Classic Musical Comedy Number of the Month - July 2021

 Woo hoo!  A five Saturday month gives us an opportunity to sample a musical comedy number.   And summertime is the best time to watch this classic from "The Music Man" as presented wonderfully by Summit High School in New Jersey!   Shi-poopi!!!

Dinner last night:  BLT from Clementine's.                   

Len's Jukebox of the Month - July 2021

Music provokes memories.   And when I recently heard this on Sirius XM 60s, I time traveled back to my dad's Buick.  He always had WNEW 1130 on in the car.  And this song came on as we were on our way to Shea Stadium.

 

Dinner last night:  Reuben sandwich at Art's Deli.

Lethal Housewives

 

You could go numb from following every single TV show now available on networks or streams.   I pretty much have to be bowled over to become a "binge watcher" of anything.

Or I have to know one of the people involved.   And that's the case with "Why Women Kill" now in its second season on Paramount/CBS' stream.   I happen to know the show creator Marc Cherry who really gained prominence from "Desperate Housewives."  A nice man and we like to support his efforts.

Indeed, his new show is very similar in style to his old show.   You could say it is vintage Cherry.  The difference is that the two seasons have each been complex and closed stories, meaning there is a beginning, middle, and end.  The first season featured plots from three different decades and wound up with several characters dead by the end.  I mean, look at the title.  There was no job security for the surviving actors as the second season brought in a complete new story and this time, the setting was Los Angeles in the late 1940s.

Again, all of this is the Marc Cherry brand of deviousness, comedy, and irony. What I like about how this series unspools is that there is a new episode every week.   Television viewing like the old days.   Savor one episode for a week and wonder what is going to happen in the next installment.  

Moreover, there was something even more interesting with the second season of "Why Women Kill."    And it took me a while to realize it.   Unlike "Desperate Housewives," where each cast member was more attractive than the next, the second season cast of "Why Women Kill" was....um...different.   Oh, they were mostly all good looking.   But, several were not what you would call "classically" beautiful.   And, the other noteworthy aspect?

Several actors were...um...plus sized.   I think that's the proper wording to use. On both the female and male sides of the ledger, several cast members were...um...big boned.   I think that's the wording my mother used to use.

In this age of diversity casting, there's a category that has been ignored.   Kudos to Marc Cherry.   Was this a focused choice?   Or did he simply hire the best actors for the roles, regardless of weight?  Either way, it's refreshing to see. 

And another reason why you might like to sample "Why Women Kill."   Oh, and just so you know, the first season cast is a lot more...um...svelte...than the second season cast.

The second season finale drops today.   Just saying....

Dinner last night:  Leftover lasagna.

This Date in History - July 28

 

Happy birthday to Linda Kelsey of TV's "Lou Grant."   I had a major crush on her back in the day.

1364:  TROOPS OF THE REPUBLIC OF PISA AND THE REPUBLIC OF FLORENCE CLASH IN THE BATTLE OF CASCINA.

Which side are you leaning toward?

1540:  THOMAS CROMWELL IS EXECUTED AT THE ORDER OF HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND ON CHARGES OF TREASON.  HENRY MARRIES HIS FIFTH WIFE LATER THAT DAY.

What a busy little bugger.

1750:  COMPOSER JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH DIES.

I guess this was a big deal to classical music fans.

1794:  FRENCH REVOLUTION - MAXIMILLIEN ROBESPIERRE AND LOUIS ANTOINE DE SAINT-JUST ARE EXECUTED BY GUILLOTINE IN FRANCE.

Let's not get a head of ourselves.

1864:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, CONFEDERATE TROOPS MAKE A THIRD UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPT TO DRIVE UNION FORCES FROM ATLANTA, GEORGIA.

The Yanks are here to stay.

1866:  AT THE AGE OF 18, VINNIE REAM BECOMES THE FIRST AND YOUNGEST FEMALE ARTIST TO RECEIVE A COMMISSION FROM THE US GOVERNMENT FOR A STATUE OF ABE LINCOLN.

Which was probably torn down in 2020.

1868:  THE 14TH AMENDMENT TO THE US CONSTITUTION IS CERTIFIED, ESTABLISHING AFRICAN-AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP AND GUARANTEEING DUE PROCESS OF LAW.

See how far we came?

1885:  BANKER MOSES MONTEFIORE DIES.

In his own hospital, I hope.   

1896:  THE CITY OF MIAMI, FLORIDA IS INCORPORATED.

If you like humidity.

1901:  SINGER RUDY VALLEE IS BORN.

If you don't know his work, check out the hilarious "Palm Beach Story."

1917:  THE SILENT PARADE TAKES PLACE IN NYC, IN PROTEST TO MURDERS, LYNCHINGS, AND OTHER VIOLENCE DIRECTED TOWARDS AFRICAN AMERICANS.

Hey, 14th Amendment!!!

1932:  US PRESIDENT HERBERT HOOVER ORDERS THE US ARMY TO FORCIBLY EVICT THE "BONUS ARMY" OF WWI VETS GATHERED IN WASHINGTON, DC.

Insert your favorite January 6 joke here.

1942:  WORLD WAR II - SOVIET LEADER JOSEPH STALIN ISSUES ORDER NO 227, ENSURING PUNISHMENT FOR ANYBODY WHO RETREATS FROM ADVANCING GERMAN FORCES.

The big guy ain't messin' around.

1946:  ACTRESS LINDA KELSEY IS BORN.

Still crushing on her.

1947:  ACTRESS SALLY STRUTHERS IS BORN.

Gloria!

1964:  ACTRESS LORI LOUGHLIN IS BORN.

Happy birthday in your orange jump suit.

1965:  US PRESIDENT LYNDON JOHNSON ANNOUNCES HIS ORDER TO INCREASE THE NUMBER OF US TROOPS IN VIETNAM FROM 75,000 TO 125,000.

Yeah, that'll work out just fine.

1969: COMPOSER FRANK LOESSER DIES.

Guys and Corpses.

1973:  SUMMER JAM AT WATKINS GLEN.  NEARLY 600,000 ATTEND A ROCK CONCERT.

With only two bathrooms.

1984:  THE GAMES OF THE XXIII OLYMPIAD OPEN IN LOS ANGELES.

Here comes Mary Lou Retton.

1996:  THE REMAINS OF A PREHISTORIC MAN ARE DISCOVERED NEAR KENNEWICK, WASHINGTON.

Wilma!

Dinner last night:  Antipasto salad.

Hollywood Then and Now - July 2021

When you live in Los Angeles, you realize every step you take could be on something that was used in a movie or a TV show.   It's all around you.  Sometimes, it withers with age.  Other times, it remains exactly the same.

I'm not going too far back into the time capsule for this one.  Back when the sitcom "Modern Family" first started, I was a fan.   Eventually, the plots seemed to get repetitive.  The show should have run five years.  Instead, it lasted more than double that.

But when I was watching, I noticed their rear projection shots while characters were driving often went by my home.   Sort of.  This was not surprising since this was a Fox show and that studio is less than a mile away from me.

Recently, I did a little more research and discovered that the location shots for the homes used were also in my neighborhood.   I guess Fox didn't want to pop for extended travel expenses.   

For instance, almost a block away from the studio's back entrance is the exterior for the home of Cam and Mitch.

About a mile south and tucked into a very residential nabe is the home of Claire and Phil Dunphy.

Yep, in Hollywood, everything is a sound stage.   Until it's not.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 26, 2021

 Fans are back at the ballpark!

Dinner last night:  Tomato, prosciutto, and mozzarella salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Boy, The Way Glenn Miller Played

 

If you're an Amazon Primer, you let out a big whoop this week.   After you discovered that, now available on its video service, is the entire "All In The Family" series.  Free.  And, more importantly, uncut and airing as it was originally written.   I know.   I checked out some of the episodes that have language that is verboten today on television.   The words were all there.

So, I guess we do have something to thank Jeff Bezos for.  Not including that giant penis he flew into outer space.  But I digress.   We were discussing the TV program that I once ranked as #7 on my Top 25 List of Favorite TV Shows of All Time."

There have been a few TV shows in history that have grabbed the nation's attention and held it hostage. Truly appointment-driven television that everybody, and I mean everybody, was watching en masse. I am sure "I Love Lucy" was like that during the 50s, especially when Lucy Ricardo gave birth to Little Ricky. "Dallas" was like that in the early 80s right after J.R. Ewing took some lead to the abdomen.

For me, the very first time I participated in TV frenzy was during the early years of "All in the Family." And I can easily recall how everybody, and I mean everybody, was tuned in on a Saturday night to hear Archie Bunker's latest rantings and ravings.

Of course, when it first came on the air, the attention wasn't quite there yet. But, for some bizarre reason, the very unsuspecting duo of my grandmother and me tuned in to one very early episode to see what this new sitcom was all about. We had no clue what to expect. It was the show where the Jeffersons first moved next door to the Bunkers. And Archie let us know with this announcement to his wife:

"Edith, the coons are coming!"

Two mouths dropped to the floor in a living room on 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon. And, after about a silence of ten seconds, we laughed out loud.

A lot.

During those first few "AITF" shows, we heard a lot of words we never heard on TV before.

Kike.

Spook.

Pollock.

Dago.

And the always popular Jungle Bunny.

It's not like I hadn't heard the words before. But, usually at my lily-white, European-based family dining table. Never ever on the small screen for all to hear.

And laugh at. Because that's what producer/creator Norman Lear did with "AITF." By voicing all the things usually kept inside our homes, we were all treated to realistic glimpses of our own human frailties. And he did so via the best message conveyance known to man. Humor.

It wasn't long before all of America discovered what my grandmother and I caught onto. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was tuning in to see Archie, Edith, the Meathead, and Gloria every Saturday night on CBS, which featured perhaps the best nightly schedule of programming in the history of the medium. I can remember my parents got sucked in as well and I rarely remember my mother and father being on the same page with regard to TV viewing. 

There was one Saturday night where they had some friends over. All conversation, smoking, and drinking stopped at 8PM. There were maybe 20 people crowded into our living room to watch the episode where Edith went through menopause. I have forever framed that moment and the laughter in my mental hard drive. That didn't happen very often in my house. It did, though, then. "All in the Family" connected us all in a way that an audience will never be connected again. Here's the last scene of this very famous episode.

For me, there's another great episode. Certainly not issue-oriented, but equally brilliant. Perhaps you remember it? The family has gone away for the weekend and Archie has gotten himself locked in the basement. He finds an old bottle of booze and has drank himself into a slow stupor. A tour de force performance by Carroll O'Connor.

The first five seasons of "AITF" are perhaps the best written TV comedy scripts ever. But, as good as the first five years are, the last five are as bad. This is a show that stayed way too long at the fair. As soon as Mike and Gloria moved out of the house, the main driving premise of the show was gone. Plotlines meandered as Archie and Edith adopted a niece, bought a local tavern, etc.. Blah, blah, blah. The fun was gone and the show essentially became nothing more than any other crappy sitcom on the air.

Equally disturbing is how much Carroll O'Connor's acting changed over the same time period. They stopped doing the show in front of the usual live studio audience and the lack of energy is really noticeable with Mr. O'Connor. He begins to mug shamelessly. He adds an annoying whine to almost every line. Over the life of a TV series, I know from directors I have spoken to that actors get bored and start phoning in their performances. Carroll O'Connor is a classic example of this. By the last year, he is almost embarrassing to watch. And, of course, he belabored it all even more by dragging Archie into that stupid spin-off where Edith is dead and he's running a bar. If there is a TV God, mercy needed to be implored here.

But, none of that should diminish at all what "All In the Family" was during its first five years on the air. And keep in mind that, in today's frantic political correctness, the show probably doesn't enjoy the life it did in the 70s. Indeed, I really wish I could see an episode today with Archie commenting on Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, and critical race theory. Because, in its own way, "All in the Family" did more for our social consciousness than any current leader or journalist could hope to achieve.

Got that, MSNBC?

Dinner last night:  Lasagna.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - July 2021

 This opened fifty years ago this month.  Can you dig it?

Dinner last night:  The pre-game buffet at Dodger Stadium Club.

Back When COVID Was King

 

Dinner last night:  Chicken sausage.

Len's Recipe of the Month - July 2021

 

Those regular readers will note that my monthly recipes never include fish.   With good reason.   I don't eat seafood.   Except for shrimp.

Now, frankly, I have never before cooked shrimp.   But my new favorite food site, Sip and Feast, had a recipe for Shrimp Scampi that was so simple that I couldn't ignore it.  Indeed, it took me twenty minutes to do.   So easy.  So delicious.

About an hour before you want to eat, place 1 to 1 1/2 pound of uncooked shrimp in a bowl.   I actually saw frozen.  Of course, they were thawed.   In the bowl, add some Kosher salt and 1/2 teaspoon baking soda.   This will preserve the moistness of the shrimp and also make them plump.  It's science.  Don't ask.

Put the bowl of shrimp aside.

Do some prepping.  Mince six cloves of garlic.  Chop up some fresh parsley.

Add four tablespoons of unsalted butter and two tablespoons of EVO to a hot skillet.  Add the garlic and saute until they are just a little golden brown.  Add a 1/2 cup of white wine and let the sauce reduce.  Turn the heat down to medium and bring the shrimp to the skillet.

You have to be careful here.   Gently saute the shrimp until they are pink.  Under medium heat, this should take about five minutes.

Add the juice of one/half lemon and the parsley.  Remove for heat and serve.

And there you go.   A non-seafood-eater has cooked shrimp.

Dinner last night:  Brisket sandwich at the Dodger game.

This Date in History - July 21

 

Happy birthday in Heaven, Don Knotts.   He used to live up on the fourth floor of the very apartment building I live in today.

356 BC:  THE TEMPLE OF ARTEMUS IN EPHESUS, ONE OF THE SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD, IS DESTROYED BY ARSON.

So the Astrodome moves up a notch?

230:  POPE PONTIAN SUCCEEDS URBAN I AS THE 18TH POPE.

Urban I?  Was he Black?   Asking for a friend.

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

Co-anything never works.

1645:  QING DYNASTY REGENT DORGON ISSUES AN EDICT ORDERING ALL HAN CHINESE MEN TO SHAVE THEIR FOREHEAD AND BRAID THE REST OF THEIR HAIR INTO A QUEUE IDENTICAL TO THOSE OF THE MANCHUS.

And if you're bald?  Are you killed?  Asking for a friend.

1861:  AMERICAN CIVIL WAR - AT MANASSAS, VIRGINIA, THE FIRST MAJOR BATTLE OF THE WAR BEGINS WITH A WIN BY THE CONFEDERATES.

Don't get cocky.

1865:  IN MISSOURI, WILD BILL HICKOK SHOOTS AND KILLS DAVIS TUTT IN WHAT IS REGARDED AS THE FIRST WESTERN SHOWDOWN.

Tutt, tut.

1873:  IN IOWA, JESSE JAMES AND THE YOUNGER GANG PULL OFF THE FIRST SUCCESSFUL TRAIN ROBBERY.

Let the cowboy movies begin.

1899:  AUTHOR ERNEST HEMINGWAY IS BORN.

It tolls for thee.

1904:  LOUIS RIGOLLY BECOMES THE FIRST MAN TO BREAK THE 100 MPH BARRIER ON LAND IN BELGIUM

This will last only until...

1924:  ACTOR DON KNOTTS IS BORN.  

According to neighbors, Andy used to visit here all the time.

1925:  MALCOLM CAMPBELL BECOMES THE FIRST MAN TO 150 MPH IN WALES.

Take that, Rigolly.

1926:  DIRECTOR NORMAN JEWISON IS BORN.

And the director of "Moonstruck" lives to this day.  God bless.

1944:  WORLD WAR II - CLAUS VON STAUFFENBERG AND FOUR FELLOW CONSPIRATORS ARE EXECUTED FOR A PLOT TO ASSASSINATE ADOLF HITLER.

Too bad they were not successful.

1948:  SINGER CAT STEVENS IS BORN.  

His real name is Yusuf Islam.  Fun fact.

1948:  CARTOONIST GARRY TRUDEAU IS BORN.

I was never a fan of "Doonesbury."

1949:  THE US SENTATE RATIFIES THE NORTH ATLANTIC TREATY.

Back when the US Senate made sense.

1951:  ACTOR ROBIN WILLIAMS IS BORN.

Miss him to this day.

1959:  PUMPSIE GREEN BECOMES THE FIRST AFRICAN-AMERICAN TO PLAY FOR THE BOSTON RED SOX, THE LAST TEAM TO INTEGRATE.

And those assholes up in Massachusetts think they're so damn progressive.

1961:  GUS GRISSOM PILOTING THE MERCURY PROGRAM'S LIBERTY BELL 7 BECOMES THE SECOND AMERICAN TO GO INTO SPACE.

Sadly, he burns up in a fire a few years later.

1967:  ACTOR BASIL RATHBONE DIES.

The game was afoot.

1969:  AT 2;56 UTC, ASTRONAUT NEIL ARMSTRONG BECOMES THE FIRST PERSON TO WALK ON THE MOON.

Remember this moment on my life's highlight rell.

1973:  IN NORWAY, MOSSAD AGENTS KILL A WAITER WHOM THE MISTAKENLY THOUGHT WAS INVOLVED IN THE 1972 MUNICH OLYMPICS MASSACRE.

Stiffing him for a tip was bad enough.

1979:  JAY "TONTO" SILVERHEELS BECOMES THE FIRST NATIVE AMERICAN TO HAVE A STAR ON THE HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME.

Don't put him near John Wayne.

1982:  TV HOST DAVE GARROWAY DIES.

J. Fred Muggs to deliver the eulogy.

1998:  ACTOR ROBERT YOUNG DIES.

Might as well be.

2005:  THE LONDON BOMBINGS OCCUR.

Don't blame this one on Hitler.

2010:  BASEBALL MANAGER RALPH HOUK DIES.

Probably still smoking a cigar.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Pixar Wins A Point

 

Finally.   At least, as far as I'm concerned.

Except for the exceptional Toy Story franchise, I have never been a big fan of Disney-Pixar.  Most of the offerings feature either too much story or too little.  More importantly, they got in the habit of featuring as the main character a girl.  And, to further click off the necessary societal boxes, the girl had to be...ahem...diverse.   Black.  Asian.  Hispanic.  Native American.  

So what is so remarkable about the new "Luca" is that the core character is a boy.  And Italian.  How did this get past the woke police?  By being so goddamn old fashioned, "Luca" quickly becomes one of my favorite Pixar films.  Now was that so hard to do?

First kudos go to director Enrico Casarosa, who must be Italian and a welcome addition to the Pixar team.   He styles the movie like it's being made in 1947 by Vittorio DeSica complete with the word "fin" at the end.  And he takes a story that is simple and bring in layers that still maintain the simplicity.

Luca is a young sea monster somewhere in the waters around Italy where fishermen are catching things every day and night.   Now the magic here is that, if Luca leaves the water, he transforms into a regular boy.  This is disturbing to his parents who want him to stay sea-based.   Now is that so complicated to understand?

On one of his adventures on shore, he meets up with another boy/sea monster named Alberto.   Together, they start exploring the town to learn about life on shore.   One of their desires is to win a bike race where the main prize is a Vespa.

The boys make friends with cute Giulia, whose dad is one of those folks who is chopping the heads off captured sea monsters.  Naturally, there are some complications.   If it rains or somebody spills water on the kids, the gills and green shading come out.

At the heart of the film is Luca's true desire to go to a regular school with children and boy, I bet that resonates with Zoom-schooled kids in 2021.   And the characterizations and voices are so natural with some sporting Italian accents that you are grabbed by every scene.  I mean, you can predict the complications and the ultimate resolution.   But, this time, the trip getting to that inevitability is a smooth one.

You can find "Luca" in theaters or on the Disney stream.   If you have never been a fan of Pixar like me, you just might find a similar transformation with this.  That is, you will become a fan and not a fish.

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

Dinner last night:  Leftover shrimp scampi.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 19, 2021

More summer fun.   The first segment could actually be a funny bit from a "Friends" episode.

Dinner last night:  Shrimp scampi.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - A Vacation Postcard from Hell

 

Oh, Len, say it isn't so.  How could you possibly have a horrible time in Pennsylvania Dutch Country?   And what could you possibly have against those wonderfully simple folk?

Truth be told, I've got nothing against these horse-and-buggy types.  I would probably have loved this visit.

If I had only gotten the chance to actually see anything there.  Why would you go on vacation to a destination and then never visit it?

Yes, this is one of my childhood vacations with the family.  A trip that went horribly wrong at every turn.  And was badly conceived from the get-go.

When I was a kid, our major family summer outings were confined to two specific weeks a year.  The last week in July and the first week in August.  Those were the two weeks that my dad took off every summer.  You could set your calendar watch to those dates.  If Mom was working, she would do the same.  

So, the big summer fun was always super-concentrated into those fourteen days.  A night at Playland in Rye.  An afternoon trip downtown to see the summer fare at Radio City Music Hall.  A Met game at Shea.

And, somewhere embedded in those two weeks, we would actually pack a couple of suitcases and actually go someplace far.  Not on a plane, of course.  It was always a car ride.  Niagara Falls.  Atlantic City.  Lake George.  My mother would prep for the excursion by buying lots of peaches and plums for me to snack on during the four or five hour drive.  Invariably, these treks would be done in tandem with another family.  Usually my parents' friends and their kids.  The children would get along famously.  But, at some point, one of the adults would say the wrong thing to one of the other adults and the proclamation would be announced:

"WE'RE NOT GOING ANY PLACE WITH THEM AGAIN."

By the very next year, we would likely be out on the road with the same people all over again.

These vacations were fun for me, but, as I got older, I didn't necessarily want to hang out with a bunch of kids I barely knew.  I'd much prefer staying home with the gang in my neighborhood.

And, of course, bury myself in the New York Mets.

Such was my sentiment the year my mother took me aside and gave me the word on that year's planned trip.

"We're going away with Aunt Anne, Uncle Bob, and your cousins."

For informational purposes, that would be my mom's loony sister, her New York Yankee-obsessed husband, and my cousins who were close to my age.  They lived in Suffolk County and I wrote about our Sunday trips to their home several weeks ago.  

Sound harmless?  I didn't think so.  We had never traveled with this tribe before.  Our holiday visits on Long Island always found us with somebody being pissed at somebody else.  Now we're going to take this hilarity out on the road for the unsuspecting public to see??

I was eleven and felt that I could exert a bit of independence.

I'll stay home and keep Grandma and Grandpa company.  And, oh, yeah, watch the Mets on TV every single day.

Er, no.

Apparently, the voting age in my family was 12.  Because I didn't get one for this proposition on the ballot.  My mother went into oversell mode, telling me how much fun we would have in the planned destination.  

The Pennsylvania Dutch country.

Oh, I thought.  That's where the noodles come from.  

More heavy-handed selling from Mom.  The history of the region.  How educational it would be.

I saw impending doom at every turn in the country road.  I asked the simple question as to how they all had decided on visiting the Pennsylvania Dutch country.

"Well, that's where Uncle Bob's parents live."

Oh.  Why are we going?  That's not our family.

"Yes, it is.  Sort of."

But it's Uncle Bob's family.  Your brother-in-law's parents.  How are they connected to us?

"Well, they are.  Sort of."

I would not win a single point in this discussion.  I went into my room and looked at the New York Met baseball schedule which hung over my bed next to a photo of Jesus Christ.  Damn, the Mets were home that whole week.

And I wouldn't be.

The trip into the middle of Pennsylvania seemed to take forever.  We were traveling on our own.  My aunt and uncle were in a separate car.  As I looked out the window of my back seat, I saw nothing but grass.  I sucked down one plum and peach after another.  I thought briefly about swallowing a pit and ending it all right there in the back of the Buick.  

When we all arrived in the midst of nowhere, I was startled at how desolate it all was.  Where's our motel?

"We're staying at their house."

ALL OF US????  UNDER ONE ROOF???

I was back to thinking about clogging my windpipe with that peach pit all over again.

The house in question seemed to be the only one within miles.  There were just fields and fields and fields of grass.  It was as if we had come to a new planet.

We were all greeted by my cousins' grandparents and my amazement/shock continued anew.  I didn't remember seeing these two before.  They looked incredibly old.  My own grandmother and grandfather looked like John and Jackie Kennedy compared to these fossils.  

I had briefly thought that, perhaps, these two relics were actually Pennsylvania Dutch types.  Maybe I'd be riding in a horse and carriage.  Or get to watch the old lady churn up a stick of butter.

Nope.  As I surveyed their home, they had all the modern conveniences of the 20th century.  Except for one.

There was no air conditioning.

Or electric fans.

Or any breeze of any kind.

I felt my clothes adhering to every pore of my skin.  The only way I will be able to get undressed at the end of the day is by using a spatula.

And then the vacation started to kick into high gear.

We did nothing but sit around the house and talk.

My cousins and I fooled around outside and played in their yard which seemed to go on for acres.  But there was nothing but grass.  No swings.  No slides.  And, definitely NO SWIMMING POOL.

I could feel the temperature getting hotter by the second.

I asked my mother what our plans were for the next few days.  Sightseeing?  An amusement park nearby?  ANYTHING????

"We'll see what they want to do."

Meaning her sister and brother-in-law, who were too busy yakking it up with their side of the family.  And ultimately didn't really want to go anywhere.

I looked at the clock on the wall.  Back in civilization, it was 8PM.  The Met game would be starting right about now.  I could be sitting in the backyard with Grandma and Grandpa.  Wolfing down a slice of her rhubarb pie while radio announcer Bob Murphy would be telling me the New York Met lineup.

It would get worse.  As the night dragged on, people started to stretch and yawn.  

It was time to hear the sleeping arrangements.  Or how to cram six adults and three children into a two bedroom house that had virtually no air.

The shortest straw again?  Yours truly.  My bunk mates were my cousin Bobby and his grandfather.  From the heat I felt, it might have been on the top shelf of their convection oven.  Sweat pored out my body as if it was Old Faithful.  But dehydration was the least of my issues on that night.

The old fart snored.

I don't mean lightly.  He could be heard clear into Ohio.  Martians could hear him in their backyard light years away.  It was like I was trying to get some shut-eye in the middle of a lumber mill.

I kept looking at the clock.  Counting the minutes and the seconds until it would be morning.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.....

The next days were filled with as much boredom as the first one.  If there was anything to do in the vicinity, we sure as heck didn't do it.  I got the impression that my parents had even been sold a bill of goods on this one.  They started to look bored, too.

It was Friday and the coma set in on me early.  Until I remembered something.  Back home on the planet Earth, the Mets were home that night.  Playing the Philadelphia Phillies.

Whoa!!!!

Since the TV was always on in this dungeon, I knew that we were in the Philadelphia TV market.  Maybe the game was on with the Phillie announcers.  This was in the days before ESPN and the MLB Network.  But, local teams did broadcast games.  The Mets and Yankees did.  The game had to be on in Philadelphia.

OH, GOD, PLEASE LET THE GAME BE ON.

I asked the retched old buzzsaw which channel carried the Phillies.

"I don't know."

Do you have a TV Guide?

"We use the newspaper TV listings."

Do you have today's paper?

"I think we threw it out."

OLD MAN, THIS SHOULDN'T BE THIS HARD!!!

Guess who didn't get to see a baseball game on TV that night?

When I attempted to turn the channel in the family room that night, Uncle Bob scolded me.

"Don't turn that channel.  My father's trying to watch the 11 O'Clock News."

I wondered why.  There didn't seem to be happening within a hundred miles of this God-forsaken place.  

Meanwhile, the sports report came on.

"The Mets beat the Phils tonight in 10 innings, 3-2."

In those days, the Mets didn't win more than 50 or 60 games a season.  And I had missed it.  I felt so defeated that I wanted to cry.  Except there was no water left in my body.  All the liquid had been used up as perspiration.

I don't remember much about that vacation after that.  It might have lasted another day or maybe ten.  But, it certainly wasn't what my folks had in mind either.  There was definitely a tension in the air.

As we began the long drive back to where real people lived, I heard my mother's declaration from the front seat.
 
"WE'RE NOT GOING ANY PLACE WITH THEM AGAIN."

Dinner last night:  Italian sub from Jersey Mike's.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - July 2021

 Fifty years ago, this was in production for its fall premiere.   With billing as "Jimmy" not "James."

Dinner last night:  Roast beef sandwich from Clementine's.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for July 2021

 

Movies are back!   Or so we are told.   Right now, there is very little commanding our attention at the local screen emporiums.   

So, we go back 40 plus years ago to a happier summer.   This ad makes me even more wistful.   Ah, the Cinerama Dome.   Please!   Someone come forward and bail out this jewel.  

You know the drill, folks.   I'll scour the movie pages of the LA Times and give you my knee jerk reaction to the junk that is out there right now.

Now, if you will excuse me, the mention of the Dome has prompted the need for a tissue.

Black Widow:  More Marvel crap.  Emphasis on crap.

F9 - The Fast Saga:   What isn't so fast is this pointless franchise disappearing.

The Boss Baby - Family Business:  Has anybody even seen a single frame of this cartoon series?

The Forever Purge:   We could purge forever just looking at this movie guide.

Peter Rabbit 2 - The Runaway:   Ditto marks from The Boss Baby line.

Cruella:   I actually heard this Disney movie was really only for adults.   I do like Emma Stone, but even her presence hasn't gotten there yet.

Summer of Soul:   A documentary about a 1969 music concert in NY.   Not Woodstock..Harlem.

The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard:   Way too long a title.

A Quiet Place II:   Reviewed recently here.   Not as good as the first one, but serviceable entertainment.

Zola:   The misadventures of a Detroit waitress.   Spoiler alert: she might be looking for a tip.

In the Heights:   Was supposed to be the movie that saved the industry this summer.  Meanwhile, I hear it's dull as dirt.  And available on HBO Max.

Spirit Untamed - The Movie:   As opposed to Spirit Untamed: The Floor Wax.

Roadrunner:   A documentary about the late Anthony Bourdain.   With all that good eating, why do you kill yourself??

Summertime:   One of those multi-plot films that follow 25 kids in Los Angeles on one summer's day.   How many will be living in tents down in your local park.

No Sudden Move:   1950's Detroit criminals.   Not to be confused with 2021 criminals in Congress.

Pig:  Nicolas Cage looks for a pig.  Insert your own joke here.

Out of Death:  Starring Bruce Willis???

Luca:  Blog review coming.   Finally, a Pixar movie to like.

Space Jam - A New Legacy:   I never saw the old legacy.

Escape Room - Tournament of Champions:   The sequel to...ta da...Escape Room.

Gunpowder Milkshake:   The NRA opens up a Dairy Queen.

Dinner last night:  Leftover tortellini.

 

The No Star Game

 

Yep, that's pretty much what I give Tuesday's MLB All Star Game.   If this annual mid-summer classic wanted to emulate Fonzie and jump the shark,  they succeeded in 2021.   Bruce of Jaws, have yourself a nice meal.

If there were mistakes to be made by MLB and its broadcast partner Fox, they certainly didn't disappoint.  Stevie Wonder would have scored higher taking a driver's road test.   Starting, of course, with the now-uniform uniforms.   In another greedy attempt to market more merch, MLB concocted these fashion nightmares.   You have some of the iconic and legendary uniforms in baseball.   I am thinking of the Yankees and the Dodgers, for instance.   But, in a dollar grab, they designed these atrocities.   The AL one looked like a softball league uniform.  The home NL uniforms were worse, resembling aprons from your local Benihana.

In their efforts to appeal to non-fans, Fox miked one player after another.  And, no, this wasn't just confined to players watching on the bench.   At one junction, the moronic voices of Joe Buck and John Smoltz were peppering a batter in the box with questions.   Um, just what somebody needs to deal with when a 96 mph fastball is coming at him.   During the ninth inning, they tried to talk to the AL pitcher who was trying to close the game.  He ignored them.   When it comes to Buck and Smoltz, most of America should adopt the same policy.  If there ever was a reason for a mute button, it's those two.

Of course, both MLB and Fox had a very narrow focus on the game.   The instructions were to discuss Fernando Tatis Jr, Vladimir Guerrero Jr, and Shohei Ohtani pretty much to the exclusion of everybody else.  Forget about the white, non-diverse catcher JT Realmuto who hit a homerun.  Pish tosh.   Let's find out what kind of dress shoes Tatis likes.

When I was a kid, I loved the ASG and prayed that players from my team would do something good and nothing bad.  This year, I barely knew when any Dodgers were in the game.  

Of course, the largest black eye of the evening came before the game even started.   Because he had passed away in January, there was a long and heart-felt tribute to the late Henry Aaron.   But, at the same time, I couldn't help but think that this should have been conducted in the original site of this year's game, Atlanta, where Aaron played for years.   That would have been so much more poignant.

But it was a nagging reminder that MLB caved into the now flimsy argument about voters rights in Georgia.  I mean, voting laws are even tighter in Colorado.  Duh.   It was a colossal blunder...again...by MLB who chose to listen to the political assholes making this a false issue.

That said, the Aaron tribute also made me think that somebody else had passed away around the same time as Hank.   Somebody with almost as long and deep a baseball legacy.  But I guess Tommy Lasorda...a fat Italian...doesn't qualify as diversity.   Nor does Tom Seaver or Whitey Ford, both of whom also passed since the last ASG.

Indeed, MLB should use this event to acknowledge those have passed in the last year.   Sort of like what the Oscars do with their "In Memorium."  That's a smart and doable innovation.

And exactly why MLB and Fox won't think of it.

I'm almost officially done with the ASG.   But I do have one more in me.  Next year in Dodger Stadium where I will probably have tickets.

Gee, I hope they don't pump Joe Buck over the loud speaker.

Dinner last night:  Tortellini.

  

This Date in History - July 14

 

Happy birthday to Rosey Grier.   He's a big guy so you can't really make fun of his name.

1769:  AN EXPEDITION LED BY GASPAR DE PORTOLA LEAVES ITS BASE IN CALIFORNIA AND SETS OUT TO FIND THE PORT OF MONTEREY.

I'm hearing the 405 is jammed.

1789:  THE STORMING OF THE BASTILLE IN PARIS.

Hence the holiday every July 14 in France.

1853:  OPENING OF THE FIRST MAJOR US WORLD'S FAIR IN NEW YORK CITY.

Book your class trips now.   

1864:  THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN IS COMPLETED BY EDWARD WHYMPER AND HIS PART.  FOUR DIE ON THE DESCENT.

What goes up doesn't necessarily come down.

1874:  THE CHICAGO FIRE OF 1874 BURNS DOWN 47 ACRESS OF THE CITY.

Given the state of the lunatics in that city, we need to revisit in 2021.

1881:  OUTLAW BILLY THE KID IS SHOT AND KILLED BY SHERIFF PAT GARRETT IN NEW MEXICO.

Ballad by Billy Joel coming.

1894:  ANIMATOR DAVE FLEISCHER IS BORN.

Co-creator of the Popeye cartoon!

1912:  SINGER WOODY GUTHRIE IS BORN.

In his honor, don't use soap today.

1913:  US PRESIDENT GERALD FORD IS BORN.   

Truly one of the most underrated...and moderate Chief Executives.

1918:  DIRECTOR INGMAR BERGMAN IS BORN.

Show of hands from all people who understand his movies.  I see none.

1930:  SINGER POLLY BERGEN IS BORN.

My grandmother thought she was a show off.

1932:  FOOTBALL PLAYER ROSEY GRIER IS BORN.

"Get the gun.  Break his finger if you have to."

1933:  IN A DECREE, HITLER ABOLISHES ALL GERMAN POLITICAL PARTIES EXCEPT THE NAZIS.

An act later attempted by both the Republicans and the Democrats.

1938:  ACTIVIST JERRY RUBIN IS BORN.

Love his sandwiches.

1943:  IN MISSOURI, THE GEORGE WASHINGTON CARVER MONUMENT BECOMES THE FIRST US MONUMENT IN HONOR OF AN AFRICAN-AMERICAN.

Nobody is tearing that one down in 2021.

1960:  JANE GOODALL ARRIVES IN TANZANIA TO BEGIN HER STUDY OF CHIMPS IN THE WILD.

She could have done the same thing if we went to a Phillies game.

1965:  MARINER 4 TAKES THE FIRST CLOSE-UP PHOTOS OF MARS.  IT TAKES SIX HOURS FOR THE PICTURES TO BE TRANSMITTED BACK TO EARTH.

And six days for developing at Fotomat.

1965:  POLITICIAN ADLAI STEVENSON DIES.   

That sign which hit him in the head in 1963 must have been heavy.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

The Bonus Moron of the Month - July 2021

 

Indeed, this blog's monthly feature could actually be done on a daily basis.   In 2021, with the "woke" squad and "cancel culture" dominating the worlds of innocent people, there are more than enough morons around to include in a tribute every 24 hours.

For now, let's just discuss this bonus Moron for July 2021.   This is Ashley Lee. As the T-shirt says, she is "speaking."  The question is whether anybody is listening.  Or gives a rat's anus about anything that could possibly be on Ashley Lee's microscopic mind.

Who is she, you ask?  Well, I'll let her bio on the Los Angeles Times website illuminate.

Ashley Lee is a staff reporter at the Los Angeles Times, where she writes about theater, movies, television and the bustling intersection of the stage and the screen. An alum of the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center’s National Critics Institute and Poynter’s Power of Diverse Voices, she leads workshops on arts journalism at the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival. She was previously a New York-based editor at the Hollywood Reporter and has written for the Washington Post, Backstage and American Theatre, among others. She is currently working remotely alongside her dog, Oliver.

The bio leaves out one important point.

Ashley Lee is as dumb as a door knob.

I must admit that, until last Thursday, I didn't know who the fuck this asshole was.   But, as it is, I still inexplicably get morning delivery of the  LA Times, a newspaper which is so far left that even Karl Marx would cancel his subscription.  Nevertheless, I "read" it every day over breakfast.   By "read" it, I mean that I look at the Dodger news, check in to see how Dagwood is feuding with Mr. Dithers, and get my brain stirred by doing the Sudoku puzzle.  Rarely does any other "journalistic" prose sneak in.

As I flipped through the entertainment pages so quickly that I barely get any black ink on my fingers, an article headline got my attention.

"Why 'The Music Man' Is Not The Broadway Revival We Need."

I gasp momentarily.

The piece is labelled as a "commentary" by Ashley Lee.   So, "commentary" is being used to explain that this is an opinion.  Indeed, following that logic, every word printed every day in the birdcage lining-scope of the LA Times should be denoted as "commentary."

But I digress...

I was immediately compelled to read this story.  Why?   Well, for me, "The Music Man" is my very favorite musical comedy of the 20th Century.  Since I was a kid and first exposed to the movie version by my parents, I have been a complete sucker for the story and Meredith Willson music.   I've seen countless revivals on stage.  I was so looking forward to the latest rendition headed by Hugh Jackman and Sutton Foster that was supposed to open last September.   COVID has now pushed it back to 2022.   I was anxiously awaiting its arrival.  In short, "The Music Man" has always provided me with pure, unmitigated joy.

But not Ashley Lee.  Because, in her over-educated but equally misguided world, there is no room for a musical or play that salutes American life in the past.   In her "commentary," she explains why that "The Music Man" is not the show that should lead Broadway's grand re-opening.

And then she continues with a litany of ridiculousness that could only come from somebody who never got a single ounce of a balanced college education.

First off, she takes issues with the show's main setting.  An Iowa small town which is liberal coding for "white supremacy."   And the main character is a "scammer" or "con artist" who mesmerizes the small town.   This, to me, is liberal coding for "Trump."   Indeed, she actually references him by name several paragraphs later as every single story in the LA Times is required to do.

She continues throughout the "commentary" to list the musical's storied history but I waited for the other shoe to drop.   I knew she would ultimately call up enough vomit to fill several bar room toilets.   And then she finally got there.  Here it is verbatim.

The problem arises when this fantasy is mounted as an upbeat, tidy time capsule, allowing audiences to ogle a version of America that never existed. Ultimately, “The Music Man” sets forth a sanitized, insular and very white America — a vision regularly exploited by a recent president (who gained a following with scare tactics and sold a “think system” of his own) to stoke racial fears and pit Americans against one another. It asks audiences to cheer for yet another romanticized fraud.

Frankly, what Ashley Lee knows about musical comedies, American History and...really...anything, could fill a sewing thimble without spilling a drop.

After I finished reviewed this nitwit's sermon from Mount Stupidity, I actually felt a little bad.   I actually questioned my affinity for this show.   But, that skepticism was fleeting.   The musical is a work of art.   It has stood the test of time.   And what's so bad about small town America in either 1900 or 2021?  Indeed, it will be those tiny gothams that will ultimately lead the way so we don't have to listen to the likes of Ashley Lee, who probably sits writing alone at a desk in her apartment while wearing a mask.   Even her dog probably has one on.   

Because clowns like Ashley Lee, who are supposedly "the wise ones," have no idea on just how un-well-rounded they really are.

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

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 12, 2021

Flying can be fun this summer.

 

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Adventures with the All-Star Game

 

The MLB All Star Game is Tuesday in....oh, wait.

They changed it to Colorado because Biden was concerned about Jim Croce laws.  That's not a joke.   I really think he got confused.  Nevertheless, they moved the game to a state where the voting restrictions are even more stringent.  

But I digress...

Me?  I am still stinging over not getting to attend the 2020 game that was supposed to be held in Dodger Stadium.  But when it comes to a pandemic, there is always next year.   2022, that is.  

I'll be forced to buy tickets for not just the game but all the ancillary events.

The Futures game which is essentially a minor league All-Star game.  Yawn.

The celebrity softball game which pits lots of oldtime Mets versus WFAN sports show hosts.   Yawn.  Compare this to the old Dodgers Hollywood Stars games when the team were managed by the likes of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Don Rickles.  

The All Star fanfest.  Okay, I've been to one when Baltimore hosted the game about thirty years ago.  It's a lot of fun.  

The Homerun Derby.  I know people love this night.  I don't.  Pass again.

As I thought about this cram-down of tickets and the corresponding high costs, it dawned on me.  I really didn't even have an interest in the All Star Game itself.  I realized that, in years past, I only watched the telecast on the pre-show.  I dig the pomp and curcumstance of it all.  The introduction of the line-ups and rosters.  The first ball ceremony.  The National Anthem.  After that?

Yawn.

It wasn't always so.

I flashback to my first year as a bonafide baseball nut.   Ironically, Shea Stadium was in its infancy.  And hosting that year's All Star Game.  As a new devotee of the sport and the New York Mets, this game became my focus of life.  Oh, I wasn't going to be there.  But, I was living and dying with the hoopla in the weeks before the game.

I was excited that my very own Ron Hunt, second base man for the Mets, was going to be in the starting lineup for the National League side and I was fiercely behind that team, as I would be for many years.

I had yet to go to Shea Stadium myself, but I had already started to learn how to score a baseball game.  I carefully used a ruler to make lines on a piece of paper as I crafted my own scoresheet.

Weeks before, I planned my timing and lunch for that day.  The game would be in the afternoon.  I would be ready in plenty of time.  No one was to bother me.

Except...

About a week before, I got grim news from my mother.

"Do you remember that your class party is next Tuesday afternoon?"

WHAT?????!!!!

The past year's teacher, Mrs. Lillian C. Ian (that's how she signed all the report cards), had decided to hold a year-end party for us all at her home in Pelham Manor, New York.    My mom and several other of the class mothers were also invited.  I was assured that it was a really nice thing for the teacher to do.

YEAH, WELL!!!

I couldn't understand this.  All year, Mrs. Lillian C. Ian had been a complete ball buster.  A good but demanding teacher.  And, frankly, by the end of June, I was totally done with her emotionally.  Why wasn't she emotionally done with us?

I attempted the usual "I'm not going" histrionics, but find me one child that was ever successful with that play.  I was sunk.  And, so too was my very first attendance (albeit via television) at the All Star Game.

The day of the party was typically New York hazy, hot, and humid.  Mrs. Lillian C. Ian had outdone herself with the back yard set-up.  Tons of games and plenty of food plus all my classmates were there, including my recently reunited Facebook pals Cheryl and Diane.

How could this be a horrible day?

Well, I had smuggled in a lifeline.  If I couldn't watch the All Star Game, I could listen.

In my shorts pocket was my dad's transistor radio.

The only problem was that there were only isolated spots in that backyard where I could get reception.  If I moved either five inches to the right or to the left, I would lose touch with civilization and Shea Stadium.

Eventually, I got tired of all the strategic maneuvering and was totally wrapped up in stuffing my face and playing with my friends.  When I remembered to turn the game on again, I was treated to the post-game wrap-up.

"And Johnny Callison's dramatic ninth inning homer propels the National League to a 7-4 victory...."

Grrrrrrrr.

It would be years later when I would actually get to see an All Star Game in person.  This year it was being held on a steamy New York night at Yankee Stadium.  The type of summer evening where you had to remove your sweaty clothes with a spatula.  

I didn't care.  My college roommate and I had tickets for the game.  We'd travel down to the ball park via the renowned D train which is how Fordham University students always connected to the rest of the world.  

Our plan for the big day was easy.  We'd meet at school, walk up to the Fordham Road subway station, and then take the fifteen minute ride to baseball heaven.

Oh, yeah, and we decided to have dinner before hand at the Beefsteak Charlie's on Fordham Road.  Always a great deal for college kids.  Great steaks.  And all the beer, wine, and sangria you can drink.

Uh-huh.

Neither of us were big boozers in that day, but sangria, masquerading as a potent version of Kool Aid, was always tasty.  We opted for a couple of pitchers of that.  

And, predictably, it went down smoothly.  Too smoothly.

The combination of an empty stomach, a very uncomfortable weather day, and the wonderful tasting fruit "punch" made a lethal weapon.

Within 45 minutes, we were both completely blotto.

Shitfaced.

Drunk.

To this very day, I have no recollection of about three hours of my life.  I have no memory of what I ate for dinner.  Or the subway ride to Yankee Stadium.  Or the first five innings of the game.

When I suddenly "came to,"  I was there in the House That Ruth Had Built and Then Renovated.  My scorebook was in my lap.  I had filled in the first five innings.  I had obviously been there.  But I had no idea how.

I recently dug up that infamous scorebook.  I could not make any sense of anything I had written for the first five innings.  By this time, I was an expert scorekeeper.   Not on this night.

There would be yet another All Star Game that I would attend in person.  In Baltimore right after they opened Camden Yards.  Ironically, part of that trip's entourage was the same college roommate I had gotten plastered with.  We avoided the sangria this time around.  But, once again, it was another East Coast boiler and a challenge for us all.

That year, the Home Run Derby was held in the afternoon.  We had seats in the upper deck behind home plate.

In the sun.

The hot, hot sun.

There are now tan lines on my arms that have never faded.  All because of that day.  Sans sun block.

But, the good news is that we could remember everything we saw.  On that afternoon, there wasn't enough Diet Coke in the entire state of Maryland to quench my thirst.

I get another opportunity for all of this mayhem next July.   I will try to stay sober for this one.

Dinner last night:  Char siu porl and green beans from Chin Chin.