I love that James Earl Jones does that list with a straight face.
Yes, yes, yes, amazing voice, stunning stage work for decades, all of that is true and unassailable.
He is as much the soul of Field of Dreams as is Ray. I did see him on stage (in NYC and in Charlotte), and he got to visit a theater named for him (the pre-show announcement was to turn off your phones in the only theater named for a Lord of the Sith).
But possibly my favorite role of his was when he played HIMSELF in an episode of "The Big Bang Theory" - Sheldon is smitten with him, and wants to hang out, and JEJ goes all in. The karaoke is one thing, and the steam room in a towel would have been enough, but the ring-and-run at Carrie Fisher's house is the cherry on top. "It's not funny anymore, James!" she yells, brandishing a baseball bat ... and then it turned out, that was the first time he and Fisher met, because they had never worked together in the films.
The episode is "The Convention Conundrum," if anyone wants to check it out.
I got into the show because of an episode including Leonard Nimoy's DNA, so I guess the nerd connection is real (despite Penny's contention that there is NO difference between Star Trek and Star Wars ...).
I’m somewhat ambivalent about watching football myself because of the threat posed by CTE in particular, but I haven’t sworn off of it yet and with my two alma maters playing in Lexington this evening, I’m pretty certain that this will not be the point when I swear off of it.
Big fan of your writing (read both Elephant in the Room and Dogland, loved them!), and the work of Joe P -- his baseball and tennis writing is the best in the world.
What was once cultish fun is now mass-marketed product. What was once strategic is now preprogrammed. What was once gritty is now brutal. What was once bumper cars is now a 90 mph car wreck. What was once naive of the skeletal and neural ramifications is now purposefully disdainful of them.
One can not see the falling people off the towers. You only have to see one, any one to have it seared into your life. Even if you have not, they are in our memory. What a horrible day for those innocent people, their families, their friends, and those of us who did not know them but remember. And we remember those on-the-ground helpers, bystanders gone or not, all still remembering one day.
The Prince story is behind a pay wall. I always suggest people subscribe to the Sunday Long read as they will unlock some New York Times articles and others that are behind a pay wall. The Prince article is one of them. Or they can can the chrome extension pocket. It converts a lot of paywalled articles.
(Oh Tommy, Gwen is really enjoying this discussion.) She too came to disdain the game, but never the players. Like her, I have a soft spot in my heart for the boys who get coerced into the game before they have the life experience to understand its long term damage and impact. But nostalgia and camaraderie around brutality, fatal injuries, damaged brains, public drunkards, domestic abusers, fraud and occasionally pedophilia (Penn State, eh?) aren't something I can find happiness in despite years of being exposed to it. For gosh sake, I went to the University of Mississippi for a couple of years where my cousin was the school's quarterback. I know football and the cult that surrounds it. And it makes me sick. That you can find scraps of happiness and glee in this subcult is something of a mystery to me, but I do understand the pull of good memories, friendships and the thrill , the near worship, of athletic prowess. What I can't comprehend is the brand loyalty it is all about; the players change every year. Only the team owners (pro and college) stay the same. And maybe the uniforms. So all this passion and loyalty and camaraderie is essentially about the cheering for laundry. That and young men getting their necks broken regularly on the field surrounded by shiny happy people drinking Coors and wearing merch. My neurosurgeon who saved my life 19 years ago recently posted a video about what happens to the human brain inside a football helmet. He has to try and fix those brains. I appreciate the "brilliant" adjective, but my brain injury caused me to lose all language (including the French I've spent seven years now learning for a second time by living in Paris), my facial memories and my ability to keep time and dates sorted. Plus years of agony. Brain injuries are in no way nostalgic, beautiful, elegant or joyful. They are a living horror. If you said you enjoyed watching people get cancer, I'd have the same reaction. You are a beautiful, brilliant and sensitive writer. I'm a loyal reader and subscriber. But you're profoundly wrong about football. Its problems and its danger are too great to set aside in my book. My family history and my relations, my desire for distraction, are not important enough to justify my support of the sport. Oh, and on the James Earl Jones note: I have a picture of him taken during an interview we did years ago. Mr. Jones, a truly elegant gentleman and human, spent time telling me about his lifelong struggle with a stammer that affected his famous voice. It only affected his conversational speech, written dialogue he recited by reading text or from memory was not affected. My brain injury taught me a lot about this. While my daily oral speech was damaged, I could recall and recite memorized songs and poetry from before the injury. In two languages. The brain is a beautiful and elegant instrument that should never be overlooked or set aside for one's own pleasure. Just IMHO. Write on!
One cannot leap into the arms of God. One must fall.
The haunting line.
Those of us who don't believe in the fairy tale of an omnipotent creature summon our courage and try not to fall.
I love that James Earl Jones does that list with a straight face.
Yes, yes, yes, amazing voice, stunning stage work for decades, all of that is true and unassailable.
He is as much the soul of Field of Dreams as is Ray. I did see him on stage (in NYC and in Charlotte), and he got to visit a theater named for him (the pre-show announcement was to turn off your phones in the only theater named for a Lord of the Sith).
But possibly my favorite role of his was when he played HIMSELF in an episode of "The Big Bang Theory" - Sheldon is smitten with him, and wants to hang out, and JEJ goes all in. The karaoke is one thing, and the steam room in a towel would have been enough, but the ring-and-run at Carrie Fisher's house is the cherry on top. "It's not funny anymore, James!" she yells, brandishing a baseball bat ... and then it turned out, that was the first time he and Fisher met, because they had never worked together in the films.
The episode is "The Convention Conundrum," if anyone wants to check it out.
I got into the show because of an episode including Leonard Nimoy's DNA, so I guess the nerd connection is real (despite Penny's contention that there is NO difference between Star Trek and Star Wars ...).
I had NO idea about this episode but I am definitely going to track it down now!
I’m somewhat ambivalent about watching football myself because of the threat posed by CTE in particular, but I haven’t sworn off of it yet and with my two alma maters playing in Lexington this evening, I’m pretty certain that this will not be the point when I swear off of it.
I hear you, brother.
Tommy, maybe we should have sworn off college football after last night. 😉
Your music selections leave this SHEDHEAD movin’ and groovin’! Wish you would make a TOP 10 list of your favorite songs! Thanks for being you😇
It would have to be a top 1,000 and it would change every week!
Big fan of your writing (read both Elephant in the Room and Dogland, loved them!), and the work of Joe P -- his baseball and tennis writing is the best in the world.
But I can't stand football. Agree with Valerie.
What was once cultish fun is now mass-marketed product. What was once strategic is now preprogrammed. What was once gritty is now brutal. What was once bumper cars is now a 90 mph car wreck. What was once naive of the skeletal and neural ramifications is now purposefully disdainful of them.
One can not see the falling people off the towers. You only have to see one, any one to have it seared into your life. Even if you have not, they are in our memory. What a horrible day for those innocent people, their families, their friends, and those of us who did not know them but remember. And we remember those on-the-ground helpers, bystanders gone or not, all still remembering one day.
The Prince story is behind a pay wall. I always suggest people subscribe to the Sunday Long read as they will unlock some New York Times articles and others that are behind a pay wall. The Prince article is one of them. Or they can can the chrome extension pocket. It converts a lot of paywalled articles.
(Oh Tommy, Gwen is really enjoying this discussion.) She too came to disdain the game, but never the players. Like her, I have a soft spot in my heart for the boys who get coerced into the game before they have the life experience to understand its long term damage and impact. But nostalgia and camaraderie around brutality, fatal injuries, damaged brains, public drunkards, domestic abusers, fraud and occasionally pedophilia (Penn State, eh?) aren't something I can find happiness in despite years of being exposed to it. For gosh sake, I went to the University of Mississippi for a couple of years where my cousin was the school's quarterback. I know football and the cult that surrounds it. And it makes me sick. That you can find scraps of happiness and glee in this subcult is something of a mystery to me, but I do understand the pull of good memories, friendships and the thrill , the near worship, of athletic prowess. What I can't comprehend is the brand loyalty it is all about; the players change every year. Only the team owners (pro and college) stay the same. And maybe the uniforms. So all this passion and loyalty and camaraderie is essentially about the cheering for laundry. That and young men getting their necks broken regularly on the field surrounded by shiny happy people drinking Coors and wearing merch. My neurosurgeon who saved my life 19 years ago recently posted a video about what happens to the human brain inside a football helmet. He has to try and fix those brains. I appreciate the "brilliant" adjective, but my brain injury caused me to lose all language (including the French I've spent seven years now learning for a second time by living in Paris), my facial memories and my ability to keep time and dates sorted. Plus years of agony. Brain injuries are in no way nostalgic, beautiful, elegant or joyful. They are a living horror. If you said you enjoyed watching people get cancer, I'd have the same reaction. You are a beautiful, brilliant and sensitive writer. I'm a loyal reader and subscriber. But you're profoundly wrong about football. Its problems and its danger are too great to set aside in my book. My family history and my relations, my desire for distraction, are not important enough to justify my support of the sport. Oh, and on the James Earl Jones note: I have a picture of him taken during an interview we did years ago. Mr. Jones, a truly elegant gentleman and human, spent time telling me about his lifelong struggle with a stammer that affected his famous voice. It only affected his conversational speech, written dialogue he recited by reading text or from memory was not affected. My brain injury taught me a lot about this. While my daily oral speech was damaged, I could recall and recite memorized songs and poetry from before the injury. In two languages. The brain is a beautiful and elegant instrument that should never be overlooked or set aside for one's own pleasure. Just IMHO. Write on!