Liz

 

There was probably no bigger star in the universe than Elizabeth Taylor.   When I was a kid, I remember how my dad and his contemporaries would salivate at her photos and movies.   How they would have liked to be one of the two dozen men she got involved in.

Some of her movies were damn good.   Most were trash and that includes the big bust...no pun intended..."Cleopatra."   That film, of course, was big news because of the super public affair she carried on with Richard Burton.

All of the above goes to explain why I was drawn to the HBO documentary "Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes."  The premise is that, back in 1964, Liz sat down with an interviewer who recorded everything she had to say.   And a lot that, as shown in the movie, was damn interesting.  She certainly was candid.

But the problem is that she did these tapes in 1964.   Meanwhile, she lived another 47 years and most of that is not included in the documentary.   As a result, it's a compelling albeit incomplete life story.

But what the hell it is Liz Taylor and my father would have accepted nothing less than...

LEN'S RATING:  Three stars.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

This Date in History - August 26

 

Happy birthday to Macaulay Culkin...who doesn't look anything like this today.

1278:  LADISLAUS IV OF HUNGARY AND RUDOLF I OF GERMANY DEFEAT OTTOKAR II OF BOHEMIA IN THE BATTLE OF THE MARCHFELD.

Ottokar?  Isn't that a ride at Disneyland?

1346:  THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR - THE MILITARY SUPREMACY OF THE ENGLISH LONGBOW OVER THE FRENCH COMBINATION OF CROSSBOW AND ARMOURED KNIGHTS IS ESTABLISHED BY THE BATTLE OF CRECY.

So far, this is shaping up as a boring day in history.

1466:  A CONSPIRACY AGAINST PIERO DI COSIMO DE MEDICI IN FLORENCE, LED BY LUCA PITTI, IS DISCOVERED.

Such a pitti.

1498:  MICHELANGELO IS COMMISSIONED TO CARVE THE PIETA.

And later the turkey on Thanksgiving.

1748:  THE FIRST LUTHERAN DENOMINATION IN NORTH AMERICA IS FOUNDED IN PHILADELPHIA.

Good.  I have some place to go on Sundays.

1768:  CAPTAIN JAMES COOK SETS SAIL FROM ENGLAND ON BOARD HMS ENDEAVOUR.  

Later they sent this boat up to space?

1789:  THE DECLARATION OF THE RIGHTS OF MAN AND OF THE CITIZEN IS APPROVED BY THE NATIONAL CONSTITUENT ASSEMBLY OF FRANCE.

This day in history?  Still boring.

1791:  JOHN FITCH IS GRANTED A UNITED STATE PATENT FOR THE STEAMBOAT.

I thought this was Robert Fulton and not the guy who later partnered on clothing with Abercrombie.

1821:  THE UNIVERSITY OF BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA, IS OFFICIALLY OPENED.  

What time does the book store open?

1883:  THE ERUPTION OF KRAKATOA BEGINS ITS FINAL, PAROXYSMAL, STAGE.

Doesn't that sound dirty?

1909:  ACTOR JIM DAVIS IS BORN.

Jock Ewing!

1910:  MOTHER TERESA IS BORN.

She died in 1997 and they carted her body around for a couple of weeks or so.

1914:  WORLD WAR I - THE GERMAN COLONY OF TOGOLAND SURRENDERS TO FRENCH AND BRITISH FORCES AFTER A 20 DAY CAMPAIGN.

Out in LA, Togoland is a sandwich shop.

1920:  THE 19TH AMENDMENT TO THE US CONSTITUTION TAKES EFFECT, GIVING WOMEN THE RIGHT TO VOTE.

As long as the ironing is done.  Okay, that's a joke and not my real belief.

1930:  ACTOR LON CHANEY DIES.

The man of a thousand faces.  

1935:  POLITICIAN GERALDINE FERRARO IS BORN.

I sat behind her on a flight to NY the day Elliott Spitzer got in trouble.   Her Black Berry at Baggage Claim was buzzing like a bee hive.

1944:  WORLD WAR II - CHARLES DE GAULLE ENTERS PARIS.

This is news?

1970:  THE NEW FEMINIST MOVEMENT, LED BY BETTY FRIEDAN, LEADS A NATIONWIDE WOMEN'S STRIKE FOR EQUALITY.

Jeez, you can vote now.   What else do you want?  Okay, again, that's a joke and not my real belief.

1974:  PILOT CHARLES LINDBERGH DIES.

Dirtbag.

1977:  THE CHARTER OF THE FRENCH LANGUAGE IS ADOPTED BY THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY OF QUEBEC.

Still bored by this date.

1978:  ALBINO LUCIANI IS ELECTED AS POPE JOHN PAUL I.

Don't get too attached, folks.

1978:  ACTOR CHARLES BOYER DIES.

Killed himself two days after his wife died.

1980:  ACTOR MACAULAY CULKIN IS BORN.

He's still with us.  His career, however, is not.

1986:  ACTOR TED KNIGHT DIES.

Sad.   He appeared on an episode of my college radio sitcom.

2009:  AUTHOR DOMINICK DUNNE DIES.

He never got over that OJ Simpson verdict.

2011:  THE BOEING 787 DREAMLINER RECEIVES CERTIFICATION FROM THE FAA.

Upgrade please.

2018:  PLAYWRIGHT NEIL SIMON DIES.

No joke on this one.   Guy was a friggin' genius.

2023:  TV HOST BOB BARKER DIES.

Come on up.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Today's Cautionary Tale

 

Another validation of why we can't have nice things.   

With all the advanced technological benefits we enjoy in our 2026 lives comes reasons to avoid them.   This is not my story, but all of it happened last week to a good friend.   And his life was upended completely for three days to fix and retrieve what was stolen.

All of a sudden, my friend started getting notifications that his on-line life was being compromised.   Most of it was coming from his Verizon phone.   Suddenly, credit cards were being used.   Bank accounts were being attacked.

The problem with reaching out to customer service these days is that the people you reach sound like hackers themselves.  They all barely speak English and are somewhere on the other side of the world.   I had the same experience a few months ago when I had to call Chase about my checking account.   Seriously?  A major US banking institution has sent their phone support people to Dubai???

But I digress.   Back to my friend.  

He had to spend hours and days changing passwords and waiting 30 minutes on the phone to speak to people in other hemispheres.  Three days of work were lost.  But the teachable moment uncovered a new method of on-line treachery that we should all be wary of.   

Hackers are now getting into your cell phone SIM cards.   And stealing your cell phone number.  With that information, these scumbags can go to town.

Now, my friend told me to check my phone settings  Guess what?  Both my SIM card and my mobile number were unlocked and vulnerable.   It's an easy fix to remedy the situation and I suggest you all do it.

For that matter, you should also adopt a practice that I did a long time ago.   I don't open texts or emails that I don't recognize.   Another new portal for the cretins out there is an email from a friend that invites you to a party.   I've gotten three of them in the past month.   They are all bogus.   Please don't click on anything.

Unfortunately, another friend of mine did open such a party invitation.   Before she knew it, there were withdrawals from her savings account.

Be wary.   Be very, very wary.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - August 24, 2026

 More Marx Month.  One more time from "A Night at the Opera."

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Drive He Said

 

What I like about these Sunday Memory Drawers is that one simple thought opens a flood gate of other memories.   Thinking last week about learning to drive on my dad's Buick Le Sabre also brought me back to the day when I first got validated as a driver.

We've all been there in the photo above.   That dreaded bastion of bureaucracy and civil service bullshit.  The DMV.   And I am happy to say that my bi-coastal existence has enabled me to have experience with both the ones in NY and LA.

No bargain on either coast, I assure you.

But, back when I first was driving, the big thing was to get your learner's permit.  To do so, you had to pass a written exam which meant you need to study some book from cover to cover.   Learning lots of stuff about how far behind a semi-rig you should be.   I remember zipping through this test because it was summer and...well...there was nothing else I had to do.

Of course, in my house, everything moved slow.  The time between my getting the learner's permit and actually taking the road test was not weeks or months, but two years.   Don't ask, I won't tell.

But, somehow, logic eventually intervened and I booked my appointment to get behind the wheel for a grade.   At that time, the place to go for these tests was behind the old Adventurer's Inn near Cross County in Yonkers.  I was going to be tested on the car that I was most comfortable with...my father's prized Buick.  

I remember all the testees and their cars lined up anxiously.   Now the urban rumor of the day was that all teenagers flunked the first time because the driving testers were mean.  And they were all Civil Service workers who couldn't be fired so they didn't give a shit.   

When I was next in queue, my nerves bubbled to the surface.   Dad slid out of the car and in came a fat version of the Florence the Maid character from "The Jeffersons."   I smiled and said good morning.

"Uh huh.  Show me where your ignition is."

Okay, we're going to be like that.

"Where's your blinkers?"

"Okay, start the car.  Drive the corner and make a left."

Just how unhappy are you with your job, miss.

But I did as I was told.   It was over in five minutes.

"You flunked.   Come back in six weeks."

What?   Huh?   You're kidding.   What did I do?

I won't add my father's comments but you can usually find them on a rerun of "All in the Family."

The urban legend was indeed true.   Six weeks later, I came back and did the same test exactly as I had before.   I passed.   I remember looking at the new tester, another real life version of a Norman Lear sitcom, and thought about how unhappy she looked as well.   Was the only excitement she had in his career derived from failing some nervous 17-year-old?   

Moving on.   And motoring on.  I was good to go and content that I'd never have this ordeal again.

Wrong.

When, years later, you move three thousand miles to the west, you realize that you need to get a driver's license from your new state of residence.   Easy, right?   Fill out a form.  Stamp a couple of things and you're done.   Nope.   While I was not required to perform a road test, you did need to complete that blasted written exam.  

Back to the book.   Here I am.   Learning one more time how far you need to stay behind a semi rig on the road.    

Now they give you about thirty questions on this test in California and you pass as long as you don't get more than eight wrong.  It was multiple choice and the test was on double-sided paper.  Fifteen questions on the front and another fifteen on the back.  

I performed my civic duty and took the completed test to a clerk for grading.  She would do it right in front of me.   She looked at the front of the paper.

Check, check, X, check, X, X, check, check, check, X, check, X, X, check, X.

I had seven wrong on the front of the test already.   Holy shit.

She flipped it over.   And I ran the table on the back.   All checks.   Whew!

After I came to, I was thankful that, at least, California wasn't going to require me to take a road test.   I could only imagine how badly I would do on that.   Whew again!

Little did I know that a few years later on one December afternoon...

I got mail from the California DMV.  With my birthday coming in February, I was due for a driver's license renewal.  Simple enough.  The only slight curveball was that, for this particular renewal, I couldn't do it via the mail or on-line.  I actually had to make an in-person appearance at an office.  I reason to myself that this is the government's way of giving their sub-freezing-IQ-ed employees something to do.  You know.  The skilled laborers.  Those folks who are experts at stamping papers and removing staples.

The small iota of good news with the California DMV is that they welcome people to make appointments ahead of time.  You can easily cut the long line in the parking lot and not be subjected to body odor and broken English.  Since I don't fancy an issue with my renewal, I make an on-line date for the first week of January at the DMV near my office in Van Nuys.  Okay, Van Nuys is not a spot where any humans should be seen more than once a decade, but I figure that the office proximity will make up for the possibility that somebody's enchilada will squirt out onto my shirt.

On my first appointed day, I zipped over to Van Nuys at lunchtime.  I marveled at the third world gathered on line, all of them forlorn with some sort of form crumpled up in their hands.  No appointment?  Suckers!  I scurried past them triumphantly as if I had one of those Disneyland Fast Passes.

Inside, my bingo-like number was called pretty quickly.  Geez, I can get out of this dump within fifteen minutes, I thought.  The old fart behind the counter checked that my renewal form had been filled out and in correct English.  No problem.  I stood on the line and had my new license photo taken.  Okay, it was a terrible picture, but it's not a headshot going over to Paramount Central Casting.  No problem.  I shuttled a few feet over to the optical machine for the eye test.  Left eye.  Top line.  E-P-Q-R-T.  No problem.  Bottom line.  F-S-L-M-O.  No problem.  Right eye...

Er, problem.  I have very little vision there.  Nothing new.  This has been the case since my time in the womb.  Attention to all potential muggers: if you want to hit me up for my wallet, approach me from behind on my right side.  But, other than that potentiality of being a future crime statistic, this vision has never been an issue.

Except with this asshole at the DMV. 

"You have failed the eye test."

Yeah, so.  My vision hasn't changed.  I just went to my eye doctor in October for a check-up.

The dumbbell fumbled with some paper clips and then handed me another form.  If I had this filled out by my optical physician, I could bring it back and then get cleared to drive.  Okay, so my DMV experience was going to be incomplete today, but, at least, I saw the glimmer of an end game.  When I would have my next appointment in two weeks.

My eye doctor easily filled out the necessary paperwork.  He included my latest eye exam results and virtually cleared me to steer anything except perhaps the space shuttle.  This was all I needed to clear this small bureaucratic hurdle.

Or so I thought.

On the day of my second DMV appointment, I scooted past the morons on line one more time.  Once again, my bingo number was called promptly and I reported to the designated window which was now manned by some Hispanic kid who might have just crawled out of a car trunk.  He barely scanned my form and then stamped another page.

"Okay, step over to the machine and take the eye test."

Huh?

I thought this was a bizarre request given the copious optical dossier my doctor had just provided, but I complied.  The same results, of course. 

"You failed the eye test."

Duh.

I asked whether anything that my optometrist had written was of any use.  Apparently not.

"Your vision has changed." 

No, it hasn't.  Except for reading glasses needed for small print and dark restaurants, I had the same baseline vision.  Fine in the left, zero in the right.  And I have been driving for almost four decades. 

"You'll have to take a road test and prove that the vision isn't a handicap."

WHAT??????  How the hell did he think I got to the DMV office that day?  By Uber????  And can you please call up on the computer screen my almost pristine driving record????

Indeed, the main problem in all this is that, when I first got my driver's license, I was living in New York and there were no original records for me in California.  But, still?  I asked Hose A if he would at least speak to a supervisor.  And he was nice enough to acquiesce to my request.

No dice.  DMV supervisors are even worse than the people they manage.

"My boss says if you take the drive test this one time, it will be on your record and you never have to do it again."

I looked around at the jerks on line around me.  One could barely speak English and had no I.D. with him.  Another had to be about 90 years old and didn't seem to be getting nearly the same treatment on his end of the DMV counter.   They both would probably sail through their DMV experiences virtually unscathed. 

But me???  I'm a potential menace on the road.  I can't wait to get out there and play pinball with your Lexus.  Or maybe run down your immediate family at a farmer's market in Santa Monica.  This was the excesses of our government in all their glory.  Performing inexplicably and erratically. 

Wanting to get the misery over with as soon as possible, I scheduled the drive test for the following afternoon.  And, unlike perhaps every other slob in the DMV that day, I went home in misery.  Let's face it, the last time you ever drive 100% perfectly in your life is usually when you take your very first road test.  I had done this years ago...twice thanks to the accuracy of the urban legend.  Could I possibly pass this again???

Yeah, I didn't sleep much that night.

Three PM the next day couldn't come soon enough.  And, trust me, the afternoon was a thoroughly demeaning event.  I was forced to wait in my car for about 45 minutes in a queue so long that I thought I was going through the drive-through for a "Double Double" at In N'Out Burger.  I had to watch examiners kick a prospective driver's friends and family out of the car, as if they were all going on the road test like it was the Mummy ride at Universal Studios.

Why the hell am I here, I kept thinking.  Over and over and over and over.

When my vehicle was next in line, I noticed my appointed examiner making his way to my car.  A short man in a baseball cap.  Except when the short man in the baseball cap came to my window, I realized that he was a she. 

Oh, shit, is my eye sight really that bad?

No, she really did look like a guy.

Before she climbed into my car, I had to prove that I was semi-competent.  Here's my left signal.  Here's my right signal.  Here's how I honk the horn.

It was THAT bad.  And really no different than Yonkers, New York.

Once we got on the road, I did exactly what a friend at work had counseled me to do earlier that day. 

"Pretend you're driving in front of a police car."

And, for about two-thirds of the test, there was.  The examiner was actually very nice.  Make a left, make a right.  Move to your right lane.  Get over to your left lane.  On the way to the DMV, I noticed a school on the same block.  I knew damn well they would take you through that neighborhood to see if you would slow down.  So, I was prepared.  I figured that's the way the Van Nuys DMV trips up would-be drivers.  Me?  I literally crawled past the school.  Ha!

Eventually, we even wound up on the freeway.  I merged fluidly into the traffic and then fluidly hit the exit ramp.  I looked around at all the vehicles on the road.  How many of them were illegal aliens with licenses printed on their computer?

Even though I had practiced several of them that morning, this road test did not require you to perform a parallel park.  After fifteen minutes that seemed like fifteen days, we pulled into the back of the DMV office. 

"Well, you passed."

EXHALE!!!!

My short guy/girl examiner then nitpicked me on a couple of little nuances of my test, but he/she also mentioned that they were all a result of the many bad habits each of us picks up after they have been driving for years.  But, nevertheless, I was good to go.

LOUD EXHALE!!!!!

I thought about some of the other tests my examiner had to probably administer that day.  I was likely the easiest.  But, surprisingly, I had lucked out with one of the more professional DMV workers in the world.  I let her know that and she started to beam. 

"Nobody ever said that to me before."

She was genuinely moved.  After all, nobody likes the DMV.  And I certainly didn't either.  But, I was quite appreciative of somebody who had taken a nerve wracking moment in my life and had smoothed out at least some of the creases.

I still couldn't wait to get the fuck out of there.  Yeah, it's still true.  Nobody really likes the DMV.

And I was done with driving tests at last.

Fingers crossed.

Dinner last night:  Tomato sandwich on English muffin.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - August 2026

 Fifty years ago this month.  One of John Wayne's best!

Dinner last night:  Hot dog at Dodger Stadium.

Creepy Is As Creepy Does

 

Why is Dad looking so sheepish? I'm guessing Witness Protection Program. Also, can we have a party so Junior's pants can come down and meet his shoes?

Nancy Pelosi's first baby picture.

The youngest ambulance chasers in America.

The true mystery of the Sphinx is how the hell does this bunch get through the day.

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" more than a card showing some good ole' holiday anal sex.

As far as I'm concerned, there's only one real dog in this picture.

Dinner last night:   Sandwich.