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[Issue 60.11] It’s going to be a long five weeks Letter from the Editor


here are five weeks left in this semester. For the graduating seniors, this means that there are only five weeks left in their college careers. I fall into this category, and for some reason, these are the five most frightening weeks of school I think I’ll ever have to face. Why? Well, as the old joke goes, I could be coming down with a case of Senioritis, and have somehow subconsciously allowed myself to become weak and shirk my scholarly duties. But, as every graduating senior, and every student just trying to get passing grades knows, there is so much more to it. We’ve been here for four (or in my case, five) years, and the last thing we want to do on our way out of the university is come face to face with another term paper. After ten semesters, one hundred and twenty units, and a term paper for every single one of those units, one more assignment just seems cruel. Shouldn’t it count for something that we’ve made it this far? Shouldn’t we be allowed to just say, “No thanks, I don’t feel this assignment can possibly help me grow as a student,” and just leave it at that? Then there are the supposed support systems: our parents and friends. How do they know exactly how

to make you worry about your future? How does your mom know how to take a relatively typical conversation about graduation parties and turn it into a terrifying glimpse into a future where no employer could possibly want to give you a job? And how the hell are your friends supposed to help when they’re in the exact same position – the blind leading the blind. We’re stressed, and there really isn’t anything we can do about it but try to find relief. This week, I found myself eating chicken burritos, guzzling dark ales, and chewing on chocolate-covered espresso beans to take my mind off my mounting responsibilities. Sometimes these things help, and sometimes all they do is add to the general level of discomfort and frustration. That’s what’s so difficult about dealing with stress: you never know what it’s going to take to overcome it. So I ask you, the fantastic students of Long Beach State: how the hell do you deal with stress? What is your secret, CSULB? Email me, or comment on our site (, because, for the love of God, if we don’t find the answer, it’s going to be a long five weeks.

–Brian Dunning

By Katie Wynne

Aries (Mar. 21 - April 20)

Apples and oranges aren’t that different. They both grow on trees. Now, money and oranges, that’s a horse of a different color. Be different this week: eat nachos without cheese.

Taurus (Apr. 21 - May 21)

Witches are still a major threat in this country. While many people mask their power and belittle the risk that they pose to our safety, it is up to you to take a stand. Take this golden amulet and find Dr. Frug. He will guide you from here on out. Be different this week: see if your friend floats in water.

Gemini (May 22 - June 21)

Now the world don’t move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some. A man is born, he’s a man of means. Then along come two, they got nothin’ but their jeans. But they got diff ’rent strokes. It takes diff ’rent strokes. It takes diff ’rent strokes to move the world. Be different this week: feed some ducks in a park.

Cancer (June 22 - July 22)

Have you ever taken a close look at your friends? How they’re laugh provoking, yet they really don’t know they’re joking. Don’t you find, when love is blind, it’s kind of odd. Be different this week: laugh at something you normally wouldn’t.

Leo (July 23 - Aug 22)

Judge Reinhold was walking down the bread aisle of the market the other day. If that is not a sign of good luck in the future then I don’t know what is. Be different this week: go with rye instead of sourdough.

Virgo (Aug. 23 - Sept. 23)

This week you will spot an old friend at a random place in town. After you catch up with one another

Moon Editor

for a few minutes you will realize that the friend you thought this person was, moved to Ireland years ago. Be different this week: buy a stranger a cup of coffee.

Libra (Sept. 24 - Oct. 23)

This week you will develop a keen interest in terra cotta pots. Particularly their function as mailboxes for your lawn gnomes, and deluxe bird-bath day spas. Be different this week: rent Ghost and watch it with a gal pal.

Scorpio (Oct. 24 - Nov. 22)

“It you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between a dog and a man.” Mark Twain said that, and I think he’s right. Be different this week: don’t bite.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23 - Dec. 21)

This week will be filled with the words “France,” “throttle,” and “tinker.” Be different this week: choose to sit this one out.

Capricorn (Dec 22. - Jan. 20)

70% of the earth is covered in water and 60% of the human body is water. Knowing that so much relies on water, how can you still think that Alex Mack was a fraud? Be different this week: go for a swim.

Aquarius (Jan. 21 - Feb. 19)

If you have a wooden leg and they throw you in a lake to prove you’re a witch, is your leg the witch? Would a prosthetist be a witch doctor? Be different this week: look into titanium.

Pisces (Feb. 20 - Mar. 20)

Try not to let life stress you out so much. I recommend reading How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie. Be different this week: breathe in, breathe out.

Brian J. Dunning Editor-in-Chief Jeffrey Gould Mike Guardabascio Managing Editors Katie Wynne Associate Editor / PR Director Ryan Kobane Business Manager Ryan Kobane News Director Erin Hickey Opinions Editor JJ Fiddler Sports Editor Matt Byrd Comics Editor Philip Vargas Creative Arts Editor Fancy Lash Grunion Editor

Katie Wynne Intune Director Mike Guardabascio Literature Editor Michael Pallotta Entertainment Editor Matt Dupree Music Editor Sean Boulger Calendar Editor Philip Vargas Illustration Editor Mike Guardabascio Katie Wynne Dan Steinbacher Copy Editors Brian Dunning Ryan Kobane Advertising Representatives Brian Dunning Jeff Gould Graphic Design

Shar Higa On-Campus Distribution Drew Evans Off-Campus Distribution Michaël Veremans Foreign Correspondent Miles Lemaire, Dominic McDonald, Chris Barrett, Vincent Girimonte, Jen Perry, Dylan Little, Ryan ZumMallen, Katy Thomas, Katie Reinman, Kathy Miranda, Andrew Wilson, Victor! Perfecto, Jesse Blake, Christine Hodinh, Pete Olsen, James Kislingbury, Derek Crossley, Darren Davis, Jimmy Dinh, Drew Evans, Steven Carey, David Faulk, Christopher Troutman, Cynthia Romanowski, Patricia Alonzo, Alan Passman, Jennifer Schwartz, Anna Mavromati, Jason Oppliger, Marcus Bockman, Alan Passman, Michael Carpenter, Sara Tena, Erin Shaw


Disclaimer and Publication Information

The Union Weekly is published using ad money and partial funding provided by the Associated Students, Inc. All Editorials are the opinions of the writer, and are not necessarily the opinions of the Union Weekly, the ASI, or of CSULB. All students are welcome and encouraged to be a part of the Union Weekly staff. All letters to the editor will be considered for publication. However, CSULB students will have precedence. All outside submissions are due by Thursday, 5 PM to be considered for publishing the following week and become property of the Union Weekly. Please include name, major, class standing, and phone number for all submissions. They are subject to editing and will not be returned. Letters will be edited for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and length. The Union Weekly will publish anonymous letters, articles, editorials and illustrations, but they must have your name and information attached for our records. Letters to the editor should be no longer than 500 words. 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.

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16 April 2007


Workers’ Rights Still a 49er Priority In a continued commitement to seeking better ways to achieve and support workers’ rights, 49er Shops make sure to express and clarify their role in the matter.

By Vincent Girimonte Union Staffer


est easy, politically charged collegiate, and know that your Beach gear was manufactured by fairly treated and paid employees, says Forty-Niner Shops, Inc., the on-campus company that runs multiple stores and restaurants at CSULB. In a statement issued last Wednesday, the company responsible for clothing Beach Pride, and our inspiring campus hub, The Nugget, “clarified” its “continuing commitment” to support improving working conditions.

The announcement was due in large part to the Campus Progressives Collective, and their push for Forty-Niner Shops to use the Designated Supplier Program (DSP), a rapidly growing “comprehensive program for university codes of conduct.” The Progressives at CSULB have been involved in the anti-sweatshop movement since 2001, where their efforts were rewarded with then President Robert Maxon joining forces with the Worker’s Right Consortium, a global labor rights watchdog organization also affiliated with the DSP. While Forty-Niner Shops acknowledges the efforts put fourth by the Progressives, it turned down their DSP initiative, stating that certain legal issues “must be appropriately resolved before the Shops will offer unqualified support for the DSP resolution.”

Currently, Forty-Niner Shops only purchase goods produced from Fair Labor Association (FLA) approved companies, and maintains a licensing agreement which “mandates that those companies…remain in good standing through the observance of the code of conduct required by that company,” according to general manager and CEO Don Penrod. Elisa Herrera, a Progressive here at CSULB, was one of the students who approached Penrod with the possibility of joining DSP, but said Penrod was forced to deny due “to a violation of anti-trust laws.” The University of California has endorsed the DSP, as well as many other universities nationwide. Penrod reassured those concerned about purchasing goods produced in an inhumane manner, and did not rule out the possibility of eventually joining the DSP to further promote workers’ rights. “We will continue to monitor activities on a national level to see how the DSP addresses the remaining issues that are of concern. In the meantime, we will continue to take actions through our associations with the Fair Labor Association, the Workers’ Rights Consortium and the License Resource Group to ensure that we effectively associate with manufacturers who embrace the principles espoused by those associations.”

Illustration By Andrew Wilson


CSULB B Boys Bring Home The Bacon

Calen d a r

After only four semesters on campus, the Breakers of CSULB bring home some cash and trophies for dancing like crazies.


Rhythmless News Director

Week of Apr. 16 Gender/Gender Identity Panel 3-4:30 p.m. USU room 224

Tues. LGBT Relationship Panel 12-1:30 p.m. USU Auditorium

Wed. Day of Silence 10:30-2:30 p.m. Information and Resources @ Commencement Lawn Diversity Week Related Films 1:30-5:45 p.m. @ Multicultural Center

Thur. LGBT Immigration Panel 1:00-2:30 p.m. @ USU Ballroom B

By Ryan Kobane I’m willing to bet that I can’t even do a correct handstand or cartwheel, let alone support the entire weight of my body on one bent arm. I’m also willing to bet that almost every person reading this can’t spin on their heads, do a standing back flip, or even keep a beat going for longer than ten seconds. Maybe it’s just me, but the CSULB Breakdance team, the Breakers, deserve some credit for being completely out of their minds. Oh, and they just took the grand prize at one of the most prestigious breakdance competitions on the West Coast, so they probably deserve some credit for that as well. Universities that stretch up and down the West Coast, along with East Coast powerhouses like the University of Florida piled into what looked like a banquet hall on Loyola Marymount’s campus on May 30th all with one goal: to be the last b-boy, or girl, standing. Only after five “grueling” hours according to the Breakers president, Brian Wright, were the Breakers awarded the grand prize of $300.00 and a plaque to commemorate their domination of the tournament, something he is very proud of. “We just want to get our names out there and let the students of Cal State Long Beach

know that there are very positive and enriching activities going on on campus,” said Wright. “Our breakdance team has surpassed all the odds and won a prestigious title in only its fourth semester!” During its prime, the 80’s, breakdancing wasn’t just a way to show off, or one-up someone on the dance floor, it was a way for gangs to resolve disputes in a non-violent way. This form of expression was quickly brought to the mainstream in the form of MTV videos and in stereotypical portrayals of “ghetto” youths on street corners with boom boxes in hand.

Our breakdance team has surpassed all the odds and won a prestigious title in only its fourth semester. -Brian Wright

CSULB Breakdance President

Today, breakdancing is celebrated for allowing limitless personal expression through style and dance. Whether it’s with a certain transition or freeze, CSULB’s very own Breakers are on their way to creating another proud beach tradition. The CSULB Breakers meet every Monday and Wednesday at 7:00pm - 9:45pm in room PE-107, or for more information about the Breakers, contact Brian Wright at

NEWS You Don’t Know

But Should By Chris Barrett Union Staffer

Children Of Women Scientists out of the University of Newcastle upon Tyne in England are working toward the future we’ve all known is inevitable. While developing a technique that uses bone marrow to develop stem cells and produce sperm cells for infertile men, researchers realized that their techniques could be used to make sperm cells from the bone marrow of women as well. Though not yet tested, it does appear that lesbian couples will soon be able to have their own biological children, making the hypothetical future in which men are unnecessary a quickly approaching reality. Though, because women don’t have Y-chromosomes, only more women can be produced in this way. It seems the only thing that can keep women from vastly outnumbering the genetically weaker sex is an intervention from Congress. But, since I can’t imagine what perverse logic would both forbid the destruction of potential life and forbid the creation of potential life, I’m stoked for how awesome the future’s gonna be.

Have Your Cake And Digest it Too Still not convinced that stem cells are great? Despite the blockade by the U.S. government, American scientists working with Brazilian scientists have figured out how to treat type I diabetes with stem cells. Type I diabetes is the result of a weakened pancreas. The body, treating this weakness as though caused by infection, deploys white blood cells that only end up worsening the condition by killing the weakened insulin-producing cells. The result is that sufferers can’t produce their own insulin and typically require daily insulin injections just to stay alive. The new treatment first uses chemotherapy to temporarily reduce the number of white blood cells in a person, and then uses stem cells to rebuild the damaged pancreas while it isn’t under attack. So far this onetime treatment has allowed patients to go for over three years without any insulin injections. These findings, along with those of a study that deadened pancreatic nerves using capsaicin (the chemical that makes chili peppers spicy), mean that we won’t need to worry about type I diabetes being such an epidemic. Or, you know, we could just stop drinking soda all the fucking time. Do you have news people should know but probably don’t? Send 150 word submissions to ryan@ Chances are you’ll see your name in print the following week. Try funny.

Mon. 16th Tues. 17th Wed. 18th Thur. 19th Fri. 20th Your Weekend Hi 68° Lo 56° Hi 70° Lo 57° Hi 68° Lo 53° Hi 70° Lo 54° Hi 67° Lo 55° Partly Cloudy Sunny Sunny Sunny Partly cloudy 16 April 2007

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

Hi 69° Lo 55° More sun than cloud 3

You, Me & grand Prix Straight

Race-mobiles On Parade In Downtown Long Beach with

By Ryan ZumMallen


Grand Prix Specialist

he Long Beach Grand Prix came and went for the 33rd time over the weekend, bringing with it some familiar faces, lots of surprises, and more than a few drivers who had no business behind a steering wheel. All in all though, it was another successful and thrilling weekend of racing for the Prix, the longest running street race on the North American continent. The Drift Challenge, Celebrity Race, SPEED World Challenge, Atlantic Series and main event Champ Car all roared through the streets, joined for the first time by the American Le Mans Series. And while this year the event again brought some unwanted guests (such as sponsor Tecate, who ever-so-graciously charged $9 for a 22oz.), it also invited a new friend to liven up the party in the ALMS. The buzz surrounding the Champ Car main event was centered on two-time defending champion Sebastien Bourdias, who failed to finish the previous race in Las Vegas, calling it “the worst weekend I remember.” Instead, it was Australian driver Will Power (I swear there is no better racing name) who dominated in Vegas, and many predicted he would be the one to dethrone Bourdais. Sunday’s race got off to a great start in the bright ocean weather, with Power and Bourdais clearly pulling away from the rest of the pack. Bourdais wasted no time in staking out his territory, and spent the length of the race obliterating the pavement in front of him. Power finished in third, while Bourdais survived late contention from Oriol Servia to claim his third straight LBGP victory. If there was any doubt that Bourdais is one of the most dominating drivers in the

circuit’s distinguished history, it ended when the checkered flag dropped. While Bourdais survived a scare to keep his streak running, the American Le Mans Series saw the end of an era, as the Audi team’s revolutionary diesel-powered R10 TDi ended its undefeated streak at ten. It was DHL’s pair of screaming yellow Porsche Spyder RS’ that captured both first and second overall positions, while a third RS from Dyson Racing made it a clean sweep. It marked the first time since 2000 that no Audi appeared on the podium, and the first defeat for the R10. The Corvette C6-R won the GT1 category and Risi Competizione’s Ferrari F430 GT took its third straight victory in GT2. Here is a wrap-up of the four other races that I will now say without taking a breath: The Drift Challenge was frickin’ rad but way too short, Frankie Muniz was in the Atlantic race but didn’t win and probably finished somewhere in the middle, the SPEED World Challenge is a blast but the race ended in the

lamest way possible (under a yellow flag), and Dave Mirra won the celebrity race after George Lucas barreled into several other drivers and forced the race to end two laps early. It sometimes feels like anyone outside of Long Beach is completely oblivious to anything going on in this city. For three days out of the year, at least, I know that’s not the case. Long Beach’s golden weekend and largest tourist attraction yet again drew hundreds of thousands of race fans. While open-wheel racing and street circuits are still slow to catch on in America, the rest of the world tuned in intently to see how their favorite teams would fare on the tight, tricky streets. There’s a reason the Long Beach Grand Prix has earned the nickname, “Monaco Grand Prix of the U.S.” Show me something better than a day of racing under the sun with a cool ocean breeze. On second thought, don’t.

Photos By Ryan ZumMallen


Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper


JJ Fiddler

Downtown Long Beach is buzzing. Seriously, stepping outside my apartment near Redondo and Anaheim St. on Sunday morning, I could hear the hum of the open-wheel racing on Ocean Blvd. Even on Thursday night outside of Smooth’s Sports Bar and Grille, the street was packed with Long Beach natives and race fans alike. Why so much for a race? Because this is the city’s race. This is Long Beach. The city pulls out all the stops for this once a year event that puts Long Beach on national TV for just a short time. It’s a Long Beach minute, really. Sometimes I think the people who live here forget how important this city is. Along with the Grand Prix and our population of half a mil, we are home to one of the world’s largest ports, one of California’s largest state schools, and some of the hottest woman around. Walking Pine St. this weekend, I was proud to be a Long Beachian. * * * Whose line in the sand is this? Over the weekend, Major League Baseball teams honored the 60th anniversary of Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier by having one team member wear the retired number 42. The Dodgers organization had the entire team wear Jackie’s number, and like every memory/record/anniversary in sports lately, the tribute has brought some opposition. Some players and journalists think the idea is overkill, while some say they feel unworthy to wear 42. I think it will never be enough. No amount of number wearing or banner hanging will be ever be enough to pay tribute to a man who endured a lifetime of racially motivated abuse so that others after him could stand on equal ground. Dodgers General Manager Ned Colletti said it best on the Petros and Money Show on KLAC 570 last Friday. “Every time a kid turns to his dad and asks ‘why is everyone wearing 42’ and his dad explains who Jackie was, it’s worth it.” I agree, Ned. It’s worth every jersey, and more. * * * Speaking of issues of overkill, every hockey fan with Internet access can watch “Crosby Cam” on during any of Sidney Crosby’s playoff games. This camera follows Sid The Kid on each of his shifts, as well as while he’s on the bench. Look, I’m all for star building, and if the NHL wants to climb back into America’s living room it’s going to take stars like Crosby, but this is a little too much. He is one player, on a team full of other exciting young players who got the split in Ottawa, heading home 1-1 in the series. Show the highlights over and over, because that game-winner on Saturday was worth it, but use that one camera to show the entire game, not just a single player. Hockey is a team sport, and that’s why the real fans watch. * * * If you didn’t know, the Sports page has been producing Union SportsNight for the last few months. Haven’t checked it out? Shame on you. Download it at

16 April 2007

[Sports] Pacman Pays the Piper Thug Life In The NFL Is No Gangsta’s Paradise By Mike Guardabascio Wordsmith You can’t call a problem in sports an epidemic until it has a poster-child. Steroids has Barry Bonds, the NBA’s “image problems” (i.e. old white people hating tattoos on young black men) had Allen Iverson, and now, the NFL’s collective crime spree has Pacman Jones. The NFL, which has one of the most conservative fan bases of any sports league, has fought as hard as it could against the reputation it’s gotten over the last decade for employing more felons than a work-release camp. This crusade has often crossed into the ridiculous: after the O.J. trial, the league banned the celebratory move of pretending to slit one’s own throat, essentially to keep people from remembering the connection between the NFL and a purported murderer. The problem has intensified over the last year as two franchises (the Bengals and Chargers) became almost synonymous with off the field troubles. In the Chargers’ case, it could even be seen as a problem plaguing one particular position, as nearly all of their linebacking corps had some kind of altercation with the law. It was no secret that the NFL’s new commissioner, Roger Goodell, wanted to make a statement as soon as possible, to try and let the league’s players know that their misconduct won’t be tolerated by the new regime. Last week, that statement came, in the form of a one-year suspension to beleaguered Tennessee Titans cornerback Adam “Pacman” Jones. A little more background (then the juicy

Illustration By Philip Vargas

details, I promise), just to highlight the momentous nature of this decision: in the long and storied history of the NFL, a full season suspension has only been handed out six times previous to this: three times, twice in the forties and once in 1983, for gambling issues. Then in the last five years we’ve seen three full season suspensions for substance abuse problems, twice for steroids, and one to Ricky Williams for the wacky tobacky. Never, in the history of the NFL, has a player been suspended because of legal troubles. Pacman is making history in a way he probably never dreamed of. Aside from the historical ramifications, there are other, harsher penalties Pacman will have to deal with: first, the suspension requires that he go without pay, which will cost him over a million dollars, and the Titans might require a full refund of his nearly

$2 million signing bonus. His access to his teammates and the Titans’ facilities will also be incredibly limited. This, at the very least, seems to me to be a mistake. The less structure Pacman has in his life, the worse. When someone is in the kind of trouble he is, an extensive support group is necessary to rehabilitation. Separating him from his team may be the last straw, especially since if he has even one more run-in with the law (he’s had 10 recently), he most likely will not be reinstated at the end of his suspension. So, those are the facts. The big question is whether or not the suspension is justified. I’m torn on the issue: on the one hand, I’m usually against penalties of this nature because of the fact that if you worked for Microsoft and you got arrested for fighting, it likely wouldn’t affect your job unless you were convicted of a felony or faced significant jail time.

Quote O’ The Week

“He arouses the fire that’s dormant in the innermost recesses of my soul. I plan to face him with the zeal of a challanger.” ~ Seattle Mariner Ichiro Suzuki, explaining how he will take on “DiceK.” Lost in translation? We hope not.

I’m not of the belief that these guys should be penalized on top of legal penalties because the league is interested in placating the notions of its aging fan base. On the other hand, while I think that the “role model” expectations can get blown out of proportions, law troubles are becoming an actual problem for the NFL. Obviously they think so: Pacman loses a whole season despite never actually being charged with anything (although he’s likely to be charged for a Las Vegas incident where he allegedly beat up a stripper), while Chris Henry of the embattled Bengals only misses 8 games despite 4 convictions. The reason? Pacman’s gotten more press lately. If you want to make an example of someone, you have to go for the guy on the headlines. That’s been Pacman. If this move works to settle down the players of the league, Goodell will be gold. If, more likely, players continue to exist in an isolated bubble where they feel invincible, it’s unlikely to curb the ubiquitous scrapes with law. I think the NFL would be better served acting the way most major companies would: put the responsibility on the managers. The Bengals and Chargers should be facing penalties, making it their responsibility to keep their players in line. That way, there are 32 entities functioning to regulate player behavior. Each team knows their cities and environments and players better than the league does, and it would be a more personal and effective method of enforcing behavioral penalties. Until then, I doubt Pacman’s the last player who’ll be affecting his team’s on-field abilities because of off-field idiocy.

Daily Specials

Happy Hour! Monday-Friday 3pm-7pm

Monday: $2.00 fish tacos, $2.00 Bratwurst, $9.95 Chicken & Rib Dinner Tuesday: $5.95 Half Chicken with 2 Sides Wednesday: $7.95 Meatloaf with Vegetables & Potatoes Thursday: $10.95 BBQ Rib Dinner with Baked Beans & Cole Slaw Thursday and Fridays are College Nights!


140 Main Street • Seal Beach • (562) 430-0631 BREAKFAST LUNCH DINNER 16 April 2007

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Call Me A Criminal By Derek Crossley Union Staffer

‘Til Death Do Us Part

Illustration By Steven Carey

By Darren Davis Union Staffer It is safe to assume that most of the student body at CSULB has attended a marriage ceremony of some form. Even those who have not are at the very least familiar with the traditions of a standard western wedding: the dress, the vows, the cake, the tossing of the bouquet/garter, all the cliches. And just like everything else in contemporary America, the history of these traditions have been swallowed up by time. Take the institution of the bridesmaids and groomsmen for example. The tradition probably originated from a Roman law that required at least ten witnesses at a wedding to outsmart any evil spirits that might intend to disrupt the ceremony. All the men and all the women would dress alike in order to confuse the apparently not-too-intuitive spirits from figuring out which two were getting hitched. This ideology remained as late as the Victorian period, when many marriages were more business transactions than anything else. Instead of evil spirits, 18th and 19th century weddings were often disrupted by thieves looking for dowries and rival families intending to combine fortunes. Because of this, it was necessary for bridesmaids to act as decoys, their faces covered by bridal veils, while the groomsmen were often armed in case anything went down. This begs the question: When did we stop giving swords to our groomsmen? And for chrissakes, why?


Imagine it! A bunch of guys in tuxedos with blades draped at their sides. The best man could have a jeweled dagger tucked in his belt or a single shot pistol. Hell, you could even stage a fauxbattle. A little marriage/theater hybrid never hurt anybody. Here is how I picture it: During the boring part of the wedding, right before the vows, ten guys burst through the double doors of the church. “She must return to a proper suitor!” one of them says (I’ll work on the lines later). Swords are drawn, the priest hides and the bridesmaids scatter. Someone, maybe the ring-bearer, throws the groom a particularly shiny sword. He raises it and puts himself in front of his bride as the groomsmen form a line in between the attackers and the alter. Then five or six of the groom’s party stand up in the audience and unsheathe their swords as well, including the groom’s grandpa, who hasn’t had a good fight since FDR was president. The bride’s mom turns to her husband and says, “Should I call the police?” but he tells her to shush. The fight begins, and it is a good one. Swords clash, people are thrown over pews, the grandpa totally runs like four dudes through in a row without breaking a sweat. Someone swings down from the rafters and snatches up the bride, but the groom throws his sword, cutting the rope in half and sending the bride falling back into his arms. The two sides are evenly matched, but the groomsmen eventually smite their attackers. Swords are raised in the air with a victorious shout. But it is not over yet. The doors burst open again and this time

thirty men stand with weapons drawn. The groomsmen are now outnumbered three to one, yet they form another line in between the alter and the mob. The men approach slowly, milking the tension. Someone in the audience faints. Just as all hell is about to break loose, the groom, somehow in slow motion, drops his sword and lowers his head. All is silent. With his head bowed, he closes his eyes and whispers really softly, “Now”... Suddenly hundreds of birds come crashing through the stained glass window. The flock lays siege on the attackers but ignores the wedding attendees. The groom remains on the alter, his head still bowed, moving his arms as if conducting an orchestra. Terrified, the mob runs screaming out of the church and into the parking lot. The birds chase them for a bit but eventually dissipate. Back inside, everyone remains silent. Someone coughs nervously. Eventually, the dead bodies begin to rise one by one and dust themselves off. The larger mob returns through the front door grinning. Everyone congregates on the alter and takes one long bow. There is mass applause. The groom leads his bride to the front and they take a second bow, met with even louder applause. Even the birds return for a curtain call, circling the air before darting out of the broken window and back to the Humane Society where each one must be accounted for before the groom can get his security deposit back. The actors shake hands and disperse. The wedding may now resume. Questions? Comments? Questions can be directed to: info@ Or comment online at

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

I was driving down the street minding my own business, breaking not a single law as far as I knew, when I saw a cop. My heart raced, I sort of ducked (which is a curious thing to do when driving, because even if successful in disappearing, what is more conspicuous than a car careening down the road without a driver?), and I thought, why am I afraid? Why do I hide from the people that are supposed to “serve and protect?” Did it have to do with the laws I had broken in my past? To count the jailworthy crimes I’ve committed, I’d have to use my fingers, remove my shoes and even borrow a few extremities. I’ve had service-revolvers pointed at me, been cuffed face down for hours with a boot in my back, spent time in the back of patrol-cars, and received a half-dozen lectures that warned if I ever set foot in particular Southern towns again, I would probably die there. I had no problem with most of those situations. I mean, honestly, I usually was breaking the rules. But there I was, with my youth behind me, shaking like a frozen leaf, but confident in my innocence. The worst part was that I knew I wasn’t alone in this feeling—that most people get that same sick feeling in their stomach when a patrol car pulls up behind them. And that is the problem. Shouldn’t I, or at least you, as a free thinking, generally law abiding citizen, feel happy when you see a police officer? Shouldn’t we feel safe? Of course we should, but we don’t. We don’t because more often than not we are scared. Scared because they have the guns. They have the power. The closest I ever got to actually spending time in jail was when I grabbed a cop’s baton while he was beating my friend in the back. This is apparently “assaulting an officer.” You see, the baton is an extension of the man, or so I was told, and by touching it, I was “assaulting him.” So, in the act of protecting my friend that was being mercilessly beaten, I was breaking the law. I was a criminal. So until the good eggs outweigh the bad, until I can walk down the street without getting glares and being asked, “Hey, son, keepin out of trouble?” I will be afraid, and I will cheer when the bad guys get away. Until they “serve and protect” me, until I can live without fear, without hiding every time I see a badge, I will keep listening to N.W.A. because I’m tired of them “Fuckin with me cause I’m a teenager, with a little bit of gold and a pager.” Questions? Comments? Questions can be directed to: derek@ Or comment online at

16 April 2007


Random Rants! On Summer School:

Summer school. Isn’t that an oxymoron? No need to answer, because I am quite certain that it is. Beside the fact that no one should ever have to be in class during a glorious summer day, when the sun is smiling and wearing big Ray Ban sunglasses, birds are singing, and the beach is bustling with the sounds of laughter and crashing waves, is the fact that no one should have to take summer classes in order to graduate. However, CSULB is designed to keep you here for as long as possible, and if I need to take all of my sciences courses my super-duper senior year during summer session, just to avoid coming back here for an additional year, then so be it. But honestly, $1,400 for three classes, c’mon!

-Katie Wynne

On Shoes and Toes:

My toes are used to being warmed by the summer sun and cooled by winter breezes. In rain, they are mud-smeared. In dust, they are dry and gray. And, when things are falling or people are stampeding, they are crushed and stomped on. My toes are used to being part of their environs, unprotected and, thus, free. My toes are not used to shoes. Shoes make my dozen-or-so warriors feel small, cramped, and uneasy. They cower, whimper, and cry because the leather uppers and rubber soles make them feel like they can’t fend for themselves. And, from the bottom up, that self-consciousness travels to the rest of me. If I can’t trust those hearty little fellows to withstand the elements, how can I trust myself? Shoes suck. Seriously. And they make me feel like I suck too.

-Shar Higa

On Globalization: I just got back from Bangkok, Thailand and guess what? It’s just like everywhere else. Starbucks, McDonald’s, and 7-11s proliferate the streets, and it’s dirty, crowded, and smelly. I flew 17 hours to see something different, and although I understand that Bangkok is an international city, I really hoped it would at least be a NEW kind of dirty, smelly, and crowded. I hoped to see some traditional Thai art and handicrafts at its open markets—instead, I found nothing but counterfeit Burberry purses, counterfeit Billabong t-shirts, and some samurai swords that I could never hope to get on an airplane. On the plus side, though, I did get some genuine Thai bootleg DVDs.

This Abortion Will Not Be Televised By Erin Shaw Contributor In my first semester of community college, I took a communications class with one of the most influential professors I have ever had. Much of what she said left a lasting impression on me, but one thing I took to heart, more than any media criticism, came from a guest speaker. Late in the semester the professor invited Howard Rosenberg, the Pulitzer Prize-winning TV columnist for the LA Times, to speak about media in general. His talk was eye-opening, but not in that “Guess what? You watch too much TV!” way. He posed this question: should abortion be televised, and if not, why? I’ve pretty much had my mind made up about abortion for a while now, so the answer seemed clear to me and I had already seen a third trimester vacuum aspiration.

His point was that television is not really serving its purpose as a medium through which people get information that pertains to important issues. If abortion is an important issue and we must make decisions about it, why can’t we see it? Why can’t we be exposed to what affects society, and why is TV off limits as far as showing the ugly side of pressing matters? The answer is that abortion is not profitable and is way too graphic for the average viewer. I don’t think it’s necessary to view an abortion in order to make up your mind, but his point stuck with me, and I found it applies to a lot of things. There were few things that I was on the fence about at the time, and gun control was one of them. Rosenberg had unwittingly inspired me to seek out guns (I’m sure the Law of Unintended Consequences fits in here somewhere). Unfortunately I haven’t made it out to a range yet,

but I have gone to a gun show and I concluded that Rosenberg was right: nothing compares to hands on experience, even with guns. Recently I went to a gun store in Culver City. I was all but ignored by the sales representative, but I found out a lot. A tubby white guy in a Charlie Brown shirt and husky jeans helped my friend Chris choose his first gun. His enthusiasm for history and machinery shed a new light on the whole gun-toting subculture, and I couldn’t help but feel like there’s a side of second amendment afficionados that goes untapped by mainstream media. Assault rifles aside, I think that gun control, like abortion, should be looked into more by mass media…and hopefully it won’t be put on the backburner for Mike Judge to write into King of the Hill. Questions? Comments? Questions can be directed to: info@ Or comment online at

Scarf’s European Travel Guide Double Feature: Monaco, Monaco and Marrakech, Monaco Monaco is actually situated near the French city of Nice, which has hostels for reasonable prices, whereas Monaco is both expensive and basically hostel-free. The city is incredibly beautiful and sparkling clean. It is like walking onto a movie set, everything is pristine and planned. Seeing all the James Bond splendor of Monte Carlo and the actual Dali sculpture displayed out front is unbeatable and you can walk from there to the palace hill in 10 minutes, the country is so small. On the hill are all of the official buildings, including an amazing white marble cathedral and the huge aquarium complete with all the colorful fishes your heart could desire. The view of the French Riviera is breathtaking with the cliffs looking out over the pristine waters and huge yachts. On the way from Nice (where the beaches are the main site) you can visit the tiny village of Eze with its medieval castle but modern prices. Monaco is the main attraction though, creating a sort of contented sense of jealousy and awe. This little tax haven is definitely worth dragging yourself off the beaches and taking the short bus ride from Nice to take in the splendor of one of the smallest countries in the world.

-Michaël “Scarf” Veremans

-Dan Steinbacher Upset About Something? Tell the world (or at least a few thousand students who may or may not give a shit). Send your one hundredword rants to: erin@ and see ‘em in print.


You take a ferry from Algeciras, Spain, to Tanger on the north Moroccan coast, then manage your way past the hawkers, fake tour guides, and pushy cab drivers to the train station for the infamous night train to Marrakech, the cultural center of Morocco in the heart of the country. The medina twinkles at night and the food is cheap. Although there is not beer, the atmosphere is intoxicating enough. There is a ruined palace that looks like it used to rival Alhambra and you can bargain in the Souks for cheap souvenirs. Marrakech is a cultural switch around, nothing like anything in Europe or the Americas, it is a beautiful oasis in the desert complete with snake charmers and bands playing wild music and prayer calls five times a day. The heat gets to extreme temperatures and water is a must, but the beauty of the city is unbeatable. And for budget travels, have no fear, there are hostels very close to the center. A few tips for visiting a Muslim land though, the women may want to wear a scarf over their hair just to avoid stares and if someone offers you food (it will almost definitely happen on the train) it’s polite to refuse the first and second time, then on the third offer take a little and thank the giver.

-Michaël “Scarf” Veremans

(on campus)

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Call John @ (213) 219-8725 16 April 2007

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper



stories th Semesterly

happy to have the addition of the beast, but after a few days he holed it up in a back room, and in a shoddy excuse to hide his guilt said, “No one likes to be reminded of the ocean.”

Short Story Contest

Welcome to the Union Weekly’s Fourth Semesterly Short Story Contest. As all participants are aware, there was a 155word limit for this contest, and the nearly fifty submissions I received struggled with that limit in a number of ways. After looking at the beautiful illustrations provided by our staff and reading the amazing stories below, I think you’ll agree that this is our best contest yet. Congrats to all the winners, and to newcomer Michael Carpenter, whose five submissions were absolutely amazing. A thanks goes to the 49er Shops for providing the prize money, John Trapper and Katie Wynne for helping secure that, and to Shar Higa for doing the grunt work in preparing the stories.

First Place:

Harold and Edna By Michael Carpenter

is wild, the shoes battered by the mud. Well over fifty miles they’ve walked the two days past, and now they stray into the town’s last and only hotel. “Can I help you, sir?” the manager politely asks. “Me? I hope you can.” He pulls out from his pocket his savings in cash, and gestures toward the man. “Alright, I just need a name, and we have a peaceful, quiet room that’s all yours.” “You can call me John.” “Alright, John, will you be staying here with us long?” “I suppose so,” is all the fugue can respond, “I’ll tell you when I’m gone.”

Illustration by Philip Vargas

A Sibling Lost

By Sara Tena The school was being attacked by Ethiopia’s corrupt government. I had to find my brother and get out. We met halfway in between the crowd of all the students. We ran towards the woods, along with everyone else. He was no longer next to me. I tried to go back, but the crowd was too thick. I began panicking, and I felt lightheaded. Before I could hit the ground, a man grabbed me. I thought I was caught, but he was taking me towards the woods. I awoke with several hundred people around me: we survived. I searched for my brother again, still no sign of him. Panic struck for the second time that day, and I fainted once more. I don’t remember anything after that. I woke up in my room, with my mother by my side, in tears. I realized that my brother was lost for good.


Illustration by Andrew Wilson Harold was a human nose, who stood six foot four. He had two legs and arms and hands and feet with shiny shoes. At the park, in the mornings, he sat with his newspaper and reading glasses of normal size that rested snugly across the brim he called his forehead. He turned the pages, although he didn’t know how to read, because he enjoyed the smell of certain news. “Excuse me?” asks Edna, a one legged lady who sat benched across the way, “are you staring at my missing leg?” “No, I’m admiring it.” He nodded toward the nothingness, and smiled as she blushed a lovely red. She stood and hopped over to him, where even Edna could smell the attraction. In time, the two lovers were the talk of the city, often being spotted at the artsy restaurants or riding nude around town in a bike built for two: a senseless sense of love.

Dissociative Fugue

By Michael Carpenter

By Michael Carpenter I sat down to imagine I was a steak named Bernard, born a beautiful T-bone of bright red. My happy existence birthed moments ago as I was delivered from the plastic environment of my package. Home was to me a yellow cheese-colored countertop in a small apartment kitchen, with sunflowers on the curtains. Pain first splashed into my body (then still soft and vulnerable), with squirts of lemon juice. The acid tore deep to my bone and paralyzed my being with an indescribable sting. After a cold blade stabbed repeatedly throughout my flesh, salt was added to injury. “This is life, Bernard,” I told myself. Until then, my screams were mute and violent, but the hardening flames were more than my life could handle. A pathetic bloody hissing would be my last words, before final dismemberment. But then, as I chewed Bernard in my mouth, I realized his flavor was too good for words.

The Banshee

By Michael Carpenter There is a hag resting on my chest, a withered woman with white wispy hair and sunken eyes. It’s the center of the night, in the middle of the room and my back sinks hard into the soft sheets. The same thing happened last week. “I’m trying to sleep,” I tell her. But she won’t let me speak. Instead, she lets the wind kiss my cheeks and presses herself deeper into me. If I could blink or stare I’d look away. “If you’d please,” I don’t say, “I’d like to wake up.” But she’s no longer there.

Runners Up:

No One Likes to be Reminded of the Ocean By Michaël Veremans Illustration by Andrew Wilson A fugue in the fog emerges into sight of the town, walking along the ditched part of the road. Of the past and when and how, he knows nothing of. His clothes are worn and his hair

The villagers said they had never seen anything like it when they came back with their basins of cloudy water. A tiger crying. A huge orange and black striped cat with a shaggy white bottom in the dense woods weeping tears down its whiskered cheeks. The only word that the white English hunter understood was “tiger” and so he set out with his gun. The tiger was crying because it knew and soon it was shot and skinned by that clever man. The tanners never managed to get the deep sodden and salty stain from under the wide empty eyes of the pelt, but he took it back to England anyway. His family was

Illustration by Andrew Wilson

A Snowman

By Ryan Kobane I woke up to the smell of freshly pressed coffee, the light pitter patter that only heavy snowflakes make, and the harsh realization that my mother had passed away the previous morning. I began to weep, not because of my mother, but because the day wouldn’t allow me to feel the sorrow I so desperately needed to feel. I could hear the sound of children laughing outside having a snowball fight, enjoying every second of their snow day. It was beautiful. As I cried, my five year-old brother came running into my room, jumped onto my twin bed, and asked me, ever so politely, to make a snowman with him. He told me not to cry, that mom was in a better place, and that the snow would probably be melted by tomorrow. As I put on my gloves and grabbed a cup of coffee, I wiped my tears and smiled: he has her smile.


By Philip Vargas His curse had begun with one shot. So many longed to possess the title that he would happily be rid of. The only problem was, to be free, he would have to be dead, and Duke didn’t like that idea one bit. As he eased off of the sun-cracked saddle, his feet settled on the scorched earth. His mouth, drier than the barren waste-

Continued on page 9


Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

16 April 2007


lands, rejoiced at the sight of the saloon doors. His stride quickened as the piano beckoned from deep within the shadows. As he entered the doorway, the cocking of a revolver froze him still. “I heard you’d be through these parts old man,” the stranger’s voice cried out. As all grew still, he waited. In the silence, he knew what would come next, a single word. The word, that he himself had called out so long ago, had haunted his trail for far too long. “Draw!”

Mr. Lincoln

By Erin Hickey Colin looked up from the checkered floor where he knelt, collecting his scattered gumballs. He was sure of it. The elderly gentleman’s red and white-striped uniform could not fool him, and even in the absence of his famous top hat, there was no doubt in Colin’s mind who stood before him. He had seen countless paintings in school so he was sure of the likeness without glancing down at the penny in his hand. Colin collected the last of the errant candy spheres and stood, his face still flushed with embarrassment from the spill. Mr. Lincoln plucked the dusty gumballs from Colin’s hand and flung them into the wastebasket. He grabbed another cellophane bag from underneath the counter and slid a heaping scoop of gumballs into it. With a wink and a smile, he slid the bag across the counter to Colin, who couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable twinkle in his eye.

Illustration by Philip Vargas

Illustration by Erin Hickey


By Philip Vargas It was the rush of the open air that spurred him on more than anything. Ever since he was little he had always lived within the confines of the ranch, in one form or another. Barred in by barbed wire and wood, freedom was a stranger to him. Even as his stride expanded as far as it could, it wasn’t far enough. There was open country as far the eye could see and he wanted to run across it all. “If there was ever a perfect way to die this was it,” thought the glistening stallion as he carried his frail master across the open country. “Slow down, you damn beast,” shouted the tiny creature clinging to the saddle. Despite the rampant tugs and thrashing, the stallion carried on because he knew that this kind of joy is a hard thing to find in life and he wanted to hold on to every minute of it.

16 April 2007

On the Lam

Illustration by Andrew Wilson

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

By Jeff Gould Jenson walked with a defiant and knowing swagger that can only be acquired through experience. Showing favor to his right leg, he took each step with a lack of caution that men his age are expected to show as he traversed a well kempt cement walkway. “Time might catch up to me,” he thought, “but it will never beat me.” These last words he spoke aloud, under his breath, as if to remind himself of his mantra. As he approached a tall rot-iron gate, he knew that this was his final test. Without the spry strength and quickness of his youth, Jenson could never hope to jump it. Rather, he willed the gate open, he knew it was open, he knew that this time was different. As Jenson strode close enough to see the unlocked gate he heard a voice call from behind: “Mr. Jenson! Honey! Did you wander out of your room again?”


Photo Courtesy of Bloc Party


Dulce De Lerche

Headbang for the Highway at the Whisky – 7pm $10 Rooney at the Roxy – 7pm $11 The Adicts at the Showcase Theatre – 7pm $15 Iron Age at Chain Reaction – 7.30pm $10 Aereogramme at the Downtown Brewing Company – 8pm $7 Kenna at the Element – 8pm $20 Kimya Dawson at the Knitting Factory – 8pm $7

Tuesday17 August Burns Red at the Showcase Theatre – 7pm $10 Headbang for the Highway at Chain Reaction – 7.30pm $10 Kill the Complex at the Roxy – 8pm $11 The Broken West at Spaceland – 9pm $8 Rocky Votolato at the Troubadour – 8pm $10

Wednesday18 August Burns Red at Calabassas Community Center – 5pm $12 Limbeck at Chain Reaction – 7.30pm $10 Big Band Ballroom at the Canyon Club – 8pm $10 Aereogramme at the Knitting Factory – 8.30pm $12 Nudity/Residual Echoes at the Knitting Factory – 8.30pm $7 Lucybell at JC Fandango – 8pm $22 Two Divas at the Movies Tour at San Miguel Casino – 7.30pm $35

Thursday19 Steel Train at Chain Reaction – 7.30pm $10 Electric Six at the Coach House – 8pm $13.50 Hot Rod Circuit w/ Limbeck at the Troubadour – 8pm $10 Eddie Money at the HOB Sunset – 7.30pm $25

Friday20 Agent Orange at the Showcase Theatre – 7pm $10 Type O Negative at the Avalon – 7pm $26 18 Visions at Chain Reaction – 7.30pm $10 Electric Six at the Key Club LA – 8pm $15 Lyrics Born at the Downtown Brewing Company – 8pm $15 The Autumns at the Roxy – 8pm $13

Saturday21 Forplay at the Whisky – 7pm $12 Tatonka at the Showcase Theatre – 7pm $10 Type O Negative at the Ventura Theatre – 7pm $25 The Curse at the Roxy Theatre – 7.30pm $20 Art Brut at the Troubadour – 8pm $15 Five for Fighting at the Wiltern – 8pm $25 Tommy Castro at the Coach House – 8pm $20 Soda Pop Kids at the Knitting Factory – 8.30pm $10 Pepper at the Galaxy – 8pm $20

Sunday22 Music of Heart at the Canyon Club – 3pm $75 Tremellow at the Knitting Factory – 7pm $10 Joey Belladonna at the Whisky – 7pm $22 Swingin Utters at the Showcase Theatre – 7pm $12 The Blood Brothers at the Glass House – 7pm $13 Agent Orange at the Downtown Brewing Company – 7.30pm $12 The Outline at the Knitting Factory – 7.30pm $12 Type O Negative at the HOB Anaheim – 8pm $25



bout a year ago, I was fortunate enough to be in the audience at the Troubadour in West Hollywood, where a show was being put on by a shy Norwegian gentleman with decidedly fantastic hair. Twelve months and one album later, Nordic songsmith Sondre Lerche found himself performing in front of a Los Angeles crowd yet again. Some things had changed, while a couple stayed the same: same adorable Norwegian accent. Same devastatingly awesome hair. Same fantastic band. New album. New stage presence. Sondre Lerche and his backing band, the Faces Down, took the stage at Hollywood’s El Rey Theatre to the cheers of an enthusiastic crowd, complete with a group of about 15 or 20 screaming girls straight from Lerche’s native Norway. Following two very well-received opening acts (Thomas Dybdahl and Willy Mason), Lerche and his band opened their set with “Airport Taxi Reception,” the initial track from their newest album, Phantom Punch. Recorded entirely in Los Angeles (a first for the band) and produced by Tony Hoffer (the Kooks, Beck), the album bears strong indicators of both factors. Decidedly more raw and aggressive than its predecessors, the band’s fourth effort finds itself a departure from the smooth jazz that was given a try on last year’s Duper Sessions LP. As a result, Lerche’s live show packed quite a punch (pun intended), and though he certainly took the time to slow things down for a bit, showcasing his status as what my friend calls “the indie Sinatra,” the set was, for the most part, and excitingly unrelenting exercise in exuberance. The new songs sounded just as great as the old ones, but the true hallmark of the show was Lerche’s fantastic stage presence. Interestingly enough, his new stage command mirrors the feel of his new album with startling

precision. Obviously, the songs are louder and more energetic, and their live representations follow suit. But the truly remarkable change was the growth in Lerche’s personality. Where he once came off as shy and a bit nervous in between songs, Lerche now fills the gaps in his set with confident and witty commentary. Normally, I’m of the belief that between-song comments should be kept to a strict minimum, as they tend to detract from the momentum of the set. It’s a tricky thing to do correctly, but Lerche’s execution had the audience laughing the entire time, whether making comments to his band members or remarking as to the good fashion sense exemplified by the clothes available at his merchandise stand. Lerche’s delivery was slick and confident. It was polished, but didn’t seem rehearsed. Though his set ran maybe a little bit long (an hour and a half when I left, just before the encore), it included a great variety of songs from albums old and new. The juxtaposition worked very nicely: a toned-down version of “You Know So Well” fit in perfectly with newer songs like “Face the Blood,” and the short acoustic break, gratuitous though it may have been, was enjoyable. Sondre’s transformation over the last year has truly been remarkable. Seeing him now is like talking with an old friend that has recently gotten over a case of social anxiety. It’s like seeing a whole new person up there on stage, and witnessing his progression as a performer really brings the audience members closer to Lerche both as a person and an artist. The show was a mix of exuberant songs and entertaining audience interaction. With the grace of a seasoned professional, Lerche kept the audience engaged and entertained, holding us captive like a young, Nordic Frank Sinatra. -By Sean Boulger

Paving Over Wowee Zowee The first thing you (need to) know about Pavement is that yes, they know what they’re doing. On first listen you hear sloppiness, disorder, an attimes flagrantly off-key lead singer, all capped off with what appears to be a general, permeating frivolity toward songcraft. Don’t fall into the band’s trap. They’re trying their damnedest to hide the fact that they know exactly what they’re doing. Initially dismissed as a lazy, drug-induced bout of self-indulgence, Wowee Zowee, the band’s third full-length, has gone on to become a fan-favorite and cult-classic. The truth is, beyond its disarrayed exterior lies an album overflowing with smart, exuberant pop music. From the sunshine and gossamer of “Black Out” to the beer-drunk afternoon of “Grave Architecture,” there’s not a single track present here that doesn’t drip with pop perfection. It is here that frontman Stephen Malkmus’ means finally caught up with his ideas. Even guitarist Spiral Stairs contributes a classic, “Kennel District,” his first of few in the Pavement catalog. The album eschews any discern-

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

able logic in its sequencing: a meandering, mid-tempo boast like “Brinx Job” runs almost to the opening notes of the chilling “Grounded.” Tension-teases like this are everywhere on Wowee Zowee. On “Father to a Sister of Thought,” perhaps the album’s finest song, Malkmus and co. build to a climactic refrain, slowly singing “I know I’ll never go.” They repeat the phrase, creating a moment of catharsis, only to get bored and move on to a spazzed out guitar breakdown for the song’s final seconds. Without doubt, Wowee Zowee is a mess. However, it is an intentional mess, harnessing its moments of discord to pay tribute to youth: the youth of invincibility-cum-irresponsibility and, well, of beer-drunk afternoons. “I’ve got all the glory in the world,” Malkmus sings on “AT&T,” “I hope it doesn’t floor you before you go.” And you kind of know just how he feels. Wowee Zowee: Sordid Sentinels Edition was recently reissued on Matador Records. -By Drew Evans

16 April 2007


Brand New: Live at the Avalon

Myth Takes

Warp Records

It’s Like Deja Entendu All Over Again


very era has a musical influence: the 60’s and 70’s gave birth to psychedelic rock, the 80’s introduced Michael Jackson, and the 90’s gave new meaning to “boy bands” and “bubble gum pop.” When I was in high school, the era of “pop/ punk” was formed which transcended into the “emo/ screamo” genre and ultimately lead us to the current trendy class of rock, Indie. Now, I can’t say I’m a big fan of the music that was popular during my youth but I can say one band from this particular time grew on me. On April 4th, I watched my favorite band, Brand New, perform live at the Avalon, the second of two sold-out shows, during which they played a staggering 17-song set ranging from their first debut album, Your Favorite Weapon to their latest release, The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me. Walking into the Avalon sparked a lot of old memories. As I strolled around the place, flashbacks of crowd surfing for the first time came to mind. I watched all the 13 year-old girls with their Brand New shirts rushing to the front of the crowd and screaming relentlessly during the show—being at the Avalon reminded me of my carefree adolescence and attending shows every weekend just for the hell of it. It was fun, and I missed it. Around 9 p.m., Brand New started their set off with “Sowing Season,” the single from their latest album, The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me, producing a great response from the crowd. Lead singer Jesse Lacey appeared quite calm for the first song despite the extremely energized crowd, contrary to Vin Accardi, the guitarist and back up singer, who pretty much danced during the whole set. The set list was constructed in a fashion that was somewhat chronological and kept the fans eager to hear more. The beginning of the set

16 April 2007

included favorites from their first album, Your Favorite Weapon, which triggered the initial mosh pits of the night. As the set moved forward, songs from their sophomore effort Deja Entendu were played, commencing a grand sing-along from the entire audience, who, of course, knew every word to every song. At the last third of the set, Jesse Lacey introduced my favorite song, “Play Crack the Sky,” in a peculiar southern accent (he’s from Long Island), with a story about a blue alien dog that he used to own. His story sparked laughs and unquestionably melted every girl’s heart (including mine) with his unusual interlude. The end of the set concluded with songs “Degausser” and “You Won’t Know” from Devil and God…, in addition to some in which Jesse stated were never before played until they came to California. The set was incredible and also came with several perks, including an extra drummer, an awesome random guy dancer, an extra guitarist, crazy sound effects from Jesse’s excessive tapping on pedals and guitars, two encores, and creative video screen designs. It was an experience only the people who attended can really appreciate and probably one of the best shows I’ve ever been to. I can’t say that Brand New is for everyone, because they aren’t. They’re special to me because, in some respects, as I matured so did their music. When they sung songs about heartbreak and ditching school, I was going through that. When they sang about love and death, I was realizing the important things about life, and when they were questioning their faith, so was I—Brand New stuck by me through my youth and I can proudly say, no matter what anyone else says, Brand New is and will always be, my favorite band. -By Kathy Miranda

Reviewed By Matt Dupree

Despite their rather quizzical name, !!! have been pioneering the musical frontier of dance-rock for years with the sort of unbridled ass-kickery that befits an outfit whose name is composed entirely of exclamation points. On their previous works, most notably their last full-length Louden Up Now, !!! (pronounced with any three repetitive sounds, e.g. chik-chik-chik, unh-unh-unh, pow-pow-pow, glue-glue-glue) has always pushed the boundaries of dance-mania, sometimes venturing into such dramatic exploration of their own sound that they became convoluted (like this sentence). Thankfully, Myth Takes is all bite. Nic Offer’s dry, sneaky wit reaches a career high on “All My Heroes Are Weirdos,” a pseudo-commentary that is gloriously usurped by some of the catchiest percussion you’re likely to hear this year (unless Timbaland rips it off). Even the album’s longest track, “Bend Over Beethoven,” keeps its cool for an 8-minute dance-jam that just d-d-d-don’t stop. The real blockbuster has to be the single though. “Must Be The Moon,” a mini-treatise on the fickle nature of the singles scene, features chug-a-smug guitars, endless cascades of bloops and beeps, and enough Uns-Uns to power a small disco army. And who wouldn’t want to sing along with the lines “You could blame it on the music but that wouldn’t be right, ‘cause I’ve gotten lucky to some real bad tunes. Must be the moon, must be the moon.” I’m hesitant to recommend this album to someone who hasn’t already heard the gospel of !!!. Their previous works introduced not just a new style, but a new philosophy on dance-rock (Note: I shudder every time I type “dance-rock,” it’s a terrible term, but unfortunately it’s the only one I’m currently aware of that fits). It’s been this cutting-edge sound and devil-may-cabbage-patch ethos that has earned them a spot on Warp records, a label that has until now only featured electronic artists. They exude, in a very tangible way, the feeling that it just don’t matter and we should all be shaking it thus. But in a gesture of rather notable versatility, Myth Takes includes as its last track a slow and half-melancholy, but still catchy, musing entitled “Infinifold.” It’s a lovely closing song, and I’ll leave you now with its most poignant line. “And if it sounds stupid to say that all the world needs is a little more love, then how come it’s so hard to figure out?”

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper



ll of the typical hallmarks of a Grindhouse experience were nowhere to be found when I sat down to watch Rodriguez and Tarantino’s latest. I wasn’t peeling the soles of my shoes off of a semen-coated floor. There were no rats. The place smelled pretty good. I’m fairly sure that the people sitting next to me didn’t smoke crack behind the dumpster at Chick-Fil-A before the movie started. And yet, there’s nothing out there (outside of the New Bev’s monthly festival) that’ll give you that 42nd street feeling quite like Quentin’s half of Grindhouse, Death Proof. The story, such as it is, follows two separate groups of women as they run afoul of a disgruntled stuntman (Kurt Russell) in his “death proof ” car. Like most of the films it’s based off of (Vanishing Point, The Driver, and Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry to name a few), the plot isn’t the selling point. What QT offers here is hot, nasty speed. Sure, he’s going to make you sit through some seemingly pointless

Don’t is director Edgar Wright’s take on all the haunted house horror movies of the ‘60s. I almost don’t want to reveal the name of this fake movie because everything that happens in the trailer, including the way it’s cut together, is an hilarious joke that crescendos with the delivery of the film title as the punchline. Make sure to look for Nick Frost as the demented/retarded Baby Hueyesque character in the basement.


Every joyous holiday needs a killer to ruin the festivities. Christmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, they’ve all been done, now it’s Thanksgiving’s turn to get roasted. Director Eli Roth presents Thanksgiving, the chilling tale of a small town set in the 1950s preparing for its big Thanksgiving day celebration, when a killer strikes. Dressed as a pilgrim and brandishing a butcher knife, this killer carves into teens during their most vulnerable moment, when they’re making love in secluded areas. This pilgrim uses his monstrous imagination to unleash terror upon his victims, not to mention creating sadistic new ways to “stuff ” the main course. This Thanksgiving is sure to leave you nodding off…forever.



dialogue before you get there, but as is always the case with Quentin’s writing, it’s worth it. And besides, a movie with wallto-wall car chases is like creaming your jeans before you ever have a chance to kick them off onto the floor and hop into bed. Quentin’s a master at foreplay to be certain, but he knows exactly when to get an audience off and that’s exactly what he does in Death Proof. Kurt Russell is by far the high point of the film. His “Stuntman Mike” is all at once sad, suave, disgusting and funny. This’d be amazing if he were in the film twice as long as he is now, but as it stands, Russell has created one of the most charismatic and layered screen villains ever in record time. And the ladies…the first half look as if they were frozen in a freak science accident on the campus of Corman University and thawed under the Austin sun. Particularly Vanessa Ferlito (“Butterfly”), who would’ve fit right in on the set of any of the Sleepaway Camp sequels. The second half has the living superwoman, Zoe Bell, who straddles Challengers and splits baseballs with samurai swords for fun (and for real, she was Uma’s stuntwoman in Kill Bill). She’s incredibly sweet, if not a little out-classed in the acting category at times, but that’s beside the point. There was never any doubt that Quentin would knock this one out of the park, but by the abrupt, amazingly true to form end, I felt strange. I wanted nothing more than to sit in the theatre for another three hours and do it all over again. -By Miles Lemaire


Machete, a Mexican anti-hero, is hired by Jeff Fahey for a job that only he can do, kill the President. Of course it’s a big set-up to get rid of Machete (Danny Trejo), and of course it doesn’t work out for the bad guys. Trejo then gathers up all the necessary cutlery to get his revenge on the evil white politicians, even recruiting his own brother, a gut-toting priest played by Cheech Marin. Showcasing the gritty action side of Grindhouse films, Machete has what any movie fan wants, knifeviolence, gun-violence, explosion-violence, and best of all, machete-violence.

werewolf women OF THE SS The weakest of the four fake trailers, Werewolf Women of the SS (directed by Rob Zombie) is a direct nod to the cult classic Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, the story of a female Nazi who experiments on other women. Unlike the others, Werewolf doesn’t really have a retro look to it, instead looking more like Zombie’s more contemporary movie House of 1,000 Corpses. A cameo by Nic Cage as the diabolical Fu Manchu is its only saving grace.


odriguez’s contribution to the Grindhouse double feature is a lot of things. I’ll start by saying that it is simply a great zombie flick. It has all of the aspects of traditional re-animation cinema lore, including an unknown biochemical face-melting substance, eerie backwoods environments, and meaningless subplots. The film also has something unexpected: great acting. Some may argue with this statement, but to them I say, “Ahem, you are wrong friend.” While traditional Grindhouse films are typically cast with “B-rate” actors who can hardly spew out dialogue without an awkward pause or strange inflection, Planet Terror’s stars play the classic roles perfectly imperfect. Freddy Rodriguez as the mysterious El Wray is flawless. His agility as an ass-kicking zombie killer combined with his natural delivery of ridiculous lines make him a crowd favorite second only to Rose McGowan’s Cherry Darling. The go-go dancing, comedian hopeful, recently one-legged leading chick is somehow believable in the film, and once the crud really hits the fan, her sensationalized explosion into the air is pure gold. Of course, I would be doing the film a great disservice if I failed to mention the intentional defects in the reel itself. Both directors of the cinematic duet took great care in presenting films that looked as dirty and broken as possible, without being distracting. This homage to the Grindhouse legacy creates an authentic feel that is sure to warm the hearts of film geeks worldwide. So, why isn’t it? In its opening weekend the double feature brought

in an appalling $11.6 million when it cost $67 million to make. Now, Grindhouse movies never made much money. In fact, they’re hailed as some of the biggest flops in history. But we’re talking Tarantino and Rodriguez here, doing a zombie-action combo. That means that the majority of people were busy seeing Blades of Glory or The Reaping instead of this movie. We have a problem people, humanity is in decline and our appreciation for art is being erased with the wet towels of fat-suit comedy and biblical disaster pictures. Have we no shame at all? Planet Terror has everything every moviegoer could want. There’s love, hate, pus, guts, guns, war, friends, legs, and music, great music, some of which was composed by Rodriguez himself. Why wouldn’t people line up around corners to see heads explode with the thickest (fakest) blood they’ve ever seen, mucus-filled bubbles popping off of the face of pure death, Bruce Willis admitting he was the guy who killed Osama Bin Laden, and Rose McGowan wearing next to nothing but a mini-gun for a leg? I just don’t get what’s going on in the world today that is turning our priorities upside down and back-asswards. Both films are great so please go see them while you still can, because at this rate the film may not stick around for long.

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

-By Katie Wynne

16 April 2007


isten: Last week the greatest living writer in the world died. We are a greater world for having had his words, and a lesser world for having lost him. If we had any balls at all, the three words that start this headline would be the entire body of this article. The fact is, we can’t bear to write so little about a man who meant so much to us. Smart people the world over are grieving for this architect’s son. This is what Kurt Vonnegut was to us. At his request, we’ve left out the semicolons. Shar: I know a man who used to live down the street from Kurt Vonnegut’s Long Island home, their two properties book-ending a construction site. My friend used to see Vonnegut at that site, pondering a huge hole in the ground. And, sad eyes fixed on that man-made crater, he would sit for hours. Though their two families were friendly, my friend never interrupted Vonnegut as he sat and thought, never asked what was going through that wonderfully mad mind. When I heard this story, I pressed my friend over and over again for details. But there was nothing left to tell, only the haiku-like snapshot of a man in the sunset of his life, contemplating a hole against a New England skyline. So it goes. Mike: I grew up reading Poe, and graduated to Fitzgerald and Joyce. The only Russian I read until college was Dostoevsky. In college, Kurt Vonnegut taught me that it was okay to be a pessimist and an optimist at the same time. That realism has room for portraying the ills of the world, without losing sight of humanity’s potential. As a writer, and as a man, Kurt Vonnegut taught me that loving human beings was a strength, not a weakness. He taught me that genre is a toy to be played with, not a restriction. He taught me that great literature can be really really funny and really really sad, and he taught me that this is the har-

16 April 2007

dest thing to do as a writer. He showed me all that while making it look really fucking easy. For that, I’m jealous. For the rest of it? Eternally grateful. Vonnegut didn’t believe in an afterlife. He made me feel okay with the fact that I don’t believe in one. But I’m hoping right now that somewhere in this universe, there is a heaven. Because, surely, Kurt Vonnegut deserves to be there. Shar: His hand getting more shaky with each sketched underpant and asshole, his throat ravaged by eight decades of chain-smoking, Kurt Vonnegut never stopped shouting the simple truth that life would be a hell of a lot better if people were kind to each other. A few years ago, I read his every novel and collected short story in chronological order. And it broke my heart to realize that, at the end of his life, Vonnegut despaired, convinced that even simple kindness was too much to ask of a people addicted to hate,

greed, and violence. Wouldn’t it be nice to prove him wrong? Miles: Kurt Vonnegut was my favorite living author and his death has put me in a very awkward position. You see, I’m now in need of a new favorite author and I find myself unprepared to choose one. Thus, I find his passing to be very rude and inconsiderate on his part. He really should have consulted me, and all of the people like me, that selfishly wanted him around in a world and a country that he’d long ago grown weary of. Instead, he went back to being an undifferentiated wisp of nothingness, leaving those of us still sick with life to wander around awkwardly, hoping that we’ll one day meet in a heaven that he didn’t believe in anyway. God bless you, Mr. Vonnegut. For more memorial Union foma, or to add your own, visit Poo-tee-tweet?

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper



Life n Times By Lewis Grey

The Great Tree Debate By Byrd Beaulieu

Super Fiends By Shadow Sprinter

Guts For Glory By Ripp-the Swisher

Disgruntled Editor By MLB

Across 1- Mountain range in central Europe 5- Tirade 9- Intimidate 14- Anchored float 15- Having wings 16- Concur 17- Building for storing hay

18- Baby’s cry 19- Approaches 20- Self-service restaurant 22- One-piece bathing suit for women 24- Palm fruits 26- Command to a horse 27- Starvation 30- Sudden collapse into

failure 35- With speed 36- Knot in wool 37- Completely without madness 38- X 39- King’s staff 42- Animal foot 43- Gaelic language of Ireland or Scotland

45- Dreg 46- Modify 48- Material used as a dye 50- Grownups 51- Weep 52- Aquatic opossum 54- Side by side 58- Small end-blown flute 62- Debris 63- Highly excited 65- Double 66- Put into law 67- Stage gig 68- Burden 69- Awry 70- Not bright 71- Spouse Down 1- Swedish pop band whose hits include “Waterloo” 2- Hawaiian outdoor feast 3- Harbor 4- Pertaining to a synod 5- Branched 6- Winged 7- Where some vets served 8- Streetcar 9- Hebrew prophet

10- Eternal 11- Russian range 12- Roman emperor 13- Student’s hurdle 21- Horse locks 23- Quick and nimble 25- Astonish 27- Destined 28- Mimicry 29- The house of a parson 31- Collective word for intellectual pursuits 32- Pertaining to Benedict XVI 33- Not proper 34- Efts 36- Taco choice 40- Bludgeons 41- Radioactive gas 44- Spirit 47- Duchy 49- Warm and cozy 50- Climax 53- Coral island 54- Geographical expanse 55- Stopper 56- Monetary unit of Iran 57- Diamond cover 59- “Chicken of the sea” 60- Tense 61- Otherwise 64- Indian holiday resort

Submit Your Own Comics Send them to editor Matt Byrd: Or drop them off at the Union office Student Union Office 256a Medium


Crossword puzzles provided by Used with permission.


Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper

16 April 2007

[Comics] You’re Stuck Here By Victor! Perfecto

How to Play Sudoku

Each Sudoku puzzle has a unique solution that can be reached logically without guessing. Enter the numbers 1 to 9 into the blank boxes. Each row must have one of each digit. So must every column, and every 3x3 square. Check each row, column and square and use the process of elimination to solve the puzzle. Medium

16 April 2007

Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper





Toy Drive Exceeds Expectations!


Baby Animals Found To Be Sharing A Bench!

Oh Boy, Another Puppy!

Newly Purchased Scarf Brings Resounding Joy To Area Gramma!


Cute Wittle Puppy!

Solvang’s Comically Large Shoe A Point Of Interest To Some! By Fancy Lash

work about it the next day and they all agreed that it was a very funny thing to joke about. We decided to come he phrase, “comically large back later that week and take a picture shoe” gets thrown around of Kenneth with his foot on the shoe often these days, particularly again. We look at it often!” in the sleepy town of Solvang, but Despite the public interest exfor elderly vacationing couple Joseph pressed by many in regard to the and Mary Swevenson, the encounter shoe’s existence, there are some who with said shoe was anything but norwish to remove the shoe from the mal. Mr. & Ms. Swevenson (81 and streets of Solvang in the name of pub79 years young, respectively) rose lic literacy. One such individual is early last Saturday from their quaint Saul Morgan, who feels that the size Best Western hotel room in search of of the shoe might cause confusion pancake breakfast. What they found Puppy (above) takes a picture inside of Solvang’s famous, comically amongst young children with little to would bemuse them in a way that large shoe. no concept of comedic enlargery. they had not planned upon. “I simply feel that the shoe, at its current “Mary said, ‘Joseph,’” said Joseph, “‘look statement was later confirmed when grandson size, attracts the wrong kind of attention,” said over there.’ And I looked over there and I saw Gabriel referred to both the picture and his Morgan. “People are always taking pictures the shoe. Needless to say, we took a picture in grandparents as “totally cool.” near the shoe, slowing foot traffic on that front of it.” The shoe itself has a long history and is a particular sidewalk substantially. It’s time for Indeed, the picture taken by Bert and major source of town pride and interest for things to change.” Mary was shown to their family members a residents and guests alike. In an effort to remove the shoe, Morgan scant two days after it was taken. The develop“My husband made a joke when passing has made flyers, which feature a picture of him ment of the picture took only a few hours at a the shoe once,” said town resident, Sandra glowering menacingly at the shoe. Said local local Walgreens and was promptly placed in a Kimperling. “He put his foot in the shoe, which town youth Micah Patterson, on the subject of frame that the couple had received as a Christ- was funny because he was already wearing his these flyers, “I always knew old-man Morgan mas gift three years ago. Tevas, and he said, ‘Sandra? Have you seen was a heel.” (Ed. Note: This joke was made while “I’m very proud of my parents,” said son, my other shoe?’ At that point we were both Patterson had his picture taken near the shoe, Michael. “I think the whole family is.” This just chuckling too much. I told my friends at and was well received by all in attendance.) GRUNION GENTLEMAN


Family Plays At The Beach!

Augusta Greenskeeper Exclusive Interview! Interview by The Nothing

With the esteemed Masters Golf Championship come and gone, the question on every man’s mind is, “How’d they get that grass so green?” The Grunion took five minutes for a few questions with respected Augusta greens keeper, Alpin Gregor.

By Father McKenzie


Farmer Puppy Tries To Tickle You, But Is Too Dozy To Do So!


Disclaimer: This article is not an analogy or metaphor. It is simply a pleasant human interest piece about an American family. Last week Martha and Thomas Smith took their two children, Stephen and Jane, to the beach. Although there are a number of beaches in the Southern California area, they chose to make the travel down 2nd Street to Mother’s Beach. Mother’s Beach is inside the breakwater, so there are no waves that could threaten their children or them with their scary movement. Rather, there are just gentle lapping movements, as well as a lifeguard to supervise everyone, to ensure that all are safe. Talk about paradise on earth! While little Stephen and Jane, wearing their water wings in the shallow and motionless water, played patty-cake and made sand cubes, their parents watched a cordial, amiable volleyball game being played by local youths. They were celebrating their spring break on this day of commerce, all of them wearing comfortable yet styl-

ish bathing suits that revealed neither too little nor too much. They all had SPF-65 on, all over, including behind their ears and on their noses. At one point in the day, a boat sped by a little bit too close to the beach, and threatened to create a wave that might reach the shore. Fortunately, it died out about halfway there, ensuring the general conviviality of the day. At around three o’clock, after four hours at the beach, Martha and Thomas, a well-functioning couple who are respectful of but not limited by the gender roles of modern American society, gathered their two children and loaded them into their station wagon. Once home, they toweled the children off and rinsed them with the hose to ensure that no sand would be tracked into their 3 bedroom, two bathroom house. Thomas winced as the little grains hit his Augustine grass. It was the low point of his day. After that, they ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watched reruns of Friends, their favorite television program. All in all, it was a very agreeable day.

G: So Mr. Gregor, what kind of fertilization methods do you use? AM: Well, unlike other golf courses Augusta demands extra special care. I release organic nitrogen into the soil only as the grass needs it. This helps prevent excessive top growth, which can encourage disease and insect problems. It also helps prevent polluting groundwater and nitrogen runoff into lakes and streams. Organic nitrogen sources, like Milorganite 6-2-0 fertilizer, are a great source of slow release nitrogen. The nitrogen in Milorganite 6-2-0 is released by naturally occurring microbes in the soil. G: Kids want to know, how many sprinklers does Augusta have exactly? AM: (Laughing) Well, that’s a good question. I placed 34 sprinklers for every 100 yards of grass. That keeps the ground moist and healthy all year long. But, I don’t put too many near the sand pits. That would get muddy. G: That wouldn’t be fun. AM: (Laughing) No, it wouldn’t. G: How long are the blades of grass on the course, sir? AM: Well that depends on the time of year, weather, and which area of the hole you are on. The green on Hole 7, for example, averages about 2 centimeters in height in the morning, but falls to 1.8 in the afternoon. It’s funny like that. G: (Laughing) Yeah.

Disclaimer: The Grunion tried, 30 years ago, to found a publication that would exemplify all things decent. Now, on the cusp of our anniversary, I believe that this goal has finally been achieved. And while the views expressed on this page are still not representative of those in ASI, CSULB or anyone anywhere, we’d like to let you all know that we’re making great strides towards providing this campus with family-friendly content. Unfortunately, as a result of spatial restrictions this week, we were forced to exclude an article on the subject of clouds, which we hope to run in the near future. If you have any questions or concerns regarding this shift in format, please feel free to contact our editor at his email address, This one’s for you, Kurt.


Kurt Vonnegut Tribute