Thursday, October 12, 2017


It seems astonishing now. The last 25 years have gone by faster than the nine years I lived in New York before meeting my wife, and the eleven before we married. 

When we met, I had been living alone for two years, after having roommates at different times since moving here. It was nice not having to cohabitate for the first time in my life -- keeping my own schedule, doing what I wanted, decorating my living quarters the way I saw fit (meaning lots of movie posters).

By the time we met, I was 35, a number considered middle-aged for a single person. I had accepted the idea that I was never going to marry; there would continue to be significant (and not so significant) others in and out of my life, but none that would stick.

And that was OK. Life was good: Cable TV; pasta three times a week; catching up on Alfred Hitchcock movies I had somehow missed over the years (almost all for good reason). Spending entire weekends without speaking to anybody other than when ordering Chinese spareribs and fried rice. Not only could I get used to this, I already had.

Then I went to a party one evening, where I met a woman who, as I was to learn, also had accepted that she would never marry. Eventually, we spoiled each other's plans. Within two years, were on a beach in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, reciting our marriage vows before our mothers and a seagull or two. 

9,125 days have passed since then, which isn't that many when you consider it's been a quarter-century. 219,000 hours. One child. Lots of laughs, several tears, too many times getting lost on roadtrips, countless times when we simultaneously thought, I'm glad I married you. My wife said it to me this morning; it always take me by surprise. If you knew me, it wouldn't take you by surprise.

We always knew we had made the right decision, but it wasn't until some years ago when it became clear. Out of the blue, my wife said, "You know, I always thought love meant being tense all the time. Then I met you."

I knew exactly what she meant. 


Wednesday, October 11, 2017


Harvey Weinstein’s wife, Georgina Chapman, is leaving him, describing his behavior as "unforgiveable" after he was fired from his company.
"And by 'unforgiveable'," she explained, "I mean there goes my fat-fuck meal ticket."

"What I meant to say," she added, "was I blamed the women who wore clothes by other designers."

DNC spokesman Chester Hooten explained, "Ten-thousand per rape seemed fair."

Almost a week after revelations concerning Harvey Weinstein's sexual misbehavior came to light, Hillary Clinton finally released a statement reading, "I was shocked and appalled by the revelations about Harvey Weinstein. The behavior described by women coming forward cannot be tolerated." 

"However," she added, "this does not pertain to the power-lust spouses of  craven politicians."

In related news, people are wondering why Harvey Weinstein's friend Bill Clinton hasn't issued a statement regarding the sex scandal.

When asked by phone, a Clinton spokesman could be heard laughing hysterically before apparently sobbing and hanging up.


Monday, October 9, 2017


All things considered, I'm a pretty good cook. I wish the same could be said about my housekeeping. The whole business of cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, vacuuming, and doing the laundry bores the heck out of me, so I put as little thought into it as I can. And today was no different.

Last week, I was cooking with turmeric, a spice which should have a warning on each jar
As dangerous as yellowcake. 
reading: WILL HOPELESSLY STAIN EVERYTHING THAT IT COMES IN TOUCH WITH. Being what might be called an energetic cook -- a kind way of saying "messy" -- the turmeric got on the kitchen counter, cabinet doors and apron. 

Removing the stains on the counter and cabinets took some doing, but was eventually a success. The apron, on the other hand, was another case entirely. I figured that the stains would eventually become souvenirs of my kitchen skills. No harm, no foul.

But I didn't take into account that I should have done a better job washing my hands, or rather, fingertips before drying them on my bathroom towel. As for why I didn't use the black hand towel, it was because I hadn't bothered removing it from the laundry bag yet. See what I mean about housework = little thought?

It took my wife's eagle eyes to find the yellow spots on the towel. Let me say right now,  I hate when my wife sees the problems I create before I do. It gives me no chance to fix (or at least attempt to fix) them before I do. 

A-ha, nothing!
I wish I had taken up my wife's offer of doing another load of whites yesterday, because maybe this story would have had a happy ending.

Instead, Mr. Clean of the Upper East Side decided that he'd solve the problem once and for all today. Rub in a little stain remover, toss in a load -- what could happen? 

Only this: the stain remover became a stain creator, turning the yellow spots red. 

Realizing this wasn't the way it was supposed to work, I quickly threw the whites in the machine, along with some Clorox. That's supposed to be a stain remover, correct? After lunch, I bounced downstairs, ready to admire the my handiwork, and to prove to myself that maybe I've got this laundry thing down to a science.


In my defense, no one ever told me that it wasn't the best idea to pour Clorox directly on stains. And as for getting this down to a science, well, science was a class where I never scored higher than a "C". 

Ultimately, I blame the recipe. If I hadn't used turmeric, none of this would have happened. But it's better than food poisoning, right? On to tonight's dinner!


Friday, October 6, 2017


Emmanuel College in Britain outraged students when a photo of Auschwitz was used on the cover program for freshmen. The college dean, Rev. Jeremy Caddick, said the image was intended to go with a sermon inspired by the college choir's visit to the camp.

The title of the sermon was "Education Will Set You Free."

A spokesman for NHK said, "We always knew she was a slacker."

A company spokesman reported a deluge of requests, including one from a man with a Southern accent asking if they had a special deal for ex-Presidents.

A spokesman for Weinstein said the mogul had no comment, and that he was currently on a four-day vacation in Colombia.

Those groups also report that it doesn't hurt to take four-day vacations in Colombia, either.


Wednesday, October 4, 2017


Without going into details, I spent a couple of hours inside a small-town church yesterday. Sitting in the pew, I picked up a Bible and opened it to a random page. I've often heard of people doing such a thing and miraculously getting the answer to some burning question that had been on their minds of late. What the heck, I thought. Better than a Magic 8-Ball.

Instead, I found myself  plunged headfirst in the Book of Ezekiel 23, reading about the adventures of sisters  Oholah and Oholibah. (You'd think those names would be awfully confusing to friends and family alike.)

Now, before I go further, I confess that my familiarity with the Bible is limited to the classic stories and quotes. Nor am I church-goer; other than a few obligations (weddings and the like), my visits have been strictly as a tourist. Same thing with any house of worship, by the way. 

My perspective, then, is that of a casual outsider. You know, sermons of God's love, God's will and, for all I know, God's real estate deals. All God, all the time. Sanctity, religion, faith, what have you.

Swing it, sisters!
But Ezekiel 23? Hoo boy! Oholah and Oholibah weren't just good time girls. The word  "whore" and all its variations are tossed around like hacky-sacks. Like, at least two dozen times. Like the writer either had Tourette's, or was really interested in, uh, whores.

You want to read about naked breasts being caressed, or details of sexual acts of two wild sisters across the Middle East? No need to sneak a peek into Penthouse letters to the editor. You've got it all in one slim chapter of the Holy Book.

Many scholars say that the Bible shouldn't be taken as literal truth; that is merely a series of metaphors and myths, all tightly rolled up to explain the inexplicable, the same way Paul Ryan does Donald Trump. However, C.S. Lewis was a confirmed atheist until reading one Biblical passage about a 10 year-old boy trying catch a glimpse of Jesus as He entered town. Because the street was lined with adults for the same reason, the boy had to run behind them and climb a tree to get a look.

Lewis, a scholar of literature, said he had never read such detail in any work of fiction. Thus, he was convinced of the Bible's veracity.

Therefore, being a confirmed cynic, I would say that the author of Ezekiel 23 was a sex maniac who tried to throw people off the scent by appearing holier than thou. He's like today's stridently "family-friendly" politicians or priests who get caught in adulterous affairs with their assistants or hookers.

But whoever he was (and you know it was a guy), gives the game away when writing about Oholibah. Not only does he repeat how handsome her lovers were, there is this eye-opening passage:

There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like donkeys, and their emissions like that of stallions. 

Why is this donkey laughing?
Holy sex act, Batman! You know what kind of guy writes a detailed passage of "handsome lovers" like that? The kind who who's really familiar with that sort of thing. Who  feels guilty about it, so he tries throwing people off the stallion-emission-filled scent.

You know why I say that? Because no straight writer outside of porn would dream up such a thing. None.

Oh man, how I would love to hear a Southern fire-and-brimstone preacher read Ezekiel to his congregants, spitting out "whore", "whoring" and "whoredom" before coming to that passage. It would be so shocking that the preacher would yell, "Let me repeat that! Then she lusted after her lovers, whose GENITALS were like DONKEYS, and their EMISSIONS like that of STALLIONS!" Then he'd read it a third time, just to make sure they got the message. Then he'd assure the crowd that Hugh Hefner was going to hell for being a pornographer. 

I'm not casting aspersions strictly on Christianity here. Anyone who's read enough of this blog knows that all religions and their spokesmen are handy targets. So it looks like opening a Bible at random really did spark a thought -- that even in Biblical times, there were hot sisters who were up for a some serious fun. And hypocritical males who were knew more about sexual proclivities than they were willing to admit. Amen, brother!


Monday, October 2, 2017


Reactions are pouring in regarding the mass shooting at a country music concert in Las Vegas last night, where at least 50 people were killed and over 400 others treated for injuries at local hospitals.

When asked for a comment, National Rifle Association president Wayne LaPierre said, "Hey, it's Vegas -- everything's a gamble there."

Meanwhile, Pastor Roger Jimenez, who deemed the 2016 Pulse Nighclub shooting as God's punishment of gays, told reporters, "I forgot to tell you, He doesn't like country music fans, either."

He then thanked the shooter for taking the bad headlines away from the White House for a day.

AARP spokesman Brad Lanes noted, "Paddock proved that retirees are still capable of amazing things."

The Nevada tourism board is changing the city's slogan to "What Happens In Vegas, Stays in Vegas, Until the Next Nut With Easy Access to Assault Rifles Tops the List, Thanks to the Political Whores Who Place NRA Money Over People's Lives."


Thursday, September 21, 2017


In an interview with talk show host Doctor Oz airing on Thursday, Pres. Trump's eldest daughter Ivanka revealed that she suffered from "some level" of postpartum depression after delivering each of her three children.

In related news, a majority of Americans reported suffering from "a lot of levels" of postvotem depression.

In an interview with People magazine, Anthony Bourdain explains why he and his new girlfriend, Asia Argento, are perfect for each other.

"It's very simple," Bourdain said. "She's 20 years younger than me, and I'm rich."

Other "disgusting" marriages would involve anyone who looked or talked like him.


Tuesday, September 12, 2017


Following a six or eight week break in most television production in New York, resulting in slim pickings job-wise, I resumed regular extra work in late July. Several days a week, working up to 13 hours at a shot, allowing my wife to relive her childhood days when her parents were out of the house and she got to watch as much TV as she wanted and stay up late. She's gone from "I missed you!" to "Back so soon?"
This must be a fictional
character -- he packed a bag

One of the cool things about this work is that it's allowed me to see more of New York  in the last 12 months than I did in the previous 35 years I lived here. The outer reaches of Queens that resemble the opening credits of All in the Family, to the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn where all the advertising posters were in Hebrew, to the heart of the financial district (right). For the first time since I moved here in 1981, I feel like a tourist in my own city.

Take me out to the balding game.
I've worked at landmarks, famous and obscure, that I'd never have gone to otherwise. The old, abandoned Bronx courthouse on East 161st St.; Citifield, home of the New York Mets (left); the Mass Transit Museum in Brooklyn; Forest Hills Tennis Stadium in Queens. Formerly an expert only on the East side trains, I've since travelled  almost the entire alphabetical and numerical subway lines. Too bad it's still not 75 cents, like it was when I moved here.

There are times when shooting occurs beyond the subway lines' reach. That's when
What's not to like about
slot machines at 7:00 in the
productions provide busses. I've heard there are some that leave from 86th St. & 3rd Ave., a brief stroll from my home. That must be nice; the only ones I've ever been called for are those that leave from 35th & 3rd, or, more often, Broadway & 96th.

That doesn't sound like such a long commute, until you realize that the bus from the latter location has been known to leave as early as 4:45 a.m., necessitating a 3:00 rise and shine. The last time that happened, it was for a trip to the Empire Casino in Yonkers (right) on an episode of Bull, where I barely saw the light of day until shooting wrapped at sunset -- just like a real gambler. (It's those early shoots where there's a physical necessity to break my no-caffeine rule.)

Moments away from
seeing my client go
the chair.
I've recently been promoted from "nd bg" (nondescript background) to things like "wealthy donor", "upscale lawyer" (left), and "Wall Street" type. Yet despite living on the Upper East Side for almost 35 years, I can never get cast as an "Upper East Sider" because I don't look like one. Nor do I get cast as someone "rich looking". To which I ask, do you mean Mark Zuckerberg?

It's the make-up, not the job, that gives
me the ghostly pallor.

I've also been pegged as "reporter" and "newspaper photographer", most recently on Gotham (right). The latter was a real treat. The young wardrobe women were gobsmacked by my outfit. Never have women gazed at me with such wonder, such hunger. (I knew I was hanging on to that necktie for 25 years for a reason.)

Like many of Gotham's characters, I appeared to have stepped right from the pages of a 1940s comic book -- only these were my own clothes. Consequently, I was placed close to the action -- and the all-important TV camera. Remember, folks, clothes make the extra.

Yes, it's been busy -- so much so, I've had to turn down jobs because I've already been booked for those dates. In fact, I started this piece yesterday, only to accept a last-minute call to appear on Elementary as -- what else -- "upscale audience member".

In case the seal act before the
main feature wasn't to your liking.
It was filmed at the United Palace Theater, formerly Lowe's 175th Street Theater, built in 1930 as a movie/vaudeville palace, and described as a "delirious masterpiece". (You can read about it here.) 

Of all the photos I snapped of the interior, my favorite by far is of the original intercom off the lobby. Due to the flash, it's difficult to discern, but if you look carefully, there are not one but two areas marked as "VOMITORY". 

In no other job would I have seen this. I await the next piece of history with joyous anticipation. ACTION!


Wednesday, August 30, 2017


Come to think of it, Mammy is the only
sympathetic person of the bunch.

Antifa's influence has shifted into the movie world. The Orpheum Theater in Memphis has cancelled the running of Gone with the Wind, originally scheduled as part of its summer classics program, due to it being "insensitive".

Frankly, I think it would be better to cancel it because it's not that good. No other "classic" American movie so peppered with unlikable characters. Scarlett O'Hara is a slut, her father's a drunk, her sister Melanie is too good to be true, and she's in love with the spineless Ashley Wilkes (who, I may remind you, is Melanie's husband). Even Rhett Butler, the hero, is a war profiteer, a Haliburton with big ears. 

But insensitive? It's almost 80 years old, for God's sakes. Of course it glosses over slavery -- but who the hell goes to David Selznick movies for history? You might as well watch Meet the Baron as a guide to girls' colleges, or Duel in the Sun as a serious treatise on Native Americans. It's Hollywood, people! To be precise, 1939 Hollywood portraying 1865 Atlanta. Oh yeah, you're going to get some real historical investigation there.

The Orpheum's move is nothing new. Two years ago, former New York Post critic Lou Lumenick suggested that Gone with the Wind be run only in museums where it could presumably be put "in context".

I'll give you context: it's 80 years old, remember?! Yet, Lumenick is the same guy who saw fit to help bring The Iron Petticoat back into circulation, a movie that nobody, even co-stars Bob Hope and Katharine Hepburn, ever wanted to see again. What the hell was the context for that?

But now that Gone with the Wind is starting to live up to its name, get ready for other movie legends to disappear into culture's permanent Hall of Shame.

The Jack Benny Program: African-American slaving away for the wealthy Zionist.

The Lone Ranger: Magical Native-American helping white invader achieve his imperialist goals.

West Side Story: Stereotypical Latino gangbangers.

Some Like it Hot: Mocking the trans community.

The Wizard of Oz: White race's elimination of people of color.

Marilyn Monroe: Setting impossible standards for women while reinforcing sexual stereotypes. 

Laurel & Hardy: Cruel caricature of the mentally challenged.

The Four Marx Brothers: Zionists using every trick in the book -- one in crude disguise to hide his true identity, another stereotyping a lazy Italian conman, the third mocking the orally-challenged, and the fourth who got his job strictly through family connections.

Charlie Chan: White actor playing stereotypical gentle Asian.

Mr. Moto: White actor playing stereotypical violent Asian.

Charlie Chaplin: Homelessness as object of humor.

The Three Stooges: Zionists' blatant travesty of gay men.

Jerry Lewis: Zionist mocking the handicapped.

Al Jolson: Need we say more? (PS: Zionist.)