Classic Newsreel of the Month - February 2022

Seventy winters ago!

 

Dinner last night:  Jambon beurre sandwich at Petit Trois.

A Cynic's Guide to Valentine's Day Cards

 

Dinner last night:  Taylor Ham-burger.

Hey, Can We Get a Little Light in Here?

 

...said me from my seat watching Guillermo Del Toro's latest travesty "Nightmare Alley."   It's the total antithesis of somebody wanting to see a movie.   Because of the dark 60 watt bulb lighting throughout, you can't see a thing.

Why am I surprised?   This is another bloated affair from Del Toro, whose movies are as large and sloppy as he is.  For some reason, Hollywood adores this swine and even gave him the Best Picture Oscar for the dreadful "Shape of Water."   Well, this year's nominations (as if anybody still cares) came out this week and the love tryst continues.   

Again, I would counter that nobody knows what they are looking at because the film is so excessively dark.   This makes film noir of the 40s look like a Busby Berkeley musical.  Perhaps if you can't see the action on the screen, it will help you overlook the ugly characters prancing around a lack of story.

For those who care, Bradley Cooper plays this...dark...guy who somehow wanders into a...dark...traveling carnival loaded with live chicken eaters, soothsayers, and a woman who electrocutes herself on cue.  That's the first half of the movie.   If you haven't left, the second half takes Cooper to the big city where he becomes a Kreskin-like mentalist in supper clubs.   While there, he hooks up with a...dark...shrink played by Cate Blanchett.

What happened after that?   Your guess is as good as mine.   But, clearly this is a glimpse of Del Toro's childhood and he must have gotten beaten up a lot in the playground.   He seemingly hates everybody.

We're even.   I hate him.   

Hmmm.  Did I actually just write that?   Sorry.  My vision is still adjusting to light.

LEN'S RATING:  Zero stars.

Dinner last night:  Korean pork from PF Chang's.

This Date in History - February 9

 

Yes, Joe Pesci, it's your special day.  We hope we fuckin' amuse you.

1555:  BISHOP OF GLOUCESTER JOHN HOOPER IS BURNED AT THE STAKE.

Hold the onions.  By the way, is this guy any relation to that Gorton's fisherman guy?

1621:  GREGORY XV BECOMES POPE, THE LAST POPE ELECTED BY ACCLAMATION.

These little Vatican factoids always amaze me.  It's only 1621 and there's already been fourteen other Popes named Gregory.

1825:  AFTER NO PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE RECEIVES A MAJORITY OF ELECTORAL VOTES IN THE ELECTION OF 1824, THE US HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES ELECTS JOHN QUINCY ADAMS PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.

Did they try and throw Russia under the bus for this one, too?

1849:  NEW ROMAN REPUBLIC ESTABLISHED.

This time, they were smart.  Fiddles were made illegal.

1861:  DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, JEFFERSON DAVIS IS ELECTED THE PROVISIONAL PRESIDENT OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA.

In retrospect, what was the North fighting for?  Who wants that part of the country anyway?  Think of the money saved from reduced FEMA payouts.

1870:  THE US WEATHER BUREAU IS ESTABLISHED.

Prior to this, every day was a complete surprise.

1885:  THE FIRST JAPANESE GOVERNMENT-APPROVED IMMIGRANTS ARRIVE IN HAWAII.

If only they had stopped there...

1900:  THE DAVIS CUP COMPETITION IS ESTABLISHED.

For those three people who pay attention to the Davis Cup....

1928:  NEWSCASTER ROGER MUDD IS BORN.

And his name remains...mudd.

1942:  DURING WORLD WAR II, TOP US MILITARY LEADERS HOLD THEIR FIRST FORMAL MEETING TO DISCUSS AMERICAN MILITARY WAR STRATEGY.

Okay, we get bombed on December 7.  It takes them almost two months to decide about meeting on this.  Hello?  Was everybody's Outlook broken?

1942:  YEAR-ROUND DAYLIGHT SAVING TIME IS REINSTATED IN THE US AS A WARTIME MEASURE TO HELP CONSERVE ENERGY MEASURES.

Spring ahead, fall ahead.

1943:  DURING WORLD WAR II, ALLIED FORCES DECLARE GUADALCANAL SECURE, ENDING THE BATTLE OF GUADALCANAL.

Might have happened sooner if those tools hadn't dragged their feet booking that first strategy meeting.

1943:  ACTOR JOE PESCI IS BORN.

And don't you fuggedabowtit.

1945:  ACTRESS MIA FARROW IS BORN.

She was out at a supper club with Sinatra that very night.

1950:  SENATOR JOSEPH MCCARTHY ACCUSES THE US DEPARTMENT OF STATE OF BEING FILLED WITH COMMUNISTS.

Liars and crooks, yes.  Communists, no.

1960:  JOANNE WOODWARD RECEIVES THE FIRST STAR ON THE HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME.

It's fascinating what you learn here every Wednesday.

1964:  THE BEATLES MAKE THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE ON THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW.

We love you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

1969:  ACTOR GABBY HAYES DIES.

Now, not so much...

1971:  A 6.4 EARTHQUAKE HITS THE SAN FERNANDO VALLEY AREA OF CALIFORNIA.

Rocking and rolling is here to stay.

1976:  MUSICIAN PERCY FAITH DIES.

He's found a place for the summer.  And the fall.  And the winter.  And forever.

1981:  BILL HALEY OF THE COMETS DIES.

Falling back to earth in a big ole way.

1995:  SPACE SHUTTLE ASTRONAUT BERNARD HARRIS JR. BECOMES THE FIRST AFRICAN AMERICAN TO PERFORM A SPACEWALK.

And also marked the first time the outside of the shuttle was spray painted with graffiti.

2018:  ACTOR JOHN GAVIN DIES.

The boyfriend in "Psycho."

2021:  THE SECOND IMPEACHMENT TRIAL OF DONALD TRUMP BEGINS.

There were like five of them, right?

Dinner last night:   Leftover chicken with vinegar sauce.

Morons of the Month - February 2022

 

As long as there are politicians in this nation, we will always have monthly morons.  And especially those who have a "D" after their name.   Gee, I thought that stood for "Democrat."   Maybe it really signifies "Dummy."

Now, with NY's Bill DeBlasio now doing clean-up on the condiment counter at Burger King, we can officially say without question that Eric Garcetti is the dumbest mayor in the US.   He will hold that title until he is either booted or Mayor Pete goes back to his old job in South Bend.   

There is no better illustration of Garcetti's stupidity than the photo faux pas which caught him maskless at the Rams stadium last week.   When questioned about this, this idiot explained it all away by saying this was only for the selfie and he was holding his breath the entire time.

Hahahahahahahahaha!

If only he could not exhale for about 90 minutes and then we would have a good story.

But lunacy is obviously more contagious than Omicron.   Because, at the very same event, we got the other California shit-for-brains Governor Gavin Newscum caught in a similar selfie.

When caught, Newscum had an explanation that differed from Garshitty's "holding his breath" nonsense.   Nope, Newscum explained that his mask was on at all times and he was holding it at his side.   He only removed it to take a sip of water.

The only people dumber than these two are the ones who pulled the lever next to their names in the voting booth.  That might even be you.

And here's the catch on both of these selfies.   Magic Johnson is also maskless. Now he's as dumb as a door knob, too, but...I mean...he's got an auto immune issue.   Wasn't he deemed HIV Positive 100 years ago?   Shouldn't he be masked at all times?   And not hanging around with these two morons?

This is all a fucking charade.   And surprise...California has now lifted indoor mask mandates.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - February 7, 2022

I'm digging the Oliver the Beagle video channel, partly because he reminds me of the dog I had when I was a kid.   Enjoy and woof.

 

Dinner last night: Chicken in vinegar sauce.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Year I Celebrated My Birthday with Rosemary Clooney

My birthday is this Friday and regardless of how I celebrate, it will never top a birthday I enjoyed about 25 or so years ago.   And it involves none other than the lady in the photo above.

Rosemary Clooney is one of the things I inherited from my parents, other than the maddening mix of personality flaws (stoicism from Dad, impulsiveness from Mom) I got from both. Her music was always playing in our house on those monaural long playing records that were stacked up five-at-a-time on the "Hi Fi." Vikki Carr, for some bizarre reason, was always being piped in throughout the house, and this made no sense to me, as half of her songs were always in Spanish. But, I digress...

I developed an affinity for Rosemary Clooney at an early age, and I continued it as her musical stylings changed over time. Indeed, when she got to that small cabaret stage in the early 90s, this was a fastball over the plate for me. I ate it up. So, you can imagine my absolute glee when I heard that she would be appearing at the old Rainbow and Stars supper club on top of Rockefeller Center on a Saturday evening in February about two plus decades ago. And it was my birthday! Touchdown. Score the goal. Touch 'em all. I would be there.

I made a pact with God not to louse up this amazing quirk of timing. The only thing that could stop me would be one of those crippling blizzards that renders New York City as useful as power brakes on a turtle. I enlisted two cohorts to share in my glory. And then I called for three reservations to the show. And here comes what might have been a fatal mistake.

Supper Club: "Will you be dining with us or just coming for the show?"

Me: (knowing fully well how pricey their menu was) "No, just the show, please."

An oops moment. Except I did not know it at the time.

When the evening arrived, it was cold and blustery. But nary a winter cloud in the sky. The only flakes were the usual tourists that hover around like Rock Center like ants on picnic blanket crumbs. We ate dinner, but at a venue certainly a little more downscale than the 75 buck burgers the supper club was hawking.

An hour before the 11PM show, we made our way up the elevator to that wonderful room that overlooks the entire city. I walked up to the hostess and announced our arrival.

There was no reservation in my name.

WTF!

I stressed there must be some mistake. I recited the day, date, and appropriate time that I called.

Still nothing. Sorry.

And, of course, the show is sold out, so there was no chance of getting another table.

WTF!!

I asked to speak to the manager. He was not available. But we were more than welcome to have a cocktail in the bar and enjoy the view.

Happy birthday to me. And a glorious Fuck You from the Rainbow Room.

My friends did their best over drinks to make me feel better. It didn't work. As I sat there staring at the Empire State Building with that red heart of lights all ready for Valentine's Day, I got more and more agitated. And then I kicked into what I call Murphy Brown mode. Or something akin to that scene in "Terms of Endearment" when Shirley McLaine screams at the nurses' station to get her daughter more medication.

I got ugly.

Leaving my friends with their adult beverages, I went Rainbow Room manager hunting. And I didn't care who I asked. Or interrupted. I finally tracked the guy down in the main part of the Rainbow Room, where he was coordinating somebody's wedding reception.

Yeah, I didn't care.

At first blush, he tried to blow me off. But, then I explained it was my birthday that was now ruined. Of course, I added, other people in the same situation may use that "faux birthday" excuse. I assured him my birthday story was true. I whipped out my driver's license and shoved the date in his face. There was a small glimmer of hope in his face. He told me to go back to the bar and that he would send somebody for us just before the show was scheduled to start.

And he was good to his word. Just before 11PM, the same snarly hostess, who was now off my Christmas card list, came to get us. She explained that the reason for the mix-up was due to a late reservation request from.....Harry Crosby. Okay, if I'm going to get upended by a Crosby kid, make it Mary Crosby. At least, she's the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question. Nevertheless, they were creating an extra table for us. The only caveat was that we couldn't enter the show until the very last minute and we had to do so from a side door. Perhaps, there was surveillance set up by the Fire Department? Who knows?

Anyway, the skank ushered us to said side door. Which was not really a side door. It was actually the wings to the stage.

And we were standing there alongside Rosemary Clooney!

It took me about five seconds to realize that this was the ultimate birthday present. I thought really fast about what to say to her. I know not to say "break a leg." Besides, I know she already had several years before.

Me: "Have a great show."

Rosemary: "I'm a little nervous."

Me: "Don't be. All friends in there."

And Harry Crosby is in my original seats.

Rosemary: (patting my arm) "You're sweet."

And off she went for an hour of musical nirvana.

Oddly enough, after the show, we ran into her again near the coat check. She was apparently using the area to mingle with her friends. I was standing about three feet away from her as she gabbed with Skitch Henderson. Another friend came over to take their picture. I realized I was positioned right in the center of the intended photo. They smiled. So did I. Flash.

I've always wondered if anybody questioned who the hell was this schmuck standing between Rosemary Clooney and Skitch Henderson.

Hey, I'm the one who was celebrating my birthday that night.

When Rosie died in 2002, I posted this story to a memorial website that her family had set up for fans. About three months later, I received a handwritten note from her brother, Nick Clooney (father of George). He mentioned that the family was touched by my story and they wanted to invite me to the Hollywood memorial concert being held later that year. Unfortunately, I couldn't be there. And I didn't need to be.

I still had my story. And I was sticking to it.

It really was my birthday!

Dinner last night:  Tangerine beef at Chin Chin.