OPINIONS TRIPPING ON MY DIGNITY THIS STUDENT CARES ABOUT STAIRS ANDY KNEIS
H Illustration RACHEL RUFRANO
ello. I am just a student enjoying a nice day at California State University, Long Beach. Yes, I do not have a care in the world just strolling along enjoying the campus. Well, what’s this in front of me? Stairs? Heh, that shouldn’t be a problem at all. I have come across more than a few stairs in my years and I have mastered each and every one of them; I am in college after all! Well, here I go, taking my first step. Oops! My day is ruined. These stairs are way too far apart. I look so uncool walking up these stairs—everyone in college is laughing at me and throwing garbage in my hair. Yes, Union readers, this was me two years ago on my first day of college: the worst day of my life. I have been in my fair share of uncomfortable situations, but I have been able to use my wit, or my knack for lying on the floor completely motionless, to get out of them with my dignity intact. I will admit though, that the widely spaced stairs on the CSULB campus have bested me. There is no possible way to walk up
UNION WEEKLY
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the stairs on campus while still looking cool. You can either try to skip a step and look like you’re some nerd trying to run to class (I don’t think so!) or you can walk up the steps one at a time like some sort of dumb, baby penguin. Don’t even get me started about going down them! Some people might want to try and argue that these stairs were created so that vehicles could drive on them in case of an emergency. Well, don’t. Don’t even try it. There is an emergency happening right now. I am living in fear on my own campus. How can I go about my day-to-day activities on campus knowing that somewhere out there a set of stairs threatens to mess up my cool stairs-walk that I’ve been practicing in front of my mirror? That might give you an idea of what I go through every day. What can we do about these stairs? I’m glad you asked; thanks for the interest, it really means a lot. Sometimes after I have my recurring stair nightmare I will stay up and think of solutions. I believe I have a revolutionary idea. I can’t believe no one has thought of it before: pave over the stairs so they become a hill and then put Segways at the bottom. Awesome! It will be like a college from the future. Plus there has never been someone that looked uncool on a Segway. Problem solved.
JAMES KISLINGBURY
A
s I watched Sarah Palin walk up to the podium of the Republican National Convention, I realized something: Sarah Palin’s children have horrible names. Trig, Track, Piper. The most acceptable name in the bunch, Willow, is a name that is shared with a midget knight and a lesbian witch. Even Trig, upon hearing his name, thought, “Damn, I may be a mentally handicapped baby, but even I think my name is retarded.” Giving your child a unique name should be considered a form of child abuse. By giving your kid a cute name like Porsche, you’re sentencing them to a life of mockery and confusion. It’s like forcing your child to be fat or Polish. The reason celebrities can name their children after things in their fridge is because, like murder, they’re rich enough to get away with it.
JAMES KISLINGBURY
WOULD PROBABLY STILL BUG THE HECK OUT OF ME
Illustration
One of the most important lessons to learn in college is how to occupy yourself in class when the lecture just isn’t cutting it. In fact I’m fairly certain the concept of General Education requirements was invented in order to sharpen the imaginations and doodling skills of Literature majors in their math classes. Doodling can, of course, be a risky project since most teachers demand some cursory gesture of participation; not to mention that there are only so many different ways of drawing a T-Rex with a machete on fire. So I developed a game that’s somewhere between people-watching and storytelling. I pick someone from the other side of the classroom and imagine the story of their life. It may sound a bit perverse, but it’s very entertaining. See that guy with his hood up in the back corner? Maybe he was born in Minnesota but moved out here to follow his dream of starting a surfboard company. Scratch that, he WAS born in Minnesota, and his surfboard company is called Cheeky’s Boards (he has, like, no cheekbones). Maybe he’s a professional masseur who’s using his hoodie to avoid being recognized as the Panhandle Punisher, a multiple-homicide suspect wanted for questioning by federal marshals. The possibilities are endless, folks. What about the girl with the freckles, cautiously avoiding having to answer any questions from the professor? Well, it could be that she’s just not prepared for class today, but I’d prefer to imagine that she has a deeply held fear of public speaking ever since she fell off a stage at a grade school talent show (she also developed a fear of public plate-spinning). At first, this game was just an exercise in creativity, a way to pass time and hone my skills as a raconteur. Then I realized how little I actually do know about these people, and how much I’ve probably missed out on. Everyone on this campus is an individual with stories, joys, sorrows, losses and achievements entirely their own. The sheer mass of that much human experience is hard to fathom (especially when you don’t pay attention in math class). Now, at first realization of this saccharinely profound pronouncement, the journalist in me (the one I try to kill with alcohol) immediately wants to start wild blind interviews, but that would be dumb and time-consuming (not unlike this column). Besides, there’s no way the real stories could match the amazing yarns I’ve already spun about my classmates. Honestly, the sorority sister in the front could never hope to top my tale of how she once drove an ex-boyfriend to drive his car into a tree, where he thusly received a serious head injury and completely forgot they had ever dated in the first place. Give it a shot and let me know how it goes. And if you come up with some seriously juicy gossip, don’t forget to spread it around as the truth.
A PERSON BY ANY OTHER NAME
Though, at least as a culture, we stick to making our crappy names out of letters. In China, most of the nation shares the same surnames, so some couples have been forced to give their offspring unique names to stand out (because children should be treated like concept cars). One couple actually thought that naming their child the symbol “@” would be a good idea. The government wouldn’t allow this because being able to name your own child would constitute a freedom of some kind. You can’t pick your own name, but you can determine how you react to it being butchered. Look at my last name. Please say it out loud. There’s a ninetyeight percent chance that you did it wrong. I sound like a dick right now, don’t I? That’s how everyone else feels when you correct them on how to pronounce “Tamyra” or whatever your name may be. What you should instead do, is smile and nod like every other polite person on the planet instead of grinding the conversation to a halt, because the reality is that no one cares if your name is taken after the Gaelic spelling. So, be a good parent, give your kid a real name and spell it right. A kid isn’t a dog—people shouldn’t laugh when they hear its name. And if you’re stuck with a screwy name, don’t be an ass when somebody inevitably gets it wrong, just roll with it instead. You might be justified when you correct them, but there’s being right and then there’s being an ass.
LIVE AND LET BLAZE A REBUTTAL TO BRIAN NEWHARD’S “THIS IS YOUR CONCERT ON POT” (9/3) MATT DUPREE
As someone who smoked pot at least once, I can assure you all that Brian Newhard has never smoked pot. By the content of his article “This Is Your Concert On Pot,” it becomes painfully clear that his knowledge of marijuana is based mainly on stoner caricature and Anti-drug commercials. I was surprised he had the selfcontrol not to suggest that pot-addled concertgoers might turn cannibal during the show and eat the performers, or at least attempt it. I’m sure Brian’s a nice kid and all, but he’s definitely overreached his intelligence with selfrighteousness here. First and foremost, let’s just consider Brian’s concert setting. By his own account, there are elaborate video screens and light shows, personal space is nonexistent, dancing must be sexy and old people are strictly verboten. Perhaps I should suggest Bryan expand his concert palette to events other than Soul Train tapings. To say that this definition of a concert is limited would be like saying glaciers are a mite sluggish. And before I get to the pot side of things, here’s another helpful hint: Listening
to a band on the way to their show is not, in reality, disallowed. It’s unimaginative, certainly, but acceptable so long as no songs that will be on the night’s set-list are queued up. I’m sure that factoid was included by Brian to prove his veteran status as an attendee of music events (are we impressed yet?), but it still doesn’t make him qualified to make other people’s decisions for them. Probably the most blaringly unfortunate aspect of the article was the strained mockery of the marijuana user. Complete with hasty stereotypes and all-tooobvious unfamiliarity, the assertions were as laughable as they were confusing. To restate the obvious, the munchies are not an unavoidably Sisyphean curse by which a pothead must immediately eat their weight in Oreos. Nor does smoking marijuana immediately have an amnesiac effect. Honestly, I rarely notice anything that goes on around me at concerts because I’m not there to make new friends. Live and let live, I say; or in this case, live and let blaze. I personally gave up smoking pot (I wasn’t enjoying myself), but that was my choice. I would never be so crassly dictatorial as to hand down some arbitrary set of concert commandments. So, Brian, the next time you find yourself seriously disturbed by the harmless personal choices that other people make, may I suggest you register your woes on some sort of ignorable blog. I checked ahead, and CryinNewhard.blogspot.com is available. UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
KATIE REINMAN
MATT DUPREE
OPINIONS
Illustration
POSTINDUSTRIAL HOMESICK BLUES
ISSUE 63.02 vince.union@gmail.com kathym.union@gmail.com
MATT DUPREE matt.dupree@gmail.com Senior Editor KATRINA SAWHNEY katrina.union@gmail.com News Director RACHEL RUFRANO rachel.union@gmail.com Opinions Editor VINCENT GIRIMONTE vince.union@gmail.com Sports Editor VICTOR CAMBA victorpc.union@gmail.com Comics Editor KATIE REINMAN reinman.union@gmail.com Creative Arts Editor SOPHISTICATED BEAR bear.grun@gmail.com Grunion Editor CAITLIN CUTT caitlincutt.union@gmail.com Literature Editor & PR JOE BRYANT joeb.union@gmail.com Entertainment Editor SEAN BOULGER seanb.union@gmail.com Music Editor & PR KATHY MIRANDA kathym.union@gmail.com Culture Editor CLAY COOPER, STEVEN CAREY Graphic Designers
JOE BRYANT Copy Editing Coordinator CLAY COOPER Internet Caregiver
clay.union@gmail.com
KATRINA SAWHNEY katrina.union@gmail.com Advertising Executive ALLAN STEINER allan.union@gmail.com Advertising Executive VINCENT GIRIMONTE, JOE BRYANT Advertising Representatives JOE BRYANT On-Campus Distribution VINCENT GIRIMONTE Off-Campus Distribution ANDREW WILSON, MICHAEL VEREMANS, ALAN PASSMAN, CHRISTINE HODINH, JESSE BLAKE, JAMES KISLINGBURY, DAVID FAULK, PAUL HOVLAND, CHAD HUFF, HILLARY CANTU, RUSSELL CONROY, KEN C., BRIAN NEWHARD, LAURA SARDISCO, SERGIO ASCENCIO, ERIC BRYAN, LEAH MCKISSOCK, ANDY KNEIS Contributors Disclaimer and Publication Information The Union Weekly is published using ad money and partial funding provided by the Associated Students, Inc. All Editorials are the opinions of the writer, and are not necessarily the opinions of the Union Weekly, the ASI, or of CSULB. All students are welcome and encouraged to be a part of the Union Weekly staff. All letters to the editor will be considered for publication. However, CSULB students will have precedence. All outside submissions are due by Thursday, 5 PM to be considered for publishing the following week and become property of the Union Weekly. Please include name, major, class standing, and phone number for all submissions. They are subject to editing and will not be returned. Letters will be edited for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and length. The Union Weekly will publish anonymous letters, articles, editorials and illustrations, but they must have your name and information attached for our records. Letters to the editor should be no longer than 500 words. The Union Weekly assumes no responsibility, nor is it liable, for claims of its advertisers. Grievance procedures are available in the Associated Students business office. Questions? Comments? MAIL : 1212 Bellflower Blvd. Suite 256A, Long Beach, CA 90815 PHONE : 562.985.4867 FAX : 562.985.5684 E-MAIL : info@lbunion.com WEB : www.lbunion.com
LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
TIME TRAVEL AND BURRITOS AND YOU MIKE “BEEF” PALLOTTA
B
urritos and Time Travel—two of my favorite things. They’re also two of my favorite things in this issue. If you check out the feature for this week (pg. 12-13), you’ll notice a lot of burritos. A plethora of Mexican delights, but this is more than just a feature about burritos, it’s about criminals who make burritos. Referred to as the “Burrito Project,” every week a group of people get together in someone’s kitchen and cook up some burritos to give to the homeless. I won’t go any further into details, since you should just read the article, but these burrito-slinging ne’er-do-wells, at least that’s how they’re seen by the law, are busting their asses for a greater cause, much like the time traveler John Titor. For a full, in-depth look at John Titor and the book detailing his exploits, take a look at the Lit page (pg. 18)—you’ll probably want to read that before you continue with this. The idea of John Titor, whether it’s all a hoax or not, fuels the imagination in ways only Back to the Future or Quantum Leap has done in years prior. But the mix of John Titor and burritos in the same issue let my imagination run wild. The idea to print the paper on giant tortillas, at one point, became a serious consideration. Luckily I didn’t let anyone else in on the idea, for fear of losing my job. The idea of John Titor going back in time and stopping tragic assassinations or catastrophic events, while only using burritos (the Boston Massacre could’ve been a joyous food fight if John Titor presented burritos for the Bostonians to throw at the redcoats, instead of letting them turn to snowballs) did cross my mind. Maybe John Titor has caused these deaths in the past. John Titor could’ve traveled to 1980 to try and put right
what once went wrong by saving John Lennon’s life. Titor, burrito-in-hand, sees Mark David Chapman approach John Lennon outside of his apartment building in New York, and runs up in an attempt to avert Chapman’s attention with a tasty burrito. In doing so, Chapman sees a burrito wielding maniac run up to John, and he pulls out a gun to protect his beloved idol. Chapman’s pudgy fingers and poor eyesight cause him to accidently shoot Lennon instead of Titor. John Titor then becomes the catalyst to the tragedy rather than the hero who rewrites the past. Burritos and time travel. Not since Marty McFly mixed an almanac and time travel has such a volatile combination been concocted. The real lesson learned this week is that you can be a burrito-dispensing hero, and a time-traveling hero, but not a burrito-dispensing-time-traveling hero.
LETTER TO THE EDITOR A WORD FROM THE EDITOR OF THE DAILY FORTY-NINER Dear Union Weekly, On behalf of the Daily Forty-Niner staff, I’d like to commend you on your first weekly newspaper. Establishing yourself as a newspaper is a noble effort, and I wish you the best of luck. I understand the difficulties and stress of printing a weekly newspaper. After all, the Summer Forty-Niner was on a weekly schedule. I’m so relieved to be back to the leisurely daily schedule. Now, I know, as a newspaper you are concerned with the truth. So I’m sure you’ll have no problem printing corrections for the factual errors you printed about the Daily Forty-Niner. The Daily Forty-Niner, like the Union Weekly, is put together by students. Students supply the content and students are responsible for the page layout. Layout may take place in another office, but with a daily publication it’s easier when editorial and design are separate.
I sincerely hope you do not feel ostracized from Cal State Long Beach, seeing as you are partially funded by Associated Students, Inc. There may not be a little “Union discontent,” in every student, but there is a little bit of every student in the Union Weekly—well, at least a little bit of every students’ wallet. From one editor to another, I’d like to again wish you luck on the upcoming year. I’m sure the next time you print something about the Daily Forty-Niner, you’ll call to confirm the facts. By the way, it wasn’t a Candyland cover. It was the CSULB version of “Alice in Wonderland.” Board games are so last year. Sincerely, Colleen Donnelly Editor in Chief Daily Forty-Niner UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
KATIE REINMAN
editorinbeef@gmail.com
Illustration
MIKE “BEEF” PALLOTTA Editor-In-Chief VINCENT GIRIMONTE Managing Editor KATHY MIRANDA Managing Editor
NEWS
AMERICAN FLAGS `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` AND A BAR ON `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` EVERY FLOOR ```````````````````````````````
PLAYING POLITICAL BALL
MICHAEL VEREMANS
A RUNDOWN OF WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW FOR THE ‘08 ELECTIONS KATRINA SAWHNEY
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Illustration KATIE REINMAN
olitics have the subtlety of a swift bat to the face. In this political season the ‘hard-ball’ aspects of politics are stronger and more pronounced than ever. And you know what, that old adage may actually hold some water this time. That said I will exploit the metaphor. So what’s the score? It’s no wonder that the eyes of the United States are all on the big-screen, watching the reruns and positively salivating at the play-by-plays all around them. That was to be expected. But in a world where countries are in such a state of constant change and revolution, it’s ironic and (shockingly!) self-indulgent that the attention of the super power of the free world is more interested in an election that was not just scheduled (and has been since the nation’s birth) but you could bet on sooner than the sun. So, since the United States seems to have forgotten about the rest of the world it would seem like a great time to recap bits of this political season. The campaigns that began early 2006 all may have been for naught. Like any good baseball fan knows, there’s no persuading the rival that, yeah, okay, Jeter does have a pretty impressive stat list. Party members and loyal fans alike will not be persuaded by reason because this is a battle of passions. The party members are staunch and as passionate as any of the bleacher seat fans. Party members like the die-hard fans stay true to their team. They stand steadfast by their colors through the ups and downs. From the company of the likeminded, they heckle
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like the best of them. They curse their stances, criticize their follow-through and make obscene comments about rivals’ mothers. The Republicans have taken an interesting path. Beyond the usual platforms and obvious jokes to be made about the unlikely pick of a Vice Pres. Candidate, they have decided to run as the underdog, regardless of the fact that they are the current party in power. The Republicans are playing the little guy, but no, they’re not fooling anyone. It’s cute, right? How many votes do you win for cute? Religion and speculated religion hasn’t been such a heavy hitter since Kennedy. Obama may or may not have grown up a Muslim. Regardless, he’s not pursuing this to appeal to the Muslim-American community so speculation is only as fruitful as his reflective actions. Sarah Palin belonged to a church whose members reportedly speak in tongues and then there’s the very apparent commitment to her pro-life stance. The religious allegiance of a Republican candidate is far more important to their political policies. But we are forced to wait for the viral transmissions of e-hate mail that has the wrath of a righteous jock itch, to die down before any of us hope to learn the facts. So what else is going on in the world, you ask? Dunno, the US is having an election. As far as on-campus fun goes, by the time you’re reading this, Week of Welcome will be underway. Head up to Friendship Walk if you’re looking for your niche. The on-campus clubs and organizations of all sort will be up there.
America sat Complacent last week, waiting for Gustav to sweep up all of the Republicans and take them to a Magical Land where they’ll eventually find out that they’ve had a Brain/ Heart/Courage after all. But it didn’t happen and the Grand Ol’ Party (the most ironic of terms) continues to steam full-speed-ahead into an Unenthusiastic Voting Public with a split platform and an asshole VP. Why are the Republicans going to lose this next election? Because all the Big Oil Money in the world can’t create a Grassroots Interest in a party that is uncompromisingly and perpetually Wrong, steeped in (Palin) Apologetics and Failure Rhetoric. Especially when the other Right Wing Party—the Democrats—have made it so easy to agree with them, promising nothing but Change in a country that’s been crawling around in it’s own Shit under the Tyranny of a Child, a trust-fund baby. Simply put, the Republican Party is Out of Touch with the America that will rally to the polls in ever decreasing numbers as the Revolution ferments. Governor Palin, the privileged Sycophant has let us know that she is the Candidate with the most Faith in McCain, that she really wants McCain to win. What does she credit to herself? Both fighting and supporting Big Oil. Accenting her Grassroots Experience and criticizing Obama’s Grassroots Support. Same team, just flip the coin and Philanthropy becomes Weakness and an Evil cum threat of Imminent Doom. Yes, the Big Business “Maverick” is in bed with his Big Oil accomplice, reeking noticeably of the PuppetGovernment Stench that Bolivarian Hugo Chavez Fabreezed out of his country before Capitalist Interests cost the life of more Venezuelans. Some surprising and encouraging news for the Serial Anarchist and Fundamentalist Christian alike: a vote for McCain is a vote for Biblical Prophesy. I’m talking about Armageddon, folks. Of all of the VP candidates, we get the most rigid Conservative “Reformer” siding with a Perceived Working Class while alienating Those really suffering from our Domestic Policies. Who could have asked for Olympia Snowe R-ME (there is no Oil in Maine)? No, we have someone with the social sense of a Rich Kid, referring to herself as a War Mom, someone so deep in Cold Neo-Conservative Rhetoric that she is willing to sacrifice her Country and their Happiness to it. The Nazi rally (again, I use the term loosely) that was the RNC was a demonstration in “Traditional” Beliefs, which are almost always synonymous with Socially Oppressive and sometimes downright Unethical Anti-Choice. The promises of a Small Government translate to a regime that doesn’t serve Those that need it, while giving the Economic Forces in the country that turned the Fourteenth Amendment into a Sham the Judicial GoAhead to begin the Real Exploitation of the American Public. Vague terms drip threatening from the tongues of a Right-Minority that will stab you in your eyes so you don’t have to worry about watching your back. Just get out of the Country and for Godsakes take the Bus.
SPORTS upperclassmen and impressive freshman. It’s kind of like showing up to a party with a bottle of Black Label in one hand and Jager in the other. The no. 23 team in the country is definitely worth getting out and supporting. They resume play at the Pyramid September 19th versus Santa Clara.
CLIFF NOTES FOR 2008 A QUICK FIVE FOR THE LBSU SPORTS FAN
3. Men’s Basketball
SERGIO ASCENCIO
RYAN ZUMMALLEN 1. Fan support is critical Photo RUSSELL CONROY
You, the reader, are the fans. If you’re not at the games, who’s gonna cheer? Well, the cheerleaders will, but they’re not out at all the events and we’re still on the fence with that group. Bookmark longbeachstate.com and jot down weekly home games in your itinerary. If you don’t have a planner, then just remember going to a sporting event is a good way to pre-game for the nighttime festivities, if you catch my drift.
2. Women’s Volleyball
Women’s Volleybal (5-1 at print time) is talented, to say the very least. As you already know from last issue (we know you read it) our team has a strong mix of veteran
The men’s basketball season won’t get underway until mid-November, but it’s never too early to talk round-ball. And you can’t talk about the 49ers squad without talking about D-Mo, D-Money, D-Nasty—a.k.a. senior Donovan Morris. The swingman finished 18th in the nation in scoring, and led the Big West averaging 21.2 points per game. Not to mention he is a visible face to the program, walking around campus, cap below the brow, always willing to talk it up for a minute. Yeah, we’re pals.
5. Men’s Water Polo
The Union has neglected the men’s water polo team for quite some time, but in 2008 they’re much deserved of some ink this time around. The 49er sea mammals started the season ranked no. 9 in the country, yet a preseason coach’s poll in the Mountain Pacific Sports Federation has them eighth in the conference. This is mainly because the conference is stacked with eight teams in the top ten. Water Polo is off to a good start, winning their first two matches of the year down in San Diego. Expect big things from a roster returning 17 players, like Junior Jeff Greenwood, who led the 49ers with 49 goals last season.
4. X Country
The women’s cross country team won their first match of the year and even though writers, let alone fans, don’t seem to attend meets, the squad is skilled in the art of running through mother nature’s natural terrain—especially senior Sarah Apgar. To get a quick grasp of Apgar’s speed check your Webster’s for the definition of “fast,” “stamina,” and “catch up.”
This is Donovan Morris, and he’ll be here soon.
NOONTIME CONCERT
$2 MOVIE
SPECIAL EVENT
SPECIAL EVENT
“The Spazmatics” SEPTEMBER 8th
“Kung Fu Panda”
“Guitar Hero On Tour Bus”
“Smorgasport”
at the 3rd floor Southwest Terrace
12PM-1PM
SEPTEMBER 9th/10th
SEPTEMBER 11th
5PM & 8PM
10AM-2PM
at the Beach Auditorium
at the East Turnaround near the SSPA Building
SEPTEMBER 12th in front of the USU and Lot 3
8PM-12AM
www.csulb.edu/asi UNION WEEKLY 8 SEPTEMBER 2008
SPORTS
THE BUSH LEAGUER VINCENT GIRIMONTE
I’ve succumbed to preseason rankings and accolades out of sheer desperation—for many of my teams, they will peak before week one. The BL broke its own rule and did some research on NFL 2008.
Team That, On A Particulalry Bad Day, Would Lose to USC: Kansas City Chiefs Simply because the Chiefs are relying heavily on players who once played against current USC players, and probably lost. Rookie Brandon Flowers starts at cornerback, and backing him up is rookie Brandon Carr—two rookies in the secondary’s two deep always, always means trouble. Brandon Albert, another rookie, starts at left tackle. Give this team and its three Brandons three years. Kanye West Award (over-hyped and overpaid): Vince Young When franchise quarterback Steve McNair, ever-decreasingly mobile and prone to poor decisions, left the Titans, they replaced him with ever-decreasingly mobile and poor decision-making franchise quarterback Vince Young. I’m donating a finger for every Vince Young touchdown pass, and I have every intention of picking my nose in the New Year.
AN ELITE EIGHT
SENIOR LEADERSHIP COMES FULL CIRCLE, GUNNING FOR ANOTHER BIG WEST TITLE VINCENT GIRIMONTE
C
oach Mauricio Ingrassia remembers four years ago, when the eight seniors he recruited on this year’s team came to Long Beach on their official visit, and subsequently toilet-papered his house. “It seems like yesterday,” he said last Saturday, a day after his team pounded Harvard 3-0 to remain undefeated on the young season. They have come a long way since their high school antics, the eight of them, highlighted with a conference title in 2005. But more importantly, Ingrassia and his seniors have taken a program from relative anonymity to a perennial contender out West. Nobody likes to throw around the word “powerhouse,” and LBSU is not there yet. But if things continue to go as planned, it won’t be long before we put Women’s Soccer on the same echelon as our Volleyball and Baseball programs. But it all comes back to the seniors and the family they have forged, and it’s a place where more and more recruits are looking to call home. “Coach is always telling us to be out here [on the field] for your girls, and we’ve taken that off the field as well,” says defender Tiffany Vaught. “We always make sure we’re together.” This year’s team is about the eight that have made it, in both its identity and ability out on the field. As the saying goes, defense wins championships, and the 49ers have three seniors in the back with team captain Sara Baca, Tiffany Vaught and Julie Megorden. Hayley Bolt, midfield cog and distributor, is the presence in the middle. Also in the midfield are seniors Dana Farquhar, and Kim Silos. At forward is the shifty Sahar Haghdan, who was also hampered by a leg injury in 2007. In the goal is senior Liz Ramos, LBSU’s all-time leader in shut-outs. Not bad for experience. If a tight bond was formed back in 2004, it was likely formed out of necessity. All eight of them were thrown into the fire as freshmen, back when the season’s goal
was merely to be above .500. “I think a lot of us came here because we felt like we were going to build something,” says goalkeeper Liz Ramos. “There’s a lot of programs where you go in and you feel like you’re not going to play your freshman year and you usually don’t. But this program was new and we felt like all of us had a chance to make it better. That’s a reason why we all chose to come here.” It’s rare to see a class so intact, and it helps that this team is void of the big egos that can submerge a team in conflict. There’s a genuine feel of family on the field, in practice, and apparently off the field. “We have these teams called Team Dinners,” says Vaught. “We get together and eat...all the time.” The going was tough in the beginning. All eight of the highly touted freshmen started with very minimal upperclass support in 2004. Most similar situations would yield humbling results, but the 49ers managed to exceed their expectations from the beginning, making the conference tournament but bowing out in the first round. Losing should never be palatable, but Long Beach State still had three more years to go with a solid core intact, and loftier aspirations. The very next year saw a LBSU Women’s Soccer Big West Championship won in Fullerton, against Fullerton. For all intents and purposes, it was won on the moon: titles don’t get much sweeter in Long Beach. For such a young team it was not an aberration; it was the talent and ability to adjust to college ball of the elite eight, foreshadowing the future of a great program. “They were the kids that we were able to bring in and kind of change the course of the program,” says Ingrassia. “They’ve been the cornerstones for the things that have happened.” And 49er fans should be highly encouraged. As of Saturday, they hadn’t lost a game in four tries with impressive wins over Gonzaga, Hawaii, Harvard, and drawing with the University of Denver. As the seniors’ career at LBSU winds down, they’re cognizant of their send-off. “We don’t ask for anything less,” says Vaught of the Big West—all of it, “we’ll win it.” UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
ANDREW WILSON
Drunk Driving Award (seemed like a great idea at the time): Brett Favre I don’t care what happens in New York; Brett Favre made the wrong decision. It makes you wonder: he is arguably the most popular player in any franchise’s history, meaning more to one sports town than any other, and yet he couldn’t find the incentive to retire as a Green Bay Packer. Call me old fashioned, but I hate the precendent this sets. Why doesn’t the NFL just cut to the chase and burn down Disneyland.
The ones that made it: (top left) Liz Ramos, Tiffany Vaught, Kim Silos, Hayley Bolt, Sahar Haghdan, (bottom left) Sara Baca, Julie Megorden, and Dana Farquhar, also below, showing off.
Photos
This Year’s New England Patriots of Last Year: The New England Patriots After watching Eli Manning’s debut I’m convinced Super Bowl XLII was CGI’d. I wouldn’t trust that guy throwing a party. Not that I wasn’t pleased to see everybody’s favorite mertosexual, Tom Brady, flail around like Ryan Leaf for a change. It’s just the odds of the Patriots winning at least 13 games becomes inevitable given one simple fact: Tom Brady is still their quarterback.
VIVA EL BURRITO THE SUBTERRANEAN ILLEGAL NIGHTTIME BIKERIDES FEEDING OUR HOMELESS JASON OPPLIGER
S
he’s stirring up the contents of that giant pot, silvery on the stove and massive; a cauldron even. Her forearms tensing as the wooden spoon digs through the thickness of the dense and sticking-to-the-spoon mush, putting up a fight against the whole operation, the smallest beginnings of perspiration collecting on her forehead. “The beans are almost ready,” that forearm pushing against her face, wiping at the sweat, in a concise voice, a voice of measured certainty. She’s sweating because the kitchen on this summer’s night in Long Beach is sweltering with the remnants of the day’s heat and from the blue flames sputtering from the gas stove. She’s also sweating from laboring over a massive pot of uncooperative beans and
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rice—enough to feed about eighty people. But of course she’s smiling, not beaming, but pleasant; the demeanor you’d expect from someone who for the last two years has been cooking burritos for people who are homeless, once a week, and then delivering the food with that same unobtrusive smile by bicycle to the groups who call the open spaces in downtown home and who call this woman by her very obvious moniker: The Burrito Lady. But that was already far too dramatic because the atmosphere inside the small kitchen of a random and completely plain-Jane-normal apartment was so leisurely and without fanfare and so simple and well—honestly, just so pure. All that jazz and drama and flair at the beginning was just me, flailing in attempts to write about something so straightforward that it rebukes adulation in its implicit existence. Inside the kitchen though, the participants around me engage in constructing burritos on a tottery ironing board with such urbane ease, as if this assembly line of free food being folded in our hands was the most obvious and normal thing; like it was talking to a friend or eating breakfast or whistling, maybe even easier than that. And it was just like that. It was as if the concept to do this made perfect fucking sense in the most severe of terms, like no other truth ever existed and this was what people in their twenties in American towns just did with their Thursday evenings—you just do it. There was and never will be another reality and the entire concept shines with such a furious lucidity that it was stupefying. And so, four people stood in that tiny kitchen, like it was a factory out of Henry Ford’s dreams, and we put together burritos and told jokes and sweated and we fed the homeless. And this happens every week. Known most commonly as the Burrito Project, it happens here in Long Beach as well as in L.A., Detroit, Anchorage, Mexico City and then there’s the Falafel Project in Damascus (seriously). All independent and all with the same concept as if Tyler Durden converted to philanthropy and has been really, really, busy. And it’s all anonymous and done under the cloak of darkness because technically it’s illegal to give food to hungry people (of course). And it’s done with grace and a handshake and a shouted “have a good night,” as you ride off on your bicycle and sometimes it’s getting hugs from generally incoherent, although charming, hooded sweat-shirted dudes under an overpass on the 710 freeway, but all of it is awesome. The bike thing is important too, existing as a completely integral component of the whole project to establish the connectivity needed and wanted between the burrito makers and the burrito eaters, and allow all of it to function.
“The Project is not a solution, it is a step by step outline for a way to get involved. The Project is there for you to expand...” Pulling up on bicycles achieves an automatic dissolution of fear and distrust rightfully held by the groups congregating in improvised campsites around our city. It is the instrument of the great equalizer and the Burrito Lady knows this, she explains to me that riding bikes levels the playing field and creates approachable situations where those handing out the burritos often share the same mode of transportation as those receiving the food. This, at the same time gives the Burrito Project an identity as an activity, as a thing to do, as an enjoyable, environmentally-friendly, community-based endeavor and so: long live the hippies. Or at least what sounds very Haight-Ashbury on paper, but minus the pretense and the preaching. This “thing” not solidified enough to call a movement and too big to dismiss as a novelty, which lacks an identity or a leader, seems the core expression of our apathetic and cynical generation in the absolute best terms. It spears at the nucleus of the problem, skirting acknowledgment, skipping the nonsense, avoiding the trappings of narcissism in that underground, DIY, almost perfunctory fashion of its execution and, like everything relevant from our generation, it also has a MySpace page. The Burrito Project MySpace acts like an instruction manual and headquarters in one, explaining how to start a branch and giving participants a meeting place for questions or help, even including a mission statement, which is: “…to provide people with the means to become active members in their community. It is a way for people to bridge a gap between the fed and the hungry. Burrito Project is in no way shape or form affiliated with any religious or political organization.” It goes on to say more but the point is through existing (officially, solely in cyberspace) the project can be malleable, independent and nomadic, allowing each branch to function by its own system, organically, which is also what allows it to work. The nay-saying curbside critics who oppose handouts to the hungry, dismissing it as merely enabling freeloading non-productivity (despite being soul-devoid hoodlums) have a point. But they’re missing the point as well. The Burrito folks know theirs is not a panacea for the ails of modern society, but a glance at hope and a very legitimate assault on a common question. “The Project is not a solution, it is a step by step outline for a way to get involved. The Project is there for you to expand,” reads the site. It is not done for any precise reason, but done because people are people and even hungry people are still people. Sometimes it takes shaking a hand to remember this.
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“Look around. See if you can do anything.” Thomas shook my hand while thanking me for his dinner that night. A balding man somewhere in his fifties, thin silvery-stranded hair meagerly sprouting from his scalp, he had with him a giant case on wheels as he sat near the library, a small, purple bump on his forehead giving us a peek into the reality of his daily life. He shook my hand and looked me in the eyes and told me he ‘“appreciated what [I] was doing.” He told me about recent police crackdowns on the homeless caused by (in his opinion) the failing city economy, part of a larger trend of less money spent on tourism by Americans as a whole this year. Additionally, the unwise and illegal actions of some people who gather around where he’s sitting (unfortunate truths of the often psychologically ill or damaged members of this sect of society) mixed with the tourist revenue decline creates a caustic blend, or as he describes like a steam pressure building up. So it offers city hall a scapegoat and the police on Segways roaming the streets, something to do, out of frustration and anger sitting there with everything he owns, Thomas doesn’t seem angry. He seems more like he just wants someone to care, not even enough to do anything, but to just acknowledge that this is a shitty situation. To care enough simply to listen to him. I listen, and during the course of our conversation—covering sand volleyball, the Queen Mary and Segway inventor Dean Kamen—I grasp fully the extent of which the homeless man I’m speaking with is a real person. He has a life, concerns, problems, dreams, thoughts and is living a life. He and I are members of the same community. It sounds lame but it is true. It is so true. The Burrito Lady tells me that the vision of Burrito Project is to reach out to our own community, to reach out to Thomas and show not only those in need but those who might be watching or listening, that there are people that care—enough to not just be frustrated by glitches in our world, but to do something. To show that the neglected “others” of our society are not just broken patches of the city skyline, but humans. To show this to them, and us, and everyone. To make humans, humans. And then we ride off into the night. Back at that tiny-kitchened apartment, with the Burrito People, and the Burrito Lady, we sit on the porch. I’m still amazed at how mundane it seems to them, as if they are not incredible people for doing this. They expect it though; it’s so clear to them. Sipping Tecates, I ask The Burrito Lady what she would say to people who might read this. Her answer is as uncomplicated as the burritos themselves, as obvious as the Burrito Project itself—brimming with common sense and sage-like simplicity. The smell of beans and rice still floating from the kitchen, the Burrito Lady meets my eyes across the patio and says: “Look around. See if you can do anything.”
For more information on The Burrito Project, email: BurritoProjectLB@yahoo.com
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MUSIC I
n May of 2008, indie dance-punk juggernauts The Faint announced that they had left indie juggernaut record label Saddle Creek. WE GET TO THE BOTTOM The Nebraska-based label, founded by Conor Oberst (of Bright Eyes fame, natch) had been OF WHAT THE FAINT HAVE handling The Faint since their first LP proper, BEEN DOING FOR THE LAST Media, all the way back in ’98. Ten years and FOUR YEARS three albums later, the Faint have started their own label, blank.wav, and have just released their fourth album, Fasciinatiion. SEAN BOULGER Finished dealing with record labels, The Faint had decided that it was a more “careerminded” move to simply build their own studio, as it essentally meant “the difference between paying a lot of money for every album and recording on a schedule, or paying a huge amount of money once, and then recording whenever you want forever.” Located near downtown Omaha, Enamel studios was the location for the recording of the band’s newest album, which was written, recorded, produced, and released entirely by the band—something that the members described as an exciting but daunting task. The resulting album, Fasciinatiion, seems a natural step for the band, though there isn’t as much of a progression in style as there was from Danse Macabre to Wet from Birth. Whereas with the movement from the former to the latter there was a direct step forward, exploring new and more challenging styles, the movement from Birth to Fasciinatiion is more of a step in a slightly diagonal direction. With a four-year gap between the last two albums, a little more of a surprise might have been in order, but that’s about my only complaint. The album is just a little less boisterous in comparison with its predecessors. Lyrically, Fasciinatiion doesn’t exactly explore any new
FEELING FAINT
SIGUR ROS
ME Ð SU Ð Í EYRUM VI Ð SPILUM ENDALAUST
EMI / XL ALLAN STEINER Only eight months after releasing both a full length documentary and a double album (containing both unreleased and live acoustic versions of old songs), Sigur Rós has released their fifth studio album, Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust. And while I don’t know how to pronounce it (nor would I want to learn, for fear of becoming a pretentious asshole) the music on the album is magnificent and the songs are the group’s most cheerful and energetic to date. The opening track, “Gobbledigook” is a completely new sound for the band, and is also the album’s
territory—singer/lyricist Todd Fink is still really into the whole conspiracy theory thing, as far as societal issues are concerned, and he even threw in a song from the viewpoint of a fetus being born…wait a second. Thankfully enough, I was able to catch up with keyboardist/synthesizer master fiend Jacob Thiele as they toured about the European countryside. We chatted for a brief moment, and somewhere in our long and meandering conversation, we actually discussed the band and the album for a short while: Union Weekly: So you just started your own label to make your new record. Do you want to tell me about that decision-making process? Jacob Thiele: Well, we knew we wanted to do something different. Saddle Creek…they are what they are. They’re an indie label, but they’ve done the same thing for us for the last few releases. I think we wanted to try something different, you know? We talked to a bunch of different people about it, everyone from Rick Rubin to some other independent people. After we had built our own studio, recorded an album ourselves, and had done everything else ourselves, it just seemed kind of appropriate to release the album ourselves, as well. UW: The album was self-produced, right? JT: Yeah, we did pretty much everything ourselves. We didn’t master it. We went to Sterling in New York to master it, but we did as much as we could. We even used some of our own basic instruments. I did some circuit-bending. It was kind of our lives for a while. That’s all we did was work on this record. It was fun, though. When you have your own studio, you have so much time to experiment and so many different ideas to try, you could just work on it forever. At some point, we just had to self-impose a deadline, and say “Look, we gotta put a record out,” you know? UW: Were you ever worried about not finishing or about taking too much time? JT: Yeah, just overcooking it, you know? It had been so long that we were worried people might forget about us or something. [laughs] We hadn’t toured in so long, really. We had done a few shows here and there, but we just really wanted to get out there again and start touring.
standout track. The other songs on the album sound much more like the Sigur Rós that we have already heard on the group’s previous albums, only slightly cheerier. They still have that same grandiose and scale that the band has been perfecting since their first record. All the songs on the album are fantastic, but I wanted to hear the group branch out and play with their sound more throughout the entire thing, like they did with “Gobbledigook.” It’s not as though the album has no surprises; it does. From the group’s first English song to the nine-minute track “Festial,” which picks up with incredible energy about halfway through, the album far from disappoints. But with the arguable exception of “Festival,” none of the other tracks seem to measure up to the creativity and brilliance of that first track. If you were to ask me what I wanted to hear from this album a few months ago, I would have said that I wanted to hear more of the same music that I have come to love from Sigur Rós, but now that I’ve heard something different from them, I crave more.
As a whole, Sigur Rós’ albums have a rare beauty to them that is hard to find anywhere else in music. But the thing that makes their music so entirely encompassing is the emotion that lead singer Jónsi brings to each and every one of the group’s songs. Even though the lyrics are not in English, the songs are still incredibly meaningful. It is easy to put on a Sigur Rós album and let the rest of the world fade out. This has not changed on this newest record, but with the increased tempo and energy of most of the songs on this album it’s not hard to imagine working out to it, either. Working out to Sigur Rós! Could you imagine? If you are a fan of Sigur Rós already, buy this album. Simple as that. It can be found at Target for the extremely reasonable price of $10. However, if you have not listened to Sigur Rós before, find a copy of the group’s critically acclaimed second album Ágætis Byrjun at any decent record store (may I make an unsolicited suggestion of Fingerprints on 2nd street) and buy it. UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
ENTERTAINMENT DRUNKEROUS IS MY MIDDLE NAME
JAMES KISLINGBURY
A DRUNKEN REVIEW OF BANGKOK DANGEROUS JOE BRYANT
[Editor’s Note: This movie was viewed while inebriated and subsequently reviewed inebriated. What follows is the review as it was originally written; no copy-editing was done to correct grammar, spelling, or punctuation.]
B
Photo CAITLIN CUTT
angkok Dangerous is like an opera with deaf people and guns. Really, it’s like Mr. Holland’s Opus mixed with Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, mixed with guns. Nic Cage plays Joe, a ruthless assassin that decides he totally wants to bang this deaf dancing chick im Bangkok so he totally does and wants to fall in love with her. I only really know the basic plot points, but I’ll explain it all to you. Nic Cage meets his friend, Tonto Kong, who wants to become an assassin too. Nic Cage is like, “fuck you Tonto Kong, you don’t get paid today!” And Tonto Kong is like, “Boo! I want to be an assassin!” and the Nic Cage says, “Alright, that makes sense. Let’s kill my bosses!” They do that, plus they get married (Nic Cage and the deaf chick, not Nic Cage and Tonto Kong; that would be soooooooo fucking gay). At one point the protagonist fires three guns while jumping through the air. It is very impressive The Pang bros. directed this piece of shit. It is actually a remake of their original movie from Hong Kong or some shit. You think doing it a second time would be beneficial, but it just became fucking stupid Also, there was this elephant that totally approved of Nic Cage not doing Heroin any more. I don’t know why, but the entire movie was blue/green, except for the boat chase, which was awesome if you like turtles, kayaks, guns, and slowness. Fuck you for judging me,
Nicolas Cage has the hair that launched a couple of boats in the slowest chase ever captured on film.
I will kill you. I don’t get the elephant. Everything else makes so much sense. There was a part where Nic Cage turned the portrait upside down, and it had great significance to his character. Right before hand I went to the bathroom and felt a lot better afterwards, and then I slept really well during the movie Overall, I’d say that Bangkok Dangerous totally bangROX! Go see the version I saw. It was pretty great. The best part is it was only like 25 minutes long. Nic Cage needs to do more work like this. It’s his best since Wicker Man (Ghost Rider blows BAngCOCK, am I right or am I right?) Fucking Gnar-Gnar! P.S. If anyone sees a blue hoodie with stripes on it, that’s totally mine I think i left it at the theatre. Drop it off by the Union office and I’ll give you a totally wicked high-five. I say totally a lot when I,m drunk Joe says you should only see this film above the legal limit and gives it:
LET’S MAKE OUT!
A REVIEW OF IN SEARCH OF A MIDNIGHT KISS SEAN BOULGER Someday in the not-too-distant future, we will live in a world of endless technological possibilities. Cars will fly, meals will come to us in pill form, and finding true love on the Internet will have become an accepted if not commonplace practice for couples across the globe. Until then, it’s just sort of on the down-low. Tons of couples are doing it, and now there’s a movie about it. In Search of a Midnight Kiss is the third film from independent writer/director Alex Holdridge, whose previous efforts include the very low-budget Sexless and Wrong Numbers. In Midnight Kiss, Scoot McNairy (from a few episodes of Bones and not much else) plays a stressed-out LA hipster named Wilson who is recovering from a very shitty year that included getting dumped and losing all of his possessions, while moving from Texas to LA. Wilson’s roommate-slash-best friend, however, refuses to sit idly by while his buddy doesn’t get laid, so he forces Wilson to post an ad on Craigslist. Of course, some crazy broad (played here by Sara Simmonds) responds to the ad, meets up with Wilson, and the two embark on a day-long date through downtown LA on New Years’ Eve. The movie, a character-driven romantic comedy, coasts nicely along at a rather kinetic pace, despite its lack of much exciting action. One of this film’s biggest draws is the dialogue; UNION WEEKLY
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ART THEATER PROFILE
Simmonds and McNairy have good chemistry on screen and the lines flow pretty effortlessly. The two have a long, meandering date through the streets of downtown LA, the audience follows their discussion of life, love, and all of the other things people talk about when they’ve just met on the Internet. One of the producers, Anne Walker-McBay, also produced three Richard Linklater films—a fact that doesn’t come as a surprise, given that this film has a distinct Before Sunset kind of vibe to it. Holdridge is competent behind the camera, managing to make the same old LA spots look interesting and exciting. He gives us beautiful camera angles and has definitely shown us that he knows his hand when it comes to writing. While it isn’t exactly the specimen of screenwriting it might have set out to be, In Search of a Midnight Kiss is a thought-provoking and well-made film. The story is old, but the angle is new, and the idea of meeting one’s significant other on the Internet is certainly fodder for conversation—especially on date night. Sean says, “Pucker up,” and gives In Search of a Midnight Kiss:
The Art Theater on Fourth Street was dead except for myself and two seatshuffling codgers. By the time the film, Trouble the Water, had started, the hall filled out to a grand total of eight people, including a kid who started kicking the seat in front of him about half-way through the film. It was kind of strange to be in a near-empty theater on a Friday night, and it’s unfortunate because places like the Art Theater should be packed with film enthusiasts. The Art Theater originally opened up in 1925. In the 1980s it served as an indie, cult and art house theater, but due to the advent of home video, most smaller theaters like this one went the way of disco. In 1992 it was declared a historical landmark by the city of Long Beach. While the theater remained an interesting place to swiftly drive by in the years between, it looked like a place that Pee Wee Herman would get arrested at. The current, renovated incarnation of the theater opened this August, and is dedicated to showing independent films. Recently, it screened the acclaimed Man on a Wire and soon it’ll start screening the Coen Brothers’ Burn After Reading. It is currently playing a documentary on survivors of Hurricane Katrina called Trouble the Water, which is a good film for anyone that wants to see the triumph of humans over adversity (or just wants to get angry at the government). The theater is as clean as an operating room. It even still smells like fresh paint. All of the employees and management were gregarious and energetic, which is encouraging because it means that the people in charge of the place will be working their hardest to keep the forces of entropy at bay. It’s also got an annex of the Portfolio Coffeehouse attached to it and soon a wine bar will join it. The Art Theater is more than just a nicer version of an old place; it actually seems like a cool place to go. I hope the word gets out about the Art Theater soon. This town is in serious need of some culture, since it now consists only of gaping pot holes and street sweeping tickets. Oh, and Sublime, I guess. If you like independent cinema and don’t feel like driving to Pasadena or Los Angeles, check out the Art Theater on Fourth Street and get a coffee too, while you’re at it.
LITERATURE
SEAN BOULGER Ah, high school. Some of us think back with fond memories of parties, football games, and cheating on tests. Turns out, it’s also a pretty solid introduction to classic literature. Of course, if you’re like me, you did your best to get around assignments, and very little to pay attention. While this technique keeps you from having to read The Giver, it nevertheless keeps you from some pretty good reads (I’m bummed I never got around to The Picture of Dorian Gray). But don’t worry! Due to a recent surge in my desire to play catch up, I’ve started tackling some of the books that I missed (and possibly you missed) in high school. This Week: Siddhartha In Herman Hesse’s seminal Siddhartha, we follow the exploits of the titular young Brahmin as he seeks total enlightenment. Essentially, this is a book about how to become Buddha. Siddhartha is a young, intelligent Hindu priest who decides that he’s not catching up to whatever it is he’s chasing, so he sets out to see if he can’t enlighten himself elsewhere. His buddy Govinda tags along, and the two set out into the woods to become Samanas—this means that they become professional hippies. While he’s with the Samanas, he learns how to do all sorts of cool stuff, like go for days and days without eating and live… nowhere, pretty much. But Siddhartha still isn’t satisfied, even after he meets and talks with the Buddha himself. So off he goes, for several more years of exploits and conversation and learning in several different locations, until he finds what it is he’s looking for. As we follow Siddhartha’s quest to become Buddha, Hesse’s prose is simple and consistently easy to read—any small child could easily read this book. This, however, is definitely not a point against Siddhartha in any way. Though simple, the writing here is extremely well executed, and the ending ties up all the loose ends in a very satisfying way. Siddhartha’s story is one that is easy to understand, follow, and cheer for. Through and through, Siddhartha is a satisfying read. In fact, being as this is a book about meditation and discovering the path to true enlightenment, I would recommend reading this in a very relaxed state, perhaps on some grass or sand or something. I just wish I had read this in high school—being one with myself certainly would have come in handy a few years ago.
A TITOR TALE
TIME TRAVELER JOHN TITOR’S THE STUFF URBAN LEGENDS ARE MADE OF CAITLIN CUTT
J
ohn Titor says he’s from the year 2036. There are lots of reasons why you shouldn’t believe him. For starters, there’s the litany of excuses our culture assigns people like Titor: it’s a hoax, his family is in on it, he never existed at all, etc. He also incorrectly predicted that Y2K was going to be a huge disaster and that the United States was going to erupt into a Civil War in 2005. These are two misfires that would appear to be insurmountable. But in John Titor: A Time Traveler’s Tale, is a compilation of internet postings by John from November 2000 to March 2001, compiled by his mother, Titor does get around his failure to predict our “future” correctly. His explanation is three tiered: First he explains that our world, or what he calls “world line,” is one of infinite world lines—you could think of them as dimensions. Through this lens, one would say that everything that has happened can, will, and is happening right now, and right now…. Each decision made creates a different world line. Second, he claims to travel through time using quantum time travel. His machine, of which there are pictures posted all over the web, essentially creates two black holes that he uses to pass through world lines. Surprisingly, this is something that theoretically could work. Third, he explains that time travel is like a cone. The further a Time Traveler gets from their point of origin, they exponentially increase the likelyhood of their ending up on a substantially different past world line. John Titor claims that his original mission was to travel form 2036 to 1975 to retrieve a computer, the IBM 5100, from his grandfather. According to Titor, the 5100 possessed some attribute that, with a little “tweaking,” could be used to prevent another catastrophic Y2K-like “disaster” in 2039. In the midst of retrieving the 5100, John promises to go into the
future, 1998, to help his parents prepare for Y2K. He does, thus jumping to yet another world line, and consequently deviating further from his original world line’s past. Hence no Y2K freak out or Civil War II. After March of 2001, John stopped posting online. He went back to 2036. Yeah, I know how this sounds. But, just like Titor claims he never intended to convince people of time travel’ possibility with his postings, I’m not writing this review to convince you of John Titor’s validity. I want to convince you to try and track down some of his postings, and see for yourself because, at the end of the day, it’s a really good read. Even if this guy wasn’t real, the people that posted these questions are; and the dialogue between Titor and his inquirers is compelling. I found the vulnerability in some of these questions touching. They seemed like the kind of questions a person would ask if they got to talk to God for just a few moments. People were even worried that they were going to be on the “bad guy” side of John’s predicted Civil War. I read John Titor: A Time Traveler’s Tale because I think books like this are just as important as books like Of Human Bondage because it does what any really good piece of literature is supposed to do: it will force you to ask questions you might not have asked otherwise. For instance, “What would it take for you to believe that someone was from the future?” We can know this: somewhere between a doorbell ring and “So is it alright if I stay here for a while?” John Titor convinced a couple in Florida that he was their son from the future. The the same couple that later goes on to publish a limited number of this compilation, and who never surface again. We know that time is moving forward, and there will be a point where time will move beyond our own existence. And that’s about all we can know for certain. Any other musing on this finite “life” thing is ceremoniously thrown in the “belief ” bin. But I think deep down, we all want something to be out there. If there is a Mothman, or a God, if UFO’s are out there, or if a man in his mom’s basement was actually from the future, then we may actually be a part of something bigger than watching TiVo’d episodes of The Office. I don’t know what I believe about John Titor, honestly. I have to admit, the whole time I’ve been writing this review, I’ve been waiting for John Titor to come bursting into the Union office yelling, “Stop! If you write this article, millions of people will die!”
VICTOR CAMBA
SEAN BOULGER READS ALL THE BOOKS HE SHOULD’VE READ IN HIGH SCHOOL
Illustration
SEE ME AFTER CLASS
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UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
A DRESS THAT PLAYS SEDUCTION LIKE A SAXOPHONE SLAM, BAM, THANK YOU MA’AM; SLAM POETRY BABY KATRINA SAWHNEY
ERIN HICKEY UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
o’malley’s authentic irish pub seal beach, ca
T
There is a certain comfort that swathes me when examining the art of Diane Arbus. It is as if a blanket of humility and reticence is protecting me from a world of superficiality and disregard for the ugly—what I’d rather call the unique. Our generation is blinded by a media that has worked incessantly to promote a lifestyle that is completely founded on the notion of being aesthetically beautiful—and to our dismay, they’ve succeeded. With T.V. shows boasting plots rich with decadent teenage drama and magazines still showcasing models with tapering weight issues, I worry that this trend will never subside. I am thankful though, for the artists that encourage the masses otherwise, offering an art that is sincere, palpable, and extraordinary. Arbus’ fame came in the early 1960s, when she began photographing for magazines like Harper’s Bazaar, Esquire and The New York Times. She was born into a wealthy Jewish family, and raised with two siblings in the richer areas of New York. Immediately, she revealed feelings of displacement, having said “I grew up feeling immune and exempt from circumstance. One of the things I suffered from was that I never felt adversity. I was confirmed in a sense of unreality.” Her pictures soon exposed her discontent with the conventional. A pattern of stark realism and curiosity developed in her photos. Her subjects were always in the center of the photograph, surrounded by natural backgrounds, glaring at you as if they knew something you didn’t. This pattern evolved into something greater, a series of pictures that allowed the world to observe the lives of people with biological differences and eccentric lifestyles—an escape to reality for Diane. Her subjects showcased identical twins, dwarves, drag queens, circus performers, and nudists—she believed, “Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They’ve already passed their test in life. They’re aristocrats.” As you may have expected, many people detested her work. Questions of exploiting her subjects for their oddities rather than for who they are and what they represented arose. But to make what could be a long discussion on the morality of photography short, it is clear that in the pursuit of photographing the strange, Diane Arbus found a vessel to justify her own existence. She was bound by social constructs and conventionalism. She needed to feel whole, to feel less alone, and through the lives of her subjects, she found it possible. Her photography stimulated intellectuals to scrutinize the purpose and the meaning of why she chose to photograph this group of people and what she was trying to prove, when in actuality all she wanted was to photograph what thrilled her curiosity most—it just happened to be what no one else bothered to look at. KATHY MIRANDA
overwhelmed, it’s probably the burgers from the kitchen, leading us to our next rule. Rule #4—Under no circumstances is there to be food other than questionable pickled eggs and peanuts. This rule has its merits: sometimes the business of boozing is squandered within the chaos of running a kitchen. But O’Malley’s is a bar first and a damn solid restaurant second. Pub classics are done well, and they’re not afraid to throw out daily specials. Rule #5—Drinking bars must be full of heavy-drinkers. Talking with them is risky and often rewarding, but must be kept to a minimum lest the topic of immigration (specific to Orange County) arises. O’Malley’s has its fair share of heavy drinkers, but they’re the heavy-drinkers’ heavy drinker, meaning ponderous thoughts to themselves and maybe a quib about the proverbial game. It’s a trickle down effect from the bar staff: behave well and you’ll be well treated. The crowd in here is a decent mix of college students, locals, old-timers, sports fans, and, in danger of romanticizing substance abuse, friendly drunks. They don’t break all the rules, though. You can’t get drunk for cheap and the bar is long enough for you to be alone, to curse without anybody hearing. The bartenders are everything you want in your Labrador: friendly, loyal and they get you drinks. It’s the place to be when reality sets in, and you realize you’re not wanted anywhere else. O’Malley’s Irish Pub 140 Main Street Seal Beach, CA Happy Hour: Mon.- Fri., 3p.m. - 7 p.m. (562) 430-0631
culture rants JAMES KISLINGBURY
As it often goes with things I’m annoyed by, it all starts with Napoleon Dynamite. I’m not going to take issue with the people that quoted that flick into the ground (and many other films into the ground—Borat fans, I’m looking at you) or the fact that it managed to make eighty minutes feel like about six hours. My qualm is with the graphics associated with it. Which is actually a strange compliment to the effectiveness of the movie’s ads. In the ads, all of the text that looked like it had been drawn by a ball-point pen on a Pee Chee folder. Napoleon Dynamite started the trend, but it didn’t truly get run into the ground until Juno came out. After that the once cute little hand-drawn graphics are more like a venereal disease, making anything associated with them into something completely undesirable. The latest offender is Nick & Norah: Infinite Playlist, the latest Michael Cera awkward teen comedy. I’d bet good money that that kid’s tombstone is going to look hand written.
This font fiasco is like that song “Young Folks” by Peter, Bjorn, and John (you know, the one with the whistling). It was a fun song when you first heard it on the radio. That was until it was in television promos and trailers and commercials. Now, what once was a cute, little foreign pop song will now make you bleed from the ears. The advertising industry has taken a lot from me. My innocence, my joy, about ten thousand dollars, I don’t need them to take a font from me, as well. It’s not anything that really matters in my life, but I figure at some point I have to make a stand against everything creative being molded into a sales pitch. Or at least get them to ruin something else. UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
KATIE REINMAN
“A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.” -Diane Arbus (1923-1971)
he people at O’Malley’s might not know your name, but they probably know your drink. It’s a drinking bar: that is, a place where serious drinking is done and the baggage of daily to-and-fro is shed. Some people don’t need drinking bars in the classic sense, when life is not worth the cab fare home. But some people do, quite desperately. Either way, these people can meet at O’Malley’s. There are definite rules to Drinking Bars, some not to be meddled with and some, well, probably can be altered for the common good. Rule #1—A drinking bar must be perched adjacent to railroad tracks, specifically on the incorrect side of said tracks, whichever side that may be. For many, Orange County alone meets this qualification (if only we had trains). But then there is Main Street in Seal Beach—entirely bearable and a fair companion to Long Beach’s Belmont Shore. I realize the peril of throwing the phrase city planning towards a Long Beach demographic—we hate what we don’t understand—but Seal Beach has managed to pull it off. It’s small-town appeal is understated and efficient. Rule #2—Upon entering a Drinking Bar, smells of intense body odor and misplaced urine must overwhelm the senses. The bar itself is wood and was likely varnished at one point, before she left him for Daryll, but now gives splinters and displays the silhouettes of pint glasses by the hundreds. O’Malley’s is not overbearing in its quest for tidiness, it’s just implied—what you’d expect from a pub proud to be doing what they do. The bar sparkles and runs smooth towards the back wall and out towards patio seating. If your nose is
VINCENT GIRIMONTE
Illustration
diane arbus
CULTURE
COMICS
EASY
Girly Girl by Christopher Troutman
HARD
You’re STUCK Here! by Victor! Perfecto
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ANSWERS
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EASY
Drunken Penguin Presents... by James Kislingbury
HARD
Humanation by Travis Ott-Conn
UNION WEEKLY
8 SEPTEMBER 2008
Disclaimer:
This page is satire. We are not ASI, nor do we represent the CSULB campus. Duck butter. Send rags to bear.grun@gmail.com
“I’m sorry, Razor-Puss means something to me.”
Volume 63 Issue 2
Monday, September 8th, 2008
LBUNION.COM
Area Man Defeated by Button Fly BY THE FROTHY SEA
Sara (left) and bffz Ashley [aka Smashlay (right)] discuss future wedding plans in the backseat of a Land Rover.
Hottest Girl in Class also Coldest Bitch BY TANGERINE BALLS After two semesters of being a total pussy, sophomore Tony Grady finally got up the nerve to ask fellow sophomore Sara Finley if she would “like to hang out sometime.” While her initial reaction made Tony feel as though he might actually have a chance, Sara was later seen gossiping with her fellow sorority sisters about the incident saying, “Oh my god you guys, can you fuckin’ believe that guy? Like, I would ever go out with someone like that, I couldn’t even see his cock-print.” She then began to cackle just before taking out her cell phone to send herself a text message about how “hawt” she is.
When confronted by Tony the next day, Sara reportedly flipped her hair back and said, “Yeah…um, I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not one of these girls that you can just come up and talk to,” before storming off and calling a group of younger girls to walk near (but not too near) her from what looked like out of nowhere before sending herself yet another text message. Sara spent most of the next day taking pictures of herself in the mirror and making up rumors about her sorority sisters. It wasn’t until Tony showed up later at the big Kappa Sigma Kappa party to give Sara a gold bar and a Cadillac that Sara gave him her usual go-ahead of “Let’s go get fucked up.”
LONG BEACH, CA—Gary Dabronski, 38, was attempting to enjoy his day off from working as a sales associate at the local RiteAid last Sunday when disaster struck. As Gary describes, it was “just the damnedest thing, [he] just couldn’t do up that fucking button-fly.” It was 11 o’clock and Gary had just decided to switch from his “Sunday is Funday” tank top and Homer Simpson boxers to his regular weekend attire. Gary put on what he described as “an extremely classy, but casual” dress shirt and a pair of brand new jeans that his wife, Barbara Dabronski, had purchased for him at Target on Wednesday. Gary had been saving the boot-cut Levi’s for his day off. “Look, it’s pretty simple,” Gary explained. “I’m not fat by any means, but I have big hands. Putting one of those buttons through its slot is like pushing three quarters taped together through a rabbit’s vagina. Without tearing.” Gary then shouted down the hallway at his wife, “It might help if Babs acted like we’ve been married for twelve fucking years and knew I hated button-fly jeans!” Barbara irately sighed and turned her attention from the newest repeat of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. “Maybe if someone bought their own jeans, we wouldn’t be having this problem,
During hour three of attempting to button-up his jeans, Gary Dabronski (pictured above) tries the running-jump maneuver.
now, would we?” Only being able to wear the requisite black slacks and blue Rite-Aid vest, Gary cherishes the two days of the week (Sunday and Tuesday) he gets to wear jeans. “Sometimes I switch it up with a pair of shorts so I can go work on my upper leg tan while I’m watering the lawn, or watching the neighborhood kids play. But I really had my mind set on jeans, and now the whole day is ruined.” Gary was planning on going to the park and playing two-touch with local rascals Jimmy and Kyle Turner, but he said it would have been impossible to catch the boys at their usual 12 o’clock playtime at El Dorado Park at the rate he was going. “Do you see this shit? I haven’t even been able to get one of the little fuckers in. There are three buttons and I’ve been working at this for half an hour. What a waste.”
INSIDE Large Group of Male Friends Misconstrued as Gay Ted Potter and his group of dapper friends were enjoying a night out on the town to celebrate Ted’s birthday when area vagrant, Sticky Red, yelled, “Whatta buncha feys! HAH!” Ted and his friends’ night was undeniably more awkward from then on.
Local Beard Fears for Its Life
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The beard of Brennan Weir is sure that it heard Brennan telling his girlfriend, Cindy Hale, that he was seriously considering shaving his face after four months of inconsiderate laze. Sources within the couple’s apartment complex say Brennan has complained about itching.
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Marlon Brando Not Dead, Just 3rd Grade Class Clown Actually Method Acting PAGE PAGE 3G Real Clown
IT