Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Stardust
Peter Boyle, RIP
This morning, I caught the news of actor Peter Boyle’s death on CNN. CNN’s writers hardly softened the sting of Boyle’s passing with the words, “best known as the dad in ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’.” You know, I don’t care if ‘Raymond’ has been on for ten years. I’ve never watched it, and that’s not how I want to remember Boyle.
I’m old enough to remember that Boyle got his big break in the 1970 movie Joe, but I think I first saw him in Diary of a Mad Housewife. (The movies my folks took me too . . . jeez louise.) He’s had one busy career ever since, but I suspect he shunned attention from the press. Based on that IMDB link, he gave precious few interviews, and sadly, I haven’t been able to find a single one online.
You can always count on Wikipedia for biographical info, however:
“Boyle was a native of Norristown, Pennsylvania and was of Irish descent. He served in the United States Army, but his military career was shortened by a nervous breakdown. Boyle was also a member of the Institute of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, or De La Salle Brothers, a Catholic teaching order, and taught drama at their school in Pittsburgh before turning to acting. He graduated from La Salle University in Philadelphia in 1957. He was briefly part of The Second City Chicago ensemble, and he studied acting with famed acting coach Uta Hagen. He had a brief scene in the critically acclaimed 1969 film Medium Cool.”
There’s more, of course.
I prefer to remember Boyle like this:
. . . as The Monster in Young Frankenstein. Genius casting by Mel Brooks, of course, but would YF have been the same with any other actor in that role? I don’t know. I doubt it. For a part with few spoken lines, Boyle was brilliant. Too bad that, at the end of the movie, he got the short end of the stick.
My favorite character of Boyle’s: Clyde Bruckman in the X-Files episode “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose.” Boyle played a psychic able to see everyone’s death, including his own, yet incapable of doing anything to change fate. I give credit to the writers too, of course, but Boyle’s performance captured the perfect balance of humor and poignancy — an ideal state I think all drama should aspire to.
Peter Boyle was a star in every sense of the word: a shining light, an actor who grabbed the audience’s eye the moment he appeared in a scene. As I write this, I’m choked up — I’m really not kidding. I’m going to miss him very much.
D.
In production: My Name is Bruce
Lego Ash from The Evil Dead — from Diantological
An IMDB search for movie versions of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness led me to Heart of Dorkness: Behind the Scenes of ‘My Name is Bruce’ . . . featuring one of my favorite guys, Bruce Campbell. You mean there’s gonna be a new Bruce Campbell movie? You betcha.
From IMDB, My Name is Bruce (2007):
B Movie Legend Bruce Campbell is mistaken for his character Ash from the Evil Dead trilogy and forced to fight a real monster in a small town in Oregon.
A small town in Oregon? Oh please oh please oh please let it be Brookings. We’re a small town. We don’t even have a Walmart! I can play a zombie, really!
As for my original search, I found it. Karen was right (isn’t she always?) Boris Karloff did play Kurtz in the Playhouse 90 version of Heart of Darkness (1958). And Roddy McDowell played Marlowe, and Eartha Kitt played “Queen” (whaaaa?)
I wonder if it’s available on DVD.
D.
Five-minute Brokeback
Brokeback Mountain finally made it to cable TV, which doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to watch it. No, it means Karen’s going to watch it, tell me all about it, and I’ll translate it for you. In the spirit of Five-Minute Shakespeare, I bring you Five-Minute Brokeback.
Cue music.
Doug: You watching Brokeback Spongebob?
Karen: No —
Doug: Brokeback to the Future?
Karen: No. Brokeback Mountain.
A few minutes later . . .
Kazakhstan must hate this guy
I spent the last ten minutes busting a gut while reading The Wave’s Borat interview to my office manager. I know Sasha Baron Cohen is not universally loved; after all, when your shtick is to be as obnoxious as possible, you’re bound to step on a few toes. But, what’s not to like about this guy? (He has an uncanny resemblance to my brother, by the way — doesn’t he, Sis?)
The Wave: For those readers who don’t know you, tell us about yourself.
Borat: My name is Borat Sagdiyev. I a son of Asimbalat Sagdiyev and Boltolk the rapist. I am former husband of Osana Sagdiyev, who was daughter of Mary Anne Pulakby and Boltolk the rapist. My hobbies is disco dance, table tennis, and also taking photographs of ladies doing toilet without their knowledge. Why not? They do not know. I have previous work as icemaker and gypsy catcher. And I was also work in computer maintenanc e. I was the one who paints the outside and then remove the dead bird from its pipes. You like the birds? I move on. I have three children. Bilalk, Bilam, and Huey Lewis, who is 12 years old. He has a two children. Bilalk, who is 13, has American pen friend called Mr. Foley. He say meet in hotel room. Is nice. My sister make my family very proud by being No. 4 prostitute in all of Kazakhstan. She recently received award from Kazakh minister of industry for best sex in mouth. I also have a brother named Bilo. He is a retard with small head, but very strong arms. He has 204 teeth, 201 in mouth and three in nose. My first wife is dead. High five! She was shoot by a hunter who mistake her for a bear because she has much arm on her arms and back. No problem. I have a new wife. But, I like cheat. Yes, I looking at you.TW: What is your opinion of our president?
B: We in Kazakhstan very much admire your mighty warlord, George Walter Bush. He is a very wise man and also a strong man. But, perhaps not as strong as his father, Barbara. Next question.
But if you despise Borat, never fear: The Wave has an interview with Hugh Jackman, too.
So: has anyone seen Borat’s movie yet?
D.
Fact checking
I’m finally getting around to checking on Kate’s contention that Rachael Ray’s husband likes to be spat upon. A Google search of “Rachael Ray spit fetish” led me to Tabloid Whore, who writes*,
Oh dear. Rachael Ray is splashed all over the cover of this week’s issue of The National Enquirer, accompanied by a headline blasting, “Rachael Ray’s secret pain–HUSBAND CAUGHT CHEATING.” The Enquirer has an exclusive interview with a woman named Jeaninne Walz who claims Ray’s husband John Cusimano has a stinky sexual fetish involving spitting and feet. You heard me. Walz told The Enquirer she has been involved with Cusimano since meeting him in front of a lesbian bar in 2000 and continued to see him after his marriage to Ray in 2005. She said Cusimano has paid her $20 – $500 to “spit on him and commit other degrading acts on him.” To my shock and surprise, The Enquirer said that these “other degrading acts” are too graphic for them to describe. Okay, when the ballsiest tabloid on the market wont print something, you know it has to be bad.
So, there you have it. If it’s in The Enquirer, you know it’s Word.
You’ll hear more from me later, I hope. In the office today, I had the usual pre-holiday nightmare crunch, and tomorrow looks just as bad. Now, all I want to do is go to the gym and beat the crap out of myself. Because, you know? I deserve it.
D.
*Shaina, don’t have a cow, but the Tabloid Whore spells it fettish.
Thirteen Things I’d Like to Do in the Kitchen with Rachael Ray
Even now, she shines on me from the back of my box of Original Family Size! Wheat Thins, beckoning me with her girl-next-door smile — tomato-red lips, perfect, white teeth — daring me to join her in some Spinach, Garlic, and Vegetable Dip. Dunk your cracker, Walnut. I’ll lick it clean, and then we’ll nibble it together, just like those two mutts in 101 Dalmatians.
Oh, Rachael, how can I resist?
Games to Play
1. Let’s begin with an old favorite — hide the salami — which has certain flavor advantages over Conceal the Carrot or Carry the Cucumber. Rachael, in case you are fastidious about such things, let me reassure you: mine’s kosher.
2. Stuff the Manicotti. I prefer a creamy mixture of ricotta, parmesan, and assorted spices (salt, pepper, and nutmeg at the very least). I hope Rachael won’t mind bringing along an egg or two.
3. Knead the baguette. With proper technique, it can rise to four or five times its initial volume!
Hold that thought.
Cleanup Projects
4. Scrub out the oven. I prefer to do this work by hand; there’s no substitute for elbow grease. And you know, a properly cleaned oven? You should be able to eat off of it.
5. Revamp the freezer. Wonder what we can do with all those old ice cubes?
6. Varnish the back door. Other chefs would ignore your back door, Rachael, but not me. I’ll lavish so much attention on it, you’ll be able to see your face in it afterwards.
Main Courses
7. Snapper. Some guys might like those Cajun “blackened” recipes, but I prefer my fish raw.
8. Taco salad. I prefer the meat warm and tender, the lettuce finely shaved. Drizzle it with a bit of oil and vinegar and you’re ready to go.
9. Rachael needs beef. But what kind of beef? We’ve already hidden the salami; bologna is too darned similar, and besides, it’s a rather flaccid lunchmeat, don’t you think? Hmm. Tube steak? Too crude. Sausage? NO. We’re not making breakfast. Hot dogs? Maybe. But not just any hot dogs. Rachael deserves the best.
Rachel deserves Top Dog.
Palate cleanser
10. Ginger. After stuffing yourself silly (with food, you filthy swine), how do you wake up the palate? How do you make your mouth crackle with excitement and beg for more? Here’s what you do:
Peel a finger of ginger, as long and fat a finger as you can find. That stuff you read about soaking it in cold water? As O’Brien would say, eff that. Cold water is for wussies. Now insert that bad boy into the jaded, much abused orifice, and let it set there a spell, working its magic. About half an hour should suffice. Now let your partner run his tongue inside to get a good belt of spice.
Ginger is so refreshing.
Desserts
11. Whipped cream makes everything taste better. Everything.
12. Banana splits. But I’m out of bananas! What to do, what to do . . .
13. Creme brulee. Sorry, no double entendres; I just love creme brulee. Especially when consumed by the tablespoonful, as body shots off key anatomic areas. Got the picture?
Shaina (o blogless one!) probably regrets knowing me
SxKitten gives us 13 reasons to have sex. Like I needed more than one?
Pat’s 13 Basslines are still up for all to see
Suisan wants someone to hit her over the head. Really!
In a fit of pique (are there any other kinds of piques?) Kate saws off her wedding ring
D.
Doctor in the House?
USA is having a House marathon today; Karen has been watching (“because there’s nothing else on but crap”) and I’ve been listening in.
Not long ago, my sister suggested I do a Thirteen on “why I hate medical drama shows.” This is not entirely true, by the way. I have fond memories of St. Elsewhere, particularly since the writers nailed the dynamics between residents and attendings. Plus — Alfre Woodard, Denzel Washington, Ed Begley Jr.? That show had one hell of a cast.
But, yeah, I’ve had it in for medical shows ever since ER opened with the following gem. This guy is crashing in the ER. Trauma to the neck, perhaps — in any case, the ER resident is having trouble securing the airway.
What does he say?
“Wake up ENT!”
Well, eff that actor and eff the writers. Our ER residents worked shifts. On call, we never slept. I never watched another episode (and I only watched the first minute of that one).
Back to House. I like Hugh Laurie, but I like him like this:
or this:
That’s A Bit of Fry and Laurie and Blackadder, respectively. But like so many fine comedians (Steve Martin comes to mind), I guess Laurie got tired of doing his fine comic shtick and took to more serious pursuits. It’s a shame.
Laurie’s House is monotone, monochromatic. His dynamic range extends from nasty to snide and his wit is about what you would expect from a team of writers with modest talent. I would forgive all of that if the team dynamics felt right, or if they got the medicine correct, but (based on the fifteen-second snips I’ve picked up here and there while editing my romance) these writers do neither.
Yeah, yeah, I’m not being fair, you say. I ought to sit through an episode or two. But it pains me, it really does. House’s brilliant deductive skills are the stock and trade of any internist worth his or her salt. At any tertiary care center, the docs are faced with comparable mysteries on a daily basis. (Well, maybe not wives poisoning their husbands with gold-containing arthritis meds from Mexico, but close enough.) But we the viewers are supposed to think this guy is the love child of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.
I guess what really bugs me is the heavy-handed use of drama in a medical setting. Illness and cure are intrinsically dramatic provided the writer takes care to characterize all the players. Case in point, Alan Rickman’s Something the Lord Made, which I have hyped before (please, please rent this movie). Those writers didn’t need murderous wives, bubonic plague, or herpes encephalitis to capture their viewers’ interest.
Of course, those writers had Alan Rickman and Mos Def on hand to bring their characters to life. As much as I like the (comic) Hugh Laurie, he’s no Alan Rickman.
D.
Lobsterissimus bumbakissimus
Jim Donahue’s link to an Ernie Kovacs clip got me thinking about other comedians whom I know by reputation but not by direct experience. Kovacs was before my time, but what about Peter Cook and Dudley Moore?
We didn’t get much British TV when I was a kid. The Prisoner made it across the pond, as did Masterpiece Theater, and not much else. My first exposure to Cook and Moore came in my 20s, when I saw Bedazzled. Over the years, I’ve gotten bits and pieces of this duo, but never enough. I own Tragically, I was an Only Twin, but it’s not the same as seeing a live performance.
YouTube has a few clips. This one really grabbed me: Cook’s and Moore’s voices with chimp performers.
Jane Mansfield . . . who knew?
D.
A rare interview
Hat tip to jmc for this link to an interview with Alan Rickman. Rickman, as many of you know, is one private dude.
You know what I thought was sweet (and not entirely unexpected)? Here:
The bad news for all who write to him in a similar vein is that Rickman is a one-woman man. He has had the same girlfriend for more than 40 years – Rima Horton, an economics lecturer at Kingston University. *snip*
They met when they were students at Chelsea School of Art. He was 19; Horton a year younger. She was his first girlfriend, to whom he has remained steadfastly faithful, although they’ve never married or had children.
You knew he wouldn’t be one of those working-on-my-fifth-divorce kind of guys, didn’t you?
D.
Word of the week
From Wikipedia:
Disinhibition can mean:
- Loss of inhibition, as through the influence of external stimuli such as drugs or alcohol, or as a result of brain damage.
- Unrestrained behavior resulting from a lessening or loss of inhibitions or a disregard of cultural constraints.
“Please know from my heart that I am not an anti-Semite. I am not a bigot. Hatred of any kind goes against my faith.”
Drunk.
Lunatic.
Anti-Semite.
Add to the list:
Liar.
Hypocrite.
And to think I used to keep a poster of him (as the Road Warrior) on my wall during college. Mel, I thought you were cool. I was such a dumbass.
D.