Meandering through blogland, I discovered a contemporary blogger whose self promotion is featured in the upcoming August issue of WIRED magazine. Literally, she's going to be on the cover.

It took little probing to discover several online writers who seem to have no problem taking the time to let the world know she sucks. Gawker doesn't like her. Georgetown journalist alumni don't like her. Star magazine doesn't like her, having just last month announced they aren't renewing their contract with her.

Should this ballsy capricious woman deserve beacon status within the realm of online career advancement? I'll say yes until I know better. Though, the rampant criticisms - with palpable resentment - portray her as an older version of the popular white privileged cheerleader slash student body president in high school who kept friends or romantic partners only if they helped her get places. And I just can't stand those kind of people.

Check out her website - http://julia.nonsociety.com/.

What do you make of her on first impression? Respect her drive? Support it even? Think she's a good representation of a Modern Day Ishtar?

Note - I could do without her lip sync vanity videos.

I think this would be as good a time as any to reiterate that I have no control over what I make these lists about.  I relinquished that control the moment I told Nicky Gifts to give me a daily assignment, and all I can do is dutifully complete said assignment or face failure, the penalty for which is seppuku.  Since I’m not quite ready to be disemboweled, I have to just bite the bullet and write about whatever Nicky Gifts tells me to.

Today, I have a sincere challenge.  Today, I have to make a top five list of male pornstars.  I don’t spend too much time while watching porn focusing on the male performers, they’re really more things than people.  The real saving grace of this list is that male pornstars tend to have really funny names, and that is what I am going to use as my main criteria in making this list.

Again, mom, dad, this one might not be for you.

Alright, here it comes, the Top Five Male Pornstars; let’s get it on.

5) John Holmes

John Holmes is a ridiculous man.  He was at the exact right place at the exact right time back in the 70’s, and became a porno icon for it.  He comes in at number five on the list because of the very distracting monologues he’s known to give at the beginnings of his movies, most notably in “My Tongue Is Quick.”  Also, it’s pretty distracting how he’s never really ever fully erect; he’s always got a leathery boner.  It was a different time, I guess.

Credits include: Carnal Encounters of the Barest Kind, Confessions of a Teenage Peanutbutter Freak, and The Lost Gay Tapes of John Holmes.

4) Chocoball Mukai

Chocoball is a Japanese pornstar and professional wrestler.  I don’t really know anything about him, but man, that is a great name.  It turns out that he was given the name because of his darkly-skinned ball sac.

Credits include: I have no idea.

3) Mandingo

Mandingo is an African American pornstar, possibly best known for his roles in the Gangland series.  It turns out that he was not actually named after the Ken Norton movie from 1975, but earned his nickname in high school, god knows why.  Wikipedia has a very interesting passage: “So far the only actresses who have managed to deepthroat Mandingo, are Bobbi Bliss and Alana Moore. Actress Katsumi, who succeeded in deepthroating another African giant, Lexington Steele, failed to do so with Mandingo. The only girl who is now willing to face the challenge of deepthroating Mandingo is Annette Schwarz after her successful deepthroating of Jack Napier.”  This is some great information, Wikipedia.  Only you can tell me what the annual GDP of New Caledonia is and tell me who can deepthroat Mandingo.

Credits include: Big Black Beef Stretches Little Pink Meat #3, Crème De La Face #37: Power To The Penis!, and Different Strokes #11: Boneward Bound.

2) Dick Smothers Jr.

First, he has the words “dick” and “smother” in his name.  Second, he is the son of Dick Smothers, one half of the classic comedy team The Smothers Brothers.  The Smothers Brothers, though not very hip these days, were responsible for some really good comedy and some decent satire in the late 60’s and 70’s.  And now one of their sons is making pornos.  I’m sure papa Dick Smothers is very proud, but really, he should have known better than to give him a name like that in a time like this.  If my name were Dick Smothers, I would have no choice but to make a few pornos.

Credits include: Fistful of Musketeers, Cheeks and Thong’s Up In Stroke, and Smother Sisters.

1) Dick Rambone

As if there was ever any doubt.  Dick Rambone has the greatest porn name ever, and gave himself the name because he thought he looked a bit like Stallone.  I don’t know about that.  Anyway, I don’t really have much to say about him, I really just want to get this list over with, and move on to greener pastures.

Credits include: Boobs, Butts, and Bloopers, Let’s Get It On, Rambone Meets The Double Penetrators, Rambone The Destroyer, and Angels of Mercy.

One thing I could not figure out while a Norwegian was nesting in my breasts and my fat face was smiling in the Korean restaurant wall mirror, was why two sober guys not dressed to party would not only be dining at three in the morning but would also be beckoning us over to join them. But maybe that's just what people who live in San Francisco do. They invite intoxicated strangers to join them for udon and fish while they render a slapstick parody of Don Quixote: Don flexes pecs one at a time and rubs one nipple through his polo shirt, and then Sancho laughs but not from any paunch because he has none.

Once seated, trips to the women’s bathroom become a rotating swing shift between my date and me. I hear my words trail alongside my relaxed gait, “Five times!” in response to voices asking who is sober enough to take us home.

Hours earlier outside the Boom Boom Room where the Norwegian and I drank and started to touch each other, a leather-skinned nomad standing outside generously shared first his joint and then his John Deere hat after I hugged him. I inhaled five times. Bill Clinton said he never inhaled. The nomad found me later in the thick of the club to accept back his hat and to slake my lips with his. He gave me a ripped index card on which was scrawled “Mike” and a phone number.

As Don and San slurp the last of the noodles, the Norwegian holds my hips firmly in his lap. “Mike” falls from my thong to the floor. Don puffs out his chest and asks the Norwegian how it feels to find that I have another man’s number. I stand and float to the bathroom.

If there were a toilet seat cover placing contest, I would win. I think this and think how I’ve thought this before. With a quick grab, sweep up and tug down, I rip the tissue out of the wall fixture, yank the folds out, tear out the perforated middle in three swift motions, and let it billow onto the seat. Stop-watches would click once it lay correctly on the seat. I would get tens across the board.

When I reemerge, Don and San announce that we shall give them a ride back to their place in my car. They will drive for us since neither I nor the Wegian can.

My car coats the streets with our unbridled giggles. I am in love with San Francisco like never before. I reach out the back seat window to touch her as Don takes turns that make me slightly recall my mortality. Embalmed with quietude, she folds under and over us, kneading us into colors and smells of her past and present. She's dirty, and we're dirty with her. I want to kiss her and kiss her deep. If only I could feel my lips!

Once inside their living room, Sancho brushes a 7 iron over a shag rug, Don pops in the movie Swingers where I have never seen Vince Vaughn so young and thin, and plastic cups labeled with pharmaceutical brand names fill with water. I sip out of PROZAC.

The Wegian wedges himself into my space on the couch so that we are conjoined at the hip. He mumbles to my breasts that he doesn't like these guys, that they are assholes. I like them and don't care for him anymore, but I eventually say he's right in hopes that his head will seek oxygen elsewhere. After a few minutes of suffocation, I stand up and limp outside onto the back patio to be alone with my PROZAC. Finding myself walled in by fences on all sides, I drift upward to recline in the big dipper. It is minutes of cold and peace when the Wegian pulls me down to nest and maybe roost. His smile aches.

Back on the couch, I say I feel sober and so we should leave. Don escorts me toward the front door with his hand around my lower back. Don would take me on a private escapade, but I reach for my coat instead.

Using my uncanny sense of direction, we backtrack out of Andy Worhal halls, down an Alice in Wonderland hole of iron stairs, and through coffee-sipping Carnaval security guards to my car. It is 6am. I am not sober. A forty-five minute drive separates me from my empty apartment where I can lick my wounds in peace. "I am sober," I whisper to myself. As we pull away, the Norwegian covers my right hand with his left as a gesture to promise not only sexual pleasure but also protection, from those monsters under my childhood bed most likely. To think, the entire night I defended that his hair was strawberry blonde when everyone – even he himself – told me it was red. In the deafening encroaching daylight, his red hair danced like hell.

“Do you want to come up?” he asked. I leaned over and gave him two light kisses, a few strands of my hair getting in the way.
“We'll do something again next weekend.” My smile said otherwise.

I’m a smoker, ladies and gentlemen.  I know that it’s a really unhealthy thing to do, but I’ve weighed the risks and decided it’s okay for now.  And I’m addicted.

I started smoking a few years ago while working at Forum 8 Theater.  I came to realize that people who smoked got more breaks, and that all the managers smoked.  I realized that the way to get quality face time with the managers was to start smoking, and my plan worked.  I ended up becoming a manager, in no small part due to my witty cigarette break performances.

So, I smoke, but never more than a pack a day.  Unless I’m drinking.  Or I’m particularly stressed out.  Anyway, I feel that I am a bit of an expert in cigarette etiquette, and really in all things related to smoking, so it was with much excitement that I received today’s Top Five List assignment from old Nicky Gifts: Top Five Ways To Light A Cigarette.

I could goof around some more, or tell a nice story about the time I burnt my finger and set my hair on fire trying to light a cigarette with a roman candle, but let’s just get down to business.  It’s the Top Five Ways To Light A Cigarette; let’s get it on.

Before I get down to the business of this list, let’s just take a second to enjoy this picture of a monkey smoking.

There is nothing funnier than a monkey smoking.  Stupid monkey, can’t you read the surgeon general’s warnings?  Here’s another picture of the same monkey, from another angle.

5) Stove Top

Although this method is reasonably effective, and will get the job done, you never, ever use the stove to light a cigarette unless you are in a terrible, desperate place.  I’ve been to that place many times, and being there is no picnic.  The first problem is that most stoves are electric, and it’s exceedingly difficult to light a cigarette on a red hot coil.  The second problem is that this is never your first choice.  You always light a cigarette on a stove after first exhausting yourself going on an extended and fruitless search around your apartment for a working lighter.  As a little bonus, here’s a picture that shows the absolute wrong way to light a cigarette on a stove.

4) Burning Flag

I’m not sure if flag burning is still a crime, but if it is, then I would dare say that it’s the best crime for lighting a cigarette.  How is rape supposed to light your cig?  I guess arson could do the trick, but arson fires are notoriously unwieldy.  I’d probably end up catching my beard on fire.  Here’s a picture of a monkey smoking, contemplating using his cigarette to start a forest fire.

3) Match

Lighting your cigarette with a match is either classy or gay.  Some might say that it’s ironic, but I believe that fits nicely under the “gay” umbrella.  I miss the days when gas stations would give out free matches, as I’m tired of having a lighter at home, but having to buy one of those dollar bics because I want to smoke one on the walk home.  Here’s a picture of a monkey that I guarantee lights his smokes with matches.

2) Lit Cigarette

Now, I’m no chain smoker, but I realize the efficiency of lighting one cigarette with another.  There’s no wasted butane, no sulfur released into the atmosphere, and no warehouses have to go up in flames.  The only thing that could be better than lighting your cigarette with another cigarette would be lighting your cigarette with this monkey’s cigarette.  Be sure to bring him a banana offering.

1) Bic Lighter

As if there was ever any doubt.  This absolutely has to be the best way to light a cigarette because it’s the most common, easiest method.  True, I’m not a fan of child locks, and it’s always a bummer when your lighter runs out of fuel, but I think the pros outweigh the cons.

I’m going to leave you now with a picture of a very confused monkey in a hat and glasses, getting ready to light his tobacco stick.

Boy, it looks like I owe someone an apology, and that person is my dear roommate Nicky Gifts.  As loyal Friesen Pointers will remember, I made some disparaging comments about his ability to be creative.  I said some things that I’m not proud of, and I wish I could take it all back.

You see, the beef I had was that he assigned me a list about beer then the next day assigned me a list about mixed drinks.  I felt that he wasn’t challenging me enough, and that there was no range to these lists.  I was wrong to doubt Nicky Gifts, I should have known better, because today, he’s assigned me a list that is worlds away from the lists I’ve made in the last two days: Top Five Beverages.

What the fuck?  I think Mr. Gifts must be dehydrated or have some sort of mineral deficiency that he’s expressing through these list assignments.  Well, these list topics aren’t my choice, and I have to complete the assignments I’m given.  So, the first order of business is making this list, the second is getting Nicky Gifts some IV fluids before he goes into cardiac distress.  Alright, here it comes, the Top Five Beverages: let’s get it on.

I’m just going to get this out of the way.  I’m going to give an honorable mention to booze.  I’ve already made two lists about the hooch, so I’m going to keep this list in the non-alcoholic realm.  That said, if I didn’t do that, booze would probably be number one.

5) Water

I’m like 85% water.  Enough said.

4) Gatorade

Damn, it is just to hard to choose one flavor of Gatorade.  I’m big on all the X-Factor flavors, I like the Rain varieties; truth be told, the only flavor I don’t like is the Cherry.  That one is shit.  Interestingly, though I love Gatorade, I fucking hate Powerade.  Gatorade’s flavors are better, and somehow the stuff is smoother.

3) Apple Juice

A surprise entry to the list, apple juice makes the cut.  It was a really hard decision to choose between apple and cranberry juice, but in the end, the apple took the glory.  I know that apple juice may be seen by some as being a little childish, but I don’t buy into that.  I think it’s delicious, and should be drank by all.

2) Milk

I’ve always loved milk, and I hope I always will.  I can go through a gallon of milk in a day easily.  Chocolate milk is delicious, strawberry milk is pretty damn good, and I don’t care if this is accurate or not, but I’m counting horchata as a variation of milk.  You can put it on cereal, you can drink it, and though I would never do it myself, you can put it in your coffee.

1) Coffee

As if there was ever any doubt.  Coffee is the greatest beverage ever.  It’s delicious and it gives me a buzz.  I absolutely hate the assholes who learned a lot about wine because they watched that shitty movie with the guy from Big Fat Liar, but I have to confess that I’m becoming something similar regarding coffee.  I can tell the difference between Indonesian and African coffees, and I can even, just by tasting it, tell the difference between brewed and iced coffee.  Some people like cream and sugar in their coffee, but I don’t play that game.  I like my coffee like I like my women: black and bitter.  That’s actually a joke.  I like my women white and bitter, like I like my new invention: bittersweet white chocolate.

I remember when Batman died for me. I love the old campy Adam West Batman film and show which really were what first turned me on to comic books. I also loved the dark Tim Burton movies and as I watched them started to see the potential for comic book heroes to be more interesting than just running around with laser vision. The problem was when Joel Schumacher took over Batman. As much as Batman Forever didn't live up to the earlier potentials, Jim Carrey was a great Riddler and that pretty much carried that film. For me Batman died a little death in the hands of Joel Schumacher's second outing Batman & Robin which earns the dubious honor of actually being one of the few movies that I have actually turned off and left unfinished. I sat through Ishtar. I sat through The Phantom Menace (though I was on a date with a cute girl which was the main reason I did that). I even sat through The Wash.

I usually have a good eye for picking movies, which is lucky, because it is quite hard for me to shrug off a horrid piece of filth once it is in my dvd player. I at least find enjoyment in campy cheesy films such as American Ninja or Dog Soldiers. So the moment when I couldn't find any reason to continue watching Batman & Robin, starring my hero of heroes dressed in leather and psychological illness, I akin it to the death of childhood experienced in today's comic. Christopher Nolan holds in his hands a chance to resurrect that innocence with the Dark Knight Returns. Maybe I'm getting my hopes up to high. I should stop reading the reviews.

Dear Valued Congregation,

The Lord, our God, is an awesome God.  He has the power to crush the most powerful of men and build up the meekest.  Of course, He works in mysterious ways, which as best as I can tell, is the only explanation for the bad run of luck our fellowship has faced in the last few weeks.

I’m sure it’s not news to anyone that our softball team has been in a slump.  We just finished a disastrous series against The Campus Evangelical Ministry Canons.  I know pride is a sin, so I’ll face up to it: we got swept, bringing our record for the season to 17-42.  I feel that a changeup in the roster is in order, and it would probably be in our best interest to explore some trading options.  The only problem, as I see it, is that it’s going to be an uphill battle getting people interested in joining a team with such a miserable record.  I think the best selling point will be something along the lines of “it’s only going to get better from here,” or “we’ve got 80 games left this season, we’ve got to win a few of them.”

Yet, news from the diamond is not all bad.  We have a shining bit of potential that, with any luck, is going to blossom into a genuine talent in the catcher’s box.  Eugene “Pudding” Utz can take care of business at home plate.  I was taking notes during the game, and I honestly don’t think that I saw him make one bad play.  The same unfortunately cannot be said of our outfield.  There were way too many dropped balls, way too many short throws; I was not proud to be general manager.  I decided that the best way to deal with it is make everyone on the team except “Pudding” run some serious laps.

The reason the losses to Campus Evangelical really stick in my craw is that I highly suspect that they were stacking their team with some ringers.  I feel that when you’re involved with Campus Ministry, it’s just too easy to find young talent and they often don’t really love God with all their heart.  Their faith has yet to be tested.  If I had my druthers, there would be standards.  There would be tests potential team members would have to pass before they were allowed to play.  It would involve scriptural identification, quotes, and an essay analyzing controversial scripture.  I have a lot of ideas about this, and I’m going to propose them to the Board of Commissioners next week, so we’ll see how that goes.

I suspect it won’t go too well, but not because my reforms are somehow lacking.  I suspect there will be resistance to my reforms because the head of the Board of Commissioners is none other than my arch-nemesis Tim “Boxcar” O’Conner, head pastor of Trinity Evangelical.  Lord knows he would do almost anything to take me down a peg, but this time, I fear that more sinister forces are at work.

It was announced last weekend that Trinity Evangelical and Campus Evangelical were planning to join up and form a new mega-church, Trinity United Evangelical.  Normally, this would be an occasion for praise, but I can’t help but notice that this particular merge has an amazing undercurrent of conspiracy to it.  You may call me paranoid, but I fear that these two churches are joining up against me.

Let me put it to you like this: Trinity Evangelical knows that we here at Alliance Evangelical are his greatest competition in the inter-congregational sports leagues, save for Campus Evangelical.  The thing about Campus Evangelical is that they’re physically mighty, but mentally weak.  If their physical prowess could be merged with the diabolical tactical strength of Trinity Evangelical (not to mention “Boxcar’s” position of the board of commissioners), that could mean game over for everyone else in the league.  You can understand why this is a great concern to me.  I beg all of you to pray about this, and I will continue to do everything I can.  I think the time may be nigh for me to introduce some “anti-trust” type of legislation to the Tribunal of Elders.  We’ll discuss the particulars at the next workshop.

Your Brother in Christ,

Bill Huffman

Varsity Pastor, Alliance Evangelical Church

Trust Buster Extraordinaire

Dustin Hoffman deixou para trás a imagem de astro difícil e intransigente que costumava enlouquecer diretores e colegas de cena. Pouco sobrou daquele ator perfeccionista que David Puttnam, ex-executivo da Columbia Pictures, teria chamado de ''peste'' no set de filmagem de Ishtar (1987). Aos 70 anos, o vencedor do Oscar por Rain Man [1988] e Kramer vs. Kramer [1979] é um sujeito tranqüilo, amável e piadista. ''Se fosse um animal, gostaria de ser um coelho, por ser o que melhor resume a minha visão do sexo'', brinca o ator, ao promover o longa de animação Kung Fu Panda, no qual dubla um urso mestre de artes marciais.

Leia mais clicando aqui.

Well, Nicky Gifts is back to his old tricks today, or at least he thinks he is.  He must have seen the glee with which I made yesterday’s list on Movies Starring Rappers and he just couldn’t take it.  He had to slow my roll, bring me down to earth.  Thus, he assigned me to write a top five list today about World Flags.

I say that he only thinks he’s up to his old tricks because there’s something old Mr. Gifts isn’t taking into consideration, namely that I know a lot about World Flags.  I mean, I took a Geography class in high school that was taught by the lacrosse coach; give me a little credit.  Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourself for the most informative and educational top five list ever written.  It’s the Top Five World Flags: let’s get it on.

5) Iraq

I know we’re at war in Iraq, and some may see it as poor form to include them on this list.  Not me.  I think this flag is very aesthetically pleasing, that the colors go well together.  I have to hand it to the Iraqi people for having a flag that is one third black, that’s a really brave decision.  An even braver decision, in my opinion, is putting the state motto “Sand Is Not Food” in the center in Arabic.

4) Saint Martin

Speaking of brave, Saint Martin may have the most daring, brash flag in the world.  It is certainly the only flag in the world that features an alcoholic beverage.  In 1643, the duke of Saint Martin, Pierre de Poisson, was sitting in his study sipping on his favorite drink: gin, straight up.  After having a few too many, he realized that he was running dangerously low on gin, and that his wife wouldn’t be going to the market for at least three days.  He flew into a panic, and proceeded to scour the house for any other booze to drink.  Much to his chagrin, he could only find bottles upon bottles of vermouth, a gift from a recent emissary from Italy.  “Alright.  I’ll suffer through this vermouth, then when I’m out, I’ll go back to the gin,” he thought to himself, not realizing exactly how hard it would be to drink straight vermouth.  His throat burned like the sand on his fair country’s beaches at high noon, and it became instantly clear that his plan was flawed.  But the thing about Pierre de Poisson that makes him historically significant is that he was no quitter.  Though the first swig was brutal, he took seven more before remembering the old Saint Martin state motto: “Necessity is the Mother of Invention.”  It was necessary that he not drink anymore straight vermouth ever again, thus, the time had come to invent.  He mixed the vermouth with what was left of his gin, and found that it tasted quite good.  Realizing that he was onto something big, he built a secret laboratory under his home, and commanded his wife to bring him more gin, straightaway.  He spent five years ensconced in that lab, working to get the recipe just right.  People knew he was up to something, but they had no idea it was something so big.  In December, 1648, Pierre threw open the doors of his lab, revealing to the world the first ever martini.  But that wasn’t the half of it.  Pierre had gotten amazingly creative in his solitude, inventing a total of six drinks: the martini, the dirty martini, the pickletini, the appletini, the tomatini, and the smegmatini.  Historians agree that, though five of his drinks have survived over three hundred and fifty years of scrutiny, the sixth was a serious misstep.  All this is common knowledge to anyone with any experience in mixology history, but the truth is that this story is far deeper than mixology mainstream cares to admit.  The truth is that Pierre de Poisson was attempting to make a native currency for the people of Saint Martin, but in his drunken state, could only think of booze.  If you visit Saint Martin today, you can still hear local merchants joke to their customers “that’ll cost you six martinis,” recalling a forgotten piece of local history.

3) Gibraltar

To the south of Spain, Gibraltar is, and always has been, a shipping capital of the world.  Serving as the only way in or out of the Mediterranean Sea, Gibraltar was a major stop for anyone hoping to ship goods to Asia or Southern Europe.  Like all nations who depend heavily on the shipping and port economy, Gibraltar boasted a very diverse population, full of salty characters that worked the docks.  The other thing that sets Gibraltar apart is the prevalence of curious castles with disproportionately huge doors that literally litter the countryside, the presence of which has puzzled historians for centuries.  The historical tale I’m about to tell is known only to a select, privileged few, a group of which you will soon be a member.

The people of Gibraltar are a remarkable people, but if there is one thing that connects them all, it’s that they are horribly forgetful.  Walking around the city, people locked out of their houses were a more common sight than stray cats, which (take my word on this) were all over the place.  In an attempt to alleviate the public’s woes, Archduke Pete made a decree that it would henceforth be required by law for all citizens to wear their house keys on a necklace, that they might never forget them again.  Immediately, things changed and stray cats took back the streets.  However, there were unintended consequences of this decree that the Archduke could never have foreseen.  Since everyone was required to wear their keys, they became a bit of a status symbol.  The richer members of society had bigger keys to fit the bigger keyholes of their grand mansions, while the poor had miniscule keys.  Civil strife began to grow, and the “have-nots” began to resent the “haves.”  The lower class came to realize that though they could never afford a giant castle, they could afford to put a bigger door on their small home, and people would do just that.  It was an all out war, with everyone trying to outdo each other in a shameful pissing contest, trying to validate their self-worth in this disingenuous display of wealth.  To confuse matters even more, in 1302, a very clever peasant named James Blunt (no relation to the “You’re Beautiful” singer) realized that he could just make a massive fake key to wear around his neck; that it didn’t have to actually fit in any keyhole.  He could even make multiple keys!  The people of Gibraltar all assumed that he must be massively wealthy if he could afford numerous keys of such great size, and he experienced an immediate and dramatic social jump.  He was the talk of the town, the apple of every girl’s eye and the envy of every man.  At least he was until Archduke Pete decided that the situation was a little fishy.  He confronted James Blunt at his home on April 20, 1304, demanding that he use the key around his neck to open his front door.  When he could not, the Archduke had him arrested for fraud and perverting the social system of noble Gibraltar.  In a charade of a trial, James Blunt was sentenced to die by drinking hemlock.  Archduke Pete was pleased with the sentence, but had no idea that he had inadvertently created a martyr, a folk hero.  Slowly, a grassroots movement began among the populace of Gibraltar.  The peasants were tired of Archduke Pete’s oppressive ruling style, and began a symbolic revolt by wearing comically large keys around their necks.  The Archduke was incensed, and began a genuine civil war against the people of Gibraltar, which turned out to be his undoing.  The people rose up against him, using whatever makeshift weapons they could make, eventually overthrowing him and force-feeding him hemlock.  In time, the comically oversized necklace became a symbol of the people’s power to stand up to oppressive power.  The lasting remnant of this can be seen in modern hip-hop culture.

2) United States of America

What list of the greatest flags would be complete without the fucking Stars and Bars?  None.  The fourth of July is coming up, and I will be celebrating by getting drunk at 10 AM, streaking while draped in the American flag, then try to put out Nicky Gifts’eye with a bottle rocket.

1) British Overseas Territories

As if there was ever any doubt.  Typically, flags are made to symbolize the majesty of a country.  They showcase the national colors, and often contain traditionally important images.  Britain did something revolutionary when they created flags for their overseas territories.

Each of the flags of the territories contains a Union Jack in the upper left-hand corner, and typically features a blue background, though sometimes the background is red.  What’s revolutionary about their flag system is that on the right-hand side of the flag, the British included a little symbol to warn British travelers about what they would find should they travel to the overseas territories.  Let’s look at a few examples.

This is the flag of the British Virgin Islands.  The crest on the side features a virginal woman carrying a lantern, surrounded by 11 other lanterns.  The latin word “vigilate,” which translates to “beware,” is under the picture.  In the Virgin Islands, there is a shrine to Vesta, goddess of the hearth, which contains an undying flame that is maintained by the Vestal Virgins.  There is a great need for women to remain virginal, so they could work at the temple, thus, a system was put in place to shame women who had sex before marriage.  A series of underground tunnels was constructed that contained 11 “chambers of suffering,” through all of which the soiled women had to make it alive in order to re-earn their purity.  The flag serves as a warning to visiting women, tantamount to telling them, “have sex at the risk of facing the 11 Chambers of Suffering.”

This is the flag of Anguilla.  The explorers who found the island discovered off the shore a race of homosexual dolphins, engaged in a perpetual daisy chain of pure lust.  They were unsure whether it was an interest to the scientific community or a tourist attraction, so they decided to let viewers of the flag decide for themselves.

This is the flag of Bermuda.  Explorers expected to find an island paradise, endless beaches and hot bronze natives.  Instead, they found a reasonably friendly, but boastful dragon who would walk around bragging about the boats he had sunk in the past.  The natives didn’t know what a boat was, so he drew a picture of a ship sinking to illustrate his point.  He promised not to sink the explorer’s ship when they left the island, on the condition that they memorialize him on their flag.  As a jab at his boastful nature, the explorers made a crest featuring their dragon friend showing off the picture of his “finest moment.”

Finally, this is the flag of Tristan da Cunha.  Upon their arrival, British explorers were greeted by a remarkably complicated civilization populated by very militaristic rock lobsters.  The exact nature of their political and social structure has been lost to history, mostly due to the mysterious deaths of all but one of the intrepid explorers.  The one survivor, Upton H. Pennyworth, told wild tales of violent lobsters and their vicious seagull minions, and was promptly laughed out of respectable society and into a hermit-like existence.  In an impassioned speech before Parliament, he spoke these words: “laugh at me if you must, but know that I tell no tall tales.  I have seen the face of terror and it has beady little eyes and ten legs.  All who venture to this damned island shall surely perish, so I beseech you, post a warning true, that no one will again face the horror I have seen.”  Parliament was unmoved by his words and created the flag of Tristan da Cunha as a testament to his insanity.

Guys oriste ena polu wraio kalokairino kommataki...Ligo palio vevaia,alla akougetai aneta kai xalara i...dynata
To klassiko pleon "Alabina" apo ti fwnara tis Ishtar metamorfwnetai me ti syndromi tou Ilan Babylon (ehm...poiou?)kai to apotelesma einai afto to kommati..Kalo einai pantws...

http://rapidshare.com/files/12468537...alla_yalla.mp3

There are in life days when you get out of bed and you wonder why you even bother.  There are other days when you never even get into bed, and when 4:30 AM rolls around you realize that there really definitely is no reason to do anything, ever.  And then there are days that are exactly identical to the one described above, but at around 11 AM your roommate comes home for lunch and tells you that your Top Five List assignment for the day is some lame shit like “rivers.”  I’m living the third type of day today.

Rivers?  Seriously?  I am a goddamn depository of pop culture knowledge, and for some reason he keeps insisting on going for topics that revolve around nature.  I don’t know what his deal is.

My first thought is that he was clearly trying to gaslight me.  He’s trying to sink the fucking ship here by forcing me to write about things that are way outside of my wheelhouse.  But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to challenge me, to force me to grow.  I could write a Top Five List of the Best Pornos with the greatest of ease, but that would be just more of the same.  I would be covering subjects I’ve covered many, many times.

However, the more I thought about that, the more I realized that I’m probably giving this far more thought than Nicky Gifts ever had.

“What you need a topic?  I don’t know.  Why don’t you write about rivers?  You don’t like that?  Fuck you, I lug heavy things up ladders all day for a living.  I don’t have time to spout off my retarded theories on the internet.  I’ve got bills to pay, and it takes work to pay them.  Get a job, you fucking bum.”

Well, whatever his motivation for the assignment may be, it’s time to get started.  Here it is, the Top Five Rivers, let’s get it on.

5) Glenn “Doc” Rivers

I liked Doc Rivers when I was a kid, and why not put him on the list?  His team just won the NBA Championship, for Christ’s sake.  Little known Dan Friesen fact: I had three copies of the basketball card pictured above.

4) Billy Joel’s “River of Dreams”

In the world of mid-nineties easy listening music, “River of Dreams” is in a class of its own.  For a very significant period of my life, I thought Billy Joel was blind because of the line “it can only be seen by the eyes of the blind.”  I know that’s ridiculous, but I was like ten, and I’m pretty sure every time I’d ever seen Billy he was blindingly drunk.

3) The River Styx

What a great river!  The river Styx not only is the boundary between Earth and the Underworld, but water from the Styx was used to bind the gods when they made an oath.  If the god were to break the oath, they would fall into a coma for a year, then be banished from Mount Olympus for ten years.  That is a fucking powerful river.

2) Good Charlotte’s “The River”

As powerful as the River Styx may be, “The River” is ten times as powerful.  Those rocking chords, the power vocals, the vaguely religious lyrics; it all adds up to one wicked rock track.

1) The Meramec River

I’m not sure if it’s white trash of me to love nothing more than getting my buddies together, buying a ton of cheap beer, and float down a river.  Truth is, I don’t care.  I’m a classy dude, but I’m also from the Midwest, and that’s how we have fun around here.  You people in LA can go to the beach, you people in Colorado can go skiing, we can slowly and drunkenly drift down a lazy river.  And no river is lazier than the Meramec.  It’s the highlight of my year, going on a float trip.  It’s just two days of good friends, good times, and bad beer.  It’s heavenly.  I would write more about how much I love floating and how much I love the Meramec, but this blogger is fucking tired. 

Midterms are done, my Top Five assignment is done: it’s bedtime.

(Photo credit for Meramec shot: Mattmatt Crawr)

© Anthony E. Larson, 2006

The Keys to Prophecy VI:

A Great Star

If we look closely at the images venerated by the ancients from the point of view that they may have been inspired by planets standing in close proximity to the Earth, we see them with new eyes.  And because we adopt this view, we can read the explanations of symbols on Egyptian papyri by the prophet Joseph Smith with a fresh perspective that also gives an entirely new dynamic to the imagery of prophecy.

This key is crucial because ancient sky gazers the world over drew remarkably similar pictures and offered stunningly similar descriptions of things that do not exist in our sky, though this vital truth has not been generally recognized.

Amazingly, when we heed Joseph Smith's hints that the gods, goddesses, beasts and other images of antiquity all found their inspiration in Earth's ancient heavens, some of the most mysterious icons suddenly appear to be virtual snapshots of what the ancients saw in Earth's skies.

The star-in-crescent symbol, for example, so dominant in ancient symbology, appears to be a combination or blending of two astral elements: One is the sunlit limb of a planet; the other is an aurora-like discharge from another planet.

These images of "stars" look nothing like things seen in our present heavens.  Yet, Joseph Smith implied that these are the planets and stars of antiquity.

Hence, the confusion of a star/planet symbol with the moon and stars is natural.  The only heavenly object we see today with a bright crescent is the moon.  But if other planets hovered near the Earth anciently, they would have also manifested this same crescent feature.

Certainly, the lighted crescent on the limb of neighboring planets became the basis for a multitude of symbols: the horns of a bovine, the crescent-shaped ship of heaven or the outspread wings of a bird, three of the most common symbols in ancient iconography-all seen in the Joseph Smith papyri as well as in apocalyptic and prophetic imagery.

If the planetary god's crescent looked like outspread wings, then it could properly be described as a great heavenly bird and subsequently illustrated as a hawk or eagle.

Of course, its planetary disk is displayed over its head as well so there is no mistaking where the image originated.  This is precisely what we see in the ancient symbols.

If the planetary god's or goddess' crescent was seen as horns, he or she could be depicted as the bull or cow of heaven, a commonplace description in ancient texts of gods and goddesses.  For emphasis, again the planetary disk is set between the horns.

If the planet's crescent appeared to be a ship carrying the planet around heaven, then the god-with a disk over his head, naturally-would be depicted sitting on the ship of heaven.  This, too, was a nearly universal depiction in Egyptian iconography.

Significantly, these same images, and many more like them, can be seen in the Joseph Smith Facsimile No.2, where they are most often called stars or planets.

Moreover, there must have been much more involved anciently than the simple, pacific presence of large orbs in the sky.  They must have been active, changing, interacting and dynamic powers to evoke the expressions they inspired.

For example, Sumerian texts celebrate the "terrifying glory" of Inanna (Ishtar, Astarte, Venus), invoking the goddess as "the Light of the World," "the Amazement of the Lands," "the Radiant Star," "Great Light," and "Queen of Heaven."  The texts depict the goddess "clothed in radiance."  And it was said that the world stood in "fear and trembling at [her] tempestuous radiance."

Thus, we get the picture from the texts and the illustrations of a discharging planet, emitting aurora-like rays that form the basis for all ‘star' imagery of antiquity.

The Sumerian "Exaltation of Inanna" says, "I want to address my greeting to her who fills the sky with her pure blaze, to the luminous one, to Inanna, as bright as the sun, to the great queen of heaven.

"You make the heavens tremble and the earth quake.  Great Priestess, who can soothe your troubled heart?  You flash like lightning over the highlands; you throw your firebrands across the earth.  Your deafening command...splits apart great mountains."

An illustration taken from an Akkadian cylinder seal shows Ishtar (star) and her symbol, a planet with aurora-like discharge.

The wheel symbol of the Babylonian god Shamash (Sun) looks nothing like the Sun and further illustrates the discharge streamer or star idea.

Both the texts and the images of the ancients tell the same story, each complimenting the other.

In fact, this more fully explains why stars and planets were interchangeable in the ancient mind: In antiquity, a great, nearby planet metamorphosed into a brilliant, awe-inspiring object that earthlings chose to call "star."  This alone explains the graphic language and the myriad star symbols used by the ancients for their star goddesses.

This also explains why all the ‘star' icons, familiar to cultures worldwide, look nothing like the mere pinpoints of light in the night sky that we designate as stars.

No wonder Joseph explained that all these archaic images were either stars or planets.  They were!

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© Anthony E. Larson, 2005

 The Keys to Prophecy V:

Stars and Planets

Up to this point in our examination of the many clues to the extravagant images of prophecy, we have learned that we need not look to mystical texts or veiled mysteries for our answers.  Nor have we found that the answers lie in interpreting prophetic imagery with modern eyes.

Instead, we have found the answers in a more mundane source, in the scriptures and in ancient history-evidence that has been hiding in plain sight all along.

We discovered that the dragons, man-beasts, women, kings, angels, stars and other extravagant images encountered in the scriptures are but descriptive word pictures of the images that the ancients worshipped, the same icons seen in ancient temples, tombs and monuments.  We have seen that the imagery of prophecy and mythology spring from the same, ancient source, hence their similarities.

The next step is a bit larger leap of logic, but a crucial one: What do those images represent?

Looking at the Egyptian gods, we often see large circular icons on their heads, what scholars call "sun disks."  The juxtaposition of the disks and the gods is extremely meaningful.

A common Egyptian theme, Ra (Re) is pictured seated in a bark or ship with a disk above his head.  This same scene can be seen on Facsimile No. 2, Figure 3, in the Book of Abraham.

Scholars explain that the ancients were sun worshippers, so those disks must represent the sun.  However, Joseph Smith contradicted that assumption when he gave us another key, and it has been before our very eyes for generations now.

Those disks and creatures, as Joseph repeatedly asserts in his explanations of the Pearl of Great Price facsimiles, represented planets and stars, not the sun.  The only exception is in Figure 5 in Facsimile No. 2, first called by Joseph a "governing planet."  He then adds the comment that the Egyptians called it the Sun, which is true of the late, corrupted Egyptian traditions his papyrus represented.  But according to the earliest beliefs, her name designates this cow goddess as a star.

The cow depicted in Figure 5 was called Hathor, as we have seen.  Along with her equivalents in other cultures-Astarte, Aster and Ishtar-her name bore the root ‘s-t-r' sound of our word ‘star' (the ‘s' and ‘t' were pronounced with the ‘th' sound in Hathor.) 

Keep in mind that the ancients' designated all celestial objects as stars.  The word ‘planet' (derived from the Greek ‘planeta,' meaning ‘wanderer') is a recent invention, thanks to the telescope that allows us to differentiate between stars and planets. 

Hence, Joseph Smith's designation of a ‘s-t-r' goddess as a planet is symbolically consistent and extremely meaningful.  He thus implies that the stars they worshipped were actually planets, the very thing the juxtaposed disks suggest.

Putting both the creature and the disk together-common practice in early Egyptian religious art-was symbolically accurate and a proper way to emphasize that they both represented the same thing, a planet or star.  In fact, this was a functional way to label the figures, since most people were illiterate.  Instead of text that read "star," those pagan gods often carried or wore a symbol that bespoke their astral origin.

Some of the more elaborately rendered disk images, painted and rendered in relief, look to be nearly virtual snapshots of planets, a few complete with a sun-lit crescent.

Joseph Smith's explanation of disk images such as these was that they represented planets, which is what all such Egyptian disk images resemble.

Let's look closely at how emphatic Joseph Smith was in his explanations of these disks and creatures.

Kolob is said by Abraham to be "the greatest" of the stars (Kokaubeam), but it is represented in Facsimile No. 2, Figure 1 by a figure Egyptologists identify as Amon-Re or Khnum, the creator-god, thus implying that the god was an astral body.

The baboons on either side have what scholars call "moon disks," presumably because of the crescent beneath the disk, placed over their heads in the traditional Egyptian manner.  But these disks do not represent the moon any more than others represent the sun.  Joseph insists that they are stars in his explanation of Figure 5.

What becomes clear is that the objects the early Egyptians called stars would be called planets in our time.  What we see in the disk illustrations are not stars, but planets.  Additionally, only planets have sun-lit crescents, as depicted in ancient art, not stars.

Joseph Smith understood.  He did not confuse the issue, as do modern scholars.  Indeed, one can suggest that what looks like confusion at first blush was no mix-up at all.  By freely substituting the two terms, Joseph honored the ancient tradition.  He acknowledged the ancients' reality that some of today's stars, now mere pinpoints of light, were actually great, nearby planets in antiquity, which dominated Earth's heavens and were worshipped by their ancestors as gods.

Indeed, this hypothesis fits much better with Abraham's vision of the ancient heavens and Joseph Smith's explanations of the facsimile images than any current view.

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Eurovision TV, Jan Demulder, Wim Dehandschutter, Sietse Bakker, Wouter Van Vliet, Oostende, Helsinki, Eurovion Winner's Tour, Euroviosion 2008 Winner's Tour, Eurovision Song Contest 2008 Winner's Tour, Dima Bilan Eurovion 2008 Winner

Uit de resultaten bleek voor de zoveelste keer dat je best veel goedgezinde buren en veel expats hebt.

Nederland gaf de punten als volgt Armenië (12), Turkije (10), Servië (8), Bosnië-Herzegovina (7), Griekenland (6), Portugal (5), Noorwegen (4), Israël (3), Azerbeidzjan (2) en Rusland (1)1. Rusland 272
2. Oekraïne 230
3. Griekenland 218
4. Armenië 199
5. Noorwegen 182
6. Servië 160
7. Turkije 138
8. Azerbeidzjan 132
9. Israël 125
10. Bosnië-Herzegovina 110
11. Georgië 83
12. Letland 83
13. Portugal 69
14. IJsland 64
15. Denemarken 60
16. Spanje 55
17. Albanië 55
18. Zweden 47
19. Frankrijk 47
20. Roemenië 45
21. Kroatië 44
22. Finland 35
23. Duitsland 14
24. Polen 14
25. Verenigd Koninkrijk 14

Wie gaf wie punten in de finale

De Russen eindigden in 2006 en 2007 al in de top 3. In 2006 werd Dima Bilan zelf 2e achter Lordi. Vorig jaar eindigde Serebro als derde. Volgend jaar zal het festival daarmee in Rusland worden gehouden, zeer waarschijnlijk in één van de ijshockeyhallen in Sint Petersburg of Moskou op 12, 14 en 16 mei.

Voor het Verenigd Koninkrijk waren de rapen weer zuur. Even if van Andy Abraham eindigde als laatste. Ook Duitsland bakte er niet veel van, maar werd gered door Bulgarije dat vanwege de Bulgaarse achtergrond van één van de No Angels 12 punten uitdeelde. Polen bakte er niet veel van met ook maar 14 punten. Kroatië werd nog vierde in de tweede halve finale, maar duikelde naar de 21e plek in de finale. Denemarken werd 3e, maar in de finale slechts 15e. Ook Portugal ging flink achteruit van een tweede plek in de semi naar een 13e in de finale.

Frankrijk en Spanje deden het nog enigszins aardig vergeleken met afgelopen jaren, terwijl Charlotte Perrelli negen jaar na haar winst in Jeruzalem niet verder kwam dan de 18e plek en in haar halve finale nog werd gered door de jury's.

Nederland 13e in halve finale
De EBU maakte meteen na afloop ook de uitslag bekend van de beide halve finales. Hind eindigde dinsdag voor Nederland met Your heart belongs to me op een 13e stek met 27 punten. De Belgen van Ishtar op een 17e plek met 16 punten. Nederland ontving punten uit België (8), Israël (1), Noorwegen (7), Roemenië (3), Azerbeidzjan (2), Armenië (3) en San Marino (3).

België kreeg enkel punten uit Nederland (10) en Estland (6). Griekenland won de eerste halve finale, voor Armenië en Rusland. Debutant San Marino werd laatste.

Nederland gaf de 12 aan Armenië, de 10 zoals gezegd aan België en de 8 aan Griekenland. Verder punten voor Bosnië-Herzegovina (7), Israël (6), Noorwegen (5), Azerbeidzjan (4), Rusland (3), Finland (2) en Ierland (1).

De tweede halve finale werd gewonnen door Oekraïne voor Portugal en Denemarken. Zweden eindigde slechts als 12e, maar werd opgepikt door de jury ten koste van VJR Macedonië dat 10e werd in de televoting. Hongarije werd laatste.

Uitslag eerste halve finale:
1. Griekenland 156
2. Armenië 139
3. Rusland 135
4. Noorwegen 106
5. Israël 104
6. Azerbeidzjan 96
7. Roemenië 94
8. Finland 79
9. Bosnië-Herzegovina 72
10. Polen 42
11. Slovenië 36
12. Moldavië 36
13. Nederland 27
14. Montenegro 23
15. Ierland 22
16. Andorra 22
17. België 16
18. Estland 18
19. San Marino 5

Uitslag tweede halve finale:
1. Oekraïne 152
2. Portugal 120
3. Denemarken 112
4. Kroatië 112
5. Georgië 107
6. Letland 86
7. Turkije 85
8. IJsland 68
9. Albanië 67
10. VJR Macedonië 64
11. Bulgarije 56
12. Zweden 54*
13. Zwitserland 47
14. Malta 38
15. Cyprus 36
16. Litouwen 30
17. Wit-Rusland 27
18. Tsjechië 9
19. Hongarije 6

* = jurykeus

Auteur en columnist Tom Naegels meent dat we dit jaar het Eurovision Song Contest hadden moeten boycotten. Ook weerlegt hij dat het Festival zo holebi is.

Holebisi Na Jalisi, Tom Naegels, Spijkerschrift, De Standaard, 24.05.2008

Alsof ze nog geen problemen genoeg hebben met adoptie, spermadonors en het gewauwel van Eva Pauwels. Nu krijgen de lesbiennes ook nog eens de schuld van de val van Ishtar. 'Het Eurovisie Songfestival is een amalgaam van televisiespektakel, camp en kitsch', moppert Marc Coenegracht, de Peter Koelewijn onder de societyjournalisten, in zijn analyse van zwarte dinsdag. 'Een hoogfeest van holebi's die met hoge eigendunk denken dat ze dit gebeuren in handen hebben.'

Holebi's? De ho's, ja, die. Maar de lebi's? Dat rare neologisme is net uitgevonden om de veel discretere laatsten niet te associëren met de gatpluimerij van de eersten! En nu gaan ze toch weer mee in het bad. Laat dit duidelijk zijn: als Ishtar sinds dinsdag door het leven gaat als ikdàchthetnishtar, dan ligt dat mogelijk aan de homo's, die zich massaal solidair verklaarden met hun broeder uit Israël of die Poolse die ooit een man geweest moest zijn, voor hij stierf. Maar niét aan de Stephanies en Yanaikas onder ons. Anders zat Malta nu wel in de finale.

Tenzij Coenegracht gewoon gevolg gaf aan de directieven uit Belgrado, om niet te openlijk homoseksueel te praten, te leven of te zijn. Holebi klinkt verhullender dan homo, met wat geluk denken die Serviërs dat het iets is uit die ishtaal die ze bij ons spreken. (Holebisi Na Jalini: zie je dat het vunzig was! En die Michel danste al zo fattig. Met zijn liertje pleziertje. En dat fruitige luitje.

'Kolosali krokodili'? Zeg maar niets meer. 'O bulo diti non slukati'? Als Michel daar al niet voor te vinden is, ons zeker niet gezien! Vade retro, bulo diti! Het moet trouwens een serieus vergiftigd geschenk geweest zijn, dat Servië het festival moest organiseren. Een land waar tweederde van de inwoners ervan overtuigd is dat homoseksualiteit een ziekte is.

Waar de Israëlische finalist een reëel risico loopt om de finale niet te halen, tenzij hij tot vanavond in zijn hotelkamer blijft. Waar Gay Prides traditioneel uit elkaar worden geranseld door milities met heimwee naar de zuiveringen van weleer. Zo'n land organiseert de grootste Gay Pride van het oude continent, de Studio 54 van de Europese tv, de musicalversie van Will & Grace. Om rond te toeteren dat ze helemaal mee zijn met het moderne Europa. Kom allemaal bij ons op vakantie! Maar ondertussen wel briefjes uitdelen: als u homo bent, gelieve dat niet te zijn.

Eigenlijk hadden we om die reden alleen al het festival moeten boycotten. Een beetje zoals Ann Van Elsen dat deed met de Miss World: goed weten dat je gaat verliezen, en dat verhullen met gewetensbezwaren. Ik hoop dat ons land op zijn minst protest heeft aangetekend tegen die kolosali homofobi? Als er bij Bart Peeters twee wodka-slempende kampbewaarsters met een zweep worden voorgesteld als 'typische Servische vrouw', dan eist Belgrado geheid excuses. Dan hebben wij ook recht op onze verontwaardiging.

Al zijn er landen die nog minder staan te springen om het Songfestival te organiseren. Gambia, om er maar een te noemen. Daar gaat president Yahya Jammeh homo's vanaf vandaag het hoofd afsnijden. Kwestie van uit de relatieve internationale anonimiteit te treden. Pech voor 'sexy loverman' uit Serekunda, die zich op cyberdating.com voorstelt als easy going gay in the Gambia. Look sexy all over my body which men have to look like.

Pech ook voor 63-jarige Björn uit Oslo, die op globalgayz.com vertelt hoe een sweet young gay friend uit Brikama hem heeft verlekkerd op de heerlijke naaktstranden in zijn land, en die door de webmaster gewaarschuwd wordt voor bedrog. Maar het meest pech voor de talloze straatarme Gambiaanse jongens, de meeste niet eens homo, die zich als hoertjes verkopen aan westerse toeristen, maakt niet uit van welk geslacht. Je zou verwachten dat hun president hen te hulp komt.

Neen, ze worden straks onthoofd. En dat terwijl de toeristische dienst van Gambia amper een maand geleden nog een hele delegatie Vlaamse journalisten naar het Sheraton van Brufut haalde: een volle week gratis op het strand en in een prauw, in ruil voor een jubelende reportage. 'Het echte Afrika ligt dichtbij', kopte toen Het Laatste Nieuws, boven een lofzang over 'de baobabs en kapokbomen, de primitieve dorpjes met lemen hutten, pindavelden en de stukken jungle met een ongelooflijke rijkdom aan vogels'. Over het sekstoerisme geen woord. In de andere kranten en tijdschriften moet het nog verschijnen: benieuwd of die nu enige schroom voelen.

Het minste wat we nu kunnen doen, is die toeristische goednieuwsshow verknallen. You can't eat your cake and eat it too: ofwel probeer je toeristen aan te trekken en dan gedraag je je beschaafd, ofwel ben je een land van koppensnellers, en dan zie je geen euro. Een beetje zoals bij Servië en Eurosong. Maar dan oneindig veel ernstiger.

Tom Naegels is schrijver

Spijkerschrift verschijnt wekelijks op zaterdag

Dinsdagavond ook naar de halve finale van het Eurovisie Songfestival gekeken? Het Oh julissi van Ishtar werkt me (vooral in de uitvoering van niét-leden van de band Ishtar) danig op de zenuwen. De inzending van Nederland is wat braafjes, maar toch vind ik het erg jammer dat geen van beide door is naar de finale. Vroeger ging het namelijk nog echt om de liedjes en was heel Europa gewoon in de ban van France Gall, Sandra Kim en Teach-In. Tegenwoordig wint het land met de grootste sms-robot.
Het leukste liedje van 2008 komt uit Frankrijk en zal vanavond in de halve finale staan. Of het erdoor komt betwijfel ik, maar het is alvast mijn feel good hit of the summer '08. Alsof de Beach Boys reïncarneerden in het jonge lijf van Sébastian Tellier. En de Beach Boys zijn ook van vroeger. Toen alles nog goed was. En de Polyp nog minder dan een gulden kostte.

edit: Yeay, Sébas is toch door! I love to be wrong. Soms toch.

Een interessant punt, hoe had België het gedaan hadden ze Sandrine gestuurd? En dan vraag ik me af: hoe had België het gedaan hadden we de Paranoiacs gestuurd? We zullen het nooit weten natuurlijk, maar speculeren is zo leuk :-)

En zeg 'ns, zit u nu hierna nu ook weer met dat lullige liedje in uw hoofd?

(Ik weet dat het hier akelig stil is en dat er af en toe een hooibal voorbij komt waaien, maar dat is slechts tijdelijk. Ik voel de kriebels om vers spul te schrijven weer toenemen. Tot later, lieve lezers.)

Even een moment van ingetogen vreugde en opluchting ...

Pak u koffers, rol u matten, we mogen al naar huis! België geraakt weer niet in de finale.
De wederom dodelijke halve finale doet onze Belgische trots de das om. Halve finale vind ik hier eigenlijk een ongepaste term. Iedereen mag meedoen aan het Eurovisiesongfestival, het woord halve finale lijkt dan al een hele prestatie. De voorronde, zo moeten ze het noemen.
In de krant zijn ze van mening dat Europa weer niet voor echte muziek gekozen heeft -wat Ishtar dus volgens hun wel is- en dat freakshows en typische festivalliedjes wel weer door zijn.

Echte muziek, alle liedjes bestonden uit echte muziek hoor. Het deuntje van O jullisi was dan nog eens verdomd irritant en in een brabbeltaaltje gezongen dat niet eens echt bestaat.
Typische festivalliedjes? Kate Ryan twee jaar geleden vergeten jongens? Wat een succes!
Freakshows? Ik vond het gehuppel en hoofdgeschud van Soetkin anders ook wel vrij belachelijk.

Tot voor kort was ik de mening toegedaan dat enorm dwaze dingen het altijd goed doen. Maar deze stelling klopt niet. Ierland, met de kalkoen Dustin, is ook niet door naar de finale. Hoe komt dat? Niet freaky genoeg? Larie en apekool! De West-Europese landen zijn altijd de klos, en zeker sinds het nieuwe systeem met halve finales. Onze noorderburen geraken ook niet meer in de finale. Groot-Brittanië, Duitsland, Frankrijk en Spanje zijn altijd rechtstreeks geplaatst omdat het de grootste sponsors zijn. Voorgaande edities leerden ons dat die landen ook bijna altijd slecht scoorden in de finale, bijgevolg zouden deze landen ook nooit door de voorronde geraken. Italië tenslotte is zo slim om gewoon niet meer mee te doen, en gelijk hebben ze.

Vriendjespolitiek, het kleurt Eurosong jaar na jaar. Slecht nummer of niet, elk jaar hetzelfde spelletje.
Oké, wij gaven de Nederlanders ook altijd veel punten en zij ons. Maar die collegialiteit kregen we niet van onze Franse en Duitse (en Britse?) buren. Dus dat was op beperkte schaal. Wat die Scandinaven, Balkanlanden e.d. doen is een graadje erger.

Zouden we beter ook niet thuisblijven? Ja. Elk jaar weer hetzelfde geleuter. "We zijn er weer niet bij", "Wij zijn zo'n klein landje hé", "Het is geen echte muziek meer, alleen één grote show", "Ze maken ons belachelijk" etc. - ik merk grote parallellen met de Rode Duivels trouwens-
We maken ons zélf belachelijk hé mensen. " O jullisi na jalini... broccoliiiiiii ... " Alstublief zeg.
En natuurlijk is het een show, het is tv. Vroeger konden ze al die dingen niet met effecten of er was niemand die daar nog maar aan dacht; dus was er minder show. Wat moeten ze doen, het op de radio uitzenden? Zwart beeld tonen maar wel klank? En met dat Estland, Cyprus en consoorten zóveel groter zijn dan ons, ho-ho! We zijn zo klein, meneer.

Ach ach, de kans dat we ooit nog in de finale geraken is bitter klein. En als ons dat ooit zou lukken, dan eindigen we zeker in de top vijf. Want dat wil zeggen dat het een nummer is dat aanslaat. Laat al dat gedoe errond eens achterwege. Geen Bartje Peeters meer die weken lang zit te zagen over 'de enige wedstrijd met staatsbelang'. Ofwel doen we niet meer mee, ofwel sturen we gewoon de grootste zever dat we kunnen vinden -ook al denken vele mensen in Europa waarschijnlijk dat we dat dit jaar ook al gedaan hebben- zoals de jongens van Neveneffecten of voor mijn part de kampioenenploeg van Standard met een solo van Jovanovic. Het had ons vast en zeker meer stemmen opgeleverd.

Ach, ik maak er mij eigenlijk al lang niet meer druk om. Ik ben blij dat we er uit zijn, het zal de Ishtar-hype al grotendeels fnuiken.
Ik kijk al vol spanning uit naar de puntentelling op zaterdag!

"Here are the results of the Ukrainian televoting ...

... and last but not least .. Russia, twelve points !! "

Heerlijk.

Ishtar wie?? Hind? Oh ja, wacht, die deden mee voor België en Nederland gisteren?

Sorry mensen, écht het enige land dat we hebben kunnen onthouden is Israël. Boaz Mauda heet hij dus. En de tekst komt van Dana International - jaja, dat is die van 10 jaar geleden.

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Oh ja, hij kan blijkbaar ook nog zingen en wat op de gitaar tokkelen. Maar dat is bijzaak, toch?

Na elke uitschakeling hoor je hetzelfde: het sop is de kolen niet waard. Niet meer meedoen, wegblijven, gedaan, byebye ESC. "Het is nu met rode kaken wat beschaamd rondlopen in Belgrado. We hebben hier eigenlijk niks meer te zoeken, want Europa heeft nog maar eens keihard duidelijk gemaakt dat wij niks kennen van het Eurovisie Songfestival", schrijft Coenegracht.

Homo's met eigendunk

Hij wil Ishtar of de VRT niet beschuldigen. "Het Eurovisie Songfestival heeft echter allang niks meer met songschrijven te maken. Het is een amalgaam van televisiespektakel, camp en kitsch, een hoogfeest van holebi's die met hoge eigendunk denken dat ze dit gebeuren in handen hebben. En misschien is dat ook wel een beetje zo."

Jan Claeys voelde zijn concullega al van mijlenver aankomen, en diende hem meteen van antwoord. "Moeten we nu luisteren naar het gekwaak van de criticasters en nooit meer naar het Songfestival afreizen? Natuurlijk niet, laat ze maar doen. Het zou doodzonde zijn. Het festival is entertainment, amusement en vooral traditie. Het zorgt al meer dan vijftig jaar voor vrolijke familiefeestjes. En dat geef je allemaal niet op omdat het een paar jaar minder goed gaat. Net zoals we niet moeten luisteren naar onnozelaars die vinden dat we de Rode Duivels moeten opdoeken omdat ze het EK of het WK niet halen. Wat een onzin. Straks moeten we onze kustlijn afbreken omdat we een paar slechte zomers gehad hebben. Al dat negativisme: wij doen daar niet aan mee!"

Formule herbekijken

Wel zijn beide heren het eens dat onze Vlaamse Eurosong-formule moet herbekeken worden. Is het nog te verantwoorden, het Eurosong-spektakel. Om de twee jaar in februari een grootse show organiseren, een mini-Idool voor BV's.

Coenegracht: "Doorgaan zou een belediging zijn. Nu niet ingrijpen zou vanwege de VRT-top hét signaal zijn dat men niet geeft om ons imago in het buitenland, maar dat enkel de kijkcijfers van 'Eurosong' belangrijk zijn. De VRT moet een frisse wind door de Vlaamse showbusiness jagen. Geef talenten als Sandrine, Brahim, Geena Lisa het hele jaar door de kans om hun talenten te ontwikkelen."

Claeys: "Maar misschien moeten we nu wel van tactiek veranderen en ook voor een circusact kiezen, en niet voor een liedje. Waar is Kabouter Plop als je hem nodig hebt? Hadden we iemand anders dan Ishtar moeten sturen? Neen. Hoe fijn Brahim, Nelson, Sandrine en The Paranoiacs ook klonken ... ze zouden hier niet zijn opgevallen op het podium. Ook na de bittere pil van gisteren blijf ik ervan overtuigd: Ishtar was de enige juiste keuze voor Belgrado. Het was de inzending van alles of niets. Hoe hard we ook geloofden in alles, het is gisteravond niets geworden."

Terugplooien of verder kijken?

Het is een optie, wedstrijden organiseren voor eigen publiek. Maar waarom weer dingen doen voor eigen markt? Want wat zijn de alternatieven? Idool, Star Academy, X-factor, Steracteur Sterartiest, Zo is er maar één, … allemaal introverte, haast autistische liedjeswedstrijden. Recyclage van bestaand materiaal. Is dat de oplossing? Is het de oplossing dat we moesten zappen naar Mijn Restaurant?

Natuurlijk is Eurosong dure kitsch, natuurlijk is het Songfestival zelf een verheerlijking van ons-kent-ons. Maar moeten we daarom in een hoekje kruipen en mokken? Heel constructief!

Het ESF blijft een culturele ontmoetingen in een Europa dat naar eenmaking streeft. Gaan we echt het asociaal kind van de klas spelen? Neen toch. We moeten blijven gaan. Eurosong hervormen, absoluut, maar blijven delegaties sturen. En zorgen dat we op een andere manier in het Europees nieuws komen dan met slecht voetbal, Brussel-Halle-Vilvoorde of non-regeringen.

Benjamin