Today is Christmas Day. A bit cooler than usual for Austin, Texas. We got surprisingly high tech gifts this year—including an iHome for the old iPod. Having the iPod attached to an external speaker has already made a big difference. I must not be of the headset or the ear bud generation and could never bring myself to use the iPod on my head. It’s fun to have it playing away through the speaker. I feel so iModern.
Don’t have a plan of Resolutions yet. I would like to keep writing on a frequent basis. I did two papers to wind up my semester as a graduate student—a paper on “Olympics as Television” and the other was on “Seinfeld: In the Sitcom Tradition.” I noticed the effort helped me with putting in concentrated effort. I learned some things with both papers—got some sense of how to write a Research Paper with the Olympics effort and learned much about American comedy with its roots in minstrel shows and the Borscht Belt and the evolution into television comedy. I did sweat getting the papers completed.
Learned the word “doozie,” meaning “something outstanding or unique of its kind" came from the Dusenberg automobile. Just checked that on the computer dictionary and they said doozie was of unknown 20th century origin. Does that mean I know something the dictionary does not know? Well, I’m calling it a victory. Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Time Running Out
My dream last night, of Providence, R.I. was inspired by conversation with Texas professor—about her grandfather’s grandfather, Truman Angell, architect of the Mormon’s Salt Lake Temple, who was from Angell family of Providence. Brigham Young sent him to Europe so he could learn how to design a building. The professor could tell I was interested to learn more about the man named Angell, with my memory of Angell Street adjacent to Brown University, my alma mater. She said the family had his personal diaries, and she read Angell’s records of his journey across the plains; he may have been a bit of a whiner, with “complaints” of various pains on his body. (He was architect of the Salt Lake Temple for thirty-five years until his death in 1887 and was said to know every stone in its walls. He is credited with perfecting the acoustics of the Salt Lake Tabernacle.)
Following this conversation at a faculty cover dish on the same night of the University of Texas near loss of a football game… I had a dream. In my dream I was feeling amazingly sentimental feelings, and I spoke to college buddy Jon, from Brown University days, and he wanted me to say hello to his mother who I supposedly met on the first day of classes, an event that never happened and was strictly a dream invention. Jon was a native of Providence. The dream shifted locales, and a recounting of a Long Island story where I had danced with a high school classmate’s mother at a 1970 wedding and she told her son how handsome I was and what a thrill it was for her, an older woman’s mythology of memories, but one that did occur. I worked this over in my dream.
These events and pseudo events mingled and created a dream ambience of longing for past events that could not be grasped and held but somehow seemed rich and elusive at the same time.
Back to reality…And this mood connected to the Texas versus Nebraska game for Big 12 Championship, from earlier that evening. Colt McCoy and Coach Mack Brown almost let the time slip away and seemed not to be playing by the of rules of football time management at the highest level of college football competition. The faux pas on the field, a near disaster, was righted by good fortune and Texas won the game with a field goal in the last second, a second that had to be put back on the game clock. The “deep play” of American culture turned this into an ESPN talking heads debate on wanton carelessness the announcers sternly rebuked and made me dream about the dangers of letting time run out.
They almost let the time run out!
My dream grasped on time running out—which, just like on the football field, eventually happens. Time does run out. Like the quarterback, and as quarterbacks of our own life we lull ourselves to distraction… don’t want to consider this too closely.
We are all crossing a prairie. The wide open plains of life beckon us and though we’d like to think we have a solid steel car and not a rickety Conestoga wagon that’s all a matter of degree. The sun bakes hot and plain rolls endlessly ahead. How to get to the other side… Will Indians charge out on steeds whooping and hollering for a scalp… or maybe we will reach the patch of green, an outpost in Utah. I was amused to find myself fascinated by a Mormon story, a group that also has seem strange and somewhat ominous. The professor had a very kindly demeanor, a bit of the prairie virtues in her bearing, and a nice modesty—part her heritage and part a function of being a truly educated person. Only someone like her could make Truman Angell come to life for me.
Following this conversation at a faculty cover dish on the same night of the University of Texas near loss of a football game… I had a dream. In my dream I was feeling amazingly sentimental feelings, and I spoke to college buddy Jon, from Brown University days, and he wanted me to say hello to his mother who I supposedly met on the first day of classes, an event that never happened and was strictly a dream invention. Jon was a native of Providence. The dream shifted locales, and a recounting of a Long Island story where I had danced with a high school classmate’s mother at a 1970 wedding and she told her son how handsome I was and what a thrill it was for her, an older woman’s mythology of memories, but one that did occur. I worked this over in my dream.
These events and pseudo events mingled and created a dream ambience of longing for past events that could not be grasped and held but somehow seemed rich and elusive at the same time.
Back to reality…And this mood connected to the Texas versus Nebraska game for Big 12 Championship, from earlier that evening. Colt McCoy and Coach Mack Brown almost let the time slip away and seemed not to be playing by the of rules of football time management at the highest level of college football competition. The faux pas on the field, a near disaster, was righted by good fortune and Texas won the game with a field goal in the last second, a second that had to be put back on the game clock. The “deep play” of American culture turned this into an ESPN talking heads debate on wanton carelessness the announcers sternly rebuked and made me dream about the dangers of letting time run out.
They almost let the time run out!
My dream grasped on time running out—which, just like on the football field, eventually happens. Time does run out. Like the quarterback, and as quarterbacks of our own life we lull ourselves to distraction… don’t want to consider this too closely.
We are all crossing a prairie. The wide open plains of life beckon us and though we’d like to think we have a solid steel car and not a rickety Conestoga wagon that’s all a matter of degree. The sun bakes hot and plain rolls endlessly ahead. How to get to the other side… Will Indians charge out on steeds whooping and hollering for a scalp… or maybe we will reach the patch of green, an outpost in Utah. I was amused to find myself fascinated by a Mormon story, a group that also has seem strange and somewhat ominous. The professor had a very kindly demeanor, a bit of the prairie virtues in her bearing, and a nice modesty—part her heritage and part a function of being a truly educated person. Only someone like her could make Truman Angell come to life for me.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Bronax on Writing (Nov. 8)
Practice various types of writing, news reporting, essay,
poetry, prose, short story, novella, novel, etc. See what
one is easiest for you and which you do best at. Its like
picking up a sport. First you see what activity attracts or
draws you near, then you practice the basics so you can
learn the basic skills for the position. You are an older
guy, with life experience, so you can just begin as guru
guru, even though as new writer you qualify as a tyro.
Bronax
Hi Bronax,
Your suggestion to approach writing like learning a sport is nice analogy. I played sports and recall that some positions suited my personality-- guard in basketball... as I'm well-guarded personality... and good at protecting the basketball from the other team.
Been reading some talented writers for school. I can see how they are compulsively having fun with their subject (TV sitcoms) and have a nice flow. That goes along with "what is easiest for you and which you do best." Great advice Bronax!
I'm going to do some errands before the movie.
Great to hear from you!
John
poetry, prose, short story, novella, novel, etc. See what
one is easiest for you and which you do best at. Its like
picking up a sport. First you see what activity attracts or
draws you near, then you practice the basics so you can
learn the basic skills for the position. You are an older
guy, with life experience, so you can just begin as guru
guru, even though as new writer you qualify as a tyro.
Bronax
Hi Bronax,
Your suggestion to approach writing like learning a sport is nice analogy. I played sports and recall that some positions suited my personality-- guard in basketball... as I'm well-guarded personality... and good at protecting the basketball from the other team.
Been reading some talented writers for school. I can see how they are compulsively having fun with their subject (TV sitcoms) and have a nice flow. That goes along with "what is easiest for you and which you do best." Great advice Bronax!
I'm going to do some errands before the movie.
Great to hear from you!
John
Monday, October 12, 2009
Two Friends (and a Bicycle Thief)
My father, John Theofanis Sr., wrote this story about his friend Bill Shanahan. It goes as follows:
Dear Bill,
What you did for me many years ago when we were adolescents stayed with me and never left. Your aunt bought you a new beautiful Roll Fast bicycle and you said, John we have to get you one too. We were very poor in those days and I could not afford one. But you said John I know a shop that sells used bicycles cheap. It is a long way but I will ride you there on my bicycle. He rode me to the store for a hundred blocks. The owner said I can sell you one for three dollars. I was thrilled and still cannot remember how I raised the three bucks. We rode back to Washington Heights together. That bike enabled me to get a job in a laundry delivering washed clothes. A few months later someone stole the bike and I lost the job. I wen to the local police station and told the detective my sad story. He said here is my card. If you see the person who took your bike call me. What I shall remember forever Bill is you thinking of me even when you got your new bicycle. That is the meaning of true friendship.
You friend,
John
The bicycle story took place in 1942 when Bill and John were 16 years old. I asked my father for a few more details:
Bill lived across the street from John on 177th Street in Washington Heights, near the top of Manhattan. Bill's aunt was a well-to-do buyer for a department star and she gave him the bicycle. Bill got John up on the handle bars of the new bike and together they rode about 100 blocks to Germantown, a neighborhood "in the Eighties," meaning around 80th St., where they found the used bike for John, the one that cost three dollars. They both rode back uptown to Washington Heights.
The bike enabled my father to get a job with a laundry. In those days people sent their clothes to the laundry to be washed, but not necessarily dried. My father carried the wet laundry back to the customers on his bicycle-- well until that bike was stolen and he lost the job. The detective gave my father his card and said "Call me if you see anybody with your bike." John said he didn't even have a telephone.
Bill Shanahan tried to volunteer for the Navy when he was 17 years old. He was rejected for poor eyesight. He registered for the draft falsely, lied about his age, and was drafted into the Army. Bill was part of the invasion of Normandy Beach and died there around July 4, 1944-- just two years after the bicycle story. John and Bea visited Bill Shanahan's grave site in France many years later. The Normandy graves are well-tended and organized and French officials escorted John and Bea to the exact grave marker for Bill Shanahan.
I always enjoyed hearing my father tell this story when I was kid and am I'm glad he got his True Friends story down on paper.
Dear Bill,
What you did for me many years ago when we were adolescents stayed with me and never left. Your aunt bought you a new beautiful Roll Fast bicycle and you said, John we have to get you one too. We were very poor in those days and I could not afford one. But you said John I know a shop that sells used bicycles cheap. It is a long way but I will ride you there on my bicycle. He rode me to the store for a hundred blocks. The owner said I can sell you one for three dollars. I was thrilled and still cannot remember how I raised the three bucks. We rode back to Washington Heights together. That bike enabled me to get a job in a laundry delivering washed clothes. A few months later someone stole the bike and I lost the job. I wen to the local police station and told the detective my sad story. He said here is my card. If you see the person who took your bike call me. What I shall remember forever Bill is you thinking of me even when you got your new bicycle. That is the meaning of true friendship.
You friend,
John
The bicycle story took place in 1942 when Bill and John were 16 years old. I asked my father for a few more details:
Bill lived across the street from John on 177th Street in Washington Heights, near the top of Manhattan. Bill's aunt was a well-to-do buyer for a department star and she gave him the bicycle. Bill got John up on the handle bars of the new bike and together they rode about 100 blocks to Germantown, a neighborhood "in the Eighties," meaning around 80th St., where they found the used bike for John, the one that cost three dollars. They both rode back uptown to Washington Heights.
The bike enabled my father to get a job with a laundry. In those days people sent their clothes to the laundry to be washed, but not necessarily dried. My father carried the wet laundry back to the customers on his bicycle-- well until that bike was stolen and he lost the job. The detective gave my father his card and said "Call me if you see anybody with your bike." John said he didn't even have a telephone.
Bill Shanahan tried to volunteer for the Navy when he was 17 years old. He was rejected for poor eyesight. He registered for the draft falsely, lied about his age, and was drafted into the Army. Bill was part of the invasion of Normandy Beach and died there around July 4, 1944-- just two years after the bicycle story. John and Bea visited Bill Shanahan's grave site in France many years later. The Normandy graves are well-tended and organized and French officials escorted John and Bea to the exact grave marker for Bill Shanahan.
I always enjoyed hearing my father tell this story when I was kid and am I'm glad he got his True Friends story down on paper.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Three Movies and a TV Show
Involved myself in several cinematic experiences-- four non-fiction studies-- Philippe Petit (Man On Wire) a documentary on the the tightrope walker who traversed the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, Albert Einstein (Nova biography), Esther Berg (Yoo Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg), a documentary on the creator a very early TV sitcom, and Michael Moore's film (Capitalism: A Love Story), his musings on the economic meltdown. The tightrope worker and Einstein bio were taken in at home and the last two at the Arbor Theater.
You could say the first three were studies of individual genius at its best-- and the last effort portrayed large scale behavior of the worst kind.
Petit is a weird combination of physical dexterity combined with a poetic sort of concentration, the unique talent of a man who goes through life without a net. The image of Petit on the wire between two towers-- be it the World Trade Center, Notre Dame, or the bridge in Sydney, Australia adds a kind of magic, a weirdly, unifying visual perspective, tying together the architecture, the human history and the daily life going on just below the structures.
Einstein thought "outside the box" before the term existed, a scientist of prodigious ability and the sense of commitment to follow his ideas relentlessly until the truth of his hypothesis was revealed.
Esther Berg was a writing and performing wunderkind, actually creating a Jewish household for mass media consumption, at a time when there was great prejudice against Jews.
The meltdown of the American economy, on the other hand, is a story of wildness-- wild rumor, panicked borrowing and lending, large scale manipulation on a scale never seen before. I felt Moore made things a bit too facile. You had good-hearted workers on one side and mean capitalists in their pinstriped suits on the other. He likes to polemicize and make things entertaining but this may have been less successful than earlier efforts. I appreciate his taking on the topic and found myself moved to tears at times, though that is not always an endorsement as I can be moved to tears by a well-executed American Express ad. I didn't think his dichotomy-- a choice between democracy versus capitalism made complete sense.
The movies were fun!
You could say the first three were studies of individual genius at its best-- and the last effort portrayed large scale behavior of the worst kind.
Petit is a weird combination of physical dexterity combined with a poetic sort of concentration, the unique talent of a man who goes through life without a net. The image of Petit on the wire between two towers-- be it the World Trade Center, Notre Dame, or the bridge in Sydney, Australia adds a kind of magic, a weirdly, unifying visual perspective, tying together the architecture, the human history and the daily life going on just below the structures.
Einstein thought "outside the box" before the term existed, a scientist of prodigious ability and the sense of commitment to follow his ideas relentlessly until the truth of his hypothesis was revealed.
Esther Berg was a writing and performing wunderkind, actually creating a Jewish household for mass media consumption, at a time when there was great prejudice against Jews.
The meltdown of the American economy, on the other hand, is a story of wildness-- wild rumor, panicked borrowing and lending, large scale manipulation on a scale never seen before. I felt Moore made things a bit too facile. You had good-hearted workers on one side and mean capitalists in their pinstriped suits on the other. He likes to polemicize and make things entertaining but this may have been less successful than earlier efforts. I appreciate his taking on the topic and found myself moved to tears at times, though that is not always an endorsement as I can be moved to tears by a well-executed American Express ad. I didn't think his dichotomy-- a choice between democracy versus capitalism made complete sense.
The movies were fun!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Football Culture
Some would say that "football culture" is an oxymoron, my father for one. I grew up in the northeast in a household much impressed with the printed word and less impressed with achievement on the athletic fields. And speaking of fields, I went to the University of Texas home opener last night, agains Louisiana-Monroe, and have to say I miss the actual field, you know the one made out of grass! They replaced the grass with today's version of Astro-turf so the field would look pristine for the TV cameras at all times during all kinds of weather. A big mistake I feel. I like to see the grass stains and dirt stains on the uniforms-- truly a symbol that the game is actually being played and that human beings are bumping into each other at ferocious speeds. I remember coming across the end of a high school football practice as a little kid. The players looked beaten up, sweaty, cut-up and bruised and my youthful perspective was this looked like a troop just back from battle and very much the worse for wear. I'm always reminded how different that sight was than the relatively clean and relaxed attitude of the football heroes being interviewed by the sportscasters at the end of the game.
The stadium was full with 101,000 fans-- truly a small city of people. The fans watched the game, more like a scrimmage, for signs of what the future season would look like. UT dominated but would there be any signs of weakness. Winning is everything in football, I've noticed that since I started attending games consistently. I began going in about 1995-- the Ricky Williams era. There were no apparent signs of weakness to the untrained eye and my eyes is pretty untrained. I never played organized football which makes me little different than the average co-ed more concerned with her outfit perhaps than the action on the field. Some co-eds may be very interested in the action on the field. I'm not trying to be politically incorrect-- just sociologically accurate. I like to listen to the football aficionados around me. I've learned much from watching the fans.
The fans love to win-- winning is everything. I guess that kind of commitment makes me nervous. If you don't win every game during a UT football season-- it's a losing season! Last year they were damn near perfect. Colt McCoy even brought them back against Texas Tech, the single game they lost in 2008-- and that was in the waning seconds. UT brings fabulous athletes to the competition and you can always count on a few amazing athletic feats. Last night there were two lightning strikes-- a speedy kick return from a new guy named Monroe and the amazing connection of a Colt McCoy pass to speedy Jordan Shipley in full stride. Those are the "big plays" that football fans embrace. I have learned the excitement caused by a big play and I think that is one of football's great spectator strengths. The game has a rhythm that goes between grind it out and sudden strike. The big yardage plays electrify the crowd-- as super athletes somehow separate themselves from a field crowded with 22 participants.
The stadium was full with 101,000 fans-- truly a small city of people. The fans watched the game, more like a scrimmage, for signs of what the future season would look like. UT dominated but would there be any signs of weakness. Winning is everything in football, I've noticed that since I started attending games consistently. I began going in about 1995-- the Ricky Williams era. There were no apparent signs of weakness to the untrained eye and my eyes is pretty untrained. I never played organized football which makes me little different than the average co-ed more concerned with her outfit perhaps than the action on the field. Some co-eds may be very interested in the action on the field. I'm not trying to be politically incorrect-- just sociologically accurate. I like to listen to the football aficionados around me. I've learned much from watching the fans.
The fans love to win-- winning is everything. I guess that kind of commitment makes me nervous. If you don't win every game during a UT football season-- it's a losing season! Last year they were damn near perfect. Colt McCoy even brought them back against Texas Tech, the single game they lost in 2008-- and that was in the waning seconds. UT brings fabulous athletes to the competition and you can always count on a few amazing athletic feats. Last night there were two lightning strikes-- a speedy kick return from a new guy named Monroe and the amazing connection of a Colt McCoy pass to speedy Jordan Shipley in full stride. Those are the "big plays" that football fans embrace. I have learned the excitement caused by a big play and I think that is one of football's great spectator strengths. The game has a rhythm that goes between grind it out and sudden strike. The big yardage plays electrify the crowd-- as super athletes somehow separate themselves from a field crowded with 22 participants.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Speech-Making
Made a speech last night at Laughing Matters Toastmasters, 3 days into retirement. My theme, Tempus Fugit, means "time flies" but I altered the Latin term to "Tempus Fug- It!" Actually my title turned out better than may speech. I didn't bring the relaxed, but alert, mental attitude you need to make a good speech. I may have been caught up a bit, wrestling too much with the concept of retirement itself to be entertaining for the audience. Kap, my evaluator, pointed out that my presentation lacked passion. The Laughing Matters club had fun after the meeting-- Post Toasties as we call it-- in the outdoor front tables area of Bagpipes Restaurant.
Just spoke with Bill, a fellow Toastmaster, and he did a great job on his speech. He forced himself to think the speech through carefully and never wrote it down. I noticed he achieved complete comfort with the material-- and made a great connection to his audience. Maybe that's a good approach. Know your speech so well and so thoroughly that you can deliver it with confidence. The best way to rehearse is to make your mind go through the speech, learning the speech logic as you do so.
The challenge of making the speech was helpful. Retirement is still very new. I didn't completely have my footing at the Toastmasters meeting. Only by attempting the speech did I realize I am still working to establish a new equilibrium.
Just spoke with Bill, a fellow Toastmaster, and he did a great job on his speech. He forced himself to think the speech through carefully and never wrote it down. I noticed he achieved complete comfort with the material-- and made a great connection to his audience. Maybe that's a good approach. Know your speech so well and so thoroughly that you can deliver it with confidence. The best way to rehearse is to make your mind go through the speech, learning the speech logic as you do so.
The challenge of making the speech was helpful. Retirement is still very new. I didn't completely have my footing at the Toastmasters meeting. Only by attempting the speech did I realize I am still working to establish a new equilibrium.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Transition
Moving toward retirement... the word and place nobody believes they will ever reach. Time is rocket ship as one of my friends said recently. I have just two weeks left in my employment as an academic advisor. I saw a lot of students in 15 years, more than a couple of thousand. Students are a lot like other people, only younger. They have not been jaded by life's cruelties, still open, friendly, happy, healthy and that was always the best part of the job.
I'm starting a grad program in Radio-TV-Film, media studies to be exact. Went to the Orientation meeting today and arrived slightly late and sat towards the back. Meeting was held in a TV studio with racks in the very high ceiling to hold the lighting instruments. I liked that setting-- like being in a gymnasium for basketball practice rather than the actual game. The grad students, maybe 75-100 people seemed happy, relaxed and expectant. Some of want to be media critics and historians, others want to write or produce TV and film.
This is a big transition for me-- after 15 years as an academic advisor. I feel some sense of solemnity, though really there seems no need for this sober mood. I guess the pivotal experiences can be the most interesting-- as Jerry Seinfeld said "the best time in life is between getting hired for a new job and actually starting."
I'm starting a grad program in Radio-TV-Film, media studies to be exact. Went to the Orientation meeting today and arrived slightly late and sat towards the back. Meeting was held in a TV studio with racks in the very high ceiling to hold the lighting instruments. I liked that setting-- like being in a gymnasium for basketball practice rather than the actual game. The grad students, maybe 75-100 people seemed happy, relaxed and expectant. Some of want to be media critics and historians, others want to write or produce TV and film.
This is a big transition for me-- after 15 years as an academic advisor. I feel some sense of solemnity, though really there seems no need for this sober mood. I guess the pivotal experiences can be the most interesting-- as Jerry Seinfeld said "the best time in life is between getting hired for a new job and actually starting."
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Hotter than July
June this year seems extremely hot, maybe hotter than July. We'll find out in about a month. The air in Austin, Texas is extremely dry. Used to be people would comment on the heat... "hot enough for ya?" Now it's a moot point, just about hot enough for everybody and anybody. I saw a friend of mine crossing the University campus in a black wool jacket. I worried for her sanity, and made believe my eyes had not contacted her behind the lens of my sunglasses.
Mankind is dealing with the apocalyptic but does not know how to encounter problems at this scale. So we go the reverse direction and Twitter our lives away.
Bread and Circus, now called Twitter and Facebook, will not solve the problem of Apocalypse, it just let's us know where everybody else is... when the seas rise.. the tornado blasts or everything dries up and blows away.
This message seems a bit dark, wouldnt ya say... The Texas heat will do that to a person.
Mankind is dealing with the apocalyptic but does not know how to encounter problems at this scale. So we go the reverse direction and Twitter our lives away.
Bread and Circus, now called Twitter and Facebook, will not solve the problem of Apocalypse, it just let's us know where everybody else is... when the seas rise.. the tornado blasts or everything dries up and blows away.
This message seems a bit dark, wouldnt ya say... The Texas heat will do that to a person.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Pay Per View
My friend Ken and I attended the "Lightweight Lighting" boxing match at the Erwin Center in Austin last night. The event, even though a HBO pay per view extravaganza sponsored by Oscar De La Hoya's Golden Boy Productions, had a second tier feeling to it. Oscar himself was nowhere in sight. Not that that is a bad thing. Minor league games have an earthy quality that is lacking at the upper levels of the corporate sports market. A good deal of blood was shed from facial cuts in last night's fights. Blood is different when viewed in person. Boxing gives you a lot of drama from the high stakes nature of personal combat and from the audience's visceral reaction to that combat. The audience was heavily male.
The female fans scattered around the arena made a fashion statement, best described as form-fitting. Maybe the boxing environment brings out female aggression too. The women chose to display their physical attributes to advantage, mirror images of the three Tecate Round Card models. The Tecate girls job consisted of proclaiming the upcoming round and then climbing sexily through the ring ropes and back to the sidelines. Think Vanna White, but in her underwear and carrying letters, actually the word "Round" and a number-- like "Round 6". The Tecate girls were hot, very Anglo and much admired. Tecate seems resistant to diversity hiring -- but if fight action falters, we always have the Round Girls.
I got the feeling we were all involved in the creating of a TV show. There were a couple of thousand people, a real audience no doubt, but the TV cameras and Big Screens above the ring made me feel like a backdrop to an event happening somewhere else, out in TV land. TV is where the money is... and the Big Screen TV was the only place we saw Oscar. Maybe the smart money stays home these days, perched in front of the flat screen. Real life is bit of real work.
But I had a high moment you cannot get at home. A twenty-something guy seated next to me, earring and cap on his head, told me he had been to Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) events at the Erwin Center but his heart was really with boxing. "I used to watch Friday Night Fights with my father," he said. "He had two jobs and so it was our time together. " We only spoke for a few minutes more. The headline fight came via a lightning knockout, just as billed. We went our separate ways. The young man's comments were the surprise moment for me-- and they would not be available on pay-per-view.
The female fans scattered around the arena made a fashion statement, best described as form-fitting. Maybe the boxing environment brings out female aggression too. The women chose to display their physical attributes to advantage, mirror images of the three Tecate Round Card models. The Tecate girls job consisted of proclaiming the upcoming round and then climbing sexily through the ring ropes and back to the sidelines. Think Vanna White, but in her underwear and carrying letters, actually the word "Round" and a number-- like "Round 6". The Tecate girls were hot, very Anglo and much admired. Tecate seems resistant to diversity hiring -- but if fight action falters, we always have the Round Girls.
I got the feeling we were all involved in the creating of a TV show. There were a couple of thousand people, a real audience no doubt, but the TV cameras and Big Screens above the ring made me feel like a backdrop to an event happening somewhere else, out in TV land. TV is where the money is... and the Big Screen TV was the only place we saw Oscar. Maybe the smart money stays home these days, perched in front of the flat screen. Real life is bit of real work.
But I had a high moment you cannot get at home. A twenty-something guy seated next to me, earring and cap on his head, told me he had been to Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) events at the Erwin Center but his heart was really with boxing. "I used to watch Friday Night Fights with my father," he said. "He had two jobs and so it was our time together. " We only spoke for a few minutes more. The headline fight came via a lightning knockout, just as billed. We went our separate ways. The young man's comments were the surprise moment for me-- and they would not be available on pay-per-view.
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