Monday Morning Video Laugh - February 28, 2011

I loved the German movie "Downfall," which won the Oscar several years back.  But, this one scene has turned viral on You Tube with a variety of "different" subtitled scenarios.  In this one,  Adolf Hitler is apprised of Michael Jackson's death.


Dinner last night: Sausage and kalamata olive pizza from Vito's for the Oscar munchiness.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Hanging Out with Murphy Brown

Following along on the last part of my "First Days in California" trilogy. 

Yep, we were fixtures on the "Murphy Brown" set for the final six episodes of that television season.  So much so that people actually said "good morning" to us, even though our jobs seemed to consist of doing nothing but sitting in the bleachers and watching the cast rehearse.  We took lunch at the same time the crew did and left for the day the same time the crew did.  I guess we were unpaid employees.

The memories of that special time ping pong around my head to this day.

Warner Brothers had this VIP Tour group that would amble into the soundstage from time to time.  Generally, somebody on the crew would take time to answer any questions from these Iowa hayseeds.  One day, folks were busy on the floor.  And we were just sitting idly nearby.  The tour guide turned to us.

"Can you answer some questions for my group?"

Ummm, yes.

And, since we had a few weeks under our belt here as insiders, we did.  I am guessing one of these yokels is back home in Bumfuck, Oklahoma, still reeling from the experience of conversing with us "Murphy Brown" insiders.

Veteran director Peter Bonerz was there for a couple of the weeks and he's a consummate pro.  One day, an old but totally recognizable face wandered onto the set.  I'd seen this guy on TV before.  He had a bit part that week and he was ready to rehearse.  Bonerz announced his presence.

"Everybody, this is Phil Leeds.  You all met him on your very first day in show business."

On another week, there would be a cameo appearance by former Texas Governor (and now dead) Ann Richards.  She only had about three lines, but she hung dutifully around the set.  In the bleachers.  Asleep in the chair next to me.  Sawing wood like a lumberjack.

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

Suddenly, a call went up for her from one of the stage managers.  The Governor was needed.  I looked over at the snoring politician.  I'd tap her gently awake, but then paused for a moment.  Can't startling somebody mid-snore give them a sudden coronary?  Did I really want to be the one responsible for the death of the former Governor of Texas? 

Oh, so what???  I woke her up.  And nothing happened.  She died in 2006 and I had nothing to do with it.

There was one episode planned that included a guest actor whose name I don't recall.  He was no big star, but, for some mystical reason, the Murphy producers switched around the whole production schedule to accommodate this guy.  Most notably, he was terrified of appearing in front of a live studio audience.  So, they filmed the show in pieces like a movie.  The whole week seemed off-kilter.  And, more importantly, the regular cast didn't show the usual energy they did on other weeks.  They clearly fed off the interplay with the live audience.  A completely different...and mediocre episode was the end result.

The cast was very friendly with us for the most part.  They saw us there every day and figured we had a damn good reason.  Somebody must be paying them for this, right?  One, however, was fairly snarky to us.  Joe Regalbuto who played reporter Frank Fontana.  We were wandering around by the craft services table and grabbing some snacks when he approached.

"Who are you?"

Excuse me.  We tried not to stammer and explained who we were friends with.

"Oh."

The following week, the scene played out again.  Same place.  The craft services table.  I was mid-chocolate-chip cookie.

"Who are you?"

Short term memory loss issues, Mr. Fontana?  I explained my existence one more time.

"Oh."

I told my friend that, if I ran into him again next week, I would ask him who he was.  I was told sternly not to.

That season, Lily Tomlin was part of the Murphy cast and she was perhaps the nicest person to chat up.  One day, my writing partner had left me alone in the bleachers for a longer time than usual.  He had a knack for wandering off and making little connections.  Fifteen minutes later, he returned.  I asked him where he had been.

"Eating Cheezits with Lily."

Oh. 

As it turned out, he was busy getting answers to a question that had been hanging over our heads for two years.  Prior to our California move, we had been flushing out some possible sitcom ideas with a New York production company shepherded by renowed journalist Linda Ellerbee.  (There will be some Memory Drawers on that relationship coming soon).  Somehow, Linda had made contact with Lily at some rubber chicken function and inquired about working with her.  In turn, this was brought to our attention by Ellerbee and we crafted a nifty sitcom idea that was perfect for Ms. Tomlin.

We handed it in to Linda and never heard a word about it.  We figured there was no interest on Lily's end.

Munching on cheese snacks, my partner asked Lily about the idea.

"I never saw it.  I was always wondering what happened to that."

Oh, well.  We probably should have pitched it right then and there.  Like the true cowards we were, we didn't.  Another Hollywood missed opportunity.

Before we knew it, the season was almost over.  There was only one more episode to film.

The finale of any TV show's season is almost like high school graduation night. Friends, relatives, doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs crawl out of the woodwork to suddenly be part of the celebration. Most of them hadn't been on the soundstage all year. But, suddenly, Joe Regalbuto's wife has this sudden urge to see what her husband has been really doing the past six months, besides accosting us at the craft services table. The onslaught of riff raff on this night created a potential dilemma that would have infuriated the Burbank Fire Department. There were too, too, too many people on Soundstage 4. And we were at the lowest of the lowest on the totem pole. There was no reason for us to be anywhere near the place on that Friday night.

But, our producer-friend had an ingenious solution. Since the only people with justification for being there beyond the studio audience were the actors, there was an easy fix. We would be extras in the show! And, not just goofballs standing idly off to the side. Nope, since we were so freakin' experienced, we were given the opportunity to do a "cross." Essentially be part of the active atmosphere while Candice Bergen and guest star Rue McClanahan did their dialogue at a scene in Phil's Bar.

That Friday afternoon, our scene was rehearsed multiple times. Cross behind Candice and Rue, open the door, exit. Cross behind Candice and Rue, open the door, exit. Cross behind Candice and Rue, open the door, exit. We knew it cold. We ate our pre-show meal with confidence.

Enter the studio audience and, before we knew it, it was time for Scene B. Our big appearance. First take. We crossed behind Candice and Rue, opened the door, and exited. Perfect. But, in sitcom land, all scenes are shot at least three times straight through so the editors have their choice of shots. Second take. We crossed behind Candice and Rue, opened the door, and exited. There was no need for us to vary our acting approach. Solid. But, then, there was the third take...

As we began our cross, my writing partner walked right into Candice's chair and gave it a bump. He knew he did it. I saw he did it. But, hopefully, 350 other people didn't notice. We kept moving. We opened the door and exited. We waited for the end of the scene and the director's call for all of us to "move on" to the next scene. As we stood outside Phil's, we heard no such call. Instead, there was a murmuring all around.

"He bumped the chair."

"The chair got knocked."

"We got to do it again."

"Bumped the chair."

"Bumped the chair."

"BUMPED THE CHAIR."

We felt like we had botched up the one take of Janet Leigh getting slashed in the shower.

So, in a rather unprecedented move, that scene was shot a fourth time. And my writing partner walked so gingerly around the chair, you would have thought he was entering a funeral parlor. I'm not sure what take they used, but the actual screen shot is below. I'm in the center of the frame. My chair-knocking partner is on the far left.


This would be our last week ever at "Murphy Brown," and that had nothing to do with our on-camera clumsiness. Indeed, we even pitched staff writing jobs for the final season, but the show opted to bring back many of the writers from the first three years. But, still, there was nothing like being a small part of a hit series.

When "our episode" aired six weeks later (during May sweeps, thank you very much), my pals on the East Coast got to see it first. And, at about 6:11PM Pacific time, the congratulatory calls started to pour in. Well, trickle in. My good friend, the Bibster, had taped it and analyzed our five second cross as if it had been shot by Abraham Zapruder.

Several years later, when "Murphy Brown" went into syndication, I waited in anticipation to relive my moment (our original tape had been mysteriously destroyed by my writing partner who didn't like the way his hair looked). Imagine my horror to discover that it had been cut out in order to make room for more Dulcolax commercials. Luckily, when Nick At Nite picked it up, our appearance was restored.

And, now, thanks to You Tube and a very scratchy audio, it's here for you to see.  That's me about two minutes and seven seconds into the clip.


A very special time of my life that will never ever be forgotten.

Dinner last night:  Turkey burger at the Pig N'Whistle.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - February 2011

Ever wonder how they pre-sold "The Godfather" to theater audiences?  Here's how...

Dinner last night:  Grilled bratwurst and rice.

My Oscar Pool Predictions - Part 2

"Oscars Model Giant Condoms.  The details at 11."

It's a good thing these things are covered.  The forecast calls for rain on the red carpet this Sunday.  And now everybody is imagining just what Natalie Portman will look like in a thoroughly soaked cocktail dress.  The quintessential wet dream.

Okay, here's the rest of my Oscar pool pix.  I tackle the big stuff today.

Six weeks ago, I would have told you these six awards were locks.  The easiest Oscars to predict in years.  But, of late, there are rumblings that lead me to believe that there will be one surprise coming.  The trick is to guess which is the category that will come undone by Sunday night.

Best Director:  Usually, this winner matches up to the movie that is named Best Picture.  But, because this year is such a close race between "The Social Network" and "The King's Speech," we are ripe for a split in tradition.  While Tom Hooper did a terrific job with the latter and won the DGA Award for his work, his film is very much a straight-forward telling of a tale.  The Facebook saga, which cuts across several years of court testimony, could have been very boring.  But, DAVID FINCHER made it all incredibly interesting and his direction totally made the difference in the success of the film.  

Best Supporting Actor:  This is an early lock that I think will hold up.  Despite the fact that he is a complete shithead, the Academy seems to love CHRISTIAN BALE's performance in "The Fighter."  My Oscar pool buddy Lorraine and I have the same opinion.  His work here was more impersonation than interpretation.  When you look at the closing credits and see the real guy Bale is playing, you realize that he is taking the really easy way out with his acting choices.  I'd love to see Geoffrey Rush sneak in here as the speech therapist in "The King's Speech."  Nope.  In this category of late, loud, crazy, and over-the-top seems to always triumph.  Heath Ledger, Javier Bardem, Christoph Waltz.  All over-rated and noisy performances.  Bale joins the list.

Best Supporting Actress:  Hmmmm.  This might be the upset of the night.  It seems primed to happen.  Melissa Leo as the ultra-obnoxious mother in "The Fighter" has cleaned up some of the other awards..  She claimed both the Golden Globe and the SAG Award.  But, from what I am reading, her Oscar advertising has been very in-your-face and she is turning off lots of voters.  This happened years ago when Chill Wills took out so many self-congratulatory ads that the entire town rebelled and gave Sal Mineo the Oscar.  If you're thinking that nobody can win both the Golden Globe and the SAG and still not get the Oscar in this category, think again.  That old battle-ax Lauren Bacall got stiffed in just this fashion back in 1996.  This is also the category where young kids can do well.  Patty Duke.  Anna Paquin.  Tatum O'Neal.  You see where I'm going?  This could be the pick that sinks my chances to win my pool, but I'm thinking HAILEE STEINFELD from "True Grit" may walk off with the statue.

Best Actor:  The equivalent of filling out your name on a form at the Department of Motor Vehicles.  If you don't get this one right, you have no business even participating.  COLIN FIRTH.  COLIN FIRTH.  COLIN FIRTH.  Oh, yeah, and if that's not clear....COLIN FIRTH.

Best Actress:  Probably a lock, too, but there are voices out here in Tinseltown that talk about a backlash against NATALIE PORTMAN and her performance in the dreadful "Black Swan."  Older Academy winners might be wondering what that movie was all about and punching their ballot for Annette Bening in the equally dreadful "The Kids Are All Right."  But this is the category where, traditionally, the hot younger actresses always seem to thrive.  Julia Roberts.  Reese Witherspoon.  Sandra Bullock.  It's almost like people want them to win just to see what they're barely wearing.

Best Picture:  Once again, we've got ten nominated films and it is designed to give a lot of movies a chance to be recognized.  Except this year, there are really only two that merit any attention whatsoever.  127 Hours?  Didn't see it but it's too small.  Black Swan?  The Exorcist meets Friday the 13th meets Prom Night meets the Red Shoes.  That's three "meets" too many.  The Fighter?  Rocky goes to Fenway Park.  Yawn.  Inception?  Somebody call 1-800-GOT-JUNK and pick up this movie.  The Kids Are All Right?  Wrong.  Toy Story 3?  Great, but it will win in the Animated category.  True Grit?  Decent but really nothing more than a very good western.  Winter's Bone?  Needs to be buried in the backyard.  Yep, it's a tight battle between two movies and, sorry, Facebook, I am confirming THE KING'S SPEECH as my friend.

Dinner last night:  Chili with chicken.

My Oscar Pool Predictions - Part 1

Here you go, folks.  Your winning ticket to Oscar Office Pool success.  If you're a worker in a city agency and reading this blog, you're already ten times smarter than the lummoxes around you.  But, for those who are in healthy Oscar competitions, I hope my predictions will give you a leg up.

Regular patrons here know that I myself participate in an annual competition with my good friends back east, Lorraine and Dennis.  Our contest has already started with our prognostications of the major nominations.  Heading into the awards on Sunday night, Dennis is one point ahead of me.  I am one point ahead of Lorraine.  Anything can happen and usually does when it comes to this nonsense.

Today, I tackle all the awards except the big six, which I will post tomorrow.  In past years, these lesser Oscar categories are the ones that have decided our competition.  

In no particular order...

Film Editing:  If only I knew a film editor out here who could tell me what his colleagues are thinking.  Everything this year seems to be a race between "The King's Speech" and "The Social Network."  I am guessing this one cuts to the latter.  THE SOCIAL NETWORK.

Art Direction:  Len's rule of thumb?  The film that most resembles hallucinations experienced during over-medication usually wins.  ALICE IN WONDERLAND.

Costume Design:  Len's rule of thumb?  The film that most resembles hallucinations experienced during over-medication usually wins.  ALICE IN WONDERLAND.  Yes, gang, there's a pattern.

Make-Up:  There are three nominees and two of them ("Barney's Version" and "The Way Back") didn't seem to do anything noteworthy in the face-painting department.  Oh, look, the third nominee is "The Wolfman."  Duh.  THE WOLFMAN.

Visual Effects:  These under-30 industry lunatics are dying to give "Inception" something even though the script and story was incoherent.  But, who needs a tale that makes sense when you've got video game graphics that remind you of  your childhood when you were playing X-Box in your friend's basement?  INCEPTION.

Sound Mixing:  One of two Oscar categories that I don't understand what it's even for.  I don't go to a movie and come out thinking, "gee, they mixed that sound particularly well."  Go with the noisiest.  INCEPTION.

Sound Editing:  The other of two Oscar categories that I don't understand what it's even for. I don't go to a movie and come out thinking, "gee, they edited that sound particularly well." Once again, opt for the loudest. INCEPTION.

Original Score:  One of the nominees is "How to Train Your Dragon?"  Okay, I am automatically dismissing that one since I am not ten years old.  Of the others, "The Social Network" and "The King's Speech" stand out.  The radio commercials for both movies contain the music and both have stayed in my head for weeks.  Oooh, one is playing right now as I type this.  THE KING'S SPEECH.  See how scientific this can get.

Original Song:  Whatever happened to movie songs that became hits?  "Over the Rainbow."  "Swinging on a Star."  "Moon Freakin' River."  I'm looking at the nominees this year and can't remember a single one of them.  I'll go with the one from the only nominee I saw.  Plus it's tough to ever bet against Randy Newman.  "WE BELONG TOGETHER" FROM TOY STORY 3.

Animated Feature:  And, speaking of which, the winner has to be TOY STORY 3.    Hell, it's even nominated for Best Picture, so this is a dandy consolation prize.  Probably one of the best movie releases in all of 2010.  The competition is really weak.  "The Illusionist" is some French nonsense pulled from an old Jacques Tati script and I never could understand why people think that jerk was so talented.  "How to Train Your Dragon" is the other nominee, which  I Netflixed and threw back into the red envelope after the first ten minutes.  It was that stupid.

Live Action Short Film:  Dennis and Lorraine always try to give themselves an advantage by going to see these things.  Meanwhile, Len can't be bothered and will be content to simply guess.  Looking at this year's titles, I don't see a single "Our Gang" short among them.  Oh, well.  I confess that I'm just shooting at fish in a barrel.  Oh, look.  The perfect choice for my state of mind.  THE CONFESSION.

Animated Short Film:  Not a Looney Tune to be found.  Back in the 40s, Bugs Bunny cartoons used to get nominated all the time.  There is a nominee from Pixar called "Day & Night," but I'm thinking animated voters will want to spread the wealth since they are already voting for "Toy Story 3" for the bigger prize.  What the hell is THE GRUFFALO?  I am betting we find out on Sunday night.

Documentary Short:  Len's rule of thumb?  Look for the one that is focused on either the Holocaust or Hurricane Katrina?  Uh oh, not this year.  Okay, Len's secondary rule of thumb?  Look for the one that is set in the Mideast.  Oh, good, two choices this year.  "Strangers No More" is about a multi-ethnic school in Israel.  Well, that doesn't sound too explosive.  The other choice is "Killing in the Name."  A Muslim suicide bombing?  Hmm, how many terror cells are hiding in the Academy?  I'm guessing a few.  KILLING IN THE NAME.

Documentary Feature:  Len's rule of thumb?  Go with the one that bashes the right wing the most.  Of the five nominees, I saw only "Restrepo" and there was nothing new I learned from this slice of Afghan War.  Nope, the winner will be INSIDE JOB, which exposes all the fatcats who helped to cause the recent financial collapse.  Meanwhile, many of the voters are the same fatcats who make tons of money at your expense.  I sure wish they had nominated "Joan Rivers:  A Piece of Mind" or even "Waiting for Superman."  Documentaries that dared to take on subjects without political agendas.

Foreign Film:   Len's rule of thumb?  Pick the nominee from the country that least bothers me.  Denmark's IN A BETTER WORLD.

Cinematography:   All the good awards this year seem to be a race between "The King's Speech" and "The Social Network."  Both are nominated here.  But, who can deny how great the scenery looked in TRUE GRIT?

Original Screenplay:  "Inception" was nominated?  Shit, there were words in that movie?  Hello?  Anybody.  The winner hands-down will be David Seidler for THE KING'S SPEECH.

Adapted Screenplay:  No contest.  Aaron Sorkin for THE SOCIAL NETWORK.

Come back tomorrow for my big Oscar finish.

Dinner last night:  French dip at Barney's Beanery.

This Day in History - February 23

Ron Hunt was the New York Mets' first real All-Star.   Today is his special day.  Along with these other wonderful little tidbits...

632:  THE LAST SERMON OF PROPHET MUHAMMAD.

And we have been listening to this shit ever since.

1455:  THE GUTENBERG BIBLE IS PUBLISHED.  THIS IS THE FIRST WESTERN BOOK PRINTED WITH MOVABLE TYPE.

This is the version of the New Testament where Jesus dines on wiener schnitzel at the Last Supper.

1778:  DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, BARON VON STEUBEN ARRIVES AT VALLEY FORGE, PENNSYLVANIA TO HELP TRAIN THE CONTINENTAL ARMY.

The British officers were smart and they were training down at Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

1820:  CATO STREET CONSPIRACY---A PLOT TO MURDER ALL THE BRITISH CABINET MINISTERS IS EXPOSED.

I hope they didn't throw out those plans.  Other countries might still want to buy them.

1821:  POET JOHN KEATS DIES.

Ode, schmode, now he's in an urn, too.

1836:  THE BATTLE OF THE ALAMO BEGINS IN SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS.

I didn't realize John Wayne was that old.

1847:  DURING THE MEXICAN-AMERICAN WAR, THE BATTLE OF BUENA VISTA IS HELD.

I thought this was a shareholder fight at Disney.

1861:  PRESIDENT-ELECT ABRAHAM LINCOLN ARRIVES SECRETLY IN WASHINGTON, DC, AFTER THE THWARTING OF AN ALLEGED ASSASSINATION PLOT IN BALTIMORE, MARYLAND.

And, four years later, um, not so lucky.

1870:  THE POST-CIVIAL WAR MILITARY CONTROL OF MISSISSIPPI ENDS AND IT IS READMITTED TO THE UNION.

Can we vote on this again, please?

1886:  CHARLES MARTIN HALL PRODUCED THE FIRST SAMPLES OF MAN-MADE ALUMINUM.

Boy, he must have had a lot of leftovers to put in the refrigerator.

1887:  THE FRENCH RIVIERA IS HIT BY A LARGE EARTHQUAKE, KILLING AROUND 2,000.

A whole shitload of dead naked people.  Unfortunately, this was not timed to coincide with the Cannes Film Festival.

1898:  EMILE ZOLA IS IMPRISONED IN FRANCE AFTER WRITING "J'ACCUSE," A LETTER ACCUSING THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT OF ANTI-SEMITISM AND WRONGFULLY IMPRISONING CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS.

Vous screwed.

1905:  CHICAGO ATTORNEY PAUL HARRIS AND THREE OTHER BUSINESSMAN MEET FOR LUNCH TO FORM THE ROTARY CLUB.

i went to lunch yesterday and all I got stuck with was the check.

1927:  THE FEDERAL RADIO COMMISSION (LATER RENAMED THE FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION) BEGINS TO REGULATE THE USE OF RADIO FREQUENCIES IN THE UNITED STATES.

This coincides with the invention of static noise.

1929:  NEW YORK YANKEE ELSTON HOWARD IS BORN.

Beyond his baseball stats, this guy did wonderful things for the revenue forecasts of Gulden's Mustard.

1941:  PLUTONIUM IS FIRST PRODUCED AND ISOLATED BY DR. GLENN T. SEABORG.

It proves to be quite lethal for Walt Disney cartoon dogs.

1941:  FORMER NEW YORK MET RON HUNT IS BORN.

And was immediately hit by a baseball thrown by a nurse thrown in the maternity ward.  You have to really know baseball to get that joke.

1945:  DURING WORLD WAR II, A GROUP OF US MARINES AND A NAVY CORPSMAN REACH THE TOP OF MOUNT SURIBACHI AND ARE PHOTOGRAPHED RAISING THE AMERICAN FLAG AFTER THE BATTLE OF IWO JIMA.

So, to be clear, Clint Eastwood had nothing to do with this??

1945:  DURING WORLD WAR II, THE CAPITAL OF THE PHILIPPINES, MANILA, IS LIBERATED BY AMERICAN FORCES.

A busy day for the military.  Thank God this happened.  We were running out of folders.

1961:  BASEBALL PLAYER DAVEY CROCKETT DIES.

I do know a lot about baseball, but I have no idea who this guy was.  And, to think, he died on the anniversary of the Alamo.

1965:  COMIC STAN LAUREL DIES.

Another fine mess he got himself into.

1974:  THE SYMBIONESE LIBERATION ARMY DEMANDS $4 MILLION MORE TO RELEASE KIDNAP VICTIM PATTY HEARST.

And another rich bitch to be named later.

1980:  IRANIAN SUPREME LEADER AYATOLLAH KHOMEINI STATES THAT IRAN'S PARLIAMENT WILL DECIDE THE FATE OF THE AMERICAN EMBASSY HOSTAGES.

And the long term employment prospects for ABC's Ted Koppel.

1983:  THE UNITED STATES ENVIRONMENTAL PROTECTION AGENCY ANNOUNCES ITS INTENT TO BUY OUT AND EVACUATE THE DIOXIN-CONTAMINATED COMMUNITY OF TIMES BEACH, MISSOURI.

For any of you looking at some vacation property in Times Beach, Missouri.

1998:  OSAMA BIN LADEN PUBLISHES A FATWA DECLARING JIHAD AGAINST ALL JEWS AND CRUSADERS.

Yeah, we heard...

Dinner last night:  Grilled bratwurst.

Ice Cold in Cleveland

Well, that didn't take long. 

After a first season where "Hot In Cleveland" was wonderful retro-television, the horrible second season has once again shown us all that Hollywood has an innate ability to destroy anything it touches.    What was once refreshingly welcome has turned into a dreadful half-hour that is perched dangerously on my cliff above "Never Tape Again Valley."

What the hell happened?

I have some thoughts.

Personally, I couldn't have welcomed "Hot in Cleveland" more when TV Land first premiered it in June of 2010.  Oh, sure, it had Valerie Bertinelli and that always gets my attention.  But, even more, the type of old fashioned classic sitcom it represented gave hope to all of us codgers over the age of 40.  Not only was it steering away from the mindless humor that today's youth seems to relish, but "Hot in Cleveland" was virtually embracing the opposite demographics.  Certainly more hope than any Presidential candidate could give us.

The production values were there and the four stars are certainly no slouches when it comes to television sitcoms.  An added "Hot in Cleveland" was the delicious notion to bring back TV stars of the past for guest shots.  Tim Conway.  Carl Reiner.  Who gets better than this?

Of all TV shows coming back for another season, I was anxiously awaiting "Hot in Cleveland" more than any.

The first warning sign came for me during the second season premiere.  As the credits ran at the opening of the show, I noticed that the writing and producing staff had tripled. 

Uh oh. 

Less is definitely more. 

During its debut season, TV Land probably approached doing their own first-run sitcom as a "What the hell have we got to lose and let's not sink a lot of money into this" approach.  And the results were simply marvelous.

Now, flush with a hit, somebody was sinking some coin into the show, thinking that this makes it better.  In the case of "Hot in Cleveland," that's a resounding "no."  Everything I've seen in the first five or so episodes tells me that the show is now grossly over-written, over-produced, over-acted, and over-everything.  It's as bloated as your uncle Louie last Thanksgiving.

Even the guest stints, so magically surprising and welcome when the series first came on, now feel gratuitous and unnecessary.  Somebody brought in a crew of interior decorators to "tweak" the palace at Versailles.

So, they book Mary Tyler Moore for a reunion with Betty White in the second season opener.  This is promoted as early as two months before the premiere.  Yet, Mary's cameo appearance as a jailmate of Betty is played out in the first two minutes of the episode and amounts to nothing more than a replay of the old "You've got spunk" bit from the MTM Show of the 70s.  That's all they could come up with???  Gee, if I were the show runner, I would not have taken the opportunity in the most obvious direction.  With a writing staff now delighted to be doing this kind of work again, they actually should, well, do some work.

Episode two arrives and Bonnie Franklin comes in for a reunion with former TV daughter Bertinelli and they stick her with the role of some harpy with a Russian accent.  A horrible casting choice made even worse by Franklin's inability to speak with a Russian accent.

But, wait, there's more...

Last week in their sweeps stunt episode featuring Susan Lucci, the worst actress ever to win an Emmy award, the show opens with the gals talking to Peri Gilpin, formerly Roz on "Frasier."  Okay, I think.  A cute little reunion with Jane Leeves.  Except they never explain who she is or why she is even talking to the other four women.  Is she a friend?  Whose friend is she?  What's her name?  What's the purpose of it all?

Over and over and over, the mess keeps piling up.  Plotpoints that are ludicrous even for television situation comedy.  How the heck does Betty White wander onto the set of "Jimmy Kimmel Live" while it's on the air?  In my most surrealistic of creative thoughts, I couldn't begin to rationalize that moment. 

Amid all this fracas, there's the most important element that seems to have disappeared from "Hot in Cleveland" between Season One and Season Two.  Heart.  The four characters have all morphed into insult factories.  One nasty comment after another comes scurrying down the assembly line.  Even in its very last season on the air, those cheesecake-eating scenes on "The Golden Girls" still let us know that Rose, Dorothy, Blanche, and Sophia truly loved each other.  The ladies from Cleveland?  You might as well be watching a garden club sponsored by the Third Reich.

It's sad to see "Hot in Cleveland" go downhill so quickly.  It didn't have to be like this.  Are there probably too many writers?  Yes.  Did TV Land jump on the over-saturation of marketing bandwagon?  Yes.  Is this an example of too much too soon?  Yes.

Will I keep on watching?  Probably yes. 

But it won't be the same.  Who knew that just last year would represent the long forgotten good ole days for "Hot in Cleveland?"

Dinner last night:  Grilled pork chops with chutney and broccolini.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - February 21, 2011

Wedding bloopers from Germany!

Dinner last night:  Pepperoni on English muffin and salad bar from Gelson's.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The First Full Day in California

Following up on the tale I started last Sunday.  Recounting my very first day living in California fourteen years ago this month.

Even though, during our first night of sleep which really didn't happen due to the clankety clank of the parking lot gate outside our apartment, we had to hit the ground running the very next morning.

We were due at the studio.

Such a Hollywood thing to say.  Let me write it again.

We were due at the studio.

Ah!!!

Still feels good.

Oh, we weren't working or anything.  But, thanks to a good friend of ours who was a line producer at "Murphy Brown," we would "be there" for the final six weeks of their production cycle.

So, as we drove to Warner Brothers in Burbank, we marveled at our good fortune.  We were incredibly lucky being able to view first-hand sitcom production close-up.  An internship that required no college credits.  We had read for years how a television situation comedy was done.  If it is shot before a live studio audience, there is a very set and intricate five-day work schedule culminating in "show night," when it is actually filmed like a stage play.  It's a now time-honored process that had been started by Desi Arnaz during the very first days of "I Love Lucy" and it exists to this day.

We would get to experience it all.

At the gate to all Hollywood studios, there are those little guard booths.  You are nothing if your name does not appear on that "walk-on" clipboard the gatekeepers hold so dearly.  And there's a little rush that happens when you give your name and the guard says...

"Okay, drive over to Stage Four.  You know where that is?"

Ummm.  We didn't want to look too stupid.  But we had no clue.  Somehow, we fumbled through an un-intelligible response.   No worries.  He pointed us in the correct direction.

Celluloid history seeps out of every cement pore at Warner Brothers in Burbank.  You can actually sense the ethereal presence of movie stars gone by.  While I am sure the lot has been updated over the years, it still looks amazingly as it did in the newsreels of the 30s and 40s.  Is that James Cagney over there?  Was that the make-up department that painted up Bette Davis' puss?  Oh, look, in the gutter.  Errol Flynn is drunk again.

Well, we didn't see any of that.  But we could feel it all around us.  And we weren't on the lot for more than two minutes before we had our very first sighting. 

Dean Cain.

Okay, it was the 90s, not the 40s.  Dean would have to do.

There's another layer of security at whatever soundstage you're involved in.  You walk through a metal detector, because, after all, it is Candice Bergen's workday home and you never know when a deranged Dan Quayle might show up with a gun.  Once cleared with your name on yet another list, you're given a little paste-on circle that you place someplace on your person.  It's the color of the day.  If you're not wearing the correct color of the day, I suppose you are carted off to Jack Warner Jail by Yosemite Sam. 

We always had the right circle on.  There was no way these daily dreams would be curtailed for a single nano-second.

The cool thing about these little golden circular passes is that you can pretty much walk all over the lot unaccosted.  In the course of our time there, we'd watch George Clooney and Anthony Edwards of "ER" play basketball in an alleyway.  My writing partner would get shooed away by Clint Eastwood when he tried to peer through the windows of Malpaso Productions.  And, for one noontime hour, my cohort would disappear to God's knows where.  When he returned, he reported back.

"I was watching them rehearse Friends for a while."

Oh.  Meanwhile, I had spent the lunch break watching a cameraman pick chicken salad out of his teeth.

At this point in time, "Murphy Brown" was in its ninth season and the production was on automatic pilot.  The entire crew was so well-rounded and experienced that an episode was produced like Swiss clock-work.  We heard stories of 'Friends" filmings that lasted for eight or nine hours and required to change out the live studio audience mid-episode because the first group would get tired.  Not so at "Murphy Brown."  Friday night filmings were usually done in just a little over two hours.  They really knew their shit at Stage Four.

Since our very first day at Warner Brothers was a Friday, it was "show night."  The day's activities would be for the camera guys to finish up scene blocking and the producers to tighten up any script points.  Whereas "Friends" would rewrite complete scenes on the floor during the tapings, there was very few changes at "Murphy."  Over our weeks there, we witnessed very few line changes over the course of an episode's production.

After we watched all this last-minute activity, we got shuttled into "dinner."  A nearby soundstage is set up as a mess hall/restaurant and most of the cast and crew eats before the filming.  We never saw Candice there, but pretty much everybody else showed.  The buffet was damn good and we did our best to eat plenty without looking like two tourists at an unlimited food court in the middle of Iowa.  Our dinner companions usually wound up being our producer friend, the actor playing the bartender at Phil's, and the comedienne who did the audience warm-up every week. 

When dinner was over, I remember how we ambled back to the soundstage for the show.  We passed by all these slobs on line outside.  This was the studio audience.  I wondered if they were looking at us like we were somebodys.  Little did they know.  We easily could have staying in a mindless queue just like them.

Our seats in the audience bleachers were duct-taped off so we were VIPs.  Another reason to sneer at the common folk around us.  Do you folks have any idea who we are? 

Okay, we were dreaming again.

I don't remember much of the show that night, except that Walter Cronkite had been there the day before to pre-shoot a scene which was shown on the monitors so our laughter could be recorded.  We had missed more broadcast royalty by about twenty-four hours. 

While we had been to show filmings before, we were amazed all over again by the process.  Few folks know that sitcom scenes are filmed at least three different times so that the producers can have a variety of takes to use for the final edit.  That may sound trivial, but it is really tough for the actors to get the same flow from take to take.  Also, the studio audience might laugh heartily at the joke during the first take and less so after that.  It becomes an energy endurance test for all concerned.  Good actors nail it every take.  And we were watching some real pros at work.

"Murphy Brown" was a class operation all around.  From the incredibly non-annoying warm-up comic to the jazz band that played between scenes, it was a very special evening for us.

And, lucky studs that we were, there would be five more of them coming.  When I got home that night, I decided to commit my early California experiences to paper in a journal.  Indeed, it was the very earliest edition of this blog.  If I was to have this wonderful time watching a television situation comedy be produced, I wanted to save it all for my own personal history. 

Next week, you'll enjoy the fruits of the journal that I kept.

Dinner last night:  BLT sandwich at Blue Plate.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - February 2011

Few people know this, but the theme song here was written by Burt Bacharach and named after his daughter.  In case you were wondering...

Dinner last night:  Kobe burger at the Cheesecake Factory.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for February 2011

I've frequently lamented here about the disappearance of wonderful movie palaces in New York.  Well, it is happening in Los Angeles, too, and right before my very eyes.

The theater above is the National in Westwood.  Not too long ago, that was the area in Los Angeles where you could find four or five grand "single screen" movie houses.  This one went up in the 60s and looked very much like that decades.  But, the auditorium was huge and wonderful.  Luckily, I got to enjoy it a bit after I moved here.  Today...

...nothing more than weeds in a vacant lot.  And, speaking of which, we have yet another crop of unwanted vegetation in the dumpy multiplexes of our lives.  Absolute crap that contributes to the untimely closings of memory receptacles like the National.

You may remember the drill.  I'll troll the movie pages of the Los Angeles Times and give you my knee-jerk reactions to the crap being thrown up on screens this weekend.

Black Swan:  Still haven't bothered to see this Oscar nominee.  Amongst my friends, I have a wildly swinging pendulum of opinions.  The bottom line: everybody under 30 loves it and everybody over 30 hates it.  Guess where I'm likely to land.

The King's Speech:  I'm rooting hard for this one to win Best Picture.  The best movie last year hands down.  And, yes, that includes the overhyped pool of sick otherwise known as Inception.

Big Mommas - Like Father, Like Son:  Some folks are bitching that there are no Black Oscar nominees this year.  Well, for the defense, I offer Exhibit A.  Because most movies featuring Black characters are as stupid as this.

Unknown:  Liam Neeson stars as a doctor who awakens after a car accident only to discover that another man has assumed his identity.  I've seen the trailer and I wonder if it was a little creepy for Neeson to play scenes in a coma so soon if his wife died so tragically from a head injury.  Meanwhile, wasn't this plot done like a million times by Alfred Hitchcock?

Carbon Nation:  A documentary about climate change.  More dribble about that oh, so horrible carbon dioxide which plants desperately need to exist.  You want to throw something into the recycle bin, you environmental lunatics?  How about this movie?

Vidal Sassoon - The Movie:  Traces the hairstylists' path from a London orphanage to celebrity.  Ooh, la, la, Sassoon.  Does he meet the Artful Dodger along the way?

The Last Lions:  Documentary follows an African lioness that has been ostracized by the ruling pride and left alone with three small cubs.  Okay, am I one of the only people who hates the glorification of wild animals???  The operative word there is "wild."  They have two functions in life.  To kill something for food and then shit it out.  The main reason why I hated Disney's "The Lion King."  Enough already, please.  Steve Irwin is dead for a very good reason.

The Chaperone:  A getaway driver newly released from prison is tempted by one last big score.  Starring somebody named Triple H and I'm proud of the fact that I have no idea who the hell he is.

I Am Number Four:  An alien fugitive on the run from intergalactic killers tries to fit in as the new kid in smalltown Ohio.  Big deal.  I live in Los Angeles and I'm surrounded by alien fugitives.  Intergalactic killers?  Not so much.

Immigration Tango:  A Russian immigrant and her Colombian boyfriend switch partners with an American couple in order to stay in the United States.  One of the biggest problems our country faces is played for sheer laughs.  I'd change the title to "Immigration Hustle."

Just Go With It:  Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston in a new dreary romcom.  Aniston and I just shared the same birth date.  That's my way of saying that I have nothing else to write about this junk.

Cedar Rapids:  The trailer for this buddy comedy looked horrible, but blogger Ken Levine wrote a glowing review, so I might sample it at some point.

Blue Valentine:  A snapshot of a rotten marriage.  I have many more in storage.  It's called a family album.  A tough way to spend two hours.

Winter's Bone:  Hillbilly angst that I Netflixed because of the Oscar buzz.  It got some nominations and I need rationale, please.  Academy members, e-mail me.  Sittin' in my rocker on the porch with my bottle of corn squeezins, I think this movie sucked.

True Grit:  Marvelous performances all around.  A remake that was worth making and that rarely can be said.

127 Hours:  I still haven't gotten around to this Oscar nominee.  Depictions of severed arms will do that to a person.

Kaboom:  Kerplunk.

Barney's Version:  Oy.  Jewish middle-aged angst overplayed by Paul Giamatti.  Another tough way to spend two hours.  And, to think that I thought this had something to do with the Flintstones.

The Company Men:  Ben Affleck stars and that's good enough reason for me to stay home.

The Eagle:  Has landed.  With a thud.

Justin Bieber - Never Say Never:  Sorry.  I have to.  Never.  The only people in the audience will be twelve-year-old girls and forty-year-old pedophiles.

Gnomeo and Juliet:  Gno way.

No Strings Attached:  Howard Stern has been pushing this Ashton Kutcher-Natalie Portman romantic comedy.  Howard, I love ya, but...

Sanctum:  What the submarine captain said he did to that German destroyer.  Yeah, that's the best I got.

The Rite:  Another horror movie with Anthony Hopkins, who now makes at least two movies a week.  None of them any good.

The Roommate:  College student Sara finds that her new roommate Rebecca has an obsession with her, which quickly turns violent.   If this is passing as entertainment, wait till I start writing about the folks I roomed with in college.

The Fighter:  Rocky Goes to Boston.  Overdone, overripe, and I was over it after the first 45 minutes.

Rabbit Hole:  Unless I see the Warner Brothers Looney Tunes logo at the beginning, I'm not going.

Biutiful:  Javier Bardem's Oscar-nominated turn as a dying homeless guy who also has no access to Spellcheck.

Dinner last night:  Pasta with chicken and pesto sauce.

The Last Play at Shea

When it comes to movies about live concerts, I can take them or leave them.  But, for me, "The Last Play at Shea" is something very different.  I can't be ambivalent here.  I was in tears at the end.  The experience was that special.

For those who don't know, this film amazingly uses the last rock concert ever at Shea Stadium as the connective tissue for a documentary about legendary Billy Joel, New York City, and that major part of my own childhood, the esteemed "dump" on Flushing Bay.  All three elements work fabulously.  This movie is a masterwork of craftmanship and I am shocked that it didn't get more in-theater attention.  Still, on my new Blu-Ray player, it sparkled.

First off, I guess Billy Joel is one of my favorite rock stars, primarily because I have seen him in-person more than anybody else.  Joel is the quintessential New York and his music, most popular during my young adult years, provokes the most memories of emotions that such a time in life warrants.  Dating, break-ups, career angst.  Billy nails it all and it always feels incredibly organic.

In a mystical way, Joel was the perfect choice as the final rock concert ever to be held at Shea Stadium.  The baseball fans that populated that concrete shrine since 1964 are just like him.  The working class.  The poor slobs.  The sadder-but-wiser folks.

Me.

In retrospect, I wish I had been there for the last live music at Shea.  The moments captured on film resonate with the deepest of my emotions.  First responders singing along on stage.  Special guests like Tony Bennett and garth Brooks doing a song or two along with Joel. 

And, of course, the closing number with surprise artist Paul McCartney recalling the August day in 1965 when he and three other gents trolled some makeshift stage around second base.  I remember that night vividly, but I, of course, was not there.  But, coming home from a visit to relatives on Long Island, my dad drove on the Grand Central Parkway with Shea in the distance.  We rolled down the car windows and, even at least five miles away, we could hear the screaming girls.

Juxtaposed with footage of the 2008 Joel concert and the Beatles' visit to Shea in 1965 is a thorough synopsis of Billy's career as well as the life of the stadium.  Plenty of Mets and football Jets footage is shown one more time for the ages.  The black cat stalking the Chicago Cubs' dugout in 1969.  Cleon Jones catching the last out of that year's World Series.  Bill Buckner's 1986 error one more time.  Tom Seaver and Mike Piazza closing the centerfield gate for the last time.  And, most tragically, we are witness to the scoreboard being knocked down into aluminum pieces during the stadium's demolition.

Yes, there were tears.  A reminder of life passing all too quickly.  Goodnight, Saigon and goodbye, my youth.  As Darryl Strawberry says in the movie, Shea was a dump, but "it was our dump."

Yes, it was.  And, like Billy Joel sings, I loved it just the way it was.

Dinner last night:  Prime rib from Gelson's.

This Day in History - February 16

"Ward, I'm worried about the Lenster."

1249:  ANDREW OF LONGJUMEAU IS DISPATCHED BY LOUIS IX OF FRANCE AS HIS AMBASSADOR TO MEET WITH MONGOL KHAGAN OF THE MONGOL EMPIRE.

If it was successful, is Andrew available to go to Cairo?

1804:  DURING THE FIRST BARBARY WAR, STEPHEN DECATUR LEADS A RAID TO BURN THE PIRATE-HELD FRIGATE USS PHILADELPHIA.

And, later on, he got his own street in the Bronx.  If that's an obscure joke for you, I wrote it exclusively for one of my readers.  If you want your own customized gag here, please drop a line and I will be happy to comply.

1852:  STUDEBAKER BROTHERS WAGON COMPANY, PRECURSOR OF THE AUTOMOBILE MANUFACTURER, IS ESTABLISHED.

Little did they know how many kids would be conceived in the back of one.

1859:  THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT PASSES A LAW TO SET THE A-NOTE ABOVE MIDDLE C TO A FREQUENCY OF 435 HZ IN AN ATTEMPT TO STANDARDIZE THE PITCH.

Now there's a country with absolutely nothing to do.

1868:  IN NEW YORK CITY, THE JOLLY CORKS ORGANIZATION IS RENAMED THE BENEVOLENT AND PROTECTIVE ORDER OF ELKS.

Now there's a club with absolutely nothing to do.

1899: KNATTSPYRNUFELAG REYKJAVIKUR ICELAND'S FIRST FOOTBALL CLUB IS FOUNDED.

And so apparently is the first eye chart.

1903:  VENTRILOQUIST EDGAR BERGEN IS BORN.

He made a lot of money off Charlie McCarthy, so who's the dummy now?

1909:  ACTOR HUGH BEAUMONT IS BORN.

Just what was he doing with the Beaver in that den?

1918:  SINGER PATTY ANDREWS IS BORN.

The one Andrews Sister still alive.  My grandmother used to call them "three ugly Guineas."  Except they were Greek.  Grandma missed one every once in a while.

1923:  HOWARD CARTER UNSEALS THE BURIAL CHAMBER OF PHARAOH TUTANKHAMUN.

That's got to be a quick way to stir up some dust allergies.

1921:  ACTRESS/DANCER VERA-ELLEN IS BORN.

A terrific talent who died too young.  She and Rosemary Clooney stole the movie "White Christmas" right out from under Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.

1928:  ENTERTAINER EDDIE FOY DIES.

Now it's the six little Foys.

1935:  SINGER SONNY BONO IS BORN.

This gag pays off in just a little bit.

1936:  AMERICAN SKIER JILL KINMONT IS BORN.

So, on successive February 16s, we have the birth of one really lousy skier and one really good one.

1937:  WALLACE H. CAROTHERS RECEIVES A UNITED STATES PATENT FOR NYLON.

And I bet he liked to wear them, too.

1945:  DURING WORLD WAR II, AMERICAN FORCES LAND ON CORREGIDOR ISLAND IN THE PHILIPPINES.

The beginning of the end for those Nip bastards.  Can I say that?

1967:  HOCKEY PLAYER KEITH GRETZKY IS BORN.

Talking about having your thunder stolen.

1968:  IN HALEYVILLE, ALABAMA, THE FIRST 9-1-1 EMERGENCY TELEPHONE SYSTEM GOES INTO SERVICE.

In Alabama, nobody can remember what you dial to reach 9-1-1.

1985:  HEZBOLLAH IS FOUNDED.

And our world hasn't been the same since.

2001:  SEX DOCTOR WILLIAM MASTERS DIES.

Talk about a cool profession.

2005:  THE NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE CANCELS THE ENTIRE 2004-2005 REGULAR SEASON AND PLAYOFFS, BECOMING THE FIRST MAJOR SPORTS LEAGUE TO DO SO OVER A LABOR DISPUTE.

Inconveniencing thousands of fans in Canada.  And two dozen in the United States.

2006:  THE LAST MOBILE ARMY SURGICAL HOSPITAL (M*A*S*H*) IS DECOMMISSIONED BY THE US ARMY.

The series ran eight years longer than the Korean War it was set in.

Dinner last night:  Salami sandwich and salad.

Maybe It's Me, But...

I read the newspaper every morning and, while it's usually just an excuse to get me to the Sudoku puzzle in the last section, it allows me to get in touch with the world around me.  As you know, I've recently tried to stay away from waxing political in these cyber pages.  Sometimes, though, I can't help but wonder.

Maybe it's me, but...

I don't give a shit about the Grammys.  I haven't watched a single minute of this awards show since Gary Lewis was touring with his Playboys.  Yet, I am astounded by the number of folks who pay attention to this mess.

My frustration these days is that I don't know any of these current day musical artists.  Who are they and just what are they singing?   These are stars?  Not in my astrological guide.

Take, for instance, this Lady Gaga something-or-other.  She arrived at the ceremony in this egg.  It would have been a clever bit but Mork already came from Ork in the very same vehicle back in the late 70s.  Was this Tupperware-on-wheels valeted in front of the red carpet?  Can you picture the poor Mexican who had to park this thing?  And you just know that he moved the seat up.  Don't they all?

Speaking of the Grammys, take a look at the Los Angeles CBS reporter doing a post-award wrap-up for the 11PM News Sunday night.  She apparently is having a stroke while on the air.

Sad to watch, especially since she still managed to be more coherent than most of the Grammy winners during their acceptance speeches. The good news is that the reporter is allegedly okay this morning.

And, moving on, I guess I can't ignore the bizarre doings in Egypt.

I don't understand why they're having problems there since, from the snapshot above, it appears that Curtis Sliwa and the Guardian Angels are patroling the streets.  But, I digress...

Maybe it's me, but...

Are you as befuddled about this revolution as I am?  The reaction of some of my friends, as well as the always goofy news media, has led me to believe that this can't be anything but a laudatory plea from democracy.

Huh?

Listening to some of the clowns around me, you would think that the Egyptian revolution is something akin to the kids from "Footloose" protesting for their right to have a dance on Saturday night.  This is a fucking government overthrow, folks, not the kids from Sweet Apple, Ohio, singing "I've Got a Lot of Livin' to Do" from "Bye, Bye Birdie."

Oh, don't get me wrong.  This Hosni Mubarak character sounds like a real dirtbag of a political leader, but most of them in this country are no better.  But, to think that this is a 100% unified cry for democracy is sheer lunacy.  Oh, sure, there's not a single Muslim terrorist in that bunch marching up and down the streets of Cairo.  If you believe that, you've obviously been out in a sandstorm.  Yeah, this all looks ducky fine today, but just wait.  There is no lock that the evil we don't know will be any less than the evil we did know. 

And, on a semi-related thought....

Maybe it's me, but...

Is everybody talking about our handling of the whole situation like there was an element of brilliance to it all?  We pretty much sat on the fence like we have done with the Mid East for years and years.  Let's face it, no area in the world has pulled our underwear down in Macy's window more than these camel jockeys. 

From the day that nincompoop Jimmy Carter flashed his 75 teeth to the camera when he brokered a peace that lasted for about 23 minutes, we have always been behind the curve on how to handle this mess.  Frankly, I think the whole place should be leveled and made "Parking Lot City."  Once again, we did little.  Let's stop acting like Obama stood up and said, "Mr. Mubarak, tear down that sphinx!"

And, wait, there's a little bit more...

Maybe it's me, but....

Why are all the same kooks who are championing the personal freedoms of Americans and screwballs all over the globe looking the other way when our own rights here are being challenged?

Can't get salt in a New York restaurant?

Can't smoke outside anymore in New York?

Forced to give up certain foods because the government thinks you and your kids don't eat right?

I wonder if you can put salt on your falafel in Egypt.

Maybe it's me, but...

Have you been to a doctor or a dentist yet in 2011?  Have you discovered that, even though you're a long time patient, the physicians are now requiring cash upfront?  My folks tell me it's because the new healthcare laws are going to ultimately screw up all their usually smooth dealings with my insurance company.

Uh huh.

Have you been to an accountant yet to have your taxes done?  Do you have any idea how much more you're going to have to pay out because of the new tax laws? 

I asked my accountant if he could somehow give me the exact name of the ingrate I will now be supporting.  He corrected me.

"You mean ingrates.  You'll be funding quite a few of them."

Uh huh.

Maybe it's me, but...is there something wrong with all of the above?

Dinner last night:  Homemade frittata with potatoes, onions, sausage, tomatoes, and cheese.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - February 14, 2011

Legendary actress Betty Garrett died the other day at the age of 91.  Up until last week, she was still active as a teacher of an acting class in North Hollywood.

We all remember her from the MGM classic musicals, but, to me, her finest work was as Irene Lorenzo, the Bunkers' neighbor, on what might have been the very best season of "All in the Family."  Here's just one small snippet from one of her battles with Archie. At one point, she looks like she's going to break up at one of Carroll O'Connor's lines, but the true pro holds it together.



Dinner last night: Tomato and basil risotto.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Happy Anniversary, Los Angeles

Fourteen years ago today, my California adventure began.  I'm not talking about that claptrap of an amusement park down in Anaheim.  Nope, that was the day my bi-coastal existence began in earnest and I effectively moved most of my life to Los Angeles.

Time flies when, well, time flies.

Truth be told, it doesn't seem that long ago.  Back in 1997, my writing partner and I had done all we could in New York.  But, some of the work we had done there led us to some great contacts on the West Coast.  Plus we had gotten an agent.  Okay, her office was on top of a flower shop in Studio City, but she was an agent nonetheless.  The smell of jasmine and lilacs permeated every meeting we ever had there.  Some would liken it to a beautiful meadow.  Usually, for us, it was like a funeral parlor.  But, I digress...

Armed with tons of start-up money that had come in the form of severance from my last New York job, we used January 1997 as the target date for our move West.  At first, we decided to drive cross-country in my leased Toyota Camry.  After all, we needed a car in California.  But, quickly, we decided how wrong-headed such a trek would be in the dead of winter.  We might not see the Pacific Ocean until 1998 at the earliest.

Of course, this suddenly meant that my car would need to be shipped from Yonkers to Los Angeles.  I had no clue how to do this and was astounded to find that there are numerous places who do this.  A day prior to my departure, a scruffy looking Black man came to my apartment to take my car away.  Watching him drive off with your vehicle, I wondered if I would ever see it again.  After all, I had pulled his number out of the Yellow Pages.  I almost had a tear in my eye, as if my oldest son was going off to war.  Or I had just been car-jacked at gunpoint.

I had already packed off a lot of my essentials, along with my computer.  Still, I kept my NY apartment furnished.  I figured that I would sell all that off later in the year.  Little did I know.  To this day, my Yonkers abode looks like it is regularly inhabited.  In a way, it is.  The concept of being bi-coastal never entered into my feeble little mind on February 13, 1997.

We had somehow settled on one of those apartment complexes in Los Angeles that specialize in housing entertainment people who come to town for pilot season, etc.  A wonderful two bedroom unit courtesy of Oakwood Apartments.  But, of course, we couldn't afford the really convenient one right up the road from Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank.  No, we could financially handle the Oakwood Apartments in Woodland Hills conveniently located right up the road from Chili's.  In the days before Google searches, Woodland Hills didn't look that far out of the way.  Little did we know.

Back then, I didn't have all the airline credentials that I have with American Airlines today.  We found ourselves in the middle seats of a three-across.  I wound up sitting next to a Middle Eastern guy in a pilot's uniform.  The pants and shirt had holes in them.  In October, 2001, I would have likely reported this guy to the flight attendant.  But, in 1997, I sat there and quietly stewed over my cramped predicament.  Little did I know.

The six-hour flight that day took eight hours.  Or eighteen.  It seemed like we were flying forever.  I looked out at the velvet sky.  What the hell was I doing?  Was this the craziest thing to try and attempt?  When did this guy next to me last take a bath?  Questions ping ponging around my head like a pinball machine on steroids.

Once at LAX, we picked up the rental car that would be our vehicle until the Camry would or would not show up three weeks later.  Once again, money was an object and we opted for a Kia, which was previously used by Bumble Bee to ship tuna.  Its "pick up and go" had picked up and gone.  A speed bump proved to be a steep incline for this piece of junk.

Meanwhile, even though we had been out to California before, we had no idea where the hell we were going.  Our lodging was in the San Fernando Valley.  As we pierced the night air in our motorized beer can, our directions seemed to lead us further and further away from civilization.  Just what planet was Woodland Hills on?  Oh, look, I think we just passed Jupiter.

In the days before Mapquest and Googled directions, we got lost.  We exited the 101 Freeway long before we should have.  Riding around in circles.  Was this even a "one horse town" because I don't see a single horse?  We thought about pulling into several gas stations for help but they all looked like they were in middle of an armed robbery.

Hours and seemingly years later, we arrived at the Oakwood Apartments in Woodland Hills.  It was already 9PM and the management had apparently turned in for the night, which was fitting because most of Woodland Hills looked like it had closed at 7PM.  Some clown with excessive bedhead finally crawled out from a rat hole and "escorted" us to our home for the next several months.  By "escort," I mean...

"It's up there on the second floor someplace."

Oh.  Sorry to disturb in the middle of your leisure time.

The apartment was fully equipped.  Two bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms.  A kitchen with plates, pots, pans, and silverware.  A TV with cable and a, gasp, VCR.  Home, sweet home.

CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACK.  (PAUSE)  CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACKETY CLANK!

What the fuck!

The gate to the complex' parking lot was right outside our windows.  And, inexplicably, despite all the quiet in the streets around us, that gate was opened and closed once every five minutes.  Where did all these people go?

CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACK. (PAUSE) CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACKETY CLANK!

Somewhere in Woodland Hills, there was some stuff happening.  Because urchins were coming and going from it all night.

But, after a long day's journey into weirdness, sleep was able to conquer the noisiest of motorized gates.  Tomorrow, the adventure would begin its next chapter.  We were headed to Warner Brothers to hang with "Murphy Brown" for the next six weeks.

To be continued.

Dinner last night:  Salami and roasted red peppers on sourdough.