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4B - The Michigan Daily - Weekend Magazine - Thursday, January 9, 2003
The Michigan Daily - Weekend Magazine -
ARI PAUL - I Fou HT THE n
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ELITE ENTERTAINMENT EXPOSIT I
RIOT OF MY OWN
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ANDY TAYLOR-FABE - THE PH QUESTION
AREN'T WE FORGETTING THE TRUE MEANING OF
CHRISTMAS? YOU KNOW THE BIRTH OF SANTA.
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by.
- WB. Yeats
Joe Strummer's death came at a
very inconvenient time. It was
too late for The New York
Times Magazine to add his story to
this year's "The Lives They Lived"
special, and it totally would have
ruined my Christmas had I cele-
brated it.
And I have been impressed at the
mainstream news' coverage of his
death, from the BBC's publication
of musicians around the world
praising his life to most papers set-
ting up the same obituary, "Born in
Ankara, Turkey ... frontman of the
Clash ... died of a heart attack ...
he was 50."
A piece of me died with Joe sev-
eral weeks ago, as I have looked up
to the man as some sort of guiding
light for the past few years. As it
started with both of our beginnings,
during his first days on the punk
circuit he wore a Brigade Rossi
(Red Brigade, Italian communist
insurgents) t-shirt for several weeks
straight, and anyone from my high
school will tell you that I was the
kid with the Che Guevara shirt
every day (however, they and I will
agree that I was not as cool). And in
the 1980 concert-footage movie,
Rudy Boy, when Strummer was
asked what the t-shirt meant, his
cool reply was, "It's a pizza place."
"The Magnificent Seven" was
the first Clash song I had ever
heard. And it's still probably my
favorite because it's so powerful in
so many ways.
For one, while Mick Jones was
copying Keith Richards' guitar
style and coke habit and Paul
Simonon was still learning how to
play the bass, Joe was preaching
the confusing and insightful politi-
cal developments of revolution to
an economically ruined British
youth (It's no good for man to work
in cages / hits the town he drinks
his wages) and a culturally bank-
rupt American audience (Plato the
Greek or Rin-Tin-Tin / Who 's more
famous to the billion-millions?).
But such a song about the plight of
the working class doesn't just make
you dance; it makes you think.
Thousands of pages of prose and
eons of intellectual study to one
political ideal is blasting out of my
stereo in lyrical language that idiots
like me can understand (You 're fret-
tin', you're sweatin' / But did you
notice you ain 't gettin 'anywhere?).
And in my college years, I hear
Joe's voice ringing in my head
more than ever. I hear it when I
walk into a party on Packard, pass-
ing through cloth stamped with
Northface, Abercrombie and
American Eagle while a girl sip-
ping yet another beer looks for her
boyfriend for the night (I get my
advice from the advertising world /
'Treat me nice', says the party
girl).
Or when I look around at my fel-
low activists, it becomes so clear
that it's so popular to people
because it gives them a social
standing.
Or for some (and you know who
you are), it is something which
they can exploit for themselves,
whether it be an artificial sense of
self-confidence or something they
can use to impress the girls (You
think its funny / Turning rebellion
into money).
Or when I see my countrymen
fooled by the rhetoric of our cur-
rent administration, forgetting
about the tragedy of the quagmire
of Vietnam or the pointlessness of
all the lost life fighting brown peo-
ple all over the world (When that
new party army came marching
right up the stairs / Nobody under-
stands it can happen again).
I've only seen him in the flesh
once. It was Philadelphia, 2001,
with his new group. Front row,
close enough to feel tiny drops of
his spit on my forehead (or at least
I'd like to think so).
Us Clash fans, though we appre-
ciated his new world music style,
waited patiently for him to finish
his first set and get straight to
"London's Burning" and "Police
and Thieves."
Little did we know that this was
close to the end, but in retrospect,
the pain in his eyes and his obvious
weakness, not to mention his less
than healthy lifestyle, may have
been an indicator that he was not
long for this world.
Maybe the good that can come
from Joe's tragic death is that all
the punks, activists and assorted
social outcasts can go back to his
message of challenging authority
- not in the nihilistic, self-indul-
gent way that doesn't get anyone
anywhere, but in a way that under-
stands the problems and the
hypocrisy - in our inept and cor-
rupt leaders and in ourselves.
This is something that I've
wished for ever since I bought that
used copy of Sandinista: Preaching
the gospel of rebellion while rock-
ing out and feeling like a badass
doing it.
And perhaps it has never been
more appropriate to rediscover this
than now, since we're about to face
yet another war, and another over-
seas conflict has converted two
nations and religions into embat-
tled moronic minions. Hopefully.
Rock the Casbah, Joe.
- Ari Paul can be reached at
aspaul@umich.edu.
J Lo, Shmay Lo, you are still not good.
BILLBOARD
TOP 10
1. 8 Mile, Soundtrack -
Eminem says he never asked for
this much fame. Shut up. Now.
2. Up!, Shania Twain -
Die, Shania, die! Don't worry;
that's just German for "The,
Shania, the."
3. Let Go, Avril Lavigne -
Man, how many jokes about
Canadians, underage girls and
crap-pop can we be expected to
come up with? We're only human.
4. Home, Dixie Chicks - Leave
now and never come back!
5. This is Me ... Then, Jennifer
Lopez - This is us ... not buying
your CD.
6. Justified, Justin Timberlake
- Bring your pretty face to our
axe.
7. Come Away With Me,
Norah Jones - Hmm, nothing
offensive or outright terrible ...
that's no fun.
8. Stripped, Christina
Aguilera - Unclean, unclean!
9. Tim McGraw and the
DancehaH Doctors, Tim McGraw
- This contains a cover of "Tiny
Dancer." Yeah, the Elton John song.
We're laughing too.
10. 1 Care 4 U, Aaliyah - Oh,
we get it. 4 as in for. We couldn't
crack their code at first.
did t grewup in a highly relgious environment I
don't mean that we simply didn't go to church often. I
am talking about a profound and total lack of religion.
Example: Once, when I was just a little infidel, as I was rid-
ing by a local church with my parents, I became very excit-
ed when I spotted a "lower-case t' atop the steeple.
If this is not proof enough of my relig-norance, con-
sider another episode from my youth. My brother and I
once had a lengthy argument centering on his insistence
that Santa went with Christmas and Jesus went with
Chanukah. I think the prevailing logic at work in that
little deductive gem was the separation of the fun and
the boring. I also think that on some level he still
secretly believes it.
But his sentiments, however confused, actually reflected
our extremely secular, present-oriented way of celebrating
Christmas. This is not to say that we were reveling com-
pletely in the detestable and empty commercialism that
grips our country from mid-September through JCs birth-
day, but come on, give any five-year-old the choice
between Legos and Jesus, and see which one he chooses.
In short, I am more religious about sandwich preparation.
than I am about Christmas. However, there is one tradition
that my family has upheld every year: The tree. Our indul-
gence in this originally pagan ritual was rivaled only by our,
devout adherence to a strict regimen of Christmas cartoons.
wuring my childhood years, we would do the classic
family outing to the Christmas tree farm, where we would
pick out a noble and majestic tree and enjoy an afternoon
of quality family time and reverent contemplation of
Christian love.
OK, that's a filthy lie. It actually involved a lot of argu-
ing, cold wind and being covered head to toe in tree sap.
But it was still fun, and there was a saw involved, which to
any child, makes the trip worthwhile.
Over the years, however, as energy diminished and
sullen adolescence took hold, our destination changed from
the idyllic farm in the country to the parking lot of Kroger,
where a mulleted stranger would haggle with my dad over
the price of the pre-cut Christmas trees and where the usual
Bing Crosby Christmas carols were replaced with Skynyrd
tunes blasting from the guy's grungy tape deck.
I guess the dwindling hardiness of the whole Christmas
tree deal started to get to my dad, because last year he
decided that it would be a great idea to get a live evergreen
instead of a tree that was doomed to rot and turn brown in
our compost heap. Instead of cruelly propping up the dying
tree in the tree-stand like Jesus on the cross, we would take
a living tree, decorate it, keep it in our living room until
Christmas and then plant it in our backyard, making it a
part of our home forever. Touching, right?.
We failed to take two things into account: First, the root
structure of your average seven-foot evergreen weighs about
as much as a small car. You thinktying the tree to the top of
your car is a pain in the ass? Try schlepping a tree attached to
a burlap sack containing a smallhill's worth of dirt. I think our
neighbors had hernias just watching us bring it into our house.
But more importantly, we did not think about the fact that
at the end of December, the ground is frozen fucking solid.
This would have been a hilarious realizatioi hadit not
been for the fact that I knew exactly who would be digging
the hole in the backyard. That's right, I was out there on
Christmas Day playing Cool Hand Luke, getting my dirt
out of the Boss's yard.
Even worse than the top layer of frozen ground are the
deeper layers where the ground gets soft again. I did not
anticipate having to move shovels full of soupy dirt pud-
ding from this gaping hole in the planet, but that is exact-
ly what I had to do. (I can't explain why this layer was so
unfrozen, but based on the depth I was forced to dig to, I
can only assume that the magma in the center of the Earth
was heating the ground.)
But it was worth it, because after all that hard work, the
tree was stone dead within six months.
My dad couldn't explain it, but I think God was finally
punishing me for my childhood drawings of hin in which
he bore a striking resemblance to Gandalf the Grey, hat and
all ... C'mon, it was a compliment! But my dad continues
to hope the withered trunk will be gain new life like a
phoenix from the ashes, or to flex my biblical muscles, like
Lazarus. He was the ark guy, right?
So this year, we went the opposite direction. We waited
until Dec. 23, found a scraggly tree that Charlie Brown
wouldn't be caught dead with and haphazardly threw the
ornaments on. This was a tree that would die if you glared
at it too long, so there were no delusions of eternal life or
backyard glory. It went to the pauper's grave in the back
corner of our yard just like all of its fallen brothers.
But is that what Christmas is all about? A wise man once
said that it was about "Glory to God in the highest, and on
Earth peace, and good will toward men." That man, of
course, was Linus. He was wrong about one thing, howev-
er, That tree sucked, and in real life, adding ornaments does
not make the tree grow more needles.
-And} Taylor-Fabe can he reached at
andtavlumich .edu.
A city devoid of donuts leaves students hungry
By Sravya Chirumamilla
Daily Arts Editor
The University campus lacks the
trademark of a college town, the
locale for extensive metaphorical dis-
cussions and sugar gorging, a donut
shop. What a Waffle House is to the
South and a Starbucks is to every city
block, outlets for donuts represent a
necessary luxury for all college stu-
dents. When the late night munchies
cannot be quenched by just any sweet
pastry, Ann Arbor students are left
scrambling in the current void of
donut cafes.
Popular chains have yet to bank on
the thousands of hungry and sugar
addicted residents of Ann Arbor. In
fact, Krispy Kreme fans must traverse
to North Campus to purchase them at
the Kroger on Plymouth Road. This
popular, North Carolina- based brand
is a favorite of first year doctoral can-
didate Manuel Chinchilla, whose
favorite donuts are "apple-filled
donuts from Krispy Kreme." A
Honduran native, Chinchilla com-
mented that the lack of donut shops in
Ann Arbor was surprising since, "We
have Dunkin' Donuts in Honduras."
A culprit for the lack of donut
shops can be attributed to the health
conscious student population. LSA
freshman Lauren O'Leary, while a fan
of "anything with frosting," says the
lack of local donut outlets is "proba-
bly good for me, cause I don't need
the extra sugar." Michigan has repeat-
edly ranked as one of the fattest states
in the nation. The Centers for Disease
Control and Prevention estimates that
61 percent of Michigan residents are
overweight, which can be explained
by the statistics that only one in five
young adults in Michigan eats the
minimum daily recommendation of
five fruits and vegetables.
New years' resolutions also play a
role in students' decisions to abstain
from the donut realm. LSA sopho-
more Matthew Hollerbach started to
deny himself donuts since before the
turn of the year because he is "trying
to eat healthy and get in shape."
Students such as LSA freshman
Ryan Butts have had bad experiences
working at donut shops. Butts testi-
fied that while his job at Dunkin'
Donuts allowed him to consume his
favorite kind of donuts, Boston
Kreme, the work was not very fulfill-
ing. "It was my first job and it was
kind of a crappy job."
The only 24-hour donut shop,
Campus Donut Cafe on E. Williams
Street, while given the coveted
Michigan Daily "Best New Local
Business" award in 2000, closed with-
in the year. A few locations remain
where students may purchase donuts,
some include Tim Hortons in the
Michigan League, which has the
added bonus of accepting Entree Plus,
and White Market, that offers assorted
pastries.
Due to many documented health
risks from excessive donut con-
sumption, donut aficionados are
urged to cautiously indulge their
love of the treat by balancing the
intake of the pastry with routine
exercise and physical activity.
Donuts are a part of the framework
of the University ethos and students
must revive this culture and embrace
the many virtues and flavors of the
scrumptious delicacy.
WEEKEND
AGAZINE
IT'S OUR HOT
BODY.
WE DO WHAT
WE WANT*
WHAT-EVA.
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WHAT'S NEWS IN ENTERTAINMENT
Your ON THE BEACH! Party Headquarters
2 pools, jacuzzi, poolside bar & grill. DJ at the pool w/games & activities.
Water sports, beach volleyball, Wet-T-shirt contests,
Restaurant, Lounge & more!
CINEMATOGRAPHER CONRAD
HALL DEAD AT 76 - The Academy
Award winner died of complications
from bladder cancer Saturday.
Hall was nominated for nine
Oscars over his 50 year career, and
won the award twice, for "Butch
Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" in
1969 and Sam Mendes' 1999 film
"American Beauty." Many
believe that Hall will be
nominated again this year
for his work on
Mendes' gangsterh
drama "Road to
Perdition."'
Y A RD B I RD S
REUNITE, MINUS
THE ALL-STARS -
Members of The
Yardbirds, the 1960s Mendes ar
super-group that once featured mop-
topped Eric Clapton and Jimmy
Page, are reuniting for a new album.
Oh, but Eric and Jimmy will
not be involved.
Billboard reports
that the new album, Y
Birdland, which was
recorded at Steve
V a i 's
Mothership
studio in Los Angeles, will feature
some of the original members of the
group, including guitarist Chris
Dreja and drummer Jim McCarty.
Guitarist Gypie Mayo, bassist John
Idan and harmonica player Alan
Glen are also playing with the group.
The album will feature several
guest performers, including for-
mer Yardbirder Jeff Beck, Brian
May of Queen, Slash (yes, that
Slash), Joe Satriani, Toto's
Steve Lukather and Goo Goo
Dolls' front-man Johnny
Rzeznik.
The album will contain
new versions of some of The
Yardbirds' classic songs,
such as "For Your Love," for
which Rzeznik provides the
eamworks vocals, as well as eight new
songs.
THE O.J. ALL STAR
OF THE WEEK
BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG
The Green Day frontman was
arrested for drunk driving Sunday.
He was driving his BMW in
Berkeley, Calif. when a cop pulled
him over for speeding.
The officer administered a field
sobriety test, which the faux-
British rocker failed. He was
booked at the Berkeley County Jail
and released on bail.
nd Hall on the set of "Road to Perdition."