Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 17, 2011

Two nights ago, we celebrated the 60th anniversary of the premiere episode of "I Love Lucy."  Enjoy again one of the great scenes from this series. Lucy and Ethel are hiding eggs. This is supposedly the longest single laugh in TV history.

Dinner last night:  Jumbalaya.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Attic

Last week, we "toured" the basement of my childhood.  Today, let's soar to the top of my house on Fifteenth Avenue in Mount Vernon, New York. 

The attic.

Now, from this recent photo of my old home, I look at that very top window and I see something that leads me to believe that the attic's use is now vastly different from my youthful days.  There's a satellite dish on the ledge.  And a window air conditioner.  Could somebody actually be living up there???

Back in the day, the route to the attic was a long one.  Up the stairs from my grandparents' residence on the first floor to where my folks and I lived on the second floor.  Then another series of winding stairs up to the attic, which was really nothing more than, well, an attic.  Dark, musty, and dusty. 

While my basement offered me an open space from which to craft my imaginary television shows, the attic was really very cramped and restricting.  Because of the sloping roof, there was limited place to walk.  And, if you got too close to the crawlspace near the roof, there were nails sticking out of the ceiling.  Ouch.

There were two basic areas in the attic where you could stand up tall.  The center of the attic in the front and the back.  The portion in the rear was used for storage of items that had seen better days when Eleanor Roosevelt was still the First Lady.  Old and imposing easy chairs covered with slipcovers that might have been first used when Edith Wilson was still the First Lady.   My grandmother had a huge wooden trunk up there, loaded with linens that were now buffet tables for moths.  I'd often ask why she kept this stuff.

"You don't throw anything out.  We might need this some day."

Really???  Just how poor do we have to get before we pull out this smelly quilt from 1923???

I found another interesting relic in my haunts of the attic.  An old-fashioned school desk.  If you looked closely, you could see initials carved in the top.  Perhaps my dad's.  Or maybe it's Warren G. Harding's.  It was hard to tell.  Who had used this before?  It certainly had never been in my room. 

When I opened the top of the desk, I always found the same things inside.  Loads and loads of movie magazines.  This smacked of my mom, who read regularly such gossip rags as "Photoplay" and "TV/Radio Mirror."  She had obviously shoved some back issues in here for no other reason than this was the only empty space she could find.  I remember opening up one of these magazines and I would see the same story every time.

"Liberace....Still Looking for the Special Young Lady."

Really??????  I didn't know any better when I was six. 

Now, the front portion of the attic had some promise.  Or so my dad had apparently thought.  On each side of the room were newly installed wood beams that were destined to hold up some plasterboard walls.   Those boards were there lying on the floor waiting to be nailed up.   There was a jamb just dying for a door to be attached.  And, in the center of the alleged room, there was a huge kick-ass billiard table from the early 1900s.

Here's the back story...

My dad and his older brother, more commonly known as Uncle Fritz, had decided to turn our attic into a big play area.  Or a pool hall.  I have a faint memory of the two of them, twisting and turning up that winding staircase with those plaster boards.  How the pool table got up there is anybody's guess.  It was allegedly pure granite or slate.  The tale I heard was that they had purchased the pool table in pieces and reconstructed it up in the attic.  I pretty much stayed away of all the goings-on up there.  I was clearly in the way.  All I knew was that our attic was going to be some dynamite recreation room.

Then, Uncle Fritz had some sort of a routine surgery, got an infection as a result, and died at the age of 45.

The attic project was over. 

My father rarely went up to the attic again.

Almost twenty years later, when the house was sold and we all vacated, the attic was relatively unchanged.  The wooden beams were still naked.  The door jamb was still empty.  And the plaste rboards were still lying on the floor.  My dad was that affected by his brother's early departure.

Of course, the billiard table was alive and well.  It provided hours of untold pleasure for my older cousins who used to retire up there for some "8-ball" after holiday dinners.  But it was never ever the same for my father.

When I got a little older, the pool table was there for me, too.  Oh, I never became anything close to Minnesota Fats.  But, it was a diversion for my neighborhood chums like Leo to play some billiards.  Or whatever an eleven-year-old with a cue stick might play.

Of course, our matches frequently dissolved into sports that were completely different.  Billiards would become a version of air hockey with cue balls.  We'd fling them across the table with abandon.  Fingernails got bruised.  And, from time to time, a ball would fly off the table.  One wound down the crawlspace of the house and might have nestled somewhere just above the first floor.  Another flew out the very window you see in the photo above.  Hit the sidewalk, rolled down the street, and landed in the sewer drain on First Street.

Yeah, we could be deadly.

The hole in the window pane created a small problem.  In those days, fessing up to your evil deed was not an option.  I simply pulled down the shade so the smashed glass was hidden.  Given that an adult rarely climbed up to the attic, it wasn't discovered for months.  The mound of snow on the floor in December was a dead give-away.

In much later years, the plastic cover on the billiard table was rarely removed as well.  It, like virtually everything else in the attic, had reached its expiration date of utility.  The only time anybody ventured up there was to retrieve the Christmas decorations. 

We had an artificial tree that always sat on top of our TV set every holiday season.  Eventually, my folks even got tired of decorating that.  So, my dad grabbed a dry cleaning bag and came up with a novel time saver.  The tree would never be "taken down."  On January 2, he simply would put the plastic bag over the decorated tree and carry it up to the attic.  Every Christmas, we could have the house decorated in the space of ten minutes.

You'd go up to the attic in the middle of the summer.  There would be the pool table still ready for memories that would never ever be made.  And, smack in the middle of it, our Christmas tree waiting to be displayed again for one more year.

Dinner last night:  Prsocuitto, mozzarella, and Kalamata olives on a panini at Fabiolus Cafe.

Classic TV Theme of the Month - October 2011

I always loved the super-odd mix of guest stars every week.  And this clip is no exception.


Dinner last night:  Assorted Chinese dishes at Panda Inn in Glendale.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for October 2011

You may be wondering.  Is this a photo of some police state gearing up to beat back senseless mobs?

Nope.  These would be the ushering staff at the former and legendary Radio City Music Hall.  At the ready to show you to your seat.  And you can be sure there was something good up on the screen.

That was then.  This is now.  A time where garbage abounds at your local black box of a cinema.  You know the routine, gang.   I'll sift through the Los Angeles Times entertainment section and give you my gut reaction on what's soiling the screen in your neighborhood.

The Lion King 3D:  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  This is Disney's most overrated cartoon work with a story that is about as trite as they come.  The circle of life is really square.

50/50:  Reviewed earlier this week by yours truly.  The movie runs about 100 minutes.  Fifty of them work.  The fifty that include the absolutely atrocious Seth Rogen do not.

Footloose:  Okay, folks, here's a shameless admission.  The original is one of my true guilty pleasures.  I just watched the Blu-Ray version last weekend.  I have no clue why they felt a need to remake it, even with the exact same music.  That said, what time does the bargain matinee start?

Dolphin Tale:  Flipper with a broken fin.  That had to be the one-line pitch meeting that prompted this to get a green light.  I am already working up something similar.  Lassie with Tourettes.

Dirty Girl:  It's 1987 and Danielle, the high school 'Dirty Girl', is running away. With her is chubby, gay Clarke, a bag of flour called Joan and a Walkman full of glorious 80's tunes.   And when did you actually think we would look back on that decade fondly?

Drive:  From what I hear, you need to put your car in reverse.

Moneyball:  You read it here first.  This might be the best 2011 movie so far. 

The Ides of March:  George Clooney writes, directs, and acts.  It's all about some corruption in a Presidential campaign.  Could be straight out of the front pages of your local newspaper.  If only your local newspaper had the guts to print the truth.

Real Steel:  Set in the near future, where robot boxing is a top sport, a struggling promoter feels he's found a champion in a discarded robot. During his hopeful rise to the top, he discovers he has an 11-year-old son who wants to know his father.   Hugh Jackman stars in what is essentially a big screen version of a "Rock'Em, Sock'em Robots" commercial.

Abduction:  A thriller centered on a young man who sets out to uncover the truth about his life after finding his baby photo on a missing persons website.   Taylor Lautner stars, so don't expect to see the hero wearing a shirt.  Strictly for 17-year-old girls and 28 year-old gay men.

The Thing:  I actually have read on-line some idiots wondering how this will compare to the 1982 version.  Hello, schmucks!  The original came out in the 50s and was light years ahead of the first remake.  Another example of how Hollywood can't leave bad enough alone.

The Big Year:  Three bird watchers engage in a fierce competition to spot the most specimens.  If you think that sounds dreadful, this is a comedy starring Jack Black, Owen Wilson, and Steve Martin.  You're probably right.

Father of Invention:  After 8 years in prison, inventor Robert Axle struggles to win over his estranged family and catch up on current technology as he works to once again become the king of the infomercial.   Kevin Spacey stars and, if you ever got ripped off by one of those Ron Popeil pasta makers, this might be the movie for you.

The Woman:  A lawyer captures a feral woman living in the woods and attempts to civilize her.  Take it from somebody who's known his share of feral women.  It ain't possible.  I offer as evidence my four years at Fordham University.

Hell and Back Again:  This follows a company of U.S, Marines in Afghanistan and a sergeant attempting to readjust to civilian life.  How many times are we going to see this plot?  I'm waiting to see a good and clever new movie about the trials and tribulations of somebody who enlisted in the Coast Guard.

Trespass:  Nicolas Cage and Nicole Kidman are part of a family fighting off a home invasion.  Well, how bad do you think the thugs have it?  To break into a home and find these two boring lummoxes in the house.

The Skin I Live In:    That goofy Spanish director Pedro Almodovar tells a story about a plastic surgeon played by the even goofier Antonio Banderas, who looks like he's had some Botox injections himself.  It's probably in Spanish, so your in-theater nap will be officially called a siesta.

Back Door Channels:  A documentary about the 1979 Camp David mideast peace accords.  This is what put the moronic Jimmy Carter on the map as a remarkable statesman.  Uh-huh.  Meanwhile, that peace lasted about as long as long as Faye Dunaway's sitcom.  PS, that show ran six weeks.

Killer Elite:  When his mentor is taken captive, a retired member of Britain's Elite Special Air Service is forced into action. His mission: kill three assassins dispatched by their cunning leader.   This one's got Jason Statham, Clive Owen, and Robert DeNiro.  With its video game-like plot, it hasn't got me.

Dream House:  Soon after moving into their seemingly idyllic new home, a family learns of a brutal crime committed against former residents of the dwelling.   What did they simply call this "Amityville Horror 5" and be done with it?

The Help:  We still haven't sent this mess to the unemployment office??? 

Contagion:  Trust me.  It's not catching.

Texas Killing Fields:  In the Texas bayous, a local homicide detective teams up with a cop from New York City to investigate a series of unsolved murders.   Hmmm.  Mismatched police guys forced to team up.  Did this work the other 4,561 times Hollywood used this plot???

The Sons of Tennessee Williams:  A documentary about gay men in New Orleans.  Just in case you thought this was a western like "The Sons of Katie Elder."

The Man Nobody Knew: In Search of My Father, CIA Spymaster William Colby:  With that title, this will be The Film Nobody Saw.

Fireflies in the Garden:  Ryan Reynolds and Julia Roberts in a family full of dysfunction.  So was I.  Never got into a movie, though.


Dinner last night:  German cold cut sandwich.

Yay! I Finished Another Book - "Demonic" by Ann Coulter

Yes, I did.  And I probably just turned off half my readers.  The other half?  I can hear you applauding.

Just so you know, I was given this book.  But, of course, I guess I could easily have left it on the shelf with the two dozen other tomes I have yet to crack.  I'm usually not a fan of "current event" books like this.  I prefer to concentrate in national issues that are at least ten to twenty years in the past.  But, I had been recently amused by author Ann Coulter on some interview shows. 

The cover is lifted.  I attack page one.

And I am certainly glad that I did.  "Demonic" has a point of view for sure.  If you're on the uber-left, you would hate it.  But, as I sit usually on the right side just degrees off the gooey, gooey middle, this book resonated with me.  I was enamored primarily because Coulter writes with such a wonderfully sardonic wit.

She's clearly a conservative, but, as you delve into the pages, you are painted a fairly accurate (and well documented) picture of the absolute hypocrisy that envelops our political scene these days.  Coulter starts with the horrific French Revolution, which is now revered in hindsight but, in reality, this mob uprising was absolutely maniacal in its grass roots.  All other historical "protests' are direct offshoots of the screwballs that stormed the Bastille.

These days, there is no place where an informed person can get true, unbiased journalism.  There are no longer journalists, only pundits, comedians, and psychos.  "Demonic" shows you how all of the above have contributed to incite the masses.  And she works very hard to show you that history has been rewritten and overwritten to fit into the talking points that are frequently espoused by the loons who run this country.  This book is funny, insightful, and, from time to time, thoroughly depressing.  But what isn't these days in this dying nation called the United States of America?

Take the civil rights movement, for instance.  While I knew that Democrats in the past were truly against desegregation, I had no idea how strongly.  Indeed, the United States President that introduced the most desegregation regulations was none other than the evil Richard Nixon.  The way the sides have been played up, you probably wouldn't automatically think that.  Civil rights has really only been adopted by the Democratic Party in the past four decades.  Why?  They figured that voting bloc had gotten too big to ignore.

"Demonic" is even more timely today as yet another mob movement grows across the country.  The numbskulls who are protesting Wall Street greed are proudly "occupying" cities across the country, although most don't even know why.  By occupying New York or Los Angeles, these are idiots who can barely occupy their own minds.  Their recent actions are an up-to-date illustration of what Coulter is trying to show in her book. 

Over and over and over, Coulter researchs and presents other wild inconsistencies that had my jaw dropping on a page-by-page basis.  I consider myself usually a pretty good resource on American history.  Yet, I learned stuff in these pages that really illuminated just how badly the mainstream media has duped the average Joe Blow citizen.  No longer are there facts.  Only crazy spins on half-truths. 

As someone who would describe himself as conservative on fiscal issues and slightly liberal on some social issues, I'd more likely accept a dinner invitation from Ann Coulter than to shun her.  And I'd probably be viewed as someone closer to a tea party than a coffee klatch. 

Of course, if you listen to one side of the aisle, my conservatism translates to racism, hatred, and a wildly violent streak.  The fact that it does not and I can still clearly write a concise sentence on this blog is another validation of Coulter's argument.  In the mob rule of our daily issues, you are absolutely vile if you choose to disagree.

I didn't realize I would discover just how much in the course of reading "Demonic."  As a matter of fact, I'd get the perfect illustration of what Coulter is talking about.  On a plane ride to Dallas last week.

Apologizing ahead of time to those who hate capitalism, I had been upgraded to first class on my recent flight to Texas from Los Angeles.  A million mile Platinum status on American Airlines will do that from time to time.  As I settled into the window seat of 3A, my "row mate" arrived.  A very well-dressed Black woman who was immediately a bit self-important as she argued over the tartness of the complimentary orange juice given to her by an unsuspecting flight attendant.  Nevertheless, Miss 3B was kind enough to greet me as she sat down.

"Good morning, there."

I reciprocated in kind and immediately popped my ear plugs in.  Okay, a word of advice to all of you who might be flying in proximity to me.  Unless you are either Ann-Margret, Vin Scully, or Valerie Bertinelli, don't try to engage me in an in-flight conversation.  I'm on board to simply get from one place to the next.  I am not looking to expand my Christmas card list. 

We soon took off and a wonderful breakfast was served.  I listened to Miss 3B complain that there were only two choices for her morning meal.  I wanted to suggest to her that there was a seat in coach if she wanted.  Back behind the curtain, you have lots of choices.  From granola bars to pre-packaged muffins to cans of Pringles potato chips.  I resisted the urge to defend our erstwhile flight attendant and I simply polished off my omelette. 

The dishes were cleared and most of us dove into our reading material for the rest of the ride.  Miss 3B had brought along Daily Variety and the Hollywood Reporter, so she obviously was "in the business."  As for me, I wanted to finally finish the book I was reading.  "Demonic" by Ann Coulter.

I caught Miss 3B glancing over to see what I was reading.  And, after noting the back cover with a photo of Miss Coulter propped up on a stool, the reasonably polite demeanor of Miss 3B took a decided and sharp "left" turn.  I could almost feel her body language scream at me.

"Oh, you're one of THOSE."

She immediately viewed me as a conservative, a greedy rich guy, and, oh, yeah, probably a bigot.  Every action for the rest of the flight took on pronounced violence.  She didn't simply replace the tray to the arm rest.  She slammed it in.  She couldn't seem to get comfortable in her seat.  Every few minutes, I was elbowed or poked in some fashion.  All of this with semi-audible "harumphs" and "tsks."

I guess I could have been annoyed.  I silently found it hilarious.  She actually was uncomfortable sitting next to me.  And I enjoyed every moment of it.  What else could I do?  I wanted to suggest to her that there wasn't enough cord on my headphones to lynch her from the bulkhead.  Just in case she was worried...

Nope, I resisted that urge and others.  I simply continued reading my book.  And noting that everything Ann Coulter had written down was playing out before my very eyes.  I was a horrible person.  Because I may have had a viewpoint that was different from the lady writhing in the seat next to me.

Of course, the piece de resistance happened when we were getting up to disembark.  Miss 3B took the sweater that had been draped around her seat and pulled it off with such abandon that she whacked me across the face with it.  Take that, you fiendish, murderous racist!

I said nothing.  I tucked "Demonic" into my bag.  Never before had a book so quickly proved to be so dead-on accurate.  As I was leaving the plane, I turned to the flight attendant who was "byuh byuh-ing" us on the way out.

"Thank you for everything and, oh, by the way, the orange juice was perfect."

She smiled back.  Boy, do I have a book for you!

Dinner last night:  Cervelat sandwich.

This Date in History - October 12

Today's date is a stretch....wink, wink.

539 BC:  THE ARMY OF CYRUS THE GREAT OF PERSIA TAKES BABYLON.

Later on, he set his sights on Islip and Ronkonkoma.

638:  POPE HONORIUS I DIES.

The first is now last.

642:  POPE JOHN IV DIES.

Four years later and we get to cart another one around Vatican Square.

1216:  KING JOHN OF ENGLAND LOSES HIS CROWN JEWELS IN THE WASH.

Now I realize that The Wash is a body of water, but this is quite amusing as written.  No need for embellishment from yours truly.

1492:  CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS' EXPEDITION MAKES LANDFALL IN THE CARIBBEAN.  THE EXPLORER BELIEVES HE HAS REACHED SOUTH ASIA.

He lands in the Caribbean and that constitutes the discovery of America?  Well, of course, everybody there is now living here.  Meanwhile, if he thought he was in South Asia, how screwed up were his maps???

1582:  BECAUSE OF THE IMPLEMENTATION OF THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR, THIS DAY DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS YEAR IN ITALY, POLAND, PORTUGAL, AND SPAIN.

Mention of these entries almost make me smile.  As if the folks in Poland aren't already screwed up with the regular calendar.

1692:  THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS ARE ENDED BY A LETTER FROM MASSACHUSETTS GOVERNOR WILLIAM PHIPS.

And that's a big "whew" from Endora.

1773:  AMERICA'S FIRST INSANE ASYLUM OPENS FOR "PERSONS OF INSANE AND DISORDERED MINDS."

Today, it's simply called Congress.

1810:  DURING THE VERY FIRST OKTOBERFEST, THE BAVARIAN ROYALTY INVITES THE CITIZENS OF MUNICH TO JOIN THE CELEBRATION OF THE MARRIAGE OF CROWN PRINCE LUDWIG OF BAVARIA TO PRINCESS THERESE VON SACHSEN-HILDBURGHAUSEN.

Princess Therese gives good head cheese.  (A cap tip to the Bibster for offering up that line.)

1823:  CHARLES MACINTOSH OF SCOTLAND SELLS THE FIRST RAINCOAT.

With two pairs of pants.

1870:  GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE DIES.

Couldn't handle the loss, could you?

1892:  THE PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE IS FIRST RECITED BY STUDENTS IN MANY US PUBLIC SCHOOLS, AS PART OF A CELEBRATION MARKING THE 400TH ANNIVERSARY OF COLUMBUS' VOYAGE.

Was it also recited in Haiti and Southern Asia?

1901:  PRESIDENT THEODORE ROOSEVELT OFFICIALLY RENAMES THE EXECUTIVE MANSION TO THE WHITE HOUSE.

Trying to increase value when he has to sell.

1904:  CHINESE WRITER DING LING IS BORN.

Mentioned for obvious reasons.  I hope his middle name starts with an "A."

1918:  A MASSIVE FOREST FIRE KILLS 453 PEOPLE IN MINNESOTA.

Not to mention a shitload of animals.

1921:  GUMBY CREATOR ART CLOKEY IS BORN. 

When the rubber met the drawing pad.

1928:  AN IRON LUNG RESPIRATOR IS USED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A BOSTON HOSPITAL.

And Aqualung was played for the first time on a dormitory stereo in 1971.

1935:  BASEBALL PLAYER/BROADCASTER TONY KUBEK IS BORN.

Watch out for that bad hop, Tony.

1953:  "THE CAINE MUTINY COURT MARTIAL" OPENS AT THE PLYMOUTH THEATER IN NEW YORK.

Who ate my strawberries???

1960:  NIKITA KHRUSHCHEV POUNDS HIS SHOE ON A DESK AT A UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY MEETING TO PROTEST A PHILIPPINE ASSERTION OF SOVIET UNION COLONIAL POLICY BEING CONDUCTED IN EASTERN EUROPE.

He might not been so quick to do this if he realized he had a hole in his sock.

1962:  ACTOR CARLOS BERNARD IS BORN.

Tony Almeida of "24!!!!!!!!"

1964:  THE SOVIET UNION LAUNCHES THE VOSKHOD I INTO EARTH ORBIT AS THE FIRST SPACECRAFT WITH A MULTI-PERSON CREW WITHOUT SPACE SUITS.

Because it would be no fun sitting naked all by yourself.

1969:  SKATER SONJA HENIE DIES.

She didn't live long enough to see the Mets win the World Series.

1970:  PRESIDENT RICHARD NIXON ANNOUNCES THAT THE UNITED STATES WILL WITHDRAW 40,000 MORE TROOPS FROM VIET NAM BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

Better late than never.

1972:  EN ROUTE TO THE GULF OF TONKIN, A RACIAL BRAWL INVOLVING MORE THAN 100 SAILORS BREAKS OUT ABOARD THE NAVY CARRIER USS KITTY HAWK.

Why do I think this started by somebody saying, "Yo Mama?"

1985:  TV ANNOUNCER JOHNNY OLSON DIES.

And God says..."Come on up...."

1986:  ELIZABETH II AND PRINCE PHILIP VISIT THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CHINA.

There's no Chinese take-out that delivers near Buckingham Palace?

1989:  ANIMATOR JAY WARD DIES.

"Wanna see me pull a casket out of my hat?"

1997:  SINGER JOHN DENVER DIES IN A PLANE CRASH.

From Rocky Mountain High to Pacific Ocean Low.

1999:  THE FORMER SOVIET REPUBLIC OF ABKHAZIA DECLARES ITS INDEPENDENCE FROM GEORGIA.

First, the burning of Atlanta and now this???

1999:  BASKETBALL STAR WILT CHAMBERLAIN DIES.

How did they fit him into the coffin?

2000:  THE USS COLE IS BADLY DAMAGED BY TWO SUICIDE BOMBERS, KILLING 17.

This is how all this shit got started.

2002:  MUSICIAN RAY CONNIFF DIES.

I think of him every time I get in an elevator.

2003:  JOCKEY WILLIE SHOEMAKER DIES.

Now he was easy to fit into that coffin.

Dinner last night:  German salami sandwich and salad.

50/50: The Most Accurate Movie Title in History

Movie titles sometimes make no sense.  In the case of "50/50," the title is dead-on perfect.  Boy, they got that right.  Because it really is one-half of a decent movie.  The other half?  Well, don't ask.

"50/50" is probably a tough film to market.  It's all about a young man's unexpected battle with a deadly cancer.  Unless you read about it beforehand, you'd look at the ad above and think that, perhaps, this is going to be a big screen version of "Gomer Pyle USMC."   With Seth Rogen mugging in the background, the target audience would appear to be men between the ages of 18-24.  With the typical profanity, sexual references, and bodily noises these dummies love so much. 

Oh, you get a lot of that in "50/50."  And that's why the title is so appropriate.  Because one-half of the movie destroys the other half.  It would be sort of like going on a tour of the Louvre and noticing that subway graffiti art was hanging right alongside the Mona Lisa,  You can't make a tasty salad dressing by mixing balsamic vinegar with motor oil.

If you are, unlike the young male audience that generally dominates the multiplexes of America, doing your homework on new movie releases, you will know that "50/50" is a true story about a young guy's battle with spinal cancer and how it impacts those family members and friends around him.  Will Reiser is the screenwriter and this is his real-life tale.   Indeed, Seth Rogen is one of the producers and is essentially playing himself as the sick kid's best friend.    If you're worrying about a down ending, don't.  Reiser is still with us.  And, sadly, so is Rogen. 

In my humble opinion, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who plays the cancer-ridden hero, is one of the best young actors working in films today.  He's good because he hasn't sunk to the low, low, low standards others his age have by resorting to roles that are based in gross humor.  His work in the wonderful "(500) Days of Summer" is a perfect example of that.  Layered, nuanced, focused acting.  In "50/50," he is again phenomenal as a guy dealing with the most dreaded medical prognosis you can get.  Levitt paints us a canvas of many, many shades as he gropes with his mortality which is also impacting his family and friends.  The words are obviously on the page and, for that, screenwriter Reiser gets kudos for translating honesty and humor to the screen.  Every moment Levitt is on screen is riveting.

Except when he is sharing the white space with his best buddy as played by the consistently atrocious Seth Rogen.  If this is indeed what Rogen is like in real life, then he's as big a jerk as I think he is.  When his character makes an appearance in the story, the story is virtually hi-jacked by a splinter group from Al Qaeda. 

Rogen, who as an actor is nothing more than John Belushi without the heroin track marks, acts with his face and his volume.  The louder he can get and the more profane he can be, the better he thinks he's acting.  Except he's not.  Suddenly, a decent and rich film about beating cancer becomes "National Lampoon's Malignant Tumor."

"50/50," as a result of Rogen's presence in the film, becomes nothing more than a cinematic rendition of the U.S. Congress---polarized to extremes.  It's not helping our government and it certainly does nothing to enhance this movie.  I had so many highs and lows watching "50/50" that I thought I had become a diabetic.  I went from a moment where I loved this story and, literally fifteen seconds later, I couldn't wait for it to be over.  And this pattern of flip-flopping continued over and over and over again.

Rogen's awful work in this film is further illuminated when you look at the rest of the cast besides Levitt.  Anjelica Huston, always a pro, conjures up memories of Ida Morgenstern, as Adam's overbearing mother who is also dealing with a husband who no longer knows what planet he is on.  Bryce Dallas Howard, Ron's daughter, has another thankless role as Adam's phony girlfriend and, in some scenes, she really looks like Opie in a smart blouse and slacks combination.  Bryce, already shanghai-ed in the awful "Help,"  really needs to get her agent to find some movie roles that won't provoke hissing from an audience.

And the best of the best is the magnificent Anna Kendrick, so good in "Up in the Air" and even better here as Adam's therapist.  Her scenes with Levitt burn a hole in the screen and I really wish they made up the other fifty percent of the film.  She's also adorable and, if I were 25 years younger, I might be stalking her house as we speak.  Of course, I might be doing the same with Rogen, but only to see if I could slash his tires and prevent him from driving onto a studio lot ever again.

"50/50" left me excited and it left me angry.  Exhileration and exapseration are two emotions that don't co-exist well.  Maybe that's a bit of what a cancer patient deals with on a daily basis.  But, I don't think the impetus for my reaction was what screenwriter Will Reiser intended.  I totally salute him for beating the odds and bringing a wonderful story to the screen.  If only he would have realized that half is more.

Now, cancer-free, it might be time for Will to find a better class of actor to be his best friend. 

Dinner last night:  Leftover bratwurst and vegetables.