I was inclined to pun, a “cereal” late night eater, but, these days, my snack of choice most often is peanut butter and apples. Rather than the Kasha nuggets, quinoa flakes, whole wheat blend with almond milk, that used to be my go to, pre-pillowtime food fix.
While I’d love to eat less after the dinner hour, it is an addiction I’ll accept.
Back in the day, it used to be cocaine, and I’d spend my evenings, doing my own version of Tony Montana.
A few extra calories, an added inch to the waistline, is easily a better alternative.
It’s no coincidence that this need to munch has coincided with another habit.
I now have, almost every night, the wackiest of dreams. Every once in awhile, nightmarish, but most of the time, just . . . weird. Engaged with people I haven’t seen in decades, people that I hardly knew at all, in strange places, some I recognize, many I don’t.
Normally in this space, on a weekly basis, I will post a podcast of my rant/ rave/ review, which I’d foisted on the radio listening public on FPK 91.9, the previous Saturday morning.
Making it possible to do so is my talented producer Brad Yost, who sends me the audio file to insert in this blog.
Well, Brad’s on vacation for a couple weeks. So, he can’t very well send such to me, can he? I mean, you know, he’s lolling on some white sandy beach somewhere balmy.
Normally I take a Pasadena, and wait until he returns. But, so taken am I with my own bon mots about 50 Shades of Grey, Peyton Place, yoga pants & culottes, I decided to record the essay in the studios here at Culture Maven Tower.
Which is to say, savor on, my loyal listeners. There’s much to be learned from the words to which you shall be exposed, should you make the right choice, the wise choice, the correct choice, and click the play button.
One of the most anticipated performances of the awards season is now on display in our town.
Say thank you to the cinema gods.
Say welcome to “Still Alice.”
Julianne Moore’s heralded portrayal of a fiftysomething, who learns she has Alzheimer’s Disease, is now playing in town.
Films as worthy as “Still Alice” rarely are staged for general release after the first of the year.
So, during the season of “Hot Tub Time Machine Part Deux.” we have the pleasure of viewing not only Ms. Moore’s amazing performance, but that of her co-stars Alec Baldwin as her hubby, and Kristen Stewart as one of her daughters.
Should you happen to know or cross paths in the Lower Clifton area with a thirtysomething African American woman with short cropped hair, a pierced nose, wearing a black Carhartt jacket, bless her and wish her a good day.
Her name is Cynthia.
I stopped by the DK (Dirty Kroger) this Friday afternoon, needing only one item.
I’d run out Splenda.
I was behind Cynthia in the checkout line. I’d never met nor seen her before that moment.
As she was paying, I set my box of sweetener on the counter.
August 12, 1966. International Amphitheater. Chicago. First stop on their last tour ever.
I was with my old pal Moop. His cousin, Ron Britain, née Ron Magel, was a DJ at the Windy City’s WCFL, which was the sponsoring Top 40 station.
His bride Peach sneaked us past security at the artist’s entrance, and we sat in a box on the side of the stage, along with a noted folk singer at the time, Chad Mitchell and his gal, a woman who had been on the cover of Italian Vogue the previous month.
On the way to the box, we were briefly introduced to the Fab Four. As I’ve said through the years, it’s not like McCartney calls to do dinner after his show at the Yum!.
There are times, when I’m not really sure how to title these publications as podcasts of my Saturday morning FPK 91.9 rants, raves and reviews. Which I do normally the Monday after the Saturday morn before, when they are propagated live on a witting audience.
(Actually after throwing down that little alteration in the paragraph above, I may have discovered it. If that phrase is in the title, which it is not currently as I write this before posting, you’ll know I’ve changed my mind.)
Anyhow, this one’s an especially perceptive bit of buffoonery, covering matters as far and deep as political scandal, saccharine TV ads, workforce displacement . . . oh the entirety of topics fails me now, so abundant were they in number.
Which means, it is my not entirely self serving advice to listen up, for as enjoyable a couple of minutes as you’re likely to experience the day you’re here to hear.