Friday


7
Dec 12

I wrote a review

Dave Brubeck, who invented the notes that landed between the things that you don’t play that mean you’re making jazz, recently died. Everyone that is knowledgeable about his importance to music can talk far more about this than I can.

But someone found footage of a concert he performed at Samford in the 1980s. Not sure why it is in black and white. Just enjoy the show:

Since I mentioned Bo Jackson yesterday … The War Eagle Reader asked me to write a little preview of the 30 for 30 on him, which debuts tomorrow. I had the chance to watch it last night:

The first story is from retired baseball coach Hal Baird, “I saw Bo jump over a Volkswagon.”

The second story, the one about Jackson standing in thigh-high water and doing a standing back flip, is from one of his coaches at McAdory High School. I’ve heard that one from a few different people that fit in that period of Jackson’s young life.

There’s the story about Jackson throwing a football up to the scoreboard before the Sugar Bowl. Randy Campbell told me that one himself.

Dickie Atcheson, his high school football coach, talks about Jackson using a pole vault pole designed for 180-pounders. Bo cleared 13 feet at 215 pounds.

There’s another story where he literally destroyed a batting cage in front of the top scout for the New York Yankees. In high school. With one hit.

Baird didn’t mention the story about hitting three home runs into the lights at Georgia as a freshman. No one told the story about the home run he hit that carried halfway over the football field. The one about when he came back to the high school after his hip replacement. He was still faster than everyone, including the kid that would capture most of his high school records.

Bo Jackson was amazing:

Bo Jackson is amazing. Always will be.

I only wish the documentary covered Bo Bikes Bama. Because HE SCARED TORNADOES OUT OF THE STATE.

You Don’t Know Bo was directed by Michael Bonfiglio (you can read TWER’s interview with him here). It premieres on ESPN on Dec. 8th at 9 p.m.


30
Nov 12

My kind of Friday

Some days you spend all day locked away in your office trying to get things done. And when you finally come out you find it is just the perfect time of day.

The Christmas season is now fully on campus:

ReidChapel

The moment I began to see my great-grandmother as a poet: “I never know what the day may bring – it might even bring my favorite dreams.”

That was from her memoir, which she wrote in 1980, at around 75 years old. Some of it is prosaic. Some of it is art. I’m just reading it again, because I haven’t read it in several years and then I only skimmed it.

She was a neat lady. She became a rural teacher at a young age. Her first year in the classroom she had students older than she was. She went to school, taught school, brought in the crops. By 1925, was being courted by two young men. One she liked, of whom her father didn’t approve, and one that really liked her that she “really didn’t care for.”

She decided to write them each a loving letter and mail them in the wrong envelopes to see which one of the boys quit visiting first.

Her conscience, she wrote in her memoirs, got the better of her.

“I could never endure seeing Kelsie with some other girl.”

That story is in her memoir. They got married in 1927, had three kids and eight grandkids. She said she never found out why her father disproved. But life moved on. She became a mother, a grandmother, a sales manager, she ran an electronics store and became a secretary, which was work she wrote that she always wanted to do.

Her husband died in the 1970s, and she buried her son soon after. She turned to crafts and hobbies. She learned to paint, practiced all of her many sewing techniques, returned to her poetry. (Everyone in her family was a poet, it seems.) When her mind still turned to her grief she focused for a while on her memoirs, which she finished in 1981, in her mid-70s.

In 1996 she called me and asked me to come to her graduation. She’d been secretly taking classes again, picking up her education where she left it off when it was time to raise a family. Now, decades later, she became the oldest graduate of the University of North Alabama. (One of her daughters is believed to be the youngest graduate at UNA.) I made a phone call and had the governor declare it Flavil Q. Rogers day.

She made the section front in the Times Daily, her local paper:

Clipping

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And the state’s largest daily, The Birmingham News. Click to embiggen:

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I think this is the last photograph I have of her:

Clipping

“I never know what the day may bring – it might even bring my favorite dreams.”

I’ll have to reprint large swaths of her memoir now, I think. She’d probably get a kick out of that.


23
Nov 12

Just a photo Friday

Tomorrow you get filled:

stand

Rough day today. Woke up sore, felt it spreading into my neck again. Felt it threaten my head — how muscle spasms can get in your brain pan I’ve no idea — and said “Nyet.”

So I took a painkiller, which somehow stayed with me all day in a way that they did not when I was using them every day. It made for a fairly listless and uncomfortable afternoon.

But the leftovers were good!


16
Nov 12

And now a medical update

I once sat in a doctor’s office while everyone went to lunch. Seems everyone thought someone else had dismissed me. Boy were they embarassed!

It went back to the orthopedic surgeon for a checkup on my collarbone today. I waited for 45 minutes, most of it in the exam room.

And so I read things. Caught up on Twitter, skimmed some emails and so on. If you think about it too much it feels like you’ve been forgotten in the examination room. Fortunately there is that one painting, that one miserable print, for you to contemplate. That’s the one way they’ve left you to pass the time.*

I shot, edited and produced this little video while waiting on the doctor. Still had time to spare. If I’d known I had this kind of time I would have re-shot this to steady it up somehow. I would have brought in a tripod from the car. That wouldn’t have looked odd at all.

They took an X-ray. The doctor spent about five minutes with me. Showed me the X-ray. He pronounced my bones as healing nicely. He said the six screws are hexadecimals. I’ll be sure to pack a hexa-multitool if I ever want to do self-maintenance.

He blew off my muscle spasm issues. I could write paragraphs about them. They are in my left back and shoulder, in the teres minor/infraspinatus facia area. Sometimes it reaches all the way across to the right shoulder. Once or twice it has gotten into my neck. Two weekends ago it somehow got in my head. There is not much up there, but certainly no muscle! I wish this experience on no one.

I blame too much time in the car and not understanding how little exertion I can actually perform. It should seem, though, that after this many months muscle spasms would get better. The doctor has alternately told me six months or a year or Christmas, depending on his mood. A family friend promises this will continue on for some time. These are not the prognoses for which I am looking.

Also, as my mother reminds me: I am not under 30 anymore.

Anyway, the X-rays look good. The doctor says the bones are healing nicely. The heavy wet wool blanket feeling on the front and top of my shoulder has improved recently. I’m pleased with the collarbone.

Nearly — and sometimes entirely debilitating — muscle spasms are a drag. Don’t fall off your bike, kids.

*Also the doctor’s stool on which you can perform wheelies.

For dinner The Yankee and I celebrated with Cheeburger Cheeburger. We read each other trivia questions over our cheeseburgers, laughing and giggling and surely making The Yankee’s student, who was dining a few tables away, think we were perfectly silly.

We walked up the block, where the city had blocked off one of the roads for a downtown festive event. A band was playing. People were dancing, mostly the older folks. All the college kids have skipped town for Thanksgiving, so a special town feels no less special, but a bit less vibrant. It is a great place to be, and so we walked on the sidewalks on a cool November night, looking to harass friends that we might run into.

Finally we walked through one of the town’s two alleys, found the car and headed home. We’re going to watch movies all night. Great night.


9
Nov 12

A brief collection of things

You’ve seen some version of this commercial, perhaps:

That Lebron James spot uses “Keep On Pushing” a 1964 hit from Curtis Mayfield and The Impressions. Wonderful stuff.

But that’s like a 1964 spot where NBA megastar Bill Russell moves around town as the 1916 Al Jolson hit “You’re a Dangerous Girl” plays:

Hard to imagine in the 1960s, eh?

Have you seen this Washington Post analysis of how the election was won? Excellent work they produced this week.

Have you seen the post-Sandy cover of New York Magazine? It is an incredible helicopter-at-night shot. Poynter has a great description:

Baan made the image Wednesday night after the storm, using the new Canon 1D X with the new 24-70mm lens on full open aperture. The camera was set at 25,000 ISO, with a 1/40th of a second shutter speed.

“[It was] the kind of shot which was impossible to take before this camera was there,” Baan said.

Unreal.

Battlestar Blood and Chrome, now airing as webisodes. Better than a Friday night slot.

My shoulders and neck are a mess. I’m going to go sit very still.