This Date in History - August 31

Slim pickings on the birthday list today, so that's how Hideo Nomo winds up here.

12:  ROMAN EMPEROR CALIGULA IS BORN.

And so is venereal disease.

161:  ROMAN EMPEROR COMMODUS IS BORN.

And so is the toilet bowl.

1056:  BYZANTINE EMPRESS THEODORA BECOMES ILL, DYING SUDDENLY A FEW DAYS LATER WITHOUT CHILDREN TO SUCCEED THE THRONE, THUS ENDING THE MACEDONIAN DYNASTY.

A shame that a whole empire had to die because Theodora was too lazy to join "Byzantine Match.com."

1314:  KING HAKON V MAGNUSSON MOVES THE CAPITAL OF NORWAY FROM BERGEN TO OSLO.

Otherwise, it might have been Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Oslo.

1422:  KING HENRY V OF ENGLAND DIES OF DYSENTERY WHILE IN FRANCE.

You can catch a lot of unsanitary shit in Paris.

1422:  HENRY VI BECOMES KING OF ENGLAND AT THE AGE OF 9 MONTHS.

And you thought the leaders of our country were childish?

1654:  PHYSICIAN OLE WORM IS BORN.

The name alone warrants mention here.  That would be "Dr. Worm" to you.

1803:  LEWIS AND CLARK START THEIR EXPEDITION TO THE WEST BY LEAVING PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA AT 11 IN THE MORNING.

Lewis wanted an earlier start, but Clark insisted on the big breakfast special at Denny's.

1864:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, UNION FORCES LED BY GENERAL WILLIAM T. SHERMAN LAUNCH AN ASSAULT ON ATLANTA, GEORGIA.

Had this not happened, "Gone With The Wind" would have been a two-hour movie.

1888:  MARY ANN NICHOLS IS MURDERED.  SHE IS THE FIRST OF JACK THE RIPPER'S CONFIRMED VICTIMS.

Unfortunately, somebody had to be first.

1897:  THOMAS EDISON PATENTS THE KINETOSCOPE, THE FIRST MOVIE PROJECTOR.

After movies like "Thor" and "Transformers,"  I'm not sure we should congratulate him.

1903:  TV AND RADIO PERSONALITY ARTHUR GODFREY IS BORN.

Rat bastard.

1918: LYRICIST ALAN JAY LERNER IS BORN.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the, well, plain.

 1920:  THE FIRST RADIO NEWS PROGRAM IS IS BROADCAST BY 8MK IN DETROIT, MICHIGAN.

Before this, I guess no news was, well, no news.

1924:  COMIC BUDDY HACKETT IS BORN.

The guy was a stitch, even though you couldn't understand a word he said.

1939:  NAZI GERMANY MOUNTS A STAGED ATTACK ON THE GLEIWITZ RADIO STATION, CREATING AN EXCUSE TO ATTACK POLAND THE FOLLOWING DAY, THUS STARTING WORLD WAR II IN EUROPE.

Just like WMCA-AM in the sixties, Hitler was playing "Name It and Claim It."  If you're from New York, you get that joke.  If not, I'm sure one of the next gags will appeal to you.

1945:  THE LIBERAL PARTY OF AUSTRALIA IS FOUNDED BY ROBERT MENZIES.

Just proving that not all the kooks live in California.

1948:  ACTOR ROBERT MITCHUM IS ARRESTED IN A HOLLYWOOD DRUG RAID.

This is years before he was on TV and apparently addicted to beef.

1957:  THE FEDERATION OF MALAYA (NOW MALAYSIA) GAINS A INDEPENDENCE FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM.

And England suffers a malaise.

1968:  PITCHER HIDEO NOMO IS BORN.

HIs greatest feat ever: pitching a no-hitter in Colorado during a rain storm.

1969:  BOXER ROCKY MARCIANO DIES.

Somebody up there really likes him now.

1973:  DIRECTOR JOHN FORD DIES.

Note to all: Watch his film "The Searchers" at least once in your life.

1979:  DANCER SALLY RAND DIES.

Sorry.  Not a fan.

1991:  KYRGYZSTAN DECLARES ITS INDEPENDENCE FROM THE SOVIET UNION.

Too bad you can't use names of countries in Scrabble.

1997:  DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES, AND HER COMPANION DODI AL-FAYED DIE IN A CAR CRASH IN PARIS.

Ta ta.  Meanwhile, what kind of guy's name is "Dodi?"

2013:  TV HOST DAVID FROST DIES.

That was the life that was.

2014:  HOCKEY PLAYER CAROL VADNAIS DIES.

Sorry to hear of her passing.   Wait!  She was a guy???

Dinner last night:  Sandwich and salad.

All in the Documentary

Don't get me wrong.   I am a big fan of what Norman Lear has contributed to TV history.   Some of the best and most groundbreaking sitcoms of all time. Hilarious scripts.   The most expert casting ever.  Indeed, Norman Lear might be one of the most prolific creative minds ever to work on the tube.

Here's the problem.   He thinks so, too.  And, as a result, what could have been a captivating documentary on the man turns into an artificial treatment that left you wanting more of one direction and a lot less of...well...Norman himself.

I read his memoirs two years ago and came away with the same hybrid reaction.   When he talked about the craft of writing and TV producing, I was completely spellbound.   I wanted to know it all.   As soon as he quits the business to go into political activism, I was completely disengaged.   He was just one more mouth to hear.

Well, this new documentary is pretty much the same thing.   When Norman and the filmmakers are concentrating on All in the Family and Maude and Good Times and the Jeffersons, I'm in.   But, once they get past this period and let Norman prattle on his views which he totally expects are your views, I'm out.  

At the screening I attended, Norman did a Q and A after the film with one of the directors.   And, hell, I gave him a standing ovation because, for his creative work, that is well deserved.  But, even then in person, he started to kvetch about life and went out of his way to explain that he was indeed "just another version of me."

Um, no, you're not.   Frankly, I'm one of those people that think Norman Lear and the likes of him are basically here to entertain.   So many of them, however, think that this talent also gives them a right to shape our thought patterns and mold them into duplicates of their own.   I don't pay money to see and hear that.   I simply wanted to be enlightened and hopefully amused.   The ability to write a punch line does not automatically come with the right to climb onto a bully pulpit.   That, Mr. Lear, is reserved for somebody like Teddy Roosevelt and not you.

The other thing that struck me about this documentary was the sloppy way in which it was filmed.   There were color coding problems.   Some images were flip flopped to cover the fact that they did not have rights for certain footage.   When you see the clip where the Bunker staircase goes up to the right instead of the left, you will know what I mean.  I'm astounded that this film, in its mediocre state, actually played at the Sundance Film Festival.

If you're a fan of TV history and the sitcom's place in it, definitely see this movie.   But, you will be disappointed about two-thirds of the way in.   Because, as the saying goes, more could have been more...and less could have been a lot less.

LEN'S RATING:  Two-and-a-half stars.

Dinner last night:  Chopped kale salad with bacon, Asiago cheese, and a balsamic dressing.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - August 29, 2016

Johnny Carson with animals?   Always funny.

Dinner last night:  Steak and salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Driving Tested

What I like about these Sunday Memory Drawers is that one simple thought opens a flood gate of other memories.   Thinking last week about learning to drive on my dad's Buick Le Sabre also brought me back to the day when I first got validated as a driver.

We've all been there in the photo above.   That dreaded bastion of bureaucracy and civil service bullshit.  The DMV.   And I am happy to say that my bi-coastal existence has enabled me to have experience with both the ones in NY and LA.

No bargain on either coast, I assure you.

But, back when I first was driving, the big thing was to get your learner's permit.  To do so, you had to pass a written exam which meant you need to study some book from cover to cover.   Learning lots of stuff about how far behind a semi-rig you should be.   I remember zipping through this test because it was summer and...well...there was nothing else I had to do.

Of course, in my house, everything moved slow.  The time between my getting the learner's permit and actually taking the road test was not weeks or months, but two years.   Don't ask, I won't tell.

But, somehow, logic eventually intervened and I booked my appointment to get behind the wheel for a grade.   At that time, the place to go for these tests was behind the old Adventurer's Inn near Cross County in Yonkers.  I was going to be tested on the car that I was most comfortable with...my father's prized Buick.  

I remember all the testees and their cars lined up anxiously.   Now the urban rumor of the day was that all teenagers flunked the first time because the driving testers were mean.  And they were all Civil Service workers who couldn't be fired so they didn't give a shit.   

When I was next in queue, my nerves bubbled to the surface.   Dad slid out of the car and in came a fat version of the Florence the Maid character from "The Jeffersons."   I smiled and said good morning.

"Uh huh.  Show me where your ignition is."

Okay, we're going to be like that.

"Where's your blinkers?"

"Okay, start the car.  Drive the corner and make a left."

Just how unhappy are you with your job, miss.

But I did as I was told.   It was over in five minutes.

"You flunked.   Come back in six weeks."

What?   Huh?   You're kidding.   What did I do?

I won't add my father's comments but you can usually find them on a rerun of "All in the Family."

The urban legend was indeed true.   Six weeks later, I came back and did the same test exactly as I had before.   I passed.   I remember looking at the new tester, another real life version of a Norman Lear sitcom, and thought about how unhappy she looked as well.   Was the only excitement she had in his career derived from failing some nervous 17-year-old?   

Moving on.   And motoring on.  I was good to go and content that I'd never have this ordeal again.

Wrong.

When, years later, you move three thousand miles to the west, you realize that you need to get a driver's license from your new state of residence.   Easy, right?   Fill out a form.  Stamp a couple of things and you're done.   Nope.   While I was not required to perform a road test, you did need to complete that blasted written exam.  

Back to the book.   Here I am.   Learning one more time how far you need to stay behind a semi rig on the road.    

Now they give you about thirty questions on this test in California and you pass as long as you don't get more than eight wrong.  It was multiple choice and the test was on double-sided paper.  Fifteen questions on the front and another fifteen on the back.  

I performed my civic duty and took the completed test to a clerk for grading.  She would do it right in front of me.   She looked at the front of the paper.

Check, check, X, check, X, X, check, check, check, X, check, X, X, check, X.

I had seven wrong on the front of the test already.   Holy shit.

She flipped it over.   And I ran the table on the back.   All checks.   Whew!

After I came to, I was thankful that, at least, California wasn't going to require me to take a road test.   I could only imagine how badly I would do on that.   Whew again!

Little did I know that a few years later on one December afternoon...

I got mail from the California DMV.  With my birthday coming in February, I was due for a driver's license renewal.  Simple enough.  The only slight curveball was that, for this particular renewal, I couldn't do it via the mail or on-line.  I actually had to make an in-person appearance at an office.  I reason to myself that this is the government's way of giving their sub-freezing-IQ-ed employees something to do.  You know.  The skilled laborers.  Those folks who are experts at stamping papers and removing staples.

The small iota of good news with the California DMV is that they welcome people to make appointments ahead of time.  You can easily cut the long line in the parking lot and not be subjected to body odor and broken English.  Since I don't fancy an issue with my renewal, I make an on-line date for the first week of January at the DMV near my office in Van Nuys.  Okay, Van Nuys is not a spot where any humans should be seen more than once a decade, but I figure that the office proximity will make up for the possibility that somebody's enchilada will squirt out onto my shirt.

On my first appointed day, I zipped over to Van Nuys at lunchtime.  I marveled at the third world gathered on line, all of them forlorn with some sort of form crumpled up in their hands.  No appointment?  Suckers!  I scurried past them triumphantly as if I had one of those Disneyland Fast Passes.

Inside, my bingo-like number was called pretty quickly.  Geez, I can get out of this dump within fifteen minutes, I thought.  The old fart behind the counter checked that my renewal form had been filled out and in correct English.  No problem.  I stood on the line and had my new license photo taken.  Okay, it was a terrible picture, but it's not a headshot going over to Paramount Central Casting.  No problem.  I shuttled a few feet over to the optical machine for the eye test.  Left eye.  Top line.  E-P-Q-R-T.  No problem.  Bottom line.  F-S-L-M-O.  No problem.  Right eye...

Er, problem.  I have very little vision there.  Nothing new.  This has been the case since my time in the womb.  Attention to all potential muggers: if you want to hit me up for my wallet, approach me from behind on my right side.  But, other than that potentiality of being a future crime statistic, this vision has never been an issue.

Except with this asshole at the DMV. 

"You have failed the eye test."

Yeah, so.  My vision hasn't changed.  I just went to my eye doctor in October for a check-up.

The dumbbell fumbled with some paper clips and then handed me another form.  If I had this filled out by my optical physician, I could bring it back and then get cleared to drive.  Okay, so my DMV experience was going to be incomplete today, but, at least, I saw the glimmer of an end game.  When I would have my next appointment in two weeks.

My eye doctor easily filled out the necessary paperwork.  He included my latest eye exam results and virtually cleared me to steer anything except perhaps the space shuttle.  This was all I needed to clear this small bureaucratic hurdle.

Or so I thought.

On the day of my second DMV appointment, I scooted past the morons on line one more time.  Once again, my bingo number was called promptly and I reported to the designated window which was now manned by some Hispanic kid who might have just crawled out of a car trunk.  He barely scanned my form and then stamped another page.

"Okay, step over to the machine and take the eye test."

Huh?

I thought this was a bizarre request given the copious optical dossier my doctor had just provided, but I complied.  The same results, of course. 

"You failed the eye test."

Duh.

I asked whether anything that my optometrist had written was of any use.  Apparently not.

"Your vision has changed." 

No, it hasn't.  Except for reading glasses needed for small print and dark restaurants, I had the same baseline vision.  Fine in the left, zero in the right.  And I have been driving for almost four decades. 

"You'll have to take a road test and prove that the vision isn't a handicap."

WHAT??????  How the hell did he think I got to the DMV office that day?  By Uber????  And can you please call up on the computer screen my almost pristine driving record????

Indeed, the main problem in all this is that, when I first got my driver's license, I was living in New York and there were no original records for me in California.  But, still?  I asked Hose A if he would at least speak to a supervisor.  And he was nice enough to acquiesce to my request.

No dice.  DMV supervisors are even worse than the people they manage.

"My boss says if you take the drive test this one time, it will be on your record and you never have to do it again."

I looked around at the jerks on line around me.  One could barely speak English and had no I.D. with him.  Another had to be about 90 years old and didn't seem to be getting nearly the same treatment on his end of the DMV counter.   They both would probably sail through their DMV experiences virtually unscathed. 

But me???  I'm a potential menace on the road.  I can't wait to get out there and play pinball with your Lexus.  Or maybe run down your immediate family at a farmer's market in Santa Monica.  This was the excesses of our government in all their glory.  Performing inexplicably and erratically. 

Wanting to get the misery over with as soon as possible, I scheduled the drive test for the following afternoon.  And, unlike perhaps every other slob in the DMV that day, I went home in misery.  Let's face it, the last time you ever drive 100% perfectly in your life is usually when you take your very first road test.  I had done this years ago...twice thanks to the accuracy of the urban legend.  Could I possibly pass this again???

Yeah, I didn't sleep much that night.

Three PM the next day couldn't come soon enough.  And, trust me, the afternoon was a thoroughly demeaning event.  I was forced to wait in my car for about 45 minutes in a queue so long that I thought I was going through the drive-through for a "Double Double" at In N'Out Burger.  I had to watch examiners kick a prospective driver's friends and family out of the car, as if they were all going on the road test like it was the Mummy ride at Universal Studios.

Why the hell am I here, I kept thinking.  Over and over and over and over.

When my vehicle was next in line, I noticed my appointed examiner making his way to my car.  A short man in a baseball cap.  Except when the short man in the baseball cap came to my window, I realized that he was a she. 

Oh, shit, is my eye sight really that bad?

No, she really did look like a guy.

Before she climbed into my car, I had to prove that I was semi-competent.  Here's my left signal.  Here's my right signal.  Here's how I honk the horn.

It was THAT bad.  And really no different than Yonkers, New York.

Once we got on the road, I did exactly what a friend at work had counseled me to do earlier that day. 

"Pretend you're driving in front of a police car."

And, for about two-thirds of the test, there was.  The examiner was actually very nice.  Make a left, make a right.  Move to your right lane.  Get over to your left lane.  On the way to the DMV, I noticed a school on the same block.  I knew damn well they would take you through that neighborhood to see if you would slow down.  So, I was prepared.  I figured that's the way the Van Nuys DMV trips up would-be drivers.  Me?  I literally crawled past the school.  Ha!

Eventually, we even wound up on the freeway.  I merged fluidly into the traffic and then fluidly hit the exit ramp.  I looked around at all the vehicles on the road.  How many of them were illegal aliens with licenses printed on their computer?

Even though I had practiced several of them that morning, this road test did not require you to perform a parallel park.  After fifteen minutes that seemed like fifteen days, we pulled into the back of the DMV office. 

"Well, you passed."

EXHALE!!!!

My short guy/girl examiner then nitpicked me on a couple of little nuances of my test, but he/she also mentioned that they were all a result of the many bad habits each of us picks up after they have been driving for years.  But, nevertheless, I was good to go.

LOUD EXHALE!!!!!

I thought about some of the other tests my examiner had to probably administer that day.  I was likely the easiest.  But, surprisingly, I had lucked out with one of the more professional DMV workers in the world.  I let her know that and she started to beam. 

"Nobody ever said that to me before."

She was genuinely moved.  After all, nobody likes the DMV.  And I certainly didn't either.  But, I was quite appreciative of somebody who had taken a nervewracking moment in my life and had smoothed out at least some of the creases.


I still couldn't wait to get the fuck out of there.  Yeah, it's still true.  Nobody really likes the DMV.

And I was done with driving tests at last.

Fingers crossed.

Dinner last night:  French dip panini at the Arclight Cafe.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - August 2016

Woody Allen's very best.

Dinner last night:  Bacon wrapped Dodger Dog.

Damn You, Autocorrect!

Dinner last night:  Had a big lunch so just a sandwich.

Len's Recipe of the Month - August 2016

If you've got a slow cooker, you will love this concoction that has become an annual tradition at my house Oscar Night.  The chilly weather will be right around the corner and my Italian Sausage Chili will warm you like no blanket can.   Sure, you can substitute ground turkey and get the same taste treat.   But, the Italian sausage variation is even more delicious.  Must be all that tasty fat.

Here's what you do.

First off, if you don't have those crockpot liners, buy a box.   You will not have to wash the thing later and clean-up in front of your guests is virtually nil.   You will thank me.

You'll need 1 and a 1/2 pounds of ground Italian sausage.   You might be one of those bozos who will buy the actual sausage and squeeze the meat out of it.   Me?  I buy it already ground up.

In a pan with some olive oil, brown the sausage lightly.   Drain it and set aside.   

Take one chopped onion and two chopped cloves of garlic and saute them together in the pan where you have the sausage drippings.   When the onions get a little translucent, you're done.   Dump it into your...lined...crockpot and then add the drained sausage.

Add one 28 oz. can of whole tomatoes drained.   

Scoop in one small can of tomato paste.   Squirting from a tube works just as well.

Toss in one can of drained red kidney beans and one can of drained white kidney beans.   Do not add the water from the beans.

Seasoning?   I'm glad you asked.

Two tablespoons of chili powder.

Three drops of tabasco.   You can exclude if you have stomach issues.

A tablespoon of oregano.

Salt and pepper to taste.   

Now, for the ingredients that will have you saying..."What?!!!"

Two tablespoons of brown sugar.

Yeah, you heard me.

And...

One half-cup of beer.   The darker, the better.   

Yeah, you heard me.

The good news is that, while you're stirring this all together, you can finish the rest of the beer bottle.

Now I've seen recently on Patricia Heaton's cooking show that she adds black coffee to her chili.   I will try that in the future.   For now, just use the beer.

Set your slow cooker on high for four hours or low for eight hours.  Let the aroma permeate your house.   You'll get hungry pretty quickly.

Serve in bowls and top it with chopped red onions or shredded cheddar cheese (Sargento has the best).   Some people like sour cream as a topping, but I don't and you'll never get that offered in my house.

Mangia!

Dinner last night:  Dodger Dog at the game.

This Date in History - August 24

Happy birthday to Anne Archer.  When there are pictures like this, you get saluted here.

49 BC:  JULIUS CAESAR'S GENERAL GAIUS SCRIBONIUS CURIO IS DEFEATED IN THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE BAGRADAS RIVER BY THE NUMIDIANS UNDER PUBLIUS ATTIUS VARUS AND KING JUBA OF NUMIDA.

I look at that sentence and now I totally realize why I got a C+ in World History during the tenth grade.

79:  MOUNT VESUVIUS ERUPTS, BURYING CITIES AROUND IT IN VOLCANIC ASH.

Can you imagine the FEMA payouts that would come out of this mess?

410:  THE VISIGOTHS UNDER ALARIC BEGIN TO PILLAGE ROME.

Why?  Because they could.

1200:  KING JOHN OF ENGLAND, SIGNEE OF THE FIRST MAGNA CARTA, MARRIES ISABELLA OF ANGOULEME IN BORDEAUX CATHEDRAL.

And I had to work really, really hard to get that C+.

1215:  POPE INNOCENT III DECLARES MAGNA CARTA INVALID.

I'd love to see the headline if this Pope ever got convicted of a crime.  "Innocent Guilty."

1349:  SIX THOUSAND JEWS ARE KILLED IN MAINZ AFTER BEING BLAMED FOR THE BUBONIC PLAGUE.

Probably because George Bush wasn't around to take the fall.

1391:  JEWS ARE MASSACRED IN PALMA DE MALLORCA.

I see a pattern forming.

1456:  THE PRINTING OF THE GUTENBERG BIBLE IS COMPLETED.

Most people were waiting for the paperback.

1572:  ON THE ORDERS OF KING CHARLES IX OF FRANCE, A MASSACRE OF HUGUENOTS (FRENCH PROTESTANTS) BEGINS.

And a sigh of relief from all Jews in France.

1682:  WILLIAM PENN RECEIVES THE AREA THAT IS NOW THE STATE OF DELAWARE AND ADDS IT TO HIS COLONY OF PENNSYLVANIA.

I did get a B+ in American History during the eleventh grade, but I still didn't know anything about this.

1690:  CALCUTTA, INDIA IS FOUNDED.

Let the outsourcing begin!

1814:  BRITISH TROOPS INVADE WASHINGTON, DC AND BURN DOWN THE WHITE HOUSE AND SEVERAL OTHER BUILDINGS.

Can this happen again?  Fingers crossed...

1831:  CHARLES DARWIN IS ASKED TO TRAVEL ON HMS BEAGLE.

A very, very slow news day.

1891:  THOMAS EDISON PATENTS THE MOTION PICTURE CAMERA.

So let's blame him for the latest edition of Transformers.

1909:  WORKERS START POURING CONCRETE FOR THE PANANA CANAL.

The very first "shovel ready" project.

1912:  ALASKA BECOMES A UNITED STATES TERRITORY.

And people were impressed because, allegedly, you could see Russia from there.

1912:  TV PERSONALITY DURWOOD KIRBY IS BORN.

Smile, you're on Candid Camera.  I mention him only because I know one reader is laughing hysterically at this uber-inside joke.  The rest of you can simply continue on.

1917:  TV PERSONALITY DENNIS JAMES IS BORN.

In an odd connection, his name immediately conjures up images of people afflicted with cerebral palsy. 

1932:  AMELIA EARHART BECOMES THE FIRST WOMAN TO FLY ACROSS THE UNITED STATES NON-STOP.

And, since she was a greedy little bugger, she couldn't stop there.   I bet she learned her lesson.

1944:  DURING WORLD WAR II, ALLIED TROOPS BEGIN THE ATTACK ON PARIS.

Croissants for everybody!!!

1947:  ACTRESS ANNE ARCHER IS BORN.

Also the daughter of the late Marjorie Lord.

1950:  EDITH SAMPSON BECOMES THE FIRST BLACK US DELEGATE TO THE UNITED STATES.

Well, they've just cracked baseball.  Why not???

1960:  BASEBALL STAR CAL RIPKEN JR. IS BORN.

Unlike his baseball stats, his consecutive days alive streak is still intact.

1967:  LED BY ABBIE HOFFMAN, A GROUP OF HIPPIES TEMPORARILY DISRUPT TRADING AT THE NYSE BY THROWING DOLLAR BILLS FROM THE VIEWING GALLERY.

Peace and love?  Phooey.

1981:  MARK DAVID CHAPMAN IS SENTENCED TO 20 YEARS TO LIFE IN PRISON FOR MURDERING JOHN LENNON.

Does this mean he's eligible to be on next season's "Dancing with the Stars?"

1989:  CINCINNATI REDS MANAGER PETE ROSE IS BANNED FROM BASEBALL FOR GAMBLING BY COMMISSIONER A. BARTLETT GIAMATTI.

Will Rose ever get in the Hall of Fame?  What are the Vegas odds, please?

1995:  MICROSOFT RELEASES ITS WINDOWS 95 OPERATING SYSTEM.

Just like Amelia Earhart, if only they had stopped right there.

1998:  ACTOR E.G. MARSHALL DIES.

Well, we know that E.G. didn't stand for "ever green."

2004:  PSYCHIATRIST ELISABETH KUBLER-ROSS DIES.

She was an expert on the grieving process.  I hope her family was paying attention.

2013:  ACTRESS JULIE HARRIS DIES.

A great stage and screen actress and all I remember her from is "Knots Landing."

Dinner last night:  Leftover chicken sausage and salad.

The Annual Summer Treat from Woody Allen

And it's as welcome as the Good Humor Truck bells you can hear several blocks away.

I think it's very smart marketing for Allen to have his annual movie (yes, he does one a year) come out in the middle of the summer.  I mean, all of his films are always targeted to smart adult moviegoers who are, by mid July, dying for any reason to go to a movie that doesn't feature comic book super heroes, end-of-the-world scenarios, and/or Zac Efron.   Hallelujah, that July day, 2016 version, has arrived with "Cafe Society."

As Woody Allen movies go, this is not his best.   It's certainly not his worst.   "Cafe Society" falls somewhere in the middle and that's just ducky with me.   Because even mediocre Woody Allen is one hundred times better than the latest production from Judd Apatow or any of the other alleged comedic "geniuses" working in Hollywood today.   

On stylistic points alone, "Cafe Society" scores big time.   Set in both Hollywood and New York City of the 1930s, Allen exquisitely shows us a world that we have only seen in photo books and paintings.   Never has Tinseltown and Central Park looked so inviting and romantic.   To wit, the movie was shot in both places as opposed to some productions who try to show us Brooklyn but really film those streets in Montreal.    

But, while serving well as a painting, "Cafe Society" is also a captivating story.   Young Bobby from the Bronx is sent out to Hollywood for a better life working with his uncle, a powerful agent named Phil, who always seems to have Ginger Rogers on hold.   But, just as you think this is going to be a satirical look at the movie business, Woody steers us in a completely different direction and plunges us in the middle of a most odd romantic triangle.  And, as a result, the light comedy comes a bit deeper and even more interesting.

As per usual, Woody's casting is on par.   I especially want to mention Jesse Eisenberg as Bobby, Kristin Stewart as his California girlfriend, and the always-invited Jeannie Berlin (Elaine May's daughter) as Bobby's hapless mom back somewhere on the Grand Concourse.  And, for this fan of the Sopranos, it's always great to see Tony "Paulie Walnuts" Sirico on the screen, even if it's just for two minutes.

There is, however, one sour note in the casting as far as yours truly is concerned.   Steve Carell plays the pivotal role of Uncle Phil and I really, really don't think he has the acting chops to pull off any sort of comedic role.   It's a mystery to me how this guy earned not one, but two Oscar nominations.   His choices are always wrong and his delivery is wooden.   He always seems to be screaming "look at me, I'm acting."  As Bobby's relatives in the Bronx might say...oy.

But that's one quibble in a film that is a welcome relief to the rest of the junk playing in the multiplexes this summer.   If you've got a brain in your head and you're dying to see at least one film that doesn't feature the Marvel Comics logo, give "Cafe Society" a try.

LEN'S RATING:  Three stars.

Dinner last night: Taylor ham on English muffin with salads.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - August 22, 2016

No one was really hurt in these falls.  I think.

Dinner last night:  Chicken sausage, home made cole slaw and macaroni salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Buick LeSabre

This wasn't actually my dad's car, but close enough in color and vinyl roof.   Trust me, he would not have had a California license plate.   He's probably spinning in his grave because I have one...and dared to move more than ten miles away from Mount Vernon, New York.

Yep, the Buick LeSabre was Dad's vehicle.  And he certainly was a loyal customer to a brand.   When it came to TV sets, he always purchased Zenith. When it came to beer, it was always Schaefer...when you're having more than one (and usually he did).  And, for cars, it was always some sort of Buick in his driveway.

This particular car was the one I remember most because he had it all the way from my grade school years to almost the day he died.  And the history of that car is such that, if you knew it, you knew my father.

The first day it showed up, the thing seemed huge to me.  Parked in front of the garage (which barely fit it), it looked like the Queen Mary docked and awaiting the next voyage to England.  The car's appearance was commanding.  The interior was so big that you could comfortably sit three people in the front seat. I know because, once I was driving it, we shoved a lot of my friends in there like clowns in a Volkswagen.

Dad was proud of this barge.  One of his regular trips was to motor around downtown Mount Vernon.   As he did, he would see his pals hanging out on various street corners.  Dad would honk, stick his arm out the window for a wave, and continue on.   Why he never stopped is beyond me.

Trips to see relatives in Long Island would find us in the car for an hour or two, usually stuck in Sunday traffic on the Long Island Expressway.  We'd take my dog Tuffy along and the LeSabre had a great spacious window ledge in the back for her to stretch out.   Until, of course, we stopped short and the poor dog flew off the ledge and landed on the floor of the back seat.

Those Sunday excursions to Long Island sometimes included my grandmother who needed an airing out.   So, Mom and Dad were in the front.   I was in the back seat with Grandma and Tuffy.   Of course, as soon as we got into the Buick LeSabre for the at-least-an-hour trip home from Deer Park, Long Island, Grandma would take her house keys out.   And clink them in her hands to the point of annoyance.   Of course, being natural enemies, the one who really got pissed was my mother.

"Godamnit, put those keys away!"

Or something like that.   As huge as the car was, the tension filled the vehicle.

When the time was right, I learned to drive on the Buick LeSabre.   My dad would take me on Sundays to Woodlawn Cemetery and that was where I got the feel of steering this tank.

"You can't kill anybody here.   They're already dead."

It took months for me to get the hang of maneuvering this four-wheel yacht.   I always steered wide around corners.   It was like the passenger side of the car was in another zip code.

Unlike some kids, it actually was about four years before I got my driver's license.  I was already in college.  And the timing was perfect.   I remember the first time I asked Dad if I could use the car the following Saturday.   I had a wedding to go to.   In Brooklyn.

"Brooklyn???!!!  We don't go to Brooklyn."

Dad was right.   The Buick LeSabre had been in Westchester, the Bronx, and Long Island.   Never ever Brooklyn.

My father apparently had faith in me because he let me have the car.   I'm sure that he sat home that night anguishing over every second I was gone.   He should have.   As I was steering that thing on the Belt Parkway, I was scared shitless.  I had no idea where the hell I was.   

But, once that threshold had been reached, I became a regular driver of the Buick LeSabre.  My dad worked nights in Stamford, Connecticut, but luckily, he was in a car pool with another guy.   When I became a regular fixture behind the wheel, I got to have the car on both Friday and Saturday nights.

Trust me, the roominess of the front seat was not an advantageous once I got to dating age.   And popped up to the Elmsford Drive-In with someone.   The conversation often had an echo.

During the winter, the car seats in the Buick LeSabre got extra cold.   If you came out of a Yonkers movie theater and it was zero degrees, you could barely let any part of your body touch the upholstery.   Beef could age nicely if you hung it in the back seat.

While I got quite adept at handling this monster, there was one college night where I couldn't accurately measure distance.   I was picking up two ladies on a small and curvy Bronx street for a trip out to a Westbury concert where we would pick up my college roommate at his Newsday internship.   There was another car parked on the curve of this thoroughfare and it was precision to try and get the Buick LeSabre past it without contact.

I didn't succeed.  Metal on metal.  Crunch, scrape, crunch would be seen in the comic strip bubble of my life.   I asked one of my friends to survey my car.

"Good news.   There is no damage that I can see."

Great.

Of course, when we pulled up to Newsday, my college roommate's jaw dropped.

"What the hell happened to your car???"

I made a mental note to come up with some good excuse for my father.   And also to have my friend make an immediate appointment with an optometrist.
But, by this juncture, the Buick LeSabre had already withstood a few nicks and dents with my dad behind the wheel.   He never got any of them fixed.   Until the day he parted with the car, you could see the handlebar indent on the front driver's side where the guy on the bicycle had landed.

Of course, the Buick LeSabre saw less and less action over time.  I moved off on my own and began my own chain of brand loyalty with Toyotas.  And, as Dad got older, he would refuse to drive at night.   Once he got sick and was starting to speed away from this existence, the Buick LeSabre stayed in the same parking space on the Bronx street in front of his apartment.   Once a month, I would come over to start it just so the motor would get some sort of exercise.

It came the day that my father needed the Buick LeSabre to be taken away to Junk Heaven.   He got a couple of his cronies to do the job because, by this time, Dad couldn't venture out-of-doors.   I remember calling him the day the car would be removed.   He picked up the phone and I could tell there were tears rolling down his face.   His chums couldn't get the car started.

"I wish I could help them.   I know that car.  It would start for me."

I know it would have.   If only he could have slid behind the wheel one more time.

Dinner last night:  Italian panini at Greenblatt's.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - August 2016

A two-for-one treat.  Bracken's World lasted two seasons and completely changed their theme song in the second year.   So here are both.
Dinner last night:  Taylor ham burger with cheese.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for August 2016

I'm not sure but this might have been one of the last Christmas shows at Radio City Music Hall.   It comes to mind today since I am seeing ads all around town for the new release of "Pete's Dragon," which Disney has rebooted.   Now, I never saw the original but I'm sure it was perfectly good entertainment.   And I am equally sure that the new one is probably a CGI-laden mess.  

But, of course, this is Hollywood where there hasn't been an original idea since...well...probably when "Pete's Dragon" was the Christmas show in 1977.

You know the drill, gang.   I will sift through the movie pages of the Los Angeles Times and give you my knee-jerk gut reaction to what's polluting our multiplexes this weekend.   And one of those films just happens to be...

Pete's Dragon:  Reviews were decent.   Never a good sign.

Ben-Hur:   It is sheer blasphemy to remake a movie that originally won 11 Oscars.   But this is Hollywood where the only original thought is to make the same film twice.   Allegedly, there is even more Jesus in this one.  But, it also includes Morgan Freeman who is the most overrated and overused actor working today.   This is going to be full of annoying CGI.   And, while the original was over three hours long, this one clocks in at two hours.   Hmmm....

Sausage Party:   You would think I would see this cartoon.   I prefer mine grilled and not on the screen.

Nine Lives:   Kevin Spacey morphs into a cat.   House of Kibbles.

Hell or High Water:   Again, I hear good things from critics.   So, probably not.

Ghostbusters;  Reviewed here recently.  Just plain awful.   Leslie Jones should be banned from working ever again.

Suicide Squad:   I prefer my comic books read, not seen.  And, heck, I don't even do that.

The Little Prince:   I read this for tenth-grade French class and I was done with this nonsense even then.

Finding Dory:  Still missing as far as I'm concerned.

Absolutely Fabulous - The Movie:   What must they look like now years after the TV series ended?   

Florence Foster Jenkins:   Good friends told me this sucked.   I save fifteen bucks.   That's why they're good friends.

Cafe Society:  Blog review coming, but here's a sneak...check the film out before it disappears.

Don't Think Twice:   Critics say this is a laugh riot.   So, I'm thinking...crickets.

Gleason:   The NFL player with ALS, not the Honeymooner.   Oh, well.   Never mind.

Indignation:   Blog review coming.   And it still doesn't explain the title.

Jason Bourne:   Still...   Get it?

The Secret Life of Pets:  What they do when you're not home.   Do we really want to know?

Little Men:  Two small boys in the middle of feuding families.   Didn't this become the central plot line of TV's Dallas?

Ice Age - Collision Course:  This franchise melted for me two trays ago.

Hillary's America:  Another documentary from Dinesh D'Souza, which means conservatives will love and liberals will hate it.   And I'm thinking the real story is somewhere in the middle.

Joshy:  A wild bachelor party in Ojai.  Yep, that's all it says.

The BFG:   There's probably some theater playing this ultra-bomb from Spielberg, but I doubt it.

Bad Moms:  I hear mothers are flocking to see this.   Maybe they want to make sure they're not in it.

Anthropoid:  We revisit one more time Hitler and the Third Reich.  Maybe we need tips on how to stop ISIS.

Spaceman:   A movie about that crazy baseball pitcher Bill Lee.   What time does it start?

No Asylum - The Untold Chapter of Anne Frank's Story:   Don't tell me she did finish that diary??!!

The People Vs. Fritz Bauer:  Any relation to Jack?

Never:  Okay, I won't.

War Dogs:   Middle Eastern intrigue meets the comedy stylings of Jonah Hill and Miles Teller.   If we're depending upon these two schmucks to win the war, I'm going out to buy my camel right now.

A Tale of Love and Darkness:  The Bill and Hillary Clinton story?

Billionaire Ransom:  If somebody has kidnapped Donald Trump, let's not take up a collection.

Disorder:  Could be the word used for any movie really.

Kingsglaive - Final Fantasy XV:  Anybody?

Star Trek Beyond:  Just reviewed here.   Scroll back to Tuesday for the grim details.

Hunt for the Wilderpeople:  Hunting in New Zealand.  I got nothing.

Dinner last night:  Bacon wrapped filet and salad.