Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - July 2022

This sitcom was on for about ten minutes in the late 80s.  But they had the good taste to use one of my "crushes" Linda Kelsey.  Also, please note the presence of a pre-Seinfeld Julia Louis Dreyfus. 

Dinner last night:  Sandwich.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for July 2022

 

My long cinematic nightmare may be coming to an end.   It was just announced that the Cinerama Dome (and the 14 screens adjacent to it) will be re-opening for the first time since COVID knocked its doors shut in March 2020.

For me, there was no better place in the world to see a movie.   Not your usual mall crowd.   Full of show business types who want the ultimate screen experience.   A minimum of pre-show trailers.   And caramel popcorn to die for!  Thank God it's coming back.  But while we wait, we must contend with this month's slate of movie dribble clogging our theaters.   You know the drill, gang. I will sift through the local movie pages and give you my gut, knee-jerk reaction to the film fare.   I expect nothing.

But anxiously await the return of the photo above.

Elvis:   From what I hear, he never left the building.   And the box office reflects that.

Thor - God of Thunder:   100% chance of boredom.

Minions - The Rise of Gru:   My, how he gru.

Jurassic World Dominion:  Reviewed here recently.  Munch on your popcorn while you watch dinosaurs munch on people.

Top Gun Maverick:   Still flying high.

Black Phone:   Everything is now subject to diversity.

Lightyear:   Beware.   This is not your Tim Allen Pixar movie.

Mr. Malcolm's List:   The ad shows some people in older costumes and even that made me yawn.

The Forgiven:  As opposed to Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven.

Where The Crawdads Sing:   Weren't they the ones who sang the Beverly Hillbillies theme?

American Carnage:   Um, just look around.

Paws of Fury - The Legend of Hank:   Is this about Bruce Lee's dog?

Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris:   How do you yawn in French?

The Gray Man:   Paging Grecian Formula.

She Will:   And I won't.

Wrong Place:  Noteworthy only because it might be Bruce Willis' last movie.

Gone in the Night:   Winona Ryder and one disastrous vacation....which is redundant.

Gabby Giffords Won't Back Down:   I'm guessing this is a documentary about gun control, but that's just a shot in the park.

Dinner last night:  Salad.

The Fortress of Len

 

Not my hand.  Not my fistful of pills.   And I take a lot more of them every morning.  

Yes, I am supplement-crazy.

Over the past few weeks, I look around and find folks still testing positive for COVID.   They've been vaccinated and double and triple vaccinated and still getting it.

Meanwhile, since March 2020, this writer has gone through one of his most healthy periods ever.   NO COVID.   Only one...count 'em...one sinus infection.  Back in the day, I was good for at least two or three every year.   When I lived in NY, sinus infections visited me at least five times every 12 months.

Except for orthopedic issues, I am in relatively good shape.   And my internist, at the outset of the pandemic, told me that my constitution would probably prevent any future invasion of COVID or its two dozen or so variants.

So why?   Well, go back to the picture above.   As I said, I am supplement-crazy.

So what's on my morning agenda with a swig or two of orange juice?

1.  One-A-Day multi vitamin for men.

2.  An apple cider vinegar pill.

3.  A vitamin for healthy hair and nails.

4.  Co-Q 10.

5.  One Citrucel pill for digestion.

6.  Omega fish oil.

7.  Tart cherry pill.

8.  Milk thistle for liver function.

9.  Vitamin A.

10.  Vitamin B.

11.  Vitamin C.

12.  Vitamin D.

13.  Vitamin E.

14.  Garlic.

15.  No-flush niacin.

16.  Baby aspirin.

17.  Glucosamine chondrotin.

18.  Cranberry concentrate tablet.

19.  One probiotic pill.

Add to this one medication for cholesterol and one for acid reflux and I'm done.

And COVID-free.

Dinner last night:  Grilled Taylor Hamburger.

This Date in History - July 13

 

Happy birthday to Calista Flockhart's significant other.

100 BC:  JULIUS CAESAR IS BORN.

Well, that's interesting because everybody just remembers when he got bumped off.  And how many of you thought there was going to be a salad joke inserted here?

1174:  WILLIAM I OF SCOTLAND, A KEY REBEL IN THE REVOLT OF 1173-1174, IS CAPTURED AT ALNWICK BY FORCES LOYAL TO HENRY II OF ENGLAND.

Alnwick?  Isn't that an air freshener?

1260:  THE LIVONIAN ORDER SUFFERED ITS GREATEST DEFEAT IN THE 13TH CENTURY IN THE BATTLE OF DURBE AGAINST THE GRAND DUCHY OF LITHUANIA.

That's what the Livonian Order gets for not signing a right-handed hitting third baseman during the 1259 offseason.

1558:  AT THE BATTLE OF GRAVELINES IN FRANCE, SPANISH FORCES LED BY COUNT LAMORAL OF EGMONT DEFEAST THE FRENCH FORCES OF MARSHAL PAUL DE THERMES.

If there's one thing we can count on throughout history, France is always nothing but a big pile of losers.

1573:  DURING THE EIGHTY YEARS WAR, THE SIEGE OF HAARLEM ENDS. 

So now we know.  For years, that section of Manhattan has been misspelled.

1608:  ROMAN EMPEROR FERDINAND II IS BORN.

That's no bull.

1787:  THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS ENACTS THE NORTHWEST ORDINANCE ESTABLISHING GOVERNING RULES FOR THE NORTHWEST TERRITORY.  IT ALSO ESTABLISHES PROCEDURES FOR THE ADMISSION OF NEW STATES AND THE LIMITS THE EXPANSION OF SLAVERY.

I'm glad this happened.  Otherwise, the Civil War would have been the North vs. the South vs. Seattle.

1794:  THE BATTLES OF THE VOSGES IS FOUGHT BETWEEN FRENCH FORCES AND THOSE OF PRUSSIA AND AUSTRIA.

You don't expect those shitkickers from France to beat the Prussians, do you?

1854:  IN THE BATTLE OF GUAYMAS, MEXICO, GENERAL JOSE MARIA YANEZ STOPS THE FRENCH INVASION.

France loses more than Susan Lucci.

1863:  IN NEW YORK CITY, OPPONENTS OF CONSCRIPTION BEGIN THREE DAYS OF RIOTING---THE WORST IN UNITED STATES HISTORY.

Typical New York reaction.  If you don't like something, throw a brick through a liquor store window.

1878:  PER THE TREATY OF BERLIN, THE EUROPEAN POWERS REDRAW THE MAP OF THE BALKANS.

Lucky they had that Etch-A-Sketch.

1913:  TV PERSONALITY DAVE GARROWAY IS BORN.

The first host of the Today Show.  And the last one with a brain in his head.

1923:  THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN IS OFFICIALLY DEDICATED IN THE HILLS ABOVE HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA.

It originally read "Hollywoodland" but somebody in the marketing department did a focus group and they thought that name was too long.

1928:  ACTOR BOB CRANE IS BORN.

Hogan!!!!

1941:  DURING WORLD WAR II, MONTENEGRINS START A POPULAR UPRISING AGAINST THE AXIS POWERS.

Finally, the French are sitting one out.

1942:  ACTOR HARRISON FORD IS BORN.

Damn, he's old.

1954:  ARTIST FRIDA KAHLO IS BORN.

Known for her artwork.  And her two mile long continuous eyebrow.

1973:  ALEXANDER BUTTERFIELD REVEALS THE EXISTENCE OF THE NIXON TAPES TO THE SPECIAL SENATE COMMITTEE INVESTIGATING THE WATERGATE BREAK-IN.

Er, what tapes?

1977:  IN NEW YORK CITY, A 24 HOUR BLACKOUT LEADS TO WIDESPREAD FIRES AND LOOTING.

I'm gonna get myself a new TV.

1985:  THE LIVE AID BENEFIT CONCERT TAKES PLACE IN LONDON AND PHILADELPHIA.

In 2016, the country that really could use the proceeds of a Live Aid concert is America.

1985:  UNITED STATES VICE PRESIDENT GEORGE H.W. BUSH BECOMES ACTING PRESIDENT FOR THE DAY WHEN PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN UNDERGOES SURGERY TO REMOVE POLYPS FROM HIS COLON.

So this means Reagan missed the Live Aid telecast?  Too bad.

2006:  ACTOR RED BUTTONS DIES.

And he never got a dinner.

2010:  NEW YORK YANKEES OWNER GEORGE STEINBRENNER DIES.

My euphoria continues.

2012:  FILM PRODUCER RICHARD D. ZANUCK DIES.

We're gonna need a bigger coffin.

2013:  GEORGE ZIMMERMAN FOUND NOT GUILTY IN THE KILLING OF TRAYVON MARTIN.

Somebody's last meal should not be a handful of Skittles.

Dinner last night:  Leftover chicken.

Morons of the Month - July 2022

 

For once, I agree with the mob and this sign in particular.

Enough is enough.

Oh, wait, this group is protesting for better gun control?   Never mind.

Don't get me wrong.   We need better laws to protect ourselves from this burgeoning number of mass shootings, especially in schools.  Of course, this country...and the shit hole of Chicago in particular, has multiple shootings and killings every weekend.   You just don't hear about them from the lame stream media because most of them involve Black people killing other Black people.  That doesn't really count.   It's more fun to talk about young crazy White guys firing their rifles at random.

But I digress as we really need to talk about the medicated elephant in the room.  Because those young, male, and White snipers all have another thing in common.  Besides being bat shit crazy, we now know that most of them have already been under a doctor's care for said craziness.

And prescribed medication.

Read the stories of the last two dozen or so mass shooters and you will find a more important common thread beyond skin color.  Parents who didn't know what to do with them.   Shrinks who were stuck for answers.   And antidepressants prescribed as a fix to all their problems.

As Casey Stengel would say, you could look it up.   And I did.

So if they're still shooting and they're on drugs, you connect the dots and realize that maybe..just maybe...the medicine ain't working.  

Nobody tells you that among our scummy politicians because most of them take lobby money from pharmaceuticals.   You can talk all about Republicans taking gun lobby dough.   Look at the list of your elected officials taking drug dollars.  And they're both Republicans and Democrats.  You know who takes the most?  NY Senator Chuck the Schmuck Schumer.

Casey tells you to look that up.

So why no journalistic probe into psycho drugs that are acting just like placebos?  Well, that's an easy answer.   Your number one sponsor for most of the news networks and news divisions across the country?

Well, there you are.   So you morons can talk about confiscating bullets.   Let's talk about better psychiatric solutions moving forward.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - July 11, 2022

Summertime...and the wardrobe is easy. 

Dinner last night:  Chicken thighs with mushrooms and onions.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Day I Became Important

 

So begins a baseball trilogy this July.   And what a better way to rehash some baseball memories than to star on July 8.   I thought about the date two days ago on Friday.   And recalled what happened many, many years ago.  In 1969.

My life as a baseball fan had been a short one.  I have written this before.  My father, a lifelong Yankee fan, had tried to bring me into his fold.  The very first baseball game I attended was a weekday afternoon Yankee game.  I was home from school with an ear infection, but my dad's cousin had gotten us some tickets from their oil burner company.  My ears were stuffed with cotton and off we went.  I finished the day wearing a...gasp...Yankee fan and screaming through one of those megaphone cups that had once contained popcorn.

I had no clue about anything that happened that day.  And I had little interest in anything New York Yankee.

It would be another school illness that propelled me to the New York Mets.  German measles landed me at home for a week in April.  The only thing on television were some early season Met games.  Shea Stadium was brand spanking new and so, too, was my baseball fandom.

Hmmmmm.

I got into the lovable loser tag that was fastened to the Mets.  Maybe that's why I was drawn to them.  They didn't win every game like the Yankees.  As a matter of fact, they barely won any game.  So, it became a huge event if they did.  At the time, there was a gag that made the rounds when the Mets in one game scored an inexplicable 19 runs.

"19 runs??  Wow.  Did they win?"

And that's what it was like to be a Met fan.  But, I didn't care.  In my neighborhood, they were uniquely mine.  And I have the emotional scars to prove it.

All the kids "up the block" were Yankee fans.  Or rooted for some team other than the New York Mets.  As for me, I walked around and met disdain at every corner.  It was as if I was wearing a big scarlet letter "M" on my chest.

"The Mets suck."

Yes, I know.  But they are my Mets.

"Your team stinks."

Yes, I know.  But they are my team.

And, then, the mimicking of the team's fervent stadium chant.

"Let's Go, Mess.  Let's Go, Mess.  Let's Go, Mess."

The team couldn't win and neither could I.

Except for my lifelong buddy Leo, who was a Yankee fan but a fairly normal and tolerant one, I was the local baseball pariah to everybody in my neighborhood.  And I didn't care.  By this point, I had already sucked my father into my own personal vortex of misery.  Given my love for the Mets, he decided to join in, figuring that he better enjoy the team he would have to take me to see.  And I soon would start my partial plan holder status at Shea Stadium with tickets for every Saturday game---a tradition I would maintain till the place closed for demolition.

Yet, it was not easy being the underdog.

Until 1969.

Out of the blue and orange, the Mets were...um....good.  Led by manager Gil Hodges and a pitching staff anchored by Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman, the Mets found themselves 5 1/2 games behind the division-leading Chicago Cubs on Monday, July 7.  I didn't know how to handle the good fortune.  And, coming to town for a three-game series would be the Cubs themselves.  With a couple of wins, the Mets could find themselves in a pennant race.

A pennant race?  The words ping ponged around my head.  I barely knew what one was.  Except fans of the Yankees and the Red Sox and the Dodgers and the Giants and the Orioles knew what it felt like.  I certainly did not. 

I walked proudly around my neighborhood the morning of July 8.  The Mets would be playing the Cubs in a bizarre Tuesday afternoon game.  It was a typically hazy, hot, and humid New York summer's day.  You could break a sweat by combing your hair.  Outside was no place to be.  But I needed people to see me as I prepared to watch the Mets in a.....er......pennant race game.

Both of my parents were working that afternoon, so I could be alone with my excitement.  Back in those days, the only air conditioner we had was in the living room.  I cranked it up, closed the accordion doors that kept the chill isolated from the rest of the house, and tuned to WOR Channel 9 at 2PM. 

It seemed that I was not alone in my euphoria.  About 55,000 people had sweated their way into Shea Stadium for that day game.  Lots of folks calling in sick all around the New York metropolitan area. 

And, by the eighth inning, we all had been jolted back to reality. 

Cubs 3, Mets 1.

I knew my euphoria wouldn't last.  The voices from "up the block" echoed in my mind.  I would hear them tonight for sure as we waited for the Good Humor truck.

"Let's Go, Mess!!!  Let's Go, Mess!!!!  LET'S GO, MESS!!!!"

Ouch.

I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't leave the television set.  I decided to multi-task through my anxiety.  I pulled my dog, Tuffy, into the living room.  I started to brush her, which was one of my regular summer chores.  If the Mets had to lose, well, at least, my dog could lose some excess fur and pant a little less in the summer heat.

And then it happened.  The bottom of the ninth inning.

Ken Boswell hits a double.

Even at this early age in life, I was already a cynic.  Watch him score, I thought.   The Mets will lose, 3-2.

Tommie Agee popped out, but Donn Clendenon, hitting for Bobby Pfeil, also hits a double.  Except Boswell only gets to third base.  Huh?  Part of the reason was that Cub centerfielder (and soon-to-be-sacrificial-lamb) Don Young was having trouble with the sun and everybody thought the ball would be caught.

I was paying attention now, but still brushing the dog.

Cleon Jones joined the double parade and now both Boswell and Clendenon scored to tie the game.

Shea Stadium looked like a lunatic asylum on television.  I was in my own personal rubber room on 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon.

Before I knew it, Ed Kranepool had laced a single to left field.  The Mets won, 4-3.  Within a second of that ball landing safely on the Shea grass, I jumped out of my skin.  Tuffy, scared for her life, ran clean away through the bottom of the accordion doors.  Her hair brush wound up behind the couch.  My mother found it two months later.  Meanwhile, the commotion I was causing upstairs could be felt downstairs.

Grandma. 

"What's going on up there?  It sounds like the beer truck coming down the block."

I thought about explaining what happened.  Nah, she would never understand.  I had simply interrupted her concentration in the middle of her "stories."  No one knew at the time that, elsewhere in the New York area, the Met game had become the focal point of another domestic situation.  A woman had come into her living room while her husband was watching the ninth inning.  She turned the channel so as not to miss an episode of the "Dark Shadows" soap opera.

The husband proceeded to kill his wife.

Heck, all I had done was scare the dog and annoy my grandmother.

I remember going "up the block" after dinner that night.  I felt a little taller than I had the previous day.  Unfortunately, most of the kids were ready to act as professional buzz killers.

"The Mets still suck.  They will lose tomorrow."

Except....

See the picture that adorns this blog entry? There are a lot of zeroes next to the Cubs' name.  Wednesday night's game vs. the hapless bunch from Chicago was even more glorious than the one on Tuesday afternoon. 

This time around, I was still playing outside when the 8PM game started.  As big a baseball fan as I was, nothing could deter me from a summer's evening.  And the 845PM arrival of the Good Humor truck.  The Mets were great, but they could wait.  There was a Strawberry Shortcake on a stick with my name on it.

Nevertheless, I hadn't completely shunned my team.  I was armed---or eared, really---with a transistor radio.  And something special was already happening out on the shores of Flushing Meadow.

By the end of the second inning, the Mets were already winning 3-0.   And 50,000 fans, perspiring in the humidity, were delirious.  But, there was another story brewing as I listened to, inning after inning.

No Cub had reached base yet.  And Tom Seaver was absolutely masterful on the mound.  Hmmm.  The Mets didn't no-hit another team.  They were the ones who usually got no-hit themselves.

By the eighth inning of this perfect game, I needed to add some visuals to the audio.  It was time to check this out on television.  And, not on the junky portable black-and-white job in my room.  Nope, I needed to savor this moment in good ole living color.

Except...

My mother was home.  And usually commandeered the television set to watch the David Frost talk show.

Grrrrrr.......

I made the request for a temporary take-over of the living room television set.  As usual, my mom was her accommodating self.

"Go watch in your room."

Er, do you have an idea what is happening at the Met game tonight?

At that time, my mother knew a baseball was round and that was it.

I proceeded to explain the importance of a perfect game, and, even more so, my need to share in the importance of this particular perfect game.  I was allowed to change the channel from Channel 5 Metromedia to Channel 9 just in time for the top of the ninth inning.  Tom Seaver was just three outs away from baseball heaven.  And a feat that none of the kids "up the block" could even hope to ignore.

The first Cub was Randy Hundley and he tries to bunt for a hit.  Unsuccessfully. 

Two outs to go.

The next batter was a pinch hitter.  Jimmy Qualls.  

A single to left field.

It was over.

I cursed the screen.  Not a wise move in front of a parent.

Shit.

My mother was lost.

"Is that bad?"

Despite the fact that the Mets had just hoisted themselves into the pennant race with two wins against the Cubs, I was demolished.  All I heard the next day from the chums up the street was how Tom Seaver sucked.

Yeah, despite my recent validation as a baseball fan, I would still face an uphill battle. 

Until that moment several months later.  When the New York Mets became the World Champions of baseball.

Happy July 8th to everybody.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger on pretzel bun.