Never Give Up On The Good Times.

I remember on my first few days in JC, during one of those dreaded get-to-know-each-other games we'd play in class, we were all supposed to declare an embarrassing moment in our lives. When it was my turn, I announced sheepishly, 'I used to love The Spice Girls.' The class roared into laughter, and when the commotion died down, one of them admitted that she, too, was a huge fan of The Spice Girls. (Her favourite was Posh, like every other females I know. Except my sisters, whose favourite was Sporty.) Soon, it was like a session of Spice Girls Anonymous.

But what I didn't mentioned after that: I was a Spice Girls Groupie. I bookmarked all their fansites. I own an official Spice Girls LD - yes, Laser Disc, it existed - some of their VCDs, a VHS of their American Tour, a copy of Geri Halliwell's autobiography If Only - which I re-read more times than a normal person should - old copies of Smash Hits and Top Of The Pops with them on the cover,

and I followed them through their solo careers.

Then Victoria released her solo album, and I realised there was no point loving them anymore. It was an album I forced myself to listen because it was the last Spice's solo album that I could add to my collection of solo albums. I had believed I was following the overe of a legendary group. But what I had listen to was pure auricular nonsense. I had to let it go. The Spice Girls, was history.

On my backpacking trip in July, I heard they were reuniting for a world tour and a Greatest Hits album. A world tour. Not a reunion at your local Pan Pacific Hotel ballroom or Star Cruise. An actual world tour in stadiums, reminiscent of their last tour around the globe. It's almost 10 years. Mel B got owned by Eddie Murphy. Geri Halliwell taught yoga and named her child Bluebell Madonna. Victoria Beckham is the new Paris Hilton. Melanie C is huge in Germany, Switzerland and in every sense of the word. Emma Bunton is, well, boring. I was doubtful. I fear they may have to hold their gigs onboard Star Cruise.

So imagine when they sold out their London tour in 38 seconds. More tour dates. Tabloid news of their alleged bitch fights. Yesterday I uploaded their albums onto my iPod. This was the soundtrack of my puberty. This is the sound of the late 90s. Happy, bubblegum pop that we can all sing-a-long to. Never mind their comeback single is a boring ballad (Take the cue from Britney, bitch.). I feel like it's 1997 again, except now I can watch their videos on Youtube.


I really need to get back to my research paper.