Friday, May 26, 2006
Eurovision Rocks! (At least this year it did.)
Word of the day: Schlager
A type of music. You know you are listening to schlager when you hear a song for the first time and it plays in your head involuntarily for the next four days until you stumble to the first brick wall you can find and slam your head against it repeatedly to jar the insidious melody loose from your brain stem, to which it has firmly clamped itself. The tenacity of a schlager can also be compared to the experience of stepping in bubble gum. You try to wipe it off in the grass, but it just doesn't come off. . .or maybe it can be compared to. . .Oh, never mind. You get the idea.
One of the interesting cultural aspects of living in Europe is the yearly schlager contests—the Swedish version called Melodifestival that determines who gets to represent Sweden in the Eurovision Song Contest, in which qualifying countries all over Europe take part.
Schlager is to the music industry what McDonalds is to the food industry. Like McDonalds, schlager goes down easy and is absolutely everywhere. For my husband, KA, and I, though, there is a difference: we avoid McDonalds like dog doo on the sidewalk. As for Melodifestival and Eurovision, we haven’t missed a one since we’ve lived here. Sometimes when I watch these contests, I wonder if I have some serious character flaw that I should write to Dr. Phil about. I mean, the songs and singers seem to all sound and look alike, year after year. Am I just too lazy to change the channel? Am I too apathetic to strive to enjoy a higher form of entertainment (like, for instance, monster truck racing)? Am I addicted? I really do wonder sometimes.
On the other hand, KA’s reasons for watching are not so hard to figure out. And he doesn’t spent a single nanosecond wondering if it’s a good or bad thing.
KA: “Hey, here comes Ukraine's entry! Check out that chick’s, uh…, endowments!
Karen: “Oh, please! That girl can’t be more than 18 years old! She could be your daughter! Besides, her accent is so strong, I am not even sure what she’s singing…’Show me your love, show me how much you care, talk to my cat, I want your mother there?’ That can’t be right. . .”
KA: “Who needs proper English when you look like her?”
Karen: “Yeah, I guess she can just let her ta-tas do the talking.”
KA: “You’re just jealous. Anyway, here comes the Netherlands! Woah! They’re doing a Tahitian theme! Get a load of those outfits!”
Karen: “What outfits? Are those considered outfits?”
KA: “Croatia!! Look at those legs! I’ve always wanted to go to Croatia! Maybe we should book a trip. . .”
Karen: “That woman’s lips are inflated well over the recommended pounds per square inch rating. If she gets in a boating accident this summer, she could float for a week if she has to—but at least the guys backing her up have outfits based on Croatia’s traditional clothing. . .”
KA: “Does she have lips and backup singers?”
Karen: “Yeah, she does. I guess you wouldn’t notice lips or backup singers unless they were affixed to her chest or her butt. I think they should call this show the ‘Eurovision Lingerie and Seductive Dance Contest’. I swear, you’re going to burn the retinas out of your eyes of you don’t blink soon. Wait! Here comes Ireland! Brian Kennedy! Finally, something for me!”
KA: “An Irish dude singing a ballad? Bo-ring! He’ll never win!”
Karen: “I don’t care. He’s got class, and I like his ballad. If he doesn’t win it will be because he’s not an 18-year-old with a big chest and a skimpy outfit.”
KA: “Or because Carola kicks his butt all the way back to the Emerald Isle. . .”
(KA and Karen stop their bickering long enough to be entranced by the popular Swedish singer, who, unlike most of the other female contestants, needs something larger than the back pocket of her jeans in which to pack the clothing she wears for her performance.)
KA: “Wow! She has a really great set of. . . “ (Karen shoots him a withering look…) “Pipes! What a voice! She did us proud! She’s the winner!”
Karen: Yep! She was great. . .Hey! What’s up with this? Is that Finland? What’s with the monster costumes? Except for the lead singer, you can’t even tell if they’re men or women!”
KA: Yeah, that sucks! They could be really good-looking chicks under those masks and you would never know it.”
Karen: On second thought, maybe the monster costumes aren’t a bad idea. At least they’re wearing something. But who’s going to vote for a bunch of people in monster costumers singing a song with a silly name like ‘Hard Rock Hallelujah’?”
After a few more girly-groups and a performance from some Lithuanian guys who sang “We are the Winners of Eurovision” (they weren’t), it was time to vote.
A country can’t vote for its own entry, but it usually doesn’t send its highest points too far away, hoping, of course, that the favor will be returned. So, after each country dutifully gave its highest points to its closest neighbor with which it isn’t currently fighting, the winner was chosen. From among all of the push-up bras, exposed flesh, high-heels, and hairspray. . .the winner was:
KA: “Ah, man! No way! It should have been Sweden! Or maybe the Ukraine…not a bunch of dudes!”
Karen: “Don’t take it so hard! I think the keyboard player just might possibly be female—its costume looks sort of like a dress, don’t you think?”
The Finnish shock-rock group Lordi, in full monster regalia, won the 2006 Eurovision Song Contest. The lead monster said that the heavy rubber costumes are difficult to wash and therefore people do not get too close to them because of the offensive odor. So much for the sweet smell of success. Lordi will, of course, be on hand to perform their rock anthem to kick off the contest next year in Finland. Thank God we don’t have smell-a-vision, because I’ll certainly be tuning in again next year for reasons I’ll apparently never be able to explain. KA will be watching, too, for reasons he can explain without hesitation: He's hoping that the female monster will have taken some costume advice from the other female contestants.
A type of music. You know you are listening to schlager when you hear a song for the first time and it plays in your head involuntarily for the next four days until you stumble to the first brick wall you can find and slam your head against it repeatedly to jar the insidious melody loose from your brain stem, to which it has firmly clamped itself. The tenacity of a schlager can also be compared to the experience of stepping in bubble gum. You try to wipe it off in the grass, but it just doesn't come off. . .or maybe it can be compared to. . .Oh, never mind. You get the idea.
One of the interesting cultural aspects of living in Europe is the yearly schlager contests—the Swedish version called Melodifestival that determines who gets to represent Sweden in the Eurovision Song Contest, in which qualifying countries all over Europe take part.
Schlager is to the music industry what McDonalds is to the food industry. Like McDonalds, schlager goes down easy and is absolutely everywhere. For my husband, KA, and I, though, there is a difference: we avoid McDonalds like dog doo on the sidewalk. As for Melodifestival and Eurovision, we haven’t missed a one since we’ve lived here. Sometimes when I watch these contests, I wonder if I have some serious character flaw that I should write to Dr. Phil about. I mean, the songs and singers seem to all sound and look alike, year after year. Am I just too lazy to change the channel? Am I too apathetic to strive to enjoy a higher form of entertainment (like, for instance, monster truck racing)? Am I addicted? I really do wonder sometimes.
On the other hand, KA’s reasons for watching are not so hard to figure out. And he doesn’t spent a single nanosecond wondering if it’s a good or bad thing.
KA: “Hey, here comes Ukraine's entry! Check out that chick’s, uh…, endowments!
Karen: “Oh, please! That girl can’t be more than 18 years old! She could be your daughter! Besides, her accent is so strong, I am not even sure what she’s singing…’Show me your love, show me how much you care, talk to my cat, I want your mother there?’ That can’t be right. . .”
KA: “Who needs proper English when you look like her?”
Karen: “Yeah, I guess she can just let her ta-tas do the talking.”
KA: “You’re just jealous. Anyway, here comes the Netherlands! Woah! They’re doing a Tahitian theme! Get a load of those outfits!”
Karen: “What outfits? Are those considered outfits?”
KA: “Croatia!! Look at those legs! I’ve always wanted to go to Croatia! Maybe we should book a trip. . .”
Karen: “That woman’s lips are inflated well over the recommended pounds per square inch rating. If she gets in a boating accident this summer, she could float for a week if she has to—but at least the guys backing her up have outfits based on Croatia’s traditional clothing. . .”
KA: “Does she have lips and backup singers?”
Karen: “Yeah, she does. I guess you wouldn’t notice lips or backup singers unless they were affixed to her chest or her butt. I think they should call this show the ‘Eurovision Lingerie and Seductive Dance Contest’. I swear, you’re going to burn the retinas out of your eyes of you don’t blink soon. Wait! Here comes Ireland! Brian Kennedy! Finally, something for me!”
KA: “An Irish dude singing a ballad? Bo-ring! He’ll never win!”
Karen: “I don’t care. He’s got class, and I like his ballad. If he doesn’t win it will be because he’s not an 18-year-old with a big chest and a skimpy outfit.”
KA: “Or because Carola kicks his butt all the way back to the Emerald Isle. . .”
(KA and Karen stop their bickering long enough to be entranced by the popular Swedish singer, who, unlike most of the other female contestants, needs something larger than the back pocket of her jeans in which to pack the clothing she wears for her performance.)
KA: “Wow! She has a really great set of. . . “ (Karen shoots him a withering look…) “Pipes! What a voice! She did us proud! She’s the winner!”
Karen: Yep! She was great. . .Hey! What’s up with this? Is that Finland? What’s with the monster costumes? Except for the lead singer, you can’t even tell if they’re men or women!”
KA: Yeah, that sucks! They could be really good-looking chicks under those masks and you would never know it.”
Karen: On second thought, maybe the monster costumes aren’t a bad idea. At least they’re wearing something. But who’s going to vote for a bunch of people in monster costumers singing a song with a silly name like ‘Hard Rock Hallelujah’?”
After a few more girly-groups and a performance from some Lithuanian guys who sang “We are the Winners of Eurovision” (they weren’t), it was time to vote.
A country can’t vote for its own entry, but it usually doesn’t send its highest points too far away, hoping, of course, that the favor will be returned. So, after each country dutifully gave its highest points to its closest neighbor with which it isn’t currently fighting, the winner was chosen. From among all of the push-up bras, exposed flesh, high-heels, and hairspray. . .the winner was:
KA: “Ah, man! No way! It should have been Sweden! Or maybe the Ukraine…not a bunch of dudes!”
Karen: “Don’t take it so hard! I think the keyboard player just might possibly be female—its costume looks sort of like a dress, don’t you think?”
The Finnish shock-rock group Lordi, in full monster regalia, won the 2006 Eurovision Song Contest. The lead monster said that the heavy rubber costumes are difficult to wash and therefore people do not get too close to them because of the offensive odor. So much for the sweet smell of success. Lordi will, of course, be on hand to perform their rock anthem to kick off the contest next year in Finland. Thank God we don’t have smell-a-vision, because I’ll certainly be tuning in again next year for reasons I’ll apparently never be able to explain. KA will be watching, too, for reasons he can explain without hesitation: He's hoping that the female monster will have taken some costume advice from the other female contestants.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Who Ya Gonna Call?
Disclaimer: This story is fiction. The only truth in this tale is that we really did put Billy together backwards. Since there is no INERT, however, we had to deal with the trauma on our own.
A phone rings at a dispatch center at IKEA headquarters in Småland, Sweden…
INERT: IKEA National Emergency Response Team. What’s your emergency?
Caller: Oh, man, this is really embarrassing. I shouldn’t have called—I’m really sorry to have bothered you…Oh, never mind!
INERT: Wait! Don’t hang up! Please. We’re hear to help you—just take a deep breath and tell me what happened. I’m sure we can fix it.
Caller: I’m sorry, it’s just that…I never dreamed we’d need your services, I mean, I just don’t know who else to turn to and…and...
INERT: Please try to calm down and listen to me--we are professional IKEA assemblers who have special training in crisis intervention, but we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what happened.
Caller: OK, OK. It’s about my Billy…
INERT: Is Billy your husband?
Caller: No, no, I mean the model Billy…you know…the Billy bookshelf.
INERT: Oh, yes, of course! What happened to your Billy?
Caller: We’re having a housewarming party tonight and everyone will be here in a few hours and my husband was putting together the last of our new IKEA furniture, and then…and then…he started swearing, and I ran out into the living room to see what happened and at first I didn’t see anything but then he kept saying, “I screwed up! I screwed up!” and then I saw it and everyone will be here tonight and they’ll see it too and they’ll all think we’re idiots and never speak to us again….
INERT: Ma’am…
Caller: …and our bosses are going to be here and they’ll probably fire us because we’re supposed to be technically competent and we can’t even put together IKEA furniture…
INERT: Ma’am…
Caller: …and my husband tried to blame it on the kids by saying they distracted him but we don’t even have kids but then he said he wished we did because then he could tell everyone that they made him do it wrong and…
INERT: MA’AM! Please! You’ve got to calm down for me so I can help you! Now just tell me what the problem is. Take is nice and slow.
Caller: Sorry! Sorry! Yes…My husband was putting in the last adjustable shelf when he noticed the main shelf, you know, the one that is nailed in with half a million nails and steadies the whole bookshelf was in backwards and the ugly, unfinished side was facing outward and I told him to take the bookshelf apart and turn the shelf around the right way and he did but then all those big, ugly nail holes show from where it was nailed on to the back panel and we’re going to have a house full of our Swedes over here in a few hours and all Swedes can put IKEA stuff together in their sleep and every one of them will notice that we screwed this up and my husband tried to find some wood putty for the holes but nothing really matched and everyone is going to see the holes and…
INERT: OK, OK. I understand. It’s going to be fine. Listen, I’m dispatching an INERT technician to your apartment now with wood putty that exactly matches your bookshelf, and I want you to stay on the line with me until he gets there.
Caller: Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you! Thank you!
INERT: Ma’am? Listen, tell me what your husband’s doing right now. Is he OK?
Caller: I…I don’t know…he was real upset…now he’s laying on the floor next to the Billy bookshelf and his face is purple!
INERT: Purple? OK, if he doesn’t look better as soon as we’re done here you might want to call 911.
Caller: Yeah, OK. I just feel so stupid that we couldn’t do this right. I mean, I don’t know if I ever want to try to put together IKEA furniture again, but thanks for your help on this one. You guys are really a lifesaver!
INERT: That’s what we’re here for—but you shouldn’t feel stupid. I can tell by your accent that you’re not originally from Sweden, are you?
Caller: No, I’m from the States.
INERT: Well, IKEA is all over the world now, but what you’ve got to keep in mind is that you didn’t grow up with IKEA the way many Swedes have. It’s part of our culture now, but for those who are new to IKEA, there are going to be times when things don’t work so well for you, and you shouldn’t feel bad about this at all—it’s perfectly normal, and you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. So don’t give up, whatever you do. You keep buying IKEA products, and pretty soon you’ll be as good at it as any Swede!
Caller: Thanks, that’s really nice of you to say. I mean, we I guess we didn’t have any problems with our Olle chairs, and our Ellinor curtains look real nice…Billy, Olle, and Ellinor…it’s like our own little family…(the caller begins to weep).
INERT: See? That’s the spirit! And remember, we’re always here to help you, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Caller: Thank you! I’m so glad you were there! Oh! There’s someone at the door!
INERT: That’s the INERT technician. Go ahead and let him in, and have a nice day!
Caller: Thanks! You too!
The caller hangs up and opens the door for the INERT technician, who quickly assesses the situation.
INERT Technician: Your Billy bookshelf’s going be fine, ma’am, but I’m not sure about your husband--he's really lost it. Looks like you’re going to need to talk him out of jumping out the window.
Caller: Boy, he really has lost it--we live on the ground floor.
A phone rings at a dispatch center at IKEA headquarters in Småland, Sweden…
INERT: IKEA National Emergency Response Team. What’s your emergency?
Caller: Oh, man, this is really embarrassing. I shouldn’t have called—I’m really sorry to have bothered you…Oh, never mind!
INERT: Wait! Don’t hang up! Please. We’re hear to help you—just take a deep breath and tell me what happened. I’m sure we can fix it.
Caller: I’m sorry, it’s just that…I never dreamed we’d need your services, I mean, I just don’t know who else to turn to and…and...
INERT: Please try to calm down and listen to me--we are professional IKEA assemblers who have special training in crisis intervention, but we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what happened.
Caller: OK, OK. It’s about my Billy…
INERT: Is Billy your husband?
Caller: No, no, I mean the model Billy…you know…the Billy bookshelf.
INERT: Oh, yes, of course! What happened to your Billy?
Caller: We’re having a housewarming party tonight and everyone will be here in a few hours and my husband was putting together the last of our new IKEA furniture, and then…and then…he started swearing, and I ran out into the living room to see what happened and at first I didn’t see anything but then he kept saying, “I screwed up! I screwed up!” and then I saw it and everyone will be here tonight and they’ll see it too and they’ll all think we’re idiots and never speak to us again….
INERT: Ma’am…
Caller: …and our bosses are going to be here and they’ll probably fire us because we’re supposed to be technically competent and we can’t even put together IKEA furniture…
INERT: Ma’am…
Caller: …and my husband tried to blame it on the kids by saying they distracted him but we don’t even have kids but then he said he wished we did because then he could tell everyone that they made him do it wrong and…
INERT: MA’AM! Please! You’ve got to calm down for me so I can help you! Now just tell me what the problem is. Take is nice and slow.
Caller: Sorry! Sorry! Yes…My husband was putting in the last adjustable shelf when he noticed the main shelf, you know, the one that is nailed in with half a million nails and steadies the whole bookshelf was in backwards and the ugly, unfinished side was facing outward and I told him to take the bookshelf apart and turn the shelf around the right way and he did but then all those big, ugly nail holes show from where it was nailed on to the back panel and we’re going to have a house full of our Swedes over here in a few hours and all Swedes can put IKEA stuff together in their sleep and every one of them will notice that we screwed this up and my husband tried to find some wood putty for the holes but nothing really matched and everyone is going to see the holes and…
INERT: OK, OK. I understand. It’s going to be fine. Listen, I’m dispatching an INERT technician to your apartment now with wood putty that exactly matches your bookshelf, and I want you to stay on the line with me until he gets there.
Caller: Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you! Thank you!
INERT: Ma’am? Listen, tell me what your husband’s doing right now. Is he OK?
Caller: I…I don’t know…he was real upset…now he’s laying on the floor next to the Billy bookshelf and his face is purple!
INERT: Purple? OK, if he doesn’t look better as soon as we’re done here you might want to call 911.
Caller: Yeah, OK. I just feel so stupid that we couldn’t do this right. I mean, I don’t know if I ever want to try to put together IKEA furniture again, but thanks for your help on this one. You guys are really a lifesaver!
INERT: That’s what we’re here for—but you shouldn’t feel stupid. I can tell by your accent that you’re not originally from Sweden, are you?
Caller: No, I’m from the States.
INERT: Well, IKEA is all over the world now, but what you’ve got to keep in mind is that you didn’t grow up with IKEA the way many Swedes have. It’s part of our culture now, but for those who are new to IKEA, there are going to be times when things don’t work so well for you, and you shouldn’t feel bad about this at all—it’s perfectly normal, and you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. So don’t give up, whatever you do. You keep buying IKEA products, and pretty soon you’ll be as good at it as any Swede!
Caller: Thanks, that’s really nice of you to say. I mean, we I guess we didn’t have any problems with our Olle chairs, and our Ellinor curtains look real nice…Billy, Olle, and Ellinor…it’s like our own little family…(the caller begins to weep).
INERT: See? That’s the spirit! And remember, we’re always here to help you, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Caller: Thank you! I’m so glad you were there! Oh! There’s someone at the door!
INERT: That’s the INERT technician. Go ahead and let him in, and have a nice day!
Caller: Thanks! You too!
The caller hangs up and opens the door for the INERT technician, who quickly assesses the situation.
INERT Technician: Your Billy bookshelf’s going be fine, ma’am, but I’m not sure about your husband--he's really lost it. Looks like you’re going to need to talk him out of jumping out the window.
Caller: Boy, he really has lost it--we live on the ground floor.
