Gee, Who Didn't Do A Christmas Record Album?

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - December 17, 2018

I could watch this over and over and over every Christmas.

Dinner last night:  A great holiday dinner of chicken and vegetables at the home of my friends, the Foresters.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Dad Goes Christmas

It is a symbol of the holidays for me.   The early December arrival of the catalog from Harry and David.

That's not to say that I wait for it to come.   As a matter of fact, I can pretty much attest to the fact that I have never ever purchased anything from them.  

But my father did.   And, as a result, these folks have continued to bird dog my life from east coast to west coast.  I'm staring at the 2018 catalog and the memories cascade from the pages that are adorned by gift baskets of all sorts of goodies.

And I think about the holiday and my father.

There was a short time towards the end of his life where my father, inexplicably and almost maniacally, got into holiday gift giving.  And, for some reason, he was getting these catalogs from the aforementioned Harry and David as well as another from Figis.

Now, the likes of Harry and David and Figis specialize in oddball gifts.  Baskets of other fruits too numerous to mention.  Salami.  Ham.   Chocolate.  Nuts.  Sour balls.  You name it.  The gift that just screams "the hell with your cholesterol, happy holidays!"  I can't imagine ever sending anybody a present of a perishable food that might not last until New Year's Day.

My father, however, did.  And, for those final years, he was a Christmas gift-giving machine.  He would sit in his recliner, mainly because the prostate cancer had migrated to the bone in his leg.  But that didn't stop him from going on a shopping trip.  Flipping through these catalogs and remembering all the folks he suddenly felt a need to buy presents for.

The mailman.

The superintendent of his apartment building.

His bartender.  Even though he was no longer visiting his local tavern, Dad couldn't forget all those beers that got poured a decade ago.

His bookie.  I kid you not.

I know the list of recipients because I was the one doing the ordering.  On a Saturday afternoon early in December, I'd go over to do the honors of translating Dad's order to Harry or David or Figis.  You see, I had the credit card.  My father did not.

"I don't need one.  And I don't want these people stealing from me."

But it's okay for me to give my credit card number to some faceless person on the other end of the phone. 

"You're young."

Oh.

So the annual process would begin.  My father had all his items, complete with the correct catalog number, on a piece of paper.  He would read them off and I would translate them to the sausage maker or fruit picker on the phone.

And my father would adopt annual gift themes, which meant he pretty much bought the same thing for everybody.  One year, all his friends were inundated with German summer sausages.   Because nothing says "Merry Christmas" more than a big hunk of processed meat. Another year, my father ordered nothing but cans of cashew nuts. Thank God nobody on his list suffered from diverticulitis.

I never quite understood what was behind this sudden frenzy of generosity from my father.   Maybe he knew the days were winding down.  Perhaps it was his way to try and recapture some holiday excitement of years past.  My dad never really displayed much emotion about anything.  And Christmas was, well, usually just some way for consumers to get conned and waste their money.  But, in those catalog years, my father came back to Yuletide life.  Starting in October, he would keep reminding me almost daily.

"And remember...the first Saturday of December.  You have to keep it open so I can do my shopping."

It gave him pleasure.  Who was I to quibble?

Of course, in reciprocal, my annual Christmas present to my father became harder and harder with each passing year.  I certainly wasn't going to give him a box of apples or a year's supply of pepperoni.  As he endured his illness, he rarely left his home.  There was little he needed.  There was even less that he wanted.  And, frankly, I was running out of ideas.

And then there was his last Christmas.

The pain in his leg was so bad early in December that I had to have him hospitalized.  Although my father never shared the details of his doctor visits, the chemotherapy was obviously not working.  There was no "Catalog Saturday" that year.  Meanwhile, neither of us knew it at the time but Dad had also left his home for the very last time.

My father would always tell me that he had his doctor consultations under control. 

"When you need to know something, he'll call you."

Yeah, right.  He never did.  So, because I had a sense that this was all going downhill very quickly, I sought the doctor myself.  Naturally, he never called me back.   But, a social worker did on his behalf.

"Your father needs to be moved to a hospice."

Huh?

"Didn't the doctor tell you?  Your dad has only three months to live."

Er, no.

I was at work and looked at the calendar on my desk.  It was December 22.

Had the doctor shared this all with Dad?  I never really knew.  But, as I absorbed all this news, I thought about the inevitable.  The future.  And the present.

This would be my father's last Christmas.

And I still hadn't bought him a present. 

Why should I do?  I had never gone a single Christmas without giving my father something for the holiday.  But what this year?  A gift that will just keep on giving?  For three months, tops?

As conflicted as I was about the actual gift, I became more resolute than ever.  I would give my dad a Christmas present.  To do anything else would be an admission to me...and maybe him...that this holiday would be different than any other. 

Ultimately, the answer came to me in a divine fashion.  From God.  Or perhaps thanks to my sheer clumsiness. 

As I was rounding up some personal items that he would need in the hospital, I quickly grabbed some toiletries out of his bathroom.  In my haste, I dropped his electric shaver onto the tile floor.

It shattered in pieces.

Ooops.  And thank you.

When I gave him a new shaver in the hospital as we celebrated Christmas in Mount Vernon Hospital, he asked me what happened to the old one.  I told him that I dropped it.

"You're always clumsy."

Yes, I am.   Right to the end. 

"I didn't get a chance to give you anything." 

Dad pulled out his wallet.  He had a one hundred dollar bill buried in its recesses.  It might have been there since Dwight Eisenhower was President.

"Go buy yourself something."

I told my father the same thing he told me every year.  I didn't need anything.

Dad had a stack of magazines on his hospital tray table.   He pulled one out from the bottom.

"Here.  Look in this.  They got some nice chocolate covered almonds."

It was the Harry and David catalog.

Dinner last night:  Grilled bratwurst and macaroni salad.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - December 2018

Not a show opening but a rare closing.   The Honeymooners curtain call from Christmas 1955.  Rare for a TV show to break the fourth wall.

Dinner last night:  Rigatoni at Osteria La Buca.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for December 2018

My broken record continues.  How many times have I started one of these movie guides with an advertisement from the halcyon days of Radio City Music Hall, renowned for its Christmas movie and stage show?  Well, the one above is noteworthy because "The Sunshine Boys" was the last Yuletide program that I saw at that movie palace on the corner of 50th Street and Sixth Avenue in New York.  The theater stopped showing movies a few years later.   Of course, they are still employing the Rockettes every December but it's not the same.

The holiday season is one where you want to celebrate by catching a movie or two.   Indeed, it's when Hollywood tends to release its Oscar hopefuls.   Or maybe not.  You know the drill, gang.  I'll sift through the entertainment pages of the LA Times and give you my gut reaction to what is populating our screens this Christmas.

In the immortal words of Walter Matthau in "The Sunshine Boys,"  enter!!!!

A Star Is Born:  The Oscar buzz for this piece of garbage blows my mind.

Boy Erased:  Reviewed here recently.  This story is quite harrowing.

Bohemian Rhapsody:  There are five people in the universe who skipped this and I'm one of them.

Green Book:  Reviewed here the other day.  My Best Picture of the Year.

Can You Ever Forgive Me?:  Blog review coming.   I am still shocked that I enjoyed a Melissa McCarthy performance.

Roma:   Being talked up for major Oscars.   Meanwhile, it starts on Netflix today so watch it there instead of for 15 bucks.

The Favourite:   I normally would avoid these costume dramas but Emma Stone is in it and well, you know...

Ben Is Back:   Yet another Lucas Hedges conflicted teen movie.   This time Emma Roberts is the mom and that thought should age all of us.

Mary Queen of Scots:  The name alone sounds like a book report.

At Eternity's Gate:All about Vincent Van Gogh.   Yeah, I know.   I'm not seeing it either.

Mowgli - Legend of the Jungle:   Here's another one in theaters and on Netflix at the same time.

Ralph Breaks the Internet:   And, boy, is Al Gore pissed.

The Wife:  Lingering around because star Glenn Close has Oscar buzz.

Creed II:   The sequel to a horrible movie that totally ripped off the old Rocky franchise.

A Private War:  A middle-aged couple wants to have a kid.  Yawn!

Fantastic Beasts - The Crimes of Grindelwald:   The title alone bores me.  Sorry, Harry Potter fans.

Robin Hood;  Died at the box office and Errol Flynn is vindicated.

Vox Lux:  Natalie Portman in a tale about the ups and downs of a young pop star.   Mostly downs, I guess.

Bird Box:  Sandra Bullock fights a global terror.   Maybe it's a shortage of Botox.

Backtrace: A heist movie with Matthew Modine and Sylvester Stallone.  Who went looking for those two??

Capernaum:  A Beirut street kid sues his parents for neglect.   Paging Judge Judy.

The House That Jack Built:  Matt Dillon as an architect turned serial killer. One more time...who went looking for him??

If Beale Street Could Talk:  From the James Baldwin novel, so you know it has a diversity message.  Major Oscar buzz from the super self-conscious boobs of Hollywood.

Mortal Engines:  Life in London years about civilization has ended.   I guess they blame Trump.

The Mule:  Clint Eastwood as a senior citizen drug runner.   He just keeps on directing and he somehow always tells an interesting story.

Spider-Man - Into The Spider-Verse:  Now the story is animated.  Enough already.

The Second Time Around:  Stuart Margolin and Linda Thorson as two oldsters who bond over music.   Frankly, I thought they were both dead.

The Grinch:  Never liked this story, no matter how many times it has been done.

Dinner last night:  Caesar salad.

Well, That Was A Surprise!

And, amazingly, it just might be the best picture that I have seen in 2018.  Jaw.  Floor.  Me.

I had seen the trailer of "Green Book" and it had all the earmarks of a movie that I would avoid.   A diversity message.   More drama from self-conscious Hollywood.   But a friend I trust told me that she thought it was a film I would really like and she's also one who hates the whole diversity push as well.

She was correct.   Yes, "Green Book" sports a teachable moment but presents in a way that doesn't feel like you are being hit in the head with an anvil from three stories above.   More importantly, it brings you a message with some wonderful out-and-out comedy.  Indeed, "Green Book," in its own special way, does more for race relations in two hours than the fraudulent Barack and Michelle Obama did in eight years.

You look at the poster above and you immediately think this is going to be a spin on "Driving Miss Daisy" with a Tony Soprano-type behind the wheel.  And, yes, that is pretty much the log line here.  But this film winds up being about so much more.   And it is inspired by a true story which does get presented over the closing credits with photos of the real people involved.

It is 1962.  Tony, played in Oscar-nomination-style by Viggo Mortensen, is a bouncer/waiter at the Copacabana in New York City.  The night club closes for renovation over the Christmas holidays, leaving him and his family without an income for a while.  He looks for a short term job and ends up becoming the driver/body guard for noted jazz pianist Dr. Don Shirley on a series of concert stops through the deep South.   The body guard function is key as it is mentioned that Nat King Cole was accosted in the Jim Crow South back on a concert tour in 1956.

Mahershala Ali, so self conscious and overbearing in his Oscar role from the grossly overrated "Moonlight," is completely and wonderfully different here as the pianist.  First off, that really appears to be him playing the piano unless they have incorporated some really nifty CGI.  Secondly, he perfectly captures the character of a guarded genius dealing with some goom-bah from the Bronx. (By the way, the neighborhood streets shown look nothing like the Bronx.)  Don and Tony are oil and water.  I mean, early in the film, Tony catches his wife giving a drink of water to two Black workmen and he winds up throwing the glasses in the garbage.  

It is obvious that these two will forge a friendship and relationship during their road trip.   The "green book" of the title actually refers to a pamphlet that outlines where "Negros" can safely lodge and dine in the Deep South.   As it turns out, Tony winds up eating in better restaurants and staying in nicer hotels than the guy he is actually working for.  

Naturally, there are expected twists and turns as these two gentlemen come together.   The ending is inevitable but the journey to get there is compelling and...gasp...funny.   There are some big out-loud laughs in this film.  It's that special combination that makes "Green Book" a winner and I am predicting big things come Oscar night.   

The reason this all works is because it is true and organic.  This is reinforced with the actual photos shown at the end.   Kudos to director Peter Farrelly for crafting a tale that stays with you.   Additionally, Tony's real son is one of the screenwriters and that makes it even more real.

Go, go, go.  "Green Book" is not the movie you think it is.   It certainly wasn't for me.

LEN'S RATING:  Four stars!

Dinner last night:  Kobe meatballs and pasta at Taste on Melrose.

This Date in History - December 12

Happy birthday, Connie Francis.  Inappropriate joke to follow below.

1098:  AT THE MASSACRE OF MA'ARRAT AL-NUMAN, CRUSADERS BREACHE THE TOWN'S WALLS AND MASSACRE 20,000 INHABITANTS.  AFTER FINDING THEMSELVES WITH INSUFFICIENT FOOD, THEY RESORT TO CANNIBALISM.

Pass the ketchup.

1787:  PENNSYLVANIA BECOMES THE SECOND STATE TO RATIFY THE US CONSTITUTION FIVE DAYS AFTER DELAWARE BECOMES THE FIRST.

Who knew that Delaware, such a small state, could be a trendsetter?

1862:  USS CAIRO SINKS ON THE YAZOO RIVER, BECOMING THE FIRST ARMORED SHIP TO BE SUNK BY AN ELECTRICALLY DETONATED MINE.

Yazoo goes kerblooey.

1870:  JOSEPH H. RAINEY OF SOUTH CAROLINA BECOMES THE SECOND BLACK US CONGRESSMAN, THE FIRST ONE BEING HIRAM REVELS.

Back then, history books probably said he was "the second colored US congressman."

1900:  ENTERTAINER SAMMY DAVIS SR. IS BORN.

Ya think Sammy Jr. came out of a test tube?

1901:  GUGLIELMO MARCONI RECEIVES THE FIRST TRANSATLANTIC RADIO SIGNAL IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

Can Wolfman Jack be far behind?

1915:  SINGER FRANK SINATRA IS BORN.

Doobie doobie dope.

1917:  IN NEBRASKA, FATHER FLANAGAN STARTS BOYS TOWN.

I'll refrain from the expected Catholic priest/pedophile joke.

1923:  GAME SHOW HOST BOB BARKER IS BORN.

Wonder if he had a fur blanket in the crib.

1924:  POLITICIAN ED KOCH IS BORN.

New York's beloved Mayor...and crook.

1937:  JAPANESE AIRCRAFT BOMB AND SINK US GUNBOAT USS PANAY ON THE YANGTZE RIVER IN CHINA.

Damn Yangtze.

1938:  SINGER CONNIE FRANCIS IS BORN.

She found out where the boys were.  Hiding in the closet and under the bed in a Westbury, LI hotel.

1940:  SINGER DIONNE WARWICK IS BORN.

The way she stole money via that Psychic Friends network, she should know the way to San Quentin.

1941:  USMC WILDCATS SINK THE FIRST FOUR MAJOR JAPANESE SHIPS OFF WAKE ISLAND.

Bonsai!

1941:  ADOLF HITLER ANNOUNCES EXTERMINATION OF THE JEWS AT A MEETING IN THE REICH CHANCELLERY.

Maybe it's me, but I don't think this is something you should brag about.

1946:  A FIRE AT A NEW YORK CITY ICE PLANT KILLS 37 PEOPLE.

Fire at an ice factory.  Really???

1950:  PAULA ACKERMAN, THE FIRST WOMAN TO PERFORM RABBINICAL FUNCTIONS IN THE US, LEADS THE CONGREGATION IN HER FIRST SERVICES. 

Shalom, Lady!

1964:  PRIME MINISTER JOMO KENYATTA BECOMES THE FIRST PRESIDENT OF KENYA.

With that last name, did you think he would be president of Nigeria?

1968:  ACTRESS TALLULAH BANKHEAD DIES.

Dahhhhh-ling.

1976:  ACTOR JACK CASSIDY DIES.

Burned up in a fire that he started.  With or without ice.

1979:  A MAJOR EARTHQUAKE AND TSUNAMI KILL 259 PEOPLE IN COLOMBIA.

252 of them drug dealers.

1985:  ACTRESS ANNE BAXTER DIES.

Dropped dead on a Manhattan street.  All About Sidewalk.

1998:  POLITICIAN MO UDALL DIES.

I wish he had a brother named Les.

2000:  THE US SUPREME COURT RELEASES ITS DECISION ON GORE VS. BUSH.

I forget what happened.  Did this make the news?

2006:  ACTOR PETER BOYLE DIES.

Brilliant work as Frank Barone on Everybody Loves Raymond.

2007:  SINGER IKE TURNER DIES.

The one thing he couldn't beat.

2008:  ACTOR VAN JOHNSON DIES.

Van Johnson is right...and dead.

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