It's movie day.......

I'm sitting here with the TV on TCM, the "Cincinnati Kid" just started. I've seen this movie a couple of times over the years. It's about depression era gamblers in New Orleans. It stars Steve McQueen, Edward G. Robinson, Karl Malden, Ann Margret, Tuesday Weld and several others who's names you may know.

I just switched channels and caught the beginning of "Chicago". This movie won the Academy Award for best picture in 2002. Catherine Zeta-Jones won the Oscar for female Best Supporting Actor. It looks like someone is trying to suggest I write about cities?

I'll start with Chicago. When I was sixteen or seventeen a group of buddies and I made the six hour drive from Detroit to Chicago  The only thing I can remember is the motel and the window wall in our room. We had a beautiful view of Lake Michigan and Lakeshore Drive. I think I remember a couple of the guys dancing around in their underpants while waving at traffic.That's something I would never do of course. It's well beneath my dignity. I may wear underpants on my head but dancing in front of a window? Never.

New Orleans, I spent a week there in 1985. I took the train, "The City of New Orleans" from Chicago (a different trip of course) by myself and had a wonderful time. I wandered around trying the different food, listening to different music, sampling different drinks. I found a bar that served beer for a buck and fresh oysters for a quarter. Twenty five cents each for fresh delicious oysters. I spent several happy hours at that place. One bright sunny morning I walked to the Cafe Du Monde for coffee and beignets. One of these days I would like Wanda to see this great city, maybe after we get to visit Norway.

A side note: there is a cajun style eattery, The Jazz Kitchen in Downtown Disney, pretty darn good beignets if you ever find yourself down there.

Now, Cincinnati, that's another story altogether.

In the Blog the other day I mentioned Cincinnati and how I would spend summers there. My mother and dad (Dorothy and Irving) divorced when I was six. I had two brothers, ten and fourteen years older than me. I guess you could say I was a bit of a surprise. I think that was a polite word for shock. The folks were late thirties, early forties when I came popping out. Can you imagine having a crying newborn at forty? By the time I was eight both Fred and Allen were away at school. This is about the time I started getting shipped off to Cincinnati over summer vacation.

My mothers youngest sister, Belle and her husband were nice enough to open their home to me. I truly enjoyed spending time with them and my cousins Neil and Donna. Neil and I were the same age, Donna a few years younger. Dorothy and I would usually take the train there, she would stay a few days then return. I would be there about a month or so. I have many fond memories of my time there and so do they.

The two stories that are told every time the family gets together are always the same. Chuck rips his tongue apart and Chuck bites the cat.

They were the quintessential 1955-6 post war family. Uncle Morrie had served in WW2, he and Belle were married while he was still in the service. Upon his discharge they moved into an apartment and were there until Donna was born. Needing more room they bought a home in a suburb of Cincinnati, one of the first "subdivisions" in the area. It was a nice, modest home with a good size piece of property. It was a great place to grow up. I was lucky to have been a part of their family, if only a few weeks a year.

Uncle Morrie worked in downtown Cincinnati and was part of a car pool. Once a week he would drive to work. Aunt Belle had the car the rest of the week, she would keep us kids busy. We would go swimming at the local Jewish Center, maybe go to a movie on Saturdays.There were different lessons at the library or trips to museums. The first story takes place on one of the museum adventures.

We stopped at an ice cream truck on the way into the museum. I can't remember what everyone else got but for me it was a favorite, cherry Popsicle.The ice cream man told us, or should I say warned us, the ice cream, especially the Popsicles were very, very cold. He said, "warm them up in your hands for a minute or two before you eat them" which I, of course, ignored. As soon as I got that tidbit of frozen sugar In my paws I ripped the wrapper off and popped that Popsicle in my mouth. I immediately realized that frozen treat was as stuck to my lips and tongue as it could be.

"Ahhh, ban it dis arrf fing outta my outh," said I. As the tears were streaming down my cheeks I heard "don't pull it out" and "leave it alone, we'll get some water." My aunt was trying to tell me we would go inside, get some water and "melt" or warm the thing until it came off. My cousins were trying not to laugh I'm sure. All I could think to do was pull. I was screaming, "elp e is urts elly ad."  I was so embarrassed. It's good it was cherry as all the blood sort of blended in. I left a good portion of my skin on that damn thing and never got to eat it. For the next several days all I could eat was soup, and lukewarm soup at that. Now, over fifty years later that story is told every time the family gets together. Now over fifty years later I eat Popsicles but always warm them up in my hands first.

The second story involves Dingy, a cat. My mother, Dorothy, was the eldest of three sisters. She also had an older and a younger brother. The middle sister, Lee owned and operated a pet shop in her middle years. She also bred dogs and cats, Siamese cats. I can't remember if Dingy was one of Aunt Lee's but I would assume so. Just in case you don't know, Siamese cats are very, very vocal. Dingy was a great name for that cat, he was more than a little nuts and loved to yowl before the sun came up.

Dingy the cat and I were not the best of friends. At that time in my life I wasn't a cat person, or a dog person. If I was an anything person I guess you could say I was a parakeet person. Oh, and for awhile I had a pet turtle so I guess I was a turtle person. Anyhow, Cousin Neil had bunk beds which were really cool. I loved sleeping up on the top bunk, especially on warm summer evenings. Early one morning I had just taken a shower and was laying out some clothes. Dingy the Cat took exception at getting tossed off the bed and he bit me. It was more like a "grab your hand in my paws and almost bite down on it" but it was more than enough for me. I went ahead and grabbed his tail and bit him back. Then, all Hell broke loose.

This is where the story differs depending on who the teller is. I say the cat did one of those Siamese screams, ran out of the room hid under a bed somewhere and that was that. Both of my cousins swear I tried to bite Dingy again.That I ran after the cat and lost the towel I had around my waist. They swear, naked, I continued to chase Dingy into the other room where I tried to slide under the bed after him. I truly do not remember this entire event. I admit I did bite the stupid cats tail and that's it.

I remember well my skin sticking to that Popsicle, you would think I would remember my skin squeaking on that wooden floor as I tried to slide under the bed for the cat, but I don't.

I really am a lucky guy. I'm healthy, I have a wife that I love, a nice house and cats that don't scratch or bite me. I also have a wonderful family, even if some of them like to fabricate stories.