What I’ve Learned: From Britney’s Butt to the ’70s
Britney’s butt sells ’zines. This is one of life’s immutable truths.
It is a lesson I recently learned, having plunked down $3 (plus tax) to purchase Esquire’s “70 Years of Women We Love” issue. The cover photo is Britney in white heels, white sweater, come hither grin and nothing else.
After perusing pages of cheesecake — 70 years’ worth — I skimmed the rest of the issue. Which included an interesting regular feature called “What I’ve Learned.”
This month it’s Elvis Costello sharing intimacies he’s experienced and verities he’s accepted in his 48 years.
I thought I’d do the same. Here goes with some of the things I’ve learned along the way:
A little contrition goes a long way. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody. Recognizing and accepting that is a good thing. Offering genuine apologies to those who may have suffered is not only honorable, it heals.
Howlin’ Wolf would chat up anybody. If they were willing to share a drink. He played a rock festival at the ballpark in Evansville back in the day. After singing, he hung in the dugout. As long as there was an offering of alcohol, he’d talk with anyone. Including one young oblivious hippie who asked, “Howlin’, you ever played with Rick Derringer (“Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo”)? He went to my high school.”
“Oh yeah,” growled the Wolf, “gimme another sip there.”
Jewish boys don’t play football.
How to divide fractions. It was Sunday, Sept. 9, 1956. Elvis made his first appearance on the “Ed Sullivan Show.” At dinner before the telecast, it was all I could talk about. My dad asked if I’d done my arithmetic homework. No problem, I said, we’re learning multiplication and division of fractions. Show me, he said. Seems I didn’t have division down as well as I thought. Instead of watching Elvis, I was exiled to my room to do a whole week’s worth of homework.
I learned how to divide fractions: Invert the denominator fraction and multiply the fractions by multiplying the numerators of the fractions and multiplying the denominators of the fractions. Place the product of the numerators over the product of the denominators. Simplify the fraction.
Resentments fester. Get rid of them ASAP.
U of L basketball’s best recruiting class was the fall of ’79. It consisted of one guy — Scooter McCray’s tubby little brother, Rodney. He won one NCAA title. He played in three Final Fours. He was the third player picked in the ’83 NBA draft even though he scored only 11 ppg his senior year.
Daily exercise reduces stress.
Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser really works. You know how walls get scuffed. Chairs bang into them. Kids run into them. Etc., etc. I’m talking the kind of marks that no amount of elbow grease or 409 or orange-infused cleaner (As Seen On TV) can obliterate. No problem with Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser. It gets rid of the marks. It doesn’t take off the paint. It’s, well, magic.
There’s only one way to lose weight. Calories in, calories out. If the latter exceeds the former, one’s avoirdupois diminishes. If it doesn’t, one’s girth stays the same or increases. Period.
You can’t have too many leather jackets.
Louise Cobb was my biggest mistake of the ’70s. I did a lot of stupid things during that, the most fun of decades. Many of which I frankly don’t recall until the tale is told by somebody else who was there. The most stupid: When I let lovely Ms. L slip away.
“Rancho Deluxe” is the hippest flick ever made. Young Jeff Bridges and Sam Waterston are cattle rustlers in modern day Montana. Clifton James plays the rancher whose herd they pilfer. Elizabeth Ashley is his horny wife. Slim Pickens, in his second greatest role, is the private investigator hired to corral the thieves.
The best Thanksgiving turduckens you can have shipped come from Hebert’s Specialty Meats. Don’t be put off that it’s in Tulsa, Okla. The family is originally from Louisiana.
Stuffing personal problems is not the way to go. Talking about inner turmoil with trusted friends or professionals usually eases the pain.
Mom’s tuna salad is the best. Unless it has olives in it.
Chuck Berry is a great poet.
Becoming a good writer is a lot harder than Bobby Knight thinks. A slick opening sentence normally gives flow.
And, of course, Britney’s butt sells ‘zines.
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