Welcome, my friends, to the final installment of At The Movies. I have enjoyed every moment sharing my thoughts with you about great songs and the movies that featured them.
Itβs no secret Iβm Sicilian; my parents were born there and I’m very proud of my heritage. That is why I chose the most important motion picture in my lifetime to showcase in my final segment of At The Movies. This is a very personal post for me.
In 1972, my husband and I went to see βThe Godfatherβ and in many little ways that movie changed my life. The film chronicles the Corleone Family under patriarch, Vito Corleone, while focusing on the transformation of Vitoβs youngest son, Michael, from reluctant family outsider to ruthless mafia boss. That’s the Reader’s Digest abridged version; there’s much, much more going on in that movie to write about here.
When the movie was over, I turned to my husband and said “This movie is going to win the Academy Award”.
I remember reading that director Francis Ford Coppola knew he was going against the grain with βThe Godfatherβ and wasnβt expecting it to be anything but a βspecial failureβ, certainly not a hit. With a screenplay co-written by Coppola and Mario Puzo (who wrote the 1969 best-selling novel of the same name), and stars such as Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Richard Castellano, Robert Duval (and later, Robert De Niro in Part 2), the result was anything but a failure; it was an astounding blockbuster.
When the Academy Award nominations were announced, βThe Godfatherβ received an incredible eleven nominations but won only three β Best Picture, Best Actor for Brando, Best Adapted Screenplay. According to popular opinion poll results released just days after the awards ceremony, three wins out of eleven nominations was considered a travesty and a personal snub by the Academy. I agree.
But thatβs only half the story. We cannot forget the music. The raw beauty of the soundtrack with music composed by Nino Rota brings me to tears every time I hear it.
In January 2018, The Danish Broadcasting Corporation (DR) aired a concert called βThe Morricone Duelβ performed by The Danish National Symphony Orchestra and The Danish National Concert Choir conducted by Sarah Hicks. Named for the great Italian composer Ennio Morricone (1928-2020), the music performed included titles from a wide range of “spaghetti” westerns and mafia films reflecting different perspectives on the Italian-American movie and film music styles.
From that concert, here is βThe Godfather β Orchestral Suiteβ composed by Nino Rota.
I have seen βThe Godfather Trilogyβ (especially Parts 1 & 2) so many times, I can listen to this suite and picture exactly whatβs going on in the movie. I have Sicilian friends who refused to watch βThe Godfatherβ, saying it shows all Sicilians in a bad light; thatβs ridiculous. While the vast majority of Sicilians are not connected to the mob, some are. This film is an accurate depiction of that lifestyle. I am as proud this groundbreaking movie as I am of my heritage.
For me there is only one other movie that rivals “The Godfather” and that is “The Godfather Part II”. These films will always remain in my heart as the greatest movies ever made.
One final very special memory before closing. I raised my sons in an American home sprinkled with the flavor of Sicily; they had no doubt where their ancestors came from. A great highlight for me was hearing my then 13-year-old son David playing the theme from “The Godfather” in recital as a solo on the bass trombone β not a rendition you hear often. When his time in the spotlight was over, there was a moment of terrifying silence before the chaos of applause broke out. I smiled knowing that was my boy and he played that piece for me.
Well, kids, itβs time to bring the curtain down At The Movies for the final time. I hope you found my posts these past six months to be entertaining, interesting, enlightening and fun. It has been a delight bringing these great movies and songs to you every week.
Youβll still be able to find me on Tuesdays in an all new re-vamped In The Groove and right here in this same slot on Thursdays with a totally different laidback program I think you’ll enjoy. Iβll be looking for you!
Thatβs a wrap. Turn off the lights on your way out.
βOrganized? You call this organized? I see books not positioned correctly on the shelves and why is there a bottle of Coca Cola sweating on your desk? There better not be any water rings on the wood. Now finish up in here; we haven’t got all day and my patience is wearing thin!β
More anger and criticism rained down on me by my long-suffering mother. Living with her was neither fun nor easy β it just was what it was.Β
Mother was a strict, in-control-at-all-times perfectionist who rarely let her guard down or her emotions show, which is why what happened that ordinary day in August left both me and my sister bewildered, squinting our eyes, skewing our faces and scratching our heads wondering who this imposter was in my mother’s place.
Mother raised her arm above her head. Suddenly the sky parted, angels sang and a brilliant stream of light shone down upon an envelope in her hand. My sister and I stared in disbelief as realization struck. We hugged each other, jumped up and down, screamed and cried tears of joy for peeking out of that envelope were three yellow tickets that looked exactly like this:
Three passes into a world we only dreamed of, a place greater than any national treasure, a fantasy land more majestic than any shrine in the universe, tickets more precious than gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Clapping her hands twice, Mother brought us back down to earth. βHurry and get dressed. The show starts in four hours and traffic will be a nightmare. Dresses only, girls. No blue jeans and no shorts. And for heaven’s sake, wear your bras; you are not animals and this is not a free-for-all!β
Oh, really?
Sacred tickets in hand, we jumped into Mother’s 1957 Ford Fairlane 500. It seemed to take forever to arrive and we sang one Beatles song after another. In the distance we caught our first glimpse of Shea Stadium glimmering in the glow of the setting sun like the Land of Oz, and the four wizards were there waiting to play just for us. Well, us and approximately 56,000 crying, screaming, hyperventilating fans.
We found our seats and finally had our first real chance to look around. Our eyes widened in awe; surely this was even more spectacular, more jaw-dropping than The Colosseum in Rome which we had visited just one month earlier. Finally, after waiting for what seemed a lifetime, television host Ed Sullivan appeared on stage and tried to speak over the roaring mass of adoring fans. These were the words he spoke that night: “Now, ladies and gentlemen, honored by their country, decorated by their Queen, and loved here in America, here are The Beatles!”
Pandemonium, a mania the likes of which was never witnessed before broke out as the most beloved musical group of all time ran onto the stage.
My sister and I grabbed our binoculars and raced to the bottom of our tier for a closer look. Hearing anything over the cacophony of the audience was almost impossible and we screamed and cried right along with everyone there. At one point I looked back, stunned to see my mother laughing and singing and dancing in the aisle! Whatthefuckedness?!
That night my world was changed; my greatest dream came true. I had reached Mecca, climbed Everest and walked on the moon. Being there was beyond surreal. It was the most electrifying and exhilarating experience of my life. That night remains etched in my mind and on my heart for all eternity.
Well, I started In The Groove with a George Harrison song; itβs only fitting that I end this segment of The Rhythm Section with the group who has given me so much joy the majority of my life.
The entire medley is 16.41 minutes long with several short breaks. To enjoy the entire piece, listen through all the breaks until The End … literally.
“Now for you youngsters out there, here they are, live on our stage …. The Beatles!”
I’m not even going to comment on that medley; no need.
This month I was busy working on a revamped format for In The Groove; I had a great time putting it together and I think you’ll enjoy what you see and hear. Thatβs all Iβm prepared to say at this point; just come back next week to find out what it’s all about. I think you’re gonna like it!
Thanks for your participation and great comments these past six months; you’re a terrific audience!
That’s it for now, kids; catch you right here next Tuesday.
βGreat! Just great! First I drop my phone in the toilet; now I canβt find my Magellan! Where is that dang GPS? I coulda sworn I put it in the glove box a couple of years ago. This aughta be fun, trying to figure out how to get to my sales meeting without directions. Lemme take another look.
Nope, itβs not in here but thereβs my jumper cables. Thought I lost them the time my engine died on me the night of the office Christmas party. Hot damn, that was a wild shindig! Who woulda guessed Uptight Tina from R&D could be such a temptress?
Letβs see what we got here β¦ napkins, ketchup packets, pencils, pencils, more pencils, a menu from Panda Pavilion, a roach clip. No GPS. Now hold on just a second. Whatβs this? Oh man, do my eyes deceive me? A cassette tape! Right on!! Ah, that explains all the pencils!Oh man, from the days when music was good.
Hmm, looks like one of my old homemade jobs. I wonder whatβs on it β¦ writingβs all smudged so could be anything. Well, Iβm good and lost but at least Iβll have some company on the road. Iβm just gonna slip this baby in and see what develops.
My son David is a librarian by vocation. Then there are the times he moonlights as lead tenor with the Taconic Opera Company and as a church singer for special holy days. He has a God-given talent and is quite brilliant. I like to think he inherited some of my musical skills as well. His brother Bill was there that night some 20+ years ago when David blew the roof off a karaoke bar singing an Iron Maiden song; at that point in time no one in the family knew David could sing. He also plays the bass trombone. Did I mention he has perfect pitch?
Davidβs wife Jessica is a doctor specializing in making chemo for cancer patients – an intense and demanding job. Somehow she also manages to be a super mom β part Wonder Woman, part Energizer Bunny. She is a beautiful woman, a stunning mezzo soprano with a wondrous soul and a remarkable mind. She has performed alongside David and is also a church singer often called on for weddings and funerals. Jessica plays the piano and cello and was chosen for All County Choir and All County Orchestra while in school. Iβm not sure if she has perfect pitch; if not, then damn close.
(I’d like to take a second to mention a bit of serendipity: When Jessica was with the All County Orchestra, David was, too, though they did not know each other at that time. They did not officially meet until 15 years later. Funny how that works. Now, back to the story.)
David and Jessica have a 3 Β½ year old daughter named Colette β my granddaughter whom I mention frequently when writing personal posts. Sheβs a joy, an absolutely glorious child. Colette loves music and is taking ballet lessons. She can also dig her heels in like nobodyβs business. Colette is a spitfire who obviously inherited equal amounts of her parentβs Sicilian-Irish-Italian genes. Add a splash of a Mt Etna temper when pushed beyond the breaking point, courtesy of yours truly, and you have the total package. A real βtesta duraβ or as we say in slang βgabadostβ.
As you can see, this little family of mine is extremely musical. David and Jessica sing around the house and now Colette has begun singing along β¦ and sheβs not shy about it. Recently, while singing βPuff the Magic Dragonβ, David and Jessica exchanged looks, bit their lips and tried not to laugh. With eyes rolling heavenward, they wondered βIs there any chance on Godβs green earth that we created a child who canβt sing in tune?β
Today we have a treat for you: Keith is in the house!
Keith Allen, AKA βThe Nostalgic Italianβ, has written another guest post which weβre sure youβll find entertaining, interesting and enlightening. Itβs guaranteed to brighten up your back-to-work Monday. Enough talking by me; Iβm going to hand the reigns over to Keith for another edition ofΒ Be Our GuestΒ inΒ The Rhythm Section.Β Take it away, Keith!
ββββ
Thanks, Nancy, for once again allowing me to share music with you.
Are you all in the mood for a little Blues today? I’ve got just the ticket!
Todayβs song was originally done by a guy born in Arkansas but has a connection to my home state of Michigan (He moved to Detroit when he was 4.).Β Little Willie John recorded Sonny Thompsonβs song “Let Them Talk” in 1960. His version is backed by a beautiful string arrangement, but his rendition is not the one I wanted to share.
Many know award-winning actor Hugh Laurie for his role as Dr. Gregory House on βHouse, MDβ. His American accent always blew me away as I watched; I knew he was English but you sure couldnβt tell when he spoke! His credentials are impressive, far too many accomplishments to list but here are a few: He was half the comedy duo of βFry and Laurieβ with Stephen Fry.Β He appeared on the show βJeevesand Woosterβ, and many films including βSense and Sensibilityβ, β101 Dalmatiansβ, and βStuart Littleβ. Laurie portrayed the devious Richard Roper in the British TV series βThe Night Managerβ and George, the Prince in the BBC sitcom “Blackadder”. He is the author of the novel βThe Gun Seller.β
He is also an extremely talented musician.
Todayβs tune is the title track from Laurieβs first album βLet ThemTalkβ. The album is subtitled βA Celebration of New Orleans Bluesβ and is just fantastic. His piano work is marvelous and he sings with incredible feeling. The period instruments and guest vocalists add to the feel of some great blues music.
I picked this song for a few reasons. First, I love the attitude of the song β βLet them talk!β Recently in my life there are way too many people who are talking about me, my life, and whatβs going on in it. It is easy to get caught up in wondering what people think but in reality, who cares?! LET THEM TALK! Maybe they are talking because they see how much better things are for me now. Maybe they are jealous. Maybe they are unhappy with their own lives and arenβt happy unless they are talking smack about others. I donβt know. Whatever the case, LET THEM TALK!
Another reason I love this song is that it is a guy singing about just how wonderful it is to be with his special someone.Β I feel the same way.Β I want to yell at the top of my lungs how much I love my wife!Β I want the world to know how remarkable she is and how special our relationship is!
The final reason I love this song is the simplicity of it musically.Β A voice and a piano (and a few minor instruments).Β A song so stripped-down and yet it carries you away.Β Give a listen and enjoy:
Let Them Talk
Just let them talk If they want to Talk donβt bother me Iβm gonna keep on to the whole wide world knows That I really love you I really love you so
Let them whisper For they know know Whatβs between you and I Iβm gonna keep on Iβm gonna keep on loving you βtill the day that I die
They tried to break up our romance They didnβt stay a chance We have the kind of love thatβs so strong Weβll be together from now on
They say that gossip comes from the devilβs workshop And only true love can make it stop Iβm gonna keep on Iβm gonna keep on loving you βtill the day that I die
Oh theyβre envious of everything that we do But I wanna say itβs wonderful When you love someone And that someone And that someone, really loves you
And that someone And that someone, really loves you
Yeah that someone And that someone, really loves you
Yeahhh
And that someone Yeah that someone, really loves you
Thanks so much for joining me today in The Rhythm Section and thanks again to Nancy, The Sicilian Storyteller. Please leave me a comment; it’ll be a pleasure to read them.
Her parents were good people; they were just too damn young to be raising a family. They didnβt do anything wrong unless you call falling in love wrong. Should they have had unsafe sex? Of course not, but listen β weβve all gotten caught up in the heat of the moment for many reasons. Their passion resulted in an unwanted pregnancy.
For two 14 year old kids, they made a very mature decision: they put their baby girl up for adoption. They could have chosen any other avenue but they chose the right one for them and their daughter. There are so many good options available to pregnant girls and women who are not ready, not willing, not able to keep their babies. Then there are also illegal abortion mills with doctors willing to rip a fetus from the motherβs womb for a price. How do those people sleep at night?
My husband and I werenβt looking for another child; we already had three, all strawberry blondes with dove-like skin and blue eyes. Just like us. It was my sister who wanted to adopt. Desperately. When she got the call, she wept for joy β¦ until she learned Zoe was black and not a newborn but three years old. My sister said no. Flat refusal. I couldnβt believe this was the girl I grew up with. What happened to her open mind and arms, her loving heart. Theyβre still there but only for babies that look like mine.
Zoe hid behind the skirt of the lady at the adoption center. When I kneeled down and opened my arms, she looked at me very tentatively. I smiled, nodded my head and she took off like a little rabbit running straight into my arms. And we hugged like our lives depended on it; in a way, they did.
She is our daughter now and the fit was seamless, like those lovely Russian nesting dolls. Our biological children love Zoe and she loves them. And us. Weβre crazy about all our kids and wonder why we didnβt do this sooner. Zoe is our fourth daughter; we already decided weβre going for five.
One very large bedroom with three sets of bunk beds. It’s messy and noisy and all over the place but itβs a happy, beautiful thing.
Welcome back to Name That Tune! Are you feeling lucky today?
Get your brain cells ready to tackle the five questions I have prepared for you. Letβs see if you can come up with the name of the song and the artist(s) who made it famous.
Ok, letβs rock and roll!
This song from 1963 is just one hit by a group of boys from New Jersey that had us singing and dancing along to a great melody β¦ and letβs not forget those fantastic drums!
The singers of this song keep repeating one phrase over and over again; youβd think the person in question would just get the message and go away already!
The lead singer of our featured group had a recurring role as gangster Rusty Millio during the fifth and sixth seasons of the hit HBO series, The Sopranos.
The story of the lives of these guys from New Jersey, especially their lead singer, was turned into a Broadway play in 2004 and eventually into a movie in 2014. None of the original members of the group starred in either the play or the movie.
This one word song is named after a girl β¦ the one mentioned in question #2 who wonβt go away. Come to think of it, many of this groupβs songs were named after girls.
Howβd you do with that one, kids? Well, letβs scroll down for the answers, shall we?
Thatβs right! It was the Jersey Boys themselves, The Four Seasons (also known later in their career as “Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons“), doing one of their biggest hits (and my personal favorite), βDawnβ. Letβs give a listen and enjoy those crazy drums!
Was I right about the drums or was I right? Kudos to Buddy Saltzman, the drummer on this recording; The Four Seasons did not have a regular drummer and always used various session drummers. Extra credit if you knew that tidbit.
I wonder if any of my WordPress music blogging friends (you know who you are) can name any other groups who used only session drummers. Hmm … let’s see who’s reading this.
Well, that was a great song, a real blast from the past for many of us and possibly a new one for some of you youngsters out there.
I hope you’ve been having fun playing along; join me next time right here for another round of Name That Tune.
Damn! Have you seen the upper body on Michael B. Jordan? Heβs the fine young actor who plays Adonis Creed in the new “Creed” movies.
And when I say βfineβ, I mean fine.
Whether his goal is to get into shape, make award winning movies, encourage young athletes to get in the best shape possible or to leave a trail of panting women behind him, he has succeeded in all those endeavors.
Like his father Apollo Creed, he is one incredible specimen. Just saying.
Originally published in 2020 when times were very different.
Originally I was considering letting nature take its course and stop dying my hair. After all, being in isolation all this time because of the Coronavirus has kept me from going to the salon and now my grey roots are prevalent.
I asked my husband for his opinion. Regardless of the situation his answer is βYou always look beautiful!β Liar! I adore him but he tells me what he thinks I want to hear. Give it to me straight! Contrary to what Jack Nicholson declared in βA Few Good Menβ, I CAN handle the truth!
Time to weigh my options. First, I look young for a woman in her seventies; will going grey age me or will I look chic? My husbandβs light brown hair is sprinkled with grey with look more like blonde highlights; I much prefer looking like his youthful wife as opposed to his older sister! Second, Iβll save beaucoup bucks at the salon if I go au naturel; just need to pop in for the occasional trim. And last but not least Iβll leave myself wide open for a good-natured lampoon offered up by my oh-so-witty friends.
Since my hair is professionally dyed brown with golden highlights, I was reluctant to pick up a box of Clairol and give it a go at home. I recalled the one and only time I tried to dye my hair. The color was called βIced Mochaccinoββ which sounded like a delicious shade and the model on the box look dazzling. What could go wrong? My hair came out an unattractive shade of dull cocoa so ixnay the home dye job.
Letβs try this: I consulted Google and found a site where I could see what Iβd look like with grey hair. I had no idea there were so many shades of grey β everything from silky white to smokey charcoal, even some with hints of purple or green. I was starting to get very confused. Then I downloaded a copy of βForget the Spa and Salon: Custom Hair Color at HomeβΒ β a literary masterpiece guaranteed to βhelp you find the perfect hair colorβ.Β It did not.
Just as I was about to place an order for the root cover up I got an email from my hair salon:
βIn accordance with the guidelines of Phase 2, we are delighted to announce the reopening of βWeβre Hair For Youβ on Monday, June 15.β
The email went on to welcome their clients back and describe changes in the salon. I immediately grabbed my cell phone to call my stylist (sheβs on speed dial!) and make an appointment for the following week. Goodbye drab grey roots! Hello luscious brown hair with golden highlights! I was thrilled.
The next day I received a sobering email from the salon:
βYour appointment is confirmed. Please call the salon from the parking lot upon your arrival. You will either be told to come in or asked to wait until we call you back. Clients are required to wear a mask at all times and will have their temperature taken before entering the salon. Please come to your appointment alone as we have eliminated our waiting area. We apologize for any inconvenience. The safety of everyone concerned is of utmost importance. Thank you.β
Every day I make my way north on the Cross Island Parkway heading for the Throggs Necks Bridge and home to Westchester County. And every day I see this same fellow slowly pedaling his tired old bicycle. We are riding parallel to one another. He is on my right; further right and out of view is the Little Neck Bay. When the bay is in view, it is stunning.
His shock of silver hair is startling and, together with his tissue-white skin, it is obvious this fellow doesnβt get much sun. I had him pegged for an elitist-type, a retired executive who drinks very dry martinis and lathers himself in SPF 80.
This one particularly splendid day I found myself stuck in traffic; all arteries clogged with nothing getting through. I turned off the engine and relaxed.
At that very moment along came my pale horseman and as I glanced over, he waved and rang the bicycleβs bell. CHING!! I waved and he half-rode, half-walked his bike to my car. I rolled down the window and a very unlikely friendship blossomed.
This fellow was not at all what I imagined. He was a transplant from β of all places β Scotland by way of France! Said his name was Brian Duff-something (strong but utterly enchanting accent).
Did you know thereβs one place in all of Scotland where palm trees grow? Itβs true! My friend Brian Duff-something told me.
Now every day we wave βBonjourβ and I pray for another traffic jam.
Deep Purple has been my go-to rock band for as long as I can remember. I saw them perform live twice and am a devoted follower of both Deep Purple and their “spin-off” group, “Rainbow”. What better song for Jimβs prompt today than βSmoke On The Waterβ?!
The lyrics tell a true story: on December 4, 1971, Deep Purple was in Montreux, Switzerland to record the album βMachine Headβ.
On the eve of the recording session, a concert with Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention was held in the casino’s theatre. This was the theatre’s final concert before the complex closed down for its annual winter renovations, which would allow Deep Purple to record there.
At the beginning of the Mothers’ keyboardist Don Prestonβs synthesizer solo on “King Kong”, the place suddenly caught fire when somebody in the audience fired a flare gun towards the rattan-covered ceiling. Although there were no major injuries, the resulting fire destroyed the entire casino complex, along with all the Mothers’ equipment.
The “smoke on the water” line that became the title of the song referred to the smoke from the fire spreading over Lake Geneva from the burning casino as the members of Deep Purple watched from their hotel. Deep Purple’s Bassist Roger Glover said “It was probably the biggest fire I’d ever seen up to that point and probably ever seen in my life. It was a huge building. I remember there was very little panic getting out because it didn’t seem like much of a fire at first. But when it caught, it went up like a fireworks display.”
What a phenomenal classic rock song this is! All the lyrics from the song explain the event vividly. Listen closely and follow along with the written lyrics as the musical story unfolds:
Lyrics
We all came out to Montreux On the Lake Geneva shoreline To make records with a mobile, yeah We didn’t have much time now
Frank Zappa and the Mothers Were at the best place around But some stupid with a flare gun Burned the place to the ground
Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky (Smoke) on the water, you guys are great
They burned down the gambling house It died with an awful sound Funky Claude was running in and out He was pulling kids out the ground now
When it all was over Find another place Swiss time was running out It seemed that we would lose the race
Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky Smoke on the water
Burn it down
We ended up at the Grand Hotel It was empty, cold and bare The Rolling truck Stones thing just outside Huh, making our music there now
With a few red lights and a few old beds We made a place to sweat No matter what we get out of this I know, I know we’ll never forget
Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky Smoke on the water (I can’t hear anything)
This is a work of fiction. In no way is it meant to be derogatory or insensitive to any peoples’ ethnicity. I do not share any of the disparaging words or sentiments within this story. NAR
It was a blazing hot day in August of 1971. Sweaty air conditioners were working overtime, filling the streets of Manhattan with an unrelenting drone. I was in the elevator of my apartment building having just returned from physical therapy. There were four other people in the elevator β a plumber, a mid-twenties hippie chick I knew only as βRainβ, elderly and bitter Abe Morris and a very pregnant Asian woman I didnβt know.
Abe made a big show of moving away from the Asian woman, spitting out the words βsavage gooks!β Abe was angry and grieving the recent death of his son in Vietnam. Someone had to pay; why not the only Asian in the elevator? Abe always had some wise-ass comment about the fact that I’m black and relished every opportunity to say something hurtful about my missing arm. Today his vitriol was directed elsewhere. Ignorant, bigoted man.
The doors closed and we began our slow ascent. Old buildings, temperamental elevators and a heatwave β a bad combination. Somewhere between floors 3 and 4 the elevator jolted to a stop. Before Abe could utter a curse word, the elevator churned back to life, coughed and stopped again with an ominous screech. Except for a few groans no one said anything. I pushed the alarm button and reached for the elevatorβs emergency phone. Halfway through my call the electricity went out, the AC shut off and my phone connection died. Blackness engulfed us and it started getting uncomfortably warm.
Abe started cursing and banging the walls, all the while ranting βgoddamn fucking dinks β I hate them!β The plumber was praying in what sounded like Russian while Rain softly hummed βLet It Beβ. I tried unsuccessfully to pry open the doors and reminded everyone that at least part of our emergency call went through so help had to be on its way. It was then that I became aware of low guttural moans coming from the Asian woman; in a language I recognized as Vietnamese, she gasped that the baby was coming.
I asked the plumber if he had a flashlight, which he did. Turning it on, he handed it to me and everyone calmed down just a bit. Amazing what a little ray of light can do. With her back to the wall, the pregnant woman slid down and eased herself onto the floor. I told her I understood Vietnamese from my days as a medic in Nam. I said my name was Jim; her name was Thanh. We talked softly as Abe carried on about his son who died in the war β βAnd for what?? This slant??β he screamed. The plumber became more agitated and Rain sat by him holding his hand.
With ragged breaths and dry lips, Thanh told me she married an American soldier in early November 1970 and he brought her back to live in the U.S. with his parents. After two weeks he returned to Vietnam; he was killed November 21st in Operation Ivory Coast. Thanh soon learned she was pregnant. Relations with her in-laws became strained and she moved into my apartment building with her cousin.
As we sat waiting, I thought of that November day. I remembered a soldier who flung himself on me as I worked in the MASH unit. He was blown to bits while I only lost my arm. That young hero was someone’s son, a friend, perhaps a brother; he could have even been Thanhβs husband.
Suddenly Abe lost it; he stood and yelled racial slurs at both me Thanh. The plumber sobbed while Rain tried to calm him. I yelled for everyone to βshut up!β And thatβs when we heard faint voices.
βAnyone in there?β
βRoger that! Weβre down here! Five people, one woman in labor!β I shouted and was rewarded with a resounding βHUA!β
Haltingly the doors were pried open and a rescue ladder was lowered into the elevator. Abe headed straight for the ladder; I stopped the selfish bastard in his tracks.
βThe pregnant lady goes first.β
Abe called me “a no good spook” and blindly took a swing at me; even with my disability I was able to easily block him. I grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to the floor where he sat, head in hands, repeating what must have been his son’s name. I pitied the man but he was not the only person in pain.
With my assistance, Thanh gingerly made her way up the ladder; she was pulled out of the elevator and the EMTs rushed her to the hospital. The rest of us slowly climbed to safety.
When I emerged into the lobby of my building, I found one of Thanh’s shoes. Call it whatever you want but in that moment I knew I had to get to her.
Nobody likes a downer but the reality is summer vacation is almost over and school has already started or is about to start for many students around the world. What better way to usher in the school year here At The Movies than with the classic film, “To Sir, With Love”.
American Mark Thackeray (Sidney Poitier) recently received his degree in engineering but cannot find work. To make ends meet, he takes a job as a teacher in a rough London East End school populated mostly with troublemakers who were rejected from other schools for their behavior. While the students at first see Thackeray as just another teacher open for ridicule and bullying, his calm demeanor and desire to see them succeed gradually earn him their respect.
Released in 1967, “To Sir, With Love” is based on the 1959 autobiographical novel by E. R. Braithwaite and offers dynamic insight into the politics of race and class in postwar London.
Scottish singer and actress Lulu performed the title song whose lyrics poignantly describe life in the U.K. in the 60s and the teenage revolution that was gaining full momentum at that time.
Here now is the movie’s trailer with Lulu singing the excellent title song.
A great song and terrific movie! Sidney Poitier was a powerful presence in every role he undertook.
With the end of summer drawing near and September knocking on our doors, I have a school-related question for you today:
Did you have a favorite teacher and/or subject?
My favorite subject was 11th Grade English Lit. I was an excellent student (in that subject) and the teacher, Mr. Voight, was my favorite. He introduced our class to fantastic books which we discussed in class. He showed us great movies which have become classics, films such as On the Waterfront, The Pawnbroker, Dr, Zhivago. We didn’t get to goof off and watch movies, though; we had to write reports about them and have class discussions. It’s amazing how much more you discover about a book or movie when you compare thoughts with other people! Thank you, Mr. Voight!
Thanks for joining me today At The Movies; I’ll be here again next week with a great flick, terrific music and some news! You don’t want to miss it.
“No, they are not! They’re hydrangeas, Ben. Don’t you remember we had snowball bushes in the backyard of our first house? These are not them!”
“Yes, of course I remember having snowball bushes in our backyard and they looked just like this! I also remember we have a roast beef in the oven right now and if we don’t get home and take it out, it’s gonna be pot roast!”
“Merciful heavens! My roast beef! I forgot all about it! We’ll come back tomorrow to admire the hydrangeas.”
Reposting this from January ’22. Some of you have read it, many have not. Hope you enjoy another favorite of mine as much as I do.
It was raining when Kate Sullivan left Mercy Hospital. She was exhausted after her 12-hour shift, a bit short-tempered and very sweaty. All she wanted was to get home, peel off her scrubs, shower and go to sleep.
Usually Kate walked the seven long city blocks to her apartment in Soho just to clear her head, grabbing a donut on the way. Even after a nightmare of a shift, walking was better than riding the New York subway with the pervs and melancholy drunks spilling out of Joe’s Bar. Her Crocs and scrubs had been splattered with enough bodily fluids at the hospital; she had no desire to be subjected to the lascivious Neanderthals who rode the train.
But walking home this morning in the pouring rain was not an option. Stepping out from under the protective awning of the hospital, Kate hailed a taxi. As if by magic, one appeared almost instantly. βThank Godβ she sighed, praying the cabbie wasnβt one of those chipper talkative types. She just wanted someone to drive her home in silence.
βTop o’ the morninβ to ya, miss. And where might ya be goinβ?β The cheerful driverβs greeting sounded like Irish angels singing.
Kate groaned quietly and rolled her eyes. βI might be going home if youβd just start drivingββ was her clipped response.
βYer wish is my command! Where to?β the cabbie asked, undeterred. In a matter-of-fact voice Kate gave the driver her address.
βIβll have ya there in a jiffy!β he replied and began humming a tune, one which was vaguely familiar to Kate but she couldnβt place it.
How could anyone be so cheerful at the ungodly hour of 5:00 AM? Kate glanced over at the cabbieβs ID card taped to the tinted plexiglass that separated the front and back seats. She read his name was Declan OβMurphy; could it be any more Irish? His photo depicted a rather handsome man, probably early-thirties with tousled brown hair and a shadow of a beard. He wore a somewhat serious expression but there were deep dimples threatening to break out, almost as though he had a private joke to share. His eyes stared back at Kate and she felt goosebumps doing a jitterbug up and down her arms.
Kate sat back in her seat, took out her phone and quickly checked her schedule. Damn! Another 12-hour shift tomorrow night. She peeked over the top of her phone to steal a glimpse of the driver and immediately looked away when she saw he was looking at her in the rearview mirror. He grinned broadly showing dazzling white teeth. He looked extraordinarily handsome.
βAre ya a doctor, then?β he asked, eyes dancing.
βPfft!β Kate exclaimed. βNo, I work a lot harder than most doctors I know. Iβm an ER nurse; just came off an all-nighter and have another one tomorrow.β
Declan whistled and pushed his cap back a bit. βER. Thatβs pretty heavy-duty stuff now, ainβt it? Well, I’ll leave ya be; just relax. OK if I put on some music?β
Kate shrugged and mumbled βwhateverβ; she found herself smiling slightly at Declanβs charming accent.She was surprised when rock music filled the taxi. Kate recognized the song as the same one Declan was humming and found she really liked what she was hearing. She was sure sheβd heard it before but just couldnβt place it.
She leaned forward a little, talking over the music. βI like this song a lot. Who is it?β she asked.
Declan jokingly gasped and smacked his hand across his chest as though mortally wounded. βYa canβt be seriously tellinβ me ya donβt know the best rock group to come out of Ireland? Why, this is the one and only Thin Lizzy. Here β¦ take a look at thisβ and through an opening in the plexiglass he passed Kate the jacket for the CD βJailbreakβ. βThat thereβs the great singer Phil Lynott, gone too soon like so many before and after him.β
Kate really enjoyed the CD and before she knew it they had arrived at her apartment building. Was that disappointment she was feeling?
βHere ya are, safe and soundβ. Declan offered to walk Kate to the front door with an umbrella but she said that wasnβt necessary and asked how much she owed him for the ride. They settled up and Kate made a dash for the front door. Declan watched her disappear into the building, then drove off in search of another fare.
It wasnβt until Kate was in her apartment that she realized she still had the CD jewel case. She frowned wondering how sheβd be able to get it back to Declan. He only had her address, not her name or apartment number and she didnβt notice which cab company he worked for. βWell, Iβll think of somethingβ she thought. βRight now I need a shower and sleep.β
When she was done, Kate got into bed, reached for her phone and clicked the YouTube app, searching for Thin Lizzy. She fell asleep listening to βJailbreakβ.
The following night her shift was just as hectic as the night before. At 5:00AM, dog tired, achy and hungry, Kate left the hospital for her trek home. No rain today and the pre-dawn streets were still deserted except for an occasional car and the lights from a 24/7 donut shop. She was about to stop for a sweet chocolate glazed when she heard two short honks from a nearby car. Looking over her shoulder she recognized Declanβs taxi and immediately smiled.
The window slid down and Declanβs sing-song voice rang out: βTop oβ the morninβ to ya, lassie. Might ya be lookinβ fer a ride home?β
Kate laughed and walked to the cab. Easing into the back seat, she teased Declan a bit, asking if he was hoping to find her or his CD case. Now it was Declanβs turn to tease. βCould be I was hoping to find both.β
They exchanged friendly banter all the way to her building; there was even a little flirting going on. Kate asked herself if she could be falling for this guy after only two short rides in his cab. What was really weird was she never got a clear look at Declan but she realized to her amazement that didnβt matter. For once she was attracted to a guy for his personality, the things he said, his sense of humor and his appealing Irish accent β not his looks. Usually that was the first thing that drew her to a man but this was different.
βHey, Declan, you know what I just realized? You donβt know my name!β
βWell, I was hopinβ youβd tell me cos I have something to ask yaβ he replied.
βMy name is Kate. Kate Sullivan. What do you want to ask me, Declan?β
βAh, a wee bit oβ the Irish in ya, is there? I knew it! Well, Katie, thereβs a Thin Lizzy cover band playing tomorrow night at Paddy Maguireβs and I was thinkinβ it would be grand if we went together.β
Kate didnβt hesitate for a second. βI think it would be grand as well. Iβd love to go, Declan. I want to get to know more about you.β
βAye, Katie, that you will. Iβll pick you up right here tomorrow night at 8:00. And, Katie β my friends call me Murph.β
No one ever called her βKatieβ; she felt little butterflies in her stomach when Declan called her that.
Kate wanted to look great for her date but didnβt want to look like she tried too hard. She chose a sunny yellow camisole, her favorite pair of skinny jeans and dangerously high-heeled sandals. She hoped Declan would appreciate her look.
At that same moment Declan sat in his taxi waiting for Kate; he was so nervous he got there 20 minutes early. This was a bold move for him, rarely acting so impulsively, but he felt he and Kate clicked after spending only half an hour riding in his cab. He thought about his grandparents who met on a train in Belfast and were madly in love by the time they reached Dublin. He hoped Kate wouldnβt be disappointed.
When Kate spotted Declanβs cab, she stopped for a minute to compose herself; she hadnβt been this excited about a date in eons. It was crazy β she barely knew the guy. Declan saw her standing in the doorway of her apartment building and his heart started pounding; she looked amazing, so understated yet elegant.
Kate started approaching the cab. βWell, itβs showtime, boyoβ Declan whispered to himself as he got out of the cab and walked around the front to greet Kate.
βWow! Youβre a fine thing tonight, Katie!β Declan said breathlessly.
Kate stared at Declan in disbelief. βAnd youβre β¦ youβre β¦β
βAh, so youβve noticed Iβm a little person, have ya? All 4 foot, 5 inches of me.β Declan gave her a crooked smile. βAchondroplasia; I’m sure yer familiar. Katie girl, if this is a deal-breaker, I understand.β
All Kate could do was stare. Neither one spoke. Kate laughed nervously and said βYeah, this is quite a surprise. Oh, damn! Sorry! I just remembered something.β
Before Declan could respond, Kate ran back inside her building. βWell, I suppose thatβs it then, ya eejit! Shoulda said something before now!β he chastised himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking back to his side of the cab.
βMurph! Wait!β It was Kate calling out to him. Declan turned around to see Kate running back to the taxi. Catching her breath she said βHere. I forgot your CD case.β
Taking the case from her outstretched hand, the first thing Declan noticed was Kate had switched her 6″ high heels for flat sandals. He looked up at her and she smiled broadly.
βDeclan OβMurphy, if you think a little thing like this is going to change how I feel about you, youβre dead wrong. Now drive. Our night is just beginning.β
What can I say about Frank Sinatra? Enough to fill a book, and there are plenty of bios written about Frank. The song I have selected for you today is not Sinatraβs signature piece, βMy Wayβ, nor is it one of his tributes to New York or Chicago.
Nope, I decided to go with one of Frank’s songs that has some real grit to it, a great little melancholy number with a sad story attached. And I chose this song specifically to show off Sinatra’s acting chops.
Most of you know that Sinatra starred in quite a few movies but did you know he won an Oscar for his performance in “From Here To Eternity”? Today’s song perfectly showcases Frank’s Oscar-winning acting ability. Have I given you enough clues to guess which song I’m talking about? It’s the legendary “One For My Baby”, written by Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer and first recorded by Frank in 1947.
In the video you’re about to see, Frank is singing live in front of hundreds of people and yet he manages to turn the song into an intimate conversation. Here now is the one and only Frank Sinatra performing βOne For My Babyβ live at Royal Festival Hall in London.
Just a man pouring out his heart to his confidant … a bartender named Joe. This is the consummate showman, putting 100% of himself into his songs, transforming each one into a musical vignette. In my book he was pretty great!
Now for the easy-peasy question of the day:
What is your favorite Frank Sinatra song?
Share a comment or a video, if you like. For me it’s “Nancy“, of course! The song, written in 1942 and recorded by Frank in 1944, was originally called “Bessie (With the Laughing Face)”; the name change was inspired by Frank’s daughter, Nancy Sinatra.
When I was a kid, I thought Frank was singing this one just for me. βΊοΈ
Thatβs it for today In The Groove, my friends. It’s always a blast spending Tuesdays with you!
Dedicated to my sister for her ceaseless loving care.
My elderly mother stood by the window, her hand pulling back a section of curtain. βMom, what are you doing up? Itβs nearly 3AM.β
Without turning to look at me, she replied. βIβm waiting for my husband. Heβs returning from the war and will be home any minute.β
I closed my eyes and sighed in resignation. One moment she was lucid, the next her mind clouded over like wintry days. I couldnβt bring myself to tell her the truth again.
My father never paid me much attention. It was no secret he wanted a son, not me. Years later, my mother died and Dad took up with Paulette Gardner, a nurse with a taste for Marlboros and Rheingold.
Right around Fourth of July weekend, Dad brought Paulette back to our place. She said βHi, honeyβ to me and started making herself right at home. I was looking forward to a barbecue and fireworks but Dad and Paulette only came out of the bedroom for beer and cigarettes. That Sunday night I packed a few things in Momβs old suitcase, took her address book, whatever money I could find and softly left my home in Schenectady.
I was 13 years old.
When I arrived at Grand Central Station, I called Momβs cousin Trudy in Brooklyn. She didnβt hesitate for a second, taking me into her home and caring for me like I was her own daughter. She also gave me a job in her bakery on Nostrand Avenue. When Trudy retired she put me in charge and I eventually became the owner.
A dozen years went by when I got a call out of the blue. It was Paulette letting me know my dad had died. There was no love lost between us but I felt I should drive up to say farewell.
I stood just beyond the honeysuckle-covered arch and silently watched my fatherβs funeral; only Paulette was in attendance. I felt nothing but the cool breeze on my face.
After months of being in cramped quarters with the 7 dwarfs, Snow White and Doc started having feelings for each other.
It all began when Snow White developed backaches from stooping to get through the front door and hunching over whenever inside the house. She even had to curtail dancing with the dwarfs at their weekly hoedowns, Βsomething they all enjoyed.
There wasnβt enough room in the dwarf’s bedroom for any more beds, especially one large enough for Snow White, so she continued sleeping on all seven dwarf beds pushed together while the little men found places to spend the night downstairs. It was not ideal, however, and soon Snow White started complaining of pains in her neck, too.
Doc began to treat Snow Whiteβs aching back and neck with warm compresses, deep massage and ice packs which Dopey gleefully retrieved for Doc whenever he requested them.
All the dwarfs had a deep affection for Snow White and she felt the same way about them but the more time she spent with Doc, the more their feelings became harder to ignore … and resist. Soon their relationship was obvious to the others.
Docβs twice-daily massages were a relief and Snow White looked forward to them. She began to yearn for the feel of Docβs small but mighty hands on her body. Doc, too, tingled with delight whenever his hands came in contact with her soft skin.
Snow White and Doc started spending more and more time together; chores went undone and Doc rarely spent time with the guys like he used to. One night none of the other six little guys got any sleep because the sounds of pleasure emanating from upstairs kept them awake. Thatβs when they decided to take action. As much as Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy, Bashful and Dopey all loved Doc and Snow White, the time had come for the paramours to move out. Besides, the dwarfs wanted their beds back.
Grumpy, as the unofficial leader of the pack now that Doc was otherwise occupied, met with a group of forest friends who ran the real estate business βGnome Sweet Gnomeβ. He explained the delicate situation to the gnomes and they set out immediately to find the right house for Doc and Snow White.
When Rumpelstiltskinβs little cottage went on the market after he was banished from the forest, the gnomes quickly acquired it and put the good fairies Flora, Fauna and Merryweather to work sprucing up the place with their special magic touch. In no time the romantic hideaway was ready for Snow White and Doc; they bid farewell to the 6 dwarfs and took up residence in their very own love shack.
And there they lived happily but not ever after as Snow Whiteβs eye caught a glimpse of the handsome stranger on a white horse and he was just her size. π
It was a beautiful day for a ride through the city; a double decker was something new for them. The idea was appealing and romantic.
But now the excitement of the ride was eclipsed by the thrill of a rendezvous. They shared the same thought: once in the bus they would find each other.
The bus was crowded, difficult to see the other passengers. He moved up while she came down; they crossed paths unnoticed.
People got on and off and at the end it was just them, alone at last.
Sirens tore through the silence of the crisp fall night as police responded to a robbery on Corsa Avenue, a quiet street of middle class two story homes in The Bronx, NY.
Police officers Ralph Taylor and Mario DeMarco were the first to arrive at the scene. Jasper Gardner, an eye witness, told the officers he was out walking his dog when two guys came running down the front steps of the house in such a hurry, they practically knocked him over.When asked for a description, Mr. Gardener said it happened so fast, he didn’t get a good look at them, just that they were wearing dark hooded sweatshirts.
The homeowners, Drew and Chloe Bennett, apparently arrived home from work while the intruders were still inside their house. Tenant Albert Farrell who occupies the first floor of the Bennetts’ house was home at the time. When questioned, Mr. Farrell stated that he was playing video games all evening with his headphones on and didnβt hear anything. The police speculated that the rumbling noise of the Bennetts’ electric garage door scared off the intruders.
The police determined that the perps didn’t have much time; only the bedroom had been ransacked. They probably knew the Bennetts’ regular work schedule and got spooked when the couple came home early. There were also muddy footprints in the backyard and on the fire escape leading to the second floor. No doubt the intruders gained access through a bedroom window.
When police asked the Bennetts what was missing, Chloe Bennett pointed to her suede coat on the floor. βLook at thisβ she told the police. βThey left my expensive suede coat behind but ripped off the faux fur collar and took it with them, probably thinking it was real fur.β
When asked if any valuables were missing, Drew Bennett said that other than the jewelry his wife was wearing, everything was in an armoire in their bedroom. βThese guy are idiots and have no idea of the value of things!β he exclaimed. βMy wife’s collection of Lenox and Lladro figurines hasnβt been touched. And my original John Lennon drawing is hanging right there. Iβll bet this was all done by those no good, lousy punks Chucky Green and Bobo Bulfamente! What a couple of losers!β
The police were well acquainted with Charles βChuckyβ Green and Roberto “Bobo” Bulfamente, small time thieves who grew up in the neighborhood. Bobo was currently staying with his sister and brother-in-law; Chucky lived with his mother, Althea. Both had been picked up several times for petty thefts but were always released. Police never found anything on them; they couldnβt even charge them with breaking and entering.
Chucky and Bobo worked as a team, entering houses and apartments when the homeowners were out; they scored a few items which Bobo stashed in the trunk of a rusted-out car in his brother-in-law’s garage. When they collected enough stuff to hawk, Chucky and Bobo were going to take off for Miami to try their luck in new turf. The one thing Bobo never told Chucky about was the pair of diamond earrings he pocketed one night. Bobo figured if Chucky ever got nabbed, those earrings would be his ticket out of The Bronx, even if it meant turning his back on Chucky.
By now a crowd of people had gathered near The Bennetts’ house. One man quickly walked over to the cops to report seeing Bobo racing down Given Avenue. Officers Taylor and DeMarco jumped into their car and sped to Given where they came upon an accident. Getting out to investigate, they spotted Bobo craning his neck for a better look. Bobo wasn’t even aware of Officer DeMarco until he was right on top of him. DeMarco nabbed Bobo, handcuffed him, tossed him into the back of the police car and locked the doors. It was only a matter of time before the cops would discover Bobo’s stash in the rusted-out car, including the diamond earrings. His string of breaking and entering would be over and he’d be shipped off to the slammer … if only temporarily.
Meanwhile Officer Taylor approached the accident scene. A bus and a truck had collided; pinned between the two vehicles was a very unfortunate Chucky Green. His run of small time thefts had come to an end … permanently. On the ground lay a pillowcase containing a few items, including Chloe Bennett’s faux fur collar. Charles βChuckyβ Green got pinned last night but not the way the police expected and certainly not the way they hoped.
βAlright folks. The excitement is over. Go on home nowβ announced Officer Taylor. βOk, Mario, letβs bring Bozo Bobo down to the station. And get a squad car over to Chuckyβs house; someone’s gotta break the news to his mother. No matter what a screw up Chucky was, he’s still her son. Poor woman.β
“Jailhouse Rock” was recorded by Elvis Presley for the film of the same name. It was written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller and released by RCA Victor in 1957. It reached the top of the charts in the U.S. and the top 10 in several other countries. The song has been recognized by the Grammy Hall of Fame, the American Film Institute and others.
In the 1957 movie “Jailhouse Rock”, Vince Everett (Elvis Presley), is convicted of manslaughter after being drawn into a bar fight while trying to defend a woman. In prison, Everett finds salvation when his cellmate hears him sing and pegs him as a future star.
From his second feature film, here is Elvis Presley singing and dancing to “Jailhouse Rock”.
Well, that was a fun video. Those hips alone could land him in jail!
Talking about shaking things up, it’s hard to believe another month is half over and I’ve got news coming up here in The Rhythm Section. Stick around or you’ll miss it!
Thanks for hanging out with me today; come on back next week for some more great tunes.
Weβre old school β¦. well, at least my husband is. There are some things he simply insists on doing the old-fashioned way. One of those things is paying bills. Most people I know use online banking; itβs quick, easy and from what Iβve heard, safe. My husband Bill (how appropriate) is extremely reluctant to put his faith in online financial transactions. Oh, heβll place orders online but thatβs different, he says.
So how do we pay our bills? By writing checks by hand and maintaining a record in the checkbook register. That was always Billβs job until a few years ago when he underwent emergency surgery after falling off a ladder. While he was in the hospital and rehab, I took over the task of paying the bills and I still do it.
I donβt mind, really, but sometimes the bills all seem to come at the same time and it turns into a project. One thing that saves time is all bills now come with a return payment envelope; no more hunting through the rolltop desk in search of my own envelopes. But everyone once in a while weβll get that one rogue bill with no return envelope. There I am, ensconced at my desk, pen and a fresh cup of coffee at the ready and I have to stop what Iβm doing to dig around for an envelope. That really burns my cookies.
The biggest offenders are the dentist and the gardener. Why? Human error. Both are small businesses set up in the same fashion: thereβs one person who manually prepares the invoices for mailing. Sometimes they remember to include a return envelope, sometimes they donβt. And when they do remember, it’s alway one of those smaller envelopes, not the letter size. Funny, they never forget to bill me; I wonder if it would be ok if sometimes I remember to pay them and sometimes I don’t. I’m only human, after all. No, I doubt that would fly.
Is it a coincidence that both the dentist and the gardener mail out a typed invoice on a standard 8 Β½ β x 11β sheet of paper which has no perforated line at the top or the bottom? Thatβs the line that easily allows me to separate the portion of the invoice that gets returned with my check from the portion that I keep for our records. No perforated line means I have to use scissors to separate the two parts of the invoice or, if I don’t feel like getting up, repeatedly fold one section of the invoice in the same place until thereβs a sufficient crease to neatly tear the the invoice into two sections. Mostly neatly; sometimes it looks like I used my teeth, which seems quite fitting for the dentistβs invoice.
And another thing. I think all return envelopes should be prepaid with no postage required on my part. I mean, letβs get real. Isnβt it enough that Iβm sending these businesses my money? Now I have to affix a postage stamp. I have been given the privilege of paying to send them my money. Let that sink in. Not only am I giving them my money β Iβm paying to do so.
And then we still have to take all our envelopes to the post office!
That, my friends, is “The Old B.O.H.I.C.A.” β Bend Over; Here It Comes Again.
You know, I really need to have another serious conversation with Bill about online banking.
The insistent knocking on our apartment door at 4AM roused us from our sleep. We had many friends who were βnight owlsβ but no one came calling at this early hour.
When it became clear the person on the other side of the door was not going away, my husband Sean groggily slid out of bed, pulled on his jeans and walked to the door. Placing his eye against the peep hole revealed who interrupted our sleep and he quickly opened the door.
βMichael!β my husband greeted our friend. βCβmon in, man. Whatβs up and whatβs with the suitcase?β
βI got a problem, broβ, words I never heard the ever-confident Michael declare. He eased past Sean into our apartment and the two friends walked straight into our spare bedroom and closed the door.
We got caught up in a whirlwind lifestyle and were soon speeding in the express lane of sex, drugs and rock βn roll. Michael was fun, wild and fearless; he had all the right connections. We went to all the best parties and got into the hottest clubs. We partied every night, went to work the next day and did it all over again.
Oh yeah. Thereβs one thing I failed to mention. Michael was a narc working undercover for the NYPDβs Special Narcotics Division, a fact that saved our asses more times than I care to remember. We had plenty of close calls but all he had to do was whip out his badge, flash that smile, talk the talk and we were golden.
Somehow Michael always managed to toe the line at work β except for that night when temptation won out, that same night he showed up at our place. Behind closed doors, Michael opened the suitcase to reveal the contents to Sean: hundreds of plastic bags stuffed with quaaludes.
My husband stared at the suitcase incredulously for a moment before turning to Michael.
βWhat the fuck, bro?β Sean declared, part of him hoping some of the white pills marked Rorer 714 were meant for him.
βIt was in the evidence room, undocumentedβ, Michael explained. βI just picked it up and walked the fuck out. I need to stash it here for a couple of days until I make a plan.β
βSure, man. No prob. Do what you gotta do.βΒ
They hugged, slapping each otherβs backs, and Michael said βIβll be in touch, man.β
Michael went back to work and nobody β not one single crackerjack detective in the precinct noticed the suitcase was missing. After a few days, he returned to our place with a backpack. Taking out the suitcase he’d left with us, he dumped half the ludes into the backpack and gave the rest to Sean. βHere you go, brother β courtesy of the NYPD!βΒ
My husband draped his arm over our friendβs shoulders as they walked to the door. Michael turned and flashed me that amazing grin. βSee ya βroundthe campus, people.β
He took off into the night, never to be seen again.Β
Joe Cocker is the perfect example of people judging a book by its cover. I think we all felt the same way about his disheveled appearance and quirky mannerisms (and who could ever forget John Belushi’s impersonations on SNL?) but once he opened his mouth and started singing, all doubts flew out the window. He was one of the most memorable performers; just watching him, you knew he was βin the zoneβ when he was singing. He was a terrific artist and one of the few who actually did Beatles covers exceptionally well. For that alone, I give Joe an A+!
Today Iβm featuring a song he did at Woodstock, his iconic and memorable rendition of βWith A Little Help From My Friendsβ.
Here is the late, great Joe Cocker. Enjoy!
I can say without a doubt this is my favorite Beatles cover; in fact, Iβll take that one step further and say I like Joeβs version better than The Beatles’ (and thatβs not something I say very often!).
Whatβs your opinion? Howβd you like this version? Are you a Joe Cocker fan?
Thatβs it for today In The Groove. Catch you next week with another great vid.
Reposting from 2020 for this week’s #WRITEPHOTOchallenge.
After much hard work and determination, Anthony was in a good place in life. He loved his job and enjoyed the people he interacted with every day. He had to make some sacrifices along the way but he managed to find the time to mix business with pleasure. Anthony knew if he played his cards right he’d be next in line for a promotion. Having that new title would open many doors for him.
During a routine meeting, Anthony was surprised by a bit of news. He was informed that the Rome office needed some help for a few months; since he had worked in Rome previously and spoke fluent Italian, he was specifically requested for the temporary position. At first Anthony wasn’t thrilled about the move and disruption in his life but when his boss told him it would be “a feather in his cap”, he accepted the assignment.
Flying into Leonardo da Vinci Airport always gave Anthony a rush. He loved Italy and had many friends there. One person in particular had been on his mind the entire flight: Gabriella. It had been more than two years since he had seen her; they texted frequently after his last trip to Italy but hadn’t communicated in quite a while. He longed to see her and hoped she felt the same.
Anthony quickly assessed the situation in the office: the staff’s computer skills were practically nonexistent. Time, patience, new MacBooks and a good teacher were desperately needed. He was given approval to order whatever was necessary to get the office functioning properly. Once that was done Anthony was free to contact Gabriella.
He sent her a text:
“Ciao, bella! I’m in Rome and would love to see you. Can we meet?”
“Antonio! I’ve missed you! Come to my place tonight. I will cook dinner. You remember my address?”
“Si, si!Everything about you is carved in my memory! I’ll be there at 7:00. Ciao, cara!”
Done with his first day on the job, Anthony hurried to the pensione where he was staying. He showered, changed his clothes and stopped on the way to Gabriella’s to buy a bottle of wine. He knew seeing her was terribly wrong; he was already in a committed relationship but he couldn’t stay away.
Pushing aside the gate to Gabriella’s house, Anthony raced down the narrow passageway to her red door. She stood there waiting for him. His heart skipped a beat as it did every time he saw her. She pulled him inside, closing the door behind her. “Mi amore” she whispered, seductively nibbling at his ear. He scooped her up in his arms, whisking her off to the bedroom.
Life for Anthony was a dynamic mixture of business and pleasure – wrapped up with work every day and making love to Gabriella every night. The days became weeks then months. The staff learned well and was now up to speed. Anthony’s time in Italy drew to an end and he would leave Gabriella once again. Their last night together would remain with him forever. He had many lovers but none as captivating as Gabriella.
Anthony’s superiors gave him permission to visit his parents in Westchester County before returning to his job in Manhattan. He had much to think about during his flight and knew he had one serious matter to resolve: he needed to clear his conscience. He hailed a taxi at Kennedy Airport and told the driver his destination. When they arrived Anthony gave the cabbie $20.00 and suggested he get some breakfast, then come back in an hour to pick him up.
Alone in the early morning, Anthony stood outside for a few moments gathering his thoughts. He walked up to the dimly lit house and rang the doorbell. As he waited Anthony gazed at the beautiful old church next door. His reverie was abruptly broken when the porch light came on. In the doorway stood his mentor and confidant, Monsignor Valenti.
“Anthony! This is a surprise! I didn’t know you were in town. Come in, come, in! I’ll make some coffee.”
“It’s good to see you, Monsignor, but this is not a social call.”
“What then? Official church business?” asked the monsignor curiously.
“No” Anthony replied softly. “It’s personal. I’ve come for the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I have broken my vows and must confess my sins.”
The monsignor sighed heavily. “Come. Let’s go to the chapel, Father Anthony.”
In a hushed tone, the errant priest began “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned” as the monsignor quietly closed the door behind him.
