JAVA JIVE

In my younger and more tasteless days, my standard answer to "How do you like your coffee?" was "The way I like my women: hot, strong, and black." For some reason, this went over better with guys than women, especially those who hadn't reached voting age yet. 

But according to two recent medical studies, I seem to have been on to something. Now I just have to figure out which one to choose.

I'd rather live a 15%-17% shorter life than wear an
apron like that in front of my homies.

The first, from something called StudyFinds, tells us that drinking one to three cups of coffee daily offers a 15%-17% chance of living longer than those who drink either decaf or tea. And if you do drink java juice, make sure it's black without sugar. Otherwise, you won't live as long as tough guys like me who prefer it straight. 

The second comes courtesy of SciTechDaily. In a study involving people age 55 and over, regular coffee drinking helps to reduce the onset of frailty. But as with the other study, there's a catch. In order the reap the benefits, you need to drink four to six or more cups a day. 

First tip: convince the police you aren't a
suicide bomber.

What the what? Six cups a day? Many years ago, I spent 24 hours strapped with a Holter Monitor when just three cups a day started to make my heart go into its Buddy Rich tribute. 

Those several extra thousand heartbeats that the monitor recorded didn't make me several thousand times healthier. I spent the next decade or so drinking decaf until eventually easing myself up to one or two cups a day, where I remain today. 

Hey kid, didn't I tell you? Lay off the milk
and sugar!

Does drinking only two cups mean I will eventually become 2/3 more frail than the old fogeys who drink coffee by the quart? Not if it's as accurate as similar studies I've seen, like the one claiming that coffee prevents dementia. Ask my lifelong coffee-drinking mother how well that turned out. Oh wait, you can't -- she died from complications from dementia! But she lived to be close to 100, so maybe the coffee did some good. Too bad she wasn't cognizant of it at the time. 

Then there was another study that found that one cup of coffee prevented hearing loss by 15%. The catch: only men reaped that benefit. Yes, it's true: coffee is sexist. Flip side: husbands have no reason to claim they didn't hear their wives tell them to take out the garbage. 

No word if cigarettes help or hinder.

And if you're going to follow any of these rules, another study claims you better pour it all down your throat in the morning, because coffee does no damn good after lunch. Have fun when your body crashes at 3:00.

What do all these studies have in common? They're all from Europe. So many different countries, so many different results! 

So here's what American smarty-pants have to say: Java jolters who have one to three cups have a 15% lower risk of dying in the next nine to eleven years. Add a fourth cup and you have a 64% lower chance of "all-cause mortality" than non-drinkers. As I scan the news headlines, I'm not sure which group I want to be part of anymore.

                                                              ***********

ZO HO HO!

When Andrew Cuomo makes the classic
"politician face", you know change is in the air.

That earsplitting choking sound that woke you up from a sound sleep last night was Andrew Cuomo phoning his congratulations to Zohran Mamdani for winning the Democratic mayoral primary here in New York. Cuomo had warned us that his usual voters -- most of whom regularly receive junk mail regarding funerals and mausoleums -- would stay home due to the heat. (Ninety-nine degrees on Election Day, the hottest on that date in over a decade.) 

The hands-on legend (in more ways than one) lost to Mamdani by around seven points. This despite because of getting the support of millionaires, billionaires, and fellow sex-hound Bill Clinton. Memo to the DNC: Younger voters really don't like anyone named Clinton or Cuomo. And whether you like it or not, they are the future of your party, while those who remember Johnny Carson aren't. Or to put it another way: who do you think Harvey Weinstein would have endorsed were he not currently serving time for rape? 

"They love me now!"

Just to emphasize how wacky this race was, the New York Post actually endorsed Adrew Cuomo despite being his mortal enemy during his time as Governor -- especially during the covid lockdown. When Rupert Murdoch endorses Andrew Cuomo for anything other than resigning from office, you know there's little daylight between those two power-mad, leather-faced dinosaurs.

The New York Post, always the
party-pooper.

I've made jokes on this blog about Zohran Mamdani, believing that he would be
another Bernie Sanders -- a socialist democrat who would wind up breaking the hearts of his supporters when he met his inevitable end. And come November, that still may happen. Hey, it wouldn't come as a shock if the old guard Democrats somehow manipulate the ranked voting to somehow nominate Scott Stringer or -- gulp -- Andrew Cuomo. Watch how well that works out.

It's always been great sport to rightfully make fun of the difference between the male-dominated white Congressional Republicans with their age spots, gray hair, and purple hands (take it from me, low platelets), while the Democrats were the "rainbow" party with men, women, trans, white, brown, black, and whatever John Fetterman is. 

Laugh it up, Archie. Let's see how
you are on Election Day.

But at the end of the rainbow sits people with names like Pelosi, Schumer, and, yes, Clinton. Like Archie Rice (as portrayed by Laurence Olivier in The Entertainer), these and other Democrats are... well, let's allow Google's AI Overview to describe Archie: He is depicted as a selfish and deceitful individual who clings to the spotlight despite his dwindling talent and the negative impact on his family.  

Let Wikipedia offer a spoiler alert: The film ends with Archie making an apparently final performance to an apathetic audience. 

Now let's consult Microsoft Copilot to answer the obvious question: Yes, Andrew Cuomo has left the door open to running as an independent in the upcoming New York City mayoral election. After conceding the Democratic primary to Zohran Mamdani, Cuomo told FOX Business he’s “not ruling out” a run in November. In fact, he had already formed an independent ballot line called the “Fight and Deliver Party” earlier this year, signaling his intent to stay in the race regardless of the primary outcome. 

Writer John Osborne meant The Entertainer as a metaphor for the decline of the British Empire. I think it's time for a remake that takes place in the Democrat Party. There's a plethora of choices to play the lead.

                                                                   ***************

TAKING A TURN FOR THE NURSE

Doing the jobs doctors won't do since forever.

 Nurses don't get enough credit. They're generally taken for granted, and for some reason aren't always thought of as being as "smart" as doctors, as if they shine the shoes that the talented people actually make. 

Too, while it's expected that doctors should be serious, nurses are supposed to be cheerful and laugh at our stupid jokes at the end of their 12-hour overnight shift. And by "our" jokes, I mean mine.

I don't say all this because I'm married to a (retired) nurse. She does well on the medical-related clues on Jeopardy!. And when necessary, she can make an accurate prognosis of whatever is ailing me at any time. Of course, what's ailing me tends to be either psychosomatic or just plain childish. To me that sounds like it makes her job easier, but she might disagree. 

So, it was nice when my wife received a colorful postcard the other day:

At first glance. this appears to be rather nice advice. It is time for nurses to take care of themselves (although it would be even better if someone else took care of them). That self-care doesn't have to be fancy, either. A facial with a cup of tea at Mario Budescu is sometimes all you need to recharge your batteries. My wife gave me a gift certificate for one on my birthday -- and I don't have to put up with cranky patients all day!

But further perusal shows we're not talking the usual spa treatments, unless the "surgeons that nurses trust" are slicing the cucumbers for puffy eyes. Those "cosmetic procedures" usually involve nothing more invasive than coffee grounds and a brush to exfoliate your face. Let's turn the card over and see what's really being sold here:

No mani-pedis here, ladies. This is strictly plastic surgery! Facelifts, nose jobs, something called Mommy Makeover -- all this on a nurse's salary? Really? Because your friendly insurance company sure won't cover it. (Note: do not go all Luigi Mangione on your Aetna CEO.) 

Another satisfied
customer.

Just who is a boob job really for: the nurse or everybody else she encounters? Furthermore, did you know that Botox around the eyes can cause blindness? (I know that because I asked my dermatologist about getting rid of the frown line between my eyes.) And what good is a facelift when you're going to be wearing a mask at work? 

The funniest thing about this ad campaign isn't that the clinic believes the average nurse is going to fall for it. It's the warning, in the finest of fine print, under the photo of the alleged nurse on the other side of the postcard, that had me chuckling: NOT AN ACTUAL PATIENT. 

So don't go getting your hopes up, ladies. You're not really going to look like a professional model (or A.I. generated image) after you drop 15-grand on a facelift. But at least you'll get the V.I.P. complimentary consultation -- and that's cheaper than a cucumber eye mask!

And to all you men feeling left out: yes, there is such a thing as a Daddy Do-Over. Go ahead, guys, treat yourself.

                                                                ***************

SIGN LANGUAGE, PT. 11

 You can't take five steps in New York without getting bombarded by messages, ads, and other pieces of useless "information", Here are a few recent samples, accompanied by my pithy commentary.

Nothing beats walking in Central Park on a sunny spring day while looking at                   your phone and pretending there are orange curtains in front of you.

Hate to break it to you, bro, but the only thing anybody is going to trade                                                              any item of theirs for is money.

I appreciate the suggestion, but I'm more interested in figuring out the bus                                                               route if you don't mind.

      If you ever asked the question "What would the love child of Spongebob                           Squarepants and John Lennon look like?", here's your answer.                               

Bill Ritter and Marza are news anchors on WABC-TV.  And as you can see, we                                           New Yorkers take our news seriously.

Ever hear of someone having a "punchable face"? I'd like to take a goddamn                                                             steamroller to this guy's.

                                            Hey, it worked for Donald Trump!

                                                       *******************

MARCH FIRST ON JUNE FOURTEENTH

 My wife and I were two of the estimated 75,000 participants in the New York "No Kings" march on Saturday. It was more her idea than mine, seeing that it was raining with a ReelFeel in the 50s. Sure, protesting Trump's overreach was important, but did I have to catch a chill in the process? I'm pushing 70, after all. 

But there was no way I was going to let my wife go alone, especially when there were going to be plenty of silver foxes just itching to recreate the good old days of marches against all things Nixon, Reagan, Bush, and Bush II. (Gerald Ford didn't stick around long enough to incite any protests.) 

There were plenty of fellow Upper East Siders on the Q line heading to Bryant Park, the designated No Kings meeting place. Many were 60+, with at least one literally blue-haired little old lady. Sue and I seemed to be the only marchers not carrying signs. That was OK with me. As in background work, I dislike holding props for long periods of time. Besides, once we the march was over, we were headed for two art galleries with a stop at a cafe in between. How stupid would it look dragging a sign reading DUMP TRUMP while admiring the works of William de Kooning? (I didn't particularly admire them, but that's another story).

Fifth Avenue was closed to vehicular traffic from 42nd to 24th, along with most if not all the cross streets. The entire route was lined with cops in tactical gear, although they were there more as observers than anything else; they were using their visors not to protect their faces from flying objects (there were none) but the rain. Most of them had expressions of Pretty easy gig today or I'm standing in the rain for a parade? 

There were the usual chants that protesters have been using since the Tet Offensive, only updated to reflect current events. Hey ho hey ho, Donald Trump has got to go! and No justice, no peace! I wanted to start a round of Hey ho hey ho, JD Vance is such a schmo! and No kale, no peas!, but my wife wasn't having any of it. Any time I spotted a sign referencing another cause, like the local mayoral race or the mideast, I successfully suppressed the urge to shout, "Wrong protest, Skippy!"

What struck me was the number of people taking selfies, like they were at a concert, on vacation, or documenting a natural disaster. I wondered what they were going to do with their photos and videos. Show them to their friends? Watch them on their HDTVs while sipping white wine afterwards? I couldn't help but feel that for them, this was an event, rather than something that would actually cause "a regime change."

They were right. Until large numbers of Trump voters start protesting -- as Nixon voters did when their sons returned from Vietnam dead or damaged -- these marches will do nothing but make the participants feel good while preserving the illusion democracy is alive and well in America. And so we all returned home that night to watch the news, secure in the knowledge (subconscious or otherwise) that things will get worse long before they get better. 

And if they don't get better? Hey, see you at the next march! Hey ho hey ho, what good is this I'd like to know!

                                                                  ************

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 52

 From the frozen North to the streets of Chicago and New York come two features, one TV news documentary, and an industrial short starring a comedian in a rare dramatic role. You've never seen any of these and, unless you're someone like me, probably never will. Your loss, my friend.

THE VIKING (1931): When the prologue to a movie uses the phrase "the greatest catastrophe in the history of the motion picture industry", it isn't referring to Michael Bay. Not to say the script for The Viking isn't hackneyed -- two feuding members of a seal hunt in love with same girl wind up having to save each other's lives. The acting, too, is strictly amateur hour (and nine minutes). No one is credited as director, but producer Varick Frissell is one of the two guilty parties responsible, with B-director George Melford wisely keeping his name somewhere else. 

But Frissell must be applauded for the extraordinary footage shot aboard the titular ship during a real seal hunt in the freezing waters of Labrador. Nothing is faked here -- not the icefloes the sailors walk on (or jump across to avoid falling in the ocean), the icebergs towering over them like skyscrapers, the blizzards, or the seal hunt itself (don't worry, folks, no clubbing here, only rifles are used). When The Viking sticks to its real-life footage, the result is riveting enough to make you almost forget the mediocrity surrounding it.

Frissell would have done better just making a straight-ahead documentary along the lines of With Byrd at the South Pole from a year earlier instead of padding it out with a trite love triangle. Instead, Frissell hired unknowns (only lead Charles Strarrett would go onto semi-big things in B-Westerns). Non-actor Bob Bartlett, real-life commander of the ship taken by Matthew Perry to the North Pole in 1908, gives the most authentic performance as, what else, the captain of The Viking. Luckily for them and the rest of the cast, they were on dry land when, during reshoots, the ship blew up, killing 25 crewmembers, along with Frissell himself. Now you understand the "greatest catastrophe" hype.

Critics didn't cut The Viking any slack for the deaths, while the movie did poor box-office. Not even the introductory appearance of Sir Wilfred Grenfell ("the greatest living authority of the Labrador Country") raised a pulse of sympathy. Let that be a lesson to moviemakers: nobody cares about your damn tragedies.

BONUS POINTS: The Viking was, as far as I know, the only talkie with the sound captured via wire recorder.

BLOOD MONEY (1933): Shady bail bondsman Bill Bailey springs bank robber Drury Darling, kid brother of Bill's on-and-off lover Ruby. Their relationship is coming to an end, though, as Bill flips for society sweetie Elaine Talbert. When Drury skips town, Elaine joins him, going so far as to double-cross Bill by making it look like he robbed the bank. Further gumming up his life is the jealous Ruby putting a hit out on him in a way that gives "behind the 8-ball" a whole new meaning.

It isn't often I stumble across a pre-Code I've never heard of, but thank God and Darryl F. Zanuck for Blood Money, which gives us not only the fine roughhouse character actor George Bancroft (Thunderbolt), but also Judith Anderson playing a dame long before she was a real Dame. It's rather refreshing to see a couple who aren't young and gorgeous, with Anderson, age 36, looking compatible with 51-year-old Bancroft. Their characters have seen plenty of action in their time, reflected in Ruby's cynical eyes and Bill's cigarette & liquor-aged face. 

 But it's Frances Dee who puts the "pre" in pre-Code as Elaine Talbart, possibly the most carnally obsessed woman in a studio picture up to then. Any time the subject of sex, violence, or sexual violence is brought up, her mouth opens in a twisted smile and her eyes pop out as if inflated behind their sockets. "What I need is someone to give me a good thrashing," she warns Bill on their first date. "I'd follow him around like a dog on a leash!" And if you stick around to the end of the movie, you'll see that's her least shocking moment. Over and done in 65 minutes, Blood Money is Type A entertainment with enough startling dialogue to drive your wife out of the room as it did mine.

BONUS POINTS: 22-year-old platinum blonde Lucille Ball has one line of dialogue in her role as a hooker at the dog track. Just the kind of girl you want to bring home to no one.

DREAM STREET (19??): Long before the concept of hidden cameras catching
criminals became a regular part of television, WCBS-TV in New York presented the 30-minute news special Dream Street hosted by reporter Bill Ledder. At least I think that's his name; the show's scratchy soundtrack makes it difficult to make out. But that only adds to the old-school, pre-Dolby Atmos you-are-there feel of the show.

Filmed in co-operation with the NYPD, the first half of Dream Street follows three undercover cops staking out the Prospect Place area of Brooklyn waiting for the pusher man to sell his supply to willing customers. Conversation between the cops, allegedly captured by hidden microphones, appears to be dubbed in; not only is it slightly out of synch with their mouths, much of it sounds scripted, along the lines of "Look, here come the three addicts" as if the guys were wearing jerseys identifying their team. The second half, shot inside a police station, consists of a police sergeant interviewing "apprentice dealer" Big Sam and addicts Vernon and Willie the Whip one at a time. While interesting, it's something of a slog compared to the footage preceding it.

Just when Dream Street originally aired is difficult to figure out; it's supposed to have been in the early 1960s, but it looks a few years older. Men sell furniture on the street while keeping warm with urban campfires. Produce stands outside bodegas take up much of the sidewalk. Salesmen use horse drawn carts to peddle their wares. And by God the addicts wear nice fedoras, overcoats and neckties I would love to wear in the 21st century. When did druggies become the slobs they are today?

BONUS POINTS: Is heroin still sold in capsule-form like it is here? Or am I just misunderstanding what the capsule really is?

THE ORDEAL OF THOMAS MOON (1956): From its stark black and white photography to its real-life ambient sound accompanying the on-location film shooting in the original Penn Station and Manhattan's west side, to the narrator who will sound familiar to TV-addicted baby boomers, The Ordeal of Harry Moon captures that brief time when cinema verite took hold in American entertainment, big pharm was still considered the answer to all our problems, and being overweight was the exception not the rule. 

The corpulent, perpetually perspiring Thomas Moon can barely walk up a flight of stairs at Penn Station, reach into his pants pocket for change, or fit inside a phonebooth. Nor can he open a newspaper or overhear a conversation without being reminded he's fat. Even his girlfriend chews him out -- telephonically, not literally -- sending him on a self-loathing stroll around Times Square. (How did he have the ability to walk 20 blocks from Penn Station?). 

You can't help but wonder what 24-year-old Dom DeLuise thought about playing a poor schlub surrounded by ads reading "ARE YOU SELF-CONCIOUS ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT?" or "FAT PEOPLE DIE FIRST." (His reflection in a storefront window is a near doppelganger of Oliver Hardy.)  When his character finally has a nervous breakdown in the middle of Broadway, DeLuise probably didn't need more than one take or even a rehearsal. 

The Ordeal of Thomas Moon lasts 14 minutes -- long enough for our heavy hero to decide he needs to do something about his condition. Or, as the understanding narrator reminds us, "He will face his problem the safe way, the only way, by seeing a doctor" -- who will likely put him on meds made by the film's sponsor, Smith, Kline & French Laboratories, the fine folks who manufactured and sold Benzedrine for weight loss. What, you thought proper diet and exercise would do the trick? 

BONUS POINTS: Dom DeLuise's breakdown happens directly across the street from the aptly-named Broadway Theater on the corner of 53rd Street, where, as we can see in the screenshot, Sammy Davis, Jr. was currently starring in Mr. Wonderful. 

                                                                  *************

HEDGEFUNDING OUR BETS

It takes five strong men with guns and clubs
to protect themselves from one unarmed
protestor.

 As we continue to live in a country ruled by a president whose spirit creature is the wendigo, a Republican party increasingly comfortable with the idea of Fourth Reich on its home turf, and a Los Angeles Police Department missing the good ol' days of Rodney King-style justice, let us return to the calmer climes of New York politics where the mayoral race has entered its latest lap.

I don't know these people six out of nine ways
from Sunday.

Nine Democrats -- two-thirds of whom fall in the category of Who the hell is that? --
took part, including the now obligatory hedge fund manager. His appearance answered the question "How do you tell a Republican skeezeball from his Democrat counterpart?" Answer: the latter brags about arriving to the debate on a bicycle. No joke.

Yabba-dabba-dope.

To give you an idea of just how serious some of these folks were, one of them, Jesscia Ramos, dropped out within hours of the debate and threw her utterly worthless support behind Andrew "I Am Not A Sex Pest" Cuomo. Ramos' move was that of a pro -- as in "quid pro quo" regarding a job in the next likely mayoral administration. Meanwhile, candidate Scott Stringer, a mainstay in New York politics since a subway ride cost 90 cents, continues to show his desperation for any political power higher than Comptroller, even as he's better suited to cosplaying Barney Rubble.

This left Cuomo and Zohran Mamdani to do the heavy-lifting in terms of one-on-one political attacks, cutting off each other, and all-around yelling exercises. I have a feeling, though, that Cuomo's ire against his main opponent is strictly personal, seeing that Mamdani is getting far more traction than expected -- so much so that even my laptop tells me when I've misspelled his name. 

It was no surprise, then, we received a piece of mail from the Cuomo campaign 48 hours later explaining the differences between him and his pesky rival. Right off the bat, the flyer wants us to "get to know the candidates" via their clothes. Cuomo: rough & tumble ordinary joe. Mamdani: a RISK (in a color font similar to his skin) wearing a shirt from The Muslim Men's Wearhouse. 

Gee, what do you suppose they're trying to get across? Especially since it's really easy to find photos of him in the dull pinstriped suit he's been sporting for months. Hey, he even showed up to the debate in one! Way to tell the voters what kind of person Mamdani really is! 

Forget about reading where the two guys stand on the issues, because you know already. (Although it's worth noting that the Cuomo list has a shiny, friendly white background while Mamdani's is darker and -- well, is it safe to say more threatening to the easily-threatened?). So it's best to go with the people who paid for the flyer, Fix The City, Inc. The little print reminds us that Fix The City, Inc. has no connection to any campaign (wink wink!), but it's good to take a closer look --like with a microscope -- at the names behind it. 

Yeah, deliver Gracie Mansion to Cuomo.

The first is DoorDash, the food delivery service that makes you think of struggling working-class folks, but is actually run by three Chinese-American billionaires. (I emphasize their nationality because they emphasize Mamdani's.) That trio of miscreants have helped to create headlines like DoorDash Accused of Purposely Misleading its Customers; Canada's Antitrust Watchdogs Sue DoorDash Over Prices, Discounts; and DoorDash, GrubHub, Uber Eats Settle With New York City Over Minium Wages, Fee Caps. Yup, it's the old story of billionaires who can't afford to pay minimum wage to their workers. Sad!

The other two names behind Fix The City, Inc. are John Fish and Matthew Hulsizer. Both are -- well, whaddaya know! -- billionaire hedge fund managers. Gee, I wonder in whose favor Fix The City, Inc. wants to have the city fixed for? C'mon, Andrew, it's time to replace that blue collar jacket with a blonde Trump wig.

Oh, and a helpful hint to Mamdani: Fix the City, Inc. lifted that photo of you from your own campaign website. It wouldn't hurt to replace it with one in a dull pinstriped suit. Gotta play the game, y'know. Look how far it's gotten Andrew Cuomo.

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DE-STINK QUALITIES

How people got their vital psych
information before the internet.

Clickbait articles offering "psychological analysis" regarding everyday tasks are always fun to read. Not because they offer genuine insight, but for their utter inanity. If the people who wrote these things were actually practicing doctors, they'd have had their licenses pulled before graduation.

None of these pieces really tell you anything you weren't already aware of. Here's How You Know Someone Doesn't Care About You. Here's Why You're Attracted to Certain People. How You Answer Your Emails Says Alot About You. Brother, if you haven't figured these things out on your own by now, you're beyond psychiatric evaluation and are ready to return to seventh grade.

You know these quacks are running out of ideas when they affirm that using a shopping list is a sign of dementia. That must have gotten plenty of hits, because now someone named Lachlan Brown promises IF YOU STILL WRITE SHOPPING LISTS INSTEAD OF USING YOUR PHONE, PSYCHOLOGY SAYS YOU HAVE THESE 7 DISTINCT QUALITIES. 

How desperate are people for reassurances of self-worth that they need a pat on the back for writing a shopping list? Here's what they discovered about themselves, with a second opinion from Dr. Fisheye.

1) You're naturally conscientious and love feeling on top of things. Yeah, OK, but I write shopping lists because we have to go through those pads of paper that charities keep sending us to guilt-trip us into making a contribution. (Hasn't worked yet. HAH!)

2) Your memory gets a bonus workout. If I wanted to give my memory a bonus workout, I'd try to remember what I was shopping for.

3) You protect your focus from digital distractions. So why do I have my Android in my pocket when shopping? To distract myself when I'm on the check-out line (and to see if anyone responded to my latest Reddit opinion).

4) You shop with intention -- and often spend less. Yeah, shop with intention to keep from going hungry. As for spending less -- when was the last time this guy went shopping? 

5) You crave tactile engagement (and your brain thanks you). I get more tactile engagement satisfaction from popping bubble wrap. And the only thing my brain thanks me for is getting caffeine into my system every morning. It sure isn't from reading useless crap like Lachlan Brown has to offer.

6) You use cognitive offloading to lower stress. I can't answer to that because I have no idea what the hell he's talking about.

7) You have a healthy streak of nostalgia (and that's good for you). Sorry, Lach, TCM and YouTube feed my nostalgia (and wife's neuralgia). 

You'd be laughing, too,
if you made a living
scamming the public.

If you want other crumbs of wisdom from this Lachlan Brown muttonhead, you can visit his site to purchase his self-published books (where the images feature an A.I.-generated paperweight engraved with the words BEST SELLER). The reviews read like they were all written by the same person who, I'm betting, has the initials L.B. The best part is that his site is called Hack Spirit, which would make a for a good article called ONE SIGN YOU'VE MADE A FREUDIAN SLIP.

                                      *********

RACE BAITING

Spring has arrived here in New York, and with it come its familiar signs -- foggy mornings, young women in pajamas walking their dogs, and political ads crowding the television airwaves like psychos on the subway. And lucky us -- we get to see them for two different states!

When you realize this required several takes to 
capture every angle, Fulop's feat isn't so
impressive.

Across the Hudson River, the Democratic primary candidates for New Jersey governor are big on images and scary words. Steve Fulop runs up a long flight of stairs in his gym clothes to prove that he's in shape to take on Donald Trump and Elon Musk. Navy vet and current House of Representatives member Mikie Sherrill stands by a helicopter ready to take aim at Donald Trump and Elon Musk. 

I'm pretty sure Trump did a similar ad
against Biden.

Sean Spiller, former mayor of Montclair, uses mock-ups of newspaper headlines
warning us about the damage done by Donald Trump and Elon Musk. In the silliest spot, A.I.-generated images show Josh Gottheimer boxing Donald Trump (presumably Musk is Trump's cornerman). All of these ads leave me wondering if J.D. Vance is embarrassed or relieved that the candidates don't consider him worth mentioning. 

It would appear, then, it doesn't matter which of these candidates wins the primary since they're all promising the same outcomes. Not so in New York, where the two leading candidates for Mayor are different enough to make things interesting. If politics is ever interesting.

Polling at 37%, Andrew Cuomo is the favorite to win on name recognition alone. His commercials deftly avoid any mention of past brushes with corruption and groping which cost him his previous job of Governor. (By the way, you know a politician is hungry for any kind of power when they try to get a job at a lower position than before.) 

A rare photo of Andrew Cuomo not getting handsy
with a young female.

Unlike the Jersey governor ads, Cuomo's are strictly of the handshake and speechifying varieties; no aircrafts or boxing matches here. Yet unable to change his questionable ways, the image to the right is from a commercial created by an allegedly-independent PAC in collusion with Cuomo's official campaign. This failed sleight of hand cost the former governor $622,000 in fines, not one cent of which will cost him a vote. Name recognition -- it's a good thing!

Speaking of name recognition, Zohran Mamdani has gotten traction by being the only semi-serious challenge to Cuomo, at least to younger voters. Over 30 years younger than the former governor, Mamdani proudly boasts of "progressive values" that has boosted him to number one in the hearts of 18-49 year-olds. Those votes have placed him in second place at (drumroll, please)... 18%. 

Mamdani hoping that Republican voters
confuse him with J.D. Vance.

That's 20 points behind King Cuomo. Only in New York is that considered a serious candidate by a news media desperate for any kind of excitement in an otherwise tedious race. Finally realizing the dreaded Babyboomers must be served, Mamdani has made a couple of key changes in his campaign style. First, he's traded in his hoodies for suits that make him look more Mayoral and less John Fetterman. 

Unfortunately, not all the older New Yorkers are warming up to a leftist Muslim endorsed by a former U.S. Representative who called the rapes and killing of Israelis on Oct. 7 "a lie". Nor do they take to headlines like "Mamdani passes on condemning the Holocaust". Stuff like this is concerning in a city second only to Tel Aviv with the largest Jewish population in the world. Another worry involves black voters, 50% of whom support Cuomo to the 8% Mamdani can boast of. 

"I'll take pandering to minorities for $100, Ken."

These problems seem to explain two commercials I've noticed this week running on Jeopardy! They're essentially identical except for the narrators. One of them features the voice of a 60ish Jewish woman. The second, a 50ish Black man. Neither hits the "accents" very hard, but just enough to let the target audiences know that Mamdani is safe to vote for. 

The first spot runs as Jeopardy! went into a commercial break, while the second is in the same break just before returning to the show. Apparently, the Mamdani campaign believes Jewish people are more likely to watch commercials, while Black viewers go the bathroom and return 30 seconds before the second half of the show. 

And if you wonder where Mayor Eric Adams is, well, as WABC-TV News reports, the Democrat-turned-Independent-turned-loser is polling at 8% "and falling". Look for his next ad to feature someone with a Turkish accent.

                                         

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