Chapel Hill's fireworks show did not impress me enough years ago to want to see it again last night. Mom and I instead enjoyed dessert at Maple View Farm, an ice cream store with a perfect countryside view. The store had several hundred customers last night for what we presumed to be a word-of-mouth fireworks show. We decided to wait until sundown.
To pass the time we counted little kids who fell on the few steps leading up to the store and dribbled ice cream all over themselves. Then their daddies brought them clear cups of water to clean, but the kids spilled the water all over as well. A bunch of old guys played bluegrass, Cash and Hank Williams. When the sun set, we saw a few neighboring towns' shows on the tiny edge of the biggest sky Chapel Hill offers. Chapel Hill's own show at Kenan Memorial Stadium barely poked over a few trees.
Several minutes later the farm itself began its own show of fireworks, the most pathetic display I have seen in 25 years. Foomp. Pop. Forty seconds passed. Foomp. Pop. Another long minute. Foomp, foomp. Pop, pop.
"This must be the grand finale," I quipped. We decided leaving would be difficult since people had set up blankets around our car. But we had to do it. We tried to be Southern and polite but could not stop laughing.
Our planned quiet escape failed when I fumbled with the car's key remote in the dark and set off the panic alarm. The 30 or so people in front of the bumper jumped like old folks hearing gunshots at a Broadway play. I tried to find the button to silence the alarm, but the darkness made it nearly impossible. Twenty seconds later the chaos subsided. My car was the loudest damn thing at the whole fireworks show.
We slowly drove away and promised not to hit any children. We will go back on a normal night.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Nine
"Barth for the possible win. Snap. Spot. Kick away. High enough. Long enough. IT'S GOOD! IT'S GOOD! CAROLINA HAS WON THE GAME ON A 42-YARD FIELD GOAL BY FRESHMAN CONNOR BARTH! GOOD GOSH GIRDY!"
~The Woody Durham call
~The Woody Durham call
Friday, July 3, 2009
Jackson
As a Libertyville child of rock and roll whose unofficial graduation party was a Dispatch concert, I never paid much attention to Michael Jackson. His music struck me in college for the first time as extremely popular. I heard his stuff at '80s nights, dance clubs and athletic events and in residence halls. I saw Franklin Street Thriller impersonations on Halloween and laughed because I had never seen the entire video. His death was a good example of not fully appreciating something until it is not there anymore.
Journalists force the question of his legacy; was he a good man or a bad man? The truth seems to be that we will not put him in any one box no matter how many times they ask. He was enigmatic at the end of his life and will continue to be until humans stop listening to music. But most people want to remember him for his enormous contributions to popular culture. He changed the way we think about music and dance. Every time you see one of your friends try to spin on his feet or snap his fingers, you have Michael Jackson to thank. This influence was easy to take for granted until this week.
His work might not have challenged him in our sense of the word, and he probably loved what he did. But there is no doubt that his contributions to our culture are positive and everlasting. He made us happy even when we did not know it was him who was doing it. Thank you, Michael, for making us want to dance.
~
Watch Michael do his thing 3:50 into this video.
Journalists force the question of his legacy; was he a good man or a bad man? The truth seems to be that we will not put him in any one box no matter how many times they ask. He was enigmatic at the end of his life and will continue to be until humans stop listening to music. But most people want to remember him for his enormous contributions to popular culture. He changed the way we think about music and dance. Every time you see one of your friends try to spin on his feet or snap his fingers, you have Michael Jackson to thank. This influence was easy to take for granted until this week.
His work might not have challenged him in our sense of the word, and he probably loved what he did. But there is no doubt that his contributions to our culture are positive and everlasting. He made us happy even when we did not know it was him who was doing it. Thank you, Michael, for making us want to dance.
~
Watch Michael do his thing 3:50 into this video.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Oh old theater, we miss you already
The Varsity Theater closed its doors last week after 80 years of business in downtown Chapel Hill. A few thoughts . . .
Old theaters charged little for admission and hoped that customers would buy some Milk Duds and a large popcorn after finding parking in an undersized lot. They had thick, worn carpet, dusty curtains and squeaky seats. Arcades and trailer posters new and old enlivened the inside walls with oversized light bulbs. The bathrooms were short of supplies, but nobody complained. The guy behind the counter inevitably visited with a friend while serving the patrons.
Old theaters thrived on the business of telling stories, and business was generally good. They did not record history like a good book but instead let it pass through its doors unbothered. We sensed the past when we walked in but acknowledged that we could not actually know it. The same screen that showed "Gone with the Wind" and "Singing in the Rain" to our forebears showed "Milk" and "Slumdog Millionaire" to our friends last year. Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Katherine Hepburn, Gene Kelly, Bob Hope. Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Ann-Margret, Kevin Costner, Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks. Heath Ledger, Ann Hathaway, Michelle Williams, Will Smith. In childhood I frequented The Liberty Theater and wondered at the signed picture of Lucille Ball. I imagined Marlon Brando accepting bills under the window as I handed them over a half century later.
In earlier times movie goers were shorter. Our stature changed along with our culture. But we still piled into the rows and hugged our knees and felt that what we did for two hours inside these nearly spiritual structures was considered "American." We imagined our parents going on their first date as nervous as we were on ours.
"Thank you," she probably said as he fumbled with his wallet. They hesitated to choose seats just like us and rolled their raffle tickets to tiny cylinders in their hands until the lights dimmed and the show was on. Then he reached over to hold her hand, hoping to feel a squeeze back. Sound familiar?
No other building maintained its function like our old movie theater. Old university buildings served as residence, lecture and dining halls, administrative offices and libraries during their tenure. The theater was there for us to escape, and we did for nearly a century. We remember seeing that moderately funny film that our company thought was outrageous. We laughed with them and subconsciously knew them better than we did when we bought the tickets. We scorned cell phone rings. Our parents scorned rude conversation. We revered the films that left us sitting in silence while the credits rolled. But mostly we remember the people with whom we laughed, cried, cringed and jumped in the safe cover of darkness while our history poured out of a visual faucet before dedicated eyes.
We understand that all things change but wish that some things were insured against time. We watched Hector's, Schoolkids and the Rathskellar disappear. And yet all we can do is what that modest marquee seemed to suggest whenever I walked under it; remember the past and hope for the future.
Old theaters charged little for admission and hoped that customers would buy some Milk Duds and a large popcorn after finding parking in an undersized lot. They had thick, worn carpet, dusty curtains and squeaky seats. Arcades and trailer posters new and old enlivened the inside walls with oversized light bulbs. The bathrooms were short of supplies, but nobody complained. The guy behind the counter inevitably visited with a friend while serving the patrons.
Old theaters thrived on the business of telling stories, and business was generally good. They did not record history like a good book but instead let it pass through its doors unbothered. We sensed the past when we walked in but acknowledged that we could not actually know it. The same screen that showed "Gone with the Wind" and "Singing in the Rain" to our forebears showed "Milk" and "Slumdog Millionaire" to our friends last year. Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Katherine Hepburn, Gene Kelly, Bob Hope. Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Ann-Margret, Kevin Costner, Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks. Heath Ledger, Ann Hathaway, Michelle Williams, Will Smith. In childhood I frequented The Liberty Theater and wondered at the signed picture of Lucille Ball. I imagined Marlon Brando accepting bills under the window as I handed them over a half century later.
In earlier times movie goers were shorter. Our stature changed along with our culture. But we still piled into the rows and hugged our knees and felt that what we did for two hours inside these nearly spiritual structures was considered "American." We imagined our parents going on their first date as nervous as we were on ours.
"Thank you," she probably said as he fumbled with his wallet. They hesitated to choose seats just like us and rolled their raffle tickets to tiny cylinders in their hands until the lights dimmed and the show was on. Then he reached over to hold her hand, hoping to feel a squeeze back. Sound familiar?
No other building maintained its function like our old movie theater. Old university buildings served as residence, lecture and dining halls, administrative offices and libraries during their tenure. The theater was there for us to escape, and we did for nearly a century. We remember seeing that moderately funny film that our company thought was outrageous. We laughed with them and subconsciously knew them better than we did when we bought the tickets. We scorned cell phone rings. Our parents scorned rude conversation. We revered the films that left us sitting in silence while the credits rolled. But mostly we remember the people with whom we laughed, cried, cringed and jumped in the safe cover of darkness while our history poured out of a visual faucet before dedicated eyes.
We understand that all things change but wish that some things were insured against time. We watched Hector's, Schoolkids and the Rathskellar disappear. And yet all we can do is what that modest marquee seemed to suggest whenever I walked under it; remember the past and hope for the future.
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