Further Proof Why Alya Rules

This is her performance of Vizija at EMA 2007.




Shirtless male dancers, Hard rock orchestration, Cheerleaders. I tell you, she would do the business easily in Helsinki.

And she really is turning into Dale Bozzio in her heyday...which is only a good thing in my book.

Notes on the Mision Eurovision 2007 Preview Show

• I love Paula, she's like Crazy Patty from 2005, but competent with a lisp.
• Apart from Nazaret, I can't tell any of the female candidates apart.
• Carola still batshit crazy, and living under the delusion that she is Catherine Zeta Jones.
• Spain will flog Massiel the way that UK will flog Bucks Fizz until the end of time.
• Massiel looks like a refugee from an Almodavar film, and yet her performance of Busco Un Hombre is actually quite good, hitting all the right camp notes, and you can tell that she's in on it.
• They really shouldn't change the lyrics if NASH wins with it. Some of those boys look like they are game for singing the original lyrics.
• I have my doubts as to whether any of the candidates could do as well as Nina does on Una Lagrima.
• The second I heard I Love You Mi Vida (and who was the Spanish Donatella Versace on the writing team? I like her), I thought "Ricky Martin," and lo and behold who do they bring out to sing it? Raul, the Canarian answer to La Martin.
• Raul's gotten paunchy and he's doing Beth's choreography to Dime.
• It's rather cruel that TVE doesn't adhere to the 6 people onstage rule. It makes the songs look bigger than they're ever able to appear on the Eurovision stage.
• Oh, I do love the authors of La Reina de la Noche. Queen out, chicas!
• NASH looked very nervous when the clip of that was played. I think I have my favourite song/performer combination, if only to see if they will sing it in drag. The blond looks like he could do it.
• Mikel Herzog is performing La Reina? Oh my, how did he morph into John Waters? It is rather appropriate that he is performing it, I guess. This song will totally need over-the-top staging.
• I'll be happy with Tu voz se apagara or Busco Un Hombre winning. It helps that Miguel Linde is swarthy with big dose of puppy-dog cuteness. (FYI: Cute does nothing for me sexually. Swarthy does, however.)
• NASH would probably murder this song though.
• Tu voz wins for best staging. If they keep it and give it to NASH, they really should keep the shirtless male dancers. (If you're going to go for the gay vote, go all the way.)
• The only trouble with Tu voz is that it's really a song that the staging and performance make or break it.
• It's looking like Tu voz and Busco are the audience favourites. Or is Gisela that popular?
• I will miss Beatriz and her bemused commentary when she goes. I really will. Is Paula getting the job? I don't know whether I'd be able to make out a word that she says. (I do like the way she says "a-Spain" when speaking in English.)
• That said, I love Paula's stumbling over Cvet z Juga.
• If Alenka can keep up the diva flourishes, the song does stand a chance of getting to the final, even with the bizarre choreography--which is not on display here. Quite honestly, it wouldn't be that out of place in a Spanish selection.
• Olivia Lewis had better have some better choreography in Helsinki. The song is surprisingly good. (And this is coming from someone who only likes three Maltese entries: 1972, 1991, and 1996.) It doesn't have any of the Maltese blandness. Strong chance to get out of the qualifier.
• Either Paula is really tall or most of the women onstage are very short. I'm inclined to believe the latter.
• Natalia Barbu looks scarily similar to Gracia of Germany 2005 infamy.
• Fight starts out strong, and Natalia has got the vocal chops, but the song doesn't really go anywhere. Somewhere La Podolskaya is laughing at this. 80% chance of getting out of the qualifier.
• Natalia is flippin' arrogant based on her interview. "I expect to get a lot of support from the countries I visit." Lady, please.
• Note to Natalia & Alenka: If Guri & The Jet Set brought backing dancers, then you ought to as well.
• Viewed in the context of a Spanish show, Ven a bailar conmigo looks rather shallow. Good staging though.
• Perhaps my Spanish gave me up, but it certainly seems like Ven a bailar conmigo got one frosty reception at least by Beatriz & Massiel.
• God help me, but I don't mind The Jet Set. It looks like someone took the choreography to Loca and gave it a better song. The slow jazz portions do muck it up though. The Polish qualifier curse will probably be broken with this.
• Where is David from The Jet Set from? He sounds like English isn't his first language with all that stumbling. Are there black Poles?
• Dmitry has now dropped his first name and is just calling himself "Koldun." Why? He looks like Sergio Dalma in 1991 down to a T. I'm still shocked to hear a Belorussian entry that actually has comprehensible English.
• Massiel is also beginning to look like Ruth Jacott as the night goes on.
• Mirela apparently is the brunette with the big voice. In fact, from what I heard, I like her version of My number 1 better than Helena's. Though this Oye mar song just drags.
• Crap, NASH are singing a ballad. It's a good thing they're a group, because they have got some weak voices individually. Sort of like an Iberian Westlife. Those last notes were horrific.
• Nazaret is the blonde with the deep bass voice that takes up the entire hall. Is she a flamenco singer? It certainly shows when she sings I Will Survive, which is not flamenco-friendly even in Spanish.
• Good grief, she's singing My Way (in Spanish). She does an excelent job, but it's My Way! Blech. On with the uptempo songs, please. Two ballads is too many for me.
• I'm calling Mirela, Nazaret, and Yanira the "Glory Note Triplets" since that seems to be all they do.
• Christ on a stick, Yanira is inflicting another ballad on us. In the interest of saying something positive, I will say that over all the vocal quality of this group is excellent than any Eurovision national final I've ever heard. I'll give Yanira credit for allowing herself to have a crazy moment, which is necessary for any ballad in my view.
• Evil TVE, the show runs long and my DVR cut out.

Thursday Jukebox Says "You've Come a long way, baby"

"Baby" in this case meaning "Nanne Grönvall," who participates in this week's Melodifestivalen Qualifier.

From sedate (especially in comparison to her co-singer) woman in the mid 80s:



to elfin princess of witty/bitchy pop in the late 90s:




to full out literal kick-ass diva of the mid-aughties



Good luck, Nanne.

Lest We Forget How Little Things Have Changed

"A Girl Like Me" (Which could also apply to boys, in my opinion.)

Tuesday Jukebox Asks Who Tried Harder For The Gay Vote?

(at last week's Melodifestivalen Quarter Final)

Jessica Andersson?



The Ark?




Cosmo4 (who look like they escaped from a UK Final)?



Or Jimmy Jansson?



Tough call, I reckon, because we have 2 well-performed highly camp entries by men, and 2 well-performed highly camp entries by women. I vote for Jessica.

Birthday Post-Mortem Part 3: For My Unborn Brother

Although I am an only child, I an haunted by an apparition of someone whom I perceive as my younger brother.

He is built like a brick shit house, rational, and smart as hell in comparison to me: He's the one who actually participated in heterosexuality whereas I knew who I was from day one and never went there.

Y'see, I always assumed that my mythical brother would be gay--genetics are too much on our side for him not to be. Alas, he was never to be: a casualty of my stubbornness combined with the age of my parents.

So this is for him:

• Do not eagerly accept the offer of any man, because you can do better and masturbation is really that much more fun.
• After midnight, EVERYBODY wants sex...plan your escape route.
• Cypriot bartenders may seen shifty, but they are trying to suss out whether you are a regular or not.
• Opportunity strikes at any moment: Use sex appeal.

There, I feel like I've done my parental duties.

Saturday Jukebox Says Maybe It's A Good Thing I'm Not Following Melodifestivalen 2007

If this was an instrumental song, then I would love it.

Unfortunately, "Clubbin'" has lyrics and some atrocious singing.



It looks like the B-52s met up with Dee-Lite to do Billie Holliday impressions.

Eurovision 2007: France in Cool Shocker

Ok, I'm somewhat surprised by the operatic Claudia clone that is representing Slovenia.

I'm surprised with the La Bouche knockoff which is representing Poland.

I'm surprised and pleased with the more talented (in my view) Padar representing Estonia.

Yet what takes me by surprise is the French selection this year. Not a single ballad.

Even more shocking, these are mostly upbeat, modern, and clever songs, with a few that have a strong politically raised middle finger at the "I-Love-You, You-Love-Me" crowd.

Take a listen to the French entries over at esctoday.com.

Personal faves: Les Vedettes (I love a song that has the refrain of "Papa est mort") and Medi-T (how strange would it be for France to actually bring genuine reggaeton--not the Macedonian version--to Eurovision, eh Spain?)

Birthday Post-Mortem Part 2: A Leben Oif Dein Kop

It was ultimately a good night with a surprise amount of comps from Splash (even though I didn't even mention my birthday) and a pleasant shock over the fact that the handsome doorman there likes me...a lot.

So I was expecting a quiet night of rest once got home with dremas that wouldn't linger into the daylight.

Wrong.

It's not that these were bad dreams, not in the slightest, it's just that the symbolism is a bit tricky to figure out:

1. 9 1/2 Weeks starring myself and Hank Azaria. It makes sense on some level, since he's very handsome, but this was the wan and gaunt Hank Azaria from two years ago.
2. In some bizarre alternate universe of the prep school that I attended--which seemed to be heavily peppered with gay couples and a lot more diverse than the Teutonic place of my memory--I watched the first 2 minutes of Guns N' Roses' video for "You Could Be Mine" on a loop from a couch in the middle of the hallway while being flirted with by a Portugese exchange student.

If these are some indicators of what lies ahead for me in 2007...oy.

Birthday Post-Mortem Part 1: I am bold and delicious

For an explanation of the title:




Because I am, or at least I want to be.

More to follow as Birthday Week--well, month, continues, since frankly everybody born in February gets screwed, in my view.

The Atlanta Post-Mortem: Precious and Many

Above: A Lutheran church with a jazz trio? In Atlanta?

A disclaimer: Like everyone--save for just newborn babies--I have baggage and I carry it with me. In the case of Atlanta, I carry the baggage that many children of the black exodus from the South carry. Many of us grew up hearing stories and seeing pictures about how the South was the land of inequality and bigotry. There is an image in my head of everywhere south of the Virginian suburbs of DC down to just north of Orlando being a land where minorities, and blacks in particular have to be a bit on edge. These days with the South being a huge booming region--a cab driver in Atlanta told me that the city has just grown absurdly in 10 years--old cultural biases are changing with the influx of new immigrants. With this in mind, I went to Atlanta.

It became apparent to me that Atlanta is in many ways a Southeastern version of Chicago: it's this huge city in the middle of a bunch of nowheres and 2nd tier cities (although Charlotte is probably gaining on them) that are between DC and Tampa. Like Chicago and New York, it attracts a vast majority of its residents from the smaller cities and towns nearby, which leads to what you could call the "medium fish syndrome." These are people who were big fish in small ponds, but become small-to-medium in a big one, even though they think they're still big.

In other words, I'm not necessarily saying there's attitude, but there's a definite disconnect between reality and the perception.

Let me set the scene: Go figure that when I decide to go South, Atlanta is walloped by a snow and ice storm and the temperature struggles to get above 35 for most of the time I'm there...and that is during the day. I'm thinking that it's going to be in the 50s, and on the day I arrive Atlanta is actually colder than it was in New York when I left! So all my hopes of being a smug Yankee (in relation to the cold) were dashed. If that wasn't weird enough, it seemed damn near impossible to hear anyone with a drawl--even on the local news. They've got a 1001 counties down there and it wasn't until the next day that I heard a Bubba.

Above: That damn park which makes taxi drivers happy and flat-footed drunks like me wince in pain.

Atlanta is clearly a city not designed for the flat-footed, like myself. I went to go find some Chasers and asked someone at Outwrite (which I have to say is one of the best-stocked gay bookstores I've ever come across--they even have The Closet on display) where the nearest one is. She tells me that it's about a mile. Thinking in Manhattan terms, I reckon that's no problem. Well, that shut me up. This mile was a walk up and down what felt like a hundred hills with practically no one else on the sidewalk. It's the latter that unnerved me more than anything else. One of the reason that many New Yorkers feel safe at most hours of the day is that in most places there are always more than just a few people on the street at any given time. Eventually, I made it to a drugstore where I indulged in one of the great pleasures of traveling: cheap cigarettes. You have no idea what $24 cartons will do to someone who is used to $65-75 ones. I loaded up and that meandering didn't mean jack to me after that.

Vacations are about drinking and shopping for me no matter where I am, so I chose a hotel that looked on the map like I'd be able to stumble back drunk to. Well, it was in stumbling distance to a few. Y'see, there's this huge park in the middle of what one would call the gay areas of Atlanta. (It's so big that it divides what would be one gay neighbourhood into three.)

The first stop on the list was Bulldogs, which much to my total surprise is basically the only black gay bar in Atlanta proper. Seriously. Atlanta has just 1 black gay bar. I'd like to spin this in a positive, hippie way and say that it's an indicator of how far along racial integration has come in the gay community, but outside of Bulldogs more often than not I was the only minority (out of all shades) in any given place except for Bulldogs. That just seemed weird to me. A transplant to the city explained to me that blacks have no problem going to any bar, but if that was the case where were they?

I kind of like Bulldogs though. It was a nice shotgun-style bar that had MGD, which combined with indoor smoking makes it HEAVEN. Moreso, one of the bartenders is an aspiring screenwriter who is trying to pitch an East Coast black gay dramedy to HBO, which: a) I really would like to see come to air; and b) HBO really needs. He shared my view of Queer as Folk which boiled down to saying "in Pittsburgh?" after every episode.

The nexus of Atlanta's gay life, however is Blake's which looks like your standard issue UK gay pub outside of London or Manchester, but with Southerners acting like Milwaukeeans. It also was where that disconnect I mentioned earlier really came into play, although that was also quite apparent at Bulldogs as well. Blake's may not have had MGD, but they had videos and smoking so it was fine by me until it got really crowded. As much as I like to blend into the background, I don't want to be practically invisible so that people can flick their hair right into my face and not realise that they have just whacked a person. (Once, I can forgive, four times with several "excuse me"s is just being needlessly arrogant.)

One thing I noticed in Atlanta is that men seem to come in either two shapes: short and squat or tall and lanky. I started to wonder where the taffy puller was in Atlanta, and why so many men seemed to be victims of it. It was just bizarre. I was either looking up or looking down.

There is new rule that I think I'll apply whenever I travel: be very wary of bars that have Myspace pages. Blake's had one as did another stop I made on Saturday night: WETBar. Now, I don't know what the connection is between Myspace and bars, but while I get the need to reach out to your customers, it just seemed odd for bars to use Myspace. Granted Myspace is--in theory--a social networking site (albeit one mostly for high schoolers and long-distance friends), and bars are social places, for a bar to have one just seems a touch...squicky. WETBar was described in my guidebook in a way that lead me to believe that it was Atlanta's version of Splash--no pun intended. It certainly has Splash's multiple bars and dance spaces, but not quite. Splash, for better or worse, always seems to have a strong sexual undercurrent. WETBar had a strong undercurrent of cute. Cute as evidenced by the plethora of men in tight glittering t-shirts, most of whom looked like they needed to go on an eating binge over at the Publix across the street.

I don't like cute.

I made it over to the dance area where even though it was verging on midnight no one was dancing. A perky guy with a lip piercing asked if I danced and frowned when I told him that I wasn't drunk enough. He got up and went to the dance floor and did several acrobatic moves that I wouldn't even dare attempt within the confines of my own apartment. Making his way back he stated that this is very typical for Atlanta, in that the natives are too shy to do anything but stand and model due to peer pressure, even though they may be tapping their feet and swinging their hips to the beat. Emboldened by that statement, plus the fact that no one knew me, I downed my Red Stripe (no MGD available) and joined him on the dance floor. By the time I called it a night, the dance floor had gone from empty to a smattering, so it was a minor success.

WETBar had videos and smoking indoors, so I didn't mind the place overall. In fact, I actually had a sub-lebrity sighting: Andrew from The Amazing Race 3. He may very well google those terms, so I'll leave my impressions with "I saw him" and not go further.

In a strange about-face from my usual booze and cruise vacations, I actually did tourist things in Atlanta. Well, two tourist things: The World of Coca-Cola and The CNN tour.

The World of Coca-Cola was particularly a journey into the taboo for me, since I grew up in a staunch Pepsi household where it was a testimony to my mother's liberalism that I didn't get mocked for liking Cherry Coke. Since there is no World of Pepsi, I made due with the other one.

I needn't have bothered. Good lord was it boring. You'd think they'd but more effort into a blatant attempt of marketing-as-education (I found it a bit strange and slightly disheartening to see so many schoolbuses there), but no. The World of Coca-Cola was about as interesting as a watching water boil. For starters, they don't even address one of the big rumours: did Coke at one time have cocaine? Indeed while it is interesting to taste all the various types of Coca-cola products from around the world, all I really learned from it is that Diet Coke tastes vile with or without caffeine and that Cherry Coke & Barq's will continue to be my only forays into Coca-Cola land, at least beverage-wise.

Then there was the CNN Studio Tour which I can basically summarise with these photos:

My inquiries about an Anderson Cooper brand cock ring were met with puzzled looks.

Let's be honest here: Anderson can caper on about being a serious journalist as much as he wants but when your name (I don't care if that's technically the show's name, it's basically his) is plastered over girls' t-shirts, mugs, sweaters, blankets, and everything else under the sun, your crediblity is out the damn window. If he wants to follow in his mother's footsteps then at least be upfront about it.

Not like I didn't make my own lapses in judgment. I ate at Chick Fil-A, the fast food chain owned by a deranged religious conservative (I think it's because his last name is "Cathy") who shuts down all his franchises on Sunday. Even worse, I really liked it, because that key lime pie and those nuggets were unbelievably good. Dammit.

Lest you think I just like Bulldogs, I have to say there were two other places I would've stopped by more often if it weren't for that damn park.

Amsterdam seemed like The View on steroids (no pun intended): A huge rectangular bar and a separate dance area. Everyone there seemed even-keeled, the type for whom S&M is a sexual practice not an attitude. It also seemed nicely integrated across the spectrum, with friendly bartenders. I couldn't quite figure out why it was called Amsterdam as there didn't seem to be anything particularly Dutch about it--the only specials were with Smirnoff, nor was there an air of sexual frankness. I guess the fact that it was very cozy in feel might make it Dutch.

Nearby there was Miss Q's, a billard parlour/bar that had the same cozy, friendly feeling not to mention several hilarious overheard conversations between queens going at it over a billard table.

And that so that you know, and that your children, and their children will know, is my impression of Atlanta.*

* No, I didn't go to Hoedowns.

Eurovision 1992: Vegasvision in Sweden

Could we please stuff that nighting-goose? I'm hungry. (By the way, what on god's green earth is a nighting-goose? The thing looks like a stork to me. )

Anyway, you might be wondering why all of a sudden this part of the internet has got a touch of nostalgia and decided to look back at Eurovision 1992. The reason why? Sheer curiosity.

I could drag out some long-winded explanation about how you don't know where you're going to until you look back, but honestly, if given the chance to make fun of dated cabaret songs and hairstyles from a 2007 perspective, I'm taking it. (In the interest of full disclosure, I had a high-top in 1992 and wore Cross Colors.)

For obvious reasons, I'm not going to go into the voting, because we all know which country won--and would keep on winning for the next two years. In addition, Eurovision voting segments were extremely boring (and low on the visuals) until the organisers realised in 1994 that there are these satellites up there which can transmit images from all different countries in the middle of the same programme. Neat!

Anyway, it's 1992 and we're in Sweden.

After a particularly long version of Te Deum, we see clouds and I hear Wogan.

Now I know that Il Wogan is a divisive figure amongst Eurovision fans, but I like him. His attitude as I see it is that the performers have to take it seriously, but the viewers don't have to. Only one time did I get minorly irked by him talking over a song, and that was during Paul Oscar's performance in 1997. (Even though I thought what he said was hilarious.)

We then take a *cheap* (but it's 1992, so I'll forgive them) animated trip from Rome to Malmo. Wogan calls Rome "the scene of much unhappiness last year." My own bias interprets that as a sly way of him agreeing that we should be in Paris.

This is followed by lots of scenes of Sweden. Remember when Eurovision openers were lingering? I kind of miss those days. Now we just have presenters going on ad naseum about nothing whatsoever. Anyway, over the scenery Wogan makes several funny references/barbs about Toto from 1991, and I let out a sigh...because he was endearing, in a "I have no idea what I'm doing whenever I'm not singing" kind of way."

Eventually we make it into the Ice Stadium where a bunch of Malmo Girls in national colours wave ribbons while the orchestra plays the crazy lady's "winning" song from 1991. This looks like a Miss America number, I tell you what.

Lydia & Harold come out. (Harold looks like he needs to come out, in my opinion, or was he just nervous?) Wogan may say that "Lydia & Harold" sounds like the name of an American sitcom, but I think Coronation Street, myself. Lydia is dressed in classic 1992 upscale trophy wife/whore pink and Harold is in a blue tuxedo. In other words, they are dressed like they are going to the prom. Lydia's hairdo underscores that aspect. Harold starts speaking in English and calls Eurovision, "the greatest game show." Lydia speaks, but damned if anyone knows what she's saying since her microphone isn't working. Harold talks about the map of Europe changing as if he's talking about nuclear fusion. Harold then promptly announces that they are going to drop all this English/French parroting and speak only Swedish. Harold goes way up in my estimation for that.

Unfortunately, they say nothing of note, because I could give a toss about Italy sending them flowers.

They toss to a clip of Carola energetically performing in Rome in Peter-Pan-goes-to-business-school gear. The real crazy deal then enters dressed in...well, what the hell is it? A bridesmaid's dress? A wedding dress for a second marriage? The inspiration for Lisa del Bo? She also looks shockingly similar to Linda Martin.

Crazy Carola bows and gets this eerie, calm look on her face as she tells us that the assault on the eardrums--I mean, song that she is about to butcher--I mean, sing is dedicated to "HIM who has given her all the reasons to live." I thought all of Jim Jones's believers were dead.

I don't know what happened to Crazy Carola in the intervening years but someone must have taught her better diction in English, because her accent is THICK in this. Until she sings/wails "show me the way," I thought she was singing in Swedish.

Apart from being an insipid Vegas style ballad with weird-but-generic lyrics, the song is low on Carola-goes-crazy moments. Eventually we get a few. Particularly when she starts wobbling her jaw and her eyes start bugging out. At the climax, the Malmo Girls reappear atop the Viking Ship holding flags from all of the participating countries.

Now, let's step back a moment and analyse this: Crazy Lady is singing about god or whatever she worships, and all the flags come out? Is this a revival? Would Martin Luther be pleased? I think not.

Lydia & Harold come back to introduce us to the Nighting-Goose, which still looks like a stork dressed up like Einstein to me. Finally, after 15 minutes of stalling, the show really begins.

• Spain: Wogan goes full-tilth on the lisp, and I love him for that. This is Serafin's Eurovision debut and as anyone who saw him in Stockholm 7 years ago could attest, he didn't really improve by much. As horrifying as Spanish entries have been in recent years, they used to be much much worse as Serafin's bland midtempo song about music proves. The whole time he's performing, I can't help but wonder why Ivana Trump is singing backup for Spain. Okay, I'll be mildly nice: Serafin was cute at 27, but it was a time when most European men under 50 on television looked straight out of the Armani catalogue.
• Belgium: Morgane tells us that we want violins. She didn't ask me, because I don't. Wogan says that she is better than the song. She must be really charismatic in person, because this is one sucky song. Morgane is dressed like a reject from a Michael Jackson video circa 1985. There may be references to rap, funk, but this is all "Gorby generation." I am assuming that is a reference to Gorbachev, because it sounds like the work of the USSR's Western Popular Music Reference Committee #4. Morgane bounces about, occasionally finding the key, and it's over. And yet, it needn't have existed in the first place.
• Israel: Remember Dafna from 1999? Well here she is without acting drunk and perky. Here she's just perky. Wogan says that this is one of the strongest songs this year, which is proof that this is a sad state o'affairs. The Israelis decide to give us a neon assault in respect to outfits, which is wise since there is so much dark blue onstage. I think the theme for this year must be Eurovision goes to Reno, since so many entries would not be out of place at a casino, but not a high-end one. Back to Dafna who has been "singing" while I'm typing this. The two men playing drums behind her decide to have their dentist check their mouth in the middle of the entry by going "ahhhhhh." It's an energetic "ah," mind you. Have we finally reached the chorus? Wow. For a song about sport, there's very little movement beyond Dafna's shuffling. By the way, it's a sad state of affairs when the Israeli song does a better job of representing Spain than the Spanish one. Maybe I have a dirty mind, but the microphones on the bongo boys; chests look rather phallic.
• Turkey: The first song of this year that I like. This may be the Turkish entry, but it sounds very much like Japanese enka--even down to the lyrics. Perhaps it's my memory, but I don't remember messy hair being fashionable in 1992. 1995, maybe, but not 1992. The song starts out very strangely with Aylin's male backing singers creating a sun in front of her. Aylin steps out in a green overcoat and what looks like nothing underneath. This is quite a sweet, if not slightly sad song for the most part until that part. You know, where for some reason known only to the composers and arrangers, one of the backing singers comes out and screeches out a falsetto. From that point on, you just can't look nor listen to it in the same way. Summer's over, kids.
• Greece: I'm certain the irony of Greece represented by a singer called Cleopatra was called on back in 1992, so I won't go there. Cleo certainly has got a strong set of pipes on her. It also is a very dramatic performance, so she does her namesake very well. The song itself is decent, but I get the sense that it actually is holding her back. Still, very good job.
• France: Bob Marley goes to Eurovision via Martinique. Speaking of the DOM-TOM, why on Earth has Reunion's sole contribution to Eurovision been Severine Ferrer? I mean, seriously, they could do so much better. Anyway, Kali and his locs do a pretty decent job. It is not as good as Amina's entry the year previous in terms of haunting you, but then again, there really is no message here. It's just reggae, cher, and decent reggae at that, none of that Club Med crap. I wonder if France would be daring enough to let Wyclef Jean loose on their entry one of these years.
• Sweden: Before he wrecked havoc on the Melodifestivalen selection process, La Bjorkman did actually win the thing with a daft little optimistic ballad. Wogan compares him to Paddy Ashdown, which from a 2007 perspective is unintentionally funny or scarily prescient. I don't know what happened to Christer from 1992 to the present, but it certainly looks like life has been mean to him. He's actually quite cute performing this--oops, strike that--they just did a close up. By the way, Christer, you are not Jesus, so don't open your arms for that long. Wogan makes another funny/prescient comment: "Christer is a man, for whom designer stubble never died."
• Portugal: The Nighting-Goose gets squished while the pages turn for Portugal. Another round of unintentional irony: Christer is followed by Dina, who is a lesbian. Wogan complains about the lyrics, but I'm guessing he's never been to a modern folk music festival, because Dina's lyrics are a slight cut above of the ones on display there. Musically, it's very Portuguese, which is a way of saying "cute and endearing." The two backing singers in halter dresses(?) blend well vocally, but visually stand out like sore thumb since everybody else onstage is wearing pants. Interesting this same combo (albeit with dresses) would give Portugal its highest score ever 4 years later.
• Cyprus: Judging by the postcard, Cyprus seems to be the land of topless women cavorting on the beach. Judging by my experiences in New York, it is the land of incompetent bartenders who prattle on needlessly. Evridiki, who will be the Cypriot entrant this year, is dressed in a slinky "I'm-not-copying-Marilyn-Monroe, honest" dress. Evri (I'm not going to call her "diki," am I?) doesn't so much sing the verses as purring them. She certainly is going for the sultry here, isn't she? It works, but I'm left wanting more chorus and just barely keeping interest during the verses. When she gets to the jazz hand portion, however, it's just a bit too Vegas for me, and Vegas always needs irony.
• Malta: I'm sorry, but Mary looks like Laura Bush after a tanning session, breast lift, and a dye job. She also is dressed like her too. That said, Mary sounds like she is doing her best job at imitating Eartha Kitt. Against my better judgement, I like it, but not for the song itself, but because Mary is unintentionally camp. While Mary may look like Laura Bush, and sound like Eartha Kitt, her performance--especially the latter half--is all Anita Bryant, courtesy of the daft lyrics. One of these things is not like the other.
• Iceland: The second song I like this year. Sigga and her sister bounce about in red & yellow, smirking and singing about "yes" and "no." This is not a deep song, and they know it, which makes it work. The song is basically an overdose of cuteness, which in 1992 you could still do, since the world wasn't that jaded.
• Finland: As if to demonstrate what I just said about performers knowing that they aren't singing great profound thoughts on the meaning of life, Pave comes on looking either scared or psychotic (take your pick) with a song that is about the noise a radio makes. Pave is accompanied by two Delta Burke clones and Chita Rivera in yellow power suits. Apart from Blonde Delta, they are having much more fun onstage than Pave is. For pete's sake, man, your song is absurd! Have fun onstage. By the way, I never want to see that man shake his hips and fists like that again. It's icky.
• Switzerland: I love Wogan's comment at the end of the postcard: "There's a bunch of Swiss about to hurl themselves off a rock." Oddly enough, it applies to the song as well. The rock being "Mister Music Man" and the suicidal Swiss being Daisy. In general too much onstage can kill a song (see Andorran entries from 2004-2006), but having no one but Daisy is killing this very burlesque number. Were this is a talent show, I'd give Daisy a pass, but it's not and the song is not that strong.
• Luxembourg: Luxembourg in Luxembourgish shock. I've never been to Luxembourg, and the postcard is not exactly making me rush out to the airport to get there. Milwaukee is more interesting. Wogan describes the conductor as looking "pale, but determined." The same description could apply to the performance. This is actually quite an upbeat, happy song, and were Luxembourg to end their Eurovision run with this, it would be a better musical end than their follow up. The problem with the performance, however is that the visuals get in the way. Kontinent looks like a bunch of office workers and Marion looks like the perky and quirky receptionist. If memory serves me correct, they are actually on-target fashion-wise for 1992.
• Austria: Wogan thinks that Tony Wegas is a contender. He's wrong. Very wrong. Tony gives a very Wegas-style performance of an overblown ballad. I have no idea what he looks like now, but in 1992 or 1993, I certainly would've enjoyed him in the sack--at the age I am at now, of course. Of course, in the early nineties, mens' jackets still had those very broad shoulders, so for all I know, Tony may not be a broad-shouldered Tom Jones-esque lust machine when all his clothes are off. Didn't he get pinched for thieving someone? Anyway, good looking man with a crappy song. Do like that last note, though. Next.
• United Kingdom: One day the UK will realise that picking songs with Eurovision double entendres in them never quite works out ("Why do I always get it wrong?," "One Step Out of Time," "Say It Again," "Don't Play That Song Again," etc.) for them. Anyway, so here comes Mr. Michael "I'd-Rather-Stick-Needles-In-My-Eyes" Ball, many years before he ballooned out to flop on Broadway in The Woman in White. I shouldn't be so catty though, since as Wogan says he does really attack the song, which is something that I value very highly. Quite frankly, by 1992 Eurovision-goes-Vegas standards, he goes positively rabid on the thing. I have no idea why on Earth someone made him do that finger pointing thing, though. Perhaps I'm getting my early nineties British popsters mixed up, but when I close my eyes, I don't hear Michael Ball inasmuch as Jason Donovan--who really should get the nod for the UK at some point.
• Ireland: How cruel is it to watch this in 2007 knowing that this won and the UK came 2nd? It definitely should've been the other way around. Wogan makes a truly dated (for 2007) reference, comparing Linda Martin to Stephanie Powers. If that doesn't make you feel old...The song starts out very dramatic and Vegas. Linda is also dressed very dramatic and Vegas. Then she gets all country-via-Australia-and-Ireland. Seriously, it sounds like an Olivia Newton-John castoff. The Irish staging is eerily similar to the UK's, with Linda front and centre and the backing singers (3 women and 2 men in contrast to the UK's 3 men and 2 women) way off in Denmark (that's a geographical joke, by the way). While the song is very good, it doesn't stir you the way that the UK's did, mostly due to Michael's performance. Linda is just standing there and looks like she's not feeling anything but her perm. Why us, indeed.
• Denmark: Before I heard any of the other songs from 1992, Denmark's entry was amongst one of my favourite Eurovision songs of all time. It probably has slid down my list over the years, but after watching most of this lot, I can say that it reigns quite highly amongst the 1992 entries. Perhaps it's the oompah-pah brassy fun of it all. Or it's Kenny's growling rock voice in contrast to Lotte's. Or it's just that they're all having so much damn fun onstage that you just want to join in. Danish entries used to be so much fun, but I think Kolig Kaj injured it and the Olsens finished that job. The performance is really just Danes having Vegas cabaret fun and nothing more is needed. That said, they definitely could've stricken that daft little "is he/she checking you out?" act at the beginning. A fun little game to play while watching this: do a shot every time that Kenny and his poodle hair growl, snarl, yell, or just out-sing poor defenseless Lotte. You'll be blotto in no time.
• Italy: Speaking of growling and snarling, but with the cast-iron vocal chops to pull it off with buckets of style and talent, here is the late Mia Martini. Being biased towards upbeat songs, I like Mia's 1977 entry better than this one, but Rapsodia is pretty damn good in its own right. Whoops Dragovic (look under "encyclopedia") made a very astute connection between Mia & Judy Garland, and Mia's outfit and look are very Judy Garland. This is not meant to be a pretty song and Mia sings it with emotion that comes up from the depths of her soul. I always say that I like ballads that make you want to go crazy and hurl yourself out of a window from the torrents of despair. This is that kind of song. Mia does not try to look cute nor sexy while singing this, she just sings the hell out of it. Bravo.
• Yugoslavia: Geopolitics of 1992 aside, the fact that they entered after the horror that was Brasil is shocking enough. Wogan is very respectful due to the political situation at the time, but I can't help but wonder why he favours it so much. The song isn't that good, especially after Mia tore up the stage, rebuilt it, and tore it up again. Extra tries to sex the song up, but it's really to no avail. I wonder if her hair or perhaps her face is pulled back so tight that she can't bring her head forward. I almost think she's in pain based on the swaying and convulsions she's doing onstage. The song itself is kind of schitzophrenic. Is it a ballad? Is it a bouncy brassy tune? Either way, it's rather boring to watch and listen to.
• Norway: Normal Wogan service is resumed as he calls Merethe "a plump chicken from Trondheim." As the postcard concludes I am struck with the strange discovery that Rolf Lovland is--or at least used to be--quite hot in a Nordic way. This is another schitzophrenic song, but at least they get the slow bits finished with first. The majority of the song sounds and looks like a Miss America talent segment. It doesn't help that Merethe's hair is styled like she's the runner up and the winner just got hauled into rehab. I keep on waiting for the song to go somewhere, but it just lingers with its 1970s anime musical orchestration. Merethe's glory notes are so not called for.
• Germany: Another Siegel entry, and Wind are clearly past their mid-eighties peak. Good lord, this thing starts out as if it's a national anthem. The female lead singer's scary turn and smile when the intro finishes is scary on its own, but the visual assault of her along with the rest of the band is too much. Now, I may have been only 13 in 1992, and I may have been living in the US in the time, but for the love of god, I do not remember people looking like Kidd Video in 1992. Somebody also needs to remind the drummer that this is a midtempo song and to keep capering about in the background just makes it even more unintentionally funny. The swaying that the band does in unison is best left only to theme parks. Oh god no, they're doing a close up of the male lead. Make. It. Stop. No more poodle hair, especially if you're not Danish and your name isn't Kenny. I have to turn away because I can only take so many ear-to-ear smiles. Too late. The male lead just winked! This is too creepy for me.
• Netherlands: Humphrey wants to show us the way. I timidly say "ok." I was just as confused as Wogan about Humphrey's "triple" personality when I first saw this, but now I just remember to follow the man in yellow with the pony tail. Ruth Jacott supposedly sang back up here, but buggered if I can find her. Anyway, this is another schitzophrenic song which starts out like a waltz then goes polka-meets-soul-meets-anthemic all performed rapidfire. Now when I say "accordion solo" many of you will probably grimace, but it is not that bad. You just don't look at the Dr. Snuggles who is performing it. Scarily, Humphrey & Co. are fashion appropriate for 1992. Their shuffle was oddly in vogue at the time as well, if my viewings of BETJ serve me correctly. Very good rousing song, but as we all know now, Ruth blew the roof off the flowing year with Vrede.

We all know who won (Ireland), we all know who should've won (the UK or Italy), and we all know now that Stenchmark was really singing about the 1992 contest back in 2005. Thus concludes today's lesson.

Final Eurovision Moment of the Day: Slovenia

My anxiety can rest, all of EMA 2007 will be held while I'm away. (There will be an Atlanta post-mortem when I return.) Alas, this means I will miss my annual dose of Peter Poleš--who is reason enough for Slovenia to win soon.

Always the eager beaver, I took a listen to some of the entries on the preview show.

As expected, Alya's "Vizija" kicked major ass and she has truly gone from Slovenia's answer to Christina Aguileira to Dale Bozzio for the 21st Century.

Obviously, I'm rooting for her and it should be her year.

Even if it isn't, I have to say that this is one of the strongest EMA lineups in a long time: Nude is back with a song that isn't as strong as their 2001 entry; so are Lunapark (ditto); Diona Dimm now has a "Team" supporting her and the deepest female voice this side of Akiko Wada (only on here, children, only on here).

Other notable mentions include: Rok Cosmač--who looks suspiciously like Aaron Carter or Jesse McCartney (take your pick) , the opera-meets-house music entry from Alenka Gotar (aka the Nuša entry), Dean Vivod & Tonus Kitarus (the joke entry that is more pleasing to the ears than Alf Poier), Denis, whose staging looks like Clay Aiken meets Justin Timberlake via La Podolskaya, but whose song is chirpy and perky as hell, and Eva Černe who has Omar/Anžej spot with a song tailored for her Nuša Jr./Diana DeGarmo style.

Obviously, I want Alya, but bias aside it's Alenka, Diona, or Eva with Alya as a strong contender to pip the post. I really will be surprised if Slovenia goes for males three times in a row, but there's no jury vote this year so it's a level playing field.

Working against Eva's favour: Omar and Anžej both getting the nod last year against the popular vote.

Working against Alenka's favour: Nothing I can forsee except that it might suffer from poor staging based on the preview performance.

Working against Diona's favour: Sestre.

Working against Alya's favour: The fact that I like her.

Working in Alya's favour: Everything else.

Ok, I'm biased, but frankly, she damn well deserves it.

Eurovision 2007: She's Also Back

This tidbit must've slipped through the cracks while I was getting ready to go to Wisconsin:

Edsilia Rombley is coming back to Eurovision. What's more? She's singing in DUTCH!

Maybe it's me, but that could be interpreted as a bit of a dis to Glennis.

Selections from the Eurolaul 2007 Preview

Selections because ETV's site is painfully slow (but nonetheless very aesthetically pleasing) with the loading and I'm not going to sit through all of those songs, especially since I still can't drink for 2 more days.

Apparently, ETV called out all the pretty people (and yes, I'm including Koit Toome in that group, since Gary Barlow did set many hearts affluter in his heyday) to participate in this year's Eurolaul, which might as well have the subtitle of "You'd Better Be Able to Show Up the Finns." Believe you me, the eagerness/desperation is apparent in Eesti.

• Kristjan Kasearu & Paradise Crew - So Much to Say: Generally Estonia has provided Eurosongers with model-esque women and men that well...let's just say that Ruffus, Tanel Padar, and Ivo Liina aren't. This time around we get Kristjan Kasearu--twice--in order to make up for that deficit. And Kristjan is very handsome. (Fun Fact: Paradise Crew are not the former 2XL who danced around in the background to "Everybody" back in Copenhagen, but Soul Militia--ha!--is.) His song is...eh. It's pop/rock that would appeal to the Radio Disney set, well maybe the bit about Whiskey wouldn't. Did I mention that he's very handsome?
• Deva Deva Dance - Supreme Nature: Deva Deva Dance is one of those groups (or is it really just Arne Lauri?) that just keeps popping up in Eurolaul although one has no idea what the appeal is. To my knowledge there is no huge Indian Estonian community nor a Hare Krishna one, but Arne is hellbent on establishing some connection between Estonia and India. In my opinion, this kind of music went out with Enigma and European softcore porn from the mid 90s. I think ETV are thinking of them as a softer, gentler answer to Lordi.
• Koit Toome - Veidi Veel: Koit sounds and looks veidi veidi like Gary Barlow, even more now than he did back in '98 when he was singing about the Children of the Sea over the theme from Baywatch. (Yes, I said it. Even so, I did like "Mere Lapsed" or "Merely Lapsed" as some jokingly called it.) Now he's trying to rock out and from a hearing standpoint it works. From a visual standpoint, Koit looks as awkward as Gary Barlow when a Take That video called for intense choreography. Much like Koit trying to look tough in a bomber jacket, the song also just ends strangely.
• Laura - Sunflowers: Just feel the anonymity, it doesn't get anymore generic than someone called "Laura" singing about "Sunflowers." It's not that "Sunflowers" is a bad song, it's just that it really goes nowhere either musically or lyrically. What can you really say when the only thing that stays in your mind after hearing it is Laura's dress?
• Gerli "P!nk" Padar - Partners in Crime: First off, the song is wayyyyy better than her previous Eurolaul entry, but let's get this out of the way: she looks like Pink so much that I'm starting to wonder if Pink is Estonian. Gerli fortunately still retains her Cerys Matthews/Marianne Faithfull-esque "I-gargle-with-razor-blades-and-rubbing-alcohol" voice. Thank god that she sticks to rock where that is an asset. Despite my catty remarks, I'd like to see her win. Won't happen though.
• Vanilla Ninja - Birds of Peace: Yay! The Lindsay Lohan clones are back (minus one). It's also the return of dark, morbid lyrics that have absolutely no meaning attached to them whatsoever. (If "Cool Vibes" is about a tiger, then "Birds of Peace" is about heroin addiction?) The song isn't as atmospheric as "Cool Vibes," but Eurolaul is either theirs or Ines's to lose.
• Soul Militia - My Place: Pardon me as I laugh myself silly. Tanel & Dave's backing dancers try to go krunk. That's right, Estonian krunk music. When the Kevin Richardson lookalike raps "girl, you're making me horny" I truly did bust out laughing. But the chorus! Oh, the chorus! "Before we go to my place/Why don't you give me a taste/Slide your ass down that pole/Girl I'm about to explode." Basically a love song to a stripper. (By the way the lyric that follows goes "I don't want to sound like a perv/Nevermind, I'm a bit disturbed.") This from the country that gave us Maarja & Ivo's squicky-but-innocent seeming ballad about the sound of a necklace, and Ines's ode to being 17. Well, Estonia is clearly past the first flushes of puberty now. That said, there is no way in hell this will win.
• Ines - In Good and Bad: Ines must certainly want her privacy, since apparently she lives in New York these days. (She must be a downtowner, although I'd gladly have her as neighbour over the entitled SaTC crowd in my building.) That aside, last year Ines got shafted big time. The Euro-fans like her, and although personally I'm indifferent to "Once in a lifetime," I've liked everything else she's sung in Eurolaul. The song is again Radio Disney-esque pop/rock with a veneer of Bohemian chic, but strangely enough, Ines makes it work. Like I said, it's hers to lose.

Vanilla Ninja or Ines, with Gerli as close outsider, and Kristjan a bit further out (the man has two chances to win, so you can't discount him). I'll be shocked, but not necessarily dismayed, if Koit Toome pulls a surprise victory. If Soul Militia wins, I'll just pass out from shock.

Romanian Semi-Final 1: One Remains Optimistic

Because the one decent dance song, "Sinada" (and mark my words Romania will always send a dance song) got through to the Grand Final.

You can have your Swedish redneck nonsense, cloying multilingual love songs, Romanian country music, and whatever you'd classify "Crazy" as, but at least the one song I like out of the whole lot got through.

Because god has a sense of humour, watch "Dracula, My Love"* go straight into the final after next week's semi.

* God, I wish I was making that up. There really is a song called "Dracula, My Love" in the Romanian Semi-Final. And yes, it's another dance pop song.

The 700th Post Club Roundtable

Yes, this part of the internet has reached 700 posts and I'm celebrating it by having a roundtable of sorts. Joining me is slut--I mean--21st century courtesan Aron Slade, and our two "sou desu ne boys," who are biding their time between tanning sessions and bar opening hours.

Hikaru: First off, something light. Today's Out Hot Guy of the Day.
Aron: Eh. He could lose the spiky hair. I'd do him.
SDNB #1: Short.
Hikaru: I thought the 90s were over.
SDNB #2: Indeed.

HF: Next, the presidental field for 2008.
AS: Richardson. Obama has charisma but no ideas.
SDNB #1: Indeed.
HF: Clark? Gore?
AS: Gore isn't going to run. Not in a million years. No way will Clark run with Clinton in the mix.
SDNB #2: Indeed.
AS: You really aren't that informed are you?
HF: Richardson or Edwards. Clinton with a strong chance. I don't think we're ready for another pretty boy president. Republicans?
AS: Like anyone cares. McCain. The GOP gets their asses handed to them in '08 no matter who they run.
SDNB#1: Indeed.

HF: Oscar nominations?
AS: Crap, crap, crap, and crap.
SDNB #1: Indeed.
SDNB #2: Dreamgirls was fierce.
AS: Define "fierce."
SDNB #2: Fierce is...it's just "fierce."
AS: Retire that word.
HF: Eddie Murphy deserves a win.
AS: And he's following it up with Norbit. I'm just saying.
SDNB #2: Indeed.
HF: It's called taking the money and running with it.
AS: Whole bunch of people must be doing that. Look at that cast list! Thandie Newton?
SDNB #1: Oh no.
AS: Oh yes. Crash didn't pay enough bills.
HF: He did write it himself along with his brother.
SDNB #2: I'm just going to drool now.
HF: You either get looks or skills in life.
SDNB #1: I beg to differ.
SDNB #2: Me too.
AS: I'm just saying keeping both Johnny Gill & Mel B isn't cheap.

HF: Noah's Arc getting the boot and a movie finale? Kinda cold, I think.
AS: I think it lost its way.
SDNB #2: Indeed.
HF: It never promised to be more than what it is, a comic soap that dealt with GBM lives. Have we ever seen that before?
SDNB #1: Indeed.
AS: Stop filing your nails! Anyway, should we really celebrate blandness?
HF: Blandness is the equaliser in today's America.
AS: I think that's tragic.
HF: But true. Nobody takes you seriously until you show that you're 99.9% like them.
AS: I don't think we are.
HF: Nobody really is. We're just supposed to appear that way. Anyway, I think it's sad.
SDNB #1: Indeed.
AS: I look at it this way: Yeah, it was the first mainstream show about GBM, but it's not the first good mainstream show. Hell, the first good mainstream show about gays period has yet to air.
HF: Well, at least they didn't air The Closet.
SDNB #1/SDNB #2/AS: Indeed.

HF: Onto Eurovision.
SDNB #1: Hurray.
HF: Dmitry Koldun?
AS: Dima Bilan mk II. Just like Constantinos was Sakis Rouvas mk II in Kyiv.
SDNB #2: Indeed.
HF: The song is not bad. It starts out with this whole James Bond style.
AS: But it doesn't really build upon it.
SDNB #1: I want to see him go crazy onstage, don't you? That's what really made "Never Let You Go" work.
AS: Did it though? I thought it was just because everyone wanted to fuck him. I did.
HF: Not me.
SDNB #2: He had on a mullet. A mullet.
HF: He's not a hockey player. He ought to have just shaved it off. You can't take anyone with a mullet seriously unless they're planning on killing you.
SDNB #2: Indeed.
AS: No matter what anyone else sends out, the Swedes will place 3rd or 5th.
SDNB #1: Indeed.
HF: We haven't heard the winner yet. I say the UK places really high this year, and Portugal makes it to the final this year. Germany falls on their face if they don't send Roger Cicero.
AS: Portugal?
HF: Yes, Portugal. Think about it? Did you expect Finland to win last year? The stakes are raised big time across the board. This is no time for copycats.
SDNB #2: Indeed.

Well, that wraps up the 700th Post Club.

In The Year 2100

The Port Authority is set to take over Stewart or Newburgh International Airport up in Orange County, NY. The deal allows for PANYNJ to control Stewart until the year 2100, which made me wonder what sort of world will it be when the Port Authority's lease runs up.

Some possiblities:

• Legalised gay marriage nationwide, and a divorce rate of 42% or lower, courtesy of that fact. (NB: the current rate is 50%)
• A looser federation of the United States resembling something akin to Belgium with stronger state and/or regional governments and a federal government whose role is limited basically down to foreign and monetary policy.
• Despite that reorganisation, we have Universal Healthcare overseen by the Federal Government which the states or regions will pay into and administer so that each state/region with a surplus can give to areas that are ailing.
• Barring the discovery and implementation of a replacement for oil, we will have less flights than we do presently due to peak oil.
• An 80-90% Urban populace due to peak oil.
• Our 4th minority president is elected and no one bats an eyelash, but a gay or lesbian president has yet to be elected (although there will have been at least 2 serious contenders that get relatively close).
• An independent is elected president, and lasts one term because it's just too weird.
• Still a two party system, but it's Liberal & Conservative, since "Labour" is still a dirty word, even if the beliefs make total sense.
• At least 10-20 years of state (literally "state," in this case since the Federal Government would never participate) involvement in the economy with state-owned airlines, gas stations, electric companies, and a few state-owned telecoms in the Plains and in the South after internet access is declared a right.
• Detroit is revived and gentrified as a Midwestern San Francisco, along with the attending problems of economic disparity.
• A luddite rebellion, oddly born from an internet movement, leads to a re-establishment of local commercial arts with less state subsidy than before.
• In a surprising move, the television industry asks for a federal subsidy as the growth of DVRs lead to a severe downturn in advertiser revenue. The federal government balks and a group of states led by California, New York, Illinois, and Florida attempt to buyout one of the faltering big 4 networks. This in turn leads to the creation of an ARD style system amongst 2 of the previous big 4, while the remaining 4 stay in private hands.
• The average movie stays in theatres for 2 months, goes to pay-per-view the following month, and then to DVD two months after that.
• Movie star and entertainment executive salaries level off to $600,000 primarily due to two trends: the weakness of the entertainment industry and the devaluing of celebrity as research indicates that celebrity does not hold much pull when it comes to whether a person will see a movie.
• The filmed musical does not become obsolete, but tends to be seen more often on television than in cinemas.
• Anderson Cooper's infamous televised faux-pas ("As a gay man...") continues to be ranked high on the majority of "Most Surprising" moments.
• Jodie Foster went to her grave closeted.
• Car ownership decreases severely (in comparison to present), but mass transit skyrockets as entrepeneurs figure out how to make money using the millions of miles of freight rail tracks all over the US.
• US citizens with a passport increase, then decrease, decrease again, and then rise slightly.
• The year 2100 sees the 50th anniversary of the end of the Cuban embargo, and the 10th of Puerto Rican independence.
• DC remains the last colony on the American mainland.
• US citizens can travel freely to Iran and North Korea, the latter which has had 40 years without the KIS/KJI autocrats, and retains an open border and shared currency with South Korea (with which it is in a EU style confederation).
• The PRC & Taiwan still hate each other, but don't let it get in the way of business.
• 40% of Americans claim to have a working knowledge of spoken Chinese, 14% claim written ability. This is manifested as a generation gap since many children use it to talk behind their parents' backs.
• May Day becomes a state holiday in California, Delaware, Illinois, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and Wisconsin.
• There are still 3 Law & Order series on television.

I'm just sayin'.

Because Theatre Is So Classy

Now, I'm happy that Dawnn Lewis is getting some work, because I always thought she was talented, but Sister Act: The Musical?

Until there is a staged musicalisation of Head or Myra Breckinridge*, I'll just continue to throw my hands up in disbelief in respect to these movie musical adaptations.

* And believe you me, they could be musicalised if there are actual book writers out there with brains that work beyond "let's set up the next song."

Piosenka dla Europy 2007: The Preview Review

Some business first: I'm going light on the Eurovision write-ups this year just because of time and work. (Those Twisted Teas don't pay for themselves.) Ergo there won't be semi by semi coverage of Norway, Spain, and--gasp--even Slovenia! Poland however made the cut, if only because TVP made it so easy and for that, I am very grateful.

First off, there are 6 Swedes in this year's Polish final, which seems odd, but the Swedes seem to be taking over any Eurovision national final they can find (Spain, Latvia, Romania, Lithuania, possibly even the UK if the Ace of Base rumours lead to something), so it make sense for the Swedish spillover to hit the shores of Poland.

Anyway, on with the videos (reviewed in the order that they are on TVP's website) !

• Bikini - Don't Judge Me: But they make it so easy for me to. Melodic Grrl Pop in the vein of Ashley Simpson/Lindsay Lohan/Hillary Duff (take your pick). Now, I like The Veronicas, and these women are not them. Oh, they get close, but the moody black & white shots and mind-numbingly slow verses only lead to a tepid rock chorus. I'd rather hear Bikini Kill frankly. On the upside, the lead singer has a very strong voice.
• Button Hackers - On My Mind: Face it, with that sort of band name you were expecting electroclash comes to Eurovision. I know I was. What [the?] Button Hackers are is Rick Astley-style dance pop--which is all right by me! The Hackers are mysteriously absent from the video which seems to involve shots of Sydney. I love the song (and the video to some degree), which means it'll probably bomb on the night, since I was in love with Kto To last year.
• Charizma - Emily: Aka Swedish entry #1. MOR pop-rock about naive Emily and the singers' desire to "show [her] another world." He is presumably not referring to the soap opera. If you've heard "Give Me Your Love," then you've heard this sung by--well--more charismatic, albeit robotic people. Seriously, the lead singer could be reciting the encyclopedia based upon the lack of emotional depth on his face.
• Mikael Erlandsson - Love in the Air: Swedish entry #2. The song sounds like Stock, Aiken, and Waterman, and Electric Light Orchestra had a love child and raised it in Sweden. The video is no great shakes either: Mikael looks like he's been ridden long and hard from too much Absolut, and why on Earth would anyone be interested in seeing him record the song in studio. CHEAP!
• Molęda - No Second Chance: None indeed. Two earnest-looking twinks sing a ballad. These are two-a-penny in any Broadway show and having a video that takes place with them on a stage isn't changing my opinion. The orchestrations and arrangements are straight out of the mid-to-late 80s and one of the boys is dressed like a reject from the Polish version of Family Ties. Even worst the song just ends. It builds up to a huge climax and there is glory note laden finale. Blech.
• Natasza - I Like It Loud: Yes, she does and I don't mind it. Natasza also likes it very Fergie, in my opinion. The video itself is pretty simple with just the tartan-clad Natasza & her go-go girls doing cartwheels while the Robert Palmer clones play brass in the background, but damn does it work. I have a sneaking suspicion that Natasza might not be able to bring it live, but she's got a good chart hit possiblity on her hands. By the way, everytime I hear the song that begins with "Hey Mr. DJ" I expect to hear either "put a record on," or "you can get me started. Everybody's ready to party...all night, all night."
• Szarmach - Open Your Mind: If Natasza is Fergie doing rock, then Ania is Fergie meets Hikaru Utada. I don't quite know what opening one's mind has to with Ania grinding up against a car like a spokesmodel, but okay. She comes off rather meek when played after Natasza, but Ania will be opening the Final...and that will work against her.
• The Jet Set - Time To Party: Not every singer/rapper combo is a Black Eyed Peas knockoff, and here is Evidence #1. The Jet Set seem more like La Bouche meets Timbaland with a heavy does of The Vengaboys. Their video is also CHEAP. I'll be honest here: if I wanted to see some skinny girl shake her thing in Daisy Dukes, I'd watch Paris Hilton's latest shenanigans. The video takes some bizarre turn into to Twenties, which may be an attempt to make a comment between the present day and the Roaring Twenties in terms of devil-may-care wildness, but it doesn't turn a bland song into a better one.
• Vino - Come in My Heart: Ok, that is one double-entendre laden title. Daughtry/Pearl Jam/Soul Asylum (take your pick) knockoff band sings a rock ballad about nostalgia all the while looking moody with blurry cameras. "Come in my heart before I'm wasted?" Are they being serious? Or is it "come in my heart before I waste it?" Either way, I think they're singing about their favourite places to have orgasms.
• Hania Stach - Regroup: Pop princess sings in various costumes about...well...what is this song about? I don't quite get how you can regroup after a broken heart. The video makes more sense than the song, and I think that is the point.

Button Hackers (long shot) or Natasza (fair chance), now watch either Charizma or Hania win the lot.

The View Post-Mortem: There Are Those Who Walk East, And Those Who Walk West

As I may or may not have referenced on here, I live in a building full of Sex & The City women. They are the type who wear everything as an accessory from shoes to bags to gay best friends to boyfriends. (They also have this annoying "upspeak" that annoys the living daylights out of me.)

I don't like them, just in case you were curious.

One of them was apparently having a birthday tonight, and as I walked out I noticed one thing: they all seemed to be walking East. East is towards the straighter quasi "hipster" lounges owned by sublebrities that get written up by columnists in Page Six. East, in a metaphorical way, is towards 15 minutes (or centimetres) of fame, which one would assume validate their lives which are constructed around being known in order to fill up the void left there by meaningless Myspace conversations and unanswered text messages.

I always walk West.

West is towards the gay heartland of Chelsea. For all my FG diatribes, I give the majority of them one big compliment: they are at least making the attempt to appear that their lives are not self-absorbed, and that's a big thing in this day and age: The whole world is constructed so that a person sees themselves as being front and centre at their own commemorative ceremony.

We all listen to mp3 players with our own personally selected soundtracks. We all rush to our cellphones to talk or type messages that broadcast our id to others in the belief that maybe someone else is so into our minutiae that they'll respond. If that isn't enough, we have blogs to do the same.

I'm just as guilty.

It's just that I wonder if it's all going too far.

When the SATC clones have no trouble elbowing others--including myself--in the elevator (and looking like they should be lucky to be in their presence when confronted by it), or obliviously tossing their hair in others' faces while ordering a drink, then we have a problem.

You see, we're living in a nation where quick apologies are believed to soothe all wounds, even if the sincerity isn't present. As long as we can robotically say "I'm sorry," then it is like the transgression never happened. Ironically, we're also living in a country where nobody is the transgressor: We all think that we're oppressed and because of that, we can automatically feel "your" pain with sincerity.

No, comrades, it doesn't work like that.

I've probably said this before, but I believe it bears repeating: no matter what you think, no matter how many idioms you can trot out: we are not islands. Just like the love that you send out will be returned to you, so will the brusqueness and vanity be returned...by the bucketloads.

I think that there is still some shread of camraderie within the gay community beyond all the tinsel and faux attitude. That beyond all the fronts and narishkeit (silliness) that we use to keep our armour up, we can find something to welcome a fellow lantzman (comrade..for lack of a better translation).

And that is why I will do my damnest to always walk West.

New Moon Post-Mortem: Happy Aquarian New Year

Yep, for all us Aquarians out there, it is now our New Year (January 20th), and we get a new moon--in Aquarius to boot.

Now this might be a new moon, but it might as well be a full moon based on what has occurred to me this evening.

For starters, I decided out of the blue to go see Kathy Griffin at Carnegie Hall, and shockingly enough got a great seat.

Having arrived in Midtown too early, I decide to brave the sudden burst of snow flurries (yay!) and mosey on over to Therapy--a bar that I don't necessarily hate, but am not all that fond of, since the clinetele tends to be of the S&M (Stand & Model) ilk from the theatre. Nonetheless it killed time until I had to be at Carnegie Hall.

On my way down to the heart of Hell's Kitchen, I run into a FG pair who were at Therapy. They stare at me, and because my cardinal rule when I'm being stared at is to stare right back, they amble off somewhere making some comment which I couldn't make out since it was windy and I was listening to Michael MacDonald on my mp3 player.

After a post-show drink over at the Ninth Avenue Bistro--like hell I'm going to Therapy again--I decided on a whim to cap the night by going to XES.

XES really made me feel like it was a full moon night since the video screens were playing dead Black R&B singers videos (TLC & Aaliyah basically), while the DJ seemed to be dredging up random rap and New Jack Swing.

Let's just say, I know that when weirdness comes by the bucketloads, it is my time to turn in.

The View Post-Mortem: We Are All Living In A Global Los Angeles

Before I get to the crux of this post, one side note: Out of curiosity (and partly inspired by Q), I am trying Marlboro Lights this week. Let me tell you, if you ever want to make a menthol smoker quit altogether, put him or her on these things for a week. These are some of the harshest things I've ever had. Hard to believe that at one point Marlboro was marketed as a woman's cigarette brand.

Anyway...

The Oughties are all about Los Angeles, I reckon. I stumbled across this while watching "4ever" at The View after they played "Walk Away." I started thinking: "where have I seen these looks before?" Then I realised where I had: in No Doubt videos from the mid-to-late nineties.

The Pimp My Ride subculture? Los Angeles.

The Rockabilly/Ska look combined with punk? Los Angeles.

The Grrl driven Power Pop? Los Angeles (and not Seattle, need I explain to you the difference between Hole & Bikini Kill?)

Los Angeles is now the arbiter of fashion, attitude, and social mores for the Oughties--at least based on what pop culture suggests.

Perhaps it's the 15 minutes of fame obsession that has rocked the country since 1999?

Perhaps it's the resignation that global warming will reduce most of the US to 70 degree weather year 'round?

Perhaps it's the Hiltons?

All I know is that it appears to me that Los Angeles is now in control of the zeitgeist, and it now has the responsibilities that come along with it (like Seattle/Portland did in 90s, New York in the 70s & 80s).

I have no idea who'll be in control for the teens. Maybe it'll be a really unexpected place like Phoenix.

By the way, no matter how much I like Good Day LA, there is no way I'm decamping out west. I'm riding out the four season lifestyle for as long as the climate allows.

I'd Love To Know The Logic Behind This

A fourth hour of Today?

Why on god's green earth?

It's Not That Ozaukee County Doesn't Have Interesting People...

...It's just that they have to leave Ozaukee County to actually do anything.

Ok, a couple of things:

1. He's a psychiatrist!
2. She's a lawyer!
3. He got his degree in Grenada.
4. She went to Marquette.
5. His specialty was in treating addiction to narcotics and alcohol...in Thiensville.
6. She worked for a Chicago law firm.

Either Darcy's batshit crazy (likely), or her real name is Esther Blodgett, because associating with Dr. Norman Maine ain't doing her any favours this time around.

Note to Elliot

I do not want to move to Washington, nor to New Jersey, or Connecticut, and I have already lived in Massachussetts.

Get on the ball.

I don't think this is the right locale

Maybe it's me, but if you're holding auditions for The Biggest Loser, you shouldn't have them in a brewery--even if it is in Milwaukee.

(Thanks to Tim Cuprisin's phenmomenal blog for this info.)

Better Than The Closet (Part Two)

The DL Chronicles, which will be coming to here in the near future.

The fact that lead actor Darren Schnase is genuinely sexy as hell has nothing whatsoever to do with me applauding this.

No, nothing whatsoever.

Read Rod 2.0 for more information on The DL Chronicles.

The View-Splash Post-Mortem: Drinking With The Ex

Ugh!

Never again.

As much as there is to be said for maintaining amicable relations, the long, protracted silences wherein he tries to complete a thought just drive my "say what you mean, and say it fast" self up a wall, and remind me of how good it is to be single again.

On the upside, one thing I have discovered that is true: go-go boys and opportunists will flock to a tall, skinny white man like moths to a flame.

That is a problem I certainly do not want to ever have, since 9 times out of 10, I just want to watch some music videos and take in the barely whispered conversations between the patrons and the steroided.

Sunday Jukebox Has New Stress

In...In...In...In...In...In honour of the upcoming Eurovision season and to...to...to...to...to...to celebrate the New Year, here...here...here...here...here...here's a re-envisioning of Stress.



Is it wrong that I find Odd somewhat attractive?

There is a God

And God has good taste!

I tell you--lack of snow aside--2007 is off to a wonderful start.

The View-Barracuda Post-Mortem: Archetypes

Still euphoric after the New Year's random encounters, I tried to get back into normal operating mode--in other words, getting to The View ASAP.

Go figure that not even after finishing one Twisted Tea: I get shanghaied by a man claiming to be Martha Stewart's vet. Even (partially) out of commission: he takes me to Barracuda and embarks on a mission to get into my pants. These days, however; that will not happen.

What's this man like? Keen to mention that he is wearing Gucci Shoes and carrying a Prada bag.


I think that about says all.

The Splash-The View Post-Mortem: Happy New Year's from me and my happy___

...ass, to use a phrase from Ghost Stories.

I'll be honest with you, something that was bound to happen did occur: I literally lost my shirt. I had the requisite amount of liquor that enabled me to get over my inhibitions and dance like I didn't care.

And indeed I didn't care. I didn't care to the point that I let my shirt go and fly out of my waist and into the confetti-laden floor.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The main event of the evening is that I had my very first New Year's kiss--at Splash no less.

Y'see, New Year's for me has traditionally been the South Park marathon and a bottle of plum wine in Wisconsin because I didn't want to deal with the chaos of New York on New Year's Eve. For some reason--which I can't explain, but am grateful for--I decided to finally spend New Year's at my present home.

I'm floating on Cloud 9 at the moment, so this will be a rambling post-mortem. Through a series of strange circumstances I did wind up literally dancing with the one who "brung" me, but I didn't dance metaphorically with the one that brung me. Granted that's a strange metaphor, but it's the only way I can explain it at the moment.

When I came to Splash at 8, I was seized upon by a guy, whom I'll call L. L happened to sport my kryptonite, which is black-rimmed glasses. At the time it seemed like L & myself were probably going to be a pair for the evening, but after I stepped outside for a bit, L suggested that I "circulate." Being dutiful, I did. Well, I plopped myself in my usual spot and wound up talking to a guy whom I'll call Q. Q also wore glasses and happened to also be a performance writer as well. Since Splash is only huge by New York standards, it was inevitable that L & Q were bound to meet, thus bringing forth a war between my mind and my loins, with Q winning that battle since the entrance to my loins these days is via my mind: shared political beliefs, career, and smoking will do that to you.

To make a long story short, come Midnight*, my tongue was down Q's throat and--apologies for sounding Pollyanna-ish here--I suspect that Q will be major participant in 2007 for me and hopefully vice versa.

Yes indeed, this will be a very good year.

* I subscribe to the superstition that whomever you kiss at Midnight will play a major role in the following year. I've never kissed anyone at this particular time before so it's always been me in the year that follows.

By the way, The View was a very good coda: Some GBM bonding with a Guyanian-American, the first song and music video that I remember loving to death, and a fag hag who said "your fly is down, sweetie." My response? "It's New Year's and I don't care, since anyone who notices it is already interested in the contents behind it and probably wouldn't want it zipped up in the first place." (Yes, I said that. She called me "sweetie." I hate that.)