Glittering Expectations by Union Weekly

Give me the pizza, and free my soul, I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away.

Issue 73.06

“Drift Away” by Creedence Clearwater Revival Rose Feduk, Editor-in-Chief editorinchief@lbunion.com Marco Beltran, Managing Editor marco.union@gmail.com Connor O’Brien, Managing Editor connor.union@gmail.com

Shereen Lisa Dudar, Opinions Editor opinions@lbunion.com Sierra Patheal, Campus Editor campus@lbunion.com Michael Wood, Music Editor music@lbunion.com Roque Renteria, Entertainment Editor entertainment@lbunion.com Katie Healy, Literature Editor literature@lbunion.com Alia Sabino, Culture Editor culture@lbunion.com Molly Shannon, Food Editor food@lbunion.com God Warrior, Grunion Editor grunion@lbunion.com Gabe Ferreira, Art Director gabe.union@gmail.com Brian Mark, Art Director brian.union@gmail.com Truc Nguyen, Web Manager web@lbunion.com Eddie Vee, Graphic Designer info@lbunion.com

Assistant Editors: Alfred Pallarca, Alyssa Keyne, Sam Winchester. Contributors: Joseph Phillips, Jon Bolin, Cody Eagle, Delon Villanueva, Joshua Chan, Matthew Vitalich, Ursula Khan, Leah Sakas, Jay Jenkins, Chris “TJ” De Guzman, Krinkle Krunkle, Jessica Phung, Rebecca Komathy, Alex Berman, Christopher Vickery, Jennifer Cierra, Kristen Oduca, Anna Pineda. 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, not ASI or 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 and major 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 Questions? Comments? Cornucopias? Beach, CA 90815. E-mail: info@lbunion.com

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Rose and the Horror of Reality Rose Feduk Editor-in-Chief Come closer to the fireplace, my children, and let me rutabaga you in some of the tiny tales from my week. October is drawing near, and stories about vampires, werewolves, and killer baby sitters usually get all the street cred. But I think there’s also value in the realworld scary stories, like that one time period blood leaked through my khaki pants in the eighth grade. So get snuggly in your footie pajamas and get your steaming mugs of hot apple cider, ‘cause I got some shit to talk about. The truly frightening part of this week is there was a period of three days where I ran on six hours of sleep, causing a series of unfortunate scenarios. In one of them, I was standing in an elevator and a man came in at the last second. I was about to ask him, “Which floor?” but before I could do it, he had already clicked the third floor, causing me to stutter and instead ask “Woof?” Luckily, he had his headphones in, meaning that my unintentional woofing fell on deaf

ears. An embarrassing moment narrowly avoided thanks to Apple headphones. Thanks Apple! Another incident came about when I spent two consecutive sleepless nights finishing an art project that apparently isn’t due until next week. When my professor leaned in to tell me that I didn’t have to spend so much time on a rough draft, I struggled to weakly tell her that I had thought the assignment was due that day. I would have found solace in the fact that finishing early might be a good thing had my professor not also reminded me that my project was unfortunately completed at a size that was way too small. But it’s fine. I mean, it’s not like it took me eight hours to finish it. Speaking of horrifying realities, this week’s feature mostly pertains to strip clubs—a topic on which I am very poorly versed. I’ve never been to one, nor do I ever want to stick any part of my body in one. It’s not so much the brazen nudity or an indication of any disrespect towards

the men and women who choose to strip as a profession. It is the discomfort arises whenever I think about a scenario in which a guy orders a bucket of chicken wings—yes, they somehow serve food at strip clubs—while he watches a woman gyrate in front of him to some LMFAO song. I can just picture him with buffalo sauce smeared on his cheeks, glitter in his beard, and a half chub brewing underneath his gut full of chicken. Here’s my opinion: you can’t simultaneously tackle the problems of hunger and arousal. If you’re going to want to enjoy that chicken bucket, you can’t have genitals anywhere near it, and if you’re going to admire a lady’s behind, you can’t do it with a mouth full of onion rings. You just can’t. If it were up to me, I’d choose the chicken wings every time. So enjoy, my children. And beware: true horror isn’t only reserved for cheaply made slasher-films and monster movies; sometimes it’s hiding in the crevasses of that chicken wing place next door.

OPINIONS Union Weekly—30 September 2013

The Shutdown Showdown Michael Wood Music Editor The budget debate has again showed the weaknesses of the American political system. It has put them on display for the entire world to see. How could the world’s sole superpower end up this way? Threatening to default on its debt and shutdown its entire government over a dispute about whether our citizens deserve universal healthcare? Not that I’m hearing about it all that much these days, but it’s laughable to say that we are the greatest country on Earth. If there were some sort of objective ranking for this kind of stuff, I would be surprised if we found ourselves in the top 20. How did it end up this way? It’s fairly simple: the reactionary outcry from the Obama election swept dozens of congressmen into the chambers of power known as the Tea Party. And of course, these Hayek-wielding, pseudoscientific, pseudo-populist, pseudocompetent lawmakers have taken the establishment of Republican leadership in the House for one wild ride thanks to their penchant for showdowns like the one we have just witnessed. These neo-Randian, dogmatic, corporate shills do not even exhibit the basic care for this nation that other corrupt and lazy politicians do, they don’t even exhibit

the forethought to hope that this country might be more prosperous in a decade or two. They want to fight to the last dollar for their image of a world that resembles the Gilded Age more than the bold future of health and prosperity we have always been promised. In the pursuit of this goal, they have threatened to shut down the entire government numerous times; this wasn’t the first case. The last time that this happened, congressional Republicans refused to raise the debt ceiling in a fight very similar to the one today. In the course of that fight, the government avoided shutting down due to an absolutely last-minute deal reached by both parties, but we still suffered. The US lost its pristine credit rating of AAA and was downgraded by the Standard and Poors rating agency, which cited partisan dysfunction as a reason for the downgrade. Even if our current struggle is resolved at the last minute, we still may suffer due to the boneheaded actions of dogmatic reactionaries. What would a government shutdown mean for you folks, the average people who really don’t concern themselves too much with politics or economic issues? Well, tons of basic services stand to be

disrupted. If you’re awaiting a passport, expect delays as the State Department will not be able to process those applications for the entire length of a government shutdown. Federal workers all over the country will go on furlough, except for those deemed essential to public safety, such as food inspectors or air traffic controllers. In the past, these workers were paid retroactively for their time off, but there is no guarantee of that in this current crisis. Delays in the social welfare system are to be expected, including social security and veterans’ benefits handled by the federal government, and active duty military personnel will be paid with IOUs until the government begins to function again. How patriotic of the Tea Party to insist upon paying soldiers with IOUs! The entire city of Washington DC, which is run by the federal government (for those of you who dozed off in POSC 100), will likely shut down as garbage disposal, public facilities, and other government services shudder—and for those of you conspiracy nuts arming yourself against the Obama government and watching Alex Jones videos, no, you will not be able to purchase guns or ammunition during the period of a

government shutdown, either. Overall, this is not a doomsday scenario. People will be able to go about their lives with a few inconveniences in most cases; however, we have to ask ourselves why we think it’s alright to do this in the name of politics. Those champions of populism, the Tea Party, think they are representing the will of the people up there in Washington by shutting down the government. What they are really doing is delaying social security, Medicare, and veterans’ benefits to folks in order to prevent them from having access to universal healthcare. Sounds like a whole lot of love for common folks there; sounds like a lot of love for constituencies to make the politicians do such a rash and stupid thing. Or maybe they’re just morally bankrupt and dogmatic fools. Yeah, it’s probably the latter.

and then prepare to relax, because there’s really no option of doing anything else. If you think I’m being facetious, you’re right. If you think I’m being sarcastic, though, you’ve missed my point. Google “American stress levels”; the first few results should be enough to convince you we all need a day off every once in a while. And yet, despite knowing how much better we work and more productive we are when we’re well-rested and relaxed, we—or at least I—can never manage to judge how much work we can comfortably take on and when it would be better for us mentally, physically, and emotionally to say, “No, I’m going to the beach that day—sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.” So I think we need some external motivation to do it. I think we need a day strictly sanctioned for relaxing, because I’m not sure it’ll happen otherwise.

Are you with me on this? If enough people band together, I’m convinced we can make this happen, regardless of what logic, science, and the natural shift of the seasons have to say. Remember Margaret Mead’s over-quoted maxim, “Never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world.” We can be committed, and once everyone sees how wonderful having a free day would be, I’m not so sure we’d be a small group. Let’s make ourselves this new day. We need it. We’re going to need a name for it, aren’t we? I propose Somnusdia—“Sleep-Day” in pseudo-Latin—because as soon as it’s instituted, I know what I’m going to do.

A Call for Sleep-Day Sierra Patheal Campus Editor You know that cliché phrase all mothers tell their kids, “If you work hard, you can do anything”? Well, I’m cashing in. This semester is kicking my ass, and there just isn’t enough time to get everything done. From conversations with friends, classmates, family, and even—though they would never say it explicitly—faculty, I’ve gathered that I’m not alone, either. Enough is enough. Seven days might have been long enough for the civilizations of old to get everything done—heck, there are even those fairy tales of actually resting on the Sabbath!—but obviously we of the Twitter-paced twenty-first century need some help. So let’s stop whining and do something about it. It is we, humans, who print the calendars and set the watches. What’s stopping us from changing them? I propose adding an eighth day to the calendar. We can put it right between Tuesday

and Wednesday so it’ll give us a break to get all the Monday-Tuesday things done before Wednesday pushes us over the edge, and while we’re changing the time-keeping systems around, why don’t we make it thirtytwo hours long? Then eight hours can go to sleep—or twelve, or fourteen, depending on how much sleep we’ve missed during the week—and at least twenty-four hours will be for relaxing, catching up on homework and overdue assignments, and playing World of Warcraft until our fingers start bleeding. Because there will be a worldwide decree that nothing can be scheduled on our new, wondrous eighth day. No work, no classes, no club meetings or car-servicing appointments or study groups. It will be just like the Sabbath of old, or Sunday in presentday Europe: remember to buy your milk the day before, because the shops aren’t open,

Union Weekly—30 September 2013 OPINIONS

Carnivores... Roque Renteria Entertainment Editor Meat is delicious. Despite what the food ethicists might say, it is still my favorite source of protein. Nothing satisfies my stomach like a medium rare ribeye. Especially when the center is pink and there are pools of blood collecting underneath the steak. Damn, that’s good eating. My hippie counterparts will say that the treatment of animals is inhumane. And I agree. It is inhumane. Because animals are not humans. Sometimes I throw rocks and I displace them from their home. It may not be feng shui, but I really don’t think the rock cares. Is this is a false analogy? Of course. But, you know what isn’t a false analogy?

Katie Healy Literature Editor Eating steak is like taking a bite out of the Gates of Paradise. Some of my religious friends don’t eat pork. I think that’s weird. I usually wear bacon scented cologne around them to try to arouse them. But, alas there’s no hope. They are doomed to walk the earth baconlessly. All I am saying is give meat a chance. After all, you think humans got this far into evolution by eating tofu? No way. Animals had to be sacrificed so we could have the sexy bodies you see today. Well, maybe not today but sometime in the near past. Here’s looking at you, steak.

I eat meat, but I’m half way considering being vegetarian. Mainly I eat meat so I can build muscle and remain healthy overall (and it’s so dang tasty, man!). However, every time I look at a steak that’s still bleeding I keep wondering if that delicious cow was dead before being disemboweled. I hope so. Animals have to die for us to eat them, this isn’t an issue for me, but I don’t like the idea of unnecessary cruelty. Cutting up a crab while it’s still moving and trying to escape is immoral to me. There is a lot of dubious coverage of the slaughterhouses and whether or not the animals die from

a quick shock to the head or because they bleed out when their guts were sliced into, and health wise these places spread bacteria like crazy. It’s enough to make me put away any piece of meat that wasn’t hunted by my extended family. I have no problem with game animals like moose. Ten thousand wolves can’t be wrong, it’s yummy! However, I live in the dorms AND I’m trying to limit gluten intake because of other health reasons: cutting out both meat and bread in the dining hall is unrealistic. For now I’ll eat meat, but once I’m out of the dorms I’ll revisit the vegetarian idea.

...versus Herbivores Alyssa Keyne Assistant Editor

Sierra Patheal Campus Editor My mother has been a vegetarian since before I was born; after a childhood of being forced to eat everything on her plate whether she liked it or not and a young adulthood hearing horror stories about RBST and other added chemicals wreaking havoc on the more carnivorous in our society, she banished it from her diet. Somewhere around age six, I realized I was eating something my mother didn’t. I distinctly remember the day my father tried to put a hot dog on my plate and I covered the plate with my hands and told him primly, “I don’t want that anymore.” Apparently I was a decisive little kid, because I became a vegetarian from then on, almost entirely in imitation of my mother.

I’ve tried meat since, but it’s kind of like people who never had brussels sprouts as children: I just don’t like the taste. Whenever I bite into a piece of chicken, the spongy texture refuses to let me forget that it’s meat, and I can’t help but imagine chomping into someone’s arm instead. It doesn’t matter that chickens aren’t humanoid and the chicken nugget would probably taste very different if made with human flesh; whenever I accidentally eat meat, my brain tries to convince me I’m taking the Swiftian approach to overpopulation. Sixyear-old me was onto something. I think I’ll stick to carrots.

It started as a health kick, really; I cut out red meats because I found out that they were the least healthful. It was easier to do, considering my best friend was on the kick with me. Eventually she started cutting out birds, too, and I followed. My friend’s reason was more for animal cruelty, and my mind was just focused on the health aspect. I really love not eating most meat, because I don’t feel groggy or weighed down after meals. It’s been six years now, and, although I can’t really remember what I felt like before, I feel excellent now. I recently learned this summer that the pescatarian diet is recommended for my blood type, so its all starting to make

sense. At any rate, I don’t look down on people who eat meat, but I do think they’re missing out on feeling fantastic. Another reason why I turned to fish is that I couldn’t dare cut out sushi from my diet. My choice also allows me to force people to take me to sushi more often. It works pretty well, for the most part, and nobody has really gotten irritated with it. Basically every time I have some sort of celebration, you should expect me to go get sushi.

CAMPUS

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

Keeping Our “Eyes Open”

State of the Beach

ASI’s Project Forethought promotes campus disability awareness Christopher Vickery Contributor & ASI Secretary of Disability Affairs Hello 49ers! Hopefully this school year has been intellectually fruitful and stimulating for you. My name is Chris, and I’m the Secretary of Disability Affairs for Associated Students, Inc. I work in coordination with Disabled Student Services director David Sanfilippo to assure that the campus at large is not only made accessible to the disabled body, but universally accessible as well. David and I have been working to answer the question of how DSS and ASI can work together to solidify their relationship. What solution did we arrive at? In a nutshell, we wanted to make our constituency a “forethought” rather than an “afterthought.” It’s easy to forget about the wellbeing of disabled people. We’re working to make sure that this school doesn’t ignore them. I’m often asked, “How will you raise awareness for DSS?” I usually respond by advocating my “Eyes Open” initiative, which encourages able-bodied students to go beyond being aware of disabilities and become proactive within their campus

People, People, People! One editor vents his hatred for an aspect of The Beach Roque Renteria Entertainment Editor

environment. So, what have I worked on so far to secure this goal? I organized an annual intake survey for disabled students to take, which allows them to comment on the environment around them and also extends an invitation to DSAL (Disabled Students At Large), which is a focus group on accessibility on campus. Since the beginning of the semester, I ordered the repair of eight handicap automatic doors and pushed funding for six more doors in overlooked areas which experience quite a bit of traffic I also co-authored a resolution, which is currently in its second reading in the senate, to push for the funding of EVAC Chairs. And these are only a couple of the improvements and efforts in the works. Reflecting upon these accomplishments makes me realize that only three months have passed since I was confirmed into my position, and have much more to do! We have accomplished a lot, yet many goals have yet to be actualized. I have committed my wholehearted effort to improve the

Pushing through the campus square, I find waves of nameless faces. Short people, tall people. Skinny people, fat people. All the somebody people and all the nobody people. I never thought I’d see so many people. It becomes nauseatingly daunting. This is the one thing I do not like about this campus: there are too many students. Individuals who are living their own independent narratives and studying their own specific subjects are all occupying areas of space near me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind sharing space. After all, it isn’t my space to begin with. My argument stems from my claustrophobia. Whenever I am in a room surrounded by hordes of humans, I get uneasy. The same is true when I’m pushing down the LAbuildings on my way to the library. Every time this occurs, I feel the weight of the world. As if I have become the center of the universe and the entire gravitational force has decided to bear its unmerciful weight on me. Sure, this may seem like an exaggeration or hyperbole, but I bet the person reading this right now isn’t claustrophobic. And if you are, then you know exactly what I mean. This school engages an uneasiness that I do not commonly feel. This campus makes me feel so defenseless and vulnerable. When a pool of people surround me, I

standards by which this school caters to people with disabilities, and I plan to continue my outspoken advocacy for them. My plans for the next two months center around what I call the Student Voice Initiative, where I will address the concerns raised by DSAL and try to find timely, feasible solutions for them. You will see collaborative articles written by Dave and I in the future that will extensively cover the history and impact of Disability Awareness Month, which starts this week and goes through the month of October. With that being said, farewell for now! If you need any information or would just like to know more about ASI’s efforts in conjunction with DSS, please contact me at Christopher.Vickery@student.csulb.edu.

am inundated with anxiety and I feel like I am trapped in a box within a box within a box. Read Superman: Red Sun in order to emphasize the previous point. I think the worst place for claustrophobics on campus is the elevator in the USU. When you choose to ride the elevator, I guarantee you there will be at least three other people in it with you, all of them somewhat comfortably cornered. If you start to breathe heavily, this makes situation a lot worse. My respiratory habits dramatically increase when I am anxious, and I start to turn red. I don’t know. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but I do feel like this campus conspires against me. There is no way that thousands of people can be headed in the opposite direction whenever I have to reach a destination. Excuse the selfcentricity; it just doesn’t seem very likely. Then again, what do I know? Everything that is written on this page is a collection of incoherent ideas I have accumulated through an untrustworthy subjective viewpoint. But dammit, I believe everything I experienced to be true. That being the case, this campus can do without the crowds of (sometimes) smiling faces and the gangs of makeupless clowns.

Words by Sierra Patheal Photo by Sam Winchester Light a Candle of Hope Join Project OCEAN on Tuesday, October 1st for a candlelight vigil in support and comfort for those who have been impacted by suicide. Light a candle, decorate luminaria, and spread encouragement across the CSU-wide community while remembering those who have been lost. The vigil will begin at the fountain in the Maxson Plaza next to Brotman Hall from 5pm until 8pm. Project OCEAN aims to reduce the stigma associated with mental health and mental illness and to encourage students to seek help when needed. To view their full calendar of events, please visit www.csulb.edu/ocean. Celebrating Girlpower The Women’s Resource Center will be showing the first part of a three-part PBS documentary entitled Makers: Women Who Make America on Wednesday, October 2nd at 12pm. The documentary has been split into three one-hour sessions; parts two and three will be shown on October 9th and 16th at the same time. The documentary celebrates the trailblazers who won women a place in fields from medicine to coal-mining. If you’re looking for a low-stress way to spend part of your afternoon—or if you’re in need of an inspiration—stop on by. Cross-Cultural Cinema On October 4th through 7th, the annual German Currents film festival will return to the Egyptian Theatre in Los Angeles (6712 Hollywood Boulevard). LA might not be within walking distance of The Beach, but how often do you have the chance to see the US premiere of the German adaptation of an American novel (Hermine Huntgeburth’s The Adventures of Huck Finn); a thriller co-produced in Germany, South Africa, France, and the Netherlands (Pia Marais’ Layla Fourie); and discuss the interculturality of current cinema with industry experts (at the roundtable discussion “Make Your Film Production Transatlantic”) all at the same time? That’s right—not often.

Union Weeklyâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;30 September 2013

FEATURE

Glittering Expectations Putting Adult Entertainment in Perspective Seeing as it is my penultimate semester of college, my days of complete innocence are numbered. Soon, I will enter the real world as a free baller, about to be introduced to an array of ideas I have never before encountered. With that said, Alyssa Keyne, Molly Shannon, and I all impulsively decided to hop in a car one Thursday after our classes and chase the night. Carpe noctem, anyone? We came up with a multitude of ideas of how we should go about spending this spontaneous night, and two things seemed to be universal in all of our thoughts: strip clubs and sex shops! We also thought of calling a sex hoan individual activity. It might sound juvenile to some, but since we had never been to a strip club, we were excited to experience such a trip. We had the highest expectation for a of us. I even expected a trip to the -

sexuality. Alyssa actually expected to feel some sort of empowerment through the naked sisterhood. Molly was expecting to somehow get laid (?). I would say the motif of that night was to pretty much lose our innocence, an innocence concerning the world of adult and sex entertainment. We simply wanted to know what the fuss was all about. Our curious minds led us to one strip club, a gay club, and all the memorable characters in between. How we managed to go through all this without abusing any substances is beyond my comprehension. The night began with countless laughs and jaw dropping images. However, as we progressed on our crusade to lose this innocence, we uncovered something about this escapade that was far from laughs and giggles. Our experiences might be biased, but by the end of the night, we had certainly lost something.

Story continues on next page

Words by Alfred Pallarca and Alyssa Keyne

FEATURE

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

[she assured] us that sluttier ones would be in stock in a few weeks. We then walked through the aisle of toy penises & vaginas. Ear Marks and A Touch of Romance would be satisfied with this place, though she wouldn’t tell us exactly why. We headed to the second shop with anticipation, and as we got there, we were creeped out by the mood of the shop. The shop was bigger than the last, and it was filled with a few men scavenging for well, we don’t really know. The shop had a bigger selection of dildos and even had a pair of feet molded out of silicon. We don’t particularly know how one uses a mold of feet in the bedroom, but to each their own. As we looked through DVDs of skinheads, fucking triplets, and barely legal boys in the gay porn aisle, we ached to find why a competitor would send us to this place. As we turned around to scout for more absurd porn genres, we found a big glossy sign with “25 Cent Video Arcade” sprawled across it staring us right in our faces. We panicked to look for quarters and dollar bills in our pockets, as we were ready to play. Our expectations were quickly crushed as we learned that it was not the kind of arcade we were hoping for though. This “arcade” was filled with at least 20 rooms for masturbation: each had a stool, a waste basket, paper towels, sanitizer, and a man mopping up outside. The three of us weren’t brave enough to fly solo, so we decided to awkwardly crowd around the doorway of a booth and insert some bills into the machine. Immediately, the footage of a woman giving a blowjob came on screen, and we flailed to find another channel. Once we skipped that video, we found another with a woman beating a man’s ball sack with a hand whip. After skimming through various other vignettes of gay and

This is not what we actually experienced, but hey, who cares?

The last section of the shop was a library of porn DVDs. Despite the sales associates creating racist noises such as imitating “ghetto” speak and trying out Asian accents in the background, we pretty much cracked ourselves up with the exciting selections the library had. Some memorable niche categories we stumbled upon were: BBW (Big Beautiful Women), Coming of Age (Women in their 30s giving it all), two Celebrity Sex Tapes (Flavor of Love’s Toastee’s video was actually there!), and Shemales (Male on male on female on female on male? action!). As we gathered ourselves up from the titillating images we saw, we ended up buying Armpit Fetish 5 as a joke for our friend’s birthday. As we were about to exit this sanctuary, the cashier told us we should probably check out another store just miles away. She assured us that we

fetish porn, we chose a video of a woman singing in the street wearing a black dress, with her large bosom bouncing freely with every movement. At this point, the manager who was mopping told us that only one patron was allowed in a booth at a time. After gazing through vintage Playboys on the magazine aisle and deciding the earlier versions were much better, we left! TJ’s Show Girls

Seeing as it was our friend’s 21st birthday, it seemed like an easy decision to go to the sex shop first and get her a gift there. We wanted to warm our eyes up with sexually explicit content before entering any strip club. The first shop we went to was pretty quiet and had a few couples shopping for possibly a bondage night in their bedrooms. We were welcomed by a nice sales associate asking us what we were looking for. She showed us the different costumes for Halloween, assuring us that sluttier ones would be in stock in a few weeks. We then walked through the aisle of toy penises and vaginas. We were so caught off guard by the ridiculous sizes the store offered that the only thing for us to do was laugh. Some of the toys even had “Try me” holes to feel whether the texture was real enough. We realized we probably shouldn’t have inserted our fingers into those holes, but it was too late.

Is there really any better place to lose your innocence than a strip club? We quickly discovered that anybody under 21 cannot enter topless bars, and the only places that didn’t have bars were fully nude clubs. It was literally a “Go Hard or Go Home” situation. After having had a fun time walking around sex shops and laughing at the oddities we found, we were excited for this experience. It was going to be like a joke that we could all laugh at in the future. Well, it turns out we were completely wrong. First off, the entry price was $10, and there was a one soft drink minimum that tacked on another six dollars. We weren’t exactly thrilled with our experiment with that start, but we decided to go ahead and see what it was all about. We found that it just wasn’t our scene. When we walked in, we immediately saw the stage, and it was almost overwhelming; we averted our gaze for the first 15 minutes until we realized that we actually had to know what we came in there for. Once we got over feeling uncomfortable, our mood immediately dropped; we didn’t think strip clubs could be that depressing until we saw

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

who wouldn’t mind sharing an intimate moment with them without payment. We eventually walked out with our moods considerably dampened, wondering how anyone could find entertainment in such a seemingly abject environment. Club TigerHeat After viewing enough vaginas for a lifetime at the strip club, I can assure myself that I am not missing out on anything. We felt absolutely awful for having any part in degrading women, so we decided to look for male strip clubs around the area to even out the exploitation playing field. We figured the night needed a different direction, perhaps a northern direction. We headed to LA, since male strip clubs seemed to be easier to find there. We expected to find a Magic Mike-esque club to make our dolla dolla bills rain, yo. To our surprise and annoyance, we did not find any male strip clubs that allowed attendees under 21 years of age, though. Apparently you only have to be 18 to see a Brazilian waxed vagina, but you must be 21 to see a fully grown penis! We were persistent though. We didn’t want the night to be spoiled because of this silly rule. We were on a search for some quality male meat. We tried sneaking in some clubs hoping the bouncer would let us in. Unfortunately, persistence doesn’t go that far nowadays. We didn’t find any club that would allow the two underage jailbaits accompanying me. Seeing as we were dressed well enough, we decided to go to a club in Hollywood where they had male dancers for us to exploit. Of course, the vibe was certainly not the same as at the gentleman’s strip club. The club had plentiful drunk people doing the usual grind with each other. However, the main attraction was the center stage filled with muscular guys dancing to Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” and showing off their nicely ripped pecs. Most of them wore the tightest and smallest underwear we have ever seen. One dancer slowly took off his underwear, only to reveal another tighter fishnet pair underneath. I’m sure if we would have brought our glasses to the club, we would have been able to enjoy a high definition view of his crotch. Not every dancer showed his junk, though. Most of them simply teased the crowd, and when someone put a dollar bill in their red underwear, they pretty much stopped. Just like the girls, these men could definitely twerk a routine. They were doing splits and ass shaking that nearly sent some girls into a deep coma. To our surprise, girls

and guys were freely grabbing the dancers’ hard crotches and asses. It was like when we go to Korean barbecue, and each of our friends grabs the cooked meat on the center table. One guy even bit the ass cheeks of one of the dancers. From our observations, the guys were loving the attention they were getting. Unlike the women in the strip club, they had the biggest smiles on their faces. Though that could simply be a part of their act, they seemed proud and happy to be there. The male dancers definitely gave off a different and more upbeat mood. Although they were almost naked and being treated like a piece of meat during a Thanksgiving dinner, it was not as a depressing vibe. After some hours, we were beat, and though I am not a religious person, he felt like calling a higher power by the end of the night. — So our foray into adult entertainment was not exactly what we predicted it to be. Certainly, we were pretty excited to have our own Magic Mike experience, but we guess that will have to wait a few months. Overall, we learned that a lot of the “sexy” things we found weren’t really that sexy at all. We were able to laugh off the tension in the sex shops, but we really couldn’t shirk off the dismal atmosphere of the strip club. When we had finally seen the female dancers, we were pretty exhausted and ready to plop into bed. Although the club was clearly the funnest part of our night, we still remained a bit disappointed by the fact that the exclusive industry of adult entertainment didn’t really seem as special as it sounded, especially when you experience an onslaught of

haunting images in the time frame of one night. Sometimes, when Alyssa has nothing else to think about, a DVD cover of a penis poking through the bottom of a pizza box comes to haunt her. At night, when she lays awake staring at the ceiling of her apartment, she shudders to recall the image of a skinny, dark-haired woman in 10-inch heels crouching like a frog in front of a man and slapping her vagina. Although we were at least glad that we had knocked sex shops, adult video arcades, strip clubs, and clubs off of our bucket lists, we still yearn for the peace of mind we had before we ever picked up an erotic DVD or tipped a stripper. In some ways, we wish we could exchange all of those experiences for another opportunity to watch kids’ movies with all the wonder in the world. At the end of the night, our dollar bills weren’t the only thing gone. Though nudity and sex is not something new to us, we simply had never been exposed to this form of entertainment before. A night that we originally thought would be filled with laughter somewhat turned sour as the joke of going to strip clubs turned into reality. The figures that we once saw on movies now actually have emotions and faces to us. They aren’t jokes anymore; they are actual people with, of course, human emotions and aspirations. We wanted to challenge our comfort levels and as the challenge concluded, we faced the sad facts of reality: such a lifestyle exists. At the end, our naivety has aged a bit and we have gained a better appreciation of our life. We’re sure these people do this for a living by choice, but it seems, in some cases, they don’t have much choice.

Above: Recent research has shown that adult entertainment can also be enjoyed upside down on a printed page. Source: Union Weekly, 2013

bored women twerking for creeps that thought they were Li’l Wayne. In Alyssa’s mind, the fact that the guys were preying on the girls’ crotches like sharks preying on small fish was extremely degrading and animalistic. With every act, there was something new, because each dancer had her own favorite trick for when she was tipped. Most of the tricks involved taking off panties. One stripper opened her legs for a customer so that her vagina was two feet away from his face, and another spread her ass cheeks for a generous patron who modeled exactly the behavior we see in most rap videos: nodding heads, outstretched arms, snapping fingers, and bouncing leans. A skinny girl slapped her barely-there ass for patrons who seemed to be mesmerized by her stick figure. Don’t get me wrong, some girls had some really impressive tricks—one was able to climb up the pole to the nasty, deteriorating hole in the ceiling to swing upside down with only a thigh gripping the pole. The discomforting thing about this was that, while we were amazed by the strength these women had, the men around us didn’t seem to care about acrobatics. They wanted vaginas, breasts, and butts to wag in their faces. One of the better girls who was rained on (by singles) approached Alyssa and Molly to ask if they were interested in stripping as a profession. It seemed that she was eager to mentor some new recruits; perhaps she saw the girls as her ticket out of there. They told her our reason for coming (sophisticated journalism coupled with a “What the Hell?!” attitude), and we eventually got around to the topic of stripping itself. She replied that seeing so many vaginas is a lot at first, but it’s actually pretty easy once you get used to it. She explained that stripping was really easy, and that, now that she had been doing it for a few years, she was completely used to showing off her junk. Plus, it pays very well! Alyssa felt as if she had witnessed every caring father’s worst nightmare. She thought of what her own dad would feel if she or her sister ended up in this palace of broken dreams. The girls were very nice and accommodating, but the fact that most of them were close to our age really creeped us out. We started imagining all of the reasons why a perfectly nice girl would end up in a dump with a bunch of perverts, and that unfortunately made everything worse. Furthermore, we had to wonder exactly why and how a man could get so desperate as to pay a woman to take off her panties for him. We’re sure if they tried hard enough and were nice enough, I’m sure they could find some woman

FEATURE

MUSIC Union Weekly—30 September 2013

A Night in Las Vegas A sit-down with the guys from New Beat Fund Gabe Ferreira Art Director When Red Bull Records invited the Union Weekly to attend a music show in Las Vegas, two things immediately came to mind: one, we must be dealing with some big shot musicians, and two, the Red Bull representatives on campus really know which publication to reach out to (sorry Daily 49er and DIG Magazine; I have some press releases from the Copper Manufacturers Labor Union that I’d love to forward your way). I didn’t know the band’s name, the genre of music they played, or any details about the trip, but after realizing the worst Vegas trip is still more entertaining than my television screen or any bar on 2nd Street, I volunteered to join the Red Bull crew. A quick phone conversation the night before the trip settled my doubts: New Beat Fund, a Los Angeles-based pop punk band recently signed by Red Bull Records, was on tour with blink-182, and different college publications from the LA area were invited to attend the event. I couldn’t think of much as my mind began to slowly understand the awesomeness that awaited. I drove to Santa Monica early Thursday morning, where I met with the 20 something 20-somethings that were about to fill up the bus that would take us to party paradise. The drive to Vegas didn’t feel nearly as long as it actually was, and before I knew it, I was in a room at the Cosmopolitan, hanging out on the balcony and watching the Bellagio fountain show while discussing native Ethiopian music with an LMU student I had just met. The day got progressively better as the time to meet and interview New Beat Fund came closer. Nobody was exactly sure how the interview would proceed, and it definitely struck me as a surprise when a matte-black, double-decker Red Bull bus with bright red interior stopped in front of our hotel. We stepped in, grabbing drinks as we walked past the improvised kitchen that had been built inside, and socialized as the dopest vehicle I have ever been in drove around the Strip. Oh, and the band was in there too, casually talking to us all. My first conversation (it’s hard to call it an interview) was with Button, New Beat Fund’s guitarist: UW: So, I hear you’re pretty good at guitar! B: [laughs] UW: How long have you guys been playing together?

B: We got together as a band a couple years ago, but we’ve all played together for much longer than that. UW: Is this your first serious band? Were there any other acts you were part of before New Beat Fund? B: I have been playing in bands since I was 15, right after I left home. I started out in LA, playing all the Sunset Strip venues, and now I’m here. UW: That’s awesome. Were you a blink-182 fan? B: Oh, of course; I think we all were [laughs]. I used to listen to these guys all the time, and now we are here touring with them. It still feels unreal. UW: Did they influence your guitar playing in any way? Which guitarists inspired you? B: I think there are two things to look at when it comes to guitar playing: skill and style. Eddie van Halen mastered the skill part of it, and Jimi Hendrix took style and experimentation to their limits, meaning I don’t seek to pursue or mimic either. I do what’s best for the band. Actually, all of us do; it’s pointless to try to shine. It’s always, always, always about the appropriate playing for the song. A different student jumped in the conversation, at which point I decided to move around and talk to a different band member. I took a few steps toward the front of the bus, where the Fat Snapz Lalib, Burnie Baker, and Silky Johnson were talking to a few interviewers. I first talked to Fat Snapz, New Beat Fund’s bassist, who had just finished a sentence about how they didn’t change at all after hitting it relatively big. I threw myself in the conversation: UW: What about your music, did that change? FSL: Actually not really, which we are really happy about. [Fat Snapz looked at Silky and Burnie, NBF’s drummer and rhythm guitarist, as they nodded in agreement.] FSL: Yeah. Nothing’s changed. UW: Was that a major reason you chose to sign with Red Bull Records? I imagine there must have been quite a few labels interested in your music. FSL: Oh, definitely. They were extremely open to our vision and gave us the most creative freedom. As soon as we signed, we were sent to a house for one month. There

Illustration by Anna Pineda Contributor was a studio set up for us, no cell phone reception, and everything else we needed to record some new work. UW: That’s awesome, especially the “no cell reception” part. FSL: [laughs]. We liked that too. We really like to keep everything we do among the 4 of us. We recorded all of our music ourselves and all the art was designed by Burnie. Upon hearing “art” and “designed” in the same sentence, my interest in the already insightful conversation grew exponentially. I turned to Burnie: UW: Nice, so you did all the design? I liked your website, especially the “Hotbox a website” feature. B: [laughs] Yeah, all the materials you see were designed by ourselves. And the Hotbox feature was a “highdea” we had. We have a lot of those actually. We brought it up to Red Bull and they made it happen. UW: Do you have a background in art too? B: I went to CalArts and studied Graphic Design. I dropped out after my first year when New Beat Fund started picking up. UW: How did you get that level of exposure? How did you guys get where you are now? B: We used to play a lot of college and house parties. A few music people approached us then, but it wasn’t until we stopped caring about what they had to say that our music took off. [...] At one point we said, “You know, let’s just do whatever we think sounds good,” and ironically, that really brought us more attention. We continued talk for a little while before the bus made its final stop. Thirty minutes later, we were at the Cosmopolitan’s Boulevard Pool, the venue where the concert would take place. Although not part of the plan, three of us followed the band as they made their way through the dense crowd that was beginning to form (mostly

blink-182 fanatics suffering from chronic nostalgia), telling security we were “Media” at every checkpoint. We eventually made it backstage, and the grandeur of what we had just accomplished (and of what would soon follow) took a while to sink in. NBF played a good 30 minute set, 20 feet in front of us, for a 5,000-person audience, a feat they later described as “possibly their biggest show.” New Beat Fund’s music deserves everyone’s attention. It’s a good mix of punk, pop and hip-hop; a more contemporary, stoner version of blink-182. Their mascot, a ghost (also present in their “Scare Me” music video), wanders the crowd and interacts with fans as NBF plays each of their songs, something I found not only extremely entertaining but made me wish I could go back in time, attend a Sublime concert, and say what’s up to Lou Dog as it walked around those at the show (why don’t more bands have mascots?). New Beat Fund’s taste in music didn’t disappoint, either: they played a cover of “Caress Me Down,” a song by the very subjects of my time-travel thoughts. When the show was over, I mentioned to Fat Snapz Lalib that Union readers would probably love to know that they covered a Sublime song in their set (as we are a Long Beach publication). “Not everybody knows who were are yet, so we always throw in a classic jam here and there. It helps us connect with the audience more,” he explained. Blink-182 went on stage shortly after NBF finished their last song. Despite our prime location (we were still backstage), their set was overshadowed by thoughts of the promising night I had ahead, good conversations with New Beat Fund, and my regret for not being at the core of at least one of the many mosh pits happening during the show. You can check out New Beat Fund’s music at www.NewBeatFund.com.

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

MUSIC

Your Weekly Dose of Album Reviews! Dr. Dog: B-Room Cody Eagle Contributor Folks are often uninitiated and unaware of the world of Dr. Dog, but those of us who have had the pleasure of entering their world are grateful. Dr. Dog will satisfy those who enjoy The Beatles by taking over right where Paul, George, John, and Ringo left off. Despite the boho 2012 album, Be the

Elvis Costello and The Roots: Wise Up Ghost Roque Renteria Entertainment Editor I’m a long-time fan of Elvis Costello. I’ve also been a long time fan of The Roots. So when I read that they were collaborating, I was pleased. Wise Up Ghosts is their effort, and I must say that it’s pretty good. Costello’s vocals sound as youthful and energetic as they did in This Year’s Model.

Void, Dr. Dog has a nearly spotless D-to-P ratio of hits over misses. Even in the case of their lesser albums there is always at least one guaranteed catchy song. So in that sense, the new album B-Room is overly satisfactory. Songs like, “The Truth”, “Love” and “Nellie” all have that quintessential vibe that make you listen over and over again until you just can’t anymore. It’s like chronic masturbation for your ears! Then there are the songs that are great because they don’t sound like Dr. Dog at all. Most notably, “Twilight” sounds more like an angel taking a smoke break on a cloud and “Long Way Down” feels like an

endless plunge to hell disrupted only by distorted saxophones. The main flaw of this album is that it isn’t really the music of Dr. Dog, it’s two solo projects sewn together. There’s the signature Scott McMicken pop side and the Toby Leaman country sound weaved together. The result is an album that isn’t as cohesive as We All Belong or Easy Beat. It’s an album full of songs that stand well on their own, but not an album with a central idea, and that’s where it falters.

However, he exercises his vocal range and ability on Wise Up Ghosts the same way he did in My Aim Is True. You get that new wave, proto-punk, Dylan-esqe sound fans know and love. Check out the song “Tripwire” to understand what I’m saying. I mean, that’s not bad for a dude who’s pushing 60. As for The Roots, you get the cool fusion of jazz, hip-hop and R&B. The guys haven’t lost their touch since they’ve been on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. The horn section is what stood out most to me. The drums are good, and the bass is funky, but goddamnit I love those horns. Surprisingly, the backing band complimented Costello’s vocal skills. I couldn’t fathom how these two things

would work together but it just works. And it feels natural; it doesn’t feel forced. Unlike last years collaborative effort between Lou Reed and Metallica. Man, Lulu was a piece of shit. Notable song to check out are: “Wise Up Ghosts”, “Wake Me Up”, “Tripwire” and “Cinco Minutos Con Vos”. Most of the songs on this album are stellar, and the album as a whole works well. But, if this review doesn’t persuade you, then at least buy “Tripwire”. This song should be released as a single. It was by far my favorite song. I’ve heard it five times as of yesterday. Overall, this album is great. I give it a nine out of ten, a ninety, or four out of five; whichever rating system you prefer.

showmanship. Knowing that the time I saw them before wasn’t just a one-off fluke of a great performance was very satisfying to me. But, the band that stood out most was The Two Tone Boners. Frankly, it is really easy to be a mediocre ska band, all you need is an ear for pop and a guitarist who can do upstrokes but exceptionally difficult to be a good one. In this case, The Two Tone Boners proved their talent, by providing an amazing horn section that soloed and did more than play the major notes of whatever chord the song was in (like a lot of ska bands, particularly since the collapse of its

heyday, insist on doing). While their set list did consist of a lot of covers, they were all well done. A short political moment in the middle of the show showed me the band has something other than Reel Big Fish in their head when choosing their set list. The political moment lead into a cover of “Intifada” by Ska P, one of my favorite and often overlooked ska punk songs by an amazing Spanish ska group. Overall, the first show from UMS with school sanction shows that this club has legs to go further and that they really can and will bring great music to the campus audience.

And a Concert Review The Underground Music Society rocked The Nugget Michael Wood Music Editor For those of you who have been following the escapades of our very own Underground Music Society, last Thursday was their big night—their first officially school sanctioned show on this campus. Taking place at The Nugget, they brought on four bands and for three hours, turned the place into a real venue that the students could finally enjoy for more than overpriced beer and food. With a line up of student bands, that had me marvelling at the diversity of sounds they presented, I was eagerly anticipating the show. Only knowing one of the bands on the line up added to the excitement of

the evening for me. Animalia and The Moderates presented very energetic and well put together songs that kept me tapping my foot the whole time but these bands in particular, while definitely talented and good at what they do, didn’t necessarily stand out to me. Struckout was the one band that I’ve seen before and as always, they put on a fantastic show. Their post-hardcore sound is more akin to a dingy bar in the rainy Pacific Northwest than it is to a sunny college campus in the southland but as always, they seemed to make it work, even when it required just sheer

ENTERTAINMENT

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

The Mack Attack A critique of Christy Mack’s acting “skills” Roque Renteria Entertainment Editor I have seen a lot of porn over the years and in my opinion, porn is the same everywhere. Pornos have the same plots and the same characters, and they are shot over the same period of time. My Wife’s Hot Friend is no exception. The film begins with some guy (played by Michael Vegas) scrubbing his corridor tile. He has shitty sideburns. That’s not pivotal to the plot, but I had to point it out. Really, watch the movie and you will be distracted by his facial hair. I blame the hair and makeup department. And if the movie didn’t have one, then I blame Vegas. He should’ve known better. Anyway, he hears a knock on his door and it’s his wife’s hot friend. Christy Mack is the eponymous lady. She tells the husband that she has to come in to pick up her friend’s dry-cleaning. Mack is heavily tattooed and has a weird haircut. If any of you have seen the movie Red Sonja, then you know what I’m talking about. Apparently, the husband won’t let Mack in because she messes up the place whenever she comes in. He turns

the doorknob about five times before eventually letting her in. I don’t know what the fuck that was about; it was pretty stupid. Once she is inside, he pleads with her to leave. He explains that he spent the entire afternoon cleaning. Mack is unsympathetic. She spits on his recently polished coffee table. Vegas starts whining and gets upset. He tells Mack, “Please go and ruin someone else’s home furnishings.” Mack does not obey. Instead, she takes his hand and makes him grab her breasts. I don’t understand that logic. Given the turn of events, Vegas and Mack begin engaging in sexual intercourse. They begin on the couch. The set design is basic, nothing fancy. Mack is generous and performs oral sex. In this scene, a mid-shot is used to capture the set and the actors. It’s a pretty decent shot. I give the director credit. However, despite the technical quality, I was disappointed by the lack of consistency in storyline. Vegas had established that his character did not want any germs. Then

why did he accept the oral offer? Doesn’t he know that oral sex may lead to a myriad of STIs? One misconception is that oral sex is safe. It may not result in pregnancy, but there can be a lot of consequences if proper prophylactics aren’t equipped when engaging in the sexual activity. For yer health. Vegas may not be the smartest guy around, but you cannot criticize his character. After he receives oral sex, he returns the favor. But not only does he return the favor, he gives Mack an additional bonus. He performs cunnilingus, along with anilingus. Again, not the wisest choice in terms of health, but the man is a good host. He is hospitable. During these scenes, the director starts to use more close-ups. His proclivity for close-ups is similar to that of Bergman’s style. The director is familiar with the Swedish school of cinema. Eventually, after all the foreplay is done, the two finally go at it with normal, Godfearing sex. After they have positioned themselves in ways considered illegal

in the state of Alabama, the penetration begins. Vegas puts forth a good effort, and Mack’s passivity is not so much passive, more like helpfully inert. I don’t know if that makes any sense. I really don’t care. It makes sense to me. Standard shots are employed here. You know, the high angle shot. Unlike the sex, the technical aspects are safe. Nothing new here. Nothing stands out. Finally, when Vegas finishes and empties his load on Mack’s face, he has a revelation. He realizes that he should be more courteous and respectful of people who wish to dirty his house. Not exactly a Joycean epiphany, but it’s character development nonetheless. And the climax is, well, a climax. The climax is literally a climax. I love it when porn is ironic. Overall, My Wife’s Hot Friend ain’t nothing special. It’s the same old song. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, I just want the most bang for my buck. I mean, the flick should get you hard. And that’s what counts, right?

Possible Porno Pitches

Odds are if there’s a movie in theaters, there’s a porno parody for it. All the superhero movies have them (our favorite being The Incredible Hulk XXX: A Porno Parody). Like Hollywood, the porn industry is short on original ideas. Therefore, being the creative geniuses that we are, we have decided to pitch our porno pictures. They may not be the best out there, they can’t be any worse than watching Joseph GordonLevitt masturbate to pictures of himself in 3rd Rock from the Sun for two hours. That show sucked.

The Will Ferrell Project

ShipShrek’d: A Porno Parody

Will Ferrell is pretty funny. That is why I would pay top dollar to watch him have sex. Imagine all of his famous SNL characters taking someone from behind. Picture the Butabi brothers innovating hot moves on the dance floor set the Haddaway’s “What is Love?” while pumping a girl, or guy, full of semen. It’s what people want. The facial expressions would be priceless. If one person can keep a straight face while 69ing, it’s Will Ferrell. If you don’t want to see this happen I wouldn’t blame you. All I can say is that the one-liner Will Ferrell will undoubtedly say after he shoots a load on a girl’s face will be worth more than all the gold in the world.

What if we combined the two most popular movies among people of the early 2000s? Combining the fans of Shrek and Pirates of the Caribbean will ensure profit a billion times over. I was thinking we could hire a John C Riley look-alike to play Shrek. Donkey can be played by a real donkey, but we’ll overdub the neighs with the soft voice of Tracy Morgan. He’s not doing anything since 30 Rock and I’m sure he’d be okay with it as long as we let him take his shirt off. Shrek’s a pirate looking to have sex with Lord Farqueef, a maiden that turns into a gingerbread boat every night until the day that someone returns her “Black Pearls.” We’ll change the color of the semen to green to match Shrek’s skin as a fun thing for the kids.

The next BIG thing since big wangs Lou Skant & Marco Beltran Union Staffer & Managing Editor

Words by Alia Sabino Culture Editor

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

CULTURE

Navigating Nocturnal Lessons Learned from my First Rave “It’s reminiscent of Woodstock” is how my friend described it to me. Being a hippie at heart, I was looking forward to see what the fuss was all about. For those of you that are completely unaware of what I’m referring to, Nocturnal Wonderland is an outdoor electronic music festival hosted at the San Manuel Amphitheater and Grounds up in San Bernardino, usually in September. Despite my not being much of a fan of EDM (I went for the sheer experience of it),

1. Be in good company Not knowing what to expect from a rave, I made sure that my first time wouldn’t just be with people who I knew I’d have a blast with, but also people who I knew I can trust with my life. The last thing you want is to be around those who will drop you at the first sign of trouble. 2. Wear closed toed shoes Uhmmm...noob alert much? This may seem like common sense, but at times common sense escapes even the best of us. I mean, seriously. Out of the bazillion people there, I think I saw only one other person wearing sandals. The whole “but they don’t match my outfit” dilemma did not nearly compare to the “oh well look at that, I just stepped on vomit” dilemma. But hey at least I didn’t step on any syringes, right? 3. Have a meeting place If my friends and I had established this from the beginning, we would have saved ourselves from the trouble and stress from worrying about each other’s whereabouts. The reception at Nocturnal was absolutely horrendous (by that I mean nonexistent), which resulted in at least one person being lost from the group at all times. One of our friends did a rideshare to get to the venue from Long Beach, and we didn’t actually see him ‘til AFTER the event. So most of the time we were worried about whether he even made it to Nocturnal, or worst, was beheaded or taken hostage. 4. Be safe and sound Let’s not pretend. We know what goes down at raves. If you choose to partake in some sort of ingested substance or, as they like to say, “find Molly,” at least be smart about it. Know where you’re getting your stuff from. Pace yourself and don’t overdo it. Know your limitations. Also, keep hydrated. All that dancing and all that used up energy is bound to take a toll.

5. Indulge in PLUR PLUR stands for peace, love, unity and respect, and is one of the defining aspects of rave culture. This is the atmosphere that everyone is expected to participate in. Other than embodying these things, you can also tangibly share the concept of PLUR with the people you meet in the form of exchanging beaded bracelets you see everyone wearing at raves (otherwise known as Kandi). I ended up giving two of mine to a guy I met by the entrance of the first aid center, as I was waiting on a friend who was getting a breathing treatment due to an asthma attack. The guy was waiting for his fiancee as she was being stuck with her fourth IV due to alcohol poisoning. Yeah, it was a pretty intense night. But heck, it was a really sincere conversation.

event was going to be. There were four stages interspersed around the area with DJs had a giant owl for God’s sake. It honestly felt like some sort of parallel universe utopia. But what really made for the experience was the collective pulse that permeated me feel liberated in a way that I cannot fully explain. Now that I am no longer a rave virgin, I took it upon myself to share with you some lessons that I have learned to make for one of the best times of your life.

does it sound spend the night

6. Let yourself go The purpose of this event is to provide you with a place to let go of all your inhibitions. It’s a night where reality doesn’t matter. It’s a serotonin-induced dreamland where you can let go of everything holding you back while headbanging to the beat drops of the best DJs in the world. We’ll never be as young as we are in this very moment, so let go and make the most of it. 7. And lastly…fall in love Allow yourself to fall in love with everything around you. Fall in love with the atmosphere, with the night, with the air you breathe, with the scintillating lights. Fall in love with the handsome stranger standing next to you. Fall in love with the sound and how it reverberates in your body with every drop of the bass. Let these emotions overwhelm you and take you to places you never knew existed. Again, looking back, my experience at Nocturnal was nothing short of magical. I still may not be the biggest fan of EDM, but I’m not gonna lie, I can’t help the smile on my face when I hear those familiar beats.

I could stay forever this

LITERATURE

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

Judging Erotica by Its Cover

Roque Renteria Marco Beltran Entertainment Editor Feature Editor

Highlander Most Wanted

This is Who I Am

The Zodiac Killer

Satan Was a Lesbian

Tyra Banks’ sister pens this unauthorized sequel to the Highlander Series. Sean Connery traveled back in time using a time machine he bought at a sexy garage sale at David Bowie’s house to travel to 1988. There he falls in love with Juliette Lewis when she was worth falling in love with and didn’t look like someone punched her in the “vagine.” He also uses his future knowledge to write the script to Casablanca 2: Rick’s Revenge starring Lou Diamond Phillips and a little known actress named Juliette Lewis. How do you like that plot twist?

The paper the cover was printed on was really really good. The size of the lettering was very easy to read and there weren’t too many colors that hurt my eyes when I read them. I think when I have kids, I’ll name one of them Cherise. In my opinion, it’s a really good and underrated name. The best part about this book is that there is a whip on the cover. This book cover changed my life for the better. I can now go in front of my class and not be nervous about people talking about the small penis that comes out of my armpit.

A madman named Zodiac finds out that the only way he can get off is by looking at a girl through a sniper rifle. He also needs to dress up like a monkey dressed up like James Bond in From Russia with Love. For 15 years he stared at his neighbor until she got curtains, thus he was forced to tape pictures of his mom to the scope. One afternoon, he accidentally fired the rifle. The bullet bounces off a picture of a “vagine” Zodiac stole from his Science class in college and accidentally kills an important political figure visiting the state of Texas. This book takes place in the past. Featuring Mike El Would as Lee Harvey Oswald and Margaret Cho as Jackie O.

Sean Connery, using the same wig he used during the Bond series, is a former priest turned martial artist for the devil. After having too many drinks at the after party for the movie “Love, Actually,” he accidentally judo chopped a possessed Rosie the Riveter, his estranged sister, who is romantically involved with Vishnu. They have a bunch of adventures where they all have sex while the devil watches. For example, Sean Connery shoots some guys and then has sex with 25 girls for over 25 minutes. He also thinks about putting his “penus” into the bullet holes. The devil becomes a born again Christian after a short stint as a lesbian, which makes him feel really bad about watching them have sex.

Jasmine Musk Jennifer Cierra Contributor The scent of jasmine drapes the night, suffocating. I stare out at the city, watching the torchlight flicker in the distance. The air is still. A storm is coming. Behind me, Amicus shifts in bed, a blanket falling to the floor. The four-poster has always made me feel self-conscious; the coverlet was hand-sewn by my godmother, a fairy-like woman who died when I was six, and the drapes hanging from the posts were imported all the way from Noria. A bed for a king, Ami laughed when he first saw it. He was only half-wrong. “Sohndi?” Amicus’ voice is rough, tired. Turning, I take in the silver moonlight washing over the intricate tattoos on his left cheek, the sapphire next to his eye glowing like a star. “What are you doing?” He is disheveled and disorganized and the man my sister has been warning me against since she realized I was more interested in my suitors’ guards than the

suitors themselves. He is the man I must not allow myself to love. My arm moves without permission, reaching toward him. Ami smiles, coming to join me, and I pull him close, pressing our lips together with a desperation that surprises even me. As I submerge myself in the oh-so-familiar taste of his mouth, searching out the hints of cider that never seem to dissipate, my breath hitches; it takes me a moment to realize I’m crying. I push Amicus backward, onto the ludicrously large bed with its ridiculous coverlet. Ami peers up at me in the dark, his callused hands running over my torso. “Are you okay?” he asks, a hand grasping mine. I squeeze it, wishing I didn’t have to answer. Wishing I didn’t remember Lady Tandalee’s jasmine perfume suffocating me as she whispered that my responsibility to choose a Mistress of the Flames did not decrease because I ignored it. She whispered that she knew who shared my bed, and if I wasn’t careful, the rest of Khazdar would know it as well. Summoning a smile from somewhere too deep down to be hurt by the storm soon to come, I press my lips to Ami’s again; Ami’s searching hands turn possessive, and I yield to them, smothering my panic under a smokescreen of lust. If I lose everything tomorrow, at least I can remember this. Jennifer Cierra is a published author of gay fiction and erotica; to view more of her work, visit www.jennifercierra.com.

Union Weekly—30 September 2013

FOOD

A Good Day to Fry Hard Are you “satis-fried” with Burger King’s new menu item? Shereen Lisa Dudar Opinions Editor

Photo by Sam Winchester Assistant Editor

I don’t usually eat at Burger King, but when I found out they had lower fat, lower-calorie crinkle-cut fries, I was sold. I know that I’m not alone when I say that I’ve been dreaming of a fry coated in batter that absorbs less oil. That’s pretty much what I look for when I’m eating fries—fewer calories. The fries are 40 percent less fat and 30 percent fewer calories than Burger King’s original fries bringing the calorie count down from 340 to 270. However,

to predict my level of satisfaction with your fries. Acting all high and mighty just because you’re the King of Burgers! In all seriousness, though, the fries were not bad. They were thicker, so there was more room for that soft, mushy inside surrounded by that crispy crinkle, unlike the usual wimpy, straight fry. They also tasted like potatoes, not a crusty, old, over-salted remnant from a deep fryer. Although they were pretty good, I did not feel like I was eating healthier.

those 70 calories don’t make a difference once ketchup is involved. And once I pair them with that triple bacon, triple patty, 630-calorie Triple Stacker, who even remembers that 70 calories I salvaged? Burger King put some serious thought into naming their newly debuted item Satisfries, which means I have to embarrass myself further for wanting to eat healthy at a fast food chain. I may be going out on a limb here, but the name is pretentious. You don’t know me enough

The Allergen Diaries #3 Life with gluten sensitivity Alfred Pallarca Assistant Editor Sept. 15th, 2013 Dear Gluten Diary,

Fat and calories are a concern for me when it comes to my fries, but not as much as salt is—and Burger King wasted no time sprinkling these babies in what seemed like the usual amount of salt. I wouldn’t rush to Burger King for these semi-satisfying Satisfries, but if you’re already there, they are the better choice, considering they taste better and are a tiny bit healthier for you. I think I’ll just go back to not eating at Burger King until they bring back curly fries.

Volume 73 Issue 6

Monday, September 30, 2013

LBUNION.COM

DISCLAIMER: Hey, God Warrior Here. Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me; I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb in the shape of an “L” on her forehead. Well, the years start coming and they don’t stop coming. Send my snail mail to 1212 Bellflower Blvd Suite 239, Long Beach, CA 90815. These boots and this page is satire and I do not represent ASI nor the CSULB campus, ya’ turkeys. In Jesus’ name, I pray you submit articles via email to grunion@lbunion.com.

Havin’ some Lunchy America Still Broken Pretty Bad with Lynchy Dear Long Beach Friends, It’s me here, your friend David Lynch. I’d like to share with you my latest filmic project, and if you like it, support me by investing on my Kickstarter page. The by David film is called Pleasure Lynch Place. Picture this: Zola Jesus enters a gas station bathroom. She places her king-size coffee cup on the counter and looks in the mirror. There are cuts all over her porcelain face. She walks into one of the stalls. There she is, Zola Jesus, alone in a gas station bathroom stall, and this bathroom is playing nothing but a loop of Swan Lake. She looks up at the sky (there is no ceiling, just a baby blue sky); it starts to rain cold ketchup. Now, I hope I didn’t lose you there—hold onto your hats, folks. As Zola walks out of the bathroom stall, she looks down at the checkered-tile floor and finds none other than a miniaturesized Kyle Maclachlan in a blue velvet suit, dancing like there’s no tomorrow. In one of his precious hands is a multi-faceted Faberge egg, and in the other, a classic cigarette. “How was the trip?” he smiles. “Where am I?!” she screams. She sees that indigo strobe lights are blazing bright in her face. Kyle inches closer, closer, closer, until he is mere centimeters from her lips. He whispers, “PLEASURE PLACE,” enunciating each

syllable. At this moment, a whirlwind of events occurs. White picket fences close in around Ms. Jesus, entrapping her with little Kyle. He crouches into a comfortable sitting position and attempts to immerse himself in transcendental meditation. But the sky, the sky, the sky is like a dark blanket with cosmic clouds, swirling around like a tornado, and Zola is the eye of the storm. A large crack opens up in the sky, and an overweight man with no arms and no legs falls through this crack, falling, falling, falling, and lands on Zola. The torso looks up at her, she is now bruised black and blue from head to toe. He shouts, “You are the key, and the key, you are!” And that wraps up what I have so far. What do you think, friends? I need your help to finish the story! Please listen to my albums for inspiration, write to me on the Twitter, and drink a cup of David Lynch brand coffee. There are ideas in every bag. (www.kickstarter.com/lynch)

Breaking Bad has become a pivotal point in the American cultural consciousness. Its characters are ingrained so deeply into our minds that they seem to be part of our family. If it has by Greg taught us anything, Horbles it’s that America is still in love with the gangster mythology. But now that it’s over and a vast emptiness fills the souls of the American people, its reach vast, gripping tightly around the soul of the modern man. What is left for humanity to do when faced with the insurmountable emotion felt when losing someone or something so near and dear? We, the members of the editorial staff

of the Grunion Weekly, are not devoid emotion. We are also in shambles from the loss. It’s a great show, and quite possibly the greatest show every conceived by a person with a stupid accent (I’m talking about Vince Gilligan here. Anyone ever heard that guy say things? He sounds like a goofball). And Bryan Cranston, ugh! Why was it so late in his acting career that we were able to discover his amazing ability to emote? We spent twelve years staring at him in his underwear, only to see him in his underwear and with cancer for it to click that this man is something special. We’ve decided, as America is starting to figure out, that once it’s gone there’s nothing. We must band together to figure out a way to conceptualize the essence of what it is to be “Broken Bad.” As such, we’ve come up with a bunch of drawings to show those execs up on Money Mountain how we feel.

INSIDE

VALID OPINION: MACKLEMORE PUSHES BOUNDARIES OF WHAT IT MEANS TO BE “GAY/WOMAN/ASSHOLE”

AREA BULLY STAYS TRUE TO PROMISE TO REARRANGE STUPID NERD’S FACE

WORLD CRISIS: OBAMA CONFUSES VLADEMIR PUTIN AND CANADIAN DISH POUTINE