All posts for the month April, 2015

Oh, Morten… (Take on This!)

Published April 28, 2015 by authorbebedora

take on this1

Oh goodness...

Oh goodness…

Take on This!
—-Oh, Morten…—-

Green checkered pants, a black sleeveless shirt, a maroon velvet vest and…tennis shoes?

Sit down and we’ll talk about this. Look, I’ve baked us a marzipan cake and put some coffee on. It might take a while, but we’ll get to the bottom of this and have you back out in the world in no time.

Please don’t take what I’m about to say as an attack on you—it’s not. Think of it as more of an exploration of what transpired. We’re trying to ensure that it never happens again. So please believe me when I say that this isn’t an easy subject for me to address, but it’s essential if we’re going to be able to move forward.

I’m here to help.

There are just SO MANY THINGS wrong with this ensemble. But we’re going to figure this out and get you back on the road to a fantastic outfit. Don’t worry; it’s going to be okay. I promise.

In no simple terms, this is a fashion nightmare. I’m guessing that someone on the photo shoot dressed you in that getup and that it wasn’t from your personal collection. I’m even willing to let it slide if they *are* from your own closet…but not for the actual putting-together of the outfit. Worn apart from each other, most of it wouldn’t be so bad. Notice I said “most of it.” The green pants are unacceptable in any circumstance.

The word “abomination” actually comes to mind.

We all know that fashion sense is an acquired thing, and what some people find to be pleasing to the eyes is downright atrocious to another. But in this case, there’s no getting around it.

Sweetheart, they’re bad.

The vest and sleeveless shirt are acceptable—possibly even together—because, well…c’mon. THOSE ARMS. A nice pair of, oh, let’s say…black leather pants, and you’ve got a very nice thing going.

The shoes? Again, by themselves they’re fine. I’ll even excuse the black socks poking out. The vest seems a little fancy for tennies, but I’ll let it slide. So what are we left with?

The pants.

The pants…the pants…the pants.

Are we noticing a theme here?

Now, I understand that it was the mid-nineties, when the fashion choices were marginal at best. I was guilty of some not-so-great wardrobe decisions myself. Usually it involved a silk shirt and a Star Trek communicator pin, but this isn’t about me today, so we’ll just that that go.

Even though it’s hard to forget things like this once we’ve seen them—and this is something that cannot be unseen—it’s best to try and move on.

Let’s remember that you’ve had a lot of fashion wins in your career. Case in point—pretty much every outfit you wore from Minor Earth Major Sky to Analogue. If I can say one thing, it’s that you really know how to rock leather pants, my Norwegian friend.

So, let’s put water under the bridge, so to speak, with the green checkered pants. Let them go peacefully to whatever plane of oblivion they deserve to be residing in. They’re better off there, trust me.

Or you could set them on fire. Your choice.

Just promise to never EVER put them on again.

(Note: A few days before this column entry went live…I found another picture of him in the pants. I think they’re actually his… Oh, Morten…)


Scoundrel Days (Take on This!)

Published April 21, 2015 by authorbebedora

****This is the first entry in a weekly column that I’ll be writing for a fantastic Facebook page dedicated to A-ha and getting them back to North America to tour in 2016.  (for some reason, the link won’t work, so the name is [A-ha Morten Harket USA 2015]) So, anytime you see “Take on This!” in the title, it’s an article from there that I wanted to also share here. Enjoy!****

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You know that moment when you find something so awesome that you almost don’t know what to do with yourself? That happened to me a few months back.

I was visiting a local record shop that I don’t frequent regularly because the owner can be crabby. Like, downright grump-tastic. Perma-scowl. How he can be so grumpy surrounded by all those records is beyond me. Anyway, I decided to go in on a whim while downtown and, well… I think I freaked him out a little bit.

Why, you ask?

Because he had a factory-sealed copy of Scoundrel Days.

*insert your own screaming here*

I tried to keep my cool but I may or may not have screeched and clapped my hands over my mouth like a crazy fangirl. I’m sure he thought I was insane. I mean, here was this tiny, purple-haired dynamo jumping up and down in the middle of his dusty lower-level record shop, overly excited over an album by a group he more than likely considered to be a one-hit-wonder.

He could have asked $50 for it and I probably would have thrown my credit card at him. Thankfully, it was only $9. I wouldn’t have a lot of explaining to do at home.

I think I paid for it…I was pretty much in an ecstatic haze by this point. He didn’t chase me out the door, so I’m confident I’m not a criminal.

This was one of many times that I wished my vehicle had a turntable in it. Now, logistically, I know that would be impossible. I mean, we’ve got a serious pothole problem in Southeastern Wisconsin and it would destroy the records. See? I’ve thought this through. It doesn’t mean I still don’t want it to be a thing.

As I sat in my car staring at my new prize next to me (I didn’t buckle it in. I did think about it though…), I was instantly faced with a dilemma.

To open or not to open?
I was torn. On one hand, this was a pristine piece of history. Untouched by any phonograph needles for close to thirty years. Could I really breach the seal and expose it to the air? To dust? To a mischievous child that lives in my house and loves to touch ALL THE THINGS?

On the other hand, I WANTED TO LISTEN TO IT.

Yes, I have the album on CD. Yes, it’s also on my MP3 player. I know I can listen to it any time I want. But here’s the thing. Maybe it’s my upbringing in a primarily vinyl household, maybe it’s my love for old media, but there’s nothing quite like listening to a record. The cracks and pops make it unique. Even if it’s a new LP, it still has that crackle, that distinctive sound you can only get from vinyl.

I brought it home and rested it against the front of my turntable. It shone like a ray of sunshine in my living room. I’ll admit that I stared at it for a good two or three minutes without moving a muscle.

By the next day I couldn’t stand it anymore, and my childish need to open things for the sole reason of opening them won out over practicality. I knew it would kill the condition and resale value, but then, who was I kidding? Like I would ever sell it anyway. In the end, I let it sit on display for a little less than a day and I was careful to keep it away from seven-year-old hands.

That’s not to say it wasn’t taunting me for said almost-day. I’m pretty sure I actually heard it mock my strife from across the room, sticking its little record tongue out at me as it laughed at my dilemma of whether or not to indulge. A coy, gap-toothed smile flashed from the cover as Morten implored me to open the plastic. Mags batted his seductive Norwegian eyes in an attempt to get me to put the album on the turntable. Paul stayed silent, but their intent was very clear—they really wanted me to listen to the record. (Yes, I’m aware that makes me sound like a crazy person. But it happened one-hundred-percent absolutely exactly this way…I swear.)

When I broke the plastic and unwrapped it, it was like Christmas morning. I turned it over and over in my hands, running my fingers over the raised portions of the cover art. As I inspected the actual record, I grinned broadly as I found no scratches. It truly was perfect.

And it sounded incredible, crackles and all.

Oh, and I’m pretty sure Morten winked at me as it was playing.

Giving Video Game Characters The Finger

Published April 15, 2015 by authorbebedora

I flipped off a bandit highwayman in Skyrim today.

He deserved it.

Let me set the scene.  Picture it, just after dusk on the outskirts of Riften on the road leading to Fort Greenwall.  Snow is lightly falling as I run along the path.  It’s just dark enough where it’s hard to see (partly due to the damn sun that shines outside my window) and I have only a split second before the group of thugs is on my little Wood Elf bad-ass.  Her name is Athena and she’s got a nasty Orcish bow that snares souls.  Don’t ask her to smith any armor for you though, she’s really bad at it.

A battle ensued, quickly leaving only one enemy standing.  I think they were scared of my dragon shouts.  (And rightfully they should be. Chickenshits.)  The last baddie, a mortally wounded highwayman, began to run.  No doubt out of sheer terror that Athena would unleash a massive Frost Breath shout and freeze him where he stood.

I’d like to say that things went smoothly.

This asshole bandit managed to not only lead me on a wild goose chase to find his sorry ass, but then actually hurt me.  Badly.  Like, make me have to put my bow away and haul out my axe so I could heal myself.  One arrow.  That’s all it took.  I don’t think it was enchanted and I really don’t think he could have been that strong.  I’m chalking it up to the “Skyrim Goblins.”  You know, the ones that cause mages you happen to shout at to fly into the ceiling, never to be seen again.  Or the ones that freeze your game just before you’re going to finish a really big dungeon–and you haven’t saved in a while.

Whatever the reason, Athena and I were royally pissed and needed to vent our rage.  One shout later (and three arrows into the body for good measure) he was deceased.  I stripped him and his comrades of everything they held dear (yup, that’s how I roll) and made my way to Riften to sell their belongings to fund my home-decorating fund.  (Because a girl’s gotta have ALL THE THINGS.)

As I circled the pile of corpses and made my way back to the last victim, I gave him the only salute I felt would be fitting.  I flipped him the bird.  There may or may not have also been a rousing “Fuck You!” to go along with it.

Because no one messes with Athena.

She’ll fuck you up…

…and sell your clothes.

I think I might be a sorceress.

Published April 8, 2015 by authorbebedora

Okay, so remember last month when I asked A-ha to come back?  Well, I’m pretty sure they all personally read my blog post because THEY’RE COMING BACK!

You can all thank me now.  I like candy and cash.

On March 25th, they announced a new album to be released in September.  I screeched in the living room and almost did a cartwheel.  After careful deliberation, I decided against said cartwheel.  I didn’t feel like going to the emergency room that day.

They also told us they would be touring…Germany and Switzerland.  Well, that’s just fine…except I DON’T LIVE IN GERMANY OR SWITZERLAND!  Now, they said there would be more tour dates announced at a later time, but I’m not a patient girl.  I mean, I nearly went insane waiting for Star Trek: Into Darkness to be released.  (And don’t even get me started on the fact that I’m counting the days until Star Trek 3 is released.  Yes, the one that they haven’t even begun filming yet…)

I didn’t get the chance to see them in Chicago in 2010.  I’m not going to miss out on that opportunity again.

So, here’s my plea to my bazillions of readers.  (You are there, right?)  Sign the petition my friend has begun.  Help  us get A-ha back in the United States and Canada.  Even if you’re not a fan and would never go to a show…do this for us!  PLEASE!  Every signature counts.  I’ll bake you cookies…

I want this chance to see them.  I need this to happen.  If you would have asked me two months ago about an A-ha reunion, I would have voiced my opinion about Rock in Rio (I had no interest in ever going to Brazil…not even for them) and then quietly pouted because there was never going to be any more band.  Now they’re back, with new material, a new tour and we fans are going crazy.

Even if they don’t come to the US, which will make me really disappointed, I’m still looking forward to the new album and all the hoopla that goes with it.

But let me tell you this:  if they play a gig in Chicago, I will be there.  Husband, that means you’re going to be there…FYI.  It will be marvelous.  I’ll probably cry.  A lot.

And it will be one of the most magical, memorable moments of my life.  Here’s hoping…