Eurovision Settles It. We Had To Leave The EU
Liverpool was the perfect place to watch Eurovision 2023, as Scouse's comments are usually hilarious and without applause. My pub mates had no time for the clever impersonation of Serb Luke Black, who emerged from a giant grandstand in a shirtless shirt.
"It looks like Flamin' Poldark," my friend said. "What is he singing? »
"According to Wikipedia, this is how he became addicted to video games while in prison."
The woman said, "Oh, put your hands together, the man is dead!"
"Imagine going to a rehab clinic under that pretext," her boyfriend said. Is there a problem? Heroin? Is there a problem? I am addicted to this Nintendo Wii. very bad."
Eurovision is a show where the critics have more fun than the performers, which is why Sir Terry Vaughan is a hero and I wanted me to write a concert about him. Think of it like the Sketchwriting Olympics. I cornered the culture editor and fought for tickets, saying, “I've been here 10 years. I'm not saying it's a case of resignation, but I want to.
"Tim," she replied, "no one else wants to go to the office, it's yours."
After talking about Eurovision, he had to talk about it, telling me that it would be "the biggest cultural event in the world" in the city where pop was almost invented. I got to my hotel (Nautical Crossroads: I stayed on the 2nd floor, not the 2nd floor) and went on stage to rehearse; This turned out to be the biggest nightmare of all.
bum Bum bum. "Techno, techno, techno!" After an hour of initial banging, the kind of noise you hear in a neighbor's backyard knocking on the town hall, I felt like I was having a heart attack. The music was really bad, most of it, and I was surrounded by reporters who not only applauded but knew the words. I have a reasonable soul that admits it's not exactly "weird."
- So, who is this person?
“Oh these are super fans. You can't get enough.
In fact, I'm hungry as I write this on the train home from Lime Street and still debating the "pure genius" of Lorin, the wife of the winning Swedish team, who, during a flag parade practice, instructed, "Go ahead and Turn right". I was not alone. Ukraine almost lost to Moldova.
Although our own entry was rather disappointing, as the music was mostly even and mechanical, I don't see how anyone can judge between England, Sweden or the rest of the clubland cure. Music is always stereotyped. The problem comes from the formula of my generation. Past Eurovision songs were sweet enough to be played by a string quartet at a wedding when they used this crap to force the attackers to surrender.
Experiments show that rats and humans not only move their heads to the beat of the music, but that the best synchronization of both species is between 120 and 140 beats per minute. Quick and forceful, the producers cut the music so we could nod to the beat of the metronome. Color brings less acrobatic melodic sounds; A cry is mistaken for a song, and a melima (singing a group of notes in a song) is mistaken for a genius. Compare Dolly Parton's simplified version of I'll Always Love You to Whitney Houston's version, which turns the word "you" into a nine-letter obstacle course.
Okay, I can't rule out all modern pop music. But I still think that if Eurovision looks terrible, it's not just because "they pick the wrong artists" because it's the worst time in cultural history and we won't sing Søren again for 30 years. For years we've heard of eerily similar-sounding vacuum cleaners. The rise of artificial intelligence will only make the situation worse, destroying humanity and beauty completely, so much so that Serbia's dystopian ballad becomes prescient.
At Eurovision 2044, Great Britain will undoubtedly be represented by singer Dyson. Beaten out by the talented Egg Beater from Norway, he reached 26th place.
I also covered the corona a week ago, and I ask everyone the same question: what is the bathroom like? This is a strange English problem.
The response to future historians was that they had extra items for guests, but journalists were first allowed into the abbey through the south passage, so we used the normal toilets. Busy but patient. The hand soap is sponsored by Jo Malone.
Then they took us to the north transept where we had to sit for about three hours. A member of the press boldly asked if he could leave. Then another, and another... The palace lady said, "If anyone needs to go to the bathroom, please raise your hand." They all raised their hands. So he ordered us to line up and follow him to the monastery.
Then my editor, who was sitting in a plush aisle seat, told me that he saw a stretched line of skin running down his stomach like he was on a school field trip, and I thought, 'They're going to be journalists.'
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