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