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.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - August 2026

 Fifty years ago this month.  One of John Wayne's best!

Dinner last night:  Hot dog at Dodger Stadium.

Creepy Is As Creepy Does

 

Why is Dad looking so sheepish? I'm guessing Witness Protection Program. Also, can we have a party so Junior's pants can come down and meet his shoes?

Nancy Pelosi's first baby picture.

The youngest ambulance chasers in America.

The true mystery of the Sphinx is how the hell does this bunch get through the day.

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" more than a card showing some good ole' holiday anal sex.

As far as I'm concerned, there's only one real dog in this picture.

Dinner last night:   Sandwich.

Your Basic African-Italian Romcom

 

Sometimes, movies are so inconsequential that I forget to post a review.  I was looking at my draft folder and noticed/was reminded that I saw this months ago.  Well, the review still works because you can now see it on Peacock.   If you want.  Or simply if you want to see why a romcom works.  Except for the leads, this is the template for thousands of other movies just like it.

Oddly enough, I sort of liked it.  While it's basically the same film you have seen dozens of times, it dares to be different by 1) setting it in Italy and 2) having the two leads be Black.   Because when did you ever expect to see a female Black chef working in the Tuscany area of Italy?  Indeed, the couple at the center of the film are played by likeable actors Halle Bailey and Rege-Jean Page and that anchors the film.   There's also a lot of inside jokes about Page when he has the requisite shirtless scene.   You sort of get that everybody here is having fun and that leads the audience to do just the same.  Filming in the actual location also adds to the likeability quotient.

As one who is dabbling in the world of romantic comedies, I reached out to this film to make sure the formula still works.   And it does almost by the page number.

Girl lives a double life posing as somebody she is not.  Check.

Supporting characters have all the snarky one-liners.  Check.

Two couples are mis-matched.  Check.

The situation gets worse before it gets better.  Check.

Male hero takes his shirt off.  As previously stated, check.

Yes, you see how this is all going to resolve it an hour before it does.   But the whole thing is like one of the bowls of pasta photographed.   It looks delicious and is the perfect comfort food.

At the end of the day, "romcom" is not the dirty word everybody makes it out to be.

LEN'S RATING:  Three stars.

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

This Date in History - August 19

 

Happy birthday to Jill St. John and why the hell not?

295 BC:  THE FIRST TEMPLE TO VENUS IS DEDICATED BY QUINTUS FABIUS MAXIMUS GURGES.

His son was Quintus Fabius Maximus Gurges Junior.

43 BC:  GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR OCTAVIANUS COMPELS THE ROMAN SENATE TO ELECT CONSUL.

No wonder the Roman Empire fell.  Who can remember all the names?

561:  MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, WHO WAS 18, RETURNS TO SCOTLAND AFTER SPENDING 13 YEARS IN FRANCE.

What was that?  An extended sleepaway camp?

1692:  IN SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS, FIVE PEOPLE ARE EXECUTED AFTER BEING CONVICTED OF WITCHCRAFT.

They think that's a crime.  Wait till everybody meets the new Darren.

1759:  BATTLE OF LAGOS DURING THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR BETWEEN GREAT BRITAIN AND FRANCE.  

Oh, Lagos.  There goes my snap together toy joke.

1812:  WAR OF 1812 - AMERICAN FRIGATE USS CONSTITUTION DEFEATS BRITISH FRIGATE GUERRIERE OFF THE COAST OF CANADA EARNING THE NICKNAME "OLD IRONSIDES."

Oh, frigate.

1839:  THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT ANNOUNCES THAT LOUIS DAGUERRE'S PHOTOGRAPHIC PROCESS IS A GIFT FREE TO THE WORLD.

Yeah, that eventually led to movies and they are definitely not free.

1848:  THE NEW YORK HERALD BREAKS THE NEWS OF THE GOLD RUSH IN CALIFORNIA.

I got here almost 150 years later.  Too late.

1854:  THE FIRST SIOUX WAR BEGINS WHEN US SOLDIERS KILL LAKOTA CHIEF CONQUERING BEAR AND IN RETURN ARE MASSACRED.

Where's Randolph Scott when you need him?

1871:  INVENTOR ORVILLE WRIGHT IS BORN.

Fun fact for Wednesday:  Wilbur was four years older.

1883:  DESIGNER COCO CHANEL IS BORN.

Inventor of the last minute Christmas present.

1909:  THE FIRST AUTOMOBILE RACE AT THE INDIANAPOLIS SPEEDWAY.

Varoom.

1921:  PRODUCER GENE RODDENBERRY IS BORN.

Going where no one named Gene Roddenberry has gone before.

1931:  JOCKEY WILLIE SHOEMAKER IS BORN.

And he's off.

1934:  THE FIRST ALL-AMERICAN SOAP BOX DERBY IS HELD IN DAYTON, OHIO.

Varoom.  Well, sort of.

1934:  THE CREATOR OF THE POSITION FUHRER IS APPROVED BY THE GERMAN ELECTORATE WITH 89.9% OF THE POPULAR VOTE.

You vill be sorry.

1940:  ACTRESS JILL ST. JOHN IS BORN.

So do you think hubby Robert Wagner has told her what happened that night on Catalina?

1944:  DURING WORLD WAR II, PARIS, FRANCE RISES AGAINST GERMAN OCCUPATION WITH THE HELP OF ALLIED TROOPS.

As if you thought they could do it by themselves.

1945:  VIET MINH LED BY HO CHI MINH TAKES POWER IN HANOI, VIETNAM.

Already it starts.

1946:  PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON IS BORN.

The man Hillary slept with once.

1948:  TIPPER GORE IS BORN.

The ex-wife of the man who was the vice president to the man that Hillary slept with once.

1953;  POLITICAL CONSULTANT MARY MATALIN IS BORN.

Her marriage to James Carville is a microcosm of the political situation in this nation.

1955:  IN THE NORTHEAST US, SEVERE FLOODING IS CAUSED BY HURRICANE DIANE, CLAIMING 200 LIVES.

Flooding will do that to a person.

1960:  IN MOSCOW, RUSSIA, DOWNED AMERICAN U-2 PILOT FRANCIS GARY POWERS IS SENTENCED TO TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT BY THE SOVIET UNION FOR ESPIONAGE.

Comrade, da plane, da plane.

1960:  BASEBALL STAR AND BROADCASTER RON DARLING IS BORN.

Now that Tim McCarver has retired, he is the best color announcer working today.

1969:  ACTOR MATTHEW PERRY IS BORN.

The weakest Friend...acting-wise.

1977:  COMIC GROUCHO MARX DIES.

Tough week for legends.  Elvis died three days before.

1989:  RADIO CAROLINE, THE OFFSHORE PIRATE STATION IN THE NORTH SEA, IS RAIDED BY BRITISH AND DUTCH GOVERNMENTS.

So we'll just track this Allman Brothers album for now.

1989:  SEVERAL HUNDRED EAST GERMANS CROSS THE FRONTIER BETWEEN HUNGARY AND AUSTRIA, PART OF THE EVENTS THAT BEGAN THE PROCESS OF THE FALL OF THE BERLIN WALL.

Mr. Gorbachev...tear down...yeah, yeah, I know.

1991:  SOVIET PRESIDENT MIKHAIL GORBACHEV IS PLACED UNDER HOUSE ARREST WHILE ON HOLIDAY IN THE UKRAINE.

You should never have torn down...yeah, yeah, I know.

1991:  BLACK GROUPS TARGET HASIDIC JEWS ON THE STREETS OF CROWN HEIGHTS IN NY FOR THREE DAYS AFTER TWO BLACK KIDS WERE HIT BY A CAR DRIVEN BY A HASIDIC MAN.

It could have been worse.  He could have been a Hasidic cop.

2009:  TV NEWS PRODUCER DON HEWITT DIES.

Hey, my watch has stopped.

2010:  OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM ENDS, WITH THE LAST OF THE US COMBAT TEAMS CROSSING THE BORDER TO KUWAIT.

Well, gee, I'm glad that's over.  Oh, wait...

2016:  ACTOR JACK RILEY DIES.

Mr Carlin from the Bob Newhart Show.

Dinner last night:   Hamburger.

No Tomatoes Please

 

...except.   Well, yes, there is a story.  

So, the title of today's piece is also the official name of the production company my writing partner and I started over three decades okay.   It stemmed from the many NY-based lunches we had at the time when we were trying to star a writing career.   When we were ordering, both of us had a stipulation for the waiter.  If we were getting a salad, there would be a single exception.

No tomatoes please.  

The phrase stuck.  And still adheres to this day.   Just check us on Imdb.

Now, here's the goofy stuff.   I will eat tomato sauce and any cooked tomatoes.  I will drink tomato juice.  I will eat salsa or bruschetta.   My favorite sandwich is bacon, lettuce, and...yes...tomato.   I just won't eat a tomato cut into slices or a wedge.

Does this make sense?   Of course not.  But it is me.

But, every August going back to my days in NY and up to my current days in LA, I make an exception to the rule.   I will venture out to a Farmer's market and over-indulge myself in tomatoes of all kinds and shapes.  Nothing makes me happier than a bowl of cut up tomatoes with nothing but some salt, a little EVO, and some balsamic vinegar.

It is currently August.   Look at the load of tomatoes I have for this week.

So much for production company names.

Dinner last night:  Leftover ribeye in a salad.  With tomatoes.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - August 17, 2026

It's the month of the Brothers Marx.   Remember the "Sanity Clause" from "A Night at the Opera?"

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak with cherry tomato compote.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Summer Photos by Dad

I can hear his voice now.

"You're going to put my pictures where?!"

On a blog.  For everybody to see, Dad.

As regular readers here will know, there was a period of time, from about when I was age four to seven, that I was literally a photo opportunity for my father.  During those years, he had gotten an Argus Technicolor camera and he became very interested in photography.  Every family event was captured on film and then transferred to slides, which were then run and rerun at all the subsequent family events.  Of course, my mother and I were usually the ones photographed for posterity.  But, sometimes, he just took pictures of scenery.  Or ducks.

When I found the actual slides and the projector about twenty years ago, I had them all loaded onto a VHS tape.  Yes, VHS tapes.  Then, about ten years ago, the slides made their way onto a DVD.

As I look at them periodically, I see an ideal candidate for one of those Turner Classic Movies' restorations.  In many cases, the Technicolor has faded badly.  There's fuzziness.  Oh, and clearly, my dad had some challenges with light exposure.

Nevertheless, while the actual photographs are hazy, the memories still come through as clearly as if they happened yesterday.  Naturally, summertime was an ideal reason for my father to take pictures.  And it all comes back to me now.

Of course, no summer season could go by without my dad taking a photograph of Grandma's rose garden.  That's our back door and the "stoop" in our backyard.  My friends and I spent many a warm and humid night sitting there and talking about the world.  I can also tell you that I also fell down said steps on numerous occasions.

Our summer vacations had to be destinations that we could drive to.  A frequent place to go was the Jersey shore near Atlantic City.  We'd never stay at a hotel.  Instead, we would opt for these small cabins, which, in retrospect, reminded me of the Marines barracks on "Gomer Pyle USMC."

Apparently, this time around in Atlantic City, we had taken my older cousin along for the week.  Either that or Olympic swimmer Gertrude Ederle and gone off-course in her attempt to swim the English Channel.

Here my mom joins me and my cousin in water which looks kind of marsh-like to me.

 My mother has obviously gone to shore.  And, too, has my cousin's torso.

The entire wading incident has totally tired out my mother.  It's hard to see but please note the cigarette burning in her right hand.

Another place to vacation within driving distance was the Catskill Mountains.  Back then, it was a hot spot for a couple of theme parks called "Storyland" and "North Pole USA."  Animals and petting zoos were central attractions in both places.  Here, in one of those parks, a reindeer licks some lint out of my navel.

"Storyland" had a lot of depictions of famous fairy tales and nursery rhymes.  Here I watch as "hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse is running up the clock."   I was easily amused at the age of five.

Here I am with Little Jack Horner.   Or maybe it's not.  Photo tagging was not an option back then.

Noah's Ark.  Years later, my commutes to and from Manhattan on Metro North would have very similar travel conditions.

Little Miss Muffet.  Or maybe that's Minnie Pearl.  Whoever it is, I'm clearly bored out of my mind.

As a latter day Marlin Perkins, my father loved to take photos of me with animals.  Forgetting that while he's snapping this picture, a duck is sticking his beak in my crotch.

This is just one of many snapshots in my dad's collection where he managed to capture the ass of an animal.

Robin Hood was not buried here.  As a matter of fact, he was trolling the streets of "Storyland" that very day.

And apparently on his way to the Gay Pride Parade in West Hollywood.

"North Pole USA" was a completely different theme park.  It gave kids like me a chance to see what was happening with the whole Santa Claus scenario all year round.  At the time, I was probably still buying into the myth.  I doubt I was after this summer sojourn.  Especially after I saw their version of Santa Claus.

The earliest rendition of a child predator.  

This blurry photo is of the North Pole's Post Office.  You could put in your letter to Santa there early.  Ideal for those parents too cheap to spring for a stamp.

It was a little odd to hear Christmas carols sung during the last week of July.  Especially when the sounds were coming from these plastic choir dummies.

If Jesus, Mary, and Joseph have to stay in these positions all year round, they will definitely require the services of Bethlehem's very best chiropractor.

I have absolutely no recollection of this.  But I'm in the back of a tractor with a bunch of kids I don't know.  Perhaps headed to an internment camp for Protestants.

Sometimes, summertime simply meant gatherings and barbecues in our own backyard.  Here's my grandfather and the bald guy is one of Dad's work buddies.  His daughter is in the background with me and my mother.  More thoroughly inappropriate photos to follow.  Because, you know, we had one of those kiddie pools.

Kill me now.  Actually, I would have killed myself then.

This might be the very first screen adaptation of "The Blue Lagoon."  Meanwhile, if I remember correctly, my little friend here eventually became a local TV news anchorwoman in Florida.

Another summer pool party and I'm with two kids I really hated.  Children of my parents' friends.  A rare photo where they weren't holding my head underwater.  And telling me that I was going to Hell because I wasn't Catholic.

It's memories like this why I have not been seen shirtless in public since I was 21.  And why I'm still working on my body years later with a personal trainer.

And, whenever we had a backyard party during the summer, you could always count on my grandmother putting on her coat when the sun went down.  The temperature would be hovering around 85 with 100 percent New York humidity, but Grandma would still feel that chill.

It's always interesting to go through these snapshots.  Good memories.  Bizarre ones.  But images that shaped a child and an adult.  I see myself with lots of kids I barely knew.  Thrown together haphazardly just because our parents were friends.  I did have friends, both in school and the neighborhood.  Yet, I don't see them in any of the summer photos.  Where are my elementary school pals?  Russell, Cheryl, Diane and the like?  Where's my best friend "up the block" Leo?

Great summers captured here on film by my father, indeed.  But, I also remember so much more.  With images that I can only visualize in my mind.

Nevertheless, thanks, Dad, for bringing SOME of it back to me decades later.  Maybe I should put them through one of those AI photo restoration sites.

Dinner last night:  Bacon and roast tomatoes.