Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 7, 2007

This month, Bob Barker ends 123 consecutive years as host of "The Price is Right." All trailer parks across America will be draped in black.

Dinner last night: Chicken Crispers at Chili's.

Thumbs Up

I have to tell you. I had to look several times at this picture before I realized who it was.

Good for you, Roger Ebert!

He's been down for the count since June of last year. A surgery for cancer of the salivary gland wound up requiring the removal of his jaw bone. The operation also necessitated a tracheotomy. Then, several surgical procedures to replace the jaw bone prompted excessive bleeding and had to stopped before completion.

He can't speak yet. He is the first to admit he now looks something from a casting call for Raging Bull. But, he just made his first public appearance in a year at his own film festival.

And, more importantly, he is still writing movie reviews.

His mind is alive and well.

And that's why the printed word is so cherished.

Dinner last night: Post "Waitress" French Dip sandwich at the Arclight.

Hiccup

Okay, the video below is of David Hasselhoff drunk on his ass. His daughter manned the camera. Apparently, this recovering alcoholic made a pact with his kids. If they ever found him back in the stew again, he wanted them to film his every drunken move so he could really see how bad he looked. Frankly, David didn't need to drink to do this. He could look at anything he's ever acted in. But, I digress...

So, what's the utter hypocracy about this video? It's a noble idea on Hasselhoff's part. So, he tumbled off the water wagon? The daughters film it, show Dad how bad he drools while liquored up, and we all call it a day. But, no, they take it one step further. They release it all to the semi-press...namely, Entertainment Tonight.

It all smacks of publicity. Since David Hasselhoff isn't getting into the news in a good way, I suppose bad press is better than none at all.

Meanwhile, in other non-sobriety news, it comes out that Cardinal pitcher Josh Hancock, killed last weekend in an auto accident, was not only legally drunk upon impact, but a bong was also found in his vehicle. And, cell phone records show that he was on the phone talking to a girl at the time of the accident. That's the big umpire in the sky calling "Strike Three."

Yeah, it's all fun and games when somebody shows up drunk.

Dinner last night: sausage and peppers sandwich at Maria's Italian Kitchen.

Hello Larry

I guess nothing blew up yesterday. CNN finally got to run that blasted tribute to Larry King---honoring his 50 years of clogging our ears.

The two hour special was incomplete as far as I was concerned. So much vital information was missing. You would think they would have had plenty of time to cover the following:

---All the juicy details behind the photo op shown above when he got busted for bad checks.

---The well-known fact all over Hollywood and CNN that Larry farts continuously throughout his entire show. His studio apparently has to be aired out nightly. Production people around CNN try to avoid working his show as much as possible.

---That he is probably one of the cheapest TV personalities around. He never ever picks up a restaurant tab.

---That most female interns on his show are warned about his "happy hands" before they meet him.

---The fact that he is a sex addict as was evidenced by me first hand. Back when he was doing an overnight radio show for a company I worked for, I would spend one evening a year in Arlington, Virginia. Several colleagues and I would do a quick on-air survey of his listeners to find out what they were up and listening to this idiot (we refined the language for the situation.) On the hourly breaks which were about 8 minutes long, Larry would pick up the studio phone and call whatever number wife he had at the time. And, in front of me and anybody else, he proceeded to sex-talk her on the phone.

"What are you wearing right now?"

"Is it the nightie I like?"

"How do you have your hair?"

"Did you shave your legs this morning?"

One year, one of my colleagues was female and she ran back to her hotel room after one hour of listening to this x-rated Bob Newhart. She said the next morning that she felt so dirty she had to take a long hot shower.

Larry probably would have liked to know that.

What a pig.

Here's to another 50, Larry. Minutes, that is.

Dinner last night: beef with broccoli.

Saturday Night at the Movies

Besides the weather, there is one thing that Los Angeles does infinitely better than New York. That's the preservation of classic movie theater palaces.

At one time, back in the 1940s and 1950s, New York was the place to be when you wanted to head out to the movies. In Manhattan, you could find over a dozen single screen theaters that sparkled in their grandeur. Beyond Radio City Music Hall, you had places like the Rivoli, the Criterion, and the Roxy. You weren't just going for a movie. You were destined for an experience like no other. I only got the very tailend of that era, but I can still sense how special it was to head downtown with one of those places on your agenda.

But, then again, even if you stayed "uptown," you had an assortment of cinematic cathedrals for your afternoon or evening's disposal. Mount Vernon, New York was no different. There was RKO Proctor's: a tri-level theater that smelled like a movie theater. There were always hot dogs spinning on that wheel at the candy counter. The right side of the orchestra was designated for smokers....like the smoke wouldn't blow over to you thanks to the "It's Kool Inside" air conditioning.

Two blocks away was Loew's Mount Vernon, which, for some reason, was always incorrectly pronounced as "low-ees." This was only two levels: orchestra and balcony. But, the lobby was huge and there was a huge staircase headed upstairs to this gigantic smoking lounge. I can still remember the display ads in the lobby with these "view-master" slides clicking through as they heralded the picture that would be coming next Wednesday.

I can't tell you how many Pom Poms I dropped on the floor in those places. I can still remember what pictures opened at which theater. Proctor's got all the Universal, 20th Century Fox, and Disney releases. Loew's got MGM, Paramount, and Columbia.

They're both gone now. Loew's was demolished to become this eyesore of a parking garage in what is now a pig sty of a city. The Proctor's building still stands, but it has been completely revamped for offices.

There are countless theaters just like that in the NYC area. No, correction, there WERE countless theaters just like that in the NYC area. That city has done nothing to maintain that rich heritage. Sure, Radio City Music Hall still stands in its opulence, but they stopped showing movies when Carter was president. All it is now is a concert hall and a place for senior citizens to go every Christmas to see pre-recorded taps by the Rockettes. They make a big deal of the Ziegfeld as being a movie palace. But, it was created in the 60s and tries to replicate the original theater that was torn down nearby. The Ziegfeld being an oldtime theater is like saying the current Yankee Stadium has anything in common with the old Yankee Stadium besides the dirt.

In Los Angeles, you can still find, see, and enjoy the rich history of a night at the movies. No stadium seating. No cup holders. Just a bag of popcorn in a, gulp, balcony. I will relate some tales about these gems in future posts.

Last Saturday night, I went to one such gold nugget: the Alex in Glendale. Sure, they have refurbished it. But, from the displays in the lobby, the theater hasn't changed that much since they hosted the premiere of Ben Hur in 1959. The theater doesn't show films all the time, but there is an organization, the Alex Film Society, that takes it over about five Saturdays a year. They give you a cartoon, coming attractions, and sometimes a newsreel. Then a classic film. Last week, it was "The Best Years of Our Lives." An amazing evening. As always.

If I closed my eyes, I could see and hear those hot dogs slowly spinning at Proctor's all over again.

Dinner last night: sandwich and salad

Low Definition TV

So this is the damn plasma TV I bought. It's a 42 inch Pioneer Elite and I got a great deal on it.

If you are one of the few lemmings who has yet to move to the world of HD television, let me give you some advice. Don't get rid of your 35 inch clunky big tubed television just yet. That's what I get for not reading Consumer Reports that closely. Sure, now I know what brand of tuna fish tastes the best. But, there are a bunch of little quirks about HD flat panel TVs that are worth mentioning in the spirit of "Don't Let Me Happen to You."

Don't get me wrong. If something is broadcast in HD, both the picture and the sound are phenomenal. Desperate Housewives looked terrific. 24 was explosive. The Fox baseball game of the week was amazing: you could almost smell the grass on the infield. But, Turner Classic Movies is lost to me. The main problem is that you have to keep adjusting the screen size to match what you are watching if the particular network is not HD. If you leave non-HD images in a wide screen mode, the resulting aspect ratio gives you an image equivalent to having Lasix surgery with a Ginsu knife. And, if it's an old movie on TCM that was shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio, the screen is surrounded with these two gray side bars that are very annoying. If you stretch out that image, Emeril starts looking like E-T: the Extra-Terrestrial.

Who knew? I'm just glad I kept the old Mitsubishi 35 inch for my bedroom. Now I have TV sets devoted to eras. Anything produced before, say, 1995 gets viewed in my bedroom. The living room is for the later years. Just what I wanted: an apartment sorted by Hollywood era. Of course, I add to the mayhem by having two different services in the house: Time Warner Cable in the living room and DirectTV in the bedrooms.

I am going to listen to the radio more.

But, last night, I did enjoy the HD rendition of American Idol. Thank God Sanjaya is gone. I don't think the warranty covers him. Bon Jovi was the guest mentor last night and he was heralded as one of the great bands of all time. Huh? Frankly, I have heard enough of the sputtering washing machine better known as Blake Lewis. Jordin Sparks had her first horrendous week. Rock is not in her comfort zone. And she made matters worse by apparently using Red Vines as hair extensions. They are mixing in the votes from last week's telethon to knock off two folks this week. I am thinking that Chris Richardson can now book that adenoid surgery for tomorrow morning. For the other, I am waffling between Lakisha and Phil. Actually, since George and Laura Bush made a taped appearance last night, I think they should have been added to the numbers offered for dial-up. Insert Jeff Foxworthy show joke here.

Dinner last night: chicken with spinach, Kalamata olives, and sundried tomatoes.

Who Am I?

I can only relay yesterday's conversation as it happened.

I am in the checkout line at Ralph's supermarket. I go through the process of concluding my transaction with the clerk. He hands me back my Ralph's Club card and my receipt. And he says...

"I enjoy your work on television."

Huh??

I responded with the first thing that came to my mind.

"Thank you very much."

I walk away dazed. As I made my way through the parking lot, I had just one thing on my mind.

Who the hell did he think I was???

I wish he would have said something like "I enjoy your work on television, Mr. Sutherland."

But, on the other hand, at least he didn't say "I enjoy your work on television, Mr. Nelson Reilly."

Dinner last night: Cheesecake Factory for Chicken with Garlic Noodles.