Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 31, 2023

I was once on a plane to NY and this "Odd Couple" episode was actually being shown.  If you want to know what a 747 sounds like through regales of laughter, check this out.  Classic.

Dinner last night:  Italian cold cuts and crackers at the Hollywood Bowl.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Late Night Summer Ritual

 

We're deep now in the belly of Summer 2023.  Last week in Los Angeles, there was the unusual wisps of...gasp...some humidity.  And, now back in my hometown New York, the humidity in the air can be sliced with a butter knife.  You can almost see it as it envelops every pore of your body. 

Global warming or climate change?  Phooey.  Yeah, it's summer and it gets freakin' hot.  We deal with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was a weird kid.

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

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

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

"Close the door!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silly Ass Marner.

Great Expectorations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go to bed already."

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

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

Musical Comedy Production Number of the Month - July 2023

Woo hoo!  A five Saturday month means we get to watch a classic number from a musical comedy.   And since it is the summer, what better way to go than this delightful harmony from "The Music Man." 

Dinner last night:  Pepperoni pizza from CPK.

Len's Juke Box of the Month - July 2023

Well, given that I just saw what now passes for the Beach Boys at the Hollywood Bowl. I'm now clicking on what is my favorite Beach Boys song.   Summer continues.

Dinner last night:  Beef and broccoli.

Hollywood Then and Now - July 2023

Every once in a while, this crazy movie buff is surprised.  I know people think I have seen EVERYTHING, but there are some films that have skipped past me.   And thanks to Turner Classic Movies, I do catch up to them.

Like two weeks when, for the very first time, I watched "Fast Times at Ridgemont High."  Indeed, the movie certainly meant more to me now than it would have over 30 years ago, since I used to work right across the street from the mall that used in the film.

But they also shot elsewhere.   I was watching the scene with Judge Reinhold waiting on a customer in the ice cream store and I exclaimed...."That's in Brentwood!"

To be specific, it was the sign of the cleaners in the background that still stands to this day.

The ice cream store...not so much.

Fittingly, it's now a coffee shop in 2023.

Dinner last night:  Peach and prosciutto sandwich from Mendocino Farms.

 

This Date in History - July 26

 

Happy birthday to Mick Jagger, turning 80 today.  80???!!!

811:  IN THE BATTLE OF PLISKA, BYZANTINE EMPEROR NIKEPHOROS IS KILLED.

Nikephoros.   Just do it.

1509:  THE EMPEROR KRISHNADEVARAYA ASCENDS TO THE THRONE OF THE VIJAYANAGARA EMPIRE.

What a business card that must have been.

1581:  THE NORTHERN LOW COUNTRIES DECLARE THEIR INDEPENDENCE FROM THE SPANISH KING PHILIP II.

FYI, I never ever paid attention in World History.

1745:  THE FIRST RECORDED WOMEN'S CRICKET MATCH TAKES PLACE IN ENGLAND.

Where else?

1775:  THE US POST OFFICE IS ESTABLISHED BY THE SECOND CONTINENTAL CONGRESS.

And immediately lost two sacks of mail.

1788:  NEW YORK RATIFIES THE US CONSTITUTION AND BECOMES THE 11TH STATE OF THE US.

What took them so long?

1847:  LIBERIA DECLARES ITS INDEPENDENCE.

Well, that's a load off my mind.

1875:  PSYCHIATRIST CARL JUNG IS BORN.

The Jung for the Restless.

1882:  PREMIERE OF RICHARD WAGNER'S OPERA PARSIFAL.

Wasn't he a reliever for the Angels?

1891:  FRANCE ANNEXES TAHITI.

Well, if you have to annex something, Tahiti is a good choice.

1909:  ACTRESS VIVIAN VANCE IS BORN.

Should be a national holiday.

1914:  SERBIA AND BULGARIA INTERRUPT DIPLOMATIC RELATIONSHIP.

Like Ross and Rachel, they're taking a break.

1918:  ACTRESS MARJORIE LORD IS BORN.

Make Room for Daddy's Wife.

1922:  FILM DIRECTOR BLAKE EDWARDS IS BORN.

Unsung genius.

1941:  SINGER DARLENE LOVE IS BORN.

Who does she sing that Christmas song for now that Letterman is off the air?

1941:  US PRESIDENT FRANKLIN ROOSEVELT ORDERS THE SEIZURE OF ALL JAPANESE ASSETS IN THE US.   

What will he do with all those sushi bars?

1943:  MUSICIAN MICK JAGGER IS BORN.

Always getting what he wants.

1945:  ACTRESS HELEN MIRREN IS BORN.

Mrs. Taylor Hackford to you.

1945:  THE POTSDAM DECLARATION IS SIGNED IN POTSDAM, GERMANY.

Gee, that was clever.

1947:  US PRESIDENT HARRY TRUMAN SIGNS THE NATIONAL SECURITY ACT OF 1947, THEREBY CREATING THE CIA, US DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, US AIR FORCE, JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF, AND THE US NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL

Well, that created a lot of jobs.

1948:  US PRESIDENT HARRY TRUMAN SIGNS EXECUTIVE ORDER 9981, DESEGREGATING THE US MILITARY.

For those of you who thought executive orders were invented by Trump and Obama.

1952:  POLITICIAN EVA PERON DIES.

Not crying for you.

1963:  THE ORGANIZATION FOR ECONOMIC CO-OPERATION AND DEVELOPMENT VOTES TO ADMIT JAPAN.

I guess the assets were eventually unfrozen.

1971:  LAUNCH OF APOLLO 15.

Nothing happened on this flight, so no Ron Howard movie.

1990:  THE AMERICANS WITH DISABILITIES ACT OF 1990 IS SIGNED INTO LAW BY PRESIDENT GEORGE BUSH.

See!  He did do something worthwhile.

2016:  HILLARY CLINTON BECOMES THE FIRST FEMALE NOMINEE FOR PRESIDENT OF THE US.

I've been off-line.  How did this play out?

2017:  ACTRESS PATTI DEUTSCH DIES.

Hilarious on the Match Game.

2020:  ACTRESS OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND DIES.

She made it over a hundred, so she didn't get cheated.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Movie Implausible

 

But aren't they all?   And who cares?

I had to do a little homework on the Mission Impossible film franchise because, after seeing the latest, I realized that they all sort of blend together.

Well, just for the record, this is the seventh and next-to-last film in the series.  The first one came out in...gasp...1996.   And a new one popped out every four or five years.   I mean, you needed to give Tom Cruise time to rest.  And who doesn't agree that he's starting to look his age?  Nevertheless, in MI 7, he gets yet another workout and it makes you wonder who his physical therapist is.

These movies are all the same.   Hard-to-figure plots, ridiculously impossible stunts, and twists at every turn.   So what?   The object is to entertain and MI 7, like all the predecessors does not disappoint.   In this one, the IMF is looking for two keys that could possibly be used to rule the world if getting into the wrong hands.   And I'm not talking about Joe Biden.

Along the way, there are chases in airports and Rome and Venice and on top of the Orient Express.   This is a travel Vlog but only for the faint of heart.  You know these things couldn't possibly happen but the point is to enjoy not understand.

The only quibble is that the famed theme song from the TV show only makes brief appearances until the closing credits.  But, by that time and a 2 hour, 43 minute run time, I had to lose the theme due to a full bladder.

Because MI 7 is called "Part One," there's a bit of a cliffhanger.  Have no fear.  "Part Two" is already done and scheduled for release next June.  And then we will have to find our cheap chills elsewhere.

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

Dinner last night: Leftover teriyaki chicken.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 24, 2023

Whenever I needed a laugh during my recovery from knee replacement, "Everybody Loves Raymond" was my go-to.   Always has, always will be. 

Dinner last night:  Teriyaki chicken thighs.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Why I Had To Go to Sleep for the Second Feature at the Elmsford Drive-In

 

The title above is even longer than "Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask."  And oddly connected in a way.

We flash back to my youth.   The Elmsford Drive-In in Westchester County.   This was a favorite summer haunt of my parents.   I always knew that a trip there was in our immediate future if I saw my dad down in the driveway washing the windshield.   And another tell-tale sign?   My pajamas were out already on my bed at 5PM.   

Yep, we were going to the drive-in.

And I remember one excursion very well.

The first picture was over. The hot dogs had jumped into their buns. The popcorn had been doused with butter. And I had been popped into the summer edition of my pajamas. Lightweight and the pants were really short. Beddy bye for yours truly. The second feature was getting ready to start.   It was always a movie that had already been out several years before.   Hollywood's earliest version of a rerun.   And the command bellowed from my mom in the front seat.

"Now go to sleep!"

The vinyl upholstery barely had time to make the crease in my face. I stirred.

"Go to sleep!"

I'm trying. It's hot back here. And the pre-show hot dog was doing its own backflips in my stomach. 

Moments later, I heard some lush music. My head bobbed up again.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, GO TO SLEEP!"

Mom's words were stern. I guessed that, if I didn't, the next warning would come from the male parental unit.

I tried to close my eyes, but the beautiful sounds of the soundtrack was complimented by the crashing of ocean waves. What the heck were they watching?
And then, I started to hear the dialogue. And my young mind could make no immediate connections.

"That would make it easier for you to sleep with his harlot of a mother."

Harlot?

"Have you been bad, Johnny?"

This didn't sound like the bad I was when I broke the top off Grandma's candy dish.

"It seems Molly is pregnant!"

Huh? Like she ate the same seed that God put on my mother's dinner plate that resulted in me. Or something like that.

I knew one thing for sure. They weren't watching "Pollyanna" with Hayley Mills.

I never did get to doze that night. But, I did my best job of pretending to sleep. 
As the headlights came on and the sound of tires kicking up the Elmsford Drive-In gravel enveloped me, I raised my head ever so slightly to see what was on the theater marquee. What had so captivated my parents' attention? And what movie's dialogue was so damn confusing to me?

"A SUMMER PLACE."

Oh. 

I made a mental note of the title. 

Several years later, I was a little older, a little wiser, and a lot more curious especially when the folks were working at night and I had TV privileges all to myself. One warm evening, I see the movie being promoted for that week's edition of CBS' "Thursday Night Movie."

"A Summer Place."

Okay, I'm in. I sat down to watch it with my usual television viewing companion, Grandma.

And I immediately understood why my parents wanted me unconscious back at the Elmsford Drive-In. Because, indeed for its time, "A Summer Place" was a super-risque movie. Adult illicit sex. Teenage illicit sex. Medical exams to prove continued virginity. All glossed up by the most haunting film theme ever as composed and conducted by Max Steiner. It didn't take long for Grandma to comment.

"This is a dirty movie."

But the two of us kept watching. That's what I liked about Grandma. There was a minimum of censoring. Hell, we were already watching "Peyton Place" together two nights a week.

To this day, "A Summer Place" is a freeway wreck of a film that I still can't take my eyes off. Richard Egan acting by simply gritting his teeth so much that he might have been the first ever candidate for a night guard. Constance Ford as the nastiest bitch of a mother this side of Joan Crawford. Sandra Dee asking Troy Donahue if he's been "bad" with other girls. And then seducing him by explaining the complete plot of "King Kong!"

Just watch this scene where Molly's parents talk about sex. This was 1959, folks! Do we even hear these discussions in home today?

Yep, "A Summer Place" is sheer garbage.

I love it! I've seen it so many times that I can recite dialogue and insert different gag lines every viewing. I even spotted in one of the scenes in the girls' dormitory that one of the teenage extras is none other than Bonnie Franklin from "One Day at a Time."

A few years back, I discovered that my writing partner had never seen the movie. We needed a night of wisecracking to the plasma TV. On went the DVD. And the film is the gift that just keeps on giving.

About thirty minutes in, he announced with part disdain and part amusement.

"This is a dirty movie."

Yep. So said Grandma. So thought my parents years ago.

And I wonder if those two had discussed the movie on the way home.

I immediately change the subject. I really don't want to know what they thought.

Dinner last night:  Emperor's Beef at Wokcano.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - July 2023

This Doris Day gem was brightening theaters sixty years ago this month.  Even the trailer is inventive. 

\

Dinner last night:  Lasagna.

Everybody Likes a July Bride

 

Grandma's slipcovers sure did come in handy.

How much you want to bet that this photo was taken in Las Vegas??

Looks like the kid popped out of her uterus fully formed...and already dressed.

Keeping abreast of all the wedding festivities.

Must be tough to dance on those wooden legs.

From the looks of this maid of honor, the best man's gonna get awful lucky tonight.

Hope they're not serving chocolate fondue at the reception.

Shotgun wedding joke?  Anybody?

I guess there is such a thing as spring training for your honeymoon.

L'il Abner and Daisy Mae finally tied the knot.

Dinner last night:  Salad plate.

Critics, Be Damned

 

If you listened to the advance word about what I will call "Indiana 5," you would think that the producers had all been convicted of clubbing puppies to death with a baseball bat.  Everybody had a mean thing to say about it and poor Harrison Ford at the age of 80 "should retire."

Well, I'm here to tell you that this is a perfectly acceptable and entertaining movie.  My small circle of friends has pretty much agreed.  Indeed, to me, this might be the best one since the original "Indiana 1" way back in 1981.  

It's almost like critics wanted it to fail.  And, sadly, audiences might be listening to them.  Thus far, the movie is a box office dud and hardly in a position to make back its production cost of 265 million dollars.

Sure, it's a half hour too long.  Sure, things that happen are completely implausible.   Sure, the last twenty minutes are a lot to swallow.   But I found myself thoroughly engaged in one chase scene after another, including one with Indiana riding a horse on the NY City subway system.   The whole film was a complete and welcome diversion and also one that you need to see on a big screen.

What's wrong with that?

Much hand wringing has been made about the first twenty minutes which happen around the same time as the Lost Ark.  They "de-aged" Harrison Ford to look younger for the footage.  People were screaming that this all looked "photo-shopped."  Well, my friends and I thought the footage was seamless and appeared as if it was originally filmed back in 1981.

It all makes me wonder who Harrison Ford pissed off to merit such a bad reaction.  I mean, this is set up to be the last installment and the ending is a sweet one.  What's the point of the thrashing?  And don't we want movies playing in a theater to succeed?

If you have answers to any of these questions, leave your comments below.

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

Dinner last night:  Waygu burger.

This Date in History - July 19

 

Happy birthday to Vikki Carr, a woman whose record album was played constantly by my mother.  Just sayin'.

484:  LEONTIUS, ROMAN USURPER, IS CROWNED EASTERN EMPEROR AT TARSUS, WHICH IS MODERN TURKEY.

Not sure just how modern Turkey really is.

1544:  ITALIAN WAR OF 1542-46 - THE FIRST SIEGE OF BOULOGNE BEGINS.

Is this where we get the Bolognese sauce?

1553:  LADY JANE GREY IS REPLACED BY MARY I OF ENGLAND AS QUEEN OF ENGLAND AFTER ONLY NINE DAYS ON THE THRONE.

They got her out so fast that I'm wondering if she's related to Trump.

1817:  UNSUCCESSFUL IN HIS ATTEMPT TO CONQUER THE KINGDOM OF HAWAII FOR THE RUSSIAN-AMERICAN COMPANY, GEORG ANTON SCHAFFER IS FORCED TO ADMIT DEFEAT AND LEAVE KAUAI.

Condo on the beach available.

1845:  GREAT NEW YORK CITY FIRE OF 1845 - 345 BUILDINGS IN MANHATTAN BURN.

In some sections of the city, nobody would notice.

1848:  A TWO-DAY WOMEN'S RIGHTS CONVENTION OPENS IN SENECA FALLS, NEW YORK.

It would have been three days but they had to be back home for laundry.

1870:  FRANCE DECLARES WAR ON PRUSSIA.

It's good to know that they're willing to fight somebody.

1883:  ANIMATOR MAX FLEISCHER IS BORN.

Popeye and Betty Boop coming soon.

1900:  THE FIRST LINE OF THE PARIS METRO OPENS FOR OPERATION.

Delayed an hour by signal trouble.

1903:  MAURICE GARIN WINS THE FIRST TOUR DE FRANCE.

Bicyclists are menaces to society.

1922:  POLITICIAN GEORGE MCGOVERN IS BORN.

One of the biggest losers ever to run for President.

1940:  FIELD MARSHAL CEREMONY - FIRST OCCASION IN WORLD WAR II, THAT HITLER APPOINTED FIELD MARSHALS DUE TO THEIR MILITARY ACHIEVEMENTS.

Nazi merit badges.

1941:  SINGER VIKKI CARR IS BORN.

Her big hit was "It Must Be Him," played over and over and over in my house.

1943:  WORLD WAR II - ROME IS HEAVILY BOMBED BY MORE THAN 500 ALLIED AIRCRAFT, INFLICTING THOUSANDS OF CASUALTIES.

Take that, Benito.

1947:  KOREAN POLITICIAN LYUH WOON-HYUNG IS ASSASSINATED.

That come with rice?

1962:  ACTOR ANTHONY EDWARDS IS BORN.

Wonder if the birth was in an ER?

1964:  VIETNAM WAR - AT A RALLY IN SAIGON, SOUTH VIETNAMESE PRIME MINISTER NGUYEN KHANH CALLS FOR EXPANDING THE WAR INTO NORTH VIETNAM.

The Wrath of Khanh.

1980:  THE SUMMER OLYMPICS OPENS IN MOSCOW.

I don't see the USA athletes.

1983:  THE FIRST THREE-DIMENSIONAL RECONSTRUCTION OF A HUMAN HEAD IN A CT IS PUBLISHED.

X-rays of his head revealed nothing.

1989:  UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT 232 CRASHES IN IOWA, KILLING 111.

Boy, I bet you wish you lost your seat on this flight.

2014:  ACTOR JAMES GARNER DIES.

I read his autobiography and came out of it not liking the guy.   That's not easy to do.

2016:  DIRECTOR GARRY MARSHALL DIES.

A classic act I got to meet.

Dinner last night:  Grilled steak salad.

And Then This Happened...

 

Since I started doing this blog in....gasp...March of 2007, I would always pay attention to special entry numbers, anniversary dates, etc..  

Until yesterday.   When I realized that I had posted #6000 and didn't know it.

How does that happen?

Well, regular readers will notice that this blog of 6,001 entries now features a lot of what I would call "repurposed" pieces.   Sunday Memory Drawers and This Date in History are almost always repeats...simply updated.  But, then again, the so-called "Live with Kelly and Mark" is pre-recorded two days every week.   So, shit happens.  And I suppose there are always new readers who are having their first experience with some material.

This blog used to be a big deal with me.   Now I just do it...to do it.   I must say that some recent censoring from the folks at Google has made me take a rather blase view of keeping this up.   But then I remember this was all started so I could have a daily writing exercise, so I guess that still fits.

Indeed, blogs used to be a hot commodity....back in 2007.  Now there are Vlogs and podcasts and dozens of other ways to get your point across.

For me and for now, Len Speaks still exists and, while it has lost a little luster and spontaneity, it will continue.   At least that's how I feel today.  As for tomorrow...

Well, you'll just have to check in for # 6002.

Dinner last night:  Hot dog and salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 17, 2023

 Bring your dog to work day...not.

Dinner last night:  Grilled ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Beach Blanket Bingo

 

No, this isn't a story about one of those movies with Frankie and Annette.   Even though this movie did co-star Deborah Walley and I did get to know her a bit.

Nope, it's summer.   Let's go down to the shore.

A lot of my friends today talk about their childhoods at the shore. Spending every day at the beach. Renting cabanas for the summer. Barbecuing on the sand at night as the sun went down and the ocean breezes kicked in.

Me? I lived in Mount Vernon, New York. With close proximity to the subway. If the train zoomed by you on the 233rd Street platform, the resulting wind was your summer refreshment for the day.

More specifically, we were landlocked. Getting to the beach was an ordeal. President Kennedy had pledged that, by the end of the 60s, Americans would be on the moon. He could have easily added that the goal was to get me to a beach more than twice any given summer.

Oh, don't get me wrong. We liked the beach. At least, my mother and I did. My father couldn't be bothered. I don't think he even owned a bathing suit. And, since he was the driver in the household and frequently working, we couldn't depend upon him for transportation to the shore. We were on our own.

And neither of the closest beaches were, well, close.

You had Glen Island Beach in New Rochelle. A neighboring city. The park there had a shoreline on an inlet from the Long Island Sound. Sea water twice removed. By the time it got to the Glen Island sand, there was barely a ripple. There were more waves in my mother's new permanent. When you dipped into the Glen Island waters, you might as well have been taking a bath in the tub at home.

Of course, to the south of our home, there was the Bronx where Orchard Beach beckoned to us. 

Or, as we often referred to it, "Horseshit Beach." Not only was the water there equally as tranquil, but it was incredibly dark. It could have easily been mistaken for a bottle of Guinness Ale. The folks on the sand were not much better. Oh, they seemed okay. It's just that most of them were speaking English as a twelfth language. We had traveled ten miles to the south, but we somehow landed on the shores of San Juan. If your ball landed on some stranger's blanket, you needed a United Nations interpreter to get it back.

As a beach resort, Orchard Beach was always our last resort.

Yeah, we preferred Glen Island Beach. But, the trick was how to get there.

Enter my mother's cache of girlfriends. A prerequisite for my non-driving mother was to know other women who could. With valid licenses and cars to boot. If it looked like it was going to be hot and humid for a few days, my mother immediately went to the Princess phone and commenced dialing. Usually, somebody got recruited with their kids and we were packing beach provisions in lickety-split fashion.

The only problem is that none of my mom's friends had children that were anything but...girls.

"We're going to the beach with Aunt Ronnie."

All my mother's girlfriends were aunts to me. And Aunt Ronnie had two girls---Susan and Nancy. Sweet? At that age, not.

But, there I was. An only child out with a couple of kids and I still had nobody to play with. To make matters worse, one of the other girls I was beach-teamed with was usually still young enough (and flat enough) to skip the traditional top of the bathing suit.

Can we go home yet?

Of course, we'd eat our packaged sandwiches for lunch and I would hate the taste of my favorite Taylor Ham sandwich when it was seasoned with mustard and sand. I'd sit there amidst four or five gabby women or girls and want the sun to bake me to death. And, naturally, lunch at the beach seemed like an eternity. Because...

"You have to wait an hour before you can go back in the water."

Why?

"You just wait."

Kill me now, please.

I'd sit on that blanket, drifting into a gossip-induced coma. Can you please make friends with somebody that has a boy for a kid? Please!!! I always wondered why my mom never suggested that I invite along one of my chums. Leo from up the block or maybe Russell from school. That would have solved everything.

If we were really desperate for a beach day and nobody was available with transportation, my mother would prevail upon our other in-house source for a ride to the shore. Grandpa. That would mean Horseshit Beach would be the day's destination as Grandpa knew the Bronx roads and little else. It was on one of those excursions that I realized Grandpa was at the end of his days. I've told the story here before.

We had gone to the Bronx Riviera and arranged for Grandpa to come and pick us up at an appointed afternoon time. For the ride home, there were two other passengers with me and Mom. One of her friends and her daughter, of course. Well, anyway, mucho chatter ensued and the car soon sounded like a chicken coop. It distracted Grandpa.

And, for some bizarre reason, he seemed to be a little unsure about the way home. And then he ran a stop sign.

And whacked a car coming the other direction.

I got knocked onto the floor of the back seat, but everybody was otherwise okay. And quiet for a change. Surprisingly, there was no damage to our car. And a medium-sized dent on the car we hit. But, the real trauma was etched on Grandpa's face. He was crestfallen. He had never been involved in an accident before. His demeanor showed the result of his epiphany. With his reflexes slowing down, he was encountering the inevitable.

His driving days were over.

As my family often did, we went into emergency lockdown mode. Grandpa whispered to me.

"Don't tell your grandmother."

Check.

My mother whispered to me.

"Don't tell your father."

Check again.

The secret didn't hold for long. Because my grandfather pretty much stopped driving anywhere after that.

And we never went to Horseshit Beach again.

After that, any beach days were over for good. Mom and most of her friends went back to work. And it would be years before I went to a beach again. By the end of high school and college, I broadened my shore line horizons to include Jones Beach on Long Island. And I would journey out there with my neighborhood buddy, Leo.

After all, he had the car.

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

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - July 2023

 Hard to believe that this was going off the air sixty years ago this month.

Dinner last night:  Hot dogs and cold salad.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for July 2023

 

Remember all the excitement years ago the summer when "Raiders of the Lost Ark" first came around.   Well, the fifth sequel has opened this summer and you barely hear a ripple of enthusiasm.   Has our movie going become that blase?  Or are people waiting to stream it in their living rooms a month from now?   Whatever the case, how sad.

You know the monthly drill, folks.  I'll scoot through the movie pages of the local rags and give you the knee jerk reaction to what's playing on the neighborhood screens.   

Expect very little.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny:  Speaking of which.  Blog review coming.  Spoiler alert:  Critics hated it, but I didn't.

Spiderman - Across the Spiderverse:   When will this franchise be done?

Sound of Freedom:  Child trafficking.  Yep, that's a thing.

Insidious - The Red Door:   Elizabeth Arden?

Elemental:  The latest dreck from Pixar.

Joy Ride:  If only it was about a cowboy who rode Joy Behar.

Asteroid City:  Wes Anderson's latest ball of confusion.

The Flash:   When will all these super heroes be done?

The Little Mermaid:  Did anybody in their right mind actually go to see this dopey Disney live action remake?   With a Black mermaid, no less.

The Miracle Club:  Three generations of friendship in Dublin.  Starring Laura Linney, Maggie Smith, and Kathy Bates---three actresses that might make this worth the price of admission.

Black Ice:  All about Black hockey players.   It was a matter of time.

Fourth Grade:  All about a Catholic elementary school.  How good could a movie be that "stars" William Baldwin?

Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning - Part One:  I love this franchise and I guess it's up to Tom Cruise to once again save the summer box office.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger.

Len's Recipe of the Month - July 2023

 

It is summer and you got fruit in the house.   Could be cherries or blueberries or peaches.   Whatever.   Make a galette.

Okay, I didn't know what a galette was.   It sounded French but, otherwise, I was in the dark.

But Valerie Bertinelli was making one on her show and that was good enough for me.  She was making one with peaches and cherries on TV, but a Google search revealed that she also had made one that cream cheese based.   This I had to try because...well...cream cheese.   It's super easy and winds up tasting like a pastry you would get in Paris.   Or so I am told.

Now you will need a single pie crust.   You could make one of those yourself with a rolling pin.   But I am lazy.   And Valerie said it is alright to be so.  She used a store bought pie dough shell for her peach and cherry concoction.   I could legally do the same for the cherry cream cheese edition.

On a baking tray, place a sheet of parchment paper.   Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.

Take that store bought pie dough shell and roll it out on the parchment paper.

In a bowl, place four ounces of softened cream cheese.    To this, add two tablespoons of granulated sugar and a few drops of vanilla extract.   Separate one egg and add the yolk to this mixture.   Save the egg white because you will need that for something else in a few minutes.

With an electric mixer, blend all these ingredients together till it resembles a smooth consistency.   

For the next part, you could use fresh cherries, but Valerie recommended frozen so who am I to argue?   Take a bag of thawed out cherries.  Place in a bowl.  Mix in one tablespoon of corn starch and another tablespoon of granulated sugar.  Incorporate all that together.

Take the cream cheese filling and spoon it onto the pie shell.   Smooth it out to a circle but make sure you leave an inch to an inch and a half of space from the end of the dough.   Do the same with the cherry mixture on top of the cream cheese.

Start folding up the edges of the pie crust.   The pastry should look like a circle.  Mine looked more like the Pentagon.   So what?   Tighten the edges together.

Remember that egg white?   Brush it on top of the pastry so it will get golden brown.   Then I remembered a trick from America's Test Kitchen.   Sprinkle some more sugar on top of the pastry.   This will help with the crispness.

Bake for 30 to 35 minutes.   Remove and let cool for twenty minutes.

Then have a slice and look around.   You will swear you see the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

Dinner last night: Sandwich.