Piglet's Blog

2011-05-15T15:41:00.001+02:00

Ken and Barbie win Eurovision. Hurray.

Well... that was all a bit meh wasn’t it.

Not the show, not at all, pretty impressive you ask me, no, just the result. Though I guess there is a silver lining: By this time next year we’ll finally know where Azerbaijan is. And I personally can’t wait for the interval act they come up with.

But before we get to the ending, we must start at the beginning. A word of warning, if I repeat myself, I’m very sorry. But there’s only so much you can say about songs and performances you see twice in four days time. And it’s not as if anyone but Nick and his husband will notice.
But yes, let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.
Don’t we all hate it when Eurovision hosts try to be funny? It makes me long for the scary old Russian bloke who just stood there as if he was reading the news. SvenOrAndré says that “Stefan Raab is the most famous German entertainer”. Ha! Wrong! That would be Derrick!
Anyway, a lot of nonsense later (and one funny moment with a bunch of Lena lookalikes, and a total Blitzkrieg of pyro) and finally, finally, we get on with it.

By showing us that the arena is actually a football stadium. Really? At Eurovision!? Our Straight Men perk up and start talking football results... now see what you’ve done. SvenOrAndré explain the jury system saying that “the juries are composed of music experts”. Music experts? What the hell do they know about Eurovision?!

And then, after what seems like an eternity, we can finally, finally get on with things.

Extra points to SvenOrAndré for mentioning Tom Dice when the guy from Finland starts, but what a depressing opener. Excellent toilet break, but alas, we all just went. We really could’ve done without the sultry look in the camera, Finland. Next please! -21st

SvenOrAndré translates the lyrics of Bosnia’s Love in Rewind and there are no words to express how much I love Dino and his bunch of overhappy prozac-loving crazy people. The guy with the triangle looks so proud to be here I just want to hug him and pinch his cheeks. Watch out with the pyro, guys, Dino’s on fire! -6th

“It’s not plagiarism” the guys from Denmark say “but there’s only so many guitar chords you can use so everything kinda sounds alike”. “It’s a wonder there’s more than one song in the world” Straight Man quips. We do the test on Soundhound and it –unfortunately- recognises the song as “New Tomorrow”. SvenOrAndré steals another remark from my blog, I really don’t mind if you do, SvenOrAndré, I just wish you’d comment once in a while. -5th (seriously Europe? What is wrong with you?!)

There really must be a dwarf hiding under that dress... No, that really is all her arse. All of it! Her own! Accentuated by the dress. Who could be so cruel? “I sink to you” she ~~sings~~ sinks to us. Lithuania, you of the fake Chiara Disney ballads, I am not happy you’re in this final. -19th (Ha! Not low enough!))

Hungary of the backing singers with the lit crotch. If you’ve not seen the contest, I swear I am not making this up. The backing singer’s crotches are lit up like a Christmas tree. Because you want to draw attention to that in front of millions of viewers, including probably your parents, grandparents, neighbours and boss. We vaguely remember only one singer’s crotch being lit up in the semi, and now all three of them are shining away happily at us. Either they thought it was such a good idea they should expand it, or they’ve got some horrible STD and they’ve had unprotected sex with each other. Safe sex children! -22nd (Boo, you were fabulous Hungary!)

Thank you Ireland for showing us mere mortals what happens when you overdose on Red Bull. They should put this on the cans as a warning. Depeche Mode! Pet Shop Boys! (just the backdrops mind, not the music). This is funny as hell and extra points for the hot backing singers dressed in hoodies and hotpants. -8th

We’ve seen snippets of Sweden’s performance every three minutes or so on “Out TV’s” pre-Eurovision show. Let’s say the gays are fans, as are the assorted sexualities on this Belgian sofa. We try to stay professional by playing “spot the ugly backing singer” – the ones who have to remain fully clothed and stand on the edge of the stage, so they’re not filmed too often. It doesn’t work, we’re drawn in by the camp of it all. You big slut, Eric, being felt up by all these men in leather. -3rd (Robbed, I tell you, robbed!)

Ah, Estonia is singing in key this time. Nice. But after Sweden, well... What can we say about it? It’s colourful. That’s about it. -24th

I love the way SvenOrAndré says the name “Stereo Mike”. You can tell he says it like he’s smelling something bad. And who can blame him. Stereo Mike –snicker- raps something about “his war against fear” (seriously? At Eurovision? You start about waging a war in Germany?) and I wonder why Loukas didn’t just lock him up in his hotel room so he could do the song on his own. There’s intense gazing at the camera, someone yells “take your shirt off” and quickly adds “Not you, Stereo Mike”. Anyway, despite all this, Greece ends up 7th. Bafflingly.

Russia, you scare us with your dirty wink at the camera. You just stay where you are before we have to barricade the doors and windows! There’s buttlight. And shoelights. And his name spelled out on the backs of his dancers. Oh how I wish they’d switch places just to piss him off. And another wink! Aaaaaaaaaaaargh! Fuck off! He must have left some extra room in his suitcase to pack his ego -16th (Ha!)

The straight girls go wild over France, one of them proclaims her Swedish vote has now turned into a French one. “He’ll get them wet, he’s popular” indeed. Ooh, a sunset, “or the opening screen for windows” the ever sober Straight Man (the only one not charmed by Amaury’s dazzling looks and voice) goes. Finally some pyro. An actual song at Eurovision is one thing, but one without a wind machine and nearly without pyro? That would have been something else entirely! – 15th (should have been much much higher if you ask me. But at least he beat Russia)

Italy is singing in English. What is this world coming to? First an actual song, then Italy’s back, with something snooze-worthy and then it’s not even in Italian. All this sucking up to Italy over the past year has finally paid off: with a horribly boring song and performance. Thank you very much Italy, and welcome back. Urgh. I suspect the “expert juries” of Europe have been bribed because for some reason this piece of drivel actually comes second. (I’ve said it before when you threw out Dana International, and I’ll say it again Europe: you suck)

Switzerland is still cute despite wearing the (as SvenOrAndré put it in the semi) “dowdy dress reminiscent of the magnificent Maltese singer Chiara”. “This dowdy dress deserves to be taken off” the straight men and lesbians mutter. Anna manages two dancing cameras at once, not something to be mocked. Clearly a girl who knows how to multitask. –last (bafflingly and horribly last... how is this possible? I suspect a plot where the EBU delegations stole points from France and Switzerland to hand over to that boring Italian guy)

The UK’s Blue come up to a stage doused in greens. Very disturbing. For a minute I think I’ve become colourblind. Modestly enough their backdrop consists of four gigantic videos of themselves. Gigantic. Shirtless. I mean, what the hell?? Blue, in case you’re from a different planet (or the US ~~which is basically the same thing~~) are a British boyband on a comeback. Kinda like Take That, but not as good. And this song was actually pretty fantastic, if you’re big on the angsty bombastic balkan communist drama. Only their singing is way off key, their microphones are too low and not even Russia put up gigantic photos of himself (though I think he kicked himself when he saw Blue’s “I should have done that! It looks brilliant!”). Aaargh. Blue, where did it all go wrong?? If it’s any consolation, “That guy from Blue” came first in The Sofa’s “best biceps”-poll. Right before “the second backing singer from Sweden”. At least they won at something -11th.

Ah, it’s the shouty garden gnomes from Moldova. Eat this, Stereo Mike! Now whose idea was it to put christmas cones on their heads? Apart from the Pet Shop Boys then. “I know what will make the whole outfit come together: ta-daaah!”. Extra points for the drummer who’s not even pretending to drum to the rythm. -12th

Germany’s Lena has turned into a sultry little er... woman, I suppose. Gay Eurovison Oblivionist goes “Hang on, is that the same one from last year?” Yes! Good on you for catching on! Verka Serduchka was years ahead of her time judging by the silver outfits the backing dancers are wearing. Either that or they’ve been to Japan and they still need to decontaminate. -10th

No, Romania, no matter how many pseudo attractive looks you throw the camera, you are not hot. Your song is horrible and forgettable. Don’t vote for this Europe, don’t be drawn in by the clap-along moment! -17th

Austria didn’t take part for a couple of years because they were pissed off at the televoting results. They decided to come back just when the contest was being hosted in neighbouring country Germany. What a coincidence. Well if they’re planning on sending us (well sung, yes, I’ll admit that) Disney ballads every single time, they could really have saved us all the bother. The Sofa notices Nadine can’t move in that dress and those heels. We suspect she’s been hoisted on stage with a crane.”There Can be Miracles, I will always love you” we sing along. It all magically fits. -18th.

And here we come to Ken and Barbie: Azerbaijan has been taking part for five (four?) years now and they’re eager as a puppy and ambitious as hell. They want to win. And they shall try using Eurovision By Numbers, as they did tonight, and by god they even succeeded. For some reason or other. Because can I just say? This does nothing for me. Nothing. At all. I wasn’t even this pissed off when Dima Bloody Bilan won. The whole thing is so cheesy, clichéd and contrite: from everyone dressed in white to the pseudo-duet. All it needs is some bloody sign language and we can all hop back to the nineties on our cloud of unicorns, puppies and rainbows. Aaaargh!! It makes me want to tear out my hair and send that Moldovan gnome on the unicycle to knock everyone off stage. It all ends with a golden shower though, so at least we get some fun out of that. –winner.

Thank you Slovenia for sending us the light version of Anastacia and –above all- your attractive backing singers. I really have nothing else to say about this. -13th.

We fill up our glasses and the crisps during Iceland’s song. It’s a nice song, but that’s really all it is: a nice song. We notice we’ve all run out of points to hand out already. Already? And we haven’t even heard Spain yet?! -20th

Not that we’re missing much when it comes to Spain-by-numbers. One happy sunny song – check. One lady singer – check. Sung in Spanish –check. Backing singers who scare the hell out of everyone – check. Waving as a group – check. Wind machine and key change –check. And the Spanish air guitar championship to start it all off with. Only at Eurovision! The whole thing is like a commercial for a travel agent’s “come visit us in lovely Benidorm, for sun, sea and sand”. No thanks, I think we’ll pass. -23rd.

Not a single one of us remembers how Ukraine’s song went, but that sure was a lovely sand drawing. And some impressive poultry on her shoulders. The most entertaining thing about this performance is that apparently something went wrong because it took ages to start. -4th (seriously Europe? Seriously? You’re that easily distracted by shiny sand drawings and pretty things on stage?)

Serbia with the pretty colours and the dresses and blablabla... no-one’s listening anymore. We’ve reached our maximum of Eurovision-madness, we can take no more. Kudos for singing in Serbian though! And in key! And for being pretty. And it’s not a bad song. And we’re all just tired, don’t mind us, do you know what time our son woke us up this morning? It’s a disgrace. Don’t take it personal, Nina. -14th.

“Is that the one with the lettuce stuck to her dress?”. Yes, that’s Georgia! Why they’re in this final, we have no idea, but here they are so we’d better make the most of it. It’s never a good sign when they need the wind machine from right at the beginning though, is it? Nice teeth though. And Stereo Mike is there, in something fluorescent. Go Stereo Mike, the busiest man this Eurovision. And yes! We had to look it up, but there is a fire/desire rhyme! So that’s why they made it to the final after all! I knew it had to be something... -9th.

And then there’s an interval with something disco. And symbolically the Germans tear down a wall (oh yes, they really go there) between the audience and the green room. Unfortunately not by Jeremy Clarkson running into it with a truck, but by sliding open the backdrop of the stage, but alright then. We can’t have it all. The green room incidentally looks like an alien bee hive.
And then come the votes with our personal highlights: Dima Bilan who hasn’t aged well, Ruslana who looks like she’s turned into her grandmother, booing in the audience when neighbours give each other points (especially in the balkan) but not when Germany and Austria do the same, a hilarious moment when Spain gets 12 points from France after having practically none so far, France giving the UK one whole point and well... the horror that is the winner.

Well, I say horror... the Wife let me know (at nights like these it all comes out doesn’t it) that she loves the song and has played it over and over when she’s alone in the car. And yes, the song isn’t that horrible (not good either), but the staging... dear god, it looked like something out of a high school musical production.
And so yes, we wonder what the Azerbaijani interval act is going to be like, and the fact that it’s three hours later there than here and what are they going to do with all The Gays that are going to overrun their nice, traditional country and... they’re back on stage, looking happy as can be. And that girl should really let her hair go back to its original colour because it looks horrid and the guy doesn’t want to share the trophy with her and he kisses it (Don’t!! You don’t know where that’s been! Dima Bilan used to have one just like this!) and SvenOrAndré pointedly say “she’s married and has two kids and we don’t know what his er... status is... whether or not he has an er... a ... partner”. And ah well... what a crappy song, we realise as they sing it again. Or I realise anyway.

The Germans celebrate the win by throwing toilet paper at them. How fitting.

I suppose I’m going to have to post a clip of it, aren’t I? Go on then. So you can see what we have to put up with for another year.

2011-05-13T19:08:00.000+02:00

Semi Final 2: homoeroticism, thigh-high boots and ...you've guessed it... Pyro!

I can’t believe I took time off work to write this Eurovision recap. I must be ~~demented insane stupid idiotic crazy~~ devoted.
What can I say, we all make sacrifices. Just look at poor Dana International!

Apparently, because this is Eurovision for Dummies, they received thousands of text messages and emails (who knew their phone numbers and e-mailaddresses were so widespread) from people asking them to explain the rules of the song contest. The rules. Of the song contest. Yes. Alright. Don’t we all have SvenOrAndré commentators? Isn’t everyone a Eurovision Queen? Apparently not then. So on they go again with the whole charade complete with pyro (well, they had some lying around so why not use it) and “start voting now!” and yeah... not even SvenOrAndré are listening at this point. If only Short Prozac Lady had worn something red they’d be dressed in the colours of the the German (and Belgian) flag. A missed opportunity if ever there was one!

Yay Dino! My little Bosnian woodnymph! They must spike the tap water with prozac in Bosnia if the group on stage is any indication . And how entertaining for us! “Is anyone’s crotch alight?” the Sofa asks, because we’re used to that now. For a minute we fear they used up all the pyro in the first semi, but thankfully there’s some left for the ending of the song. We get a tweet asking if “they’ve left the caged dancing bear in Sarajevo”. Hush now. This is class. Go Dino!!

Austria brings us a game of “Recognise the melody from this song from every other ballad ever in the history of music and assorted Disney films”. For some reason the singer scares me. Could be the eyebrows. Our hosts come back in the living room after putting their daughter to bed: “Hey, isn’t this stolen from something?”. Probably yes. But the woman can sing. Even if all she sings is a crappy Disney ballad.

Oh, it’s the Netherlands with a true snoozefest of “let’s walk around on stage in no particular order – it’s not like we had six months to prepare something that looks remotely like an act, now is it.” No loitering, Holland! It’s just not done when you have a right-winged government! “This might go through” SvenOrAndré says. I think they handed out leftover bottles of Prozac in the commentary booths...

Not that Belgium is any better. Though for some reason the Sofa is quite happy with it. I think we all expected it to be even worse. A little language riot when the Flemish placard of one of the “Belgian divers: Norbert and Guido” in the postcard is quickly turned over to show a German text. “Once again us poor Flemish are humiliated and discriminated against! Once again the Walloons are mocking us! Well, that one Flemish guy in the group is obviously the better one” the Separatist Sofa goes. (And we are kidding, people! The Flemish flag has no style, so we couldn’t split up even if we wanted to!) I mean, Eurovision should thank us: we’re saving them a lot of money: no tape, no musicians. And what do we get for it? A bus ticket home! Tsk! It’s all politics! (and crappy songs)

Slovakia picked up some porn twins from an alley somewhere. One of them tries to make sultry moves and pouty lips. It’s scary. Their dresses are a size too small, unless their boobs were meant to look that way. But then what do I know about porn fashion. “Unless they undress, this is shit” our Token Straight Men (for there are two) proclaim. Next!

Oh. A commercial break already? And there’s the Ukraine. “Well hel-lo” the Wife goes. I fear for my life, because whenever she starts fancying short-haired short ladies (everything I’m not) I know she’s just one step away from ~~grabbing the scissors~~ going to the hairdressers and getting herself a short haircut. Which looks good on her, but then I want one and then she goes “your head is too big for short hair” and then I think about stereotypical lesbian haircuts and if her hair is short and mine is long does that make her “the man” and me “the woman” and ... oh, right. Not about me. Sorry. About the song. As I was saying, the Wife was going “hel-lo” and that, together with the sand drawing is the only good thing about this song. But apparently it’s enough to get through to the final. “Someone had poultry for lunch” the Wife goes, looking at Ukraine’s dress.
We now notice that not only is SvenOrAndré blatantly stealing from my blog (not that I’m arrogant or anything) he also seems to be listening in on our conversation because a minute after I say “the Ukraine always sends something pretty. Or Verka Serduchka.” SvenOrAndré goes “The Ukraine always send a pretty girl to Eurovision”. Cut it out, SvenOrAndré (or at least mention La Serduchka)!

Moldova brings us the second Pet Shop Boys tribute of this year’s Eurovision (after Turkey’s Chris Lowe patented fake keyboard playing in the first semi) with the Pointy Hats from Can You Forgive her. (Though they looked much better on Messrs Tennant and Lowe.) The Sofa is divided. One half loves the garden gnome idiotic quality of it all, the other half misses the drumming granny and moans that no-one’s wearing feathers and no-one’s crotch is on fire.

We notice relations in the SvenOrAndré household are quite business-like still. Sven is probably worried about being Andrés third in a few years, André might not know how to handle a young excited co-presenter. We hope they work it out.

Because here is Sweden! Babyfaced Not-Gay-But-Sure-Looking-It men are quite the thing in this year’s contest (Only in this year’s?). Eric gets pawed by a lot of men in leather who show us their muscles. Sakis would be so proud. “My body wants you girl”, he sings. No, it doesn’t, you big liar. “Bieber meets muse” we get texted. It’s a homoerotic video disguised as a Eurovision entry. Go Sweden!

Long live the angst in Cyprus. Shame about the singing. And Blatant Sakis Move Alert! All of a sudden Xena Warrior princess starts swinging a big lamp over the audience, for no apparent reason. As I said, shame about the singing. And Sakis did that move better.

Again the Wife goes mad over Bulgaria’s mohawk. “She shouldn’t have worn white if she wanted to be a metalchick” someone remarks. But white is customary for Eurovision. It’d be like going to a royal wedding without a hat, some things are just not done. What a dilemma. The Germans lose a capital to the pyro in this song. We fear it might be a terrorist attack, but nope, it’s just the staging.

And another commercial break where, yes, we’ll admit it, we mention Ze War, and how all our grannies hated the Germans, but loved Derrick.
It’s just one of those things.

FYR Macedonia brings us gay ballet. Well, gayer ballet. Shame about the singing, the song was pretty brilliant until he opened his mouth. Not even the gay midget playing the accordion saves it.

Oooh Dana! Dana! Dana! André promises us that her dress couldn’t cover up her boobs in the rehearsals, but alas… no such luck. Can I say how gutted, shocked and appalled I am that La Diva from Israel didn’t make it through to the final? Can I say how disappointed I am in you, Europe for allowing this to happen?! You suck, Europe! It’s just not on! She’s Eurovision Royalty! She’s the Diva! Or did the poor Eurovision voters think Dana was one of those other women who performed on Tuesday? But Dana looks a lot more like a woman than they do! Aargh. I don’t get it. All she had to do was walk down the catwalk and the crowd in the arena went into a frenzy. Yes, the song wasn’t all that, but that never stopped us before. I’m shocked. We love you, Dana, don’t worry! (Oh, I do not want to be a member of that Israeli delegation right now...)

The Wife doesn’t even notice that Slovenia is wearing leather boots up to her thighs. For some reason she’s too busy staring at the backing singers. All of us are. No-one is listening to the song. We’ll get a second chance I suppose.

The guy from Romania probably thinks he’s hot. You can tell by the way he looks into the camera. Newsflash honey: you’re not. Oh, and it’s the return of the 80s pianist. So glad to see you’re back. “Lose the jackets!” the Straight Male and Lesbian part of The Sofa chant “Lose the jackets”. Not that we’re superficial or anything. Alas, the ladies in the background keep their jackets on. Perhaps in the final?

We go back to the green room. “We want commercials instead” The Sofa goes.

We didn’t know Rachel from Glee would be performing for Estonia. Thankfully the kids are already tucked up in bed, because this “one two seven three” counting is just not on. They must never have watched Count Dracula when they were a kid. Someone is singing off key, but we’re not sure it’s the lead singer. I expect hair to be pulled and drama queen scenes backstage! But hey, off key singing is not a reason not to make it to the final when you’re from Estonia. So there is that.

Yes, we know you love Belarus, but apparently the rest of Europe isn’t too keen on the place. SvenOrAndré surprisingly doesn’t mention that “Belarus is the last dictatorship of Europe” though we expect the poor lady to get sent to a detention camp when she gets back home. Or they’ll just blame us heathens, that’s also possible. Listen, when you sing something patriotic we expect pyro, flag waving and perhaps some military staging. Not this. Three minutes just keeps lasting longer and longer....

The Sofa is up in arms about Latvia’s “Luscious Thighs” and Stereo Mike makes another appearance, pretending to be a nerd. When I was writing this down I first wrote “pretends to be a rapper”, which made me smile. Ha. Oh how I amuse me! In a surprising turn of events, judging by the dirty grin on the singer’s face, he even knows what “luscious thighs” are. Dirty guy!

After Rachel for Estonia, Denmark hired Puck from Glee, who hides a bird’s nest in his hair. “ooooh someone’s got a balloon!” (yeah, we’re used to dealing with babies these days). The sofa’s divided about the singer’s bare back. Hot or not, or just run out of fabric? We’ve got Saturday to watch it again.

Kraftwerk! Pet Shop Boys-background! It’s Ireland. My my, who’d have thought they wouldn’t be able to sing live? “Why are their microphones turned down so much, we can only hear the beat?” Why oh why…. Someone hand these guys their Ritalin, please almighty. I certainly wouldn’t want them in my house, but on the Eurovision stage... well it’s all pretty fabulous isn’t it. “how can they not know how ridicilous they are?” “they’re blond” “Are they even really blond?” We’re not really listening, but yay Jedward. When the pyro goes off you can just see them think “Pyro?! Does that mean we won?!”. Not yet you didn’t. And let’s hope you don’t.

“Ooh is this also taking part? It’s the best we’ve seen so far” Sweetie, that’s the interval act.

The Sofa proves they have no taste because when we pool our votes this is the top three:
3. Bosnia (only third??)
2. Ireland (“Well at least Ireland is taking the contest seriously”)
1...... Sweden.
Yes. We’re superficial.
Israel came fourth in our poll, in case you were wondering.

But not in Europe’s.
Poor Dana.

But on we go to Saturday’s final. With a lot of good songs, a lot of crappy songs, a lot of ugly women, plenty of pyro, wind machines and key changes, possibly some more Pet Shop Boys tributes (Ze Boys Are Big In Germany) and the big five.
Wouldn’t want to miss that, now would you?!

Oh. And with a second place in the final, Dino Merlin, my big bearded friend, is doomed. Since the winner generally comes from the last third of the songs I’m starting to fear Serbia might just win the whole damn thing.
Damn you, Serbia.

2011-05-11T14:59:00.000+02:00

Semi Final 1: Good evening Europe! Wo ist die Homojugend?!"

– at least that’s what we think Stefan und seine Frauen are saying if the overexcited gays behind them are any indication.

The presenters are Stefaan Raab and two random women (one as eager as an overexcited puppy, another one with ugly silver tassles on her shoulder). Wahey them! “You won’t understand a word of it, because your commentators are going to talk over us, but we’re still here and damned happy about it!” Apparently they’re funny, not that we’d know since we’re all still talking –as are André and Sven- because Die Homojugend in the audience goes ganz wild, ja.
Toll!
While Stefan und seine Frauen explain the televoting (I kid you not, is this “Eurovision for the televoting-impaired” or something?), complete with fireworks and counting down from five, the Sofa discovers our very first problem: our Flemish commentators.

Now we love André. In a way. And after all these years he decided it was time for someone younger and probably more attractive next to him, which we understand. A man has needs: exit Bart Peeters, enter Sven Pichal. Though yes, André, I was also still available, but I understand you didn’t ask because you probably thought I was busy: no hard feelings. Anyway, as I was saying, Sven and André are our first problem. Because their voices and their Eurovision enthusiasm are too alike so we can’t be sure who’s speaking. Very annoying, especially since The Sofa can’t keep their mouths shut either and well… let’s just say André, a woman’s voice * cough like mine cough * would have been a bigger contrast.

Still, we’re willing to give it a shot, and with a Sofa filled with fans, someone who declares himself The Queen of Oneliners and a baby in the audience, on we go to the first entry of the evening.

A postcard of the monorail in Wuppertal (Because who didn’t want to see that!) brings us to Poland. The opening notes are enough to cause the baby to burst into tears “Hungry?” the confused parents wonder, but nope, it’s just the song. Poland is acting out a 70s fitness choreography in the exact same outfit I wore during the C-section last year. It’s very er.. special.

When we get to Norway we start to realise that all the participants AND the presenters probably have the same horrible stylist. Someone shoot this man now. It’s “The Lion King – the musical”. Urgh. I really really don’t get why the rest of Europe is so in love with this. Give me Jesse Matador any time.

André says Albania’s Aurela Gaçe is “the Tina Turner of the Balkan”. Really? She looks like an ugly older version of Rihanna to us, but alright, we’re willing to defer to André’s wisdom. Apparently, he also informs us, this is “metal”. Metal? Metal of the hard rock stuff? With the black and the unwashed hair and the general moshpit-stuff and things like that? This? Why? Because there’s pyros? Cos it sure sounds more Bonnie Tyler than metal to us, but alright, whatever you say, André. (though she’s wearing glitter as well sweetie…Glitter). The pyro –guys are getting so excited we’re worried they might end up burning down the arena. Eak!

Armenia, for reasons of tone deafness and sudden lack of taste, divides the sofa. Some people –the girlfriend- actually say it’s good while others –me- stand firm in their hatred of it. It’s nasal, the hairextensions look pretty heavy (poor girl might fall over any minute) and we’ve seen the trick with the ribbons before … it might have worked for Sertab, but that was due to the hot German blondes crawling at her feet. No hot german blondes here. Though the gay portion of The Sofa mumbles disappointedly about the dancers taking off their bow-ties but not their shirts.

Turkey brings us Spinal Tap! We knew you wouldn’t disappoint, Turkey! They’re getting cocky though, they know they don’t even have to send someone attractive and they’ll still get through (yeah, I know they didn’t, I was shocked!). There’s blatant “Chris Lowe”-patented fake keyboard playing and the erm … very bendy woman tries to distract us from the ugly guys singing. It doesn’t work. Oh god, she turns into a phoenix. Someone kill me now.

The Sofa, especially The Girlfriend, is getting collectively frisky when they see the colourfulness that is Serbia. I can’t say I really get it, though I’m probably still recovering from the “transformation” we just witnessed in the Turkish cage. Yes, it’s all terribly colourful and cheerful. I’m just glad I’m not epileptic and I can’t stop wondering if they’re not too hot in those tights and if they’ve really only just seen Austin Powers and if those guys from “Cipela” were busy.

Russia picked up his backing vocalists at Ikea (promotion: buy two Lack tables and get four Swedes free!) and they’re featuring in a Schwarzkopf (“official sponsor of the Eurovision Song Contest”) add. “No matter how high you set the wind machine, our hair will not move”). “Oooh they get lightning” The Sofa remarks. Well yes, Dima Bilan ‘s probably controlling the weather, just for them. We might not have a clue what he’s singing, but when The Sofa comes to the consensus that it’s probably “I choose my buttlight” I can’t help but disagree…. Extra points for a very sloppy Sergio-inspired backflip.

When André compares the Swiss singer Anna Rossinelli to “the impressive Maltese singer Chiara” I’m just about ready to chuck stuff at the TV. Can we please just have ONE single Eurovision Song Contest without Chiara, please, thank you?! God, André! Well hello there, it’s “Me and my ukelele!”. Apparently she’s wearing a “dowdy” dress (a Wendy Pepper original?), but we don’t let that distract us and stare at her (gorgeous, long, shapely) legs the whole three minutes. Lovely song. I suppose. Not that I was listening.

And another “dowdy” outfit for Georgia (André’s really getting out the fashion commentary this year – do we detect a subtle shift in the commentator-dynamics?) who –let’s just be honest here- gives us a very big Dana International vibe. Is it Her influence? Was there a group reduction for sex changes (as The Queen of Oneliners naughtily proposes)? We don’t know, but we can’t shake the feeling he might be on to soemthing. Someone call the fashion police (if nothing else, take that stylist into a custody) and did Stereo Mike sign up for Georgia as well?

If Tom Dice’s legacy to Eurovision will be a legion of babyfaced boys with guitars singing sugary sweet pop tunes, I’m going to go kick his arse. At least this one’s not trying any sign language or turning into a phoenix. It’ s something. Finland’s song is the perfect moment for us to fill up on the crisps and booze. Yes, yes, it’s the planet, Gorgeous. But what the hell is he wearing?

Oh Malta, how I love you. I do, I really do. It’s quite something when you find backing dancers who can make even Glen Vella look macho. Well, maybe not macho, that’s probably too strong. “He hides it well”, our Straight Boy proclaims. “Is that even legal in Malta?” someone asks. “What? A keychange?” Straight Boy replies. Oh shut up, all of you, you’re bad, horrible people! His boundless enthusiasm and naïve sweet lyrics are enough for a place in my heart. Even if he doesn’t have a chance in hell of making it out of this semi. Go Glen! “You can love yourself too” he sings, “there you go, an ode to masturbation” QoOL replies.

We find out San Marino, the whole bloody country, has as much inhabitants as this shithole the wife and I live in. “They probably don’t even have a baker!” The sofa proclaims. Nice to see there’s a following for the patented Glennis Grace arm movements, but … they didn’t do old Glennis any favours, so why try? “This is the first ballad” someone remarks. Seriously? It seems like we’ve had hundreds!

And I can’t believe we had to wait till the 13th song for the first chlotheschange! What the hell? Is this turning into a song contest or something? Spare me! Thank you Croatia for this horrible awfulness. There’s an ugly Johnny Depp, the most random clotheschange ever (because yes, sometimes clothes changes are not random – how I long for the return of the Croatian Backing Choir Clothes Change where they reveal polka dotted bikini tops under their shirts) and yet another singer who looks like an ugly drag queen. Would have been hilarious if her dress got caught in her knickers during one of the clothes changes. Alas, that doesn’t happen. Pity.

Iceland goes for the sympathy vote and who can blame them. (They’ve got mine, but don’t tell anyone). It’s nice to see Ricky Gervais find his way to the Eurovision stage (it makes a change from “Free love on the Freelove Highway”) and to see the return of the exaggerated wink to the camera (see also Russia). Apparently I missed a chaste kiss between two of the friends while I blinked. I’m sorry, what?! Unlike Tatu, these guys don’t moan about it, they just do it.

Yay for the return of bad 90s Eurovision dance!! I love it, thank you Hungary! And yes, by now we’re sure that Dana International rounded up all her friends to take part this year. It’s not subtle Dana, we’re on to you! “It’s Cher, but without the plastic surgery” someone remarks. And er… was the little crotch light that one of the dancers seems to be sporting intentional? Russia’s “buttlight” is starting to make sense after all.

“Thank you for the money” Portugal is saying with this song “Now look at what we did with it!”. Give it back, you wankers! How dare you, after your recent amazing efforts (we’re not talking about last year’s Disney Disaster) send this. Not even the Portuguese gays in the audience manage more than a few polite half-hearted waves with their flags. You can tell they’re just itching to switch it for the Maltese flag they left at the hotel.

Lithuania unfortunately does nothing to lift our moods. Urgh. Talk about Disney Ballads. It’s like something out of “Aristocats 6”. “Is someone hiding under that dress or is her ass really that big?”… “yep, it’s really that big”. Aaaaargh! There’s sign language! We thought we’d eradicated it in the early noughties, but no, it sprung back again! Like headlice, once you think you’re rid of them, there they are again in all their nastiness! “The sign language might give them some extra points” Sven remarks. Yes. Because the deaf all love Eurovision (!). Oh boy.

For some reason everyone is falling over themselves loving Azerbaijan. I don’t get it. I’m probably turning into a grumpy old woman, but I really don’t get it. Maybe I will in the final. It seems like Europe just drew open a can of babyfaced little boys in white suits. It’s Glee, with a golden shower at the end. Alright then.

And Stereo Mike got back just in time for the Greek song. “Yo yo yo, for all my brothers in Europe, check it out yo!”. Bad “street dance”, a bad “rapper”, overuse of quotation marks, ethnic Greek music, this must be Eurovision. Sakis is rolling over in his freshly made bed. Not even the clothes change and the pyros (the Germans thought “damn, this is the last song, we’d better use it all up”) saves this. Bring back Sakis, I say.

The interval act is a combination of all the drums that have been used in recent Eurovision years. As you can see there’s been quite a lot of them. Riverdance had a double booking I presume. When the presenters come back they’re still in the same outfits. That’s how we can tell there’s a financial crisis on.
Shocking result, in that Armenia and Turkey (two countries of the “could send a farting sheep and still win the whole thing”-variety) are NOT through to the final. Wow. I predict a riot. Or at least a question in the European Parliament.

In the mean time I’ve had it with these fake Danas. Bring on the real one on Thursday! And Dino! And those annoying Irish twins! Hopefully that will be a tad more entertaining.

2011-05-07T13:35:00.000+02:00

The big five: shaggy hair, bulging biceps and strangers lurking around corners.

Last year Germany won the Eurovision song contest with a very simple, catchy song sung by a pretty girl in a simple black dress in the most understated stage setting ever. There were hardly any lights on and frankly I think they even forgot about the wind machine. What is this world coming to?! The result of this is that the big four have not only magically expanded (welcome back, Italy) but they also seem to have gotten their collective act together.
Well, maybe not Spain.
On with the Big Five....

France: Amaury Vassili – Sognu

Waaah! Vangelis! Conquest of paradise! Sung by a hot young thing with shaggy hair. The oddest opera-type video clip I’ve ever seen “hot young guy with amazing voice walks along the seaside”, “hot young guy with amazing voice and leather jacket encounters toothless French person”. Oh The Drama! The Pathos! This might win. My poor Dino. Oh god, I hope this doesn’t win. On the other hand... I’ve never been to Paris....

Italy: Raphael Gualazzi - Madness Of Love

Italy’s back! Apparently we’re all very excited about that. And I’m sure they’re bringing something amazingly qualitative but it leaves me stone cold. I mean, what is this? An actual song contest or something? Puh-lease!! And coming straight after France, well that’s just too much seriousness for me. I should hope the next song is something camp and over the top. Not a wind machine in sight for this one.

UK: Blue – I can

And now for the most ridiculous low budget video of the Big Five: the UK! France gets to take a hike alongside an amazing coastline (and talk to toothless people): Blue gets girls in ripped bandages doing some distracting dance. They’re serious about those cutbacks in the UK, aren’t they. On the plus side, they’re already trying out the wind machine and the portable shower. Now all we have to do is wait for them to get out the S&M gear and the jelly and start wrestling each other. Now I know I said this might win, but frankly I hadn’t heard France yet then. So with this draw, and the funny faces that guy who has to hit the high notes pulls ... you’re not going to win. Unfortunately. Because I like this poppy little thing. But then again, you never know ... perhaps Blue is Big in Eastern Europe? Come on, lads, show us those biceps!

Germany: Lena - Taken by a Stranger

Snicker. Snort. Oh, grow up.... I’m sure she doesn’t mean it that way. At least... I’m pretty sure. The cute girl from last year has grown into quite the vixen in this video. Call me a big perverted dyke, but I preferred the innocence over the squirming, but that’s just me. It’s not a bad song, but I don’t know how long people will remember it for. Still, kudos to Lena for trying out again (and thank god we have a son, we were morally obliged –with the whole pretty much being born on Eurovision 2010-thing- to name our child after last year’s winner and Lena being a pretty strange name for a boy gave us an out –on that same note we were pretty happy Milan Stankovic didn’t win last year despite “Ovo Je Balkan” being stuck in my head during the C-section)

Spain: Lucía Pérez - Que me quiten lo bailao

Again Spain have the best draw of the lot and we can count on them to send in the exact same song they’ve been sending to Eurovision before (apart from when they go for the ridiculous). It sounds like a Belle Perez B-side and I might have to take back what I said about Blue making the cheapest video of the lot. Then again, no, Spain spent money on costumes. And feathers. There must be a lot of naked chickens running around Spain at the moment. The song may not do much for me, but I’d sure like to go to that party (come on! There are people dressed up as penguins! How could I not?).

2011-05-02T20:43:00.002+02:00

Semi-Final 2: Merlin's Mylordos and his luscious thighs

Because a Semi Final 1 without a Semi Final 2 would be... well, it would be like Eurovision without a wind machine!

Bosnia&Herzegovina: Dino Merlin - Love in rewind

Dino Merlin! You know, I was fully prepared to hate this one: no twinky gay boys, no Dramatic Poses, no red flags and not a hint of the bombastic communist army orchestra coming to get us. But then this song wormed its way into my head and it’s stuck there, people. It’s stuck. And then there’s the utterly fabulous ridiculous –not to mention hilarious- dance steps when all of a sudden old Dino is like a slightly drunk uncle at your wedding (which I hope don’t distract from the performance), and there’s waving at the end. Waving! Well then, there you go!Apparently Mister Merlin (I’m sorry, I can’t help but snicker at the name) is a huuuuge star in the Balkan, which is always handy. And with a song like this... and a name like that... Even despite the lack of gay boys, it’s going to win. Quite rightly so.
But what the hell does “Sito” mean?

Austria : Nadine Beiler – The Secret is love

Disney ballad, bla bla bla, good voice, I predict a long flowing gown, lots of smoke and dramatic hand gestures, possible appearance of Andrew Lloyd-Webber... or wait, no, he’s not always on standby. Pity. Wake me up when Chiara storms on stage to hit her over the head with the wind machine.

The Netherlands: 3Js – Never alone

Hmm.I can think of absolutely nothing to say about this. Which is probably not a good sign. Not bad, not bad, a pity they forgot to write a recognisable chorus. Let’s hope they dress appealingly in order to bring out their best assets. Yes, sexism is allowed. This is Eurovision.

Belgium: Witloof Bay – with love baby

Yes, the group name is funny. And how apt that the Walloons are yet again sending a group comprised of people from all over the country. But a capella doesn’t work at Eurovision. It doesn’t. Read my lips, Belgium, A CAPELLA DOES NOT WORK AT EUROVISION. It’s boring. And the beatboxing is embarrassing. Surely I can’t be the first person to tell you this? Surely a million people have said this before me. Which begs the question, why on earth didn’t you listen?? People won’t vote for a song because they marvel at how well you can sing. They want to sing along, they want a stomping disco beat, wind machine, or something that moves them. A capella only moves the vocal masturbators. Aaargh!!

Slovakia: TWiiNS – I’m still alive

Two pouting dressed up barbie dolls singing a song. Twins, I presume? They already broke in the wind machine and the long earrings for their videoclip. But apparently someone thought flattering shots of the girls for three minutes would be boring, so they edited in sports games, a political rally, a natural disaster and a birth. Hmz. I wonder how they’ll fit that in on stage...
Oh, and as someone who was very nearly practically giving birth during the song contest last year, let me tell you: newborns don’t look like that. That is all.

Ukraine: Mika Newton – Angel

Quite possibly there’s a law that states that every Eurovision must have a song called “Angel” in it. It’s probably up there in the rule book with “not over 3 minutes”, “no politics” and “no live chickens”. And there really is no shortage of hot women in the Ukraine, is there? Where do they keep finding them? Is there a Eurovision-training facility? Points for the feather dress and the hot gymnasts. Shame about the lack of disco stomping beats.

Moldova: Zdob si Zdub- So lucky

Remember these guys? They’re the ones that brought their grandma on stage in 2005. And apparently they had such a blast that they couldn’t wait to come back. An utterly repetitive song (count the times they say the words “So lucky”) but for me it’s a breath of fresh air in this boring semi-final. Go Moldova! Finally some dancing!

Sweden: Eric Saade – Popular

Aaah, a hot guy singing a dull soulless dance song about “being popular”: this must be Eurovision. Bring on the pyro, how very Sakis of Sweden. Needless to say I’m a big fan. And for the most perverted misheard lyrics in Eurovision ever. I had to go look it up because I couldn’t believe my ears. Turns out I’m just a big pervert. “My body wants you girl, I’ll get you when I’m popular”. Yes, well. I thought the “when” was er... something else. Listen for yourself! It’s an easy mistake to make!

Cyprus: Christos Mylordos - San Aggelos S'Agapisa

Christos Mylordos... the only guy who could take the title of “awesomest name ever” away from Dino Merlin. Exactly the kind of tortured song (sung in Greek, if I’m not mistaken) that I love. I’m hoping for an appropriate stage setting, some excellent backing vocals and some charisma. And the second mention of angels in one night. Dear lord!

Bulgaria: Poli Genova - Na Inat

And you can keep the dramatic stage setting for this one. I think I’ve found the Wife’s favourite song (without her even having heard it yet), judging by the singer, the wind machine and the female musicians (oh hang on, I’ve spotted a man there). To put it in her words: “it’s a bunch of women. With guitars. Of course I love it.” The Wife is a sucker for rock chicks with questionable hairdos. Oh god... I hope she won’t want to cut her hair that way...

FYR Macedonia: Vlatko Ilievski – Rusinka

I was just going to say that this Semi-final was on a roll (I was even going to add a shout out of “yeah baby!”, it was all going to be terribly embarrassing) until the singer started. So that means after some 10 excellent seconds, the song is all but ruined. No. I wouldn’t go that far, but after a frankly fantastic start... the rest is just... a bit meh. Meh, with bombastic folk singing and dancing however, so there is that.

Israel: Dana International – Ding Dong

There she comes, shriding on stage like a blushing bride. This woman does stairs like no-one else. Dana isn’t one to let anyone steal the limelight. She can do no wrong here, after becoming the first (and only) transsexual winner of Eurovision and co-writing the amazing “fire in your eyes” (2008 - the one with the hot dancing jewish boys), I’ll forgive her the nasal singing and the crappy song. After all, it’s the return of the traditional “switch to Hebrew” halfway through the song. We sure love our traditions. You go on and show Carola what a wind machine was made for, Dana!
(And kudos to the guy at Eurovision.be for consistently spelling “coming” as “comming”. Very appropriate)

Slovenia: Maja Keuc- No one

No sweetie, too many hand movements. And there shall be no dancing when attempting to sing a powerful ballad. All very distracting. Watch a few Chiara performances (yeah, as long as she’s not taking part I’m willing to refer to her) to really get the hang of it. But good on you for braving the stormy winds on stage. Unfortunately, for whatever reason -probably the Mariah-esque handmovements- this leaves me ice cold. Meh.

Romania: Hotel FM – Change

Go Romania for not sending a slutty girl singing “the balkan girls they like to party, like to party like nobody”. For that alone you deserve a place in the final. Unfortunately you have written the most boring chorus since those guys from the Netherlands, which is quite impressive. I predict a “Come on everybody! Clap along”-moment though, so –despite my misgivings about such things at Eurovision- not all is lost.

Estonia: Getter Jaani- Rockefeller street

Miss Jaani can’t decide whether this is a singing competition or a modelling show. So to be on the safe side, she strikes many a pose in her horrid, horrid pink-blue-yellow waldrobe-malfunction-waiting-to-happen. She brought her brother and his friends (or well, I think that’s what they are) along to hop alongside her and to help her count “one two seven three”! I’m too oldfashioned for this stuff. The song is nice though. It is. If they don’t build a trainwreck dress and performance around it. And if they can carry a tune live, which I’m not so sure about watching the video.

Belarus: Anastasiya Vinnikova- I Love Belarus

Obviously this is the entry for Belarus. Moldova singing a song called “I love Belarus” would be quite ridiculous. And there’s always one isn’t there... one country that has to send a patriottic song to the contest. One country that seems to think this contest is about showcasing national talent and the beauty of your country. Ha! Idiots! Let’s count the times André mentions that “Belarus is the last European dictatorship” shall we. In case you were wondering what Belarus looks like: “We're gonna fly watching lakes in their full view
Fields are full of gold, and it's all my land”. Extra points if she bring the folk dancers in native costumes with her. And if she inspires scores of western-European countries to sing songs like this next year “I love Belgium! Country full of fries! I love Belgium! With our grey skies!”

Latvia: Musiqq - Angel in Disguise

And our third mention of angels for the evening. Don’t know about you, but I’ve had quite enough of them. Overrated white winged pests! For this one let me just quote the lyrics, they say more (more!) than enough: “Kill me with killa kiss / Kill me with tempting lips / Stare at me with candy eyes / Love me with luscious thighs”. That must be the first mention of “luscious thighs” in a Eurovision song contest! It makes a change from the fire/desire rhyme. And go them for bringing a rapper out of retirement. If it weren’t for Eurovision all the European rappers would be on the dole, so go Eurovision, for saving our social security! Oh, and sweetie, lay off the high note.

Denmark: A friend in London - New Tomorrow

“A friend in Copenhagen” wasn’t catchy enough or something? This is pretty cute though, despite the very 80s haircut. Maybe it’s the way they say “crasy crasy world”. Cute! I just want to run up and pinch his cheeks. Three minutes can be a long time though... but I think Dino might just have a bit of competition. (The wife is grumbling about “horrifying” and “are you out of your mind”, so perhaps Dino is still safe)

Ireland: Jedward – Lipstick

I can’t believe I didn’t know Jedward were taking part. I mean, I have no clue who they are, but I’ve heard of them and I’ve seen them on ‘Never mind the Buzzcocks’ and well.... Ireland didn’t send a singing turkey this year but it’s not that far off really. They really, really don’t have the money to host another contest do they? But hey, Ireland, guess what? I’m voting for this crap! It’s so horribly bad it’s actually pretty fantastic! It’s the closest thing to Verka Serduchka in this year’s competition. Or yes, to Dustin the Turkey. Go Jedward! “Ooooh ooooooh am I heading for a car crash? Hey!!!

2011-05-02T07:35:00.004+02:00

So ... Osama eh.

I find it hard to rejoice about anyone's death, but as far as not-so-nice people go, I'd think Bin Laden was pretty high on the list.
So yeah.
He had what was coming for him.

Some things I wonder about though:
- How long ago was Obama's (must be careful about the consonants here) speech written? Does someone on staff go "we've got him! Quick! Write something!" or is it something they write the moment they're in the White House ("ok, we write something in case of a new terrorist attack, in case we catch Osama and in case Sarah Palin is caught having sex with a butch PE teacher")
- When Obama called Bush... Was it to show off? "Ha! I can do what you couldn't, arsehole!"

And er... how long before there's an Al Qaeda attack in vengeance?

2011-04-25T20:20:00.001+02:00

Semi Final one: from “haba haba” over “boom boom” to “da da dam” and “watch my dance”. It’s not exactly university stuff, is it.

As you all may or may not know, last year’s Eurovision was a bit of a turning point for me. For those of you not in the loop: the contest was sabotaged by my unborn son. Well, by his placenta really, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it. Instead of enjoying Eurovision at home, where the decorations were waiting and the guests had been invited, I spent the night of the second semi final hooked to a monitor in the maternity ward. Instead of being allowed to go home afterwards, I had to stay until they would do a C-section, so I also spent the night of the final in a hospital bed, with my wife, slowly swelling up like a gigantic water balloon with a monitor strapped to my belly and a midwife checking in on us from time to time.
Those midwives had no tact to wait until the commercial breaks. Pfff.

Anyway. All’s well that ends well they say, though I can’t deny Eurovision being a bit charged for me now. Delayed shock? Whatever you want to call it. But I’ve had the worst time trying to “get into” the contest this year. Was I going to go all out or not? Was anyone even reading this horrible crap I wrote?
But yeah, tradition won out. So I took a listen and watched youtube videos. In the consolation that this year, there’s no placenta to ruin the whole thing. And that if my son decides to get a horrible ear infection during the final (or whatever else) I’ll know for sure that we’ve got years of Eurovision-struggle ahead. It’s best to be prepared I suppose.

So here we go.

Dino Merlin is going to win. Can we establish that before anything else? Or Blue. But probably our Dino. And not just because he’s Bosnian or because he’s got the coolest name ever : Dino Merlin! It sounds like a nickname for a Harry Potter slash writer! No, his song’s going to win because it’s a brilliant earworm.

But ok, granted, I haven’t heard all the other songs yet, so I might just get on with it and give the rest a chance.
Not that any of them are going to win.

First off is Poland. Stolen from something (anything) Swedish. Horrid. On the plus side: hairography! So copious amounts of wind machine! And leather! (Or latex! I can never tell the difference from a distance... I know, take away my dyke points now). With the hairography, wind machine and latex combo it’s growing on me. I’m still glad when it’s over though.

Norway thought they’d send a female Jesse Matador with a crappy song. Not even the dancing camera can save this one and I give up at the 1min56sec mark. It’s a new record for me.

Albania brings us the traditional Albanenglish. At least I think it is. In keeping with tradition it’s pretty unclear. Also pretty unclear is why we’re left waiting for the explosion. You know, the explosion? The whole Windmachine/Carola/Charlotte Nilsson exploding chorus? Yeah. It’s not happening. Offkey singing though, that probably -is- happening!

“Boom Boom”? Really, Armenia, really? Are you kidding me? Props for the most psychedelic video possible, but what a horrible chorus. Not even the keychange can save this.

Oh yeah, Turkey’s bringing us rockers with a wind machine, I like it when countries stick to traditions! At last, the first certain qualifier of the evening, and not just because it’s Turkey.

I’m always disappointed when I find out Zeljko has not been roped in to write a song for Serbia. Or any other Balkan country, I gather the man is not too picky about that. Really, like Sakis, Carola, Deen and that blond gay cutie from Iceland he should just take part every year. As far as camp goes, this one ticks all the boxes but I can’t help but think they should have just sent real drag queens instead of women in strange outfits. The song grows on me though. Though that could just be the pretty colours.

Gratuitous crotch shots, a partially unbuttoned shirt and an army of sharp dressed men behind him: why, this must be Russia! Now don’t be fooled by the lack of ice skaters or pianos, it still is Russia. He’s coming to get me, he sings, by god, quick someone lock the doors and windows! Qualifier though. For sure.

Switzerland ran out of inspiration in the lyric department and just switches to singing “na na na na na na na na na” halfway through the song. This is the kind of effort we can appreciate at Eurovision. Make your music accessible to the masses! Nicely done, Switzerland. If utterly boring.

Bellybutton showing? Really? In 2011? But then what do I know, I’m not hip like all these young ones. Well done in making the best of the wind machine, Georgia. Oh dear god, they’ve brought a rapper along. Why? Nah. Meh.

Finland brings us a song about a kid called Peter who wants to save the planet. Or something. It’s utterly inoffensive and quite nice in a guy-with-a-guitar-singing-da-da-da-da-my&myguitar-kinda way. Needless to say, it’s not my thing.

The last time someone took part with a song called “one life”, it was stuck between Deen and Ruslana and ended in Nipplegate. So this is quite daring. And yes, it’s quite crap, but come on... a song about tolerance and non-discrimination, how can I be horrible about that? So despite it being crap, I’ll turn up the volume, sing along and thank the gods that they didn’t send Chiara again. Thank you, Malta! Embrace the camp!

San Marino? Seriously? How can I mock Andorra when San Marino is taking part? What’s next, Brussels taking part on its own?! Though I shouldn’t joke about that, it might happen sooner than I think. Anyway. Thanks for joining the fun, San Marino, and I’m sure it’s utterly beautiful for a Disney Ballad. But yeah... come again next year. And bring gay boys. And feathers.

“Celebrate”? Now I don’t want to repeat myself too much, but the last time someone took part singing “Celebrate” it ended with him punching himself in the mouth with his own microphone. Which was the best part of the out of breath-performance. You let me down ~~Celine Dion~~ Croatia. It ticks all the Eurobeat-boxes, but sadly, for some reason, the order to “celebrate” just makes me want to shout back “I’ll celebrate when I’m good and well ready! Quit pressuring me!” Though it could just be me.

In case you didn’t know, and let me then tell you this before André can do it, Sjonni’s friends are in fact, Sjonni’s friends. Sjonni was all set to take part in the Icelandic preselection when he passed away. So his friends entered and won the preselection in his place. Utterly cute and catchy song. I’ll even forgive them for not sending a gay disco anthem this year. Or Pall Oskar.

Yes, well, what about your dreams, Hungary? Life is about more than just what you want, you know. Oh, I’m sorry is my parenting shining through again? But this is the kind of big gay disco stomper I love. Extra points for switching languages halfway through, very Israel of you. Yeah baby!!

Now we all know Portugal is broke. And after sending some bloody good songs in years past they clearly didn’t want to take a risk this year. They figured if Ireland can send a turkey, Serbia can sing a song about an old shoe, someone else sing a song about a traffic jam, the UK can take part year after year, and all of these don’t come close to winning, this must be the recipe for succes, right? Of course sometimes ridiculous ideas, like ice skaters, lesbian harems in homophobic countries, men in monster masks, are succesful after all or very nearly so, like a drag queen dressed in tin foil or ballerinas coming from pianos, so you can never be too sure. But let’s say Portugal easily gets the null points this year. Despite singing a song about the political reality of their country. And go them for it!

The horrible dress is such a distraction I can’t even focus on the Lithuanian Disney ballad that’s being sung. Great singer if she can pull this off live, but I’ll be taking a toilet break. Wouldn’t want to miss the act the Germans have put on for the intermission, after all.

Azerbaijan sure likes their duets don’t they? Aargh. Well. It’s ok. It’s not bad, it’s not fantastic. It should do pretty well. Two pretty young people singing stuff to each other in heavy accents. What more could we ask for on a Tuesday evening?

“Watch my dance”. I’m sorry. What, Greece? “No Sakis?” The wife pouts. No Sakis, sweetie. But Stereo Mike! (Seriously? Stereo Mike?) For some reason they dug up a rapper, probably because they feared their Eurovision entries would otherwise be forever remembered being too gay. Yay for the Sirtaki tweedleedeedees, yay for the threatening atmosphere and yay for the guy belting out the song. Shame about Stereo Mike.

2011-04-25T15:19:00.000+02:00

Samuel's at home

In case you didn't know yet...

2011-02-03T18:51:00.001+01:00

Samuel

The story of Samuel Ghilain, son of Pierre Ghilain and Peter Meurrens has occupied my mind since I heard about it on television last week.

A two-year-old is in a Ukrainian orphanage because surrogacy is a legal void in Belgium. He can’t get a (Belgian) passport home.
So, a child’s life is being sacrificed because there are no papers.

I’ve joined a supportive facebook group (or here in English) I posted the link to all the gay websites I could think of and I’ve annoyed everyone I know asking them to sign the petition.

Everyone, except you guys.
I completely forgot about livejournal. Oops.
So here I am!

For the full story, I’d like to point you to this post:

This person says it far better than I could, and a lot less hysterical and angry.

If you feel like it, spread the word, write to your local Belgian ambassador, join the support.

Becoming a mum really didn’t do my emotions any good. That poor little boy deserves to be with his fathers, as opposed to in an orphanage.
Apparently a straight couple who got pregnant through surrogate got their twins home with them in a matter of six months. The ambassador thought it was strange that Samuel's father was married to another man...

2011-01-30T14:45:00.001+01:00

David Kato

For once in my life, I have nothing to say.

David Kato murdered.

"Thus far, it appears police are investigating his slaying as a robbery gone bad, which is I guess what you call it when a man walks into Kato's home, bashes him in the head with a hammer, and exits without taking anything."
Indeed.

2011-01-06T16:43:00.003+01:00

All is well.

Mijn ouderschapsverlof is bijna ten einde en volgende week mag ik weer gaan werken. Ik kijk er met gemengde gevoelens naar. Langs de ene kant ben ik zeker dat de zoon en ik er deugd van zullen hebben van wat meer "onder de mensen" te komen. Langs de andere kant... ik ga hem zwaar missen, en tijdsdruk en vroeg opstaan en... laat ons zeggen dat ik er rekening mee houd dat ik binnen twee weken mijn haar uittrek en hoop dat ik vlug de griep krijg zodat ik dan tenminste weer thuis ben.

Maar we zijn zover nog niet.
Dus voor de moment zie ik het, nerveus en wel, zitten.
Het voelt een beetje als een eerste schooldag.

Vorige week kwam de politie langs voor ons adoptie-onderzoek. Ze kwamen onverwachts langs om 10u30 onder het motto: "ik dacht, met een kindje, die mensen gaan wel al op zijn". Yep. That we were. De zoon had zichzelf weer overtroffen qua slaap en we waren al een compleet half uur op. In onze pyjama, in een niet-opgeruimd huis, met de tv op vitaya. Voor de borstvoeding, weet u wel. Niets zo goed voor de melkproductie als "Huisje Niettevree". Gelukkig was Melissa mee opgestaan (niet haar gewoonte) anders had ik -genant! genant!- nog moeten zeggen "momentje, mijn vrouw is nog euh... nog boven, ik ga ze even halen". Bas heeft de politiemevrouw echter gecharmeerd, dus ik heb er goeie hoop op dat het wel goed komt.

En er is nog maar eens een mythe ontkracht. Kinderen breken al je regeltjes af. Planning? Ha!
Ik had het nochtans goed gezien: 3 maanden borstvoeding. Ok... misschien wat langer ... ok, tot aan zes maanden... tot 1 januari 2011 dan... zeker stoppen een tijdje voor ik weer ga werken... Ha!
Tot zover de scheiding tussen Werk-Piglet en mama-Piglet. Alsof dat ooit mogelijk was geweest. As it is, ga ik volgende week woensdag werken met onsexy pads in mijn onsexy borstvoedingsBH's (tegen lekken, weet u wel), hoop ik dat mijn borsten niet ontploffen, met een lijf dat nog steeds het mijne niet is, met een brein dat ook niet meer van mij is, met haar dat dringend eens geknipt moet worden maar "geen tijd voor de coiffeur met Bas", met een nieuwe auto (of die van mijn vrouw) die ik nog niet gewoon ben EN met een nieuwe boekentas. EN botjes. Want ik ben nu 30.
Ah ja.

En dan maar hopen dat het niet meer sneeuwt deze winter.
Of ik ga nog de bus mogen nemen.

2011-01-06T16:42:00.000+01:00

Right down the line

I'd never heard the name Gerry Rafferty.
But when this song was on the radio I could sing along to it.
And what a song it is...

2010-12-06T18:03:00.000+01:00

6 maanden

Dag lieve zoon,

Je ligt te grommen in je park. Sinds een paar weken doe je dat namelijk: grommen. We dachten eerst dat er een gevaarlijk beest binnengeslopen was en jou opgegeten had, maar neen, het is gewoon jij zelf. Momenteel grom je naar je speelgoeddraak. Misschien praten jullie wel met elkaar en spreek jij al vloeiend Draak.

We moeten eens praten, jij en ik. Even ernstig nu. Mama en moetie houden zielsveel van je. Je bent het licht van ons leven en nog meer van dat soort new age crap. We zouden je niet meer kunnen missen. Als je een lang middagdutje doet, kijken we naar elkaar van “goh, zou hij nog lang slapen...”, als je ’s avonds al in je bedje ligt, kijken we af en toe naar het lege park en verzuchten we even... soit, we zijn typische moeders. Vrijdag (binnen drie dagen) moet mama echter eens weg, naar haar collega’s. Ze is er een beetje bang voor, want ze heeft hen lang niet gezien en ze zal jou naar de crèche moeten brengen. De crèche waar moetie werkt, maar soit. Het is “ergens waar mama niet is”. Het is de eerste keer dat jij een middag/avond (want daarna gaat mama misschien nog eten met die collega’s) ergens zal zijn waar mama niet is. Je zal koddige dingen doen en mama kan ze niet zien. Je zal beginnen huilen en mama kan je niet troosten. Je zal rondkijken en mama zal niet bewonderend naar jou zitten kijken. Iemand anders zal jou eten geven. Misschien zal moetie je wel in bed moeten stoppen voor mama terug is. Loslaten begint vroeg, merkt mama plots. Maar goed, terug naar de essentie. De collega’s. Mama moet op babybezoek. En in januari, nog maar een goeie maand van nu, moet mama weer gaan werken. Nog zoiets waar mama met gemengde gevoelens naar kijkt. Langs de ene kant heeft mama zin om terug te werken, langs de andere kant wil ze het liefst altijd en overal bij jou zijn.
Maar dat zou een beetje eng en verstikkend zijn.
Vooral voor jou.
Dus. De collega’s. En de creche.
Wat is hier nu belangrijk? Als mama er niet is, lieve jongen, dan zijn ook mama’s borsten er niet. En daar wringt het schoentje nu net. Jij hebt blijkbaar, in je oneindige wijsheid, twee maanden geleden beslist dat melk enkel lekker is als het uit mama’s borsten komt. En dat is een probleem. Want binnenkort zijn mama’s borsten, samen met mama, op haar werk. En ben jij bij moetie in de creche. En zouden we toch graag hebben dat je daar niet constant honger hebt, zowel voor jou als voor moetie en haar collega’s.

Vorige week dronk je vier dagen redelijk enthousiast een fles. Vier dagen! Redelijk enthousiast! De mama’s hadden al een vreugdevuur aangestoken en waren al een afbouwschema aan het plannen. Ze hadden het triomfantelijk op internet gezet, zodat iedereen het kon lezen. Zo zijn ze wel.
Gisteren heb je echter beslist dat het gedaan is met die fles. Bleh, fles. Borsten zijn lekkerder.

En ja, jongen, mama vindt het ergens ook jammer. Langs de ene kant wil mama heel graag haar borsten terug (het is te koud om ze te pas en te onpas boven te halen en een mens moet stoppen voor het genant wordt), langs de andere kant geniet ze ook van het knuffelen met jou. Maar knuffelen kan ook met een fles. Echt waar! Vorige week, tijdens die vier dagen, hebben mama en moetie dat toch bewezen? Dat was toch ook leuk? En als je binnen een jaar of 15 (16, 20, 30) met een lief thuis komt, zou je toch niet willen dat de mama’s –naast de 9000 foto’s die ze zullen bovenhalen- het grote “Bas wou niet stoppen met borstvoeding”-verhaal vertellen... of wel?

Neen. Chantage is hier niet de juiste weg.
Toen je vanmorgen geen flesje wou en je, na je groentenpap, schreeuwend van verontwaardiging terug in je bedje lag, was mama vastbesloten om door te zetten. De hele dag flesjes! Los van mama’s borsten die dat ook niet appreciëren (nu heeft mama er al drie tegen zich: jij en haar twee borsten), ging mama haar best doen. Consequent zijn!
Na je dutje kwam je heel vrolijk uit je bedje, maar ja... honger. Mama gaf toe. Je blik en je lach toen mama haar borst tevoorschijn haalde... jongen toch. Mijn hart brak in honderd stukken. Wat nu he? Morgen naar Kind en Gezin. Misschien weten zij, voor eens in hun bestaan, raad. En straks, na je fruitpap (met peer, want bleh, appel), proberen we nog eens met die fles. We geven niet op, jongen.

Voor de rest ben je nog steeds een voorbeeldige zoon. Koddig. De langste wimpers ooit. Prachtige ogen. En je vindt je mama’s sinds kort hilarisch. Hi-la-risch! Eindelijk het publiek waar we recht op hebben, al zeg ik het zelf. Mama doet een dansje? Prachtig. Mama blaast bellen in je nek? Giechelbui. De mama’s zingen van “twinkel winkel”? Eindeloze bewondering. Maar je blijft toch een beetje een meerwaardezoeker. Dat zien we nu al. Vorige week heb je voor de eerste keer moetie natgespat in bad maar je hebt het blijkbaar alweer een beetje gehad daarmee. Alsof je denkt “pff, moet ik mij met dit soort kinderachtige onzin bezig houden. Ik eet liever mijn badspeelgoed op. Of ik pak mijn tenen. Veel leuker.” Bij mama heb je er een sport van gemaakt om op de handdoek te plassen. Na je bad. Uiteraard. Waarvoor dank.

Het is grote liefde tussen jou en Zena, de poes waarvan je moetie en ik ervan overtuigd waren dat ze op de microgolfoven zou kruipen van angst. Als je moet eten, vindt ze niets leuker dan rond jou te komen paraderen. Als je haar ziet, begin je met je voetjes te stampen en wil je haar strelen. Al kan dat “strelen” van jou wel net iets zachtaardiger. Plukken haar uittrekken is niet zo lief, jongen, maar ze neemt het je niet kwalijk. Het is alsof ze weet dat je nog maar een kitten bent. De andere poezen houden wat meer afstand. Ze zijn verstandiger dan Zena, vermoeden we.

Gisteren heeft moetie je eetstoel gemonteerd zodat je bij ons aan tafel kan zitten. Je zit nog verre van stevig, maar het is dolle pret. Ook zo als we je op je voetjes laten staan. Het plezier straalt van je gezicht.

En slapen doe je voorbeeldig! Al durft mama dat niet te luid zeggen, want telkens als ze iets dergelijks op het internet pleurt (“Hij slaapt door!” “Hij drinkt flesjes!”) beslis je dat het ermee gedaan is. Waar verstop je die laptop? En wanneer heb je leren lezen?
Rollen is niets voor jou, dat hebben we al opgegeven. Oh, naar je zij, om je speelgoed (je broek, de doekjes) te nemen, ja, dat wel. Maar toch niet verder dan dat. Ah neen. Waarom zou je eigenlijk? Je moe maken? Pff. Neen hoor, dank je wel. Van op je rug kan je alles zien wat je wil. We hopen alleen maar dat dit ook niet je visie is op kruipen of stappen, of het zal moeilijk worden als we je naar school brengen.
Je speelt al even graag met etiketjes als met het “echte” speelgoed. Of met je slabbetje. Of je sok. Of inpakpapier. Hadden we dat geweten, we hadden veel geld kunnen uitsparen. Je geeft natte kwijlzoenen aan je mama’s. Je roept naar je vismobile, naar je moetie, naar mij, naar de poezen. Kortom, we hebben het super samen.
Alleen die flesjes... Daar zullen we nog wat aan werken, niet?

Dikke zoen,

Je mama.

2010-12-03T13:10:00.002+01:00

Zo van die mensen

Er zijn van die mensen die niet door sneeuw zouden mogen rijden. Die een rijbewijs B- zouden moeten krijgen... alles goed in de zomer (hoewel, bij hevige regenval op de autostrade...), maar onder voorwaarden in de winter. Zo van die mensen die ook als het gestrooid is 50 blijven rijden op de autostrade en 1 km achter hun voorligger blijven. Die hun bochten nemen in eerste "just in case" en die op hun rem gaan staan als ze ook nog maar denken dat er ergens een beetje ijzel ligt.

Ik ben één van die mensen.

Vorig jaar heb ik wakker gelegen van die sneeuw. Ik was doodsbang. Ik maakte mezelf wijs dat het kwam doordat ik zwanger was (precious cargo, weet u wel), maar dit jaar -niet zwanger- ben ik even erg. Ik heb visioenen hoe ik de auto (de nieuwe, de oude, maakt niet uit) in de prak rijd, meestal door tegen een andere auto te rijden -waardoor mijn verzekeringskosten weer lekker omhoog kunnen gaan- en uiteraard is onze auto dan perte totale. U ziet dat toch wel van hier.
Vandaar dat ik erg blij ben dat ik nog thuis ben tot half januari. Maar daarna mag het dan wel niet meer sneeuwen. Liefst nooit meer. Tenzij ik van thuis uit kan werken. Kunnen we dat nu al regelen?

2010-11-15T12:59:00.002+01:00

Old Lady Gaga

Dan vond ik de originele video wel "hotter" moet ik zeggen.

2010-11-07T14:22:00.002+01:00

Een andere aartsbisschop

Hate has no place in God's House"

Tiens.
Blijkbaar zijn het niet allemaal randdebielen dan, die kerkleiders. Watch and learn, Leonard.

(met dank aan Stijn).

2010-11-07T14:13:00.002+01:00

Colleroit

Nu de vrouw en ik een mond extra te voeden hebben, of -wat ons het meeste geld kost- de kont van de eigenaar van die extra mond inpakken, zijn we eens richting Colruyt getrokken. Wij gaan immers altijd naar Delhaize, da's gezelliger. In hoeverre supermarkten zowiezo gezellig zijn -meestal krijg ik er moordneigingen en wil ik mensen omver rijden met mijn karretje, maar soit...- in Delhaize rijdt zo'n karretje nog waar *jij* wil dat het rijdt en niet omgekeerd. En er is ook het feit dat ik daar al heel mijn leven winkel (eerst mee met de papa, daarna met de schattie), het feit dat we de layout redelijk kennen, de lekkere bakkerij-afdeling, de selfscanning (handig!)... . Maar met zo'n klein monstertje in huis loopt de rekening telkens naar de drie cijfers. En dat vinden wij niet zo plezant, zo inkopen doen met drie cijfers.
Dus... richting Colruyt. De mensen zeggen immers dat dat goedkoper is. Alwaar we verdwaalden, miserie hadden met die gigantische karren, en serieus mensen, serieus... de chocolade en de kuisproducten in 1 rayon? Excuseer?? Onze rekening was weer met drie cijfers, maar bon, we hadden twee pakken pampers mee, en ongeveer een dubbele dosis snoep gezien ze daar alles aan elkaar hangen, dus dat is normaal. En de wafels zijn niet zo lekker als die van 't merk Delhaize, maar daar kan ik ook nog mee leven. Geen lekkere bakkerij, maar daarvoor dienen bakkers denk ik dan. En ja, de zoon is wakker geworden in die fucking koude frigo van u, maar goed... 't is goedkoper.
Hoop ik maar.
We gaan het nog eens proberen.

En de vrouw is razend enthousiast over de "collishop". Ook al zal ons dat dan een kleine vijf Euro extra kosten (tot zover onze besparing), het zou ons ook een uur tijd per week besparen. En dan moeten we niet meer met die domme karren maneuvreren.

2010-10-13T11:13:00.002+02:00

Dirty Old Woman

Breastfeeding isn't just good for your baby, as a mother you also get your perks. What else to do during breastfeeding than some mindless channelhopping or re-watching of old series on your XBox (and thank you, Spikey, for lending us your "old" TV. We might have gone crazy otherwise). Today was "mindless channelhopping day" but I immediately got stuck on BBC2.

Women's hockey finals.

I'm a fan.
For the game, obviously. Yes, the game.
Nothing to do with the hot women in short skirts chasing after each other.
Nothing at all.

2010-10-07T11:45:00.002+02:00

Vandenborre

Ik weet het, ik zal naïef zijn. Nee. Corrigeer dat maar. Ik *ben* naïef.
Als er op een website "snelle dienstverlening" en "dienst na verkoop" en weet ik wat staat, dan geloof ik dat. Dus bel ik op een maandag naar Vandenborre omdat onze tv na 2 jaar en 6 maanden (een luttele 2 jaar en zes maanden alstublieft! Een half jaar uit garantie) de geest gegeven heeft en sturen ze de donderdag een technicus. Ok. Dat kan nog gaan qua timing.
Die technicus komt mooi op het geplande uur, dus da's ook al positief. Maar die "technicus" blijkt niet meer te zijn dan een transportventje. Hoe moet ik anders verklaren dat hij gewoon de tv aanlegt, ziet dat hij niet werkt, naar zijn vriendje belt en hem meepakt naar het labo in Brussel. In fucking Brussel begot. Moet er daarvoor iemand komen? Correctie. Moet ik daarvoor 50 euro betalen voor "geleverd werk"? Omdat hij de stekker opnieuw ingestoken heeft en de tv aangelegd heeft? Of neen, dat heb *ik* gedaan. Concreet moet ik dus vijftig euro betalen omdat hij gekeken heeft hoe ik de stekker ingestoken heb, de tv aangelegd heb, en hoe de tv niet werkte. En omdat hij de tv ingeladen heeft in zijn bestelwagen en ermee weggereden is. Handig.
Had ik dat geweten, kon ik maandag de tv ook wel zelf in mijn auto geladen hebben en meegepakt naar de winkel waar ik hem kocht, dan had ik hem misschien vlugger terug. *Als* we hem ooit terugkrijgen.
Ik moet zeker een week rekenen voor hij -eventueel- hersteld is. Vervangtoestel is er niet. Wij hebben hier nog een bakje staan van tien jaar oud, zo'n kleintje met een beeldbuis en al. Die werkt wél nog (na tien jaar, eat that, LCD-wankers), alleen gaat de afstandsbediening niet meer. Wat vrij lastig als je na je favoriete trash-tv overvallen wordt door het "home shopping network" met een baby aan de borst en een borstvoedingskussen op uw schoot. - Ik zweer het u, als ik nog één keer over die "aah-bra" hoor, ga ik gillen dat die dikke Amerikaanse wijven nog te lui zijn om in een winkel hun maat te laten nemen en een mooie, passende, ondersteunende BH te kopen en daarom liever een vormloze spandex sportBH aandoen.-

En er zijn ergere dingen in het leven dan zo'n kapotte lichtbak, dat weet ik ook wel. Maar ik ben dan ook niet zo'n pseudo-intellectueel die doet alsof ze nooit tv kijkt.
Ik hou van TV.
Ik hou van trashy tv-programma's en goeie series. Ik kan genieten van "komen eten" en "supermodel" en god weet wat van programma's waarbij je naar je TV schreeuwt over welke randdebielen er nu weer aan meedoen. Ik volg mijn lievelingsseries wanneer ze uitkomen in Amerika en ik kan er echt naar uitkijken dat het vandaag donderdag is en dat er dus een nieuwe "Modern Family" uit is. Yep. I'm shallow. So sue me. Het is mijn ontspanning en het voelt meer "samen" aan dan samen met de vrouw een boek lezen in de zetel. Al is dat ook leuk.
En nu moeten we weg en weer lopen en al. En worden we gegijzeld door reclame. En kunnen we er de computer, en al onze series, niet op aanschakelen. En krijgen we koppijn van dat kleine bakske. En beseffen we hoe verwend we zijn. Vooral ik eigenlijk. De vrouw zaagt er zo niet over. Onze man drinkt graag lang en veel aan de borst, ziet u. En zo'n ventje is koddig, maar na tien minuten staren heb je het ook wel gehad. En dan wil je iets anders doen: Tv kijken bijvoorbeeld. Verstand op nul. En als hij je Humo afpakt -en stopt met drinken, want "oooooh spannend, boekske"- of als je arme "carpaal tunnelsyndroom"-pols pijn doet van een hardcover boek vast te houden, is tv ideaal. En zo'n "Third Rock" of "QI" duurt een half uurtje. Goed getimed voor een borstvoeding.

Maar we overleven het wel. En ondertussen heb ik ook nog eens geblogd, je ziet meteen waarvoor het allemaal goed is, zo'n kapotte tv.
Maar bij Vandenborre koop ik niets meer. Neh. Losers.

2010-10-06T11:53:00.003+02:00

It gets better

In light of the recent suicides by gay teens in the United States, The Stranger's Dan Savage started the "It gets better project".

In his own words:
"Billy Lucas was just 15 when he hanged himself in a barn on his grandmother's property. He reportedly endured intense bullying at the hands of his classmates—classmates who called him a fag and told him to kill himself. His mother found his body.... I wish I could have talked to this kid for five minutes. I wish I could have told Billy that it gets better. I wish I could have told him that, however bad things were, however isolated and alone he was, it gets better.

"But gay adults aren't allowed to talk to these kids. Schools and churches don't bring us in to talk to teenagers who are being bullied. Many of these kids have homophobic parents who believe that they can prevent their gay children from growing up to be gay—or from ever coming out—by depriving them of information, resources, and positive role models.

"Why are we waiting for permission to talk to these kids? We have the ability to talk directly to them right now. We don't have to wait for permission to let them know that it gets better. We can reach these kids."

I've been harrassing my wife to make a video of our own and send it in, but she's not too keen. Thankfully Tim Gunn, the best reason to watch Project Runway, was. And his video is honest, sweet and heartbreaking.
How can anyone not love this man?
Go Tim!
As my dear friend Spikey said: "It gets better. Now make it work!"

2010-09-23T14:19:00.003+02:00

Neen

Mensen van de Visie, De Nieuwe Werker, de reclame van Delhaize, Touring en niet te vergeten de tweewekelijkse krantjes van de Gezinsbond (die homofobe organisatie waar mijn redelijke homofiele gezin blijkbaar automatisch lid van werd bij de geboorte van onze kleine man), uw gazetjes verdwijnen bij ons rechtstreeks in de vuilnisbak. Wat mij betreft is dit een verspilling van inkt, bomen, personeel en het is vooral ook niet goed voor de ruggen van de arme postbodes die ermee moeten rondhossen.
Kan ik mij feitelijk uitschrijven op dit soort onzin?

2010-08-27T13:49:00.002+02:00

Boos op Kabouter Wesley

Kijk, Kabout Wesley, lach met grote mensen al wat je wil, no problem. Die moeten daar maar tegen kunnen. Maar dat van dat bijzonder onderwijs... dat vond ik er ook een beetje over. En misschien ben ik dan een seut, dat kan zijn. Maar leg eens uit aan uw kind waarom kabouter Wesley zegt dat dat een straf is. Leg dat eens uit aan ouders die je net -eindelijk! eindelijk!- hebt kunnen overtuigen dat het geen schande is om je kind naar het buitengewoon onderwijs te sturen, dat het ook echt beter is voor dat kind. 't Ligt nogal gevoelig, you see.

Man, ik ben een seut geworden.
Maar Siegfried Bracke, die moet er maar tegen kunnen.

2010-08-18T16:40:00.002+02:00

Maxicosihoofd!

Kent u het maxicosihoofd?
Toen ik nog in thuisbegeleiding werkte, zag ik het geregeld. Dat zijn kindjes die, doordat ze godganse dagen in de maxicosi zitten: in de auto, thuis, op verplaatsing, all the fucking time, een vierkant (ja, echt een vierkant) hoofd krijgen. De schedel van kleine kindjes is zoals iedereen weet nog zacht en vervormt nog. Soms in de vorm van een maxi cosi. Misschien een idee om babyhoofd-kunst te maken? Duw het hoofdje van je baby in de vorm die jij wil? Een kubus? Een trapezium? Go wild!

Soit. Los van mijn kunstidee (straks Jan Hoet bellen) moest ik daaraan denken bij deze reclame van VT4 voor het maxicosi-hoofdje: "Wil je een even schoon kindje als Tanja Dexters en Ann Van Elsen? You know what to do! (Gucci-kledij niet bijgeleverd)"

Niet nadenken. Gewoon doen!

2010-08-18T15:42:00.002+02:00

What a man

Ik wil even opmerken, omdat ik niet altijd wil zagen over de grootste mannelijke liefde van mijn leven (sorry Kiwi), dat mijn zoon me gisteren, voor het eerst in zijn bestaan, liet douchen, mijn haar wassen en mijn benen scheren voor hij opstond. En redelijk op 't gemak en al!

Dank u, zoon.

Vandaag is hij een klein knorrig monstertje, maar wie kan het wat schelen, hij heeft voor de tweede nacht op rij flink doorgeslapen. (Gemiddeld gezien kunnen we hier nog 1 nacht van genieten en dan moet Bas van zijn inspanning bekomen door een paar nachten elke 3 uur wakker te worden).

(En ja, voor jullie allerlei hilarisch commenten (those were the days) uiteraard heb ik me de voorbije 11 weken al gedoucht, mijn haar gewassen en mijn benen geschoren... maar meestal 's avonds, in een haastje, als mijn vrouw thuis was om de kleine man te sussen)

2010-08-04T11:26:00.002+02:00

Kind en Gezin

"En bent u ziek geweest tijdens de zwangerschap?", aldus de pseudo-Hollandse moeilijk te verstane algeheel te vrolijk zijnde bij het vooruitzicht weerloze kindjes vieze siroop te geven en te prikken -dokter

"Euh... ziek... euh...." probeer ik mijn hoofd te breken over het feit of ik al dan niet een keelontsteking of koorts gehad heb tijdens de zwangerschap, tot Lief me onderbreekt met "Ze heeft een zwangerschapsvergiftiging gehad".
"Ah ja... ja, da's waar". Even vergeten dat dat relevant zou kunnen zijn. Voor mij hangt dat samen met de bevalling en niet met de zwangerschap. Of ik verdring het, dat kan ook.

"Oh" gaan de wenkbrauwen van Herr Doktor de lucht in. "Een te hoge bloeddruk?"

"Euh... onder andere".

Zucht. Waarom vragen dokters dat altijd? Denken ze dat ik niet weet wat ik gehad heb? Of dat ik het verzin? Of zijn ze zelf vergeten wat het was en willen ze nog eens checken? Verwachten ze dat ik ga zeggen "ba neen, ik had ontstopper gedronken"?

Soit. We hebben het overleefd. Ik heb mijn tranen ingeslikt toen onze man huilde, maar hij was bijzonder stoer en onderging de prikjes als de bink die hij is. Verder weten we nu ook nog eens dat we een "stevige baby" hebben met "goede spiertonus" en "redelijk wat spanning op het bekken". Voor we in paniek "kan dat kwaad, die spanning?" konden roepen stonden we alweer op de gang. Misschien maar goed.

2010-07-21T14:43:00.001+02:00

7 weken en 1 dag

Dag kleine man,

Of moet dat “grote man” zijn? Want wat ben je veranderd...

Je bent nu al 7 weken en een dag (want zo tellen we tegenwoordig, elke dag telt) bij ons en het is al een hele aanpassing geweest. Het is duidelijk wie de baas is in huis: Bas heeft honger, dus mama’s douche, middagmaal, ontbijt, wat dan ook moet wachten. En dat terwijl je mama allergisch is aan ‘s morgens beneden zitten in haar pyama. En dan al zeker met een zuur dessert van halfverteerde moedermelk op diezelfde pyama. De mama’s staan klaar om met jou op pad te gaan, maar plots heb je een nieuwe pamper nodig. Waarna je verbolgen bent omdat je niet opnieuw eten krijgt en zo verder en zo voort.
Je weet duidelijk wat je wil, lieve man.
En je eet nogal graag, kleine koddige dikkerd.

Maar je hebt het ook niet makkelijk gehad in die weken: de mama’s vinden dat je ’s nachts moet slapen terwijl je eigenlijk veel liever zou spelen. Het bezoek dat soms aan je zit te plukken. Mama die tijdens een voeding midden in de nacht haar nachtlampje afdekt en dus je favoriete speelgoed afpakt (lichtjes zijn oh zo interessant!). En die krampjes en zure reflux... arme jongen. Wat hebben we die al van je willen overnemen, of op zijn minst meehuilen met jou. Gelukkig gaat het nu wat beter.

Ondertussen weten we ook al beter wat je wil. We kunnen je verschillende huiltjes en knorretjes steeds beter onderscheiden en vertalen. Er zijn de "ik ga kaka doen"-knor, de "ik doe nu kaka"-knor, de "ik ben moe, maar ik wil het niet geweten hebben"-schreeuw, de "laat me met rust"-huil, de "ik wil rechtop zitten"-snik en de boze "waar blijft mijn eten"-knor. En dat is nog maar een kleine selectie. Je mama is ook al wat minder panisch dat je zal beginnen huilen als ze met jou op stap is omdat ze ondertussen al weet hoe ze je (tijdelijk, maar soit) weer kan sussen. Een hele geruststelling.

Slapen ’s nachts lukt al een beetje beter, maar na vorige week drie keer 6-7 uur na elkaar te slapen heb je je nieuwe kunstje (hopelijk slechts voorlopig) weer opgeborgen. Die 4 à 5 uur zijn veel leuker voor jou blijkbaar. Voor mama iets minder, maar bon, zoals al gezegd, het is duidelijk wie er de baas is in huis. En het is voor jou ook een goede tactiek om te zorgen dat er niet zo snel een broer of zus komt.

De laatste dagen ben je een beetje over je toeren. Komt het doordat je steeds beter kan zien en al die prikkels een beetje teveel zijn voor je babyhersentjes? Vind je het oranje van je park toch niet zo mooi? Wie weet. Zoals je merkt denkt mama nogal graag veel na over wat je doet en zoekt ze ergens een “logische” uitleg (en googelen dat ze doet!). De laatste twee dagen heb je overdag in ieder geval nauwelijks een oog dicht gedaan en je mama’s bijna tot wanhoop gedreven.Vandaag ben je nauwelijks wakker geweest. Je ligt momenteel zelfs boven te slapen, tegen alle verwachtingen in voorlopig nog vredig, en we vinden het hier zo stil... We missen je. Je moetie is al twee keer naar boven geweest om te controleren of de babyfoon wel werkt. Je mama is voorlopig stoerder en blij dat moetie gaat checken, dan kan zij smug blijven zitten en doen alsof ze dat zelf niet zou gedaan hebben. Het is de eerste keer dat je echt in je eigen kamer slaapt, vannacht wordt je eerste nacht daar. De mama’s zullen het er moeilijker mee hebben dan jij zelf denk ik.

En ondertussen groei je maar en kan je al niet meer in je eerste pakjes. Mama heeft het nog niet over haar hart gekregen om die uit de kast te halen, maar het zal stilaan eens moeten, kwestie van wat orde te bewaren (en zo groot is die kast nu ook weer niet). En ook de eerste maat van pampertjes behoren tot het verleden. Je wordt zo groot. Of heb ik dat al gezegd? Ik zal het nog eens zeggen dan... je bent zo groot al.

En elke dag heb je een nieuw kunstje en een nieuwe gelaatsuitdrukking. Je slaat enthousiast naar je speelboog (en na tien minuten begin je in overload te krijsen), je staart naar je mobile (en na tien minuten begin je in overload te krijsen), je ritselt met je pauwparkding (en na tien minuten... ja), je valt in slaap boven in je park en eindigt helemaal onderaan. Liefst dwars. Je grijpt de haren van je mama’s vast, je houdt meneer konijn bij je als we je uit bed halen, je schrikt plots, meestal van helemaal niets, je lacht als je merkt dat je eten krijgt, je staart in volle concentratie naar de DVD-kast (serieus jongen, wat is er daar toch? We breken er ons hoofd over) en god weet wat nog allemaal. Maar ondertussen zijn we er vrij zeker van dat je de katten nog altijd niet opgemerkt hebt, en slaag je erin om het af en toe op een krijsen te zetten als we er van overtuigd zijn dat we je zien lachen. Tja.

Je bent soms een klein monstertje, maar je bent oh zo schattig. En ook al schreeuw je twee uur aan een stuk (ja, dat kan je), het is je allemaal vergeven. Eens je weer stil bent kijken je mama’s naar elkaar en verzuchten ze hoe koddig en lief je bent.

Zoals nu.
Misschien moet ik je toch eens wakker gaan poken.
Of neen, toch maar niet. Dat zou niet zo pedagogisch verantwoord zijn.

Lieve zoen,

Je mama.

2010-07-13T17:25:00.002+02:00

Treat

I treated myself to some books that have been on my amazon wishlist forever and to Nothing to Envy, real lives in North Korea" by Barbara Demick, a book recommended to me (personally, yes. Ahem) by none other than Sir Stephen of Fry Sir and the Pet Shop Boys. I was interested in the last book by thinking what on earth would happen to those poor North Korean football players who lost abysmally at the world cup. I fear it won't be that peaceful.

The books arrived this morning. And despite Bas having a fussy day, it's absolute bliss to know I've got them. Sometimes it's the little things.

2010-06-28T14:16:00.003+02:00

One!

Bas is nearly one month old.
One month ago I was in hospital, bloated, big-bellied and worried.
It's best not to think about that too much (so why do I eh?).

What have we learned in this month?
- That sleep is a precious thing, and that babies tend to steal that away from you. Or this baby does.

- That breastfeeding is not as effortless as they try and make you believe. It's not. It's time-consuming (depending on the baby I suppose), it's partially responsible for those interrupted nights and you have to calculate "when will he be hungry again and how can I avoid flashing my boobs at people I know". Or maybe I just worry too much about the flashing. More than once I've been tempted to throw in the towel and just get some formula at the chemist's, but something's stopping me. Probably that nagging voice in the back of my head (we call it "my mother") going "you're going to have to go the chemist's, you're not strong enough for this yet! And he obviously doesn't have enough!".
Right. That's why he's slowly resembling Jabba The Baby.

- That there should be a pill that causes non-biological mothers to be able to breastfeed. That way we could split the feeding. Ideal.

- That hormones are a funny thing and can cause you to want to banish the baby to the North Pole (another thing people don't tell you beforehand), but at the same time very nearly kill people who hurt your baby even the slightest (I'm looking at you, doctors).

- That reflux and cramps are horrible for poor little wee things.

- That I have not missed work for one second, hardly even thought about it, but I vaguely remember work not being as tiring as this.

- That C-section scars resemble a smiley face on your belly. And that stomach muscles don't just bounce back. Unfortunately.

- That my calendar is busier now than when I was at work.

- That babies don't understand and don't like hot temperatures. This causes much screaming and much wanting to be fed. But they are cute when they're lying there in just their nappies.

- That going outside is still something of a struggle (again with the not-wanting to flash my boobs thing), but that that's something I'll have to get over.

- That forcing a baby to enjoy the Pet Shop Boys might not be possible, but I'll die trying.

- That everyone has advice. Usually conflicting advice.

- That it's hard to remember a time where you could go "Oooh, Toy Story Three, let's go see that". When you really want to go see it.

- That QI and the World Cup are ideal breastfeeding distractions.

- That strangers will start talking to you when you're carrying/pushing around a baby. Some of them will even touch the baby (don't do that, seriously!) and every single stranger has something inappropriate or inane to say.

- But at least people have stopped touching my belly.

- That days just melt into one another and you have no clue what weekday or what day it is.

- Oh. And to avoid the "only able to talk about babies"-thing: erm.... crap... yeah... Ahem.

2010-06-17T14:05:00.002+02:00

Tired much?

After an exhausting first week at home, I'm hoping there's some improvement on the horizon. Our little man seems to get that there's a difference between night and day. At least I think he does. I could be delusional basing this on two decent nights. He still demands food every three hours at night, but he's been drinking a lot quicker (no 45 minutes, but closer to 15 minutes), falls asleep peacefully and doesn't scream the place down when we put him to bed.
Let's hope I didn't jinx it by blogging this...

He's brilliant, but my god did I underestimate how tiring it is to be woken from your sleep every few hours.
Poor little man has cramps as well, so I'm drinking two mugs of (disgusting!) fennel tea a day and I've convinced myself it makes all the difference.

In another shocking turn of events I've found myself watching the world cup football. Me! A lesbian at last! I hope this doesn't influence Bas too much, but he seems pretty fixated on my boobs when I'm feeding him. The minute he turns his head to stare at the telly I'm looking for handball on tv!
No football, Bas. Too much laundry for your mums.

2010-06-07T19:36:00.001+02:00

BAS

You might be wondering what happened to me: sudden loss of interest in Eurovision? Depression because Belgium didn't win? Hiding from the world because of our sixth place?

Nope.
On Thursday 27th of May I went for a checkup to our gynaecologist, was suddenly sent to hospital, put on a monitor and told I wouldn't be leaving until they delivered Penguin by C-section. I was 36 weeks pregnant and they wanted to keep Penguin in as long as possible, but they had to weigh the risks of an early birth to those of the pre-eclampsia I apparently had.

Bas was born on June 1st. He weighed a healthy 3kg280 (Imagine what he would've done without the pre-eclampsia and at full term), measured in at 49cms and is generally the most gorgeous baby ever. He spent four days in the neonatal unit where he recovered from the whole ordeal. Meanwhile I had to do the same, because -to be very honest- I really wasn't doing so well. I'm gradually doing better though, and he improved in leaps and bounds.
He was staying in my hospital room since Saturday (finally I could hold him whenever I wanted to) and we just got home.

I still have the pre-eclampsia, actually.
I can expect it to go away between four and six weeks from now. Until then I keep enjoying the water retention everywhere (though gradually getting better) and I get to take medication to try and keep my blood pressure under control.
Still pretty emotional, but glad and thankful everything ended well.

So now you know.
Bas really really did his best to make us miss Eurovision. I can sense trouble ahead.

2010-05-26T12:20:00.001+02:00

"It's a historic Tuesday"

This year's contest will be commented on by André (from Brussels, because we have no money to rent a place in Oslo -well, that'll be funny when we win and the Dutch or the Walloon guys will have the first interview won't it-) and Bart. We think Anja wanted too much money to comment on the dresses.

The contest tries to get rid of the prejudice about the voting being political by now allowing people to vote before they've even heard one single song. Way to go EBU! Perhaps they're putting the money in a saving's account for when the Big Four pulls out. It's all for a good cause, really.

We play another round of "spot the straight guy in the audience", as every year to no avail, and before we know it (No riverdance? No-one walking through walls or flying through the air? No ulgy twins on a swan?) the show has started!

With the charming Eurodisco trainwreck that is Moldova. Their violinist is spinning around on stage so violently we're pretty sure he's going to be sick, and the saxophone players apparently play a lot better when they shake their crotch at the camera. Love it! -Q

Russia is as ever one of those countries that could send a puking violinist (with or without dying ballerina or iceskating rink) and still make the top five, and this time they send a bunch of guys in the snow, who didn't even bother to dress up. They're wearing scarves though, to stay in the "winter" theme, so they have put some thought into their act. Long live the Russian bombastic pathos! - Q

Estonia sends RiffRaff in a pink scarf (what is it with scarves? Did Alexander Rybak release his own line or something?) with the scariest and most hilarious backing singers/dancers in the contest. At the end one of them even drops dead. The Wife predicts their choreographer is pulling out his hair backstage "stop improvising, you idiots!".

Slovakia goes for the classic elf with mountain trolls-act, only this time she's joined on stage by her monther-in-law. Yikes! Long live the Riverdance and the everything-but-the-kitchensink performance. Petra was, as usual, twenty years ahead of her time.

Oh god, the Finnish aren't wearing any shoes. It's going to be one of those songs, is it. And yes, it is. With the lot of them all dressed in white, I'm starting to think we're being accosted by a bunch of folk-playing gynaecologists. Eep!

Wow, Latvia, that cruficix around your neck sure is subtle. If you'd worn it any bigger, you'd have been able to climb onto it yourself. Thankfully her singing is horrible, as is her earnest gazing in the camera. Mister God has no mercy (and neither does Fashion, dressing in a bathrobe and slutty shoes? For Eurovision?! Come on!)! For some reason we think she might pull off the robe for a dramatic clothes change (we've not had one in this contest yet! It must be the longest without one), but we're kinda relieved she keeps the thing on.

Bart says ickle Milan from Serbia is "as gay as an iron". Since when are irons gay? We don't have the time to think about it too much, since the party goes wild when Milan comes on stage and starts his "Balkan" chanting. And he even brought two dates (and their sisters)! And pyros! And a silly dance routine! Go Milan! - Q

Bosnia forgot to bring their act. Didn't they have something lying about with a red flag, a wind machine and much dramatic posing? Or with a washing line and knitting old ladies? They were all busy this year?! Tsk. Stupid softrock. -Q

According to André and Bart, the Polish act and song is about erotic asphyxiation. And perhaps they could have shared their act with the Bosnians because there's plenty to go around. Apples, boobs, bad English and even a clothes change. Well, if one of the girls getting their blouse ripped off is a clothes change... Could be me, but I don't get it.

Aaaaah, there we are, Belgium is sending Tom Dice with a blue guitar. We're told over and over again how pure his act is, just him and his guitar (and two backing singers, hidden in the shadows, but let's not split hairs), how this is quality and how -finally, now that 50% of the votes are jury votes- we should stand a chance to make it to the final. Yes, because the juries would have loved our fake Elvis and circus tents in years past. My god, we can be just as arrogant as the rest of Europe, apparently. Tom is hopping from leg to leg like he needs the loo and manages to look solemn by pulling weird faces. Still, we're pretty thrilled he made it to the final. Despite the song. And the nasal singing. Go Tom! -Q

The Maltese singer is on fire! Seriously, someone call the fire department! Ah but no, she's just giving birth to a gigantic bird that comes out of her ass. No, I'm not kidding, check out the youtube video. It's a bambi Disney ballad, but for some reason (probably the hormones) I'm loving it in the end. Must be the wings.

Thank you, Albania for shaking us awake with your generic discobeat. So generic it sounds like every single uptempo song we've ever heard. Shame you didn't think to bring any angel wings, but at least you brought the Rybak-violin. That's one thing at least. -Q

"Damn, Sakis has gotten old" we think when we see Giorgos from Greece (the name!). Thankfully he brought Sakis' brothers to do the sirtaki behind him. In true Greek tradition they've left the leather at home (or in the hotel room...) and are now dressed in pure white to better show off their physiques and their tattoos. Let's hope they don't win, because there's no way the EU will finance that. And who paid for those sparkly things on your suit, Giorgos? Eh? Ah, I can grumble all I like, but this is brilliant Eurovision stuff. I do wish they'd recycled Sakis' stapler though. Opa! -Q

Portugal brings us a boring Disney ballad sung by a pretty girl. I'm not impressed. Not even the straight guys are all that convinced, and that's saying a lot. They spent all their money on a dress for Filipa and seem to have dressed the backings in stuff from Oxfam. Charming. - Q

FYR Macedonia manages to send some pretty sleazy stuff. As a pregnant woman I can only gaze jealously when one of the dancers lifts her leg to behind her ears. Wow, with all the water in my legs at the moment I can hardly lift my legs enough to walk up stairs. Bitch! And just when you think it can't get any worse, the choreographer manages to up the sleaze factor by ten... good god. There are gay men watching! Close your legs!

We're glad to see the mullet is still in fashion in Belarus, as are the ballgowns and the Christmas atmosphere. We're expecting snow to start coming down, but we get butterfly wings instead. What a horrible, horrible song. And that Maltese bird so upstaged your stupid butterfly wings! -Q

Thank you, Iceland, for sending a big gay diva! And thank you for showing us you can keep the costs down by using the same fabric to make a dress for your lead and backing singers. We'd give you extra points if Ms Bjork ends the song by doing the splits, but alas... Still, we're fans! -Q

Bart recaps the Big Four by saying "the UK is sending something miserable" and we wait full of tension for the results. It takes four envelopes before André says something about "friendly nations", the camera keeps cutting to Tom Dice in the green room who does the most unenthusiastic "flag shaking" possible whenever he spots the red light, and when Belgium comes out of the envelope everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Woohoo! We might cheer a little more when Iceland comes out of the envelope, but still.

"It's a legendary Tuesday" Bart says. It sure is.
And do we hear the sound of André rushing to the airport to share a commentator box with whoever will have him for Saturday? Who knows?!

2010-05-25T16:54:00.002+02:00

Lesbisch ouderschap

Er zijn zoveel voordelen aan als lesbisch koppel zwanger worden, 't is niet te geloven. Eerst en vooral ben je met twee vrouwen, da's handig voor de kuis en de was en de plas en die pampers later (naar het schijnt). Maar de overheid en de maatschappij zorgen ook voor heel wat leuke extra's.
Hoewel we hier in België zeker niet kunnen klagen, valt het ons op dat we de laatste tijd, als we hand in hand over straat wandelen/waggelen, kunnen genieten van hier en daar wat vuile blikken. Een minderheid, maar toen we niet-zwanger rondhobbelden, hadden we dat zo goed als nooit. "Zullen ze ons kind dan ook zo behandelen" vraagt een hormonale zwangere zich dan paniekerig af.
Maar soit, idioten heb je overal en daar is geen ontsnappen aan. Leven en laten leven dan maar. Veel leuker is de idiotie die de Belgische staat op ons afstuurt: de verplichte stiefouder-adoptiecursus. Veel mensen in onze omgeving dachten dat, gezien we getrouwd zijn, het zo simpel was om met twee ons kindje te gaan aangeven en te zeggen "wij zijn samen mama's en zet het maar op die familienaam" en voila, geregeld.
Mis poes!
Wij mogen een cursus volgen, en een verzoekschrift indienen , en een politie-agent ontvangen en misschien nog een maatschappelijk onderzoek en voor de rechter komen en daar ook nog voor betalen en alles. En als we chance hebben, heeft het kind officieel twee ouders tegen zijn eerste verjaardag. Als het snel gaat. Hiep hoi.

Maar goed, het is nu zo. En het zal wel tijdelijk zijn. Die wetgeving is te belachelijk om lang aan te houden.

En wanneer je hoort over "verplichte adoptiecursus" rol je een beetje met je ogen want hal-lo, hetero's die KID doen, moeten ook geen cursus volgen (en daar heeft de papa evenmin een biologische band met het kind) en voor de rest zijn er geen "andere" ouders bij ons, dus ook geen kwestie van stiefouderschap en wat dan nog, maar ok. En het feit dat we, gezien onze studies en ons werk, waarschijnlijk weinig nieuws gaan leren uit zo'n cursus (ik zit constant te werken met hechting, loyaliteiten, mee-ouders, stiefouders, pleegouders, etc. De vrouw zit constant tussen baby's en peuters), daar leggen we ons ook bij neer, want als het voor iedereen geldt, dan is dat zo, ook voor de mensen die zulke zaken al tot in den treure gehoord hebben op school/hogeschool/unief.

Maar dan zit je dus op die cursus. Die cursus die twee dagen duurt. Van 10u tot 17u. En dan weet je, het zal voor ons veel herhaling zijn, maar dat wettelijke, daar weten we niets over, dus daar zullen we onze oren spitsen.
Beginnen ze 's morgens met het "psychische/sociale" luik. Begint de mevrouw/babysitter (sympathiek en vriendelijk hoor, daar niet van) met ons gerust te stellen dat zij geen psychologe of maatschappelijk werkster is. Ah neen? En vanwaar dan de bevoegdheid om ons voor te bereiden op die adoptie? Ah, ze volgt een opleiding gezinswetenschappen, dus toch. Maar gaat die voormiddag dan over loyaliteiten? Over het verschil tussen een bloedband en een verworven band? Over hechting? Over stiefouder zijn en de plaats van de afwezige natuurlijke ouder? Ha! Think again! We mogen kennismaken. Een uurtje. Alsof we daar zitten voor een koffieklets. En daarna kunnen we eens nadenken over de "problemen die onze kinderen kunnen tegenkomen", waarna het gesprek gegijzeld wordt door mensen die in heel specifieke situaties zitten waar niemand anders zich mee kan vereenzelvigen. En steeds zit je te denken, nu komt toch een beetje uitleg, een beetje "vorming", waar iemand iets aan kan hebben als ze nog nooit zouden hebben stilgestaan bij, ik zeg maar, loyaliteiten. Nope! Om 12u is de voormiddag gedaan (ipv om 13u) en om 14u kunnen we de advocate verwachten.
De advocate die in anderhalf uur al een heel stuk vertelt over wat we eigenlijk willen weten en ons daarna ook laat vertrekken. Dus voor twee uur tijdverlies en anderhalf uur relevante info moeten wij een dag verlof nemen. En volgende week nog eens, voor hetzelfde stramien.
Is het geen idee om die wettelijke uitleg op een voormiddag te zetten en de rest te laten vallen? Kind en Gezin neemt, uit solidariteit met ons waarschijnlijk, hun vorming zelf niet au serieux, maar ondertussen moeten wij daar wel twee dagen voor uittrekken.
Dank u, Belgische staat. En Kind en Gezin. Super initiatief. Ik kijk al uit naar de volgende keer!

2010-05-25T16:53:00.001+02:00

André spreekt

Maar André toch. 't Is nie eerlijk.

Een protestmars op Brussel!

2010-05-21T17:57:00.005+02:00

Eurovision!!

For those die-hard Eurovision fans who've been waiting in vain for my Eurovision review: don't fear! It's here!
On the Eurovision Spin-Off blog of course.

The only thing missing is the Big Five (the Big Four + Norway), but they're coming up.

For those not-so-Eurovision die-hards who are more interested in hearing how we got along at the adoption course (grmbl...), you can expect a report here very soon....

2010-05-06T14:38:00.003+02:00

De verkiezingen vallen dus op 13 juni.
Goed... dan weten we direct hoe politiek-gezind Kleine Dikhoofd&buik-Pinguïn is: Blijft hij mooi zitten tot erna of komt hij ruim genoeg ervoor zodat de mama's nog kunnen gaan stemmen? Of vindt Pingu het veel leuker om 5 dagen-of-minder voor deze datum zijn hoofd te laten zien, waardoor de mama's (of toch één ervan) naar de TV moeten foeteren zonder zelf een tripje te maken richting stembus? Met een vermoedelijke bevallingsdatum van 20 juni wordt dat redelijk spannend.
Niet dat ik denk dat die verkiezingen veel uithalen (en waarvoor stemmen we nu weer?), veel meer dan een radicalisering en een paar procentenverschil zit er volgens mij niet in. En dan kunnen we op pad met Leterme 45. Die opnieuw geen compromis zal vinden, etc etc. Maar ik wil uiteraard wel gaan stemmen. Ah ja. D'r is al 85% rechts in Vlaanderen, als ik dan nog eens niet ga stemmen... waar gaat dat eindigen?
Maar hoe moet ik dat dan regelen? Vraag ik een volmacht voor mijn vrouw? Kan ik dan nog zelf stemmen als ik die niet nodig heb? Als ik net die dag beval, krijgen de Schattie en ik dan een ziektebriefje? Een mens vraagt zich die dingen af.

't Is misschien te hopen dat Tom Dice wint in Oslo (zou typisch zijn dat er net dan geen André Vermeulen is om live verslag uit te brengen van onze winnaar. Zoals we allemaal weten, zit die kans er zwaar in: de jongen heeft de zoetgevooisde stem, de looks, de uitstraling en de fanbase van een verlepte kamerplant. En verlepte kamerplanten doen het goed op Eurosong. En als ie wint, dan kennen we direct de geboortedatum van Pinguïn: 29 mei. Of de 30ste... als Pinguïn een beetje tijd nodig heeft om de uitgang te vinden. De mama zal zich immers zodanig opjagen dat we uitgerekend met dat kutnummer winnen, dat Pinguïns stante pede zal willen vertrekken uit die buik.
En dan kunnen we dus gaan stemmen met zijn drieën.

2010-04-29T17:38:00.002+02:00

Ik was gewaarschuwd

De Buik is een attractie geworden. Wildvreemde mensen, -en erger nog: cliënten- raken Pinguïn zomaar aan, zonder het te vragen. Daarna vragen ze allemaal "en voor wanneer is't?" en dan beginnen ze scheel te kijken omdat ze in hun hoofd proberen uit te rekenen hoeveel weken/maanden dat nog zijn.

Nog 7 weken en 3 dagen, mocht u nieuwsgierig zijn.

In plaats dat ik dan gewoon zeg "wat denkt u feitelijk dat u aan het doen bent?", neen, ik ben telkens zodanig verbouwereerd dat ik met mijn mond vol tanden sta. Maar ik vind dat dus niet leuk he mensen. Niet. Ik vraag me af of iemand het ooit wel leuk gevonden heeft.

En alle vrouwen die ooit zwanger geweest zijn, hadden me gewaarschuwd: "Er komt een punt waarop de hele wereld aan uw lijf begint te prutsen". En dan hadden ze het dus niet eens over de kraamkliniek, wanneer blijkbaar vijfhonderd verschillende vroedvrouwen, verpleegsters, stagiairs en dokters allemaal "eens gaan kijken/voelen, mevrouw" en ik dat allemaal maar euh... over me heen moet laten gaan. Het begint nu al.
En daarna zal Pinguïn in de wieg liggen, en blijkbaar zullen wildvreemden dan zomaar in die dikke wangetjes beginnen knijpen en commentaar geven enzo! Of nog erger, advies geven, als Pinguïn begint te bleiten omdat Pinguïn (als die iets van zijn moeders mee heeft) dat helemaal niet leuk vindt, dat rare stinkende mensen in zijn wangetjes knijpen.

Jongens zeg. Ik kijk er al naar uit.
Yikes!

2010-04-13T19:06:00.006+02:00

Soms

En soms he, soms word ik zo immens kwaad, zo kwaad dat de tranen bijna in mijn ogen springen en dat ik alleen maar kan vermoeden dat het door de hormonen komt.

Maar komaan zeg.
Jeanetterij en pedofilie heeft evenveel met elkaar te maken als een kieken en een velo.
Neh. Verdomme toch. Losers.
Dat er het één van die klojo's waagt om ons te vragen onze Pinguïn te dopen, die zal nogal iets tegenkomen.

2010-04-13T19:06:00.001+02:00

Herman

Nucleaire top: Herman Van Rompuy, president van de EU, gaat handjes schudden met Barack Obama.

Heeft zijn moeder nooit gezegd "Herman, houdt u nu toch recht!"?
Djiezes!

2010-04-09T17:20:00.000+02:00

Alsof het nog niet erg genoeg was:

na de boekhandel, de dvd-winkel en de delhaize, kan je nu ook nog een hamburger of een spaghetti eten in de kinepolis.

Oh ja. En naar een film kijken.

2010-04-08T15:45:00.004+02:00

Kindly fuck off

"Zwanger sporten zorgt voor een fitte baby". Blijkbaar.
Man, de Pinguïn is nog niet geboren en ik ben al een slechte moeder.

Sinds ik zwanger ben, dames en heren, ben ik welgeteld 1 keer gaan sporten. 1 keer gaan lopen. Rond kerst. In de kou. 't Was super, maar na tien minuten kreeg ik last van mijn knieën en voelde ik me een oud meetje. Voor de rest was ik te druk bezig een trouw voor te bereiden, in Berlijn/Londen rond te hossen en vooral veel, veel, veel te moe om 's avonds niet gewoon in mijn zetel te ploffen.
Zelfs geocaching, de nerdsport bij uitstek waarbij je uiteindelijk gewoon wandelt, maar dan wel met een GPS rond je nek om het toch maar niet "wandelen" te noemen, heb ik maar luttele keren gedaan. De Wii Fit? Vergeet het. Dat ding geeft me alleen maar op mijn dak omdat ik verdik (hal-lo Wii Fit, ik ben dus wel zwanger hé! Waarom kan ik dat niet aanduiden op uw schermke?).
Geshopt, dat heb ik wel. En ramen gelapt. En kleren gestreken. En twee keer zweverige yoga gevolgd.

Maar van dat shoppen en die paar geocachen (en dat ramen lappen, en dat kleren strijken) krijg ik rugpijn en een harde buik. En dan mag ik er niet aan denken wat het zou geven mocht ik het in mijn hoofd steken om nog eens te lopen (maar goesting dat ik al gehad heb... telt dat ook?) of te zwemmen. Laat staan dat ik dat 5 keer per week 40 minuten zou doen. Dinge zeg.

En nu voel ik me, hormonaal als ik ben, nog schuldig ook. Want we krijgen nu dus gegarandeerd een te dikke baby (met de anderhalve kilo die Pinguïn vorige week al woog, ging het al de zware kant op) met ouderdomsdiabetes en hartkwalen. En vermoedelijk nog een negatief zelfbeeld ook, wegens "ik voel me niet aantrekkelijk". Allemaal omdat mama te lui/moe/hardbuikerig is om op nen fucking hometrainer te gaan zitten.
Dat gaat ons nogal wat kosten aan psychologen, diëtisten en chocoladerepen....

2010-04-01T10:52:00.002+02:00

Adoptie

Holebi's zo goed als kansloos voor adoptie kopt DSO vandaag. En terecht. Let wel, het gaat hier om adoptie van kinderen zonder familieband. Gelukkig voor ons hebben wij twee baarmoeders, waar we op zich vrij makkelijk (nu ja) een kleine(dikke, gigantische) baby in kunnen stoppen waardoor er toch een biologische band is met 1 van ons beiden. Voor homo's (of lesbo's zonder goed functionerende baarmoeder) is het zo simpel niet.

Jan Roegiers (SPA) haalt blijkbaar een aantal pistes aan die beter kunnen (waarvoor dank), waarop Kind&Gezin reageert: "maar onze eerste bezorgdheid blijft wel de kinderen".

Juist. En zo hoort het.
Maar waarop slaat dat nu weer?
Is het dan beter dan 300 kinderen in Zuid-Afrika en Amerika (waar holebi-koppels wel kunnen adopteren) achterblijven zonder ouders dan dat ze geadopteerd worden door jeanetten? Of ...? Kweetnie, leg eens uit.

2010-03-31T09:28:00.001+02:00

Flikkenscenario uitgelekt!

Een afrekening in het paardenmilieu?
Serieus?

Dat *kan* toch niet.
En dan de rest van het artikel: "En Marc had ook op het werk verteld dat er vorige week iemand met een buis in zijn handen voor zijn huis stond. Iemand met een West-Vlaams accent..."
It wasn't me!

2010-03-30T07:39:00.003+02:00

Shake your bon-bon

Remember when "H" from Steps came out, in the least surprising "was he ever "in" then?" - coming out ever? ("Who's H from Steps", you're probably all going now... he's the blond gayest one)

We've just got a new contender.

Congrats, Ricky Martin.

In other, equally exciting news, the pope is still a delusional asshole, spring starts in March and you shouldn't run with scissors.

2010-03-29T19:22:00.001+02:00

The Daily Mail song

Think "het laatste nieuws"... maar NOG racistischer en simplistischer.

2010-03-26T17:12:00.001+01:00

Het lef

Daarstraks, bij de apotheek werd ik, IK dus he, met dikke (gigantisch na een dag werken) niet-te-missen buik, schaamteloos voorgestoken door een hoogbejaard dwergvrouwtje.

Die hebben dus duidelijk geen respect voor de nieuwe generatie ...

2010-03-18T14:37:00.002+01:00

Sparkling

I'm being extraordinarily daring today and drinking a glass of ... sparkling water. I used to drink some 2.5-3 litres of the stuff a day, but in the past month (since Little Penguin's house is bordering on my stomach) it's been replaced by still water.
But still water is just so dull...
So I gave in and poured myself a glass of sparkling water. There. If the fuzz gives me acid reflux for the rest of the day, so be it.

Spring is in the air and with it the realisation that I don't know what to wear for it! Yay! Shopping! For once in my life, without exaggerating, I can say that I have nothing to wear! I have no T-shirts to accomodate a penguinbelly. Shopping will have to wait another week though, since Saturday is "Paint The Penguin's Room"-day. I won't be doing much on account of the Girlfriend freaking out about "poisonous fumes" and me freaking out about my back (grmbl), but I plan to sit in the hallway, entertain people and provide them with food and drink.
And the week after that we're getting the furniture for Penguin's room delivered (where the same friends will once again save our arse by helping The Girlfriend get everything upstairs)... damn... that means no shopping for clothes yet again.... I'll have to figure something out, obviously.
I can't very well go to work naked, now can I.

2010-03-08T19:30:00.003+01:00

We're having a financial crisis. And we have to pay for the European President already!

So... every Eurovision needs a toilet break. Well, with the explosion of countries taking part in Eurovision, every contest needs several of those breaks and frankly, we should all be grateful to to the countries who provide us with one. Not every country wants to "sacrifice" their chance of winning after all.

Thankfully for the other Eurovision countries, Belgium took its responsibility this year. It's not as if we have the money to host the contest next year, hell, it's not as if we have the money to stay in Norway beyond the semi final. Do you know what they charge for beer overthere? Crazy! So we might as well keep it cheap: send just the one guy, get an outfit from Oxfam and make sure he's back home bright and early on May 26th.

No need to thank us, Europe, really, it's our pleasure.
But we do apologise for the nasal whining you'll have to endure while you're getting out more booze or filling up the crisp bowls. Apparently it came with the deal. But don't worry, you'll forget what you heard in no time. While you're hearing it, in fact.
So we do limit the horror to the minimum.
Test it, you'll see I'm right.

2010-03-01T22:18:00.000+01:00

The butchness of figure skating: part two

2010-03-01T19:48:00.003+01:00

De Liefde

Mijn vrouw, vanmorgen met grote verschrikte ogen naar mijn buik starend: "ik was een nanoseconde vergeten dat je zwanger was en ik snapte het eventjes niet...".

Dat, samen met de opmerking een paar dagen geleden (bewonderend): "goh, je bent zo gigantisch, schattie".

Gelukkig is er ook nog de dagelijkse "je bent zo mooi zwanger"

Morgen controle bij de dokter. Brrrr.

2010-02-23T18:58:00.000+01:00

Eat this, Kevin Van Der Perren

Now if only I could find footage of the Olympics somewhere. So far, nothing.

2010-02-16T22:17:00.002+01:00

Olympische winterspelen

Kijk, ik snap meestal geen ballen van sport. Ik vind het soms wel schoon om na te kijken, soms omdat ik het geleerd heb (handbal), soms omdat er glitter is (ijsdansen) en soms omdat er Belgen meedoen (tennis).
Maar als ik ooit een olympische atleet zou zijn, dan is het een troost dat er toch één discipline is waarin ik me misschien zou kunnen kwalificeren: curling.
Dat moet zelfs ik toch kunnen.
Een sport met een bezem. Kuisen op het ijs! Ideaal voor iemand met nestdrang!

Jammer van dat ijs. Koud dat dat moet zijn...
Maar er zijn tenminste "Elles De Koe"-achtige fashion statements.
(en ja, dat meisje heet blijkbaar echt "De Koe")

2010-02-15T18:31:00.002+01:00

Groet aan de zon

Ewel?
Waar blijft die energieboost??
Ok, misschien bestaat die er gewoon uit dat ik (opnieuw en keer op keer opnieuw en elke keer als ik denk "dat was de laatste keer" gewoonweg NOG een keer) door de sneeuw durf rijden zonder te panikeren. En die sneeuw, die blijft maar komen om de één of andere reden. Of dat ik kan wakker blijven tot het einde van mijn werkdag. Maar in dat geval, beste boekskes, is dat bijzonder teleurstellend. Ik zat te wachten op Energie met de grote E (en niet zoals mijn zweverige collega dat dan wil zeggen, als in "te maken hebbend met de energiebanen en GSM-masten en al"), maar gewoon veel fut en kunnen lang opblijven en van die dingen.
Meh.

In mijn queeste naar "een gezonde zwangerschap" zonder al te veel paniek-aanvallen van "zal die baby er nu niet uitvallen?" en "is dit pijntje wel normaal?" heb ik me anders euhm... ingeschreven voor...
yoga.
Yep.
Yoga.

Klaar met lachen? Gelukkig is het zonder partners, anders werden de Schattie en ik gegarandeerd buitengezet wegens te weinig respect voor het heelal ofzo. Ja, sorry, maar als mensen beginnen over "de energie van de kosmos in je kruin voelen"... tja... dan heb ik het eventjes moeilijk.
Doet me namelijk altijd aan dit denken:

Maar ik heb me toch maar ingeschreven voor 5 sessies.
Alles voor de Pinguïn.
En 't is met een zitbal! Hoe cool is dat?!
Ooooooohm.

2010-01-25T18:21:00.005+01:00

Kaalpoot

Terwijl ik voor de vierde keer vanavond Zena's poot van tussen haar tanden trek (waar ze zich amuseert met de haartjes er minutieus af te bijten tot ze een mooie kale plek heeft. Diagnose dierenarts: beestjes (geen gevonden), stress of zot. Diagnose Kattenmoeders: zot), vraag ik me af hoe dat beestje het zal overleven als die kleine Pinguïn eenmaal uit mijn buik gefloept is (want ja, die zal floepen bij mij, geloof me maar) en krijsend, kwijlend, giechelend en vieze-geuren-producerend in een wieg zal liggen. Laat staan eens de Pinguïn het op een kruipen zal zetten om een staart, oor of snorhaar te pakken te krijgen.

Volgens mij krijgen we dan zo'n dure naaktkat-Zena.
Met van die Belgiekskes-vlekjes op haar vel.
En dat allemaal gratis en voor niets hé!

De pinguïn is ondertussen begonnen met mama zachte plof-schopjes te geven. Tot nu toe vind ik het super, maar die kleine heeft dan ook nog mijn maag, blaas of ribben niet ontdekt.

(en ja, Piglet goes Dutch apparently tegenwoordig)

2010-01-21T17:36:00.002+01:00

Ocharme

Kijk, met al mijn hormonen kan ik hier dus niet tegen, zie.
En 't zijn dan nog pinguïns!
En homoots!

Allez, dat kuikentje...

2010-01-18T19:12:00.001+01:00

Serieus

Efkes serieus, mensen... maar André Vermeulen in Haïti... als echte journalist enzo... dat gaat dus niet hé.

Ik verwacht constant een analyse van de Haïtiaanse act, de jurk of de windmachine.
Desnoods verwacht ik te horen dat de paus opnieuw dood is.
Maar toch geen échte journalistiek. Allez.

2010-01-15T18:21:00.003+01:00

Change

Being pregnant changes you.

There's the (nearly) bursting into tears when watching vaguely-sentimental films or during a particularly difficult discussion at work (ouch). There's the nearly ripping people's heads off for being cruel to children (the thing you hear about grizzlies killing people when they happen to be too close to their young? I can relate to that) and then, of course, most importantly, there's the wardrobe.

I finally caved in and bought my first pair of maternity jeans last weekend, at 17 weeks. Before that I just looked ridiculous, now they almost seemed to fit. Almost, because in the absence of salespeople, I bought a size too big. Brilliant. Of course, once you try them on, you don't want to wear anything else anymore.

So today I braved the most horrible thing one can face... a shop with actual saleswomen....
See, I'm used to the big clothing multinationals where the only staff you'll see are the ones making sure you don't steal anything in the fitting rooms, are hanging clothes back or are working themselves into a sweat at the tills. Since I'm apparently a giant (since when is 1m80 abnormal?) none of their "standard" trousers fit me. None. I end up looking like Steve Urkel in all of them. So I went to a more expensive shop, one with people who come up to you and say "Can I help you?". And more than that... I let them help me! And they were nice. Imagine that.
I even came back home with two pairs of trousers that fit! (One of them is the same pair I already have, but a size smaller...)
And then I went to a different shop (without help) and actually found some tops that show of The Bump.
For A Bump it is at the moment.

Yay.

2010-01-05T20:21:00.001+01:00

Seriously

I don't care what anyone says, we have the cutest baby in the world.
Did you know he has arms and knees and legs and elbows?
And eyes and ears?
And a truly GIGANTIC umbilical cord!
And hides his or her gender perfectly between his or her crossed legs.

And his or her head is so gigantic the computer calculates it as being 17weeks5days old instead of 16weeks2days?
And a belly that's so fat the computer thinks it's 17weeks old?
I looooove little fat babybellies!
How fabulous is that?!

2009-12-23T12:53:00.003+01:00

News photography

Looking at these pictures it's been a rather depressing decade hasn't it.

Thank god the photo from Hubble shows we're not even a fleck of mud on the universe's shoes.

2009-12-21T15:27:00.001+01:00

Hmm...

My "belly growth" seems to be pretty stable. I still fit into all but one of my jeans and when I'm shopping for maternity jeans I look like Su Pollard at a Weight Watchers conference. I can see the 'real' pregnant ladies looking at me going "wannabe". You just wait a few more weeks, ladies! Just wait! My belly will get there.

The one pair of jeans that don't fit anymore (I can zip them up and close the button, but. Can't. Breathe.) are -unfortunately- my favourite pair of jeans, but I'm hoping to put them back on in some nine months or so. Hope springs eternal eh!

Rather more interesting is why and where they don't fit anymore.
My tiny babybump (more like bowel-bump, if I'm honest) starts well over the waistband of those jeans...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, as predicted the Little Penguin appears to have taken up residence in my arse.
It's prompted the Girlfriend/Wife to liberally apply the anti-stretchmark-stuff on that area as well, you never know!

2009-12-11T14:30:00.001+01:00

Public property

I’ve become public property and I’m not even showing yet!

Or well, I am showing a little.
I’m in the “Has she gained weight or might she be pregnant”-phase, with a leaning towards “naaaah she’s just fat”. It’s the phase that goes “should I start looking out for maternity clothes or do I just put on my slightly wider jumpers over my trousers”. Part of me wants to run for the maternity clothes, but I fear they’ll just hang around me like a giant bin bag. But The Girlfriend/Wife is taking me shopping this weekend and I’m pretty sure she’ll insist on the maternity trousers and stuff. Problem solved.
Let’s hope I don’t fall asleep in the fitting room…..

It’s not all fun and games being pregnant you know!

But, as I was trying to say before I so rudely interrupted myself, I’ve become public property. People are bombarding me with their pregnancy stories (quite enlightening, yet sometimes plain scary and horrifying) and mostly their (sometimes wanted, mostly not so) advice.
A typical day will go like this:
“Please tell me you’re getting the Mexican Flu Shot! Women are dying! Children are born with brain damage! You should be on the way to see your GP right now!”
Ten minutes later I’ll run into someone else and the conversation will go:
“Please tell me you’re not getting the Mexican Flu shot! Women are paralysed after the vaccine! Who says it’s safe for you and the baby? You never know the long-term effects! And what are the odds of you getting the flu when you’ve not got it in ten years time?”

Then there’s the advice on the prenatal classes to take and to avoid, the anti-stretchmark creams to use and to avoid (always totally opposite experiences depending on who you ask), the not-so-subtle questions from my mother to determin where my loyalties lie, and it sometimes –just sometimes- makes me wish the Penguin and I were invisible.

But basically it’s a catch-22. Having never been pregnant before, not having a clue what will happen to me, to my body, I’m desperate for advice and stories. I just wish everyone would tell me the bloody same thing! Can we arrange that, world?

And I *still* don’t know what to do about that damned Mexican flu.

2009-12-07T19:47:00.001+01:00

Out with it!

So yes, ladies and gentlemen... I've been lying to you all for a while now. Well, maybe not explicitly lying to everyone, but definitely keeping quiet or hiding the truth.
Yes, let's call it "hiding the truth". It sounds much better doesn't it.
But the time to hide is now behind us!
And I'm pretty sure that in a couple of weeks time (or even now already. Yikes!) there will be no chance to hide anymore.

We're pretty excited actually.
Pretty thrilled and ecstatic.
And pleasantly terrified. *g*

Let me show you this post from my "supersecret Help!I'mtryingtogetpregnant!-blog" from October 12th:

We're calling him our little Penguin, he or she is now 12 weeks old and is due June 20th.

Until then I'm going to become huge, even more irritable than I already am and my hormones will hijack this blog and turn it into a "My ankles are so swollen it's killing me"-journal.
Don't know about you, but I for one can't wait!

2009-11-29T15:09:00.001+01:00

What an exciting life we lead!

The Girlfriend (sorry, that should be The Wife, still getting used to that) has been ill with a flu-ish thing, but is feeling slightly better at the moment. She's been high on codeine cough syrup since Friday, which is quite hilarious.

Today I negotiated between two feuding cats: "No Kiwi, Zena does have a right to sit here" and ever since Kiwi has been sulking in the kitchen. You've got to love cats who've been scolded, don't you?

We got our wedding pictures last week and The Girlfriend (you know who I mean...) will be making a selection tomorrow.

2009-11-19T18:42:00.002+01:00

Hello all,

Berlin was fabulous. Photos soon. Probably. I think. If I ever stop being so tired all the time.

In the mean time let's hope Van Rompuy doesn't become president of the EU, if only to stop all the Belgian journalists from going on about it all the time. It's doing my head in.
Also doing my head in is the Brits who now seem to be demanding Tony Blair gets the presidency? Eh? What?? So basically Brussels should explode for all they seem to care, unless Tony gets the job?

I know, not all Brits are like that.
And I do love the Brits. Hey, I spent money to see John Barrowman in a dress a couple of weeks ago, if that's not love then I don't know what is!
But when it comes to Eurovision and EU politics... we have a love-hate relationship.

See, I'm too tired to try and be funny. It must be serious!

EDIT: crap. I spoke too soon. Herman it is then.
Christ.
He must be the most colourless uncharismatic human being alive.
Just don't try and force Yves Bloody Leterme on us as prime minister again.

2009-11-06T23:22:00.003+01:00

Globetrotters

And we're off to Berlin in the morning.

Our London honeymoon was great. Nice hotel, though a bit too far outside the city center (and away from the embankment...) than we'd hoped. John Barrowman in a dress was cheesy, so yes... pretty much what we thought it would be. Got lost quite a few times (it's only my fourth time in London...) and Bus Service Security thought we were terrorists while we were geocaching. Oops.
Photos will be minimal though since some absolute disgusting arsehole(s) stole our backpack in Brussels South trainstation. It was all too ridiculous for words: one guy distracts me while the other takes off with our stuff, and I'm still reeling from it. I actually ran after him, the bastard. Still, it could have been so much worse. They got our camera, with our photos, some twenty pounds, some paperwork, a nice card from Madscot... but that's pretty much it (ok, a new book, reloadable batteries, an umbrella and Melisssa's favourite cap as well..). But no-one got hurt (sadly not even them) and we're both still here.
Still... that doesn't mean I don't wish them the most horrible diseases on their private parts. Horrible and painful, please.

Needless to say The Girlfriend (I'm sorry, "The Wife") bought herself a new camera for Berlin.

So here's hoping we come back in one piece, WITH lots of photos and WITH our camera still in our new backpack!

See you in a week.

2009-10-27T19:03:00.001+01:00

Oh... And we're leaving on our honeymoon to London on Friday morning.

Yay again! (it'll hopefully help me forget about the crap stuff at work)

2009-10-27T19:02:00.001+01:00

Just Married!

Getting married is a blast, seriously! I'd say we should do it more often, but that kinda defies the purpose.

Some highlights:
- saying "I do" in front of so many friends and relatives. So many more than we expected would make it.
- Smooching ~~the Girlfriend~~ The Wife as wife and wife for the first time
- (and the second time)
- (and the third... yeah, you get the picture)
- Scotsmen coming over
- A faaaaabulous party with friends and colleagues, with minimal embarrassment.
- People who put so much time and effort in their presents (the poor plush snake filled with coins, the geocaches), getting a lovely lovely heartfelt letter from my witness, the surprise some friends had in store for us (Tom Lanoye! Someone pretending to be Neil Tennant and saying insulting things about the Pet Shop Boys!)
- The scrapbook made by our friends
- Our opening dance.... and fighting the tears as we danced it.
- Bursting into tears the day after when we read all the cards and messages we'd got. And a shocking discovery in our guestbook!
Seriously, everyone, thank you so much.

Yay! Getting married is cool!

Some lows:
- running around organising stuff like a headless chicken
- the drunk 40-something cousins with lewd comments

Aaaah who cares. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But only with the same woman though.

On to new adventures!

2009-10-10T12:30:00.001+02:00

Iraq

The situations of gays in Iraq.

Very very disturbing content, don't read it if you think you might not be up to it.
I'd urge all those idiots who say "why must you go on about it time and time again, everyone accepts it now, stop flaunting it" to read this.

2009-10-09T17:42:00.003+02:00

Nobel

Let's hope Obama doesn't start bombing nation after nation during his years as president, or the Nobel Prize Committee will be quite embarrassed. "Oops, sorry about that, world".

And still no mention of me, would you believe it?
Tsk.

Have some Rufus

2009-09-27T13:10:00.002+02:00

Oma

I was never their favourite grandchild. I've known that from a very early age. I don't think they quite understood me, and I didn't quite understand them all that much either. I was good at school, but that was a point against me in their eyes. I was crap with my hands, I was quiet and introspective, and yeah... she didn't like my mother much. I was never "raised" there, the way my cousins were. I spent more time with my dad's and mum's aunts.
But I spent many Wednesday afternoons there, with my youngest cousins. First steak and chips. Then play until our parents got home from work. There was lego, and a little hammer-and-nails carpenters set, puzzles. They had a sandbox in the garden and Stoffel, the turtle, lounging underneath an old tree.

My grandad died five or six years ago. He'd suffered from Alzheimer's for some 15 years, I don't have many memories of him healthy. I mostly remember him smoking, sitting on his sofa, watching TV. Or staring at the TV anyway.
Stoffel, the turtle, died a few years ago, he'd ended up on his back and no-one saw until it was too late.

And now my gran is gone as well.
The gran why my mother called a "very dominant bossy woman" (and she was). Who cooked and cooked, and didn't quite get that I didn't like a lot of her cooking. Who was raised in a children's home, because her parents had too many children and couldn't provide for all of them. I think that was why anyway. Rumours have it the Home was pretty horrible (nuns in the 1920s and 1930s...), but she never talked about that to us. Probably not even to her children. The gran who became a midwife, because the nuns saw she was smart and she was allowed to study longer than most girls her age. The only healthy grandparent I had left from the age of about 12. The one I thought would outlive us all. The very same gran who seemed to form an understanding with me as I got older, as I found my way in the world (perhaps she'd been worried I never would) and who adored The Girlfriend, at times probably more than she adored me. That gran died yesterday. She'd become a shadow of herself in recent weeks and I suppose we should be thankful it happened rather quickly.
She was 91 after all.
A lot to be thankful for.

Up until two weeks ago I was sure she'd be at my wedding. We gave her the invite and she told us we "were two happy souls". She showed it off to my dad. I was sure I'd be able to tell her, some time, that she was going to be a great-grandmother again. I was pretty sure I'd be able to hand her our baby for that all important photo opportunity.
I guess not.
Sleep tight, Gran. I hope you're at peace.

2009-09-22T18:46:00.003+02:00

Lucy

Ik heb een nieuwe grote liefde.
In de auto dan toch.
Ze heet Lucy en ze hangt af en toe aan de ruit van mijn chickmobile. Als ik op huisbezoek moet, of als de schattie en ik ~~de nerd afgeven~~ geocachen, leidt ze ons zonder problemen waar we moeten zijn. Ze berekent alternatieven, vermijdt obstakels en... ze wordt nooit boos op ons. Ook niet als we haar negeren. Dat is verfrissend, na ontelbare kaartlezer/autorijder ruzies in het Piglina huishouden.
Wanneer ik vroeger op huisbezoek ging, haalde ik eerst de wegbeschrijving van routenet. Als ik geluk had, wist routenet waar de straat ergens lag, maar daar kon je niet vanuit gaan. Daarom kopieerde ik ook altijd een blaadje van de Grote Stratenatlas op het werk en markeerde mijn route naar de bestemming in fluo. Soms met pijltjes. En met nota's. Tot slot had ik ook mijn kleine stratenatlas mee en vertrok ik een kwartier te vroeg.
Meestal was ik te laat op mijn huisbezoek.
Zweterig ook, van mij op te jagen en verkeerd te rijden.
Op van de zenuwen en bijzonder lastig.
Maar altijd empathisch! Ah ja, dat is mijn werk. "En hoe voelt dat dan voor jou, zo'n begeleider hebben die een kwartier te laat is, bloednerveus en gejaagd?"

Maar neen, geen GPS, want ik moest en zou de weg weten te vinden en kaartlezen was een intellectuele uitdaging en zo'n machientje kon je toch niet vertrouwen, en ze leiden je altijd blindelings in een meer of een eenrichtingsstraat en hoe dom kan je zijn en ge zijt gij zekers nie wel, zo'n GPS...

De Schattie schafte dan maar Lucy aan.

En nu plug ik Lucy in, ze zegt me waar ik moet rijden en ik vertrouw haar blind. Blind, people. Blind!
Mja, misschien niet zo slim.
Maar ze is zo lief, meneer.

2009-09-21T21:42:00.002+02:00

De vetkuif

Kijk, dan mag hij al eens zijn broek afgestoken hebben for absolutely no reason. En dan nog in het gezichtsveld van de Schattie, waardoor ze nog meer lesbisch werd dan toen al het geval was. En ja, af en toe schrijft hij wel over een "prachttiet" en "prachtbenen" en meer van dat soort foute dingen. Ik wil zelfs toegeven dat zijn accent aan de irritante kant is en zijn ego een halve meter groter dan hijzelf.

Maar af en toe slaat hij toch de nagel op de kop, die meneer Lanoye:

"Literatuur legt niets vast, het vernietigt wat er was. Personen worden personages. Hoe levensecht alle scènes ook zijn, de waarheid pak je nooit. Literatuur blijft een illusie. Een onmisbare illusie, maar een illusie. De vergankelijkheid blijft."

Lanoye over zijn nieuwe boek.
En ja, ik kijk er al naar uit.

2009-09-12T11:03:00.001+02:00

Melk

Kijk daar word ik dus een beetje misselijk van hé. Geen OCMW's waar ze die melk gratis kunnen uitdelen? Geen voedselbanken genoeg, nee?
Walgelijk statement.

2009-09-11T15:41:00.000+02:00

Signs autumn is approaching

- The ironing basket getting fuller, with hoodies and jumpers
- Not having the "but it's way too hot to iron"-excuse anymore
- the kiddie-hankies making room for biiiiiiig hankies
- turning the heating on in the car once or twice already during cold morning rides to work
- pretending not to notice it's not completely light yet when you have to get up for work
- refusing to turn on your lights when you drive to work because it's not winter yet, damn it.
- not understanding why you suddenly have to turn on the lights when you want to read in the evening when you didn't have to do that a few weeks ago
- Eurovision seems so far away. Who won again?
- the pressing urge to buy new shoes
- the pressing need to pity oneself because you have a decent winter coat and a crappy summer jeansvest but absolutely nothing for autumn. Apart from that faux-leather-plastic Buffy-coat you've been wearing now and again for eight years....
- you really want a sexy leather vest
- you already broke your umbrella the first time you used it so now you'll have to buy a new one
- you can't decide what to wear because it's either too hot or too cold
- not putting your sandals away yet to have them nearby for those rare warm days (Monday!)
- The Girlfriend taking advantage of a slight (slight!) dip in temperature to proudly put on her thickest winter jumper
- The gigantic scary enormous hairy MONSTERS that pop up on the walls
- (spiders, yes)
- knowing you'll soon be replacing the poofy sneakersocks with regular socks
- the growing need for snuggles. And blankets. And candles.
- Quietly and nerdily looking forward to the new television season (and just in time, because you've finished watching all the seasons of The Closer)
- Consoling yourself with the fact that the days will get longer again soon. At Christmas. Which is relatively soon.

2009-09-10T18:30:00.003+02:00

Skinny water

For those tired of getting fat and bloated from drinking regular water.

"Skinny Water is a low-calorie water, enhanced with a unique combination of ingredients to help (YOU) lose and maintain YOUR weight. Skinny Water contains selected essential nutrients, hich combine the benefits of hydration with vitamins, minerals, and clinically tested natural ingredients that suppress appetite, block carbohydrates from converting into fat, and increase fat burning, without stimulating the nervous system."

There you have it. There's no excuse anymore!

through Melle

2009-09-10T08:49:00.003+02:00

SPAM! SPAM! SPAM! SPAM!

Mail in mijn inbox van... Els DefuckingScheppers dwaas boekske. Els Deschepper...als er iemand is uit televisieland waar ik zwaaaaaaaaaaaar lastig van word, is het wel Els "De Ziel Die Haar Naam Zelf Koos" Zweefkip Deschepper. En uitgerekend daarvan krijg ik spam om haar boekske te kopen. Heeft de kosmos haar gewezen op die mensen die haar het minst genegen zijn? Of is het de ontgifting die naar haar hoofd gestegen is?

Neen, Els, neen, ik wil niet "even krabben", en ik ga ook uw boekske niet kopen. Nu niet, nooit. Ok?

2009-09-09T17:24:00.002+02:00

Opgelet!

Hoewel een naam niet de oorzaak is van slechte schoolprestaties, is er wel degelijk een verband tussen bijvoorbeeld Kelly en een minder rapport.

En als je in de Bijzondere Jeugdzorg werkt, ken je het fenomeen "Y-children" maar al te goed. Een disproportioneel aantal kinderen in onze "doelgroep" heeft een naam die eindigt op -Y. Kelly, Kimberly, Kenny, Kiany, Tiany, Jamy, Jimmy, Johnny, Shauny. En Kyandro. Natuurlijk.
Als ik een dochter heb, noem ik ze Shyenkya.
Kwestie van alles te combineren.
En orgineel te zijn!
Shyenkya Wildebeest...

2009-09-06T02:14:00.001+02:00

Brilliant

2009-09-03T19:07:00.001+02:00

stomme Roos

Zijn we eindelijk van Stomme Roos af op Stubru, kunnen we weer in de gewone routine vallen van "iets minder onaangenaam wakker worden", dan moeten we wel nog constant die irritante oerdomme reclamespot met Stomme Roos aanschouwen.

Het leven kan toch erg zijn.

2009-08-19T23:41:00.000+02:00

American healthcare debate

2009-08-17T18:33:00.001+02:00

Lewdness

DJ beaten up for playing the Pet Shop Boys

A fate *our* wedding DJ awaits if he *doesn't* play the Pet Shop Boys.
Obviously.

2009-08-11T20:46:00.003+02:00

Yay

Needless to say we didn't crash. For one I'm unlikely to be blogging from the afterlife (I'd hope I'd have something better to do, but on the other hand... I fear I wouldn't) and secondly you'd have heard it on the news: "Famous Blogger Piglet Wildebeest crashes on her way to/from Lisbon. Three people devastated!"

So I'm still here. And what have we learned?

Lisbon is HOT. Very hot.

Lisbon is a popular destination for The Gays. Less so for The Lesbians, but The Girlfriend and I did our best to uphold the Dyke Presence. We started by asking for a double room (we'd booked one after all), instead of the twin room they'd given us at the hotel. A word of advice, if a lesbian or gay couple can check into a hotel without the receptionist double-checking if they're sure they really really do want a double room, it's not because they've got a great gaydar. It's because they've assumed you were straight and have given you a twin. The Receptionist's English wasn't 100% so I made myself clear by saying "we've got two beds in our room and we only want one!". Ahem.
All was not lost though, because when I brought back the key to the twin room to the reception the other receptionist (female, tiny, curls) winked at me.
Score!

We saw palm trees. Yay!

The Portuguese drink something called SuperBock. I think that's a hilarious name.

The plane didn't crash. Did I mention that before? I think it deserves a second mention: it didn't crash. No crashing at all! None! I credit our female pilot with that. Thank you, Mrs Female Pilot, for keeping us safe.

Lisbon is a beautiful city, but also a very poor city. Especially the part where we were staying (the old lower part of the city). We felt like heathens for preferring the Parque de Naçaos (a modern part of town by the Tagus river) over the "authentic" Lisbon.

The Portuguese do weird things to fish. They rip it up and then smother it in scrambled eggs. I mean... What the hell? All I wanted was a piece of codfish and I got... something eggy and weird instead. Then again they probably think I'm weird for just wanting a piece of codfish.

I was either asked if I wanted to buy pot or if I was selling. The man coming up to me didn't exactly make himself clear. Me, I just held on to my bag and started walking a bit faster.

All in all, a very nice experience.

2009-08-03T21:30:00.001+02:00

Overpacking

The Girlfriend and I are masters (masters!) in the art of overpacking. Five days in Lisbon (ok, four and a half)? We've got enough with us to last two weeks! Well... we don't have enough underwear for two weeks, but apart from that, we're all set! We packed trousers, an umbrella, plastic raincoat thingies (well, you never know!), our bikinis, a towel (yes, a towel, in case we make a little trip to the beach and the hotel towels are too tiny), t-shirts, tops, skirts, shorts, and the list goes on and on... I think we could dress a small orphanage while we're at it. Then there's the two tubes of toothpaste (hers and mine), our two brands of shampoo (hers and mine) and the multitude of battery chargers, books and other assorted crap we absolutely cannot do without.

I've not been on a plane in seven years and I'm scared. Yep. Anyone have any valium?

Goodbye internetsssss, I'll see you back on Saturday (I hope)

2009-08-01T13:42:00.001+02:00

Coming out of the closet

For a few months now The Girlfriend and I have been traipsing the countryside and woods looking for GPS coordinates and -mostly- tupperware boxes filled with crap and a notebook. We've even got tools that we drag around with us: a notebook of our own, a walking GPS, tweezers, a torchlight, a mirror, walking shoes, etc. It's all quite scary. We've become Geocachers. Score so far: some 19 "caches found", about as many mosquito bites and a pressing desire for a dog (mostly on The Girlfriend's part).

Next week we're taking a four-day trip to Lisbon (yes, we'll take geocaching coordinates with us). Leaving Tuesday morning at 6.30am (my god I hope that pilot is more of a morning person than I am) and we get back the Friday around 11.30pm. Never been to Lisbon, as a matter of fact I've not been anyplace "warm" on holiday since I was 11. England and the North of France aren't exactly known for their nice weather are they. I hope we don't melt. I hope Lisbon is nice to a pair of lesbians in shorts/a skirt. I hope I find something to eat there. Above all I hope the plane doesn't crash. Did I mention I'm scared on planes? I'm a control freak, I don't trust anyone, especially not a big hunk of metal at an unnatural distance from the ground.
Brrrrr.

Right, off for another GPS treasure hunt!
All together now: Val-deri,Val-dera, Val-deri, Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, Val-deri, Val-dera. My knapsack on my back!

2009-07-24T11:31:00.001+02:00

Close up

"Izegem is een kleine gezellige stad", zo hoort u het eens van een ander.

Ik hoop dat het menske weet waar ze aan begint. Krijgen we nu dagelijks lange files fans van Katja die Izegem binnenrijden?

2009-07-21T22:00:00.002+02:00

Obsession

Saw the Pet Shop Boys on Saturday.

They were brilliant.
We braved punks, drunks, teenagers drinking Pastis from plastic water bottles, rastas and the Walloons for them. And it was worth it.

More photos at The Girlfriend's Flickr

My heart starts missing a beat.
Every time.

2009-07-15T16:48:00.002+02:00

Wedding bells

Getting married, ladies and gentlemen, is fucking hard work.

First our caterer for Saturday dumps us. Us?! Just like that! The wanker! (We found someone else though, after some serious stressing. Ha!)
Then the caterer we'd decided on for Friday seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Doesn't respond to emails and the number on his website is out of order.

Seriously, it's as if these guys don't want to help two überhot lesbians on their wedding day.

We do have wedding rings after being judged from head to toe by a snooty jeweller's assistant (20-something girl, with her fashionable blue shirt tucked in her skintight white jeans, staring down her nose at us: sandals, shorts/skirt and sleeveless tops) - thankfully her colleague was a lot more down to earth and friendly.
In a big shocker the jeweller told us we were "early" for our rings.
Go us!
Of course then my colleague tells me "of course, rings are usually the last thing people have to look for"...

Still to do: find something to wear (note to self: go shopping with my witness, despite how much she'll make me try on. Drag ~~The Girlfriend~~ The Fiancee along with us, or she'll get married in whatever's not in the laundry that day), get a caterer for the bloody stupid family-thing, try to find out if the rumours about brother-in-laws bankrupcy are true (we're planning to have our reception in his pub, so he'd better still be open), sort out the invitations, beg for certain people's co-operation for the party, sign the contract for the party venue (been lying on my desk for weeks now) and *officially* declare our wedding at city hall.
Oh, and about a million other things.

Still fun though, this getting married business.

2009-07-05T01:04:00.002+02:00

Trailer

Just back from the cinema after seeing Ice Age 3 (meh... don't see it if you're not in the company of an 8-year-old). They showed a trailer for "Half-Blood Prince"... It'll be showing less than two weeks from now. To be honest, I'd completely forgotten.
The film will probably be crap, but my god... there were a few shots of Severus Snape and I was jumping up and down in excitement.
Alan Rickman ... that man does things to lesbians. What a talent eh!

There were some gigantic posters hanging in the lobby of the cinema, including the one of Severus above. The Girlfriend stopped me from taking a photo with my brand-new phone (oh yes, I -accidentally- stuck the old one in the washing machine today... it died on me, unsurprisingly, but at least it smells of fabric softener) claiming it would be "embarrassing". Embarrassing? No, embarrassing will be when I stalk the cinema people for a poster of my own!

2009-06-26T18:37:00.000+02:00

Stonewalling

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

The Word - Stonewalling

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor

Mark Sanford

2009-06-26T15:46:00.002+02:00

Yasmine

Ze was "maar" een zangeres/tv-mens/watdanook. En op wereldschaal heeft dit niets te betekenen. Er gaan elke dag mensen dood. En ik *had* ook niet echt iets met haar, in tegenstelling tot veel andere lesbiennes. Mooie liedjes, dat wel. Mooie vrouw, dat ook. Maar toen ik gisteren hoorde dat ze gestorven was, door zelfmoord dan nog, was en ben ik er redelijk ondersteboven van.
Ik denk dat het me vooral raakt omdat ze er zelf voor "gekozen" heeft, hoewel ik niet geloof dat je van een keuze kan spreken in een (vermoedelijke) depressie. Er zelf voor gekozen? My ass, zelf gekozen. Mocht ze weloverwogen, met het volle verstand, de feiten op een rij gezet hebben: "redenen om te leven", "redenen om niet meer te leven", "haalbare doelen op termijn"... zonder depressie, zonder liefdesverdriet, zonder wat dan ook. En als ze dàn gezegd had "nee, dan hoeft het voor mij niet meer", mja ok, dan kan je misschien van een keuze spreken. Maar dat zal wel niet. Dat is er nooit.
Zo onbegrijpelijk, en tegelijk net wel te verstaan. Bovenal zo verdomde jammer.

2009-06-22T20:14:00.003+02:00

Wedding

We're not planners, the Girlfriend and I.
Well, let me rephrase that, I am a planner, but I need a bit of time to panic and flail beforehand. The Girlfriend is very much "go with the flow".
Still, today was the first time we managed to sit down as calm, intelligent adults and do some planning and decision-making for the wedding (only *gulp* four months away tomorrow) without (nearly or totally) getting into an argument.

I'm calling it progress!

Now don't get me wrong, I love this woman and she loves me and there's no doubt in my mind that I want to marry her. It's only I sometimes wish we could elope and be done with it! Worrying about money, stressing it won't be "good enough" and meddling family members form an explosive cocktail that leads to short tempered Piglet, hence the (near-)arguments.
But no more. It's *our* wedding and we'll do what we damned well please. Now can I start looking forward to it?

2009-06-12T16:47:00.003+02:00

Obama

No, he can't.

At least you expect this kind of stuff from a Republican, but when it's a Democrat hailed as "the bringer of change" and god knows what else...well, it makes it all the more infuriating.

2009-06-08T21:01:00.002+02:00

Verkiezingen 09

Is er ook maar iemand verbaasd over de hypocrisie van deze omhooggevallen oetlul?

2009-06-08T07:37:00.002+02:00

Oh boy

So with the European parliament trickling full of nationalistic Europhobes (I'm linking to the UK but I might as well link to any other European country), the Flemish one filling with Flemish Belgophobes and the Walloon one filling with a corrupt party..... how will things fare the coming years.

Hmz.
Allow me to be slightly sceptical.

And Belgium is EU President in July 2010? Let's hope we still have a federal government by then!

2009-06-05T07:35:00.002+02:00

The mind boggles

Gay marriage is sinful and decadent, right? According to some idiots in the States at least. Marriage is a holy sacrament between one man and one woman (or "one penis + one vagina" as I saw on some signs during anti-gay marriage rallies), as God-or-the dinosaurs intended and gays should keep their filthy paws off it. They can have *some* rights, but only separate and not equal. Right?

Right.
And then those same heterosexuals now get to marry a total stranger on a reality TV show. Because that, ladies and gentlemen, apparently is the right way to enter a meaningful holier than thou sacrament.

2009-06-04T23:03:00.001+02:00

The Cuteness!

Gay penguins adopt a chick.

I love penguins.
And gay penguins? How fantastic can you get?

2009-05-29T18:05:00.005+02:00

Professor Vincke

Als 17-jarige, in het laatste jaar humaniora, twijfelde ik tussen pol&soc, Germaanse, psychologie en vertaler-tolk. Germaanse en vertaler had ik afgeschreven op basis van de brochures. Te weinig gericht op mensen. De keuze tussen pol&soc (en dan vooral sociologie) en psychologie was moeilijker. Daarvoor moest ik naar een infodag van de Ugent (toen nog RUG, geef toe, een veel leukere afkorting). Ik vond het superspannend: een échte universiteit! En échte professoren! En leerstof! Waw.

De faculteit psychologie was nogal deprimerend: een plastic aula, overvol en saai uitgelegd. Dan naar de faculteit pol&soc: Informatie in een prachtige aula en één van de mensen die het woord nam, één van de mensen die ik kende van naam omdat ik -als sluimerende lesbo- over zijn onderzoek had gelezen, was Professor Vincke.
Zijn arm zat in het gips. En ik vond em grappig.

Ik koos uiteindelijk toch voor psychologie, het was eigenlijk altijd al mijn voorkeur en ik dacht dat ik met sociologie "toch nooit werk zou vinden". Ha! En met psychologie wel?! De naïeve 17-jarige! Maar ook in de psychologie hadden we het vak sociologie. Een tweetal uur per week. Professor Vincke vond ons niet zo leuk. Of hij gaf toch de air dat hij soms tegen zijn zin les aan ons moest geven: nietsnuttige eerstejaartjes, waarvan meer dan de helft niet eens zou slagen. Of hij vond ons misschien idioten omdat we voor psychologie gekozen hadden in plaats van zijn geliefkoosde vak. Misschien hadden we die keuze wel gemaakt omdat we dachten dat we met sociologie nooit werk zouden vinden ofzo. Tsk.

"Zijn examens zijn aartsmoeilijk", werd er gefluisterd, en "hij heeft een pik op de psychologie-studenten". Plezant. Moeilijke cursus. Maar boeiend. En ja, zijn examen was verschrikkelijk moeilijk. Maar het lukte.

De cursus staat boven in de logeerkamer. Mooi onderstreept en met nota's. En professor Vincke, die is jammer genoeg gisteren gestorven hoorde ik. En da's niet fair.

Zijn onderzoeken wezen keer op keer op de tekortkomingen in het beleid, op het feit dat "all was not well" (denk maar aan de cijfers over zelfmoord bij holebi-jongeren), dat er méér nodig was: meer informatie, meer preventie, meer aandacht voor holebi's. Deze man heeft meer gedaan voor holebi-rechten in Vlaanderen dan twintig roze zaterdagen ooit hebben kunnen verwezenlijken.
Bedankt daarvoor.

2009-05-27T18:58:00.001+02:00

What an amazing song

Röyksopp - The Girl And The Robot from moho on Vimeo.

2009-05-27T09:22:00.003+02:00

Buffy!

Oh my, please spare me from what is undoubtedly a trainwreck in the making:

(...) Plans for a new Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie have inevitably come to pass, with the rights holders of the franchise announcing plans for a new Sunnydale-set film.

But there is a catch.

According to the Hollywood Reporter, the film, which will neither be a sequel nor prequel but a relaunch, is moving ahead with absolutely no involvement from film and series mastermind Joss Whedon. It will also fail to feature TV's Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and will in fact have no connection to the long-running series—meaning Angel, Willow, Xander and Spike will also be MIA.

What's next? A Star Trek film written by the man who wrote crap like Lost? Tsk!

2009-05-27T09:18:00.003+02:00

Prop 8

Proposition 8 was upheld in California yesterday.
But all is not as it seems. The 18000 gay couples who got married in California -back when it was allowed- are still legally married. So that makes some gay couples more equal than others, I suppose.
I wonder how long it'll take before a new initiative is on the ballots.

2009-05-17T15:39:00.005+02:00

Apparently they haven't locked up *all* the gays. Eurovision 2009 Final!

Here we are in gay friendly Moscow, for the gayest show of the year! The show starts with the very butch cirque du soleil. These guys probably keep in business because they’re asked for Eurovision opening acts year after year. The Riverdance guys are waiting for your call, Norway! Save them from bankruptcy!
Oops. I just told you who won. Well, you already knew, didn’t you. Yep, the pre-pubescent boy won. He’s 23 they say. 23? It’s the biggest lie about age since Sandra Kim claimed to be 15, or since Cher ... all the time.

So, Cirque du soleil. There’s acrobatics. Some healthy butch male shoulderpatting (we’re expecting the riot police to storm in any minute now to break up these “satanic acts”) and an annoying little kid. Child labour. It’s Daens, the musical, in Moscow.
Oh my god! The old guy we saw flying through the air with a suitcase was actually Dima Bilan! Who’d have thought! And his jacket gets stuck during his clothes change! Fabulous stuff. Dima Bilan, the man who resurrects ballerinas, small kids and walks over water (ice, but let’s not split hairs) now also runs through walls (walls people!) to be able to perform his song for you again. The Russians are so impressed with his wall-breaking talent they show it three times. In slow motion. To us it just proves they’ve got shoddy bricklayers, but alright.
“And I believe in me” he sings humbly and ascends towards the heavens. Or towards the ceiling anyway.
And finally the show can start! With new presenters, thankfully. A woman who’s wearing 20 boas on her dress and the twin brother Zeljko Joksimovic (or Ross From Friends, or Will From Will And Grace).

Lithuania still brings us the same telekinetic piano playing. We debate whether or not he’s gay but don’t reach a consensus. If he is gay, he’s a powerbottom, we do agree (for the definition of a “powerbottom” I’ll refer you to my friend zurcherart). The flame in his hand must hurt, but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, just forces out a whole story in Russian or Lithuanian at the end of his song. Probably his grocery list. “Mum, don’t forget to buy more burn cream!” No need to be so eager, sweetie, it’s not like you’re going to win. -24th

Anja tells us she gets goosebumps from Israel’s song. Try turning up the heating. No, I do love this, though the sofa is divided. “Rubbish” seems to be the winning opinion. The lesbian lovestory has become even more obvious, when Noa now strokes Mira’s cheek. It’s all a plot to get the straight man/lesbian vote. Or a show of support towards the Moscow gays? Or she’s doing it because Mira’s cheeks are babysoft. “It’s Tatu-light” the sofa remarks. Though Tatu never went this far. They end with some drumming on a tin can. When you’re in a warzone, you have to make do with what you can find I suppose. – 16th

France’s Patricia Kaas (whom we shall not mock because she’s a big star and fabulous and intense and stuff) is missing a piece of her frock. Her shoulder is hanging out, it makes raising her arms a hazard because you never know when a nipple is going to pop out and cause a Russian riot. Patricia Kaas, ladies and gentlemen, doesn’t even need a wind machine. No pyros either. And she doesn’t shout anything at the audience. That means she’s one seriously classy lady. -8th

Aaaah Sweden! The light comes from within and lights up the whole arena. If we wire her to a power grid she could solve all our environmental issues! We’ll have to get out our sunglasses, it’s a wonder her backing singers haven’t gone blind yet. It’s all on tape, it has to be, her singing is spot on. Go Sweden! -21st

When we get to Croatia Anja is recycling Andrés comments from Tuesday and thinks we won’t notice. Ha! We’re sad pathetic die-hards, Anja! We notice! And Anja isn’t the only one doing some recycling: the Russians are recyling their postcards from the semi. Cheapskates. Well, there’s an economic crisis I suppose. The lead singer’s legs are wide apart enough to let a horse through. Who knows, the horse might be backstage. It would explain the riding boots. The backing singers still appear to be very horny, it must be the atmosphere in the arena. -18th

We come to the sad realisation that this final features a lot less glitter and gay than we’re used to for Eurovision. Umlaut points out it’s the economic crisis. No glitter here, we can’t afford it anymore.

Kellly Osbourne is representing Portugal and these people are So Very Happy (not Scary Norway Happy, but getting there nonetheless), there must be prozac in the water. The director treats us to a shot of the drummer’s bum. His front might have been too poofy-looking for Moscow and it probably upset them (have you noticed I’m a bit pissed at Moscow’s treatment of gay rights? Hmm... I’m subtle about it, I know). Perhaps the Montenegrin bumshaking was accidental after all! -15th

We enjoy ourselves spotting Fridrik from Euroband in Iceland’s little chorus. “There he is!” “Oh! There he is again!”. Give the girl a better dress and some glitter and the contest would have been yours! But then the country’s bankrupt, so the wardrobe might have been on purpose. “Barbie goes blue” our token straight woman remarks. Yes. And she can also hold a tune. Our straight guy says he likes it “and I haven’t even looked at her breasts yet”. Well, in that case, we’re on to a winner. -2nd.

Shake your bellybutton, Sakis, shake it! Shake it! Greece needs you too. We’re pretty sure his shirt is more unbuttoned now than it was for the semi (he’s making an effort, after all it’s a bigger occasion!) and even the male backing dancers fall at his feet. Male, female, there’s no escape from the power that is the Sakis bellybutton! He is Eurovision royalty! His shaking gets so enthusiastic he flashes us a nipple. The sofa is ecstatic: Sakis for the win!! The straight guy stares at the TV, openmouthed. Sakis sweetie, you were robbed. Robbed! You’ll just have to try again next year. Just keep trying until you win, deal? -7th

The sofa starts one big exodus/smoking break when Armenia comes on. There’s a lot of smoke on stage as well. The girls are sitting on their bridal cake in the middle of a swamp. “It’s a traditional Armenian song” Anja says. “In English” André adds. Er.... Hang on... The dancers are wearing a garterbelt (ha! Eat that, Dita Von Teese)), which is probably also traditionally Armenian. -10th

Russia’s song is about crying after a lost love, “and where else would you go than to your mum” Anja says. “To an ex of course” the sofa adds, but alas, no-one in Eurovisionland is listening, so we’re treated to a lot of images of the same woman, on the backdrop, on stage, she’s everywhere, singing a god awful crappy song. It’s all quite egocentrical really. She’s got no less than five backing vocalists (with towels on their heads), which must mean her singing is pretty bad. Heck, is she even singing? She might just be letting them do all the work! -11th

“Azerbaijan ’s choreography is a bit amateuristic”, André says. André, the Belgian, says this. Note the irony Mr “I’m from a country that’s not got out of the semis once, while these guys are taking part for the second time, none of us know if they’re even really European and they’re heading for a decent score again”. The straight guy perks up when he sees the female lead singer, but the mind (even his) boggles at the costumes. The lead singer has smoke coming out of her arse and a golden leg. Must have been a terrible, terrible accident.... -3rd

Ah, and here comes André’s and my little jewel: Bosnia. “A passionate lovesong” André says. “Oh? It’s not about communism then?”. “The red flag is the symbol of love” he adds. “It is? Seriously, no communism?!”. But we know better than to argue with André so we accept his words as the truth (the gospel of André shall not be doubted) and enjoy this song. Well, I enjoy it, the rest just suffers through it. The Girlfriend wonders if the lead singer will dare to look into the camera this time (no, but who knows, he might be blind) and a debate erupts about whether or not this is plagiarism, because “it sounds an awful lot like Lejla”. Tsk. Heathens. The lead singer is a bit too old for the emo-haircut he’s sporting, I will admit to that. “It’s the Bosnian Rammstein then”, our Straight Guy says. Bosnia, like Sakis, was also robbed tonight. -9th.

An interval with a bunch of Russians, including a policeman/soldier/their uniforms look so alike it’s hard to tell, who sing very offkey. They also only sing Russian classics. I thought the Pet Shop Boys were big in Russia? You couldn’t have treated us to a heavily accented version of “It’s a Sin”, no? Surprisingly no police force shows up to beat up the camera crew. Or the policeman for singing badly.

Moldova’s written the lyrics on her hand. Probably because she has no clue what she’s singing during the English parts. At least we think it’s English. Since we discovered the song was sung in two languages we’re paying extra attention, trying to find out which bits those might be...it’s hard to tell. There’s a lot of “Ha! Ha haaa! Ha! Ha haa!” going on. But it’s all very energetic and smiley and colourful. Extra points for turning up the windmachine when she sings about “all the weends”. What about those Moldovan winds? We never get to find out... it’ll remain a mystery forever. -14th

Urgh. Malta. She’s wearing a dress. It’s a shiny dress, yes. She can sing. “She’d be the ideal studio singer” Straight Superficial Guy says. Was she always this ginger? It’s a song from a Disneyfilm. The woman deserves a better song... there, I said it. Bad luck, Chiara, though you know, you can always try again. But please... let someone else on that tiny island have a go for once! There’s only three of you and you keep hogging the Eurovision ticket! -22nd

“Estonia’s participants are all very young” Anja says. Straight Man immediately perks up. Shockingly enough they’re younger than Norway (well... “officially” anyway – Mr Rybak’s birth records are probably sealed and Top Secret at this stage-) but they look a lot more mature. Girls always grow up faster, don’t they. What a gorgeous song. Shame about the shoes... dreadful dreadful shoes. They should have asked to borrow That Woman From Euroband’s pink high heels from last year. The lead singer is a smiley and sweet Morticia Adams and Anja says “she’s got one of the prettiest eyes of the night”. Er, which one, the right or the left eye? -6th

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Ronan Keating’s Denmark is there, flying the ~~Irish~~ danish flag. The real Ronan Keating is a liar, André and Anja disappointedly tell us. He promised he’d come to Moscow if Denmark made it out the semis, but where is he? At home in Dublin, that’s where! Tsk! But we shouldn’t be so harsh, Ronan might be stuck at Heathrow, or detained by the police because he looked too much like a metrosexual. Like the Croatian guy, Brink’s spreading his legs so wide he looks like an octopus and we fear he might pull a muscle. We know you’re trying to make us think you’re well hung, but after seeing what Hungary was packing, it’s going to take a lot to impress us. We wonder if the Danes went looking for a Ronan Keating lookalike or if Ronan Keating just fabricated his very own Danish clone. -13th

Germany bring a piano, a weird sofa, a demure looking black guy, a piano player and a tanned gay gentleman in glitter pants and an open shirt (“Hungary’s back!!” We shout happily). “Dita Von Teese was told to cover up during the dress rehearsal” André tells us. Oh, so no boobs to be expected then. Pity, it’s about the only thing that could save this song. Dita Von Teese’s cameo is the most pointless cameo ever. She’s hardly on camera, save for the last 20 seconds of the song, and then they have to introduce her because otherwise no-one will know who she is. As if the name rings a bell now... I do an Anja when I have to admit “I really don’t get the act”. -20th

Yay, Ha-dee-say for Turkey. The audience goes wild (there must be a lot of Turks in the arena then) and we, for our part, demand more close ups of Ha-dee-say’s stomach. It’s a nice stomach and we deserve to see more of it! Unfortunately the director doesn’t seem to be listening to us as he insists on showing us shots of the arena (“look at us, we have a nice building” – It’s not always about you, Russia! Get over yourselves!). -4th

Albania, her dwarf mimes and glittery spiderman come onstage. Strangely enough Kejsi is not scared by either the dwarf mimes or the guy in the weird glittermask (I know I would be), she even climbs on top of them at one point (it’s good to know they serve a purpose) and she manages to sing fabulously despite all the distractions going on on stage. The man who invented this choreography should be exiled, the poor 17th place is his responsibility.

It’s Clearasil time with Norway, “look at us dancing, we can kick our legs up in the air!”, yet again the gays are stunned in silent admiration. You perverts. My god, Europe, those lyrics! “Years ago when he was younger”, what, in kindergarten? The blonde backing singers in their pink curtains are hilarious: “la la la la la la aaa-aah”. Quit grinning like that, Mr Rybak! If the wind changes your face will be stuck that way and then what will you do! “His eyebrows look mean” The Girlfriend whispers, scared, and they do! They do! They’re the eyebrows of hypnosis, destined to lure you into the song and under his spell, ordering you to grab your phone and text him to victory. But I’m immune to pre-pubescent overly smiley boys so I don’t! It seems like I’m the only one in Europe though... -Winner.

“How we doing Europe??!” the Russians ask us. “We don’t like verbs, apparently” we reply, thus giving the Ukraine time to get their kitchensink strip club decor ready.
Svetlana does the splits and the camera zooms in on her crotch. I suppose she was asking for it... “What are those sluttily dressed Roman soldiers doing there?” a naive soul asks, “they’re there to turn on the gays” we reply, “The gays are turned on by tin foil?” . When the camera zooms in on Svetlana’s face the sofa shrieks, she looks about 80! Yikes! “You are sexy bum” she shouts “You are sexy bum!!”.... we’re scared. -12th

Romania’s Balkan Girls still have their mysterious disappearing-in-the-background-ugly-as-the-night-stepsister. I think she’s got the better end of the deal though, who’d want to be remembered for taking part in Eurovision with this piece of crap? “Nice boobs” Straight Man proclaims. Hmm... could this be the reason for her making the final? The straight men, forced to watch the semi by their wives, who had nothing else to vote for in order to confirm their masculinity? Ooh, riverdance! Ooh, the girls have a group hug! Ooh, I wish this song only lasted 3 seconds instead of 3 minutes! -19th (shame on you, Europe, they should’ve come last)

And ooooooh, be still my heart, it’s Lord Phantom Himself for the UK. “Are they doing that thing with the airplane again?” someone asks. See, UK! See! *Someone* is still missing Scooch! But no Scooch this time, there’s smoke, a staircase, four recycled violinists (We *shall use* our six men on stage even if we don’t need them! We have the right and we’re going to use it!), one of whom nearly sabotages the whole thing by trying to punch Jade off her staircase. Now that would have been funny. But the girl can sing –at the points where she’s not moaning in any case-, despite this dire song, there’s very little bad we can say about it. The Lord doesn’t get a great deal of close-ups and thankfully so. He either wants to remain incognito or he knows his face will scare the little kiddies. Whatever the reason, it’s thoughtful of him. The Russians are starstruck and go wild. I go a little bit wild as well. -5th. (Is this good enough for you, UK?)

I always forget about the awesomeness of Finland until I see it again in all its 90s, fire juggling, baseball-cap-wearing-backwards glory. “Is this the Finnish Eminem then?” Straight Guy asks. It may very well be. I’m liking everything this final, I’m going to have to vote for every single country. But not Malta. Or Romania. –last

And the last song of the evening is for Spain. Spain’s girl is dressed in a figure skating costume, the words “take me” appear on the screen (alright then, if you insist... talk about a powerbottom!) and she’s brought her own gaylords. We’re glad to see they evaded capture by the police this afternoon. They’re strutting about on stage, they skip, she crawls, my hormones are all over the place. Crawl for me, Soraya... you go girl. -22nd

And that’s it for the participants. The Russians show us their beautiful, beautiful venue, filled to the brink with beautiful European gay men. If Putin just locked the door and threw away the key, half his problems would be over. Perhaps that was the idea all along... perhaps he did... those guys may all be stuck there.. going hungry. Send us a sign of life, gay men of Europe!
The Russians also try to crush the gays under some kind of swimming pool (nice try, Putin), we figure they tried to recycle Dima Bilan’s ice rink, but it melted.

Highlights of the voting include Anja being surprised at Malta’s 10 for the UK (come on, Anja, get with the Eurovision politics!), our shock at France giving the UK points (and getting one measly point in return from them), Jari Silanpaa looking bloated (Jealous of the Hungarian, Jari?) and someone who looks like Sandra Kim giving the points for Sweden. Ha! And in Belgium she always says she’s sick of Eurovision. Liar!
And the results:
- Despite Sakis’ unbuttoned shirt and nipple flashing he’s going to have to come back again. With even less clothes, this time?
- I suppose that means we haven’t seen the last of Chiara either. God help us.
- The Lord in fifth place. I wonder if he’s happy with it or throwing a fit.
- Lys Assia is dragged on stage to give the trophey to Norway. The poor woman is probably cryogenically frozen after every Eurovision and then defrosted the year after.

I do think Norway’s the right winner, even if it wasn’t my favourite (it’s hard to argue with more than 100 points difference between the winner and the runner up) and more than anything I’m happy Eurovision is moving back to a queer-friendly place next year. Yay Norway!
I think the jury system works, the points weren’t so easy to predict and I think we got a better (more fair) result than we would have otherwise. Despite that, I also feel this was an unusually strong final. I had about 17 countries I wanted to give points to, while in other years I have to do my best to find the 10 I need.
My personal top 5: 1. Greece (obviously!), 2. Albania, 3. Bosnia, 4. France, 5. UK.
The sofa went for: 1. Sweden, 2. Greece, 3. Finland, 4. Turkey, 5. UK.

Now bring on Eurovision 2010!