Happy birthday to Clint Eastwood. Hopefully this makes your day. 455: EMPEROR PETRONIUS MAXIMUS IS STONED TO DEATH BY AN ANGRY MOB IN ROME. Well, you didn't think the mob was going to be happy, did you? 526: A DEVASTATING EARTHQUAKE STRIKES ANTIOCH KILLING 250,000. 250,000 will hit "Devastating" on my meter. 1578: KING HENRY III LAYS THE FIRST STONE OF THE PONT NEUF BRIDGE IN FRANCE. Some Frenchmen will lay anything. 1669: CITING POOR EYESIGHT, SAMUEL PEPYS RECORDS THE LAST EVENT IN HIS DIARY. How could he see if it really was the last one? 1852: THE AMUSEMENT PARK, EFTELING IN THE NETHERLANDS, OPENS. Oh, F Teling. 1859: THE CLOCK TOWER AT THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, WHICH HOUSES BIG BEN, STARTS KEEPING TIME. Must be a bitch to put a battery into that thing. 1879: GILMORES GARDEN IN NEW YORK CITY IS RENAMED MADISON SQUARE GARDEN AND IS OPENED AT 26TH STREET AND MADISON AVENUE. Probably was a dump like the next one and the one after that. 1889: OVER 2,200 PEOPLE DIE AFTER A DAM FAILS AND SENDS A 60 FOOT WALL OF WATER OVER JOHNSTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA. So I'm thinking two sand bags won't work. 1894: COMIC FRED ALLEN IS BORN. The guy was very funny. 1908: ACTOR DON AMECHE IS BORN. And won an Oscar almost 76 years later. 1909: THE NATIONAL NEGRO COMMITTEE, FORERUNNER TO THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF COLORED PEOPLE, CONVENES FOR THE FIRST TIME. Since they hate these names so much, how come the NAACP has never changed their name? Too cheap to buy new letterhead?? 1923: PRINCE RAINIER OF MONACO IS BORN. Boy, did he luck out in the wife department? 1927: THE LAST FORD MODEL T ROLLS OFF THE ASSEMBLY LINE AFTER A PRODUCTION RUN OF 15,008,003 VEHICLES. And how many recalls? 1930: ACTOR/DIRECTOR CLINT EASTWOOD IS BORN. Forget his politics. This guy can make good movies. 1942: WORLD WAR II - JAPANESE NAVY MIDGET SUBMARINES BEGIN A SERIES OF ATTACKS ON SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA. I think the current term is "little people submarines." 1943: FOOTBALL STAR JOE NAMATH IS BORN. Hiccup. 1961: THE UNION OF SOUTH AFRIC BECOMES THE REPUBLIC OF SOUTH AFRICA. Merely lipstick on a pig. 1965: ACTRESS BROOKE SHIELDS IS BORN. You gotta admit she was hot back in the day. 1970: HOCKEY PLAYER TERRY SAWCHUK DIES. If I remember correctly, he got the shit kicked out of him by a teammate. I wonder how penalty minutes that is. 1971: IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE UNIFORM MONDAY HOLIDAY ACT PASSED BY THE US CONGRESS IN 1968, OBSERVATION OF MEMORIAL DAY OCCURS ON THE LAST MONDAY IN MAY FOR THE FIRST TIME, RATHER THAN ON THE TRADITIONAL MEMORIAL DAY OF MAY 30. I remember my grandmother getting really mad about this. "So these stupid politicians can get a long weekend." 1972: DODGER MANAGER DAVE ROBERTS IS BORN. Hope you get a win today. 1077: HORROR MOVIE PRODUCER WILLIAM CASTLE DIES. Now in Casket-O-Vision. 1983: BOXER JACK DEMPSEY DIES. Not getting up this time. 1985: FORTY-ONE TORNADOES HIT OHIO, PENNSYLVANIA, NEW YORK, AND ONTARIO, LEAVING 76 DEAD. Close the windows. 1996: AUTHOR TIMOTHY LEARY DIES. The druggie, not the baseball pitcher. 2001: TV PERSONALITY ARLENE FRANCIS DIES. Classy lady. 2005: VANITY FAIR REVEALS THAT MARK FELT WAS "DEEP THROAT." The tattler, not the porno movie. 2013: ACTRESS JEAN STAPLETON DIES. Oh. Oooooh. OOOOOOOOOooooooh! 2014: ACTRESS MARTHA HYER DIES. And she really is higher now. Dinner last night: Rib eye steak and pan roasted tomatoes in balsamic jam.
The state of television such as it is, I don't have many shows programmed into my DVR. But this one is and it's a TV vehicle that has had a profound effect on my life. That's lofty praise for a simple cooking show even if it is hosted by my long term TV crush Valerie Bertinelli. I'd probably watch it simply if she was just stirring up fruit from the bottom of her yogurt cup. But the program has made a difference for me. I am a better cook today because of it. Valerie is being smart about her career after a long acting career that recently included "Hot in Cleveland." Given her love of cooking, she parlayed that into a re-branding of herself. As a star on TV's Food Network. Genius move. She pops up as a judge here and there. More importantly, in 2015, she started her own weekly half-hour called "Valerie's Home Cooking." The rest...for me...is history. There is something about the recipes that she features which is remarkable. For the most part, they are easy to make. Usually, when I would watch cooking shows in the past, there would be some part of the process that would stump me and requiring skills that I didn't have. But, Bertinelli's food is different. The recipes on TV, her first cookbook...and probably in her subsequent cookbook...don't trip you up at all. And, as a result, this woman has made me into a better chef. I now look forward to the cooking process. When you make some of this stuff for company, they are astounded. The results are that good. When guests ask me what's on the menu, I say I'm doing "a complete Valerie." They know what I mean. There are some Valerie concoctions that are now staples in my repertoire. Her lasagna with Bechemel sauce. Her chocolate love cake that includes the surprise ingredients of ricotta and marscapone cheese. Brussel sprouts roasted with bits of pancetta. A Limoncello-based challah pudding that is so easy and so incredibly tasty. Her pan roasted tomatoes in balsamic jam which I now make as an entree at least once a week. I am anxiously awaiting Christmas day for an excuse to try out this prime rib she just made. Thanks to Valerie, I now appreciate the addition of fresh herbs and seasonings to the kitchen. I know how to combine flavors to an optimum. Because she loves lemon zest, I had to go out and buy a zester. I've put together my own Italian seasoning just like she showed me. And I learned to chiffonade. Don't know what that means? Well, you're not watching this show, are you? Not only do I watch the first run episodes that run every Saturday, I'm still recording and watching the reruns. Her next cookbook comes out this fall. I'm all set to pre-order on Amazon. I'm smarter and better now when it comes to working into the kitchen. All thanks to Valerie Bertinelli. When she recently did a Facebook Live from her set, I dropped in a comment like an ordinary fan and she "liked" it. Then she liked a tweet. You would think that a grown man wouldn't react like some star-crossed teenager. But I did. At one point, I would have liked to write a sitcom role for her. Hell, this cooking thing works just as well. Dinner last night: Had a big lunch so just a sandwich.
The passage of time prompts many memories celebrated in an anniversary. Around this very week several decades ago, I traveled to the West Coast for the very first time. Okay, my maiden voyage to SoCal didn't necessarily result in a picture like the one above. But, it came pretty damn close. It started so simply. Just out of college and looking to be a star in Hollywood, even though I still barely could get out of Mount Vernon. Looking longingly at the West Coast, palm trees, and live studio audience tapings, I wanted to visit badly. But, given my recent graduate status, money was a premium. Actually, it was virtually non-existent. But, from Heaven above, an opportunity landed from the clouds. Well, really, on the telephone. My college roommate and best friend had miraculously been the one to actually land a job in the profession he was pursuing. As a junior reporter, his assignment was to travel with an all-girls softball team to a tournament in Huntington Beach. He was getting there on cross country bus, but, once in SoCal, there was a hotel room that was easily shared. How fast could I get there? Hmmm, let me see. An all-girls softball team and some of them were straight. A free hotel room. A place near Los Angeles (this is prior to the days where I would learn that Huntington Beach is an hour away from anything worthwhile in Hollywood). And the word "beach" was in the city's name. How fast can I get there? Is tomorrow too soon? I quickly made plans to get a flight within the week. The logistics were met with my father's usual rousing support. "What the hell do you wanna go there for?" Thanks, Dad. One more time. Nevertheless, I forged ahead with what little scratch I had. In those days, you could get cheap flights if you flew on the red eye. In what would be the very first of many subsequent flights on American Airlines (I am a member of the Million Mile Club, thank you very much), I scheduled a Sunday night 9PM flight from JFK. And, begrudgingly, my father even offered to drive me to the airport. Everything went like clockwork. Timex, not Rado, but clockwork nonetheless. Because I booked late, I did not have a wide choice of seating on the plane. In the center section. Right in front of the movie screen. In the middle seat. Next to an old and blind Spanish lady. Okay, I was looking for a trip to Los Angeles, not an on-board tryst in the restroom. Even if she was blind. Take-off was smooth and, after settling into my cramped seat, I pulled out some of my spec scripts to read. Heck, one of the reasons why I was going was to be discovered as the next Larry Gelbart. And, I'd be curious to watch folks around me, watching me read scripts. "Hmm, who is that? Maybe the next Larry Gelbart?" Of course, I knew I'd get no reaction from the senora on my left. The beverage cart came by and I got my Diet Coke. Well, back then, it was probably a Tab. They hadn't rolled it much further up the aisle when, suddenly, the flight attendants quickly pulled the carts back. Then, we hear glasses, etc. getting shoved back into the cabinets. Hmmmm. A few minutes later, the captain gets on the sound system. "Sorry, folks, we're going back to Kennedy." Groans all around. But, no reason why. Equipment issue? Weather? The co-pilot forgot his wallet? We hadn't been up in the air for more than 45 minutes so the return trip to JFK couldn't be long. Apparently, we were somewhere over Pennsylania. Then, a little news from the flight attendant. "We will be evacuating via the rear doors." Evacuating? What happened to a leisurely exit? This clearly was evolving into something more than a busted food conveyor belt. "Okay, folks, we will be evacuating via the slides." As in slides that can be used as rubber rafts if you're in the water. For a moment, I looked for my rosary beads. Then, I remembered I wasn't Catholic. "Passengers, please remove your shoes." Gulp. "Please assume crash landing position. Put your head in your lap." And kiss your ass goodbye? I looked over at the old Spanish fossil next to me. Shoes on, blindly and literally looking off into space. I wasn't going to do anything about taking her Buster Browns off, but I certainly could help with the crash position. I slammed her head into her lap. We touched down at 9:58PM. I could see the time because my eye was right on top of my wristwatch. And then, as soon as we came to a stop, one word rang out through the cabin. Over and over and over. "Go! Go! Go! Go!" The doors were open. The slides were ready. In one fluid movement, you jumped into a sitting position and then slid. Down and down and down. Onto a tarmac at JFK that was literally fifty feet from the water. I managed the movie stunt easily. Others came flying off the slide in different directions. Some landing on the concrete on their ass. Others face down on the gravel. But, there was no time to linger. "Run! Run! Run! Run!" Outside. On the ground. With no shoes. When we were all a safe distance from the aircraft, I looked at the scene unfolding before me. Fire engines, ambulances, and police cars speeding to the plane. It reminded me of the last scene from "Dog Day Afternoon." Where was John Cazale with the bullethole in the middle of his forehead? Later on, we heard the details. A bomb scare had come in for our flight. It was allegedly to go off at 10PM. They had gotten us back with very little margin for error. The eternal evening continued. Eventually, after walking around a terminal for two hours, we were allowed back on the plane (after the requisite dog sniffing for explosives) to get our stuff. Sometime around 2AM, they boarded us on another flight. Which had only enough fuel to get us to Cleveland. We refueled there on the runaway. After the plane switch, I had scored a window seat. I looked out at the Ohio blackness. This would be the only time I ever saw Cleveland. At 330AM. What I didn't realize, in these pre-cell phone days, was what was happening in Los Angeles. As my friend waited endlessly for me to arrive, all the folks there saw on the arrival board were the usual words that signify a disaster. "SEE AGENT." He did and still learned nothing except that the flight had been delayed and was now due about 7AM. He, too, got to wander around an airport terminal as well. Except, he still had shoes on. So, my first view of Southern California was seen through a pair of droopy eyes in his rental car. We got to Huntington Beach and both of us crashed on our beds. And did not move for the next 12 hours. By the time we woke up, the all girls softball team had already left. And, because I had used some of my spending money at the JFK Terminal, we later in our trip wound up trying to tour Disneyland on just ten bucks in our pockets. I even had to wire home for some dough so I could get back to the East Coast. My father still had unwavering support. "What the hell did you want to go there for?" Yes, Dad, I am safe now. Thanks. Yeah, it's that week in late May where I remember this. Dinner last night: Pasta with Italian sausage and mushrooms at Casa Nostra.
This is America. Land of many nationalities and colors and people. All living harmoniously. Uh huh. And, just when you start believing that, a simple little incident makes you realize that all is not right. In a way that you never ever hear on the news. I was in my local Staples buying my ink cartridges for my home printer. There were two checkout registers open and a line had formed. On one register, there was an African-American gentleman probably around the age of 50. Reasonably well dressed. His transaction was taking up a lot of time and the one Staples clerk was working on it. My turn came and I approached the register right next to him. The clerk handling my ink cartridges explained to me that the Staples credit card server was acting erratically. If you were using plastic for your purchase, some cards were going through and others were being denied. It was hit and miss. The African-American guy's experience was a miss. His card was getting dinged. The clerk tried my debit card and, with his fingers crossed, my purchase sailed through. I noticed the next-door customer eyeing me with envy. I simply smiled and said I got lucky. The guy actually sneered. "That's not luck. It's because you're White." The sharpness of his remark stunned me for a second or two. I waited for a smile that showed he was being funny. Or a humorous inflection that you might see on one of those old Norman Lear sitcoms. But there was none. He was deadly serious. I picked up my jaw from the floor, grabbed my ink cartridges, and left. But I literally sat in my car for a minute or two contemplating this. Here was a normal and decent-looking man who just happened to feature a skin color different from mine. And he looked at me with disdain because apparently it was my pigmentation that allowed my credit card to go through. Maybe he's not a nice guy. Maybe he's got a ton of personal issues. But I am not the enemy. Is this what we are now? I look at our leadership in the nation, Right now, the manic bi-polarity of our country has set up this nasty battle that will ultimately kill us all. If you're White, you're a bigot. The current President has done nothing to dispel this fallacy. Meanwhile, the previous President stirred this pot and essentially set race relations in this country back fifty years. The progress we made as a unified land was snuffed out almost in a heartbeat by the last eight years. I don't profess to say that I know what it's like to be a skin color other than White. The history books tell me of all the struggles and challenges. But I thought we had come a lot farther than this guy in the checkout line next to me at Staples. I said nothing to him in response, but I wanted to tell him that I am not necessarily the privileged class or the enemy he desperately seeks out. I wanted to show him the 2015 medical bills I still have due to all the regulations imposed by Obamacare. I wanted to link him to the blog piece I did about my third grade class with the accompanying photo. He would see a harmonious group of five White kids and about 20 others of skin colors not White. No, I'm not part of your problem, sir. Indeed, I came to the realization that racism really never will be fully gone from this country as long as mindsets like this are not only sustained, but encouraged, And, the sooner people release that such hatred is a two way street, the better it will be for all of us. Such is life in America 2017. One step forward and always two steps back. Dinner last night: Had a big lunch, so just a chicken salad sandwich.
Happy birthday to Mrs. Elvis. Back when she was a looker on Dallas. The doctors have not been kind. Stay tuned... 1487: THE TEN-YEAR-OLD LAMBERT SIMMEL IS CROWNED IN DUBLIN WITH THE NAME OF EDWARD VI IN A BID TO THREATEN KING HENRY'S VII REIGN. If King Henry can't beat the crap out of a ten-year-old, he doesn't deserve the crown. 1607: 100 ENGLISH SETTLES DISEMBARK IN JAMESTOWN, THE FIRST ENGLISH COLONY IN AMERICA. What Indians?? 1626: PETER MINUIT BUYS MANHATTAN. With a credit limit of 30 dollars on his Diner's Club card. 1689: THE ENGLISH PARLIAMENT PASSES THE ACT OF TOLERATION PROTECTING PROTESTANTS. ROMAN CATHOLICS ARE EXCLUDED. So much for tolerance. 1738: JOHN WESLEY IS CONVERTED, ESSENTIALLY LAUNCHING THE METHODIST MOVEMENT. Roman Catholics excluded again? 1830: "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB" BY SARAH JOSEPHA HALE IS PUBLISHED. Fleece as white as snow? Is that racist? 1844: SAMUEL MORSE SENDS THE MESSAGE 'WHAT HATH GOD WROUGHT" TO INAUGURATE THE FIRST TELEGRAPH LINE. Dot dot dash dot dash dot dash dash. 1883: THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE IN NEW YORK CITY IS OPENED TO TRAFFIC AFTER 14 YEARS OF CONSTRUCTION. Where's the E-Z pass lane? 1895: HENRY IRVING BECOMES THE FIRST PERSON FROM THE THEATER TO BE KNIGHTED. For those of you who thought it was Lin-Manuel Miranda. 1921: THE TRIAL OF SACCO AND VANZETTI OPENS. Paging Perry Mason. 1935: THE FIRST NIGHT GAME IN MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL HISTORY IS PLAYED IN CINCINNATI, OHIO. The Reds beat the Phillies, 2-1 for those of you keeping score. 1940: IGOR SIKORSKY PERFORMS THE FIRST SUCCESSFUL SINGLE ROTOR HELICOPTER. Tell us which freeway is jammed, please. 1941: WORLD WAR II - THE GERMAN BATTLESHIP BISMARCK SINKS THE HMS HOOD OF THE ROYAL NAVY. What goes around will come around. 1941: MUSICIAN BOB DYLAN IS BORN. Just what does a woman taste like? 1943: ACTOR GARY BURGHOFF IS BORN. B*A*B*Y*. 1945: ACTRESS PRISCILLA PRESLEY IS BORN. And your plastic surgeon is?
1953: ACTOR ALFRED MOLINA IS BORN. My friend once threw a script into his front yard. 1958: UNITED PRESS INTERNATIONAL IS FORMED THROUGH A MERGER OF THE UNITED PRESS AND THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS SERVICE. Slow news day. 1961: AMERICAN CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT - FREEDOM RIDERS ARE ARRESTED IN MISSISSIPPI FOR "DISTURBING THE PEACE" AFTER DISEMBARKING FROM THEIR BUS. Al Sharpton, I'm looking at you. 1962: PROJECT MERCURY - AMERICAN ASTRONAUT SCOTT CARPENTER ORBITS THE EARTH THREE TIMES. "So, what did you do at work today, Honey?" 1967: EGYPT IMPOSES A BLOCKADE AND SIEGE OF THE COAST OF ISRAEL. And the fighting still goes on to this day. 1974: MUSICIAN DUKE ELLINGTON DIES. Take the A Hearse. 1976: THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS TAKES PLACE IN FRANCE, LAUNCHING AS A WORLDWIDE FORCE IN THE PRODUCTION OF QUALITY WINE. I'll have the house Cabernet, thank you. 1984: WRESTLING PROMOTER VINCE MCMAHON SR. DIES. Bobo Brazil and Haystacks Calhoun were pall bearers. 1993: ERITREA GAINS ITS INDEPENDENCE FROM ETHIOPIA. Who? What? Where? 1994: FOUR MEN CONVICTED OF BOMBING THE WORLD TRADE CENTER IN 1993 ARE EACH SENTENCED TO 240 YEARS IN PRISON. Six months with good behavior. 2001: THE VERSAILLES WEDDING HALL DISASTER IN JERUSALEM KILLS 23 AND INJURES OVER 200. Remember this? Can you say "fire laws?" 2008: COMIC DICK MARTIN DIES. Good night, Dick. Dinner last night: Bacon wrapped Dodger Dog at the game.
Seriously, there are. I actually know some of them. And you can also add Harold and Lillian Michelson to the list of true golden people in Tinseltown. Once again, I go to the movies and discover a documentary that is infinitely more interesting and uplifting than 90 percent of the non-documentary crap released on a weekly basis. The story of Harold and Lillian is a simple, yet enormously gratifying one. Here's two people who met, fell in love, got married, and moved to Hollywood in the mid 20th century. Both somehow wind up with plum careers in the picture business. And they are hard workers for the rest of their lives. Harold has a penchant for drawing so he becomes a storyboard artist for a slew of movies you've seen from "West Side Story" to "The Birds." He soon angles into the position of Production Designer and worked with all of the top directors from Billy Wilder to Robert Wise to Alfred Hitchcock. Meanwhile, besides raising three kids, Lillian literally stumbles into the world of film research---one of those folks who brings the level of authenticity to any movie. Before long, her library is one of the most sought-after services in Hollywood and she, too, works for the cream of the crop in Hollywood. One of the friends they make is Danny DeVito who also is the executive producer of this documentary and it comes off as a labor of love. There are no nasty stories here about Harold and Lillian. They work hard. They love hard. And, unlike some folks in Hollywood, they are grateful for the opportunity. Harold's been gone for about ten years, but Lillian is still with us. She lives out in Woodland Hills at the Motion Picture Retirement Home and that, in itself, would be a fabulous documentary to see. Luckily, Lillian is still as quick as a whip and the tales she spins are magical. Above it all, you can really feel the love she and Harold had for each other. That alone makes this a worthwhile time in front of a big screen. The thought comes across from some of the talking heads that Lillian is long overdue for special recognition from the Oscars and perhaps this film is designed to spearhead that campaign. I'm sure that, if it happens, her acceptance speech will include some loving words for the late Harold. Because that's what these two were all about. LEN'S RATING: Three-and-a-half stars. Dinner last night: Sandwich.
This coming Thursday marks the 40th anniversary of the opening of "Star Wars." And I remember exactly what I was doing on that day. Seeing "Star Wars." That would be me, perhaps one of the most blase movie fans in history. A person who now will wait a few weeks to see a new blockbuster so the crowds can die down. I'm also somebody who has never been much of a science fiction fan. Yet, somehow inexplicably, I spent parts of May 25, 1977 on three different ticket lines at three different theaters trying to see this film on its opening day. Indeed, if there was advance buzz about this movie, it had completely passed me by. But, it was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend and, like most young folks, had nothing to do. I got a call from a friend. "We have to go see Star Wars today." Huh? What? I had no clue. But I trusted him. I then fell into the phone chain. I called another pal of mine. You need to come see "Star Wars" with us. "Huh? What?" I got sucked into the frenzy that easy. Before long, four of us were mapping out where it was playing and at what times. An afternoon showing downtown in Manhattan at one of the then-fancy theaters now torn down. This involved a subway ride for us. The line at the East Side theater was around the block when we got there. Sold out. Back on the train up north to a similar venue in the Bronx. The line may have been intermixing with the one waiting for welfare checks on the Grand Concourse. Nevertheless...sold out. We were, for some reason unknown to any of us, crushed. And now fiercely determined to somehow and some way see this movie which we knew little about. I forget the machinations that propelled us back to where we started, but someday had a car that took us up to my once-beloved Central Plaza Cinema in Yonkers. The place is now sadly a Party City.
The glory of this then-brand-spanking-new movie palace was that there were, at the time, two screens with a balcony in both. Both were very smartly showing "Star Wars." Cinema 1? Sold out. Cinema 2 was wall-to-wall people. I have never seen so many folks crammed into one place. Fire Department regulations were definitely taxed. So, after the legendary opening crawl, the movie begins and Princess Leia is accessing data into or out of R2D2. I turned to my friend and asked if we had come in during the middle of the movie. Had we missed the very first "Star Wars?" I was so confused. But in a good way. The franchise, in my humble opinion, has had its ups and downs. And I wouldn't call myself a fan who would go chase down Mark Hamill at a comic book convention. But the ultimate exhilaration of that very first day when we spent most of our time just trying to get into a theater was so memorable. Of course, there was always the damper at home. Dad. "Where the hell were you all day?" I explained. "Huh? What???" Dinner last night: BLT sandwich at Cafe 50s.
Now this is luxury movie going. I note this because, just recently, one of these theaters opened up right near my Yonkers, New York residence. It's part of the growing iPic chain. Actually there's one here in Los Angeles near me but I have yet to sample it. Now, originally, the theater back east was supposed to be part of Robert Redford's Sundance chain but they must have gone belly up. Their outlet in West Hollywood just flipped to AMC. Poor Bob. Well, anyway, these are the types of theaters where you can eat and drink at the seat. The chair reclines. They give you a blanket. And, indeed, once you start watching the fare on the screen, a good nap is sure to follow. What will you be dozing through this weekend? You know the drill, gang. I'll zip through the movie pages of the LA Times and give you my gut reaction to the Sominex dispenser near you. It sure does look comfy. Paris Can Wait: Some sappy romance with Diane Lane. Probably intriguing to a bunch of my friends who suddenly want to move to the City of No Deodorant. Snatched: A chick-focused comedy with Amy Schumer and somebody vaguely looking like Goldie Hawn. I can't tell through all the Botox. I think I prefer to remember her the way she looked in "Foul Play." Guardians of the Galaxy, Volume 2: I watched the first one on a plane and hated it. So, you do the math on the sequel. King Arthur - Legend of the Sword: I hate most medieval things. This movie is likely including in that mix. Norman - The Moderate Rise and Tragic Fall of A New York Fixer: It stars Richard Gere and, by that title, we can't be sure this isn't a veiled biopic of Donald Trump. The Lovers: Answering the question of "whatever happened to Debra Winger." The Dinner: Two couples discuss life at an upscale restaurant. Check, please. The Lost City of Z: Will I understand it if I missed the movies about the Lost Cities of A through Y? Chuck: Liev Schreiber as boxer Chuck Wepner. Eight, nine, ten.... Their Finest: Previously reviewed. You will like this comedy...yes, comedy...about London during the bombing of World War II. Gifted: Heard good things. Never saw it. Shit happens. Beauty and the Beast: Finally ran my blog review the other day. You do know that it was once a cartoon? How to Be a Latin Lover: You know that Trump secretly ordered a screening of this, right? The Fate of the Furious: There have been more films in this franchise than there are versions of a health care bill. The Boss Baby: You're fired. A Quiet Passion: From the trailer, that quiet will be ruined by my snores. Alien - Covenant: Because everything previously made is new again. Devil's Domain: It's about cyber-bullying. Unfollow. Diary of a Wimpy Kid - The Long Haul: About hiding from the Nazis...oh, wait, wrong diary. Everything, Everything: A girl in a plastic bubble longs for romance. And did this not once star John Travolta? The Wedding Plan: An orthodox woman looks for a groom. Honey, you shouldn't have booked the reception hall first. Paint It Black: The Maxine Waters Story? If You're Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast: A documentary about some 90-year-old show business legends like Carl Reiner, Dick Van Dyke, Mel Brooks, Betty White, and Norman Lear. Large popcorn, please. Dinner last night: Shrimp Po'Boy sandwich at Bubba Gump.
Because it's okay to bitch once in a while. And, speaking of bitch, let's start with the one above. I was heartened to see this advertisement on a bus stop because, at last, somebody is calling out this 78-year-old political fraud who epitomizes everything wrong in Washington these days. Because of all her anti-Trump rhetoric of late, this disgusting woman, inexplicably elected by her district for many years, has become a bit of a folk hero especially to millennials who are dumb to begin with. She's getting a lot of attention because of this and I wonder why. Has no one looked into her own record which is borderline criminal in the first place? Does anybody remember that she actually defended the thugs who beat that poor truck driver back during the 1992 LA riots? Is there a single soul that can't see past this old crow? In the past week, I spoke to two friends who actually live in the Congressional district she represents. Both have had reason to try and contact her office for assistance. They are still waiting to have their requests answered. Indeed, Maxine Waters is emblematic of every elected official we have today. They don't care about you on any day that's not Election Day. Her nonsense and prattle these days is not helping America. In fact, she has set race relations in this nation back sixty years. The sooner we are rid of this piece of shit in a Diahann Carroll wig, the better.
I have a little less venom reserved for Jessica Mendoza, but not much. Her work as a baseball analyst for ESPN (which features the worst coverage of the MLB, by the way) has single handedly re-acquainted us all with mute buttons. Now, before you think I am prejudiced about female baseball announcers, you are wrong. If you're somebody like the Yankees' Suzyn Waldman and you've put a lot of hard work in the trenches, then I salute what you do for Yankee radiocasts. But this idiot's main claim to fame is that she played softball. Yes, softball. So, when she explains to me what Kris Bryant's approach to hitting is, I say..."how the fuck do you know?" Most of the time, however, Mendoza adds such clever insights as... "Gee, there's a lot of energy in this ball park tonight?" "That Derek Jeter was a great shortstop." "This team really wants to go to the World Series." Genius. Let's face it. You know and I know why she got the gig. There's a Z in her last name. And that's the sort of reverse racism offered by Maxine Waters. You see how this all ties together?
Okay, this might not mean much to you but I have a renewed hatred for the Colorado Rockies. Oh, nothing personal against the players. But, last weekend, after watching yet another series where the atmosphere and the air around Denver contributed to making an aberration of a perfectly good sport, I wonder again why MLB ever awarded a franchise to this city. The altitude and dimensions in Coors Field there results in football-like scores, the destruction of pitching arms, and statistical glitches that make a mockery of the usual consistency of baseball. I see no purpose in this franchise even existing. I mean, most of the people are just waiting for football season anyway. I doubt the fan base will even notice if the Rockies disappeared. Half of them are light-headed to begin with. The rest are too stone on legalized pot. Oh, wait, they're smoking it for medicinal purposes? Don't get me started on that scam. I'll gripe about that another time. Dinner last night: Angel hair pasta with tomatoes and olives.
