Len's Recipe of the Month - January 2019

Beef stew.   Perfect for a winter's night dinner, either in frigid New York or chilly and rainy Los Angeles.

Okay, you're probably asking how hard it is to make a stew.   Well, it's not.   But everybody has a different spin on it and here's mine.

First off, you can prepare it in either a slow cooker or a Dutch oven.   The photo above was done in the latter.   But, the prep is the same.   The difference is whether you're cooking it on low for 8 hours or simmering it on the stove for about 2 to 3 hours.   

Here's the Dutch oven method.

Take about two pounds of stewing beef chuck pieces and saute them in a little olive oil.   After browning for five minutes, remove the meat into a bowl and put aside.  

In the same Dutch oven, saute two chopped cloves of garlic and one chopped onion.   Use the drippings from the beef.  That is all flavor you want to use.

Chop two celery stalks.   Add the pieces.   Peel three carrots.   Slice them.   Yep, into the Dutch oven.  

For potatoes, use Yukon Gold because you don't have to peel them.   Quarter about five to six small ones and throw those pieces in.   Now put the meat back in.   

You will need liquid but, since the veggies make their own water, you won't want to use much.   About a cup to a cup and a half of beef broth should do the trick.   Also add two tablespoons of Worcestershire sauce.    Kosher salt and pepper to taste.

Now here's a twist which will give your stew a little kick.   Get one of those Cajun seasoning mixes and add about a tablespoon of that.   I picked that one from actress Faith Ford's cookbook and it makes your stew even heartier.

Simmer on the stove for about two hours.   A half hour prior to serving, check the liquid composition of your stew.   If it's too watery, you can thicken it by making a slurry of flour and water.   Mix about a tablespoon of each in a cup and slowly spoon it into the stew.  Mix thoroughly.

At this point, you will also want to throw in a package of frozen peas.   Heat for another 30 minutes and then serve.

You're welcome.

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

This Date in History - January 30

Happy birthday, Davey Johnson.  Naturally I will post a picture of him in his 1986 uniform.

1648:  THE TREATY OF MUNSTER AND OSNABRUCK IS SIGNED, ENDING THE CONFLICT BETWEEN THE NETHERLANDS AND SPAIN.

However, there's still a battle raging between Munster and Addams Family.

1649:  KING CHARLES I OF ENGLAND IS BEHEADED.

He had just gone in for a trim.

1661:  OLIVER CROMWELLL, LORD PROTECTOR OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF ENGLAND, IS RITUALLY EXECUTED TWO YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH.

Obviously, there was quite the backlog in the ritual execution department.

1703:  THE FORTY SEVEN RONIN, UNDER THE COMMAND OF OISHI KURANOSUKE, AVENGE THE DEATH OF THEIR MASTER.

Later on, with budget cuts, it was only the thirty eight Ronin.

1790:  THE FIRST LIFEBOAT IS TESTED ON THE RIVER TYNE.

And???

1806:  THE ORIGINAL LOWER TRENTON BRIDGES WHICH SPANS THE DELAWARE RIVER BETWEEN PENNSYLVANIA AND NEW JERSEY IS OPENED.

The Original.  Apparently it was later New and Improved.

1826:  THE MENAI SUSPENSION BRIDGE, CONSIDERED THE WORLD'S FIRST MODERN SUSPENSION BRIDGE, IS OPENED IN WALES.

But, was it the Original?

1835:  IN THE FIRST ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT AGAINST A PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, RICHARD LAWRENCE ATTEMPTS TO SHOOT PRESIDENT ANDREW JACKSON, BUT FAILS.

Others would later show him the way.

1836:  SEAMSTRESS BETSY ROSS DIES.

Sew what?

1847:  YERBA BUENA, CALIFORNIA, IS RENAMED SAN FRANCISCO.

So it would have been the Yerba Buena Giants?

1862:  THE FIRST AMERICAN IRONCLAD WARSHIP, THE USS MONITOR, IS LAUNCHED.

And later became a NBC network radio show.

1882:  PRESIDENT FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT IS BORN.

Just to to be clear, he wasn't President when he was born.  Or was he?

1911:  THE CANADIAN NAVAL SERVICE BECOMES THE ROYAL CANADIAN NAVY.

No mention of Guy Lombardo.

1922:  COMIC DICK MARTIN IS BORN.

Look that up in your Funk and Wagnall.

1925:  ACTRESS DOROTHY MALONE IS BORN.

Constance McKenzie from TV's Peyton Place.

1930:  ACTOR GENE HACKMAN IS BORN.

Don't ride with him.  Better you should take the subway.

1933:  ADOLF HITLER IS SWORN IN AS CHANCELLOR OF GERMANY.

Ach-tung.

1934:  PUBLISHER FRANK NELSON DOUBLEDAY DIES.

Final printing.

1943:  BASEBALL MANAGER DAVEY JOHNSON IS BORN.

Thanks for the lasting memories of a Met world championship.  There may never be another.

1944:  DURING WORLD WAR II, THE BATTLE OF CISTERNA, PART OF OPERATION SHINGLE, BEGINS IN CENTRAL ITALY.

Operation Shingle?  What is the objective?  Give everybody chicken pox?

1948:  AVIATOR ORVILLE WRIGHT DIES.

He came back to Earth...and then kept going.

1951:  ROCK STAR PHIL COLLINS IS BORN.

His real Genesis.

1956:  AMERICAN CIVIL RIGHTS LEADER MARTIN LUTHER KING JR'S HOME IS BOMBED IN RETALIATION FOR THE MONTGOMERY BUS BOYCOTT.

Which later made him go out and get bombed at the local bar.

1959:  MS HANS HEDTOFT, SAID TO BE THE SAFEST SHIP AFLOAT AND UNSINKABLE, STRUCK AN ICEBERG ON ITS MAIDEN VOYAGE AND SUNK.

But it didn't merit a song from Celine Dion.

1969:  THE BEATLES' LAST PUBLIC PERFORMANCE HAPPENS ON THE ROOF OF APPLE RECORDS IN LONDON.  THE IMPROMPTU CONCERT IS BROKEN UP BY THE POLICE.

Who was the crabby neighbor that complained?

1971:  CAROLE KING'S TAPESTRY ALBUM IS RELEASED.  IT WOULD BECOME THE LONGEST CHARTING ALBUM BY A FEMALE SOLO ARTIST AND SELL 24 MILLION COPIES WORLDWIDE.

It's too late.

1982:  RICHARD SKRENTA WRITES THE FIRST PC VIRUS CODE CALLED "ELK CLONER."

The folks at McAfee thank you.

1994:  PETER LEKO BECOMES THE YOUNGEST CHESS GRAND MASTER.

A game I never learned to play.

1999:  ACTOR HUNTZ HALL DIES.

Satch!

1999:  TV ANNOUNCER ED HERLIHY DIES.

So, macaroni and cheese can kill?

2006:  CORETTA SCOTT KING DIES.

And the kids are still fighting over the old lady's dough.

2007:  AUTHOR SIDNEY SHELDON DIES.

On the other side, there is no midnight.

2010:  TV PRODUCER AARON RUBEN DIES.

The genius responsible for the Andy Griffith Show.

2011:  COMPOSER JOHN BARRY DIES.

The genius responsible for the James Bond theme.

2013:  SINGER PATTY ANDREWS DIES.

It ain't apple blossom time any more.

Dinner last night:  Chicken noodle soup.

Roma As In Coma

I first want to call your attention to the ad above.   Look at all those magnificent reviews.   You can add to these that the New York Film Critics have called "Roma" the Best Picture of 2018.   Plus it is up for both Best Picture and Best Foreign Film at the Oscars.

Makes you want to see it, right?  Guilty as charged.

And, because "Roma" is a Netflix production, you can currently find it at both your local theater and on your Netflix queue (which is how I watched it).   

Better that you don't find it at all.   "Roma" is another in an increasingly long line of superlatively reviewed and lauded movies that I just don't get.

This whole concoction comes from Mexico and writer-director Alfonso Cuaron.  Can we look up the translation for "overrated" in a Spanish dictionary?   You may remember that he was the guy who brought us "Gravity" a few years back and, in a terribly clever move, he has the characters in "Roma" going to see the old movie "Marooned," which also features astronauts stuck in outer space.   Wink, f-ing wink.   How damn obvious can you be, Alfonso?

If you want to know what this movie is allegedly about, read on and beg me forgiveness for divulging some spoilers.  At the end of the day, you will thank me.   "Roma" is set in 1971 Mexico and we meet Cleo, a bargain basement Mary Poppins to a dysfunctional family....a bunch of unruly kids led by a philandering father and a mother who can't park their Ford Galaxy in their narrow garage without scraping the sides of the car.   From what I can see, Cleo is only so-so at her job.   She can keep up with the kids, but falls miserably behind picking up the family dog's shit.

Cleo also has a Mexican martial arts specialist (???!!!!) for a boyfriend.   He promptly knocks her up and then leaves for parts unknown.   She walks around for three months not even knowing she's pregnant.   Eventually, she goes out to buy a crib in the middle of some street anarchy.   Her water breaks and we go through the lengthy and excruciating ordeal of watching her baby be stillborn.   

Eventually, her family of charges is left adrift by Dad who has run off to be in a better movie.   The remaining family goes to the shore and Cleo saves one of the kids from drowning.  

End of movie, thereby concluding 135 minutes of virtual nothingness.

See, I told you.   Indeed, there are some very interesting camera angles, including one in the ocean as the little girl almost drowns.   But, with no plot afoot, all of the nice set pieces just qualify as eye candy.   If only this Mary Poppins came with some music.  Chim Chim Churro?

For some reason, Cuaron shoots "Roma" in black-and-white.  Don't get me wrong.   I like a film in just two shades, but the use here strikes me as a trifle pretentious.   Maybe it's done to cover up the ugliness because everything looks dirty.   The muddy streets.   The dog shit on the floor.   The starkness of the maternity ward which looks overcrowded.

I am once again mystified by a film that is getting raves.   Am I missing something?  Cuaron is riding his Mexican roots all the way to the Oscar diversity bank.   But there is this interesting note...Cuaron has lived in England since 2000.  Phony bastard.

The one thing I am sure of is that "Roma" won't be screening in a Trump White House.   Unless he wants to tweet about it as a validation for his wall.

LEN'S RATING:  One-half star.

Dinner last night: Hamburger. 

Monday Morning Video Laugh - January 28, 2019

This is why I don't ski.   Or ride a sled.

Dinner last night:  London broil and caramelized onions.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - RIP Kaye

We lost one the other day that hit home a little bit.  At the age of 93, Kaye Ballard went to that great supper club in the sky.   My writing partner and I got to know her a little bit and spent one glorious day with her at her Palm Springs home which she purchased from Desi Arnaz.  In fact, Kaye told us that, for the first few years she was there in Rancho Mirage, the doorbell would frequently ring at 3AM.   It would be some well dressed woman.

"Is Desi home?"

Well, there.   

So, with Kaye's passing, I decided to dig up the blog spot that tells all about how we got to know her.   And it all was a result of a small little sitcom that ran for 56 episodes over two seasons back in the 60s.  

"The Mothers-In-Law" was a hallmark show of my youth. Once again, during its original primetime run, I was led to this Sunday night show by my grandmother. Back then, Sunday nights were meant for America to connect with Ed Sullivan, who had his finger on the pulse of the nation's entertainment scene. But, as he gravitated towards nothing but Motown groups and endless chats with Topo Gigio, my grandmother was ready to disconnect.

"Ed Sullivan? He's got too many n%g*ers and puppets!"

Indeed, she had never really forgiven him for bringing over the Beatles and "all that hippie style."

Her TV dial drifted over to "The Mothers-In-Law." And, as usual, I followed.

"The Mothers-In-Law" was safe and fun. As developed by "I Love Lucy" creators, the late Bob Carroll Jr. and Madelyn Pugh Davis, and executive produced by none other than Desi Arnaz, the show was essentially a throwback to the 1950s. In reality, "The Mothers-in-Law" was nothing more than an extension of what might have happened if the Ricardos and the Mertzes had children and then they married. Reviewers called it "old hat."

In the living room on 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon, we loved it. The cast, as led by Eve Arden and Kaye Ballard, was marvelous and I remembered us laughing a lot. For budgetary reasons, "The Mothers-in-Law" didn't make it past its second season. We noticed its cancellation. Not many others did. And, except for maybe a few years being rerun on WNEW Channel 5 in NY, "The Mothers-in-Law" drifted away to whatever oblivion marginally successful TV shows enter. Sadly, I never really gave it a second thought.

Until three decades later.

My writing partner and I have moved to LA. And we have become friends with Bob and Madelyn. We have even become business partners with Madelyn's stepson. And, one day, we are having lunch with these two legendary TV writers. As Bob ate French Fries off my partner's plate, the conversation surprisingly meandered off "I Love Lucy." Both Carroll and Davis started talking affectionately about Desi Arnaz. And doing "The Mothers-in-Law." I mentioned how I used to love watching it with my grandmother, although I did not share that it was due to her disdain for specific races and/or Italian puppets. We all lamented that the show was not available for viewing anymore.

And then my partner and I got to thinking. There was, at the time, a magazine devoted to articles on retro TV shows. I queried the publisher if there would be any interest in running a story on "The Mothers-In-Law." She bought in big time.

"People have been dying to see it again."

So, two would-be TV writers suddenly became magazine writers. And set about researching anything and everything about "The Mothers-in-Law."

Spending time on this with Bob and Madelyn was a slam dunk. We formally taped an interview with them in Madelyn's home office, while I salivated over a huge framed and autographed wall poster of Lucy and Ethel on the candy factory assembly line. But, it was also key for us to hook up with the surviving cast as well. Madelyn very matter-of-factly offered up what she knew.

"Well, Eve's dead."

But she also knew that Kaye Ballard had bought Desi's Palm Springs house. And she thought that veteran actor Herbert Rudley, who played Eve's husband, was living someplace in Marina del Rey. 

Twenty plus years ago, there was the Internet, but IMDB was less reliable. We proceeded to do searches on Kaye, Herb, and the two actors who played the young married couple, Jerry Fogel and Deborah Walley.

When our investigative work on Rudley revealed that he had retired from acting in 1984, we went to a very obvious last resort. The Marina del Rey telephone book. Sure enough, there was a Herbert Rudley listed. After many coin flips and several days of procrastination, I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"May I speak to Herbert Rudley, please."

"This is he."

I gulped again.

"Is this the actor Herbert Rudley?"

"Yes, it is."

Bingo.

And, amazingly, after only five minutes on the phone, he invited us down to spend an afternoon at his condo. He was close to 90, but amazingly compliant with memories. Not only about "The Mothers-in-Law," but also about his film career in the 40s and 50s. He also regaled us with the tale of how he and Ingrid Bergman made out in the back of a sedan. We were astonished at how welcome he made us feel, given we were complete strangers who had essentially "cold-called" him out of the clear blue sky. And he shared with us for copying his complete collection of "Mothers-In-Law" episodes, which were recorded on that old trusty VCR.

We found Kaye Ballard through her agent, but she was equally accommodating and invited us down to her (Desi's) house in Palm Springs for lunch. Not only was she a fabulous host, but her assistant concocted some dynamite garlic toast. I remember using her bathroom and, as I peed, found myself staring at a painting done by Red Skelton. The only thing I ever saw while I was peeing back in Mount Vernon was my mother's can of Caryl Richards Just Wonderful Hard to Hold hair spray. 

We moved on to tracking down the actors who played the newlyweds. To be efficient, we divided them up between us. I did my detective work on Jerry Fogel, who played Jerry Buell. He had given up acting and Hollywood. I traced him to some real estate/financial investment company in Kansas City. As I was not budgeted or really interested for a trip to the Midwest, Jerry and I spent 90 minutes on the phone and he waxed fondly about all his acting memories. 

My partner had it a bit harder to track down former "Gidget" Deborah Walley, who had apparently did some hard living in the wild and wooly Hollywood of the 60s and perhaps evaporated into a narcotic haze. Somehow and someway, he talked to somebody who knew somebody else who knew where she was living in Sedona, Arizona. 

When he finally got her on the phone, the Deborah Walley who was some goofy teen starlet/air head/pot head of previous decades had morphed into a crafty businesswoman and proud mother. More importantly, she was very candid about her past and was even more interested in our future. Several months later, she moved back to Los Angeles to try and start up her acting career one more time. We got together from time to time. 

And, for some reason, my partner and Deborah developed a unique on-line relationship of trading jokes, stories, etc.. Indeed, he was on the short list of her friends who received the news a few years later that she had been diagnosed with inoperable cancer of the esophagus. He was on the e-mail cc: list when she sent out a note to close associates that talked about she wanted to aggressively beat the dreaded disease. And he got the e-mail news from her assistant when she finally succumbed to her illness in 2001. 

All of the research and interviews lent to a terrific story when it finally appeared in the magazine. Moreover, thanks to Herb's tapes, I got to revisit a show that I had not seen in over 30 years. A bit "old hat?" Perhaps. But, the writing and acting was spot on. Crisp, clean, and professional. And there were certain episodes that I would put alongside other sitcom classics. One show featured the in-laws and the newlyweds participating in a group therapy session. The final scene of that script featured some of the best writing that I have ever heard in any comedy show ever. 

Another episode was super-clever, because it employed the no-longer-used-by-Hollywood theater of the mind. Harkening back to the days of radio when you didn't have to visually absorb something in order to get to the comedy. The kids have moved and the two in-law couples sneak into their new digs one at a time to inspect. Each of them winds up piling into an old armoire when they are caught. 

Of course, at the end of the scene, the kids have sold the armoire and the delivery guys show up to take it. The armoire is tipped on its side, rolled onto a dolly, and dragged out of the room. Of course, you know the actors aren't really inside. But, for the moments you are suspending reality, there are waves of laughter that I have never heard before from the legendary "live studio audience." Brilliant comedy. And it's even more amazing since Madelyn told us that particular script had been concocted quickly over a single weekend. 

This magazine article was a long time ago.   Indeed, the magazine itself went out of business a year later.  Our friends Bob and Madelyn are sadly gone.  Now, with Kaye's passing, the last person in the cast still with us is Jerry Fogel.  But the series was released in a DVD set and, on a viewing the other day, it still holds up in a very quaint fashion.

We got Christmas cards from Kaye for about five years and then they stopped. She kept working a bit, mostly doing her act at supper clubs in Palm Springs.  Oddly enough, there's a new documentary about her that a producer is trying to get some traction to.  Ironically, it had a showing at the Palm Springs film festival a few weeks ago and Kaye, frail and failing, did get to show up in her wheelchair and acknowledged the accolades.   Perhaps her death will get it a wider release.   

I remember two years ago a similar documentary on Rose Marie.  It got a small release and I even attended a screening where she appeared.   She died about a month later.  The same has happened to Kaye.  Perhaps they both knew that the documentary was perfect closure to stellar careers.

Indeed, the memories will live forever.   For fans.  And for those who got to know Kaye Ballard just a little bit.   

How do you manage a standing ovation on a blog?

Dinner last night:  Hot dog.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - January 2019

Released fifty years ago this month.  Still in the current life of Shirley MacLaine.

Dinner last night:  Hunan beef at First Szechwan Wok.

Fun With Store Signs

Dinner last night:  Tomato soup.

#OscarsSoDead

Regular readers might remember my two favorite Hollywood insiders, Saul and Heshe, who used to bitch, moan, and groan about Tinseltown over their pastrami sandwiches at Nate N' Al's deli in Beverly Hills.  Well, sadly, I must announce that the two oldtimers are both now dead.   Killed by cold cuts that should have been served extra lean.

But, truly, had Saul and Heshe lived, they would have been killed this past Tuesday morning when the latest Oscar nominations were announced.    The ludicrousness of the award hopefuls this year would have clearly started a funeral cortege for Saul and Heshe to Forest Lawn.  

Indeed, the Oscars have themselves to blame.  With this push for diversity, the Academy Awards have completely fallen off the rails.  Or, I guess, jumped the shark.   I mean, look at the eight films nominated for Best Picture.

BlacKkKlansman:   This got the detestable Spike Lee an Oscar nod.   Did you all feel the world come a little bit off its axis?

Black Panther:   A ridiculous excuse for what is nothing but a super hero movie.

Bohemian Rhapsody:   I hear this is one of the two that are worthy of this list.   I have not seen it, but will.

The Favourite:   One of the worst movies I have seen in my life.

Green Book:   Probably the best film I saw in 2018.   There wasn't a lot of competition.

Roma:  Should be called "Coma" for the damage it inflicts upon the viewer.  Nothing happens for two plus hours.   And then, out of nowhere, there is a ten minute scene where you graphically watch a baby come out of the womb still-born.  Yeeesh.

A Star Is Born:   This remake actually made the Barbra Streisand version look good.   I thought that was impossible.

Vice:   I have a screener on the way, but I hear this is one super slow movie.

And there you have it.   Perhaps the most lackluster list of Best Picture nominees in history.  Add to this the fact that the Academy can't find a host who hasn't made an offensive tweet in the past decade.   The end result should be an Oscar telecast with the lowest ratings in history.   

And deservedly so.

Oddly enough, I made a New Year's resolution to watch every Best Picture winner in one single year.   I've already made a dent by watching the following:

Grand Hotel.

It Happened One Night.

You Can't Take It With You.

Rebecca.

Casablanca.

The Lost Weekend.

All About Eve.

On the Waterfront.

Marty.

The Artist.

Spotlight.

Even the overhyped "The Artist" is more worthy of the award than any of the 2018 nominations.

Saul and Heshe....Rest in Peace.

Dinner last night:  The last of leftover lasagna...for a while.

This Date in History - January 23

Happy birthday to Arlene Golonka of "Mayberry RFD" fame.  I'm pretty sure there's no other blog in the world that is using her picture of her today.

393:  ROMAN EMPEROR THEODOSIUS I PROCLAIMS HIS EIGHT YEAR OLD SON HONORIUS CO-EMPEROR.

This nepotism that the late Garry Marshall would have been proud of.

971:  IN CHINA, THE WAR ELEPHANT CORPS OF THE SOUTHERN HAN ARE SOUNDLY DEFEATED AT SHAO BY FIRE FROM SONG DYNASTY TROOPS.

I got nothing to say about this.  But I do have another joke about the historical fact above.  Theodosius?  I hope he has a brother named Supercalifragilisticexpiallie.

1510:  HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND, THEN 18 YEARS OLD, APPEARS INCOGNITO IN THE LISTS AT RICHMOND AND IS APPLAUDED FOR HIS JOUSTING.

No wonder he had all those wives.  He was quite the swordsman.

1556:  THE DEADLIEST EARTHQUAKE IN HISTORY HITS SHAANXI IN CHINA, KILLING 830,000.

The planet must have actually felt lighter after that happened.

1656:  BLAISE PASCAL PUBLISHES THE FIRST OF HIS LETTRES PROVINCIALES.

His kids were called the Little Pascals.

1737:  PATRIOT JOHN HANCOCK IS BORN.

The inventor of the signature.

1789:  GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY IS FOUNDED.

And we still don't know what the hell a hoya is.

1849:  ELIZABETH BLACKWELL BECOMES THE UNITED STATES' FIRST FEMALE DOCTOR.

And you all thought it was Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.

1870:  IN MONTANA, US CALALRYMEN KILL 173 NATIVE AMERICANSS, MOSTLY WOMEN AND CHILDREN, IN THE MARIAS MASSACRE.

And they call the murderers Marias.

1897:  ELVA ZONA HEASTER IS FOUND DEAD IN WEST VIRGINIA.  THE RESULTING MURDER TRIAL OF HER HUSBAND IS PERHAPS THE ONLY CASE IN US HISTORY WHERE THE ALLEGED TESTIMONY OF A GHOST HELPED SECURE A CONVICTION.

Casper for the Prosecution.

1919:  COMEDIAN ERNIE KOVACS IS BORN.

Killed in 1962 in a car crash one half block away from where I live in LA.

1920:  THE NETHERLANDS REFUSES TO SURRENDER EX-KAISER WILHELM II OF GERMANY TO THE ALLIES.

They were, however, willing to give them Hoyt Wilhelm for their bullpen.

1928:  ACTRESS JEANNE MOREAU IS BORN.

When she's sad, can you say she is morose?

1933:  ACTRESS CHITA RIVERA IS BORN.

Thank God they didn't spell it "Cheetah."

1939:  ACTRESS ARLENE GOLONKA IS BORN.

She was a fox....a really long time ago.

1941:  CHARLES LINDBERGH TESTIFIES BEFORE US CONGRESS AND RECOMMENDS THAT THE UNITED STATES NEGOTIATE A NEUTRALITY PACT WITH ADOLF HITLER.

When you read stuff like this, you start to think his baby was better off with Bruno Hauptmann.

1943:  DUKE ELLINGTON PLAYS AT CARNEGIE HALL FOR THE FIRST TIME.

You know how he got to Carnegie Hall?  He practiced.

1951:  PILOT CHESLEY SULLENBERGER IS BORN.

You want me to land where???

1953:  FORMER LA MAYOR ANTONIO VILLARAIGOSA IS BORN.

Now this is one freakin' asshole.  The city is currently a shit hole.  He helped make it such.

1957:  AMERICAN INVENTOR WALTER MORRISON SELLS THE RIGHTS TO HIS "FLYING DISC" TO WHAM-O TOY AND THEY RENAME IT THE "FRISBEE."

Thereby inventing a whole new way for college students to waste their time.

1973:  PRESIDENT RICHARD NIXON ANNOUNCES THAT A PEACE ACCORD HAS BEEN REACHED IN VIETNAM.

He was still a crook.

1976:  SINGER PAUL ROBESON DIES.

Even rivers can stop flowing.

1977:  RESTAURANTEUR TOOTS SHOR DIES.

Now off the menu.

1977:  "ROOTS" PREMIERES ON ABC.

I passed.

1986:  THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME INDUCTS ITS FIRST MEMBERS.  

Surprisingly, Slim Whitman was not one of them.

1989:  PAINTER SALVADOR DALI DIES.

Goodbye, Dali.

1997:  MADELEINE ALBRIGHT BECOMES THE FIRST WOMAN TO SERVE AS US SECRETARY OF STATE.

That's debatable.  I mean, the woman part.

2002:  REPORTER DANIEL PEARL IS KIDNAPPED IN PAKISTAN AND SUBSEQUENTLY MURDERED.

I remember the gruesome video.

2003:  ACTRESS NELL CARTER DIES.

Aint respiratin'.

2004:   ACTOR BOB KEESHAN DIES.

For sale:  One Treasure House.  Needs work.

2005:  TV PERSONALITY JOHNNY CARSON DIES.

Missed by yours truly to this day.

2011:  FITNESS EXPERT JACK LALANNE DIES.

Juicing kills.

2015:  BASEBALL ERNIE BANKS DIES.

He'll be hard pressed to play one today.

Dinner last night:  Leftover lasagna.

Thank God for Award Season Screeners

Because they save me from spending 15 or more bucks to catch up on pretentious movies getting Oscar buzz.   That's the case with "If Beale Street Could Talk."   Boy, am I glad I got to watch this claptrap from the free sanctum of my living room couch.

I guess I knew what I was in for before I sat down and popped this freebie into the DVD.  I mean, the writer-director is Barry Jenkins who brought the overripe "Moonlight," which is one of the worst movies ever to win the Best Picture Oscar.  This story is based on a 1974 novel by that kook James Baldwin and, well, that speaks for itself.   

But one of the cast members getting lots of Oscar bizz bizz is Regina King and I have always thought she was a terrific actress on both TV and film.   She's the main reason I even bothered with this mess and, frankly, her scenes as a dedicated mother are the best thing in the movie.   Regina's allegedly on track for a Best Supporting Actress nod and good for her.   

The rest of the movie?   Yeech.

This is the type of drivel that self-conscious and overly liberal Hollywood eats up with a big spoon.  A story about their woe-begotten Black brothers and sisters.   Meanwhile, everybody lives in gated communities out here.   Phony to the Nth degree.   So count on "If Beale Street Could Talk" to show up big time when nominations are announced.   Jenkins could have filmed a fly walking up a curtain and Hollywood would have still genuflected until its knees hurt.

The heroes of this saga are Tiki and Fonny, which is short perhaps for "Telephone."  They are Harlem-based-in-the-70s childhood sweethearts.  Neither probably has an education past the fourth grade, yet they both know how to use the word "artisan" in a sentence.  Well, Tiki gets pregnant just as Fonny is wrongly accused for raping a Puerto Rican woman who conveniently disappears.  Fonny is in jail awaiting trial while Tiki has contractions and her mom pops on a wig to look for the Puerto Rican chick.   

That's pretty much the whole movie and no spoiler alert is needed.  There are a lot of colorful shots that make Harlem look like a scene out of "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg," but nothing much more holds your attention when Regina King (as the mom) is off the cinematic canvas.

Of course, there is a heavy-handed message in play here courtesy of the rants and ravings of the now-dead Baldwin.   White cops are all evil.   All Black men are innocent.  And the legal system is rigged to put anyone dark automatically behind bars.  Okay, no, no, and not as badly as you think.  The preachy screenplay by the ultra-hammy Jenkins makes these points so frequently that you want to scream "I got it."  Meanwhile, he never complains explains what the hell the title of the book and movie means.   

So kudos again to Ms. King.   A big razzberry to the rest of this production.   

I will remind myself one more time.   I saw it for nothing.   And nothing is what I got.

LEN'S RATING:  Two stars.

Dinner last night:  Leftover lasagna.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - January 21, 2019

I still miss the animal segments from Johnny Carson's Tonight Show.

Dinner last night:  Sausage lasagna.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - A Photo of the Old Neighborhood

It's amazing what you can find on Facebook.   For all the negatives it presents (largely due to the political fights it is provoking), there are some fascinating discoveries.

For instance, I belong to this group called "I Grew Up in Mount Vernon," which is my hometown in Westchester County, New York.  Now, most of the time, the group is posting one photo after another of famous Black people born in that city.  Um, there are some other notable folks who came from there as well.  But I digress...

There are some people in that group who are posting "then and now" photos of Mount Vernon when it was in its more livable days.  Frankly, the downtown area now looks like Berlin after the allies hit in 1945.   The city has been on a slippery slope decline for about thirty years now and all of it due to a series of inept and downright crooked leaders in City Hall.   

But I am welcoming these pictures of old, especially the one above because it was in my direct neighborhood.  I grew up on South Fifteenth Avenue right near the corner of First Street.   This is a photo taken from the corner of South 14th Avenue and First Street.   It looks at First Street but there's also another street in the background.  That would be Pearl Street.

Okay, let's dissect this.   Obviously, this was a trolley that ran from the downtown area of Mount Vernon (Fourth Avenue) to the Bronx Line and the 241st Street Subway station.   Look at the billboard for a Packard car.  Now that auto manufacturer went into business at the turn of the 20th century and effectively produced its last car around 1956 or 1957.  So the photo is definitely before, say, 1955.

It is hard to discern what the building is on the right, but, when I was a kid, it had a Carvel Ice Cream stand and an adjoining parking lot.  It looked a lot like this.  In fact, there is a story I will share again on another Sunday about the day "Candid Camera" came and took over the store for the day.  I digress, again.

Let's now focus on that white house in the background above.  Between that house and the structures on the right was a vacant lot.

Ah, yes, that was our lot.   It belonged to me and my childhood best buddy Leo and his brothers and all the other kids on our block.   It was our summertime home.   There were tall weeds all around it but a dirt patch in the middle that was ideal as our baseball diamond.   A huge boulder to the left of "home plate" was a place to sit while you waited your turn at bat.   If not too New York hot and humid, we played a game in the afternoon.   We'd all go home for dinner and come back around 6:30PM for a second game until it got too dark or the Good Humor truck showed up (usually at 8:45PM every night).   

It was childhood fun on steroids.   So many wonderful memories.   I used to pitch but, because I was one of the tallest kids, I ended up playing first base.  Why?  Because if a wild throw went into the weeds behind first, that particular game might be called due to a lost ball.  

We had our own ground rules in a tight space.   You were not encouraged to hit the ball into the busy traffic of First Street.   Getting it precisely on a sidewalk could get you an automatic double or home run.  There was a Firestone tire story that also provided an outfield wall.  And, of course, you had to worry about a foul line drive to the right because there was that white house.

And, yes, a window there got broken at least once.

To this day, I will never ever forget those days and early nights.  

That was then.

This is now.   Actually a photo I actually snapped a few years ago when I took a ride down the old block.   This is from the corner of South Fifteenth Street and
First Street.

The ice cream stand at the far right has been replaced by a Caribbean super market.  Firestone and its wall still exist.  The townhouse in the center?   That was the lot.   Our baseball field.   And there, on the left, is the historical marker from the photo way at the top.   The ubiquitous white house.

Things changes.  Things stay the same.  Memories never depart.

Dinner last night:  Szechwan beef and shrimp.