Monday Morning Video Laugh - January 7, 2013

Remembering Jack Klugman.  Everybody remembers the famous "Password" episode.  But let's forget this classic scene when Oscar and Felix on "Let's Make a Deal."

Dinner last night:  Manicotti and salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Snow, Snow, Go Away

You may have seen this photo before.  But, nevertheless, here I am again.  Enjoying the snow several decades ago.  With a friend that was undoubtedly built by my dad.  Even then, I had no patience when it came to artistic moments.  I certainly couldn't have crafted a snowman.

Ah, how refreshing.  How homespun.  How cute.

And, then, a bunch of years later...

Here I am again.  Having a lot less fun.  A snapshot from the 80s.  My very first solo apartment on North Broadway in Yonkers.  And, whoa, there's my very first car.  A 1980 Toyota Corolla.  I loved that little brown peanut.  It gave me ten solid years of reliable transportation.  Despite the fact that it was always parked outside amongst the elements.  And took the brunt of snowfalls like this.

It's amazing how your perspective changes when you grow up in an area that endures snowflakes during the winter months. 

When you're a kid, you live through the delight of the Christmas season just as winter sets in.  Then, on January 2, you are likely headed back to jail AKA elementary school.  And the prospect of time off, prior to the regularly scheduled Presidential birthdays in February, is totally dependent upon some low pressure systems meshing with some Canadian cold front.  You'd anxiously await the weather report on the nightly news.  You'd gladly switch over from the Three Stooges on WPIX Channel 11 to hear WCBS weatherlady Carol Reed tell you to "have a happy" and then announce the prospects of a blizzard within the next five days. 

"70% chance of snow."

Hmmm, that's more than 50-50.  I'll take it.  I would immediately start to make plans about how late I would sleep in the morning.

Of course, school had to be officially cancelled first.  And, in Mount Vernon, New York, which was just north of the Bronx/NYC line, that wasn't so easy.    The New York City public school system was notoriously famous for not cancelling classes.  It really had to be a dire emergency.

"Due to the plague of locusts, New York City public schools will open at 10AM this morning."

Mount Vernon didn't like to cancel if New York City stayed open.  So, frequently, as the drifts piled up, we were screwed.  Still, we had hope.  If you knew that snow had fallen overnight, you would get up and prod your mother to tune to Westchester's official "school closing" radio station, WFAS-AM.  I don't think anybody ever really listens to WFAS unless it's snowing.  And you'd listen hopefully as the roll call of Westchester County school systems checking in.

"Mahopac schools closed."

Of course, they are.  Mahopac is right next to Alaska, correct?

"Rye Country Day School closed."

That sounds like such a nice place to be educated.  The Rye Country Day School.  Mom, can we move please?  Because they're closed today.

"White Plains schools closed."

Okay, gang, we're getting closer.

"Mount Vernon public schools............open."

F Me.

We never got a break. 

Now there was a back-up alert system that we always hoped would prove those WFAS frauds wrong.  The city of Mount Vernon had a set of loud fire whistles.  If there was no school, the siren would go off at 7AM and 8AM.  I would wait with baited breath.  Nobody make a sound, please.

Most of the time...nothing.

But, there were those days where the whistle went off and I felt glorious.  I also think they were going to use the same warning in the event of a nuclear attack so the last laugh could have been on me as I shimmied my way into my snow suit and/or a radioactive haze.

Not that my day was going to be completely full of leisure.  Invariably, I would be invited outside to help my father shovel out the driveway.  With the usual winter threat.

"Go help your father.  Do you want him to die of a heart attack?"

Okay, got it.

I'd amble outside and then perform my usual snowstorm chore.  I'd pretend to shovel.  If it was windy, the white stuff would blow back into my face.  Eventually, I had more snow on me than I had moved into a neat pile.  Within fifteen minutes, the potential coronary victim that was my dad had seen enough.

"Go inside.  You're just making a mess out here."

Okay, got it.

And that's how, every winter as a child, I managed to get out of shoveling snow.  A wonderful system.   And my father never did have that heart attack.

But, in retrospect, I probably could have used the practice.  Because as glorious as snow days were when you're a youngster, your viewpoints changes when you're an adult.

You don't listen to the school closings on WFAS-AM.

You don't get to wait for a fire whistle.

Unless, it's fifteen inches or more, you don't get to stay home.  You are expected to work.

So, you wake up in the AM and shovel out your car as you see in the photo above. 

It all sucked.

At my very first solo apartment on North Broadway in Yonkers, just leaving the premises in the snow was an ordeal.  First, you had to clean off the car.  If I was smart the night before, I had already taken the brush, shovel, and ice scraper out of the trunk.  Then you begin the process.  If it was really early and nobody was outside yet, I would simply push the crap onto the car in the next space.  Hell, he was a dirtbag anyway.

Now I had a real problem if there was a sheet of ice on the windshield.  Those of you not familiar with frozen tundra-like conditions have no idea how you defrost your car window.  To do it correctly, you ideally need to go out about a half-hour before you really want to leave.  You sit in the car and turn on the defroster.  And simply sit and wait.

Me?  I had little patience.  So I would try to help it along by spraying on the windshield washing liquid.  That would help speed up the process momentarily. 

Until that froze over even more.  Before I knew it, my car window could have served as the arena for the Stanley Cup playoffs.  And I never ever learned my lesson.

Of course, once you could see out your car window, you had to figure out a way to get up the huge slope of a driveway.  On lots of winter mornings, there were cars literally lined up waiting to take their turn up Mount Kilimanjaro.   People would rev their engines to get some momentum going and then start to speed up the driveway which had been barely cleaned.

Halfway up, you'd start to slide down.

Again.

Halfway up.  Slide back down.

Again.

Halfway up.  Slide back down.

Okay, if you failed the climb on the third attempt, common courtesy would be to step aside and let the next bozo try.

Halfway up.  Slide back down.

Again.

Halfway up.  Slide back down.

If somebody managed to keep going, everybody else would stand there perplexed trying to figure out how they did it.  That and, also, cursing the bastard for his success.

Once I got up to the main thoroughfare of North Broadway, I wasn't nearly finished.  I had to somehow maneuver my way gingerly down the mountains of Yonkers to the Metro North train station in Getty Square.  Driving behind other idiots trying to do the same thing but with tires that had not been rotated or replaced in a decade.

The usual ten-minute drive to the train often took an hour on those mornings.  And then, of course, you had no guarantee of transportation into Manhattan.  You'd arrive triumphantly on the train platform only to hear the scratchy announcement over the public address system.

"The 7:55AM to Grand Central...has been cancelled...due to equipment trouble."

Okay, there was another one in ten minutes.

"The 8:05AM to Grand Central...has been cancelled...due to equipment trouble."

And fifteen minutes later...

"The 8:05AM to Grand Central...is running...fifteen minutes later."

Duh.

Admittedly, the Metro North railroad has gotten their act together in the past two decades.   But, back in the 80s, you had a better chance of getting into the city if you waited for a sleigh to come by with Doctor Zhivago at the reins.

When you finally crawled into your office by 9:30AM or 10AM, you'd look around at complete emptiness.  And wonder in amazement how you managed to get to work from Westchester County but the person who lives ten blocks away on 57th Street hadn't arrived yet.

Yeah, writing this piece has given me an epiphany.

I don't miss that weather at all.  I am happy to spend the winter months in Los Angeles.  Where a 20 percent chance of showers prompts a "storm watch" on local TV stations.

Dinner last night:  BBQ Bacon Burger at GO Burger.

Classic TV Commercial of the Month - January 2013

You just know that one of these kids will be wearing ketchup soon.

Dinner last night:  Beef with broccoli.

Record Album Covers from Hell

As if anybody actually remembers record album covers...

I can relate.  Can you?

No words.

Still no words.

Not exactly Reverend Billy Graham.

I wish my mailman could sing.  He certainly can't deliver the mail before 530PM on any given day.

Is it me or do the two on the side look like men?

A midget playing the harp.  Why the hell not?

She probably gets her knees up.  And her ankles.

Wonder what Anna Russell's like with gravy.

I had to dig deep for this one.

Dinner last night:  Sausage and peppers.

Dead on All Accounts

With the holidays now past, I'm still catching up on some of the stuff I did last month.  And, in this case, apologizing for some of the stuff I did last month.

On December 12, 2012, our calendar hit a significant moment.  12-12-12.  It was enough for major rock musicians to put on a legendary concert at Madison Square Garden with the proceeds being donated to help with the devastation caused by Hurricane Sandy in New York.  Thousands attended.  I, unfortunately, did not.

Eleven blocks to the north, I was on hand with a couple of hundred schmucks dealing with a completely different kind of disaster.  A play that should never have been produced.  And it made me wonder whether FEMA could be asked to provide cash refunds for those of us idiots who made the lethal mistake of going to see "Dead Accounts" at the Music Box Theater.

You wonder how stuff like this ever gets mounted on a Broadway stage.  What strange and misguided decisions are formed that allow dreck like this Theresa Rebeck play to ever be performed?  I mean, she's a pretty famous playwright.  She's done some credible work.  She created the TV show "Smash," which I like.  She's since been replaced on the TV program writing staff---a horrible decision, in retrospect, since it apparently gave her some free time to write "Dead Accounts."  If only she had taken up macrame as an alternative hobby.  This is a play that doesn't have performances.  It holds viewing and, according to the schedule, the body will be reposing until February 24, at which point even local community theater won't touch this script.  But, since then, they have commuted the sentence to this weekend, so you only have a few more days to avoid this play.

I was drawn to the play mainly because I wanted to get together with a friend for a holiday outing.  A decision as fateful as Ebenezer Scrooge's choice to try and get some shuteye on Christmas Eve.  Admittedly, I was curious enough to see if star Katie Holmes could act on a legitimate stage, proving that, yes, there is life after divorcing a Scientologist.  And, one of the co-stars is Judy Greer, an actress I have liked with red hair that I like even more.  This was enough to propel me into the theater for the evening.  What could happen?  I guess President Kennedy thought the same thing as he got into a limousine at Love Field on November 22, 1963.

Truth be told, there is a plot in "Dead Accounts," but it takes about an hour for it to kick in.  We're in a Cincinnati middle class home.  Katie Holmes lives there with her mother and her father, who we never see because he's passing a kidney stone in the living room.  The stone was easier to pass than this evening.  A ne'er-do-well brother arrives for a visit.  Why?  He probably didn't have tickets for the 12-12-12 concert either.  This guy is played by Broadway veteran Norbert Leo Butz and, for a stage name of three words, Mary Tyler Moore is a lot more lyrical. 

Meanwhile, Butz spends most of his stage time eating ice cream and, for a moment, I thought this was playing out as "The Tom Carvel Story."  None of this made any sense and I graviated to staring at the guy in the next row who I recognized from a soap opera.  Or maybe he was my waiter at dinner.  Minds really wander when you're incredibly bored.

Suddenly, we have the wisp of a plot development.  Ex-wife Judy Greer shows up and, despite the fact that I was lovingly admiring her red coiff, she announces that Norbert has stolen 27 million dollars.   End of act one.  Several folks put their coats on and left.  Perhaps there was still plenty of time to catch the Who at the concert.  Or they were opting for the longest cigarette break in the history of the Broadway theater.  As for me?  I stared at the stage.  Where Norbert Leo Butz was still sitting with his head down on the dining room table.  Huh?  Was this still part of the production?  Was he really wondering what the hell he was doing in this theater?  Was he that distraught over missing Bruce Springsteen as the concert's opening act? 

Like the whole play, none of this made sense to anybody.

Those gluttons for punishment returned for Act One and, save for one very well-acted scene between Butz and Greer, nothing really improved.  There's really no explanation for anything on stage and I begin to wonder when President Obama will begin the national conversation we need to have about plays like this.  At one point, Holmes has a tirade and she refers to the still-unseen-and-kidney-stone-laden dad offstage. 

"He's in there suffering."

If only somebody in the audience had cried out "so are we!"

Proving that all bad things also have to come to an end, the actors did their curtain call and I noted they did so with the slightest bit of reluctance and the hugest amount of relief.  You have to figure they all know that they're doing crap, right?  Or do they?  I think about how respected thespians can do this night after night. 

What can I say?  Katie Holmes can act.  Judy Greer is still cute.  And Norbert Leo Butz has a name that must be a bitch to sign when he's stopped for autographs at the stage door.  If there's anybody who hangs around long enough after a production of "Dead Accounts."

12-12-12 and "Dead Accounts."  Two things that will...and should never happen in our lifetimes ever again.


Dinner last night:  Bacon and cheese omelet.

This Date in History - January 2

Happy birthday, Julius La Rosa.  And the world asks a collective question.  "Who?"

366:  THE ALAMANNI CROSS THE FROZEN RHINE RIVER IN LARGE NUMBERS, INVADING THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

That ice won't hold up.  Somebody get a Zamboni machine...also Italian.

533:  MERCURIUS BECOMES POPE JOHN II, THE FIRST POPE TO ADOPT A NEW NAME UPON ELEVATION TO THE PAPACY.

By 1963, Pope John XXIII died.  Which means there were 21 others in between these two guys.

1788:  GEORGIA BECOMES THE FOURTH STATE TO RATIFY THE UNITED STATE CONSTITUTION.

The Constitution.  Remember that?  Yeah, I didn't think so.

1860:  THE DISCOVERY OF THE PLANET VULCAN IS ANNOUNCED AT A MEETING OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY OF SCIENCES IN PARIS, FRANCE.

Leonard Nimoy thanks you.

1871:  AMADEUS I BECOMES KING OF SPAIN.

And later wins an Oscar.

1900:  JOHN HAY ANNOUNCES THE OPEN DOOR POLICY POLICY TO PROMOTE TRADE WITH CHINA.

In 2013, we need to close it.

1909:  POLITICIAN BARRY GOLDWATER IS BORN.

And immediately is accused of starting a war in his crib.

1920:  THE SECOND PALMER RAID TAKES PLACE WITH ANOTHER 6,000 SUSPECTED COMMUNISTS AND ANARCHISTS ARRESTED AND HELD WITHOUT TRIAL.

A movement I can get behind in the new year.

1925:  TV PRODUCER LARRY HARMON IS BORN.

And, in a way, so is Bozo the Clown.

1930:  SINGER JULIUS LA ROSA IS BORN.

Later on, he was fired by Arthur Godfrey.  My grandmother hated both of them.

1935:  BRUNO HAUPTMANN GOES ON TRIAL FOR THE MURDER OF INFANT CHARLES LINDBERGH JR. 

Either the jury will be hung or the convict will.

1940:  EVANGELIST JIM BAKKER IS BORN.

When he was married to Tammy Faye, how often did they have to launder their pillow cases?

1942:  MANILA, PHILIPPINES IS CAPTURED BY JAPAN.

One month after Pearl Harbor, these guys are still acting a little cocky, aren't they?

1945:  DURING WORLD WAR II, NUREMBERG, GERMANY IS SEVERELY BOMBED BY ALLIED FORCES.

Pay attention, Japan.  What goes around comes around.

1963:  ACTOR DICK POWELL DIES.

Cigarettes kill.

1974:  PRESIDENT RICHARD NIXON SIGNS A BILL LOWERING THE MAXIMUM US SPEED LIMIT TO 55 MPH IN ORDER TO CONSERVE GAS DURING AN OPEC EMBARGO.

As if any driver paid attention.

1974:  COUNTRY SINGER TEX RITTER DIES.

And, about 26 years later, so does his son John.

1986:  BASEBALL EXECUTIVE BILL VEECK DIES.

Veeck as in dead.

1990:  ACTOR ALAN HALE JR. DIES.

And the three hour tour finally comes to an end.

1999:  A BRUTAL SNOWSTORM SMASHES INTO THE MIDWEST.  68 DEATHS ARE REPORTED.

Another 200 deaths went unnoticed.  After all, it is the Midwest.

2011:  ACTRESS ANNE FRANCIS DIES.

Honey goes North.  Or South depending upon your viewpoint.

Dinner last night:  Assorted homemade Chinese dishes.

Happy Blog Year - 2013

Happy new year!

If this photo doesn't get your bleary eyes open today, nothing will.  It's Hollywood bombshell Marilyn Maxwell and there was likely many a morning where she got to open Bob Hope's pupils as well.   This photo courtesy of a Facebook wall post by Jiminy Glick AKA Martin Short.

So, yes, it is 2013 and another year in Blogland where we celebrate our sixth anniversary in March.  Naturally, the start of a new calendar year heralds new beginnings.  Renewed starts in life.  And, oh, yeah, how do I ditch this person I picked up on New Year's Eve?

But, it's time again to do a little blog housekeeping.  And dive back into daily cyber musings.  

Yes, daily.  Even if it's not really.

At my house on Christmas day, the discussion amongst some celebratory pals meandered over to the topic of "Len Speaks."  One friend remarked.

"I don't know how you write every day."

Before I could respond, another friend jumped in in his parttime role as my official biographer.

"But he doesn't write every day."

Yes, guilty as charged.  Indeed, I do cheat.  Three days of every week are devoted to either videos or photos.  But, they require research nonetheless.  It takes some time to find the funniest police mug shots out there on the internet.

Truth be told, today's piece (as well as last Friday's holiday movie guide) are the only things I have written in the past four weeks.  Anticipating my December trip to New York and the holidays, I essentially pre-wrote the past three weeks of daily entries during the Thanksgiving weekend.  And I did recycle a few holiday pieces.  So, technically, the only daily blog work I performed during the month of December was the actual act of "publishing" a piece every day.  And inputting what I had for dinner the night before.  Yes, I don't plan my nightly meals that far in advance.

But I am back now and ready to go with a renewed vigor and still a half carton of egg nog in my refrigerator.   What you will be seeing in the next few weeks are some reviews of plays, books, and movies I saw or read over a month ago.  So old that they will seem even new to me.  

And, of course, there's the most popular day of the week with regard to blog traffic and page views.  The Sunday Memory Drawer.  I astound even myself that it still exists to this day.  How many more things can I remember from my life?  Well, just when I think I will dip in a ladle and come up dry, something happens or I see something that takes me back to a moment in my time and maybe even yours.

I'm finally going to try something I've been thinking about for some time with this Memory Drawer contraption.  It will be a bit interactive and require the assistance of some friends.  From time to time, I will focus on my friendship with a special person in my life.  I will write about the bond one week.  Then, the very next week, the other person will provide their own account of our relationship.  I've already got two semi-commitments from folks to participate.  And, if you're part of my life and want to be part of this as well, just find me.  Please note.  I don't pay.

What else will wind up on these blog pages?  You got me.  As I've said, my life tends to be an open blog.  There might be one or two major career things that could provide cyber fodder for months.  Yes, I will report it all here.

And, more personally, I'm going to be embarking shortly on another journey that could open up even bigger portals to include here.   I won't say more.  Just know that you will know when the saga begins because it will be right here.

Just like me.  Happy 2013.

Dinner last night:  Grilled chicken at Della Terra.