The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Thanksgiving Chef...Not I

 

Truth be told, as much as I love cooking, I don't...wait for the pun...relish it on Thanksgiving.  It's just that you're locked into a format.   I much prefer cooking up a storm on Christmas.   

This year for Thanksgiving, I am traveling and will let friends do the work back east.   But I'll be back for Christmas with my usual drill.   Totally pleasurable and oddly therapeutic.  I approach the creation of a holiday feast like an Army maneuver.   Just keep it moving in an orderly fashion.   And keep the dishwasher humming.

Back in the day, Thanksgiving Day had me watching the parade while everybody else did stuff around me.   The smell of frying onions would wake me up around 8AM.  I was savoring a breakfast bowl of Rice Krispies and already my stomach was churning with this bizarre odor in the early morning.  It could mean only one thing.

It was Thanksgiving and Grandma was downstairs making the stuffing.

Our family Thanksgiving dinners were probably no different than yours.  Certainly not as warm and fuzzy as magazine ads would lead you to imagine.  Loving family members, heads bowed in grace, thanking the Lord for the food they were about to partake.  Good feelings all around.

Nah.  Maybe you heard the following, too.

"You didn't make turnips this year?  What's wrong with you?"

"The white meat is way too dry.  Did you bother to baste it?"

"I'm not sitting next to him/her unless they apologize."

Oh, yeah.  Norman Rockwell is a myth.

Our gatherings were frequently held at our house.  Grandma and my mother would co-op the cooking together as other ends of our family would come to call and dine around Grandma's big dining room table downstairs.  The fact that my mom and her mother-in-law were working together was news worth of Ripley's Believe It or Not.  Rarely on the same page, they were barely in the same book when it came to holiday cooking. 

I have an ultra-vivid memory of one such skirmish.  Mom and Grandma had such a dust-up that, when my grandmother turned her back, my mother picked up one of those Pillsbury biscuit cans and pretended to take a swing at her.  A tough vision for a seven-year-old.

"Oh, my God.  Mommy's gonna bash Grandma in the skull."

Or something like that.

I'd try to stay out of the line of fire by sequestering myself in front of the television and watching Bullwinkle float down Broadway.  Eventually, the other relatives would show up and even the arrival of Santa Claus at the end of the parade couldn't upstage that year's family drama.

"Stop telling me how to raise my kids."

"I will if you stop telling me how to raise my kids."

"If you've got gas, please go in the other room."

"Belch!"

And that's before dinner.

On our table were the usual staples.  Turnips and sweet potatoes, which I could never tell apart.  Green beans, which were usually fresh.  Mashed potatoes, which were never completely a unanimous favorite.

"I like them creamy."

"They're too lumpy."

"They're too dry."

"Did you forget the butter??"

And, amid all the fresh food, there was my favorite Thanksgiving dish.  Cranberry sauce.  Still is.  These days, I'm enjoying a homemade concoction of this fruit, usually mixed with oranges and cherries.  But it didn't get that fancy years ago.  Nope, my family always opted for the can.

The Ocean Spray can.

The one you opened with a can opener and the cranberry sauce slid out in one gloppy mold.  Just like we used to slip the dog food out of the Ken-L-Ration can.  With the cranberries, they didn't even bother to use a knife to slice it.  Somebody would simply take the metal lid and use that to cut up the mold.  If Martha Stewart had witnessed this scene, she would have used that same metal lid to slit her wrists.

But, to me, this was cranberry sauce and I loved it nonetheless.  Except, of course, when there was a much publicized recall of Ocean Spray Jellied Cranberries one Thanksgiving.  Seems there was some poison embedded or perhaps a soupcon of botulism.  Whatever the case, I was petrified.  The moratorium was quickly called off within a month, but that didn't assauge me in the least. 

I would pass on cranberries for the next five years.  I was convinced that there was still one can out there that had been ignored by the inspectors.  And the way my grandmother used to buy in bulk, I was sure that food poisoning and/or death was no doubt lurking right around the corner of Grandma's pantry.

There was always plenty of food on our table.  One Thanksgiving, as we dined on our respective second helpings, we heard the faint sound of chewing in the kitchen.  My beagle Tuffy had hopped up on the table and was helping herself to anything she could sniff out.  Nobody took home leftovers that year.

And, of course, the most popular after dinner activity in our house was undoubtedly no different than in any American home.  From various corners of the house, we could hear the same refrain.

"ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz......."

Dinner last night:  Bejing Beef from Panda Express.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - November 2024

Fifty years old this month.   And we still have earthquakes.

Dinner last night:  Hickory burger from the Apple Pan.

It's Friday, November 22...

...and we remember.

Dinner last night:  Leftover sausage.

Sans Louise

 

No, this isn't a reboot of the female buddy movie.  Hardly.   There is no Louise here.  And Thelma is 93.

That said, it's still a movie about somebody going rogue against the system.  And it's also a wonderful depiction of old age and its inevitable arrival with most of us.  Here's a film designed for the over 75 audience.

June Squibb, who has made a cottage industry of playing a cranky old woman, does it again here.   A recent widow, she is desperately trying to stay on her own and also impress the world of 2024.   Her loving grandson works hard to get her on the internet.   And that is one of the key relationships in the movie.

It's that very love of our grandson that sets up the story.  Thelma gets one of those robo calls that is allegedly a jailhouse call from her grandson who has been arrested.   To get him out, Thelma is told to mail $10,000 to a mail box store.   She is just one of those poor senior citizens who has fallen for a scam.

With the aid of a friend in a nearby assisted living facility (played marvelously by the late Richard Roundtree in his final screen role), Thelma sets out on his scooter to claim justice...and to get her money back.

This is a smart film that has a lot to say about the senior citizens around us.  You don't know where it's going till it gets there.  And the ending is oddly fulfilling.  And this potential "fall risk" only hits the ground once.

From the credits, it looks like this movie was a labor of love produced by Squibb and the kid who plays her grandson.   It's got plenty to say and it's smart for an audience to listen.

Find it on Hulu in its post-theater release days.

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

Dinner last night:  Grilled andouille sausage.

This Date in History - November 20

 

Happy birthday in heaven for Kaye Ballard.  A lady who actually hosted me for lunch at her home.

284:  DIOCLETIAN IS CHOSEN AS ROMAN EMPEROR.

Diocletian sounds like something you would take for allergies.

1194:  PALERMO IS CONQUERED BY EMPEROR HENRY VI.

Hey, if you want to conquer some place, Palermo is really nice.

1407:  A TRUCE BETWEEN JOHN THE FEARLESS, DUKE OF BURGUNDY AND LOUIS OF VALOIS, DUKE OF ORLEANS IS AGREED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF JOHN, DUKE OF BERRY.

The Duke of Earl was busy?

1518:  SOLDIER MARMADUKE CONSTABLE DIES.

Do I actually need to type the obvious joke here?

1739:  START OF THE BATTLE OF PORTO BELLO BETWEEN BRITISH AND SPANISH FORCES DURING THE WAR OF JENKINS' EAR.

Why fight over somebody's ear?  Especially in a town famous for mushrooms.

1789:  NEW JERSEY BECOMES THE FIRST US STATE TO RATIFY THE BILL OF RIGHTS.

As if they're smarter than anybody else.

1820:  AN 80 TON SPERM WHALE ATTACKS THE ESSEX.  THIS INSPIRES THE WRITING OF "MOBY DICK."

You're gonna need a bigger book.

1861:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, SECESSION ORDINANCE IS FILED BY KENTUCKY.  

Well, then fine.  Go.  We'll hold the Derby elsewhere.

1900:  CARTOONIST CHESTER GOULD IS BORN.

Calling Dick Tracy.

1907:  ACTRESS FRAN ALLISON IS BORN.

Paging Kukla and Ollie.

1913:  COMIC JUDY CANOVA IS BORN.

She was Minnie Pearl before Minnie Pearl was Minnie Pearl.

1917:  UKRAINE IS DECLARED A REPUBLIC.

You care?   Anybody?

1921:  LAWYER JIM GARRISON IS BORN.

Back and to the left.  Back and to the left.  Two days and forty two years later, this guy's career got a big boost.

1923:  RENTENMARK REPLACES THE PAPIERMARK AS THE OFFICIAL CURRENCY OF GERMANY.

And the official grocery store would be Pathmark.

1925:  ACTRESS KAYE BALLARD IS BORN.

Nice lady.  I was on her Christmas card list for two years.  I peed in her guest bathroom while staring at a Red Skelton original painting that was hung over the toilet.

1925:  ROBERT F. KENNEDY IS BORN.

Gee, his 38th birthday weekend really sucked.

1932:  GAME SHOW HOST RICHARD DAWSON IS BORN.

Survey says!!!!!

1942:  VICE PRESIDENT JOE BIDEN IS BORN.

Yes, Dan Quayle was a dummy.  But this guy just might be the most stupid Vice President ever.  Google his mistakes.  Your computer will crash.

1945:  BASEBALL STAR/ANNOUNCER RICK MONDAY IS BORN.

And don't ever try to burn an American flag in front of him.

1945:   AT NUREMBERG, TRIALS AGAINST 24 NAZI WAR CRIMINALS BEGIN.

I smell a movie.

1947:  THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH MARRIES LIEUTENANT PHILIP MOUNTBATTEN, WHO BECOMES THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH IN LONDON.

The crown's in the mail.

1962:  THE CUBAN MISSILE CRISIS OFFICIALLY ENDS WHEN PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY ENDS THE QUARANTINE OF CUBA.

I thought it was 13 days in October.   At least, that was the title of the movie.

1969:  THE CLEVELAND PLAIN DEALER PUBLISHES EXPLICIT PHOTOGRAPHS OF DEAD VILLAGES FROM THE MY LAI MASSACRE IN VIETNAM.

That's not My Lai, it's yours.

1973:  COMIC ALLAN SHERMAN DIES.

Hello Rigor.  Hello Mortis.

1977:  EGYPTIAN PRESIDENT ANWAR SADAT BECOMES THE FIRST ARAB LEADER TO OFFICIALLY VISIT ISRAEL WHEN HE MEETS MENACHEM BEGIN TO DISCUSS A PEACE SETTLEMENT.

How many times have I typed a sentence like this over the years?  And still no peace.

1985:  MICROSOFT WINDOWS 1.0 IS RELEASED.

Well, there had to be a first version at some point.

1992:  IN ENGLAND, A FIRE BREAKS OUT IN WINDSOR CASTLE, BADLY DAMAGING THE CASTLE.

What's London's version of State Farm?

1998:  A COURT IN AFGHANISTAN DECLARES ACCUSED TERRORIST OSAMA BIN LADEN A "MAN WITHOUT SIN" IN REGARD TO THE 1998 US EMBASSY BOMBINGS IN KENYA AND TANZANIA.

That's a good lawyer for you.

2001:  IN WASHINGTON DC, US PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH DEDICATES THE US DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE HEADQUARTERS AS THE ROBERT F. KENNEDY BUILDING.

Aw, how nice.  And on his birthday.

2006:  DIRECTOR ROBERT ALTMAN DIES.

D*E*A*D*.

2008:  AFTER THE US FINANCIAL SYSTEM COLLAPSE, THE DOW JONES INDUSTRIAL AVERAGE REACHES ITS LOWEST LEVEL SINCE 1997.

When everybody's 401 K became a 201 J.

2010:  BASEBALL PLAYER DANNY MCDEVITT DIES.

He pitched and won the last game ever to played in Brooklyn's Ebbets Field.

Dinner last night:   Chef's salad.

Clouded

 

That would describe "The View."   A show that ABC persists on showing despite the fact that the main audience is in an assisted living facility.  Or sitting in a car dealer reception area waiting for oil to be changed.   I can't believe there are allegedly smart people who buy into this "see you next Tuesday" gabfest.   But there are.   And, inexplicably, it's produced by the ABC News department.   As if these idiots actually are journalists.

They have gone into hyper overdrive of late as they weighed in daily on the recent Presidential election.   Of course, their opinions on the matter were worn on their sleeves.   Specifically, Trump is a fascist and a dictator and the second coming of Adolf Hitler.   Indeed, these clowns actually contributed to the electoral demise of their chosen candidate, Kamala Harris, who they indirectly exposed as a lunkhead when she failed to answer some pretty simple questions when she appeared on the show.   

But I digress...

Because the worst is yet to come.  As these hags lick their electoral wounds, one host...namely Whoopi Goldberg AKA former welfare recipient Karen Johnson...got into a row over some cupcakes she ordered from a Staten Island family-owned bakery.  The business, which has been around for about 150 years, had boiler and machinery problems that day and couldn't fulfill fat ass Whoopi's order.   So Her Majesty took it to mean that the family didn't agree with her political views!

Yeah, that went over well.   As if anybody cares what these old fossils think about anything.

Well, the good news is that the community behind this bakery took Whoopi and this show to task.   I doubt anybody will be fired over this, but we can all hope so.  Our lives need to be put out of misery.   And, let's face it, those TVs in the community room of Happy Acres must be able to tune to other channels.

If there is such a thing as TV euthanasia, it's time for it to be administered to "The View."

Dinner last night:  Hamburger and fries.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - November 18,. 2024

 And there she goes...

Dinner last night:  Fried chicken sandwich at Connie and Ted's.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Football Fandom In The Past

 

Well, that's one long title.

The NFL football season is in full swing and, frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damn.  I started losing interest in pro football about a decade ago.  The players seemed to become more intense and increasingly cartoonish with their histrionics in the end zone and the manner in a tackle has to completely demolish the other guy.  Admittedly, American society has gotten much darker and sinister, which explains why football is now so revered in this country.

But my ambivalence wasn't always like this.  Back when I was a kid, I wandered from baseball to football as soon as the leaves started to become a crispy gold and brown.  I think this pleased my father who was a big fan. 

Now, in those days, pro football wasn't much of a sport you could watch on television.  Well, the road games of your favorite team were televised.  But blackout rules prevailed and any home games were not shown.  You had to listen to them on...gasp...the radio.  Or, if you lived in New York, you drove up to Connecticut and, provided you were close enough to the Hartford-New Haven TV market, you watched games there.  Some pulled up bar stools.  Others actually rented motel rooms to see their beloved Jets and Giants.  Hopefully, the sheets cooled off after a robust Saturday night.

As for my house, my first foray into football fandom was for the Jets as I was again adopting the allegiance of the new kids in town.  I remember my dad always listening to the New York Giant games on WNEW AM Radio, but, just as he with baseball, he gravitated to my team as well.  Fathers make those kinds of sacrifices.  Plus I previously have written about the year I spent going to Jet games at Shea Stadium with my mom's boss and her boyfriend, who were season ticket holders.   So, I suppose that I was a major part of the Jet faithful.

But, almost as soon as I became a Jet fan, they won the Super Bowl and they got a little boring as a result.  Of course, at the time, nobody knew that they wouldn't get another shot at it for the next two centuries.  So, my love for a football team wasn't as deep as it was for the New York Mets.  I could be easily pulled away.

Back in the day, it was virtually impossible to get tickets to New York Giant football games.  Most of the patrons were season ticket holders since the 1800s and seat plans were often included in last wills and testaments.  There were 60,000 privileged people every Sunday who got to enter their then-home of Yankee Stadium.

The prospect of going to a New York Giant game was about as alien to me as a trip to the Moon.  And, hell, there were people going there back then.  So, you can imagine my surprise when, on one September Saturday, I got a call from my best friend at school, Danny.

"A guy my dad knows is offering us his two season tickets for tomorrow's Giant game."

Huh?

I never turned down any invitations to any sporting event at that age.  And, since my friends and I were already well versed in traveling to Shea and Yankee Stadium by ourselves, I didn't foresee any parental opposition.

Surprise.  My dad, who probably had never been to a Giant football game himself, was a bit defensive.  And probably a little bit envious.

"What do you want to go down there for?   A lot of nuts in that place."

Well, yeah.  So? 

"It's too damn crowded.  You'll get lost."

Well, maybe.  So?

"Lots of traffic down there.  The two of you will get clipped."

I doubt it.  So?

But, as most fathers always do, my dad caved in.  As long as he could orchestrate the whole day.  He'd drive me and Danny to the Jerome Avenue subway train which would let us off right in from of the stadium.   He'd listen to the game and then time our return home and wait for us at the train station. 

And so he did. 

Meanwhile, Danny and I walked into that stadium like kings on that Sunday.  We felt like we belonged to the most elite group in the world.  The seats sucked.  Actually, the view at the top of this blog was pretty much our POV.  But, we didn't care.  And we rooted for the home team because, heck, everybody around us had owned their season tickets the turn of the century.

Yes, we became Giant fans.  And, you can imagine our euphoria when Danny got the call one Saturday later about tickets to the very next game.  

As it turns out, because the season ticket owner was having some business issues, we got to go to four of the seven home games that year.  He let us know on Saturday and, when the call came, we were delirious.  It was great.   We started to be on a first-name basis with the folks around us.   And my father's transport service and our Sunday schedule became almost robotic.

These days, football teams can make the playoffs if they score more than three touchdowns all season.  But, back then, it was a more prestigious group that moved forward.  And the Giants had to win on the last home Sunday to go into the playoffs.   This was the game everybody in town was talking about.

Danny and I waited eagerly for the Saturday call.  That never came.

Now, I was desperate to see this damn game.  So, I really pushed the envelope with my father.   

I suggested we drive to Connecticut and find a motel or bar that was airing the game.

"What are you, some kind of nut??"

I listened on the radio.  The Giants lost.   They didn't make the playoffs.  

And, since there were never any tickets in any subsequent year, my Giant fan days were done.

Dinner last night:  Patty melt at Cafe 50s.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - November 2024

Sixty years ago, this was playing on TVs every Sunday night.   With three different openings.

Dinner last night:  Pizza at the Courtyard Kitchen.

Get Your Holiday Camera Ready

 

Smoked turkey.

I'll pass the cranberries.   You pass me the baby.

Don't you love Grandma's ink?

 I'll have some stuffing, Norman.  Norman?  Norman?

 The original Pilgrims probably had to pee in the woods.  Not so in this century.

Thanksgiving at the home of teen-age Jerry Lewis.

Why buy a real pilgrim hat when some cardboard will do?

Voted Most Likely to Drown Her Children When She Turns 30.

 Straight from the beauty parlor to your Thanksgiving table.

God, I hate my mother-in-law.

 I can see his giblets.

Some watch the parade.   Others tune into football.  And there are some homes that settle down for some old fashioned Thanksgiving porn.

Dinner last night: Leftover chili.

The Maestro of the Movies

 

The annual John Williams concert at the Hollywood Bowl is such a steady ritual in my summer.   That's why it was so devastating when an illness bumped him from his baton last summer.   The actual health issue is still being kept quiet. which is never a good sign.

Feeling a little blue over this, the new Disney documentary "Music By John Williams" helps to fill the void.   Produced in a joint venture by Steven Spielberg and Ron Howard, a lot of the talking head footage of Mr. Williams was clearly done right before his illness.  That said, it's a wonderful ending to his career if, by chance, we don't get to enjoy him again.

This is your standard linear documentary that shows all the developments in his astounding career.   From working on TV as "Johnny Williams" to "Jaws" to "Star Wars" and countless others, the documentary highlights the music and that's the way it should be.  There was little here I didn't already know, but, with this film, it's great to be reminded of the obvious.

Here's hoping this documentary doesn't serve as a cinematic eulogy.  Looking forward to seeing his name on the Hollywood Bowl calendar in 2024.

LEN'S RATING:  Four stars.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

This Date in History - November 13

 

Happy birthday in heaven, Garry Marshall.   This really was your happy day.

1002:  ENGLISH KING ETHELRED II ORDERS THE KILLING OF ALL DANES IN ENGLAND.

Don't you wish there was an "F" in that name for a little "I Love Lucy" tribute?

1160:  LOUIS VII OF FRANCE MARRIES ADELE OF CHAMPAGNE.

I bet he popped her cork.

1775:  DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, PATRIOTS FORCES UNDER GENERAL RICHARD MONTGOMERY OCCUPY MONTREAL, QUEBEC.

And with the girls up there, who wouldn't?

1841:  JAMES BRAID FIRST SEES A DEMONSTRATION OF ANIMAL MAGNETISM, WHICH LEADS TO HIS STUDY OF THE SUBJECT HE EVENTUALLY CALLS HYPNOTISM.

You are sleepy, very sleepy.

1850:  AUTHOR ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IS BORN.

Had this not happened, I would have had no English literature homework from the sixth grade through the eighth grade.

1851:  THE DENNY PARTY LANDS AT ALKI POINT BEFORE MOVING TO WHAT WOULD BECOME SEATTLE, WASHINGTON.

And I bet the Denny Party knew where it wanted to go for a big breakfast.

1887:  BLOODY SUNDAY CLASHES IN CENTRAL LONDON.

Bloody awful.

1906:  ACTRESS HERMIONE BADDELEY IS BORN.

Mrs. Naugatuck from TV's "Maude."

1918:  ALLIED TROOPS OCCUPY CONSTANTINOPLE, THE CAPITAL OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE.

Still stifling that yawn from tenth grade World History.

1922:  TV GAME SHOW HOST JACK NARZ IS BORN.

A two game show host family as his brother is Tom Kennedy....the one you don't say.

1927:  THE HOLLAND TUNNEL IN NEW YORK OPENS TO TRAFFIC.

Key word is "traffic."

1934:  ACTOR/WRITER/DIRECTOR GARRY MARSHALL IS BORN.

He and I once had a conversation while standing in front of urinals at Warner Brothers.

1941: BASEBALL PITCHER/COACH MEL STOTTLEMYRE IS BORN.

He coached that wonderful 1986 New York Mets pitching staff.

1942:  DURING WORLD WAR II, US AND JAPANESE SHIPS ENGAGE IN THE  INTENSE BATTLE OF GUADALCANAL.

Dear Diary....

1947:  THE SOVIET UNION COMPLETES DEVELOPMENT OF THE AK-47, ONE OF THE FIRST ASSAULT RIFLES.

A day cursed by gun control advocates in this country.  So, folks, blame it on the Russkies.

1954:  GREAT BRITAIN DEFEATS FRANCE TO CAPTURE THE FIRST EVER RUGBY LEAGUE WORLD CUP IN PARIS.

I know nothing about this sport, but France lost so all is good.

1956:  THE SUPREME COURT OF THE US DECLARES ALABAMA LAWS REQUIRING SEGREGATED BUSES ILLEGAL, THUS ENDING THE MONTGOMERY BUS BOYCOTT.

Look, if nobody wants to sit in the back, I will.

1974:  DIRECTOR VITTORIO DE SICA DIES.

If you have never seen "The Bicycle Thief," you must.

1974:  RONALD DE FEO HR MURDERS HIS ENTIRE FAMILY IN AMITYVILLE, LONG ISLAND IN THE HOUSE THAT WOULD BECOME KNOWN AS THE AMITYVILLE HORROR.

Already in film pre-production by 1975.

1974:  ACTIVIST KAREN SILKWOOD DIES.

Her personality was always glowing.

1982:  RAY MANCINI DEFEATS DUK KOO JIM AND KILLS HIM IN A LAS VEGAS BOXING MATCH.

I guess the other guy should have duk-ed

1982:  THE VIETNAM VETERANS MEMORIAL IS DEDICATED IN WASHINGTON, DC.

I hear this is a stirring site.  

1983:  COMIC JUNIOR SAMPLES DIES.

Well, we know he didn't die of anorexia.

1989:  HANS-ADAM II, THE PRINCE OF LIECHTENSTEIN, BEGINS HIS REIGN ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER.

Who I guess was named Hans-Adam I.

1995:  A TRUCK BOMB EXPLODES OUTSIDE A US-OPERATED SAUDI ARABIAN NATIONAL GUARD TRAINING CENTER IN RIYADH, KILLING FIVE AMERICANS AND TWO INDIANS.  THE ISLAMIC MOVEMENT TAKES RESPONSIBILITY.

Surprised?

1998:  BASKETBALL COACH RED HOLZMAN DIES.

Life's fifth foul.

2001:  IN THE FIRST SUCH ACT SINCE WORLD WAR II, US PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH SIGNS AN EXECUTIVE ORDER ALLOWING MILITARY TRIBUNALS AGAINST FOREIGNERS SUSPECTED OF CONNECTIONS TO TERRORIST ACTS PLANNED AGAINST THE US.

My hand is raised high.  Wait.  I don't get a vote.

2013:  HAWAII LEGALIZES SAME SEX MARRIAGE.

Date'Em, Dan-O.

2014:  BASEBALL STAR ALVIN DARK DIES.

And now it really is....dark.

Dinner last night:  Leftover spaghetti and meatballs.

One Week Later

 

Election Day 2024 is seven days in our rear view mirrors and, as Annie once sang to Daddy Warbucks, "the sun will come out tomorrow."

Not so to a lot of people around us.    Distraught friends can't bring themselves to social media right now.   Tears have flowed.   Several folks now use the celebrated "blackout" image as their on-line profile as if George Floyd has died again.   The BLM, of course, is nothing but a well-funded crime syndicate designed to annoy conservative thinkers.   

But I digress...

Hand wringing has become the norm in the past week and I am astounded how many of the people around me rely way too much on the political world.  My father used to say that civic leaders do just three things...

1.  Run for office.

2.  Get elected and give their friends jobs and money.

3.  Run for re-election so they can keep doing #2.

And he was right.

Oh, don't get me wrong.   I love Presidential history of the 20th Century and read up on all of those who sat in the Oval Office, both Democrats and Republicans.  Up until 20 years ago, the whole concept of Presidential elections was a civil and polite one.   There were differences but they were acknowledged and the people got to make an informed decision.

Enter the news media and now it's a contest like "The Amazing Race."   You're either good or bad or smart or stupid.   According to one of those nitwits on "The View" there are 73 million morons in the country who voted for Trump.  Gee, that's an awful lot of stupidity.  Indeed, what makes one side stupid and racist and the other side not.

This is politics and there is no right and no wrong.   It's the cycle of government that goes round and round and round.   What makes it worse now are the likes of Joy Reid and Whoopi Goldberg who say that their opinions are better than mine and yours.

We will get four years of Trump and this time around, the Democrats will continue to try and put in jail for unpaid parking tickets.  There will continue to be copious amounts of vitriole.   Meanwhile, despite what they think, there will be no concentration camps.   There will not be mass executions of illegal aliens. Gays will not be imprisoned. Women will continue to get abortions if they live in the right state.  

Think I'm making a joke with the above paragraph?   Well, lots of people are saying all of the above will happen over the next four years.  When did we become vested in such different viewpoints in our country?   

Again, I refer to my dad and realize it's all about the cycle that will continue to spin.   Because change in this country and its government is mind numbingly slow.   

Chill out, people.   

Dinner last night:  Beef chili.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - November 11, 2024

On this Veteran's Day, let's salute everybody's favorite Marine... 

Dinner last night:  Spaghetti and meat balls.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Weighty Issues

 

In the spirit of holiday repasts, let's talk food.

Here's Spanky of the Our Gang comedies.  Admittedly, a fat kid.  Especially when he got older and Hal Roach kept putting him in those outfits that were two sizes too small.

My clothes at the same age did fit.  But, I, too, was a fat kid.

I go back to photos from when I was five or six.  What do I see?

A fat kid.

I look at snapshots from when I was twelve or thirteen.  What do I see?

A fat kid.

It wasn't until my senior year in high school that I did something about all of this.  And, frankly, despite what First Lady Michelle Obama will tell you, my weighty issues were not a result of a variety of external factors. 

Nope, it wasn't economic.  My folks didn't make a ton of money, but they still managed to put decent food on the table.

Nope, it wasn't because my parents weren't home a lot.  Once I hit the age of eight, both of them worked at night.  I ate dinner with my grandmother.  She also didn't have a ton of money, but she managed to put decent food on the table.  Okay, using Campbell's Condensed Tomato Soup as spaghetti sauce was a lousy choice.  But, still, most of it was edible.

Yep, I was a fat kid because I was destined to be fat.  I had a metabolism that worked slower than Uncle Joe at Petticoat Junction.  And, living in the sometimes-frozen Northeast, there are several whole months in the winter where you can't go out and play.  The only opportunity to burn calories is by unwrapping the Hostess Twinkies.

When I would ask my mother about the tonnage that was uniquely me, she provided an answer that totally removed the burden of responsibility from my ever-broadening shoulders.

"You're just big-boned."

Now what the hell does that mean?

My parents took a philosophical approach to their tubby child.  Both told me that this would be something I would grow out of.  And, of course, they always provided the other disclaimer designed to absolve me of all worries.

"Look around.  You're not the only one."

Okay, I looked around and I was one of the only ones.  True, there were some friends who had some pounds on them.  Others at school or "up the block" had bodies where you could count the ribs like the keys on a xylophone.  Actually, most of them were built like greyhounds.  And had the athletic prowess that came with svelte bodies.

Ah, the annual dread of any fat kid.  The twice-a-year physical education stunts we each at perform courtesy of the President's Council on Physical Fitness.  Most of my friends looked forward to these exercises.  I kept touching my forehead and praying for a fever that would take me out of school for a month or two.

The 50 Yard Dash.  Run as fast as you can from one spot to another in the gym.  And the slowest time in school history goes to....

Me.

The 600 Yard Dash.  Six laps around the Grimes School Playground as if somebody actually did do such a precise measurement.  How do we know 600 yards equals six laps?  Maybe it's only five.  Anyway, this was a complete endurance test and I still think I never finished the last one.  Of course, the slowest time in school history goes to...

Me.

The Shuttle Run.  Run down a lane.  Pick up an eraser.  Run back with the eraser.  Put it down.  Pick up another eraser.  Run back.  Put it down.

What the hell does this prove anyway? 

As for me, I couldn't do it all in one fluid motion.  It was more like...

Run down a lane.  Stop.  Bend over.  Pick up an eraser.  Run back with the eraser.  Stop.  Bend over.  Pick up another eraser.  Run back.  Stop.  Bend over.  Put it down.

By the time I was finished with a Shuttle Run, the Council on Physical Fitness was now being supervised by a completely different President.

Still, my mom and dad remained stoic on it all.

"You will have your time."

Yes, but when?

Meanwhile, I was the slowest and most uncoordinated kid in the neighborhood and school.  Last one always picked for a team.  Oh, yeah, him. 

You would think this torture would have moved me into adopting my own actions to combat this heavy burden?

Nah.

I suppose that, with all the healthy meals I was getting, the real culprit at large here was the famous in-between snacks.  Yes, there were some.  A lot.

For a while, my best neighborhood buddy Leo and I made it a point to take a stroll over to Charlie's Delicatessen.  The walk was good exercise that was likely negated by our purchase of Yodels, Ring Dings, or those fruit pies that have about 2,000 calories each.  While Leo also sported a few extra ounces as well, he never seemed to be deterred when it came to after-school sports.  He could run and jump.  Me?  I could huff and puff.

Thinking back on it all, the at-home meals, while reasonably healthy, could have come with more stringent portion controls.  PS, there were none. I'd often clean my plate and then get it piled up a second time. 

"You want more?"

Of course.

So, there was always an extra slice of pork roast, another scoop of mashed potatoes, or another hunk of rhubarb pie.  As I got into high school, this cute ittle habit got a bit more disdain from my usually accommodating parents, especially from Dad.

"What time does the balloon take off?"

Now my plus size wasn't endearing, it was downright ugly.  And unhealthy.

The cow tipping point came in senior year of high school.  On the very first gym class of the year, my right knee gave out and started a lifetime of hobbles for me.  With me on the Autumn disabled list, the little activity and exercise I usually endured had dwindled down to zero.  I would come home from school, plant myself in front of the television, and open the wrapper of something.  And then something else.  And then something else.

By December, I would scrape both the walls on both sides of any hallway. 

I'm not sure what propelled me to venture onto a diet.  At the time, there was this doctor Dr. Irwin Stillman schlepping from one talk show to another hawking his water diet.  Of course, since he was on television a lot, I got to see him a lot. 

Hmmmm?  Drink eight glasses of water a day?  I can do that.

Hmmmm?  And watch your portions of food?   Can I do that?

As soon as January 1 passed, I announced my plans to flush out my system.  And pretty much have to hit the bathroom between every single class of my school day.  I dictated to my parents what I would need to achieve my goal of losing fifty pounds.  Low calorie this.  Sugar free that.  To their credit, they got behind me.  And, frankly, if they were behind me at this point, you really couldn't see them.

Rim shot.

Along with the Stillman Diet, I started to exercise.  Every night at 7PM for thirty minutes, I would close the door to my room and do as many calistenics as I could come up with.  Sit-ups, push-ups, twists, turns.  I had no clue what I was doing, but it sounded and felt right.

By April, I had lost it all. 

After a lifetime struggle, I had conquered my weight.  For now.  I assumed athletic prowess came with this as part of the deal.

I took two empty soda cans down to the driveway and placed them at opposite ends.  It had been years since I attempted that damn Shuttle Run.  But now?  I had to see.  Can I finally do it right?

I ran down the driveway.

Stopped.

Bent over.

Picked up the can.

Ran back.

Stopped.

Bent over.

Put the can down.

Picked up the other can.

Ran back.

Stopped.

Bent over.

Put the other can down.

Okay, so it still took me the same amount of time.  But I noticed one thing.

I was still breathing.

Yes, it's been a lifelong struggle.  Watching what I eat.   Going up.  Going down.  Always making sure there's some sort of daily exercise.   Now I work with a trainer twice a week.  Right now, I probably have the best muscle tone in my life.  Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror after a shower, what is that I see?  My God, I have an ab.  I'm not exactly Channing Tatum, but there is one there.

But, still.  It's a struggle.  If I'm over your house for dinner and you ask me the fated question.

"You want some more?"

I probably won't refuse.  Just to be polite.

Dinner last night:  Wagyu burger at the Courtyard Kitchen.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - November 2024

 Back when elections were civil.

Dinner last night:  Orange chicken and rice.

Did You Vote For These Mugs?

 

Arrrrghhhhh.

Hold still, Grandpa.   We're gonna take your picture.

Somebody fingered him in a police line-up.

This guy goes into jail with his own Dish Network.

Oh, my God!  They've arrested Roseanne Barr's twin brother!

Been there, arrested for that.

Kamala Harris...the Early Years.

How come you never see any JD Vance shirts?

Obama in the House.  This guy's in the big one.

The hair style alone should get him at least five years.

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