Celebrate?

 

There is nothing more exhilarating than when your team wins it all.  You are on top of the world.   For my preferred favorite sport of baseball, I got to feel it with the Mets in 69 and *6.   Then, the Dodgers in 20, 24, and 25.  You walk on air.  You feel special.  And the biggest action I wanted to take was to buy some championship T-shirts and caps.

Never once did I desire to climb up a light pole.  Or taunt fans of the other team.  Or set a school bus on fire.

If you were paying attention last week, New York went crazy last week as they completed their quest for the NBA Championship after being shut out for five decades.    Despite the fact that I thoroughly hate pro basketball,  I wish the die-hard fans that stuck around this long.   Indeed, there's probably only about 18,000 fans in existence because that's how many true fans can fit into Madison Square Garden.

The rest are hoodlums.  Animals.  Creatures from all over the world.  And they use team victories as a means to loot.  Take out their evil aggressions.  Fuck over people who don't look like them.

Now, over the years, I've seen cities explode when their team wins it.  Indeed, smart cities prepare for this.  They bring in extra cops.  Try to prevent crowds from forming.   Even grease the light poles so that climbing is impossible.

But, not New York which is now run by one of the dumbest mayors ever.   He promotes outdoor watch parties which you just know is kerosene on an open flame.   And that's why you had what you saw last week in NY.

Okay, in my years, I've seen some mayhem when a baseball team wins the World Series or a football team wins the Super Bowl.   But, 99% of the time, when it's a full out destructive riot, you can count on this.   

It's the NBA.   

Do some research.  It's out there.  As the beloved Casey Stengel used to say, you could look it up.

So why is that?

Well, look at the pictures from last week.  The profiling is there.  Connect the dots.  Like the ones on a pair of dice.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Korean chicken.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 15, 2026

The month of weddings and graduations presses on with this annual marital blooper from me.  Splash!

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Here Comes June Again

 

Around this date every year decades ago, we'd arrive at a much desired destination. 

The last day of school.

This is a recent photo of my beloved elementary school.  Grimes on Eleventh Avenue and Second Street in Mount Vernon, New York.  The building above was the new additional wing when we were going there.  In 2014, it looks like Berlin 1946.  But, then again, so does everything in economic-war-torn Mount Vernon.

But I digress. 

You awaited this special June day for week.  Indeed, when the school would send you home with the school calendar for the year in September, you would immediately skip right through to the last page.   What was officially the last day of school?

Learning usually stopped in early June.  You were being prepared for those pesky final exams.  Or as grueling as that could possibly be in the fourth or fifth grade. 

With tests out of the way, the last week of school seemed to take forever.  There was a lot of goofing off.  I even think there were some half-days as we were being emotionally and psychologically prepared for the annual separation of teacher and student. 

The very last day was almost always a Friday.  And you basically went in for a whole half-hour.  You were told that you were being promoted.  Duh.  Of course, there were probably some who weren't, but I made it a habit to be good friends with only the smart kids.  Oh, and here's your report card.  The teacher would say it was a pleasure to know you and out the door you went. 

Okay, maybe it was just 25 minutes.

You'd scamper down the stairs because your mother or father was still there waiting for you.  They hadn't even bothered to go home.  Our personal tradition was then for my mom and me to go have breakfast at Stanley's Restaurant with another set or two of pupil and parent.

It was a glorious day with the expectation of two fun months coming up. 

Of course, on the walk home, I would hear the sentence that would be repeated several more times before we hit September.

"Don't think you're gonna hang around the house all day and watch television."

Oh.  And why not?

I wasn't sure what my folks expected me to do at the age of ten or eleven.  I was too old to be supervised and way too young for a summer job.  And, oh yeah, I had already been studying the TV Guide for the past two months to scope out and schedule my daytime summer viewing. 

With both my parents now working nights, I was going to presented with chores.  So, yes, I guess it was a summer job.  With the parental units as resident straw bosses.

"Go mow the back yard."

I would start the process.   My grandmother would watch me from her kitchen window.

"You're just making a mess.  Go in the house and watch television."

Okay, I gladly accept this mixed message.  It's time for Dick Van Dyke reruns anyway.

"Go clean out your bedroom closet."

This, of course, presented me with tons of distractions.   I'd invariably find a long forgotten toy and the nostalgia kept me occupied for hours while the rest of my closet was piled precariously on my bed.

"Look at the mess you made.  Go watch television."

Yes, Mom.  And it's time for Paul Lynde and the Hollywood Squares.

"Go to the grocery store and pick up what's on this list."

I'd survey the items.  There's be four packs of cigarettes for Mom and two six-packs of Schaefer Beer for Dad.  I'd present to Gene the local grocer.

"You know, I probably shouldn't sell you the beer and cigarettes."

He'd, of course, say that as he handed me the brown paper bag of groceries.  Replete with smokes and drinks.  This was my favorite errand to do and I could be home in ten minutes, which was ideal.  After all, Gene Rayburn and the Match Game were coming on.

On summer Thursdays, I also got to participate with my dad in the weekly assignment of taking my grandmother to the A & P.  For a while, we used the supermarket on Oak Street.  When that closed, Grandma's selection of a new supermarket was akin to deciding which day the Allied Forces should land on Normandy Beach.  My father suggested a new venue.  A Waldbaum's in downtown Mount Vernon.

"Waldbaum's?  That's only for Jews."

No, seriously, Grandma, anybody can go in there.  They don't necessarily check your religious denomination on the way in.  Eventually, she bought in and actually liked the then-fancy new surroundings.  My job was to push the basket as she selected the very same items week to week.  Each food product came with a price check.

"You see this Oscar Meyer's bologna?  Last week, it cost $ 2.59.  This week, it went to $ 2.65." 

This was my grandmother and her take on economics.  She couldn't read, but she sure could keep track of the week-to-week price increases on cold cuts.  I'd be amazed at how she could do this.

"You see this Welch's grape jelly?  Last week, it cost $1.19.  This week, it's 1.29."

Yeah, but you're getting a free Flintstones drinking glass in the deal.  She'd wave off my attempts at an explanation.

We'd come home after taking two hours to do an hour's worth of supermarket shopping.  Just in time for Grandma's afternoon stories.  I'd sit and watch Another World with her.  Complete with her commentary on every character.  She caught me up on the last year's misdeeds in Soap Opera Land.

"This guy is a crook.  He stole somebody's money."

"I don't like her.  She's a show off."

"This one's a real tramp."

Eventually, my summer world evolved into more fun, fun, fun till your daddy took your T-Bird away.  The chores tapered off.  The reminders that I wasn't going to be parked in front of the TV all summer subsided. 

I was always allowed to be a kid.  And some of those summers on 15th Avenue gave me memories that I'll never forget.  At least until when I share them here.

Dinner last night:  Korean Chicken from Chin Chin.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - June 2026

 A reminder of how much we lost when JFK was murdered.

Dinner last night:  Cheese and crackers.

Friday Is For Stupid Photos

 

It's Happy Hump Day for Mommy.

Pick which one will be the serial killer.  Actually, multiple choices are allowed.

The Bob Vila family Christmas card photo.

It's also Happy Hump Day for these turtles as well.

Leif Garrett lives.

I hope that second kid looks nothing like the first one.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.....

The police have been called to help him down.

What a surprise she's going to get when she really gets to know young Elton John.

Pee Wee tried the same thing in that porno theater years ago.

Dinner last night:  Grilled Taylor ham on English muffin.

The Afterthought

I've been in a darker mood of late.   And, because this is the 20th year of my blog, it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.  You'd cry too if I happened to you.

So, that's my clever way of saying today's entry is a little bit of a pity party.  If you're not interested, come back tomorrow for a movie review or a political tirade or a rogue's gallery of stupid people.

Maybe this little phase of life noir is coming because all my friends are of an older age and becoming increasingly conscious that we're closer to the end than to the beginning.  Maybe it's my own quirkiness.   I prefer to think that there's plenty of good times ahead.   Hell, why else did I get two knee replacements along with a brand new hip?

I consider myself a good and true friend to others.   Well, I try to be.  It's the way I've always had to be since I was five or six.  I was the person like that old Avis rental car ad.   I had to try harder.   You see, I'm an only child devoid of siblings.  And single.

Don't get me wrong.   I have plenty of friends who I consider brothers and sisters.  And, upon reflection, I've had to work a little harder to get that roster of pals.  And while I haven't had the social life of somebody like George Clooney, I have dated.   I have loved.  I even once proposed.   

As a result of this status in life as an only and the perennial odd person in the group, I have always felt compelled to be the ring leader.   I'm the one who wants to gather the troops.   Concerts, movies, plays, dinners.   You name it.   I'm the one always being the architect of the plan.  

When we had to stop the world for everybody's favorite pandemic, I added yet another chore to my friendship job responsibilities.  I call to check up my friends all over the country.   Even some I have been out of touch with for some time.   Are you okay?  Are you safe?  How's the family?  Is there anything I can help with?  Any looting nearby?  You know the drill.

Back in 2020 and now in 2026, I have this unfortunate reminder of being the human afterthought.  I rarely get the same courtesy.

But, as I frequently need to remind myself, why should I expect anything more than the usual?  You see, years ago, I set up the ground rules.   I have only myself to blame.

For my whole life, I'm the one always asking the ask.   Arranging the time.  Choosing the restaurant for the evening.   Always the planner.  Never ever the plannee.  If I had not taken on this role, would I ever be going anywhere?   Or am I doomed to be a professional odd person out?   

Few people call me and invite me to an event.   Or a party.  Or lunch.   Or a weekend excursion.  Or a vacation.  Or anything for that matter.  I can't remember the last time somebody else planned something spontaneously and actually took the time to reel me in for it.  

So, the question is simple.  If I stop being a ring leader, what will happen?  It's an experiment I want to try but I am afraid of the results.  I think I know what would occur.   

Silence.

If I ever question the quiet, I get this response.

"Well, we assumed you had plans."

Hmmm.  Yes, I am the third person.  Or the fifth person.  Or the seventh person.  But I certainly get to watch everybody else's frivolities via social media.   Because I have to be sure of adding my "like."  I actually was once quizzed by somebody as to why I didn't Facebook-acknowledge their evening out.

Okay, I'm whining now and need to remember that I do have some great people in my life.  But there are those moments where I wonder if I am considered in the reciprocal vein.

Once again, I have brought this on myself.   I am angry with....well...me.  And a little bit at my parents who created this personality that allows to position himself as invisible and a tad inconsequential.    

As lives get shorter, I'm going to concentrate on spending times with friends and people that I truly love.   Trust me, there are less of them around.  For now, I'm going to let those people come to me if they'd like to see me.   Maybe they will.  Or more likely, I'll be on this computer posting this month's mug shots.

Dinner last night:   Grilled steak salad.

This Date in History - June 10

 

Happy birthday to Judy Garland.   Oh, I know she's dead and all.   But it still is her birthday.   Way, way, way over the rainbow.

671:  EMPEROR TENJI OF JAPAN INTRODUCES A WATER CLOCK CALLED ROKOKU.

And who's the one who introduced the puzzle called Sudoku?

1190:  FREDERICK I BARBAROSSA DROWNS IN THE RIVER SALEPH WHILE LEADING AN ARMY TO JERUSALEM.

Wasn't Barbarossa a movie with Jane Fonda?

1539:  POPE PAUL III SENDS OUT LETTERS TO HIS BISHOPS, DELAYED THE COUNCIL OF TRENT.

First known use of Constant Contact.

1596:  WILLEM BARENTS AND JACOB VAN HEEMSKERK DISCOVER BEAR ISLAND.

And then ran off it because...well...bears.

1692:  BRIDGET BISHOP IS HANGED AT GALLOWS HILL NEAR SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS FOR DETESTABLE ARTS CALLED WITCHCRAFT AND SORCERIES.

And Endora got away?

1793:  THE JARDIN DES PLANTES MUSEUM OPENS IN PARIS.  IT LATER BECOMES THE FIRST PUBLIC ZOO.  

Don't feed the Parisians.

1829:  THE FIRST BOAT RACE BETWEEN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD AND THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE TAKES PLACE.

Slow news day on June 10, 1829.

1854:  THE FIRST CLASS OF US NAVAL ACADEMY STUDENTS GRADUATE.

Hats in the air.

1871:  CAPTAIN MCLANE TILTON LEADS 109 US MARINES IN A NAVAL ATTACK ON KANGHWA ISLAND, KOREA.

And you thought we only fought there in the 1950s.

1889: ACTOR SESSUE HAYAKAWA IS BORN.

Says who?

1895:  ACTRESS HATTIE MCDANIEL IS BORN.

T'ain't fittin'.

1901:  COMPOSER FREDERICK LOEWE IS BORN.

The rain in Spain...

1916:  AN ARAB REVOLT AGAINST THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE LED BY LAWRENCE OF ARABIA BREAKS OUT.

And probably was over sooner than the movie.

1922:  ACTRESS JUDY GARLAND IS BORN.

I would have been named after her if I had been a girl.   But I wasn't.

1935:  DR. ROBERT SMITH TAKES HIS LAST DRINK AND ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS IS FOUNDED IN OHIO.

Hello, Robert.

1940:  US PRESIDENT FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT DENOUNCES ITALY'S ACTIONS WITH HIS "STAB IN THE BACK" SPEECH.

As opposed to his "pain in the forehead" speech just before he died.

1940:  DURING WORLD WAR II, ITALY DECLARES WAR ON FRANCE AND THE UNITED KINGDOM.

Stupido.

1944:  IN BASEBALL, 15-YEAR-OLD JOE NUXHALL OF THE CINCINNATI REDS BECOMES THE YOUNGEST PLAYER EVER IN A MAJOR-LEAGUE GAME.

Jeez, I can remember this guy still playing decades later.

1947:  BASEBALL STAR KEN SINGLETON IS BORN.

He was a big deal because he actually grew up in my home town of Mount Vernon, New York.

1959:  POLITICIAN ELIOT SPITZER IS BORN.

Politician...and crook.

1964:  THE US SENATE BREAKS A 75-DAY FILIBUSTER AGAINST THE CIVIL RIGHTS ACT OF 1964, LEADING TO THE BILL'S PASSAGE.

By the way, it was mostly Democrats opposing it.

1967:  THE SIX-DAY WAR ENDS WHEN ISRAEL AND SYRIA AGREE TO A CEASE FIRE.

It's good to know that it's been peaceful there ever since.

1967:  ACTOR SPENCER TRACY DIES.

Guess who's not coming to dinner.

1971:  ACTOR MICHAEL RENNIE DIES.

Klaatu barada nikto.

1973:  PLAYWRIGHT WILLIAM INGE DIES.

He wrote "Picnic."   Now he's under one.

1976:  FILM PRODUCER ADOLPH ZUKOR DIES.

His name is on the front of all those old Popeye cartoons.

1977:  JAMES EARL RAY ESCAPES FROM BRUSHY MOUNTAIN PRISON BUT IS RECAPTURED THREE DAYS LATER.

Well, that worked well, didn't it?

1977:  THE APPLE II, ONE OF THE FIRST PERSONAL COMPUTERS, GOES ON SALE.

There was probably no line.

1991:  ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD JAYCEE LEE DUGARD WAS KIDNAPPED IN LAKE TAHOE, CALIFORNIA.   SHE WOULD REMAIN A CAPTIVE UNTIL 2009.  

So she got tenure?

2002:  MOB BOSS JOHN GOTTI DIES.

I'll bet he was buried in a very nice suit and tie.

2003:  THE SPIRIT ROVER IS LAUNCHED, BEGINNING NASA'S MARS EXPLORATION ROVER MISSION.

Looking for Ray Walston.

2004:  SINGER RAY CHARLES DIES.

Georgia no longer on his mind.

Dinner last night:    Appetizers at AOC.