A Black and White Wednesday

If they can co-exist so well on a cookie, why not in America?

---Here's why.

---Have you filled out your Census yet? Are you conflicted over your race and ethnicity?

---If so, you've got plenty of company. For instance, take the President.

---Please. Thank you, Henny Youngman.

---After reminding us constantly that it was not about race and that he had a White mother and grandmother, Obummer fills out his form and checks the box "Black."

---Well, that settles that.

---Not that it makes.

---They kept telling us it didn't.

---Of course, at the same time, they kept reminding us that it did.

---But, what the hell, I wrote down that I was Chinese.

---What's even more laughable are these allegations that tea parties are nothing but Klan meetings. I went to one last week and I didn't see a single white sheet.

---Although I did see some white pants and it's not even Memorial Day.

---These days, there's only discrimination and racism when the Democrats want to bring it up.

---At the end of the day, what difference does it make if the Census thinks you're White, Black, or Yellow? Aren't you still just one person regardless?

---Er, probably not.

---And I just realized that I forgot to mention the twelve Indians living in my walk-in closet.

---Somebody asked Obummer a question about health care and he talked for seventeen minutes.

---With the teleprompter, it would have been sixteen minutes.

---This is a guy who needs Cliff Notes to answer the question "what time is it?"

---"Er, time? Well, that's a good question. Hmm, time? Okay, when George Bush was President, nobody cared about time."

---"Now, the Republicans...they'll mention time and then accuse you of hiding it. But, you ask me the time and I can tell you what it is."

---"Time is ultimately unimportant in the great scheme of things. I was thinking about the correct time when I was doing my NCAA brackets just the other day."

---"Okay, what was the question again?"

---Meanwhile, POTUS threw out the first ball at the Washington Nationals' home opener.

---The pitch was off the mark and way to the left. The usual.

---Afterwards, Obummer was interviewed about his hometown team, the Chicago White Sox. And couldn't recall the name of a single player.

---But remembered that the team played in Co-minsky Park.

---I wonder if he was there the night they raided Co-minsky's.

---Have you seen a bigger hunk of junk than the iPad??

---Who the fuck wants to carry around a snack tray all day?

---I can read a magazine, too. Without the iPad. Wanna know who?

---I buy the friggin' magazine and open it!

---The thing weighs a pound and a half. An average magazine is how many ounces??

---How stupid a public are we?

---I'll tell you. We watch programs like "Dancing with the Stars" and "Real Housewives."

---If you wonder why God is giving us mine disasters and earthquakes, he's monitoring our television viewing.

---And to those of you who checked in with me after the Easter Sunday earthquake, thank you.

---To those of you who didn't...well, you weren't getting much money from my will anyway.

Dinner last night: Egg salad sandwich.

My Mother Rhonda Fleming

Or so I wish.

I would say that Rhonda Fleming was my first celebrity crush. And I was probably nine or ten years old at the time.

Was I a particularly horny youngster? Nah.

I didn't want Rhonda Fleming to be my girlfriend. I wanted her to be my mother.

This blog will now pause for ten seconds so you can roll your eyes.

Blame it all on our new color television. And NY's WOR Channel 9 which ran "Million Dollar Movie."

When that hulky Zenith console first made its appearance in our home, we'd watch anything and everything in color. Just because it wasn't in black and white. Our household became TV junkies. And I was the biggest addict of all. Even the early morning test pattern looked damn color in shades of red, blue, and green.

So, when the in-glorious-Technicolor "Big Circus" landed on "Million Dollar Movie," it was just one more thing for me to gobble up. A nifty movie with hues that jumped out and caressed your eyes. And the WOR-TV format for "Million Dollar Movie" lended to repeat viewings. You see, they ran the same movie over and over for an entire week. Once a night and then all day Saturday and Sunday.

I watched "The Big Circus" every single time. And reveled in this neat red-headed lady Rhonda Fleming playing circus publicist Helen Harrison.

Who was this woman? She had it all together. She was smart. She was funny. She knew her job. She was in complete control. Looks were secondary as far as I was concerned.

Wouldn't it be neat for me to bring her into school on Parent-Teacher Night? Wouldn't Miss Lipsius, my homeroom teacher, be impressed when Rhonda Fleming came in to discuss how well I was doing with arithmetic?

In retrospect, I realize now that I was essentially dissing my own mother with this fervent wish that I had been adopted elsewhere. Of course, she didn't have the flashy red hair, but Mom wouldn't exactly give you a stye either.

Yet, still....Rhonda Fleming! Making my Taylor Ham sandwich and laying out exactly five pimento-stuffed olives for lunch? How neat that would be for little goofy me?

It's not like I followed Miss Fleming's career elsewhere. I don't think I saw her in anything else. It was simply how she was and looked in that single circus yarn that made me quiver. In a kid sort of way.

Of course, "The Big Circus" disappeared from sight for years and years after that. So, even if I wanted to turn my Rhonda Fleming love into Rhonda Fleming lust, it wasn't available for me to revisit. The movie never really got to VHS or DVD, a fact that I even discussed with one of its co-stars, Kathryn Grant Crosby, a few years back. Ultimately, Warner Brothers released it on DVD as part of their new archive store.

And Rhonda Fleming looks just as good to me now as she did when I wanted her to tuck me decades ago.

So, when I learned that Miss Fleming herself was going to be making an appearance at the Egyptian Theater's annual Film Noir festival, I just had to go and see her in-person.

At last. And, as a result, I finally saw her act in another movie. Some sultry little yarn called "Cry Danger" with Dick Powell.

Afterwards, she did the usual Q & A and signed some autographs. My digital camera and I got up close. She obviously still looks remarkable.

My friend suggested that I ask her to pose with me for a photo. And then I could explain to her that, as a child, I had wanted her to be my mother.

I didn't bother.

That would have provided a reason for somebody to call theater security. And fast.

I went home without a true Rhonda Fleming connection.

I realized that one mother had been more than enough for my lifetime.

Dinner last night: Grilled chicken and broccoli pasta salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - April 5, 2010

This is a real commercial! How did Gilbert Gottfried do the voiceover and keep a straight face?

Dinner last night: Pasta with proscuitto and bread crumbs.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Easter Sunday 1998

For years after I left my childhood church in the Bronx, my only forays into any kind of worship were via weddings or funerals. And, most of the time, these were held in Catholic churches. Each time, I could feel the disdain of my grandmother from wherever her spirit now resides. But, as strong as my worship habit was when I was a kid, I just as easily fell into several decades of laziness. I became a card carrying member of that worldwide group.

"Spiritual But Not Religious."

I was sleeping in on Sunday mornings. I was reading the paper and doing the crossword puzzle. I was reveling in the comic strip exploits of Blondie and Marmaduke.

I wasn't going to church. Just like my parents, I had inexplicably and perhaps irrevocably shut down my religion.

Until I moved to Los Angeles.

Well, actually, the thoughts of returning to a church had begun during my last years in NY. I had looked around a little for a new Lutheran church that I could call home. The only problem was that most in my area were not fulltime organizations. You could show up at the building at certain times and find a Lutheran service. If you read the sign wrong, you'd wind up at a Chinese Buddhist service. Most of the Lutheran churches around me had to rent out their facilities to anybody and everybody.

After I moved west, the nagging desire for a bit more religion became a bit more acute. And I wanted to use the experience as a means of meeting some new friends.

Easter Sunday 1998 seemed like as good a date as any to begin the process.

On the Saturday before, I set out to find myself a church for the next day. By simply going through the church directory that is always printed in the Los Angeles Times. I knew that I wanted a Lutheran church not affiliated with the Missouri Synod, which is just an inch or two removed from the Third Reich. Location was also an issue. I didn't want to drive more than fifteen minutes. God was important, but he also needed to be damn convenient.

I literally reviewed the names of the churches in the directory. Hmm, that one sounds boring. Hmm, that one sounds a little too big. I was Goldilocks sipping the porridge of the Three Bears. Suddenly, a name sang out to me.

Village Lutheran Church.

Awwww, how homey.

On a street called Church Lane.

How hokey can you get?

I was sold.

An amazing thing happened as I entered Village Lutheran Church in the Brentwood Glen area of Los Angeles that Easter Sunday morning.

It looked just like St. Peter's in the Bronx. Almost eerily the same. I began to wonder if this was just another stop on the BX 41 bus route. And was my dad outside in the car reading the newspaper?

Oh, there were some head spinning differences. A lady pastor, for one. That alone would have sent the oldtimers at St. Peter's in the Bronx into cardiac arrest. But, other than that, the actual worship service was exactly as I had left it years ago. This was an extremely comfortable old sweater that still fit perfectly.

Nevertheless, I was completely self-conscious walking into this new unchartered territory. I sat way in the back.

And then another miracle happened. The Sunday after Easter, I yearned to go back.

I sat one row closer to the front. And felt an even warmer feeling. Even though I talked to no one. This was my equivalent of stepping into a swimming pool. I was going to get wet one skin pore at a time.

Each week, there was a coffee and cake hour in the fellowship hall after service. I was always invited in. And, each week, I always had something to do.

This was starting not to sit well with Florence, the old lady in the pew across from me. During the always uncomfortable "sharing of the peace," she'd always grab my hand a little harder.

"What's your name again?"

I'd tell her.

"So, Glenn, when are you coming in for coffee?"

Errrrrrrrr.

"Glenn, we're expecting you next week."

Errrrrrrrrr.

Florence meant business. I was convinced that, even weighted down with her walker, she could kick my ass. I'd later discover that Florence was an actress. She had done years on Broadway. She knew James Dean. She was one of the only two Broadway cast members to travel west to do the screen version of "The Rose Tattoo." The other was its star Anna Magnani. Later on, she'd be a regular on "The Life of Riley" with William Bendix. She'd play one of the hookers in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid." And portray Barbara Eden's mother on "I Dream of Jeannie."

But, for now, she was acting as a thorn in my very shy side. And the role was quite convincing.

The next week, I lowered my head and stepped into the lion's den for coffee. Talking to people I didn't know.

It was fine.

And, thanks to a lot of really special friends, I have been at Village Lutheran Church ever since.

But there's a lot more to the story and that will be for another time. Happy Easter!
Dinner last night: BBQ Ribs at Hooters.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - April 2010

Here's the news on Britain's first post-war Easter Sunday. The bombing has stopped.

Dinner last night: Spaghetti with broccoli, garlic, and oil at Miceli's.

Arresting Photos

Nothing is more fun than when a celebrity is arrested. And they don't have their staff PR photographer in charge of the pictures that generally follow. Take, for instance, the snapshot above of Hugh Grant. He was looking for Four Weddings and a Blowjob.
Next on CNN: Larry King Jailed. "State prison, hello."

Looking like he didn't have a brain in his head. A harbinger of things to come.
"I have a dream...and I need a lawyer."

Rip Torn. Truly ripped and extremely torn.
Look, it's the Sham Wow guy. Camera Guy, are you getting this? It will be tough for him to clean up this mess.

Three's company, four's a cell block.
"Whacha talkin' about, Bail Bondsman."

Dinner last night: Salami sandwich.

Hot Tub Time Machine

Yes, I did.

See it, I mean.

And, yes, I did.

Enjoy it, I mean. And, no, this is not an April Fool's joke.

All things are possible. Trust me when I say, don't judge a movie by its incredibly stupid title.

When my psuedo nephew, now a full fledged Marine, was visiting over Christmas weekend, we took in "Sherlock Holmes." You may remember that I hated it like rat poison. And, frankly, I rarely do match up with the movie tastes of a 20 year-old male. But he semi-accused me right then and there of not knowing how to enjoy movies anymore. Well, if the movie is geared toward the young and mindless, I probably won't enjoy it. But, if that film manages to still be smart and clever, even I can sit through the most crass of crass.

And, now I have my Exhibit A. "Hot Tub Time Machine."

Two main things enticed me into the theater. First of all, I remember vividly 1986. It was arguably one of the best years of my life, largely due to the New York Mets phenomenal run that season. But, life overall was good. What was not to like about 1986? I wanted to revisit it the way the characters in this movie did. Just without getting wet.

Secondly, there's John Cusack. If he's attached, in my mind, the movie won't suck completely. Unlike assholes like Seth Rogan, Will Ferrell, etc., Cusack doesn't usually make junk. Indeed, one of his very first movies is one of my favorites. The marvelous "Sure Thing." Made when? Back in the 80s.

Okay, if you're looking for something on a par with "Mourning Becomes Electra," this movie might not be your glass of wine cooler. But, if you want to see something stupid but funny and clever and, gasp, thought provoking. you could do much worse than "Hot Tub Time Machine." Actually, you have done a lot worse.

"Knocked Up."

"Forgetting Sarah Marshall."

"The Hangover."

All of which were heralded as fabulous screen comedies. None of which could stand up taller than "Hot Tub." The difference is heart.

Take, for instance, the absolutely dreadful "The Hangover." It's really a similar plot. Four guys stuck someplace and getting into all sorts of mayhem. But, at its core, "The Hangover" was basically a series of ridiculous sightgags strung together with four characters who had no redeeming qualities. I wrote at the time that I had wished all four had crashed and burned on the way to Las Vegas. The movie could be over in eight minutes and my time returned to me unscathed.

Where "Hot Tub Time Machine" is different is in how they present their four guys. Three are middle-aged. And flawed in life. There is something for each of them to learn when they journey back to a similar point in time. Of course, there's the usual time travel plot device of altering history, blah, blah, blah. But, here, even amid all the usual vile antics, there is something for the filmmakers to say. It may not be much. But, it still shouts volumes over any single word uttered in "The Hangover."

Naturally, there's the typical gross-out gags. One of the guys, played as obscenely as possible by Rob Corddry, uses the word "fuck" as a noun, a pronoun, a verb, an adjective, and a particple. And he practically drowns a poor little squirrel with a geyser full of his own vomit. But, the other folks are a bit more "normal" and balance him out beautifully so it's not a complete onslaught of bus station bathroom humor.

Layered in marvelously are terrific "you have to pay attention" references to movies, TV shows, and pop icons of the 80s. Chevy Chase dodders around as a hot tub repairman. Several characters sport names from "The Breakfast Club," "Back to School," and "The Karate Kid." As a matter of fact, William Zabka, the latter's villainous Johnny Lawrence, even shows up for a few minutes as a poker player. The scriptwriters' attention to detail makes the assumption that the audience is smart enough to get all these references. For once, "dumb" is not in.

Most delicious is the running gag involving Crispin Glover as a one-armed hotel bellhop. And, for once, a joke builds up to a hilarious conclusion which has to be seen to be believed.

Have I sold you on "Hot Tub Time Machine" yet?

I know you want to.

Aw, go ahead.

I did.

Dinner last night: Grilled hamsteak.