A rational person knows that the Sun has no sound: The Spanish Final 2005

First off, I'm pissed at the result. A witty song about internet porn as performed by Spain's Phyllis Diller Impersonators Club is certainly better than three trophy wives singing about witchcraft.

Secondly, I'm coming into this final late. (I couldn't be here to watch it, so I had to watch it via my DVR. Unfortunately Time Warner and TVE International are having a spat, and TVE won't tell Time Warner what is on when so what I'm watching is just called "Especial" and starts midway through the actual final.)

So what I see is Don Carlos and Patty "Paula Abdul" Perez (who looks she is now taking all her tips from Jennifer Lopez) prattling on about the semi. Patty is still drugged up and has unbelievably stiff shoulders...mostly likely due to her hair threatening to collapse. They bring on Ainhoa, who will be playing Farrah Fawcett tonight...feathered hair and all. TVE's wardrobe designers still hate her, so they've given her only one strap to hold up her dress.

Don Carlos gives us another recap before we start the weeding out. I notice that he has on an Iglesias-esque necklace. Oh Charlie, I'll give you some, but please start dressing your age. It's embarassing for the Iglesiases and it's embarassing for you.

Anyway:

• Maria Lorente: Still looks like Nia Vardalos. Still singing through her nose. Still sucks.
• Jaster: As camp as a Joan Crawford marathon in Chueca. Alcazar eats groups like this for breakfast.
• Las Supremas: (Sigh) Heavenly. Why doesn't the UK send something like this? I'm certain there's a group of bitter British housewives out there just chomping at the bit to belt out a good rant like this. Las Supremas rule my world. You're the real winners, you divas you.
• Lanco: Matchbox Twenty with added involuntary muscle spasms.
• A Crew: Kevin Federline's Spanish twin remains as hot and on-key as ever. Abs's Spanish twin still out of his limit. Dancers still looking like they want to say "don't mess with me, puta."
• Enzo: Stop shouting and actually sing.
• Katherina: You were embarassed by the crowd singing happy birthday? What about that hippie-poncho-and-hot-pants outfit? What about the million dirty jokes that can be made with a song with the title "crazy mouth?" Get some perspective, lady.
• Pierre 'N sue: I repeat, dump the song, get naked, and do a porn with your backing singer.
• Son del Sol: Hags. Trashy hags, and not even comically trashy like Las Supremas.
• Felipe Conde: Go back to your telenovela.
• Gema: Yes, m'dear, you still rock. A diamond in the rough, although I truly wish I understood Spanish enough to figure out why you're singing about Job.
• Yulia: Trashy whore. Seriously. I have seen hookers wear that type of outfit on 9th Avenue.

(Brace yourselves, the venom will be running hot tonight.)

Don Carlos-Iglesias tells the audience to shut it while he gives out the names of the six performers who won't proceed to the final. The camera goes to a shot of a nervous Patty in the box of doom. I think she's on her come-down from E. Yulia holds onto Lanco's lead singer like a complete fame-whore. The audience eventually shuts it. Don Carlos-Iglesias finally gets around to giving the list after the longest list of qualifiers ("the entries not chosen to go to the final as decided by the Spanish public..."). And they are:

• Jaster: Because Sweden is going to pick Alcazar and you don't want to split the 2 gay males-2 fag hag vote.
• Gema: Evil! Just flat out evil. Gema gives Don Carlos a hug. Grace in defeat.
• Katherina: She gives Don Carlos a kiss. Shame she didn't get through, she was actually dressed like a normal person tonight.
• Pierre 'N sue: Believe me when I tell you to do the porn. Pierre has an extended hug with Kevin Federline from A Crew. Be still my aching loins. He also has pretty long kisses and hugs with Felipe Conde, Yulia (eww!), Patty, and Maria. Pierre, you are a slut. I love you, especially when you are dressed in a tight shirt and jeans.
• A Crew: For some odd reason they clap for themselves getting eliminated. Kevin Federline gets a long hug from Felipe Conde. Sr. Kevin is also wearing a sleeveless shirt. How dare you deny me the lust-filled sight of seeing him perform dressed like that?!
• Maria Lorente: I may be hearing this wrong, but I swear there's a group of girls yelling "puerca, puerca" upon hearing that Maria is out of the running. Oy, she's not fat, she's just untalented. I may very well be wrong since the crowd then starts yelling "MA-RI-A, MA-RI-A" until Don Carlos tells them to shut it.

The flip side of this means that we still unfortunately have Lanco, Enzo, Yulia, and Son del Sol. Happily though, this means Las Supremas are still in. By the way, having all the eliminated contestants stand up onstage while the finalists are in the Box of Doom, seems perversely cruel. Has TVE been watching American Idol? If so, they should know that the producers have been reamed for the cruelty of the elimination programmes. Not a good example to follow.

The American Idol simularities continue as Don Carlos introduces a clip reel similiar to American Idol's "we-know-you're-not-dying-but-we'll-put-on-music-that-makes-it-seem-like-it" clip reel for eliminated contestants. Geez, when did this show switch from uppers to downers? The sad music is quite hilarious during the A Crew clip where one of the dancers does his "don't mess with me, puta" look.

It's up to Patty and her club drugs to perk up the mood as she points out the finalists in the Box of Doom. She does a good job of doing so. Patty's got the good stuff tonight, not the over-the-counter fakes.

Guess what? We have a special guest and it's Paulina Rubio. She just comes a-struttin' down the stairs like it's an Italian variety show circa 1987. Her high-class-hooker dress only accents that fact. Oh my god, there are bubbles being blown in the background. It is at this point that realise that she's singing some ridiculously dated ballad called "Mia" that would (shock) not be out of place on an Italian variety show circa 1987.

Don Carlos leeches over Paulina during her post-performance interview. He feigns interest while staring at her clevage. Charlie, we know you're just acting.

After the commercials, Don Carlos does his umpteenth yelling of "Te deum." I'm sick of it and so is the crowd so they yell it back at him, leaving a very perplexed Don Carlos onstage. He tells them to shut it, because he's the STAR! Also because he has to give the numbers to vote for the finalists, but mainly because he's vain and he thinks this national final is about him. I think Carly Simon wrote "you're so vain" about Don Carlos, aging second-rate pretty boy.

Patty's drugs kick into high gear as she interviews Las Supremas from the Box of Doom. We then see their little postcard video. It's cute and comical. I'd love to know what the residents of Mostoles (at least I think it's Mostoles) think of seeing three middle aged women with peroxide hair singing "you're a sicko" in the middle of a town square. We see their husbands. They look like middle-ranking policemen. One of them is as dead as box of nails on camera.

And would you believe it? They actually get around to performing. The ladies are even better than last night. They manage the very enviable trick of making a lyric like "I'll make you eat your fucking monitor" come across as classy. The crowd goes wild as do I.

Patty then starts harassing Lanco, and I'm confused. Is Lanco the band or just the overly emotional Donny Osmond lookalike fronting it? Lanco's postcard then starts up and I'm still confused since we meet the band, but Donny Osmond keeps referring to himself as "Lanco." If I actually cared about him, I'd give this more thought. I don't, however, and I'd be quite happy to see his Eurovision dreams smashed.

Don Carlos then harasses Lanco before unfortunately allowing him to perform. (Charlie, you're so pan-sexual.) Lanco is wearing a nearly floor-length coat, so his spastic movements don't come across as silly as they did yesterday. I will just pint out one thing: the crowd liked Las Supremas a lot more than this bland dreck. Lanco whips off the coat towards the end, but only the fan girls are excited.

Don Carlos gives us the numbers again over a funky version of "Te Deum." Everybody goes crazy for Las Supremas. The fan girls lose it for Lanco and Enzo. Oh, how deluded thou art. Nobody screams for Son del Sol, Felipe, or Yulia. Explain the result, then, people. Explain!

And we're back to Patty, who isn't freaking out at the near medical close-up that she is getting from the camera. (The drugs do work.) She reintroduces us to Enzo. What do we learn from Enzo's postcard? He is very boring...very boring. He's got a boring family, boring friends, boring hobbies, boring hair, and...zzzz.

Happily though, Enzo does at least manage to add some much needed life to his song. In fact, I think he's kind of angry in the smiling-while-I-curse-you way. Unfortunately, he's still off-key, and the song still sounds like something from a teenage soap opera. In fact, I think Enzo should go try out the teenage soap operas. The boy needs to get out of his dull existence (and off my television).

After the commercials and Don Carlos's juvenile jumping around (Charlie, are you dipping into Patty's pills?) we're introduced to more confirmed winners being shipped off to Kiev:

• Bulgaria: The song still has some of the most dumbest lyrics ever, and the lead singer looks stunned. (Then again, the Bulgarian national final wasn't too pleasant for many of the participants with all the threats of violence and non-singing singers.) Visually, it's what you would imagine the Bulgarian entry would look like: a flashback to 1991.
• Denmark: Wow, Jakob comes across as tweaked out as Deen did last year. The only difference is that the thought of Jakob prancing around half-naked is even worse than seeing Deen do it.

Patty, however, is tweaking and doesn't care who knows it. She introduces us to the clip video for Son del Sol (Hags!). If I didn't know ahead of time that these witches won this thing over Las Supremas, then I'd be happy to have them in the final. Unfortunately for them, I do. So who are these Andalucian women claiming to speak for the sun? Esperanca, Lola, and Sole. Ladies, are you even trying to make yourselves come across as real people instead of spoiled trophy wives? We see them arrogantly lead a flamenco dance off. I know you have to perform flamenco with a "pissed off" face but really, lose the attitude. Highlight of the postcard: a grandmother pulling off an impressive bit of flamenco. These suns-of-bitches (sorry, I just had to say it) talk about conquering the world, or maybe just Italy and Miami. Again, how deluded thou art.

Ugh. The crowd starts yelling that infernal "ole-ole-ole" chant as the trophy wives wave pageant queen-like from the stage. They are dressed inherently better tonight. (See, I can say nice things about Son del Sol.) Tonight's curtains-turned-into-dresses are better than the pirate outfits they had on. Don Carlos leches over them, which makes it all the more unsettling as they give their thanks to their families (who happen to be in the audience--ah, so there are tons of Andalucians in the crowd, now I get it).

The singing however has not improved and they still have the loud idiot "singing" backup. I would be the first person to admit that I know nothing about Andalucian singing, but I have trouble believing that it is: a) supposed to be off-key; and b) shouted. Look at Remedios Amaya in 1983, she sang flamenco and gave a kick-ass performance while strangling her vowels within an inch of their lives. (Just for clarification purposes: I'm in the group that believes it should have scored far higher than zero.) These wilting flowers, however, don't have even a half of a quarter of an ounce of what she had.

Oh lord, the big idiot doing backup is not only ruining the "song," but he's also hurting my eyes by sporting a huge feather earring. The insipid background dancers are still there, but they've been there for nearly all the songs and are just at their tackiest during this performance. Moral of this story: Do not underestimate the power of Andalucian televoters.

Don Carlos yet again tells the crowd to shut it, then works them up again by asking how they want to win. Las Supremas? Loud cheer. Yulia? Moderate cheer. Felipe Conde? Tiny cheer. (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.) Evil witches proclaiming to speak for the Sun? Loud cheer. (Damn.)

Patty and her wild hand gesticulations introduce the postcard for Felipe Conde. He's a loner, this one. We meet his father, who looks like an old hippie. His mother, however, looks like a top-level executive. Yikes, that must've been a fun house to grow up in. (Not!) The rest of his friends and family can muster no emotion to support Felipe. Oh, this is a real surprise: His favourite past time after music is soccer/football. My wish to see him hit with a fast ball sadly does not come to pass.

Ooh! Don Carlos is nervous around Felipe. (I knew it! Felipe had to have provided some sort of sexual favour to get this far. Remember, he was originally a backup entry.) Don Carlos + Felipe = Lovers forever.

Felipe performs and I don't care. In fact, the most interesting thing about it is when they go to the Box of Doom to see Yulia and Lanco flirting (Lanco, do you have any idea how many people she has been with?) and Las Supremas and Son del Sol trying to act interested in the song by swaying back and forth. Honestly, you ladies do not have to be kind to Felipe. In fact, I think he likes it when you're nasty to him.

Felipe finally over, Ainhoa comes back onstage to give a nice and respectful speech about a recently deceased presenter, whose name, sadly, I cannot make out. This segues into a sweet and funny clip show of Eurovision interview bloopers from the 1971 contest. A particularly hilarious bit is an interview with Clodagh Rogers while both are standing on stools.

Back in the final inspired by drug experiences from 1971: We see Yulia's postcard. Yulia likes to work out a lot. She loves to salsa with random beanie-wearing men. She loves Spain (even though she's from Russia, and not Ukraine as I incorrectly translated last night). She loves her motley crew of "friends." (Apparently that is the new way to describe your fellow whores and pimps.) Some strait-laced man (and probably a former client) praises Yulia's singing. (Yeah, uh huh, she's a good singer...and this has nothing to do with the money that changed hands prior to this interview?) A big goateed burly man (aka Yulia's pimp/manager) calls her "an artist" while making sure to mention that Yulia is sexy. An adoring fellow hooker looks on with a glazed expression while Pimp Daddy lies to the camera. Another beanie wearing man/client says that Yulia is "stupendous." (I'd say "stupid," but that's just me.) He adds that she'd do well in Kiev. He kindly forgets to mention that she would do well in Kiev IF: she wasn't singing this song; she wasn't in a contest with the vastly superior Las Supremas; she didn't dress like a cheap Russian porn star.

Yulia is dressed in gold hooker wear tonight. It is only a slight improvement from the 1980's hooker wear from the semi. Her "singing" is slightly improved, but it's like putting a band-aid over a severed limb. The backing dancers are still there and still horrifying, as is Yulia's busom and booty shaking. The lyrics are pretty dire, because I can tell you that "America" will not dance to this rhythm as the song suggests. For some inexplicable reason, there is a "YU-LI-A" cheer from the crowd. I suspect these are the same people who cheered "MA-RI-A" earlier and still have it in their system.

Don Carlos comes back with the obvious news that we have now heard all the finalists for Eurovision in Kiev, Ukraine. (Charlie, I think you underestimate the Spanish public. I'm pretty certain they know Kiev isn't in Galicia.) We then begin the recap and everything that I wrote earlier still applies. In fact, Yulia looks even more trampy the third time around.

After commercials (we get trailers here on TVE International), Don Carlos and Ainhoa introduce another clip reel of Eurovision history. It's all about women and bad hair. It's also over in two seconds.

Don Carlos introduces Marta Sanchez who looks like a cheap 1995 Madonna imitator. That being said, her song is quite catchy and makes me nostalgic for the early 1990's. The nineties nostalgia is further enhanced by having backing dancers dressed in skin tight performance artist black. Can we have her in the final instead of Yulia, Enzo, Lanco, Felipe Conde, and Son del Sol? I'd still vote for Las Supremas, but it would be more difficult. By the way, Marta is lip-syncing. (HAHAHAHAHA)

Don Carlos then gives us some blind results. He's such a tease. Someone has 25.1%, another has 23%, another has 16.1 %, followed by 13.3%, 12.6%, and some poor soul with only 9.9%. He tosses over to Patty, who harasses the Box of Doom by speaking in a higher voice than an adult woman should use. She's also morphed from Jennifer Lopez into Irene Cara.

Then we do get a real treat. Don Carlos brings on some bona-fide Spanish Eurovision all-stars: Karina (who is too perky for a woman of her age), Micky (well, Julio Iglesias is still copping an attitude about singing for Spain in 1970), and Azucar Moreno (who are not having backing track problems). Karina and Patty must be getting their stuff from the same dealer, because Karina is flying high on something chemical. Micky is on something too. Conversely, Azucar Moreno are absolutely regal when Don Carlos comes around to harass them.

The weirdness is punctuated by "special musical guest" Francisco singing "My Way" in Spanish. Francisco is what Don Carlos would look like if he actually relaxed: stately and swarthy. As much as I hate ballads, I have to say that Francisco performs the living daylights out of it. (Arguably even better than Frank Sinatra.)

Patty Cara harasses Felipe and makes him jumpy. (He likes the men, Patty. Didn't you see Don Carlos get all schoolgirl-like with him earlier?) Her vixen-like ways have no effect on Enzo. Las Supremas seem to laughing at her.

Ainhoa then comes on and says that she doesn't know about Patty, but she's calm. (Lady, what have you done all night other than introduce clips? Of course you're calm!) She has more confirmed participants for Kiev:

• Finland: Geir is dull. His song is old. His butt is big. His shirt has annoying sparkles on it. His hair is bad. Shall I continue?
• Russia: (Sigh.) All my previous complaints about this grammatically incorrect song still apply. If someone wrote a song with grammatically poor Russian in it, I bet the Russians would be pissed as well. Stellar performance though.

We then go into the audience where Patty molests the contestants' families. Lanco's fan girls are for once tranquil. How telling.

Don Carlos and Ainhoa reappear to tease us about the results. But first, let's see a movie about stripping in the Eurovision, shall we? It actually is quite informative inasmuch as seeing Danijela throwing off her cloak, Doris throwing off her cloak, Sakis Rouvas throwing off his jacket, and Deen thrusting his way through "In the Disco" can be informative.

Don Carlos comes back, promising us that he has the results. (Oh Charlie, it's the lying that hurts most of all.) But first, Paulina Rubio performs. She's changed her look from late 1980's Italian variety show to early 1990's rock club. Perhaps by Autumn, she'll actually be wearing something from 2005? Paulina's song is a decent Shakira knock-off. I'd pay more attention, except I'm getting pissed that we haven't had the results yet. (And I already know what they are! I just want to see in what sadistic way they give them.)

After Paulina, Patty tries to quell the riot in the crowd by showing some clips of celebrities speaking in funny voices. Further proof that Patty is crying out to be sent off to rehab.

Don Carlos shows us the blind results again and says he is going to reveal the top 3. (I'm thinking of filing for divorce from you, Charlie. You lie too much. I can take the cheating, but this deception is beyond my limits.) Surprisingly, he does actually get around to saying the results after a whole bunch of qualifiers and a nod to the name who verified them. And the top three are:

• 16.4% Felipe Conde. (He's serene about it. I'm indifferent.)
• 23% Las Supremas (The queens in the crowd go wild. The Andalucians start chanting "SON-DE-SOL." New Yorker sitting by the television goes "what the f**k happened there?" Las Supremas proclaim their contentment.)

Then there's a long unnecessary stall by Don Carlos as he brings out some EBU bureaucrat and the Director of TVE in order to announce the winner. Why, Charlie, why?

• 25.1% Son de Sol. The crowd goes wild. I try to contain my anger from kicking in my television set. (Just remember it could've been Yulia.)

The witches are overwrought as they get trinkets from the EBU bureaucrat and good luck wishes from the TVE bureaucrat. The EBU bureaucrat has one worst accents for speaking English in. It's embarassing.

Then the witches' families come on and there is brief anarachy which freaks Don Carlos out. The witches just start singing and to be honest, I expected a more chaotic result for a final that seemed to be designed by LSD.

If there is a god, they will at least drop the rusty-voiced man before they go to Kiev.

Melodifestivalen Semi-Final 5: The Second Chances

I guess there won't be any live coverage since SVT held it, voted, and finished it in a New York minute. (Seriously, I step out for one second and I come back and find out that the dern thing has already been completed.)

Oh well.

Anyway, Alcazar and Linda are going to the final. (Despite NaNa not making it, I can most certainly live with this result.)

Linda, honey, did you follow my suggestion and bite the head off a bat?

Norway goes for a hair band

...and they have shockingly good song. I'm just worried about the visual performance of "In My Dream."

Some sanity exists with the Swedish televoters: Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 4 The results

Nanne made top 2. Enough said.

Seriously. That's all. I got it right.

Wait? Oh, what about the others? There were no other entrants other than...

Bugger. All right. Here are the results:

Going to the Final

• Nanne Grönvall - Håll om mig (Hurrah! Justice)
• Caroline Wennergren - A different kind of love (...with a different kind of voice that 'tain't pleasing to my ear)

They got on their knees and said "give us a second chance, please"

• Katrina & The Nameless - As if tomorrow will never come (It's actually today and you'll be pretty lucky if Alcazar doesn't whup your hides)
• Mathias Holmgren - Långt bortom tid och rum (Are Dyson vacuum cleaners sold in Sweden?)

The numbered placings of shame

5th: Anne-Lie Rydé - Så nära (Mathias and Caroline, you're very lucky...watch out for horse's heads in your beds)

6th: B-Boys International featuring Paul M - One Step Closer (see previous comment)

7th: Date - Hörde änglarna viska ditt namn (Don't cry for them, this will live on as a soap opera theme song, I reckon)

8th: Rickard Engfors & Katarina Fallholm - Ready for me (I told you Rickard! No one is going to believe you as some sort of Don Juan with that reedy body.)

Nanne going to the final along with Shirley Clamp mildly makes up for Arja getting last place, but it is no remedy for the fact that we will still be forced to endure Martin and that god-awful "Las Vegas" song.

And here's the line-up for today's Second Chance show (hopefully to be subtitled: "Alcazar and NaNa pounce over all the others"):

1. Alcazar - Alcastar (Enough said.)
2. Linda Bengtzing -Alla flickor (Please, oh, please bite the head off a bat Linda. We know you want to.)
3. Josefin Nilsson - Med hjärtats egna ord (You and your hjärt can just go away.)
4. Cameron Cartio - Roma (Do some porn and then I'll care.)
5. NaNa - Whatever you do (...don't vote for the previous two)
6. LaGaylia - Nothing at all (What an apt title. The song is indeed nothing at all.)
7. Mathias Holmgren - Långt bortom tid och rum (In the interest of being fair, the song is indeed better than the one that proceeded it. Seriously people, that was a high quality semi.)
8. Katrina & The Nameless - As if tomorrow will never come (Hopefully it won't for Katrina and her anonymous backers but it will come for Alcazar and NaNa. Yeah, I'm biased.)

Live coverage of MF (hee hee) makes its belated return later today.

And yes, mis amigos españoles, I just read about who won the Spanish final. I assure you I will be extra vicious and deadly in my recap. (I think I was too kind to Patty and Don Carlos last time.) "Sound of the sun," indeed.

It is about husbands looking at internet porn

Courtesy of Phentesilea (muchas gracias), here's a translation of Las Supremas' brilliant "Eres un enfermo:"

A weekend in El Corte Inglés
You conviced me to buy Net service
Damn moment, it was my perdition
Because, since that day, we didn't have sex anymore.
You don't look at me now, you don't care about me
and if I try to seduce you, you say to me "for what?"
That, with these bodies, you find cheaper the Net women, and that you prefer spending the whole day in front of the pc.

You're a sicko, you're a sicko / You're a sicko of cyber-sex / You cheat on me, you cheat on me / WWW dot hot-girls dot com / See, my love, this is a hell / See, my love, I want to divorce. / You're a sicko, you're a sicko / You're a sicko of cyber-sex / You cheat on me, you cheat on me / with the hard disk, the monitor and the mouse. / See, my love, this is a hell / See, my love, gimme the divorce.

A night I couldn't sleep
I heard very strange noises, very strange for me.
He was my husband having sex with some kind of Pamela, inside the PC.
You don't love me yet, you don't care about me.
That cyber love is a poison
And if I get sexy, you say to me that you like more the plain Net service.
But on a not very far day, I'll get angry and you will eat your fucking monitor !!!!

You're a sicko, you're a sicko / You're a sicko of cyber-sex / You cheat on me, you cheat on me / WWW dot hot girls dot com / See, my love, this is a hell / See, my love, I want to divorce. / You're a sicko, you're a sicko / You're a sicko of cyber-sex / You cheat on me, you cheat on me / with the hard disk, the monitor and the mouse. / See, my love, this is a hell / See, my love, gimme the divorce.

Lyrical heaven that is.

Because Saturdays were made for National Finals and not working out: Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 4

Well, my gay male credibility is assured: I'm skipping my usual Saturday morning workout to listen to this week's Melodifestivalen entries and later on today I'm going back up to New Haven to see Garrett go kick butt as Huck in Big River. (Only today & tomorrow left, folks.) Alas, that means no live review, but a bifurcated one instead (review & catty results).

Anyway, here are our candidates for Växjö:

• Anne-Lie Rydé - Så nära: Anne looks like the skeletal hippie art teacher you had in school. Fortunately, she gives us a nice, happy, and brassy schlager song. I like her. A thin sassy version of Shirley Clamp.
• B-Boys International featuring Paul M - One Step Closer: But just which Paul M, I ask? The title "One Step Closer" yielded a quasi-New Have entry for the UK in 1982. For MF (hee hee) 2005, it yields an early 1990's techno/rap combination that is shockingly good. (I can't believe I'm about to use the following expression.) It has mad beats. It also has one of the oddest groupings I've seen so far at these MF finals: A tiny smiling black man, a huge spiky-haired Thor type, a smaller spiky-haired Jack the lad, a grimacing man in corn-rows, and a long-haired "artist" type. Dear lord, I can't believe I like this, but it is that good.
• Mathias Holmgren - Långt bortom tid och rum: The man from the Dyson vacuum cleaner commercials (or his Swedish twin) performs a standard upbeat schlager song. Jiminy, I actually do prefer the B-boys (dare I ask if the "b" stands for "beat"?) over this.
• Rickard Engfors featuring Katarina Fallholm - Ready for me: Skinny man with a dirty mind and mouth speaks over techno accompanied by an operatic soprano. This is Sweden, so I cannot say that this combo surprises me. Musically, it's excellent, arguably on par with the B-Boys and Anne-Lie. Lyrically, I have my doubts that tiny, rake-thin Rickard has any measure of sex appeal. Katarina is excellent, however.
• Date - Hörde änglarna viska ditt namn: I know this is something about "angels whispering your name." What it sounds like is 'Nsync covering The Stylistics...in Swedish. Not one of the Stylistics' funky, upbeat songs, but a ballad. It would be more impressive if the lead singer of Date decided to go for the falsetto. And what does Date look like? 'NSync 2020...not pretty at all.
• Nanne Grönvall - Håll om mig: I quite unashamedly fall to the feet of Miss Grönvall, because she does "bring it" MF entry after MF entry (in both senses of the acronym "mf"). This year, the elfin Nanne seems to be channeling Mija Martina's wall-of-sound guitars, booming backing singers, booming voice et. al. I love this, even more than the B-boys and Anne-Lie. (Boy, this is a good semi.) Coincidentally, Mija Martina is in this year's Bosnian final too with a song that is in the same wall-of-sound style. I most definitely would like to see a Nanne-versus-Mija showdown in Kiev.
• Caroline Wennergren - A different kind of love: It's Cerys Matthews's black girl (or drag queen) protege. SVT's website says that Caroline is an "Ella Fitzgerald look-a-like." SVT's writers are blind. Ella Fitzgerald never looked like a street walker, nor did she sound drunk out of her gourd while singing. Caroline, in fact, sounds like she-of-Catatonia fame, especially on this lounge/samba song. Not terribly original lyrics, but I'll give them some meager credit for referrencing marital infidelity.
• Katrina & The Nameless - As If Tommorow Will Never Come: Well, Katrina and her quasi-Waves seem to be stuck in 1989 with Meatloaf. (This is what happens when you present a BBC Radio 2 show for several years.) I actually can't crticise this too much since the primary flaw is that this is ridiculously dated, with asinine lyrics. (You don't talk about "rocking," you actually do it.)

So, here are my (bound-to-be-off-by-a-mile) desired predictions:

To the final:

1. Nanne Grönvall
2. B-Boys International

To the Second chance round (tommorow, dear lord):

1. Anne-Lie Rydé
2. Rickard Engfors & Katarina Fallholm (I just have to see how bizarre that live performance is)

Drugs and Eurovision National Finals don't mix: Spanish Eurovision Semi-Final

There is one ESC final that I can watch on regular TV and curiously enough, it is Spain's, courtesy of TVE International. (So the Swedes get a break...Just kidding, I love you guys, especially the ones who have been leaving comments here.)

From the second I see the psychedelic graphics, I get the sense that we are not in Vaxjo. "Tonight Show" music plays as stills of the competitors (all relatively unknown, apparently) flash by "Hullabaloo" style.

Oh my lord, the set! Is this a national final or Sabado Gigante? Our intrepid host, Carlos Lozano--who is not as sexy as the name would imply--is seeming to channel Don Francisco as he rapidly manages to mention that this is to decide the song for Kiev as well as mention the tons of guest performers (*cough* padding *cough*), which includes Maria Isabel (the plucky little thing that won last year's Junior Eurovision (great song, but ugh...the JESC), Rosa (the plucky not so little thing who represented Spain in 2002), David Civera (who represented Spain in 2001 and while not plucky, is indeed little), and Rosario (who I'm thinking is clearly not Shelley Morrison).

He then gives the performers their marching orders to walk down the stairway in the middle of the stage and into what I'm calling the "audience box of doom." There's so much to harp about these contestants that I'm going to save it for when they actually perform, but suffice to say: it's bad, good, trashy, and camp.

Don Carlos then tosses it over to his co-host Ainhoa Arbizu (is she the Ainhoa from Operacion Triunfo?) who is dressed in a gown clearly designed by someone who thinks Ainhoa is a crazy slut. Ainhoa seems sweet, but not entirely there, I believe she actually confirms that last bit in her rapid spiel. Joining Don Carlos and Ainhoa "Celestia" Arbizu, is Patricia Perez who takes her hair tips from Jennifer Lopez and her clothing tips from Teri Hatcher in Soapdish. Oh, this will be fun...I like her.

Patricia then asks "who is Maria Lorente?" I have no idea. She is apparently a sweet little girl who resembles Sara Rue. She'll also be singing Vente p'al sur. Maria is dressed like a chick, as in baby chicken. Oy. The song starts out with a long-haired hippie type rapping and then Maria comes on does the same before singing...poorly. Dear lord these lyrics are bad. From what I can ascertain, this is another one of those tourist board songs about "coming to the sun" and what not. All I can say is that I am happy I have this on DVR. I get to thinking Maria wishes she could fast-forward out of this. She proves my point by screeching at the end.

Ainhoa reminds us that it's the 50th Eurovision Song Contest this year, don'cha know. And jiminy cricket, there are some dire outfits in Eurovision history (including a bizarre leather outfit worn by Ulrika Jonsson in 1998). I'm too visually horrified to pay attention to the deep voiced announcer, but I think he's going for something along the lines of "my god, you people have some horrible wardrobe designers."

Patricia introduces us to Jaster: Spain's amateur version of Alcazar. They will be "performing" Como olvidarte. The members include: Victor, who should be playing his guitar and not cavorting around in a daft hat; Pinar, who lay off the cocaine while teaching aerobics; Jorge, who has big hair and "choreographs"; and Patricia, who shops too much. People you do not have any idea how hilarious this is. It's 90210 meets ABBA.

And this is before they perform. Victor is sporting an all black tank-top and trousers ensemble that shows his dagger tattoo and tinier arms than expected. Patricia is wearing Victoria Beckham black dress #386: lace and bosom enhancement. Jorge goes for butch drag in a sweatshirt and combat trousers (oh honey, don't hide your from inner queen). Pinar is wearing some mini skirt and busty blouse that Tiffany wore in 1986. Don Carlos mentions ABBA and Pinar gives the "don't know-don't care" answer. I pray there is a lot more self-awareness going on here than meets the eye. And then they perform...this is comic gold! It's every 2 male-2 female pop group you've seen but unbelievably out-of-tune and embarrassing. It's also tens times more suggestive (because these people are pushing 40!) which would be sexy, save for the fact that Victor looks like he'd rather do drugs and I can't believe any of these women being genuinely lustful after Jorge. This is better than acid, but if this gets selected for Kiev...well, good that Spain has automatic entry to the final.

Because this is Lewis Carroll's version of a national final, Ainhoa segues into a piece that asks the performers (I am being dead serious here): "Have you voted in the European Constitution elections?" The ladies of Las Supremas laugh, because they know how silly the question is. Maria Lorente says "no." (Now you get terse?) Pinar from Jaster prattles on while the rest of Jaster sits around her and looks pretty...rough. Then the question turns to "the Windsor building fire." I have no clue why this is interesting. And apparently neither does the control room, because we hear a Suprema say a phrase and we're back to Don Carlos.

Don Carlos tosses over to Patricia who introduces us to Las Supremas de Mostoles, a trio of Phyllis Diller-esque housewives with a brilliant song entitled Eres un enfermo (I believe that translates as "you're a sicko"). I love them already. The deep voiced announcer man does his job where we see that these are Spain's own Desperate Housewives via Roseanne and peroxide. Again, this is all before they perform...and what are they dressed in? Well, Phyllis Diller outfits and wigs circa 1974 in sparkling grey, black, and red.

Oh my lord, this is cracking me up! The song is as funny as the title implies and catchy as hell. I can't really make out the exact lyrics but I think they are basically one long housewives' flamenco-tinged musical rant against husbands who spend their time looking at internet porn. How badly I want this to win. Interestingly enough, Las Supremas manage to be the only entrants to stay on pitch and on key. (Jaster and Maria, the comedy act is kicking your butt vocally.)

Because Las Supremas brought it, and the rest of the acts are now cowering, there's a commercial break.

When we get back, Don Carlos is clearly having a good time...because he gets Patricia and Ainhoa to do all his work. Speaking of which, Patricia introduces Maria Isabel, but Don Carlos walks her down the steps. She's too young for psychedelic drugs, you know. Maria Isabel is dressed much more conservatively than her JESC appearance, which clearly came from the JonBenet Ramsey-style of dressing. Don Carlos gives her the JESC award, which, wouldn't she have that already? It was last autumn.

But it's not all about Maria Isabel, but Lanco, who are your standard Spanish-language rock band. They like soccer and aren't too keen on wearing colours other than black off the pitch. The camera switches to a group of fan girls with "Lanco" t-shirts. They are deluded (both Lanco and their "fans"). Lanco will be favouring us with the song nada para ti, nada para mí. The lead singer, who looks like Donny Osmond, does several spastic movements before singing. I can't really be catty about them, because they perform it decently (and close to on-key) and it's upbeat rock, but it's still not as good as Las Supremas. In fact it's all quite Matchbox 20 in Spanish.

Patricia, her breasts, and her fishnet stockings talk to A-Crew who will being singing the hip-hop boyband flavoured El Swatch. I wish I understood Spanish better because I'd love to know what could be so interesting about a watch. A-Crew manage the easy feat of being the most handsome men to grace the stage so far (even the one with dread locks). One of the members (Austin?) looks like Kevin Federline, while another looks like Q-Tip, and another looks like Abs Breen of 5ive fame. (Why do I know things like this?) They are all wearing Pony brand zipper fleeces, read into that what you will. And what is the performance like? 5ive as a quartet. Mr. Spears proves himself as a decent singer, Abs not so much. Q-Tip and the other one don't sing at all, but instead pull off some pretty fierce choreography. Yes, I said fierce because Q-Tip pulled the infamous "don't mess with me, Queen" face that only queens can do. Oh how I love you, Spanish Semi-Final. Actually, the song is not too bad and the eye-candy/crotch vote would work in their favour over actual singing talent. I now get the sex appeal of Kevin Federline.

A-Crew weren't as acid induced as this final would like, so it's time to ask more serious questions to people whose opinion you didn't need to know. This time around the subject is the Kyoto Treaty. Yes, we are asking performers in a Eurovision national final about the Kyoto Protocol. A-Crew laughs (I love you, Spanish Kevin Federline) at the inanity of it all. The lead singer of Lanco gives the smug artist answer. How appropriate for both parties.

As Patricia, high on something, segues into the introduction for Enzo, I realise just how many rainbow motifs there are on the set. They are going for gay camp overload here, which means Las Supremas are probably going to take it. (Hallelujah!) And who is Enzo? He's your floppy haired musician type who people inexplicably find attractive. He thinks Quién dirá is what we'd like as a Eurovision entry. I think he shouldn't wear tight shirts until he can work on his belly. His song...not so bad. It's bland upbeat pop that Clay Aiken would do to prove that he can sing a rock song. Enzo's voice is another matter. It's as rough as sandpaper on glass.

Want proof that Patricia is high? She's bouncing happily in the background to this. I realise that I already love Spain for being a ballad-free zone so far. Will that change after the commercial break?

When we get back, Patricia embarrasses Katherina by announces that it's her birthday and forcing the crowd to sing their well-wishes. If Katherina got embarrassed by that, then what is she doing singing a song called Boca loca? I am confused, because the deep voice and the accompanied footage make you seem like a unassuming young woman from Barcelona. Then again, you are wearing some weird red and white poncho with holes in it, as well as miniscule maroon shorts, so perhaps you're like one of those people who are A students in the day and hookers at night?

Boca loca is a pleasant, tranquil samba song. Katherina and her legs promise some Lena Ph action, but she never seems to break out into the true freak that you sense she wants to be. Oh, and she's flat vocally too. I spend the remainder of the entry thinking lewd thoughts about her backing singer/guitarist who looks a bit Joe Murena who got booted off this week. Anyway...yawn.

Ainhoa, who is actually coming across as more demure than Patricia now, introduces another segment on Eurovision history, to be specific Spanish Eurovision history. Spain started its Eurovision journey with: an Ethel Merman clone in 1961, followed it up with the stiff-shouldered (but winning) Massiel in 1968, another winner (albeit shared with three other countries) with Diana Ross-as-Salome in 1969, bizarrely did not win in 1970 with then justifiably-sexy Julio Iglesias (literally, Julio Iglesias sang in Eurovision, it's true), many piss-poor imitators followed in the 1970's...could it be argued that the end of Franco meant the start of bad hair and campy male performances?

History lesson over, it's time to leer at Patricia. At least that's what the camera operator does. Patricia and her drugs introduce us to Pierre 'n Sue, who is indeed one person. He's male, in fact quite a good looking male at that. So I'm guessing Sue is his caustic female persona? (My first play was about that very same thing. Pierre would fit in perfectly in the role of the meek college student terrorised by his feminine side.) Pierre is sex on legs in his nearly open shirt (just enough to get the juices flowing) and tight jeans. Shame then that he's singing Quizás mejor así. Why? It's a bland r'n'b ballad. (Ooh, how appropriate.) I'd rather see Pierre and his male backing singer do porn than listen to this. Pierre's saving grace--other than his looks--he's on-key. Strangely enough, I reckon that if this does get the ticket to Kiev, then Spain could do very well: Sex appeal + ballad = televotes. Not from me, though.

It's stupid question time again! This time the victims are Katherina, Pierre, and Son de Sol. They have a good subject though: "piracy." The ladies from Son de Sol snicker, so we know they've been downloading illegally. Pierre looks serious and sexy. (Honestly, I have never felt this lustful towards another man in my life. It's true it just takes the right person.) Then it's about the "Beckham phenomenon." Katherina sticks her tongue out and says she doesn't like David Beckham. (Smart thing to do when you're trying to get Madrid to vote for you.) A voice of sun doesn't like him either. I guess they can be this risky when they know Las Supremas are going to win it!

Patricia, her drugs, and her deep voiced announcer give us a snippet of who are Son de Sol. Not much is revealed except that these "girls" come across as a serious version of Las Supremas, the Second Wives Club, perhaps? They will be "entertaining" us with Brujería, which I think translates as witchcraft. Only witchcraft could explain their outfits: pink, baby blue, and yellow crop tops, dark long dresses with pink, baby blue, and yellow fringe, topped up with big, pageant-quality hair. There is a cheer for Son de Sol in the audience. I think the fan base between Son de Sol aficionados and masochism must be mutually exclusive.

They are a serious version of Las Supremas. There's a lot of similarity in the way they sound and the music. (Not plagiarism, just similar style.) Not bad, but not as fun as Las Supremas. Just peppy latin pop, not helped by the embarrassing backing dancers and the loud, off-key male backing singer. Said fool comes marching up towards the end for a totally unneeded bridge.

Don Carlos promises us Rosa and Maria Isabel after the commercial break. What do we get instead? Felipe Conde, who is a better looking version of Enzo. Echo de menos, however, is a ballad and therefore, I now like Enzo better than Felipe, because Enzo went upbeat at least. Felipe has his fan girls who cheer so much that Don Carlos tells them to shut it. I wish he had told Felipe to shut it instead, because this is officially the most boring song in this wacky final, which I did not think was even possible.

Thank god for coked out Patricia, who introduces Gema Castaño who will be singing Santo Job (a song about Job? Why? Who wants to hear about starving turkeys?) Gema seems like your quiet, pleasant radio/tv host and what have you, but can we trust that? I think not.

Gema is wearing a dress that has clearly been through a shredder and back. She's also sporting pageant hair, which is extremely tacky if you're singing about Job! It's probably inappropriate to have big brassy introductions and a catchy dance/samba beat to a song about Job, but it's all here. Gema instantly reminds me of Eva Santamaria who sang "Hombres" for Spain back in 1993. I liked that, I liked this. It's so deliciously sacrilegious.

So with ten songs now performed, my personal top 3 goes like this:

1. Las Supremas
2. Gema
3. A-Crew

Acid-induced question time! On the chopping block are Felipe, Gema, and Yulia. And the subject is "El Quijote." As in Don Quixote? Why on Earth do I want to hear Felipe Conde bore me to death with quotes about an old deranged romantic? He gives a stunned response. (Must preen now!) Gema rocks it by coming across as not caring at all. Next question: "How to improve Ronaldo's punctuality?" Again, why do we care about a soccer player being late? Gema gives a mock dramatic answer, punctuated by a "Dios!" Felipe...still stunned. (Boy, these aren't tough questions, use less hair spray.) Yulia looks like a cheap Italian porn star and she probably gave the Italian porn star's answer to that question.

However Yulia is not a cheap Italian porn star. She's a cheap Ukrainian one, which makes her appearance in a Spanish final...oddly a good fit. (Seriously, the producers at TVE must be doing tina.) Patricia gets tongue-tied and enlists Don Carlos's help, and...yes, Don Carlos you are not bad looking. You're no hunk, but I'd do you...once.

Good god, Yulia, is that an appropriate way to dress for singing Arriba el mundo? I think not. Yulia has frizzed 1984 hair, a knock-off Madonna bustier from the Blonde Ambition tour, black hot pants, and a gold coin belt. Don Carlos asks her how she feels about singing for Spain. Yulia goes for the pageant show answer: "I love the passion of Spain and blah blah blah."

Wow...this is so corny and tacky that it's almost good. Yulia can't sing to save her soul and the way they are compensating seems to be to emphasise her hips and abdomen. I'd rather see the hips and abdomen of the lanky male backing singer she has. The woman even walks off the stage and back into the box like a streetwalker.

Don Carlos, Patricia, and Ainhoa appear together to say that the courtesy of the drugs, you just saw 12 acts in 83 minutes, never mind that each song was under 3 minutes. Don Carlos keeps on trying to tell us to calm down so he can do the recap.

And what does the recap say:

• Maria Lorente: Baby chick with a flat voice and uncanny resemblance to Nia Vardalos.
• Jaster: The Will & Grace & Jack & Karen entry. Hey, Jorge = Jack.
• Las Supremas: They rocked. The Phyllis Dillers even get a cheer from the crowd from the recap! Oh, how I hope this comes true.
• Lanco: Matchbox Vente
• A-Crew: Another huge cheer. (Wow, I'm usually out-of-sync with the general consensus.) Kevin Federline's Spanish twin is still hot. Spanish Abs can't sing. Miss Thang and the other one serve it up.
• Enzo: Still needs to work on his paunch.
• Katherina: Oddly classy, but look at who proceeded her.
• Pierre 'n Sue: Drop the song, bring the backing singer, get naked, and we'll take several photos to commorate the occasion.
• Son de Sol: Who knew that the sound of the sun looked like Expose' (now, not in their heydays)?
• Felipe Conde: Gets a big cheer from his ill-fated fan girls. Still bores me. He ain't no Pierre nor no Sue, nor no Spanish Kevin Federline.
• Gema: Brings it. The repressed tv/radio host was just a facade waiting to crack.
• Yulia: Cheap 1980's porn star.

Guess what? There's an evil twist. We won't find out who made it to the final until the final starts tomorrow. Don Carlos won't tell us that though. Otherwise we won't stick through the commercial break and see Rosa, Maria Isabel, Rosario, and David Civera.

After the break, Carlos gives another recap for voting purposes. Is Spain suffering through an ADD crisis? More cheers for Las Supremas, A-Crew, Katherina, Pierre, Son de Sol, and Felipe. I fear for Gema.

Patricia and Don Carlos take forever to introduce Maria Isabel. She is not performing her JESC winner. Instead she sings a song which I believe translates as "don't touch me with the hands that you know." Honestly, it's weird enough to see a pre-teen sing flamenco. I'll say this, this girl is a spitfire of energy.

Ainhoa gives us another Eurovision highlight reel: We see Dana International, Lydia (I'm surprised they'd mention her colossal failure in 1999), Yulia Savicheva (good song, poor singer, bizarre stage performance), Peret (Spain's major failure in 1974: aka ABBA dominates the world: Year 1). It ends so quickly that Don Carlos is caught off-guard. I think it's just his schtick.

He tosses over to Patricia who interviews Gema (regal), Yulia (slutty), Felipe (unrepsonsive). Patricia tosses over to Ainhoa, who introduces us to Ukraine. Did you know that Kiev was the capital of Ukraine?

Don Carlos introduces Sergio Dalma, who we all know now is uncircumcised. We also now know that he hasn't changed his hair since 1991. He sings his top 5 Eurovision entry, proving once again that the Spanish male ballad and Eurovision have long since departed. Dull.

Ainhoa gives us more Eurovision highlights, this time focusing on the stars to appeared in Eurovision. Included: Domenico Modugno (rightfully so), Sandie Shaw, Gigiola Cinquetti, Julio Iglesias, Mocedades (that's where "Eres Tu" really comes from, my countrymen), Cliff Richard, Olivia Newton John (during ABBA: Year 1 no less), ABBA (duh), Celine Dion (and she won it too), and David Civera (tenuous definition of "star").

Don Carlos shows us some blind results. Someone is in the lead with 21.4 points, prompting the crowd to yell out "SU-PRE-MAS." I totally concur.

After the commercial break, can you believe it, but Don Carlos does another recap. Boy, TVE loves to fill their shows just as much as Fox does. Eventually he brings out Rosa. Crowd goes appropriately wild. She sings, and her new song "Destino" is very much in the Kylie Minogue vein. Rosa has morphed into Cher.

Patricia harasses the performers in the box. Honestly, let them go, it's just torture to keep them there longer. She eventually stops hounding them about "who will win," by seguing into clips from the performers already chosen for 2005. Ooh, this'll be fun, considering I've only seen Omar (grr).

• Cyprus: Constantinos wants to be Sakis Rouvas, but is too skinny and looks like Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy while thrusting his hips. I'd sleep with him, nonetheless. I'd like to look back on my life and say, I had sex with a Cypriot Eurovision entrant.
• The Netherlands: Glennis looks like Mel B. but sings closer to Toni Braxton. I actually have no issue with this song now, because it's big, powerful, and has the lyric "my gauntlet has been thrown." I like the ballads on occasion. Glennis does sound like the precocious girl getting the big belter at church at some points.

And now we are inflicted with David Civera who is still short and now looks like a used-car salesman. His new tango-influenced dance pop song doesn't help matters much. It also goes on way-too-long.

After David finally goes away. Ainhoa introduces more confirmed entrants for Kiev:

• Slovenia: He-who-beat-Alya-Nusa-Sasa and many other better entrants at EMA 2005. On a television, the song is still unimpressive. Omar has spiky hair, looks like he works at a mechanic's shop, and gazes vacantly while singing. Meanwhile, a woman sings "ahh" nonstop at as high a register a person can muster for 3 minutes. I hope Alya beat this guy up.
• Estonia: Those Suntribe girls have got the strongest accents in the wrong song to have them. They're also off-key and meekily do their choreography. Nonetheless, they're miles better than "Stop."

Don Carlos teases us again with more blind results. We're onto his trick now as is Patricia (and if she's onto it, then you're screwed). He senses it too, and does another recap. Interesting thing I noted during the recap is that Patricia joined along (in the background) with Las Supremas. She's an easy-to-please woman, our Patty.

Finally, because he knows that a riot is about to break out. Don Carlos brings out Rosario, who slips on her way to the microphone. Rosario looks like a drag queen, which blends in perfectly with this manic final.

And how appropriate is that ending?

The Eurovision Body Count (so far)

More than 20 entries are now "confirmed" for Kiev 2005. (Note the quotation marks around confirmed since Ukraine and Lithuania might hold a revote.) So here's how the selections so far pan out in my head.

I met my enemy, and it was my semi

• Austria: Global Kryner - Y Asi: Weird mix of polka and Latin music. Think Weird Al Yankovic goes to Salzburg.
• Andorra: Marian Van de Wal - La Mirada Interior: I liked Marta's song last year, this is not a good follow up.
• Bulgaria: Kaffe - Lorrain: Bulgaria could very well hold a revote too. Apparently the singer has been physically threatened; the performers of the 2nd place song refused to sing and still came in 2nd...All this over a quiet, unassuming song about "Lorrain in the rain." Daft lyrics, would love it a lot more if it was in Bulgarian or an instrumental.
• Denmark: Jakob Sveistrup - Tænder på dig: This sounds like the ending theme to the Danish release of a Disney movie. I believe the title translates along the lines of "tender for you" or thereabouts. It's all cute and gushy with light drums and piano. I can just stomach it in Danish, if they send it in English, then I'm having a bucket ready. Where are the follow-ups to "Hallo Hallo," Denmark.
• Estonia: Suntrbe - Let's Get Loud: First and foremost, this is not like the Jennifer Lopez song of the same name. It's actually not too bad. (It's no "Tii," which was deliciously wacky, but I can understand the need to play safe.) A group of young girls mimic scratching and sing about "getting loud." You can't expect profound lyrics, but it's catchy and likeable.
• Finland: Geir Ronning - Why: Why another ballad, I ask?
• (FYR) Macedonia: Martin Vucic - Ti Si Son: (FYR) Macedonia is another country with dodgy voting practices, because the 2nd placed song was the vote leader, but got 2nd due to the strange way voting was set up. Anyway, it's upbeat, in Macedonian, and Martin is a good piece of eye candy. (Nothing wrong with thinking with one's crotch on occasion.)
• Israel: Shiri Maymon - Hasheket shenish'ar: Another ballad, albeit in Hebrew with possibly excellent lyrics. (I can forgive a lot for good lyrics.)
• Latvia: Walter & Kazha - The War Is Not Over: You know those young 16-25 year old men who always seem to hang out on the steps of a high school/college playing guitar? You know then ones who like think that they're being soulful and artistic, when really they're just trying to sleep with the people who are fawning over them. That's what these two are. I'm sorry, but this song annoys the living daylights out of me. Dire.
• Lithuania: Laura & The Lovers - Little By Little: Never mind how it got through, but this is not bad (although Saules Kilosas should've won) in the upbeat Swedish schlager way. (Appropriate since I think a Swedish group is behind it.) Yards better than"What Happened To Your Love?"
• Moldova: Zdob Si Zdub - Bunica Bate Toba: I like this. It's a decent quirky rock song about "Granny playing the drums." There might be a bizarre stage show, but I don't care. Go Moldova.
• The Netherlands: Glennis Grace - My Impossible Dream: Ballad, although Glennis might speed it up for the final. Thank god, because this is quite unremarkable. (Ok, I'm still smarting over Justine Palmelay.)
• Poland: Ivan & Delfin - Czarna Dziewczyna - Fast-paced folk song about a "dark-haired girl" as performed by two men. It's upbeat, but there's not much I can like here unless they perform the hell out of it live.
• Slovenia: Omar Naber - Stop: Yes, please stop, and give your spot over to Alya.

Oh you lucky Finalists

• Albania: Ledina Celo - Nesër shkoj: This rocks although it seems like it might be performed in English in Kiev. (And if you remember the lyrical horror of "The image of you...") The inspiration is apparently an Albanian wedding. I had no idea that Albanian weddings featured women singing turbofolk while dressed in some of the most bosom-revealing outfits on the planet. Worth mentioning is the power note that Ledina holds towards the end, which could give Barbra Streisand a run for her money.
• Cyprus: Konstantinos - Ela Ela: Konstantinos pretty. His song so-so. It's very upbeat and dramatic Greek in style without actually being in Greek. Sakis Rouvas mk. II. "Ela is the word for action," indeed. Every time I hear "come baby, come baby" I keep on thinking about the song "Rumpshaker."
• Russia: Natalya Podolskaya - Nobody Hurt No-One: We've been here before. My opinion hasn't changed.
• Turkey: Gülseren - Rim Rimi Ley: It's cute, upbeat, and in Turkish. I would be surprised if it does well, but it does put you in a good mood. (Note, I can take "cute" but not absurdly saccharine.)
• Ukraine: Greenjolly - Razom Nas Bahato: Who knew you could take the old protest chant "the people, united, will never be defeated" and turn it into a rap song? By all accounts, Ani Lorak would've walked the Ukrainian final had not NTU invited 4 wild-cards (who are all coincidentally involved with the Orange Revolution). Greenjolly (daft name, isn't it) themselves, are all for Ani Lorak going as well. Plus, the EBU is investigating the lyrics to see how much of the song is original and not based on old 1960's protest songs. Anyway, I totally agree with the lyrics (I'm a socialist, this sort of "together we are strong" sentiment gets to me), but the execution is, uh, not as good as the lyrics. In fact, they do come across as drunk young men shouting their way from bar-to-bar.
  

No, I'm not stoned. Just thought I'd add a photo of Hikaruland's fearless leader...me. (And yes, the peace sign "choki" is how I pose for a photo...even one I'm taking by myself.)  

I tried to capture a hallation with my camera but clearly just got the Met Life Tower. 

Go See This If You're In CT

A comrade of mine, Garrett Zuercher is in the current touring production of Big River as Huckleberry Finn. It opens in New Haven tonight (I'm attending the opening night), and runs all the way to March 6th.

What makes this production stand out from the rest is that it is performed by both a speaking and deaf cast.

Also, if I can praise Garrett a little more (I think he'll forgive me), he is very talented playwright who took his play Quid Pro Quo to the Kennedy Center.

Go to the Shubert Theatre for tickets.

Just the Melodi! Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 3

No live review of this week's Melodifestivalen Semi-Final...due to the fact that I'm going to be away from the computer while it's on. (Listen, there's a six hour time difference, sometimes a boy has obligations on a Saturday afternoon.) So in lieu of that, I'll be posting my impressions with my take on the results.

• Song 1: NaNa - Wherever You Go

A perky, upbeat song with a heavy doo-wop influence. It's insanely catchy and the first of the many songs that show a strong influence of the songbook from SAW (Stock-Aiken-Waterman, British pop producers that basically launched the career of Kylie Minogue.) NaNa has a great voice and seems to be Sweden's answer to Martha Wash.

Result: NaNa goes to the second chance round. (Eh. I'm getting used to these partial let downs.)

• Song 2: Kwanzaa - Lovin' Your Feen

Two black girls rapping about loving someone's "feen." What on god's green earth is that? This is like a skit on 3 Non-Blondes (BBC Comedy show). Musically, I like this, in fact if it was an instrumental, I'd be all for it. Unfortunately some fool decided to give it lyrics. Were it not for LaGaylia later on in this semi, I would think that whoever organised this year's Melodifestival decided to that there needed to be a hip-hop/reggae "sacrificial lamb" slot.

Result: Proving that theory, Kwanzaa finished last at 8th.

• Song 3: Jimmy Jansson - Vi Kan Gunga

Doesn't that look like the name of some sort of distant relative of Gunga Din? Odd not easily gender identifiable "boy" sings a perky tune that would grate on my nerves if it was in English (I'm looking at you "Wallstones"), but since it's in Swedish it gets a pass. I'm no fan of it, but I pray the kid gets rid of the spiky hair. It's an asinine trend that needs to meet its Waterloo.

Result: Jimmy goes to the final. With luck, it will be via the barber shop.

• Song 4: LaGaylia - Nothing At All

Shock! Two black entries in one semi! Ok, so you already know that I loathe ballads (with very few exceptions), and when they sound like the local church talent show ("Sing, baby, sing!") it even makes more certain of my opinion. LaGaylia looks like the standard black woman that dance music people get to sing...oh, maybe 3 minutes out of a 8 minute song. I'm indifferent, but perhaps the Swedish release of Diary of a Mad Black Woman will use it in the trailers.

Result: Second chance...Not in my book.

• Song 5: Josef - Rain

Attractive olive skinned man sings about "rain," including the de-rigeur line of "I can't stand the rain." (Has Madonna been the only performer to have a song called "Rain" that doesn't include that line?) Were it not for the fact that rain is not an attribute tourist boards emphasise, this song would not be out of place in an ad for some sunny Club Med. There's lots of Meditteranean percussion in here, and I have no idea why.

Result: Josef made it to the Super-Final, but placed 5th. Ha!

• Song 6: K2 featuring Alannah Myles - We Got It All

If "all" means guitars and scratchy voices then yes, you do have it all. I love a good rock number (Hey Russia, my only issue is with the grammar. Love the song.) so much that I can overlook my normal "why-is-this-non-English-speaking-country-singing-in-English" hang up. This is not bad, but it's far from good. I did not see Alannah "Black Velvet" Myles (god, how I hated that song) on the little photo on the SVT website, but jiminy, did she sound rough. Come to think about it, K2 looked pretty rough themselves on the SVT website. The song would be pretty hip if this was 1985, but this far from what rock sounds like in 2005.

Result: 7th. Why am I not shocked?

• Song 7: Jessica Folcker - Om Natten

Swedish dance-pop performed by a dark smirking Swedish woman. Not too bad, but not terribly distinctive to the ear. I wish I could've seen the performance, because on listening to it, I don't mind it, but I really am pretty much indifferent.

Result: 6th. Sixth? This is at least miles and miles better than Rain.

• Song 8: Martin Stenmarck - Las Vegas

Oh joy, a song I get to rip to shreads! First off, does CSI air in Sweden? I can tell you Martin's Las Vegas doesn't mesh with that Las Vegas. It doesn't mesh with Showgirls's Las Vegas. It doesn't even mesh with Las Vegas's Las Vegas. This song wins for some of the most asinine lyrics on the planet. He starts off warbling about the Mandalay Bay (I sense some product placement cash), then goes off about showgirls and bland platitudes about "how your luck can change with the roll of the dice" and blah, blah, blah. Has the lyricist(s) seen Las Vegas beyond the Elvis movies and the convention board videos? Honestly, if he was singing about a showgirl dying of a heroin o.d. in an elevator, I'd be all for it. Or even better, that CSI of last week about the casino mogul who is into adult-baby play and jumped to his death while on a LSD trip. That would be a great entry. This is silly, which is a shame because: a) Martin is quite good looking; b) musically, this sounds like a SAW relative (those songs always have absymal lyrics, but catchy music to disguise them--not here, we're unfortunately hearing every sodding word).

Result: I swear to god, the Swedish public & I are on two different planets. Martin and these acrid assaults on the residents of Las Vegas are going to the final.

Next week we get Katrina with her New Wave (singular) and Nanne Grönvall. Hallelujah. Hopefully Nanne's song is "Avundsjuk" mk. 4.

Nobody Hurt No English?

Russia has just selected its entry for this year's Eurovision. The song is fairly decent rock number performed by Natalya (or Natalia) Podolskaya.

It's no "Ne Ver' Ne Boisya" and by all means I'd be happy to see it do well in Kiev (or Kyiv). There's only just one problem...the title is "Nobody Hurt No-One."

I'm not by any stretch of the imagination a grammar fascist, but that is some horrific abuse of the English language. The only ways that it could be grammatically correct (based on my rusty memories of middle and high school English classes) would be if it phrased like this:

• Nobody, hurt no-one. (Command to someone called "Nobody.")
• Nobody hurt...No-one. (Relaying the information that nobody was hurt, and emphasizing it with the "no-one.")
• Nobody hurt No-One (Suggesting: a) A being called "No-One" was not hurt; b) A being entitled "No-One" was hurt by a being called "Nobody."

This is perhaps one of the best arguments this year for being back the national language rule. (The Russian National Final had some absolutely great Russian-language songs in it.)

Were the writers (who I think are Russian with anglophone pseudonyms) in such a hurry to send this in that they forgot to add a "s" to "hurt?" The mind boggles.

Would the world implode if...

...it was revealed that there really isn't one person for everybody?

Seems like a myth concocted by a bunch of stoned Water signs.

Love, the notion of soulmates, et. al. is a fallacy.

The ugly truth: the pit that you feel in your stomach? Indigestion.

Bring these out on DVD

I'm going to ignore the whole Paris-gets-hacked frivolity for one main reason: "Stupid is as stupid does." (I have never expected that I'd ever quote "Forrest Gump.")

Instead, I'm going to do a bit of navel-gazing here. Last night, I had a great time recording and watching old episodes of Designing Women and Two Guys and A Girl that I had on my DVR. Both have their sucky seasons: (Designing Women was only really great in my view for 3 seasons (1988-1991); Two Guys and A Girl only got good after they dropped "The Pizza Place.") However, when they're good they're really good. My cheeks ached after laughing and grinning so much.

So with that in mind, here's my list of shows that I hope will be completely released on DVD.

1. Designing Women (the complete version, not that knock-off "best of")
2. Two Guys and A Girl
3. The Amazing Race (Why The Apprentice and The Simple Life have their first seasons on DVD, when The Amazing Race--which is starting its 7th(!) season--hasn't even released its first season is a mystery to me.)
4. Grosse Pointe (I mean Wonderfalls is being released on DVD. Clearly there's a market for cult flop shows.)

Our president shows his human side

I'm intrigued by these new "secret" (read: intentionally leaked for hype) tapes of George W.

It's easier to respect the man if would just say: "Hey, I messed myself up on drugs. I did it, it screwed up my life and only because I got over it am I here today."

Barbara Bush (the matriarch, not the daughter) gave a great response to a question about the "wild" (read: spoiled and trashy) ways of her granddaughters Barbara and Jenna. It was along the lines of "He deserves it for all the grief he gave us."

I still won't vote for his successor in 2008.

Crikey, these people have little shame: Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 2

2 PM: Link up and working. Still adjusting to the sing-song.

2:02: More Christer. He's starting to look more like Alan Cumming every time.

2:03: Now they're starting the shinding with flames. The hosts (I think) are singing some sort of jokey, half-spoken folk song since they are dressed like vikings. One of them is dressed like a Native American (Cherokee, I believe). Borderline offensive, in my view.

And we're off!

Song 1: Fredrik & Sanna - Du och jag mot världen

Oh god, these are some bad outfits. Fredrik is wearing a sparkling blue jacket. Sanna is dressed like a Las Vegas cocktail waitress. The song is very standard happy schlager-duet, and it would be vastly improved by the removal of Fredrik--it sounds like he has a frog stuck in his throat. I think this was supposed to go to Denmark instead of Sweden.

2:14: The hosts prattle on for a bit...for some reason. One of them has a mustache which clearly should've left in 1977.

Song 2: Camilla Brinck - Jenny

I can't see much of the performance (due to constant buffering by the real player), but the only similarities I can make out between Camilla and Jennifer Lopez seems to be a penchant for wearing short skirts. The song is completely sacchrine and upbeat (and in Swedish). I like it, but I think it's a total no-hoper.

Song 3: Avalon - Big Up (Find The Treasure)

Eww with the song title. Swedish dancehall music? Oh boy, this is bad. Both of them are dressed like kids after school (even the one with the beard and dreadlocks). I'm all right with crotch thrusts, but this is just...bad. There's a bit in French, but it is said so fast that I still have no clue as to what the "treasure" is. I'm betting it has something to do with the female anatomy.

More prattling with mustache man. Honestly, I'd deal with him better if he just decided to start a leather orgy instead of speaking.

Song 4: Arja Saijonmaa - Vad du än trodde så trodde du fel

Now this (oddly enough) is more like Jennifer Lopez! Arja starts out in a white (possibly fur) coat, which is soon whipped off by one of her (all-male) backing singers/dancers to reveal a sharp but tasteful dress. The song is semi-anthemic dance-pop, and although Arja isn't the greatest singer (very low singing voice) she sells the living daylights out of it. Go Arja!

Song 5: Josefin Nilsson - Med hjärtats egna ord

She still looks like Mamie Van Doren (present day, not in her heyday)! It's another Andrew Lloyd-Webber power ballad, but Josefin has a star quality about her that Cecillia was lacking. Unfortunately for Josefin, Cecillia was the better singer, because Josefin is screaming 60% of this song. I like the low-cut red dress she's wearing, but this does have more than a slight touch of the "I'm embarassed for you" going for it.

Song 6: Cameron Cartio - Roma

Maybe this really is about gypsies, since I can't make out what language he's singing in. There's lots of scantily clad backing singers/dancers (unfortunately Cameron is in a brown coat and pants). You know what this reminds me of? The horrific Maltese entry from 2001 with Fabrizio. Cameron is more charismatic, but the performances are siblings.

A brief bit about the postcards: Arja looks so sophisticated. Sanne looks icy. Fredrik looks dim-witted.

Song 7: Bodies Without Organs - Gone

Ok, I take back what I wrote earlier about lyrics in respect to Bodies Without Organs. The song is basically "Now...now that you're gone I'm ___" over a dance beat. The lead singer looks like Peter Frampton. Is Sweden trying to start yet another 1970's revival? It's not bad, but, boy is this far away from good. Eiffel 65 could beat this lot without breaking a sweat. I have a fear that they'll do well, but I can live with that.

Song 8: Sanne Salomonsen - Higher Ground

Sanne looks more like Shania Twain than a "rock queen." She sounds like Anastacia. She's got a bit of a wonky voice, and I really want to like this song. The lyrics are far from profound, but they aren't bad (like Shania Twain, oddly enough). Musically this is basically Anastacia singing a happy Shania Twain song. If the first song should've been in Denmark, then this should've been in the Netherlands. Not bad. I'd be happy with her going forward.

2:46 The review of the songs. Fredrik & Sanna look like Fame 10 years later. Camilla wants to be Lena Ph but can't loosen up enough. Avalon think they're sexy, but are far from it. Arja is working the gay-fave-camp-diva vibe and succeeds (despite her voice). Josefin goes for the same and bombs. Cameron thinks he's sexy and is, but his performance isn't. The Bodies are a bore. Sanne works her Shania/Dutch vibe adequately.

2:50 Yay! The return of "telefonslussen."

2:51 More presenter comedy bits that I have no clue as to why they are funny. "Checkpoint Charlie" is mentioned...again, I have no clue. There's a close up of Sanne smiling and looking like Stevie Nicks. (Jiminy Cricket, how many looks does this woman have without changing clothes?)

2:54 Oh lord, the Olsen Brothers are the interval act (which explains all the embarassing close-ups of Danish Sanne). They still look geriatric and am I so happy that my feed decides to seize up so I have to restart it. The Olsens are singing their entry from this year's Danish Melodi Grand Prix. It failed and now I know why. It's not as chirpy as The Wallstones, but honestly "Little Yellow Radio?" Blech. We get it. You're old and nostalgic.

2:57 Results, part 1. Sanne gets through. Josefin gets through (lord knows why). The Bodies get through (ditto). Fredrik & Sanna get through. Cameron gets through (the porn vote). No Arja! Evil Swedes.

3:01 Second recap. I'm indifferent to everyone except for Sanne. People, if you want me to care then put Arja through!

3:04 I'm thinking that the tech problems are due to the amount of Danes jumping online to watch this. Attention Danish people, Sanne will make it to the final, there is no need to worry.

3:05 A comedy travelogue about Linkoping (the location of this week's semi-final). The Swedes like it and I learn that city's name is pronounced like "lean shopping." Not a good tagline for English-speaking tourists.

3:08 Ok, the Cherokee jokes are not funny. Apparently the Swedes (or at least these presenters) think that Cherokees speak in a language that involves mumbling in different tones. I am not amused in the slightest. I am cutting them the slightest slack because the joke could be on them. (I do not know for certain since I cannot understand the Swedish subtitles.)

3:10 Second interval. Some overweight duo sing "Bang-A-Bommerang." I have a sneaking suspicion that this is what Svenne & Lotta (the original singers of this song at Melodifestivalen 1975) look like now. Yikes. Lotta is too out-of-shape to wear Lena Ph's dress from last year. I pray that Svenne's Ramones-esque hair is a wig. If it isn't, then that just makes it even more tragic.

3:15 Presenters. Non-mustachoed presenter says something which I think means that 3 million plus votes have been cast.

3:16 Results, part 2. Josefin blows kisses to the audience. Cameron is mentioned and does the same. I believe they are going to the 2nd chance round. (Hmph.) Sanne goes to the final (told you Danes).

3:19 Sanne performs. She seems ten times more energetic now that she's through. Honestly lady, what were you afraid of? Of note, during the latter part of the song, Sanne jumps up and down with her quasi-gospel backing singers. I swear this is so Shania Twain I want to find my leopard coat.

3:22 So who else goes to the final? Fredrik & Sanna. They do a celebratory jump in the air on their way to the stage. Alas, I am indifferent.

3:23 Fredrik & Sanna reprise. Fredrik can't get that frog out of his throat, can he? For a song that is about "you & I against the world," this pair spend an awful amount of time apart onstage. I honestly have no problem with this song save for Fredrik. I reckon it would be ten times better if he was dropped and Sanna sang the whole thing. Boy, do they look like a Las Vegas casino owner and his trampy girlfriend.

3:27 As if I didn't need to be pissed off again...they bring back the offensive Cherokee schtick before the ending credits. And the ending theme? Still "Relight My Fire."

3:28 My reaction: Boy, that semi irritated me something chronic: offensive stereotypes, Arja getting eliminated, constant buffering of the internet feed, and the Olsen brothers. Yuck.

3:30 I'll be watching again next week though. Apparently we get Alannah Myles of "Black Velvet" fame. Is there some sort of Scandinavian-Canadian love fest going on that I don't know about?

Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 2 Warm-up & First impressions

As I predicted and feared I'm going to watch the next Melodifestivalen semi-final. This week we get two male hosts: Erik Haag & Henrik Schyffert. (Boy, my sympathy goes out to Erik for having that surname every time he goes into an anglophone gay bar.)

So this week's victims are:

• Fredrik Kempe & Sanna Nielsen: Who look like a plump version of Denise Van Outen (Sanna) and Jason Donovan (Fredrik). They'll be singing in Swedish, so they're all right in my book.
• Camilla Brinck: Whom looks like she just escaped the convent but is cited as "Svenska 'J-Lo'" which...okay...I just have bad memories of the shudder-riffic version of "Work this groove" which was performed last week.
• Avalon: Two men of colour who I think are brothers. One is good looking (in his picture), the other one has those dreadlocks that scream "I hate showering." I already stated that I'm not doing racial solidarity votes at MF (hee-hee) and the fact that they have a song called "Big up" is doing these lads no favours with me.
• Arja Sajonmaa: Whom I think is Finnish, but is quite popular in Sweden and a bit of a MF (hee-hee) queen (hee-hee-hee). Have you seen the trailer for the new Jennifer Lopez-Jane Fonda movie? Arja looks like Jane. I like her already. (Plus she's singing in Swedish.)
• Josefin Nilsson: You know the image you get in your head when you think of actresses in Swedish porn films from the 1970's? Imagine what they look like now. (Heck, just think Mamie Van Doren.) That's my take on Josefin. However, she's singing in Swedish, could very well go for camp in her performance, and...I have yet to hear the song. (I'm just saying I'm leaning towards Arja heavily right now.)
• Cameron Cartio: He's good looking and has a song called "Roma" (meaning Rome not gypsies). I don't have my hopes up, but I'd watch him do porn.
• Bodies Without Organs: I guess this is the slot that Pay TV filled last week--avantgarde, slightly bonkers band with loads of synthesisers. (I see "ELO" and "Kraftwerk" in their profile, so I think it's a safe guess.) I might like this motley crew.
• Sanne Salomonsen: She's Danish and has the similar ex-porn star look that Josefin has, but with the added bonus of looking like she's done well. Apparently Sanne (and not Sanna, which I can tell is going to be irritating having both of them in the same semi) is a Danish rock queen. (Good!) Singing in English (Bad!)

I think I'll be safe lyric-wise this time: 3 Swedish songs, 1 that might be in Italian, and I have hopes that Bodies Without Organs have some decent lyrics for their song "Gone."

A nasty double entendre

There is this new ad on New York television which is just flat out (un)intentionally hilarious. I don't quite get the whole deal with it (apparently it has something to do with getting back sensible pricing in this deregulated energy market--which I think would be better if they just brought back regulations!) .

This ad has the oddest jingle: "I've got gas." Seriously. Moreso, the number to call is 877-IVE-GOT-GAS. The ad ends with the standard perky female singer singing it as well.

I feel like such a dirty bird.

Is it possible to feel good...

...when you're bombarded by images of men who seem to be in impossibly better shape than the rest of us? This has been my main problem since being a teenager.

(Buckle up. This could be a long ride.)

I was a fat kid, standing roughly 6 feet tall and 220 pounds at my highest weight. This was not muscle, because I barely exercised. Subsequently, I went to school overseas at The University of Luton and wound up dropping 60 pounds in my first semester due to a combination of walking long distances and fasting--brought on by not liking British food. (I have a fish allergy, so I'm a tad bit screwed on an island.)

Christmas that year, both my parents remarked on how much better I looked with the weight, which of course, felt good like any compliment does. Even when I told them how I did it, they didn't seem too peturbed by the fact that anorexia played a role in it, and to be honest, neither did I.

That's an entirely different story however. The real subject of this entry is body dysmorphia. I try to come across as very tough and devil-may-care, but my body image is a real Achille's heel for me. No matter what I do, I have this image in my head of what I should look like which always woefully pales against the reality. I get obsessed with statistics: 6 feet tall, 194 pounds, 15.86% body fat, 34 inch waist, 14 inch arms, and so on; with the ultimate goal of getting these elusive perfect measurements that will supposedly bring forth this age of happiness upon me. Things can get quite Orwellian at times (why I can't I get my arms to go to 18? Chest 40? Waist 29? Body fat 9%?) with my fanaticism in achieving the perfect statistics.

Compounding this is, well, some pretty deep internalised racial self-loathing. I grew up in a place where there were only 400 blacks in the entire county! I never really saw myself reflected in the people around me, at least in a desirable manner. When I was younger, I used to wish that I could be white, because being white symbolised being able to belong. To this day, it's hard to keep my spirits up when I realise that I will never look like the mass-marketed images of the happy gay white male who seems to live a life devoted to the pleasure principle all while maintaining his washboard stomach, hard chest, and generally muscular body without breaking a sweat except in bed. I'll be honest with you, it sucks, but it's a fact of life that there will always be "an ideal" which is held up as what the rest of us should aspire to.

Yet, I really am beginning to worry that this--I'll label it "a personal state of affairs"--is causing me more grief than need be. Last night, I went out to one of my favourite bars, The Ninth Avenue Saloon, for a drink. I'm sitting there for a bit, talking mostly with the bartender (a great guy I've known for nearly 3 years now) and this guy suddenly sits down next to me. The bartender knows him and they have a conversation. The guy turns out to be a dancer in a Broadway show, and is going to be in this year's Broadway Bares. (If you're thinking naked theatre performers, you've got the idea.) I clam up. I can't think of anything to say, in fact, I wished I could be anywhere else but there at the time. I loathed him. I hated everything that he represented. Why? He's younger, better looking, white, and tons of other superlatives that ran through my mind. Whether or not any of them are true, is irrelevant, because what I thought stymied me from having any ability to relate to this man as a person.

Did I want to sleep with him? Honestly, I don't know if I would want to, nor would I assume that it would ever happen. If it did, I doubt it would be pleasurable, because I would notice evey little imperfection on my body and try desperately to hide them.

I'm guessing that my challenge this year is to finally kick this narcissistic mindset to the curb, aka get over it, because it's useless and it has probably caused me more harm than a knife across my wrists.

It finally dawned upon me that I should share a picture of Alya, since I've made god-knows-how-many references to her in the past few days.  

Exxtra (in Alya's honour)

No big gossip scoops or what have you, because I'm out of the loop. (I don't think I've been in any loop whatsoever since leaving high school.) Instead, I wanted to just give some comments on some of the news stories floating about lately.

First, The Jeff Gannon debacle. This is kind of poetic justice isn't it? I'd be enjoying it more if it also wasn't so tragic at the same time. Here you have this pretty good looking guy (if he hit on me, I would accept) and it turns out that not only is he using a pseudonym, but the "organisation" that he is working for is basically a government mouthpiece, and to sweeten the deal even further he's also a prostitute for gay men as well. (There's so much deception here that I don't even want to speculate as to whether he's really gay or gay-for-pay. All I know is that there's a pretty kosher photo of him urinating out there in cyberspace, which at least leads me to think that he's pretty kinky.) The tragic side of things is that he's basically selling out his clients and possibly himself by shilling for an administration that is shockingly anti-gay despite a lesbian second daughter.

Speaking of lesbians, there's the revelation that Alan Keyes's daughter is a lesbian. The fact that she worked on her father's (fortunately) failed senate campaign, despite his well-known anti-gay stance. I'm frankly perplexed here, as I bet she is too. Her parents have gone very cold since she's gone public, and she's hoping they'll come around. This is really a family affair in my view, but I just can't quite get why she would work for her father's campaign. I'm certain only she knows why, but doesn't it strike you as a bit like cutting of your nose to spite your face?

Here's a hypothetical. My father was a Republican (a Choctaw Republican from Mississippi no less). My mother is a staunch Democrat. If he ran for a statewide office, I can pretty much guarantee that I wouldn't help him out one bit until I knew for certain that he modified his positions. The one saving grace of the Cheneys in my view is that they are supportive of Mary. Frankly, in all honesty, I don't mind the Cheneys as much as the Bushes (I think Lynne is a hilarious spitfire), because they seem capable of independent thought and I get the sense that Dick is really wishing that George W. would shut up and let him run things. My main issue with them is all the graft they have. All that being said, the fact that they go along with W. is pretty damning itself.

Making a very rare shift to talk about sports, there's that whole steroid scandal in baseball right now: This is just flat out disgusting. It's the freakishly huge shouldered stepchild of capitalism and celebrity. I'd like to say that I'm horrified, but I'm not. There's just this obsession (especially in pro sports) to be the biggest and greatest, because more records broken = more money in the bank. Honour is basically dead.

There's also a psychological component to it as well. If you can, read The Adonis Complex. I know that I definitely suffer from it, and it would not be much of a stretch to envision that these players are going through that as well. (Buy the book, there's a great comparison of how boys' toys have gotten so ridiculously muscular through the years, so that some of those action figures--were they turned into life size replicas--would be genetic freaks. Great for building self-esteem toy companies.)

Now to end on a happier note, there's news that the pro hockey players are giving ground in their asinine dispute with the owners. Both sides should really be ashamed of themselves, to be honest. Overpaid players complaining that the oligarchs that employ them are being too stingy. Is crack being passed around in the locker rooms? I'm not that much of a sports fanatic, but I "likes me hockey" for the good looking men and the spontaneous fights. It's also one of the most brutal professional sports out there, and it is often overshadowed by football, baseball, and basketball which I think are easier compared to having to run around the ice trying to keep up speed with a 100 mph projectile. Call me Polyanna, but the players should count their lucky stars that they can make a living doing something that they love, and the owners should feel just as lucky that they can make money doing it.

Oh my stomach...Happy Valentine's Day

One day I'll learn.

I have spent most of Valentine's Day 2005 with a hangover caused by a sudden decision yesterday to get drunk. Now, let me say this however; getting drunk is an only-in-February thing, as I like to have my faculties 99% of the time. That being said, I'm the first person to admit that I'm a total stick-in-the-mud and need to occasionally shake up my inhibitions.

So did I have a fun night? I have no idea. I cannot remember any details. The whole night passed by my eyes like the video for "Smack My Bitch Up." I know that I french kissed two Frenchmen (individually). I may have even had sex with one of them.

Now I know why people avoid drunk sex.

The Swedes are bizarre: Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 1

(As seen from a computer in New York)

2PM: Link started to work. Getting adjusted to the sounds of the sing-song Swedish language.

2:01: Christer Bjorkman (the queen herself) tosses us a quick hello, followed by some pretty impressive graphics. After a flag ceremony, we meet the presenters who look like flight attendants. This is followed up by a pretty funky dance routine and a fortunate costume change for the presenters into a decidedly more chic getup. Ok, the female presenter (Alexandra?) looks a bit like a tiny drag queen, but I won't hold that against her.

The stage: Pretty and very Euro-sparse.

And the Swedes get down to business quickly!

Song 1: Alcazar - Alcastar

Dear lord, they look like ABBA as superheroes. Ok, this is basically disco-esque fluff, but it's catchy. They can't help but camp this up. Borderline asinine lyrics, but I'll forgive them...for now. "You can be an Alcastar," indeed. (It's better than "Not a sinner, Not a saint" which was their previous Melodifestivalen attempt.)

Song 2: Cecillia Vennerstein - Var Mig Nara (with an umlaut over the first "a")

First and foremost, I am very picky about ballads, so this'll be hard to win me over. Cecillia looks like a green statue during a foggy night. I can't complain about her voice, but this song is SO blah. It sounds like a lullaby (I don't know Swedish, so perhaps that is the intent). If I liked Andrew Lloyd-Webber songs then I'd be happy. But I don't, so I'm not.

Song 3: Papa Dee - My No. 1

Not mine with this reggae pap. He ain't my papa either. Good-looking man of colour performs this total cruise-ship song. Again with the stupid lyrics! "Girl, just hold on tight, etc." Please. Sweden has already had three black women sing for them in 2002, so he doesn't get my symbolic vote.

Song 4: Linda Bengtzing - Alla Flickor

Now that's a surname! If it's her real one, then more power to her. Ooh, how she is starting off-key. This is very standard happy Swedish schlager-pop, but they do it well, so that's no problem with me. She looks like she wants to rock, with her messy hair and her Sgt. Pepper's jacket. I get the sense that she's working real hard at selling it, but it doesn't get me. Good try though.

Song 5: The Wallstones - Invisible People

Oh god, this is too chirpy for me! Imagine Three Dog Night on "Sesame Street" and you have the idea that they are going for here. One of the guys looks like Harry Shearer's stunt double from Spinal Tap. Lyrically, this is not so bad...UNTIL THEY HIT THE "LA LA LA!" Lawdy, can I sue Swedish Television for sacchrine overload?

Song 6 Pay TV - Refrain Refrain

Expose' meets Jem & The Holograms. Seriously. Three girls singing about the cynicism of celebrity. "Getting a hit can be easy as long as you're cheap and sleazy." No lyric issues here! Musically, it's 1989 comes back. The House revolution lives.

Song 7 Nordman - Odet Var Min Vag

I suspect this is the equivalent of country music for Sweden. The lead singer and his gravelly voice are trying to come across as hard rock with the eyebrow and nose piercings and all-black attire, but alas, it doesn't work. What does the song sound like? Irish pub music, frankly. Appropriately, it sounds like he's about ready to hurl at any given moment. Dire, but admirable. (I get the feeling that if I understood Swedish, then I'd be pissed off at the lyrics.)

Song 8: Shirley Clamp - Att Alska Dig

I like her, if only for her surname. I have no idea how old Shirley is, but she is going for the Ethel Merman-does-disco look (long flowing brown flower print fabric), and oh my goodness, that is some busom on her. She is wrapped in there so tight, that I understand why there is very little choreography for Shirley and her similary costumed backing singers. Sure, it's standard upbeat happy schlager, but the inner diva-fan in me LOVES it. Go Shirley.

It's still going to be Alcazar by a landslide as I see it and hope (with Shirley as #2...the top 2 go to the final...#3 and #4 duke it out on 2nd Chance show).

2:47 Recap of the songs for the voters: Alcazar still campy. Cecillia still bland. Papa Dee working the Terry McMillian fantasy angle (and failing with me). Linda looking like she wants bite a bat's head off. The Wallstones still are too chirpy and make my ears bleed. Pay TV look like The Misfits meet Expose in a dominatrix's parlour. Nordman still caught between styles while trying to hurl. Shirley still a diva. RESPECT!

2:49 "Telefonslussen." Can we import this into American English? I'd like to start saying this on a daily basis. Actually, can we get Sweden to take over our government while we're at it? I want me some social services.

2:51 Somewhat cute male presenter speaking fast and in funny voices. The audience is eating this up. I am just perplexed. This show is quirky.

2:54 Dear lord, Swedish all-stars are the interval. It's a medley and quite a bizarre tragedy. Amongst the songs butchered (visually, not vocally) "Fight for your right (to party)," "Work this groove," "1999," "I'm coming up," "Celebration" and god knows why, but "It's my party." And the choreography is every bit as corny as you can imagine. It's like every bad high school talent show combined with the Swedish version of the "Solid Gold" dancers. Worth noting: Jessica Andersson of "Fame" fame looks like Paris Hilton. Is there a sex tape scandal with her too? (Or perhaps Jessica is trying to crack the American market by posing as an overexposed hotel heir? Paris Hilton is recording an album from what I've heard.)

2:59 Results. I don't understand Swedish, but Alcazar and Shirley Clamp are named and subsequently freak out in the Green Room. (As are Linda, The Wallstones, and Nordman. Guess which one of those three I can tolerate?) No reaction shot of Pay TV or Cecillia.

3:03 Ok, I think I'm getting the hang of it. They are doing a super final of this semi-final, because they are replaying the performance clips and there are numbers to call. I still loathe The Wallstones and I pray, PRAY, that the Swedish televoters will give this the proper boot it deserves. Nordman gets a minor reprieve, because I want to have a good night of fornication with the lead singer. (Listen, if you saw the way that man handles his microphone...Mmmm.)

3:06 More "telefonslussen." Come on people, let's bring this word into American English!

3:07 Alexandra has some "comedy" bit with a man freezing his gliblets off in Goteborg town centre. Again, I don't get it. Of course, I don't get Swedish films either, so perhaps it's all wasted on me.

3:10 Ruslana is the interval act now. Ok, yes "Wild Dances" deserved to win in Istanbul, but jiminy, can she get herself some new songs? (And not that retread of "Wild Dances" called "Dancing with wolves" that she performed at EMA.) She performs the all-English version of "Wild Dances" and it is almost letter/step perfect from her 2004 performance. At least she fulfills the world's need for women who stomp and dance around in leather to Carpathian turbo-folk. (And that is as catty as I will get about Ruslana, because that ickle girl can crack a whip.) Crowd goes appropriately wild.

3:14 Results part two. (Jeez, is all of Goteborg in the stadium?) Shirley Clamp freaks out in a good way, because I think she's going to the final. (Hallelujah!)

3:16 Shirley performs again. Not that I'm complaining, but, aren't 2 songs from each semi going to the final and 2 songs from each semi going to the 2nd Chance round? If each of these are going to be performed, then this is going to be one long, drawn out results announcement. I have major respect for Shirley managing to still hit that long "ahhhhhh" towards the end.

3:21 Alcazar and Linda make it to the 2nd chance round. (What the hell?) Nordman makes it to the final. (What the double hell?)

3:23 Nordman performs. My libido subsides knowing that this beat out Alcazar into the Final. I'm now going to get drunk tonight in order to cope with this upset. My future fb has mush-mouth during the latter verse. At least Shirley Clamp is in the final.

3:26 "Relight My Fire" is the exit music?! Ok, the Swedes are bizarre. There I said it. I meant it.

3:27 I realise that I will gladly return to this debacle next week, like a moth to the flame.

I'm A Melodifestivalen Virgin

So this year, I'm going to watch the [rightfully] lauded Melodifestivalen, Sweden's national final for Eurovision. The First Semi is tonight (in Europe)/this afternoon (in New York). I've heard that Melodifestivalen is notoriously quirky, so that out to make it interesting. Once it starts I'll be posting my comments live.

Sign of the times or of too much time?

There is now officially nothing going on in my neither regions except for the basic plumbing. I mean, literally. To see what all the fuss is about, I shaved nearly everything off between my Tropics. All I can say is so far it's like overstimulation because I am really feeling everything and then some. I don't know how some guys do this on a frequent basis. I need some barrier between me and my clothes.

A Temporary Halt (For A Reality/Mortality Check)

I'm temporarily breaking my vow of not getting majorly irritated because I am livid.

I cannot stand sanctimonious ex-smokers. Just now, I overheard some man lording it over someone else because he (the insulter, not the insulted) gave up smoking and saved so much money that he spent it on shoes, a trip to Amsterdam, and marijuana. Oh yes, I'd like trade in one legal carcinogen for an illegal one. Smart move, buddy. He also cited that he know fully enjoys breathing in the fresh air when he runs.

Ugh. I could care less. Listen, I'm glad that things are working out for you in your quite hedonistic little world sans-tabac, but need I remind you of "judge, lest ye be judged?" I have willing agreed with the non-smokers banning it in bars and restaurants. (I don't like it, but I have cooperated.) I have willingly agreed with the tax hikes that still don't cover the budget shortfalls that they were created for BECAUSE YOU HAVE MADE IT SO HARD TO SMOKE.

The fact of the matter is that I smoke because I choose to. I continue it because I chose to. And if I wind up dead at a young or younger age, it is because I knew that going in. We are all going to die at some point period. I can say quite easily right now, that if I was to be struck down with lung disease or a smoking related illness, that I would accept it. I would not go whining "woe-is-me" to the hilltops. I have lived a very happy life so far, and if it ended with this, then so be it. If it goes on for years to come, then so be it.

The most pathetic and tragic thing in the world is someone on their death bed who realises that all the holistic endeavors they took were for naught, and my experience has taught that most people in the world go out like that. Conversely, I will remember that I had happy moments and I never tried to hinder them, even if they came in the form of nicotine.

Ain't This A Shocker

I suppose this isn't quite a surpise. I am an only child, and have a tendency to viciously guard my independence...and indeed, variety is the spice of life. Here is the assessment of my "relationship readiness" from http://www.gay.com:



You Love 'Em and Leave 'Em

There are plenty of fish in the sea -- but you're just out to hook as many as you can, aren't you. Enjoy yourself! Who knows, you may end up reeling in the big one someday. And if you aren't cut out for permanent togetherness, that's OK too. You know that life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death. Given your free-spirited nature, you should take care to be honest with your playmates to avoid potential hurt feelings.

I'm Gonna Ride This "Era of Good Feelings" thing out

Day 2 of the new "It's not bad to feel good" religion that I'm subscribing to now. So far, I'm still relatively upbeat, and I hope it stays because the real test will be when March rolls around. Y'see, I tend to claim all of February as my birthday month. The one time of year when I don't mind being hedonistic with the occasional journey over to self-absorbed land. So basically for me, Christmas to February 28/29th is one big holiday season.

This is how I justify making February all mine: A) It's short; B) My birthday is at the beginning. So I don't get the build-up to it. I could argue January as build-up, but I spend January basically trying to remember that it's a new year.

On a totally unrelated note: I'm still pissed about the $6 beer and $3 water at the Roxy. Someone please tell me how you can have a semi-drunken night out there without breaking the bank.

Slovenia, I'd like to return the birthday present

The Slovenian national final, EMA, was held yesterday (aka my birthday), and ugh, the song the televoters went for was acrid. It's a rockish power ballad called "Stop" by Omar Naber, who's apparently from a TV talent show. Listen, I'm all for simplicity, but simply having Omar (who is good-looking in a way) with a woman providing backup by going "ahhh-ahhh" in a soprano voice does not scream to me winner.

What makes things even more cruel is that there were so many more songs worthy of beating this. Most notably Alya (http://www.alya.info), who has kicked ass since her first EMA in 2001. I was hoping for a win for her, and frankly, I was shocked she didn't even make into the top 3, since her performance was AMAZING. (I think her song "Exxtra" wasn't one of her stronger entries, but she sold it visually and this isn't called Eurovision for nothing.)

I'm hoping you get in next year, Alya. I have no doubt you'd win the lot.

I did indeed have a good time in Palm Springs despite the grimace. This was taken at Mount San Jacinto State Park early on Saturday morning. 

Palm Springs & The Epiphany

I'm back from Palm Springs! Ultimately, I had a great time, but I have to say that I was quite thrown by the amount of gay seniors in Palm Springs. Politically, I think it's great to be out (in both senses of the word) when you're in your golden years, and I enjoyed talking to the assorted people [ones who didn't seem to cop an attitude about a younger man "invading" their space] that I met. Selfishly, however, I did find myself yearning to hang out with a decidedly more youthful crowd...at least one that wasn't collecting Social Security. I did succeed to find them during my stay. (A slight plug here for kick-ass drag queens Miss Ursela and Miss Envy who showed me a great time on Friday night over at Hunters.)

This birthday/vacation trip did yield a major realisation for me: I have spent my life so far trying to grow up way faster than need be. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Palm Springs, and for the first time, it was not always a good feeling. Not only was I the only black man nearly everywhere I went (I'm used to that), but I was also the youngest. I felt like people were hesistant to talk to me as if I was an equal. Nothing stokes my ire like the "experience" line: "You're too young, just wait until you have some more experience." It's a valid point, but it shouldn't be used to dismiss an opinion. Part of gaining experience is by being willing to talk and hear someone else's life story.

One shallow upside to this trip was that I learned that a diet of basically alcohol, a muffin, and a burger for dinner does wonders for ab definition.

Now for the birthday saga:

I left California on Saturday (2/5), the day before my birthday. Courtesy of the time difference, I wound up landing in LaGuardia on my actual birthday, 2/6 at 12:15am. Before I left, I got an invite to join some people at the Roxy, which is one of the few nightclubs in New York with a gay night. (Listen, given the demographics, there should be WAAAY more selections than we have.)

I was told that they would be making their move to the club at about 11:00 on Saturday, which would be while my plane was somewhere upstate. Nonetheless, I managed to fight my way back to the apartment and made it over to the club at some point shortly after 1:15 am. Let me say this quite clearly: I am not a club kid. I have never been one, nor do I have any desire to dance my cares away on a nightly basis. I do believe, however, that when you are in a situation that isn't totally to your liking, you bring the party with you, and that's what I did at the Roxy.

That being said...

The club was like an assault on the senses. The music was loud, half the men had their shirts off (I joined in, because it was my birthday and I believe in embarassing myself in public), and the drinks were inexplicably expensive. $6-$7 beer and $3 water!?!?! How on Earth do you have a good time at those prices? Yet, it seemed like the majority of the people were. I felt very much like an outsider there and I think it was that my attitude needed major adjustment. I may personally find the idea of going to a gay club with your fag hag(s) cruel, but fair play to those who get a kick out of it.

[A sidenote on my opinion of going to a gay club with fag hags and fag hags in general: Based on my own observations, a lot of the "fags" who go out with their "hags" to gay clubs seem to be more interested in actually hooking up with another guy, rather than enjoying the company of their female friends, who they immediately drop when they find their one-night stand. I think it's selfish and frankly, wimpy. I've always had no issue in going out alone and have had a great time without having to be evil to someone else that I considered a "friend." I also have an issue with fag hags in general. I have several female friends, but I would not ever consider anyone of them a fag hag. Fag hag to me, implies a woman who is trying to live vicariously through her gay male friend in order to avoid dealing with her own problems. Likewise, I also think that a gay man who prefers to have a bunch of fag hags is a screaming narcissist.]

So this is how the year of being serious will begin: I am going to believe in live and let live. I'll still keep my opinions, but I won't let that which irks me, ruin me.

Wish me good luck, I'll need it when I get off my high horse.