10 October 2008

Le-olam (shake up)

Walking outside; it's a Jerusalem kind of night, leaving the fridge-buzz and television drone, out into warm air. Cyprus trees framing the front doors to our apartments, slightly cooler garden environs and the streets are fire cracker, singing, star spangled all Lulavim and Etrogim signs selling. Which I just figured out why- it's the Jewish festival season Sukkot. Sukkahs and Schach all decorated in tinsel and plastic fruit. There's a house, a two-storey Deco where the faithful adherents stomp and sing not altogether in tune and I'm taken back to the Gethsemane Garden years ago where I spent a kind of Sabbatical of my own. Up on a hill -we were looking down at the Dome of the Rock Mosque as night fell. Dust laden blue skies. Singing again, an Arab wedding in Al Quds. Jerusalim old city, walled and divided into Christian, Muslim, Jewish and Armenian quarters. Running round and round at night after a service at the Holy Sepulchre...
My knuckles are grazed from a fence and kind of bleeding. It's a Jameson and dry night. Floating. Funny town by the sea here. Italian groceries, Bagelries, Anglican churches, Russian bakeries where you can buy Napoleon cakes and Moskovski khleb. Down the street, Anglos celebrate the end of a week at work drinking at bars with friends, coffees in cafes that put the chairs up on the tables tactfully, they wave at yellow cabs and go home to outlying suburbs.

In the Ring 2

In the red corner is Ida Maria, the brunette bangs to the platinum wiglet bangs of Lady Gaga. Norwegian-born and rock solid, with Grunhilde-type arms that could lug a Steinkrug over the likes of our little New Yorker and swing a full bodied jazz guitar straight into teeny-limbed Miss Disco Stick. And with her honest, cigarette-smoking, flawed English she still writes more convincingly than the 'Just Dance' abomination. (I must admit here that my imaginary ring-fight between two very different female performers is silly- how long can I keep up this charade?)

I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked-(http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=cySmUjQB05I) is like a catchy preteen movie 'make-over track' (picture squealing 12 year olds discovering Nad's hair removal cream and being more Lolita than a roomful of Bill Henson photos). Here I can't work out if Ida looks more like the sublime Anna Karina of Jean Luc Godard films or the Vicar of Dibley, Dawn French.

Vicar what??


I would like to say anyone can write bitchy little nothingness. I know nothing of these people. Pop culture is trash kids. Go read Webster's Dictionary followed by the complete print-edition Encyclopedia Britannica (circa 1967). Put. Down. That. Cheap. Magazine.

In the Ring

Popsicles. Pop sickies. Who hasn't wanted to be a pop singer? Granted, my last attempt to join this oft-ridiculed pantomime was a decade ago -after writing very bad songs for a hastily assembled all-girl singing troupe called the Assassins. We all had alter egos and associated colours; I was Cheri and my colour was red. Nothing makes me cringe faster than re-reading the lyrics of our abysmally penned songs. Enough said. In fact, too much said, if I crawl away now I will leave a trail of whizz fizz and Miley Cyrus-type weeping teen videos (7 things, anyone?)

Lady freaking GaGa enjoys far too much popularity in this country. From the New Zealand Herald: " Stefania Gabriella Germanotta - aka Lady GaGa - is desperate to be famous. She openly admits she has deliberately and calculatedly plotted her rise to prominence - "
Maybe it's the way she pronounces "Dance" (D'AAnce) in her sleaze-drip song, "Just Dance"
or the lyrics "Wish I could shut my playboy mouth (oh oh oh oh) How'd I turn my shirt inside out? (inside out babe) Control your poison babe, roses with thorns they say And we’re all gettin’ hosed tonight (oh oh oh oh) " or maybe it's the S&M disco stick she waves around suggestively in her video... I can't put my finger on it, but I'm getting closer. Perhaps it's how she's humping around on a blow-up animal in a wading pool in the above mentioned video. Desperation. Clearly.