Mision Eurovision Grand Final: Cocaine Goes to Eurovision

25 entries.

Let's just stew on that fact for a bit.

5 entrants performing each of the 5 songs = 25.

That's bigger than a Eurovision Qualifier.

Were it a Eurovision Qualifier I'd be able to take it on the night, but can you really handle hearing the same song 5 times in a row (even if the first round is basically a condensed version) ? You can change the staging, but Jesus wept! That's some level of endurance that I can't handle.

Oh, what's this white powder on my desk?

*snort*

Ok, that's better.

I'm not saying without a doubt that whoever at TVE who designed this selection process was on the non-liquified kind of coke, but I'd understand it if they were. It's about the only way anyone could keep their energy up.

So we open with the logo, Hard Rock Hallelujah, crazed fans divided into Mirela (the right side), NASH (the middle), Yanira (the far back), and Nazaret (the middle) sections. All I can say is poor Merche. She's like Marcy to a bunch of Peppermint Pattys and Lucys. I feel for her and Yanira as well, but they are so out of their league at this point.

Anyway, bring on Paula, her big hair, and leopard print dress that is in a dispute with her breasts...and the breasts are winning. When she says "mas tarde" all of the viewers at home (especially those not used to Spanish television) should've of taken that hint and bunkered down with all the caffeine on hand.

(Offtopic: If TVE was in charge of producing the Oscars, they wouldn't be able to get that show finished by midnight, but you know they'd at least keep it moving and entertaining. Honestly, the first Oscar broadcast I've watched in 15 years and the thing just dragged on forever.)

Paula talks a mile a minute in Spanish (being a non-native speaker, I only get 40-60% of what she's saying) then switches into English by saying "Why am I doing a speech in English?"

I rewind the DVR to check to see if that's what she said.

Indeed, she did and added a few catty muttered comments in Spanish afterwards. ("I'm too old for this shit?" "Are you fucking kidding me?" "Hundreds of millions of Spanish speakers in the world and I have to speak English on TVE?" What did she say?)

I. LOVE. HER.

Safe in the knowledge that anyone who noticed her aside probably supports her view, Paula paints on a beauty queen smile for the EBU Director and says that "it's a pleasure to have [us] in Spain."

Penelope Cruz watch your back. Paula's acting circles around you in English--and it's not even her job.

I give Paula credit, whereas PCP Patty & Don Carlos Lozano stalled the hell out of getting the whole shebang started in 2005, Paula gets down to business. She points out the whole 25 entries thing, but emphasises that we are searching for "the best combination." She accents this by taking off her earring. Paula is about to throw down, people! She is the judge, jury, and executioner.

Spain has to win it, if only to see Paula tell the spokespeople to shut up and give the damn votes.

Did I mention that I adore her?

Paula explains the televoting and looks pissed. I'd be to, it sounds needlessly complex.

I would like to point out to everyone who produces a large scale show like this that Paula got from greetings to announcing the first song in under 7 minutes. Were it not for the complex televoting, she could've shaved it down to 5. Paula doesn't fool around, no sir.

The first song is Busco un hombre. (I'm going to go all militant here and not change the title for NASH, I mean, would the world stop spinning if it was about 4 twinks on a hunt for a man and not a girl. They're a boyband!) The song's composing team (who look like a cabaret owner and his boy toy) wave meekly to the cameras. They shouldn't have caved on the lyrics.

• NASH: They're all seated at desks and hold up pictures of the Glory Note twins (Mirela & Yanira), Nazaret, and Merche. (Personally, I wouldn't call Nazaret a "chica," because she looks like she could beat someone up much like Paula could.) If this song didn't sound camp enough, the thumping synth behind it seals the deal. Anyway, NASH is all United Colours of Benetton, and adept at the singing, but the staging is too cutesy and the lyrics too bland for there to be any real comedy here. They really shouldn't have changed the lyrics. (It's juvenile but I find the way NASH sings "gerrrl," funny. Probably because I'm expecting them to go "gurrrl." Lest you think I'm on a high horse here--no pun intended--you should hear me say "North Fork Bank," which comes out as "No Fuck Bank" due to my mishmash Wisconsin-meets-the-South accent.) The Cabaret Owner claps politely, the Boy Toy tepidly pumps his fists. They weren't pleased.
• Nazaret: Is it Nazaret or Beyonce? I'm confused. Nazaret comes out wearing a shiny silver dress. There is no denying that Nazaret blows NASH out of the water vocally...period. She also gives the song some much needed sensuality. She's looking for a man and she's hungry. The Nazarettes dancing behind her are practically non-entities as are the two black suited men who she gropes. The better of the two by far.
• Yanira: From sexy back to just merely cute. Yanira comes out from behind two black half walls or whatever you could call them. She is surrounded by the Yanirans, who are men all in black, red, and denim. Yanira does not feel this song at all, proving that cognitive dissonance ("sing loud" versus "sing sexy") knows no language restrictions. She basically mumbles her way through the song between wails. Cabert Owner & Boy Toy clap wildly because Mirela is on next.
• Mirela: Now this is the performance Yanira should've done. Mirela cannot do wildly sexy like Nazaret, so she has to rely on cuteness. Mirela and the flinging male Mirelans throwing themselves all over the stage do a very good job. Mirela has the lyrics down pat (I'm looking at you, Yanira). It's the right balance between cute and sensual with a high amount of aggression as well. I'm still for Nazaret, but Mirela gave a very strong alternative. Cabaret Owner stands up and pumps his fist. We get it, you want Mirela.
• Merche: Merche sings from a swing, but her performance could best be described as "deer caught in the headlights." Realising this, Merche decides to send out her all-male brigade of Merchians, who rush out front and shake their arms and waists that you wonder if they are in the middle of an epileptic fit. (Admittedly, I have been known to do that as well...but not on international television.) Since she's on a swing, there's not much Merche can do, but nonetheless she's sort of just there as this lust object for the Merchians, which if I'm not mistaken gives a very bizarre reading of the song. You just want tell her: "Get off the fucking swing if you want a man!" (By the way, this review is rated TV-MMA: Mature and masochistic adults only.) The Merchians finally get her off the swing and Merche repays the favour by stepping over their undulating bodies. Lady, the men are all around you. Wear glasses. Merche continues ignoring the men to the point of sitting on them at the end of the song.

Paula comes back on amidst a crowd cheer which I can't figure out, but it was probably for Mirela. Paula is amused so she won't be going into the audience to bust some heads open, although I imagine it would make for good television. Instead, she sets up the Spanish Eurovision retrospective that we will be viewing between the various grouping. First up, the 1960s. I notice that Paula is wearing a wristband that clashes with her dress. She must've already satisfied her blood lust and is covering up the spoils of victory. ("Don't you try to muscle in on my show, Arbizu! You had your chance, now it's my turn.")

Anyway, retrospective time.

• 1961: Conchita Bautista decides to work through her multiple personality issues by singing the jazzy debut Spanish entry.
• 1962: Victor Balaguer tells us to "call him," but the juries don't care. I don't know why, it's upbeat, perky, and Victor isn't bad looking, although stiff as hell.
• 1963: This may just be me, but Jose Guardiola's razor-thin mustache looks sleazy, not seductive. Are you trying to sell me a SEAT or a song? Either way, I'm not buying. That said, why don't we have more contests staged like this? It's all very intimate and engaging. I know the fans would be pissed, but the viewers might get a kick out of all these intense close ups.
• 1964: The Mystery of the missing tape of the 1964 contest continues to be unsolved. Gigiolia Cinquetti continues to deny any involvement.
• 1965: Conchita Bautista decides that "passive aggressive" is the personality she wants to keep. No disrespect to Spain, but from my own artistic viewpoint, Simone de Oliviera completely outdid Conchita in 1965. If you're going to snarl, then snarl, don't tease.

Commercial break, which really isn't a commercial break for TVE-I, but a chance to hype up viewership for the Spanish edition of Come Dancing. No thanks.

More retrospective fun.

• 1966: Raphael and his big ears wail and quite honestly, nobody but Franco & his wife cared. (I'm just repeating the tidbits on the screen.) Johnny Ray was irrelevant in 1966, so was Raphael as far as I'm concerned. Scream "amor" all you want, I don't care.
• 1967: Raphael wails again and quite honestly based on the way that man can open his mouth...well, draw your own conclusions. By the way, his flirtatious look to the camera? Laughable.
• 1968: Remember when Massiel was a demure lass with stiff shoulders? Of the two Spanish wins, I always thought this was the weaker one, although it was the definitive winner, points-wise. Shocking that one with that staging though. Even Cliff Richard bounced around and snapped his fingers.
• 1969: Salome in shocking blue. Now that's a home entry. My rusty Spanish translation tells me that her outfit weighed 14 kg. Christ, it's a wonder she could do those arm flings and hip thrusts.

What I thought was a wristband on Paula is actually a cuff.

Paula's hardcore, people. Re-cog-nise!

Paula introduces I Love You Mi Vida and G:Son, some random man, and Rebeca (thanks, Jay) -- who looks like better preserved version of Donatella Versace smirk. Well, G:Son and Random smirk, Rebeca waves excitedly.

• Nazaret: Still wearing her crown as sex kitten of this final, Nazaret starts off on a chaise lounge while the Nazarettes spin around beside her. Nazaret is not as strong here as she was on Busco. Still, seductive works here and I like Nazaret's version of wailing.
• Mirela: You know, I'm starting like Mirela more and more. That said, why are the flinging Mirelans all men? Mirela gives the better performance this time around. She's totally in sync with the bare-chested Mirelans unlike Nazaret & the Nazarettes who could very well have been in two separate performances. It's a bit minimalist though.
• NASH: I'm not going to act like I don't know that this won, because it did (and it'll save me recapping the final vote). Onto the performance itself. NASH's arrangement of the song basically takes the maracas and guitar out and amps up the Eurodance. Very wise. The boys are clearly in their comfort zone and it shows. All that said, if Mirela was too minimalist, NASH could use a little less: the entrance from behind the "I (Heart) U MI VIDA" curtains? More tacky than dramatic. The flowing string or whatever that was at the end? Corny. Everything else on target, right down to the standard issue boyband strut and line dancing. (Don't act like you don't know what I'm referring to.)
• Merche: Poor Merche. She's stuck up in swing during Busco, and she's fighting against a piece of cloth during I Love You. Her vocals are a bit raw and unfortunately her voice breaks during the end. Ouch.
• Yanira: Yanira is dressed in a very Miami outfit and vocally recovered from her butchering of Busco. In fact, she's pretty damn strong here, arguably on the same level as Mirela.

Paula, admist laughter and chaos in the stands, introduces the 1970s retrospective.

• 1970: Julio Iglesias is sexy. His song is dire.
• 1971: Karina, the hole in her dress, and her big haired Karinettes deserved their 2nd place in a very very brutal year.
• 1972: Who? Oh, Jaime Morey. Big, but a poor follow up to Karina's "I'm here 1970s!"
• 1973: Perpetually known in the US as "the Spanish version of that Elvis song." I like Eres Tu on its own, but the two songs are awfully similar.
• 1974: Peret swings his guitar around to no avail. The fact that he and his backing singers all look like they are about to kill the audience probably hurt the Spanish cause. That and ABBA.

Paula laughs at the tech glitch proclaiming that 1975 is next when all and sundry know that a commercial break is due.

More fun with the retrospective:

• 1975: Sergio & Estibaliz look like scared kids from the country. That said, I like this whole Spain-goes-Carpenters-esque deal. Very...quaint.
• 1976: Braulio sings a ballad, one of his backing singers outsings him. Bitter, perhaps?
• 1977: This is a very cute song, but I swear to god, there must be places where they torture people by playing Micky's performance on loop. My teeth hurt just watching a brief clip. The theme song for the abandoned Disneyland Spain.
• 1978: Blech. I like the bitchy tidbits that TVE gives us though ("Spain gave Luxembourg 12 points, Luxembourg gave us 2"). Meow.
• 1979: There's a part of me that thinks that Betty Missiego was the victim of a drag queen's friend who decided to test out makeup on her. The woman looks frightening. This is another clip shown in the torture chambers on a constant loop. I'm assuming that the Victoria Abril that presented that year's Spanish final is not the actress, because she wouldn't have been an adult.

Paula welcomes us back, although she's almost startled to be on camera. (I don't quite see how anyone could be startled wearing big hair and a leopard print dress, but rules like that do not apply to Paula at all.) Continuing the [pride] parade of songs is La Reina de la Noche, aka the song about a drag queen. Oh, this ought to be fun. The writers look very excited and proud (as they should be), though the one with long hair and the receding hairline (as opposed to one with short hair and a receding hairline) looks like he's just done his *snort* lines judging by the way he claps his hands. Calm down, mister.

• NASH: Only a Nashette this time and "she's" doing gymnastics on top of a box with steps while NASH fling themselves about and look at her in awe. The choreography must've done a number on them as they spend the rest of the song trying to catch their breath. It's very adept, but also very bland.
• Mirela: Mirela does the very easy job of performing better this song better than NASH (who are really 1 for 3 so far). Mirela doesn't try to go for the drag queen aspect, instead she's goes...Elizabethan? There's a whole Midsummer Night's Dream theme going on here. The Mirelans are all in Carnival masks and Mirela's wearing a dress that is at once demure as well as provocative. She loses her placing for a bit and then regains it quite well going all Carola-sans-crazy towards the end. Good save. The Receding Hairlines clap politely and then when the set change takes too long, start bitching to each other and looking decidedly grim. ("When in the hell is Nazaret going to come on?")
• Yanira: If Mirela was like a Marquess of the Night, then Yanira is a Duchess. She struts out from a throne while the Yanirans (in bejewelled neckties and belt buckles) fling themselves about in the background. Yanira misses the first refrain and covers it up by screaming. In fact she screams so hard that her strap falls. At least her screaming ends well. Short Hair Receding Hairline shakes his head in not-so-positive awe.
• Merche: From Duchess of the Night to Jr. Grade Princess of the Night. Again, poor Merche, she just can't get it right. Apart from the fact that she's whispering her way through the first part of the song, they have decided to make her enter in a tunic with a long train (so as to disguise the Merchians crawling underneath) . The choreographer really had it in for this poor girl, I reckon. Once she gets rid of the tunic, she comes out in...a sparkling top and jeans? Queen of Hearts? I don't think so. Poor Merche is getting slaughtered both vocally and visually. No matter how much the Merchians do acrobatic feats behind her. Giving her the hat is just making her look even more foolish. Long Hair Receding Hairline claps enthusiastically (Nazaret is next). Short Hair Receding Hairline still looks constipated.
• Nazaret: Now this is what a Queen of the Night should look like. Headresses, people. It is all about the headresses. Looking eerily similar to the logo for the Dora, Nazaret goes for the sensual route while the Nazarettes grope some thin cloth draped over lampshades. Nazaret isn't at full volume vocally, but visually she hits every single mark. Note to Nazarettes: If Nazaret ain't smiling, you don't smile.

Paula comes back to calm down the wolves since she's got to introduce the 1980s retrospective (for me, Spain in the 80s was a lost cause save for Trigo Limpio, Cadillac, Remedios Amaya, and okay, I'll say it...Nina as well).

• 1980: Such an underrated song. It's very contemplative and most important...not whiny. TVE play the fast part where it really gets going and yes, I think it's better than Johnny Logan's sentimental claptrap.
• 1981: Bacchelli does his Lou Rawls impression. It's the briefest clip so far, and that should tell you something.
• 1982: Lucia del Argentina throws her hand up in the air, and she can wave it all she wants. I don't care, since I hate tango.
• 1983: Flamenco on the other hand, I like very much. Remedios blows the roof off with a song that very cruelly got no points.
• 1984: Are we sure this is the Spanish entry? It looks so...Swedish. Inoffensive fluff.
• 1985: As dramatic and as well-known (apparently) Paloma San Basilio is or was at the time, the song still makes think that she's auditioning for a soap advert. ("Calgon, take me away!") Powerful pipes though.
• 1986: Relatively handsome men singing a synth-happy song about "Valentino," it's almost impossible for me not to like this. I was a Level 42 fan, okay!
• 1987: And now we're back to the angsty pop, this time performed by Patricia Kraus in what looks like punk bondage gear with a great live orchestral finish. I'm not saying a thing. Not. A. Word.
• 1988: La Decada looks like someone took the Human League and Madness together. Or rather added Suggs to the Human League. I like upbeat songs, but this song is all over the place with no real direction.
• 1989: For a decade that started out with Sheena Easton singing a Bond tune, it comes to a close with Nina out Sheena Eastoning the rest of Eurovision with her voice and ENORMOUS hair...and mouth for that matter. She looks like she might accidentally take a bite out of that thing. Damn good song though.

The wolves are now calm and Paula decides to take a risk in bringing out the 4th song, Tu voz se apargara by the slightly snobbish looking Miguel Linde. The Mirela Brigade starts chanting and Paula looks a touch miffed. I'd be scared if I was them. Them lot shot Mirela in the foot!

• Mirela: Mirela makes a dramatic entrance surrounded in white with bare-chested Mirelans all around her. I know people loved her La Reina, but it's with this that Mirela really did an excellent job in my opinion, even though it runs the close risk of being Every way that I can part 2. It's a rare singer who can keep your attention in the middle of a upbeat song while being hoisted up in the air. Miguel is pleased.
• Merche: I said it before, and I'll say it again: Poor Merche. She starts out weak and crawling on the floor, before the Merchians lift her up in the air to reveal that she has an outfit on that...well...looks really Saturday night at a suburban nightclub. Who did she piss off? Merche tries to look sexy, but she just looks like she's in pain.
• NASH: I have my doubts that the boys can carry off mysterious and alluring. In fact, they don't even try. They just go for straight forward Dolce & Gabbana sexy. When in doubt, play for your strengths and that's just what they do. They shoot bedroom eyes and lustful grins all over the place. I'll be kind here and say that they are now 2 for 4. Mirela still wiped the floor with them. Miguel is mildly amused.
• Nazaret: There is no way that Nazaret could fuck up this song. No way on Earth. And she doesn't. In fact she goes full-tilt exotic with the female Nazarettes belly-dancing and sporting a live snake as a costume accessory. Even more risky, one of the Nazarettes carries off the snake leaving Nazaret alone onstage for a brief bit before the rest of the Nazarettes return. Controversial opinion here: Nazaret won this round decisively.
• Yanira: Yanira isn't a lost cause like Merche, but she still can't figure out when to sing LOUD, because she whispers her way through most of this. Nonetheless, she wisely went the exotic route as well.

Now it's time for the 1990s retrospective.

• 1990: Azucar Moreno fling their arms in the air and give everyone the false hope that following entries in 1990 will be as lively. Wrong.
• 1991: I can't look at Sergio Dalma the same way again after seeing that photo. (I'm not saying whether that is a compliment or not.)
• 1992: He's blind! He's bland! He's Serafin.
• 1993: Finally, confirmation that Hombres was the first time that "sex" was ever uttered in a Eurovision song...and what a debut. Is that Meshach Taylor's long-lost Spanish twin singing backup?
• 1994: Alejandro is A Bad.
• 1995: The real winner of 1995, since my other favourites (Sama and the Austrian entry) were nowhere close to the bellows from the Steamship Conde.
• 1996: I actually like this because it's so laid back and casual. It also is pleasure to finally hear a man wail for once.
• 1997: Yes, you're sexy as hell, Marcos, but your song just drags along until you start making faces and threatening to beat up the cameraman.
• 1998: I still can't believe that Mikel Herzog went from earnest looking preppy to somewhat dodgy looking lounge lizard within only 9 years.
• 1999: The dress is a horror. The song? Not so bad.

Paula excitedly brings us back because it's time for the final round (as opposed to final final). The 5th song is Una Lagrima, and it's written by...hippies.

• Merche: I hear a Merche cheer, so perhaps Merche isn't entirely without luck. That said, dressing yourself up like Jessica Simpson while the Merchians do some dancing that I haven't seen since 1988? Not a good idea. She also gets outsung by her backing track. Poor Merche.
• Nazaret: Again, a song that seems practically tailor made for Nazaret--who really hasn't made a misstep all night, honestly. Nazaret attacks the stage slowly but deadly. It's a very minimalist performance with no Nazarettes and nor ornaments, but there's a definite connection between her and the song. That's bold. The hippies? Not so impressed.
• NASH: Wow, NASH goes for 3 out of 5, just because they're going for performance art here. NASH is blindfolded (one of which reads "fear," another "poverty," one that says "hunger" and another which says "war" if my translation is up to snuff). They're also in a circle in which they spin around. It's a whole new subgenre: political boyband music. They are also wearing mock military uniforms. I would've loved if they had won with this. They stay relatively quiet during the verse then go full tilt anger-pop during the chorus. It's very defiant and unexpected. In fact, it only slightly loses its edge when they take off the blindfolds. The "peace" shirts were a bit too much, but dammit, this was the performance of the final.
• Yanira: Yanira is having one of her better (read: you can actually hear her annunciate) performances. She is out in front while the Yanirans walk in lock step in back. Then she makes the mistake of smiling. I would need to look at the lyrics closely, but I gather this is not a song meant for smiling if NASH and Nazaret's performances are anything go by. Not to mention, the title is "a teardrop." Don't smile! Her strongest performance so far. The hippies wave excitedly.
• Mirela: Black & White for Mirela & the Mirelans. The latter who do a bunch of arm and pelvic thrusts while Mirela shoots sultry looks at the camera. Nice touch with giving the Mirelans fake scars over their eyes. Mirela is vocally perfect, but not quite their emotionally. Advantage NASH this round.

Paula declares the first phase of the final over after mentioning that Mirela is the youngest of all the entrants. Burn! If I was Yanira or Merche I'd take that as a definite slam.

"Commercial" break. What we get is TVE claiming that they are the "symbol of information." You don't even have a real logo.

Paula has changed her dress from slutty leopard to fiery red and she is proud. of. it.

There was apparently a problem with the sound in the studio during one of the performances of La Reina de la Noche and Paula issues a brief explanation. The Receding Hairlines look comforted, so they will repeat it. The crowd goes wild with enthusiasm. I prepare to fast forward. Paula makes a joke about having to repeat the 1980s retrospective.

Oh Paula, you need to run this every year.

They redo La Reina de la Noche. NASH still adept, but bland. (Why can't they repeat their version of Una Lagrima? That was brilliant.) Mirela sharper. Yanira more composed and louder. Short Hair Receding Hairline still looking pissed. Merche still struggling to get anywhere. Nazaret sexier. Mirela won this round, but Nazaret gave her even more trouble this time, especially with the Nazarettes remembering not to smile.

Paula checks in to make sure that the audience is pleased. They are.

She's also stalling majorly by explaining the televoting process before getting to the recap.

To note: Busco sucked for everybody except for Nazaret and Mirela; I Love You sucked for everybody except for Nazaret, Mirela, and NASH; La Reina sucked for everybody except for Nazaret and Mirela; Tu voz sucked for everybody except for Nazaret, NASH, and Mirela; Una Lagrima sucked for everybody except for Nazaret and NASH. (Mirela was vocally there, but not emotionally there. Yanira and Merche were just out of their league in everything.) In respect to songs: I Love You is the most Eurovision friendly, but Una Lagrima was probably the best song.

The psychotic Mirela fans start their chant early, but Paula shuts them down quickly. She's got a 2000s retrospective to do.

• 2000: He's still blind. He's slightly less bland. he's still Serafin.
• 2001: David Civera does his best Marc Antony impression, back when that was considered fresh and innovative.
• 2002: Rosa reminds the Triumfonistas that she won and it's her happy upbeat ode to Europe not theirs. So stop trying to upstage her. She's also the best dressed onstage, although not by much.

The package ends too quickly and catches Paula by surprise as she tells everybody to keep on calling or stop calling. I couldn't quite make it out.

Back to the retrospective.

• 2003: If it weren't for that pesky Sertab, nonsensical Belgians, fake Russian lesbians, the Swedish robotic duo, and few others, Beth would've won in 2003 with a very good follow-up to Rosa.
• 2004: Raul shakes his thing in Istanbul, but winds up doing a weak Luis Miguel impression.
• 2005: Aaaah! The Witches! The Witches!
• 2006: If it weren't for The Ketchup doing so badly, then we wouldn't be in this *snort* (Ahhh.) endless final. Hold your heads in shame, ladies. Hold your heads in shame.

The wolves are out for blood and Paula doesn't care. Oops, yes she does because she shuts them up in a second.

It's result time. Appropriately they bring out a TVE stuffed shirt to present the 5 songs going to the Superfinal. The wolves are now very hungry. The stuffed shirt speaks:

(Long-winded preamable)

• NASH/Busco (Blond NASH smirks with a "we have to perform that shit again?" smile)
• Nazaret/Busco (Nazaret pleased)
• NASH/I Love You (DVR cuts out, so I have to switch. I'm assuming NASH are pleased.)
• Mirela/La Reina (Mirela smiles innocently.)
• Nazaret/Tu voz (Nazaret seems a little bit overwhelmed...in a good way.)

Merche and Yanira shut out to no one's surprise. Paula orders NASH, Nazaret, and Mirela into the green room, while she talks to the shut-outs. Yanira & Merche are very cool and collected about it. Yanira especially. Yanira gives the beauty queen answer to "how do you feel?" Merche says nothing. Poor Merche.

Paula explains the new televoting process. Lord, this thing is too complex. Anyway, it's the Superfinal, which means full versions of each of the songs. I'm surprised Paula isn't hyping that...probably because they're in overtime now.

• NASH/Busco: (I'm still not changing it for them.) When I realise that NASH could be performing Una Lagrima instead of this tripe, it just makes it look even more tacky. More muttering during the verses. Considering that Blond NASH didn't look too keen on performing this again, he certainly throws himself into it. Cabaret Owner looks very happy to have NASH singing it. All I can say is that the full version isn't that much better than the condensed one.
• Nazaret/Busco: Still sexy, but there's a nice little goof where one of the male Nazarettes has his sunglasses fall off his face while Nazaret gropes him. Nazaret purrs her way through the verses, and most of the refrain. Nonetheless, she does the easy job of doing better with this song than NASH did with it. Even better, she actually conveys sex, which really is what the song is about. In the full version, there's a bit that is straight out of Gina G's 1996 performance.

The Nazaret Brigade's cheer goes on a bit too long and Paula shoots a "bitch, please, we're overtime" look to the camera. She congratulates Yanira & Merche for...well, being good sports while the three other acts basically wiped the floor with them. She then congratulates the Hippies for writing a damn good song.

• NASH/I Love You: Still coming out of those damn curtains. And how did I not notice the two male Nashettes holding the curtains up? Anyway, NASH attack the stage with a song that really had to win when you think about it. They toss even more lustful looks to the camera, and I am struck with the odd realisation that they really did the wise thing by taking a lot of the Ricky Martin out of the song (save for the refrain). Donatella shakes her hands wildly in the audience. Definite winner, but they will have to make it 2x bigger in Helsinki to do the business.
• Mirela/La Reina: If this song had to make it to the superfinal, at least the best singer is doing it. Mirela is much more composed and regal this time around. Excellent staging and I can see why everybody wanted it to win, especially in its full version where Mirela kicked it into high gear. I think it would've gotten lost in Helsinki though (cf. Marlain in 1999, Severina and Kate Ryan last year). Short Hair Receding Hairline is actually smiling!
• Nazaret/Tu Voz: This has to be the stronger of Nazaret's two songs, and unlike in Busco, Nazaret does attack the stage in full beaded and bellied fury...then she starts purring again during the verses. Once she starts wailing she gets her strength back again. I'm surprised that Nazaret is so uneven. Had she brought it together she could've taken a very strong 2nd place.

Paula tells us that our vote is decisive. Since no one has said anything about a jury, I'd assume it would be. I can sense she's getting sick of explaining the televoting, because she is trying to find the most interesting way of describing it.

Recap: Busco sucked for NASH because of the staging; Busco worked somewhat for Nazaret because she made it about sex; I Love You was the middle song and the middle shall always rise--both in politics and at Eurovision, also by the fact that NASH realised that they can finally use that Boyband Handbook they had stored in the back; Mirela knew that La Reina was her sole chance and used it to her advantage; What Tu Voz taught us: When Nazaret is loud, she is very good, when she is quiet, it doesn't work.

And since we now know who won (NASH), with what song (I Love You Mi Vida--although it should've been Una Lagrima). My Eurosong-driven "Coke" binge is now over.

The Splash-View Post-Mortem: The 720th Post (Observed)

Tonight's Post-Mortem brought to you by Susumu Hirasawa's Parade, since I've had the song ringing in my ear all night long and everybody else might as well be speaking the chorus from this song since I couldn't figure out what they were saying.

Because really, the 720th post would really be about a night out and not Eurovision.

Honestly, as much as a chameleon I try to be, there are certain subcultures I just cannot infiltrate nor understand.

The first is what I will call the "twink stars." "Twink stars" are the thin, occasionally toned men who walk around a bar with their high cheekbones, noses, and spiky hair up in the air with the belief/delusion that everybody wants them or wants to be them.

I'm sorry, but I can't.

I was never a twink even when I was under 25. My body can't twist itself into skinny and toned, and that is all right by me these days.

Yet, the twink stars were out in force at Splash tonight. Most likely since their Saturday raison d'être (aka The Roxy) is going bye-bye soon. I was elbowed, poked, and just flat out bumped by them while trying to enjoy my latest drink discovery: the Godiva White Orange Juice.

Not being an openly confrontational person (hey, I want to keep my free admission) , I buggered off to the View...even though the DJ downstairs was doing an EXCELLENT job and made me want to stay for more.

At The View, I was confronted with another gay subculture: the muscle bears. I am not hairy beyond my areolas, nor am I of a certain age, so it is damn near impossible for me to crack that group. Nonetheless, courtesy of Comic-Con being in town, The View had a "muscle" bear go-go boy in a superman outfit shaking his package opposite me. Another musclebear dug in next to me, and given the time I was all for those two to go off to their hirsute heaven.

This point in the game, my focus is solely on getting home by foot in one piece and with relatively coherent thoughts.

The 720th Post: It All Comes Back to Eurovision Somehow

And it's about Eurovision, in particular Spain.

So we all know who won, and the fans aren't all that pleased with it.

I haven't seen the show yet (it won't air for another hour here), but I'm taking the long view of things.

In the midst of any kvetching, just remember the horrors of the Witches and the Ketchup.

Now remember that you've got a boyband (major + with the voters), frothy bilingual G:son entry (another +, he's like the Nordic Brendam Graham, this one), and an uptempo number (another +). It's not very Spanish per se, but it's total mass appeal.

And remember this quote from The Rocky Horror Picture Show:

"I didn't make him for you."

Based on the reaction of Finnish acquaintences of mine, they really didn't want Lordi to be the ones bringing the trophy to Finland last year.

All that said, Portugal quite likely will send something very urban and very Portugese and beat up the scoreboard, thus proving that there is no set formula for every country.

Recaplet of the Spanish final to come soon. It's a recaplet, because I do not have the patience of Job to sit through that long of a final with 25 possiblities and filler without resorting to massive fast-forwarding.

In other news:

Latvia chose some operatic song in Italian. It's nice when you know ahead of time when to have your bathroom break.

Karolina got the nod for Macedonia with a song weaker than her 2002 entry (however even that song was all about the performance), but likely to get into the final and more of a fighting chance of keeping Macedonia in the final for 2008 if both she and her backing singers go all dramatic onstage.

When Bigots Shoehorn Themselves to Progressive Law

A lawyer in Oklahoma is arguing that a bigot preacher "has a right to pick up hustlers," according to this story on 365gay.

What makes this more ludicrous is that the lawyer is using Lawrence v. Texas (the Supreme Court case that overturned sodomy laws) to argue that since there was no money exchanged, that Reverend Latham isn't guilty of any crime when he asked an undercover policeman to go up to his hotel room for a blow job.

While that may be true, and while I do believe that prostitution should be legalised, the fact that this man was the supporter of a homophobic resolution makes me hope that he gets the book thrown at him.

By the way, what the lawyer--if I'm interpreting this correctly--is arguing is not exactly the right to pick up hustlers, but the right to cruise and hook up, 1970's style.

The Eurovision 2007 National Final Season Not Quite Half Point

Take a look at the list of participants over at esctoday.com. Shockingly, not that many countries have chosen and the cutoff date in Mid-March is rapidly approaching.

But what of the ones who have chosen or close to choosing? Well, I reckon we most likely have not heard the winner.

• Moldova: Eh. La Podolskaya did the same thing but better in 2005.
• Malta: Surprisingly good. Perhaps longtime MSFE bridesmaid Olivia Lewis will go all Lena Ph in Helsinki.
• Israel: Not chosen. I like the selection of songs, although Twelve Points is more of the annoying supposedly "ironic" crap that Lithuania inflicted all the way to a top ten finish last year.
• Poland: Yes, they're a La Bouche knockoff, and the song unnecessarily slows down in parts, but it's strong.
• Netherlands: Yes, yes, yes. It's weaker than Hemel En Aarde, but one of the strongest songs chosen so far and will probably be in better shape in May.
• Switzerland: Vampires Are Alive? Christ on a stick. That said, Switzerland will likely get into the final if they don't throw everything but the kitchen sink at it. I mean, good grief, that video!
• Slovenia: If they decide to go all gothic and moody like Omar in 2005, then it'll stand a good chance. That said, one of the members of the team behind this came up with Claudia's entry from 2004. I think he doesn't know how to do dark, moody, and yet uptempo trance when it comes to staging...and he terrified all and sundry with his mugging for the camera, frankly.
• Belarus: Belarus in Eurovision Final Shocker. Who cares about free press?
• Belgium: No one has heard the song, but The KMGs sound like the Belgian answer to Corduroy and that is a very very very very good thing. (Update: Heard the song, it's very Corduroy meets Earth, Wind, & Fire--and it's damn good. Dark horse of the year.)
• Norway: On some level, I know the EBU is very happy not to have a band called "Dusty Cowshit" in play this year, and frankly, I didn't care for their song (but then again, I live in the US where that stuff is two-a-penny and there are several 24 hour channels playing that ad nauseum). Anyway, onto Guri, who did win: Not bad, but not spectacular. That said, not bad and not spectacular got Denmark to the final in 2005. Apart from 1999--which was a fluke, in my view--Norway traditionally does decently during their uptempo years (see 1998, 2000, 2005).
• Albania: Nope, not going to happen. Will fall flat like a stone.
• Latvia: Not chosen. No Madara Celma, no interest from me.
• Cyprus: Based on the tiny snippet I heard this is going to be a francophonic synth and guitar masterpiece. Evridiki will hopefully outdo Carola as most successful returning alumni. (Update: Heard the full version and apart from one awkward dramatic pause, it's still an excellent synth-and-guitar assault. If Evridiki allows herself to let herself go absolutely crazy onstage--like La Vissi was trying--but not quite succeeding in--last year. She should do the business. If she doesn't get out of the semi, then I reckon even I will be able to hear the snarling from Evri and the Cypriots thousands of miles away. I'm still cowering in fear from La Ryan last year.)
• Iceland: Dima Bilan's entry last year as performed by Vincent of Beauty & The Beast fame. Eh. (Age has been mean to him)
• Estonia: Good, very good. In the Estonia versus Finland stakes, I side with Eesti and La Padar. (Although I would've liked seeing Vanilla Ninja's ode to heroin addiction.)
• Denmark: All this time and Denmark has only now gotten around to selecting a drag queen? I mean, it's Denmark! Strong, but slots are few and this is on the edge.
• Macedonia: Not chosen. If they're wise they'll go for 1,2,3 and hopefully gather votes that aren't from the diaspora. (Seriously, I heard the song and immediately thought "mass appeal.")
• Andorra: I have no idea. They say they're a punk band, but the song is called Save the world. I suspect that there won't be any humilating choreography this time around for the Andorrans.
• Croatia: Not chosen. Do one or more of the Feminnem girls have a sex tape? Does Luka Nižetic? I can imagine all the puns that will be flying around if Ness gets the nod along with Spain going for NASH. All that said, I reckon it's a toss up between Feminnem and Luka Nižetic (though I'd rather have Angels go all Vanilla Ninja for Croatia and get the nod), neither of whom stand a strong chance of getting out of this year's Qualifier of death even with a striptease.
• Czech Republic: Not chosen. Underdog status might get them to the next round.
• Bulgaria: Bulgaria's holding a final this weekend? Who knew? Seriously though, no real stand outs this year, but I have a suspicion that Bulgaria will actually get through. (Update: They've chosen and it's the one song I can remember, Voda, which is features lots of drums and vocalising. Good choice.)
• Montenegro: Not chosen. Not likely to make it to the final either based on what I've heard, unless one of those entries has an amazing floorshow planned.
• Serbia: Not chosen. Based on the snippets I've heard, Serbia will go to the final, especially with Negativ, but frankly, 80% of the songs in Beovizija could do that job. Perhaps Beovizija will become the Balkan MF?
• Georgia: Not chosen. Sopho's got an amazing voice, which combined with underdog status will probably propel Georgia to the final.
• Romania: Blech. Cloying sweet ditty that really needs to go away soon. There will be enough variety around so that they can't bank on the cute and inoffensive vote.
• Ireland: See Romania.
• Finland: See Moldova strangely enough. Although La Podolskaya's effort was co-arranged by Finns. Hanna just comes across as a whiny brat singing this, not angsty. Like Ashlee Simpson.
• Lithuania: Not chosen. As much of a Eurovision fan I am, the Lithuanian selection is too complex and big for me--or frankly, anyone who values their social life--to handle. Wake me up if Saules Kliošas get the nod.
• Greece: Not chosen. That said, it's very possible they'll tie or do 1 place better than La Vissi with any of the three (though Sarbel or Christos might very well do a Constantinos circa 2005, and Tamta's song will need to steroids to get noticed).
• Germany: Not chosen. Hamburg 2008? Not going to happen. It's just a question of how close to the top 5 or how far below the top 10 Germany will be.
• Spain: Not chosen. Blissfully ballad-free final and god knows if they pick NASH or Nazaret and camp it up, Spain might shockingly win it.
• Sweden: Not chosen. Nanne has to fight to get out of the Second Chance round (odds are she will). The Ark are proclaimed virtual winners (although from a song standpoint: why? And yes, I've heard of them. They get occasional airplay on LOGO), and now we've got another "semi of death" this week with After Dark's poptastic ode to masturbation (my favourite) up against "New Yorker" Andreas Johnson, and "Janis Joplinsson" Caroline af Ugglas. Andreas and Caroline will probably get the tickets, After Dark and Magnus (the 1970s are over?) will have to fight it out in second chance. The Ark, Nanne, and Sebastian (again: why?) go into the blood bath of a Melodifestivalen final voting, with The Ark barely edging it out and Sweden in the Qualifier in 2008. (Unless Nanne or Caroline win it and Sweden stays in the Final, but won't win.)
• France: Best selection for France in years. I'm hoping for Les Vedettes, but shockingly even the song from Les Wampas doesn't grate my nerves.

Still left to chose without even a snippet coming across: Bosnia-Herzegovina (I'm not a ballad fan, so I'm skeptical), the UK (will the hype pay off? I dare say it will), Portugal (very dark horse, especially with Finland having won and RTP getting very serious about it), Austria (ha!), Hungary (chose a ballad at your own risk), Armenia (destined to follow in Albania's path if they don't do the logical thing and get Colton Ford & Cher), Russia (you just know they're planning something big, perhaps Michel Lucas & Nichya), and Ukraine (which sounds like it's practically guaranteed to Verka Seduchka, not good for them with DQ a strong contender for the final, and if After Dark surprisingly get the nod...well, that will lead to some drama and cannibalising votes).

I'd check out packages for 2008 to Brussels, Moscow, Manchester, Barcelona, or Lisbon, if I was a betting man.

Birthday Post-Mortem Part 4: All Night I Dream About White Castle

Really, I do.

I'm drinking at The View and quite honestly I want a tiny cheeseburger to take away my yearning.

Yearning for something out there which I can't describe, but know is there.

It won't solve my toothache, nor my Adonis complex.

But dammit I want one.

And the fact that tonight's comrade (4 years my junior) is off to go eat...

...kills me.

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.