Len's Jukebox of the Month - July 2025

 And who else?   Let's all remember the late Brian Wilson.

Dinner last night:  Swedish meatballs.

Moron of the Month - June 2025

 

This one pains me to write it.   The identity of this month's moron will remain incognito because it's somebody I know.   I doubt she reads this blog these days. And, yes, while she is guilty of some truly moronic behavior, I still worry about her long term mental health.

There is clearly something wrong with...well, let's call her...Marisol.

Marisol was a work colleague in the media world back in my NY days.   Pleasant to be on the same team with.   Great sense of humor.  We made fun of the same people.   I only remember one boyfriend in her midst, but I never viewed her as anything but a work mate.

I left the company and ultimately the East Coast.  I heard she gravitated to another media firm.   At one point, I ran into a mutual friend and I inquired about Marisol.  The woman waved her off.

"She's gotten so weird."

This is not something I could confirm from the annual Christmas card we traded.

Through one of the Christmas salutations, I learned she had made some major career switch ditching the media.   Good for her.    But, ultimately I heard she wound up as...I will be nice...a wellness coach.   

But, my thought was...if she's happy...knock 'em dead.

I first started to notice the problems in her social media posts about a year ago.  She started to post a lot of Tik Toks from the extreme left.   You know the ones I mean.   From these hackneyed pundits who take 10% of truth and spin it into a 100% fact...or so they think.  There are videos from both sides of the addled aisle.   But the left ones are always the most visceral.   And insulting if you don't agree with her.  I personally took great offense to her thrashing of the Dodgers for "bowing down to Trump" when they visited the White House.   Had Marisol done a soupcon of homework, she would have realized their visit was an edict from the MLB commissioner.   But, Marisol doesn't have time for a lot of facts.

I watched initially with amusement, but the hatred on her side became more hostile and venomous.  She started to cut ties gleefully with any one who slightly disagreed with her.   I'm still attached largely because I keep my many diverse political views hidden.   But if I didn't, Marisol would have offed me months ago.

When Trump won last November, Marisol went over the cliff.   The first few days post-election prompted almost hourly videos from the bed she seemingly couldn't get out of.  I noticed also that, almost immediately, a fairly attractive woman started to look like an old lady.   

But, like Lazarus, she eventually rose from the dead.  She devoted her every waking moment to destroying the current Presidential administration.   The postings got wilder and featured more fiction.  She moved to more right wing platforms, saying that Instagram and X were the work of the devil.  At one point, she devoted her social media posts to figuring out how she could move to Canada.  And she cut out more and more people.

She devotes time now to going to protests every week.   Because, as she continues to point out, we live now in a fascist country where there is no freedom.

Here's where Marisol earns the moronic ribbon.   One thing I noticed even up to last year was Marisol never denied herself to vacation...alone...all over the place. Last year, in this "freedom-less"nation, Marisol enjoyed a few weeks on international vacations.   Not a bad reward for watching a so-called dying democracy.

And chances are that Marisol will travel again...Trump be damned.   But count on her being alone because that's where it is headed.

As stupid as she is acting, I truly hope somebody gets her the mental health she needs.

Dinner last night:  Leftover SPO.

This Date in History - July 9

 

Happy birthday in Heaven, OJ Simpson.   Honoring you with your very best head shot.

455:  THE ROMAN MILITARY COMMANDER AVITUS IS PROCLAIMED EMPEROR OF THE WESTERN ROMAN EMPIRE.

The Western Roman Empire is the one with the designated hitter, right?

869:  A MAGNITUDE 8.6 EARTHQUAKE AND SUBSEQUENT TSUNAMI STRIKES JAPAN.

When doesn't it?

1540:  KING HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND ANNULS HIS MARRIAGE TO HIS FOURTH WIFE, ANNE OF CLEVES.

The Frank Sinatra of royalty.

1572:  NINETEEN CATHOLICS SUFFER MARTYRDOM FOR THEIR BELIEFS IN THE DUTCH TOWN OF GORKUM.

So I'm guessing Gorkum's not a good place to sell parochial school candy bars.

1776:  GEORGE WASHINGTON ORDERS THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE TO BE READ OUT LOUD TO THE CONTINENTAL ARMY.

With all those cannons firing, they were probably all deaf anyway.

1789:  IN VERSAILLES, THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY RECONSTITUTES ITSELF AS THE NATIONAL CONSTITUENT ASSEMBLY.  

Leave it to the French to be completely redundant.

1793:  THE ACT AGAINST SLAVERY IS PASSED IN UPPER CANADA AND THE IMPORTATION OF SLAVES INTO LOWER CANADA IS PROHIBITED.

Who the heck lives in Upper Canada anyway?

1816:  ARGENTINA DECLARES INDEPENDENCE FROM SPAIN.

Go ahead and cry for me.

1850:  US PRESIDENT ZACHARY TAYLOR DIES AND IS REPLACED BY MILLARD FILLMORE.

Well, that sounds like a downgrade.

1868:  THE 14TH AMENDMENT TO THE US CONSTITUTION IS RATIFIED GUARANTEEING AFRICAN AMERICANS FULL CITIZENSHIP.

Somehow that didn't get completely enforced for a while.

1877:  THE FIRST WIMBLEDON CHAMPIONSHIPS BEGIN.

Pass the clotted cream.

1903:  FUTURE SOVIET DICTATOR JOSEPH STALIN IS EXILED TO SIBERIA FOR THREE YEARS.

Should have made it thirty.

1922:  JOHNNY WEISSMULLER SWIMS THE 100 METERS FREESTYLE IN 58.6 SECONDS, BREAKING THE WORLD SWIMMING RECORD.

And you should see how fast he can go when he's being chased by a crocodile.

1927:  SINGER ED AMES IS BORN.

I didn't know he was Jewish either.

1928:  ACTOR VINCE EDWARDS IS BORN.

Ben Casey!

1942:  ACTOR RICHARD ROUNDTREE IS BORN.

Talking about Shaft!

1944:  DURING WORLD WAR II, BRITISH AND CANADIAN FORCES CAPTURE CAEN, FRANCE.

Just to show that it wasn't only the Americans who fought the winning fight.

1947:  FOOTBALL STAR/ACTOR OJ SIMPSON IS BORN.

Still guilty.

1952:  MUSICIAN JOHN TESH IS BORN.

 And the only thing I know him from is Entertainment Tonight.

1962: ANDY WARHOL'S CAMPBELL SOUP CAN EXHIBITION OPENS IN LOS ANGELES.

Mmm Mmm Good.

1974:  JUDGE EARL WARREN DIES.

And there's no report on this.

1976:  ACTOR FRED SAVAGE IS BORN.

Eight years after 1968, which is when the Wonder Years started.

1981:  THE VIDEO GAME, DONKEY KONG, IS RELEASED BY NINTENDO.

Anybody got a quarter?

1992:  JOURNALIST ERIC SEVAREID DIES.

That's the way he was.

2002: ACTOR ROD STEIGER DIES.

The Heat of the Night has cooled.

2004:  ACTRESS ISABEL SANFORD DIES.

Weezie!

2007:  ACTOR CHARLES LANE DIES.

He appeared in every sitcom that ever aired.

2019:  PRESIDENTIAL HOPEFUL ROSS PEROT DIES.

Years after his campaign did the same thing.

Dinner last night:   Sandwich and salad.

Baba Wawa

 

Today's blog title was a must.  It reminds me of the late great Gilda Radner who got a lot of SNL mileage from impersonating the legendary reporter.  For a few seconds, Gilda even makes it into this new Hulu documentary.

You know I love a good doc, especially if I learn something new.  In this profile of Walters, nothing really jumped out at me as being new information.   She was a hard boiled reporter.  Check.   She was hated by most veteran newsmen like Frank McGee and Harry Reasoner.  Check.  And she revived her career by doing those celeb interviews where she asked what kind of tree they wanted to be.

Check.

It's all here for the taking and it's a serviceable but not particularly relevatory film.  That said, I wouldn't have wanted to see somebody on her staff.   She strikes me as a real tyrant.

Now, jumping forward as far as I'm concerned, Baba should get a special spot in Satan's world for creating "The View."   Yeah, that's the footage that closes the film.

Check.   And vomit.

LEN'S RATING:  Three stars.

Dinner last night:  Grilled sausage and salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 7, 2025

 Summer fun?

Dinner last night:  Snacks at the Hollywood Bowl.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Pool Time

 

So I'm trying to figure out when I can spend a summer week at my Hastings-Yonkers border apartment and this makes me a little wistful.  I am trying to figure out how much longer I will keep it and boast of this very nice, but growing-more-expensive bi-coastal existence.  Indeed, I had the unit renovated 15 years ago with the idea of putting it on the market.   You see how far I got.

Yes, it is tougher to afford this luxury today, but I do love having this little oasis in the Lenoir Nature Preserve.   My view from the terrace, which covers the length of the apartment, is nothing but leafy trees in the summer and snow-covered branches in the winter.  What is not to like?

I've had this place for 32 years and, statistically, probably have spent less than ten years of nights there.  I've been there through all sorts of blizzards and heat waves and rainstorms and blackouts.   For the snowy days when I was cooped up there for several days in a row, there was a certain decadence being able to do some laps in the indoor pool downstairs.

As for the outdoor pool shown above, I have not used those facilities since I lived there full time.  But, when I did, I became one of those people.   You know, the lazy summer person who just spent one day after another lounging at the pool.

As a matter of fact, the summer prior to my move west I was down at the pool almost four or five days a week.   I took a lot of time off that year and went into the same robotic mode I bet regular patrons of the Hamptons fall into.   

You know the drill.  Get up in the morning.  Look outside.  Ah, hazy, hot, and humid as only New York weather can be in the summer.   I methodically grabbed my towel and my lounge chair.   Packed the newspaper and my current book and my sun screen and a water bottle and my Walkman (yes, Walkman) and headed down to the pool next to our building.  I was there in five minutes, tops.   Seven minutes if the building custodians were slowing the elevator with a garbage pick-up run.

And then I would be there the whole day.   I would go upstairs at lunchtime to eat a quick sandwich and then back to the chair.

This was the first and only time I ever spent a summer like this.  And it heralded a lot of other firsts.

I finished about ten books over a two month period.   This is an enormous accomplishment for me.

I got the best tan I ever had in my life.

I was in the best shape of my life for some reason.   Why else run around in a bathing suit?

I listened to more current music on local radio stations than I had since I was 12.

I met neighbors I had never seen or barely talked to before.

Most importantly, it was the most relaxed I had ever been in my life.

And it never happened again.   I long for one more summer like that.  Oh, unlikely.   I worry about skin cancer.   I'm not in that same shape anymore. And I stopped listening to current day music a long time ago.

But, still, as I contemplate what to do with my New York apartment, I wonder if there could be one more summer like that.   Doing nothing and not having a care in the world.

Dinner last night:  Beef sausage and salad.

Classic TV Commercial of the Month - July 2025

I apologize for the quality, but it is Joey Heatherton after all.  And do they still make this soda???

Dinner last night:  Japanese hot dog at the Dodger game.

Folks Who Won't Be Able to See Fireworks From Their Jail Cells

 

Honey, you do realize that this photo is not for the school yearbook.

He's ready just in case his jail cell has some cracked ceiling plaster.

Yes, you can...in about three to six years.

Will this be enough change for you?

Color of eyes: blue.  I mean, black.  I mean, black and blue.

That's what she gets for being nosy.

Oh, my God!  They've arrested Doc Severinsen!

Oh, my God!  They've arrested Bert Lahr as the Cowardly Lion!

Yeah, that's a talent that will come in handy when you hit the women's showers.

That's either a bad dye job or a vintage Montreal Expo cap on her head.

Dinner last night:  Sandqich.

Who Knew?

 

The calling card for a good documentary works on several levels.  It educates.   It brings you into a world you know nothing about.  And, for me, a great one prompts two words out of me upon its conclusion.

Who knew?

I ask that over and over when the HBO doc "My Mom Jayne" concluded.   I had no idea what the story was behind this amazing film directed with passion by Jayne's daughter Mariska Hargitay.

Now I knew very little about the actress Mansfield except that she was a bargain basement version of Marilyn Monroe.  I don't think I ever saw a single thing she acted in.  I did know that she was married for a while to Mr. Universe, Mickey Hargitay.  And she was killed in an auto accident which comes equipped with an urban legend that she was beheaded.   (Research tells me that's not true).   Other than that, my Jayne knowledge was at a minimum.

And, despite the fact that she starred on that Law and Order series for 80 or so TV seasons, I knew little about Mariska.   She takes care of that here.   She provides this amazing in-depth look at the lady who was killed when she was just three years old.   She knew nothing about her mom.   And, as the years passed, she learned more than she could ever imagine.  And this viewer had the same discoveries all along the way.

Many people probably are not surprised about the second half of this film, but I indeed was.   And, so as not to spoil the same wonderment I experienced, I won't say much more than that in this review.   Just suffice it to say, there are siblings who are not really siblings and others who are.   Parents you thought you knew.  Parents who appear suddenly out of the woodwork.

At every turn, there is a big reveal and I wonder how Mariska got through it all.  Indeed, I'm sure she's been in analysis over all this for years.   And, as a result of her work on this film, she's probably re-upped with her shrink for another ten years.

And again I ask.  Who knew?   See this astounding movie and learn like I did.

LEN'S RATING:  Five stars.

Dinner last night:  Hot dogs at the Hollywood Bowl.

This Date in History - July 2

 

Happy birthday, Lindsay Lohan.   From the looks of it, this could be your last.

437:  EMPEROR VALENTINIAN III BEGINS HIS REIGN OVER THE WESTERN ROMAN EMPIRE.  

Who's running the Eastern Roman Empire?

626:  LI SHIMIN, THE FUTURE EMPEROR TAIZONG OF TANG, AMBUSHES AND KILLS HIS RIVAL BROTHER LI YUANJI AND LI JIANCHENG IN THE XUANWU GATE INCIDENT.

Hey, that sentence is one helluva of a typing test.

963: THE IMPERIAL ARMY PROCLAIMS NICEPHORUS PHOCAS EMPEROR OF THE ROMANS ON THE PLAINS OUTSIDE CAPPADOCIAN CAESAREA. 

Typing test, following semester.

1555:  THE OTTOMAN ADMIRAL TURGUT REIS SACKS THE ITALIAN CITY OF PAOLA.

Paola?  Didn't that impact the record industry?

1561:  MENAS, EMPEROR OF ETHIOPIA, DEFEATS A REVOLT IN EMFRAZ.

No joke to type.   Fingers need a rest after the last couple of dates.

1582:  DURING THE BATTLE OF YAMAZAKI, TOYOTOMI HIDEYOSHI DEFEATS AKECHI MITSUHIDE.

Toyotomi Cares.

1679:  EUROPEANS FIRST VISIT MINNESOTA AND SEE HEADWATERS OF MISSISSIPPI IN AN EXPEDITION.

But did they stop at the Mall of America?

1698:  THOMAS SAVERY PATENTS THE FIRST STEAM ENGINE.

Choo choo.

1776:  THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS ADOPTS A RESOLUTION SEVERING TIES WITH THE KINGDOM OF BRITAIN ALTHOUGH THE THE OFFICIAL WORDING OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE IS NOT APPROVED UNTIL JULY 4.

Well, there's always a first draft.

1777:  VERMONT BECOMES THE FIRST AMERICAN TERRITORY TO ABOLISH SLAVERY.

For all those slaves tapping trees to make maple syrup.

1822:  35 BLACK SLAVES ARE HANGED IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

They should have moved to Vermont when they had the chance.

1839: TWENTY MILES OFF THE COAST OF CUBA, 53 REBELLING AFRICAN SLAVES TAKE OVER THE SLAVE SHIP AMISTAD.

They should have also taken over the production of Amistad, that awful Steven Spielberg movie.

1881:  CHARLES J. GUITEAU SHOOTS AND FATALY WOUNDS US PRESIDENT JAMES GARFIELD, WHO EVENTUALLY DIES FROM AN INFECTION ON SEPTEMBER 19.

Do you remember where you were when Garfield was shot?

1897:  ITALIAN SCIENTIST GUGLIELMO MARCONI OBTAINS A PATENT FOR RADIO IN LONDON.

It will never last.

1900:  THE FIRST ZEPPELIN FLIGHT TAKES PLACE IN GERMANY.

Where else?

1932:  WENDY'S FOUNDER DAVE THOMAS IS BORN.

Here's the beef.

1937:  AMELIA EARHART AND NAVIGATOR FRED NOONAN ARE LAST HEARD FROM OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN WHILE ATTEMPTING TO MAKE THE FIRST EQUATORIAL ROUND-THE-WORLD FLIGHT.

And they'll find her sooner than they will find that damn Malaysian plane.

1937:  ACTRESS POLLY HOLLIDAY IS BORN.

Kiss her grits.

1947:  LUCI BAINES JOHNSON IS BORN.  

She's the one who dated George Hamilton, right?  But, then again, who didn't?

1962:  THE FIRST WAL-MART OPENS FOR BUSINESS IN ARKANSAS.

Again...where else?

1964:  US PRESIDENT LYNDON B. JOHNSON SIGNS THE CIVIL RIGHTS ACT OF 1964.

A nice way to spend your daughter's birthday.

1973:  ACTRESS BETTY GRABLE DIES.

But the legs?   What about the legs???

1986:  ACTRESS LINDSAY LOHAN IS BORN.

And was immediately arrested.

1991:  ACTRESS LEE REMICK DIES.

Days of Wine and Corpses.

1993:  ACTOR FRED GWYNNE DIES.

Hearse 54, Where Are You?

1997:  ACTOR JAMES STEWART DIES.

Mr. Hobbs Takes a Very Long Vacation.

1999:  AUTHOR MARIO PUZO DIES.

The author of the infamous Page 27 of the Godfather.

2002:  STEVE FOSSETT BECOMES THE FIRST PERSON TO FLY SOLO AROUND THE WORLD NONSTOP IN A BALLOON.

So Amelia Earhart should have taken a balloon instead?

2006:  COMEDIAN JAN MURRAY DIES.

X gets the casket.

2007:  OPERA SINGER BEVERLY SILLS DIES.

Her last solo.

Dinner last night:   Had a big lunch, so just a sandwich.

More Than I Can Bear

 

Sorry for the pun.  But it fits.

Here's one of those streamed TV shows that I follow and I don't know why.  Actually, I do.   Embedded deep down in this Hulu series is the inner workings of being a chef and opening a restaurant.   That is indeed fascinating to me.

The rest of it?   Pure garbage.   It's like getting invited for a dinner featuring food I detest but there's the promise of a spoonful of a nifty dessert.

I watch because I long for that dessert.   It has yet to appear.

We're into Season 4 already and I can easily compartmentalize (wow, what a word) this series.   Season 1 introduced you to all the characters in a restaurant kitchen and the frenetic pace that goes with it.   The pace was exhausting but I hung in there.

Season 2 was interesting.  It actually had a plot and a direction and you started to care about a few of the characters.  Season 3 was an absolute mess with dangling plots and new characters and overwritten scenes drove the show into a bus station urinal.

To make matters even more insulting, "The Bear" competes in the Emmy categories for comedy and that is ridiculous.  There is very little funny about this show and its very mentally damaged cast of characters.  But my suspicion is that it's the only way the creator-show runner Christopher Storer can compete for gold and he grabs that opportunity.

Indeed, I believe that it's Storer who is the problem with this series.   As seasons have passed and accolades have been bestowed, the show has completely become his vanity project.   He's buying his own press and essentially doing what he wants, which is a big FU to the viewing audience.   No plot?  He doesn't care.  Long drawn out scenes that are clearly there for the Emmy reel?  He doesn't care.  Plot points that are introduced and dropped?  He doesn't care.

So, Season 4 has dropped and, like a patsy, I'm already four episodes in.   Storer has set up the bare bones of story development and then suddenly upends it by devoting a single episode to one of the characters babysitting for a friend's kid.

WTF?

Now am I getting off this bumpy ride?  Nope.  Should I?  Yes.

But I keep hearing about this decadent dessert.

Dinner last night:  Grilled steak salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 30, 2025

Father and Bride month concludes with this classic scene from...wait for it..."Father of the Bride."

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Usual Independence Day

 

I've come a long way from running up and down 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon with a sparkler in my hand.

Over the course of my life, I've gone through several series of different celebrations for Independence Day, which is really one of the only holidays everybody in this country can celebrate together. There are no religious overtones like Christmas, Easter, or Yom Kippur. It is all about freedom and being an American. Except maybe for your crazy Communist Uncle Oscar, who can't get into that?

So, there were the years for me when I was a kid and I did the sparkler routine like I was some lunatic Rockette on fire. While the other kids in the neighborhood were shooting off cherry bombs, sky rockets, and a very inappropriately named explosive called a "chaser" (with that pesky N word attached---nobody knew any better then), I was relegated to nothing more inflammable than my mother's ash tray. Of course, years later, I still had the ability to attempt to play the piano, while I'm not so sure some of my goofball friends could count their fingers up to ten.

Truth be told, my folks didn't want me anywhere near this stuff.   And, frankly, neither did I.   Around the age of five, I had one previous experience playing with matches.   And the pain has lingered for many, many years.

So we made our own fun in the backyard usually with some relatives over to celebrate.  A big deal was a croquet set that got dragged out as if we were on the Downton Abbey grounds.   This was a big deal for my older cousins to play.   I, however, didn't realize that the object of the game was to tap the ball lightly with your mallet.  This was not a sport where Willie Mays power should have been employed as our broken garage window will attest.

Those July 4 family gatherings in the yard usually found a bunch of relatives lounging in a long line of beach chairs as you see above.   That's my grandfather with the can of beer.   That's me in summer attire with my mom in the background.   The chrome dome is one of my dad's childhood chums.   

This photo of our lawn furniture evokes one of the more ghastly memories.   One year, some screwy distant relative was probably loaded up on Miller High Life and was telling dirty jokes.   Well, I am guessing they were dirty because I didn't understand them.  Nevertheless, raucous laughter erupted from the others.   One lady got so hysterical that she literally shit right through her shorts.   And a mound of crap wound up on that beach chair and it would have made a German Shepherd proud.   In my family, you never threw anything out.  Dad simply washed off the chair and made it "as good as new." For years, I saw that lawn chair with its big, brown stain.   And I never ever sat on it.

I know there were some families that regularly went to see fireworks on the night of July 4th.   Unfortunately, those events usually fell into the vortex of my father's travel restrictions.    All destinations could be ruled out by one of the following stipulations:

It's too far.

It's too crowded.

It's too hot/cold...depending upon the season.

Fireworks displays usually hit the latter two.  But, there was one year where Dad was feeling a little adventurous.

Apparently, the nearby town of Tuckahoe was shooting off some fireworks on a high school field.   Okay, that was close enough.   And how crowded could something in Tuckahoe get?  This excursion was going to be even more special. 

Even Grandma would come along.   

This was momentous as my grandmother never went any place that didn't involve either church, the A and P, or Suchy's Funeral Home in the Bronx. Invitations out of the realm usually got her tried-and-true response.

"I'll stay home."

Well, that July the Fourth, Grandma went with the rest of us to see fireworks. It looked like all of Westchester County had converged on the Tuckahoe High School football bleachers to watch this. The usual ooohs and aahs. When it was over, the throng exited en masse. There was no room to move. My mother instructed me to hold onto my grandmother's hand for dear life. I did so.

As I exited the crowd to meet the rest of my entourage, I was alone. Somehow, my hand was no longer attached to my grandmother's.

"Oh, great! You lost your grandmother!"

My fault again. Moments later, Grandma emerged from the melee. Unscathed and not amused.

"Next year, I stay home."

She turned to look at me.

"Dumkopf."

When I got older, I outgrew firecrackers and found myself spending the Fourth of July in some baseball park. And, to enjoy this truly American sport on this truly American holiday, I wasn't choosy about the stadium I would enter. Whoever was playing home was where I would be. Shea Stadium. Yankee Stadium. I didn't care. It was baseball and sometimes fireworks and always perfect. 

I can remember one year there was a doubleheader for the Mets and Tom Seaver took a no-hitter into the ninth inning. One other year, there was a day game at Yankee Stadium, where it was hotter than hell and there was an explosion of gnats on the field level.

Nowadays, I am in my Hollywood Bowl/Dodger Stadium/July 4 phase of life. This year, the Dodgers are home and shooting off some shit on the day, Two days earlier, I am at the Bowl seated upon the hill that overlooks Highland. Listening. Absorbing. Enjoying. And, tomorrow night, it will happen one more time.  The musical act will be Earth Wind and Fire...or whatever passes for them in 2025.   I am guessing there will be a bunch of 70-year-olds in the aisle, slow dancing to "That's The Way of the World" like they're back at the North Hollywood High junior prom.

Whatever.   I will enjoy once again the wonders of fireworks and July 4.   Hopefully, I won't get so excited that I mess the seat I'm sitting in.

Dinner last night:  Orange chicken Lo Mein

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - June 2025

 Guess what is fifty years old this month???

Dinner last night:  Korean fried chicken sandwich from Chx Food Truck.

For Those Who Still Shop in a Mall Store

 While away the time amongst all the stupidity around you with this nifty check list.

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

Inky Dinky Doo

 

Summer is here. It's time for fun at the beach and the pool. Loads of folks dressing light for their flights to some oasis. Cool comfortable clothing is the order.

And it's also time for the rest of us to be subjected to the growing phenomenon of body art. When I was in LAX Airport last month, there was a guy getting on ahead of me whose arms were literally covered in some sort of pattern that can only be LSD-induced for most people. A woman on the same flight was already in Pirates of The Caribbean 3 mode as Captain Jack Sparrow smiled at me from a spot between the clavicles of her back.

What the hell are these people thinking? You are sticking dye into living flesh. I don't care what kind of disclaimers they tell you. This can't be good. Why do I think that, twenty years from now, thousands of people are going to be in long term health facilities as a result of toxic poisoning.

Your body is not the Louvre. Are you that low in the self esteem department that you need this kind of attention called to you? And the stuff ain't pretty. Plus when the skin sags, Johnny Depp starts to look like Foster Brooks.

When I was a kid, there was one such tattoo parlor in my neighborhood. Joe's Tattoo Parlor. You could always count on about 4 or 5 motorcycles to be parked outside. The denizens all looked like they knew how to work those shirt folding machines you might in detention centers. When I had to go to the grocery or drug store for my mom, my path always took me past Joe's. And I always managed to hit my top "running an errand" speed as I passed by. Not that I was frightened by the customer base. Nope.

The whirring sound of that freakin' needle was enough to scare the Raisinets out of me.

Now, it's all so chic. Until you realize that it's not so smart to have your old boyfriend's name showing up on your arm in the wedding pictures.

Dinner last night:   Dan dan Noodles.

This Date in History - June 25

 

Happy birthday, Jimmie Walker.  Good times!

253:  POPE CORNELIUS IS BEHEADED.

So I wonder how they paraded this around the Vatican.   Were there two processions?

841:  FORCES LED BY CHARLES THE BALD AND LOUIS THE GERMAN DEFEAT THE ARMIES OF LOTHAIR I OF ITALY AND PEPIN II.  

As detailed by Len the Blogger.

1530:  AT THE DIET OF AUGSBURG, THE AUGSBURG CONFESSION IS PRESENTED TO THE HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR BY LUTHERAN PRINCES.

And that's why I have a church to go to every Sunday.

1678:  VENETIAN ELENA CORNARO PISCOPIA IS THE FIRST WOMAN AWARDED A DOCTORATE OF PHILOSOPHY.  

When she lost her eyesight, she was a blind Venetian.

1788;  VIRGINIA BECOMES THE 10TH STATE TO RATIFY THE US CONSTITUTION.

Do we still have a constitution?

1876:  BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIGHORN AND THE DEATH OF GENERAL CUSTER.

Who died with his boots on.

1906:  PITTSBURGH MILLIONAIRE HARRY THAW SHOOTS AND KILLS ARCHITECT STANFORD WHITE.

Didn't like the plans for the master bath, did he?

1910:  IGOR STRAVINSKY'S BALLET "THE FIREBIRD" IS PREMIERED IN PARIS.

Zzzzzz.

1924:  DIRECTOR SIDNEY LUMET IS BORN.

He was mad as hell and he wasn't going to take it anymore.

1925:  ACTRESS JUNE LOCKHART IS BORN.

Here, girl.

1935:  DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS BETWEEN THE SOVIET UNION AND COLOMBIA ARE ESTABLISHED.  

They deserve each other.

1938:  DR. DOUGLAS HYDE IS INAUGURATED AS THE FIRST PRESIDENT OF IRELAND.

Beating Jekyll in a close race.

1940:  FRANCE OFFFICIALLY SURRENDERS TO GERMANY.

The correct term is "they rolled over like dogs."

1942:  BASKETBALL STAR WILLIS REED IS BORN.

How long did it take to get him out?

1944:  US NAVY SHIPS BOMBARD CHERBOURG DURING WORLD WAR II.

They hated umbrellas.

1944: THE FINAL "KRAZY KAT" COMIC STRIP IS PUBLISHED.

Ignatz.

1947:  "THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK" IS PUBLISHED.

Lousy ending.

1947:  COMIC JIMMIE WALKER IS BORN.

Dyn-O-Mite.

1948:  THE BERLIN AIRLIFT BEGINS.

Who's bringing the brats?

1975:  MOZAMBIQUE ACHIEVES INDEPENDENCE.

A good day to be a Mozambi.

1975:  PRIME MINISTER INDIRA GANDHI DECLARES A STATE OF EMERGENCY IN INDIA.

So, those of you having problems with your Dell computer.....

1976:  MISSOURI GOVERNOR KIT BOND ISSUES AN ORDER RESCINDING THE EXTERMINATION ORDER, FORMALLY APOLOGIZING FOR HOW THE STATE TREATED THE CHURCH OF LATTER DAY SAINTS.

The Osmonds accept the apology.

1978:  THE RAINBOW FLAG REPRESENTING GAY PRIDE IS FLOWN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Naturally.

1979:  ANIMATOR DAVE FLEISCHER DIES.

Popeye is a pallbearer.   Betty Boop does the eulogy.

1981:  MICROSOFT IS RESTRUCTURED TO BECOME A BUSINESS IN THE STATE OF WASHINGTON.

They made a few dollars.

1997:  EXPLORER JACQUES COUSTEAU DIES.

Six feet under wasn't so far for him.

2009:  ACTRESS FARRAH FAWCETT DIES.

Charlie's really got an angel now.

2009:  ROCK STAR MICHAEL JACKSON DIES.

"I just need a little sleep."

2024:  BASEBALL STAR WILLIE MAYS DIES.

A GOAT.  Not the animal.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Memory Lapse

One thing you can say about politicians...they never remember the past well.

You may have seen these photos from over the weekend.   The White House Situation Room as our leaders watched the bombing of Iran. 

Naturally, as is the daily norm in DC, the news was met with disdain from one of the two political parties that is ripping our country apart.   The usual strum and drang from idiots like Alexandria O. Cortez.

This action was unconstitutional.   

Trump didn't consult Congress.

This is an impeachable offense.

Yada yada yada.

But the photo above hit me.   I have seen it someplace before.  Wait!  I remember now.

The same room.  The same stale coffee cups.  A similar group of Washington assholes as they watched our troops carrying out the murder of Osama bin Laden.

Hmmm.   Did Obama consult Congress?  Was this Constitutional?  How impeachable was this offense?

Sure, folks.  Let's keep trusting these two parties.   With regard to our once wonderful nation, we're witnessing the slowest toilet flush in recorded history.

Dinner last night:  Fried chicken at Honey's Kettle.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 23, 2025

 I run this every June for those prospective brides out there.   It never ever gets old.

Dinner last night:   Sandwich.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - My Baseball Homes

 Above, you're looking at a photo of Dodger Stadium's very first opening day in 1962. I see this snapshot and I realize that the place, which is now my primary baseball home, still looks amazingly as it did 63 years ago.

Back when I was a kid in NY and a fledgling fan of the sport, the Dodgers' home in Los Angeles seemed like it was on the moon. I didn't understand completely then the concept of time zones. All I knew is that Dodger Stadium was so far away the games started three hours later than they did in NY. An 8PM start time was really 11PM at Dodger Stadium and it took years for me to comprehend this phenomenon.

I was in love with the Mets and, whenever they played the Dodgers on the other end of the world, I had to get very creative when it came to staying in touch with the game. Rarely were those contests telecast on television back to WOR-TV Channel 9 in New York. And, if they were, there was no way this eight-year-old was going to be able to go into the living room and turn on the big clunky Zenith. As it was, the sleeping hawks/parents sensed my every nocturnal move.

"You're going to the bathroom. What's wrong?"

"You turned the light on. What's the matter?"

"Why are your bedcovers off? What's the problem?"

Jeez...........

So, to keep track of West Coast baseball games, I was reduced to covert activity. A transistor radio with the covers pulled over my head. Meanwhile, since my dog Tuffy was already in the bed with me, this became a very sweaty situation on hot summer nights. I was trying to listen to Met announcer Bob Murphy call the action with the play-by-play smothered under a pillow. Did he say that was a strike or a ball? Did Ed Kranepool score or didn't he? And, Tuffy, please stop licking my feet!

Eventually, one of the parental units would get up to go to the bathroom themselves. And the faint hum of AM radio would be radiating from my bedroom.

"TURN OFF THAT GAME AND GO TO BED!!!"

Er, I'm not listening to a game. And, technically, I am in bed. Oh, never mind. I quickly clicked off the transistor radio and threw it across my room.

I needed those words from the Met announcers because, indeed, I had no idea what Dodger Stadium looked like. Oh, I had seen a few pictures, but little else. I knew there were these two neat six-sided scoreboards. And that wave-like roof over the bleachers. But, all in all, this ballpark was a mystery to me.

I was further addled by the varying names the stadium had. Sometimes, I saw it in print as "Dodger Stadium." But, other times it was called "Chavez Ravine." Is that the Spanish translation? I had no clue. It all sounded so wonderful. But, only in my mind. Really, all I had to go on was this episode of "Mr. Ed."

I finally got to see the place for myself on a Labor Day when I was eleven. For some bizarre reason, one of the networks was televising a game that afternoon between the San Francisco Giants and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Why? Who knows? But, it was strange for me to watch a game that didn't involve the Mets. I was going to get my chance to actually see Dodger Stadium for myself. And I was a captive audience.

Mainly because I was trapped in my bed with a fever of 104 degrees. That was probably the sickest I have ever been in my life. Some sort of virus was galloping through my body. It was like one of those jungle movies where the great White hunter has malaria and is lying in a quonset hut, being fanned by natives. Except I was lying in my bedroom and my parents were taking turns applying cold compresses and alcohol in order to get the fever down. Meanwhile, as I lay there in gallons of sweat, I kept staring at the game on the black and white TV in my room.

That's Dodger Stadium!

There's those cool scoreboards!

Look at all those palm trees outside the bleachers!

I was literally and figuratively closer to heaven. I vowed to go there one day and see this Chavez Ravine for myself

I, of course, survived. The Giants won that day in 13 innings. And it would be another twelve years before I would see Dodger Stadium for myself. In person.

It was as glorious as it appeared on that day when I lost about ten gallons of water through my pores.

I was on my first ever trip to Los Angeles and this ballpark was a mandatory stop. The Reds shellacked the Dodgers that day. But, the sheer essence of just being there was enough for me.

Here I am years later. A season ticket holder with a regular view of all that which enchanted me when I was eleven. I never take it for granted. This is baseball paradise.

Yes, Shea Stadium will always be my first love. But, if I have no other baseball home for the rest of my life, Dodger Stadium will do just fine.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich and salad.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - June 2025

 For the month of Father's Day, what else???

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

Relax...the School Photographer Left for the Summer

 

If you wanted to see what Georgia Engel would look like as a male...

And he's also a rake.

Canon has introduced the first combination digital camera/tazer.

Voted "Most Likely to Swallow a Fly in this Photo Session."

Right after graduation, there was a rewarding career as a busboy at Medieval Times.

Her head is an apartment complex for split ends.

Lips or glasses? Which are bigger? You decide.

You think this kid's school was in a very, er, urban area? I wonder how the hair-do looks after this dude has been stuffed in a gym locker.

Dinner last night:  Chicken teriyaki at the Smoke House.