She had an answer: it was alopecia. Dr. Price was a specialist in women’s hair loss, but she had only vague information about the condition. What she did know was this: alopecia, an autoimmune disease that causes hair loss, had no known cause so there was no known cure. Doctors were still doing research on the condition and had no definitive answers. An incredibly small number of people in the world were affected by alopecia, so perhaps there was no rush. Dr. Price shared some options with us: Rogaine, hair transplants, wigs. As she signed us up for the National Alope-
Miss Peggy handed me some magazines to look through while she talked with my mother about my alopecia. I flipped through pages, trying to choose a style. I knew I wanted shoulder-length hair, which was the length my hair had been when it first started falling out. Miss Peggy said it was difficult to find hair that was pure black because Asian hair was expensive. But the wigs Miss Peggy ordered for her clients were all custom-made with real human hair; they would be expensive no matter what. That first wig, I later learned, cost $1,800; since then, I’ve had three more wigs—each one more expensive than the last. To demonstrate the weight of a wig, Miss Peggy picked a Styrofoam head off of a shelf from the room. The wig on the head was long and red – a deep and noticeable red – and looked nothing like my hair. I wanted to laugh as she fit it on my head. I stared at my ridiculous reflection and wanted to see my mother’s reaction. As I turned my head, I stopped and looked back at the mirror in front of me. The motion of my head caused the foreign hair to tickle the back of my neck. I had forgotten what that feeling was like. I swept a few strands of hair in front of
cia Areata Foundation’s mailing list, she noticed how quiet I had been during the entire appointment. “You can lead a normal life,” she said soothingly, but I was not comforted. For the next few days, I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror. Every time I passed a reflective surface, I sneaked a peek and tried to spot the abnormalities on my scalp. Could others see it? I’d ask myself. What would they think? But none of my 30 classmates noticed or asked me anything. I felt as if I were hiding a secret, and succeeding at it too. Within months, the condition worsened. The bald spots were no longer dime-sized. Instead, there were large bald patches all over my head.
my face, falling in love with the annoyance of having hair in my eyes. I felt sorry when Miss Peggy returned the red wig to its Styrofoam head. “It’ll take about four months to get the wig in,” Miss Peggy said as she finished filling out the order form. She placed a copy of the form into a new file folder and labeled it with my name. “You can pay half now and then the other half when you come pick it up.” Four months? I looked back at my balding reflection. I’d have to look like this—incomplete and damaged—for four more months. I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror anymore so I stood up, ready to leave the salon. “Wait,” Miss Peggy said. She put her hand on my shoulder and sat me back down in the chair. “We have to make a mold of your head for the factory.” For the next two and a half hours, I sat imprisoned in the chair as Miss Peggy wrapped my head with Saran Wrap and clear packaging tape. The headache began about an hour into
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Chronicling the process and I slumped in the chair, defeated. I gave in to the mirror and stared at my reflection, hoping it was worth it. True to her word, four months later, we got the call to return to San Francisco to pick up my wig. After we arrived at her salon, Miss Peggy placed the wig on my head and this time I didn’t need to force myself to look in the mirror. “What do you think?” Miss Peggy asked. Her dark red lips formed a genuine smile as she picked up a brush and ran it through the hair. I felt a slight
In 2002, through some complicated game of telephone, my mother got word of a Vietnamese herbalist in San Francisco. Months of using Rogaine had produced no results, so my parents were ready to try something new. Vinh Khang Herbs & Ginsengs was located in New Chinatown in the Richmond District. The walls of the tiny store were lined with drawers of various plants and herbs. Doctor Tony was an old Vietnamese man with dry, bony hands and gray hair. He spoke three languages, one of which was broken English. “Put your wrist here,” Doctor Tony instructed and I rested my arm against a small, purple pillow on the counter between us. He checked my pulse and I watched his eyes as he stared off to the side. He put down his pen and told us to come back in an hour to pick up my order. We left and I was still confused. An hour later, we returned to Vinh Khang. A woman at the counter handed my mother two large grocery bags filled
tingle as the soft bristles grazed the back of my neck. The hair was a dark auburn color and wavy and tangled at the nape of my neck. I wasn’t sure if I liked the way I looked. I didn’t look Asian, that was certain. But on the other hand…it was hair. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have a full head of hair. Before we left Miss Peggy’s office, I stopped at the large mirror by the door in the waiting room, the one I turned my back on four months before. Facing the mirror, I brushed my newly cut bangs over my missing eyebrows.
with small bundles of herbs. Doctor Tony sold us a special clay pot that would boil the herbs into a liquid tea. “One bag a night,” Doctor Tony said and sent us on our way. Before we left, I watched my mother pay at the counter. Later I would find out each small bundle cost $7. That night when we got home, we boiled the first bag of herbs. A horrendous smell filled the house. My mother opened a bag of paper-wrapped preserved plums and handed me one to eat when I finished the tea. Forty minutes later, the tea was ready. My mother poured the liquified herbs from the pot and I took my first sip. I gagged. It stung and I wanted to spit it back into my cup. I willed myself not to cry and winced as I took another sip. My mother could see tears forming at the corners of my eyes as I continued to drink. “Okay,” she said and took the cup. It
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I became obsessed with my reflection again. As we walked through San Francisco, I wondered if people could tell. Every store window we passed, I stole a glance. Every time someone would look my way, I became self-conscious. The excitement of having hair was quickly replaced with fear as I realized that, in just two days time, I would return to school with an obviously different look. People would stare. I tossed and turned in bed Sunday night as I imagined the faces of my classmates, sneering and laughing.
was still over a third full. “You don’t have to finish tonight.” I didn’t argue. She unwrapped the preserved plum from its purple wrapper and put it on a napkin in front of me. I stayed in my chair at the dining room table and watched as my mother poured the unfinished tea down the sink drain. I dried my eyes as I ate the plum. It was sweet and comforting to swallow, but I was disappointed that I couldn’t finish the tea. My mother wasn’t mad though; she was smiling and talking to me as if it were any other night and we were about to head to the living room to watch the ten o’ clock news and Law & Order before bed. We visited Vinh Khang every two weeks for a year. My parents spent almost $2,500 by the end of our visits to Doctor Tony—and that didn’t include money for gas, parking, lunch in San Francisco and other associated travel expenses. My hair never grew back.
Chronicling
“
Lori Ke I wanted my writers to have a blank space where they can put their ideas, opinions, and artwork to be showcased for others to see
philosophy, find anything that interests them, and write about it. Students are encouraged to advocate their passions and insights. Even if ideas are broad or far-fetched, the writer has the freedom to support and convey them in ways that can impact the readers’ way of thinking. What makes the Exhibit unique is that there are no strict restrictions. The journal accepts opinion, creative fiction, as well as other experimental projects including travelogues and student experiences. Kelly says, “We look for creative fiction that goes beyond the usual standard. We want people to be able to experiment with different genres. What really grabs at us is something that’s critical in its subject matter.” There are no boundaries for the Exhibit, and Kelly hopes that the content will expand. The project currently has 12 permanent staff members and numerous volunteers. It is a combined effort from people in different areas of study. “We have some grad students that offer advice, and professors that help us with structure. We have our film people/photographers that want to help out and publicize it.”. Submission guidelines for the magazine are very flexible. Those who have the drive to share their thoughts and explain their perspective are encouraged to be a part of the flow of ideas with the Exhibit. As Sylvia Plath says, “Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” The first issue of the Exhibit has recently been completed and can be found at www.thexhibituci.net
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“
Every week a cluster of undergraduate writers and artists can be seen at the University Town Center or somewhere on campus discussing their progress on pieces they’re working on for the Exhibit, a new online Humanities undergrad literary journal here at UCI. The journal idea came from a third year UCI student named Kelly Novahom. The Humanities Core course actually served as inspiration for The Exhibit. The theme at the time was “Thinking, Making, Doing.” She embarked on a mission to ask a professor about starting some sort of publication for comparative literature. “We wanted to get more students to join comparative literature,” states Kelly. Here at UCI, the comparative literature program has only about 40 undergraduates. Kelly came up with the name “The Exhibit” based on the idea of a museum. She wanted the works of different writers to be displayed in a similar way artifacts are shown in museums. “I wanted my writers to have a blank space where they can put their ideas, opinions, and artwork to be showcased for others to see,” Kelly comments. Like prized artifacts, an individual’s writing has deeper meanings that can spark thought in others. Most people tend to think that the Humanities are not important disciplines. The Humanities are often overlooked in comparison to the Physical and Social Sciences. The Exhibit is a project that seeks to show that the Humanities are in fact relevant and necessary. “The Humanities talks a lot about the people in our lives, society, and our global world as well. It allows for a different way of looking at things,” Kelly says. The Exhibit’s mission is to offer students a space to express themselves and analyze the world around them. It aims to drive out uninformed criticisms of the functionality of the Humanities. Unlike other publications on campus, the Exhibit allows for more personal and critical narratives. “The other publications are more specific. They’re looking for a certain person to write a certain story,” states Kelly. With the Exhibit, students are able to write about what they are passionate about. They can take use subjects ranging from art history, language, and
Imagining
The Art Exhibition REFLECT THINK
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IMAGINE
“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” — Theodore Roosevelt
“Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.” — Oscar Wilde
Photos Drawing & Illustration Gilda Nowparast
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Imagining
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
— Oscar Wilde 13 | incitemagazineuci.com | Spring/Summer 2011
(Lady Windermere’s Fan)
Photos Varduhi Simonyan
“ Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with
too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense
.�
Ralph Waldo Emerson Spring/Summer 2011 | incitemagazineuci.com | 14
Imagining
You’ve gotta
dance like there’s nobody watching,
live like it’s heaven on earth.
like there’s nobody listening,
like you’ll never be hurt,
Love Sing And
William W. Purkey
Fulfilling the movement
The Foam Is Mightier Written | Photos by Michael Chin Getting under the armor to see what keeps UCI’s own Medieval Combat Society on the field: Salvador Solis is like any other college student. He’s an English major and complains about readings – there are always things he’d rather spend his time on. He has a girlfriend who posts hearts on his Facebook. He’s also an athlete. Before practices he loads his gear into his car, showers, deodorizes, dons a medieval tabard and assumes the role of Darth Cheeseheart, Lord of the Sith– Wait, what? Sal is the president of Sword @ UCI, the Medieval Combat Society at UC Irvine. The club is part of a larger organization known as Belegarth, an association that spans across the country and includes dozens of similar groups. Just as Sal is Darth Cheeseheart in the realm of Belegarth, Sword @ UCI is known as Anduril and is one of many realms that comprise the organization.
Ever seen that documentary about kids running around screaming, casting spells at each other and making up rules? That’s not Belegarth. Though they fight with foam swords, the combat is all too real for the fighters of Anduril. It may look silly from the outside, but it isn’t make-believe for guys like Sal. Meeting Darth Cheeseheart: The first time I speak with Sal, we agree to meet in Aldrich Park an hour before their regular Friday practice. At the time, the only picture I have of Sal features him in full armor, his face obscured by his helmet. Going in with almost no knowledge of his physical appearance, I sit on a bench and wait for him to show up, scrutinizing every passerby for possible features hidden under that armor. When I finally do see Sal, there is no mistaking his identity. Though not in the full armor of the pic-
ture, Sal struts into the park wearing no less than black leather greaves, combat boots and a medieval tabard onto which is printed what I would soon learn is the emblem of the Sith. The Sith are a unit within Belegarth; units are different from realms and can span across the nation. Realms are geographic locations, while a unit is an actual affiliation. The Sith is one such group, a gathering of fighters under the leadership of Darth Cheeseheart. As the interview progresses, it becomes all too clear that there is an aspect of this sport I can’t quite capture by merely talking about it. Sal says only half-jokingly that if I’m going to be writing about them, I have to participate in the club. “If you truly wish to get any kind of understanding of what we do, you’ll have to fight,” he says. “I’d be more than happy,” I say in return, not entirely sure of what I just signed myself up for.
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Fulfilling the movement
Getting on the Field, Part I Though I spent the first practice in close observation of the group – noting their tactics, aesthetic, demeanor, trying to get a feel for the sport – Sal was undoubtedly correct. To really know what this was about, I would indeed have to try my hand at combat. As soon as I get out on the field, my heart races and my adrenaline-soaked mind loses all coherent thought. We stand in odd groups of different numbers, loose arrangements of veterans and newbies. “Weapons up!” Sal shouts from the sidelines; he’s sick and not participating, but still acts as herald (referee, umpire) and is in full garb. Everyone ceremoniously holds their weapons above their heads, still staring down the opposing team across the forty-foot no-man’s-land before us. Looking around, people pass by our field in the park and smile. Some laugh and point, others just stare as they walk by. Some actually stop and observe, and I can’t help but long for the time when I was one of those observers. I hesitantly raise my shield and sword, suddenly unsure of the ritual despite having observed countless scrimmages.
This is not the same as watching on the sidelines, and in a moment, I would realize why they want people to be on the field instead of passing by and snickering. For a second, though, time seems to stand still as I wait for the call that defines Belegarth’s battle commencement. Frozen in time, I try hard to remember all of the rules I had spent so long reading and memorizing in preparation – mere words that in the anticipation of battle I have completely forgotten. Foam Instruments, the Sword & Shield: Weapons are divided into five classes, which are both classified and colloquially referred to by a colored band of tape – so-called Blues, Reds, and Greens all have different uses. Projectiles are the only weapons that can legally hit the head. All other hits to the head aren’t counted (but they still hurt). One hit to an unarmored torso by any of these weapons results in death; hits to unarmored limbs result in loss of that limb. Lost limbs can’t hold weapons or shields anymore (duh), and armor gives one hit of protection. Simple stuff. Weapons workshops are held periodically by Sword @ UCI, informal gatherings during which the more experienced
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members (Sal, Ana, other club officers) help newer members build their own weapons and shields. At one such workshop, Sword vice president Chasen Ranger (fighting name: Platypus) explains the building procedure for us less experienced folk and demonstrates how to cut the foam. Materials include foams of various names and densities – most commonly used are “Wal-Mart” and “REI” (can you guess where these were purchased?). Foam is placed around a core, usually a rod of fiberglass or PVC tubing. There’s an exactness, a relationship with the material that I hadn’t expected; all of the lines have to be perfectly straight and the cuts have to be precise. “This one is really poorly cut, so don’t actually use this one. Ever,” he says in explanation after discarding a hastily cut out strip for another workshop attendee. To build a weapon, you first have to “box” the core in foam before creating outer layers that will serve as extra padding. “See, we can’t use this,” he says to me, after I try my hand at cutting strips of foam. He looks disapprovingly as I try to correct it, eager to get on my way to boxing my core. Oh yes. I built a sword. “People want to rush, but you have to
really take your time,” Chasen says as he trims off the rest of my mistake before letting me try again. I get it right this time, but I have Ana cut it for me. She’s made and repaired countless weapons and has the technique down pat. Just like any other craft, there was pride in having made something (despite the veterans having done most of the work for me). I could see why people are attracted to making their own materials. Built from the ground up, the sword becomes an extension of the self. Making your own swords, armor, shields and garb all contribute to that same feeling of closeness with the sport. Getting on the Field, Part II: “LAY ON!” Sal declares, and the fight commences. Unsure of what to do, I break formation and charge forward. Not a good idea. In the flurry of foam swords and shields, I hadn’t remembered to look and see who was on my team. I see somebody open and attack viciously. It’s invigorating, empowering – and I feel great about my first kill on the field, until“Dude. I’m on your team.” Other people on my team sigh and shake their heads. Something to the effect of “Team-killing fucktard!” echoes in the distance, but the most resounding failure is the silent disappointment ringing through my own head. I am stunned by my own stupidity – and someone from the other team promptly takes advantage of my surprise. I get stabbed through the chest, both morally and literally. As I sit on the field with the end of my sword on my head, the universal Belegarth sign for death, I realize that I truly am the novice – the guy who forgets to tag a base and loses the run on a technicality, the guy who double dribbles. I had scored a goal for the opposite team, so to speak. The rookie in every sense of the word. Round Two. I stick to one of the faster
and seemingly deadlier members of the group, a quick fighter who wields two swords and no shield. He is small but fit, and his stature and speed give him a distinct tactical advantage – he’s damn hard to kill. His name is Shadoe Lane, and I would later find out that he’s joining the army. He intends to use me because I have a shield, and I’m okay with that. I start to understand the tactic – shields stand in front of guys like Shadoe or teammates with longer weapons in order to block attacks. And I feel great about my newfound comprehension, until Shadoe dies. My purpose lost once more, I run wildly in the other direction. I am surrounded, surely being followed, and I run faster, frantically. And then I hear something crack. And then I’m on the ground. Clutching my ankle, I am down. I let my weapons fall. Somebody runs up and hits me square in the chest, a formality at this point. “This is a sport, in every sense.” Sal tells me after the practice. “That’s the key to understanding it.” “This is real,” I say, astounded by the staggering truth of the statement as I limp alongside him. Sal, like most of the club members, is ardently passionate about his involvement. As Chasen puts it, almost all of the dedicated Belegrim make their own swords and design their own garb. Guys like Sal get the emblem of the Sith tattooed on their arm. “It’s fucking real,” Sal says. Self-Image and the Stigma: The further I delve into their culture, the more I lose sight of those apprehensions that had held me back those first practices. Still, I can’t ignore the looks we get practicing in the park – how people would stare, first at the people on the field and then at me, the careful observer, taking notes. Whatever self-conscious part of me is always irked by this, and I
find it hard to imagine that the Belegrim don’t share those same feelings. “We’re geeks, man!” Sal eloquently states. “Think about it. We dress up in costumes. We play with foam sticks. Especially in Orange County, it’s just not what people do out here. As much as people might be interested in the swordplay, it’s looked down upon and it’s considered really geeky and nerdy. That stops people from showing up sometimes, and it stops them from continuing to come out.” Despite that stigma, people still try their hand at fighting and usually enjoy themselves. It’s truly fun for them to try, even if just for one round of fighting. Once they get past the image, they see Sword @ UCI for what it really is ¬– a gathering of people who want to have fun running around with their friends. Isn’t that all a sport is, after all? For people like Sal, Ana, Chasen and Shadoe, it doesn’t matter what the people outside think of them. What matters is that they’re dedicated to the sport of Medieval Combat, to the craft of making swords and garb. They’re proud of that commitment. One of those glowing October nights, when the sun just begins to set earlier and twilight pulls its slow curtain across an afternoon of fighting, we find ourselves hungry and almost unconsciously migrating to In-N-Out. We stuff ourselves with burgers, our swords leaned against the wall; Chasen is still wearing his garb, a blue and yellow tabard with a large platypus emblem on his chest. People gawk and giggle in the same way they do in the park. I lean towards Shadoe and ask, “What do you think of all of that? Does it ever get to you how people stare?” He shrugs and continues eating. He deserves the food; after all, he had fought harder than anyone that day. “You know what?” he says, “Sucks for them.”
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Fulfilling the movement
The Originalities Emma Shirley “Don’t get lost in the black hole show, they’ll swallow you and eat you alive!” Michael Belk, singer and saxophonist for The Originalites, shouts to the crowd at the House of Blues in Anaheim, CA on February 23, 2011. A young crowd in their teens and twenties forms a mosh pit while an older crowd looks on from balconies that surround the stage. While Michael Belk acts as the front man for the band, getting down on knee to do a saxophone solo and dancing around the stage, Daniel Tello accompanies him on vocals and lead guitar. Tim Frankeny
pushes his dreadlocks back from his face while playing bass guitar and Peter Fontes drums away in his boxers. A Fountain Valley based band, all four members are twenty-one year olds and play a mix of ska, dub and punk. Ska is a type of reggae and is described by the band as “reggae in its purest form” with a faster tempo than the reggae many have come to associate with standard reggae, or, as Peter calls it, “white boy reggae.” Dub is a subgenre that comes from reggae and consists of remixes of pre-existing music with
the instruments or vocals heavily manipulated. Punk vibes can also be found in their songs in the faster-paced parts that are louder and more aggressive. Other influences include Latin and jazz. For example, their song “¿Por qué te fuiste?” is sung partly in Spanish by Daniel, a native of Lima, Peru. They seem like just another band trying to capitalize on the “reggae craze” that has hit southern California. But Peter says, “The reason that we stuck with ska is that there’s too much white boy southern California reggae Photos Courtesy of The Originalities
Photos Courtesy of The Originalities
“Why be in a band if you’re not going to be serious?” going on.” Their choice to play ska and mix genres separates them from a host of other reggae bands trying to make it in the business, as well as famous bands such as, Rebelution, The Expendables and Tribal Seeds. However, The Originalites have opened for all three of these bands. Both Rebelution and Tribal Seeds have performed at UCI’s Reggae Fest in the past couple years and The Originalites have also played at UCI in its Battle of the Bands competition in 2010. That same year they earned first place in Fountain Valley’s Battle of the Bands and on December 4th, 2010 they earned second place out of 40 bands in “The Next Big Thing Tour” at The Cat Club, a West Hollywood venue. Their achievements are largely due to their efforts to book performances and reach new fans directly, rather than relying solely on their facebook and website, theoriginalites. com. Mike describes how they look in the OC Weekly each week to see what bands are playing so that they “can be the first ones to ask” to play with them, which Mike says is how
they were able to perform with The Toasters, a well-known ska band. Their fan base can also be explained by Peter’s remark, “If a person becomes our fan, we are likely to become their friends”. I witnessed this firsthand at their performance on March 1st, 2011 in Huntington Beach on Main Street as part of an event called Surf City Nights. They welcomed fans to come up and talk with them after the show. While interviewing them during band practices, I was able to see the individual personalities that make up The Originalites. Peter takes charge of answering many of the questions and his passion for the band is clear as he requests that all interviews be in person so that I would get the most accurate depiction of the band as possible. His curly mohawk, big beard and performance uniform of boxers sets him apart on stage. It took a year for Tim to grow his dreadlocks that started as shiny strands of blonde hair that Peter claims, “all the ladies loved” in high school. He also plays in two bands at First Christian Church in
Huntington Beach. Daniel remarks how they all have biblical names and that they “pray before the shows sometimes.” Daniel, the Peruvian native, is soft-spoken and the girls love it. “All the girls liked Daniel in high school,” Peter jokes. “Daniel wouldn’t say anything. He would sit at his desk and look sexy.” But when he was 18-years-old, Daniel was the one to ask Peter if he wanted to start a band, to which Peter replied, “fuck yes.” Michael was the last addition to the band in 2009. The other members agree that his “addition made [the band] way better,” allowing them to branch out to other genres enabled by the saxophone. While it took a long time for him to adjust to the hours of daily practice seven days a week and he admits, “I didn’t think it was going to be my career, but I finally made the mental realization that wow, this is big, I have to do a lot of work now.” All of the members are fully committed, every cent they earn going into a large tip jar. As Tim puts it, “Why be in a band if you’re not going to be serious?”
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