The Sun Came Out

Gee, I wonder what was playing at the Hollywood Bowl this past weekend.  With these stage effects, the question could be answered from outer space via Google Earth.

Yes, folks, this year's annual musical comedy production at the Hollywood Bowl was indeed "Annie."

Traditionally, the Bowl reserves the last weekend in July for their send-up of a classical Broadway musical and I've pretty much gone each year.  They started with basically concert re-enactments of the music but, with each passing summer, the staging gets more and more elaborate to the point where this is now very Broadway-quality.  Some past Bowl shows that I remember fondly?  "South Pacific" with Reba McEntire and Brian Stokes Mitchell.  "Mame" with Michele Lee.  "Hairspray" with Harvey Fierstein.  Two years ago, I saw a superlative production of "A Chorus Line" with many from the 2006 Broadway revival.

Sure, there have been some misfires.   "Rent" as directed by Neil Patrick Harris had zero energy.   And last summer, we were afflicted with "Mamma Mia," which had all the charm of a cesspool back-up.   

But, the Hollywood Bowl has restored itself in 2018 with a welcome revisit of the classic "Annie," which I must admit I saw originally on Broadway with...gasp...Sarah Jessica Parker in the lead.   Sarah and I were both much younger.  It's a fun, albeit sappy musical comedy, but it's got good humor, little kids, and a dog for God's sake.  What's not to like?  Director Michael Arden, who apparently did well this past year on Broadway with the revival of "Once On This Island," was entrusted with this "Annie."   Not only did he not mess it up, he virtually enhanced it with some energetic and innovative staging simply by using the letters of the logo seen above.

Of course, this is 2018 so every diverse box needed to be checked.  Every arc of the rainbow was covered with the little orphan girls.   The famed Star in Waiting actually arrives for her big solo in a wheelchair.   And, topping it all, was an African-American take on the legendary Daddy Warbucks.   Okay, the odds of the existence of a Black billionaire in 1933 America are historically high.   But, we're living in a world where any kernel of history can be easily rewritten.   The good news is that, as played by David Alan Grier, Warbucks seemed entirely realistic to me.

With these annual Bowl musicals, the casting is key.   Last year's mess of "Mamma Mia" had every threadbare C lister they could find.   But, "Annie" benefited from an influx of strong Broadway folks that included the always reliable Roger Bart and the always welcome Megan Hilty as Rooster Hannigan and Lily St. Regis.   Meanwhile, the famed Lea Salonga from "Miss Saigon" took on the supporting role of Warbuck's secretary and scored.   Hell, even Sandy the dog did a great job, despite appearing to be the oldest dog registered with SAG...the Screen Animals Guild.

Of course, the key to any re-engineering of "Annie" is the casting of the villainous and scenery-chewing Miss Hannigan and, this time around, Ana Gasteyer of SNL-fame got to chomp heavily on the backdrops.   She left nothing for anybody else to munch on.   She hit all the right notes and commanded the stage every time she was on it.  

I have always loved "Annie" for introducing the wheel-chaired President Franklin Roosevelt as a character in the show.   Here  FDR was played by Steven Weber of "Wings" fame and he captured the very essence of the President almost as well as perennial Roosevelt portrayers Edward Hermann and Ralph Bellamy.  I'm telling you.   The casting director on this thing really earned their comp tickets for this one.  Check out Weber and company in this reprise of "Tomorrow."   Forgive the shitty camera work.   It's not mine.

The Hollywood Bowl got a lot of publicity by having an open casting call for the roles of the girls in the orphanage.   Just go on You Tube and you will see the self audition tapes of those that made it and a lot who didn't.  Gee, if you're a ten-year-old actress in Hollywood and your mom didn't have you submit, it's time to call Social Services.

Given that the kids in "Annie" are all about ten and eleven, you have to forgive their tendency to punch a line to the point that it seems like they're trying to make a dent in a prison wall.   The same goes for young Kaylin Hedges as "Annie."   The girl sure could sing but her delivery of lines was sometimes just a hair off.   But, heck, I wasn't appearing at the cavernous 15,000 seat Hollywood Bowl when I was 10.   All the kids get a big, old hall pass from me.   And they were entertaining none the less.

The success of this production, like most of the annual Bowl musical comedies, always impresses me because they really only have two weeks to completely stage and rehearse the thing.   In fact, they spend most of that time putting it together in a nearby school gymnasium.  The fact that this one came out as flawless as it did is testimony to the hard work of the superlative cast and the talented director Arden.

Now, as I wrap up my review, I read the one written by the Los Angeles Times theater critic.   While he generally likes it, he can't help but compare elements of the show to what is going on around us.   Young children in an orphanage longing for their parents.   A Hooverville of poor and angry Americans.  And, oh, look, there's a President of the United States with compassion.

Oh, puh-leze.  It's "Annie."  First produced in 1977.   Based on a comic strip first drawn in 1924.   Let's enjoy it for what it is.   It's mind boggling how the LA Times can't get through a single article without showing their political viewpoint.   Jeez.   

I'd tell you to put this production of "Annie" on your list, but, like every summer's Bowl show, it runs for three nights and disappears into the drawer where you put all your programs.  You'll never see it again.   Not even...ahem...tomorrow.

Good job, Hollywood Bowl.   I can't wait to see what you try to pull off next year.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 30, 2018

Who doesn't like a dog eating ice cream?

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak and pan roasted tomatoes in balsamic sauce.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Dad's Two Weeks Off

Aw, how cute. 

Yeah, that's complete mortification.  And the last time you'll ever see a picture of me dressed like THAT.

The memory is vivid.   We had rented a cabin just outside of Atlantic City, which was a popular summer destination for my family unit back in the day.  Most people wanted to stay near the Boardwalk and as close to the action as possible.  Not my folks.  Let's have lodging off the beaten path, where it's less noisy.  And less crowded.

And cheaper.  

On this particular vacation, one of my older cousins had come along and she had just, well, sprouted on top.  I remember her being very self-conscious on this beach.  There was nobody else within five miles of us, but, still, she was petrified that somebody would actually see her in a bathing suit in "that condition."  So, she'd run lickity split right into the water and quickly immerse herself up to her neck in water.

Meanwhile, nobody gave a shit about how I looked in this get-up.

Ah, more summer memories.  We're right now at that time of the season where our family vacation would happen.  My father's annual two weeks off.  The last week of July and the first week of August.  Smack in the middle of the summer. And, very early on in my kid years, this would be the time we would pack ourselves into a car and travel someplace.  Loaded down with juice and lots of plums and peaches for the road. And usually Colorforms to keep me occupied. I couldn't bring comic books along to read in the car. I did that once. The decoration I upchucked onto the side of Dad's green Buick wasn't exactly Jackson Pollock.

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

Ideally, my folks and I would travel with another family. Another mom and dad to give my parents somebody to yak with and perhaps another kid or two that I could hang with. There were a few times where we went solo and those trips tended to drag. After 50 weeks together as a family unit, we needed a break from each other as well. 

Invariably, though, there would be some point in the vacation with another family that something would happen. A sour word exchanged. A nasty look shared. And then the edict would come from Mom.

"Stay away from THEM."

I remember a bunch of these destinations. Lake George, New York, was popular. They had a couple of Disney-like theme parks. Storyland where you walked around some nursery rhyme settings and then fed the wandering animals, as in the photo above. There was another gimmick called the North Pole and it was always odd to visit there in the sweltering July humidity. You got to meet elves and the complete Santa Claus clan. I was always curious why Mrs. Claus never had any kids. My mom would tell me that all the little workers were all the children they needed. I guess I was too young for the real explanation, which was readily apparent when you toured their house. Santa and the missus were sleeping in separate rooms.

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

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

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

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

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

No trip to Atlantic City was complete without a visit to Zaberer's Restaurant. This place was such a big deal that you kept seeing the signs all along the road to Atlantic City."Ten miles to Zaberer's.""Five miles to Zaberer's.""Zaberer's right around the bend!"This was a total dress-up eating event and probably the biggest meal we had all year. You made reservations several days in advance and still waited an hour in the lounge for your table and the ultimate heart-stopping slab of prime rib. The big draw in the waiting room was a color TV, back in the days when nobody had one that worked correctly. At Zaberer's, Mitch Miller's beard was not purple.On one Atlantic City trip, there was such a rift with THEM that my folks and I hightailed it out of there. 

Up the road to Asbury Park. Where there was nothing to do. And we stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. I ran to a bench and buried myself in the library books I had packed for the trip.

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

Dinner last night:   Pepperoni pizza at the Hollywood Bowl.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - July 2018

One of my favorites from my younger days...forty years old this month!!

Dinner last night:  Had a big lunch so just some macaroni salad.

Who's Proofreading These Menus??!!

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Len's Recipe of the Month - July 2018

So, here's an interesting summer recipe that allows you to use those garden-grown cherry or grape tomatoes.   I never tried pickling anything in my life.  This recipe is tasty and easy to do.   A great summer snack or a different way to present tomatoes into your salads.   I was astounded how delicious this was.

Rinse and clean about a pint of cherry or grape tomatoes.   Take each one and skewer it.   You need to poke a hole so that the liquid brine infuses it.

In a small pot, mix the following:

1 cup of water.

1 cup of apple cider vinegar.

1 tablespoon kosher salt.

1 teaspoon black pepper.

1 teaspoon rosemary.

1 tablespoon granulated sugar.

Bring it to a boil, stirring constantly.

In one large Mason jar (or two small ones), place the tomatoes with a clove or two of garlic.   Pour the liquid into the jar or jars so that the tomatoes are completely immersed.   Seal the jars and let them cool to room temperature. Then refrigerate for at least two days before cracking them open.   The uusually bland grape tomatoes will have an unforgettable flavor.   The tomatoes will keep in the refrigerator for about a month.

Enjoy.   And you're welcome.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger and salads.

This Date in History - July 25

Happy birthday to everybody's "Friend." 

285:  DIOCLETIAN APPOINTS MAXIMIAN AS CAESAR, CO-RULER.

Co-ruler?  Yeah, that never works.

306:  CONSTANTINE I IS PROCLAIMED ROMAN EMPEROR BY HIS TROOPS.

Not even twenty years later and Maximian is out.  Told ya so.

315:  THE ARCH OF CONSTANTINE IS COMPLETED NEAR THE COLOSSEUM AT ROME TO COMMEMORATE HIS VICTORY OVER MEXENTIUS.

And what's these Romans' focus on naming their kids either Constantine or something beginning with "Max?"

864:  THE EDICT OF PISTRES OF CHARLES THE BALD ORDERS DEFENSIVE MEASURES AGAINST THE VIKING.

A bald guy's defensive measures?  Wouldn't that include Rogaine?

1261:  THE CITY OF CONSTANTINOPLE IS RECAPTURED BY NICAEAN FORCES, RE-ESTABLISHING THE BYZANTINE EMPIRE.

And you thought all the shit was happening over in Rome....

1554:  MARY I MARRIES PHILIP II OF SPAIN AT WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.

"You're bringing me down.  A vo de o doe, a vo de o doe....."

1593:  HENRY IV OF FRANCE PUBLICLY CONVERTS FROM PROTESTANTISM TO ROMAN CATHOLICISM.

That's a new one.  A lapsed Protestant.

1722:  DUMMER'S WAR BEGINS ALONG THE MAINE-MASSACHUSETTS BORDER.

When did you ever hear of Maine fighting for anything???

1759:  DURING THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR, BRITISH FORCES CAPTURE FORT NIAGARA FROM THE FRENCH.

They had them over a barrel.  Yeah, I know.  Groan.

1788:  WOLFGANG MOZART COMPLETES HIS SYMPHONY NO. 40 IN G MINOR.

Musicians know what that means.  I, however, do not.

1797;  HORATIO NELSON LOSES MORE THAN 300 MEN AND HIS RIGHT ARM DURING A BATTLE IN SPAIN.

This is just a guess, but I'm thinking the arm pissed him off more than the men.

1837:  THE FIRST COMMERCIAL USE OF AN ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH IS SUCCESSFULLY DEMONSTATED IN LONDON.

Dot dot dot dash dash dot dash.  

1861:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, THE UNITED STATES CONGRESS PASSES THE CRITTENDEN-JOHNSON RESOLUTION, STATING THAT THE WAR IS BEING FOUGHT TO PRESERVE THE UNION AND NOT TO END SLAVERY.

Yeah, right.

1894:  THE FIRST SINO-JAPANESE WAR BEGINS WHEN THE JAPANESE FIRE UPON A CHINESE WARSHIP.

This is obviously page one in the Japs' playbook.

1894:  ACTOR WALTER BRENNAN IS BORN.

"Pepino!"

1908:  ACTOR JACK GILFORD IS BORN.

Cracker Jacks, anybody?

1917:  SIR ROBERT BORDEN INTRODUCES THE FIRST INCOME TAX IN CANADA AS A TEMPORARY MEASURE.

I bet they say that to all the citizens.

1923:  ACTRESS ESTELLE GETTY IS BORN.

She created the character of Sophia on "The Golden Girls."  One of the great roles in sitcom history.

1925:  ACTOR/DIRECTOR JERRY PARIS IS BORN.

Jerry Halper on the "Dick Van Dyke Show" and how bad was his eyesight to be married to Millie?

1942:  NORWEGIAN MANIFESTO CALLS FOR NONVIOLENT RESISTANCE TO THE NAZIS.

Taking their cue from the scummy French people.

1943:  BENITO MUSSOLINI IS FORCED OUT OF OFFICE BY HIS OWN ITALIAN GRAND COUNCIL.

They didn't want him hanging around any more.

1946:  AT CLUB 500 IN ATLANTIC CITY, DEAN MARTIN AND JERRY LEWIS STAGE THEIR FIRST SHOW AS A COMEDY TEAM.

The hottest thing in show business for about ten years.

1961:  IN A SPEECH, JOHN F. KENNEDY EMPHASIZES THAT ANY ATTACK ON BERLIN IS AN ATTACK ON NATO.

One wall going up, please.

1965:  BOB DYLAN GOES ELECTRIC AS HE PLUGS IN AT THE NEWPORT JAZZ FESTIVAL.

I know somebody who once shared a limo with.  He may not have bathed since July 25, 1965.

1967:  ACTOR MATT LE BLANC IS BORN.

Translated, he is "Matt the White."

1978:  LOUISE BROWN, THE WORLD'S FIRST TEST TUBE BABY, IS BORN.

How did they get it out???

1986:  DIRECTOR VINCENTE MINNELLI DIES.

An American in Heaven.

1989:  NIGHTCLUB OWNER STEVE RUBELL DIES.

From Studio 54 to Gravesite # 267.

1993:  ISRAEL LAUNCHES A MASSIVE ATTACK AGAINST LEBANON IN WHAT THE ISRAELIS CALL OPERATION ACCOUNTABILITY.

Unlike Operation Petticoat, which was a hilarious movie from 1959.

1995:  COUNTRY MUSICIAN CHARLIE RICH DIES.

So much for being Rich.

1997:  GOLFER BEN HOGAN DIES.

Finishes two under ground.

2010:  WIKILEAKS PUBLISHES CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS ABOUT THE WAR IN AFGHANISTAN, ONE OF THE LARGEST LEAKS IN U.S. MILITARY HISTORY.

To quote Ralph Kramden....."I'VE GOT A BIG MOUTH!!!"

2014:  AUTHOR BEL KAUFMAN DIES.

Down the up staircase.

Dinner last night:  Chicken sausage and cold salads.

Overcoming Strong TV Personae

Over the past decade, there have not been more prolific characters on TV than Sheldon Cooper on "The Big Bang Theory" and Carrie Mathison on "Homeland."   The portrayals by Jim Parsons and Claire Danes have been nothing but iconic as two super strong TV characters that you cannot forget.

So, when Parsons and Danes show up in a small independent film such as "A Kid Like Jake," you wonder how they will overcome their other acting personae.  It certainly prompted my curiosity enough for me to watch this movie on demand.   I think it lasted in theaters for about a week.

In answer to the question I was wondering about, I can tell you that, for the first 20 minutes or so of "A Kid Like Jake," I was having trouble separating Sheldon and Carrie from the characters of Greg and Alex, an upscale Brooklyn married couple.   Indeed, Parsons was a little more successful.   But, Danes, whose character here featured some of the over-the-top, off-the-meds traits of Carrie, had a much harder job pulling herself away from those "Homeland" histrionics.  

But, I stuck with it and was rewarded with an intimate and compelling look at young parents dealing with their four-year-old son who has been displaying characteristics of being "gender expansive."  Yes, there is a clinical term for everything these days and that one covers the issue around a child who may or may not be gay.  This drama unfolds as the parents begin the arduous task of selecting just the right private school for their son's needs.   I have friends who have lived through the Manhattan private school board game.   It's crazy and this process is well depicted in this movie.   With Alex' gender in question, the stakes are raised.

Jim Parsons is one of the producers of this film (with his life partner) and, after the bouncy first reel, never does invoke Sheldon Cooper in his portrayal here.   The parents argue over how best to deal with Alex and, as I mentioned earlier, Danes does make some acting choices that are closer to Carrie Mathison than not.   That said, there are about three scenes in this film that serve as acting clinics and you should not miss them.   There is an angry dinner party scene as well as a confrontation with a caring school administrator (Octavia Spencer) that is painful but amazing.   Finally, the closing argument between Parsons and Danes is so raw and organic that you can't possibly imagine them as any other characters in the world---the mark of some good actors.

So, yes, it's tough but you can overcome strong TV personae and live to act another day.   Even better when the material you are give is well done and that certainly is the case with "A Kid Like Jake."

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

Dinner last night:  Spaghetti with pesto sauce.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 23, 2018

The dog days of summer, part 1.

Dinner last night:  Chicken sausage and cold salads.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Day Having a Bad Knee Wasn't So Bad

Damn, that picture could be me.   Except for the ugly black socks, it's a mirror image of what my legs look like on a good day.   Or a bad day.   Actually, it's now hard to discern between the good and the bad days.  I am closer to knee replacement surgery more than I have ever been in my life.   I can't wait to see what my right leg looks like with a big, old Frankenstein-like stitch down the middle.

Regular readers here know all about the arthritis I have lived with for years, all stemming from a warm-up exercise I did on the first day of gym class in my senior year of high school.   You see, my gym teacher was also the football coach and I think he frequently got his groups mixed up.   One deep knee thrust and I was down.   The sound my knee made was heard by the whole class.  Like the NFL, I took a knee.  Literally.

I have written here of my parents' immediate non-reaction to my injury.   In their non-trusting-of-physicians world, there were no specialists to be sought out, even though I was badly in need of an orthopedist.  Nope, regardless of the gravity of the medical situation, my folks referred everything to our family doctor, Dr. Weisberg, whose office was several blocks away on White Plains Road in the north Bronx.   Dr. Weisberg's response to any medical situation was the same.

"Put on an Ace bandage and take plenty of Tylenol."

Seriously, if Dr. Weisberg had been in the emergency room of Parkland Hospital on November 22, 1963, he would have tried to give President Kennedy two Tylenol tablets.

So, I had what was likely a pretty serious leg injury that was virtually ignored. And, hence, I have lived with it all these years.   Now it's just oozing with arthritis.   Back then, an arthroscopic surgery might have cleaned it out.  Instead, it was just left to fester.

When I was a student at Fordham, I would feel it occasionally.   You could tell there was some fluid in there because I frequently could sense a sloshing sound around my knee.   Once in a while, it would get inflamed and swell up.   The event would be short-lived, but still annoying.

Except for one such episode which had some nice side benefits.   It was the summer before my senior year.   A friend of mine was arranging a dance party at a club on Long Island with a bunch of her roommates.   Sweet.   She had the girls.   We had the guys.   Match.  

I was particularly interested in this particular excursion because one of the girls was one I had a major crush on.  We were friends, but I didn't think she suspected just how goofy ga ga I was.   She did once grab and hold my hand while we were walking on campus.   It was a move timed perfectly just as we were passing by her current boyfriend's dorm.  I was being used completely as a tool, but I didn't care.

Well, she was included in the dance party guest list and I was ecstatic.   Except an hour before we drove out to Nassau County...ta da!   Hello, knee flare-up.

By the time we got to the club, I was as gimpy as gimpy could be.   Dance?   I could barely walk.   I was suddenly the wet blanket on all the festivities.

As we sat at a table, everybody tried to do the right thing and stay anchored.   I insisted that they all dance and have a good time.   I would be fine.   By myself.   
Except...

"You all go dance.   I'll stay with Len."

It was my crush.  

And everybody went up to dance.   And we sat alone at the table.   And now I was swelling with pride.  Let's just say it was a nice evening.   I wanted my knee to flare-up repeatedly now.

Indeed, it was probably the one time in my life where my rotten knee paid some dividends.  As for the crush, we lost touch for a while.   And then got reunited for an interesting Act Two.   At one point, I proposed a conclusive Act Three, which never materialized. 

The knee is still arthritic.   And when it's finally fixed, I may desire to finally go out dancing again.   But it won't be the same as that one evening.

Dinner last night:  BBQ tri-tip sandwich at Holy Cow.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - July 2018

The You Tube title on this video is wrong.   This little gem went into production for the first time in July, 1968....fifty years ago!

Dinner last night:  The salad bar from Gelson's.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for July 2018

Hmmm.

I am going to do a separate blog on this movie shortly.   It is one of the seminal memories of my childhood.  As I have seen it many times since (most recently two weeks ago), I am thrown by the fact that this ad clearly shows it originally played Radio City Music Hall, which was known for its family-friendly fare. Anybody who knows the content of this film....well, somebody at Radio City Music Hall was clearly asleep at the switch.

Also asleep at the switch are the folks who let out this weekend's crop of current movies at the multiplexes.   You know the monthly drill, sports fans.  I will scan the movie pages of the LA Times and give you my knee jerk gut reaction to all the nonsense out there.  

Indeed, when you think about the current fare, "A Summer Place" is pretty darn tame.  And a whole lot more fun.

Incredibles 2:  I will skip because Incredibles 1 was...well...less than Incredible.

Sicario - Day of the Soldado:  Didn't Sicario come in second for the Belmont?

Ant-Man and the Wasp:  There's a ridiculous Marvel comic movie released every day.

Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far on Foot:   Isn't this what the Democrats think about Trump?

Jurassic World - Fallen Kingdom: Reviewed here the other day.  Probably the most interesting action movie this summer that doesn't feature a Marvel super hero.

Eighth Grade:  Hope it was better than mine.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?:  Reviewed here recently.  A fascinating look at a guy I knew little about.

Three Identical Strangers:  A documentary about a real time Parent Trap, this time with triplets.

Leave No Trace:  So far, the Democrats have discovered that Trump has done just that.

RBG:   A documentary about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who I think was pronounced dead five years ago.

A Midsummer Night's Dream:  Book report due?

Gauguin - Voyage to Tahiti:  Art project due?

Whitney:   A documentary about the bitch who drowned in her bathtub on my birthday.

American Animals:  A heist movie.  Very similar to what the box office does with your money these days.

Damascus Cover:  People looking for weapons of mass destruction.  Still?

The Equalizer 2:  Have I mentioned here how much I despise Denzel Washington?  Don't fall for all the philanthropy.   The guy is a scumbag.  I have heard stories.

Broken Star:   An actress trapped in a duplex.   How stupid are you when you can't find a front door?

Heels:   Trying to save their gay father's BBQ restaurant, two brothers join the wrestling circuit.   Now with GLOW, everybody's getting into the ring.

Blindspotting:  Oakland men witness a police shooting.  Up there, that could happen every hour on the hour.

Mamma Mia - Here We Go Again:  Literally.  The trailers tell me they are using the exact same music for the sequel.   What's a synonym for "rip off" in Sweden?

Unfriended - Dark Web:  I am unfollowing.

Pin Cushion:  You wouldn't want to sit on one.

Araby:  Paging the Sheik.

Love, Cecil:  A documentary on designer Cecil Beaton.   Find a straight person in the audience.  I dare you.

Larger than Life - The Kevyn Aucoin Story:  A documentary about the make-up artist.  See reference for Love, Cecil.

Citizen Clark - A Life of Principle:  A documentary about former Attorney General Ramsey Clark.  Yawn.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Got the Munchies?

Unlike a lot of the lemmings in the movie going audience, I don't run to see many of these ongoing movie franchises.   I can't be bothered with any crap from Marvel Studios, which seems to release a new film every single Friday.  

That said, I do enjoy a couple of the action film franchises and do it quite unashamedly.   For instance, I have had several guilty pleasures following Tom Cruise's Mission Impossible saga and I anxiously the newest one coming at the end of July.   

I am also a big old sucker for the Jurassic Park/World movies and they are perfect summer entertainment.   The latest film, "Jurassic World - Fallen Kingdom" doesn't disappoint.   I was happy as a clam and I saw it in the best possible environment for a movie of this ilk---the Cinerama Dome in Hollywood where the screen and sound virtually envelops you.  

Oh, don't get me wrong.  These movies don't last with you longer than the Chinese food you had last Saturday night.   I've already forgotten most of "Fallen Kingdom" and the goofy plot twists that make no sense five minutes later.   But the good guys in this new World iteration, Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard (talk about a female Opie), are likable and the bad guys are suitably bad.   They, of course, will get themselves eaten in ascending order of evilness.   You get everything you wanted when you plunked down your dough at the box office.

The best part of franchises like Jurassic is that they don't take themselves too seriously.   The end of the world is not at hand.  There are no social messages hitting you over the head (I'm thinking about you, Black Panther).   This is pure escapism in the middle of your day or evening and meant to be enjoyed for what it is.   

So that's why I look forward to the next installment.   And totally ignore the next two dozen Marvel films that have grown tiresome.   In the very last scene of "Fallen Kingdom," some surviving dinosaurs are on a hillside overlooking their next prey....a teeming American metropolis.   If I had staged it, that city would have been Los Angeles.   Even better...the Marvel Studios lot.

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

Dinner last night:  Salad.

This Date in History - July 18

Happy birthday, Joe Torre.  I'll bet there's a big old plate of shrimp scampi in front of him tonight.

390 BC:  A ROMAN ARMY IS DEFEATED BY RAIDING GAULS, LEADING TO THE SUBSEQUENT SACKING OF ROME.

Some Gauls have all the gall.

362:  EMPEROR JULIAN ARRIVES AT ANTIOCH WITH A ROMAN FORCE OF 60,000 MEN AND STAYS THERE FOR NINE MONTHS. 

An influx of 60,000 men.  I hope there were more than 10 prostitutes in town.

1290:  KING EDWARD I OF ENGLAND ISSUES THE EDICT OF EXPULSION, BANISHING ALL JEWS FROM ENGLAND.

Just in case you thought Hitler was the one who started it all.

1334:  THE BISHOP OF FLORENCE BLESSES THE FIRST FOUNDATION STONE FOR THE NEW BELL TOWER OF THE FLORENCE CATHEDRAL.

In a later trip, Norman Lear later named the character of a maid after the same bell tower.

1555:  THE COLLEGE OF ARMS WAS REINCORPORATED BY A ROYAL CHARTER SIGNED BY QUEEN MARY I OF ENGLAND AND KING PHILIP II OF SPAIN.

The College of Legs was later started by a decree issued by Jane Russell and Betty Grable.

1792:  NAVAL COMMANDER JOHN PAUL JONES DIES.

He never lived to know that they would name one-half of a musical group after him.

1862:  THE FIRST ASCENT OF DENT BLANCHE, ONE OF THE HIGHEST SUMMITS IN THE ALPS.

Somebody tried to make a dent.  Oh, don't groan.  You try to do this every Wednesday.

1870:  THE FIRST VATICAN COUNCIL DECREES THE DOGMA OF PAPAL INFALLIBILITY.

Infallible?  Anybody talk to the altar boys?

1903:  ACTOR CHILL WILLS IS BORN.

Who names their kid after a word you would find on a weather map?

1909:  ACTRESS HARRIET NELSON IS BORN.

The most famous womb in television history.

1911:  ACTOR HUME CRONYN IS BORN.

Who names their kid after....er, what the hell is a "hume" again?

1913:  COMEDIAN RED SKELTON IS BORN.

"Two seagulls, Gertrude and Heathcliff...."

1925:  ADOLF HITLER PUBLISHES HIS MANIFEST "MEIN KAMPF."

Just wait for the paperback.

1940:  ACTOR JAMES BROLIN IS BORN.

You just look at him and you know he's a box of rocks.

1940:  BASEBALL PLAYER AND MANAGER JOE TORRE IS BORN.

The best description I ever heard of an ugly girl?  "She looks like Joe Torre with tits."

1941:  SINGER MARTHA REEVES IS BORN.

Bring on those Vandellas.

1944:  HIDEKI TOJO RESIGNS AS PRIME MINISTER OF JAPAN.

Sayonara.  Rat bastard.

1955:  DISNEYLAND OFFICIALLY OPENS TO THE PUBLIC.

Several were still waiting on-line the next day.

1961:  ACTRESS ELIZABETH MCGOVERN IS BORN.

I cannot wait for the "Downton Abbey" movie!

1968:  THE INTEL CORPORATION IS FOUNDED IN SANTA CLARA, CALIFORNIA.

The birth of the chiphead.

1969:  AFTER A PARTY ON CHAPPAQUIDDICK, SENATOR TED KENNEDY DRIVES AN OLDSMOBILE OFF A BRIDGE.

And just who was the designated driver on duty this night?

1969:  MARY JO KOPECHNE DIES IN SAID OLDSMOBILE.

The fact that this fat bastard got away with this and was re-elected to the Senate for years and years later is one of the biggest injustices in American History.

1976:  NADIA COMANECI BECAME THE FIRST PERSON IN OLYMPIC HISTORY TO SCORE A PERFECT 10 IN GYMNASTICS.

Bo Derek will tell you that there are no perfect 10s.

1984:  IN A SAN YSIDRO, CALIFORNIA MCDONALDS, A SNIPER OPENS FIRE, KILLING 21 PEOPLE AND INJURING 19 OTHERS.

Michelle Obama was right.  Fast food kills you.

1989:  BASEBALL PLAYER DONNIE MOORE DIES.

Suicide.  Because he gave up a homerun in the 1986 playoffs.  If he had been managed by Joe Torre earlier in his career, his arm would have been injured and he might be still alive today.

1989:  ACTRESS REBECCA SCHAEFFER DIES.

My Sister Sam.  Killed by a jealous guy.  O.J., your alibi is???

1990:  COMEDIAN JOHNNY WAYNE DIES.

And Schuster weeps.

1995:  ON THE ISLAND OF MONTSERRAT, THE SOUFRIERE HILLS VOLCANO ERUPTS AND DESTROYS THE ISLAND.

Just in case you had vacation plans in 1996....

2005:  GENERAL WILLIAM WESTMORELAND DIES.

Cue the rider-less horse.

2013:  THE CITY OF DETROIT FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY.

Does anybody still live there?

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Looking Back at a Monday Night

Last night, I came home to settle in for what I thought would be refreshing evening of entertainment.  I even had one last leftover slab of my famed lasagna to start the ball rolling.   The TV got flipped on for background noise.

And then everything fell apart.   Annoyances would be thrown at me every five minutes.

First off, the news was on and it was all aghast with something something Trump and Putin.  Since I have been pretty good at burying my head in the sand, I knew nothing of this alleged meeting yesterday.   But the liberal journalists (are there really any other kind?) were charging Trumpski with treason and duplicity as charges that our last Presidential election were rigged.

And I began to think about all this sanctimonious hand wringing and caterwauling I was hearing on TV and from some loony friends on social media.  How the hell could we allow this happen in our history?

Um, you fucking dumbbells, let's understand something.   The United States has been rigging elections in countries all over the globe for years.   South America.  Africa.   Bumfuk near the Equator.   We have been installing our favorite leaders in these disaster areas since World War II.   

God, my friends are so damn stupid.

I click the remote.

Ah, the annual Home Run Derby prior to the All Star Game.   I have always found this a dopey event that frequently destroys the abilities of its participants.   I am pretty sure that all of the Mets' David Wright's medical issues started with the Home Run Derby.   But I linger because the Dodgers' Max Muncy is going to hit.

But then I heard the voice.

One more time, ESPN trucks out its baseball color commentator, Jessica Mendoza, who has this job for two reasons.   She's a woman and she's got a Z in her last name.   Perhaps one of the most annoying people ever to call the sport.  Her qualification?  She played softball.   

Now I'm not against a female color commentator for baseball.   The Yankees' Suzyn Waldman has been working there for years and she's damn good at this.  But, every time Mendoza opens her mouth...well, she knows so little about the game of baseball.   Let's say that, if knowledge was liquid, you could pour hers into a thimble without spilling a drop.   

When she gets miked up to shag flies in the outfield, I go to wash my dinner dishes.

I come back to find the Derby has morphed into an episode of "I Love Bryce."  Harper, that is.   The Washington National is playing in the Derby and dressed like Rhoda Morgenstern on the Fourth of July.

As the ESPN gasbags bloviate over his greatness, I wonder if anybody of them saw the games over the weekend where the Nats were playing the Mets in Citi Field.   As a potential free agent looking for a new contract, Harper's play was lackadaisical and sloppy.   Buyer beware.   The Met announcers saw what I did.  I guess the ESPN idiots did not.

In the short space of one hour, I was completely annoyed.   I looked for a comfort zone and popped in a DVD for its annual viewing.

Ah, that's better.

Adults.   I don't know what's wrong with these adults today.

Dinner last night:  Lasagna...like I told you.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 16, 2018

Mr. Bean on vacation.   Enough said.

Dinner last night:  Too humid to cook...just a sandwich and some German potato salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - A Fan of the Summer

We're deep now in the belly of Summer 2018.  On my last trip to New York in June, I got the tail end of some really sweltering weather on my first two days there.  Last week in Los Angeles, mercury spurted out of thermometers as temps went over 110 degrees.  The requisite photo on Facebook was a picture of your car temperature.   This past week, LA got to experience some very New York-like humidity...the kind of air that can be sliced with a butter knife.  You can almost see it as it envelops every pore of your body. 

You don't say global warming anymore.  It's now called climate change.  Whatever the case, I say "phooey."  Yeah, it's summer and it gets freakin' hot.  We deal with it.

When I was a kid, it was a lot easier to cope.  I had nothing else to do.  In that youthful purgatory of being too old to sit in a wading pool down on the backyard lawn and too young to get a summer job, I was a bit lost during the summer months.  We had one air conditioner in our house, situated in the living room.  Spend all day inside and watch TV?  That got a little old by the second week of July.  Spend all night inside the ultra-coolness that surrounded the Zenith picture tube?  Well, that wasn't an option.  When it was really, really hot, my mother, already commuting to a NY job every day, slept on the living room couch so she could be crisp for the morning run to the train station. 

So what to do at night when the temperature still hadn't dropped below 85?

Well, eventually, a routine developed for summer nights on 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon.

The post 6PM hours were easy to cover.  I've written before of our neighborhood vacant lot that was nightly transformed into our own personal ballpark.  Surrounded by weeds that were virtual condominiums for mosquitos, this was hardly the ideal way for me and my buddies to stay cool.  Running around till we were sweaty and playing our own special brand of baseball with ground rules that had to be perfectly tailored for our dimensions.  Hit the ball in the big thoroughfare of First Street, you're out.  Hit the sliver of a sidewalk and you've got a homer.  Throw the ball over the head of the kid playing first base and expect a ten minute delay while we rifled through the aforementioned weeds looking for the ball.

But, there we were every night from about 6PM to around 830PM or whenever the ball was declared officially lost.  We needed to head back to our block anyway.

Coot and his Good Humor truck were due at 845PM.  Dessert!!  And we would savor our treats on somebody's front steps.  Landing en masse as a group.  Or sometimes it was just me and my best neighborhood pal Leo munching our Chocolate Chip Candys on the cement stairs in front of my house and yakking up the day's events. 

By about 930PM or 10PM, Leo would retire to his home which included two parents and three lively brothers.  As for me, the house was deadly quiet and sibling-less.  Upstairs, my mother was asleep in the living room, chilling away for her next day of work.  Downstairs, Grandma had decided once again that television was for the birds and headed off to bed herself.  Meanwhile, my father wouldn't be home from his night job until after 1AM. 

Now an official summer night owl, I had at least three or four hours to kill before I would hit the hay myself.  Back then, nighttime Met home games started at 8PM, so sometimes there was still a contest to watch finish up on the rickety black-and-white portable television in my room.  But it was still way too hot for that and the bedspread worked up the sweat that had finally evaporated after my baseball exploits on the lot earlier that evening.  I could have watched Johnny Carson, but his jokes were not as funny while you were losing quarts of water in your own personal sauna.

I had hours to spend and a body to cool.  What's a kid to do?

There was only one place for me.  Our kitchen.  With the enormous fan in the window.  It made the sound of the D train rushing through a local subway station. But, like ocean water crashing up against a shore, there was something oddly soothing with that loud whirring of our kitchen fan. I could listen to it for hours. And frequently did. Way up close.

I was a weird kid.

And electric fans had been the way our family kept cool during the summer. 

My grandmother had one mounted in her kitchen downstairs as well and that must have been how people stayed cool during World War II. Apparently, there are all sorts of scientific solutions on how to use the fan to get gusts of wind going throughout the house. It must have been handed down like family lore, because both my dad and Grandma were cooling experts.

If you're in the bedroom, you turn on the kitchen fan and then close all the doors of the house except for the room you're in. Voila. The whole opening in the home gets all the intake and you have a breeze. Naturally, I would invariably go into one of the other rooms and then I would hear the wail.

"Close the door!!"

But, after 10PM every steamy summer night, I had to be near that monster of a fan.  For the breeze, but also for the noise.  It shut me into my own special world.  This was my "alone" time and I valued it.

So did my dog Tuffy, who would sequester herself in her sleeping box and keep me quiet company.  This would be my hideaway for the next three hours.

First order of business?  I'd make myself a sandwich with one of the German cold cuts my father had bought the previous Saturday morning.  Usually my beloved Taylor Ham or some Cervelat.  Wait, didn't I just have a Good Humor ice cream?  No worries.  That had to be...wow...over an hour ago.

For two summers, I would spend the 10PM hour and playing out past New York Met seasons with my Strat-O-Matic baseball game.  These were the versions of the popular strategy game that were not computerized.  I'd follow the games of an earlier season schedule and simply replay the games.  Then, I'd record the stats in a spiral bound notebook.  The goal was to see if I could duplicate the same statistics that each player had actually recorded in that season.  And was it possible for me to manage the New York Mets and improve their overall record?

I told you I was a weird kid.   And obviously an only child.

I was only good for about two or three games a night.  I had to set aside quality time for my next nightly activity.

Reading.  And summer was the best time to do it.

There was always something different about diving into a book when you didn't have to as opposed to when it was assigned to you by some nutty seventh grade English teacher. All those designated "must-reads" ever did was promote the opportunities to make sport of the titles.

Silly Ass Marner.

Great Expectorations.

And the boys locker room classic: A Sale of Two Titties.

Reading on hot and humid nights was a completely different thing, though. I couldn't wait to hit a book around 11PM and go till about 1AM or whenever Dad popped home from work and sent me to bed. Even then, my reading preference tended to be more film and sports biographies. I would attack a novel from time to time. Usually, if some best seller was being made into a movie for summer release, I would race to finish the book before seeing the film. I remember vividly the breakneck speed at which I finished "The Godfather." 

And, for this innocent youngster, Page 27 was more education than I ever needed.

But, the simple act of nightly reading was not the complete nirvana. I had another bizarre ritual that went along with it hand-in-hand.

I needed to have a glass of iced tea at my side.  Usually the Nestea powder brand.  Nobody in my house had the time or the inclination to brew it from scratch.

I'd then take the kitchen chair and put it as close to the monstrosity of a kitchen fan, which was always spinning on the highest speed.   It was situated right next to a china closet, which created a pretty dark corner and a very small space.  No worries.  I was snug.  And there is where my summer nightly reading took place. With a tensor lamp and me wedged in between the fan and the china closet with a good book. It was almost like my own private little cave.

To this day, the sound of an electric fan does a little more than just comfort me. It blows me right back to Don Corleone, Rhett and Scarlett, and a biography of Charlie Chaplin.

Before I knew it, I would be stirred back to reality by a male voice.

"Go to bed already."

Dad was home.  I'd stumble down the hall to my Gobi Desert of a bedroom.  Thinking fondly of the next night.   When I would repeat the routine all over again.

Dinner last night:  Sausage pizza from Maria's Italian Kitchen.