Sunday, May 13, 2007
Dancing Fib Sunday
I voke ap zis mornink, dia reedah, viz a slaitlih zore het. Oh, I don't have to keep up my vile impression of a Serbian lesbian anymore.
To celebrate Eurovision, Phyllis and I drank the champagne we were going to take to Alan's house on Friday, until he forgot he'd invited us to his homecoming party, that is! He should have been blonde!
It may be this, it may be that, but Eurovision is still wildly entertainling, even with the block/political voting and the rubbish we send year in, year out. Images of last night, will, I'm sure, haunt me for all eternity.
I'm quite disappointed. Verka Serduchka's Dancing lasha tumbai was pipped to the post by Marija Serifovic. Still, Phyllis was pleased; it was his favourite. The UK came second from last with nineteen points. For a while, it looked like Scooch were coming home with nul points again. Oddly, Malta awarded us a maximum of twelve! Was the entire Maltese population stoned last night? I've done my fair share of moaning about Scooch over the past few weeks, but the song has grown on me and we were remarkably better than some of the other trash featured last night in the East European Song Contest.
Some major fixes have to be implemented before Eurovision 2008, my love. The voting system has to be seriously amended and we have to stop sending has beens and wannabes. I'd suggest a regional contest, perhaps splitting the EBU countries into six regions (western, mediterranean, central, Scandanavia, eastern and non-European) with each region sending their top scoring three or four acts. I think it sounds like a good idea.
Phyllis and I both downloaded the score card from the BBC website last night. Using the traditional Eurovision scoring system, my results were:
One might see my scores and claim any arguments concerning political/block voting are blown out of the water as many of my favourites are from Eastern Europe. No. Because most of my favourite acts were eliminated in the semi-final on Thursday which resulted in ten entrants from the former Soviet block et al. Losing Denmark was a travesty.
Before moving on to matters at hand, just a few words about each entry from last night:
Bosnia & Herzegovina - Dull.
Spain - Remember No Mercy?
Belarus - Vulgar accent and not Donna Summer.
Ireland - The poor woman couldn't sing for toffee.
Finland - Nice basque!
FYR Macedonia - Ridiculous.
Slovenia - Opera and lights!
Hungary - A tribute to Billie Ray Martin.
Lithuania - Shadow theatre.
Greece - A Ricky Martin rip-off.
Georgia - Björkish.
Sweden - Love grows where my Rosemary goes.
France - Ça plane pour moi.
Latvia - Il Divo.
Russia - A Slavic Girls Aloud.
Germany - Harry Connick Jnr on cabbage.
Serbia - Poison dwarf. Funky little dyke. Melanie Skubich. One half of Abbott and Costello.
Ukraine - Timmy Mallett on acid.
UK - Camp with delicious double entendres. Love Russ' big cock/package.
Romania - Fabulously ethnic.
Bulgaria - Would win if she could sing.
Turkey - Mr Claypole!
Armenia - Dull shit.
Moldova - Clothes from Empire Stores.
What a shame, my love. And to think, if we'd sent Cyndi, we'd have won.
Oh, and I think I saw Thomas on the telly last night. Sat in the same row as the ridiculous bint in pink were two outrageous gays waving Australian flags. Could they have been Thomas and the gay divorcee?
And so, to the real reason for a blog entry on a Sunday: Fib Sunday! Hurrah!
If you don't know what Fib Sunday is, hen, or indeed, what's going on, click here for the original instructions. Hei!
1) I take the topic as given in last week's final entry, write a Fib and give a new topic.
2) Your reply to the topic is in the form of a Fib in the comment section.
3) You then supply the next topic.
4) The next visitor replies with a Fib on the newly given topic and then provides a new topic and so on...
A Fib is a six line, twenty syllable poem with a syllable count by line of 1/1/2/3/5/8. The only restriction on a Fib is that the syllable count follow the Fibonacci sequence. An example of a classic fib:
Math plus poetry yields the Fib.
Last week, Brian left us with the topic of Worshipping Ganesha whilst eating earwax-filled chocolate cupcakes and allowing Mama Cass to give you a full frontal massage using flaming maracas, a punctured inner tube, and a moon rock that was given to her by Neil Armstrong when they had that fling at the chateau in Zurich the summer of '70. No, really.
Make me hungry for:
Spain, cycling, Switzerland and space.