64.05 by Union Weekly

ISSUE 64.05

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” –Kahlil Gibran

MAIL TO THE CHIEF LETTERS TO THE EDITOR MIKE “BEEF” PALLOTTA

adies and gentlemen, we have a website! (lbunion. com) It’s true! See the ad down there? It’s been an entire year, and now that we’re back in the 21st century, coming at your internet doorstep, it feels pretty good. It also feels pretty good to be able to read the Union Weekly without getting all that smudgy ink on your fingers, since we offer pdf copies (that’s computer speak for “special document”) of all of our issues online (well, the last 3 years worth of issues anyways) (lbunion.com). To read any issue just click on the link and blim-blam! It’s right there on your ‘puter screen. Can’t read it? Too small? Don’t be a stupie, simply click the page and it’ll zoom right on in where you want to read. That’s Internet magic, mon frere! The website (lbunion.com) is easy to use, with all types of links and tabs and images and stuff. It’s snazzy to say the least. So check it out, won’t you? And while you’re at it, check out our Facebook page too. Cause Facebook’s the new Internet. Now, let’s talk about this issue in your hands (or on your computer screen if you’re ‘net savvy and hanging out on lbunion.com). You might’ve noticed the lack of staples holding the issue together, that’s because we were getting so many complaints (too many to even print here) saying “Beef, I want to take out this feature, or Grunion or what have you, and put it up on my fridge, but I can’t cause of these damn staples! I end up ripping the issue to pieces when I try and take it apart! GRR! HARUMPH!” Well, I was personally tired of hearing all the complaints,

and so was the staff, so we said enough with the staples! Let the fans have what they want! So here it is folks, the new 100% Staple-free Union Weekly. Onto the mail: Dear Beef, I started watching that DVD you lent me—Significant Others. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Everyone just yells at each other. I don’t need a television show for that, I could just go home. I really think Larry David has perfected the “arguing” thing, anyway. I like that the actors improvise, but I just don’t know if I can take that many unstable relationships. But I get that whole hanging-on-to-the-cancelledshow thing. I won’t count Freaks & Geeks because everyone knows that show is awesome, but I have Wonderfalls on DVD, so, I wont be too critical of Significant Others. Yeah, so, I can’t wait to watch The Apartment. And bring Kicking and Screaming back when you’re done. That movie is my baby. Sincerely, Rachel Dear Rachel, First, thank you for addressing this in a letter rather than face-to-face. Second, Significant Others is like if you went home and thought all that arguing was funny. Before I gave it to you I realized it’d been a couple years since I watched it, so I rewatched the first three episodes and came to the conclusion that the show is still fucking hilarious. So, for anyone reading this who has a sense of humor that goes beyond Wonderfalls, go to Netflix right now and add Significant Others to your queue. Enjoy The Apartment though. That’s like my third favorite movie. Ask Away! Need advice from a man named Beef? Any questions/comments? Well send all questions to editorinbeef@gmail.com!

MIKE PALLOTTA Editor-in-Chief KATHY MIRANDA Managing Editor JOE BRYANT Managing Editor

editorinbeef@gmail.com kathym.union@gmail.com joeb.union@gmail.com

MATT DUPREE matt.dupree@gmail.com Senior Editor RACHEL RUFRANO rachel.union@gmail.com Opinions Editor JAMES KISLINGBURY jamesk.union@gmail.com News Director 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 KATIE REINMAN reinman.union@gmail.com Creative Arts Editor MICHAEL VEREMANS scarf.union@gmail.com Creative Writing Editor VICTOR CAMBA victorpc.union@gmail.com Comics Editor KATHY MIRANDA kathym.union@gmail.com Culture Editor SOPHISTICATED BEAR bear.grun@gmail.com Grunion Editor CLAY COOPER, STEVEN CAREY Graphic Designers CHRIS LEE photos4union@gmail.com Photo Editor JOE BRYANT On-Campus Distribution CLAY COOPER clay.union@gmail.com Internet Caregiver ALLAN STEINER allan.union@gmail.com Advertising Executive VINCENT GIRIMONTE, KATRINA SAWHNEY, ERIN HICKEY, ALAN PASSMAN, JASON OPPLIGER, CHRISTINE HODINH, JESSE BLAKE, DOMINIC MCDONALD, HILLARY CANTU, RUSSELL CONROY, ANDREW LEE, KEN CHO, TYLER DINLEY, ANDY KNEIS, MICHAEL MERMELSTEIN, SIMONE HARRISON, JOE HAUSER, TESSA NEVAREZ, JOHN YANG, KEVIN O’BRIEN, TRAVIS OTT-CONN, CHRIS FABELA, MONA KOZLOWSKI, ROBERT BERNAL, TROY DONHAM, JOE HAMMOND, MICHAEL KOSTRIKIN, SARAH LITTLE 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.

Cover Art

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.

STEVEN CAREY

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 UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

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NEWS

GHOST OF DEBS

HUGO DON’T GO BEING A DICTATOR NOW MICHAEL VEREMANS Last week, the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela held a historic vote to change their constitution. Among the package of proposed changes, this new amendment will lift the twoterm limit placed on Venezuelan presidents, meaning that, after serving since 1999, Hugo Chavez will be able to run for election again in 2012. The event was monitored globally and saw an unprecedented voter turnout in a land only recently graced by a true democracy and reflexive government. The bill won with 54% of the votes tallied. Chavez pushed for this amendment in particular, urging the people in his addresses to give him the opportunity to continue the fragile socialist revolution in the Venezuela. This argument is an open-ended piece of political rhetoric, reminding Americans of the terms “War on Drugs” and “War on Terror,” two massive drains of public funding that have no easy goal or resolution in sight. We need to urge our Venezuelan Comrades to be circumspect. A genuine revolution is under way in Venezuela, which is also experiencing an economic crisis akin to those worldwide, but if it is to stand the test of time, Chavez will have to learn to step down. In December of 2007, a similar referendum was proposed and supported by the not-quite caesarian Chavez, but it was shot down during subsequent elections. Despite this, a similar amendment was run again this year, now more firmly backed by state propaganda, which managed to Inform and coax out more voters, while urging them to vote si for the changes. This can be seen as a waste of socialist state funds, money that could have been filtered away from trivial political persuasion to public works. Chavez would have been wiser to spend this time and these resources cultivating a capable successor, someone who can represent socialism in Venezuela for the future. Latin American countries have a rich and dismal history of falling into the Bonapartism of once popular leaders or simply being swallowed up in unwitting military coups. Even the most promising regimes eventually fell into intense corruption and unabashed and violent egotism. These conditions were based on the ignorance and helplessness of the citizenry of those countries in the face of intense political pressure, but this condition doesn’t exist in Venezuela anymore and Venezuelans should act to resist the urge to promote political hegemony in new democracies. I believe that Hugo Chavez has transformed the political structure of Venezuela for the better, as well as offering the rest of Latin America a shining example of a stable social democracy. But this is too much power for one man and Chavez, who has served one six-year term already and will conclude his current term in 2012 should respect the legitimacy of his original constitution to show the people that they can participate in their democracy at all levels. Be an advisor, Chavez, but let someone else continue the revolution because they will have to eventually. Don’t make the mistake of dictators—cultivate leaders in your people.

WE BROKE

THE CALIFORNIA BUDGET CRISIS, IN BRIEF JOE HAUSER

ast December, Schwarzenegger declared that the state is in a fiscal emergency. Ever since then, he and the State Senate have been arguing over a budget proposal for the next fiscal year, to begin the first of July. This conflict has halted many public works and other state-funded projects for the past few months. Schwarzenegger has also sent layoff notices to 20,000 state employees, also to be put into effect in July. There was a deadline last Monday for the proposal, but lawmakers have been slow to come up with a plan. So much so that counties including Los Angeles, San Diego and Sacramento, have threatened to sue to reclaim lost finances, which could range up to hundreds of millions of dollars. Last Thursday the Senate was able to complete a draft. There were a number of Republicans holding out on the bill, causing its completion to come to a stalemate. It was settled, however, when senator Abel Modano (R-Santa Maria) agreed to be the last vote needed to sway the “Aye’s.” There were some problems, though, when he added a new item into the proposal that allows voters to decline to state their party affiliation for the upcoming election on May

STATE OF THE BEACH JOHN YANG If you think Long Beach sucks because there’s nothing to do, you’re probably lazy and stupid. Check out http:// www.limelightlb.com/ for lots of event listings so that you can enjoy the great city of Long Beach. Are you affable, mature, and do you work well in social situations with smart/professional/rich people? Then you might want to be a President Ambassador. Go swing by the Meet and Greet, at the Pyramid Annex at 3pm, look nice and chat it up. Tuesday at 5 o’clock, the Nugget will have some comedy and magic, because you know some folks are getting a little tired of the hip-hop-trance-heart-attack music that plays throughout the day. This week in our Faculty Highlight we shift gears from negative to the incredibly helpful (No sarcasm here)! Go talk to Douglas W. Robinson and get to know him and— Oops, Dr. Doug Robinson. I hear he likes being called Dr. Doug Robinson. Find him at Student Services office in Brotman Hall. Did you see the orange paint that someone (Fullerton) dropped on Prospector Pete statue by LA-5? Yeah, bet you didn’t because Facilities Management cleaned it up almost instantaneously, because you just don’t mess with Pete (or Facilities Management). There’s yet another blood drive this week—it’s a wonder

19th. The proposal was sent to Schwarzenegger Friday morning and he signed it that afternoon. Within the next fiscal year there will be a projected $42 billion deficit and to defend against this is $12.5 billion in tax increases and $14.8 billion in funding cuts. The state should also receive $7.8 billion in federal funds from Obama’s stimulus plan. The sales tax is receiving a tremendous hike, bringing in $6 billion more than last year—a 21% increase. The liquor tax is also being raised by 59% (Sorry, Chuck fans). With these changes, California will gain most of its tax revenue from the personal income tax, which is 38% of the state’s total revenue. These would be temporary increases, starting in March and lasting ’til the end of 2011. Total funds received will accumulate to around $97 billion. The proposal is due to spend more than $95 billion. Top recipients of these funds are K-12 education, Health and Human Services, and as a trailing third, higher education. Also, Schwarzenegger has signed a Hollywood item, giving production companies tax breaks if they stay in California. These past few months, it seems that Californians have lost a lot of faith in their lawmakers, wondering how they ever let this crisis happen. California Forward, a nonprofit organization, has laid out several proposals of their own to avoid a future financial disaster. Their plans would force lawmakers to plan budgets two years ahead of time to promote long-term thinking and responsibility. Also, there are plans to avoid another gridlock by only needing 55% of the senate to pass a bill instead of the current 66%. The state’s economy is nowhere near being rebuilt, but this proposal is the first step.

kids have any blood at all these days. Can’t donate blood? No problem—sign up to donate marrow, and next week: Brains! In an effort not be an ugly-horrible-money-grubbingcorporation, Bank of America cardholders are treated to visit practically any major museum on the first weekend of the month for free. If you don’t have one of those, you can visit the Museum of Latin American Art on Sundays courtesy of Target. If you head over to the Japanese Gardens you’ll probably only see new fish—because all of the old ones died from some crazy fish virus over Valentine’s Day. I just can’t make this stuff up, people. You college folk like free right? The Queen Mary is offering free admission from March 1st through March 15th. We Love Long Beach is hosting a breakfast on Sat, February 28, 9am–11am at Livingston park. So go meet your neighbors and take in some good food. Have you ever seen A Clockwork Orange? No? Come on down to LA3-110 and join the the Philosophy Student Association on Wednesday Feb. 25 and watch some trippy movies. By the time you read this, hopefully the Outpost will have the grill set up, making awful, unhealthy, overpriced food more accessible to students. Like these informative yet edgy one liners? Read ‘em fresh every day by adding CSULB Twitter as a friend on Facebook. UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

OPINIONS GLASS + CUM =

BROKEN“ Dreams

A REBUTTAL TO ORGAsMS SHATTER THE GLASS CEILING” 2/17/09

JAMES KISLINGBURY

Illustration RACHEL RUFRANO

n my many years of cracking safes and romancing ladies, I have learned a thing or two. One of these facts is that women are much like safes: They’re about 3 feet tall, weigh a couple hundred pounds, contain precious secrets that must be hidden from the world, and it takes a steady hand to get anything from it (them). What I am saying is that making a woman come is much the same as cracking a safe. I took umbrage with Rachel Rufrano’s article because of its oversimplification of (straight) human sexuality. But also because I’m pretty sure it was making fun of my cock (which doctors tell me is perfectly proportioned for a man of my height). Then again, whenever I hear people laughing in public I think the same thing, so that might just be my problem. First off, some women simply cannot have orgasms. Now, I can already hear the cynics clucking their tongues and scoffing “Maybe not with you,” but it’s a physiological fact, damnit! There is no amount of jaw Olympics, pleading or sitting on the dryer that can play that card any differently. Yet, somehow, they still manage to get on with their lives and be healthy, contributing members of society. Many of these women also manage to have ful-

filling sex lives despite this perceived disability. Believe me, I’ve been turned down by literally dozens of them. Human sexuality is complicated and frightening enough without fixating on one particular event that might not even happen. And another thing, as far as equal rights go, aren’t there more pressing issues to deal with besides climaxing. We can all agree on that one, right? I think we can all agree that there’s nothing wrong with women pursuing the orgasm. I personally have benefited from taking part in this noble quest, but with that said, if coming is the only thing that defines a worthwhile sexual escapade (sexcapade) then you’re probably going to be mightily disappointed. Take me, for example. I’d love to own a Porsche, but it’s probably never going to happen. Does this keep me up at night? No. Do I go into every car and compare it with this pneumatic piece of German Engineering? No. What I do is appreciate the Honda Accord that the Lord has blessed me with and I try to be thankful for every experience I have with it (Ladies, if any of you would like to be compared to a medium-range Japanese automobile, drop me a line). What I’m getting at here is that female sexuality terrifies me. Even more so than terrorism. I mean, vaginas—ew. And don’t even get me started about menstruation. Female genitalia are like a sick parody of a Giger painting, all those folds and tubes. Who has the time to figure all that out? Not me! If women figure out that we’re not the gatekeepers of their sexual fulfillment, what else can result but complete and total anarchy? And I won’t stand idly by while Miss Rufrano dismantles the very core of our society.

hey here’s an article for yoU

to feast your eyes on like a prize except instead of a prize it’s words about rap and abs ANDY KNEIS

Illustration

Hey, it just became 2009 (two thousand and nine) a little while ago. Remember? I predict that things are really going to change this year, and I will be ushering in a new era of cool raps for you to enjoy. This new type of music will be called “Rab.” “Hmm Rab, that doesn’t sound like any music I’ve heard of PS I’m dumb,” you might be saying right now. Well, you’re dumb. Also you’re definitely not from the future because everyone will already know what Rab means. Here’s what it means: ab rap, a rap about abs. This is a million dollar ($$$) idea. This is the future. I heard a rap about butts once, and while those are pretty good, everyone knows abs are the female body part of the future. Think about the possibilities, instead of tight jeans or whatever, shirts

CHRIS FABELA UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

with the abs exposed could be the new fashion craze, abs poppin’ out every which way. What a future it will be. Once ab music starts coming out, a funny joke you can tell to your friends could be “Hey this music sounds… abulous!” Anyway, to save rappers some time I’ve created some hip-hoppin’ names and some rhyme ideas for them to use once my idea catches on. A guy could be called Six-Pack Jack (you don’t even have to be named Jack it could just be your persona). Six-Pack Jack could have an entourage of totally ripped ladies and he could hold them all together with those six-pack soda rings. Six-Pack Jack rhyme ideas: Six-Pack Jack all up on this track / I like to look at ladies from front to back / Sure butts are cool and boobs are fine / but if you got the abs you will be mine. Another guy could be called “Abba Abba Doo.” If you have any imagination at all you will know there are endless

possibilities for a Flintstones/Ab Rap crossover. Girls dressed up as dinosaurs but their totally cut abs are exposed. Yes. Rhyme ideas: Abba Abba Doo, I love rappin’ to you. / I’m from the past but this is the future, dude. / Flying down the road pushing the car with my toes / keep doing crunches girl I love your abdominals. Finally, a rap guy could be called “A Gun that Shoots Ya.” This name doesn’t have anything to do with what I was talking about before (Flintstones, I think?) but it is a very cool name. Rhyme ideas: Hey it’s me, A Gun That Shoots Ya / you’re gonna get shot if you wanna play rough / I’m not literally a gun but that’s okay / it is more a representation of my persona and was not meant to be taken seriously I apologize for any confusion… BABE. Look out for some hot tracks in the future once this thing hits the presses, you’re going to love the new direction Hiphop is taking. Have a great day.

OPINIONS

PLUG YOUR EARS, DEAR

CENSORING MYSELF AROUND KIDS IS BULLSHIT I go to make sure there aren’t any youngin’s about. This isn’t to say that if I’m talking directly to kids I don’t tone it down. Of course I do (especially if they’re kin), I’m not a complete douchebag. It’s not like when I talk to my little cousin I say, “Hey Luke, aren’t you just cute as a button? Yes you are! Ugh, what’s that smell? Did you shit yourself? I’ll get your mom.” First of all I’m a real man—I know how to change a diaper all by my lonesome. Secondly, what does it really accomplish? Cursing at children only makes them inert to the effects of swear words. I don’t want that. When the little fuckers grow up I want them to understand the full breadth of my anger towards them after they cut me off on the 405. The last thing I want is for them to think of that as business as usual. Critics of swearing say that it’s just a cheap way out of a jam, and that’s true. Instead of eloquently expressing dissent of popular opinion, I can just say that Scarface is for guys that think having automatic rifles and coke makes your dick three inches longer. Cursing may make me sound less intelligible, but it’s easy and fun, so why not. An aside: I knew a guy my first year of college that sincerely used Tony Montana’s “first money, then power, then women” mantra as his life model. Point proved. Boom. So next time some lady turns around to tell you that they don’t appreciate your language in front of their child, apologize. Apologize for her poor parenting and then tell the bitch where she can shove it. Her little shit of a kid can go to hell.

CHRIS FABELA

I have an affinity for This American Life. I say this partly to lead with a nice, personal hook that will develop authorial presence (which also suggests that I’m a with-it motherfucker); but also to suggest that it’s just as viable for you to develop a similar affinity for this humble column (I’m just saying). Now, besides its status as a hideous misnomer (the last story I heard took place in Afghanistan), This American Life has taught me a valuable lesson: even seemingly mundane stories can be magically provoking if you tell them right. Being a remarkably selfcentered person, I approached this revelation with wonder. And by that, I mean I wondered what aspects of my life would make cool TAL segments. I came up with quite a few actually (that time I tried to break the record for most Listerine consumed in a week? Classic!), but I was forced to conclude at the end of my meditation that likely everyone I’ve ever met has at least a dozen really great stories sunk just beneath their conscious self, waiting for some inscrutable reminder to bring them out into the light. Conversely, most people are ghastly storytellers who will rob you of 20 minutes to tell a 5-minute tale and leave you woefully covetous of the deaf. Of course, there are many people who take to a story like snails to a window, and the following vignette describes such an event (seamless transitions are what make this column so successful). Over the break, my mother told the entire sordid tale of how she and my father went not-so-seamlessly from friends to more-thanfriends to co-habitating more-than-friends. It was a tale I’d heard in snippets with a thick varnish of happy family, and now I was getting it raw. It was strange to see my parents as this fledgling couple trying to impress my grandparents, my mom accidentally disdaining the idea of a courthouse wedding in front of my dad’s courthouse-wedded mother. I learned that my complete inability to read women was inherited from my dad, who was (according to mom) frustratingly blind to her flirty glances and interested body language. I even learned that I have an inherited tendency to tell long, drawnout stories to no one in particular and would probably talk to a cardboard cut-out if it was convincing enough. What’s the point of all this? Well, I’m tired of writing these columns about shit that happens to just me. Every week i’ve trotted my life out before you and it’s getting old. So consider this your invitation to be in my column (maybe). If you have a cool story that I can tell and would like to be interviewed, send me an email (matt.dupree@gmail.com) with all the relevant details. I’d love to tell your story (assuming it doesn’t suck).

t’s nice having a newspaper where I can say anything I want. Fuck pandas. See, I totally just said “fuck pandas” and the worst repercussions I can get would be an angry email from some pandaphilic freak or maybe a rebuttal opinion piece from a member of WWF. In public it’s a little different though. I’m somebody that likes to run his mouth and I’m constantly being told by some of my more genial friends that I need to watch it around the youngsters. And I’m fucking sick of it. I was that kid that got in trouble for cursing in front of his mother (my dad really didn’t care). I’m not just talking about the big ones, either. I couldn’t say “crap,” “ass” or even “suck” and “freak” for a period of time. Suffice to say my mother hates my articles I write for this paper. But you know what? I had friends that said those words—and worse—all the time, but I managed to keep them out of my vocabulary for a very long time. It wasn’t until probably around 8th grade that I actually started to swear in front of my friends, but I would always revert to saying “gosh darn” in front of Mom. Kids hear everything, whether it’s me arguing colorfully with friends at Rubio’s or Uncle Mark saying the Lord’s name in vain on Christmas Eve. Good parenting keeps kids from running their mouths. So yes, saying “bullshit” near a little kid when I was waiting for a movie to start last year was not a big deal. The kid’s older brother and mom turned around, shooting me “that look” and you know what I did? Ignored them. Kept on swearing. I’m in public, heaven forbid I don’t look around wherever

Illustration

MATT DUPREE

JOE BRYANT

UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

WORDS KATHY MIRANDA PHOTO MICHAEL KOSTRIKIN

6 UNION WEEKLY

hen Derrick Brown finally graced the stage of the Art Theater in the wee hours of the morning, I wasn’t quite sure of what to expect. He was dressed in a flattering black suit and draped in just the right lighting, then joined on stage by beautiful women at both sides. It was dreamlike and suspenseful. He greeted the crowd of close friends and longtime fans with slurred “thank yous” and that undeniably humble grin. And then, he read. Every word, every slow breath of musical note, and every gentle sigh followed by that haunting silence of some poetic magic echoed from the microphone with affection; it dove into the crowd with open arms and vibrated, it shook, it embraced the crowd with more power and beat than I ever expected. We were silent. The violin strings sang with the words that rolled so elegantly off Derrick Brown’s tongue. We watched the two slow dance. And I could feel it, the daunting pulse of rebel poetry, the charging of some mysterious musical force that had no desires of looking back. 23 FEBRUARY 2009

If Derrick Brown could be anywhere in the world right now, he says he’d be “in the arms of Mandy Moore and in between the legs of Karen O.” Such was not the case this past Valentine’s Day at the Art Theater when I attended the traveling poet’s midnight release party in celebration of his newest collection of poems, Scandalabra. Fortunately, a much more intimate and stimulating showcase of events occurred that night, including a musical performance by a band called Deaf & Sexy, a heartfelt acoustic set by musician Jay Buchanan and the rebel poet himself, Derrick Brown, performing a lyrical seduction of poetry, music, and free Two Buck Chuck. It was one hell of a party, to say the least. It puzzled me at first to regard Derrick Brown as a “rebel poet,” frankly because I wasn’t sure what that phrase even really meant. Sure, Derrick Brown is funny, unconventionally charming, and quirky in his own ways—not the standard impression you’d expect to have about someone who regards himself as a poet—but that wasn’t enough for me. You’d have to move mountains or read minds to be called a “rebel poet,” juggle rabbits, or sing opera to hold that title. And though Brown’s good looks could make me swoon, I wasn’t convinced. I wanted to experience something real; I wanted his poetry to breathe on my neck, whisper naughty fantasies in my ear, and take me to bed like a good Valentine’s Day date should. Maybe then I’d call him a “rebel poet.”

by stage poetry because of this unfortunate phenomenon, rubbed the wrong way by the loud, melodramatic ranting of slam poets. What is your take on the written word versus the spoken word? Do you think they have become two completely different genres? DB: “I perform out loud to try and make a living, to sell books. If you don’t feel a weird tug at your catgut to write, then you write monologues and much of the Def Poetry Jam thing was that. There is nothing wrong with monologues, they just aren’t as imagistic and cutthroat as poetry can be.” UW: Tell us about your new album, Black Urchin. DB: “I recorded Black Urchin with the amazing Richard Swift. After we did scratch vocals and the music in Oregon, I went to my boat in the Marina Del Rey, which used to be parked in Long Beach, and I recorded the vocals for the album at sea off the coast of Malibu.” UW: Any future collaboration in mind? DB: “I have been chatting it up with Brian Eno. He is a busy man, but I’d love to do the next poetry and sound-scape album with him. Or the Mars Volta.” Since 1993, Derrick Brown has professed his love for poetry. But as in every creative industry, it isn’t as easy to prosper from pursuing artistic endeavors. “It is still hard to say [performing poetry] is my career when I have always struggled to find a second job that lets me tour.” Brown does however manage his own publishing company, Write Bloody Publishing, which continues to encourage his first love.

“There is nothing wrong with monologues, they just aren’t as imagistic and cut-throat as poetry can be.”

“To say you’re a poet sounds kind of flowery and goofy and I get real sick of all that flowery, pastoral language—most of the writers I know that are charging into [the] page are just filling it with blood and romance and muscular writing. And all that flowery stuff is just not me.” –You Belong Everywhere, a Derrick Brown documentary Brown regards Scandalabra as his four-year journey of “waiting and writing that captures war, erotica, Americana, and all kinds of goodies broken down into five moods.” From the three years Brown experienced as an Army Paratrooper and being a magician, gondolier, and fired weatherman, to performing as the opening act for rock and roll band Cold War Kids, Brown certainly didn’t waste time transitioning from one odd job to the next. When asked about the 2007 European tour with the Cold War Kids, he replied: “There is nothing cool about the Cold War Kids. They don’t break anything, bone anything, smoke anything. They are nicer than your mother and are currently on their laptops and far away. They are loved and brilliant because they’re broke and if that ever changes, then ‘Hello, Pearl Jam.’ What was it like touring with them? I was spoiled rotten. Free wine and crackers every night. They were so gracious to let me do that. I could’ve ruined the night opening up with poetry. But they take chances, not with their fashion or taste in ladies, but in making a show, a real show.” The stage aspect of Brown’s performance is eccentric but for its own good—it swayed me to believe that performance poetry can thrive in the same manner as live musical performances. The opportunities in performance poetry are endless, and the emotional journey that occurs during Brown’s is bracing. “I need to perform poems with music because I get bored with my janky self. And when that happens, good things happen. Like expansion: the shows that I do get wilder, and dancers, and beats come in to make it a theater experience.” UW: So much of the bad impressions of performance poetry are stemmed from the typical monotone, over-impassioned twitch and drone of modern slam poets. I’ve been disillusioned

“It’s weird to own a business. Weird because it is the opposite of freedom. It is not a great time to start a business, but I love it ’cause I love busting my ass for something I care about beyond chronic and reggae. Through all this traveling I have done for the past twelve years, I have met some talented authors that deserve to get out into the hands of the masses. I’m glad to spur their ideas into quality totables.” I am thoroughly impressed. Derrick Brown isn’t stuck up, even when he’s gained a considerable amount of praise from the likes of Aimee Bender, Sage Francis, Jeffrey McDaniel, and Amber Tamblyn. My favorite remark from one of his admirers is Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander, “I love Derrick Brown for the surprise of one word waking up next to another. One moment tender, funny or romantic, the next, visceral, ironic and revelatory—here is the full chaos of life.” I know now why Derrick Brown isn’t just a poet in the general sense of the term. His poetry isn’t pretty in the same way a child’s laugh is or a bed of flowers, instead it’s raw and unabashed; it is the work of a poet who is unwittingly brave on stage and yet so subtly vulnerable on the page. Brown’s poetry is indeed a dark and yet brilliantly executed surprise. I find myself wanting so much of my partialities about romance and life and poetry to be proven wrong or questioned; I want my heart to be broken and mended simultaneously when I listen to Brown speak. And even then, I don’t know what to expect, I never know exactly how to feel—all I know is that I am feeling. I’m feeling something outside of the humor and wit; I feel the exposure, the stark consciousness of living, an epiphany disappearing and reappearing again—like magic, I am experiencing Derrick Brown. Excerpt from “Cotton in the Air” by Derrick Brown Your polished back is arched like St. Louis. I can see your fingers pushing into the bricks when I lift your hair to smell October rain drain from your neck. You are cotton caught in the air I am unfurling laces in your body. I move on you steady like a fleet of ships on ice. I want to break it all. Your tank top strap slips down the huh huh of your shoulder and I will not strain meaning from this. I have to taste all of your shapes with my teeth. circles of salt square butter. Waltzing a wrecking ball. You, unlucky, unmanageable, undone and whirring unmanned. Me, unmade, unlocked, unloved, but unmatched. I lift your body so that your legs strap to my hips and you are now adorned.

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23 FEBRUARY 2009

MUSIC

COUNTDOWN TO COACHELLA!

MATT DUPREE

here’s a severe bias towards that which is hip and indie here, and conversely against that which is not (e.g. gangsta rap, heavy metal, elevator jazz), at the Union Weekly music page, and to be honest it’s partly my fault (maybe entirely my fault). So consider this the first installment of my penance (as well as possibly the last installment), as I now prostrate before the gods of American progressive metal, Mastodon. A great many people, especially of the indie and female persuasions, will never allow themselves to put aside their egos and appreciate metal, but in no other genre will you find such depths of urgency, such an embrace of the mysterious, and such an appreciation for the sheer power of sound. And it is these qualities that Mastodon exemplifies in a rare and beautiful way. Well, sometimes its beautiful. Other times its frenetic, violent, and utterly unpredictable. But who says that can’t be beautiful in its own way?

The beginning of their 2006 album Blood Mountain starts off exactly how a hard-fucking-rock album ought to: Drum lead-in, cue guitar thrash meltdown. Fuck atmosphere, fuck ambience, let’s just get to the music, shall we? But then, on the other side of things, 2 songs later there’s “Sleeping Giant”: a slow, sweeping epic with a tearjerker of a guitar lead-in and arguably the greatest guitar solo of the new millenium. Their lyrics delve into the grotesque, violent, and taboo (as the best metal bands do), but avoid overindulging in the aesthetics of shock and gore (as only the worst metal bands do). Their upcoming album, Crack The Skye, is reportedly about a paraplegic who gets lost in the astral plane, falls through a wormhole and enlists the help of the recently deceased Grigori Rasputin to find his way back to his body, only to run into the Devil who tries to steal their souls (does he ever do anything else?). Rasputin, wormholes, paraplegics AND the Devil? Sign me up.

And in case that recommendation doesn’t sound like a big deal, it should. The Union has held a moratorium on Mastodon (say that five times fast) since their ignorant street team defaced several of our stands in an illplanned attempt to hype Blood Mountain. Retaliation was swift of course, us ripping down their posters and playing frisbee with the CD (which met a terrible fate when it collided with our office’s back wall). But now I realize that it’s simply unfair to judge a band by their street team, no matter how short-sighted and counterproductive that street team may be. So I now declare peace between the Union Weekly and Mastodon (although the street team better watch itself), and bid that all ye Mastodon lambs lay down with the Union lions. Unless, of course, we should find Crack The Skye stickers littered on our property in the coming months; in which case they can expect to receive a dose of hell so dreadful, it may only be expressed in a metal song.

nightwatchmen Franz ferdinand give us another album of catchy nighttime pop SARAH LITTLE

Tonight tells tales of wild nights filled with loneliness, boredom, and bravado—nights that end with mornings spent in an unfamiliar bed. Couple that with infectious dance grooves and relentlessly flavorful guitars, and you’ve got Franz Ferdinand’s new record. And you could never forget Alex Kapranos’ deliciously smooth voice wrapping around the curves of every melody. The music resembles that of both previous Franz Ferdinand albums, but Tonight leans even further towards the “dance” in dance-rock. On this album, the band has come close—closer than ever before—to perfecting their singular brand of furiously danceable rock. Franz Ferdinand and You Could Have It So Much Better have rockier aspirations, but there isn’t a track on this album without a tight, compelling groove—except for “Katherine Kiss Me,” but more on that later. Still, Tonight retains some of the best aspects of rock—anthemic choruses, snarling guitar solos, carelessly cool lyrics (“I wrote your name upon the/ back of my hand/slept upon it/then I woke up/with it backwards on my face/reading forwards from my mirror/to my heart”)—without sacrificing the bouncy fun of a pounding backbeat and the effortless catchiness that characterizes the best dance tunes. Franz Ferdinand can always be counted on to provide a good single (or two, or three), and their first single off this album is no different. “Ulysses” is not—as its title suggests—a reflection on Joyce’s labyrinthine novel, but UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

a song about getting high out of pure boredom. And what a song! It’s a slinky little earworm that alternates between menace and pop. This song is much more compact and direct than “Take Me Out” and more interesting than “Do You Want To”, which were the two initial singles from the band’s debut and sophomore albums, respectively. The band branches out into some new territory: the last track on the album, “Katherine Kiss Me” is a dip into folkier waters, a sweet acoustic (do I hear a dulcimer in there?) tune about the morning after. It echoes and answers the earlier “No You Girls”—bringing the cool come-ons of the night before into the sober light of morning. “Lucid Dreams” is memorable for its extended coda (the song is nearly 8 minutes long!) that flirts with fittingly dreamy textures like industrial synth loops. If nothing else, it will massage your eardrums. The album is much more thematically focused than Franz Ferdinand has ever been before. One could call it a concept album about a night out. But why spoil the fun? Dance music was never made to be ruminated over. With this album, Franz Ferdinand has demonstrated that they are capable of moving beyond that which made them famous—but they don’t move too far away. It is

heartening that they continue to evolve and refine their sound, but before they can create a truly great album, they must venture into unknown territory. This album is enough to get you excited about what they might do next… no question, no doubt! All in all, it’s wholly danceable and too catchy to ignore.

SPORTS

THE BUSH LEAGUER VINCENT GIRIMONTE

THE RUGBY SEVENS

INVADE SAN DIEGO

thought they were going to see David Beckham could enjoy. On a side: next time you’re down in San Diego take the opportunity to eat at Lolita’s, a San Diego culinary landmark. Lolita’s new location is just across from Petco Park. Lolita’s is famous (or infamous depending who you ask) for their carne asada fries—steak cut French fries with carne asada meat, guacamole, salsa, and sour cream on top. Carne Asada fries are to San Diego what deep-dish pizza is to Chicago: delightful calorie-infused gluttony in every bite. Lolita’s takes it one step further by creating the California burrito. That is to say they simply place Carne Asada fries in a flour tortilla. Stay classy San Diego. If you prefer to not use the re-admission ability of your ticket, there is plenty of food in the stadium. In a small Rugby Festival, one can find Southern Hemisphere delights like Polynesian food and South American, rarely seen this side of the Tropic of Cancer. For novelty alone, I looked for Aussie Vegemite and was only slightly disappointed when I did not find one. Other tents offered rugby and associated products with plenty of giveaways: mini-pink rugby balls, USA rugby team temporary tattoos, and the ubiquitous National Guard recruiting stand which had really cool rugby balls that were disappointingly not available. Turning my attention back to the field I realized the USA Eagles (playing with home field advantage) were guarding their nation to the best of their ability, and scoring some big wins. The next day they surprised many by besting the Kenyans in the next round and defeating them before falling to the Argentine Pumas in the semi-finals. Argentina’s final match was a win against their most hated rival: the English. The Pumas were down at the half and were able to bounce back in the second half with two tries and stiff defense. The Argentinians ended up winning the match 19-14. If you had a moment to check the record book you see that the win was only Argentina’s second USA Rugby Sevens championship win ever, by then though most fans were halfway home or going for a second California burrito at Lolita’s.

JOE HAMMOND

he USA Rugby Sevens, held every year in San Diego, is an annual must for anyone who believes that if the whole world got together and just partied, a rugby tournament would break out. On Friday, February 13th, it was the San Diego Sevens Invitational Rugby Tournament and CSULB got a piece of the action besting hosts San Diego in a night game 9-5. The Beach team couldn’t get the ball across the try line and had to rely on its kicks to win the game. Saturday morning it was off to the greatest promotional tool in sports: rampant and unchecked nationalism. Fans from around the world (Yes, even Uruguay) came out in full effect to support 16 national teams. The fan favorite was the Kenyan team who won over half the stadium with their 33-0 destruction of France on the first day. The French players will never forget the phrase “Runs like a Kenyan” because the Kenyan side simply outpaced. This game also featured the most exciting play in Rugby Sevens: an interception scored for a try. With elegant style and quickness on both sides of the ball it is no wonder the Kenyans are so well favored. Other favorites include the New Zealand All Blacks who, along with South Africa’s Springboks, are considered the best in World Rugby. While Rugby teams like CSULB are usually field teams of 15, Rugby Sevens plays the game with only seven players. This cuts the play down so the whole game lasts half an hour and makes other rule changes as well to keep the event full of action. Oh, and usually Rugby is not played in a Baseball Stadium like Petco Park. One of the beautiful things about this tournament is that when the action gets boring or a snooze fest erupts on the Rugby pitch (Wales: 57, Mexico: 0) the event provides other amusing distractions that even the friend who came along because he/she

JOE HAMMOND

Photos

Now that we’ve been given enough time to properly analyze what Alex Rodriguez has, or more likely has not told us with his “candid” remarks detailing his past steroid use, I’m inclined to wheel out the old guillotine—this sudden thirst for blood coming from an apologist, mind you. Once a staunch hooligan in Barry Bonds’ lonely corner, I’ve simply been drained of all loyalty towards baseball and its supposed heroes. Indeed, to the guillotine. TBL is not speaking of a Pete Rose “ban for life” type of punishment (these guys only cheated while playing the game), but he is certainly advocating a retroactive redistributing of records and accolades. It’s a whopper of a proposal akin to President Obama’s stimulus package, where we apply a giant Band-Aid over MLB’s wounds and perhaps a few threads of mutated hair, and then we remove it. I won’t go into the administrative aspect of my baseball stimulus package, though I can tell you owners will not be using their pet chimpanzee as the commissioner any longer. If Rodriguez has admitted using performance enhancing drugs for a three year period of his career, and homeruns and awards he accumulated during that period stand in the record books, I ask what purpose this will serve—I hate to go here—for the good of the game. What’s worse is that TBL believes these records set or kindled in the Steroid Era will never be eclipsed, and sitting atop these gilded pinnacles of sport will be a bunch of infertile cheats. The arguments against this sort of action seem as ridiculous as they are numbered. TBL, alone on the path to justice save a few sinister muts and a Louisville Slugger, protecting baseball from a legacy of fraud. You can thank me later. Let’s all come to mama on this one. I beg you. Many of baseball’s stars credited with MLB’s resurgence after the strike left a sour taste in America’s mouth were simply not playing a fair game. Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa, Roger Clemens, Miguel Tejada, Jason Giambi. A few have confessed, some never will and hopefully history will judge them appropriately. And Barry Bonds. Should he go down (he’s so going down) The Record needs to be re-evaluated. More importantly, we need to find a special balance where we can forgive these players for taking shortcuts but not condone it by letting their records go unblemished. To do this is to cheat the large MAJORITY of baseball who did not use performance enhancing drugs as a means to dominate. We owe it to them, those who did not plead ignorance and take the plunge, to shed this apologist persona and do what is right.

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ENTERTAINMENT THE LAST PICTURE JOE

THIS WEEK: THE MPAA RUINED MY CHILDHOOD JOE BRYANT

B Illustration MONA KOZLOWSKI

eing forced by a parent to follow the rating system set forth by the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) is a foreign concept to many of my peers, but it wasn’t to me. I was the kid that had to sneak around his mom’s back and watch R-rated movies. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to watch PG-13 flicks. That means that an ardent dinosaur fan and amateur paleontologist like myself had to sit at home and play video games while his brother and sister went to see Jurassic Park on opening night. That’s right, I was robbed of the opportunity to see a film made specifically for dino-lovers while it was in theaters. I didn’t get to see it until my friend Ryan got it on VHS about a year later. I still feel guilty about telling my mom that I watched Back to the Future Part III when I came home that day. The fact is that the MPAA are a bunch of suits with their thumbs up their asses. When Jack Valenti, former president of the MPAA, died in 2007 he did the movie business—and us—a great service. You see, Valenti was the fuck that created the rating system and forced millions of kids out of theaters. He’s the reason almost every trailer has that green band before it that states “the following preview has been approved for all audiences by the Motion Picture Association of America.” Conversely, his death is the reason for the reemergence of the red band trailer, better

known as the kind that says “shit,” “cocksucker” and shows boobies. I’m a firm believer that red band trailers are one of the best things audiences of R-rated films have been treated to in years. You want to talk about letting parents know what’s in a movie? Instead of the 15 word descriptions, why not just fucking show them? I’m not saying that every kid should be allowed into R-rated movies, but I don’t like the rating system’s supposition that all kids are the same. Listen: I was ready to see a Tyrannosaurus Rex murder some bitches when I was 6 years old, whether or not some other little schmuck was. I could’ve handled it. In fact, the only really graphic image in Jurassic Park is when Ellie finds Sam Jackson’s severed arm. And you barely even see it! I love my mother, but she was stupid. She listened to what some anonymous council of movie-watching demagogues had to say, rather than her gut instincts. My dad knew what was up—he let me watch Lethal Weapon and Die Hard long before my mom said it was okay for me to watch The Matrix (on VHS and with much chagrin). Coincidentally, if either of my parents are reading this, I’m sorry to both of them for completely different reasons. I’m a big movie fan and was robbed of the opportunity to see a litany of classics until I was older. The Godfather. The Wild Bunch. Jaws! It’s terrifying how many great movies I didn’t get to see until I was 17. I didn’t have a lot of film fan buddies until senior year of high school, so it wasn’t like I could really convince one of my friends to let me watch Schindler’s List at his place— that’s nobody’s idea of a good time. Instead I was relegated to watching

THERE GOES MY HEROES

Total Recall and Alien, which I’m equally grateful for. Any ratings the MPAA dictates are entirely subjective and not based on the organization’s past ratings. Meaning that what was considered PG-13 10 years ago might now be R, solely because the MPAA cabal has changed leadership and therefore opinions. And if a director or studio decide they want to release their movie unrated, the MPAA often times limits or completely nullifies billboard and television advertising—a killing blow for any film. The MPAA is fucked and people need to stop thinking that those assholes know what they’re talking about. A Beautiful Mind was rated PG-13 for “Intense Thematic Content.” I bet they don’t even know what that means. What a bunch of pricks.

THE ONLY GUY WATCHING HEROES IS HOUNDED FOR THE INFO MATT DUPREE

Illustration JOE BRYANT

I’ve been watching Heroes. It’s a problem. Not because I don’t enjoy it, because I do, but because it makes me responsible to all those who don’t. Suddenly, I’ve become saddled with keeping everyone who stopped watching after season one (hereafter referred to as “Onesies”) up to date on what everyone in the Heroes Universe is up to. Not that I don’t love me some water-cooler chit-chat, but the incidents are becoming too frequent to enjoy it as casual discourse anymore. It was cool the first few times I discussed the second eclipse and the evolution of Sylar, but now I feel like a fucking Wikipedia entry. It’s like I’m hanging out with the Onesies’ collective ex-lover, and they just can’t help but ask what their former flame is up to. So now, as a service to all you Onesies, I shall recap what your lost love has been doing for seasons two, three, and four: Everything goes the way you wouldn’t want it to. Sylar took a hard veer out of his love story with Elle (who was cool, and thus had to die) and is now obsessed with finding his biological father. There are virtually no villains (even though volume 3 was titled “Villains”) and the heroes have been losing powers and getting capped at alarming rates. In fact, the list of characters who have been killed UNION WEEKLY

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or depowered is virtually identical to the list of characters who were awesome and made the show worth watching. Arthur Petrelli spent the entirety of Volume 3 sucking other characters’ powers up like a fucking Hoover, including one character that immediately turned to dust, and of course he gets fucking shot in the head by his lame son Peter who didn’t even have powers at the time. So if you Onesies really want to get back in the saddle, I suggest you get ready for some choppy waters. That is unless you really enjoy seeing Claire argue with her Dad for ten minutes per episode about her desire to live a normal life or not live a normal life, depending on which one her father has told her to do. Or if you’d like to see how people with powers waste their time (and ours) by breaking up weddings and lying in bed. More importantly, remember that whatever you watch, you will be responsible for reporting to the legions of people who are too busy to watch, but not too busy to be intrusive.

ENTERTAINMENT

This isn’t the first show with “Dollhouse” in the title—the first was our Music Editor’s Maintaining Your Dollhouse with Sean, which aired on public access for two weeks last fall.

IN THE DOLLHOUSE NOW THE BUFFY GUY’S NEWEST SHOW IS OFF TO A PRETTY GOOD START SEAN BOULGER

ou’ve got to hand it to primetime television. When it’s not cranking out the oft-referenced quirky, male mavericks it’s so fond of putting in charge of television series lately, it’s giving us yet another slim, nigh-adolescent lady riding around on a motorcycle in one scene and then almost inexplicably wearing an übersexy business getup in the next. Only thing is… right now, the powers that be are kind of pulling it off. Dollhouse is the latest action-adventure show pitting a genetically-altered Hottie McHotterson in wildly juxtaposed situations. Making what many (including the man himself, I’m sure) are hoping will be his big comeback, Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator Joss Whedon returns to television with Fox’s Dollhouse. Focusing on a highly illegal organization that services its clients by uploading humans with personalities tailored to fit said specific client’s needs, the show contains within itself an interesting combination. Dollhouse appears to be an amalgam of the two most popular types of shows on television these days: the mindfuck/ conspiracy drama, like Prison Break or Lost; and the procedural drama like House or CSI. The latter is actually what makes the show so interesting: because of the nature of the premise, each episode has the potential to be a completely different type of procedural drama. With two episodes down, we’ve seen Echo, the show’s main character (played by Jessica Alba lookalike Eliza Dushku) be a hostage negotiator and someone’s personal hunting date.

In theory, Dollhouse could be a different show each week, and this might wind up being what makes it watchable. Dollhouse might just turn out to be a slow burn. I might not be too thoroughly acquainted with Whedon’s other television work, but I know the man has talent, and I will say that though it might not be the best show on the air right now, Dollhouse is certainly interesting. The pilot was good enough to make me want to watch the second episode, and the second episode was good enough to make me want to watch the third. At this point, Dollhouse is getting by on interesting technology, a cool premise, and a couple of engaging episodes so far. We’ll have to see, though, because Fringe has showed us that interesting ideas and a neat premise aren’t enough to keep a show interesting. While Dollhouse is neat and was a lot of fun to watch, I’m certainly curious as to where the show will wind up going. Hints at a larger dramatic push didn’t actually come until the second episode, and even then, I’m anxious to see whether or not Whedon will be able to give us something beyond the show’s initial presence to keep viewers interested and the show fresh. In the meantime, however, there’s no denying that Dollhouse is a pretty fun show to watch.

...so far. UNION WEEKLY

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LITERATURE THE FUTURE OF BOOKS

IS ALL A BUNCH OF COCKAMAMIE BULLSHIT JAMES KISLINGBURY

Illustration

JAMES KISLINGBURY

n the way back from a drunken rampage, NPR made me aware of this thing called a “Cell Phone Novel.” The idea offended me on a personal level, so it only makes sense that it came from Japan—traditional home of the banzai charge, methamphetamines, and girls shitting sea life out of their asses for the sexual pleasure of people with no souls. Other than the silliness of reading a literary work on a device you typically use to find out “What’s up?” or “Where’s the party again?” there really isn’t anything inherently terrible about it, that is until the journalist started speculating about how the Cell Phone Novel might replace the book. This, as you know, is bullshit. Remember when HDDVD and Blu-Ray were duking it out over who would reign supreme in the high-definition wars? (You probably don’t because you don’t have a thousand dollars to throw at a new TV, a player, and a new movie collection. You’re also probably not an unrepentant dork like myself). At the time there was a cadre of idiots

who got together and sided with HD-DVD, because like VHS before it, it would include pornography in its library unlike Blu-Ray (and the deceased Beta Max). These people turned out to be wrong for a number of reasons, but they represent a need in people to predict the future despite basic logic disagreeing with them. NPR did this with their prediction Cell Phone Novel story—and, I imagine so did the inventors of smello-vision (which was discussed in another NPR story I overheard). The shortfalls of prophesying can be expressed through one idea better than any other: Blue jeans. No matter how elaborate or well thought out a vision of the future is, everyone seems to leave out blue jeans. It’s all silver track-suits and clear, plastic rain coats. As though people would suddenly stop wearing one of the most popular and iconic pieces of clothing of all time and decide to look like robotic sex criminals. And what’s with the flying cars? Sure, they look way cooler than normal cars, but I don’t think, as a race, that we’re ever going to top the wheel any time soon. In the same way we’re not ever going to top the paperback. This glittering future we’re being sold is the result of some very skilled hucksters. Your post-humanism, your post-literary society, your singularity, and everything else can go suck an egg. Jesus ain’t never coming and neither is that USB port in your head. Banking on either of those things happening in your lifetime is just going to make you one disappointed SOB on his death bed. I’m going to predict that there is never going to be that point in time where we get rid of all of our old crap

ALL DAHLED UP

A LOOK AT ROALD DAHL AND HIS BOOK SWITCH BITCH T. DONHAM Roald Dahl has written a strong collection of seminal children’s novels, and yet you’ve probably never heard of his adult stories, or even know anything about this amazing man. Dahl was a giant of a man for his time, at 6 feet 7 inches tall he towered over his companions. He was born in 1916 and lived in Wales in a religious commune that turned his childhood into a living hell. Although he later went to boarding school, was named captain of the Rugby team, and was generally thought of as quite a stud, Dahl continued to carry the memories if his traumatic childhood with him. After school, Dahl got a job flying a private plane for British Petroleum. He was paid to fly around Africa looking for petroleum sites. In 1939 he was drafted into the Royal Air Force and was a flying ace. But his plane crashed in 1941, and no one was sure if he was shot down. The last thing he remembered was lying in his plane watching people running to save him. This experience promped a revelation that compelled Dahl to confront his childhood. Luckily for us, he did this by crafting children’s stories, works like Matilda and James and the Giant Peach, which are mostly about children who are trying to transcend their own fractured UNION WEEKLY 23 FEBRUARY 2009

childhoods, and other lesser-known works, such as Switch Bitch. After his recovery he married Patricia Neal, a famous American actress of the time. But because of Dahl’s alcoholism and the couple’s constant fighting, they had one of the worst marriages in Hollywood. One day Patricia had a stroke. Dahl quit drinking, and took care of her. To this day Dahl is one of the most revered people in rehabilitation of stroke victims, having brought his wife to 90% of prestroke functions. After he rehabbed her, he left and went back to drinking. Sadly the only thing that kept him going was his writing. His life is a story in itself. His book, Switch Bitch, is a collection of four short stories, each one a monument to the man himself. Without giving away too much, Dahl writes of a character named Uncle Oswald. His interests are priceless, seducing women and leaving them triumphantly, and the line between truth and fiction is greatly blurred with Uncle Oswald. The following two tales are about a seemingly normal guy who convinces his neighbor to sleep with his wife while he sleeps with his neighbor’s wife and an interesting widow. Lastly, the book ends with another tale about Uncle Oswald. Switch Bitch is just a taste of Dahl’s adult, wicked humor, and is worth a read.

and replace it with something new and shiny, either. Take Europe for example. There are still people living in 300-year-old houses because the old buildings work just as well as the new ones. They didn’t tear everything down when we discovered plastic or the date had a few more zeroes than usual. A future without novels is a future without blue jeans.

JAMES KISLINGBURY

Note:

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COMICS

EASY

Church of Edumacation by Benny Tokomela, Jr.

Goonis 3000 by alex P.M.

HARD

Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re STUCK Here! by Victor! Perfecto

yourestuckhere@gmail.com

What say you, earthling? Send feedback to: victorpc.union@gmail.com Or leave comments at the Union office Student Union Office 239

ANSWERS

HARD

Koo Koo and Luke by Jesse Blake

www.funatronics.com/kookoo

EASY

Koo Koo and Luke bonus strip!

UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

CULTURE dov charney

America’s most controversial CEO

simone harrison

t is widely accepted that American Apparel is the trendiest fucking clothing line around. Those gold lamé leggings, the plunging v-necks tailored specifically for men, and those onesies that make all wearers look like they shit their pants are only a few of the “haute” looks that AA sells. The product that the company was built on is a simple, solid colored T-shirt that you can easily pick up at K-Mart for less than $10. American Apparel grossly overcharges for their “ready made Of Montreal concert looks” and the only people that can actually look decent in their clothes are anemic Ethiopian children in the last stages of stomach cancer. With all of this tarnishing my already diminished opinion of AA, there is one redeeming attribute that makes up for gold lamé, and that is founder and chairman, Dov Charney. This guy is a certifiable badass. He currently owns the biggest American-made clothing line in the country located in Downtown LA. He also has a progressive employee benefits plan that includes allowing immigrant workers to call home for free on breaks, pays an impressive eighteen dollars an hour to factory workers and gives full medical benefits for the entire family. Better yet, his company was named “Label of the Year” in 2008 by The Guardian. On paper this guy would appear to be the dream boss, a God among the evil and greedy CEOs that run most of America’s businesses but he has been slashed in the past by several of his female employees for being sexually inappropriate. Four lawsuits have already been filed against him and there is actual footage (available on YouTube) of Dov running around the American Apparel factory in a pair of briefs and a Hooters shirt, which isn’t exactly CEO behavior. There are reports of him holding company meetings in the nude and having a sales manager over to his house where he was wearing nothing but a cock sock. He even went as far as inviting his guest to masturbate with him. In a 2004 interview, he actually whipped out his love stick and rubbed off in front of the reporter. In his office, he has pictures of naked Polynesian girls hanging and he has been

quoted as saying, “I frequently drop my pants to show people my new product.” In short, Dov Charney isn’t exactly a classy guy. But that’s what is so great about him. He runs a sweatshop-free business that provides English lessons to its employees. Who can argue with that? I mean sure, he has slept with half his staff, has had multiple sexual harassment charges against him, and likes living his life on the more perverse side of things, but he is a great businessman. All the emaciated, headband-wearing LA girls line up down the block just to buy his T-shirts at 40 dollars a pop, and he has the happiest employees in the garment industry. Say what you will about American Apparel’s fashion sense and those who choose to garb themselves in only AA products, but leave Dov Charney out of this. He is the one CEO that I can actually get behind. If I was as well-treated as his employees are, I’d be happy to endure the 11.15 minutes it takes him for him to pleasure himself or enjoy a day at the office where my boss runs around in his chonies. He is a beacon of hope for every 70’s beard-addled, nerdy, possibly gay, Jewish guy that wants to make it in the fashion industry.

the gentleman’s bling: re-discovering men’s jewelry

michael veremans

There is a long standing and deleterious misconception that if a man wants to wear some decorative precious metals he has to wear a necklace, rings, earrings etc.—the standard bling. We are coming to find as the gentlemanly sciences progress that you don’t have to have to have your name written on a necklace that gets caught on your substantial chest hair anymore, no, there are more subtle ways to distinguish yourself as a man of class. The first piece of accoutrement would be the cufflinks. Usually they come in a pair of decorative precious metal and stone discs attached by a small but

sturdy chain, but some of the cheaper contemporary cufflinks have a single disc (or sometimes a knot or coin) with a back fastener and are to be avoided. Some prolé once told me that he doesn’t like to wear cufflinks, to which I immediately replied, “then what’s to keep the cuffs of your blouse from flapping in the wind? Class tension?” Every gentleman should invest in only French or double-cuffed shirts and look out for cufflinks that display some personality—everyone’s eyes will go straight to them when you enter a room. Some clip onto either collar under the tie, while others actually pierce the cloth of the collars to clasp them together under neither the tie, but no matter how you wear them, you’re wearing a tie pin. Most people don’t think about the tiepin very much, they just throw it on in the morning without paying attention to what they’re wearing—Igor Stravinsky actually wore a safety pin for a tie pin—but it’s a great opportunity to show off your bling a little. Choose one with a metal that corresponds with your watch fob, something that could stand on its own without the tie, but with a subdued but stately design. Anecdotally, I was strolling leisurely down the streets of San Francisco enjoying a jazz cigarillo wearing my best golden art deco tiepin when the police mistook me for a black pimp/soul singer and harangued me stiffly. No one ever thinks about the shirt studs,

but I recommend that you throw away those rusty brass tacks and fasten your blouse with some style. You may think that shirt studs do nothing more than hold your shirt together and sit behind the tie, but the subtle glance of a well-crafted stud can say more about the care a person takes than all the garters in London. Shirt studs are used instead of cheap plastic buttons which you’re supposed to cut out of the blouses you purchase. Don’t forget to also cut out a small hole where the button once was in order to fasten your studs properly. I remember the onyx and gold studs that Barack was wearing with his smoking blouse when we were having fois gras and Belgian ale at one of his late November parties in a crushed red velvet and oak-lined space shuttle. They inspired Hope in me. UNION WEEKLY

23 FEBRUARY 2009

Disclaimer:

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

“Trueché.”

Volume 64 Issue 05

Monday, February 23rd, 2009

Robot Apocalypse Delayed Due to Failing Economy

LBUNION.COM (FOR REALS)

International Jewish Banking Conspiracy Declares Bankruptcy BY GAELIC FORSKYNE

The newest model of RADBOT (middle, loveable) gives its enemies false hope before unleashing a salvo of kick assery.

BY SEXUAL RANDY SECRET LAB, MO – The economic recession has prompted the Senate to cut funds that would have gone towards creating kickass killing robots. Scientists specializing in making robots wicked awesome were contracted by the government to intentionally create the murder machines. We spoke with the project’s head researcher, Dr. Wilhelm J. Hand. “We call them RADBOTS, or Radical Automatons Designed to Butcher us Over Time,” said Dr. Hand. “We were intentionally making them to eventually turn on us, so all of society could live in a super cool futuristic apocalypse where we would have to fight tooth and nail just to survive and preserve the species. Plus, I’m pretty sure it could build character or some gay bullshit.” Experts in the field say the decision to slash the raddening budget is considered a

blow to the creation of scientific monstrosities bent on destruction of all mankind. In fact, it is being called the worst crisis since scientists stopped using radiation to experiment on insects and lizards in the early 1960s. Thankfully, filmmaker Michael Bay had already wrapped filming on Transformers 2 before the budget cuts could effect his film. “It’s just terrible,” said Bay while fanning himself with hundred dollar bills. “Without the use of actual badass giant robots, I would have had to spend millions on digitally creating fake robots to fight each other in my movie. Who knows if animators can even do that? I don’t envy those indie directors that have to try and make RADBOTS from scratch.” Mere minutes before print time, the Grunion received reports that the center for disease control in Atlanta is currently having trouble containing a zombie outbreak, a thrilling prospect for fans of dope-ass scientific disasters.

The world was shocked this week when the International Jewish Banking Conspiracy Ltd. announced that, in light of the current worldwide economic downturn, it would have to declare Chapter 11. “We cannot continue our shadowy domination of the world’s various governmental institutions in this economic climate,” said the press release, which mysteriously found itself on every doorstep on Earth last Tuesday. The statement concluded with “Oy gevalt!” and a rambling anecdote about what deli had the best Rueben in Manhattan and this nice dentist that a woman named Sarah should talk to. “Our economy is as shtupped as a corva on pay day, this I can tell you,” said former conspirator Dr. Shlomo Rubenstein, known sorceror as he set fire to a stack of Bibles. Rubenstein received criticism last year when he signed an agreement with the Order of Roscrutians that would allow the free exchange of mummified corpses of the Hyboreans wizard-kings for the precious, precious gold that runs through the veins of the conspiracy’s leaders. Plus he drank baby blood. The first sign that the conspiracy was troubled was when they laid off 200 Christslayers last Easter. “I don’t know where I’m going to find work. There isn’t that much of a demand for people trained to kill the King of Kings,” said one anony-

Artist’s rendition of an evil Jew-Wizard.

mous man. “Maybe I can finally use that dental degree of mine.” President Obama commented, “I am shocked by the financial irresponsibility of the Jewish [Conspiracy]. I expect this sort of thing from the Illuminati or maybe the Skull and Bones, but the Elders of Zion? They’re supposed to have this world domination thing figured out.” The Illuminati, being the fiends behind the Roswell landing, Area 51 and the Skull and Bones being the yuppie WASPs dedicated to drinking until they puke and jerking off in front their friends. When asked what Obama thought could fill the gap of the conspiracy, his forked tongue shot from his lips and he declared “Hail Thor’azhul, may he reign forever from his palace beneath long dead R’lyeh.” When asked to clarify his reference to the shape-shifting lizard-god, he coughed out, “Change. Yeah. That’s it.”

INSIDE

Drunken Lawyer Takes Deep Breath and Pontificates on the Entrepreneurial Practicability of the Judicial System

“Feb...feb...febroorary is tradish—tradishnalee a benefiscal month for prak...praktishuners of the jew... joodishal sistum ’cuz of Valentimes and Black Histrie Month,” says a drunk James Puzlowski, lawyer. “Let me ’splain it to you, be...bekuz I know I can do it right.” PAGE L4W

Grammar Nazi Nearly Dies of Semi-Colon Cancer

Reports indicate that “Mr. Kill” received treatment for the disease while in an Argentine library. PAGE SH5

Somali Pirate Absconds with Pennyfarthing

PAGE P1

Campus Loses Itself in F. King Alexander’s Eyes PAGE X7