It's been super hot and unusually humid in Los Angeles lately. Of course, this should be no surprise with it being summer and all. Out here in the wilds of Los Angeles, the heat doesn't bother me. The 24 hour availability of central air conditioning will do that to you. I go from the super-cooled condo to the car to the super market or the movie theater and back again. A bead of sweat doesn't have a chance of forming anywhere on me. Of course, there is the formation of perspiration at outdoor venues like Dodger Stadium or the Hollywood Bowl. Indeed, last Sunday's Dodger game was the most uncomfortable that I have ever experienced there and was quite reminiscent of muggy nights at Shea Stadium. But, in retrospect, I used to have it a lot worse. Because I grew up in a home that was...ahem...not air conditioned. Neither centrally or otherwise. As a matter of fact, when my family finally upgraded to one window air conditioner, it was in the living room and that's where you hunkered down when there were no tropical breezes blowing through Mount Vernon, New York. I remember it vividly. There is nothing more gross than a hazy, hot, and humid day in the Northeast. When clothes have to be surgically peeled off you at the end of the day. When the act of turning a page in the Daily News can be exhausting. You don't want to move for fear that the lifting of a finger will drain you of all bodily fluids. For us, the only answer was the window fan in the kitchen. My grandmother had one mounted in her kitchen downstairs as well and that must have been how people stayed cool during World War II. Apparently, there are all sorts of scientific solutions on how to use the fan to get gusts of wind going throughout the house. It must have been handed down like family lore, because both my dad and Grandma were experts on this. If you're in the bedroom, you turn on the kitchen fan and then close all the doors of the house except for the room you're in. Voila. The whole opening in the home gets all the intake and you have a breeze. Naturally, I would invariably go into one of the other rooms and then I would hear the wail. "Close the door!!" Our kitchen fan was enormous and made the sound of the D train rushing through a local subway station. Like ocean water crashing up against a shore, there was something oddly soothing with that loud whirring of our kitchen fan. I could listen to it for hours. And frequently did. Way up close. I was a weird kid. Our kitchen fan was in an area where there was a china closet in the corner and another cabinet on the other side. The result was an odd little nook and cranny that provided me with a wonderful little crawl space. When I was really young, I'd take whatever action figures I had at the time and would use the fan as the home base for the little drama I would stage. The fan was the central point of this apartment house which housed Huckleberry Hound, Pinocchio, Jiminy Cricket, and Yogi Bear. One character would live on one ledge near the fan. Another would live on top of the fan. That was the penthouse.It was the coolest place for them to live. Literally and figuratively. Usually, at some point during the summer, I would drop one of the toy figures into the fan and there they would live until my father would take down the fan in September or October. I would look through the speeding blades of the fan and see poor little Boo Boo Bear lying on the outside window ledge. All by his lonesome. When I got a little older, I shitcanned the fan as a home for my cartoon figurines. Instead, I had become a reader. I always had three or four library books out at the same time. Sports and Hollywood biographies. On summer nights when I could stay up late, I'd pull up a kitchen chair and get as tight into the crawlspace around the fan as possible and read. And read and read and read. Sometimes till midnight or later. There was probably not enough light but I didn't care. As long as there was a book, the fan, and a glass of lemonade nearby, I was happy. I can remember reading both "The Godfather" and "Airport" at the foot of the kitchen fan, racing through them so I would finish them before the anticipated movie versions came out. To this day, my apartment in New York still has a fan. Not a window model, but a box one that stands on the floor or a table. When I am there in the summer months, I still take out a book or a magazine and sit next to the fan as I read for a while. It's not the same sensation, but pretty darn close. And, of course, during the recent Los Angeles heat wave, I held off on putting on the central air. I have fans here as well and the whirring sound of a floor fan has lulled me to sleep in the bedroom. Some habits die incredibly hard.
Well, you could have knocked me over with an empty box of Raisinets. "The Big Sick" had all the earmarks of a movie that I would detest. Glowing reviews from film critics, which I have learned not to trust in the hardest of ways. The subject is one of diversity, which I think Hollywood is using as a meat tenderizer on the foreheads of movie goers. And, lastly, I see the dreaded and overrated Judd Apatow as one of the producers. I expect a film loaded with stupidity and a numbing message from the most elitist bleeding heart in Tinseltown. Imagine my surprise, shock, and awe when I actually liked "The Big Sick." I really, really, really liked "The Big Sick," Sally Field. This is one of those romcoms (romantic comedy, for you non-insiders) that doesn't incur feelings of guilt as you leave the theater. It's a trifle long, but, then again, this is the historically-averse-to-film-editing Apatow. I'll bet you can't even find a pair of scissors in his house. Indeed, the main reason I decided to take a gamble on this was the inclusion of Ray Romano and Holly Hunter, actors I really enjoy, in supporting roles. While they certainly delivered as I had hoped and expected, there are many other things to enjoy in this movie. From the get go, the dialogue in "The Big Sick" had a very organic feel and, as I learned from my post-film research, there's a good reason for it. The writers, including the film star Kumail Nanjiani along with his real life partner Emily, actually lived the plot. It came off very real because it was...well...very close to real. Kumail essentially plays himself. A Pakistani stand-up comic (yes, I just wrote that) living in Chicago with his very Muslim family. They are overbearing to the Nth degree, insisting that he pray to Allah in the basement and also accept their selections for his arranged marriage. But Kumail wants none of this. And, in a "meet cute" scene during one of his Improv sets, he meets Emily who would never ever qualify to be one of those selected wives. Their romance begins but is soon upended when Emily discovers that he hasn't told his family that she is White. Recently dumped, Kumail is despondent. Out of the blue, he gets a call that Emily is in the hospital with an illness that requires a medically induced coma. He is pulled to be by her side. Enter Emily's parents from Caucasian Town, North Carolina, played by Romano and Hunter. They light up the proceedings immediately upon arrival with performances that consider "supporting actor Oscar nomination worthy." Hunter has the bitchy Southern act down pat. And Romano is actually playing a bit of an extension of his sitcom role but with lots, lots more heart. Their scenes as they deal with Kumail's presence as part of Emily's "immediate family" are hilarious and heartbreaking and everything in between. There is one exchange where Ray and Kumail discuss 9/11 that is one of the funniest bits of dialogue I have seen in the movies ever. Together, they come together as Emily's health starts to get worse. Naturally, I've already told you that the real Emily (played wonderfully on screen by Zoe Kazan) is one of the screen writers so you probably can guess how this turns out. I'm not sure if the entire coma episode really happened as it is portrayed here, but it works as entertainment nonetheless. Meanwhile, Kumail's struggles with his own family run parallel to his burgeoning relationship with Emily's parents. In one scene near the end, Kumail challenges his parents in a way that I wanted to applaud. He asks why they even brought him to America if they wanted to hold onto their old values. Kumail clearly wants to assimilate as an American and this is a message you rarely don't get in 2017. Bravo. As I have mentioned, some editing could have really tightened "The Big Sick." Yes, the last 20 minutes or so meander a little bit and, hence, I am knocking my grade down by a half star. Nevertheless, you should welcome "The Big Sick" as the big movie surprise of the summer. Ray Romano and Holly Hunter, I really hope the Academy does not forget your performances come nomination time. LEN'S RATING: Three-and-a-half stars. Dinner last night: Leftover sausage and peppers.
Well, it's Bill Cosby's birthday, but I will be dipped into shit if I am going to salute a serial rapist on this blog. So, happy birthday to Cheryl Ladd. 927: KING CONSTANTINE II OF SCOTLAND, KING HYWEL DDA OF DEHEUBARTH, EALDRED OF BAMBURGH AND KING OWAIN OF THE CUMBRIANS ACCEPTED THE OVERLORDSHIP OF KING AETHELSTAN OF ENGLAND, LEADING TO SEVEN YEARS OF PEACE IN THE NORTH. I have no idea what any of that means, but congratulate me please for typing all that. 1470: THE OTTOMANS CAPTURE EUBOEA. When foot stools attack. 1493: HARTMANN SCHEDEL'S NUREMBERG CHRONICLE, ONE OF THE BEST DOCUMENTED EARLY PRINTED BOOKS, IS PUBLISHED. And immediately went to #3 on Amazon. 1543: KING HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND MARRIES HIS SIXTH AND LAST WIFE, CATHERINE PARR. That guy must have had some big....um, crown.
1580: THE OSTROG BIBLE, ONE OF THE EARLY PRINTED BIBLES IN A SLAVIC LANGUAGE, IS PUBLISHED. How do you say Amazon in Slavic? 1776: CAPTAIN JAMES COOK BEGINS HIS THIRD VOYAGE. With Peter Pan? Oh, wait, I read that too fast. 1799: RANJIT SINGH CONQUERS LAHORE AND BECOME MAHARAJA OF THE PUNJAB. Singh for your supper. 1804: FORMER US SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY ALEXANDER HAMILTON DIES A DAY AFTER BEING SHOT IN A DUEL. Guns kill. 1862: THE MEDAL OF HONOR IS AUTHORIZED BY THE UNITED STATES CONGRESS. And you can buy a replica for $14.99 if you watch late night television. 1884: FILM MOGUL LOUIS B. MAYER IS BORN. Dirtbag. 1895: SONGWRITER OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN IS BORN. Looking at the date, he is much older than springtime. 1908: COMIC MILTON BERLE IS BORN. Remember the joke about King Henry VIII? Well, Milton had a big...um, crown, too. 1909: ACTOR JOE DERITA IS BORN. The Curly stooge nobody remembers. 1917: THE BISBEE DEPORTATION OCCURS AS VIGILANTES KIDNAP AND DEPORT NEARLY 1,300 STRIKING MINERS FROM ARIZONA. You had Donald Trump at deportation. 1937: COMIC BILL COSBY IS BORN. Is he in jail yet? 1943: GERMAN AND SOVIET FORCES ENGAGE IN ONE OF THE LARGEST ARMORED ENGAGEMENTS OF ALL TIME. Back when we were rooting for Russia. 1948: FITNESS GURU RICHARD SIMMONS IS BORN. Talk about strange. 1948: ISRAELI PRIME MINISTER DAVID BEN-GURION ORDERS THE EXPULSION OF PALESTINIANS. What else is new over there? 1951: ACTRESS CHERYL LADD IS BORN. Okay, Angels.... 1962: THE ROLLING STONES PERFORM THEIR FIRST CONCERT IN LONDON. Pure satisfaction. 1967: RIOTS BEGIN IN NEWARK, NEW JERSEY. Continuing to this day. 1973: A FIRE DESTROYS THE ENTIRE SIXTH FLOOR OF THE NATIONAL PERSONNEL RECORDS CENTER OF THE US. Now nobody knows how much vacation time they have. 1973: ACTOR LON CHANEY JR. DIES. Not as famous as his dad. 1979: SINGER MINNIE RIPERTON DIES. Gone at 31. Way too young. So I won't say anything about how annoying that one hit of hers was. 2006: HEZBOLLAH INITIATES OPERATION TRUE PROMISE. Is that like a new margarine? 2006: LEBANON-ISRAEL WAR BEGINS. Does it ever end? 2008: BASEBALL STAR BOBBY MURCER DIES. One of 150 Yankee numbers to be retired. 2011: TV PRODUCER SHERWOOD SCHWARTZ DIES. He created the Brady Bunch and Gilligan's Island so good riddance. Dinner last night: Chinese chicken salad.
No, I'm referring to that jab in the ribs your spouse gives you when you're snoring. I'm thinking of another kind of pain here. Meet my left calf. I think you can connect the dots now. We have all had this kind of overnight torture. You stretch subconsciously as 4AM. You feel it coming. There's like a ten second warning that it will happen but you can do nothing to prepare for it or prevent the agony. Calf cramp!!!!! Now I don't get them very often anymore. My trainer twice a week "rolls" my calves during my sessions as the gym. And I work hard to prevent the major cause of midnight calf cramps --- dehydration. But, two weeks ago, I felt into some sort of muscular perfect storm. I had gone to a Dodger game on a very hot evening. We had done a lot of walking around the stadium looking for something to eat for dinner. I was probably losing precious body liquid at a record pace. And all I did to replenish it the next three hours was with a large lemonade. The small glass of milk I had before going to bed probably didn't help much. So I was a prime suspect in the Left Leg Cramp of Len that was going to play in about five hours. As always, the onset of symptoms woke me up. I knew what was going to happen. I had about eight seconds to enjoy the calm before the bodily storm. And this one was perhaps the worst I ever experienced. There were screams from my bedroom that I am pretty sure made the neighbors think that the Manson Family was terrorizing Los Angeles. No matter how I turned the leg, the pain was complete non-water-boarded torture. Now I know how to work these things myself. I have learned from my trainers how to "roll" my own calves. And I do have my own styrofoam roller. Except it was on the other side of the bedroom. Too, too, too far. Had I only stored it easily under the bed with my baseball bat. So I got smart and figured out how to calm the torment and that is the point of today's blog entry. Here's how you can alleviate the pain of a calf cramp in the middle of the night when you can't even move to get out of bed. Somehow take the cramping leg and drape it over your other leg. Put the quiet leg in sort of a right ankle and use the good shin as an anchor. And keep rolling the cramp over the strong leg until you feel the spot and knot that needs to be slain. Then use your kneecap on the good leg to reinforce the knot that was just smoothed. It took about five minutes but it worked. As soon as I could stand, I did. And walked all around the apartment to give it all a good stretch. Also make sure you stop in the kitchen for a big glass of water. You're welcome. Dinner last night: Sausage and peppers.
It was the coolest place for them to live. Literally and figuratively. Usually, at some point during the summer, I would drop one of the toy figures into the fan and there they would live until my father would take down the fan in September or October. I would look through the speeding blades of the fan and see poor little Boo Boo Bear lying on the outside window ledge. All by his lonesome.
