This Date in History - November 30

Happy anniversary, Lucy and Desi.

1700:  AT THE BATTLE OF NARVA, A SWEDISH ARMY OF 8,500 MEN UNDER CHARLES XII DEFEATS A MUCH LARGER RUSSIAN ARMY.

This was Sweden.  So how many of those 8,500 men actually started out as men?

1718:  SWEDISH KING CHARLES XII DIES DURING A SIEGE OF THE FORTRESS FREDRIKSTEN IN NORWAY.

I hope this Sweden thing isn't a trend for November 30.

1783:  A 5.3 MAGNITUDE EARTHQUAKE STRIKES NEW JERSEY.

If we had another one 228 years later, we could wipe out that Snooki bitch.

1786:  PETER LEOPOLD JOSEPHY OF HABSBURG-LORRAINE, GRAND DUKE OF TUSCANY, PROMULGATES A PENAL REFORM MAKING HIS COUNTRY THE FIRST STATE TO ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY.  CONSEQUENTLY, NOVEMBER 30 IS COMMEMORATED BY 300 CITIES AROUND THE WORLD AS CITIES FOR LIFE DAY.

That's a long way to say..."what a stupid decision!"

1803:  IN NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA, SPANISH REPRESENTATIVES OFFICIALLY TRANSFER THE LOUISIANA TERRITORY TO A FRENCH REPRESENTATIVE.  JUST 20 DAYS LATER, FRANCE TRANSFERS THE SAME LAND TO THE UNITED STATES AS THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE.

Plus a ghetto to be named later.

1824:  FIRST GROUND IS BROKEN AT ALLENBURG FOR THE BUILDING OF THE ORIGINAL WELLAND CANAL.

And this is interesting why?

1829:  FIRST WELLAND CANAL OPENS FOR A TRIAL RUN, FIVE YEARS TO THE DAY FROM THE GROUND BREAKING.

I'm really starting to lose interest in November 30.

1835:  WRITER MARK TWAIN IS BORN.

And so is, in a way, the Mississippi River.

1868:  THE INAUGURATION OF A STATUE OF KING CHARLES XII OF SWEDEN TAKES PLACE IN STOCKHOLM.

I hope they weren't waiting for the statue to deliver an inaugural address.

1874:  SIR WINSTON CHURCHILL IS BORN.

His father later flashed V for "Vasectomy."

1886:  THE FOLIES BERGERE STAGES ITS FIRST REVUE.

Okay, now this November 30 is starting to perk up.

1900:  WRITER OSCAR WILDE DIES.

Finally tamed.

1918:  ACTOR EFREM ZIMBALIST JR. IS BORN.

77 Sunset Strip, snap, snap.

1920:  ACTRESS VIRGINIA MAYO IS BORN.

Hold the...

1924:  COMEDIAN ALLAN SHERMAN IS BORN.

Hello muddah, hello faddah...

1929:  TV PERSONALITY DICK CLARK IS BORN.

Efrem Zimbalist Jr., Virginia Mayo, Dick Clark....um, people born on November 30.

1934:  THE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE "FLYING SCOTSMAN" BECOMES THE FIRST TO OFFICIALLY EXCEED 100 MPH.

Amtrak, please note.

1936:  ACTIVIST ABBIE HOFFMAN IS BORN.

That should read "activist/creep."

1940:  LUCILLE BALL MARRIES DESI ARNAZ IN GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT.

Which was later used as a plot on "I Love Lucy" and the Ricardos married in the exact same place.

1954:  IN SYLACAUGA, ALABAMA, THE HODGES METEORITE CRASHES THROUGH A ROOF AND HITS A WOMAN TAKING AN AFTERNOON NAP IN THE ONLY DOCUMENTED CASE OF A HUMAN BEING BEING HIT BY A ROCK FROM SPACE.

Well, for the sake of today's blog, I'm glad the woman wasn't living in Sweden at the time.

1965:  ACTOR BEN STILLER IS BORN.

His parents were ten times more talented.

1966:  BARBADOS BECOMES INDEPENDENT FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM.

The dullness that is November 30 continues unabated.

1971:  IRAN SEIZES THE GREATER AND LESSER TUNBS FROM THE UNITED EMIRATES.

Seeking the correct pronunciation please of the word "tunbs."

1979:  COMIC ZEPPO MARX DIES.

He was forgotten in life, but I remember you in death.

1982:  MICHAEL JACKSON'S "THRILLER," THE BEST SELLING ALBUM OF ALL TIME, IS RELEASED.

The music lives on.  His bony ass, however, does not.

1993:  PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON SIGNS THE BRADY HANDGUN VIOLENCE PREVENTION ACT INTO LAW.

Because it was important that we stop a firearm from being in the hands of Florence Henderson.

1995:  OFFICIAL END OF OPERATION DESERT STORM.

T-shirts available at the gift shop.

1996:  SINGER TINY TIM DIES.

I wonder if his grave has tulips.

2003:  OLYMPIC SWIMMER GERTRUDE EDERLE DIES.

It's tough to do a flip turn in a grave.

2004:  LONGTIME JEOPARDY CHAMPION KEN JENNINGS FINALLY LOSES, LEAVING HIM WITH OVER 2.5 MILLION DOLLARS, TELEVISION'S BIGGEST GAME SHOW WINNINGS.

No need to give him that Rice-A-Roni and a home version of the game.

2007:  DAREDEVIL EVEL KNIEVEL DIES.

Nobody survives that very last jump.

Dinner last night:  Spicy crispy beef at the Cheesecake Factory.

If I Tweeted - November 2011

I don't, of course.  But, if I did, this is what you would have heard me tweet about this month.  As a matter of fact, most of this did show up on my Facebook page.

#LenSpeaks  One great way to break up those Occupy camps?  Open up a jobs fair. 

#LenSpeaks  I just got a voicemail message from Dr. Conrad Murray's assistant.  I need to reschedule.

#LenSpeaks  We turned the clocks back last weekend.  Which means that Michael Jackson would not have needed Propofol to get an extra hour of sleep.

#LenSpeaks  Apparently everybody who worked in the restaurant industry from 1995 to 1997 was sexually harassed by Herman Cain.

#LenSpeaks  When the next world war begins, please put Gloria Allred in the front.  Thanks in advance.

#LenSpeaks  Ron Paul reminds me of the crazy old man in the neighborhood who always takes your ball.

#LenSpeaks  Great marketing promotional idea for Proctor and Gamble: Hand sanitizer dispensers at all Occupy camps.

#LenSpeaks  Those Occupy morons are so concerned about economic equality.  But they are all tweeting their exploits on their iPads.  A device I don't own, by the way.

#LenSpeaks  Billy Crystal now hosting the Oscars.  The last time he was revelant Bill Clinton was the only politician hitting on women.

#LenSpeaks  Joe Paterno reminds me of the crazy old man in the neighborhood who always takes your ball.  Except he didn't hear it land on his property.

#LenSpeaks  I can see where Joe Paterno could get easily confused.  He might have heard that somebody was having "socks" in the boys shower.

#LenSpeaks  Note to the goofy Asian guy on line at LAX Security: your hands can be very versatile.  They can be used to cover your mouth when you sneeze.  No wonder all the birds have the flu.

#LenSpeaks  If TSA is so concerned about bombs on planes, how come American Airlines is showing "Larry Crowne?"

#LenSpeaks  I still love the New York Post headlines.  On top of their zero stars review of the dastardly "Jack and Jill:"  "Adam and Heave."

#LenSpeaks  Frank McCourt signing Matt Kemp to a long term contract is the equivalent of doing a major upgrade to your condo kitchen and bath.  You'll get your money back when you sell.

#LenSpeaks  Please take your crying baby to the lobby.  Oh, wait, we're on a plane.

#LenSpeaks  Michelle Obama booed at an auto race.  Obviously, dried fruit snacks are not a big hit with the NASCAR crowd.

#LenSpeaks  If Newt Gingrich can get married three times, why am I still single?

#LenSpeaks  A happy Thanksgiving to all my friends, except any who will be on line at Best Buy at 4AM tomorrow. 

#LenSpeaks  So, this pepper spray stuff?  Is it available on-line?  Pay Pal?  Please text me.

#LenSpeaks  Live (well on tape in Los Angeles), it's the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Lip Sync.  Proving once again that Matt Lauer sure did get his money's worth with those Hooked on Phonics lessons.

#LenSpeaks  From behind my bedroom door on Thanksgiving morning, I can hear noises in the kitchen.  It's either dinner being prepared or a home invasion robbery.

#LenSpeaks  Macy's has a Hamburger Helper float???  Does Michelle Obama know about this???

#LenSpeaks  During the parade, NBC promoted the hell out of their new primetime schedule...which most believe won't watch unless they're on an American Airlines flight.

#LenSpeaks  Note to Al Roker's wardrobe consultant: don't dress him all in brown.  He looks like an explosion at the Willy Wonka factory.

#LenSpeaks  If you find yourself having Thanksgiving dinner with a politically opposite relative, please remember one thing.  Cranberries stain clothing.

#LenSpeaks  Who the hell schedules an 8AM personal training session the morning after Thanksgiving?  Er, that would be me.

#LenSpeaks  The good news is that there was no line for the stationary bike.

#LenSpeaks  Watching all the videos of the violence during those day-after-Thanksgiving sales, I know why it's called "Black Friday."  Think about it.

#LenSpeaks  I'm all set for Cyber Monday.  I've been camped outside with my laptop for three nights.

Dinner last night:  Tortellini with chicken and pesto.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - November 28, 2011

I love the fact that the one host just keeps on selling...regardless.



Dinner last night:  Pot roast, mashed potatoes, and corn.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Last of a Generation

It was one of those freaky things that can only be explained by a higher being.  The ultimate boss of us all.  You-know-who working in mysterious ways.

Last weekend, a rainy Los Angeles Sunday found me with a nifty television diversion.  The National Geographic Channel was running a whole bunch of JFK assassination stuff.  Those that know me well will acknowledge that I will sop that history up like a new sponge.  In the past, you've seen the photos of me wandering around Dealey Plaza like a crazy loon.  When it comes to three shots being fired in Dallas, I am ironically in a comfort zone.

During one of the shows, they once again presented the "live" footage of Lee Harvey Oswald being shot by Jack Ruby. 

Hmmmm.  This youngster remembers this cartoon playing out before him for the very first time.  Except it was all violently real.

My mind, like this blog at times, meandered back to that moment.  I was being dressed to go out to a dinner in a restaurant with my parents.  A boring day, to be sure, that would likely find me trying to sit quietly in a corner.  Sipping a Coke and listening to adults talk about stuff I didn't understand.  In retrospect, I know the dining establishment was in Larchmont, New York.  At the time, the husband of my dad's cousin was looking to purchase a "bar and grill."  This was the latest possibility.  My folks were going with them to see it.  I was thrown in the back seat for the ride.

Sitting on my living room couch in front of the National Geographic Channel. I had a thorough mental flashback of the whole afternoon as if it were yesterday. 

The phone rang.  It was the son of my father's cousin, telling me that she had just passed away at the age of 93.

And so the dike in my mind sprang a leak.  And memories cascaded out like Niagara Falls.

Aunt Ollie was likely the last of my parents' generation to pass on.  Indeed, she stayed with us much longer than the rest of them.  Virtually all of them were wiped out in one decade-long period and most never made it past the age of 75...if they were lucky.  Somehow, Aunt Ollie persisted.  The last few years were spent in a nursing facility and I know that her mind had moved on long before her body.  But, still, she hung in there and now, the last connection to my parents' contemporaries, is gone.

Back then, I had two ways of addressing the adult friends of my folks.  If they were outside the family, they were "Mr." and "Mrs."  If they were even remotely related, everybody was "Aunt" and "Uncle," despite the fact that they didn't fit the bloodline completely.  So, my dad's cousin and hubby were Aunt Ollie and Uncle Augie to me.  And, as I look back today, they were perhaps the ones that my parents seemed to be closest with.

Oh, sure, there were others in the mix, but, from my pre-teen vantage point, my parents always seemed to gravitate toward Aunt Ollie and Uncle Augie for "important stuff."  Talking about major decisions and problems.  Getting their take on that new car Dad wanted to purchase.  How to prepare for college finances, since their sons were years ahead of me in age. 

So, it was no wonder to me that Aunt Ollie and Uncle Augie seemed to be the most grounded of my parents' circle. 

Sure, there was a lot of fun times.  I can remember New Year's Eve was always at their house in the Bronx.  The teenagers were upstairs, doing whatever.  The adults were downstairs, singing along to a Mitch Miller record.  And I'd be stuck in a bizarre "no kids" purgatory, simply trying to keep myself awake and away from the creamed herring on the buffet table.

There were summer barbecues in their backyard which seemed to be about ten flights of stairs below their house.  There was Uncle Augie making obscene things out of balloons (at least, the photos now tell me they were obscene).  There was always some uncle twice removed who got a snootful and would try to kiss me.  And, as day turned into night, my grandmother and her sister-in-law, Tante Emma, would don their winter coats to shield themselves against the chill of the evening when temperatures dipped below 85 degrees.

Just when you think you had forgotten everything in your life, a single phone call brings it all back again.

I recall one Sunday when Aunt Ollie and Uncle Augie came over to chat.  The four sat as did most of their generation...in the kitchen with a high ball.  I was already in high school and I remember unintentionally...or perhaps intentionally...eavesdropping on their conversation.  My mom was worrying about me as I was going through whatever teenage angst was in fashion at the moment.  How was I to going to get through it all, Mom fretted. 

Aunt Ollie's response was short and unbelievably wise.

"Don't worry about him.  He'll grow into himself."

Saying nothing.  Saying a lot. 

Indeed, it was during these very years that Aunt Ollie and I developed a very special bond shared by nobody else in the family.  As I have written before...

So, after I got confirmed, it was really more than just my hormones (and my feelings for a fellow Sunday School classmate) that propelled me to start going to Sunday church services. Once you had received and swallowed begrudgingly the wine and wafer, you were technically allowed to worship like an adult. You could even skip Sunday School and show up at 10AM for the regular service. This gave me one more hour to sleep.

And, in those days, there was nothing wrong with a fourteen-year-old making the bus trip from Mount Vernon to East 219th Street all by himself. This all got my dad off the hook. He no longer had to sit in the car outside of church for an hour. He could actually now stay home and read "Dondi" and "Dick Tracy" over coffee and a jelly donut.

So, around 9AM every Sunday, I walked myself down four blocks to get the BX41 bus. Back in those days, it was imperative that you "dress up" for church. I had my own personal wardrobe mistress, AKA my mother, who required nothing less. I was groomed to the nines. Standing at the 241st Street bus stop in a navy blue double breasted sport jacket and matching tie, I looked like that week's co-host on "The Mike Douglas Show." Or maybe I was opening for Joey Bishop at the Sands Hotel. I certainly didn't look 14.

Of course, once at church, I spent my first moments trying to maneuver myself into proximity to the love of my life. But, as I related last week, her presence in an adjacent pew was destined to be short lived as her family moved to New Jersey. I looked around the chapel and asked a question for the ages.

"Now what?"

To think that I might have to go to church service and actually pay attention?

Luckily, I had, for lack of a better term, a savior. A guardian angel. My father's cousin, who we all called Aunt Ollie.

While my parents and all my aunts and uncles had long since eschewed Sunday church services and chose instead to sleep in, Aunt Ollie was the only one in their generation who kept at her worship. She was there at St. Peter's every single week. Something still drew her in. And, when Cupid cast me adrift, Aunt Ollie pulled me in.

"Come sit with me."

Wow, I was an adult.

Even better, I began to listen to the service. The readings. The sermon in broken English by our German Pastor Hoeniger. And it started to all make sense.

To enhance the experience even more, Aunt Ollie treated me like an adult. A young one, but an adult nevertheless. She always drove me home afterwards and, frequently, our in-car chat had something to do with what we had heard in church minutes before. Aunt Ollie truly enjoyed her religion and her beliefs. And, thanks to her, I began to finally form my own faith.

For all of the above reasons, those two hours every Sunday became the highlight of my week. An odd thing for a teenager to admit. Oh, sure, I was doing all the nonsense stuff. But, at least for a little while every weekend, I was grounded. In a very good way.

So, as I still frequent a church every Sunday, I'd like to think just a little bit of that credit goes to those years in the pew with Aunt Ollie.

I don't have this as a documented fact but I think that, other than his brother Fritz, Aunt Ollie was my dad's favorite blood relative.  Throughout the years and even after her family moved upstate and then after Uncle Augie passed away, my father stayed in touch with her.  During his final illness, he relished any phone call from a special family member.  And Aunt Ollie certainly was that for Dad.  He called her the official "family historian."

"Stay in touch with Aunt Ollie.  She knows where all the bodies are buried."

I was older and snarkier.   I would reply that I knew where they were buried, too.  In Ferncliff and Woodlawn Cemetaries.  Heh, heh.

"Yeah, smart guy."

I tried to carry on the tradition after my father died.  I'd call Aunt Ollie from time to time.  I would make sure to never miss her birthday.  And, one warm Sunday afternoon, I even drove with my mother up to visit her.  Even years later, she still had the aura.  Grounded.  Sensible.  Classy.

When I first moved to California and got involved in my Lutheran church, the pastor brought in a photographer to do our head shots for a congregation member directory.  Naturally, the camera guy was also looking to make some money by selling you nice little packages of pictures for your own use.  Every one of us was given an 8 x 10 glossy for posterity's sake.  I asked him what the hell I should do with this.

"Give it to your grandparents."

Er, gone.

"Give it to your parents."

Um, gone.

"A girlfriend."

None should be so lucky.  Next?

Stuck with this portrait of me, I could think of only one living relative that might even be remotely interested.  Our family historian.  I asked Aunt Ollie if she had room in her collection of photos.  By now, she had tons of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

"I would be honored to have it."

And, so, that's where it went.  With pride.

I suppose her sons will find it as they weed through the threads of their mother's life.  It will likely be just one more photo in a pile of thousands.  But, for me, it is a souvenir of a generation now gone.  A symbol of a friend that my parents valued dearly.  And a reminder to me that there are reasons why I still sit in a church pew every Sunday morning.

Thank you, Aunt Ollie.

Dinner last night:  BLT Burger at Go Burger.

Classic TV Commercial of the Month - November 2011

Christmas is coming.  For the repressed 10 year-old Stepford girl in your life...


Dinner last night:  Italian sub from Jersey Mike's.

Do Your Holiday Shopping at Skymall This Year

Why fight the crowds at the mall today?  Here's some wonderful gift ideas I've personally selected from Skymall.  You'll thank me on December 24.

Who doesn't want to learn how to make their own beer?  I wonder if this is how Bert and Harry Piels started.

A massager for your head and eyes.  Now who out there actually massages their eyes, heh?

A canvas of the Cleveland skyline that can easily wrap around your living room wall.  Just in case your gift list includes Drew Carey.

Marble Mania includes 425 pieces.  All suitable for choking a ten-year-old boy.

Now your little kitty can shit and pretend he's in Star Wars all at the same time.

Father and son raptor hoodies.  Ideal for the men in your family with low self esteem.

When just the normal air around us is not enough.  Try the new Oxygen Bar.  Cocktail is optional.

Why do I think this thing should come with the fire department on speed dial?

The Hide and Seek Monkey.  I have no idea what this crap does, but the list price is fifty bucks.

Disposable boxer briefs.  If you simply can't be bothered doing at least one load of laundry a week.

Dinner last night:  It was Thanksgiving.  What the hell do you think I ate?

The Len Speaks Thanksgiving Tradition

Those of you who keep score know this well.  Every year, I bring you yet another version of the infectious/ludicrous "Turkey Lurkey Time" number from the Broadway musical "Promises, Promises."

This time, it's presented in a clip from the terrific movie of several years back called "Camp."  The number is performed by a bunch of kids.  Enjoy.  Then go eat.  And then take your nap.



Dinner last night:  Bratwurst at Steingarten.

This Date in History - November 23

Happy birthday, Harpo.  What do you have to say for yourself?

534 BC: THESPIS OF ICARIA BECOMES THE FIRST ACTOR TO PORTRAY A CHARACTER ONSTAGE.

Later signed as a client by William of Morris.

1227:  POLISH PRINCE LESZEK I THE WHITE IS ASSASSINATED AT AN ASSEMBLY OF PIAST DUKES AT GASAWA.

Perhaps the very first Polish joke.

1499:  PRETENDER TO THE THRONE PERKIN WARBECK IS HANGED FOR REPORTEDLY ATTEMPTING TO ESCAPE FROM THE TOWER OF LONDON.

Except he wasn't pretending to be dead.

1644:  JOHN MILTON PUBLISHES AREOPAGITICA, A PAMPHLET DECRYING CENSORSHIP.

Which was probably banned itself.  The original vicious cycle.

1808:  FRENCH AND POLES DEFEAT THE SPANISH AT THE BATTLE OF TUDELA.

Sure.  You'll notice the French couldn't manage this by themselves.

1859:  BILLY THE KID IS BORN.

And, for a while, I guess he really was a kid.

1863:  DURING THE CIVIL WAR, THE BATTLE OF CHATTANOOGA BEGINS.

Choo choo.

1876:  CORRUPT TAMMANY HALL LEADER BOSS TWEED IS DELIVERED TO AUTHORITIES IN NEW YORK CITY AFTER BEING CAPTURED IN SPAIN.

Back when political corruption was the exception and not the norm.

1887:  ACTOR BORIS KARLOFF IS BORN.

It is alive.

1888:  HARPO MARX IS BORN.

His first word?   ___________________!

1889:  THE FIRST JUKEBOX GOES INTO OPERATION IN SAN FRANCISCO.

The only problem was nobody had any quarters.

1890:  KING WILLIAM III OF THE NETHERLANDS DIES WITHOUT A MALE HEIR AND A SPECIAL LAW IS PASSED TO ALLOW HIS DAUGHTER PRINCESS WILHELMINA TO BECOME HIS HEIR.

Hey, that's cheating!

1902:  MEDICAL EXPERT WALTER REED DIES.

Ironically, he died at home.

1914:  DURING THE MEXICAN REVOLUTION, THE LAST OF US FORCES WITHDRAW FROM VERA CRUZ.

Almost a hundred years later, we're now waiting for the Mexicans to withdraw from California.

1936:  THE FIRST EDITION OF LIFE IS PUBLISHED.

And so Life begins...

1940:  BASEBALL PITCHER LUIS TIANT IS BORN.

Or so they say...

1946:  FRENCH NAVY FIRE IN HAI PHONG, VIETNAM, KILLING 6,000 CIVILIANS.

Just in case you thought all the killing over there was our fault.

1955:  STOOGE SHEMP HOWARD DIES.

Several years after the death of Curly.  That third Stooge slot was a killer.

1959:  GENERAL CHARLES DE GAULLE, PRESIDENT OF FRANCE, DECLARES HIS VISION FOR A EUROPE FROM THE ATLANTIC TO THE URALS.

Or, in the case of France, the Urinals.

1971:  REPRESENTATIVES OF CHINA ATTEND THE UNITED NATIONS FOR THE FIRST TIME.

Anybody for a game of ping pong?

1972:  ACTRESS MARIE WILSON DIES.

My late friend Irma.

1973:  ACTOR SESSUE HAYAKAWA DIES.

How cheap a joke would it be to simply write "sayonara?"

1974:  AUTHOR CORNELIUS RYAN DIES.

The author of "The Longest Day."  On November 23, he should only know how long.

1979:  ACTRESS MERLE OBERON DIES.

From Wuthering Heights to Withering Depths.

1981:  PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN SIGNS THE TOP SECRET NATIONAL SECURITY DECISION DIRECTIVE 17 GIVING THE CIA THE AUTHORITY TO RECRUIT AND SUPPORT CONTRA REBELS IN NICARAGUA.

You would have thought that Nancy's tarot cards would have told him this was a bad idea.

1990:  THE FIRST ALL WOMAN EXPEDITION TO THE SOUTH POLE SETS OFF.

When you've exhausted all your Match.com contacts on this continent.....

1995:  FILM DIRECTOR LOUIS MALLE DIES.

My Dinner with St. Peter.

2001:  SINGER O.C. SMITH DIES.

I guess the apples ripened.

2003:  GEORGIAN PRESIDENT EDUARD SHEVARDNADZE RESIGNS FOLLOWING WEEKS OF FLAWED ELECTIONS.

Who knew that ACORN had an office overseas?

2006:  LYRICIST BETTY COMDEN DIES.

From On the Town to Below the Ground.

Dinner last night:  Tortellini with broccoli, Kalamata olives, and sundried tomatoes.

Morons of the Month - November 2011

Maybe it's too easy to nominate the infested, flea-bitten lunatics of the Occupy movements as this month's very special morons.  Everyone of these jerks is already as dumb as they come.  

True, they do take stupidity to levels that perhaps exceed the normal socially accepted standards.  But, they were already losers before this month and chances are that they will still be losers now that their rancid act has come to a conclusion.  From Occupying Wall Street back to Occupying Mom's Basement. 

But, indeed, the real morons this month are not the ones above.  They are the people all around us.   Your friends and your leaders.  The folks who found absolutely nothing wrong with the despicable actions that these lowlifes carried on.

Hmmm, let's come up with a list of the Occupy dummies' greatest hits, shall we?

They trespassed and set up camps on private properties.

They caused small businesses in urban centers to go belly up or close altogether.

They shit on each other, literally and figuratively.

In New York, they scared and taunted small children on their way to elementary school.

In Oakland, they looted and they vandalized and they even murdered one poor schnook.

They singlehandedly brought back such popular diseases as lice, dysentery, and the ever popular syphillis.

They refused to share their own camp food with the homeless people that gravitated toward their encampments for shelter.

And they did all this without a really clear message or objective to the brouhaha.  But, what can you say about dodos who get their opinions about life from "The Colbert Report?"

Oh, sure, they were all rebelling against those scum buckets on Wall Street.  The evil rich.  That crafty 1% that all seem to resemble mean Milburn Drysdale from "The Beverly Hillbillies."  Gee, how can I sucker the Clampetts for even more money in my bank??

Well, after almost three months on their nonsense in the streets, what did these screwballs think was going to happen?  Some banker that looked just like Jimmy Stewart was going to stand at the top of a skycraper and say, "Aw shucks, the people down below are right" and then proceed to send millions of dollar bills in their direction?   Uh huh.  This is life, which unfortunately is not a Frank Capra movie.

There was no end game or focus to the Occupy movements, which were doomed to end even without police intervention.  Snow, wind, and overnight temps in the 20s will make any outdoor crowd scurry for a well-heated indoor radiator.

Still, my real morons in this whole scenario are the mental midgets who saw nothing wrong with any of this.

Take, for instance, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who sports an IQ under 50 on his smartest days.  He virtually gave the OccupyWallStreet clowns free rein of Zuccoti Park.  He stopped short of giving them American Airlines Advantage Miles for their tenure there.

And there are the usual celebrity do-gooders who came out to give them in-person support.  Liberal fruitcakes like Susan Sarandon and Pete Seeger who still think that Richard Nixon walks among us.   Dummies like this are still longing for the day where you could peacefully roll around in a mud pond while listening to Led Zeppelin.

Naturally, you heard nothing but support from anybody in politics with a "D" after their name.  President Obama praised them.  Nancy Pelosi admired them.  Vice President Joe Biden understood their pain.  Somewhere in this world, there must be a medication that curbs the onslaught of such oral flatulence.

But, then again, in our crazy polarized society, these Occupy dimwits are not a nuisance to our leaders.  They are their voting core.  Their desired constituency.  The folks that would pull the levers for them every single November regardless.  I've always joked that, if Adolf Hitler somehow was on the Democratic line for some election, a liberal would rationalize a way to vote for him.

"Well, art school is hard."

"I can feel his pain.  I got teased for my bad haircut in high school."

"He prompted mass genocide?  Is their DNA evidence to prove that?"

It gets even crazier.  I was astounded by the number of folks I call "friends" on Facebook who would post diatribes in support of the kooks camping out all over the country.  These riots were tolerated as if they were simply tailgate parties for a Jets game.  More and more, I would see intelligent folks, or so I thought, tell the Occupy gang "right on, we're behind you 100%."

Huh?

What am I missing here?  Has it come to this?  And am I badly in need of a Facebook friends purge?

Or do I accept the naked truth?   

We are simply just one gas station closer to the end of the Decency Turnpike.

Dinner last night:  Proscuitto, mozzarella, and peppers on sour dough panini.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - November 21, 2011

Holy crap.  We're coming up on Black Friday and this is what happens in America.  Yes, fellow citizens, we are laughing at you.



Dinner last night:  Bacon, tomato, and onion frittata.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade...and Me

We know this is a vintage picture of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Underdog has long since been retired as the balloons now need some sort of commercial and marketing angle to exist at all.  And, of course, please note the billboard for Mamma Leone's.  That dump has long since been extinct, only to be replaced by the microwavable offers of the Olive Garden.

But, I digress...

Back when I was a kid, the Macy's Parade was the highlight of my Thanksgiving.  Time for me to revel in the holiday before I would get sucked into being social with the relatives, feigning interest in turnips, and, of course, watching everybody fall asleep five minutes after dinner.

The frying of onions for the stuffing would waft up from Grandma's end of the house and wake me up around 8:30AM.  The pungent aroma naturally would help to turn my stomach as I would attempt to gobble down my Cocoa Puffs.  But, I needed to wind up breakfast as quickly as possible.  I had pressing business.

The parade was coming on NBC.

In those days, this was one of my traditional touching stones with the world of Hollywood of which I was growing increasingly enamored.  For years, the hosts were Lorne "Bonanza" Greene and Betty White.  They were infinitely more interesting and engaging than those schlubs who do the chores today---the ultra-annoying Al Roker and the always stupid Matt Lauer.  Nope, Lorne and Betty were pure Tinseltown and connected me to my favorite stars who would be riding on the floats.

I'd be riveted for three hours, from the very first drumbeat to the arrival of Santa Claus, who never really looked like Santa Claus.  The balloons were all my very favorite cartoon characters.  Bullwinkle.  Bugs Bunny.  Popeye.

It's as if NBC was telecasting this exclusively for me.

I'd get so excited over the goings on in Herald Square that I would run down into the kitchen where my mom and my grandmother were trying to cook and co-exist peacefully.  I would give them my parade updates.

"You know who was on the New York float??  Joanne Worley!!!"

They were too busy or annoyed to care.  I was dismissed with the standard phrase I probably heard thousands of times during my childhood.

"Move.  You're in the way."

I'd stare at the Parade on television and look at the kids huddled with their parents on the sidelines of Broadway.  How lucky must they be to actually watch it in person.  I was truly envious, which prompted the annual query to my father.

"Can we go to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade some year?"

Once again, I was igniting the fuse on an explosive device.

"Down there?  With all those kooks??"

Gee, Dad, everybody looks pretty normal to me.

"Too many idiots on the road."

We could take the train.

"What are you, some kind of nut??  It's cold out."

Okay, I guess that's a no?

"Move.  You're in the way."

End of discussion.

Naturally, as I got older, I'd lose interest in the Parade.  But, it would always be on as background noise to accompany whatever I was doing on Thanksgiving.    I'd be less impressed of the star power participating in the march each year.  I would learn that those celebrities involved were really C-listers who had overly zealous publicists.  In truth, Deidre Hall of "Days of Our Lives" really wanted nothing to do with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Decades later, I would finally get my wish. 

I would get to go to the Parade.  Not once, not twice, but for five consecutive years.

In the late 80s and early 90s, I worked for a company that had third floor offices on the corner of Fifty-Third Street and Broadway.  Every year, they would host a breakfast for clients and offer up our prime viewing windows for their families.  On the third floor, you were literally eye level with the balloons.  And you would be sheltered from the crowds and the November wind.

I'd gobble up the invitation every year and always bring friends along.  For the sheer price of setting some bagels up on a buffet table, I had the opportunity to fulfill the dream I had when I was ten.

And, ironically, another tradition was born that first Thanksgiving at 1700 Broadway.

It started very innocently.  As our guests dotted the windows on the Parade route, I was standing with Frank, one of our sales managers and a funny guy in his own right.  To this day, I don't remember who fired the first shot.  But, he and I started to provide our own special brand of commentary as the floats, bands, and balloons passed by.

"Hey, look who's on the NY float!  Joanne Worley!"

"Wow, I figured she'd be passing by in a hearse."

I could hear the faint but growing sound of snickers up and down the row.  Hmmm.  This may be a receptive audience.

"Wow, there's a big patch in the crotch of the Pillsbury Dough Boy."

"Maybe it's a yeast infection."

Guffaws were now sprinkled amongst the giggles.

"That policeman's horse just relieved himself on the street."

"Or so that poor drum majorette just discovered on the bottom of her shoe."

We now had a thoroughly engaged and amused audience.  And we managed to keep it up until Santa had scooted by on his sleigh.

We were doing the National Lampoon edition of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

It was all spontaneous and organic.  The very next year, one of the guests saw me as I arrived at the office.

"Are you guys going to do the color commentary on the Parade again this year?"

I promised to try, but, as is usually the case, the second time around is never as good as the first.  It's no longer "off-the-cuff" if you prep it in advance.  By the fifth year, we were still in front of the window and cracking wise.  It was  a lot less organic.  And I swear I hear this from one of the guests.

"Move.  You're in the way."

Dinner last night:  Teriyaki burger at Jerry's Famous Deli.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - November 2011

I don't care how dated these movies are.  I can't pass up a Doris Day-Rock Hudson sex farce.  And, while "Pillow Talk" always get the most press, this one is almost as hilarious.


Dinner last night:  Had a big lunch, so nothing but some potato chips.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for November 2012

Here's a photo of a cop walking through the Texas Theater following the capture of Lee Harvey Oswald on November 22, 1963.  The poor guy didn't get to see the double feature playing that day, which was "Cry of Battle" and "War is Hell."  Was he even able to get butter on his popcorn?

Well, forty-eight years later, there are easier ways to get into a movie theater.  But, only if you can actually find something worthwhile seeing.  Lucky for you there's this monthly movie guide from yours truly.  I do the heavy lifting as I sift through the entertainment pages of the Los Angeles Times and give you my knee-jerk reactions to the junk Hollywood is offering these days.

If only Oswald had read this blog back in the day...

Jack and Jill:  Went up a hill to fetch a pail of water.  Jack fell down.  Good.  I hope it killed him, Jill, and anybody who greenlit this mess.  Adam Sandler continues to move toward Jerry Lewis status.  What dreadful disease is he going to adopt for his cause?

The Immortals:  Strictly for anybody under 25.  That's age and IQ.

Martha Marcy May Marlene:  Either a drama about some chick with multiple personalities or a documentary on the Lennon Sisters.

Anonymous:  A story that provides a "what if Shakespeare's work was ghost written."  What if I don't care?

The Ides of March:  A decent enough drama which dares to show that, yes, even Democrats can be corrupt.  Good performances all around.  See it with somebody who has opposite political views.  It will make for good conversating afterward over coffee and a slice of cherry pie.

Tower Heist:  Lots of comic star power that apparently fizzles out like that firecracker you left out in the rain.  This and an upcoming Oscar host stint was going to revive Eddie Murphy's career.  Oh, well, so much for that.

J. Edgar:  Naturally on my list and Clint Eastwood never really makes crap.  I am dying to see who designed Mr. Hoover's gowns.

Margin Call:  Reviewed here two weeks ago.  Please pay attention.  A pretty good send-up of the 2008 financial meltdown.  You don't need a Masters in Economics to understand it.

The Twilight Saga - Breaking Dawn - Part 1:  I haven't cared yet, so I doubt I will now as this series zips through about two dozen films to its inevitable conclusion.  A better title?  An American Warewolf on a Fifth Grade Reading Level.

The Descendants:  George Clooney continues his phenomenal star path as a father of two who re-examines his life after his wife is hurt in a boating accident.  There is major Oscar buzz around this Alexander Payne film.  Clooney is quickly surpassing Tom Hanks as America's top film actor.  To me, there was never any contest. 

Happy Feet Two:  Cartoon penguins cavorting.  Years ago, MGM would have produced this with live action and it would have starred Bobby Van.

Another Happy Day:  A wedding party weekend brings family tensions to the surface.  In my family, you didn't need a wedding to get it going.  Fights would erupt simply because somebody asked you to pass the sweet potatoes.

Dog Sweat:  Six young Iranians act out their desires in private.  Just as long as none of their dreams involve explosive devices.

Elite Squad - The Enemy Within:  After a prison riot, Captain Nascimiento, now a high ranking security officer in Rio de Janeiro, is swept into a bloody political dispute that involves government officials and paramilitary groups.   Umm, not interested.  Especially when I can see the same damn thing on the local news.

Melancholia:  Two sisters find their already strained relationship challenged as a mysterious new planet threatens to collide into the Earth.   Lars Van Trier directs and that's always a good reason to stay the hell away.  Kirstin Dunst stars and Kiefer Sutherland is also in the cast.  He made this junk and I'm still waiting for the big screen version of "24?"  Hello, Kiefer, what's the deal?

Like Crazy:  A British college student falls for an American student, only to be separated from him when she's banned from the U.S. after overstaying her visa.   Fluffing my pillow already.

Paranormal Activity 3:  I saw the first one and hated it.  No matter how many more incarnations they come up, I am officially done.

Real Steel:  Hugh Jackman in some dreck about robot boxing.  When that sport is entered into the Olympics, I'll pay attention.

Puss In Boots:  I can feel an allergic reaction to cats coming on.  Achoo!

Into the Abyss:  Conversations with death row inmate Michael Perry and those affected by his crime serve as an examination of why people - and the state - kill.   A documentary from Werner Herzog, so it should be compelling if you're really, really in a shitty mood.

In Time:  Justin Timberlake in some sci-fi crap about a society where people stop aging at 25.  Me?  I stopped counting at 32.

A Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas:  You don't need the glasses to know what's up on the screen.  Absolutely nothing!

The Heir Apparent - Largo Winch:  Whoever the hell he is?  After a powerful billionaire is murdered, his secret adoptive son must race to prove his legitimacy, find his father's killers, and stop them from taking over his financial empire.  I guess I'm lucky that my father never made more than $40,000 in any given year.

Laredoans Speak - Voices on Immigration:  A documentary examining undocumented immigration in Texas.  Forget the Laredoans.  Len Speaks on this all the freakin' time.  Build the fence!

Tyrannosaur:  A violent alcoholic begins an unlikely friendship with a thrift-store worker who harbors dark secrets.  From that title, I can only imagine that one of those dark secrets is that she is keeping a killer dinosaur in her basement.

Dinner last night:  Chicken, rice, and vegetable medley.

Yay! I Finished Another Book - Sal Mineo by Gregg Michael Michaud

You read what???

As Charlie Chan used to say...explanation, please.

Okay, I'm normally a sucker for Hollywood biographies.  And my interest in this long-dead star really comes from my mother.  She was a huge fan of Sal Mineo.  Why?  That will be one for the ages.

I remember the countless TV and movie magazines strewn around our house when I was a kid.  Modern Screen.  Photoplay.  TV-Radio Mirror.  The gossip rags that pre-dated publications like the Star and OK.  My mom was obviously Hollywood star-struck.  And I recall she liked Mineo in particular.

As for me, I knew nothing more.  I remember seeing him in the movie "Exodus," which was one of about three movies that I can recall watching with both my father and my mother.  But, beyond that, my only exposure to Sal Mineo was an episode of "My Three Sons," where he played conveniently...Sal Mineo.

Of course, we all eventually became aware of his homosexuality and then, sadly, his murder in a carport on Holloway Drive in West Hollywood.  The fact that people are still interested in this guy was intriguing to me.  Moreover, what was the big deal with Sal that made my own mother all goose-pimply?

When I saw this book in Barnes and Noble, I figured that I would find out. 

And, besides, I needed something mindless for that six-hour plane ride to Boston.

Yeah, well, after reading Gregg Michael Michaud's biography, I got the diversion on the American Airlines flight to Boston...but little else.  Indeed, this book is perhaps one of the laziest attempts to capture the details of a Hollywood star's life.  While it took me about six hours to read, it might have taken Michaud only two or so to write.

If you're looking to learn any deep-rooted details of Sal Mineo's life, this is not the book for you.  The sum total of what Michaud writes is a compilation of newspaper and magazine articles obviously pulled through Google searches.

You know the type.

When Sal turned ten, he went to school at...

When Sal turned twelve, his father was working at...

When Sal moved to Hollywood, his first acting job was...

My twelfth grade English term paper had more substance.  All I can really say is that, just as I did in high school, Michaud used footnoting properly.

I suppose I should have vetted this book better.  Normally, with any biography, I will look first to see the acknowledgements made by the author at the back of the book.  If the person has talked to a lot of people, it's worth a read.  Had I done so with the Mineo book, I would have seen that the author interviewed no more than twenty people.  His primary resource was two of Mineo's friends----the guy he was shacked up with in the later years and Sal's girlfriend early on, "Exodus" love interest Jill Haworth who is now dead herself.

Other than that, the book is totally reliant on newspaper clippings, magazine stories, and press releases from Hollywood publicists.  As a result, there is nothing new, revealing, or even interesting with this tale.

The only juicy tidbits come from reports on some of Sal's sexual dalliances over the years.  He tried to engage Jon "Lassie" Provost and Jay "Dennis the Menace" North in some three-way action. And, no, that wasn't with either a dog or "dumb awful Margaret."  Meanwhile, Mineo also jumpstarted teen idol Bobby Sherman's career with a couple of rolls in the hay.  Hmmm.  It seems like Bobby might have been starring in "Here Come the Brides....and the Grooms."

But, all of the above is pretty much the new information you get from Michaud's sluggish and sloppy bio of Sal Mineo, who certainly deserved and warranted a more in-depth profile.  Frankly, I learned more from my mom's old magazines.

Save yourself the dough and simply Google Sal Mineo.  That's all the author did.

Dinner last night:  Salisbury steak at the Cheesecake Factory.

This Date in History - November 16

Happy birthday, Dwight Gooden.  You broke my mother's heart.

534:  A SECOND AND FINAL REVISION OF THE CODEX JUSTINIANUS IS PUBLISHED.

I have no idea what this is.  Perhaps the earliest version of a phone book?

1491:  AN AUTO-DA-FE, HELD IN THE BRASERO DE LA DEHESA OUTSIDE OF AVILA, CONCLUDES THE CASE OF THE HOLY CHILD OF LA GUARDIA.

I've frequently flown into his holy airport.

1532:  FRANCISCO PIZARRO AND HIS MEN CAPTURE INCA EMPEROR ATAHUALPA.

I doubt he's any relation to Juan Pizarro who used to pitch for the Chicago White Sox.

1776:  DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, HESSIAN MERCENARIES CAPTURE FORT WASHINGTON FROM THE PATRIOTS.

I should have taken the Patriots with the points.

1805:  DURING THE NAPOLEONIC WARS, RUSSIAN FORCES UNDER PYOTR BAGRATION DELAY THE PURSUIT BY FRENCH TROOPS UNDER MURAT.

Pyotr Bagration???  Now there's a historical name you don't hear every day.

1821:  MISSOURI TRADER WILLIAM BECKNELL ARRIVES IN SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO OVER A ROUTE THAT BECAME KNOWN AS THE SANTA FE TRAIL.

Master of the obvious.

1849:  A RUSSIAN COURT SENTENCES FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY TO DEATH FOR ANTI-GOVERNMENT ACTIVITIES LINKED TO A RADICAL INTELLECTUAL GROUP.

Sorry, Fyodor, Pyotr Bagration is still the name of the day for me.

1852:  THE ENGLISH ASTRONOMER JOHN RUSSELL HIND DISCOVERS THE ASTEROID 22 KALLIOPE.

He did this while standing on his Hind legs.

1907:  ACTOR BURGESS MEREDITH IS BORN.

The Penguin!!!

1907:  OKLAHOMA IS ADMITTED AS THE 46TH U.S. STATE.

Which means Oklahoma outlived Burgess Meredith who died in 1997.

1914:  THE FEDERAL RESERVE BANK OF THE UNITED STATES OPENS.

And I'm thinking Oklahoma will outlive that, too.

1916:  VOICE OVER ARTIST DAWS BUTLER IS BORN.

The voice of Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound, and Elroy Jetson.

1938:  LSD IS FIRST SYNTHESIZED BY SWISS CHEMIST DR. ALBERT HOFMANN.

Unofficially, this is the day that Woodstock was born.

1940:  DURING WORLD WAR II, IN RESPONSE TO THE LEVELING OF COVENTRY, ENGLAND BY THE LUFTWAFFE TWO DAYS BEFORE, THE ROYAL AIR FORCE BOMBS HAMBURG.

Take that, you Nazis!!!

1944:  DUEREN, GERMANY IS DESTROYED BY ALLIED BOMBERS.

And take that, you damn Krauts!!!

1945:  UNESCO IS FOUNDED.

I read this too fast.  I thought it was the day the cookie company got started.

1960:  ACTOR CLARK GABLE DIES.

Just weeks after complaining that Marilyn Monroe was always late to the Misfits set, Clark is now late himself.

1961:  POLITICIAN SAM RAYBURN DIES.

No relation to Gene.  Not a match.

1964:  BASEBALL PITCHER DWIGHT GOODEN IS BORN.

I had a choice of photos to use.  One where he is wearing blue and orange.  The other where he is wearing just orange.

1973:  NASA LAUNCHES SKYLAB 4 WITH A CREW OF THREE ASTRONAUTS.

Were there more Police Academy movies than there were Skylabs?

1973:  US PRESIDENT RICHARD NIXON AUTHORIZES THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ALASKAN PIPELINE.

Perhaps the only legal thing he did do in 1973.

1981:  ACTOR WILLIAM HOLDEN DIES.

Died when, in a drunken stupor, he fell, hit his head on the coffee table, and bled to death.  Conspiracy theorists argue that he was attacked by the furniture.

1989:  A DEATH SQUAD OF EL SALVADORAN TROOPS KILLS SIX JESUIT PRIESTS AT JOSE SIMEON CANAS UNIVERSITY.

Is it too late to send them over to Fordham?

2000:  BILL CLINTON BECOMES THE FIRST US PRESIDENT TO VISIT VIETNAM SINCE THE END OF THE VIETNAM WAR.

He needed to see where all that Southeast Asian porn gets produced for his laptop.

2005:  TV HOST RALPH EDWARDS DIES.

This is Your Death.

2006:  ECONOMIST MILTON FRIEDMAN DIES.

Moving over to the debit side of the ledger.

2009:  ACTOR EDWARD WOODWARD DIES.

Death is the true Equalizer.

2010:  FILM PUBLICIST RONNI CHASEN IS KILLED.

About a mile from my Los Angeles apartment.  I'm still locking the doors at night.

Dinner last night:  Pasta and sausage.