My predictions were way off this year-- I only got 10 out of 24 right. My sister-in-law got 17. I bet on Benjamin Button winning all the small awards but it turns out Slumdog got most of those. I also thought Mickey Rourke was going to win, and I picked the other song from Slumdog to win Best Song.
A few observations:
Hugh Jackman was fine, I guess. I liked that they changed it up and had a non-comedian. Not as many smarmy one-liners and insults as in earlier years (read: Chris Rock). Jackman was good because I feel like I barely noticed him-- probably how a host should be.
Sean Penn's speech was annoying and all over the place.
The Pineapple Express bit with James Franco and Seth Rogen was lame.
The cutting back and forth between Jennifer Aniston and Brangelina was pointless and in poor taste. Why was Jennifer Aniston there anyway? What movies has she been in the last few years, and how many of them were any good?
Why was Phillip Seymour Hoffman wearing a do-rag?
When Mickey Rooney saw the "In Remembrance" montage, did he think, "I'll probably be up there next year."
Bill Maher presenting for Best Documentary is a bit like Ronald McDonald being a judge on Top Chef.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Three Things
It seems to me that there are three things that are really most important to me. These are basically my long-term, short-term life goals. These are the desired end result of all my new years resolutions and any actions I take to better my life.
1. Have a happy home- I mean a place that's comfortable, where the people I live with are happy. I want to make sure my wife is happy with where she lives. I want to be able to feel good there too. I want to make sure that the place is clean and well kept-up, and that it's a place where I can actually feel at home.
2. I want to do my job well- I've never really given this one much thought prior to the recent past. I've always thought of jobs as a kind of necessary evil. Something you have to do to get money in order to live in this society. I still kind of feel that way. I'm not a big believer in all that "follow your bliss" stuff, (although I think if you really want to get into a particular profession you can, so long as you're willing to stick with it for a long time and be patient and persistent, but that's a different post). But doing my job well makes me feel better not only about my job, but it makes me feel better overall. Not doing my job well makes me feel awful, and I'd rather feel good than awful.
3. Be financially stable- If I ever become rich it will be by accident. I'm not concerned with being wealthy, but to not really have to worry about money (meaning, not having to worry about how I'm going to pay my bills, not having to worry about having enough money to meet my basic needs, etc.) The less I have to think about money the happier I seem to be.
These things are all tied in together. If one starts to fall apart it tends to affect the other two. And all three things, when it comes down to it, take work. Daily work and daily sacrifice. Even if it's taking the trash out, keeping up with all my paperwork, or budgeting our money for the month. None of it is hard work, it doesn't require an incredible amount of strength or intelligence, but it requires a kind of consistent, persistent work, a little bit each day-- doing things when you don't want to do them. This seems to be basically how one is rewarded in this life.
1. Have a happy home- I mean a place that's comfortable, where the people I live with are happy. I want to make sure my wife is happy with where she lives. I want to be able to feel good there too. I want to make sure that the place is clean and well kept-up, and that it's a place where I can actually feel at home.
2. I want to do my job well- I've never really given this one much thought prior to the recent past. I've always thought of jobs as a kind of necessary evil. Something you have to do to get money in order to live in this society. I still kind of feel that way. I'm not a big believer in all that "follow your bliss" stuff, (although I think if you really want to get into a particular profession you can, so long as you're willing to stick with it for a long time and be patient and persistent, but that's a different post). But doing my job well makes me feel better not only about my job, but it makes me feel better overall. Not doing my job well makes me feel awful, and I'd rather feel good than awful.
3. Be financially stable- If I ever become rich it will be by accident. I'm not concerned with being wealthy, but to not really have to worry about money (meaning, not having to worry about how I'm going to pay my bills, not having to worry about having enough money to meet my basic needs, etc.) The less I have to think about money the happier I seem to be.
These things are all tied in together. If one starts to fall apart it tends to affect the other two. And all three things, when it comes down to it, take work. Daily work and daily sacrifice. Even if it's taking the trash out, keeping up with all my paperwork, or budgeting our money for the month. None of it is hard work, it doesn't require an incredible amount of strength or intelligence, but it requires a kind of consistent, persistent work, a little bit each day-- doing things when you don't want to do them. This seems to be basically how one is rewarded in this life.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Norwegian Ancestry
I've always been a little bit obsessed with my genealogy. I'm not exactly sure why, but I imagine it has something to do with maybe not feeling at home with where I grew up. The general region as well as the actual physical house. I always knew that both my father and mother were of largely Irish ancestry, so to simplify things I thought of myself as typically Irish-American.
There was a problem with this though, in that I wasn't raised Catholic. Being on the East Coast, and having lived in Massachusetts for a couple of years, I realize that being Irish-American has all sorts of different connotations associated with it. Ironically, the most Irish-American person I knew was my stepfather's mother, who could trace all of her ancestry to the Emerald Isle. Her father spoke Gaelic, and she held a lot of the old Irish superstitions. Her father had actually grown up in the Five Points during the 1870s and 80s, so I'd heard about Paradise Square and the Old Brewery well before Scorsese's film. She was a window into a past which is as dead as she is now. Go raibh math agut.
My father's mother was of Finnish and Finnish-Swedish ancestry. She used to cure fish in her refrigerator bought from the Vietnamese markets in San Gabriel and serve it to me regularly. As a result I'm pretty sure I'm immune to any and all seafood-borne illnesses, and am usually able to eat all kinds of sushi that even seasoned purveyors of the dish are utterly horrifed by. Raw sea urchin, no problem. I've mentioned our linguistic adventures together in an earlier post. She hated Russians and used to put cardamom in desserts. I'm super-white but her influence is about as ethnic as I get. She's dead now too, and has been for many years.
I've found out over the years, from talking to relatives and doing my own research that I have ancestors who were born in and had relatives who came from the following places:
-England
-Ireland
-Scotland
-Wales
-Netherlands
-Sweden
-Finland
-Denmark
-Germany
Basically places where Celts and Germans (in the broad sense-- Germanic, Teutonic, Norse, whatever) live. Finns can claim some uniqueness because they speak a non-related language, but all the recent DNA analyses that have come out show that Finns and Swedes are bascially genetically indecipherable from one another.
Ancestry is a weird thing. If you go back to your great-great-great-great-great-grandparents, the generation likely born around the middle of the 18h century, contemporaries of Thomas Jefferson let's say, you'll find that you have 128 of them. It's hard to wrap your mind around a room full of 128 people. Ultimately, how much can you have inherited from any one of them?
All this investigating has also led me to wonder, what does it really mean to have Irish or Dutch ancestry? My mother's father was born in Germany but he wasn't ethincally German at all. His mother was Danish and his father was Dutch. I'm sure if you go back far enough none of them were from Denmark or the Netherlands either. Ultimately, all of our ancestors were from Africa. It's probably just as valid to say that I'm of 100% australopithecus afarensis ancestry as it is to say that I'm 3/8ths Irish, etc.
The one country in that corner of Northwestern Europe that was always missing from my ethnic makeup was Norway. But recently I found someone who eventually passed their genetic information on to me, that could claim that nation as their homeland. Someone with the last name Sommerfeldt who was born around 1820. I still find it interesting, but I guess I'm realizing, the closer I look, the less it really means anything. Perhaps Lincoln said it best when he said "I don't know who my grandfather was; I am much more concerned to know what his grandson will be." Yet somehow I can't help but think that finding out my great-grandmother was half Lapplander will help explain why I hate getting up early and why I get nervous around horses. Go figure.
There was a problem with this though, in that I wasn't raised Catholic. Being on the East Coast, and having lived in Massachusetts for a couple of years, I realize that being Irish-American has all sorts of different connotations associated with it. Ironically, the most Irish-American person I knew was my stepfather's mother, who could trace all of her ancestry to the Emerald Isle. Her father spoke Gaelic, and she held a lot of the old Irish superstitions. Her father had actually grown up in the Five Points during the 1870s and 80s, so I'd heard about Paradise Square and the Old Brewery well before Scorsese's film. She was a window into a past which is as dead as she is now. Go raibh math agut.
My father's mother was of Finnish and Finnish-Swedish ancestry. She used to cure fish in her refrigerator bought from the Vietnamese markets in San Gabriel and serve it to me regularly. As a result I'm pretty sure I'm immune to any and all seafood-borne illnesses, and am usually able to eat all kinds of sushi that even seasoned purveyors of the dish are utterly horrifed by. Raw sea urchin, no problem. I've mentioned our linguistic adventures together in an earlier post. She hated Russians and used to put cardamom in desserts. I'm super-white but her influence is about as ethnic as I get. She's dead now too, and has been for many years.
I've found out over the years, from talking to relatives and doing my own research that I have ancestors who were born in and had relatives who came from the following places:
-England
-Ireland
-Scotland
-Wales
-Netherlands
-Sweden
-Finland
-Denmark
-Germany
Basically places where Celts and Germans (in the broad sense-- Germanic, Teutonic, Norse, whatever) live. Finns can claim some uniqueness because they speak a non-related language, but all the recent DNA analyses that have come out show that Finns and Swedes are bascially genetically indecipherable from one another.
Ancestry is a weird thing. If you go back to your great-great-great-great-great-grandparents, the generation likely born around the middle of the 18h century, contemporaries of Thomas Jefferson let's say, you'll find that you have 128 of them. It's hard to wrap your mind around a room full of 128 people. Ultimately, how much can you have inherited from any one of them?
All this investigating has also led me to wonder, what does it really mean to have Irish or Dutch ancestry? My mother's father was born in Germany but he wasn't ethincally German at all. His mother was Danish and his father was Dutch. I'm sure if you go back far enough none of them were from Denmark or the Netherlands either. Ultimately, all of our ancestors were from Africa. It's probably just as valid to say that I'm of 100% australopithecus afarensis ancestry as it is to say that I'm 3/8ths Irish, etc.
The one country in that corner of Northwestern Europe that was always missing from my ethnic makeup was Norway. But recently I found someone who eventually passed their genetic information on to me, that could claim that nation as their homeland. Someone with the last name Sommerfeldt who was born around 1820. I still find it interesting, but I guess I'm realizing, the closer I look, the less it really means anything. Perhaps Lincoln said it best when he said "I don't know who my grandfather was; I am much more concerned to know what his grandson will be." Yet somehow I can't help but think that finding out my great-grandmother was half Lapplander will help explain why I hate getting up early and why I get nervous around horses. Go figure.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Strawberry Fields, Whatever
I still work in New York two days a week, all on the Upper West Side. I have a few hours to kill between my late morning and early afternoon sessions, so I usually spend them walking around Central Park. For some reason I always end up around Strawberry Fields, near the Dakota around 72nd and Central Park West. Strawberry Fields has no strawberries and isn't a field. It's just a little section of the park, a walkway really, where they've built a mosaic that says "Imagine", in honor of John Lennon.
I used to work on 70th and Broadway, and when I walked home to the east side, I would always go through Strawberry Fields, just because it was the most direct route. Apparently I have a big sign over my head, only visible to foreign tourists that says "Directions" or "Ask me to take your picture", depending on the situation. Foreign tourists love to approach me in the city because: a) I generally look like I know where I'm going and b) unlike most New Yorkers, I'm not walking 25 miles per hour while swearing into a cell phone at the top of my lungs. So I'm more approachable than your average bear.
True story, for a while I kept getting approached by elderly German tourists, speaking to me in German. I know a little German, so I would often answer back to them in German, but usually they had no idea what I was saying and would move on. This started happening to me on a weekly basis, I kid you not. Confounded, I asked a German friend, who theorized that most of the Germans approaching me were probably from the old East Germany, so they never learned to speak English in school (they learned Russian instead). She (my German friend) didn't think they thought I was German, so much as I looked approachable and looked like I might possibly speak German, which was a better risk to take than on some random Puerto Rican family walking through the park. She also said that (former) East Germans (or any Germans, for that matter) aren't used to hearing German spoken in a heavy American-English accent (I didn't think my accent was THAT bad) which probably explains why they didn't understand me. Overall, I thought her reasoning explained so much, yet so little at the same time.
Anyway, Stawberry Fields in Central Park is always covered with tourists, and I can't really figure out why. People are always getting their pictures taken in front of the mosaic, and I personally have taken at least 15 pictures of people in front of the 2'x 2' green NY parks sign that says "Strawberry Fields". John Lennon isn't buried there, and it's not even the same Strawberry Fields that the song was written about (which is somewhere in Liverpool, I think). It just happens to be sort of across the street from the building where Lennon lived and where he was shot. That's it. Nothing magical happens there, unless you count Beatles fan tourists congregating magical.
Recently they posted a sign near the mosaic that says "any items left on the mosaic will be considered abandoned, and will be removed", which is a nice way of saying "quit leaving crap here-- John's not going to get it anyway."
Standing by the mosaic, the windows of the Dakota are visible. I have to assume that Yoko Ono (who I know still lives in the Dakota) lives in one of those windows-- it would make sense that their apartment overlooked the spot where the mosaic was built, right? Apparently every year on John's birthday Yoko comes out and places flowers on the mosaic. I'm not sure when Lennon's birthday is, but I think it's in October. If I ever see her there I'm going to do my bad John Lennon accent for her and tell her that I'm Julian Lennon, John's son from his first marriage, and ask if I can borrow $100 million. All you need is love.
I used to work on 70th and Broadway, and when I walked home to the east side, I would always go through Strawberry Fields, just because it was the most direct route. Apparently I have a big sign over my head, only visible to foreign tourists that says "Directions" or "Ask me to take your picture", depending on the situation. Foreign tourists love to approach me in the city because: a) I generally look like I know where I'm going and b) unlike most New Yorkers, I'm not walking 25 miles per hour while swearing into a cell phone at the top of my lungs. So I'm more approachable than your average bear.
True story, for a while I kept getting approached by elderly German tourists, speaking to me in German. I know a little German, so I would often answer back to them in German, but usually they had no idea what I was saying and would move on. This started happening to me on a weekly basis, I kid you not. Confounded, I asked a German friend, who theorized that most of the Germans approaching me were probably from the old East Germany, so they never learned to speak English in school (they learned Russian instead). She (my German friend) didn't think they thought I was German, so much as I looked approachable and looked like I might possibly speak German, which was a better risk to take than on some random Puerto Rican family walking through the park. She also said that (former) East Germans (or any Germans, for that matter) aren't used to hearing German spoken in a heavy American-English accent (I didn't think my accent was THAT bad) which probably explains why they didn't understand me. Overall, I thought her reasoning explained so much, yet so little at the same time.
Anyway, Stawberry Fields in Central Park is always covered with tourists, and I can't really figure out why. People are always getting their pictures taken in front of the mosaic, and I personally have taken at least 15 pictures of people in front of the 2'x 2' green NY parks sign that says "Strawberry Fields". John Lennon isn't buried there, and it's not even the same Strawberry Fields that the song was written about (which is somewhere in Liverpool, I think). It just happens to be sort of across the street from the building where Lennon lived and where he was shot. That's it. Nothing magical happens there, unless you count Beatles fan tourists congregating magical.
Recently they posted a sign near the mosaic that says "any items left on the mosaic will be considered abandoned, and will be removed", which is a nice way of saying "quit leaving crap here-- John's not going to get it anyway."
Standing by the mosaic, the windows of the Dakota are visible. I have to assume that Yoko Ono (who I know still lives in the Dakota) lives in one of those windows-- it would make sense that their apartment overlooked the spot where the mosaic was built, right? Apparently every year on John's birthday Yoko comes out and places flowers on the mosaic. I'm not sure when Lennon's birthday is, but I think it's in October. If I ever see her there I'm going to do my bad John Lennon accent for her and tell her that I'm Julian Lennon, John's son from his first marriage, and ask if I can borrow $100 million. All you need is love.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Rich Little Christmas Carol
This has to be seen to be believed. Rich Little doing impressions of actors doing performances of characters in A Christmas Carol. This was made in 1978, but even so, none of the imitations seem to be of people born after 1875.
Movie Update
The Dark Knight: 2/4 stars. I couldn't find much to like about this movie. Bruce Wayne was kind of a jerk. I didn't believe that two highly successful men would be fighting over Maggie Gylenhaal. Heath Ledger's performance was good but didn't blow me away or anything. The movie has no climax and no resolution which I found frustrating. The film is riddled with too many unbelievable situations as well. On top of that it's completely humorless. Was Nolan trying to channel Ang Lee?
The difference between this film and the movies from the earlier Batman series (none of which, granted, were all that good) is that there was a sense of playfulness and hero worship in the earlier ones. Silly rabbit, comic books are for kids. When all that youthful excitement is stripped away you're only left with pain and brooding. What's the difference between this movie and one of the Mission Impossible films? Nothing, so far as I can tell, except that it uses characters who dress up in funny outfits.
The difference between this film and the movies from the earlier Batman series (none of which, granted, were all that good) is that there was a sense of playfulness and hero worship in the earlier ones. Silly rabbit, comic books are for kids. When all that youthful excitement is stripped away you're only left with pain and brooding. What's the difference between this movie and one of the Mission Impossible films? Nothing, so far as I can tell, except that it uses characters who dress up in funny outfits.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Movie Update
W. 2/4 stars. Not so much a movie as a two-hour message. The film carries out many probable half-truths to their extreme. It told me nothing I didn't already know. The performances are mostly bad imitations, except for James Cromwell as the elder Bush, who played the role the same way he's played every role I've ever seen him in. (I kept expecting him to tell George W. to look out for Rolo Tomasi.) Overall, well made and fairly entertaining, just not all that great.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Har Kommer Pippi Langstrump, Tjolahopp, Tjolahej, Tjolahoppsanna...
On Bryan's advice I'm trying to become more proficient in a foreign language and I'm gravitating towards Swedish. About the only stuff I can really sort of follow are the things designed for really little kids. I was pleased to find Pippi Longstocking in the original Swedish on youtube. Alas, the more you start to understand of a foreign language, the more you come to realize that lame dialogue and ridiculous storylines are not an exclusively American or Anglophonic phenomenon. It seems to be a curse of the human condition.
The Most Annoying Thing Ever
The local AM station I listen to a lot while driving plays this commercial regularly. Whenever it comes on I have to turn the radio off, and I usually leave it off for at least 5 minutes, just to be absolutely certain that it's really over. Warning-- this will induce homicidal thoughts within the listener:
Monday, February 2, 2009
Late Night Talk Shows
I remember watching Johnny Carson before Jay Leno took over in 1992, when I was a junior in high school. What I'd forgotten was that after 1980 Carson only did the show four days a week, and that on Monday nights there was always a guest host. Leno got the replacement job because he was the permanent guest host from 1987 on. I liked Leno when he guest hosted but not once he started doing the show on his own. As for Carson, I never really got him. Must be a generational thing.
I remember Letterman when he was on NBC. I always thought he was much funnier than Carson. The show was pretty exciting and very funny to the little kid version of me. When Letterman moved to CBS he was still better than Leno but I always felt that something was lost in the move. Now Letterman is almost as lame as Leno. He needs to hire some new writers are something. He seems to be going out there every night with no material.
Conan's a funny guy. His show pretty much picked up where Letterman left off. Conan's is the funniest late night show on right now. Even so, it's not that great, but he himself is a pretty consistently funny guy.
Craig Kilborn made me laugh sometimes but I'm not surprised that his show didn't last. Craig Ferguson is funny and seems to be really good at the job. He's better than Kilborn but I'd still rather watch Conan.
Jimmy Kimmel is awful. He never looks right in that suit. His is a clone of every other show. When he was Jimmy the Sports Guy on Kevin and Bean he at least had some personality. I always thought Adam Carolla was the more talented of the two.
Carson Daly deserves to die a horrible death and Jimmy Fallon needs to be publicly executed before he's allowed to take over Late Night. I'm thinking something along the lines of the end scene in "Braveheart." I absolutely cannot stand him.
I remember Letterman when he was on NBC. I always thought he was much funnier than Carson. The show was pretty exciting and very funny to the little kid version of me. When Letterman moved to CBS he was still better than Leno but I always felt that something was lost in the move. Now Letterman is almost as lame as Leno. He needs to hire some new writers are something. He seems to be going out there every night with no material.
Conan's a funny guy. His show pretty much picked up where Letterman left off. Conan's is the funniest late night show on right now. Even so, it's not that great, but he himself is a pretty consistently funny guy.
Craig Kilborn made me laugh sometimes but I'm not surprised that his show didn't last. Craig Ferguson is funny and seems to be really good at the job. He's better than Kilborn but I'd still rather watch Conan.
Jimmy Kimmel is awful. He never looks right in that suit. His is a clone of every other show. When he was Jimmy the Sports Guy on Kevin and Bean he at least had some personality. I always thought Adam Carolla was the more talented of the two.
Carson Daly deserves to die a horrible death and Jimmy Fallon needs to be publicly executed before he's allowed to take over Late Night. I'm thinking something along the lines of the end scene in "Braveheart." I absolutely cannot stand him.
Happy Imbolc
Apparently it has pre-Celtic origins. Who knew this whole Groundhog thing actually has some ancient tradition behind it? Click Here
Sunday, February 1, 2009
TV Killed the Radio Star
My stepfather is going to be 72 this year and my mom is going to be 64. The eight year difference between them has turned out to be significant in only one way-- in that my stepfather grew up listening to the radio and my mom grew up watching TV.
My stepfather watches lots of TV now that he's retired, especially shows like Jeopardy and anything involving Bill Moyers. When I was growing up though, he always had an aversion to passive TV watching, as though it wasn't hard-wired in him to relax in front of it. He basically grew up in the '40s and his family had one of those gigantic, tombstone-shaped radios in the living room. He would talk about listening to shows like "Blondie", "The Shadow", and "Mutt and Jeff", shows that sounded just as idiotic as the ones I grew up with, just with no video to accompany them. When my stepfather went off to college in 1955, he came back one weekend and his parents had bought a TV. By that point it was too late for him to develop a habit of vacantly staring at it every day for hours on end.
Not so for my mom though. Her parents got a TV in the early '50s when she was still in elementary school. She remembers watching "Howdy Doody", "Leave it Beaver", and "The Honeymooners", and all those old-timey shows. She developed a healthy TV-watching addiction that she happily passed on to her children.
Within a generation there will be no one around anymore who didn't grow up with television, and the facts that when I was little we had one TV that was in black and white, that we didn't get a TV with a remote control and a VCR until I was 10, and that we didn't get cable until I was in jr. high, will seem quaint and archaic.
My stepfather watches lots of TV now that he's retired, especially shows like Jeopardy and anything involving Bill Moyers. When I was growing up though, he always had an aversion to passive TV watching, as though it wasn't hard-wired in him to relax in front of it. He basically grew up in the '40s and his family had one of those gigantic, tombstone-shaped radios in the living room. He would talk about listening to shows like "Blondie", "The Shadow", and "Mutt and Jeff", shows that sounded just as idiotic as the ones I grew up with, just with no video to accompany them. When my stepfather went off to college in 1955, he came back one weekend and his parents had bought a TV. By that point it was too late for him to develop a habit of vacantly staring at it every day for hours on end.
Not so for my mom though. Her parents got a TV in the early '50s when she was still in elementary school. She remembers watching "Howdy Doody", "Leave it Beaver", and "The Honeymooners", and all those old-timey shows. She developed a healthy TV-watching addiction that she happily passed on to her children.
Within a generation there will be no one around anymore who didn't grow up with television, and the facts that when I was little we had one TV that was in black and white, that we didn't get a TV with a remote control and a VCR until I was 10, and that we didn't get cable until I was in jr. high, will seem quaint and archaic.
The Day the Music Died
Tuesday's going to be the 50th anniversary of the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper. I actually only know this because I couldn't sleep on Friday night and was up listening to Coast to Coast AM, and they were talking about it. Coast to Coast is actually a pretty entertaining show when they aren't talking about Roswell, or any other conspiracy theory where there is incontrovertible evidence to prove that it is false, many times over.
On Friday night's show they had some music expert I'd never heard of, but then, (I thought this was the most interesting part) they talked to two women named Donna and Peggy Sue, who knew Holly and Valens in real life, and for whom two of their biggest respective hits were written.
What was interesting about what these women had to say was that both said they were very young at the time of the accident, that these men were their boyfriends, and that while they remembered the events surrounding the crash and finding out about it very well, they were also able to talk about it all very matter-of-factly. This was something that had happened a very long time ago, both women had had very full lives in the time since, and both hinted at the fact that when it came down to it, they didn't really know either of these men all that well. As if to say, how much can someone really be the love of your life when you're only 17, 18 years old? If both women had been 30 at the time I suspect the event would have been much harder to get over. I thought it was interesting anyway.
Incidentally, my own mom was a 13 year-old in West Covina, California when the crash happened. She said the only one she knew of at the time was Valens, who was kind of a local hero. My stepfather was 21 at the time and said he had only heard of the Big Bopper at the time.
My impression was that Valens was fairly well known at the time, because of the three hits he'd had, that Holly's star was rising in the U.S. but that he'd more of a name for himself in Europe up to that point. The Big Bopper had had a big hit with "Chantilly Lace" but that he was hardly a superstar or on his way to being one.
I think, had they lived, Valens and Holly probably would have had careers along the lines of someone like Jerry Lee Lewis or Roy Orbison, not so sure about The Big Bopper though.
On Friday night's show they had some music expert I'd never heard of, but then, (I thought this was the most interesting part) they talked to two women named Donna and Peggy Sue, who knew Holly and Valens in real life, and for whom two of their biggest respective hits were written.
What was interesting about what these women had to say was that both said they were very young at the time of the accident, that these men were their boyfriends, and that while they remembered the events surrounding the crash and finding out about it very well, they were also able to talk about it all very matter-of-factly. This was something that had happened a very long time ago, both women had had very full lives in the time since, and both hinted at the fact that when it came down to it, they didn't really know either of these men all that well. As if to say, how much can someone really be the love of your life when you're only 17, 18 years old? If both women had been 30 at the time I suspect the event would have been much harder to get over. I thought it was interesting anyway.
Incidentally, my own mom was a 13 year-old in West Covina, California when the crash happened. She said the only one she knew of at the time was Valens, who was kind of a local hero. My stepfather was 21 at the time and said he had only heard of the Big Bopper at the time.
My impression was that Valens was fairly well known at the time, because of the three hits he'd had, that Holly's star was rising in the U.S. but that he'd more of a name for himself in Europe up to that point. The Big Bopper had had a big hit with "Chantilly Lace" but that he was hardly a superstar or on his way to being one.
I think, had they lived, Valens and Holly probably would have had careers along the lines of someone like Jerry Lee Lewis or Roy Orbison, not so sure about The Big Bopper though.
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