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ISSUE 69.12
LEO PORTUGAL
leop.union@gmail.com
GABE FERREIRA
gabe.union@gmail.com
Managing Editor Managing Editor
COLLEEN BROWN
colleen.union@gmail.com
Opinions Editor
ALISON ERNST
alison.union@gmail.com
STEVE BESSETTE
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News Director
Entertainment Editor
JOHN VILLANUEVA
johnv.union@gmail.com
Music Editor
LEO PORTUGAL
leop.union@gmail.com
Literature Editor
VINCENT CHAVEZ
vincha.union@gmail.com
Culture Editor
CHRIS FABELA
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OCTOPUS GIRL
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Comics Editor
Grunion Editor
LIL’ OSCAR
Turtle-in-Chief
turtleinchief.union@gmail.com
GABE FERREIRA
Art Director, Cover Design
CONNOR O’BRIEN Photo Editor
CHRIS FABELA
On-Campus Distribution
STEVE BESSETTE
Advertising Executive
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FOLASHADE ALFORD folashade.union@gmail.com PR Specialist
Contributors: CHRISTINA MOTT NICHOLE DANIELS ROSE FEDUK JASMINE GAGNIER SARA HATAKEYAMA MIKE TAYLOR RICHARD CARDENAS CHRISTIAN PALLARCA WESLEY VERNER GABRIEL MOURA MARIA CATHCART DANIEL KRAMER ALEXANDER BORG
CHEL ME ABOUT IT
chelsea.union@gmail.com
Editor-in-Chief
DONNIE BESSOM ALBERT MATA PARKER CHALMERS TAMAR ALTEBARMAKIAN TANYA PAZ MELISSA CASAS JAMES G. MORALES SHEREEN DUDAR MOLLY SHANNON JON GARCIA DAVID CASSARUBAIS LANA THAO MATT LEE
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 : www.asicsulb.org/lbunion
LETTERS TO AND FROM THE EDITOR CHELSEA STEVENS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
L
ast Tuesday, former president Bill Clinton graced the set of the Daily Show to plug his latest publication, Back to Work. The book is supposed to have all the answers to remedy our ailing economy, and some supposed advice for Obama. My two-to-ten-year-old self was nowhere near conscious enough to fully comprehend Clinton’s presidency, but in the few times I’ve been able to hear him speak since reaching adulthood, the guy always seems to know exactly what he’s talking about. His gift of translating gargantuan tons of political jargon into comprehensible terms is truly one of a kind. The easy language and his dependable southern drawl leave you with the feeling that everything’s going to be alright, despite the seemingly inescapable turmoil that’s continued to plague our political system since before I can remember. And when it comes down to it, there’s nothing worse than heading
into a holiday season knowing that our economy is about as stable as the final moments of Jenga. Thanksgiving and Christmas and Hannukah and every other budget-busting holiday never feel quite right without being able to splurge on everything you find. And you’d think, with phrases like “economic collapse” and “the biggest recession since the Great Depression” being passed around the media like herpes, that most children growing up in these times would be accustomed to asking Santa for socks instead of a new black Wii because they don’t like their white one anymore. But is that truly the case? Hell no it’s not. Most middle-class kids these days are more spoiled than ever, and the vast majority of us are doing just fine. Sometimes it scares me to think of what it would be like if the economy weren’t in a shithole right now. Life would almost be too easy. In his interview with Stewart, Clinton mentioned that 49 million Americans are
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CHRIS FABELA COMICS EDITOR
currently living below the poverty line. Of all the things he said, this sentence stuck out at me the most. Because if that many Americans are truly living in shitty enough conditions to consider them “in poverty,” then what do you call people in Africa who sleep in straw huts and eat dirt for dinner? I’m not saying there aren’t plenty of Americans who desperately need help, but on the worldwide scale, we’re still doing pretty okay. And when there aren’t stockings exploding with money and solid gold ribbons on my present boxes this year, that’s what I’m going to be thinking about. I hope you all have a wonderful few weeks leading into your holiday season. Feel free to email me at chelsea. union@gmail.com with any article submissions, questions, or comments you have. Have a jolly week everyone, and thanks for reading.
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
SOME SCARLET LETTERS
A SCARLET LETTER-THEMED CROSSWORD TO CELEBRATE A PURITAN THANKSGIVING
CHELSEA STEVENS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Across 1. The fantasy-creature term our author often uses to describe the illegitimate child 4. What the “Black Man” represents in this novel 5. One of the Romantics’ and Hawthorne’s main themes (think ghosts) 7. The babydaddy’s last name 10. The novel’s literary genre 11. Our heroine’s surname 12. The Scarlet Letter wearer herself 13. The religion of most 17th-century New Englanders
Down 2. Our protagonist’s wild little bastard child 5. Our main character’s profession 6. The author’s first name 3. The protagonist’s creepy husband, hiding under this name 8. Our two protagonists arrange to meet here 9. The town’s token witch woman 10. The secret father’s saintly profession
Answers:
Across: 1. Imp, 4. Evil, 5. Supernatural, 7. Dimmesdale, 10. Romantic, 11. Prynne, 12. Hester, 13. Puritan. Down: 2. Pearl, 5. Seamstress, 6. Nathaniel, 3. Chillingworth, 8. Forest, 9. Hibbins, 10. Reverend
CHELSEA STEVENS
UNION WEEKLY
14 NOVEMBER 2011
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THE KARDS DON’T LIE THE DAILY 49ER WILL ALWAYS BE SHITTY ANONYMOUS
CONTRIBUTOR, DOUBLE AGENT
W
hile some of you were probably too busy getting wasted or pissing your pants on a marathon of grotesque scary movies during this past Halloween weekend, several of you have probably been made aware of an awful phenomenon that occurred on Halloween. A phenomenon more horrifying than Freddy Krueger’s claws or that tacky costume your friend was wearing (or that slutty costume your fat friend was wearing). Nope, I’m not talking about the fact that the world’s population hit a whopping seven billion. I am, of course, talking about Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries’ divorce announcement after only 72 days of marriage. I don’t know about you, but I’m not well informed about the Kardashians besides the fact that they are gifted from behind. When I decided to break the news to a friend, his instant response was, “Get a life!” Indeed I did, so I hopped on the computer and researched this 21st century phenomenon that is the Kardashian. Through my research, I found out information about this family that I definitely
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CHRIS FABELA COMICS EDITOR
did not need to know. Evidently, they have a few established businesses, a successful reality show with a few spinoffs, and numerous compromising pictures all over the internet. I also got to know Kim on a personal level, if you know what I mean. After reading about this so-called “American Royal Family” (seriously, some websites really call them that), I have had enough. I decided to stop reading to end the risk of me losing more brain cells. Like me, most of you are already sick to your stomach of hearing this story, and for those of you who aren’t, shame on you. In fact, writing about it now is simply exhausting. However, one day after picking up a copy of the Daily 49er, their staff apparently thought this story was just too big to let go. The Daily 49er, a respected (?) newspaper on campus, published an article regarding this story on their front page. For those of you who don’t believe me, dig through a trash can, and surely you can find an old and a new copy of the 49er. Shamefully, the article cleverly titled “Students say Kardashian divorce was for ratings” took up one-third of the paper’s
front page. I understand that the campus of Cal State Long Beach could get a little dull on a Friday afternoon. But seriously, was that day so filled with insignificant events that the 49er would decide to shove this story into our curious minds? I appreciate the fact that the paper somewhat tied the story to the school by making students’ reactions the main subject. But, the majority of the students here at CSULB couldn’t care less about the Kardashians. I’m sure there were far more interesting happenings around Long Beach that day that could have made the front page. I honestly would have rather seen another twin story on their front page. Perhaps this time as a twist against their previous twin story, where the twins are totally opposite in every possible way and hate each other (this is a joke by the way.) As a Journalism student, I hear left and right that paper journalism is dying. And with a poorly written article about some superficial celebrity making it to the front page of a reputable (?) college newspaper, I could definitely see why. Most of us are already suffocated with pop culture news
through other forms of media outside of school. We don’t have to step on campus grounds and once again be haunted with images of celebrities. I mean, what’s next, an article about students reacting to Snooki’s obsession with cucumbers? I don’t even want to imagine the thought process regarding how this story was pitched, or how it was decided that it would make the front page as a news item. I want to assume that one of the reasons for the publication of this ridiculous article is to increase readership as it relates to a hip, younger audience. However, it doesn’t. I am not attacking the credibility of the 49er as they do produce great articles from time to time. In actuality, I do enjoy reading countless pieces from the paper. [Editor’s Note: (?)] I am merely suggesting that next time we would rather not see a story about the next big absurd wonder of Hollywood. It is simply a waste of space in the paper. Surely CSULB is filled with interesting people doing amazing things that are worthy of being featured in the paper. If people want to read about what’s going on in Hollywood, they can easily pick up an issue of a tabloid magazine at any store.
ANYONE CAN BE A HIPSTER THAT’S AN IDEA YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER HEARD OF MATT LEE CONTRIBUTOR
I feel like there’s so much to do and know now because of all the communication and people involved in it. If you’re not involved, you feel like you’re putting yourself at a major disadvantage somehow, at least culturally. The thing is, you need to know about new stuff in order to not sound like a complete idiot sometimes, or to not feel like an asshole while your friends talk about that thing that happened on a Breaking Bad episode. More and more people are making cool videos, stories, and clothes and it’s becoming a daunting task to keep up with trends. I’ve never played Angry Birds or watched an episode of How I Met
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Your Mother and it makes me feel really disconnected, like I’m the fucking hole in the donut. I think everyone wants to be clever and cultured, so we try to know about the best books, movies, and shows in order to back it up. It’s not like we do it for fun. Managing a Twitter account isn’t fun, but I do it so I can know the exact moment a celebrity dies, because for some reason I find that validating; to know what other people know at the exact same time, or even before they know it. But to tell you the truth, I don’t feel cultured or trendy or informed. I feel more disconnected from what everyone
knows than anything else. I’m slowly coming to realize that all those apps and cool websites are a big waste of time. You don’t need to know about Justin Bieber banging a 20-year-old whore a year ago. It’s okay if you don’t know about Community or Reddit or Louis C.K. You’re not missing out on much, really. And besides, actively seeking that out turns you into a really boring person, having actually nothing to talk about other than that thing that happened on a Breaking Bad episode. I’ve been constantly feeding myself so much useless information and entertainment that everything I take in now has been
devalued by at least half its worth. Shakespeare doesn’t impress me. It’s sad, I mean how can Hamlet compete with a YouTube video of baby kittens? Nothing can. Twitter and Facebook and superhero movies are a stimulus that nothing else can compete with. They make us feel connected immediately, and have us experience the same things as everyone else at the same time. It’s almost a communal experience, something addicting. Because I’d love to be part of a 1968 Democratic convention, then go to Kent State and take a couple hills, but I’m too busy watching all the videos of kids getting maced in the face on Wall Street.
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WASTE YOUR TIME WISELY OR DON’T, SEE IF I CARE DANIEL SERRANO UNION STAFFER
T
ime is an endlessly fascinating topic for thought that isn’t given its due. Yeah, I get it, the universe is like, big, man, and we’re all ants. What of it. I’m talking about the fourth dimension here, the seconds that tick your life away and the minutes that construct your hours. Hop on board, please. There is much to say. Like how odd time even is. That I have to sit here and experience reality moment by moment in some chain that ends at my death—how much I missed before making my grand entrance. Whole histories have risen and fallen before I even woke up to this place. Billions of people just skeletons in the earth now. I mean, I missed the fuckin’ dinosaurs. And the Romans, we all missed that boat. Shit sucks doesn’t it? Or how time moves faster as you get older. Freshman year crawled by slower than an overweight snail. Now I’m sitting in the twelfth week as a junior looking for the brake pedal. Can’t we calm it down just a little? Does time dislike me so much that it’s that anxious to throw me off the deep end and be done with me? I always thought we were cool with each other. Apparently not. I hate wasting time. We should all hate wasting time. It’s literally the most valuable
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DANIEL KRAMER CONTRIBUTOR
thing in your possession at this moment, and it’s why I would like to thank you for reading this far into the article. Because these seconds you’re giving me, right now, you’ll never get back. And those two hours spent watching that crappy movie or hanging out with people because you didn’t have the guts to tell whoever it was that you really just didn’t feel like leaving home, they’re gone too. For good. It’s why people who try to guilt you into doing anything are shitheads, for the most part. Grandpa casually mentioning how sick he is to get you out to Denny’s for an afternoon sandwich is one thing, but on almost any other occasion, it’s just not worth it. I try to hoard time like it’s a stock set to explode because my clock is ticking, and who knows when I’ll be done. Effective use of time is another thing. I’m not about to lecture you on how to live your life, but I am going to say I’ve never felt fulfilled after playing Xbox for eight hours straight or watching a whole season of Scrubs all the way through. And I’ve done both, several times. Everyone should just do something, not passively engage in a venture that requires no thought or skill. Work out the old noggin and break a mental sweat. On a more theoretical level, the nature
of time itself is of the greatest personal intrigue; how it forces people to perceive entire processes as single moments. Like when you meet someone and they tell you their name. It seems, to me, that you’re not meeting that person, you’re meeting who that person has become, and who he or she is before they continue on the path to becoming the person he or she will be just before death. That mountain isn’t really there, it has gotten there, continues to move, and will one day be gone. But we don’t see that. We see what’s in front
of us. We meet that person. That misdirection interests me, mainly because it isn’t applicable to any real world situation and is something that can be endlessly pondered. I guess this is the conclusion part. Where I tell you what I told you just before dumping you off and thanking you for sticking around. I’m honestly surprised you’re still reading this. Hopefully you got something out of it. I’m sorry if you didn’t. Wasting time is a bitch, so no need for me to diverge you any longer. Live long and prosper.
mon elements to both films: humans, plus a mixture of some of the worst human traits, such as intolerance, greed, and ambition. Yes, in case you don’t know, there are humans in Lion King. You don’t see them, but under the skin of each animal character there is a human being. And Scar is analogous to Hitler. After all, have you ever heard of a lion throwing another lion off a cliff? Maybe an antelope, but never another lion. Yet, when we see that scene on the screen, it makes sense to us. The confrontation of egos between creatures of the same species is something we, humans, readily comprehend. Thus, when Mufasa was murdered, I don’t think I cried for him nor did I cry with Simba. I cried mainly against Scar. I didn’t cry in sadness, but mostly in disgust for the humanity we were supposed to create but failed. Mufasa’s death, I understand it now, is something much more visceral because it is ingrained deeply into our reality, and it branches off in many other daily atrocities. We see more poignant variations
of it every time we watch the news and open the paper. Lion King had a 2011 theatrical release that lasted two weeks, from September 16 to October 2. Below are a few headlines from some of the nation’s top publications during that two-week timeframe: t i.BO IFME JO CPNC QMPU PO 1FOUBHPO Capitol” [USA Today] t i$BSQFOUFSTWJMMF XPNBO QMFBET HVJMUZ in birthday party stabbing death” [Chicago Tribune] t i%P[FOT PG 1JMHSJNT PO #VT JO 1BLJTUBO Are Shot to Death” [New York Times] t i.BO BXBJUJOH NVSEFS USJBM JT BSSFTUFE in SE homicide” [Washington Post] t i.PN PSEFSFE IFME PO . CBJM JO death of infant daughter” [Chicago Tribune] Sorry Ma, but what we see on the screen is not just a movie. It is an uncannily accurate and sordid depiction of humans with such faithful resemblance that I can feel a tingle in my spine and lament in my heart. Crying in Lion King was good because it made me think. Though I wish it could end.
CRYING FOR MUFASA SUBTITLE HERE
GABRIEL MOURA CONTRIBUTOR
“Don’t cry, it’s just a movie” is how most attempts start when trying to console an emotional person when they are watching a sad scene of a film. I wish I could tell you it works. I wish I could. When Lion King was re-released in the theaters two months ago, I knew I had to watch it. No need for 3D fancifulness, just give me the real deal on the big screen as I’ve longed for the past 17 years. When the room darkened and the sun rose on the screen, I was ecstatic, thrilled with joy and anticipation. One third into the movie -spoiler alertsomething happened exactly as I remembered: Mufasa met his untimely death when his ambitious brother, Scar, threw him off a cliff instead of rescuing him. This image was vivid in my mind. But when I saw it on the big screen, it touched something in my soul, and I cried. By the time Simba started wailing, “Dad, you gotta get up, we gotta go home,” I was a mess. And I think at least one person witnessed this. Interestingly enough, watching the mov-
ie as a kid had no disastrous consequences to the lacrimal glands in my eyes. So I started pondering on why the effect was so different, when, at least in theory, children are more vulnerable and volatile to the movies and these emotions. Naturally, I fathom that the concept of death is more solid in my mind now than it was when I was a kid, but I knew, with a hunch or instinct, that there was more to it. Weeks later, I watched Life is Beautiful, a bittersweet, award-winning Italian film that takes place during World War II and blends comedy and tragedy with unique artfulness and style. Sure enough, I cried again. But this time the reason was obvious. The genocide of Holocaust is one of the most dramatic and unsettling chapters in history. And it all happened because one person—an unscrupulous, intolerant, totalitarian leader—decided it was the right thing to do. Computing that piece of data to the quest for understanding what made me cry during Lion King, I noticed the com-
UNION WEEKLY
14 NOVEMBER 2011
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MARIE CATHCART
STATE OF THE BEACH
CONTRIBUTOR
YOUR WEEKLY CAMPUS NEWS IN BRIEF TRAVIS BARON UNION STAFFER
Welcome to this week’s State of the Beach, where I’m here to inform you that this crapJOHN VILLANUEVA ass week between two holidays is going to be full ofUNION someSTAFFER exciting shit. Since nobody will take me out to an event, it seems that you are all loners like me and we should just go alone and swallow our sadness (kind of like having Thanksgiving all alone, again).
CSULB GOING GREEN NO, WE’RE NOT SEASICK
MARIE CATHCART & CHRISTIAN PALLARCA CONTRIBUTOR
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CONTRIBUTOR
ith increasing environmental issues, it is never too late for people to change their wasteful habits. Last week, Cal State Long Beach held its annual Eco Fest Organizational Fair at the Friendship Walk on Wednesday to educate college students about the importance of sustainable living and an environmentally friendly campus. Several organizations and clubs from on and off campus such as ASI Recycle Center, Heal the Bay, Surfrider Foundation, Marine Bio Students Association, and Environmental Science & Policy Club were in attendance during the event. From recycling plastics and switching from water bottles to aluminum cans, to helping clean up different beaches, the clubs informed students of the numerous ways to be involved and decrease their ecological footprints. “We’re trying to make people aware in a fun way,” said Lee Johnson, Coordinating Manager of ASI Recycle Center. “There are so many students on campus that don’t even know we have a recycling center, and we have an award-winning recycling center right [here] on campus.” The ASI Recycle Center has been operating on recycle centers on campus since
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1970. They are the oldest recycling and sustainability program in the world. They have done great work around campus and for the surrounding community. In fact, they are responsible for putting bottle-recycling bins right next to every trashcan in the Student Union. Though the recycling bins are extremely functional, some students like Meng Meng Zhao, a junior and a graphic design student, wished that there were more trash containers on campus for specific recyclables. “Sometimes I purchase [something] from the school cafeteria, and they give out plastic spoons,” said Zhao. “Unfortunately, I can’t really throw the spoons into those recyclable trashcans. They’re only for bottles or cans, so I have to just trash them.” Meanwhile, the CSULB Green Campus Program has been informing incoming freshmen before they even start their first day of college. During SOAR days in the summer, they arrange a program where they teach students steps to become more environmentally friendly, such as switching from ink jet printers to laser printers. CSULB Green Campus Program is responsible for organizing the energy com-
petition with the dorms against Cal State Fullerton. They also have an ongoing event called Green Office Certification where they work with CSULB faculty on school to be more efficient. They encourage faculty offices to take small cost-effective steps that will save energy, from setting the printer to double-sided print, sleep mode, and so on. “You think that these things are small and not meaningful when it’s per office, but when all the offices on campus are doing it, it makes a really big difference everyday,” said Felix Navarrete, CSULB Green Campus Program treasurer. For students interested in being more involved in a grander scale or outside of campus, there are several clubs that hold weekly beach cleanups throughout the year. Save Our Beach, Heal the Bay, Marine Bio Students Association, and Surfrider Foundation encourage students and the general public to join them to decrease pollution on the beaches. “We’re concerned about marine animals consuming plastic and things of that nature,” said Deniz Akbasoglu of Heal the Bay. “They eat bags, because they are accustomed to anything floating on the surface to be an actual source of food. Animals are smart, but they’re not smart enough to understand that they’re eating plastic.” The indigestible plastic stays in the animal’s stomach keeping them full. He explained that they are unable to eat more food, and eventually they starve to death. Jazmyne Gill, a junior and a member of Marine Bio Students Association, agrees that trash and pollution greatly impact and damage the ocean. “Our generation is not active enough and that’s why we’re here,” said Gill. “People need to get active [and] become involved in recycling or learning to cut down on waste.” “There are still a lot of things we need to do,” said Paul Wingco, Energy and Sustainability Manager for Physical Planning and Facilities Manager of CSULB Sustainabity Taskforce. “We definitely need a lot of help from the students.”
Monday, November 14th is kicked off with the Bob Cole Conservatory of Music presenting Conservatory String Chamber Orchestra, at the Gerald Daniel Recital Hall, 8pm. Also, the Department of Art is presenting more student art galleries featuring BFA sculpture and drawing & painting (BFA sculpture better stand for bad-fucking-ass sculpture). This is happening between FA2 & FA3, FREE admission, 12pm-5pm. Art galleries happening through the 17th. Basketball and dance are going at it (not like we all hope) on Tuesday, November 15th. Call their respective departments to get more information about tickets. Also, at the Pyramid Annex Training room from 6pm8pm, Rideshare @ The Beach is offering Traffic Skills 101 Bike Class (woooo exciting!), so don’t miss that if you like not dying on your bike. Or, see Woodwind Chamber Music at the Bob Cole Conservatory of Music at 8pm. Girls love music, I took a girl to a concert once (yes I did, nobody can prove I didn’t!). Wednesday, November 16th keeps the rhythm going with more basketball, dance, art, woodwind music, UAM funziez, and traffic skills. New fun jazz (not the type of music, that’s Friday) happens on Thursday, November 17th, where The Bob Cole Conservatory of Music presents a Percussion Ensemble, at 8pm in the Carpenter Center. Last day of this hell week, November 19th, is topped off with Basketball at San Diego State (TBA), the Carpenter Performing Arts Center Spectacle Series presenting Momix: Botanica at 8pm. Women play basketball too, at Sac State at 7:05pm. But most importantly on Friday, come on up to the University Student’s Union courtyard and visit your loyal Union Weekly for our WEEKLY Friday 2pm meetings so that you can meet the sweet peeps that make this paper (they aren’t sugary marshmallows, sadly). I might be there, too. I might give you a hug as well (if you’re into that kind of thing – I won’t force it on you [too much]). But really, get your voice heard and get recognition too (something you generally don’t get from other newspapers on campus, if you know what I’m referring to). You won’t regret it. I generally smell good.
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THE LAST CLASS OF HOGWARTS A BRIEF DETAIL ON THIS CHAMBER OF SECRETS DAVID CASARRUBAIS
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CONTRIBUTOR
here are many things that students aren’t privy to where at Cal State Long Beach. One of those is the secret menu of classes offered to the University Honors Program students. That’s right, the geeks on campus get catered to with awesome classes while the average student has to suffer through miserable GE classes instructed by professors with ratings lower than a 2.0 and no red-hot chili. That, however, is beside the point. The important issue here is that THERE’S A FREAKING HARRY POTTER CLASS! Being enrolled in it myself, I would like to take you through a brief magical journey into the hidden Hogwarts within Prospector Pete’s mining grounds. The class, while being totally awesome in my opinion, is definitely everything you can imagine it to be and more. Take, for example, last week’s class when the lesson involved the intricate art of quill tip cutting and actual writing on parchment with peacock, owl, and other majestic bird feathers. During the first few weeks, all the students are sorted into their appropriate houses: Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. Apart from that, based on a knowledge-ability quiz, Head Boys and Girls are distinguished, as well as Prefects for each house. From there on, the houses must work together to complete classroom presentations and other tasks, with the ultimate goal of winning for their house the scarcely awarded and oh-so-coveted house points. The students are required to, obviously, read and constantly re-read all seven books in the Harry Potter series while deeply an-
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JOHN VILLANUEVA MUSIC EDITOR
alyzing their contextual, subtextual, and allegorical messages. In addition to that, the class has an assigned textbook entitled Critical Perspectives on Harry Potter, which includes a series of essays addressing several themes presented in the series. They must also read related books like Alice in Wonderland, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and Lord of the Rings. The class itself falls under CSULB’s E-requirement of SelfIntegration and also serves as credit for completion of the University Honors Program. The novels and supplemental text all address various themes including “human behavior, sexuality, nutrition, health, stress, key relationships of humankind to the social and physical environment, and implications of death and dying,” all which embody the characteristics of this type of GE requirement. The class participates in heated debates over the various topics presented by each house and forms conclusions about J.K. Rowling’s motives for writing in the style and themes that she did. The students also receive spontaneous owls (sent by e-mail with a cool attachment of a picture of an owl) from their fictional heads of houses regarding assignments and other class projects. Currently, the class is working on their S.P.E.W. project, or Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. To successfully complete this project, students must find and participate in some form of community service and then correlate their experience to those of the series’ character, Hermione Granger, and her efforts towards the recognition and improvement of social standards of the elf community
in the magical world of Harry Potter. Upcoming class activities include a trip to the University Library to explore books from the Hogwarts Library, and house presentations on selected essays out of the class textbook. Overall the class is extremely fun, but also a lot of work, and although some may think it is mindless, it is in fact is very stimulating and fulfilling. Sadly, for those of you rushing to the second floor of the University Library to submit your application to the University Honors Program office for admission into the class, the course will no longer be offered. That’s right.
UHP 150 “Harry Potter and Friends,” will see its final day at the end of this semester. The class has been taught here for over seven years since the Fall of 2003 under the instruction of Dr. Mimi Hotchkiss, the English undergraduate advisor at the College of Liberal Arts. The final graduating class of Hogwarts State University will retire their wands and hand carved quills at last, in hopes to grow out of their childhood fantasy of Harry Potter and finally integrate themselves into the real world where Harry Potter is really an actor named Daniel Radcliffe and Dumbledore is actually gay.
WHY YOU SO FICKLE GAYS? WHY YOU NO SPEED DATE? VINCENT CHAVEZ CULTURE EDITOR
What the hell, gays? I put myself out there and sign up for speed dating like a chump, thinking maybe I’ll meet a nice guy. Instead, I get a courteous and highly amusing voicemail from Irving, a gentleman from the USU Program Council, telling me that male-on-male speed dating has been cancelled. Here is an excerpt: “We didn’t get enough sign-ups for male interested in male speed dating. So if you still wanted to do speed dating, you’d be, umm, you’d be joining in with the guys that are trying to, uuh,
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ROSE FEDUK UNION STAFFER
date uum the fe-uh, basically the female gender.” My heart goes out to Irving. Here’s a guy forced to bear bad news, telling a bunch of gay guys and gals (I found out later that the female interested in female speed dating was also cancelled) that the only way they could join in on the dating experience would be if they wanted to experiment with bisexuality. And to the bisexuals who received Irving’s message: enjoy having it all, you Mary Tyler Moores of human sexuality. So let me apologize, Irving, for my fickle, gay brethren and
their too cool for school-sponsored speed dating attitudes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry gay people had better things to do on Wednesday like blowdrying their hair or picking out their outfits for Thursday. I’m sorry we were too hip and edgy for something as lame as talking to strangers for three minute increments. God forbid we appear vulnerable or approachable. And most importantly, I’m sorry I looked forward to this stupid thing for like seven seconds because I don’t know how to talk to other gay people unless I’m forced to. UNION WEEKLY
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STEVE BESSETTE ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
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don’t know if it’s just me, but I felt like this year especially everybody realized, “Yeah, you know what? That Christopher Columbus guy was kind of an imperialistic asshole with personal space issues.” Alright, screw that guy, and screw the others afterward who engaged in some pretty awful shenanigans upon meeting new peoples, but thankfully modern America is a diverse melting
pot that’s still stirring (or still trying to). Because of that, Thanksgiving Day has taken on various incarnations and superseded the terrible ink drawings in U.S. History books. If you’re still sitting around a table with a smorgasbord holding hands and smirking in pleasant silence, that’s fine, just you better recognize other people’s display of thankfulness. The stories we have here are
ART DIRECTOR
ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
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of a Norman Rockwell day dream, and even my own family’s unabashed lack of tradition to stick it to the man with the belt on his stupid hat. No matter how your family celebrates, we hope you have a great Thanksgiving. And remember, no matter how much you have to drink, even if your cousin isn’t blood related, they’re still your cousin, so there will be none of that.
GABE FERREIRA
STEVE BESSETTE Originally rooted in their frowned-upon revolt against a heritage of corrupt Catholicism crawling through the family tree like flames from a brushfire, my parents took pleasure in turning one of the most inherently American holidays upside down. If this was 1953, they’d have been pegged as dirty reds for sure. I haven’t had turkey, mashed potatoes, or a seminally white Euro-American Thanksgiving celebration in about six years. Out of guilty obligation, my family would spend Thanksgiving morning with my Italian matriarch greatgrandmother, serving up the traditional eats as well as “fazool” (soupy pasta fagioli), “tunafish” (pronounced like one word), and “ravs” (raviolis), always requested with a booming howl from her drug fiend son. The afternoons with the French side were less of a crossover holiday, laying out more of the typical with extra nauseatingly Caucasian side dishes like Ruffles and French onion dip.
hopefully not too foreign glimpses into a traditional American holiday that breeds school breaks, tryptophan overdoses, and finding out who’s a happy drunk and who’s a mean drunk. We have an apathetic take on how the holiday is old-hat for those from Brazil, a very merry vegetari(an) mealtime, a lack of family ties that unfolds a cornucopia of awkward, a boring and typical tradition straight out
Then, one day, it became very easy for my parents to break away from the tradition they’d endured throughout their entire marriage and parenthood. The great schism’s cause? About 2900 miles of United States. We moved to California and they said “screw it, Chinese food and a matinee is how we’ll do it.” Curbstomp to the pilgrims. We’ll enjoy pu pu platters via takeout, maybe delivery, congregated in a circle on the living room floor as the younger kids talk about how great the movie was and the older ones destroy it. As long as most people enjoy it, it counts as a successful familial venture. Some years haven’t totally been de-traditionalized, having the occasional cranberry sauce, peas and corn, and even my mother’s own raviolis, but when I head back to my seven other Bessettes in the inland empire for Thanksgiving, I will be expecting P.F. Chang’s and a short walk to a movie theater for The Muppets. It’s already a done deal, folks.
Of all the mysteries I have been faced with since I moved to the United States five and a half years ago, none has posed more confusion to my foreign brain than Thanksgiving. I know it has something to do with a cultural exchange between pilgrims and natives and their fruitful collaboration (or maybe not), but how this escalated to be America’s biggest holiday isn’t very clear. Maybe it’s the fact that family gatherings occur much more often in Brazil, my country of origin, and, of course, these reunions revolve mostly around food. My friends often tell me how much they love Thanksgiving: “Man, there’s so much food, we eat and watch TV all day...” “Yeah,” I reply, “sounds like every Sunday to me.” “No, but you don’t understand, I get to see my relatives, and...” My response stays the same: “Yeah, sounds like how my Sundays used to be.” I understand that the social circumstances are different in the United States. People move out of their parents’ houses comparatively early, and, in general, no one feels bound to the location where they grew up. Because of that, a holiday like Thanks-
giving becomes one of the only opportunities (or, depending how you look at it, excuses) for families to get together and feast on the seasonal deliciousness. I don’t hate Thanksgiving, but I do think that uniting with your loved ones should be more of a routine than a once-a-year event. Maybe I am being unreasonable. The third Thursday of November is always a somewhat nostalgic time for me. Not because I have no one to be with, but because I see other families getting together and think about the people I left behind in my homeland. My friends, teammates, co-workers, and fellow weekend party-goers take a break from their normal pattern of social interaction and hang out with their families for a few days. I, on the other hand, use the few days off to reflect on my life path and the choices that brought me to where I am. Just kidding! That sounded really emo. I go to my neighbor’s, drink beer, and eat turkey with tons of gravy. I guess you don’t really have to understand something in order to enjoy it.
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FOLASHADE ALFORD
MARCO BELTRAN
PR SPECIALIST
SENIOR EDITOR
I wish there were some random Salvadoran bits intertwined in my family’s Thanksgiving that would make it distinguishable from any other, but there isn’t. Thanksgiving dinner, like any other dinner we have, feels forced. No one wants to be around each other for longer than we have to. No one really sits down with each other to eat or talk. I don’t even know why we have a dinner table when we’ve only used it 10 times since we got it. The few times we’ve tried it turns into an awkward dinner between a family that isn’t around each other enough to have a conversation that lasts more than a few minutes. I have friends that make a whole day of being with their families—cooking, talking, laughing—but it’s
not like that with us. My mother decorates a table with food (turkey or chicken, sometimes both, with a variety of pies from Marie Calendar’s) and fancy tablecloths while the rest of the family sits around watching television. When it’s time to eat, each person goes around taking what he or she wants to eat so they can go back to doing whatever they were doing before, and my mother sits at the table with a bottle of wine staring at us. I usually invite a friend over to watch movies, or just watch movies alone for the whole day. Sometimes I leave, most of the time I go to sleep until I get hungry again. Aside from the food, everything about Thanksgiving is really depressing.
The holidays are always a fun time of year, especially the food part. I get to stuff my face like a fat fuck and not feel bad about it. Thanksgiving is so close, but unlike the majority of you, I won’t be eating turkey. Okay, now that you’ve had your freak-out moment and thought about “how bad you feel for me” and that “I don’t know what I’m missing.” It’s true I don’t eat turkey because I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life. So, if I don’t eat turkey, what the fuck do I eat? Lots of amazing stuff because my mom is an awesome cook (she even went to cooking school). As our turkey-like substitution, my mom makes tofu strudel. It’s amazing, swears. It’s a puff pastry log-like thing with layers of tofu and homemade gravy and other secret things my mom puts in there. Then we have a bunch of other stuff like mac n’ cheese,
collard greens, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, rolls; basically starch city. Then we’ll have dessert, which usually varies from year to year (like an apple galette or some ice creamy thing). My absolute favorite is sweet potato pie; fuck pumpkin pie. I don’t know if this is a Black thing or a Southern thing, but it’s the best. It’s not Thanksgiving without a sweet potato pie, or two just to be safe. I appreciate all the time and effort my mom puts into the affair. Even though it’s just the three of us (mom, me and my little brother) it feels like a full house, mainly because there’s a table full of food. I usually help make maybe twenty-percent of these items. This is either because I have to work (lame), or I’m just being a lazy fuck. I pay my penance by putting away the food and cleaning up. Thank you mommy for making me delicious food every year. It makes the holidays the best.
ALISON ERNST NEWS DIRECTOR
Picture a typical TV-sitcom Thanksgiving. Subtract the fighting and drama. That’s my family. It’s not perfect, but it’s perfect. I absolutely love my family; I wouldn’t trade them for the world. My entire family (grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins) all celebrate Thanksgiving at my aunt’s house every year. Everyone is responsible for bringing a dish, which leads to a giant surplus of food (literally). The usual Thanksgiving food is all there: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, green beans, corn, and most importantly, pumpkin pie. Without these dishes, it just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving. When I start thinking about it, the average Thanksgiving is defined almost entirely by family and food (and sometimes football) and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (I almost forgot!). That is what every American family watches in the morning while the turkey starts cooking. My mom, aunt, and grandma have their
turkey-routines and methods of ensuring adequate oven-space for everything that must be served hot. There is RockBandplaying, guitar lessons, and TV-watching during my family’s Thanksgivings. When everyone has a busy life, it becomes increasingly difficult to find time to relax and enjoy each other’s company. Thanksgiving is one of the few times where we get the whole family together. I love Thanksgiving for that reason. The food is great, but I look forward to being with my extended family more. After the big meal, my siblings, cousins, and I usually head outside to play or walk to the nearby park. My cousins are all around my age and it’s fun to start an impromptu game of basketball or just throw a ball around. My Thanksgiving is just like the perfect TV-family Thanksgiving, minus the yelling. Or problems with the turkey. It’s full of love and family, because we all enjoy each other’s company.
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QUIT ACTIN’ CHILDISH GAMBINO IS A MASTERMIND FOLASHADE ALFORD UNION STAFFER
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t’s no secret that I’m a huge Donald Glover fan (I’ve been trying to interview him for two years); he’s like the boy version of me. I’ve referenced him in a good number of my past articles. Honestly I’m surprised that I haven’t written something about him sooner. Probably because I knew people would give me shit for it but in honor of the tone of his new album, Camp, I’m deciding not to give a fuck. Prepare yourself for a Donald gush fest. Yes, I’m intrigued with all facets of Donald Glover: actor, comedian, and musician. Childish Gambino, the name that Glover makes music under, is probably, and will remain, my favorite artist. Just ask my brother how annoyed he gets when riding in the car with me. I never tire of his music. The reason it speaks to me is because it echoes my life’s journey. It’s not like when I was in sixth grade listening to Avril Lavigne’s Let Go (that I still know ALL the words to), feeling like “Complicated” was my anthem. Now that I have Childish Gambino, it’s the music I wish I had growing up. Not only can I relate to his growing pains (rejection, confusion about relationships) but also when he talks about the “black experience.” I’ve always struggled with this (see Volume 68 Issue 9 page 5). Black kids telling me I’m not black enough and white kids using me as an authority on black culture. I came across his music the summer after my freshman year, after a Community binge (you know, when you watch a season of television in a day). I happened across his blog and found out he made music. I expected it to be like
NICHOLE DANIELS UNION STAFFER
the rap I was used to. You know, sick flows about growing up in the hood, the music that makes you feel like you could shoot a nigga post-listening. I love that kind of rap, but I always felt so fake listening to it when it wasn’t my life. When I first listened to Childish Gambino I went through it all in a day. I was mesmerized; it was a combination of all the music I loved. To be honest, it blew my mind; especially the I Am Just a Rapper mixtapes where he rapped over indie artists like Grizzly Bear. I didn’t know you could do that. It isn’t just his music that appeals to me but also the content of the lyrics. They deal with the constant struggle he had growing up trying to fit in but through his lyrics he reconciles that and just says fuck it. When Culdesac dropped I had it on repeat all summer (on my Zune!). I have to say that when I found out Childish Gambino signed with a record label I was excited but also wary. Yes, this meant that he would get a platform to truly reach the masses, but it also meant somebody was going to have a hand in his musical decisions. After listening to Camp, I was relieved and the album took me through so many emotions. “Hold You Down” reminded me how in sixth grade I wore a tie to school trying to fit in with the punk/rocker kids and people gave me so much shit for it. I’m not saying that Gambino’s music is going to change the world and make kids stop ostracizing each other but it’ll be great for those kids like me to have and realize it’s fine to be different and
it’s okay if you don’t fit in perfectly. One thing that also pisses me off with any artist is when fans say “he’s changed.” Well of course he’s changing. As he progresses in life so will his music. So I love Camp, I love the tracks where he straightup raps and I also love the tracks where he sings (ladies, it’s swoon-worthy). I also admire Donald because Camp is the equiva-
lent of how I want to write. Like he says in “That Power,” I just want to make it all for everybody always, everybody can’t tell everybody, because they already know. Sure it’s self deprecating at times, but it’s real and I appreciate that and other people do too. So, thanks to Donald, a Renaissance man with a Hollywood buzz, I don’t have to go back to not likin’ who I was.
OUR FAVORITE GAMBINO
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POINDEXTER
I AM JUST A RAPPER
CULDESAC
CAMP
Standout Tracks: “Extraordinary” “Grind” “The Rocker”
Standout Tracks: “New Prince” “Bitch Look At Me Now” “My Girls”
Standout Tracks: “Do Ya Like” “Fuck It All” “Put It In My Video”
Standout Tracks: “Firefly” “Bonfire” “Kids”
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OUR MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 FAVS
TEENAGERS FROM OUTER SPACE ALEXANDER BORG
STEVE BESSETTE
UNION STAFFER
W
hile the last 10 years have brought us movies so bad they’re amazing (The Room, Birdemic: Shock and Terror), in order to experience the greatest in low-budget camp, one most go to the science fiction films of the 1950s. The cast of Mystery Science Theater 3000 knew the decade was a goldmine of cheesy movies and chose a prime target to lampoon with their trademark sarcasm and wit: Teenagers from Outer Space. The movie opens with aliens (who look a great deal like humans in janitor jumpsuits) exiting their rickety UFO in a desert. The reason they’re visiting our humble planet is to find a suitable place to raise their ferocious livestock known as gargons, portrayed by a lobster in a modified snare drum. When one of the aliens by the name of Derrick (a terrible name for an alien by the way) attempts to stop the other aliens from turning the Earth into a giant lobster pasture, he is forced to flee for his life. He finds temporary refuge in the epitome of a ’50s American suburb complete with a stereotypical teenage girl that he quickly charms with his awkward extraterrestrial mystique. The movie then falls apart into a jumbled mess of Derrick trying to apprehend
I ACCUSE MY PARENTS ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
the alien that was sent after him and to stop the rapidly growing killer lobster. What makes Teenagers from Outer Space my favorite episode of MST3K is the astounding accomplishment that every element of the movie is horrendous. Exposition is handled with the care of a drunken amateur surgeon. The interactions between the aliens and the humans is unbelievably cartoony and awkward. For the climactic scene of the movie in which Derrick sets off to destroy a now inexplicably massive lobster, the filmmakers used shadow puppetry to put a silhouette of the lobster on the screen! I don’t care what decade the film was made, shadow puppetry is not an acceptable special effect! Complementing the cinematic train wreck we bear witness to is the ever insightful and comedic commentary of Joel, Crow, and Tom Servo. The trio’s ability to make terrible filmmaking into comedy is in peak form for this episode. Whether it’s pointing out how death rays look like tubes of tooth paste, mocking the inability of the actors, or dropping hilarious one-liners, the crew of the Satellite of Love add the piece de résistance to the greatest episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000.
I never minded my dad and I not having a toss the football kind of relationship, because watching terrible movies on Saturday afternoons was better anyway. Mystery Science Theater 3000 isn’t just a guilty pleasure of mine, it’s also intertwined with geeky nostalgia. It’s okay, just go on Netflix when you’re alone and have nothing better to do and no one will know. This episode starts with one of those educational shorts that were typically the primer for moving pictures when viewed at the ol’ cineplex. It’s called The Truck Farmer and it’s meant to learn you good about the importance of California farmers in modern life (circa 1954) and it’s boring and you should skip right over it. I Accuse My Parents (1945) is an exploitation flick rooted in the fingerpointing orchard of Reefer Madness and carries this after-school-special, Hallmarky vibe. A good kid gone bad with a drunken buffoon of a mother and an angry negligent suit of a father, who—you guessed it— accuses his parents of driving him to skip class, get involved with the local mob, tell his lying whore of a girl to keep out of his affairs, and other pressing juvenile problems obviously a direct result of
terrible parenting. That’s where the fingers were pointed: at terrible parents of the 1940s. What makes it worse is that even though the film’s craft (including musical numbers) is awfully far below par, it’s still a little more watchable than other films featured on MST3K. The good kid is Jimmy and the guy who plays him is a goob if you ever saw one. He always has this dumb face on and acts like the director said, “okay look real sad, now you’re happy here, look like you want to accuse your parents, okay great now shake your head in disappointment so we can slowly cross-fade over it.” His character tries to be really earnest about winning the school’s essay contest, celebrating his birthday, wooing this blondie that bought shoes from him (lying whore of a girl), but gosh he’s such a dope. It’s that stupid face of his. Like most commentary from the silhouetted peanut gallery during MST3K viewings, a good portion of the jokes can be pretty nuanced and referential, but that shouldn’t be a deterring factor. This episode has some of the best commentary, helped by a foolish but watchable film, heeled at the beginning and end with Jimmy’s harrowing one-liner, “I accuse my parents.”
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TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET NO LONGER STORIES OF REDEMPTION, REVELATION, AND RELEASING YOUR INNER WEIRDO
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JAMES G. MORALES CONTRIBUTOR
GAMER
SHIT-TALKER MATT LEE
LEO PORTUGAL
CONTRIBUTOR, THE REAL MONSTER
LITERATURE EDITOR, BOOGER EATER
T
his is a story of obsession and addiction. I am consumed by games in any form: video, board, card, roleplaying, you name it. I grew up with a Commodore 64, spent many long nights at my neighbor’s playing the Battlestar Gallactica board game and a card game called dominion, and I’ve dabbled in Dungeons and Dragons. Training and breeding Pokemon consumed countless hours of my teen life (actually, the game keeps count of the hours, and between my brother and I, we played for well over 500). All this hard work culminated in a Pokemon tournament held at a GameStop in the Glendale Galleria. William Hung (famous American Idol goofball) was there to compete, but was ejected from the tournament for cheating. I left with a third-place finish and the shame of not being a true Pokemon master, coupled with the shame of playing so much darn Pokemon. I’ve even made a Canterbury-esque pilgrimage in the name of games. A couple years ago, I drove to Seattle with my best bud Gary so we could attend the Penny Arcade Expo, a video game convention in Seattle. We spent three days swimming in a sea of nerd and two nights living out of my car. Gary and I, in one particularly nerd-charged event, played a demo of a game called Dragon Age, assisted by some of the game’s creators who were dressed in
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full medieval garb. After all of us gamers finished the demo, we were lined up and addressed by a caped creator of Dragon Age. Plastic sword at his side, he walked along our line of gamers, marking each of us on the forehead with fake blood, proudly telling us, “You…are a Grey Warden.” The Grey Wardens were Dragon Age’s version of knights, and we were being initiated. Gary was particularly enthusiastic about this ceremony; “You...” he whispered to me amid the ceremony, “will never be laid.” At the end of this Seattle adventure, I took home a Dragon Age t-shirt and inflatable sword… and the bird flu (later dubbed the “nerdflu” by a bunch of people on Twitter). Speaking of fantasy, I’ve also had a similar relationship with fantasy sports. I’ve made spreadsheets of football schedules, using three or four different colors to indicate the strength of a team’s defense. I’ve spent hours “scouting” basketball players via my web browser. I’m like an amateur Paul DePodesta (the real guy that was kind of portrayed by Jonah Hill in Moneyball) as I try to find perfect statistical formulas to craft an unbeatable team in order to beat a bunch of my dumb high school friends. You see, the difference between DePodesta and myself is that he was working with the Athletics, Padres and Dodgers, and I was working with teams like the BoofBonsers, TonyRomosex-
uals and RonArTITs. Whether it’s fantasy football or plain old fantasy, I find comfort and satisfaction in finding harmonious connections between character powers/football players/ racial abilities/action cards and making all these moving parts “fit” together. I do it all for the small joy of beating my neighbor and little brother in some board game, or to create a perfect stupid elf or orc that I can grow to love. Now, if I had this same compulsion associated with something that wasn’t completely useless (like knitting or welding, maybe), I could make something of myself. No matter how much I try, I know I’m not going to be the best Starcraft II player in the world, which actually would be lucrative (the top three Starcraft players earned over $100,000 in tournaments last year, those quick-clicking fuckers). But there is one thing that I do know: I will watch videos of these guys playing this game because that is something that I like to do and leave me alone it’s pretty fun to watch even though the announcer guy is annoying sometimes. But, thinking about all the good experiences I’ve had (not to mention all the good experience points I’ve gained), I wouldn’t trade the memories for the world. I would like a few hundred of those hours back, though. Most of that was just fetch quests.
I’ve come to notice from several online personality tests, and teary-eyed friends pounding their fists into my chest, that I’m an extremely negative person. I’m admitting I shit-talk. I can’t take it, but I can dish it out, the kind of stuff everyone hates, I know. One time I took a bus and this lady sat next to me, a great big fat person, and my mind was dropping nukes on her the whole time. Immediately I knew how she lived, her relationships, the personal habits she did in the bathroom when she thought no one was looking, and I fucking mentally shat on her. She sat next to me and I thought, “Aw shit, you gonna make me walk around you now to get out, you fat pig, you beast, you self-absorbed food hoarder, you fucking monster!” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out some M&M’s, and again, I thought, “Of course you bring food with you. What else is in there, a ham!?” Then, an offering of the bag—a sign of friendship and warmth and connection. She offered me some M&M’s before she even helped herself, and I felt like the biggest piece of shit on earth. She wasn’t the beast, the disgusting pig, the monster—I was. I wanted to apologize but that’s not something you can do. You sit on benches in crowed places people-watching, thinking to yourself, “Oh look at that fucking hipster! I hope his scarf gets infected with smallpox,” while never actually noticing you’re the real monster.
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COLLECTOR
KNITTER RACHEL CLARE
VINCENT CHAVEZ
UNION STAFFER, OLD MAID
CULTURE EDITOR, CULTURED CUNT
I’ve amassed quite a collection of Xmen memorabilia ever since I could walk (through walls). X-men: The Animated Series was my introduction to Stan Lee’s freakish creations and my gateway into Marvel fandom. I remember my dad taking me to the local geek emporium for Marvel trading cards and the rush of euphoria as I ripped open the shiny foil. I would actually close my eyes just before I broke the packaging’s seal to savor one last moment before the mystery was lost forever. After I caught X-men fever I had the sudden urge to collect anything with Storm’s face on it. Candy, stickers, pencil toppers, plush dolls, posters, action figures, my appetite for this weather witch’s likeness was insatiable and it became my grandmother’s part-time job to find these tokens of my addiction. On Halloween I would dress up as Cyclops or Wolverine, secretly wishing I could go as Storm. “But mom,” I would plead, “she controls the weather, she’s a natural born leader, and an all-around defensive and offensive dynamo.” All she heard was black face and drag. I can still hear her saying, “No son of mine is going to prance around in a dress.” “She wears a white, leather battle suit,” I would sigh. Parents just don’t understand.
I waited desperately for puberty and my mutant powers to emerge. All I got was a weight spurt, cystic acne, and crippling selfconsciousness. (Don’t worry, I’m beautiful and well adjusted now, but those were some tough years). I continued to collect books on the X-men, watch the newest installment of the X-men television series (X-men Evolution), play with the action figures and Xmen Legend videogames, and rabidly await the film adaptations. It was around my midteens that I realized something disturbing, a secret I had kept for 16 odd years: I had never read a comic book in my life. Yes, this super fan was a super fraud. Where were my credentials if I had never visited the source material? Yes, the argument can be made that X-men: The Animated Series was simply the comic book panels set in motion, with voice overs and theme music. But it took me a long time before I read my first comic book and realized what I had been missing. Now, I mostly read old X-men comics, watch YouTube clips of the animated series nostalgically, and play pretend X-men with my four year-old nephew. He tells me indignantly I can’t be Storm because I’m a boy, but I tell him if he wants to eat lunch I’m going to be Storm and that’s final.
I’m a knitter. Yes, I knit. No, I’m not a grandmother, but I’ll be best friends with yours if she’d like to trade patterns and gauge measurements over morning tea. I’d like to say that I picked up the skill from my own grandmother or through time spent volunteering at the local old folks’ home, but I’d be lying. I Googled my way into craftiness, mistakenly knotting up multicolored yarn and dropping stitches that didn’t need to be dropped. Fortunately, after an absurd amount of practice, I managed to untangle myself from the mess and actually develop a pretty nifty hobby. While you’re cracking open another 24pack of PBR on a Friday night, I’ll be hanging out in the living room with my needles and yarn ready to go. Knit, purl, knit, purl. You’ll remember the night through Facebook photos and blurry games of beer pong, but I’ll have this cozy little bit of handiwork to show for my hours spent as a homebody. Last week when you invited me out to the movies and I declined? I was preoccupied with stringing yarn through needles and assembling scarves out of some balled up string. At least you’ll get some snazzy Christmas gifts out of it.
CAT HOARDER BEATRICE WORREL
CONTRIBUTOR, CRAY CRAY CAT LADAY
My family has rescued numerous cats from our local shelters and our neighborhood. Growing up, we adopted a few over the years and taken some in. We’ve nursed cats back to health, but got attached so we ended up keeping them. I currently have ten cats living in my house and two that live outside, one of which is feral. But I’m not a crazy cat lady and my parents aren’t crazy either. We just have big hearts when it comes to animals. Our current number is the result of several years of accumulation of cats. All rescues from different walks of life. I don’t know why people get all weird when I tell them how many cats I have. I’ve stopped telling people ever since a fateful day in elementary school where I was endlessly ridiculed. I had male classmates that would instant-message me saying, “I kill cats. Is one of yours missing?” In fifth grade, that really hurt. Cat people have a bad rap in this society and it isn’t fair. A few crazies and everyone that likes cats suffers. Dog lovers have never faced ridicule like this. Anyways, yes, I have ten cats. But I’m not crazy. [Editor’s Note: Or is she?]
LITERATURE
I
TINY STORIES
nspired by HitRecord’s Tiny Stories series, the Union Weekly brings you our very own. On HitRecord, a writer will typically get these tiny things started with the magic of the written word. Then, an artist might come along and say something like, “Hey, I could create a lovely partner for these words.” And then the words and the arts can be married together beautifully. Sometimes, these stories even get voice overed by celebrities (ooh la la).
At the Union, we married three of our stories to artist Rose “Polygamous” Feduk. And don’t let the collaborative fun stop here! Let’s keep this collabo-train a-rollin’! Please, draw some doodles to couple with our single, ready, and willing stories. Record some of your friends reading these aloud in different funny voices! Email your voice overs and doodles to leop.union@gmail.com! Also, check out the Tiny Book of Tiny Stories at HitRecord.org.
Illustrations
LEO PORTUGAL LITERATURE EDITOR
“Defenestrate” is a verb that you think would come up rarely. But I have allergies and lots of people have cats.
CHELSEA STEVENS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
I just stepped in poop. A dog came over to smell it and peed all over my leg, but it’s okay, because my dog just peed on top of it. At least that’s pee that I’ve been peed on by before.
VINCENT CHAVEZ CULTURE EDITOR
It wasn’t so much the constant fear of being crushed to death that kept the little, old lady who lived in a shoe up at night. It was dying alone.
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14 NOVEMBER 2011
MARCO BELTRAN SENIOR EDITOR
Everyone thought Milo was crazy for living in a burlap sack at the top of Cherry Hill. Then they found out he was dead.
STEVE BESSETTE ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
I parked next to a car identical to mine. Afterwards, I got into the wrong car and so did the other owner. We traded keys. My mom’s camera was in the car. She’s pissed.
ALISON ERNST NEWS DIRECTOR
My cat barfed. Mouse chunks on my cell phone. My phone is dead. My heart is empty. No one calls me anymore.
ROSE FEDUK UNION STAFFER
VINCENT CHAVEZ CULTURE EDITOR
I’m in love with an axe murderer. He killed my whole family, but here I am, pining for him.
MARCO BELTRAN SENIOR EDITOR
Matt was at bat. Bases loaded, two outs, his cancer-ridden father in the stands. The pitch. The ball spins slowly, hits Matt in the head, and kills him.
LANA THAO CONTRIBUTOR
In the middle of a crowded street, a dog sat patiently for its owner.
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14 NOVEMBER 2011
UNION WEEKLY
HARD
SAD HISTORY
EASY
HARD CONTRIBUTOR
DANIELA GONZALEZ
EASY
POOEY CHEWY NUTTY
CONTRIBUTOR
DANIELA GONZALEZ
CONTRIBUTOR
RICHARD CÁRDENAS JR.
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Disclaimer:
This page is satire and satanire. You know, like satan stuff. We are not ASI, nor do we represent the CSULB campus. We represent the interests of all things evil and somewhat spooky. Email me at octogirl. grun@gmail.com.
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/J/J/V/Y'TP2BUZ BY OCTOPUS GIRL
A Story BY BASIL HOGWASH It was 8pm and Basil was sitting at his desk, bored, staring at his reflection on his computer screen when something caught his attention: something laying in his closet underneath a pile of dirty clothes. Basil walked over and and pulled the thing out. It was the Ouija board his aunt Agnes gave him a few years ago. It was a gift Basil’s mother hated, so she made him promise that he would toss it out once his aunt left. Awesome, he thought, for he had now found something he could do that would help ease his boredom, though he found it a little odd that it was in his closet when he remembered throwing it out. Maybe his father brought it back in, or his aunt bought him a second board. She was known for doing stuff like that. He set the board on the desk and walked around his house to make sure there was no one home that would be able to interrupt his fun. He walked back to his room carrying a set of candles he took from his sister’s room and lit them with the matches he uses to light his cigarettes. The first thing he asked the board was when he was going to die, followed by other stuff he really wanted to know like girls and money. As time went on, he got really bored, again, and started antagonizing
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the board by calling it names and making snide remarks about the board’s weight and questioning the virtue of the board’s mother. Because of this, and because he pulled out his semi erect penis and urinated all over the board, a demon appeared! It looked like the monster from the movie The Relic but with more spikes and a lot scarier. Fire and smoke spilled out of the board and filled Basil’s room. His house began to shake and the walls began to crack. A cold air filled the room and Basil could hear the screams of what sounded like humans being tortured in the bowels of hell. “You have defiled this board! Now you shall pay!” the demon shouted in its most horrible of voices. “You have no idea how many centuries I’ve been longing to take a human soul into the depths of the underworld.” “Fuck you, demon,” said Basil, holding his testicles to show that he wasn’t afraid of anything the demon could throw at him. He was the toughest guy at his whole school and all the girls wanted him, so he wasn’t going to let a stupid demon come into his room and push him around. Taken aback by Basil’s toughness, the demon urinated a little. When Basil saw this, he called the demon a pussy. Basil was too tough to for the demon to handle.
Horror, suspense, and other spooky cool fun stuff! That’s what I experienced what I watched that cool new show on the SyFy channel about paranormal stuff. It’s called Paranormal Witness. These people tell their real life stories, I guess, about how scary stuff happened to them in their life. It’s mostly white people and an Astrailian lady, but I’d hazard to say that it’s like the coolest thing on television right now. One of the episodes has a guy that can make rain happen indoors and freaks everyone out because it’s raining indoors. There’s another episode where a demon yells a baby’s name and makes it cry. So insane. I don’t know if they make that stuff up or if it actually happens to people that play games on a Ouija board, but I had an idea that I would like to see made into an episode of that show. Now I don’t know who I should send my ideas to, but I’m sure that there’s someone reading this that works for the SyFy channel that can hook a octo-sister up with some cool writing credits or at least some Paranormal Witness sweatbands. In my first idea there’s this baby. He’s a male and he’s dead, of course. There’s nothing scary about a live baby. I guess you could give it some fangs or staple some scales to its body.
I haven’t fully flushed out the details of how the baby dies (maybe he pooped so hard that the force of the poop destroyed his organs or someone is driving a car down the street and they forgot to tie the baby down so the baby flies out the window into a storm drain and is raised by aligators and died of natural causes), but the fact remains that this baby is dead. A good place for this baby to haunt would be like a store something and there’s a security guard that screams, “Oh shit” as he steps on ghost baby poop. Then maybe they do like a seance to take the baby out, but realize the baby is a demon so they just decide to leave the place forever. Something I just thought of as I was writing this is: Do babies commit suicide? I feel like babies totally do kill themselves, but my mom doesn’t believe me. I’m sure there’s a baby in the midwest or like Seattle that’s had a really shitty week and decides to jump off a bridge or put themselves in a freezer. If I saw a baby in a freezer, dead, I don’t think I would freak out. Especially if the baby was depressed or something. I’d just be a little understanding about the whole thing, maybe wish I could have been there to tell it to stop. WHAT IF EVERY BABY THAT HAS EVER DIED WAS A SUICIDE? Fuck. I just blew my mind. :(
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After their recent divorce, Kris Humphries has cryogenically frozen Kim Kardashian, refusing to thaw her until she agrees to remarry him. A press conference was held. “From henceforth,” Humphries announced, “you may call me Mr. HumpFREEZE.” The press, by-and-large, refused to acknowledge this new moniker, but he didn’t care and continued to let the dumb ice puns fly. “With the NBA season currently on ice,” Humphries said, “and because revenge is a dish best served cold...” By this point I had stopped listening to Humphries because I was distracted by Kim’s frozen, rock-hard nipples. Yum.
“NBA on Ice” Page C01D
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