What a week it was. Monday, Bernie Madoff was sentenced to 150 years, meaning he could get out of jail when he turns 221. His wife, Ruth, forfeited all but $2.
When I was 12 I had a paper route, delivering Herald Examiner newspapers from my bicycle. The Examiner came out in the afternoon while the Times was L.
Sunday is Father’s Day (meaning there’s still time to get a tie he’ll never wear). It’s also the final day of the U.S. Open Golf Tournament. My late father loved golf so much that we kids could get away with lame gifts such as golf balls, or even tees.
After my column last week, one particular reader, whom either lives in Cleveland or hates the Lakers, completely flipped out. I’ve been writing columns in Santa Monica for over 20 years and his e-mail takes the cake (assuming there’s a cake for profanity and lousy grammar).
Because my deadline is Thursday at 4 p.m., by the time you read this, the Lakers will either be up one game or down one game in the NBA Finals. (I’m biting my tongue at the thought of the latter, which hurts if you think about it.
In the 1950s, the scariest monster for me was Godzilla (followed by Joe McCarthy and Richard Nixon). Godzilla, a prehistoric creature standing 200 feet high, weighed 60,000 tons — give or take a few tons, depending on if he was feeling bloated that day.
Fans of “Seinfeld” will likely remember when Jerry and George planned to get rich by writing a sitcom. There was one slight problem. Racking their brains, they couldn’t think of a premise.
The late Billy Wilder, a film genius, and an idol of mine, was responsible for some of Hollywood’s most memorable movies. As a writer, director or producer (occasionally, all three) Wilder’s credits include: “The Apartment,” “The Lost Weekend,” “Sunset Boulevard,” “Double Indemnity,” “Stalag 17,” “W
In the 1992 movie “Mr. Saturday Night,” Billy Crystal starred as comedian Buddy Young, Jr. He also co-wrote and directed (his directorial debut) but it’s not true that he took tickets or sold popcorn.
There’s an old expression, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Actually, I can’t remember ever buying anything because of its cover, unless you count Playboy.
After last week’s column about DUIs, a reader named Mona, sent me a one word e-mail, “Sobering.” I hate it when readers are more clever than I am. You’d think by now I’d be used to it.
In the early 1960s, comedian Foster Brooks was famous in nightclubs and on TV for his brilliant portrayal of a lovable drunk. Lenny Bruce had a routine called “The White Collar Drunk,” a successful businessman who was perfectly groomed but so blitzed out of his brain he argued with everyone in the b
