Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 31, 2021

 Just so you know, this guy is really a comic.   And this is pretty funny.

Dinner last night:  Tri-tip Beef.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Remembering My Dad on Memorial Day

 

Happy Memorial Day weekend to all.  Many of us come from the generation that endured World War II and even served in its battles.  You may have had a father who did so bravely and later had stories to tell.

So did I.   And here's a photo of my dad in his Army uniform.

Truth be told, though, my father didn't have a plethora of heroic tales to share.  He did go overseas, yes.  To Japan where he apparently complained about the food.  But, major action?  Er, no.  He worked in an office and his mightiest struggle may have been with a pesky typewriter ribbon.

My dad's family was a microcosm of America during the 40s and the homefront years.  My grandparents had four sons and all of them served in WWII.  The oldest son, Augie, was in the Army and had some involvement with the D-Day invasion of the beach at Normandy.  My namesake was also in the Army and didn't make it back.  He was killed in the south of France about two weeks before V-E Day.  I believe Fritz was in the Navy, since I recall a photo of him with one of those Navy berets.

My dad was the youngest of the four and wound up as far from action.  The only weapon he had to worry about was likely a pair of chopsticks.  He didn't really ever said much about the experience, except that he hated the food.  Because, as was the case with this generation, they didn't mention anything.

Once again, if you wanted to find out about the past lives of your parents, you had to ask very specific and appropriate questions.  And, if you were extremely lucky, you got an answer.  Or, as was usually the case, you got bounced to the other parent who would immediately deflect you back to the first parent.  Suddenly, you weren't their child.  You were a ping pong ball.

Now I saw all these military headshots strewn around my family's walls and shelves.  I was curious.  I had always had a romantic attraction to the American homefront years, which was probably the last time this country was completely unified.  I wanted to learn all about it.  And I had all these first-hand witnesses, right?

I figured I would start small.  I'd ask my dad the most innocent of questions and then ramp up from there.  We were riding in the car one day to the super market and I dove in with both feet.

"So did Mom write to you a lot when you were in the Army during the war?"

Fairly mild and only slightly invasive, I thought.  But the look on my father's face made it seem like I had kicked him in the groin.

"What kind of stupid question is that??"

Ummm....

Dad paused for an eternity of ten seconds or so.  And then he offered up a morsel.

"I wasn't dating your mother.  I was getting letters from Muriel."

Muriel?  Like the cigar??

I asked the follow-up question and got the usual follow-up shutdown.

And this was one that I couldn't circle back to Mom for more information.  Suppose she didn't know about Muriel, who I later discovered was a woman in our church and still around for all to see and behold.  I didn't certainly want to start World War III in my own household.  So, I did exactly what all the adults in my family were very, very good at.

I kept it all to myself.

Nobody talked about those war years and, of course, Grandma was particularly close-mouthed about it all.  She had lost a son.  For years, I didn't know what that purple medal was that hung in her living room.  I later discovered its significance.  But that was a subject you didn't go into.  All the stories about my uncle with the same name as mine seemed to stop with 1944. 

Years later, my dad announced that he would give me a metal strong box that contained a lot of memorabilia about our family's loss in the war.  I found a yellowed and withered letter from the War Department that detailed the exact burial site for him.  It was in the south of France.  What was the reason why they didn't bring him home to the states for his final resting place?  Why?

In this case, my father was as clueless as I was.

"I don't know."

I noticed that the letter or wire announcing his death was not amongst the snippets of a military life in that box.  What happened to that?  My father knew.

"It went in the garbage."

Along with all the emotions that went with that devastating news.

Even though he didn't talk much about his Army tenure, I think my father was particularly proud of it, even though the only weapon he touched might have been a desk stapler.  He displayed his pride by taking me to every military movie that came out in the 60s.

"The Longest Day."

"The Guns of Navarone."

"The Bridge Over the River Kwai."

"The Train."

"Von Ryan's Express."

All seen with my father.  While my mom handled all the Disney and biblical films, Dad was the exclusive conduit to Hollywood's various depictions of WWII.  And, as good as every one of those movies were, he always had the same comment afterwards.

"I don't think it happened like that."

Oh, really, how do you know that?  Tell me more.  Please!

He never did.

There were only two times in my life that I actually saw my father cry.  The first was when he came into the house from work after my grandfather had just died.  But, the second time blew me away.  It was sudden, spontaneous, and, the time, unexplainable.

He had taken me out for a Sunday drive and, in a rare deviation from our typical route in the Bronx, we wound up motoring down the West Side Highway in Manhattan.  Since Mom was nowhere in the vicinity, the car radio was tuned to my father's favorite, WNEW-AM.  Suddenly, there was that ominous news bulletin alert.  That was always scary in itself.

"GENERAL DOUGLAS MACARTHUR HAS DIED."

Who?  I didn't know at the time.  I was that young.  But, I looked to my father and there were tears streaming down his face.  I asked him what was wrong.

"My boss died."

His boss?  I suddenly realized that, to someone who had been involved in the military during World War II, this man had tremendous importance.  And apparently commanded eternal loyalty.

There was a pause of a minute or two.  Dad wiped the tears from his eyes and then kept driving on. 

In the usual silence.

Dinner last night:  Char siu pork and szechwan green beans from Chin Chin.

Classic Musical Comedy Production Number of the Month - May 2021

Woo hoo.   A five Saturday month allows us to open the vault on a classic musical comedy production number.   And this is a good one from "Good News" featuring the multi-talented Joan McCracken who had an untimely death in 1961 at the age of 43.   Is it any surprise from this clip that she was once married to Bob Fosse? 

Dinner last night:  BBQ chicken pizza at the Dodger game.

Len's Jukebox of the Month - May 2021

 As a person, I am sure Barbra Streisand is a handful to deal with.    And, of course, she has her loud mouth moments when it comes to politics, current events, etc..

But....

I will rarely turn off a Streisand tune if it shows up in my rotation.   And, given all her hits, I oddly have always been drawn to her "Guilty" album made in part with Barry Gibb.   I remember when it came back.   Indeed, I have very specific "dating" memories when it comes to this record.

So here's the cover song and you can flash yourself right back to the 80s.

Dinner last night:  Chef's salad.

When Did Comedy Get So Mean?

 

I guess I could have been asking that question the last several years.   But the query raised its ugly head again recently as I sampled a new HBO "sitcom" called "Hacks."

My interest level?   Well, I noticed it starred Jean Smart, a likable and very dependable actress whom I have enjoyed for years.  According to the log line, she was playing a Vegas comic, a persona perhaps borrowed from the late Joan Rivers.  Jean works a lot and for good reason.  She is quite talented.  Go back to the old "24" series and watch the season where she played the boozy First Lady of the US.

Okay, I was in.

And I still am as four episodes have rolled out to date.   I am engaged.  Sort of.   I am laughing.  Sort of..

I have lots of reactions.   Sort of.

But the overriding impression is...well...look again at the title of today's post.

The thing with "Hacks" and its show biz setting is that no single character is somebody you would like to have in your own life.   They are all mean and nasty and bitter.

Again, this is a comedy?

Smart plays Deborah Vance, an aging Vegas stand-up who has a very lucrative career but everybody knows that it is inching to an end.   As a result, she is matched with a bitter 25-year-old bi-sexual comedy writer named Ava whose own career has been upended because she tweeted something nasty about a public figure.   Ava is played by somebody named Hannah Einbender and my research tells me she is the daughter of former SNLer Laraine Newman.   That essentially is just a note of trivia.   Ava as a character is also mean and nasty and bitter.

Again, this is a comedy?

Oh, don't get me wrong.  I have laughed.  Quite a few times.   But the insulting humor here is more vile than you have experienced before and makes Don Rickles look like Mister Rogers in comparison.

I am hoping the characters grow and emerge and soften as we learn more about them.   But my fear is that the producers and writers in charge here are the real angry ones and the tone will never change.  

Come on, folks.   We need laughs these days and not the nasty, leering ones.   TV comedies need to put a comfortable smile on your face.  Otherwise, the product becomes exhausting.   I had the same reaction watching "Schitt's Creek."   It was funny but I could only watch no more than two episodes in a row.   The meanness of the younger characters had to experienced in the smallest of doses.

I am hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.  After a few episodes of "Hacks," I needed a cleansing.   I went into Hulu and watched the first season premiere of "Rhoda."

And I laughed again.  And smiled again.   Even though I knew it wasn't going to really work out for Rhoda and Joe.

Dinner last night:  Leftover eggplant.

This Date in History - May 26

Happy birthday to Stevie Nicks, who has certainly aged well.

946:  KING EDMUND I OF ENGLAND IS MURDERED BY A THIEF WHOM HE PERSONALLY ATTACKS.

This is obviously in the pre-bodyguard years.

961:  KING OTTO I ELECTS HIS 6-YEAR-OLD OTTO II AS HEIR APPARENT AND CO-RULER OF THE EAST FRANKISH KINGDOM.

Chocolate milk for everybody!!!

1573:  THE BATTLE OF HAARLEMMERMEER, A NAVAL ENGAGEMENT IN THE DUTCH WAR OF INDEPENDENCE.

I just wanted to type that word.

1857:  DRED SCOTT IS EMANCIPATED BY THE BLOW FAMILY, HIS ORIGINAL OWNERS.  

A good day to be Dred Scott.

1868:  THE IMPEACHMENT OF ANDREW JOHNSON ENDS WITH HIS ACQUITTAL BY ONE VOTE.

Don't tell me he was colluding with Russia, too.

1886:  ACTOR AL JOLSON IS BORN.

Yeah, we ain't heard nothing yet.

1897:  "DRACULA,"  A GOTHIC NOVEL BY BRAM STOKER, IS PUBLISHED.

Book report due Friday.

1907:  ACTOR JOHN WAYNE IS BORN.

Howdy, Pilgrim.

1923:  ACTOR JAMES ARNESS IS BORN.

Mr. Dillon!!

1924:  COMPOSER VICTOR HERBERT DIES.

Corpses in Toyland.

1927:  THE LAST FORD MODEL T ROLLS OFF THE ASSEMBLY LINE AFTER A PRODUCTION RUN OF 15 MILLION VEHICLES.

How many recalls?

1939:  SPORTSCASTER BRETT MUSBERGER IS BORN.

Hiccup.

1940:  WORLD WAR II - ALLIED FORCES BEGIN A MASSIVE EVACUATION FROM DUNKIRK, FRANCE.

So that's where they got the idea for the movie.

1948:  SINGER STEVIE NICKS IS BORN.

Love Fleetwood Mac!

1949:  ACTRESS PAM GRIER IS BORN.

Foxy Brown!

1962:  ACTRESS GENIE FRANCIS IS BORN.

General Hospital fans, please note.

1967:  THE BEATLES "SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND" IS RELEASED.

Interesting album cover.

1968:  TRAFFIC CHANGES IN ICELAND FROM DRIVING ON THE LEFT TO DRIVING ON THE RIGHT OVERNIGHT.

That must have a positive impact on auto body shops there.

1972: THE UNITED STATES AND THE SOVIET UNION SIGN THE ANTI-BALLISTIC MISSILE TREATY.

Collusion!

1998:  THE SUPREME COURT OF THE US RULES THAT ELLIS ISLAND, THE HISTORIC GATEWAY FOR IMMIGRANTS IS MAINLY IN THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY, NOT NEW YORK.

This was a thing?

1998:  THE FIRST "NATIONAL SORRY DAY" WAS HELD IN AUSTRALIA.

I missed it.  Sorry.

2005:  ACTOR EDDIE ALBERT DIES.

You've got that countryside now.

2008:  DIRECTOR SYDNEY POLLACK DIES.

I once saw him at the dry cleaners.

2010:  TV HOST ART LINKLETTER DIES.

Adults Die The Darndest Deaths.

Dinner last night:  Leftover eggplant pecorino.

Hollywood Then and Now - May 2021

 

Well, here's a Then and Now that I hope goes no further than right at this moment.

It was big news out here in LaLa Land about a month ago.   The Arclight Cinema chain was going to become a victim of COVID.   Indeed, my favorite place in the world to see a movie.  

Of course, attached to the Arclight in Hollywood is the famed Cinerama Dome.  This magnificent theater opened in 1963 with the world premiere of "It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."

That had to be a special night.   But, then again, any night at the Dome is a special one.  If there was a big blockbuster opening, this would be where you would go to see it with its gigantic wrap-around screen and superlative sight lines.   

I am sure there are folks out here who were born and raised on the Dome.   I've just been lucky enough to have it for the 24 years I have been in LA.  

Now I believe it is a landmark so it needs to exist in some form.   But one rumor is that it could possibly be turned into a restaurant!  

Please, no.   Let's keep the Arclight in Hollywood and the Dome doing what they were built to do.   Show movies.

Right now, the Dome looks like it is awaiting the next BLM outburst.   Hopefully, those boards are temporary.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 24, 2021

I am so addicted to Oliver the Beagle videos and this just might be a regular Monday Morning laugh every month.

Dinner last night:  Eggplant pecorino.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Yo Yo of Weight Management

 

I am still sifting through more of the photos I dug out of my New York apartment.  Most of them I can easily remember the specifics.  The time, the place, the occasion.  The one atop today's post?

No clue.  

Okay, it's a batting cage.  I don't recall ever going to one on the East Coast, so this must have been taken during one of my California trips.  The longish hair.  The moustache.  The timing seems right.  And, good news, the ball is nowhere to be found.  I've obviously made contact. Len's 1 for 1.

Meanwhile, as I stare at this snapshot, there is one thing that grabs me.

Damn, I was skinny on this day.

Seriously, there is no stomach.  The legs don't look that chunky.  Are those designer jeans that I have wormed my way into?  I'd like to lose the two tone belt that just screams "J. Crew."  But, overall, this looks like one fit individual.

Really?  When was this?  And how come I couldn't make this last more than three days?

Weight has always been an issue with me.  Want to see?

I'm probably four in this picture and already I see evidence of love handles.  One Animal Cracker box too many.  And dig those chunky thighs.  Frankly, I think some folks just happen to be blessed.  There are those who have svelte in their DNA make-up and others that don't.

I'm somewhere in the middle.  As you can see, I could be bi-polar with regard to fitness.  But, for me to achieve the thinner side, it takes a lot of work.

The only problem is that I didn't start that work until I was in high school.

For about sixteen years, I was totally passive.  Except when it came to eating.  We dined healthy, although not to the maniacal extremes that former First Lady Michelle Obama supported.  There was candy and dessert and always chocolate chip cookies in Grandma's pantry jar.  Fruit and vegetables, yes. Tootsie Rolls in Grandma's living room candy dish, definitely yes.  And, after school, there was always the walk around the corner to Charlie's Delicatessen for an after school snack.  A carrot stick?  Hell, no.  Make that a Drake's Ring Ding.

Exercise in my first decade and a half?    Well, there wasn't as much as there should have been.  I played in the neighborhood, but was always the slowest and clumsiest one on the team.  Sports didn't come to me easily.  Maybe it was the extra pounds.  Maybe it was a lack of practice.  I was always the last one to be picked when sides were chosen.

Things weren't much better in school when there was gym class always taught by some jerk who thought he was coaching the Green Bay Packers.  The most strenuous activity for me was just to figure out how to get a medical excuse for whenever they would turn to gymnastics and tumbling.  

And, of course, we had that great annual humbler.  The President's Fitness Test.  Some bureaucratic nonsense concocted to make kids feel horrible about themselves.  You had to run six laps around the playground.  Or scoot around picking up erasers.  Your times were compared to everybody else in the class.  It was a horrible feeling each and every Spring.   While other classmates had moved on to the locker room, I was still in Lap 5.

This kind of misery became quite second nature to me.  It was me and I started to accept it.  I was aided and abetted by parents who discounted the whole concept of weight and fitness.

"Some people are just big-boned."

Oh.

But, as I moved into the teen years, I started to kick back on this flimsy excuse.  I looked around at some friends.  There were others who were equally "big-boned."  My best neighborhood buddy Leo was one of them.  But, when it came to playing games on the block, he had a dose of athleticism that I envied.  Why was that?

Ultimately, I found my own niche.  It came on those summer teenage nights when my gang would troop en masse down to the local vacant lot after dinner.  We'd play softball or baseball until it was either too dark or the ball had been lost in the weeds.  And, as I did this night after humid night, I found there was some truth to the old adage.

Practice does make perfect.

Well, maybe not perfect.  More like passable.  

Suddenly, I could pitch at softball.  I found a hitting stroke and could pound the ball with a little power.  And, given my height, I came in handy playing first base.  You always wanted to put the tall guy there because the highest weeds were right behind that base.  You never wanted to overthrow because that would easily get that night's game cancelled due to shrubbery.  

I was tall and was now able to catch.  I was ideal at first base and relished the notion.  Leo would play third and field like a young Ron Santo.  Snag a grounder and fire it to me for the out.  What a defensive combination.

I now belonged someplace on a playing field.

The weight, or non-lack of it, still plagued me.  It became really chronic in my senior year.  During the very first gym class of the year, a deep knee thrust popped out the whole joint and that would be the beginning of the long end for my right knee.  Touch football games after school were discarded in favor of TV reruns and lots of Hostess Twinkies.  

By Christmas, I was no longer "big-boned."  I was fat.

I hated the way I looked and vowed to make changes.   There was a diet being hawked on TV talk shows that required you to drink eight glasses of water a day.  A problem when you're taking six classes a day in a high school where going to the bathroom was a death wish.  But I did it.  Plus I monitored my calorie intake.   Dad did the super market shopping.  I gave him my list.

"Low calorie Wishbone dressing?" 

"Non-fat yogurt?"

"Tab?"

Yes, that Tab.  

By spring, I was looking for a new wardrobe.

And, folks, it's been a battle ever since.  I went to college and almost ballooned to Jabba the Hut proportions again.  Late night hero sandwiches from the Fordham student deli will expand your waist measurement.  As soon as I graduated, I went back to dieting.

Weight off, weight on.  Muscle tone good, muscle tone bad.  I never stayed the same the rest of my life.

There are some photos over time that I want to burn.  Since when did I look like Ralph Kramden?  There are other snapshots that make me squint to see the label on the jeans.  Calvin Klein?  Hmmm, I'm impressed.

There's the photo at the top and I like what I see.  How many days did that flat stomach last?  I'm curious.

Over the years of my life, there was always some form of cardio.  I've been through not one, not two, but three stationary bikes.  There was a Yonkers gym membership in the 90s and I actually went four times a week.  I became addicted to a Nordic Track machine.  

And then rotten joints that connect the two parts of my leg started to prevent a rigorous exercise regiment.

Today, there is a personal trainer that works with me twice a week.  The struggle continues.  The weight doesn't leave, but it gets more defined.  After two years,  I see an ab in the mirror.  Oh, look, there's another one.  

I have abs.  That's plural.

It's a part of my life that I can't ignore.  And don't.  

I may never look like the photo at the top.  But, at the same time, I never want to be the one in the middle either.

And, my friends, isn't that what it's all about?

The middle.

Dinner last night:  Char siu pork and Pineapple Chicken from Chin Chin.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - May 2021

It's hard to believe that this movie is 30 years old this month.   One of Ron Howard's better ones.

Dinner last night:  Grilled bratwurst.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for May 2021

Well, one of my favorite neighborhood theaters has re-opened, only to close a week later when somebody behind the candy counter came down with COVID.  But the Nuart will be open again.  The sad thing is that some of my other faves, like the Arclight Hollywood, are knock, knock, knocking at Heaven's door.  

I have yet to enter a movie theater since last March.  The reason is not so much fear of the coughing person next to me.   I'm mostly frightened by the crap on the screen.  Hollywood has become this grim place where dark movies are churned out like Raisinets.  But there is enough going on to reinstate our monthly film guide.   You know the usual drill, gang.   I'll sift through the entertainment pages of the LA Times and give you my knee-jerk reaction to what is starting to show at our theaters.  

If there was only a vaccination for crummy movies...

The Father:   Yes, whether you like it or not, Anthony Hopkins did win the Best Actor Oscar.  I have yet to sample this tale of dementia.   See above about "dark movies."

Promising Young Woman:  Recently reviewed here.   It was overrated then and probably still is.

Minari:  For me, this was the Best Picture of the year.   Except I was smiling at the end and that's probably verboten.

Nomadland:  This won Best Picture and...well,...see above.

Those Who Wish Me Dead:  Just what we need...another documentary about Donald Trump?

Finding You:  A girl travels to Ireland to meet a heartthrob movie star.    And who stole the "Notting Hill" script?

Demon Slayer - Kimetsu No Yaiba:   No Yaiba?   I want my money back.

Profile:   A British journalist infiltrates extremist groups on-line.   I think that's called Facebook.

Wrath of Man:   Starring Jason Statham.  Which means you're better off watching "Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan."

Spiral - Saw:  Or try Honey Baked for Spiral - Ham.

Together Together:  Starring somebody from "The Office," a show that I never saw a single frame of.

The Marksman:  Starring Liam Neeson, who I swear makes a lousy movie once a month.

Army of the Dead:   A zombie outbreak in Las Vegas.   No Moderna?

Killing of Two Lovers:   Well, that should solve somebody's problem.

Here Today:   Starring Billy Crystal and who dug him up?   Also starring Tiffany Haddish who should never have been dug up in the first place.

Limbo:  A Scottish island of refugees.   Kilts galore.

Dinner last night:  Ham sandwich.

 

It Came From Another School System

 

This is some hot mess named Andrea Weiskopf.   She is a teacher in the Loudoun County, Virginia school system.   If you see her out and about in the super market, stick your foot out and trip her.   Or figure out which car is hers in the parking lot and key it.   Or give her a four flats.

And whatever you do, please don't allow your children to be anywhere near this piece of trash.   The closest she should ever be to kids is watching a Brady Bunch rerun on TV.   Forget watching your your youngsters.  She shouldn't even be seen in your neighborhood walking dogs.

A little venomous today, Len?   Well, I rarely get as riled up about a news story as I did with the one involving this slob.  But I was appalled by what I saw.

Okay, first off, I am a big supporter of educators.  I know a few of them.   And, just to get the record straight, I am not a racist even though I am White and, in some demented circles, that makes me guilty without a trial.   I have friends of all colors, races, genders, and persuasions.   

But, in the distorted mind of this "educator," I am a villain and have been since 1619.  She is right.  We are all wrong.  

Now, don't get me wrong.   Teachers are allowed to have opinions.   They can be as varied as the day is long.   But when it comes to kids in the class, I would like my educators to present all sides of history to the youth of America.   Then the children can grow up and adopt their own philosophies.   

But not in this heifer's society.   She is WOKE or whatever that is.   She is going to brainwash our next generations in much the same way that Adolf Hitler taught the blond, fair-haired children of Germany.  

The news story I saw was about parents in this Virginia county rebelling against their school district's decision to push critical race theory.   Good for them.   And one of their targets is this loud mouth whose main contribution to the community,  judging from the size of her, is keeping the local McDonald's in business.

During this news story, Weiskopf was captured on tape lecturing the "racist" parents at a school board meeting that Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" was essentially another example of the teachings of Satan.   After all, at the end of that book, Atticus Finch is the hero.   Another example of White supremacy in play.

WHAT?????

I was so incensed by what this pig said that I Googled her.   First and foremost is our Twitter account, which daily features the ramblings of a person who clearly hates her life and everybody in it.  This, my friends, is somebody who is in the position of educating your son or daughter.   Indeed, some of her tweets are so snarky and condescending that you can't help but wonder why Twitter hasn't cut her off like Donald Trump.

From what I heard, there is hope.   The parents in this community are up in arms and should be.  First things first, this clown needs to be fired so she can find her true calling as a French Fry salter at the local diner.   The sooner we are rid of teachers who refuse to teach a balanced viewpoint to our kids, the better.

The sad thing, however, is how Weiskopf's Twitter page is labeled.   She says she is a "mother."

OMG.  The monster has already reproduced!

Dinner last night:  Bacon wrapped Dodger Dog.

This Date in History - May 19

Happy birthday to David Hartman.   Several months ago, I made a mistake and listed him here as dead.   For that sole reason, he headlines for us on May 19.  It's some scientist David Hartman that bought the farm.

715:  POPE GREGORY II IS ELECTED.

Or so the exit polls say.

1499:  CATHERINE OF ARAGON IS MARRIED BY PROXY TO ARTHUR, PRINCE OF WALES.  CATHERINE IS 13 AND ARTHUR IS 12.

Cougar.

1536:  ANNE BOLEYN, THE SECOND WIFE OF HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND, IS BEHEADED FOR ADULTERY, TREASON, AND INCEST.

Well, if you want to get specific...

1568:  QUEEN ELIZABETH I OF ENGLAND ORDERS THE ARREST OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

That English crowd was one swinging bunch.

1749:  KING GEORGE II OF GREAT BRITAIN GRANTS THE OHIO COMPANY A CHARTER OF LAND AROUND THE OHIO RIVER.

Don't get too comfortable, England.

1780:  NEW ENGLAND'S DARK DAY, AN UNUSUAL DARKENING OF THE DAY SKY, IS OBSERVED IN NEW ENGLAND AND CANADA.

It's called a rain storm.

1795:  BUSINESSMAN JOHNS HOPKINS IS BORN.

What's with the plural in the first name?

1828:  US PRESIDENT JOHN QUINCY ADAMS SIGNS THE TARIFF OF 1828 INTO LAW, PROTECTING WOOL MANUFACTURERS IN THE US.

Baaaaa.

1890:  POLITICIAN HO CHI MINH IS BORN.

Love your trail.

1921:  THE UNITED STATES CONGRESS PASSES THE EMERGENCY QUOTA ACT ESTABLISHING NATIONAL QUOTAS ON IMMIGRATION.

In 2021.....we laugh.

1925:  ACTIVIST MALCOLM X IS BORN.

And X gets the square.

1928:  BASEBALL STAR GIL MCDOUGALD IS BORN.

Coached Fordham baseball when I was there.

1935:  COLONEL T.E. LAWRENCE DIES.

Or so we learned in the first five minutes of the movie.

1935:  TV PERSONALITY DAVID HARTMAN IS BORN.

And still alive.

1946:  WRESTLER ANDRE THE GIANT IS BORN.

That must have been some labor.

1950:  A BARGE CONTAINING MUNITIONS DESTINED FOR PAKISTAN EXPLODES IN SOUTH AMBOY, NEW JERSEY.

They missed.

1950:  EGYPT ANNOUNCES THAT THE SUEZ CANAL IS CLOSED TO ISRAELI SHIPS.

And South Amboy was closed for other reasons.

1958:  ACTOR RONALD COLMAN DIES.

No double life for you.

1962:  A BIRTHDAY SALUTE TO PRESIDENT JOHN  F. KENNEDY TAKES PLACE AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN.   THE HIGHLIGHT IS MARILYN MONROE'S RENDITION OF "HAPPY BIRTHDAY."

I'm sure Jackie wasn't pleased.  And she'll hate this date even more in 32 years.

1963:  THE NEW YORK POST SUNDAY MAGAZINE PUBLISHES MARTIN LUTHER KING JR'S LETTER FROM BIRMINGHAM JAIL.

Who in jail carries stamps with them?

1986:  THE FIREARM OWNERS PROTECTION ACT IS SIGNED INTO LAW BY US PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN.

He thought he was ordering lunch.

1992:  DISC JOCKEY MARSHMELLO IS BORN.

Have a funny name?  Get mentioned in my blog.

1994:  JACQUELINE KENNEDY ONASSIS DIES.

Like I said.

1996:  ACTOR JOHN BERADINO DIES.

So much for preferential treatment at General Hospital.

2015:  SOCIALITE HAPPY ROCKEFELLER DIES.

I wonder how many times husband Nelson felt...oh, never mind.

2015:  THE REFUGIO OIL SPILL DEPOSITED 142,800 GALLONS INTO THE COASTLINE AROUND CALIFORNIA.

Slick!

2016:  ACTOR ALAN YOUNG DIES.

Wilbur!

2016:  JOURNALIST MORLEY SAFER.

"I'm Morley Safer."  Um, not any more.

2018:  THE WEDDING OF PRINCE HARRY AND MEGHAN MARKLE IS HELD.

You may have heard of these two idiots.

Dinner last night:  Barbecued pork.

The Real Best Picture of the Year

 

The pandemic year of 2020 was awful for movies.   As we sat on our couches, we were subjected to one dreary, dark mess after another.    Not a single one of the Oscar nominees I watched via stream brought an uplifting note...let alone...a smile to my life.

Until "Minari," a film I truly wish I could see on a big screen some day.   Knowing full well that it will be a movie that merits repeat viewings with yours truly.

It's the simplest of plots.   A young Korean family moves to Arkansas in 1983 to seek a life different from the one they have experienced in California.  Dad's hope is to have a farm that specializes in Korean vegetables.   Mom's pretty skeptical.  Neither of their children want to be there.  And it is this group of lives that we get to see unfold in very small incremental episodes.    

To help with the kids, Mom brings her mother to live with them and Grandma (a Supporting Actress Oscar turn by Youn Yuh-jung) doesn't hit it off with the young boy David.   In an effort to connect with the kid, she takes him out to help plant what she hopes will grow to be minari, which is a celery-like plant.

Naturally, as with all families, there are arguments.   There is marital strife.  There are health issues.   There are water issues which is absolute poison to a farmer.

Essentially, it is life in America as perfectly depicted by director Lee Isaac Chung.

What I truly loved about "Minari" was this.   In the self-conscious film making world of Hollywood in 2020, you would expect that this family would be greeted by one racial insult after another.   Maybe there would be violent acts, etc.  Nope.  Indeed, this Arkansas community accepts this family as one of their own.   The children are invited for sleep overs.   The family is welcomed every Sunday at the community church.  

So much for systemic racism.

I so did not want the simplicity of "Minari" to end.   It gave me hope that movies can be uplifting again without messages that are hammered into your skull by some bloviating film maker.  

"Minari" got a bunch of nominations and frankly is light years more interesting than the annoying despair presented in junk like "Nomadland."   It won my Best Picture of the Year award.

By far!

LEN'S RATING:  Four stars.

Dinner last night:  Leftover pork tenderloin.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 17, 2021

These days, the only place you can enjoy live television is on shopping channels.  As you see... 

Dinner last night:  Pork tenderloin at the home of good friends Kevin and Amir.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Photo Archives

 

I revel in awkward photographs. Except when I'm in them.

And I don't have to go further than the one at the top of today's post.

The children of one of my dad's cousins were cleaning out their drawers and found a bunch of pictures that they thought would be of interest to me. Most were.

Except the one at the top of today's post.

Okay, I'm maybe three or four. A cute red suit. A bowtie from the Bud Collyer collection. My overbite is still not in full Bugs Bunny mode. Adorable.

And I'm fully armed. James Bond of the pre-school set. Or perhaps one of the youngest members of the Symbionese Liberation Army, except I hadn't been kidnapped like Patty Hearst.

Maybe I should have been.

Back in those days, the annual photograph of Len was a huge production. My mom would drag me kicking and screaming down to Genung's where some old guy who smelled of nicotine and vodka would put me in some weird poses. One year, I was caressing a stuffed animal that was supposed to be Lassie. Another year, they had ditched the formal wear and dumped me into a striped shirt and some overalls. My homage to Dennis the Menace.

As a result of these photo ops, my mother would wind up with various options for distribution to relatives and friends. Table frame size. Wallet size. You name it. They were scattered all over the Bronx and Mount Vernon like cow manure in the spring.

I have most of these photos in storage back East. Except this one which showed up in the mail the other day.

A lifetime neurosis begins anew after a multi-decade dormancy.

I want to think about what happened that day at Genung's. What was the creative thought behind turning a four-year-old into Elliot Ness?

A drunk photographer? A given. But did my mother actually think this was a cute shot? And, since this went to one of my dad's cousins, Mom obviously had no qualms about sharing her little gunslinger with the world. And was this a deferred remorse over the staging of this photo? When I sifted through my mother's own memory drawer, I found about five years worth of Genung's photos. But not this one. 

Was it just misplaced by accident? 

Or lost on purpose? Yet, it was found buried deep in the memory drawer of another relative. 

Obviously, at one point, it had a shelf life.s for the actual photo itself, it's going into another kind of drawer. The one with the T-shirts and the socks. The unmentionable being hidden by other unmentionables. 

A most fitting burial.

Now when I was in my NY digs last week, I ran into a bunch of other photos.  None of them as incendiary as the one above.  But I did find my eighth-grade yearbook picture.

So how did the kid at the top morph into the kid at the bottom?   I have no answers.

Dinner last night:  Pepperoni pizza at the Dodger game.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - May 2021

There's a bunch of TV shows that I only tuned into for the opening theme song.  And here's a great example.

 

Dinner last night:  Big Mac and fries.

In Case There Are Proms Being Held in 2021...

Is this a senior prom or an Errol Flynn movie?

I don't think they mean George.

I thought welterweights weren't supposed to mix with heavyweights.

Yankee Doodle Dummies.

Headed straight from the prom to her job at the Post Office.

Excuse me while I look for a paper bag.

These two have seen one too many John Hughes movies.

He spent more time on his hair than she did.

Winnie the Pooh is climbing up to her honey tree.

What happens when prom dates can't find a babysitter.

Dinner last night:  More leftover SPO.

Len's Recipe of the Month - May 2021

 

My new food recipe addiction is with a You Tube vlogger from Long Island who is sharing his grandmother's Italian recipes on line.   It's called "Sip and Feast" and he is really a very basic and easy-to-understand chef.  I have tried a few of his concoction and the one this month might be the best.   Something called "Chicken Valdostana" which is apparently some area of Italy.   Whatever.   The dish is sumptuous.

Take four thinly sliced chicken breasts.   Place under cellophane and pound them to an even thinner consistency.  

Now, for some prep, clean and then slice some mushrooms.   I used Baby Bellas.

Grate about a cup of Fontina cheese, but you can use mozzarella or parmagian.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.

In an oven-safe pan, heat 1 to 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter and a tablespoon of EVO.

Pat dry the chicken cutlets.  Salt and pepper them, then dredge them in some flour.   Shake off the excess.  Pan sear the chicken for two minutes per side.  Then remove.   Add more butter and EVO to the pan if you need it.  Now saute the mushrooms for five to seven minutes.  Remove them.

Now turn the heat up to high on the pan and add 3/4 cup chicken stock and 3/4 cup white wine.   With a wooden spoon, scrape the bottom of the pan for all the brown bits, which is added flavor.   As you cook, the sauce should thicken.   You can add a teaspoon of flour to help that along.

Turn the heat down and place the chicken back in the pan.   Top each cutlet with a slice of good prosciutto.  Put the mushrooms on top and then evenly distribute the Fontina cheese.

Place in the oven for about seven to ten minutes.   The cheese will melt and get bubbly.

So will you when you serve this dish.

Dinner last night:  Bacon wrapped hot dog at the Dodger game.

This Date in History - May 12

Happy birthday to Kim Fields.   I remember her with braces.

254:  POPE STEPHEN I SUCCEEDS POPE LUCIUS I, BECOMING THE 23RD POPE OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

Boy, they go through these suckers fast.

1331:  ENGELBERT OF ADMONT DIES.

Listed only because his name was...giggle...Engelbert.

1593:  LONDON PLAYWRIGHT THOMAS KYD IS ARRESTED AND TORTURED BY THE PRIVY COUNCIL FOR LIBEL.

Are they kyding?

1846:  THE DONNER PARTY OF PIONEERS DEPARTS INDEPENDENCE, MISSOURI FOR CALIFORNIA ON WHAT WILL BECOME A YEAR-LONG JOURNEY OF HARDSHIP AND CANNIBALISM.  

Who's hungry?

1865:  THE CIVIL WAR - THE BATTLE OF PALMITO RANCH.  THE LAST MAJOR LAND ACTION OF THE CONFEDERATE ARMY.

But didn't they surrender a month earlier?

1889:  BUSINESSMAN OTTO FRANK IS BORN.   

Loft apartment available.

1903:  ACTOR WILFRID HYDE-WHITE IS BORN.

Colonel Pickering!

1907:  ACTRESS KATHARINE HEPBURN IS BORN.

Royalty.

1925:  BASEBALL STAR YOGI BERRA IS BORN.

Baseball royalty.

1928:  COMPOSER BURT BACHARACH IS BORN.

Musical royalty.

1932:  TEN WEEKS AFTER HIS ABDUCTION, CHARLES JR, THE INFANT SON OF CHARLES LINDBERGH, IS FOUND DEAD A FEW MILES FROM THEIR HOME.

You don't feel so bad when you find out Daddy was a Nazi symphatizer.

1935:  BASEBALL STAR FELIPE ALOU IS BORN.

Brother of Matty and Jesus.

1937:  THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF YORK ARE CROWNED AS KING GEORGE VI AND QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Viewers of "The Crown" already know this.

1938:  ACTRESS MILLIE PERKINS IS BORN.

Coincidence.   Born on the same day Otto Frank was born.  She played Anne Frank in the movie.

1949:  THE SOVIET UNION LIFTS ITS BLOCKADE OF BERLIN.

Put up that wall.

1957:  ACTOR/DIRECT ERICH VON STROHEIM DIES.

We are ready for your close-up.

1969:  ACTRESS KIM FIELDS IS BORN.

She was actually a horrible comic actress. 

1992:  ACTOR ROBERT REED DIES.

It's never been confirmed he died of AIDS, but he was HIV Positive.

2001:  SINGER PERRY COMO DIES.

How can you tell?

2002:  FORMER US PRESIDENT JIMMY CARTER ARRIVES IN CUBA FOR A FIVE-DAY VISIT WITH FIDEL CASTRO. BECOMING THE FIRST PRESIDENT TO VISIT HIM SINCE 1959.

I wonder if Carter tried to get him to build a house.

2008:  AN 8.0 EARTHQUAKE OCCURS IN SICHUAN, CHINA, KILLING OVER 69,000 PEOPLE.

And that had nothing on China's COVID-19.

2017:  THE WANNA CR RANSONWARE ATTACK IMPACTS OVER 400 THOUSAND COMPUTERS.

Hello, McAfee.

Dinner last night:  Leftover sausage, peppers, and onions.

 

Payback and A Bitch

 

Here's another pandemic movie review and it's an interesting story on how I came to see "Promising Young Woman."   Mind you, I had heard good things and, of course, there was Oscar nominations and awards.  Carey Mulligan was nominated for Best Actress.  The screenplay won the Academy Award.   

Still I never bothered to check it out.

So, I am flying back to LA and, for the first time in several years, I was upgraded to a little Business Class pod.

I ate my meal as soon as it was served.   But the gal next to me wanted to wait for her dinner.   Instead, she watched a movie on her screen.   

"Promising Young Woman."

So I chomped away on some delicious Asian chicken as I stared at her screen.   I didn't have headphones on so I could only guess what was happening in this film.

When I was done with my meal, I plugged into the same movie to see if I was dead-on with what I thought was happening in the film.

PS, I was.   "Promising Young Woman" is that predictable.

Now, because of the #MeToo movement, this film is getting a lot of kudos for presenting to us all the plight of women who fall victim to randy men in bars. And perhaps it is good to have that conversation.

But, indeed, "Promising Young Woman" is at its core nothing but a cheap tale of revenge.   Mulligan plays a girl whose friend is raped by some pick-up in a bar.  The gal pal kills herself and Mulligan sets out to avenge her plight by getting back at the guy and all his friends.

And I am afraid that's all there is to "Promising Young Woman."   And, one more time, I myself get thrown under the bus along with a bunch of other well meaning guys just because some members of our gender are shitheads.

Okay, it's a compelling watch but, given that I could tell what was going on with the sound down, that doesn't say much about this Oscar-winning screenplay.

The meal was good, though.

LEN'S RATING:  Two-and-a-half stars.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 10, 2021

 In honor of yesterday's celebration of mothers all around, I give you...

Dinner last night:  Sausage, peppers, and onions.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Daughter-In-Law, Mother-In-Law

 

There's a famous cartoon featuring Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and Elmer Fudd.  Bugs and Daffy argue over who should get shot by Elmer.

"It's rabbit season."

"It's duck season."

"Rabbit season."

"Duck season."

"Rabbit season!"

"Duck season!"

So, it's Mother's Day and who should I honor today in the Sunday Memory Drawer?

"Mother's Day."

"Grandmother's Day."

"Mother's Day."

"Grandmother's Day."

I'll take the safe route.  And write about both of them.  Specifically the relationship that my mother had with her mother-in-law.  

My grandmother.

You see the three of us in the photo above and everybody looks reasonably happy.  Well, you can't really discern my mood since I couldn't bother facing my dad's Argus Technicolor camera.  But Mom and Grandma, at some family gathering, appear to be enjoying themselves.

This had to be taken with a fast lens.  These moments were infrequent.

Admittedly, they were both in a no win situation.  Let's face it, we lived together in the same house owned by my grandparents.  Grandma and Grandpa lived downstairs.  We were in the apartment upstairs.  Such close proximity is never easy.  Just ask North and South Vietnam.  

Or any two women forced to live together for familial purposes.

And the two of them weren't shy about sharing their "opinions" about each other.  

With me.

"Your grandmother can be so cheap sometimes."

"Your mother flies off the handle too quickly."

"Grandma needs to keep her comments to herself."

"Your mother needs to keep her comments to herself."

"She's a pain in my ass."

"She's a pain in my ass."

Indeed, in later years, I would learn that most of my mother's ill feelings were a result of how she felt my grandmother treated my father.  Mom seemed to think that Grandma favored his other two living brothers over him.  I never noticed this, but my mother, for some reason, thought this slight was real.  Years later, I would ask her why she simply didn't discuss this with Grandma.  Of course, I got the obvious response when subjects needed to change.

"Oh, every family was like that."

Maybe they were.  But we could have enjoyed a more peaceful holiday dining room had there been a little bit more detente.

Take, for instance, one delightful scene I witnessed on Thanksgiving.  The big family dinner was being held in our house.  And this necessitated my mother and grandmother uncomfortably sharing the cooking chores.  In Grandma's kitchen, no less.  I was parked on the kitchen stool, doing my best to stay out of the way.  And you could tell there was going to be some cannon fire.    Grandma was being particularly bossy this morning.

"Pat, stir the potatoes."

"Pat, don't put too much butter on the string beans."

"Pat, the gravy's getting lumpy."

I could see my mother's temperature boil.  Like one of those cartoon thermometers where all the mercury shoots out of the top.  Grandma was standing at the stove with her back to my mom.  My mother picked up one of those Pillsbury bread rolls and raised it over my grandmother's head.

I gasped.  Mom is going to whack Grandma in the head.

Of course, she didn't.  But the emotion was there.  And, maybe for a split second, so was the intent.

The most predominant battle between my mother and grandmother always came during the wintertime.  Over a simple item that has provoked fights between landlords and tenants down through the years.

The heat.

My mother upstairs was always cold.  And, since the thermostat for the whole house was in my grandmother's toasty living room downstairs, temperature control in my house was always another world war.

"Go down and tell your grandmother to send up some heat."

I would traipse down the stairs and relay the message to Grandma.

"The thermostat is on 72.  It's fine."

Back upstairs.

Minutes later, my mother would pull out her own thermometer and show me the reading.

"It's 66 up here!!!"

Back downstairs with the revised information.

"Okay, okay, I'll put it up to 75.  Jesus crimsey."

Not Christ.  Crimsey.

Eventually, you would hear the radiators kick in.   And another volcanic eruption was narrowly averted.

This went out like a perfected vaudeville routine for years.  Every single winter.  You would think that eventually both women would come to basic realizations.  It was a big house.  There were doors that separated the portions of the home and that prevented the thermostat from working accurately.

But, no.  

Things did change, though.  They had to.  I remember this as if it happened yesterday.  My grandfather had died earlier in the day.  I've told the story here before.  I was home sick from school.  Grandpa had slumped back in his favorite chair.  Grandma called me to get my mother who had just gone around the corner to do some grocery shopping.  Mom came home and coordinated all of the activity from the paramedics, etc..  Me?  I hid in the bathroom with my dog.

Long after all the relatives and firemen and undertakers had vacated the premises later that night, I went to bed.  But popped up an hour later when I heard my mother and father talking quietly in the kitchen.  I had come to know that, even though they didn't speak much in front of me, late nights in the kitchen were their moments of joint compassion and tenderness.  I eavesdropped as my mother consoled my father about Grandpa.  My father's brother had taken my grandmother to their home upstate for the evening, simply to give her a change of scenery on this life-altering day for her.

Suddenly, my mother broached a topic with my dad.  What happens if Grandma decides to go live with them permanently?  She may want to sell the house now.  We'd be out on our ass.

My father had a Henry Kissinger-like thought.

"Maybe you could start being nice to her."

There was a pause before my mother offered a soft response.

"Okay."

And pretty much she was.

Flash forward to almost two decades later.  Grandma has died at the age of 90.  My parents had long since divorced.  There would be one day of funeral parlor viewing.  My mother asked my father if she could come before the wake to pay her respects.  She wanted to be there when no one else was.

My dad and I met her at the funeral parlor and Mom saw Grandma for the last time.

"I always liked her."

I was now an adult and always looking to provoke some fun into any proceedings.  I turned to my mother with a quizzical look.

Really?  I reminded her playfully that, on one Thanksgiving, I saw her raise a Pillsbury bread dough roll and contemplate a swing at Grandma's head.   

My mother didn't know I saw that.  She smiled.

"Oh, that happens in every family."

Dinner last night:  Char siu pork and szechwan green beans from Chin Chin.