“A James Cagney love scene is one where he lets the other guy live.“   — Bob Hope

(A true, red white and blue blooded American!) —   YUR

The Scribe Hotel Ballroom

Bob Hope Entertaining The Troops Somewhere In England

A Pleasant Afternoon With Johnnie Walker At The Hialeah Races

Citizen Kane

Meet Your New Neighbor

Lord Calvert

Stomping Hillbilly Girl

title unknown

Yellow Shoes

Caterpillar Diesel

Saturation Of Hamburg

The French Girls

Cowboy & Lasso (Saturday Evening Post)

Story Art (cover)

A gorgeous day greeted veterans today in Branson as tens of thousands of them filed into town.  ”This town knows how to treat us vets,” a veteran of the Korean Conflict told me at lunch today.  ”I got my (hotel) room at about half-price.   And, Tony Orlando does a free show.”  Another Vet, one who served in Vietnam, asked if Tony Orlando was a vet.  ”Na,” said the first man.  ”He just thinks that we weren’t properly welcomed home back then.”

There is no doubt that Vietnam Vets were not properly welcomed home, but Orlando is one who did welcome them home. In 1973, Bob Hope invited Orlando to perform in the Cotton Bowl for a Homecoming for Vietnam Vets.  One of the songs he sang was his hit, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon (’round the old oak tree).”  The song is an upbeat pop song that has become synonymous with support for our troops.  Since then, Orlando has spent a large part of his life performing for US troops around the world, essentially filling the gap that Hope left when he passed in 2003.

Twenty-two years after Orlando and Hope (and others) welcomed home Vietnam Vets in the Cotton Bowl, Orlando invited Bob Hope to Branson where he was honored for a lifetime of service to our troops (for those of you too young to remember, Bob Hope was one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, and spent his life entertaining troops in USO Shows around the world).

Now, nearly 15 years after Hope came to Branson, Orlando is still honoring vets.  Today, he, indeed, performed free shows for the vets, and it seemed that every vet in Branson attended.  For the 2 pm show, traffic was backed up from the front door of the Welk Theater for over mile, past Fall Creek Road.  Vets appreciate Orlando as much as he appreciates them.

Orlando gives a fine performance, and his love for those who serve(d) is genuine.  It shows in his music.  It shows in his face.  All of Branson seems to be just as appreciative, too.  Signs all over town read “Welcome Vets”, “Vets Free”, “Ask About Our Veterans Rates”, and “Have You Thanked a Vet Today?”.  All over Branson, vets were made welcome.

A Vietnam Vet that I ran into today at an automotive repair shop said, rather bitterly, “Too little, too late,” when speaking about the way that Branson thanks its vets.  At first, I wanted to argue with him, tell him about Orlando, tell him how (literally) every show in Branson honors our military.  But then, I thought better of it.  I haven’t walked in his shoes.  I don’t know what he experienced in Vietnam or after returning home.  I have no right to dispute him.  So, I smiled, said nothing to him, but to myself, I said, “Welcome Home.  Thank You.”

What a week! One celebrity continues to make big bucks by being fat. Another develops man boobs and, oh yes, there was an election.

Give Me a Break: Kirstie Alley is getting a reality show focusing on her “struggle” with her weight. Hasn’t she made enough money off her inability to pull back from the dinner table? First Jenny Craig and now this. Isn’t that double dipping? Get a new gimmick, Kirstie.

By the way, did you ever notice that the problem with most reality shows is they resurrect celebrities you thought were dead — or should be?

Best license plate of the week: ILUVBEN on a new Mercedes SL65 AMG being driven by a beautiful young blonde woman. I would love Ben too if he gave me one.

From Jay Leno: Wal-Mart is now selling caskets. It could be worse. If you bought it from IKEA you would have to put it together. Speaking of Leno, the Housewives of Atlanta, appearing on his show’s Battle of the Celebrity Allstars, did nothing to offset the perception that Georgia’s education system is right down there in the mud with Mississippi’s and South Carolina’s.

Best celebrity promo: Wanda Sykes, promoting her new late-night TV show, “I’m here to say I haven’t slept with anyone on my staff yet.”

Don’t you love that Macy’s 150th anniversary promo with Bob Hope, Lucille Ball, Johnny Carson and Orson Wells? There’s something warm and reassuring about it even if we can’t afford to shop at Macy’s anymore.

Most obnoxious commercial of the week: Would you mind if I paid you in Trident (sugarless gum) Layers?

And speaking of commercials, just what IS the nationality of Geico’s gecko? Will we ever be told? Such a cliffhanger.

Most confusing TV promo: California has unemployment rates hovering around 12 percent, the state’s economy is in the gutter, and yet Gov. Arnie, wife Maria and a bunch of celebrities continue to promote California as a place for people to come, work and play in a TV promo. ‘Splain, Lucy, ‘Splain. Why would you want to add to the population you can’t support?

Worse celebrity news item: First Jeremy Piven blamed sushi for mercury poisoning. Now the actor claims he grew man boobs from drinking excessive amounts of soy milk. Next he’ll be blaming some food for his acting ability not developing. Or, even worse, get a reality show focusing on his weight problem.

You’ll have to provide your own soy milk, but here’s the best coffee deal around: World Market’s whole bean French roast, 24 oz for only $8.79. A friend says the Italian roast is equally good.

Best drug-related comedy line heard this week: I could never do a drug that I had to make (like crystal meth) because I wasn’t that good at chemistry in school.

Best drug-related news item: Whoopi Goldberg joking on The View that she was moving to Breckenridge, CO, because they had just legalized pot.

Oh so true: Some people can handle alcohol and you know who you are. Some people can’t, and you don’t have a clue.

Worse sensory bombardment: You’re trying to pump gas and there above the pump is a video screen screaming at you. Hopefully that’s an experiment that will soon die.

The Last Word: While everyone was debating the significance of the two Republicans getting elected governors in the elections this week, the answer was really quite simple: It’s STILL the economy, stupid!

I lived in California before but that time I was in Petaluma, a bit north of Frisco. I occasionally saw celebrities, on and off of movie sets. Now I actually live IN Hollywood so I seem to see quite a few…so many so that I’ve even been surprised at how many I’ve seen. I stopped mentioning them after about 4 because it was becoming rather boring and to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have known who most of them were if someone hadn’t told me.

Saturday night I was at a place called Busby’s shooting a few games of pool and minding my own business when the bartender asked the guy who was playing pool at the other table why he looked so familiar. The guy said that he was on Madmen, a show I’ve never seen. I didn’t have a clue who the guy was and I didn’t know his name so it wasn’t really worth mentioning.

What I should have mentioned about Saturday night was that I had a beer and 3 sips of a Bacardi and Coke after taking a pain pill Saturday afternoon. I did all of that without eating so I sort of deserved what happened on the way home. Unfortunately, others who DIDN’T deserve it paid for my stupidity.

After a few sips of my drink, I started to feel a bit queasy so instead of waiting for my daughter to pick me up, I started walking home. After walking for about a mile, I decided to hop on a bus for the last mile down La Brea. I don’t know if it was all the people dressed in costume that tightly packed the bus, the movement of the stupid thing or the fact that I never did eat, but I quickly turned green and felt an impending and unstoppable need to puke.

Luckily for me, the bus was approaching my stop so I pulled the string to signal a desire to get off of the bus. I was actually relieved for a moment because, despite my best efforts, I was about to blow chunks and I hoped to be able to do so at the intersection of La Brea and Melrose and NOT on the bus. I won’t tell you how far I went to avoid heaving all over the bus, but trust me…my efforts were valiant.

They were all for naught. Before the bus came to a stop, I barfed on the arm of the guy sitting to my right. Then, without missing a beat, I got the leg of the guy on my left. That’s when the bus stopped and I bolted without apology. All I wanted to do was get off of the bus before it happened again. I’m not blaming any of that on the Madmen dude, but it was quite a coincidence that I lost my beer shortly after seeing him.

Although I felt badly about leaving the contents of my stomach in the lap of some dude dressed up as a vampire…I planned to find a way to spin my short bus ride into a humorous story and I did so for most of Sunday. But I DID feel for the 2 guys who caught the wrath of my gastro-intestinal upheaval. I even tweeted an apology on Twitter on the off chance that the barfed upon guys were cleaned up and reading my tweets but I forgot to tell you guys about it until right now.

Then, yesterday my daughter and I stopped at a gas station in Camarillo. I was sitting in the car as my kid went in the store for dog food and although I noticed the chick in front of me stick the pump into the gas tank of her Suburban, I certainly didn’t know who the anorexic wench was so I paid no attention to her.

When my kid got back in the car, she told me that the woman in the Suburban was Rachel Griffiths, an actor on a show called Six Feet Under. I’ve never seen that show so even when my daughter told me who she was, I didn’t know her. And I couldn’t see her because she was sitting in the Suburban as the gas pump was hanging out of the left side of it all by itself.

Apparently, my daughter was a fan so when she made eye contact with the skinny chick, she smiled at her. By that time she was also pumping gas and not likely to run away from her own car to mob Griffiths. Also, it was the middle of the day and the gas station was full of men so I can’t imagine anyone feeling threatened, certainly not by the smile of a young woman.

Now, I know my kid. She isn’t a nut and she has seen her share of celebrities around town and as a planner of the Golden Globe awards. Star spotting has become very commonplace to her and if she wasn’t a fan of Six Feet Under, she probably would have walked away without smiling.

But as soon as she DID smile, the middle-aged quasi-celebrity jumped into her vehicle as though Jack the Raper had just shouted “You’re next!” at her. So even if I wanted to see her, I couldn’t unless I was nutty enough to wait for her to get back out of her gas guzzling truck/car and I’m not THAT nutty at all.

I’ve long ago lost count of the famous people whom I have met as well as those with whom I’ve worked. I can safely say that, with the possible exceptions of Bill Murray and Sally Fields, every single star who I’ve met has been as pleasant as a normal person would be.

It doesn’t surprise me that a nobody would hide from “prying eyes” because it seems as though the sweetest stars I’ve encountered have been the most celebrated. For example, Bob Hope, Charlton Heston and Harrison Ford were all more than gracious when I met them. I met Ford at a party but Heston and Hope could have easily avoided me. They didn’t. Instead they behaved liked regular human beings.

Those 3 men were stars that most people on this planet would know. If they were pumping gas along with 10 other people, at least 9 would have recognized them. But Rachel Griffiths would need quite a few more gas pumps full of people before anyone would pick up on her identity. She should be pleased that ANYONE knows who she is yet rather than return a smile from a fan and continue pumping her gas…she chose to go to all the trouble to jump back in her ride with the gas pump hanging out of the side of it.

I didn’t think about it until I was back on the freeway but if I see her again, I’m sticking my finger down my throat and blowing chunks all over her Suburban, her left arm or her right leg.

I suppose that makes me Bing, right?  But if that’s the case, how come you’re the one making everyone vomit with your spooning?

You know, Russ, we don’t talk politics much here at the Canadian Club, but today I just can’t help myself.  Now, I’m a little bit crabby today because, as the saying goes, “I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my hair…” We’ve got a transit strike going on that is this close to turning me into a Republican.  I seem to have pulled some weird muscle in my chest wall and now it HURTS TO BREATHE.  IT HURTS TO BREATHE, RUSS!!!!1@!! (Before you comment, Mom, YES, I will go to the doctor if it gets any worse and NO it’s not pleurisy, I felt it happen suddenly when I was running the other day.)  Also, I have a cold.  And did I mention the transit strike?

SEPTA train on fire (from the Philadelphia Inquirer)

So anyway, what was I saying?  Oh.  Yes.  Politics.  WTF, Maine?!  I hate your guts right now almost as much as I hate TWU Local 234.  We’re talking Crushing Hate, not Hate Crush.  Seriously, Maine, that’s not like you guys!  You’re New Englanders.  You’re practically Canadians.  I was sure that you were going to be my ray of sunshine last night.  This guy said so, even.

I got married up there with you guys!

I thought you were cool.

It’s surprising to me that this is so upsetting.  I genuinely believed that Obama’s election had brought me to some state of inner calm with regard to electoral politics.  All those wacky ups and downs?  So silly!  Everything was moving, inevitably, all that election season, to where it was supposed to be moving.  “Why can’t he be more aggressive?” we asked, in a state of panic over the latest tracking polls (around which I used to schedule my day’s activities).  But, like, he was totally right and we were totally wrong and he won and we were all happy for a little while because maybe things really do have a way of working themselves out after all!

I know that it’s incredibly stupid of me to have applied that kind of thinking to, basically, everything that’s happened in the world of politics since then, but I think that’s probably what I’ve been doing.  It’s been hard not to let go, step away from the blogs and hum a little tune since the presidential election, since it allows me to function at a (marginally) higher level than I can when I’m paying too-close attention.  Which brings me back, tediously, to that same question:  How can I be interested in something without letting it take over my life?

Remember when there was that guy Russ who used to contribute to this blog?  Wonder what happened to him…

I hear he’s hiding his head in shame over something — maybe a little hypocritical — he said about Halloween and parties.  Boy, Russ’s Mom really gave him what for!  There certainly was a creative set of costumes and very little flesh.  Perhaps staying sober during such an event ensures that one’s memories are more positive.  I guess the lesson I learned was quite opposite from that set forth in Frazz, below:

Now, to address your concern about The Prisoner remake, I think we can only conclude that all remakes of mod British classic television is destined for failure, essentially because Hollywood has a particular knack for screwing up both camp and offbeat adventure.  This reminds me of a lecture I attended recently that veered quite unexpectedly into a tragi-comic over-analysis of Little Miss Sunshine. (More on that later)

However, another reason why The Prisoner thingy will fail is, as you have noted, Jim Cazazwhatever.  This guy has a serious Billy Crudup problem.  Not to say that Billy Crudup does not really have a Billy Crudup problem of his own.  Here’s a guy who totally crudded up the early prognostics of a ’serious acting’ career!  Still, the unique position of Jim Xaxasville is that nobody wants to watch him in bad movies when they could watch Billy Crudup in bad movies instead.

All that to say, however, that someone told me I have to prepare for class in a few minutes, which will be relatively more arduous than remembering that I used to participate in a vibrant and clever blog.  Yet, I have a feeling that Bob will be hitting the road with Bing again, and quite soon!

We found this list of stoner terms online and thought we’d share them.  Some of the terms are more frequently used in America however most (if not all) have made their way into the international stoner vocabulary.  We also dug up a classic clip of Ali G listing other stoner terms:

April 20th (4/20) – International Cannabis Day, everyone blazes on this day. Everyone blazes at 4:20 every day too.

Blaze – To get high!

Blunt - Either a hollowed out cigar filled with marijuana or (more commonly) a “marijuana cigarette” rolled with a blunt wrap (tobacco paper or emptied cigar).

Bowl - Can refer either to the part of a piece that holds cannabis, or to the pipe itself.

Bogart - The act of holding on to a joint/piece/blunt for too long, or one who does such an act: “Don’t bogart that joint my friend, pass it over to me”.

Boo – A street name for marijuana, listed only in anti-drug literature. No one has ever heard or used it. If you are ever arrested for possession, you should use this term, saving the taxpayers the expense of correcting and reprinting anti-pot pamphlets.

Kick-Hole / Carb – The hole on the side of a piece used to regulate air flow. Hold it closed with your thumb while inhaling to draw smoke into the chamber, then release to let air in and force the smoke into your lungs. Also called a “rush hole”.

Cherry – The red burning coal of marijuana in a joint or bowl.

Chillum – A pipe with the bowl in line with the stem.

Ganja – Just 1 of many synonyms for cannabis, others include  Dope, Marijuana, Grass, Draw, Puff, Blow, Weed, Gear, Ganja, Herb, Wacky Baccy, Skunk, Pot, Bob Hope and Bob – see the Ali G video below for many more

Hashish / Hash - The resin secreted by a marijuana plant. Different kinds of hash are prepared with a variety of recipes.

Hash oil - A liquid extracted from marijuana. Use mostly by dipping smokeables into the hash oil.

Hit – A drag or puff cannabis.

Hot Box / White wall - Getting high in a car or small space with no ventilation so that you are constantly inhaling atmospheric smoke.

Joint / Zut / Doob / Doobie - Marijuana cigarette. Kind Bud (chronic, hydro, sticky icky, highs) – High potency Cannabis.

Mids – Descent cannabis for the money you pay for it, if you don’t have a lot of money this is the best way to go.

Moocher – Someone who will smoke your bud in a second, but never has any of their own.

Papers / Skins – Cigarette papers used for rolling joints.

Piece - Refers to a pipe of one sort or another.

Resin - Black tar like stuff that builds up in smoking apparatuses.

Schwag – Low grade cannabis or the leftovers from the bottom of a big bag.

Source:  www.howtogrowbud.com

If you’ve ever had an airline lose or damage your luggage you’ll have plenty of sympathy for Canadian musician Dave Carroll, who’s found a creative way to vent his frustration after (he says) United Airlines smashed his $3500 Taylor guitar and refused him compensation.

His first YouTube video ‘United Breaks Guitars’ has gathered five million views since it was posted in July and he has just lodged the second video of a promised trio, devoted to Miss Irlwig, the last United employee to rebuff him.

Along the way he’s given thousands of disgruntled United Airlines customers an avenue to publicly air their gripes, magnifying the public relations nightmare for the airline.

Early Morning Chorus

One recent business blogger noted he’d boarded an early morning shuttle bus from his hotel at JFK airport. “Barely awake, I heard the driver call for airlines and terminals. Someone piped up “United” and the immediate rejoinder from the rest of the passengers was a chorus of the song ‘United Breaks Guitars’”.

After the song began racking up YouTube views United caved and offered to pay up. Carroll declined and suggested that United give the money to charity.

The thousands of comments Dave’s posting has drawn underlines how common the experience of lost or damage bags is.

As globe-trotting comedian Bob Hope once quipped “I’ve been to almost as many places as my luggage.”

Tips to Avoid Claim Problems

Dave acknowledges he made his “broken guitar” claim late – days after he’d found the damage – and Traveller magazine notes the key for a traveller with lost or damaged luggage is simple: don’t leave the airport without making a claim. Waiting as little as three days can sometimes invalidate your rights.

If you’ve waited fruitlessly at the baggage carousel for suitcases which never arrive, before you leave the baggage reclamation area ensure you report the loss, and insist on filing the complaint even if you are told that your bag will be arriving on the next flight.
You will be given a Property Irregularity Report (PIR) to fill in. Do this on the spot and ask for a copy. This form, together with the baggage receipt you were given at check-in, (the assistant usually sticks this to the ticket or onto your passport) are essential if you want to make a compensation claim from the airline or from your travel insurance. Your PIR is not a claim in itself, so you must still make a claim in writing within seven days.

Compensation for delayed arrival of luggage
If you are on your outward journey, be sure to ask for some cash for immediate supplies. The airline may suggest you buy the supplies and they will refund on receipt.

Agree to the spending limit in advance and don’t expect too much generosity as airlines take the view that once your bag has turned up you will have future use of its contents.

On your homebound journey, the airline will not be so forthcoming since they will assume you have everything you need at home. At best, when the bag does finally turn up the airline will deliver the bag to you at their own expense.

At worst, it will take up to twenty-one days before the airline admits that your bag is lost. In this case, you are eligible for compensation, but you will have to write in again.

Follow these guidelines and you shouldn’t need to repeat Dave Carroll’s experience. Then again, those millions of YouTube viewers would also have missed out on the fun.

Dear Diary,

Bob Hope was better tonight than he has been in weeks. He was broadcasting from an army camp, but he was not allowed to say which one. He said, “The get us to this unidentified camp in an unidentified location, an unidentified driver drove us here by an unidentified route, in an unidentified jeep, and now I’m sore in an unidentified place.” He added, “Everyone in the jeep was blindfolded except the driver, and driving on Sunset Blvd. shattered his nerves so badly that he put on a blindfold too.” Andy Devine was Bob’s guest instead of Joel McCrea. Bob was visiting Andy’s ranch on the sketch tonight and he sang a few bars of “Deep in the Heart of Texas” with squirts of milk in place of claps. That’s the first time that song has ever been sung on Bob’s program, as much as he talks about it.

Dear Diary,

I guess “My Favorite Blonde” is a better picture than I expected, because today Walter Winchell gave it, and Bob Hope, a New Yorchid in his column.

Hedda Hopper said today that Buddy De Sylva is planning a picture whose cast will include every start at Paramount, such as Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Fred Astaire, Rochester, etc. That’s something I’ve been wishing someone would do for a long time. I’ll bet there would be little or no trouble getting people inside theaters, since their favorite will probably be in the picture. Hedda Hopper also said that on the set of “The Road to Morocco” the other day there was a call for a chimpanzee and a parrot that does not curse. Frankly I didn’t know there was any such thing.

Dear Diary,

Jean and Betty Lou and I went to Wee St Andrews today and played miniature golf. Gee, more fun! I felt like Bob Hope, in a small way. Evidently Jean must have felt like Bing Crosby, because she won two games out of two. Poor Betty Lou came in on the tail end of both games, which, of course, left me second both times. We’re going again next week if we ossibly can. I’m determined to beat Jean.

After we finished playing, we went to Lake Cliff and walked around the entire lake. But you might know that when we found a nice shady spot with a good view of the lake, we sat down and looked for a while. We all felt as if we had walked around Texas by the time we got home.

Dear Diary,

Betty Lou and I went to the Telenews theater tonight. There wasn’t anything especially interesting except a March of Time and a Popular Science. In the Popular Science film they showed how cadets are tested at Randolph Field, Texas, to see whether or not they are physically fit for flying. It was so interesting that if I were a boy, I’d rush down there in double-quick time and get myself a little of that training.

While we were down town I got the new issue of Movie-Radio Guide, but there was nothing in it about their poll. Bob Hope has just got to be Star of Stars again this year. (And Ill scream bloody murder if R.S. is first in anything!)

Dear Diary,

Bing Crosby was good tonight—as usual—but something strange happened. At least it was strange for a Crosby program. He didn’t even mention Bob Hope.

Speaking of Bob Hope, as I do at every opportunity, I saw a picture in the school paper this morning of one of Sunset’s lettered baseball players. The guy looked so darned much like Bob he could easily pass as his brother. I quickly looked to see who it was. And of all people, it was John Ligon, a boy I’ve known all my life, although I haven’t seen him for two or three years. Donald runs around with John and his younger brother a lot, but his brother is the only one who ever shows up around here, so I didn’t even recognize John.

Adam, Arthur, Marilyn And Me

by

R.E. Prindle

http://www.tabletmag.com/arts-and-culture/books/17673/disconcerting-wipeout/

     In his essay above Mr. Kirsch argues that Marilyn Monroe somehow destroyed Arthur Miller’s genius.  This presupposes that Miller ever had genius which I deny.  In my previous essay, Adam Kirsch Talks About Arthur Miller, I posited that Miller was inspired by a movie, The Testament Of Dr. Mabuse, and a play, The Ice Man Cometh.  The influence of Ice Man was expended with Death Of A Salesman while Miller learned a subversive technique from Dr. Mabuse.

     At the heart of Miller’s infatuation with Monroe was a key story from Timebends that Kirsch relates.  In 1915 William Fox (the Fox at the end of 20th Century-Fox) was looking for financing and approached Miller’s father for a 50,000 loan.  Big money for those days, I might add.  The loan was refused; Fox went on to briefly have the most successful of the movie studios.  He was out foxed by the NYC Jewish financiers who robbed him of his company transferring control of the industry to MGM.  As Miller notes, if his father had made the loan he would have grown up in total opulence in Hollywood with a starlet on each knee.  I believe this is the real Arthur Miller.

     In the meantime he became a major success on Broadway while Marilyn Monroe in actual fact became the most desirable shiksa in the the entire world.   If Miller didn’t grow up with starlets on his knees he could now obtain the most desirable movie star in the world.  In her day Marilyn was probably more reported than Presley and the Beatles combined.

     That Miller wanted her as a wife shows how deluded he was.  In the Hollywood tradition of considering all women whores she had been awarded to various celebrities for use over the years.  She was also coming from a divorce with Joe Dimaggio.  By 1956 Frank Sinatra was on his way to dominating the Hollywood scene.  He was able, in fact, to call women from their husbands beds in the middle of the night to go to him to give him blow jobs.  It isn’t necessary to point out his shameful treatment of Monroe over the years.  I consider him responsible for Monroe’s suicide.

     Sinatra gave Miller fits which he mentions but doesn’t go into detail.

     He may not have been aware that Elia Kazan screwed Monroe in the back seat of a car with a driver in front but Kazan relished telling the story in his own autobiography that Miller probably read.  Up yours, 30 years after.

     So, really, one would have to question the sanity of anyone wanting to marry this woman because of her history let alone that she was on every front page.  Nude photographs, you know, the works.  When she married Di Maggio Bob Hope cracked the joke:  Did you hear Marily Monroe got married?  All the men in America are flying their shorts at half mast.  So who would want to walk a mile in DiMaggio’s shoes.  Well, maybe a mile would be OK.

     Here was a woman then requiring careful attention and treatment.  You’d have to be a master psychologist was well as a man among men.  The divorce occurred when Monroe absented herself for a few days and Miller thought he was deserted.  When Monroe returned to the empty house she couldn’t understand why Miller left.

     What kind of genius is this guy supposed to have?

     During the marriage he read Albert Camus’ novel; The Fall.  This trivial piece of crap had a profound effect on Miller.  He became a judge-penitent in his own mind turning out trivial holocaust junk like Incident At Vichy as well as a whine about his marriage appropriately titled: After The Fall.  His work remained subversive following the lessons of The Testament Of Dr. Mabuse.

     Miller’s ‘genius’ was shot after Death Of A Salesman.  there was nothing of significance left.  Marilyn Monroe had nothing to do with it.

The Emperor was widely regarded as the savior of Rome.  The son of slaves he had fought his way to power against the enemies of Rome.  After a half century of chaos he brought order and unity to Rome, crushing pretenders to the imperial purple and restoring the borders of the Empire against the barbarian tribes.  Under his tetrarchy system Rome would be ruled by two Emperors and two Caesars who would eventually succeed the Emperors.  Peace now reigned in the Empire after decades of strife.  Small wonder that Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus, better known to history as Diocletian, was hailed as a second Romulus, a second founder of Rome. 

For most of his reign the Christians of the Empire enjoyed broad tolerance.  This all changed, probably by the instigation of the Caesar Galerius, at the Council of Nicomedia in 302.  Rome declared war upon Christianity.  The churches were to be razed, the sacred books burned and Christians who would not forswear Christ executed.  The Great Persecution would endure until 311 when Constantine the Great decreed tolerance of Christianity in the portion of the Empire ruled by him, with tolerance throughout the entire Empire following with the Edict of Milan in 313.

Why did Diocletian embark upon this persecution?  His motives are unclear, but I suspect that he feared that Christianity threatened the unity of the Empire to which he had dedicated his life.  At any rate, the cities and towns of the Empire became scenes of blood and fire for Christians.

In 303 Genesius, a comedian and a leader of a troupe of actors in Rome, was hired to perform a play before the Emperor mocking Christianity.  Such anti-Christian spectacles were common during the Great Persecution serving to whip up anti-Christian fervor.  Roman comedies were raucous affairs, the play and movie A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum is based on the style of the Roman comedies, and hilarious lampoons of political or religious targets were a common feature.  In this play Genesius received a mock baptism.  Grace descended with the water.  Genesius proclaimed himself a Christian.  Diocletian, thinking this part of the play, enjoyed this unexpected twist.  When it became obvious that the comedian was no longer joking he was led away.  Persisting in his new found faith, he was tortured and beheaded.  His feast day is August 25.

Saint Genesius is the patron saint of actors and actresses.   Under his spiritual protection and inspiration, the recently formed Fraternity of Saint Genesius is helping to lead the way in a Christian renewal of the culture. 

Protestant, until his very late in life conversion, comedian Bob Hope, the subject of a forthcoming post on American Catholic, often wore a set of St. Genesius cuff-links, a gift from his Catholic wife. He retold the story of St. Genesius several times during his career, usually with a comic quip that if a bad comedian could be saved there was hope for everyone.

Bob Lester sapateando

No programa Mais Você de hoje, 01.10.2009, um exemplo, entre tantos, de longevidade, talento e perseverança:

Hoje é Dia do Idoso. Para marcar a data, o Mais Você convidou uma pessoa que tem quase um século de vida. São 96 anos de muita música e de histórias.

Ele fez fortuna, perdeu tudo, mas nunca desistiu de seguir em frente.
Uma vida que vale a pena a gente tomar como exemplo de força e de vitalidade.

O nome é de artista de Hollywood: Bob Lester! Bob conheceu muitos artistas da era do rádio e, convidado a cantar no Cassino da Urca, conheceu a pequena notável, Carmen Miranda!

Ana Maria Braga e Bob Lester

Indo mais longe ainda, foi parar dos Estados Unidos e conviveu com grandes estrelas, como Frank Sinatra, Bob Hope e Fred Astaire, de quem ganhou um par de sapatos!

Foram anos de muito glamour, mas com a morte de Carmen Miranda, voltou ao Brasil.
Aqui perdeu bens e dinheiro. Após a morte da mulher e da filha em um acidente de carro, chegou a mendigar nas ruas e ganhou uma casa do músico Tom Jobim.

Bob perdeu a casa em uma enchente e, atualmente, é ajudado pelo cantor Roberto Carlos! “Cheguei aos 96 anos bonito, lúcidos e sou uma das pessoas mais felizes que habitam a Terra. Não tenho do que reclamar”, disse.

Nesta quinta-feira Bob esteve no Mais Você e fez uma bela apresentação de sapateado, como nos bons e velhos tempos! Ana Maria ficou impressionada com sua ótima forma!

Assista ao vídeo clicando aqui.

Dear Diary,

Some time ago Walter Winchell put a small bit in his column about how Bob Hope, in “The Ghost Breakers,” cheered up the heartbroken people of Coventry, England, just after it was bombed. Today he put the same story in a long article in the new Photoplay. There was an accompanying picture of Bob from a scene in “The Ghost Breakers.” He quoted a government official as saying that the government doesn’t want Bob Hope and people like him to serve behind a gun—they are needed behind cameras and microphones.

Gee, Mother and Daddy have been gone over two days now. I wish they’d come home. I’m getting lonesome with noone here but Grams and I and Mother and Daddy way down in the Rio Grande Valley. Harlingen to be specific.

Dear Diary,

Bob Hope wasn’t up to his usual high standards tonight. I can’t imagine what was wrong, but he just didn’t seem to have as much zing as usual. His guest tonight was Patsy Kelly. He was broadcasting from Camp San Louis Obispo. He said, “On the way up I decided to save my tires by taking them off for a while and using victrola records. We hit one pedestrian, and that’s the first time anyone was ever hit deep in the heart of Texas by Rose O’Day and had Jim bring him pretty flowers.” Naturally Bob was kidded a lot (as usual) about his tummy. He said, “If you are referring to that bulge under my belt, that’s not a pot tummy. My bubble gum backfired.” Joel McCrea will be Bob’s guest next week.