63.13

A Milky Surprise

a review of Gus Van Sant’s new movie Milk p.8

Ron Sexsmith

and why you won’t hear him on the radio p.14

We Love

Long Beach

come cuddle up to the city you’re in p.10

OPINIONS

SUPERSTORE STAMPEDE Illustration

MAYBE WE SHOULD BOYCOTT CHRISTMAS MICHAEL VEREMANS

RACHEL RUFRANO

L

ast Friday morning a Wal-mart employee, Jdimytai Damour, was trampled to death by more than 2,000 shoppers rushing to get into the store to save 10% off select items. For a few cents, this man (likely one of the underpaid workers hired by Wal-mart) was killed while others tried to help him up and so far no one has been prosecuted. Hiding behind the anonymity of sanctioned consumerism, these corporations have continued their attempts to drain

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

every last resource out of its masochistically consensual constituency with the massacre that is Black Friday.

The violence didn’t stop at Long Island—it was erupting across the country. Fights and beatings have accompanied a few shoppers’ rounds through the aisles of the capitalist chaos that major retailers thought would haul them out of the recession we are facing, but are we really? People seem to still be buying, but their hunger for “deals” has lead many to blood—the elderly being tackled for items, the kind of covetousness that reminds me of the Tickle Me Elmo fiasco a few years ago that could only happen in what is called a God-fearing country.

But death and molestation at the hands of other shoppers isn’t enough for some people who decided to camp out overnight at the many Best Buys across America for a chance to win a limited coupon. People skipped Thanksgiving, time with family, and social respite by pushing all of their chips into the corner of their vengeful master: consumerism. It makes sensible people wonder, what item, what plethora of items, could be worth more than a human life?

I’m not going to come out and say that such forms of materialism need to be done away with. I enjoy the American principles of ownership as much as the next laptop owner, but let’s reassess what is happening here—these retailers have upped their sales gimmicks significantly in order to rile up a public that is ready for revolution. They are redirecting the frustration we all feel at this superficial clearance-sale life into more spending, like the heinous drug dealer stereotype, “The first one is free.” And every year we see the deals starting earlier.

The police in New York are reviewing store cameras in an attempt to levy charges again some of the greedy, inhuman shoppers responsible for the battery and death of Damour, but they are proving difficult aids in pinning down a culprit. I say that Wal-mart is the criminal here for encouraging mob behavior, not only in this Black Friday’s blow-out, but in their advertising, sales schemes, and employee practices that make them a leading force in the stifling of American ethics and individuality. Would I be going too far in calling a general boycott of Christmas?

FIGHT FOR Your Right to potty

OPINIONS

THE UNION TAKES ON THE ISSUES YOU REALLY CARE ABOUT

Public pooping protocol the best toilet is the one you dont have to clean

E

JOE BRYANT

ver drop a deuce and feel that you’ve accomplished something great—epic even? Like that weight on your shoulders definitely just fell out of your ass and into that toilet with a proud, loud kerplunk? That’s what I did last Saturday at the local Starbucks. Suffice to say it was easily the best thing. There are cons to public pooping. You can’t read on a public toilet—especially if you’re laying a legendary log. If you take too long, concerned patrons will knock or even jiggle the handle. Books just prolong those tiresome nuisances by adding to the clock, not to mention there’s the chance you could accidentally drop your reading material into the toilet—right when it’s getting good!

Ugh, and the worst part? Having to use those crinkly toilet seat covers so you don’t get the crabs.

But, believe it or not, there’s an upside to tossing turds in a public restroom. Sometimes, and I admit it’s a rare occurrence, you can find the cleanest of bath-

rooms in the classiest of establishments. And if you’re anything like me, I’m sure they’re cleaner than your home potty. The only other benefit I can think of to communal crapping is being able to enact revenge on those who have wronged you in the past—or just people you don’t like.

Imagine that your ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend works at McDonald’s and you know for a fact he or she is closing. It’s a strong possibility that they’re on bathroom duty. Think about it: they’re a douche bag, right?

Duh, they stole your boyfriend or girlfriend! Wouldn’t you give bathroom duty to the douchiest of douches?

Of course you would. So punish that fucking toilet.

Make sure that if the toilet was a person it would weep and I guarantee that your nemesis will when he or she is elbow deep in shit with a Brillo pad.

The local Starbucks is great for a number of reasons. It’s always cleaner than the restroom at my

apartment. It has paper towels that I did not purchase and that really cool foam soap that’s way more fun than your run-of-the-mill liquid soap. There are also clearly stated directions that connote the correct way in which to wash your hands after your dookie discharge—turn on faucet, use soap, scrub thoroughly, rinse, dry hands, use a towel to turn off faucet. Wow, that’s so helpful on those days when you’re just going through the motions, y’know?

Easy access is the best thing about that Starbucks near my place. There’s a door I can slip through on the side that’s out of view of the baristas and near the restroom, so I don’t ever have to buy a drink to use it. And when my ex’s new boyfriend is working the late shift, I know to go in around 10:40 at night with a proverbial cornucopia of shit saved up from at least three different fast food restaurants. That poor fucker must think someone out there hates him. He’s right.

the best throne on campus

location: the womens bathroom near the coffee bean CAITLIN CUTT

Each time I wash my hands in public bathrooms, I am always impressed by the borderline acrobatic methods women have developed over the years to avoid touching door handles, faucet handles, and flushers. I think all of this methodology is an outward manifestation of an inward anxiety created by watching too many investigative news reports and a secret fear that we all have about contracting an STD from a toilet seat. That really would suck. But honestly, it’s really not the germ situation that bothers me so much about public bathrooms. My gripe has more to do with the poor layouts that most bathrooms suffer from, which then translates to a string of awkward social interactions that happen to coincide with the specific portions of my day that I am by far at my most venerable.

First, obviously, the number of stalls in there play a pivotal role in a public bathroom experience. If there aren’t a lot of toilets in that thing, you have to wait in line with a group of people that, by the very nature of them being there, are on the testy side. This brings me to the doorway’s position in the room: if the doorway is too close to the sinks, the line then forms awkwardly around the

sinks, an area where people are attempting to wash their hands. If that’s the case, there’s a good chance that the line is blocking the paper towels. It is truly a horrible moment when you have to actually reach past someone, hands dripping wet, while they, for some reason, seem annoyed that you need to get to the damn things at all; as if they’d prefer we all just dry our hands on our pants.

On top of all of this, the mere presence of the line makes it awkward if you need, you know, time?

To remedy this, when I have to go, I go to the girl’s bathroom at the Student Union. Not the one by the elevator, the one by Coffee Bean. It’s a beautiful place.

It’s big. Very, very big. This means that if a line does happen to form, you can wash your hands without having to elbow your way to the sink, and you can avoid any sopping wet game of chicken.

Also, the stalls go far, far, back, so you can take your time without people feeling like people are watching your stall waiting for you to finish. But the best part is there are no flourescent lights.

This means, when you look in the mirror, you don’t have to sit there trying to figure out whether or not you actually look that tired and green.

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

OPINIONS DON’T TOUCH THE CHALK

YOU’RE PUTTING YOUR LIFE IN JEOPARDY SIMONE HARRISON

O

Illustration RACHEL RUFRANO

ver 69% of people who contract sexually transmitted diseases do so in public restrooms. While this statistic is completely and entirely false, there is reasonable merit in being cautious of the toilet seat herp-herp. Mind-walk with me, for a moment, through your journey in and out of a public restroom.

Usually, you begin by opening a door that has been molested by the masturbator before you and then close the latch that has also been perverted by that girl in math class with hygiene that rivals the bum on the corner of Bellflower. The fun comes soon after when you unzip the crotch slot that ol’ Jimmy had been fiddling with in the car an hour before.

Here’s when it gets rough. You then place your swaddling rumpus on the sovereign nation of germs and bacteria that have been joining forces since the last time Berta bothered to show up at work. Now, you can try to pull the wool over your eyes, but we know the truth. No, you don’t always use the ass gasket that is provided in most water closets. There are those choice moments when your urinary tract is whining like a salivating bass hound to release all of that pent up Gatorade (Purple Rain) and you just don’t have the time to make that small, yet sanitary step.

After you’ve released the pent up piss that has turned a strange hue of light pink, you reach for the salvation of bathroom conduct,

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

POST-INDUSTRIAL HOMESICK BLUES toilet paper. While this may seem like a Grade A idea, just think about the person before you that had a impromptu itch on their unmentionables before they grabbed for a piece of bath tissue.

Now, you’ve basically finger-fucked every Betty Bumsniffer that sat down before you. If that isn’t enough to make every restroom attendee use a good deal of caution, then comes the after party of bathroom events: washing yourself.

At this point you should bother trying to redeem your body from the multiple menaces that haunt public restrooms, but by God, you’ll still try. Using weeksold cheap soap that the janitorial service probably bought in bulk two years ago, you wash your hands in a porcelain hot zone of microorganisms. You meander across the grime-ridden floors to the exit and if you’re lucky, you’ve made it out alive. Now, you can go about your day with tiny diseased soldiers clinging to you with everything they’ve got. There is hope for every person that decides to risk their health and pee in public restrooms. You can just invest in a hefty amount of cellophane to wrap around your body every time the pesky urge arises.

MATT DUPREE Today, I googled “Twilight.” Now, I could say it was to clarify some of the jargon I had heard from the season finale of South Park (the Vamps vs. Goths one), but that’s not entirely true. Every time some new youth craze pops up I feel the need, to some degree, to check out what the buzz is about. Now that may seem reasonable, but remember that for every worthwhile kiddie cause célèbre (Harry Potter), there are hundreds of awful ones (Jonas Brothers, Jimmy Neutron, anything that ends with ‘Mon). But let’s get right to the heart of it: Twilight is awful. Maybe the movie will be kooky and fun, but from everything I can gather the books are harlequin romance at its most hormonal and shallow. It’s not really even a vampire story (the main vampire can walk around during the day and read minds): the whole ‘undead’ angle is really just a trick to set up a pair of otherwise trite star-crossed lovers. Truly unnecessary as literature, and I say that knowing I’ll have to endure the scorn of my pubescent younger sister who took a trip over the summer to visit the city in Washington where the books are set (why couldn’t she just get into heroin?).

Then I did a less extraordinary thing. I busted open a copy of Alan Moore’s Watchmen. Even in the oft-maligned art of comics, Moore makes it look all too easy to balance two or three narratives in the same panel and tackle Cold War dread, homophobia, sexism, celebrity, vigilantism, and probably a thousand other things I totally missed.

In fact, I’ll give it a quick glance here… Ah, here’s one in chapter 4: the impermanence of memory contrasted with the permanence of time. “All we ever see of stars are their old photographs.” Blam!

Pow! Right in the thought-cooker!

Now, I’m not gonna expect a Pulitzer for pointing out that kids like kids’ stuff and grown-ups don’t. I’ll leave that to Stephen Hunter (oooh, a Pulitzer joke).

But even my brief trip through the wooly world of piss-poor youth fiction has served as a stark reminder to all the stupid things I used to be over the fucking moon for. And now I’ll turn on the TV and wait for that self-aware part of my brain to shut down again, phasing back into the world where I was always old, this arrogant, and this devilishly genius. It’s not that I don’t want to claim those younger versions of myself, because I do (well, maybe not all of them). They just don’t serve a purpose beyond those memories. They’re something to dust off every so often, re-examine, and then put back up on the shelf to forget about all over again. After all, there are new memories to be made.

“All we ever see of stars are their old photographs.”

OPINIONS LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN MY FEAR OF MAKING HISTORY JAMES KISLINGBURY

I

n twenty-one years I’ve acquired quite a number of fears, both rational and irrational. Zombie attacks, Sudden Death Syndrome (SDS), frogs, graduating. I don’t spend too much time worrying about these things, though. The way I see it, if God wants to sick sharks or graduation on me, then there’s little I can do and that is simply the way it was meant to be. Though, this isn’t true with one of my fears. That fear, of course, is being warped back in time.

It could happen in lot of different ways. I could be minding my own business and fall through a stray wormhole or be helping a friendly neighborhood scientist with an experiment or I could get kidnapped by an English poof in a scarf with a phone booth. I simply don’t know how or when it’ll happen, which is where my list comes in. The To-Do-In-Case-of-Time-Travel List is my go-to guide on how to deal with inadvertent time travel (you should make one too, while you’re at it).

The list starts off with some of the more obvious stuff like “Warn people about Hitler” and “Tell JFK to duck” and “Plagiarize the entire discography of The Beatles.”

Then I’d move onto something like inventing penicillin.

It could probably save a lot of lives, and more importantly, I would make a bunch of money off of it (I’ll be damned if I have to travel through the space/time con-

tinuum on my own dime). It can’t be that hard since the past is full of mold and bread. I mean, until the past hundred years we’ve spent the majority of our time as a species either covered in rags or crapping in holes.

Speaking of crapping in holes, I would invent mathematics. As I understand it, most people in the past didn’t even know how to add, which is probably why most people in the past had about fifteen kids each (I would write a formula to show that fifteen is too many kids) and more than one God (we only need one God, divided by three—again, math at work). And while I did take remedial math for most of high school, I figure that since they can’t even figure out a way to go to the bathroom indoors, they’re probably easily impressed. With remedial math on my side, I’d be elected king in no time.

Once I had done that, I’d like to knock out racism. I mean, if we nicked racism in the bud early enough instead of having our first African-American president in 2008, we could probably get that down to 1980 or 1984 tops. Plus, there’d probably be a whole lot less violence, slavery, genocide, rape, and all that.

The only qualm I have is that maybe by removing all of those years of adversity I’d mess with the creation of blues, jazz, rock and roll, and hip-hop. Then what would white people steal to make music? We’d have an entire country full of nothing but polka and country music. And, really is that any better than a world full of racism?

Wait a minute, what am I talking about?

Racism is way more uncool than country music.

Like the Girl Scouts told me until I was dishonorably discharged: Always be pre-

pared. Whether that means getting locked out of your girlfriend’s apartment and being forced to jimmy open the window with a rock or faking a seizure to get out of jury duty, you should always have a plan in mind. So, maybe somewhere down the line when you find yourself trapped in Elizabethan England you’ll say, “Thanks, James, now instead of dying of plague, I can just create Lutheranism!” You’re welcome.

guess what. i hate restrooms too.

KATRINA SAWHNEY For five minutes, I hate my life.

Every bit of me dreads it. Every sip of delicious morning coffee, afternoon tea, obligatory water is laced with the ominous knowing that the tiny gulps push me one step closer. I’m filling up, reluctantly but inevitably. Then finally, I am forced to give in, and use the school toilets.

Using the bathrooms at school is an action of staunch determination governed only by the direst of needs. The most primal calling forces me to pee in a toilet cleaned some undeterminable amount of time ago.

The school loo is a horrible place. Germs being expelled ten feet in every direction at every flush.

You’re breathing it in, you know. It’s in your lungs, mouth, throat, hair, eyes, on your skin, snuggling in the fibers of your clothes, and it follows you. Sanitary is a word belonging in the utopia of bathrooms, no place for it here in this poorly-ventilated prison. It’s a punishment for my consumerism—the secondary Starbucks fee of: your firstborn or the mercy of the university bathrooms.

I can assure you, people are disgusting. Leaving a toilet unflushed and full of things that were once in you, is not something anyone else should ever have to see. It’s terrifying and temps my gag reflex to just jump ship, give in. It’s a Petri dish of waste left festering until a brave soul comes and flushes it down. Someone who, no doubt, is unaware of the pelting of germs erupting from the porcelain bowl.

For me it’s a ritual of continual gagging and fear of the suspicious droplets left on the seat from the person before me. There was someone here before me. There were hundreds of people and their germs before me.

There’s a distinctly musty smell of other people’s innards, but the horror of the tiny black curly hair is unmatched.

Short, blunt curly black hair that glares up at you seems to say, “I dare you to pee.”

Now it’s a showdown of tenacity, and the hair always wins. I am forced to take a bit of tissue and sweep it into the bowl away from where I am supposed to sit. Even the paper between myself and the seat seems dirty. At this point I have reached a point of no return. For a short 5 minutes, I hate my life.

Emerging from the stall, undoing the latch that is no

doubt the free-love fest of bacteria, I scurry to the sinks.

The handle, the soap dispenser, I wash my hands still trying not to breathe. And then the final match: you and the door. If the loo is busy, you have to weigh your options. Do you stay for those additional seconds in the most rancid of air, or soil your hands on the door pulls?

Plow through, the smell is staging a final coup.

If you are one of the lucky ones that see this battle through the end, escaping this place that claims so many unknowing victims, you too know the feeling of breathing in the smog of Long Beach, appreciating each suffocating carbon molecule.

I very well know. I know, it is all in my head. But where else are my thoughts and fears supposed to reside? So I sip my coffee, and wait.

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

ISSUE 63.13 “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for.” —Billy Joel MAIL TO THE CHIEF LETTERS TO THE EDITOR MIKE “BEEF” PALLOTTA

W

ell folks, sometimes when you work for a publication you get letters sent to you by the crazies.

People want to educate the masses with some “inside” information that they’ve become privy to. Being open-minded and an unabashed fan of the TV show Unsolved Mysteries, I read one letter (even if it wasn’t addressed to me) sent to us and felt the urge to spread the word that PEGASUS IS, IN FACT, PAGASAE! Catch your breath, and read on: Dear Ms. Miranda, Although I’ve never been a student at CSULB, I’ve studied informally in its library for over twenty years and thought the Union might be interested in the accompanying mapping of Pegasus’ family as coastal outlines, with Pegasus as Pagasae Gulf ’s winged-horse outline.

Perhaps a sketch-artist could streamline a map a week under the title of the manuscript they are taken from, Godmaps, a matching of the main deities of the main mythologies to archaeology and landforms in the simple format of maps with captions.

My only publication is the attached item in a 2002 Paris quarterly showing that a Victor Hugo poem indicates that Pegasus is Pagasae.

Yours sincerely, Patrick Brady [Editor’s note: What accompanied Mr. Brady’s letter were seven maps, each showing a separate section of Greece and Italy, with the final map connecting points from each map resulting in a stick figure person. This person apparently represents Pegasus? I think. No wait, the other one. I don’t know.

Also notable is the fact that the letter was genuinely typed on a typewriter. Let’s recap: Patrick Brady, who has never attended CSULB, but has been studying in our libary for over twenty years (which easily puts Mr. Brady in his forties) typed—on a typewriter—a letter detailing theories about the connection to land-mass formation and mythology and sent it to us, along with a self-addressed, stamped envelope. You do the math.]

Patrick, First, I’m sorry that Ms. Miranda can’t respond to your mail, she’s busy writing horoscopes, which a man of your interests might enjoy. Second, thanks for the mail.

The attached article on Victor Hugo, written in French, was completely misunderstood by me, but maybe you can translate it for me and send it back.

Upon rereading your letter and the materials attached I’ve grown to partially understand what you’re saying. Although what you say may be factual, you sound balls-out crazy and the only thing of yours I’ll print is this letter.

And maybe a future rebuttal.

Thanks for the laughs.

Ask Away!

Need advice from a man named Beef? Any questions/comments? Well send all questions to editorinbeef@gmail.com!

December Horoscopes

A Temptuous Wintry Affair: Poetic Foretellings by Kathy Miranda

AQUARIUS Jan 20-Feb 18 The winter gravel shuffles under your feet and you will wobble before an oncoming ice cream truck. Your vision will be blinded by the mean, mean sun and there are no snow angels to save you now.

PISCES Feb 19-March 20 The smell of roasted chestnuts and freshly baked gingerbread charms your senses. The purple unicorns and green elves greet you mysteriously. The winding road into the forest leads to a bright white light. Your drug overdose is long overdue.

ARIES March 21-April 19 You will dream of making love to a hairy elf and you will be terrified. You are terrified because your nightmare is real and the hairy green monstrosity that lay naked beside you is your girlfriend, among other things.

TAURUS April 20-May 20 You will befriend an angel and make sugary love to her.

Little red pustules of love spread between your legs and all up in your ass area. Call it an early Christmas present.

GEMINI May 21-June 21 December winds will lull you to sleep while the harvest moon peeps through your window. Uranus is gliding fast.

And there is a man coming. Right now. Splat.

CANCER June 22-July 22 Cinammon lingers on your tongue and you will suffer a long, unremitting, painful, unforgiving, loveless death from anaphylactic shock. Yes, you’re allergic.

LEO July 23-Aug 22

The sparkling sun dances in a silly manner around your UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

starry existence. Winters are warm, and you are lovely, and perfect—today will be absolutely amazing, children are born with laughter and we will love, and please someone shoot me, your sweet kisses are filled with romance and cuddly bears, stab me now, and cotton candy. And Santa won’t forget to bring you cookies, oh no, he won’t. Not this month. Not during this glorious, extraordinary month.

VIRGO Aug 23-Sept 22

You are rising water, and the tides of your life will come to full ebb, bringing your energies to their fullest potential.

Beware of the temptuous deli market, however, for if you wander anywhere near one, you are certain to lose at least four fingers in a freak meat-grinder accident.

LIBRA Sept 23-Oct 22

The sweet nectars of change will overcome your pallette, and your astral spirits will be in full alignment. This unfortunately will bring about a great degree of depression in the lives of your immediate family members.

SCORPIO Oct 23-Nov 21

You will find yourself arbitrarily wandering through a fruit field. Naked. Don’t ask questions, just call (562) 985-8000.

SAGITTARIUS Nov 22-Dec 21

A mysterious phone call will entice you to poison the gingerbread cookies. You will forget about doing this and after two bowls of marijuana, will eat the baked men, and die. You will commit your own accidental suicide.

CAPRICORN Dec 22-January 19

The gods of rain will forgive you, and wash you clean of stress and worry. The gentle spirits of your re-birth will fill the new year with real orgasms and lasting love—finally.

MIKE “BEEF” PALLOTTA Editor-In-Chief VINCENT GIRIMONTE Managing Editor KATHY MIRANDA Managing Editor

editorinbeef@gmail.com 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 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 VICTOR CAMBA victorpc.union@gmail.com Comics Editor KATIE REINMAN reinman.union@gmail.com Creative Arts Editor MICHAEL VEREMANS scarf.union@gmail.com Creative Writing Editor SOPHISTICATED BEAR bear.grun@gmail.com Grunion Editor CLAY COOPER, STEVEN CAREY Graphic Designers CHRIS LEE photos4union@gmail.com Photo Editor JOE BRYANT Copy Editing Coordinator, On-Campus Distribution CLAY COOPER clay.union@gmail.com Internet Caregiver KATRINA SAWHNEY katrina.union@gmail.com Advertising Executive ALLAN STEINER allan.union@gmail.com Advertising Executive JAMES KISLINGBURY, ERIN HICKEY, ANDREW WILSON, ALAN PASSMAN, JASON OPPLIGER, CHRISTINE HODINH, JESSE BLAKE, DOMINIC MCDONALD, HILLARY CANTU, RUSSELL CONROY, KEN CHO, SERGIO ASCENCIO, ANDREW LEE, TYLER DINLEY, ANDY KNEIS, MICHAEL MERMELSTEIN, SIMONE HARRISON, LAUREN ANDERSON, JANTZEN PEAKE, OMAR ZAHZAH, TESSA NEVAREZ, JESSICA WILLIAMS 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 239, Long Beach, CA 90815 PHONE : 562.985.4867 FAX : 562.985.5684 E-MAIL : info@lbunion.com WEB : www.lbunion.com

SPORTS

THE BUSH LEAGUER VINCENT GIRIMONTE

This week: Thanksgiving Mythbuster TBL learned that the amount of tryptophan one needs to consume in order to slip into a white meat (never dark meat) induced coma amounts to an entire turkey’s worth of gluttony, or as a friend put it, not a “healthy amount.” To compensate, because we all need our sleep, TBL watched three consecutive NFL games and concluded that it was the most milquetoast Turkey Day lineup in recent memory. Yawn.

Getting a tattoo on the side of one’s head does not make one more likely to play basketball, even if one is paid over $20 million to do so. The chump in question, of course, is Stephon Marbury, one of the NBA’s highest paid players who has decided not to play for the New York Knicks for what TBL assumes is a horrible reason.

If an athlete in a nightclub is not shot by another person, this does not necessarily mean said athlete will not be shot. Yes, Plaxico Burress shot himself in the leg last Friday night in a New York nightclub. TBL has long held a suspicion that Burress was, in fact, a blowhard, but this sort of buffoonery is unprecedented, even in our modern NFL, raunchy as it is. Burress can face criminal charges if he does not have a license to carry a concealed weapon in the State of New York. NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell is just glad Burress shot himself.

There is no defense in the Big 12. I was formerly in the camp that wrote off the high scores of Big 12 games due to the conference’s vaunted arsenal of quarterbacks. But then I watched another high scoring shootout—Oklahoma at Oklahoma State—and wondered if the Big 12 had eliminated the rules protecting bump coverage. I love good offense, but I think offense should be measured against good defenses—I’ve yet to see one in the Big 12 and thus I’m not buying either Oklahoma or Texas. Chances are this is just a phase.

If Texas and Oklahoma get shut down in their bowl contests by physical defenses it will be a phase that ends quickly.

NOTES ON THE ASSOCIATION MERM SCOLDS LEBRON, LOVES MR. BIG SHOT

MICHAEL MERMELSTEIN

T

he 2010 draft class is going to be one for the ages. As the entire sporting world knows, LeBron James will be available then, but so will Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh and a whole laundry list of superstars. This has lead many commentators to wonder what this blockbuster year will mean for LeBron and his relationship with his franchise the Cleveland Cavaliers. Conventional wisdom dictates that his sponsors want him in a major market (i.e., out of Ohio). Last week, the New York Knicks traded away three players in the hope of clearing cap space to woo LeBron James and still have enough left over to lure another superstar to join him.

Now, whether money is enough to entice LeBron to the burning pile of wreckage that is the Knicks organization remains to be seen.

All of these deals culminated with a visit to New York by King James and the Cavs. The game was a huge circus, with LeBbron giving an interview hinting at joining the Knicks in the 2010 sweepstakes. The New York fans were ecstatic, but this blatant lack of loyalty rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, including NBA Legend and personal hero of mine, Charles Barkley. On the TNT NBA half time show, Barkley let LeBron know how disappointed he was, which is understandable because Sir Charles is an old school player with a huge mouth. This week LeBron responded by calling Barkley stupid, which I guess proves Barkley’s point.

Elsewhere, the Nuggets and Pistons swapped starters, with Billups going to Denver and Iverson going to Detroit. Even though Detroit handed my Los Angeles Lakers their only loss with Iverson, and even though the Pistons have been playing

good ball with AI, this was still a great deal for Denver and a mistake for Detroit. Billups instantly makes the Nug’s a cohesive, well-balanced playoff contender, whereas Iverson is already starting trouble and missing practices. They don’t call Billups Mr. Big Shot for nothing.

In my season preview I had said that Houston was going to choke because their division was too stacked with contenders.

All I can say is that I’m glad San Antonio and Dallas are sucking. The Rockets are playing some decent ball and they will probably wind up making the playoffs, but Artest still won’t get them over the hump.

They will be bounced in the first round as usual.

If Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili’s return sparks the Spurs back into form, I will be shocked. It seems the former dynasty has run out of speed.

Can I talk about the Lakers now? They are 13 and 1 and don’t face a real challenge until New Orleans on December 23rd. They have been playing out of their minds these past 14 games, and except for the stumble against Detroit they have been shutting teams down. All the preseason drama involving Lamar Odem has subsided and the path is clear for the Lakers to waltz into the finals and hopefully bring another title home to LA. Andrew Bynum and Pau Gasol have been playing together beautifully, and I am pumped for the new era in the Lakers Dynasty. Enough gloating.

Image

CLAY COOPER

Charlie Weis is not, despite his title, a head coach. I’ll keep this brief as I’m sure most of you are too young to remember (or care) about past Notre Dame Football dominance. To be frank, Weis is probably the worst “coach’s coach” I’ve seen in recent memory, meaning, among other things, he cannot inspire his team to win. He has recruited outstanding talent to Notre Dame and many Irish fans will thank him for leaving such a potent starter set for the next coach. Head coaches need to understand the importance of fundamentals. Head coaches need to motivate, and specific to Notre Dame, head coaches must not get blown out by USC, time and time again. It’s really not that complicated.

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

ENTERTAINMENT VAN SANT DIPS HIS PENN IN SOME MILK NOW WOULD BE THE TIME FOR SOME TASTELESS PUNS MICHAEL MERMELSTEIN

G

us Van Sant’s Milk is a movie that transcends the stigma that biopics have garnered over the past decade. Sean Penn stars as Harvey Milk, the first openly gay public official, a man who dedicated his life to gay rights and the democratic process. The 1984 documentary, The Times of Harvey Milk, won the Academy Award for Best Documentary. The ensemble surrounding Sean Penn is quite remarkable and Van Sant does a fantastic job of orchestrating them, but this plays second fiddle to the political and historical nature of the film.

Though Milk is ostensibly about its titular character, the film is truly an ensemble piece, with fantastic performances throughout. Of course, Sean Penn will receive the most attention for his performance as the “Mayor of Castro Street,” but the piece would be flat if it weren’t for the contributions from Josh Brolin and James Franco. Franco’s performance as Harvey’s lover Scott Smith is extremely dynamic—he grapples with his love for Harvey and the toll politics takes on their relationship. Brolin, on the other hand, plays the extremely unstable city council member Dan White, who is comical but also extremely troubled. The way Van Sant arranges these pieces shapes Milk into much more than a traditional film.

Milk will disappoint if the moviegoer is looking for any real character development. If instead one looks for an indepth take on the political process and an extremely interesting historical piece, then the viewer will get much more out of Van Sant’s work. Harvey Milk had to run many times before he became the first openly gay elected official, and the movie does a great job of showing the ins and Sean Penn delivers an Award-worthy performance in Milk and our Music Editor outs of the campaign wishes someone would make a film about the first openly coprophilic music editor. room and the give and take nature of politics. Harvey Milk was very much Milk soars as an exploration of an extremely fasa product of the hippie culture and the counter culture cinating man’s life and the fervor and passion he backlash of the ’70s. By adding documentary footage to brought to his life’s work. Van Sant is a brilliant conthe film, Van Sant adds a lot of authenticity and cred- ductor and the collection of talent he has assembled ibility to Milk’s world. The most enjoyable section of the performs well. Sean Penn will no doubt receive a lot film is where the political and cultural aspects of the of acclaim for his performance. However, the success story intersect—the debate over Proposition 6, which of the film relies on the viewer and what they take out would have banned gay teachers, closeted or otherwise, of Harvey Milk’s service to his community. The relfrom teaching in public schools. The debate over Prop evance to today’s “Yes on 8” California is staggering 6 mirrors the current debate over Prop 8, only back in and for that reason alone it is a must see. the ’70s Politicians and religious fanatics were a lot more Merm votes “yes” on Milk and gives it: vicious and outspoken. Van Sant weaves in footage of Born Again icon Anita Bryant’s vile speeches and ties it to Milk’s tireless campaign against Prop 6. The election day sequence that shows Milk and his advisers tallying the results is exhilarating.

THE LAST PICTURE JOE THIS WEEK: OSCARBATION JOE BRYANT

Illustration JAMES KISLINGBURY

It’s that time of the year—the awards season drive—which means all of the movies that studios have classified as “important” are arriving in theaters.

Synecdoche, New York and Milk would fall in that category. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button would too. The late Fall and early Winter are so influential when it comes to Oscar night that studios will usually take their potential nominees that came out earlier in the year and re-release them around now, just to give the Academy friendly nudges and winks.

Warner Bros.’ The Dark Knight, which is poised to snatch at least a Best Supporting Actor nomination for Heath Ledger’s performance and probably a sleugh of other noms too, is getting the re-release treatment in IMAX (and possibly conventional theaters) in January. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure if we’re going to see any other movies from earlier in the year hit screens again before the Oscars. Most of the good 2008 movies have been action flicks and comedies—two genres the Academy rarely favors.

It’ll be interesting to see how many little gold men The Dark Knight takes home.

Ignoring the summer entirely, this year has sucked—mostly due to the overwhelming amount of, not good, but great films that populated 2007. We UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

were fucking spoiled. No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood were released in the same year.

It’s a shame that they weren’t a year apart—they both deserved Best Picture Oscars.

Of course, there are exceptions when it comes to the Academy Awards. One of my favorite films of 2007, Zodiac (which came out long before Awards Season), was snubbed by the Academy. Shit like that happens every year, so it’s not that big of a deal, but the fact that Juno got a Best Picture nod and Zodiac didn’t pisses me off. Juno isn’t a great movie and only great movies should be nominated. Juno wasn’t even a good movie, it was just okay. Couple Juno’s Best Picture nomination and the fact that its writer, Diablo Cody, won Best Original Screenplay in a year when Ratatouille and Michael Clayton were nominated for the same category is appalling. And why did she win it? Because Juno had quirky dialogue and Diablo Cody has a rags (or g-string in this case) to riches back-story—Hollywood loves that bullshit.

I generally enjoy this time of the year for film.

Good movies come out. Those “important” movies I mentioned earlier? I really want to see them.

It isn’t that they’re pretentious (though it’s very possible they will be), it’s just that studios fairly

early on single out which films may be Oscar-worthy—the movies they feel have potential. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button might finally be something of director David Fincher’s (Fight Club, Zodiac) that the Academy will recognize, and that would make me happy—he’s one of my favorite directors.

While I appreciate it when good movies come out, is it possible to maybe—I don’t know— spread the love around? In a world where comic book movies aren’t always shoe-horned into the summer blockbuster spot, it’s probable that The Dark Knight would have come out during Awards Season. Isn’t that strange? Didn’t it feel good to see a legitimately great film that not only crossed genre boundaries, but the studios’ pre-determined seasons as well?

I know it did for me—I didn’t have to wait until Winter to see something cool.

ENTERTAINMENT YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN’T SEEN...

THE BATTLE OF ALGIERS (1966)

JAMES KISLINGBURY

E

veryone loves The Battle of Algiers—the Black Panthers, the Red Army, the IRA, Donald Rumsfeld—and for good reason. Gillo Pontecorvo’s The Battle of Algiers is one of the best-made movies about the West clashing with the Middle East and of occupation forces clashing with an indigenous people fighting for independence. It’s a complex movie that’s as relevant today as it was in 1966—perhaps even more so.

The film begins in 1957, with a recently tortured Arab man being forced to lead French paratroopers to the hideout of several key revolutionaries. The soldiers surround the hideout and threaten four revolutionaries—a man, a teenage boy, a woman and a child—that they have a choice between surrendering or being blown up. From there the movie shifts backwards to 1954 and chronicles the eponymous battle for Algeria’s independence and the French government’s attempts to quash the rebellion.

When I was watching the film, a friend of mine passed by and asked, “Is that real?” Pontecorvo’s film is shot in the style of a documentary or a newsreel, as a grainy, handheld affair almost completely devoid of romance or theatricality. Everything is filmed with the idea that the following events just happened to pass in front of the camera (the trailer to the film has a disclaimer explicitly telling the audience that, in fact, not a single frame of newsreel footage was used in the film). Not only do shots of the city streets and rooftops look realistic, so do the frequent scenes of torture and explosions.

JOE BRYANT We all love movies, but some of us are so goddamned obsessed that we stay up-to-date with the latest news from Tinseltown. Secret of the Nooze is for you, the normal gal or guy. Think of Secret of the Nooze as that one friend that has the juiciest gossip, only instead of it being about Chad, the gossip concerns some of the

Pontecorvo knew that these kinds of things shouldn’t be cleaned up and sanitizing them completely would compromise the film’s integrity. If you can watch a scene where a man gets a car battery attached to his ears without feeling a tad bit squeamish, then the point is entirely lost. The Battle of Algiers doesn’t shy away from harrowing violence, even when you might like it to.

The film benefits greatly from the score by legendary composer Ennio Morricone (who is probably best known for the “Waa-Waa-Waaaaa” in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly). While Morricone does a solid job throughout the film, his talent really shines in a sequence where three Arab women prepare themselves to place time bombs in the city’s crowded French District. The score gallops along as they dye and straighten their hair, bluff their way through military checkpoints and place their deadly cargo inside of a café, an airport and a bar full of Europeans of every age and gender.

His score intensifies the seconds as they tick along towards an inevitable carnage.

The bombing in turn escalates the conflict from a band of idealists taking on the government to a full-blown war against every European that calls this corner of North Africa home. The women’s three bombs rip through the crowded buildings, throwing bodies. It shows that this fight to liberate Algiers, while a righteous cause, can at the same time be a cruel and terrible thing. On the other side of the conflict are the French paratroopers, who wish to pacify Algiers by any and all means, including assassinations and enhanced interrogations (i.e., torture).

Though, in their attempt to bring order and civility to Algeria, they ironically anger the population into resisting their increasingly tenuous authority. In this world, war is portrayed as both more inhuman and less inhuman than we typically view it as. War in the world of The Battle of Algiers is a horrific and fanatical affair and it is often justified as such, but it can also simply become a mundane job with fallout and consequences.

To label The Battle of Algiers as a political film is to sell it short. Doing so would mean that half of its audience would be lost. And, while it very clearly is a movie about a political situation, it’s far more than that

and doesn’t suffer from the sanctimonious trumpeting that Michael Moore (Farenheit 9/11, Sicko) and Oliver Stone (Platoon, W.) are known for. Even though history did side with the Algerian people, the film doesn’t take either side and leaves it to the audience to decide

more interesting going-ons regarding your favorite directors, actors, or childhood properties that are going to be sodomized by said directors and/or actors.

Time for the nooze:

Michael Mann’s Public Enemies, which is destined for greatness. Michael Mann is the man who’s never failed to make an entertaining crime drama, with both Heat and Collateral in his cache of good will.

Public Enemies follows John Dillinger (Depp), the infamous Depression-era bank robber, and Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale), the FBI agent charged by J. Edgar Hoover with taking Dillinger down. With Bale and Depp pitted against eachother in fedoras and Mann behind the lens, there’s at least an 80 percent chance of success. Good odds in anyone’s book.

This isn’t exactly new, but both of these guys have enough fans out there to warrant printing this: Johnny Depp looks pretty much how you’d expect him to as the Mad Hatter in director Tim Burton’s vision of Alice in Wonderland.

It doesn’t look bad, it just obviously looks like Johnny Depp in a Tim Burton movie. Between this, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Batman Returns I think it’s safe to say Burton has a tall hat fetish.

Speaking of Johnny Depp news, here’s the exciting kind. Principle photography has wrapped on

The Battle of Algiers is only available in this pricey, albeit classy, Criterion edition, so Netflix that bitch.

the exact meaning of what they just watched, like a moving Rorschach test. Regardless of where you fall on the aisle, you should be able to recognize a great story that’s well constructed on every level. The Battle of Algiers is, at its most simple, a film about the trials that a people go through for the sake of independence and self-determinism—something all Americans should be able to empathize with.

Don’t like reading paragraphs? In consideration of your laziness and mine, here’s some Quick Nooze: • Joe Johnston (The Rocketeer) is set to direct the upcoming The First Avenger: Captain America, which is about who you think it is.

• No, Steve Guttenberg isn’t dead, but he is pushing for another set of sequels to Police Academy and Three Men and a Baby (the latter of which is tantalizingly titled Three Men and a Bride—what could it mean?).

“...if there’s no news, I’ll go out and bite a dog.”

-Charles Tatum, Ace in the Hole UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

WORDS BY CAITLIN CUTT PHOTOS BY CHRIS LEE

I 10

lived in Orange County in the same neighborhood for fifteen years of my life before I moved to Long Beach. Before my parents bought my old house, my grandparents had been living there since it was built in 1963. I guess you could say I grew up there.

But even though I had been running through sprinklers in the yard, decorating Christmas trees in our front window, and helping my mom plant her favorite roses along that same parkway since I could remember, by the time I moved out I really only knew three families in our neighborhood.

It’s possible that while you’re reading this right now you’re thinking that you know where this article is going. It’s already pretty sappy.

I talked about my mom and Christmas trees, and if you think that was sappy, in a few hundred words or so I’m going to talk about high school kids pairing up with special needs students for a ThanksgivUNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

ing style lunch at Wilson High School. Maybe you’re even thinking this article is heading in a direction that involves you “questioning” what it means to be a neighbor, what it means to really know people, and inevitably I will attempt to encourage you to get more involved in the Long Beach community. Well, you’d be right.

Now that I’ve been honest about where this is going, if you choose to read on, I need to ask you a favor: I need you to just pretend for a moment that you haven’t heard any of this kind of stuff before. Words like “community,” “love,” “relationship,” “neighbor,” and “friendship” have been slapped onto graduation cards, pushed by politicians, and worst of all, couched by people who want you to buy their product or go to their church—we literally don’t listen to those words anymore. Because of this, when we do hear things like, “treat others the way you wish to be treated” we all nod, agree this is an important concept for, say, children, and go back inside to watch TV. But did you ever ask yourself how you really wish to be treated? I think we forget that who we are, what we can bring to the table, is the origin of the “Golden Rule.” I want to suggest that this can be more than a mere platitude. The idea of treating others the way you wish to be treated is more than being polite. If you really want to do it, you have to know your own needs, too.

We Love Long Beach is a community project started

by Scott Jones and his sister Robin. To be honest, it’s more of a nebulous idea that has something to do with Long Beach—making it a better place to live, getting people together, and from what I can tell, it’s implementing that Golden Rule thing on a community level. I heard about it in an odd way. I was getting breakfast with my good friend Wesley at the Starling Café. We were flagged down by what was to be my future good buddy, Scott Jones, whom Wesley knew. We all ate together. It was a good meal and good conversation. I relayed my thoughts on Long Beach, how I saw its potential, and how I was looking for a way to get involved. Scott lit up. “You should get involved with We Love Long Beach. We put on community barbeques; we do community service—just stuff.

You get to meet people in the community. It’s cool.”

Honestly, it is cool. I joined the group on Facebook, and got invited to a “dinner party” at a local restaurant.

A We Love Long Beach dinner party is basically a night when people, who just happen to love Long Beach, go eat together and support local businesses. That’s it. So I went. Over dinner, I noticed someone had started a book club, which led me into a conversation with a guy about books and movies—I had a really nice time.

I went for a dinner, but what I came away with was a sense that I was actually part of the community I lived in. I had gotten to meet some people whom I may not have met otherwise—even though we live in the same city. When I sat down with Scott to talk about We Love Long Beach, he said, “I’m still trying to figure it all out myself. Part of me doing this is helping me to figure out who I am. And I think as I learn about the world, I learn about myself. As I learn about myself, I learn about the world.”

Last Monday afternoon, I went to Wilson High School for another We Love Long Beach event. This time a We Love Long Beach club that had been started at Wilson had teamed up with Best Buddies, a national organization that pairs high school kids with disabled kids in their school for mentorship and, really, to just hang out. Together, both groups put on a full-blown Thanksgiving meal for everyone involved—the students being the ones who coordinated and served the whole event. However, Scott’s sister Robin did work very hard at the dessert station, and I have to say I was impressed.

It was really amazing to see these high school kids working together for others just “because.” It was simple, understated, and moving.

Scott and I sat in Shore House on 2nd for our interview. Over his shoulder, there was a TV going but it was on mute. Between the fires, the “Market Meltdown,” and real-life pirates stealing oil, it looked like the end of the world. I didn’t even need the sound on and I was freaked out. It was kind of ironic considering I was gearing up for this article. I’ve heard so many times that people “just watch the news,” insinuating that people don’t care, that we are all just fat and happy.

I don’t agree with that. While a great number of us are overweight in America, I don’t think we’re happy. I think we all care about this crazy world. I think that it’s hard to see where who we are as individuals can meet the brokenness of everything going on. Not only that, but since we all are feeling small and confused, we look like we don’t care to each other. This is where we all say, “No one gives a damn!” and end up right back where we started feeling small, helpless, and insignificant all over again. “What’s the point?”

Scott broke through my mental digression: “Do you want to sit over here?”

I was embarrassed. “No, go on.”

Scott: “We have some more community dinner parties coming up, we have a We Love Long Beach club at Wilson High School that is going to serve a Thanksgiv-

Scott Jones (center) attends a Thanksgiving lunch held at Wilson High School for members of the We Love Long Beach club and Best Buddies. ing dinner to some of the disabled kids, we want to do more book club stuff, we’ll have to see.”

The reason that Scott had such a hard time telling me what plans he had for the future of We Love Long Beach is exactly the same reason I have faith that this We Love Long Beach thing could turn into something—there is no plan. The reason it doesn’t have a plan is because this soon-to-be non-profit’s trajectory depends on who gets involved. The reason We Love Long Beach is unique is that it gives the individual a forum to let who they are inform how they encounter our community.

Scott: “How do you start a relationship? There’s no formula. That’s the thing, once you try to create a formula, you’re not allowing people to be who they are, and you’re not allowing yourself to be who you are. It all depends on who comes on board, and what gifts they have.

It’s very organic in that way. If you can do something

better than me, that’s what you should go do. For me, community is looking at the gifts, look at the passions that people have and say, ‘Let’s go do it!’”

One thing that sets Long Beach apart from literally any other city in the entire country is its diversity. Long beach is the most diverse city in the United States. That is pretty cool. But it’s also a little daunting to think about.

In reality, what we call diversity really looks like difference on paper. These differences, most of the time, are irreconcilable things. Things like race, religion, political views, even who we have sex with—these are things that will not just “go away.” Time and time again it’s been obvious that as individuals, we are not willing to acquiesce for the greater good. We are who we are. Those differences then go on to shape who we seek out, where we eat, what we read, and actually, with whom we decide to have sex with. Even though we live in a diverse city, UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

11

I would argue that few actually seek that aspect of Long Beach out. Much like assuming that having access to information is the same thing as being informed, we may be assuming our high threshold of tolerance is the same as being part of a diverse community.

Look, I happen to think that the average person is basically good. I also happen to think that I am not alone in that idea. Granted, there are a few hateful nut-bags out there, but I don’t automatically assume that each person I have a class with is like that. But looking at 23 years of myself interacting with this world, it certainly looks like I think the world is out to get me. As if people are waiting to screw me over, beat me up, take my money, and leave me for dead. Honestly, it is a fear that keeps me from putting myself out there, but it’s not a fear of the world, it’s a fear that the world may not accept me. I don’t want to seem weird, or…I don’t know.

Scott: “When I first started [We Love Long Beach] I was very fearful of my neighbors. I almost want to be like, ‘Let me just go move to another location so it’s a new start. Now I can care for my neighbors.’ Living in Long Beach for 26 years now, there’s a fear about how people are going to look at me. ‘That’s not you. What the hell are you doing? What’s the catch? Where’s the million-dollar idea?’ Right off the bat, I think people have questioned my real motives. ‘Is this really about love?’”

When Scott told me about We Love Long Beach and all his plans for restoring the community, getting people together, learning about the city, all “because we

12

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

can,” I was wondering what the catch was too. How sad.

We live in such a cynical, result-oriented world, and I am a prime example of it. It’s hard to fight the myth that states the only real difference is a big difference, and the only way to make a big difference is to get lots of money. We want to buy impact. We want all documented results, quantifiable miracles, so to speak. But what’s worse, those feelings of hope and optimism have lost their impact. We all roll our eyes at sentimentality, we distrust simple gestures of kindness, we consistently write off simple true things as cliché, and we laugh at our friends. It’s true: the bad, dirty things are sexy to talk about, and they certainly exist. But guys, the good things are just as real. Good things, like “friendship,” take more work to create, a willingness to be trusting of their simplicity.

Scott: “What we all long for is a community. We all want to live in a great city. We all long to be loved and cared about, but you can’t do that by saying, ‘Okay, we’re going to change the system!’ Are you good at cooking?

Let’s all cook together. It’s about getting past our differences, religion, race, political views—the metaphor would be like a symphony; everyone has his or her instruments. We need that in community life.”

True growth, any growth, is created in the interplay of differences. It will be our differences that bring about real impact—not similitude. For instance, if you live downtown, you can see needs in the downtown area that people in Bixby Knolls don’t know about.

If you bring out those needs, We Love Long Beach

aims to pool the personal resources they have to offer and address that need. But we won’t know what that looks like until the idea is there on the table. We won’t know unless people show up. If you have an idea that will bring healing, or even fun to Long Beach, talk to Scott about it.

Scott: “There are certain things I recognize about the world and about people—there’s certain longing’s that we all have. There’s a longing for justice and for things to be made right in the world.”

While trying to figure out how the hell I was going to write this, I looked up quotes about “love.” My new favorite quote about love was written by Henry Lois Menken. Interesting guy. He said, “Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.” If your passion is knitting, it may not make much sense to say that knitting can be part of a change in Long Beach, but with a little imagination, who knows? Scott and Robin Jones are not doing anything new with We Love Long Beach. The concept is as old as Jesus, and its methodology are similar to stuff Gandhi brought up from time to time. But if those guys didn’t do it for you, We Love Long Beach presents yet another reminder that there is always a chance to “be the change you wish to see in the world.” Look them up on Facebook. Its there if you want to get involved. I really hope you do. If you bring who you are, if you bring your needs, your hopes, your dreams, along with all your sappy, silly sentimentality, you’ll give Long Beach a chance to love you, and then you can love Long Beach right back.

LITERATURE TONI MORRISON VS. THE AFRICANIST

NAMING THE WHITENESS NOISE IN LITERATURE MICHAEL VEREMANS

A

lthough it can be said about numerous books since the dawn of literature, most literary critics would agree that American literature is particularly race-conscious. The existence of a racist motif, or in more developed cases a racially hierarchical trope, seems to pervade American literature up to the end of segregation and the advent of deconstruction (and, more subtly, to today) and can be depicted by the binary opposition of white and black, with white as superior, or oppressor. In order to understand and heal its metaphysical impact on the writerly conscious, authors and artists from Phillis Wheatley to the scholarly Toni Morrison have developed an Africana school of criticism whose methodology seeks to uncover and analyze this racial paradigm.

Early on in our national literary narrative, authors established an environment in which the Euro-American characters were favored, sometimes subtly, sometimes openly, over non-White characters—Natives, Blacks, sometimes non-Anglos. We can see this at a glance by the racial demarcation of two non-White characters in

Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn; they are respectively Injun Joe and Jim (who is referred to as “nigger” in the novel). This process of naming both derogates and marginalizes these characters. Meanwhile the White characters appear with lack of racial classification. Toni Morrison sums this seemingly anomalous namelessness up succinctly in her seminal pamphlet on Africana criticism, Playing in the Dark, when she notes of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not, “Eddy is white, and we know he is because nobody says so.” As modern readers we have to ask: what is that teaching us?

That these early American authors were racist or wrote in racist times are too simple explanations for Toni Morrison, who explores instead the self-reflexive nature of the generally negative characterization of Afro-American characters. Morrison calls the dark character that reflects the fears and anxieties of the White writer—and not the reality of Black Americans—the Africanist persona, “Africanism is the vehicle by which the American self knows itself as not enslaved, but free…” The Africanist, then, is written to express what is otherwise culturally forbidden: sexuality, violence, freedom from civilization, but also childlike dependence. Rather than viewing AfroAmericans through this scope—the traditional mode of Western literature—Morrison uses these themes to analyze the conscious of the White author and White culture.

Though Morrison does acknowledge the utility of the Africanist as a trope for White authors, she does not fail to expound on its culturally deleterious effects. The Africanist cripples the Euro-American authorial voice by strengthening the Western resistance to plurality that has become associated in postcolonial criticism with violence and subjugation, undermining largely the

agency of the Afro-American, too. Where White authors continue to have trouble identifying with what has been shown to be but a part of themselves, this unhealthy metanarrative has thrived, but it doesn’t have to be a permanent feature of American literature.

To combat the dangerously persistent Africanist trope, Toni Morrison has taken a further step by creating what can only be called a Europeanist character. “Whiteness, alone, is mute, meaningless, unfathomable, pointless, frozen, veiled, curtained, dreaded, senseless, implacable;” the Europeanist is named, classified, and thus conquered, coming to represent both the sterile nature of the Master Narrative and the fears of the Africana writerly conscious. In this vein, Baby Suggs, a cyclical character from Morrison’s brilliant novel, Beloved, after years contemplating the nature of colors, says “That there was no bad luck in the world but whitepeople.”

Nobel Prize and Pulitzer Prize-winning author Toni Morrison tackles the Africanist Trope.

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

MUSIC RADIO IS A SOUND SALVATION BUT WHO WILL SAVE RON SEXSMITH? RACHEL RUFRANO

R

on Sexsmith is a 44-year-old singer-songwriter who looks like he’s endured as much fame as Keith Richards. On stage he sweats through his ruffled pink tuxedo shirt. There are a pile of towels within arm’s reach that he uses to drag over his face between songs. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his shirt buttons struggle to hold in his beer belly. It’s an image he doesn’t shy away from—he’s on the cover of eight of his nine U.S. released albums—though, in person, you might think differently. He avoids eye contact, he fidgets constantly, and his smooth, crooning singing voice is a far cry from his quiet mumbling conversation. I wonder immediately if the spotlight is something he purposely avoids. Why else, I ask myself, after so many albums, a hit song, “Secret Heart” covered by Feist, and admirers like Elvis Costello and Paul McCartney, would he remain so hidden under the radar?

“At this stage in my career I don’t really have the kind of ‘machine’ behind me, so, you know, I always hope for the best and all the labels I work with are hoping for success somehow, but I tend to get shut out of a lot of things.

Not just radio, but a lot of television shows that other people get to do and I don’t know why that is.”

But when Sexsmith says he hopes for “the best” he doesn’t necessarily mean radio play. “I think the sound and production of my first album was kind of sparse and had this unique production that wasn’t really radiofriendly, which was more along the lines of someone like Tom Waits. It was a combination of my singing—which isn’t everyone’s cup of tea—and the production, although I had an album a few years ago called Retriever that had two songs get into the top 20 and that was the only time that’s ever happened. So I think, whatever it is, it just doesn’t seem to fit in with what the radio is playing. It seems to be more of an R&B or an urban thing.”

And as bluesy as Sexsmith’s voice can be, his pop-folk sound would never fit into Clear Channel’s definition of “urban.” Sexsmith made money when he first got started in his hometown of St. Catherines, Ontario as the “human jukebox,” playing requested hits of the ‘70s. I’d assume the last thing he’d want to do is write requested songs of the new millennium.

Still, having listened to much of his music over the years, I find it hard to believe that a talent like Ron Sexsmith can go “undiscovered” for so long. I compare him

to Randy Newman. His songwriting is earnest and reads like poetry and, like Newman, all the beauty seems to lay in the words he doesn’t say. But Sexsmith makes a good point: “People don’t hear [Randy Newman’s] songs on the radio either, so I feel like I’m in good company.”

He goes on about Newman, but he’s too modest to admit that what he says could just as easily be applied to his own work. “I think it’s unfortunate that most people coming up now know him from [Toy Story], but I think he could write those songs in his sleep. But you know when you hear Harps and Angels or Bad Love, he’s got a point of view that’s always a little subversive and he has a really strange slant on things.” Could Sexsmith be implying that the average listener—the radio listener—can’t handle listening to subversive or slanted messages in their music? And, if I am a fan of Sexsmith, would that explain why I jumped at the chance to assume that the name of his newest album, Exit Strategy of the Soul, had something to do with our involvement in Iraq? “This record I felt like I was writing more of a spiritual album. The title really didn’t have too much to do with the war or anything like that,” he says, “Even though I kept hearing those two words, ‘exit strategy,’ on CNN at the time and I think it may have had an impression on me.”

I was reading too far into it, of course, but I should have known—Sexsmith is a master at dissecting the human condition. He can write a happy song about loneliness, a sad song about the crush you have on the girl next door, songs about God, and songs about running away and starting over. If you didn’t believe he carried this wisdom with him by looking at his weathered face, you would by listening to his music. And he does so gracefully—by keeping a sense of history with him, remembering the greats who did it first, if not better.

This night, specifically, he is worshipping in the temple of The Troubadour. Track six on Exit Strategy is a song called, “Brandy Alexander,” co-written with Leslie Feist, and he drinks one on stage. He proceeds to tell the audience (only a handful of us too young to drink anyway) that John Lennon was drinking a Brandy Alexander with Harry Nilsson when he was kicked out of The Troubadour in 1974 for bad behavior.

Unlike Lennon, Sexsmith can drink as much brandy as he wants and never have to worry about burning out or fading away. Never to be diluted by radio-play or superstardom, Sexsmith is an Indie-music fan’s dream. He’s a legend in the eyes of anyone who can appreciate a brilliant songwriter and, like anyone without a hit song or commercial jingle, he can be yours forever. In the words of Randy Newman: Everybody knows my name/ But it’s just a crazy game./ Oh, it’s lonely at the top./ Listen all you fools out there/ Go on and love me I don’t care/ Oh, it’s lonely at the top.

Oh, but you’re in good company, Randy.

the ron sexsmith starter guide Blue Boy (2001) Produced by Steve Earle and, subsequently, has a sort of country twang.

Key Track: “Cheap Hotel”

Cobblestone Runway (2002) Features a duet vocal with Chris Martin from Coldplay, “Gold in Them Hills.”

Key Tracks: “These Days,” “God Loves Everyone,” and “Disappearing Act”

Exit Strategy of the Soul (2008) His newest album which features a full-band and Cuban horn section.

Key Tracks: “Traveling Alone,” “One Last Round,” and “Chased by Love”

Retriever (2004) The only Ron Sexsmith album Pitchfork cared to review. Go figure.

Key Tracks: “Hard Bargain,” “Imaginary Friends,” and “Wishing Wells”

Ron Sexsmith (1995) His major label debut.

Key Tracks: “Secret Heart,” “There’s A Rhythm,” and “Lebanon, Tennessee”

Make Your Own Brandy Alexander Ingredients: 1 1/2 oz Brandy 1 oz Dark Creme de Cacao 1 oz Half-and-half or Heavy Cream 1/4 tsp grated Nutmeg

Lennon & Nilsson UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

Mixing Instructions: In a shaker filled half-way with ice cubes, combine the brandy, creme de cacao, and half-and-half. Shake well.

Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with nutmeg. Proceed to get yourself kicked out of the Troubadour.

Time Being (2006) Produced by Mitchell Froom, who has worked with McCartney, Costello, and Crowded House.

Not bad.

Key Tracks: “All in Good Time,” “Cold Hearted Wind,” and “Jazz at the Bookstore”

CULTURE elbow deep by steven carey

I

JAMES KISLINGBURY

t’s almost a shame that Paul Pope almost exclusively works for the comic industry. I feel that because he chose to work primarily in an art form still thought of as puerile and silly, there’s a lot of people that won’t ever find out about him. Then again, it might be for the best, because I’m fairly certain that in a couple of years he’ll be acknowledged as one of pop culture’s most interesting artists (and I’ll finally be able to say, “I liked Paul Pope before he was cool”).

Pope’s work is a frenetic compilation of American and Japanese comic booking, with a healthy dose of European thrown in for good measure. He combines the best of both styles of comic art to create a unique science fiction-driven aesthetic. As energetic as his comic work is, it doesn’t look dirty or inexact like a lazier artist might be. In his comic Batman: Year 100, he’s drafted one of the best looking dystopian hellholes this side of Blade Runner, but his work never looks recycled or “gritty” (as way too many comics have been described as in the past).

He’s well-suited in drawing the grimmer aspects of life, but he never moves completely away from the beauty that can be found in something as mundane as a neon sign or a fire escape. Besides, his drawings are fun! They’re exactly what comics should look like—full of energy and life that’s barely contained by the square panels that surround them.

For the most part, Paul Pope has kind of inhabited the world of indie comics (or “comix” if you feel particularly pretentious), never really making any mainstream successes, though he always seemed to be thought of in some regard by industry and comicophiles. His biggest leap into mainstream comics

paul pope

came with Batman: Year 100, a futuristic retread of the Dark Knight in his 100th year in Gotham City (Batman first appeared in 1939, so the comic takes place in 2039).

Pope’s version of Batman plays fast and loose with the continuity of the standard comic we all know and love (in fact, it does away with it completely), as well as with the accepted look and feel of the Caped Crusader. It’s a great interpretation of Batman that can be enjoyed by everyone from greenhorns to the terminally nerdy.

His previously out-of-print work, Heavy Liquid, has been republished by DC this year and another hard to find comic, 100%, should be available come Spring. He’s also recently released a line of futurist-themed clothing for DKNY called 2089 and, while overpriced, most of the clothing he designed looks pretty sharp (it’s also out of season, so it’s pretty hard to hunt down). Last year he released a psychedelic looking art book by the name of Pulphope, (which is the same title as his blog) which is a collection of art ranging from childhood doodles to album art for the White Stripes. So, if you like original looking comic books or are just in need of something cool to hang on your wall, Paul Pope would be a good place to start.

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

PAUL POPE

portrait of the artist:

Illustration

Row upon row of twisting mackrel digging deeper for water; two writhing octopi sticking hard with their tentacles; splashing buckets of eels overflowing onto the floor; this isn’t the dingy corridor of some underground fish market. This is naked women tied to chairs, tight limbs, oiled and slippery—covered and stuffed with living animals—their mouths flooded with earthworms, three blue eels ornately crawling headfirst into a squinting girls squinting ass. This is Genki Porn, an obscure fetish porn fresh out of Japan.

Japan has been blowing the minds and loads of avid porn-watchers and connoisseurs for decades, hundreds of years. In the early 1800s, stunt-cocks and cum-shots were still single-celled gametes in the porn God’s proverbial testee, the Japanese were perfecting tentacle rape prints, woodcuts that depicted women being assaulted by octopi, squid, and fish.

But the digital age has been born. It squirmed its way out of our plasma, onto our plate, and we’ve eaten every salty bit of it. Gone are the days of murals in Roman bathhouses. Gone are the titanic red bushes and roller-girls taking it gently, wide smiles and soft moans on a paisley bedspread.

Today, porn is grit. It’s dirt under the fingernails of a generation and it won’t be scraped away. Porn is in and out, give it to me, skip-to-my-favorite-part pleasure.

Today porn is instant. It means jerking off in a sock in five minutes before work. Porn is a bump of coke. It’s on a million websites and if you know where to look, it’s free. And so, no wonder it’s gone awry.

Some say porn has ruined people, turned them into sex-starved fiends looking for a wet socket to plug in, and that it’s only getting worse—slave porn, rape porn, double-fisted, double-penetrated girls with their heads down, mouths full.

But, no, porn didn’t ruin people. People ruined porn. We stopped watching it. A good porn is like an earthquake. Watch one, but really watch one. Don’t skip ahead; each kiss, each teasing slip of breast builds in the ground until the end when the whole earth shakes our buildings, our bridges, our insecurities, until everything crumbles under the insurmountable power of our sexuality.

And it’s better than five minutes of erupting vaginas. It’s better than barelylegal cherry poppin’ college girls caught live. It’s like being held. It’s like being in the womb, looking God in the eye.

KATIE REINMAN 16

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

r eA t i V E

ged War Stories

T

his week we have a great diversity of submissions. We have an ode to a Hitler smashing super hero from a Creative Writing major and two very diverse pieces from the Comp. Lit. department regarding, ironically, childhood memories and child dismemberment. Thank you to everyone who has been submitting poems, we hope to see more submissions from the campus. If you have any creative poems, short stories, or other forms of written artistic media, send as many as you can, as always, to scarf.union@gmail.com.

ope Chest Your half-full hope chest, you left here behind, was half filled with me: small shoes, my teeth, keepsakes, photos with Santa Claus. I keep for the sake of keeping your dreams in mind.

Disjointed artifacts, my life assigned meaning for you long ago, reek of musky oak. Old lock broken, lid creaks open again, but this time, mom, —for you.

I’m orphaned, you see, without this chest, these scraps of you that once melded with central function. The chipped heirloom the only place in common now, our city of objects, a private haven built sentimental, holds on, holds in my hope, never replaced.

CAITLIN CUTT

r

Ts

he Bodies Of Dead Children I. The striges, merimásko cericklo, gives the final call, as though from a great distance.

In the sitting room three wait, attending the one in the bed. The candle is kept burning.

The one in the bed was small, the one in the bed had golden hair.

There is a knock at the door; the man in white has come for the one in the bed.

II. One coughs, one sputters, then stirs no more.

This one is taken, this one is laid out atop sticks and logs and the sticks and logs are set aflame.

What remains of the bones is taken, is washed with milk and housed in the urn.

III. One is wrapped in the flayed skin of the chestnut tree.

IV. One is taken, with the tree tota, in the boat, and the boat swims toward the slurping whirlpool. One weeps bitterly; this is good, this means the rains will come.

As tota looks on, one has his throat slit, and one is thrown, with gifts of jade, to the ravenous whirlpool— -“I send him forever To his place of weeping.”

OMAR ZAHZAH

Do you remember that September day?

Lost in that mind chewing scourge, of course you don’t.

But I can’t forget that marching shake in your voice.

Your stories swallowed me whole, but none more than those battle-scarred tales you rarely spoke of.

I had to fill in your blanks with the time you punched Hitler and shattered his jaw, like a scrawny, more badass, Captain America, or that time you grabbed the radio and called in that artillery to blow the shit out of those Germans in the Battle of the Bulge, but you cracked the battery case and it was just the remote control and my eyes stole the last of you, as buttons rasped it was over and out.

JOE BRYANT

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

17

COMICS Caramel > You by Ken C.

EASY

Humanation by Travis Ott-Conn

You’re STUCK Here by Victor! Perfecto

yourestuckhere@gmail.com

Drunken Penguin Presents... by James Kislingbury

HARD

penguin.incarnate@gmail.com How are we doing so far?

Send feedback to: victorpc.union@gmail.com Or leave comments at the Union office Student Union Office 239

ANSWERS

HARD

Smok’n by JANTZEN Peake

EASY

That’s What She Said by Lauriffany

UNION WEEKLY

1 DECEMBER 2008

Samantha’s Corner!

WITH SAMANTHA TREVORS

A Grunion Guide to Long Beach

BY JEFF BRIDGES, ACTOR So looks like some group of chumps thinks they love Long Beach more than me. Nice try! I love Long Beach so much I just got finished eating a whole handful of native Long Beach soil. I would rate it among the best handfuls of dirt I’ve ever had. Since I have naked pictures of pretty much everyone on the Grunion staff, I can basically write whatever I want. So here’s a bunch of crap about Long Beach.

Long Beach Hot Spots: My House (Ladies only).

I recently upgraded my television to “Not Imaginary” and now all my neighbors are eyeing it. Hands off! It is for hot girl eyes only. Any girls that would like to have a roll in the hay that I keep on the floor so I can roll in it, do not hesitate to get in touch with me. As a bonus (unlike most of the other Grunion staffers) I still have almost every major facial feature intact.

Jeff Bridges, actor, says he is living in this house to research the role of an actor who likes to hang out in crackhouses.

Another hot spot: The street corner I was on Saturday at around 3pm. I don’t remember what the street was called? Anyway, I swear to God I saw Shaq going down a slide in the park across the street. I went over

to maybe arrange a time to work out together, but he was nowhere to be found. Anyone that wants to join me watch the tree for a few hours next Saturday is welcome, but you CANNOT have any of my beef jerky.

Here is an investment offer any Long Beach lover can’t pass up! I am planning on starting a business that cannot fail. My idea: You pay me some money and I stop people from hassling you! I get people off my case on a daily basis and it always works like a charm. Now my expertise can be used by anyone for a reasonable fee. Let’s say some guy’s all up in your mug telling you to put on a shirt (heh, like there’s a law about that anyway), you could call me up and I’ll give you a perfect comeback like “no, YOU’RE a baby” or “at least my mom wasn’t pregnant. Pregnant with a monkey.” I could also give you a quick escape route because zingers like that will fill a man with murderous rage. A special deal for Long Beach residents: if a lady is hassling you I will charge you half price because I discovered all you have to do is yell “Hey! Take your damn clothes off ” and females are gone before you can pay me $9 a minute (the price may be negotiable).

A Special Long Beach Announcement! One reliable source (a sign) told me that it is Geography Awareness Week here in Long Beach. Open up your eyes, turkey!

Time to acknowledge that maps exist. Geography is all around you, so why don’t you get aware of it already.

Long Beach is famous for being a big part of the geography of Long Beach.

As you can see, no one quite loves Long Beach as much as I do and now you can pay me for it so everyone wins.

More updates on the Shaq situation as they come.

It Has Already Been a Rough Week. The Last Thing I Fucking Need is the Moon in Scorpio to be Void-of-Course.

OP-ED BY RANDY PRICE Ever feel like the planets have it in for you? Like they are hanging out in their Wave Structure of Matter, just throwing shit storm after shit storm on you for their own quantum amusement? Well these last few days have made me feel just that.

On Saturday, my horoscope said I should not rely on the unified efforts of others, as overconfidence in numbers would beget a killing stroke, and then fucking Texas Tech gets romped by Oklahoma and drops like 4 points in the BCS standings. On Monday my house was in transit, so naturally I opted not to hang out with my girlfriend, as romantic trauma is just prime under a shifting house, but then she calls me while I’m at work to tell me she needs a break.

Something about me being distant and a deteriorating sex life. And I was just minding my own business like

2

December 1st, 2008

I knew I should! Then today I find out said Moon is Void-of-Course. Fan-fucking-tastic.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? As long as that piece of shit Moon is stagnant, I can’t make any major commitments at the risk of them backfiring in my face. I have to finalize the lease on my Civic tomorrow, for crissakes. Only a moron would sign on a dotted line under a lingering moon. I could very well drive out of the dealership with a lemon or something. Do I sound like I need a lemon? In this economy? I’m better off riding my bike until these asshole heavens rotate again.

Unless, of course, the Sun conjuncts Mercury, in which case I’ll need to stay indoors for a while and probably avoid contact with running water.

Once, just once, I’d like to see the Moon enter Sagittarius. Is that too much to ask? Then I could shave and eat red meat again, or at the very least masturbate without guilt.

So, like, the fires totally sucked, right? My dad and my step-mom, Shelly, lost their house. It’s super sad because they had this really gorgeous, place in the Anaheim Hills— they’re jacuzzi had a fuckin’ waterfall, and the pool had this hot sunken bar, like the Palms in Vegas, ya know? Ahhh! Way sad.

So, anywayz all my friends are always like, “Samantha, you are so good at seeing the good in everything!” That’s why I stayed with Preston, my ex, for so long. Even though he would be all, “Babe if I say it during sex it doesn’t count!” I knew he loved me and was just totally afraid of commitment cuz his dad left his mom when he was 15 for some fat chick. I saw that lady’s MySpace page and, dude, I’d do meth too if Shelly looked like that lady. But Shelly’s hot, we have Margarita’s and watch Grey’s Anatomy together. So much fun!

Anyway, back to me seeing the good in everything. I just wanna say that, yeah the fires sucked, but you have to admit, if you’re gonna lose everything you own, you may as well do it while everyone is having these huge out-of-business sales, right? Mervyn’s going-out-of-business sale has like, freakin’ changed my life! I got a pair of True Religion’s for like $20! I was all, “Shut up!” I put all this other stuff on my new credit card that I got super easy in the mail. Oh! Crappy economy shopping tip: watch out for the fat wenches that work the registers there. They’re all pissed about losing their jobs and because they all had babies when they were 15 or something.

But you’re all, “Samantha, Mervyn’s isn’t a furniture store. Fires burn furniture.” True, before you get all butt-hurt, looking hot will totally motivate you while you clean up all the burnt stuff, and B, I know for a fact that there are other stores going out of business—small furniture stores.

Yeah. So, tons of these little places have really cute stuff, it’s all on sale cuz the owners can’t deal with the economy. The best part about this is no one else will have your shit! Example? Well, there’s this really hot furniture store down the street from our school that this guy owns, (owned?) If they’re going out of business do they still own it? Anyway, I don’t really know what it’s called but I know about it cuz it’s next to Starbucks and I freakin’ live at Starbucks. So, they’re stuff is all hand made and totally beautiful. Oh, and since they really want to sell their stuff so they can liquidate or whatever, they will basically take whatever you offer them.

It’s amazing. I was totally haggling with this guy for a new nightstand, (Preston broke my old one when I broke up with him last week) and it reminded me of the time I was in Rosarito and I wanted this Kate Spade knock-off and I got it for like $5 from this Mexican guy. I still use that purse and no one can tell!

So, re-cap. Losing your house when it burns down totally sucks, but since this economy sucks too, it kinda works out. Oh! You know what I just thought about, freakin’ HOUSES are cheap right now, too.

Disclaimer:

This page is satire. We are not ASI, nor do we represent the CSULB campus. Julianna Whetmore. Send rags to bear.grun@gmail.com

“Get ready for me to love you.”

Volume 63 Issue 13

Monday, December 1st, 2008

LBUNION.COM

Obama to House Sit for Bush Over Winter Break

BY SEXUAL RANDY WASHINGTON, D.C. – A press release from the office of President-Elect Barack Obama was released early this morning, announcing that Obama would be “house sitting for President Bush during the President’s much needed Winter Break.”

The break, which starts on Friday, has been enacted via President Bush’s power to issue Executive Orders. The Bush Administration’s Press Secretary, Dana Perino, has issued a response to this unprecedented event, citing the President’s current state of “being really tuckered out.”

“President Bush has had a really long Presidency,” said Perino. “He’s had major terrorist attacks on U.S. soil, two wars, a hurricane...umm, yeah. That’s about it really.

But, as I’m sure you understand, it’s a stressful environment and the President really just needs to relax before his crankiness becomes a threat to national security.”

In a rare, almost unprecedented event, the Grunion was allowed exclusive access to follow Obama as he toured the halls of his future house sitting job and futurer home.

“Wow,” said the President-Elect as he gazed at the rooms that would one day house his daughters, smiling and teary-eyed.

“Isn’t it amazing to think that, for the next four years, my beautiful little girls are going to live here? God, doesn’t it just melt your heart?” Obama then sighed and whiped a single tear from his cheek.

Obama’s tour eventually led him to the Oval Office, where he went right ahead Obama admires the lawn where, one day, his perfect daughters will play with their perfect puppy on a perfect day. and put his feet up on his future desk. “It really just a really put-together guy,” said Bush. “This place is puts things in perspective, y’know?” said Obama. so ‘do this, George,’ and ‘seriously, we have to make a “This is where I’ll put right what once went wrong. decision, George.’ It’ll be nice to take a breather back I’m really grateful that [President] George [Bush] is home in Texas.” leaving for Winter Break soon.”

Obama will be sitting from December 5th to the President Bush couldn’t be happier that Obama 18th of January, allowing him a day of rest before his took him up on his offer to White House sit. “He’s just Inauguration on the 20th.

Area Girlfriend’s Musical Taste Can be Summed Up with the Soundtrack to My Best Friend’s Wedding

BY SKIP ENCARNACION LONG BEACH, CA – Despite enjoying various genres of music ranging from American Roots to New Wave, local music junkie Julie Ryder has aligned her musical taste to the soundtrack of My Best Friend’s Wedding, according to her boyfriend, Marty Nelson.

“I listen to a lot of music, more than anybody I know,” said Ryder last Friday while smoking a cigarette in her vintage Elvis Costello concert tshirt. “That’s insulting to a person who values music as much as I do.”

Nelson had reportedly mentioned his observation to Ryder while in the car and has since been harassed for belittling Ryder’s prowess as a connoisseur of music.

“She writes a music column for a local magazine—she’s really great—but all I hear her listening to is ‘guilty pleasure’ music,” concludes

Nelson. “I think she just really likes that sort of music. S’no big deal to me.”

Ryder admits to have a soft spot for romantic comedies and the music that goes along with it, citing her keen interest in most Meg Ryan films and her “clit boner” for Peter Gabriel. Nelson, however, does not call her love for the sappy “casual or at all rational.”

When pressed on the issue, Ryder admitted to owning many of the records listed on the My Best Friend’s Wedding soundtrack. She even recognizes Jimmy Soul’s “If You Wanna Be Happy” as one of her top-five, all-time favorite tunes.

“Oh come on, who doesn’t like romantic comedies?” pleaded Ryder. “Listen, I like Tom Waits. Why would I like any bad music if I like Tom Waits?”

INSIDE

Treeman, Wolf Boy, and Octopus Girl to form the Legion of Sympathy-Inducing Indian Freaks PAGE WE3