Yassss! A five Saturday month means we get to look at a classic musical comedy number. And this one is a gem even if Angela Lansbury didn't get to play the screen version of "Mame." For some reason, Beatrice Arthur made the move from Broadway to film.
Dinner last night: Salad bar from Ralph's.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Friday, March 30, 2018
Thursday, March 29, 2018
Len's Recipe of the Month - March 2018
Citrus olive oil cake with fruit compote and mascarpone whipped cream.
Frankly, just the mention of mascarpone sold me. But I was equally intrigued by the olive oil component in a baked good. How could that be? I was compelled to try it. And discovered that it was one of the best concoctions I have enjoyed ever. I announced to my friends at the table that I wanted to make this at home. And I did for my Oscar night festivities.
Luckily, in the year 2018, you can find anything within minutes on the internet. The cake itself, with an added ingredient of chopped almonds, comes from Giada DeLaurentiis. The fruit compote (in my version, I used blueberries because I had a bag of frozen ones handy) and the mascarpone whipped cream are also easy to find. The photo above is mine, but it virtually matches what I had in Lawry's. Taste-wise, it's even better. So, for your enjoyment, here's how you make one of the best desserts ever...
THE CAKE
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Lightly oil and 8 inch cake pan. In a medium bowl, whisk together the following:
1 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour.
2 teaspoons baking powder.
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt.
Put this bowl aside.
In another bowl, take an electric mixer to blend the following:
1 cup cane sugar.
3 large eggs at room temperature.
2 teaspoons orange zest.
2 teaspoons lemon zest.
Gradually add 1/4 cup whole milk.
Them slowly pour in 3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil.
With the mixer off, carefully add in the dry ingredients and fold them into the wet until a smooth batter forms. Fold in (optional) 1/2 cup of toasted and chopped almonds. Pour the batter into the cake pan and place it on a cookie sheet in case there is spillage. Bake for about 35 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.
BLUEBERRY COMPOTE
In a medium pot, place the following:
One cup of frozen blueberries. (You will need another cup in a few minutes)
1/4 cup cane sugar.
2 tablespoons lemon juice.
Mix well and let it simmer for about ten minutes. Then add the second cup of blueberries for another ten minutes. Remove from the stove and let it stand at room temperature until serving.
MASCARPONE WHIPPED CREAM
A key part of this is keeping your mixer blades in the freezer for an hour prior to making this.
To a bowl, add the following:
One 8 ounce container of mascarpone cheese.
1/4 cup powdered sugar.
2 teaspoons vanilla extract.
Mix together and put aside.
In another bowl, place one cup of heavy whipping cream. Beat at medium speed until peaks form. Then slowly fold in the mascarpone mixture. Chill until serving.
Plate it all like I did above and you'll look like the pastry chef at Lawry's. Your friends will be amazed.
Dinner last night: Steak and salad.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
This Date in History - March 28
37AD: ROMAN EMPEROR CALIGULA ACCEPTS THE TITLES OF THE PRINCIPATE, ENTITLED TO HIM BY THE SENATE.
I have no idea what this means, but, knowing Caligula, it must be dirty.
193: ROMAN EMPEROR PERTINAX IS ASSASSINATED BY PRAETORIAN GUARDS, WHO THEN SELL THE THRONE IN AN AUCTION TO DIDIUS JULIANUS.
Pertinax? Sounds like something that kills roaches.
364: ROMAN EMPEROR VALENTINIAN I APPOINTS HIS BROTHER FLAVIUS VALENS CO-EMPEROR.
And nephew Ritchie was asked to play his music in the palace.
845: PARIS IS SACKED BY VIKING RAIDERS.
Finally, another country chimes in. I was getting sick of all this Roman bullshit, weren't you?
1776: JUAN BAUTISTA DE ANZA FINDS THE SITE FOR THE PRESIDIO OF SAN FRANCISCO.
And boy, did they find it gets really cold during the day.
1794: ALLIES UNDER THE PRINCE OF COBURG DEFEAT FRENCH FORCES AT LE CATEAU.
Le Cateau? I think that's pretty highly rated in Zagat's.
1809: DURING THE PENINSULAR WAR, FRANCE DEFEATS SPAIN IN THE BATTLE OF MEDELIN.
How bad an army did Spain have if they lose to the scummy French?
1836: BREWER FREDERICK PABST IS BORN.
A blue ribbon baby.
1854: DURING THE CRIMEAN WAR, FRANCE AND BRITAIN DECLARE WAR ON RUSSIA.
Talk about strange bedfellows.
1871: THE PARIS COMMUNE IS FORMALLY ESTABLISHED IN PARIS.
Okay. C'est officiale. I am sick of France now.
1899: BREWER GUSSIE BUSCH IS BORN.
It's a red letter day for beer drinkers.
1905: ZOOLOGIST/TV HOST MARLIN PERKINS IS BORN.
Brought to you by Mutual of Omaha.
1907: TALENT AGENT SWIFTY LAZAR IS BORN.
The original dirtbag agent.
1910: HENRI FABRE BECOMES THE FIRST PERSON TO FLY A SEAPLANE NEAR MARTIGUES, FRANCE.
And....I am still sick of France.
1910: TV HOST JIMMIE DODD IS BORN.
Don't you really want to know what his relationship with Roy was really about?
1939: DURING THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR, GENERALISSIMO FRANCISCO FRANCO CONQUERS MADRID.
And ultimately will dominate the entire first season of Saturday Night Live.
1941: WRITER VIRGINIA WOOLF DIES.
Who's afraid of you now?
1942: DURING WORLD WAR II, BRITISH NAVAL FORCES SUCCESSFULLY RAID THE GERMAN-OCCUPIED PORT OF ST. NAZAIRE IN OCCUPIED FRANCE.
Occupied France? I knew the streak wouldn't last.
1944: ACTOR KEN HOWARD IS BORN.
The White Shadow. Then he got fat and died.
1946: THE UNITED STATES STATE DEPARTMENT RELEASES THE ACHESON-LILIENTHAL REPORT, OUTLING A PLAN FOR THE CONTROL OF NUCLEAR POWER.
As opposed to the Acheson-Topeka-Santa Fe.
1953: ATHLETE JIM THORPE DIES.
You can stop running now.
1955: SINGER REBA MCENTIRE IS BORN.
I once rode an elevator with her. She was very nice. She pushed the button for me.
1969: FORMER PRESIDENT DWIGHT EISENHOWER DIES.
He never got to see the Mets in the World Series.
1976: SILENT ACTOR RICHARD ARLEN DIES.
He was in Wings. Now he's wearing them.
1979: OPERATORS OF NUCLEAR REACTOR THREE MILE ISLAND FAIL TO RECOGNIZE A COOLANT LEAK.
Twenty years later, there are probably a lot of bald teenagers in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
1979: CLOWN EMMETT KELLY DIES.
Now he really has nothing to smile about.
1985: ARTIST MARC CHAGALL DIES.
Never have some simple paint spills been more revered.
1987: SINGER MARIA VON TRAPP DIES.
The hills may be alive. You, however, are not.
1990: PRESIDENT GEORGE H.W. BUSH POSTHUMOUSLY AWARDS JESSE OWENS THE CONGRESSIONAL GOLD MEDAL.
Gee, thanks.
2004: TV HOST ART JAMES DIES.
Say when? God say...now.
2004: ACTOR PETER USTINOV DIES.
When Hercule Poirot dies, does anybody else investigate?
2006: AT LEAST 1 MILLION UNION MEMBERS, STUDENTS, AND UNEMPLOYED TAKE TO THE STREETS FOR A PROTEST IN FRANCE.
In 2018, nobody marches against government any more, right? Right??
2015: BROADWAY DIRECTOR GENE SAKS DIES.
He was once married to Beatrice Arthur. Which means he was probably hard of hearing.
Dinner last night: Leftover sausage, peppers, and onions.
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
Here's The Problem With Your Argument
But I digress...
Now, don't get me wrong. I do believe that there is severe need for gun control in this nation. I also truly believe that it is a very complicated issue that requires a thought process that no single politician in this nation has the skill sets to participate in. The only progress that will be done in this arena is if we find participants who are willing to leave their party affiliations at home. Indeed, the biggest reason why the concept of America, as it was originally intended, will no longer exist in 25 to 30 years is because of the Democratic and Republican parties.
Of course, the latest school shooting has sent everybody over the edge and these Florida kids are being canonized for taking a stand. I applaud their zeal, even though the self appointed face of the movement, young David Hogg, clearly displays some severe mental problems himself. He looks like the type who would grab a rifle himself if he didn't get his own way. And have you heard the profanity out of that punk?? Who are his parents and where the hell have they been?
So, this whole charade is also now drawn down to party lines. If you're a Republican, you love guns and you want school children killed. If you're a Democrat, you want all guns confiscated and this alone will protect us all from evil.
Wrong and wrong. Assholes to the left and assholes to the right.
As I watched the media position last Saturday's marches as the greatest thing in America since, well, the last time the liberals marched against something, I had an epiphany. And the photo above illustrates it. Especially the one guy with the very salient poster.
"I Wish Obama Had Taken Our Guns."
Exactly.
The left side of the aisle loves to gripe about how they are persecuted in their attempts to provide for their idea of a perfect America. But I ask the rhetorical question...what is stopping them?
Hmmmm...
There have been several periods of time in the last thirty or so years where the Democrats had full control of the federal government. That is, they held the White House, the Senate, and the House. The latest time that happened was in 2009 and 2010, the first two years of Obama's ultimately mediocre tenure in office. They had the clear road to get any legislation passed. There were no boundaries.
So where was the gun control bills then? Heh? Heh? HEH??????!!!
There were none for the simple reason that gun control is all about money. And the pockets for lobbying cash are deep on both sides of the aisle. You don't hear as much about it but I am guessing there's as much gun dough taken by the left as is done on the right. So, yes, while you castrate Trump and Bush for their non-action, you can also point a finger at Clinton and Obama. Those leaders are equally as guilty.
Politicians have only one adage that they will all adhere to. There is nothing more appealing than a large check that clears the bank.
Think about that the next time you're compelled to march around your town.
And our nation circles the drain one more time.
Dinner last night: Had a big lunch so just a little snack.
Monday, March 26, 2018
Monday Morning Video Laugh - March 26, 2018
We close our anniversary month celebrate with what else...the infamous Scarlet!!! This never gets old.
Dinner last night: Sausage, peppers, and onions.
Dinner last night: Sausage, peppers, and onions.
Sunday, March 25, 2018
The Sunday Memory Drawer - Happy Birthday, Grandpa
Another installment of "Len's Family" as I do more and more research on them. Unfortunately, most of my questions still cannot be answered. All the elders in my family are gone.
My parents, as well as my aunts and uncles, all got wiped out over a ten year period. Some people remember the date their relatives die. Truth be told, I'd actually have to look up the exact day that my parents and my grandmother passed away. It's not worth remembering. When I want to conjure up a calendar point to recall the good times, I much prefer to do that on their birth dates which are forever etched in my mind.
I, however, cannot forget the date my grandfather (above on the right) died. March 23. It's easy to remember because it was one day after his birthday. Symmetry like that is not hard to ignore. A few years back, I recall from his obituary that TV host Mike Douglas actually died on his birthday. Well, that certainly makes for clean record keeping in Heaven's central office. Grandpa missed that distinction by 24 hours.
So, I think about Grandpa this week. In these Sunday Memory Drawer recollections, Grandpa has made only cameo appearances. Part of the reason why is that he was one of the earliest departures from my life. Grandpa died when I was 12. So, I didn't get him very long. But there are some random memories that have stayed with me. In reality, though, I really don't know much about the man beyond what I was told by my grandmother. Or what I remember from my very wee years.
From what I was told, Grandpa had a variety of jobs over the years. The recent census research I read confirmed what I remembered. Yes, I did see a picture of him standing behind a bar with an apron on, so I assume he was a bartender at one point. There was some other talk about him driving a delivery truck. But, the job I know he had the longest was for a milk company. Borden's or "Bordink's" as my grandmother called it. What he did there was a mystery, except, at least, he had achieved an upgrade in the healthy aspects of the beverages he was involved with.
But, as far back as I can remember, he was already retired. Sitting in that big easy chair in the living room and yelling at the wrestlers on TV. If the match got particularly nasty, he would move closer to the edge of the cushion, as if his next move was to vault into the ring himself. If it was really intense, the instructions yelled at the set by both Grandpa and Grandma were in German, so I'd be lost. At the foot of his easy chair was always a glass bottle of Kruger Beer. My grandfather actually had beer delivered to the home every Wednesday morning. Tuffy, our dog, would hear the truck's squeaky wheels from blocks away and her incessant barking always heralded the "beerman's" arrival.
On Sunday afternoons, I can always remember Grandpa sitting at the kitchen table, reading the Daily News. I'd sit alongside him, which was always the signal for him to go into Fiorello LaGuardia mode. Even though I could read at a very early age, my grandfather liked to read the funnies to me.
"So, Moon Mullins sits down on the couch and says to Kayo..."
I have no clue why Grandpa liked to do this with me, but it happened like clockwork every Sunday.There are other snapshots.
Grandpa's lunch often consisted of a slice or two of head cheese in a plate covered by vinegar. Head cheese is the cold cut that is made up of all the parts of a pig most people don't eat. The whole meal looked gross to me.
"Wanna try some?"
I'd run away in horror.
My grandparents would eat their supper early. Usually around 4:30PM. Which meant that, from 3:30PM to about 4:15PM every day, Grandpa was missing in action. That was his time to walk two blocks and hoist a few brews at what my grandmother referred to as "the beer garden." He never came home drunk. It was simply his daily cocktail hour.
I do recall, however, one night where Grandpa was completely snockered. There was a community place on Stevens Avenue in Mount Vernon called the Turn Hall and they frequently featured Saturday night dances for any Germans interested. My family and all its tentacles always showed up. And, for some inexplicable reason, I got carted along at the age of 5. They'd sit me down at a table with a Coke and my favorite Colorforms set while the immediate world would commence to polka. While I got bored, Grandpa got pickled.
It was a rainy night and we all piled into my dad's car for the trip home. I was in the back seat, seating beside Grandma and on my grandfather's lap. Soaked to the gills, he used the moment to get very amorous.
With me.
Kissing me all over my face, Grandpa kept announcing over and over.
"I love you, I love you so much, I love you, I love you so much."
It was mere minutes before Grandma had endured enough. There was an ice cold stare.
"If you don't stop that, I'd gonna pop you one with this goddamn umbrella."
Who knows what happened behind their closed bedroom door that night.
When I was really young, my father worked days. So, any transport that my mom and I needed during the daytime hours was provided by Grandpa and his green Buick sedan.
On my very first day in the first grade, my school was closed at noon because of an impending hurricane which was going to hit New York dead on. Grandpa picked me up outside for the five block ride home. He never ever showed much emotion. But, looking out the window at a raging wind and blinding rain, he appeared a little vulnerable. Almost scared.
"Oh, my God, this is going to be a hurricane."
During the summer months, the Grandpa transport extended to Orchard Beach where he would drop us off and pick us up after a day at the "Bronx Riviera." On one ride home, there were two other passengers with us. One of my mother's friends and her kid. Well, anyway, mucho chatter had ensued. And, for some reason, Grandpa seemed to be a little unsure about the way home.
And then he ran a stop sign. And whacked a car coming the other direction.
I got knocked onto the floor of the back seat, but everybody was otherwise okay. Surprisingly, there was no damage to our car. And a medium-sized dent on the car we hit.
But, the real trauma was etched on Grandpa's face. He was crestfallen. He had never been involved in an accident before. His demeanor showed the result of his epiphany. With his reflexes slowing down, he was encountering the inevitable.
His driving days were over.
As my family often did, we went into lockdown mode. Grandpa whispered to me.
"Don't tell your grandmother."
Check.
My mother whispered to me.
"Don't tell your father."
Check again.
Somehow, this was going to be a little secret between my mother and my grandfather. And me.
But, there was an obvious leak because I soon noticed that my father would do all the driving whenever my grandparents needed to go someplace. To the supermarket every Thursday. To the Bronx on the first Tuesday of every month when my grandmother saw her doctor and then they shopped for Kosher dill pickles at some neighborhood they called "Jew Town."
More importantly, that accident was never discussed ever again.
The years and more were closing in on Grandpa. That fall, he came down with pnuemonia and pleurisy, which had him bedridden at home for about a month. He really was never the same after that. Breathes became shorter. Walks to the beer garden became extinct. And he even stopped smoking his beloved pipe.
By the following March, the days were dwindling down to a precious few. On the day Grandpa would pass away, I would conveniently be home from school. I had brokered an afternoon home sick. Partly because of a sore throat. Mostly because I wanted to listen to a Met spring exhibition game on the radio.
My mom had walked around the corner to the grocery store. Sequestered in my room on the bed with my transistor radio, I suddenly heard my grandmother wail from downstairs.
"Lenny, quick. Go run and get your mother. I think something happened to Grandpa!"
I scooted quickly out of the house like Lassie when Timmy fell down the well.
My mother dropped all her groceries in the store and told me to come along. I told her I would stay there. It was no time to argue. She ran out.
Within five minutes, amidst the cans of Krasdale vegetables, I could hear the faint but scary sound of sirens. Those noises have bothered me to this date. But, the only thing worse than hearing those piercing mechanical cries is knowing that they are headed to your house.
Eventually, I headed home and kept myself busy. Upstairs away from the activity. Because of all the strangers in the house, I grabbed Tuffy and hid in the bathroom. I don't think I came out for an hour.
Grandpa was gone. I later heard the details. His labored exhales had caught the dog's attention as she sat at his feet. My grandmother noticed this.
"Pop, Tuffy is listening to you breathe."
He apparently leaned forward to look at my dog, smiled, and then leaned back to die. In his favorite easy chair.
The sum total of my memories about my grandfather, my dad's dad, are etched above for the ages. I just wish I had him a little longer than I did.
And I think about that all over again every March.
Dinner last night: Reuben sandwich at DuPar's.
Saturday, March 24, 2018
Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - March 2018
Fifty years old this month!
Dinner last night: Chef's salad.
Dinner last night: Chef's salad.
Friday, March 23, 2018
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Moron of the Month - March 2018
But she can still be a bit of a moron. And her latest antics might have just been her dumbest moment yet.
If you watched her recent concert special on Netflix, you know there was a lot of backstage footage with her precious dog Samantha. Indeed, those moments would be the last because Samantha went to the big fire hydrant in the sky after they stopped shooting. Indeed, the special was dedicated to the little canine.
RIP Samantha Streisand-Brolin.
Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
But, wait, before Samantha was likely buried in their Malibu backyard, Babs scraped some DNA off the dog's mouth and tongue. Sure, doesn't everybody? Well, those genes, along with $50,000, allowed Barbra to visit our local cloner and voila....Miss Violet and Miss Scarlett. Why have just one clone when you can have two?
Now, first of all, if I were hubby James Brolin, I would worry about how easily replaced he could be. But, let's face it, this whole dog cloning thing is just an example of how utterly decadent and self-centered this idiot can be.
I wonder just how far that fifty grand could have gone if Babs had instead chosen to donate to one of her two thousand political causes. Or maybe help to get some of LA's many homeless people into warm shelters.
And, speaking of which, how about all those dogs in pounds across the city? Rescue pooches desperately in need of homes. Oh, no, not for Barbra Streisand. She needs that very special designer dog curling up to her on the bed. Which, by the way, is another reason why Big Jim Brolin should lose sleep at night.
Just when you thought that somebody in Hollywood couldn't be more two-faced and irresponsible, along comes somebody like Barbra Streisand to raise that bar just a little bit higher.
Moron.
Dinner last night: Hamburger.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
This Date in History - March 21
1152: ANNULMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF KING LOUIS VII OF FRANCE AND QUEEN ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE.
And you thought Frank Sinatra was the first to get an annulment?
1188: EMPEROR ANTOKU ACCEDES TO THE THRONE OF JAPAN.
Bringing along his puzzlement of a sister, Empress Sudoku.
1413: HENRY V BECOMES KING OF ENGLAND.
Three more Henrys before we get the one that's really a lot of fun.
1617: INDIAN POCAHONTAS DIES.
Heap big deal.
1788: A FIRE IN NEW ORLEANS LEAVES MOST OF THE TOWN IN RUINS.
Also blamed on George W. Bush. Or Barack Obama...depending upon where you sit.
1800: WITH THE CHURCH LEADERSHIP DRIVEN OUT OF ROME DURING AN ARMED CONFLICT, PIUS VII IS CROWNED POPE IN VENICE WITH A PAPAL TIARA MADE OUT OF PAPIER MACHE.
Thanks to a third-grade art class in Vatican City.
1804: CODE NAPOLEON IS ADOPTED AS FRENCH CIVIL LAW.
Every one has to walk around with one arm in their shirt.
1814: DURING THE NAPOLEONIC WARS, AUSTRIAN FORCES REPEL FRENCH TROOPS IN THE BATTLE OF ARCIS-SUR-AUBE.
Somebody cracked that code.
1844: THE BAHAI CALENDAR BEGINS AS CELEBRATED AS NEW YEAR'S DAY BY THE BAHAI FAITH.
Does this mean there's going to be a Bahai Tournament of Roses Parade?
1857: AN EARTHQUAKE IN TOKYO, JAPAN KILLS OVER 100,000.
All of them had crowded into one single commuter train.
1869: BROADWAY PRODUCER FLORENZ ZIEGFELD IS BORN.
Flo, for short. That's a playground fight waiting to happen.
1871: OTTO VON BISMARCK IS APPOINTED CHANCELLOR OF THE GERMAN EMPIRE.
When do we get to sink him?
1871: JOURNALIST HENRY MORTON STANLEY BEGINS HIS TREK TO FIND MISSIONARY DAVID LIVINGSTONE.
I presume.
1913: OVER 360 ARE KILLED AND 20,000 HOMES DESTROYED IN THE GREAT DAYTON, OHIO FLOOD.
I always wonder why the word "great" is used for natural disasters. Why not "horrible?"
1925: SYNGMAN RHEE IS REMOVED FROM OFFICE AFTER BEING IMPEACHED AS PRESIDENT OF KOREA.
After being caught with intern Monica Rewinsky.
1928: CHARLES LINDBERGH IS PRESENTED WITH THE MEDAL OF HONOR FOR THE FIRST SOLO TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT.
Ten years later, we were looking to get this back from the dirtbag.
1930: ACTOR JAMES COCO IS BORN.
With marshmallows, please.
1933: CONSTRUCTION OF DACHAU, THE FIRST NAZI CONCENTRATION CAMP, IS COMPLETED.
And there was always a line to get in. For all the wrong reasons.
1943: WEHRMACHT OFFICER RUDOLF CHRISTOPH FREIHERR VON GERSDORFF PLOTS TO ASSASSINATE ADOLF HITLER BY USING A SUICIDE BOMB, BUT THE PLAN FALLS THROUGH. VON GERSDORFF IS ABLE TO DEFUNST THE BOMB IN TIME AND AVOID SUSPICION.
And there goes his chance to be a hero for life.
1945: DURING WORLD WAR II, BRITISH TROOPS LIBERATE MANDALAY, BURMA.
Years later, tourists from Oklahoma occupy the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas.
1946: THE LOS ANGELES RAMS SIGN KENNY WASHINGTON, MAKING HIM THE FIRST AFRICAN AMERICAN PLAYER IN THE NFL.
So, pro football was ahead of major league baseball??? Boy, this sure is an educational blog. Meanwhile, the Rams have come, gone, and come again.
1962: ACTOR MATTHEW BRODERICK IS BORN.
Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?
1962: ACTRESS ROSIE O'DONNELL IS BORN.
Shithead? Shithead? Shithead?
1963: FEDERAL PENITENTIARY ALCATRAZ CLOSES.
All those birds probably dumped too much crap on it.
1970: THE FIRST EARTH DAY PROCLAMATION IS ISSUED BY S.F. MAYOR JOSEPH ALIOTO.
How much paper was wasted on press releases announcing this nonsense?
1975: BASEBALL PLAYER JOE MEDWICK DIES.
That's just ducky.
1980: US PRESIDENT JIMMY CARTER ANNOUNCES A BOYCOTT OF THE 1980 SUMMER OLYMPICS IN MOSCOW.
Okay, so there was one positive decision from this fool...
1980: ON THE SEASON FINALE OF TV'S "DALLAS," J.R. EWING IS SHOT.
And more people cared about this than the boycott of the Olympics.
1987: MUSICIAN DEAN PAUL MARTIN DIES.
Dino's son. Flew smack into a mountain.
1987: ACTOR ROBERT PRESTON DIES.
Now, you've really got trouble, my friend.
1989: SPORTS ILLUSTRATED REPORTS ALLEGATIONS TYING BASEBALL PLAYER PETE ROSE TO GAMBLING.
You betcha.
1994: ACTOR MACDONALD CAREY DIES.
And so goes the days of his life.
1994: ACTOR DACK RAMBO DIES.
J.R. Ewing's cousin dies of AIDS. In real life, not the show.
2005: ACTOR BARNEY MARTIN DIES.
Seinfeld's dad. On the show, not in real life.
2005: SINGER BOBBY SHORT DIES.
He came up....oh, never mind.
2017: TV PRODUCER CHUCK BARRIS DIES.
Gonged.
Dinner last night: Linguini and meat sauce.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Beware The Ides of March
Several of you got the personal recitation of these events. For those of you I have yet to get around to, here's how the Ides of March 2018 unfolded pour moi.
I unwittingly chose the day to close out the car lease on my 2015 Toyota Highlander. It was fully maturing in May, but Toyota of Santa Monica was looking for the car early, especially with my super low mileage. I had been speaking to them off and on, exchanging wants and needs and desired monthly fees. It was a good day to do the deed.
I guess Marc Antony thought the same thing.
Okay, these days, car sales and leases have become a very easy process. And totally internet-driven. If the dealership doesn't have the car you want, they will find it at another place. And, so was the case of the car I wanted. Same model. Three years newer. A suitable color---silver. And a monthly payment less than what I was paying for the 2015. Sweet. Let's do it.
Well, they found my new vehicle but it was currently residing at Toyota of Hollywood. No problem. I would drive my old car home. They would have the new car driven over to Santa Monica and then my sales rep would bring it to my apartment for the grand swap. Easy peasy.
So, at 530PM that afternoon, we started the process of moving the junk from my old car (CDs, paperwork, Hollywood Bowl seat cushions) to my new car. So far, so good. I was in love with my new Highlander at first sight.
Now my apartment building is on a slight slope. And, as a result, the first floor garage is on a slight slope. This means some of the side-by-side parking spaces are separated by small curbs. You can easily miss one if you're not careful. Indeed, my Toyota guy did. I told him to be careful.
Fifteen seconds later, I missed another curb. I fell forward. Probably no more than three feet. I was approaching the passenger side of the new Highlander and the door was open. My head. Door jamb. Whack! Full force.
The initial pain was quick and horrible. But, as I stepped back, I looked down at my hand. It was soaked with blood. My entire face started to feel wet.
Anybody who has raised a small and active child is painfully aware of what happens when the kid cuts his head. It bleeds profusely for several minutes. You think you are dying. The head is nothing but vascular material. And so, too, was mine. And the floor of the garage began to resemble the back seat of JFK's limousine from 11/22/63 sans the bouquet of red roses.
I had nothing but my hand to hold up to the wound. Since that would work for about two seconds, I grabbed the only object nearby to stop the bleeding.
The paper foot mat that you get with all new cars.
Holding this Toyota of Santa Monica branded tourniquet, I headed up to my apartment while the car guy continued to move my belongings. I figured I could more easily arrest the bleeding upstairs. Or simply die more comfortably in the recliner.
I looked at the fresh gash in the bathroom mirror. How could so much plasma pour out of such a little hole? But I could tell it was deep. With the bleeding subsided, I put a Band-Aid on and went back downstairs to finish the car swap. Then I grabbed a bucket of water from my next door neighbor to wash away the blood. So many spots had already dried. My DNA is in this building's garage forever.
I ran into another neighbor who was the second recipient of my now-going-viral tale of woe. She suggested that hitting my head in that manner might leave me a bit concussed. She reminded me that there was now an urgent care facility at the new Century City mall a block away. I didn't feel concussed, but, having never been concussed before in my life, I was no expert.
Well, the mall doctors couldn't help me. The biggest emergency they can handle is a sinus infection. Here's some Flonase, good night. So, the very first ride in my spiffy new Highlander was to the emergency room of St. John's Hospital, which is, by the way, the same place I went after my last garage incident---the fractured kneecap. As I drove to the hospital, I thought of two things. One, I could see very clearly and it was unlikely that I had a concussion. Two, given my history with the garage, perhaps it was time to start parking on the street.
With my past experience, I can tell you that St. John's is a top notch health facility primarily because virtually all of the people working there speak fluent English. Since I had driven there perfectly, they didn't want to waste my time and money on a CT scan. The simple test for a concussion would suffice. And that is basically the same test that cops administer to see if you're DUI. Or so I have been told.
"Touch your nose with your finger."
"Touch your nose with your other finger."
"Stand on one leg."
Yeah, I was fine. So I laid on the gurney and did my own mental capacity check to pass time---I engaged in four different text conversations at once. I called my personal trainer to explain in advance why he would find blood stains on my sneakers during the next day's workout. Yes, I definitely was fine.
Now it was time to fix the new hole in my head. The physician's assistant thought about gluing it together, but she guessed that every time I would raise my eyebrows, the Krazy Glue would separate. I reminded her that I live in Los Angeles, which causes me to raise my eyebrows probably a thousand times a day.
Yep, I would get stitches. For the first time in my life. I suddenly thought about that scene in the old movie "Kramer Vs. Kramer." Dustin Hoffman's kid falls in a playground and has to get stitches on his face. You watch the process and it is clearly uncomfortable to view. Oh, my Lord, that's going to be me.
Eh, not so much. My physician's assistant was terrific. She numbed it with some forehead novocaine so the actual adventure of getting three stitches was relatively painless.
But, wait, I'm not done. After pronouncing me good to go, she said I should see my regular internist to get the stitches removed in about five to seven days.
Um, I'm on a plane to NY five days from now. She grimaced. Any sooner might not be enough time for me to heal completely for any future flawless head shots. Check with your doctor.
I did so Friday morning. I called and asked his nurse if it was okay to get stitches removed after just four days.
"ARE YOU KIDDING? THAT'S TOO SOON!"
Er, thank you for clarifying your opinion.
My mind was aflutter as if I really did have a concussion. What do I do now with my impending trip? I'll have to spend the first two days there scouting around for some butcher to pull out somebody else's Frankenstein handiwork. Crap.
Then I heard the NY weather forecast for my trip. Cold. Wet. Maybe even a bit slushy.
Done. New York will always be there. And so will this scar. But, perhaps by waiting, it won't be so "Elephant Man" hideous. I postponed my plane ticket.
And, only several days later did I realize that all this had happened on the Ides of March.
Yeah, I'm a believer now. Beware them.
Dinner last night: Orange chicken and rice.
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