Classic TV Theme of the Month - April 2010

Who in the world doesn't like this one????

Dinner last night: The Friday night pre-game tradition begins again --- Ham French Dip at Phillippe's.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for April 2010

Here's a terrific vintage photo of Westwood's Fox Village Theater, which is a glorious movie palace. Recently, it almost closed, but a new owner will keep its doors open. The place is close to my house and I should visit it more often. The only problem is that it usually plays whatever is the latest blockbuster action flick that appeals only to the brainless.

Moving on, here's my monthly public service to you. I'll flip through the Los Angeles Times movie section and provide you with my kneejerk reactions to all the celluloid crap out there. Enjoy. As for me, I'll be spending the weekend at Dodger Stadium and the Hollywood Bowl for an Eagles concert.

Date Night: I think you have to be a big fan of Steve Carell and Tina Fey to enjoy this mess. I am not. I will be dateless at home.

Clash of the Titans: A needless remake that was a terrible movie the first time around. This is another one in 3-D, which means you can be thoroughly bored and get a splitting headache at the same time.

Alice in Wonderland: I saw it in 3-D and the splitting headache just went away. The movie held my interest only slightly better than my bladder held the extra large Diet Pepsi.

The Greatest: Ever want to know what "Ordinary People" would be like if it had been written by a third grade class? If so, this crud's for you. Pierce Brosnan has this climactic crying scene and I wonder if the acting motivation for his tears was the director showing him a picture of his fat wife in a bathing suit.

City Island: If the characters in this dysfunctional family comedy don't make a visit to the Black Whale ice cream parlor, then this is not an authentic movie.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: Discussed this in the March movie guide. I hate body art. I think it's gross and does longterm damage to your skin. And I will announce that every single month that this movie remains in circulation.

Green Zone: I'll follow the conservation theme and save my money.

Why Did I Get Married, Too?: If Larry King was in this, would the title be "Why Did I Get Married, Eight?"

A Prophet: Supposedly a decent foreign film, but I'm kind of burnt out seeing stuff about how folks from the Mideast are so oppressed. Hopefully, the title character will be able to predict that I won't be in the audience.

Kick-Ass: You're kidding, right? No, seriously. You're joking? Really?

Death at a Funeral: Chris Rock is in this ensemble comedy and I generally like his work. Besides, the trailer looked damn funny and politically incorrect. That's a surefire way to get into my wallet.

The Perfect Game: Based on a true story. How Mexico won the Little League World Series. With no players under the age of 20.

Dancing Across Borders: A documentary about a Cambodian ballet dancer trying to make it in the US. That's a surefire way to get me into a coma.

Handsome Harry: An ex-Navy guy tries to solve a longstanding crime. Steve Buscemi co-stars and thank goodness nobody's cast him in a 3-D movie yet.

The Cartel: A documentary about how the educational system in America is not turning out any smart kids. You need a movie to tell people that our country is stupid? I do it in this blog every single Wednesday. And I don't charge you ten bucks for admission. Yet.

Who Do You Love?: A look at the founders of Chess Records. Sorry, no Larry King joke available at this time.

Exit Through the Gift Shop: A documentary about this graffiti artist in Britain. I'd question why our society continually glorifies vandalism, but then again, have you noticed what's going on in Washington these days?

Hot Tub Time Machine: I know, I know, I know. You saw it because I gave it a good review in this blog and you hated it. I never said this was a perfect venue. You get what you pay for. And, as noted above, I don't charge you ten bucks for admission.

Greenberg: Ben Stiller in the title role. Er, you were expecting Roberto Benigni?

How To Train Your Dragon: To do what specifically? Because, in my world, a dragon can do anything he damn well pleases.

The Bounty Hunter: It's a Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy. Run, run. As fast as you can. Run! Before it kills again!!

The Joneses: Demi Moore and David Duchovny in some cynical comedy about suburbia. They think they're cynical? They should have tried growing up in Mount Vernon.

Women Without Men: It's usually because they can't stop yapping.

The Last Cyrus: A Miley Cyrus tearjerker. Many of us are in tears wondering how this got made in the first place.

Letters to God: Waiting for the atheist's sequel. "Address Unknown."

Dinner last night: German cold cuts and salad.

My Sights and Sounds - Dodgers 2010 Home Opener

Join me in my spanking new loge seats at Dodger Stadium for the home opener. Enjoy the pre-game festivities and the seventh inning stretch. Sorry for the jerky camera motions. I realize this is not the Blair Witch Project.

Dinner last night: Veal saltimbocca at La Dolce Vita.

Wednesday Is The One Day To Have When You're Having More Than One

Today's rant is sponsored by Schaefer, the official beer of my parents.

---And, yes, they frequently had more than one.

---This has nothing to do with anything today, but you try and come up with a clever title every friggin' Wednesday.

---But, luckily, there's always plenty to bitch about.

---For instance, Obummer.

---Does he just like to bow a lot or is this a bad back in need of some Doan's Pills?

---He bowed to the Chinese President and does POTUS realize that his own daughters would have been "dispensed with" if China had its way?

---Let's face it. Not everybody in that godforsaken hellhole is practicing Zen Buddhism and writing clever things into fortune cookies.

---Most are pigs.

---Who don't cover their mouths when they sneeze. Anybody who flies on American Airlines can back me up.

---President Knucklehead's bizarro stance on nuclear weapons has essentially made our country go from the New York Yankees to the Kansas City Royals overnight.

---At the same time, FLOTUS paid a visit to Haiti. Unfortunately, it's a round trip ticket.

---Meanwhile, I overheard a captivating conversation on line for soda at the Aero Theater on Saturday night.

---Two 25-year-olds were discussing politics. One says to the other.

---"All these people who to tea parties are just mad that there's a Black guy in the White House."

---Oh, really?

---I wanted to turn around to this moron and say...

---"Gee, you must have very strong neck muscles."

---"They've have to be after carrying around all day that head loaded full of shit."

---Pick up a history book, you dumbbells. The original tea party was all about a protest about being overly taxed.

---Hello, Feccal Head. It's the same thing.

---Of course, they then turned their attention to talking about all the great things Bill Maher said last week.

---Uh huh. Bill Maher the renowned political pundit.

---Definition of a political pundit? A failed comedian who can't find any other work.

---I bet these two nitwits also drive Smart Cars.

---The cars might be smart but the drivers sure aren't. You might as well be behind the wheel of a phone booth.

---But they're small and cute. What's not to like?

---If I had led my life by that barometer, I would have had a lot more rotten dates in my life.

---Speaking of which, on 24, Jack Bauer finally gets some female action and she's immediately gone.

---I know how you feel, Jack.

---RIP, Dixie Carter. Never met the lady, but she actually once read one of our scripts and liked it.

---Sadly, plenty of people who didn't like one of our scripts are still alive.

---It comes out that John Tesh and Oprah were once an item.

---An item of what?

---Well, frankly, he doesn't look particularly bright, so he might not have known until two days later.

---So, I'm glad Conan O'Bastard got a show on TBS. Because I know how fast 30 million dollars of severence pay can run out.

---The only problem with Conan going on TBS is that they will promote it ad nauseum during next year's baseball playoffs.

---Gee, I think I'm already sick of seeing the commercials now.

---Dumbest thing I overheard at yesterday's Dodger home opener: After the traditional pre-game flyover, this was said in the row behind me.

---"How come the Lakers never have any flyovers at the Staples Center?"

Good night, Gracie.

Dinner last night: German salami sandwich.

Saul and Heshe Talk Opening Day

Welcome back our two favorite Hollywood Jews, Saul and Heshe, as they have a nosh at Canter's Delicatessen on Fairfax. Today is the Dodgers home opener and they certainly have a lot to say about that and baseball in general.

"What? No tickets today? No trip out to Chavez Rabin?"

"You mean "ravine?"

"Whatever floats your matzo ball. You not going out to see?"

"Feh. All the traffic. Larry King running around, yap yap yapping. And the mishagas in the air with the flyovers. What is this? Jimmy Stewart in Strategic Air Command."

"I'm with you. I'll watch at home on the 42 inch with Vin Scully."

"We're better off. And the Dodger Dogs? Not Kosher."

"It's not like the old days. I used to go to Opening Day every year."

"Me, too. Two rows behind Sinatra, one row over from Danny Kaye."

"That was baseball. Woo hoo. If you were lucky, you got to see Sandila pitch."

"I was at two of his no-hitters. One with, you'll pardon the expression, my first wife. Also a shutout, if you know what I mean.

"Bitch."

"Bitch."

"That Koufax. He knew what he was doing. And he never pitched on the high holidays. Even if it was the World Series."

"He could do that because we also had Dandy Don Drysdale. A goyim who could pitch every day but Good Friday."

"I remember when he was on Donna Reed's show. Teaching that Paul Petersen how to throw a curveball.

"I wish I could have done the same with Shelley Fabares. Now that was a pair of stems. Whoo boy, oh, boy."

"Back then, the Dodgers knew how to get the most out of our business. Remember when they had Mister Ed out there running the bases."

"Vey iz mir. They thought he left a big pile in the outfield. Turns out it was Leo Durocher."

"And remember Maury Wills? That schwatz ran like he had a TV under each arm."

"And he was shtupping Doris Day at the same time."

"Oh, yeah. A little cream in the coffee."

"She wasn't getting it any place else. What? From Rock Hudson? A little light in the loafers."

"Fagila."

"Yeah, fagila."

"These players today, they don't know how good they got it."

"Millions and millions and millions of dollars. And they still take all those funny drugs."

"So did Peter Lawford, but he couldn't hit for shit."

"What was up with last year? Manny taking female fertility pills? Like that octo-mom?

"Like we need eight more of him running around with the schwatz hair braids??

"And I think he gets those extensions from Diahann Carroll's wig company. Just a rumor. Hush hush."

"Joe Torre's doing a good job, though."

"There's a face only a mother could love. I look at him and I see Ernest Borgnine working behind the butcher counter in Marty."

"They shouldn't wait for the shivah to cover the mirrors in his house."

"I bet Joe still has a soft spot for the Yankees. I know he still talks to Derek Jeter."

"Jeter? A little more cream in the coffee. And who was his mother? Peggy Cass?"

"The Yankees. Those altakockers have so much money. Steinbrenner. Nazi bastard."

"Except now he don't know how much he got. He went a little meshuggah in the head."

"Asshole."

"Yeah, asshole."

"May he rest in peace."

"Soon."

Dinner last night: Chicken tenders with macaroni & cheese.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - April 12, 2010

You've asked to see this again. I can't refuse.

Dinner last night: Pot roast with gravy and polenta.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Bottle Caps

If you're wondering about this picture, I will explain. You just have to wait a little bit.

As I personally begin one more season as a baseball fan, what better way to honor this than by devoting a few Sunday Memory Drawers to the sport? Bonding with friends and Dad over the wonders of the game. Recalling happy times in some stadium. Reveling in the microcosm of life that only baseball can provide.

Except today we're going to talk all about football.

Well, sort of.

Bonding with Dad?

Most definitely.

Oh, sure, my father and I had our shared baseball moments and I will chronicle them here over the next little while. At this very moment, I'm thinking about playing catch with him in the driveway. The typical Norman Rockwell portrait of father and son. With the baseball scooting away from me as my dad screamed..

"USE TWO HANDS!!!"

Yes. sir.

But, for some mystical reason, today I'm thinking about a joint project that provided one of the very rare times where Dad and I were joined lockstep with a single objective. In our little universe, it was Hailey's Comet. Translation: it didn't happen much. But this did. A united focus. A shared goal.

Collecting Coca Cola bottle caps.

Huh, you say?

I couldn't have been more eight or nine when I heard about this promotion dreamed up by the soda company. During the fall, they put out these grids for the local football teams, the New York Jets and the New York Giants. On each grid, there were spots for all 40 players or the complete roster of each team. At the same time, the now-retired Coke bottle caps had a picture of a Jet or Giant underneath. So, you'd glue the cap to the appropriate spot on the grid. If you managed to fill in a bottle cap for every player on both teams, you'd get a free football. For some bizarre reason, my father got behind this in a big way.

"We're going to get that football."

Okay. But, isn't this a lot of work? Wouldn't it be just as easy to go down to the sporting goods store and buy one?

As far as Dad was concerned, apparently not.

For the next two months, this was our mission. Working together to get the necessary bottle caps that would catch us that pigskin. We'd spend hours on the weekend sorting and glueing.

Okay, let me reel it in here. We weren't drinking all that soda. Back then, my father had two jobs. At night, he worked at the Connecticut die casting company he had been at since after World War II. But, for a spell, he worked mornings for his cousin's oil burner company. Delivering heating fuel to homes.

And lots and lots of bars and taverns all over the Bronx. All of them very willing to hand over to my dad their weekly cache of Coca Cola bottle caps. Which he brought home in shopping bags.

Basically, we needed just 80 bottle caps. But, to find the ones for the grid, we pretty much sifted through over two thousand of them. Our kitchen table was a disaster as we surveyed each and every cap.

"This is a Winston Hill. We already have ten of those."

"What did you do with Pete Gogolak? I can't find him."

"How come we can only find tackles and no half backs?"

It was nervewracking, because Coke actually had a deadline on the submissions. As the clock ticked and the days passed, we kept sorting and glueing and glueing and sorting. Miraculously, there was just one bottle cap that we needed.

New York Giant running back Tucker Fredrickson. We were convinced his bottle cap didn't exist. The lone blank spot on the two grids stared at us for about a week. So close to the football. So far from the football.

Until my mother got into the act. One day, she came home with a paper bag full of bottle caps, which she had coerced out of the vending machine guy at her job. She was obviously trying to help. Or simply put us and her out of our collective misery.

Tucker Fredrickson was the first one we pulled out of the bag.

From my father's reaction, I couldn't tell whether he was ecstatic or depressed. Had he wanted to be the one to triumphantly pull Tucker Fredrickson out of his magic hat? Was he particularly frosted that my mother had delivered the goods? To this day, I don't know. But his half smile that day lasted with me for years.

With Tucker firmly attached to his designated grid spot, we headed up to the local Coca Cola bottler in White Plains. Gasoline expended, which also made me wonder why we hadn't simply walked five blocks to the sporting goods store. But, nevertheless, Dad proudly handed over the bottle cap grids. To the clerk who was mystified.

"How did you do this? Nobody else has."

I beamed. That's because nobody else has a father who delivers oil to about fifty saloons in the Bronx.

There was nothing special about the football. There was nothing to differentiate it from the football in the window down at the sporting goods store. But, this truly was our football. One that my father and I had gotten together. With a single focus. With determination. With pride. As one.

We went down to the driveway to play catch with it. As the first toss scooted away from me, I heard the usual refrain.

"USE TWO HANDS!!!!"

Dinner last night: BLT sandwich at Blue Plate.