from pacific coast to no coast

UN- is a local art and culture magazine based in Los Angeles, California. This quarterly will explore the un-derground, un-noticed, un-orthodox, un-signed, un-known, un-seen, and un-discovered art of local artists. It will explore how the rich cultural background of Los Angeles has colored these artists’ experiences and work. The magazine will be divided into five sections.

un-seen (3 pages)

This section will be focused on what is happening and going on in the coming season. Each event will have a 30-word blurb describing what it is.

un-discovered (8 pages)

This section will consist of profiles and interviews with local up and coming artists including a longer piece on more established local artists. The content can range from the artist’s favorite restaurant to how they got into art.

un-dergound (7 pages)

The section is culture section of the magazine. Here is where writers will explore Los Angeles’ culture trends and changes. Also, one neighborhood of Los Angeles will be profiled by a resident and readers will get the inside scoop and what is often overlooked.

un-wrap (4 pages)

The section is where artists editorialize on artists, shows, and passage of time. Writers will reflect on how culture and art correlate in the context of a sprawling megalopolis.

This makes the magazine 22 pages, plus advertising. Advertising in the magazine will only be for locally based and owned businesses. The point being that the magazine refocuses readers on their local community and helps reconnect people to people in an age of increasing outsourcing.

The editor of each section will have a blog on the magazine’s website that is updated weekly with their thoughts and interests. The editors can promote concerts, review art shows and movies, or comment on personal experiences as it pertains to the mission of UN-.

The magazine used the font Bauhaus 93 for the titles, section names, and page numbers in varying sizes and tracking. All body copy is in size 10 Vrinda and the bylines are in size 8 Vrinda with a 10 degree slant.

The page size is 8 inches by 8.5 inches. The page is almost square which makes the viewer uneasy and the eye at first assumes the page is square. This reflects how society feels about un-classified art.

The magazine will cost $3.25 and will be sold at newsstands, bookstores, and by subscription.

The magazine will be printed on recycled paper and with soy inks locally to reduce it’s environmental impact. (Regular magazine paper is non-recyclable.)

Artists included in the first issue will be Sang Duk Nam, Emiliano Rios, Alex Gortman, and Teknique.

Sang Duk Nam is an undergraduate at UC Riverside. He grew up in Santa Monica. He uses shoes as his canvas He uses a combination of permanent marker, spray-paint, and acrylic paints to decorate Van’s shoes. Despite the huge market for hand-painted shoes he refuses to sell them. “They are just part of my style,” he says.

Emiliano Rios is an undergraduate at UCLA. He supplements his scholarship with a guitar slide business. He takes the empty wine bottles from his job at a restaurant and cuts off the bottles’ necks. He then exchanges the neck-less bottles for bottles with necks at his local recycling center. The bottlenecks are sanded until smooth and then sandblasted with the desired design. Rios also makes vases out of the wine bottles.

Alex Gortman is a painter living in Silver Lake. He paints self-portraits as a reflection on his experience growing up and living in Los Angeles and surrounding counties. He also owns a gallery which only shows artists that have never had a show before.

Teknique is an infamous local graffiti artist. He grew up in Venice Beach where he learned his art. He currently lives in Inglewood, where he has started a community group that uses graffiti art to beautify public parks and buildings.

Section writers:

(un-seen)

Emily Price has been quite the force on Los Angeles’ social scene for the last ten years. Since she turned sixteen there has hardly been a significant event where Price hasn’t been. She knows all the art school deans, museum curators, gallery and club owners by first names.

(un-discovered)

Craig Kern is a local artist living in Northridge. He does mostly sculpture out of recycled and industrial materials, such as rebar and plastic soda bottles. He has a degree in journalism from California State University Northridge.

Lisa Gurwitz is an undergraduate at OTIS majoring in graphic design.

(un-dergound)

Jon Peterson has owned a boutique on Rodeo drive and a club in West Hollywood for the last fifteen years. If anyone has seen the passage of fads and progression of fashion it is him. He has described the transition from Emo to Indie as the transition from black and white TV to color TV.

Inkyeong Cho lives in Little Tokyo. She works for American Apparel. She researches culture trends and how they can be incorporated into fashion.

(un-wrap)

Jenna Durik went to Cal Arts. She spent the last five years living in New York and critiquing art. She has returned home to take a post at UCLA’s Department of Art as one of the youngest professors.

Nathan Maker lives in Santa Monica and teaches art to elementary students. He says he does it for the health benefits. He is notorious for discovering and cultivating talent in his workshops. He likes to spend his weekends surfing in Orange County and has recently picked up skate boarding. He just started a skateboard line.

design for magazine:artmag2.pdf 

I wouldn’t say that the transition to college was particularly difficult, but I won’t say that it was smooth either. There have been rough patches. I have had to make decisions between art and science. It is impossible to do both and take other classes. The university system seems to ask, “How can you possibly like art and science?”

For me, art has constantly been put on the back self, forced to be a hobby. There was always the promise of college. In college I will have time to take art. In college I will frolic with unicorns under the rainbow streams and it will be warm year round. Clearly I was delusional.

Aren’t we, as college students, here for a liberal arts education? Emphasis on the art. I took a seminar that was supposed to integrate the two; however, it just left a sour science-superiority taste in my mouth. I suppose that is what you get when you take a class from a chemistry senior seminar professor.

There is always choice. It is either or, not both. But it is not all on the scientists’ shoulders. I took art classes over the summer at OTIS in Los Angeles. The courses were for college credit, but I was there more to kill the sheer boredom of a travel-less summer. On the first day of my graphic design class, we went around the table with the mandatory name and school.

Me: Hi. I’m Hannah Dean. I just graduated from Harvard-Westlake and I will be a freshman at Northwestern University in Chicago in the fall.

Milkka (aka my crazy graphic art teacher): Ooh, what’s your major?

Me: Um, I think biology.

Milkka: Oh. Then why are you here?

Me: Uh, because I like art too?

Apparently art cannot tolerate science either. Oh, and classically, I was the only person who was good at science or math.

It is almost tragic, if you think about it. If you like art, you are stupid. If you like science, you are not creative. Both artists and scientists are incapable of coming off their high horse and understanding that a person can like both equally. It is an endless tug of war. I suppose it is the ageless battle between humanities and sciences, but how is it that there has not been an armistice?

Gaylen Gerber at Rowley Kennerk Gallery

The Rowley Kennerk Gallery is showing five, now four (one has been temporarily removed from exhibition), Gaylen Gerber works from his ongoing project Supports.

The first piece one sees as one enters the gallery is Fixed Interval by Louise Lawler and Allan McCullom. It is a stand-in piece for a painting that has been removed. The brass symbol is decorative and almost gaudy. It causes one to reconsider if one is even in the right place until one turns and sees the familiar “Gerber gray”[i] paintings hanging on the walls. The brass plays with the florescent lights, shining, in contrast with the four matte monochrome Gerber paintings. Fixed Interval has all the elements missing in the paintings: color variance, organic shape, depth, and movement.

The paintings seem almost as unremarkable as the wall they are hung on. Two gray paintings hang opposite each other on the two small sidewalls.  Two white paintings of nearly equal size hang next to each other on the same wall as the door and, therefore, are seen last. The monochrome gray and white are most striking in their simplicity. However, the paintings are not simple. The plain, opaque paint seems to challenge the viewer to see beyond the surface. Each painting has a painting beneath the obscuring paint.

If one takes a clockwise tour of the gallery from the door, the first painting is Support. It is a 24 x 18” oil on an available painting by an unknown artist. The white oil was applied with a roller and therefore the surface of the painting is dimpled. The painting blends in with the wall. It is a closed shape painting inorganic in its lack of free form. The white seems to suggest the painting underneath is ordinary. It is better to start over with a fresh canvas. The next painting is also white, however, it was not Gerber who painted it white. The painting, Support/Untitled – Gaylen Gerber with Heimo Zobernig, is a 27 x 27” oil on canvas with a white front and gray sides. Gerber sent Zobernig the 27 x 27” canvas painted with his gray and Zobernig sent Gerber the canvas back with a white front. No individual brushstrokes can be seen on the canvas surface. Support/Untitled seems almost identical to Support until one looks at the sides. Zobernig has commented on the ordinary nature of Gerber’s painting just as Gerber did to the unknown artist’s painting.

The next piece is hung on the wall such that it touches the floor. It is a 96 x 48” painting of gray oil over a souvenir from Crossing Though the Colors by Daniel Buren titled Support. To Gerber even memories and experiences are irrelevant and can be reinvented. The piece is again inorganic with unseen brushstroke. The piece is an icon not only for other Gerber works, but also for the work to come from the support. Gerber covers the index with his gray. Gerber’s paintings lack an indexical feel because his brushstrokes cannot be seen. There is no link between artist and the works aside from his iconic use of gray. Fixed Interval is the next piece. It breaks up with feel of the show with its organic form and bright color.

Peace is somewhat restored by the final piece in the show, a 20 x 24” oil and enamel paint, and polyurethane foam on canvas on Support/Moon by Gaylen Gerber with Adrian Schiess titled Support. A large circle is cut out of the right side of the painting showing the white wall behind it. Schiess was sent the canvas painted gray by Gerber just like Zobernig. Instead of mocking Gerber, Schiess created his own image. Parts of Schiess’s image are still visible with the blue paint spatter on the sides the hair-like threads covered by Gerber’s gray. This piece is the most haptic of the five pieces being shown in the gallery. The organic elements of Schiess work are covered by Gerber’s inorganic aesthetic.

None of Gerber’s paintings are framed. This allows the white supports to melt into the wall from the front perspective. The side views make the paintings standout from the wall. Frameless paintings feel bare and unfinished like they were taken right off of Gerber’s easel. The small size of the paintings and room make the whole show private and personal. Each viewer will see something different underneath the gray and white surfaces. Despite the nontraditional outcome of Gerber’s paintings, the way he creates his paintings is very traditional. He paints on canvas with oil paints. The size of his canvas is transportable and manageable, unlike the huge pieces of Jackson Pollack. He works on one painting at a time. Gerber’s mix of tradition, which is generally thought of as organic, and contemporary inorganic monochrome are the cause for his thought provoking show.

Note: I kind of promised myself that I would no longer post negative things. However, I felt it necessary and, who knows, maybe I am a born Negative Nancy.

I am the death knell of travel. If I am on your plane, I would change your reservation. I used to think I had relatively good travel drama. The occasional flight would get delayed or there would be a long security check line… small potatoes. Ever since 2008 started, my travel experiences have been nothing short of disastrous (and thus the title of this post).

Chicago

I had 7:30 am flight from LAX to ORD on January 6^th to get back to campus for class the following day. I showed up at the airport at 6:30. The place was packed. I have never see the United terminal so crowed and it was the crack of dawn for Christ sakes. I had my e-ticket printed out and I show the lady at the baggage-check line in hopes of expediting my check-in process, since the line was clearly at least an hour long. She tells me that I have missed the 40-minute prior to boarding cut off. I would have to wait in line to get on standby for the next flight.

So I waited in line. When I finally got to the front of the line to told the man that the lady had told me that I missed my flight and needed to get on standby for the next one.

Man: Why?

Me: Because I missed the cut off time?

Man: No you didn’t. She lied to you. You can still get on your flight. It appears to be delayed.

Me: Are you sure? Even if I have to wait in the security check line?

Man: Yes. Besides we don’t have any other flights to Chicago.

Me: Okay?

United has a flight EVERY HOUR to Chicago. I know this for a fact, but I didn’t push it because I just wanted to get on a flight.

I trekked up the stairs and waited in a line that stretched out of the terminal, across the air bridge, and into the parking structure. Then I sat in front of my gate for 3 hours and on my plane for another hour and an half. My plane took off four and half hours late. I landed in ORD at 7:30 rather than 1 pm. I waited another hour for my bag and then around hour for my cab. When I finally made it back to the dorm, everyone had heard about the fiasco and told me so.

Los Angeles

On January 26^th my parents threw a huge party for all their friends to celebrate their 55^th birthdays and 25^th anniversary. My father (or Pops as I like to call him much to his dislike) thought it would be nice if all four of us siblings came home and surprise my mother at the party. So, I booked a 3:10 pm flight out of O’Hare on the 26^th to arrive in LA at 5:30 pm and a 6:30 am flight out of LAX the following morning. In and out, twelve hours at home. I scheduled an 11:00 am Northshore Taxi in hopes of potentially making it on an earlier flight.

I am not even sure if my taxi driver had a license. He was on the phone the whole time, sans Bluetooth. When he was on the phone he went 20 mph. When he was not on the phone he went 50 mph. He insisted on tailgating. He was more interested at yelling at his wife in some mixed English-French-Other language that he didn’t see the break lights in front of us. We rear ended the car in front of us. And what did my cabbie do? He honked and DROVE AWAY. He then spent the rest of the ride screaming to me, a girl, about how women can’t drive. What could I do, but nod my head and agree?

It was noon when we finally made it to the airport. It took us an hour. I checked-in on the automated machines, but somehow missed how to get on stand by. I went up to the check-in desk (where no one was) and asked the lady if she could do it for me.

Me: Um, so I checked in on the computer screen, but I couldn’t figure out how to get on standby. Can you do that for me?

Airline Representative: There is an option on the screen.

Me: Well, I must have missed it. Can you do it for me here?

Airline Representative: Did you check any baggage?

Me: No, I just have this carry on.

Airline Representative: Well, you can just do it at the gate then.

Then she glared at me and continued to talk about her nails to her girlfriend.

I set off the metal detector at security check, per usual. I waiting to the usual chorus of “female pat down” to be sent down the line of TSA officers until Linda shows up with her large smile and wand to scream “sensitive area back of my hand” as she pats down my breasts and butt. But no, instead Rick screamed at me: “Wallet, belt, watch, earnings, wallet, belt, watch, earnings, wallet, belt, watch…”

Me: It’s my insulin pump. It always sets it off.

Rick: Wallet, belt, watch. Put in the bin and sent it through the x-ray machine.

Me: My insulin pump can’t go through that machine.

Rick: Ma’m, I am not asking you to do that.

I walked through the metal detector and magically it didn’t go off. Rick took my boarding pass and studied it. “Hannah, Hannah Dean. Can I get a smile, Hannah?” he said with a sleezy smile and a hand brush. No, you certainly may not. It took only the thought of getting home for me not the spin around and smack him across the face. I am pretty sure you can go to jail for assaulting a TSA officer.

The 12:15 flight was boarding, but I decided that I could wait until the 2:10 flight. Hot chocolate and bagel. I got to the gate and wait an hour and an half for someone to show up at the gate. Meanwhile, eleven people got in front of me on the standby list. Needless to say, I did not get on that flight.

I called my brother, Kyle. He said it was fine and that he would still pick me up from LAX at 5:30. Starbucks and muffin. Flight Announcement: Um. We don’t have a pilot yet, so we don’t know how long the delay will be, but we will keep you posted as soon as we know. I called Kyle.

Kyle: Well, just let me know when you get on a flight.

Me: I could just take a cab from LAX. It’s not a big deal.

Kyle: Don’t be ridiculous. Just let me know.

Flight Announcement: Okay, folks. We have good news and bad news. The good news is that we have a pilot. The bad news it that he can’t get here right away, so as of now we are scheduled for a 6 o’clock departure time. There is a 4:40 flight over at K10…

I spirited across the terminal and paid the $25 to guarantee a seat on the 4:40 flight.

Me: Okay, I will changed here and you drive me directly to the party.

Kyle: Are you sure? It seems like this had been really bad.

Me: Yes, I am sure. I will see you at 7:00.

I changed in the bathroom. I put on make-up and jewelry. So now everyone was staring at me, girl in four-inch heels and short black cocktail dress. My mother calls.

Mother: Honey, I know you are coming.

Me: How?

Mother: Well, the boys are here. It sounds like it had been really stressful. Maybe you should just call it quits.

Me: No, I just paid $25 to get on this flight. I will see you tonight.

Flight Announcement: Um, ladies and gentlemen, we don’t have plane. It will most likely be an hour before we can get plane for this flight. Sorry for any inconvenience. I called my mother, but the line was busy. I called Kyle.

Me: I am not coming.

Kyle: Yeah, I figured as much. You went above and beyond. Don’t feel bad. There is nothing you could have done. I’m sorry. Did you call mom?

Me: The line was busy.

Kyle: I’ll tell her. I am sorry. This really sucks.

Me: Thanks.

I started to cry as I walked to the rebooking center and pick up one of those read phone. This just earned me more stares from other travelers.

American Airlines Representative: American Airlines, how may I assist you?

Me: I would like to cancel my flight to LAX because it was delayed three hours ad I have no missed the reason I was to fly there.

American Airlines Representative: Okay. Can I get you conformation number?

I gave it to her. Me: How will I be refunded?

American Airlines Representative: You will be refunded through the original form of payment.

Me: Full of partial?

American Airlines Representative: Um, we are going to give you a full refund.

Me: I would also like to cancel my return flight since I am no longer going to go to Los Angeles.

American Airlines Representative: Okay. The 6:30 am flight from LAX to ORD?

Me: Correct.

American Airlines Representative: Okay, you will be refunded for that flight through the original form of payment.

I walked in my four-inch heels to the baggage claim and called Northshore to get a cab back to campus. I cried in the back of the cab the whole way. The only thing the cabbie said to me was that I should wear more clothing. $85 to absolutely nowhere.

New York

I was scheduled a flight to New York LaGuardia on Thursday afternoon after my classes. Then I had to change my flight to Friday evening because I had a microeconomics midterm that morning. So I called Expedia and the lady waved my fees, expect the $100 flight change fee. I ordered a Northshore Taxi for a 12:30 pick up on Friday.

12:40 pm on Friday: there is not a taxi in sight. I called Northshore.

Northshore: Oh, your taxi is not there because we are running 20 to 30 minutes late.

Me: I have to get to airport. I ordered this taxi over 48 hours ago. You think you could have called me.

I had a 2:20 flight. I needed to get to the airport. I then called 303 Taxi, American Taxi, Best Taxi, and other taxi service number I could get. All said 20 minutes and then 10 to 15 minutes when I said Northshore had screwed me.

303 Taxi won out. I then fervently called every taxi company back canceling the cabs I had just ordered. My cabbied asked me when my flight was. I said 2:20. It was now 12:50. He told me I would never make it. I called Northshore last.

Me: I would like to cancel the cab I ordered.

Northshore: Okay, may I ask why?

Me: Because I really need to get to airport and you failed to tell me that you were running late.

Northshore: Well, you know that we would have pick you up.

Me: That doesn’t help me.

Northshore: Well, we value your patronage.

Me: Yeah, well, fuck you.

My cabbie thought that was hilarious and immediately started to speed. He got me to O’Hare in 30 minutes. I tipped him $10.

I get on my flight, which has been, surprise, surprise, delayed until 3:50. We get on the plane and sit on the tarmac for an hour. We take off, thank god. The English guy next to me orders a $5 Heineken so my row smells like a frat party for the rest of the flight. The creeper on the other side used his ipod to look at boobalicious photos of Mariah Carey and Catherine Zeta-Jones.

Then when we get to New York we are put in a holding pattern. We get friendly updates from the captain: Well, folks, as you may have noticed we are in a holding pattern. They are slowing things down here in New York because of gusty winds and rain. You may not feel it up here, but when we get down farther you will. The wind is affecting all of the airports around New York, JFK, Newark, it’s not just LaGuardia. We have about a half an hour of gas left, so if we don’t get the go ahead in soon we will have to go to Pittsburg to refuel. We didn’t go to Pittsburg, thank god, but we did land at 8:00 pm rather than 5:30. So much for dinner plans.

On the way back, I showed up to the airport two hours early. As I checked in, I discovered that every flight to Chicago had been delayed two hours. I got on a 7:20 flight that had been delayed to 9:00 pm rather than my originally ticketed flight of 9:35 pm landing in O’Hare at 11:00pm. The Superbowl was playing on every TV screen. I was confident in my Patriots, so I bought an Economist and read about the world. The Superbowl was so loud that it was difficult to hear the flight announcements. It was delayed another half an hour. We got on the plane. We sat on the tarmac. The giants won. The plane cheered. I fell asleep. It was midnight when we finally landed in the snow. It was as if they hadn’t gotten around to plowing the runway.

I called every single cab company I had a number for. 303 did answer their phone. American Taxi I had to call five times before I finally figured out their automated system. When I finally did this was all I got: Your cab number is (silence). Your confirmation number is 00000. Great. I caved and called Northshore. And just when I finally had an operator on the line, my cell phone died.

I wait for an hour in a cab line that could make it to the moon and back. The first cabbie kicked me out because I only had a credit card. The second refused to drive to Evanston. I guess third time is the charm.

When I finally stumbled into my dorm at 1:30 am Monday morning, the security guard asked me if I was ok. Oh, if only.

Below is a collection of the top five things that have irritated me the most in the last week or so. 

Number 1, “txting”. Texting has entered the English language as a legitimate and accepted verb. It is more commonly seen in its truncated form, “txting”, because God only knows only much time is wasted by that pesky ‘e’. Pretty soon ‘lol’s and ‘brb’s and “btw’s will have replaced the actual words and our children won’t even know the words the letters represent. I don’t know what this phenomenon is, but get off your cell phone. I am not talking about just talking, but talking and driving. Texting and driving. Hell, texting and walking is just plain dangerous. I encountered this problem about a week ago on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway for those of you not in the know). As I nearly hit the car in front of me and was nearly slammed into from behind as I slowed to a 5 mile per hour crawl as the rest of traffic sped along at 65 (Clearly, everyone in LA has no idea how to read a speed limit sign), it occurred to me that texting was probably not the best idea. Not to mention the fact that texting, while standing in one place, is nearly impossible to begin with. I generally end up with mangled words because I don’t know how to properly use my predictive text. I guess I am not cool enough for you T-mobile. Or perhaps I am too cool for you with my indie sunglasses courtesy of Urban Outfitters, trendsetter of our generation.

Speaking of indie that leads me to number 2, Juno. Indie is becoming the new emo. However, instead of just defining a dress code, musically genre, and terrible teenage poetry, indie has infiltrated film (or cinema if you have a large stick up your ass). Wes Anderson has been creating “indie” movies since back when indie was independent and not an increasingly mainstream movement, which ironically defies the meaning of its title. Juno has moved with a killer soundtrack and mile a minute dialoged from seedy independent theaters accessed only from poorly lit alleys to brightly lit multi-screened cineplexes. Now the suburbs can see what cigarette smoking urban dwellers have hailed (movies are always hailed in reviews) as “the best picture of the year”, thank you Chicago Sun-Times. Funny, Juno is about the suburbs… but how can you be indie if you are just conforming to another style trend? There is nothing independent or individual about that. Indie has become the “man” it was rebelling against.

Continuing on my angry indie rage: number 3, film cameras. In an age of digitALL, holga, the ghetto-ist film camera has made a comeback. Now anyone with money to burn can buy this outrageously expensive fix lens, manual rolling paperweight for $70 at lomography.com. Having recently had my slim Casio Exilim digital 6.0 mega pixel beauty of a camera stolen in Mexico of all places, I have returned to my mother’s film canon rebel. At CVS I was developing the film and asked the attendant if my film would be done by tomorrow. He laughed and said it ought to be done in half an hour. He hadn’t had someone bring film in since last week. It struck me as odd and then I remembered that my mother, who still doesn’t know how to enter contacts into her cell phone, had switch to all digital almost five years ago.

Number four, (oh, the counting continues.) Photoshop filters. With the age of digital photography, Photoshop has become accessible to every Tom, Dick and Harry. I find it particularly irritating when I flip through a magazine and I can name every single Photoshop filter the designer used on a photo. It is just pure laziness. You are a professional. You may fool the CEO, who still remembers a time when floppy discs were a means of storage and not decoration, but any kid with moderate design experience can do it better than you. But it is not just the filters that get me. I am sure the average reader has seen tabloids in the market check-out line accusing this or that star (personally, I can’t keep up with them all) of having weight problems, anorexic or not. Over half of those photos are altered to show the star in question of ridiculously thin or outrageously obese. Thank you, Photoshop.  What is with the public’s incessant need to put down those we idolize? It is worse than a mud slinging political campaign. The Los Angeles Times has a photo competition in its weekly Travel section, where readers can submit a photo and story from their worldly travels and every week the best one gets printed in the Sunday Times. In the description of the requirements for the competition is says “Submit unaltered photos to”.  If the general public can not be trusted to submit “unaltered” photos to the LA Times, how can we expect the paparazzi to do the same?

But the thing that irritates me the most is number 5, the North Face Nation. Returning to the Midwest or colder regions reaffirmed my belief in the North Face Nation. Has anyone heard of a different brand? Land’s End, Eddie Bauer, Patagonia? Do any of theses brands ring a bell? I could settle for a variation in color. “See that guy in he black North Face?” WHICH BLACK NORTHFACE?! That statement is almost the same as asking if I see the guy with brown hair, however, the brown hair might be more unique attribute. Terrorists might have more luck in bringing down the government by infiltrating North Face Headquarters than the Pentagon. It is the Cultural Revolution for Americans.

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