Read this before movie watching
My contract with the Pinnacle newspaper is airtight. It was
written by the same lawyers who wrote foreclosure papers on my
trailer home in the beautiful Hollywood on Blocks Trailer Park and
Beer Can Recycling Center.
Read this before movie watching
My contract with the Pinnacle newspaper is airtight. It was written by the same lawyers who wrote foreclosure papers on my trailer home in the beautiful Hollywood on Blocks Trailer Park and Beer Can Recycling Center.
No amount of butt kissing can affect the big bucks, fast cars and even faster women that I earn. I have been reading movie reviews since I was 11, and none any better than the Pinnacle’s Melissa Flores. Her recent review of Clint Eastwood’s “Gran Torino” should win her the Pulitzer as even Pulitzer Prize-winning film critic Roger Ebert’s reads more like “Bran” rather than “Gran.”
The irony is that despite writing for the same paper I have never met Melissa but have met Roger Ebert. Ebert bumped into Nancy and me and actually knocked us down on Hollywood Boulevard on the eve of the Academy Awards. But I digress. Do yourself a favor. Even if you never read movie reviews read Melissa’s every week in the Pinnacle and check out some of the great restaurants that usually surround her column.
One such restaurant ad, though, is a big fat lie. Dunneville Cafe out on San Felipe Road boasts “Home of the best tri-tip sandwich in San Benito County.” That is a blatant lie. The Dunneville Cafe’s tri-tip sandwich is the best in the world. This includes the home of the tri-tip, Tritipiya Slovakia, where I recently returned from our family reunion.
A Hollister man stops a car thief on San Benito Street but the would-be thief steals his necklace. Moral of the story: Like Cary Grant, don’t stick your neck out to “catch a thief.”
The Hollister obituaries on Jan. 13 list the death of Fink and Funk. This reminded me of the old comedy ice skating team of Frick and Frack. Like Frick and Frack, Susan Fink and Robert Funk brought much joy to those who knew them. I know that, like them, when I die I will put a lot of smiles on a lot of faces. Aye chee waa waa.
Atheist professor Richard Dankins puts up a sign on his storefront: “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” He hoped to raise a little money for atheist causes. He received $195,000 and counting. All I can say is that even us atheists love having those bills proclaiming, “In God We Trust.”
I have lived under Presidents Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush and Obama. And no, I didn’t forget Carter despite trying to.
In my lifetime I have only known two people who have been better because of their foray into politics. Only two; that’s pretty sad. On the national front, Harry Truman and on the local level, Gordon Machado.
Sorry but I have to disband the Bob’s Quick Quiz feature for a month or two as I total up your points and valuable bonus points. Those of you still holding onto unredeemed points from last year hold on to them. Not only am I going to add them to this year’s but I’m going to double them. Aye chee waa waa, how I love this country.
The day the music died. It was 50 years ago this week that Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens (Valenzuela) of “La Bamba” fame died in an airplane crash immortalized in the hit classic “American Pie” by Don McClean.
Tommy Alsop, the guitarist for Buddy Holly who “lost” the coin toss as to who got to take the last seat on the plane to Ritchie Valens, is 77 and appeared last week at a memorial concert in Clear Lake, Iowa, the site of Valens’ and Holly’s last concert before they boarded that ill-fated plane. The admission to that concert, by the way, was $1.25. That is not a typo – $1.25. Current concerts could cost little more than $5 if they had real talent and didn’t have to rely on smoke bombs, fireworks, searchlights and naked women. Well, $6 but keep the naked women.
Fifty years ago Ritchie Valenzuela had to change his name as rock ‘n’ roll was not supposed to be sung my mariachi lovers with names like Valenzuela.
Ritchie’s brother, Bob, is still alive and as long as I have their old 45 rpm records the music never dies.
Thought while not shaving this morning: Why is it that now when I watch “The Golden Girls” they turn me on?
