Concentration is a very difficult thing. Especially concentration on school work.
There’s this problem that I’ve developed since I’ve been here.
It’s basically that I keep forgetting I’m supposed to be going to classes.

Here’s the deal: I’m here for five months to “study” at Wollongong
University in Australia. Here’s the problem: I haven’t cracked a book
since I’ve been here. Well, actually, I haven’t bought a book since
I’ve been here. Oh yeah, and it’s week four.
Australian Uni is very different than it is in America, or at least what I’m
comparing it to (Central). Most classwork is based on self-motivation and done
on a larger scale than back home. For instance, I have an English course where
I don’t have weekly homework due throughout the session. Great, except that
my final essay is worth like, 10,000% of my grade. Well, actually, it’s more
like 65-70 percent, but that’s still pretty damn high!
Classes convene in very different ways as well. Most classes have one to two lectures
a week, which everyone enrolled in the course attends.
Then, once or twice a week, each student attends a tutorial, which is a smaller
group of fifteen to twenty students. At the tutorial, you have personal contact
with an instructor, which is one of the best ways to learn. It’s far more
effective than having a teacher stand at the front of a classroom speaking at
you for an hour and a half.
Now, that might all seem simple enough and you might be wondering what my problem
is. Well, my problem is concentration. And motivation.
Laziness as well, not to mention a problem keeping my priorities straight.
I live by the beach. Now, how in the world can I be expected to study when I live
by a beach? I mean, come on. It’s just not possible.
Plus I live in the International House with about two hundred and fifty other
kids. And they’re really fun kids too. They’re kids who always want
to go out and party. Imagine the Towers and then imagine them being twenty times
crazier and more into having a good time. Not to mention that my friends here
are very convincing. They have the ability to talk me into forgetting about my
school work and going out with them on a Monday night. Not that they have to twist
my arm or anything, but I gotta blame someone besides myself, right?
The next problem I face is that attendance to lectures isn’t required. Well,
technically it is, but they don’t take attendance and most of the notes are
online. It makes it rather hard for me to work up the motivation to walk half
an hour to Uni, when I could stay in my pj’s and get the notes on-line.
Another thing is that my schedule is so free. I go to class Monday night for two
hours, Tuesday morning for four hours and Wednesday for two lectures. Which, do
I go to the lectures? I believe I’ve already answered that one. That’s
it as far as class time at Uni is concerned.
I have a four-day weekend. Perfection.
Sadly, I believe my never-ending vacation will have to end soon. I have a tutorial
presentation to due next week and an essay due soon.
How I will find the focus and concentration to do these things is a riddle wrapped
in an enigma shrouded by a mystery.
If you thought studying in Mt. Pleasant was hard (I know I did), than come to
Australia for a semester. All I can do is hope for the best, keep my fingers crossed
and pray that my G.P.A. doesn’t take a nosedive after this session.
Or, I could just do my work.
But you see, there’s this kid who’s going to teach me how to surf this
week and a weekend trip to go sea-kayaking and karaoke night at the pub on Thursday…

Please wish me luck. I’ll do the same for all of you back in Mount “Pleasant”,
as I know it’s getting warmer there and nothing makes us Michiganders more
flighty than warm weather after a five-month period of Antartic-like snow and
ice. Until next time, cheers.

G’day mates! Or as they say here in Australia: Hi everyone!
Well, here I am in the Land Down Under. I was enjoying the surf and the sun and
a bit of the bevy, when I remembered that, I had said I’d write articles
about it! So, knowing the possibilities I have to make all of you poor kids stuck
in cold gray Michigan jealous of me and my tales of kangaroos and beaches, I decided
to get to it.
I’ve been here about two weeks and picked up some lingo, so bear with me.

After a thirty-hour plane ride, a thirteen hour lay-over in London, a very hot
and humid stopover in Bangkok, fourteen hours of uncomfortable Dramamine-induced
sleep and changing time zones about five billion times, I arrived in Sydney. By
the time I stepped out of the airport, I wasn’t sure where I was, what day
it was (it three days after the day I had left) or what language everyone would
be speaking.
The only thing I knew was that I needed a shower. Bad.
Fast forward to two weeks later. I’m settled in, living at the International
House at the University of Wollongong (in Wollongong) and having the time of my
life.
What happened in between is a blur of tours, activities, introductions and excitement.
Not to mention a lot of fun and very, very little sleep.
The place at which I live (I-house) is the best place I could possibly be. I made
friends right away, mostly with people from countries other than America. I’ve
made friends with many Australians, several Canadians (only the ones who don’t
say “yeah, aye?”), and people from Thailand, India, Japan, and a guy
who’s half-British, half-Italian. Everyone here is like a big family, welcoming
you to join them with open arms.
If I have a bad time here, it will be my fault. But I don’t think I’ll
need to worry about that happening. Three beaches are within walking distance
of my college (dorm) and Wollongong is a fairly large town about an hour south
of Sydney. Best part is: no cornfields or Waysides in site!
When I’m not being made fun of for my American accent (“It’s mum,
not mom,” or “Arse, not ass!”) I notice just how very different
we are. Not to mention how very wrong America’s idea of Australia is.
Sure, there’s the Crocodile Dundee types, called Auckers, out in the true
outback, but most people here prefer to wear baseball hats as opposed to croc
skin hats. And usually, a “hello” will suffice, not the “G’day
mate” we hear so much about.
I’ve seen and held kangaroos and petted a koala, but that was at an animal
park. Much to my chagrin, they don’t run about campus like CMU’s free-wielding
squirrels. However, campus (which is beautiful and lush) does have it’s share
of tropical birds and lizards cavorting around.
Between the Pub Crawl, Mardi Gras in Sydney and days spent getting hopelessly
lost in town for two hours in new, uncomfortable sandals while carrying heavy
parcels and burning my skin to a crisp (my first day here), I’ve almost had
no time to be homesick. Almost.
It’s not “home” that I miss, but rather, the people. Give me sunshine
and 85 degree weather on the beach over Michigan any day. But I miss a lot of
really special people back home (you all know who you are. Especially the ones
I cried on at the airport). At least the new friends I’ve made will help
me to get through the rough patches.
There’s always someone willing to take me to the pub and buy me a schooner!
Which brings up my final note. Australians are not only very easy-going, but also
very generous as well. It’s customary to buy a schooner of beer for whoever
runs out. No one ever goes without, even if they’re broke. It’s almost
a rush to see who gets to buy the next round. Ohhh, how I’ll miss that when
I come home.
Until the next update from the land-down-under; Cheers and enjoy the snow!

What is the one thing that scares you the most in the world? The thing that makes you want to crawl under your covers, laying still until it goes away? The thing that makes you want to take off running as fast as you can in the opposite direction?
Maybe it’s something that doesn’t have that profound an effect on you, just enough so that it creeps you out to an extremely uncomfortable degree. Whatever that “thing” is, it is your phobia.
Phobias range from the common; acrophobia, the fear of heights, to the plain bizarre; alektorophobia, the fear of chickens. The coming of Halloween and curiosity about my own phobias led me to research the topic and present to you, the reader, a (somewhat, but not very) complete list of phobias. Some, you may have heard of (i.e., agoraphobia-the fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places). Others may be completely new and different (hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia-the fear of long words). I have not made up any of these phobias or their names. Those with phobophobia (the fear of phobias), be warned.
Autodysomophobics (those who fear people with vile odors) will never make friends with ablutophobics (those who have a fear of bathing or washing), but might hang out with someone who has bromidrosiphobia, the fear of body smells.
Most college students (myself included) suffer from at least one of the following; scoliophobia (the fear of school), testophobia (the fear of taking tests), didaskaleinophobia (the fear of going to school), hypengyophobia (the fear of responsibility) or ergophobia (the fear of work).
But most don’t seem to suffer from potophobia (the fear of alcohol), melophobia (the fear or hatred of music) or genophobia (the fear of sex).
Some phobias are so bizarre, one wonders how a person could function normally in day to day life. Showering or looking in a mirror must be hell for geniophobics (those who fear chins) and genuphobics (those who fear knees).
Life must be very dull and lonely for those with geliophobia (the fear of laughter), haphephobia (the fear of being touched), philophobia (the fear of falling in love or being in love), philemaphobia (the fear of kissing) or phronemophobia (the fear of thinking).
This time of year has brought a new batch of phobias to the forefront. The number of politicophobics, or those who fear or dislike politicians, has more than tripled in this election year. If “Blair Witch 2: The Book of Shadows” is anything like the first one, than there will be a few more people suffering from hylophobia (the fear of the woods) and myctophobia (fear of the darkness).
Phobias range from person to person. In a very scientific study, I surveyed several people on what their greatest fear is. My neighbor, Matt, has such an intense fear of bridges that he will do almost anything possible to avoid them, even if it means driving an hour out of his way to get somewhere. His roommate has a mysterious fear of mayonnaise that has yet to be explained.
My friend Merrideth has a fear of holes. Anthills, rabbit burrows and wasps nests lead her to shudder in disgust. She was very disappointed to discover that while the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of ones mouth has been given a name (arachibutyrophobia), her personal phobia has not.
One of my roommates would only tell me his fear if I promised to keep his identity hidden. Levi P., suffers from lutraphobia. Yes, that’s right. This Mason senior is afraid of otters, the cutest, most harmless animals since puppies and kittens. “They look all cute, but I think that they’ve got something evil going on inside of their heads,” L. Pulver said.
Some people have multiple phobias. One friend of mine suffers from the fear of lakes (limnophobia), horses (equinophobia) and French people and culture (francophobia).
I myself suffer from quite a few phobias. Namely: aichmophobia (the fear of needles), aracnophobia (spiders), automatonophobia (ventriloquists dummies, wax statues, etc.), decidophobia (the fear of making decisions), doraphobia (fear of fur or animal skins, unless it’s on a living animal), pediophobia (the fear of dolls), but mostly coulrophobia, the fear of clowns.
Many people ask me why I and so many other people share a fear of this seemingly innocent icon. Well, I can’t speak for anybody else, but here are my five reasons:
1.) The movie “It.” This scary Stephen King story featured an evil clown that killed little kids.
2.) The actual child murderer during the 1970s who dressed up like a clown and killed kids. I can’t recall his exact name, something like Gacy, but the story of a real-life clown who killed people was enough to make me fear them even more.
3.) The movie that features evil clowns from space who drink human blood. I know it was cheesy as hell, but it still creeped me out.
4.) I never, ever, liked the circus, and clowns are a major part of the circus. Plus, I always thought it was a little strange that they could fit, like, twenty-three of them into a Volkswagen. If they have the power to do that, just think what other powers they could possess. Especially if they’re evil clowns.
5.) I don’t like anybody dressed up so that I can’t see their face. I can’t explain it. I just don’t like it.
I hope that clears a few things up on the subject of clowns.
Don’t stress out too much if you have one, or even several phobias. As long as you aren’t up at night in a cold sweat, wondering if any otters, chickens, or heaven forbid, clowns know where you live, a phobia is nothing to worry about. Just be happy that you don’t have panophobia, the fear of everything.
To all those who don’t have samhainophobia, (the fear of Halloween), have a happy Halloween and remember: as long as you have a short friend, you can go out trick or treating until you’re 25. Just pretend to be his/her parent. It works, trust me.

Jerry Hoffman

Halloween is just around the corner and there’s nothing scarier than a top ten list of scary things. That’s unless of course, it’s a top thirteen list of scary things. Here is the official list of the fall season: The Top Thirteen Things to Be Scared of this Halloween:

13. Christmas decorations. True, they have been up since the end
of August, so you might be used to them by now, but do we really need to
rush this holiday? It would be nice of Halloween and Thanksgiving could
occur before I have to be bombarded with fake Christmas trees, giant Santa
Clauses and plastic manger scenes. “Let it Snow” should not be allowed to
play on any store loud speaker at a time of year when the actual occurrence
would be a freak act of nature.

12. Mimes. They don’t talk, they have painted faces and they’re always
stuck in an invisible box. On second thought, they’re not scary. They’re
annoying.

11. The return of Tiffany. Word has it that she will be putting out
a new album soon. Is there no end to this madness? Someone should tell her
that there are no 60’s songs left for her to cover, and she might actually
have to (gasp!) write her own material this time around.

10. Devils Night. This ritual of pranks takes place tonight. Too
bad that Mount Pleasant is decidedly boring when it comes to events such
as these.

9. The hairstyles in “Pay it Forward.” Helen Hunt looks like she
plunged head-first into a bottle of bleach and bad taste, Bon Jovi has a
slicked back version of a 46-year housewife’s bouffant and Haley Joel Osment
has the beginnings of a child-sized mullet. Who allowed this travesty of
style to transpire?

8. Preacher Rick. We all know who he is. We all know what he says.
We all know where he says we’re going. We all know why he’s on this list.

7. Spiders. They’re little and have the ability to hide in small places. The big ones are even scarier because they look like they have the ability to bite your arm off. Or at least cause some sort of damage. I’ll never forget when I got out of the shower late at night, put my robe on and found a spider twice the size of a small rodent on it. I’ve always been scared of spiders, but I will never, ever recover from that incident.

6. This year’s presidential election. As far as I’m concerned the only worthy candidate is Nader, so of course, he won’t win. So that leaves us with either the rich, middle-aged white guy who has trouble forming complete, intelligent sentences, or…the rich, middle-aged white guy who makes outrageous claims (such as, “I invented the Internet”) and looks like a mannequin (which are also creepy). The future of our country is in one of these dumbasses hands. Enjoy.

5. Mid-terms. We are officially at the mid-point of the semester. This is the point at which: a.) You will see that you have been doing an excellent job with your studies, making you the envy of every other student and the apple of your parents eye OR b.) You will receive your mid-term
grades and say “Oh, so those are the classes I’ve been enrolled in. Maybe
I should start attending them. Nah.”

4. “The Exorcist.” This movie was scary enough the first time around.
Now, it has been re-released, featuring some new footage. What can they
do to top off spinning heads, contorting faces and a little girl spewing
forward pea soup? I suppose they could have a soundtrack featuring Creed
and Vertical Horizon. Creed. Now that’s some scary stuff right there.

3. The cover art for Limp Bizkit’s new album, “Chocolate Starfish and
the Hotdog Flavored Water.” The only thing scarier than the actual name
of this album is their terrible excuse for the cover artwork. It’s so bad
it can’t even be called “art.” Durst and his crew aren’t even clever in
their attempt at making strange sexual (is that what it is?) connotations
with the title. The cover is an obvious display of alien-like creatures
laying in a pile of phallic symbol hotdogs. And there is no question as
to what is on that starfish.

2. Mount Pleasant Police. All the little trick-or-treaters better
beware. They might be handing out nuisance party tickets to groups of third
graders walking along the sidewalk on Halloween night. Especially if they’re
all rowdy and hopped up on Skittles and Butterfingers.

1. Clowns.

Jerry Hoffman

****/5

Rated PG for shamelessly trying to make you cry and for the inclusion of Papa Roach’s “Last Resort” (what was that all about?)

Once in a great while, a film comes along that has the ability to make you feel like you’re a complete jerk if you don’t adhere to it’s message.
I received the message of “Pay It Forward” loud and clear. That message is: The world may suck, but you should at least try to make it a better place.
“Pay It Forward” is both a film and concept that only the most hardcore
of cynics will turn their noses up at. It’s an uplifting movie in a mess
of fall time entertainment that is either uninspiring (“Bedazzled”), depressing
(“Lost Souls”) or just plain stupid (“Ladies Man”).
One of Hollywood’s finest actors, Kevin Spacey, stars alongside Helen
Hunt and Haley Joel Osment. Hunt has come a long way in her acting skills,
concentrating on quality films (except maybe, “Dr. T and the Women) in
an effort to make audiences forget about “Mad About You.”
Osment shines as Trevor McKinney, the eleven-year-old boy who develops
the concept of “pay it forward.” Proving that his performance in “Sixth
Sense” was no fluke, Osment plays the role of a troubled young boy with
a generous spirit to perfection. One can only hope that Osment will maintain
his charm and not suffer at the hands of puberty as some child actors
before him have; Fred Savage being the primary example.
Trevor lives with his mom, Arlene (Hunt), in Las Vegas. Arlene is a single
mother with two jobs, badly dyed hair and an alcohol problem. She hides
liqueur bottles in the washing machine and other various places around
the house, taking swigs from them whenever she feels stressed out.
Life changes for Trevor when he begins junior high (hell on earth) and
meets his new social studies teacher, Eugene Simonet (Spacey). Eugene
is not a typical teacher. He is covered with mysterious visible burns,
he makes his seventh grade students learn words such as “utopian” and
he asks his students to change the world.
At the beginning of every year, Eugene gives out an assignment to his
students telling them to develop a plan to change the world and put it
into action, never expecting them to actually do it. Trevor’s plan stands
out as one of the most original ideas that Eugene has ever heard.
Trevor will help three people with something big that they cannot do themselves
and they in turn will help three more people, who will each go on to help
three others. He develops “pay it forward” because, as he says, “The world
is shit.”
Trevor puts the plan into action, starting with a junkie, Jerry (James
Caviezel, “The Thin Red Line” and “Frequency”) he takes in to feed and
give shelter to. Jerry lets him down by slipping back into drugs and forgetting,
at least for the time being, his own pledge to pay it forward.
As might be expected, a romance develops between Arlene and Eugene, but
it is not formulaic as most Hollywood love stories are. It is a necessary
part of the plot and one of Trevor’s attempts to pay it forward.
In a sub-story set a few months in the future, the film parallels a journalist,
played by Jay Mohr, who has himself been paid forward. He is now seeking
the starter of the movement which has spread to Los Angeles, San Francisco
and other parts of the country.
Trouble brews as Trevor’s abusive, alcoholic father (played by Jon Bon
Jovi) returns home wanting Arlene back, saying that he is clean and sober
and a changed man.
To say that Bon Jovi is miscast is an understatement. As he promises to
make up for lost time, he sounds as though he is reading from a cue card.
Only when he gets to act drunk does he loosen up a bit and look as though
he has a pulse, playing the part of an a**hole pretty well.
Is that an Oscar-worthy performance I smell? Oh, no. It’s just the hairspray
that Bon Jovi uses to hold his rather feminine hairstyle in place.
The movie possesses many surprises and even some laughs. The ending, which
came as a complete surprise to me, left me thinking about what the movie
was proposing. Is it possible, that if people just tried a little harder
and were willing to sacrifice a bit, that the world could be a better
place?
“Pay It Forward” stands apart as one of the greatest movies this fall,
joined so far only by “Almost Famous.” It has everything necessary for
an excellent film: a great cast, an intelligent and well thought-out script,
humor and emotion. So much emotion, in fact, that my damn allergies acted
up during the movie and made my eyes appear a bit watery and red when
the lights were turned up at the end.
The world may suck, as Trevor says, but this movie doesn’t.

Free stuff.
Those might possibly might be the two words in the English language (besides “keg party”) that a college student loves most to hear.
Well, all you poor colleges students are in luck, as Program Board is bringing yet another free movie to campus for your viewing pleasure. As part of a series of free advance screenings sponsored on campus by Program Board, “Pay It Forward” will be showing this Tuesday at 9:00 p.m. in Pearce Hall, Room 128.
Kevin Spacey, Haley Joel Osment and Helen Hunt star in the film about an 11-year-old boy’s desire to change the world. Osment stars as Trevor McKinney the little boy who develops a plan that could better the world. Osment is sure to charm audiences with his cuteness and surprisingly mature acting skills, just as he did in last years hit, “Sixth Sense.”
Spacey plays Trevor’s Social Studies teacher, Eugene Simonet. A man who has everything in his own life in perfect order, Simonet assigns his class to develop a plan to change the world and then put that plan into action.
Trevor takes the assignment seriously and comes up with a plan that might actually work. In the end, it could even improve the life of his mom (Hunt), a hard working single mother with little money and lots of problems.
He calls his plan “pay it forward.” He theorizes that instead of paying someone back for something, if you pay it forward to three strangers, the world would be a better place. The plan would mean doing something good for three people, who in turn would each do something good for three more people. The plan would eventually spread like wild fire, positively effecting everyone in the world.
Much to his surprise, Trevor’s idea of paying it forward begins to work, showing that a simple plan with good intentions has the power to change the world for the better.
Passes are required for the screening of “Pay It Forward” and are available at the Program Board Office in the Student Organization Center in the lower level of the UC. Arrive early to the event, as seating is not guaranteed and is provided on a first-come, first-serve basis. Program Board is doing their own good deed by offering better seats to those who bring in one new or used (but in good shape) children’s book the night of the screening. The books are to be donated to a charitable organization.

Ever have one of those experiences that you’re not even sure you’re even experiencing? You know that you’re there, but you’re not sure if it’s real. Usually these types of experiences stay with you.
Try as I might, there is a particularly funny and very surreal experience that I had several weeks ago that I cannot forget about. It’s not something that I think about very often, but it’s stuck with enough to make me laugh out loud at the most inopportune times (while bored in class).
At the end of September, one of my best friends turned 20. Seeing as how 20 is the crappiest birthday age, my roommate and I decided we should take her to Canada to celebrate. That way, she could dress up, drink at the bars and just have a good time. The only thing was, she had already been to the bars in Windsor plenty of times since her last birthday. What we needed to do was something different than what we had ever done before.
The answer to this dilemma was easily found. We would go to Danny’s. For all those who don’t know what this place is, and I’m betting (hoping) most don’t, it is a male strip club in Windsor.
To some (probably males), it may not seem like a strange thing to take your friend out to a strip joint for their birthday, but it’s a bit different for girls. We aren’t constantly bombarded with images of male sexuality. American media seems to shun showing any sort of male nudity and I can’t even think of one “ladies club” in Michigan. Prior to the outing, I viewed the night as some sort of rebellion adventure (except that I kinda cleared it with my boyfriend and my mom before I went).
After crossing the border into Windsor, we realized we didn’t know where we were going. Too embarrassed to ask the fatherly border guard for directions, we were forced to ask a parking attendant with sketchy English skills and a hotel receptionist where this now infamous Danny’s bar was. After much driving in circles and debate, we found the place.
The building was so plain and unassumingly decorated, it could have passed for a Knights of Columbus Hall. Except, of course, for the limos in the parking lot filled with a bachelorette party wearing party hats decorated with pictures torn from a porn magazine.
I don’t consider myself to be uptight by any means. But standing in line to get into this strange establishment, I considered suggesting that we try one of the normal bars. I had to ask myself, why on Earth were three intelligent young women shelling out $10 dollars ($15 Canadian) each to enter into this club of debauchery? And then I remembered, it was for fun.
I’m about to make an assumption and a generalization, but I think that for the most part, anyone who is being honest will agree with me. Women go to strip clubs or hire strippers as sort of a joke. It’s primarily to share a laugh with your friends and have a momentary sense of power that women don’t normally get. Men go to strip clubs for…well I think we all know why most men go to strip clubs.
Fifteen minutes after parking the car, we found ourselves seated at a banquet style table with a bunch of women we did not know. The lights were dim, dance music was playing, strobe lights were flashing and there were half-naked men everywhere.
A “shot hunk” (who was not very hunky) paraded around with a tray of orange liqueur in tubes that he made women drink out of the waistband of his short-shorts. Luckily, this Fabio-haired wonderboy couldn’t easily reach where we were sitting to sell us overpriced shots and a close-up view of his fake tan.
For the first twenty minutes of the night, I just sat and laughed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Men everywhere, doing table dances, naked handstands onstage, wearing costumes and performing synchronized dance routines. And let’s just say that there are no rules about what must be kept on in Canadian strip clubs. In that country, anything, and everything, goes.
It was at this point that we realized we had not brought enough money to get enough $5 beers to get us in the right frame of mind for the evening. I was having fun, but couldn’t help being creeped out.
I mean, I was watching a bunch of grown men wearing Village People costumes dancing to “Y.M.C.A.” and “Macho Man.” The night couldn’t get any weirder. But of course, it did. My friends and I watched two women who were seated near us proceed to spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars in an hour and a half time span on table dances. I watched as one of the women slipped a dancer a fifty dollar tip, thinking how that kind of money could buy me groceries for a month. Ahhh. What it must be like to be able to throw that kind of money away. At least that guy will be able to pay off his student loans.
We left Danny’s well before closing time. You can only take that atmosphere for so long before you begin to feel impure. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t have a good time, cause I actually had a great time. I’m sure my friends and I will go back some time in the future.
You will never know the true meaning of the term “high maintenance” until you visit a place like Danny’s. I have never seen so many men with tan lines, hairless arms (and backs, chests, legs), styled hair and defined muscles.
The experience made me appreciate my boyfriend even more. It’s nice to be dating someone who doesn’t spend hours a week at tanning sessions or lifting at the gym. Plus, I never have to worry about him stealing my moisturizing shaving gel.

It seems to be the hip thing these days to hate Pearl Jam. They haven’t had
a major radio hit in years. They don’t ever have videos on MTV. They represent
a genre of rock (Seattle grunge) that lost steam almost half a decade ago. Come
on, does anyone listen to Alice In Chains anymore?
When I mentioned to people that I was going to the Pearl Jam concert this past
Saturday night, at least fifty percent of them would roll their eyes. “Pearl
Jam?” they would ask incredulously. One of my friends out and out laughed
at me and proceeded to mock the band and Eddie Vedder’s mumbled singing voice.
Despite hearing a strong number of people opposed to Pearl Jam still having a
musical career of any sort, I knew the concert would be good. I had seen them
at the Palace of Auburn Hills a few years ago and knew they would put on a great
live show. However, all of the verbal dissing I had heard over the past few weeks
led me to wonder just how many Pearl Jam fans still existed.
Well, I got the answer Saturday night, when my friends and I showed up to the
Palace’s parking lot (after a slightly cramped two hour car ride) to see
crowds lined up outside of the doors. The parking lot was also quickly filling
up with eager fans who were ready to tailgate, even in the thirty degree weather.
Waiting in line to get in the doors, my friends and I enjoyed people watching.
The crowd was a mix of both young and old (I swear I saw my friend’s dad
there) fans ready for a night of crowds, $7 “souvenir” cups of beer,
flannel shirts and music.
Things started to look dismal when I sat down in my seat and asked my brother’s
friend when Supergrass (the opening band) was going to play. “They got done
about ten minutes ago,” she said. Hmmm, I guess when the Palace says the
show starts at 7:30; they mean 7:30.
After going on a swearing rant for what was probably way too long, (“S***!
That’s half the ****ing reason I came here!” and so on) I accepted responsibility
for my tardiness and settled my nerves with a trip to the snack bar and a $3.50
plate of nachos.
I laced up my mountaineering shoes, strapped on my oxygen mask and hiked back
up to my seat, ready for Pearl Jam to take the stage. Unfortunately, the token
“fat, rude and drunken concert guy” was in my seat. I made my way past
my brother’s friends and said to the guy, “You’re in my seat.”
“That’s your problem,” he slurred to me with a glare.
It was either the three MGD’s I had prior to the concert or the processed
cheese I had just eaten, but something gave my 130-something pound self the guts
to say to this 220-pound gorilla of a man, “No. Actually, that’s your
problem.” To my surprise, he moved. This was especially lucky for my group,
since my brother was getting into the protective-older brother mode and none of
us know how to fight.
To make up for everything, Pearl Jam put on a fantastic show. Everything; the
opening band, the overpriced food, the lines for the bathroom and the drunken
bastards were forgotten the second they took the stage. Opening on a strong note,
with “Go,” the band proceeded to capture the attention of the crowd,
which was filled to capacity. For over two hours, Pearl Jam owned us.
The set list for the night was even stronger than when I had seen them in ‘98.
The amount of energy infused into every song was enough to get the crowd to sing
along, clap their hands and, yes, even break out the lighters on occasion.
Pearl Jam has been around for almost ten years and therefore have a wide variety
of songs to choose from. For this concert they picked the perfect mix of old and
new, fast and slow and popular and less well-known tunes to play. There were only
two songs out of the twenty-five plus that they played that I didn’t want
to hear; “Evenflow” and “Jeremy.” Somehow the band managed
to play those two songs with life and energy, even though they have to be as sick
of playing them as I am of hearing them.
None of that mattered however, as Pearl Jam played song after song of what we
wanted to hear. “State of Love and Trust,” “Up In My Tree,”
“Given to Fly” “Rear View Mirror” and “WMA: White Male
American” were just some of the highlights.
Everything about their performance was on target, from the lighting, to the songs,
the on-stage chemistry and the encores. Vedder didn’t even pretend to be
done for the night when the band left the stage for the first time. They came
back strong for a six-song, two-part encore complete with “Crazy Mary,”
“Spin the Black Circle” and “Nothing As It Seems.”
The Palace gets fined by the City of Auburn Hills if any music is played after
11:00 p.m. As Pearl Jam took the stage for their second encore, Palace staff turned
the lights up, apparently in an attempt to shoo us out of the doors. We weren’t
having it and neither was the band. They closed the show with a cover of Neil
Young’s (their Godfather and mentor) “Fucking Up.” I don’t
think they could have chosen a better way to end the night.
As Vedder hustled offstage, away from Palace security guards, he found time to
throw his tambourine into the audience, smash the mike stand and bid the crowd
goodnight.
I don’t care what anyone says. Pearl Jam has not faded into oblivion or irrelevance.
Don’t be looking for a “Where Are They Now?” on them anytime soon.
They’re way too busy proving that they are one of the greatest live rock
bands around today. Very few bands play as well as they do onstage.
I’m just happy that gorilla-man didn’t toss me over the seats, cause
this was one show that I’m damn glad I didn’t miss.