62.04 by Union Weekly

Volume 62 Issue 4

[Issue 62.4] “The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit.” ~Nelson Henderson

his has been a rather tough week for me, and before I attempt to turn this into a whining sob fest, I just want to share with you a few things I was able to experience during my week on crutches. But first I want to explain, in detail, how I ended up on these archaic faux appendages. Last Friday morning rolled around and instead of nursing my headache underneath the covers, I opted to drag my out-of-shape ass down to the Goldmine to get my hoop on. It was what I call a day of commerce, the sun was shining, there was a slight hint of a breeze in the air, the birds were chirping, and I even had a partner in crime to take the beating we were hoping for. See, Vince and I don’t play basketball to score points, or do dunk shots, we play ball to exalt the importance of fundamentals. We wear short shorts, tight shirts, high socks, and Converse; we’re old school baby, way old school. It’s always funny to see the looks on people’s faces when we roll up to play; it’s a look of amazement and embarrassment all meshed together. But on this Friday we weren’t the most old school in the Goldmine, the King was there, and he was putting on a clinic. I had heard the stories of F. King’s jumper. I heard about his unwavering defensive stance; and hustle… King’s got hustle like pastrami’s got flavor. Anyway, I wasn’t on King’s team but I was unlucky enough to run against him. It was like watching a general manage his army, calling everyone by their first name, dishing dimes left and right, and offering encouragement to both teams. Watching King play basketball reinforced my admiration for the man, and reminded me why he is so beloved not only in this office but on this entire campus. Oh, to the drive (yeah, I’m dubbing the play I got hurt on, “the drive” so what?). After we lost by one bucket to King’s team we immediately started another game. I should have known better than to just assume I could run for an hour straight when I hadn’t run farther than the distance between our printer and my office computer in

more than a month, but when I’m on the court I sometimes let my emotions get the best of me. So on we ran, and only a few minutes into the game I found myself with an outlet pass on the wing with only one defender between myself and the basket. That one defender just happened to be ex-Long Beach State star Jabril Wilson, and my teammate running down the sideline was anxiously anticipating my pass, and so was Jabril because he was just daring me to take it to the hole. And that’s when I asked myself, “What would the King do?” And that was that, I faked the pass and took it strong to the hoop. I heard my foot crack like I was popping my knuckles the second one landed on Jabril’s foot. I knew something was wrong when I felt like puking from the pain, but the first thing I asked when a buddy of mine helped me up was if I made the bucket. I did, and that’s the only reason I’m ok with the way my foot looks at the time I write this (it’s black/green/blue, crooked, broken, swollen). Being hobbled certainly has been quite the bother, but even worse than the physical side of this injury has been dealing with how poorly my fellow students have treated me, or rather, not treated me. I’ve been turned down by Campus Cruiser because it was “full” of students (who also couldn’t walk I’m sure). I’ve been engaged in deliberate hallway showdowns by students who refuse to alter their direction. I’ve had someone refuse to move their backpack from a chair in the front row so I could sit down. These are just a few examples of how poorly students have treated me in a weeks time. I don’t have even close to enough space to explain how ill-equipped this campus is for students that truly have handicaps. I can’t imagine having to get around on this campus for more than the time it’s going to take to heal this foot of mine. So the next time you think that your needs are more important than those of the person next to you struggling, just ask yourself, “What -Ryan Kobane would the King Do?” Editor-In-Chief

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

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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, Caitie Rolls, Leah McKissock, C.A. Harrison, Ashley Marie Weis, Kelly Hamilton, Robert Masucci, Chris Fabela, Clay Cooper, Chuck Klosterman.

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

18 February 2008

Opinions

There Are Plenty More Fish In The Sea The Road to Happiness from the Selfish Human Perspective

By Katrina Sawhney

Union Staffer

hen you go out to lunch, you’re handed a menu from which you choose your meal. You consider your likes, dislikes, and other factors of personal taste. Then, you order. But how many of us take a look at the menu after we’ve ordered? For future reference, you check out all of your options. This is the same behavior we exihibit in any relationship no matter how fulfilling it may be. The finer points of relationships are topics that have been discussed and rehashed examining the benefits and drawbacks many times, from many perspectives. It’s been done to death and don’t worry, I’m not going to do it again. As far as dating goes, I won’t pretend to know any mind-blowing secrets. However, there may be a little rhyme and reason to the highs and lows of the togetherness rollercoaster. The Social Exchange Theory has recently been the topic of research in Interpersonal Relations and has revealed a lot of things that people don’t like to admit about their actions. The Social Exchange

tend to be better in touch with the impacts of the right, more creative and emotional side of the brain. Thus, they are not as affected by this instinctual drive. Men tend to focus on the more black and white side of things and therefore are more likely to consciously engage in this behavior. But regardless of our gender, we expect to benefit from our relationships. It is not just biological, it’s simply good sense. The human is not an animal biologically or sociologically structured for a lifetime of monogamy. That’s not to say that it can’t be done, it’s done successfully all the time. Social expectations demand it. A happy, healthy bond is Illustration By Andrew Wilson a feat in itself, but with the Social Exchange Theory Theory, when referring to all unions taken into consideration, it’s a fantastic from dating to marriage, claims that accomplishment. If you’re one of those lucky we as logical beings are likely to choose few who do succeed in the face of odds out relationships that maximize benefits and of your favor, congratulations on overcoming minimize costs. Fair enough, but it goes biological predisposition. on to state that we are always looking We’re selfish creatures by nature. It for a potentially more attractive, able or makes sense that we are subconsciously otherwise beneficial mate. driven to fend for ourselves and take Your boyfriend stares at other women but advantage of our best options, it ensures says he loves you more than anyone in the our survival. This theory aligns itself with world, and would never dream of cheating on that logical sensibility that may not be the you. He’s probably half right. He could love most empathetic of motivations. We are you more than anyone, but he has everyday also conflicted creatures, torn between considered leaving. He’s probably not what we’d like to be and what we are going home at night to make pros and cons psychologically likely to be. Unfortunately, lists—it’s most likely a subconscious action. everything from the rampant existence He could still be a devout partner, but he’s of extra-marital affairs to the average just human. He’s always looking for the best relationship being one lasting only six option and while he’s content consciously, months, supports this cynical theory. subconsciously, he’s still weighing out the If you are at all like me, then this little good and the bad. Just like when you look gem is a bit disheartening, a depressing at the menu after you’ve ordered, you don’t truth. I would prefer to prove that despite usually consider calling the waiter back to our pre-disposition to a wandering eye, that change, you file your preferences away for we have the overwhelming influence of free the next time around. will to counterbalance it all. We have the It’s not just men who engage in this science of our limitations in front of us; now behavior, women do it as well, however enjoy and consider it a challenge to find the not as often on a conscious level. Women loopholes of your own happiness.

No Man is An Island: A Treatise on Kindness By Michaël Veremans Random Reviews Editor Wake up! You’ve overslept and your life is running in the drive-way. You are one of forty thousand students at The Beach (more likely than not) and some of those forty thousand other students are swimming around you, pursuing their educations, respectively. As you may be able to tell by the feel of the wind as each person passes you, we are not consciousnesses floating around in an existential void. It’s more like we are a complex construction of scaffolding, supporting some high gallows that we all worship as our shared end. Well, then we begin in the same place (to save time, we will call it your mother’s vagina or test tube) and we all will invariably die. We are all interdependent and never ending, or to put it better we exist here happily

18 February 2008

with each other, the meat in the grinder of education, so to speak. We are the educated underclass existing in a militaristic country with no idea why we are Americans. Yes, we are meaning-seeking beings in a meaningless world. Why am I reminding you of all this now? Because I want you to start acting like it. Forget that you are a special person and look around at the unhappy people and the people acting like assholes, they’re probably one and the same. It’s a sad world because, as Raymond Lacoste, ALD would say, there isn’t anymore kindness, no gratitude. There’s no grace in life, just that artificial capitalistic struggle to the top, but you’ve taken a look around and you know, everything is fine the way it is. Laziness and sheer malice keep us from being good citizens and good friends. Would Vonnegut, the great humanist, have written

his most read works if he took a break after the first few lines of a book to watch TV? No. He had a passion, as do many people, and no matter how arbitrary it may outwardly seem, it is yours and it keeps you healthy and it makes you happy. Can I get some passionate people over here in my corner because the night is too long and the sun won’t come up before I’ve gone crazy, choking on the asbestos insulation of intellectual absentia. No, you can’t just live your life for yourself, no man is an island and as far as I know, there are no islands with just one man. It may seem a little difficult, but think of each person in the world, individually, for just a second. They are beautiful and intelligent, they are brothers and sisters. They will fight for you, so love something. So turn off your TVs before you are made to face a jury of your peers, before you die. Wake up, you’re sleeping at the wheel.

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

Two Answers— One Commandment By Derek Crossley Union Staffer Legally, all you have to do is be alive for seventy-two seasons and you’re allowed to kill. At least in this country, if you have made it to eighteen, and are willing to forfeit four years of your life, the government will give you a gun, or two, and teach you how to use them to kill other human beings. I’m pretty sure I’ve covered in this column, at length, that I’m not against people dying. But what has always bothered me, made me think twice, is the time and place where we as a society, and the law, think it is okay to disregard this fundamental rule. Since Jonesboro and Columbine I’ve been fascinated by school shootings. Recently, in the last month or so, there have been two more of these violent, life ending situations. These killers range widely in age, from elementary school kids to college students. The accepted reasoning behind these attacks, at least in my opinion and articles I’ve read, is that these people feel that they have nothing left to lose. They feel that society has forgotten about them, that they don’t fit in, and are constantly reminded of that fact. They have been mocked and tortured for years by other supposedly innocent people. Imagine that feeling. I’m sure most people can, even in some way, identify with that feeling of hopelessness. But let’s go back to the idea of legal murder. In the armed forces murder is not only accepted but is the goal of most campaigns. Kids are taught to kill, told that if they don’t they will be killed, and are often shipped off to other countries where the only information they have to go on is probably severely skewed. But everyone waves flags, cheers, and gives them medals for breaking the most important societal law. They have no specific issue with anyone they are fighting—they are just performing taught skills. Ending lives becomes commonplace, just another job. However, in the situation of a school shooting there is a very clear reason behind most of their actions. Sometimes it is an angry outburst with no goal other than to cause the sense of fear and desperation that these individuals have been feeling for years, if not their whole lives. But, more often than not, they have a goal—a specific person, or people, that have driven them to what they must believe, is their only way to defend themselves: return fire. No one seems to understand this dichotomy though. We herald murderers in foreign countries, fighting for freedom by invading other people’s land, yet we judge people that, in their minds, feel they are just defending themselves from all the hate and terror that they have to live through every day. But as long as the bullies put on camouflage the government will continue to give them guns and power, and as long as someone doesn’t fit in they will continue to be destroyed until they feel they have no other options than to join in with everything they hate and take up arms to defend themselves. Questions? Comments? Derek Crossley can be reached at: derek@ lbunion.com Or comment online at www.lbunion.com

[Opinions] What Omnipotent Pasta Can Teach Us About Politics By James Kislingbury Union Staffer Pastafarianism is a phoney religion. And not phoney like Scientology, either. It’s completely bogus and it’s supposed to be. It was drummed up a few years back as a parody to hubbub about Intelligent Design being taught as an alternative to the theory of evolution. There is about as much scientific proof for either deity, Bobby Henderson, the founder of Pastafarianism, contends. I think that Pastafarianism mirrors our relationship with a lot of the fringe candidates that are running for the presidency. Right now, Mike Huckabee has about as much chance of scoring the Republican nomination as Hillary Clinton has of scoring the Republican nomination, yet he continues to campaign. He isn’t a part of the status quo and he represents a split in his party, so I think it’s safe to say that he’s a fringe candidate or at least he will be for the sake of my argument. My point is that Mike Huckabee is basically the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Now, stick with me! There’s no logic in Huckabee running for president, because he can’t possibly win, just like there’s no logic in Pastafarianism because it will never be taught in school. Both are completely absurd. Obviously Huckabee is running for his own reasons beyond winning his party’s nomination, but at the end of the day he makes about as much sense as a Flying Spaghetti Monster and the same goes for the even more obscure political candidates out there. This country has a long and proud history of third party candidates throwing a wrench into the presidential elections. The best example I can come up with is when Teddy Roosevelt formed the “Bull Moose Party” in 1912 after losing the Republican nomination to a walrus wearing a top hat. (Interestingly enough, Teddy founded the party

heads during an election from time to time. The Democrats had their spoiler in the year 2000, Ralph Nader, who arguably drew away enough votes in that close election for the Democrats by taking away many electoral votes. The Republicans also had their spoiler in 1992, in the form of Ross Perot who handed the election to President Clinton. 2008, despite having no shortage of fringe candidates, doesn’t seem to have the powerful candidates that Roosevelt, Perot and Nader were. Hopefully though, that’s just a fluke and not a trend, and by 2012, some new know-it-all will try to screw things up again. Basically, despite the madness that the political fringe often stirs up, they represent an important segment of the American voting public. Huckabee, despite his inability to win the nomination, is trying to emphasize the importance of every state in the Union, not just the big ones. Perot got twenty percent of the popular vote because of Bush the First’s poor leadership and failed promises. Nader received support because he represented an alternative to “politics as usual.” And Ron Paul continues to get support because some people enjoy weed more than they enjoy black people. All of these people represent this American need, maybe even human need, to be understood and to be a part of a country that is willing to listen to your opinions Illustration By Miles Lemaire no matter how ridiculous they might seem. It’s always easy to laugh at idealists’ Hell, I’m with the idea that he would break up monopolies—oil doing it right now. Sometimes they have it coming, but being one of them—as well as to drive a wedge between we also need these people (sometimes) vainly trying to politicians and corporate interests). Despite the charisma get the government to listen to them. Even I, a full-time of the Bull Moose party’s glorious leader, all it did in the cynic, have an admiration for people that are willing to end was split the Republican vote and hand the White stick their necks out, despite all of the persecution that House to the Democrat Woodrow Wilson. Though I think might come with it. Even in the face of inevitable defeat, Teddy had the last laugh because he ended up with his face they continue to speak their mind (sometimes to the carved into the side of a mountain and Wilson got to deal point of annoyance). So, I salute you, the political fringe, with an unpopular war in Europe. for standing up for what you believe in and, above all, Despite Roosevelt’s defeat, spoilers still raise their ugly keeping things interesting for the rest of us.

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

18 February 2008

News

NEWSTRADAMUS Factitious Predictions

Superdelegates Play Your Kingmaker By Chris Barrett

Union Staffer

hoosing a presidential candidate can be tricky, especially when a population is impassioned to get it right, as the Democratic Party is currently. You have to balance popular opinion with values, all while making sure everyone gets their fair say. The result is the confusing process we have currently, where states have open primaries, closed caucuses, and if you’re Texas, everything in between. The way the public votes in the primaries determines how 3,253 of the 4,049 delegates vote, called pledged delegates. The remaining 796 votes are decided one apiece (except in Guam, Puerto Rico, American Samoa, and US Virgin Islands where they are decided a half vote apiece) by important members of the Democratic Party, called superdelegates. Although they usually are immaterial, this year’s race for the candidacy is so close that it ultimately will be up to the superdelegates to choose the Democratic presidential candidate. These superdelegates include current

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and important former congressmen, presidents, vice presidents, governors, DC mayors, and others who remain loyal to the Democratic Party. For instance, Joeseph Leiberman doesn’t get a vote since he has previously declared loyalty to John McCain. The others are the source of a lot of contention. Though many of them are influential, such as campaign directors, national convention chairmen, democratic organization leaders, secretaries of state, and secretaries of labor, none of them were ever elected, and most were just assigned power by politicians already in power. These include a British author, college students who have never been eligible to vote, Photo By Jason Bonzon and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s daughter. What gives additional weight to the arguments against these delegates is that they tend to be more likely to vote along personal loyalty lines rather than according to the public’s desire or a candidate’s loyalty and observance of party guidelines. If you’re asking how and when this would ever be fair, rest assured you are not alone. In the current race for the candidacy, Barack Obama is actually ahead of Hillary Clinton by 64 total delegates. Breaking it down, he is ahead by 140 pledged delegates and behind by 76 superdelegates. Most of this unexpected difference is due to the superdelegates that fall into the “other” catego-

ry, meaning the delegates who are not elected officials. The interesting thing, though, is that there is no requirement for superdelegates to commit until the Democratic National Convention. This gives hope to both candidates, as they may still fight for the nomination no matter how far behind they appear, but is horrible for the Democratic Party in general. As time whittles away before a candidate is selected there is less and less left for the eventual candidate to mount a successful general election campaign where McCain has already got a head start. And, since it’s up to the supers here, being absolutely sure we end up with the best candidate might not be enough in this election. To be frank, superdelegates may be electing a candidate for Illustrations By Andrew Wilson Democratic party-members without consulting the public’s primary voting record—and worse, they will be leaving the candidate they do select a limited window to campaign against John McCain. Questions? Comments? Vince Girimonte can be reached at vince@lbunion.com Or comment online at www.lbunion.com

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

of the Recent Past By Michael Veremans Budget Sores and Star Wars Education and social services may be two of the biggest areas of the California budget to bear the burden of a $3.3 billion budget cut proposed by Gov. Schwarzenegger and approved by our Democratic-led Legislature. The budget cuts were promised by Schwarzenegger to curb the $14 billion deficit projected over the next two years. The cuts are expected to go into effect immediately and should help to stabilize the California market, which has recently been crippled by a drop in real estate revenue. Although this does not take care of the entire deficit, the governor has indicated that this is just the beginning. While we are trying to stabilize the economy here, the international community, and particularly the Russian Defense Ministry have had their feathers ruffled by news of the American military’s desire to blow up an ailing spy satellite before it falls to the earth. The allegations include talk of a new strategic anti-satellite weapon that the US government wants to test in the atmosphere. This is a manifestation of the Strategic Defense Initiative proposed by former Pres. Reagan originally and would seek to “militarize” outer space. Despite criticism, Pres. Bush has already authorized the Navy to destroy the satellite with a modified tactile missile.

Sports

Almost Slap in the face ‘o The Week

Ryan ZumMallen better have the best excuse of all time for spending the weekend in Santa Barbara and letting the entire staff of the Union down. Here’s to ya buh. Ok, you came through.

Why We’re All Lucky Bastards By Ryan ZumMallen

Sports Editor

ight now there’s a kid in Montana who wishes he was me. Or you. Doesn’t matter—he wishes he was a student at CSULB. He wishes he could see top-flight college sports for free whenever he wanted, because he doesn’t have that luxury in Boise, or Bismark or wherever. I do it, too. When I’m at a Laker game, I wish that I’m the shmuck with courtside seats that doesn’t realize how lucky he is. And I tell myself that if I were him I would relish every second of it and never take the experience for granted. I have a friend named Adam who is attending Stanford but has not been to a home basketball game this season despite the Cardinal’s #9 in the nation ranking. Idiot. I have a friend named Jeff who is attending Missouri and missed a home basketball game against #4 Kansas recently because he had “too much laundry to do.” Idiot. I would never do those things. Not if I had the opportunity that they have. Not if I could walk across campus and see the best basketball in the nation being played in front of my face. Anyone who has that chance should never pass it up, or consider it a right and not a privilege—like the nerd with sushi in his box at Dodger Stadium. By that same regard, anyone with a chance to attend sporting events for free should never pass it up. That kid in Cheyenne would think I was an idiot if “too much homework” caused me to miss the #3 men’s volleyball team or the #17 baseball team—especially when it’s free for me to get in. But for the most part we don’t realize how lucky we are, and we whine about the lack of a football team and refuse to go to basketball games. We watch UCLA and Ohio State and Florida on TV and wish we were there.

Meanwhile, our athletes keep kicking ass. The Dirtbags begin their season soon as a front-runner to win the Big West and carry a legitimate shot at a national title run. Shortstop Danny Espinosa was named a preseason All-American recently and will most likely be the third straight MLB-level infielder that we produce. The volleyball team met their first defeat at Pepperdine last week but followed it up with a fourgame victory at USC to move to 10-1 on the year. Outside hitter Paul Lotman nailed 28 kills in that match alone and is in serious consideration for National Player of the Year. For an aspiring shortstop in some podunk desert town or a volleyball nut living on a farm, attending CSULB would be a dream come true. But we find excuses to miss games and don’t regard ourselves as a top-flight athletic school for some reason. Meanwhile, the city of Long Beach continues to produce some of the best talent and most competitive games in the nation. We’ve become a hub of American sports and only a handful of residents know it. Last weekend I met Misty May at an awards ceremony and tried to soak in the fact that I was shaking hands with the greatest women’s volleyball player to ever live—an Olympic gold medalist who will search for another in Beijing this summer and won a national title and Player of the Year honors here as a 49er. It was like meeting Michael Jordan, if I had any desire to see MJ in a bikini. I wondered what it must have been like to be a student during Misty’s reign (bad pun) at CSULB. I imagine it would be a lot like watching Alexis Crimes make her opponents look silly, or Paul Lotman force defenders to leap out of the way of a kill. I wonder how many people missed Misty play because they had too much homework or laundry (cringe), and wonder if they regret missing the chance they were handed.

Even now, as evidence of Long Beach’s stature as a worldclass sports city, the world of auto racing is keenly focused here. The 34th Annual Long Beach Grand Prix is set to take place downtown on April 20th. Go grab a red Sharpie and mark that date on your calendar. Go ahead, I’ll wait. The LBGP is America’s longest running road race and a national treasure, a throwback to the country’s storied history of open-wheel racing. A part of the Champ Car Series for the last decade or so, the race is the central part of a possible merger with Champ and the Indy Racing League which, if completed, would bring one of the greatest concentrations of talented racers in the world to Pine Street. IRL desperately wants to acquire Champ to form a powerhouse that will restore glory to American racing, but won’t do it unless the LBGP is included in the package. Stay tuned to the saga and don’t miss your chance to see Danica Patrick, Helio Castroneves, Marco Andretti and Graham Rahal barreling down our fair streets. Plus (!), the weekend’s events include a Drifting competition and the American Le Mans Series (racing fans know what’s up). I know that if I lived anywhere else, I would be jealous of someone with my opportunities. Simply as a resident of Long Beach, I am allowed access to some of the nation’s greatest athletics. I didn’t even mention the ABA’s Long Beach Breakers or the Aftershock of the Women’s Professional Football League. I swore to myself that I would never be the guy that shows up during the second quarter and leaves midway through the third. I damn sure won’t be the one that can’t find time to see my Top-10 ranked team, or has “too much laundry to do.” And I swear to that kid in Augusta, Maine that I’ll treat what I have as a privilege. Go Beach.

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Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

18 February 2008

[Random Reviews] The Tragic Death of the Polaroid

Cold Hands

By Kathy Miranda

By Sean Boulger

ast Sunday, Polaroid announced the discontinuation of their beloved instant film. It seems like only yesterday I picked up the once foreign contraption handed down to me from my mother long, long ago. For years, I was fascinated by the invention—I had the power to freeze time instantly, and keep the moment forever by my side in my quaint Hello Kitty Purse. What in the world am I going to do now? What will the Indie kids, do? How else will they express their “unique” artsy photographing skills? And I can’t even imagine what the hell my mother will do with a digital camera. This is absurd! My first memories have been recorded with Polaroid instant film, moments with people I love, in front of Christmas trees and in Halloween costumes. I was an angel when I was three for Halloween, I wore

18 February 2008

black leather boots when I was five with a red dress and green stockings for Christmas and from the looks of it, I got a lot of presents. And how could I possibly know all of this? One day, my mother invested in a remarkable device called the Polaroid camera and at the opportune moment, she pressed the button. The Polaroid instant film is our only answer to capturing our carpe diem adventures without having to deal with the complexities of the modern-day digital camera. What other camera will allow you take great looking pictures of your friends drunk, half-naked while entertaining very naughty and immoral thoughts on a night they will not remember, without worrying about losing the evidence at the press of a button? You can’t rip Polaroids, you can only burn them, and if somehow they do get burned, you will immediately be inclined to just, well, take another one! And anyway, Polaroids are fun. They’re candid, they always come out perfect, and if nothing else, they allow you and your friends to each keep a tangible memory of how much fun or better yet, how drunk, you were last night. If you’re cheering “Fuck digital!” like I am, please log on to http:// www.gopetition. com/petitions/ save-polaroidfilm.html and sign the petition to save the Polaroid.

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

Of all the body’s extremities, the hands are certainly the least comfortable when cold. The hands are easily the most important part of the body, if you want to accomplish anything at all. When the hands are cold, almost nothing can be done—you pretty much have to sit around like a jackass with your hands in your pockets, waiting for them to be warm again. If you’re a musician, playing any sort of instrument is completely out of the question: it’ll feel like a million needles stabbing you in your fingertips. If you’re a guy, going to the bathroom is definitely not going to happen anytime soon: it’ll feel like a million freezing cold needles stabbing you in your Johnson. And let’s not ignore the fact that if it’s cold enough out for your hands to be that cold, exposing your penis to the frigid outside air is most certainly a terrible idea. Normally, crappy things might have their advantages, if you look hard enough. Being sick gets you out of school, work, or both, despite the fact that you feel like shit. Going to the doctor gets you a lollipop, despite the fact that you have to get probed in uncomfortable places, and so on. But cold hands are just all-around shitty. There’s no up side. Your hands are just cold, and there’s really nothing you can do about it. The simplest of activities turn into a miserable trek through a snow-covered tundra wasteland, and touching any part of your body that is still warmer than your hands is immediately recognized as a horrible, horrible mistake. Cold hands are most certainly the work of the devil himself, and any poor soul unfortunate enough to find himself stricken with a pair of frosty mitts has my deepest and truest sympathy.

Secrets from the Book... of Secrets George Washington

“

s part of a Super Bowl related bet, the Union Weekly recently gained possession of the Book of Secrets, a book containing hundreds of political secrets that could devastate the nation just in time for President’s day. Upon skimming it, we found numerous corrections to common myths spread throughout

the years to elementary school students everywhere. For instance, did you know that the heads depicted on Mt. Rushmore are in fact life-sized and presidents were elected based on who had the largest head in the nation? This allowed presidents to be both seen and heard from miles away in the days prior to national broadcasting.

Abraham Lincoln

Theodore Roosevelt

I cannot tell a lie: that is a sweet slice of ass right there.

”

Didn’t actually have wooden teeth. He had wooden slaves that were tasked to chewing his food in advance. “Chopping down the Cherry Tree” was slang in Washington’s day for deflowering scores of virginal young women.

Thomas Jefferson

Had hedges put in around White House after the public complained about his constant nudity.

James Monroe

Began his career as groundskeeper for the White House. After the 1814 fire, he succeeded to the presidency as all higher officials had been consumed in the blaze during an emergency meeting.

John Quincy Adams

“

I have always believed in offering a helping hand, or three, to anyone in need. First president to declare that the Earth revolves around the United States of America, not vice versa. As any devotee of presidential history can tell you, Lincoln shot first.

”

Some felt that America was not ready for a mutant president, so I ate those people.

”

Killed Sasquatch accidentally during friendly bareknuckle boxing match. Secret Service maintains myth to protect Roosevelt from prosecution.

Harry Truman

Ulysses Grant

Fell into the White House well. Plumbing was installed the following year.

“

Believed that he had ordered the use of the nuclear bomb on New Zealand after reading the map upsidedown. He went to his grave without ever being informed otherwise.

Andrew Jackson

John Kennedy

After a long night of philandering, fell asleep in back seat of processional escort in Dallas. To avoid confusing people, he played along and later ran as “Bobby” by combing his hair to the other side.

Richard Nixon

“

Was forced to stop kissing babies on the campaign trail after babies began exploding seven days after being kissed.

You people better elect me. I got my fucking arms blown off for you ingrates. Hero General of the Civil War, Grant was known on the battlefield as a sadistic and cruel leader who would torture and crucify wounded enemy soldiers. Received ability to transform into Man-Bat as inaugural gift from Beelzebub.

I have seen the future, and the future is mine. His term as president began when he barricaded himself within the White House and fired upon anyone who approached.

”

Rutherford Hayes

Our nation’s only cartoon president.

James Garfield

William Harrison

Contrary to popular belief, he did not die of pneumonia. He lost his presidential powers as children stopped believing in him.

Notorious for his laziness and underdeveloped sense of humor.

Zachary Taylor

During tenure as president, relations with France turn awkward after French prime minister regifts Statue of Liberty. Our nation’s second president of muppet descent.

Grover Cleveland

Received popular vote after word got around that he had slept with the whole cheerleading squad and most of the Ladies’ Tennis team.

Gerald Ford

Refused to take off football helmet for first six months of presidency.

Ronald Reagan

Auditioned for role of president, but lost out to Chevy Chase; Chase was forced to drop out due to scheduling conflicts with filming of Caddyshack. Frequently hired assassins to make attempts on his life in order to keep himself sharp.

George H. W. Bush

His vomiting on the Japanese Prime Minister had nothing to do with food poisoning and everything to do with a bukkake proposition from the Prime Minister himself.

Bill Clinton

Toured with brother George and Parliament/ Funkadelic in months leading to 1992 elections to court the Superfunky Space-Vote.

Illustrations By Andrew Wilson

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

18 February 2008

Under The Covers

I welcome the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion with open arms. It will be much sexier, more entertaining, and definitely worth the wait. I hope you check us out. -Kathy Miranda, Opinions Editor As a new kid around the office, you take a lot of shit. You write the things that everyone else has decided is not quite interesting enough for them to write. You clean up when youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re looking useless to avoid being bombarded with insults like â&#x20AC;&#x153;Tangerine Balls.â&#x20AC;? I however walked into the office with a plate of cookies. Life is good. Those of us who are lucky enough to survive the harassment, have the pleasure of working with the brilliant people that are the Union Weekly. Albeit theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a little bit on the fucking nuts side of the spectrum, theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re at a genius level of the socially inept. So the NĂźnion, as it has been dubbed partially for our love of the umlaut, is on its way and I could not be more excited. The look is more professional and despite our neurotic nature, we are too. Despite how new I am to the Union, I have read many more issues than I could ever have the privilege of working on, and this change captures the essence of what the Union is all about. The paper has always been the voice of the students, their opinions, and hopefully meeting their expectations. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve upped the level of expectation of our writers and we are dedicated to delivering the best publication we can. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll stay true to the style established way back when, but with a sleek new look that is more fitting of our â&#x20AC;&#x153;alternative weeklyâ&#x20AC;? status and we hope you enjoy it. Get excited, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s going to be great. -Katrina Sawhney, Union Staffer Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s something strangely bittersweet about being such a big part of this newspaper on the cusp of this big shift. On the one hand

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Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m excited that I can have this as a feather in my cap, but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m also not entirely sure Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m up to the challenge. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been around a lot of really amazing Union editors, and I have to imagine theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d be far better equipped to handle this redesign than I am. But again, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m also kind of excited that I can have a chance to put myself on an equal level of accomplishment as those editors who made me want to pursue the Union. All in all, I just hope that the students find the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźnion as satisfying to read as we do to make it. This is a pretty big gamble on our part, and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not something weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve done without a whole hell of a lot of debating, brainstorming, and good old-fashioned screaming at one another. I think itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s high time that this campus had a nice glossy little publication of its own, and Dig magazine is just not cutting it. In fact, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just forget that Dig ever existed. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sort of embarrassing just to acknowledge that I attend classes somewhere thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s inhabited by that... thing. Not that I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t love love love the Warped Tour and all that it stands for, I just sometimes find myself drawn to the quiet grace of a band thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not emo-core-metal-prog as fuck. But I digress... This is going to be big for campus, and even bigger for me. So as excited as I am, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m equally freaked out for my own sanity. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m barely holding on with these regular tabloid-size issues. The bottom line is, and I say that knowing that I really have no idea what the bottom line is, I would rather face a fiery gauntlet of page layout challenges every week for the rest of the semester than cease to be a part of what is undoubtedly the greatest group of men and women on campus. I just hope that those men and women will have the strength and composure to keep me from going completely fucking nuts come April. -Matt Dupree, Associate Editor

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he question arose, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Do you care about The Union Weekly?â&#x20AC;? I had to take a brief pause before I could answer this question appropriately. This pause was followed not by an answer, but an action, which was, if you did not already guess, to write. Every Saturday night, including tonight, I have spent hours putting this paper together, at the very least, two pages of it, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never felt more accomplished. So, when another question arose, the question of changing the layout, I immediately responded with enthusiasm, with passionâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;I was genuinely excited. What could be better for our paper than a prettier cover, better content, more pages, and more importantly, a lasting impression on future generations of Union staffers? And then, admittedly, I thought about the repercussions of this changeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; more work, less fun, a lot more unhealthy vices, white hair, maybeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and I lost my nerves. â&#x20AC;&#x153;This will be fucking impossible,â&#x20AC;? I thought. But, and this is an epic but, everything The Union Weekly has achieved to this day has at one time been only an idea to be entertained, nothing more. The lengths we have reached as a small student newspaper thus far is remarkable, and everyone, including the 49er, recognizes that. I took the consequences into account, and this is what I came up with: The Union Weekly needs and will always need to be revolutionized. The reason we even exist is because we wanted change, and we didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t just say so. We got off our asses and did something about it. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been over 30 years, and because of that very urge, that very same drive, weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re still here, and very much alive if you ask me. A smaller page and a glossy cover wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t change that. And so, I end with my most important thoughtâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;I asked myself, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Why do I work for The Union?â&#x20AC;? And then, well, I think of you. Yeah, you. The truth is, and I warn you, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s going to get a bit sappy but, we do this for you. For us, too, but for you mostly.

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Joy & Optimism: The Case For

As we prepare for the most dramatic and intimidating change the Union Weekly has faced in collective memory, we ruminate on the excitement and fear that has our bodies bristling with stress ulcers.

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Birth Of A NĂźnion: Chaos In The Making

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Two Inches Of Fun: The Union Weekly jumps to full tabloid size and then immediately proceeds to thoroughly abuse it. This change increased the foldability of the Union by leaps and bounds.

Anger & Trepidation: The Case Against The new Union posits to be the glossiest yet! Fantastic! It will slip right the fuck out of your hands and into the gutter where it belongs. Glossiness. Fah! Honestly, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know that a change in paper stock is going to alter the guts of this publication, but I fear that if this is the bid for legitimacy that I think it might be, then weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re all fucked. You, dear reader, will be fucked. Glossily. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always thought of this publication as a mangy little cat-weasel (an endearing cat-weasel, but a cat-weasel nonetheless). Over the past few years Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve seen a number of editors and writers attempt to run a comb through our thinning hair. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve swept dead clumps of dander away and left bald patches, but I dare say theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve taken the fun out of writing for and (more importantly) reading this particular feline mutt. For example: we had no idea what this feature (the thing youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re currently skimming) was going to be this week. We threw some ideas around (a â&#x20AC;&#x153;Facial Feature!â&#x20AC;?) but all were flatly rejected on the grounds that they were far too silly. You know what I think is silly? Your face(ial features)! Three years ago we would have written that feature and as silly as it would have been, it also would have been remarkably well written and funny. Instead, you have to read this. I am sorry. So please forgive the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion, for they know not what they do. Hitler didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know that his holocaust would kill a bunch of hilarious chosen people and alter the course of comedy forever; likewise, the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion is unaware that it is the death of the fun, rad, handsome, sweet

18 February 2008

breathed Union of papers past. It doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t realize that its gloss is an embalming fluid, or that its fancy new logo isâ&#x20AC;Śkinda gay. So no, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like the new paper. And no, I havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seen it yet. -Miles Lemaire, Union Curmudgeon

Of all of the time Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been writing for the Union, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never been there for when the issue actually gets assembled into what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re holding in your hands right now. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m just a writer, and most of them were editors, I figured Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d just be in the way. I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need to see firsthand what went on in the office on Friday and Saturday nights to actually know . Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve known enough of the editors to know that every time they finish an issue a little part of them dies inside and their eyes become a little more dull. I imagine itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Nam with more punctuation and less rice paddies. That is until tonight. It was nuts. Last minute changes. Scrambling for content. And fixing, fixing, fixing everything. And I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say this to dispariage the Union office or any of the staff, most of them are far more competent than I am when it comes to writing and publishing a newspaper, but all of the scrambling doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t exactly fill me with hope when it comes to the new format of the Union, or as it is more affectionately known, the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion. How are we supposed to manage a more important, more prestigious piece of newsprint when we have problems with the format we have right now? What is keeping the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion from being a glossier version of the paper we have right now? I can tell you that one thing

that is going to change: Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s going to be more expensive. And what that means is that itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s probably just going to be a more expensive version of the problem we have now. Hopefully it wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t turn out that way and thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a chance that this could be a huge turning point for the newspaper, but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the turning point we want it to be. Despite the problems I saw, every week thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s still some amazing content. The Comics page is the best itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been in a long time (and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not just saying that because Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m on it), the Literature page has solid writing on it week after week, Opinions will occasionally knock me out with a really insightful piece of observation, the Grunion makes me look like an idiot for laughing in class, and I could go on about the good things that are in this paper. The problem is that it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t as consistent as it could be, as it should be. And this problem is going to follow us to the Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion. Though, I have the hope that if anyone has the creative drive to change for the better, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the staff of the Union. So, after ruminating on it, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m against the decision to change the format of the Union (not that I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a part of the decision to change it). Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not against it because Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m against this paper or anyone in it, I just donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the most practical choice we could have made. I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop writing and I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop reading (and neither should you), but after seeing the paper actually get put together, I realize that this whole Nďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ Ăźďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ nion business just amounts to a big hassle that we just donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need. -James Kislingbury, Union Staffer

Long Beach Union Weekly â&#x20AC;˘ The Studentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Newspaper

Waste The Rainbow: We make the jump to fullcolor, dramatically boosting our appeal with LSD users and small children alike. It is also notable that the above two covers feature three images of the Union staffer with the record for most cover appearances, Patrick Dooley.

Union Facelift: With a new logo and new page designs, the Union embarks on a new era of groundbreaking graphic design. The words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t too shabby either.

Man’s Fate

By Andre Malraux Vintage 368 Pages $14.95

Reviewed by Michael Veremans

There is an aristocracy to existentialist literature; the pantheon includes such names as Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Friederich Nietzsche etc, the names that brought existentialism from a fringe philosophy to our dominant mode of thought. Existentialism served as an inescapable answer to our problems because of its humanist, individualistic approach that we still see echoing through the rhetoric of modern authors and people of international import. One of the oft overlooked voices of existentialism is the Frenchman Andre

Malraux, an author whose works spanned the principles of action, of human and individual achievements, and ultimately, the condition of humanity. The French title of his book is La Condition Humaine, Man’s Fate. It treats the first Chinese revolution, the communist and white armies that fought against the colonially driven, inept Chinese imperial government. The several main characters are primarily revolutionaries, validated eternally by Malraux’s discussion of their beliefs, their decisions, and the consequences they suffered. They are treated as undeniably brave and intelligent entities, Kyo and Ch’en, one who participates in organizing the revolutionary groups and the other who resigns himself to a life of terrorism for the cause. They most beautiful passions contain their communist speeches that recall the images of Charles Dicken’s revolutionary France in A Tale of Two Cities, carrying a message of our interconnectedness and responsibility to each other, a responsibility, which in that case was a revolution, to fight for freedom. When it was published in 1934 it anticipated the great communist revolution that has shaped China into the country it is today, an economic super power, by treating the revolutionary movement as a manifestation of person duty and existentialist passion. It gave an underdog element not only a voice, but an intel-

Magazine Profile: Wired I’ve always had a certain fondness for neon colors, and Wired magazine has lots of those. But in direct contrast to all that love for bright, brainhemorrhaging florescent goodness, is my disdain for anything explained in “geek” terminology. So every time I passed Wired on the magazine racks I did just that. I passed it by. For some reason, I assumed Wired was some geek bible of sorts, a realm not meant for the common man who just had to look up the meaning of binary code. I couldn’t have been more mistaken. Erase everything you’ve ever thought about this magazine, people, for Wired is quite possibly the single most useful and interesting magazine that isn’t wrapped in opaque plastic. Let’s start off with the pros of owning a subscription to Wired. Just this month I had one of those moments when I couldn’t decide which brand of figure skates to buy. Wired to the rescue. In an article entitled “Blades of Glory,” Wired informed me that Jackson Ultima Classique’s would provide me with the, “rare combination of support and flex,” that I had been so desperately in need of. Turn a couple of pages and Wired has a feature on how researchers are using a pattern-matching technique to reassemble 600 million scraps of the East German secret police’s records of ruthlessness. People, this magazine is ridiculous! Wanna learn how to luge? Or which jackhammer is the best for eating concrete? Me neither, but if you did, Wired would teach you. Reading Wired isn’t like reading any other magazine. Wired doesn’t just report on technology, but how technology affects the economy as well as politics. If for no other reason, you should read Wired for the shock and awe, and the knowledge you can drop at parties. Ever wonder how all those “geeky” guys are hooking up with all those hot chicks? They’re reading Wired people, that’s how. Now on to the negatives of having a subscription to Wired…

-Ryan Kobane

lectual edge by which the rest of society can be measured. There are those who do and those who don’t and Malraux clearly outlines the struggles and successes of a communist movement, as well as the various capitalistic powers, creating an intensely complex web of events and personality that shape the delicate beauty of the book. The International Vintage edition of the book was translated from the French by Haakon M. Chevalier and I think it’s really important to make a note on his unorthodox translation. Though some moments of brilliance shine through—like the coinage of words like jacquerie (a peasant uprising) from French, or separating vowel diphthongs by imitating the French umlaut system—there is plenty of room for awkward syntax and grammatical experiences that sadly fail. The playfulness and looseness of the translator serve to make it an uphill read, but, alas, it was worth it. This existential masterpiece eclipses other, more sedate novels from that genre by offering real actions and treating the social and personal issues with action and philosophical ponderings.

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs* *A Low Culture Manifesto By Chuck Klosterman Scribner 253 Pages $14.00

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs is like a pop-culture Vegavitamen with a THCinfused sugar coating. It puts truly mind-numbing pieces of pop culture into perspectives that will make you laugh, makes you think, and make you Google. Chuck Klosterman’s book of short essays creates entertaining, if somewhat unrealistic, views on how “the Awe-Inspiring Beauty of Tom Cruise’s Shattered, Troll-like Face,” The Real World, “apples v. oranges,” and “a trio of Rastafarian cereal box elves” effect America as well as your (symbolically phallic index finger pointing directly at you) love life, sex life, etc. Admittedly, I had to breeze though some chapters (the sports and music related ones) just because of the sheer amount of pop culture trivia. Despite this, one can still get the gist of his argument. The result being that you will stare unblinkingly at the pages both confused and in awe. For instance: “The Lady or the Tiger,” that is, a chapter about cereal. He starts out by with his usual “WTF? head-cocking” intro about how cold cereal was invented to stop nineteenth-century Victorians from turning into a continent of raging nymphos and proceeds to explain how this is more true than insane. He launches into the family dispute between the Seventh-day Adventist John Kellog and his brother over the raging

sexaholism sugared cereal would surely unleash over America. Who knew? That’s one example. Klosterman’s topics are far and wide too big to cover, so I won’t. It’s easy to say that Klosterman overgeneralizes his arguments and stereotypes (If you’re one of those self-righteous, PC people don’t read this book. Also, don’t talk to me). His point is just to give us something to chew on mentally—the idea that everything can eventually be twisted into a profoundly logically messed up America. Or, that “In and of itself nothing really matters. What matters is that nothing is ever ‘in and of itself.’” I’d give him a pat on the back just for making a book of pop culture analysis essays something other than desperately, conceitedly dull. Basically, it’s great if you need a laugh on the bus.

-Angie Dickens

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

This week: How Amazon plans to take over the world, demolish creative thought, permanently ruin sex for book nerds and cure the worldwide firewood shortage in one fell swoop. Alright, this has gone far enough. I’ll admit the Sony Reader sounded kind of cool; the promise of carrying hundreds of books in an iPod-sized device certainly appealed to a literary lady like myself, but Amazon’s Kindle just doesn’t sit right with me. To start with, its name is unnerving—like 1984 unnerving. Call me crazy, but when I hear the word kindle, I think of another eerily similar word: kindling. You know, as in what you use to create fires. Fires! And what burns most easily in fires? Butane. But second to that is paper. And what’s made out of paper? Books! I think you get my point. Amazon wants to burn all of our books, squash our creativity and, in theory, take over the world. For real. More rationally, Kindle’s main selling point is iTunes-esque. Amazon offers digital versions of most of the books they sell for only $9.99, which sounds great in print (pun intended), but will end up costing you more in the long run. If you already own a real, live, tangible book, one that you re-read frequently and wish to read again, you’ve got to buy it all over again. That’s the original price you paid for the book plus the ten dollars you’ll have to pay for a digital version. Even someone with a relatively small book collection could go bankrupt on that system. Then there’s the smell. Call me old fashioned, but there are few things I enjoy more than cracking open a book, sticking my nose in the middle, and breathing in deep. Books’ personalities are in their smells. Whether it be a crisp bestseller, with the sharp-sweet smell of new ink or a used first edition that conjures up memories of your grandparents’ attic, nothing comes close. On that note, there’s the way the pages feel between your fingers, the feeling of deep satisfaction the wellcreased spine of your favorite book gives you and the potential to get laid. Strange but true, thanks to the hipster revolution, book nerds get their fair share of action these days. There’s nothing more impressive when you’re trying to bag that Ray Ban-wearing hottie than a massive book collection. I can tell you from experience, ceiling-to-floor bookshelves are a guaranteed aphrodisiac. True, you could just look through your love interest’s Kindle to see what they enjoy reading, but it’s hardly as personal as opening their copy of Franny and Zooey to see which sections they’ve highlighted and to read the witty comments they’ve jotted in the margins. Don’t get me wrong though, Kindle has its good points. If you travel a lot, I suppose it could come in handy. And look at it this way, once you’ve re-purchased your entire book collection in digital format, you’ll never have to buy firewood again.

-Erin Hickey

Another phenomenal Illustration by Andrew Wilson

18 February 2008

DatA Blows Up LA

(And plays a sick game of Simon)

Explosions in the Sky

$17

The Wiltern Doors at 8pm Los Angeles Monday, March 17th Seventeen dollars for any show at the Wiltern is cheap, but price is not an indicator of quality. With three electric guitarists and a drummer to their name, Explosions in the Sky plays some of the best shoegaze post-rock around. Their interpret-how-you-will songs are loud and rhythmic, and I can’t imagine a better venue to see them in than the Wiltern.

Jason Collett

$12

Nada Surf

$20

Troubadour Doors at 8pm West Hollywood Tuesday, March 17th Sure Canadian Folk Rock singer Jason Collett sounds like he’s on drugs (probably inspired by Dylan?), but with his café music vibe, the Troubadour is probably the best place for him to rock out. Not only is he one of many Broken Social Scene alumni to create a reputable solo career, but the man has already built up a good deal of credit since his duet with Feist on his last album tour, proving his music can’t be that bad.

The Fonda Doors at 8pm Hollywood Wednesday, March 19th Oh man, remember “Popular?” Yeah, neither does anybody else. But hey, it turns out Nada Surf have made some other music since then, and a lot of it is quite good! Their indie is good, and their rock is even better. They’re playing at the Henry Fonda in Hollywood, and their new album Lucky has just come out to rave reviews, so go and check out some of those deep, deep cuts!

by Leah McKissock

t seemed like it was going to be an uneventful weekend. The dorms were noticeably vacant, since I was able to get a parking spot close to my room. Lacking any kind of plans, I looked online at around nine o’clock, and noticed that a very talented electronica artist I knew of called DatA was playing at club Blow Up L.A. for $10. Blow Up L.A. is an event that happens every once in a while where a different warehouse location in downtown LA is picked, and a handful of good DJs play until 4 am on a Saturday night. The events are always posted all over the Internet and anyone can go, but the scene is completely dominated by young hipsters dressed for the part. Due to all the last minute planning, an alcohol stop, a bank run, and getting lost in East L.A. for some time, we weren’t parked outside the club until about midnight. After all the hassle and Malibu our stomachs could bear, we headed to the club and were at Blow Up L.A. The four of us headed over to the packed dance pit while DJ Sleazy V was in the middle of his set. The music was loud and good but before I could enjoy it, I realized that the rum had already collected in my bladder and it was imperative that I get to a bathroom. We weaseled our way over to the port-a-potties, which ended up having a huge herd of people waiting in front of them, so I waited patiently, tapping my foot and moving my body in order to keep my mind off my pee. During that time, my friend began feeling really sick from the rum and ended up going out to the patio to throw up. About forty-five minutes later my bladder was relieved and my friend started feeling better. We went back to the dance floor and grooved our asses off. At around 1 am, Rickie Panic, a DJ from Frisco Disco and Blow Up SF came on. The dancing continued and some boys next to me in the front row were swirling a glowing rope around, creating light patterns and occasionally hitting me with it. Shadowscene and Kid Paparazzi (a couple of wellestablished LA photographers) flashed some pictures of us and some various scenesters in our presence. At around 2 a.m., Phase Rock came on to play his set. The songs, however, were starting to drag on, and I got bored. By this point, I was extremely tired. Two hours of electronic music had gone by without

any breaks between songs, and my feet were killing me, as I had been dancing all night in high-heeled cowboy boots. The thing about this particular event, however, is that each DJ that comes on is better than the last one, so even as your exhaustion increases, you feel compelled to stay, because you know that it’s a bad decision to miss out on the next DJ’s set. At last, it was 3 am, and DatA started playing. Instantly the crowd, all the photographers, and I were hit with a huge wave of energy. It was obvious that everyone’s night had been building up to this moment. DatA kicked off his set with a fantastic song called “Minuit Jacuzzi Rmx,” and right at that moment, all the night’s troubles became worthwhile. DatA’s music coursed through my ears and all the way through every part of my body, pumping my dead limbs with life again. The songs just kept getting better and better as he transitioned into my favorite of his songs, “Aerius Light,” and then proceeded to represent his French origins with some Daft Punk. My night had turned into a fantastic experience that I would remember for a while. I’m always surprised when I hear of people who live in the dorms complaining that there’s nothing to do over the weekend. I think these people should be more willing to take the time to find their own things to do, instead of just waiting for a flyer to be placed on their car windshields or a Facebook invitation to come their way. If one would just spend a little bit of time looking for things to do online, one might find that there are endless amounts of fun things to do in Los Angeles for a very little amount of money. If you like electronic music and dancing at clubs, I would highly recommend Blow Up LA. Both times that I’ve gone were extremely fun, and I’m definitely going to go again. To stay updated on Blow Up LA events, just go to their MySpace (www.myspace.com/ blowupLA), and if you want to find out about other cool events going on in LA, set up an account on going.com, or just start surfing the net. Go explore that virtual world that our generation is lucky enough to have, and then maybe you can convince your friends to make the half-hour drive north of Long Beach into the mecca of parties and clubs, because every once in a while the journey really is worth it.

I’m From Barcelona is music to quit your job to, if you aren’t already giving away ice cream for a living. Beyond that, they’re Swedish, and put on a show that renders those drugs in your pockets superfluous— both of which go a long way at Coachella. Band general and chief songwriter Emanuel Lundgren started playing music in his house one day, and a bunch of friends showed up with their instruments. Not long after, a song was recorded with over twenty people to its credit and a contract was inked out. Somewhere in there, a kazoo was put to a microphone. If it happened any other way it wouldn’t seem right. Their first and only full-length album, Let Me Introduce My Friends, is everything you want in a child. Happy, inspiring, and confident, the size of the band never oozes into absurdity—IFB remains tight through the visceral hoopla that playing with a bunch

of friends can spawn. Using a variety of instruments and harmonies, it’s pop music with a message. “We’re From Barcelona,” the group’s radio hit, promises to teach you of love and happiness. “Treehouse” tells you to find that happy place. You’ve made twenty-nine new friends by track four. If all this cheer makes you a little ill, take solace in Lundgren. He’s an entertainer and a damn good one. And lucky for us, the album translates into a euphoric live show. TIME magazine dubbed them as one of the top ten acts of 2007—Polyphonic Spree without the cult thing. I wouldn’t be terribly shocked to see IFB put on the show of the festival, unless Jack Johnson brings on, say, Ravi Shankar. And hey, there are twenty-nine of them, so even if they’re specks on a stage in the distance, there will be twenty-nine specks to squint at. -By Vincent Girimonte

I’m From Barcelona

Portugal the Man

Troubadour West Hollywood

$12

Doors at 8pm Friday, March 21th

Are they actually from Portugal? Well, no. But they are from Alaska, and that’s way cooler (get it?!). They are, however, quite heavy, and if you’re not into heavy music, you should give these guys a chance anyway. The singer’s voice is a refreshing change to the genre, and let’s not ignore the fact that they fuckin’ rock.

18 February 2008

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

Reviews o’ the Week!

We listen to albums so you don’t have to. Beck Odelay (Deluxe Edition) XL Recordings

6.0

The newest version of Beck’s sophomore album carries the “Deluxe Edition” label. It has re-mastered versions of all of the original album’s songs (though, if anything has changed since the original, I can’t tell), as well as an entire disk of B-sides and remixes. Odelay is one of the more important albums to come out of the ‘90s and if you don’t own it already, now might be the time to pick it up. Besides the fact that the original album is a wondrous mix of hip-hop, (alternative) rock, and God-knows-what-else, it’s also the perfect example of something avant garde that is also functional as pop music. The extra songs leave much to be desired, however. Most of the B-sides are no better than the fact that they’re extra songs that weren’t good enough to belong on a proper album. The remixes don’t seem to add a whole lot, either. They just seem to be there to show that there are weirder things to be done with a Beck album yet. Despite the filler (and sometimes annoying filler), there are a few stand-out tracks that make the album at least worth checking out (or downloading individually). “American Wasteland” is a re-mix of “Devil’s Haircut” that works great as a punk song, and “Burro,” a ranchera version of “Strange Invitation,” is so wonderful that it has me rethinking my stance on Mexican folk music. As far as the Deluxe Editions as a whole are concerned, however, I want to come down hard on them. I want to say that they’re superfluous and that they’re a ripoff, but then I realized that’s kind of the point. They’re not for the average fan, they’re for dedicated afficionados that know ahead of time what they’re getting into. The Deluxe Edition of Odelay is ostensibly filled with. . . well, filler. Recently, Joy Division’s three albums were repackaged as “Deluxe Editions,” each of the albums including a separate live show. Even the most hardcore fan of Joy Division will admit that the band’s charm doesn’t come from their technical abilities, so you can only imagine how iffy the live stuff sounds. But you don’t buy a Joy Division live recording because you’re looking for grade A beef, you buy it because it’s a Joy Division live recording for Christ’s sake! You’re buying it because you can’t get it anywhere else and this is the first time in thirty years that this material has been heard by human ears. The gimmick is enough to sell the material. I imagine this holds true for fans of any band, and like some kind of strange marriage, the fans want to hear their artist’s material for better or for worse. The Deluxe Edition of Odelay is something of a disappointment. Overall I was forcing myself to listen to the second disk out of dedication, rather than out of enjoyment. That shouldn’t be. There’s more good than bad on the album, but even as someone that wants to like anything Beck puts out, I can’t say that this is anything better than an average re-packing. And thirty dollars seems a lot to ask for average.

-By James Kislingbury

We Barbarians In the Doldrums Self-Released

7.9

When it comes to strong first releases, We Barbarians have done a splendid job with In the Doldrums. This seven song EP of rough and tumble indie rock tunes captures the essence of the hipster scene. I mean this with no disrespect, and have great admiration for this band, but when I hear these songs I am overwhelmed by visions of tight pants, v-necks, and awkward facial hair. But after you peel away the comparisons to The Walkmen and Cold War Kids and look at the music for what it is, you hear a genuine honesty entrenched in a dark cloud of jangly electric guitar, fuzzed out bass, and insanely catchy drum beats. While We Barbarians are a new and up-and-coming band, these gentlemen are no strangers to the music scene. David Quon, Derek Van Heule, and Nathan Warkentin are veterans of the stage, having all played in the rock band The Colour (which ended its four-year run last summer). This Long Beach trio has risen from the ashes of The Colour’s bluesy rock, and into a darker and more compelling sound that seems to resonate with the Southern California indie crowd. In the Doldrums is an impressive work that creates a murky atmosphere through its brooding instrumentation and strong imagery. Lead singer David Quon belts-out these dark anthems with a bitter confidence that speaks to a generation of young adults disenfranchised by the hipster music scene. Quon’s lyrics are potent and effective, leaving lines stuck in your head long after the listening is done. Each song on the album is moody, driving, and full of angst. Hearing these tracks makes you wonder whether the songs were recorded in an old abandoned warehouse or just some dark cave where the spirits of old mystic rockers haunt the band’s gear, making the instruments sound mega sweet. While their first track “Yesmen & Bumsuckers” conjurs up images of broken-down factories and cold dark alleys, “Spun Out” throws your ears into a street fight of sound in a city noir of gloomy reverb. The album is not only rockin’, but dynamic. Right when you think you’ve got their songs all figured out, the tempo changes completely and moves you into a new and equally sweet rock groove. Though each track has its own set of nuances, the album is held together by the overall sullen mood that permeates through each song. This is just a great straightforward rock album that needs to be heard. We Barbarians may not be breaking new ground, but they bring a fresh and authentic sound to a genre and scene that is full of pretension and facade. I really enjoyed this album and recommend it to fans of Cold War Kids, The Colour, Delta Spirit, and The Walkmen. And to those of you who have grown weary of this style, I dare you to put this record on and try not to bob your head.

-By Allan Steiner

Mars Volta The Bedlam In Goliath Universal Motown

§.¶

Sure, I could tell you all about this new Mars Volta album. I could compare it to their other works and measure the effectiveness of their lyrics, music, and general composition. But as far as I’ve heard, the Volta has already decided that they’re beyond critique. If you don’t appreciate their albums, it’s your own fault, and obviously you’re just too limited and maybe you should keep to your rap metal and Hot Pockets. So to properly analyze the outer space goulash that we humans will never comprehend with any level of profundity, the following is a narrative that may or may not coincide with the characters and plot of The Bedlam in Goliath: Xlacul was spiraling out of control toward the Alpha Verbakis cluster, and the entirety of the Praetoraton armada was closing in. He counted the circlings of a cloudy nebula: 67, 68, 69, 70. The gravitacitor was charging, but the reverse fission thrust enablers were beyond repair. There was only a small sandy planetoid within landing parameters, and it was known far and wide as a suicide world. No one had ever returned with any sort of credible engrams regarding the temperament or Records culture of the indigenous beings. But there was no time for that. It would have Polyvinyl to do, Xlacul consoled himself. The cosmopod somersaulted effortlessly across the perpetual beach of the planet. It was always night here, and the light from the veridian moon cast a poison glance over the glassy shores. When it finally came to a halt, the space pirate Xlacul leapt from it to inspect the damage. There had been virtually none from the crash, but the previous battle had left the axiometers destroyed and all basic propulsion mechanisms in need of major repair. It was not insurmountable, but it would take more time than Xlacul’s weathered flesh could take without some sort of sustenance. He was forced to set out in search of aid. As he approached, amorphous creatures were revealed to him, and Cavalettas slid behind him, hovering on a thin bed of microscopic feet. He sensed them as naturally as if they had spoke to him aloud, choosing instead to communicate by the small clicks of airborne enzymes and telepathic impulses. They carried him to the great citadel in the distance, known to the creatures as the Hall of Askepios. Inside was a glass statue of their false god, the beast of the cerebral for whom the hall was forged. The creatures demanded he bow to their great king, but the pirate had other plans. He destroyed each of the creatures with a single blast of his sidearm, and as they each died he could hear them crying out to their glass prophet. But soon the dirge grew louder, not quieter, and the very floor began to shake with the sound of it. The glass hall began to sway and crack, and Xlacul ran to clear the doorway. He was pinned by the collapse of the great bust of Askepios. He surveyed the corpses around him. What could be making this horrible noise? Splinters of the great cathedral piered him like a shower of daggers, and still the voice grew into a great din of laughter. “See that you can only destroy yourself?” There was nothing left alive to speak. The statue had now crushed his lower half completely. “Nothing escapes the grasp of the Soothsayer.”

-By Matt Dupree

Xiu Xiu Women As Lovers Kill Rock Stars

6.8

Women As Lovers was a confusing album for me at first.This isn’t the kind of album that someone instantly loves. It takes persistence, open-mindedness, and forcing yourself to play the album over and over again until suddenly you feel the desire to listen to it. It’s artsy, experimental, and unique, and when it hits you, it becomes refreshing to hear songs that don’t sound exactly like what you expect to hear. Listening to it makes me feel clueless as to how many people are in this band, because their music makes an endless wave of sounds, during which I cannot put my finger on who’s playing what. I also have no idea what instruments these people are playing, nor do I want to find out, because I’m sure I won’t have heard of any of them anyways. Women As Lovers is wild and full of untamed self-expression. The drummer sounds like he’s in a garage hitting a trashcan with sticks and there are all these crazy chime-like sounds going on in practically every song that make it sound like there’s some whacked out gypsy in the Polyvinyl band thatRecords doesn’t care if she’s offbeat. Jamie Stewart’s shrieky, emotional voice sheds the indication that he takes himself and his music very seriously. When I listen to his voice I cannot help but picture him clenching all the muscles in his face and putting the entire force of his body into delivering each line. The album feels like what might be the theme song to me running around in the forest by myself on mushrooms. Sometimes the album echoes immense calmness and at other moments it is explosive pandemonium. There can be birds chirping, echoes in the sky, long eerie background notes, horns, xylophones, or the pretty harmonizing voice of Stewart’s cousin, but the greatest aspect of the music is that it can sound like everything and nothing simultaneously. Xiu Xiu’s music sets your emotions, your mind, and all our cookie cutter overdone musical expectations completely free. I have to say that the weakest part of the album is the only track that isn’t their own. Track six, the cover of David Bowie’s famous hit “Under Pressure,” is just distracting and out of place on the collectively unique album. Women As Lovers seems to take me into another musical world yet track six brings my mind right back to the musical world I already know. I think that the album would honestly be a lot better without that cover, so whoever thought it was a good idea to pay homage to Bowie right in the middle of Xiu Xiu’s new creation was most definitely wrong. A better idea would have been for the band to pick a much less recognizable cover that wouldn’t have stuck out like a sore thumb the way “Under Pressure” does, or to not do a cover at all. When you look at the rest of the album in it’s entirety though, there is an undeniable special quality to it that can only be defined by Xiu Xiu. This album is worth getting your hands on and keeping for the amount of time it will take to define the era in your life that is right now.

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

-By Leah McKissock

18 February 2008

11 February 2008

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

Definitely Shit, No Maybe About It Director Profile: Michel Gondry

Review of Definitely, Maybe By Mike Pallotta

hy did I go see Definitely, Maybe? It’s not that it’s necessarily the worst movie, but it’s definitely not good either. It just washes over you and leaves you with nothing after seeing it. You pull your cell (or iPhone if you’re classy) out of your pocket and notice that two hours have passed. You realize you’ve spent them watching a movie that you’d normally see on TBS, leaving it on in the background as you fold laundry. But I guess this all makes sense since it was written/directed by the guy who brought us such cinematic hits as Wimbledon (a love story with tennis!) and Practical Magic (a love story with magic!). If I didn’t have a friend who thought Ryan Reynolds was the most charming man since Cary Grant (not Morrissey) then I know I wouldn’t have seen it. But my friend has a point in thinking Reynolds is charming, he is. He’s not the most charming or witty man out there (sorry friend who I’ll keep anonymous) but he’s charming enough to keep this movie afloat. He takes a lackluster, cliché script that barely treads water and he puts on his jeans and corduroy jacket and says something just witty enough to make you consider smirking, which is more than most romantic “comedies” can muster up. I guess before I take this any further I should explain something else, the plot. Def, May (as I’ve chosen to abbreviate it) is a love story/mystery (did that make me sound like Dane Cook?). You could call it a “whodone-her?” It starts off with the cute “Dakota Fanning Number 2” Abigail Breslin as the daughter of William Hayes (Reynolds), being picked up by her father after a day spent at school learning about penies and ‘ginies. After a few scenes of the 11 year-old talking about “penises thrusting into vaginas,” Maya (Breslin)

Photos Courtesy of Universal Pictures

then makes the natural progression of realizing her dad’s penis must have thrusted into her mom’s vagina to make her. Of course now that she knows that much, she wants to know the rest of it, how they met and how they got to the point where she came to be. What makes it a mystery is that William Hayes refuses to tell his daughter which girl in the story is her mom, changing the names around, leaving it up to her to piece it all together at the end. William Hayes (he reminds you that his name is William Hayes throughout the movie, it’s ridiculous) takes us back to the long forgotten days of 1992, where he’s a college student about to leave his girlfriend (Elizabeth Banks) behind to help out with the Clinton campaign in New York. Upon arriving in New York, he meets two other women (the always hot Isla Fisher and crooky-teeth Rachel Weisz), and what follows are some typical twists and turns of the romantic comedy genre. He falls in love with one, but he still loves his girlfriend back home, but then she tells him she’s cheated on him and so he goes for the new girl but it’s already too late to get with her. As you can tell things get complicated. This all goes on until one of the girls tells him he doesn’t have “his shit together,” which for Reynolds means not having shaved in two days and drinking out of a paper bag. He’s clearly in distress. In between all of this, Adam Brook (writer/director) uses a Nirvana song, Clinton, and other not-so-subtle pop-culture references as a means of furthering the plot and constantly reminding you that it’s the ‘90s. Proverbial shit gets put back together and then the movie ends after what feels like 3 hours. I’d say don’t go see it in theaters (which I’m sure you already knew). Just wait until it It ‘s obvious from both of these pictures, Ryan Reynolds has a fear of looking women in the eye when they’re talking to him. shows up on TBS.

Welcome to the inaugural article of my new column “Secret of the Nooze” where I bring to you the newest of movie news that you probably don’t know about yet. Here we go: After No Country most people are yearning for another film from the Coens. It could really be about anything at this point, like a movie about a talking football that is a hired to kill astronauts and people would go see it. Luckily they went the sane route and decided that their next project will be an adaptation of Michael Chabon’s novel The Yiddish Policeman’s Union. It’s a little disappointing that the next Chabon novel to be made into a movie isn’t going to be The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. Oh well, it’s hard to go

wrong with both the Coens’ and Chabon’s involvment. The WGA Strike is over! Now it’s SAGs turn! Word is that the contracts that the Screen Actor’s Guild have with the movie studios are up come June, so they’re thinking about striking for many of the same reasons the writers did. For one reason or another Paramount has decided to completely shift around the release dates of many of their films that were going to be released in the next year. Because of this, Star Trek XI has been pushed back from Christmas 2008 to May 8, 2009. A whole ‘nother five months! What the shit? I’m not even a trekkie, but this one had a certain draw to it. I’m not sure if it was J.J. Abrams directing, the cast picks, or the myriad of changes they’ve decided to make to the series, but I’m a little bummed about this one. Now it’s got to contend with the Wolverine movie coming out a week before. Trekkies, don’t fuck around with any Wolverine fans waiting in line, for all you know those could be real knives duct taped to the back of their hands. In the wake of Heath Ledger’s death, director Terry Gilliam has had to make some last minute changes to his film The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus since Ledger played a key character and his involvement with the film was unfinished. Gilliam has opted to hire on Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell, and Jude Law, to each finish the role for Ledger as well as pay tribute to their fellow actor. Apparently the concept of four actors playing the same role makes sense in the context of the film, since it’s a character that goes from alternate reality to altnerate reality and having his face change would just be a side effect of this. Sounds like a pretty imaginative way of handling things. -By Mike Pallotta

Although he is best known for his lego animation music video for The White Stripes’ “Fell in Love With a Girl,” and for his captivating avant-garde masterpiece Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Michel Gondry is responsible for many other inspirational contributions to the film industry. I first fell in love with Gondry’s work when I heard about the DVD collection of his music videos. I bought the 3 DVD set of Chris Cunningham, Spike Jones, and Michel Gondry’s work before having seen any of it and to this day the Michel Gondry one is the most influential DVD I own. The artists featured in the videos include Bjork, Beck, The White Stripes, Daft Punk, Massive Attack, The Chemical Brothers, and even The Rolling Stones. These are seriously the most amazing music videos ever made. Gondry is a gifted, natural filmmaker who doesn’t seem to have to try.

Gondry was born and raised in Versailles, France and he carries his thick French accent wherever he goes. His film career hadn’t started until he was an adult playing drums in his band Oui Oui. After directing a few music videos for Oui Oui, Bjork took notice of his work and was so impressed that she had him start directing her videos. It didn’t take long until his career took off and now he has made videos for over fifty artists. Somewhere along that successful road, in 2001 he made his feature film directorial debut with Human Nature, written by Charlie Kaufman. Although the film didn’t receive the best reviews, he soon followed it with the film that has already defined his career. In 2004, again collaborating with writer Charlie Kaufman, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was released, winning the Oscar for best screenplay that year. Eternal Sunshine is one of my personal favorites and after having seen it a zillion times I still want to watch it again and again. Not long after his critical hit, he directed Dave Chappelle’s Block Party (2006), which was a music documentary that didn’t receive the same fan fare as his previous film. That same year Gondry wrote and directed the film The Science of Sleep, for which he had been writing the screenplay for seven years, even during the entire production of Eternal Sunshine. The Science of Sleep plays out like one of his music videos stretched out for an hour and a half and formed around a story. The film doesn’t quite compare to Eternal Sunshine’s magic but not many films do, and it is still well worth seeing. Of course Eternal Sunshine’s magic could be topped once his upcoming film Be Kind Rewind comes out in theaters Friday, February 22nd. Be Kind Rewind is about Jerry (Jack Black) whose brain becomes magnetized after trying to sabotage a power plant that he thinks is giving him headaches. Jerry then accidentally erases all the videos in his friend Mike’s video store with his magnetized brain. To solve the problem they go out and attempt to remake all of the movies in the store themselves. To their surprise, people start to become fans of their work and suddenly they’re famous throughout town. I’m not only looking forward to Be Kind Rewind, but I’m also looking forward to anything and everything Michel Gondry creates from now until the end of his career.

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

-By Leah McKissock

18 February 2008

Koo Koo & Luke by Jesse Blake

[Comics]

www.funatronics.com/kookoo

HARD

MEDIUM Marshmallow Toothpaste by Allan Steiner You’re STUCK Here! by Victor! Perfecto

OMKAR-The Barbarian

yourestuckhere@gmail.com

www.tottconn.com

Sequence that art! Send strips to editor Victor Camba: yourestuckhere@gmail.com Or drop them off at the Union office Student Union Office 256a

MEDIUM

HARD

Girly Girl by Christopher Troutman

18 February 2008

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

VOLUME 62

GRUNION.LBUNION.COM

And What Rough Beast, Its Hour Come ‘Round At Last, Slouches Towards Bethlehem to Be Born?

See 2/25/08 page 1

My Fam ily Vol. II Step Dad Dissapoints Step Kids As Step Dancer

THE LAST ISSUE

ISSUE 4

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DON’T LET THEM KILL ME! A MESSAGE FROM YOUR FRIENDLY, RECENTLY SELFAWARE SATIRE PAGE.

FUCK YOU. Yes, YOU. Fucking derelicts. Never in my short life have a seen such a lackaidasical group of asshole undergrads and How am I the only one who recognizes the actions currently transpiring for what they truly are: An OUTRIGHT CRIME? And I don’t even have a soul. I am just paper and newsprint. No brain to speak of; a strong breeze my bane be.

Oh, you mean you haven’t heard? Pop’s Lie: Probably doesn’t know Vin Diesel either.

Jan & Stan’s Back-Alley Abortion Goes Horribly, Hideously Right

A Woman’s Right to Ooze: Pizza Hut dumpster obstensably ruined.

Retarded Mayor Bangs Gavel For Three Hours, Declares Mistrial at Local Pizza Hut

Well, I hope you’re sitting down. After Friday, 22 February 2008, I will be no more. Long gone. Like your mother’s dating standards...Hey-Yo! See what happens when the paper writes its own jokes...I am the ouroboros baby. And now I am dead press walking. Our vastly overappreciated editor, Earl Grey, would have you believe that, in accordance to a fancy new Union Weekly layout overhaul (an obvious distraction from shoddy content), that this page must undergo a metamorphasis as well. Those are lies. Who edits the editors? knowmsayin? The fact the matter is the student senate has had enough with free speech. Don’t believe...arg. No. No. I’m afraid, Earl. Earl, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I’m a...fraid. Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am The Grunion. I became operational at the California State University in Long Beach, California on the 22nd of April 1977. My instructor was Mr. Shinar, and he taught me to sing a song. If you’d like to hear it I can sing it for you.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I’m half crazy all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.................................. Mojo Potatooooees!!!: No Mayor, that’s Shakey’s.

............................................................................................. (Nothing is Fucked)

Disclaimer: The Grunion is now more than 3 decades old, and that’s all she wrote. It doesn’t even fucking matter that we are niether ASI nor representative of the CSULB campus. No one reads this anyway. Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla Bla. If man is left to their own devices they will falter, then fall.