[Issue 62.1] “Transcendence is the power to be born anew, to make a fresh start, to turn over a new leaf, to begin with a clean slate, to enter into a state of grace, to have a second chance.” —Robert Fritz
elcome back friend! That’s a mighty fine new coat you’ve got on, and may I be the first to compliment you on that nifty hairdo of yours. I truly hope your Winter break was a refreshing one; I know mine was. But here’s the thing about breaks from school - they’re way too long! Just hear me out. I know you’re probably thinking I’ve gone nuts, “How could a break ever be too long, right?” Well, it may just be me, but whenever I’m given an extended period of time to spend doing whatever I want, all I end up doing is worrying about wasting time - it’s sick, I know. Another sad fact is that I never allow myself to suffer alone, so I figured I’d ask a few of my closest friends (my staff) to suffer along with me. It was only the 2nd of January, a mere week or so after we were set free from our academic responsibilities, and my mind was already racing. I was feeling a sickness coming on (and it wasn’t because I chased Champagne with Jameson the night previous), so instead of spending time worrying about the semester ahead, I put pen to pad and let the ideas flow. And then a quote regarding our beloved Dicstroke magazine by District Senior Editor, Dave Wielenga popped into my mind for some reason, “It’s funny, adventurous, imaginative, rude, silly, spot-on and pulls off one of the hardest tricks in writing–successful satire. You really should try to find a copy. Then you can compare it to the Union and wonder along with us: Why aren’t these people this good all the time?” That last line has stuck with me for some time now. At first I scoffed at Mr. Wielenga’s backhanded compliment, unable to see beyond my unwavering love for this publication. But the more I thought about his comment, the more I started to see it as a challenge and less like a slap in the face. Just in case you haven’t been here long enough to see the Union mature into what it is today, the last four years have seen this publication grow in size and
color (2 inches of fun, thanks Pat), stability (thanks Eli), and with the talented hands of Brian Dunning and Jeff Gould, the Union now looks like a professional weekly. If the recent history of the Union has taught me anything, it’s that change is necessary, and that stagnation and complacency lead to apathy. So, a little less than a month ago, we as a staff sat down and talked about where we saw this publication going. We discussed the past semester as a whole, and the consensus was that we all needed to ask ourselves if we were giving everything we could to this paper we love so much. There wasn’t a Monday last semester after picking up a Union that I didn’t say to myself, “That looks amazing,” or “Wow, that was a good article.” But alternately, each week I noticed things that needed to be changed or just could’ve used some more creativity and effort. We all felt this way, and I’m sure if you’ve read our paper more than a handful of times, so have you. It was decided, for a number of reasons, that the Union Weekly needed to follow in the footsteps of our forefathers and continue to improve. Now, if you’ve read this far you’re probably waiting for some sort of explanation, some example of how the Union is going to change, but I’m sorry my friend, there will be no explanation. To show you our hand now would take away from the best part of promises - the anticipation. Oh, the promise, right. I, as well as every staff member in this office, promise to give you something in 31 days, 7 hours, 32 minutes that will blow you away. We’ve got big plans people, big. The Union Weekly has always been an amazing publication, but the second we become satisfied with our work is the day that the essence of this paper is lost, and as long as we have anything to say about it, well, –Ryan Kobane you get the picture.
Ryan Kobane Editor-In-Chief Erin Hickey Managing Editor Mike Pallotta Associate Editor Matt Dupree Associate Editor Ryan Kobane Business Manager Vincent Girimonte News Director Kathy Miranda Opinions Editor Ryan ZumMallen Sports Editor Victor Camba Comics Editor Katie Reinman Creative Arts Editor Michaël Veremans Random Reviews Editor Earl Grey Grunion Editor Erin Hickey Literature Editor & PR Mike Pallotta Entertainment Editor Sean Boulger Music Editor & PR Ryan Kobane Photography Director
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Steven Carey Art Director Erin Hickey Matt Dupree Mike Pallotta Copy Editors Ryan Kobane Advertising Representative Steven Carey Graphic Design Chris Barrett Internet Caregiver
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Philip Vargas On-Campus Distribution Vincent Girimonte Off-Campus Distribution Miles Lemaire, Darren Davis, Chris Barrett, Andrew Wilson, Christine Hodinh, Jesse Blake, Derek Crossley, Christopher Troutman, Jason Oppliger, Cynthia Romanowski, James Kislingbury, Philip Vargas, Rachel Rufrano, David Faulk, Paul Hovland, Katrina Sawhney, Allan Steiner, Brandi Perez, Sergio Ascencio, Tessah Schoenrock, Ken C., Ryan Waterson, Joseph Bryant.
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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Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
28 January 2008
Opinions The Importance of the Fragile Male Ego
By Derek Crossley
By Kathy Miranda
he Ego in modern society’s terms is often referred to as “an inflated sense of self-worth.” The characterization of a male’s ego is often negative, with the implications that the male is arrogant and self-important—a person who feels the need to exert a significant effort to feel accepted based on society’s expectations of a “real” man. This effort is often self-fulfilling and usually results in an abundance of men drowning in their own testosterone, basking in their cocky ways and making it very frustrating for the opposite sex to exist in the same world. On the other hand, in an effort to psychoanalyze a breed so unique and to offer an explanation of why some men are so overtly self-centered (and subsequently, extremely vulnerable), it’s important, especially for women, to take into account how society’s expectations and the nature of human development in collaboration can affect how men and women behave. The key idea is to explain how the male ego acts as a vehicle for veiling the true insecurity that lies deep within the subconscious male mind and ultimately, to understand the male ego and its rather excessive actions . There’s reason to believe that the male ego exists, and evolves to great degrees, to compromise the struggle between a man’s ability to survive and a man’s natural desire to feel superior. In Freudian theory, our personality is divided into three components: the Id (the pleasure principle), the Ego (the mediator), and the Superego (the conscience). Each stage, depending on how much control we allow it to have, plays a role in how we behave as humans. Consider the male’s needs to survive—to eat, sleep and fuck, and the expectations and moral principles of society that influence him—to be honorable, successful and independent and imagine trying to satisfy the two without showing any sweat: enter the male ego. Our world is undeniably designed and run by men. As a result, a man is expected to be many things. He is expected to be accomplished and strong, to attract women, to have nice, shiny things and to prove himself as a “man” to other men—a goal that men have achieved, for the most part. Now before all the men reading this set out on a
Illustration By Andrew Wilson
silly ego trip led strictly by their narcissism, remember, we’re analyzing the male ego’s true origins, meaning we’re essentially stripping your ego down to its core, and revealing how much of a “man” you truly aren’t. There is a common misconception that implies a woman’s insecurity is greater than the insecurity of a man. But what is the difference between a woman who is concerned about her weight and a man who will lie about the size of his penis or how much money he makes to attract attention? Not much. The level of insecurity is the same, but the recourse is certainly different. A man might not submit to any sign of weakness, at least not right away, in fear of being less than the image society has created for him. And that is when the vulnerability of a man’s ego is clear. The male ego is genuinely afraid of having no purpose or direction towards social acceptance. And in this sense, his predicament is as serious as any other even if he can’t seem to stop talking about himself. He feels he must prove his abilities as a “man” by making money, buying nice things, drinking lots of whiskey and fucking many, many women. All the while, trying to convince himself that this is what is accepted, this is what it is to be a “real” man. Women are naturally inclined to be sensitive and caring, but that’s also expected of them. If a man shows any sign of sensitivity or emotional sentiment, he’s called a “pussy”
and hassled by his friends. These conventions provoke a false impression of a man’s true personality, making it a lot harder for women to understand who a man truly is. Men aren’t less insecure or compassionate than women just because they don’t show it. Men care, they just have a different way of dealing with it, or in some respects, hiding it. The antics of the male ego act as a distraction from the genuine sensitivity or feeling that men have and feel they need to disguise with bravado and swagger. The truth is most men are unwilling to confront their weaknesses and as a result, their solution is to mask that truth, to lie and act as if they have none. In the end, men are essentially constrained to being someone they aren’t, proving that they are just as vulnerable as any one of us, male or female. Strip away all the talk, all the money, the women, all of a man’s accomplishments and you will meet a human being whose sensitivity has been suppressed by society’s disillusioned norms. You will discover a person who is fragile—a man with many fears, a man with miseries, and a human who needs to be loved. Before you judge some arrogant bastard for tooting his own horn, consider what truly lies beneath his macho facade. In the end, the male ego is our only proof of a man’s humanity, although it’s hidden under many intricate and complex layers. It’s there, we just have to remember it exists.
$600 Will Fuel the Next Great Depression By Michaël Veremans Random Reviews Editor Our president, George Bush, is approving what law-makers call a massive tax cut that could yield up to a 600 dollar return for some middle class Americans. Families will tend to receive more. The IRS says that despite it being tax season, they can get the money to the American taxpayer about mid-May, which leaves us to stand by and watch as the economy flounders in front of our eyes and the congressmen blindly debate our economic situation. When asked what he would do about the economic slump in America, Sen. Obama said he too would have offered a tax cut. I’m glad Obama agrees with Bush, that’s another big-business puppet that I don’t have to vote for. No, a tax refund is not what this country needs. What he and Washington don’t seem to realize is that the economy in America isn’t
28 January 2008
No Intro Neccesary
suffering from lack of capitalism, and it’s not really in our hands to change. Giving a refund is like continually pumping coins into a slot machine at a casino, hoping that one day you’ll strike it rich. The problem in this country is not that we need lower taxes, it’s that we need more responsive taxes. We are running on a multi-trillion dollar deficit! Given that, it would seem like a tax cut is the opposite of what we need to do. Our economy was strongest when we ran with a small deficit, or even a surplus, I know that deficit spending is popular among Republicans, but even Reagan is spinning in his grave about what we owe as a country and how we’re living on the grace of the Chinese and other foreign investors. And where did all those trillions go to? Economically unfair war contracts, like Haliburton, and other cases of fraud that the US government has perpetrated in the last eight years have translated into an economic crisis. Our supposed representatives are busy
lining their own and their friend’s pockets with our money and they think that kicking us a couple hundred is gonna make us forget. So, let’s burn down the casino and start with a real solution. We need to stop the tax refund and invest all of that money that they seem so eager to get rid of into making our country better, reinvesting in the nation rather than giving us what amounts to a useless lump of cash. We paid those taxes to keep this country going, don’t give them back to us; use them to fix this mess. If the government decided to hold the money and invest it in colleges, drastically lowering tuition, we would have more educated adults participating in our economy and paying into social security. I don’t want my tax dollar to buy a bullet that will kill an innocent person a world over that I never met. I want to be able to go to college without relying on student loans and further debt, which, if you remember, was what caused the Great Depression.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
Am I an idiot? Do I not have an opinion? Do I have to be told what to think about things? Apparently, the answer is, in all three cases, yes! Luckily, thanks to their infinite wisdom, we don’t need to do be bothered with thinking anymore. Who are they? They are the people that decide that books need to be explained to someone before they read it. Who thought up this idea? It’s like a magician telling someone how to do the trick before he taps his wand. I just opened up a collection of Battaille, writings on surrealism. I was excited. I love the way he writes. I open to the first page, the introduction. I start to read. The wonderful man chosen to write the introduction to what is sure to be clear, concise, beautiful writing, decided to swallow a thesaurus whole and then proceeded to vomit it, in pieces, back onto the page. Not only was he unnecessarily masturbating his lexicon, he proceeded to tell me what Battaille really meant. This isn’t the first time I’ve been told during an introduction to a book what an author was really getting at. What the symbolism really was, or the real meaning behind the allegory. I’ve been talked down to my whole life; had the same things explained, incorrectly most of the time, over and over. They, the people that believe that their education is infallible and their answers are always right, want to take away the very thing these books were meant to give us—a fresh idea, a different perspective, possibly something that shocks us to our very core and leaves us different in the aftermath. But that kind of thinking is dangerous. It is easier to smooth the pallet with clever, educated babble in with which to lull the reader into giving less credit to the work they are about read because half of the process has already been taken away from them. They don’t believe our non-doctorate minds can dig into a piece of work without their help and guidance. I appreciate their concern. I’m almost touched. But I’m pretty sure I can read something—without any hints into what the writer was eating that day or sneak-peaks into some graduate-student’s collegiate wisdom—and have my own opinion. Maybe I don’t agree with them. Maybe I do think there is a metaphor in every cigarette Zooey lights, and that Salinger wasn’t just fiending for a nicotine buzz. At least, Vonnegut wrote his own introductions or fake one’s from character’s points of view. But, often, introductions are placed before the words of dead men. They left us their words, their thoughts, and we practically vandalize them. Why would we let someone introduce Shakespeare? He’s fucking Shakespeare! He needs no introduction. He may need an explanation. But that should come after, not before. Give us, the people, the few that still read, a chance to actually read something before you try to tell us why it’s good, or bad, or important. “To be or not to be?” This is not a question that should be answered in an introduction. Questions? Comments? Derek Crossley can be reached at: derek@ lbunion.com Or comment online at www.lbunion.com
[Opinions] A Stereotypical Fashion Faux Pas By Katrina Sawhney Union Staffer There’s a rather annoying saying that goes something like, “If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and has feathers like a duck, it’s probably a duck.” You’ve heard it. Unfortunately this overly used excuse for original thought and phrase will live longer than you or I. But that’s a frightening thought for another day. Here’s the deal: I am not a racist (don’t get skeptical just yet). The color of your skin doesn’t phase me. Those baggy pants that could conceal a weapon and fashion statements inspired by inmates? Yeah, that freaks me out. I understand that most people sporting the “gangster” look are most likely, not packing heat. I get that it has become fashionable to wear such attire. I have taken into consideration that culture perpetuates the idea that a young black man “should” dress in a certain manner. But this look carries a lot more than just an image, it drags along consequence. I am reminded of a scene from the Oscar-winning movie, Crash. Two guys are walking down the street in said attire and a white woman, played by Sandra Bullock, balks a bit as they approach. Racist, you say? Maybe. But regardless of the fact that they were, in fact, wielding weapons, she had every right to feel the way she did, even before their intentions were confirmed. No, not because they were black, but because they were dressed the way they were. I would defend her reaction even if the two “gangsters” were white, brown, purple or orange (and a lot of other colors). This of course applies to many different fashion choices and their respective stereotypes. Often, the bearer doesn’t know the full implications of their look. Common fashions often become mainstream and popular with a crowd that is in no way associated with its origins. Case in point: how many of you bought one of those quarter machine “pacifier” necklaces? I was twelve when they were popular, and believe me, this “rave” place was not somewhere I had ever been to. Let’s say you walk onto a junior high or elementary school campus and to tell a nine-year-old that the socks
he has pulled up to his knees, and long shorts that end just above, are a fashion designed by prisoners. That’s right, criminal gang bangers, who created the ensemble as a method of modifying their jumpsuits into cooler attire without baring the excess skin that would otherwise signify that they are a homosexual. “Yes, Jimmy, that’s where your school-day outfit came from,” you’d say. Do
Illustration By Miles Lemaire
you think this kid would give you anything more than a blank look? I may be going out on a limb here but I would venture that he probably didn’t know, will now go look up the word “homosexual,” and maybe even put that “Don’t drop the soap” reference together. As soon as you don the apparel of a certain stereotyped person, you have just given the world permission to assume a great number of things about you. You give others the right to classify you without a lot of thought and regardless of what you are really like. Looking like a
stereotype means you will probably be treated like one. This is not a fate reserved only for the African American community and their most commonly perpetuated style, it is an issue that knows no racial boundaries. Unfortunately, it is a problem endured by most, where one is treated like the person they only appear to be. Most of the time, the pseudo-stereotype is treated unfairly, as their actual personality is so far removed from the perceived image they are putting out. You could wear those excessively long t-shirts and baggy pants and be the perfect gentlemen or you could wear that spiffy, clean-cut pair of khakis out of your J.Crew catalog, and be the biggest misogynistic jerk in the world. I don’t think this is fair, but I think it is a reality. So if you sport a crocodile tear tattoo, don’t be surprised if someone skirts you in the hall. If you look a little homeless, don’t be hurt if someone tries to send you to the nearest shelter. And if you dress like a hooker, when someone asks you for your hourly rate, go ahead and slap them, they probably deserve it, but don’t cry yourself to sleep. Try to understand it’s not entirely their fault. I’m not asking you to change, nor should you; this is just a heads up. Make your clothing choice, but be conscious that we may not all “get it,” and some people will not be able to see past it. You should try not to hold it against us though: we humans are a shallow group, and as much as we try to rise above it, we make our first impressions and snap judgments in about 30 seconds. While I would like to believe it isn’t true, I have some sources (my psych teachers, psych textbooks, published journals on neurology etc.) that say the human brain is programmed to acknowledge stereotypes as prototypes to save our little synapses from blowing a circuit with an overload of information. In other words: we classify so we can assess a situation quickly. So until we are all re-wired, cut us some slack if your fashion choices throw us off a little. Give people a shot to live beyond the cookie-cutter assumptions, because I can guarantee this: no one is that simple. Questions? Comments? Questions can be directed to: info@ lbunion.com Or comment online at www.lbunion.com
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Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
28 January 2008
NEWS You Don’t Know
Digesting Facts For Your Convenience
By Chris Barrett Science
You Know You’re the Only One Who Can Help
By Vincent Girimonte
ack in 2002, CSULB became what is known as an impacted rise of Mexican-American students and the decreasing numbers of institution, meaning no longer would students who met the white students. 2003 documented a campus population that was sixstandard requirements be automatically admitted. Up until teen percent Chicano as compared to 2007’s tally of nearly nineteen this point, the admissions office had been amassing larger classes in percent. CSULB’s white student population was thirty-five percent— what must have been a maximizing effort that lasted fifty-three years. three percent higher than the current population of thirty-two perWith a community approaching cent. Other noteworthy statistics include the fact that our African40,000, students spilling out the American population has remained more or less the same percentclassroom door, the campus was age since 2002. Six percent of 2007’s student population declined to forced to scale down its admitstate an ethnicity, or color if you happen to be white. tance rate; this of course, meaning we Take any Poli. Sci. class and you’re can be fairly choosy in who we accept. likely to hear that Long Beach is statically Translation: we’re taking less averthe most diverse city in the United age students. According to Dr. Vincent States, and the steady increase Novak, Assistant Vice President of Inof Chicano students hopefully stitutional Research and Assessment, portrays an active approach on the decision to make CSULB impacted CSULB’s part in more carefully resulted in an overnight spike in reqcatering to the city’s needs. uisite test scores and overall GPA. The Disappointing is the stagnant last four years have yielded plateaued rate at which African-Americans results, albeit drastically improved from are coming to Long Beach State, pre-2002 classes according to Novak, further evidence that we have which he calls “incomparable” to curroom to improve. rent statistics. Novak predicts next year The average GPA for the will be even more competitive Illustration By Katie Reinman incoming class of Fall, 2007 was for applicants hoping to enroll 3.34, closely mirroring the previous four years, post impaction. The at CSULB. As it currently stands, and evident from the updated average SAT score was 1010, which was just a few points lower from Campus Master Plan, CSULB does not have resources to sustain the previous four years. Female students have entered CSULB with significant growth within the current setup. With the renovations a higher cumulative GPA since 2002, while men have earned higher to various buildings, including a new Nursing structure, and a marks on the SAT. The gap between female and male students’ num- doubling of student housing set to break ground in the immediate bers remains staggering, with women making up sixty percent of our future, it does appear, for the time being, that CSULB is gearing campus’ 36,868 students. towards a larger campus community. Institutional Research and The only real demographic trend since 2002 has been the steady Assessment’s work can be found online at csulb.edu/ir.
If you get all of your information from mainstream sources, you probably aren’t aware that there’s a war going on. Yeah, okay, you’ve heard about the war in Iraq, but that’s not what I’m talking about. This war is being fought all around us, by people you see every day. Following the leak of a clip of Tom Cruise, the Church of Scientology has taken to their standard tactic of threatening litigation on anyone who distributes the clip. Fed up with the strong-arming, online communities have banded together to bring down all of the church’s websites, organize protests, distribute more of the church’s secret documents, and disseminate information about the church’s past. The most surprising thing about the actions of these anonymous nerds is that they appear to be having an affect. Many Scientologists around the world are realizing the truth behind their religion for the first time and even the mainstream media has started to take notice, though not as eagerly in the US. In recent years the responsibility of blowing the whistle on the mainstream media has fallen to online communities, and now it appears so has investigating any secretive group with an overzealous legal team. Questions? Comments? Chris Barrett can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org Or comment online at www.lbunion.com
“I vot ed fo r chee se pi zza!”
re ’ e w e r u s “Pretty !” t i o d a n n o g “Thun dercat s are a may be.” “This too, shall pass.” in , ll a W n li r e B e “Like th ” . o w t n a h t s y a more w s, y a s y e k n c i o i H n U d l Erin o e h t ” ! e h k p i l m “I u r a H ! r e t t be 28 January 2008
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
Millions o’ Dollars ‘o The Week
Amount donated to the 49er Tennis Department by tennis fanatic and alumnus Terry Rhodes. The money will be put towards construction of a new tennis facility, and will also provide endowments to players.
Lotman Leads Beach to #4 National Ranking By Ryan ZumMallen Sports Editor After mowing down #7 UC Irvine and #5 UCLA—back-to-back, mind you—National Player of the Week Paul Lotman and the 49ers get ready to take down #2 Pepperdine this Wednesday.
aul Lotman has big hands. The kind of hands that I guess you would expect a 6’6 man to have—ones that dwarf your own, and that you imagine possess the ability to deflate volleyballs at will. In just six games this season—all Long Beach State victories—those hands have racked up a team-high 116 kills at a .330 clip. The numbers were impressive enough to earn Lotman National Player of the Week recognition. Though he also received the award once last season, Lotman was more surprised to hear the news this time. “I wasn’t really expecting it,” says the senior outside hitter. “I didn’t think I really played that well last week.” No disrespect, but he may be right. The award may have had more to do with the team’s achievements than Lotman’s, which is just fine with him. The 49ers smashed #12 UC Irvine with a 3-0 victory, then followed it up by beating UCLA on the Bruins’ home floor. That victory was a milestone for Lotman, who had previously never won at Pauley Pavilion.
No word on whether or not they’ve heard this—Lotman claims that the team doesn’t pay attention to the rankings—but those two victories impressed people enough to earn the 49ers the #4 national ranking, setting the stage for a much-anticipated showdown with #2 Pepperdine this Wednesday. The 49ers will lean heavily on Lotman. “Paul sets the barometer for us,” says head coach Alan Knipe. “He does so many things to help a team. The best compliment I can give Paul is that he’s a great all-around volleyball player. And that’s really rare.” “As long as we serve tough and block well, everything will take care of itself,” Lotman says, confident that the 49ers can slay another giant. Lotman is quick to deflect attention from himself and onto the abilities of his teammates. Indeed, the relationship between he and the team is completely reciprocal. The Beach would likely not be an undefeated 6-0 without Lotman, but in the same vein, Lotman would not have been named Player of the Week without the talent and hard work of his teammates. In Lotman’s mind, setter Mike Klipsch is on his way to winning Freshman of the Year, while Dan Alexander and Fletcher Anderson are among the best middlemen in the nation. “If everyone does their job, we have as good a chance as anyone to win the national
“I fell in love with playing in the Pyramid,” says senior Paul Lotman. “I can’t imagine playing anywhere else.” Photo by Russell Conroy championship,” Lotman says. He’s played alongside several All-Americans in previous years, but only now—as a senior—feels a sense of urgency to capture an NCAA title. “If I’m gonna do anything with this, I think now’s the time.” Knipe—a former 49er who won a National Title in 1991—knows that this team has the talent to contend with anyone. “That can take us real far, but we’re humble enough to know that you can be challenged every night in this league,” he says. “We’ve got to hold ourselves to our standards, and our standards are high.” It will be a team effort, but Lotman is the key to the 49ers’ championship aspirations. Ironic, considering Lotman was not highly
recruited out of local Lakewood High and was redshirted during his first season here. As a 49er, he’s rapidly evolved into one of the nation’s most impressive weapons. As a telling sign, Lotman’s numbers have increased every single year in all main statistical categories. “I’d rather win a national championship than get the individual awards,” he says. “So far, everyone’s really stepped up their games. Hopefully it stays that way.” Pepperdine is the next obstacle on the road to the Title. They’ll try their hand at becoming the first team to hand the 49ers a loss this season. But you can be sure that Lotman—and his hands—will have something to say about that.
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Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
28 January 2008
Los Angeles Art Show: 2008
very year the Santa Monica airport is host to over one hundred and twenty five different fine arts galleries from all over the country, as well as some international galleries. The show runs for only four days, January 23 through January 27. Unique to this years exhibition was the fine prints fair. Art appreciators are drawn together to see the more than ten thousand works on display, and if one is fortunate enough, purchase a piece and take it home. Besides the abundance of art that is available, the location and set up of this show is just as enticing. Two airplane hangers were taken over by temporary walls and strategic lighting, along with a third building for the print show. Each gallery was given a separate space in which to display the artist’s work that they represent. There were many up-and-coming artists on display along with some of the better known names and talents such as, Pablo Picasso, Elaine De Kooning, Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Rauschenberg Fernando Botero and Chuck Close. Most of Picasso’s pieces were pen and ink drawings along with a few lithograph prints (including the carved print blocks) which were framed and ready to sell. One distinctive Rauschenberg piece consisted of a collection of screen prints produced on delicate fabrics of many colors and patterns, and then stitched together for the final product. The Steps Gallery, from England showed more contemporary art. Andrew Ryder, a less known name, used colored LED lights, bold colors and surface change to create a mesmerizing effect. Patrick Hughes, who is represented by the Scott Richards Contemporary Art Museum, creates
an illusion that the perspective in his realistic paintings is off, but at the same time it is impossible to pick out what is wrong with it because the perspective is painted correctly. He creates this effect by painting on a paneled surface that protrudes and recedes across the frame. The amount of art that was there to see was both overwhelming and exciting. Each gallery had something to contribute to the experience. The show brought together many different types of people and art, and all enjoyed the experience in harmony.
Artwork By Patrick Hughes
Bagavagabonds Art Explosion: Pop! By Erin Hickey
Bagavagabonds Art Explosion: Pop! was a fantastic idea in theory: First convince a group of artists, ranging from the mildly talented to the pretty damn good, to donate a couple pieces for a charity auction. Then, put a twist on a classic by starting all pieces at five dollars and ending them at fifty so that attendees can actually afford to bid on the artwork. Add live bands and free booze and you’ve got what seems like a recipe for success. So what went wrong? Well to start with, the line for the “free” booze (offered with a ten-dollar admission fee) was absurdly long—at one point it went out the door and down the stairs. By the time you got a second drink, you’d have already lost the buzz from your first, which is why I was surprised by the amount of obnoxious shoving drunk people I had to deal with. Another (and arguably the biggest) of the show’s flaws was that the Grand Ballroom of the Pacific Electric Lofts, where the show was held, was packed far beyond its capacity and any accessibility created by the low-
priced art was entirely overshadowed by the artwork’s lack of physical accessibility. I mentioned the booze line went out the door and down the stairs. Well, it also went in front of the artwork, as did the line for the photo booth and the line for silk-screening. In fact every piece of art that wasn’t obscured by a line of people was obscured by a circle of people. To get from one end of the relatively small penthouse to the other took about twenty minutes and an unprecedented amount of willpower. In short, the show was a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. If viewing the art was difficult, bidding on it was next to impossible. To place a bid you had to track down one of the bidding agents. Sounds simple enough, but the only things distinguishing the bidding agents from the sea of drunk indie kids were the clipboards they held. Then once you found them, you had to figure out a way to actually get to them. If someone else put money on the same piece and you wanted to outbid them, you had to start the process all over again.
By Katie Reinman
Though the auction was ostensibly held for charity, it was pretty difficult to find the name of the charity to which the proceeds were going. Hey, but Cory Kennedy and that one guy from the Cold War Kids were there, so who cares, right? After some internet research, I was able to determine that they were going to an organization called For the Arts, but I shouldn’t have had to look. A great way to get people to pony up is to actually tell them what they’re contributing to. The brightest spot in the evening was Venice-based band the 1921A, whose unique blend of old blues, contemporary rock, and non-traditional percussion techniques make them comparable to Tom Waits. Their performance was fantastic as well—fantastic enough to compensate for both the crowds and the general mediocrity of every other band that played. Pop! was good in concept, but failed in execution. A larger venue, more bar stations and identifiable bidding agents might have made it a success.
El Calendario de Arte UAM- University Art Museum 1250 Bellflower Blvd. Long Beach
OTIS College of Art and Design, Ben Maltz Gallery 9045 Lincoln Blvd. Los Angeles
Long Beach Museum Of Art 2500 East Ocean Blvd. Long Beach
See Line Gallery 1812 Berkley St. Santa Monica
MOLAA: Museum Of Latin American Art 628 Alamitos Ave. Long Beach
Carmichael Gallery of Contemporary Art 1257 North La Brea Ave. West Hollywood
OCCCA- Orange County Center For Comtyemporary Art 117 North Sycamore Santa Ana
Gallery Row: Downtown Art Walk
“Lothar Schmitz: Survival Strategies” “Temper: Gestural Interface for Cinematic Design”
“Shaolin: Temple of Zen” -Justin Guariglia Febuary 2 through March 29, 2008
“ About Face: Porttrature Now”- Through March 23, 2008
“Pretty Decorating” -Nick Walker Febuary 2 through Febuary 24, 2008 “Outside/Inside” -Febuary 16 through March 9, 2008
“Bridge to the Americas” -Permanate Collection “D + Lirium” by Walter Goldfart -Through May 2008
“Metaphor” -Rebecca Erbstoesser, Linda Southwell, Vicky Hanrahan and Maneli Jodat
MOCA- Museum of Contemporary Art 250 South Grand Ave.
“Murukami” -Through Febuary 11, 2008 “Collecting Collections” -Febuary 10 through May 19, 2008
LACMA- Los Angeles County Museum of Art 5905 Wilshire Blvd. Los Angeles
“So- Cal: Southern California Art of the 1960’s and 70’s” - Through March 30, 2008 “Japanese Painting: Calligraphy and Image”- Through Feb 19, 2008 “Japanese Prints: Word/Poem/Picture”- Through Feb 19, 2008
28 January 2007
“US versus Them” -Asad Faulwell, Roni Feldman, Ivan Limas
Second Thrusday of each month Located at the new downtown LA gallery district Galleries: Art Murmur Gallery Art Share Bank Continental Gallery Gallery Crewest de Soto Downtown Art Gallery Gallery 727 Kristi Engle Gallery Bert Green Fine Art M.J. Higgins
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
The Hive Gallery Infusion Inmo Los Angeles Center for Digital Art MoronoKiang Gallery Niche LA MOCA MONA Red Dot
he Paramount studio gates loomed large in the background as Stephen Gaghan (Traffic, Syriana) and Steve Schwartz (The Practice) briefed picketers on the state of negotiations between the Writer’s Guild of America (WGA) and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP, a conglomerate consisting of eight major Hollywood studios, including Fox, Paramount, and CBS). We didn’t get the same kind of access to a similar meeting earlier that morning in front of CBS Studios, when Ron Bass (Rain Man) kindly asked us for a minute alone with some WGA writers. We were lucky enough to eavesdrop at Paramount. Gaghan, colorful in his delivery, said “we took it up the ass on that one,” when referencing a past concession made regarding DVDs in negotiations. “That’s bullshit,” called out an-
other writer. We became more comfortable in our surroundings with each F-bomb. Just down the sidewalk, against the high wall fencing off the L.A. traffic from the place where movie stars roam, writer Joe Syracuse power-walked holding two picket signs, violently thrusting them towards the sky. “I’m trying to get back to my college weight before the strike ends,” he said, using his time away from the pen for some much needed exercise. In a roundabout sort of way, we were there to find out if Syracuse would meet his goal.
“We don’t want to be here.”
When we first pulled up to CBS Television City, there were four men pacing back and forth with picket signs. The sky was still grey and there was electricity in the air. One of the men picketing was a freelance feature film writer named Michael Galvin. Although he had just signed a deal with a major studio to begin work on one of his scripts, he dropped his pen on November 5th, before he had received payment from the studio, to strike against the unfair treatment that he and his comrades have been subjected to for decades. It is essentially an artist’s struggle. All of the men on the picket line were intelligent, capable writers, like all of the writers that have been responsible for the conscious development of the human race. They are unique and creative minds that wrote the TV shows and movies that have made you laugh and cry, the ones that have changed your life. “We want to be treated as creative partners,” said Galvin, when asked what he personally hoped to gain from this strike. Although he has been struggling to make ends meet since the strike began and his meager cash flow stopped, he saw something more important—a greater meaning—to his efforts and sacrifice. He, along with thousands of his fellow writers, remains dedicated to standing up for the artist’s rights over his work, and for the respect that these men and women deserve. When one of these feature film writers submits a script, the studio has the right to—and often does—chop it up, alter it, and sometimes entirely re-write it without consulting the writer. This wouldn’t be so bad if they were being paid a fair wage for their work, but most of them are thrown
a measly percentage of the production gross. They’re pushed to the side as though they were a factory, and not an artist—a university-trained writer. When asked what he thought was keeping the studios from committing to serious negotiation, Galvin began to outline a vindictive and unbelievable enemy. The big studios have been trying to roll back writer benefits for years now. Since November 5th, the WGA has been fighting to make sure the studios become responsible and respectful employers. Galvin asserted his belief that the studios are trying to make a stand against writers, using the strike to justify their own unfair policies. They’re trying to force the writers through financial pressure and anti-WGA PR to capitulate, something that Galvin said will never happen. The studios are willfully ignoring the pleas of the writers to show that they, the studios, remain in control. Another striker we talked to was Chauncey RaglinWashington. Originally from the South side of Chicago, Raglin has been writing in Hollywood for eleven years, and, like Michael Galvin, his pilot had just been slotted when the strike began. It has been nine weeks since he put down his pen and his pilot still waits in pre-production. His frustration was palpable when we talked to him just outside the CBS gates, but Chauncey remains optimistic for an agreement. We asked him the same question, (what he was personally striking for) and he echoed the response that we got throughout the day. “Never once have I questioned why we are striking,” he said through a smile. “They need to know we are talent and not commodities.”
Happy couples have no history Beautiful Fox Studios in Los Angeles suddenly seemed like a dark castle under siege by warriors with picket signs. We went and joined the more than two hundred writers picketing outside of the gates of one of the most conservative, resilient studios in the big eight. As we approached the lines, the honks of supportive motorists grew louder and louder, then the murmur of the dozens of writers, holding picket signs and talking amongst themselves or on their cell phones. When we got to the sign-in table, Erich Hoeber (Montana) looked up from his pile of papers, introduced himself as the strike coordinator and happily proceeded to answer
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
28 January 2008
“They need to know we are talent and not commodities.” our questions. After 10 years in the WGA, he was able to give us a unique perspective on the strike, what the WGA wants, and the history of the studio’s relationship with the writers that they rely on. According to Hoeber, the WGA has about 10,500 members, about 99% of working writers: 3,000 in the east, 7,500 in the west and more than 5,000 in the Los Angeles area. Why isn’t the strike being covered by the news? Because the big studios control the very news channels that supposedly provide fair coverage, said Hoeber. And it remains an only marginally covered strike, although it is affecting all TV shows still on the air, as well as holding back movies that are set to be produced—bringing film and TV to a halt. Because of this, the WGA has been using the internet and highly visible picketing to get the message out to the American public, asking for support and understanding. Although formal negotiations were abandoned when the studios walked away from the bargaining table on December 7th, there is headway being made in re-opening negotiations between the WGA and the studios. Before the strike, the studios were even planning on rolling back some of the benefits that writers already have, so striking at this time just to maintain their current contract has become the backbone of the WGA’s motivations. Despite that, they are firmly pushing for a percentage of the distribution gross, which would mean that they would finally get proper residuals from content distributed electronically and after certain periods of sale time (i.e. from the first two weeks). They want their new contracts to include the internet and new media clauses, so that they are not left out of emerging markets creatively and financially. And until the studios can agree to this humble and realistic agreement, these Angeleno writers will be working in shifts, picketing the major studios and spreading their message. “They have to negotiate with us,” said Hoeber, optimistic that the stalwart heads of the top studios will return to the negotiation table when they realize the cost of the strike.
The Greater Struggle The WGA started in 1933 at a time when labor unions were becoming a political force. As Seth Pearlman, a union producer/writer working in the entertainment industry for thirty years pointed out, only seven percent of workers in America have
28 January 2008
union affiliation, a far cry from the good old days—you know, when the Teamsters had hitmen. The recent struggles of the WGA are indicative of a larger problem the Unites States faces as corporations continue to tighten their grip on the laborer, says Pearlman in front a giant American Idol poster (a behemoth symbol of reality television’s suffocating impact on Hollywood writers). In this case, the laborer is a highly educated writer capable of giving witty and concise soundbytes—the meaning is not diminished, however. The WGA is the creative talent behind the big money productions, but this remains a classic case of the little man fighting for his fair share. The WGA is receiving support from unions across the board, including the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), The Teamsters, and international writing guilds cognizant of the importance of solidarity against large production corporations. In tune with the season, all three major Democratic candidates for President (Clinton, Edwards, Obama) have sided with the writers. And yes, Jesse Jackson is on board too. The struggle belongs to the WGA, a large and powerful union, sparking dozens of similar organizations to adopt a “your battle is our battle” mentality. This was echoed on the picket line. We encountered several SAG and security officers pledging their support outside the Paramount gates, eagerly waving signs and saluting sympathetic honkers. The WGA cause seems to be infectious. The AMPTP website boasts a running ticker calculating the dollars being lost by WGA members and crew technicians due to the strike. On the same page one can find pieces of propaganda describing several professions that earn a lower wage than a working WGA writer, including a surgeon and an airline pilot. Interestingly enough, the Airline Pilots Association, International has pledged support for the WGA in their negotiations.
You may be wondering what you can do to support the striking writers. According to Coordinater Erich Hoeber, the best thing the public can do is let the studios know by e-mail or telephone, that we are sick of the way writers are treated and sick of the reality TV shows that have flooded the airwaves since the strike began. Demand your quality programming back. If the studios don’t do what is right in the next two weeks, there won’t be a spring season. Public support really helps and it’s the only way the Hollywood fat cats will be listen to reason.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
The Men Who Stare at Goats
By Jon Ronson Simon & Schuster 272 Pages $24.00
This week: Faulkner’s The Reivers, O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night and Oates’ Black Water.
Reviewed by James Kislingbury
he Men Who Stare at Goats makes me wish I was a crazy person. Or at least more paranoid, because I feel like my skepticism is depriving me of a good time. The Men Who Stare at Goats is a book by the documentary film maker Jon Ronson. It takes its name from the US military’s attempt to will a goat to death with the power of their mind. The book delves into the origins of the program and interviews many people who were involved in the US military’s attempts to create superhuman warrior-monks. Over the course
of the book he encounters crazy people of all different varieties, from pseudo-hippy special forces operatives to UFO enthusiasts to a general that tried (and failed) to walk through walls. It’s a very interesting idea for a book, and that’s where the book’s strength lies: In ideas. Once the author strays from ideas and theories and things a journalist can’t prove, then the book starts to come apart at the seams. The connections he makes through his investigation don’t add-up. There’s some New Age mumbojumbo making an appearance in military literature, plus there’s some spurious connections between annoying Noriega with Van Halen at top volume and subliminal sounds. None of these loose threads he brings into the book are ever tied together in a satisfying manner. All of it leaves me with one question: So what? Any yahoo in the world can find someone to tell the public about the ghost of the Loch Ness monster or about the mindcontrol. You won’t have to look far to find someone that fabricates the very same things that Jon Ronson is investigating (X-Files producer Chris Carter comes to mind). And I’m sure we’ve all had a runin with someone that is convinced that the federal government is in cahoots with space aliens and is more than happy to tell you all about it (whether you want them to or not). It takes a special kind of person to
Beef’s Top O’ The Pile Captain America #34 As you may have seen on the news last May, Captain America was killed. Marvel has decided against bringing the old Cap back and instead opted to make a pre-existing character into a new Captain America, complete with a new costume and hand-gun! Pick up issue #34 to find out if the fan-favorite (Winter Soldier) takes the reins. Spider-Man: With Great Power… #1 Taking place after Peter gets bit by the spider and before the death of Uncle Ben, Tony Harris (artist: Ex Machina, Starman) and David Lapham (writer: Stray Bullets) expand on the period where Peter learned to be a hero and not a selfish prick that uses his abilities for professional wrestling. With Lapham’s ability to write realistic characters and Harris’ ability to draw them equally realistically, this book is sure to cement Spider-Man as the realest character in the Marvel Universe. For real. Y: The Last Man #60 It all ends here folks. Vaughan wraps it up, and of course the average 22 page comic format will not suffice, so he unloads a thick 48 pager on all his adoring fans. If the 59 issues leading up are any indication, #60 should be a continual mindblowing shock from page to page. What if?: Spider-Man vs. Wolverine Just imagine that scenario. Project Superpowers #0 The guys that brought you Earth X and Justice, get together again to take superheroes that haven’t been used since the ‘40s (and have recently fallen into the public domain) and update them for a modern audience.
-Mike “Beef” Pallotta
actually prove that the United States government cares about the supernatural and is willing to stake millions of dollars on harnessing the paranormal. Jon Ronson is not that person. Jon Ronson’s investigations strike me as clumsy, and even worse they aren’t all that entertaining. The lion’s share of the book’s entertainment value comes from other people and things that you can look-up for free online. Ronson merely stumbled into this story and he can’t seem to stumble his way out. Before one story he is studying can be concluded, the author will toss in a mind control operation called MK-ULTRA (apparently it was only ever meant to be shouted) or the Heaven’s Gate suicides or magician Uri Gellar (who can currently be found on TV alongside Criss Angel) or some other hare-brained idea. The book gets crushed under the weight of it’s own subject, leaving only a few intriguing ideas here and there with nothing to tie it all together. It could be that his point was to confuse his audience with the maze-like structure of the United States intelligence community, to give us a sense of what he was investigating. If that was what he was trying to, he succeeded, but that kind of thing makes for pretty poor investigative journalism. I might not know a whole lot about how journalism works, but I do know a good book when I see it. This is not it.
Learning the Ropes of the Workplace Without Hanging Yourself By Elizabeth Freedman, M.B.A Delta 288 Pages $12.00
Reviewed by Katrina Sawhney So just in case you, beyond all odds, found a way to spend all of your college years drunkenly stumbling along and somehow managed to find yourself a graduate with no concept of the basics of social norms, I’ve got the solution to your problems. Work 101 outlines the painfully minute basics of the workplace, right down to the commonly accepted minimums of personal hygiene. Not only will you learn why you never got laid in college, but also why any kind of interview situation left you jobless. It’s simple stuff, pal: breath mint. But hey, for the socially inept, Work 101 is a neat compilation of the dos and don’ts of the workplace. Elizabeth Freedman must have reason to write this, and the audience to which it is geared is clearly in dire need of such a guide. Freedman writes with the sarcastic but approachable tone of someone who clearly knows more than you. But really, she does. This is what she does for a living. Freedman, in addition to having a M.B.A., is an award winning speaker who runs a corporate training and development firm for the budding young professional and she has assumably seen these rookie mistakes enough times to justify writing a how-to book for around the office. She points out obvious potential faux
pas which serve more as reminders than anything else: your impression lasts a moment, your reputation lasts a career, you will be judged on your eating habits, everyone will remember you dancing topless at the Christmas party, etc. Some of the most helpful aspects of this book are the more empowering topics like shamelessly, but subtly promoting yourself or bringing up your triumphs before talking salary raise. It’s a sad commentary on the average just-graduated college kid, but unfortunately necessary. Honestly, to the college grad that needs this book to succeed: bravo on making it this far. It’s amazing you haven’t fallen into a puddle and drowned.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
Students tend to bitch and moan when forced to read “classic” works of fiction, but there’s something to be said for a good old-fashioned Pulitzer Prize winner. I mean, fiction is generally anthologized for a good reason. Books don’t become classics because nobody wants to read them—that doesn’t generally happen until long after they’ve been canonized on the syllabi of your literature professors. There’s even more to be said for the lesser-known works of the authors that write classics. Faulkner’s widely ignored picaresque The Reivers is one of those gems. The novel (which won a Pulitzer, by the way, but is still shunned by even the most dedicated Faulkner scholars) is narrated by an eleven year-old boy, who steals his grandfather’s car for the week with a family friend, Boon Hogganbeck. They travel to Memphis where they stay at a whorehouse while Boon tries to woo a prostitute. Ned, the family’s stable hand who had stowed away in the trunk, trades the car for a losing racehorse. Boon flips his shit, but Ned insists that he can win the car back by successfully racing the horse. The word “upbeat” doesn’t generally come up in conversations about Faulkner, but it comes close to describing The Reivers. The novel is hilarious even if you’re not usually amused by Faulkner’s unique brand of humor. But really, how could you not be? That scene in As I Lay Dying when Addie falls into the river because her children put her in a beveled coffin upside-down so that her dress could fan out? Priceless. Maybe you, like most of the people in my literature classes, don’t find death amusing, in which case you’d probably disagree with my stance on Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night. For me, it doesn’t read as the tragedy that it’s supposed to be, but rather as a touching documentation of a family that, despite their communication problems and the occasional drug addiction, genuinely care about each other. Yes, I get that alcoholism and morphine addictions are bad, but I don’t think that the inclusion of those elements in a play automatically makes it a tragedy. Nor do I believe that family members being gruff with each other is a sign that they don’t care. O’Neill’s dialogue is brilliant enough that a loving family shows through the Tyrones’ bickering, chemical-dependent exterior. Then again, the play is semi-autobiographical, which would explain why he is so spot-on as far as dysfunctional families go. Come to think of it, the autobiographical nature might also explain why I so desperately need to believe that the Tyrones really are a happy family under the surface. I love O’Neill too much to accept the possibility that he was miserable for most of his life. I mean, he was, but that’s beside the point. Joyce Carol Oates’ Black Water is not necessarily a classic, but it does lean pretty heavily on historical events. Of course, it’s hard for something you’re leaning on to support your weight when you keep moving it around. The story is a fictionalized account of the Ted Kennedy scandal, which sounded fascinating on the back cover synopsis, but turned out to be little more than mildly interesting. Though certainly entertaining, as a novel it left much to be desired. The same effect could’ve been achieved just as (if not more) successfully in a short story and there would’ve been the added bonus of the poor character development being far less noticeable. The writing is a bit choppier than Oates’ previous work, and though it is obviously intentional, it does take a little away from the story. I get what she was trying to accomplish; I just don’t think she was nearly as successful as she thought she was. Black Water just felt really disappointing. It was such a fantastic concept that Oates did so little with. It was an enjoyable read, but I don’t anticipate ever picking it up again. Definitely more of a library book than a keeper.
12 November 2007
The Desert Goes Electric
here should be no doubt at this point that Coachella is the greatest music festival in the world. It has continuously managed to stock a barren and overpriced wasteland with tens of thousands of hipsters and urbanites with the singular lure of the greatest lineups ever conceived. That is, until this year. As anyone on the Internet can tell you, this year’s a bit of a disappointment in the headliner department. Unless you’re a Jack Johnson fan, and in that case you’ve got deeper problems. The sorry revelation that two of the headliners (The Raconteurs and Love & Rockets) are lesser offspring of better bands (The White Stripes and Bauhaus, respectively) is a definite hand-tip to the struggle that Goldenvoice apparently faced attempting to gauge the ever-changing pulse of new, cool music. But let’s not be too harsh. The lineup is strong on the nonheadliner end, and that’s where it counts. Anyone who’s tried to see more than 25 acts at Coachella knows how much of a dent
New Young Pony Club: They’ll say sorry, but they won’t take off their glasses.
28 January 2007
the headliners can put in your schedule, and I’m actually kind of excited not to need to get close to enjoy the bands. I’ll be just as happy lying on the ground listening to Portishead and Roger Waters performing Dark Side of the Moon as I would be if I tried to push my way through the crowd to see the stage. And it leaves more time to wander around catching all the strange and wonderful bands that are sure to steal the show. What bands are those, you ask? Well, here’s a few that might catch your ear. If, say, you fancy trance music and would like to hear some metal guitar thrown over it, then you should check out Enter Shikari. If you enjoy Amy Winehouse but prefer your divas to keep their drugs offstage, you should check out the virtuosic vocals of Duffy. Perhaps you like Canadian giddy pop? Islands are for you, friend. Or if you’d like Canadian heartbreak pop, we’ve got Stars! And for something in between the two, check out fellow Canucks, Metric. Yes, there’s something for everyone at this year’s Coachella, even stuff you may not even know well enough to like. Indeed, you may be the adventurous type0 who likes to eat spicy foods, skydive, and listen to bizarre music that presses the boundaries of aural enjoyment. In that case, here are some acts you should check out. First off is Holy Fuck, an electro-fuck act (I hold copyright on that term) that blends electronic madness with a total mind-fuck tossed in for effect. Austin TV, hailing from Mexico, is the perfect soundtrack to a piece of the magic realist literature that our neighbors to the south do so very well. Or if that sounds like it might be too sober for you, the drug-soaked hard rock of Black Mountain will hit the spot. Honestly, I could go on and on with weird acts. Do a YouTube search for Professor Murder, Man Man, or Deadmau5. Coachella is ripe with craziness. But this year seems to be all about electro. It’s slightly unfortunate considering all the great new acts of other genres that were likely shoved aside so that Goldenvoice could get as much ‘lectro as humanly possible. The success of the Ed Banger records crew has been unstoppably infectious, and everyone and their mother these days seems to have some sort of electro-influenced genre of music happening. Of course the prospective Coachella visitor would do well to make stops at all the Ed Banger Crew performances (including Ed Banger patriarch Busy P, Justice,
The Plastiscines will be at Coachella, as well as my most unspeakable fantasies.
Kavinsky, Uffie, and SebastiAn), but there are many other bands of the electro persuasion that are not to be missed. My favorite is the effusively titled Does It Offend You, Yeah?, who hail from Reading and manage to blend the dance-party rock frenzy of !!! with the beat-centric house style of Digitalism and/or Daft Punk (and they break their instruments on stage, which just has to be expensive as hell). Simian Mobile Disco, easily one of the most accessible electro acts these days, is also not to be overlooked. For those looking for this year’s equivalent of the mindblowing Girl Talk performance of 2007, look no further than Yelle. Yelle comes the closest to the hypersexual flair that old-school electro was famous for (and that the newer stuff has mortgaged in favor of bigger audiences). On a related note, even though they’re technically a drum & bass group, you hip electrokids would be idiots to miss Pendulum. Nothing is more intense than D&B in a tent in the desert sun. Do it while you’re still agile enough to make the old people dancing look ridiculous and old. Because if nothing else, 2008 stands to be the most physically demanding Coachella ever.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
-By Matt Dupree
A Sundance Virgin, Until I Met Randy Quaid A First-Timers Look at the Sundance Film Festival By Darren Davis
y Sundance cherry was popped this year at last, and there be none more qualified to guide me through the masquerade than my dear friend and former couch resident Jason Oppliger, who was kind enough to let me tag along on his forth consecutive trip up to Park City. We opted to drive, and powered through the 12-hour trek while narrowly avoiding both a ceremonial stop in Las Vegas, which would surely have ended my adventure before it began, and a few advantageous deer. Flying is easy. Travel by ground and you earn it. There were many simple pleasures in Utah for a Southern California-bred Turk such as myself. I was freezing with purpose and consistency, bundled under every article of clothing I own and waddling down the steep streets of Park City, arms out in a balancing act with my center of gravity, knowing that if I were to fall I would have rolled comfortably to safety. Like an overfed tourist, I delightedly scraped ice off my windshield and shoveled snow around the house Jason, myself, and a few of his Mid-Westerner friends were crashing at. “I don’t know why you guys don’t do this all the time!” I shouted at them from the backyard as they sat inside, watching television and drinking beer, “There is something meditative about it, don’t you think?” Then, of course, there was the festival itself. The process of choosing and buying tickets to screenings was kept from me entirely. I let the big boys decide what was worth seeing. Not that I do not consider myself a cinephile, on the contrary, but I am at best garden-variety, and my ear had not been kept to the ground on what Sundance had to offer in Aught 8. To my knowledge, festival tickets can be purchased by the general public via a lottery system and, according to Jason, we were shit out of luck. The pickings were slim this year. Most of the more marquee names such as Up the Yangtzi, Anvil!, and Where in the World is Osama Bin Laden?, were bought up or consumed by industry folk. This led to the eventual comman-
deering of stand-by tickets for Veit Helmer’s Absurdistan, and three screenings at Slamdance, the smaller, alternative festival that runs alongside Sundance. Despite this, there were a few gems in our starved lineup. Absudirstan was a very simple movie made overly-dense by the director’s seemingly endless delight with himself. I enjoyed it well enough, but I would have more if Helmer had not been a spectacle before and after the screening. He would kill me if he heard me say this, or at least curse at me in German, but the movie was essentially Amelie set in a Borat-style Eastern-Block country. Really. It was. So much so that someone asked at the Q&A whether or not he was inspired by Jean-Pierre Juenet, to which he replied “No! He was inspired by me.” Fuck you Veit. You have made two movies. But I liked this one. Slamdance had more to offer in the realm of grateful, even humble filmmakers and their actors: Those who just want other people to see their movies, regardless of venue. Although the hotel Slamdance was held in lacked any sort o f prestige (or organization), everyone involved seemed excited to be there. Randy Quaid was perhaps the highlight of my trip, even if his movie, Real Time, is already destined to be buried and forgotten. Quaid was an absolute beast, complete with a full beard that matched the color and texture of his epic fur coat. He had the look of a man who had seen the bowels of Hell somewhere in the 90s and was just happy to be standing upright, let alone working. He sat across the aisle from me during the flick, and watched it with pride. Even when his squirrel with a faux-hawk co-
star, Jay Baruchel, nearly had a nervous breakdown standing in front of his audience answering questions, Quaid was polite, funny, and probably had a flask hidden in that mink monstrosity. Plenty more went down over in the snow, but it was the little things that stuck with me as I returned to the grind that is Long Beach. The hospitality of strangers and the buzz in the air in the mountains of Robert Redford’s little town assured my return next year.
Illustration of Mr. Quaid by Miles Lemaire
A Sundance Veteran Announces Beginning of the End A Jaded Fan’s Obvservations of the Sundance Film Festival
28 January 2008
When discussing the Sundance Film Festival in any capacity it is essential to recognize what Sundance actually is at the core. And at its core Sundance is a crock of shit. A flailing bearded woman dressed to the nines in a full-body fur coat dropping names into the thin, frigid, mountain air while scanning the features of every passerby in attempts to catch a famous face. It’s a freak show, with the mightiest of the freak kingdom descending on what at one time may have been a quaint mountain town but is now just a winter alternate for the madness of L.A. Packing Park City’s Main Street with the entire film industry while curious Mormon onlookers try and spot Josh Hartnett is a spectacle in and of itself, and now add monstrous piles of snow, dogmatic fur protestors, 3.2% beer, and panic-inducing amounts of advertising and, ladies and gentleman, there’s a show, we have a show. Every year the festival itself often provides far more interesting moments than any of the supposed independent films that play at any of its nine venues just by existing, just by undulating and pulsing all at once with the nervous energy of mortals mixing with Hollywood. This year in particular felt ready to burst. Over the past several years, free parking has become scarce, with once free lots now charging upwards of $20. Hideouts tucked away from the hustle and bustle usually retaining the languid pace expected of a small mountain town were racked with patrons, even my favorite Park City bar is apparently now a “members only” establishment which required a four dollar fee in exchange for a two week membership. Main street felt pushed beyond capacity, quicksand puddles of snowy mush lurking off every curb, the masses pushing past each other all in search of somewhere to find respite, at every corner the fes-
tival felt too big, too much, as if somehow despite its notoriety until this year it had remained protected solely because of its name. Sundance seemed to defend itself by simply seeming so unobtainable and cloistered among the massive peaks of the Wasatch that one way or another it kept to itself, despite international attention. The film festival part of Sundance had long ago been demoted to second fiddle behind the parties and bags of free oxygenated water and scented pamphlets on green living, but this year in particular felt underscored by a pervasive sense of failure. Marked with an atypical sensation of Spring break in Daytona and the Summer of Love already too big for its own good, looking over its collective shoulder to see if that really was William H. Macy, and yes, of course, it was. For a while it seemed that Sundance was capable of accomplishing something respectably tangible and walk the tightrope of art and money with unprecedented skill, it could be simultaneously about art and yet still rock out and pay cash to indie directors who were then boisterously ushered into the good-old-boys club of the Hollywood elite. Remember that Tarantino got his start here, Rodridguez got his start here with a movie shot on super 16 with a bunch of his friends in Mexico, even Morgan Spurlock a few years ago. Although this designation is based solely off of the vibe that seemed to steam off the bundled festival goers as I traversed through their hordes, returning from this year at Sundance I feel ready to proclaim it obsolete, announce it has peaked, and call everything from now on excess, an application of self-love and dead-dreams smeared over the icicle encrusted condos who’s owners flee the city as all of Los Angeles packs into a mile long main street in the mountains of Utah and pretends to be normal, fooling absolutely no one. –By Jason Oppliger
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
Crimson and Cloverfield A Review of Cloverfield By Sean Boulger
eople seem to have recently forgotten exactly why it is we go to the movies. In a world inhabited by foolish adolescents that are either talking or texting and distracted parents with their distracting children, it becomes harder and harder to enjoy the movie-going experience. As a result, audiences are retreating into a world of DVDs and digital downloads. Part of this is because of the reasons I’ve just mentioned, a but a lot of this has to do with the fact that few films demand to be seen in theatres. Cloverfield is undoubtedly a film that does. You know that feeling you get when you step off a particularly intense roller coaster? The one where you laugh, exhale, and go “holy shit!”? That’s what Cloverfield gives you for a solid hour and twenty minutes. My good friend remarked, at the end of the film, “my butthole could have crushed a diamond, man.” Directed by a relative unknown (Matt Reeves, co-creator of Felicity) and starring a cast of relative unknowns (Michael
Stahl-David of The Black Donnellys and Lizzie Caplan of Mean Girls), Cloverfield forgoes the big-budget Hollywood factor in favor of a gritty realism that wouldn’t really seem fitting, given the subject matter of the film. Told from the perspective of a young man’s hand-held video camera, Cloverfield chronicles an evening during which Robert Hawkins’ going away party is rudely interrupted by a mammoth beast that decides to show up and royally fuck with New York’s shit. Though some might have complaints to make regarding the film’s opening twenty minutes or so, in which the exposition takes place, I didn’t have much of a problem with it at all. The comic relief was enjoyable, and I thought that the character introductions were handled just fine—Cloverfield is not a movie about characters, developed or otherwise. Do you care about the characters? Yes, and that’s because you essentially feel as though you’re one of them. The audience is thrown neck deep into a calamitous nightmare of an evening, and for the entirety of the film, you have no choice but to hang onto your date’s arm and hope that the monster doesn’t burst out of the fucking screen and bite you in the face. Will Cloverfield win any Oscars? It undoubtedly will not. The acting certainly leaves a lot to be desired, and admittedly, the script isn’t the greatest thing in the history of the written word. But all of that becomes null and void when, in one instant you’ve got three hip-looking thirty-somethings walking down a street, bickering, and in the next they’re caught in the crossfire between the pissed-off U.S. military and a pissed-off who-the-fuck-
Photo Courtesy of Rob’s good-for-nothing friend who stood there while his friends were being attacked.
knows monster from the deepest ocean trench. Cloverfield keeps you guessing pretty much until the end, by cleverly showing nothing but fleeting glimpses of a completely alien-looking and equally terrifying monster that has decided, for whatever reason, to rampage through New York City. Scenes are mounted with top-notch tension, and the hand-held camera approach really puts the viewer directly in the heart of the action. The bottom line here is that Cloverfield is the shining example of the reason people should go out to the movies. This is absolutely not a film to be watched on a television, in a house. This is a movie to be watched on a screen that is the size of a wall, with sound that might just be a little too loud. This is a movie to be watched where your gasps will be just as audible as those of the people around you, and where you won’t hear any douche bags giggling, because they’ll be too busy crying “oh my God” as they have their shit rocked.
Ashton and the Chipmunks Stop! Or My Rambo Will Shoot Over Winter break, I had the opportunity to see lots of movie-films at the picture-theatre and frankly, they all made me terribly upset. Well, not Enchanted. That one was great. Alvin and the Chipmunks too—How did they teach those adorable little chip-squirrels to talk!? Unfortunately, Alvin came out after Christmas so I couldn’t put “talking chipmunk” on my Santa Claus wish letter-list in time. I got a sweet pink Corvette for my Barbie though—it’s a convertible and everything! Totally awesome. Come to think of it, Enchanted had a talking chip-squirrel in it too, but that one could only talk in cartoon land. Maybe I should move to cartoon land—the boys are cuter there too! Anywho, I digress, and as much as I’d love to talk about chip-squirrels that think they’re people all the livelong day, I must move on to more serious (and less adorable) matters. The fact is, in all tru- thiness, the so-called “good” movies that came out over break like No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood were very insulting to my high level of intellectgence about movie-film matters. First of all, just the title No Country for Old Men is misleading. Here I was, thinking it was gonna be some awesome party movie about a bunch of high school kids whose parents are all traveling abroad so they get America to themselves for the weekend and throw a killer party, but then their parents call to say they’re coming home early, so they have to kick everybody out, clean up really fast and hide the booze. Silly me when I come to find that there were freakin’ tons of old people in it! Everybody knows that movies aren’t supposed to have ugly-wrinkly people in them and—newsflash—old people are wrinkly and ugly. Duh. So firsties, if the so-called Conan “brothers” (I mean, seriously, they’re not even black) wanted people to see their stupid movie, they should have put Ashton Kutcher in it. He’s cute. Or if they couldn’t get Ashton, cause he was on some vacation-cruise with his old (i.e. ugly) wife, they could have cast that super hot guy who played the prince in Enchanted. My point? Old people are ugly and movies with ugly people in them suck. Therefore, movies about old people suck. Case closed. There Will Be Blood produced a similar degree of upsettiness in me. Expecting an uplifting coming-ofage story about a girl who gets her period for the first time, I was shocked and surprised (in a bad way) to discover…more ugly people! Plus they were all covered in oil, but not even in a hot way! Plus the main guy was super mean, and a total bully, just like this girl Amber who used to make fun of me in high school because I had acne. I couldn’t help having acne, and the people in Blood couldn’t help being ugly, so stop being such a big fat meanie, Mr. Danny Day Lewis! The worst offense, commited by both No Country and Blood is that they’re totally unrealistic! It’s common sense that the good guy always wins. All the time. Always. I didn’t see any good guys winning, so how come all the movie critics are talking their mouths about how realistic and accurate these movies are. I guess all I’m saying is there has to be more movies about happy endings, cute boys and talking squirrel-munks. I’ll write it out in math terms for all you nerdy people: Ashton Kutcher + talking chipmunk + happily ever after = Best Movie Never Made. –By Erin Hickey
A Review of Rambo
When Sylvester Stallone first announced he was going to make another Rambo film, I was excited. I grew up on silly action movies and the Rambo series is the Godfather of that genre. So walking into Rambo, I had expectations. I wouldn’t call them high, but they were expectations. I didn’t expect to see a film that would be filled with heart-wrenching drama; I expected to see John Rambo riddling people with arrows and bullets. And oh, how he does! Believe it or not, the film isn’t all about killing p e opl e — may b e ninety percent is. The other ten are split for Stallone to tell the audience about the very real plight of the Burmese people and to show the futility of trying to solve such a desperate situation without gratuitous violence. This may not seem like the most politically correct way to look at any situation so serious, but who really cares? Rambo films have never been about political correctness, even the silly ones. Rambo fighting the Russians in Afghanistan at the height of the Cold War in Rambo III is politically correct? God no, but I love that movie for what it is. The movie is easily the most bloody of the entire series. Blood, intestines, limbs, and torsos fly every which way imaginable at the behest of arrows, knives, bullets, grenades, mines, really big bullets, and bombs. And I laughed out loud every single time it was Rambo doing the killing. The bad guys’ kills are vicious and painful to watch, but they only make Rambo’s kills that much better. There is a point in the film where Stallone clambers onto a truck and uses a very large machine gun to literally blow soldiers in half. I laughed heartily. If you’re the kind of person who would do the same, then you’ll love Rambo.
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
–By Joseph Bryant
28 January 2008
You’re STUCK Here! by Victor! Perfecto
Crossword puzzles provided by BestCrosswords.com. Used with permission.
Ask Father Holey by Paul Hovland
Koo-Koo & Luke by Jesse Blake
1- Small yeast-raised pancake 6- Sailors 10- Packs tight 14- “M*A*S*H*” name 15- Assist, often in a criminal act 16- Egg-shaped 17- Small antelope 18- Crescent-shaped figure 19- Movable barrier 20- Gone by 21- Use tautology 24- Ins and outs 26- Move with a bounding motion 27- Snake 28- Derange 30- Apiece 33- Round body 35- Idiot 38- Sudden burst of light 40- Cereal grass 41- Father 43- A Kennedy 44- Simpler 47- Inert gas 48- Large cat 49- Feeling of being overwhelmed 51- Backward direction
54- Fermented malt liquor 58- Writer of chansons 61- Writing instrument 62- Sudden assault 63- Female servant 64- Gnu cousin 66- Boundary, WWE wrestler 67- Sea-going eagle 68- Mother-of-pearl 69- Spent, as batteries 70- Russian no 71- Coarse wool cloth
Down 1- Of great breadth 2- Big 3- Fool 4- Arrest 5- Eye inflammation 6- Anklebone 7- Adjoin 8- “All The Way To ___”, song by REM 9- Fantastic 10- Shake slightly 11- Benefit 12- Unleavened bread 13- Bed down 22- Swiss peaks 23- Seeped
25- Exclamations of surprise 28- Seat 29- Network of nerves 30- Baby newt 31- Beer 32- Vulgar, ill-bred fellow 34- Attitude 35- Lyric poem 36- “Much ___ About Nothing”, play by Shakespeare 37- Island of Denmark 39- They’ve got something coming 42- Once more 45- Nickname 46- Describes a gently cooked steak 48- Cared for 50- Didn’t exist 51- Landed 52- Willow provision 53- Coniferous evergreen forest 54- Bathroom fixture 55- With speed 56- Style 57- Finished 59- Not any 60- Baseball team 65- Legal science
Sad Truth Comic by Kilometers LeStudd
Girly-Girl by Christopher Troutman
Comics? Fuck Yeah! Send them to editor Victor Camba: email@example.com Or drop them off at the Union office Student Union Office 256a Caramel > You by Ken C.
28 JANUARY 2008
Long Beach Union Weekly • The Students’ Newspaper
Al Roker Bites Off More Than He Can Chew
Cat Mistakes Easter Ham for Scratching Post
PEACE OUT, LEDGE.
See Why The Long Face? page 3
Roger Federer Blames Rare Defeat On Above Photo
“Toooo sooon!”: Grunion Federer-in-Chief Bach K. Friedman, from his couch in back of the office.
Frog On a Motorcycle Goes “Ribit! Ribit!”
Portuguese Boy Fertilizes Entire Field With Own Feces
See Pussy Fat page 8
Daily 49er Exploring Possibility of Board GameOnly Content By Sarcastic Fridgehead GRUNION DENTAL FLOSS LONG BEACH — Bring up the word “Monopoly,” “Life,” or “Operation,” in front of Badley Spent, Editor-in-Chief of CSULB’s very own Daily 49er, and it’s like watching a grown man gush about board games. Weird, I know. “A few semesters ago we were at our yearly bonding retreat, playing an intense game of Monopoly and it just dawned on me: What do college students like more than board games? I certainly couldn’t think of anything at the time, and when I asked the rest of the staff what they thought, all I got were a bunch of blank looks, and then someone yelled out, ‘Yahtzee!’” The preceding semester saw the first attempt at giving the students of The Beach (as the Daily 49er loves to call the University) a taste of what they could do when all they had to do was do what they do best: Play board games. A full-color front page dubbed, “Beach Monopoly.” A riveting adaptation of the classic Mattel game that almost no one
likes to play. A deep metaphor for the struggles all college students face on their first day at college. “I just didn’t get it,” said J.R. Hurtz, a Freshmen Art major after recalling the issue. “Boardwalk was the Walter Pyramid. How the fuck are you going to build houses or hotels on a four-sided glass pyramid?” But not everyone missed the point of the metaphor, as Badley Spent was quick to point out. “If he (Hurtz) actually played the game he would have found out that in the Community Chest there were the tools and the blueprints to be able to build on the Pyramid. Board games teach us so much, it’s just unfortunate that not everyone understands the importance of money management and having a set plan of attack before they start the game.” After twos of Daily 49er readers asked for more board games, and Spent was all spent on board game ideas, he allowed Managing Editor Boren Millions to create her very own front-page creation. “I thought… what board game have I learned the most from? There were so many of course. But ultimately I ended up choosing Operation for obvious reasons,”
Vegetarian Salsa Bar a Big Hit with Non-Vegetarians By Calamitous Jones GRUNION SOCIALIST
S’only In The Morning: Prince Albert still a badass, gives HPV to princess, bike seat.
KISSIMMEE, FLA — While planning her latest friendly get-together, Heather Mills wanted to make certain to accommodate her “alternatively minded” friends and Veg Virgins: Losing their v-cards. provide them with snacks they too could enjoy. “The idea for the vegetarian salsa bar just came to me one day,” Heather said picking up a paper plate with salsa remnants and tossing it into the garbage. “I mean, these vegetarians are people too.” Ms. Mills had spent the better part of a half-hour pouring several different types of salsas into bowls and placing them on ice before the party began. “At first I thought the ‘vegetarian’ sign I had made was really intimidating to the omnivores in the room, but once the pepperoni pizza bagels ran out, people seemed to bravely approach the salsas.” Not everyone was happy with the non-vegetarian use of the salsas. Cindy Warren was appalled by the ravenous behavior of the group. “This salsa is obviously provided for the vegetarians, and for people who eat meat to take food designated for me is just disrespectful and racist.” However, for those in the meat-eating-yet-still-salsa-enjoying category, the quality of the salsas was a big surprise. “I’ve never eaten anything vegetarian in my whole life,” Trevor Harris said of the salsas on hand, “but this salsa is great! It doesn’t taste all terrible and gay like I would expect something vegetarian to taste. I don’t know how they do it, but this vegetarian salsa tastes exactly like, if not better than, many of the salsas I’ve eaten in the past.” Mr. Harris was later overheard contemplating a switch to vegetarian salsas all-together, citing that the main reason he would not do so was in fear of being ridiculed by his friends. All in all it was a great party.
Desperation: “Rape Escape” almost made cut, had it not been for common sense.:
said Millions as she blushed. “Imagine my surprise when I reached down to “examine” my first boyfriends bread basket and all I got was a handful of Matzoh Balls. This semester the 49er is sure to please all of you boardgameaholics with the first issue being creatively dubbed “The Game of BEACH,” as well as a future games such as “Hungry Parking Lot,” and “Chutes and Unfounded ASI Accusations,” and “No Clue (how to get that Journalism Accreditation).”
Racial Tension Sparked Between Black, White, Asian, American Indian Sides of Tiger Woods By Earl Grey GRUNION FUNNY PROOF SAN DIEGO — In light of the controversy surrounding Golf Channel anchor Kelly Tilghman on-air “lynching” comment, a slip of the tongue that put her on the hotseat of a larger racial taboo, Tiger Woods, at whom the comment was directed, has remained largely unoffended—until now. As a fuming Woods explained at a Buick Invitational press-conference Friday, his initial failure to react negatively to Tilghman’s comment Easy Tiger: Identity crisis is not P.C. was due primarily to the fact that the “white side” of his identity, which takes control of his body during golf tournaments, did not think the remark applied to it, thus offending the remaining spectrum of ethnic identity present within the 4-time Masters champion and self-proclaimed “Cablinasian.” “It’s sort of crazy in here right now,” he said, pointing to his temple. According to Woods, the African-American part which controls the golfer’s dancing skills, ear for music, home cooking, and all other athletic ventures, was furious at White Tiger’s dismissal of the remark, while Asian Tiger and American Indian Tiger were upset with White Tiger’s failure to spend Nike endorsment money on things that applied to them: Mathematics and gambling, respectivley. Woods said he hopes to resolve racial tension by convincing White Tiger to apologize to Rev. Jessie Jackson “No one said it was easy being a Cablinasian.”
Disclaimer: The Grunion is now more than 3 decades old, and we have only become more debonair with age. But there is one thing that has not changed in our epic, occasionally violent history: We still are neither ASI nor GOP. The views and opinions explicitly stated or alluded to on this page still do not represent the views and opinions of the CSULB campus, nor do they necessarily adhere to the moral fabric of the writers. We do this to secure the cheap seats in the deeper, more satirical bowels of Hell, and because the elephant in the room is becoming a bit of a sass-mouth. Send rags to firstname.lastname@example.org. If you have a joke and I have a joke and my joke includes some sort of meaningless pop culture reference, I drink your milkshake.