The United Altered States of Maryam

All my life, I’ve tried to live by a code: Dress like a tart, sing in a rock band and save the world. Blame it on the role models I chose as a young girl. You see, once upon a time, in a land called The Eighties, there lived a cartoon hero called He Man. Although God might beg to differ, He Man called himself Master of the Universe because he had an astoundingly large Sword of Power which may or may not have been a metaphor for something else, depending on whether one subscribes to the Freudian phallus-obsessed school of thought. What He Man basically did with his Sword of Power was he basically, went around dressed as a beefy Chippendales stripper fighting a villainous anorexic called Nicole Richie….I mean, Skeletor. For some odd reason, He Man proved a big hit with young boys everywhere but many young girls, like myself was not yet at the age and desperate enough to appreciate the orange-tanned allure of a male stripper. Hence, the good folks behind He Man came up with a tie-in cartoon catered towards a female audience called She-Ra. And She-Ra, sadly enough, became my first celebrity role model.

She-Ra was He-Man’s long lost sister and she taught little girls everywhere that you could dress like a tart and save the world. Like He-Man, She-Ra had a big sword of her own too, only it was called Sword of Protection. Apparently women need protection, especially the winged, super-absorbent kind every 28 days. She-Ra even rode on a winged unicorn called Swift Wind which when you think about it, sounds like a brand of sanitary pads. You would think that She-Ra would be called Mistress of the Universe but I guess someone thought that ‘Mistress of the Universe’ made it sound as if She Ra was sleeping with the entire universe so she ended up being known as Princess of Power instead.

The gimmick however, quickly wore off on me and I found my 5 year old self idolizing another cartoon character called Jem, of Jem and The Holograms. Not unlike She-Ra, Jem taught me that you can dress like a tart and save the world. Of course, she one-upped She-Ra by also playing in a rock band. She is not however to be confused with Bono although given the description, one might be forgiven for confusing the two. Regardless, it is because of Jem (and not Bono) that I’ve dreamt of dressing like a tart, singing in a rock band and saving the world.

But dressing like a tart can take time to master. Basically I had to wait for puberty to hit, curves to develop and the Grunge-era to be over. See, when the 80s came to a close along with Ms. Jem and her collection of skanky leotards, the Grunge movement along with its feminist offshoot, Riot Grrrl gained momentum and all of a sudden, it was not okay to dress like a tart, unless you were a tart wrapped in flannel and angst. And when it was finally fashionable to dress like a tart again, body image issues had settled in. Suddenly, I worried that the handkerchief that would look fabulously tart-like as a dress suddenly wouldn’t cover my big bum.

Singing in a rock band proved to be an even harder feat to achieve. When I was 15, I started a band with two friends of mine. I wanted to sing but somehow through a cruel twist of fate, the lack of early childhood training in music and genetics, I ended up being the drummer. Jem would never approve of being shoved behind a drum set but I suppose at that time, I fooled myself into that I could be the female Tommy Lee (minus the sex video). Alas, my career as a drummer was disastrous and short-lived to say the least. I spent most of my time missing beats, probably because I was daydreaming of singing upfront. And when I wasn’t missing beats, I was dropping my drum sticks or accidentally throwing them into someone’s eye Kill Bill-style, probably because I was daydreaming of being lead singer, again. This ultimately meant that I spent the entire length of the band’s first (and last) public gig, drumming with one drumstick ala Meg White of White Stripes. Only this was back when Jack and Meg were still married (?) and the White Stripes were yet to gain international fame and no one was yet to think that Meg’s i-actually-want-to-be-lead-singer style of drumming was acceptable.

And of course, there was saving the world which has been proven by many-a Miss World contestant to be a futile effort but a great line to say nonetheless. Actually, this third thing, I haven’t even begun to attempt. It’s that old saying, how do you expect to save the world when you can’t even save yourself? I suppose I don’t have to turn into Bob Geldof tomorrow. I suppose I could start with the basics. Save myself. Save money. Save water. Save electricity. Save leftovers. Get a solar powered car. Go vegetarian and save some chickens. And then what? Unite the international community by baring cleavage? Use my croaky voice to lull the world to restful peace?

Maybe the well-meaning folks in conservative middle class, middle aged suburbia got their code right: Get a degree, get a job, get married. And yet, every time I sit in a classroom, supposedly on my merry way to acquiring the degree that will get me the job that will whatever, a stream of discontent rushes through my veins and every textbook reads: GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! Yet something keeps me sitting put in that classroom: perhaps the giant lump of fear in my stomach and I console myself by saying, of course I can get over not dressing like a tart, of course I can get over not being able to save the entire world, as long I’m a decent person and don’t kill anyone. But there’s one childhood dream that I just can’t seem to shake no matter how many times I tell myself that I neither have the talent nor the chutzpah for it. I’m reminded of this dream every time I hear a great song on the radio or witness a goosebump-inducing music performance or simply the sound of a microphone screeching when some dolt places it too close to an amp. I’m sorry mom, I know you hoped for a lawyer but the truth of the matter is, I still want to be a rock star.

Well, there’s only one thing to do now, and that is to think WWJD – What would Jem do?

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Oi, if you watch Rock Star Supernova or have at least looked at my last blog entry, then you would know who Ryan Star is. I have a soft spot for aspiring rockstars even if they're not genius, as long as they're half-decent performers and not shit, they will always have a place on this blog. So I'm going to do a little pimping for Mr. Star and post a video of him performing an original song of his before he was unfortunate enough to land himself on a reality show. By the way, just because I'm pimping Ryan right now, doesn't mean I don't love J.D. (of Rock Star: INXS, if you need be reminded) anymore. I'm not cheating on JD! Ryan and I are just friends. Oh my god, here I go, sounding nuts again....... Anyway, if you like what you see visit rockstar.msn.com to vote for this dude so I get to watch more of him. But make sure he doesn't win. I really think he should be on his own instead of fronting Supernova.

Posted by Maryam on Friday, August 11, 2006 at 4:24 AM | Permalink