The next time Spinelli and his better half is in Brooklyn....

We will be going to Red Rose. It is old school Italian. The type of red checkered tablecloth joint that they show in "Big Night." Totally different than Marco Polo which is the "ritzy" joint in the neighborhood. The owner Tony is the same guy who had the candy store when I was a kid where I would get the potato and sauce heroes for 25 cents. He is about 80 but is still making the rice balls. My friend Santo his son is running it these days and he is another 50 year old dude running his business and trying to get by.

We will start off with the appetizers:

We have from the top clockwise: eggplant balls, rice balls with rice and peas and a Caesar salad. The eggplant ball is eggplant rolled up with fresh mozzarella in the middle battered and deep fried. The rice ball is the traditional rice, peas, meat and mozzarella deep fried. The Caesar is the traditional with cheese and a leech.

Then the main course:

We had three people but two of us got the same. One had the classic ravioli in marinara sauce. But the wife and I had penne with sweet Italian sausage, garlic, oil and broccoli rabe. Add some cheese and man you are in heaven.

Then we have desert:

So from left to right clockwise we have a hazelnut creme brulee, lemoncello gelato, and chocolate chip gelato which is the wife's favorite. I bet Spinelli will order that.

Of course we will get a great wine in a carafe. The house sangiovese is particularly fine.

The table is set.

He's dead Jim

Leonard Nimoy has passed. Everyone is talking about his work on Star Trek as they should but I always enjoyed him on Mission Impossible.

Maybe because he got to bang the lucious Lesly Ann Warren in all of her teenage glory.

Rest in Peace Paris.

Qaasim Middleton - Uptown Funk - American Idol 2015 Most Entertaining performance if not the best singing

Sarina Joi Crowe - Mamma Knows Best - Best female performance so far

American Idol 2015

Last night while I was at the wake my DVR got scrambled and combined CPAC and the girls section of American Idol. Here is my review:

Lovey – Generic blond who is no great shakes. She is rememberable for being forgettable. She is just an average voice and will soon be gone. Air bushed news bunny. Think Monica Crowley before she got laid.

Adanna – One of these chicks with the hard luck story who is trying her best but is really overmatched. She gave it her all and shouted her way through the song. She did much better in the Detroit vibe this week than she will do in a more sedate setting when talent counts. But she is safe for this week. Think Ben Carson with tits covered in feathers.

Alexis – This chick is in the running for the phoniest of phony awards. She is trying be both country and Latin and that doesn’t mix. Doesn’t she realize that Mexicans are taking away jobs from Country Music people? She is the Jeb Bush of this competition.

Joey – This the pretentious mook with the squeeze box and yellow teeth. She really grates. She sang a Keith Urban song in the style of Betty Boop. Think Jerry Brown with really bad teeth.

Katherine – She channeled Stevie Nicks and really sucked big time. The Rick Santorum of this year’s American Idol.

Shannon – This is the kid they tried to sell as the next Janis Joplin. She went soft and slow and it stunk out the joint. Will be gone this week. Think a thin Chris Christie. Or the little girl that Chris Christie really is in his heart.

Loren – This chick really sang great in the last round but stunk out the joint on the big stage. She really struggled and her notices went to her head and she thinks she can do whatever she wants and her fans will eat it up. Think Sarah Palin with more melanin.

Shi – This chick was the worst performance of the night. She has a great look and a great outfit but she can’t sing for beans. Great looks no talent. The John Edwards of this years Idol.

Maddie – This teenager does not belong. She is singing sexy songs when she is still jailbait. Think one of the girls on the plane with Bill Clinton on the way to a Caribbean vacation.

Sarina – Far and away the best performance of the night. She kicked ass and took names but was humble about it. The Scott Walker of this time round.

Jax – Very affected and mannered and in a style that I don’t care for but they are pimping her big time so she might be around until the final six. The Marco Rubio chair of affected singing.

Tyanna – Great personality with a mediocre voice. She will get a bunch of votes but fall short. Ted Cruz if he had a purple Mohawk.

This was American Idol. Seacrest out! (Or at least everyone knows he is a sword swallower so it is basically the same thing.)

I didn't want to talk about it......

But Nick mentioned it in the comments. An old friend and classmate of mine killed himself Tuesday. He ran a cherry factory in Red Hook. The cops came in on a fake warrant and scoped out that he was running a pot growing operation in his factory. So he went into the bathroom and killed himself.

We went to grammar school together at Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary grammar school on Hicks Street. He was one of the kids who would play fistball and Skelly that you saw described in "Joey Gallo's Lament." Just a neighborhood knock around guy I used to run around with and run into at the discos in Bay Ridge or at Cousins on Court St to listen to a little jazz. I heard he got divorced a few years ago and hooked up with a Russian chick.

I was talking about it with Georgie from the Pork Store today when I was getting lunch. We both agreed that pot bust was not what sent him over the edge. Don't get me wrong. The civil forfeiture might have taken away his business. But I bet he was pretty depressed. As a fifty year old guy running his own business it is no surprise that he killed himself. It is a wonder that any of us don't kill ourselves.

He is laid out at Raccuglia's tonight so I will go over to pay my respects. If you have a chance remember him in your prayers.

God bless big guy.

Is Obama a Christian?

So all the media nitwits are champing at the bit to destroy Scott Walker because he wouldn't express an opinion on Obama and if he is a "Christian." Walker is not buying into there narrative so he just basically said "ask him." The media pussies are going crazy.

Now I have had many arguments with people about who is a good "Christian." Big arguments with some of you who post here who I consider friends. We really differ about one important point.

A good Christian goes to church. Or at least a good Catholic. Just as a good Jew goes to Temple. You can tell me all the bullshit you want about just going to church doesn't make you a Christian. Are there hypocrites who go to church and are not "good Christians." Sure tons of them. But there are even more bull shit artists who claim the title of Christians but don't feel they have to go to Church. Except on holidays or to get married or planted in the ground.

Obama never goes to church. When he did he went to a racist anti-semitic church. Now he claims he never followed the doctrines or even really listened to what the estimable Reverend Wright had to say. He claims total innocence of the pernicious swill ladled out by this cut rate preacher.

He seems to much more likely be a Muslim. He sure likes to defend every atrocity they commit and refuse to call a spade a spade. So to speak.

In any event who in their right mind would claim that they know that he is a "good Christian."

Good for Scott Walker. Throw the meme right back at them.

It's really not as much fun as you might think.

We spent the last three days at the lingerie show. Now every time I tell a dude about that they are all "Hey take me with you. You are a lucky son of a bitch." I have to tell them it is not as much fun as you think.

Now there are four types of people who are at these shows. Young girls that are the models and salespeople. Older woman who own stores. Old straight guys who are either the money guys for the lines being shown or the husbands of the women ordering. And gay guys. Nasty gay dudes at that.

As a straight guy there is not much to do. I mean you are not staring at the models who are very thin anyway. Most of them will never make any money at a strip club. I mean fashion is obsessed with thinness and it is even reflected in the bras that they feature. Which is stupid because the woman buying the bras don't look like the models. What looks good on a size 2 with a bra size of 34B will not look good on a woman who is a size 20 with 46E breasts. So you have to do a bunch of calculating to decide what to buy. You have to decide how many pieces, what colors, what styles, how low or high to go in sizing. So it is a lot of mental gymnastics. So you are studying the price sheet and not some skinny twat's ass.

Then you have the people you have to avoid. You bought their shit and it sucked and you don't want to buy it again. But they are all nice and welcoming and ply you with gifts and what not. You have to run away and not deal with them. I try to keep Lisa from even seeing them by walking down a different aisle. But they still catch up with you.

But you do have the lines you buy from all the time and it is good to see all of their stuff in one place and be able to place your orders for the next season. It does take a load off of your mind.

It is just exhausting.

Hey where has Jim and Lisa been the past couple of days?

Why at the Curve Lingiere show at the Jacob Javits center.

Lisa and our cousin who was with us decided to have some fun.

The Case of Wandering Detective

My dear Holmes,

It is your most humble petitioner, Inspector Lestrade. As you know it has been several years since I have last requested your assistance in the troubling matter of the disappearance of Lord Douchebag and over a year since we examined the obscene affairs of the odious Lady Chatterley and her grass stained lover. Today I must ask for assistance in an entirely different matter.

You will remember Inspector Bradstreet who so ably assisted your inquires in the matter of the Blue Carbuncle last Yuletide past. As I have previously noted the inimitable Bradstreet has become enamored with the discourse of a lowly penny dreadful publisher who is amazingly enough a solicitor! Inspector Bradstreet sends over notes and telegrams and posts every few minutes. He comments on the musings of every other person who contacts this somewhat pusillanimous prevaricator to the point of obsession that is most unseemly to a Detective of his stature at Scotland Yard. Inspector Bradstreet constantly touts the musings of this discourse and seeks converts and followers with the zeal of the most fanatic Spanish evangelist or an East End tart.

I must confess that this state of affairs has dumbfounded me as I had always considered Inspector Bradstreet as an estimable personage and fount of good common sense. It seems that he is obsessed with every single missive that comes in the post. He must provide a response to every such jot and tittle. Now it has become even more troublesome as it seems he has returned to the odious Salon of Lady Chatterley to post and riposte and otherwise act the fool and the jackanape. Even worse he has pursued a strange and revolting flirtation with a former nurse who has been banned from practice because of her habit of performing abortions and mercy killings of the elderly. I cannot prove it but I believe that she was originally solicited to the Salon by Lady Chatterley’s paramour to dispose of the addled chanteuse so that the gardener might inherit the estate. Inspector Bradstreet seems to have followed this soiled nightingale from Salon to Salon to continue their perverted intercourse. It beggars the imagination to determine what joy can be found in such foul doings but I am a simple man and rely on your vaunted sophistication and sublime intellect to provide some guidance in this most troublesome matter.

Please give my best to your brother Mycroft who I recall has moved to countryside of Yorkshire to work on his art. I know that he felt moving to the country would be salubrious and conducive to his health. I just hope that he can confine his attentions to farm animals and cease his attentions to young boys that has led to the unpleasantness with the Metropolitan Police. I do not know if I can smooth over another incident. Especially if it occurs in the countryside.  As you know goats don’t lie. Or speak. A word to the wise.

I remain as always,
Your obedient servant,
Inspector G. Lestrade
November 12, 1898

Hey look Shouting Thomas is taking out ads at Lem's Place!

We haven't heard from him lately. It is good to see that he still has the same hobbies.

Mazel Tov buddy.

A Rod must Go!!!!!!

Spring training is almost here and attention must be paid. The Yankees have a big problem. His name is A Rod.

He is coming back after his suspension. We owe him something like $61 million over the next three years. That's right $61 million. Now the thought was that he would be closing in on the all time home run record but with all the time lost that is not going to happen. He is going to pass Willie Mays and get an eight million dollar bonus because he only needs seven more dingers to make it happen. But how good could he be after all this time off? Plus the Yankees have signed a perfectly competent third baseman in Chase Headley who is going to be their main man this year. So A Rod is the DH and a backup at third and first. I just don't think he is worth the trouble.

Witness the nonsense with his apology note. Handwritten squiggles that are laughably stupid:

Seriously? This is going to be a circus. The Yankees should just cut their losses and take the tax write off. Let some other team take on the circus. They have made some good moves this year. Our starting upside has a lot of questions but a big upside. Our bullpen could be the best in the majors. We have a new stud closer and a bunch of pretty decent middle relievers. Our brittle starters only have to give us a quality five or six innings. The lineup is not full of the prima donna stars we used to have but a bunch of scrappy guys with some vets who if they have bounce back years can really make something happen. We are not the favorites. But in the expanded playoff world we have a chance to get in the mix and then anything can happen.

But first we need to get rid of A Rod. Let's send him to Boston. They both suck. Let them suck together.

The Sixto Sense

"Hola Amigo's yo no comprende. Que es eso?"
"I no get the Silver Slugger or the Glove de oro. Perro me tiene the spark plug?"
"Why? Because I should fix the car? That's racist."
"Why not give me some lettuce or beans that was fresh picked."
"People in Wisconsin are muy malo."
"I see cheezy people."

He's really not that into you......

I had to laugh when Rudi pointed out that the Jug Eared Jesus did not love "America."  Plus the over the top reaction of the mainstream media. They are out for blood because they think the accusation might stick. Because it is so obvious that it is true.

Look at it this way. Obama is the imaginary boyfriend for so many of the "Julia's" and feminist dimwits and the eunuchs that kowtow to them. He was the slick smooth cool dude that talked his way into their panties and they didn't even mind that he broke every promise he ever made.

You see we see this kind of guy all the time in the shop. He is the slick practiced user who manipulates the low self esteem of the chick he's banging. He will never say what is right about her, He will only emphasize her flaws. I remember one time there was was this spectacularly hot chick who was a slightly plumper version of Christina Hendricks. She had a rockin' hourglass figure with bodacious ta-ta's and a round firm bottom. Man she was a knock out. The dude she was with was a douche master in the extreme. He had something nasty to say about every outfit. Finally she came out in this tight forties style dress and she looked like a knock out. This douche goes "Ok I will let you buy it if you don't eat a bagel for a month." And you know what? She paid for it. I bet she paid for everything.

That is Obama with America. He can never say anything nice or supportive. He can only pick at scabs and try to control the narrative by being relentless negative. Imagine going home to your wife and saying "I  love you but you have to fundamentally change." Because that was his agenda from the get go. Obama has morphed from the imaginary boyfriend to the abusive spouse. He has spent all the money, invited his Mexican friends to live in your apartment and hates your Jewish grandmother.

Face it America. He's not that into you. He has fucked you and he's bored.

Joey Gallo's Lament

Joe and Larry Gallo sat outside the office of the Italian imports company that old man Profaci had been using as a front since the thirties. I mean they did sell pasta and olive oil and cheese and salami and other Italian imports but they also imported a lot of other stuff. It used to be booze and illegal immigrants and now they were branching into other things. The word was that they were going to go into the babania trade in a big way. Which is why the Gallos wanted to get a taste.

They were sitting at the end of the block in a big Chrysler Imperial that had seen better days. Far enough not to be seen but close enough that they could get to the door before the old man got in his car. Normally he only had a driver or at the most his brother in law Joe One Eye. No problem.

The employees left one at a time. Soon the last of the lights went out. The car pulled up with the bodyguard Sallie Shits at the wheel. The door opened. But it wasn't the old man. It was just his brother-in-law.

"SHIT!" Joey yelled. "Where the fuck is the old bastard. Wadda we gonna do with this simple fuck. If we snatch him the old man would just laugh his ass off. SHIT!"

"We gotta grab him Joe. The other guys are making their moves now. If we don't then we have shown our hand with nothing to show for it. We gotta make a move. Now. Lets go." Larry opened the car and walked up to the drivers side and put a pistol in Sallie Shits face. "Nice and easy paisan and nobody gets hurt. Just keep your hands on the wheel and look straight ahead."

Joey was a different story. He rushed up to where Joe One Eye was struggling with the huge key ring for the building. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and banged his head against the door."

"What the fuck? Joey what the fuck you doing" Joe squealed. "Let me go you crazy fuck ubatz!"

"Shadup you stupid stroonz before I blow your fuckin brains all over the street. Where the fuck is the old man? He coming down or what?  ANSWER ME YOU FUCK!" Joey shook him like a terrier shaking a rat. A thin stream of urine started flowing down One Eye's tailored pants. He wasn't a hero. Just a hanger on.

"He's at his house on Bay Parkway. He was sick today. Didn't come in. I swear. Com'on Joe I don't know what your beef is but I swear I can fix it. Just let me talk for you. No need for this. Please Joe. Please."

"Fuck. Larry lets go. This is fucked. Let's get the fuck outta here before the cops show up." Joey grabbed the piss stained old man and dragged him over to the car. He opened the trunk while One Eye struggled and pleaded and pushed the trunk lid down as he wept. Joey took him and banged his head on the back of the trunk hard enough to give the poor bastard a tattoo on his forehead of the Chrysler insignia. Opened it and threw him face down into the trunk. "LET"S GO! NOW!"

Larry Gallo shrugged. "No hard feelings Sallie." And shot him in the eye. Calmly he put the gun back in his pocket and walked back to the car to get behind the wheel. Larry did every thing calmly. Deliberately. Not like his younger brother. That's why he called the tune.

"What the fuck Larry" Joey said as he bounced up and down in his seat "wadda we gonna do now?" Larry turned the key and looked at his brother. "We're gonna take a ride. To Bay Parkway."

He pulled smoothly out of the space and headed over to the Prospect Expressway.

Diamonds are a girls best friend

Toot’s Shors Saloon, September 28, 1961(J Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolsen stroll into the saloon wearing crisp matching suits and flowers in their lapels)
Toots: Hey look at youse fanooks. How you doin' Eddie. And Clyde. What are you doing with this ugly mug.
Clyde Tolsen: That's for me to know and you to find out sweetie. Come on and give us a kiss.
J Edgar Hoover: Shut up Clyde. We need a table Toots. We just lost a bundle at Aqueduct.
Toots: Eddie, Eddie you got to stop betting like that. What is Jack gonna say? He is gonna fire you. I know Bobby hates your guts. He hates fanooks even more then he hates the Eyetalians.
J Edgar Hoover: I know that you stupid Sheeny. I need to talk to Joe D.
Toots: Don't get your panties in an uproar there chief. He's in back. And he is with Marilyn. She just got out of the nuthouse so don't say nuthin about how she looks.
(Toots walks them to the back where Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe are sitting at a banquet. Joe is wearing two World Series rings. Marilyn is not wearing any panties. She is wearing a white dress and her makeup is mussed and her hair is disheveled. All of her hair so to speak. She is hot and sticky so to cool off she is queefing non stop. Sort of like a mallard with Tourette’s syndrome.)
Toots: Joe looks who's here. It's the campus couple Eddie and Clyde. Have a seat boys and I will get you a couple of grasshoppers or sumthin.
Joe DiMaggio:
Marilyn: ( stands up and extends her hand. Her twat queefs out the National Anthem. She leans forward to whisper in a breathy sexy voice) Hi Mr. Hoover. And look you brought your girlfriend. Nice to see you again. (She extends her hand shyly and tries to shake with J Edgar Hoover but he avoids it as he thinks girls are dirty, but Clyde Tolsen rushes up and hugs her) 
Clyde Tolsen: Oh Norman Jean. I love you. You are so fab. I feel like a candle when I break wind. I want to show you a photo of our rare clumbers. Clouds! Tits! Let me tell you about my bowels.
Marilyn: Oh that's nice. I love you fellas. I used to room with Wally Cox. Right Joe.
Joe DiMaggio:
Marilyn: Joe just helped me check out of the hospital and we are just hanging out.
Toots: Yeah he checked you out of the crazy house you bug house bitch.
Marilyn: Shut up you dirty hebe. Don't let him talk to me like that Joe. What's the matter with you!
J Edgar Hoover: I need to talk to Joe for a minute Miss Monroe. What's that smell? Is somebody eating clams? Is there a dead mackerel in the flower pot or something.
Marilyn: Please don't be angry Mr. Hoover. I don't want to go back to the crazy house.  I know you can do that. I mean you did it to Frances Farmer and Rosemary Kennedy.(She is starting to get anxious and starts queefing up a storm to the tune of the “Flight of the Valkyries.)
J Edgar Hoover: No seriously. Toots. What's going on? It's like somebody is molesting a dead halibut. 
Marilyn: It's just very warm in here. It's Indian Summer and Toots is too cheap to turn on the air conditioner. 
J Edgar Hoover: Turn on the air conditioner Toots or I will have to send your wife a copy of that photo of you with your entire head in Joan Blondell’s balloon knot. That's enough to ruin your business right there. Nobody would be able to eat your food again.
Toots: Ok calm down. I will turn it up. Jeeez are you having menopause or somethin’ you old queen?
Clyde Tolsen: Calm down Mary. It's just Marilyn's lady parts. She is sweating a little and there is some dew on the bearded clam. Don't you know anything?
Toots Shor: Blleeaaaahhhh (spits out his drink he’s laughing so hard)
Marilyn: What’s so funny Toots? Why is he laughing so hard Joe? (Marilyn is getting more anxious and excited and she starts queefing even more furiously to the point that she is secreting and spritzing like Uncle Tanoose doing a spit take.)
J Edgar Hoover.: Enough the whole of youse. Clyde take Miss Monroe over to bar and get her a cocktail. Or a washcloth.( Clyde takes Marilyn by the hand and leads her over to bar where they order grasshoppers)
J Edgar Hoover: Joe I can't work with this fucking lace curtain prick Kennedy anymore. He is pushing me and the photo's I have of him with his dick in his retarded sister aren't enough anymore. I need to do something. I know you know who to reach out to so when you are throwing out the first pitch at the stadium to start the series I want you to slip me a couple of phone numbers. I need Santo’s phone number. Not his regular phone. The other one he does business on. And I need to speak to Carlos down in New Orleans. Oh and get me Momo to come up to DC to talk or I will publish those photos I have of the Maguire sisters with the midget.
Joe DiMaggio: 
J Edgar Hoover: Thanks Joe. Just so we understand each other. One hand washes the other. Remember I can publish those photos of Ted Williams with the kid from the Salvation Army any time you want if they start up with that greatest living player bullshit again and don't pick you. It's in the bag. (Hoover nods at Joe, goes to the bar and grabs a protesting Tolsen by the elbow and marches him out of the restaurant)
Marilyn: (visibly calming down as she walks back to the table) Thank God they left. Angry queens makes me nervous.  That’s why Jeff Chandler always gave me the willies. So Joe do you want to get a bite before we go home.
Joe DiMaggio: Yeah a big smelly plate of Bacala just like my mother used to make. With black olives. You know I love the smell of that.
Marilyn: Oh Joe I love you.

Marilyn's Diary

My Uncle Herman was very artistic. He loved to sing and play his guitar. Our whole family was very musical. Aunt Lily was concert quality on the harp. And of course Grandpa sucked on the organ. But music was not enough for Uncle Herman.

He loved to write and put his feelings down on paper. Of course he had a lot of feelings coursing through his body. After all his body was made of 1,652 different pieces from various people from the old country. So he had a lot to express.

He would go out to coffeehouses and read his poetry. He became great friends with some of the Beat poets and the Beat generation generally. Allen Ginsberg loved him or at least tried to every time he saw him. Neal Cassidy borrowed his motorcycle and sent over left over tabs of LSD that Ken Kersey had lying around the bus. Uncle Herman was right in the middle of the movement.

But all that didn't manner when he came home and sneaked up to my room after Aunt Lily went to sleep. Then I became the Beat poet. Or more like the Beat the Meat poet. I would take him in my hand and slowly move it up and down gradually increasing the tempo until......errrr.....it was poetry.

Check out Grantchester if you get a chance

It is on PBS and Amazon Prime.

I have been enjoying Grantchester

Which is a detective show on Masterpiece Theatre. It is about a English Vicar who solves crime. He is a pretty cool and played by James Norton who as so good in "Happy Valley" and enjoys banging German broads and drinking Whiskey. Best of all he is a big Jazz fan with good taste. Here is Sidney Bechet who is the dominant sound. Enjoy.

I miss the old shows

I mean the ones that had Connie Hines instead of Lena Dunham.sw

Hey two things.....

Sorry I have been too busy to post these last couple weeks.

I forget the other one.

I put some new music on the ipad

But Lisa is not gonna let me play Louie when she is in the front store.

Whose that girl?

A hot number from the fifties who loved to sing in Vegas. She is a little French minx with a wonderful voice who knew how to dress. Or not.

Whose that girl??

Something to watch instead of some dopey movie about Martin Luther King!

Two seasons are available from Net Flicks. The dude who is starring in Fifty Shades of Grey is the killer in this great Irish series.

One of the best shows on TV

Way better than many movies that are out right now. Check it out!

"A Walk Among the Tombstones" is dead to me.

To pick up the discussion in another thread blake said he would recommend "A Walk Among the Tombstones" as a current movie I might enjoy. Here is his review in his own fine blog "The Bit Maelstrom."

As I had mentioned I thought this adaptation of Lawrence Block's novel was horrible but then that's me. I am generally pissed at movie adaptations because they almost always suck. Especially detective or crime novels which always lose their tone or feeling when transcribed to the screen.

Here are the problems with this adaptation. The essence of Matt Scudder in the Block novels is his alcoholism. It is a presence in the books. It really got short shrift here. The keep a lot of the set ups from the book but they are just poorly executed. The only thing they did right was the "origin story" you know where he got bit by the radioactive spider. In this case it was when his errant bullet killed Estrellita Rivera in Washington Heights after a bar shoot out. That part was well done. As Pete mentions in the comments at Blake's joint the character of TJ was really misplayed. He was much more resourceful in the books and helps Scudder with Computer hackers who get him the phone numbers. They really should have made it a period piece instead of trying to update it to the year 2000. All in all it is a misfire.

Not as bad as the last translation of a Scudder book into the movies. That was an abortion called "Eight Million Ways to Die" starring Jeff Bridges made in 1986. In that they move the scene to LA instead of New York. It is just about the worst adaptation I have ever seen from book to movie.

It really pisses me off when they kill a good book like this. I mean I have seen some great adaptations lately. The Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones are two examples of exemplary translations from book to screen. An even better example is "Justified" where they really captured Elmore Leonard's sensibility. You don't care about the details when they get the feel right. But if they can't capture the sensibility then you start to nitpick. Or at least I do.

A real misfire. I am just ecstatic that they did not make my favorite Scudder book "When the Sacred Ginmill Closes." At least I have that to hold on too while I watch TV.

Hey I am looking at you stud!

Nowhere fast

Streets Of Fire

Walter Hill. A hot Diane Lane when she was nineteen.

Music. Mayhem

What else do you need

We call it Mazie

Today's Gratuitous Bathtub Scene is dedicated to all of the commenters we have left behind

You the people we used to interact with but are not longer around. For one reason or another. I mean you don't necessarily miss them but you would hear from them every day.

People like MadisonMan, Garage Mahal, Robert Cook or AJ Lynch.

And of course the people you really are glad to not hear from. Titus. J. Loafing Oaf. Luckyoldson. Rcommal.

Cedarford.

I hear he has found other things to do. Just sayn'

Whose that girl?

She is the co-star of a British series I have been enjoying lately. She eats a lot of fish but is not a lesbian. It is just because of where the series is set. Michael Haz doesn't care for that location but what are you gonna do. Call the Doctor?

It is going to get messy. I hope he is not afraid of blood.

Whose that girl?

Guest Post by Michael Haz

Michael Haz said:
Here's the thing (and it will sound familiar to someone who heard me explain it last week): Call it Haz's Corn Theory of Blogs. 

I have come to view blogs as cans of corn on the shelf in a grocery store. No matter how clever the label, no matter how catchy and enticing the graphics, no matter how tempting the price, when you open the can, it's still the same corn it has always been.

Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn.

Now, I like farmers who grow the corn, most of them at least. And I like the people who pick and process and can the corn. And ditto the people who ship the corn, and who put it on the grocery store shelves.

I'm just tired of the corn, the same old corn every time I open the can, no matter how clever the label. 

So I stopped buying corn; and most of the other things in the vegetable aisle. At least for a while, perhaps.

And I stopped growing and canning my own corn. My blog has gone dormant. No mo corn to process, and I'm out of seeds.

It's early February, and I'm starting the adventure season early this year. A man is given only so many years, and they best be used wisely. It's too cold to motorcycle, so Mrs. Haz and I are hitting the road tomorrow morning in the Hupmoble, headed to the land of palm trees and beaches.

I may be a geezer, but I still know how to do a killa good Spring break on the beaches. Watch for me on the Nat Geo Channel. I'll be wearing beads.

I tend to agree with Michael. I have been very busy lately. But then I am always busy. Lisa lost her uncle and aunt two weeks apart and the wakes and funerals have been devastating. We had someone quit on us so we are shorthanded. Lots of other problems but that is par for the course.

I don't have enough time to write up the posts I want to write like I used to last year. So sometimes I don't log on at all during the day. Plus I don't get as emotionally involved as I used to back in the day. Lem's blog has quieted down a lot so there is not much conflict there and the only other blog I am currently following is Turley on Nick's recomendation and that seems more of the same old, same old. I mean you have to be tired of jousting with Inga all the time. It is just not worth it. The people there seem very earnest but basically boring and pedantic in the extreme so it is not even worth breaking a sweat.

Maybe I should follow Michael's example and hit the road. He is born to be wild. Ride with the wind good buddy:

The Case of the Demented Diasporia

My dear Holmes,

It is your most humble petitioner, Inspector Lestrade. It has been some time since I have stopped requesting assistance in the troubling matter of the salon frequented by Lady Chatterley and her merry band of sycophants, lickspittles and refugees from Bedlam. That curious case had dragged on and on but is now considered dead. It seems to have escaped the notice of so many who at one time claimed the deepest interest and concern, but seems that den of iniquity has sunken into irrelevancy and is no longer our concern. However now it seems that new developments in different precincts lead me to believe that we must concentrate on more immediate concerns.

As I had previously noted in one of  my prior missives, I or my agents had at one time or another have attended many of the salons of the noted conversationalist and dilettante Lady Chatterley where Lord Douchebag was a frequent and much valued guest. In fact it has been told to me that the Lady in question has often referred to him as wonderful. What is most striking is that his name has not passed the lips of any of the many participants for lo these many months and it is as if he never existed. He is never referred to or referenced in any way which is passing strange since so many professed an acute admiration for his talents such as they were.  This place is now deserted and lonely most of the time as so many of the participants have fled to what they must feel are more salubrious environment.

The Yard has ceased its inquiries into the doings of this perverted salon as contact has soiled the reputations and the very psyche of any agents we have sent to observe the untoward activities of these demented sybarites. It seems that this group has scattered to the four winds never to be gathered together in its disreputable glory. Several have decamped to a pestilence filled tavern run by a drunken Latin sailor who has not two wits to rub together. It had some currency for a while but now it seems to be have been mostly deserted as most have been chased away by the ranting conversation of the chef who never lets one word do the work when fifty could be shouted at the top of his lungs. His discourses on politics and society are loudly and emphaticly shouted and most ignore it as best they can because they wait his discussion of the proper preparation of spotted dick which is his specialty.

Some others of these poor souls have decamped for all places a solicitor’s office where conversation is carried on in muted tones subject to rules and regulations that are beyond my keen. The level of discourse seems quite banal yet soothing to many of a limited intellect and diminished sensibility similar to that of a toad or turtle. How this has come to pass is a mystery but it is to be hoped that these people will amuse themselves sufficiently so that they will not trouble the rest of society.

My question to you is do you know of a way to ensure that this rabble will be contained in these various sinkholes and kept away from any social intercourse with the rest of our society. I feel that the safety of her Majesty’s realm depends upon it.

I hope all is well with you and Doctor Watson and I hope that he has recovered from that strange malady that struck him last December. I note that he has not returned to the club since he lost all of his hair and the little finger on his left hand. I trust that this was the result of a case and not a more serious malady. I can suggest certain exercises that might ensure the return of certain hirsute characteristics but it would only be effective for his palm and not help him with the loss of a finger so to speak.

In any event give him my regards.

I remain as always,
Your obedient servant,
Inspector G. Lestrade
Scotland Yard
December 15, 1899

Why Sports have lost me!

I used to be a great sports fan. I had season tickets to the Yankees, Knicks and Giants. I had season tickets to St. Johns College b-ball and Saturday night fights at the Felt Forum. I went to about six championship fights. I knew every player on every team on every sport. I always had the game on if I wasn't actually at the stadium or the Garden.

But I have lost all of that.

The pressure of work and finance made me give up the tickets. I had to put all my resources and time into the store so I couldn't take the time to go to the game, Most of all I got tied of how the owners treated the fans. It really became noticeable to me this Super Bowl. I didn't see a minute of the game. Now I had a good excuse. I was out at a wake. But even when my cousins were chatting about it and about the Jets and Giants I just wasn't engaged anymore. I can't seem to summon up the interest to even debate any more.

It is all because of jerkoffs like this guy:

NewYork Post February8, 2015

James Dolan is taking out his 10-41 frustrations on the fans.

The Knicks owner fired off a vindictive email telling a longtime fan he should “start rooting.for the Nets because the Knicks dont want you,” among far more malicious comments, a source confirmed.

Dolan was lashing out at the father of filmmaker Aaron Bierman, who had written a fairly boilerplate angry message to the owner calling for him to sell the team,as Deadspin first reported. Dolan’s response to the “Knicks fan since 1952″ was a presumption-filled mess of personal shots. (Sic all):

“I am.just guessing but ill bet your life is a mess and you are a hateful mess,” Dolan wrote. “What have you done that anyone would consider positive or nice. I am betting nothing. In fact ill bet you are negative force in everyone who comes in contact with you. You most likely have made your family miserable. Alcoholic maybe. I just celebrated my 21 year anniversary of sobriety. You should try it. Maybe it will help you become a person that folks would like to have around. In the mean while start rooting.for the Nets because the Knicks dont want you.”

Through a spokesman, Dolan declined comment.

The Cablevision CEO was retaliating to an email highly critical of him, which offered a brief rundown of the many nadirs the Knicks have hit under Dolan’s ownership.

“At one stage I thought that you did a wonderful thing when you acquired EVERYTHING from your dad,” Bierman’s father wrote. “However, since then it has been ALL DOWN HILL. Your working with Isaiah Thomas & everything else regarding the Knicks. Bringing on Phil Jackson was a positive beginning, but lowballing Steve Kerr was a DISGRACE to the knicks. The bottom line is that you merely continued to interfere with the franchise.

“As a knicks fan for in excess of 60 years, I am utterly embarrassed by your dealings with the Knicks. Sell them so their fans can at least look forward to growing them in a positive direction Obviously, money IS NOT THE ONLY THING. You have done a lot of utterly STUPID business things with the franchise. Please NO MORE.”

Finally something the Pope and I agree on.....But is he Catholic?

The Guardian February 5, 2015  Pope Francis  told parents it is OK to spank their children to discipline them – as long as their dignity is maintained.

Francis made the remarks this week during his weekly general audience, which was devoted to the role of fathers in the family.

Francis outlined the traits of a good father: one who forgives but is able to “correct with firmness” while not discouraging the child.

“One time, I heard a father in a meeting with married couples say ‘I sometimes have to smack my children a bit, but never in the face so as to not humiliate them’,” Francis said.

“How beautiful.” he added. “He knows the sense of dignity! He has to punish them but does it justly and moves on.”

Finally something we can agree on. Give those little bastards a couple of smacks for crying out loud. 

"Hey if you want to cry I can give you something to cry about!"

"GET OFF OF MY LAWN!"

Instant Replay The Unedited Edition

Coach Lombardi was very tough on celebrations on the field. He didn’t go for people who taunted the other team and rubbed their noses in it. He always said when you score a touchdown “Just hand the ball to ref and walk away. Act like you have been there before.” Which means the end zone of course.

Most of our players adhered to those rules. I mean some of the Negro players were a little more animated. Elijah Pitts did a Watusi dance once and the Coach suspended him for two games. I thought that was a little harsh. I mean he was caught up in the action and got over enthusiastic and excited. Sort of like Hornung when he would shower with the rookies in training camp.

The thing about celebrations is the most unlikely guys sometimes surprised you. I remember in the playoff bowl against the Cleveland Browns Tom Moore caught a swing pass and ran 99 yards for a touchdown. He couldn’t believe it. He was just a back-up and here was his chance to shine. He scored two TDs in that game. But on this one he made a big mistake.  

You see after he ran 99 yards he took the ball and threw it as hard as he could into the ground and it bounced up in the air. They call that a spike or something like that there. That was the first time we saw it and of all people Tom Moore did it!

When he realized what he had done he was very shamefaced. He sort of sidled back to the sideline and tried to stay away from Coach. He didn’t want to be reprimanded. He was very sensitive that way. Coach knew that so he didn’t yell and scream. When he called him to carry in a play on the next offense sequence he knew what to do.

He burned him with his cigarette.

(Instant Replay- The Unedited Edition, Jerry Kramer & Dick Schaap Random House, 1968)