0 7W 7 9 5 4B - The Michigan Daily - Weekend Magazine - Thursday, January 9, 2003 The Michigan Daily - Weekend Magazine - ARI PAUL - I Fou HT THE n A 3 ELITE ENTERTAINMENT EXPOSIT I RIOT OF MY OWN rI 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. . . .......... . . ----------------- 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."