Monday Morning Video Laugh - February 7, 2022

I'm digging the Oliver the Beagle video channel, partly because he reminds me of the dog I had when I was a kid.   Enjoy and woof.

 

Dinner last night: Chicken in vinegar sauce.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Year I Celebrated My Birthday with Rosemary Clooney

My birthday is this Friday and regardless of how I celebrate, it will never top a birthday I enjoyed about 25 or so years ago.   And it involves none other than the lady in the photo above.

Rosemary Clooney is one of the things I inherited from my parents, other than the maddening mix of personality flaws (stoicism from Dad, impulsiveness from Mom) I got from both. Her music was always playing in our house on those monaural long playing records that were stacked up five-at-a-time on the "Hi Fi." Vikki Carr, for some bizarre reason, was always being piped in throughout the house, and this made no sense to me, as half of her songs were always in Spanish. But, I digress...

I developed an affinity for Rosemary Clooney at an early age, and I continued it as her musical stylings changed over time. Indeed, when she got to that small cabaret stage in the early 90s, this was a fastball over the plate for me. I ate it up. So, you can imagine my absolute glee when I heard that she would be appearing at the old Rainbow and Stars supper club on top of Rockefeller Center on a Saturday evening in February about two plus decades ago. And it was my birthday! Touchdown. Score the goal. Touch 'em all. I would be there.

I made a pact with God not to louse up this amazing quirk of timing. The only thing that could stop me would be one of those crippling blizzards that renders New York City as useful as power brakes on a turtle. I enlisted two cohorts to share in my glory. And then I called for three reservations to the show. And here comes what might have been a fatal mistake.

Supper Club: "Will you be dining with us or just coming for the show?"

Me: (knowing fully well how pricey their menu was) "No, just the show, please."

An oops moment. Except I did not know it at the time.

When the evening arrived, it was cold and blustery. But nary a winter cloud in the sky. The only flakes were the usual tourists that hover around like Rock Center like ants on picnic blanket crumbs. We ate dinner, but at a venue certainly a little more downscale than the 75 buck burgers the supper club was hawking.

An hour before the 11PM show, we made our way up the elevator to that wonderful room that overlooks the entire city. I walked up to the hostess and announced our arrival.

There was no reservation in my name.

WTF!

I stressed there must be some mistake. I recited the day, date, and appropriate time that I called.

Still nothing. Sorry.

And, of course, the show is sold out, so there was no chance of getting another table.

WTF!!

I asked to speak to the manager. He was not available. But we were more than welcome to have a cocktail in the bar and enjoy the view.

Happy birthday to me. And a glorious Fuck You from the Rainbow Room.

My friends did their best over drinks to make me feel better. It didn't work. As I sat there staring at the Empire State Building with that red heart of lights all ready for Valentine's Day, I got more and more agitated. And then I kicked into what I call Murphy Brown mode. Or something akin to that scene in "Terms of Endearment" when Shirley McLaine screams at the nurses' station to get her daughter more medication.

I got ugly.

Leaving my friends with their adult beverages, I went Rainbow Room manager hunting. And I didn't care who I asked. Or interrupted. I finally tracked the guy down in the main part of the Rainbow Room, where he was coordinating somebody's wedding reception.

Yeah, I didn't care.

At first blush, he tried to blow me off. But, then I explained it was my birthday that was now ruined. Of course, I added, other people in the same situation may use that "faux birthday" excuse. I assured him my birthday story was true. I whipped out my driver's license and shoved the date in his face. There was a small glimmer of hope in his face. He told me to go back to the bar and that he would send somebody for us just before the show was scheduled to start.

And he was good to his word. Just before 11PM, the same snarly hostess, who was now off my Christmas card list, came to get us. She explained that the reason for the mix-up was due to a late reservation request from.....Harry Crosby. Okay, if I'm going to get upended by a Crosby kid, make it Mary Crosby. At least, she's the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question. Nevertheless, they were creating an extra table for us. The only caveat was that we couldn't enter the show until the very last minute and we had to do so from a side door. Perhaps, there was surveillance set up by the Fire Department? Who knows?

Anyway, the skank ushered us to said side door. Which was not really a side door. It was actually the wings to the stage.

And we were standing there alongside Rosemary Clooney!

It took me about five seconds to realize that this was the ultimate birthday present. I thought really fast about what to say to her. I know not to say "break a leg." Besides, I know she already had several years before.

Me: "Have a great show."

Rosemary: "I'm a little nervous."

Me: "Don't be. All friends in there."

And Harry Crosby is in my original seats.

Rosemary: (patting my arm) "You're sweet."

And off she went for an hour of musical nirvana.

Oddly enough, after the show, we ran into her again near the coat check. She was apparently using the area to mingle with her friends. I was standing about three feet away from her as she gabbed with Skitch Henderson. Another friend came over to take their picture. I realized I was positioned right in the center of the intended photo. They smiled. So did I. Flash.

I've always wondered if anybody questioned who the hell was this schmuck standing between Rosemary Clooney and Skitch Henderson.

Hey, I'm the one who was celebrating my birthday that night.

When Rosie died in 2002, I posted this story to a memorial website that her family had set up for fans. About three months later, I received a handwritten note from her brother, Nick Clooney (father of George). He mentioned that the family was touched by my story and they wanted to invite me to the Hollywood memorial concert being held later that year. Unfortunately, I couldn't be there. And I didn't need to be.

I still had my story. And I was sticking to it.

It really was my birthday!

Dinner last night:  Tangerine beef at Chin Chin.

Classic TV Commercial of the Month - February 2022

 Remember Eastern Airlines?   The snow birds do.

Dinner last night:  Taylor ham, egg, and cheese sandwich.

Ground Mug Shot Day - February 2022

With the way liberal DAs are emptying the jails these days, these clowns will barely see six more minutes of prison.

A bar fight, right?

Hope he killed his barber.

Hope he killed his dentist.

Shoplifted some Porcelana.

Oh, sure, you're laughing now.  But wait till you see where that broomstick goes.

It's not a head shot photo session, Stupid.

Arrested smack in the middle of Black History Month.

Arrested for failing to actually love somebody "long time."

"I swear!  I thought the gun only had four bullets left."

Even after being jailed, she just can't unclench those fists.

Dinner last night:  Leftover lasagna.

The Slow, Sad Decline of Woody Allen

I used to say that a mediocre Woody Allen movie was better than most of the other stuff you would find at the theaters.  But I don't know how to position any upside to a really bad Woody Allen movie.   And "Rifkin's Festival" is really bad.

This is Allen's 49th feature and, for the most part, he has entertained us with a new film once a year.   Some are phenomenal.   Others are fair.   And a few are...see above...mediocre.   Nevertheless, he kept up that annual schedule even when he was the headline scandal of a few years.   You could always find at least one admirable thing in his films.

Until "Rifkin's Festival."  With this one, you can see second-hand the director aging.   I mean, he's in his mid 80s.   But the creative verve is clearly what is slowing down.   Hollywood has noticed this for years.   This movie, like several other recent ones, could not get funded in the US.  Had it not been for European finances, we would have seen the last of Woody Allen perhaps a decade earlier.

Maybe that would have been a good thing.  "Rifkin's Festival" is pointless and weak on so many levels.  The first and most prevalent issue is with the lead who is essentially playing Woody Allen.   The star is Wallace Shawn and his acting is usually only tolerated in the smallest of doses.  Well, in this one, Shawn plays a nebbish film historian attending a Cannes-like film festival with his press agent wife played by Gina Gershon.   Please note that there's at least twenty years difference in age between those two and it makes their pairing inexplicable.

Gershon is having an affair with a young hot shot French director.   Shawn...well, Rifkin...senses this and then conjures up everything from chest pains to ringing of the ears so that he can visit a cute local doctor who herself is in a bad marriage.   

The four of them meander around these mis-matches for about 90 minutes.   The action is interrupted several times by Rifkin's dreams where he puts his problems in the context of classic movies like "Citizen Kane," "Breathless," and Ingmar Bergman's "The Seventh Seal' with a cameo from Christoph Waltz as Death!

If you think this all sounds incredibly dreary, you win the kewpie doll at the county fair.  There is an innate sadness realizing that we are the end of Woody Allen's career.  But, I guess the good news is that we got to enjoy his career for much longer than we deserved.

LEN'S RATING:  One star.

Dinner last night:  Pork tenderloin sandwich.

This Date in History - February 2

 

Yep, it's Howard Johnson's birthday.  But not Howard Johnson the Met.  Howard Johnson the restaurant and hotel guy.  But, you find a picture of him.  It's impossible. 

506:  ALARIC II, EIGHTH KING OF THE VISIGOTHS, PROMULGATES THE BREVIARY OF ALARIC.

I don't know what "promulgate" means, but it definitely sounds like it hurts.

1032:  CONRAD II, HOLY EMPEROR, BECOMES KING OF BURGUNDY.

And the crowd chanted, "we love you, Conrad, oh, yes, we do, we don't love anyone as much as you, when you're not near us, boo hoo, oh, Conrad, we love you."

1536:  SPANIARD PEDRO DE MENDOZA FOUNDS BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA.

Which might make the Equator the real "Mendoza Line."

1542:  THE PORTUGUESE, UNDER CHRISTOVAO DA GAMA, CAPTURE A MOSLEM-OCCUPIED HILL FORT IN NORTHERN ETHIOPIA.

Nobody wanted that damn mosque even then.

1653:  NEW AMSTERDAM (LATER RENAMED THE CITY OF NEW YORK) IS INCORPORATED.

Good thing they changed the name.  The song would not have worked.  "Come through, New Amsterdam, New Amsterdam."  Liza would have never managed that especially with her ill-fitting dentures.

1790:  THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES CONVENES FOR THE FIRST TIME.

And it remains one of the biggest jokes of our Federal Government.

1812:  RUSSIA ESTABLISHES A FUR TRADING COLONY AT FORT ROSS, CALIFORNIA.

And one Russian was quoted as saying, "that's no fur, that's my wife."

1848:  DURING THE CALIFORNIA GOLD RUSH, THE FIRST SHIP WITH CHINESE IMMIGRANTS ARRIVES IN SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.

And we know it sure as shit wasn't the last.  Days later, San Francisco also was the spot for the very first fender bender in American history.

1876:  THE NATIONAL LEAGUE OF MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL IS FORMED.

It still needed work.  It only had one team who kept playing with themselves over and over.

1878:  GREECE DECLARES WAR ON TURKEY.

Ensuring there would never ever be a Thanksgiving Day in Greece.

1882:  THE KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS ARE FORMED IN NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.

And now husbands finally had a good excuse to explain to their wives where they are on Wednesday nights.

1887:  IN PUNXSUTAWNEY, PENNSYLVANIA, THE FIRST GROUNDHOG DAY IS OBSERVED.

Giving us six more centuries of nonsense.

1897:  HOTELIER HOWARD JOHNSON IS BORN.

Years before his cameo appearance in "Blazing Saddles."

1913:  GRAND CENTRAL STATION IS OPENED IN NEW YORK CITY.

And just like the trains inside, it was probably scheduled to open on February 1.

1915:  ISRAELI DIPLOMAT ABBA EBAN IS BORN.

I bet you thought this would be a "Mamma Mia" joke.  Laugh's on you.  I don't have one.

1922:  ULYSSES BY JAMES JOYCE IS PUBLISHED.

Two points off if you think this book is about the US General.

1935:  LEONARDE KEELER TESTS THE FIRST POLYGRAPH MACHINE.

A date cursed by OJ Simpson years later.

1940:  FRANK SINATRA DEBUTS WITH THE TOMMY DORSEY ORCHESTRA.

Love the orchestra, always hated him.  I'm just sayin'.

1946:  THE HUNGARIAN REPUBLIC IS PROCLAIMED.

Goulash available at popular prices.

1947:  ACTRESS FARRAH FAWCETT IS BORN. 

And now she's dead already.  Creepy.

1967:  THE AMERICAN BASKETBALL ASSOCIATION IS FORMED.

And now three fans had something to root for.

1969:  ACTOR BORIS KARLOFF DIES.

For real this time.  Not like in the five dozen movies where he was electrocuted, burned, stabbed through the heart, or drowned.

1971:  IDI AMIN REPLACES PRESIDENT MILTON OBOTE AS LEADER OF UGANDA.

Officially the ugliest international leader ever.

1979:  ROCKER SID VICIOUS DIES.

Like Barney Fife, the Sex Pistols are missing a bullet.

1992:  HOST BERT PARKS DIES.

And there he goes...

1996:  ACTOR/DANCER GENE KELLY DIES.

Actually, the word "genius" also applies.  "An American in Heaven."

1990:  F.W. DE KLERK ALLOWS THE AFRICAN NATIONAL CONGRESS TO FUNCTION LEGALLY AND PROMISES TO RELEASE NELSON MANDELA.

He's dead now, so the release is final.

2005:  BOXER MAX SCHMELING DIES.

And, now, Schmeling really is down.

2013:  ACTOR JOHN KERR DIES.

Sending his family tea and sympathy.

2014:  ACTOR PHILLIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN DIES.

Should have just said no.

2016:  COMIC BOB ELLIOTT DIES.

For those paying attention, his partner Ray had died 26 years prior.

Dinner last night:  Prosciutto pizza at Jon and Vinny's.

The Make-Up Counter at Costco

 

The title of today's movie review is really the only place the producers of "The Eyes of Tammy Faye" could find enough make-up to accurately display the lead character.   Indeed, there are moments in this film where Tammy Faye, as played by Jessica Chastain, looks actually clown-like.   Or a Marc Chagall painting.   Or an explosion at Earl Scheib's.

As a matter of fact, after I streamed this new release, I went to YouTube and pulled down some video of the real Tammy Faye.   She wasn't made up half as much as the movie version was.  I wonder about the choices the director Michael Showalter made in this regard.  Was he trying to make her even more ghoulish?  Was he trying to make her comedic?   Who knows?

That said, this film is predictable and interesting all at the same time.   You get what you expect.  Or remember from those days in the 70s and 80s when evangelists Jim Bakker and his wife ruled the TV airwaves.  In a linear fashion, this movie takes you from their first meeting to their stardom to their inevitable breakup when he starts fooling around with both women and men.   And, oh yeah, these two embezzled a whole bunch of money in the name of God.

Chastain has an interesting approach to her portrayal as she works overtime to make Tammy Faye likeable.  As a result, Andrew Garfield as the hubby becomes more of a villain in the eyes of the audience.  Truth be told, they were both pretty damn screwed up.  Again, there are no real surprises here, but it's kind of an eerie fun watching these two crooks implode on a big screen.

I am curious to see how the Academy will view the heavy-handed make-up in this movie.   Is it Oscar worthy or not?   Or is it excessive?  Regardless, Bozo the Clown probably saw this film in shades of envy.  Certainly, this is not a movie that would have worked in black and white.

LEN'S RATING:  Three stars.

Dinner last night:  Leftover pork tenderloin.