Vem Skulla du Gora?

My friend Karen sent me a link to a page of pictures of Swedish dance bands from the 70's. I innocently clicked on the link and my eyes were immediately assaulted with images so horrific, like a train wreck, I couldn't look away. As I scrolled through the pictures, that part of my brain that hates me, remembered a game my friend Angela and I used to play when we'd get bored at a bar gig: 'Who Would You Do?'

We'd start with the band, me with the bass player always, and decide who among the band we would 'do.' If that was not challenging enough or did not provide enough Point-Counterpoint repartee, then we would move onto the other patrons of the bar. Sometimes we'd actually Move On the other patrons of the bar. 

Baracudaz

Left to right: Sigvard, Bjorne, Jorgen, Olle, DJ Kjell

Don't let the pink shirts with the gauzy lampchop sleeves that DJ Kjell's mom made for them fool you. This dance band is HARD CORE, as indicated by the hip hop spelling of their name in the vein of Stone Cold Killaz and Gorillaz. Think of them as Heart informed by Ghost Face Killah.

But the question at hand is 'Ven Skulla du Gora?'

Well, I don't understand Sigvard's hair. The sideburns on Jorgen are just too over the top. Olle reminds me of my pervy 7th grade choir teacher and DJ Kjell looks like a nice guy, but too scrawny. Looks like the Eric Idle look-a-like, Bjorne, is the big winner!

 Bob Candys

Back row, left to right: Greger, Nils, Torkel, Sten.

Front row, left to right: Olle, Thor

Who needs a silly article like the word, 'The' when you are Bob Candys? They are Bob Candys, that's who they are. Not THE Bob Candys, Bob Candies, nor Bob Candy's. When deciding on their costume design, the heartily agreed to go with a Traffic Barrier theme - WITH puffy sleeves! Bravo! 

But sorry, Torkel, I don't care for hippies. Olle, you look too old for me (You! Shut UP!).  Thor, Sten, that's a lot of forehead there. I'll be passing on Greger's Chicklet teeth and going straight after Nils! Rawr!

Tre Blå & en Gul

Left to right: Blå, Blå, Gul, Blå

"Hey guys, I went to Elvis R Us store and they only had three blue shirts so I got one yellow one. So, anyway, what are we going to call our band?"

Hey Captain Yellow Shirt, (or should I say Kapten Gul Tröja,) I admire your willingness to stick out like a sore, yellow thumb. Get over here!

 Scandinavians

Left to right: Thor, Sten, Kjell, Greger, Gustaf

Well, what do you know. Here are some Scandinavians. How can I tell? Well, the 'matching' (not shirt to suit, but person to person) outfits with bell-bottomed sleeves are a dead give-away. Oh, and "Scandinavians" is stenciled on the bottom of their Golden Grain photo. They were all told to cross their arms for the photo, and Greger just couldn't get it right. Gustaf looks a little pissed off and I like his white 'fuck-you' belt. Hey Gustaf, get over here and buy me a drink!

Norrlandspojkarna med Inger

(trans: Lollapallooza with a Vengeance)

Back row, left to right: Perry Farrell, Olle, Torbsjorn.

Front row, left to right: Torkel, Inger, Bjorne

It would appear that Perry Farrell was caught on film just before he backhanded Inger. Who can really blame him though. I mean look at her just sitting there beaming like she's all that after weasling herself into the band by emotionally blackmailing her husband, Torbsjorn. And look at those poor rubes Torkel and Bjorne, stupidly transfixed by her femine wiles. That'd be enough to send me slappin'. Looks like Olle's the only one in this picture without serious mental problems. Normally that would be a turn-off for me, but this band doesn't need ANOTHER Yoko! Olle! 

Hick

'Hick' really only describes one person in this picture. Can you guess who? Ya, well, anyone but him, come on down!

Tonix

Back row, left to right: Olof, Sigfrid, Gosta.

Front row, left to right: Torsten, Nils, Sven

SPARKLY! Who needs beer googles when you have lens glare? Gosta couldn't be bothered put forth the effort to sparkle. Torsten, Nils and Sven all used a curling iron on their hair which makes it a toss-up between Olof and Sigfrid. I don't trust Sigfrid, not for one second. I bet Olof is funnier than shit. Let me get my sunglasses, Olof, and I'll be right there!

Schytts

"Hey honey, did you find a Swedish dance band for our anniversary party?"

"I got the Schytts!"

"So you didn't find a band then?"

(People, this stuff practically writes itself!)

There is absolutely nothing to distinguish any of these guys from the other. So, eenie meenie minie mo... hey, clog-wearing, mullet guy in the front, meet you backstage?

Tage Öst - Fyrklang

Back row, left to right: Hunka, Hunka.

Front row, left to right: Burnin', Love.

'Tage Öst,' translated means, 'Mounting Cheese.' That could mean any number of things. Is the cheese being taxidermied and displayed on the wall? Is the pile of cheese growing larger and larger? Or, my accordion-wielding studs, does it mean that you hump cheese? You know how I am about accordions, and those are monsters! I, I, I... I am the cheese!

Kurt Reines

Back row, left to right: Äke, Sven, Torsten, Olle, Greger.

Front row: Guy with his junk totally out there.

I can only assume that the guy with his junk totally out there is 'Kurt.' He was like, 'Guys, when we have our picture taken, I'm totally highlighting my junk in it.' Everyone else in the band was like, 'No way, dude.' Frankly, Sven has been sick of Kurt's shit for a while, but he endures the young one's hijinx in order to stay in the band and avoid his miserable family.

While I admire a guy who would be so bold as to accentuate his junk in their band picture, I'd have to go for Äke here. Set-apart, he seems mildly amused and unphased. 

Dansgånget Family

I'm going for weird Uncle Olle in the middle of the Dagnåbit family.

Zandra

Back row, left to right: Sven, Torkel, Jorgen.

Front row, left to right: Marta, Greger, Bjorne

'Bjorne! Damn it! It's supposed to be BLACK with red trim! Idiot! THAT is why you are the drummer! You don't fucking LISTEN!'

I don't need to be with anyone who can't follow simple instructions, sorry Bjorne. Torkel, it looks like you may have suffered a stroke, but you're the pick of this litter!

Thorleifs

Back row, left to right: Thor, Leif, Thor, Leif.

Front row, left to right: Thor, Leif.

Finally! A band with some REAL fashion sense. It's a tough call, choosing between Thor and Leif, but I think, I'll have to go with... Leif!

Simsalabim

Your name is WHAT? 

Top row, middle. No question. Not even joking.

Tommy Ferm's

Back row, left to right: Sven, Dag, Christer.

Front row: Kjell.

I was scrolling through this list just WAITING for someone to misuse their apostrophe. And here they are! The Tommy Ferm's!  I can't stop marveling at how completely ugly and ill-fitting their costumes are.  And Dag looks like he was Photoshopped in from a more close-up photo, but seeings how this was taken before the days of Photoshop, it means that Dag is just off-sized. Sven looks like he's in the wrong place and Christer looks like he's in the wrong body. That leaves Kjell, the White Knight, take me away!

Saints

Left to right: Torsten, Ake, Kjell, Olle, Thor.

Apparently, 'Saints' took a break from their gig at the Elks Club to snap their band photo next to the pool. And the award for puffiest sleeves goes to.... Saints! Ake's mom went to far as to put extra fabric in the sleeves and bell bottoms to extend them to the maximum allowed. 

Again, these guys look pretty much the same, but I'll abandon the eenie-meenie-minie-mo method and instead choose the one with the least stomach-churning hairstyle. Despite his grotesquely-scuffed white clogs (He was like, 'Guys! Baby blue suede platforms DO NOT go with our outfits!') , Olle comes out the winner here. Bonus: looks like he might have a motorcycle.

Gert Jonnys

Back row, left to right: Torsten, Sigfrid, Nils.

Front row: Torbsjorn.

Where to start? The elf-like color scheme? The pec vests? The obvious over-use of Aqua Net? The font they chose for their name? I don't know. I just don't know.

Teddy Boys

Left to right: Thor, Sten, Torkel, Olof, Bjorne.

Capes! Capes! Capes with giant fucking bows! Teddy Boys take it to the max! Now, I know I've mocked the bands' puffy sleeves, but I'll admit that I know they have a distinct purpose. You see, the puffy sleeves are there to wave in the breeze as the band plays and hypnotize the audience into believing that they are listening to good music. But capes! I salute you Teddy Boys, you magnificent bastards. I mean, look how much space they have to leave between themselves to make room for the capes! Glorious! But I'm sorry, the name 'Teddy Boys' and the capes indicate to me that none of you would want to go home with the likes of me...

Two of my favorite things...

I watched Heat all day yesterday, over and over. The storyline was a skosh too intricate for me to understand the first time. Or the second time. Or the third time. I finally had to consult my old friend, The Internet, to fill me in on the details that I was unable to grasp. Thanks Internet!

I think the reason why I wasn't able to pay attention to the storyline was the guns. Oh lordy, the guns. At every gun battle, I was focused on each firearm and trying to figure out what it was. But there were SO MANY and I couldn't identify much besides the Colts, M16s and H&Ks.

My dear friend, The Internet? Can you help me here?

Yes, yes, oh freaking YES.

BTW, Tom Sizemore is The HAWT. (And so it his Benelli M3 Super 90 12-gauge pump action.)


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ssn6pV_NbR8

Wallace the Evil Duck - Final Chapter

I've just returned from a 40-mile round trip to pick up my pre-ordered, local, farm-raised, free-range heritage turkey for Thanksgiving - all six pounds of him. More on that later.
It so happens that the farmer I got this turkey from, is also the one who adopted Wallace the Evil Duck.

I asked him how it went with Wallace.

"Oh," he said, "it's kinda sad, actually."

Did he end up on a dinner plate? I asked.

"No, it was weird, he kept attacking all of the other birds. He'd be OK for a couple days, then right back at it again. But then, he went after the cow. He'd bite her teats, and well, then, she started kicking him... and well, she didn't stop until he was squashed into the ground..."
Judge me if you will, but I chuckled at that. It seemed a fitting end to a seriously deranged duck. Here, all we over-generous humans tried keeping him, (I'm reminded of that Twilight Zone episode with the kid who has psychic powers) but the milk cow finally laid down some Farm Law on his waddly ass.

"I don't understand what was wrong with that duck," said the truly gentle farmer.

"Well, his mom rejected him, that's how I ended up with him. She probably rejected him for good reason."

R.I.P. Wallace, for everyone in Farm Heaven's sake, OK?

October

Let's just pretend that October never happened. To make it easier to forget, let's concentrate on these wise words imparted to me, some years ago, by my friend Randy, who is a therapist:

"Connie, if you find yourself attracted to a guy, the best thing for you to do is just WALK AWAY. No, RUN away." 

Obviously, if had I heeded Randy's sage advice, it would have saved me from major heartbreak. However, if he'd explained his theory in more detail, perhaps I would have learned how to avoid putting myself in these situations. But then he would have had to bill me for therapy sessions. And what, that would be a few hundred bucks and instead, I'd rather waste years of my life banging my head up against a wall.