ISSUE
VIN’S TWO ’CENTS LETTERS TO AND FROM THE EDITOR VINCENT CHAVEZ
VINCENT CHAVEZ
vincha.union@gmail.com
COLLEEN BROWN
colleen.union@gmail.com
Editor-in-Chief
Managing Editor
GABE FERREIRA Managing Editor
gabe.union@gmail.com
MARCO BELTRAN
marcob.union@gmail.com
MELISSA CASAS
mcasas.union@gmail.com
BRIANNE SCHAER
brianne.union@gmail.com
NATHAN CRUZ
nathan.union@gmail.com
TORIE RIVERA
torie.union@gmail.com
Senior Editor
Opinions Editor News Director
Entertainment Editor Literature Editor
COLLEEN BROWN Culture Editor
ROSE FEDUK Comics Editor
colleen.union@gmail.com rosef.union@gmail.com
DUCHESS OF SPAIN
duch.grun@gmail.com
GABE FERREIRA
gabe.union@gmail.com
Grunion Editor
Art Director/Cover
NICHOLE DANIELS
nichole.union.@gmail.com
CONNOR O’BRIEN
connor.union@gmail.com
Illustration Editor Photo Editor
ROSE FEDUK
On-Campus Distribution
NATHAN CRUZ
Advertising Executive
rosef.union@gmail.com
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
S
ummer loving, having a blast! Hey fellow Grease monkeys, the Union is back and unlike you, with your summer flings and carefree life, we’ve been getting things done. Really exciting and wacky things like sitting through meetings, comparing prices for newsstands, emailing, stealing inspiration from other rags, and don’t even get me started on the thrilling world of archiving. To be honest, I actually loved the archiving part because I am now filled with useless bits of Union history. For instance, did you know we interviewed Paul McCartney, nay, SIR Paul McCartney, in the mid-eighties? Well, we did, and it was spectacular. I also found the time-consuming nature of archiving quite soothing, like being in a library and a museum at the same time. It was a far cry from my last summer, which consisted of watching entire
Illustration
ROSE FEDUK
COMICS EDITOR
seasons of television (Six Feet Under and The Simpsons to be exact) in the daytime and working nights at a crummy momand-pop video store, except by momand-pop I mean a Korean man who liked to punch me in the face emotionally. But this summer is all about change. For one, I just started getting perms. And two, the Union has moved its doors to a new home. Moving meant packing, and packing meant sorting through everything, and sorting through everything meant encountering a shit ton of silverfish stored deep in our decade-old filing cabinets. After screaming for half an hour, I was ready to get out of the pit that is Suite 239. We packed up our boxes, said goodbye to our filthy sweat and cum-stained couches, and welcomed our new home in what used to be the Program Council office. You can now find us on the lower level of the USU, right across from
College Beat (also fresh from a move) and Kbeach. Things are really looking up for this old rag tag group of wily misfits. Oh, and I’m sorry about calling you lazy greaseballs earlier. The truth is, I have a great deal of respect for you. You, dear reader, are a die-hard Union fan. Why else would you be reading the online-exclusive summer issue (and my intro page, no less)? For that, we (and I especially) thank you. You are now a part of a secret brother and sisterhood of Unionites, sworn to uphold all that is different, controversial, and overly wordy. This issue is your extra credit for caring and it is only but a taste of what is to come. Excelsior!
SUMMER BUMMER A UNION GUIDE FOR A FULFILLING SUMMER
nathan.union@gmail.com
Contributors: LAUREN HANNIGAN, RACHEL CLARE 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 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. 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 116, Long Beach,CA 90815 Phone: 562.985.4867 Fax: 562.985.8161 E-mail: info@lbunion.com Web: www.lbunion.com UNION WEEKLY
20 AUGUST 2012
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OPINIONS
THEY SHOULD CALL IT YOSEMPRETTY SO CAL HAS NOTHING ON YOSEMITE’S NATURAL BEAUTY
TITLE OF COLUMN OR PICTURE
LAUREN HANNIGAN UNION STAFFER
I
t was hot out. Seal Beach is cute, but boring to say the least. I was sitting on my deck watching palm trees dance in the ocean breeze. Having unlimited time to relax and look at the blue, blue sky is nice. Then, my phone vibrated that familiar vibration. Buzzzz. “Dude.” It was a text from Kelly, a friend from the dorm. We partied together a lot and got pretty close this past year at school. Kelly is a Pisces with a dapper style that turns heads. “Dude.” I replied. “Are you down to drive to Yosemite tomorrow to like…camp?” She asked me. I’m no Californian, so my first thought was, “What’s a Yose-mite?” but as to not sound too much like a naive Kentuckian I did a quick Google search. It’s pronounced “yo-se-mi-tee.” It appeared to be a national forest and have quite an impressive selection of waterfalls and bears. It seemed pretty incredible. “I’m down,” my thumbs answered Kelly. “Excellent.” If I have any piece of advice for college students out there it’s this: go on as many road trips as you possibly can. We set out for Yosemite with no clue what we were doing and how we were going to do it, but we went for it and I’m damn glad we did! The crew consisted of a Pisces, a
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Sagittarius, a Virgo, and myself (a diehard Aries). We’re an interesting bunch of girls: our styles include lots of tie-dye, flowing skirts, band t-shirts, and flowers in tangled hair. We may have told our parents different stories about where we actually were for the weekend. We headed out for the six-hour trip at 4:00 AM. The car was packed with pillows and a few Led Zeppelin and CCR cassettes that we all had memorized by the end of the trip. Our conversations were of romance, the zodiac, anarchy, and the gods. Getting to Yosemite is relatively easy. We took the 5 and 41 all the way up (mind you, I didn’t drive; props to the Pisces and Sagittarius for that). This was my first time experiencing central California, which is incidentally just a bunch of farmland. We stopped for gasoline and cigarettes a number of times. We got there around lunchtime. The campsite we were directed to is called Bridalveil Falls. I’d recommend this site to anyone heading up there: it was clean, beautiful, safe, and no one complained that we had Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band playing a good amount of the time we were there. We quickly found that our two-person tent wouldn’t fit four people (surprising, I know) so it was decided that the Sagittarius and Virgo would car camp while Kelly and I
got the tent. The campsite had a food locker to prevent bears and other wildlife from getting to our food. We made bouquets of tiny wildflowers to decorate our campsite. We went hiking on a trail and gathered firewood as we went. The trees above our heads, the earth below our feet, and the sound of nature around us sent us all in a trance. Mother Nature was stealing our hearts. Seal Beach’s air doesn’t taste half as sweet as Yosemite’s. When you get to Yosemite, just bring a water bottle and go explore. You’re going to like what you find. As the sun set, we built a fire and our tummies began to growl. We cooked a dinner over our open flame of a few cans of soup, Cheetos, chips, candy, and cookies. This nutritious meal had us all set to gaze at the massive stars above us for the rest of the night, all while enjoying some Half Dome Brew. The stars were like bloated light bulbs hovering right above our heads. I could have sworn I could have reached up and plucked one down for myself. The heavens above this national forest were glorious. It got all four of us back in the mindset that the world we live in is a masterpiece of art for us to enjoy and contribute to. The next day we cruised around Yosemite. Everything was green, something sadly foreign to those of us living in So
Cal. Half Dome was damn impressive; we discussed climbing it. Half Dome is 4,737 feet of granite that has an impressive annual fatality rate. It was then decided that it was probably best we didn’t attempt Half Dome yet. We did hike up to Bridalveil Falls. According to legend, inhaling the mist of this waterfall ups your chance of getting married, which we were all down for. It’s 617 feet tall and flows all year around. You need to see this waterfall before you die. I’ve never felt so in awe of nature; it was so wonderful the word “erotic” almost applies. At the top we did yoga on a boulder and played in the freezing waterfall pool. I’ll never forget that. We drove home in the late afternoon. None of us wanted to leave. A few of us had “jobs” and “responsibilities” to tend to, unfortunately. We vowed to return to Yosemite. Truly, it is a magical and sacred place. If you and some friends find yourself with a weekend to do something awesome, go to Yosemite! The national parks need our support and it’s completely worth the trip. Like we found, you don’t need fancy camping gear or really anything other than good friends and good vibes to have the camping trip of a lifetime.
OPINIONS
THE APOCALYPSE WILL BE TELEVISED THE MEDIA LETS US PICK OUR POISON MELISSA CASAS OPINIONS EDITOR
For those of us blessed enough to live in the first world and to still have our youth, the coming weeks mean one thing: school. While eager folk scour the racks of department stores for back-to-school clothes and search through shelves of school supplies, I’m more inclined to stock up on camping gear and freeze-dried food. Though many are stocking up in preparation for the first day of classes, I know a later doomsday awaits us in December. I’ll admit that I didn’t initially buy into the Mayan calendar. Some argue that the calendar that proclaims this date as humanity’s last doesn’t even proclaim it at all; they say the calendar was never finished and that the twenty-first of December is simply the last date that was inscribed. Mayan civilization disappeared
without a precise explanation, not even a goodbye note, so it makes sense that many tools, including their calendar, would have been left unfinished. I was uncaring and too absorbed with my own white girl problems until things became apparent. Evidence of the coming apocalypse was right in front of my eyes. This past summer, I worked my first full time job as a SOAR advisor. After long days of giving campus tours and creating course schedules for the largest incoming class our university has seen, I would unwind by watching whatever was on television. I never have the time or inclination to watch TV; if anything, I watch episodes online. After work, mind-numbing television was one of the few things that would keep me conscious until exhaustion got the best of
me. Similar to a youth in the throes of an acid trip, my altered state of mind after long days at work allowed revelations to arise. Let’s begin with something we know and love (to hate): MTV. When did Jersey Shore and The Real World become acceptable viewing material? If I want to see stupid people do stupider things, I could visit a number of local clubs and hotspots to witness bar fights and half-naked people vomiting in the street. On the opposite end of the age spectrum sits Honey Boo Boo, the breakout star of Toddlers and Tiaras, on her throne of z-snapping, deepfried white trash. When did it become standard for a six-year-old to get her own show simply for being an obnoxious, overweight diva? With Kellie Pickler believing that Europe is a country and sociopaths
terrorizing midnight showings and places of worship for reasons unexplained, my cynicism concerning modern civilization turned to abhorrence and finally to passive indifference. With millions of people buying into what the media propagates, what can be done to stop it? Neil Postman affirmed that as a society, we’re “amusing ourselves to death” with our endless consumption of mindnumbing material. We are the tools of our own self-destruction. On December twenty-first, you’ll find me in a homemade shelter stocked with survival gear and most importantly, my eyes glued to a flat screen and the latest episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. The apocalypse will be televised, folks, so if you can’t beat them, join them.
worst and you make everyone feel uncomfortable). If, instead, that friend were to say, “Man, I am so unhealthy,” it could pave the way for an honest discussion of why the person feels that way and what their lifestyle is like. One could argue that fit people are more attractive than out-of-shape people, but at the core, that is not what fitness is about. Fitness is about how your body feels, how well it supports you, how active you can be, and an amalgamation of other factors that don’t tie in to how you look. What is attractive to someone is subjective, whereas health has objective standards. Striving to be healthy rather
than “good looking” can be a refreshing and positive mindset. We all feel victimized by the media for not having an ideal body, and really, fuck society for making us all feel shitty. None of us should feel bad because of unrealistic standards, and we should absolutely work against them. But in no way does that remove our responsibility to take care of our bodies. Also guys, I have to be honest. I’m eating McDonald’s french fries right now. Also drinking a chocolate shake. And someone just brought doughnuts into the room. I am so sorry.
CHEWING THE FAT WORDS FOR THE JIGGLY-WIGGLY MASSES COLLEEN BROWN CULTURE EDITOR
Body image is a complicated issue for most of us. And by complicated, I mean that everyone hates themselves, forever. Not really, but I have yet to meet a person who feels completely at ease with their body. Even the most confident person has a flaw that they fixate on. The majority of people fixate on the same thing: fat. The jiggly-wiggly masses that cling to our stomachs, thighs, arms, and other unsightly places stress us the fuck out. I have done the strangest variations of standing and sitting poses in dressing rooms, trying to make sure I don’t look like melting dough from any angle. It’s completely ridiculous that we assume a healthy body is a hard, sculpted, machine of a physique. Depending on your body type, it’s actually okay to have some softness. In some cases that can be even more flattering than chiseled abs and bulging veins. But I’m not here to build up your body image! Ha-ha, I’m an asshole. Obviously, it’s terrible that our society brainwashes us to strive for unrealistic body types, but I take issue with the movement against these selfesteem crippling images when it suddenly became “unnecessary” to eat healthy and exercise. It’s stupid that we yell at people, “YOU ARE NOT FAT! You put that spring salad down and get some meat!” regardless of their size or fitness level. While I adamantly oppose telling anyone that they are fat, we’ve
become extremely defensive to even the tiniest suggestion to live a healthier lifestyle. We encourage bad eating and irregular exercise in each other, because “it doesn’t matter what you look like.” We should be judged by who we are as people, right? By what we have to offer up intellectually, or something? But of course it matters! Of course it’s important to eat healthy and exercise regularly and keep body fat percentage at a reasonable level. At what point did being health-conscious become the equivalent of an eating disorder in some people’s minds? Telling someone that they “don’t need to be eating healthy” or that it’s “not necessary” for them to run a mile every day is at best an attempt to make your own self feel better about not doing those things. I’m writing this because I used to tell people similar things all the time. Only in the past year have I learned and accepted the fact that trying to be healthy is fucking important. I came to this realization when I changed my perspective on what being healthy means. For most, I imagine that health is directly related to appearance. It’s the media’s fault, and that’s why when your friend says that they’re fat, you have the knee-jerk reaction to tell them they’re not; you would never want your friend’s self-esteem, which is tied into physical appearance, to suffer (also, friend-whosays-they’re-fat, stop doing that; you’re the
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NEWS
DISHING THE DIRT ON PIZZA A DOMINO’S OPENING ON CAMPUS ISN’T THE ONLY PIZZA NEWS MARCO BELTRAN SENIOR EDITOR
N
ow that CSULB will have two pizza companies, Domino’s and Sbarro, battling head-to-head to fill our cheap pizza needs, we decided it would be a great idea to dish out our favorite pizza news from the last couple weeks and compile it for you on a metaphorical newspaper-shaped info pizza which everyone calls the Union Weekly News page. Although many would agree that adding pizza to our already fat-loaded food options will counteract the good the Rec Center is doing for people trying to slim down, here’s to smelling that sweet garlic butter crust in every classroom for the rest of your tenure here at this fine institution. Now for the pizza news: CINNABON INTRODUCES PIZZABON In their continuous attempt to kill as many people possible, the wonderful people at Cinnabon unveiled their new dish, the Pizzabon. Looking like a shortcake topped off with the greasy innards of a Hot Pocket, Cinnabon hopes the Pizzabon will close the gap between those that eat Cinnabon because they have nothing left to live for and fans of savory foods too lazy to find actual pizza to shove into their food holes. While the Pizzabon is only available in one location so far, with luck something will bring forth the apocalypse before any more “-bon” foods come into existence. TEACHER USES “PIZZA AND SEX” TO SEDUCE KIDS, GETS FIRED If you’re looking for pizza and sex, CSULB’s Sbarro and Domino’s have got one
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BRIANNE SCHAER NEWS DIRECTOR
of those needs covered ... and it’s not the one you’re thinking. It’s your desire for pizza! However, if you’re craving the complete sex and pizza experience, you should seek out Indiana teacher Bethany Appleton, who, according to an affidavit, was “having high school aged boys over to her house for pizza and sex,” where there was also “hugging and kissing.” Now pardon me while I get on my high horse and my soapbox, but I’ve got something to say: Pizza should only be used for good (i.e. learning) and never for evil (i.e. statutory rape). In the classroom, pizza should be used as an incentive to get kids to study for tests and read books. Pizza could end the United States’ education crisis. In fact, this belief was the crux of my Philosophy of Education paper I wrote when applying for CSULB’s teaching credential program. Appleton was fired from her teaching position several weeks ago, leaving an opening for me to slice in (pizza pun intended) and restore pizza’s good name in the classroom setting. PIZZA WORTH A THOUSAND MILES Distance is not a factor for a Mississippi man who traveled 2,800 miles for a bulk order of his favorite pizza. David Schuler ordered 250 pizzas from Town Spa, a favorite pizza shop in his hometown of Stoughton, Massachusetts, which is about a 1,400-mile one-way trip from his current Mississippi abode. Schuler also made the commute last summer, but he only ordered 150 pizzas. He ate the last pizza from that batch two weeks before this trip.
Why travel so far? No other pizza that has touched Schuler’s lips meets the standard set by Town Spa, the only pizza he ate while growing up in Massachusetts. He is so obsessed by the taste of this pizza that he formulated a method to transport the 250 vacuum-sealed, half-frozen, cooler-stored pizzas in his SUV. The pizzas are perfectly packed and later stored in freezers at home. These frozen pizzas mean so much to Schuler that he turned down $1,200 for just five of them last August when they were requested for use in a Mississippi taste challenge. His reasoning was that he couldn’t afford to sacrifice the pizzas, since he didn’t know how long it would be until he returned to the shop. COURT CASE AGAINST PIZZA HUT Pizza Hut is ripping off more than just cheesy bites. The Black Keys are suing Pizza Hut for allegedly using pieces of their song “Gold on the Ceiling” in a commercial for Cheesy Bites Pizza. Criticism of the commercial’s song and its striking resemblance to the Black Keys’ single has been stirring on the Internet for months, but band members Patrick Carney and Daniel Auerbach filed a lawsuit titled Auerbach v. Pizza Hut in June. Producer Danger Mouse is also named as a plaintiff. Pizza Hut recently denied that the music in the commercial was from “Gold on the Ceiling” and is requesting the band pay attorney fees in the event that they win the case, in court documents filed in Los Angeles. Things are not looking good for Pizza Hut, but a court ruling has yet to be made. Until then, I will gladly patronize the new
Domino’s on campus. “Gold on the Ceiling” is from the band’s most recent album, El Camino. PIZZA OF THE FUTURE Vending machines in Europe bake a made-from-scratch pizza in about 2.5 minutes. Yes, such a thing exists — and the company responsible for creating these machines plans to install them in various locations across the U.S. soon. “Let’s Pizza” vending machines have had huge success in Europe over the past three years. The U.S. machines are slated to appear in popular locations like airports, malls, colleges, gas and bus stations and amusement parks. An ad for this unbelievable creation can be easily found on YouTube, and it takes the viewer through each step of pizza production, as narrated by a stiletto-clad woman, because who wouldn’t be interested in buying something from a woman wearing stilettos? The ad stresses the value of its pizzas, since they don’t require any human touch and have a high standard of cleanliness. It is unclear, however, how a pizza made by a cold, metallic machine arm could compete with the taste of one made from the heart by a friendly, local pizza eatery. PIZZA HUT AND KFC CLOSE Pizza Hut and KFC restaurants in Nepal were forced to close their doors after employees attacked and even threatened to kill their managers. The restaurants were the first international fast food chains in the country, ever.
IT’S A TRAP!
MUSIC
A DISCOURSE ON MUSIC’S LATEST TREND: TRAP MUSIC JOHN VILLANUEVA MUSIC EDITOR
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o my embarrassment, I must admit that I haven’t been in the loop concerning new music as of late. I relegated Pitchfork to the dark smelly hell it deserved a long time ago, and I never did catch the EDM bug as did my Avicii toting brethren. So when I heard that an old classmate from high school had become a well-known trap music producer back east, I shrugged off the notion. As time wore on, my interest began to pique. Determined to shake off my nonchalance, I decided that it was time for me to resume my exploration into the musical realm. The start, this so-called trap music. Although my knowledge was minimal, I had heard enough to know that trap was apparently the new hot item. The hype surrounding it had it hailed as the new dubstep and the new moombahton (whatever moombahton is). So I delved in headfirst, and the results were surprising, and ultimately disappointing.
Let’s start at the beginning. Trap music can be traced back to the ‘80s with the release of the Roland 808. A revolutionary machine, the 808 helped to usher in a new style of hip-hop. Defined by boom bass and tinny snares, it introduced a sound related more to the emerging electronic music scene than the groove oriented beats more commonly used. Finding its niche in Southern rap, artists like Waka Flocka, T.I., and Gucci Mane help to reinvent the sound by incorporating brash production. That’s why trap music, as it’s known today, is such a disappointment. Forgetting its rap origins, trap music has made its crossover to the electronic realm, and just like its predecessors, has been hijacked by kids driven by cash and not craft. Remember dubstep? Not the womp-driven screeds of a hyperactive bro, but real dubstep? Origins not stemming from EDC, dubstep originally came from dub music, which itself sprung from reggae. Toiling in underground
clubs and backrooms, its incorporation of irritating womps and garish drops were what brought it to fame. Now, something that started off more Massive Attack in nature has become the siren call of those rocking cut-off tees and furry boots. Don’t mistake my distaste for elitism, that would be all fine, if the music weren’t so blaring and abrasive and absolutely simple to create. I had a friend recreate a song by Nero in half-a-fucking hour. With the popularity explosion of
dubstep, it seems everyone wants to be an electronic artist. This seems to be the case with trap now. All over the Internet, clogging Soundcloud with saccharine imitations, kids with money but no time or experience are releasing trap-lite. There needs to be a wake up call. Electronic artists need to be on the cutting edge, making innovations to the field, or at least doing their research and delving into the history of their craft to create reverent creations, and not cheap imitations.
DAVID’S MUSICAL LYNCHPIN CHRYSTA BELL AND DAVID LYNCH GET DOWN AT THE BOOTLEG THEATER NATHAN CRUZ
ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
In the beginning of this month David Lynch, the acclaimed director of films such as Blue Velvet and Mulholland Drive, introduced a night with his latest collaborator Chrysta Bell at the Bootleg Theater in downtown Los Angeles. Chrysta Bell is Lynch’s latest muse and has teamed up with him for musical experimentation. The Bootleg Theater has several rooms, which includes two bars and two stages. The theater was dark and dimly lit, which
provided the perfect ambiance for the event. It felt like every detail in the venue had been perfectly attended to, which is something not always experienced at most contemporary music concerts. It literally felt like I was on the set of a David Lynch film. Every room had its own specific feel, all of which lead up to the anticipation of what I was in store for that fantastic night. Shortly after I arrived at the theater, an introduction from none other than Lynch
himself, a wave of iPhones quickly sprang into the air to capture the moment. The sultry and provocative Bell took the stage and commanded the audience with her mesmerizing, theatrical performance. The audience was almost as eclectic as the theater itself; there were many personalities in the room, all of which were very eclectic and unique. Bell’s music was very dreamy and full of mood. The Chris-Isaak style guitars backed
her soft voice. During the set she played songs from her solo debut, This Train, which Lynch also produced. I would highly recommend her music to any fans of any of Lynch’s work. I cannot fully describe what exactly it is about Lynch’s many works that speak to me, but it has an undeniably profound effect on those who are in search for the answers to life’s mysteries.
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ENTERTAINMENT
OH, HOLY KNIGHT? THE DARK NIGHT FAILS TO RISE NATHAN CRUZ
ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
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ast week I took it upon myself to finally see one of the most highly anticipated films of the summer and the latest installment of the Batman trilogy, The Dark Knight Rises, written and directed by Jonathan and Christopher Nolan. Christopher Nolan is arguably one of the best directors in Hollywood and he gave the Batman series a much needed reboot. However, The Dark Knight Rises suffered because of an extremely dense plot and failed to introduce well-rounded, fully developed new characters. The film takes place eight years after the events of The Dark Knight, and Bruce Wayne is a now a recluse, still suffering from the loss of his beloved Rachel. Batman has not returned since being pegged with the death of two-faced Harvey Dent. The citizens of Gotham are fed a lie and Gotham sees eight years of relative peace.
That is, until the introduction of Anne Hathaway as a femme-fetale with a catch, Selina Kyle, who warns Wayne of an impending storm. Hathaway’s portrayal of Kyle was nothing but a fragment of a character. Not good, nor bad, Kyle felt like a lost soul who was too easily persuaded. However, what she lacked in decisiveness she made up with good old-fashioned ass-kicking. The installment of the latest villain to the trilogy, Bane, also felt two-dimensional. I would have liked to see more interaction between his character and the other major villain in the film. Although, I do feel that Tom Hardy did an excellent job given what little screen-time he held. Although I am a huge fan of Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s work, I felt like his character, Robin John Blake, was irrelevant. Levitt’s acting in the film was excellent as usual, but his character did very little to advance the
plot. It felt like Robin served no purpose other than the fact the Nolan wanted to throw a bone to the hardcore Batman fans that were aching for an appearance of Robin. I would have liked to see more screen time devoted to developing Hardy’s or Hathaway’s characters. The current political subtext of the film is obvious with the vigilante idea of people taking back control of their city, return of power to the citizens, and a stock exchange heist. Bane’s speech mid-way through the film alludes to the true villains of society, the one percent. But overall, this liberal ideology balances out with the film’s underlying conservative defense of the establishment, philanthropic billionaires, and an indestructible police force. As for the action sequences, the final battle in the city felt a bit cliché. However, I have to admit that Catwoman fighting along side Batman satisfied me.
Finally, the introduction of the socialite Miranda Tate (played by the brilliant Marion Cotillard) was ultimately lackluster and her character served the plot only to tie this film with the first film of the trilogy. Aditionally, she was almost never seen throughout the film. The references to the first film would have made very little sense to those unfamiliar with the trilogy, unlike the previous film that stood very well on its own. Then again, how can you possibly top The Dark Knight? One good plot twist and an obvious conclusion carried out the rest of the film in high fashion. All in all, I highly appreciated the cohesive end of the film, and the end of the series on a good note. It did not change my opinon that The Dark Knight Rises is undoubtedly the worst film of the series, but The Dark Night Rises is still better than your average summer blockbuster.
ZOMBIES ATE MY BRAINS BUT MOSTLY, THEY STOLE MY HEART JOHN VILLANUEVA MUSIC EDITOR
With the bath salt craze dying down and the looming threat of a real life zombie crisis waning, zombie-related news is few and far between. This is not a good thing. I’ve been a fan of the zombie ever since they shambled into my life with my first viewing of the George Romero classic Dawn of the Dead. They were the perfect horror creature. Menacing in their familiarity, zombies could take the form of what we held most dear. Friends and family morphed into legions of dead was a thought more terrifying than masks or
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chainsaws. The fear of radical change, that everything could turn in seconds, was gut wrenching, yet exhilarating. It added a much needed suspense, a quiet tension to horror that had me addicted. Any and every zombie movie I could find I would watch, teeth clenched staring wide-eyed as man became undead creature. I sat through 28 Days Later and all of George Romero’s movies, screaming and scheming, wondering what I would do if the occasion arose. The arrival of the fast zombie, as portrayed by 28 Days Later and
the Dawn of the Dead remake really had me reeling. I bought books, read forums regarding the best weapons and defense strategies. The Zombie had become my pop culture phenomenon of choice. Sadly, zombies have lost quite a bit of their edge. There hasn’t been a good zombie movie in a couple of years. All of George Romero’s recent films (save Diary of the Dead) have been terrible. Cheap zombie movies with titles such as Bong of the Dead flood DVD bins. There is some hope on the undead
horizon though. It seems World War Z is slated for a 2013 release, and it seems George Clooney has contributed his help to revive the flailing film. Zombie games like Dead Island and Left 4 Dead have been thriving, as well as the popular Zombie Black Ops mode in Call of Duty. The Walking Dead is also making its triumphant return this fall, and is finally introducing the menacing character that is the Governor. So fear not, the phenomenon known as the zombie won’t be dying any time soon.
LITERATURE
SUMMER READING WITH DON WINSLOW WEED, GUNS, SEX, AND DECAPITATION PORN Intro & Reviews
B
orn and raised on the East Coast, Don Winslow has emerged as a voice of reason in the glamorous sun-drenched world of the West Coast, and specifically the debauched State of California. His father was a Navy man, his mother a gambler and he himself, at
different points in his life, a safari guide, private investigator, and Shakespeare play director at Oxford University. This unique upbringing has been a wellspring of creativity from which Winslow has had no problem drawing throughout his literary career, which has spanned sixteen novels of
TORIE RIVERA LITERATURE EDITOR
gripping tales of crime and mystery. More recently, Winslow has found mainstream fame in his novel Savages. This past summer the Oliver Stone film adaptation hit the big screen. Around the same time, The Kings of Cool, a prequel to Savages, was released.
The quick, straightforward style of Winslow is intoxicatingly captivating. I found that I was reading faster than I could turn the pages. These gems are action packed and at the same time full of critique of the American Dream and the State of California.
Chon earned a GED and joined the Navy SEAL team. Together Ben and Chon built themselves a lucrative business of super marijuana, splicing different strands of rare weed. O is, well… she is O, the love interest of Ben… and Chon, at the same time—if you get my drift. Things get very interesting when Chon receives some “decapitation porn.” The Baja Cartel sends her the video in an attempt to open business talks of a potential merger
plan with Ben and Chon. The novel only gains speed from this point. The two entrepreneurs attempt to negotiate with the Cartel, but things turn for the worst. Unhappy with how things are panning out, the Cartel kidnaps O in order to leverage the cooperation of Ben and Chon. This is where the fun begins. Robberies, staged robberies, corrupt DEA agents, and so much more. I could not put the book down.
SAVAGES What happens when the Wal-Mart of drug dealers is struggling to make a profit while a relatively small weed operation has become a major player in the the production and selling of marijuana? Savages. Don Winslow tells the gripping tale of Ben, Chon, and O (short for Ophelia) in this clever and fast-paced novel. Ben has just graduated from Berkeley and double majored in Botany and Marketing.
THE KINGS OF COOL Don Winslow has added to the tale of Savages with a prequel installment, The Kings of Cool. This novel flows with the same break-neck pace as Savages. Winslow gives a deeper look into the past of Ben, Chon, and O, spanning from the ‘60s to more recent times. The odd, yet seemingly normal, relationship between Ben, Chon, and O is explored in more detail.
The root of how these three came to be who they are is further discussed, and articulately brought to life by the raw style of Winslow. The story delves in the inner workings of drama-rich family trees. Inevitably the gang is confronted with the reality that their choices in life are, to some degree, influenced more than they know by the lives of the parents.
As before, there is not a lack of twists and turns in all directions, leaving your mind with a serious case of whiplash. The novel is another page-turner. As with Savages, Winslow does not fail to provide witty social commentary woven in and out of the thrilling storyline. Winslow has a remarkable ability to deliver complexity with rigged swift prose.
UNION WEEKLY
20 AUGUST 2012
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CULTURE
LONDON CALLING LEAPING OVER THE POND RACHEL CLARE UNION STAFFER
H
i, my name is Rachel and I left my heart somewhere in the UK. I departed in January under the guise of attending school and broadening my cultural horizons, only to find that my heart had stitched itself into telephone booths and roundabouts by the time I returned in April. Three months were spent studying Shakespeare over tea and scones, because it’s London and that’s just how things are. Maybe part of it was the adrenaline of living abroad, of immersing ourselves into a new city where we didn’t know where each road led. We came in as visitors, scrambling down escalators with wrinkled Tube maps in hand, unsure which route to take to find Regent’s Park or Buckingham Palace. When we ventured out for groceries on our first night in London, we held up the queue, scrutinizing the money in our wallets to try to assemble the correct change. But as time passed, we began to learn the ins and outs of our new locale. We ordered our tea with milk and kept to ourselves on early morning Tube rides. We were still running on this exhilarating high of living in another country, but now we were finding ourselves at home. That’s where the adventure really begins, when you begin to settle in and adjust to your new surroundings. You feel comfortable enough to sample a new food or venture down a street you don’t know. My friends and I explored the alleyways of Fleet Street, the infamous stomping grounds of Sweeney Todd, and spent many a night
Illustration
NICHOLE DANIELS ILLUSTRATION EDITOR
sprinting down escalators to catch the last Tube at half past midnight. One night, on our own makeshift pub-crawl, we turned a corner to find an authentic Banksy piece on display just behind us. It was moments like these that made our hearts soar with the infinite potential of the city. It’s addicting, living abroad. Though sometimes, I had a huge urge to be home. For some, it was missing family and friends; for others, it was the longing for a warm day at the beach. Returning to California meant family members, old friends, and legit Mexican food, but it was also the marking point for life to return to its regularly scheduled programming. I went from visiting Douglas Adams’ grave (I hear he wrote a pretty awesome guide on hitchhiking through a galaxy) to parking myself in front of the TV and piecing together a scrapbook from ticket stubs and photos. Somehow the adventures that had been my life had just been reduced to a leather-bound collection of protective sheet covers. It’s odd the way your heart can connect to a place over rainy days and late-night kebabs. Each time London hits the media now (I’m looking at you, 2012 Olympics), it’s a pang to the heart. A fresh fracture to remind me that I’m no longer venturing the streets of Bloomsbury, and that my time as a resident, as a Londoner, was merely temporary. Adventures turn from life to story, from everyday to a semester spent pond-hopping once upon a time.
OLYMPIC OPENING CEREMONIES A TITLE AS UNDERWHELMING AS THE CEREMONY ITSELF JOHN VILLANUEVA
NATHAN CRUZ
MUSIC EDITOR
Besides track and women’s weight lifting, nothing warrants the attention of the masses during the Olympics more than the opening ceremony. More than anything, the opening ceremony is what determines the worth of that year’s Olympic games. That’s why this years games were complete horseshit. By far the most abysmal opening ceremony in recent years, it was either a demonstration of a very weird sense of humor or the fruition of one of Danny Boyle’s LSD induced fantasies. Start off with the basics, British history was fucking boring, and it showed. Even
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UNION WEEKLY
20 AUGUST 2012
ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
the announcers seemed to struggle to find ways to describe this portion in a positive light. Apparently sensing our complete apathy, the ceremonies decide to liven up the joint, with a rave. Trying to capture the youthful audience, the opening ceremonies donned neon garb. The Prodigy, Fatboy Slim, and Fuck Buttons filled the air. Fuck Button? As if the act of hosting a rave wasn’t degrading enough for a three thousand-year-old event. I could go on about the army of Mary Poppins or the giant octopus, but just like the Olympic games, my screed must come to an end.
On the night of July 27th I was confused. I was confused at the fact that out of all the talent coming out of the UK they chose Danny Boyle to direct the Olympic opening ceremony. He’s directed some pretty great films and should probably stick to the silver screen. When I heard people say that the opening ceremony would feature Mary Poppins and Voldemort, I thought they were joking, but sadly they were serious. I understood what Boyle tried to accomplish with the progression of the British history throughout the ages and famous British literature, but it was not the right tone for an opening ceremony.
With all the amazing talent oozing from the UK they could have just booked Radiohead for the opening ceremony. There, done. EASY. Instead it felt like they tried to get every British cliché and stuff it into the ceremony. It just seemed really lack-luster compared to the 2008 opening ceremony in Beijing. I think it was around the time I saw the dancing nurses on beds when I decided to leave my house and go to a bar. I came home and watched the highlights. I think the best highlight was when Matt Laurer said, “I don’t know if this is cute or creepy.” Those were my thoughts exactly.
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MY BIG FAT GREEK BANE CACTOPUSSY
COMICS EDITOR
ROSE FEDUK
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
VINCENT CHAVEZ
COMICS
Disclaimer: This page is the spanish word for satire: Elephante. We do not represent ASI, nor do we represent the CSULB campus, nor do we represent the interest of any member of the Spanish royalty and all the dukes and douchesses. Email the Duchess at duche.grun@gmail.com
“Gay Russians Putin on the Ritz”
Volume 71 Issue 0
Monday, August 20, 2012
Dear Grunion/Octupus Girl fans and former contributors, For months now, I have watched in horror and disgust as my name has been dragged across the mud for no particular reason with slanderous words that bear no resemblance to my character nor resemble anyone in existence. My likeness was consistently plastered across this rag of a newspaper, so I took the next logical step as anyone would when trapped in a situation which they have no control over, bought it. Using the resources I have amounted over the years, as well as my various royal connections, I have acquired everything
opinions as to what I and this newspaper are all about. I will make it something that it has never been. The second step, equally
and this back page, all in hopes to stop anyone from posting anymore slanderous and erroneous information about myself in any printed form until the day I exhale my last breath. I started with the logo; it
Hence forth, I, María del Rosario Duchess of Spain, shall make the funny.
on these pages since its inception. That was
María del Rosario Cayetana Fitz-James Stuart y Silva DUCHESS OF SPAIN
but unfortunately that was not possible for you see that that person, the one who previously edited this page does not exist. In fact, upon further inspection, I discover that the person that had been writing things about me on the Grunion was not even a woman. Instead, I found a rotund individual, sitting in his underwear, photoshopping a picture of dog onto the
Con Amor,
LBUNION.COM
THE BENEFITS OF SLEEP APNEA I always feel nervous to write about these things. The whole idea of just laying your life out in small installments to a group of people you’ll never meet BY GLENNON SMITH seems strange, foreign almost. I guess that’s where I should
more. I also hate being interrupted. I need you to sit there and stare blankly at me as I talk. My name is Larry. It’s not really Larry, so shut up about that. Last week it was
hand gestures as I ramble my way through the whole reason why I’m in a room full of people that may or may not be in the same situation as I am but I will never run into
details of here and there to ensure that no
do this after what happened. They said it would help me sort some stuff out and maybe it would help me feel better after all this is over. This does have an end, right? Don’t just stand there and not at me, say something. No, no, no. Not now. Don’t say anything yet. I don’t like being interrupted. It was either this or I sit at home with
A girl named Dale, maybe, it really doesn’t matter so shut up about that. I like the idea people I’m talking at right now is somehow
something, or undoubtedly try to kill me. I’m guessing a lot of people don’t like what or else I’d be living the good life like the rest of my family as opposed to standing in a room full of people I would avoid in the here with his weird nose and the girl sitting next to me that’s been trying to send a text minutes, something stupid no doubt. Now she get’s embarrassed. You should have felt a little bit of that before when that guy was
expired milk for the fourth time this week
I get it; you don’t need to tap your
into my fridge despite me being absolutely positive that I threw that disgusting, lump
to say, but it’s my turn. I have the stupid
Let me start over. But before I start, just don’t interrupt me or say “hi” or anything was wearing pajamas. That’s it.
INSIDE
Ryan Lochte drowns in 6 thousand gallons of Red Bull™©
“Excuse me. The penis goes where?” -Google search “legitimate rape”
“You merely adopted the kitty; I was born in it”-Blane, League of Pillows