When I emptied the email box this morning for the first time in *cough* days, one of my lists had the smackdown I have been waiting about six months for. It's made me cheerful all day and I only hope it was accompanied by a private smackdown the size of Birmingham.
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The banana story apparently made the Sunday Times diary section last week, or so I was told. If I were X, I would have left the country by now.
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iii. "They couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo, much less the right note"
Today is a beautiful day in London. It's warm with a citrusy sun and little white clouds scudding across the sky, but I am stuck in the house, waiting for the delivery of a rental car. I'm heading up north for the weekend tomorrow, after the evil shift is done with me, because it's the Eurovision Song Contest, for which my parents have a small party each year. I could try not attending, but the earache is probably not worth it.
The Eurovision, for those of you lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the concept, is a four-hour extravaganza in which the countries of Europe each put forward a song to be judged by their peers.
Some of these songs are unbelievably terrible. Some are sung by extremely ugly German men with mustaches, accompanied by large stuffed animals. Some are sung by transvestites in air hostess uniforms (yes, Slovenia, I'm looking at you). One absolutely fantastic piece of trashpop was sung by an Israeli transsexual called Dana International, who was probably the most beautiful woman there that year.
Occasionally something brilliant emerges from it. Abba first became famous outside Sweden by winning the contest with Waterloo. Then again, the Eurovision brought Riverdance to the world's attention, because it was the half-time entertainment when Ireland won, and it was the first time we ever saw Celine Dion, so it's not all good. (Yes, I know Celine Dion is Canadian but she sang for Switzerland pre-getting her teeth done)
There are always terrible lyrics and bad costumes and the voting is incredibly political. For example, Estonia's entry could consist of a Groucho Marx lookalike farting into a brown paper bag, accompanied by three nubile girls on the kazoo and it would still get votes from Latvia and Lithuania. Actually it would probably get votes from Britain and Ireland too, just for the craic.
Last year, Britain's entry got nul points (you can't say no points. It has to be the French version, nul points. It's a thing) This was an occasion of great national mortification and soul-searching. There were op-ed articles about how the vote was a sign that Europe was alienated by Britain's pro-US stance on Iraq and what it meant for European integration.
However, the simpler explanation was that the song was shite and the people who were singing it couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo, never mind the right note in a tacky piece of proto-techno.
This year they've drafted in the modern day equivalents of the Brill Building writers -- if the Brill Building writers had been dead-eyed soulless corporate shills writing seamlessly shiny records for the seamlessly shiny Kylie Minogue -- to construct an uber-entry for the Eurovision. And Britain still won't win because they hates us, oh yes they do.
Can't say I blame 'em. Anyway, yes, going to the Eurovision this weekend.
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iv. Lies, damned lies and memes
I was going to do the WIPs meme but no one has time for that particular 60K entry. Also, the "in progress" thing is a bit of a misnomer.
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v. Stargate III: The Search for Shiny
Today's Stargate was Lost City part one. Swear to God there was more chemistry between Daniel and Teal'c than Sam'n'Jack. It's perplexing. It's weird how much more I liked that episode than most of the rest of the season.
Anyway, tonight being the endless 6pm to 2am shift, I wondered if someone might be kind enough to point me towards any sort of recs primer for Stargate. Happy to read anything gen and plotty or slash and plotty or even Sam'n'Jack and plotty. If it rips yer heart out and stomps on it so much the better, but please no Muldertorture of Daniel or Jack. I've been reading Muldertorture this week and I find it absurd, in the way that a word is absurd if you say it over and over in your head in various voices.
Hedgehog. Hedgehog. Hedgehog. Heeeedddgehooog.
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vi. Guess. Go on. Just guess
Random guess-the-lyrics lyrics quiz, stolen from everyone, except these are all from my iPod 80s list. (NB some of these might be from the late 70s or very early 90s) God, the 80s were a great decade for terrible yet wonderful music. Editorial comments in these
1. Ambition and love wearing boxing gloves / And singing hearts and flowers
2. You cry out in your sleep / All my failings exposed. / And there's a taste in my mouth, / As desperation takes hold.
3. Hey everybody take a look at me / I've got street credibility,
I may not have a job / But I have a good time / With the boys that I meet "down on the line"
4. well I'm standing here what do I see? / a big nothing / threatening me
it's so sad / when you're young / to be told / you're having fun
5. Burning the ground, I break from the crowd / I'm on the hunt, I'm after you
6. I got three passports, a couple of visas / you don't even know my real name
7. There's more to life than books, you know / but not much more
8. Now the sun's gone to hell / And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell / Every man has to die
9. shiver and say the words / of every lie you've heard
10. And they tell me that women grow on trees / And if you catch them right they will land upon their knees