Rants
©1997, 1998, 1999, 2000
Dashing the Spices
by Paige Haggard / Break correspondent
This whole Spice Girl craze is, on the whole, quite silly. As a "musical group," they're a joke. Their lyrics are inane and their music trite (not to imply they write their own music). None of them play instruments and they can barely sing. They can't really dance.
Each "Spice" attempts sexy in prescribed manner. "Baby" Spice, I suppose, is an attempt at innocent sex appeal while I guess "Posh" Spice, who never smiles, is at the other end of the spectrum with snobby sexiness. "Sporty" embodies athleticism while "Scary" illustrates that even though ethnic diversity can be sexy, it is still menacing. Finally there's Ginger, originally know by the name "Sexy" Spice. I guess once the managers saw her pitiful strut in her platform shoes, they decided to cash in the fact that she has red hair like the infamously sexy Ginger from Gilligan's Island(I'm just waiting for her to fall on her nonexistent ass). All five are proof that if the music machine sinks enough money into a bimbo, no matter how plain or silly she really is, she, too, can become a sexual icon.
Their videos are especially horrifying and yet oddly fascinating. It's somehow related to the car accident syndrome. Sure, you know it's not going to be pretty to look at -- it might even be truly disgusting -- but you always crane your neck just to see.
It all began with their "Wannabe" video. What the hell was that about? They all looked wretched in their outfits and the song was atrocious but I had to watch it ... I had to see how bad it was going to get. I think the girls were suppose to look fun and spontaneous but they really ended up looking uncomfortable.
Next was was the one where the whole Spice clan is posing as action/Bond girls. Or maybe they were suppose to be anime chicks. Anyways, this concept, as with most videos on MTV, had nothing what so ever to do with the song but it's hip, it's fresh, it's in the desert and that worked for Red Hot Chili Peppers. I heard on the MTV news that one of them got a fake fingernail stuck in her ear during the filming of that particular video. I watched the video several times in hopes of catching that scene but unfortunately the bit was edited out of the video. I guess it would have been too traumatizing for Spice Fans. I still wonder which Spice it was. I'm betting it was "Sexy Spice."
Then there was that terrible ballad, "2 Become 1" (note the attempt to be Prince-esque in the title). Every single Spice does this one move over and over -- this very serious finger pointing gesture and damn it -- they mean it! "Baby Spice" really gets my goat in this one because she's attempting to look cute the whole time (especially when she's promoting safer sex with the lines, "Be a little be wiser, baby/ Put it on, put it on"). They're all trying to look so solemn that I can't not watch the video; it cracks me up every time.
Finally, there is the apocalyptic Spice vision of the world in "Spice Up Your Life." Apparently, the Spice Girls have proven to be as addictive as the spice of Dune fame (was Frank Herbert a prophet? And if so, does that mean watching too many Spice videos will make your whole eye turn blue?). The Spice Girls have now taken over the world. Everything is Spice and if it isn't Spice, it's crap and illegal. They dominate billboards and TV (Max Headroom echoes here). They have wormed their way into every aspect of daily life. Spice dominates the world and it's a dark world ... very rainy, very oppressive. And the only people that can give the world any happiness, any bit of fun, are the Spice Girls. Makes me shudder just to think about it. Who will save us from this fate ... Elastica? U2? Pizzacato 5?
The truly sad thing is that it's a great video. It's not as cheesy as the previous videos. The make-up and outfits are awesome. The cinematography is good, very reminiscent of The Crow, but it's the Spice Girls -- what a waste!
Quite frankly, I'm beginning to think this is plot designed by the British government to undermine the tastes of the American populace. I think the Brits are jealous of our good music and our blue jeans; they're probably still pissed about that whole American Revolution thing. The Spice Girls are their revenge. They're bribing MTV to make them play the videos. The only one who hasn't sold out is Kurt Loder. They need to make an X-files episode about this conspiracy. I'm sure we can link it to JFK.
However, this whole Spice thing does provide a fertile source of humor. The idea that "grown" women would call themselves names like "Baby Spice" or "Sporty Spice" is hilarious. What are they, the British answer to "The Pink Ladies?" And if so, which one is the "Rizo" equivalent? (
There's always the Spice Girl Name Game. I especially love this. The object of the game is to rename the Spice Girls with more accurate, more appropriate names, and hopefully more descriptive names -- children of all ages can play and you don't need anything other than your brain and your spite for the Spice Girls. Examples (and try to match these up with the correct Spice Bitch): "Pudgey Spice," "Flabby Spice" (I think this truly captures this spice's main goal in life of eating 100 Krispy Kreme doughnuts in 10 minutes) or "Annoying Spice"; "Plain Spice," "Horsey Spice," "Thick Spice" or just outright "Ugly Spice"; "Pretentious Spice," "Snobby Spice" and possibly "Goth Spice" (but only superficially); "Politically Correct Spice" (also known as "P.C. Spice" for short), "Pierced Spice" or "Token Ethnic Spice"; "Plastic Spice," "Barbie Spice" or "Fake Spice." You get the picture.
As a twist to this game, you can create Spice names for yourself, for your friends and even for your enemies. Fun for hours.
But perhaps I am being too harsh.
Perhaps the Spice Girls are not as useless as they would seem at first, second, third or even fourth glance. We should be grateful to the Spice Girls; they've taught us to look for our own inner Spice, a quality so overlooked in this hectic society which focuses so needlessly on talent and brains, things of substance which will fade so quickly.
You see, some people are lucky; they're given Spice names at birth, like Ginger. And of course, we all know that girls are made out Spice (and sugar and everything nice) and therefore infinitely more in touch with the Spice kingdom, but some have been in touch with their Spiceness for years. Take for example Salt 'n' Peppa; they've been making music for years. They are women who are in charge of their lives. They're honest about themselves, their sexuality, their sensitivity ... very up front and extremely real. And they are the two most important Spices in a cooking; they are two Spices we could not live without.
But it would seem that the Spice Girls have exceeded all that. They are nearly a phenomenon. They're on constant rotation on MTV and the radio. They've gone out on a limb with their Spice message and produce deep songs like "Spice Up You Life" to shake us out of our very un-Spicey way of life. They dress and act in a Spicey manner so that we have Spice role models to emulate. They have given this world a new goal -- to be Spicey. They are the Prophets of the Spice World and it is time that we listen.
So go forth and find the Spice within. Whether it be Sage or Thyme, Evil Spice or Slut Spice, you need to go out and strut your Spice. If nothing else, do it for the Spice Girls -- they do it for you.
We regret to inform our readers that the author of this piece was suddenly taken by Spice Fever. She is now living in a Spice Commune under the name "Verbose Spice."
top
ODE TO ANNE RICE: Mirak the Vampire
by Paige Haggard / Break Gothic poetess
He glided elegantly through the crowded bar, cutting through the air that hung dank with smoke and sex. Despite the clutter of noise and people that polluted the room, He was aloof, cool. The very crowd seemed to part for Him to walk through, feeling instinctively his Dark Power. His Beauty alone set Him apart from the throng of sweaty mortals ... even without the Dark Gift, He would be as royalty among us. His raven hair lithely caressed His face, curving, kissing gently His high, delicately strong Cheekbones. His eyes, dark and flashing, penetrated through thought, making me shy, yet entranced me so that I watched his every move ... as I often have since He first lured me away from the Light with his Promise, his Tease of the Dark Gift.
And as I watch Him now, His once-Arab skin mocking his former swarthiness with the blood of his Fresh Kill, moving so much More than Human, so much more than God, I more than ever want to taste His Blood, To Break His silken-smooth skin and to become His Mate and Companion of the Night. I fear that I am not Elven-featured enough for Him. Alack, my Cheekbones are not high (did I mentioned His Cheekbones ... like cliffs of Divinity) and my grace is not catlike (He has been trained in many of the Dark Ways) – for you see, He is much more than a mere vampire ... He is a King among Vampires, able to drain energy from Anything, Living or Dead, Animal or Mineral, and therefore He must choose His Consorts Wisely.
But, Alas, while I am nearly lost in my Despair, I neglect to notice a mere pig of a mortal who dares to Defile my Master. This Beast dares to pull out the sacred Nose Chain from my Darkly Dulcet Darling, ripping skin from his perfectly sculpted nose. Though my Master is Immortal and his Night Sleep will Heal Him of this Grievous Wound, the insult cannot go Unpunished. Mirak, the most Powerful of Lycanthropes, the Prince of Vampires, calmly raises his powerfully graceful hand, one so finely Crafted that the Greeks would have wept tears of joy at Its Beauty, and places it on the Foolish Mortal's chest. Within Seconds, the Craven One falls to the ground, drained not of Blood but of Energy. The crowd around is dismayed and frightened ... and my Master ... he casually walks to the bar for a Beer to quench his now insatiable Thirst.
top
V.D. Trauma
by Paige Haggard / Break correspondent
There are two types of people in this world ... those who like Valentine's Day and those who despise it. I happen to be of the later group. Reasons for liking Valentine's Day are relatively simple: a.) one has a significant other; b.) one likes sappy love songs; and c.) one likes chocolate, especially when packaged in a frilly heart-shaped box with an exorbitantly jacked-up price.
However, when someone hates Valentine's Day (or VD, as I affectionately call it), the psychology is far more complex. There's a veritable cornucopia of reasons ... dateless high school years, bad past relationships, a psychotic aversion to the color red.
As for me, well, I wasn't always so anti-VD. As a child, I sort of looked forward to VD. My dad and mom would give me stuffed animals and chocolate. It was Christmas without obligation of reciprocation.
Then, puberty hit. Well, I assume it hit -- I've replaced most of those memories with scenes from a Heathers. I do remember that VD was no longer for everyone, just for those chosen few who were "couples" when February 14th rolled around. Of course, most people stayed together for about as long as milk lasts. The chances of being with someone for this one day should have been astronomical and yet, many people managed to find "a special someone" for VD. Perhaps it was the unspoken weight of peer pressure. Or the brainwashing of Hollywood. Or spring fever. Or maybe it was just a simple as voodoo.
On to college, which is when I realized how disgusting VD was. Its commercialism and shallowness was revolting. It dawned on me that this was actually an institution designed to control the population. Someone in a relationship is "content" and "content" people don't cause trouble. If Cancer Man had realized this, that Mulder character might not have been so troublesome.
To boot, VD red is horrendous ... not a nice blue-red, or even sassy fire-engine red, but this garish red that NO ONE, not even the Frederick's of Hollywood models, look good in.
It was at this point I started terming it VD. I made it a point to wear all black on February 14 with a matching sour face and caustic remarks. I would retch at the sight of any saccharine sweet couples. Thoughts of axe murders danced in my head.
However, since the consumer in me likes a card-giving holiday, I began giving my friends VD cards. The first batch was a box of Ren and Stimpy cards. I send them out every year with a festive "Happy VD -- Wear Black" and a heart with a dagger in it. Sometimes blood drips down from the wound if I'm in particularly morbid mood.
My point? If you're of that other breed, cut us some slack. Some of us are quite content to hate VD.
With all that aside, have a good VD. Go out, have fun, wear black – it looks better on more people than red and if nothing else, it's a slimming color. And don't forget to check out the cheap candy after VD.
top
Madonna Goes Goth
by Paige Haggard / Break correspondent
After many botched attempts, I finally got to see the new Madonna video in its entirety. I kept catching the video just before the end, which was frustrating because I knew from the previews that somewhere she falls and turns into a murder of crows -- a nice touch of melodrama I didn't want to miss. But, finally, on Friday, while sniffling with allergies, I beheld the new video and the latest incarnation of Madonna.
The video was quite captivating. Madonna's all dressed in black down to her nails and her hair. Her make-up is wonderfully done. The henna tattoos on her hand are a nice touch that add to the Middle eastern feel of the video. Even the sound is alluring with its bittersweet ambient layers. But what stands out the most to me is that fact that Madonna's gone Goth.
Without a doubt, that Gothic edge is all-pervasive in her new video. The Goth attitude is not just in her black nails, hair and dress; it's in her Arabic yet oh-so-Goth swirly hand movements; it's in the darkly sad lyrics. It would seem her outfit and role as a witch in Four Rooms had a great influence on her.
Madonna was even seen at the Golden Globe awards in a Balenciaga dress that, herself, described as "Goth." The dress had a medieval elegance to it, a sort of Pre-Raphaelite charm ... longs sleeves, full skirt, black -- something Ophelia would have been proud to drown herself in. I almost see a collaboration with Loreena McKennitt in Madonna's near future.
OK, so Madonna's gone Goth. She's taking the route of a subculture of clothes and music that started in the dying years of 70s and that has kept going in one vampiric form or another since then. Which, of course, brings up a couple of questions: What sort of effect will Madonna's new look have on the mainstream? And, more importantly, what effect will it have on the Goth crowd?
I've already seen many Goth elements in everyday lifestyles. In fashion, the catwalk has been sporting many a darkly eye-lined model and plenty of long-waisted, medieval-type dresses. In music, Trent Reznor has breathed new life into David Bowie. Madonna is yet again catching the trend before it looks trendy.
Now, the effect on the Gothers is a little more tricky to call. Personally, I think that way back in the 80s, Madonna was already Goth. Take away electric blue tights in the "Like a Virgin" video and put a black in its place, and you've got yourself a classic, textbook Goth Rock (or if you prefer, Death Rock) girl. You've got black mesh, black kohl eyeliner and enough crucifixes to give Jesus a heart attack.
My personal theory of Madonna as one of the original Goth dressers aside, I think there's strong possibility that the faux Gothers might take offense ... but that's what posers do ... take offense.
The true Goth crowd, on the other hand, will gladly welcome Madonna into the fold. They'll be quite pleased with their new convert, for they knew all along that is was only a matter of time before she found the undeniable truth of the dark, Goth path.
top
Alternative Bitching
by Paige Haggard / roving Break correspondent
Okay, so answer me this ... What the hell is alternative music an alternative to?
I remember, back in the day, those fabled days of yore, the 80s, when I could've answered that question. It was that really weird shit on college radio. It wasn't rock 'n' roll; it wasn't pop. It used minor keys and very bizarre chord progression. Sometimes, the singers sang off key from one another.
Back then, alternative music included bands like X and Throwing Muses and even REM. These bands received little commercial success but lots of critical acclaim; these were bands who were unique. REM songs had no bridges and barely any choruses. Xene of X was harmonizing on some scale that was not of our universe. And Throwing Muses were just, well, odd.
You either had to live in or near a college town to hear this music or at least stay up into the wee hours of the night to catch either 120 Minutes (back when it was cool and had Dave Kendall) or Post-Modern with Kevin Seal and his psychedelic backgrounds. Alternative music meant an alternative to mainstream.
Now, alternative means, as near as I can figure, refried grunge. College radio, in many instances, has become nothing but a showcase for bad garage bands who can only mimic the obscure lyrics of early alternative music but who can't catch its intensity or originality.
Alternative music has become the mainstream, at least the word has anyway. It's become like "X," something that was once used represent the yearning of a group to escape labels only to have it used as a label for that group and any other groups vaguely resembling it. Which, to me, makes it quite ironic that all the "alternative rock" stations are generally called "X" something or another (no, it's not just in Tallahassee but also in the great cultural mecca of Atlanta). Perhaps I should be more specific and label that as bitter irony.
Quite frankly I think we should eliminate all the extra syllables and call it rock. I mean, we call stuff like Lynard Skynard classic rock now anyway, so there should be no confusion. That way we can lay to rest the once noble and now tired term alternative rock so that 2 months from now, when nostalgia for that word sets in, we can associate it with the actual groundbreaking music as opposed to the bland apings of today's strain of "alternative rock."
top
Radio's Hell
by Paige Haggard / roving Break correspondent
The Bible thumpers have got it wrong ... Hell has nothing to do with fire and brimstone. Dante was incorrect; there aren't nine levels to Hell. It doesn't even have anything to do with devils with pitchforks.
No, I've been to Hell and I can tell you in detail what it is. It's being trapped in traffic with nothing but commercial radio to listen to. Laugh if you will, but there is no better punishment on earth or in hell (except for my mother's technique of making the kids sit for an hour in an empty bathtub -- talk about maddening).
I trust the radio air waves about as much as I trust the water supply in Chernobyl. For every one song I like, the radio pumps out ten that I'm not very fond of, eight I despise and five that make me homicidal. It doesn't matter which radio station I choose; if I'm stuck in traffic without a tape, it all sucks (the converse of the rule is that a favorite song will come on during a too-short drive).
I end up turning into a compulsive channel switcher, an easy feat at the house in front of the tube but risky gamble with one's life on the road. At the very least, I run the risk of getting cut off in search of the mythical good rush hour traffic song.
I thought things might improve a smidgen when I moved to the megalopolis of Atlanta. Wrong again. The radio stations have no better taste here than they did anywhere else I've lived. What's worse, the traffic is a thousand times more gnarly than Tallahassee could ever pretend to be (yes, even on a dual game day ... even Homecoming).
All of this makes me wonder if perhaps our penal system is a bit misguided. Instead of prisoners getting cable, free room and board, why put them all on an island in an endless traffic loop with nothing but commercial radio, although make sure not any of the good stuff gets through. Let there be nothing but loud car dealership commercials, local commercials and "artists" like Mariah Carey, Alanis Morrisette, The Spice Girls and Sister Hazel ... maybe a dash of Creed and present day Rolling Stones. That should be a deterrent for anyone ... even more of a threat than muzak. After all, if it's good enough for Hell, isn't it good enough for the American Justice System?
top
The Muzak Generation
by Paige Haggard / roving Break correspondent
I was watching a car commercial the other day that used Republica's "Ready to Go." The little message of this particular commercial was something like, "Sedan drivers aren't listening to easy listening any more." A concept that gave me pause. Not because I think sedan drivers are any more or less conservative. I myself happen to drive a sedan -- four doors are the only sane solution for anybody who has more that one friend.
No, the commercial made me think, at least at first, about what our oldies stations are going to sound like. At some point in time, Nirvana and Soundgarden will be considered by youngsters "old fogey" music. From punk to goth, rap to hip hop, all of this will be doomed (or at least most) to being relegated to a station that no young-un will listen to. Granted, this will be when we're 40 to 50 but these oldies stations will not be like anything our parents' generation created. Sure, the sixties had some wild music ... compared to Elvis. But surely Jefferson Airplane is more soothing than say, Metallica. More than likely, there will be segregated oldies stations, the pop not wanting to associate with the grunge and so on and so forth.
After pondering these future oldies stations, then I turned my attention to what the teenagers and twenty-somethings will be listening to. I personally couldn't come up with anything that could go past what our generation has created, short of some bastard child of Stravinsky and Negativland.
No, I think this upsurge of swing music is the key. Teenagers in the future are going to go retro. First, it will be harmless, like this swing kick. They'll listen to big band and "Mr. Sandman" will be their group song for a while. But then, it's going to get ugly. They're going to start listening to muzak.
It's inevitable; it's the ultimate response against all the fury that our generation has put out. We've been the Dionysian generation and they'll be the Apollonian generation. They'll worship Barry Mannilow and Barbara Streisand. They'll dress well and be clean cut. They'll frown up their parents' tattoos and piercing. "Father, nose rings are so 1997," I can hear them say.
I'm a little scared by this vision. I'm not overly fond of the concept of children to begin with but the idea of propagating a generation of Stepford children gives me the willeys. Hopefully, I'm wrong. With luck, our generation's children will respond to their rampant hormones just as we did (by dressing badly and with attitude) and this will all prove to be a false prophecy. Let's keep our fingers crossed. I'd rather not have a bunch of little Newt Gingriches running around in the form of adolescents.
top
Forwarding Humor
by Paige Haggard / roving Break correspondent
The advent of the Age of the Internet has brought about a surprising side effect -- the resurgence of the joke. Anyone who has an e-mail address knows what I'm talking about ... those e-mails sent to you by friends that consists of lists, anecdotes, and quotes all designed to draw a chuckle from the reader. Before I got hooked to the net, I'd only occasionally hear a joke, mainly from one friend. He'd call me up and say, "Got a joke for you." It was so random that just the call itself would make me smile. More frequently than jokes, I heard funny stories about what happened at the grocery store, on the way home from work, at the club the night before. Naturally, news quirks from the Break and David Letterman's "Top Ten" were other sources of humor, but these weren't very personal.
Now, thanks to the Internet, I pretty much have some joke sent to me everyday. I open up e-mails that has been forwarded so many times it takes five minutes to scroll down to the meat of the mail. Pretty much, everyone seems to have jumped on this bandwagon. Sure there are other things to forward ... bogus chain e-mails and politically and socially informed web site addresses ... but those don't have the same pull as joke e-mails. I guarantee all of us would go into twitching convulsions if we didn't forward those funny e-mails.
In the past two weeks alone, I've received "The World's Top 25 Shortest Books," "Albums that weren't released in 98," "Another Animal Psyche Quiz," "Broken English From Around the World," "Roof on Fire Claims Lives of 43 Party People," "Supermodel Wisdom" and " Where have all the normal people gone" (based on a true story). I learned the deeply psychological meaning behind how I draw a pig, what Martha Stewart had planned for her X-mas and how I can tell I'm child of the 80s. As soon as I get through laughing, I immediately forward it everyone in my address book
I've no idea where some of this stuff comes from. I know there exists an e-mailing list called the "Joke of the Day," and some come from The Onion but surely these not the only sources. I'd like to think some people actually devote sometime thinking of these pieces of cyber humor all on their own. Perhaps cyber jokes is the 21st century's version of folk tales and fairy stories. Perhaps we are all following a deep set need to make everyone's day a little brighter thereby making the world a little better. Or perhaps all this forwarding into infinity is a thinly veiled popularity contest to see who can send the funniest e-mail to the most people. If so, I doubt I'll ever make it out of the starting block but I'll be laughing the whole time.
top
Making VD Work for You
by paige haggard / roving Break correspondent
Face it, VD is fact of life. There is no avoiding the chocolates, the love songs or the trashy red lingerie ads. However, VD does allow you a modicum of freedom. People do things they wouldn't normally do "in the spirit of the holiday." Here's some suggestions on how to make VD work for you:
Go to a restaurant alone on VD. Tell the host/hostess your name is "Bitter." Check to see how many people get the joke. "Bitter, party of one; Bitter, party of one." See how many people fight you for the table. Can also work with more than one person in the party, just make sure you all wear black and act pissy.
Treat VD like a second Halloween. Dress outlandishly in broad daylight. Hell, if Cupid can get away with that damn diaper at his age, you can get away with anything.
Wear that trashy VD red. Make sure you're wearing all red. Don't be half-assed about it. Or wear all pink. Or all black, just so long as people know you're doing it for a cause.
Guilt is a beautiful thing. See how many "coupled" friends you can get to buy you drinks, rent you videos, whatever, around VD ... you know, to console you for being a "loser."
Again, guilt is the gift of the gods. See how great of a present you can milk out of your significant other without you, yourself, going into debt. Poverty is always a good excuse but so is "You know, our relationship is so precious, anything I bought to commemorate it would have paled in comparison." Or make them something. Nothing says love like homemade.
See if you can find some suggestive candy hearts (or just normal ones will suffice) and hand them out to strangers. Record their responses.
Try your worst pick-up line. On this day of desperation, it just might work.
Say your sappiest declaration of love. See if it works for you.
Buy those grammar school VD cards and give them out to friends, strangers, whoever strikes your fancy. One stipulation -- you have to pick them out as carefully as you did in grammar school. You know, make sure you give those special people the special cards. See if they pick up on your subtle come-hither tactics.
If you work in an office, talk your co-workers into making those construction paper envelopes from grammar school VD parties and get everyone to exchange VDs using those envelopes. One stipulation -- you and your co-workers only use those grammar school cards. You can learn a lot about a person by which cartoon characters they like.
Take the tried and true technique -- get drunk. As Homer once said, "Alcohol, the cause of and solution to all our problems." Make sure the next day you either a.) complain about your hangover because nothing commemorates a holiday like a bad hangover or b.) brag about how trashed you got the night before (if possible, throw in a story about you puking in public).
Wallow in coupledom ... it's the only time of the year your friends will stomach it.
Wallow in self-pity ... it's the only time of the year your friends will stomach it.
Wallow in chocolate to practice for the post-VD and post-Easter candy sales.
top