Facebook Sort Of Like

 

Aaron Sorkin must love social media.   This is the second movie he has written and directed about Facebook.   The first, "The Social Network" was the story about how the concept got started.   This new one is "The Social Reckoning" is much less kind.  It's all about how Facebook used algorithms to promote hate speech.

Or did they?

You really can't tell from this film which is two hours of nothing but Congressional hearings on the subject.   Of course, the main target is owner Mark Zuckerberg, this time played by creepy actor Jeremy Strong who always makes me feel uncomfortable watching anything he is in.

The rest of the cast is pretty basic.  Jeffrey Allen White from "The Bear" plays a WSJ reporter digging into the story.   He's getting his ammunition from a Facebook staffer/whistle blower played by recent Oscar winner Mikey Madison.

And that's it.   A bunch of interrogations as the three characters have various dialogues and monologues on the subject.   Naturally, the movie's conclusion is dovetailed with the activities on Capitol Hill circa January 6.   It's Aaron Sorkin at work.  Of course, it would.

The acting here is fine.  The subject matter is interesting.   I liked it...sort of.  But don't be surprised if your eyes close periodically because...well, it's Aaron Sorkin.

LEN'S RATING:  Two-and-a-half stars.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 19,2026

 Our 75th anniversary salute to Lucy and Ricky continues.  The cheese that is a baby.

Dinner last night:  Grilled sausage.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Where Did My World Series Tickets Go?

 

Sadly, for the first time in several years, I am not going to Chavez Ravine for the World Series.  There are no games or tickets.   Back when, there were some games that I should have had tickets for.  Back then, my team, the New York Mets, were in the hunt.  And my World Series tickets?  

Well, that's an interesting story that still has no ending.

How did this young, fledgling baseball nut miss out on seeing his idolized group of nine play in their very first World Series?

It's still a mystery.   And the one person who might have had the answer is gone.

My father.

Let me start at the beginning.

The New York Mets came out of nowhere to suddenly become a baseball powerhouse.  Thanks to the efforts of manager Gil Hodges, Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, Jerry Grote, Nolan Ryan, Cleon Jones, and Tommie Agee, they were going places in that very magical and memorable summer.

Me?  I was an integral piece of the puzzle.  At least I thought I was.  After all, the Mets got really good exactly one year after my dad hand purchased for me my very own ticket plan.  A Saturday plan with two phenomenal loge seats just to the right of home plate.  I felt like my money (okay, well, Dad's) had pushed the team over the top.  It was as if I was one of the principal owners of the franchise.

One year after we wisely bought into the Flushing Meadow dream, the Mets skyrocketed to the top.  And were suddenly bound to the first round of the baseball playoffs.  Their first task was to win three out of five games against the Atlanta Braves.   A victory in that series would punch the Mets' ticket into the World Series.

For several weeks in September, I could barely speak.  I was then overcome with emotion and exhileration.

The first two games were to be played in Atlanta with the final three slated for my home, Shea Stadium.  Here's where I thought my great insider status would cash in for me.  Prime tickets to it all.

As a partial ticket plan holder, we received the much-hallowed application in the mail.  It was for the first round.  Our response...and my father's money order...went back the same day.

When that first set of tickets arrived, I literally stared at it for fifteen minutes.  I was staring at a pot of gold.  I was going to see my team in the first playoff game ever to be played at then-new Shea Stadium.  

My father's glimpse of the tickets was a little less enthusiastic.

"These aren't your regular seats."

I knew that.  When you're only a partial plan holder, you can't possibly get your regular seats.  They will put you elsewhere.

In the case of my father and me, they put us in a Laguardia Airport flight path.  We were behind home plate alright.  But way above home plate.  Not only could you watch a baseball game, but you could also simultaneously watch the movie being shown that month on the Eastern Airlines Shuttle to Boston.

I was just happy to be going.  My dad?  Not so much.

His mood became a lot worse once the day of the game arrived.  Luckily, the Mets had taken care of the Braves in Georgia and now were just one win away from going to the World Series.  The first jolt of our reality happened when we realized we were entering in a gate different from our usual.  

"This is bad."

I didn't care.

We boarded one of the escalators and then realized we needed to take two more to get up to our seating level.  My dad looked out as the ground below kept getting smaller and smaller and smaller.

"They better win today because we're up too high."

Now, mind you, in the very second Met game I ever went to with my father, we sat on the very same upper deck.  But, in a few short years, he suddenly had become much less amenable to heights.  Maybe it was the price of the tickets.  Maybe he felt that, as partial plan holders, we deserved better treatment.  Whatever the case, my father was not a happy guy on this warm October Monday afternoon.

It was all so glorious for me.  The Mets won that day.  And I was as high as a kite.  Literally and figuratively.

I went home and waited for the next ticket application that would be my transportation to the next level of heaven.

And waited and waited and waited.  It sounds like a long time but it was probably just two days.  And I asked my father if we had gotten anything from the Mets yet.

"They're probably still working on it."

Oh.

But, my father's added comment should have been a clue to me.

"But if they're gonna put us up so high, I don't want them"

OH.

Two more days.  And I'm not hearing anything about a ticket application arriving in the mail.  Nor does my dad seem concerned.

Meanwhile, the Mets will be hosting their first ever World Series game in just five days.  It was hard for me to believe they were that behind in fulfilling ticket orders.  But, according to my father, they obviously were incompetent.

Two more days and I pressed my dad.   We should have received something by now.

"I'll check with the post office."

Oh.

I assume he did, although I never did actually see him go there.  But the answer he got from them was a little suspect.

"They think somebody saw what the application was and stole it."

Really???

Another day clicked off the calendar and my father finally did what he should have done a week earlier.  He called the Mets.  And, leaving nothing to chance, I stood next to him as he dialed the phone.

Well, according to the Mets, they send the application and, when no money was returned by the due date, the ticket offer expired.  My father asked if there were any tickets available.  The answer was obviously no.  I swallowed hard and teared up a little.  I have learned since that you never ever accept this answer from a baseball team.  There are ALWAYS tickets.

I was crestfallen and I think my dad was sad watching my world collapse.  He tried to console me.

"Well, the seats would have been lousy anyway."

Hmmmm.  Still focusing on seat location, eh?  My mother tried to help the situation. 

"Well, you have school anyway."

Seriously????

I watched the Mets win the World Series without me.   I listened to the first game on a transistor radio in English class with a really cute girl.  Okay, that helped a little.  She hugged me when Tommie Agee made his second great catch of the day.  Okay, that helped a lot.

On the day of the second game, we were off for teachers' conferences so Mom's great excuse blew out the window on that day.  And, for the Series winning game three?  I went home at lunchtime and never went back to school.  I watched it with Curt Gowdy, Lindsey Nelson, and nobody else.  After they won, I ran out onto the street to accept congratulations.  In this Yankee-centric neighborhood, everybody else was at school.  And didn't care.

Since then, I have heard many great stories from pals in college and beyond who actually were taken to that World Series.  I relive the joy vicariously through them.  And still wonder what happened in my house.

Was the ticket application really stolen?  Did we really wait too long to call the Mets?

And was my own father capable of pulling a fast one because he didn't want to sit in crappy seats?

I hate to think the latter.  But still do.

Meanwhile, I made sure to attend every Met World Series game at Shea in subsequent years.  There would be no more ticket snafus.  And wherever they chose to seat me, I would caress that location.  

And when the Dodger postseason ticket notification comes every year, I address it ASAP.

You don't mess around when it comes to World Series tickets.

Or do you?  Dad?

Dinner last night:   Pasta bolognese from my freezer.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - October 2026

 Well, in this baseball month, it is a theme song.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Picture This, Picture That

 

More of the sad parade that is called Life. Take, for instance, this bunch up north. Mom hasn't quite figured how to correctly apply that fake suntan lotion.

Yeah, kid, I hear you. Birthdays suck.

So, Granny, are they real?

Will somebody please call the ASPCA about what this guy is doing to that dog?

Hey, Mom, how about a blink?

I'd give ten bucks to the first person who yells "timber."

"All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. Oh, yeah, and a new family."

Don't fuck with Grandma.

Dinner last night:   Sandwich.

Boo

 

No, this isn't an early Halloween greeting.  Or is that word being used to show what I think about something.   Nope, the word "boo" in the title is being employed to categorize this documentary for what it is.   It's full of ghosts.   So much so that I expected to see that this was a film from Graveyard Productions.

The subject matter is Martin Mull...obviously.  Well, he's a major talking head in this movie about his comedy and film/TV work.   It's been in the works for years and, as a result, he's now dead.

The director who started this project some eight years ago is Bob Saget.   Dead.

Other participants in the documentary are Norman Lear and Fred Willard.  Dead...and...yes, also dead.  The number of people in this new movie who are no longer around unfortunately gives the production a kind of uncomfortable and eerie sensation.  

Couple that with the notion that, while Mull is certainly a talented individual, he wouldn't be called a mega-star.  I can think of a dozen other people who would merit a documentary ahead of him.

Indeed, a lot of the movie is devoted to his career as an artist which was formidable and something I did not know about.  That said, displaying all his different artwork on a screen really doesn't give it the same justice and appreciation you would get if you were actually standing in front of it in a gallery  Yet, one more portion of the film that seems just a little bit off.

Of course, I salute anybody who puts out a documentary these days.  Unfortunately, I can't do it person.

LEN'S RATING:  Two-and-a-half stars.

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

This Date in History - October 14

 

Happy "Your Life Is Now Ruined" Day, Steve Bartman.   It happened on this date in 2003.  It took until 2016 for the Cubs to get rid of this latest curse.  

222:  POPE CALLIXTUS I IS KILLED BY A MOB IN ROME AFTER A FIVE YEAR REIGN.  HE IS SUCCEEDED BY CARDINAL URBAN I.

Back when the Pope numbers first started.

1322:  ROBERT THE BRUCE OF SCOTLAND DEFEATS KING EDWARD II, FORCING THE LATTER TO ACCEPT SCOTLAND'S INDEPENDENCE.

Hoot man.

1582:  BECAUSE OF THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR, THIS DAY DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS YEAR IN ITALY, POLAND, PORTUGAL, AND SPAIN.

That had to be a problem for those people who manufacture "This Week At a Glance."

1586:  MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, GOES ON TRIAL FOR CONSPIRACY AGAINST ELIZABETH I OF ENGLAND.

If you're in England, don't ever mess with anybody named Elizabeth.

1656:  MASSACHUSETTS ENACTS THE FIRST PUNITIVE LEGISLATION AGAINST THE QUAKERS, WHO THEY REGARD AS SPIRITUALLY AND POLITICALLY SUBVERSIVE.

Oh, no, not the Quakers!  But who's going to make the oatmeal?

1773:  JUST BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, SEVERAL OF THE BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY TEA SHIPS ARE SET ABLAZE IN MARYLAND.

Ships?   What ships??

1843:  THE BRITISH ARREST THE IRISH NATIONALIST DANIEL O'CONNELL FOR CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT CRIMES.

Can you imagine what they would do to him if he had actually had?

1863: CONFEDERATE TROOPS UNDER GENERAL LEE FAIL TO DRIVE THE UNION ARMY OUT OF VIRGINIA.

Confederates?   Are we allowed to even talk about this part of history any more?

1884:  INVENTOR GEORGE EASTMAN RECEIVES A US GOVERNMENT PATENT ON HIS NEW PAPER STRIP PHOTOGRAPHIC FILM.

Well, that's not a negative.

1890:  DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER IS BORN.

I like Ike.

1893:  ACTRESS LILLIAN GISH IS BORN.

She made it to 100, dying in 1993.

1894:  POET E.E. CUMMINGS IS BORN.

Mr. "I Can't Be Bothered with Capitalizing Anything."

1908:  THE CHICAGO CUBS DEFEAT THE DETROIT TIGERS, CLINCHING THE WORLD SERIES.  IT WOULD BE THEIR LAST ONE TO DATE.

And may the drought continue another century.

1910:  COACH JOHN WOODEN IS BORN.

And here's another one who lasted a whole century.

1912:  WHILE CAMPAIGNING IN MILWAUKEE, FORMER US PRESIDENT TEDDY ROOSEVELT IS SHOT AND MILDLY WOUNDED BY A MENTALLY-DISTURBED SALOON KEEPER.  HE STILL CARRIES OUT HIS SCHEDULED PUBLIC SPEECH.  

But it probably hurt when he talked.

1926:  "WINNIE THE POOH" BY A.A. MILNE IS FIRST PUBLISHED.

Now where's that honey tree?

1933:  NAZI GERMANY WITHDRAWS FROM THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS.

See if we care.

1939:  FASHION DESIGNER RALPH LAUREN IS BORN.

His polo shirts fit me very well.

1941:  BASEBALL STAR ART SHAMSKY IS BORN.

A hero of the 1969 World Champion New York Mets and the one person on Earth that I could probably beat in a foot race.

1944:  LINKED TO A PLOT TO ASSASSINATE ADOLF HITLER, FIELD MARSHALL ERWIN ROMMEL IS FORCED TO COMMIT SUICIDE.

To quote my grandmother..."dumkopf."

1947:  CAPTAIN CHUCK YEAGER OF THE US AIR FORCE FILES AN AIRCRAFT FASTER THAN THE SPEED OF SOUND.  

He had...ahem...the right stuff.

1959:  ACTOR ERROL FLYNN DIES.

He died with his boots on.  Maybe.

1964:  MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. RECEIVES THE NOBEL PEACE PRIZE.

And the cash value is?

1967:  FOLK SINGER JOAN BAEZ IS ARRESTED FOR PROTESTING THE VIETNAM WAR IN OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA.

Peace and love and legal fees.

1968:  THE FIRST LIVE TV BROADCAST BY AMERICAN ASTRONAUTS IN ORBIT WAS PERFORMED BY THE APOLLO 7 CREW.

Performing Stupid Astronaut Tricks.

1969:  THE UNITED KINGDOM INTRODUCES THE BRITISH FIFTY-PENCE COIN, WHICH EVENTUALLY REPLACES THE BRITISH TEN-SHILLING NOTE.

Pence and Shilling.  Two coins that eventually became baseball players.

1977:  SINGER BING CROSBY DIES.

"We're off on the road to Heaven."

1979:  THE FIRST EVER GAY RIGHTS MARCH OCCURS IN WASHINGTON, DC.

And it won't be the last.

1982:  US PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN PROCLAIMS A WAR ON DRUGS.

And he started by emptying Nancy's purse.

1990:  CONDUCTOR LEONARD BERNSTEIN DIES.

From "On The Town" to under it.

1997:  AUTHOR HAROLD ROBBINS DIES.

His last novel could be called "The Undertakers."

2003:  CHICAGO CUB FAN STEVE BARTMAN INTERFERES WITH PLAY AND COSTS THE TEAM A CHANCE TO ADVANCE TO THE WORLD SERIES.

Fitting that it happened on the anniversary of the last time they had previously won in 1908.  

2009:  WRESTLER LOU ALBANO DIES.

He used to drive a cab in my home town of Mount Vernon, New York.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Continuing My Movie Journey

 

I used to go to the movies a lot.   Back in the day, I would try to check out everything.  But then COVID hit and there were less films to see.  Couple that with some movie palace venues closing up and Len finds himself at home.

Because I truly miss the shared community experience of being in an audience, I have pledged to get out more.   As a result, I have been using some flimsy excuses for reasons why I went to see X, Y, or Z.

That brings us to the new movie "Verity."   Why did I go and see this?   Reviews were good.   One critic called it an "erotic psychological thriller."  Okay, those are three words I can get behind.

Plus the film stars Anne Hathaway and I sort of dig her.   Oh, not in a fanboy kind of way.   She never gives a bad performance and easily saunters the roads of both comedy and drama.  And she's kind of attractive.

That, folks, is how I saw "Verity."  And I'm glad I did.

Hathaway plays Verity...duh.   She's a well-known writer who is now in catatonic state after an accident.   And she's a piece of broccoli for most of the movie.  Indeed, her back story is told in flashbacks so Hathaway does have something to do besides drool.

Verity's husband (a wonderfully nuanced performance by the under-rated Josh Hartnett) hires a young writer (also a strong acting job by Dakota Johnson) to finish some books Verity had in progress.  Pretty simple.   Well, the young writer moves into their huge (and gorgeous) house and finds another book in the making...Verity's autobiography.   And she also discovers that one of Verity's two children was killed in a boating accident.

Hmmm.

The drama and mystery is set up perfectly and everything turns out to be not what it appears to be.   I mean, it is erotic and psychological and a thriller.   And, for once  in a movie produced in 2026, the ending that unravels does make total sense.

"Verity" works on a bunch of levels and, if you are restarting your cinematic journey like I am, this movie will be a good road to follow.

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

Dinner last night:  Leftover chili.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 12, 2026

 This month, we continue to celebrate 75 years of  "I Love Lucy."  Remember the girls from Albuquerque?

Dinner last night:  Home made sausage chili.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Da Cubs

Now, as a baseball fan, there are many opposing teams in my history that I have grown to hate.    As a Met fan in New York, you naturally had mucho disdain for the Yankees.   For a while there, I totally despised the Atlanta Braves.  As a Dodger fan in Los Angeles, the hatred for the uber-annoying San Francisco Giants is now deeply ingrained.  Right now in my world, the Padres suck.

But there is one franchise that I have hated pretty much my entire life as a baseball fan.   

The Chicago Cubs.   And most notably their obnoxious fan base.  

Okay, you say...how can you hate a franchise that has won just one World Series in 100 plus years?  Have I no compassion for a fan base where there are lifelong Cub fans who were born and died without ever seeing their team in the World Series?  Oh, that poor Ernie Banks.   One of the greatest players ever and he never got a World Series.

Oh, well, I say...it sucks to be them.

The venom started gathering in my body way back when I was a kid.   The lowly Mets were finally good and they were, for the first time ever, battling for a pennant.   The team ahead of them was the Cubs.   And they were led by my very first baseball villain.   

Ron "Rat Bastard" Santo.   He's not with us any more so I suppose I should not speak ill of the dead.

I make one exception always.  This guy was a jerk and any Met fan still curses him to this day.

You see, when the Cubs were sailing to that pennant, Santo liked to rub victory in the face of his opponents by doing this at the end of every game...

Just seeing it again makes my skin boil.   His antics were considered bush league by everybody but those assholes in the Wrigley Field bleachers.  Met manager Gil Hodges quietly walked over to Santo one day and told him, in a very nice way, that he was being immature.   Santo kept doing it.

For years, this moron was a darling of the Cub faithful.  He got his uniform retired.  He wound up doing their radio color commentary and could be audibly heard on the air moaning and crying when the Cubs would lose a big game.

I've always said that God indeed likes to toy with the Cub fans who keep subscribing to some silly notion that their team is cursed because of some incident with a billy goat.   There may be some validity in that.  Because, at the end of his life, Santo was a double amputee.   And, effectively, God took away his ability to do that heel click ever again.  Poetic justice.

I told you this was going to be nasty today.

Years later, I wanted to be this bastion of baseball...Wrigley Field...for myself.   I had heard it was the best baseball stadium ever with its ivy-covered outfield walls and close proximity to the field.  My college roommate and I would follow the Mets there every season for about five years.   Yes, the ballpark is nice.  But quaint?   

Um, no.

I found it cramped, riddled with ads, and, from what I can see now on TV after their renovation, totally corporate.   What the hell is Nuveen and why do you see its billboard in every camera shot?

Moreover, when I was going to Wrigley, I noticed something else about the crowd which was shocking for a city in an urban market.

Not only was the crowd lily white, but they were a J Crew catalog on steroids.   Hmmm, I said at the time.

The fans there were raucous and not accepting of fans from other teams.   As the Old Style flowed and they got drunker and drunker, the obnoxiousness just soared.

But then there was the seventh inning stretch.   Everybody up so announcer Harry Caray can sing.   And, a one and a two.   It looked like some of the fans around me were here just for this.   What baseball game?

Meanwhile, here's another rat bastard that the Cub fans took to their bosom.   A drunk who slurred his way through most games.   A guy that was run out of St. Louis years ago because he was fucking the Cardinal owner's wife.   

Oooh, how small town.   How heart warming.

Phooey.

The good news is that there are many indications that God himself does join me in this dislike for the Cub fan.   

For instance, this happened to knock their team out of the playoffs in 1984.

And then this happened to kill their spirits in 2003...

Bwwwhaaaaa!

This last one got Cub fans so nuts in their pastel pullover sweaters that they drove this poor schmuck out of town.  Forget the fact that the game was lost by their shortstop and their manager Dusty Baker, who swallowed so many toothpicks as a result that he shit out Pinocchio.

It goes all to the alleged badge of honor that Cub fans proudly wear.   They still think they won the pennant against the Mets.   They did not.   They still think they went to the World Series in 2003.  They did not.  Yeah, you won in 2016.   

What have you done since then?  Plus you now have another dirtbag to hate.

Yes, I'm talking about you.  Pete Crowe-Armstrong.

Dinner last night:   Buttered popcorn at the movies.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - October 2026

 It's a baseball theme this month.

Dinner last night:  Pasta with meat sauce.

Retro Shopping

 

Dinner last night:   Grilled sausage.

I Wonder Why...

 

Riddle me this, Baseball Batman.

Watching the MLB playoffs the other day, we are presented once a game with their ultra annoying war whoops and chops.  I've always thought this was stupid, but everybody is invited to their own level of stupidity.

Now you may remember about a decade ago, we all were forced on a journey to make reparations to the American Indians who, despite being killed off by John Wayne in dozens of movies, have become quite successful owning casinos.   Yet, we had to be sensitive to their heritage.   As a result...

No more Cleveland Indians.

No more Washington Redskins.

No Cherokee anything.

Okay, I assume it made all the bleeding hearts in this country feel a little better when they can't beat the Blackjack dealer at Morongo.

But Len has a question.   Why do the Atlanta Braves still exist?  Why is their mind-numbing chop still allowed?  How do they get a hall pass?

If you have an answer to this, please send up a smoke signal.

Dinner last night: Sandwich.

This Date in History - October 7

 

Happy death day to Clarence Birdseye.  My mother couldn't have cooked without you.

3761 BC:  THE EPOCH REFERENCE DATE OF THE MODERN HEBREW CALENDAR.

That's a freakin' long time ago.

1477:  UPPSALA UNIVERSITY IS INAUGURATED AFTER RECEIVING ITS CORPORATE RIGHTS FROM POPE SIXTUS IV IN FEBRUARY THE SAME YEAR.

Pope Sixtus IV adds up to X.

1513:  BATTLE OF LA MOTTA:  SPANISH TROOPS UNDER RAMON DE CARDONA DEFEAT THE VENETIANS.

Who, in turn, lost to the Drapes.

1542:  EXPLORER CABRILLO DISCOVERS SANTA CATALINA ISLAND OFF THE CALIFORNIA COAST.

Smart move.  Nice place.

1582:  BECAUSE OF THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR, THIS DAY IS SKIPPED IN ITALY, POLAND, PORTUGAL, AND SPAIN.

It sucks to be born Gregorian on October 7.

1826:  THE GRANITE RAILWAY BEGINS OPERATION AS THE FIRST CHARTERED RAILWAY IN THE US.

All aboard!

1849:  AUTHOR EDGAR ALLAN POE DIES.

Never more.

1868:  CORNELL UNIVERSITY HOLDS OPENING DAY CEREMONIES WITH STUDENT ENROLLMENT AT 412, THE HIGHEST OF ANY COLLEGE TO DATE.

That's one long line at the cafeteria.

1905:  ACTOR ANDY DEVINE IS BORN.

The inventor of the cowboy's sidekick.

1916:  GEORGIA TECH DEFEATS CUMBERLAND 222-0 IN THE MOST LOPSIDED COLLEGE FOOTBALL GAME IN HISTORY.

Take Cumberland with 223 points.

1917:  ACTRESS JUNE ALLYSON IS BORN.

Well, that depends.

1919:  KLM, THE FLAG CARRIER OF THE NETHERLANDS, IS FOUNDED.  IT IS THE OLDEST AIRLINE STILL OPERATING UNDER ITS ORIGINAL NAME.

And with the original frequent flyer miles.

1925:  PITCHER CHRISTY MATHEWSON DIES.

With that arm, he could probably still pitch six innings on October 8.

1933:  AIR FRANCE IS INAUGURATED.

Par avion.

1940:  WORLD WAR II - THE MCCOLLUM MEMO PROPOSES BRINGING THE US INTO THE WAR IN EUROPE BY PROVOKING THE JAPANESE TO ATTACK THE US.

Spoiler alert:  It worked.

1943:  COLONEL OLIVER NORTH IS BORN.

If you insist...

1944:  WORLD WAR II - DURING AN UPRISING AT BIRKENAU CONCENTRATION CAMP, JEWISH PRISONERS BURN DOWN THE CREMATORIA.

That's redundant.

1956:  BUSINESSMAN CLARENCE BIRDSEYE DIES.

I always wanted to know why he insisted on including lima beans.

1958:  THE US MANNED SPACE-FLIGHT PROJECT IS RENAMED PROJECT MERCURY.

Paging Alan Shepherd.

1960:  NIGERIA JOINS THE UNITED NATIONS.

Meetings on the first Tuesday of every month.

1963:  PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY SIGNS THE RATIFICATION OF THE PARTIAL TEST BAN TREATY.

Good thing.  Only about seven more weeks left for him.

1985:  THE ACHILLE LAURO IS HIJACKED BY THE PLO.

It really did happen, folks.  It wasn't just a TV movie.

1991:  BASEBALL MANAGER LEO DUROCHER DIES.

Tossed from the game for the very last time.

1996:  THE FOX NEWS CHANNEL BEGINS BROADCASTING.

The other side of the MSNBC seesaw.

1998:  MATTHEW SHEPARD, A GAY STUDENT AT THE UNIVERSITY OF WYOMING, IS FOUND TIED TO A FENCE AFTER BEING SAVAGELY BEATEN.

No smart comment here.  Tragic.

2003:  THE GOVERNOR OF CALIFORNIA, GRAY DAVIS, IS RECALLED IN FAVOR OF ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER.

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.  I can't wait till they recall the current asshole.

2023:  HAMAS ATTACKS ISRAEL.

And it's been ugly ever since.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.  

Morons of the Month - October 2026

 

It's a month before Election Day and mail-in ballots are already in the house.  Now, don't get me wrong.   I do enjoy the convenience of not leaving my home to vote.   I can take my time to sprawl out the LA Times and see their recommendations with the ballot in front of me.   By the way, whatever the LA Times tells voters to do, I do just the opposite.   Oh, and if any ballot measures talk about raising funds to do X Y or Z, I vote two other letters.  N O.

But I digress.

This is the time we hear from Democrats about voter fraud and needed reform.  Of course, the left is the side that loves to practice voter fraud and needed reform.  In their minds, everyone is entitled to a vote regardless of where they live.   And, oh, yeah, everything works perfectly.

Uh huh.

So, besides receiving my own ballot, I also got the ballots for the last six tenants of this apartment.   Are people that stupid when it comes to notifying the city and state about their new addresses?   Or is the state of California that inept in updating their records?   

Yes and yes.

It's why that, in my last apartment, former tenant Don Knotts was still receiving ballots years after he died.  

Is this mike on?   Hello?

I took the ballots of the last six tenants and wrote "no longer at this address."  I left them for the postman.   But, I noticed in the recycle bin that other current tenants must have also gotten old ballots.   Those folks simply threw them in the garbage.

It made me wonder about some other people out there who might have been compelled to fill out the ballots whether they belonged to them or not.   Think that's not likely?   I know for a fact about a nurse at an assisted living facility here who filled out the ballots for a lot of the seniors with dementia.   

The mailing-in process, as easy as it is, invites all of the bullshit they say is not happening.  Indeed, mail-in ballots should only be allowed in extreme cases of immobility.

Oh, and did I mention you need to show an ID?  Hell, you need to show it for 99% of everything else in life.   For Pete's sake, I have to present my ID whenever I have to buy some fucking Claritin.   

How hard would that single act of voter reform be?   But, no, the Board of Elections love to manipulate everything they say they are not doing.

Morons.

Dinner last night: Leftover General Tso's Chicken.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 5, 2026

This month on every Monday, we honor the great "I Love Lucy" which celebrates its 75th anniversary this October.   Is there a better video laugh than that?  Remember Ethel's hostess pants?

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

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Switching Coasts

 

I can't explain how some things have happened in my life.   Or, for that matter, I can't explain how a lot of things have happened in my life.   Back, when I was a kid, I fantasized about Hollywood and California.  As far as I was concerned, both might as well have been on the moon.   I was on South 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon and I expected to die there.  

I mean, I would look at my own family.   They were sequestered in the Bronx and lower Westchester County.  Few went anywhere far.   Most had never flow on an airplane.  Back in the day, you just didn't harbor any expectations when it came to traveling great distances.

So, as I did yesterday and will later today, I sit in, of all places, Dodger Stadium.  In my season tickets.   And I think one more time how this all happened.  I'm close to the stadium now.  And I remember how far away it was way back when.

A lifelong Met fan now screaming his head off in Chavez Ravine.

Back when I was a kid in NY and a fledgling fan of the sport of baseball, the Dodgers' home in Los Angeles seemed to be in another world.  And that was just as well.   I was bleeding blue and orange...the chosen plasma of every New York Met fan.  And I wanted to hear and see every pitch.  Even when they were playing in that far off land called California.  

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. So, whenever the Mets played the Dodgers on that other end of the planet, 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 an episode of "Mr. Ed."  Or that time Jeff Stone met Don Drysdale on "The Donna Reed Show."

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.  Especially when there's playoff baseball in October.

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:  General Tso's Chicken and spicy noodles.