While the majority of the recipes I post here are ones I have stolen from Valerie Bertinelli, I do make other stuff. For instance, I am attached to the Food Network on Facebook and they post a new recipe probably once an hour. A lot of them are dismissed. But when one comes in that is entitled "Butter Squares," you take a peek. And, in my case, try it. Hopefully you will as well. Because this is sort of like a brownie. Instead of chocolate, you substitute butter. Lots of it. Let's get you on the road to this tasty treat. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. That's Fahrenheit, folks. Spray a 9 by 13 inch glass baking dish with some cooking spray. In a bowl from your standing mixer, combine the following: One box of yellow cake mix. 1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg. 1 teaspoon vanilla extract. 2 large eggs at room temperature. Use the paddle attachment to mix this all up for about a minute. Add to this 1 stick of melted unsalted butter. Make sure the butter has cooled. Mix this all together for another minute. Spread the mixture evening in the baking dish. Clean up the mixing bowl and paddle because you have to use it again. Then add the following to the bowl. One 8-ounce package cream cheese at room temperature. 1/2 teaspoon vanilla bean paste. If you don't have this, use 3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract. 2 large eggs at room temperature. Mix this all up for about two minutes using the paddle attachment of your mixer. Then add in one-half stick of melted unsalted butter that has also cooled. Mix this up for a minute. Then add 3 cups of confectioners' sugar. Mix some more for a minute or so. With a spatula, spoon this concoction over the other batter and cover all spots. Bake until the edges are puffed and golden brown. This should be about 35-40 minutes. Cool and then cut into brownie-like squares. You will thank me. Your cardiologist will hate me. Dinner last night: Sandwich.
Today would have been Stepin Fetchit's 116th birthday. And how many blogs are leading with his photo this morning? Probably not many.
70: TITUS AND HIS ROMAN LEGIONS BREACH THE SECOND WALL OF JERUSALEM. THE JEWISH DEFENDERS RETREAT TO THE FIRST WALL.
We have entirely too many walls in this world. Thank God Mr. Gorbachev tore down his. And that goes for you, too, Donald.
1416: THE COUNCIL OF CONSTANCE, CALLED BY THE EMPEROR SIGISMUND, A SUPPORTER OF ANTIPOPE JOHN XXIII, BURNS JEROME OF PRAGUE FOLLOWING A TRIAL FOR HERESY.
What the hell is an Antipope??
1431: IN ROUEN, FRANCE, 19 YEAR-OLD JOAN OF ARC IS BURNED AT THE STAKE BY AN ENGLISH-DOMINATED TRIBUNAL.
May 30 is a big day for lighter fluid sales.
1536: KING HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND MARRIES JANE SEYMOUR, A LADY-WAITING TO HIS FIRST TWO WIVES.
His guy was such a pig. Meanwhile, this is years before she became Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman.
1539: IN FLORIDA, HERNANDO DE SOTO LANDS AT TAMPA BAY WITH THE GOAL OF FINDING GOLD.
This was Hernando's Hideaway.
1588: THE LAST SHIP OF THE SPANISH ARMADA SETS SAIL FROM LISBON HEADING FOR THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.
They used this trip to film a sweeps-month episode of "The Love Boat" with Charo and Ricardo Montalban.
1642: FROM THIS DATE, ALL HONORS GRANTED BY CHALRES I ARE ANNULLED BY PARLIAMENT.
And you think we have gridlocked government???
1806: ANDREW JACKSON KILLS CHARLES DICKINSON IN A DUEL AFTER DICKINSON HAD ACCUSED JACKSON'S WIFE OF BIGAMY.
So I guess it was something he said.
1814: THE TREATY OF PARIS IS SIGNED AND NAPOLEON BONAPARTE IS EXILED TO ELBA.
See ya.
1842: JOHN FRANCIS ATTEMPTS TO MURDER QUEEN VICTORIA AS SHE DRIVES DOWN CONSTITUTION HILL, LONDON WITH PRINCE ALBERT.
Was Queen Victoria riding in a Queen Victoria?? Ha, you thought I was going make a Prince Albert in a can joke, right?
1854: THE KANSAS-NEBRASKA ACT BECOMES LAW ESTABLISHING THE US TERRORITIES OF NEBRASKA AND KANSAS.
Well, we had to put backwards people someplace.
1859: WESTMINISTER'S BIG BEN RANG FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LONDON.
I feel sorry for any homeowners within a five block radius.
1879: NEW YORK'S GILMORES GARDEN IS RENAMED MADISON SQUARE GARDEN.
Once a dump, always a dump.
1883: IN NEW YORK CITY, A RUMOR THAT THE BROOKLY BRIDGE IS GOING TO COLLAPSE CAUSES A STAMPEDE THAT CRUSHES TWELVE PEOPLE.
So, years ago, the infrastructure was already fucked up???
1896: DIRECTOR HOWARD HAWKS IS BORN.
Now his folks are bringing up Baby.
1899: PRODUCER IRVING THALBERG IS BORN.
He died in 1936. That's a really short stay.
1902: ACTOR STEPIN FETCHIT IS BORN.
Doorbell, Ise a-get-it.
1908: VOICE ACTOR MEL BLANC IS BORN.
He's up, Doc.
1911: THE FIRST INDIANAPOLIS 500 ENDS WITH RAY HARROUN BECOMING THE WINNER.
Over 100 years ago, this wasn't a sport then and it's not a sport now.
1911: GAME PIONEER MILTON BRADLEY DIES.
No ladder today, only a chute.
1922: IN WASHINGTON DC, THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL IS DEDICATED.
The guy died in 1865. This honor was long overdue.
1926: CHRISTINE JORGENSEN IS BORN.
Well, at least, for now....
1936: ACTOR KEIR DULLEA IS BORN.
You know what they say. Keir Dullea, gone tomorrow.
1942: 1000 BRITISH BOMBERS LAUNCH A 90-MINUTE ATTACK ON COLOGNE, GERMANY.
And take that, you Krauts!
1943: FOOTBALL PLAYER GALE SAYERS IS BORN.
I love you, Brian Piccolo.
1944: ACTRESS MEREDITH MACRAE IS BORN.
She died in 2000. Petticoat Dis-junction.
1953: MUSICIAN DOOLEY WILSON DIES.
Play it again, Sam. Oh, wait, never mind.
1958: THE REMAINS OF TWO UNIDENTIFIED AMERICAN SERVICEMEN, KILLED IN ACTION DURING WORLD WAR II AND THE KOREAN WAR, ARE BURIED AT THE TOMB OF THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER IN ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY.
Here lies....well, somebody.
1967: ACTOR CLAUDE RAINS DIES.
A tough day for the Casablanca cast.
1968: CHARLES DE GAULLE REAPPEARS PUBLICLY AND DISSOLVES THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY.
The gall!
1986: FASHION DESIGNER PERRY ELLIS DIES.
Size 16 shroud, please.
1989: THE 33-FOOT-HIGH GODDESS OF DEMOCRACY STATUE IS UNVEILED BY STUDENT DEMONSTRATORS IN TIANANMEN SQUARE.
Democracy. In China?? Now, that's a laugh.
2006: ACTOR ROBERT STERLING DIES.
George Kirby really is a ghost now. Dinner last night: London broil au jus.
Since I'm not a fan of either Marvel super heroes or Amy Schumer, I haven't seen many movies this year. So, because of this limited sample size, "A Quiet Place" is currently the best film I've seen thus far in 2018. I am sure that there will be other contenders for this title as the year plays on. But, based on the trailers I saw before this one, maybe not. At a very tight 90 minutes, "A Quiet Place" is one of those monster movies that brought me back to Saturday nights on WPIX in New York with "Creature Features." A quick story that you can sink your teeth into without little thought with a few nifty jolts along the way. For that reason, "A Quiet Place" is thoroughly exhilarating in its simplicity. John Krasinski from "The Office" (still have never watched an episode of that) is the mastermind behind this movie. He produces it, co-wrote it, directed it, and stars in it. That's four different pay checks if you're counting. Oh, wait, his wife Emily Blunt plays his Mrs. on-screen. Sweet. I guess the Krasinski household is going through a kitchen and bath upgrade as we speak. Well, anyway, the film opens in a desolate America (Dutchess County was used for the filming). We learn from newspaper headlines that there are some creatures roaming around and these blind monsters are sensitive to noise. If you make some, they will kill you. I immediately was hoping for a cameo appearance by the ladies from "The View." We focus on the Abbott family. Dad. Pregnant Mom. Three kids. No, wait, two kids. The youngest one doesn't make it past the first reel because he turned on a toy rocket. Well, anyway, they hunker down on a farm and make the best of it. All without words. They communicate with sign language. They have to walk barefoot. Because any annoying sound means...munch, munch. Again, where is the guest appearance by Joy Behar??? Of course, there are circumstances coming that will test the mettle of this family. Try not making a sound when Mom's contractions begin and then she steps on a nail. Ouch! I mean......ouch. The way this one evolves has you immediately immersed into the terror. As a result, I noted that the audience in my screening was equally as silent. Try to find that happening when you're watching the Avengers with a bunch of chatty millennials. So, for simply figuring out how to shut up a multiplex cinema audience, John Krasinski should be awarded an honorary Oscar. With a bit of a downer for an ending, "A Quiet Place" is only about 97% satisfying. But that's a minor quibble. Put this one on your list. And I hear that there is already a sequel in the works. So, we have another chance here. Joy Behar? Please??? LEN'S RATING: Three-and-a-half stars. Dinner last night: Grilled London broil.
Hey, it's Memorial Day weekend. Let's go out to a baseball double header. I will now pause while you look up the definition of a baseball double header. Got it? Yeah, they barely exist anymore, let alone on a holiday weekend. Which means you no longer hear these immortal words.
"Let's play two!" That was the daily battle cry of the Chicago Cubs' longtime hero, Ernie Banks. This classy guy never played in a World Series game, but certainly you didn't hear a whole lot of whining from him about that. He was simply content to put on a uniform and play America's pastime from sunrise to sunset. And that included a bunch of doubleheaders in Wrigley Field, which didn't even have lights until 1988. Of course, Ernie would be much annoyed if he was still hitching up the stirrups as an active player in 2008. Because doubleheaders as we used to know them no longer exist. Those Sunday afternoons devoted to two games, usually starting at 1PM and then winding up around 7PM. These days, the Yankees and the Red Sox usually play a single game in that same time frame. But, back then, this was one neat day at the ballpark. Tons and tons and tons of baseball. Two games for the price of one. Such a deal. I went to a few of them when I was a kid and they were still regularly scheduled. Armed with my scorebook and a brown bag filled with two Taylor Ham sandwiches, I was neatly tucked away for a day full of memories. I craved a double bill and my father reluctantly complied for a while. I figured he saw a bargain with two games offered for the price of one ticket. Eventually, his participation fell to the hands of that dreaded four word declaration. "Too long to sit." My dad would ultimately adapt this time-honored phraseology into other great excuses. "Too hot to stand." "Too far to drive." "Too crowded to go." He turned it into a science. But, soon enough, I was old enough to battle them by simply going off to enjoy said event with my neighborhood friends. And that most certainly included a baseball doubleheader. I remember a bunch of them. There was one on a long ago Independence Day when, in the first game, the Mets' Tom Seaver once again flirted with a no-hitter until the Padres' Leron Lee broke it up with one out in the ninth inning. There was another late August one in 1984, prompted by a rainout, where the Mets swept the Padres and showed their fans that years of suffering were paying off thanks for the efforts of Dwight Gooden and Keith Hernandez. Indeed, I go back deeper into my annals for a doubleheader I didn't attend. When the Yankees hosted the Minnesota Twins one hot Father's Day in the non-refurbished Yankee Stadium for the first ever Bat Day. Despite my pleading, that one was denied to me via a festival of Dad's excuses. It was too hot to stand. It was too far to drive. It was too crowded to go. The hat trick. What made this even more devastating to me was that the fact that most of the other kids in my crowd went. All summer long, I was the only one playing baseball without a Tom Tresh bat. You don't get these opportunities anymore. Whereas teams used to regularly schedule seven or eight of these Sunday doubleheaders every season along with the impromptu twi-night double dips precipitated by early season rainouts, we are denied now the chance to enjoy six or seven hours of baseball for one admission. Teams now don't want to give up single games of ticket, hot dog and beer sales for the sake of playing two games for one admission. And you don't even get this via a rainout. Because, in these greediest of days, major league franchises have now discovered the wonderful financial gluttony of a day-night doubleheader. There's one game in the afternoon. Then the crowd files out, the stadium is allegedly cleaned, and then you have to buy a completely new ticket to see the game at night. The Nationals just did this last weekend when their Friday night game vs. the Dodgers was washed out. They did a double admission twinbill on Saturday, and I am betting that season ticket holders would be irate every time this happens. But, the Nats should not be singled out as the only money grubbers in baseball. Every franchise does this now. And it sucques. Despite the double admissions, there are other financial benefits that teams enjoy as a result. A few years back, I was at the daytime first game of one of these travesties at Shea. I engaged an usher in a conversation and he also explained to me that state labor laws are constructed so that the employees do not get overtime on these days. So, essentially, they are working two games in one day, but getting less money than they would if they were attending to a traditional doubleheader. Another buck saved so we can pay that overrated fifth starter 10 million dollars a year. Time passed and there is only an illusion of progress. We can gripe all we want, but nothing changes. I adapt my father's adage one more time. "Too frustrated to complain." Enjoy your Memorial Day. And the single game of baseball you might get a chance to see. Dinner last night: Arclight salad.
So, the reboot of "Roseanne" has been renewed by ABC for a second season of 13 episodes. As an advocate of the multi-camera sitcom, I applaud this move. While I wasn't an ardent fan of the sitcom the first time around, I have to admit that I enjoyed the new iteration. I laughed out loud multiple times each episode. That doesn't happen often. Indeed, one of the best new episodes was one where Roseanne and family dealt with their fears over the new neighbors that happened to be Muslims. This hit home particularly because, after 9/11, I was rooming with my writing partner and we had real concerns about the activities of the Iranian family upstairs. We came pretty darn close to calling the FBI on them as they seemed to be moving furniture around during the overnight hours every single day. All of our trepidations were the same that Roseanne displayed in the one episode. We got to laugh at it all and that was the glory of a plot like this. It truly had something to say. But, back to the renewal of "Roseanne." At the ABC upfronts, some bozo suit from the corporate rafters discussed that, in its second season, the scripts would be less political and more focused on the family's personal problems. Okay, I see this happening. In the season finale, it was revealed that Roseanne was addicted to opioid medications. The second season story arc is clearly set. But I want to return to the network statement that they want to make the show less political. Hmmm. Much has been made of the fact that the Roseanne character was pro-Trump. In real life, Roseanne Barr herself made no bones about the fact that she was pro-Trump. Is this why the network wants to make the show less political in the future? Hmmm again. How come you never hear anybody saying SNL is too political? Or Stephen Colbert's talkfest is too political? Or that that scum bucket Jimmy Kimmel's show is too political? Um, no, you don't hear that. Indeed, the promos for the reboot of "Murphy Brown" are designed to show that the plotlines will be liberal in nature. That, despite the real story arc will be about Murphy doing battle with her son Avery who works for a Fox News-like network. You don't even see that character in the promos even though the role has been cast and the guy playing him certainly qualifies as eye candy for the ladies in the audience. Yep, that kind of political humor is welcome. But, if it leans toward the right, it's not encouraged. Frankly, there was more of a genuine message in the comedy of the "Roseanne" Muslim episode than there's been in five years of the dreadfully unfunny SNL. Regardless of how much political humor there is or isn't, I will be watching the second season of "Roseanne." And longing for the day where political humor from both sides of the aisle will be a regular staple in the sitcom world. I mean, if you follow the pattern of today's programming, "All in the Family" would be featuring only the Meathead and not Archie Bunker. Dinner last night: Leftover chicken.
Today would have been Rosemary Clooney's 90th birthday. A national holiday on my calendar.
1430: JOAN OF ARC IS CAPTURED BY THE BURGUNDIANS WHILE LEADING AN ARMY TO RELIEVE COMPIEGNE.
So what kind of wine goes better when you're cooking a human?
1498: GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA IS BURNED AT THE STAKE IN FLORENCE, ITALY ON THE ORDERS OF POPE ALEXANDER VI.
I'll ask the question again.
1533: THE MARRIAGE OF KING HENRY VIII TO CATHERINE OF ARGON IS DECLARED NULL AND VOID.
No community property laws in England.
1568: DUTCH REBELS LED BY LOUIS OF NASSAU, BROTHER OF WILLIAM I OF ORANGE, DEFEAT JEAN DE LIGNE AND HIS LOYALIST TROOPS IN THE BATTLE OF HEILIGERLEE, OPENING THE EIGHTY YEARS' WAR.
So this nonsense is over in 1648?
1618: THE SECOND DEFENESTRATION OF PRAGUE PRECIPITATES THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR.
So this nonsense is over in 1648, too?
1701: AFTER BEING CONVICTED OF PIRACY AND OF MURDERING WILLIAM MOORE, CAPTAIN WILLIAM KIDD IS HANGED IN LONDON.
Breaking an unofficial Hollywood rule: you don't kill off a Kidd.
1706: JOHN CHURCHILL, 1ST DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, DEFEATS A FRENCH ARMY UNDER MARSHAL VILLEROI.
3rd Duke of Pall Mall.
1805: NAPOLEON BONAPARTE IS CROWNED KING OF ITALY WITH THE IRON CROWN OF LOMBARDY IN THE CATHEDRAL OF MILAN.
As if screwing up France wasn't enough for Shorty....
1829: ACCORDION PATENT GRANTED TO CYRILL DEMIAN IN VIENNA.
Now Myron Floren has something to do.
1844: A MERCHANT OF SHIRAZ ANNOUNCES THAT HE IS A PROPHET AND FOUNDS A RELIGIOUS MOVEMENT THAT WOULD LATER BE BRUTALLY CRUSHED BY THE PERSIAN GOVERNMENT. HE IS CONSIDERED TO BE A FORERUNNER OF THE BAHA'I FAITH.
Unfortunately, we won't be rid of this nonsense for, like ever.
1873: THE CANADIAN PARLIAMENT ESTABLISHES THE NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE.
Sgt. Preston, here you come.
1910: ACTOR SCATMAN CROTHERS IS BORN.
I wonder if it really says "Scatman" on his birth certificate.
1910: BANDLEADER ARTIE SHAW IS BORN.
He made it to 94. And you thought no man could survive being married to both Lana Turner and Ava Gardner.
1911: THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY IS DEDICATED.
So am I. To doing this blog every single day.
1912: ACTOR JOHN PAYNE IS BORN.
He proved there was a Santa Claus. At least in the movies.
1919: ACTRESS BETTY GARRETT IS BORN.
That Irene Lorenzo dame!!!
1928: SINGER ROSEMARY CLOONEY IS BORN.
One of my favorites. And I met her once on my birthday!
1934: BANK ROBBERS BONNIE AND CLYDE ARE AMBUSHED AND KILLED BY POLICE.
Oh, crap, so that's how the movie ends? Spoiler alert!
1936: ACTOR CHARLES KIMBROUGH IS BORN.
Jim Dial of "Murphy Brown" fame.
1945: DURING WORLD WAR II, HEINRICH HIMMLER, THE HEAD OF THE SS, COMMITS SUICIDE WHILE IN ALLIED CUSTODY.
Coward's way out.
1949: THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY IS ESTABLISHED.
Rising from the ashes already.
1958: COMEDIAN DREW CAREY IS BORN.
Now reduced to a life of Plinko games.
1967: EGYPT CLOSES THE STRAITS OF TIRAN AND BLOCKADES THE PORT OF EILAT TO ISRAELI SHIPPING.
Eighty years of war. Thirty years of war. Here comes six days that will last forever.
1975: COMEDIAN MOMS MABLEY DIES.
My mother loved her. With or without her teeth.
1981: COMEDIAN GEORGE JESSEL DIES.
My grandmother hated him. With or without her teeth.
1986: ACTOR STERLING HAYDEN DIES.
The first guy Michael knocks off in the Godfather.
1998: THE GOOD FRIDAY AGREEMENT IS ACCEPTED IN NORTHERN IRELAND WITH 75% VOTING YES.
With 25% voting against, that's hardly an agreement.
2002: GOLFER SAM SNEAD DIES.
The sand trap of eternity.
2006: POLITICIAN LLOYD BENTSEN DIES.
This idiot could have been Vice President.
2010: PITCHER JOSE LIMA DIES.
I still remember him for Game 3 of the 2004 NLDS pitching for the Dodgers. An electric performance. 2015: ACTRESS ANNE MEARA DIES. Jerry Stiller now Meara-less. 2017: ACTOR ROGER MOORE DIES. He lived and now let to die. Dinner last night: Sandwich.
Tonight is the final episode of "The Middle" and this show merits a moment for me to stop and salute it. I've been a fan from S1E1 (TV lingo) and it truly might be one of the last long running sitcoms ever. "The Big Bang Theory" gets all the fervent fan attention. "Modern Family" gets all the critical acclaim. Yet, for nine solid seasons, I got more laughs and smiles from "The Middle" than anything else on TV. And that's saying something when it comes out of my mouth. "The Middle" has always been sort of the neglected middle child in a family, very similar to the character of Sue Heck in the show. It wasn't a darling of the critics. Other programs got all the big buzz. It never really won any Emmys, let alone get nominations. But, somehow, it chugged along for nine fun seasons and had a fan base that was very appreciative. Largely because the Heck family were more like us than anybody you would find on other sitcoms. The recognition scale was off the proverbial charts. I had mainly tuned in to "The Middle" in Year 1, Day 1 because of the participation of Patricia Heaton, who I thought was the Krazy Glue that held the brilliant "Everybody Loves Raymond" together...also for nine years. But I was sucked in almost immediately by two of the younger actors on the show. Namely Eden Sher as the always put-upon Sue and Atticus Shaffer as the ultra-weird but enjoyable Brick. There was a natural comedic quality of those two that lit up the screen. Indeed, Eden's inability to ever get a Supporting Comedy Actress nomination is one of the great mysteries of life. The Heck family of Orson, Indiana, living check-to-check with duct tape showing on virtually every kitchen appliance, was just like all of us. Making ends meet and barely managing to have dinner together. There are always arguments and bruised feelings and holes in the wall that never got repaired. I remember, as a teenager myself, I tripped in my family's hallway and created a crevice in the wall. We covered it up with a cheap painting of flowers that my mother bought in Woolworth's. The dent was still there the day we moved out. That is definitely something the Hecks would have done as well. As the years unfolded, we got to meet the extended Heck family. Neighbors who are annoyed. Boyfriends and girlfriends who are weird. Relatives we wish to ignore. Again, the Hecks were shining a light on our worlds just as much as illuminating their own. All along the way, the adventures were told with hilariously crafted scripts and an acting ensemble from Heaven. "The Middle" closes with more than 200 episodes and, in this day where TV seasons are often 10 to 13 episodes long, I doubt we will see the long running life of a sitcom like this again. As probably one of the last comedy classics, we salute "The Middle" one more time. Thanks for the smiles. And bravo for all the great work! Dinner last night: Leftover chicken and vegetables.
Here we are, on May 20, 2018, smack in the middle of two of the most impactful events that I can vividly remember from my childhood. Fifty years ago, I learned just how horrible our world can be. A young mind altered forever. The year 1968 was the first year I really became aware of the universe I was going to be part of. Sitting uncomfortably between an innocent childhood and an uneasy adulthood. I was starting to be on my own. I finally traveled outside of a five block radius for my schooling and separated from my cocoon of grade school pals. Heck, this would be the first summer I had my own little seat plan for the Mets out at Shea Stadium every Saturday. About the world, I was a little ignorant. And it was certainly bliss. Indeed, I was becoming more aware of the world even before we went into assassination mode. I had a class in school called "Current Events." The teacher was a guy with big ears named Mr. Cawley. The required textbook? You needed to subscribe to the New York Times, which was delivered to you in your homeroom. For the first several weeks, Mr. Cawley spent his time detailing how the news stories were grouped in the New York Times. Hell, he even tutored us on the correct way to fold the paper for reading on a crowded train. But, once that housekeeping was out of the way, we essentially were required to read the front page in class and then discuss it. The news stories cascaded out and not in a good way. Vietnam. Anti-war protests. Urban riots. And, for years when my dad brought home the Daily News every night, all I had paid attention were the pages which told you what time a movie started. Or what Dagwood was up to with Mr. Dithers. For the first time, I noticed a world and its problems. Then we had Thursday, April 4. I was watching the nightly "I Love Lucy" rerun on New York's Channel 5 Metromedia when they cut in with the news about Martin Luther King Jr.. In those days, both my parents worked nights so my only adult supervision in the house was my grandmother. I ran to share the bulletin. As usual, there was cynicism. "He preached non-violence but every place he went, there was a riot." Thanks, Grandma who returned herself to a black and white image of Merv Griffin interviewing Xavier Cugat and Charo. Not much longer into the night, we heard the stories about anger and violence and stores being burned to the ground in places like Harlem, New York. I went to school the next day and there was a different feel immediately. Given the fact that Mount Vernon, New York was a town quietly divided along a 50/50 racial composition for years, you would think there would be issues. I mean, a prominent Black man had been killed by a White gunman. Well, somebody in my school administration probably had the same sense so they acted proactively. The entire school was summoned for an assembly where calming words were spoken. And, for some strange reason, we were serenaded by one of the big radio hits of the day. Paul Mauriat's "Love is Blue." Nothing really happened at our school, but I remember my English teacher, Mrs. Taylor, telling a harrowing story. She lived in Manhattan and, in her morning commute, had passed by Harlem buildings in flames. Naturally, we gobbled up all the accounts of these stories in the New York Times during Mr. Cawley's class. Dr. King was barely cold when horror hit us again in early June. And that news, which happened in a time zone three hours earlier, came to me in a very different way. As I said, my dad worked nights and usually came home about 1AM. We had developed a little sweet ritual. If the Mets were playing on the West Coast, he would always leave me a little note on the kitchen table telling me what the score was when he got home. I would find it in the morning. Well, on the morning of June 5, the note wasn't about the Mets but the fact that the Dodgers' Don Drysdale had moved closer to setting a consecutive shutout innings streak. And, oh yeah, a little postscript on the baseball news... "Bobby Kennedy shot." Oh. Thanks, Dad.
Heck, I had seen him only last fall on the steps of Mount Vernon's City Hall. At this juncture, Kennedy was still alive in a Los Angeles hospital. So, when I arrived at school that morning, there was no mourning. We were instructed to pray...an odd circumstance in a public school. I remember that my homeroom teacher was an older lady, Miss Flynn, who also happened to be my typing teacher. She led a morning prayer and broke down in tears midway through.
Of course, RFK barely lasted twenty-four hours and Miss Flynn couldn't even manage to get to school the next day. Again, I watched a numbness set in as we glued ourselves to the TV for all the details and the funeral coverage. America had been sucker punched again. The ignorant child was now fully awake. The summer of 1968 found me going about my usual business. My first year of seats every Saturday with the Mets. Playing softball in the neighborhood lot. A Strat-o-Matic baseball league with my best buddy Leo. All around the mundane, we heard the news. More violent protests. Riots at the Democratic convention. More turmoil in the war we were losing in Southeast Asia. Every time a soldier from Mount Vernon, New York lost his life in Vietnam, my hometown stopped for a moment to reflect. Was any of this going to ever stop? Well, I had moved into adulthood in a big way. And, from my vantage point, none of it ever stopped. The difference between 1968 and 2018 is fifty years. And really little else about life in America. Dinner last night: Steak and shrimp stir fry.
Crapola. I can't believe "The Odd Couple" was playing at the Radio City Music Hall fifty years ago this month. Meanwhile, if I read my history right, this was the movie that played the most weeks at that hallowed and missed movie palace. So what's going on in May 2018? What movies will we be recalling in May 2068? Will there even be movies then? If the latter is the case, it will luckily spare us from the next comedy by Adam Sandler or Amy Schumer. You know the monthly routine, gang. I'll drift through the LA Times movie pages and give you my gut reaction to the junk polluting our theaters right now. Most of the following you won't remember a month from now, let alone a half-century away. Avengers - Infinity War: I might be the only one in the universe who hasn't run to see this. And I'm kind of proud of that. RBG: NFW. Those of you up on your abbreviations will get that joke. Wait...this is about Ruth Bader Ginsburg??? Isn't she dead yet???
The Seagull: Sounds like a college assignment. Pass. Beast: No Beauty? Disobedience: One of the many charges Democrats are looking to nail Trump with. Tully: I can't wait to see how he lands the plane...oh, wait, never mind. The Rider: Something about a rodeo rider. Yee-ha. A Quiet Place: Blog review coming. Spoiler alert: I recommend it. Isle of Dogs: One of those strange animation things that remind me of the old Davey and Goliath TV show. Book Club: If you're an actress over 75 and your agents didn't get you a part in this, fire them. Pope Francis - A Man of His Word: I think this is a documentary. If not, I hope it's not Amy Schumer in the real world. I Feel Pretty: Speaking of Amy. Try to find a guy in the audience. I dare you. Deadpool 2: That's funny. I thought they were up to Deadpool 4 already. There's a new one every week and I lose track. Welcome to the Men's Group: Probably the exact same script as Book Club except it's all men and they are younger. Show Dogs: A detective and his dog go undercover. I was never allowed to let my dog get under the covers with me. I'm just saying. On Chesil Beach: It's Saoirse Ronan again in some sort of romance. Doesn't one of these come out every week, too? First Reformed: Ethan Hawke as a pastor with a declining congregation. That's like virtually every Protestant church in America. Filmworker: A documentary about working with legendary director Stanley Kubrick on a week when his restored... 2001: A Space Odyssey: is released to theaters again. And I must admit that I have never seen it. Maybe this go-round. Dark Crimes: Jim Carrey as a police officer. Maybe he can investigate what happened to his career. Always at the Carlyle: A documentary about the NY hotel. Angels Wear White: Wait! The Bowery Boys are back?? Carter and June: A heist comedy involving evangelists, politicians, and mobsters. So, essentially the Republican and Democratic Parties. Cargo: About post-pandemic Australia. I missed the one about pre-pandemic Australia. Dinner last night: Salad.
Following the lackluster production that was Netflix' documentary "Bobby Kennedy for President," I then tackled the HBO four-hour look at another one of my childhood icons. And all I can say is... That's more like it. In my Kennedy review the other day, I lamented the lack of interesting talking heads to help tell the story. Well, you don't have that problem with "Elvis Presley: The Searcher." While you don't see them on screen, there are many voiceovers from many different Elvis associates and admirers, including the likes of Bruce Springsteen and the recently late Tom Petty. Plus there are lots and lots of sound bites from Elvis himself and the enigmatic manager Colonel Tom Parker. The range of these contributors should not surprise me as one of the executive producers of this project is Elvis' ex-wife Priscilla, whose voice is also heard a lot. The end result of all those voices is a much, much fuller story than the Bobby Kennedy effort on Netflix. Plus there are lots and lots of clips of Elvis actually performing, which is pure gold. That means you get to hear large portions of most of Elvis' hits and also learn how they came to be. There was tons of new information imparted and I came away after four hours being much less than bored. This documentary essentially comes in two parts and the first one takes you up to his Army induction. Admittedly, Part Two which covers his movie and concert years was incredibly more interesting, but that's a minor quibble. The folks behind this program really knew what they were doing and their love for Elvis came shining through. I knew he spent his latter years playing concerts in Vegas and around the country but I had no idea to what level. The closing credits reveal that Presley indeed performed over 1,600 concerts over a six or seven year stretch. No wonder he wound up addicted to uppers and downers. No wonder he was dead by the time he was 42. All in all, this documentary brought back some solid memories and gave me new information. A total winner. And much, much better than the Bobby Kennedy yarn. LEN'S RATING: Three-and-a-half stars. Dinner last night: Roast chicken at Westside Tavern.
