My Kingdom for a Toothpick

 

Such a small, inconsequential item.   I remember my dad always had one in his mouth after a meal...emulating former baseball manager Dusty Baker.   

As for me, I did all the other things one does to clean teeth.   Oral-B.  Mouthwash.  Dental floss.  But those are tough to do when you are out and about in public.   In those moments, a toothpick is needed.

Try to find one.

Okay, a little back story.   Back of my mouth, particularly.   There's some long term movement of teeth going on in my advanced age.   What is happening has resulted in some pronounced space between two teeth in the left back side of my mouth.  As a result, food gets wedged in there pretty snugly.  And I keep feeling it with my tongue that just makes me even more annoyed.

Now if I am home, there is no issue.  Oral B.  Mouthwash.  Dental floss.  But when I'm out at the movies or at Dodger Stadium or really any public place for that matter, food connects to that area and doesn't move.

A perfect role for a handy toothpick.

Okay, try and find one.

Bartenders don't have them.

Waiters don't have them.

Concession stands don't have them.

Suddenly, you're spending most of your fun evening out in a futile attempt to get a piece of a hot dog out of your mouth.

Last week at the ballpark, I bummed some dental floss off the woman who runs the souvenir stand near me.   That helped but I'm hoping that someone in our society will find reason enough to bring back this little but handy device.   I mean, there are many other uses.   

How does a kid finish his school project which is a piggy back made of toothpicks?

Dinner last night:  Leftover pizza.

Dinner last night:

Monday Morning Video Laugh - September 7, 2026

 Because she is on my mind.

Dinner last night:  Pepperoni pizza at Pizzanna.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Labor Day Twinbill

 

"Let's play two!"

Or, in the case of this famous photo from 1964, let's play three or four.   The Mets and Giants had already played the first game of a Sunday doubleheader.   The second game went twenty three innings and lasted till about 11:30PM.   This prompted Bennett Cerf, a panelist on the live broadcast of "What's My Line" on CBS, to mention what was happening on another channel in New York.  

This stuff doesn't pop up anymore because doubleheaders just don't exist anymore unless there are rainouts.  Even then, if they need to play two games in one day, they do it with separate admissions.   

Back in the day, doubleheaders on Labor Day and other holidays were the norm in baseball.   Much to the delight of the Chicago Cubs' longtime hero, the late Ernie Banks, who always wanted to "play two."  This classy guy never played in a World Series game, but certainly you didn't hear a whole lot of whining from him about that. He was simply content to put on a uniform and play America's pastime from sunrise to sunset. And that included a bunch of doubleheaders in Wrigley Field, which didn't even have lights until 1988.

Of course, Ernie would be much annoyed if he was still hitching up the stirrups as an active player in 2026. Because doubleheaders as we used to know them no longer exist. Those Sunday or holiday afternoons devoted to two games, usually starting at 1PM and then winding up around 7PM. These days, the Yankees and the Red Sox usually play a single game in that same time frame. But, back then, this was one neat day at the ballpark. Tons and tons and tons of baseball. Two games for the price of one. Such a deal.

I went to a few of them when I was a kid and they were still regularly scheduled. Armed with my scorebook and a brown bag filled with two Taylor Ham sandwiches, I was neatly tucked away for a day full of memories. I craved a double bill and my father reluctantly complied for a while. I figured he saw a bargain with two games offered for the price of one ticket. Eventually, his participation fell to the hands of that dreaded four word declaration. 

"Too long to sit." 

My dad would ultimately adapt this time-honored phraseology into other great excuses. 

"Too hot to stand." 

"Too far to drive." 

"Too crowded to go." 

He turned it into a science. But, soon enough, I was old enough to battle them by simply going off to enjoy said event with my neighborhood friends. And that most certainly included a baseball doubleheader.

I remember a bunch of them. There was one on a long ago Independence Day when, in the first game, the Mets' Tom Seaver once again flirted with a no-hitter until the Padres' Leron Lee broke it up with one out in the ninth inning. 

There was another late August one in 1984, prompted by a rainout, where the Mets swept the Padres and showed their fans that years of suffering were paying off thanks for the efforts of Dwight Gooden and Keith Hernandez. 

Indeed, I go back deeper into my annals for a doubleheader I didn't attend. When the Yankees hosted the Minnesota Twins one hot Father's Day in the non-refurbished Yankee Stadium for the first ever Bat Day. Despite my pleading, that one was denied to me via a festival of Dad's excuses. 

It was too hot to stand. 

It was too far to drive. 

It was too crowded to go. 

The hat trick. What made this even more devastating to me was that the fact that most of the other kids in my crowd went. All summer long, I was the only one playing baseball without a Tom Tresh bat.

You don't get these opportunities anymore. Whereas teams used to regularly schedule seven or eight of these Sunday doubleheaders every season along with the impromptu twi-night double dips precipitated by early season rainouts, we are denied now the chance to enjoy six or seven hours of baseball for one admission. Teams now don't want to give up single games of ticket, hot dog and beer sales for the sake of playing two games for one admission. And, now, you don't even get this via a rainout. 

Because, in these greediest of days, major league franchises have now discovered the wonderful financial gluttony of a day-night doubleheader. There's one game in the afternoon. Then the crowd files out, the stadium is allegedly cleaned, and then you have to buy a completely new ticket to see the game at night. Every franchise does this now. And it sucques.

Despite the double admissions, there are other financial benefits that teams enjoy as a result. A few years back, I was at the daytime first game of one of these travesties at Shea Stadium. I engaged an usher in a conversation and he also explained to me that state labor laws are constructed so that the employees do not get overtime on these days. So, essentially, they are working two games in one day, but getting less money than they would if they were attending to a traditional doubleheader. Another buck saved so we can pay that overrated fifth starter 10 million dollars a year.

Time passed and there is only an illusion of progress. We can gripe all we want, but nothing changes. I adapt my father's adage one more time.

"Too frustrated to complain."

Just don't look for a doubleheader on Labor Day.   

Dinner last night: The pre-game buffet at the Dodger Stadium Club.

Classic TV Commercial of the Month - September 2026

 I hated it.  Didn't you?

Dinner last night:  BLT sandwich at the Hollywood Bowl.

The Mugs of September 2026

 

 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: Hot dog at Holy Cow.

Morons of the Month - September 2026

 

The laughs never stop.

Now, as a little background, I learned about this group called "The Visibility Brigade" by watching from afar the antics of a former work colleague.   I actually wrote about her several months ago.  I used the name "Marisol."   I had become concerned because her social media showed me she had fallen down the rabbit hole.   A confirmed far-leftist, Marisol has gotten a case of Trump hatred that has overtaken every element of her life.

At the time, I wrote that I hope she was going to get help.   Indeed, it's gotten even worse.   To that point, I sincerely think she might physically harm somebody who didn't agree with her politically.   And, because she has gone deeper into darkness, I will occasionally look at her social media postings.

And that's how I became familiar with this group of which Marisol is a card carrying member.   They like to hang around overpasses like this to get their message out.

And what are those messages?   Welp, the federal government is evil.  The powers that be are particularly targeting women.   Their right to choose.  Their right to vote.  Their right to live.  

Most of their rantings are as crazy as you would find either on CNN or Fox.   But the anger is abundant and I have an idea of where it comes from.

Take a look at the gals prominently displayed on social media.   Older.  Single.  I would bet my last dollar that they all have cats.

But they are promoting the resistance because fascism is everywhere.   In their super markets.  In their closets.   Under their beds.  If only these loons would realize that there is plenty of corruption on both sides of the aisle.   

Indeed, none of these people have the foggiest idea what it's like to be persecuted against.   They're all mad and that's that.

At the end of the day, though, none of their lives are challenged negatively in any shape or form.   In fact, as I have noticed previously, Marisol goes on vacations to resorts a lot.   

How is this possible in such a fascist society?

Dinner last night:  Salad and sandwich.

This Date in History - September 2

 

Happy birthday to Chuck McCann.  He's the one in the middle.  Yep, the dead guy.

47 BC:  PHARAOH CLEOPATRA VII OF EGYPT DECLARES HER SON CO-RULER AS PTOLEMY XV CAESARION.

The earliest evidence of nepotism in history.

44 BC:  CICERO LAUNCHES THE FIRST OF HIS PHILIPPICS (ORATORICAL ATTACKS) ON MARK ANTONY.

Today Cicero would be hosting a host on MSNBC.

31 BC:  FINAL WAR OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC - THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM - FORCES OF OCTAVIAN DEFEAT TROOPS MARK ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.  

Actium?   Isn't that for constipation?

1666:  THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON BREAKS OUT AND BURNS FOR THREE DAYS, DESTROYING 10,000 BUILDINGS.

What's so great about that??

1752:  GREAT BRITAIN ADOPTS THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR, NEARLY TWO CENTURIES LATER THAN MOST OF WESTERN EUROPE.

So when are the holidays?

1789:  THE UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY IS FOUNDED.

I'll take tens and twenties, thank you.

1807:  THE ROYAL NAVY BOMBARDS COPENHAGEN WITH FIRE BOMBS AND ROCKETS TO PREVENT DENMARK FROM SURRENDERING ITS FLEET TO NAPOLEON.

Napoleon:  "So I'll take that as a no."

1850:  SPORTING GOODS BUSINESSMAN ALBERT SPALDING IS BORN.

Catch this.

1859:  A SOLAR SUPER STORM AFFECTS ELECTRICAL TELEGRAPH SERVICE.

Not working.  Stop.  

1864:  THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR - UNION FORCES ENTER ATLANTA AFTER THE CONFEDERATE DEFENDERS FLEE THE CITY.

But Scarlett will always have Tara.

1901:  VICE PRESIDENT OF THE US THEODORE ROOSEVELT UTTERS THE FAMOUS PHRASE "SPEAK SOFTLY AND CARRY A BIG STICK."

Later a slogan adopted by the porn industry.

1912:  ARTHUR ROSE ELDRED IS AWARDED THE FIRST EAGLE SCOUT AWARD OF THE BOY SCOUTS.

Must have known a lot of old ladies needed to get to the other side of the street.

1934:  ACTOR CHUCK MCCANN IS BORN.

One of the kiddie TV hosts of my childhood.

1935:  A HUGE LABOR DAY HURRICANE HITS THE FLORIDA KEYS, KILLING 423.  

Yet people still move to Florida.

1937:  BUSINESSMAN PETER UEBERROTH IS BORN.

I wonder if he started the cab company.

1945:  WORLD WAR II - THE SURRENDER OF JAPAN IS SIGNED AND ACCEPTED ABOARD THE BATTLESHIP USS MISSOURI IN TOKYO BAY.

Sayonara.

1948:  ASTRONAUT CHRISTA MCAULIFFE IS BORN.

An astronaut for...like...a minute and a half.

1951:  ACTOR MARK HARMON IS BORN.

Mr. Pam Dawber.

1963:  CBS EVENING NEWS BECOMES NETWORK TV'S FIRST HALF-HOUR WEEKNIGHT NEW BROADCAST, WHEN THE SHOW IS LENGTHENED FROM 15 MINUTES.

Nowadays, there's 15 minutes of commercials.

1969:  VIETNAMESE POLITICIAN HO CHI MINH DIES.

Happy trails.

1970:  NASA ANNOUNCES THE CANCELLATION OF TWO APOLLO MISSIONS TO THE MOON.

All your fault, Apollo 13.

1973:  POET J.R.R TOLKIEN DIES.

Reminder: I have yet to read or see any of the Lord of the Rings books or movies.

2001:  ACTOR TROY DONAHUE DIES.

Once married to Suzanne Pleshette and obviously no dummy.

2005:  ACTOR BOB DENVER DIES.

Really stuck on that island now.

2013:  THE NEW EASTERN SPAN OF THE SF-OAKLAND BAY BRIDGE OPENS TO TRAFFIC, THE WIDEST BRIDGE IN THE WORLD.

Until the next big one.

2024:  ACTOR JAMES DARREN DIES.

I wonder if the tombstone says "Moondoggie."

Dinner last night:   Sandwich.

The Perfect Air Conditioned Movie

 

In my movie going life, there are probably a hundred or so reasons why I end up seeing a film.   

This is one of them.

Last week in Los Angeles was very hot and sticky and uncomfortable.  It was a humid reminder of where I come from...New York.  In fact, TV weather people were bloviating that the current humidity in LA was currently the highest of any city in the US.

Hmmm.  Back in the NY day, such weather would propel me to the Chilly Willy sign in my local cinema house.

"It's Komfortably Kool in Inside."

For some strange sensation in SoCal, I felt like I needed to go to a movie.  There would be extra points if it was mindless.   Your basic popcorn entertainment.  Forget the fact that my apartment here has wonderful central air conditioning.  I needed to lose myself in the dark for a few hours.

And that's how I wound up at "The End of Oak Street."   And I'm glad I did because the film is perfect summer hot weather fare.

The first thirty or so minutes are quiet and almost boring.   It's your typical suburban neighborhood.   One family of two parents and two kids have their issues.  Mom and Dad (Anne Hathaway and Ewan McGregor are on the edge of divorce.  

And then there's some sort of cosmic event and, as the poster above shows, this movie becomes a little...not, a lot...different.   Suddenly, it's an episode of "Thirtysomething" mixed with a season of "Stranger Things" mixed with about three "Jurassic Park" films.  As a matter of fact, there are so dinosaurs in this one that even Steven Spielberg might feel inadequate.

Once the creatures appear, there are the usual set pieces where one member or another of the family needs to be saved.   There is one big scare, accompanied by a super loud sound effect, that could have knocked the theater's AC off.  And that wouldn't be a good thing.

As popcorn movies go, this is one you need to get with extra butter.  And maybe some of that caramel seasoning.   "The End of Oak Street" is worth the calories.

After all, you weren't going to exercise in this heat, were you?

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

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - August 31, 2026

Wrapping up our Marx Month with this classic moment from Groucho's TV quiz show.

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - My Short Political Career

 

I just snickered as I wrote the title of today's Memory Drawer.   You're probably perplexed.

Len as a community activist?   The guy who hates virtually all politicians.   Today's blog must have been hijacked by that AOC screwball.

Nah, it's me.   And, yes, I was.  For a while.

The picture above is Yonkers City Hall and I hung out there a bit when things got really hot in town.   No, I don't mean the temperature.  I had totally forgotten about all this until HBO last weekend began to run a mini-series that revolves around those very years where I might have been found at a city council meeting.  I watched the first two hours of the production and was amazed by its attention to detail.  Much of the footage was shot in Yonkers itself.

And the memories flooded out of my TV and onto these virtual pages today.

The miniseries depicts all the governmental unrest that arose as a result of the NAACP's lawsuit against the city of Yonkers for allegedly practicing segregation in new housing.  A Federal judge got involved and started to impose major fines and potential jail sentences against dissenting City Council members.  In the middle of this fracas was a 30 year-old and virtually inept Mayor Doogie Howser.  He eventually blew his brains out while standing over his father's grave.   You couldn't write this stuff.

Of course, somebody did and now HBO has filmed it in exact and precise detail. Naturally, when it comes to subjects like the construction of low income housing, you have a lightning rod for middle class home owners who see the value of their well-earned properties plummeting.  I had just moved into Yonkers myself and suddenly I found myself in a city that was ripe for tar and feathering.  Since all this nonsense was regularly in the news, I couldn't resist the temptation to watch the weekly fighting that went on at City Council meetings.  It was fun to watch as an innocent bystander.

But then I had my first set of income tax done as a Yonkers resident.  All those fines stemming from the lawsuit were flipped over into city tax that all of us common schlubs were being asked to pay.  For the first time ever, I wasn't getting a tax refund.   And it was all because of the Yonkers city tax.  

Now I was mad.

I started to watch the cable telecasts of the City Council meetings with more fervor.  And then, one week, I somehow found myself propelled to go and see them in person.  What I found there horrified me.

Homeowners showed up and screamed at the council members and the Mayor. The council members screamed at the Mayor.  The Mayor screamed back at them.  It seemed like there was always somebody rapping a gavel trying to bring some order into somewhere.  This was our government in action.  And it was nothing more than an episode of World Wide Wrestling.

But, deep down, I was intrigued by the process of running a city and how ordinary citizens might play into the mix.  Somehow and somewhere, things could get done.

Then I was moved to act myself.  Because ugliness hit home to me not once, but twice.

I was working in Manhattan those days and taking the Metro North train from the Greystone station to Grand Central.  I was parking my new Camry at the adjacent parking lot and paying over fifty bucks a month to do so.  I got off the train one night to find the hubcaps removed.   And gone.

WTF.

Of course, I went through the whole police report business and questioned why my car wouldn't be safe at a public parking lot.  Apparently, my vehicle wasn't the only one to have hubcaps stripped.  Great.  I went through the expense of getting four new hubcaps from Toyota.

Which were promptly stolen two weeks later at the same train station parking lot.

WTF!!!!!!!

The police took my crime reports which I was now getting good at filling out. But I needed something more to appease my wounded self.  For the first time ever, I wrote a letter to my City Council representative.  I had a new guy just elected and he had said that if any of us had a problem, we should reach out.

I reached out.   Three nights later, my phone rang and it was him.  Two days later, there was a noticeable police presence at our train station parking lot. Just like my council representative had pledged there would be.

I had raised an issue to a politician and it made a difference.   Hmmmm.  Maybe there was something to this local government business.  Maybe I should be more active.

When my City Council guy became Mayor, he started some sort of community activist group.   I asked if I could be on it and was welcomed in.   

And then I had the misfortune of attending their first meeting.  The Mayor himself was not there.  But a lot of the usual Yonkers residents were.   The same ones who were always screaming at people.   The cacophony was endless.   I realized that, while I had gotten something done, it was a rare incident. For the most part, issues get lost in the weeds of personal agendas that are dying to be addressed.

I was done.   I skulked back to a world of political indifference.   And I still reside there today.

The HBO miniseries, however, was a good reminder of how things are...and shouldn't be.  In Yonkers.  In Los Angeles.  In your town.

Dinner last night:   Hot dog.

Musical Comedy Production Number of the Month - August 2026

 Woo hoo.  A five month Saturday means we get to sample the best from Broadway.  Here's one of the many great numbers from "Hello Dolly," this time from the Bette Midler version about 8 or 9 years ago.   Excuse the Asian subtitles but also don;t miss Bette tripping on stage.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Len's Juke Box of the Month - August 2026

 

You got a better idea for this month's record spin.   And I was at this concert.  Thanks for everything, Dolly.

Dinner last night:  Grilled beef sausage.

Liz

 

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

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

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

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

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

LEN'S RATING:  Three stars.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

This Date in History - August 26

 

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

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

Ottokar?  Isn't that a ride at Disneyland?

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

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

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

Such a pitti.

1498:  MICHELANGELO IS COMMISSIONED TO CARVE THE PIETA.

And later the turkey on Thanksgiving.

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

Good.  I have some place to go on Sundays.

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

Later they sent this boat up to space?

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

This day in history?  Still boring.

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

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

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

What time does the book store open?

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

Doesn't that sound dirty?

1909:  ACTOR JIM DAVIS IS BORN.

Jock Ewing!

1910:  MOTHER TERESA IS BORN.

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

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

Out in LA, Togoland is a sandwich shop.

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

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

1930:  ACTOR LON CHANEY DIES.

The man of a thousand faces.  

1935:  POLITICIAN GERALDINE FERRARO IS BORN.

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

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

This is news?

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

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

1974:  PILOT CHARLES LINDBERGH DIES.

Dirtbag.

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

Still bored by this date.

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

Don't get too attached, folks.

1978:  ACTOR CHARLES BOYER DIES.

Killed himself two days after his wife died.

1980:  ACTOR MACAULAY CULKIN IS BORN.

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

1986:  ACTOR TED KNIGHT DIES.

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

2009:  AUTHOR DOMINICK DUNNE DIES.

He never got over that OJ Simpson verdict.

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

Upgrade please.

2018:  PLAYWRIGHT NEIL SIMON DIES.

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

2023:  TV HOST BOB BARKER DIES.

Come on up.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Today's Cautionary Tale

 

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

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

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

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

But I digress.   Back to my friend.  

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

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

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

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

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

Be wary.   Be very, very wary.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - August 24, 2026

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

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Drive He Said

 

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

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

No bargain on either coast, I assure you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, we're going to be like that.

"Where's your blinkers?"

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

Just how unhappy are you with your job, miss.

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

"You flunked.   Come back in six weeks."

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

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except with this asshole at the DMV. 

"You have failed the eye test."

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

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

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

Or so I thought.

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

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

Huh?

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

"You failed the eye test."

Duh.

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

"Your vision has changed." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I didn't sleep much that night.

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

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

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

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

No, she really did look like a guy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, you passed."

EXHALE!!!!

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

LOUD EXHALE!!!!!

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

"Nobody ever said that to me before."

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

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

And I was done with driving tests at last.

Fingers crossed.

Dinner last night:  Tomato sandwich on English muffin.