Classic Newsreel of the Month - October 2023

 A typical news week seventy years ago.

Dinner last night:  Sliders.

Halloween Or Bust

 Dinner last night:  Leftover SPO.

Putting the Q in Quirky

Twenty-three years or so ago, there was a delightful and under-appreciated movie called "Camp."  It was a movie about those unique summer camps that are devoted to the musical comedy and teaching kids how to be in...musical comedies.  It thrived on those moments where a ten-year-old girl might be singing something that is totally inappropriate for her.  But it also had a lot of heart and a nifty romance between some of the kids.

In 2023, we have "Theater Camp," which is really the same movie and sensation.  This one is shot in mock documentary style and dares to be different from "Camp."   And doesn't succeed.

Nor is it as good.

"Theater Camp" is about a musical comedy camp called Adiron Dacts.   In the first five minutes, the camp director goes to a production of "Bye Bye Birdie" and one of the strobe lights puts her into a coma.  Sounds quirky?   The problem with "Theater Camp" is that it's nothing but quirky.   And little heart.

Unlike "Camp," this one focuses on the teachers and they're not that interesting.  You have the camp director's son who is a loser and may let a neighboring camp take over the property.   Two of the teachers, played by Ben "Evan Hansen" Platt and Molly Gordon, bicker throughout about nothing really.  The challenge here is that Platt and Gordon and several of the other actors are also the screenwriters and directors.  They are obviously in love with their work.

I was not.

The next night, I rewatched "Camp" and was amused and entertained all over again.   

I'll never watch "Theater Camp" again.

LEN'S RATING:  Two stars.

Dinner last night:  Grilled steak salad.

This Date in History - October 11

 

Happy birthday to Eleanor Roosevelt on what would be her 139th birthday.   She could do it all.  Here she is talking up a Led Zeppelin tune on FM radio.

1138:  A MASSIVE EARTHQUAKE STRIKES ALEPPO.

Aleppo?   Wasn't that also one of the Marx Brothers?

1311:  THE ORDINANCES OF 1311 ARE ESTABLISHED, IMPOSING A SERIES OF REGULATIONS UPON KING EDWARD II OF ENGLAND BY THE PEERAGE AND CLERGY.

Whatever you say...

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

Don't mess with December 25.

1634:  THE BURCHARDI FLOOD KILLED 15,000 MEN IN DENMARK AND GERMANY.

No women?

1767:  SURVEYING THE MASON-DIXON LINE SEPARATING MARYLAND FROM PENNSYLVANIA IS COMPLETED.

A little more than a line in the sand.

1809:  IN TENNESSEE, EXPLORER MERIWETHER LEWIS DIES UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES.

A 19th Century cry for the folks at CSI.

1811:  INVENTOR JOHN STEVENS' BOAT, THE JULIANA, BEGINS OPERATION AS THE FIRST STEAM-POWERED FERRY SERVICE BETWEEN NEW YORK CITY AND HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY.

And ferries still sail the war all across the US>

1865:  PAUL BOGLE LED HUNDREDS OF BLACK MEN AND WOMEN IN A MARCH IN JAMAICA.

Just to be clear, not Queens?

1884:  ELEANOR ROOSEVELT IS BORN.

My grandmother used to say she lived in a suitcase.

1890:  IN WASHINGTON DC, THE DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION IS FOUNDED.

If they are true daughters of the American Revolution, damn, they must be old.

1899:  THE WESTERN LEAGUE IS RENAMED THE AMERICAN LEAGUE.

Which would be confusing when we got the American League West.

1906:  SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC SCHOOL BOARD SPARKS A DIPLOMATIC CRISIS BETWEEN THE US AND JAPAN BY ORDERED JAPANESE STUDENTS TO BE TAUGHT IN RACIALLY SEGREGATED SCHOOLS.

Would anybody be bitching about this in 1941?

1910:  FORMER PRESIDENT TEDDY ROOSEVELT BECOMES THE FIRST US PRESIDENT TO FLY IN AN AIRPLANE.  HE DOES SO FOR FOUR MINUTES.

So no time for getting any food for purchase.

1946:  SINGER DARYL HALL IS BORN.

Private eyes, we're watching you.

1950:  CBS'S MECHANICAL COLOR TELEVISION IS THE FIRST TO BE LICENSED FOR BROADCAST BY THE FCC.

Okay, so how come all the first color TV shows were on NBC??

1954:  FIRST INDOCHINA WAR - THE VIET MINH TAKE CONTROL OF NORTH VIETNAM.

Yeah, this crap will be with us for a while.

1961:  COMIC CHICO MARX DIES.

Not Aleppo.

1962:  POPE JOHN XXIII CONVENES THE FIRST ECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH IN 92 YEARS.

What took them so long?

1968:  NASA LAUNCHES APOLLO 7, THE FIRST SUCCESSFUL MANNED APOLLO MISSION, WITH ASTRONAUTS WALLY SCHIRRA, DONN F. EISELE, AND WALTER CUNNINGHAM ABOARD.

Those were the moon practice Apollos.

1975:  SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE DEBUTS.

And this turns into a civil service job for Lorne Michaels.

1976:  GEORGE WASHINGTON'S APPOINTMENT, POSTHUMOUSLY, TO THE GRADE OF GENERAL IS APPROVED BY PRESIDENT FORD.

And you thought Pope John XXIII was slow.

1984:  ABOARD THE SPACE SHUTTLE CHALLENGER, ASTRONAUT KATHRYN D. SULLIVAN BECOMES THE FIRST AMERICAN WOMAN TO PERFORM A SPACE WALK.

Without stopping into a mall on the way.

1986:  US PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN AND SOVIET LEADER MIKHAIL GORBACHEV MEET IN ICELAND IN AN EFFORT TO CONTINUE DISCUSSIONS ABOUT SCALING BACK THEIR MISSILE ARSENALS IN EUROPE.

A President talking to a Russian?   Seriously??

1987:  FIRST PUBLIC DISPLAY OF THE AIDS MEMORIAL QUILT ON THE NATIONAL MALL IN WASHINGTON, DC.

In the early days of that horrible disease.

1991:  COMIC REDD FOXX DIES.

Dropped dead while rehearsing a new sitcom.   

2007:  SINGER WERNER VON TRAPP DIES.

Not one of his favorite things.

2008:  COMPOSER NEAL HEFTI DIES.

Dah dah dah dah dah dah Batman!

2022:  ACTRESS ANGELA LANSBURY DIES.

Anybody stop to think how many dead bodies showed up whenever she arrived?

Dinner last night:  Coconut chicken skewers.

Morons of the Month - October 2023

 

How wonderfully small town and simple this looks.   An elderly gentleman casually wheels his bike down a New York City street.  

It ain't.

This old codger is probably the only one in the borough of Manhattan who is obeying traffic rules.   The rest are not.   And there is tons of encouragement for others to do the same.

The biggest issue with all these bikes motoring around NY is the simple fact that they are there.   With the influx of bicycles in hopes of replacing the dreaded automobile, traffic patterns have been altered.  Broadway used to be six lanes wide.  We have lost one to a pedestrian walkway.   We have lost another to the restaurant that has now extended its outdoor dining to a shed where previously cars could park.

And the third lane that is now toast is the one dedicated to bike riders.

The problem with this is that very bike lane is usually the one you need to cross in order to get to the outdoor dining shed.

Uh oh.

I saw this first hand last week when I ate on the Upper West Side.  And watched one waiter after another lose his footing due to a bicyclist speeding through.  One that did not stop at the nearby red light either.  Causing several cars to slam on the breaks.

But, boy oh boy, bikes sure do help the ecology.   

Morons.

Dinner last night:  The pre-game buffet at the Dodger Stadium Club.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 9, 2023

The reboot of "Frasier" arrives this week.  Let's all enjoy this wonderful clip from the original. 

Dinner last night:  Ribeye steak.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Insert Scalpel Here

 

The official name of my scheduled procedure was "orchiectomy." Go ahead. Look it up in a dictionary and you will finally figure out what the hell I've been talking about for the past two Sundays.

My urologist did all his cutting in St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica. I remember seeing the place on television during the 1994 Northridge earthquake. There were a lot of cracks in the building back then. I hoped and prayed that there wouldn't be a shaker while I was under the scalpel. The same way I fear having a cavity filled during a trembler.

For some reason known only to doctors, nurses, and insurance companies, these outpatient surgeries are always scheduled for the early morning hours. This requires you to get there even earlier than you would for a flight out of LAX. First of all, there are tons of forms to fill out so the hospital is totally protected if you choose to die during surgery.

As I repeatedly signed my name, I kept thinking that these autographs might be worth something. If I happen to... I also start to consider that the doctor might make some extra dough by working on the carpel tunnel syndrome that is certainly developing as I manuever through Page 112 of the hospital disclaimer.

"Who do we call?"

If I die? Well, Variety, the Hollywood Reporter, and then maybe my roommate in that order.

"Who is here with you?"

You mean the person that you can slip the box of Kleenex to if I check out? Well, my roommate dropped me off and will pick me up when I am ready to go. There was no reason to keep him here in these ultra-depressing surroundings. So, you can keep the tissue.

These hospital workers have a tough job when patients like me show up. When we're nervous, we like to babble. Even if it's only in our minds.

When you appear for one of these slash jobs, you watch the nurses go about their business in almost robotic fashion. You realize that they do this every single morning of the week. And the only way they can go through this successfully is by being structured and regimented. I wasn't a name or a person. I was simply "Room 24" and the "830AM surgery in OR 2."

At St. John's, they shuttle you to your own personal little "green room" to prep for your big appearance on the table. There, you can disrobe, gown up, and panic in privacy. I did so quickly and immediately hopped up on the gurney, which would be my home away from home for the next three or so hours. To while away your time, St. John's equips these rooms with a television. I turned it on to see Matt Lauer and Al Roker yammering about the weather in New York.

I immediately turned it off. Oh, my God, the last television I would see is "The Today Show." My life is ending with such emptiness.

Another knock on the door. A different nurse rolled in an EKG machine. Not only was I going to be under a knife in less than ninety minutes, but now I was going to endure the heartless pain of those little stickers pulling off my body hair. She went about her business, layering me with those little electronic Post-its. A pause as she flipped the switch. Another pause as she stared at the machine. Hmmmmmm.

"I'll be right back."

She returned with another nurse, who also stared at the machine. She turned to leave.

"I'll be right back."

Nurse Moe and Nurse Larry were now joined by Nurse Shemp. They all surveyed the nothingness that was apparently my heartbeat.

"I don't know how to tell you this but you might be dead."

Already?????

They contemplated their apparently faulty equipment. I looked for the exit sign. And then peered down at the floor. I tapped Nurse Moe on the shoulder.

"I think the machine works better when it's plugged in."

Three of the reddest faces ever to be seen in a hospital. The three nurses laughed hysterically. I wished I could join in. Now I couldn't wait to see what fresh hell would be awaiting me in the operating theater.

Another knock. The door opened slightly. A mild-mannered bald man stuck his head in.

"Would you like a prayer?"

Given what I had just seen with the three idiots and the EKG machine, I certainly needed one. And I was feeling fairly ecumenical. But I asked the guy what religion he was.

"I'm a priest."

Hmmmm. At this point, I didn't really care. But, suddenly, the face of my grandmother flashed before my eyes. Heck, she didn't even like it if you dated a Catholic, let alone have one doodling with some rosary beads before they went off to surgery. If my last moments were indeed Catholic ones, there would be no living with my grandmother in eternity. I lifted my head off the pillow and spoke to the priest.

"Nah, I'm good."

It wasn't more than ten minutes later that I was on my way. A rapidly speeding gurney through the halls of St. John's Hospital. I was wide awake and got to see all the other patients on their respective ways to a meeting with a very sharp object. In my own surgical suite, KRTH. the local oldies station, was blasting out of the speakers. A nurse, busying herself with my doctor's weapons, was singing along.

"STOP IN THE NAME OF LOVE....BEFORE YOU BREAK MY HEART....."

I quickly searched around for the dude who would be administering the knockout punch. I had only undergone anesthesia once before in my life when I had a small cyst removed. That was minor. This would be the Big Kahuna of deep sleep. And I was fully braced for the usual instructions. Start at 100 and count backward. Friends already advised me that you never get past 98. Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder.

"Hello, Len."

It was my smiling doctor.

And that's the last I remember. I didn't even get to count. An hour later...

"Hello, Len."

My smiling doctor again. I was still on the gurney in the operating room. The same nurse was still fooling with the now-sullied scalpels. And she was still singing.

"TALKIN' ABOUT MY GIRL....MY GIRL....."

The next half hour was admittedly hazy for me. I heard my doctor's voice in short spurts.

"Everything....fine....biopsy results....next week.....Vicodin."

I totally slept through the gurney ride to the post-surgical recovery room. But, when I did come to, I found myself side-by-side with the rest of the outpatients. And each one of their moans was louder than the next. I felt like I was lying in the streets of Atlanta as depicted in "Gone With The Wind." A nurse came by.

"How are you feeling?"

Fine. Can I go home?

Another nurse came by with a cup of some liquid.

"Here's some apple juice for you."

Thank you. Can I go home?

Another half hour. Another round of wails from the patients around. What specifically had been done to them? The nurse came back to my gurney.

"Your clothes are underneath. If you can get dressed..."

Done. In five minutes. Can I go home?

They finally got the message and called my roommate. He picked me up fifteen minutes later. With my senses totally relaxed by the fading anesthesia, he asked me what I wanted to eat.

"Entenmann's Pound Cake and a Diet Snapple."

I have no idea why. But that pound cake and that Diet Snapple never tasted better.

Oh. sure, the next few days were a little rough. My stitches down below were courtesy of Swingline Staplers. I finally figured out why the doctor had mentioned Vicodin. I needed it at night. Showering, of course, was a bitch. I couldn't get the bandage wet and I didn't want to, since I had already peeked under the dressing.

I was now Frankengroin.

So, the odyssey that had begun when I was five years old and sobbing in Dr. Fiegoli's office was finally over. A long journey that ended with the news that...

"The biopsy results were negative."

Dinner last night:  Pork sliders at the Dodger game.