Showing posts with label Brady Bunch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brady Bunch. 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!


Related . . .







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.



Related . . .







Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Warning: Story contains eight Schwarzeneggers


I’d vowed to be productive yesterday afternoon, but instead watched “Zombieland” for the 14th time.
I apologize to my family and friends for my personal failing, any embarrassment this indiscretion may have caused them, and request the media please respect our family’s privacy.
I’m always mystified when people who throughout their entire lives court the spotlight ask it be shut off when they finally do something that’s truly interesting.
I woke up this morning wondering who would play Schwarzenegger in the eventual rom-com about Schwarzenegger and concluded the logical choice would be, gee, Schwarzenegger!
He’s already shown it’s a role he can convincingly pull off.
I’m not surprised, but still disappointed at the men-are-pigs theme dominating coverage of the Schwarzenegger love child story.
How could he?
He could because he trusted two women with whom he was closer than any others -- that we know of, so far -- to let him get away with it.
There’s never been any nuance to Schwarzenegger’s lusts and ambitions. With him, what you see is what you get.
In a cringe-inducing clip that’s making the rounds, Maria asks voters in 2003, well, who are you going to trust -- someone who’s known him 20 years or someone that’s known him 30 seconds?
Take all the interns, production assistants, and staffers who’ve claimed they were groped by Schwarzenegger and combine all the unpleasant seconds they’d spent with him it might well add up to 20 years.
So I’ll trust the mauled masses and again wonder why no CSI lab technician has yet to develop a court-approved method for dusting breasts for fingerprints.

Unless it’s a quickie Vegas wedding, most every couple that’s ever married knew exactly what they were getting. We know the flaws, the virtues, we know how a spouse is going to react in a crisis and the human weaknesses that will lead them to cause one.
We know the circumstances that lead them to drink too much, what kind of sidewalk puppy they’re apt to bring home, and if they can be trusted alone with any smiling bridesmaids.
So an enduring modern marriage is as much about love as about how much we’re willing to overlook.
What did Shriver have to gain by being with Schwarzenegger? Power. A platform. Prestige. And eventual Oprah deification if the scoundrel ever embarrassed her by showing his true colors -- and, wow, that happened faster than any cynic would have predicted.
So I feel no pity for her. To me, she’s always seemed his match in her hunger for fame. And entrusting him alone in the Sacramento governor’s mansion while she and the kids romped between multiple L.A. homes seems an unwise matrimonial strategy.
I save all my pity for the kids and for beleaguered Kennedy historians who must explain a family tree that’s increasingly all forked up.
And there’s been not a shred of sisterly criticism of the domestic either. I guess she was married, too, and was bound to be buddies with Shriver. Still, her motives are easier to understand.
The romantic in me hopes she is a dark-skinned illegal who so loved the real Schwarzenegger she was willing to conceal deep in her heart a painful, yet joyous secret so that one day she and her governor lover could live free of society’s judgements.
And if this were a movie, that’s exactly what would happen.
Governor falls head over heels in love with willing domestic (J-Lo?). They have a precocious love child (Beiber?) and the governor wins re-election when he Brady Bunches two wives and the whole grand group to celebrate the joys of blended family living.
For added authenticity, film the whole shebang in Utah.
So I think there’s plenty of unseemly blame to be spread among the sexes and it upsets me I had to type the head-hurting name Schwarzenegger eight times to explain it all.
Yes, men are indeed pigs. But only because so many women are sheep.