Beware the Ides of Awkwardness

He's got the whole bride in his hands.

Great wedding gift idea if the bride and groom live in China.

No tongue, Grandma.

What a bunch of dummies.

We were wondering what happened to Grandpa.

You can hang them anywhere.

 

Arf.

Hey, kid, you know where that's been??

"You're from Roto Rooter, right?"

That's one way to dump the bride.

Five seconds later....splat!

C_te.

I think Dad is the real dummy in this photo.

Dinner last night:  Steak, potatoes, and broccoli.

American Idull

Zzzzzzzzzz.

In an odd way, it pains me to write that.  Not that I'm a huge devotee of "American Idol."  But I used to be.   And longtime readers of this blog will remember that this show was part of the impetus to start this daily extravaganza. 

Back in 2007, I was such a fan of this show that I wanted to comment on it daily in this forum.  Comically, of course.  It was an easy target for laughs.  

I hate to admit that, years backs, there was one season of "American Idol" where I actually voted.  Yes, I know, the shame.  But I was a big fan of that particular season's Melinda Doolittle and cast one or two or ten votes for her every week. 

I was that fan.

Truth be told, I lost interest as soon as the show lost Simon Cowell as the main judge.   He was the anchor of this love fest.  The voice of reason.  The guy who really did honest and accurate critiques of the contestants.  Simon made sure our time was not being wasted and ensured that this was a truly legit talent competition.

When Cowell left, there began a revolving door of idiot judges, one less qualified than the next.  Ellen DeGeneres, for Pete's sake!  Mariah Carey, who probably has yet to score well on a fifth grade spelling test.  Nikki Minaj, whoever the hell she is.  Steven Tyler, whose relevance ended when the first George Bush was President. 

And, of course, there's Jennifer Lopez.  She left and came back this season.  Lucky us. The absence hasn't improved her.  She's still as dumb as a post.  But, what can you expect from some slob who grew up in the Bronx?  Indeed, you wonder if the contestants will truly benefit from JLo's advice.  I mean, as allegedly one of the biggest and nastiest bitches in Hollywood, she could teach them all how to effectively drop F-bombs when their assistants forget to include lemon with her tea.

As uninteresting as all those judges are, the main challenge with them was that they seemed to like everybody.  There was no real judging, just platitudes.   It was like singing in front of your father's aunt.  She'd like you no matter what.   And send you five dollars every birthday.

This is where I tuned out.  And so did lots of other viewers as American Idol jumped the proverbial shark.

So, with their audience leaving so fast that somebody must have yelled "fire," the Idol producers decided to revamp the show.  They moved that load Randy Jackson into the role of "mentor," just in case these contestants need help picking out clunky eyewear or jewelry.  As I wrote earlier, JLo is back.  That's what happens when your film and music career goes belly up.  Keith Urban is there.  Who cares?  Ryan Seacrest continues as host so the young finalists will have at least one person on stage shorter than them.

Yawning as we speak.

But I was mildly intrigued to see Harry Connick Jr. as a new judge.  I've enjoyed his work before.  I saw him in concert twice.  Harry doesn't get involved in crap.  Maybe there was hope for Idol again.

I finally tuned in last week and then again last night.  And, truth be told,  Connick brings some much-needed credibility to the festivities.  For the first time since Simon Cowell left, there is finally a judge who's not an automatic "love you" review.  He gives honest and pointed critiques for these hopeful rock stars.  Seated against the other two morons, Connick is that proverbial sore thumb. 

The problem with American Idol, though, is really the concept.  It is incredibly tired.  They've changed the judges, the sets, and the lifts in Ryan Seacrest's shoes.  It's a new paint job, but the car is still the Edsel.  Or the Ford Maverick which exploded upon impact years ago.

The songs are all the same.  The finalists all look alike.  The composition never changes.  You can count on at least two kids singing ditties with their teeth wrapped up in braces.   There's always at least one or two Black girls who fill the "Jennifer Hudson" role and even sing her songs from "Dreamgirls."  There's a couple of hillbillies who are wearing shoes for the very first time. 

It's now nothing but a formula and it never ever changes.

Translation: I was bored to tears.

In the past, you could always count on some of the kids being at least attractive.  Eye candy for the teenagers in the audience or the older guys at me living vicariously at home.  This season, they have amped up the geek quotient.  All the kids are dorky.  They all remind me of the best friend of the hero in that 80s slasher movie.  You know, the schmuck that gets killed off in the first half hour.

This year, there is the first openly gay contestant, some schlub named MK.  Despite the fact that she's a history maker on this show, she could be the most atrocious singer they've had since that Sanjaya idiot years ago.   Listen to five seconds of MK screeching like a cat on your backyard fence and you'd rather be listening to Penny Marshall sing La Boheme. 

Sure, they all sing their hearts out.  They battle each week for votes.  Seacrest keeps talking about record numbers of people casting ballots.  How does that happen when the show itself has reached its lowest rating threshold ever?  Well, in 2014, there are tons of ways you can love your favorite Idol.  You can vote on the phone or Twitter or Facebook or by signing up for the Affordable Healthcare Plan. 

Still, that all doesn't mean squat if the actual show itself is lulling you into a coma.

So, Harry, I sampled again.  And, despite your valiant efforts, I am done.  Again.  And, like so many of the recent Idol winners, I will disappear.  Not to be heard from again.

Len....out.

Dinner last night:  Leftover sausage and rice.

This Date in History - March 19

Happy birthday, Phyllis.  Or should I say......hello, Newman.

1279:  A MONGOLIAN VICTORY AT THE BATTLE OF YAMEN ENDS THE SONG DYNASTY IN CHINA.

My kingdom for a Song.

1649:  THE HOUSE OF COMMONS OF ENGLAND PASSES AN ACT ABOLISHING THE HOUSE OF LORDS, DECLARING IT "USELESS AND DANGEROUS TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND."

Sounds like our own Supreme Court.

1812:  THE CADIZ CORTES PROMULGATES THE SPANISH CONSTITUTION OF 1812.

I never promulgated...either junior or senior.

1848:  WYATT EARP IS BORN.

Jeez, that makes Hugh O'Brien really, really old.

1861:  THE FIRST TARANAKI WAR ENDS IN NEW ZEALAND.

Isn't this the new pitcher on the Yankees?

1865:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, THE BATTLE OF BENTONVILLE BEGINS.  BY THE END, CONFEDERATE FORCES HAVE RETREATED.

If my history dates are correct, they're in the bottom of the ninth inning.

1891:  SUPREME COURT JUSTICE EARL WARREN IS BORN.

Report coming.

1894:  COMIC MOMS MABLEY IS BORN.  

My grandmother loved her on the Merv Griffin Show.

1895:  AUGUSTE AND LOUIS LUMIERE RECORD THEIR FIRST FOOTAGE USING THEIR NEWLY PATENTED CINEMATOGRAPH.

Raisinets, please.

1906:  NAZI ADOLF EICHMANN IS BORN.

Makes you wonder if anybody in Germany names their kid "Adolf" anymore.

1914:  ACTOR FRED CLARK IS BORN.

One of several Harry Mortons on the Burns and Allen Show.

1918:  THE US CONGRESS ESTABLISHES TIME ZONES AND APPROVES DAYLIGHT SAVING TIME.

Before this, was it really the same time in NY and LA???

1921:  ITALIAN FASCISTS SHOOT FROM THE PARENZANA TRAIN AT A GROUP OF CHILDREN.

Killing kids???  Now that's real terrorism.

1931:  GAMBLING IS LEGALIZED IN NEVADA.

Vegas, baby!

1933:  ACTRESS PHYLLIS NEWMAN IS BORN.

She was married to songwriter Adolph Green, so you know Miss Newman didn't really judge people by their looks.

1941:  DURING WORLD WAR II, THE TUSKEGEE AIRMEN, THE FIRST ALL-BLACK UNIT OF THE ARMY AIR CORPS, IS ACTIVATED.

Screenplay pending.

1943:  FRANK NITTI, THE CHICAGO OUTFIT BOSS AFTER AL CAPONE, COMMITS SUICIDE.

Gee, was it something we said?

1944:  ASSASSIN SIRHAN SIRHAN IS BORN.

Rot in jail, you miserable piece of Arab shit.

1945:  OFF THE COAST OF JAPAN, A DIVE BOMBER HITS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS FRANKLIN, KILLING 724 OF HER CREW.

Enjoy that, you rotten Japs.  It will be time to say sayonara soon.

1945:  ADOLF HITLER ISSUES HIS NERO DECREE ORDERING ALL INDUSTRIES, MILITARY INSTALLATIONS, AND COMMUNICATION FACILITIES IN GERMANY TO BE DESTROYED.

Hmmm, something to hide?

1947:  ACTRESS GLENN CLOSE IS BORN.

As a result of a fatal contraction.  I don't know what that joke means, but I have nothing else to write.

1954:  JOEY GIARDELLO KNOCKS OUT WILLIE TORY IN ROUND SEVEN AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN IN THE FIRST TELEVISED BOXING FIGHT SHOWN IN COLOR.

The Wonderful World of Cuts Above Your Forehead.

1954:  WILLIE MOSCONI SETS A WORLD RECORD BY RUNNING 526 CONSECUTIVE BALLS WITHOUT A MISS DURING A POOL EXHIBITION.

Showoff.

1958:  THE MONARCH UNDERWEAR COMPANY FIRE LEAVES 24 DEAD.

Life is all too briefs.

1962:  MUSICIAN BOB DYLAN RELEASES HIS FIRST RECORD ALBUM.

I have heard from people who have dealt with him that 1962 might also be the last time he took a bath.

1966:  TEXAS WESTERN BECOMES THE FIRST COLLEGE BASKETBALL TEAM TO WIN THE FINAL FOUR WITH AN ALL-BLACK STARTING LINEUP.

That hadn't happened yet??

1974:  ACTOR EDWARD PLATT DIES.

Sorry about that, Chief.

1979:  C-SPAN BEGINS BROADCASTING.

Purely for those who needs naps during the afternoon.

1987:  TELEVANGELIST JIM BAKKER RESIGNS THE PTL CLUB DUE TO A SEX SCANDAL AND HANDS OVER CONTROL TO JERRY FALWELL.

As if that's an improvement.

2005:  AUTO DESIGNER JOHN DELOREAN DIES.

Virtually no Blue Book value now.

2007:  ACTOR CALVERT DEFOREST DIES.

Better known as Larry "Bud" Melman.

2008:  AUTHOR ARTHUR C. CLARKE DIES.

2008:  An Eternal Odyssey.

2008:  ACTOR PAUL SCOFIELD DIES.

A Man for All Seasons, Except Late Winter 2008.

2011:  AFTER THE FAILURE OF MUAMMAR GADDAFI'S FORCES TO TAKE BENGHAZI, THE FRENCH AIR FORCE LAUNCHES OPERATION HARMATTAN.

It's amazing that people still don't know what happened to our people there in 2012.

2013:  PORN ACTOR HARRY REEMS DIES.

So when is the erection....of his monument?

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese beef and vegetables.

Je T'Attendrai

How's that for a blog title?  It's my best translation for the name of a song from this movie.  It was a struggle coming up with that.   And you should note that I took French every year from the fifth grade right on through my sophomore year in college.

Mais je digresse....

"The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" presented this blog author with a curious dilemma.   As you are painfully aware, I frequently review and rate current movies in this forum.  Now, here in Los Angeles, I am lucky to be able to go out to classic movie houses and see some wonderful old films.   I don't review them here, because most of them can be found on Netflix, TCM, or your own DVD shelf.

But what about a 50-year-old movie that's currently being restored and released to theaters?  And one that I have personally never seen before?  Is it worth a blog review?

Mais oui. Or so I decided.

I had always heard about "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" but never bothered to seek it out.   Well, it's got its golden anniversary and that was apparently worth a digital restoration.   It was playing down the block from my house.  Hey, why not?

To my surprise, I discovered that the Nuart Theater was packed.  Allegedly, this film has its fans.   I saw grandmothers with their daughters and their granddaughters.  I saw old couples.  I saw young couples.  I saw actor/dancer George Chakiris.  He's supposedly a big fan and also did a later movie with the director Jacques Demy and Umbrella's star Catherine Deneuve.  

Hmmm?  What had I fallen into?

I'll be damned if I know.   Indeed, "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" is an acquired taste.  If you did not know this, every word of dialogue is sung.   Well, not sung like a song but uttered as if the person is singing.   Confused yet?   There are three main melodies that play throughout the movie.   They were totally recognizable to me because they played on my mother's hi fi record player back in the sixties.

The most famous is "I Will Wait For You."   Or, as I translated, "je t'attendrai."  Recorded by everybody from Andy Williams to Connie Francis.

There's another well known ditty or melody.   "Watch What Happens."  I don't have the energy or time to give you the French translation of that one.  Recorded by everybody from Andy Williams to Connie Francis.

If you like and remember either of those tunes, this is the movie for you.   Because they are played on the soundtrack over and over and over and over.

Mon dieu.

Of course, there is a plot that starts in November of 1957.  There's this good looking auto mechanic who's dating a beautiful sales clerk at an umbrella store.   Before he goes off to his two-year hitch in the French army (a joke in itself), he knocks her up.  When he comes back, she's already left town with another man who will raise his child.   The two lovers reunited briefly six years later when she tries to tank up at his gas station.   

End of movie.

Yes, fin.

Truth be told, my grocery list has more intrigue and plot.  But, then again, I am not singing along to "I Will Wait For You" as I call off milk, orange juice, and soap detergent.

As flimsy and as stupid as I just made "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" seem, here's the problem.

I liked it. I have no clue why.  I doubt anybody else in the theater did either.   But everybody was applauding like crazy.   George Chakiris was smiling from ear to ear as he tossed his empty popcorn container into the lobby trash can.  

Indeed, "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" is a joy to listen to.  You can't help but hum one of the two melodies for days afterward.  And it's also exquisite to look at.  Bright colors that explode off the screen.   You also get a nice snapshot of just how bad wallpaper is in France.   I would have loved to have the Sherwin Williams account for this movie.  One ugly and hideous pattern after another.  It all looked like Paul Lynde's shirt closet in 1974.

Yet, I enjoyed it all.  I left the theater amused and confused.  How did I get sucked into something so banal and utterly slight?  

Perhaps it's a movie I need to see again to understand just what the hell I saw and apparently liked?   If you want to come, let me know.

I will wait for you.

LEN'S RATING:  A mystifying three stars.

Dinner last night:  Hot sausage, Spanish rice, and salad.  

Monday Morning Video Laugh - March 17, 2014

Happy Anniversary to Me!   Here's the very, very first Monday Morning Video Laugh.  Whack!!!

Dinner last night:  Stir fry beef with carrots and snow peas.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Very First Sunday Memory Drawer

   

For those of you keeping count,  this blog had its seventh birthday yesterday.  On March 15, 2007, I began the exercise of a daily writing assignment.  The goal was to sharpen my wit and replenish my creative juices.  I had no idea it would last a year. 

Then I doubted it would last two years. 

Here we are beginning Year Eight. 

Admittedly, when you enter these pages, it's quite narcissistic.  I mean, it's all about...well...me.  But, something must be working because readership is up.  There are even more stats to view now than when I started this sucker.  I can see which days and features of the week are most popular. 

If you pay attention to this nonsense, you will know that there is a distinct format to this blog.  Videos on Mondays and Saturdays.  This Date in History every Wednesday.  Visual gags on Fridays like funny mug shots or bad yearbook photos, except for that one week every month where I dissect what's playing at the movies that weekend.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are writing tasks.  Whatever is on my mind.  From movie reviews to rants about bad behavior by the American public.  Heck, there's always plenty of the latter.

I realize that this once-eclectic blog has a very distinct pattern.   Predictable in its own unpredictability.

And, then, of course, there is the Sunday Memory Drawer.  It started very simply.   I was remembering Sunday afternoons with my grandmother.  She was seated in her rocking chair by the window.  I would likely be sprawled out on her sofa.   She would start telling me stories from the past.  I would eagerly listen.  It might be something that happened a year ago or four decades ago.  I didn't care.

Effectively, these Sunday Memory Drawers have been my memoirs.  As if my life story is important to be documented.  But, when you get right down to it, everybody's story is important.  Mine.  Yours.  It's what makes up the fabric of our world.  Sometimes frayed.  Sometimes faded.  But never dull.

The Sunday Memory Drawer is the most widely-read entry of the blog every week.   I am heartened that people enjoy it.  I discover that, just like my grandmother used to repeat her tales, I have done the same.   Without knowing it, I have related the same saga more than once.  Didn't I already tell this story, I ask myself.  I have actually gone back into the archives and pulled out the earlier version.  Sometimes, I have forgotten an element of it.  Or, later on, remembered another part.

For me, the Sunday Memory Drawer has been therapeutic.  It has provided me with an inward analysis that is much cheaper than going to a Dr. Jennifer Melfi.  Many friends have pressed me over the years to stitch the stories together into a screenplay.  That process has finally begun.  And the in-depth analysis continues some more.  

I hope you have enjoyed this blog for seven years.  We've already started Year 8.  There are weeks when the hard drive in my mind can't conjure up a memory that is easily relatable.  Then, out of the clear blue sky, something happens and it brings me back to my youth or my high school years.  The keg is tapped and the beer flows.

So, as Johnny Carson used to do on his anniversary show every year, here's an old clip.  The very first Sunday Memory Drawer I ever wrote.  Sunday, October 5, 2008.  Fittingly, the centerpiece is my grandmother.  And the glorious pantry she had in her kitchen.

This room was a full-out treasure chest for me. Situated right off her kitchen, it was a full-sized room that had a counter where I could do homework. And there were shelves all the way up to the ceiling. Lots of places for me to hide whatever toy figurines or soldiers I was occupied with at the time. One side would hide behind the double boiler and the other would secrete themselves behind cans of Libby's vegetables. And I could hide myself in another corner and let it all play before me for hours and oodles of fun.

There were many other fringe benefits.

My grandmother baked every single Saturday morning and there was usually some sort of cake or pie stored there. Pieces disappeared regularly. And, of course, her Poppin' Fresh cookie jar was always loaded with Jane Parker or Ann Page's finest chocolate chip cookies. Only the best that the local A and P had to offer. I still have that cookie jar here in LA and it's always filled. With chocolate chip cookies. The tribute that just keeps on giving.

One day, I noticed something else. My grandmother would go into the pantry, hop on a stepstool, and reach up to the very top shelf. Where apparently she was keeping some very special chocolate bars.

Hmmmm.

It didn't take many days after this discovery before I wanted to tap into this reserve myself. If my grandmother was hiding this candy, it must be damn good.

The stepstool still left me about three shelves too short for the reach. So, I essentially climbed gingerly from one shelf to another. The Wallendas had nothing on me, especially if there was a tasty treat at the end of the stunt. I got to that chocolate and munched.

One piece and then another.

And then another.

She wouldn't miss a whole bar. I reasoned she probably had others stashed away all over the house.

And then it came.

Or, in reality, there it went.

About an hour later, I was sick to my stomach. And couldn't stop visiting a certain room in the house. Where I would be sitting and not standing.

It was so bad that I missed two days of school and even was summoned to appear before the always feared pediatrician, Dr. Fiegoli. Nobody had any answers and I certainly didn't make the connection.

Until my grandmother asked the question that begged for an answer.

"Who ate all my Ex-Lax?"

See you here tomorrow.  And, of course, next Sunday.

Dinner last night:  Reuben sandwich at Cafe 50s.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - March 2014

I love the Mexican theme music.

Dinner last night:  German cold cut sandwich.