THE SOON-TO-BE-LATE "LATE" SHOWS

My idea of television production was making sure
this was in focus every morning.

On my first day of Introduction to Television Production in college, I learned two things. First, I wasn't cut out for producing television. 

The second was even more important. After everyone settled into their seats, the teacher cleared his throat and spoke his first words. "What," he asked, "is the number one job of television?"

After a few seconds of silence, answers were offered. "Entertainment." "Information." "Bringing people together." 

When everybody had their say, the teacher once again cleared his throat. "The number one job of television is to sell advertising time." 

Don't cry for me, Upper West Side...

I bring this up as a way of pontificating about the cancellation of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. On the face -- make that the CBS eye of it, it was terribly suspicious. You could say it stinks like Taylor Swift's dance routines. It seemed to confirm that the network was cowtowing to D.J. Trump. (Something about Paramount Global, which includes CBS, merging with yet another company -- what used to be called a monopoly but is now considered business as usual.) 

But you're not the CEO of CBS. He --a guy whose name, George Cheeks, is straight out of a Mafia comedy -- operates on a plane different than you or me.

And here's where I separate from the conspiracy theorists. From where I sit (the dining room table), the Colbert cancellation was likely just business. Nothing political. Certainly nothing personal. From Cheeks' perspective, he was giving good ol' Steve a year to clean out his desk. Pretty generous, wouldn't you say? 

No, you wouldn't. But he would, because he wasn't thinking how it would look to you. He's thinking, Everybody knows this is how business operates. Cheeks recently got rid of @midnight, the game show following Colbert, so he figures, Why stop there? Too, he's not replacing Colbert with, say, Shane Gillis. He's getting rid of the show, period. Your CBS affiliate will decide what goes on at 11:35 -- most likely reruns of How I Met Your Mother or Seinfeld, which will get higher ratings at the local level than Colbert has in the last few years.

CBS in the red, get it?

Here's some more business. The Late Show's annual budget including Colbert's salary is $100-million. According to the New York Times, the show's annual loss is $50-million, while it draws just two million viewers. How long would you be willing to lose 50-million smackolas on a product that had 500,000 fewer customers than the population of Brooklyn? Now pretend you're an advertiser. How long would you be willing to drop good money on a show with those kinds of numbers? Nothing personal or political, Steve. Just business.

I reached out to a friend who spent decades in the business side of network television to get his take on l'affaire Colbert. In lieu of texting a shrug, he wrote, "I just take it at face value. Late night used to be a cash cow, but now they all hemorrhage money." He added that long-running primetime programs get cancelled all the time, but "CBS just admitted reality. They don't need [The Late Show]." 

Over one and a half million Americans got laid off this past May, and everybody outside their families and friends continued to go about their daily routine. But a guy who earns over $4,000,000 a month to tell jokes and interview people who agree with him losing his job is suddenly worth slamming their breaks for. (Maybe the newly-unemployed folks can get their minds off of their current situation by watching a video tour of Colbert's $3-million mansion in Montclair, New Jersey.)

How will the rich middle-aged white guys live?

Show business being a hotbed of backstabbers and jealousy, there was a time when someone getting tossed to the curb would have aroused glee among rivals. But while Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel, and Seth Meyers are outspoken in their sorrow at Colbert's fate, their unspoken words are, We're next. They know they're not needed.

Do you watch these guys other than on viral clips shown on morning news shows? Not if ratings are any indication, you don't. Not even the tarnished jewel in NBC's corroded crown, The Tonight Show, is immune. Under Jimmy Fallon's steady stewardship, Tonight can now boast of one million viewers. That's less than the total population of Rhode Island. 

Laugh it up, funnyboy. Your time is
coming.

Remember network executives panicking when the Tonight ratings dropped to
2.7-million under Conan O'Brien? Had the business model not changed since then, Fallon would have gone back to being a soda shill. Luckily for him, NBC is focusing more on its Peacock streaming channel, while The Tonight Show remains on the air because... well, because it has since 1952. Like the song says, Tradition!  

It'll be interesting to watch Colbert's numbers in the next 10 months. If there's a ratings bounce, he'll probably think Where were these people when I needed them? Well, not watching TV, which is what they'll continue not to watch once the novelty of a tuning into a sinking ship wears off. And if his numbers remain in the two-million ballpark, CBS will feel justified in getting rid of The Late Show. I'm unsure if this is a win-win or lose-win or lose-lose even more situation

If you're old enough to
remember Jerry Lester,
you're not alive to read this.

It's something everybody at the networks are aware of but nobody says out loud: late night is deader than Jerry Lester's Broadway Open House. Not like you'll see Stephen Colbert panhandling outside the Ed Sullivan Theater. Even as you read this, streaming platforms from Apple to YouTube are already renting Brinks trucks for the time he becomes a free agent next May. And as for viewership, even if Colbert brings in half of Conan O'Brien's current streaming numbers of 15 million downloads per month, it will still dwarf what he and the other late-nighters currently have on TV. 

Conan's five-year contract is worth $150-million. For Colbert, that might be a cut in pay, but it's still pretty good dough when the fanciest thing you wear to work is a set of quality headphones. And, like Conan, he'll work just once a week. Let me know if you still care after you get laid off.

Memo to all the angry Colbert fans cancelling their Paramount+ subscription: You realize, of course, that by doing this, The Late Show's ratings will sink lower, right? 

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

TAKE A LID OFF IT

 

Someday I'll explain what this means.

As I gradually return to background acting work following a year-long hiatus, the time has come to take stock of where I stand. Or, more accurately, where I sag. The chin started turning to a pouch over 30 years ago, so that’s already part of my established look. My belly isn’t quite as taut as it used to be, although you’d have to see me in my underwear to make sure. And believe me, that’s not something you want to do.

 Unfortunately, the body parts that show the most wear and tear are where everybody can see them: the upper eyelids. Stuck atop my baby blues like garage doors in need of a good oiling, my eyelids at best give me the look of a wise elder about to impart great wisdom – but only when I smile. The rest of the time, the resemblance is that of a guy who’s about to get released from prison after a 15-year manslaughter rap.

This is no exaggeration. When I turn to my wife with what I believe is a neutral gaze, she’ll often ask, “Why are you giving me a hateful look?” She’s also informed me that I have a “hostile sneeze”, so maybe she’s just one of those super-sensitive types.

 So, between the background work and my wife fearing for her life, I’ve been considering the possibility of an eyelid lift. Now, normally I’ve been averse to surgery that has nothing to do with my health being at stake. I’ve seen too many lid lifts on celebrities who wind up with a perpetually surprised look of someone who’s been caught in a compromising position by their spouse (not that I would know from personal experience, mind you).

 On the other hand, as an adolescent I wore braces and had warts removed from my hand. A few years later, two wisdom teeth were yanked out. Not long afterwards, my upper gumline was temporarily pulled back in order to have the bone underneath shaved down to something other than simian size. Since then, my face and scalp have been sliced and diced and sewn and stapled by dermatologists and skin surgeons.

 Had I not undergone these procedures, the only job I would have been suited for was scaring people into paying their bookies when required. Ergo, these weren’t cosmetic changes as much as they were humane.

How I look, and how my wife sees me.

Up to now, the closest I ever came to getting traditional cosmetic surgery was getting a dose of Botox to fill the vertical chasm between my eyebrows. That is, my wife ordered me to get it because “it makes you look angry”. (Remember what I said about her being super-sensitive?) When I asked my dermatologist her opinion, she said it could be done, but warned it came with possible side effects… like blindness.

 Sounds like a deal-breaker, right? Yet upon informing my wife that I could go from nearsighted to no-sighted, she replied, “Wait, let’s think about this.” I don’t recall what her point of view was at the time, unless it was an angry-looking husband.

 On the other hand, the chance of blindness after lid lifts is extremely rare. Something that gave me pause, though, was learning the lids would start sagging again in five to seven years. This might seem totally expected. But what if, say, a gastrointestinal surgeon casually informed you before gall bladder surgery, “Just a heads up, you’ll have to go through this routine in five years”? Suddenly what sounded normal is now as good a reason as any to jump off the gurney.

"Normally, it would cost $5,000. But for you,
I'm giving the $3,500 special!"

 Something else worthy of consideration is, while eyelids are pretty small, the cost for
the lift can be pretty big, ranging from $2,000 to $12,000, which is a rather wide range. To make another unnecessary comparison, this is like the highway speed limit being anywhere from 25 to 150 MPH depending on what the traffic cop lurking behind the trees decides.

 And don’t expect your insurance to pick up the tab just because you need a makeover before your trip to Naples. Your vision needs to be blocked by at least 30% for that kind of coverage. As of now, my wife estimates that I’m at roughly 20%. Sure, I could close my eyes an extra 10% during the consultation, but the surgeon is likely to see through that ruse (no pun intended).

 Could I afford to pay for the surgery out of pocket? Technically, yes. But that kind of money has been reserved for an emergency, like buying an 82-inch 8K television with the four-year protection plan. But what good would such a device do me if I can’t even see?

 It appears then that any cosmetic surgery outside of a mani-pedi is out of the question. Until my eyelids drop to half-staff, I will continue to be either a wise elder or hateful husband depending on the circumstances. On the plus side, such a look might elevate me from background to character actor. On the minus – it won’t do anything to change my wife’s point of view.

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

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 53

 It's an all-star Early Show spanning 24 years of movies and television, with gangsters, reporters, doctors, and juvenile delinquents ready to entertain, threaten, and shill for the sponsor.

THE GUILTY GENERATION (1931): Gang boss Tony Ricca pays an unexpected visit to his son, a promising architect who's changed his name from Marco Ricca to John Smith in order to hide his parental heritage. Wanting to make amends with his son, Tony promises to set him up with his own architectural business. Marco/John wants nothing to do with him or the whole dirty world of yeggs, tommy guns, and bootleg giggle water. So what is he to do when learning that the girl he falls in love with, Maria, is the daughter of Mike Palmero, another gang leader who's also Marco Ricca's chief rival? 

There's no reason to delve further into The Guilty Generation's story. Just think of Romeo & Juliet mashed with Little Caesar. Now picture Ricca padre e figlio played by pre-Frankenstein Boris Karloff and 24-year-old Robert Young.  Now we're talking Entertainment with a capital ENTER, whether either of them seems Italian or not. (Karloff's attempts are limited to one-word sentences like "grazie" in his British accent).

Too bad The Guilty Generation never lives up to what it promises in the first reel, since Karloff is barely seen again. Apparently, Columbia Pictures decided it was best to give dialect actor Leo Carillo (If You Could Only Cook) the bulk of the movie as Mike Palmero with his "whatsamatter with you, eh?" routine on full display. It's only when Palmero learns that his son has been knocked off by Ricca and finds out John Smith's real identity that Carillo's performance gets serious. Like, real serious.

Constance Cummings isn't given much to do as Maria Palmero except moon over Robert Young and show embarrassment by her brother Joe's drunken antics. Leslie Fenton (The Hatchet Man) jumps into Joe's role with nasty gusto, lashing out at his father and whoever else strikes his fancy.  If Karloff and Carillo had switched roles, The Guilty Generation wouldn't have been guilty of overpromising and underdelivering. 

BONUS POINTS: The startling way Mike Palmero's mother prevents him from interfering with his daughter's happiness still startles nearly a century on.

CLEAR ALL WIRES! (1933): 

From roughly 1932 to 1934, movies were awash in zany political satires, mocking capitalism, communism, fascism, and in the case of Clear All Wires!, journalism. And during that time, you couldn't have a fast-talking, double-crossing, woman-chasing reporter played by anyone other than the great Lee Tracy.

No stranger to faking his own kidnappings, twisting the news to guarantee headlines, or double-crossing his rivals, Chicago Globe reporter Buckley Joyce Thomas and his right-hand man Lefty fly to Moscow to cover the 15th anniversary of the Russian revolution, promising top officials that Pres. Roosevelt will recognize the communist government if they just sit down for an exclusive interview. Faster than you can say dobroye utro tovarishch, Thomas is hanging with Stalin, a commissar, and a disgruntled Marxist who wants to overthrow the current Communist government. But just as Thomas is making room for a Nobel Prize, the head of the KGB learns that his attempted assassination was arranged by the reporter. Not for real, mind you, just for the headlines. Tell that to the firing squad.

Few movies at the time of Clear All Wires!' release were so relentless in satirizing real-life politics and culture as is done here. (Would you expect to see a sight gag involving Stalin?) Yet instead of dating the movie, it oddly feels contemporary in its topical, SNL-style. It's easy to picture young men at the time wanting to become newspaper reporters due solely to the way Lee Tracy makes the job seem so damn fun. Other than that firing squad, that is. 

With James Gleason as the side-of-the-mouth-talking Lefty and Una Merkel as Thomas' ex-lover (and current girlfriend of his editor), and, of course, Lee Tracy's rat-a-tat delivery, Call All Wires! is a banger of a comedy offering an impressive number of big laughs. Highly recommended especially for those unfamiliar with its sadly forgotten star. Maybe I should run a Lee Tracy retrospective in my living room sometime.

BONUS POINTS: As with the Humphrey Bogart picture Sirocco, the dialogue heard in opening scene with Thomas chatting with an Arab chieftain could be taken from a similar interview today.

BEDSIDE (1934): X-ray technician Bob Brown becomes a physician the old-fashioned way: buying the medical diploma off of a washed-up doctor-turned-morphine junkie going by the name of John Smith. (Can't anyone come up with a better alias?) By hiring a real doctor to do the heavy lifting and a PR rep named Sparks, Brown soon becomes the toast of New York society hypochondriacs. But as his lack of medical knowledge and the junkie doctor catch up with him, Brown learns that a piece of paper doesn't make you a real doctor -- especially when he's expected to perform brain surgery on his nurse.

By 1934, Warren William had made a career of playing scoundrels, cads, and scalawags, but his quack role in Bedside takes the bedpan. He gambles away the $1500 his girlfriend Caroline lent him to finish med school; turns away from examining a sick child because he can't be bothered with her; spends more time clipping his photos from newspapers than most doctors do on the golf course; and comes thisclose to killing a patient. And when he isn't at the office -- and often when he is -- he's gambling and drinking his life away. Even I started to find the guy despicable, and I love Warren William.

You know who else loves him? His nurse Caroline (Jean); his medical partner Dr. Wiley (David Meek, the actor who always is meek); and his PR pro Sparks (the ever-reliable Allen Jenkins). The only person on to him is the hophead who sold him the med school diploma (David Landau), and who continues to haunt him by returning uninvited for his morphine fix. (By the end, he's rubbing his nose and talking a mile a minute, indicating that he's become a cokehead, too.) To see a Warren William character brought low due to his own misbehavior isn't all that unusual. But what is, is how low a louse he eventually becomes, and how you wind up rooting for the law to catch up to him. Don't see Bedside before your next annual check-up. And if you do, ask the doc if he knows how to correctly perform a simple suture. You'd be shocked to learn how some so-called medical professionals don't.

BONUS POINTS: Director Robert Florey goes in for a little German expressionism in the climactic scene with Landau taunting William in the o.r. 

THE ELGIN HOUR: "CRIME IN THE STREETS" (1955): This live television play might have introduced every juvenile delinquent cliche of the '50s. The angry young teen out to murder someone just because. His overworked mother blaming herself for how he turned out. His frightened little brother. The Italian immigrant who owns the corner malt shop and whose son is part of the neighborhood gang. The social worker who understands that the kid acts the way he does because he's had a rough life and wants some attention.

You've seen it all before, somewhere or another. But per usual with productions like this, its creators and cast that make it worth 60 minutes of your time. Script by TV legend Reginald Rose, direction by Sidney Lumet. Robert Preston as social worker Bob Wagner. Former Warner Bros. star Glenda Farrell as Frankie's mother. Future Oscar-nominated director Mark Rydell as gang member Lou. Future musician/songwriter/Brian Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks as Frankie's little brother Richie. And as the incorrigible Frankie, the future incorrigible director John Cassavetes. All this and the original Elgin Watch commercials!

As good an actor as Cassavetes was, it must have been kind of a stretch for the 26 year-old to play the eight years his junior Frankie. He doesn't look 18 but is convincing enough as one kicked around by life to age beyond his years. Only Mark Rydell (also 26) rivals him in striking looks and talent as the crazy-eyed Lou, who appears headed to the psych ward instead of prison.

As with many 1950s TV productions, Crime in the Streets presents old school stars going toe to toe with young Method-era whippersnappers.  No question Crime in the Streets is dated but is still a good example of a time when TV presented live plays with top-notch New York talent before everybody moved to Hollywood and got as many takes as they wanted with video tape. Meh.

BONUS POINTS: When Frankie and his gang synchronize their watches, it gives us a chance to see a close-up of -- guess what -- Frankie's Elgin watch. How do these ruffians afford them? Oh wait -- they're on sale this week at your local department store!

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

COPILOT EPISODE

I hope it's better than either of these guys.

 My Microsoft Edge browser recently underwent an unasked-for update that appears each time I turn on my laptop. The newsfeed that used to immediately appear has been replaced by something called Microsoft Copilot.

Theoretically, that's an improvement, seeing how the news is nothing but negative. Too, Copilot always offers a friendly greeting, such as "What's on your mind, Kevin?" or "Kevin, ready to dive in?"

True, it's a little unnerving to be incessantly addressed by my first name, like somebody wanting really badly to be my friend. Neither Google nor Bing go overboard that way. Like good servants, they know their place and are happy to stay there. 

Like Friz Feld as a maitre d', only
Copilot doesn't pop its mouth.

Microsoft Pilot is just a search engine gussied-up as A.I. in order to make you believe it cares about you. Say you want to find some good French restaurants in your area. Instead of just bringing up a list, Copilot actually engages in conversation in complete sentences, including opinions of the menus and advice on how to dress for dinner. No thanks, I already have a wife for that.

But since I'm in the semi-market for a new TV, I thought I'd ask Copilot for advice. And just for laughs, I asked for one with an 80-inch screen and 8K. Here was what I was offered:

It wasn't the price tag that caught my eye as much as the description. What exactly is a "Women's" television? I mean, I remember when Virgina Slims cigarettes were marketed to women. Depending on which ad you saw, women were supposed to smoke them because they were, of course, slimmer than "men's" cigarettes or "women are biologically superior to men". Somehow or other, taglines like that made sense in 1968. But for a TV almost 60 years later? And what does size 8 mean? 

Now take a look which website is selling it: HSN, a/k/a the Home Shopping Network. Now you know why it's for women. Too, any TV that large must be a size 8. Sounds like Copilot is a little sexist if you ask me!

Because I can't resist seeing what comes up when searching my name, I gave Copilot a whirl:

Kevin Kusinitz is a writer and background actor based in New York. He’s known for his witty, often self-deprecating takes on aging, pop culture, and everyday life. His work has appeared in outlets like Next Avenue, Forbes, and MarketWatch, where he shares personal essays that blend humor with insight—like buying his first smartphone at 61 or navigating cholesterol levels with a dose of sarcasm.

Hey, that's pretty darned accurate! No size 8 nonsense here. What else does it have to say?

He’s also dabbled in acting, with small roles in productions like A Crime to Remember and Ashe '68. Earlier in his career, he won three Promax Awards for his work on network promos, and he maintains a blog called The Ol’ Fish Eye, where his cynically humorous outlook continues to shine[...] If you enjoy writers like David Sedaris or Nora Ephron, Kusinitz might be right up your alley.

The logo
you can trust.

Y'know, the more I read about this Kusinitz guy, the more interesting he seems! And when the review uses words like "hilarious", "relatable", "heartwarming", "darkly funny" and "sharp" to describe his writing -- well, maybe I was a little harsh regarding my initial opinion of Microsoft Copilot.

Screw those Bing listicles! I recommend Microsoft Copilot to anyone looking for the best, most accurate online guide today. 

PS: Shout out to my friend Leo the movie editor: look yourself up and discover that you have "a knack for crafting emotionally resonant and narratively seamless edits—and a few of his standout moments really showcase that magic." Sounds like you have a fan in Copilot, too!

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BREAKING NEWS: 7/3/2025

 On the eve of his 90th birthday, the Dalai Lama promised he plans to reincarnate,
insuring the institution will continue.

Upon hearing the announced, President Trump told supporters, "I've got a way around the 22nd Amendment! See you in 2060!"

Mark Penn, former pollster for Bill Clinton, warned Democrats not to support mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani, calling him an "anti-Semitic socialist."

Penn added, "It's safer to go with a proven winner like Hillary Clinton."

In related news, MSNBC host Rev. Al Sharpton has called on Andrew Cuomo to
drop out of the New York City mayoral race, urging the former governor to consider what would be in the best interest of New York City residents.

In response to Sharpton's remarks, Cuomo told reporters, "I don't think the reverend understands. I'm running in the best interest for billionaires and my need for political power by any means necessary."

After a vote that remained open for several hours as House Speaker Mike Johnson, R-La., tried to convince five holdouts to advance President Trump's signature legislation, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, House Republicans have cleared a key hurdle, setting the bill up for final passage ahead of a self-imposed July 4 deadline.

When asked how poor people would be able to afford healthcare when Medicaid is slashed, Johnson replied, "Hey, Congressmen get free healthcare for life after five years. Maybe they should stop complaining and run for office!"

In related news, Brendan Buck, former advisor to Speakers Ryan and Boehner,
urged Republicans not to the pass budget bill, adding that they can do what's right for their constituents or Trump but not both.

A spokesman for the RNC said, "What would you rather get an invitation to, Mar-A-Lago or a trailer park?"

Avi Small, press secretary for New York Governor Kathy Hochul, was temporarily removed from his post following accusations he inappropriately touched another Hochul staffer at an Albany bar last month.

"In my defense," Small said in a press release, "I was only trying to pick up where Andrew Cuomo left off."

Megyn Kelly claimed Sydney Sweeney’s "enormous breasts" scored an invite to
Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez’s wedding in Venice, Italy.

Kelly went on to admit, "Of course I'm jealous. I had to put out for Roger Ailes to get a job at Fox News. "

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

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.

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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.

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