guitar straps, sandals, and possums that fly

The interior of Flying Possum was dark and rustic, smelled like leather and lacquer, and was like stepping into a tannery in the wild old days of the Ozarks, complete with a scruffy old dog named Bugsy. When Birkenstocks were all the rage among non-hippies, damn near everyone in northwest Arkansas went to Bruce Walker to get a pair. It could be an all-day adventure.

Bruce wanted immortalize your feet. The process of getting your Birkenstocks was drawn-out and very precise, and Bruce was very enthusiastic about it. He’d tell you how many bones you had in your feet, how bad high heels were and why, and the importance of arch support. If you showed more than a passing interest in your feet, he’d recommend you consider a pair of the sandals that he designed and made himself. His sandals were crafted from slabs of dark leather, cut to your exact specifications and which would, over time, become the greatest pair of shoes you ever owned. They were nearly as good as going barefoot, he’d say. He’d keep you for hours, talking about feet, if you let him. While Bruce was a very well-liked, affable guy, many who entered Flying Possum surely regretted the requirements of Southern politeness.

If you continued to indulge his friendly, one-sided chatter, you’d hear about his guitar straps. They hung around the shop like bridles, and you’d be forgiven for assuming that’s what they were. He had one attached to his guitar, which he was happy to bring out and play a little bit. These straps were revolutionary, he’d tell you. There was no strain on the neck, no need for a strap screw, no damage to your guitar, and he’d measure you for a precise fit.

Bruce wanted to immortalize his guitar straps, too. Neil Young has one — the very first one. Lucinda Williams has one, of course, since she’s practically a hometown hero. Willie Nelson and Conor Oberst each have one, too. The word was out, but Bruce would still go to shows, get backstage, and tell any star he could corner about his strap. One had to wonder if some bought one just to get Bruce to stop going on and on. But that’s just how he was — a very chatty guy, passionate about his craft.

I last saw Bruce a couple of months before he died. Two women walked into Flying Possum after me and told me I was getting a parking ticket. By the time I came back in, grumbling about getting a ticket midday, the week after Christmas, Bruce had already declared he was going to read aloud the article he’d just written about how the city was killing Dickson Street business with their fascistic parking enforcement. The two ladies, who had been plotting to exit, stopped (out of halting politeness) to listen. I ordinarily would have wanted to flee early as well, but it was good to hear him talk, to smell the familiar smells of his leather shop, and to pat old Bugsy. The ladies left, and he talked about all the musicians he thought should use his strap, which was every musician who played a guitar.

Flying Possum caught fire one early spring morning over a year ago, and Bruce died from smoke inhalation. Bugsy wouldn’t leave his side even as the flames engulfed the building. Dickson Street and Fayetteville lost someone that kept that town funky. Bruce and Flying Possum were beloved, even (and, perhaps, especially) because he was a polite middle finger in the face of the sad gentrification of Dickson Street.

There’s a new Flying Possum on Block Street now, a short walk away from the old place, owned and operated by Bruce’s brother Bob. Bugsy is there, too, but I couldn’t bear to visit the last time I landed in Fayetteville. I don’t really know why.

I wonder if my old Birkenstocks are around somewhere. It would feel good to walk in them again.

Photos are from Bruce’s MySpace page. Watch great videos of Bruce Walker here.

the NFL problem

Hunter S. Thompson famously quipped: “In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught.” Is there a truer statement when it comes to the world of big-money sports?

But before the official punishment was meted out, I turned my attention to the steady stream of speculation from fans and sportscasters. Sure, there were the usual sour grapes; the excuses and self-flagellation of Saints fans; and the predictable comparison to the overblown “spygate” scandal. All expected. What I hadn’t expected, however, was that “spygate” was widely considered a more troubling offense than “bountygate”.

Despite the recent attention the league has brought to the seriousness of concussions (attention brought on, in no small part, by the well-publicized suicide of Dave Duerson), the resentment towards a perceived “pussification” (as one erudite NFL fan called it) of the game remains strong.

I don’t know why I was surprised, really. Football is as much strategy as it is Crunch Time. Or at least it used to be.

"This ain't gonna be no place for women and children now, I tell ya."

Hard hits, broken bones, seeing double — that’s the game fans love to watch! Remember when coaches used to teach their players to lead with their helmets, and players knew that they weren’t really “in the game” until their ears were ringing, and there was blood on their pants and grass in their grills?

Flying in the face of this Crunch Time nostalgia, Roger Goodell has continues trying to make the NFL into what casino owners tried to make Las Vegas: less violent, less bloody, more friendly to kids and women. But he’s making the same mistake Las Vegas did.

See, you can’t suppress the visceral, hedonistic, violent, misogynistic, seamy undercurrent that makes both “what stays in Vegas” and gridiron football the favorite semi-legal entertainment of millions of Americans. (And when you throw fantasy football in the mix, the  comparison has never been more obvious — or lucrative — but that’s another discussion.) Vegas finally backed away from its family-friendly marketing and embraced its “savagery”. Football is forging ahead into Disneyland.

Because Roger Goddell has decided to avoid going “full savage”, he is not going to accept and glorify the brutality of the game full-bore. It makes me wonder: Is the NFL at all worried that MMA is growing in popularity by leaps and bounds? This is a sport that’s comfortable with their gladiatorial game of hand-to-hand combat. They laud the skill of each contender nearly as much as they embrace every spleen-shattering, brain-bruising hit. And people LOVE it. As long as the NFL continues to try to shield its fans — and its players — from its inherent brutality, could MMA eventually eclipse football in popularity?

I also wonder what the future holds for the game of football, since there’s no going back to Crunch Time. Will there be more pads and armor? More rules that essentially phase out the usefulness of certain positions? Powderpuff? Freeze tag?

Disney Vegas or Old Vegas?

lottery

As of this writing, the MegaMillions jackpot sits at over half a billion dollars — the biggest lottery jackpot, ever. The chances of winning it are something like 1 in 170 million. Those are the same chances you have of being randomly singled out from roughly half the population of the United States. (Maybe I shouldn’t have said that so close to April 15.) Winning means you’d instantly be richer than Mitt Romney.

Residents of certain states are statistically even less likely to win based on historical payouts. California is one of those states, and California is where I live. Statistically speaking, I have the same chance of winning by not playing as I do by playing. Think on that for a moment.

In the meantime, I’ve laid a bet that I’ve got a much, much greater chance of winning. I’d probably put my chances at something around 1 in 300. That puts me firmly in “dark horse” territory. Not bad. But if  the oddsmakers who determine such things ever figure out that I may not deserve to win, I’m sunk.

Strange game.

Bertrand Russell’s Ten Commandments

1. Do not feel absolutely certain of anything.

2. Do not think it worthwhile to produce belief by concealing evidence, for the evidence is sure to come to light.

3. Never try to discourage thinking, for you are sure to succeed.

4. When you meet opposition, even if it is from your family, endeavour to overcome it with argument and not by authority, for a victory dependent upon authority is unreal and illusory.

5. Have no respect for the authority of others, for there are always contrary authorities to be found.

6. Do not use power to suppress opinions you think pernicious, for if you do, the opinions will suppress you.

7. Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric.

8. Find more pleasure in intelligent dissent than in passive agreement, for if you value intelligence as you should, the former implies a deeper agreement than the latter.

9. Be scrupulously truthful even if the truth is inconvenient, for it is more inconvenient when you try to conceal it.

10. Do not feel envious of the happiness of those who live in a fool’s paradise, for only a fool will think that is happiness.

Courtesy of flobotics.

The music industry is sick…

…but is this the cure?

Airborne