BRITNEY ERRED AND SO DID WE

I didn’t see the Britney Spears VMA debacle the night it happened, but heard about it from a friend. I immediately went online to find the much talked about performance, only to discover that Viacom had unleashed legal hounds on sites like You Tube, to cease the viral spread of the video.

I just hope after all the suppression; a Viacom representative grabbed the girl by the shoulders, shook her hard and told her to shape up or ship out.

Anywayz, I finally managed to find an untampered with version of the video on yahoo, but as my husband and I watched it, we had to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Now, I will agree whole-heartedly on the idea that she gave an astoundingly horrible performance. I mean, even though I was never a big fan, I thought she was a talented little performer.

Where I disagreed was here —Britney Spears was not fat. I mean damn, if the girl was a size eight, I’d be surprised – women are killing themselves all over America to be at the very least a size ten.

Where once she was a near emaciated bean pole (in my opinion too thin, and thereby, decidedly unfeminine) she was now alluringly curvaceous. I mean, she gained a little weight, having a couple of kids will do that to yah, but she wasn’t a cow. I fear the message we are sending by concentrating so much on the girls post pregnancy weight instead of her laughable performance, is that any woman who doesn’t kill herself to look like a twig after having two kids is worthy of contempt.

I feel sorry for women with c-sections, who may literally do physical damage to themselves by trying to hit a gym with her suckling newborn hanging off their teat.

I mean, come on—while Hollywood would shun her, the average man would have been more than little appreciative of those curves, hell, I know quite a few dudes who would kill to have a gal who looked half as good …

In other words—Britney looked like the average woman, and by giving her so much grief, we are saying that average American woman is unattractive and worthy of ridicule for not being a size three.

It has been said and I will say it again—the music business is tough. Outsiders see only the glitz and glamour, they don’t understand that while many aspects of the job are fun, even dazzling, that the majority of the time it is work—hard work.

What the people who watch shows like MTV’s cribs don’t know about are the literal years of sweat, blood and tears that goes into pursuing and later attaining and maintaining a music career.

They don’t see the blisters that form on the feet from hours of dancing, or how fingers bleed before they develop calluses as you learn to play guitar, or know about purchasing expensive ass equipment you can barely afford, only to carry said heavy ass equipment back and forth to play dives that think they are doing you a favor and don’t want to pay you for your art. They don’t understand the sleep deprivation that can occur from working 48 hours without rest, as you travel from one show to another trying to keep up with an absolutely grueling schedule, not to mention that despite all the bling, the record company is reaping 90 percent of the financial reward for an artists work, while the artisttake the brunt of public scrutiny and or ridicule.

Oh yeah—and that house on cribs—probably owned by the record company, which would be ripped right out from under you if your next album fails to go platinum.

We wonder how musicians go from rags to riches—that’s how. They are pimped out, raped, held out as bejeweled show ponies, then kicked out when they become too old and ugly for the johns to purchase any more to be laughed at and scorned.

And think of this—even with all the crap that happens behind the scenes, I chose this career—I chose it because I live it, breathe it and love it. I understand the ramifications of my choices. Every good thing has its price. If you can accept the cost then you can’t bitch—I was also an adult when I made that choice.

Britney wasn’t.

What kind of reality does a person have when they have spent their entire life in the public eye? I mean, if I made a mistake only my friends and family knew. These kids made mistakes, and the whole world knew—and they are usually bar-be-qued for it, as if the people pointing fingers themselves had never made such youthful transgressions.

Most of us are adults before we encounter corporate greed and the manipulation of others for financial gain. Britney was six. All she and kids like her know is fakery, and slight of hand. Children, who had protective caring parents, or the inner fortitude, have been able to cull good experiences from a showbiz childhood, but the cliché of the fallen child star is a cliché for a reason. Sadly, because people wrongly believe that these kids are reaping huge monetary benefits, they shove their emotional needs in the backburner tossing any protests, fears or concerns into the “ whining pampered star” pile.

Our stars issues are, in some way, a reflection of our hypocritical, jealous and back biting natures. We demand perfection from our stars when we ourselves are far from it. I have one child, and it has taken me a year to whittle down.

Yet we want celebrities to be the epitome of the human ideal and then poke fun when they run to get nips and tucks to keep their status within a world that chews you up and spits you like gum that lost it’s flavor—but if that is the only world you know—how can you understand that there is something different?

We cackle, “Oh how the mighty have fallen” with an evil glee, just because someone we wanted to be has fallen off the throne. It’s kind of like one of Noah’s son’s laughing at the mans drunken nakedness, as opposed to covering his father up.

Maybe Britney is just – tired.

Perhaps she has gotten to a place where the individuals she once perceived as angels have become devils, and she is in a place of confusion, anger and fear. If so, is actually a good place for her to be. Such things are the catalyst of change. Maybe at the end of her trials, she’ll come out on top and be able to spit in the face of people who wanted to kick her when she was down.

Now, don’t take this as a tearful “leave Britney alone” treatise. I make fun of the girl all the time. Why? Because I do believe that, while she is troubled, she is at an age where she should be evaluating her life and trying to understand why she feels so empty despite having essentially good things, like beautiful children and a thriving career.

I just pray that the little one will wise up, and soon, before her kids are minus a mother and the world, minus a once brilliant light.

Posted by: Alicia - Inzino Staff

VMA REcap

Since the VMAs this year were very choppy and devoid of any structure, my re-cap of the evening will follow that motif.

I liked the format of the show this year. It was like having all the cool kids at school show you pictures of their ragin’ party, saying, “Too bad you weren’t invited, loser!”

Something about seeing really unconventional collaborations between musicians (Lil’ Wayne and Fall Out Boy? They somehow made it work) made me really want to be in those crowded hotel suites to experience the performances. But not in a good way. More in a “Damn, my life is boring. Screw you MTV for forcing me to make that depressing realization” way.

There was no host this year, there were randomly named awards (Most Earth-Shattering Collaboration?), and everyone in the audience seemed like they had been drinking heavily just to make it through the evening. Lord knows I’ve been in those shoes. Not in the Palms Casino, of course. A men’s bathroom in a Radisson bar is more like it.

I really love Justin Timberlake. Sorry, I couldn’t think of good way to segue into that. I just love him. He seems like he’s got more than a tinge of cocky bastard in him, but as we all know, women love assholes.

I liked his cheeky criticism of MTV’s lack of music video rotation and his not so subtle dig at Ashlee and Jessica Simpson. He must hate reality TV; he didn’t even look in the direction of The Hills gals who presented him with one of his awards. If he had looked at them, I feel like he would have hocked up mucus and aimed it squarely at one of the T.Y.T.’s.

What’s a T.Y.T.? It’s a play on the song “P.Y.T.” by Michael Jackson. P.Y.T. is an acronym for “Pretty Young Thing.” T.Y.T. is an acronym for “Talent-less Young Thing.” It applies to many people that are inexplicably ubiquitous on the pop culture radar. Examples include: The girls from The Hills (particularly Heidi and her douche bag boyfriend Spencer, Nicole Richie, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Kimberly Stewart, Kim Kardashian, Brody Jenner, and others of their obnoxious, privileged ilk.

Anyway, having Britney Spears open and bomb at the very beginning of the show was like seeing the world’s greatest revenge by a cuckolded boyfriend…ever. Justin won a few awards, performed flawlessly with other well-respected musical artists, and looked quite dapper in his suit and tie. That, on top of a year of a well-received, chart-topping album, praised performances in major motion pictures, winning Grammies, and bedding a who’s who of young Hollywood starlets.

Britney squeezed out another Federline spawn, couldn’t drop the baby weight, went to rehab, lost her mind, shaved her head, looks a hot mess, and potentially committed professional suicide.

It’s like showing up to your high school reunion and seeing that the person who tortured or rejected you is now a morbidly obese, unemployed, trailer-dweller with a glass eye and a receding hairline. You think, “Yes! There is a God. And God loves me.” Or alternatively: “Yes! Satan does exist. And Satan is in my corner.”

I really wish I could have seen the fight between Kid Rock and Tommy Lee. I bet Kid used a broken moonshine bottle as a weapon. Tommy probably used his penis. Were they fighting over Pam? They must have. I saw Pam roll her eyes during the Chris Brown performance, which annoyed me. He trains to dance and perform that intensely; it’s his career. Pam just shows her boobs. Yes, I realize that is her career, but the amount of discipline it takes to memorize an intricately, choreographed routine is far greater than the effort exerted to unhook a bikini top. Get some perspective, lady. And perhaps stop funneling all of your money into breast augmentation, and re-route the surgical enhancements northward to that mug of yours. Yikes…

I thoroughly enjoyed hearing Jennifer Garner call Gym Class Heroes, “Gym Class…Fall Out?” For the longest time, I thought they were called Panic! At the Gym Class Fall Out Chemical Plain White Yellowcard. I don’t know where one nasally whine begins and one guyliner-sporting bass player ends.

I’ll leave the rest of my analysis of the show to my open letters to VMA attendees and performers.


Open Letters:

Oh Britney. I don’t know what was worse. Your nappy weave, your dilated pupils, or your sloth-like, half-assed dance moves in a bedazzled bikini. I’ve seen girls with low self-esteem in tube tops and low-rider jeans holding bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonade writhe with more enthusiasm than you. And you’re known for dancing. Aside from the Cheetos and marriages and bad parenting, you were mainly famous for your ability to shake your ass with precision. It definitely wasn’t for your pipes. No, not crack pipes. Pipes, as in vocal cords. Focus, Britney.

Your song actually isn’t that bad. If I had had four cocktails without eating dinner first, I would have totally danced along. You were handed a comeback opportunity on a coke-dust free platter, and you pissed on it. Well, not literally. Or did you? Nevermind. Don’t tell me.

Did you find your pants? I’ll call you a cab. No, you’re not driving. I want you to go home, pop an Advil, drink a gallon of water, put some cucumber on those eyes, and sleep for the next 72 hours straight. When you wake up, take a walk around the block. With shoes. Then I want you to go to your record label, lay prostrate in front of the CEOs (no, no, you don’t need to reach for their zippers, sweetie) and say, “I’m sorry. Fix me please.”

You got that?

If you’re good, I’ll let you go to Taco Bell. But only one Chalupa. Your cholesterol level is through the roof.

**

Oh Adam Levine. I like your music. I liked you even when Maroon 5 was a wussy pop-rock band called Kara’s Flowers. I like your falsetto. I like the fact that you’re probably shorter than I.

But repeat after me: you are not Sting.

What, you just forgot your shirtsleeves? Were you in a hurry leaving the hotel? You thought: “I can only grab my Blackberry, my keys, and my brooding eyebrows. There’s no time for sleeves!”

A vest is not a shirt.

Sleeves are a good thing.

**

Oh Kanye.

You make megalomania so damn hot.

You get my vote in the Kanye vs. Fitty rivalry. I’ve got Graduation on pre-order.

The 80s sunglasses have to go, though. No, really. Take them off. That’s a good Kanye…

**

Oh Alicia Keys.

I love you.

You opened the night looking gorgeous in a strapless gown and your hair pulled back to show off your lovely face.

Your new song “No One” is amazing, and I shall download it as soon as it is made available.

Why you chose to perform looking like an aerobics instructor from Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome, we’ll never know. But, you fucking did a cover of George Michael’s "Freedom," which cements as you one of the greatest performers of our generation.

Again, I love you. And on a side note: I never once hated on you in Smokin’ Aces, even though it is a personal fantasy of mine to be carried in the strong yet sensitive arms of Common. That’s devotion right there.
Greatest Moments in TV for the pre-30 Crowd

MOMENT #2

"Jessie is hooked on Caffeine Pills"

From: Saved by the Bell


Sing along, because I know you can:

"I'm so excited.

I'm so excited.

I'm so...

I'm so scared."

Now fall into the comforting arms of Zack Morris.

Saved by the Bell wasn't too preoccupied with addressing pressing social issues. They were more concerned with Slater's Jheri curl, Zack's ten pound cell phone, and how to infuse as many dance/musical numbers as possible into each episode.

Which brings us to, hands-down, the most memorable episode of SBTB ever. If you have never seen it, then I sincerely wonder where the hell you were in 90s. Most of us can't tell you the intricacies of Brown v. Board of Education, Hamlet, or the Pythagorean Theorem, but I'm pretty sure the majority of people my age can give you a play-by-play of the episode when Jessie becomes addicted to caffeine pills.

Jessie was the only smart character on the show. Zack was the attractive mischief-maker, Slater was an attractive meathead, Screech was the ugly dork, Lisa was the spoiled narcissist, and Kelly was the one they all wanted to bang. With that much negative brain power amongst the cast, the producers decided to make one character do all the thinking for them. Enter Jessie: academic superstar, socially conscious, feminist, and the lone voice of reason in a group of mostly good-looking morons. Of course, Elizabeth Berkeley, the actress who played Jessie, is also attractive (we're all familiar with Showgirls, I trust?), but they mask her hotness by always making her wear pants. Hey, they had to keep it authentic.

In this particular episode, Zack acts as svengali and helps the girls form a singing group called The Sundaes. He gets them a gig at local hang-out The Max, which is run by that super creepy magician/waiter. He looks like a young Eugene Levy who probably has to register as a sex offender whenever he moves apartments.

With the strenuous vocal and dance training required of the ladies, Jessie struggles to strike a balance with her school and extracurricular activities. Always the overachiever, she wants to excel at everything, but darn it, the body's natural inclination to sleep just keeps getting in the way. So why not pop caffeine pills to cram in an extra hour or five into studying ‘til the wee hours of the mornings?

Initially, Jessie makes the results of pill-popping look rather rosy: she aces an exam and she even has time to film a low-budget music video with The Sundaes (I believe exercise equipment is featured heavily as props?). But the writers, as all deft writers know to do, start to slowly unveil the cracks that are forming in her ambitious veneer. She starts getting manic and displays hyper-excitement or enraged bitchiness at odd times. Well, more bitchiness than usual; it is part of the Jessie schtick to be a bit of a c---.

I'm pretty sure Zack confronts her on her pill usage and like all good addicts, Jessie rebuffs him and says she's got it all "under control." Zack doesn't tell an adult like countless after-school specials and school assemblies have instructed us to do. Perhaps that was because at the time the actors were probably all legally adults and the producers thought it'd be pushing it to further ask the audience to suspend their disbelief. Either way, the Bayside crew was full of enablers.

The emotional climax of the episode occurs when Zack comes to Jessie's room before the big performance at The Max. Jessie is sleeping, probably for the first time in three days. When Zack wakes her, she has the requisite crazed methamphetamine freak out, saying she's gotta hurry and she can't believe she slept in. Zack tries to calm her down, but it's no use. The lack of sleep and nutrients, and the toxic levels of caffeine and speed in her system have already unleashed the beast.

I believe she spouts some crazy talk about being perfect and doing everything for everyone (How typical of speed freaks. Always thinking of themselves). Zack attempts to stop her from thrashing around, and props to him; girlfriend is like 6 feet tall. I wouldn't try reining her in without a mouth guard and a taser on my person.

Then she starts singing the now infamous lines that I posted above. She sang with such angst and drug-addled passion. You believed her when she said she was so excited, so excited, so scared.

And then you probably wet yourself a little with laughter.

Name me one person who actually felt an emotional tug during that scene and did not laugh, and I will personally buy you and that person a drink. I realize every household is different and some young TV viewers are more sensitive than others. In my house, we used to watch the opening credits of Little House on the Prairie, strictly to see one of those Ingalls kids eat it while running down the hill. So perhaps, I'm a bit biased. But I challenge you to find one adult in the present day that does not chuckle when hearing that episode referenced, and damn it, you owe me a drink.

The episode perfectly captures how the adults of the 80s and 90s thought it best to sanitize real problems such as drug abuse and present it to the youth as sweet cautionary tales that always ended with the troubled character safely in bed, surrounded by loved ones, and thoroughly aware of how badly they erred. Had they wanted to really get through to kids at home, they would have shown Jessie upgrading to crank and turning tricks in the back alleys of Bayside to score her next fix. She's be offering to perform fellatio on Screech for a ten-dollar fee or hawking Zack's cell phone to some dude on the street.

But you know, Saturday morning TV has to follow "FCC regulations." And even though it became a widespread cultural joke, I suppose it did make us think twice about abusing pharmaceuticals. I'm sure at one point in high school, we nudged a pal who was taking No-Doze during finals week and said, "Be careful. You don't want to end up like Jessie from Saved by the Bell." It would always elicit a laugh, but deep down, maybe we were really concerned that friend would end up like Jessie, and maybe that friend was relieved that someone was concerned for him. Somewhere in our mockery lies gratitude for the writers of that episode and their advice to “just say no.” Jessie picked up where McGruff the Crime Dog and Louie and Lightning bug dropped the ball in teaching us youngsters lessons about life. Props, Jessie.

And props to the writers. I'd love to find them, especially the one who decided to make Jessie sing during her breakdown. Wherever he or she is, I think we all, as a generation, need to buy that person a drink.

Posted by: Sylvie - inzino staff

You Can Call Me “Little Miss Schadenfreude”

While watching the YouTube clip of Miss Teen South Carolina, Lauren Caitlin Upton, deliver a completely nonsensical, incoherent response to why 1/5 of Americans cannot find the United States on a map, I was overcome with two feelings that have been immortalized by 80s rap duo Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock: joy and pain.

I felt the pain first. Even though the Miss Teen USA pageant is hardly a Nielsen’s juggernaut, there are at least a few million Americans that tune in every year, not including the audience, the other contestants, and a panel full of D-list denizens whose acting credits as Bloody Corpse #2 on CSI qualifies them to pick America’s next teen sweetheart. I challenge anyone to stand on that stage and not be nervous with that many pairs of eyeballs watching you, waiting for you to screw up.

Though, Ms. Upton’s answer was less a screw up and more like projectile word vomit, sprinkled with a dash of poor education and topped off with a light dusting of delusion. She should have just kept it real. Kept the words simple. Certain people possess the natural (or learned) skill of elocution. Others do not. And that’s okay. Not everyone can be articulate, and those that are not, especially those whose lives revolve around pageantry, should know to work with what their mamas gave (or neglected to give) them.

Had she decided to work her down-home girl persona and said, “Y’all, I think that is such a shame. We need to get some more learnin’ up in y’all’s schoolhouses,” she would have a much better score from the judges and saved herself the immense embarrassment and YouTube infamy. But, instead, she tried to be someone else. She tried to affect an air of intelligence, as evident in her references to “the Iraq,” “South Africa,” and her flagrant use of the phrase “such as.” It was as if she watched old news reportage tapes of Christiane Amanpour but reenacted by Britney Spears after taking a Quaalude. Perhaps she thought just tossing out these non-sequiturs and sound bites from adult conversation would be enough to impress the crowd and judges. You can’t blame her for thinking it would work; hell, our president does it at every single press conference he attends. And he’s the president.

And when she completed her answer, you could hear the utter shock in Mario Lopez’s voice when saying, “Thank you, Miss South Carolina.” When you’ve made AC Slater silently condemn you as a fucking moron, then you know you need to shuffle around your priorities a bit. Perhaps fewer Cardio Striptease classes and more time in an actual classroom?

After watching the clip, my pain slowly subsided and was soon replaced by sinister, bitchy joy. Not that I have anything against Miss Upton. I’m sure she’s a nice young woman who was probably forced into this profession at the age of five by an obese mother with a permanent wave and a dream deferred. I was happy because Miss Teen South Carolina, though unwittingly, became an exemplar of sexist culture gone terribly, terribly awry.

The concept of beauty pageants is horrifying in and of itself, a backward, spray-tanned, Aquanet idea of what makes a woman successful and worthy of adoration. According to the Miss Teen USA pageant and the rest of its ilk, a woman needs to look good in a dress, look good in a bathing suit, walk in heels, smile wide, perform a choreographed dance routine, and answer a question in order to be placed on a pedestal high above her fellow females. I think they may have even eliminated the talent portion of some of these pageants, meaning you don’t even have to be able to tap dance or twirl a baton anymore in order to win a crown. You just have to be hot and form sentences, at the very most two or three full phrases: 1) “I’m ________ and I’m from the great state of _________!” and 2) “If I could change the world, I’d adopt every baby alive so that they’d all be American because this is the greatest country on earth! I support our troops!” Add that to a big rack and even bigger hair, and bam: crown and title.

And this is what we teach our young women. We teach them that if you’re pretty and smile a lot, you’ll have the world at your fingertips. You don’t need to contribute significantly to the workforce, you don’t have to be smart, and you needn’t be original, provocative, or groundbreaking in any way. It’s like a training facility for future trophy wives. These contestants field banal questions from judges whilst smiling in a bedazzled evening gown, just as they will in five years when their first husbands introduce them to their dirty old man business colleagues at a cocktail party.

And just as Miss Teen South Carolina should have kept it real, pageants should as well. PR teams shouldn’t try to spin pageants into celebrations of intelligence, poise, ambition, and scholarship. The last time I checked, the women finalists for Fulbright scholarships were not asked to strut in bikinis and 3-inch heels for the judging committee. But who knows? I was never eligible to become a Fulbright scholar; perhaps their criteria do involve a swimwear component of some sort and I’ve just been misinformed. Though, I did hear somewhere that Rhodes scholars have to perform flawless “jazz hands” before they can even step foot onto Oxford’s campus. And for good reason.

Pageants are contests based on looks and likeability, both relying on extremely standard expectations of aesthetics and personality. And if they billed themselves as that, I think they’d find themselves less frequently being the butt of jokes in this nation. And if they decided to distinguish themselves from other more healthy forms of competition amongst women (academic, artistic, entrepreneurial, et cetera), then maybe more young females would be aware that there are other means of excelling in our society, many of which do not require parading around like a bronzed show poodle.

So my glee doesn’t come from Ms. Upton’s humiliation, but rather from the fact that so many people watched her YouTube clip and afterwards, shook their heads in disbelief (when they weren’t crying from laughter or cringing with embarrassment). This gives me hope that people realize how pertinent the brain is, and then even a cute, fit blonde needs a little something going on upstairs.

I don’t worry about Ms. Upton. She’ll still have men lining up around the block with marriage proposals and an eagerness to impregnate her. She may even have a lucrative career as a local anchorwoman or as one of the entertainment correspondents on the TV Guide Channel. More importantly, she should proud that she has compromised a bit of her dignity in order to open the eyes of this country, and quite possibly the world. She was the sacrificial lamb whose slaughtering may have just sparked a revolution, mobilizing young, motivated women of substance to make their voices heard. Bless her heart, bless her stupidity, and God bless America.

Posted by: Sylvie - inzino staff

Feigned Incompetence

The headlines were screaming with the news that Alberto Gonzales was stepping down from the position of Attorney General. Political reaction wasn’t as mixed as one would have expected. The common thread seemed to be that Gonzales was ineffective at handling his own department. Certainly his responses before the Senate warranted that observation.

But this is, of course, a trademark of the Bush administration: feigned incompetence. We are expected to believe that persons this high up in our government have absolutely no clue what they are doing, sitting in a boat with no one knowing how to row the oars. Gonzales repeated this mantra so many times during his time before the Senate Judiciary Committee that one could mistake him for doing a religious invocation. Regardless of the question, he could not recall dates or meetings and what they entailed.

It is certainly public knowledge that these recent years have been the most secretive in decades for the White House, cloaking decision-making behind a wall of classification and secret tribunals. For this reason, it makes absolutely no sense that incompetency is at work here.

One must ask themselves about a man in a powerful position who would assert to the Senate judiciary Committee on January 18 of this year that the Constitution does not expressly grant the right of habeus corpus. Ponder further the leaked memos from Gonzales attempting to invalidate the Geneva Conventions and international law in finding legal justifications for torture. Or the fact of his connections with warrant-less domestic wiretapping that supposedly caused a late night visit to an ailing Ashcroft back in 2004.

Another curious little aspect is that the Senate Judiciary Committee issued subpoenas back in June regarding the wiretapping program, which in turn has caused the White House to stonewall in releasing documents all summer. The extension on those subpoenas ran out on Aug. 20 and the information could have implicated Gonzales of wrongdoing. Furthermore, Committee chairman Patrick Leahy sent a letter to Inspector General Fine asking for an investigation into possibly misleading statements Gonzales made before the Committee on July 24, 2007.

Not surprisingly, Gonzales takes a bow and exits the stage at this time. The White House deflects further criticism by pointing the finger at our journalist for ousting him with the negative portrayal. The media frenzy surrounding his replacement will quiet the additional rumblings of the scandals.

That leaves us only with the impression of a befuddled Gonzales in our memory banks, testifying with an uncomfortable smile as he faces the cameras as he says, “I don’t know, can’t recall, can’t remember the exact details, it is certainly possible but I was not privy to the details…”

But this image doesn’t fit the smooth calibration of a how a year’s worth of investigations will float dead in the water while our man smoothly rows away on a boat provided by unseen benefactors.

Gonzales didn’t get to where he is by being an inept man. This is true for every member of this administration. So why are we convincing ourselves of this merely because it is easier to swallow?


Posted by: Rhonda - inzino staff

Technical Difficulties

The DSL at my apartment is on the fritz and subsequently, my roommate now has a death wish out on att&t: imagine Charles Bronson, but in the body of a little Vietnamese gal. I'm sure we've all imagined that at some point in our lives. I know I have.

I kind of like the lack of internet access. It definitely makes me more productive. Well, except at work, when i'm catching up on all the blogging, shoe browsing, Facebook'ing and Youtube'ing that i was unable to do at home. But that is besides the point.

Yesterday evening when the Internet crapped out, I decided to make dinner on the stove as opposed to in the microwave. I sat and watched the news. I read a few Tobias Wolff short stories. Then I went to a gym on Stanford campus. I did more beneficial things for my brain and body in one evening than I've done in this entire month of august, I'm sure.

The downside? (because there's always a downside...) I left my Ipod in one of the treadmills in Arrillaga. I stuck it in the water bottle holder because I can't run without the ear buds fallling out so i usually just go without music. I got a nice 1/4 mile run in (in my defense, I had just spent 35 minutes on an elliptical; I'm not a complete lard-ass) and then I just peaced out. By the time I got home and noticed it was missing, the gym was already closed. I called this morning, but they did not have an Ipod that fit my description.

The Ipod itself is not the issue. I've had that thing since 2004 and it's scratched the hell up. Despite working well, the battery life sucked. The ear buds were always problematic and funny enough, ended up being the reason I am Ipod-less at the moment.

But, do you know what really devastates me?

I'm afraid that someone will out me as corny-ass music fan.

I love great, quality music. My inner hipster loves that I own mp3's of artists singing in languages that i don't know, erudite underground rappers, manic-depressive singer-songwriters, and 60s soul singers.

But sometimes life is a little too stressful or precarious. And sometimes you need a quick hit of musical crack that offers nothing more than a beat to step to or simple, catchy-ass melody.

Posted by: Sylvie - inzino staff

The Tolerable Enemy

A half-crushed bottle lying on the pavement. The morose worker waving away the voter registration volunteers. Dimished response to community activism. A passionate shrug among friends as they discuss current events.

What do these have in common? The answer is apathy.

It is a tolerable enemy in America these days, creeping along side us as we go about our daily lives. Outside my door is a city full of people whose opinions are just as passionate as my own.

Yet for some reason, this passion doesn’t transform itself into action. Perhaps it is because that our culture demands change happen immediately. Like fairy tales we believed as children, we cling to notions that simple slogans will solve our policy crises and weather whatever storms we may face.

We have been very wrong.

Our world is full of partisan politics. The lines are drawan in the sand on any given issue. However, the one thing that is the same is the fact that people are overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the problems.

Take health care of example. No one can honestly argue that our system is as good as it can be. There is a monstrous amount of bloated costs to go along with our harried system of medical beauracy that is strangled doctors as much as patients. Regardless of political affliation, the sheer number of uninsured Americans in this country is a travesty. One need look no further than a neighbor to find a story of a loved one who died not because medical care was unavaible, but because they could no longer afford it.

And so we stand at a crossroads where everyone points fingers at everyone else year after year while doing absolutely nothing to solve the problem. Our voting populace shrugs and says, “So what else is new?” And those that have managed to attain good health care at the moment, despite all the passionate talks, have not hargued local, state or federal jurisdictions into making effective policy changes.

I walk out everyday into a world where I hear conversations about the state of our country. And no matter how eloquent the points made or embittered the person saying them, it all ends with a shrug and matter that nothing can be done about it.

With apathy by our side, this is certainly true. It carried the unspoken mantra that everything has gone to rot anyway. So why care?

I’ll tell you why: because it is our responsibility as human beings. It is not enough to carve out a niche in society for yourself. Our people are isolated now because our communities have broken down and with them, the support systems that carried these thoughts into action.

It is all too easy to sit back enjoying our iPhones and forgetting about the issues that face all of us on any given day. It shouldn’t take a catastrophy to bring us together as a nation to agree that change is necessary. It should instead be a part of the goal of each of us to build on the foundations of our past to light our way into the future.

As it stands now, our future is blisteringly dark. When every news channel can be more concerned with the actions of Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan than reporting on the ailing financial status of our citizens, our media has failed us. When we don’t hold our leaders accountable to fulfilling the promises they made to win our votes and our confidence, when we tell ourselves that we are not affected by the actions made in our name, then we have surely failed ourselves.

Because our nation wasn’t founded by people who didn’t think or were afraid of fighting for what they believed in. Perhaps you and I will disagree on the political scene. Perhaps not. But I think all of us would respect each other a lot more if we all gave it a try instead of tolerating the boredom that has seeped into every facet of our society.

And let’s face it: we are pretty bored. The Statisical Abstract of the United States for 2007 predicts that the average American will spend 3,518 hours plugged into some type of media, whether its form is a book, the internet, radio or television. That is nearly five months worth of time, yet the common complaint is “there isn’t enough time in the day.”

Techology makes folks isolated.

Posted by: Rhonda - inzino staff

Your balls offend me, Infidel

A demonstration has been held in south- east Afghanistan accusing US troops of insulting Islam after they distributed footballs bearing the name of Allah.The balls showed the Saudi Arabian flag which features the Koranic declaration of faith. Methinks the Mullahs are little testy because this hearts & minds stuff actually works. These Afghan kids, living the closest to normal as they ever have, going to school, getting candy bars and soccer balls from the Americans, are less likely to sit around listening to Uncle Ahmed tell the story (for the zillionth) of how he lost his eye fighting the Infidel swine in the mountains. No, they will be outside playing like kids are supposed to, instead of learning how to wire themselves with explosives and hate Jews just because they're Jews. And that, ladies, gentlemen and Jihadis, is how America is going to win the war.I'll bet you ten Yankee greenbacks that they'll even manage to win over old Uncle Ahmed, by giving him a new eye...
Posted by: Wendy - inzino staff

How the Record Company Killed Music

The 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's and 90's...each can lay claim to a very distinctive style of music, so distinctive in fact, that if a young person uttered "Oh, that's so eighties!" we would know exactly what they were talking about.Yet, here we are nearing the year 2010, and much of today's music is very similar to the stuff that was released the decade before it?How did that happen?Let us reflect, for a moment, on the current music industry. Is it forward thinking? Willing to embrace change? Reveling in creativity and/or new, inspired, voices?Hardly.This is an industry that sued kids for downloading music, when they should have rushed to understand mp3 technology, adopt it, and use it to their advantage, a move that would have made them money, and kept the general populace happy with them.After alienating their customer base, they tried to blame mp3 downloading for lackluster sales, failing to realize that it was their own inability to accept change, coupled with the penchant for releasing music that would only appeal to twelve year olds who knew no better, that had left a permanent bad taste in the mouths of consumers.Today, the industry is still clueless, ignoring the shouts of people who are asking for a valid alternative to the norm (not watered down versions of what is already out there, thinly disguised as something "new"…)In the old days, it used to be "let's find the next best thing!" Record execs were always on the prowl for something different, yet with a marketable appeal. They understood that something unique had a greater chance for longevity, which was their goal. They yearned for anything that would catch on and become the new gold standard.In other words, they were willing to take risks, and because of it, we have been privy to some of the greatest music in history.In today's time however, the Beatles would be tossed over in favor of Britney Spears, despite the potential ability to reap huge rewards with such a band.Modern labels want instant gratification, seeking to find the next (insert chart topping band name here), in an effort to reap the lucrative, if fleeting rewards, of sound recognition. This is in spite of an overwhelming majority of Americans confessing to being fed up with the crap we are currently getting via the radio airwaves.Also, while yes, the bottom line is important, companies can write off acts that don't do well, and the small percentage of acts who sell millions make up for the few bombs here and there.The ability to take risks is available, should they deign to grasp it.I am firmly of the opinion that the next Elvis, Michael Jackson, or Aretha Franklin is out there, but he/she is being tossed aside in favor of a disposable, blue eyed pop singer.Also, I think musicians and consumers alike are somewhat to blame for the fact that we are living in a recycled music era.Music decades were hallmarked by a shift in mood; the 60's embraced flower power, free love and an end to war, the seventies gave us an emotional release with disco and well as political commentary, the eighties spawned punk, new wave glam rock and synth driven pop -- the nineties got tired of the cotton candy of the eighties and called itself alternative…It was a direct response to the times. The people wanted music to reflect it's current mindset, and tossed aside anything that didn't meet the emotional and political expectations of that period in history.Yet, here we stand, accepting that which is unacceptable, letting record companies spoon-feed us crap that has no substance but is based purely on image.I recall a conversation I'd had with the President of a New York based record label, who gave me glowing praise for my work, but told me, "The music industry was ten percent talent ninety percent image." He asked me to get back to him when I had found stylist.Have I found my image? Not sure. My concentration has centered more on my musical voice – what I have to say and why. I am hoping that, in time, I will catch up with my musical reflection just as the industry is ready to accept it. In the interim, music's natural evolution is being suppressed, and in the end, an entire decade will suffer.

Posted by: Alicia - Inzino Staff

D'ua

I should be cleaning, doing something other than just sitting here at this formidable box, absorbing reckless piles of information that often leave me useless for the remainder of the day. I soak up endless newssites and blogs and cyberatic junkmail that is lying scattered around, in between the bills and periodicals of my internet post office.. The other day I found Du'a. she shook me to my core. To the point of unwavering sadness. It was the same day that 17 year old Jordin won American Idol that I dredged up this overlooked story. It was all around the same day. but it went so deep that I could not write, should not have spoken and had no reply. Du'a. The 17 year old girl who was stoned to death in Iraq for loving the wrong boy. he was not from her sect. His religion was different.. She was dragged from her home and publicly stoned to death. Yes... rocks.... usually pieces of cinderblock thrown at her little head until she was still bleeding but no longer moving. no longer screaming. no longer crying. No longer holding the image of the boy she could not love because he did not come from her religious sect. A group of men, throwing rocks and kicking her in the ribs. I would doubt it's reality but in our sickened age of readily available information someone filmed it on their phone. It is everywhere. She loved the wrong boy. Who didn't at seventeen. Du'a is dead. Killed brutally at 17 for having passion to go after her heart. beyond tradition. beyond the rules. she was able to see that boy as another human. and for that she is dead.don't know about Du'a you shouldhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Du’a_Khalil_Aswad

Posted by: Ellyn Parker - inzino staff

I've Got Spirit Yes I Do... I've Got Spirit... How About You?

Uh...no! Definitely not. In an attempt to save some coin, I made the mistake of booking my ticket on Spirit. I figured my last horrible experience with them was a long seven years ago and in that time, they must have hired better staff, upgraded their airlines and generally made the Spirit traveling experience a more enjoyable one. How wrong I was. The trouble started upon arrival at LAX. The surly and disinterested clerk barely glanced at me, didn't ask for ID and then informed me that it was $10 to check my bags. "You're kidding right?" The look on his face told me that no he wasn't kidding and he has probably never kidded in all his years at Spirit airlines. So because I'd wanted to travel light, I had decided to check my duffel and I was carrying two bags. Twenty dollars to check my bags. It's not the money that matters but the principle. If you have to pay for bags, it defeats the purpose of a cheaper ticket. But what's a girl to do? I grudgingly paid for the bags and then Mr. Friendly proceeded to let me walk towards the security without telling me that I needed to take my bags to those new screening checkpoints. Upon noticing that all my fellow travelers were waiting in a different line, I turned back just in time to hear him tell the bag man, "These are abandoned bags. Don't know where she went." I waved frantically and got his charming grimace in response.But it gets worse. We were delayed for 45 minutes and not a single announcement was made. I couldn't even see a crew member for the airline. Maybe they were all back in the back loading luggage. Got to keep those costs low. So I waited and read and waited. Finally we boarded and after takeoff, my seatmate and I wanted drinks. Turns out they charge for that too. Not alcoholic drinks folks (though after this flight I needed to drink heavily) but sodas, juice, coffee or tea. Definitely another black mark against Spirit.But the final straw was as I tried to make my return to LA. I arrived at La Guardia yesterday for my 3pm flight. It was raining and miserable outside so of course the lovely staff members of Spirit were in great moods. I handed my ID to the attendant and he informed me that I would make my first connection to Detroit but that I wouldn't make it to LAX that evening. I shrugged, thinking, "One more evening can't hurt.""That's okay. I'll just get a flight out tomorrow." He punched some buttons and then grunted and in his Spirit robot voice said, "The earliest I can get you out if Thursday, around 1pm." TWO DAYS! Not even the next evening, they simply said, "Sorry. We're overbooked. I was stunned. What kind of airline says sorry, it'll be another two days before you can leave. The anger and surprise left me shocked and dazed. I realized I hadn't even kicked up a fuss. I didn't ask for vouchers or hotel money. I just turned around and slunk off back to twin sisters. Of course time in NYC is never a bad thing especially seeing Twin Sis but I wanted/needed to get back for work. Getting paid after a week's vacation is always nice. Plus it's been almost a month since I've slept in my own bed, used my shower or devoured my TIVO. Basically I miss my home. I tried calling Spirit to complain and got outsourced God knows where. He listened to me vent for 10 minutes (after 20 minutes of holding) and then conveniently we got disconnected. More of that fantastic Spirit airlines service. So tomorrow morning I head back to La Guardia and...sigh...Spirit. Here's hoping that they prove me wrong and show me that they aren't nearly as competent as they seem.

Posted by: Hollie - Inzino Staff

Terrorist?

It's early and I can't fall back of asleep.. I should get up and run but instead I read 8 newspapers online ad bitch about politics on my school posts... I can't believe that the "mastermind" behind the 9/11 attacks confesses in Gitmo and it barely makes the news...Oh, I am sure his confession was extracted in an oh so Jack Bauer like way... but I am puzzled still as how something that devasted our country would get such little attention.. Oh that's right the mass contolled media is run by the goverment and there is NO freedom of press anymore.. And he's british Born.. (Muslim yes) but not from Iraq, Iran Afghanistan or any of the other oil rich countires that we pin all the terrorists on. American government officials are the real terrorists.. They keep us pinned to the grindstone.. and our stupid tvs... working..slaving to pay taxes so they can fight their wars...hogwash really.

Posted by: Ellyn - Inzino Staff

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