Short Story Contest

Discover Cal State L.A.!

Summer Special Session 2011

Home for the summer? &KHFN RXU VFKHGXOH RI FODVVHV IRU D SRVVLEOH HOHFWLYH RU UHTXLUHG FRXUVH *HW RQH VWHS FORVHU WR JUDGXDWLRQ &DO 6WDWH / $ ¶V 6XPPHU 6HVVLRQ LV RSHQ WR DOO VWXGHQWV 7HQ ZHHN DQG ¿YH ZHHN WHUPV )LYH ZHHN WHUP HQGV ZHOO EHIRUH )DOO 6HPHVWHU

SUMMER SPECIAL SESSION

2 0 1 1

www.calstatela.edu/extension/news Offered through the

College of Extended Studies and International Programs California State University, Los Angeles

ISSUE 68.12 KEVIN O’BRIEN Editor-in-Chief

ANDY KNEIS

Managing Editor

CLAY COOPER

Managing Editor

CHELSEA STEVENS Opinions Editor

NOAH KELLY

Campus Director

KATY PARKER Literature Editor

MARCO BELTRAN Entertainment Editor

andyk.union@gmail.com

chelsea.union@gmail.com noah.union@gmail.com

marcob.union@gmail.com

CHRIS FABELA

cfab.union@gmail.com

LEO PORTUGAL

leop.union@gmail.com

JEFF BRIDGES

jeffbridges.grun@gmail.com

CLAY COOPER

clay.union@gmail.com

Actor, Grunion Editor Art Director/Cover

GABE FERREIRA

Assistant Art Director

gabe.union@gmail.com

JEFF CHANG

jeff.chang.art@gmail.com

CONNOR O’BRIEN

connor.union@gmail.com

Head Illustrator Photo Editor

CHRIS FABELA

On-Campus Distribution

cfab.union@gmail.com

ANDY KNEIS

andyk.union@gmail.com

STEVE BESSETTE

steveb.union@gmail.com

Web Editor

Advertising Executive

AND HERE TO STAY

katy.union@gmail.com

Music Editor

Culture Editor

SENT

clay.union@gmail.com

MICHAEL MERMELSTEIN merm.union@gmail.com Comics Editor

KEVIN

kevinob.union@gmail.com

This Week’s Assistant Editors:

COLLEEN BROWN, ALISON ERNST, FOLASHADE ALFORD, VINCENT CHAVEZ

Contributors:

MIKE PALLOTTA, MATT DUPREE, VICTOR CAMBA, PARKER CHALMERS, DEVIN O’NEIL, STEPHANIE HERNANDEZ, BRYAN WALTON, COREY LEIS, DEBORAH ROWE, LISA VAN WIJK, TANNER PARKER, KEVIN JORGE-CRUZ, CHRIS PAGE, DANIEL PEREZ, CHRISTINA MOTT, KEVIN NICHOLSON, CHELSEA HOBBY, SARA HATAKEYAMA, KATIE BROWN, DANIEL SERRANO, JORDAN MAEVE, MARLON DELEON, ALLISON HUITT, JILLIAN THOMAN, KIMBERLY TORREZ, JARRED BLUNK, TYLER STAFFORD, JUSTIN JUNG, WES VERNER, KEVIN NG, JOHN VILENUEVA, GENE KANG, RON MITCHEL, RACHEL CLARE, ADAM FAY, ELISA ANG , ANNETTE SCANLON, CLAUDIA RODRIGUEZ, SALLY KEY, JONATHAN BALDERAS, CAREY BAXTER, SHANE RULING, TRAVIS BARON, ALBERTOE MATA, DONNIE BESSON, KENDRA ABLAZA, ERICH FREY, LAURA HEMBD, LAURA HEMBD, ERICH HEMBD, FELICITY LANDA, JULIUS TANAG (COVER, pushoversunite@gmail.com)

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, 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 may or may not be edited for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and length. The Union Weekly will publish anonymous letters, articles, editorials and illustrations, but 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 : 562.985.8161 E-MAIL : lbunion.info@gmail.com WEB : lbunion.com

KEVIN O’BRIEN

L

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

ast Monday, the somehow ongoing controversy over our coverage of the Pow Wow reached a new level of absurdity and, for me at least, satisfaction. A person, or persons, over the course of the day, stole five stacks of our beloved Unions, roughly 500 copies, off of five separate stands around campus.

By the afternoon, I realized that there were more issues missing from the stands than usual, by the evening it was evident that some stands had been emptied.

My initial thought being theft, I left class for the Campus Police Station.

Sweaty and incensed, I made a statement and a report was filed, however, all that perspiration and emotion would be blown away by the shear shortsightedness of my unknown antagonists.

I returned to what was left of my class, a film about Mixed Martial Arts (MMA). I imagined myself physically obliterating my anonymous opponents along with/as one-time MMA champion Evan Tanner did so to a bunch of Japanese guys. That was awesome.

Afterwards, I walked down to the Union Weekly office, briefly commiserated with my friend and fellow editor Marco Beltran, and then began the long walk to my car. It was a walk to remember. As I passed a stand on the outskirts of the USU, I found that the issues had been returned albeit with a small note glued to each cover. The notes were printed on the cheapest salmon-colored paper and had some thieving, vandalizing, criminal bullshit printed on them, the grammar was shit too.

Ecstatic I returned to the Union Weekly office to inform Marco. Together we victoriously walked from stand to stand cleansing each stand’s issues of the vandalism. In one hour we literally tore apart hours upon hours of work, work most probably fueled by hatred and jealousy. During our tour we were followed and watched by two women who were obviously involved, apparently having no concept of nonchalance. I only hope they could hear my maniacal laughter as I used my bare hands to destroy their work and the

Illustration

VICTOR CAMBA

FORMER COMICS EDITOR

work of their comrades.

That night was a victory for the Union Weekly, just as it was a victory for all those students who were involved with the creation of the issue. Next time you want to fuck with the voice of the student body, just jerk-off into each other’s mouths you pack of fat fucking walruses.

Below are letters from students who choose to express themselves in a manner befitting the laws of mankind, and they do it so well too.

I’ll be honest and begin this letter by saying that the AISC is completely in the wrong over the accusations and attacks it has waged on the Union in the last month.

Rather than looking at the criticisms that Noah Kelly brought forth, he was labeled as a racist, which is serious business. I’ve read over his article several times and there is nothing in there even remotely racist. If anything, Mr. Kelly appears to be upset because the Pow Wow is insensitive itself towards Native culture.

I’ll be the first to admit that I did not go to this year’s event. But I went the year before and took away similar feelings that Noah Kelly did. That Native American culture was being whored out unrelentingly. If AISC was so concerned about reaching out and teaching people about Native culture, then they would have had participants provide context for the activities that occur at the Pow Wow. And apparently they acknowledge this downfall, since according the the 49er, they held a forum recently discussing the context of the activities. The only reason this event occured is because of Kelly’s article, otherwise they would have been content to just have the Pow Wow continue to be a money-making scheme instead of the cultural learning opportunity it should be.

Perhaps instead of being hotheaded reactionaries that attack newspaper editors, the AISC should refocus their goals.

Do you know how many people participated in the graduation ceremony from the American Indian Studies department last spring? One. The AISC would be wasting a lot less of their own time if they instead

went around convincing their peers that American Indian Studies was a relevant and important major, rather than playing the victim.

-Mic Thank you Mic. Printing this letter may seem like we’re tearing a Band-Aid that has yet to stick to the wound that is the ongoing Pow Wow controversy. However, I would remind our readers that our role as the Union Weekly, the voice of the student body, is to express the thoughts and feelings of the student body. This letter, as well every article within the pages of this issue, is just that. It should be read and interpreted as such.

Hola!

I’d like to say that the Facebook article in volume 68 issue 11 of the Union was articulated very well. It’s always interesting to read an article and think, “Wow. She put into words what I was thinking.”

Especially in a way that makes sense.

I’ve never been an avid Union Weekly reader but I had some extra time today and caught up on some stuff going on here at the school. I gathered that people are pissed at Kevin for what I assume is allowing what was considered a racist article to be published. Your paper does provide a disclaimer that states these are all the writer’s opinions and not that of the student body or anyone else for that matter. I’m by no means advocating racism but I welcome opinions. (I did not read the Pow Wow article though so I don’t know if it was even that bad) In any case, I like what you guys are doing. I got some good laughs today.

Also, The Black Guy That Uses Your Microwave Sometimes is hilarious. Nice.

-Rebecca B. Namaste.

Ask Away!

Finished the paper but still have questions or comments? Send them to the editor at kevinob.union@gmail.com!

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

OPINIONS

PRO-LIFE, ANTI-JUDGMENT

A RESPONSE TO THE 49ER’S ARTICLE AGAINST THE ANTI-ABORTION RALLY FELICITY LANDA CONTRIBUTOR

Illustration

CHRIS FABELA COMICS EDITOR

CHELSEA STEVENS OPINIONS EDITOR

[Editor’s note: this article was sent to the Union Weekly following a lack of response from the 49er in having it published. It is a response to a letter-to-theeditor article entitled “Anti-abortionists are more abusive than effective” published April 20.]

I

too visited another planet last week. I put on the armor of opinion and the shield of free speech, to face a battlefield in an unknown territory far outside my comfort zone. I stood behind a barrier and listened to angry people shout in my face, while I attempted to reason with rationality and peace. I passed out fliers that were thrown back in my face, while my smiles were greeted with spit.

But to be on another planet is to excuse the present evil we see every day in the world, to blindly turn away from the hatred and incivility and claim that it isn’t happening. And to do this would be ignorance.

As a young woman living in a society that cares more about my bra and waist size than my heart and mind, there is nothing I defend more than woman’s rights. This includes all women, especially those who cannot speak for themselves, the unborn.

And when I opened the Daily 49er a few days later I was greeted by more hatred, and even worse, lies. There is something missing in all of this, a deep misunderstanding that can only be cured by a knowledge and openness to the other side of the argument.

A claim that religion is the cause, and that hatred and intolerance is the drive is merely an ignorant claim made without the proper research.

The Center for Bio-Ethical reform is a non-religious organization that bases their arguments solely on science. Not one mention of religion was brought up unless it was first asked by a bystander,

4

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

in which case someone would respond with some derivative of “religion is not what we’re discussing, and has nothing to do with the argument.” CBR’s mission, quoted from their website www. abortionNO.org, states that they are “working to establish prenatal justice and the right to life for the unborn, the disabled, the infirm, the aged and all vulnerable peoples through education and the development of cutting edge educational resources.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t see the word religion anywhere in that statement.

The reason for the pictures of popular genocides is a comparison of abortion to genocide, a systematic killing of a large group of people, specifically the unborn. Not to offend, never to offend. I saw many people misinterpret this comparison, and to reiterate: if something is comparable that does not mean it is identical.

The purpose of every one of these presentations on campus for the past three years is to demonstrate with visual imagery what abortion really is.

To show pictures, not of back-alley abortions, but of surgical facility procedures of abortions, those done in Planned Parenthoods and other abortion clinics across the United States. It is not to condemn, ostracize, or judge, yet every hour that I spent behind that barrier I received more judgment than I have ever dealt in my entire life. And those who stood back and said nothing, those who walked away without a word, those were the people who did not understand and did not care to ask, but rather preferred to make an immediate judgment.

I spoke to many women in those two days, women who were sorry for having abortions, women who had never seen pictures and didn’t know the development of a child in the womb, those who hated and judged me, those who said I

wasn’t a real woman, and those who just didn’t care. But each of those women I still view as human beings who have inalienable rights and dignity, and I will continue to look on them in love.

This view is the view that all of us had, prominent by the signs displaying PostAbortion and Pregnancy help lines surrounding the presentation.

I heard no shouting from those within the barrier, but only from those shouting at them. I saw no violence within the barrier, but only from someone who chose to destroy their property. I saw no judgment behind the barrier, but only from those who decided they knew who we were enough to judge.

Change starts with radicalism and individuality. The civil rights movement caught on fire because of the images of lynchings that were publicized. When Rosa Parks was asked why she did not give up her seat on the bus, she claimed it was because she thought of Emmitt Till, and the images she saw of his torture.

The intent was to inform the public. If rage was a part of that then it may be unavoidable. I too taped my armor back together and left, but I left after a day of speaking up rather than a day of silence. I left with knowledge, understanding, and hope for change. I was informed, while others did not even take the time to try. And that’s how changes happen in this world, not with ignorant stabs in the back, but with knowledge and someone who is willing to stand up, even when everyone else is spitting in their face.

I will continue to fight this fight, not only for the unborn, but also for their mothers, because there is nothing more tragic for either of them. I stand up for them even if no one else will, with knowledge, and most of all, love and acceptance.

There’s been something undeniably odd in the air around CSULB lately. Whether it’s all the Pow Wow business, anti-abortion posters the size of buildings, last-minute budget cut rallies, or the multitude of students crumbling under the pressure of the last few weeks of school, something has people breaking down around here. Not that my life hasn’t had its fair share of utter bullshit lately, but I feel like I’m standing untouched in the middle of a whirlpool while everyone around me is getting sucked down the toilet bowl.

This weird phenomenon has left me a lot of time to watch the people getting sucked under and wonder what makes them give in to the pull. Something snaps, and suddenly they’re totally consumed by whatever it is they’re allowing to get to them. This snap makes people do crazy things, like diagnosing themselves with serious depression to get attention, or making humongous posters of bloody babies, or threatening to murder someone’s family over a newspaper article.

Who does these things? It happens every day around here, and it’s scary that it’s beginning to feel normal.

It seems there’s a level of practicality missing in people’s lives here. It’s so easy to feel like we have the worst case of depression ever known to man when things aren’t going so well, and conveniently forget that there are actual people who have chemical imbalances in their brain that make them feel like they’re going to die every second of the day. It’s easy to compare killing fetuses to genocide when you don’t have dead Rwandans as neighbors to ask how that would make them feel, let alone the millions of women who’ve had abortions.

This skill of putting our lives in perspective isn’t an easy one to keep up all the time, but it’s a fucking important one. The entire lifespan of humanity will last as long as a blink in the scope of all existence, and it’s okay to pretend like that’s not true sometimes so we don’t all bring machine guns to class and start blowing holes in our professors. But there’s a thick line between allowing ourselves to pretend that life matters in order to help us keep going, and getting so caught up in our own shit that we make everyone around us miserable.

Life’s debatable levels of significance aren’t an indication that we should all just give up and stop caring about what goes on around us. Standing up for ourselves and others, experiencing whatever’s being thrown at us and pulling through it strong as ever, these are the reasons we don’t all decide to tie our hands together and take a dive off the Golden Gate bridge. Practicality doesn’t only mean we need to understand how deep our personal problems are, but also understanding the needs of people who have it worse off, and using our energy to give them a hand rather than tearing someone else down. In the grand scheme of things, life is far too short for all of this self-perpetuated stress.

OPINIONS

ETIQUETTE, MOTHAFUCKA! DO YOU KNOW IT? HOW ONE SHOULD BEHAVE WHEN SEEING A PLAY COREY LEIS & MIKE TAYLOR

Illustration

UNION STAFFERS

We’re sitting inside a dimly-lit theatre.

The lights begin to fade as the anticipation for the onset of the show builds. We’ve taken our pisses and silenced our cellphones, making sure we’re ready for an enjoyable theatre experience. The actors take the stage and begin their performance…

As the plot thickens, the asshat to the left of us pulls out his cellphone to send a text message. He thinks it’s not causing any problems because the sound is turned off, but the blue glow emitting from his phone is distracting not only us but the actors who are spilling their guts onstage. Maybe we don’t understand the importance of his sending his girlfriend a sweet message saying he “luv[s] [her] to [sic],” but we’re trying to enjoy a play here.

We, Mikey T. and Corey Coldblood,

are here to drop some knowledge about the proper etiquette one should abide by when attending the theatre. There are certain rules one must follow. Most performances don’t last over two hours. Theatre-goers need to scale down their self-importance and accept that they can spend that time not being the center of attention; are you really that important?

Turn your cellphone off. Better yet, leave it in your car. Or smash it with a hammer. Trust us on this: the actors know when you’re diddling the keys of your cellphone, hittin’ up your homie about “where da party at.”

It’s not just messing around with electronics that makes you a dick, though.

Shaking your legs or tapping your feet are kosher at a concert, but it’s obnoxious at a theatre performance. The sh-sh-sh-sh of

ALLISON GOERTZ CONTRIBUTOR

your pant leg as you jiggle your sneaker is audible throughout the theatre. Please stop.

It’s equally inappropriate to whisper to your friend during a performance, at any time, in any manner, at any volume, even if it’s to comment on the action of the play.

You know what else grinds our gears? The sound of eating snacks during the performance. They’re sold before the show and during intermission1, and should be eaten during that time. The crinkling of the plastic wrap pers is unavoidable, despite best efforts. If this were a Vin Diesel flick we’re watching, we’d cut you a break as your greasy butterfingers fondle the wrapper of your Kit-Kat. But we’re not watching some bubblegum blockbuster.

In short, we all need to exercise some respect and decency when attending the

theatre. Don’t talk (and don’t shush people either—that’s equally disturbing); don’t crack your knuckles or pop your gum; don’t text message or check your phone; just don’t be rude. We don’t care if you’re forced to attend CSULB’s theatre performances by your Theatre 113 instructor or you think watching plays is boring. You’re an adult now, so act like one. In the words of the late, great Eyedea, “you stupid motherfuckers need to learn how to act.” We out.

1 Intermission is a finite interval; you probably don’t have time to smoke a cigarette, take a piss, and make a call. Don’t come traipsing into the theatre with your whispered sorrys after the show’s resumed because you waited eight minutes into a ten-minute intermission to use the john.

VENICE BEACH SHO AIN’T IN ITALY

IF IT WERE, WE WOULD HAVE WASTED A LOT OF MONEY ALISON ERNST & STEVE BESSETTE UNION STAFFERS

Amid all the dirt and grunge and hobos in Venice Beach, there are rich European tourists and people continually telling you that the doctor is, in fact, in. We won’t lie and tell you it was amazing. To be honest, it was slightly terrifying. Too many people.

Too much grime. People packed like sardines on the street in a Disneyland-esque fashion, but it was not the happiest place on Earth.

For us, the excursion to the Gomorrah of Los Angeles was mandatory because of our art appreciation class. The teacher of the class chose Venice to highlight the culture and diversity that supposedly permeate the area. Not only that, but there are the legal graffiti walls that are intended to

strengthen that appreciation. We tried to increase the usefulness of the event by also using that opportunity as a date. What a sucky date.

It’s hard to understand the wide-spread appeal of Venice Beach. It’s insane how the extremely wealthy owners of beach houses are cool with the thousands of tourists that walk past their homes daily while buying weed and taking pictures. Skater kids and dog walkers are among the thousands that constantly brush past you in a flurry of pedestrianism. It makes one continually check the pocket to ensure that there is still a wallet in it. Pickpocketing has to be an epidemic in a place like this.

One of the worst things about Venice

isn’t the dog shit you might step in while avoiding tandem bicyclists, but that it has a weird knack for inducing a metaphysical experience. You just have so much hate inside of you and all of sudden you’re trying to figure out why you and all of these people are in Venice. If you weren’t required to go there or had even the most minutely compelling reason to take the drive, there’s no good reason to go. But then you think about everywhere else you go, the places you do like. People might hate your favorite places too. It’s a really off beat way to get an anthropology lesson.

The idea of legal graffiti art walls sounds really badass in theory. But due to being confined to pre-designated walls for

novice painters, feeling bad about painting over someone’s masterpiece, and realizing that making stencils and bombing should be left to people who can competently create likable art, it’s not worth it. The 50foot radius around the walls is pervaded by colorful mists and the scent of aerosol.

The ears are also overwhelmed with notso-good vibrations. There’s a consuming black hole of noise coming from loud restaurant speakers, vendors blasting all sorts of reggae, and buskers.

The only nice thing is the actual beach part, the ocean. You look at it and just want to swim very, very far away from the noise and stinking seagulls.

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

5

CAMPUS STATE OF THE BEACH

YOUR WEEKLY CAMPUS NEWS IN BRIEF MARCO BELTRAN BACON SAVER

Hey Beaches, this is going to be a great week for me. I’m going to buy my weight in discounted Easter candy and go on a candy bender.

I want to be spewing colorful goop from my butt, so that by the end of the week I get diabetes and die, and no one ever has to read the shitty things I write. Oh well. Here’s what to look forward to this week:

THE GREEN IDEA EXPO A REAL GRASSROOTS EFFORT DONNIE BESSOM CONTRIBUTOR

C

ome to the Earl Burns Japanese Gardens, Wednesday, May 4, from 4:30pm for free food, a live band, and a chance to see the top sustainable projects in CSULB’s last Green Generation Mixer—The Idea Expo. The best research and design projects will be awarded prizes ranging for $100 to $200 prizes and attendees will also get to vote for the best green project in the “people’s choice award” category.

Students and faculty can pay $1 a vote to help raise funds for next year’s

Student Sustainability Task Force (SSTF) campaign while awarding this year’s best concepts. This idea expo has drawn in over 15 projects from several disciplines including design, engineering, and environmental science and policy. Projects ranging from electric vehicle designs to bamboo bicycles, this event looks to be one of the coolest of the year.

President Alexander and ASI officers will also talk about CSULB’s green movement and sustainability task forces hope to accomplish in the future.

The SSTF will also reveal its futuristic proposal for what CSULB could look like in the year 2020 to coincide with Long Beach’s Sustainable Action Plan.

This event will also give students the chance to interact with green businesses, alumni, and members of the Long Beach Community who are leading local campaigns to prepare the city for the future.

There is no charge for the mixer so bring friends and family to see what our university is made of.

DENIM DAY

Thinking about skipping school on Monday because you’re a sack of shit? Why not do something educational for a change and attend the College of Education’s Brown Bag Series Ethnographic Research In and Out of School Contexts, from 12-1pm in ED1 Room 1. For further information, call (562) 985-2330.

I have an appointment with my optometrist on Tuesday so that they can drill little holes in my eye, so I won’t be attending the Design department’s Portfolio Exhibition (from 10am-5pm in the design gallery). I don’t know what things will be presented, but if I see you on Wednesday you can tell me all about it! Maybe you’ll have fun. Maybe you’ll find the love of your life there.

Maybe you’ll find that cool book from The Never Ending Story and get to ride Falcor!

The only time I’m happy is when pressing my naked butt against a pound of granola. The crunching sound relaxes me, unlike the sound of crunching snow (that noise makes me want to throw up). I guess I should attend the 39th annual Psych Day from 10am-6pm in the Psychology building central quad on Wednesday.

On Thursday, the Dance department presents the Spring MFA Dance Concert at 8pm at the Martha B. Knoebel Dance Theater. The closest I’ve ever come to attending a dance event was when my fifth grade teacher forced me to dance with a girl with really sweaty hands that hated me. For tickets call (562) 985-7000.

RAISING AWARENESS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT COLLEEN BROWN UNION STAFFER

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month, and this week the Women’s Resource Center, Lambda Theta Alpha, and the Feminist Organization Reclaiming Consciousness and Equality (FORCE) are holding several events.

This Wednesday, April 27, is Denim Day. Students across campus are encouraged to wear their jeans to “join the fight against rape.”

Denim Day came about because of an incident in 1997 in Italy. An 18-year-old girl was raped in an alley by a 45-yearold man, prosecuted him, and won her case. But months later, the man successfully appealed and his jail sentence was overturned. His defense was “because the victim wore very, very tight jeans, she had to help him remove them… and by UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

removing the jeans… it was no longer rape but consensual sex.” Women in the Italian Parliament were outraged with this decision and decided to protest by all wearing jeans to work.

This protest proved to be successful in raising awareness in Italy, because the women were wearing jeans to the workplace in a non-casual setting.

But here on campus at CSULB, there are thousands of people wearing jeans daily. Lynne Coenen of the Women’s Resource Center said that because of this, it is “much more difficult” to promote awareness through this event. But to help solve this problem, the WRC has cutout denim jean pins available emblazoned with the question “Why Denim?”

The idea is that if people wear their jeans

along with the pins, they are in a position to start a conversation with people to increase understanding about the importance behind Denim Day. Also on Wednesday, Relationship Insurance: A Workshop about Red Flags will take place in the WRC from 1-2:20pm.

This workshop will cover the warning signs of abuse, as well as what makes a foundation for a healthy relationship.

Then Thursday, FORCE’s Take Back the Night rally will be starting at 6:15pm at the Speaker’s Platform. Wednesday and Thursday, The Clothesline Project will be on display at the Speaker’s Platform as well. If you would like to get involved with any of these events, stop by the WRC (LA 3-105) on Monday or Tuesday, or send an email to wrc@csulb.edu.

The Dirtbags face off with Cal Poly at 6:30pm at Blair Field. I think I read somewhere that they decided to change the rules for this game so that you have to inject some adrenaline directly into your heart when it’s your turn to bat. Your team automatically wins the game if one of the players gets a heart attack. For information, call (562) 985-4949.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person that thinks a softball looks like a baby’s head. That’s a thing, right? I don’t mean that like in a gory, violent way. The sound a softball makes when hit by a bat is what I imagine hitting a baby with a bat is like. Email me at marcob.union@gmail. com if you agree. So when you go to the softball game on Friday vs. UC Santa Barbara at 1pm and 3pm on the campus softball field, think about that. For more info, call (562) 985-4949.

annual

STORY CONTEST

Intro

Y

LEO PORTUGAL CULTURE EDITOR

our wait for the Union Weekly’s annual short story contest is over!

This year we asked for quick and flashy 300-word stories (flash fiction, for those of you not in the business). We were happy to receive a pretty decent amount of submissions. Still, all you good writers out there who DIDN’T submit anything are pretty selfish keeping your quality stories to yourselves and I’m a little mad at you.

The authors of the submissions were kept anonymous for the sake of total fairness as the Union Weekly edi-

tors diligently read all the entries. Nine of our favorite submissions have been included here for your reading pleasure.

Our ultimate winners were to be placed in the top three, but we had a tough time picking just three stories, so there’s a tie for third. Good job winners! Your prize: a feeling of accomplishment and personal growth. And for short story champion Cord Montgomery, you can also claim a tangible, non-bullshit prize: I will personally bake you a pie!

Just e-mail me at leop.union@gmail. com with the pie of choice.

Illustrations

#9

THE COLOR OF DEATH

JULIUS TANAG CONTRIBUTOR

SHANE RUSING CONTRIBUTOR

A very intense argument. A young man walks down forest path to edge of moving water, there is a girl. In distance time rotated made them old, still together, but this day cold, even though, the sun bright in the sky and sold slowly into the night.

“Is that you, Nathan?” she says as the boy escapes the woods and leans on a branch as it snaps back and hits him in the eye. Squinting hard and holding his face,

#8

the boy says: “Who’d you think it was? Daniel?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It is quiet now. No words are exchanged. One looks away, the other stares.

The scenery is breathtaking; there are birds singing–flying/gliding with the wind down the long green slope of the mountain stretching into the stars of the early night sky. But no one’s breath is taken by

it. Or ears caught listening. Or eyes seen seeing. But the cold wind shapes bump along their skin, and deep within them both, it is felt.

Then the sun melts. The two step into a boat and row out upon the clear blueness of the lake. The young man is rowing, of course. The power of suggestion. A face flushes pink and grips. Now a voice is heard.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yes, Nathan, I did. And I’d do it again!”

Passing underneath a dead gray bridge the one still stares. But the steel orange and purple fade of the sky, seen now, as if for the very first time by Elizabeth. Oh God, it’s beautiful! But it was just a thought, for a moment, before the eyes met again and danced and fell back down and the water ran red.

And the sky went black.

superlative on this warm spring evening, he takes extra time in his venture, captivated by the spark in the air.

A young woman whose name and face

he knows, though they’ve never met, is ambling in his direction. As they pass each other, they trade glances and Rem snares her smile, taking it with him.

Savoring its taste, he sashays across the square, now knowing exactly what he’s going to do tonight.

in, folks, wheel it in! Your check-engine light came on, miss? Good God! You’ll need a new carburetor, alternator, modulator! That’ll be one thousand dollars and we’re keeping it a week. Huh? You’re in college and can’t afford that? A pretty thing like you? Of course we can make some kind of arrangement...

Wheel it in, folks! Wheel it in!

If a car comes in for a routine checkup, get ‘em for all they got! Keep a little dirt in your pocket and sprinkle it on the air filter when they’re not looking. Loosen up a bolt or two on the exhaust pipe and show them: See, sir, it’s loose! Cut a few wires if you have to and keep some bad fuses in your tool box.

Use your knife to slit a belt or two. Put some

sugar in the gas tank and they’ll come back.

No matter what, get them to pay up!

I don’t feel sorry for you. Not one bit.

And why should I? If you were smart you would learn to work on your own fucking car. You’re all just a bunch of suckers! That’s right! Suckers! All of you! Suckers! Wheel it in, folks! Wheel that cash in!

ACROSS THE SQUARE COREY LEIS UNION STAFFER

Not knowing what the night has in store for him, Rem Gefney promenades across the university square toward his residence hall. Feeling particularly

#7

SUCKERS LEWIS FRIEND CONTRIBUTOR

Wheel it in, folks! Wheel it in! You need an oil change, sir? Why, you threw a rod!

We’ll have to rebuild that engine. That’ll be three thousand dollars and we’re keeping it a week. Wheel it in, folks! Wheel it in! You need brake pads, madam? Oh, no! You damaged the calipers! That’ll be four hundred dollars and we’re keeping it a week. Wheel it

#6

THE STARS LAUGH AT A BITTER AND DESPERATE MAN KEVIN NG

UNION STAFFER

Jerry had a permanent look of contempt on his face, as if anything anyone ever said to him at any given time was bad news. He slouched at his makeshift bar (his kitchen) lit by one light and surrounded by shadows, sans booze. The steeping, monthly rent had taken precedence.

Phil, his remaining college friend of five years, came by for a visit.

They sat at the dining table with two full glasses of milk and a sparse plate of cookies.

“I don’t know what to do, Jerry.”

Phil’s eyes drooped like melted ice cream.

“The news said today that as of 2011, there is a new astrological sign that changes everything. I was a Cancer yesterday, but now, I’m a Gemini! I don’t even know who I am anymore. Am I still Phil Hernandez?”

Jerry stared off to the ceiling. Is this really what guys talk about nowadays?

“Do you really believe in that bullshit?”

“I don’t. I’m still a Cancer and that’s final—”

“I meant, astrology.”

Phil’s mouth snapped shut like a mousetrap. Jerry took a small sip of his milk.

“Don’t you think that if horoscopes actually worked, an asshole like me would’ve exploited it by now?”

The nearby fridge buzzed, as if in agreement.

Phil took a small bite of a cookie.

“I guess,” he mumbled through the crumbs between his teeth.

Phil left around 3am. Jerry finished

cleaning dishes, and prepared for sleep.

Around 4, Jerry picked up an old photograph from under the bed.

“How can the stars, with all of their ancient and infinite wisdom always say I am absolutely wrong about the one thing I’m sure of?”

Jerry stretched and felt the width of his bed.

He blinked, stood up, and prepared his best scowl for the day ahead of him.

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

#5

IN TUCSON STEVE BESSETTE UNION STAFFER

Last night I had a dream I was dead. I traversed a familiar city where I knew I was dead, and the citizens knew I was dead right along with them. It felt strange, just because of how not-dead everything felt. My mother wasn’t there, my father wasn’t either, but my little sister showed up in our tan Civic one afternoon. I thought she had killed herself because she missed me and wanted to join me. She didn’t miss me, and she didn’t kill herself either. In fact, she had driven there.

Apparently the path from Chicago, Illinois to Tucson, Arizona was the road from life to death. But once you drove through, you were stuck eternally, supposedly. All I did from then on was try to figure out how to get out of Tucson and back to Chicago. The car vanished somewhere, probably because what I was seeing couldn’t actually be real.

#4

The more I felt like trying to get back to Chicago, the sheer pondering of it, was like pushing up against a thick glass right above me. Like I was hunched over in the slightest way so that it was only mildly agitating. I kept pushing, then giving up. My sister had black hair. In Chicago, she was a blonde.

That’s how I knew something was up, that I was dreaming. Or maybe I seriously was dead. Maybe every time I sleep I’m dead. I’m about to go to sleep right now, will I die or dream? Maybe when I die for real, like from internal bleeding, I’ll think I’m dreaming, that I’m under my stupid blue sheets waiting for the stupid 8am alarm, not wondering about getting out. No. I don’t have to wonder. I’ll get out of it. It’s a dream. It totally is.

I’m not dead. I’m not in Tucson right now.

I’m in Chicago.

AN ODE TO THE LAND FRANCISCO PEREZ CONTRIBUTOR

Words unspoken.

She, the daughter of a farmers’ tan.

Here he was on a hot summer day, festive with the remnants of a youthful night and the eager celebration of a beautiful life. His dreams awoken upon his footsteps on the desolate ground. His feet eagerly reaching out to the warmth of the land.

A night forgotten, a dream remembered, waiting for the melodies from the music that emanates from his pumping TIE

#3

heart. Quickly, the shadows of yesterday’s walk become the beaming light of tomorrow’s jog. Inspired by her stories he threads on, assured that he has not forgotten the roots of his path.

She, the daughter of a farmers’ tan, carrying the voice of the fruitful soil, alive are her dreams as she extends her arms to joyfully bear the fruit of a farmers’ toil.

They whose labor has never gone unpunished as the rays of the sun strike down

CRABS & CLAMS KELLY RAMSAY CONTRIBUTOR

In the fifty-six years they had been married, she had never once seen him change a light bulb or move a sprinkler, so when she caught him coming in off of the patio with bug spray she knew something was off.

“What are you doing?” She asked him sharply.

He jumped in surprise and blushed. He gave her a guilty grin. “Barb, I think something may have happened to your clam.”

“My clam?” Her clam? Then it dawned on her. “You mean Crabby? My hermit crab?

What did you do, Frank?”

“Well, I was sitting in my chair when something swung at my face, attacking me, so I hit it with my newspaper.”

For one sweet moment she imagined Crabby hauling himself up the Venetian blinds like a GI Joe, his claws straining as he fought nobly upward, his tentacle eyes gleaming as he began to swing on the blind, building up momentum for the moment when he would let go and launch himself at his enemy…

Frank continued uneasily. “I thought it was that damn cricket that been driving me crazy with all its chirping. And it was still UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

moving on the floor so I hit it a couple more times until it was still.”

How could he possibly mix Crabby up with a cricket? From his infancy until he was apparently big enough to reach up the side of his cage and haul himself over to freedom, Crabby had been adorned in a variety of brightly painted shells. The one he had been attacked in was mustard yellow with a giant smiley face on it.

“So I got a Kleenex, picked it up, and threw it onto the patio.”

She thought about the dogs that had been foisted on the kids when they moved out, the cat that had gotten run over, the chinchilla whose pen door was left open and escaped, the bird whose cage and been shoved too close to an open window and the reach of a hungry opossum, and the wild lizard she named Godzilla who lived in their bathtub until Frank threatened to call the exterminator.

“Then I got the bug spray and…”

She walked away while he trailed her, still feebly insisting he would go to the pet store and get her another clam.

upon their backs, like whips leaving marks deeply rooted in a violent past.

Eagerly waiting. No. Eagerly searching to tame the arching heat of the beaming sun. Her voice fluid in the language of the living wind who carries with her the songs of a living past. Frozen in time are her melodies, unspoken are her words of wisdom and knowledge. Her thoughts abundant with the tangible warmth of the caressing earth which gives feeling to her

otherwise cold hands.

This is the story of She, the daughter of a farmers’ tan, her weeping eyes rejoicing in the thought of a better tomorrow for you and I. Our lives connected through the warm mud that runs through our veins. Mud embedded through many nights of warm rains.

The solid warmth that gives us hope when the thunderous light casts a shadow upon the quiet night.

TIE

#3

HUNGRY RACHEL CLARE CONTRIBUTOR

“Are you hungry?”

This is how these nights always begin.

It’s 11pm and we’ve been holed up in your room since half past eight, flipping through channels, flipping through video games, flipping through homework that we’re pretending to finish.

This is how we’ve ended up in this diner booth again, Denny’s sign glowing gold just outside the window. The restaurant is quiet; a little too late for the kids but a couple of hours too early for the post-bar drunks. I don’t think our waiter is too thrilled with our laughter puncturing this late-night lull, but I can’t help myself when you’re telling this story about the old homeless guy on 6th Street skinny-dipping in the pool at your apartment complex.

We’re swapping pennies and dollar bills for pancakes and eggs, emptying our wal-

#2

lets of the money that was supposed to fill our gas tanks. You’re on your second cup of coffee and I’ve never seen your eyes so alive.

This is nothing really­—the white plates piled with our midnight breakfasts as I relate the story of my sister’s limo getting towed on prom night. This is just us tucked away into a booth as we while away the darkest hours of our night. I won’t be able to tell you the details of this conversation a week or a month or a year from now, but it’s this feeling of contentment, of a night sparkling with possibilities, that has me hooked.

I never quite told you, but my hunger wasn’t so much for the toast and the bacon as much as it was for this simple exchange of words, this trading of childhood stories for favorite songs.

“Are you hungry?”

Yes, yes I still am.

PEEPING TOM NATE MUSSER CONTRIBUTOR

The kid blamed that last shot of whiskey for his stumbling that night. He probably couldn’t have passed for sober in front of a cop or his grandmother. Each step was a chore and the sidewalk looked comfortable.

He decided to sit.

From the curb, he could see a light flicker on across the way. In an office window four or five stories up, he could see a girl. Through the distortion of his gaze, he pegged her for young, early twenties maybe.

She wore a brown suit designed for powerful, career-oriented women, who spoke in corporate tongue.

Under the fluorescent office lights, long after last call, she started to dance.

She flung her body around to no particular rhythm. The music in her ears could have been The Beatles, Beethoven or Patti Smith.

She just moved, and kept on moving. She was a perfect blend of dizzy damsel and un-

#1

forgiving badass.

The kid stood up slowly and determined.

He yelled as loud and as clearly as he could, “WILL YOU COME HOME WITH ME?” His stupidity echoed through the street.

Then remembering his manners, he added, “PLEASE?” If she heard him, she didn’t show it. Her hips kept shaking like a natural disaster, and he was a standing catastrophe.

The kid knew that all she wanted was to make her body remember motion. Maybe she thought no one was watching. Maybe, in a city of three million, she finally felt alone.

Or maybe she hoped that someone could see exactly what her body could do.

He wasn’t sure which version he preferred that night. Call him too drunk to care.

Instead of searching for answers in her sway, the drunken boy sat back down, gripped the curb, and tried to hear the music.

TREE HOUSE

WINNER! YOU GET A PIE!

CORD MONTGOMERY CONTRIBUTOR

The ladder trembled with him, the creaking of the wood, a sound that terrified David as a small child, now faintly heard below the piercing howls above.

Each rung brought him closer to his brother, Travis, and each rung made him more hesitant to knock on the padlocked door of their tree house. But he knocked.

Silence followed David’s rapping; the door abruptly swung open. He was met with a reluctant stare, yet his brother

pulled him inside.

Travis sat on some weathered comics, a small kitchen knife in his right hand.

He enjoyed tapping the blade into the wood flooring, so much so, that there was a large notch carved from previous summer nights. In between each swing, David noticed his brother darting quick glares to his left at an opened cardboard box in the corner, the source of the screams he heard before.

David teetered towards the box. Fear chiseled away at him. He looked back toward his brother, but Travis took no notice; he was bored, and focused solely on the incessant tapping of the tree house floor, almost as if he wanted the floor to crack beneath them.

David stopped a foot short of the box, his head leaning back farther than usual, anticipating a grisly sight. He began to move his head forward, slowly revealing what was

inside. A small dog sat, frightened.

He reached down to read the collar; blood wet his fingers. The dog belonged to a neighbor of theirs, no more than three houses down the road. The knife’s rhythmic tapping suddenly stopped behind him. David did not look back, fearful of what he might see. The dog began to violently quake. David picked up the dog and brought him close to his chest. They trembled together.

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

MUSIC

ANDREW WK LIVE Photo

MICHAEL MERMELSTEIN

MUSIC EDITOR

A

ndrew W.K. has carved out a niche that would make any musician jealous. In his own words, he is a “professional partier,” most people recognize him from his hit single “Party Hard.” but he has also made fans through his huge Twitter presence. The chance to see such a singular figure in pop culture give an intimate motivational lecture and concert was one that I jumped at. It was clear from the crowd lined up at UCI’s Pacific Ballroom that none of us knew exactly what to expect. After some buffoonery on behalf of the eager audience, Andrew W.K. finally took the stage accompanied by his trusty piano and nothing else.

He immediately set the stage for the night’s festivities with “It’s Time To Party” before launching into a bit about enjoying life and embracing the party. This theme would continue to be explored throughout the night.

I knew Andrew W.K. was going to be an engaging and eloquent speaker, but I was completely unprepared for how similar his philosophy matched my own. He spoke

eloquently about life’s “bleakness,” which he insinuated came just as much from starving children in Asia as the limitless destruction caused by black holes and asteroids.

From these forces he intimated, we should find strength, not nihilism. He impressed on us that we should look towards both partying and the arts in order to exercise this newfound strength. I was hanging on every word, laughing out loud, and wondering how familiar with Nietzsche he was.

It was at this point in the night where things went off the rails. After going into an instrumental jam, he revealed to us that we were all part of the same lecture tonight and that he would be fielding questions, taking requests and inviting us to share anything we wanted with the rest of the audience. To make sure the audience participation portion started off right, one guy demanded Andrew W.K. play “Free Bird.” True to form Andrew put his own twist on the song by changing the lyrics to be about Red-Breasted Robins. He went on

MUSICAL METAPHORS

to educate us revealing that Lynyrd Skynyrd were a huge fan of the Red Robin restaurant chain and came up with the song as a token of their appreciation. This complete irreverence and quick comedic timing kept the nearly two-and-a-half hour lecture flying by.

It would be impossible to recreate the night’s events with any amount of accuracy, but suffice to say nothing was off limits. Some topics that were covered include: an analysis of R2D2’s role in “Star Wars [sic]” a tutorial on head banging, and what the deal is with Andrew’s banana obsession (“Potassium. Moving on.”)

The songs kept coming in just as fast as the questions, a cover of one of Andrew W.K.’s early bands Wolf Eyes, a rendition of the Pee Wee’s Big Adventure theme and a track off his new “party rock” record.

The moment that stirred the most discussion amongst the audience came when Andrew W.K. posed this moral puzzle: would you rather kill one infant or a million cats? This prompted several animal

PAUL ROSALES CONTRIBUTOR

rights members of the audience to cry out.

For Andrew’s part he said that he used to believe that killing the cats was the most ethical call, but that recently he has been less sure. Someone brought up overpopulation concerns about cats and that seemed to push him back over the edge to which he responded by acting out the murdering of a cat. Another interesting moment came when someone asked Andrew what his favorite guilty pleasure is. He responded with an impassioned plea not to let people make you feel guilty about what brings you happiness. It was one of the most interesting moments of a night filled with dozens.

Of course the night couldn’t end without a rousing rendition of “Party Hard.” As soon as the crowd realized what was going on, everyone got out of their seats and rushed the stage creating the most raucous mosh pits Pacific Ball Room Conference Room C has ever seen complete with crowd surfing. As we flocked out of UCI, I couldn’t help but feel enlightened and ready to take on the world.

EXPLORING THE LANGUAGE OF K’NAAN’S RHYMES

ANDY KNEIS MANAGING EDITOR

I feel like what makes music of any genre or time period successful is passion. When the artist can convey their love of music and self-expression into a song, then you’ve got a good song there, friend. I even like it when it seems like the artist has so much to say, he ends up stumbling over words, or making long, confusing metaphors. As a lover and writer of words, it’s a special treat when I find a song that contains an artist struggling against language to convey their feelings. It’s like a man finding the fountain of youth after years of searching, then taking a long drink, then turning into gold. Forever.

Take K’naan’s “I Was Stabbed by Satan” Where he uses the metaphor: “So one day when it’s all said and done/ my life will be UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

the bluest rap song ever sung / my verses will be curses to the rich / and all sorts of authority will cease to exist/ my daughter will be free of wars in my honor. Your fist / will raise in the air / like the silence of revolution / my face will appear / like the vision of a prisoner with his last beer / this song is a poem and this whole poem is a tear / dropped to your ear.”

K’naan is a Somalian refugee that escaped war and poverty to become a moderately successful Canadian rapper, so obviously he’s got a lot to talk about. Sometimes, though, it seems like he has so much to say he just can’t contain himself and words come spilling out. For example, this song not only is about how Satan stabs babies

when they are born as an introduction to a life of pain, but also, this final verse is a huge, complicated extended metaphor about songs within songs within songs within ears.

Let’s dive in deeper. K’naan explains that after he dies, his life will be a sad rap song.

That’s fine. He’s been through some crazy stuff, and that’s only one metaphor. I can handle that. But wait, the verses of his life rap song will cause authority to not exist and start a revolution? How? What? But there’s more. During that revolution started by a figurative song, K’naan’s face is going to appear, and it will be similar to a prisoner’s last beer.

Keep in mind that this revolution was started by a metaphorical song, and that the prisoner and beer that K’naan’s referring exists

in some kind of double metaphorical world.

Finally, K’naan takes this whole crazy figurative song world that he has created, and decides that it’s now a poem? Okay. Fine, songs are pretty close to poems. But wait, this huge universe that he’s created and wrapped into a song now is a tear. And that tear drops in your ear. Wait, okay, hold on. Is the tear being dropped into my ear represent me listening to his music? Why did he change the song from into a poem and then turn that poem into a tear if he was just going to put it in my ear anyway? Let’s not forget that this tear monstrosity started out as a song in the first place. Did we just go in a huge metaphorical circle? You’re a cruel man K’naan.

I think I love you. I’m gonna go lie down.

DIERKING AROUND WITH DOM

ENTERTAINMENT

AN INTERVIEW WITH DOMINIC DIERKES OF THE ANYTIME SHOW PODCAST Folashade Alford UNION STAFFER

O

n a Saturday, I ventured to LA to interview Dominic Dierkes about his podcast The Anytime Show. Traffic was being a total bitch, and in the midst of freaking out about my tardiness I got all the dumb questions out of my system (ex: What kind of food do you like?). Dierkes and his doorman, Benji, were both adorable and warm when I finally showed up. Apart from being funny, Dierkes seemed like a down-toearth guy and an all-around nice person to talk to. I’ve been in the audience twice and Dierkes definitely has the talk show host persona, moving from his opening monologue to interviewing audience members to bantering with his guests. So check out the podcast. Especially episode nine, you can hear me make commentary about black culture!

Union Weekly: How did you get the idea for this podcast?

Dominic Dierkes: I had always wanted to do a talk show. I always enjoyed watching the late night talk show format and I saw

Photo

VINCENT CHAVEZ UNION STAFFER

an opportunity when we were at the SModcastle. They had it all set up to podcast and I always felt like that was something, if I did it, I would wanna record and disseminate it and not just have it be a weekly live show. What I’m trying to do is both. I want to have it be a fun live show that you can come see every week, but also a podcast. It’s a very tried and true format. I don’t think there’s anything extremely original; I’m just trying to do my best.

UW: What kind of podcasts do you follow or listen to?

DD: I listen to the Comedy Death Ray podcast. I enjoy The Sound of Young America.

Marc Maron’s [WTF] podcast is great. The Pod F. Thompkast, I enjoy a lot.

UW: Do you have any dream guests that you’d like to have on the show?

DD: Oh sure there’s a bunch of people I’d love to have on I mean… somebody who does a Craig Ferguson-like talk show format would be very interesting to have on… or

you know in a dream world I would love to get Dave Letterman.

UW: So on a normal day [Dom Laughs] what do you do?

DD: I’m a writer, I write for a television show called Allen Gregory that’s coming out in the fall. It’s a fox animated show; Jonah Hill cocreated it and it’s his voice. I’m a staff writer there and have been since December and will continue for at least a couple months and then we’ll see if it gets picked up for a second season and all that, but yeah, day-today, just a lot of writing… It’s kind of a combination of writing and auditioning, writing stand up and things like that.

UW: Out of stand up and improv and sketch what do you prefer?

DD: They all speak to different sensibilities of mine. For sketch, there’s a lot of satisfaction in working meticulously for months and months and crafting something and spending a lot of your time making this thing, and then it’s made you kind of always

have this thing that represents your blood, sweat, and tears, but doing that can just be exhausting. And with stand-up, it’s very cool, this experience, there being no fourth wall and there’s an audience and you’re just talking to an audience and you’re interacting with them and your presence in this room and you’re kind of relying on your persona and your material. There’s something very gratifying about that to me. And improv completely speaks to my sensibility of wanting to show up with no preparation and do a show. You show up 10 minutes before and you’re just like, “cool let’s go do it,” and you do a full hour long show just out of creating scenes and the preparation. It’s very gratifying too because it’s a very stress-free way to do it. It’s probably the least stressful thing to do. Once you’ve done it for a while you just show up and have fun. They all kind of speak to different sensibilities and I would like to, as much as I can, have my hands in all different things.

Ladder” mode and in a wild and zany “Test Your Luck” mode that causes random shit to happen to the fighters (random shit includes random health packs spawning on the stage, fireballs crashing into the stage, and fighters having to fight without arms). There’s a full range of online multiplayer modes to fight friends and strangers online too.

And an additional note, the Mortal Kombat guys are also releasing a live action web series in weekly installments in conjunction with its release. The video series’ production values are pretty high, and the

tone is overtly dark. It’s not really goodgood, but it’s some kind of good. You might find it pretty entertaining if you are a fan of shitty action movies or are a huge dork.

I’m both, so I dig it. New episodes can be found on YouTube every Tuesday. The series stars Michael Jai White (Black Dynamite, Spawn), who was interviewed by the Union Weekly last year. You can check out that interview in issue 65.4. Look for archived issues at www.issuu.com/theunionweekly. Learn how to get laid all over again!

Relive the memories!

BREAK HIM! BREAK HIM! BABALITIES ARE BACK in mortal Kombat LEO PORTUGAL CULTURE EDITOR

For over a decade, Mortal Kombat games had been teetering from greatness into mediocrity, and eventually tottering into shittiness. Now, Mortal Kombat is returning with its ninth installment in hopes of recapturing the spirit of what made the originals great.

Mortal Kombat is following in the footsteps of Street Fighter IV which marked a fighting game renaissance in the modern era, bringing back the classic fighting franchise and Shoryuken-ing it up into a whole new stratosphere of financial and critical success.

This Mortal Kombat is great. The combat is fun for everyone, from beginners to fighting game experts. And its fun for spectators. People ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ as characters perform fatalities and, one of the greatest new features, the bone-crushing “x-ray” special attacks. Johnny Cage’s x-ray is an improved version of his classic special move where he does the splits and punches his opponent in the groin. It’s been tripled into a

new counter-attack where he delivers three low blows to his opponent. Three! That’s a 1.5:1::punch:testicle ratio! The series has also returned to gameplay that restricts fighting to a two-dimensional plane, so no silly sidestepping of fireballs and “Get over here!” harpoons like in the more recent games.

These guys know what their fans want and have delivered. Pretty much everything that was great about my time spent during childhood playing Mortal Kombat in the arcades and on the Sega Genesis has been brought back and improved upon.

And there’s game modes aplenty! Single player modes include classic arcade mode, a challenge tower with hundreds of unique challenges, and a robust story mode that actually tells a rich and compelling story unlike anything I’ve ever seen in a fighting game.

Enjoy some couch co-op with friends in oneon-one and two-on-two matches (allowing up to four players at a time), a co-op “Team

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

<>=30HB

CULTURE

WE’RE HERE TO DRAW TITS, YA’LL! AN ARTIST’S ACCOUNT OF A UNIQUE ART EVENT SARA HAASE UNION STAFFER

Photos

JILL THOMAN UNION STAFFER

O

n stage is a black-haired bombshell taking off her clothes while everyone around sips their “Brah-dy” Marys and PBRs, sketchbooks in hand.

Across the emcee’s knuckles, temporary tattoos read as follows: “D-R-A-W T-I-T-S.” Budweiser cans subbing for curlers, ink all over, rocking cut-off booty shorts and cowboy boots, this girl is here to flaunt what she’s got, and we’re here to make some art.

Leave your reverence at the door, tonight is “White Trash” night at Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School at Anaheim’s raddest art gallery, Rothick Art Haus. Here are the unconventional life drawing sessions you’d always hoped would one day exist. Other nights we’ve hosted zombie girls head-to-toe in insane special effects make-up. Sometimes there’s a contortionist, a dominatrix, or a pin-up model. Combine that with booze, music, great crowds, and a stellar emcee (beloved local artist, Glenn Arthur) and you’ve got a party.

The girl next to me drew our model, Savannah Rose, sitting in a deep fryer, wearing a crown of corn dogs, and a McDonald’s tattoo. She’s the official winner of tonight’s contest: to draw the model on the best invented white trash throne.

A little history: Dr. Sketchy’s was started by Molly Cra-

(left) Model Savannah Rose poses in a sexy white trash pose while (right) an artist draws her quite sexily. bapple, who started the drawing sessions in a tiny café in Brooklyn. Her goal was to bring sexuality back into drawing the nude model by rejecting the common etiquette of silence and decency and embracing a deliberately hot model in novelty costume, with loud music, alcoholic beverages, catcalls, and socializing.

Turns out there’s a hell of a demand for such an organization—there is a Dr. Sketchy’s chapter in 100+ cities around the world, including in nearby Anaheim and Los Angeles. Wherever you are, go check them out. But most importantly, come on by and draw with our Anaheim chapter.

NOW,

GET YOUR BUTT TO

DR SKETCHY’S! WHERE: 70 S HARBOR, ANAHEIM, CA WHEN: EVERY 2ND AND 4TH SUNDAY, 7-10PM COST: $12 AT THE DOOR, $10 ONLINE FIND ROTHICK ART HAUS AND DR. SKETCHY’S ONLINE: DrSketchy.com Rothick.com

TAKE JUXTAMINUTE OF YOUR TIME WITH JUXTAPOZ ART AND CULTURE MAGAZINE ELISA ANG UNION STAFFER

This is what an issue of JUXTAPOZ will look like in the future when Elisa Ang is featured on the cover.

I first heard about Juxtapoz Magazine in my junior year of high school, from my best friend’s older brother—a twenty-something, coffee-and-cigarettes, Coachella-frequenter and overall Urban Outfitters indie kind of guy.

Growing up in a conservative, suburban town about one freeway exit long, I didn’t get a lot of exposure to what was going on in the world of art, especially in what has now become somewhat of an obsession to me—the underground urban art scene. From the moment I first scanned through the vibrant and visually stimulating pages of Juxtapoz, I was hooked. Never before had I seen the likes of someone like Robbie Conal’s politically charged images of Dick Cheney as a Playboy bunny. I didn’t know that graffiti could reach the artistic sophistication that Bansky has become so popular for. I always thought of graffiti as what gangs did to mark their territory, much like a dog would mark its

territory by peeing on something. Juxtapoz exposed me to everything I needed as a young artist searching for inspiration as I developed my own style, doing all the work of researching and filtering through all the shit to find the latest and greatest artistic talent for me. I was blown away by the motion pictures of Italian artist BLU, whose work I could never describe in words that would convey its awesomeness (highly recommend YouTubing that shit by the way), and through Juxtapoz I discovered my idol and greatest muse, Sylvia Ji, whose haunting and morbid yet strikingly beautiful paintings of hot bitches became a huge influence on my own personal style. For all of you art fans and practitioners, I definitely recommend giving Juxtapoz a gander, and you don’t even have to subscribe to check it out—just go to www.Juxtapoz.com for an online summarized version of the magazine to get a taste. You’re welcome.

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

LITERATURE

A BARD BY ANY OTHER NAME

ANONYMOUS: CONSPIRACY, COMMOTION, CODPIECES MATT DUPREE UNION STAFFER

H

“

ave you heard about this Shakespeare controversy?” This is the sort of viral marketing that Roland Emmerich is counting on for his upcoming film, Anonymous. The film depicts the Oxfordian authorship theory, and will doubtlessly do for Shakespeare what The Da Vinci Code did for Jesus (hint: Kevin Spacey was dead the whole movie). Which is to say that by the time the dust settles and anyone who cares has done the research, Emmerich will have made his money. He’ll probably go back to making movies where bad things happen to national landmarks, and Shakespeare can go back on the mental shelf on which he resides for most folks. He’ll still be spinning in his grave of course, but hopefully for better reasons (like the endless misquotations, misattributions, and fan fiction he’s subjected to).

For the curious reader who doesn’t feel like plopping down ten dollars, the Oxfordian theory suggests that Edward De Vere, Earl of Oxford, penned the bulk of Shakespeare’s sonnets and plays. The reason it’s called the “Oxfordian” theory is because it’s merely one of several semi-popular (in the unpopular realm of Shakespearean conspiracy theorists) treatises on who actually wrote Shakespeare.

Sir Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe, and De Vere all make the list of potential “real” Shakespeares, although the theories still remain a rather small blip on the academic radar of Shakespearean literary discussion. So why do these theories grab headlines? I’ll get to that. First, let’s talk turkey.

The Oxfordians (who refer to their critics as Stratfordians, but for our purposes we’ll just call them “the rest of the academic world”) pose that Edward De Vere’s knack for secret poetry (and for secret gay sex) was the reason he chose to remain anonymous. They

GRAPHIC

GABE FERREIRA

ASSISTANT ART DIRECTOR

suggest that though some of Shakespeare’s works were published after De Vere’s death (The Tempest, for example), there’s no way of telling when they were written. The Oxfordians also suggest that De Vere was more familiar with the lands mentioned in the plays and, as a noble, De Vere would have more access to the training and resources required of a professional poet and playwright. Of course, the other camp points out that De Vere was, despite his noble upbringing, a pretty terrible poet and not terribly bright in general. Honestly, just go to Wikipedia. You can overstuff yourself on this debate for as long as you please.

The Oxfordian theory has what Justice Antonin Scalia dubbed “an aristocratic bias,” even in its choice of defenders, which is generally listed off as a sort of who’s-who of bullshit. If Orson Welles was convinced that a commoner couldn’t write that well, shouldn’t we all believe it too? But there’s a deeper current at work in all of this. Shakespeare is unassailably the most discussed literary figure in the history of the world. No other text (aside from religious documents) receives as much critical and academic attention as Shakespeare’s. Thus it behooves the conspiratorially-inclined to line their sights upon the Bard, lest one’s iconoclastic theories fall upon a general chorus of unconcern from the literary world. The mainstream Shakespearean machine too benefits from the continued discussion, however it is generally quick to disparage the fringe at every opportunity. Put simply, the whole thing smells like a publicity stunt. And not even the most explosive and high-flying of stunts will get me to pay to see an Emmerich movie.

BOY MEETS WILL

EXPERIENCING SHAKESPEARE BRINGS PLEASURE TO THOU AND THINE MARLON DELEON UNION STAFFER

I used to be afraid of Shakespeare. Not the person (I ain’t afraid of no ghost!), but the text. As a Theatre Arts Directing major, this could have been a problem. My first real interaction with The Bard was in my first college play in 2006, as a supporting role in MacBeth at my junior college alma mater, Diablo Valley College.

Last summer, thanks to my writing professor, Craig Fleming, I caught wind about an internship with the Long Beach Shakespeare Company. In the last year, I have become intimately familiar with Shakespearean works, and it is entirely due to my involvement with the dramatic and educaUNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

tional resources here in Long Beach.

A directing internship with Educational Director Cynthia Santos-DeCure allowed me the opportunity to work with their Summer Drama Camps where children as young as four years old were working with Shakespeare. Really. Pre-K through high school students went through three-week sessions learning how to speak these 500-year-old verses. This semester, I was given the opportunity to be the assistant director for John Farmanesh-Bocca, director of the University Players’ recent production, Gentlemen Redux, a spin on Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona.

I was also given an opportunity to act in the production. The intensive Shakespeare training I received was absolutely eye-opening (or should I say “ear-opening”), and I can honestly say I’m now comfortable with (and more importantly, no longer scared of) Shakespeare.

Yes, his words are considered a “heightened language.” Yes, it’s easy to get lost when watching a Shakespeare play without prior knowledge of the story. Most importantly, yes, it’s a language, and as with any other language, to understand it you have to listen. Really listen. Similar to the concept of “the man who knew too little,” there are enough words in “Olde English” that allow

us Americans to hook into it, but smatterings of thou’s thine’s and ye’s to confuse us all. This is where the actors help the audience members. If both actors and audiences meet in the middle, Shakespeare can truly be enjoyed by all as poetic, bawdy, and accessible. The meter of his text is truly musical. The incorporation of prose in between is deafening. The actor that knows how to make the text sing is a theatrical maestro.

Thank you, Craig, for sending me Shakespeare’s way. Thank you, John, for teaching me to sing. Thank you, Shakespeare, for writing these words. Thank you, Long Beach, for bringing this all together for me.

COMICS

VICTOR! PERFECTO UNION STAFFER

SHAKABACCA

UNION STAFF GROUP COLLABO

MIKE PALLOTTA UNION STAFFER

CHRIS FABELA COMICS EDITOR

Help the Comics Page! Remix this comic: add your own words and send it to our Comics Editor at cfab.union@gmail.com!

HARD

2 3 5 7 4 9 1 6 8 4 6 8 5 1 3 2 9 7 1 7 9 6 2 8 5 4 3 3 8 7 2 6 1 9 5 4 9 5 1 8 3 4 6 7 2 8 9 3 1 7 5 4 2 6 6 4 2 9 5 7 3 8 1 7 2 4 3 9 6 8 1 5 5 1 6 4 8 2 7 3 9

HARD

EASY

1 4 6 2 5 8 7 3 9

8 9 3 6 1 7 5 4 2

7 2 5 9 4 3 8 6 1

3 7 9 8 6 1 4 2 5

6 5 1 4 9 2 3 7 8

2 8 4 7 3 5 1 9 6

5 1 7 3 2 6 9 8 4

4 6 8 1 7 9 2 5 3

9 3 2 5 8 4 6 1 7

ANSWERS

EASY

batPOD

UNION WEEKLY

25 APRIL 2011

CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY, LONG BEACH

WEEKLY Volume 68 Issue 12

Monday, April 25th, 2011

LBUNION.COM

Dear Daily 49er, please move the Grunion to your newspaper I am very lonely and I don’t take up a lot of space and I will gladly eat dog food

BY JEFF BRIDGES, ACTOR Hello, readers. The other day, while I was fashioning makeshift diapers for myself and my coworkers out of old Daily 49er issues, I noticed something shocking. Well, first, I saw a very powerful exposé regarding the puddles on campus after it rained. Since I have not left the Grunion dungeon basement for over a year, it reminded me of what a menace puddles can be, and what it was like to see a human being that is illuminated with sunlight. It was horrible. Thank you 49er. Anyway, after I got the latest puddle news, I was shocked to see the publication that my page is unfortunately attached to, the Union Weekly. As I read on, I was dismayed to see what the Union was getting itself into this time. Articles about women having sex, American Indian cultural festivals being disparaged, a crossword puzzle? Did you know the Union isn’t even satire? It’s people writing their sincere opinions and viewpoints like idiots. This was not the Union I thought I knew.

The Grunion has never considered itself a true part of the Union paper, and we in no way condone what was written. Granted, I’ve never read the Union, and hardly even know what I write (I throw garbage and rotten vegetables [food] at my computer’s keyboard until I have a page), but to have my name and hard work attached to such a controversial paper is not something I want.

With this in mind, I would like to humbly request the Daily 49er to consider allowing the Grunion to migrate to the back of their newspaper. I can fit comfortably inside a 4x4 moving box so I won’t take up much room, and every morning I like to come into the office and say “Merry Breakfast To All” and that usually gets a big laugh. My hygiene is impeccable, I brush my butt daily, and I always recycle. One small thing, though: I’m not sure what it is to make a “News.” I’m sure

I’ll learn real quick if you give me a chance, though. In exchange, I can give your staffers tips on how to woo members of the opposite sex (scalding hot soup in underpants). For these reasons, and many more, I believe I would be a great fit for the Daily 49er.

But enough about me! After I got a sample of reading the Daily 49er, I continued, and the more I read, the more I was sure the Grunion and the Daily 49er were meant for one another. It may be hard to believe, but the following articles were actually printed in our campus’ own Daily 49er.

THE HOLOCAUST

than I or anyone at the Union could hope to be. Their article entitled “Our View: It’s not the right time to include gay history in the textbooks just yet,” explained that since intolerance for the gay community still exists, then gay history shouldn’t be taught in schools. Irony is another great comedic tool, and the irony of the 49er explaining how ignorance and intolerance shouldn’t be fixed with education was fantastic. Truly, I still have a great deal to learn from these subtle and brilliant masters.

The “Our View” section of the newspaper became an instant favorite, since the articles represent the view of the entire newspaper staff, not just one person. That’s when it dawned on me. Their paper isn’t run by just one smelly actor like me, it’s run by multiple people, each one far more handsome and cool than I. I knew I had to be a part of this somehow. “My page belongs here,” I said to myself as I slowly caressed my lumpy body.

pointed. The consistency of the 49er sensitive response to those who was another thing that impressed were offended by the articles. The me, pumping out such quality work most remarkable thing is that day-after-day, and all they get is this article predates any of the class credit? The Union Weekly has a controversy involving American whole week, and the volunteers that Indians. The 49er was so on the make up the staff take thousands of pulse of the Union, it was able to dollars from the school to do what? successfully predict the actions Print the paper? Burn the money to that came about later in the year. inhale the fumes and gain powers It would be an honor to even be for further ignorant opinion writ- in the midst of such individuals ing? Who knows. February 22nd whose daring satire was able to marked an important day in jour- predict the future. nalism, the day the 49er printed an article entitled “Behold, an award ceremony celebrating this year’s most infamous.” This article not only parodied the cult of celebrity that has gripped modern America, but also parodied the two hurtful articles printed by the Union. Much like the Union, which wrote insensitive articles about downtrodden groups: Women and American Indians, this article brilliantly and savagely attacks an even more defenseless group: mentally challenged Please 49er, follow your heart infants. By bestowing the fictional and take a chance on me.

49er Editor’s Rendition

April 21st, 2009 One of the first issues I found was an older one, and believe me, it seemed like it would be tough to top. I feasted my eyes on a gray picture of a battlebot, a robot that has been programmed to feel pain and rage that was being prepped to destroy a similar robot in a big glass ring. Directly to the right of the picture was a headline that read “Commemorating the Holocaust.”

Juxtaposition is one of the most important things in comedy, along with making light of tragedy, and it seemed that the 49er had mastered these skills all the way back in 2009 before computers were even invented. I was truly impressed, and couldn’t wait to read on and see how they refined their skills.

April 4th, 2011 I was a reading machine! Even when the firemen came and tried to use the jaws of life to pry my hands off of my precious 49ers, my severed hands still clutched onto the newsprint with all their might. I found an issue from a couple years later, and I was not disappointed, the 49er had become more skilled

I’m not making any of this up.

February 23rd, 2011 I started to realize how truly, shockingly awful I was the more I flipped through these issues. February 23rd was another take on the April 21st Botocaust cover. It utilized comedic juxtaposition again to educate and entertain its readers by showing a picture of an African-American celebration of culture, and then directly to the right, a headline read “Bicycles, wallets reported stolen.” This comment on the effect of subliminal media racism was poignant, and it is an important message to spread, especially when media outlets such as the Union Weekly still exist.

February 22nd, 2011 I went back to the issue right before, and again was not disap-

“Retard of the Year” award on Trig Palin, a mentally handicapped child that has found his way into the media by way of his mother Sarah Palin, the article shows how random and uncalled for the articles in the Union Weekly truly were.

But it doesn’t stop there. Further proving its point, the article continues to shame and humiliate Trig Palin, saying he will never master “simple addition and subtraction,” and then recounting a hypothetical situation in which baby Trig gives a speech characterized by “unintelligible grunts” and drooling. These blatantly mean comments that characterize a stereotypical mentally retarded individual again mirror the Union Weekly not only in their articles, but also in their in-

Upon this discovery, I couldn’t help but wonder, why weren’t there any repercussions for the 49er’s actions? They really did print everything I outlined previously. Surely every reader couldn’t have immediately picked up the layers of irony and satire. That’s when it hit me. The 49er itself was riddled with mistakes, missing fonts, giant pictures on the front page that had no corresponding article. It looks just like it is haphazardly thrown together, and is hard to take seriously. That is where the true genius lies in the 49er. And that is why I feel like that is where I belong.

So please, Daily 49er, get me off of this newspaper. Let me be on the back of yours. I have money, and I will let you in on the story of how I got my nickname “The Shit Tornado.” If not, you may never know.

Disclaimer:

This page is satire. We are not ASI, nor do we represent the CSULB campus. Email any questions, concerns, 49er diapers, to jeffbridges.grun@ gmail.com, then go to hell.