BoWilliams.com » Memories

Ben Gazzara, Road House’s Brad Wesley, dead at 81

Bo — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 01:47:45 +0000

Prolific and Emmy award-winning actor Ben Gazzara died this morning. He was 81.

The New York Times article—which I somehow was able to read an hour or so ago but which is now demanding login credentials, therefore preventing me from linking to it— disingenuously and snobbishly avoids any mention of what is surely Gazzara’s greatest role: that of Brad Wesley in the masterpiece Road House. (The briefest of mentions can be found here.)

(Note that Patrick Swayze and Jeff Healey are gone already. Is there a Road House curse? Mind yourself, Kelly Lynch.)

RIP.

The Bible on marriage The Bible mentions marriage several hundred times. This list of...
“Crunchy Granola Suite,” August 2008 Apologies to Facebook friends for the rerun, but it’s been...
The spoils of Democrat hubris Isn’t it a fine morning? Don’t the colors and sounds...

Technology’s insidious cerebral assault

Bo — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 02:46:42 +0000

Our longtime friend Alex is an architect. As systematic as he is, he may be better suited to his occupation than anyone else we know.

So six or seven years ago, we were visiting over a beer, and he was telling me about his Saturday morning. He had a backyard construction project going, and he told me “so yeah, I thought I’d try it this way, and if it didn’t work out I’d just Undo it and try it another way…”

See what happened there? He spends his days mostly in software, where a mouse click or two wipes away a mistake. That mindset momentarily invaded his real world convincingly enough to plant an absurd thought.

I’d remembered that as an interesting anecdote and nothing more until today, when I realized technology had similarly compromised my thinking. I was listening to talk radio at lunch and wanted to hear something said, but hadn’t been listening closely enough. My immediate thought was “well, I’ll rewind it and…”

…except I can’t rewind the radio in my F-150, can I? Oops.

My DVR, and probably to some degree online video, have apparently wrecked my attention span. My default level of attention is now less than it ever has been, because I’ve been conditioned to believe that I can simply rewind if I want to truly listen to something.

You know, everybody worries about nuclear holocaust or environmental calamity as the cause of humanity’s potential extinction during its ontological adolescence.

What if it’s just that we’re eventually going to be unable to listen for thirty damned seconds in a row?

Mammary assault Hey, let’s make it Breast Week on WmWms! Ha ha! ...
The silicon-based assault on English Several years ago I worked with a fellow I’ll call...
I’ll do this, even though it’s for old people Said that before? I have, today. Know what I was...

Joe Paterno dead at 85

Bo — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:44:02 +0000

Longtime Penn State football coach Joe Paterno died this morning. He was 85.

This really should have been an easy post to write. There is quite a lot to say about Paterno’s extensive contributions to the Penn State community, his commitment to academic excellence, and his coaching accomplishments.

There aren’t many things that could have slapped an eternal “Yeah, but…” on such a legacy, but Jerry Sandusky’s alleged behavior qualifies.

Most of what I’ve read and heard today cautions against defining Paterno’s career by the mistake that ended it, on the basis of what I’ve said above. People are saying it because they wish it were possible. I do too. It isn’t. Ask Woody Hayes.

RIP.

Sad Valley There is no sense yet to be made of the...
Joe Paterno: could not coach again, and Penn State made the correct...
Football stuff I know this week Penn State (11-1) has won the Big Ten and earned...

Rarely senselessly vulgar; frequently slightly tacky

Bo — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 13:45:19 +0000

I wrote “rarely senselessly vulgar; frequently slightly tacky” early on in my blog’s life, and it’s still usually what I say when I’m asked to provide a blog description. I envisioned it mostly as a content warning, though I also liked the transposition of the syllable structure from the first phrase to the second. I thought it was a clever way to tell you up front that I might say “fuck,” but would try not to do so gratuitously.

Thing is, I don’t say “fuck” much anymore. I’ve sometimes written of the fact that I’ve never tried to be a different person online than I am in real life, and that I found it difficult not to question the motives of those who did. I don’t think it’s that. I think my change from the beginning to now represents an honest evolution in the way I do things, not that I was once pretending and now I’m not (or vice versa). I’d probably still call BoWilliams.com PG-13, but more for thematic reasons than the occasional profanity.

Still, without question, I’ve always written this blog to adults. I have only considered children stumbling upon it in terms of a combination of likelihood that they would do so, and relative severity of what they would find if they did, and have always been “societally” comfortable with what I put out there. Yet now I’m doing a lot of thinking about my own children reading it. (Thanks to a friend for germinating that seed.) It gives me great pause. My boys were 5 and 2 when I started this blog, and I never had a single thought of them reading it. (In October 2006, had I even any thought of this blog existing in 2012? Probably not.)

But it does. And now Nathan is 10. And though he is still tightly supervised online both at home and school, it won’t be long before he’ll have no trouble finding a free whirl at the web here and there. You know, it’s not that I can remember ever writing anything here I’m ashamed of. I just never considered the, say, 12- to 19-year-old version of my own son when writing. I’ve been through thoughts “out loud” here that I wouldn’t mind my adult son reading, but that might frighten or confuse him as an adolescent.

I’m certainly not so vain to imagine that my son can’t wait to get to an unsupervised terminal just so he can wade through Dad’s thoughts for the past several years. But this will be here, and at an idle moment, he’ll think of it. I’m pretty sure I don’t want that, and I’m also pretty sure there’s only one reasonable solution to it.

If you’re my age or close to it, odds are decent an Atari 2600 made a memorable pass through your childhood. Do you remember when you would play Combat or Air-Sea Battle (or a few others), that the scores would blink on and off with maybe 30 seconds remaining as a warning that the game was about to end? That motif has stayed with me. I’ll be in the middle of something—making an omelet, doing the taxes, racing the dark to get the grass cut—and think “oops, the scores just started blinking. Better wrap this thing.”

I think that—for this BoWilliams.com, in its current instantiation—the scores just started blinking.

They were more than tacky signs Know something I miss from the ’70s? Huge, tacky, landscape-dominating,...

Childhood buddies revisit Pecanwood Drive

Bo — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 01:51:38 +0000

I met my childhood friend David on Pecanwood Drive in Anniston at 10:15 this morning. Best we could piece together, we had not seen each other since 1984.

The weather wasn’t entirely cooperative for our walk through our old neighborhood, but it was nothing umbrellas couldn’t mitigate. We examined our old territory lovingly and carefully, enjoying details of the sort that little kids remember and no one else notices. It still says “’77 Rob” on one of the gutter drains, just where Rob Atkinson scratched it with a stick in the wet concrete most of 35 years ago. We found the part of a Grand Prix emblem fused to the asphalt where a car burned in the street between our houses about 1980, though it’s now worn almost completely smooth. Our creek still flows, though all of the wooded trail approaches to it are gone, thanks (it appears) to someone who has massively overbuilt the neighborhood on the east side of Sandrock.

I had determined with a casual examination on an earlier trip that our big red clay pit we called “Devil’s Hill” or “Devil’s Pit” probably had houses and yards on it now, and later confirmed it on Google Maps. But I wanted us to stand where it was on this junket. This ends up being a bit of a challenge for two adults. See, no one much cared that little boys were passing through their backyards a few times a day headed to and from trails, forts, and such.

But grown men don’t pass through. Grown men trespass. Grown men must be up to something.

It didn’t seem advisable to walk up Walt Adams’ old driveway and disappear out the back to get there, like we did 30 years ago. So we walked down Cherry Circle and kept going, because that was how you got to it from the west. (Still a bit of trespassing, but it was between two yards, more or less, and our exposure was shorter.) Clearly, no one had passed through in some time. I think I recognized one familiar spot, but it was thoroughly reclaimed by stickers and vines. Nevertheless, we bush-hogged our way to where Devil’s Hill was, and yup, it’s homes, on streets hanging off Coleman that didn’t exist when we were growing up.

Then we drove a bit, taking in essentially all of Golden Springs. Stopped at what is now called the Norwood Hodges Community Center and got a few steps, including a hoof around the circuit I rode in the Cystic Fibrosis Bike-a-Thon. (Poetically, it was 31 miles, 31 years ago.) Checked on Edwin’s old house. There it is. Checked on Chris and Terri’s old house. There it is. Checked on Golden Springs Elementary. There it is.

Off to Mata’s for a leisurely lunch. Well, it would have been, but it seems they’re closed on Sunday. Absurd. Over to Classic on Noble, which is the place to be in Anniston (and for which we were badly underdressed, particularly for Sunday lunch, but hey, we didn’t know we were going there). What is advertised as “brunch” is actually a massive high-quality smorgasbord in every direction, and we had a grand time. I recognized the hostess as Betty, the woman who taught me racquetball and the face of the YMCA in the late ’70s and early ’80s. (I’d have described her as “old” then. She really is now.) We had dessert and coffee with David’s parents, who go every Sunday after church, and it was marvelous to see them. David’s mom told me they still call our old house “Bo and Jenny’s house.”

After a promise of getting our wives and children together at the lake this summer, we parted. I expected we’d have fun, and it was so much more than I even thought it would be. You know, I didn’t take a single photo, but I’m not sure that matters. The things that made the day special were really things that only David and I can appreciate, and we were there.

God bless old connections rekindled.

Strange happenings at my childhood home on Google Street View As creepy as Google Street View is, it’s a blast...
The 225-mile drive around the block I drove to Helena, Alabama today after the boys’ games. ...
Passing Obamacare without another House vote? It could happen Hey, you want to know what happens next? How about...

Mom’s cautionary tales

Bo — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 05:11:31 +0000

As I was performing a little phalangeal maintenance this afternoon, I started thinking about some of the cautionary tales my mother used to tell us when we were young children in an effort to keep us from developing bad habits. I guess most moms do that, but she told stuff I’ve never heard anywhere else.

For example, to keep us from biting our nails, she would speak ominously of the runaround. “That’s an infection all the way around your finger,” she’d say, leaning in starting with “all” to really make the point. Well, fine, but see, I think I was probably 12 or 13 before I even really understood what an infection was and why it was potentially dangerous. So I remember nodding solemnly and keeping my mouth shut, because it was clear that’s what she wanted, but having no idea what the big deal was.

Same when she would tell me no for a box of sweet cereal or a soft drink, because she’d lean in just the same way and tell me that sugar was poison to my body. (She called a soft drink a “bellywash,” by the way.) And I see I talked about that sweet cereal before.

But my favorite was what she told us to keep us from picking our noses. She would tell this crazy story about this guy driving down the road with his finger in his nose, and he had a wreck and his head slammed into the dashboard and he rammed his finger into his nose to such a degree that he couldn’t get it out. “So then he had to go into the hospital with his finger in his nose,” she’d say, nodding knowingly and thoroughly confident she’d made her point.

So for more than 30 years, I’ve had this hilarious vision of this guy busting the ER doors open, running around erratically with his finger stuck up his nose. He has a striped shirt and a mustache.

You ever hear anything from your mom that you never heard anywhere else?

Damp washcloth, stat It’s unfortunate that some of the moments you’d most like...
Upward awards with Dave “Travelin’” Davlin Another successful Upward season has concluded, and our neighbors at...
A little less drama next Valentine’s Day, please Lea gave all of her guys (that would be everyone...

It’s a new Gremlin!

Bo — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 03:36:54 +0000

James Lileks is at it again, and anyone with a sense of humor should be grateful. This is from the The Price Is Right section of his new (beta, actually) ’70s portal. Enjoy. Be careful with any beverages you may currently be enjoying.

This post is relaxed, appreciative, and devoid of profundity Well, I’ve checked my intellectual dipstick, and it seems that...
“Like getting beaten with a bag of oranges” So goes Jerry Seinfeld’s description of hack comedian Kenny “the...
The last last first weight loss post Blogging about it has generally been the kiss of death...

More TV than you can watch

Bo — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 03:32:15 +0000

So I just sent The Road back to Netflix today. I might have watched 10% of it. Mostly I’ve walked by it sitting on the entertainment center and thought “I need to send that back” for the past six weeks.

You know, I don’t think I’m even going to try any more movies based on books that I’ve read and liked. I’m curious about Never Let Me Go, but I enjoyed the book so much that I think I’ll just keep those feelings about the work and not risk any worse ones.

So whence Netflix? I’ve kept the disc part of the plan pretty much because anything at all recent that you ever want to see is unavailable on the streaming. I do use the streaming side of it more, though. In fact, the available television is now plentiful enough that I could follow new series indefinitely, and there are enough movies out there now to keep it interesting. How many new releases do I watch, anyway? Maybe I drop the disc part of the Netflix plan and just go à la carte on Xbox Live whenever there’s something new I want to see. (There’s supposed to be a major system update tomorrow making the Xbox 360 even more of an entertainment hub, too.)

It’s interesting to see this swing so wildly in my lifetime. I do think we had “57 channels and nothin’ on” not so long ago. Now there is enough high-quality TV to watch that you really could do nothing else. Seems like that makes it particularly important to choose wisely, doesn’t it?

Netflix and the Friday of Bo All right, I bit. I had designated today the Friday...
Relaxed I think this is the first weekend of the year...
Review: Pirate Radio Pirate Radio came recommended by a friend, and I’m glad...

Playing the field, or not

Bo — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 23:36:20 +0000

As much as I love women, which is a lot, I was never any good at dating more than one at once. I can only remember once that I even tried, and it was exhausting.

With few exceptions (and most of those were in the immediate aftermath of my broken engagement in 1993), for me, dating was essentially looking for a wife. Whoever she happened to be at any given point, I dated her exclusively even when I knew she wasn’t dating me exclusively.

When I consider what dating is today, that’s one of the things I wonder about. Does anyone do that anymore, or is it just hopelessly old-fashioned in the “hookup” culture? (Incidentally, when I consider what dating is today, I’m also delighted not to be doing it.)

Mike Judge sends another one over the center field wall Take an underachieving private, an overachieving prostitute, and a top...
On this day ten years ago… Today is mine and Lea’s 10th wedding anniversary. We were...
Playing nicey-nice with Obama because he’s likable? Just cold rain now, but at least a bit of...

Stuff I liked that not enough of you did, so it’s gone

Bo — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 02:03:44 +0000

Diet Mountain Dew. Of course, I refer to the original formula, and I’ve been over it at some length.
Raisins, Rice & Rye. I’m pretty apathetic about raisin bran, but this stuff totally rocked. The flakes stayed crispy, and they had a lot of flavor. My gustatory memory for this is stronger than just about any other departed comestible, I think.
HD DVD. Sigh.
The Jackie Thomas Show. Tom Arnold’s rise to fame was questionable by reasonable people because of its logistics, but they obscure the fact that he was, in fact, a pretty funny guy. His turn in True Lies was the best thing he did; this short-lived sitcom was runner-up.
Palm OS. In my life, so far, this has been the only platform wishing to take over my life to which I have mostly submitted. Alas, a perfect storm of mismanagement and circumstance doomed it. I still have and use my T|X, complete with third-party drivers for Windows 7.
My home cholesterol monitor. I can’t remember who made it, but I paid a non-trivial amount of money for it, and the company immediately went out of business. Naturally, the test strips were proprietary.
Del Taco. Well, it’s gone around here, anyway. When I was in the ninth grade, there was one across 78 from Oxford High School, and we used to visit it between the end of the school day and the start of band practice. Absence makes the, um, stomach grow fonder and all that, so I’ve probably idealized it just a little bit in my memory, but I do remember it being very much better than Taco Bell.
VH1 Classic. Here’s another “original formula” lament. It’s mostly a whole lot of crap now—endless thrown-together documentaries, four-hour movies on The Temptations, and so forth. Several years ago, it was very, very close to early MTV—12 to 15 videos an hour, presented without fanfare. They were meticulous about showing the entire video, too.
Dickeys. Just kidding.

“Like getting beaten with a bag of oranges” So goes Jerry Seinfeld’s description of hack comedian Kenny “the...
“Media Man,” Flash and the Pan Do you know that song? Probably not. Almost no one...
Wal-Mart hilariously mystified by its ongoing decline As I type, Wal-Mart is expected to announce its second...