Author: Purple Wyrm

Hello Dusseldorf!

Viva Helvetica!

In years past I’ve tried to write comprehensive reviews of the Eurovision Song Contest – the first semi-finals of which were broadcast here in Australia last night. I have to admit that I haven’t been very good at this – the constraints of work, grocery shopping, cleaning cooking and all the other daily distractions have left me with little opportunity to rattle off crystaline prose about Norwegians punks playing violins (or whatever).

So this year I’m just jotting down some disparate, stream of conciousness thoughts about each act, and giving them all a rating. Deal with it!

My ratings are from 0 to 5, with the following definitions…

0 – I sincerely never want to hear this crap again! Kill it with fire!
1 – This song is either dull, or annoying or both, and has nothing to recommend it.
2 – A generally poor effort. There are a few decent bits but overall this song fails to impress.
3 – A passable effort, but nothing particularly special.
4 – Now this is a good song. I approve!
5 – This is awesome! 12 Points!

So, on to semi-final 1!

Poland
Sounds suspiciously like Tainted Love. In Polish which is good. Some problematic lighting choices makes the women look like they have glowing crotches. 3 out of 5

Norway
It’s in Swahili??? OK, Swahili and English. Hmmm, she sounds a bit off key – the bits where the other singers are backing her up are a lot better. It’s very Lion King, but kind of catchy. 3 out of 5

Albania
Singer looks like the Albanian version of P!nk. Kind of slow to get going. It picks up a bit more in the chorus, but it’s not grabbing me. Very tense and angsty. That’s it! It sounds like an Alanis Morrisete song! It’s pure Albanian Alanis! 2.5 out of 5

Armenia
A boxing glove!? What!? In English. A bit off key in parts. Oh good lord! That chorus! It’s completely at odds with the verses yet still utterly dreadful! OK, that boxing ring bit is kind of clever, but the song still sucks. Hmm, apparently the rehersal performance was a lot better – which wouldn’t be hard. 2 out of 5

Turkey
Rock song. In English. It’s OK but nothing special. And what’s with the girl(?) in the cage? Singer reminds me of the guy from Wall of Voodoo. 3 out of 5

Serbia
Very 60’s mod style. Quite good, although it reminds me pretty strongly of some other song I can’t pick. In Serbian, which is a plus. 3.5 out of 5

Russia
First up, one of the dancers looks like that weasely guy from Con Air. Steve Buscimi! That’s him! A moody intro before a rock pop boy-band song. In English. The chorus isn’t bad – until it hits the last bar and goes straight into Backstreet Boys territory. “Puts my mind in the dirty zone”? Really? 3 out of 5

Switzerland
A ukelele! Awesome! In English. It’s not spectacular, but I’m quite liking this. Again it really reminds me of another song. Well done Switzerland! 4 out of 5

Georgia
Liking it so far. Wow, that’s one serious set of pipes! Fairly heavy sounding rock. Oh dear. Well. It was going quite well until they started rapping. You’re not Linkin Park guys! Hmmm, parts of it were excellent. 3.5 out of 5

Finland
Paradise Oskar? What? Coldplay sounding intro. Oh man. Those lyrics are… awful. Yes, it’s clearly a Coldplay song with dreadful lyrics. Should have done it in Finish, then no one would be able to tell. Oh well, maybe it’ll appeal to the sentimental market. Creepy smile at end – he looks like a sex offender! 1.5 out of 5

Malta
Good intro. Oh wow, it’s techno. No, wait, it’s Tainted Love again! Not spectacular, but a decent dance track. Oo! Piano break! And there’s the key change! 3.5 out of 5

San Marino
A ballad apparently. Lush opening, though she sounds a bit off key. Now she’s really sounding off key! Song is nothing special really. Loses half a point for consistant off-keyness. 2.5 out of 5

Croatia
What the?! What’s with the guy in the top hat?! What is this?! Ah! It’s a trashy Europop track! About time, we haven’t had one so far! I still want to know what’s up with hat dude though, he’s creeping around like a humaoid mantis. Oo! Costume change! Aha! Key change! Here comes hat dude again for… a third costume change! What a waste of time. – 2.5 out of 5

Iceland
There’s a sad story behind this one. The intended singer died a few weeks before the local semi’s, so his friends got together and sang it instead. Sounds like a Beatles track – a Paul one though. Nothing spectacular, but not bad. Will probably punch higher than its weight from sympathy votes. – 3.5 out of 5

Hungary
Sounds suspiciously like a Celine Dion rock ballad. Oh yeah, Celine all over. Hmmm, a verse in Hungarian. Wait for the key change…. What!? No key change!? Celine would be appalled! 3.5 out of 5

Portugal
Oh wow, they’re in weird, Village People style costumes and have placards. Song is sort of Portugese protest folk pop. Compentent performance, but… weird. And not good weird. I don’t usually say this, but it might have been better in English so we could tell what they hell they’re trying to say. It’s like watching sub-standard Hi-Five, but hey, at least they tried something different. 3 out of 5

Lithuania
An operatic ballad apparently. Ouch, lyrics appear to be in badly broken English. Very musical – as in something you’d hear in a musical. I can tell it’s a good performance, but it’s just not my kind of music. 3 out of 5

Azerbaijan
Lots of “Oh Oh”. Ack, it’s a duet. And one that’s a bit flat too. Hmmm, pretty average pop ballad. Nothing to see here folks, move along. 2 out of 5

Greece
Here come the drums. What? It’s some guy growling things into a mic? Like an angry rapper? And now some other guy singing? What the hell is this? And now we’re back to the growling. You know this could actually work with a bit more integration, but as it stands it’s a mess. Of course the Greeks have a history of winning with absolute garbage, so we’ll see how they go. 2 out of 5

So there we go. I plan to watch the second semi-final tonight and write up a similar review, and the final tomorrow. Let the good times roll!

Tropes on the Ropes

In the grim darkness of the future there are only wiki edits

TV Tropes, was there ever a a better website for losing yourself in? You start at 9:00 in the morning reading up about your favourite movie and the next time you glance at the clock it’s 11:00 at night and you realise you’ve been absent mindedly been chewing on your own arm for sustenance while reading about Brian Blessed.

(Sorry. BRIAN BLESSED!!)

For quite some time one of my (and my friends’) favourite TV Tropes pages has been the one about Warhammer 40k, which does a fantastic job of explaining exactly what the setting is all about, all the time being side-achingly hilarious. So I went to check up on it the other day…

Oh the Horror!!

What was so great about the old page was that it was hilarious, accurate and subtle. A number of ridiculously insane things were discussed in an even, meaured, calm tone, sort of like Stephen Fry lecturing you on the complete works of Stan Deyo. Now it’s like a raving lunatic (or for that matter Stan Deyo) running up and screaming in your face about the complete works of Stan Deyo. It’s informative, sure, but nowhere near as enjoyable.

Or maybe it’s like the difference between a glass of well aged scotch by the fireplace in a well stocked library versus a vodka UDL by the toilets in a high octane nightclub.

Now I tried accessing the history of the page to try and recover my preferred version of the text, but the wiki software used by TV Tropes is strange and confusing to me. So rather than engage in further faffing about I decided to use my extraordinarily powerful memory to try and reconstruct it. So, here it goes, the classic version of TV Tropes’ Warhammer 40k page…

(Well, the important bit anyway)

Thirty-eight thousand years in the future, the mighty Imperium of Man has expanded across the galaxy… to discover that the galaxy is a Hell that would make Hieronymous Bosch crap himself in terror, and it has a Hell. From without, the Imperium is besieged by innumerable hordes of alien monsters from the farthest abysses of space, soulless death-machines and nightmare daemons (as well as nightmare death-machines and soulless daemons, and the occasional nightmare daemon in a soulless death machine); from within, treachery, heresy, plain ignorance and the festering infectious taint that is Chaos threaten to rip it into uncountable pieces.

Warhammer 40,000 is not a happy place. Rather than just being Darker and Edgier, it soaks itself in light-absorbing paint, straps on a jetpack and hurls itself over the edge, screaming IN THE GRIM DARKNESS OF FAR FUTURE THERE IS ONLY WARRRRRRGH! The Imperium of Man is a totalitarian, oppressive, stark, and downright sucky place to live where, for far too many people, living isn’t something to do till you die, but something to suffer through till something comes around and kills you in an unbelievably horrible way, while torturing your soul and melting down your body for biomass – and it’s quite probably something on your own side. The Messiah has been locked up on life support for the past ten millennia, laid low by his most beloved son, and an incomprehensibly vast Church Militant commits hourly atrocities in his name.

The problem is, as bad as the Imperium is, they’re not quite as bad as many of the other factions. Death is about the best you can hope for against the vast majority of the other major players in the battlefields of the 41st Millennium. The basic premise of 40k, insofar as it can be summed up, is that of an eternal, impossibly vast conflict between a number of absurdly powerful genocidal, xenocidal, and (in one case) omnicidal factions, with every single weapon, ideology and creative piece of nastiness imaginable turned up to eleven. The 40k universe is a spectacularly brutal playground of tropes and horrible things taken to their absolute extreme, and in some cases, beyond. Entire planets with populations of billions are lost due to rounding errors in tax returns. Orders a million strong of capricious, fanatical, genetically engineered Super Soldier Knights Templar serve as the Imperium’s special forces, while the trillions of soldiers in its regular armies take disregard for human life to new and interesting extremes. A futuristic space Inquisition ruthlessly hunts down anyone with even a hint of the taint of the heretic, the mutant, or the alien, and is backed up by legions of psychic daemonhunting elite super-soldiers and fanatical pyromaniac power-armoured battle nuns. The standard-issue sidearm of a Space Marine is a fully automatic armour-piercing rocket-propelled grenade launcher. The Astronomican, a navigation aid has the souls of thousands of psychic humans sacrificed to it every day, dying to feed the machine. The faster than light travel used by most factions carries with it a good chance of being eaten by daemons. The ancient and mysterious manipulator-race contrive wars that see billions dead so that small handfuls of their own may survive, while their depraved cousins literally cannot endure the agony of a life not spent torturing numberless innocents to death in ingeniously horrific ways. There are several vast Bug Swarms trying to eat every organic thing in the galaxy, light-years-wide holes in reality through which countless daemons and corrupted daemon-powered super-soldiers periodically attempt to destroy the universe, and an entire civilization of undying omnicidal maniacs serving their star-god masters’ desire to exterminate all living creatures, down to the last bacterium. There’s a genetically-engineered survivor warrior species infesting every corner of the galaxy and cheerfully trying to kill everything (including each other if nothing better presents itself) because it’s literally hard-wired into their genetic code to do so and because it’s fun. The closest thing to the “good guys” you can find in this setting is a tiny alien empire sandwiched between all the other factions – and they may or may not have a thing for forcing new subjects into their empire through orbital bombardment and concentration camps, but at least they’ll offer you admittance into their club. Everywhere there are chainsaw swords, BFG’s, armored gloves that crush tanks, mountain-sized daemonic walking battle cathedrals, tanks the size of city blocks and warships that level continents, if not simply obliterating all life on an entire planet just to be sure. And sometimes even that doesn’t work. There is no time for peace, no respite, no forgiveness; there is only war.

There. that’s much better!

(The version of the Warhammer 40,000 text above is of course licenced under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License. In other words it  came from TV Tropes and you can do what you like with it as long as you let everyone else do the same.)

Well obviously we have a rapist (sympathiser) at Notre Dame (maybe)

Religious University. Yeah, that’s a great idea…

OK, first up this is hearsay and should be taken as such. It’s something I heard and should be regarded as such, not as a proven fact. Exact wording, meaning and context are vital in these kind of situations, so take this with a grain of salt, and several grains of common sense and restraint.

Disclaimer over.

The brother of someone I know attends Notre Dame university down in Fremantle. He claims that earlier this week one of his lecturers said that “the pain of rape brings people closer to god, and that’s a good thing”.

As stated above I don’t know the context of this comment, or even if it’s accurate. But if it is accurate then this guy needs a good swift kick up the arse, and should not be instructing students in anything other than basket weaving.

Let the investigations begin.

Nurse I Spy Gypsies Run!

For crying out loud!

That bastion of high quality journalism Today Tonight is running a story about “Gypsies and the suburbs where they’ve set up to STEAL!“.

What is this? The 1920’s?

(next week they’ll probably be telling us about the yellow peril)

The Blind Man’s Appendage

Seriously, not safe for work. Seriously.

I’m having some computer problems at the moment, so may be offline while my box goes into the shop. In the meantime this may prove amusing.

Back in the 70’s a teenager named John Trubee was going nuts working a low paid job in a convenience store. To alleviate the boredom he started reading National Enquirer style tabloids, and one day noticed an ad in the back of one of them that promised he could earn big bucks and fame as a songwriter – all he had to do was write some lyrics and send them to the provided address in Nashville. If his song was judged good enough it would be recorded by their professional studio and he’d be on his way!

Not being an idiot, John recognised this as a scam. Any lyrics submitted would be accepted as long as the writer was willing to provide a wad of cash to cover recording fees. Nonetheless he decided to funnel some of his rage and frustration at his brain-dead job into a set of nonsensical (and rather obscene) lyrics which he sent off with the expectation of getting a letter back saying something like “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

He didn’t get this letter. No – he got a letter saying they thought his lyrics had real merit and for only $79.99 they’d record them!

Now $80 was a lot for the 70’s but John couldn’t control his morbid curiosity and scraped together the cash and sent it off. A few weeks later he received a vinyl of his song. His nonsensical (and rather obscene) lyrics drawled over a lacklustre country backing by someone sounding a little like Johnny Cash. And happily for lovers of bizarre and gonzo music it survives to this day.

Now, before I link in the song (if that’s indeed what you can call it), I’d like to repeat that is seriously not safe for work or scrupulous personalities. To get this point across, I shall repeat the lyrics – edited to remove the parts unsuitable for children, ladies, or those of sensitive dispositions…

……….. last night …..,
My mind was beautiful, and I was free,
………………………………………………,
…………………,
Yeah yeah yeah,

CHORUS:
……………………………………………………..,
……………………………………………………..,

………….. under the stars ……………………….,
……………………………………………………….,
…………………,
Yeah yeah yeah,

The zebra …………………………….,
And the gelatin ……………………………,
………………………..,
……………………………………………..,

CHORUS:
……………………………………………………..,
……………………………………………………..,

So, forewarned and forearmed, here it is….

Enjoy!

I am a Kraken from the Sea!

I heard that was you…

Saw two movies yesterday. Well, one and maybe a third of another.

After about a month’s break due to Fabes’s commitments regarding the Dockers and his son we got back to work on the infamous 40k boards again. They are now all sealed, and one has had the magnets installed (they’re actually looking really good now). As is usually the case whenever we get together to work on a project however we realised halfway through that we’d shot ourselves in the feet – installing the magnets on the boards has to be done sequentially and it takes about 24 hours for the araldite we’re using to fix them to cure. Result – an entire afternoon with nothing to do but watch glue dry.

So we put on the TV instead and mercilessly mocked whatever we came across as we channel surfed. We eventually stumbled onto 1972’s What’s Up Doc? and ended up seeing some quite large chunks of it.

The bits we saw weren’t bad. I mean, they weren’t fantastically amusing, but they were OK for a slow Saturday afternoon. And it’s downright startling to realise that back in the day Barbara Streisand was pretty damn cute.

Anyway, eventually I got home, watched the new episode of Dr Who (my opinion on it is in a holding pattern until part two airs next week), then settled down to watch Juno –  a film that I thought I’d like back when it came out, but never got around to seeing.

As it turns out I was right, it was a lot of fun (for some reason Ellen Page pretending to be a Kraken is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen). And it didn’t feel at all preachy – any movie about teen pregnancy runs the risk of turning into some kind of after school special but to me Juno managed just to be a bunch of stuff that happens without any kind of big moral or message. Good, fun, quirky entertainment with characters that you can care about. And krakens.

In my own life my kitchen is now startlingly clean and organised. This is good because I’ve been fighting a bit of a war with cockroaches for a while and it looks like I’ve broken the back of their offensive. Either that or the roach bombs I’ve put up on the window-sill in preparation for fumigating the entire apartment have scared them off. Today I’m starting on the bathroom, which will be a whole world of fun, but at least won’t take as long as the kitchen did.

(Note to cold climate dwelling foreigners who may be reeling in disgust at my arthropod related revelations. In a sub-tropical climate cockroaches are always present. In cold and temperate zones having roaches may be a sign of complete hygienic depravity, but in these warmer parts of the world it’s not a matter of having no cockroaches, it’s a matter of knowing they’re around but keeping numbers down so you only see them when the weather goes all pre-Cambrian and they think they’re running the planet again and can go roaming with impunity. So having a roach problem doesn’t mean I’ve turned into a ragged-haired, garbage-hoarding, slum dweller, it just means I haven’t done the washing up as often as I should :))

Well, back to it.

Don’t Mention Hamburgers Harry!

HOW DO I GET OFF THE BUS!?!?

I haven’t done one of these in a while…

The other day I was searching for the lyrics to bizzaro masterpiece Buffalo by Stump. Unable to locate them anywhere online I decided I should have a go at transcribing them myself.

Such a task is not exactly easy. The words make little sense, and the last third of the song is a mishmash of sped up, slowed down, distorted and overlayed speech of which only some phrases are actually comprehensible. Nonetheless, I persevered and present the results below.

(It helps to understand the song if one is aware that it’s a critique of idiotic American tourists wandering around London)

BUFFALO – by Stump

Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!

It’s blubbery, Burberry baby!
It’s blubbery, Burberry!

Big! Bop! Be-bop! Be-bop-be!
Boppa-loola!

Big! Bop! Be-bop! Be-bop-be!
Boppa-loola!

In terrylene tartan lady!
In terrylene tartan lady!

Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!

How much is the fish? How much is the fish?
How much is the chips? Does the fish have chips?

HOW MUCH IS THE FISH!? HOW MUCH IS THE CHIPS!?
HOW MUCH IS THE FISH!? DOES THE FISH HAVE CHIPS!?

I don’t want a drink but I’ll go to the bar,
I’d go for a walk but I ain’t got a car,

Exclamation mark kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick,
Exclamation mark ex-exclamation mark kick kick kick kick kick kick kick,

I like when it’s different but it’s just not the same,
(I like when it’s different but it’s just not the same)
The weather is perfect except for the rain,
(The weather is perfect except for the rain)

Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!

Immaculate molars baby!
Immaculate molars baby!

Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!

How much is the fish?
How much is the fish?
Don’t mention hamburgers Harry!
And for god’s sake don’t (phase?)
I forgot the toothpaste!
Waiter! Waiter!
(Incomprehensible)
I forgot the toothpaste!
I forgot the toothpaste!
Waiter!
(Incomprehensible)
What’dya mean I have to queue?
I packed your suitcase Marilyn!
Look! There’s a Libyan!
(Incomprehensible)
How much is the fish?
How much is the fish?
How much is the fish?
How do I get off the bus?
How do I get off the bus?
Don’t mention hamburgers Harry!
Is that the Queen’s house?
I’ll have some bitters please!
(Incomprehensible)
Don’t mention hamburgers Harry!
I’ve forgotten the toothpaste!
Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!
HOW DO I GET OFF THE BUS!?!?

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