Who are you

I'd like to call in Dr Gil Grissom, my personal pin-up (Not much to look at? Fuck off. The man oozes intelligence. And it doesn't even stain) from CSI Las Vegas, to find out who is the culprit that infected me with what feels like three diseases at once: sore throat, bloated sinuses (can they bloat?) and an upset stomache. The Girlfriend? Duvelman? Dina Tersago (well, I found out on Strictly Come Dancing (sterren op de dansvloer) she suffered a stomache infection last week. It is possible). Still, I can't complain (much) since I'm functioning pretty reasonably.

I'd also like to state that The Girlfriend is a brilliant clairvoyant, succesfully predicting the top four in Men's Ice Hockey at the time of the quarter finals. She even nailed the 3-0 victory of the Czech Republic over Russia and knew Sweden would beat Finland by one goal.
What a woman!

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Mighty Ducks

I missed most of the figureskating yesterday because my idiot VCR/TV combination annoys people by forcing them to watch whatever they're taping. Which pretty much loses the point of VCRs unless you're A) not at home or B) entertaining people without the telly. Watching one thing while taping another? No chance. So I had to ask my parents to tape the Baftas for me on Sunday, and I chose to tape Wire in the Blood yesterday.
No sexy ladies on skates for me then.
But from what I saw I think I find male figureskating a lot more interesting. Who cares about bloody pirrouettes?

To placate all those who were worried about my sudden interest in girly stuff, the Girlfriend and I watched Ice Hockey a few days ago. Russian guys with missing teeth plowed into Canadian blokes with missing teeth ("a Full Body Check", The Girlfriend proudly explained), it looked like some of them were hitting others with their sticks and pushing them over. All in the spirit of sportsmanship of course.
All this left us very nostalgic for the Mighty Ducks films from the early 90s. You remember: poor no-good kids form an ice hockey team, get lots of negative feedback and then proceed to win everything in sight. Yep, we were fans as kids.
We found the first film. Now we're looking for the other two...
What do you mean, my standards just keep on dropping?

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Nuon2

Net onze eindafrekening aardgas gekregen van Nuon. Onze verwarming bestaat uit van die "bakken" in de living (ligt aan als we thuis zijn), de voorplaats (ligt alleen aan als er was hangt te drogen) en de keuken (ligt nooit aan). We hebben 55 Euro per maand betaald. Volgens onze eindafrekening hebben we nog 800 Euro bij te betalen aan Nuon...

Kan dit kloppen??

Dat maakt ons nieuwe voorschot op 133 Euro voor gas en 133 Euro voor elektriciteit. 266 Euro per maand!

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What a man!

"Travis Frey, a 33-year-old Iowa man who is facing charges that he tried to kidnap his own wife (not to mention a separate child pornography rap). Frey, prosecutors contend, apparently is a rather demanding guy. In fact, he actually drew up a bizarre four-page marriage document--a "Contract of Wifely Expectations"--that sought to establish guidelines for his spouse in terms of hygiene, clothing, and sexual activities."

Read exactly how much pubic hair his wife was allowed to have (and more) in the contract.

(through Kareem)

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the winter blues

Dragging myself from day to day only two things keep me upright: the Girlfriend, and the winter olympics. No, not Eurovision, not yet anyway. The Girlfriend is pretty obvious, but what about the olympics, I hear you ask.

Well, I've not become a real dyke yet, for I don't give a toss about skiing, snowboarding (though that was kinda funny) or speed skating Ice Hockey. Honestly, what kinds of sports are those? It's not even curling, even though -next to darts- that has to be one of the most fantastic "sports" ever invented. Where else could you find Olympic athletes in their fifties with perms?

No, the thing that's got me completely hooked is figure skating and ice dancing. I'm still not too clear about the difference between the two (the lovely LittleMoose did explain...), but both are breath-taking. I'm not even watching it for the chance that someone falls flat on their face, how bizarre is that? I watch it for the grace, the skill, the "oh my god, how do they do that" and of course, the lovely outfits. Obviously I don't understand the slightest thing about it, because the winners (Plushie Toy, or whatever his name was last week) leave me cold while I'm very enthused about people the jury doesn't fancy at all (what was wrong with Johnny Weir?). Yesterday I was rooting for the Kerr siblings, I think they came about tenth in the end. Ah well.

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The Grand Final

"Ik ga d'r zeker en vast ne lap oep geven!" Noooooooooooo! Don't! Don't! Using the exact same words as Xandee back in 2004 do not bode well for your chances at the Eurovision Song Contest, you silly girl! Aargh! Idiot!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First of all, long live Nicole and Hugo. Pity there were tsjeven in the audience, and Bjorn from Abba immediately wrote off our chances if we went for Kate Ryan. Seeing as she was performing last, our esteemed Flemish TV channel disagreed with him and really did want to send her to the contest.
Yet again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Can I just point out that I saw Gay Boy Sven Pichal in the audience? I did. Hello Sven!
But yes, on with the show.

Barbara Dex held my sweetie's enthusiasm for about 30 seconds (she even clapped and sang along) but that was it. My initial enthusiasm for Babs disappeared when I thought of Fomins & Kleins (Latvia 04) who had a very catchy "na nanana nana" rock song but did fuck all in the contest (I still love you, gents). Johnny Logan whined on about Mutt Lang (quit the namedropping already John, you're almost as bad as Serge Simonart) and André firmly stabbed Babs in the back.

Yes, yes, we get that you have a "message", Brahim. The boy obviously means well, but I for one do not understand any of what he's singing, let alone what that French bloke is going on about, so I seriously doubt anyone other than the writers know what that "message" entails. Well, Johnny got it, or so he said, but then we presume that's because he "had the lyrics translated backstage".

But not to fear, because Belle Perez also had a message, she informed us. Yeah, that black trousers with orange swirly patterns make you look fat, sweetie. This outfit (or any other sleeve-thing) would surely have you nominated for the Barbara Dex award. I kept thinking I really had to take the laundry out of the dryer but I kept watching in case one of her sleeves caught fire on the bunsenburner she brought with her (also, highly original).
Did anyone else notice how gentle the jury were in telling her they thought her song just didn't cut it? Me thinks there might have been a war going on backstage with Belle's management.

Ms De Schepper still has a theatre tour to promote, she still thinks she's Urbanus and she introduced the most annoying running gag of the show (ferrari ferrari, my arse). The song is fine, but Els really gets on my tits. André blabbed on about "breaking through language barriers"... it's really time to stop sniffing glue, darling.

If we were to have sent La Sakhra to Athens, there would have been a huge riot if we didn't get the "sepia" filming and if we did get it the other countries would've thrown a riot. So much for peace and love and unity. The sweetie was fixated on a stray hair that was flying out behind Rocky, so I'm afraid I missed most of the song trying to calm her down.

Wouldn't sending Kaye Styles to Athens have been the ultimate revenge for someone who was nearly deported? They could've made an Oscar (or Bafta, I'm not picky)- winning film of it, and if we didn't like his performance in Athens we could've just refused him to come back to the country. What could've been better? André whined the repetitive nature of the song... André, sweetie, repeat this some hundred times "shake shake shake shake shake mi amor, crazy for love, gimme some more". Wasn't that the runner up in 2004? Yeah, it was... Someone's got a very selective memory.

Kate Ryan didn't pay attention to us and shows up again in Selma (Iceland 05) pirate trousers. Her dancers in black (no sweetie, they need colour) and some great Swedish backing vocalists. What could be better to serve the Swedish Eurovision plot than Swedish singers singing a very Swedish song? They've got a chubby singer (always very important, as proven in 2004) and a gay boy dancing (always very important, as proven always). André loses his gay license by not recognising the camp here and Yasmine wants to watch the contest on our sofa. Well... alright then, since you asked so nicely.

Kate Ryan won, by the way, in case you were wondering.

And this begs a few questions:
1. Why does Flanders generally send uptempo, disco, camp songs to the contest knowing full well that's what half the other countries are also doing, thereby signing its Eurovision Death Sentence?
2. Why does Wallony not give a fuck about these kinds of songs?
3. Is Kate Ryan doomed, not only because of her Xandee-esque comment, but also because the sweetie and I genuinely like this camp trashy song? In other words, should we be hired as the jury who decides what not to send on the basis of what we like best?
4. Why don't we wait till the very last to decide who to send to the contest based on what the other countries are already sending?
5. Why do I care so much?
6. Why am I having second thoughts and wish we'd chosen La Sakhra....?

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Chimney Mob

I've just taken my bread out of the toaster as the doorbell rings at 12.30. What kind of time is that? Now my lunch is getting cold! I walk to our "glass-with-curtain"-front door, see an unknown middle aged man and realise I need to get my key out first, before I can open it. I go back to the hallway to look for my key, as the bloke -who's seen me- starts shouting and ringing the bell again.
OK. So now I'm pissed off.
I open the door and give him by best "I'm A Bit Slow"-Expression.

"I do the chimneys in this street. When was yours last cleaned?"

I'm taken aback. What the hell is this man on about? Who assigned him to our street to clean the chimneys?
"Er... we had it cleaned in October actually"

"Oh really" *he quirks his eyebrows and takes hold of his clipboard and pen* "And which firm did it?"
Thankfully I don't remember.
"Well, next year then" he tells me and pisses off.

Who knew Tony Soprano was active in I. and had stakes in the chimney cleaning business?
And what a sense of satisfaction did it give me to be able to refuse this rude bastard.

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just because


... we're halfway through February.
And she's still cuter than the cutest penguin!

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Back to the Littlemoose

Not only is LittleMoose a tiny, English-Irish moose who provides me with the occasional doses of Ant and Dec erm.. fiction, she's also a great source of fabulous links.
Today she introduced me to ... well, just watch it for yourself. I'm sure you're all fans of Back to The Future, right? Just have a look.

And then tell me it's a lie! Tsk! How could you deny it?

Ps: and as a tribute to the Moose I would also like to say once again how much I love Dr Who. Dr Who is the fucking best SF to ever hit our screens! (even if it is at 3.55 on a Saturday afternoon...)

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Eurosong 2006: why do I even bother

The second semi-final finds the sweetie and I in a practically comatose state on the sofa (it has nothing to do with us traipsing around in the snow watching pinguins all day), both of us doing our best to summon the enthusiasm to even care about who gets through to the final.

The jury drools over The Rock La Sakhra with the "perfect act", as if there has never been an act with sofas (Pall Oskar), dress changes (Marie N, every Croatian entry ever) and tempo changes (every song finishing last ever) in Eurovision. The Sweetie drops further in a coma as she proclaims "people might find this interesting" and André pretends to be a trendspotter by saying "this is very hip all around Europe". Come on, André, what have you been smoking now?

The Support Team find ways to not-say Roxane looked like a cheap whore last time she came around but the girl does show up with more flesh covered, thank god. Unfortunately the outfit now doesn't fit the still-raunchy "dance" routines. Roxane feels offended by the time she sets foot on stage and immediately counters the presenter by saying "she doesn't even own a vibrator". Seriously honey, no-one was asking! Bart Peeters keeps shouting "PUSH IT" as if he wants to push someone in the water (the sweetie claims this is to keep himself awake) and the directors pull open their can of cheap special effects. Lay off it, would you, you're giving me a headache.

Johnny Logan baffles us all with his musican intellect (something about the bass changes and Roxane sounding off key while she wasn't off key - sweetie, she was about as off key as you get-) and I see that Yasmine is wearing leggings under her dress. Leggings. I scrap Yasmine off my list of Lesbians To Lust After.
Our infamous presenter translates all Johnny Logan's commentary for the artists and they stand there and pretend they didn't understand English. Even when they already replied to Johnny. Fa-bu-lous television.

Sonny O'Brien and the rest of the contestants (well, apart from The Rock) all want to be "themselves, cos that's like the most important thing, ya know". She goes for Glennis Grace arm-movements making the sweetie fear she might be saying something offensive in some Slavic sign language, and she has a point. Either do sign language or don't, but be careful because before you know it you might have a diplomatic row on your hands (literally in this case!) or even worse- a last place at Eurovision! Ethnic cleansing has been sparked off by less than this you know! The only thing that lights up this boring song is André Vermeulen's confession that he's not a fan of Céline Dion. He's not??

Brahim went to the hairdresser's to have a vintage-looking strange beard thingie, and as our token-ethnic person is asked how he feels about Islam and all kinds of cartoons. (I saw a debate programme about this a bit later in the evening... who the fuck is Mia Doornaert and can I give her a good kick in the arse please?) All this is obviously very relevant to Eurovision and to his performance. Brahim doesn't even feel offended (proving he's a better person than I'll ever be) but is happy to blabber on about the "message" in his song. All I can think is he's still got the White Power-font letters on his t-shirt and that's a better "message" than whatever the hell he's singing about. The performance is topped off by a YMCA-type dance routine (do they even notice?) and someone standing on an oil barrel. Yes, we've never seen that before in Eurovision, have we. The jury goes wild. Our sofa doesn't even get worked up. All is quiet, apart from Kiwi's purring (or is he snoring?).

Onto Belle Perez who, the Support Team claims, must look more like a "Spanish Chipsie Gypsy". She goes to that Arrogant Fashion Designer and comes back with something with a lot of sleeves. They make a lot of publicity for her upcoming concerts and she goes on stage singing her Belle-light song. The jury finally catches on ("this isn't really as good as your other stuff") and Belle is mightily offended, claiming she's "got something like" "you know", and "just be herself".

Peter Evraaar looks as if he'd rather be at the dentist's for some extremely painful root canal stuff than at Eurovision. But he pretends to be "himself" singing "his own thing" (writting by two Italians) and does something "vulnerable" and "naked" by sitting down with someone who fakes playing the guitar. He sang better and he must be doing something right if everyone is getting so worked up about this, but it still does nothing for me. André takes the opportunity to whine about Urban Trad and The Rock, and Johnny loses himself in musical lingo.

Last but not least Barbara Dex is back, wearing a dreadful country jacket. I don't understand why I liked this song in the first place (the chorus doesn't match the verses, for one thing) and she's way too enthusiastic. Johnny Logan must feel something's off as well because he offers to introduce her to Mutt Lang. Erm? Ok then.

The Rock (OMG! A Sofa! How Innovative! come on, people!), Barbara Dex and Belle Perez are through to the final. (Photos can be found here)
The Jury decides on a wild card tomorrow. And next week we finally know who represents Belgium in Athens (about bloody time) and I can try getting back my good mood.

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Victory

I'm very proud to announce that after years of being taken hostage, the "It's a hard job being sexy.." socks are once again on my feet. MY feet.
One moment of sleepiness on the Girlfriend's part was all it took.

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help?

Ik heb een vraag rond energieleveranciers... Ahem. Ruim op tijd heb ik mijn contract met onze huidige energieleverancier (the evil nuon) verbroken. Ik heb een brief van hen teruggekregen die dit bevestigt en die ook vermeldt (en nu komt het) dat als we geen nieuwe leverancier hebben de exacte dag na het einde van hun contract, ze dan "genoodzaakt" zijn ons een verbrekingsvergoeding van 3 maanden energie aan te rekenen. Voor ons komt dat op zo'n 600 Euro. Slik.
Nu is mijn probleem dat we maar een nieuwe leverancier hebben drie weken nadat mijn huidig contract afloopt (als zelfs dat gelukt is, want de beloofde brief die ik deze week van de nieuwe ging ontvangen is niet aangekomen....). De vraag is dan ook: kan dit zomaar? Ik heb geen nieuw jaarcontract getekend bij nuon en ik heb ook mijn contract bij hen mooi uitgedaan. Hebben zij dan het recht om mij 600 Euro aan te rekenen?

Iedereen die hiermee kan helpen is heel welkom want het veroorzaakt slapeloze nachten.

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It's not easy being Bree

The Girlfriend is hot. So hot in fact that temp agencies are fighting for the right to send her to babysit the ill and fake-ill. One can't help but wonder if they conspire to bother you when you have something to do and then collectively ignore you once you're available again. We'll have to see about that.
Meanwhile I think I'm running out of chores to do around the house. I suppose I could get out the big guns and ... I don't know... wash down ceilings or burn the work sorfaces in the kitchen to get be sure they're bacteria-free... And I suppose there's still that bunch of cutlery we rescued from my grandmum's house to sort out... but I fear The Girlfriend might then call in a group of psychiatrists to check on me. And who knows what that lot would find! Best not risk it...

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naughty boys!

Baloo sent me a link to a bunch of buff young men lipsynching and dancing along to Madonna's "Hung up". I just found out they also have a blog where you can find even more videos, such as their versions of "I will survive" and Kelly Osbourne's "One word".
Must-sees, I'm sure!

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Antony

In between bouts of Bree-mania I've become totally obsessed with Antony and the Johnsons. I know you lot have been listening to him for ages now, but here, abroad, these things take a little longer.
I don't think I've felt this excited about anyone (him and Poofus) since I discovered Pet Shop Boys when I was 12.... Glad to see I can still do it.

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Bree

The Sweetie is out "providing" today. How butch! She's playing barbie and hairdresser and shopkeeper with an ill three-year-old. To ease my guilt over the fact that she had to get up at 7 to work and I didn't, and that she's making money and I'm er... well, not really, I've become Bree Van De Kamp, household mistress. Of course Bree would've got up before the sweetie at 6.30 and made her a nutritious breakfast, but I'm working up to that. You can't expect everything at once, can you.

So far I've done the ironing and the windows. I'm preparing myself to clean up cat puke from the carpet (on my knees, scrubbing!) and scrub the kitchen. I know, Bree would've done much better. She'd have polished the silverwear (we haven't got any), done the kitchen cabinets (er...) and would've never left the bathroom in the state it is now (rather messy), but as I said, I'm learning...
I wonder if the sweetie will start suspecting me of poisoning her....?

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Promote Thyself

Ms Bubosquared over on Livejournal asked me to list my sexiest ten celebrities. So I did.

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Semi Final

Instead of the usual "here's my dog telling you what he likes about my song"-introduction films there was now an Evil Braindead Prefab "support team" (someone in advertising, a poof who thinks he knows about clothes, a blonde and an American choreographer) meant to "help" the contestants look less like themselves idiots. It felt like we were watching our own usual sofa occupants, only this lot was on TV and was even more arrogant than we are.
Johnny Logan's blonde hairdye had gone to his brain, since he suddenly found himself not only in the wrong country, but also very "ANGRY OMG8" at the Prefab Influence.

I'll admit their effort of "gaying" up Jeason was funny, especially Jeason's forced "openminded" reaction to it and the jury's "OMG Cunts!"-reaction. Everyone on the jury turned out to be fan of Jeason, which severely tested our gag reflex and Johnny even offered to work together with good old Jeason.
As if.
Finally, onto the next....

"I still want to be a Rockbitch" Eve Kempbell. The Support Team immediately spotted her fake-ness, which probably earned them a stamp and a sticker, "well done, support team!". They immediately styled her some more, to make her look more "real". Erm, yes.... There were extra scary earrings and even wilder hair, and The Girlfriend started blushing and giggling. She's got a weak spot for fake American PopRock, but please don't judge her on that. Johnny Logan went from "OMG Cunts" to "OMG the Support Team is the devil" and André proved he reads my blog by referring to Germany's 2004 performance. It's an honour to have you here, André!

Els De Schepper made some more publicity for her theatre show, stole some jokes from Urbanus (from back in the 1970s) and tried to act like she didn't want to win. The Support Team wanted to make her look "taller". That team's money well spent, that... Marcel dissed Johnny by saying he had a small dick (I'm not kidding) and Bart Peeters went down on Els. The sweetie pointed out she felt that Els should draw cartoons of Muhammed, this way she might not make it to the final...

In the break we found out that Jeason's rosary was designer shit from Dolce And Gabanna and brought him luck. This made me smile even more when he ended up last.

Afi went from dressing like a Drag Queen to dressing like a 5-year-old (don't worry Afi, Drag Queens look better than real women because they represent everything a man thinks a woman should look like (as said by Prof Dr Paul Verhaeghe), so it's a compliment really). Johnny apparently had his head so far up his arse he felt that her visiting an old folk's home (which was, yes, not really necessary and quite belittling) meant dissing his own relatives who had "grown old and died". Honey, André practically lives in an old folk's home and he never complained! A little muhammedian row ensued over the dissing versus not-dissing of old people in Eurovision and that was the most interesting thing about Afi's performance. Let's face it, her following the advice of the "support team" by constantly smiling throughout her "angry" song seemed a bit silly.

Katerine had a lot of fans in the studio, she tried to look more relaxed, did a better job, but the song and performance were still kinda shit. I loved when the Support Team immediately saw she was "from some kind of TV show", thank you mister American Choreographer. Might I also point out that she was obviously too cheap to buy a new dress? Tsk!

Mister Kaye Styles blew me away, especially with the female backing vocals. Send this to Eurovision! A real black, black, black man (so black they'll have to turn up the lights) singing R&B. It won't win, but it will do Ok, which given our trackrecord should be more than enough. Long live Kaye Styles! Long live his Barbie Triplets! André tried to make him lose his cap... proving yet again he has no clue of what it means to be a Leuven Gangsta. Honestly, André...

Kate Ryan's hair was crap, she lost the selma-pirate pants and kept the silly eastern European choreography. I kept debating whether this was average-Abba-eurovision or better-than-average, but I'm still not sure. Sending this is a big risk, it might disappear into similar songs or it might be so much better than the others that it stands a chance... I don't know. Big downside is also that she has no "fire/desire" rhyme... that does lessen her chances, but hey, I'll gladly sing along to "Shut the Door dada dadadada.."


Next week I will be mostly dissing Peter Evraaaar, Belle Perez and... probably Sonny O'Brien.

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Immortality

Johnny Logan, in one of the semi-finals of the Belgian Eurovision preselection: "We've got 14 songs, and one of these is going to represent Holland, so we have to be more strict".

The Johnny Logan-plot is thickening...

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Yesterday

We went shopping yesterday, aiding Ellen in finding even more clothes than she needs (ahem), and in the mean time finally got round to spending the vouchers I got for my birthday. Since everyone, and I do mean everyone, ignored my Amazon Wishlist (shame on you!) I bought Rufus (want one) and Antony and the Johnsons (I am a bird now) myself, in Fnac. Finally! I added an old New Order, Abba compilation (the only one I had was on cassette, it was a total disgrace for my sexuality!) and Lightning Seeds double CD to that in Compact 500. Thank you, gift givers. Finally I can show my face again now that I've recovered some of my "hipness" in the music department.

We were meant to meet the infamous Bietje after that for a few drinks (and to return his Tommy Tiernan DVD) but he completely stood us up. What kind of straight, single man turns down two lesbians? I've never heard of a silly thing as that. Thankfully, another straight man could be found to enjoy Saturday night with.

Apart from that, some embasseys were set on fire (not by me), which is always ... nice... for a Saturday. Seriously though, what's going on? Is this the beginning of world war three or have I been listening to too much ominous depressing music?

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Important facts of the day

1. Electricity providers are all (I'm not one for generalisation, but yes, all) thieves, bastards, fascists and pricks. You need to make three phonecalls and send in an internet application before they can lower themselves to accept you as clients. Then they're wary of you "I take it the company ended the contract", "no you idiots, we dumped them! You think poor people know how to pick up a phone and call you?" and never, ever do they change your details: still addressing you with the name of the previous inhabitant, every time you call. Fuckwits! Others just ignore you and tell you you phoned them to late. Not my fucking fault the other company strung us along for months! But fine, you're the ones missing out on the money. What is it with you people? Can you hear by my voice I'm unemployed?
So while they're all cunts and should be crucified, the one you must, really must, avoid at all cost is NUON. The masters at incompetence. If you look up "incompetence" in a dictionary there should be a Nuon logo next to it. Not sure if you believe me? Just be their customer for a year, you will regret ignoring my advice, I promise you.

2. We went to the Sing and Swing thingie yesterday where the ever radiant Occie performed an impressive housewife-solo of "Raindrops". We had to physically restrain Duvelman, the man whose photo would be in the dictionary next to "social", from shouting out "They're all slappers", but apart from that the evening went by without problems. We even had an illuminating sextalk with Spikey. Nothing like sex to get a conversation going, I always say.
Now if only said Spikey would take a look at my computer so the girlfriend could use her laptop again...

3. I decided I want to be the female Duvelman, apart from the sports, I'm not sick after all. I want to talk to people and not give a fuck what they think of me. Tell them what's on my mind, instead of whispering it to my "chosen few", be Smiley Pigley
and pat people on the back as if I've known them my whole life. I'm jealous of you, Sir Duvel.

4. If anyone should feel the urge to kill the people who "opened up" the electricity market, be my guest. I'll gladly give evidence for you in court.

5. Anyone fancy going to the Aldi for me? I need some bottles of sparkling water and I've got a splitting headache. Thanks in advance.

6. If anyone knows how to send a font (in this case, linotype something) to a friend, please tell me. It doesn't want to be an attachment to an e-mail, nor be sent over msn.

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