No Awards for Award Shows

 

I used to look forward to them.  They used to be fun.

No more.  Award shows have become a self-conscious mess as Hollywood bends over backwards to be all things to all peoples.  The Emmys on last Sunday night were a perfect example.  They used to be all about acknowledging excellence in television.  Now the presentation is all about clicking every diverse box on your scorecard.  If there's an actor out there who is a gay Native American in a wheelchair, you should get your headshots ready.   You will win an Emmy next year.

In the middle of all this wokeness, there were cringe worthy moments by the dozen.  Candice Bergen came out to present an award and her voice sounded super frail. That didn't stop her from making a Dan Quayle comparison to JD Vance.   Okay, Quayle was thirty years ago.  And, oh, by the way, throughout the entire three hour telecast, there wasn't a single mention of the attempted Trump shooting earlier in the day.   But, at the same time, most acceptance speeches took time to remind the audience to vote this November.

Oy.

They brought out cast reunions of TV Moms, TV Dads, and TV Lawyers.   Every one contained at least one Black actor and, hence, I didn't recognize most of these "classic" reunions.

There was a five minute tribute to all the Hispanic nominees and reminded us of that rich history in the TV industry.   Any mention of Desi Arnaz who started it all for them?

A gay producer got recognition for the Academy hall of fame and I started to wonder if there were any splinter groups left out.  A positive moment in the "In Memoriam" section spotlighted Bob Newhart but it was hijacked by the presented Jimmy Kimmel who has a knack for making all things about...well...Jimmy Kimmel.  

The only plus moment for me was the win of the superlative "Hacks" for Best Comedy.   Thank God because its main competition was the overrated "Bear" which features about one mini-chuckle an episode.

I could go on, but nobody listens to me.   I'm just a white guy who is super non-diverse.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 16, 2024

 Classic TV Sitcom month continues with this rich scene from "The Odd Couple."

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Vote For...

 

We're mired now in the Presidential campaign so let's call up some Sunday memories befitting the season.

To this day, Mount Vernon, New York, remains a political cesspool.  A once-beautiful city, my hometown, now a standard bearer of social and urban blight.  Except for some small pockets of town, the place is virtually uninhabitable.

Naturally, as with most parts of the country that have died, the murderous culprits are always the politicians.  While the damage began in Mount Vernon years ago, the final nails in the coffin were hammered by such scumbag Mayors as Ronald Blackwood and Ernest Davis.  The latter left office for a while and then was inexplicably brought back for more destruction.  How incredibly stupid is the voting population in that once-magnificent gotham? 

Yep, back when, my family had the right idea.   They ignored politics, working under the tried-and-true adage that all of them were crooks. 

That said, as a youngster, I did listen to the opinions and views around my family.  I was trying to reason it all for myself.  And, believe me, my household was a cornucopia of political viewpoints.

My mother didn't really care, unless a candidate was particularly good looking.  If, however, the guy running was a troll, Mom simply re-buried her nose into Photoplay Magazine and paid attention to more important matters.  Like whether Liz Taylor and Richard Burton were going to last as husband and wife.

My father was a little bit more astute, but, although he was registered as a Republican and tended to always vote that way, he liked to announce regularly that "all politicians stink."  He used to remind us all the time that his "former boss," General Douglas MacArthur, should have been elected President and, frankly, the country had gone downhill ever since.  Thanks, Dad.

My grandfather kept quiet.  When he read the Daily News while seated at the kitchen table downstairs, he went through the newspaper from back to front.  And almost always concentrated on the funny pages, which he would read to me Fiorello LaGuardia-style.  Every time there was a power failure in the house, Grandpa would use that occasion to utter one of his rare political rants.

"COMMUNISTS!"

Yes, deep down inside, Grandpa was awaiting the arrival of Russia on our shores and believed it was imminent.  Obviously, the first stage of attack, according to Grandpa, would be a takeover of Con Edison Electric.

Meanwhile, there was one person in our house who had some political opinions and displayed no shyness in voicing them.

Grandma.

I could listen to her musings on current events for hours.  In retrospect, none of them made any sense.  Except maybe to her.  And her most favorite target for her disdain was President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

"Swindler."

"His wife lived in a suitcase and was having a good time on vacation using the poor peoples' money."

"He could walk better than they said."

"He wasn't in the coffin when they buried him.  Instead, they put in all the papers that proved he sold us out to the Japs."

Got the picture?  There was no love lost.

Meanwhile, she thought Harry Truman was "fresh."  President Eisenhower was a nice man but too old to be President.  And John F. Kennedy?  She'd sneer with one word.

"Catholic."

My grandmother actually thought Kennedy was trying to convert the entire country to the Roman Catholic Church.  And, of course, she had a story to back it up.  She loved to tell it over and over and over.

One of her cousins was a housekeeper and she happened to have a Polish last name.  Well, year before, she got a job working for the Kennedy clan when they lived in Bronxville.  But, one day, when Grandma's cousin was allegedly talking about going to church in front of matriarch Rose Kennedy, she mentioned trying a new Lutheran church.  According to Grandma, Mama Rose went nuts.

"But you have a Polish last name.  You're not Catholic?"

When Grandma's cousin shook her head, the story ends with Rose firing her from her job.  That tale carried through with my grandmother for years.  And it would always be punctuated with...

"Those damn Kennedys."

Grandma could never say the name "Kennedy" without using the word "damn" before it.

So, amidst all this political rhetoric in my home, what's a kid to think?

I had no views, per se.

And then I saw this advertisement in Mount Vernon's newspaper, The Daily Argus.

Wow!  Gee, nobody important ever came to Mount Vernon.  And just ten blocks from my house.  Oh, sure, the local movie theaters had featured special appearances by the likes of Lucille Ball, Bob Hope, Jerry Lewis, and the Three Stooges.  And, heck, Claude Kirschner and Clowny from the WOR kiddie show were there for the grand opening of the bank down the block.  But, this was Robert Kennedy.

I had seen him on television a lot.  Walking behind his brother's coffin.  So I had a clear image of who he was and that he was important. 

I wanted to go.  First stop: my mother.

"Go ahead.  I think he once went out on a date with Marilyn Monroe."

Years later, I knew what "go out on a date" was synonymous with when it came to Robert Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe.  But, on this day, Mom was giving me clearance to go.  At that time of our lives, kids could easily walk around town unescorted and not worry about being kidnapped or worse.

My father worked nights, so his input was not sought.  Grandpa?  A shrug and back to the adventures of Moon Mullins.

But, naturally, Grandma had something to say.

"What the hell you wanna go see that bum for?"

Well, it is exciting.   And other kids are going to see him.  He might be President one day.

"And be lying up on that hill next to his brother."

I should have written down Grandma's prediction.  Meanwhile, she rambled on.

"Only Catholics would go stand out in the cold and see him."

Well, the day itself wasn't that cold.  It was autumn but still a little warm.  And the crowds choked traffic around City Hall Plaza.  I was there with a few friends, but the throng separated us early on.  There definitely was an electricity as everybody awaited the arrival of Robert Kennedy.

I looked to the sky.  There were men standing up on the roofs of all the buildings around the area.  They were all holding rifles.  Oh, no, I thought.  I looked closer.   They were all police. 

I remember very little about what Kennedy say to the assembled mass that day.  He was already looking toward a White House run.  But, I didn't really care.  I was just happy that somebody out there remembered us poor souls living in Mount Vernon, New York.

After the speech, Kennedy made his way into the crowd to shake hands.  Mine was one of them.  A fleeting moment with American history.  I ran home with excitement, feet barely hitting the pavement.  As I burst through the back door into Grandma's kitchen, I couldn't contain my euphoria.  I had shaken hands with Robert F. Kennedy.

Grandma was unimpressed.

"He didn't give you anything Catholic, did he?"

Dinner last night: Panda Express buffet.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - September 2024

 An admittedly slow news week in September 1966.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Who Lost the Debate?

 

We did.  All of us.   The Greatest Generation gave us this wonderful land and we have squandered it with the likes of these two.   One a thug.  The other an empty-headed bitch who has not done a single thing in her life.

It's over.   Flush, America, flush.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

The Chase is On

 

For somebody who's gone through the Sopranos series three times, you would think that a documentary about show creator David Chase would give you no new information.

Wrong and fuhgetaboutit.  This new two-part series (total 2 and a half hours) on HBO Max is so illuminating that I may have to watch it three separate times.

It starts with director Alex Gibney walking Chase into a replica of Dr. Melfi's psychiatric office and sitting him down for a session.  I mean, I knew that a lot of what Chase put on screen is a direct copy from his own life.   I just never knew how much.

Interlaced into this conversation is so much new-to-me backstage footage...including screen tests!  Plus talking heads from most of the cast, including two no longer with us.   Hearing vintage interviews from James Gandolfini and Nancy Marchand are so evocative in retrospect.   It's like they're still here with us.  

Everything gets covered here, but if you think you're going to get Chase's explanation about the final scene of the series....well...

LEN'S RATING:  Four stars.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

No Words Needed Today

 

Shhhh!

 

Hollywood can be quite forgiving when they make the same horror movie over and over and over.   I mean, how many Godzillas have we been treated to?  When they find a formula, they...like the monster in question...beat it to a pulp.

Such is the case apparently now for "A Quiet Place" franchise.   Started a few years back with director John Krasinski and wife Emily Blunt, the story is now up to its third chapter.   Well, actually, this is how it all began so it's technically the first chapter.  Got that?

You may know the simple story.  Aliens arrive from out of space and kill when exposed to loud noises.  The first two movies involves a more woodsy setting.  In this one, the aliens start with a big target and land in noisy New York.   Now if I were writing this film, the very first victims of noise pollution would be the the cast of "The View."   And or Al Sharpton.   But such cameo appearances don't make the grade.

In this one, we focus on just two characters who are trying to make their way to the South Street Seaport because the little critters hate water.   Along the way, there are snippets of character development via dialogue.  The trouble is because they have to talk softly, you can't hear a word anybody is saying.

As if that makes a difference because this is basically the very same plot of the first two installments.   Nothing new.   Nothing original.  Nothing period.

At least, Godzilla would share billing every once in a while with King Kong.  

Don't waste your time.  Or your verbiage.

LEN'S RATING:  Two stars.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 9, 2024

 September used to be TV Premiere Month.   In that realm, I am going to run here classic TV sitcom moments the rest of this month.  Starting with this stellar moment from "Everybody Loves Raymond."

Dinner last night:  Chicken tenders.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Thinking Back to the Ninth Grade.

 

Schools are opening all over our country and kids are perhaps reluctantly trudging back to their tedious lessons and forced gym classses.  That scary sensation probably has transcended the decades.  Regardless of when you grew up, you dreaded September and that freakin' first period bell.

As I headed from the comfy eight grade at Washington Junior High School in Mount Vernon, New York to the new grown-up ninth grade at the building shown above, I had more fears than usual.  This was a new world and, unlike what Aldous Huxley thought, not a brave one as far as I was concerned.  This was the first official game changer of my life.

From kindergarten to the eighth grade, I was snug as a bug in the school system sequestered in my local neighborhood.  Up to the sixth grade at Grimes School, four blocks from my house.  The seventh and eighth grade at the aforementioned Washington Junior High, nine blocks from my house.  All within walking distance.  You generally went home for lunch, giving you a sandwich and an hour of television that broke up the dreary day.  It was all so carefree and easy.

Even better, I had classmates that had traveled with me all through those years.  Some of became good friends.  Our mothers got chummy.  Lots of nighttime phone calls trading gossip and homework assignments.  Bonding together against the teaching pain-in-the-ass-de-jour.  Like it or not, we had all fallen into a wonderfully comfortable warm sweater of a lifestyle. 

On the eighth grade day we donned those caps and gowns and marched around to "Pomp and Circumstance," I doubt that any of us realized how our lives would hit the reset button in just two short months.  Because we were leaving our cocoon.  Back then, all the elementary and junior high schools in Mount Vernon would siphon directly into one big silo.  

The high school.

Indeed, we were thrown an even sharper curveball with this prospect.  Back in that day, they were building a new Mount Vernon High School way over on the far side of the moon.  Except they finished this construction in spurts and, for a while, they only had enough room for grades ten through twelve.  No worries, said the schmucks at the Board of Education.  Temporarily, we can host the ninth grades at the old high school facilities, which was formerly A.B. Davis High School.  They renamed it the High School Annex and that was our home for the ninth grade.

An old building with no bells and few whistles, the Annex was not as far away as the new high school.  But, for me, it was far enough.  A very, very long walk away.  Certainly there would be no more lunch hours at home.  Out the window went my daily Taylor Ham sandwich and the Hollywood Squares.  I would be in school from beginning of the day to the very end.  Gee, even prisoners at Sing Sing got more perks.

I dreaded the oncoming Annex for all those reasons.  And more.

On the very first day, I crawled up those never-ending stairs (see above) to the fortress on a hill as high as Mount Fuji.  I walked into my homeroom and looked around.

All strangers to me.

My grade school pals and I had been thrown into a human-being mix master and now we were all on our own.  And forced to socialize with people we had never met before.  All this and goddamn geometry, too.  Do these Annex windows open and can I throw myself out one of them?

To make matters even horrid, our class schedules were not as a group, but an individual.  Each student was his or her own island.  You travel around by yourself from appointed subject to appointed subject.  There was no longer safety in numbers.  

You were on your own.

Gasp.

I remember that my very first class in the AM was Social Studies.   Because of my grades, I was in the upper echelon of students and usually in what they called "Level 1."  As I arrived for my daily hour with Mr. Crews, I looked around at these people I didn't know.  For the first time in my entire school life to date, my entire class was...White.

I had grown up on the South Side of Mount Vernon.  It was predominantly Black but that's where I went to school because that's where I lived.  I had heard rumors that the North Side of Mount Vernon was very different.  This was complete validation.

Those kids were all White.

And, in another new phenomenon to me, mostly all Jewish.

From my vantage point, the North Side of Mount Vernon might as well have been Mars.

I mean, up to this point in my life, I probably knew no more than two Jewish kids.  Of course, back at home, we had Jewish neighbors.  But they were all senior citizens and likely crossed the sea with Moses.  My mom had a Jewish friend with two children.  But that was it.

Now I finally figured out why the Mount Vernon School System always gave us those September High Holy Days off.  It was a big deal for those kids on the tonier side of the train tracks.

Wandering around the school premises from aimless class to aimless class, I felt incredibly alone.  Every so often, I would run into an old grade school friend in passing through the hallways.  I had the urge to hug and/or kiss them.  But this huge melting pot would force me to branch out and...horrors...make some new friends.  

Like it or not.

Generally, you'd wind up talking to the kids sitting in class around you.  Because we were often seated alphabetically, you suddenly found that your social world orbited around last names with letters that were four or five away from your own last name.  How limiting was that?  In this manner, it was very unlikely for me to be friends with somebody named either Anderson or Williams.

You, of course, got tossed into a lunch period and, once again, I was lost.  I knew no one in my lunch period and was forced to make snap judgments on the accessibility of people I barely knew.  I noticed that a lot of the Jewish kids from the North Side were incredibly good looking.  And, sadly, they knew it.  And that's one of a thousand reasons why I would take my lunch tray of a Sloppy Joe sandwich with a side of lime Jell-O and move on.  

I had to pick a lunch table carefully.  You wanted to find kids who were nerdy enough looking to accept you, but not nerdy enough looking to get laughed at by everybody else.  

I spotted a group of three guys.  Acne, glasses, and horrible color coordination of wardrobe.  Perfect.  And they let me right in.  One of the kids was in my social studies class.  We had some sort of feeble connection.  I looked around at them.  All had brought their lunch from home.  I started to do so as well.  A daily sandwich of Taylor Ham and mustard on a roll.  Plus a piece of fruit.

I had made friends.  Well, lunch table acquaintances.

Meanwhile, as I wandered aimlessly from class to class, I tried to cope with this new all-day-at-school phenomenon.  There was an English class with Mrs. Taylor, who looked sixty but probably was no more than 30.  She professed that her life was made richer by not having a television at home.  Despite this lunacy, I thoroughly enjoyed the tour she led through great American literature.  I read some classics.

Geometry class was led by some bearded, young hippie who liked to flirt with the girls.  I have heard since that he did more than flirt and he apparently liked to get some of the prettier students into some of his own obtuse angles.  While I had always been good at math, I had no feel for these rhomboids and tangents.  I barely squeaked by.

In our ninth grade world, you had to take some electives to fill out your already torturous day.  I took a Current Events class and we all had to read the New York Times every morning.  The teacher instructed us on how to fold the newspaper so you could read it easily on the subway.  Huh?

To appease my dad, I took a typing class with Miss Flynn who might have been there the day the first Smith Corona rolled off the assembly line.  My father wanted to know that I learned something worthwhile in school.  He even made me type in front of him at home.  I got an A plus from Miss Flynn and a B minus from Dad.

Much to my chagrin, you still had to take gym class in high school.  But, since the classes were much bigger, you could easily lose yourself under the bleachers on those days when they were doing dreaded gymnastics.  I'd keep moving to the end of the line and then, if I timed it right, the bell would ring and I'd never have to do a forward roll.   All achieved without the usual note from the school nurse.

In the now more racially-balanced gym class at the Annex, I discovered one benefit from this new mix of students.  Prior to this year, most of the kids in my gym class were Black.  While I'm not subscribing to a stereotype here, they were all terrific athletes.  And I always looked spastic.  The last to be picked for any team of any sport.

But at the Annex, there were more White and Jewish guys.  And I discovered that I was not the only clod in Mount Vernon, New York.  There were kids who sucked equally on the North Side.  I remember one dude in particular.  He threw like a girl and I think he later became one.  Suddenly, I was the one on the sidelines giggling at somebody's ineptitude.  Thanks to him, I was now the next-to-last to be picked for any team of any sport.  Success!

When the day ended and the final bell rang, I'd crawl down that big staircase which never seemed to be cleared of snow or ice during the winter.  I would walk down to the church on the corner and wait for the city bus that would wind its way around downtown Mount Vernon until it eventually hit my home street corner.

Sitting there on the church steps with my book bag, I would think back about my schooling prior to the ninth grade.  Why had that been so easy and wonderful while the Annex was so hard and rigorous?  Every afternoon, I would lose myself in the past and detest the future.  It was depression that arrived on time every day just like that bus I was waiting for.

During the spring of that ninth grade, I was still there waiting for that bus every day.  But I noticed my lunch room/social studies acquaintance also passed on his walk home.  We'd always have a comment or a funny line ready for each other.  We discovered that we were both Met fans.  As baseball began, our bus stop dialogue usually included a reference to last night's game or the one scheduled for that night.  It all became very seamless as we wandered our way into a friendship.

Who knew that, decades later, he would remain as one of my very closest of friends?

So, despite all the angst and drama of an uncertain ninth grade, there was one singular benefit of it all.  

A lifelong friend.

Dinner last night:  Chicken teriyaki.

Classic TV Commercial of the Month - September 2024

How you fought perspiration...seventy years ago.

Dinner last night:  BLT from Clementine's.

Back To School? Nope...Jail.

 

 Yoda's brother?

 I have a dermalogist I can recommend.

 You can make the same appointment as well.

 Wait till your father gets home.

 It's a look.

 Somebody was wearing a wide brim hat at the beach.

 I wonder if you can buy chins at Amazon.

Hair dye should be applied equally.

 Earth to planet, Earth to planet.  Come in, planet.

 Badly in search of an 80s hair band.

 Man, woman, whatever?   Send your guesses in now.

I need the story on why he's wearing a sun dress.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Morons of the Month - September 2024

 

I remember when I was in grade school.  Regardless of how your family voted, you always had respect and borderline pride with the leadership of this country.  These were the sharpest and brightest that America had to offer.

Those were the days.   We are now in a nation that actually strives to be mediocre.  There is no greatness to be found and, frankly, none is required any more.

Our upcoming Presidential election will be the shittiest of shit shows.   And it's all happened on our watch.  How else can you explain half the country extolling the virtues of the Harris/Walz ticket when they did their first sit-down interview for the country?   If you listened to it, I hope you got the same impression.

They said nothing.   They simply pandered to what they felt the lowest level of the populace would want to hear.   There were no ideas.   No great concepts.

No greatness.

Oh, sure the word "Trump" was used repeatedly and they certainly do know the dog whistles that makes half of the pooches in America bark.   Now I'm no fan of the Orange Man, but, at least, he says something relevant.  He certainly invokes no level of greatness either.  But, compared to Harris and Walz, he's Abe Lincoln.

We are in for it, folks.   We now invite morons into our homes regularly and give them license to speak.  Indeed, my father was dead on correct when he talked about politicians.   They are only interested in three things.

1.  Getting elected.

2.  Getting lucrative jobs for their friends.

3.  Getting re-elected.

Bingo.  Bi-partisan leadership is so far down the list.  I mean, in those olden days I referenced, the two parties respected each other.   No more.

And this is now a political version of "West Side Story" with the Sharks and the Jets.   Remember what happened at the end?   Both Bernardo and Tony were dead.

Frankly, I don't know who the real morons should be this month.   The ones we elected.   Or those of us who elect them.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

This Date in History - September 4

 

Happy birthday, Mitzi Gaynor.  And she's still kicking.  Literally.

476: ROMULUS AUGUSTULUS, LAST EMPEROR OF THE WESTERN ROMAN EMPIRE, IS DEPOSED WHEN ODOACER PROCLAIMS HIMSELF "KING OF ITALY."

I thought the "king of Italy" was Marcello Mastroianni.

626:  LI SHIMIN, POSTHUMOUSLY KNOWN AS EMPEROR TAIZONG OF TANG, ASSUMES THE THRONE OVER THE TANG DYNASTY.

The Tang Dynasty, meh!  They should drink some real orange juice.

1666:  IN LONDON, ENGLAND, THE MOST DESTRUCTIVE DAMAGE FROM THE GREAT FIRE OCCURS.

Now that really is a great fire.

1781:  NEW CALEDONIA IS FIRST SIGHTED BY CAPTAIN JAMES COOK.  

Not to be mistaken with Old Caledonia.

1791:  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA IS FOUNDED AS EL PUEBLO DE NUESTRA SENORA LA REINA DE LOS ANGELES DE PORCIUNCULA.

Which would be way too much to print on the front of the Dodgers' road jerseys.

1812:  DURING THE WAR OF 1812, THE SIEGE OF FORT HARRISON BEGINS WHEN THE FORT IS SET ON FIRE.

Well, that's how most sieges get started.

1862:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE TAKES THE ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA INTO THE NORTH.

Yeah, that's going to work out just fine for you, Lee.

1886:  AFTER ALMOST 30 YEARS OF FIGHTING, APACHE LEADER GERONIMO SURRENDERS IN ARIZONA.

Heap big tired.

1888:  GEORGE EASTMAN REGISTERS THE TRADEMARK KODAK AND RECEIVES A PATENT FOR A CAMERA THAT USES ROLL FILM.

Remember those??

1918:  RADIO HOST PAUL HARVEY IS BORN.

And this will be the rest of the story.

1928:  ACTOR DICK YORK IS BORN.

The first and only legitimate Darren on "Bewitched."

1931:  ACTRESS MITZI GAYNOR IS BORN.

Younger than springtime.

1939:  A BRISTOL BLENHEIM IS THE FIRST BRITISH AIRCRAFT TO CROSS THE GERMAN COAST FOLLOWING THE DECLARATION OF WAR AND GERMAN SHIPS ARE BOMBED.

Cheerio and take that, you Nazi bastard.

1941:  A GERMAN SUBMARINE MAKES THE FIRST ATTACK AGAINST A US SHIP, THE USS GREER.

Come on, Yanks!  You just read what the English can do.

1949: THE PEEKSKILL, NY RACE RIOTS BEGIN AFTER A PAUL ROBESON CONCERT.

What happened?  Did he forget to sing "Ole Man River?"

1957:  DURING THE LITTLE ROCK CRISIS, ORVAL FAUBUS, GOVERNOR OF ARKANSAS, CALLS OUT THE NATIONAL GUARD TO PREVENT AFRICAN AMERICAN STUDENTS FROM ENROLLING IN A HIGH SCHOOL.

Did he not see what happened in Peekskill eight years prior??

1957:  THE FORD MOTOR COMPANY INTRODUCES THE EDSEL.

Let me know how this works out.

1968:  BASEBALL STAR MIKE PIAZZA IS BORN.

I had a lot of respect for him until he made those nasty comments about Vin Scully.

1972:  MARK SPITZ BECOMES THE FIRST COMPETITOR TO WIN SEVEN MEDALS AT A SINGLE OLYMPIC GAMES.

Nice record, Spitz.  But, wait.....did someone say Michael Phelps??

1986: BASEBALL STAR HANK GREENBERG DIES.

Just so you know, there was a Jewish baseball star before Sandy Koufax.

1991:  ACTOR/AUTHOR TOM TRYON DIES.

Also starred in a bunch of Disney crap during the early 60s.

1991:  COUNTRY SINGER DOTTIE WEST DIES.

Dottie goes South.

1993:  ACTOR HERVE VILLECHAIZE DIES.

Anybody got a cigar box we can use?

1998:  GOOGLE IS FOUNDED BY TWO STUDENTS AT STANFORD UNIVERSITY.

And I found that out...on Google.

2001:  RADIO PERSONALITY HANK THE ANGRY DWARF DIES.

Two midgets die on the same date.  Fascinating!

2006:  ANIMAL TV HOST STEVE IRWIN DIES.

Oh, look at the cool stingray.  Ouch.......

2014:  COMIC JOAN RIVERS DIES.

I miss her to this day.

2018:  ACTOR BILL DAILY DIES.

In an episode from "The Bob Newhart Show,"  he said that Bob would never die.  But Bill ultimately did.

2021:  WEATHERMAN WILLARD SCOTT DIES.

Now let's see what the temperature is in Heaven.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

And I've Watched Yet Another Documentary

 

In this year where I have watched the least number of movies ever, here's one more documentary that I can easily tolerate.

Now, my two favorite film directors are Billy Wilder and Alfred Hitchcock.  One is primarily comedic, the other dramatic.  With Blake Edwards, you're getting somebody adept at both genres.  And doing them well.  From the drama and grit of "Days of Wine and Roses" to the slapstick silliness of the "Pink Panther" franchise, Blake Edwards can engage us either way.

This wonderful documentary was produced with the full support of wife Julie Andrews and Blake's children, so you have their talking heads coming through with lots of interesting anecdotes.  Sure, this is your typical bio doc that goes linear from one movie to another.   But it is certainly a well-meaning reminder of Edwards' good work and a great prompt to catch out some of his work on TCM.

Why not?   I'm not watching any other movies this year.

LEN'S RATING:  Three-and-a-half stars.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 2, 2024

 The Labor Day tradition continues on what used to be his day.

Dinner last night:  Beef tacos at the Hollywood Bowl.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Fall Begins Anew

 

Sitting here in Los Angeles, I was mystified to see that kids went back to school about two weeks ago.   Seriously?   I mean, it's not like they have to start early to make up for snow days.

This August return to school would have taken all the dread out of the last week of the month.   Let's face it, when you used to get to August 26 or 27, you started to fear the oncoming winter.   The Good Humor Man would come at the same time every night...8:47PM...but the sky was darker and darker when he did.   Already you had to curtail the nightly softball game down at the vacant lot because, by 8PM, you could no longer see the ball.

Yeah, it was like the music from "Jaws."

Da dum.   Da dum.  Da dum.

Indeed, the holiday in question was approaching.   The shark that lived in the calendar and it would devour our joyous summer.

Labor Day.   Yeeech.

The fact that they were celebrating something called Labor Day at all is a mystery to me.  Unlike all the other holidays, what the heck was being commemorated with this day?  I remember asking the question of my mother.  Just what is Labor Day?  She went for a response that was definitely feminine-skewed.

"It honors all those pregnant women who have labor pains before giving birth."

Huh?   So, it's a day where women go into labor.

"I guess."

The logic escaped me.  How long could labor be?  I was born in February.

"You ask too many questions."

There I go again.

Nevertheless, regardless the derivation of the holiday, the first Monday in September meant really one thing.

We were headed back to school.

Did I already say "yeeech?"

So, unlike the urchins in Los Angeles who got sucked back in two weeks ago, school for me usually began the Wednesday or Thursday after Labor "Yeeech" Day.  I'd immediately pull down a calendar to find my first days off.  Since the Mount Vernon, New York public school system was jampacked with Jewish teachers, we'd always get Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur off.  Sometimes, these days would happen as soon as school started.  Bonus days of summer.  My only problem with this concept was that all my friends in the neighborhood went to Catholic school.  I'd have the days off but had little to do but watch the Hollywood Squares with my grandmother.

When Labor Day weekend rolled around, this meant another complete horror for yours truly.  The annual quest for new school clothes.  And I was dragged to Genung's Department Store on Fourth Avenue by my mother.

Now, my mom was always very fashion conscious.  When it came to herself.  But, the outfits she'd suggest for me were, well, odd.   Oh, I was always completely color-coordinated.  But, then again, so was Superfly.

Mom, don't you think this shirt is a little bright?

"Well, you'll be easier to find after school after they turn the clocks back."

I could be easily seen from down the block and perhaps even Venus.

As I got older, the annual Genung's battle got more heated as I began to assert more and more power into my own clothing choice.  No, I don't like cuffs.  No, I don't want to wear a clip-on bowtie.  And white belts are for country clubs in Ohio.

Eventually, Mom gave up.  As all mothers do.

One more signal to the end of summer would be the television commercials on Channel 5 Metromedia in New York heralding the arrival of...

The Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon for Muscular Dystrophy.

Back in the day, the Jerry Lewis Telethon was done in New York, as I'm not sure Las Vegas had been invented yet.  And we watched it for all the wrong reasons.  Not because we were devoted to the charity.  Nope, we tuned it because it had all the promise of horrible television with heavy doses of schmaltz blended in.

Would Jerry make his monetary goal as predicted by co-host Ed McMahon in between swigs of some Budweiser?   Could Jerry possibly get through 21 hours on the air without a nap?  Would he break down and sob during his closing number, the ridiculously inappropriate "You'll Never Walk Alone?" 

You knew that, every year, it would be a car crash.  You just had to tune in for the exact moment of impact.

We used to watch along and my mom viewed it all with disdain.  You see, she was no fan of Jerry Lewis.  When I was a kid, his movies dominated the local cinemas and we were his target age group.  My mother wanted nothing to do with taking me to see his latest trash.  That job usually fell to my dad, who would conveniently doze off one reel into "The Errand Boy."

But, then, one Labor Day, there was a miracle...

My mom had just started a job in downtown Manhattan at an accounting firm, which just happened to be the official auditors for Muscular Dystrophy.  One year, she was asked to be part of the accounting staff to work at the telethon.

When she came home, I craved for details.  It's so bad on the screen.  Just how awful is it backstage?

A curveball flew out of my mother's mouth.

"That Jerry Lewis is quite a guy."

Huh?

"He is so devoted to those children.  It's like they're part of his own family."

Say what?

"There's a secret reason why he does this telethon, but he will only tell everybody after there is a cure."

Okay, just what was flowing from those water fountains down at the TV studio?

My mother had been transformed into a Jerry Lewis zealot.  In subsequent years, she watched the telethon with a different fervor.  I couldn't watch it with her again.  Instead, I had to hide in my bedroom with it shining from my black and white portable television.  I could easily giggle with the door closed.

And, for me, Labor Day just never was the same after that.

Yeeech!

Dinner last night:  Bejing Beef from Panda Express.