Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 30, 2025

Father and Bride month concludes with this classic scene from...wait for it..."Father of the Bride."

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Usual Independence Day

 

I've come a long way from running up and down 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon with a sparkler in my hand.

Over the course of my life, I've gone through several series of different celebrations for Independence Day, which is really one of the only holidays everybody in this country can celebrate together. There are no religious overtones like Christmas, Easter, or Yom Kippur. It is all about freedom and being an American. Except maybe for your crazy Communist Uncle Oscar, who can't get into that?

So, there were the years for me when I was a kid and I did the sparkler routine like I was some lunatic Rockette on fire. While the other kids in the neighborhood were shooting off cherry bombs, sky rockets, and a very inappropriately named explosive called a "chaser" (with that pesky N word attached---nobody knew any better then), I was relegated to nothing more inflammable than my mother's ash tray. Of course, years later, I still had the ability to attempt to play the piano, while I'm not so sure some of my goofball friends could count their fingers up to ten.

Truth be told, my folks didn't want me anywhere near this stuff.   And, frankly, neither did I.   Around the age of five, I had one previous experience playing with matches.   And the pain has lingered for many, many years.

So we made our own fun in the backyard usually with some relatives over to celebrate.  A big deal was a croquet set that got dragged out as if we were on the Downton Abbey grounds.   This was a big deal for my older cousins to play.   I, however, didn't realize that the object of the game was to tap the ball lightly with your mallet.  This was not a sport where Willie Mays power should have been employed as our broken garage window will attest.

Those July 4 family gatherings in the yard usually found a bunch of relatives lounging in a long line of beach chairs as you see above.   That's my grandfather with the can of beer.   That's me in summer attire with my mom in the background.   The chrome dome is one of my dad's childhood chums.   

This photo of our lawn furniture evokes one of the more ghastly memories.   One year, some screwy distant relative was probably loaded up on Miller High Life and was telling dirty jokes.   Well, I am guessing they were dirty because I didn't understand them.  Nevertheless, raucous laughter erupted from the others.   One lady got so hysterical that she literally shit right through her shorts.   And a mound of crap wound up on that beach chair and it would have made a German Shepherd proud.   In my family, you never threw anything out.  Dad simply washed off the chair and made it "as good as new." For years, I saw that lawn chair with its big, brown stain.   And I never ever sat on it.

I know there were some families that regularly went to see fireworks on the night of July 4th.   Unfortunately, those events usually fell into the vortex of my father's travel restrictions.    All destinations could be ruled out by one of the following stipulations:

It's too far.

It's too crowded.

It's too hot/cold...depending upon the season.

Fireworks displays usually hit the latter two.  But, there was one year where Dad was feeling a little adventurous.

Apparently, the nearby town of Tuckahoe was shooting off some fireworks on a high school field.   Okay, that was close enough.   And how crowded could something in Tuckahoe get?  This excursion was going to be even more special. 

Even Grandma would come along.   

This was momentous as my grandmother never went any place that didn't involve either church, the A and P, or Suchy's Funeral Home in the Bronx. Invitations out of the realm usually got her tried-and-true response.

"I'll stay home."

Well, that July the Fourth, Grandma went with the rest of us to see fireworks. It looked like all of Westchester County had converged on the Tuckahoe High School football bleachers to watch this. The usual ooohs and aahs. When it was over, the throng exited en masse. There was no room to move. My mother instructed me to hold onto my grandmother's hand for dear life. I did so.

As I exited the crowd to meet the rest of my entourage, I was alone. Somehow, my hand was no longer attached to my grandmother's.

"Oh, great! You lost your grandmother!"

My fault again. Moments later, Grandma emerged from the melee. Unscathed and not amused.

"Next year, I stay home."

She turned to look at me.

"Dumkopf."

When I got older, I outgrew firecrackers and found myself spending the Fourth of July in some baseball park. And, to enjoy this truly American sport on this truly American holiday, I wasn't choosy about the stadium I would enter. Whoever was playing home was where I would be. Shea Stadium. Yankee Stadium. I didn't care. It was baseball and sometimes fireworks and always perfect. 

I can remember one year there was a doubleheader for the Mets and Tom Seaver took a no-hitter into the ninth inning. One other year, there was a day game at Yankee Stadium, where it was hotter than hell and there was an explosion of gnats on the field level.

Nowadays, I am in my Hollywood Bowl/Dodger Stadium/July 4 phase of life. This year, the Dodgers are home and shooting off some shit on the day, Two days earlier, I am at the Bowl seated upon the hill that overlooks Highland. Listening. Absorbing. Enjoying. And, tomorrow night, it will happen one more time.  The musical act will be Earth Wind and Fire...or whatever passes for them in 2025.   I am guessing there will be a bunch of 70-year-olds in the aisle, slow dancing to "That's The Way of the World" like they're back at the North Hollywood High junior prom.

Whatever.   I will enjoy once again the wonders of fireworks and July 4.   Hopefully, I won't get so excited that I mess the seat I'm sitting in.

Dinner last night:  Orange chicken Lo Mein

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - June 2025

 Guess what is fifty years old this month???

Dinner last night:  Korean fried chicken sandwich from Chx Food Truck.

For Those Who Still Shop in a Mall Store

 While away the time amongst all the stupidity around you with this nifty check list.

Dinner last night:  Had a big lunch so just some ice cream.

Inky Dinky Doo

 

Summer is here. It's time for fun at the beach and the pool. Loads of folks dressing light for their flights to some oasis. Cool comfortable clothing is the order.

And it's also time for the rest of us to be subjected to the growing phenomenon of body art. When I was in LAX Airport last month, there was a guy getting on ahead of me whose arms were literally covered in some sort of pattern that can only be LSD-induced for most people. A woman on the same flight was already in Pirates of The Caribbean 3 mode as Captain Jack Sparrow smiled at me from a spot between the clavicles of her back.

What the hell are these people thinking? You are sticking dye into living flesh. I don't care what kind of disclaimers they tell you. This can't be good. Why do I think that, twenty years from now, thousands of people are going to be in long term health facilities as a result of toxic poisoning.

Your body is not the Louvre. Are you that low in the self esteem department that you need this kind of attention called to you? And the stuff ain't pretty. Plus when the skin sags, Johnny Depp starts to look like Foster Brooks.

When I was a kid, there was one such tattoo parlor in my neighborhood. Joe's Tattoo Parlor. You could always count on about 4 or 5 motorcycles to be parked outside. The denizens all looked like they knew how to work those shirt folding machines you might in detention centers. When I had to go to the grocery or drug store for my mom, my path always took me past Joe's. And I always managed to hit my top "running an errand" speed as I passed by. Not that I was frightened by the customer base. Nope.

The whirring sound of that freakin' needle was enough to scare the Raisinets out of me.

Now, it's all so chic. Until you realize that it's not so smart to have your old boyfriend's name showing up on your arm in the wedding pictures.

Dinner last night:   Dan dan Noodles.

This Date in History - June 25

 

Happy birthday, Jimmie Walker.  Good times!

253:  POPE CORNELIUS IS BEHEADED.

So I wonder how they paraded this around the Vatican.   Were there two processions?

841:  FORCES LED BY CHARLES THE BALD AND LOUIS THE GERMAN DEFEAT THE ARMIES OF LOTHAIR I OF ITALY AND PEPIN II.  

As detailed by Len the Blogger.

1530:  AT THE DIET OF AUGSBURG, THE AUGSBURG CONFESSION IS PRESENTED TO THE HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR BY LUTHERAN PRINCES.

And that's why I have a church to go to every Sunday.

1678:  VENETIAN ELENA CORNARO PISCOPIA IS THE FIRST WOMAN AWARDED A DOCTORATE OF PHILOSOPHY.  

When she lost her eyesight, she was a blind Venetian.

1788;  VIRGINIA BECOMES THE 10TH STATE TO RATIFY THE US CONSTITUTION.

Do we still have a constitution?

1876:  BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIGHORN AND THE DEATH OF GENERAL CUSTER.

Who died with his boots on.

1906:  PITTSBURGH MILLIONAIRE HARRY THAW SHOOTS AND KILLS ARCHITECT STANFORD WHITE.

Didn't like the plans for the master bath, did he?

1910:  IGOR STRAVINSKY'S BALLET "THE FIREBIRD" IS PREMIERED IN PARIS.

Zzzzzz.

1924:  DIRECTOR SIDNEY LUMET IS BORN.

He was mad as hell and he wasn't going to take it anymore.

1925:  ACTRESS JUNE LOCKHART IS BORN.

Here, girl.

1935:  DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS BETWEEN THE SOVIET UNION AND COLOMBIA ARE ESTABLISHED.  

They deserve each other.

1938:  DR. DOUGLAS HYDE IS INAUGURATED AS THE FIRST PRESIDENT OF IRELAND.

Beating Jekyll in a close race.

1940:  FRANCE OFFFICIALLY SURRENDERS TO GERMANY.

The correct term is "they rolled over like dogs."

1942:  BASKETBALL STAR WILLIS REED IS BORN.

How long did it take to get him out?

1944:  US NAVY SHIPS BOMBARD CHERBOURG DURING WORLD WAR II.

They hated umbrellas.

1944: THE FINAL "KRAZY KAT" COMIC STRIP IS PUBLISHED.

Ignatz.

1947:  "THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK" IS PUBLISHED.

Lousy ending.

1947:  COMIC JIMMIE WALKER IS BORN.

Dyn-O-Mite.

1948:  THE BERLIN AIRLIFT BEGINS.

Who's bringing the brats?

1975:  MOZAMBIQUE ACHIEVES INDEPENDENCE.

A good day to be a Mozambi.

1975:  PRIME MINISTER INDIRA GANDHI DECLARES A STATE OF EMERGENCY IN INDIA.

So, those of you having problems with your Dell computer.....

1976:  MISSOURI GOVERNOR KIT BOND ISSUES AN ORDER RESCINDING THE EXTERMINATION ORDER, FORMALLY APOLOGIZING FOR HOW THE STATE TREATED THE CHURCH OF LATTER DAY SAINTS.

The Osmonds accept the apology.

1978:  THE RAINBOW FLAG REPRESENTING GAY PRIDE IS FLOWN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Naturally.

1979:  ANIMATOR DAVE FLEISCHER DIES.

Popeye is a pallbearer.   Betty Boop does the eulogy.

1981:  MICROSOFT IS RESTRUCTURED TO BECOME A BUSINESS IN THE STATE OF WASHINGTON.

They made a few dollars.

1997:  EXPLORER JACQUES COUSTEAU DIES.

Six feet under wasn't so far for him.

2009:  ACTRESS FARRAH FAWCETT DIES.

Charlie's really got an angel now.

2009:  ROCK STAR MICHAEL JACKSON DIES.

"I just need a little sleep."

2024:  BASEBALL STAR WILLIE MAYS DIES.

A GOAT.  Not the animal.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Memory Lapse

One thing you can say about politicians...they never remember the past well.

You may have seen these photos from over the weekend.   The White House Situation Room as our leaders watched the bombing of Iran. 

Naturally, as is the daily norm in DC, the news was met with disdain from one of the two political parties that is ripping our country apart.   The usual strum and drang from idiots like Alexandria O. Cortez.

This action was unconstitutional.   

Trump didn't consult Congress.

This is an impeachable offense.

Yada yada yada.

But the photo above hit me.   I have seen it someplace before.  Wait!  I remember now.

The same room.  The same stale coffee cups.  A similar group of Washington assholes as they watched our troops carrying out the murder of Osama bin Laden.

Hmmm.   Did Obama consult Congress?  Was this Constitutional?  How impeachable was this offense?

Sure, folks.  Let's keep trusting these two parties.   With regard to our once wonderful nation, we're witnessing the slowest toilet flush in recorded history.

Dinner last night:  Fried chicken at Honey's Kettle.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 23, 2025

 I run this every June for those prospective brides out there.   It never ever gets old.

Dinner last night:   Sandwich.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - My Baseball Homes

 Above, you're looking at a photo of Dodger Stadium's very first opening day in 1962. I see this snapshot and I realize that the place, which is now my primary baseball home, still looks amazingly as it did 63 years ago.

Back when I was a kid in NY and a fledgling fan of the sport, the Dodgers' home in Los Angeles seemed like it was on the moon. I didn't understand completely then the concept of time zones. All I knew is that Dodger Stadium was so far away the games started three hours later than they did in NY. An 8PM start time was really 11PM at Dodger Stadium and it took years for me to comprehend this phenomenon.

I was in love with the Mets and, whenever they played the Dodgers on the other end of the world, I had to get very creative when it came to staying in touch with the game. Rarely were those contests telecast on television back to WOR-TV Channel 9 in New York. And, if they were, there was no way this eight-year-old was going to be able to go into the living room and turn on the big clunky Zenith. As it was, the sleeping hawks/parents sensed my every nocturnal move.

"You're going to the bathroom. What's wrong?"

"You turned the light on. What's the matter?"

"Why are your bedcovers off? What's the problem?"

Jeez...........

So, to keep track of West Coast baseball games, I was reduced to covert activity. A transistor radio with the covers pulled over my head. Meanwhile, since my dog Tuffy was already in the bed with me, this became a very sweaty situation on hot summer nights. I was trying to listen to Met announcer Bob Murphy call the action with the play-by-play smothered under a pillow. Did he say that was a strike or a ball? Did Ed Kranepool score or didn't he? And, Tuffy, please stop licking my feet!

Eventually, one of the parental units would get up to go to the bathroom themselves. And the faint hum of AM radio would be radiating from my bedroom.

"TURN OFF THAT GAME AND GO TO BED!!!"

Er, I'm not listening to a game. And, technically, I am in bed. Oh, never mind. I quickly clicked off the transistor radio and threw it across my room.

I needed those words from the Met announcers because, indeed, I had no idea what Dodger Stadium looked like. Oh, I had seen a few pictures, but little else. I knew there were these two neat six-sided scoreboards. And that wave-like roof over the bleachers. But, all in all, this ballpark was a mystery to me.

I was further addled by the varying names the stadium had. Sometimes, I saw it in print as "Dodger Stadium." But, other times it was called "Chavez Ravine." Is that the Spanish translation? I had no clue. It all sounded so wonderful. But, only in my mind. Really, all I had to go on was this episode of "Mr. Ed."

I finally got to see the place for myself on a Labor Day when I was eleven. For some bizarre reason, one of the networks was televising a game that afternoon between the San Francisco Giants and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Why? Who knows? But, it was strange for me to watch a game that didn't involve the Mets. I was going to get my chance to actually see Dodger Stadium for myself. And I was a captive audience.

Mainly because I was trapped in my bed with a fever of 104 degrees. That was probably the sickest I have ever been in my life. Some sort of virus was galloping through my body. It was like one of those jungle movies where the great White hunter has malaria and is lying in a quonset hut, being fanned by natives. Except I was lying in my bedroom and my parents were taking turns applying cold compresses and alcohol in order to get the fever down. Meanwhile, as I lay there in gallons of sweat, I kept staring at the game on the black and white TV in my room.

That's Dodger Stadium!

There's those cool scoreboards!

Look at all those palm trees outside the bleachers!

I was literally and figuratively closer to heaven. I vowed to go there one day and see this Chavez Ravine for myself

I, of course, survived. The Giants won that day in 13 innings. And it would be another twelve years before I would see Dodger Stadium for myself. In person.

It was as glorious as it appeared on that day when I lost about ten gallons of water through my pores.

I was on my first ever trip to Los Angeles and this ballpark was a mandatory stop. The Reds shellacked the Dodgers that day. But, the sheer essence of just being there was enough for me.

Here I am years later. A season ticket holder with a regular view of all that which enchanted me when I was eleven. I never take it for granted. This is baseball paradise.

Yes, Shea Stadium will always be my first love. But, if I have no other baseball home for the rest of my life, Dodger Stadium will do just fine.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich and salad.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - June 2025

 For the month of Father's Day, what else???

Dinner last night:  The Stadium Club pre-game buffet at Chavez Ravine.

Relax...the School Photographer Left for the Summer

 

If you wanted to see what Georgia Engel would look like as a male...

And he's also a rake.

Canon has introduced the first combination digital camera/tazer.

Voted "Most Likely to Swallow a Fly in this Photo Session."

Right after graduation, there was a rewarding career as a busboy at Medieval Times.

Her head is an apartment complex for split ends.

Lips or glasses? Which are bigger? You decide.

You think this kid's school was in a very, er, urban area? I wonder how the hair-do looks after this dude has been stuffed in a gym locker.

Dinner last night:  Chicken teriyaki at the Smoke House.

The Streaming Garbage Can Grows

 

Years from now, media historians will look at this decade with disdain.    And emblematic of society's ultimate decay.   All due to...

...the made-for-TV movie on your friendly streaming service.

None will be remembered kindly as it's all basically junk.   Truth be told, I avoid most of this shit like the plague.   But one title caught my eye...

"Summer of 69."

Oooh, how nostalgic.   The summer of the Miracle Mets.  Woodstock.  Man walking on the moon.

Um, not that 69.

Oh.

And we sink lower to the depths of depravity.

Indeed, I thought back to when I was 16 and didn't know about such things, except maybe the Mets.   If you are wondering how low society has gone, this movie is for you.

Young high school girl has a crush on the cute boy working the counter at the ice cream stand.  She is told he just broke up with his long time girlfriend and, oh, by the way, he likes to "69."  So she literally empties her bank to pay a local stripper that will teach her all about "69."  And I ain't talking Ron Swoboda.

The first half of this movie is lewd and filthy, even though nothing happens.   But, about midway in, the film starts to lift whole plot points and music from the 80s classic "Risky Business."   So what begins as dirty comes out grossly unoriginal.  And as tame as an episode of Sally Field's "Gidget."   

Yep, 100 minutes and nothing happens.  For a brief moment, I actually wanted to see them "69."   That might have justified the time I wasted with this complete travesty.

It's on Hulu.   I tell you that so you can avoid it.

LEN'S RATING:  One star.

Dinner last night:  Tri-tip sandwich at Wood Ranch.

This Date in History - June 18

 

One of my regular readers would be very angry if I didn't put Sir Paul McCartney center stage on this, his birthday.

1053:  3,000 HORSEMEN OF NORMAN COUNT HUMPHREY ROUT THE TROOPS OF POPE LEO IX.

Back in the day when Popes rode horses and not bubble-topped jeeps.

1264: THE PARLIAMENT OF IRELAND MEETS AT CASTLEDERMOT IN COUNTY KILDARE.

Right down the road is County Gillespie.

1429:  FRENCH FORCES UNDER THE LEADERSHIP OF JOAN OF ARC DEFEAT THE MAIN BRITISH ARMY IN THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR.

Yeah, she's hot now.   But she'll get even hotter.

1684:  THE CHARTER OF THE MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY IS REVOKED VIA SCIRE FACIAS WRIT.

A scire facias what?

1767:  ENGLISH SEA CAPTAIN SAMUEL WALLIS SIGHTS TAHITI AND IS CONSIDERED THE FIRST EUROPEAN TO REACH THE ISLAND.

No dummy is he.

1778:  DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, BRITISH TROOPS ABANDON PHILADELPHIA.

What? The Phillies on a losing streak?

1812:  DURING THE WAR OF 1812, THE US CONGRESS DECLARES WAR ON GREAT BRITAIN, CANADA, AND IRELAND.

England and Ireland on the same side?  Who would have thunk?

1858:  CHARLES DARWIN RECEIVES A PAPER FROM ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE THAT INCLUDES NEARLY IDENTICAL CONCLUSIONS ABOUT EVOLUTION AS HIS OWN, PROMPTING DARWIN TO PUBLISH HIS THEORY.

Or else they would have been fighting over Wallace in "Inherit the Wind."

1873:  SUSAN B. ANTHONY IS FINED $100 FOR ATTEMPTING TO VOTE.

These days, they should pay me $100 to vote.

1900:  EMPRESS DOWAGER LONGYU OF CHINA ORDERS ALL FOREIGNERS KILLED.

Anybody who walks in Times Square and down Hollywood Boulevard during the summer knows the feeling.

1904:  ACTOR KEYE LUKE IS BORN.

Number One Son!

1908:  TV HOST BUD COLLYER IS BORN.

His mother thought he would be born on June 19, but he beat the clock.

1913:  SONGWRITER SAMMY CAHN IS BORN.

Ain't that a kick in the head.

1917:  ACTOR RICHARD BOONE IS BORN.

Have Birth Canal, Will Travel.

1923:  CHECKER TAXI PUTS ITS FIRST CAB ON THE STREET.

And this is probably the first known employment of an Arab in America.

1928:  AVIATOR AMELIA EARHART BECOMES THE FIRST WOMAN TO FLY IN AN AIRCRAFT ACROSS THE ATLANTIC OCEAN.

This time, she was just a passenger.  Later, she would be a missing pilot.

1936:  BARACK OBAMA SR. IS BORN.

The original deadbeat dad.

1940:  THE "FINEST HOUR" SPEECH BY WINSTON CHURCHILL.

His finest hour, too.

1942:  CRITIC ROGER EBERT IS BORN.

Thumb up.

1942:  BEATLE PAUL MCCARTNEY IS BORN.

Despite a raspy voice and some really bad plastic surgery, people still flock to see him.   Heck, I'm going myself in August.

1945:  LORD HAW-HAW IS CHARGED WITH TREASON FOR HIS PRO-GERMAN PROPAGANDA DURING WORLD WAR II.

The Lord's first name wouldn't happen to be......oh, never mind.

1953:  THE EGYPTIAN REVOLUTION OF 1952 ENDS WITH THE OVERTHROW OF THE MUHAMMAD ALI DYNASTY AND THE DECLARATION OF THE REPUBLIC OF EGYPT.

Is there such a thing as the Cassius Clay Dynasty?

1959:  ACTRESS ETHEL BARRYMORE DIES.

There were like two dozen of these acting Barrymores.

1965:  DURING THE VIETNAM WAR, THE US USES B-52 BOMBERS TO ATTACK GUERRILLA FIGHTERS IN SOUTH VIET NAM.

Magilla Guerrilla for sale.

1979:  SALT II IS SIGNED BY THE UNITED STATES AND THE SOVIET UNION.

Right now, it's hard to find SALT on a restaurant table in NY.

1983:  ASTRONAUT SALLY RIDE BECOMES THE FIRST AMERICAN WOMAN IN SPACE.

And what a ride she had.

1996:  TED KACZYNSKI, SUSPECTED OF BEING THE UNABOMBER, IS INDICTED ON TEN CRIMINAL COUNTS.

Make it an even dozen.

2000;  ACTRESS NANCY MARCHAND DIES.

Terrific as Livia Soprano and Mrs. Pynchon.

2002:  SPORTSCASTER JACK BUCK DIES.

Buck.  Passed.

2003:  BASEBALL STAR LARRY DOBY DIES.

Doby doby die.

2011:  MUSICIAN CLARENCE CLEMONS DIES.

There goes alimony payments for about ten or twelve ex-wives.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Bonus Moron of the Month

 

Sometimes you just have to adapt.   When the morons around us show up fast and furious, you want to let people know of the dummies around us.

This is Senator Alex Padilla.   He's apparently the junior Senator from California, of which I had no clue.  I'm pretty sure I didn't vote for him because...well...because.   Personally, I don't like to vote for anybody these days.

So you probably heard the news this week amidst all the LA riot mayhem.  Kristi Noem, the Secretary of Homeland Security, was here to see for herself what the fuss was all about.  I mean, we had to have the National Guard here.   I know that for a fact because I saw a couple of them in Starbucks.

Well, Noem was giving a press conference.  All of a sudden, Padilla barged in and started to interrupt her statement with his defense of the illegal aliens around us.  Because nobody knew who the fuck this asshole was, they wrestled him to the ground.  I mean, who knew if he had a gun?  He had no ID nor was he wearing his Congressional pin.  Can you blame them?

Well, anyway, this altercation prompted everybody on the left side of the aisle to go nuts one more time about fascism and authoritarianism.  If this could happen to a senator, it could happen to the guy detailing your Toyota down at the car wash.

Um, maybe.  But here's the truth and it doesn't take an extra large tin foil hat to figure out what happened here.

The incident with Padilla was choreographed, rehearsed, and written probably by Aaron Sorkin.  They needed a victim and dopey Padilla raised his hand high.  The fix was big time in.

But, then again, so were the so-called riots.   It was all staged and planned and financed by the same crime syndicate who brought you the George Floyd riots. I know this information for a fact.   Black Escalades show up and deposit paid thieves to raise a ruckus and a brick.  Why else do you wind pallets of bricks on street corners?   Or crates of aluminum bats hidden behind a cluster of trees?

The Padilla incident was simply a diversionary tactic.  And most people fell for it hook, line, and Molotov cocktail.  It was a press conference.  Padilla is not press.  And, for the question he wanted to ask, he should have waited for the moment where he could raise his hand.

Meanwhile, in the Pacific Palisades where 15,000 homes burned down, there have been just 55 permits granted to those who lost their houses.   That's my barometer.   I know personally six people who lost their homes.

I don't know anybody who's been deported.   But, if they promise to send Padilla someplace, I'll be the first one who wants an introduction.

Dinner last night:  The Dodger Stadium Club buffet.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - June 16, 2025

 Dads helping out.   A classic from "Everybody Loves Raymond."

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak and sauteed mushrooms.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Last Days of Dad

 

Don't scratch your head.  Yes, I have used this photo of my dad before.  But it is Father's Day and, once again, my thoughts ping pong around the rec hall that is in my brain. 

You see, this particular week was always a double hit for me.  Not only do we contend with the annual patriarchal holiday but my father's birthday was June 20.  A double whammy.  Some years, it all happened on the same day.  What's a son to do?

When I was younger, the commemoration was an easy one.  I simply tried to stay out of his hair.  I would avoid getting into trouble and sit quietly at our family gathering, perhaps listening to a Met doubleheader on a transistor radio.

When I was an adult, the celebration was different.  I now had the wherewithal to pay for a meal.  So I would troop Dad out to a restaurant dinner and that's a big deal for somebody who rarely liked to eat out in his later years.  But I'd scope out an eatery with that one special requirement my dad always had.

A salad bar. 

This was a new phenomenon to him.  All the lettuce, beets, cole slaw, hot peppers, olives, potato salad, and onions you could eat.    I remember the first time he experienced this at a place called the Victoria Station on Tuckahoe Road in Yonkers. 

"I can go up for a second plate?"

Yes.  And the sense of wonderment on my father's face stayed with me to this day.  You can actually get unlimited food.  Perhaps a difficult notion to swallow for a child of the Depression Years.

On those outings in the later stages of our life together, the routine would be the same.  Whether it be for a Met game, a meal, or a doctor's visit.  I would drive.  And pick him up.  A simple act.  Just like he had done for me so many years ago when I needed to go someplace.  But, now the situation was reversed.  And so was the relationship.

And this happens for all of us at some point in our lives.

The child becomes the parent.  And, wistfully, the parent becomes the child.

And so, too, did my father and I bow to the inevitable circle of life. 

I think today of my dad's later years cut short at the age of 70.  Indeed, when he was forced into retirement by his long term employer, the Mount Vernon Die Casting Company, at the age of 62, he should have immediately enjoyed the freedom.  But, unfortunately, he never got that initial opportunity.  The end of his work days coincided with my grandmother's broken hip and what would be the last year of her life.  Because she wanted nothing to do with having any sort of caretaker in the house, my dad became the 24/7 lifeline.  And lost one year of his life to this task.

Again...

The child becomes the parent.  And, wistfully, the parents becomes the child.

Grandma's death led to more uncertainty with her house (and Dad's home) being sold.  Packing up the remains of a household and an existence.  Because he and my mom had amicably split due to that old bugaboo of the "empty nest syndrome," my father relocated to a Bronx apartment.  All the boxes from the house went there.  And sat in the corner, waiting to be unpacked for the next eight years.

I first noticed that Dad was having a health issue on September 17, 1986.  How can I be that precise with a date years later?  Well, we were both at Shea Stadium.  The New York Mets' clinching of the Eastern Division that night.  In the Loge, Section 6 seats of my pal, the Bibster.  Amid all the joyful hysteria, I couldn't help but notice that my father had to go down to the bathroom every half inning. 

Hmmmm.

I mentioned it several times in passing over the next month or so.  My father belittled it all.  To give it any level of consideration, he would have had to go to a doctor.  And, yes, he did not go there.

By Christmas, his prostate problems were so pronounced that his kidneys and bladder were completely shutting down.

Son morphs into Dad overnight.  I called the paramedics when he didn't answer the phone.  And so began my father's soon-to-be-ongoing relationship with the nursing staff of Mount Vernon Hospital.

He was not happy.

"You put me in here!"

As if I just sentenced him to Attica State Prison.

The next few years were devoted to his recovery and the realization that he actually had an illness.  As he would refer to it...

"I've got the C."

Not to be confused with the B or the P or the V.

The next few years were probably indicative of what he should have enjoyed in his retirement.  He was never home.  Hanging out with his cronies.  Working in this one's yard or that one's basement.  I'd call him twice a day, once in the afternoon and then again around 8PM every night.  And I would do so regardless of whether I was out or not.

One Christmas week, I was visiting good friends on a snowy night all the way up in Rockland County.  When I made the nightly check-in, there was no answer.  At 8PM. Or 9PM.  Or 10PM.  My thoughts traveled to the usual dark side.

"I better go see what's wrong."

My friend drove me all the way down to the Bronx.  I practiced in my mind how to dial the phone digits.

9-1-1.  9-1-1. 

Surely, I would be calling.

As the apartment building elevator inched ever so slowly to the sixth floor, all we could hear was the theme song from M*A*S*H.  The reruns played every night on WNEW Channel 5 at 11PM. 

"Suicide is painless...."

Who the hell was playing their TV so freakin' loud?

When the elevator door opened in front of my dad's apartment, I knew.

"What the hell are you doing here?  I'm watching M*A*S*H."

So we know.   So does everybody in the tri-state area.  Er, how come you didn't answer the phone, Dad?

"It never rang."

Oh, yes, it did.  Except you couldn't hear it because your TV volume can be heard all the way to Fort Fucking Lee in New Jersey.

And so the familial circle had been completed.  The slippery slope had begun.

Soon thereafter, Dad started to have problems walking.  Did he check with a doctor about this?  Of course not.  He had fashioned his own diagnosis for the pain in his leg.   He blamed it on some poor radiation technician who obviously had screwed up.

"When I was going for that machine, the guy messed up.  The thing moved and burned a hole in my leg."

Yeah, whatever.  The distress led to the leg breaking in two.  Metastasized tumors as a result of a returning prostate cancer will tend to do that.  He wound up in the hospital for three weeks after a metal rod was inserted.  The healing process in Mount Vernon Hospital was a painful one.  When you get off the elevator and can recognize a familiar screen from several halls away, you don't lose that memory easily.

My father lived with a walker for the rest of his time.  Plus, since he insisted on living on his own, the insurance company requested that he get daily help in the apartment.  They sent him a young Black kid who dutifully showed up every weekday.  He was there to help out Dad, who wanted no help.

"What am I supposed to do with this colored guy?"

Maybe he could clean the kitchen?  Make your lunch?  How about unpacking some of those boxes still strewn all over your living room?

My father would have nothing of it.  The two of them sat all day together watching television.

I did what I could do to help.  Luckily, he had friends who "aired him out" several days a week.  There was always somebody at the ready to take him to the super market or for his chemo treatments at the doctor.

I've written before about one excursion that I did adopt for myself.  A lasting and final good memory of my dad...

It was the Friday of Thanksgiving weekend and I was off. I decided to give Dad's buddies the week off. I'd do the honors of acting as driver for the day. It was the least I could do for his pals who had so diligently helped him over the years.

As I helped him out of the doctor's office and into the car, I wondered what was next in the weekly routine. Even when he was ill, my father was always all about a consistent schedule of events. I asked him what happens next.

"Well, we usually go get something to eat."

Where?

"White Castle."

I was perplexed. There wasn't one nearby in Mount Vernon.

"No, we go to the one down on Allerton. Where we used to go."

Oh. All the way down there, I thought.

Yes, all the way down. And I shouldn't have questioned it for a single moment.

My father and I sat one more time in that parking lot. The car hops were gone, but I brought the food out of the restaurant. And we chomped down on five or six sliders as if the years had morphed all together into a single second.I didn't know it that day, but it would be the very last meal I would share with my father. 

Eventually, he wound up back in the hospital and his doctor discretely shared with me the ultimate and sad prognosis.  His final days would have to be spent in a Mount Vernon nursing home.  Dad thought it was a rehab place and that he would be back in his apartment before he knew it.

One Saturday, my mother and I were visiting him.  The Black orderly asked us to leave the room so Dad could be bathed.  The curtains were drawn and, since the slightest movement gave him waves of intense pain, my father screamed again.  And took out his anger on the orderly.

With multiple doses of racism as if it was an extreme sport telecast on ESPN.  The "N" word was used as a noun, a verb, and an adjective.  I cringed with every syllable.

When the orderly was done and came out into the hall, I felt the need to apologize.  

"Um, he's not really like that."

Well, he was a bit.  But not to the, no pun intended, "Nth degree."  The orderly was incredibly gracious.

"Hey, no big deal.  He's a nice guy.  He told me to do a good job dressing him because he had a funeral to go to."

I looked at my mother with a bit of foreboding.  I know the funeral he's talking about.

Dad died the very next week.

Despite this blog entry, I don't really dwell on the sad moments that coincided with the final years of my father's life.  I tend to look back on him with humor and will not remember something without laughing.  Much in the same vein as the M*A*S*H incident I recalled above.

Or the time when his back seat driving on a trip home from Shea Stadium made me so angry that I demanded he get out of the car.  On the top of the Whitestone Bridge!  Danny, my best friend from high school, was there as a witness and still talks about that evening.

Or the way he rigged his walker so it could be used as a shopping cart with a special receptacle to hold the New York Daily News and his racing form.

Or the final really big chortle he gave me when I was the one forced to clean out his apartment.  Getting rid of those freakin' boxes he had never unpacked from my grandmother's house.

On this day, Danny was helping me with the project.  In a closet, I found an old suitcase which I recognized from the days when we would have our annual summer family vacation at Atlantic City.

Except the valise was locked shut.

Hmmm?  Why?   Was there something special in here that Dad wanted me to find?  Maybe there was a sign?  Or some hidden treasure?  Or just maybe I had watched too many movies?

Nevertheless, I wanted that suitcase opened and I wanted it open now.  Danny and I did our best to wreck that carry-all's lock.  We finally jimmyed it open with a screwdriver, a butter knife, and, ultimately, my own two feet when they stepped down hard on it.

The suitcase opened.

Inside was....

A brown paper bag full of Japanese money.  Left over from his days there during World War II.

And....

A dozen light bulbs.

This was obviously my dad's survival kit.  If he ever was stuck in a dark Tokyo apartment.

I couldn't help but laugh that day. 

And every single Father's Day ever since.

Dinner last night:  Orange chicken and lo mein.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - June 2025

 His assassination, like no other, changed the course of this country forever.

Dinner last night:  Cheese and crackers.

Your Beautiful June Bride

 

One thing the bride doesn't need for a wedding gift?  Eyebrows.

Mr. and Mrs. Johnny Depp?

 Where was their reception held?  At Jury Duty?

It's a wedding dress.  No, it's a cake.  No, it's a wedding dress.  No, it's a cake.

 Pictures of the honeymoon night, please.

 The blog writer can take this picture off.

 I can't wait to see her do the Hokey Pokey.

 Forecast for this wedding day:  Windy with a 70 percent chance of panties.

 May the divorce lawyer be with you.

Do you take this man.....I, burp, do.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Insomnia Theater

 

My head hit the pillow two hours ago.  Yet, I am wide awake.

Yes, it's post surgery insomnia.  I have had surgery each of the last three years and two weeks after every operation, I go through a pout of insomnia.  Toss. Turn. Ooops.  Don't sleep on the side with your operated hip.  

This is the same pattern I have endured the last three years.   And every year, I would drift over to overnight TV on the vintage game show network.  Buzzr.  They don't have a vast library but somehow this gets me through the wee hours.

The images come bouncing around my eyelids.

"This is Johnny Olsen speaking."

Hey, it's Bill Cullen as a panelist on "To Tell The Truth."   Oh, and now he's the host of "Blockbusters."   Still with his long term polio, you never see Bill walking.

Wow, Arlene Francis.  You're cool.   I wish you were my mother.

No one was funnier than Charles Nelson Reilly on "Match Game."

Will the real Len with Insomnia please stand up?

Ping and pong.  It's 1974.  Now it's 1983.  

And the password is...

Your consolation prize is a crate full of Lipton Instant Soups.

The game shows are interrupted by weird ads.   Woody Harrelson's brother selling a form of CBD.   John Walsh telling you Omega XL gets rid of all pain.

Wait, here's a commercial for Promescent.   What the hell is that?   It's a delay spray for men.  If you squirt it on your privates...

That's it for tonight.   I fear I'll be back again tomorrow.

Dinner last night: Sandwich.

This Date in History - June 11

 

Happy birthday to Adrienne Barbeau. This is one of those days when you know a guy writes this blog.

1184 BC:  DURING THE TROJAN WAR, TROY IS SACKED AND BURNED.

As opposed to Mark Sanchez who was often sacked but never burned.

323 BC:  ALEXANDER THE GREAT DIES IN THE PALACE OF NEBUCHADNEZZAR II IN BABYLON.

Must suck to be Nebuchadnezzar at a book signing.

1345:  THE MEGAS DOUX ALEXIOS APOKAUKOS, CHIEF MINISTER OF THE BYZANTINE EMPIRE, IS LYNCHED BY POLITICAL PRISONERS.

Can you blame them?  The only good megas doux is a dead megas doux.

1509:  HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND MARRIES CATHERINE OF ARAGON.

This Henry VIII must have been good in throne.

1776:  THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS APPOINTS THOMAS JEFFERSON, JOHN ADAMS, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, ROGER SHERMAN, AND ROBERT LIVINGSTON TO THE COMMITTEE OF FIVE TO DRAFT A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.

And later became a musical.

1837:  THE BROAD STREET RIOT OCCURS IN BOSTON, FUELED BY EHTNIC TENSIONS BETWEEN YANKEES AND IRISH.

Well, Yankees are never welcome in Boston.

1913:  FOOTBALL COACH VINCE LOMBARDI IS BORN.

The original cheesehead.

1919:  SIR BARTON WINS THE BELMONT STAKES, BECOMING THE FIRST HORSE TO WIN THE TRIPLE CROWN.

So a horse led the league in home runs, batting average, and runs batted in??

1920:  DURING THE REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION IN CHICAGO, PARTY LEADERS GATHER IN A BACK ROOM TO DECIDE ON A CANDIDATE.   THIS WAS THE FIRST "SMOKE-FILLED" ROOM.

Talk about your second-hand smoke.

1930:  POLITICIAN CHARLES RANGEL IS BORN.

The original shithead.

1933:  ACTOR GENE WILDER IS BORN.

"Put the candle back!"

1935:  INVENTOR IRWIN ARMSTRONG GIVES THE FIRST PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION OF FM BROADCASTING IN ALPINE, NEW JERSEY.

Armstrong?  One small step for man, one giant leap for the Grateful Dead.

1942:  DURING WORLD WAR II, THE UNITED STATES AGREES TO SEND LEND-LEASE AID TO THE SOVIET UNION.

Mistake-ski.

1945:  ACTRESS ADRIENNE BARBEAU IS BORN.

And she has quite the barbeaus, doesn't she?

1962:  FRANK MORRIS, JOHN ANGLIN, AND CLARENCE ANGLIN ALLEGEDLY BECOME THE ONLY PRISONERS TO ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON ON ALCATRAZ ISLAND.

If this happened today, they'd be on the View tomorrow.

1963:  ALABAMA GOVERNOR GEORGE WALLACE STANDS AT THE DOOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA TO BLOCK TWO BLACK STUDENTS FROM ATTENDING THAT SCHOOL.

This is when Wallace could actually stand.

1963:  PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY PROPOSES THE CIVIL RIGHTS ACT OF 1964.

Planning ahead for 1964.   Um, not so fast, Jack.

1969:  ACTOR PETER DINKLAGE IS BORN.

The creation of another little person who will always be a little person.

1979:  ACTOR JOHN WAYNE DIES.

Anybody who doubts this guy could act should watch "The Searchers."

1981:  A 6.9 MAGNITUDE EARTHQUAKE IN IRAN KILLS AT LEAST 2,000.

Which is still not as many people killed on 9/11 by that same part of the world.

1985:  PATIENT KAREN ANN QUINLAN DIES.

Plug.  Pulled.

1999:  ACTOR DEFOREST KELLEY DIES.

Beamed down.

2001:  TIMOTHY MCVEIGH IS EXECUTED FOR HIS ROLE IN THE OKLAHOMA CITY BOMBING.

What goes around......

2002:  ANTONIO MEUCCI AS ACKNOWLEDGED AS THE FIRST INVENTOR OF THE TELEPHONE BY THE US CONGRESS.

Alexander Graham Phooey.

2003:  JOURNALIST DAVID BRINKLEY DIES.

Good night, David.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.