Saturday night, me and Gorgeous eagerly sat down to watch the annual cheese-fest that is the Eurovision Song Contest (for those of you that are outside of Europe: The Eurovision is kinda like American Idol, only with fewer contestants, flashier outfits and less drama. But with much more cheese.) As a self-proclaimed music lover, the Eurovision is a fun romp through the cultural differences of new and old European countries: here you'll find genuine attempts at "proper" songs, some delightfully hideous "sound alikes" (there's a very thin line between plagiarism and inspiration in the Eurovision) and a couple of truly spaced out "What the heck was THAT?" moments that will either have you rolling on the floor with laughter, or desperately trying to stuff snacks (cheese, e.g.) into your ear canals.
Now, me and most of the guys I know have a through-and-through ironic distance to the whole Eurovision thing: we've laughed and cried our way through a number of Eurovision contests fueled by cheep bear and complimentary witty commentary. Gorgeous on the other hand, seem to have a profound interest in the show (no doubt due to her unconditional love for pop music - cheesy or otherwise - in general) and I warned her that I would not be able to endure the Eurovision without periodic bouts of sarcasm, snarky comments and downright disgust. I was assured that this was quite ok. So the night went pretty much as expected: a song would be performed, I would cringe more or less and complain about various degrees of out-of-tune-ness and plagiarism, toss about some snarky comments and generally act like a music snob. Gorgeous would laugh, shush me or poke me, depending on how much she liked (or didn't like) the song being performed. Things were going just fine, until the Romanian entry was performed. I was exctatic: FINALLY an entry that had that perfect Eurovision blend of cheese, weirdness and lack of "gefühl" that makes watching Eurovision such a fun experience!
Having expressed this vocally, I immediately received a quick "Gibbs" (NCIS fans know what I'm talking about), a shush, a poke and something I can only presume was the evil eye. Or eyes: it certainly wasn't the loving look I'm used to getting. I was then given a two hour lecture - complete with examples taken from Youtube - on the magnificence of Romanian pop-music (including the dreaded Manele, which even Gorgeous thinks is pretty crap but still felt I needed to learn about). Oy vey. By the end of the ordeal, I was in a semi-catatonic state, and would merely nod slightly (and perhaps drool a bit) whenever Gorgeous introduced me to yet another act or artist. Trust me, guys: Hell hath no fury like a woman whose music tastes have been ridiculed (even if it was done lovingly).
Today, I've been blasting my eardrums with the soothing sound of Opeth in a desperate attempt to wash away the remnants of the weekend's overexposure from Eurovision entries and Romanian pop-music. It's gonna take a while. Alas, vengeance will be sweet as Gorgeous will receive an overdose of marching band music (you know the charmingly out of time, tune and place variant played by 10 year olds) on Norway's independence day, May 17th. Muahahah!
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