fscobe144 | Frank Scoblete

Naked in the Bathroom

He was naked. In the handicap stall. In the men’s room. Sitting on the toilet. At Bally’s in Atlantic City. You could see in the stall because the door was not flush. He was Asian. Naked.

The great dice controller Jerry “Stickman” and I were on our Odyssey in Atlantic City. The Odyssey is a single day where we pool our money, and go to all the casinos on the Boardwalk (now just five of them as opposed to the 12 in AC’s glory days), where we play one hand of Pai Gow Poker, two hands of blackjack, two hands of mini-baccarat, $40 in a $5 slot machine (one credit per decision) and we each take the dice two times at the casinos whose tables fit our criteria — we have to get our spots and we want 12-foot, standard-bounce tables. If we can’t get that we skip playing craps.

Naturally, except for craps, we are not playing with an edge at any of these games. We don’t wait for high counts in blackjack or find tables where we can get the edge banking at Pai Gow Poker and there is no way to beat mini-baccarat. We don’t bet much at these games, just $25 on each decision. Obviously, there is no edge to be had at $5 slot machines. So in games where no edge is to be had, our tactic is to play very, very few decisions and pray.

At craps we go with our normal bets, obviously far bigger than the bets we make at the other games. This trip we ended at Tropicana where we had a great meal at Carmines. This Odyssey also allows me to scout out the various casinos to see what’s what.

Did we win? Yes. Just barely at the games where we had no edge thanks to a hit on the last slot machine we played. That’s short-term luck. And the power of prayer.

In craps we both had consistently good rolls so skill won out on our Odyssey.

In fact our almost-week in Atlantic City saw me shooting damn well, consistently hitting repeating numbers (which is a wonderful thing). We basically played at 6 am and 9 am with a break in between for breakfast. We did not play evenings or afternoons (except once each when a table was open).

And what of the awesome Stickman, the great, amazingly great, the dice controller with the perfect throw? He wasn’t as consistent as I. Poor lad. All he did was explode several times for monster rolls tickling the 50 mark! It was a dream trip, that’s for sure. Up from the first session and building each session from there. (Let me caution you: It doesn’t always go that way.) Great games; great conversations; great meals. A player’s dream trip.

And then there was this naked guy in the bathroom at Bally’s.

The moment we entered Bally’s from the Boardwalk, there on the stairs leading to the casino were three drug (heroin) addicts, two guys and a girl. I knew them (generically) from my life in New York City. Droopy eyes; sneers from the guy who was most awake; with the girl — totally zonked leaning on his belly — with the second guy blinking to stay awake.

Jerry “Stickman” recognized them too — Memphis had been good schooling for him in this world peopled with the zoned-out dregs of society.

In the casino, which was somewhat crowded, there they were, leaning against the walls, maybe every hundred to two hundred feet apart, the “salesmen.” The druggie would go to a salesman, tell him (they were all men) what he wanted, and then pay the salesman who would use his phone to call the “distributor” who was somewhere else in the building or outside the building.

The salesmen were throughout the casino. In the lobby too and in the portico where you crossed over into Caesars – brazenly standing right there – yet we saw none of these guys in Caesars.

It was then we headed for the restroom; going through the lobby which was empty except for a salesman waiting for orders. In the bathroom was a maintenance man trying to fix a stall door.

Inside the bathroom, we talked:

“Trump Plaza has moved here,” said Stickman.

“Yeah,” I said. “The outer world is closing in on the Boardwalk casinos.”

“Will the casinos last?”

“I really don’t know,” I said. “Resorts looked pretty crowded.”

“Bally’s is becoming the dumping ground from the Trump Dump.”

“Except Bally’s casino is bright and inviting; although some of the wrong people have accepted the invitation,” I said.

Trump Plaza had become known as the Trump Dump and it was always inhabited by the druggies. Its closing was cheered by many casino players who would no longer play in a casino where so many hazy creatures slithered along.

Then I saw the naked guy in the bathroom. He was in the handicap stall; just sitting there. He was Asian and he stared down and then lifted his head and stared straight ahead, then down, then straight ahead — over and over.

I didn’t know if Stickman had seen him. He was at the urinal and I tapped him on the shoulder.

I whispered, “There’s a naked guy in there.”

He whispered back, “Yes. Let me finish peeing.”

“Sorry,” I said and headed out of the bathroom. I passed by the maintenance man who was feverishly trying to fix the stall door.

“That was weird,” said Stickman as he left the bathroom.

“What do you think that was? He loses not only his shirt but also the rest of his clothes?”

“I don’t know. This place is really bringing in the wrong crowd,” said Stickman.

“If this were Vegas they might be able to throw out the drug crowd. I don’t know if they can do that in Atlantic City.”

Stickman nodded. I shook my head.

My God, a naked guy in the bathroom of a casino that had so many of the wrong types seemingly thriving.

That might be more of a herald of Atlantic City’s demise as anything else.

[Read Frank Scoblete’s books I Am a Card Counter: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Blackjack, I Am a Dice Controller: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Craps and Confessions of a Wayward Catholic! All available from Amazon.com, on Kindle and electronic media, at Barnes and Noble, and at bookstores.]

My Education as a Teacher

I graduated college in 1969. For three years I had three majors, literature, philosophy and history. In my senior year I stuck with literature and gave up the rest. I married that year.

So what would I do after I graduated? I could go into the Navy as was my first plan before I received a scholarship to college.

It was the time of the Vietnam War and I figured I would have to serve my country and the Navy seemed the part of the armed forces I’d like the best. After all, I was a strong swimmer. (Why I ever thought that had anything to do with the Navy is beyond me.) Also, I would continue my writing career while I sailed the seven seas. I knew I would become a famous writer as did everyone who put pen or typewriter to paper.

But this Navy plan changed when a friend of mine, Lucy Winiarski, suggested I become a teacher in Suffolk County on Long Island. She had already secured herself a position.

“All you have to do is go in for an interview and take twelve credits of education courses in the summer. They need teachers,” she said.

I never considered being a teacher. Essentially I thought of teachers as people who had the impossible job of controlling kids. As a kid I looked at other kids, I knew how hard it was to control us. Secondarily, these poor schnooks had to educate the students as well. That seemed like trying control a mob of monkeys.

Throughout my schooling, I did have some good teachers, no doubt about that, and many competent ones, no doubt about that either, but the majority were either passible or bad. College professors tended to be somewhat dull with a few exceptions, so joining the ranks of teachers didn’t exactly thrill me. Still I needed money to pay my living expenses.

I went for the interview, got the job on the condition that I get those 12 education credits over the summer, and that was that. I was to become a teacher. Would I even survive this? I’d be teaching seventh grade in an all-seventh-grade school. I figured those kids would probably kill me. But what the hell? Nothing ventured, nothing killed.

I could swim in the Navy or sink in the classroom. I’d try the classroom first and if I drowned there, I’d swim over to the Navy.

So I had to get those education credits. I enrolled in four classes, two each summer session, and there I was the first day of the first class with my notebook opened on my desk awaiting the professor of education who would open the wonders of teaching to me and to all of the education students.

She didn’t. She was awful. She was the worst teacher I had ever had in a college course, or so I thought, until I met the next education teacher. He was worse. He was – in short – an idiot. He and the course had no substance, so I was left dreaming of the high seas. Every eye of just about every student in this guy’s class was droopy within a minute. The class was 90 minutes long!

I took almost no notes. There was no information in the courses, just silly theories about how students act and react. Hadn’t these professors ever gone to school? Were either of these professors ever kids?

And the students in their education classes? A few seemed intelligent and even more than a few seemed like nice people. The rest? Not too impressive. I figured they would be eaten alive when they got into a classroom. I also figured I’d be eaten alive. Perhaps cannibalism awaited all of us, the smart ones and the dumb ones. I didn’t kid myself into thinking that my students would welcome me with loving arms as I entered their classroom.

Their classroom? The professor droned on about their classroom. No, no; my classroom. Yes, the battle – the very first battle – would be in defining whose classroom this was. It had to belong to me, not the students, but if the students took control, they would be the main force in the room. I already knew that some teachers owned the classroom; some teachers were always teetering on the edge of doom and others were devoured by the school of sharks. Yes, I thought, as the professor droned on, a classroom of students could be a school of sharks.

I made it through the first two education courses. Actually, I think an ape could have done that. In my 33 years of teaching the worst level of education came in education courses, usually taught by people who couldn’t teach, offering scant information that at best belonged in comedy clubs. My first six credits instilled in me a disdain for my new profession.

The next six credits taught me a lot, not about education, but about one aspect of teaching that stayed with me for my whole career. One of my two professors was a master teacher, a true master. His curriculum, as with all education curricula, was a waste of time, talent and money, but this professor could teach a class!

He was energetic. He was pleasant. And he was funny. I enjoyed watching him as he taught. I enjoyed how he goaded and brought out ideas in the students – even if the ideas were silly. He could nudge but he was never mean even if he were teasing a student.

I quickly took a seat at the side of the class so that I could watch him teach and learn how he interacted with the students. The guy was no spring chicken; I’m guessing he was about 65 or so – an age I now consider young!

While I didn’t learn anything of merit in the curricula of those two classes, I did see a great teacher in action. His humor was a key ingredient. The students stayed awake because they didn’t want to miss what the guy would say. He also never took offense at anything a student said. He looked as if he enjoyed every minute in the classroom.

I left there knowing that I had to be funny, entertaining, energetic and engaging. Would I be able to do that? Only time would tell.

I also had to tame the sharks.

Is This Funny or Idiocy?

An advertisement in the latest issue of Scientific American (June 2017) has me grinding my teeth after laughing a little, well, a lot. It is an ad for the “Freedom from Religion Foundation” with Donald Trump and Mike Pence having leading roles.

Here is the copy and I’ve tried to use the ad’s type style, punctuation and grammar:

“IN REASON WE TRUST; Don’t let The Religious Right Trump The First Amendment; [Picture of Pence pushing a painting of Thomas Jefferson behind him.] The ONLY WALL We Need Is Between CHURCH And STATE; Your gift to FFRF’s Legal Fund in Mike Pence’s name will help us fight religion in our government. Phone for free copy of FFRF newspaper. Gifts deductible for income tax purposes. 1-800-335-4021 / ffrf.org/pence; FREEDOM FROM RELIGION FOUNDATION”

I have no doubt that just about all left-wingers will find this advertisement funny and might send in generous donations to the Pence fund for Freedom from Religion.

Yes, Mike Pence is a true Christian believer, heavily supporting a ban on gay marriage and wanting to make a law that defines marriage as solely between a man and a woman. He is also in favor of the religious freedom act as incorporated in Indiana for our entire nation.

What is the religious freedom act? In a nutshell it maintains that if someone enters your store and is gay and wants a wedding cake, if such gayness violates one’s religious beliefs you do not have to sell the cake to such a person. That was an actual event. The owners of the bakery would not sell an inscribed wedding cake to (I’m making the names up) Michael and Donnie.

A Kentucky clerk named Kim Davis refused to issue marriage licenses to a gay couple even though issuing such licenses was her job. When asked why she wasn’t following the Kentucky law she said to the effect, “I am following God’s law!” Republican Presidential aspirant Michael Huckabee flew down to Kentucky and was hanging all over Ms. Davis at a rally supporting her religious freedom even if it meant she wouldn’t do her job.

You can see the problem here. If an individual’s religious belief claims that a women should be dressed a certain way in order to come into his store to buy something, and the woman isn’t dressed that way, then he can tell the woman to take a hike. This is happening at an orthodox Jewish store in Brooklyn, New York.

Or if a black businessman says that his religion will not allow him to sell anything to whites then that is okay too. Or whites selling to blacks. Or Indians selling to Pakistanis. Or…on and on.

The right wing is in favor of religion being a part of government. They protest when the 10 Commandments are removed from court houses. They want civil government to be able to officially decorate for Christmas. I understand this too – hell, I love Christmas but I agree that Christmas and official government decorating for it is not the best practice.

So by using Trump and Pence as examples of the kinds of people who want to shove their religion down our throats the foundation thinks it has made the point. (I actually don’t know if Trump is religious but he now talks as if he is, so if the words fit he should wear them.)

Except –

The Freedom from Religion Foundation just zinged half their potential donors! Can’t someone who wants a wall between Mexico and the United States also want freedom from religion? They sure can. But the ad has now labeled them as retrogrades. Why donate money to a group that disdains you?

I am sure that Republicans and independents who voted for Trump and Pence would be less interested in supporting the Freedom from Religion Foundation than leftists. But some of them just might. I would guess that a percentage of Trump and Pence voters might even be atheists or otherwise opposed to mixing religion with government.

Making fun of their former candidates Trump and Pence is stupid; yes, it is total idiocy – funny idiocy at that but idiocy nevertheless. The “freedom from religion” cause is a serious one, calling for rational thought, as opposed to satire.

Supergirl Defeats Superman? Are You Crazy?

I do not mind a little political correctness in my life. Heck, I always say my granddaughter is intelligent and beautiful (she is both) but I make sure the order is intelligent first and beautiful second. If she was stupid and ugly I don’t know what I’d say, maybe “You don’t look so bad for a beast.”

But I am now totally irritated by the television show Supergirl. I am a big superhero fan, I used to write for the comic books, but trampling on the obvious to give us the politically correct is an assault on common sense, nature and superhero lore.

Yes, Supergirl is politically correct in a Romeo and Juliet way. It’s all dangerous love liaisons defying convention (or at least the writers think so): Supergirl (whose Kryptonian name is Kara Zor-El) loves Mon-El an alien from the planet Daxam, a world that was at war for centuries with Supergirl’s now-destroyed home world of Krypton. Their love is a dangerous liaison as Mon-El’s vicious, murderous mother Rhea wants Supergirl dead in order to force Mon-El’s return to Daxam.

[You will note that the names of Supergirl, Kara Zor-El, and Mon-El use the “El” at the end. Superman is Kal-El. For those not too familiar with the bible’s book of Genesis, the word El is a synonym for the God created by the Canaanites but in Genesis it is used in the plural as Elohim. Considering the amazing powers these individuals have on Earth these names seem appropriate. Obviously, Jerry Siegel, the original creator of Superman, knew his scripture!]

But we have other cases of dangerous liaisons. J’onn J’onnz (pronounced John Jones) is a green Martian able to transform his body to look as if he were human. His love is for a white Martian, a member of the group that slaughtered almost all his fellow green Martians in a titanic war on Mars. Still J’onnz, who is the head of the DEO (Department of Extranormal Operations), can’t shake his dangerous love for white Martian M’gann M’orzz.

Winslow, the head computer geek, is in love with an alien nutcase. Cross species love can be a dangerous thing as his love tries to kill him several times before becoming somewhat tame.

The big dangerous liaison (in the writers’ minds) is between Supergirl’s adopted sister Alex Danvers, a DEO agent, and Maggie Sawyer, a detective. This lesbian relationship is a major shout-out for political correctness and it seems these two may get married in the upcoming season. I’ve got no problem with that at all even though a lot of time is wasted exploring their love when we’d like some more action. (The special effects are great in this show.)

But Supergirl went over the cliff in the season finale. She defeated Superman (Kal-El) in a pitched battle. How could that be?

Granted Supergirl can defeat just about all male and female superheroes and just about all villains – but defeating Superman? That’s idiotic.

Given a normal Kryptonian woman and a normal Kryptonian man, the man has greater muscle power, greater speed and is generally bigger and more agile. This tends to hold true on Earth with men and women as well.

Supergirl is no monstrous Hulk; she looks perfectly normal and in relation to Superman, she fits the woman to man ratio. Her strength and agility could not be as great as her cousin Superman. Just multiply by a thousand percent their Kryptonian bodies and the body that was stronger would still be stronger.

I will grant that in terms of their heat-vision and X-ray vision equality might be achieved but their super breath? Superman would win here as well.

Superman would defeat Supergirl in a fair fight and the fight in the finale was a fair fight. There is no question about that. So why did this politically correct show go over the edge in the season’s finale?

In the finale Superman becomes a kind of unneeded appendage; a pathetic figure in the background of the show. Why have him in at all? Why strip the first and greatest comic-book hero in order to worship at the altar of political correctness?

Writers can only push the envelope so far before it bursts. The season finale burst Supergirl big time.

The Best Science Fiction Movies

These are the best science fiction movies I have seen. I did not put in the Big or Gigantic Monsters as they have their own category. Also zombies and vampires go it alone. I also could not rate them in order. I just have two categories — the best of the best and almost the best of the best. Some movies such as Frankenstein are in Horror Movies; Superman in Comic Book Movies.

THE BEST OF THE BEST

The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951): A peaceful alien comes to Earth to warn us about our warlike ways. The first thing that happens to him? He gets shot. His robot returns the fire. Great film with a great message from the 1950’s – we better watch out.

The Thing from Another World (usually called “The Thing”) (1951): This movie turns up the heat and the suspense to the highest level. Brilliant overlapping dialogue, as good as you’ll ever see in a movie of any type. The “Thing” has landed in the North Pole and is hungry and fixated on reproducing. Only a team of soldiers and scientists stand in this creature’s way. Scary as all get out. Wow!

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956): The original and still the best of a half dozen attempts to duplicate it. They are here; they are taking over a small town, and then the planet and they might have already taken the shape of your relatives and friends. Another knockout movie. I was a kid when I saw this movie and couldn’t sleep in the dark for a couple of months. Were my parents really my parents?

Planet of the Apes (1968): Oh, yeah, our close relatives rule “some planet” on which an American astronaut crash lands. The apes hunt humans on this planet, experiment on them. Sadly, the humans on this planet are mute. Our hero played by Charlton Heston is not. Great cautionary tale. Where is that planet?

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1976): More aliens are coming to earth, this time they are friendly. Try to rent or buy the extended version as Richard Dreyfuss gives a great performance of someone obsessed with meeting them.

Star Wars (1976): Terrific space opera. I am sure just about everyone has seen it. The characters have become almost iconic, even the robotic ones. “Use the Force, Luke.”

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978): Great retelling of the original tale but lacks the magic and absolute terror of the first. Still a really fun and scary movie.

Alien (1979): “In space no one can hear you scream!” That was the advertisement and people in the movie and in the audience screamed. Great cast trapped with that horrible creature looking to devour them.

Time After Time (1979): Jack the Ripper time travels to the 20^th Century. He checks out the television news showing scenes of war and carnage and says, “I am home!” He is followed by H.G. Wells. Can Wells stop the murderous Jack the Ripper? Wonderful time travel movie.

Altered States (1980): Take some mind altering drugs; go into a sensory deprivation tank and see what happens. Discover what it (meaning life, the universe, everything) all means. You’ll go ape!

The Empire Strikes Back (1980): Even better than Star Wars with deep, dark resonance. Whatever you do don’t watch Lucas’ relative new Star Wars prequels because all of the suspense of this one is ruined by those.

Blade Runner (1982): AI “humans” are coming to get us. Fun all the way.

E.T.: The Extraterrestrial (1982): Nice alien. Nice kid. Nice movie.

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982): Oh, yeah, Khan returns and he is pissed off and determined to kill Captain Kirk. Great acting, great battles.

The Thing (1982): Good reimagining of the original movie. Not as good; not as scary but still one of the top science fiction movies of all time.

Starman (1984): E.T. for adults. Strong movie about an alien (Jeff Bridges) on Earth looking to get home.

The Terminator (1984): “I’ll be back.” Oh, yes, he certainly will. The machines of the future try to save themselves by sending a killing machine (Arnold Schwarzenegger) into the past to kill the mother of the human resistance, Sarah Connor, before her son, John Connor, can be born.

Back to the Future I, II, III (1985, 1989 and 1990): Each one is superb. Rarely do you watch a trilogy where each movie is absolutely great. Time travel at its best. Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd delight.

Aliens (1986): The original Alien was a horror movie in space. This one is an Indiana Jones type of movie. Non-stop action when the action gets going. Great female heroine played by Sigourney Weaver.

The Fly (1986): Surpasses the original Fly and really shows how a man can become a fly. I hate bugs! But Jeff Goldblum as the Fly is totally great and truly disgusting.

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986): A great time travel movie as the crew of the Enterprise goes back in time to San Francisco. Right up there with the Wrath of Khan.

Terminator II: Judgment Day (1991): Now the bad Terminator of the first movie has become the good Terminator and a shape shifting new Terminator is sent back to kill John Connor, who is now an annoying teenager played by an annoying actor. Still, it is a great movie.

Groundhog Day (1993): A truly great movie about a day – the same day! – in the life of one man.

Twelve Monkeys (1995): A fabulous time travel movie with Bruce Willis and Brad Pitt. Intense all the way, surprising, with terrific performances. Go with it.

Face Off (1997): A good guy exchanges faces with a bad guy. The bad guy exchanges faces with a good guy. Both step into the other’s life. It is brutal, action-packed with an amazingly wonderful ending at a funeral. John Travolta versus Nicholas Cage in a battle at the finish to the finish.

Galaxy Quest (1999): Satires are tough to pull off. This is pulled off with aplomb. Think of the Star Trek actors being lampooned but at the same time there is excitement and fun all the way. You don’t even have to know anything about Star Trek because the movie works on its own.

Signs (2002): Great movie about aliens landing on someone’s farm – but also landing all over the world. We see a small battle between one man and his small family against them. Can a former minister who has lost faith in God defeat these creatures on his property? Excellent theme underlying the entire movie. Great performances by Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix.

Serenity (2005): One of the greatest television shows Firefly continued as a movie. Loved the show and loved this movie. As Sheldon Cooper said, “I can’t believe Fox cancelled this show after one season.” I can’t either. Movie is terrific by the way. Joss Whedon at his best.

War of the Worlds (2005): I like Tom Cruise and he is excellent in this telling of H.G. Wells’ tale about a Martian invasion of Earth. Dakota Fanning is also magnificent as his daughter.

Star Trek (2009): The reboot that scared me. How could you have other actors playing iconic characters from the first series? Turned out to be a fabulous film. The actors caught the essence of Kirk, Spock and McCoy. Never thought this movie would work. Boy was I wrong.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011): This should start a series. Excellent story, even pays homage to Planet of the Apes. Well done all around.

THE GOOD ONES

The Invisible Man (1933)

The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)

This Island Earth (1955)

1984 (1956)

Forbidden Planet (1956)

The Fly (1958)

The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957)

On the Beach (1959)

The Time Machine (1960)

Fahrenheit 451 (1966)

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

The Andromeda Strain (1971)

The Omega Man (1971)

Slaughter House Five (1972)

Sleeper (1973)

Soylent Green (1973)

Westworld (1973)

The Stepford Wives (1975)

The Boys from Brazil (1978)

Somewhere in Time (1980)

Scanners (1981)

The Dead Zone (1983)

Return of the Jedi (1983)

Dreamscape (1984)

Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984)

Brazil (1985)

Cocoon (1985)

Predator (1987)

The Blob (1988)

Big (1988)

The Abyss (1989)

Predator II (1990)

Total Recall (1990)

Demolition Man (1993)

Fire in the Sky (1993)

Village of the Damned (1995)

Independence Day (1996)

Men in Black (1997)

Starship Troopers (1997)

The Truman Show (1998)

Matrix (1999)

A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (2001)

Men in Black II (2002)

Minority Report (2002)

Terminator III: Rise of the Machines (2003)

The Day after Tomorrow (2004)

District 13 (2004)

I, Robot (2004)

I Am Legend (2007)

Avatar (2009)

Terminator Salvation (2009)

The Time Traveler’s Wife (2009)

Real Steel (2011)

The Hunger Games (2012)

Men in Black III (2012)

Looper (2012)

Gravity (2013)

Live, Die, Repeat (2014)

The Martian (2015)

Ex Machina (2015)

Major Disappointments: All the “Next Generation Star Trek” movies. While none was bad they just didn’t have “it.” Terminator III was a decent movie but a replay of Terminator II with a female shape-shifting Terminator.

All three of George Lucas’ new Star Wars films (The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith) should never have been made. These also ruin the suspense and surprises of the original trilogy, the first two of which Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back were brilliant and the third (Return of the Jedi) was good.

Prometheus is the prequel to the Alien series — it stunk. I was hoping the characters would die. Alien III was even worse. Seriously, who cares about vicious prisoners? Let the damn alien eat them. I could not believe they killed off Newt just like that when we spent almost three hours cringing when her life was in jeopardy in Aliens. Killing her was a disgrace. And Ripley’s death scene? Ludicrous, pretentious, poorly conceived. Alien Resurrection was idiotic but still tops Alien III.

Alien versus Predator had some good moments but is not one of the top science fiction movies. Nor are the other two predators versus aliens movies worth watching — but compared to the three new Star Wars clunkers these could be considered Gone with the Wind.

Evolution had a good premise but someone should have awakened David Duchovny and explained to him that he had to act, not nap, during his scenes.

All the X-Files movies missed the boat or the space craft or whatever the hell they needed to rev these pictures up.

Arrival has Amy Adams in it. That’s the best thing about this bomb that tries to be sophisticated and winds up just silly.

The Wizard of Oz is a totally overrated movie. I didn’t even like it when I was a kid. I think I’ll get some criticism but the movie should go back to Kansas and never leave.

NOTE: I will let you know what I think of the new movies after I see them. I tend to wait for them to come out on Blu-Ray and I watch them in my home theater. My sound system and television are better than the movies and I can stop everything, go to the bathroom, get more popcorn and pick up the movie where I left off. I only have a small problem; my wife telling me, “Turn down the sound, Scobe, you are going to kill our parrots!”

Take It Easy

I remember when I was a teenager experiencing my first bout with alcohol. At the time in New York City the drinking age was 18 and at 18 – vavavoom! I went to my first bar in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I think the bar was on 98^th street on 4^th Avenue in the St. Patrick’s parish near Fort Hamilton. (I wonder if that bar is still there?)

I ordered a beer. My friend also ordered a beer. We drank slowly, savoring our first taste of what had been the forbidden fruit; or the forbidden fruit juice. It wasn’t delicious but it was booze! I was drinking booze just like all the other grizzled men at the bar. I wasn’t grizzled at that time in my life but I felt a part of a larger society, men who drink.

My second glass of beer went down more smoothly and a little faster at that. The third went faster and my taste for the beer grew, in fact I ordered another before I even finished the one I was on.

The night started to get hazy and I was now socking them down. My friend socked them down too and then he went to the bathroom. I am not quite sure when. I had a few more beers by the time he came back to the table.

“I got sick,” he said.

“Ha! Ha!” I laughed. “You can’t hold your booze like I can.” I then patted what I thought was my cast iron tummy. “Ah ha!” I rejoiced.

Somewhere in a dim dizzy world I was walking down 4^th Avenue towards the Verrazano Bridge which had recently been completed. I found myself puking all over myself and everything near me. I rolled into the bushes and passed out. I had no idea what happened to my friend. In fact, I never even thought of him.

A light was shining in my face. “Uh, uh,” I mumbled.

The cop said to someone behind him, “Is this your son?”

My father came forward and said, “Yes.” Dawn was at hand. I had been in the bushes all night.

I don’t remember how I got home. I do remember that my father and I did not say a word to each other, or if we did I have no recollection of it.

At home I took off my clothes, got into the shower, and all was hazy but my growing headache. I went to sleep and when I woke up late that afternoon I asked myself, “What did I do? What the heck did I do last night? The whole evening was shot to hell.”

And that is what many casino gamblers feel the next morning after a night that started off slow and happy while ending fast and horrible.

Casino gambling can be like drinking. You start off totally in control, play in a relaxed fashion, but as time passes you play faster and faster. This is especially true of slot players. If that slot player also drinks as well then…well, then I am sure you get the fast-motion picture.

Table-game players increase their bets as they hang around the tables and if those players drink…well, then I am sure you get the expensive picture.

The next morning many casino players ask themselves the same question I did so long ago, “What did I do? What the heck did I do last night?”

I am not telling people not to play casino games; these games are fun. I am not telling casino gamblers not to have a few drinks (only a few mind you). But I am saying this: Restrain yourself. Do not increase your speed of play; do not bet more as the night wears on.

I no longer have to worry about winding up in the bushes under the lights of the Verrazano Bridge. I know how much I can drink and I know I do not have a cast iron stomach. I know that if my father were still alive he would not have to scour Bay Ridge to find his unconscious son.

Casino gamblers should learn such a lesson as well.

Abortion and Dogs

I used to love dogs. I really did. I didn’t love dogs the way some people on Facebook love them. Maybe these dog-lovers were dogs in their past lives, if past lives make any sense whatsoever in the big scheme of things.

I see people showing pictures on Facebook of them kissing and cuddling and curling up with their dogs, and also writing ecstatic words of love to their furry little and big friends. I do not knock their deep and abiding love for these creatures, even those weird little Chihuahuas that (hard though it is to believe) we created from noble wolves. If dog lovers love “Butch,” or “Whimpy Woodle,” or “Peggy Pugnose,” hey, that’s their thing. The fact that some dog-lovers actually sleep with these carnivores is somewhat strange don’t you think?

I had a great dog, Sam, a Golden Retriever, who was mild-mannered, relaxed, loving and gentle (she had to be gentle since my two little boys –played really rough with her). I have to say I had really fond feelings towards that animal. If there is reincarnation Sam is now a person whose picture is on Facebook cuddling her dog.

But something changed in me over the years. My tolerance level for a dog’s stench, their drool, their constant slobbering just became too much. And it all became summed up in a dog called Cheney, my son and daughter-in-law’s attempt to have a pet before they had the ultimate responsibility – two beautiful children.

Since both of them worked, Cheney was brought up by himself. He was a huge Golden Retriever, weighing close to 100 pounds. He was largely unschooled. He smelled like crap mixed with bad breath and a hint of death. Unfortunately, he also thought of himself as a lap dog. He’d leap on you if you sat on the couch; his ass in your face and his tail wagging against your cheeks as if he was slapping you. Man, you needed a gas mask to survive the odor.

At dinner, the beast would hide under the table and if you turned your head to talk to someone his tongue lashed out like a lightning bolt to suck up whatever you left unprotected on your plate. (“Hey, what the hell happened to my steak?”) His tongue was like those frog’s tongues that shoot out about a yard to catch some poor flying insect.

Cheney was not fun to be around. His farts were awful. They could depopulate a native village.

Cheney put the finishing touches on my love of dogs. Now I just tolerate them – and, to be honest, I often can’t stand them. I do not, however, wish them any harm nor do I wish their human lovers any harm either.

And that’s why I just don’t understand dog lovers who are pro-abortion or, as they call it, pro-choice. They love these smelling, drooling, slobbering beasts but babies don’t connect with them. I write this because a ferocious dog lover I know is a leader in the pro-abortion movement. It is almost like a religion with her; a religion only surpassed by her love for her dogs – a smelly lot. Her pictures of her dogs are all over the Internet too. She even does dog rescue. In her mind humans were created in the image and likeness of the divine being – Dog. (God spelled backwards.)

I am not saying that the dog lovers who are pro-abortion do not love babies that have finally struggled out of the womb; many do love the little imps and many more tolerate them despite the fact that the little lovelies poop and spit up and drool and burp and fart, just like their dogs. But for some weird reason when a baby is inside a womb, they make all manner of silly excuses to remove the kid’s humanity from him or her. That allows them to kill the little one with lack of conscience.

I read a long (intolerably long) essay by some lawyer (not my cousin Maria or Margaret) expounding on all the reasons why a fetus was not a human being. Essentially it all boiled down to not being out of the womb or able to live on its own. (I don’t know one infant who is able to live on his own, do you? Even a new born dog can’t live on its own.)

The need to strip a human of his/her human qualities allows us to kill that human with no stirrings of our conscience. I understand that. I also understand the need for us to so label those we wish to kill. Jews were defined as less than human by Nazi’s, so why not kill them? They are annoying vermin and many of them are communists, more vermin, so exterminate them and goosestep into the future to create the fourth Reich. You can make a list of all the people throughout history who were defined as non-people which then gave the “real” people the right to kill them.

There is no doubt that societies determine who can be put to death. A society that defines who can be put to death defines that death as “not murder,” just killing. The Catholic Church which now sanctimoniously opposes the death penalty had a blast putting witches and heretics to death throughout the middle ages.

The laws of Moses prescribe the death penalty for a ton of infractions. (Most people are not aware of this fact.) Indeed, the commandment is “Thou Shalt Not Murder,” not “Thou shalt not kill.” How could it be otherwise when in later laws the death penalty is given for various offenses? The death penalty is killing. All the wars Yahweh engaged in were killing. Ask the Egyptians if killing of their first born was killing. I think they would answer yes. But killing is not murder.

That is essentially the argument of pro-abortionists. A fetus is not a human in the human sense as we define humanity now. It can be killed. Society states that the killing of such a fetus is not murder. I do not agree with diminishing the humanity of a child inside a womb. I realize we are allowed to kill it but I prefer giving the little thing the benefit of being a person and not some vermin.

Our society in the form of the Supreme Court says that killing a baby in the womb is just fine; it is not murder. If a woman needs to get an abortion then she can get one. But please do not try to pretend it is just killing some cells or other. You are killing a human being. You are allowed to do that in our society, which is absolutely true, but don’t give the song and dance that the baby is just something of an “other” as opposed to a human because it is not crying, crapping and flopping outside the womb.

In short, I believe we should recognize the humanity of a baby in the womb. Pretending otherwise is just pretend. Early on the lawyer who wrote the interminably long article used the number of cells in the baby to define what a human was; then he went to lack of full brain development (hey, we don’t get our adult brains until 25 years of age – or so – and that’s why teenagers are so maddening); and then he used the “in or out of the womb” treatise. The guy was all over the place in his effort to dehumanize the baby so we could be comfortable killing it.

Why bother to do any of that? Just say that in our society we can kill babies in the womb and be done with it. Let’s not do what other societies have done and fall back on the primitive but seemingly lasting idea that those we can kill are somehow less than the rest of us; in short those we can’t kill because they are not less than us. I prefer reality to illusion in the case of abortion. I prefer it in the case of the death penalty too. A criminal we decide to kill is not being murdered by us, just killed. He’s still a person.

I prefer an honest discussion of the abortion issue without the flim flam of attempts to create definitions that lack substance. We have the right to kill that baby, fine; just don’t say it isn’t a human being.

And give your slobbering, smelly pooch a hug for me.

[Read Frank’s book Confessions of a Wayward Catholic! Available on Amazon.com, on Kindle and other electronic media, Barnes and Noble, and at bookstores.]

An Old Hand at Birding

I face the abyss. I am about to turn 70. How is that possible? 70. Seventy?

I would be lying if I said 70 is just a number – it is a number, but one with great meaning; I am at the end lap of life’s race. I can’t pretend that is not so. 70! Time has sped up so that a blink now seems to be the time a year takes, yet I am somewhat slowed. I experience faster and slower simultaneously. I do not put in eight to 10 hours of writing work a day; I am down to three or four.

I still feel I haven’t done all of the things I want to do and I do worry I will not have the time to do them.

The abyss is opening. I see its edges not so far away.

These thoughts weighed heavily on me as my wife the Beautiful AP and I headed for Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge for our weekly South Shore Audubon Society’s Sunday bird walk. Last week we were at the Hempstead Lake State Park. I do love these bird walks.

If you have never been to the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge take a trip there. It is a fascinating ocean of nature on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, with lakes and bays and birds galore. You also have magnificent views of Manhattan off in the distance. Raw nature entangled in civilization.

We met in the parking lot. There were about 20 of us, led by Joe our birding expert. I noticed there were some new folks at this walk – there are always a few new folks each week – plus the regulars, a truly nice group of people.

At 9 a.m. Joe led us into the park. There is a single path that goes around what used to be a fresh-water lake that has now become salt ever since tropical storm Sandy smashed through the barrier that had kept the salt marsh on its side of the path and the lake on the other.

Today we would be able to walk the one and a half miles around the lake. Estimates are the lake will again be fresh water in about 20 years. Will I see that?

As we walked I noticed her, an older woman, far older than my approaching 70, who would stop and sit every hundred yards or so. There are benches all the around the lake so people can sit and watch the birds on the water, on the marsh grass, in the air and in the branches of the trees.

She sat and eyed everything through her binoculars. As we progressed along the path, I noticed something. This woman’s eyes were sharp. She’d pick out birds none of the rest of us could see and alert us to where they were.

The great fish-devouring ospreys have returned to the Northeast and use the nesting sites set up to protect them from the perils of manmade havoc in their habitat. But the ospreys were not in their nests as we walked; they were in and around the marshlands, basically unnoticeable as they blended with their environment – but she could find them and point out exactly where these beautiful birds were hunting for Sunday brunch. The osprey’s diet is strictly fish and several she had sighted were eating such fish.

She also walked with a great gait, walking stick in hand, from one bench to another bench where she would scour the water-scape and alert us to the unseen birds.

I watched her for the entire 1.5 miles. She had a zest for birding. She had a fine sense of humor (anyone who laughs at my witty remarks has a fine sense of humor) and she knew her birds. She obviously enjoys her life.

Maybe the abyss is not so abysmal? Maybe I should just do the things I want to do and not worry so much about time? Maybe 70 is just a number – one that leads to other numbers. Maybe it isn’t the end of it all. Maybe, just maybe, seeing this sharp, vibrant person who sees 70 distantly in her rearview mirror, is helping me see 70 through my windshield in a better light.

The Look, the Voice, the Truth

When I mention to people that I am a writer and I often write about gambling and casinos, I will get “the look” from some of them. “The look” incorporates a scrunched up forehead, a slight involuntary sneer, a tilt of the head often followed by the words, “Oh, you’re a gambler?” The tone of the question is in keeping with the scrunched forehead, the sneer and the tilted head – not pleasant at all.

What have I done wrong? Have I murdered someone? Stolen food from a baby? Looted Little Lulu’s college fund?

Being a gambler is not perceived as a good thing as gamblers are often lumped in with problem or addictive gamblers. Certainly, the 54 million people who go to casinos every year are not addicted to gambling nor are those people who play a football lottery daily slaves to Lady Luck’s charms. If you like a glass or two of wine with your dinner are you a raging alcoholic? I think not.

The fact that we all gamble all the time is often lost on most people. That loving couple you see strolling hand-in-hand along the beach (regardless of their age) took a gamble on each other. Would a relationship work out? They had to gamble and see.

The person waiting for the bus or in the terminal boarding his flight or heading up the planks boarding a cruise ship or selecting tonight’s dinner items, or walking across the street or going into a pool or ocean; all these people are taking a gamble. Gambling is a part of everyday life. In fact, it is most of everyday life.

We tend to dismiss the above gambles because we make most of them all the time. You could be walking down the street and a rock falls on your head and injures you – the act of such walking down the street was a gamble.

The biggest gamble people probably take is having children. That is genetic roulette of the first order as you have no idea which genes will be coming out in your kid(s). Will it be the brilliant but overly neurotic Aunt Emma from the 17^th century? Will it be from Karl, the great athlete? Will it be someone with a pleasant disposition? Or will it be the raging serial killer from the 1500s?

Parents have sometimes heard their kid say, “I didn’t ask to be born!” Many parents would love to shoot back, “I didn’t ask for you to be born either. I wanted someone else.” Children? A lifetime gamble that’s for sure.

For most people most of their children turn out to be okay to brilliant – that’s the continuum.

For casino gamblers the continuum would be from those who use it as their major pastime to those who go on occasion. Yes, in life there are outliers; people who gamble until they harm themselves and others, and people who never gamble on casino games. The latter dominates the outlier group.

Most people are rarely in the outlier groups; that’s why such groups are outliers, they constitute the extreme ends.

So the next time someone gives you “the look,” ignore them. They know not what they do or have done every day of their life.

They Fly

The South Shore Audubon Society’s lovable bird walk expert Joe was swabbing some stuff over his face and in and around his ears. Our bird walk was to take place at Jones Beach West End #2. We’d tramp through the underbrush as word had gotten out that migrating birds were in the area in full force. It’s spring; here come the birds!

We were in the parking field, the size of several football fields, waiting for everyone to show up. As Joe was smearing his face, I was engaged in a conversation that would probably make me a couple of enemies in the club. I seem to have that ability.

I had mentioned to some of the people around me that I watched La La Land the night before and that I disliked it. Well, perhaps I used the word awful a number of times and perhaps my wife was about to introduce me as her husband, Archie Bunker. I did not enjoy the poor singing (except for the one strong singer Johnny Legend), the even worse dancing and the story. Two men who loved the movie were crushed and dismayed by my criticism and strongly disagreed. I attributed that to the fact that we rarely see musicals anymore and that people have been hungering for such and La La Land filled the bill. For some reason, the two men didn’t speak to me for the rest of the bird walk. Hmmm.

Then Joe called us to attention. “Folks, there are a lot of mosquitoes in this area. I suggest you use mosquito repellent. They are out there in force.”

Mosquitoes! My sworn enemies! Even as I write this my face is itchy from a half dozen bites; my neck has even more such bites. My wife and I didn’t even think that in this early spring those monsters would be out, flying about, looking for a meal. And I am one of their favorite meals.

I kid you not. If I decide to take the garbage to the curb, I will return inside with a few new bites that swell and set me off a-scratching. My wife has no trouble with mosquito bites. The only upside to this is that my wife has to take out the garbage.

I wanted to find out why some people are the buffet of choice for mosquitoes and why some people are not.

I did a little research on the topic a few years ago. It seems that all humans have various kinds of bacteria on our skin – maybe a hundred different types. But some of us have a kind of bacteria that drives mosquitoes crazy with the munchies. As I stood next to my wife, I never saw one mosquito land on her. I was swamped with the buggers. It seems that I have the buffet bacteria and she doesn’t. Life is so unfair! But then again, there is the taking out of the garbage to balance things out.

We were in the dunes by the ocean, looking for beautiful birds (and we found many) but the flying mosquito monsters were buzzing around even more than the birds. I had a hoodie and I had it zipped to my chin but still my face and neck were there for a feeding. And those monsters were feasting. Every time I smacked my forehead I’d kill a couple, bloody mosquito carcasses were squashed on my fingers.

I learned a valuable lesson over the years; not all creatures that fly are wonderful and beautiful. Some are disgusting. Thus, the mosquito.