I love pretzels. I have since I was a kid. With all the snack choices possible, pretzels are my absolute "go-to."
Back when I was a tyke, it was those Mister Salty boxes that captivated me. I used to dunk them in milk. I'm not sure that's the ideal destination for a pretzel but it was for me. I'd eat some pretzels and drink some milk right before bedtime. I'd dream then of more salt-covered twists dripping with milk.
As I got older, I would branch out beyond the tried-and-true Nabisco brand. For the longest time, I eventually settled on the Snyder variety of large sour dough pretzels. The key with me is the crispier and more brown, the better. I'm not one who relishes the pretzels sold on the streets of Manhattan. Those big doughy twists that lay in your stomach for days. No dice. If I'm going to bite into a pretzel, I need to hear the snap and the crunch that result in a plethora of crumbs cascading down my shirt.
Snyder's fit the bill for me all these years. When I moved to the left coast, I was delighted to see that Snyder's had distribution here. But I made a noteworthy discovery. In Los Angeles, these damn things tasted different. Snyder's, like all good pretzels, were manufactured in Pennsylvania. But were the Los Angeles editions actually produced here using different water in the mixture? Something made it taste a little different and, sadly, not as good.
I'd go back to New York and buy the same Snyder's Pretzels and enjoy them like they were brand new. Yes, the east coast version was better than the west coast. For all of the annoyances we all have in our individual lives, this was one of my biggest. I was so confounded by it all that I actually wrote to the folks at Snyder's Pretzels to find out why there was such a disparity in flavor. They essentially told me that there was no difference and, oh, by the way, here's a couple of coupons for my next purchase.
So, I kept buying Snyder's Pretzels in Los Angeles but enjoyed them a little less. Like a married couple that was feuding but never got divorced. I was still a pretzel fiend but missing the glory of a really, really good one.
So, one day, I was buying some toiletries in Bed, Bath, and Beyond and I noticed that this chain was now including in its store a grocery section stocked by the Cost Plus World Market chain. Cost Plus offers you a wide variety of food products, but none of them have name brands. I wandered past the snack section and noticed the bag of pretzels you see adorning today's blog. I was vapid enough to fall in love with its look immediately. Toasted brown. Almost burnt. Pennsylvania Dutch pretzels from some outfit called Uncle Jerry's in Pennsylvania. I peered inside the clear bag. These pretzels were loaded with tons of salt. I was intrigued. A bag came home with me.
That night, it was unusually hot and humid in Los Angeles. I sat in the living room with the fan blowing on me. With the Dodger game on TV and a frosty glass of diet root beer at my side, I decided to try these newfangled pretzels.
One. Then two. Then three. Before I knew it, half the bag was gone.
It was sensory perception all over again. I was suddenly a kid again. Having a wonderful summer night's snack. Baseball. Ice cold soda. An electric fan with its cool breezes. And the best damn pretzel I have ever tasted in my life. Crap. How do I get more and now?
I first Googled this Uncle Jerry character and found the company website. Indeed, it's some old guy who started his own pretzel company in Pennsylvania two decades ago.
I mean, does this not look like the man who could bake the best freakin' pretzel ever?? According to the company history, his pretzels were voted Best in Philly and, heck, those people usually hate everything. Thanks to Jerry's young daughter, Misty, the company dove big time into social media. And, yes, I immediately "liked" them on Facebook.
More importantly, I needed more and fast. I went back to the Cost Plus at BB and B. They were gone. Per the clerk, we get them in sometimes and then sometimes not.
I wanted to strangle her on the spot. Instead, I went to three other Cost Plus markets.
"We've never heard of them."
Audible scream. How does one of your stores sometimes have the product and others do not? Aren't you a fucking chain? Don't you people talk???
It had been only a week, but I was already an Uncle Jerry's Pretzels addict.
I went back home to seek out help from the company website which was now one of my bookmarked sites on Mozilla Firefox. Oh, look, Len, you can buy them on line.
I immediately started to load up my virtual shopping cart with the Extra Dark variety of these freakin' pieces of heaven. Six pound boxes. Hmmmm. Will eighteen pounds last me into the fall?
This was a great plan until I hit "shipping options." There was only one. UPS. And, to get these blasted twists from Pennsylvania to Los Angeles, it was going to cost me thirty bucks.
Even junkies have their limits. I needed to rethink. Could I possibly get a job as a purchasing agent at the closest Cost Plus Market?
But, wait. In the top right corner of the website, there was a button.
STORE LOCATOR.
I clicked it immediately. And promptly said a prayer that it wasn't going to point me to the three unhelpful Cost Plus Markets I had just visited.
Indeed, in Los Angeles, there was one single location. The Farmshop gourmet store in Brentwood.
I was there the next day and found my fix. There were seven bags of the "stuff" on a counter. I picked them all up and plopped them down on the checkout table.
"Will there be anything else?"
No.
"These pretzels sell fast. Lots of people come in for them."
Oh, yeah, well, screw them. I'm in the way now.
This is just one of three bags I bought. I will be back to the Farmshop again. And again. And again. I just don't know if it will be a month from now. Or maybe by next Tuesday.
I have found my perfect pretzel.
Dinner last night: Wild mushroom ravioli and salad.
How do you not salute Lucy on this, her birthday? It's also a bad day to be Pope. You will see what I mean.
258: POPE SIXTUS II DIES.
One.
523: POPE HORMISDAS DIES.
Two.
1284: THE REPUBLIC OF PISA IS DEFEATED IN THE BATTLE OF MELORIA BY THE REPUBLIC OF GENOA.
So, People of Pisa, which side are you leaning to?
1458: POPE CALLIXTUS III DIES.
Three.
1777: DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, THE BLOODY BATTLE OF ORISKANY PREVENTS AMERICAN RELIEF OF THE SIEGE OF FORT STANWIX.
Stanwix? Barbara?
1787: SIXTY PROOF SHEETS OF THE US CONSTITUTION ARE DELIVERED TO THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION.
Who's got a red pen?
1806: FRANCIS II, THE LAST HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR, ABDICATES ENDING THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE.
It lasted a lot longer than Vegas thought.
1819: NORWICH UNIVERSITY IS FOUNDED IN VERMONT AS THE FIRST PRIVATE MILITARY SCHOOL IN THE US.
Ten-shun.
1845: THE RUSSIAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY IS FOUNDED.
So now we know what magazines are hanging around dentists' offices in Moscow.
1870: DURING THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR, THE BATTLE OF SPICHEREN IS FOUGHT, RESULTING IN A PRUSSIAN VICTORY.
Who was the winning Prussian pitcher?
1870: DURING THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR, THE BATTLE OF WORTH RESULTS IN A PRUSSIAN VICTORY.
Ah, a day-night doubleheader.
1881: GOSSIP COLUMNIST LOUELLA PARSONS IS BORN.
Do tell.
1890: AT AUBURN PRISON IN NEW YORK, MURDERED WILLIAM KEMMLER BECOMES THE FIRST PERSON TO BE EXECUTED BY ELECTRIC CHAIR.
The more, the merrier.
1911: ACTRESS LUCILLE BALL IS BORN.
This should be a national holiday.
1912: THE BULL MOOSE PARTY MEETS AT THE CHICAGO COLISEUM.
Bullwinkle gets in for free.
1914: SERBIA DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY. AUSTRIA DECLARES WAR ON RUSSIA.
World War II, here we come.
1917: ACTOR ROBERT MITCHUM IS BORN.
Celebrate his birthday. Have some beef.
1926: GERTRUDE EDERLE BECOMES THE FIRST WOMAN TO SWIM ACROSS THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.
Grease is the word.
1928: ARTIST ANDY WARHOL IS BORN.
Celebrate his birthday. Have some Campbell's Soup.
1930: JUDGE JOSEPH CRATER STEPS INTO A NY TAXI AND IS NEVER SEEN AGAIN.
As if this has happened again since?
1938: ACTOR/DIRECTOR PETER BONERZ IS BORN.
Met him once. Saw him twice later at the Egyptian Theater and the Hollywood Bowl.
1942: QUEEN WILHELMINA OF THE NETHERLANDS BECOMES THE FIRST REIGNING QUEEN TO ADDRESS A JOINT SESSION OF THE US CONGRESS.
So, Eleanor Roosevelt doesn't count?
1945: DURING WORLD WAR II, IN HIROSHIMA, THE ATOMIC BOMB IS DROPPED BY ENOLA GAY.
Sayonara.
1946: BASEBALL STAR TONY LAZZARI DIES.
Ciao.
1956: AFTER GOING BANKRUPT, THE DUMONT TELEVISION NETWORK HAS ITS FINAL BROADCAST.
In 2014, it would have had a life as Direct TV Channel 437.
1959: DIRECTOR PRESTON STURGES DIES.
Genius. Buried in the same cemetery with my parents.
1962: JAMAICA BECOMES INDEPENDENT FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM.
More importantly, you can change there for the Long Island Railroad.
1964: PROMETHEUS, THE WORLD'S OLDEST TREE, IS CUT DOWN.
And dogs across the world weep.
1965: US PRESIDENT LYNDON JOHNSON SIGNS THE VOTING RIGHTS ACT OF 1965 INTO LAW.
When can we repeal?
1078: POPE PAUL VI DIES.
Four. Told ya.
1988: THE TOMPKINS SQUARE PARK RIOT IN NYC SPURS A REFORM OF THE NYPD, HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THE EVENT.
Unfortunately, it took a terrorist attack 13 years later to make people respect the cops again.
1991: JOURNALIST HARRY REASONER DIES.
-30-.
2009: DIRECTOR JOHN HUGHES DIES.
Another excuse for Ferris Bueller to take the day off.
2012: COMPOSER MARVIN HAMLISCH DIES.
The way he was.
Dinner last night: Chinese chicken salad.
Here's how stupid the people at the Syfy Network think you are. Apparently they don't think you get the fact that this latest Sharknado mess is a sequel. Not only do they stick the number "2" in the title, but they also remind you that it's the "second one."
Gee, thanks. I guess we are that dumb.
Last year, when "Sharknado 1: The First One" aired, I was prompted by a friend to watch it only because he wanted me to blog about it. Well, heck, I decided to beat him to the punch this year. I might as well attack again. And, believe me, there is plenty to pounce on. Ground beef in a yard full of pit bulls.
Here we go, gang. My review of "Sharknado 2." The second one. Review, that is.
Look at the ad above. I love the marketing logo for the Syfy Network. "Imagine greater." Ha. For me to watch this sequel, I had to imagine again just which channel number the network is on my Direct TV. Like those stations with Korean game shows and Mexican soap operas, Syfy is one of those channels that I have no need for. When television goes to an a la carte system of network selection for its subscribers, Syfy will be one of the first for me to dump. These two fish movies are the only things I have ever watched on there. I mean, do I look like I regularly go to Comic-Con?
So, once I figured out where the network was, I settled in to be the nasty blog writer all over again. And, boy, does this movie make it easy? Beyond the complete ridiculousness of the plot, you get the sense that the producers were trying to be campy and clever. Or so they thought they were. Because, in their efforts to be even bigger, bolder, and more inane than the first Sharknado, they failed miserably.
As we open up the sequel, the hero of the first movie is on a plane, having becoming a celebrity because he was once swallowed by a shark and then chain sawed his way out.. By the way, if you're a chain saw manufacturer and you didn't get any product placement in this edition, you should fire your marketing director ASAP.
But I digress....
Our star, Ian Ziering (and those last three words really don't go together) is flying on a jet liner through a storm. He looks out the window and sees a shark on the wing. Paging Rod Serling and William Shatner from whom this scenario was brazenly ripped off. Well, you're only five minutes in to know that sharks can now exist at 25,000 feet. They also can crash through the roof of a plane and, even worse, damage a beverage cart. Left and right, folks are sucked out of the plane and I was praying that these were all cameos played by actual Syfy Network employees. This is a twenty minute set piece which essentially could be retitled "Sharks on a Plane." I kept waiting for Samuel L. Jackson to show up because, after all, he will do any movie for about a dollar and a half.
We get the first glimpse of the producers' "wink wink" gags when he find out that Robert Hays of "Airplane" fame is flying the plane and wondering whether the passengers had chicken or fish. What? No room for a "Shirley" joke. Meanwhile, in the back of the plane, Ziering's girlfriend pulls out a gun (so much for the TSA agents on duty in this movie) and both her hand and the gun are bitten off by a shark. Have no worries. Both the hand and the gun will be amazingly back by the last reel when they are pulled out of a dead shark.
We learn that all this nonsense is headed straight for New York where a whole bunch of the characters are supposedly gathering for a family reunion. One bunch heads off on the Staten Island Ferry. Another heads to Citi Field for a Met game. One idiot worries about being able to get a ticket. Hello? Have you seen Met attendance figures lately?
Ziering sees the impending doom and must warn and save everybody. I mean, after all, he's dying to be in another Sharknado which will maintain his SAG dues for another year. He runs all over the city battling sharks and raiding hardware stores for chain saws.
Meanwhile, this film was filmed totally in New York and all the locations look marvelous. If only the scenery had been used in a better movie. The film is supposed to take place in July but it's obvious they shot in the dead of winter. Hmmm, how do we solve this? Why? Let's get Al Roker, who conveniently works for the same NBC conglomerate that owns Syfy, to do a weather report explaining that there's an unusual cold front and snow storm headed in from Canada. How freakin' clever. So now, when we see those scenes shot at Citi Field, we can easily explain away the cold breath coming out of the actors' mouths.
The set piece at Citi Field is as laughable as can be. It's supposedly a well-attended game...yes, Met fans...but none of the concession stands are open. And we meet a former Met played from the 80s played by...wait for it...Richard Kind. They show footage of him striking out at Shea Stadium and he reminisces about that happening right down there....pointing to the field. But, wait, aren't we in Citi Field? Talk about non-attention to the detail. Over and over and over again, there are ridiculous inconsistencies in this movie. There's snow on the ground in one shot. There's no snow five feet away in the next. And, for all those familiar with the 7 Subway Train from Flushing to Times Square, you'll know that it doesn't stop at 96th Street. Amazingly, it does in this movie.
But, wait, there's more.
We meet Judd Hirsch. He's a taxi driver. Wink wink wink. There's a guy eating a Subway sandwich. Oh, look, it's that Jason guy. Wink wink wink. One character walks across the backs of some sharks as he jumps across a stream. Hey, he tells us, "I jumped the shark." Wink wink wink WINK! Robert Klein is the New York City mayor and a shark attacked producer Gelman right in the middle of the Kelly Ripa/Michael Strahan morning show. You know that scene got some replays in the Regis and Joy Philbin media room.
All throughout the swill, we get regular updates from those two Today Show morons, Matt Lauer and Al Roker, about the sharks falling from the sky at...get this...a rate of more two inches per hour. Any credibility these two assholes ever had is gone. Oh, who am I kidding? These clowns are journalists as much as I'm a nuclear physicist. But they work at NBC so they were ideal cameos as were a couple of Weather Channel personalities. Syfy falls over itself over and over in its utter non-cleverness. If they really wanted to hawk the NBC brand, I would have loved to see a scene where MSNBC host Al Sharpton is swallowed whole and then spit out by a disapproving shark.
Of course, the commercial breaks are long and plentiful, which means the actual show content in the two-hour time slot is about 47 minutes. We are treated to lots of Twitter responses by "adoring fans" who probably are all dumbbells who work in the marketing department at Syfy.
The ending of the film is ludicrous but welcome. Ziering saves the day and I'm wondering where the brain dead employed at Syfy will set the next one. I mean, they've already tormented New York and, given everything the city went through on 9/11 and during the recent hurricane, the producers did that shamelessly. Maybe "Sharknado 3" can feature an attack on Washington DC. Or Gaza City. Or Nancy Pelosi's backyard. The sharks could break their teeth when they try to chew on the plastic in her face. The possibilities are endless.
The only thing that has a limit is the creativity. PS, there's none. But, what the hell do I know? This piece of crap got big ratings. The Syfy folks may be stupid, but not as dumb as the people they are programming for.
Of course, it gives me blog content so I'm just as guilty. So, yes, I'll be there for the next one.
"Sharknado 3: The Third One."
Dinner last night: Leftover Chinese food.
You will replay this over and over.
Dinner last night: Stir fry beef and vegetables.
Okay, from the title, I obviously couldn't resist the reference to the old vaudeville joke.
"Niagara Falls....slowly I turn...step by step...inch by inch..."
Whatever.
Out of the blue, this tourist attraction and natural phenomenon came into my mind again. When I was flying back to Los Angeles from New York two weeks ago, I discovered I was on the plane with about 25 members of a Mexican tour group. Their guide communicated with them via an annoying clown horn. Meanwhile, each and every tourist was wearing the same damn souvenir T-shirt from Niagara Falls.
Oh, yeah, I thought. I was there. Once.
Back in those days of family vacations that generally occurred when my dad was off the last week of July and the first week of August, he took pictures of everything with his Argus technicolor camera. All the snapshots were then transferred to slides which we view ad nauseum the following winter. Now I clearly remember the slides from the Niagara Falls excursion, although I could never find them when I was cleaning out my father's things after he died. But I swear that one of the slides came back from the developer was a mistake. Or perhaps a joke from the photo lab.
Because it clearly showed the Maid of the Mist boat poised at the very top of the Horseshoe Falls and ready to go over.
I can see it clear as day. And wish I could have found it again. Because it clearly was a great microcosm of the hell that was this vacation.
You see, we were traveling with another family. I've written about them before. My mom's childhood friend and resident floozy Marie. Her big lummox of a hubby Rich. And their neanderthal son Richie who may have been my age but was clearly of a different species.
Forget the fact that my dad really despised Marie. Ignore the fact that he barely tolerated Rich. Or that I dreaded every moment "playing" with Richie. My mother had a blind spot when it came to Marie. And we might as well have all been on that boat going over the falls to a certain death.
Well, there we were. Inexplicably on vacation with these assholes. I was ten years old and sans a vote.
The good news is that we weren't riding with the Munsters to Niagara Falls. We took separate cars and yes, that means we drove. My father didn't go any place unless he could get there with his Buick.
I absolutely hated long car trips. My mom packing dozens of peaches and plums that were force fed to me every ten miles or so. I knew this trip was going to take almost all day. And I remember the signs.
"BUFFALO 400 MILES."
Groan.
"BUFFALO 300 MILES."
Spit out another fruit pit.
"BUFFALO 200 MILES."
I think I'm gonna throw up.
"BUFFALO 50 MILES."
Hey, I must have slept through the 100 mile marker.
We finally stumbled our way into town to find our screwball co-travelers already there. And Marie was already in a snit over the motel that my mom had secured.
"It's filthy. Let's get the hell out of here."
Okay, in the middle of the summer months, try and find a motel in Niagara Falls at the last minute. We spent most of the night in a caravan going from one place to another looking for accommodations that pleased the incredibly picky Marie. We finally found a place that was way out of my dad's price list and, naturally, that erupted into a skirmish between my parents.
Good times. Hey, does anybody know what the Mets did today?
The car ride there had wiped out everybody so our first day in Niagara Falls was spent in the overpriced hotel of Marie's choice. I was already bored. My mom had a solution.
"Why don't you go play in the pool with Richie?"
Audible scream!
Richie was one of those lunkhead kids who had the military on his brain. No matter what he played, it always seemed to be enacted on a World War II beachhead in the South Pacific. With him trying to kill me...the enemy. And, always, with me getting my shirt pulled off. For some reason unknown to this 10 year-old, Richie liked to see me shirtless.
I don't want to know.
Of course, an afternoon in the pool was already playing into his ultra-warped and perhaps homo-erotic play date. I spent the better part of two hours with my head held underwater. There is still water in my ear canals from that day.
I was dying to see a road sign.
"NEW YORK 400 MILES."
That night, Marie again was the ultimate party planner for dinner. She knew that my dad didn't eat Chinese food. And always went out of her way to make sure that we would eat Asian.
"I'm not going out unless we eat Chinks."
Marie was also the ultimate stateswoman.
We basically ate our meals in silence. Marie and Mom were gabbing on. My dad trying desperately to have a conversation with Rich, perhaps about the inherent differences between salt and pepper. As for me, there was still chlorine water dripping out of my head.
Luckily, we finally became tourists the next day and we were more consumed by the attractions then each other. Essentially, in Niagara Falls, you walk around from one set of falls to the other. One is in NY. The other is in Canada. And, of course, you don those yellow rain slickers for the boat ride underneath.
More water for Len.
It was on the boat ride that I noticed the problem. Well, besides Richie, who had concocted some new drama of an enemy Japanese agent hiding on the deck. I remember walking to where my mom and Marie were sitting. My mother's hand went up silently. That was my clue to get lost.
I gladly did so. Finding a spot away from them and definitely away from dopey Richie.
I wouldn't find out till later in the year what the dialogue was all about. Marie was going to ask Jethro Bodine for a divorce. I think both my dad and I had signs of relief.
"She thinks Rich is seeing another woman."
My dad's retort was succinct and to the point.
"Who can blame him?"
Indeed, that day on the Maid of the Mist was really the very last time we ever did anything with this Satanic bunch. Oh, we were there another five days but I had conveniently ended the fun that very night.
I got violently ill.
It was one of those kid illnesses that comes out of nowhere and was all consuming. 103 degree fever. Chills. Vomit. You name it. Even the hotel doctor was called.
I survived. Marie and Rich didn't. We all went home two days early. And the car ride home went a lot faster. Deep down, from the way my parents talked in the front seat, there would be no more vacations with them. Just as my mom had uttered on other summer treks with other families....
"Well, we're not going to travel with them again."
Dinner last night: Pepperoni and olive pizza from Johnnie's.
Sad to say, I had this game.
Dinner last night: BBQ Beef Brisket at the Dodger game.
Arrested for pretending to be a cup cake.
Gee, lots of blue and orange strains. She must be a Met fan.
No brush in the world can fix this.
Opie?
The humidity in these cells really makes my hair frizz.
I just got arrested and I can't do a thing with it.
Does this do scalp massage?
Oh, my God! They've arrested Larry Fine of the Three Stooges.
New hair color---lemon.
Hey, turn off the fan!
This is a great look.....if you've been arrested in 1968.
Looks like his hair was parted by Cecil B. DeMille.
Dinner last night: Sandwich and salad.
