Be careful what you wish for.
Dinner last night: Roast chicken breast.
Monday, January 13, 2025
Sunday, January 12, 2025
The Sunday Memory Drawer - Up To Your Hips
You may have seen this photo before. But, nevertheless, here I am again. Enjoying the snow several decades ago. With a friend that was undoubtedly built by my dad. Even then, I had no patience when it came to artistic moments. I certainly couldn't have crafted a snowman.
Ah, how refreshing. How homespun. How cute.
And, then, a bunch of years later...
Here I am again. Having a lot less fun. A snapshot from the 80s. My very first solo apartment on North Broadway in Yonkers. And, whoa, there's my very first car. A 1980 Toyota Corolla. I loved that little brown peanut. It gave me ten solid years of reliable transportation. Despite the fact that it was always parked outside amongst the elements. And took the brunt of snowfalls like this.
It's amazing how your perspective changes when you grow up in an area that endures snowflakes during the winter months.
When you're a kid, you live through the delight of the Christmas season just as winter sets in. Then, on January 2, you are likely headed back to jail AKA elementary school. And the prospect of time off, prior to the regularly scheduled Presidential birthdays in February, is totally dependent upon some low pressure systems meshing with some Canadian cold front. You'd anxiously await the weather report on the nightly news. You'd gladly switch over from the Three Stooges on WPIX Channel 11 to hear WCBS weatherlady Carol Reed tell you to "have a happy" and then announce the prospects of a blizzard within the next five days.
"70% chance of snow."
Hmmm, that's more than 50-50. I'll take it. I would immediately start to make plans about how late I would sleep in the morning.
Of course, school had to be officially cancelled first. And, in Mount Vernon, New York, which was just north of the Bronx/NYC line, that wasn't so easy. The New York City public school system was notoriously famous for not cancelling classes. It really had to be a dire emergency.
"Due to the plague of locusts, New York City public schools will open at 10AM this morning."
Mount Vernon didn't like to cancel if New York City stayed open. So, frequently, as the drifts piled up, we were screwed. Still, we had hope. If you knew that snow had fallen overnight, you would get up and prod your mother to tune to Westchester's official "school closing" radio station, WFAS-AM. I don't think anybody ever really listens to WFAS unless it's snowing. And you'd listen hopefully as the roll call of Westchester County school systems checking in.
"Mahopac schools closed."
Of course, they are. Mahopac is right next to Alaska, correct?
"Rye Country Day School closed."
That sounds like such a nice place to be educated. The Rye Country Day School. Mom, can we move please? Because they're closed today.
"White Plains schools closed."
Okay, gang, we're getting closer.
"Mount Vernon public schools............open."
F Me.
We never got a break.
Now there was a back-up alert system that we always hoped would prove those WFAS frauds wrong. The city of Mount Vernon had a set of loud fire whistles. If there was no school, the siren would go off at 7AM and 8AM. I would wait with baited breath. Nobody make a sound, please.
Most of the time...nothing.
But, there were those days where the whistle went off and I felt glorious. I also think they were going to use the same warning in the event of a nuclear attack so the last laugh could have been on me as I shimmied my way into my snow suit and/or a radioactive haze.
Not that my day was going to be completely full of leisure. Invariably, I would be invited outside to help my father shovel out the driveway. With the usual winter threat.
"Go help your father. Do you want him to die of a heart attack?"
Okay, got it.
I'd amble outside and then perform my usual snowstorm chore. I'd pretend to shovel. If it was windy, the white stuff would blow back into my face. Eventually, I had more snow on me than I had moved into a neat pile. Within fifteen minutes, the potential coronary victim that was my dad had seen enough.
"Go inside. You're just making a mess out here."
Okay, got it.
And that's how, every winter as a child, I managed to get out of shoveling snow. A wonderful system. And my father never did have that heart attack.
But, in retrospect, I probably could have used the practice. Because as glorious as snow days were when you're a youngster, your viewpoints changes when you're an adult.
You don't listen to the school closings on WFAS-AM.
You don't get to wait for a fire whistle.
Unless, it's fifteen inches or more, you don't get to stay home. You are expected to work.
So, you wake up in the AM and shovel out your car as you see in the photo above.
It all sucked.
At my very first solo apartment on North Broadway in Yonkers, just leaving the premises in the snow was an ordeal. First, you had to clean off the car. If I was smart the night before, I had already taken the brush, shovel, and ice scraper out of the trunk. Then you begin the process. If it was really early and nobody was outside yet, I would simply push the crap onto the car in the next space. Hell, he was a dirtbag anyway.
Now I had a real problem if there was a sheet of ice on the windshield. Those of you not familiar with frozen tundra-like conditions have no idea how you defrost your car window. To do it correctly, you ideally need to go out about a half-hour before you really want to leave. You sit in the car and turn on the defroster. And simply sit and wait.
Me? I had little patience. So I would try to help it along by spraying on the windshield washing liquid. That would help speed up the process momentarily.
Until that froze over even more. Before I knew it, my car window could have served as the arena for the Stanley Cup playoffs. And I never ever learned my lesson.
Of course, once you could see out your car window, you had to figure out a way to get up the huge slope of a driveway. On lots of winter mornings, there were cars literally lined up waiting to take their turn up Mount Kilimanjaro. People would rev their engines to get some momentum going and then start to speed up the driveway which had been barely cleaned.
Halfway up, you'd start to slide down.
Again.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
Again.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
Okay, if you failed the climb on the third attempt, common courtesy would be to step aside and let the next bozo try.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
Again.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
If somebody managed to keep going, everybody else would stand there perplexed trying to figure out how they did it. That and, also, cursing the bastard for his success.
Once I got up to the main thoroughfare of North Broadway, I wasn't nearly finished. I had to somehow maneuver my way gingerly down the mountains of Yonkers to the Metro North train station in Getty Square. Driving behind other idiots trying to do the same thing but with tires that had not been rotated or replaced in a decade.
The usual ten-minute drive to the train often took an hour on those mornings. And then, of course, you had no guarantee of transportation into Manhattan. You'd arrive triumphantly on the train platform only to hear the scratchy announcement over the public address system.
"The 7:55AM to Grand Central...has been cancelled...due to equipment trouble."
Okay, there was another one in ten minutes.
"The 8:05AM to Grand Central...has been cancelled...due to equipment trouble."
And fifteen minutes later...
"The 8:05AM to Grand Central...is running...fifteen minutes later."
Duh.
Admittedly, the Metro North railroad has gotten their act together in the past two decades. But, back in the 80s, you had a better chance of getting into the city if you waited for a sleigh to come by with Doctor Zhivago at the reins.
When you finally crawled into your office by 9:30AM or 10AM, you'd look around at complete emptiness. And wonder in amazement how you managed to get to work from Westchester County but the person who lives ten blocks away on 57th Street hadn't arrived yet.
Yeah, writing this piece has given me an epiphany.
I don't miss that weather at all. I am happy to spend the winter months in Los Angeles. Where a 20 percent chance of showers prompts a "storm watch" on local TV stations.
Ah, how refreshing. How homespun. How cute.
And, then, a bunch of years later...
It's amazing how your perspective changes when you grow up in an area that endures snowflakes during the winter months.
When you're a kid, you live through the delight of the Christmas season just as winter sets in. Then, on January 2, you are likely headed back to jail AKA elementary school. And the prospect of time off, prior to the regularly scheduled Presidential birthdays in February, is totally dependent upon some low pressure systems meshing with some Canadian cold front. You'd anxiously await the weather report on the nightly news. You'd gladly switch over from the Three Stooges on WPIX Channel 11 to hear WCBS weatherlady Carol Reed tell you to "have a happy" and then announce the prospects of a blizzard within the next five days.
"70% chance of snow."
Hmmm, that's more than 50-50. I'll take it. I would immediately start to make plans about how late I would sleep in the morning.
Of course, school had to be officially cancelled first. And, in Mount Vernon, New York, which was just north of the Bronx/NYC line, that wasn't so easy. The New York City public school system was notoriously famous for not cancelling classes. It really had to be a dire emergency.
"Due to the plague of locusts, New York City public schools will open at 10AM this morning."
Mount Vernon didn't like to cancel if New York City stayed open. So, frequently, as the drifts piled up, we were screwed. Still, we had hope. If you knew that snow had fallen overnight, you would get up and prod your mother to tune to Westchester's official "school closing" radio station, WFAS-AM. I don't think anybody ever really listens to WFAS unless it's snowing. And you'd listen hopefully as the roll call of Westchester County school systems checking in.
"Mahopac schools closed."
Of course, they are. Mahopac is right next to Alaska, correct?
"Rye Country Day School closed."
That sounds like such a nice place to be educated. The Rye Country Day School. Mom, can we move please? Because they're closed today.
"White Plains schools closed."
Okay, gang, we're getting closer.
"Mount Vernon public schools............open."
F Me.
We never got a break.
Now there was a back-up alert system that we always hoped would prove those WFAS frauds wrong. The city of Mount Vernon had a set of loud fire whistles. If there was no school, the siren would go off at 7AM and 8AM. I would wait with baited breath. Nobody make a sound, please.
Most of the time...nothing.
But, there were those days where the whistle went off and I felt glorious. I also think they were going to use the same warning in the event of a nuclear attack so the last laugh could have been on me as I shimmied my way into my snow suit and/or a radioactive haze.
Not that my day was going to be completely full of leisure. Invariably, I would be invited outside to help my father shovel out the driveway. With the usual winter threat.
"Go help your father. Do you want him to die of a heart attack?"
Okay, got it.
I'd amble outside and then perform my usual snowstorm chore. I'd pretend to shovel. If it was windy, the white stuff would blow back into my face. Eventually, I had more snow on me than I had moved into a neat pile. Within fifteen minutes, the potential coronary victim that was my dad had seen enough.
"Go inside. You're just making a mess out here."
Okay, got it.
And that's how, every winter as a child, I managed to get out of shoveling snow. A wonderful system. And my father never did have that heart attack.
But, in retrospect, I probably could have used the practice. Because as glorious as snow days were when you're a youngster, your viewpoints changes when you're an adult.
You don't listen to the school closings on WFAS-AM.
You don't get to wait for a fire whistle.
Unless, it's fifteen inches or more, you don't get to stay home. You are expected to work.
So, you wake up in the AM and shovel out your car as you see in the photo above.
It all sucked.
At my very first solo apartment on North Broadway in Yonkers, just leaving the premises in the snow was an ordeal. First, you had to clean off the car. If I was smart the night before, I had already taken the brush, shovel, and ice scraper out of the trunk. Then you begin the process. If it was really early and nobody was outside yet, I would simply push the crap onto the car in the next space. Hell, he was a dirtbag anyway.
Now I had a real problem if there was a sheet of ice on the windshield. Those of you not familiar with frozen tundra-like conditions have no idea how you defrost your car window. To do it correctly, you ideally need to go out about a half-hour before you really want to leave. You sit in the car and turn on the defroster. And simply sit and wait.
Me? I had little patience. So I would try to help it along by spraying on the windshield washing liquid. That would help speed up the process momentarily.
Until that froze over even more. Before I knew it, my car window could have served as the arena for the Stanley Cup playoffs. And I never ever learned my lesson.
Of course, once you could see out your car window, you had to figure out a way to get up the huge slope of a driveway. On lots of winter mornings, there were cars literally lined up waiting to take their turn up Mount Kilimanjaro. People would rev their engines to get some momentum going and then start to speed up the driveway which had been barely cleaned.
Halfway up, you'd start to slide down.
Again.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
Again.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
Okay, if you failed the climb on the third attempt, common courtesy would be to step aside and let the next bozo try.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
Again.
Halfway up. Slide back down.
If somebody managed to keep going, everybody else would stand there perplexed trying to figure out how they did it. That and, also, cursing the bastard for his success.
Once I got up to the main thoroughfare of North Broadway, I wasn't nearly finished. I had to somehow maneuver my way gingerly down the mountains of Yonkers to the Metro North train station in Getty Square. Driving behind other idiots trying to do the same thing but with tires that had not been rotated or replaced in a decade.
The usual ten-minute drive to the train often took an hour on those mornings. And then, of course, you had no guarantee of transportation into Manhattan. You'd arrive triumphantly on the train platform only to hear the scratchy announcement over the public address system.
"The 7:55AM to Grand Central...has been cancelled...due to equipment trouble."
Okay, there was another one in ten minutes.
"The 8:05AM to Grand Central...has been cancelled...due to equipment trouble."
And fifteen minutes later...
"The 8:05AM to Grand Central...is running...fifteen minutes later."
Duh.
Admittedly, the Metro North railroad has gotten their act together in the past two decades. But, back in the 80s, you had a better chance of getting into the city if you waited for a sleigh to come by with Doctor Zhivago at the reins.
When you finally crawled into your office by 9:30AM or 10AM, you'd look around at complete emptiness. And wonder in amazement how you managed to get to work from Westchester County but the person who lives ten blocks away on 57th Street hadn't arrived yet.
Yeah, writing this piece has given me an epiphany.
I don't miss that weather at all. I am happy to spend the winter months in Los Angeles. Where a 20 percent chance of showers prompts a "storm watch" on local TV stations.
Unless, of course, if there's a fire or two.
Dinner last night: Teriyaki beef from Fuwa.
Saturday, January 11, 2025
Classic Newsreel of the Month - January 2025
A slow news day back when in England...
Dinner last night: Double double from In N Out.
Friday, January 10, 2025
No Words
Well, actually, there are. Just saving them for another time.
Thursday, January 9, 2025
The Real Pain
I discovered that, in this one, Kieran is as unlikeable as he was on HBO. The kind of character you want to punch in the mouth. Talk about acting range. Indeed, you hate him even more in "A Real Pain," a movie that is way too self-conscious for its own good. The co-star is Jesse Eisenberg, who also wrote and directed the movie. It's a tough sit. And that is likely the real pain here.
Jesse and Kieran play Jewish cousins who go on a tour of Holocaust concentration camps in Poland. Hey, now there's a vacation spot on my bucket list. The young men also want to visit the home where their grandmother managed to survive the onslaught of Hitler's goon squad.
Admittedly, any film with that as its setting is going to be grim and dour. But, somehow, Kieran's character makes it worse. Clearly, he is insane and never shuts up to the chagrin of all the other tour members. By one third into the film, you are so sick of his character that you secretly wish one of the gas ovens was still working.
Eisenberg's work here is also a little too pretentious. You can see the acting seams. But, at the end, it is Kieran Culkin's character that sinks the movie altogether. It made me wonder if he's as unlikeable in real life. That's two projects in a row where I wanted to kill his character. Coincidental? Well, let's see what he plays in the movie right after he wins his Oscar.
LEN'S RATING: Two stars.
Dinner last night: Chicken parm.
Wednesday, January 8, 2025
This Date in History - January 8
307: JIN HUIDI, CHINESE EMPEROR OF THE JIN DYNASTY, IS POISONED AND SUCCEEDED BY HIS SON JIN HUAIDI.
All jin-ned up.
1297: FRANCOIS GRIMALDI, DISGUISED AS MONK, LEADS HIS MEN TO CAPTURE THE FORTRESS PROTECTING THE ROCK OF MONACO, ESTABLISHING HIS FAMILY AS THE RULERS OF MONACO.
We've seen the future and there is a Grace Kelly in it.
1455: THE ROMANUS PONTIFEX IS WRITTEN.
Immediately at #5 on Amazon.
1697: THE LAST EXECUTION FOR BLASPHEMY IN BRITAIN.
It wouldn't have been if I lived there.
1790: GEORGE WASHINGTON DELIVERS THE FIRST STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS IN NEW YORK, NEW YORK.
The first ever fact checking event.
1806: CAPE COLONY BECOMES A BRITISH COLONY.
No mention of Italian Swiss Colony.
1835: THE UNITED STATES NATIONAL DEBT IS ZERO FOR THE ONLY TIME.
I'll say.
1867: AFRICAN AMERICAN MEN ARE GRANTED THE RIGHT TO VOTE IN WASHINGTON, DC.
Yet, there are countries in their native continent where you still can't.
1877: CRAZY HORSE AND HIS WARRIORS FIGHT THEIR LAST BATTLE AGAINST THE US CAVALRY IN MONTANA.
Crazy Horse!! His prices are insane!!!!
1904: THE BLACKSTONE LIBRARY IS DEDICATED, MARKING THE BEGINNING OF THE CHICAGO PUBLIC LIBRARY SYSTEM.
As if anybody there can read.
1912: ACTOR JOSE FERRER IS BORN.
Mr. Rosemary Clooney to you.
1918: PRESIDENT WOODROW WILSON ANNOUNCES HIS FOURTEEN POINTS FOR THE AFTERMATH OF WORLD WAR I.
When he couldn't get that passed, he went for the field goal.
1923: ACTOR LARRY STORCH IS BORN.
F Troop!!!
1926: TV STAR SOUPY SALES IS BORN.
Do the Mouse.
1933: JOURNALIST CHARLES OSGOOD IS BORN.
About fifty years ago, he had some integrity. Now he's just one big commercial voiceover.
1935: SINGER ELVIS PRESLEY IS BORN.
Pass the fried bologna.
1937: SINGER SHIRLEY BASSEY IS BORN.
Gold-fing-ah!
1938: TV HOST BOB EUBANKS IS BORN.
And now for the big thirty point bonus question.
1940: DURING WORLD WAR II, BRITAIN INTRODUCES FOOD RATIONING.
I know people who lived through this. It sucked.
1942: ACTRESS YVETTE MIMIEUX IS BORN.
With her looks, she always knew where the boys were.
1961: IN FRANCE, A REFERENDUM SUPPORTS CHARLES DE GAULLE'S POLICIES IN ALGERIA.
Je ne care pas.
1963: DA VINCI'S MONA LISA IS EXHIBITED IN THE US FOR THE FIRST TIME AT WASHINGTON, DC.
Wait, I see a smile. No, it's not. Yes, it is.
1964: PRESIDENT LYNDON B. JOHNSON DECLARES A WAR ON POVERTY IN THE US.
Spoiler alert: poverty wins.
1973: THE TRIAL OF SEVEN MEN ACCUSED OF ILLEGAL ENTRY INTO DEMOCRATIC PARTY HEADQUARTERS AT WATERGATE BEGINS.
Hey, Nixon, start counting the days.
1975: ELLA GRASSO BECOMES GOVERNOR OF CONNECTICUT, THE FIRST WOMAN TO SERVE AS A STATE GOVERNOR IN THE US.
Not counting Nelson Rockefeller who liked to dress like one.
1981: ACTOR MATTHEW BEARD DIES.
Stymie!!!
1981: A LOCAL FARMER IN FRANCE REPORTS A UFO SIGHTING, PERHAPS THE MOST COMPLETELY AND CAREFULLY DOCUMENTED SIGHTING OF ALL TIME.
Come on. If you're an alien, would you really visit a French farmer???
1990: ACTOR TERRY-THOMAS DIES.
Never had the teeth fixed.
1994: ACTOR PAT BUTTRAM DIES.
Mr. Haney on TV's "Green Acres."
1994: BASEBALL PITCHER HARVEY HADDIX DIES.
I always take Bayer Aspirin for a haddix.
2002: BUSINESSMAN DAVE THOMAS DIES.
Where's the corpse?
2002: PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH SIGNS INTO LAW THE NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND ACT.
When do we get the "All Politicians Left Behind" act??
2004: RADIO HOST JOHN GAMBLING DIES.
No more rambling.
2007: ACTRESS YVONNE DE CARLO DIES.
Not surprised. Her skin always had this funny color.
2011: THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF ARIZONA CONGRESSWOMAN GABRIELLE GIFFORDS AND SEVERAL OTHERS.
Despite a major head wound, she managed to publish her memoirs six months later. Can you say "ghost writer?"
2020: WRITER BUCK HENRY DIES.
He got smart.
Dinner last night: Leftover SPO.
Dinner last night: Leftover SPO.
Tuesday, January 7, 2025
Moron of the Month -January 2025
Okay, it pains me to do this one. But, with the outgoing President winding up in a few days, this will be the last chance I get to bestow this honor.
Oh, not on the President himself, even though he has long been one of the most crooked politicians ever to set foot in Washington. Nope, that would be too easy and, frankly, I have grown to feel sorry for the guy. I mean, even the leftist of the biggest leftists now admit something they have failed to acknowledge for the past four years.
The President has had the onset of dementia all along. We all saw the signs back when. But it was largely ignored.
And the biggest person to do that ignoring has to be First Lady Dr. Jill Biden.
I ask why.
Was she enamored by the spotlight and the lure of magazine covers like you see above? I mean, she's always been five pounds of potatoes in a ten pound bag. There's no great substance to her. And she's not really a medical doctor.
Was it worth putting her husband...and the country, for that matter...through these machinations? Does she really care?
The good news is that we are now officially done with this selfish harpie. We've seen her future and it is clearly deserved.
Here's the wash cloth, Jill. Wipe the oatmeal off your husband's shirt.
Dinner last night: Chef's salad.
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