Monday Jukebox Says At Least Something Went Right

It has been--as my middle school softball coach would say--a "mell of a hess" today.

Aborted flirtations, iPods that refuse to be recognised by my computer, and a new trainer tomorrow.

Still, it's the good things that one should focus on. Things like, the fact that two of my favourites got into the final of Melodifestivalen 2006.

First up, Magnus Carlsson's "Lev livet" and if someone could tell me what the women are singing before the chorus, I'd be much obliged.



Second, the original vibrating bra herself, Kikki Danielsson, and "Idag & Imorgon"

The Cold Slap of Monday

First, I wake up and Good Day New York is live from The Bronx, where they send Mike Woods to his shtick with his nostrils at a hair salon (ponder that for a moment), while Lyn Brown is swaddled like Nanook of the North. If I was Lyn Brown, I'd be pissed. Majorly.

Even worse, I read this. People, the man cannot write. Wise up.

Melodifestivalen 2006 Semi-Final 2: Joy in Karlstad

Well, since SVT isn't broadcasting Melodifestivalen online this year, at least I'm agreeing with the results. (I always reckoned I was a bit of a jinx with it anyway.)

Magnus Carlsson (he of the hairplugs and Alcazar fame) and Kikki Danielsson (she of the vibrating brassiere fame) both got spots in the final with their entries...which happened to be the only songs I really liked out of this semi. Just as sweet, the extraordinarily daft "Oh Yeah" placed last.

If the results keep going on like this, then I may very well give a kiss and a grope for a tape of the final, and I'll go further for a free trip with tickets (hint, hint).*

*This may be the marathon of Footballers' Wives I had today talking.

Friday Jukebox Says Salient Melodifestivalen Horrors Are Back

Believe it or not Electric Banana Band's "Kameleont" made it to the Second Chance round--and placed 3rd. I guess acid-infused children's show performances go down a storm in Sverige.

The Confused Playwright/Activist/Curmudgeon

• Why does coverage of HRC dinners in the gay press read more like a throwback to 1930's celebrity journalism?
• Why don't we ever hear from these organisations outside of these celebrity dinners?
• Why do the most successful gay plays don't feature nudity in their promo material, and the ones that look and read like excrement do?
• Why do reporters continue to say "I-raq" instead of "Ir-aq," despite Christine Amanpour telling us that it gets on her nerves?

A Cast of Daily Characters

I'm a big believer in keeping a detatched perspective when it comes to daily life. Our time here is so short, that it is better to laugh it off than to get aggrivated by all the little twists and turns that really don't alter our path in any way, shape, or form.

One of the things I do is that I view life as like one endless sitcom. Not a star vehicle, but an ensemble show. What I find interesting is that most often it's the unnamed players that wind up being most interesting.

• Pinky & The Brain: A red-headed man (Pinky) and his trainer (The Brain) who I encounter nearly every time I workout. Pinky has a tendency to babble incoherently and sing to himself in a vaoice that must sound like in his head, but like an American Idol reject to the rest of us. It wouldn't surprise me if Pinky drops acid before he works out. As for The Brain, he's also a little bit off-centre. One time I saw him walking down the stairs [from the locker room] backwards. I asked my trainer what the story was and apparently The Brain believes that it makes him symmetrical.
• Napoleon XII: Although Napoleon wasn't as short as the myth would have you believe, the story still lingers and it works here. N12 walks around the gym as if it is his playland and we are mere silent moving statues. He likes to turn on his Ipod and sing along while obliviously lifting weights that seem to precariously dangle over his head. Frequently, I get all high-school and entertain the thought of stuffing him into a locker. Then I start thinking about the potential lawsuit, because we all know Napoleon played for blood.
• Mr. Leg-Out: Mr. Leg-Out hangs out in front of the nearby Citibank virtually every day. He's in a wheelchair with one leg always stretched out. He doesn't appear to have any missing limbs (or at least has a prothesis) and is always engrossed in some conversation. I think he does enjoy seeing people dodge him because he tends to hang around the section of the sidewalk between the bank and the phone booth where there is minimal sidewalk space. I like him for that.
• Sweating Hat: So called not because he's sweating constantly, but because he wears a sweatshirt and hat all the time. Sweating Hat is another trainer at the gym, who I have never seen wearing anything else but a sweatshirt and a hat. I wonder if he even has any physical form beyond what the eye can see. The hat, I guess, is to cover up a receding hairline (though I'm a strong proponent of letting hair recede, since I think it's very sexy, cf. Christopher Meloni). The sweatshirt I cannot figure out. Perhaps it's steroid abuse gone awry or just body dysmorphia. Nonetheless, Sweating Hat seems to be an extremely tolerant fellow because one of his previous clients seemed to suffer a meltdown after every single exercise.
• Laflamme: Laflamme is one of Sweating Hat's clients. Unlike the aforementioned one, she doesn't meltdown after everything. She does however try to beat off aging by dying her hair to an unnatural shade of reddish orange. I think in some way she sees herself as Norma Desmond with Sweating Hat as her Joe Gillis.
• Heckle & Jeckle I: Two men whose machismo never quite meshed with their reality. So named because they would spend more time trying to assert their masculinity vocally than actually lifting any weight. Whenever they did, the fact that they had long since ceased being the uber-jocks they used to be came crashing down all around them. Since I haven't seen them in ages, I'm guessing they dropped one too many barbells.
• Heckle & Jeckle II: Like the circle of life, the void left by the first Heckle & Jeckle was filled with another pair. These two are somewhat younger than the original pair, and are clearly on steroids. Heckle II enjoys posing in the mirror to the oohs and ahhs of Jeckle II. There's a strong slightly depressing dynamic to this relationship, but I doubt Heckle II would change a thing.

More are bound to be added.

Diamonds will never leave you, and neither will hot water bottles

BBC News has a story on the one-woman show causing a stir in Zimbabwe: Hot Water Bottle.

This is my kind of theatre.

Splash Post-Mortem: Of Rude Tourists and Daft Bartenders

Disclaimer: I'm letting the curmudgeon out tonight.

Honestly, I just wanted a low-key night. Note that I wrote "low-key" not invisible. There's a clear difference.

To begin, I started my night out by waiting about 10 minutes to be served by the Cypriot bartender who seemed engrossed by the conversation with some man at the end of the bar. Listen mate, I don't begrudge you trying to get your leg over, but you do realise that your income is kind of dependent on how promptly (if at all) you serve your customers. Speaking for just myself, if I see that you'd rather talk to somebody at the end of the bar than serve somebody, then it's reflected in my tip and--more importantly--my memory. If it was just me, then I'd let it slide, but I saw you do it to several other people. M'dear, you aren't that cute anymore that a simple "oh, I'm so sorry" will suffice. You've lost me for the month of March.

If that wasn't enough, then two tourists from Madrid sat next to me. Now while I use the phrase "sat," it's more like conquered the space. I don't know about you, but my general rule is sit one stool apart from the next person over, if there is enough space. And let me tell you, there was enough space. For some reason, one of them chose the seat next to me and then brought a stool to slide in between for the other. The other one was just pissy the whole entire time. He just sat there glaring and being irritated for no other reason than the fact that I was there. For pete's sake, I was there before you and you didn't have to sit right at that spot at the bar. Hell, you could've sat in a dozen other open spaces, so don't get huffy with me.

Needless to say, it was short night.

Monday Jukebox Says You'd Better Respect Akiko Wada

Case in point:

I'll Build A Building and Call It Mary

Apparently there's a new apartment building going up on 28th Street, right across from the McDonald's. The reason I mention this is because this building: a) looks like it was designed by somebody who played too much with Lego blocks as a child; and b) has got one of the most daft names I've seen so far as a place to live.

By the way, doesn't it look like it's bound to topple over if a strong wind comes along?

Narcissism: The Fourth Sexual Orientation?

Wikipedia defines sexual narcissism as such: Narcissism is the pattern of characteristics and behaviors which involve infatuation and obsession with one's self to the exclusion of others and the egotistic and ruthless pursuit of one's gratification, dominance and ambition.

The reason I bring up narcissism, is that I've been bouncing a crackpot theory recently (inspired by a horoscope that told me that it is "time to think of [myself] first") : Is narcissism itself its own sexual orientation?

Looking at online hookup websites and also just observing interactions in public, I'm beginning to believe it. My barfly self sees it occasionally in both bartenders and their patrons, both of whom strut like peacocks to look the most presentable and lustful to others in order to reaffirm themselves of their own value. I do not believe that this is an exclusively gay thing either. I am certain people on all sides of the sexual orientation spectrum notice this as well. It is the faux cutesy voice, the low-cut or sleeveless shirt. To be honest, we all have our narcissistic moments, myself included. The type of narcissism that I'm mentioning here is when it becomes so much of a factor in daily interactions (as described above) that it does affect how and who one interacts with.

So how is it its own orientation? Here's my theory:

Think of the gay-for-pay "phenomenon" in pornography. Men who identify themselves publicly as heterosexuals have sexual acts with men with clear erections out front and centre. Now, although I've never been on a porn shoot, I know that there are sometimes heterosexual porn films playing in the background, as well as men and women on set who serve as fluffers. Still, this occurrance does make the mind ponder. Monetary issues aside, what is the driving force here? Is it a latent bisexuality or homosexuality? Or is it that the desire to see oneself as an object of lust overrides any hardwired prejudices? I think it is mostly the latter.

It is rare for most of us to receive a substantial amount of accolade on a daily basis. If that wasn't the case, then the self-help pop-psychology industry would go out of business overnight and Dr. Phil would be off the air. Just like we need food to survive, we also need compliments. Some people need it more than others and they seek that fuel out in any way possible. This desire, I believe, can reach across sexual orientation because it becomes less about the gender of your partner and more about what you perceive that partner sees you as.

Now, although I'm making an argument for narcissism being its own sexual orientation, I hope and pray that it actually never becomes recognised as such. Narcissism is quite frankly, a sociopathic state. In fact, I think the majority of the problems that society is really stem from the fact that myopia is running rampant.

That is all, reckon I.

New Week, New Link

My friend Garrett now has his own blog, From the Midwest to Manhattan. Do check it out.

DC Post-Mortem: Our Capitol, Ourselves

For starters, I have to say that any bar (even if it's non-smoking) that has this sign up, is my kind of place. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

This weekend, I was down in Washington for no other reason than it's basically the ground zero for my family. Practically everyone lived there or around it at one time and many still do. That said, I didn't tell them that I was coming because I didn't want to visit them. I just wanted to see what the city was like.

Not to sound like a tourist board operative, but Washington is extremely beautiful at least from an aesthetic viewpoint, especially the subway system. It may not run 24 hours (why on Earth is New York City still the only city with a 24 hour subway system?), but the stations really grab you by the proverbial balls and tell you this is a capitol city, from big central stations like Dupont Circle (which made me feel like I'm slowly being swallowed by a whale) to smaller ones like Shaw-Howard University.

(By the way, that station should not have Howard University in its name. Howard is probably more than a mile away from it. Just call the damn station Shaw.) In addition to the grand entrances, the system of using lights on the floor to signal an arriving train is very cool and not to mention user friendly. They're much better than just listening out for a high-pitched shriek and sparks. On the downside, the trains look like they haven't been updated since the early 1980's, but at least there are electronic signs in the station telling you how many minutes away the next train is. This is something that the MTA is only just getting around to think about doing. (DC even has pedestrian crossings that show you how much time you have to cross an intersection, which is yet another thing that they're only just getting around to doing up here, vehicular homicides be damned.)

Transportation geek serenade over, let's get to the drinking.

Given the fact that it was in the teens Saturday night and I was not about to go gallivanting all about town, I stayed mostly in Dupont Circle, which is apparently Washington's traditional gay neighbourhood that the literature compared to Greenwich Village. Perhaps in terms of social significance, but this was no Greenwich Village. It looked like Midtown East spread out, at least the parts east of the circle did.

My first stop was JR's, a bar touted as the place to be in DC. Well, if that's the case, then I don't need to be in that place. Now, when I see the phrase "video bar," that implies music videos, not videos from musicals. One or two songs from musicals I can stand, but nonstop for an hour is too much. Then there were the patrons. I was the only minority in the whole entire place.

Let me say that again: in a bar in Washington DC on a Saturday night, I was the only person of colour. That boggled my mind.

A good friend of mine (J) happened to be in town at the same time and called me while I was trying to debate how much longer I could hack it in there. (17 degree weather with high winds really makes you think twice before leaving.) When he basically said that it was the hub for Log Cabinettes, I knew I had to go.

Further up 17th street was Cobalt, which was really rather uneventful save for the fact that the place had the aforementioned sign plastered on a wall as soon as you entered.

After a surprisingly non-frostbite inducing trek past the circle, I went to The Fireplace which despite its name was not all that warm inside courtesy of a short distance between the entrances and the bar. Nonetheless, this was finally the bar that felt right because they finally had some damn videos, not to mention it was the first truly mixed (in terms of race) bar I had been in all night. It was here that I met up with J, and this is when the night really kicked into high gear.

J drove to The Green Lantern. Considering that you read and hear about all sorts of kink and raunch going on amongst the political crowd, I was surprised that all the previous bars seemed rather chaste. Well, they must all go to the Green Lantern to scratch that itch, because it was all laid out there. Apparently, it was underwear night and let me tell you, nearly everybody let it all hang out for free booze. I didn't participate, because J didn't and given the wind I figured catching pneumonia was not worth getting free drinks. Of course we were the odd ones out, as this place will be permanently etched in memory as where I saw a man in a harness dance and play with his nipples to Dead or Alive.

To cap the night off, J took me to Bachelor's Mill in the Southeast. Talk about a 180 degree turn from JR's log cabinettes. "The Mill" seemed more like a black gay house party instead of any actual bar/club. I loved every second of it. You can take all the sleek decor and named drinks, because nothing can compare to being in the middle of a throng of pulsating bodies while drinking an Alize Blue & orange juice. (Bougie, Alize trumps Hennessey with me.) Especially when the music is from the orange-haired era of rap and hip hop. I mean, how long has it been since you've heard Chubb Rock being played?

In many ways, Washington is the US crammed into a small former marshland. You have great architecture, a transportation system that looks good but doesn't quite exactly meet the needs of the populace, and a strong social segregation with enough pockets of integration that give you hope that things will change in due time.

Will He Sleep With Bush To Bring The Troops Back?

Personally, I think it's a nice thing that a former hustler is running for office. I like it even better that he admits to it as well and isn't ashamed of it. He could be the American version of Ciccolina.

That said, the history as a Mary Kay man, we don't want those sort of people in office.

Seams from the Economic Struggle in Gotham

Since I work out of my home, and set my own schedule, that leaves my days pretty much open. I like to call the period of the day (late morning) when I workout the "hooker and housewife" hour, because basically who else has the free time to work out and take exercise classes at that time? Yet, I'm always surprised by the amount of people wearing business casual on their way into or out of the locker room.

Shopping is another example. This morning, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to go to the Barney's Warehouse Sale. I'm far from a clotheshorse, but ever since I saw a relatively decent shirt at Macy's that was marked down from $45 to $1, I figure it never hurts to just see what's available. Now experience and observation has taught me that in general men's departments are relatively sparse during the day. It tends to be mostly retirees, house husbands, college students, and freelancers like myself.

Apparently, not at this joint.

Wall to wall of people in suits doing trades and business deals over the phone while going through the racks and bins like they were looking for the Golden Ticket. It was insane. I don't know how they got the time off, because all the white-collar workers I know tell me that they only get time to themselves from 11-1 if they're lucky and don't have a backlog of work.

I realise that I'm approaching this from a level of relative ignorance (given my own situation), but I couldn't help but wonder why these people weren't at work. On the news every night, I hear about jobs being scarce for everyone save the upper classes. Now, I'm the first person to say that your job shouldn't be the focus of your life, and perhaps the fact that people were flocking to a sale as opposed to the regular store is a sign that people want to get a lot more for their money, but there seemed to be a strong sense of desperation in the air at the warehouse. It was like the patrons wanted to buy the clothes that made them look wealthy and devil-may-care, when the reality was exactly the opposite.

The line for the cash registers was one of the longest I've seen outside of theme parks. Nearby, a very prominent sign read "No fistfights." I think this was meant only partially in jest. As I was heading towards the register I heard a man complain to one of the assistants about "the bottleneck." I wanted to point out to him that if he's getting irritated by that, then he really should look into why his life is scheduled to such a frentic state.

They're just clothes, and contrary to famous saying, they do not make the man.

From the "suck it up" department

Some of the acts participating in this year's Melodifestivalen are apparently miffed that their final positions will be learned during the show, as opposed to afterwards.

Oh, for pete's sake, considering that a great many (if not all) of the songs get released as singles, this is pretty decent exposure and a good thing for sales. Remember that the superhit out of last year's MF came from runner up Nanne and not Stenchmark.

Undergarments

There are few shots of me undressed out there, which surprises me, to be honest. I figure with all my prattling about undergarments last night, I ought to just show you (relatively) what I look like.

From 2 years ago:

It Keeps You Pondering, My Valentine

I have always been a bit indifferent to Valentine's Day, even when I wasn't single. It just never seemed to interest me that much. My belief is if you love somebody you don't need a special day for a bunch of ostentatious gestures to show it. Still, it's quite funny how a Christian martyr during the age of the Romans became the catalyst for a day where jewelry companies, florists, chocolatiers, and resturants all make huge money.

Sunday Jukebox Has Nothing To Lose

Let's get this started with Kto To's "Zero do stracenia" from this year's Polish final--a song that definitely should've placed considerably higher than it did.




I feel bad that I'm going to miss the first round of this year's Melodifestivalen (which starts this Saturday), so here's a few MF-ing highlights.

Last year saw Nanne Grönvall kick serious ass with "Håll Om Mig," which was extremely better than the eventual winner, but such is life.



And the year before saw Lena Phillipsson win it "Det Gör Ont" (translated to the double entendre laden "It Hurts"). Now imagine what it would be like if Tina Turner and Lena did a duet version of this.

Scenes from the Blizzard

It's a little bit late, Mother Nature, but thank you for the birthday present.

From last night:

And from this afternoon:

Danske Melodi Grand Prix 2006: Everything Old Is Still Old

There's a Nor'easter on the way, Manhattan is under a blizzard warning, and I watched the Danish Melodi Grand Prix.

Normally, these would all be good things, but considering that Denmark has been picking daft winners from excellent finals of late, it winds up being a glass half-full experience.

For starters, I think the Danes have taken control over disposable American teen pop of late, because the vast majority of these songs reminded me of the KIIS-FM playlist I used to listen to while driving down Sunset Boulevard back in 2000: catchy, happy-go-lucky, and completely forgettable.

Other than the winner (which I'll get to, believe me), the only song I actually want to hear again is Claus Hasfeldt's "Ta' Hjertet Med," and the main reason it's stuck in my head is because the song's hook is very similar to Wham's "Last Christmas."

The rest? Blah.

The hosts? Bizarre. I don't know whether we were supposed to laugh at them or not. It was a short ginger man who looked extremely peppy and a tall dark-haired man with a speech impediment (which if you've heard Danish spoken is pretty funny--juvenile, but funny).*

*Given the current controversy, I want to say resolutely that I have always liked Denmark. I think it's very cool, hip country, and the funland of Scandinavia. They've been on the forefront with civil unions and are basically a kick-ass, smart, laid back kind of people.

The interval? Muzak versions of Danish MGP winners. A bunch of shopping cart dances. A breakdancer. A "tissue artist" (that's what it said on the screen) and a compere who studied Victor Borge too closely.

The winner? Oh god, a song called "Twist of Love." It is one of the most daft songs I've heard since The Wallstones and their sodding "Invisible People." Blonde woman--with the perfect voice to belt out a rock tune--sings a variation on Chubby Checker's "Let's Twist Again." How I wish I was kidding. If that wasn't silly enough, she's accompanied onstage by a bunch of women wearing cowboy hats.

By the way, Denmark picked this same combo (female power singer accompanied by female dancers with hats and one very...um...well, you know male dancer) in 1990 with "Hallo, Hallo," from the days when Denmark did hygge camp very well. (Video courtesy of Eurosong.Webbyen.dk)

Maybe I Am An NBC Network Executive

According to DotEurovision, NBC is interested in bringing a US version of the Eurovision Song Contest.

Wisely enough, they're making it a multi-week competition, because frankly the thought of having to wade through entries and votes from 50 states, DC, Puerto Rico, Guam, American Samoa, and the remains of the old Trust Territory over one night would be masochistic.

I am now terrified of what salient horror Wisconsin will come up with. All I know is that Illinois will give us zip, just like we won't give any to Minnesota. New York is pretty safe though.

Just In Case This Story Soon Disappears

Former NFL player Roy Simmons is asking for an investigation as to whether he was denied access to the Super Bowl media centre because he is gay and HIV+.

Things Unfathomable

At one point when I was young and only recently returned to this country, the prospect of a McCain-Bradley presidential race left me perplexed.

At another point, I nearly became a member of the Green Party.

And now, I might seriously be rooting for Serbia-Montenegro, if Ana Nikolic's "Romale Romali" is considered one of the frontrunners.

She looks like Serbia's answer to Beyonce, but better have a better stage show than this from the previews.

The Confused Karaoke Participant

There are tough songs to sing and there are easy ones. One would think "Tom's Diner" would be among the latter, but after the version I heard Sunday night, I think it was kryptonite to a pair of twinks.

Splash-XL Post-Mortem: The Winner

I won! Uh huh, that's right! I won Porn Idol at XL.

Ok, granted it was only me and another guy, but still, I won!

I have Billy Joel, Elton John, a man from Rhone-Alpes, and my parents to thank because if it wasn't for them, it wouldn't have happened.

Why Billy Joel? Well, I was at Splash and debating over whether to stay for one more drink and then the tribute to Elton John at the Kennedy Center Honors came on. Billy Joel started playing "Benny and the Jets" and I knew then and there that I needed to go. (I'm sorry Elton, I appreciate all that you've done, but 90% of your music is dire.)

Why a man from Rhone-Alpes? After I arrived at XL, I struck up a conversation with a Frenchman who used to live in Chicago and he nudged me towards participating in the contest. Apparently the majority of the clientele want to ogle instead of participate since I was the only fresh face in this week's competition. The runner-up had participated during Week 1.

Why my parents? Because if they hadn't gotten a case of Spring fever, and not given birth to me on the 6th of February I wouldn't have had the impetus and the "screw it, it's my birthday month" fortitude to participate.

So what did I actually do? First, I gave an interview and did some porn dialogue. (This made me a nervous wreck, since I'm a playwright that can't think well off-the-cuff.) Then, I stripped. (Again, this made me nervous since I was wearing boxers, and my competitor had on considerably more hotter--for porn--briefs.) Thirdly, I had to put a condom on a banana erotically. (That was actually easy, and really surprised me with how well I can get a condom on using just my mouth.) Finally, I had to do a money shot using a bottle of Dawn. (I got a little too excited with that one, and definitely should've taken my shirt off with that.)

Comrades, it was close, but I won. I won. I won. I won.

Next week, I'm up against the previous four winners and let me tell you, I am nervous as hell. The grand prize is $500. (I won $100 and tickets to see, of all plays, Dog Sees God.)

So, here is tonight's very obvious theme song: "The Winner" from Gundam OO83.

Tuesday Jukebox Says "This Is Hikaru's Video Bar"

I would be very pleasantly surprised if I came across any of these videos in Splash.

• CHEMISTRY meets m-flo - Now or Never

• Another one from m-flo. M-flo loves Emyli & Yoshika - Loop in my heart
  
  

• EXILE - Exit

• And finally, GLAY - Winter, Again

Thank you to all on YouTube who were kind enough to share.

Yet Another Salient Horror

The evil queen himself, Tyler Perry, is now foisting another one of his minstrel shows upon us.

Yet, it's this bit of information that alarms me most.

(Note: Tyler Perry is most definitely not on the celebrity sex list, unless it includes no-holds barred SM.)

Sunday Jukebox: This Is What They Mean By Salient Horror

Silvía Nótt "performing" "Til hamingju Ísland" at the recent Icelandic Semi-final.

And yes, this is supposed to be a joke entry.

The Imploded Narrative

Odd for me to talk about writing here, but February is a month of randomness, so here goes.

I want to point out a plot style that seems to never be utilised often, but should definitely be. You could call it the "imploded narrative."

The way it works is a simple bait-and-switch. The script begins with one storyline and winds up contorting in a million different directions, so that the resolution is on the surface appears to be from a completely different story, yet for the audience who has made the entire journey, it makes sense.

One of the main reasons it is rarely done, is because it takes vast amounts of planning in order to do so. Planning which often runs contrary to carefree spirit required to write dramatic text, but it needn't necessarily be stifiling.

Before I address that aspect, first I'll cite an example of an "imploded narrative:" the seminal anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion. A more thorough analysis of the show can be found at the link, but for purposes of this post, I'm dealing strictly with the show's structure (irrespective of whether or not it is intentionally structured this way).

In its initial episodes, Evangelion appeared to be essentially a "kids fighting monsters with giant robots" show or what's often called "a villian of the week" show. These shows require minimal investment in character development, because basically the interest is in seeing how many cool ways the hero can save the day. Although there were tacit clues at the inner lives of the characters, it was not until midway through the show that the main characters' psychological lives took centre stage. And when they did, the story became more abstract and also more intriguing.

By the show's final episodes, the focus was more on the ongoing psychosis affecting the characters rather than the survival of the human race plotline that the show began with, although both were undeniably intertwined. This is where the old axiom of "show, don't tell" comes in. The latter half of Evangelion incorporated many scenes of monologues, flashbacks, and dreams depicted in both an aural and visual way that the viewer is brought into the psychosis and it is made personal.

All too often many writers--especially playwrights--believe that people will be swept away by monologues and just mere character interaction. Not necessarily.

While good dialogue is critical to any script, it is increasingly difficult to just merely grab an audience's attention with just words and infrequent action. Many think that this should be left up to the director. I believe that to be a sign of laziness. The writer can best serve their work by being willing to go into the fantastical world of dreams and inner reality. Our dreams would not make sense if they occurred in reality as they do in our minds. Likewise, our emotional reactions to traumatic events are not just fainting, laughing, and crying. That is merely surface, inside the reaction is much richer and much more overwhelming than a simple physical act.

The audience, however, does not see that; however, they can. The writer needs to be willing to take their story into the world of abstract to convey emotion, particularly in this day and age where subtext is not enough.

Yet, a story that is completely abstract can be as dull as a story that is completely set in stone-cold reality. This is why I pointed out Evangelion's structure. I feel comfortable in saying that Evangelion would not be as jarring or as stirring if it did not have its initial setup in the familiar. To paraphrase George Orwell, "it played by all the small rules, so that it could break all the big ones." Likewise, think of Thornton Wilder's The Skin of Our Teeth. What keeps us interested in the beginning part of the play is that so much of it is rooted in familiar understandable surroundings, yet at the same time there are many things going on that are quite frankly, absurd.

The current crop of plays (not to mention films and television shows) seem to be more focused on creating these moments that are so deeply set in reality that they kill our connections to the characters themselves. Everything is a situation, and we are never allowed access to the inner lives of characters--even when they are serving as narrator.

That is why, I'd like to suggest that all writers out there start imploding your narratives. Be willing to go into the abstract. Don't be afraid that the audience won't follow you, if you have anchored yourself with enough reality in the beginning, they will come along for the ride.

Meanwhile in Estonia...

The international jury from 10 countries picked Sandra Oxenryd with "Through My Window" to represent Estonia. Ines and the only song in Estonian ("Issendale") apparently came in at a very close second. Ironically (given the controversy in Norway over Swedish entries), Sandra is Swedish.

You win some, you lose some.

Norske Melodi Grand Prix 2006 The Final: Norway In Norwegian Language Shocker

Since it's a special night, there's no schoolmarm from Minnesota announcing tonight's programming. Instead, it's a perky middle-aged blonde woman. Fancy.

Deep voiced man welcomes us to Oslo and the ENORMOUS Spektrum.

Sti comes out and he's wearing a white scarf and looking like a Norwegian Amadeus. Syn is in white and acting like Evita, but looking like a refugee from a Jane Austen novel. This woman must be something else in Norway, because the crowd loses it when she enters.

• Trine Rein - Here for the show

Trine's hair is bigger and her screaming is a little more restrained, but the song...still sucky. She sings "you're my crowd, and you make me pro-o-o-ud." I'm glad I'm not in that crowd.

• Hans-Petter Moen & Kim Arne Hagen - I hear music

Sti says something about '"two men and a guitar," which steels me for the inanity about to reach my ears. NRK's stream keeps on buffering, which I'm taking as a sign that NRK isn't that keen on them either. Actually, the stream itself may not be keen on any of them based on what these qualifiers have been like. Yep, just like thought, this is stupid. Two middle aged men carping on about how "life is a song, so sing along." If I was 8 years old, this might grab my attention, but I suspect even some "barn" are busy shaking their heads in disbelief. The few seconds I got from the stream were definitely enough.

• Tor Endersen - Dreaming of a New Tomorrow

I know he's supposed to be solemn and all that, but couldn't Tor put on something flashier than a blue shirt and grey jacket? He looks like a car salesman after work. Anyway, Tor starts singing his ballad (Lou Rawls shakes his head up in heaven and thinks "I could've torn this up without breaking a sweat.") I actually have to say, I don't really loathe this song, except that it's mawkish as hell and ridicuously dated. It's like Tor just stop believing that time marched on after 1991. Thank god for the stream cutting out after the first few bars.

• Queentastic - Absolutely Fabulous

Priscilla lives! The first actually interesting song of the evening. Now this is dated as well, but it's upbeat and not mawkish, so I don't care. Queentastic manage the not-too-difficult feat of sounding and looking better than Sestre. And what are they like? Well, what would you think a duo called Queentastic would be like? Two drag queens in Moulin Rouge attire name check clothing lines. The girls get a huge response from the crowd. Sti & Syn are overwhelmed. This is a good sign.

• Birgitte Einarsen - Saturday

One dance song followed by another. I'm not complaining since I like both of them. Sti & Syn make note that Birgitte got through via the second chance round. Why? I do not know. She's there, who cares how she got there. Birgitte is still in her kimono outfit, and still performs admirably. She needs to get a handle on her swaying since it makes her look spastic.

• Christine Guldbrandsen - Alvedansen

Christine is still pretty as an angel. The postcard makes her out to be the beloved of all Norwegian people from young to old. That said, she's a little tenuous at first, and her voice isn't as strong as it was several weeks ago. Nonetheless, she knows how to play to the camera. Good for her. The crowd gives her a good cheer, not as much as the reaction for Queentastic mind you.

• Veronica Akselsen - Like A Wind

Since I do not care one shread for this song, I take this time to fiddle around with the stream. When I'm finished, Veronica is nasaly singing her way through this ballad. I can't tell if she's trying to make it country or not. It's not worth using brain cells to ponder this for much more than a second.

• Geir Rønning & Jorun Erdal - Lost and Found

How did the no-hopers cabal wind up with this cushy slot? Sti makes some joke about West Side Story and crowd laughs heartedly. New Yorker is very confused and perplexed. (A sidenote: The Estonian Eurolaul is going on right now, and I suspect that had they organised a webcast, the player wouldn't be buffering like a madman.) Anyway, Geir & Jorun sing and go grammatically all over the place with their "search for lost and found." They could not pick a pair that looks less like Bonnie & Clyde than these two, I tell you. Although Queentastic's song is also of Swedish origin, this song is as Swedish as driving to IKEA in a Saab with a St. Lucia's crown. By the way, Geir looks like a used car salesman singing karaoke.

And it's review time! In summary: Everybody is dire except for Queentastic, Birgitte, and Christine. As I see it, a woman (although not necessarily a biological woman) is going to win this. That's as far as I'm going to go with the prognosticating.

The interval is Wig Wam, of course. Unlike the Slovenes who relegated Omar Naber to announcing the winner and homoerotically hugging Slo-Nick, Wig Wam is given a flaming show. I mean that in the good way, naturally. The lead singer has managed to get his accent in check so that he sings "love is all over me," instead of "love-ist all ovah me."

Ah Wig Wam, you weren't a bunch of Estonian Lindsay Lohan clones, but you weren't half bad.

They perform another song and frankly, I don't see or hear anything different from a 1986 Def Leopard concert, except that these lads look rougher than they did last year. Like too much beer, pizza, and cocaine rough. It works for them.

Back to green room (once the stream starts up again), where Syn interviews Veronica, who is proving herself to come across as a giggling idiot. I sense that even Syn, Miss Whacked Out 2006 herself, is thinking "when do I get to stop talking to this fool?"

Syn does a countdown that I'm assuming is a sign that the lines are closed. This is followed up with "Boogie Wonderland," and I wish someone would explain to me the connection the Scandinavian countries have with 1970's disco and Eurovision national finals.

Anyway, a man is brought onstage and I'm guessing it's because he's got the results. The stream gets really spotty at this point, so I am truly going to grasp at straws here. Or maybe not. I'm thinking they're going for the "superfinal" approach, because the aging children's show singers are back onscreen telling us that they hear music and there are numbers below for voting. Perhaps this means that Trine has been knocked out! Hahahaha.

Christine is brought back. Yikes, I guess that means that Queentastic and Birgitte have also been knocked out. On the upside, this probably also means that Tor has also gotten the boot. Therefore, the third slot must be going to either Veronica (please lord, no) or the no-hopers cabal (ditto). Christine, girl you had better sing like you have never sung before!

And the third slot goes to the no-hopers cabal. Thank god for the stream cutting in and out so that I don't have to hear them in full yet again.

So there are your choices, Norge: The daft children's show performers, Miss Angel of Norway, and the no-hopers. I'm hoping the beauty pageant queen beats the other 4 soundly.

On the upside, 2 of the 3 superfinalists are at least all Norwegian efforts.

Wait a second, there's a fourth slot and Queentastic gets it! There is hope. Of course, this now makes the superfinal half-Norwegian and half-Swedish. Nonetheless, this is at least a better Swedish entry than the no-hopers cabal.

All you Norwegian queens better vote your fingers off for these two or Christine.

Queentastic are breathy, but they certainly make up for it with energy and enthusiasm.

Review time again. This time only half of the songs are horrid. The other two are vastly better. Do I need to say which is which at this point?

A tech sidenote: In order to finally get the stream to last more than a minute, I have switched from 241 kbps to 36 kbps. This actually is not that bad, I have to say.

Interval #2: It's a Eurovision anthem medley as performed by perky blondes and brunettes. Well, we are in Norway and Sweden is only a stone's throw away. Sti & Syn said who they were, but I didn't catch who they were, so I'm calling them Norske Alcazar. It's all the standards you'd expect, including "Diva" performed as a group piece. Who would've thought that "Every Way That I Can" has already reached the level of standards? Likewise "Wild Dances?" By the way, it is very bizarre to hear a man sing that song. Good lord, they are now singing "My Number One," with a male lead. I'm taking this as a sign that Queentastic is going to take this.

Sti & Syn bring out a man with the results again. This time to the tune of "He's the greatest dancer." Oh yes, that is what they played. They give him the title of "the undefeated champ of Norwegian Melodi Grand Prix." Uh huh.

And here come the results.

I won't attmept to explain how she won, but Christine basically wins it despite very strong showings by the children's show duo and Queentastic. There's some booing from the crowd, but it looked like it was a hard fought and well-deserved vote. To her credit, Christine looked calm and collected throughout the results while the children's show duo basically lost it, especially the one in the cardigan who--well I'll be honest here--queened out more than Queentastic.

To be honest, I'm very happy with this result. Queentastic would've been a good winner, but at least Norway is showing that they aren't afraid of actually singing in Norwegian. It also helps that Christine sings superbly and that this is actually that rarest of things: a good ballad. Interestingly, Christine's voice is noticeably better this time around.

I think Norway might stay in the final for 2007 with this, though they had better not translate it otherwise it will not stand out at all. Not to mention, Ireland will probably get Brian Kennedy singing the same thing in English.

Norske Melodi Grand Prix 2006 Second Chance Round: Quick and Dirty

Technically this was the actual semi-final (with all the previous rounds being qualifiers), but it's February and I'm cutting myself some slack this month.

I didn't see the whole thing, but just the tail end. After some snooping around, here are two songs that made it:

• Brigitte Einarsen: Saturday
• Veronica Akselsen: Like A Wind

So a happy dance tune and a crappy ballad, both of which were performed last week.

What. A. Shock.

Hopefully, the latter will fall on its face (along with Tor Endersen's dirge and the no-hopers cabal of Geir & Jorun) tomorrow. I also hope that the hackneyed "Here for the show" will be shown how weak it is, because as I see it, the song just squeezed in due to the extra performance.

Then again, this is the land of Jahn Teigen.

At this point, Queentastic or Brigitte had better win this.

Could Somebody Please Say "No?"

It's a rainy Friday morning and quite honestly the last thing I want to see is a bunch of frumpy heterosexual couples on the Today show getting engaged.

First off, let's just delve into the hypocrisy at work here. Gay couples can get married in Massachusetts (possibly even Maryland soon enough) and "civil unioned" in Connecticut and Vermont so you could at least include some. Don't give me that nonsense about a "makeover" ruse, because as many television shows before you have proven, men get makeovers as well.

Secondly, (and this pales in comparison to the first point) why don't any of these women say "no?" Odds are that somebody doesn't want to get married, so how come it's never shown on any of these live programs? I want to see some dejection and rejection! Not everybody wants to get married. Ask Joy Behar and several of the women in my family.

Finally, why on Earth do the men have to be the ones who propose all the time? It's the 21st Century, haven't gender relations progressed to the point where it doesn't matter who proposes?

At least Mother Nature agrees with me at the relative inanity of this whole Sweeps stunt.

If I Was A QTN Network Executive

...I would figure out ahead of time about how to handle live programming--without having to lay off all the 1099 workers for a fortnight.

You people still owe me a show.

Thursday Jukebox Hears Loneliness in Capitalism and Sounds in Necklaces

Before I start off this week's jukebox, I'm just going to rant a bit at the pocket queen in the jockstrap who blocked me from my locker today.

1. If your gym accoutrements take up 75% of the bench, then you are clearly taking too much with you.
2. Don't look at me with some snide look because I said "excuse me" in a soft voice.
3. I can squash you without breaking a sweat.
4. Outside of pornography and late night workouts, I doubt that you'll pick up Mr. Right Now in a flimsy jockstrap.

That is all, reckon I. On with the show.

First off is Justyna Steczkowska's "Sama" from Dublin 1995. It may not seem easily apparent, but a reading of the lyrics are a comment on capitalist excess and the isolation that it brings out in the ordinary person. As you can probably guess, this is an anthem in my home, and yes, I like it even down to the screeching she does towards end. (You've got to have serious pipes to pull that off.)

Finally, Maarja-Liis Ilus & Ivo Linna perform "Kaelakee Hääl" at Oslo 1996. The title translates as "the sound of a necklace," which really makes no sense, especially since the sole necklace on display could barely register any sound whatsoever.

Now this is a duet between a teenage girl and a man old enough to be her grandfather.

And they are singing about longing for one another. And wanting to kiss.

I don't want to but a certain indelicate spin on this, but...well...ew.

Several funny things to point out in this one:

• The Estonian David Hyde Pierce clone on keyboards.
• Maarja's sudden decision to start singing with her teeth together during the bridge.
• They never seem to make any eye contact at all, as if they know that there's a squicky subtext to this song and really just want to get through with it.
• Maarja tries to turn this is into a soul song with her bopping, but it's just not going to happen.

They Had Better Be Snowy

According to some archaic but fun tradition involving a groundhog in Northern Pennsylvania, we've got 6 more weeks of winter. First off, I have to say that those men in top hats take their damn time in actually saying anything. Secondly, as Jodi Applegate rightfully pointed out, "when have you ever heard of winter ending early in Northern Pennsylvania?"

And then there were the countless jokes one can make about Mike Woods and "Goobler's Knob," but they didn't and I have to just entertain myself with them.

Splash-Stonewall-XL Post-Mortem: Certain Things I'd Like to Forget

Warning: This is going to be graphic.

Let me start this out by saying what literally happened this morning:

I woke up in a pool of my own vomit.

I don't know how this happened, because normally vomiting is such an unpleasant experience that I would assume that I would be awake and aware that I need to be in the bathroom. Not to mention that since I can only assume that I did this in my sleep, that it is a wonder that I'm still alive and not dead...having choked on my own bile.

The funny thing is that this was supposed to be a light night. Just a few drinks to get me out of the apartment while The State of the Union address was on. I even remember how many I had: 4 Coronas at Splash, a White Russian and a Black Russian at The Stonewall, a Corona and 2 "X-rated coolers" at XL. Finishing that all off with some cheese fries.

Using my amateur sleuthing skills (which are minor), I can come up with only a few theories:

1. It was the Russians.
2. It was the cheese fries.

Considering that the taste is still in my mouth, I'm leaning towards #2.

I've never said that it was pretty being me.

By the way, Splash had a video montage of Brokeback Mountain with Lyle Lovett's cover of "Stand By Your Man." I don't know what to make out of that.

Now This Is What I Mean By Avantgarde!

(in respect to EMA entries)

This is Jadranka Juras performing "Anima" at EMA 2005. Alas, she was screwed over in the voting.