Australia Day and reconciliation
The sixth and last of my columns subbing in for Peter Fitzsimons at Sunday Extra.Advance Australia Day where?
The mixed emotions around Australia Day were never highlighted more pointedly than this year, when the Australian of the Year celebrated his award by immediately calling for the day to be moved to February 13th, the day of Kevin Rudd’s apology. While I have to declare a vested interest in this question because 26 January is my birthday, and I love always having the day off, we saw from the response to Mick Dodson’s suggestion that moving the date will create a degree of resentment that will only hinder race relations. We can’t simply undo the fact that European settlement began on that date. And trying to shoehorn a reconciliation theme into a day that bears unhappy associations for many Aborigines, as the Government did this year, will always feel shallow and awkward.
Dodson’s call for a public holiday on February 13 is sensible, but as I suggested last week, it should be a separate Reconciliation Day, devoted exclusively to celebrating our indigenous community and remembering the terrible casualties it suffered. 26 January will never be a happy date for Aborigines, but moving our national day will only transform its original date into an annual festival of the kind of hateful displays of white pride we saw in Manly this year. And fuelling that “love it or leave it” mentality will only undermine the inclusive, multicultural spirit that makes modern Australia worth celebrating in the first place.
Slumdog Miserliness
I probably wasn’t the only person this week to feel disgusted after reading that the producers of Slumdog Millionaire paid their child actors a pittance of only a few thousands dollars, and the kids and their families are still living in the same slums depicted in the movie. The producers’ defence, that the actors were paid three times the average local wage for adults, sounds hollow to say the least in light of the film’s earnings.
Slumdog Millionaire’s message is that children in Mumbai’s slums have to look out for themselves because in this world, you can’t trust anybody – least of all grown-ups. Well, nobody can accuse its producers of being inconsistent. Perhaps they should make a sequel where instead of being cruelly used by gangsters and orphanage proprietors, the kids are exploited of by award-hungry Western filmmakers?
Short Message Scamming
This week, an exciting opportunity was texted direct to my phone by my pals at iqquizapp.com. At least I assume they’re pals – I don’t actually remember giving them my number. They offered me a kind invitation to receive two SMS messages a week which left me torn. $6.60 per text message seemed a lot to pay, but naturally I wanted to help out a good friend’s business. Ultimately I regretfully declined, what with the global financial crisis and all.
When SMS scammers list the price legibly, like they have to in a text message, surely nobody ever signs up. But on TV and online, we’re constantly bombarded by ads for these services that hide their true costs in microscopic text. One particularly heinous violator is the Love Calculator, which supposedly texts you the name of your soulmate for $19.80, and then charges you $13.20 a week for horoscopes until you wise up to the scam and unsubscribe. (Admittedly, I’d pay more than that to actually learn the name of my soulmate, but something tells me mobile phone fraudsters ain’t gonna know it.) These services should be banned immediately, with violators imprisoned and forced to listen to an endless loop of the Crazy Frog.
Is the dope Catholic?
This week, the Catholic Church welcomed back its very own David Irving, the British Bishop Richard Williamson. An anti-Vatican II traditionalist like Mel Gibson and his charming father, Williamson not only denies that millions of Jews died in Nazi gas chambers, but that the gas chambers existed at all. The Bishop also believes that the Jews are concocting a dastardly plot to take over the world, and that September 11 was an inside job, which you’d think would make him unsuitable to speak not only in church, but to anybody.
John Paul II expelled him from the Church, for his religious views rather than his anti-Semitic ones, and it defies belief that Williamson has been rehabilitated by the very Vatican he once claimed was run by Satan. You’d think a Pope who has spent his life living down once being a member of the Hitler Youth, albeit involuntarily, would exercise caution in this area. But as his lurid footwear indicates, Pope Benedict is not one to tread carefully.
Catch a falling Starbucks
The world’s largest coffee chain announced this week that it’s closing 300 more stores in the US. Its Australian operations have already been scaled right back. But if they want to turn their business around, Starbucks’ employees only need to do one simple thing: learn how to make coffee.
Barack Obama and the donuts of democracy
The fifth of my Fitzsimons columns from summer 08/09.
Barack to the future
I regularly get up in the middle of the night to watch football (or soccer, to the uninitiated), but I’ve never before woken at 3am to watch a speech. And I’m glad I did. A friend threw a “Yes We Canapés” Inauguration Party – surely a strong early entrant for Groan-Inducing Pun Of The Year – and the thirty or so insomniacs in attendance drove the neighbours batty with our cheers. Like the crowds in Washington, we also booed Dick Cheney, who was looking even more like an evil mastermind on Wednesday morning than usual. All he needs now is a fluffy white cat to stroke indulgently while he pushes the button that sends the henchmen that fail him to their doom.
I was struck by the stark contrast between all of that American idealism and pageantry and our own low-key attitude towards politics. Can you imagine anyone watching Kevin Rudd give an 18-minute speech with tears in their eyes caused by anything other than boredom?
But then I remembered a day when I stood and watched the PM speaking in Canberra, and his words brought a genuine drop or two to even my cynical eye. It was February 13 last year, when Rudd apologised to the Stolen Generation. We don’t have a black Prime Minister yet, of course, but like Obama’s inauguration, the event saw thousands of people take to the streets in a moment of national reconciliation.
The day 250,000 Sydneysiders walked across the Harbour Bridge in 2000 was a similar moment of genuine collective joy at confronting a past wrong. And it made me think – shouldn’t we make sure there are more days like that? There’s a public holiday tomorrow to celebrate the foundation of white Australia. It’s time we had one to pay tribute to our indigenous heritage as well.
Krispy Kreme meets the dough nutcases
Of course, Inauguration Day saw a frenzy of promotional tie-ins. A doughnut chain released this inspiring statement:
Krispy Kreme is honoring American's sense of pride and freedom of choice on Inauguration Day, by offering a free doughnut of choice to every customer on this historic day, Jan. 20. By doing so, [we] are making an oath to tasty goodies -- just another reminder of how oh-so-sweet 'free' can be.
Now, see if you can guess what aspect of that corny press release whipped the religious right up into a frenzy? Ten points (but no free doughnut) for anyone who guessed “choice”. According to Julie Brown, the President of the American Rights League, “the unfortunate reality of a post-Roe v. Wade America is that 'choice' is synonymous with abortion access.” As opposed to something that’s exercised on voting day, of course.
I’m not going to delve further into the thorny politics of abortion, since I don’t really think men should lecture women about what to do with their bodies. The surprising thing, though, is not the utter loopiness of this press release, but that Krispy Kreme bothered to issue a response clarifying that their free doughnut giveaway “was not about any social or political issue”. Big mistake, guys – it’ll only encourage them.
Kentucky Fatso Cricket
Why on earth has Cricket Australia appointed KFC as its Official Restaurant? Now, I enjoy the flavoursome oil bonanza they call Original Recipe Chicken as much as the next person who ought to be dieting. But in a nation where children’s waistlines are ballooning like a Richard Branson publicity stunt, associating fatty foods with sport is surely unacceptable. KFC has already succeeded in rebranding itself so its name no longer contains the embarrassing F-word, and now they’re being allowed to run ads where our cricketing heroes order food that surely no responsible athlete would dream of eating. For the sake of children’s health, KFC should either be forbidden to sponsor the cricket, or forced to feature Merv Hughes and Boonie in every ad.
Bagging the plastic
Driving into Kangaroo Valley this week, I noticed a sign proudly claiming that the South Coast town was plastic-bag free, a policy they’ve had since 2003. In practice, it meant that when I stocked up at the minimart, the cashier just put my groceries into a cardboard box. Why can’t every supermarket do this instead of forcing absent-minded people like me to add to our vast collection of reusable green bags every time we shop? It’s such a simple concept that even Peter Garrett might be able to make it happen.
Wayne’s World
Every year, the G’day USA Festival promotes Australia to our beloved allies across the Pacific, and the Aussie contingent in Hollywood mucks in to try and give our national profile a boost. It’s a more crucial mission than ever this year in light of the financial crisis. And the Government representative attending to stir up excitement about Australian tourism and investment? Wayne Swan. We’re doomed.
Nathan Rees vs Prince Harry
Episode #4 of my Fitzsimons substitute column from summer 08/09.
Rees in pieces
How’s this for some profoundly unsurprising news? The NSW ALP is already considering dumping Nathan Rees, the supposed cleanskin who has utterly failed to revive the party’s dim electoral prospects in his four months as Premier. John Della Bosca has released a statement expressing his support for Rees, which veterans of previous leadership struggles will recognise as a near-certain sign that the axe is being sharpened. And little wonder when even Kevin Rudd has expressed concerns about the State Government’s performance.
It might seem a little cruel to plot against the Premier just after he’s taken a few days off for his honeymoon, but his honeymoon with voters was even shorter, so if Labor wants a shot at avoiding a landslide loss in 2011, they really need to find someone vaguely competent pronto. If indeed there is anyone meeting that description in Macquarie St – the rumours about Frank Sartor and John Robertson doesn’t exactly signal a dramatic break with past failings.
Of course, the most popular politician in this city belongs to neither party. Clover Moore has disproven the ALP’s perennial argument that she cannot serve effectively as Lord Mayor and an MP. Perhaps she could find the time to be Premier as well?
When Harry met Sooty
Prince Harry’s latest gaffe is just more evidence that the Windsors are well past their use-by date. Calling a fellow-soldier a “Paki” may seem an innocuous abbreviation to Australian ears, but the baggage associated with the term was very evident when I spent two years in a London school as a child, when the term was constantly slung around the playground despite our Muslim students being Bangladeshi. Even I was constantly called a Paki on account of being Australian, which is amusing in hindsight but was both hurtful and etymologically confusing when I was nine.
Now we learn that Prince Charles and his children call a polo buddy “Sooty”, which is fairly insulting if based on his Indian background, and extremely insulting if based on the children’s television teddy bear. Of course, that Sooty never speaks, which is an idea Prince Harry might explore.
Nevertheless, this latest controversy has surely laid to rest those lingering rumours about Harry’s parentage. With such a gift for racial gaffes, he must carry the genes of Prince Philip, who once warned a group of British students in China that if they stayed much longer, they’d “all be slitty-eyed”.
The Pacific shark solution
What’s even more damaging to our tourism industry than ads starring Lara Bingle? Three shark attacks in two days which have made headlines the world over, with more than 600 articles on Google News as at the time of writing. Patrolling has increased, and no-one’s better at keeping unwanted arrivals away from our coastline than John Howard and Phillip Ruddock. They should be sent out on jetskis to divert sharks without appropriate documentation to Christmas Island.
It’ll be all white on the night
Here’s a little game for Where’s Wally fans. Take a copy of the Sydney Festival programme, leaf through the sixty pages of events, and see if you can spot one East or South-East Asian face. In the official guide to the biggest annual cultural event in our supposedly multicultural city, I couldn’t spot a single one. Okay, so they’re screening Enter The Dragon, but good luck finding a living Asian performer in the programme.
Fergus Linehan should attend the Film Festival to see how successfully an arts event can engage with the vibrant artistic output of our own region. By contrast, his Eurocentric choices seem a return to the cultural cringe.
To be fair, the musical programme achieved a degree of diversity. But while I love Sharon Jones, surely Linehan could have found a better headliner to follow Brian Wilson than Grace Jones, who is remembered by most people only for a bad Bond movie and a worse haircut. I listened her biggest hit, ‘Slave To The Rhythm’, to make sure I wasn’t merely betraying my quasi-youth. I can assure you that it should never have been exhumed from 1985.
The Decider departs
This week, we finally bid farewell to George Bush, the man history will remember for his twin wars on terror and the English language. But in the general air of celebration, spare a thought for Jacob Weisberg, the Slate editor who has tirelessly collected Bushisms for the past eight years and whose lucrative side business of compilation books now comes to an end.
But while classics like “They misunderestimated me” and “Rarely is the questioned (sic) asked: Is our children learning?” will no doubt outlast the man, it seems fitting to farewell the 43rd President with the quotation that best summarises his time in the Oval Office: “Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.” As an ill-judged sign once said, mission accomplished.
Cricket civility and NYE blasts
Instalment #3 of my columns filling in for Peter Fitzsimons in summer 08/09.
A sporting sporting triumph
Seeking only to capture the experience for Sunday Extra readers, I selflessly attended the last two days of the Sydney Test. The contest between our inexperienced attack and the skilful South Africans was enthralling, and Graeme Smith’s decision to bat remarkable. The entire ground winced pre-emptively as the injured skipper faced every full-paced delivery. I probably wasn’t the only person half-hoping he could hold on for the draw.
Smith and his team have shown throughout this series that it’s possible to be tough and uncompromising and yet gracious and polite. And from the ruin of a first home series defeat in fifteen years has risen a most unfamiliar phoenix: an Australian team which can win a Test match without racial controversy, and so little sledging that Shane Warne sent his mate Smith an SMS to find out why. We should be more proud of our team’s clean-spirited series defeat than if they’d won another gamesmanship-tainted whitewash.
The only disappointing thing about the final day was that a mere 9000-odd people attended, nearly all of them members. The place should have been packed to the rafters, and Cricket Australia should have opened the gates to anyone making a donation to the McGrath Foundation for admission. (And with over $500,000 raised, that pink-tinted charity drive must surely become annual.) The match had more drama and heroism than any one-dayer I’ve seen, and those few kids who turned up are surely now lifetime fans of the long form of the game.
A brand new badge for the Deputy Sheriff
John Howard has been awarded a prize he’ll treasure above all others – another invitation to hang out with George Bush. He’s visiting Washington to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom, previously awarded to independence fighters like Nelson Mandela and Vaclav Havel but awarded in this particular case for subserviency.
Our former leader described the award as “a compliment to Australia”, but surely any prize for being mates with George Bush is Howard’s alone.
It may seem somewhat inappropriate for the President to sit around with Howard and Tony Blair – who is supposed to be a Middle East peace envoy – while war rages in the Gaza Strip. But perhaps even George Bush, like the rest of us, is sitting back and waiting for Barack Obama to do something about it.
It’s e-tolls for thee
Today, nearly a decade after Jeff Kennett boldly converted Melbourne’s main roads overnight, the Harbour Bridge has finally gone electronic tag-only. I’m nostalgic for many things from my youth, like Sunny Boy iceblocks and a match-winning spinner in the Australian cricket team, but I won’t miss those lengthy morning queues in front of the tollbooths. Let’s hope the few remaining toll collectors have found less monotonous employment.
The downside of electronic-only tolling that it’s easier to jack up the prices when they don’t need to be a round number. This is why the Cross City Tunnel now costs a diabolical $4.12. I’m in favour of tolls which vary at different times of day, which will be implemented from Jan 27, but changing to $4 and $2.50 for peak and off-peak crossings constitutes a steep price rise for most motorists. It makes me nostalgic for something else from my 1980s childhood – the 20c Bridge toll.
Having a blast on NYE
A few days into each year, I check the news from the Philippines and remember my dullest New Year’s Eve ever. I was stuck in the drab underground ballroom of a hotel in Manila because the organisers of our nerdy debating tournament were worried about their guests getting hurt. And rightly so, because Filipinos celebrate the New Year by playing with fireworks and firing guns randomly into the air. Their belief that it brings good luck is annually disproved by the injury statistics.
This year, the Philippine government banned military personnel from discharging their weapons, and Health Secretary Francisco Duque filmed an evocative ad where he brandished a circular saw to warn against the annual loss of limbs. Nevertheless, 563 people were injured by fireworks and stray bullets this year, with two deaths. Libertarian types often complain about NSW’s fireworks ban, but as the spectacular display on Sydney Harbour demonstrated, they’re best left to the professionals.
The pre-school Picasso
The story that Melbourne’s Brunswick Street Gallery was tricked into exhibiting paintings by two-year-old Aelita Andre is certainly amusing, but it’s revived the old myth that anyone can paint an abstract painting. We disproved this in 2007 by getting kids to paint ABC personalities for the Archibald Prize. Unfortunately all the entries were rejected, so we couldn’t use the segment on TV, but they made a lovely exhibition in the foyer at Ultimo.
Andre’s paintings look impressive to my untrained eye, but I’m just relieved they weren’t self-portraits. The NSW Police would have tried to confiscate them.
Fred Nile and the land of trials
Column #2 filling in for Peter Fitzsimons in summer 08/09
Fred Nile, friend of Islam?
The irrepressible Reverend Nile displayed uncharacteristic concern for Muslim sensibilities this week by advocating a ban on topless bathing on our beaches. The Christian Democrat MLC fears that the brazen baring of breasts might cause offence. “If they've come from a Middle Eastern or Asian country where women never go topless – in fact they usually wear a lot of clothing –- I think it's important to respect all the different cultures that make up Australia," he said.
This constitutes something of a road-to-Damascus conversion for a man whose election platform last year called for a moratorium on Muslim immigration because of the community’s alleged lack of respect for “Aussie values including democratic pluralism and the rights of women”. Nile also spoke against Muslim women covering up, calling for a ban on the chador.
So what’s Nile’s objection to topless bathing? After all, didn’t God initially create Adam and Eve naked before that pesky serpent intervened? Well, the long-serving MP worries that displays of bare flesh might raise the ire of Muslim men, and so enforcing modesty is necessary to prevent “any provocations or disturbances on our public beaches.”
The argument that those who flaunt their bodies are responsible for the misbehaviour of lust-crazed men is a curiously familiar one. So no doubt we’ll soon see Rev Nile forming an alliance with his Muslim fellow traveller, Sheik al-Hilaly, to rid our beaches of the provocative display of “uncovered meat”.
It will be interesting to see whether Nile’s newfound advocacy on behalf of the Muslim community extends to reversing his strident opposition to Islamic schools like the one proposed for Camden. Somehow I suspect not.
Land of trials
As ever, many Aussies have travelled to Thailand over their end-of-year break, and no doubt are having a great time. But one Australian visitor who isn’t bartering for bargains and slurping down Singhas is Harry Nicolaides, a Melbourne writer and academic who has been in a Bangkok prison since September. He has been charged with violating Thailand’s strict lèse-majesté laws, which provide penalties of up to 15 years for insulting the royal family.
His crime? One paragraph about an unnamed prince’s personal life in a 2005 self-published novel, Verisimilitude, which sold a paltry seven copies. While Foreign Affairs Minister, Stephen Smith, has raised the caise with his Thai counterpart, so far Nicolaides’ bids for bail have been denied, and he still faces up to 15 years in jail.
King Bhumibol, the kindly bespectacled monarch who stares down from the wall of every Thai restaurant, is revered with good reason after decades of sensible rule and many charitable works. Nicolaides’ best hope now is that the king will grant him clemency, as he’s done in similar cases. But surely a monarch who said himself in 2005 that he was open to criticism doesn’t need such laws to protect his excellent reputation?
Forget Paris
You won’t have been able to avoid the news that Paris Hilton once again joined us for New Year’s Eve after the Trademark Hotel in Kings Cross reportedly paid her $100,000 to appear at its party. Which I found hard to believe – surely all you need to do to guarantee Paris’ appearance at just any social function to tell her there’ll be cameras. Her visits to our city are becoming concerningly regular, though, which raises a vital question for all Sydneysiders. How much more does she charge to stay away?
Literal Britain
Working for The Chaser means never being sure whom you’re going to offend next. A couple of weeks ago, we received a complaint from Dr Seuss’ representatives about our t-shirt for Mambo depicting The Hat In The Cat, a parody of the famous character whose iconic headgear is in a more uncomfortable position.
Now we’ve upset the Little Britain guys, whose publicist Moira Bellas sent us an email demanding the removal of an news article on our website with the headline “Even stars now sick of Little Britain”. In a subsequent heated phone call with our manager, Bellas said that the show’s two stars were angry about our little piece, and concern was expressed that fans would think it was real.
We were surprised – surely David Walliams and Matt Lucas can identify satire when they see it? Nevertheless, we felt that two performers whose considerable success has been built on parodying pompous transvestites and rural homosexuals can cope with some gentle mockery of their own, so the article’s staying up.
Fatty New Year
Like many Aussies, I was shocked to hear in June that we’d become the most obese nation in the world. So for 2009, I’ve decided to slim down and get into shape. To combat my own chunk of the obesity crisis, I’ve resolved to visit the gym three times a week. I won’t actually do it, of course. But as with all New Year’s resolutions, it’s feeling good about making them that counts, isn’t it?
Small bars and satirical senators
In summer 08/09, I filled in for Peter Fitzsimons' Fitz Files column for six weeks... this is instalment #1
A big boost for small bars
I keep expecting to stumble upon hidden laneways buzzing with impossibly cool holes-in-the-wall, like they have in Melbourne, but six months after the laws changed, I have yet to discover a single one. Apparently the delay is the fault of an absurdly onerous approval process, with the Community Impact Statement requirement forcing bar owners to go door-to-door, begging for approval from every single narky neighbour – an impossible task. Well, the Rees Government has now dramatically simplified the consultation process, with a requirement only to display a notice on the premises for some venues, so with a bit of luck our city will finally get a broader range of drinking options.
Also deserving of a pat on the back is the removal of the requirement for councils to approve public performances, which will either provide a huge shot in the arm for local singer-songwriters, or dramatically increase the number of awful cover bands.
Now the only disincentive to starting up a small bar is a little thing called the global financial crisis, which has slashed everyone’s discretionary spending and made the banks far cagier about offering business loans. Still, let’s hope some plucky entrepreneurs open their doors, and give us a few new venues to drown our sorrows as global capitalism crumbles around us.
It only remains for the Government to dump its self-defeating new curfew requirements, and we’ll have genuinely sensible liquor laws for the first time ever. It took Melbourne only three months to discover that lockouts only increased the violence they were supposed to stop, so stay tuned for the Premier to realise that better policing of the existing laws is the solution, and draconian rules only make drunk people angry.
A satirical Senator?
Some may be surprised to learn that the US election is still going in Minnesota, that charmingly eccentric state that gave Fargo its mangled vowels. Republican Senator Norm Coleman is now a handful of votes behind his Democrat challenger Al Franken, a former Saturday Night Live star who’s responsible for two great books on politics and the media that are well worth an Amazon order. The first, Lies And The Lying Liars Who Tell Them, is naturally about Fox News, while even the title of Rush Limbaugh Is A Big Fat Idiot is deeply satisfying.
While it looks like Franken won’t be producing more amusingly-titled books anytime soon, the idea of a political satirist crossing the line is an intriguing one, as the dull proceedings of the US Senate could certainly use some snappy one-liners. Perhaps we should convince John Clarke to do the same thing here? His interviews would be a lot more entertaining than Kevin Rudd’s.
What summer?
Sitting sniffling after yet another week of icy winds, I was starting to wonder whether summer had been cancelled, and we never got the memo. So I rang the Bureau of Meteorology to find out, and they reckon that while rainfall might be a little higher over the next three months, but that the temperature outlook from January to March should be normal. I’m still sceptical, but given how awful the weather’s been lately, we should probably be thankful it wasn’t a white Christmas.
The folly and the Ivy
This Christmas, the place to be is apparently the pool bar at the Ivy, Justin Hemmes’ new headquarters of hedonism on George St. All the beautiful people go there on Sunday afternoons to frolic in the sun and admire each other’s toned bodies. Or so I hear – I could only sneak in on a rainy Tuesday night after a function downstairs, and despite my best attempts to impress one of the managers, she correctly adjudged that I wasn’t cool enough to score a membership card.
So where can us non-beautiful people head to enjoy a refreshing outdoor dip and a classy beverage? Well, North Sydney Olympic Pool boasts far better views, and its Aqua restaurant serves great cocktails. Plus, pool entry is only $5.80 – less than you’d dare tip for one drink at Hemmes’ watering hole.
A real Test
South Africa’s victory in the First Test was met with much soul-searching about our depleted cricketing stocks, but we should be grateful to the tourists for delivering a suspenseful summer of cricket. For once, our beloved Sydney Test might not be a dead rubber, and while Brett Lee’s career might be coming to an end, he’s always guaranteed a position in the Indian singles charts.
A beef with the snaparazzi
I’ve known Andrew O’Keefe since he was the star of the Sydney Uni law revue and I was a dorky kid trying to look inconspicuous in the corner of the stage. I mention this mainly to impress you with my awesome celebrity connections, but also because he’s a great bloke who didn’t deserve his treatment this week. Now, everyone with a cameraphone and no respect for privacy is going to try to make a quick buck by ruining celebrities’ nights out. This must be stopped, lest people in the TV industry be forced to endure the Logies sober.
A little Asiavision could do a lot of healing
The credit for today's united Europe should go, above all, to the Eurovision Song Contest. Just a decade after World War II, it brought the people of that continent together to celebrate their belief in love, hope and appalling pop songs.
French and German alike put aside their differences on that historic first Eurovision night in 1956.
When they voted for the Swiss entrant, Refrain, ahead of the morbid Belgian runner-up, The Drowned People of the River Seine, they were really voting for a brighter future. And once the power of music had joined the people of Europe, today's all-encompassing European Union was but a small step away.
This year's broadcast reaffirmed the song contest's status as Europe's most important political forum. Sertab Erener's win has boosted Turkey's chances of EU accession immeasurably, while the zero points score by Britain's Jemini has been viewed as a condemnation of that nation's stance on Iraq, rather than the deserved shellacking of a dreadful performance it actually was.
Again, Australians were left to jealously watch as the Europeans congratulated themselves on their shocking musical taste. (And hats off to SBS for Des Mangan's dignified "no humour" approach to the commentary, which really showed up that sarcastic Terry Wogan.)
Sadly, the closest an Australian has been to Eurovision glory was Gina G's appearance for Britain in 1996. And those few who remember Ooh Ah Just a Little Bit will agree that it wasn't close at all.
With SARS and Bali, we in the Asia-Pacific have had a tough 12 months. So it's time we, too, came together as a region and healed. We need our own Asiavision Song Contest.
After all, thanks to the karaoke craze, singing tunelessly has become the region's preferred way to make friends. And as strange as our very own song contest would doubtless sound, there is no way it could be more unbearable than an intoxicated Japanese businessman murdering My Way.
Eurovision may have brought us such icons of kitsch as ABBA, Nana Mouskouri and Riverdance, but I believe they are nothing compared with what Asia could offer. The weird Japanese punk bands, the glamorous Bollywood dancers and the hilariously earnest Singaporean bureaucrats-to-be would blow Eurovision out of the water, while the massive sugar overload that is Hong Kong Canto-pop would make even the most bubblegummy Scandinavian popstar seem downright sour.
We'd outdo Eurovision for weirdness too - the accordion player who represented Austria this year would hardly seem bizarre at all next to a solemn Vietnamese hymn to Ho Chi Minh. And faux lesbians Tatu would be seen for the limp marketing ploy they are next to a real Aussie drag queen.
My dream may sound fanciful, but it could be realised with a snap of Rupert Murdoch's fingers - he already owns all the pay TV in the region.
I'm thinking of Pyongyang, North Korea, for the inaugural event. Our agents could surreptitiously dismantle their nuclear program during the dress rehearsal, and the leftovers from the opulent banquets would stave off the country's famine for months. I wouldn't be surprised if dippy dictator Kim Jong Il himself represented the host nation - I hear he does an excellent Elvis.
An Asiavision Song Contest would substantially improve the region's political and economic ties. It would remind us of the American culture that, thanks to Hollywood, we all share.
More importantly, it would give us a chance to all come together and celebrate a lot of hilariously awful music. After all, we gave Asia Savage Garden. It's time they got their own back.