Neat Mother's Day Gift Ideas from Skymall

On my last crosscountry flight, I flipped through that great collection of junk otherwise known as the Skymall catalog. Let me share with you these great gift ideas for Mother's Day. My mom's gone, but there's no reason why you can't bestow on your own these nifty little items. And be prepared to be immediately tossed out of the will.

Take, for instance, the photo above. It's a tissue box/surveillance camera. To catch those dishonorable people who are lying about a sinus condition. It obviously has some everyday business applications. Hide it in the boardroom and watch in secret as your staff trashes the bejeezus out of you.

It's a bug vacuum. When a rolled newspaper and a tissue won't do the trick...

A kit that allows you to track the DNA and lineage of your dog. What difference does it make? Any way you slice it, little Fido's gonna have to deal with the inevitable. Mom was a bitch.

This is allegedly a head massager. Actually, it looks like those claws you'd find in an arcade machine. The ones where you try to grab a toy. Maybe she's trying to capture her own head. It could be a great party game. Astound your friends.

For the completely friendless. This innocent little box supplies you with your own personal applause or laugh track. Get the Barack Obama model which has a battery that lasts for four years.

A toilet training kit for little Frisky. You just might want to save on the carpet cleaning from the very get-go and drown the sucker in the bathtub.

Hey, don't wave for the police to stop you when you're weaving down the street and hitting every parked car on the block. Save time and worry. Find out your alcohol level ahead of time so that Officer O'Flaherty can quickly transport you to the jail cell of your choice.

For the woman who has everything. Or even better, for the woman who has absolutely nothing. Between the ears. A matching hat and sock puppet. From the Shari Lewis memorial fashion line.

Dinner last night: Smoked turkey and side salads.

Join My Facebook Group to Discuss How Stupid Facebook Groups Are

I'm constantly convulsed by the nonsense I read on this social network. Of course, you might ask me the obvious question.

"What the hell are you doing there?"

Well, not revealing pertinent details of my life, for one. Not posting photos that were better left in the camera. Not milking computer cows or feeding pixelated chickens. Not pronouncing my most intimate likes and dislikes.

And most certainly not joining a group devoted to some cause of the day. I alternate between amusement and embarrassment at some friends of mine (real ones, not just acquaintances on Facebook) who feel the need to vindicate their opinion for all to see. Lately, there is a new "petition" up there every single day. And a sucker signing on to them every minute.

Here are just a few of the groups I have spotted of late. And keep in mind that I found them because somebody I know and used to respect just jumped on its bandwagon.

Dogs Without Borders: What the hell is this in the first place? Do we really care if a dog doesn't have access to a bookstore?

Bring Justice to Victims of Abuse - Arrest the Pope: I have noted that most of the names attached to this petition are either Jewish or Irish. As if the Pope really cares? But, then again, what are the odds that the Vatican has its own Facebook page? If I were this Benedict, I'd ramp up my McAfee spam controls ASAP.

We Support a Ban Against Golf Umbrellas in Crowded Cities: Huh? No, really, I mean, huh? There are three of my contacts in this group. I'd call them to find out what this is all about, but I've already burned their phone numbers.

I'm A Sexy Jew: I know several of the folks in this group. Obviously, there are very lax requirements on being a member, but none of these are. Sexy, that is.

Petition to Remove Facebook Group Praying for President Obama's Death: This even crossed a line for me. But, my burning question is whether there really is a Facebook Group Praying for President Obama's Death. I decided to search for it. I never found it. So, I'm now thinking that this is just another liberal salvo tossed at the other side of the aisle. Totally fabricated bullshit.

I Bet We Can Find 1,000,000 People Who Support Same Sex Marriage: Frankly, I think this group is aiming low. Why not 2 million? Why not 20 million? As long as you don't count on the state of Utah, I think the possibilities are endless.

Boobs Make Great Pillows: All of my "friends" in this group are male under the age of 30. When it's still fun to lay across somebody's breasts. Later on, you want to get off them. Mainly, because they tell you "get off them."

Get 1,000,000 People to Sign Against the Arizona Immigration Bill: Those of you that I know in this group, please take note. Your Len friendship severence checks are in the mail. I have one last word for you. Adios.

Get 1,000,000 People To Sign in Favor of the Arizona Immigration Bill: I have some ex-friends that you shouldn't count on for virtual signatures.

I Hate Cancer: This group begs a follow-up question. Who doesn't? I have never seen a more pointless group in my life. Makes me want to start my own Facebook club. I Love Breathing.

Facebook, Respect My Privacy: Okay, cue the cuckoo clock. How totally moronic is this? You're worried about Facebook putting too much of your personal information out there? But, at the same time, you've posted last summer's photo of you at the beach and, frankly, you need to lose some of that gut. I haven't seen an overhang like that since the old Tiger Stadium was open.

Dinner last night: Teriyaki turkey burger at Islands.

I Slow Down For Wednesdays

And I might not slow down for people darting in front of my car.

---This is a highway sign you see in border states like Arizona and California. Trust me when I tell you that it's not a warning that you're in proximity to a family on a TV game show.

---It's funny that they depict a family of three scooting over the border. Usually, it's more than that.

---A lot more than that.

---A lot, lot more than that.

---Three brothers, two sisters.

---One of the girls is eight months pregnant.

---Two dogs, one of which has fleas.

---A lazy uncle who has an arrest record.

---Grandma in a wheelchair and frequently incontinent.

---Welcome to America, one and all!

---My tax dollars are at your complete disposal.

---I love the morons (several of them friends of mine) who so vehemently oppose Arizona's proposed Senate Bill 1070. But, ask any one of them what's in it.

---Ummmm...

---Er..........

---Well, ummmm, er............

---Yeah, I know. You haven't read it.

---It's easy to track down and digest. And you'll realize it's simply a reiteration of the laws the Federal Government stopped enforcing years ago.

---Goofy liberal hand wringers (several of them friends of mine) worry that human rights are being infringed upon.

---Have you seen the pictures of the violence caused at border towns by drug runners slipping into this country?

---Ummmm...

---Er.........

---Well, ummmm, er............

---Yeah, I know. You haven't seen them.

---Meanwhile, you have places like West Hollywood announcing that they will be boycotting Arizona.

---Which means that it really sucks to be a gay Diamondbacks fan living on Kings Road right now.

---If you're an illegal immigrant in Mexico, do you think you get the same red carpet treatment?

---Yeah, the red on the carpet is your blood. Because the authorities down there are probably like the banditos in "Treasure of Sierra Madre."

---"Badges? We got da stinkin' badges."

---Look the wrong way in Mexico and your teeth are invited to a mixer hosted by the butt head of a rifle.

---Our country is continually slapped in the face by foreign countries and we inexplicably keep showing them where they can find our other cheek.

---Take, for instance, the seven-year-old Japanese rock guitarist who played the National Anthem at Dodger Stadium last Sunday.

---Cute and adorable throughout, the kid played the anthem to the point where it sounded like the starting line of the Indy 500. A complete and utter mess.

---The dummies in the crowd cheered. Really???

---At the same time, if a seven year-old American rock guitarist went overseas and destroyed another country's anthem, he would probably not live long enough to be eight.

---So, just how much fertilizer does it take to blow up a standard SUV?

---The numbskull tourists walking around Times Square saw the smoke coming out of the van and probably thought it was an ad.

---"Hey, look, Myrtle. Smoke coming out of that truck. Cool. Just like it used to come out of that Camel cigarette sign."

---If you blow up fertilizer, does it smell? Another treat for the Times Square tourist.

---"Hey, Myrtle, take a whiff. Just like home."

---When I heard that there was a bomb on Broadway, I just asumed that they had revived "Young Frankenstein."

---The terrorist was from Pakistan. Living in Connecticut.

---Stiffer border controls with Rhode Island might have prevented that.

---Of course, we first had NY Mayor Bloomberg suggesting that the culprit was probably somebody upset about health care reform.

---Or maybe the dude is just pissed that New York elected another jackass for a mayor.

---Everytime I hear and see that chucklehead Janet Napolitano, she reminds me of a teacher who can't even keep the sophomores from attending the freshman school dance.

---The bomb guy was put on a "no fly" list Monday morning and got on a flight at JFK Monday night.

---Well, that's obviously working well.

---Meanwhile, Grandma from Oklahoma was being detained for trying to board with too large a can of hair spray.

---Columbia Pictures presents the Three Stooges in "Homeland Security."

---NYPD, of course, sprang into immediate action.

---The President had a statement the very next morning.

---Which is actually pretty fast for him. He took eight days to inspect the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

---Maybe he was walking there?

---It seems like the only way to get Obummer's immediate attention is to have a Black Harvard professor involved.

---But, then again, stiffer border laws in Massachusetts might have prevented this.

Way too much news this week. Now I've got a headache.

Dinner last night: New Orleans Shrimp at the Cheesecake Factory.

Moron of the Month - April 2010

I know, I know. I'm late. I wrote this piece and then forgot about it. Oh, well. Indeed, the month was just clogged with lots of candidates for the Len Speaks monthly award for excessive stupidity. But we're here now and ready to bestow the April 2010 honor to...

New York Daily News baseball columnist Bill Madden. It's the only photo I could find of this numbskull and, admittedly, it's a little small. But, I suppose the little snapshot matches the size of his talent. Small. Miniscule. Bordering on non-existent.

This old fart has been hanging around baseball stadiums for years. Listening for the latest gossip and then printing the exact opposite. Revered in baseball circles, this jerk is even being inducted into the journalism wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame this summer. This could only signify to me that they are running out of candidates and that I might actually be next in line.

I never realized how out-of-touch this dumbbell is until I moved three thousand miles away from New York. Admittedly, while I was growing up on the East Coast, I just assumed that everything Madden wrote was the gospel truth. I read him all the time. The guy must be on target, right?

Wrong.

Since I have lived in another baseball market and another team's backyard, I now see tons of mis-information when I read Dopey Bill's columns on-line. Basic facts that are totally ignored. Hypotheses that are completely unsubstantiated. In short, pure garbage. And, for this mess, he gets a Hall of Fame plaque? I'd argue he doesn't even deserve a driver's license.

Over this past winter, the tumor that is Bill Madden got a lot bigger. With the impending Dodger ownership divorce, Madden went to town talking and writing about how much the organization was going to fall apart. He had heard this. He had heard that. Most of it was heresay. All of it was incessant babbling.

When he wrote that the Dodgers money woes forced them not to re-sign potential free agent third baseman Casey Blake, I had sipped on the last straw.

You see, the Dodgers had re-signed Blake to a three year contract the winter before. Casey Blake was going nowhere. But, if you read Bill Madden on a daily basis, Blake was a free agent that the Dodgers could no longer afford to have. His pronouncements took on the tone of a mental patient who had missed the afternoon's medication wagon.

If nobody else at the Daily News was going to rein this asshole in, I would.

Now, mind you, I have communicated with some sports writers in the past. In this day of e-mail directories and accountability, most people in the media are easily accessible. Here in Los Angeles, I have had past dialogues with the likes of Tony Jackson of ESPN.COM, Bill Plaschke and TJ Simers of the Los Angeles Times, and Mark Langill who is the official historian of the Los Angeles Dodgers. Back in NY, the New York Post's Phil Mushnick and I have conversed in writing several times. The bottom line is that these guys are all easy to get a hold of.

Try to find Bill Madden. I dare you. No, really, try. There is no e-mail contact for him. There is no office phone number for him. And, surprisingly, he has no direct address with the NY Daily News. It's easier to find Waldo. Meanwhile, I had absolutely no way to tell him that he didn't know jack shit about Casey Blake.

Last Sunday, Madden devoted a lot of his column to manager Joe Torre. He hates Los Angeles. He isn't speaking to the owner. The players no longer listen to him. I read the papers here and see none of the same. And I keep wondering why anybody bothers to even read this jerk's vomit day after day.

And then I wonder even more. Why am I bothering to read this jerk's vomit day after day? Just who should be the Moron of the Month for April 2010? I think it should be Bill Madden. One could argue that it really could be me.

Dinner last night: Turkey smoked sausage, potato salad, and pickled beets.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 3, 2010

If you're compiling a "what the fuck was that?" category, put this on it.

Dinner last night: Lasagna.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Met Love Affair Continues

The photo above is an original taken just last year when I was back East. I still have this badge. One of those "changing images" things. If you look at it one way, it's the Met logo. If you look at it another way, it morphs into a combination of Casey Stengel and Jesus Christ. What's remarkable about this little device?

It was the first Met souvenir I ever purchased. On my very first trip to rainy Shea Stadium which we discussed last Sunday. I was allowed a scorecard and one item with a price tag of up to three dollars. This little badge was probably no more than 75 cents. Obviously, I have it to this day. Although, truth be told, I am wearing it a lot less now than I did back in that momentous summer.

I spent the rest of the money that infamous night on a Met Yearbook which cost about 50 cents back then. (The 2010 edition is $12.00). I devoured its contents the rest of the summer. Curling up against the kitchen fan, I committed to memory the career won-loss record of Galen Cisco and the career stolen bases of Joe Christopher. Sad to say, however, there is no recent photo of that particular Met Yearbook. During an extended losing streak the very next season, I ripped it to shreds. Today, it is now worth over 200 bucks on eBay.

Such was the emotional ebb and flow of a new baseball fan.

The only problem with my new love affair is that I was virtually alone in my passion. Oh, sure, my dad had his ticket punched for the Met bandwagon. But, around my little world, few others had. Like the fact that I was the lone Protestant in a neighborhood full of Catholics, I was the solitary Met fan on a block crammed with Yankee fans. And, because of my fandom, I was treated like a pariah.

"The Mets are a bunch of faggots."

Er, okay, same to you.

"They suck the big one."

Er, okay, same to you.

"They fuckin' blow."

Thank you for your opinion. I almost always had to slink away. Except for my always amenable childhood buddy, Leo, my Mets and I were about as welcome as a skunk at a picnic. Leo was a Yankee fan as well, but certainly much more tolerant than the rest of the angry mob of moppets. I might as well been living in the days of the Old Testament so that I could be easily stoned in the village square.

So, I had to love the Mets in secret. Quietly. By myself. In the sanctity of my own living room. Or so I thought.

Enter my uncle.

My father's older brother used to blow through our house on his way to and from work. He, too, was a baseball fan and had himself gravitated to the Mets side of the New York fan ledger. On the surface, he would have appeared to be a great conversation for me. Chatting up the Mets.

Er, no. My uncle would be my very first experience with a typical New York baseball fan. The guy that regularly calls WFAN today as "Vinnie from Bayonne." The fan that looks at the sports life as a half-full glass and sees it as almost empty. And with a crack in the side. And dirty water inside. I couldn't win.

"What's wrong with those Mets of yours???"

Er, are they really mine? I don't officially own them.

"They stand at the plate and don't take the bats off their shoulders."

Um, I'm also not the team's batting coach. Just to be clear.

"I could catch a ball better with my eyes closed."

Okay, let's try that. Next time I see you taking a nap on the sofa, maybe I'll throw a ball at you.

I had no place to turn. I was Romeo lost in the House of Capulet. The only people I could talk to about the Mets were their announcers Ralph Kiner, Bob Murphy, and Lindsey Nelson. Except they never talked back.

My dad and I did get to another Met game that first season. This time, the Rambler box seats behind the visitors dugout were not available. My father had to make due on his own by walking up to the box office. We were right behind home plate.

In the upper deck.

As we headed up the escalator, my father looked down at the ground floor which was quickly disappearing from view.

"Your nose is going to bleed."

Thanks, Dad. Let's think happy thoughts.

This was one of those famous twi-night doubleheaders that had been forced by a rainout earlier in the season. I was in my glory. With my scorecard and wearing my Shea Stadium Mets badge. And seeing two games in one night! Double the hot dogs, double the fun.

"Is your nose bleeding yet?"

Er, no. That's the ketchup on my French Fries. Frankly, I didn't care how high our seats were. I could see perfectly fine. There were over 45,000 other fans there, but I was the most important one. I was THE Met fan.

My beloved team got shut out in the first contest, but scored four runs in the bottom of the eighth to win the second game 6-5.

My first ever Met win in person. The opponent that night?

Ironically, the Los Angeles Dodgers. As a matter of fact, the winning pitcher in the complete game shutout was none other than Don Drysdale.

The Mets lost 109 games that year. I didn't care. I was now a full fledged baseball fan subscribing to the tried and true adage.

I couldn't wait till next year.

Dinner last night: Burger at Boho.

Barack Bingo

Here's a little fun game for you the next time POTUS hits the teleprompter and gives a televised speech. Fill in each of the grids if one of these phrases is uttered. As soon as you have five down or across, you yell "bullshit."

There's a guaranteed winner with every speech.

Dinner last night: The Friday night pre-game usual---Ham French Dip at Phillippe's.