And That Plan Would Be?

Here we go again.   With the "good review...lousy movie" conundrum.  This one even had a billboard in the theater lobby that promised "romantic shenanigans."

Er, still waiting on the latter.

"Maggie's Plan" is another in a long line of well-reviewed films that I just don't get.  These independent films that reviewers fawn over but are...well...not worthy of fawning from yours truly.

This one stars Greta Gerwig, an actress who has made a career out of playing self-involved characters who talk, talk, and talk about their lives.   I've seen her before and the act wears thin.   A little of Greta goes a long, long, long way.  In this one, she's a New York City college professor whose biological clock is about to sound an alarm.   She makes a deal to be impregnated by a pickle manufacturer...insert your own favorite gherkin joke here.  But, in the process, she also hooks up with another married college professor and his sperm might just be more advantageous.  

Naturally, she steals the guy away from his family and his wife, yet another college professor, played by Julianne Moore with this phony Eurotrash accent that makes her sound like that guy in that old SNL skit "Sprockets."   But, remorse sets in about breaking up his marriage so Maggie/Greta sets out to plan their reconciliation.   Hence the title.   And hence the disturbing lack of the romantic shenanigans I was promised.

Because of the New York setting, this Rebecca Miller-directed piece has Woody Allen-like allusions.  But, the difference is that Woody could make this all amusing.   Not here, folks.   Every character is smug and detestable and so filled with big words that the theater snack bar should include a complimentary dictionary with your Coke and Raisinets.

Meanwhile, the three leads (Gerwig, Moore, and an equally annoying Ethan Hawke) are so unlikeable that you want to immediately erase them from your memory.   There is a supporting couple played by Bill Hader and Maya Rudolph who are infinitely more interesting and you wish the whole movie had been devoted to them.   

One more time.   The critics lie.

LEN'S RATING:  One-and-a-half stars.   

Dinner last night:  BLT sandwich at Dupar's.

This Date in History - June 29

Happy birthday to the baseball player who had the coolest sounding last name when it was spoken by a French-Canadian public address announcer.

226:  CAO PI DIES AFTER AN ILLNESS.  HIS SON CAO RUI SUCCEEDS HIM AS EMPEROR OF THE KINGDOM OF WEI.

Obviously, this year was the very last slice of pi.

1149:  RAYMOND OF POITIERS IS DEFEATED AND KILLED AT THE BATTLE OF INAB.

Well, obviously, not everybody loved Raymond.  And you thought this was going to be a Sidney joke.

1444:  SKANDERBEG DEFEATS AN OTTOMAN INVASION FORCE AT TORVIOLL.

Which reminds me...you can also get an ottoman at Ikea.

1613:  THE GLOBE THEATER IN LONDON, ENGLAND BURNS TO THE GROUND.

Much to the disappointment to those who had tickets for June 30, 1613.

1659:  AT THE BATTLE OF KONOTOP, THE UKRAINIAN ARMIES OF IVAN VYHOVSKY DEFEAT THE RUSSIANS LED BY PRINCE TRUBETSKOY.

Backwards, it's potonok.

1850:  COAL IS DISCOVERED ON VANCOUVER ISLAND.

Which gave rise to the very first minstrel show in Vancouver.

1864:  NINETY-NINE PEOPLE ARE KILLED IN CANADA'S WORST RAILWAY DISASTER NEAR QUEBEC.

They couldn't make it an even hundred?

1874:  GREEK POLITICIAN CHARILAOS TRIKOUPIS PUBLISHES A MANIFESTO ENTITLED "WHO'S TO BLAME?" IN WHICH HE LAYS OUT HIS COMPLAINTS AGAINST KING GEORGE.

Years later, Barack Obama publishes his own "Who's To Blame?" in which he lays out his complaints against President George.

1880:  FRANCE ANNEXES TAHITI.

Well, how friggin' hard a decision was that?  Announce that you're annexing Selma. Alabama and then you're taking a risk.

1889:  HYDE PARK AND SEVERAL OTHER ILLINOIS TOWNSHIPS VOTE TO BE ANNEXED BY CHICAGO, FORMING THE LARGEST UNITED STATES CITY.

Like they always do in Chicago, they voted early and often.

1910:  COMPOSER FRANK LOESSER IS BORN.

Luck be a midwife tonight.

1911:  COMPOSER BERNARD HERRMANN IS BORN.

He did all the Hitchcock scores.  A genius.  The best ever.

1920:  FILMMAKER RAY HARRYHAUSEN IS BORN.

His movie special effects were primitive and old-fashioned.  They still looked 100 times more real than any of the computer shit you would see in movies like Thor.

1928:  THE OUTERBRIDGE CROSSING AND GOETHALS BRIDGE IN STATEN ISLAND ARE BOTH OPENED.

As if anybody actually goes to Staten Island on purpose.

1933:  ACTOR FATTY ARBUCKLE DIES.

The official inventor of the Hollywood scandal.

1936:  BASEBALL PLAYER HARMON KILLEBREW IS BORN.

And he just died a few years ago.   The circle of life.

1941:  BASEBALL PLAYER JOHN BOCCABELLA IS BORN.

One more time, please  BOC-CA-BEL-LA!!!!

1945:  CARPATHIAN RUTHENIA IS ANNEXED BY THE SOVIET UNION.

And the official password for June 29 is "annex."

1954:  DODGER PITCHING COACH RICK HONEYCUTT IS BORN.

Well known to Dodger fans, he's the guy walking back and forth to the mound six or seven times every game.

1967:  ACTRESS JAYNE MANSFIELD IS KILLED IN A CAR CRASH.

What's that in the road...a head?

1974:  MIKHAIL BARYSHNIKOV DEFECTS FROM RUSSIA TO CANADA WHILE ON TOUR.

Wait till he found out how bad the health care was there.

1976:  THE SEYCHELLES BECOME INDEPENDENT FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM.

I don't know the Seychelles.  What were their biggest hits?

1978:  ACTOR BOB CRANE DIES.

Beated to death with a camera tripod and I don't think that's the appropriate use for one of those things.

1995:  ACTRESS LANA TURNER DIES.

The postman never rings a third time.

1999:  PRODUCER ALLAN CARR DIES.

Out of gas.

2002:  SINGER ROSEMARY CLOONEY DIES.

I remember this day vividly.  I had heard she was not long for our world so I drove past her house on Roxbury.  George Clooney was having a cigarette on the front lawn.  One of my truly favorite singers of all time.  And I got to meet her once!

2003:  ACTRESS KATHARINE HEPBURN DIES.

Guess who wasn't coming to dinner?

2007:  FILM CRITIC JOEL SIEGEL DIES.

He probably didn't like this.

Dinner last night:  Grilled ham steak.

These Shows _________________

There was some very brief hope for prime time television entertainment this summer.  Especially for this viewer who reconnects with his youth via some classic game shows on the Buzzr cable network.

ABC recently announced that they were bringing back this summer reboots of some well-remembered game shows.   I was in, baby.  All the way.  Until I saw them.   

I'm out, baby.  All the way.

First up was "To Tell the Truth," a show that I am watching black-and-white reruns from about 50 years ago on Buzzr.   With the push towards diversity on television, this edition of TTTT features all African-American panelists.   Plus one of the originals, Betty White, who I guess was literally and figuratively the token White.   

After about ten minutes of high-fives, fist pumps, and unintelligible language from the C-list celebrities, I turned it off.  I could care less whether it was number one, number two, or number three.

Next was "Celebrity Family Feud."   Now this show never really did go away and was never my favorite with the unctuous Richard Dawson.   It's even less my favorite with the even more annoying Steve Harvey running the proceedings.   I've had dealings with the guy and his entourage.   A nastier guy you wouldn't want to meet.  My television is programmed to immediately turn off if Harvey ever appears for more than thirty seconds.   No review for "Celebrity Family Feud" from me.

Okay, I used to be a big fan of the old "$100,000 Pyramid."   I even tried to get on the show as a contestant when I was in college.   Mark that under "Game Show Auditions That Failed."  I would really sample this 2016 version.

Mistake.

The first problem was with new host Michael Strahan.   He makes no sense with whatever he says.  I am beginning to think that, for four years, he was part of a ventriloquist act with Kelly Ripa.   Guess who was talking for who?  His banter with the so-called celebrities and the equally repulsive contestants was incoherent.

That's another problem with all these new game shows.   The contestants are encouraged to act like idiots.   Jumping up and down.   Doing wild gyrations.   One of the Pyramid contestants was so despicable that I not only hoped she would lose, I wanted her to have a stroke on stage.  In another ghastly moment, a rather normal contestant lost his train of thought because opposing celebrity, some asshole named Anthony Anderson, kept shaking his chair.  When the next pair of celebrity players included the clinically insane Rosie O'Donnell, I was a goner.

Oh, Lord.

Now the one reboot that I really, really wanted to savor was "Match Game."  I loved the original to this day with the hilarious bantering from the likes of Brett Somers, Charles Nelson Reilly, Patti Deutsch, etc.   But I saw yellow flags right from the get-go of this new reboot.  With three simple words.

Host Alec Baldwin.

Don't get me wrong.   Everything is in the right place.   The set looked the same. The music was the same.  The game was not tinkered with.  Even the famous "long microphone" was used by Baldwin.

But, at every turn, probably because he's such a pompous ass, the hour was hijacked by Baldwin's incessant need to be...well...Alec Baldwin.   He totally missed the point of the proceedings.   The former host, the wonderful Gene Rayburn, was so masterful at running the show and getting out of the way so the panelists could be funny.   Here, Baldwin tries to be the star of it all and it virtually kills any fun because he's about as amusing as a rectal exam performed with a jack hammer.

Again, we have the overzealous and borderline mental institution contestants. One got up to bump asses with "celebrity" panelist J.B. Smoove.  And, to make matters worse, somebody at ABC thinks that America is craving for more Rosie O'Donnell because there she is again on the panel.   Like a truck coming down the block, I immediately knew that at least one of the questions would involve Donald Trump.   Of the clowns on the panel, only Debra Messing and Sutton Foster seemed to even slightly invoke the fun spirit of the original.

I guess some things are better left back in the 70s or 80s.   Trust me, everything old is not new again.

Dinner last night:  Leftover sausage, German potato salad, and red cabbage.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 27, 2016

Everybody loves a June bride.   And everybody loves this classic clip of a wet June bride.

Dinner last night:  Chicken sausage, German potato salad, and red cabbage.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Annual Summer Vacation Conundrum

Yeah, that's me.  The knees look shot already.

The calendar has clicked over again.   The first day of summer was last week. And I am guessing families all across America started making plans.

I remember my days as a kid.   For most of the summer, I never left the neighborhood and, luckily, neither did my friends.   We developed our standard routine of playing baseball in the lot till it was too dark at night and then we waited for Coot, the Good Humor Man.   Then we would sit on somebody's front stoop and yakked it up until it was time for me to curl up next to the fan with a good book.

Yep, that was my summer.   But there was always that two weeks.

It was annual clockwork. My dad would take his two weeks of vacation every year at the same time. The last week of July and the first week of August. Smack in the middle of the summer. And this would be the time we would pack ourselves into a car and travel someplace. Loaded down with juice and lots of plums and peaches for the road. And usually Colorforms to keep me occupied. I couldn't bring comic books along to read in the car. I did that once. The decoration I upchucked onto the side of Dad's green Buick wasn't exactly Jackson Pollock.

We only went as far as a one-day drive could take us. Perhaps a long one-day drive, but one day nevertheless. So, essentially, our radius was about 300 to 400 miles. No more. No less. As a matter of fact, I never flew on an airplane until I got to college. I think about this every time I see some five-year-old throwing Cheerios around on one of my cross country flights.

Ideally, my folks and I would travel with another family. Another mom and dad to give my parents somebody to gossip with and perhaps another kid or two that I could hang with. There were a few times where we went solo and those trips tended to drag. After 50 weeks together as a family unit, we needed a break from each other as well. Invariably, though, there would be some point in the vacation with another family that something would happen. A sour word exchanged. A nasty look shared. And then the edict would come from Mom.

"Stay away from THEM."

I remember a bunch of these destinations. 

Lake George, New York, was popular. They had a couple of Disney-like theme parks. Storyland where you walked around some nursery rhyme settings and then fed the wandering animals. 

There was another gimmick called the North Pole and it was always odd to visit there in the sweltering July humidity. You got to meet elves and the complete Santa Claus clan. I was always curious why Mrs. Claus never had any kids. My mom would tell me that all the little workers were all the children they needed. I guess I was too young for the real explanation, which was readily apparent when you toured their house. Santa and the missus were sleeping in separate rooms.

The longest trip we ever made was to Niagara Falls, New York. All day in the car. Extra peaches and plums. Sheer boredom. But the view of the falls was worth it, especially when a wave knocked me clear across the Maid of the Mist. 

In those days, my father was an amateur photographer and loved taking slides with his Argus Technicolor camera. I remember when these particular slides came back from the developer. Somehow, two got superimposed over each other and the Maid of the Mist was poised right on top of the Horseshoe Falls. Was the Fotomat guy fooling around or was it an accident? We'll never know.

I'll always remember Niagara Falls for the huge case of food poisoning I must have got. All I can recall is lying on a hotel bed with alcohol soaked washcloths all over me. There was a visit from a doctor. I think I was there for about two days. At one point, I was visited by Vivian Vance in a nurse's outfit. Sheer delirium without a drop of liquor.

One summer after I had become a baseball fan, our familial trip trooped up to Cooperstown and the Baseball Hall of Fame. A great, great excursion for me. But, the little hamlet in upstate New York features few hotels and even fewer with air conditioning. One of my mom's pre-requisites for summer fun was the ability to go someplace and sleep in an air conditioned room. Without the cooling at night, my mom was even less impressed with Mickey Mantle's uniform pants displayed during the day.

Atlantic City, in its pre-casino days, was another popular destination over a few summers. The Boardwalk. The Million Dollar Pier. Salt water taffy. The Steel Pier where the Diving Horse worked and where I shook hands with Paul Anka after a performance. I was probably seven years old and already taller than he was. Another year, we saw the Lennon Sisters. Anything connected to the Lawrence Welk Show bored me shitless. I fell sound asleep in the aisle of the theater.

No trip to Atlantic City was complete without a visit to Zaberer's Restaurant. This place was such a big deal that you kept seeing the signs all along the road to Atlantic City.

"Ten miles to Zaberer's."

"Five miles to Zaberer's."

"Zaberer's right around the bend!"

Sort of like when the Ricardos and the Mertzes were driving west and looking for Aunt Martha's Pecan Pralines.

This was a total dress-up eating event and probably the biggest meal we had all year. You made reservations several days in advance and still waited an hour in the lounge for your table and the ultimate heart-stopping slab of prime rib. The big draw in the waiting room was a color TV, back in the days when nobody had one that worked correctly. At Zaberer's, Mitch Miller's beard was not purple.

On one Atlantic City trip, there was such a rift with THEM that my folks and I hightailed it out of there. Up the road to Asbury Park. Where there was nothing to do. And we stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. I ran to a bench and buried myself in the library books I had packed for the trip.

It was the last time we ever traveled anywhere as a family.

I was happy to go home and stand in the sandlot with my buddies again.

Dinner last night:  Assorted Thai dishes at Galanga Thai Fusion.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - June 2016

This wonderful classic opened sixty years ago this month.

Dinner last night:  Barbecue chopped salad.

America's Selfie Parade

 When fertility drugs go past their expiration date.

 OMG!   Young Steve Martin is strangling his mother.

 He failed Belts 101.

 Hair styles by Tupperware.

 The John Lennon fan club meeting will now come to order.

 Jurassic Honeymoon.

 Those mesh beach chairs can be a bitch.

 The first time a bug is outside a nose.

It could be worse.  The bathing suit could be on her.

 Bill Clinton, Age 9.

 And the photographer is her father, who is a horse's...

I know I've gonna get some flack on this...will someone please slap this child?

Dinner last night:   Chopped steak and diced tomatoes.

Len's Recipe of the Month - June 2016

Well, summer is upon us and, back in the day of my youth, that meant one thing.   

Grandma was making homemade rhubarb pie.   Okay, truth be told, she didn't just make that during the summer.   She would pick the rhubarb she had growing in her garden and freeze it so rhubarb pies could be made for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.  But, frankly, it will always be a summer reminder for me.

Now this dessert had a very distinct flavor and aroma that has dogged me for years.   I wanted to savor it again.  And figured that taste went to the grave along with my grandmother.   Well, not so fast, Len.   Luckily, two of my cousins remembered how our grandmother made it and shared the recipe with me.   I gave it a whirl two summers ago and...well...I managed to duplicate this treat in both taste and appearance.  

You want to know what I am talking about?

First off, go buy about five or six rhubarb stalks.   When they're in season, they are easy to find in an fresh vegetable department.   If they are not in season, you can still get them but the price goes up to four hundred dollars per stalk.

Rinse the stalks completely and cut off the leaves.  Duh.  Then slice the stalks into 1/4 inch pieces.   Dump them into a pot with about an inch of water.   Stir in a cup of sugar...yes, one cup of sugar.   Get this all boiling.

You will see magic occur.  The stalks will stew and get very stringy.   Keep stirring so you don't have to use Brillo on the pot.  After about ten minutes, you should have this soupy fruit puree.   Now add the secret weapon.

One box of strawberry Jell-o.   Yes, you heard me.  Strawberry Jell-o.   Stir it and then pour the concoction into a Tupperware bowl that you can chill in the fridge for a couple of hours.   

You will need a bottom crust and the more adventurous of you will likely make your own.  Not me.   You can buy the dough ready made.   Simply follow the instructions and bake a bottom crust.   Then let that chill.   

Once both the filling and the crust are cool, pour the rhubarb (it should now be bright red and almost solid) into the crust and put it back in the refrigerator.   Ideally, you should do this overnight.

The topping is fresh whipped cream and you should put that on top right before you serve it.   If you use either Reddi Whip or Cool Whip, you should be shot at dawn.   What?  You don't know how to make fresh whipped cream?  Well, Google it.   I've already given you enough help today.   The rhubarb pie without the whipped cream is enough for you to thank me endlessly.

Dinner last night:  Chinese chopped salad.

This Date in History - June 22

Happy birthday, Billy Wilder.  The greatest film director ever.

217 BC:  PTOLEMY IV PHILOPATOR OF EGYPT DEFEATS ANTIOCHUS III THE GREAT OF THE SELEUCID KINGDOM.

Seleucid?  I think that has some nasty side effects.

1633:  THE HOLY OFFICE IN ROME FORCES GALILEO GALILEI TO RECANT HIS VIEW THAT THE SUN, NOT THE EARTH, IS CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE.

Sun 1, Earth 0.

1783:  A POISONOUS CLOUD CAUSED BY THE ERUPTION OF THE LAKI VOLCANO IN ICELAND REACHES LE HAVRE IN FRANCE.

As if the French would even recognize a nasty odor.

1807:  IN THE CHESAPEAKE-LEOPOLD AFFAIR, THE BRITISH WARSHIP HMS LEOPARD ATTACKS AND BOARDS THE AMERICAN FRIGATE USS CHESAPEAKE.

Leopard 1, Chesapeake 0.

1844:  THE FRATERNITY DELTA KAPPA EPSILON IS FOUNDED AT YALE UNIVERSITY.

And then thereby inventing alcoholism amongst college students.

1898:  DURING THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR, THE U.S. MARINES LAND IN CUBA.

Cigars all around.

1903:  GANGSTER JOHN DILLINGER IS BORN.

He should have watched the movie on Netflix.

1906:  DIRECTOR BILLY WILDER IS BORN.

A film legacy that is unequaled.

1906:  THE FLAG OF SWEDEN IS ADOPTED.

After several years being a foster flag.

1919: DANCER GOWER CHAMPION IS BORN.

A good thing since, otherwise, Marge would have had to do a solo.

1918:  THE HAMMOND CIRCUS TRAIN WRECK KILLS 86 AND INJURES 127 NEAR HAMMOND, INDIANA.

An idea plagarized years later by Cecil B. DeMille in "The Greatest Show on Earth."

1921:  BROADWAY PRODUCER JOSEPH PAPP IS BORN.

Also famous for his smear.

1941:  GERMANY INVADES RUSSIA.

Oh, sure, those goose steps are impressive now, but just you wait...

1944:  PRESIDENT FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT SIGNS INTO LAW THE GI BILL.

The smartest thing he ever did.  Oh, yeah, that and cheating on the wife.

1945:  DURING WORLD WAR II, THE BATTLE OF OKINAWA ENDS JAPANESE ARMY FORCES COLLAPSE.

Years later, they still couldn't get a break when Ghidra the Three-Headed Monster came to town.

1949:  ACTRESS MERYL STREEP IS BORN.

She made two movies last week.  Oh, wait, make that four movies last week.

1953:  SINGER CYNDI LAUPER IS BORN.

Girls just want to have fun.

1969:  SINGER JUDY GARLAND DIES.

Over the rainbow and she expires while on the toilet bowl.  PS, her crypt is right around the corner from my mother at Ferncliff Cemetery.

1976:  THE CANADIAN HOUSE OF COMMONS ABOLISHES CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.

At least, their criminals can travel to the United States if they want to be executed.

1987:  ACTOR-DANCER FRED ASTAIRE DIES.

Never gonna dance...

1988:  SINGER DENNIS DAY DIES.

Not his day at all.

1990:  CHECKPOINT CHARLIE IS DISMANTLED IN BERLIN.

Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that Checkpoint.

1993:  FORMER FIRST LADY PAT NIXON DIES.

Mrs. "I am not a crook" to you.

2002:  BASEBALL PITCHER DARRYL KILE DIES.

Met physicians just put him on the 60-day disabled list.

2002:  COLUMNIST ANN LANDERS DIED.

Dear Abby,...er, never mind.

2006:  DOG ACTOR MOOSE DIES.

The mutt from "Frasier."  Who gets his rerun residuals?

2008:  COMEDIAN GEORGE CARLIN DIES.

A bad forecast for that hippy dippy weatherman.

2009:  EASTMAN KODAK ANNOUNCES THAT IT WILL DISCONTINUE SALES OF KODACHROME COLOR FILM.

Well, there goes Paul Simon's career.

2013:  TV PRODUCER GARY DAVID GOLDBERG DIES.

Family Untied.

2014:  SINGER STEVE ROSSI DIES.

Goodbye dere.

Dinner last night:  Hawaiian Dodger Dog.

When Bad Things Happen to Good Paying Customers

Well, we should at least shout this from the rooftops.   The Hollywood Bowl 2016 Summer Season has started.   Yay!

With the promise of four more evenings for me this year, I guess it's okay if Opening Night was like one of those dud firecrackers that you were saving for 9PM on the Fourth of July.   Because, as Bowl nights go, this one was of the non-explosive variety.

Months ago when my premium status allowed me to order my tickets for the season, I noted that Opening Night was the legendary 70s band Steely Dan.   Okay, I was intrigued.   Apparently so were a lot of people in the Los Angeles area because, even at that early juncture, tickets were tight.  I was not able to secure my usual location and got kicked up the slope of the Bowl.   The higher you go, the further away you are.   And, as you would expect, the surrounding clientele gets...well...sloppier.    

So, I wind up with seats so far from the stage that I also could have been on line for Space Mountain in Disneyland.   And the throng around me may have been there for a concert, but most were there to socialize with each other.   Have a carrot stick.   Have some Chardonnay.   Have some hummus.   Have some Merlot.   Have a brownie.   Have some Cabernet.   And, oh, yeah, a joint.  

Yep, the crowd was most definitely over 65 and burnt out hippies who still hate the fact that Nixon erased 18 minutes of tape.   And, yeah, they may have been there for the music, but nothing would stop them from talking with each other. Incessantly.  Regardless of whether or not something was happening on the stage five miles away.

Poor Hollywood Bowl conductor Thomas Wilkins.   A generally affable guy who was entrusted to providing entertainment for the first half of the concert.   Some nice pieces done by the Bowl orchestra.   A glee club made up of city school children.   And some opening remarks about the summer to come.   I assume all this happened.   I saw it unfolding on the big screens.   I just couldn't hear a thing.

Have a celery stick.

Try this wine cooler.

Where's the Xanax?

The whole first forty five minutes was as unsettling as an enema done with Ajax.

Then Steely Dan showed up.   Probably because Saturday night is an off night for the Bingo caller at the senior center.

You could tick off their hits one by one.  Except, with these old fogies now tottering somewhere between 70 and Forest Lawn, the hits were now officially misses.   In retrospect, I don't think the group's major successes were on the concert stage.   They are clearly a band who need studio electronics to make them sound decent.

But play they did.  And we were all the worse for it.   They tried to cover up their age-worn limitations by having the Bowl Orchestra play behind them.   But, once Donald Fagen opened his mouth, chalk was screeching across the blackboards of our minds.   To make matters worse, he looks a bit these days like Bernie Sanders and you can only wonder what the latter would sound like singing "Lady Charlemagne."  Meanwhile, the group also used three background singers who looked like they were losers the last time Bette Midler was auditioning for new Harlettes.

The crowd that came out to reunite with their past did receive the group, but I thought even that was less than expected.   I've been to some really raucous evenings at the Bowl where ancient patrons happily dislocated their hips to the tunes of Journey or Billy Joel.   Last Saturday, there was the errant fan, flailing at the air and wearing a neon necklace, the latter not being a good look for anybody over the age of 70.   But, even that seemed to be a mis-connection for the night.   The audience was enthusiastic, but not wildly so.  But who can blame them given that Steely Dan sounded like a high school cover band doing Steely Dan music.

There were some fireworks to close the show and even that was an unintentional misstep.   Given that Santa Ana winds started blowing in mid-show, all the smoke from the explosives blew back into the faces of the audience.   Unlike the group on stage, who was blowing smoke up our asses.

Eventually and gratefully, the show ended.   Fagen and company must have been told that it was last call for Jell-o at Leisure World.   They crawled off almost abruptly without an encore, leaving several of their biggest hits (like "Rikki, Don't Lose That Number") not played.   Maybe we were all better for it.   With the energy on the stage, that tune might have come out sounding more like the Pachelbel Canon in D.

I looked around at the dazed and still chatty folks around me and pledged never to sit that far up the hill at the Hollywood Bowl ever again.   I was dying to follow one or two of the former hippies into the stacked parking lot to see if they had indeed hung a handicapped placard on a Harley-Davidson.

My next show there will be July 4 and the musical act is supposed to be Chicago.  That's the group, not the musical with Gwen Verdon.  The prospects for boredom could be the same.   But I'm heartened that they couldn't be any worse than Steely Dan.

Stay tuned.

Dinner last night: Hamburger and macaroni salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 20, 2016

Today would be my dad's birthday.   In honor of that, here's a clip from one of his very favorite "Honeymooners" episodes.

Dinner last night:  Steak and macaroni salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Stories About Dad on His Day...and Birthday

Here's Dad in a photo I have used before.  I don't have many others because, frankly, my father was usually the guy behind the camera as opposed to in front.  But this one hangs on the wall of my bedroom in Los Angeles.  And it might prompt him to ask a question from beyond.

"Los Angeles??  What the hell are you doing there?"

Yeah, my dad didn't venture far from the roost.   Mount Vernon, New York and the Bronx were as far as he got.   But he ruled those places.   I can remember Dad motoring through downtown Mount Vernon.   If he saw a buddy on the street, he would honk twice and wave as he zoomed by.

On Father's Day, you think about this stuff.

Now, my dad's birthday was June 20.  So, each year with the timing of Father's Day, I had a double whammy.  Two celebrations rolled into one.  Every six years, the two "holidays" coincided.  Yes, I was able to get by with one gift.  But, when the dates didn't sync up, I was often faced with coming up with two different commemorations. 

As a result of this mess of a calendar, all the birthdays and Father's Days sort of morph together.  I don't have specific memories about them.  But, there were three Father's Days that do stick out of my memory drawer with great prominence.  Some I have written about before, but all good memories are always worth repeating. 

Take, for instance...

On a very hot Father's Day, my family made their usual holiday visitation to see all the dead relatives at Ferncliff Cemetery. Alongside the street where "Uncle Fritz" was buried, everybody hopped out of our car to do the necessary grave trimming. Grandma bounded out with hedge clippers in hand. But my dad and I sat in the car, glued to the Met game on the radio.

Except this was no ordinary contest. My father explained.

"This is history happening. The guy has a perfect game in the ninth inning."

I was a baseball fan, but I still didn't the complete significance.

"But the Mets are losing."

Minutes later, we listened to Phillies pitcher Jim Bunning strike out Met John Stephenson for the final out in this masterpiece. I didn't understand why this was such a big deal, but Dad did. That was good enough for me. Outside, Grandma continued to pull weeds out of "Uncle Fritz" and called out to my grandfather for assistance.

"Pop, get the shears!"

And here's another one from many years later.  On this particular year, the birthday and the Dad's Day festivity was on the same day.  So, I decided to leave it up to my father as to what he wanted to do.  Most of the time when I did this, he'd simply shrug and say he'd be happy to stay home and read the Daily News funnies. 

Except, this time, I was startled. 

He wanted to go to the movies.

Huh?

Yep, another story told here previously.

When I got to the age of 10 or 11, I stopped going to the movies with my parents. There were friends, both boys and girls. Cousins. Classmates. I learned how to do the whole cinema thing without parents intruding pretty darn quickly. Eventually, the only way my father was playing into the moviegoing experience was by dropping us off or picking us up at the Loews Mount Vernon or RKO Proctor's.

Until a few years later. When "The Godfather" came out. And became the absolute "must-see" movie across all sexes and age groups. It was Father's Day and my dad's birthday at the same time.  I offered to treat him to something.  Imagine my surprise when he blurted out his request.

"Let's go see The Godfather."

Uh-oh.

In previous years, such a suggestion from my father would have found me quickly putting on my jacket and running to the car like Maury Wills.

But not that day.

"Er, okay," I responded with a lump in my throat.

It was one thing for me to sit alongside my father in a darkened theater and watch "The Longest Day" or Jerry Lewis in "The Nutty Professor." That was a snap and the Milk Duds would easily slide down my gullet with those movies. But, "The Godfather." This was a relatively adult movie. Well-reviewed but certainly much more mature than "Operation Petticoat." And there was one very specific segment of the film that I really dreaded seeing on the big screen with my dad ensconced in the adjacent seat.

Page 27.

Mario Puzo's novel had already made the rounds of my neighborhood buddies. For us, reading that book was a rite of passage. More so than "Silas Marner" or "Last of the Mohicans."

And it was because of Page 27. The very start of the Corleone saga set at Connie's wedding. When Sonny Corleone takes one of the bridesmaids upstairs and violently...well, you know.

We knew all the words by heart. It was like sex education. Right there in front of us. On Page 27. It was raw. It was real. It was relentless. And easy to share with your pals up the street. But, in front of your father? That was one of those planets we didn't orbit ever in our household.

As I sat on the passenger side of our huge Buick LeSabre, I secretly hoped that Francis Ford Coppola had neglected to film that scene for the screen. But, from a friend who had already gone through his cinematic de-flowering, I knew it was there intact for all to see. Maybe the film would break. Perhaps a fire would break out in the smoking section of the theater right at the beginning of the movie. I hastily devised a plan to spend a lot of time in the bathroom for the first ten minutes of the film. Sorry, Dad, lunch didn't agree with me.

No such luck.

As soon as the first strains of Nino Rota's haunting theme, I was glued to the street. There would be no missing reel. No smoke. No imagined diarrhea. My eyes were riveted on the screen.

Page 27 comes very early in the movie. I avoided all side glances to my dad. I focused on the screen like I was reading an eye chart in the optometrist's office.

There was no sound or motion to the right of me. As quickly as James Caan had started the process up on the big screen, it was over. It was never discussed. Either then or later. My dad and I simply proceeded very nicely to the graphic murders, horse decapitations, and all the wonderful other fun that is "The Godfather."

My father and I never saw another movie together.

During his last years, the Father's Day/birthday celebrations got very simple.  All he wanted to do was go out to dinner.  Eventually, we even locked into the same location.  

A Victoria Station in Yonkers.  Famous for steak.  And, more importantly, for Dad?  

A fully-stocked salad bar.

I remember my dad's euphoria the first time he saw one.

"They have beets!"

"They have hot peppers!"

"German potato salad!!!"

This was all stuff my father used to buy regularly at a delicatessen on White Plains Road in the Bronx.  Now he was seeing it for the taking in an honest-to-God restaurant and he couldn't contain his excitement.

The hell with the steak.  Dad made three trips to the salad bar alone.

"Will they let me take a new plate?"

Of course.  They're chilled in the refrigerator.

"Chilled plates??!!"

This concept alone was equivalent to a polio vaccine for my father.

These were his later years.  And, conveniently, these very simple pleasures were his favorites.

Happy Father's Day today, Dad.  And, oh, yeah, happy birthday tomorrow.

Dinner last night:  Vegetarian sandwich at the Hollywood Bowl.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - June 2016

In memory of Alan Young who died last month.

Dinner last night:  Ham French Dip sandwich...pre-Dodger game meal at Philippe's.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for June 2016

Next Thursday, the Motion Picture Academy will be showing a newly restored and souped-up version of the legendary film "Giant."  I will be there.   It won't be the first time I've seen this classic on a big screen.   But, whenever it does get pulled out for new generations to enjoy, I can never resist.   It's a three-hour epic that just doesn't get made anymore.

But that's next Thursday.   Now we face a weekend of new horrors perpetrated by Hollywood.   Will there be anything for me to see before I get to enjoy the exploits of Bick Benedict and Jett Rink one more time?   You know the drill by now, gang.  I will sift through the movie pages of the LA Times and give you my gut reaction to the junk being left on our cineplexes' front door steps.   I can only imagine.   

In the meantime, I am waiting for another round of "Giant."   Gee, it's fun to live here.

The Lobster:   It sounds weird.   Don't bother with the butter.

Maggie's Plan:   Blog review coming.   Plan to skip it.   The movie, not the review.

De Palma:  Blog review coming.   A compelling documentary on film.

The Conjuring 2:   Just when I pledged not to see The Conjuring 1.

Captain America - Civil War:  Maybe you should actually read a comic book instead.

Me Before You:   Is it something like "i" before "e" except after "c."

Finding Dory:  Back in the water with Pixar and Ellen DeGeneres.

Central Intelligence:  How can a movie starring Kevin Hart and Dwayne Johnson have the word "intelligence" in the title?

Tickled:  A documentary about young men who are tied up and tickled.   Sort of like meeting that annoying uncle who used to do the same thing to you.

Teenage Mutant Turtles - Out of the Shadows:   Proud to say that I know no one who would see this.

Now You See Me 2:   I saw the first one.   Now I don't see the next one.

Alice Through the Looking Glass:   LSD optional.

Love and Friendship:    Oil and water.

A Bigger Splash:  Melissa McCarthy diving into a pool?

Clown:   The costume a dad wears for a kid's birthday party turns sinister.   And probably shrinks after the first washing.

The Witness:  A documentary on the 1964 Queens murder of Kitty Genovese.   I'll see the movie.   But I didn't see anything that happened.

Raiders!  The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made:  A documentary about three 11-year-olds who do a shot-by-shot recreation of "Raiders of the Lost Ark."   This sounds oddly interesting.

The Angry Birds Movie:   Are these the same birds who shit on your windshield after you just had your car washed?

Careful What You Wish:  Like this movie?

Blackway:  Anthony Hopkins as a retired logger.  Seriously?   That's the logline that got this sold?

Genius:   All about the publisher who worked with writer Thomas Wolfe. Nudge me when it's over.

Keanu:  It's got nothing to do with the actor but the title alone is enough to keep me away.

The Meddler:  Still around for you to avoid like a dirty toilet seat.

Neighbors 2 - Sorority:  Oh, hell, no.

Money Monster:  Reviewed here recently and there are worse movies you could see.

The Nice Guys:  Blog review coming.   Hint: it was disappointing.

X Men - Apocalypse:   Hollywood destroys the world...again.

Popstar - Never Stop Never Stopping:   Strictly for Andy Samberg fans.   You two know who you are.

Puerto Ricans in Paris:   Mon dieu!

Warcraft:  The trailer was nothing but CGI.   Control.  Alt.  Delete.

Weiner:   Just reviewed here and yes, he is.   A weiner, that is.

Dinner last night:  Chopped kale and Brussels sprouts.