Showing posts with label Barry Williams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barry Williams. Show all posts

Monday, April 27, 2015

Tom Sawyer ejaculates! And when word meanings change


I was startled to find not one, but two ejaculations on the pages of “Tom Sawyer.”  

And here I wasn’t even sure the 139-year-old Tom has been through puberty.

I wondered if perhaps I’d stumbled onto one of those pornographic parodies. Some of you more worldly types may have heard of those.

They’re where the smut merchants tweak a famous title and turn something wholesome into something filthy. Examples: “On Golden Blonde,” “Shaving Ryan’s Privates,” and “E.T.: The Extra-Testicle.”

But I soon realized I mistaken.

No one had tampered with the words of Mark Twain.

Time had tampered with their meanings.

In today’s porno-drenched society, I avoid using the word ejaculation. It’s too freighted with XXX connotations.

It wasn’t that way when Twain wrote Tom.

The first instance is in Chapter 15, “Tom’s Stealthy Visit Home,” in which he’s hiding under Aunt Polly’s bed as she loudly laments her belief that Tom’s dead.

“He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making broken- hearted ejaculations from time to time …”

Ejaculations resume in Chapter 21, “Eloquence — And the Master’s Gilded Dome.” 

“There was a buzz of gratification from time to time during the reading, accompanied by whispered ejaculations of ‘How Sweet!’ ‘How eloquent!’ ‘So true!’ etc…”

I’m unable to discern when ejaculation went from being a word that conveyed words gushing from our mouths to a word that meant something other than words gushing from elsewhere.

But it is indicative of how, well, fluid the language can be.

It’s that way with intercourse, another word that would today make modern Tom Sawyers snicker the way they do whenever the astronomy teacher mentions Uranus.

Intercourse used to be a proper Victorian word that meant two people engaged in polite conversation.

For instance: “Last week my wife had intercourse with the man who played Greg Brady in ‘The Brady Bunch.’”

Given the 19th century definition of the word, it’s perfectly true and within the marital restrictions set forth in our wedding vows.

It’s okay because, heck, I had intercourse with him, too!

It’s how Pennsylvania has a charming village named Intercourse. You can blame Sigmund Freud for the word’s perversion. He in scholarly works began to describe carnal intimacy as “sexual intercourse.”

So today my favorite unofficial state motto is: “Virginia Is For Lovers But Pennsylvania Has Intercourse!”

Hospitality is another example. We love hospitable people, hosts who treats guests with warmth and aplomb.

Care to guess the Latin root word of hospitable?

It’s hospital!

Yes, in 19th century England children slaving away in dreary work houses used to dream they’d get sent to the hospital because treatment there was so superior.

It was hospitality at its finest.

Today, nobody says, “Cabo’s booked. Why don’t we just head over to the hospital for a few days of R&R?”

Another example: Did you know the word computer is about 360 years older than the first computers?

It’s true. The first computers were people who made calculations; they’d compute.

Condescending used to be a word that described noble men and women who’d take the time to explain complicated issues to less educated souls.

Today, condescending to someone is faux pas — and I’d explain the definition of faux pas, but I wouldn’t want to risk coming off as too condescending.

Here are two from a read-worthy and related Collins Dictionary article:

Broadcast was initially an agricultural term that meant spreading seeds with a wide sweeping motion. It wasn’t until the 1920s that the term was applied to spreading the news.

We’ve all heard Teddy Roosevelt ejaculate the word “Bully!” Well, it used to be a term of endearment for do-gooder men and women. It wasn’t until the bullies began showing off their good deeds that bully began to morph into a word that meant intimidating.

I’m curious about where the word terrific will eventually settle. Of course, the root of the word is terror.

In fact, when T.R’s cousin, Franklin Delano died 70 years ago April 12, his last words were, “I have a terrific headache!”

It’s a sure thing FDR didn’t mean it the same way admiring film critics did when they wrote, “Michael Keaton is terrific in ‘Birdman!’”

So that’s it for today’s blog ejaculation. Thanks, babe, for the bully intercourse.

I hope you’ll check in tomorrow.

I promise you and I will have a gay old time!


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Monday, April 20, 2015

Greg Brady (sorta) endorses my book!


Not only did I meet Greg Brady on Sunday, I cajoled him into provide a celebrity endorsement.

“‘Use All The Crayons!’is to self-improvement humor books what the ‘Johnny Bravo!’ episode is to ‘The Brady Bunch!’ It’s edgy, funny and fills every page with warmth in the same joyful abundance that let Marcia naturally begin filling out her sweaters in Season 4!”

Of course, because Greg Brady is fictional, the endorsement has the same legal binding as if it were attributed to Bugs Bunny, that is if Bugs Bunny had a thing for the adolescent Maureen McCormick.

Barry Williams, in fact, said nothing of the sort. Had I asked him to, he might have.

He was a very good sport and from my observations said yes to every attendee request and, guaranteed, today the Facebook pages of more than 1,000 paunchy Westmoreland County baby boomers are festooned with pictures of Williams, 60, smiling with strangers.

Like! Like! Like!

I’d need extensive plastic surgery to smile as much as Williams did from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sunday at the 20th annual Westmoreland Home Show at the county fairgrounds. I was there both days to sell books

Selling books with the word “crayon” in the title to homeowners who are there to get bargain basement deals on things like thermal windows and, well, bargain basements, is not for shrinking violets.

I think I saw, by the way, rows of shrinking violet seedlings along Gardener’s Gangway in the 4H building.

My booth was right across from the friendly folks representing a Pittsburgh home remodeling outfit. They were very aggressive without being obnoxious.

If someone said, no thanks, we don’t need new windows, one would ask about doors. If they said the doors were new, they asked about kitchen cabinets. If those were shipshape, they’d ask about bathroom tiles.

If they said the whole house was fine, they’d ask about the garage.

I just once saw them stumped. They asked a woman if she needed new windows/doors/flooring/roofing/insulation/etc.

The woman said no.

The sales rep persisted with her interrogation until the woman informed her that last year the house had burned to the ground and the insurance company had come through with an entirely new domicile with all the modern furnishings. 

“So, no, thank you,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do for us.”

A look of such panicky desperation came across the rep’s face I began preparing a response if she dashed to my booth and asked if I had some gasoline and a book of matches.

That’s what I was up against.

I initially hoped to sell 20 books both days. I sold 8 on Saturday and 18 on Sunday.

But I found the time valuable and made some new friends among the authors and artists and the people who stopped to buy or just chat.

Plus, I seized the promoted opportunity to speak on the very same stage from which Barry Williams addressed maybe 120 raucous fans.

I had 2.

I’m not kidding. And I think they’d just stopped to rest and were too polite to leave when I began my yapping.

Their names are John and Kathy.

Really, I was pleased with how I did. I could have let the situation demoralize me. Instead, I sat on the edge of the stage and ran through a 20-minute jiffy version of my normal presentation. 

Afterwards, they came to my booth and bought four books!

So Barry Williams maybe earned, let’s say $2,000 in merchandise and an appearance fee of triple that amount, but my market penetration dwarfed his.

I just need to find a way to snug the attendance gap.

Having him there did cause a happy stir.

Everyone enjoys a proximity with fame. 

But I couldn’t help but wonder how the man so many people adore for their heirloom memories feels about the nostalgic redundancy that’s been baked into his entire adult life.

It’d be as if you spent your every waking moment having to re-live what happened in the 7th grade.

He never looked buoyant.

He looked obligated.

But the pleasant smile never left his face. If he resents what his life’s become, you’d never know it.

Maybe I’ve been wrong all these years.

I’ve always said Gregory Peck was our greatest actor.


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Friday, April 17, 2015

Greg Brady (and me) at W'm'd Home Show!



The coolest thing that could potentially happen to me this weekend will be if the 60-year-old man who played the 12-year-old Greg Brady stops by and says, “Man, I’ve heard all about your book! Great to meet you! I’d like to buy one!”

Who am I kidding?

The coolest thing that could potentially — potentially — happen to me this weekend will be if Pope Francis stops by and says he’s heard about my book and wants to buy a copy for every Catholic who owns a Bible.

Talk about cool.

But Pope Francis is in Rome.

Barry Williams will be at the Westmoreland County Home Show at the county  fairgrounds near Norvelt (named, by the historical way, for EleaNOR RooseVELT).

That’s where I’ll be!

I am flattered to be have been asked by Kelly Simon of Simon Event Management to be among the elite book sellers on the Author’s Avenue showcasing local writers.

I’ll be there right next to Bigfoot/UFO expert Stan Gordon and he is, indeed, a big deal. He runs a media empire of books, videos and lucrative speaking appearances before throngs of people many unfairly consider kooks.

Most of them are just normal people who’ve experienced something they can’t explain. They admire (and patronize) Stan because he helps them in their quest for understanding.

Of course, I’m more interested in the kooks.

I once asked him what he does when he’s approached by someone who is by every definition a conspiracy-theory gobbling, tin foil hat-wearing, howl-at-the-moon, bona fide dingbat.

“I listen to their story,” he said, “present them with alternative theories and then I try and sell them a book.”

And there are people who think Stan's nuts.

Stan’s a genius.

I’ll be there all weekend from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. both Saturday and Sunday. I’ll be telling what I hope are funny stories from the stage at 1 p.m. Saturday.

Ideally, I’ll sign and sell about 50 books and will enjoy many happy conversations with customers who keep me engaged and chipper throughout the weekend.

Or I could be sitting there for long thumb-twiddling hours kicking myself for missing the AMC airing of John Wayne’s “McLintock!,” a movie I’ve only seen about 98 times.

Or maybe a “Brady Bunch” marathon.

It’s not one of the classics I return to over and over like “Andy Griffith,” or “Dragnet,” but I remain charmed by heirloom memories of “The Brady Bunch.”

And the weekend will certainly be a failure if I don’t snag a selfie with Williams.

He’s my second favorite Brady, behind luscious Marsha, and far ahead of the Brady I most despise because I’m convinced he’s engaged in Satanic negations to gain glory and fame over the collective misery of millions like me.

That’d be Tom Brady.

Williams is one of my favorite kinds of celebrities because he never let oddball fame ruin him. In fact, he seems to revel in it.

When he’s not tromping around remote county fair grounds, he’s at home in Branson, Missouri, performing a variety show called, “’70’s Music Celebration! Starring Barry Williams.”

I’m guessing the playlist won’t include “Star Star,” the luridly filthy 1973 Rolling Stones song, to me is the finest ’70’s song of them all.

But I can guarantee it’ll all be good campy fun. Tickets for his Sunday noon performance are $25 and reservations are required. After that he’ll be signing and posing for pictures till about 4:30 p.m.

I don’t know how much they’re paying him to fly from his Branson, Missouri, home where he lives his girlfriend and their 3-year-old daughter, Samantha Rose, with whom he’d probably rather be spending time.

He, too, has an 11-year-old son from a previous marriage, so today elements of his personal life sound like he’s trying recreate parts of the sitcom that made him famous.

But he’s never had a drug or morality scandal like his sitcom contemporary Danny Bonaduce reliably did for so many years.

All Barry Williams has done is grow up to be the kind of man Mike and Carol Brady would have been proud to call their son.

“I’m looking forward to coming to Greensburg,” he told reporters, “and making many new friends.”

I hope to be one of them.

That’d be cool.

Only slightly less cool than if my second favorite Brady decides to buy a bunch of my books.



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