More Marx Month. One more time from "A Night at the Opera."
Dinner last night: Ribeye steak.
Sunday, August 23, 2026
The Sunday Memory Drawer - Drive He Said
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.
Saturday, August 22, 2026
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.
Friday, August 21, 2026
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.
Thursday, August 20, 2026
Your Basic African-Italian Romcom
Oddly enough, I sort of liked it. While it's basically the same film you have seen dozens of times, it dares to be different by 1) setting it in Italy and 2) having the two leads be Black. Because when did you ever expect to see a female Black chef working in the Tuscany area of Italy? Indeed, the couple at the center of the film are played by likeable actors Halle Bailey and Rege-Jean Page and that anchors the film. There's also a lot of inside jokes about Page when he has the requisite shirtless scene. You sort of get that everybody here is having fun and that leads the audience to do just the same. Filming in the actual location also adds to the likeability quotient.
As one who is dabbling in the world of romantic comedies, I reached out to this film to make sure the formula still works. And it does almost by the page number.
Girl lives a double life posing as somebody she is not. Check.
Supporting characters have all the snarky one-liners. Check.
Two couples are mis-matched. Check.
The situation gets worse before it gets better. Check.
Male hero takes his shirt off. As previously stated, check.
Yes, you see how this is all going to resolve it an hour before it does. But the whole thing is like one of the bowls of pasta photographed. It looks delicious and is the perfect comfort food.
At the end of the day, "romcom" is not the dirty word everybody makes it out to be.
LEN'S RATING: Three stars.
Dinner last night: Sandwich.
Wednesday, August 19, 2026
This Date in History - August 19
295 BC: THE FIRST TEMPLE TO VENUS IS DEDICATED BY QUINTUS FABIUS MAXIMUS GURGES.
His son was Quintus Fabius Maximus Gurges Junior.
43 BC: GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR OCTAVIANUS COMPELS THE ROMAN SENATE TO ELECT CONSUL.
No wonder the Roman Empire fell. Who can remember all the names?
561: MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, WHO WAS 18, RETURNS TO SCOTLAND AFTER SPENDING 13 YEARS IN FRANCE.
What was that? An extended sleepaway camp?
1692: IN SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS, FIVE PEOPLE ARE EXECUTED AFTER BEING CONVICTED OF WITCHCRAFT.
They think that's a crime. Wait till everybody meets the new Darren.
1759: BATTLE OF LAGOS DURING THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR BETWEEN GREAT BRITAIN AND FRANCE.
Oh, Lagos. There goes my snap together toy joke.
1812: WAR OF 1812 - AMERICAN FRIGATE USS CONSTITUTION DEFEATS BRITISH FRIGATE GUERRIERE OFF THE COAST OF CANADA EARNING THE NICKNAME "OLD IRONSIDES."
Oh, frigate.
1839: THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT ANNOUNCES THAT LOUIS DAGUERRE'S PHOTOGRAPHIC PROCESS IS A GIFT FREE TO THE WORLD.
Yeah, that eventually led to movies and they are definitely not free.
1848: THE NEW YORK HERALD BREAKS THE NEWS OF THE GOLD RUSH IN CALIFORNIA.
I got here almost 150 years later. Too late.
1854: THE FIRST SIOUX WAR BEGINS WHEN US SOLDIERS KILL LAKOTA CHIEF CONQUERING BEAR AND IN RETURN ARE MASSACRED.
Where's Randolph Scott when you need him?
1871: INVENTOR ORVILLE WRIGHT IS BORN.
Fun fact for Wednesday: Wilbur was four years older.
1883: DESIGNER COCO CHANEL IS BORN.
Inventor of the last minute Christmas present.
1909: THE FIRST AUTOMOBILE RACE AT THE INDIANAPOLIS SPEEDWAY.
Varoom.
1921: PRODUCER GENE RODDENBERRY IS BORN.
Going where no one named Gene Roddenberry has gone before.
1931: JOCKEY WILLIE SHOEMAKER IS BORN.
And he's off.
1934: THE FIRST ALL-AMERICAN SOAP BOX DERBY IS HELD IN DAYTON, OHIO.
Varoom. Well, sort of.
1934: THE CREATOR OF THE POSITION FUHRER IS APPROVED BY THE GERMAN ELECTORATE WITH 89.9% OF THE POPULAR VOTE.
You vill be sorry.
1940: ACTRESS JILL ST. JOHN IS BORN.
So do you think hubby Robert Wagner has told her what happened that night on Catalina?
1944: DURING WORLD WAR II, PARIS, FRANCE RISES AGAINST GERMAN OCCUPATION WITH THE HELP OF ALLIED TROOPS.
As if you thought they could do it by themselves.
1945: VIET MINH LED BY HO CHI MINH TAKES POWER IN HANOI, VIETNAM.
Already it starts.
1946: PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON IS BORN.
The man Hillary slept with once.
1948: TIPPER GORE IS BORN.
The ex-wife of the man who was the vice president to the man that Hillary slept with once.
1953; POLITICAL CONSULTANT MARY MATALIN IS BORN.
Her marriage to James Carville is a microcosm of the political situation in this nation.
1955: IN THE NORTHEAST US, SEVERE FLOODING IS CAUSED BY HURRICANE DIANE, CLAIMING 200 LIVES.
Flooding will do that to a person.
1960: IN MOSCOW, RUSSIA, DOWNED AMERICAN U-2 PILOT FRANCIS GARY POWERS IS SENTENCED TO TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT BY THE SOVIET UNION FOR ESPIONAGE.
Comrade, da plane, da plane.
1960: BASEBALL STAR AND BROADCASTER RON DARLING IS BORN.
Now that Tim McCarver has retired, he is the best color announcer working today.
1969: ACTOR MATTHEW PERRY IS BORN.
The weakest Friend...acting-wise.
1977: COMIC GROUCHO MARX DIES.
Tough week for legends. Elvis died three days before.
1989: RADIO CAROLINE, THE OFFSHORE PIRATE STATION IN THE NORTH SEA, IS RAIDED BY BRITISH AND DUTCH GOVERNMENTS.
So we'll just track this Allman Brothers album for now.
1989: SEVERAL HUNDRED EAST GERMANS CROSS THE FRONTIER BETWEEN HUNGARY AND AUSTRIA, PART OF THE EVENTS THAT BEGAN THE PROCESS OF THE FALL OF THE BERLIN WALL.
Mr. Gorbachev...tear down...yeah, yeah, I know.
1991: SOVIET PRESIDENT MIKHAIL GORBACHEV IS PLACED UNDER HOUSE ARREST WHILE ON HOLIDAY IN THE UKRAINE.
You should never have torn down...yeah, yeah, I know.
1991: BLACK GROUPS TARGET HASIDIC JEWS ON THE STREETS OF CROWN HEIGHTS IN NY FOR THREE DAYS AFTER TWO BLACK KIDS WERE HIT BY A CAR DRIVEN BY A HASIDIC MAN.
It could have been worse. He could have been a Hasidic cop.
2009: TV NEWS PRODUCER DON HEWITT DIES.
Hey, my watch has stopped.
2010: OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM ENDS, WITH THE LAST OF THE US COMBAT TEAMS CROSSING THE BORDER TO KUWAIT.
Well, gee, I'm glad that's over. Oh, wait...
2016: ACTOR JACK RILEY DIES.
Mr Carlin from the Bob Newhart Show.
Dinner last night: Hamburger.
Tuesday, August 18, 2026
No Tomatoes Please
So, the title of today's piece is also the official name of the production company my writing partner and I started over three decades okay. It stemmed from the many NY-based lunches we had at the time when we were trying to star a writing career. When we were ordering, both of us had a stipulation for the waiter. If we were getting a salad, there would be a single exception.
No tomatoes please.
The phrase stuck. And still adheres to this day. Just check us on Imdb.
Now, here's the goofy stuff. I will eat tomato sauce and any cooked tomatoes. I will drink tomato juice. I will eat salsa or bruschetta. My favorite sandwich is bacon, lettuce, and...yes...tomato. I just won't eat a tomato cut into slices or a wedge.
Does this make sense? Of course not. But it is me.
But, every August going back to my days in NY and up to my current days in LA, I make an exception to the rule. I will venture out to a Farmer's market and over-indulge myself in tomatoes of all kinds and shapes. Nothing makes me happier than a bowl of cut up tomatoes with nothing but some salt, a little EVO, and some balsamic vinegar.
It is currently August. Look at the load of tomatoes I have for this week.
So much for production company names.
Dinner last night: Leftover ribeye in a salad. With tomatoes.
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