Eurovision 2010: Nil Points to Europe for taste in music

I *heart* Eurovision, though after all these years, even I know Eurovision is not a search for Europe's best song. It's a popularity contest.

Still, I was not ready for Germany's asstastic song to win. And I'll tell you why. There were much better singers at Eurovision on Saturday. The best of the lot was the Georgian entry. I give you exhibit A:




That girl has the best voice live I've heard in a long time. I've paid vast amounts of Euros to see celebrities that don't even come close to how talented she is. Compare this to the winning German entry:





Huh? This won? The mockney cockney accent? A song about blue underwear? If I were the Georgian entry, I would have killed myself. Talk about a slap in the face. I don't care what anyone else might say, this song sucks ass big time.

I knew that Greece didn't have a winning song, so my hopes didn't lie there, though well done to them for getting in the top 10 and delivering the first peppy song of the night, otherwise we'd all be stuck on a one way trip to Ballad City.

If you ask anyone in Greece you won't find many fans of the German song, partly because of Angela Merkel and partly because the song was a stinker. I would have preferred anyone to win, anyone except Germany.

I thought the Romanian entry was really good (minus the opera bit):




Armenia was represented by a booblicious relative of the Kardashians. She would have won but sadly they forgot that women and gay men make up Eurovision's biggest audience, therefore making fabulous breasts pretty much redundant. Write that on a post-it next time.

But it was the French song that I thought deserved win because it was so fun and with Eurovision coming so late in the year, it really got you into the mood for summer.

But no, Europe! You voted a totally lame song to win, thus proving in spades that you have no taste! France's entry was probably too good for Eurovision anyway.

And so for yet another year the Eurovision song contest is stuck in a frigid North European country. It's getting too much. At this rate I'll never go to Eurovision!*

So Greece, here is my proposal to you, my recipe for a winning formula. The last two years we sent men dressed in white and didn't get anywhere with it. I propose the following strategy:

1. Send more girls. It seems to get more votes and at least adds colour to the stage

2. Send a transvestite. It worked for Israel that one time

3. Send a novelty act like Finland did with Lordi, thus getting the highest votes ever on Eurovision.

*You're rightly thinking "But Bollybutton you moron, if France won Eurovision would be stuck in North Europe again, so where's the logic. I have friend in France so I could have gone to this and stayed with them. Life is not fair!

Tango Pimping

This is kind of an irrelevant post with all that's gone on in Greece. What can I say that hasn't been said already? There are plenty of other blogs covering this perfectly well. Last night I was at a show and while I was watching, I thought it would make good blog fodder. So here you go.

I shall not name any names, suffice to say it was a tango show and I went to support my brilliant and long-suffering tango teacher. I thought he was the best dancer, and always give him extra brownie points for tolerating my complete inability to progress in tango.

Now, we all know the history of tango and how it began in the brothels of Argentina, blahdy blah blah, and that tango is serious and dark and full of people making orgasm faces. Whatevs, said I, and went along for some light entertainment.

This is how it played out. Here's the story:

La Vie en Rose is playing. That must mean we're in Paris, chérie! A bunch of tango peeps are sitting in a cafe and enjoying themselves. They then break into spontaneous tango. Hurrah! Tango over, they go sit down. But, quelle horreur ! What is this? The hot waitress is being molested by a customer! He proceeds to rip off her skirt and tango-molest her. Then he decides he's packing this hot tottie off to Argentina with him. I could see it coming. She looked too happy.


Nooo wails the waitress, and the waiter tries in vain to wrestle her away from the evil Argentine, but he succeeds in taking her away. See, when I read that in the programme I thought they fall in love and run away to Argentina. But oh well. Kidnapping is good too.

The scene changes. On the boat over from Paris, the kidnapped and molested waitress gets a change of wardrobe and a lobotomy, because now she's totally happy to be hanging out with her kidnapper in Buenos Aires. But hark... all the other women here are prostitutes, and the head hooker ain't having none of this. She marches over to the evil Argentine and they dance, of course.

Dancing over, the fawning waitress is thrown to the group of hookers and then she realises she's been trafficked. Heinous!

Much tango dancing ensues along with looks of anguish from the waitress who is being dressed by all the other happy hookers of Buenos Aires. She's all weepy and stuff until she spots her pimp again, and then she's all "Yay there's my pimp!" Lots of hugs and dancing ensue.

The scene changes. Waitress has again decided she's pretty pissed at her involuntary change of career and delivers a passionate modern dance interpretation of her misery. Then the waiter from Paris appears and they're both like "OMG where have you been all this time! Let's go back to Paris."

But oh no, you guys! There's the pimp again! And he's not letting go of his prize cash cow. Dance fighting ensues, the waitress tries to flee onto a boat, and is stabbed by the jealous head hooker and DIES!

The End.

And now what's happening? Everyone is dancing again. So is this part of the show or what? Are they in heaven now? If so, why is everyone wearing black? Or is Hell this tangotastic?

I was sitting there, feeling totally depressed by all this. The dancing was great, no question, and the live music absolutely wonderful. But jeez, people. I came out to have my spirits lifted and ended up thinking about human trafficking, and that made me feel sad.

Of Mountains and Moros

I swear you guys I have been so busy that my inspiration is gone, squeezed out like a lemon lying tossed in the garbage outside a taverna. There is just no more room in my brain for creativity thanks to studying for work related exams. I've buckled down so that I can be exam free before summer gets into full swing. Nothing is more misery inducing than studying while everyone else is hanging out at the beach.

I will just say thanks for still checking in. This is turning out to be my year of re-evaluation and freakishly hard work. I'm trying not to sweat the small stuff and focus on the big picture.

Since I have nothing much to blog about, I will use this space and time that I have available to complain and say yes, I am still the only person who got married last year without a baby. but that's not my complaint. The babies are pouring out of our pals like it's going out of style. It's some kind of Babygeddon.

And with that in mind, to all those so helpfully pointing out my lack of a baby and who seem to think that reminding me of this will spur me into action ("A baby? Why didn't I I think of that! And Mr Zeus is not going to be young forever? What a revelation!") I ask you to click here.

Now you're probably thinking "But Bollybutton, weren't you yourself desperate for a baby a while ago? What's with all the evil hag-like behaviour?" and you'd be right, and I was, but since I can't procreate on my own, aphid style, I got over it. And I would be the first to advocate the joys of children in a home and parenthood etc etc, but if I go visit one more set of friends with a new baby that says "You guys should have a baby." and then look only at me, I will scream. Or I'll just ask them what time they got up today.

What's with the "You GUYS" line but looking only at me? Do I look like a magical human freak that can procreate solo?

Seriously, there's only so many times you can hear the same damn line over and over again before wanting to stuff Little Junior's pipila in your ears.

That's all. Back to studying. I hope to resurface in a more pleasant and creative mood.

Been Busy

But I will get back to posting soon. In the last few weeks my free time has dwindled to nothing, but I have baby posts scribbled all over bits of paper in snatched moments, so thank you for visiting and rest assured I am going to get back to posting once I have a few spare minutes!

BB

x

Sparkle Dust

Since I have nowt all to blog about at the moment and just to let you know I didn't eat myself into oblivion (though I came pretty close), here we are.


It's been hugely depressing to wake up for work again after the long weekend, especially considering there was only one day when I actually slept in. The rest I was up at an ungodly hour to use the time and finish up dozens of half baked projects.


So let's be cheerful today and hope that a blistering summer is on its way. Because I'm getting tired of these low 20s temperatures.

Time to get random.






















Even a crushing workload seems possible...



After all, I have a magic sword


And my feline abilities are second to none


Evil shall not conquer so long as there are kittens in the world!















Images:
http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3001/2802166792_90ce71bc7e.jpg
http://reallycoolstuff.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/funny-kittens-preview-thumb.jpg

Reaching Out

This is a post for the ladies, and the men who care.

Imagine this: you are in a foreign country. You don't speak the language. This country has a reputation of being quite safe and the locals are known for their friendliness. A stranger approaches you and offers to show you the ruins. It's broad daylight in public, so what could go wrong?

He offers you a bite of something he's eating, a local type of food, and you think what the hell, a little bit wouldn't hurt. After all he's eating it too.

Then everything gets hazy. Snow White's poisoned apple. You lose track of time and yourself and wake up in a strange room, alone with this man. He has drugged you and you have no idea what else he has done. You, your body which is precious and sacred to you, which you take care of and choose with love who you give it to - you have no idea what this stranger did to it and why he treated you with so little value. Like you were a nothing, a nobody.

Even if you were not raped, someone put something in your blood without your consent, took you somewhere you didn't want to go. You take care of yourself, there are people out there who love you. A fiance who is making plans to marry you.

What gave this man the right to do that to you?

On a scale of one to ten, how terrified would you be? Can you imagine this scenario? I can't, most of us can't because it's an unlucky few that have gone through the ordeal of having their body violated.

This is the story of Natalie Karneef, who came to Athens in 2005 and went through what I just described on the second day of her holiday of a lifetime. Her trial was due to begin this month, but the Greek courts have postponed it. To 2011. To start with, it was over 24 hours before she was able to find a hospital in Athens willing to run a rape exam on her. Then an agonising three months to see if she had been infected with an STD, or even worse, HIV.

This is unacceptable. The man they caught in connection with what happened to her had done the same 4 other foreign women. Unfortunately, there still exists a certain school of thought amongst certain men in Greece that foreign women are fair game.

I must say though that although assholes exist the world over, I did not expect the Greek courts to have the same attitude. Bah. She's a foreigner. No one in Greece to make a big deal of it for her. So what. They have sex with strangers on holiday all the time and then come crying to us afterwards that it was rape.

For shame. I say that not as a foreign woman in Greece. I say that as a woman. I say that as a sister. What if this had happened to Mr Zeus's niece? Or one of my Greek friends from bellydance class? Or my little sisters when they came here on holiday one summer?

What if it happened to someone you knew? What if it happened to you? This man has been left to roam the streets free once more, despite being convicted of other rapes. Us women who live in Athens could be coming into contact with him during our daily lives. Doesn't that thought make you feel completely revolted?

The Greek courts are a law onto themselves. There is not a lot we can do to make them take the issue of the abuse of women seriously.

We can, though, show our support to Natalie. She is one voice who wants to be heard out of God knows how many that choose to stay silent. I know that if this had happened to me, most likely I wouldn't have pursued it. Especially in a foreign country. I just don't have the courage and strength to last as long as she has.

So please, let's show her some support and drop in on her blog. Leave a comment, no matter who you are or where you are from. Let's let her know we are thinking of her and supporting her stuggle.

UPDATE: If you are a female blogger reading this, I ask you to link Natalie's blog in one of your posts. Let's look out for our fellow sisters. Let's not let this be a case of "There's nothing we can do." We can keep up to date with this case, and when it comes around again in January 2011 we can be present outside court. Numbers speak, maybe the judge will take notice.

Image; http://th07.deviantart.net/fs49/300W/i/2009/172/9/3/snow_white__s_poisoned_apple_by_daughterofthemist.jpg

Intergalactic, Planetary

I spent all day yesterday convincing myself not to lie in the middle of the road waiting for a car to run me over, and much to my surprise everyone I spoke to felt miserable yesterday. It must be something to do with the energy in the air, the feeling that Spring was so close, close enough to smell, before it disappeared again, the lining up of the planets throwing bad energy around and having the TV choice of more bad news on the economy and Julia's fame-whoring.

On the first point at least this morning I took matters into my own hands and helped the Greek economy by going shopping. My target was Greek shoe temple, Migato. I adore Migato because they sell overpriced shoes according to winter and summer seasons, and once a season is over, they drop their prices so low I can actually afford them.

Thank God for fashion's stupid slavery to seasons.

So today I took advantage of their gracious offer of any two pairs of winter boots for EUR 50 and bought four new pairs of boots for EUR 100.

There you go, EU, I just paid some precious tax euros into the Greek economy! Time to give us a break.

Into the Blues

I admit it. As of the last few days, despite fighting against it, I have sunk into a terrible depression. Yesterday we invited some dinner guests over, and I spent hours and hours cooking. But I was unhappy, so nothing turned out right and I refused to serve any of it to my hapless guests. We ordered pizza instead.

Today I have woken up utterly miserable again. The cold and cloudy weather is not helping, either.

I hate feeling this way. Mr Zeus is always telling me to snap out of these miserable spells, but it's easier said than done. When I feel this way I can't do anything. Work seems like an impossible task (and it is, since the job hunting is going from bad to worse and so I am stuck for the foreseeable future in an utterly soul-destroying job) even doing nothing feels impossible. I can't sit still without all sorts of dark and miserable thoughts crashing around my brain, or running through checklists of all the unfinished projects I have running.

Life is good. So why do I feel so hopeless today?

Here's hoping the weather gets warmer soon.

Image: http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs30/f/2008/055/5/7/sad_bunny_by_mariaesthetics.jpg

Look Into My Eyes

In a belated tribute to International Women's Day, I must say: Where can one acquire this fabulous accessory???

Forehead Tittaes w/ Marion Cotillard from Marion Cotillard, William Fichtner, Jake, Taraji P Henson, Leslie Ann Warren, and Seth - Video- Watch more Videos at Vodpod.

Economy and Pornography are Greek words

On Friday night I passed a Greek-living milestone. I went to my first bouzoukia at Frangelico. It's been almost four years since I moved to Greece and in all that time, Mr Zeus has never taken me to something like this. For those who don't know, bouzoukia clubs are your typical grass roots Greek entertainment - a club with live singing and music, usually very emotional and dramatic, where in the past plates were smashed on the stage to show appreciation of the performer.

These days, plates have been replaced with over priced trays of carnations. I've got to say, as corny as the whole set up struck me, I am a glutton for cheese and campness and I LOVED it!! Okay, it's not something I would do every night, but it was still hugely entertaining and completely different to any night out I've ever had.

Frangelico is frequented by some Athens celebrities, and on the night we spotted the mayor who married us and that mean chef from Efialtis Sthn Kouzina. And would you believe it, he was wearing a baseball cap even inside a dark club.

Anyway, at one point one of the performers took a break from singing, looked out into the crowd and said , "Ah... Julia.." at which point everyone broke into applause and a hand in the crowd shot up waving a DVD.

With everyone in Athens getting tired of talking about the shiteous economic situation, one of Greece's Queens of Skank, Model/Singer/Whatever Julia Alexandratou did us all a favour and released a sex tape of herself.

Okay so she claims it was done without her consent, but I'm not buying. According to her this was a private moment. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but personally my private moments tend not to happen with a professional camera man and a professional porn actor.

Furthermore, she claims someone did the same thing to her in the past and she didn't go public that time. Eh.. if it bothered you that much the first time, surely something in your brain would say letting a cameraman into your bedroom again is a bad idea? Or not? Dunno.

Within hours of the news breaking, everyone with internet access had seen the tape. That's the thing with porn in Greece, at least those out of Mr Zeus' generation don't take it seriously. It's watched to be laughed at, not to draw inspiration from. It was the number one topic at our dinner party on Thursday.

Normally, I avoid porn because you can never be sure who is exploiting who, and it's so obviously fake I don't see the attraction. But celebrity porn is considered fair game and even I watched it, and here's my verdict: she was stoned out of her brains, looked really bored, and it was too well filmed and edited to be an amateur job.

Actually, I listened to more of it than I watched because most of it was so boring. Eventually I got tired of that too and skipped along the tape to see what it contained. Your standard stuff really, some oohing and aahing, a bit of this, a bit of that and the money shot. Ta da. It's not rocket science, and you should think twice about denying something that is so obviously professional.

Especially when there are photos of you circulating with two representatives from the biggest porn production company in Greece! I mean, really Julia! No one is buying your story!

But everyone is buying your DVD. On Saturday as I walked through the vegetable market outside my house, someone was shouting "Two kilos of potatoes for two euros, and a free DVD of Julia!"

Oh well. At least we all got a brief break from talking about the economy.

I Got Told!

When I pitch articles, they usually disappear into a yawning chasm of silence. Sometimes, I get a rejection email, sometimes I get an email saying write us 2000 words for $5. I share them with you here in order to pick at my scabs and strengthen my resolve that I don't care if my article was totally not appropriate for your magazine genre, one day you will beg me to write anything, anything at all for you!

This is the first one as of yesterday and Bollybutton's Quest to Make a Living From Writing:

Olive Magazine:

Dear Bollybutton,


Many thanks for your email and idea.

I'm afraid this idea would not be appropriate for Olive at this time. Please look carefully at the structure and format of the magazine before submitting ideas to ensure they are appropriate to the publication.

Many thanks,

So and So

May I punctuate this post with the following song, dedicated lovingly to myself. Nothing but death will stop me trying to make it as a writer, so take that, rejection letters!!

Sugar Smooth

Hope just posted something about her hairy legs (sorry, girl, there was no delicate way to put this) and it got me thinking. As a hairy Asian girl, I know which direction every follicle on my waxable surfaces points. I could wax with my eyes closed. And yes, I do it all myself because I don't want Anita at the salon taking a look and shouting, "Cancel all my appointments! This one's going to take me all day!"

I recently cracked the technique of making my own sugar wax. This is a really ancient method of hair removal involving a sugary goo and strips of cotton. What, did you think waxing was a modern invention?

I take equal parts water, sugar and lemon juice and boil them down in a pan until they turn caramel coloured. Sadly, here I can offer no advice on timings etc. It took me a lot of wasted sugar to get a feel for when the paste was done. I keep a plate near the pan and drip the syrup onto it at intervals, then I rub it between my fingers and when it gets to the right texture that's how I know I'm done.

This home made sugar wax isn't as effective as the usual waxes, but it has one major advantage: it's 100% natural and you know exactly what went into it. Plus, I don't see why we have the right to change a few thousand years of beauty wisdom. Sugar wax is the only type of wax that won't rip off the top layer of skin with it which means you can wax the same area a couple of times if you missed hairs, and the ingrown hairs are much reduced.

And finally, you can eat what's left over in the pan. Do I do this? Of course not! I'm Asian , remember? There is never anything left over in the pan! If anything you will find me scraping it with a toothpick to extract just a little bit more wax for a missed patch.

Life in Plastic

Good bed linen costs stupid prices in Athens, so I literally brought back all the high quality cotton bed sheets and pillow cases that I could carry from the UK this time.

If anyone had told me 20 years ago that bed linen would become my new Barbie, I would have laughed in their face. In 1990, I was still getting high removing a new Barbie from her box and inhaling her delicious, plasticy, fresh from the box smell, stroking her hair and promptly losing her little plastic shoes.

Fast forward to 2010 and I'm pulling new bedsheets from their packaging, inhaling the fresh cottony smell and insisting Mr Zeus feel their quality.

Barbie was a big, big part of my childhood. I don't quite remember when I stopped playing with her. I do remember my first university lecture ever was about Barbie's media image, her constant career changes and her bad influence on self-image. I sat there thinking "Really?"

I felt bad. I searched my inner psyche for things I could blame on Barbie, but found nothing.

Me and my sisters had about 20 Barbies between us, and none of them left a negative mark on us. The only doll who always played the sinister role in our games was our solitary Sindi doll. That girl was bad news, with her real eyelashes and rotating wrists.

Our Barbies were in total control of their collective destinies. They did what they wanted, when they wanted. They divorced and married one of our three Kens as they wished, with no ill feelings towards the previous wives. They had spa days before battling dragons and monsters, went on expeditions and discovered new countries while the Kens were busy being idiots.

It was the Barbies who always saved the Kens from the stupid messes they got themselves into, never the other way around. In my Barbie World, Ken was an unreliable and immature moron who often had to grovel at Barbie's feet to feel worthy. I mean actually put his plastic grin to her chewed-up tippy toes. That's another thing, why were Barbie's feet so deliciously chewable? Tiny bite marks peppered her little feet and some even had extra long, bumpy fingers until my sisters and I got over eating our Barbies.

Sometimes I wonder if people give kids less credit than they deserve. I knew Barbie wasn't real and didn't have an actual life, so I had no interest at all in being like her. I certainly never undressed her and thought "I hope I have a little plastic body when I grow up". I was only concerned with throwing elaborate Barbie weddings each year, complete with hand-sown Indian wedding gowns and once, a fight with the neighbour who owned a Ken, that now my Barbie had to go live at Ken's house i.e. her house as is tradition.

Barbie was the spokesperson for the things me and my sisters had trouble expressing as just ourselves. Our Barbies would sit in a circle and conduct conferences on the various issues in our lives ("Should I change schools like Mum says?", "Shall I cut my hair short?", "Mum was mean to me. Is it a good idea to run away?")

These conferences of us three sisters (before the fourth arrived) were voted upon by raised Barbie hands. Ken's were never invited to the conferences and if they were, no one paid much attention to their opinions.

If I had a daughter, I wouldn't stop her playing with Barbie. I would take extra care not to let any fashion magazines into the house which is easy since I don't read them.

For now, I fold my new bedsheets like little Barbie outfits. I miss her sometimes. I don't think I ever truly grew out of playing with her.

Image: http://www.sfgate.com/blogs/images/sfgate/culture/2005/08/05/barbies.jpg

Walk, Walk, Fashion Baby

So it's all over and I'm left wondering what I'll do with my Monday evenings now.

This is how last night's GNTM episode unfolded. The girls returned from London and started taking part in photo shoots that would decide who goes and who stays. First, they had to ski down a slope and deliver a line in Italian for a video ad campaign. Seraina was all "I can totally ski" having a Swiss mother and all that, but went on to do pretty much nothing special. The rest of the girls delivered their lines on their asses.

Next, the girls were asked to pose in bikinis in the snow. Why? Because this is Fashion, baby! It doesn't work like the normal world you and I inhabit. In Fashion World they shoot all the summer lines in the winter and all the winter lines in the summer.

At first I wondered why you wouldn't just fly across the equator for each respective season, but then I realised it's probably a very cunning ploy for people like Harry Christopoulos to say "Are you cold? Come here, I'll warm you up / Are you too hot? My hotel room has split level aircon. And a big circular bed with satin sheets. And all the tissue paper you can eat." (I have it on good authority that models do that behind the scenes at fashion shows, which leads me to wonder why they don't just eat a cucumber - equally calorie free. Go figure)

Next came a catwalk challenge for the gorgeous-haired Christophoros Kotentos, the only judge with hard-core fashion experience of the catwalk, who is also a designer and has dressed the likes of Rihanna.

The catwalk is where Ioanna and Seraina dazzled, and Monica and Maria stumbled, Maria quite literally. She lost a shoe while leaving the catwalk and instead of just carrying on on tip toes AS THEY HAD BEEN TAUGHT by Vicki Kaya, she kicked off the other shoe. Mistake. Telos panton, Monica has bow legs and walks like a camel so catwalk was never her strong point.

Then, eliminations time! The girls came before Her Royal Highness Vicki and eliminated in pairs of two. Here is where I disagreed. They paired Monica and Ioanna, Maria and Seraina. Monica and Seraina got to the final two. Ioanna should have been in the final two. Seraina won it, but it wasn't really a fair win.

When asked why they wanted to win, Monica talked about her lifelong passion for fashion and how she will work her fingers to the bone to make it, something she has already proved by getting to the final. She's not pretty, but she has slaved and sweated to make it to where she is. Seraina was all like "Yeah now that I'm here I realise how much I'd like to do this." Out of all the girls, the one who deserved least to win it on effort alone was Seraina.

She is one of the most beautiful girls, technically she is actually perfect. Great body and stunning face. But she has made practically no effort simply because she's so beautiful. She hasn't had to try at all. In every single shot, her eyes are completely flat. She's so devoid of personality that even last night as she was about to be crowned Next TV Reality Star, her emotions ran like this:

"I feel really... I can't believe it" (o_0)
"So many emotions are running through me right now" (o_o)
"I'm just so happy, so very happy" (o_o)

And when she won, she was like this (o,_o,)

Girl got nothing on the inside. She'd make a great door stopper.

Anyway, to me it was obvious that Vicki really wanted Monica to win, and I think that's why she put her through to the final two. When she spoke to Monica about how hard she has worked and how she has proven all her critics wrong and done nothing but work and work and work to improve, her eyes shone with pride.

When she spoke to Seraina, you could tell her heart wasn't in it. Okay she squeezed out a few cynical tears for Seraina's victory, but I knew it was Monica she wanted to win. She couldn't let her, most likely because Harry Christopoulos didn't want a Top Model winner he didn't feel like banging, so the next best thing she could do is let her almost win.

So that's a wrap, and proves my original theory that judge Jenny Balatsinou had no reason at all to even be there. The woman said about two words throughout the whole series, such as "I agree" and "Yes".

Seraina is the perfect reality TV star because she's beautiful and empty as a Greek church on Sunday - you can sit her infront of a camera and put whatever you want in her head and she'll say it. Monica meanwhile will pursue a serious fashion career. High fashion does not fit well with classic beauty - they like weird faces and strange concepts. That's why everyone remembers Lady Gaga's videos.

And so ends Greece's first Next Top Model. It's been fun, and I'm looking forward to the next, seeing where the Reject Debris washes up. I've already counted one former contestant at a wedding expo.

Image: http://api.ning.com/files/lJCuE6h8Nny-RReB1odYkFCwcLES20OS0E5ln0rb1yVFRXEinszH7ievpNCOhJ6ApYVh*8T-E86SMrQw27LqJfsCa67-hjf-/384747609.jpeg

Good Times Ahead!

Okay. I'm probably one of Georgie's biggest fans because of how he has scrambled to keep Greece afloat while all the playground bullies are picking on us.

A whole bunch of reforms have been introduced, we are all collecting receipts like lunatics, strikes have crippled the country, costs are rising and pays are falling... and this is the only song I can think of to reflect the situation.

Top Model News

Hello, fashionistas. We're nearing the end of Greece's Next Top Model and at this stage it's anyone's game. Who will be Greece's Next Top Model and enjoy a few months of fame on Star channel before disappearing again?

In last night's fun-packed episode, Ioanna, Seraina, Monica and Maria were sent off to London. Well, not Maria. She had some problems with her paperwork and wasn't allowed to board the flight. Shame. But that's the world of fashion, bitches; it waits for no one.

Anyhow, the person happiest of all was Vicki Kaya, who had orgasm after orgasm at the sheer delight of being able to throw her Queen's English around. Seriously, this woman has shown as much liveliness as a dead frog up till now, and once on the streets of London she was practically crying with joy. I've never seen her so enthusiastic. Maybe she joined the mile high club on the way over, who knows. Though with an entourage of fashion men and the persuasions of male flight attendants, I doubt that.

By the way, Vicki likes to coach the girls all the time about how they need to project more, get more into the mood of things, try harder, be the role. Well, I saw her in the Greek movie Loufa kai Paralagi where she played a soldier's girlfriend and it was excruciating to watch. She was terrible all the way through. There was a sex scene where the guy was all like "Oh yeah baby!" and Vicki was flopped on the bed looking like she was waiting for a PAP test. It had to be the unsexiest sex scene ever.

Or maybe it wasn't. If the director was shouting "No, Vicki, look like you have a rod shoved up your ass. I mean, like ALL THE TIME. Look bored like this is so not even worth your time. I want your eyes deader. No, deader than that. That's it! Perfect!" then she is a world-class actress.

Back in London, everyone loved Monica O' Man Chin. I'm starting to change my mind about her. Up until now I've wondered why the hell she's even there. She has model height but not model looks, and not model legs. But I have to say, lately I'm coming around to the idea of her winning. I don't think any of the other girls want it as badly as she does.

Her fashion knowledge of the Greek and international market is head and shoulders above any of the other girls, maybe even most of the judging panel, and she is not at all scared to let herself look ugly if that's what the photo demands. She is probably the most versatile of the bunch and has worked the hardest out of anyone to stand on an equal footing with the other girls who have an automatic advantage of being prettier than her.

Seraina is the most beautiful with the best body, but zero personality. She has nothing that would make you remember her. Ioanna take stunning pictures, but she's not versatile, and Maria seems to take most of her modelling advice from the Porn Star Book of Modelling.

So carting the girls off the London was a great idea because it showed how they would fare on an international market. In Greece, people like their models pretty. Actually, people like their models with their legs showing and lots of makeup. That's about all you have to do to call yourself a model - for example take some of the exhibitions I went to this weekend where lots of these 'models' were rolling around product stalls, attracting perverts and putting off any serious customers. One of them gave me a seriously bitchy look in the toilets.

The London market is much more into weird looks and Tyra's famous ugly/pretty concept, so they adored Monica and flushed the rest of the skinny bunch down the toilet. Yes, you can flush things down the toilets in London. It's allowed, unlike Greece, where you'd have to throw them in the bin which wouldn't have the same dramatic effect.

No one was eliminated, probably out of courtesy to Maria, and roll on next week when the final showdown takes place.

Out of all the above, even if Monica doesn't win she is the one most likely to make a serious fashion modelling career for herself. She's only 18, knows the market very well already and has got this far on sheer effort and determination alone. I can see her doing really well outside of Greece where her look is more in demand.

Write on the Money

They say blogging is the forte of failed journalists. I'm the first to put my hand up and admit that! I blog because I love to write, and no one loves me enough to pay me to make it my profession. So I think about my two journalism degrees, my university room walls papered with interesting or well-written articles by admired journalists rather than Brad Pitt posters, and I wonder how come I'm blogging and there are journalists out there who get to work for the Financial Times despite knowing pretty much nothing about the Greek economy.

I say this because the analysts at work are still circulating articles about how China is going to buy Greece's debt and what would happen if Greece defaulted on their debts. I mean, people! Do a little homework! This is the Financial Times we're talking about, not a lowly blog like mine. Such wildly inaccurate information actually creates more problems than it solves.

If I worked for the Financial Times, I would work pretty damn hard to make sure I earned my employment there. That's like... one of the Holy Grails of journalism. I would certainly not simply pull stories out of my ass, and furthermore I wouldn't go chasing the head of a sovereign state up and down stairwells, trying to put words in his mouth like he was some sort of disgraced movie star.

But my biggest complaint is this! How come I know more about the Greek economy writing a blog about Bollywood and Greece's Next Top Model than a journalist for the FT who is PAID to know what they're writing about??

FT editors, if you're reading this, you can email me at bollybutton@gmail.com. Will write for bylines!

*The cartoon reads: "Our beloved friend Greece. Dies tomorrow, buried today. The Financial Times" from Greece's ΒΗΜΑ newspaper, Sunday 31 January 2010, reflecting the sentiment in the Greek press that the Financial Times is hell-bent on negative and inaccurate stories about Greece no matter what the facts might show.

Image: http://www.tovima.gr/default.asp?pid=2&artid=312620&ct=32&dt=31/01/2010

If you've Never Watched Bollywood Movies...

... here's a four minute crash-course from the dynamite BBC series, Goodness Gracious Me.



I've had the 'pleasure' of meeting some Chunky Lafunga Bollywood actor types. They really are like that.

Around this time of year I always start getting painfully nostalgic for the Home Country. I can tell myself as much as I want that there were reasons we left, very good reasons, that my life is so much better etc. etc. etc. and all of that is true.

But you still miss the place you grew up, however good or bad, and time has a funny way of accentuating only the good memories. You're left with memories of places that in your mind are more beautiful than they actually are, tastes that were more delicious than they actually were, seasons that were more gentle than they actually were, people that were nicer than they actually were.

In effect, you pine for a place that doesn't exist any more, because it never existed in the first place.

So this is going to be a bit of a boring post, with some of my favourite songs from the Homeland from the best of the best - Junoon.

Friday Bollywood Beatbox!

It's been a while so let's take it slowly and get into the spirit of things with this smoldering love song from the movie Dil Se, with a naff video. Sorry about that!