From Cobra Kai to marriage, Billy and Julie often deep conversations about stupid things -- or stupid conversations about deep things -- in their hot tub. For some reason, they think you might care.
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Bruce Springsteen was a young-ish man, 35, when he released “No Surrender” — a song seemingly about the lifetime bonds of middle-aged (or old) men on 1984’s Born in the USA. I was 12.
I never heard “No Surrender” until years later, when college friends introduced me to the Bruce songs I hadn’t heard on pop radio. A few of those friends and I saw Springsteen — along with 40,000 other people — at Camden Yards in Baltimore last weekend. My son-in-law, who is roughly Taylor Swift’s age, came along.
Taylor Swift will turn 35 in December. And it occurred to me at some point that if Bruce was born in December 1989, he would never would have become Bruce. But he might have become Taylor Swift.
I tend to turn such silly thought play into very very long essays that strangle my time and attention like subject matter ivy.
Predictably, such an article is, in fact, percolating. It concerns fights that ain’t ours any more to win, about why Bruce is the last Bruce — and why that’s fine.
Supporting details including, but not limited to: capital and technology in service of communal joy; my grandmother (and her funeral); time, of course, because thinking about time and its relation to history and future is always one of my favorite pursuits; Baltimore and New Orleans, both of which I love, and where I’ve seen 2 of my 3 Bruce shows; where and how white lib men fit into those cities and a country and world pretty done with us at the moment; friendship; manhood, in its relationship to women; stadiums and the really great song ‘Wrecking Ball,” — Bruce’s, not Miley’s (although Miley’s kinda kills, too); the unraveling of college football (and why that’s also fine); death; and the gift of genuinely loving things and people in life, the gift of giving a s**t, the gift of unabashedly caring about fights that ain’t ours any more to win.
That’s a snapshot of how my addled, compulsively connective, brain works. All that stuff — and more — tangles in itself for me. It’s a testament to Bruce’s performative power at age 74.
To be blunt, this show was way better than I expected in basically every way. Because Bruce is the last Bruce, people project onto him the sort of lyrical, institutional, occasionally eye-rolling self-serious encomia they used to project onto baseball.
But Bruce is not a Ken Burns documentary yet. He proved that all night in Baltimore, for three unrelenting hours of awesome. Here’s the set list. 29 songs. I find myself coming back to “Wrecking Ball” and “No Surrender” as my favorite moments, which I find personally fascinating.
So, I may or may not produce this absurdly indulgent essay at some point in the future. But I certainly cannot do it before I light out with my lover for a couple weeks to the peaceful skies, wide open county, and romantic dreams of Yellowstone and Grand Teton.
See you when we get back.
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You can check out Bernnie Brandt’s campaign website here; and here’s how to contribute if you choose. We sat down to chat; and I liked this answer quite a bit.
I hate [the term “School Board member”] because that implies membership to some sort of elite club. The unfortunate reality is that around the country, people treat it that way. And you shouldn't treat it that way because you're not a member of an elite club. You are someone who has the privilege and responsibility of representing, in this case 700-and-change thousand people.
And my biggest goal is to be that school board member that inspires the citizens to say: “I want to get involved. I'm confident that if I express my concern, my issue, whatever it is, it's going to be heard. An effort is going to be made to understand it, and it's going to be addressed.” — Bernnie Brandt (49:35)
Incumbent William Allen and I faced off for this seat in 2020, back when I held it. William won the campaign 52-48. So I know this entire conversation is inevitably fraught. I address that right at the start (1:10) and people can decide for themselves if my critiques/questions and points-of-view are accurate, fair, or just sour grapes. For what it’s worth, I had nothing to do with Bernnie deciding to run, have no role in his campaign, and have only spoken to him a few times.
After my disclaimer, Bernnie tells his own story and points-of-view capably. And people can assess those for themselves.
Moreover, William Allen, like any elected official, has a standing invitation to come chat with me about his performance in the role and his vision for the future, if he has one.
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Octavio Hernandez came to the U.S. and Polk County as a child. He’s spent his professional life building and developing communities — a teacher, proud union member, and family man. Come hear what he has to say.
As always, if Josie Tomkow wants equal time, I’m happy to interview her as well.
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Visit (and donate) to the Florida Center for Government Accountability (FLCGA) here.
Check out its investigative journalism arm, “The Florida Trident,” here.
Anyone who has dwelt at the intersection of journalism, public records, and the pursuit of political power in Florida has known Barbara Petersen for a long time.
In the before times, as leader of the First Amendment Foundation, Barbara was the first call for any reporter covering any government (from the Mulberry City Commission to the Executive Office of the Governor) and facing static over access to public information. She was always extremely generous and purposeful during my many chats with her, providing advice and guidance and the occasional “stink eye” letter to the agency in question, which rarely dared to cross her.
But that was another country, as the saying goes.
There are very few Florida government reporters left to call anybody; and precious few institutional dollars ready to fight for government transparency in hostile and largely corrupted courts.
Enter Barbara Petersen again. As co-founder of the Florida Center for Government Accountability (FLCGA) and The Florida Trident, Barbara and her partners embody what I consider an important evolution: journalism that makes power react through moral and legal confrontation.
This model has already taken down the Zieglers — the grossest power couple in the history of Florida politics. And it’s won a very important lawsuit over COVID data.
Barbara and I talk about that and many other things, including the fact she still thinks Kay Fields and I committed a minor, technical Sunshine Law violation in 2016, when I was a newly elected School Board member, despite what State Attorney Brian Haas said in clearing us. (At least I think she considers it minor and technical; I’m kinda afraid to clarify.)
Finally, I think this podcast makes an excellent companion piece to the episode I did with independent Tallahassee reporter extraordinaire Jason Garcia few months ago. It touches many of the same themes and shows one model for addressing the challenges Jason and I identified.
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Have you personally protected women seeking to end a pregnancy from the howling cruelty of anti-social forced birthers? Have you won a big victory for your cause with panty provocation and astonishing suffering at the hands of an abusive government? Do you have the stones to take on the Florida/Lakeland nepotism juggernaut that is the Canady family because Jennifer and Charles are about to bring down carnage on women across Polk County and Florida through 6-week forced birth after Jennifer openly lied about it?
If you answered no to any of those questions, you are not Bonnie Patterson-James.
In this episode, Bonnie and I have a long discussion about — among many other things — how much metaphorical space she takes up. She describes herself as “big,” an outsized, emotionally transparent (sometimes ragged) presence. It’s the presence of an activist. Will it translate to a political campaign in which conventional political forces and aesthetics are against her? Come listen and decide for yourself.
I’d particularly recommend listening to BPJ’s account of her arrest and incarceration and prosecution in the aftermath of FlyingBouncyPantyGate, which you can read about in the two links below. Our discussion of that starts at roughly the 30-minute mark.
As I note in the podcast, Jennifer Canady, Grady Judd, and anyone involved in FlyingBouncyPantyGate have a standing invite to come chat with me here about it — and other things.
Anytime a Canady or Judd want to chat with me, we’ll have a good talk. I’ll treat them fairly and honestly.
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A few weeks back, the newly anti-MAGA Chris Christie laid out a hypothesis for Ron DeSantis’ collapse as a national candidate and figure.
“No discernible critical media.”
“Candy Land down there if you’re a Republican.”
Those are wounding words for Florida’s reporters and journalism institutions. But are they true?
Within days of each other, Florida reporter Jason Garcia and I both used/addressed Christie’s “Candy Land” critique in articles we published on our respective Substack sites. See below:
So I thought it might be fun to invite Jason onto the PE1 podcast to talk more about it. He graciously accepted — and proved me right. I doubt you will find a better discussion of the intersection of journalism, government, money, and power than this podcast edition brings you. I’m very proud of it. There’s also a lot of name-dropping and some DoE/Jefferson scandal talk. So good times all around.
For those of you who don’t know, Jason Garcia is the owner and operator of the substack site “Seeking Rents,” to which you should all immediately subscribe if you don’t already. Prior to setting out on his own, Garcia was a star investigative reporter for the Orlando Sentinel. He contributed heavily to the reporting on the “ghost candidate” stories that led to multiple prosecutions.
“Seeking Rents” examines how power and wealth use government to create “rents” they can collect from society. Jason particularly specializes in tax policy analysis. Everything he publishes comes anchored in journalistic depth and systemic understanding. And I’m thrilled he stopped by for a while last week. Give this a listen. You won’t be disappointed.
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When reviewers are using your play and “Abbott Elementary” in the same sentence, it’s a good sign. Greg Burdick is an extremely talented teacher and playwright at Lake Gibson High School. His newest play, “Accommodation,” has struck a nerve with producers, actors and now audiences.
It tackles the human realities of trying to deliver what federal and state special needs education laws require, but do not fund or support. Here’s the synopsis:
A concerned parent, whose son is in danger of failing one of his classes, schedules a conference with Celeste Dawkins, her son's high school science teacher. When accused of not honoring the state and federal-mandated modifications required for her son's different learning style, Dawkins loses her cool in an explosive tirade, provoking a high-stakes lawsuit against the school district. With her job on the line, Dawkins raises questions about the inherent risks of making special considerations for students claiming to have unique needs in her classroom, when the real world outside its walls doesn't seem to care.
Greg and I talked about the play, public education, art, life — among other things — in an interview recorded before “Accommodation” opened on June 15. It’s a good conversation, indicative of what I want to do with this podcast. Here’s how Greg described the production itself:
The run was better than I could’ve hoped for. Five really favorable LA reviews, incredibly positive feedback from audiences, and the cast and crew were just really proud of it… it was an embarrassment of riches.
Next step: Broadway?
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The service industry — especially corporate “casual dining” — is the graduate school version of “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten.” People curse and hook up a lot more; but other than that, the table-waiting ecosystem reinforces the kindergarten ecosystem — right down to the annoying sing-a-longs and birthday rituals.
Indeed, probably no other institution but public school kindergarten throws together as many different types of people as a Chili’s on a Saturday night — both customer and employee. And no other profession but waiting tables unites the high and humble born in such a flattened power dynamic. Pleasantly debasing oneself in the hope that a four-top family will make it rain as part of a weird social/economic custom that lets businesses outsource labor costs to customers is experienced universally.
Doesn’t matter that you’re studying Physics or writing the Great American Netflix script by day if you can’t keep the Monty and the Chicken Fried Steak straight by night.
One such Chili’s threw Billy and Julie together years ago in suburban New Orleans; and we’re both better off for it. (Marriage notwithstanding.) Today, we’ll tell you why.
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Today is Billy and Julie’s 25th wedding anniversary. We shall celebrate with a podcast and some exposition — as all monumental celebrations should be celebrated.
The great Diane Ravitch, who may well be reading this introduction, came out of semi-blog retirement to grow Billy’s email subscription list by about 20 percent over the past few days with this very generous introduction to her readership.
Billy is very grateful; Julie, who knows that Billy already talks too much and is much too pleased with himself, as this podcast will demonstrate, feels more ambivalence. However, she more than shares the ferocious commitment to a*e-challenging that truly animates Public Enemy Number 1.
We both recognize that you, most valued new subscriber, may find yourself saying: I came here for the piercing commentary about Florida’s purposely broken Jeb Crow education governance system; and I’m getting bubble sound effects and an oldish married couple sharing the Gen X pop culture inside jokes that sustain their love?
We would answer: well, yeah. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ When we can keep the chlorine at a safe level, we like to jump into our hot tub bubbles and chat and have good, deep conversations about solving the world’s problems — or stupid things — which are often the same. And we laugh a lot. Try it; you might like it. Check out our first two episodes — we’re still new to this:
Episode 1: Deconstructing Cobra Kai
Episode 2: Billus Interruptus Too Muchus
Also, it won’t always be education or podcasting here at PEN1 — you’ll get healthy doses of Florida’s ill-reported American history, which always seems to connect to the moment at hand. Examples:
“A doomed feral coup wrapped in a hesitant lynching”
“A Man or a Mother: the women and invasions of Florida’s most profound lawsuit”
Now, with the exposition out of the way, Billy is going to drop into first person for just a moment, knowing that Julie is on the email list — and may or may not read this.
If she does, I’m probably getting divorced, which would be one of the great self-owns in small-listenership, vanity podcast history.
We recorded this episode about two weeks ago — and you’ll hear an exchange something like this:
Julie: “This will probably come out on our anniversary.”
Billy (with self-certain incredulity): “Oh no, we’ll have a whole other one done by then.”
Julie was right, as she always is. But I’m going to jujitsu this and claim a design that did not exist.
It’s entirely fitting that this episode come out on the 25th anniversary of the day that our parents, two of our siblings, two friends, and our two older (but tiny at that time) kids crowded into a little blue marrying house in suburban New Orleans, where streamers blew festively from the window unit AC. I screwed up the vows and putting on the ring, as I recall, which is very on brand for me.
Julie and I are not people who seek ceremony for anything.
But you might think of the “Harrison Ford is always Harrison Ford” game as one of our wedding sacraments. It has been part of our marriage repertoire for a long long time — like the “worthless/unamusing axis” scatterplot game and so many other games that only she and I know. It embodies us in so many ways.
Marriage is hard and perhaps unnatural and it doesn’t work for everyone for life. Personality and fate and fortune and money and sex and ambition and enthusiasms and time crash into each other unpredictably, to say the least. I don’t judge other people’s marriages because I understand how kind fate has been to mine. And I never want to tempt it.
Truly sharing a life with somebody — and having it shared back; sharing life with someone to whom you entrust vulnerabilities no one else sees, including deep faith that it will continue for another 25 years or however long we’re breathing; sharing life with a presence as given and available and endlessly deep as the Atlantic Ocean…well, that has been my great luck.
I hope I have never confused “given” with “for granted.” If I have, I’m deeply sorry. And I can only hope that Julie has gotten from me a fraction of what she has given. I can’t wait to see what new games the rest of our lives hold for us.
I love you very much, Julie.
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As we parse the wreckage from our inaugural episode’s Cobra Kai demolition derby, certain unavoidable questions arise: Why does Billy interrupt so damn much? Why does Julie tolerate it? Or does she?
You’ll meet our smelly dogs, our injured son (sort of), and the one true secret to a successful marriage — at least so far. And Billy learns that even mediocre microphones pick up chewing. Sorry, he was hungry. (It’s not that bad.)
We also introduce our first prop, which is, of course, a Billy-control device. He brought it on himself. Julie spends a lot of time focused on dirty things. And we issue a standing invitation to Sheriff Judd to come jump in the hot tub with us.
You’re invited, too. Think of us as your pre-Super Bowl party. Go Bucs. And GRRRRRROOOOOONNNNNNKKKKKKK. Billy just likes saying it.
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Everybody has a podcast. Why not Billy and Julie? We’re funny and insightful; and people like us. As far as we know. We also have a hot tub.
When we’re able to keep the chlorine at a safe level, we like to jump into the bubbles and chat and have good, deep conversations about solving the world’s problems — or stupid things — which are often the same. And we laugh a lot.
That’s the basic description of a podcast; and we’ve always flattered ourselves by thinking people might actually want to listen in on how we entertain each other. Here’s a great chance for you, the indifferent listener, to prove us wrong. And that’s fine, because mostly we want our kids and grandkids and great grandkids to get a sense of what their goofy forebears were up to in the 2021-ish America.
So we’re gonna “talk till we’re pruney.” You’re invited, as we expand the Public Enemy Number 1 content universe, to provide you a little low-brow, high-brow mirth in these serious times.
Episode 1 takes a piercing look at Billy Zabka’s abs, Gen X nostalgia, and American violence dancing to a rebooted version of “Cruel Summer” that you can’t dance to. This is Cobra Kai. And it is…great?
We’ll take a deep dive, so to speak, as deep as our shallow hot tub allows.
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit billytownsend.substack.com