Diff'rent

Enjoyed a little garbage television last night, "Behind the Camera: The Unauthorized Story of Diff'rent Strokes."

I'm not going to guess how this was "unauthorized." Maybe the dead cast members were unable to give their permission.

Anyway, I don't watch this stuff because I usually don't care enough about it to sit through some lame movie. It inevitably ends in a bitter-sweet moment where some washed-up actor talks about how he misses being mega-famous but will somehow find a way to go on like all of us non-famous people who couldn't have afforded a decent coke habbit in the first place.

I had to watch Diff'rent Strokes, though, because it's one of the first shows I remember. (Outside of Zoom!, at least).

I can recall laughing hysterically every show. This was before puberty hit. Afterwards, watching reruns made me realize just how crappy the writing was.

During the Monday movie, Gary Coleman emphasized how much he hated the line. Said it ruined his life. And the one thought I took away was how the line had also ruined the lives of Gary Colemans everywhere.

I knew a Gary Coleman at North Texas University. He was, of course, tall and white. Wrote his name as "G.C. Coleman" just to avoid the attention. Still, everywhere he went, people begged him to say the line. He staunchly refused.

At least I never heard him say it. According to journalism department mythology, he did become drunk enough once to say "Watch-yoo talkin' bout, Willis?" I can't imagine what led him to lose control. Gary was a man who enjoyed his beer.

Speaking of ole UNT:
Read an article in the Star-Telegram about the impending destruction of some old buildings on Fry Street. Some Houston developer is going to come in and put up a drugstore and Starbucks and the usual stuff. A group has started a petition to stop it.

Fry Street is the U. of North Texas party center. It's the closest the university can come to Sixth Street in Austin or the Broadway/University intersection in Lubbock.

I had some good times in those old places, but I can't really make myself care much. My memories are kinda mixed:

-- You could usually tell the bar someone had been to just by their odor. "Whew, Opie smells like the State Club!"

-- Watching cockroaches skitter across the walls and floor was part of the entertainment at Cool Beans.

-- The Flying Tomato charged too much for beer and closed early.

I think I'll just honor the old places by doing what the majority of North Texas students have always done: Drive to another city and drink in another bar.