Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 30, 2024

 Our classic TV Sitcom month concludes with...well, you know...

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Grandma and FDR

 

About a decade ago, PBS ran a well-done series on the Roosevelt family and I still remember it vividly.  With the incredibly overrated documentary filmmaker Ken Burns at the helm, this had all the potential of being a big bust and a major waste of time.   After all, PBS ran all fourteen hours over seven consecutive nights.  Once I got hooked, there was no way you could come up for air.  And the pace of it all was exhausting.  PBS would have been much smarter letting this play out over two or three weeks.

But, it's the Roosevelt family and good friends know that I'm a sucker for their roles in our American history.  For about five Christmases, this subject was the go-to gift for anybody buying me a book for a holiday gift.  And I have read about a dozen of them.  Admittedly, I didn't know that much about Teddy, but this series got me ramped up on him and I now believe he was the greatest Roosevelt of them all. 

Meanwhile, my focus has always been Franklin and Eleanor and that's where this documentary series got a little muddled.  The script was written by veteran historian Geoffrey C. Ward and he has a virtual bromance with FDR.  His contributions to the documentary are veritable love letters and that's not accurate since, in my humble opinion, Franklin was both a flawed President and human being.  I mean, the guy literally starts to weep on camera when he talks about FDR being stricken with polio.  Come on, dude. 

Of course, as last week unfolded, I was once again inundated with all things Roosevelt and this, in turn, opened up my Sunday Memory Drawer one more time.  Indeed, the mere existence of this weekly blog feature might have direct lines to the Roosevelt family itself.

It was on cold Sunday afternoons where my grandmother, in her living room rocking chair, would hold court.  I'd be sprawled out across her slipcovered sofa.  She'd talk and I'd listen.  And learn.  She would talk about things in the past.  Stuff that happened last year.  Or events that were decades away in the past.  I'd hear about relatives I didn't know.  Eras that I didn't live through.  

And, in the case of one President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a national leader that I only knew through history books.   As I would learn repeatedly, this sometime-revered President was hated by my grandmother.

Today, I am fascinated by the World War II days and how America responded to this conflict.  Strange as it may sound, I wanted to experience the days of nighttime blackouts, rationing, and war bonds.  My grandmother took me through this world many times.   And always came back to Roosevelt.  With the same comments repeated over and over.

"He was a swindler."

"That wife Eleanor was never home.  She lived in a suitcase,."

"When he stuck that damn cigarette up in those pictures, I just wanted to slap him."

"When he died, he wasn't in that coffin.  Instead they buried all the papers that proved he sold the country out to Japan."

I suppose Grandma was ripe for some fact checking.  But, regardless of the validity, the venom never stopped.

"He used to say 'again and again and again, no boys would set foot on foreign soil.' Two weeks later, we were all at war."

"He was this damn cripple.  What about all the boys who came home with no legs?"

"They say he got us out of depression.  But led us right into war."

It was relentless.  I sort of understood my grandmother's focus on boys going off to battle.   She herself had four sons in the service during World War II.  One, whom I was named after, didn't come back.  He was killed one month after FDR died in April 1945 and two weeks before Germany surrendered.  I thought about the bitterness.  And wondered how my family had come through this tragedy. 

But, of course, it was rarely discussed. 

I asked my father about his mother's deep, dark hatred of the Roosevelts.

"She has her reasons."

I turned to my mother with the same question.

"She has her reasons."

But, at a young age, I didn't ask the source a direct question.  I figured I would get the same, tried-and-true, family response.

"You ask too many questions."

I always did and never got any answers.  Until one Saturday afternoon.   

It was wintery and I was cooped up in the house.  Bored in my room upstairs, I meandered down to my grandmother's place on the first floor.  We retreated to the usual time waster, the black and white TV.  In the days before remote controls, Grandma sat on her little chair in front of the TV and channel surfed.  Back then, you only had about seven or eight to choose from. 

My grandmother stopped on a channel.   They were showing an old newsreel of FDR's funeral.  Grandma stared at it. 

"Look, they even had Fala the dog there at the cemetery."

Indeed, I watched as the cameras showed the President's pooch sniffing around the gravesite.

"I hope he pees on him."

Wow.  I thought that was especially mean.  So, I asked why she hated Roosevelt so much.

There was a pause of thirty seconds which felt like thirty days.  Had I overstepped my bounds as a grandchild?  Her answer was short and succinct.

"He didn't care about any of us."

And that was it.  Years of hatred explained.  Sort of.

I suppose the loss of a child in battle was the main reason for the vitriole.  In her mind, she lost a son because our President had put us in a position of being at war.  It was probably that simple.

But it never, ever stopped.  And, as I have read all those Christmas gifts about the Roosevelt family, I think I have my own, balanced opinion.  Ultimately, I don't believe he was as great a President as loopy historians like Geoffrey C. Ward make him out to be.  There was the deceit and cover-up about his illnesses.  The Depression programs that worked and those that did not.  The failure to act decisively when he became aware of what the Nazis were doing to Jews all over Europe. 

So, as I watched the Ken Burns work this week, I absorbed even more new information to throw into the hard drive of my mind.  But, as I sift through the good and the bad, I keep going back to one woman's hatred of the man.  

And another reminder that, in any family, you need to ask the important questions while you still can.

Dinner last night:  General Tso's Chicken from Chin Chin.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - September 2024

 Hard to believe this wonderful flick came out 40 years ago this month!

Dinner last night:  BLT from Clementine's.

Permission Please

 

This got around social media last week.   Social media-ites posting something that requests Meta AI (Facebook and Instagram) not use their photos.

Well, good luck to that.   

We've all found pictures on the internet via Google searches.   We've used them on our Facebook pages, Twitter accounts, and...ahem...blogs.  We're all guilty.

Somehow, everything and everybody winds up on that World Wide Web in some fashion.   Heck, my parents and grandparents' images are up there for the world to see via this blog site.  And my own image is there, thanks to friends who don't adhere to my strict "Len must review all photos before posting" policy.

Whatever the case, I doubt any of us think twice about using a photo we find on-line.   Several of my regular blog pieces are pictorial.   Funny store signs. Mug shots.  These turn out to be most inexplicably my most trafficked and sampled entries.  I am guessing people take some of the photos I post and use them for their own purposes.   

Okay, one of the sites I have used for photo extraction is Awkward Family Photos, which has become so popular that you can actually find these pictures now on a series of greeting cards.  The photo above is used to illustrate that site and I am including it here not to ridicule the kids in the picture.   But I am sure some folks have.   

Hey, it's on the internet so it must be fair game, right?

Well, maybe not.   Here comes the slippery slope and I have the perfect example of that.  Read on.

Admittedly, the commenting on Len Speaks is not frequent.   When one comes in, this is big news.   And I have settings in place that require me to approve the comment before anybody else can see it.   So, about a week ago, I find a proposed comment from a person who will remain nameless (although she used her full name in the body so, in my humble opinion, she leaves herself wide open for on-line problems).   Well, this person was taking issue of a photo I posted in 2013 for one of those "awkward" pictorials.   Ironically, the picture was more cute than deriding.   It was of a baby in a packing crate surrounded by those styrofoam shipping pellets.   Relatively harmless.   But here's the comment I got.

I am asking nicely to please take down the photo of my daughter in the box with the packing popcorn. To you it maybe an awkward family photo but to me it isn't. I didn't give you permission to use this photo. I don't even know how you got a hold of this photo because it is not on social media that I know of. Please do not take things that don't belong to you and put your stamp on it. I want it removed because you do not have permission to use this private family photo.

Now I immediately went back into my archives and removed the photo.  No issue.   But I also did a Google search and found the same photo on-line in some other portal.   The author of the comment claims that the picture was never put on the internet.   Well, maybe she didn't, but somebody connected to her did.   And it clearly got circulated all over the so-called web.   She might be a little trusting in her world, especially since, as I noted above, she used her full name in the comment.   

So, I guess this all prompts a much, much larger conversation about our rights and freedoms in the social media universe.   Gee, I use some sort of photo every single day on this blog site.  While, except for my monthly mug shot parade (and those folks deserve all the comic ridicule they can get), I don't get that offensive.   I've seen a lot worse on some of my friends' Facebook pages.  But where does the line get drawn?

Or does it get drawn at all?

We're all up there on the internet in some way.   And, know that even if you are careful, that photo of you in the unflattering bathing suit is probably being seen by a lot more people than you think.

Meta AI, what do you say about that???

Dinner last night:  A great buffet at the Dodgers' season ticket holder appreciation dinner.

Moving Sucks

 

And I am in the middle of the suckiest one yet.   After being in one condo building for 18 years, circumstances beyond my control are evicting me to a new place.  Now I'm getting paid for my hardship.   I will get to hire packers and movers and unpackers.  

But still...

I have a list of about 50 line items that need changing or deleting or altering in some fashion.   You have no idea how embedded your home address is until you change it.

That doesn't include wifi and TV speakers and shelving that need dismantling and reassembling.   Again, I have a crew for that.

But still...

The new place will be home and sometime late in October, most of this will be behind me.   Until then...

There is a 90% chance of a shitstorm enveloping my life.

Dinner last night:  Just enough time to eat an English muffin.

This Date in History - September 25

 

Happy birthday, Mark Hamill.  May the Force be with you.

275:  IN ROME, AFTER THE ASSASSINATION OF AURELIAN, THE SENATE PROCLAIMS MARCUS CLAUDIUS TACITUS EMPEROR.

After reading about these ruler changes in Rome week in and week out, I'm beginning to think they have the right idea.

1513:  SPANISH EXPLORER VASCO DE BALBOA REACHES WHAT WOULD BECOME KNOWN AS THE PACIFIC OCEAN.

Hence the beach and the boulevard.

1690:  PUBLICK OCCURRENCES, THE FIRST NEWSPAPER TO APPEAR IN THE AMERICAS, IS PUBLISHED FOR THE FIRST AND ONLY TIME.

Maybe it would have lasted longer if somebody had bothered to run the title through spell check.

1775:  ETHAN ALLEN SURRENDERS TO BRITISH FORCES AFTER ATTEMPTING TO CAPTURE MONTREAL.

And re-design their living rooms.

1789:  THE US CONGRESS PASSES TWELVE AMENDMENTS TO THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION.

Back in the days where the Constitution was changed according to the country's bylaws.  It's not like that anymore.

1846:  US FORCES LED BY ZACHARY TAYLOR CAPTURE THE MEXICAN CITY OF MONTERREY.

Visiting soldiers, please don't drink the water.

1849:  COMPOSER JOHANN STRAUSS DIES.

Leaving Mr. Levi to sew up those pants all by himself.

1890:  THE US CONGRESS ESTABLISHES SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK.

Solely for those folks who like trees.

1911:  GROUND IS BROKEN FOR FENWAY PARK IN BOSTON.

And, for years, the Boston Red Sox were also broken.

1912:  COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY GRADUATE SCHOOL OF JOURNALISM IS FOUNDED IN NEW YORK CITY.

Back when we actually had journalists.

1915:  DURING WORLD WAR I, THE SECOND BATTLE OF CHAMPAGNE BEGINS.

Or as Curly would say, "champagknee."

1917:  BASEBALL STAR PHIL RIZZUTO IS BORN.

Holy cow!

1917:  BASEBALL STAR JOHNNY SAIN IS BORN.

Move over, Scooter.

1929:  JIMMY DOOLITTLE PERFORMS THE FIRST BLIND FLIGHT FROM MITCHEL FIELD PROVING THAT FULL INSTRUMENT FLYING FROM TAKEOFF TO LANDING IS POSSIBLE.

Tell that to John Kennedy Jr..

1929:  BROADCASTER BARBARA WALTERS IS BORN.

Now 84.  And she looks every day of it.

1944:  ACTOR MICHAEL DOUGLAS IS BORN.

I'm Spartacus Junior.

1951:  ACTOR MARK HAMILL IS BORN.

Now that I've mentioned Star Wars in this blog, I'll get lots of Google hits.

1957:  CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL IN LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS IS INTEGRATED BY THE USE OF US ARMY TROOPS.

Well, that's one way.

1960:  AUTHOR EMILY POST DIES.

The coffin goes on the right, next to the spoon.

1969:  THE CHARTER ESTABLISHING THE ORGANIZATION OF ISLAMIC COOPERATION IS SIGNED.

Now that's funny!!

1974:  THE FIRST ULNAR COLLATERAL LIGAMENT REPLACEMENT SURGERY IS PERFORMED ON BASEBALL PLAYER TOMMY JOHN.  THIS BECOMES WHAT IS NOW KNOWN AS TOMMY JOHN SURGERY.

Gee, how did they think of that??

1977:  ABOUT 4,200 PEOPLE TAKE PART IN THE FIRST RUNNING OF THE CHICAGO MARATHON.

If you're on the south side of Chicago, you're not running.  You're probably being chased.

1981:  BELIZE JOINS THE UNITED NATIONS.

Because what would a Wednesday be without one of these admissions??

1984:  ACTOR WALTER PIDGEON DIES.

Flown the coop.

1987:  ACTRESS MARY ASTOR DIES.

The Maltese Falcon!!!!

1988:  BUSINESSMAN BILLY CARTER DIES.

Drunker brother to the President.  An embarrassment of an embarassment.

1991:  GERMAN SS CAPTAIN KLAUS BARBIE DIES.

Oh, my God.  Please notify Captain Ken and Lieutenant Skipper.

1992:  NASA LAUNCHES THE MARS OBSERVER IN THE FIRST MISSION TO THAT PLANET.

Technical advisor: Ray Walston.

2003:  AUTHOR GEORGE PLIMPTON DIES.

Paper Corpse.

2005:  ACTOR DON ADAMS DIES.

Would you believe....?

2012:  SINGER ANDY WILLIAMS DIES.

Please cancel Christmas.

2016:  GOLFER ARNOLD PALMER DIES.

Have a glass of ice tea mixed with lemonade.

2018:  BILL COSBY IS SENTENCED TO THREE-TEN YEARS IN PRISON.

Wait till he discovers what shower stall Fat Albert is in.

2023:  ACTOR DAVID MCCALLUM DIES.

He finally said uncle.

Dinner last night:  Chicken parm.

Pooling My Resources

 

It's life-changing.   And it started very simply.

Years ago.

In much younger days, my lifelong bestie Leo and I decided to take swimming lessons together.  Instead of lounging at Jones Beach, we endeavored to actually get into the water.  Well, I would guess we went about five or six weeks and then life got into the way.

Flash forward to present day.   My pal, living in the same California locale as me, announces that he has started to take lessons again and finally finish the training from decades ago.  Now this got me thinking.  It would be fun to revisit this with him years later.  More importantly, swimming has been recommended to me as a great therapeutic ritual for my newly replaced knees and starting-to-ache hips.

Hmmm.

Leo was going with his wife to a community pool and there were also water aerobics and the latter was a turn-off.   Hanging around a pool with a bunch of old ladies channeling Esther Williams choreography.

If I was going to do this, I wanted a more personal approach.  And a private one.  

I turned to, of all devices, Yelp.   I typed in "private swim coach."  Welp, I got a lot of nothing.  Mostly people looking to teach their toddler to float in their Bel Air back yard.   

But one caught my eye.  A young guy named Yusuf who actually missed qualifying for the Moroccan team headed to the recent Paris Olympics.  Since his father is from Morocco, he was able to be on their team.   Moreover, according to Yelp, he had quite the list of students who raved about his teaching abilities.  I gave him a call.

He responded quickly and I told him that, yes, finally completing my swimming training was a goal.   But I also slipped in the rehab tales of my two knees.   Yusuf honed in on that.

And, frankly, that has been the focus ever since.  From him, I am getting weekly water therapy that has had an amazing impact on my mobility.   This is one smart guy.   He knows how the body is connected.

When I did my monthly check-in with my fabulous physical therapist Justin, he was astounded how much progress I had made after two weeks in a pool.  Justin was so impressed that he invited Yusuf in to meet his staff in the happenstance that there could be patient referrals between the two.  All of a sudden, Yusuf (and his brother Noah) had a thriving business model.  And it was all because of a Yelp referral.

And my friend Leo picking up something we had given up years ago.   Thanks to all of the above, I am drowning...

...in gratitude.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 23, 2024

 Classic TV Sitcom Moment continues with this superbly funny scene from my favorite episode of "Frasier."

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Grade 10

 

Two weeks ago, we talked about my laborious ninth grade year at the Mount Vernon High School Annex.  Well, once the final bell rang in June, I was done with that building.  And moving even further to the outskirts of Mount Vernon, New York.  To the spanking new building that would house us from Grades 10 through 12.

Spanking new, but amazingly rundown when I arrived.  The place had been open for only about two years and it already looked dilapidated.  It always seemed like the maintenance staff was running two weeks behind in their repair schedule and they never really did catch up.  

Meanwhile, the High School was as far north in Mount Vernon that you could go without actually leaving the city.  It's as if the dummies at the Board of Education really wanted their town's high school to be in bordering Eastchester.  Our High School was nestled on the wonderful sounding California Road but it was hardly the land of palm trees and surf.  Every morning, school buses from all over the city would arrive to dump off their human cargo and I'm sure the surrounding neighbors would immediately double lock their doors.   

I remember my first day at the High School vividly.  I wasn't quite ready to make the daily trek via public transportation.  My dad drove me up there.  It was pouring rain and there were still pockets of construction around the building.  The clowns had just finished the new building wing the day before and the healthy dose of precipitation had created lakes of mud all around.  I naturally stepped in one.  So much for the new Hush Puppies I was wearing.

The geniuses at the High School knew that this was a hugely populated building.  So, in order to create more of a sense of intimacy, they divided everybody into divisions.  Each would have their own principal and guidance counselor.  I was slated into Division B and I noted that all the divisions had letters in the same manner that barracks had them in Nazi stalags.  Looking around the building, it felt very much like a wartime motif anyway.

You got your locker combination and your class schedule.  Then you waited with trepidation for the first bell and prayed that you'd find your first class in time.  Naturally, there was no thought given in getting from one classroom to another.  Period one would be on the southwest corner of the school.  Period two would be on the northeast corner of the school.  And then period three was at the gym and all bets were really off at that juncture.

Meanwhile, there were three lunch periods assigned and I was given the first one in the tenth grade.   You were dining around 1130AM and only my grandmother would eat lunch earlier than that.  Of course, I had assembled a nice collection of lunch table pals in the ninth grade.  Naturally, none of them were assigned to mine in the tenth grade.  I was cast adrift again and left to wander around the cafeteria looking for new folks to dine with.  I had to figure out how to fit in all over again.

When does the easy stuff start, please?

Back in this day, there were no backpacks on kids.  If you were a guy in Mount Vernon High School, you carried a book bag.  And this presented all sorts of problems when you had to use the bathroom.

The Men's Room in Mount Vernon High School was a dangerous prospect.  Evil lurked in every toilet stall.  The tough guys used to hang out in there and, if you were a schmuck like me, you'd be in trouble whenever you had to pee.  You would stand there at the urinal doing your thing and suddenly one of the ogres would flip the lights out.  You'd be lucky if you could zip up correctly in the dark.  Meanwhile, your book bag was confiscated, taken out into the hall, and slid all the way down the corridor.  You'd run to retrieve while there were guffaws behind you.  After this happened ten or twelve times, I learned to control my bladder and I never peed in the high school for the entire eleventh and twelfth grades.

There was real drama in the Spring of that year when the Black students decided to hold a sit-in and commandeered the cafeteria.  It may have been the very first "Occupy" protest.  Chairs barricaded the doors and everybody else had to eat their lunch in the courtyard.  The "strikers" got bored by Thursday of that week and stormed the main principal's office.  Eventually, one of these stooges got hold of the public address system and made a gleeful announcement.

"WE IN CHARGE NOW.  NO MORE SCHOOL TODAY!!"

That was the earliest dismissal I had in high school.   Of course, going home was never relished.  As it turned out, my dad was able to drive me to the high school on most mornings.  But, the return trip was on one of the dreaded school buses that meandered all over Mount Vernon, New York before it ultimately stopped on my block around 7PM.  It was technically a regular city bus and you'd get the complete tour of not only Mount Vernon, Pelham Manor, and a little bit of the Bronx.  

Of course, I was usually standing on the bus the entire trip.

Indeed all of this drama were classes and some of these teachers in the tenth grade ran the gamut from inspiring to downright coma-inducing.

Mr. Bickford was my tenth-grade English teacher who lisped and butchered every book title he assigned.

"The Housh of Sheven Gables."

"The Lash of the Mohishans."

"The Great Gatshby."

Nobody wanted to sit in the first three rows of class.

I took advanced Algebra from Mr. Feigenbaum, who was absent at least two days every week.  There were rumors abounding as to what caused these disappearances.   From illness to gambling problems.  By May, we ultimately concluded that he was just plain lazy.

And then there was my extreme nemesis.  

Miss Kass, who taught advanced placement World History.

How I happened to merit being in this college-like course in the tenth grade was beyond me?  And, indeed, Miss Kass (with emphasis on the "Miss") was a terror that belonged in the hallowed halls of Harvard.   She was something akin to Professor Kingsfield in "The Paper Chase."  She'd look out into the class and call on you by addressing you as "Mister" or "Miss."  If she picked you out, you were dead.

Luckily I was seated behind this fat girl.  I'd come to class and crouch down behind her, hoping to stay out of Miss Kass' POV.  One day, I was busted.

"Are you hiding?"

Ummmm......

"No use doing that.  I can still see you." 

Ummmmm.....

"You don't know the answer to my question, do you?"

Well, I can answer that one.  No.

To this day, I don't think any of us totally understood what we were taught in that class.  Byzantine Empire.  Ottoman Empire.  It all sounded the same to me.  The only thing I focused on was trying to stay out of Miss Kass The Conqueror's way.

It didn't get any better when I ran into her outside of class either.  Our schedules during the day coincided in the fact that she and I would be walking to the luncheon areas at the very same time.  Miss Kass would sneak up behind me in the hallway like a Central Park mugger.

"Let's walk together, Mister ______"

Um, no.  I'd try to speed up.

"You want to walk fast, Mister ______?   Let's walk fast."

She'd increase her gait.  I'd start to trot.  She might have thought it was exercise.  I was merely trying to run away from this fucking lunatic.

It never worked.  And World History in the tenth grade was perhaps the worst experience of my entire high school tenure.  I wound up with a final grade of C+.

But, even more importantly, I did escape with my life.

Dinner last night:  Mongolian beef from Chin Chin.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - September 2024

Fifty years ago...gulp...this premiered.   And here's the opening that they used only in Season 1. 

Dinner last night:  Chicken teriyaki.

Pretty as a Picture

 

More ten-year-olds recommend Marlboros than any other cigarette.

She loves her chops.  Both karate and pork.

The family that safaris together....

"Daddy drinks because you're bad."

Tree huggers and tree kissers.  Meanwhile, her favorite kind of wood is obviously mahogany.

I never knew Loretta Lynn had a moustache.

Branded like cattle at the Triple R Ranch.

Oddly enough, he is probably the most normal one in the family.

Oh, my God!  She stole Norman Lear's hat!

Used car salesmen of the future.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

All The Word Salad You Can Eat

 

Only in a country as stupid as the United States could somebody like Kamala Harris succeed. 

“I, based on experience and, uh, and, a lived experience, know in my heart, I know in my soul, I know that the vast majority of us as Americans have in common so much more than what separates us,” 

“And I also believe that I am accurate in knowing that most Americans want a leader who brings us together as Americans — and not someone who professes to be a leader who is trying to have us point our fingers at each other.”

"We will work together, and continue to work together, to address these issues…and to work together as we continue to work, operating from the new norms, rules, and agreements, that we will convene to work together...we will work on this together."

"The work of community work and in particular violence intervention is about investing in community, understanding our capacity, understanding the greatness, and then being motivated with that knowledge to do what we can to reduce harm, but not for the sake only of reducing harm, but in investing in the potential, and the greatness. That is the essence of this work."

"Well, I’ll start with this: I grew up as a middle-class kid. My mother raised my sister and me. She worked very hard. I grew up in a neighborhood of folks who were very proud of their lawn. You know? And, um, and I was raised to believe and to know that all people deserve dignity.” 

"The children of the community are the children of the community, who live in the community."

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

This Date in History - September 18

 

Happy birthday, Frankie Avalon.  Still missing Annette.

14:  TIBERIUS IS CONFIRMED AS ROMAN EMPEROR BY THE ROMAN SENATE FOLLOWING THE NATURAL DEATH OF AUGUSTUS.

That's because they did change some rulers due to "unnatural" deaths.

96:  NERVA IS PROCLAIMED ROMAN EMPEROR AFTER DOMITIAN IS ASSASSINATED.

Like I said...

1502:  CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS LANDS AT HONDURAS ON HIS FOURTH AND FINAL VOYAGE.

Not counting his 1979 appearance on the Love Boat.

1635:  HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR FERDINAND II OF AUSTRIA DECLARES WAR ON FRANCE.

Hey, Ferdie, did you hear what happened to Domitian?

1759:  DURING THE SEVEN YEARS WAR, THE BRITISH CAPTURE QUEBEC CITY.

A war that has enough years to be sold to TV syndication.

1793:  THE FIRST CORNERSTONE OF THE CAPITOL BUILDING IS LAID BY GEORGE WASHINGTON.

What?   The wife had a headache?

1809:  THE ROYAL OPERA HOUSE IN LONDON OPENS.

Good. Now the Phantom has some place to live.

1837:  TIFFANY AND COMPANY OPENS IN NEW YORK.

Good.  Now Audrey Hepburn has some place to have breakfast.

1838:  THE ANTI-CORN LAW LEAGUE IS ESTABLISHED.

First target?  The TV show Hee Haw.

1851:  FIRST PUBLICATION OF WHAT WOULD BECOME THE NEW YORK TIMES.

And today we're wondering what became of the New York Times.

1870:  OLD FAITHFUL GEYSER IS OBSERVED FOR THE FIRST TIME.

By somebody who got very wet.

1895:  DANIEL DAVID PALMER GIVES THE FIRST CHIROPRACTIC ADJUSTMENT.

PS, he wasn't a doctor.

1905:  ACTOR EDDIE ANDERSON IS BORN.

Rochester!

1905:  DANCER AGNES DE MILLE IS BORN.

Oklahoma!

1905:  ACTRESS GRETA GARBO IS BORN.

You're not alone on this date.  Rochester and Agnes are here, too.

1906:  A TYPHOON AND TSUNAMI KILLS 10,000 PEOPLE IN HONG KONG.

Weather's classic one-two punch.

1916:  ACTOR ROSSANO BRAZZI IS BORN.

Delicious with a glass of chianti.

1919:  FRITZ POLLARD BECOMES THE FIRST AFRICAN-AMERICAN TO PLAY PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL FOR A MAJOR TEAM, THE AKRON PROS.

Major team????

1924:  POLICE OFFICER JD TIPPIT IS BORN.

The other guy killed in Dallas on November 22, 1963.

1927:  THE COLUMBIA BROADCASTING SYSTEM GOES ON THE AIR.

Except on Time Warner cable systems.

1933:  ACTOR ROBERT BLAKE IS BORN.

You did it!

1934:  THE USSR IS SUBMITTED TO LEAGUE OF NATIONS.

But they changed their mind because there was no DH.

1939:  THE NAZI PROPAGANDA BROADCASTER KNOWN AS LORD HAW HAW BEGINS TRANSMITTING.

The German version of Hee Haw.  Please notify the Anti-Corn League.

1939:  SINGER FRANKIE AVALON IS BORN.

Given his current height, how small a baby was he?

1939:  ACTOR FRED WILLARD IS BORN.

Saw him once in a movie theater.  No, not that kind of movie theater.

1943:  ADOLF HITLER ORDERS THE DEPORTATION OF DANISH JEWS.

And any Jews that eat danishes.

1945:  GENERAL DOUGLAS MACARTHUR MOVES HIS COMMAND HEADQUARTERS TO TOKYO.

Please remove your boots at the door.

1947:  THE US AIR FORCE BECOMES AN INDEPENDENT BRANCH OF THE US ARMED FORCES.

Off we go into the wild, blue yonder.  By the way, what the hell is a yonder?

1961:  UN SECRETARY GENERAL DAG HAMMARSKJOLD DIES IN A CONGO PLANE CRASH.

Truly a loss.  And a name that would be almost 82 points on Scrabble.

1962:  BURUNDI, JAMAICA, RWANDA, TRINIDAD, AND TOBAGO ARE ADMITTED TO THE UNITED NATIONS.

You might want to rethink the admittance of Rwanda.

1968:  ACTOR FRANCHOT TONE DIES.

Once married to Joan Crawford.  I'm surprised he lived this long.

1970:  ROCK MUSICIAN JIMI HENDRIX DIES.

In what other blog today would you find both the names of Franchot Tone and Jimi Hendrix?

1973:  THE BAHAMAS, EAST GERMANY, AND WEST GERMANY ARE ADMITTED TO THE UNITED NATIONS.

Hey, you Germans, that's separate dues for the both of you.

1975:  PATTY HEARST IS ARRESTED AFTER A YEAR ON THE FBI MOST WANTED LIST.

And Match.com's Least Wanted List.

1990:  LICHTENSTEIN BECOMES A MEMBER OF THE UNITED NATIONS.

Whoever you are, welcome.

1997:  MEDIA MOGUL TED TURNER DONATES ONE BILLION DOLLARS TO THE UNITED NATIONS.

Somebody wants a discount at the UN gift shop.

2001:  FIRST MAILING OF ANTHRAX LETTERS FROM TRENTON, NEW JERSEY IN THE 2001 ANTHRAX ATTACKS.

You think that's bad?  I'm still getting junk mail from Capital One.

2004:  DIRECTOR RUSS MEYER DIES.

He did lots of soft porn.  God bless him.

2009:  THE SOAP OPERA GUIDING LIGHT ENDS ITS RUN AFTER 72 YEARS.  

So, what was the final count on illegitimate pregnancies?

2020:  RUTH BADER GINSBURG OF THE US SUPREME COURT DIES.

Years after she should have quit.

Dinner last night:   Hamburger.

No Awards for Award Shows

 

I used to look forward to them.  They used to be fun.

No more.  Award shows have become a self-conscious mess as Hollywood bends over backwards to be all things to all peoples.  The Emmys on last Sunday night were a perfect example.  They used to be all about acknowledging excellence in television.  Now the presentation is all about clicking every diverse box on your scorecard.  If there's an actor out there who is a gay Native American in a wheelchair, you should get your headshots ready.   You will win an Emmy next year.

In the middle of all this wokeness, there were cringe worthy moments by the dozen.  Candice Bergen came out to present an award and her voice sounded super frail. That didn't stop her from making a Dan Quayle comparison to JD Vance.   Okay, Quayle was thirty years ago.  And, oh, by the way, throughout the entire three hour telecast, there wasn't a single mention of the attempted Trump shooting earlier in the day.   But, at the same time, most acceptance speeches took time to remind the audience to vote this November.

Oy.

They brought out cast reunions of TV Moms, TV Dads, and TV Lawyers.   Every one contained at least one Black actor and, hence, I didn't recognize most of these "classic" reunions.

There was a five minute tribute to all the Hispanic nominees and reminded us of that rich history in the TV industry.   Any mention of Desi Arnaz who started it all for them?

A gay producer got recognition for the Academy hall of fame and I started to wonder if there were any splinter groups left out.  A positive moment in the "In Memoriam" section spotlighted Bob Newhart but it was hijacked by the presented Jimmy Kimmel who has a knack for making all things about...well...Jimmy Kimmel.  

The only plus moment for me was the win of the superlative "Hacks" for Best Comedy.   Thank God because its main competition was the overrated "Bear" which features about one mini-chuckle an episode.

I could go on, but nobody listens to me.   I'm just a white guy who is super non-diverse.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 16, 2024

 Classic TV Sitcom month continues with this rich scene from "The Odd Couple."

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Vote For...

 

We're mired now in the Presidential campaign so let's call up some Sunday memories befitting the season.

To this day, Mount Vernon, New York, remains a political cesspool.  A once-beautiful city, my hometown, now a standard bearer of social and urban blight.  Except for some small pockets of town, the place is virtually uninhabitable.

Naturally, as with most parts of the country that have died, the murderous culprits are always the politicians.  While the damage began in Mount Vernon years ago, the final nails in the coffin were hammered by such scumbag Mayors as Ronald Blackwood and Ernest Davis.  The latter left office for a while and then was inexplicably brought back for more destruction.  How incredibly stupid is the voting population in that once-magnificent gotham? 

Yep, back when, my family had the right idea.   They ignored politics, working under the tried-and-true adage that all of them were crooks. 

That said, as a youngster, I did listen to the opinions and views around my family.  I was trying to reason it all for myself.  And, believe me, my household was a cornucopia of political viewpoints.

My mother didn't really care, unless a candidate was particularly good looking.  If, however, the guy running was a troll, Mom simply re-buried her nose into Photoplay Magazine and paid attention to more important matters.  Like whether Liz Taylor and Richard Burton were going to last as husband and wife.

My father was a little bit more astute, but, although he was registered as a Republican and tended to always vote that way, he liked to announce regularly that "all politicians stink."  He used to remind us all the time that his "former boss," General Douglas MacArthur, should have been elected President and, frankly, the country had gone downhill ever since.  Thanks, Dad.

My grandfather kept quiet.  When he read the Daily News while seated at the kitchen table downstairs, he went through the newspaper from back to front.  And almost always concentrated on the funny pages, which he would read to me Fiorello LaGuardia-style.  Every time there was a power failure in the house, Grandpa would use that occasion to utter one of his rare political rants.

"COMMUNISTS!"

Yes, deep down inside, Grandpa was awaiting the arrival of Russia on our shores and believed it was imminent.  Obviously, the first stage of attack, according to Grandpa, would be a takeover of Con Edison Electric.

Meanwhile, there was one person in our house who had some political opinions and displayed no shyness in voicing them.

Grandma.

I could listen to her musings on current events for hours.  In retrospect, none of them made any sense.  Except maybe to her.  And her most favorite target for her disdain was President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

"Swindler."

"His wife lived in a suitcase and was having a good time on vacation using the poor peoples' money."

"He could walk better than they said."

"He wasn't in the coffin when they buried him.  Instead, they put in all the papers that proved he sold us out to the Japs."

Got the picture?  There was no love lost.

Meanwhile, she thought Harry Truman was "fresh."  President Eisenhower was a nice man but too old to be President.  And John F. Kennedy?  She'd sneer with one word.

"Catholic."

My grandmother actually thought Kennedy was trying to convert the entire country to the Roman Catholic Church.  And, of course, she had a story to back it up.  She loved to tell it over and over and over.

One of her cousins was a housekeeper and she happened to have a Polish last name.  Well, year before, she got a job working for the Kennedy clan when they lived in Bronxville.  But, one day, when Grandma's cousin was allegedly talking about going to church in front of matriarch Rose Kennedy, she mentioned trying a new Lutheran church.  According to Grandma, Mama Rose went nuts.

"But you have a Polish last name.  You're not Catholic?"

When Grandma's cousin shook her head, the story ends with Rose firing her from her job.  That tale carried through with my grandmother for years.  And it would always be punctuated with...

"Those damn Kennedys."

Grandma could never say the name "Kennedy" without using the word "damn" before it.

So, amidst all this political rhetoric in my home, what's a kid to think?

I had no views, per se.

And then I saw this advertisement in Mount Vernon's newspaper, The Daily Argus.

Wow!  Gee, nobody important ever came to Mount Vernon.  And just ten blocks from my house.  Oh, sure, the local movie theaters had featured special appearances by the likes of Lucille Ball, Bob Hope, Jerry Lewis, and the Three Stooges.  And, heck, Claude Kirschner and Clowny from the WOR kiddie show were there for the grand opening of the bank down the block.  But, this was Robert Kennedy.

I had seen him on television a lot.  Walking behind his brother's coffin.  So I had a clear image of who he was and that he was important. 

I wanted to go.  First stop: my mother.

"Go ahead.  I think he once went out on a date with Marilyn Monroe."

Years later, I knew what "go out on a date" was synonymous with when it came to Robert Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe.  But, on this day, Mom was giving me clearance to go.  At that time of our lives, kids could easily walk around town unescorted and not worry about being kidnapped or worse.

My father worked nights, so his input was not sought.  Grandpa?  A shrug and back to the adventures of Moon Mullins.

But, naturally, Grandma had something to say.

"What the hell you wanna go see that bum for?"

Well, it is exciting.   And other kids are going to see him.  He might be President one day.

"And be lying up on that hill next to his brother."

I should have written down Grandma's prediction.  Meanwhile, she rambled on.

"Only Catholics would go stand out in the cold and see him."

Well, the day itself wasn't that cold.  It was autumn but still a little warm.  And the crowds choked traffic around City Hall Plaza.  I was there with a few friends, but the throng separated us early on.  There definitely was an electricity as everybody awaited the arrival of Robert Kennedy.

I looked to the sky.  There were men standing up on the roofs of all the buildings around the area.  They were all holding rifles.  Oh, no, I thought.  I looked closer.   They were all police. 

I remember very little about what Kennedy say to the assembled mass that day.  He was already looking toward a White House run.  But, I didn't really care.  I was just happy that somebody out there remembered us poor souls living in Mount Vernon, New York.

After the speech, Kennedy made his way into the crowd to shake hands.  Mine was one of them.  A fleeting moment with American history.  I ran home with excitement, feet barely hitting the pavement.  As I burst through the back door into Grandma's kitchen, I couldn't contain my euphoria.  I had shaken hands with Robert F. Kennedy.

Grandma was unimpressed.

"He didn't give you anything Catholic, did he?"

Dinner last night: Panda Express buffet.