Yeah, it's all on me now.
As an independent business person, I now shoulder the responsibility of paying for my health care in full. I was on one of those blasted COBRA plans for a while, but that ran out. After my financial consultant did an exhaustive search of the marketplace, I finally got hooked up with a new insurance provider. And, per his directive, I steered completely clear of those Obamacare exchanges which he predicts will promptly collapse in a year or two.
So, it's extra money outgoing every month. My deductible is sky high but I'll hit it quickly when I get run over by a bus on Wilshire Boulevard. That said, I am not actively seeking a speeding bus on Wilshire Boulevard. But, it's something that I have to do because I do take care of myself. Plus I like my doctors and I am keeping my doctors.
But, even with this new but necessary hassle, I have uncovered a bright side to it all. The silver lining that supposedly exists with every dark cloud. Pick whatever your favorite metaphor is.
Because I changed my health plan coverage, I never again have to walk into a CVS pharmacy. Praise God.
About ten years ago, I did all my regular prescriptions at the pharmacy embedded in the Ralph's Supermarket in Westwood. Okay, it wasn't exactly like when I was a kid and you got the personal care and attention of your local drug store proprietor, in my case, either Mr. Goldstein or Mr. Post. But the Ralph's pharmacists were very professional and nice to deal with. I would use their automated refill phone line to call in and then I simply picked up my prescriptions somewhere between the milk refrigerator and the frozen food counter.
My last regular employer, however, changed health care companies several years later and you were required to get all your prescriptions either by mail or at a CVS pharmacy near you. The good news is that there was a CVS in my neighborhood. The bad news is that this CVS might as well have been in Islamabad. Or Tijuana. Or Tokyo. Or anyplace except America.
Okay, given the diverse nature of the metropolis in which I live, I can expect to be confronted by a variety of nationalities, races, and creeds as I go about my weekly errands. At the CVS near me, every single person behind the pharmacy counter is either Arabic or Asian. That wasn't a problem for me. Until I started to actually try and get my prescriptions.
First off, there is always a line of at least six or seven people waiting. Part of the problem here is that there is always a language barrier between the customer and the pharmacy worker. I might be crazy but I still like it when I get to press "1" to continue in English. At this CVS, it's "4." Right behind Chinese, Arabic, and Spanish.
So, as a result, nobody can get their prescriptions picked up in under an hour. And don't expect them to be correct either. Probably half of the time that I used CVS for renewals I called in electronically, the orders were A) not ready B) wrong or C) needing a doctor call that never seemed to get made. Meanwhile, you'd stand there for 45 minutes and keep hearing the same announcement over the PA.
"Pharmacy call holding on Line 1."
"Pharmacy call holding on Line 2."
"Pharmacy call holding on Line 3."
This was sheer torture. I thought about seeking out another CVS outlet but friends told me they were just as bad. I started to wonder if CVS was a plot against Americans. Forget about the damage that can be done by Ebola Al Qaeda or ISIS. The really efficient way to kill Americans is by fucking up their statins and pain medication at your neighborhood CVS.
So, when I was at last relieved of this burden by switching health care plans, I hightailed it right back to Ralph's. And, yes, it is an international conclave behind that counter, too. But all of them speak perfect English. When I asked the head guy to call CVS and get my prescriptions moved, he was happy to do so.
"We're doing that a lot lately."
No shit, Sherlock.
And when he loaded me into their system, he immediately told me that my Celebrex was not covered by my new plan. I explained that nobody covers it and I've been paying full price for several years. The druggist then stunned the heck out of me.
"Here's a link to a website where you can get discount coupons for Celebrex."
Me. Jaw. Floor.
The druggist welcomed me back to the fold. And now, when I pass by the CVS hell hole I used to visit, I only feel compassion for the folks in there. Those waiting in front of the counter since yesterday. Trying to spell the word "Crestor" to somebody who doesn't even use our alphabet.
Dinner last night: Hamburger and salad.
Yeah, 63 years ago tonight, we met these four for the first time. And the world is better because we did.
1066: EDGAR THE AETHELING PROCLAIMED KING OF ENGLAND, BUT NEVER CROWNED. HE REIGNS UNTIL DECEMBER 10, 1066.
Well, that wasn't even worth the moving expenses.
1529: THE SIEGE OF VIENNA ENDS AS THE AUSTRIANS ROUT THE INVADING TURKS, TURNING THE TIDE AGAINST A CENTURY OF CONQUEST BY THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE.
Just the word "Ottoman" puts me to sleep like I was in 10th grade World History.
1582: POPE GREGORY XIII IMPLEMENTS THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR. IN ITALY, POLAND, PORTUGAL, AND SPAIN, OCTOBER 4 IS FOLLOWED DIRECTED BY OCTOBER 15.
And that totally fucks up Hallmark.
1783: THE MONTGOLFIER BROTHERS' HOT AIR BALLOON MARKS THE FIRST HUMAN ASCENT.
It's all descent after that.
1793: QUEEN MARIE ANTOINETTE OF FRANCE IS TRIED AND CONVICTED. SHE IS CONDEMNED TO BE EXECUTED THE NEXT DAY.
Thinking a-head.
1815: NAPOLEON OF FRANCE BEGINS HIS EXILE ON SAINT HELENA.
A bad date to be a leader of France.
1863: THE H.L. HUNLEY, THE FIRST SUBMARINE TO SINK A SHIP, SINKS ITSELF.
Or also a bad date to be a submarine.
1878: THE EDISON ELECTRIC LIGHT COMPANY BEGINS.
Let there be light...and monthly usage charges.
1888: THE "FROM HELL" LETTER SENT BY JACK THE RIPPER IS RECEIVED.
Postage due.
1890: MY GRANDMOTHER IS BORN.
Happy birthday, Grandma.
1894: ALFRED DREYFUS IS ARRESTED FOR SPYING.
Love his Fund.
1909: JOURNALIST ROBERT TROUT IS BORN.
My grandmother trusted him.
1910: AIRSHIP AMERICA LAUNCHED FROM NEW JERSEY IS THE FIRST ATTEMPT TO CROSS THE ATLANTIC IN A POWERED AIRCRAFT.
I see the word "attempt."
1917: DURING WORLD WAR I, DANCER MATA HARI IS EXECUTED FOR SPYING BY THE GERMAN EMPIRE.
So we miss out on our chance to see a movie starring Fred and Mata.
1917: ACTRESS JAN MINER IS BORN.
Madge the Manicurist. You're soaking in it.
1920: AUTHOR MARIO PUZO IS BORN.
He's a genius based on Page 27 of "The Godfather" alone.
1924: BUSINESSMAN LEE IACOCCA IS BORN.
Baby, you can drive my car.
1928: THE AIRSHIP, GRAF ZEPPELIN, COMPLETES ITS FIRST TRANS-ATLANTIC FLIGHT LANDING AT LAKEHURST, NEW JERSEY.
Enjoy the next ten or so years. This won't last.
1937: ACTRESS LINDA LAVIN IS BORN.
Kiss her grits.
1939: THE NEW YORK MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, LATER RENAMED LAGUARDIA, IS DEDICATED.
Dedicated to what? Delays?
1945: THE FORMER PREMIER OF VICHY FRANCE PIERRE LAVAL IS SHOT BY A FIRING SQUAD FOR TREASON.
This French leader, however, gets to keep his head in death.
1951: "I LOVE LUCY" PREMIERES ON CBS TELEVISION.
This should be a national holiday.
1956: FORTRAN, THE FIRST MODERN COMPUTER LANGUAGE, IS SHARED FOR THE FIRST TIME.
No habla Fortran.
1964: SONGWRITER COLE PORTER DIES.
"You're the top." Not any more.
1966: THE BLACK PANTHER PARTY IS CREATED BY HUEY NEWTON AND BOBBY SEALE.
Not Dewey and Louie.
1969: THE MORATORIUM TO END THE WAR IN VIETNAM IS HELD IN WASHINGTON DC AND ACROSS THE US.
On the same day that the Mets were winning Game 4 of the 1969 World Series.
1976: MOB BOSS CARLO GAMBINO DIES.
On Mario Puzo's birthday....fitting.
1989: WAYNE GRETZKY BECOMES THE ALL-TIME LEADING POINTS SCORE IN THE NHL.
Flash in the pan.
1990: SOVIET LEADER MIKHAIL GORBACHEV IS AWARDED THE NOBEL PEACE PRIZE FOR HIS EFFORTS TO LESSEN COLD WAR TENSIONS.
Later sold for many rubles on Russian e-Bay.
2003: THE STATEN ISLAND FERRY RUNS INTO A PIER, KILLING 11 PEOPLE AND INJURING 43.
Making dozens later for dinner or work.
2008: THE DOW JONES INDUSTRIAL AVERAGE HAS ITS SECOND WORST DAY IN HISTORY.
So it went down?
2008: ACTRESS EDIE ADAMS DIES.
Saw her once in a super market buying a cart full of Lean Cuisines.
2008: TV HOST JACK NARZ DIES.
The brother of TV host Tom Kennedy.
2010: ACTOR JOHNNY SHEFFIELD DIES.
Me, Tarzan. Him, Boy.
Dinner last night: Chinese chicken salad.
These days, when you actually see a good movie, you're stunned. So much that descends upon our multiplexes is such garbage that a decent film is even more welcome when it shows up. That's the case with "St. Vincent."
First off, this movie defies the odds as far as I am personally concerned. I mean, it co-stars Melissa McCarthy and it's not vile or dreadful. I have no idea how that just happened, but it did. Indeed, her work here is very nuanced and thoughtful. For Pete's sake, there just might be a decent actress lying under all those layers and chins.
Don't get me wrong. There's nothing new or original about "St. Vincent." You've seen the plot a dozen or so times before. Cranky old man befriends the kid next door. His parents just broke up. Mom is a single parent and needs help. The cranky old guy and the kid develop a relationship. All is right with the world.
Yes, I know. You've seen that. In fact, with part of the early emphasis in this film on beating up a school bully, "St. Vincent" is one judo chop away from being a complete rip-off of "The Karate Kid." Wax on, wax off.
But, credit screenwriter and director Theodore Melfi (no relation to Tony Soprano's shrink) with taking a hum-drum plot and making it seem fresh and alive all over again. Melfi imports a variety of different shadings to the story that make it work, most notably in the area of religion. The kid in the story is supposed to be Jewish and winds up going to a Catholic school in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. If that's not fertile ground all by itself, I don't know what it is.
The other major reason why "St, Vincent" turns out to be such a special and surprising film is the acting. Spot-on across the board. Bill Murray is getting some well deserved Oscar buzz as the perpetually drunk and in-debt curmudgeon next door. Indeed, he's involved with a Russian pole dancer who may be pregnant with his child. Naomi Watts is virtually unrecognizable as the Russkie whore but ultimately steals every scene she's in. And, yes, Melissa McCarthy does get off a few "F" bombs just like every other movie she's ever done. But, there is something inexplicably likeable about her work here. Hell, even I was impressed.
Of course, a movie like this is mostly dependent upon the skill of the kid in question and young Jaeden Lieberher is up to the task as Oliver. He's never cloying or cute. And you generally feel for him when he's getting the cream cheese kicked out of him in the first three reels. The kid makes it all work and he's got a future as both an actor and a punching bag.
"St. Vincent" is also that rarity in the cinema that comes in with a running time of under 2 hours. There is no waste or fat in the script or the direction. Theodore Melfi tells the story with no embellishment. He gets you out of the theater efficiently. With a big smile on your face. You laugh. You cry. You simply have a good time at the picture house.
Right now, "St. Vincent" is one of the best movies I've seen in 2014. And, given the trailers I've seen recently of the Hollywood fare for the holiday season, that ranking is safe and secure.
LEN'S RATING: Four stars.
Dinner last night: Leftover London Broil and veggies.
Continuing with the baseball theme this month. How come Don Drysdale's not in uniform?
Dinner last night: London broil, noodles, and vegetables.
I was a weird kid. You probably figured that out already.
I was a movie nut from the time I was five. I could already read the movie ads in the New York Daily News and the New York Daily Mirror. On an given day, I could tell you what was playing at all the local movie houses around our home on South 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon, New York. RKO and Loews about ten blocks away. The Kimball about six blocks away in Yonkers. The Wakefield about two miles away down on White Plains Road in the Bronx. That was my cinematic universe and I lived to be in any of them whenever possible.
It got a little crazier. When I was in the second and third grade, if you asked what I wanted to be when I grew, the answer was a little scary.
I wanted to be a movie theater projectionist.
With all due respect to those who toiled in that profession, I could have had loftier aspirations.
I was so consumed that I looked to be a showman in my own house. Okay, with my parents' help. You see the game box at the top? I got this for Christmas when I was around six. Now I could have my own movie theater in the house.
I was a drive-in entrepreneur. Rolling little Matchbox into the tiny drive-in movie theater. They even gave you product to run. Essentially, it was those View Master slides. The small little light bulb illuminated the picture of Huckleberry Hound on the big...I mean, little...screen. This was a Remco toy and the light bulb was probably the same one used to make cupcakes in those Suzy Homemaker ovens.
You also had the same result as the bulb in those makeshift cupcake factories. When the bulb blew out, you were up shit's creek. Replacement parts were not easy. I'd look longingly at my dad for a solution.
"I'll pick one up the next time I'm in Japan."
I guess that was a no. The Remco Drive-In Movie Theater soon found its place to gather dust in the back of my closet.
The replacement "movie theater" the very next Christmas was Kenner's Give-A-Show Projector. It worked under the same principles. You slid these cartoon slides into the projector. This time, the battery-powered light bulb thrust the image upon a screen. Or, in my house, any available wall.
The only problem in my house was that most walls were unavailable. There were pictures or ornaments adorning most. And, in places like the kitchen or the bathroom, the walls were tiled. Popeye and Mighty Mouse showed up with strange lines on their faces. The luster of Give-A-Show-Projector was extinguished quickly. And, of course, the light bulb didn't last much longer.
Several years past and I soon elevated to more complicated machinery. And the type of home projector that you could actually invite friends over to watch a movie.
I got my own 8MM movieola.
Hell, even I was impressed with this Christmas present. My folks must really trust me now. Plus it was an Argus product. Just like the camera that my dad used to take all those Technicolor slides of our last vacation or Thanksgiving dinner. My God, why don't we just put the RKO Proctor's marquee right outside on our front porch?
Of course, with such an advance mechanism, I got the usual parental warning.
"This was expensive. Don't break it the first day."
And I didn't. Break it on the first day, that is. But this device proved to be more complicated than I had bargained.
They gave you two short movies with this projector. An old Three Stooges short. Don't be impressed. It was one with Shemp, not Curly. And the other "movie" was the very last reel of an obscure Bud and Lou film called "Abbott and Costello Meet The Keystone Kops." Both were sound pictures any place but my house. With no speakers on my projector, I was a silent movie theater owner.
With this advanced projector, you didn't mess around with showing it on the wall. I was allowed to pull out the screen my dad used to entertain the family on holidays. The process of getting that blasted thing to stand up on the tripod took a half-hour all by itself.
And then it came time to thread the projector.
I'd invite my neighborhood friends up for an afternoon of movies at my "theater." And they would then be forced to wait. And wait. And wait.
I never could figure out how to load the film from one reel through the lens and onto the reel below. Once, the movie spilled out through the projector and onto the floor. It took me two hours roll the movie back up. Other times, I would rip the film and wind up having to tear off a piece as I attempted to thread the projector. What used to be a fifteen minute short soon became fourteen minutes long. Then thirteen minutes long.
The novelty of this torture wore off quickly. And I wanted to be a movie theater projectionist???
Opening my house to a movie audience was put back in my closet with the Remco toy and the Give-A-Show Projector and the Argus projector. But, technology intervened about fifteen years later. When I became one of the only folks in my crowd to own...
...a video cassette recorder. This clunky and heavy contraption cost about six hundred bucks when RCA first came out with their Selectavision. My college buddy, the Bibster, was actually the first to splurge on one of their things. He likely got his to time record New York Ranger hockey games. Oh, sure, I had my own "don't miss" TV shows. This VCR was a perfect way for me never to miss Valerie Bertinelli and "One Day at a Time." But, as the sales of this machine increased, so did the rise of another new innovation in our world.
The video store.
Imagine that? You'd go into one of these new outlets and scan the shelves. You'd drop your credit card on the counter as security in case you didn't return the movie and tape. Back in the day, a VCR recording of a feature film could set you back about seventy or eighty bucks. You'd take your movie home and then make sure to return it the very next day. If you were lucky, you could have it for three days.
The Len Cinema was back in business. You want to come home to my house and watch a movie? Let's go pick one out.
Back when, I had only one such video store available to me. It was all the way in Cross County Shopping Center in Yonkers. Or, since I worked in Manhattan, I could rent a film at the big video store on the corner of Broadway and 50th Street. The convenience of having a movie at your fingertips was really incredibly inconvenient. But I didn't care.
For about a year, my best friend from high school, Danny, would come over on a Friday night to see what was playing on my VCR. We watched classics we had never seen before. We revisited movies from a few seasons back. We enjoyed our own private film festival.
I finally had that movie theater in my house.
When we cleaned out that home as it was being sold, I tackled that pesky toy closet of mine. And pulled out the "home" movie theaters of my past. I showed them to my father. He remembered.
"Yeah, those light bulbs sure did burn out fast."
Dinner last night: Teriyaki burger at the Arclight.
Well, it is October....
Dinner last night: Garlic chicken and noodles.
If you live in Hollywood, the only place you (and I) should go see a movie is the Arclight Cinemas with its anchor theater, the classic Cinerama Dome. Great snacks. Wonderfully comfy seats. An industry crowd with guaranteed celebrity sightings. And no more than three trailers shown before a film.
Of course, the problem is that the Arclight, like every place else, is stuck showing the latest fare from Tinseltown. And, as great as the theater complex is, it can be awfully dreary when nothing good is out.
So, you know the drill, gang. I'll comb through the LA Times movie listings and give you my knee-jerk reaction to what's polluting our silver screens this weekend. Here's hoping something good is playing at the Arclight.
Anything.
This Is Where I Leave You: Reviewed here recently. Already left.
A Walk Among The Tombstones: Liam Neeson fights evil. For the twenty-fourth time.
Two Night Stand: When one is not enough.
The Maze Runner: With my knees, I'm just walking through it.
Men, Women, and Children: Directed by Jason Reitman of "Up in the Air" and "Juno" fame, so it might be decent. People navigating new relationships via the Internet. Hashtag get the hell out of the house.
The Two Faces of January: February has one less face, except, of course, in a leap year.
My Old Lady: Kevin Kline and Maggie Smith star. One guess who plays the title role.
No Good Deed: Goes unpunished. And should be unseen.
Pride: Gay coal miners in Wales. Seriously.
The Little Bedroom: I had one till I was 19.
Dolphin Tale 2: Strictly for those who saw "1" and are probably anxiously awaiting "3."
The Skeleton Twins: I hear this is horrible. Probably because there's no meat on that script.
The Drop: James Gandolfini's final performance about a bunch of crooks in Brooklyn. Sounds like a fitting way for him to be remembered.
The Equalizer: Denzel Washington is no Edward Woodward.
The Boxtrolls: Another cartoon that has me longing for the days of "Lady and the Tramp" and "Sleeping Beauty."
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: Another Disney live action comedy that has me longing for the days of "The Absent Minded Professor" and "The Parent Trap."
The Trip to Italy: Nothing but some post cards with audio.
20,000 Days on Earth: A documentary on indie rock star Nick Cave, whoever the heck he is.
Gone Girl: Ben Affleck and director David Fincher tell a tale ripped right out of today's headlines. Or so the trailer says. I don't know about you, but my newspaper's headlines change daily.
Kill The Messenger: If it's bad news, by all means.
The Judge: The town judge is on trail for murder. This is like finding out Judge Judy got caught shoplifting.
I Am Ali: A documentary on the boxer. I am Ali? I doubt even he knows that anymore.
Catch Hell: A washed up Hollywood actor is kidnapped by thugs. There's a Morgan Freeman joke in there someplace.
The Good Lie: An American woman helps four Sudanese refugees move to the US. With the Ebola virus these days???
You're Not You: Should be on a double bill with "I Am Ali."
St. Vincent: Bill Murray as a cranky old alcoholic who befriends a 12 year-old boy. Sounds promising and...oh, gasp, Melissa McCarthy is listed in the cast. Forget it!
Stuck: After an awkward one-night stand, two people get stuck in a traffic jam. This could only be produced by somebody living in LA.
The Houses October Built: Become the foreclosures of November.
Dracula Untold: You mean we haven't heard the whole story yet????
Left Behind: The Rapture occurs and there is a traffic jam going to Heaven. Couldn't be any worse than all that construction on the 405.
The Hero of Color City: A cartoon where crayons comes to life. I am betting that Olive Green is a real bitch.
A Good Marriage: After 25 years, a woman no longer trusts her husband. So next she becomes Secretary of State?
Hector and the Search for Happiness: A psychiatrist looks for happiness. At 200 dollars an hour, that should be relatively easy.
Drive Hard: John Cusack as a former race car driver who drives the getaway car in a heist. Remember when Cusack played love-starved teenagers?
Kite: A teenage girl looks for her parents' killers. Samuel L. Jackson is in the cast. See my reaction to the movie with Melissa McCarthy.
One Chance: A biopic about a Welsh telephone salesman who becomes an overnight singing sensation in Great Britain. His name is Paul Potts and who?
Bjork - Biophillia Live: A documentary on the singer. I'd rather find out who Paul Potts is.
Inner Demons: A reality TV show focuses on a 16-year-old drug addict. So You Think You Can Take Drugs.
Tracks: A trek across the Australian desert. Somebody walks 1,700 miles. That better be one good pair of Rockports.
Jimi - All Is By My Side: If you want to know all about Jimi Hendrix. I do not.
The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby - Him/Her: It's really two movies in one. They could condense it all into one if the main character opts to transgender.
Dinner last night: Leftover bratwurst and German potato salad.
