Nobody Hurt No English?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would the world implode if...

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

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

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

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

Bring these out on DVD

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

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

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

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

Our president shows his human side

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And we're off!

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

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

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

Song 2: Camilla Brinck - Jenny

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

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

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

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

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

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

Song 5: Josefin Nilsson - Med hjärtats egna ord

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

Song 6: Cameron Cartio - Roma

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

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

Song 7: Bodies Without Organs - Gone

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

Song 8: Sanne Salomonsen - Higher Ground

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So this week's victims are:

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

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

A nasty double entendre

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

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

I feel like such a dirty bird.

Is it possible to feel good...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exxtra (in Alya's honour)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my stomach...Happy Valentine's Day

One day I'll learn.

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

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

Now I know why people avoid drunk sex.

The Swedes are bizarre: Melodifestivalen 2005 Semi-Final 1

(As seen from a computer in New York)

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

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

The stage: Pretty and very Euro-sparse.

And the Swedes get down to business quickly!

Song 1: Alcazar - Alcastar

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

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

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

Song 3: Papa Dee - My No. 1

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

Song 4: Linda Bengtzing - Alla Flickor

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

Song 5: The Wallstones - Invisible People

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

Song 6 Pay TV - Refrain Refrain

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

Song 7 Nordman - Odet Var Min Vag

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

Song 8: Shirley Clamp - Att Alska Dig

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm A Melodifestivalen Virgin

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

Sign of the times or of too much time?

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

A Temporary Halt (For A Reality/Mortality Check)

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

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

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

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

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

Ain't This A Shocker

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



You Love 'Em and Leave 'Em

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

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

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

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

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

Slovenia, I'd like to return the birthday present

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

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

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

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

Palm Springs & The Epiphany

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

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

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

Now for the birthday saga:

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

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

That being said...

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

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

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

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