So, What's the Plan?

So, this Friday is D-Day. Or M-Day. The day I decide whether my relationship with the New York Mets will continue.

If you've been following the soap opera here in past posts, the Mets have announced that they will offer partial ticket plans for Citi Field in 2009. Last week, the specific logistics of such purchases were made available. Indeed, past plan holders have been lumped together into one group that can go on-line and select their seats and plans ahead of the general public. This is a far cry from the day when I picked out my Shea Saturday plan seats. Being escorted up to the section in the dead of winter with snow blanketing the field. Nope, after 41 years of faithful invoice paying, I am packaged in with the general public.

The good news? There is a Saturday plan. But, not like the Saturday plan of the past. At Shea, I got the same seats for every Saturday game (always totalling 13) along with the chance to buy one or two games for each postseason series, September stretch drive choke permitting. The Citi Field Saturday plan is, however, a little different. Because Met management now considers some Mondays and Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Thursdays as Saturdays. You can get 10 Saturday games plus 5 other weeknight games. You know the ones I mean? The games that usually go un-sold out in April and May.

Location-wise, there is also a downgrade. At Shea, I was rooted in Loge Section 7 on the aisle. Perhaps one of the best seats in the house. At Citi, there are a number of seat options. When I clicked on the most expensive one, I found the location to be in left field. Len doesn't do outfield seating, folks. Ever. The cheaper plans were in the Citi upper deck down the left or right field lines. The salad days are over. And binoculars are not offered at a discounted rate.

As for the postseason, you are now unguaranteed for seats. But, they will let you go on-line during a presale provided the Met bullpen has not imploded by September 15.

If you're thinking that this is really a non-decision, you don't really know the strange ties I am feeling right now. Could this be the first season in four decades that there is no invoice with my name on it from the Mets? If I've been writing about this trial separation, this news is indeed the final divorce decree. And I am still holding out because that first baseball wife was so loyal for such a long time.

I'm thinking about how to process. I will put in a call to my Mets contact to see if he is at all moved by my supposed lifetime devotion. I will contact my friends who have had seats next to me at Shea for the past 15 years. If they're in, I might be. And then I will use the Met rep to ensure we are seated together. And I'm also looking for your input. Yep, another poll to the right.

At the end of Friday, I may just say "what the fuck." Either way. And enjoy this photo of how I chose to commemorate my years at Shea. I took the two tickets to my very last Saturday game at Shea and had our art department blow them into a framed poster. It hangs in my room for the rest of my days. And perhaps that is the very best way I can move forward.

Dinner last night: Turkey pastrami reuben at the Cheesecake Factory.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - December 1, 2008

Just in time for holiday church going. Some readers will be offended. Sorry.

Dinner last night: Thanksgiving leftovers.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Working the Hollywood Christmas Parade

This annual holiday tradition in Los Angeles happens today. It used to be called the Santa Claus Lane parade, then the Hollywood Christmas Parade. Now, it's the Hollywood Santa Parade. Whatever the case, this was once a big deal and star magnet. From the days when they got the likes of Bob Hope, Lucy and Desi, and Jack Benny to ride on floats, all they get now is the overnight jock at Hot 97 and perhaps some empty-headed bit player from "The Bold and the Beautiful." I can remember watching it in syndication when I was a kid in NY. This year, it's probably going to wind up on public access next to a repeat of last month's City Council meeting.

But, whatever the case, nobody is going to take away from me the experience of actually working at this travesty for about five years straight when I first moved to Los Angeles. I was a volunteer. A community organizer, if you will.

A friend of mine from church (now sadly deceased) used to be in charge of the parade volunteers. So, I was sucked into this "insider's" look at the parade. Except the first year, my assignment was less than plum. Armed with a walkie-talkie that I couldn't figure out, I was stationed as "crowd control" in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard. To make matters worse, I was forced to fear this hideous red vest that made me look like an accident flare on the 405.

While I was not exactly sure why, I allowed myself to get vacuumed up into this disaster the following year. Except this time around, I was put where I indeed belonged. In the celebrity gathering area---the so-called "green room." Which happened to be conveniently located in the bar of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. This is where the D-listers fortified themselves for the upcoming drive down chilly Hollywood Boulevard. I saw Santa Claus poised on a bar stool sucking down a beer. The "renowned" Lorenzo Lamas was there with his whole family and was screaming at his nanny. Comedian Rip Taylor sauntered in and, almost immediately, a parade official pointed discretely at Rip's head. This was the signal that his wig was crooked. Rip gave it a slight tug at the side and recreated his hair styling feng shui.

This would be my perch at the parade for the next three years and nothing could have been sweeter. Watching celebrities behave badly and then slap on an instant smile for the hordes of adoring fans lining the gutters outside. And, of course, this parade offered the location of what would become one of my most ignoble celebrity encounters. I've written about here before, but it bears a repeat reading.
The last year I worked the parade, I was stationed at the door to the "green room." My job was to welcome the celebrities as they drove up and entered the hotel. So, a car pulls up on schedule and out comes two heralded TV moms. Marion Ross from "Happy Days" and Florence Henderson from "The Brady Bunch." Why these two were carpooling is still a mystery to me. But, nevertheless, out they popped and approached the door. Unbeknownst to me, there were three 10 year-old girls lurking about---probably hotel guests. As soon as they saw Mrs. C and Carol Brady, they ran over for autographs.
Marion Ross was a total pro to these kids. Ever gracious, she thanked them for recognizing her and personalized autographs for each of them. Florence did the same, but I could see only the faintest glimmer of a smile.
Now, it was my turn. I held the door open, ready with a smile and a hello for their entrance.
Marion Ross came over first. She wished me a good evening, a Happy Holiday season, and thanked me for holding the door open for her.
Florence Henderson approached next. Once again, I held the door open, ready with a smile and a hello for her.
Except Flo scowled at me.
"You needed to do a better job keeping those kids away from me."
Huh??? I was stunned by her brazen nastiness. All I could mutter was a voice-cracking "Excuse me."
"You heard me. We can't get blindsided by autograph hounds when we show up for these things."
In my own world of suitable responses, I wanted only one. "You fuckin' bitch!" But, I needed to be professional, even though I doubted if I would ever work with her, since she really hadn't done anything new after The $100,000 Pyramid in 1985. I also felt compelled to say something as a semi-representative for the parade.
I responded. "I am sorry, Miss Henderson. I did not see them. And I am sure they are very excited in seeing somebody they have enjoyed on one of their favorite reruns."
She dismissed me with a frown and a wave of her clenched fist. I hoped that she would choke on her Polident-cleaned dentures. Or maybe somebody would bash her skull in with a bottle of Wesson Oil. This woman had parlayed a career out of some crappy TV show that was almost 30 years old. She owes any celebrity to those kids who are, for some bizarre reason, one more generation enamored with that pre-teen-targeted sitcom.
I didn't work the parade the next year. Not if I couldn't live up to Florence Henderson's high standards.
Dinner last night: Asian steak at the Catalina Bar and Grill.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - November 2008

If ever you have the chance to see this on a big screen, please do so. The only way to truly enjoy it.

Dinner last night: Pepperoni pizza at Vito's.

Full of Crap

Those Saturday morning infomercials on TV can be hilarious. And habit-forming. I remember the one from about ten or fifteen years ago. Ron Popeil, that genius inventor, had that spaghetti maker and then was spraying some sort of string or paint on his head to cover up bald spots.

There are others that have become legends. That lady who used to put clothes in a plastic bag that would suck the air out and essentially vacuum wrap your wardrobe for the winter. And there are miracle mops of all shapes and sizes. As if you need an act of God to wipe up a spill on the kitchen floor.

Now the infomercial that is flooding the airwaves is all about your colon. Not the punctuation mark. Your ass. And how backed up we all are. At any given moment in time, we each have about 10 to 20 pounds of excrement that is clogging our internal organs. And the toxins have no place to go but through the pores in our skin. I am looking at my own right now and I see nothing like this. But, apparently, I am crapping right through the hairs on my arm.

The big expert on this subject right now is this creepy looking guy named Klee Irwin. He's got a bunch of pills that will get you moving in just the right way. Literally. He pledges to help you unclog whatever has been stuck in your intestines since the moon landing. If you want to get re-acquainted with the strawberry shortcake served at your eighth birthday party, this guy can help with that reunion. Because, throughout the half-hour, he reminds you that you will be amazed at what you see in your toilet bowl. He talks about length and width and I wonder just how quickly this idiot runs through rulers. According to Klee (even the freakin' name is weird), John Wayne's autopsy uncovered that the cowboy had over 40 pounds of shit in his body probably dating back to meals he had while making "Stagecoach" with Walter Brennan. This fact has been widely refuted as an urban legend. You wonder just how much of the other garbage Klee spews is worthless as well.

Not worthless to him. A two month supply of this swill is $130. It can be at your door in days and then you can be praying to the porcelain god in short order.

These crazy infomercials must exist for a reason. Because there must be fools out there who buy into all these idiotic claims and notions. The dumbing down of America continues. What most people don't realize is that the human body fully contains the capacity to do its own cleaning. If you follow a sensible diet and have a kernel of knowledge, you don't need Klee Irwin's pills. I would love to see just how big a house he lives in.

Even more importantly, I wonder how many bathrooms he has in those mansions.

Dinner last night: Thanksgiving Day repast of the usual fixings.

Happy Thanksgiving from Macy's - 1963

I found these home movies (not mine) of the parade from November 28, 1963. All this mayhem---less than seven days after Kennedy was assassinated. Amazing. By the way, my favorite balloon was always Popeye.

Dinner last night: Dried cappacollo sandwich.

Wednesday: The Last Day for Some Turkeys

And those that make it past Thursday will probably be cutlets by Christmas. You just can't win.

---Flying back from NY, JFK Airport has an interesting car lane. "Kiss and Fly."

---Cute idea, but I hope your towelhead cab driver doesn't get any bright ideas.

---Monday at JFK was quiet, but the check-in desk people were already armoring up for Tuesday and Wednesday.

---With all these folks headed to Grandma's, is the food there that good?

---It wasn't at mine. She could do baked goods splendidly, but...

---Best example: Campbell's Condensed Tomato Soup was used on top of spaghetti.

---I had a real nut next to me in business class. She pissed all over the meal choices because she tries to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

---Except this dimwit proceeded to down one glass of champagne after another while simultaneously inhaling chocolate chip cookies.

---It's truly a shame when nice things are wasted on assholes.

---The lady who invented the Slinky toy died at the age of 90.

---I'm guessing that, in her later years, she had more trouble getting down the stairs.

---Think about it. I'll wait.

---Well, Barry Obama is destined to be our first "green" President. Because he's doing a great job of recycling Bill Clinton's used employees.

---By the way, Mr. Bill has to be the happiest person in America now that his battleaxe will be flying around as Secretary of State.

---I'm thinking that he's been dancing around in his underwear like Tom Cruise in "Risky Business."

---Duane Reades in Chappaqua are buying up Trojan condoms in bulk.

---With the country's economy circling the drain, everybody is comparing this to the great Depression of 1929.

---Like they were there? Huge disconnect. Our unemployment rate is 8%. In 1929, the US unemployment rate was 30%!

---And people weren't out of work because they overspent for a 65 inch high def radio.

---Obama's already inched toward the center and dropped about a half dozen of those brain-dead campaign promises.

---If he's not careful, I may learn to tolerate him.

---But, have no fear, I will always detest you, Michelle.

---Who the hell eats a turnip anyway?

---Holidays in LA are great because everybody clears out of town. In a city where everything is supposed to be just twenty minutes away, you can actually get someplace in forty minutes.

---Unless, of course, you are mindless and need to hit a mall the day after Thanksgiving.

---Stores are actually calling it "Black Friday Sales" as if it's a good thing you are headed into Kohl's at 4AM.

---And if you're handing out gift cards this year, you better make sure that store is still in business come January.

---The only folks working on Thanksgiving are those D-list stars riding in the Macy's Parade. Of course, none of them can find work the other 364 days of the year.

---Who's that on top of the Empire State Building float? Why, it's Joyce Bulifant!!

---If the government bails out Citigroup, do we now change the name of the net Mets stadium to "U.S. Treasury Field?"

Okay, now go stuff yourselves!

Dinner last night: Shrimp and chicken gumbo at the Cheesecake Factory.