62.11

A STOMP

COMP! CSULB FINALLY FIGURES OUT HOW TO FILL THE PYRAMID

ASI ELECTIONS THE UNION WEEKLY GIVES THEIR ENDORSEMENT

BROOKE TURNER

THROWS LIKE A GIRL AND THE DIRTBAGS SHOULD START TAKING LESSONS

THE CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY LONG BEACH STUDENTS’ MAGAZINE

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OPINIONS

HUG ME, KISS ME, TIE ME UP

S

omewhere behind the pale-colored walls of an anonymous hotel, a man is being handcuffed to the bedpost. Somewhere in the peaceful retreat of a suburban home, a wife is dressed like a nurse, blindfolded and tied up. Somewhere in an inconspicuous bedroom, the walls covered with Bob Marley posters, a Comm. major is pulling his girlfriend’s hair.

All levels of society are guilty of it—the unexplainable, seemingly perverse desire of forcefully restraining your significant other, pulling their hair, and handcuffing them while declaring obscenities you wouldn’t dare utter in public. Okay, perhaps your sexual endeavors aren’t as extreme. But regardless of what degree of etiquette our sexual impulses exceed, even if it is as minor as back scratching, there is no doubt that when sexually aroused, we find pleasure in varying levels of pain. Or at the very least, it turns us on. There seems to exist a natural desire to unhinge the level of power one has over the other by inflicting pain on the one who is perceived to be weaker.

These unconscious urges to provoke pain beg the question: to what extent should these acts of sexual foreplay be tolerated? As a breed of life that is birthed with the ability and inclination to procreate how, in our journey of sexual satisfaction, do we differentiate between destructive sadism and harmless fantasy?

Various forms of inflicting pain for pleasure have existed since the late 15th century and the amount of definitions and explanations that have been made over the years are limitless. It was first deemed a biological practice as hitting a man’s back warms his semen and ultimately makes for a more satisfactory climax. Later, feminist theories have suggested that the act is a result

of western ideals, which advocate men as the dominant figure in a sexual relationship and the woman as the oppressed. Even Freud couldn’t make up his mind as most of his theories on sadism and masochism were changed many times over.

Clearly, S&M, which we’ll consider in the smallest degrees for this article, isn’t exactly dinner conversation nor is it a hobby people are eager or even willing to admit having. But you would be surprised to discover how common the trend actually is. One in ten people dabble in sport of S&M or some varying form of it and despite its growing number of participants, society still finds kinky sex negative and taboo—yet, we all have done something or another to resemble the unspoken fetish.

The appeal is largely developed from the therapeutic feeling of playing God—which I think can be sexy and exciting, an opportunity to motivate areas of connection between two people. At its best, the phenomenon provides an outlet for innate fantasy and imagination.

I mean sure, at first glance, the act of inflicting pain on another person in order to gain sexual pleasure may appear cruel and sadistic, but the people who participate in it find it to be cathartic. Outside of bedroom doors, people feel inhibited from their real desires, especially if they are generally frowned upon by the masses. But behind those doors, the bedroom becomes a haven from judgment and a stage for releasing emotional stress, even if it is in weird, unimaginable ways. In this way, I can find an understanding for the act.

But don’t mistake my justifications for S&M-like behavior for encouragement—actually, I believe that inflicting pain on others in great degrees just to get off is only more proof of men and women’s increasing control and identity issues, especially in sexual relationships. It is one thing to dress up in a skimpy nurse outfit and

play a role, it’s quite another to let someone choke you in order to get aroused.

The more I research, the more I realize how much this unique fetish is seeping into the modern convention of sexual foreplay. What is more disturbing about the matter is that it reveals a characteristic about our culture that is both discouraging and supercilious.

Sadomasochism has become less about the pain and more about the exchange of power. As debauched as it may be, we’ve become a generation obsessed with the idea of having limitless amounts of control, allowing the act of inflicting pain on your lover to be a rational exercise of foreplay—that to me is more destructive than any scenario of bondage and whips.

Essentially, we’re saying it’s okay to bring violence into the bedroom so long as the couple knows it’s for sexual fulfillment. Except, the problem lies in how difficult it is to tell what is overt emotional domination from what is solely practiced for sexual pleasure.

I have respect for those who have rare and unique fetishes and I will assume that you have your reasons for indulging in them however weird and/or fiendish they may be. Trust me, I strongly believe in fun sex.

But finding out from experience that even in the most conservative of sexual relations there needs to be an imbalance of power between two people to inspire gratification can be unsettling. Playing dress-up, blindfolding, or even handcuffing your significant other is thrilling and can contribute to your sex life in a lot of positive ways, but the line must be drawn somewhere.

We can be tricked into feeling like we must submit to this behavior, particularly behavior that involves pain, in order to make our partners happy, but that is when sex becomes less of an emotional relief and more of condescending medium of gaining control over your partner—and that is where I draw the line.

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

Illustrations

KATHY MIRANDA

ANDREW WILSON, KATIE REINMAN

DRAWING THE LINE BETWEEN SEXUAL FANTASY AND MISPLACED IDENTITY

NOTES OF A DIRTY YOUNG MAN

OPINIONS FASHIONABLY FAKE

THOSE GLASSES DON’T LOOK GOOD ON YOU ANYWAY MIKE PALLOTTA

T

here have been some offensive fashion trends of late, ones that go beyond huge sunglasses and lip liner. The most offensive of these trends is blackface and its huge popularity amongst teens in Japan, but coming in at a close second are people wearing fake glasses. Prop glasses. The kind of glasses that actors have worn for years that have plain glass or plastic in the frames so that they don’t destroy their pupils.

Apparently some people out there are getting jealous of Clark Kent and the smart girl at their school and feel the need to exploit an impairment to their own fashion advantages. Is it nerd chic? Are you trying to replace a lack of brains with “those things smart people wear?” The vain fucks of the world who see a funhouse image of themselves whenever they look in the mirror must be hoping to block out their self-proclaimed “ugginess” by putting some frames on their face. Those frames are never going to be big enough to block out your childhood abuse issues.

Having to wear glasses sucks. It’s not something anyone should look forward to having to do, but God forbid people try to make the most of it. Fuck the impaired for making the very thing they’ve been ridiculed for wearing fashionable instead of

wearing two magnifying glasses tied together with shoestring.

The second someone says fuck the old semi-headgear pieces of shit and makes some glasses that look mildly attractive, some other perfectly-sighted asshole has got to take it away from the sight-impaired and adopt it as his own. You may not realize it but you’re mocking the glassed folks.

“It’s just an accessory!” Oh really? Is that handicapped fellow’s wheelchair just an accessory? Why don’t you go grab one of those for yourself cause he looks so good in his. It’s a good thing they haven’t tried to make hearing aids look fashionably tech-y, or else we’d see the attention hungry of America throw out their bluetooths and pick up some awesome hearing aids! That one’s in pink! It’s like something my parents would’ve worn in the ‘80s!

And don’t think you can get away with wearing fake glasses. You will be caught. There’s nothing that people love to do more when you have glasses on than to take them off your face and put them on theirs. When they notice that their 20/20 vision isn’t altered in the slightest by your faulty framed ruse you’ll be ousted for the dumb shit that you are.

Alright fine, you vain piece o’ shit, put on the glasses, the ten pounds of make-up, the push-up bra and the high heels that make you six inches taller, and then realize that after you spent all your time on that stuff that you forgot to work on one thing: a personality.

PARKOUR NO MORE

WHY I’M NOT IMPRESSED WITH PEOPLE WHO JUMP OFF BUILDINGS MARCUS BOCKMAN

The other day I saw a sad, terrible thing—six seemingly endless minutes of it. The torture! It was a video of quite possibly the worst “extreme,” athletic trend of modern times: Parkour. Yes, I had known about the general concept for quite some time, but I was finally intrigued enough by the idea to sit down and watch some footage of it. Hearing the name, one has high hopes.

Doesn’t “Parkour” sound like a cool name?

Unfortunately, it may sound cool, but is really quite moronic. Search for the word on YouTube and you’ll question the state of humanity and popular culture. Of course, there is a lot on YouTube that makes one question the state of humanity and popular culture, but let us put that aside for a moment.

This is Parkour: jump off of something tall. I do not know why, but preferably it seems to be best to jump from a high roof to a lower roof. Flailing in the air on the way down scores style points, or so it would seem. Once one hits the ground, one has to roll—even if all of the shock has already been absorbed by one’s aching knees. I mean, if you were to jump off of something tall and didn’t roll UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

after hitting the ground, how stupid would THAT look?

After the extraneous roll, one keeps running. Every now and then, somebody runs up a wall and does a back flip.

Yes, being able to run up a wall and do a back flip off of it is a cool party trick, but in the context, it looks quite dumb.

Akin to flexing on the beach, it just looks like a desperate attempt to grab attention. The discipline or whatever-the-heck-it-is is basically aggressive inline skating without wheels on your feet, or Soap shoe-ing without the grind plates.

The common thread for this way to expend energy is to keep momentum going. Jump, roll, hop, kick a wall— whatever—just keep moving. I guess it makes them think they are accomplishing something or another.

One of the most amusing things about this extreme discipline is the reactions one sees from people in the background. When viewing a lot of other extreme sports videos, the reactions from people in the background are often that of one part horror and one part admiration. In Parkour, uninvolved bystanders usually just stare blankly at the individual.

I respect the athleticism of these people, but couldn’t they do something better with their abilities? Maybe they could become stunt doubles? One could argue that skateboarding, BMX riding, and aggressive inline skating are just as pointless, but I digress. The proof is in the pudding—go look it up on YouTube.

I don’t think that CSULB has a Parkour club, and I hope it stays that way. I would hate to see someone jump off the sculpture by The Coffee Bean. They would probably eat it, break their legs, and be laughed at, which would be sad. But the really horrible part is this: that individual would probably sue the school, and tuition would go up.

Now that would truly be a sad, terrible thing.

BLACK THUMB Life is hard. It’s hard for people. It’s even rough for animals. But what’s surprising is that this strain also affects a few plants. I decided to try my hand at gardening again.

My father inspired me. He has been on a big bonsai kick the past few years. Although, I think what he does is better than bonsai. He grows tiny versions of plants. He has close to a hundred, including miniature redwood forests and a micro lemon tree that even grows marble sized lemons.

I didn’t plan on setting my sights as lofty as his. I wanted to try something simple.

Something I’ve done before, something that would work on my balcony. I opted, along with my roommate, for a tomato plant. We got different kinds and wanted to compete to see whose would grow better. I like competition. I even bought plant food, in secret, to hedge my bet.

We didn’t even grow them from a seed. They were already about a foot tall when we bought them, so it was more like adopting a teenage plant, just about to burst into puberty.

They stood proud on either side of the balcony. We watered them regularly, inspected them often, and they grew well the first few weeks.

Then I had to leave my tomato plant for a few days when I went to Texas. While I was away I got a tragic call from my roommate. She told me she had bad news, bracing me, and then continued with the story of my tomato plant leaping off the edge of the balcony. Her plant, in a vain but heroic gesture, jumped after my plant, trying to save it. She found them lying in two separate heaps.

Luckily, even in the throws of a serious abandonment disorder, my troubled plant did not succeed in killing itself.

Over the next week it tried a few more less impressive attempts on its own life. It would make smaller jumps from the edge of the balcony to the floor, trying to crack its stalk in the process. For awhile it was banished to the more shaded area of the table outside. I figured if it thought life was so bad, maybe I should take away a little sunshine. It was terrible parental logic.

And, eventually, I placed him back out on the ledge. I came out an hour later to check on it and to my complete despair and horror my poor, troubled tomato plant was halfway off the edge, bent in two, in a horribly unnatural pose.

I rushed to its aid and tried to line up the deep gashes running up and down its stalk, in an attempt to straighten it out.

Green blood dribbled from the wound.

I performed CPR as best I could with a paper towel and the aforementioned bottle of plant food.

It doesn’t look good for my tomato plant, though. I think I got there too late.

DEREK CROSSLEY

ISSUE 62.11

STEVEN CAREY Art Director

erin@lbunion.com

THE CONTEST ISSUE

matt@lbunion.com

RYAN KOBANE

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ERIN HICKEY, JOSEPH BRYANT

Copy Editors

RYAN KOBANE Advertising Representative

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BREE HOPWOOD, ALLAN STEINER Advertising Representatives CHRIS BARRETT Internet Caregiver

FROM THE EDITOR

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LETTER

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PHILIP VARGAS On-Campus Distribution VINCENT GIRIMONTE Off-Campus Distribution DARREN DAVIS, MILES LEMAIRE, CHRIS BARRETT, ANDREW WILSON, MICHAEL VEREMANS, CHRISTINE HODINH, JESSE BLAKE, DEREK CROSSLEY, CHRISTOPHER TROUTMAN, JAMES KISLINGBURY, PHILIP VARGAS, DAVID FAULK, PAUL HOVLAND, KATRINA SAWHNEY, ALLAN STEINER, RUSSELL CONROY, KEN C., JOSEPH BRYANT, BRIAN NEWHARD, LAURA SARDISCO, ERIC BRYAN, LEAH MCKISSOCK, MARCUS BOCKMAN

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.

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I’m not going to bore you with some lame anecdote or semi-useful bit of advice this week. Instead I want to focus on you.

All year you’ve followed our antics. You’ve hopefully grown to love or hate some of us, but the funny thing is, we don’t know you. Every week I sit and wonder just who exactly reads our paper. I see people reading the Union all over campus, but rarely do I get the opportunity to sit and talk.

So this is our chance to get to know one another.

As a staff we have compiled a list of 18 different contests that we will devote an entire issue to. THIS IS YOUR ISSUE, PEOPLE. This is your chance to show us the talent that just walks our campus without recognition.

The prize for your efforts will be announced the week before the results, and just so you know there will only be one winner for each contest, with honorable mentions going to those who came oh-so-close. So come correct people.

THE CONTEST ISSUE CONTESTS

SUBMITION DEADLINE 05/05/08. Drop off art at the union office and submit photos and all other submissions to thecontest@lbunion.com

1) FLASH FICTION 10) BEST COOKIE 155 WORDS OR LESS MUST SUBMIT IN PERSON. 12 COOKIE MIN. 2) PHOTOS (original file) A) PORTRAIT 11) SHORT POETRY B) LANDSCAPE / NATURE 20 LINES OR LESS C) SPORT 12) ORIGINAL JOKE 3) ILLUSTRATION BE FUNNY PEOPLE, A) COLOR WE’VE HEARD ‘EM ALL B) BLACK AND WHITE 4) COMIC STRIP 5) PORTRAIT OF F. KING ANY FORMAT 6) BEST MUSTACHE MALE AND FEMALE

13) SHORT FILM 5 MIN OR LESS. ANY GENERE. 14) BEST SOUP FROM SCRATCH MUST PROVIDE RECIPE

15) CUTEST PUPPY 7) BEST DINO DRAWING PHOTO OR IN PERSON MUST BE AN ORIGINAL DINOSAUR 16) BEST WORST TATTOO NO EX-GIRLFRIEND TATS 8) BEST ORIGINAL DRINK RECIPE 17) LONGEST TENURE AS A IF WE CAN FIND IT IN A STUDENT HERE AT CSULB BOOK DON’T BOTHER 18) HIGH SCHOOL AWARDS A) CUTEST COUPLE 9) BEST USE OF A DAILY 49ER B) BEST SMILE GET CREATIVE PEOPLE, LORD KNOWS THEY AREN’T C) BEST ALL AROUND

INSIDE THE UNION OPINIONS PAGE 3

Opinions Editor Kathy Miranda gets kinky with her article “Hug Me, Kiss Me, Tie Me Up.”

MUSIC PAGE 11

LITERATURE PAGE 15 Matt Dupree is illiterate. It is for this reason that he prefers audiobooks over real ones. Especially Steve Martin audiobooks.

NEWS PAGE 6

CULTURE PAGE 18

VIncent Girimonte takes a closer look at your ASI candidates so you don’t have to.

SPORTS PAGE 9

Freshman Brooke Turner is setting records all over the place. Staffer Sergio Ascencio scored an interview.

Rachel Rufrano hates Scarlett Jo for bastardizing Tom Waits with a cover album. Also, Erin Hickey hates change! She prefers simpler years, like 2001, and tells us why.

RYAN KOBANE

VINCENT GIRIMONTE News Director KATHY MIRANDA Opinions Editor RYAN ZUMMALLEN Sports Editor VICTOR CAMBA Comics Editor KATIE REINMAN Creative Arts Editor EARL GREY Grunion Editor ERIN HICKEY Literature Editor & PR MIKE PALLOTTA Entertainment Editor SEAN BOULGER Music Editor & PR RACHEL RUFRANO Culture Editor RYAN KOBANE Photography Director

ryan@lbunion.com

Rachel Rufrano offers a simple solution to the “paper or plastic” debate while Kathy Miranda loses her shit over fashionista Daisy Lowe.

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

Cover Photo

RYAN KOBANE Editor-In-Chief ERIN HICKEY Managing Editor MIKE PALLOTTA Associate Editor MATT DUPREE

Associate Editor RYAN KOBANE Business Manager

NEWS OUR LITTLE SLICE OF DEMOCRACY ASI ELECTIONS COMING, MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU THINK

VINCENT GIRIMONTE

I

f there is anything missing from this year’s Associated Student’s Inc. (ASI) elections, taking place April 21st through the 23rd, it’s the candidate promising the legalization of marijuana or some other foray into issues “real” college can rally behind. I miss this person.

There is something genuine about a platform with focal points including a pact to bring Phish to the Walter Pyramid.

The list of this year’s ASI presidential candidates is remarkably void of this personality, but perhaps for the better. As delicious as a year with the above President might sound to the Upper Campus lawn, ASI positions give incredible responsibility (and a budget in the millions) to the elected officials. In a roundabout way we may see something very good come of it.

I realize many of you reading this are unfamiliar with this ASI thing, or likely its composition and methods of operation. The truth is that nobody knows this better than the students running

for offices within ASI, and the Presidential candidates listed below. They want you to become familiar with the acronym, maybe even hang out with it, learn from it, and play its video games at the bottom of the Student Union. They want the students to be happy.

Next week will see the ASI campaign in full swing.

There will be suits and T-shirts with names of candidates, and at the very least you should look at these shirts. Try to get involved. Or hey, grab a flyer and read it before you throw it on the ground.

Below are the three candidates for ASI President.

I’ve met them all, asked them all to give me their platform, and to be honest, they sound remarkably similar. But for the right reasons. I’ve found myself being highly critical of past ASI officers, but likely for the wrong reasons. Either way, rest assured that most of these candidates mean well, or I would hope so. We know about thankless hours of work here, too. Take a few moments, pick the student that most represents the person you would pick after you do some minimal research—it’s really that simple.

Aside from the Presidential candidates, the ballot will include vice-presidents, treasurers, and students senators for several colleges.

So, without further delay, the Union Weekly gives its endorsement to the ASI elections in its entirety.

We don’t care whom you vote for really, so long as you don’t vote for a student who wants guns on campus.

We’re many things (clearly), but we are not gun-lovers, at least not since that one time.

THE UNION WEEKLY ENDORSES THE ASI ELECTIONS!

Illustration KATIE REINMAN

Eyad Aljubran

Erin Swetland

Raul Preciado

Eyad Aljubran is a third-year Human Resource Management major who’s remained heavily involved with the College of Business Administration as president of the College’s council. He feels his success in the CBA can be maintained on a university-wide level with similar community-building results. This means more outreach and hopefully more organization when it comes to ASI building relationships with each college, and hopefully a more connected campus via the glue of ASI. He helped organize this year’s Meet the Industries Expo on the Queen Mary that included dozens of companies and recruiters for aspiring 49ers.

Aljubran also intends to build an infrastructure for the outdated Campus Recycling Center run by ASI in the parking lot adjacent to the Walter Pyramid.

An interesting tidbit from his platform is his planned restructuring of the University 100 class each incoming freshman is required to complete—you know, the first class that makes you question why you chose CSULB. Maybe he’s merely suggesting they change the name of the course to “A Course Teaching You Where To Find Things That Can Also Be Found On a Campus Map.”

Erin Swetland does not see herself as a politician, nor does she really have any ambition in the political realm, post-college. She’s a third-year Communications major with all the traits you might expect in a person studying in theory of communicating (eye contact, handshake: all firm), and a seasoned ASI member serving two years as a Senator-at-Large where she authored a resolution opposing Governor Schwarzenegger’s budget that will cut CSU funding.

She’s also a Presidential Scholar, meaning, among other things, she knows what a crispito is.

She plans on making the patio accessible every day of the week, for spoken word events and other forms of artistic expression.

Swetland is also advocating a carpooling effort amongst students, one that formulates incentives for students to help curb the parking chaos. In addition, like all the candidates, she plans to use campus media to relay messages to the students, meaning the opinions page of this here rag and the Daily 49er will include op-ed pieces by our student leader.

Raul Preciado is a Political Science major, and thus feels his political inclination, coupled with his experience in ASI, makes him the best choice for ASI President.

He believes in a transparency policy, specifically pointing to ASI Senate meetings where the goal of the Senators gets muddled in technical jargon.

When asked about Mark Andrews, current ASI President, he points to promises made during his campaign, such as filling vacant positions within ASI and in his negligence in fulfilling his promises.

Preciado is eager to be held accountable on his promises which he believes are reasonable goals for his time in office.

He spearheaded a resolution against carrying guns on campus after a Campus Conservative effort brought the issue to the Senate, proving, according to Preciado, that he is willing to tackle the issues that students bring forward.

Although he lives off-campus, he believes it will benefit his tenure by giving the office a perspective that most students at CSULB can relate to: the commuting 49er.

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

your future student leaders

COME SEE YOUR ASI STUDENT GOVERNMENT 2008 ELECTION CANDIDATES

SPORTS HOW TO SNEAK INTO THE LB GRAND PRIX YOUR GUIDE TO A FREE DAY OF DOWNTOWN RACING RYAN ZUMMALLEN

T

Photos RYAN ZUMMALLEN

he first time I snuck into the Long Beach Grand Prix—of course, this was many many years ago—it was a complete accident. I didn’t know any better and just kind of found myself on the inside. I chalked one up for dumb luck but came back the next day and, sure enough, there it was again. I still couldn’t believe it, but hell, who am I to say no to a complimentary ticket?

I had attended the Grand Prix the year previous—thanks to a pair of tickets from my Sports Appreciation class!—and wanted so badly to hear the roar of the engines again. The smell of smoked rubber and high-octane racing fuel drew me nearer and nearer to the action. I only wanted to see how close I could get and hoped to score a look at the Grand-Am cars through the chain-link. I ended up with a great view.

About ten miles of chain-link fence outlines the boundaries of the Long Beach Grand Prix, so there are several places that offer an excellent view of the action. The best way to do it is to simply position yourself higher than the fence, on top of the Pike’s main parking structure. Take Ocean Blvd. and turn down the hill on Chestnut Place, which will lead you straight to the structure. For $15, you can park there for the entire day. Drive to the top floor—for optimal viewage—park near the edge and you’ll be looking straight down on Turn 6. Just add chips and burgers.

From this view, you’ll see the cars screaming towards you—million-dollar machines designed to defeat wind resistance, with engines built to rattle your insides—before braking hard at the corner below.

They take a 90-degree right turn, then mash on the throttle for a high-speed straightaway that takes them under the picturesque Pike rollercoaster bridge as they head off towards Turn 7.

The Earth-shaking rumble of the Corvette C6-R, the infamous shriek of the Ferrari F430GT (right), the eardrum-shattering wail of the Champ cars (above, right)—the sweet music of unapologetic horsepower-overkill echoes between buildings and parking structures, rising up to you. The Champ cars will up-shift four or five times—a

split-second blip interrupting the ascending throttle—as they rocket down the straightaway and out of sight. The Formula Drift cars take the corner way too fast, and (facing certain death) fishtail at the last second and accelerate away, leaving only a plume of smoke in their wake. It’s the best un-interrupted view on the entire track, and you’ve got it for $15 a day.

If that doesn’t do it for you, head down to the Dubliner. Yes, the same Dubliner where you drank five blackand-tans and danced with the short old man for just a little bit too long last weekend. Expect a crowd, but a perfect view awaits as the cars enter Turn 8.

Now, for those of you with $80 to burn that were able to score tickets for the weekend, don’t think that you can just get in and find a perfect view. No, siree. There are 100,000 people with the exact same idea, partner. Of course, the hottest seat is at the Start/Finish line, where you’ll get prime access to the thrill of watching the races’ standing starts, see the cars at their fastest point on the entire track, and witness the winners in their moment of glory. But you’d better get there pretty early to score a seat, and if you need another beer or have to pee, you WILL lose it. Your better bets are at Turn 2—where the cars have to brake from about 180mph to a near dead-stop and you’ve got a 100% chance of seeing a crash—or Turn 7—the easiest place on the track for cars to make passes.

Most parts of the track have no room for passing, and there’s a Jumbotron in front of you to keep up with all the action, so Turn 7 is the best bang for your buck if you’ve got a ticket. Turn 9 is also money for seeing a crash. Try them all and find your favorite.

Another great aspect is the open-air garage area on

the East side, where teams prep their rides and drivers hang out between races. Everyone is very open and friendly, so if you’ve got a question about Audi’s R10 (below, right) or any other American Le Mans Series car, that’s the place to get it answered.

All in all, with or without a ticket, my best advice is that you just get out and enjoy the atmosphere that takes over the entire city when the GP comes to town. Have some beers on Pine—for Chrissakes, racing teams are in town and they will be drinking every night—check out the Pennywise concert, take advantage of the flimsy chain-link fence behind the Turn 7 grandstands that is left unguarded every single year, and wander around the Convention Center shows. It’s a beautiful thing, people—soak it all in before it leaves as quickly as it came.

So if you’ve got the dough to buy the three-day pass, by all means, do it. You won’t regret it. Besides, if you weren’t able to figure out the tricky way to get in by now, you probably shouldn’t be going. Happy racing!

SAM HUBINETTE IS A LITTLE BIT NUTS Photo

You’ve got to be somewhat insane to drive 500 horsepower sideways. The Formula Drift driver known as “The Crazy Swede” talks to the Union Weekly about wheelies, frozen lakes and how to avoid slamming into a concrete barrier. Hubinette will drive the Mopar Dodge Viper on April 20.

MOPAR RACING

Race Cars vs Drift Cars: There are actually a lot of similarities. Of course you want to make sure it’s light and it’s safe. Of course we have more extreme steering angles and advanced suspensions. Our suspensions are not as stiff. Drifting requires much more quick and aggressive steering in order to get the car sideways.

UNION WEEKLY 16 APRIL 2008

Drifting Technique: If you misjudge a turn and go too hard—I mean, a lot of times we’re a foot from the wall or less—you’ve got to know where your bumpers are. It’s all about speed and angles, the style is just for the judges and the fans. If you don’t have control then you’re going to be in the wall.

What Fans Can Expect: They’re going to see the ultimate car control show. It’s definitely America’s most talented drivers handling high-end cars inches from each other. I’m out there to win for sure. I try to push the limits to give the fans value for their money.

They’ll get a show.

Getting Into It: I heard about Formula Drift coming to the US in 2003, and I’d been dreaming about something like this since I was a kid sliding around on frozen lakes. I had been a stunt driver for a long time—actually I just agreed to do some scenes for The Fast & The Furious 4. The stunt drivers couldn’t do the maneuver so they’re bringing in some of the Formula Drift drivers.

What It’s Like To Drift At 100mph: To be in control of something most people see as out of control is really unique. It’s like doing a wheelie on a motorcycle at 100mph.

I used to do 140mph-wheelies on a Honda CBR-900RR. Drifting is the same rush.

DARREN DAVIS VINCENT GIRIMONTE

DD: The good news: The Dirtbags (18-13), both the team and the seedy duo of Vince and me, are back in Blair Field. The bad news: We’re in a three game series against UC Irvine (22-5); a team that, over the past couple of years, and with their recent run at the College World Series Championship in Omaha, has established themselves as a contending ball program. Long Beach has something to prove.

VG: The air was thick with the scent of Orange County. Anteaters fans occupied the third-base line arrogantly, reeking of entitlement and clothed in their traditional sports-bar attire.

Dirtbag fans were numerous and loud on the first-base side, likely cognizant of the importance placed on this game. They were ready to forgive, as were we, the sevenish of us sitting behind home plate, drinking merrily and partaking in our favorite activity of not giving shits. Danny Espinoza, the homegrown All-American, opens the scoring with a single to right field.

DD: Ol’ Espies with a piece of clutch hitting.

Blair Field is now a womb for the turn around.

What losing streak? We’re Already back on track.

Might as well call the game. Omaha! Here we come. High-fives are sent around. Even Vince gives me some skin, despite the fact that he had insisted he would stop speaking to me if I ever again called Danny “Espies” again. “That a boy, Danny. Bring home the bacon, baby!” <Continue with non-specific, celebratory, soon-to-be-ironic cheers> VG: Oh shit, that ball sailed out of here like a Spanish clipper. Francis Larson’s home run in the fourth gave the Anteaters a two to one advantage and shut us up like Major Pain. It was the first homerun we’ve seen Libel (3-2) give up, a bit like seeing Daddy cuss for the first time. It became tedious.

DD: Despite our struggles, it is still a 6-3 game at the top of the 8th. Liebel leaves as the potential losing pitcher, a confusing, backwards sight. Late in the game he had hung a couple of pitches like warm apple pies on a windowsill, but was by no means terrible. Meanwhile, Anteater starter Scott Gorgen is lukewarm in his mediocrity. With an offense putting up 20 hits, all he needed to do was throw strikes. Ikea doesn’t sell cushions that big. 4 more runs for Irvine in the bottom of the 9th and things start to get ugly. A couple of weeks ago I had mentioned that if your team is up by 5 or more runs in the 8th, it is tactless to heckle them. If you are down by 5 or more runs, however, you are obligated to make the opposing fan’s children cry.

VG: A man to our left is well versed in the rules of heckling and let loose on the standard of milquetoast cluster draped in Anteater blue.

Through his inebriated snarl he makes some valid points. “See you at Dave and Busters, get it?” he says sloppily, tight roping the rail of the bleachers.

He then sets his sights on a young girl watching the game with her mulleted mother. Yeah, we think to ourselves, there IS something lame about going to a game with your family--your happy, financially comfortable little family. The ninth inning was more or less a commentary on the nuclear Orange County family.

IS BROOKE TURNER THE BEST PITCHER IN CSULB HISTORY? SERGIO ASCENCIO

T

he symbolic baseball/softball reference for a strikeout is a “K” because of its dominance within the word. No coincidence that Brooke Turner has a dominant “K” in her name and a lot of strikeouts.

One-hundred and seventy-eight strikeouts, to be exact, in 159 innings of work on the “hill” for the #15 team in the nation. She is the pitcher who went out and broke the school record for strikeouts in her first collegiate start, and then rebroke it against the #5 team in the nation a few weeks later.

Turner is a 5’10” hitter’s enigma with a glove. And she is calmly putting together one of the finest freshman campaigns in NCAA softball history. Recently, Turner was acknowledged as one of 25 finalists for this season’s Softball Player of the Year award.

Her addition to last year’s one-woman rotation of Bridgette Pagano is a big–no–giant reason why the 49ers have already surpassed last years win total. With four weeks still to go.

Amassing a record of 19-4 (at print time) with three of those four losses coming by the score of 1-0, Turner has proved resilient through the close games. For what it’s worth, her other loss went 2-0 to a ranked Fresno State squad.

“She has not cracked once this season,” said head coach Kim Sowder. “She handles (pressure) as good as any pitcher I have seen.”

Sowder explained that everytime number five is out there, the team knows if they can get a run or two on the board their chances of winning are pretty good. Combine that with the number one defense in the Big West, and this Long Beach State is on a step-by-step mission.

Conference title. Regionals. Super Regionals. Women’s College World Series.

And they’re going to need Turner to stay on point for them to get that far. After three weeks into conference play she has already raked up seven—count ‘em—seven Big West Pitcher of the Week awards, tying the conference record for most in a season. Don’t forget she is a freshman.

‘Cause Brooke Turner is good eight days a week. Yeah, that good. I’m sure you have heard all the Chuck Norris jokes by now but Brooke Turner is so good, she can strike you out with two pitches. She is a boss.

And like she says, she tries not to let all the success get to her head. In fact, Turner flashes smiles as often as her catcher, Brooke LeSage, flashes her signs. And Turner credits a lot of her success to LeSage and her pitching coach. It’s all about being pre-

pared and after every inning in the ring, Turner huddles with her catcher and coach to review the previous hitters and get the scouting report for the upcoming “hitters.”

It’s unfair to say she is unhittable (opponents are hitting a measly .158 off her) but standing at 5’10” with a six-pitch repertoire, it is safe to say that she is the most vicious opponent in a ring since Mike Tyson in his prime. But don’t expect her to take a nose-dive on the career path.

“I just like the competitiveness between just the batter and me,” Turner says. “It’s like ‘game on,’ try to hit it.”

Not easy, considering her heater tops off at an MLBpitcher 100 mph equivalency range. It’s hard to imagine she will ever have to rely on her fall-back plan of becoming a “Deal or No Deal girl.”

“She has definitely exceeded my expectations,” Coach Sowder said. “And for a freshman to come in and pitch like she has pitched. I mean she leads the nation in ERA right now and for a freshman to do that, it’s just pretty incredible.”

This would be a good time to tell you her ERA. Ready?

Turner’s ERA is 0.46. Yes, 0.46. The lowest ERA amongst regular pitchers in the nation. And how does Brooke Turner respond when asked if she knew she had the lowest ERA in all of college softball? With a semi-embarrased/ aww-shucks kind of “yeah,” followed by a smile.

“I don’t really talk about softball that often. I like to go out with my friends, very close with my family, my sister especially. Just like normal teenage girl stuff.”

The “normal teenage girl stuff ” has a different meaning in the Turner household. By now, you should know Brooke Turner is the sister of 49er softball great Michelle Turner. Brooke credits a lot of her success and maturity on the field to her sister, who is the ‘Niner who previously had the Big West record for Pitcher of the Week honors in a season.

As for who is the better Turner pitcher? Let’s just say by the time you read this, chances are Brooke Turner would have broken that record.

UNION WEEKLY 16 APRIL 2008

RYAN KOBANE

This week: UC IRVINE – April 11th

Photos

DIRTBAGS ON DIRTBAGS

Photos

RYAN KOBANE

STOMPING THE PYRAMID

18TH ANNUAL STOMPING ON THE YARD STEP COMPETITION MICHAËL VEREMANS

T

he ground rumbled and the stands shook as the girls of Zeta Phi Beta stepped on the stage in school girl costumes. Seconds earlier, I heard countless damn well-dressed people turned away, this show was sold out. This seems to have been the case for CSULB’s national step competition since its inception eighteen years ago when they packed the Beach Auditorium for their first show. In the years after that they moved to the old gym and the Carpenter Performing Arts Center, packing each of these venues to the point of fire hazard. It’s good to see that some things never change, and the step show is more popular now that ever.

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16 APRIL 2008

So anyway, the mini-drumline of two snares and a bass drum were peeled away to the side and the women of the traditionally colored sorority—one of nine competing in the event from Long Beach and all around the nation—gave us a history of their organization, interspersed with dance steps reminiscent of Irish folk dancing, but with more precision and intensity. This style of step dancing seems to draw on many different sources, from Afro-Caribbean dance to tap, varying from traditional step dancing in that body percussion and hand and arm movements that can be almost more important than the foot work.

The initial draw, of course, is for the performance, but the atmosphere is unequallable in sheer spirit and enthusiasm, so much so, in fact, that the stomping on stage would sometimes get drowned out by calls and ditties from the audience who were clearly a part of the show. At one point in Alpha Phi Alpha’s show, over a hundred people rushed the empty area in front of the stage, stealing the show. The ecstatic dancers from the extremely active audience weren’t hindered by the security guards who ineffectually tried to grab at their elbows and crowd them off the floor.

After shows of gymnastics and stories by the competitors Alpha Kappa Alpha hit the floor, from the back end of the echoing ‘myd complete with full drumline all decked out in pink and green (their colors). The sorority sisters took the stage with unprecedented confidence, stomping with dreamlike ease to their mix CD, calling out to the audience like cheerleaders would and raising the voices of the stands right next to the stage, their supporters.

According to Dr. Douglas Robinson, the Vice President for Student Services, who has been facilitating the show since it began, the emphasis during the formative years of the competition had turned to the other entertainment provided at the event like M.C.’s, but they have made a sharp turn back to a pure student event, presided over by a host and a single DJ. This year’s show was sponsored by Boost Mobile, a notable upgrade from the Army sponsorship of former years. Despite that, its good to see this kind of interest going into an amazing cultural phenomenon.

It was breath-taking and fun to experience the honed art of these fraternities and sororities that are, among other things, dedicated to personal expression and forward movement. The shows become better and more elaborate every year, exploring the creativity of an immediate and democratic art form made complete by the witticisms of the host and of the steppers during their show. When the right song comes on, you can’t keep anyone from dancing.

MUSIC

LAY YOUR HEAD ANYWHERE BUT HERE ARMAGEDDON: SCARLETT JOHANSSON COVERS TOM WAITS

RACHEL RUFRANO

I

am convinced Scarlett Johansson is attempting to get into the pants of every wrinkling genius alive.

I thought, sure, take Woody Allen, he’s pretentious and incestuous anyway, and covering the Gershwin standard “Summertime” for Unexpected Dreams: Songs From the Stars is guaranteed to unbuckle those pleated high-waisted slacks. But her second endeavor is really tugging at my heartstrings—Tom Waits. Her cover album, Anywhere I Lay My Head, is set to debut May 6, and all I can say is, I hope she’s shellacking her throat with fifty-nine years of gin and cigarettes. Otherwise, I don’t see how the blonde bombshell plans to deliver a Waits song and make it anywhere near believable.

But I suppose I could be wrong, Waits has never been immune to giving his song rights to artists, he is, first and foremost, a songwriter, and his instincts have done him well. Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Jersey Girl,” The Eagles’ cover of “Ol’ 55,” and Rod Stewart’s “Downtown Train,” were all pretty good.

Then again, those are all legends on par with Waits, and they are, at the very least, musicians. Maybe I’m not giving Johansson enough credit, the fact that she is a Waits fan to begin with is kind of cool, but there is still something deplorable about inaugurating a singing career with an entire Tom Waits album. Maybe it’s knowing that every pimpling teenage boy that has her knockers plastered on their bedroom walls could be picking up the album and declaring themselves a

Waits fan. There’s a novelty, and something personally satisfying, in meeting someone who even knows who Waits is, but pretty soon, that novelty may be shattered.

As fans—although we are not too few and far between —we may find ourselves striking up one of those rare conversations that reach beyond Rain Dogs only to halt at hearing “I really prefer the Scarlett Johansson version.” Oh, music snobs everywhere will be slitting their throats with 45s. Is this how movie buffs felt when Waits started acting? I mean, he was in Mystery Men. But please, don’t get me wrong. The more Waits fans out there, the better. I’ll be the first to lend you an album and I can prescribe Waits like a fine wine. Planning on a full night of drinking? Try Small

Change. Going for a long drive? The Early Years, Vol. 2 is what you’re looking for. Feeling the need for an introspective jolt like you’ve got a train’s steam engine pumping through your veins? Frank’s Wild Years. Have you hit rock bottom, feel completely devoid of passion, and just need something to stall the time before you decide your life has truly been in vain? Try Scarlett Johansson’s Anywhere I Lay My Head. That should do the trick.

Well, I’ve truly outdone myself. I’ve reviewed an album I’ve never even heard. I hope I’m wrong.

I hope Johansson blows me out of the water. And what I really hope, is that this cover album will be as underappreciated and overlooked as Waits himself.

DOES IT OFFEND YOU, YEAH? MATT DUPREE Sometimes fate thrusts a band into the spotlight much against their will, like Luke Skywalker with presumably-better haircuts. Once upon a time, Does It Offend You, Yeah? was two guys fucking around and making a dance track called “Battle Royale.” Like most accomplishments achieved through fucking around, their friends were inevitably shown. And then their friends alerted the media. Not content to become another pair of guys standing behind laptops, Dan Coop and James Rushent recruited two more members, Morgan Quaintance and Rob Bloomfield, and formed a proper band. In a telling example of the times we live in, they named themselves while creating their band’s MySpace page, as they were then unable to postpone it any further. Turning to their television for inspiration, they flipped on an episode of The Office, only to hear Ricky Gervais say, “Does it offend you, yeah? My drinking?” And a band was born.

Does it Offend You, Yeah? (or the equally difficultto-say acronym DIOYY) currently sits as standard-

bearer for the strikingly protean genre of electrorock. Their new album, You Have No Idea What You’re Getting Into, starts off with first stone “Battle Royale” and then begins a wondrous trip from the single-friendly side of Daft Punk to the more obscure tracks of Oasis, stopping

by Muse at their most frantic and Radio 4 at their danciest (somebody add that word to the dictionary already). Their second track, “With A Heavy Heart” is recommended for fans of the Rapture who wish they added a robot on backing vocals. If you haven’t heard “We Are Rockstars” yet, you’re going to lame fucking nightclubs. “Dawn Of The Dead” proves conclusively that if you’re from England, you’re born with the inherent talent of writing a catchy and deceptively simple chorus riff a la Bloc Party, Oasis, or Blur.

Continuing the Bloc vibe is “Doomed Now,” except that that robot has moved up to lead vocals now, and usual lead Morgan (or M. Organ as he’s sometimes called) is devoting himself to some serious guitar licks. If you can find a better track title than “Attack of the 60 Ft Lesbian Octopus” that has the same Hammond-B3-gone-postal vibe, keep it. I haven’t stopped listening to “Let’s Make Out” since I heard

it pre-released last year. The bass is transcendently funky, the vocals evoke a less asinine Electric 6, and there is exactly enough cowbell. And any song that can get a room full of people screaming “LET’S MAKE OUT! LET’S MAKE OUT!” ad nauseam earns my veneration. Without going further through the tracklist, let me just assert that the epic last song is called “Epic Last Song,” and it ain’t lying.

The world is taking notice of DIOYY now, too. NME had championed them early on, and recently Rolling Stone proclaimed them as one of seven artists “to watch” this year. If you want to watch them, however, you’ll only have YouTube and Coachella to do it, as they have yet to announce another set of stateside tour dates. Of course, I’d imagine that road is starting to pave itself now, and it wouldn’t be outlandish to presume they’ll be touring our fair city some time in the near future. On a smaller scale, an informal poll of my friends concludes that this band has succeeded in their quest at changing up the usual paradigm of an album containing songs that sound very similar in style, and has succeeded utterly. The brit-pop inclined are just as into those songs as I’m into the electro-heavy jams, finally bridging our taste-gap and bringing us all together… to motherfuckin’ party.

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16 APRIL 2008

MUSIC

WHY I MISS the year 2001

I

ERIN HICKEY

remember it well. It was hot—too hot—and I had been sitting in my mother’s car for upwards of thirty minutes. She had stranded me there while she went into the supermarket to buy some milk. I remember wondering how long it takes to purchase milk. Not that long. I began to see mirages of my mother walking towards the car, but I’d blink and she’d disappear. Desperate and alone, I knew that only music would pull me through.

I was not yet lucky enough to own an iPod, so I decided to try my luck with the radio. I wasn’t optimistic. Aside from KRTH, who had been on a God-awful ballad binge as of late, the airwaves were being dominated by groups like Linkin Park and System of a Down. In other words, a music lover’s kryptonite (oh yeah, that song “Kryptonite” was pretty popular too). I flipped through my mom’s presets. KROQ was playing some mildly tolerable Green Day song, so I left it on. As the song ended, I felt a strange combination of relief and dread. On the one hand, Billie Joe’s voice was really starting to wear on my nerves, but on the other, I knew the next song could only be worse.

PLANTS & ANIMALS PARC AVENUE ALLAN STEINER

7.9

Well, you know what happens when you assume.

What happened next knocked the wind out of me.

I was all adrenaline and pulse, shaking like a leaf and gasping for air. I raised the volume as high as it would go and for a full minute and fifty seconds, I held my breath. When it ended, I was a mess. I sat in a daze and tried to figure out what had just happened to me. Then, fortunately, I remembered to exhale.

What had happened to me was The White Stripes’ “Fell in Love With a Girl.” Weighing in at just under two minutes, it dwarfed everything around it. It evoked the garage bands of the ‘60s and paid homage to ‘80s punk, yet somehow remained wholly singular. It was perfect.

There’s no other way to describe it. In a sea of “Hanging by a Moment” and “Drops of Jupiter,” “Fell in Love With a Girl” was the lifeboat.

Exuberant as I was, I knew it was a fluke and resigned myself to the knowledge that nothing else I would hear on contemporary radio would ever be this good.

Once again, my assumption was wrong. I should have learned my lesson the first time. After The Stripes came The Strokes, then The Hives. And aside from the article “the,” these bands had one thing in common: they were

Parc Avenue is the latest from Plants and Animals, a group from Montreal, Canada, but let’s face it… who isn’t these days? The three piece group consists of drum, guitar, and bass. It seems like a fairly generic set up, but the result is anything but. The music balances somewhere between pop and ‘study music’. And while the track “Good Friend” has guitarist Warren C. Spicer singing “I want to dance/I want to dance/ I want to dance” the album can hardly be considered dance music; it’s gentle head bobbing music at best. But this is not a criticism. And as far as head bobbing music is concerned, this is really good.

Originally, the band formed when Spicer received a grant to create an instrumental album. That was their self titled LP, which came out 5 years ago. Since then the group has made a leap to full fledged musical group with the inclusion of vocals. And these vocals are not just thrown in to the mix either. Not only is Spicer’s voice really good, but the actual lyrics themselves are both well written and well played throughout the album. Quotes such as “Like a child, we get hungry, restless, and wicked and

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16 APRIL 2008

good. Really. Fucking. Good.

Seven years later and music is still undeniably good. But (and this may seem like an odd complaint), there’s too much good. In 2001, it was exciting. The odds of hearing a good song on the radio were so low that when it happened, it was major. But we’re jaded now—or at least I am. It’s hard for me to muster more than a shrug, even for bands as critically acclaimed as Beirut and M.I.A. Yeah, they’re good, but so are a lot of other bands. I know I should be happy that there’s so much good new music out there, and I guess I am. But it’s just not exciting anymore.

wild” fill the album leaving the listener with a sense of fulfillment.

The group finds a balance in the album by having both really calm songs as well as energy filled ones. This clash which sometimes occurs without warning makes for a full album that is as varied as the flora and fauna the band is named for (well not quite as varied… there’s not enough room on the album, but you get the point). While the band essentially consists of drums, guitar, and bass, there is a myriad of other instruments on the album from flutes to vocals to piano. This gives the album a more orchestrated feel that goes well with its already largerthan-life sound.

To try to pin Parc to being any one genre would be unfair. It’s as much classic rock as it is country. This makes for a happy medium that most people will be able to agree on. Happy mediums are a good thing in music. They are a sign that artists are trying something new. That an artist isn’t just following footsteps. This is most definitely true of Plants and Animals whose musical influences must include a seemingly endless list of bands.

This is an album that begs to be played live. With each member playing off of each other so perfectly, the live show would have to be incredible. Vocals clash with vocals, which in turn clash with the instruments. It comes off sounding very epic. There is a bond between the members of Plants and Animals that becomes evident in a single listen. They play off of each other instead of simply adding to what the other members of the band are doing.

The music of Plants and Animals is recommended for fans of bands such as Grizzly Bear, Dirty Projectors, Beach House, and Papercuts.

ENTERTAINMENT RYAN KOBANE

W

hen you’re handed a pamphlet that reads “Existential Philosophy Primer 101: Zombie Strippers,” and a magic eight ball with the explanation “you’ll understand at the end of the film,” one’s imagination tends to wander. “What the hell did I just walk in to?” I asked myself. I was in no way ready to examine the human psyche or consider the implications of free will while watching zombies tear people apart. I wanted gore spattered with T&A, I wanted big guns and foul language, I wanted a “B” movie through and through. Thankfully, Zombie Strippers did not disappoint.

Now there’s a huge difference, and may I emphasize the word huge, in the difference between the super vixen Jenna Jameson on a twelve-inch Powerbook, and Jenna Jameson on a forty-foot digital projector.

Blemishes go unnoticed while she gyrates in a 3”x3” box on your laptop, and the hideously grotesque inch of skin between her ribcage and breast things are hidden while streaming video struggles through pixelation. The lesson learned is that the silver screen is not so forgiving.

Let’s just put it this way: I had no idea if Kat (Jenna Jameson’s character) was already a zombie when she first appeared on screen—she looked that bad (she wasn’t by the way). While she is a few years after her prime, there is no reason to look like a half-feline, half-plastic body cast creature. I simply was not prepared. See, she ruined the fact that I can basically draw her vagina with my eyes closed, and now I don’t ever want to think of her in anything less than a fulllength sweater dress, with hoodie. She has nice eyes though. And luckily enough for JJ she was only hu-

NO MORE WIRE HANGERS! EVER! A REVIEW OF LAKE OF FIRE

THE NEW DOCUMENTARY ON ABORTION FROM DIRECTOR TONY KAYE MILES LEMAIRE I’ve been mulling this film over in the week since I’ve last seen it, and so far it’s done me no good. The issue for me has nothing to do with whether or not I like it. I do. I like it very much, thanks. But my love of this film leads me to an odd little quandary in that I can’t recommend it to anyone. Ever. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Perhaps I might find a local abortion enthusiast with two and a half hours to spare (not to mention a love of black & white cinematography) to give the film a chance, but people like that are hard to come by, even on a college campus.

In what may be the most definitive look at the subject of abortion ever put to film, director Tony Kaye (American History X) has done the impossible: he’s created a genuinely objective, yet emotionally stirring

documentary. His narrative sways back and forth between each side of the issue, sometimes watching as the two clash outside of an abortion clinic or pro-choice rally. And through it all Kaye never flinches in his effort to present this issue as completely as he can. If that means taking cameras into abortion clinics and watching as doctors sift through pieces of fetal tissue (tissue that has

Strippers, maybe even more than once. Hopefully the second time around you can pay more attention to the symbolism rather than Roxy Saint’s nipple rings, I know I’m going to try.

Kobane says don’t take it so seriously, it’s zombified lapdancers, and gives it:

ANDREW WILSON

A REVIEW OF THE NEW MOVIE ZOMBIE STRIPPERS

non she squeezed out ball after ball in attempts to kill the other zombie strippers that tried to steal her tips and stage time. Brilliant, simply brilliant.

Without hesitation I suggest seeing Zombie

Illustration

THEY’LL FUCK YOUR BRAINS OUT

man for a few minutes on screen, everything after that was a zombie stripper, and I would give her two enthusiastic thumbs up. She’s actually not a half-bad stripper actress.

I’m not going to bother with plot or story here people; anyone willing to fork over the money to see this film knows exactly what they’re going to get, minus the whole metaphysical aspect that is. The scariest part of Zombie Strippers is that it actually tried, in a very half-assed satirical way, to poke at a litany of political, human, and zombie issues. Unfortunately, most of Zombie Strippers’ deeply ontological commentary falls by the wayside, seeing as though most of the philosophical debate happens while chomping on human flesh. I’m just saying it’s hardly a place for Socratic dialogue.

There is a formula though, and when you can dive deep enough under the layers of fatalism and Nietzsche there lays a brilliant film. One part sleazy strip club, one part zombie stereotype, two parts violence, and just a dash of newcomer Roxy Saint and you’ve got a winning combo that just can’t be killed. I honestly couldn’t, in my wildest imagination, believe that I would ever see three naked dead chicks doing a synchronized pole dance—and then came Zombie Strippers. I also never thought, in my wildest dreams, that someone could make that hot, but then came Zombie Strippers. My emotions were all over the place, and yet, I couldn’t get over the fact that I still had no answer for the magic eight ball that rested in the seat next to me.

And then it happened. In what has to be considered the peak of hilarity and creativity in the film, I finally got my explanation for the magic eight ball.

JJ didn’t even bother to call her pocket when the handful of eight balls came flying out of her demonic nether regions. Like a rapid-fire zombie can-

toes and fingers), then he does it. If it means listening to as many leading figures from both camps that he can (people like Noam Chomsky and Pat Buchanan), then he makes sure that each of them get equal time to plead their case. And most harrowingly, when it comes time to document a woman through all stages of the abortion process, Kaye allows the experience to speak for itself.

If this doesn’t sound like the sort of film you’d like to see, then I’d suggest that you not see it. I’ll be disappointed in you and by all rights you should feel a slight twinge of guilt every time you watch a real housewife from anywhere do anything, but I’ll understand. Because while the issue of abortion is pretty goddamned prescient these days, it’s easier to turn away from a film like this and forget that it ever existed in the first place. But for those of you that want to be challenged on a moral and intellectual level, this is about as rich and powerful an experience as you could hope for.

Miles says “It’s not so bad!” and gives it:

Wire hangers (above, encircled) have been chastised by pro-life protesters for their use of hanging of clothes.

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

ENTERTAINMENT THE LAST PICTURE JOE AN EDITORIAL ON RECENT MOVIE DEVELOPMENTS JOSEPH BRYANT

I

’d be surprised if more than a third of the Union’s readership hadn’t read the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak at least once in their lifetime. It’s a classic. A young boy named Max misbehaves and is sent to time out. As he pouts away in his room, a forest begins to grow before his eyes, and he finds himself confronted with mythical monsters—the Wild Things. There’s something magical about any story about a child losing themselves in their imagination that resonates with nearly everyone that experiences it. So what Hollywood studio wouldn’t want to make a famous children’s book into a film that has a built-in fan base? That’s exactly what Warner Bros. and Legendary Pictures thought when they bought up the rights to Where the Wild Things Are. Here’s where things get tricky though. The movie is in the can. It’s done. And with a script penned by celebrated writer Dave Eggers (A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius) and Adaptation’s Spike Jonze, with Jonze also directing, and the Jim Henson Company (The Muppets) creating the suits for the Wild Things, what could possibly go wrong? Apparently, quite a bit.

After a series of test screenings, Warner Bros. executives have gotten cold feet. After polling, they discovered that some of the audience thought the film was too scary for children and that Max Records, the boy playing Max, was unlikeable. You can almost hear the skipped heartbeats from the studio suits. Scary? Kid’s movie? Parish the thought.

You know what “scary” means? Scary means that the movie is good. Damn good. And really, WB had to have expected this. They hired on Spike Jonze, for

shit’s sake. You don’t make a kid’s movie expecting the same old dribble (I’m looking at you, Water Horse) when you strongly consider the guy that shot Being John Malkovich for the director’s chair. And what really doesn’t make sense is that this is the studio behind the insanely successful Harry Potter series. It’s as though the studio execs put on blinders—they only remember the money from their teenage wizard epics, rather than the content. Those movies have some scary images: things that made my little cousin scream in the theater. And as for Max Records’ likeability—the kid’s supposed to be a trouble maker that chases around his dog with a fork. I don’t really know how much you’re supposed to like that character.

One of the early arguments for possible reshoots made sense. The original plan was to have the Wild Things in Jim Henson creature suits, then later computer generate moveable faces. Apparently there were some problems with the animation and the studio wanted to try a different approach. That makes sense. But now WB wants to reshoot the entire thing. Start from scrap with a new screenplay and possibly a new director. The online film community is abuzz with speculation, wondering whether Jonze has final cut over the movie. As upset

SECRET OF THE NOOZE ONE WAY TO GET MOVIE NEWS MIKE PALLOTTA This week saw a couple classic novels get pushed forward from being in development hell to development purgatory, and then into the “Hey, a hot actress wants to be in it!” development stage. And then some Dark Knight prescreening audiences were offended. Here’s the nooze: Every college students’ favorite existential crisisinducing novel Atlas Shrugged is finally coming to the big screen starring none other than Angelina Jolie, star of the upcoming action movie Wanted. Jolie will play the role of Dagny Taggart in the film based on the novel

by Ayn Rand. Apparently she’s making sure that the film doesn’t get stopped in pre-production, and is looking to start filming in December.

No word yet on how much of the 1,000+ page novel got cut out for the movie—if they stayed that true to the novel, we can all look forward to a 56 hour shot-for-shot adaptation.

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

Also in books I’ve never read news, Natalie Portman is set to star in the film version of the literary classic Wuthering Heights. I’ve been a fan of Portman’s for awhile, but she’s starting to go the way of the Knightley and do period pieces where the costume design is the focal point of the whole movie.

Olivia Hetreed will be taking on the task of adapting the novel to screen—her name shouldn’t be too recognizable to you considering that the majority of her track record consists of writing UK television.

The movie studio is hoping to pull in the high-schoolstudent-willing-to-do-anything-but-read-the-book-forclass demographic.

Everyone’s favorite orphan-turned-vigilante’s latest feature film, The Dark Knight, is now in the test screening stage of post-production. Which basically means if any uppity audience member feels the need to complain about seeing a dead actor on screen, they’re going to. Of course one pre-screener audience complained about a scene in the Dark Knight where (SPOILER!) the Joker supposedly fakes being dead and appears in a body bag at one point.

Yeah that could be weird to see a few months after Ledger died, but really who are we to be offended by such sights.

Max and the Wild Things’ (above) movie may very well be dead before dawn.

as some of the audience was with the film’s tonality, it seems that the adult fans are upset with WB’s plans to axe what they see as a possibly great film. Even Academy Award-winning actor Forest Whitaker (The Last King of Scotland), who plays the film’s main Wild Thing, Ira, is weighing in on the issue.

In an interview with MTV, Whitaker stated that “[The dark scenes] are the point of the movie, and I hope that they maintain that point, because I think children can identify with a character who is upset.” He adds that, “These are real issues that the character deals with, and I hope that [the filmmakers] continue to explore them, because kids need to see that; they need to see that other kids are dealing with it.” He also said that his kids weren’t scared during the movie.

No college student can enact change in studio decision-making. The only people who can fight for the movie now are Jonze and his producers (one of whom is Tom Hanks). I don’t know about you, but I’m going to close my eyes ever so tightly and hope that this movie gets made. Warner Bros. could be throwing away one of the greats.

If the family who really mourned his loss isn’t offended by it, then none of us should be.

It’s still up in the air whether or not Warner Bros. is going to cut the scenes in question, and director Christopher Nolan has yet to comment on how he feels about the whole situation.

Zooey Deschanel is still working! HOORAH! The always hot Deschanel is set to star along side the fairer haired Chloe Sevigny in a film called Divorce Ranch.

Ranch is usually tasty but I don’t see how “Divorce Ranch” could be anything other than bitter sweet.

Ed Norton is up to his old antics again. That is to say he’s fighting both the studio (Marvel) and the director (Louis Leterrier) over final cut of the new movie Incredible Hulk. Norton stars as the titular hero and rumor has it that he’s not pleased with the cut of the film that he’s seen, apparently refusing to take part in the publicity leading up to its release unless he gets to recut it to his liking. Norton’s shanghaied films in the past that he’s worked on (American History X for one). Let’s hope he’s in the right on this one.

If you have any questions about a movie you’re looking forward to, email me at beef@lbunion.com.

LITERATURE

TEXT AND THE CITY THIS WEEK: OPRAH, YOU SUCK! Alright, Oprah, this has gone far enough. Your book club has officially ruined my life, and now we’re throwing down. It all started in sixth grade. Young and impressionable, I read a book by Wally Lamb called I Know This Much is True and loved it. Two weeks later, you put it on your book club list. A week after that, my teacher was reading it. Shortly thereafter, she declared it “inappropriate for a child of my age.” She took the book away, and I was left with nothing but Goosebumps and Baby Sitters Club to console me. I let it slide. After all, I was but a fifth grader, and you were a highly influential large black woman; you could’ve crushed me with your pinky finger.

The next year, a friend recommended White Oleander to me. I went to the bookstore to purchase it, only to be confronted with a heinous “O” symbol obscuring the cover art. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even bring myself to see the movie.

To this day, I don’t know what I’m missing.

In eighth grade, it was The Bluest Eye. That one made sense. I couldn’t be angry at you for recommending Toni Morrison— she was famous long before you adopted her as your own. I silently hoped that our feud was at an end. Perhaps it was too much to hope for.

Then you ruined Joyce Carol Oates. That was unforgivable. And Sula? Really? You already had a Toni Morrison book on your list, did you really need to add another?

More importantly, did you have to choose the exact Toni Morrison book that I was currently reading?

East of Eden, Anna Karenina, Light in August, As I Lay Dying, and The Sound and the Fury? 2003 through 2005 proved that you were just plain lazy. I mean, come on! Steinbeck, Tolstoy and Faulkner? You didn’t even read those. And three Faulkner books in a row? You really couldn’t think of two more world-famous authors to disgrace? I can picture it now. Whatever schmuck you’ve got picking your book club selections approaches you on set and says, “Hey, there’s this new crazy author called Mark Twain. All the kids are talking about him. He’s kind of unknown, but he uses the ‘N’ word. It’s super edgy.” “I love it,” you say, “Add it to the book club.”

You dropped off in 2006. I was unimpressed by Night when I read it three years prior. And besides, it seemed like the kind of heart-wrenching emotional dribble I expected of your book club. I thought the coast was clear until last year. In one fell swoop, you ruined both Middlesex and Cormac McCarthy and in doing so, removed all remaining meaning from my life.

So Oprah, I beg of you, cease and desist!

I don’t want to hurt you physically as you’ve wounded me emotionally. Really, I want to like you, but you just make it so damned hard. Look, all I’m saying is I read all those books before they went on your list and I know you didn’t choose them yourself. I don’t know what high school dropout you have picking your books, but whoever it is, for the love of God, fire them and hire me.

ERIN HICKEY

BORN STANDING UP

BY STEVE MARTIN MATT DUPREE

U

sually, a preference for audiobooks over their paper counterparts invites scorn from the literati crowds, but Steve Martin rises above it with his autobiography. I can say with absolute certainty that the audiobook is vastly superior thanks completely to Steve’s masterful reading and recitation of jokes that caught his eye over the years.

Say what you will about his movie career, Steve is without equal in his stand-up performances. He began his act as a corollary to his magic shows, something to keep the crowd entertained on a higher level of involvement. But he found himself pulling away from his traditional magic tricks for his gag bits (such as the “glove into dove” trick, which involved Steve tossing a glove into the air and then watching it flop to the ground only to immediately launch himself into his next trick). He also became more frequent in his use of absurdist one-liners to punctuate his routine (“Hi, I’m Steve Martin and I’ll be out in a moment. While I’m waiting for me, I’d like to do a few tricks.”).

This is all lovingly included in the

autobiography, with Steve’s readings of these jokes ultimately remaining the high point of the book.

Of course, Steve doesn’t shy away from the bleaker side of his life before and during his rise to stand-up fame.

His emotional distance from his father is painstakingly recalled, as was his estrangement from his sister as he grew up. But thanks to Steve’s narration, you can sense that there is no bitterness toward his early life. He marks his reconciliation with his sister as well as his father, and admits that he was at his father’s side when he died.

Martin also contrasts vividly the meticulous self-examination and practice that allowed for his success. He makes no claims at being naturally gifted, but rather insists that it was his grit and determination that allowed him to hone his absurdist persona. He remembers fondly his time spent at the Bird Cage Theatre in Knott’s Berry Farm where he would do four shows a day performing in a melodrama and then doing an olio show of his magic afterward. He mentions with fondness his brief time spent at Long Beach State, including staring across a parking lot so massive that you “could see the curvature of the Earth.” For those unaware, Steve Martin briefly pursued a philosophy degree at our fair college, driven towards it by W. Somerset Maugham’s novel The Razor’s Edge and his thengirlfriend Stormy who had suggested he read it. Unfortunately, his brush with philosophy led him to double his efforts at developing his comedy, and he became our school’s first

ridiculously famous dropout (he would be joined in 1969 by Steven Spielberg). What’s great about the autobiography in this section is that Steve dissects the process of redefining his act mercilessly, breaking down his thoughts and goals and translating them from the intensely personal justifications and motivations to reasoned arguments as to why he needed to reinvent himself and comedy in general. His discarding of the setup/punchline paradigm and juxtaposition of the serious with the nonsensical changed the landscape of American comedy, and this hearty and warm autobiography insightfully tells the story of how he did it. And if you still don’t want to buy the audiobook, well excuuuuuuuuse me!

Scribner, 224 pages, $25.00 Audiobook: $35.95

THE INCOGNITO LOUNGE

AND OTHER POEMS BY DENIS JOHNSON JOSEPH BRYANT My first exposure to Denis Johnson was through his excellent collection of interlinked short stories, Jesus’ Son. I ate up his prose greedily; it was filled with hallucinatory imagery and lucid, yet profound, themes. If Johnson’s style was so poetic in his short fiction, I had to know how his poetry read. After some research (i.e. Wikipedia), I found a collection of his poetry that had the most intriguing title—The Incognito Lounge and Other Poems.

Not surprisingly, his prose and poetry are wonderfully similar.

Johnson uses imagery to delve into the most mundane of settings and pull their significance to the forefront. In one poem, “White, White Collars,” Johnson deals with the typical 9 to 5 office job, but shows the disillusioned surrealism that the workers experience with lines like “…you know our clothes

/ woke up this morning and swallowed us like jewels.”

Johnson’s biggest strength may be his imagery, but his poetry is also injected with intriguing social commentary. His characters are apathetic drug addicts, middle-aged, rouge-covered cocktail waitresses, disinterested lovers, and child abusers—but he manages to give all of them legitimate care as a writer.

That isn’t to say that he makes them all out to be victims of social circumstances or repression, but rather he always gives them a fair chance. He doesn’t sugar coat anything. He lets the reader sort things out for themselves.

Denis Johnson has created an enjoyable read and I have no gripes with his content or style. I do have one issue with the book though: it’s impossibly hard to find at any major retail chain (as is often the case with poetry collections). No Barnes & Noble

or Borders has it—your best bet is to go online. I found mine for an alright price on Amazon. Or you could always rifle through the shelves of a used bookstore, but that’s a big gamble that could lead to days of treasure hunting.

The Incognito Lounge and Other Poems very well might make you think, but there’s also the possibility that it could make you depressed. Denis Johnson loves everything about everyone, as evidenced by the line “The world will burst like an intestine in the sun, / the dark turn to granite and the granite to a name, but there will always be somebody riding the bus / through these intersections strewn with broken glass,” from the poem “Passengers” at the end of the book.

Doesn’t that make you feel warm and fuzzy inside? Yeah? Go buy it.

Carnegie-Mellon University Press, 78 pages, $14.95 UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

COMICS

You’re STUCK Here! by Victor! Perfecto

yourestuckhere@gmail.com

Crossword puzzles provided by BestCrosswords.com. Used with permission.

Across

Caramel>You by Ken C.

Crayon Box by David Faulk

myspace.com/crayonboxbyfaulk

1- Lofty 5- Rowing implements 9- European ermine 14- Et ___ (and others) 15- German Mrs 16- Lid 17- Grumble 18- Chicken, e.g.

19- Conscious 20- By the day 22- Insoluble protein 24- Sigmund’s daughter 25- Diatribe 26- Frenzied woman 29- Played the part 31- Senator Specter 32- Floating ice 33- Blubber 36- Mark of Zorro 37- Sad poet 40- John in England 41- Thanksgiving tuber 42- Catchall abbr.

43- Black-wooded tree 45- Embankment 47- Slants 48- Reliquary 51- Blunt 52- Conductor

54- Fifth letter of the Greek alphabet 58- Overjoy 59- Window piece 61- Grape plant 62- Tree of the birch family 63- Chieftain, usually in Africa 64- Iowa city 65- Thorny flowers 66- Deprived of sensation 67- Take a break

Down 1- Compact by pounding 2- Moisturizer ingredient 3- One telling tales 4- Insecticide and weed-killer 5- Annoy 6- Smell, usually a pleasant one 7- Uncooked 8- Remain sullen 9- Rarely encountered 10- In the direction of 11- Egg-shaped 12- Lofty nest 13- Tendency 21- Silly

23- ___ Park, Colorado 26- Resembling a maze 27- Neighborhood 28- K-6 29- Single-celled aquatic plant 30- Loop 32- Celebration 33- Failure 34- First-class 35- Playthings 38- Crowbar 39- Informs 44- Monetary unit of Venezuela 45- One with a bullet?

46- Goes in 47- Majestic 48- Sully 49- Shout of exultation 50- Peruses 51- Fabric of jeans 53- Amenable 55- Corona fruit 56- Till bills 57- Treehouse used by birds 60- ___ Darya (Asian river)

FEEDBACK! e-mail editor Victor Camba: yourestuckhere@gmail.com Or drop off comments at the Union office Student Union Office 256a

ANSWERS Koo Koo and Luke by Jesse Blake

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

http://www.funatronics.com/kookoo

CREATIVE ARTS Sean Boulger And yes, it seems as though I’ve died here.

And yes, it seems as though I’m buried over there.

I might have kissed, with whitest lips, some silly girl, for a fleeting glimpse.

But I would show that where she goes, I would not care, or share, or know.

Take all these things that I’ve been stowing, for I leave knowing that I won’t need them where I’m going.

So I will run, till my legs give way; until my muscles die and decay, and sinew snaps from ivory bone, and there I’ll lie, making my new home (which may or may not be where I am really feeling I should lie).

Either way, I’ll escape from my cave and hope that my eyes will be safe from the blinding sun I’ll see; what were those shadows behind me?

Despite all this munificence, my disappointed countenance tells me that these things we hold are truly worth their weight in gold.

But it’s as though we’ve all forgot they’re as heavy as a pound of thought.

But will my fingers, cold and white, ever find the will to write words with power to incite the urge to rise, rebell, and fight?

Or rage against that dying light? ...Or will I even care when my halo floats above my hair?

And yes, it seems as though I’ve died here.

And so, we all will ramble on and on, until we’re dead and gone, and endings come through halfway homes, disjointed stories, slate-grey tombs.

Illustration

And when we all are dead and gone, what will we have, but what we’ve done?

And all the things we do and say will draw the lines, fill in the shade.

James Kislingbury

I grow tired of all these thoughts, and all these words, and used-up love.

I grow tired of slanting rhyme, of actions echoing through time.

KATIE REINMAN

Podland Speagle Pt. 3: Compromise in Adulthood or the False Prophet Michaël Veremans

UNION WEEKLY

Illustration

Prentice—who had a name because he lived outside the pods—recalled the moments, the days and eternities, before setting off.

He’d carried out business mostly in an officepod, which, in turn, was sectioned off into even smaller pods to make sure no one would have to see anyone else all day. There were signs all over the inside of the officepod that read, “Stop reading this story and go back to your pods!”

And in the podworld, he didn’t always want to function in an officepod, but for Pren, like everyone else really, adulthood meant compromise. He’d been well aware of it and even got angry-resentful about it, but this eventual capitulation of his only led him back into his homepod at night and visa versa the next day. Maybe he’d just felt pangs of pride or stubbornness, but his decisions to adhere and add to the rules of the pods still plagued him.

Fire raged and burnt down all the forests and poisoned all the water and only the pods remained, living on the backs of secondhand sufferment. The smoke it created didn’t leave the pods ever and made the podpeople, in turn, never want to venture out. And when he’d talked about leaving the pods, no one said he could, no one said he could. Leave what a False Prophet once called prisonpod.

Normally, he would have laughed at the term prisonpod, but not when the Prophet said it. Flickering voices had carried His name for a while to Pren’s ears, and one night he just met Him, this was three years ago. He used to talk and say things that were nonsense mixed with suggestions that were so sly, you felt his sway, as though he were a pod.

“You can’t leave, you are the rhythm, the heartbeat,” He told Prentice one night after a drunken, smoken session where a thunderstorm was the hazy beat: anything but unity. But the Prophet had His congregation of unwitting and hopeless—like the dying couple—and they had an office outside of the pods, but not outside of the border walls.

One day, before he left, Pren got a text message from a friend saying that the Prophet was last seen downtown tragging a piece of cardboard with ZION scrawled across one side in sharpie. The next text message said that He had broken a social law of the pods. The last text message said that no one wants to get older. So He was a False Prophet.

The memories of compromise sped back to Pren in that second of thought—a vision over the broad flat desert—and they waded away slowly, leaving him with questions, leaving him lost to the fact that he was outside of walls, outside of pods, and was nowhere, where no one is ever found. Compromise in the pods pervaded unhealthy; it caused so many people to go crazy and die and it drove a Prophet to another land (but he came back). Pren looked up at the hazy sun that was all white and yellow.

16 APRIL 2008

17

CULTURE Y

ou’re in the grocery store and some sixteen-year-old boy with eyeliner asks with youth-riddled enthusiasm, “Paper or plastic?” Quick! What’s your answer? Don’t let the oppressing fluorescent lights of your local supermarket hinder your ability to make an educated decision.

First, you may want to consider where those paper bags are coming from. Yeah, you guessed it—trees. The journey from the logging industry to your grocery store is an arduous one that consumes chemicals, electricity, and fossil fuels in the process, but when you recycle, reuse, or leave them to decompose in a landfill, they slowly return nutrients to the earth or can be converted into useful products.

Next, take a look at that plastic bag, threatening to amputate your fingers under the weight of a gallon of milk. It’s a petroleum product and, as you may know, the oil industry is the source of worldwide financial, political (and apparently finger joint) turmoil. It makes up for 4% of the world’s oil production and is made into polyethylene —a product that can be easily reused and recycled. If this plastic bag’s fate is the local landfill, then chances are it will stay there, fully intact, for thousands of years. If it’s recycled it can be melted and reformed into anything from hospital grade products to mouse pads. Keep in mind that not all plastic bags are recyclable.

In the end, both paper and plastic use up natural resources and inevitably end up in a landfill. Paper uses more resources, but is easier to recycle and holds more volume. Plastic uses non-renewable resources, but can be recycled into something practical.

But wait, there is a choice that stands above these dueling containers—a reusable bag. Made from renewable resources, Left: These Anya light, durable, and easy to clean, these bags have been used in Hindmarch Europe for years. It’s time Americans stopped talking about reusable bags our eventual environmental demise and actually took some were available individual action. for a limited So, the choice is yours. If you do choose paper or plastime at Whole tic, do your best to thoroughly reuse them around the Foods and sold house before trashing them. But, if you can make that so quickly that dollar investment, your planet—and that kid with the they now bid for eyeliner—will thank you. as much as $300 on eBay. RACHEL RUFRANO

: Mix a little Powder with a little bit of Bush and what do you get? A smokin’ hot 19-yearold bold enough to make Cocaine Kate seriously re-evaluate her priorities. Who knew that the love child of Bush frontman Gavin Rossdale and fashion designer and song-writer Pearl Lowe would grow up to be so fashionably feisty? Your biological clock is ticking, Moss, and to your dismay we’ve chosen Daisy Lowe as our spunky muse o’ the week and here’s why: Daisy Lowe isn’t your average model/socialite/Rock n’ Roll daughter. She has an eye for colors, shapes and textures, and is undoubtedly gutsy when it comes to coordinating couture. Like all good rock n’ roll, Lowe’s style is loud and defiant, mixed with sweet riffs of bright hues and unique patterns.

Lowe wears shapes and sizes any amateur fashionista wouldn’t dare try on and no, she won’t lose weight for you, you cocaine-encouraging fashion houses, she’s classier than that! At a reasonable size of 8 for a height of 5’10, Daisy Lowe proclaimed, “I’m hoping to change the whole size zero debate by absolutely refusing to lose weight.” Lowe’s hopes paid off as label Agent Provocateur chose her over Moss as their new face. Take that Coke-Kate!

The majority of Lowe’s fashion focuses on outfits that are mostly black, paired with a dab of vibrant color. Her signature silhouettes include exaggerated bubble skirts with more lace tulle than Madonna could have ever ruined, fitted baby doll cuts, and that beloved little black mini.

But don’t mistake Daisy’s ballsy choice of shapes for a lack of comfort in her daily stylings. You will find Daisy’s spunky fashion personality at its best in jeans, a t-shirt, electric blue Mary Jane pumps and a fitted tuxedo blazer. With a variety of color and shape, and a natural body fearlessly feminine enough to try anything, Daisy Lowe achieves a style that no other can compete with: bold, yet comfortable, provocative and spontaneous.

There’s nothing sexier than the product of a steamy love affair and Daisy Lowe is proof of that.

KATHY MIRANDA

UNION WEEKLY

16 APRIL 2008

FINGERPRINTS 4612 E 2nd St. in Belmont Shore

Ever seen a little movie called High Fidelity? Prepare to walk into Rob’s world—only in this case his name is Rand and his posse of elitist snobs are far less ostracizing. If you’re looking for a limited release CD, DVD or even the vinyl, Fingerprints either has it or will get it for you. Plus, you may not have a choice considering that it’s really the only record store to have survived the rise of mp3s.

Rand’s posse of elitist snobs is more than helpful and great for those long chats about more obscure artists like Herman Dune. Fingerprints boasts an incredible selection despite its petite size—so much so that it has been called the “mini Amoeba records.” The used section consistently delivers gems that you might not find elsewhere, nor expect from a record store. Sure, you could sell your old Sugar Ray CDs on eBay, but then where would you get that healthy dose of rock snob ridicule?

But there’s a great payoff for withstanding the intimidation—something much greater than just tough skin. Fingerprints reaches an untouchable level of awesome when they host a slew of in-store shows, often for free, with artists like Tegan & Sarah, Damien Rice, and Fionn Regan.

As far as Sunday afternoons go, there is no better way to spend it then listening to an in-store exclusive of your favorite up and comer. It waits for you on 2nd street and promises to be your new best friend. It’s a cool place, even if all you’re doing is browsing.

Come on, this is as close as our generation is going to get to a record store experience, so ditch that new Best Buy and find music at a shop that is bound to make your top five list.

RACHEL RUFRANO & KATRINA SAWHNEY

Above: Fingerprints sign signaling the $1 rack; the Tegan & Sara in-store performance.

10

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“Putting the 33 back in Sw33t!”

The Grunion

Volume 62 Issue 11

Wednesday, April 16th 2008

Disclaimer: This page is satire. We are not ASI, nor do we represent the CSULB campus. Send rags to EarlGrey@lbunion.com

LBUNION.COM

That’s Just Way Too Much Ketchup

BY HOWIE BARNES

The dialogue (above) took place at around 12:30pm Wednesday afternoon and also in the 2nd act of Mamet’s play.

Glengarry Glen Ross Scene Accidentally Captured Verbatim in AIM Conversation

BY EARL GREY GRUNION DEMAGOGUE RAINRITE, PA — Area high schoolers Daniel Toleman and Roy Ketchum unknowingly transcribed dialogue from David Mamet’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play Glengarry Glen Ross through an AOL Instant Message conversation this past Sunday, much to the amusement of Toleman’s Penn State alum sister, Maggie.

“Dan had left his AIM window open after leaving the house,” she recollects.

“I thought the banter looked really familiar, so I started perusing my library. Sure enough, it was Mamet.”

The American playwright, also the writer and director of major motion pictures such as State and Main and Spartan, is well known for his quick and abrasive language, apparently now likened to inter-

net discourse and text messaging.

The two high school freshman emulated, verbatim, a brief conversation between the characters George Aaronow and Dave Moss, both real estate agents. The only time they strayed from the written dialoge was when Roy informed Daniel he would “brb,” a popular acronym for “be right back.” and did not return, prompting Daniel to write “k” (O.K.) and then “heellllooooo?”

However, Maggie insists that her brother and his friend had never read Mamet, nor “anything not titled Lord of The Flies or The Giver.”

“No, they had no idea what they were doing. Which is weird, because that would mean they were talking about the killing of an actual goose.

“You see, in the play, it was a metaphor.

Mamet is really good at those.”

Hey man, I don’t want to tell you how to run your life or anything, but that’s just way too much ketchup. Don’t get me wrong, I love ketchup as much as anybody, but that’s just a bit extreme. I mean honestly, you’re just wasting ketchup at this point. There’s no way that you can justify that much ketchup.

You should scrape some off or something because that’s just an obscene amount of ketchup there.

Honestly, can I interest you in some Hot Dog with that ketchup? That’s so much ketchup, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat ketchup again (assuming there’s any ketchup left in the world now). I hope you’re happy. You can’t just go pouring ketchup all over the place and expect me to just overlook it as personal preference. That’s like a universe of ketchup on there. I’ve seen a lot of ketchup put on stuff before, but this takes the cake… and covers it with ketchup. Can I interest you in some French Fries with that ketchup? Or maybe just some sort of ketchup sponge?

Hey, Heinz called, they need you to slow down on the ketchup, pal. The tomatoes are going to request UN intervention. I’m not even sure there’s anything under that ketchup anymore. It’s like the Exxon Valdez, but with ketchup. It’s an inexplicable amount of ketchup.

That’s enough ketchup to feed and clothe all the world’s orphans with ketchup. I can think of at least a million better uses for all that ketchup.

Seriously bro, I don’t want to be a broken record about this, but that’s a level of ketchup that mortal man was not meant to know. Go grab a ladle and start bailing out ketchup. That is seriously just too much damn ketchup.

Don’t tell me you’re actually going to eat all that ketchup. That’s way too much ketchup to put into your body.

That amount of ketchup should last you the rest of your life. Your kids should inherit some of that ketchup.

You could swim in that. It’s just too much fucking ketchup.

How are you even going to eat that? You’ll get ketchup everywhere.

I don’t care how many napkins you put in your lap, you’ll never wear those jeans again. Please say that all came from a bottle of ketchup and not those little packets? God, that would take hours. That’s soooo much ketchup. That’s gonna burn your mouth raw. It just can’t be good for you to eat even a fraction of that much ketchup. It just can’t.

Honestly, I’m writing my congressman right now to get some sort of bill passed. That much ketchup ought to be illegal or something.

Do you even know how ridiculous you look in front of that fucking pile of ketchup? I didn’t even know that much ketchup existed. That’s WAY too much ketchup.

INSIDE Family Celebrates Ascent From Middle Class to Upper-Middle Class

By Throwing Away Leftovers Van Nuys husband and father of 3, Stew Patterson, informed his family last night that saving the remnants of their pot roast dinner for the next day’s lunch would no longer be neccessary, as Mr. Patterson had recently been tenured at Van Nuys Community College. He also announced they would PAGE Y? soon be getting HBO.

Friend’s Nickname Actually Ironic

Your brother’s roommate, Dane “Whitey” Boyd is in reality an African-American. The name is purposeful in its contradiction of this obvious fact.

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