Like a Natural Like a Natural by Hilde My mom and dad always encouraged me to get everything out of life, they weren't ashamed of assuring me over and over how beautiful and intelligent and creative me and my sister were and they raised us with the message that you can achieve anything in life, if you want it badly enough and work hard for it. My parents gave me everything they could give to make these first years of my life successful. Unfortunately, like all parents, mine weren't capable of protecting me from this society with all its crazy beauty images, brainwashing video-clips and glossy magazines. No matter how often my parents told me how pretty and smart I was, at a young age they lost their grip on me, and I lost grip on my entire life. I had my first facial mask at age 10. I first shaved my legs at age 9. I really don't remember exactly when my self-image started falling apart, though I don't think you could point out a specific time in my life where everything changed. It sorta sneeked up to me, you know? Can you identify? I used to hang over those magazines with a magnifying glass to see if my mind wasn't tricking me: those models had perfect skin and NO body hair at all. Amazing. Disturbing. I remember this particular time when I was at the swimming pool with my class, and we were changing into our bathing suits. All girls in one room, the boys in the other. At one point, one of the most popular girls with tits in class (of course) glanced at my cunt and she noticed the enormous amount of black curly hair between my legs. It's funny, cause I wasn't even aware of that hair being there, I looked down with her, and suddenly saw what she saw: I was different compared to the rest. I didn't have just a couple of hairs that could easily be covered with my bathing suit, no, I had a head full of hair between my legs, and it popped out of the sides of my bathing suit all the time. I had never really given it any thought, but at that moment, when all the girls in my class were standing in a circle, pointing at my vagina, lauging at me, mocking me, I suddenly "realized" how filthy I was compared to them. I was eleven, goddamnit, eleven. In my life I must have spend thousands of dollars for razors, foam, wax and cream. I must have spend hundreds of hours in the bathroom, either removing my body hair, or crying afterwards because everything turned all red and itchy and because I still felt way too ashamed to join my friends at the pool. Feminism woke me up, kinda. When I first encountered feminism, I jumped into it, head first. That first period I had a wonderful time not shaving, wearing baggy clothes and not giving a shit about my physical appearance. I remember wearing the same Babes in Toyland t-shirt day in day out for almost a year. I was a radical feminist, and not just on the outside. But things change, and I always kept on growing as a feminist. Meanwhile, my looks would grow with me. My days of being a bald-headed loudmouth had been extremely revlieving, but it was time for me to move on. Somehow, I missed dressing myself up sexy, feeling oh so feminine and I slowly went back to that. And while doing so I tried to emerge the things I learned back then, with the way I wanted to look now. I can wear a short skirt, but no, I don't have to shave if I don't want to, and so on. And honestly, I must say I don't hate it when a car full of boys slows down all of a sudden and starts yelling what a cutie I am. I mean, trust me, if a man truely bothers me I will communicate this to him by all means necessary, but a couple of guys checking me out and doing high-fives because I walk by.... well, that's kind of a compliment, isn't it? I still look down sometimes and tend to hate what I see. But throughout the years I learned to take a deep breath and shake of the images our community has pomped into my head. I don't want or have to look like that. That isn't reality. The Photoshop skills of them magazines are tricky, and don't be mislead by television shows where the people are fake and only the make-up is real. This little webzine or whatever you want to call it is here for us. I, for one, felt a huge urge to share parts of my story, and I'm sure I'm not alone. Share with us, we really need to hear from you.

Greatest video hits 2
Got home from Thanksgiving in NJ and what was at the foot of my mailbox but Queen's Greatest Video Hits 2!!!

Three hours of bonus footage. And the great thing isn't so much the videos -- although they are restored and in 5.1 sound, all that, better than my bootleg VHS tapes -- it's the bonus stuff. The Hot Space videos never make any bootleg comp, and the audio commentary is priceless -- Brian May at his diplomatic and honest best, and Roger grumpy and honest. He's still a punk rocker at heart.

In the video for Radio Ga Ga, they address the Queen-as-fascists thing I made a trope in GSMQ I -- and addressed it honestly. They dismissed those accusations as trifle -- it's a piece of entertainment, etc. -- and then, presumably looking at the footage of 200-odd people in white outfits raising their arms after doing the signature Ga Ga double-clap, Roger goes, "well that is a bit Nuremberg-ish, I have to admit," or something like that. True enough. And with Ga Ga set as a counterpoint to Fritz Lang's Metropolis, the footage of which they used in the video, was the perfect example to address to debunk the fascist accusation. But what of the rows of miners in the I Want To Break Free? The Freddie Mercury videos in which people are goose-stepping? That's problematic.

It's odd to be thinking of all this, with Roger and Brian playing 46664 an AIDS concert pretty much as we speak in South Africa -- the two active members of Queen have become fine older gentlemen, and my evening with them last night, listening to them speak, made me cry more than a couple times, thinking of those old songs and where I was in my life, where they were. All this honesty from the most vaingloriously pompous bands -- it's great.

SCREW the prelims

(Read: To the beloved school, i truly appreciate the staff's motivated approach in failing their students during prelims. Because by doing so, i bet the principal takes great satisfaction in seeing the downfall of us students. Do not give us the this-is-for-your-best or -olevels-is-gonna-be-easier bullshit. Because ultimately, what's done is done. *I apologize for being an impulsive adolescent asserting such unjust remarks to the school, but hey, i'm a teen, and i'm mad, so aren't all teens supposed to lambast angrily and blame others when they feel that the world has been unfair to them? Call me a cynic, and i'll gleefully tell you that this has been proven true, albeit sadly so.*) firstly, what's up with the english results? 126 students (including yours truly) misintepreted the situational writing. The top mean subject grade was a goddamn 3.0. Only 12% of the students received a distinction. Hello??? This wouldn't have happened if you guys didn't set such a lame-ass paper. I mean, a compre on Ground Zero and you-sunk-my-battleship is not our cup of tea. So don't blame us for our limited vocabulary, because i assure you, when only 12% received a distinction, it can only mean one thing: the eng paper was a friggin mistake. and if that wasn't hard enough, why not throw in a couple more haha-you-can't-do-this-piece -of-shit-cos-the-ques-from-some-friggin-indpntschool? Thank you for that delightful a/emaths paper, and i'm sure i'll be sending flowers to the staff for that extremely enjoyable physics and bio papers as well. As for the failures in oh, let's say, the rest of the papers, i'm sure it will satisfy your indulgence in failing the entire level. (out of the 206 students who did prose for pure/elec lit, 200 misintepreted the ghost story. only 6 did it right. but then again, the 6 didn't elaborate so well.) As for me, i have resigned myself. I'm prepared for the worst, and i mean the very worst. Judgement Day's tomorrow. In the hall. Bet some shitass people are gonna rejoice. See their smiles of smug-satisfaction? Now see my grave and solemn face with one eye twitching? Yeah, that's right. At this rate, I'm really prepared for the worst. 'Serves me right' doen't seem to fit. Just doesn't seem fair when u mug all night from 8pm to 4 in the morn. It just doesn't seem fair...but tell me, when has the world ever been fair? Call me ungrateful, but that's exactly how i feel right now. Anxious seems too inadequate to describe it. I am feeling mighty dejected right now. Ah well, mistakes are meant to be made. And sometimes, you might just need that piece of luck to help you succeed. Wish for the best. Hopefully i'll pull through tomorrow somehow. studied like shit for the prelims, and what do i get? the same piece of shit thrown back at me. (Only gd thing that happened: finished the sandman's 'brief lives'. another tour de force by gaiman. aaaawwwweeesooooommmeeeeeeeeee..........)

We met for the first time February 1998.

He was twenty years old and still a virgin who didn't smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, do drugs or eat animals. He had done some crazy flying death drop off a metal chair and slammed right into me at a show. Few words were exchanged.

The next time we met words were harsher, and electronic. We argued in the guestbook of the Caledon Ska-Punk-Hardcore page. I trashed him in my online journal, which he read. We began e-mailing, cleared up our differences and began the best friendship I'd ever had.

He was the older, wiser, smarter outsider. Everything I wanted to be. He taught me so much. Helped me make major life decisions.

My friends tried to convince me that I liked him, but I kept telling them, and myself, that they were wrong.

The cops raided a show in late May for underage drinking in a public place. He just happened to be clearing up some bottles when the police caught him. I walked around the corner to see him being dragged to a cruiser. I started to cry -- I couldn't catch my breath. I didn't understand, and then it hit me: I loved this boy.

I kept it to myself until one night when I had stayed up too late and had too much Jolt to drink. I wrote him an e-mail confessing everything and he told me he had always suspected it. Unfortunately, he said, two people have to want a relationship for it to happen.

I wasn't upset, I was just glad to keep him as a friend.

As the days went on I became more and more irritated with the fact that he had given me so much and I had nothing to give back. I couldn't enrich his life like he'd enriched mine.

I told him exactly how I was feeling in a letter and anxiously awaited his reply. I'm not quite sure what exactly I was waiting for. I got an e-mail from him the next day. He babbled on about things that I don't think had anything to do with the letter, and once again brought up the relationship factor.

After that, things sort of went downhill. Punk rock shows were getting farther and farther apart. He went back to school and busied himself with other things. The phone calls became sparse, we stopped e-mailing and I learned to function without him again. My feelings began to fade.

We had little contact between October and February. One Friday night he called me. He was very excited ... Dilan Dog (his band) got their tape covers in. He told me he was going to drop by and give me mine the next day. I didn't quite understand why he was so excited.

Later on, I understood. In the liner notes, under the "special thanks" from him, my name was listed second.

I had made a difference.

Which has been finally released in the US. It's great. Many of us know Talk Talk for their song "Talk Talk" and "It's My Life," which No Doubt is currently having a hit with. But Talk Talk turned into a very interesting group, very exploratory and moody and even progressive-sounding as in their album Laughing Stock. Radiohead should be doing shout-outs in interviews. Are they? I dunno. Anyway, this is the singer from Portishead and a guy from Talk Talk.

 

Found out about this re-release through my beloved Mojo Magazine. This is a great dub album. I'm not Mr. Dub or anything, but for those of you who are curious, this is the starting point. Then buy everying Prince Fari has ever done. IMHO.