Because the name is too good to give up on (and the graphic I Photoshopped two years ago even better), I’ve decided to once again surrender to my paralyzing compartmentalization impulse (again) and re-start blogging all my telestuff on MATLOG. Tele your friends!
This is the guy. There’s some b-list MMA fighter (no offense, I’m sure you’re good, rep that name, baby), some work-from-home mentor dot commer, who’s probably my biggest current competition in terms of web presence, but old late 70s British by way of California skateboard JH is probably my biggest competition in terms of overall celebrity (FOR NOW). I will obviously be using that name graphic somewhere. It’s enough to make me want to switch to that old, classic WP theme, just to see it at the top. [UPDATE: Wait, I can do it on this one, i.e. I just did it on this one. Yea? Nay?]
There’s something about her. Found this while writing this. She went to Auburn. There’s even more something about her.
Here she is at Auburn. Was so happy I found this. Unlabeled, but it’s her. I knew forever that she’d gone here. It’s one of those things you hear about. But never did hardcore digging. When I did, there she was, this golden Shira of the stage. In Auburn. In the early 80s. I could write a great short story. Normally I’d try to keep this to TWER because only TWER can have it and keep it and appreciate it. But no, it deserves to be out there. Just know I put it out there, that I have a special relationship with it. I’ve tried to email her a few times for interviews. Never works. You’d think it would work but it hasn’t worked. It’s OK.
This is great, too.
ESPN used a bunch of my stories for an Untold (but not really) 2013 Iron Bowl stories segment for College GameDay yesterday.
You can read about how that happened (riveting) and watch the video here. (I keep smiling about the earthquake getting the ESPN seal of authenticity, what with writing that long stupid thing I wrote about how the earthquake game everyone thinks about when they hear “earthquake game” was pretty much invented by ESPN in exactly the same way.)
Had to let THIS happen to me (too bored / depressed to comment) while waiting for the credit they promised. But at least it was there, unlike the Bo, Barkley, Big Hurt documentary. I stood freezing outside in Snowmageddon ’14 talking to a source for those people. Oh, and also went archivin’ for photos. Now I’m mad again. This was, no lie, the fourth, maybe fifth time ESPN or folks making documentaries for them have asked for Auburn-y help. (Can’t even remember if I’ve gone into any of this stuff here before. Oh wait, yes, at least once. Wait, twice.)
I just Googled and knew there had to be a dozen image search results for this thing and yep, but I saw it today searching for old columns in Collier’s at the library and I was just ‘yes, there it is.’ The trip would be a success now, even if I didn’t find anything. I did, but this is still the first thing I clicked on from the jump drive. And I just read it. OMG, she wouldn’t have made it across the Atlantic Ocean without Lucky Strike. And they want to ban tobacco in New York or something, right? Or wherever it is. We’re grooming the future of this country on smoke free campuses where kids study about heroes who sucked down Lucky Strikes to make the history they’re studying them for. Or something. I don’t know, it’s just awesome. She’s awesome — “her name matches her passion” as Sadie once said — so of course she’s in some giant 1928 Lucky Strike ad just staring at us and being like, cigarettes don’t kill you, these things kept me alive. Four thousand miles of Lucky Strikes. They’re toasted.
Just corrected someone at al.com on where the rivalry stands (James 1:16 at the beginning of the tweet) and dude retweeted it, so that made it a little better. Making a difference.
Sitting here with Sadie and Jennie and they’re doing Minecraft. It’s crazy. Bonding over Minecraft. I should have known. And I’m sitting here trying to start a new blog for every word in the English language. I’m also DJing. Magnetic Fields, who Sadie thinks should have named themselves Dark Oak. Magnetic Fields is pretty magical as far as names go but Dark Oak is powerful, too. Now it’s bed time. Fun stops. C’est la vie.
(written after the Georgia loss, published Monday. I didn’t even post it. Not that I was devastated or anything. Just titling it that because that a trope type thing, right?)
I used to write celebrities all of the time in middle school (addresses magically acquired via proto message board things in the pre-net’al world of Prodigy). Early middle school. Early 90s. Well maybe ’91-92 and stuff. Mostly women. Mostly supermodels. More on that later, God willing. Every now and them one would write back with a personal note, and THAT was a special week of summer. I’ve had the Julie Newmar one on the wall for a while (probably use it in conversations once every other year or so). “Purr…fect.” Pretty hot. (I AM purr…fect.)
Found the Park Overall one a while back. Took a picture of it. Just found the picture of it. I’m sure she said that to all the young weirdos. (You know, thinking about it, thinking about who Park Overall was in 1991 or so, I was probably the only young weirdo. Well, maybe not. America’s a big place. But I hardly ever even watched Empty Nest. Mostly just when I was down at Grandmama’s in Auburn chilling with popcorn in the night glow of family.) But still—made me feel special. Still does. The kind of thing Maria Von Brainpickings would do a post on when it was discovered in some university archive’s Jeremy Henderson collection.
By the way, I know that sounds lame and fratty or church rap whatever, but that “totally slammin’ house party” was totally slammin’, it was a punk show (in high school! Exhaust was there, and some anti-Nazi band, which were things). They were just trying to be cute.
Back to computer filing.
I feel like every time I try to explain to Sadie what I do, this pathetic stuff her Dad does, so she can have something to tell the kids on the playground or whatever — I feel like every time I try, or I do, every time I have a good excuse to, it’s a moment. She has a pretty good idea already, has for a while. But I still try to give specific concrete examples every whenever I can. Now that I think about it, it’s probably more to make myself feel good.
One time, I took her to Chappy’s for breakfast, six or so months ago I guess, and it was right after I had done this post that had gotten a lot of attention, and we heard some elderly-ish ladies two booths behind say “I saw that on The War Eagle Reader this morning.” Or maybe it was “yesterday.” Either way, our ears instantly caught it and Sadie smiled and I smiled and it was like, man, that’s when you know you’ve made it. Not when Yahoo or USA Today or someone steals your stuff or you’re mentioned on ESPN—when old ladies drinking coffee at the only thing we really have that passes as a diner in town anymore say the name of your website by name without having, or at least feeling the need to explain to other old ladies what it is. (The OA-News. The Wall Street Journal. The War Eagle Reader.) I took a picture of Sadie with them in the background. And that was a moment. (She had been with me while I was doing the groundwork for the post, i.e. doubling back on our way home and taking a picture of a sign which we’ve done a million times—I think that kind of hit it home.)
Anyway, the other day we went to the art museum (actually some really cool stuff up in there right now, I’m impressed) and it hit me this would be the first time I’d get to see that photo of John Oates in a War Damn Eagle shirt. Which is hanging in a freaking art museum, Auburn’s art museum, because of me. That’s just the way it is. Plain, simple, Wikpedia. Thing is there because a year ago I read the email and bolted out of bed and went into my office and sat down and banged out a post. And tweeted it. And put it on Facebook. This is what I do. Behold the power, I told Sadie. I tried setting the stage and giving her the context of the zillions of random cultural reference points. She got it. It wasn’t as great as the Chappy’s moment, but it was still a moment. It’s stupid, but I tell myself it’s OK to be proud every now and then. She’s proud of me. It’s OK to take a selfie. (I invented selfies.)
Went to sleep hungry for more Homeland and woke up to this.
You know, Claire Danes (I really hope that’s her real name) is a month younger than I am. And I think that we were probably for the briefest of times exposed to at least some of the same You-Can-Be-An-Actor-And-A-Great one stimuli that was out there for kids in the 80s. ‘Cause I was serious about it. Because I was good. I was a natural. My mom knew. Other moms knew. I was going places. Strong voice. Spot on reactions. Good looking. I’m sure I could have had a roll on a mid-90s teen drama if I’d pressed on. I’m not sure why I stopped. It’s not really important I guess. Point is, is that if I had—kept pushing, head shots, workshops, auditions—I can totally see Claire and I crossing paths at some point and becoming, like, audition pals. Are there audition pals? If there are, Claire and I would have been audition pals. I think we would have gotten along. Probably land roles on the same show or movie. Brat Pack 2.0. Become even tighter. Not romantic, just tight. Romantic tension, sure. That’s just the way it goes. But more brother-sister. (Is she an only child? I bet she is. That’s probably why I feel this kindred stuff. About to check. No–an older brother BUT he’s seven years older. So basically she is an only child. I mean, I have two way younger brothers, technically half, and I’m pretty much an only child.) But we didn’t and here I am sounding creepy but I’m not creepy, promise. It’s just that whenever I see her in something, which is actually pretty much only Homeland and I think some John Grisham movie–truth be told, I’ve only watched an episode or two of My So-Called Life but I really appreciate its vibe and role and everything–and I guess now Sesame Street, I just have this sense that we’d get along. Have I written about this before? I think I’ve written about this before. Maybe it was that thing about Madonna.
OK, I just read more of the Wikipedia entry. She was born in Manhattan and went to performing arts schools and stuff. BUT! I went to Montessori for like a year and did the gifted stuff (so long ago) later on and was I think maybe accepted by the Alabama School of Fine Arts, or at least was maybe encouraged to go. So I’m stickin’ to it “Briefest of time… at least some of…” That’s all I said.
[Cross-posted—cross-posted, yes!—on Matlog]