Using skin as self expression at SFSU

Our theme: finding the wondrous things humans do to themselves in the form of piercings and tattoos, to represent themselves physically to the world.

Our team: Veasna Pich, Ronay Kong, Chararath Kong, and me (Lindsey).

Our mission: completed by deadline, under pressure.

We found some great people. We practiced the uncomfortable yet routine journalistic practice of having to ask people for their time.

Our first new friend and subject turned out to be a sister and cousin of two of our teammates. (I found this out, after the fact)....

Ravy Kong, student, sporting a monroe piercing (the one above the right or left side of the mouth)...
When asked by Chararath why she got the piercing, she responded: "It was for self closure, I've had it for a little over three and a half years."



Gine Galarce, another student, had crimson hair and another monroe piercing. When asked about dying her hair she explained that she "got tired of having black hair, so, naturally I dyed it red." Naturally.
Then we asked how old she was when she got her first piercing.
"14, a tongue ring. I got it because it was fun!"



Our third and final subject, Malila Young, we noticed because of her extensive ink on both arms.
Chararath asked her when she first got her tattoos.
"When I was 18, I started with a half sleeve."

According to Chararath "It was a great journey."


"We went through the struggle of asking people, that sort of thing. Interviewing them. And it was inspiring," said Ronay.

Muckraking for change

During the 2008 presidential campaign, Ramparts magazine, were it still alive and in print, would’ve done it’s very best to dig up dirt on every opposing viewpoint in order to support black candidate, Barack Obama.
New York Times book reviewer Dwight Garner, describes Ramparts early switch from religious origin to revolutionary. “It lost religion, picked up a vibe in the Bay Area air and, like the understudy from “Hair” who goes on to become Janis Joplin, morphed into something wild: a slick, muckraking magazine that was the most freewheeling thing on most American newsstands during the second half of the 1960s.”
Although not always using the finest journalistic techniques, the muckraking magazine known as Ramparts was a publication that could’ve been compared to Rolling Stone, Playboy or Wired, in their earlier periods. According to Garner, “In 1968 its circulation was nearly 250,000, more than double that of The Nation.”
In the words of one of it’s writer’s, Adam Hochshild, the key to ramparts was to “find an exposé that major newspapers are afraid to touch, publish it with a big enough splash so they can’t afford to ignore it . . . and then publicize it in a way that plays the press off against each other.”
Each publication’s monumental glory days continue to affect the choices of their editors in terms of content decisions. Born in San Francisco, a quarterly magazine only lasting from 1962 to 1975, Ramparts successfully implemented the art of muckraking in journalism. The term “muckraking” literally means, “exposing scandal.”
The publication successfully achieved this goal by giving power to radicalism, revealing in 1966, the Central Intelligence Agency’s partnership with Michigan State University “in the training of police officers in South Vietnam and the writing of the South Vietnamese Constitution.” The magazine also had a strong influence in turning Martin Luther King Jr. against the Vietnam War. Ramparts published the Che Guevara diaries, supported the Black Panthers, and all around promoted the idea of political change.
Ramparts was able to advance its’ employed journalists careers, due to the publication’s great success and volume of readership. Warren Hinckle, Robert Scheer, Adam Hochschild, David Horowitz, Peter Collier, and Jann Wenner became successful writers from this important kick-off point.
According to New York Times scoop writer Jack Shafer,
“the magazine showed that the rarest asset in journalism is picking the right set of questions, usually the ones nobody else has the sense to ask.”
Peter Richardson, a SFSU professor and author, wrote a book detailing the life and times of the publication, “A Bomb in Every Issue: How the Short, Unruly Life of Ramparts Magazine Changed America.”

Warren Hinckle

Blue Angels: beauty or burden?

By 16, despite my sheltered upbringing, I was no less opinionated than the tie-dye socked, batik laden, bra-less, stringy haired girl I prided myself to be. I was a self-pronounced member of the hippies’ second coming, a new-age flower child.
When I first witnessed the Blue Angels flying their Boeing F/A 18 Hornets over metropolitan San Francisco, all of my judgments and preconceptions were immediately set aside as I stood, awestruck and giddy, reverting to a childlike state of absolute disbelief. I was overcome with excitement.
Growing up in a small liberal, leftist (not to mention sleepy) county in northern California, I am used to hearing various rants and raves in regards to national pride and the Military. I have encountered a strong aversion to every war waged and the politicians who wage them.
Seeing the angels then, would’ve no doubt seemed to be a blatant and shameless recruitment tactic by the U.S. Military. That it is, indeed. And yet, it is also so much more.
Since 1946, the Angels have flown overhead, continually reminding Americans of the immense courage, skill, and national pride it takes to be a U.S. naval pilot.
The U.S. Navy’s mission in flying the Blue Angels, according to its website, is to “enhance Navy recruiting, and credibly represent Navy and Marine Corps aviation to the United States and its Armed Forces to America and other countries as international ambassadors of good will.”
Good will with smart bombs; an obvious contradiction in terms. One positive aspect to public air shows, according to 30-year-old Novato firefighter, David Bodine is that “Armed Forces recruiting centers are usually in the ghetto of a city, and this is at least more all-inclusive from a social and cultural perspective.” Meaning everyone will want to join, not just poor people. Fair enough.

Bodine continued to recount his experience in seeing the Angels: “what it means in society is that we are watching people in those planes that love their job and knowing that there are kids in the audience that will grow up to be a part of the U.S. Military and be engaged by it. The people in the military are a precious commodity. We need to nurture those people.”
A stunning number: 26 Blue Angels pilots have been killed in the almost 64 years since they began flying in air shows. This is a high-risk job, people. War is costly, and so are the air shows that entice people to join.
And then there’s the natural resource issue. We all rant (and have for as long as I can remember) as driving consumers “I can’t afford gas.” Yet we all unite and gather to watch as fighter jets eat up oil like it’s quite literally, going out of style. By the way, angels hold 46,000 pounds of fuel. Does that even equate? A comparison in fuel efficiency with my 2000 Jetta seems redundant, don’t you think?
But let’s put the oil issue aside for a minute and realize that “an estimated 15 million spectators view the squadron during air shows each year. Additionally, the Blue Angels visit more than 50,000 people a show season (March through November) at school and hospital visits,” the website states. We are collectively excited about the Angels; there is no doubt about this.
This year in San Francisco, some happened upon the display accidentally, like 24-year-old Nicholas Linney who said, “while a staple at air shows, its interesting to note that tons of money is being wasted in fuel and operating costs as well. Even though spectators love the shows, [I think] they are actually a frivolous waste of money.”
Others made a special point to see the show. San Francisco State student, 23-year-old Vanessa Pena said, “I thought it was really incredible. Amazing. Although before I knew it was fleet week I saw them flying overhead and initially felt a little repulsed to see them at all.”
So there it is. An undoubtedly mixed feeling that occurs for some when the Angels perform. As a teenager, I would’ve been incapable of feeling anything but disgust. These feelings were based on my preconceptions about the delicateness of the planet and my die hard commitment to sustainability and environmental concern. I also would have felt strongly adverse to anything military-related, as I spent many high school days rallying for peace.
Now, as a young adult, I realize that every aspect of life comes complete with tradeoffs. We drive our cars to go to beach cleanups. We recycle plastic containers, only to buy more the next day. We support our troops, but we also want peace. We oppose war, but we keep driving our cars to beach cleanups. Life is cyclical and until we accept that we can only do our own, individual part, based on our own morals and values, there is little point in hating.
The bottom line here is this: humans are incredible beings. Our potential to corrupt and destroy or cleanse and heal this planet, is infinite. We have invented the most epic inventions. Planes! Ships! The Internet! I mean can most of us wrap our feeble minds around such preposterous ideas? I think not. And this is why we are continually, day after day, reminded of the true glory of our species. When a Blue Angel flies overhead going around a top speed of 700 mph, what is there to do really, but let our various environmental and political disputes go, and our jaws drop.

I dream of sake bombs and fried bananas

Sudachi Sushi saved my life! In an effort to escape the madness of LoveEvolution, an electronica festival that one can never really prepare for, a friend and I stumbled out of the wind and into an empty haven of Japanese yumminess.
Too late for the lunch crowd, too early for the Saturday dinner crowd, we enjoyed free roam of a sushi bar complete with private rooms and all around suavecito decor.
$1 sake bombs, not bad. Two, please! The food presentation was fabulous.
A seaweed salad to share, mounded on top of sliced pickled cucumbers, topped with shredded daikon and bean sprouts.
Fresh crab meat wrapped in ruby red tuna roll, delish!

Giant fried bananas alternated with heaping scoops of vanilla bean ice cream to complete the meal.
the overall experience was tremendous.
The sushi chefs were adorable as well.
I will be back and I recommend you go too. A long bus ride to the Civic Center, $2 and crowded. LoveEvolution, $10 and overrated. Finding a sweet little sushi restaurant amid the massive SF restaurant scene, priceless.