Don't focus on the perfectly cooked London broil on the right. Nope, today, we are thinking about the side dish on the left. Caramelized onions. If done correctly, they offer a wonderful flavor that will ensure a triumphant dinner for you. The problem is they take a little bit of attention to get right. But, if you engineer them well, you will enjoy a taste treat. First off, get yourself three to four sweet onions. They will ensure the best flavor combo. Peel them and chop them up into big slices. In a big skillet that you have preheated, add about a quarter of a stick of unsalted butter plus two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Let that come together for a minute or two. Then slowly add the onion pieces. Now here's the trick. You want to keep stirring the onions but not too much. Maybe once every five minutes or so. If you stir them too much, they will take longer to caramelize. If you don't stir them at all, they will stick to the pan. If you are doing it correctly, they should take about twenty minutes to get a nice brown texture. This is what you want as the sugar in the onions begins to come out. You can help it along midway through the procedure by adding a tablespoon of confectioner's sugar. And a tablespoon of good balsamic vinegar. You will note that those 3 or 4 onions will wilt to a smaller form so keep that in mind if you are serving for a dinner party. These caramelized onions can then be used to top your steak or hamburger. Or you can pop them into a slow cooker with some beef broth for an onion soup. You're more than welcome. Dinner last night: Leftover sausage, peppers, and onions.
Happy birthday, Joanne Woodward. 89 years young. A phrase I never understand. She's old. 425: THE UNIVERSITY OF CONSTANTINOPLE IS FOUNDED BY EMPEROR THEODOSIUS. Is Theodosius related to Supercalifragilisticexpiala? 1560: THE TREATY OF BERWICK, WHICH WOULD EXPEL THE FRENCH FROM SCOTLAND, IS SIGNED. Anything kicking the French out of anyplace is fine with me. 1594: HENRY IV IS CROWNED KING OF FRANCE. But, Henry, you can't go to Scotland. Ha ha. 1776: DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, THE BATTLE OF MOORE'S CREEK BRIDGE IN NORTH CAROLINA BREAKS UP A LOYALIST MILITIA. There was a Tea Party back then, too. 1801: WASHINGTON, DC IS PLACED UNDER THE JURISDICTION OF THE US CONGRESS. They deserve each other. 1844: THE DOMINICAN REPUBLIC GAINS INDEPENDENCE FROM HAITI. Two more that deserve each other. 1860: ABRAHAM LINCOLN MAKES A SPEECH AT COOPER UNION IN NEW YORK THAT IS LARGELY RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS ELECTION TO THE PRESIDENCY. And he didn't even offer free stuff to anybody who would vote for him. 1864: DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, THE FIRST NORTHERN PRISONERS ARRIVE AT THE CONFEDERATE PRISON IN ANDERSONVILLE, GEORGIA. Hence the famous Trials? 1870: THE CURRENT FLAG OF JAPAN IS ADOPTED AS THE NATIONAL FLAG FOR JAPANESE SHIPS. How do you say "duh" in Japanese? 1892: ACTOR WILLIAM DEMAREST IS BORN. Uncle Charley on "My Three Sons!" 1900: THE BRITISH LABOUR PARTY IS FOUNDED. Rhetorical question: why do the Brits always feel the need to add an extra "u" to certain words? Discuss. 1902: WRITER JOHN STEINBECK IS BORN. Of Mice and Diapers. 1913: WRITER IRWIN SHAW IS BORN. Rich Baby, Poor Baby. 1917: POLITICIAN JOHN CONNALLY IS BORN. Duck! 1922: A CHALLENGE TO THE 19TH AMENDMENT TO THE CONSTITUTION, ALLOWING WOMEN THE RIGHT TO VOTE, IS REBUFFED BY THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES. The Constitution....anybody remember that? 1930: ACTRESS JOANNE WOODWARD IS BORN. You know one thing. Her house is never short of popcorn, salad dressing, and spaghetti sauce. 1932: ACTRESS ELIZABETH TAYLOR IS BORN. And immediately married the doctor who handled the birth. 1934: ACTIVIST RALPH NADER IS BORN. Crazy at Any Speed. 1939: THE US SUPREME COURT RULES THAT SIT-DOWN STRIKES ARE ILLEGAL. So how come there were so many of them in the 60s??? 1940: ACTOR HOWARD HESSEMAN IS BORN. Dr. Johnny Fever on "WKRP in Cincinnati!" 1951: THE 22ND AMENDMENT TO THE US CONSTITUTION, LIMITING PRESIDENTS TO TWO TERMS, IS RATIFIED. Why do I think this is going to fall apart in about four years? 1964: THE GOVERNMENT OF ITALY ASKS FOR HELP TO KEEP THE LEANING TOWER OF PISA FROM TOPPLING OVER. Meanwhile, this piece of ancient rock is still standing and the World Trade Towers, made of steel, could be knocked over. 1972: ACTOR PAT BRADY DIES. I wonder if Roy Rogers had him stuffed, too. 1980: ACTOR GEORGE TOBIAS DIES. Abner!!!! 1985: POLITICIAN HENRY CABOT LODGE DIES. Lodge no longer offering vacancies. 1986: HOCKEY STAR JACQUES PLANTE DIES. And he's in the ground. 1986: THE UNITED STATES SENATE ALLOWS ITS DEBATES TO BE TELEVISED ON A TRIAL BASIS. If it was mud wrestling, I would tune in. 1993: ACTRESS LILLIAN GISH DIES. At the age of 100. Please don't tell me this was untimely. 2003: KIDDIE HOST FRED ROGERS DIES. You won't be needing that sweater any more. 2004: THE JOHN JAY REPORT, WITH DETAILS ABOUT THE CATHOLIC SEXUAL ABUSE SCANDAL IN THE US, IS RELEASED. What??? Priests??? Are you kidding me???? 2008: AUTHOR WILLIAM F. BUCKLEY DIES. Several months before Barack Obama was elected. Which would have killed him anyway. 2011: BASEBALL STAR DUKE SNIDER DIES. No longer in center field. Now he's under it. 2013: ACTOR DALE ROBERTSON DIES. Wells Fargo branches close for the day. 2015: ACTOR LEONARD NIMOY DIES. Beamed up. Dinner last night: Leftover chili.
Cleaning out the bottom of the garbage from a lackluster Oscar season. It took me months to finally get around to this Spike Lee joint. Luckily, I saw it for nothing. And that's about what this mess is worth. It's as muddled as the title. How do people ask for this movie at the box office? Two for...what? Indeed, if that were me on line for tickets, I'd probably have a hood over my head. No pun intended. Oh, who am I kidding? That pun is there for the taking. Spike Lee, who co-wrote and directed this swill, is inexplicably considered to be a prime voice for the African-American community. I'm sure how you can do that from your court side seats at Madison Square Garden. Spike is in touch with society as much as I am. No, wait, I'm probably more in touch. I know one thing for sure. This allegedly true story likely has major holes, despite the fact that Spike says at the beginning this is all based on some "for real shit." The movie opens with Alec Baldwin playing a crazy white supremacist telling us all about American history. For some reason, Spike chooses to steal the famed scene from "Gone With The Wind" which shows all the wounded soldiers in the Civil War. I'm already confused and the film is still in its first five minutes. "BlacKkKlansman" tells the "true" story of young Ron Stallworth, a Black cop who gets a job with the Colorado Springs Police Department. BTW, if you think Colorado Springs looks a lot like Ossining, New York, that's because they filmed there. Well, anyway, this is all back in the 70s and we see more Afro wigs than you would have found in Diana Ross' trailer while she was making "Mahogany." Well, Ron has a tough time in the force. I mean, he's Black and everybody is White. And evil. But he eventually gets a big chance...to infiltrate the local KKK. Of course, he can't do that unless he promises to never remove his white hood. So, he uses his White associate as a surrogate. And we're off to the races....no pun intended again. FYI, Stallworth is played by John David Washington, son of the sainted Denzel and I guess we're going to be stuck with this acting family for another generation. The kid speaks just like his old man in a very eerie way. Well, anyway, this infiltration scheme continues and somehow David Duke (played by Topher Grace?????!!!) shows up before it all goes off the rails. By the end of this film, the only one I really wanted to torch was Spike Lee for giving us yet another distorted view of life in a nation which is not as racist as they want you to believe. At the conclusion, this is all tied somehow to what happened in Charlottesville two summers ago. I guess Spike must have watched the news in between Knicks games. Again, Hollywood and its emissary, Spike Lee, gives us another teachable moment that nobody really asked for. The dummies out here were so enamored by the possibilities that they gave Spike a screenwriting Oscar for this crap. Meanwhile, his purple outfit at the ceremony made him look like a character in a Roger Rabbit cartoon. Oh, well. That's what movies are all about in 2019. LEN'S RATING: One-half star...I liked the 70s soul soundtrack. Dinner last night: Beef sausage with peppers and onions.
It's that special night of the year. The Oscars. This year, host-less. Nominees, pointless. Agenda free? Hopeless. But it will certainly not be Len-less. I will be watching as usual. Yep, the Academy Awards and I go way back. If I had seen this TV Guide ad for the Oscars year ago, I probably would have salivated. As I normally do every year when it comes to the pomp, circumstance, and all-around ridiculousness of the Academy Awards.
I can remember many late New York nights tuned into the awards which seemed to run for five or six hours and often ended just as the Today Show was signing on. I've been to Oscar parties and dinners. It was almost required that you view this event with other folks who would crack wise right along with you. You would get almost bleary-eyed as you waited endlessly for the announcement of the Best Picture of the Year.
Here, in Los Angeles, it's a lot easier to endure because of the time difference. The whole shebang starts at 5PM and it's best that you get your delivery order for pizza or Chinese food in early, because it's the biggest day of the year if you sell take-out food. As for me today, I will be cooking up a vat of chili for a friend or two. And waiting anxiously to see how I did with my Oscar predictions even though my NY pals Lorraine and Dennis discontinued our annual pool several years ago. I think they got tired of me winning. Somehow, we will get through the inane ramblings of one dopey presenter after another. I will likely be longing for those years when we had Johnny Carson, Bob Hope, or Steve Martin as hosts.
And I might also be thinking about way back when. To a time when a little movie fan went through great machinations to watch the Oscar telecast for the very first time.
Even then, I was weird. I was all about the movies. I couldn't wait to go to them on a weekly basis. Friday afternoons after school with Mom. Sunday afternoons with Dad. Actually, I learned to read at a very early age simply because my father would bring home the Night Owl edition of the New York Daily News and I would pore through the movie advertisements. I didn't need Dick and Jane. I had Richard and Elizabeth.
And I knew what a big deal the Academy Awards were. I probably was the only second grader who could tell you what the Best Picture was in 1945. It was "The Lost Weekend," by the way. But I never got to see them given out on television.
My bedtime on school nights was 8:30PM. In order to stay up past that hour to watch my favorite TV show, "The Andy Griffith Show" on Monday nights required negotiations that would rival those need to avert the last NYC Transit strike. Getting an additional night one week was virtually impossible. Plus, in those days, the Oscar telecast started at 9 or 10PM. I'm already supposed to be on my second nightmare by then. Nevertheless, I would always try to float the notion.
Mom, can I stay up to watch the....
"No."
The exchange took less than three seconds.
I was always sunk. Three thousand miles away, they were giving out Oscars. In Mount Vernon, New York, I was reluctantly on a journey to Dreamland.
When I was in the third grade, the matter became more annoying. On the day of that year's Academy Awards, my foxy teacher, Mrs. Popper, devoted part of her lesson plan to the current nominees. Besides her looks, that's what I liked about Mrs. Popper. She was a real human being who liked the same stuff us kids did.
But, her pre-show comments about the Oscars made my bedtime that day even tougher to take. How could I possibly participate in her post-telecast conversation tomorrow? Here I am, a bonafide movie fan and I would have absolutely nothing to say about the Academy Awards which were unfortunately not being telecast on the back of my eyelids.
As I stumbled home from school in despair, I had an "A-ha" moment that has since been unequaled in my life. Sort of like "bang, I could have a V-8."
Hey, stupid, haven't you forgotten? Your parents aren't home at night anymore.
My mother went back to work as soon as I turned eight. She worked until midnight at the Union Pen Company on McQuesten Parkway in Mount Vernon. Dad was working at Mt. Vernon Die Casting, which inexplicably was now in Stamford, Connecticut. He never got home until 1 AM. The last I would see of my mother each day was when she sometimes picked me up at school around 3PM. Luckily, she had not done so on this day as my mind was working overtime.
I could probably watch the Oscars for the first time. The only obstacles?
Grandma and Grandpa downstairs.
Piece of cake.
The household routine in the "parents working nights" scenario was simple. I'd eat dinner with my grandparents and do whatever homework I had. Then, Grandpa would grab his nightly bottle of beer and take me upstairs to watch TV in my family's part of the house. He was fairly loose about bedtime. 8:30PM could easily morph into 9PM. On this night, I would need to work that magic and make it last until midnight. But, to begin the charade, I would attempt to be the model grandchild and not put up a battle when 8:30PM rolled around. I yawned. Gee, Grandpa, I'm tired. I went into my bedroom and ducked underneath the covers. I closed my eyes and waited. Grandpa was a Swiss watch. Ten minutes after I went to bed every night, he would pick up his empty bottle of beer and head back downstairs. And where, like clockwork, Grandma and Grandpa would hit their own hay at 10PM. I had to be a cat burglar. Just like I had seen Cary Grant in "To Catch a Thief." I waited several minutes to be sure and then crawled on all fours in the dark into the living room. Luckily, there was a sliding plastic door on that room. It was the only place in the house that had an air conditioner. The door kept the cool air in during the summer. This night, it would be my noise barrier. I put the TV on with the volume very low and laid down in front of the set. There was nobody to say "you're sitting too close to the screen." I was right where I needed to be. With one ear absorbing the soundtrack of the Oscar telecast and the other ear at the ready to discern any sounds that would get me thrown into parental prison. Truth be told, I remember very well of that year's Oscars. I was simply in rapture of it all. I felt like an adult. I knew my mom would be home by midnight so I turned off the television at 1145PM to be safe. I might have missed some of the bigger awards but I had seen enough. I was completely hooked. And totally successful with my devious scheme. The next day in class, Mrs. Popper, as expected, prattled on about the Oscars. And I was delighted to be able to participate in the conversation. I looked around at some of my classmates who had very easily watched the Academy Awards. Oh, if I could only trade their living rooms for the stalag I was forced to live in.
After school, my mother picked me up at the door. And, as was usually the case with parents, the teacher would use that opportunity to talk to them about their kids. Mrs. Popper approached my mom and I suddenly had a sinking sensation in my stomach. Crap, I know where this is going.
"Boy, Lenny really enjoyed those Oscars last night..."
I didn't wait around to hear Mom's response.
I was in bed by 7PM that night. Not my choice. Dinner last night: Chinese beef and walnut shrimp.
This was a Sunday night show fifty years ago. One of those classic Universal productions with rotating actors and concepts. Dinner last night: Leftover lasagna.
I'm here to help you win your Oscar office pool. Read yesterday's blog entry for the backstory. Today, I'm giving you the likely winners for all the big categories. And it's one of the worst Best Picture fields in history. Most of it complete junk. But who cares? There's money to be won here. Let's go... BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: "If Beale Street Could Talk" is really a nothing movie, but the scenes including REGINA KING are great. I really have enjoyed her work over the year. I mean, this woman started in sitcoms like "227." This is one case where the push for diversity is warranted. BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: And the same goes for this category as well. "Green Book" was the best movie I saw in 2018. It had a message but didn't hit you over the head with a concrete slab to get it made. So, this year, both Supporting Oscars go to African-Americans. Yep, the winner here is MAHERSHALA ALI. And this is already his second one, so let's give somebody else a shot next year. BEST ACTRESS: No need to push diversity here. Talent wins out. I have this recurring nightmare that the Academy will give this one to Olivia Colman for her work in "The Favourite." But, come on, GLENN CLOSE was so damn good in "The Wife." Let's go, folks. Think logically. Please reward the performance, not the subject matter or the color of someone's skin. BEST ACTOR: Everybody is buzzing over Christian Bale's transformation into Dick Cheney for the movie "Vice." But how much of that performance was make-up? I think a lot. When push comes to shove, I'm believing that Freddie Mercury will be the...ahem...champion. The winner is RAMI MALEK for "Bohemian Rhapsody." BEST DIRECTOR: Okay, as the dopey Academy ticks off their diversity boxes, they now have to reward Mexico for not paying for the wall. They have been gushing over this guy's work in "Roma" for months. Here's how tied he is to his native country. ALFONSO CUARON has lived in London for the past 18 years. What a complete fraud. But, if you're not an American, you can win an Oscar for making a movie where absolutely nothing happens. BEST FILM: I am hoping and praying for a last minute surge by "Green Book." But, alas alack, it will be too late. The winner for both this award and best foreign film (first time ever in history) will be ROMA. You want to know why I think this two-and-a-half exercise in nothingness about a Mexican Mary Poppins will win? It's because the idiots in the Academy silently feel guilty about the way they treat their own nannies living in Beverly Hills. Phoniness on steroids. And there you go. Your triumphant picks. Let me know how much you won. Dinner last night: Grilled bratwurst, Brussels sprouts, and pickled beets.
The Oscars are this Sunday night. Host-less. Brain-less. Quality movie-less. This is shaping up as perhaps the worst ceremony ever. I can almost guarantee that the dopes in Hollywood will be presenting the lowest rated TV broadcast ever. Nobody cares. Unless, of course, you're in an office pool and you can make some money off this lunacy. I used to be in a pool with two good friends every year and they finally gave up. Probably because I always won. So, while I won't be making any dough this year, that doesn't mean you shouldn't. Here's the first part of your winning Oscar ballot. Today, it's all the awards that nobody cares about. But they do count in your final total. BEST LIVE ACTION SHORT: Here's where the diversity police start checking boxes. Sort of like when the police routinely stop cars looking for expired registrations. There's one short here about senior citizen lesbians. Box checked. The winner is MARGUERITE. BEST DOCUMENTARY SHORT: There's one here about racism in the 90s just so we all remember that Trump didn't invent the concept. And look at what word is included in the title. The winner is BLACK SHEEP. BEST ANIMATED SHORT: Let's not forget about the Asian population. They must be served and I don't mean pork fried rice. Plus this is a Pixar production. The winner is BAO. BEST ANIMATED FEATURE: I have seen none of them, but people I trust loved one of them and said it was stunning. The winner is SPIDER-MAN: IN THE SPIDER-VERSE. Whatever that is. BEST DOCUMENTARY FEATURE: Here's where I am a little stuck. You know the goofballs out here want to honor Ruth Bader Ginsburg and are praying nightly that she doesn't die. But rock climbing is in for all those millennial idiots in film development. Hmmm. I'm saying FREE SOLO is the winner. We can't click a box every time, can we? BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM: Note the word "language" is there. So how come "Black Panther" didn't qualify because I didn't understand a word they were saying. But I digress. History will be made this year. Because one movie will win two best film awards. Spoiler alert. The winner is, for some reason I don't understand, ROMA. BEST VISUAL EFFECTS: The geeks in the Academy do like to honor a popcorn movie at some point. And since there's no Star Wars adventure this year, the winner is AVENGERS - INFINITY WAR. BEST SOUND MIXING: Because they really sound like Queen. Even though I don't know what a sound mixer does. The winner is BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY. BEST SOUND EDITING: Yeah, I don't know what the difference is between these two awards either. Let's throw a bone to the late Neil Armstrong. The winner is FIRST MAN. BEST SONG: You know they want to see what Lady GagGag is wearing Sunday night. The winner is that crap from "A Star Is Born"...SHALLOW. BEST FILM SCORE: I do remember the music was pretty lush. Or maybe I had an inner ear infection when I watched the screener. The winner is IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK. BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN: The favorite is THE FAVOURITE. Sorry, I couldn't resist, even if this is the worst movie I have seen in ten years. BEST COSTUME DESIGN: See Production Design. The winner is THE FAVOURITE. BEST MAKE-UP AND HAIR STYLING: If you can make Christian Bale look like a bloated Dick Cheney, you deserve an Oscar. The winner is VICE. BEST FILM EDITING: I'm thinking the Academy can't go home without awarding two Oscars to a super-liberal political movie. The winner again is VICE. BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY: Always go with the black and white, even though its use here was silly and pretentious. The winner is ROMA. BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: If you want to say using the "C word" repeatedly is original. The winner is...regrettably...THE FAVOURITE. BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: You know these dummies out here want to do this. Here's where the universe goes off its axis just a little. Spike Lee gets an Oscar. Ugh!!! The winner is BLACKKKLANSMAN. Come on back tomorrow to see what junk will be honored in the big categories. Dinner last night: Bacon ranch chopped salad.
Happy birthday, Sandy Duncan. If you don't know who she is, you've obviously never eaten a Wheat Thin cracker. 1472: ORKNEY AND SHETLAND ARE PAWNED BY NORWAY TO SCOTLAND IN LIEU OF A DOWRY FOR MARGARET OF DENMARK. So what does this mean? She got a pony? 1547: EDWARD VI OF ENGLAND IS CROWNED KING OF ENGLAND AT WESTMINSTER ABBEY. I just realized it's "Westminster" not "Westminister." Even the blog writer can learn a lot on these days. 1792: THE POSTAL SERVICE ACT, ESTABLISHING THE US POST OFFICE, IS SIGNED BY PRESIDENT GEORGE WASHINGTON. The only day in its history where the employees were not overpaid. 1798: LOUIS ALEXANDRE BERTHIER REMOVES POPE PIUS VI FROM POWER. Somebody make sure you get the jewelry back. 1816: ROSSINI'S OPERA "THE BARBER OF SEVILLE" PREMIERES THE TEATRO ARGENTINA IN ROME. For those who thought this was originated by Alfalfa in a "Little Rascals" episode. 1835: CONCEPCION, CHILE IS DESTROYED BY AN EARTHQUAKE. Mis-concepcion. 1872: IN NEW YORK CITY, THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART OPENS. So when was the first school field trip? 1873: THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA OPENS ITS FIRST MEDICAL SCHOOL IN SAN FRANCISCO. And who was the first Asian to be accepted? 1877: TCHAIKOVSKY'S BALLET "SWAN LAKE" RECEIVES ITS PREMIERE PERFORMANCE AT THE BOLSHOI IN MOSCOW. For those who thought this was originated in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. 1895: POLITICIAN FREDRICK DOUGLASS DIES. No debate here. He's dead. 1901: THE LEGISLATURE OF HAWAII TERRITORY CONVENES FOR THE FIRST TIME. Hawaii One-O. 1906: ACTOR GALE GORDON IS BORN. "Mrs. Carmichael!" 1913: KING O'MALLEY DRIVES IN THE FIRST SURVEY PEG TO MARK COMMENCEMENT OF WORK ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF CANBERRA. For those who thought King O'Malley was the owner of the Dodgers. 1914: JOURNALIST JOHN CHARLES DALY IS BORN. "Thirty dollars down, Miss Kilgallen." 1924: FASHION DESIGNER GLORIA VANDERBILT IS BORN. She designed lots of nice clothes and gave birth to Anderson Cooper. Well, not every creation can be a hit. 1925: DIRECTOR ROBERT ALTMAN IS BORN. B*O*R*N*. 1927: ACTOR SIDNEY POITIER IS BORN. Guess who's coming to breastfeed? 1929: ACTRESS AMANDA BLAKE IS BORN. Miss Kitty! 1931: THE CONGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES APPROVES THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE SAN FRANCISCO-OAKLAND BRIDGE. Which later collapsed. So now we know who to blame? The federal government?
1933: THE US CONGRESS PROPOSES THE TWENTY-FIRST AMENDMENT THAT WILL END PROHIBITION IN THE UNITED STATES. Okay, so not everything they do sucks. 1933: ADOLF HITLER SECRETLY MEETS WITH INDUSTRIALISTS TO ARRANGE FINANCING FOR HIS NEXT NAZI PARTY ELECTION. So how is this different from what politicians in America do? 1935: CAROLINE MIKKELSEN BECOMES THE FIRST WOMAN TO SET FOOT IN ANTARCTICA. Sent there likely by Mr. Mikkelsen. 1938: ACTOR RICHARD BEYMER IS BORN. He starred in "West Side Story." Even his first cry in the delivery room was probably dubbed. 1944: DURING WORLD WAR II, THE "BIG WEEK" BEGAN WITH AMERICAN BOMBER RAIDS ON GERMAN AIRCRAFT CENTERS. Perfectly time to coincide with a "sweeps" week. 1946: ACTRESS SANDY DUNCAN IS BORN. Two-thirds down in this blog entry and I'm sure some of you are still wondering who the hell she is. 1952: EMMETT ASHFORD BECOMES THE FIRST BLACK UMPIRE IN ORGANIZED BASEBALL. And didn't make it to the major leagues for another ten years. 1962: ABOARD FRIENDSHIP 7, JOHN GLENN BECOMES THE FIRST AMERICAN TO ORBIT THE EARTH. Not including Alice Kramden who was sent to the moon ten years earlier. 1966: ADMIRAL CHESTER NIMITZ DIES. Now he's sunk. 1971: THE US EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM IS ACCIDENTALLY ACTIVATED. "Duck and cover!" 1972: JOURNALIST WALTER WINCHELL DIES. A scoop he didn't have. 1985: VOICE ACTOR CLARENCE NASH DIES. The death of Donald Duck. 1987: IN SALT LAKE CITY, A BOMB SET OFF BY THE UNABOMBER EXPLODES IN A COMPUTER STORE. Would the second explosion make him "the dualbomber?" 1992: ACTOR DICK YORK DIES. The first Darrin on "Bewitched." 1999: CRITIC GENE SISKEL DIES. Thumb way down. 2001: ACTRESS ROSEMARY DECAMP DIES. I love her baked beans. 2003: DURING A GREAT WHITE CONCERT IN RHODE ISLAND, A PYROTECHNICS DISPLAY SETS THE CLUB ABLAZE, KILLING 100. Sparklers can kill. 2005: ACTRESS SANDRA DEE DIES. Imitation of Death. 2005: BROADWAY ACTOR JOHN RAITT DIES. The Carousel stops. 2006: SPORTSCASTER CURT GOWDY DIES. Broadcast both the Mets 1969 World Series win and the Jets' victory in Super Bowl III. You gotta love this guy. 2010: POLITICIAN ALEXANDER HAIG DIES. Hey, who's in charge now, asshole? 2014: JOURNALIST GARRICK UTLEY DIES. Stupid Met fans would probably boo him, too. Dinner last night: More leftover beef stew.
And given that I didn't pay to see either film, even better. God bless my actor friends who get screeners. Indeed, that's the only way to see the mediocre slate of films up for Oscar contention this year. Free. That said, "Bohemian Rhapsody" is decent entertainment, albeit predictable. I mean, everybody on Planet Earth should know the story of Freddie Mercury and Queen. They are the champions, Freddie gets AIDS, and end of story. I learned nothing that I couldn't research myself on Wikipedia. But director Bryan Singer (the frequently charged with all sorts of sexual harassment allegations) does a great job recreating concerts like Live Aid. It's tough to think that star and possible Oscar winner Rami Malek is doing a lip sync to the real Freddie. For that alone, "Bohemian Rhapsody" is worth the price of admission. Wait. I didn't pay anything. Hey, even better. Then there's "Vice."
Another Oscar nomination-heavy film based on "true" events. The main challenge that director/screenwriter Adam McKay has with this screen biography of Vice President Dick Cheney is that all the people depicted are still alive. And potentially litigious. McKay tries to get around this dilemma by starting his movie with a disclaimer that declares the film makers "did their fucking best." As a result,"Vice" starts on shaky ground and almost does not recover. Okay, admittedly, you get exactly what you expect with this film. It's a movie about a Republican produced by a bunch of Democrats. If you thought it was going to be balanced, you obviously live in a state where pot has been legalized. Like the aforementioned Malek, the Oscar-nominated Christian Bale has a field day turning himself into Cheney. Indeed, perhaps the Best Actor Oscar should really be going to the make-up artist. Both Malek and Bale are likely the only competition for next Sunday's festivities. Great performances in pretty average films. Even more validation for not paying to see them. God bless my pals in SAG and the WGA. LEN'S RATING FOR BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY: Three stars. LEN'S RATING FOR VICE: Two-and-a-half stars. Dinner last night: Leftover beef stew.
Very recently, I was delighted to see that Antenna TV had picked up the rerun rights for "The Paul Lynde Show." I hadn't seen it in years and I was invigorated to see just how funny it was. Plus the humor was timeless...unlike most sitcoms on prime time TV these days.
But then again, I was a fan...
From the very first time I was exposed to Paul Lynde (and that certainly sounds wrong), I was a fan. During my marathon week at the Loews Mount Vernon movie theater when I saw "Bye Bye Birdie" not one, not twice, but five times, there were two people who impressed me most in that movie. Ann-Margret for all reasons that are extremely obvious. And Paul Lynde for reasons that I can't explain.
I lived, breathed, and probably everything else-d that movie for the next year. The soundtrack album was played over and over and over in my room. The record cover alone had an ignoble history all its own. I mean, look at it. You don't really want to know, do you?
But, along with the "things" I was doing and thinking to this album cover, the other thing I was doing with the soundtrack was singing along. To all the songs except "How Lovely to Be a Woman" and "One Boy." Even then, I knew the difference. And my favorite songs to chime in on were Paul Lynde's. "Kids" and "Hymn to a Sunday Night."
I can only imagine what my family thought.
"E----ddd Sulli-van! E----dd Sulli-van! We're gonna be on E----dd Sulli-van!"
The intonation was perfect. And so was my imitation of Paul Lynde.
If I knew then what I know now. Hell, if only my parents knew then what they would eventually know later...
I became a bit of a Paul Lynde geek. As soon as the TV Guide showed up in our house, I would devour it to find TV shows he was guesting on that week.
Bewitched.
F Troop.
The Munsters.
The Mothers In-Law.
Dean Martin Presents the Golddiggers. Yes, there was such a show.
And, of course, as soon as he landed as the center square on the Hollywood Squares, I couldn't wait for 11:30 every summer morning. Who doesn't remember questions like this?
A friend from school tells me that I once answered a question in class with a Paul Lynde imitation. I vehemently deny that this happened and attributed it to a bizarre uban legend. In retrospect? I'll admit today that it is highly possible.
Once I grew up a bit, my Paul Lynde fandom subsided a bit. When I got to college, it was absolutely mandatory that it be reduced to minimal levels. After all, you don't impress the opposite sex by walking up to them at a mixer and whining "how are ya." I had moved on.
Or, so I thought...
Regular readers here have already heard tales of my days working at Fordham University's WFUV. In my early days there, I needed to find a niche. I didn't have the booming voice of an announcer or news anchor. I didn't possess the verbal quickness to do play-by-play sports. And I had yet to dream up my own radio situation comedy called "Diploma City."
Nope, I was still a little lost and looking for something to do that was uniquely Len. I had an idea I pitched to the station news director. I could do regular reports on television. Yep, a radio guy reporting on TV. Looking back, I really was probably the forerunner for "Entertainment Tonight." I had the idea before they did. And, for my sophomore year at WFUV, I was Mary Hart. Well, sort of.
One of the things I did regularly as WFUV's ace "boob tube" correspondent was phone interviews with TV celebrities. Back in those days, it was a lot easier to get a hold of these folks and book them to a chat that would be recorded. I have previously written here about the wonderful time I spent conversing with Tony Randall, but there were others. Art Fleming, the original host of "Jeopardy." Karen Valentine, be still my heart. Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan. Alan Alda. Ted Knight.
Access to these people was amazingly easy. You called their publicist and asked politely. Usually, the rep would set up a time and give you a phone number, usually their dressing room or sometimes their home. I remember the sounds of hammers and nails when I interviewed Karen Valentine. Her then-husband was doing a kitchen renovation in the background. Alan Alda was munching on potato chips and his wife asked for the car keys in the middle of our talk.
It was all so simple.
And, then one day, I read a small item in the New York Daily News. A new feature-length cartoon was opening in New York. And one of its voices was in town to promote it.
Paul Lynde.
Gulp.
Damn whatever classes I had that week. I was bound and determined to book my former idol for a one-on-one. I was a kid with a single focus.
Tracking Paul down, however, was not easy. After many attempts, I finally got a hold of the movie publicist.
"Mr. Lynde is very busy. But I will see if I can squeeze you in."
More silence as I waited. I called again.
"It's not looking good, young man. Mr. Lynde is very, very busy."
Crap.
More silence as I waited some more.
"I've left a message at the Plaza Hotel where he's staying. But I can tell you he is completely booked. Sorry."
Sorry? For what? You just gave me a great idea.
The Plaza Hotel. For a nano-second, I thought about camping out in the lobby and simply wait for him to swagger through the lobby. But, in this case, I opted to be a little more professional. I would try to call him myself. In those days, the "do not disturb" feature had not found its way to very many hotel switchboards.
I gave my future phone call a long and hard think. I rehearsed my quick thirty-second request for an interview. No fuss, little muss. I'd get to the point and expect a fast "yes" or "no." That wasn't the tricky part.
How would I know when he would be in his hotel room? I thought about my youth and how I would comb through each week's TV Guide to see when Paul was on the tube that week. Hmmmm?
If this guy is as big a ham as I think he is, he's going to be in his room if he's set to guest on some show that week. Sure enough, he was. This meant I would be calling his room at 9PM but a determined reporter has to do what he has to do.
No sooner than fifteen seconds after the conclusion of the TV show, I hit the digits on the phone.
"Mr. Paul Lynde's room, please."
The switchboard operator didn't flinch in connecting me. The phone rang once. Twice. A third time.
Well, this idea was all wet, I thought.
And then...
The voice was unmistakable.
"Heelllllllllllllo."
Bingo.
I ran through my thirty-second request in less than twenty. I probably sounded like a raving lunatic to the renowned center square. But, like the switchboard operator, Paul Lynde didn't flinch either.
"I'd be happy to do. Call me here on Saturday at 1PM."
And that was it. I had score some face/phone time with Paul Lynde.
My interview preparations were nothing short of David Frost's legendary session with President Richard Nixon. When I looked down at the questions I had composed, I realized that I had gone into triple figures. I needed to pare this down some. Perhaps I shouldn't ask about his favorite brand of ketchup. And I didn't really need to know the pre-sets on his car radio, did I?
Saturday at 1PM took forever to get there. And, in some respects, it all happened too fast.
I also began to wonder if Lynde had completely blown me off. Maybe he wouldn't be there in his hotel room at 1PM. I began to doubt the whole connection had ever happened. I fully expected to have the telephone operator tell me "Mr. Lynde has checked out."
But, he hadn't. I called promptly and he answered almost as quickly. Nerves became an issue as I stumbled on the first question. But, once I got my bearings, I moved the interview along and completed it in an efficient half-hour. There were moments of pause when I could tell that the comic was taking on his cigarette. This was even more noticeable when he begged off for a bit so he could have a coughing fit.
Overall, Paul was very polite, respectful, and compliant. As I look back, most of my queries were the softball-like questions that Larry King used to ask on CNN. But, for me, this was sheer heaven. Years after laughing hysterically with my grandmother as we listened to his latest Hollywood Squares zinger, I was actually an adult. Talking to Paul Lynde like a professional.
A few years later, Lynde did a nightclub act that toured the country. One of the stops was the Westbury Music Fair. Of course, I was a ticket buyer.
Back in those days, it was not uncommon for stars to do an autograph signing in the lobby after such a show. We queued up as did most of the patrons that night. As we approached the table, I got a good look at Paul Lynde.
Dressed in a brightly colored caftan. Frilly slippers. And laughing like a school girl.
After all those times playing the "Bye Bye Birdie" cast album. After all those years of fandom. After that amazing phone interview.
