If they freed me from this prison

I love cable. I’m watching Johnny Cash singing from the Tennessee State Prison 30 years ago. He’s doing a train song medley. Everybody’s hair looks horribly dated except, oddly enough, for the styles of about 90% of the prisoners.

It wasn’t just Johnny playing. but also Linda Ronstadt and Roy Clark and a comedian called Foster Brooks. Anybody remember Foster Brooks? I don’t. Is that what passed for funny back in the 70s?

Do folks play prisons anymore? Do prisoners have cable now and watch Johnny playing to inmates of three decades ago? (I guess some of those guys are still in prison.)

Wasn’t there a song about a guy who wanted to see Johnny Cash and he got into all kinds of scrapes and so forth and ended up in prison where he got to see Cash. Heh.

Prove me right

Ok, I know it’s petty, but it’s not my fault. I keep telling my husband that Inchy the inch worm plays a certain tune – and he says it doesn’t. He is wrong.

What do you think it is?

See how having kids opens up whole new areas in your marriage you never even knew existed.

Ruined

Cletus is just getting to the age where he likes some songs with hand motions. Like the Itsy-bitsy Spider.

My in-laws were visiting from Scotland this weekend and Cletus was fussing – bored, as usual. I suggested a bit of Itsy-bitsy spider. My father-in-law seized on the idea and began singing:

“The isky-whisky spider went up the water spout…”

What? Did he misspeak? Am I hearing that right?

“Down came the rain and washed the whisky out,”

Surely that’s just a horrible, horrible mistake. Itsy-bitsy means little. Isky-whisky sounds like some kind of bizarre Japanese Scotch cocktail.

I wanted to grab him by the lapels and say “Noooo!” But I wasn’t sure if it was his mistake or some kind of weird British version – and I also recognise that it might have seemed a tad rude if I’d done so. At any rate, I’ll keep singing itsy-bitsy and one day Cletus will say “No, granddad sing it right.” And then I can smirk.

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Speaking of songs with hand motions, I don’t really know any more. There are hazy snatches of memory floating around my brain, remnants of my life as a four-year-old.

There is one song I remember, but I’m afraid it’s ruined. Little Rabbit Foo Foo:

Little Rabbit Foo Foo hoppin’ through the forest,
scoopin’ up the field mice and boppin’ ‘em on the head

But my brother and I gave it alternate and very politically incorrect lyrics.

Little Faggot Foo Foo hoppin’ through the forest,
scoopin’ up the field mice and [the rest is really not appropriate for a family blog]

So, I tried to sing the original version. But our version, which made us laugh like drains as youth kept running through my head rendering me incapable of singing it right.

tranferable skills

The Vol-in-Law used to sing songs about cats to the cats. He’d take the lyrics and music to popular songs – and twist them so that they were about cats. Like feline groovy.

But now he sings about Cletus. Like singing Cletus the Fetus over and over again to the theme of Joxur the Mighty, a minor character from Xena Warrior Princess. (Amazingly this calms the little fellow.) Or, since the boy seems to like Johnny Cash – an adulterated version of Walk the Line.

You find it very, very easy to make poo.

and

Because you’re mine, you make brown slime.

Forming tastes

Sorry for the throw-away post today. Tough job, mothering.

However, I just wanted to share with you this photo of the young Master Cletus

listening to Johnny Cash

When we turned on the stereo this morning, he turned his little head toward the speakers.

Good boy, he likes the Man in Black.

Euro-fantastic

We did watch the Eurovision song contest last night. The Serbian lesbian pop ballad won. And I’m a winner, too. Who knew my semi-finals results post would get hundreds of hits off the search string “Serbian Lesbian Eurovision”

It was one of the better songs, definitely. And the staging was really brilliant. Somebody somewhere said “How can we turn a short, ugly obviously dyke singer to our advantage? I know, let’s have lots of lipstick lesbian Amazonian types stiffly writhing in the background, implying that while she might not be a looker to you or me – at least she appeals to a certain type – in Serbia” Whoever came up with that is a pop genius. It really worked. It was compulsive viewing. It handily beat even the most favored entry – the Ukranian transvestite with the nonsense song and the mirrored outfit (that was fab, by the way).

The Texan came over to watch the Eurovision. In her five years here, she had never actually sat down to watch the Eurovision all the way through (I have to admit I don’t always manage it). She was amazed by the cheesy, cheese-cheese of the songs and the strange Eastern-European stylings. Even though she still has family in the Czech Republic – growing up in America you can’t really get your head inside those particular tastes and preferences.

There were some good examples of ethno-pop – and I do like me some ethno-pop (Moldova, Bulgaria, Georgia and Ireland and Greece entrants all fall in this category more or less). You can hear all the songs here and check out videos here for every single entrant.

What’s even more interesting than the performances are the voting patterns and system. It used to be that winners were chosen by a panel who, although internationally representative, were just as on the up-and-up as a Russian Olympic skating judge. But in recent years, the tv companies have figured out there’s a lot of revenue in phone-in, so now each country runs its own phone-in sytem – and the votes are tabulated in a kind of particularly unbalanced electoral college system. That is – the UK can vote for any of the entrants but the British one. The votes are counted and the top 10 entrants are allocated points between 1 and 7 and then 8, 10 or 12 points for the favored contestants. All other entrants receive 0 points (or nil points en Francais) from the UK. Alright, it’s fair enough that Britons can’t vote for the UK entrant (I guess), but why should the smattering of votes of each of the itty-bitty countries count exactly the same as the millions of votes from the UK, France or Germany.

And then what’s worse all the little countries vote in blocks. (See an analysis here) All the Scandinavian countries vote for each other. All the Baltic countries vote for each other. Now all the former Soviet Republics are in the contest and they vote for each other – as do the Balkan nations – united once again in the name of music – which has a bit of a distorting influence. The dire Russian entry – which was all about whoring (I’m not kidding – check out the lyrics ) appears to have won because every surrounding country feared having their gas supply cut off if they didn’t vote for Russia. On the other hand, Turkey with the stupid “Shake it up” seems to have done quite well because Turkish emigrants in a number of Western European countries (e.g. Germany, Austria) voted for their home nation.

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Anyway, congratulations Serbia. Next year, Belgrade.

Eurovision semi-finals – the results

Tonight my husband and I watched the Eurovision song-contest semi-finals. ‘Cause really you just can’t get enough cheesy Euro-pop.

Here’s my take:

Bulgaria – great if you don’t mind the shrieking – they seem to have a nice line in trick drumming and chain mail vests

Israel – apparently a controversial entry “Push the Button” might be about nukes or it might be about sex. It’s appallingly bad.

Cyprus - do you really think singing in French will make the French vote for you. As far as I can tell it’s a recitation of the first two French lessons you’ll ever have – Comme ci, Comme ca

Belarus – nice touch with the 007 moves – the lead singer’s claim to fame is that he looks like Princess Diana in the face.

Iceland – an unhappy halfway house between ballad rock and Eurovision pop – sample lyric “A tiger trapped in a cage”

Georgia - I had no idea that the first generation Klingons were based on the Georgians. This isn’t bad – and I love the men dancing with swords. Careful!.

Montenegro - this is their first time competing as an independent nation. It’s not bad guitar rock – sample lyrics Kochi biscochi, crochi biscochi – is this a song about Italian cookies?

Switzerland - apparently a favorite to break through the semi-finals and win the whole thing – they’ve got a whole gothic ensemble onstage and their song is called “Vampires are alive”. That song would make me want to put a stake through my heart. The ViL says that apparently Swiss vampires are very orderly.

Moldova - lots of tossing drapery about. I’m not sure how the singer manages to keep her trousers up. Perhaps they’re glued on just below the pubic bone. Sample lyric “Never let nobody in“. Sugar, ain’t nobody want to go there…to Moldova I mean.

Netherlands - classic Eurovision bubblegum fare, and good stuff if you like leggy Dutch women pararding around in high heels and white shorts. I imagine this will go through.

Albania – the song: “Hear my Pleas”, the singer: a chubby Albanian waiter, the back up singer’s dress: wow, that’s some fluffy yellow meringue.

Denmark – a pink be-feathered drag queen sings “Drama Queen” – sample lyric: “I’m your drama queen tonight, everything’s gonna be alright” A favorite to go through, apparently. I think it’s dreadful.

Croatia - I liked it. I did wonder how many people their lead singer had killed in the war, though.

Poland - Black Eyed Peas meets the Beastie Boys in the Baltic with girls in cages. Sample lyric (and pretty much the only one) “Everybody has the right to party.”

Serbia – brings us the little known genre of Balkan lesbian pop balladry. The ViL says “If we knew what she was singing it would probably be a lot less impressive – as it is – your mind is free to roam.” Her back up singers writhe over each other in the weirdest, stiffest way.

Czech Republic – make their debut entry here. The ViL says “I’m still thinking about the Serbians”. The Czechs should have waited until next year. Dreadful.

Portugal – I like it. It’s very scorchio. I like a man who’s not afraid to outline his packet in pearlescent white satin and wear a low cut shirt made from net curtains and wave a really big fan.

Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia – even Prince couldn’t carry off using “former” in his stage name. Sample lyric: “Music is the only world for me, in my world we live in harmony”

Norway - a nice little salsa number – those Norwegians – loco! Why aren’t they moving their hips? The ViL says “They’re Norwegians, They’re like Brits, but without our laid back funky cool.” I’ll give them credit for two onstage costume changes – including one that might have precipated a major wardrobe malfunction.

Malta – wowza – something for the laaadies. Shirtless, buff background dancers sashaying around with fans and violins. Sample lyric “Loving you gives me vertigo”. I really hope they make it through.

Andorra – I think this might be emo – in really bad English accented Spanish.

Hungary – a bluesy number. The singer is not wearing any shoes. She’s hugging a bus stop prop. The ViL says this sounds like an actual real song.

Estonia - the singer is a cross between Pink and Posh Spice and she sings just about as well as the famous Mrs Beckham.

Belgium – who knew that Belgians would try to be that funky?

Slovenia - Goth meets Evita. The BBC announcer describes her outfit “She’s wearing a bad leather corset.”

Turkey – No, just no. A new level of sleaziness. But at least the Turks know how to move their hips. Sample lyric: “lovey dovey all the time, I’ve got lots of cake for you”. You have cake? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?

Austria – Rhinestone hoodie lying on a bed of red be- feathered back-up dancers. The male ones have bejewelled codpieces.

And finally…

Latvia – I really don’t know what to say. The 5 Latvian tenors, wearing top hats. Are they singing in Italian?

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And the winners, chosen by phone in voters, are (inexplicably):

1. Belarus
2. FYR Macedonia
3. Slovenia
4. Hungary
5. Georgia
6. Latvia
7. Serbia
8. Bulgaria
9. Turkey
10. Moldova

t-10: the birth ball

Wow, I’ve got to the NASA bit of the baby countdown. 10, 9, 8, 7,… well, you know how it goes.

That’s really close. He could come any time now. (Though, I especially love those women who’ve gone late and looove to tell you about how they were two weeks late, three weeks late, etc. etc. Oh, I don’t know what uncomfortable is, blah, blah, blah. How nothing worked. Thanks. Thanks a lot.) Tomorrow I’m officially at 39 weeks. But I’m not ready yet. And I especially don’t want him to come this weekend.

Here are two reasons why:

1. The Eurovision Song Contest
2. The Birth Ball

What’s the Eurovision Song Contest

Last year, Lordi - a Finnish rock horror band won the Eurovision song contest. Naturally, I blogged about it. Hurray the Finns. Well, this year – 24 more acts will be competing with their own ethnic versions of Euro-pop in fabulous downtown Helsinki.

The ViL and I have just finished watching the semi-finals. There used to just be the one big contest – but what with the fall of communism and Balkanisation and the break up of the Soviet Union – there are now a million more countries in Europe – and they all want a part of the song contest. So there are two stages – tonight we watched 28 mostly dire acts compete for the ten remaining slots in the final. The rest of the slots go to the four countries that kick in the most money to contest (Britain, Spain, France and Germany) and the ten countries that scored the highest in a phone-in vote last year.

It’s all just so exciting, I don’t want to miss it. If you like cheese – and I do – it’s the annual fondue.

The Birth Ball

You may have heard of a birth ball. It’s just a regular old gym ball, but apparently sitting on it will help position the baby correctly the pelvis. Good stuff, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

Apparently, all the OBs and Midwives from miles and miles around will be attending their annual formal ball this weekend. The midwife who taught our class was so excited. She seemed to think that anyone who was anyone would be there. I can’t tell you how confident that makes me feel. I can’t imagine what kind of discussions they have over the punch. And what kind of music do they play at a Birth Ball…answers on a postcard please.

Please, Cletus, don’t make mommy miss the Eurovision finals or labour unattended.

10 days til baby Cletus, (or at least hopefully not ’til Monday – we want to give those midwives Sunday to recover).

Why I love the internet

Ahh, the internet. Bless.

Let’s take that word apart. Inter I think that means something about connections between or across and net meaning tied strands in many different directions. These multi-faceted connections means that we can all put our heads together to come up with some solutions.

Here’s a recent example. I was confused about something. I posted on it. Commenters commented. And then one reader provided a tutorial on her site.

All my questions answered. I now have a vaguely unpleasant taste in my mouth, but all my questions have been answered.

Popular beat combo

I keep seeing this word “emo” to describe some kind of new fangled musical stylings.

What is it? Can someone direct me to the quintessential downloadable clip?

Is it some kind of “txt” version of the power ballad? I mean are kids too lazy to type out whole words these days?

And why does it have its own overwrought I-cut-this-myself-because-I-hate-you hair style, as in:

but, all his hair combed forward, emo style, is just silly looking

I feel old.