SHE HAD BETTE DAVIS EYES FOR A SHORT TIME !

Remember the Kim Carnes hit song of 1981,"BETTE DAVIS EYES?" I always associated those eyes with Bette Davis' first prominent role, the 1936 movie, "PETRIFIED FOREST." Along side Leslie Howard and Humphrey Bogart, she dazzled audiences (and me) with her beauty and vivacious personality. Unfortunately for all of us, within a short time that "look" faded...quickly, (join the club).

BETTE DAVIS (28) IN "PETRIFIED FOREST." I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT THOSE WERE THE ONLY BETTE DAVIS EYES I REALLY LIKED.

A true legend of cinema, Bette Davis' prolonged fame came from starring as tougher, less romantic women. By the time she was in her fifties, her super-star status had long been on the down-swing.
JUST THREE YEARS LATER, IN "DARK VICTORY" HER STUNNING PRETTINESS HAD ALL BUT VANISHED.

Undaunted, Davis took a high risk (by Hollywood standards) by taking on roles of shrewish, unglamorous or elderly women. Two of my favorites of that period were both from 1965, "THE NANNY" and "HUSH HUSH SWEET CHARLOTTE." But her creepiest, most chilling portrayal was "Baby"Jane Hudson, in 1962's "WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE."
I REMEMBER SEEING "BABY JANE" IN THE THEATER. IT SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME. EVEN WORSE, MY POOR SISTER SUFFERED ACUTE PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA FROM IT WHICH DESPITE DECADES OF THERAPY, IS STILL EVIDENT TODAY.

CLICK HERE FOR A MODERNIZED MOVIE TRAILER
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-jHq4kXvH4&feature=related

Around ten years ago my son Andrew came into the room while "Baby Jane" was on TV. He was always mature for his age so after ten minutes, it wasn't strange that he didn't freak-out. Instead, my five year-old scion simply said, "Is it okay if we watch something else." The effect on him had to be intense, he'd never been exposed to "old women" being cruel.

HARD TO BELIEVE THOSE ARE THE SAME EYES. THE REDGRAVE SISTERS (VANESSA AND LYNN) DID A WORTHY "BABY JANE" RE-MAKE IN 1993...BUT WHEN IT COMES TO BEING DEMENTED...BETTE DAVIS AS JANE HUDSON WAS THE "QUEEN OF MEAN."

The story centers around two senior sisters who once had theatrical careers. Bette Davis' Baby Jane was a vaudevillian child-star whose popularity ended forty years earlier with the onset of puberty. In the trailer above, there is a MUST SEE snippet, (from her comeback audition), singing, "I'M WRITING A LETTER TO DADDY."

Her sister, played by another mega-star Joan Crawford, was a movie starlet whose skyrocketing career was cut short by a crippling car accident. Crawford, confined to a wheelchair lives alone with Davis (her primary care giver), in a dilapidated mansion. Davis is losing her mental stability and her invalid sister thinks it best to have Baby Jane institutionalized. When Bette Davis' character realized this, her sanity crumples and she becomes psychotic.

I think its only fair to warn younger viewers that like many of the thrillers of that era (like Hitchcock films) there is a lot more talk than action. Nevertheless this is a 3.5 star movie. It's effectiveness is highlighted by a disturbing Davis and the brave prisoner Crawford. This highly plausible screenplay is crammed with great lines, clever plot twists and frightening images while still leaving plenty to the imagination.

Ms. Davis' Baby Jane not only earned her an Oscar nomination...but the American Film Institute rated her as #44 on their, "TOP 50 AMERICAN MOVIE VILLAINS LIST." So drop everything you're doing...find, "WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE," either on "TURNER CLASSIC MOVIES" (TCM), Netflix or from a video store that specializes in vintage movies.

Bette Davis' tremendous 67 film career spanned 58 years. But to most people, she'll be remembered more for playing flawed and difficult women. Even at age 81, in her last movie appearance, "WICKED STEPMOTHER," she was still doing what she did best...evil !

When you look back at the final lyrics of "BETTE DAVIS EYES" its hard to imagine that Kim Carnes' song is referring to anyone but Baby Jane Hudson.

She'll tease you,
she'll unease you
just to please you.

She'll expose you
when she snows you,
She's got Bette Davis eyes.

33-YEAR BOYCOTT: THE GREAT ROCKY MOUNTAIN BUZZ-KILLER !

In 1976, I toured the country in a combination of hitch-hiking and riding Greyhounds. My 68 days on the road was both filling and fulfilling as I witnessed the best of our country...its people and natural resources.

In the heart of the Rocky Mountains (Georgetown Colorado), I met two Jersey guys...both named Jack. It was fun hanging out with them and our two days together were packed with wild adventures. The second night, while Jack-A shacked-up with a girl from town, Jack-B and I decided to forgo the local youth hostel and sleep in a cave that we had seen during the day.

ANYTHING GOES WITH A CASE OF STROH'S

Jack-B and I found the unpaved access road off Interstate-70 but got lost in the dark. Heading back on the highway's shoulder, he plunged into a huge puddle and the car got stuck in mud. After a while, we flagged down someone to help but he was drunk. Even when he put his can of Olympia beer down, he was useless...but he agreed to drive us back to where Jack-A was.

Beyond the outskirts of Georgetown, our unnecessarily high-speed drive through the darkened rural woods was scary enough but Jack-B was lost...he had only been to this log cabin once...in daylight. We crisscrossed the forest and drove in circles for ninety minutes. We finally found this girl's home. It was in such a remote place that an adjacent stream powered the generator that ran her electricity...hard to believe...she intentionally had no phone either.

The girl opened the door wearing only a smile and a short, dress-like Dos Equis tee-shirt. Jack-A on the other hand was seething at the prospect of his romantic evening being interrupted. When Jack-B explained the pitiful circumstances, Jack-A's exasperated angst skyrocketed. I thought he was going to have a brain aneurysm as he fought the urge to strangle his pal.

EVEN NOW, EVERY TV COMMERCIAL FOR DOS EQUIS MAKES ME THINK OF THAT GIRL.

We drove back into town. If you recall from an earlier blog, I was chased out of the Red Ram Saloon...fate and this idiocy brought me back to that same bar. I thought it was prudent to hide from my tormentors in the shadows as the girl enlisted the help of a tow-truck operator. Like a scolded puppy, Jack-B avoided confrontation with his pissed-off buddy. So while Jack-A and the girl negotiated with the tow truck owner, Jack-B bought two icy-cold bottles of Anchor Steam Beer and smuggled them out for me and him.

ANCHOR BEER MIGHT BE THE PRIDE OF SAN FRANCISCO BUT IT WASN'T A GOOD IDEA FOR US.

The tow truck had a winch and pulled the car out in seconds. The drive back to town was filled with tense silence. Jack-A then dropped me and Jack-B at the youth hostel. When the horny couple drove-off to resume to their tryst, we celebrated our survival by drinking our hidden beer. Unfortunately, the hostel was full and we were only permitted in to retrieve our sleeping bags . In the tiny town, we had nowhere to go. Jack-B and I found a desolate road along side a mountain and camped-out. Even though it was late July, because of the altitude, we froze. Our shivering wasn't helped by the beer or the not-so-distant howl of wolves.

Somehow we weren't eaten during the night. The next morning, we re-united with Jack-A and the three of us drove to Golden Colorado. Along the way we passed a huge, privately owned, open range. On this land, someone was breeding buffaloes...as in real buffaloes. In addition to selling them for their meat, they are also "leased-out" for western movies, TV shows etc. The image of the thundering herd, surrounded by the mountainous vista, running parallel to the interstate remains, (right along with the girl in the Dos Equis shirt), as one of the highlights of my life.

There's only one thing that I can think of that is famous in Golden Colorado. It is the corporate headquarters and home of the Coors Brewing company's main plant.

IN THE MID-70's, COORS WAS NOT AVAILABLE IN THE EASTERN U.S.. THIS CAUSED A "FROST-BREWED" MYSTIQUE THAT MADE GUYS LIKE ME AND THE TWO JACKS SALIVATE AT THE IDEA OF FREE BEER AFTER THEIR FACTORY TOUR.

Our tour started before noon. Our 30-person group was dominated by old-timers...I was two months older than 21 back then...so by old-timers...I'm guessing these folks were mainly 45+. During the tour there were several stupid questions and statements made by our group like; Why do they call them hops? And, "You guys will never get me to switch from Piels."

I REMEMBER PIELS AS BEING SO BAD THAT WE NICKNAMED IT, ALONG WITH UTICA CLUB (a.k.a. dog water) AND BALLANTINE (like drinking wet sand) AS, "THE LAST OF THE 99-CENT SIX PACKS." TO PIELS CREDIT, THEIR CUTE TV COMMERCIALS FEATURED THE COMEDY TEAM OF "BOB AND RAY" AS THE CARTOON VOICES OF THE OWNER BROTHERS (HARRY AND BURT PIELS).

The other people on our tour got used to our childish outbursts. Inwardly, I'll bet they were being too polite and wanted to join us.

After the factory tour, our guide disappeared. Male hospitality employees in lederhosen and females dressed like St. Pauli girls, welcomed us to the tasting room. In this enormous beer hall, we were oriented to the rules and were told we can "sample" as much beer as we could suck down...we were also told that the beer was "3.2 beer," (lower than normal alcohol content). We were settling in to our first beer when a knucklehead from our tour group asked, "Do you also serve free cheese, salami and crackers like they do in the Foster's brewery in Australia?" We screamed with laughter and loudly rehashed earlier dumb remarks.
COINCIDENTALLY, BOTH JACKS WERE IRISH! JACK-A SAID, "GET COMFORTABLE, WE'RE GOING TO BE HERE A WHILE." AND JACK-B SAID, "WHEN WE DRINK FREE BEER, WE MAKE A PROFIT."

I was taking my second sip when *Gestapo-like plain-clothes security guards asked us to, "Come with us." (*editor's note, I said Gestapo because the Coors primary owner's name back then was ADOLPH Coors). On our way out, I heard a woman from another group said, "Damn hippies, they must be drunk!"

Outside the room, we were led down a short, bleak hallway. They opened an emergency door and we were kicked out. In the snap of a finger, our Rocky Mountain high vanished.

I wasn't embarrassed by this incident...instead it made me angry. About a week later I eased up and saw the humor in it. Still, I felt profiled and robbed of a good time. To satisfy my troubled feeling and to forever make the event noteworthy, I decided to crush Coors financially. I am proud to say that I have boycotted all their products while sending out the message of their dastardly deed. I'm guessing that if it wasn't for me, they'd be at the top of the Fortune-500 list. Therefore, I am happy to announce that the 33rd anniversary of my one-man Coors abstinence program is coming-up in a couple of months.

In case you're curious...my beer of choice down through the decades has been Heineken but Grolsch (also from Holland) is a highly honored second choice.

SLEEP APNEA: THE WALK OF SHAME !

The rising popularity of off-shore betting now makes it possible to wager on nearly anything...from the comfort of your computer. So after all these years...even DECADES of suffering...those of you who wanted to bet on me being a plain old lazy bastard...just might lose your money. The reason is, there might be a legitimate medical problem that afflicts me in a way that resembles laziness.

Here's the "inside-skinny" on a widely known sleep disorder that causes chronic fatigue called, SLEEP APNEA. Sleep Apnea is characterized by a pauses in breathing during sleep. Each episode is called an apnea. The word apnea comes from the Greek; apnoia...(privation to breathe). These apneas last long enough so that one or more breaths are missed. Apnea is typified by snorts after snoring. If they occur regularly throughout sleep, you have Sleep Apnea.

I have been a low energy guy my entire adult life. The strange part is...is that I detest laziness in other people. So while I inwardly struggle to fight-off that stigma...the reality is...sluggish and apathetic is how many perceive me. Through the years I have put myself through a battery of tests in search of a solution but the results always come back negative. Friends and family have been supportive but terms like; lazy-ass bastard, has forever dangled over me, like the Sword of Damocles.

OFTEN IMITATED...NEVER DUPLICATED...YES THAT'S JIM CARREY TRYING TO IMPERSONATE MY REALLY BIG 4:PM YAWN.

My condition seems to have worsened in the past few months. So when my doctor of 13 years couldn't come up with any concrete plan of action, I fired him. My frustration and need for deeper insight led me to a new doctor. She listened to my history and said, "Some people are so conditioned to daytime sleepiness that after a while, it seems normal." When I shrugged she added, "Let's get you tested for sleep apnea."

Last night with my pillow in hand and Rodney...a stuffed purple monkey from my son Andrew's infancy, I checked into a sleep study (a. k. a. polysomnogram). The bottom line here is, a technician hooks about fourteen hundred sensors to your body. He then monitors your breathing (nose and mouth), heart rate, etc, etc. Also, through the use of infra-red cameras, he watches your body movements during sleep to detect other symptoms like; foot twitches.

(ARTIST'S RENDERING) WHEN MULTIPLIED BY A GAZILLION ELECTRODES, THIS PICTURE COMES JUST A LITTLE SHORT OF HOW MANY SENSORS WERE ATTACHED TO ME.

The technician, I'll call him Mark because his name was Mark...was personable, patient and knowledgeable. He explained the ins-and-outs while gluing, tacking and stapling the sensors to my head, face, nose, eyes, chest, legs and more. So many wires were on me that Mark made a "wire ponytail" to keep them all together. Then all the wires on the other end are attached to squarish device that looks like a dry-cell battery (about 5 pounds). Acting as a relay machine, it sent the information to the control room. Interestingly, when I had to pee...the device was disconnected from the wall and hooked onto one of my straps. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I was disappointed that I didn't have a camera for this (hopefully) once in a lifetime Kodak moment. Certainly any true fan of the "HONEYMOONERS" would have been reminded of Ralph as the "The Man From Space," in the Raccoon Lodge costume party episode.

NO "MAN FROM SPACE" PHOTO. I WENT THROUGH OVER 500 GOOGLE IMAGES, YOU'LL HAVE TO SETTLE FOR THIS AND USE YOUR IMAGINATION.

At 10:00PM, I settled in for the test.  I was instructed to sleep on my back...to encourage snoring. Quick question, is possible that my apnea has been masked (you'll see the pun later) because all these years, to eliminate my snoring, (disturbing my wife Sue), I have slept on my stomach?

Mark also mentioned that sleep deprivation is unhealthy because it can cause the body to over-compensate, by working harder when you miss breaths. Which can lead to: severe headaches, heart problems, low metabolism, obesity, high blood pressure...even death!

My sleep during the study would not be of the marathon variety. I was hindered by discomfort and anxiety so it took forever to doze off. Even worse, I woke up four times within the first three-and-half hour span. During the last segment, I slept solid from 5:30AM until 8:AM, (actually Mark told me ahead of time that I was supposed to be out by seven).

Even with Mark "comping" me the extra hour, I was out cold when he woke me. He ripped the tape off, OUCH and I got dressed. Imagine a real-life zombie as he rousted me from the faux-bedroom.  In the reception area, I signed-off on a couple of documents and then as if his attitude was screaming; get the hell out, I was given the bum's rush, (maybe he was double-parked).

Like a tramp, (with my toothbrush sticking out of my back pocket), I was thrust back into the cruel outdoor world. Luckily it was too early for anyone I knew to be in that professional plaza, as I did my disoriented "walk of shame" back to my car.

The important thing here is...I WANT TO HAVE SLEEP APNEA. It sounds weird but this is a rare case where you want the disorder because...its easily treated and the remedy works nearly 100% of the time. One way to eliminate sleep apnea is to have tonsils, adenoids or anything else that might block the air flow removed. Or for those bent on avoiding an invasive procedure, a mask connected to a small CPAP machine worn nightly, will render immediate positive results.

SLEEP APNEA TREATED WITHOUT SURGERY...THAT COULD BE ME !

Now with all the knowledge you have on me, call your off-shore cyber-bookie and bet whether I go for the mask or the operation.

R. I. P. : ARNOLD SCHWARTZENBEE

Nothing is more confusing to us Garden Staters than a bunch of 92 degree days in April. Well, maybe there is one exception...as you know, this crazy tropical heat wave really confuses the insect kingdom.
REGARDLESS HOW STRANGE THE WEATHER IS, INSECTS SHOULD NEVER BE USED AS A FASHION STATEMENT.

Those poor misguided pests don't know anything except...to synchronize their thermostat-like body clocks to the thermometer...and start the invasion at 80 degrees.
ONE AT A TIME, INSECTS ARE BEAUTIFUL AND NON-THREATENING.

During our recent swelter, the ants were out early, then mosquitoes flew in from Smithville, my neighbor had a termite infestation, the beetles were spotted in little Sergeant Pepper uniforms, some kids laughed at a rhythm-less centipede as it limped across the street and of course the spiders have it best...they're eating like kings.

The unseasonably warm weather lured my dog Roxy out back frequently. So I'm guessing some member of my household got tired of letting her in and out of our yard, and left our Florida room's door ajar. In situations like this who suffers the consequences the most...not the kid, he's safe at school...not the wife, she's in her gym's sterile environment...and poor defenseless me, is left to stumble-in with only my size-44 "tighty-whities," a brimming happy-face coffee mug and a SUDOKU puzzle.

DON'T BE FOOLED, THE KILLER BEES ARE A REAL THREAT TO ALL OF US.

I hadn't entered in my first "8" when the Battle of Britain came to mind. Only it wasn't Messerschmidts bombing London, it was little old me getting strafed by a hornet and two over-sized bees. The larger of these behemoths was sporting a vanity license plate that read: ARNOLD SCHWARTZENBEE - 747.

A RAMBLING WRECK, ARNOLD WAS TOUGH AND SMART AND ASPIRED TO BE AN ENGINEER.

I'm not as spry as I once was...but with the precision reminiscent of David Carradine crushing a grasshopper, I smooshed the hornet with my ATLANTIC CITY PRESS newspaper. Aptly, its blood soaked corpse now gave color to the previously black & white JUMBLE.
CONFUCIUS PROBABLY WOULD HAVE CAPTURED ARNOLD AND TRIED TO REHABILITATE HIM.

In the next moment, the smaller bee made a B-line for my head. Like I was bouncing from a rose pedal to its stamen, I hopped to the sanctuary of my kitchen and shut the slider.

Then I scoffed at my potential stinger, "I'll be back...with weapons!" Somehow in only seconds, I hunted down the sweet nectar of bug spray that had been buried for years in my garage.

The battlefield was now level...I re-entered the the fray. The smaller bee (which was still the size of a '48 Buick) came at me. Deftly, I locked and loaded. To enhance the advantage of his Kamikaze tactics, he flew out of the sun. Despite being blinded, I instinctively maneuvered into a crouch, aimed over my shoulder and fired...that "bugger" would bumble no more !
IF YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE "BIRDS AND THE BEES" THEN YOU REALIZE IT ONLY TAKES TWO, TO BEGET SWARMS.

From a hidden aerie of reconnaissance, Arnold Schwartzenbee took in all the action. He knew his fallen comrades were ready to push-up daisies so he waited in the wings...ready to pounce when I let-down guard. Playing possum with one wry eye vigilantly surveying the area, I returned to my Sudoku. Lucky me, under such adverse conditions...without really concentrating, I filled-in all the fives and the lower right hand cell...fast! Suddenly, I heard Arnold buzz...he was in the well between the window and screen. I leaped up, closed the window and trapped the B-astard.

I forgot about Arnold for four days. Yesterday I looked in on him...he seemed especially dead. I opened the door and to my surprise, he was quite alive. He flew up...and in a million-to-one shot...I pulverized him by slamming the sliding door on him. When I re-opened the door, Arnold's crumpled body was still kicking. He flew up and fell, and flew up and fell again. To end his misery, I trapped him once more and got my gimmick...the one I call RAID!
ARNOLD USED EVERY TRICK IN THE BOOK AND THOSE PUPPY-DOG EYES REALLY MADE HIM A SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER.

Arnold must have gathered all his strength for one last sortie because he flew up at my face, albeit with far less purpose or enthusiasm. I was ready. I leaned back to avoid his thrust and squirted him. Unlike his smaller buddy, Arnold writhed in agony while struggling to get airborne just one more time. At that point, I squashed him with an old copy of the SACRAMENTO BEE newspaper. My spunky foe was so full of moxie that he still wasn't dead. Without any pomp and circumstance, I told him he was going to the big hive in the sky, scraped-up his barely quivering body and dropped it in the toilet.

If I was teaching a class called, "SURVIVAL - 101," I would have given Arnold a lot of credit. He did not succumb to: starvation, torture, suffocation, poisoning, or getting drown. Therefore, with tremendous admiration, I confidently award to him, posthumously, the grade of...what were you expecting...a "B."