[Issue 62.3] “Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
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alentine’s Day is a rough holiday for me as a single guy. It seems like gravity pulls extra hard on me in the week leading up to that poisonous, greetingcard-fueled fiasco. And honestly, I just don’t understand it. My hopelessly single standing, that is. Okay, I’m aware that fair skin and red hair aren’t very popular or very sexy in the classical sense. And sure, being as thin and as tall as I am doesn’t improve my odds either, but I’m certainly no troll. I’ve got my own place, my own car, and I manage to dress myself every morning (albeit eccentrically). I’m establishing myself as a music writer, and I just had my first poem published. So why is it so difficult for me to find someone who’s my type? Strange as it may seem, I have trouble landing dates with women who share my interests in literature, ‘60s & ‘70s music, and classic film. Often I’ll lounge around at the nearby coffeehouse peering out across the ocean of armchairs searching for a cute, fashionably eclectic girl whom I could take out for a quick meal at that vegetarian restaurant. Obviously, I spend a lot of time here at the Union office; so it’s sort of important that she be comfortable here, hopefully even contribute to some degree. I mean, I just can’t see why I can’t find a friendly, intelligent girl who’d enjoy sitting around trading iPod libraries and arguing the finer points of Camus over a few Stone beers. I guess I just assumed it would be easier to find a witty and opinionated girl to take walks down to the beach, smuggling red wine in coffee mugs. I guess I’m just not looking hard enough.
–Matt Dupree Associate Editor
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alentine’s Day is always depressing for a perpetually single gal like myself, but for some reason it’s particularly trying for me this year. I’m not sure what it is exactly; I guess I just feel like what I’m looking for is right in front of me and I just can’t see it. Then again, it’s a little hard to look for love when you’re both the managing editor and the literature editor of The Union Weekly. I’ve tried picking up guys at the local coffee shop I work at, but none of them seem impressed by my subtle Camus references. I just can’t figure out why I don’t have a valentine. I’m witty as hell. I love books, music and old films. I’m opinionated—but not too opinionated. I guess the whole vegetarian thing could be a bit of a turnoff and I am a bit of a beer snob, but I think my good qualities override my bad ones. I’d like to think I’m pretty fashionable, but I don’t chase trends— I’ve got more of an eclectic style. Maybe I’m just too picky. Is it really too much to ask for a railthin, tall, lanky redhead with fair skin, and few holes in his jeans? Of course, looks aren’t everything—I’d also like him to be a little sensitive. It just seems like no guys are willing to show their sweet sides anymore. I want a guy who’s willing to write some poetry once in a while, maybe take a few spontaneous walks on the beach with a mug of wine. Maybe there really isn’t anyone out there for me. Sigh.
–Erin Hickey
Managing Editor
Ryan Kobane Editor-In-Chief Erin Hickey Managing Editor Mike Pallotta Associate Editor Matt Dupree Associate Editor Ryan Kobane Business Manager Vincent Girimonte News Director Kathy Miranda Opinions Editor Ryan ZumMallen Sports Editor Victor Camba Comics Editor Katie Reinman Creative Arts Editor Michaël Veremans Random Reviews Editor Earl Grey Grunion Editor Erin Hickey Literature Editor & PR Mike Pallotta Entertainment Editor Sean Boulger Music Editor & PR Ryan Kobane Photography Director Steven Carey Art Director Erin Hickey Matt Dupree Mike Pallotta Copy Editors Ryan Kobane Advertising Representative Chris Barrett Internet Caregiver
ryan@lbunion.com erin@lbunion.com beef@lbunion.com matt@lbunion.com
vince@lbunion.com kathy@lbunion.com zummy@lbunion.com victor@lbunion.com reinman@lbunion.com
scarf@lbunion.com earlgrey@lbunion.com
erin@lbunion.com beef@lbunion.com sean@lbunion.com
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sales@lbunion.com science@lbunion.com
Philip Vargas On-Campus Distribution Vincent Girimonte Off-Campus Distribution Darren Davis, Miles Lemaire, Chris Barrett, Andrew Wilson, Christine Hodinh, Jesse Blake, Derek Crossley, Christopher Troutman, Jason Oppliger, Cynthia Romanowski, James Kislingbury, Philip Vargas, Rachel Rufrano, David Faulk, Paul Hovland, Katrina Sawhney, Allan Steiner, Brandi Perez, Sergio Ascencio, Tessah Schoenrock, Ken C., Joseph Bryant, Brian Newhard, David Wrathall, Leah McKissock, C.A. Harrison, Ashley Marie Weis, Russel Conroy, Robert Masucci, Chris Fabela, Dominick Grossi.
Contributors
Disclaimer and Publication Information
The Union Weekly is published using ad money and partial funding provided by the Associated Students, Inc. All Editorials are the opinions of the writer, and are not necessarily the opinions of the Union Weekly, the ASI, or of CSULB. All students are welcome and encouraged to be a part of the Union Weekly staff. All letters to the editor will be considered for publication. However, CSULB students will have precedence. All outside submissions are due by Thursday, 5 PM to be considered for publishing the following week and become property of the Union Weekly. Please include name, major, class standing, and phone number for all submissions. They are subject to editing and will not be returned. Letters will be edited for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and length. The Union Weekly will publish anonymous letters, articles, editorials and illustrations, but they must have your name and information attached for our records. Letters to the editor should be no longer than 500 words. The Union Weekly assumes no responsibility, nor is it liable, for claims of its advertisers. Grievance procedures are available in the Associated Students business office.
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Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
11 February 2008
Opinions
Power of the Poon: Roots of the Macho Facade Response to Kathy Miranda’s “The Importance of the Fragile Male Ego” (1/28) By Dominick Grossi
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Contributor
t is women that are the root of the macho façade that they so despise. It is not the product of a “genuinely afraid,” fragile male ego. Women, when looking for a potential mate, need to find the male who: will have the best genes, is willing and able to provide resources for her and her offspring, is willing and able to physically protect her and her offspring, and is willing and able to engage in direct parenting activities. These attributes are the basis of a female’s mate selection, and a woman’s strategy is to find a male who displays these desirable traits. Many of these characteristics, especially those dealing with genetic components, are often hard for women to see by simply walking past a man. In response to this predicament, women have evolved preferences for traits that are highly correlated with the four important aforementioned necessary mate characteristics. Accordng to the text Evolutionary Psychology: The New Science of the Mind by David Buss, women have developed preferences for abundant economic resources, good financial prospects, high social status, somewhat older men, ambition and industriousness, dependability and stability, athletic prowess, a pleasing physical appearance and good health. These preferences pertain to long term mating as well as short term mating. It is women looking for these preferences that dictate how men act. Men, as they do have their own mating strategies, are for the most part purely trying to embody what they feel women are looking for. The one approach that both sexes use to their advantage is deception. Miranda’s article highlights certain traits she feels society pressures the male to have including: independence, success, strength, wealth, have nice shiny things, look cool and not like a “pussy” in front of one’s friends, and have a high number of sexual partners. Women, more than society, demand that a man exhibit these characteristics—except, conceivably, for
sleeping with lots of women; that urge is forced on him by nature. Being independent is a great indicator that a man has resources. A man that is able to provide for himself means that he has access to resources and therefore fits with a woman’s preference for a mate who can provide for her and her potential offspring. Now perhaps when a guy lies about not living with his parents, it will make a little more sense as to
Illustration By Andrew Wilson
why a deception strategy like that may be used by a male trying to mate. Being successful is another great indicator of a man’s access to resources that compliments the same list of preferences. The more successful a man is, the greater amount of and access to resources he has. Women have an affinity for resources, so the male drive to be a success is heavily related to getting that all-powerful poon. If a man is not successful enough to gain symbols of his wealth, how will he attract a mate and pass on his genes? Making lots of money and having
nice shiny things plays to the preference for economic resources and good financial prospects as well. Being strong is a tricky thing; luckily women have a preference for strength both physical and emotional. Women, as stated, have a preference for athletic prowess as well as good health. Physical strength is not only an indicator of athletic ability, which is itself an indicator of health, but also a great indicator of genetic fitness. Women have also evolved a preference for dependability and stability, and emotional strength is an indicator of both of these. Not looking like a “pussy” in front of one’s male friends is important to mating. In a social clique of male friends, the friends who are bagged on, made fun of, and called a pussy are not typically the dominant figures in their social group. Males not wanting to be viewed as one of these lesser members of the group are playing to a woman’s preference for a male with high social status. Males that are at the pinnacle of a social group typically have more access to resources than the lower members, thus being better able to provide for a woman; they are stronger, exhibiting their ability to protect her and her offspring and are most likely of good genetic lineage. So wanting to look cool, fit in, be dominant and respected in a group of male peers still relates to mating strategies in a very strong way. An article in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, also written by Buss, states men have a tendency to overcompensate and lie to bolster any areas they feel they are lacking in that may deter women from mating with them, and this calculated deception interferes with the female mating strategy creating conflict between the sexes. The overcompensation and lies create the macho façade, not an ego compromise; it’s merely the result of a response to women’s own mating strategies.
The Ron Paul Revolution is for Suckers By Tessah Schoenrock Union Staffer David Wrathall’s article in last week’s Union entitled, “This is a Ron Paul Revolution” portrayed the Republican congressman as “a strong advocate in personal liberties granted by the Constitution.” What Wrathall fails to mention is that Ron Paul has an extensive history of bigotry toward minority groups and has traditionally voted against civil rights during his years in politics. Last month, Paul enthusiastically endorsed Thomas E. Woods, Jr.’s book, The Real Lincoln: A New Look at Abraham Lincoln, His Agenda, and an Unnecessary War, also known as a racist piece of trash that I would rather wipe my ass with than read. According to Ron Paul and his followers, the Civil War was a political turning point where the federal government first began to abuse their power over the states. A fair enough point, but if Lincoln and his merry men never declared war, I would be too busy picking cotton for the white man’s drawers to be indignantly authoring this article. An informative piece by James Kirchick for
11 February 2008
The New Republic provided a few choice blurbs from the “rare jewel” himself that illustrate Ron Paul’s view on minorities. For example, an article in Paul’s monthly newsletter in 1990 opposed Martin Luther King Day as a national holiday, proclaiming that the day should instead be called, “Hate Whitey Day.” This is a shameful and disturbing statement alone, but the Ron Paul group are equal-opportunity haters and have published similar opinions about Jews and homosexuals. My personal favorite Ron Paul gem comes from the pages of his newsletter and concerns the issue of gays in the military: “Homosexuals, if admitted [to the military], should be put in a special category and not allowed in close physical contact with heterosexuals.” Ron Paul is revolutionary, all right—a revolutionary asshole. Ron Paul’s ironically titled “We The People Act,” if approved, could have disastrous consequences for both women’s and gay rights. The bill would forbid federal courts from hearing cases involving state’s rights issues such as abortion, same-sex marriage, and sexual practices (such as sodomy laws). Under these laws, the federal government decision in Roe
v. Wade could be overturned and a woman’s right to choose would again be swimming in ambiguity. David Wrathall claims the word “freedom” sums up the Ron Paul Revolution. Freedom? More like hopelessly backward. Even without taking Ron Paul’s personal prejudices into account, his platform is mindboggling. This is a man who would rather abolish needed (if admittedly flawed) government programs than try to reform them. Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure our Department of Education does more good than harm, and that we would be righteously fucked without federal standards for the education of our youth, the future leaders of our nation. Ron Paul is ultimately a man obsessed with his own ideology. He only takes his own agenda into account, and has little to no regard for anyone unfortunate enough to not have been born a red-blooded, white-skinned, American male. So next time you find yourself falling down the rabbit hole remember: just because he goes against the grain of mainstream politics and has trendy campaign pins doesn’t make Ron Paul a good figurehead for your wannabe “politically conscious student voter” schtick.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
All Talk, No Rock By Derek Crossley Union Staffer Last night was one of those nights. It brought me back to a time I’d almost forgotten. We were at a friend’s party. The boys were all riled up—more than usual. The girls were all laughing and having a good time. I avoid parties these days. I don’t get much out of them anymore. I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m older, or that I could care less about talking to people. But I was in one hell of a good mood. It was a big party, full of sorority girls, frat boys, long hairs, bros, overly indie fucks, and “us”— whatever we are. We sat, we danced, we talked, we climbed on cars, we hugged and laughed. Then I heard a commotion. My friend looked at me over tall, gelled heads and gave me a nod. I walked over. Not surprisingly, it was the standard male dick-measuringcontest. Five of “them” and three of “us” stood face to face. Everyone started asking everyone else if “they had a problem.” I’m always confused about this show of male dominance. Of course everyone has a problem. But no one ever seems to say they have a problem. All they do is put their arms out wide and puff out their chests. The little confrontation got defused with some handshakes and exchanging of names. “They” were bigger than most of my friends. They had stupider haircuts, lots of hair product, strange silk-screened designs on their clothes, and they definitely had gym memberships. They walked off to a corner and seemed to huddle and make some plans. It, honestly, looked like they had called a timeout and had to come up with a new strategy. In a few moments they broke up and came back over, itching for something. This time they just went up to two of my friends and more words were exchanged. I sat on the car and watched, debating with my other friend which one of us should hit which one of them first. The big quiet friend of theirs was watching me. He slowly moved towards me. They thought they could handle a few kids with tight pants and silly haircuts. Everyone always seems to think that just because they dress like they are an extra in a rap video that they can flex their muscles and kids will back down. But kids like us know better. We’ve been through it all before. The talk starts heating up again. And I stand up. They huddle one last time, let their chests deflate, and tell us they’re leaving. They shake some hands and I put my jacket back on. Of course nothing happened. Nothing ever happens anymore. Questions? Comments? Derek Crossley can be reached at: derek@ lbunion.com Or comment online at www.lbunion.com
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[Opinions] Yellow Fever Spreads to White Men Everywhere Why White Men Love Asian Women for All the Wrong Reasons By Robert Masucci Contributor “Man, why are all the white guys taking our girls?” I was already cracking up. I knew exactly what he was talking about. It was in 2006 when I first heard this line in Philip Wang’s short film titled Yellow Fever in which a Chinese-American college student ponders the social issue of interracial dating, particularly the high frequency of couples involving a Caucasian male and an Asian female. The documentary struck a chord with me instantly. Anyone who knew me well growing up knows my track record of dating mostly Asian girls. Even my current girlfriend is half Korean. While Philip’s comical quest for answers led him through a hilarious journey, it also posed to audiences a question that I find very relevant to our society, especially on college campuses in California: Why are there so many white-guy-and-Asian-girl couples? Sure, dating between Asians and Caucasians is quite prevalent. But much more common are the ones in which the male is white and the female is Asian. How often do you see an Asian guy dating a white girl? Does this say anything about any of these four groups of people? What is the basis for the social phenomenon called “yellow fever?” And perhaps most importantly, is it wrong? The term “yellow fever” refers to a non-Asian person’s regular attraction to Asian members of the opposite sex. Usually this non-Asian person is a white male. Yellow fever is often used with a negative connotation. And for some guys, their type just happens to be Asian girls. A long time ago, the Western view of a traditional Asian woman was one of a petite black-haired beauty who was trained in the exotic ways of sexual pleasure. A weak, helpless damsel in distress from the mystic Orient who was submissive and obedient to her husband, loyal to him for life. If a Western man was able to get one of these exotic beauties, his other western male friends gave him a nice big pat on the back.
In David Henry Hwang’s drama “M. Butterfly,” this stereotypical conception of an Asian female was what the white male protagonist blindly bought into, which led to his eventual ruin. And unfortunately, this is what some white males today still buy into. Thanks to them, the mail-order bride industry is booming. Personally, I feel that the notion of falling in “love” with this imposed image of females of a certain race is ridiculous. Sure, I’ve mostly dated girls of Asian heritage, and yes, I’m a white guy, but I certainly don’t approach a potential love interest who is Asian with a pre-conceived notion in my mind of how I will have her on a leash, of how the sex will be kinky and “exotic” (whatever that’s supposed to mean), and how she will run into my white western arms when she is in trouble. Apparently for these dense individuals, it’s not as easy to see that today’s women have more potential and possibilities for their life than their mothers and grandmothers did. The idea that such pre-fabricated qualities about Asian women—or any woman or person, for that matter—should be imposed on them is to make them into mere objects of fantasy to be toyed with. This narrow-minded dating of a girl, this superficial attraction to her simply because of her Asian heritage, this racist “love”—this is what I call yellow fever, and believe me, it makes me ill the way it is infecting guys of all races. For God’s sake, fellas, open your eyes and try to see a young lady a little bit deeper than that. When it comes down to it, the true answer to why we choose to date any particular person should lie in who that person is, in the content of their character and in how happy and comfortable we are when we are with them. Not in their race. Not in their color. Not in the shape of their eyes. The people who we date and spend quality time with may all have similar qualities or may be of a particular “type”. And in this, I feel there is nothing wrong, as long as we take the time to get to know who we are dating. But beware of the true yellow fever, the one that makes you hallucinate and see what isn’t really there. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.
Illustration By Andrew Wilson
We Don’t Need Holidays, Just Drink! By Ashley Marie Weis Contributor I love the month of February. It’s one step further away from Christmas and another one closer to a tax return, which means I can stop living off of cereal. There’s one thing that I don’t understand though—the holidays. There’s tons of them but most are pointless. Not all, of course, but a lot of them make you go, “Who thought of this?” For example, the infamous Groundhog Day. A day to wonder “will Phil the 120 year-old ground squirrel show up today?” Is winter ending or will we have six more weeks of complaining that it’s only 70 degrees? Oh, the suspense is killing me! Then we move onto Super Bowl Sunday, the one day that Americans don’t have to feel guilty about being a
bunch of drunk, overweight gluttons! Did you know that we eat and drink more on Super Bowl Sunday than we do on Thanksgiving? Only instead of turkey and mashed potatoes, it’s Cheetos and leftover pig parts shoved into an intestine. Yum! And rather than give thanks to the family, we get wasted and watch commercials about Pepsi while high-fiving our best broski. Super Bowl Sunday is just another typical Sunday for me—I wake up early and drink all day. I don’t need to watch a stupid football game to validate any of my actions! Then comes my absolute favorite holiday, which happens to take place this very week! Valentine’s Day! A holiday invented by Hallmark to make anyone not in a relationship look in the mirror and realize, “You are a pathetic loser and no one will ever love you.” But really, if you’re celebrating a holiday where an overweight man
with wings goes around shooting people with arrows, then you’re clearly the loser. Plus, chocolate makes you fat, flowers eventually die and diamonds usually come at the cost of some kid’s appendages. Also for your information, February is also the month where we celebrate a bunch of presidents, better known as a day off for us! And how come Washington and Lincoln get their own days but everyone else gets shoved onto the 18th? I liked Clinton, but I think Bush is a moron. And I have to honor both of them? Free country my ass. There’s a lot of other holidays in addition to these that are so pointless they make me angry, and there’s a few that aren’t half bad. Overall, there are some pretty big holidays in February that don’t really do much, other than give people a reason to drink. And if you need an excuse to drink then you obviously aren’t serious enough about it to begin with.
Settling Down, Giving Up By Rachel Rufrano Union Staffer We smoke excessively. We drink heavily. We eat food that only belongs in our face because it gets all over the place. We have tattoos. We experiment with drugs. Young adults live fast and die young and we subscribe to the Daltrian Law of hoping we die before we get old. Of course, we don’t really want to die (at least I hope not), but by living so close to the edge, we are in some strange way attempting to escape our own mortality and the mundanity our future inevitably holds. Ultimately, we are all going to end up in the same place—which is really not so sad. Our bodies are fragile so we can die before we deplete Earth’s resources. Despite our most concerted efforts, we’re all headed for a world of sensitive midnight car alarms, pet cats, and slobbering children who (and I’m being totally unbiased here), are way smarter than your kids. According to a study in The Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health, people who have never married are 58% more likely to die young than those who are married. I suppose studies like this make conformity that much more appealing. And there are other benefits, as well. Married men make 40% more money than single men. Married men and women are also less depressed, less anxious, and less psychologically distressed than single, divorced, or widowed Americans. And while all these things sound alluring, I can’t help but feel that the nearer married-life approaches, the nearer death does, too.
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My first mid-life crisis (I’m assuming there will be many to come—also assuming I’m going to die at age forty) occurred when I was doing my taxes; shuffling through some ancient, dog-eared documents, I happened upon my birth certificate. Not so unordinary, I was relatively healthy and most certainly ugly, just like most newborns, but what really took me by surprise was my mother’s age: twenty-six. Twenty-six?! In six years my career will have only just begun and the last thing I would need is a baby. On top of which, how could I ever reach that kind of maturity in a matter of only six years? I begin to see babies everywhere—cute ones, well-behaved ones, and giggling YouTube stars are haunting my dreams because my biological clock is ticking. Dr. David Dunson of the National Institute of Environmental Health Science in North Carolina points out that the female biological clock really starts ticking when she’s in her late twenties around which time fertility denotes a heavy decline. Maybe that explains why young women are keen to noticing children—we’re in our prime, and if there were any choice to time to have a healthy baby, it’d be now. Unfortunately, people live much longer than our biology is aware of and women today are worried that children might undermine their sense of identity, whereas previous thinking considered motherhood a sign of femininity and any woman who didn’t have a child in their early twenties was culturally frowned upon. So, how do I come to terms with this levying force called adulthood? Maybe I should be mature enough to
accept that I will never marry Anthony Bourdain and travel the world eating snake hearts with our multilingual, prodigious children and live to write the novel loosely-based on that life. Maybe. And since that is so unlikely (well, nothing is impossible. I’m not giving my hopes up yet), perhaps it is best I come to terms with conventionalism—because isn’t that the greatest fear of a creative mind? A daydreamer? A free spirit? I feel that I’m confined by my capabilities and my potential, but my mind can see so much further. There’s a world I’ll never know because I live so ardently in my head. Unless, of course, I have the balls to tell my biology to fuck off—and Anthony Bourdain, too, for that matter, more snake hearts for me—and live with conviction. Fuck off, Journal of Epidemiology—I may be 58% more likely to die, but I’ve got 58% more passion. I may make 40% less money, but I wont be spending it on Oprah’s Book Club and remodeling the bathroom. Fuck off, Dr. Dunson—my biological clock doesn’t start ticking until I say it does, and anyone who decides to “culturally” frown upon me, can “culturally” kiss my ass. Can I make it any more apparent that I’m twenty and completely unwilling to see my name on another birth certificate anytime soon? Please, tell me I don’t have to come to terms with living an ordinary life. Oscar Wilde said, “Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.” That’s the surest way I can think of avoiding the humdrum.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
11 February 2008
News
Death, Starvation, Torture at CSULB said CSULB President F. King Alexander in a recent press release. Inclusive to the forum are film screenings, discussions, and decoratNews Director ed speakers of both political and academic regards. The University he genocide in Darfur has taken the lives of Student Union Sunset Lounge will showcase a gallery titled “Ghandi, nearly 200,000 Sudanese men, women and King, Ikeda: A Legacy of Building Peace” throughout the week. children according to the United Nations. Monday afternoon will see Ishmael Beah, author of A Long Way Gone: Other organizations have estimated over 400,000 Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, speak in the University Student Union Balllives (that’s a 200,000 murder discrepancy) taken room. Beah has worked on the Human Rights at the hands of the Sudanese Military, while two Watch Children’s Rights Division Advisory million refugees remain estranged in borderCommittee, a position he took after being a ing countries. This has been going on since child soldier in diamond-rich Sierra Leone. 2003, mind you, and we haven’t missed a Now twenty-six years old and by all accounts beat here in the states. fortunate to have escaped his grim past, Beah’s Since 1900, China has lost thirty million story has become a symbol of hope and people due to genocide. Its neighbor, Russia: recovery. He will give a forty-five minute twenty million. presentation and then open the floor to Like many realities of the third world, the questions from the audience. genocide in Darfur is very far away from our Dr. Francis Deng, a special represenhome, our coffee shops, and our Super Bowl. tative from the United Nations on the The fact that these are humans killing humans Prevention of Genocide of Mass Atrociis a connection, but one that is easily tucked ties, will be giving the keynote presentation behind the curtains of the American conon Monday night in the Carpenter Center. science. It would be easy to blame the press Deng brings years of experience and credibilfor marginalizing the coverage of these ity, and will certainly give unique perspective tragedies to a point where it’s sandwiched on current genocides around the globe. in between Britney Spears and SpySocheata Poeuv will be speaking and pregate news, but we’re better than that. senting her film New Year Baby in the UniversiWe’re all better than that. ty Student Union Ballroom at 7:30 pm. Winner Starting this Monday, CSULB will host a Presiof numerous international awards, New Year dent’s Forum on International Human Rights with a foBaby tells the story of her family’s struggle cus on “Modern Genocides and Responsibilities,” and hopefully against the Khmer Rouge, the former ruling make situations like the one facing Darfur less convenient to ignore. Illustration By Andrew Wilson party of Cambodia, lead by the dictator Pol Pot. “This forum is being initiated to broaden our understanding of For more information regarding the week’s events and news, visit some of the most difficult challenges facing human advancement,” their website: www.csulb.edu/president/humanrights.
By Vincent Girimonte
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11 February 2008
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
NEWS You Don’t Know
But Should By Chris Barrett Science
The King and I In November of last year, Michael Mukasey was sworn into the role of Attorney General, replacing Alberto Gonzales, and already he’s looking to outdo his predecessor in the hall of lame ducks. After the CIA admitted this past week that it used water boarding in its interrogations, Mukasey said that he still would not investigate the use of torture, nor the use of illegal wiretapping. He went further to say he would not enforce contempt citations against Whitehouse employees who refuse to respond to congressional subpoenas. He defended his refusal to do his job by saying that the Justice Department, which he heads, advised the administration to do these things, and it would set bad precedent to prosecute government agents for following advice it itself gave. He then responded to all other questions by saying the information was protected by the State Secrets Act, despite all present having top-secret clearance and also having oversight over the actions of the administration. Democratic members of the house resisted President Bush’s nomination of Mukasey but enough caved when it became apparent Bush would appoint him during a recess anyway. With practically unlimited Attorney General appointees available as fodder, it seems this administration has found a loophole to run out the clock.
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Sports
Boss O’ The Week
Jasmine Winfield
The senior school record holder in the 4x100m and 4x400m relays was named the Tom Harmon Memorial Scholarship Award winner, to assist her pursuit of a Master’s Degree in Sports Administration.
You Should Know Glenn McDonald The CSULB Hall of Famer holds court in the Gold Mine—where he terrorized opponents before embarking on a career in the NBA and overseas. By Brandi Perez Staff Writer
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irector of Intramurals and basketball great Glenn McDonald has won four championships, established an international career and has led numerous teams to victory on every level. And he owes it all to a high school bully. Born and raised in Kewanee, Illinois, McDonald was forced to relocate to L.A. because of his mother’s job offer. Resisting (in part because of the Watts riots), he threatened to quit playing sports if his mother forced him to move. He kept his word for a year, but it couldn’t hold up when he got to high school. “I was shooting some hoops one day and some guy asked if I was going to try out for the team,” McDonald says. “I said no and he said I probably couldn’t even make the B team, he was only asking because I was tall. So the next day I went and asked the coach if I could try out. I made varsity and took his spot.” McDonald doesn’t know if he would ever have gotten back into basketball if it hadn’t been for the challenge, but it’s a good thing he did. It wasn’t long before Long Beach State came knocking with a scholarship offer. McDonald arrived at CSULB in 1970, playing all four years as a guard-forward and teamed with Ed Ratleff to take the 49ers to two NCAA Tournaments. “We had a great program here,” McDonald says. “We went 24-2 my last year but couldn’t go to the playoffs because we were on probation with the NCAA. We were ranked No. 3 at one time in the nation. It was one of the best years at Long Beach.” The Boston Celtics drafted McDonald in 1974 with the 17th overall pick. A young but mature 22 year-old, McDonald was never one to let his emotions get the best of him. “One of my coaches called me and I was in the middle of moving to another apartment,” McDonald says. “He told me I got drafted by the Celtics and my response was, ‘Let me call you back, I’m in the middle of moving.’ He was mad. It wasn’t something I was crazy about, that’s just my demeanor.”
Photo By Russell Conroy “It was just a mad house, loud and sweaty,” McDonald says of the Gold Mine. “They used to call it The Sweat Box.”
Playing alongside basketball greats like Jojo White, Dave Cowens and John Havlicek, McDonald helped hang up the team’s 13th banner by providing a spark in Game 5 of the 1975-76 NBA Finals. In one of the most famous games in NBA history, McDonald came off the bench and scored six points in the third overtime to give the Celtics a 128-126 victory over the Suns. McDonald’s clutch performance in Game 5 brought the series to Phoenix, where Boston claimed the title. “It’s hard to describe how the whole thing happened,” he says. “You’re on one of the biggest stages you’ve ever been on and you can’t let people see fear. I know when they called my name I had no fear. I just said ‘I got to go in there and get this done.’” In his two seasons with the Celtics, McDonald played in 137 games, averaging 4.3 points per game and recording 47 steals. After being waived by the Celtics, he moved to Sweden to play internationally. In his first year, he helped his team win the 1977-78 championship and the honors of being ranked third in the world. The next year McDonald moved to Manila, Philippines to play with the U-Tex Wranglers, winning back-to-back championships in his first two years there. Last year he became one of the first American players to be nominated for the Philippine Basketball Association Hall of Fame. McDonald continued playing until he became a player-coach for the Wranglers in 1981, and served as assistant coach until 1984. McDonald says he loved playing internationally. “I had a great career over there,” he says. “The first year I coached we got to the championship. The next two years we got to the semi-finals.” The international athlete returned to CSULB in 1984 to finish his degree, accepting a part-time coaching position with the men’s
basketball team. McDonald then switched over to the women’s basketball assistant coaching position in 1986. At the time, the program was one of the top-ranked in the nation. McDonald extended his winning streak, taking the women’s team to the Final Four two years in a row. He took over as the women’s head coach from 1991-95 and has been the director of intramurals since then. Since 2000, McDonald has also served as assistant coach for the WNBA’s Los Angeles Sparks and currently does advanced scouting for the Utah Jazz. Still, he finds time to keep an eye on the school’s teams. Attend any home game and you’ll most likely spot McDonald near the court. What you won’t find is him yelling or coaching from the sidelines—he’s stepping away from that, at least for now. “I try my best not to be a critic,” McDonald says, “Because I wouldn’t want anybody to do that when I was coaching. I’m really just there to support them.” McDonald wants to see basketball regain the popularity it once had at the school. He is trying to contact former players and get them to come back and help support the teams. “I loved it here,” he says. “When I came here all the games were in the Gold Mine, it was completely packed. It was just a mad house, loud and sweaty. They used to call it the sweat box.” He is hoping to bring the support back and muster up some sweat in the Pyramid. He’ll never be able to retire from basketball. He’s turned his coaching philosophy into a philosophy of life. “I’m a firm believer in scoring,” McDonald says. “I tell people if you don’t shoot you can’t score. You’re not giving yourself a chance. People always ask me if I’m ever going to coach again. I never say never. You don’t know what’s coming down the line.” With anything that McDonald does, one thing is certain: victory. Having won four championships as a player and leading numerous teams to success, McDonald has just about as perfect a shooting average as possible.
I’ll Be Wearing Jordan XI’s When I Get Married By Ryan ZumMallen Sports Editor / ShoeHead In this celebration of the most loving of all days, it’s only fitting that I express my feelings for my one and only true love: Nikes (Yes, including Jordans, fellow shoe nerds). I’ve long held the belief that a ShoeHead can conceivably make it all the way through life in sneakers—and maintain class while doing so. In 23.5 years, I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it. But there, on the (perhaps) distant horizon, lies the one day that poses the greatest challenge to my theory. This day will be the most ardent obstacle on my journey of canvas & leather, but will prove me 100% correct if it can be conquered. It is my wedding day. There’s no date and there are no plans for this occassion as of yet, but as I get older and my theory claims unlikely victory after unlikely victory, it remains the one event that sits poised to defeat
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Questions? Comments? Union Sports can be reached at zummy@lbunion.com Or comment online at www.lbunion.com
me. So, as with any important matchup, I developed a gameplan. That gameplan is the white/black patent leather Air Jordan XI. Perfect in every way—the ultimate combination of performance, style and class, oozing history and built to the specifications of #23—who could possibly say no to the XI? A lot of people, as it turns out. Over the years, I’ve met opposition from a slew of appalled female friends (and a handful of married buddies who advised that I lose any hopes of maintaining wedding control). But in the end there is only one opinion that matters, and eventually I would have to bring it up to the person that holds final say. I readied my ammo—no crazy colors, they’re classy, they’ll be clean!—and fired away. “Ok,” she said, without even a second thought. “But I want a sushi bar.” “Baby,” I smiled, “You can have whatever the hell you want.” Happy Valentine’s Day.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
11 February 2008
Moons Over My Grammy Cut Copy
$15
The Echo Doors at 8.30pm Hollywood Monday, March 10th If a fresh indie/electro twist on ‘80s dance music sounds appealing to you, then you’re gonna dig these lads from down under. Having toured Australia last year with Daft Punk on the strength of Bright Like Neon Love, and with their new album In Ghost Colors hitting American music stands on April 8th, you might want to see them at the tiny little Echo before it’s too late.
The Wombats Spaceland Silver Lake
$12
Doors at 9pm Tuesday, March 11th
The amazingly-named Wombats will be gracing the stage of Silver Lake’s Spaceland, having traveled all the way to Southern California from Liverpool, England. This delightful little indie pop band is not only named after one of the coolest animals ever, but they’re also from the city responsible for turning out the best music ever made.
Beach House
$10
The Echo Doors at 6pm Hollywood Thursday, March 13th This two member outfit is best known for their as-yetreleased sophomore long player entitled Devotion. They are a band destined for great things, not to mention the fact that this show is cheaper than most movies. And I might urge you to bring a friend of the opposite sex to this show as it might make for one of th best cheap dates money can buy.
World’s Best Grandma
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n case you couldn’t slake your hunger for trumped-up musical tripe with VH1 and Alternative Press, the Grammys were on Sunday. I’m writing this before they’ve happened, of course, but it really doesn’t matter who won. In fact, the only person who probably gives a shit about these little golden disappointments is Kanye West. What does matter is the gesture of avoidance that we make in ignoring this rock ‘n rollin’ circle jerk. So, as is my yearly prerogative, I will now insult the Grammy nominees. Amy Winehouse: There’s something inspirationally fucked-up about Amy winning an award for a song about ducking treatment for her unrelenting drug abuse problem. Thousands of obituary editors wait with bated breath in order to finalize that last final detail: “Grammy-nominated songstress suffers fatal overdose,” or “Grammy-winning songstress suffers fatal overdose?” Foo Fighters: Dave Grohl lives two lives. In one, he plays the drums, comes up with off-the-wall projects like Probot, and makes positive contributions to the world of music. In the other, he fronts the Foo Fighters and shits on my heart. If Kurt Cobain were alive today, there wouldn’t be enough shotgun shells on earth to satisfy his suicidal urges. Paramore: This band is what’s wrong with music. A spunky retread of the clip-on pop-punk that Avril Lavigne was posing up years ago, Paramore is youthful rebellion marketed to people too boring for the real thing and too dumb to know the difference. And if the hair dye and homeroom power-pop weren’t bad enough, the band appears to be entirely incapable of stopping themselves from namechecking bands they have nothing to do with. Failure? Chicago? Why not just toss in Gershwin and Mozart while we’re at it? If you find this band enjoyable, please grow the fuck up. Evanescence: As the Paramore of yesteryear, Evanescence’s recent tailspin toward insignificance puts a big sadistic smile on my face. Who knew that the twofold enticement of a pretty girl singing over
by Matt Dupree nu-metal would have such a short shelf life? Or that 14-year-olds would one day tire of the mall-goth chic that once ruled their T-shirt selection? Daughtry: As the line between rock and country continues to blur, so too does the line between popularity and garbage. Daughtry is a band forged by record industry persuasion and reality television; a modern day Monkees if you will. Frontman Chris Daughtry was famously on American Idol, although it should also be noted that the rest of the band has made sporadic appearances on COPS, The People’s Court and Locker Room Logjam 17. The Arcade Fire: Wait, wha? Nickelback: Puzzling though it may be that Nickelback has earned a Grammy nomination off of a special edition release of an album that came out only two years earlier, I think that the real issue goes much deeper. That album, as unilaterally boring as it is, has sold 9 million copies. So as much as Nickelback sucks, you have only to look deep within yourself to find the suck that is above all other sucks. Michael Bublé: I can’t speak to his music, but I’ve always been a fan of his bath foam. 50 Cent: If it’s confirmed that Fitty used steroids, will they take his Grammy away? To be honest, I thought it was suspicious that his rhymes had increased so rapidly in physical strength and bulk. You can imagine how surprised I’d be to discover that that swollen head of his wasn’t just arrogance. Get buff or become infertile tryin’, y’all. Feist: I actually feel bad for Feist. She’s locked in an award category with Amy Winehouse, Christina Aguilera, Nelly Furtado, and Fergie. Even a cursory comparison to those four is pretty degrading. And I heard that being that close to Fergie was how Macy Gray got crabs. Best Metal Performance: Say what you will, my money’s on titanium. Ruthenium’s simply not at that level yet.
Man Man
Herman’s Hermits La Mirada Theatre La Mirada
$35+
Doors at 8pm Saturday, March 15th
Someone forgot to tell Peter Noone that the British Invasion ended a little more than forty years ago, but who can blame him? Yes, Noone is up on stage singing the classics before his fans are too old to remember who he was anyway. Unfortunately, he’s a bit senile and really believes he’s Hen-er-y the eighth, he is.
11 February 2008
There are some bands that just reek of a fantastic live show. Some groups make music that begs to be played onstage with a sweaty, seething mass of bodies in front of the band, doing as much to create a crazy experience as the band itself. As day two of the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival pounds the increasing heat of the approaching Summer’s sun into your sad, pale skin, it is the Union Weekly’s strong suggestion that you make your way to whichever stage Man Man happens to be playing. In our quest to provide you with an insight on which bands to check out at Coachella, Man Man is certainly one of the weirdest (but also one of the most crazy awesome) of all the bands we’ve checked out thus far. First of all, they all have moustaches. Rock. Second of all, there’s like eight of them. Nice. Third of all, their music sounds like it was created on a fucking pirate ship. Seriously.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
This is some crazy, ass-kicking, fire-breathing rock, and it’s practically guaranteed to make you want to punch someone in the face, but in a good way. Wikipedia will tell you that their music is “described as Viking-vaudeville, manic gypsy jazz.” At first glance, that description seems a little odd, but upon listening to anything these guys have recorded, the realization that these words could not be more apt becomes quite clear. As bouncy as it is rough around the edges, Man Man’s music is brimming with energy, and its cup of testosterone certainly runneth over. Their live show consists of a great deal of whiskers, sweat, face paint, and grinding energy. So when you’re wandering around the sweltering desert, not quite sure as to which band you should see next, point yourself in the direction of the tent that’s pumping out flaming-pirate-ship/drunken-vaudeville-party jam tunes. That would be Man Man. -By Sean Boulger
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t’s Valentine’s Day Time, everybody, and we all know what that means: it’s time to bone. Being as it’s Valentine’s Day, however, this won’t just be any ordinary horizontal Macarena session. No, this one’s got to be special. This one’s got to be romantic. This one’s got to be following some sort of candle-lit dinner, you’re going to have to actually make some
For The Wannabe Hipster By Brian Newhard
“Uhh… Do you want me to make you a mixtape?” If you’ve ever used this phrase in an attempt to get laid, you know what a precarious position it can create. If you go too mainstream, you’ll crush your indie-kid image; too obscure and all you’ll get is a blank stare. If you’ve ever had that dilemma, here’s some suggestions for you that shoot right down the middle, you selfconscious, trend-hopping tool. It’s the perfect soundtrack to score to if you’re too embarrassed to take off your v-neck sweater. Dream At Tempo 119 Silversun Pickups More like “CREAM Dream at Tempo 119!” Am I right?! Where Do You Go to Peter Sarstedt WARNING: only use this song if you’re sure that your partner will catch the forced Darjeeling Limited reference. But Jason Schwartzman did get Natalie Portman naked by playing this song, so it’s worth its weight in tongue-in-cheek hipster gold. Alala Cansei de Ser Sexy Tired of being sexy while “Music Is My Hot Hot Sex” is on the stereo? Try this even filthier punk-splashed romp. Full of Fire Al Green It’s Al Green, so you know it’s hot. It’s not “Let’s Stay Together” so it’s not too cliché.
eye contact this time, and odds are she won’t let you slink off to the bathroom so you can sit on the toilet and finish yourself off in self-loathing. I’m sorry, my friend, it’s Valentine’s Day. Today’s the day you have to care. Of course, nothing sets the mood better than some tunes, and it’s a proven fact that the right set of jams is certain to put some fingernails in your back. We, of course,
A Whole New World as performed by Peabo Bryson and Regina Belle Disney films have always been infamous for their embedded sexual imagery, and this Aladdin classic simply takes the hidden erection out of the animated priest’s pants and wraps it all up in a neat little carpet ride. Plus, the lyrics are eerily appropriate for that first thrust into adulthood. Hey Diddle Diddle Unknown On the surface, a nice little song about female masturbation, bestiality and a sexy woman in love with a spoon. Dig a little deeper and…it’s so much worse. Still, nice for the first time you girls realize that the showerhead has multiple settings. Angst In My Pants Sparks Play this song at one of those retro ‘80s parties that kids from the ‘90s seem to love so much and watch the sparks fly (zing!). Again, not so sexy, but whiney and antsy enough to adequately express the plight of any young man who wonders why more girls don’t hang out at Wizards of the Coast. Age of Consent New Order For some reason my high school gym teacher kept playing this song in the locker room while we showered. It reminds me of sex in a way I can’t quite put my finger on without crying and/or talking to my therapist.
Strobe Light The B-52’s This fast-paced stop-and-go song will put you and your lover through your paces. And it has some excellent call and answer humor.
This Is How We Do It Montell Jordan My Sex Ed teacher kept playing this in his basement while we cooked meth together. For some reason, this too reminds me of sex. Maybe because he tried to fuck me a bunch. Excuse me, I think I have something in my eye.
Cellphone’s Dead Beck Euphoric disco refrains that abruptly shift into deconstructed electro-funk? Hell yes (pun intended)!
Cosmic Dancer T. Rex This is serious. Want to create a mood? Here’s the song to play. If you’re with a girl, she’ll cry after the sex is over, but for all the right reasons.
Gigantic Pixies Playing this particular Pixies pick is a proven provider of panty precipitation.
Jersey Slide 3 Stars Keep in mind that the following lyrics are sung by a Jackson 5 knock-off band: “I can do it, you can do it, she can do it, we can do it, really, really we can do it/ Now you’re doing it/ The Jersey Slide.” Tell me this song isn’t about fucking. I dare you.
Je Veux Te Voir Yelle French Girly-Crunk? Could there be anything hotter? But impotent French speakers beware: Yelle (who’s performing at Coachella) is rapping about an unsatisfying hookup’s inadequate equipment. It’s A Shokka Diamond Nights A rocker with a chugging bass line, a suggestive title, and Dungeons & Dragons imagery. Use this track if you ever bed that tattooed World of Warcraft hottie. Genius of Love Tom Tom Club “James Brown? James Brown!”
Music For Awkward Teens To Grope To By Miles Lemaire
Listen: teenagers fuck. They fuck just like you and I, save for the added fumbling, panting and apologizing that is inherent to the underage, copulatory experimentation of two 13-yearolds “doing it.” But there’s no need for that first time (when two consenting kids pop more than just their zits) to be an un-enjoyable experience. Thusly, the following list:
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How Can I Love You (If You Won’t Lie Down) Silver Jews “Fast cars, fine ass/ these things will pass/ and it won’t get more profound.” I’ve never heard a finer summation of what it means to be young, to fuck and to grow up than the opening lines of this song. This is a song custom made for young people that treat life and sex like the joke that they often are. King of Carrot Flowers, Pt. 1 Neutral Milk Hotel The lines “And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy’s shoulder/ And dad would throw the garbage all across the floor/ As we would lay and learn what each other’s bodies were for” are perhaps some of the most beautiful expressions of adolescent sexual awakening that have ever been recorded. Ever. Somebody’s Baby Jackson Browne If you’re ever getting fucked particularly hard by an older man or woman in the dugout of your high school’s baseball field, looking through your own tears at graffiti that reads “Surf Nazis Must Die,” then this is certainly the song you’ll want to be listening to.
are well aware of this, so we’ve gotten together in a dimly-lit room and worked very hard to create a series of playlists that are guaranteed to get your lover wetter than a Chinese Slipn-Slide. So enjoy the second annual Union Weekly’s “Music to Bone To.” Go ahead, make one of these playlists. We dare you. You can thank us after you’re done having fourteen orgasms.
Music Your Parents Boned To By Matt Dupree
At some point in our lives, we realize that our parents fucked at least once. And then to the even more horrid realization that said parents are entirely sexual creatures with their own perverse talents and preferences. It’s not too far a leap, then, to assume that the marathon lovemaking sessions which produced us had a sexy soundtrack comprised of at least a few hits that we still listen to and enjoy. I Need You Tonight INXS If you were born in November or December of 1988, this song is partly responsible. Those guitar hits behind Michael Hutchence’s low whispers practically deserve a spot on your birth certificate. West End Girls Pet Shop Boys Essentially the UK version of “Don’t Stop Believin,” this song encouraged a whole new crop of well-off West End girls to journey downtown for some forbidden passion with the working-class East End boys. God bless ‘em. With Or Without You U2 If the fiery lyrics didn’t get your loins jumping, the soul-searching guitar sustain undoubtedly will. This song made every intercourse like something from a movie. Kiss Prince & The Revolution It’s impossible to listen to this song and not think verrrrry dirty thoughts, and this song came out at the time most of you juniors and seniors were being conceived. Faith George Michael Not only were your parents getting it on to this song, but your mom was imagining George Michael in your father’s place. These days however, all parties are probably glad that Michael was nowhere near any of it. Close to Me The Cure If the heavy breathing sounds weren’t enough of a tip-off, take it from me: this song burned some beds. Shout Tears For Fears Not only is it a sexy rhythm, but he’s telling you to be vocal, which is a good sex tip. Just make sure you tone it down during the drum breakdown because I fuckin’ love that part. The Promise When In Rome I can’t say for certain if YOU were conceived to this song, but I know for a fact that my children will be. Sexual Healing Marvin Gaye I bet they play this song for endangered pandas at breeding reserves, and it’s no wonder. Marvin’s saccharine voice would definitely put me in the mood to fuck a panda. Sweet Child Of Mine Guns N’ Roses There’s some chemical somewhere in a man’s endocrine system that causes him to thrust involuntarily when he hears a smokin’ guitar solo, and this is the smokin’est of smokin’ guitar solos. Rock Me Amadeus Falco Don’t ask me; they’re YOUR parents.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
The Dirty Blues Mix By Leah McKissock
If you wanna have some real steamy sex on Valentine’s Day, you might wanna get the blues first. Nothing gets me more in the mood than some hot blues guitar licks. When the Lights Go Out The Black Keys Setting the stage with a medium pace and seductive vocals. Just like the beginning of Black Snake Moan where Christina Ricci is getting it on with Justin Timberlake. I Just Wanna Make Love To You Muddy Waters Going old school blues with something slow, raw, and has sweet harmonica solos. Whipping Post The Allman Brothers Band The Allman Bros belt out their hot guitar solos as they repeatedly transition from fast to slow. I Want You (She’s So Heavy) The Beatles It’s the Beatles. They’ll make girls scream no matter what generation it is. You Shook Me Led Zeppelin Robert Plant’s voice is the quintessential fucking voice. Also includes great keyboard, harmonica, and guitar solos. Love Me Like a Man Bonnie Raitt The greatest woman to sing and play the blues, Bonnie brings the perfect feminine touch to the bedroom. Bitch The Rolling Stones Things start to get a bit wild with Mick Jagger prancing around with those big lips. Come On In My Kitchen Robert Johnson Revisiting that old blues sound, nothing is hotter than the king of the blues stripping the music down to the bare bones. Red House Jimi Hendrix This Hendrix song could be considered the peak of the playlist. If someone asked me what I thought the sexiest song ever written was, this would be it! Let Me Love You Baby Stevie Ray Vaughan Fast paced and sexy, you just cannot have a blues mix without Stevie Ray Vaughan. He’s only one of the best guitarists in rock and roll history. Baby Won’t Ya MC5 Speedy, wild, and full of energy, “Baby Won’t Ya” brings back some craziness towards the end of the mix. Devil Is A Woman The Doors It may not be the song that first comes to mind when you think of The Doors, but this song will definitely have an effect on you. Evil Woman Blues John Mayall Finally that blues piano that we needed. This is a classy song that suits well for leading the mix to almost a complete stop. Wonderful Tonight Eric Clapton A perfect conclusion to the list, Eric Clapton tops it off with this sensational love song bound to make any moment with your special someone a memorable one.
11 February 2008
Two Sides of the Page, Two Sides of the Canvas A Literary Essay By Michael Veremans
W
hat do you do it for? Some esoteric vision or aesthetic perfection? There is an undeniable calling that the artist must answer to, though s/ he can hardly explain it. It is like a fingerprint of the divine, pressing the artist into some facet of creative output, or maybe the most beautiful cry for attention that has echoed through human history. Is art a personal enterprise as Jorge Luis Borges insists in his story “The Secret Miracle” or an undertaking for the public as Franz Kafka posits in “The Hunger Artist?” For Kafka, art seemed to be a painful public display, often likened to public torture. The main character of “The Hunger Artist,” one of his short stories, is a professional faster—an artist of it, as the title indicates. This complex metaphor follows him as he struggles with his viewing public, who considers him a “suffering martyr,” and his own perceptions, which are driven by his will to be admired. He seeks to “fight against this lack of understanding, against a whole world of non-understanding,” struggling also to understand himself. When people came to see him, he was always “looking forward to these visiting hours as the main achievement of his life.” Despite that, he is violently thrown to another chain of thoughts like a manicdepressive when he finds himself without spectators. This is because he seeks that attention; it validates what he considers art. At the end of the story, he admits that he is a hunger artist because no food would appeal to him, nothing but art can satisfy the author, despite that, he is constantly seeking the approval of his public. Paradoxically, that very public that lifts him up also keep him from fasting longer than 40 days, they keep him from reaching the pinnacle of his art. At the end of his life’s work, he admits to the public“‘I always wanted you to admire my fasting’...‘We do admire it,’ said the overseer, affably. ‘But you shouldn’t admire it,’ said
Illustration by Miles Lemaire
the hunger artist. ‘Well then we don’t admire it,’ said the overseer.” So despite the fact that his art was able to exist in a public sphere, he found no satisfaction in the spot light; not like he imagined. In Borges’ story “The Secret Miracle,” author Jaromir Hladik is arrested by the Gestapo while working on a “tragicomedy of errors” called The Enemies. He is incriminated based on a review of a catalogue and not by his actual work, so already the reader is introduced the superficial regard most people have for the artist, something that the hunger artist struggled so hard with. The story plays with ideas of infinity, the imagination, but always in a very personal, inward sense. “The problematic pursuit of literature constituted the whole of his life,” he says in reference to Hladik, who spends days alone contemplating—eventually begging for the time to finish his play, his masterpiece. “In order to complete that play, which can justify me…I need one more year.” He ponders the eternal number of ways in which he could be executed, but on the day of execution it is the firing squad. After the order is given, but before the bullets take his life, he is given a year’s time to finish his play, a work that he performs entirely for himself, “He did not work for posterity, nor did he work for God…Painstakingly, motionlessly, secretly, he forged in time his grand invisible labyrinth.” For him, art was unreality, that personal thing that is inexplicable, while reality was some shared event, something we all mutually agreed upon that tried to escape the purity of art. He was killed when his finished the last sentence. So, in the “diverse eternities that mankind has invented,” we find amazing creativity. Dreams that are the personal pursuit of beauty and realities that are ever insufficient. Does art exist in a void, would the hunger artist be happy to just starve in his home? Who then, is the patron of the artist: their audience or their conscience?
President's Forum on International Human Rights: Modern Genocides and Global Responsibility February 11 -13, 2008 All events are free and open to the public. This three day forum includes lectures, art performances and displays, panel discussions, book signings and a film series. Ishmael Beah Monday, February 11 at 4:30 PM in the University Student Union Ballroom Former Child Soldier, Sierra Leone Author of A Long Way Gone: Memories of a Boy Soldier ; Book signing to follow
The Honorable Francis M. Deng Monday, February 11 at 7 PM in the Carpenter Performing Arts Center Special Representative of the Secretary-General on the Prevention of Genocide and Mass Atrocities, United Nations
Immaculée Ilibagiza Tuesday, February 12 at 4 PM in the University Student Union Ballroom Survivor, Rwanda Author of Left to Tell ; Book signing to follow
Working for Change Career Fair Wednesday, February 13 from 11 AM to 3 PM on Friendship Walk. Representatives from various organizations that share in the fight for human rights
For more information and a complete schedule of events, visit: We’re Making a Difference in the Lives of Our Students
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www.csulb.edu/president /humanrights
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
11 February 2008
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[Random Reviews] Dyson Makes Effective Banana Peeler
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An Ode to Technology: The Dyson Airblade
On The Airblade
By Joseph Bryant
By Brian Newhard
By Allan Steiner
If you have yet to experience the Dyson Airblade that is available for your convenience in the University Student Union restrooms on the second floor, I highly recommend you keep it that way. I sure as hell haven’t been privy to its machinations. The device is alluring; I know, I almost used the damn thing once. Its surface is smooth and inviting, complete with a slot that I am sure male users will feel a compelling urge to utilize sexually. What guy doesn’t want to put his penis into any viable orifice? And the promise of soothing air caressing one’s testes is a strong argument for such an action. Whatever you do, don’t lower your junk or anything that you value into its deadly maw. Consider these facts your fair warning: 1) The entire concept is predicated on a blade somehow being involved. I don’t care if it’s made of air. A blade is a blade. Blades cut things. 2) Nobody has seen anyone use the Airblade. That’s because no person has yet had the courage to lower his or her hands into the fucker. 3) A blade! I cannot stress this enough. The instructions on the Dyson Airblade tell the user to lower their hands into the apparatus and then slowly remove them. You know why they say slowly? Because if one were to remove them quickly they would find the machine’s whirring, invisible blade turns on right as their fingers leave the console. The folks at Dyson tease with the promise of an experience akin to fellatio of the hand, but in reality the Airblade is more similar to a device that peels bananas, but instead of a delicious, potassium filled snack, you are left with pulp encrusted, sinewy remains of your once useable forearms or penis. Or so I assume.
When I first saw the Dyson Airblade, I was rather skeptical. I approached this new technology like Woody Allen in Sleeper; I reeled off cynical cheap shots to myself in order to mask my fear of this daunting piece of machinery. But my curiosity got the better of me and I plunged my hands into its slot. It was perfect! The Dyson Airblade is everything its overreaching label claims it to be and more. The experience is pleasurable and fun. I defy you to not make a sci-fi “schooopt!” noise while using it. And it’s energy efficient; the Airblade uses about 80% less electricity than other hand dryers. There’s no question that a 400 mph band of pressurized air shot through an opening the width of an eyelash is an infinitely more badass way to save the environment than the LH building’s waterless urinals. I immediately thought of those Dyson ads regularly shown on TV where James Dyson, the company’s terribly British president, boasts about the precision and determination of his R&D team. What a wonderful and magical place the Dyson laboratories must be. I’m sure the Dyson factory must be like Q Laboratories, with dozens of dangerous unreleased gadgets for me to play with. Or imagine if I won a tour through the labs! It would be just like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, except the Oompa-Loompas are dedicated to perfecting exciting new methods of sucking and blowing! The Dyson Airblade is amazing. It’s the best hand drier I’ve ever used. Here’s to yet another piece of evidence of what fans of rock music and world domination have known for years: blowing hot air is best accomplished by self-important British people.
After making the trek back to educationland after getting back from Winter Break, I was greeted by many things: New classes, new books, as well as the Airblade. For those of you who have missed it, The Airblade is the new hand dryer found in the bathrooms on the second floor of the Student Union near the computer stations that claims to use less energy to clean your hands faster. And what’s better? The thing is just plain awesome. It’s less of a convenience and more of an attraction. I mean, the thing doesn’t just try to dry your hands like your average hand dryer, no. It gets off ALL of the water. Hell, It exceeds the water-taking-off-ability of most paper towels. And it does it in about half the time of a normal hand dryer. (In case you’re worried that I actually spent the time and timed this myself, I assure you that the only reason I know this because I read up on the thing using the power of the internet). Admittedly, it takes a bit of practice to find out how to curl your hands into the perfectly shaped “M” of the airblade in order to get all of the water off of the fingertips and in between the wedges, but when drying your hands is this much fun, practice is hardly a chore. Apparently, the thing also claims to be more hygienic, but that’s not why I like it. I like it because it’s fun. I mean, between the chalkboards and the Airblades, I don’t know why you’d ever want to leave the hidden treasure trove of happiness that is the bathroom on the second floor. (Note that this doesn’t imply that not leaving is in anyway acceptable). So with that said, I commend James Dyson on a job well done. Congratulations sir.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
11 February 2008
Creative Arts:
Ode To Valentine’s Day By Tessah Schoenrock
S Illustration by Katie Reinman
t. Valentine was a special sort of chap, the type who’d string you along until you came down with the clap! A merry prankster and kind of a jerk, too that sly Valentine always knew just what to do. Even though now he’s many years dead he lives on in the spirit of the mislead and unwed. On the 14th especially he comes out to play
in the shape of balloons, buffets, and the most risque of bouquets. His winking eye can be spied in the romance a dozen roses have implied or the pretty hair of that girl you’ve eyed. So no matter where you are this Valentine’s Day single or taken, straight or gay Revel in the spirit of St. Valentine with a romping roll in the hay!
Illustration By Chris Fabela
Douglas and God
By C.A. Harrison
G
that he had
od hated Douglas.
was always very careful to relax and avoid exertion. He
He filled Douglas’
didn’t go to church, but neither did he go to work.
Depending on whom you ask, God has hated
many, few, or no people since He created the world. If you
life with harm and
The day after the incident with his father, Douglas
asked God, He would say that He had been mad at people
malicious events, and constant hints
found a job. It was his first job, and he held it until he was
before, but He hadn’t hated anyone until He hated Douglas.
“fallen out of His favor.” Though his life
in his early thirties, the point where God could no longer
Think of all the fucked up things God has done to those He
was rich with evidence that a mighty and superior being
contain his hatred of Douglas to mere harm and malicious
did not hate—to those he was merely “mad at.”
had it out for him, it wasn’t the case that on particular days
events. Douglas did not want, nor did he enjoy, the job he
Poor Douglas.
when that harm and those malicious events were causing
had, but his father had commanded that he find direction,
When God has been “mad at” people, He has
Douglas more chagrin that usual, Douglas would tilt his
so, he found one.
head back and scream at the sky, “Why have you forsaken
fucked with their food and their kids and their houses, and
Douglas was a vegetarian, and he felt guilty about it.
their love of Him. He has damned people to eternities of
He didn’t eat meat because he didn’t want anything to die.
suffering in an underworld He created to house the monster
Regardless of Douglas’ belief, there was a god. A very
For three months when he was twenty-two, he stopped
that He once loved most, and who betrayed Him—the worst
specific god, who lived in heaven, and created the world
eating plants, and only drank water and ate dirt. Still,
imaginable betrayal, an act that led to all evil now present
in seven days, and told Noah to build the Ark, and spoke
his conscience nagged him, because he had learned in a
in humanity. He has created the most beautiful women, the
through the ages to various men telling them how to redirect
biology class that both water and dirt are rich with micro-
most enjoyable activities, the most enticing foods, and told
humanity, and the such. And he hated Douglas.
organisms, and every time Douglas swallowed he thought
people to look the other way.
me?” Douglas did not believe in God.
By God’s standards, Douglas wasn’t a bad person. He
of the genocide occurring in his digestive system. However,
But God still loved those people. He loved them all
did not worship any other god. He didn’t even believe in the
after the three months, Douglas collapsed at work and his
equally, whether they slaughtered lambs because He liked
god God. He didn’t create, nor did he worship, any idols.
boss wouldn’t let him return until he started at least eating
blood and thought of Him with every action they engaged
Once, when Douglas was seventeen, his father had become
plants again. If Douglas believed in God, he would have
in, or they 1)had other gods 2)made and worshipped idols
frustrated because Douglas couldn’t decide what he wanted
prayed for forgiveness.
3)said “fuck you God” every morning while they ate cereal
to do when he was through with high school.
Douglas was a virgin.
4)snorted cocaine and had intercourse with prostitutes
When Douglas was in the third grade, he took his blue
every Sunday 5)hated their parents 6)killed their parents
backpack from the “backpack pile” in the classroom home
7)found out the prostitutes were married, and still fucked
“No.”
with him, as he always did, but upon opening it, he found
them 8)stole the cereal they ate while cursing their Creator
In attempting to force a decision out of Douglas, his
a small box of red lollipops that he did not recognize. He
9)lied until their balls were blue and 10)wished they lived
father had devised this clever question: “If you could create
cried because he thought he had the wrong backpack, and
next door and could afford to fuck the prostitutes that their
for yourself an idol, what would it be like?”
when his mother heard him crying, she inquired.
neighbor fucked. He loved them with no variations in His
His father had raised his voice to a mighty level. “Have you any idols, Douglas?”
“I wouldn’t create an idol, father.”
“I think I’ve stolen this box of red lollipops from
By God’s standards, it would have been better for
love, except for Douglas.
somebody,”
God didn’t hate Douglas because Douglas didn’t believe
Douglas to have said something like “I would pick God!”
“Douglas, don’t you remember what day this is? It’s Saint
in Him. God could have cared less. He masterminded,
However, the answer that Douglas had given was at least
Valentines day! I put those in your backpack this morning
created, and ran all of existence. Douglas’ acknowledgement
not actively offensive to Him, and was by far better than
for you to distribute to the other children.”
of His superiority and infinite qualities was trivial and petty.
screaming “Satan!”, something quite a few seventeen year-
Douglas’ tears dried immediately, and the next day
God didn’t care that Douglas was a perfectly good human
he handed the lollipops out with hand-written apologies
being by His standards. People who were absolute pieces of
Douglas never insulted God. Many of his peers, when
to each classmate for being late. That was the only time
shit got into heaven all the time. “The more, the merrier.”
attempting to express some sort of shock, would utilize the
in Douglas’ life that Saint Peter could try to categorize
phrase “Oh my God”, common in contemporary society,
as theft.
olds do these days.
God didn’t hate Douglas because he failed to take risks. God generally didn’t encourage people to take risks, but
but frowned upon in the Kingdom Above. Douglas avoided
Douglas didn’t lie. The thought never crossed his mind.
when examining an anomaly such as Douglas, it doesn’t
this phrase for the simple reason that he didn’t have a god,
hurt to consider rogue options. This rogue option remains
People called Douglas a “faggot”, and a “retard”,
much less a God, and to him, saying “Oh my God” would
because he didn’t fuck girls or steal shit. He wasn’t a
have been counter-intuitive, such as saying “there is a round
homosexual, nor was he unintelligent, he just didn’t want
If you asked God, as Douglas did at the gates of Saint
square.”
what wasn’t his. People called him a “hippy” and a “tool”,
Peter on the day after he died from dehydration induced
While his father could accuse him of lacking direction,
since he didn’t eat hamburgers or switch jobs. Douglas
by untreated steatorrhea, an explosive, smelly, oily diarrhea
Douglas was never called “lazy”. He always worked (or, as
showered, and he didn’t smoke pot, and while some parts
(God hated Douglas so much that He gave Saint Peter the
a teenager, attended school) Monday through Friday, as
of his body could be classified as tools, so can parts of
day off so that He personally could speak to Douglas), God
God would have wanted him to (though that wasn’t why),
the bodies of nearly all creatures. People called Douglas a
would have replied to you (replacing the pronoun “you”
and generally Saturdays were spent on some constructive
“pagan” because he didn’t go to church. Technically, they
with “him”, of course), as He did to Douglas shortly before
project such as maintaining the landscaping about his
were right.
absolutely terminating his soul (no heaven, no hell), “I don’t
fathers house. However, when Sundays arrived, Douglas
11 February 2008
God hated Douglas.
as such.
know. There’s just something about you that bugs me.”
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
13
In Bruges, Wit’ Joe?! A Review of In Bruges By Joseph Bryant
T
he trailer for In Bruges gives the false impression that the new film from Academy Award winning director Martin McDonagh (Six Shooter, Best Short Film of 2006) is another uninventive, boring action film with subpar comedy. I’m sure that viewing the trailer ad nauseam before every movie you’ve gone out to see for the past two months has further solidified your hatred for In Bruges, as it did mine. Understand that I went into this film a staunch pessimist—I expected yet another movie trying to be the next Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, but was happily mistaken.
How are you this good Andrew Wilson (illustrator of this illustration)?
At the outset of In Bruges we are introduced to Ray (Colin Farrell) and Ken (Brendan Gleeson), two Irish hitmen who fucked up a job. The two were sent by their boss, Harry (Ralph Fiennes), to the quaintly preserved medieval town of Bruges. As I’m sure you’re aware because of the overplayed trailer, Bruges is in Belgium. The movie is damn funny and the jokes shown in that shitty trailer are the least funny, whoever edited it needs to be fired for grossly misinterpreting the feel of the film. In addition to the really bad jokes in the trailer, there are
some other lines that fall flat. A lot of this dumb comedy is due to poor characters, one of which is unfortunately Ray, the top-billed Colin Farrell’s character. That isn’t to say that Farrell isn’t funny at all, but rather that he tends to be fucking annoying. He and that goddamn midget, who I’ll get to in a minute. Farrell’s Ray is just a baby; he’s the reason the hit went south and it gets to his head, making him depressed. Ray’s depression is funny and sad in parts of the film, but mostly it translates into him bitching and moaning about how much of a shithole Bruges is, which gets tiresome very quick. The midget, Jimmy (Jordan Prentice), along with some of the other ancillary characters, is fairly useless. Jimmy is an actor in a film where midgets are used for cheap comedy and he’s tired of being the butt of a joke; but Prentice’s character is exactly what Jimmy laments. He’s a tiresome and frustrating
fill-in joke during the far too long second act of the film. The funniest thing Prentice’s character does is his last scene in the movie. You’ll know when you see it, as it somewhat makes up for his presence. Brendan Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes are the selling points of the movie. Gleeson is the funniest character during the comedic parts of the film and the most compelling during the dramatic parts, though Fiennes manages to steal all the scenes from everyone, including Gleeson when they’re paired up. When Fiennes is angry, it’s the scariest/funniest stuff in the movie. He’s clearly having a ball playing Harry, a psychopathic asshole with a pension for shooting rather than saying. Harry’s introduction isn’t only the catalyst for ending the boredom-inducing second act, but also marks the beginning of the best violence in the film. The violence is spread throughout in varying degrees, ranging from comedic to disgusting to awesome, though the majority of the gore is piled up at the end, making the last fifteen to twenty minutes of the film an absolute blast. Despite the slow second act and its unfunny midget, In Bruges is a good film. It isn’t fantastic and shouldn’t win any awards, but it’s a film that does a good job of balancing comedy and drama with a little bit of action, gratuitous vulgarity, and gore that with some tighter editing around the middle could have been great.
Daily Specials
Happy Hour! Monday-Friday 3pm-7pm
Monday: $2.00 fish tacos, $2.00 Bratwurst, $9.95 Chicken & Rib Dinner Tuesday: $5.95 Half Chicken with 2 Sides Wednesday: $7.95 Meatloaf with Vegetables & Potatoes Thursday: $10.95 BBQ Rib Dinner with Baked Beans & Cole Slaw Thursday and Fridays are College Nights!
JOIN US FOR NBA and EPL Soccer ACTION! Bloody Marys & Irish Coffee
140 Main Street • Seal Beach • (562) 430-0631 BREAKFAST LUNCH DINNER 14
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
11 February 2008
Crayon Box by David Faulk
[Comics]
david.a.faulk@gmail.com
Crossword puzzles provided by BestCrosswords.com. Used with permission.
Across
You’re STUCK Here! by Victor! Perfecto
yourestuckhere@gmail.com
1- Soared 5- Letters, e.g. 9- Horse race venue in England 14- Matured 15- Drug-yielding plant 16- Slant 17- Natural blue dye 18- Take a meal 19- Eurasian juniper 20- Reveal 22- Having three unequal sides 24- Renown 25- Young roarer 26- Erase 29- Sacred song 31- Ooze out 32- Floor coverings 33- Relay race part 36- Appropriate 37- Most tidy 40- Wood sorrel 41- Her partner would be a buck 42- Pluck 43- Chinese martial arts 45- Trunk
47- Official examiner 48- Suitcase 51- Storage shelter 52- Civility 54- Scarlet bird 58- Flood 59- Greek god of war 61- Shipping deduction 62- Young eel 63- Wander 64- Send forth 65- Sows 66- Long fish 67- Sandy tract
Down 1- German Mrs 2- Waterfall 3- Long poem, such as those attributed to Homer 4- Plump 5- Title for a woman 6- Similar 7- Electrically charged particle 8- Dreg 9- Assault 10- Zigzag 11- Assembly of witches
12- Express opinions 13- Religious doctrine 21- Like granola 23- Category 26- Spent, as batteries 27- Public exhibition 28- Stringed instrument 29- Courtyard 30- Let it stand 32- Roman god of war 33- A pitcher may take one 34- Reflected sound 35- Massive wild ox 38- Heron, usually white 39- Twixt’s partner 44- Dateless 45- Colored 46- Willows 47- Rifts 48- Urns 49- Plentiful 50- Depart 51- Pilfer 53- Dextrous, lively 55- Amusement 56- “___ Brockovich” 57- Network of nerves 60- Fish eggs
Sad Truth Comic by Wilby Blood
Caramel>You by Ken C.
Drunken Penguin Presents... by James Kislingbury
11 February 2008
penguinincarnate@gmail.com
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
Wanna piece of this? Send ‘em to editor Victor Camba: yourestuckhere@gmail.com Or drop them off at the Union office Student Union Office 256a
15
VOLUME 62
GRUNION.LBUNION.COM
Old Asshole Won’t Stop Voting
See Electile Dysfunction page 5
Headlines
Area Bachelor Has Two Tickets to Bonetown.
SEX
Jim “Casa” Kanova: Like, in Reverse Land.
Bobby Knight: “I Fucking Retire, You Cocksucking Sons of Bitches!”
ISSUE 3
Woman Makes Valentines Reservation at Suicide Ward
PAYIN’ ALIMONIES
See Bed For One, Please page 8
Wife, Girlfriend Refuse To Recognize “Steak and Blowjob Day” as Actual Holiday By Earl Grey GRUNION COMMITMENT ISSUES
tha, could only shake their heads in disbelief. “Absolutely not,” said wife Cheryl. Rancho Cucamonga, CA. — Despite ef“You’re joking right? St. Valentine’s forts from a Southern California father and Day has been celebrated for centuson to force their significant others to comries. I read on Wikipedia it was startpensate for the obligation of Valentine’s Day, ed by a Christian martyr. They want their respective wife and girlfriend refuse outto follow that up with red meat and right to celebrate “Steak and Blowjob Day.” fellatio? My goodness gracious. As if This impromptu holiday, being considit isn’t mutually beneficial. Guffa! I’ve ered for February 15th, is said to be tailorbought new lingerie every V-Day for made for men burnt out from the stress of 17 years.” conjuring up a satisfactory Valentine’s Day. “...And you’ve put it on and gone “The idea is simple enough,” said Chad right to bed for the past 17 years,” Willems Sr., self-proclaimed creator of the shouted Chad Sr., drunk, laying on new holiday who is about to spend the 17th the couch in the back of the room consecutive Valentine’s Day with his wife by where Cheryl’s interview was taking getting a baby sitter and paying too much for place. “I haven’t seen you naked since mediocre Italian food. “While the trappings Clinton was president.” of V-Day include flowers and lavish gifts “Gross,” responded Chad Jr., also and expensive restaurants and regretted drunk, playing Guitar Hero in an adjapromises, ‘Steak and Blowjob Day’ is only cent room. about two things, and I’ll let you guess Sadly, and according to Samantha, which two. Okay, I’ll just tell you: Steak “Steak and Blowjob Day” was not the and blowjobs.” Willems eldest son, Chad Chads’ first attempt at a post V-Day Jr., 19, was quick to support his father’s holiday, nor the most exhuberent. It unorthidox suggestion. wasn’t even the most creative. “Listen, I work part time at Bristol Farms. Under The Table: Chad Willems Sr. receiving beef, beej. “They were shooting for ‘Ignore I pull in $150 dollars a month. If I am going to Me While I Watch College Basketball spend the majority of that in one day on a girl I’ve been dating for Literally All Day Long Day,’ which I would have preferred, hontwo months, knowing that if I don’t I’m considered a shitty boy- estly. Giving a blow-j to Chad is no walk in the park.” Samantha friend, even if I’ve been kickass considerate every day prior to V- then made a gesture with her hands to suggest a very large phallus. Day, well shit. The next day I want steak and I want a beej. Plain and Cheryl could only nod mournfully. simple.” But Chad Sr.’s wife, Cheryl, and Chad Jr.’s girlfriend, Saman“You’re damn fucking right,” shouted the Chads in unison.
Second Grade Class in Love With Rest of Second Grade Class By Fancy Lash GRUNION ZOMBIE GENTLEMAN
Répétez Après Moi: J’aime les Hemmhorrages.
Big Budget Car Stunt a Success, Funeral To Follow
Whoopsie Daisies: Driver choked on fried dumpling hours after explosion.
In an unprecedented and unprovoked display of affection for their fellow man, this week an entire second grade class handed out valentines to each and every one of their classmates. Even Gavin Rotoldo (well known among the class for his poopy face and severe cooties) received a windfall of cards featuring timeless symbols of love and fertility, such as Shrek and Sponge Bob Square Pants. “Some might have you believe that we’re too young to know what true love is, but these cards validate a lot of feelings that I’ve had for every single one of these kids…no, these human beings for a long time now,” noted 6-year-old Brian. The class of twenty-five were all shocked, come Valentine’s Day, to find that their feelings for one another were uniformly reciprocated. As each child checked their heart adorned, paper-bag mailboxes for the typical glut of in-voices and subpoenas, they instead found twenty-four declarations of love requesting that they “Be Mine.” “I was shocked,” said the student’s teacher, Ms. Fanny. “I mean, this never happens. To me, I mean. This never happens to me. My friend e-mails me Garfield comics every once in a while but…we’re just friends. This is true love.” This, apparently, was not the first instance of class-wide affection to have been expressed by the students. According to the students’ parents, each individual child has invited everyone else in the class to their birthday parties, even going so far as to bring celebratory cupcakes on their blessed day of birth. “The sexual tension was palatable,” noted Craig’s mom. “I saw the way my Craig was running around and playing with the
Ms. Fanny’s Little Angels: Nothing Illegal probably happened.
other children. And the bounce house had this really strange smell to it after all the kids left. I mean, something was going on in there.” Now that the students have aired their love for one another, they plan to build a tree house, or perhaps some kind of fort made out of blankets and chairs and live in it together. “It depends on the rent and location, obviously,” said Jennifer R. “With the housing market in its current state of collapse, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be able to find a tree with branches sturdy enough to support a twenty-five room tree home. Plus, we’d like to find a neighborhood that’d be safe enough for all of our Cabbage Patch children to grow up in. We’re currently looking in to the availability of the giving tree, but Shell Silverstein’s estate has been frustratingly unresponsive.”
Disclaimer: The Grunion is now more than 3 decades old, and we have only become more debonair with age. But there is one thing that has not changed in our epic, occasionally violent history: We still are neither ASI nor GOP. The views and opinions explicitly stated or alluded to on this page still do not represent the views and opinions of the CSULB campus, nor do they necessarily adhere to the moral fabric of the writers. We do this to secure the cheap seats in the deeper, more satirical bowels of Hell, and because the elephant in the room is becoming a bit of a sass-mouth. Send rags to earlgrey@lbunion.com. It’s going to be one of her heavy days.