Man on the Cusp III

In less than a month I will be 66 years old.

I doubt very highly I'm going to be getting my kicks on Route 66.

Several years I wrote the line that "I am poised on the cusp of an age that I thought was exclusively reserved for people's parents." Frankly I am no longer poised on the cusp. I am so far over the cusp that I am now at the age exclusively reserved for people's parents even if people are 50!

My name is Perry Block. I am 65 years old, born September 12, 1950. I am a Truman baby. I hate all of these facts.

When I began my blog in 2010, I called it "Perry Block - Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute." But frankly I'm not Nouveau Old anymore. I'm Nouveau like the dinner specials at the House of Pancakes are Nouveau.  I'm Nouveau like striped bell bottom pants are Nouveau. I'm Nouveau like someone eagerly looking forward to the next Chevy Chase movie is Nouveau.

And I realize that although I am no longer cute, I still have long eyelashes.   What's the point? It’s like somebody pasted them on the wrong person.  Maybe I should donate them so that some eyelash-less young guy can be fluttering his baby blues ---yeah I’ll give him those too --- while I’m feeding pigeons on a park bench and muttering about how I used to have eyelashes and how the government is conspiring to poison our toothpaste

I used to love the classic movies from the 30's, 40's, and 50's, watching Bogart, Jimmy Stewart, and Hepburn (Katherine and Audrey).  But now I can't help avoid the fact that all of the beloved stars I grew up with are ten feet under, maybe more if the soil's been shifting! I never thought Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, and two out of four Beatles would ever be described in the past tense. 

So I struggle anymore to block out thoughts of the inevitable whenever I watch Casablanca and search the TV listings for movies starring folk who are yet breathing like Keanu Reeves, Nicholas Cage, and Adam Sandler. 

That may be the most depressing fact of all. 

And what kind of legacy am I going to leave behind?  What will they write about me in generations to come?

Well, Perry never burned anything down. Some days he didn't spill the coffee. And remember how Perry took that courageous stand against the smell of cheese, once almost directly within earshot of an Italian? 

So what is a guy heading straight on down Route 66 to do?  Well, for starters …

1) I will set aside all my prior regrets, leaving ample room to create new ones. 

2) I will never again be self-deprecating although this will difficult to achieve for a loser like me.

3) I will take a strong stand on the issues of the day, but cave in on any issues that come up at night.

4) I will rededicate myself to the great traditions of Judaism, especially the ones involving matzoh ball soup and drinking Passover wine until I not only pass over but pass out.

5) I will live my life boldly, unafraid, and with total strength and confidence.  I’d like to talk to you further about it, but you scare me.

6) I will never again take the easy road unless it saves on tolls.

7) I will not give in to fear of any kind except for the kind that involves spiders and anyone with a thick black mustache. 

8) I will no longer worry about the Grim Reaper, although I’m hoping he will be satisfied if I make a significant contribution to the Grim Reaper Foundation. 

9) Recognizing reality, I will only approach women who are in my age range. Then I will ask them if they have a much younger sister.

10) I will strive to broaden myself intellectually and spiritually every day right until it's time to leave for the dog track.

So, it will soon be time to see if I can truly get my kicks on Route 66.  And guess what, Boomers?  Although Martin Milner has met his maker, George Maharis is very much alive.

If only George Maharis had starred in Casablanca.  

My name is Perry Block. I am 65 years old, born September 12, 1950. I am a Truman baby. I hate all of these facts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Holidays

LA is a city of some seven million people.  That's a lot of folks with a lot of different hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Me, I'm just another one of the seven million.  But my line of work is a bit different from most of the other suckers.

I'm Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Holidays!

How did I get into this racket? I used to be Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Cellphones. That was good money at $500 a day plus expenses until people caught on all they had to do was dial their own cellphone number and they'd find their phone under the bed or in their other pants pocket. 

So I'm working the holiday heist beat these days. I'd like to say it's a living, but with three ex-wives and enough alimony to sink Bill Gates, that it could never be!

Well, I was sitting in my office on a Thursday afternoon that was so slow Governor Christie could have beaten it in a foot race. I was boning up on the latest news in lost or missing holidays  --- North Dakota's Rock Salt Festival had just gone missing and in Indonesia someone had ripped off Kimono Dragon Entrails Day --- when she came in.

"Mr. Kane?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"I need your help."

The dame stood four foot three with a shape like a bassoon.  She had short tufts of red hair, a pushed in nose, and toenails you could use for mountain climbing. If you're looking for a story with a little romantic interlude later on, you better look elsewhere.  

"So what's your beef, sister?"

"Mr. Kane, I'm Angelica Who from Whoville."

I was familiar with Whoville. I'd spent two weeks there one night. 

"Mr. Kane," she went on, "someone has stolen Christmas!"

"Beg pardon?"

"Everythings gone. Decorations, presents, Santa, reindeer, elves ..."

"Baby Jesus too?"

"Yes, Baby Jesus too!  And every last bit of gold, frankincense, and myrrh."

And myrrh!  The words cut through me like a knife sold on a late night infomercial which dramatically cuts your time making julienne fries.  Only one man was devious enough to steal myrrh.  The same one man who actually knew what myrrh was!

"Sister, I already know who the culprit is," I told Ms. Who."It's Maximilian De Grinchford Jr., an international holiday thief of great renown, also known as the Grinch."

"How do you know it's him?" asked the Whoville doll.

"The Grinch is the only one who has the capability to pull off this job. Why, he's the one who stole St. Clorox Day!"  

"What's St. Clorox Day?"

"See that?  Stole it so cleanly you don't even remember it existed. It was the late March holiday for liquid bleach."

I knew that the Grinch had been seen in Eastern Europe trying to fence parts of Labor Day he'd stolen last September, specifically a load of barbecue equipment and one beer cooler. I bid Ms. Who goodbye after grabbing a retainer of $250 and credit for one shitload of candy canes once I got Christmas back, and headed for Prague in the Czech Republic.

Upon arrival I made a number of connections among the seamiest and most dangerous of local underworld types including guys with highly visible neck tattoos that read "I Savor Parsing the New Yorker" until I found a gentleman named Willie the Snitch who directed me to Cafe Praguelegs, where at long last at a corner table behind a vail of smoke seated next to a leggy blond was the green-hued gentleman I knew as the Grinch. 

"Hello, Grinch, it's been a while."

"Kane! Why, I haven't seen you since you tried to pin that St. Clorox Day job on me. Getting whiter whites these days, are you?"

I wasn't gonna rise to the bait.

"Grinch, I'm not going to screw around.  You've got Christmas, I want it back."

"I don't know anything about any Christmas, Kane,"  said the Grinch.

"Then why is Will Ferrell as Elf sticking out of your left pocket?"

"Um ... no, Kane, that's not Will Ferrell as Elf.  That's Will Ferrell as Anchorman. Totally different thing."

Sounded reasonable.  But then I remembered the Grinch thought Anchorman was overrated, just like I did. I leaped at the Grinch with a karate chop to the neck, but unfortunately I missed and killed Will Ferrell.  Kind of a shame but at least we're spared another Anchorman sequel.

And thus began a chase across the four corners of he world

I caught up with the Grinch in Istanbul, where we exchanged gunfire. I had to exchange mine because it was in the wrong color and size;  I don't why he took his back. Then I tracked him to Venezuela where we fought hand to hand, then Madrid where we fought hand to ankle and nose to elbow, and finally to Stockholm where we fought hair weave to hair weave and hand wave to hand wave at a distance of 25 feet. 

I knocked the Grinch to the ground with a hand wave nothing short of the way Granny waves at the end of The Beverly Hillbillies and was upon him.

"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!"  I cried "WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!"

  "Kane!  Kane! I give up," gasped the Grinch.

"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!!" 

"You're not going to believe me, Kane," sputtered the Grinch, "but I gave it away!"

"You gave it away?  You gave it away? Well, excuse me, Mother Teresa!"

"I swear it, Kane! I gave it away."

"To whom?"

"I gave it to the people of Liberia, Sierra Leone, and everywhere in Western Africa struggling with Ebola. They need it."

I was stunned.

"I'll have to confirm that, Grinch.  But what possessed you?"

"For some reason this year, Kane, my heart grew three sizes."

"That's impressive, Grinch.  I'd like to duplicate that growth on myself, but on a different body part."

Well, it turned out the Grinch was telling the truth.  He'd given the nations of Western Africa a one year loaner of Christmas, to be returned to the folks of Whoville by next year. When I told them, the residents of Whoville were delighted to help out those less fortunate in this way.  Plus I'd still get all my promised candy canes next year and I had a pretty hot romantic interlude with Angelica Who after all.  

What are you gonna do?

As for me and the Grinch ...

"Well, Grinch, it looks like this could be the start of a beautiful friendship! Grinch?  Grinch?"

"Goddamit, Grinch, get your hands off Hanukkah!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brandon Block IS The Graduate

It's hard to believe, but my son Brandon Block is The Graduate.  This spring he's graduated from high school and is headed off to college in the fall.  I'm a little concerned, however, that he may be taking his role as The Graduate just a wee bit too much to heart.

Lately the kid's been kind of listless, mostly just lying around the pool and drinking beer. 

"Brandon," I said, "what's going on?  It's perfectly understandable that a young man who's done excellent work might want to relax a bit, but you're taking this to extremes."

"I'm a little concerned about my future, Dad," said Brandon. 

"I am, too," I replied, "especially considering we don't have a pool."

"Some guy at the graduation party suggested  I go into plastics."

"Plastics!  This isn't 1967!"

Brandon's odd behavior continued.  One day soon after, he walked into the kitchen with a startling announcement.

"I hope you won't be too shocked, Dad, but I'm having an affair with Mrs. Robinson, the wife of your business partner."

"Frankly, Brandon, I am shocked.  Because I don't know anybody named Mrs. Robinson, and I don't have a business partner!"

"Nevertheless, I'm having an affair with Mrs. Robinson.  It began one night in a hotel where I also had an amusing interaction with a desk clerk played by actor/writer Buck Henry."

Now I was really concerned!  I was so concerned I discussed the situation with my psychiatrist, Dr. Kropotkin, but what he said was not all that reassuring, especially when he asked me if I could get him Buck Henry's autograph.

Then came the bombshell.

"Dad, I'm going to marry Elaine Robinson."

"Isn't that kind of a half-baked idea, son?"

"No, it's completely baked."

"No, Brandon, I mean it's half-baked in that  She's a fictional character! None of these people are real, they're characters in a movie!!! 

"Nevertheless, I am going to marry Elaine Robinson."

Two days later, I received a phone call that was the final straw.

"Who is this?  Mike Nichols? Mike Nichols who?!  Brandon did what?!  Disrupted Elaine Robinson's wedding and ran off with her?!!  He wants me to meet him where?!!!"

I  sped to the address the man had given me, ran into the house, and incredibly there they all were: the late Anne Bancroft as Mrs. Robinson, the late Murray Hamilton as Mr. Robinson, the young Katherine Ross as Elaine Robinson, Dustin Hoffman as no one in particular, and even Buck Henry!

"Brandon, how is this possible?!" I exclaimed. "How can you actually be The Graduate?"

"Everybody's The Graduate at some time or other, Dad.   Life's like that.  And  then we move on to another movie."

"I think I get it," I said.  "And this is your time. What movie's next for you?"

"Who knows? That's all part of the deal."

"Hey, Bran, if it turns out to be Casablanca?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Can you get me Bogey's autograph?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Autographs anyone?

Of Mammaries and the Movies, or My Take on Tits

At no point in the classic Hitchcock film “Northwest by Northwest” do we witness star Gary Grant’s bare butt writhing and thrusting on top of a naked Eva Marie Saint as he caresses her undulating breasts.

That's because “North by Northwest” was made in the 1950's, before people began having sex.

Or at least began having sex in the movies.

What the audience sees instead is the train they’re traveling on roar into a tunnel, the sight of which impelled me to beg my parents for years to take me on train trips that included lots of tunnels.

  

Back in the 50's and early 60’s, the epitome of celluloid sex was a profile shot of the rapidly maturing Mouseketeer Annette Funicello turning sideways or a glimpse of Barbara Eden's navel on a day the “I Dream of Jeanie” makeup man ran out of putty.

Nowadays I know every square inch of Anne Hathaway's anatomy almost as well as does the Jewish guy she married!  

It was 1968 when naked boobs first came to neighborhood movie screens. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw what looked like eyes when a hot young blonde nonchalantly peeled off her top in the movie “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.”

I raced home and threw my entire collection of National Geographics in the trash.

Boobs thereupon began bouncing abundantly anywhere and everywhere on the silver screen.

Nowadays everything goes in the movies including any sense of propriety.  It's a rare film that doesn't feature Mark Ruffalo hammering Julianne Moore, Natalie Portman switching teams with Mila Kunis, or Paul Reubens responding in kind in the audience.

But these days except when either the film - or my mood - truly calls for sex, I’d just as soon watch “Frozen.”

No, I'm not suggesting we return to the days of Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint acting like saints until the rapid approach of a well-timed tunnel. There were layers of reality and story-telling lost due to the sensitivities of the times. But there was also something discrete and respectful that’s missing today that helped make many of the older films classics.

It has never been my burning passion to turn on Turner Classic Movies and see Ethel Barrymore or Margaret Hamilton frolicking nude on a beach. The great screwball comedies starring the likes of Gary Grant and Katherine Hepburn are better without the alternate connotations of “screw” and “ball.”

And as for classics like “Casablanca?” 

"Did you leave me for Lazlo because he had a bigger penis?"

"No, Rick, I left you because Victor Lazlo is my husband.  Because he’s a great man and a great leader of our cause. And he has a bigger penis."

Nah, gimme my film classics straight - unabridged, crotch-less, boob-free and with a minimum of writhing.

I'm glad I got to see Isabella Rossellini's tits in “Blue Velvet.”

But I'm even gladder I never got to see her mom's.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   

Return to Casablanca --- But Not for the Waters

"Yes, Ilsa, we'll always have Paris. And there'll be rude waiters for us wherever we go."


Directed by Perry Block 

                       

This highly “watered-down” version of Casablanca was taken from the original tweeted version of Casablanca I experimented with several months ago on my Twitter site. Y’know, the experiment which has since been come to be known as my own personal Gigli.

Here I have “de-tweeted” the tweets and turned Return to Casablanca --- But Not for the Waters into cinematic form. I’ve also added some extra dialogue and stage directions here and there, ostensibly to bridge originally disjointed tweets. So if you see some phrases or brief sequences clearly not from the actual movie or a bit out of order, please don’t get all hot and bothered that I’m not a Casablanca “purist!”

Hey, I live vicariously through this movie; you have a real life! So who’s the bigger Casablanca fan?! Huh?! Huh?!

Please be advised that this post is pretty long. You may want to bring your lunch and/or be prepared for a rest stop somewhere between Scene VI and Scene VIII.

So now, settle back, forget about all the constructive things you should be doing, and Return to Casablanca --- But Not for the Waters!

Cast of Characters:

Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) --- What can I say? Every guy on the planet wants to be either Bogey, Superman, or Bugs Bunny. In my case, all three!

Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) --- What can I say? I’ve seen the lady.

Inspector Louis Renault (Claude Rains) --- The quintessential oily opportunist who becomes a hero, as portrayed by one of the greatest character actors of all time!

Victor Lazlo (Paul Henreid) --- No, not Hans Conreid, Boomers. Paul Henreid!

Ugarte (Peter Lorre) --- Always so cool, off-beat, and one-of-a-kind. Here in his young, thin, and out of the picture too quickly days.

Ferrari (Sydney Greenstreet) --- Corpulent, inscrutable, and also out of the picture too quickly. Want to have fun? Catch him in Three Strangers, also with Peter Lorre.

Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt) --- Further proof that aging sucks. Twenty -three years earlier he’s the young sleepwalking murderer in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Here he’s already Nouveau Old!

Sam (Dooley Wilson): Probably the only sensible one in the bunch!
___________________________________________________

 Casablanca! 

Land of mystery .... intrigue .... romance.   I never been there, have you?

Scene I

Upstairs at Rick’s Café Américain. Richard Blaine, owner of Rick’s and American ex-patriot, and Inspector Louis Renault, corrupt but cute as all get out, are conversing.  

Louie: Rick, I've often speculated why you don't return to America. Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with a senator’s wife? I like to think you killed a man, it’s the romantic in me.

Rick: Actually, Louie, it had more to do with ripping a label off the bottom of a mattress!

Louie: Why did you come to Casablanca?

Rick:  I came to Casablanca for the waters.

Louie: What waters, we’re in the desert?

Rick: I was misinformed. That and I heard there was a great sale on Deer Park!

Louie: Last night, two German couriers were killed. They were carrying two Letters of Transit that were stolen. I tell you this because you should know that Victor Lazlo is in Casablanca.

Rick: Victor Lazlo?!

Louie: Rick, you seem impressed!

Rick: Victor Lazlo’s succeeded in impressing half of the world. Too bad it’s the same half that thinks Bob Saget is funny. But why would you think I would help Lazlo?

Louie: Because, Ricky, I suspect at heart you’re a rank sentimentalist! I’m familiar with your record. In 1935, you ran guns to Ethiopia. In 1936, you fought in Spain, on the Loyalist side.

Rick: I got well paid for it on both occasions.

Louie: The winning side would have paid you much better.

Rick: Now you tell me!

Louie: Rick, there are many exit visas sold in Rick’s Café Américain, but we know that you've never sold one. That is the reason we permit you to remain open.

Rick: Oh? I thought it was because I let you win at roulette.

Louie: You let me win? Uh-oh! I just mortgaged my house to get in on Ferrari’s Wide World of Roulette Sweepstakes!

Rick: So what are your political sentiments, Louie?

Louie: I have no convictions.  I  blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from Vichy.  Should the wind shift and start coming from Philadelphia, I’ll root for the Phillies. After all, they have Ryan Howard!

Rick: I see. So you think I might sell a Letter of Transit to Lazlo?

Louie: He’ll need two exit visas. He is traveling with a lady. 

Rick: He'll take one.

Louie: I think not. I have seen the lady. Actually he’ll need …. three! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Rick: Louie, your sense of humor …. Well, you’re no Claude Rains!


Scene II

Rick’s Café Américain later that evening. Stench of smoke and bourbon in the air, intrigue 'round every corner. (Actually I’m feeling kind of nauseous myself.) Rick is talking to Ugarte, who - like Inspector Renault - is kind of adorable in a sleazy, oily, disgusting way.

Ugarte: You despise me, don’t you, Rick? 

Rick: If I paid you any mind, I probably would.  Know what?  I actually  manage to despise you even without paying you any mind!

Ugarte: Rick, I hope you're more impressed with me now! 

Rick: You're right, Ugarte. I am more impressed now that I know you played Center for Duke on the 2001 NCAA winning team!

Ugarte: No, no, Rick! I’m talking about the dead German couriers, these two Letters of Transit.

Rick: Yeah, well, it’s Casablanca, life’s cheap. Tell me, what’s Mike Krzyzewski really like?

Ugarte: I know many people in Casablanca, but somehow because you despise me, you are the only one I trust!  Here, please hold these two Letters of Transit for me.

Rick: Yeah, swell, wonderful. Hey, ever meet Alan Iverson???

Police enter, looking for Ugarte.

Ugarte: Hide me, Rick, hide me!

Rick: Don’t be a fool, Ugarte! It’s my turn to hide and your turn to seek!

Ugarte is taken away and we hear a shot.

Concerned By-Stander: I hope when they come for me, Rick, you’ll be of more help!

Rick: I stick my neck out for nobody. Except Oprah!


Scene III

Rick's, even later that same evening.  Stench of smoke and bourbon still fill the air, intrigue still 'round every corner.  (And I'm still feeling nauseous ... as if you even care!) Inspector Renault is introducing Rick to Major Strasser of the Third Reich.

Major Strasser: Ah, Mr. Richard Blaine. Cannot return to his home country.

Rick: Yes, Major Strasser,  I have one lousy sense of direction.  I'm so bad, I make MapQuest look reliable!

Major Strasser: Are you one of those people who cannot imagine the Germans in their beloved Paris?

Rick:  It's not particularly my beloved Paris.  I 'belove' Vegas, baby!  What happens there stays there!

Major Strasser:  Can you imagine us in New York?

Rick:  Well, there are certain sections of New York I wouldn't advise you to try to  invade.  Those Yankees fans will eat you alive!

Rick leaves (a wee-wee?) and Victor Lazlo and Ilsa Lund enter.

Louie: (greeting them) Welcome to Casablanca, Mr. Lazlo! By the way, do you find Bob Saget funny?

Victor:  That is a nice welcome, thank you, Inspector Renault!  I have not seen this Bob Saget, but I have it on good authority from my friends in the Underground that he sucks.

Louie:  And you, Miss Lund, I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca.  That was a gross understatement!  As opposed to my girlfriend, who's more of a gross statement!

Ilsa:  You're very kind, Inspector Renault. Although the second part of your statement was very unkind.  However, if that's your girlfriend at your table, it was also very accurate!

Ilsa spots Sam and approaches him. 

Ilsa:  Hello, Sam.  It's been a long time.

Sam:   Hello, Miss Ilsa.  (to himself) Oh, crap!   Not only is the Boss about to go psycho on us,  it's gonna be that damn song again!

Ilsa:  Play it, Sam.  For old time's sake.

Sam:  I can't remember it, Miss Ilsa.  Yes, that's it.  I can't remember it. 

Ilsa:  Play 'As Time Goes By.'  I'll hum it for you.

Sam:  No, No!  I mean, no, Miss Ilsa, that's okay.

Ilsa:  Da-dy-da-dy-da-dum, da-dy-da-doo-da-dum .... diggle-dai-del-deedle-daidel-dumm!

Sam: Oh my God!   Stop it, Miss Ilsa, your singing is bad enough, now you’re mixing in 'If I were a Rich Man!'  Okay, I'll play it, I'LL PLAY IT!

Sam begins tentatively playing and singing  'As Time Goes By.'

Sam: "You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is still a sigh ...."    Oh, Miss Ilsa, please!  Compared to this, ABBA  is like the Beatles!

Rick enters,  incensed.

Rick:   I thought I told you never to play it again, Sam!   That putt is a gimmee.  Pick it up Sam.  You don't need to play it again! 

Rick spots Ilsa and does a double-take.  Actually it's more of a triple-take. Even if there isn't such a thing, if anybody could do it, it'd be Bogart!

Ilsa: Rick, I wasn't sure you were the same.  Let's see, the last time we met ....

Rick:  .... was La Belle Aurore!  Sort of a cross between Olive Garden and Applebee's , only without the great food!

Ilsa:  How nice, you remembered!  But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris. 

Rick:  I remember that day in every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.  I wore a little pink thing with ribbons --- I was very uspet about the Germans!

Victor Lazlo enters and Ilsa introduces him to Rick.

Rick:  Mr. Lazlo, I congratulate you on your work.

Victor:  Thank you.  I try.

Rick:  All of us try, you succeed!  What is it --- the Cliff's Notes?

Victor:  Yes, Monsieur Blaine, I always use Cliff's Notes.

Shortly, Victor and Ilsa leave Rick's.

Victor: Ilsa, I think this time the Nazis really mean to stop me!

Ilsa: What did you think they were trying to do before, Victor? Give you a five minute time out?

Scene IV

Hours later in Rick's, now closed and darkened.  Only Rick and Sam remain. (Me, I'm still nauseous.  In fact, I think I'm gonna be sick ....)

Rick: You played it for her, you can play it for me!  Play it, Sam!

Sam:  Oh, no, not again!   Tell you what, Boss:  I'll pay you 'Feelings' as sung by Mr. Glenn Campbell.  "Feelings, nothing more than feelings ...."

Rick:  No, no, Sam!  Haven't I suffered enough?

Sam begins playing 'As Time Goes By' again.

Rick:  Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.  And she's a contractor too!  Sam, let's get a quote to paint the place! 

Sam has a long flashback about the happy days in which he fell in love with Ilsa in Paris.  You and I should only have such flashbacks  instead of the ones in which we're being yelled at by the ninth grade gym teacher for not being able to touch our toes!

Ilsa furtively enters Rick's. (Hope you know what furtive means.  I have no clue.)

Ilsa: Rick, I have to talk to you!

Rick:  Ilsa!  Well, Sam, you can go! 

Sam:  If Miss Ilsa's going to sing again, Boss, you better believe I'm going!

Rick: Why did you have to come to Casablanca?  There are other places.  Havertown PA, for example.  It has two --- count 'em --- two Wawa Convenience Stores!

Ilsa: Can I tell you a story, Rick?

Rick:  I know a story too, one with a wild finish.  A guy standing on a station platform in the rain whose insides had been kicked out!  Even worse, after my insides were kicked out, they went wide of the goal posts and we lost by two points.

Ilsa: I know.  I bet on your team too.  But Rick, please let me tell you this story!

Rick:  Okay. But first I want to jump in my jammies and grab Rupert Bear.  Can you get me a drink of water?  Deer Park?

Ilsa:  It's about a girl who at the house of some friends met a man about whom she’d heard her whole life. A very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshiped him… with a feeling she supposed was love.

Rick: And then?

Ilsa: And then he got her drunk on Ripple, and the rest is history!

Rick: Tell me, who was it you left me for?  Was it Lazlo, or were there others in between?  Or aren't you the kind that tells?

Ilsa:  Oh, I'm the kind, Rick.  Others in between.  Ever hear of the Philadelphia Eagles?


Scene V

Rick's, the next evening.  Rick, sitting alone, is approached by an attractive young woman (Annina).  Rick is about to show his benevolent side.  Even if I had a benevolent side, I'm sure it would  photograph just as badly as all my other sides!

Annina:  Monsieur Rick, what kind of man is Inspector Renault?

Rick:  Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so.

Annina: More so?!!!  W-e-e-l-l-l, maybe this won't be so bad after all!

Rick:  I beg your pardon, young lady?

Annina:  Oh, no, no, no, I was ... um ... kidding!  What I meant to say is oh, Monsieur Rick, you are a man.  If someone loved you so much your happiness was everything to her, but she did a bad thing, could you forgive her?

Rick:  Nobody ever loved me that much! Well, there was that tattooed skank who's now boffing Jesse James.

Annina: My husband is trying to make money for our exit visas by playing Scissors, Paper, Stone.  Of course, he's losing.  He's got a mean Paper, but he has trouble moving effectively to his left with Scissors.

Rick:  You want my advice?

Annina:  Oh yes, please.

Rick: Go back to Bulgaria!

Annina:  We came from Detroit, Monsieur Rick.

Rick:  I know. Bulgaria's nicer!  Well, everybody in Casablanca has problems,  yours may work out.

Annina:  (a bit crestfallen)   Thank you, Monsieur Rick.

Rick gets up and walks over to the Scissors, Paper, Stone table to where  Annina's husband  is sitting.

Rick:  Buddy, have you tried Stone today?

Croupier:  And the House puts out Scissors, the Monsieur wins with Stone!

Rick: Now put it all on Paper.

Croupier:  And the House puts out Stone. The Monsieur wins again!

Rick:  Cash those winnings and don't come back!  On second thought, you can come back for our special 'Thursday All-You-Can-Eat Wings Night!"

Annina runs over to Rick.

Annina:  Oh, Monsieur Rick, I don't know how to thank ....

Rick:  Ahh, he's just a lucky guy!  But he's GOT to work on moving effectively to his left with Scissors!

Inspector Renault saunters over to Rick with a "naughty-naughty" look.

Louie:  Just as I thought!   A rank sentimentalist!    I'll forgive you this time but I'll be in tomorrow night with a breathtaking blonde, and it'll make me very happy if she loses!  So tomorrow night please:

 RICKY, DON’T LOSE ME THAT NUMBER!

Scene VI

Upstairs at Rick’s. Rick and Victor Lazlo are chewing the fat about, oh, any old thing.

Rick:  Do you sometimes wonder if it's worth all this?  I mean what you're fighting for.

Victor: Know how you sound, Monsieur Blaine? Like a man who's trying to convince himself of something he doesn't believe in his heart.

Rick: Well, if not in my heart -- which is my second favorite organ -- my first favorite organ believes it!

Victor: You might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die.

Rick: Well, sounds like I’ll soon be sitting shiva with the world’s mishpocha then! Got the address?  Should I pick up some cold cuts from Murray's for everyone?

Germanic music begins playing from the café, and Victor storms downstairs and addresses the band.

Victor: Play the 'La Marseilleise!'  Play it!!! Oh, you don’t know it!  Okay, 'Frere Jacques' will do! 
  

Rick nods the OK and the band begins to play. Following the song, the entire café erupts in patriotic fervor! Ilsa looks fondly at Victor,  just as you are probably looking not so fondly at me  wondering when this damn parody will end!

Major Strasser: You see, Inspector Renault? If Lazlo’s presence here can cause such a disruption, can you imagine the damage from ‘Victor Lazlo, the Home Game?’ I order you to close Rick’s!

Louie: But I have no excuse to close it. My mommy forgot to write me one  before I came to school.

Major Strasser:  Find one!

Louie:  (announcing to all) This restaurant is now closed!  Thank you very much and don't forget to tip your bartenders and servers!

Rick: How can you close me up, Louie? On what grounds?

Louie: I'm shocked .... shocked to find that gambling is going on in here! Although not as shocked as I was to find gambling going on in a place like Chester PA, but still pretty shocked!

Croupier: Your winnings, sir.

Louie: Oh, thank you very much!

Nobody can ever improve on that classic exchange. I won’t even try!

Scene VII

Later that night at Rick’s apartment.  As Rick enters the apartment, he finds Ilsa also there.  She has previously entered  furtively. (What! You haven’t looked up “furtive” yet?)

Rick: Your unexpected visit isn't connected by any chance with the Letters of Transit.   It seems as long as I have those letters, I'll never be lonely.

Ilsa: No, I'm here for Phillies tickets.  Of course, it's the Letters of Transit!

 Rick: Sorry, Ilsa, it's no deal!  Or is it "Deal or No Deal?" Say, Howie Mandel might be perfect for a show with a name something like that!

Ilsa: I know how you feel about me, but I'm asking you to put your feelings aide for a cause far more important. It was once your cause too.

Rick: I'm the only Cause I'm interested in!  By the way, care to make a donation to my Cause? Or co-host my telethon?  Y'know, I just fired Jerry Lewis.

At the end of her rope, Ilsa pulls a gun on Rick.

Ilsa: All right, I tried to reason with you. I tried everything. Now I want those letters!

Rick:  Go ahead and shoot.  You'll be doing me a favor!

Ilsa:  Really?  Well, if you put it that way ....

Rick: Wait! Wait!  Can't you take a little joke, Ilsa?

Ilsa drops the gun.

Ilsa: Rick, I can't fight it anymore!  I tried to stay away.  You see,  Rick, Victor is my husband and was even when you knew me in Paris!

Ilsa throws herself passionately into Rick's arms.
  

Rick:  Well, okay.   If you put in that way....

Ilsa: I ran away from you once.  I can't do it again.  Oh, I don't know what's right any longer! You have to think for the four of us! I mean the three of us, counting Victor.  Or is it the two of us? Yes, in addition to not knowing what's right any longer, I have no math skills either!

Rick: All right, I will.

Rick:  (turning to audience) You see, folks, it’s 1942, and it’s SOP to have women in the movies - even Ingrid Bergman - act like they’re dependent morons. The only flaw in this otherwise great movie!

Rick tenderly kisses Ilsa, and then ....
Thank God Casablanca wasn’t made in 2010, because as much as I love Bogart, we'd have seen a lot more of him next than even I ever wanted to!  Ingrid Bergman --- well, that would have been an offsetting factor. But I will follow the discretionary tastes of the 40's and show you nada!

Rick: Here’s lookin’ at you, kid! Yes, you’re right, Ilsa: I am one of the men who stare at goats!  

Scene VIII

At the Blue Parrot, another Casablanca nightclub, Rick and Senor Ferrari, the proprietor, are having a pow-wow. How’s that for a totally inappropriate expression under the circumstances?

Ferrari: As leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca, I am an influential and respected man.  Just think, if I were 375 pounds lighter, watch out, Brad Pitt!

Rick:  Well, 'Brad,' let's conclude our business then.  I wouldn't want you to keep 'Angelina' waiting!

Ferrari:  I assume a handshake is satisfactory for our deal on Rick's?

Rick:  It certainly is not!   But given the time we've got,  let's just make it a pinkie shake! 

Ferrari: Oh, yes, I like a good pinkie shake!

Rick:   Now,  Sam, Sasha, and Karl stay with the place or I don't sell!

Ferrari:  Of course they do, it wouldn't be Rick's without them.  What do you think, I'm buying your dump for the veal cordon bleu?

Rick:  And Sam gets  25% of the profits.

Ferrari:  I happen to know he gets 10%, but he's worth 25%.  And for the iconic star of a classic movie, Rick, you are one hell of a cheapskate!


Scene IX

Having discussed with Inspector Renault his supposed plan to entrap Victor into arrest for attempting to purchase the Letters of Transit and take off with Ilsa for America, Rick and Inspector Renault lay in wait for Victor and Ilsa in the closed, darkened Rick's.

Louie: Still not sure why you’re doing this, Ricky. Miss Lund is very beautiful, but you were never interested in any woman.

Rick: You’re forgetting that tattooed skank who’s boffing Jesse James.

Louie: Ricky, I'm going to miss you. Apparently you're the only one in Casablanca with less scruples than I.

Rick: Yes, Louie, but today they had a deal on scruples at Staples. I’ve stocked up! Hmm, "stocked up on Scruples at Staples!" Say that fast five times!

As Victor and Ilsa enter and receive the Letters of Transit from Rick, Inspector Renault attempts to arrest Victor, but Rick pulls a gun on him instead.

Boy is this getting good!

Louie: Rick, have you lost your mind? 

Rick: I have.  Sit down.

Louie:  Put that gun down!

Rick: I wouldn't like to shoot you, Louie, but I will if you take one more step! And certainly if you take several steps and do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around!
Louie:  Under the circumstances, I will sit down.  And I'm  sure as hell not going to do the hokey-pokey, even if it's ladies choice!

Rick: Louie, remember this gun is pointed right at your heart.

Louie: That is my least vulnerable spot.

Rick: Well, then I’ll just re-direct it due south!

Off to the Airport for the denouement (finally!)  At the airport, Rick tells Inspector Renault to put Victor and Ilsa’s names on the Letters of Transit, ensuring their safe departure.

Ilsa: Richard, no! I want to go with you! You’re a much bigger star than Hans Conreid.

Louie: (interjecting) Ingrid, that’s Paul Henreid!

Rick: Ah, shut up, Louie! Only Boomers will get that joke anyway!

Ilsa:  But Richard, please ....

Rick: Look, Ilsa, you’re getting on that plane! Someone has to sit next to Kevin Smith!

Ilsa: But I love you, Rick! More even than the Philadelphia Eagles!

Rick: If you’re not on that plane, someday you’ll regret it, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life - definitely no later than Hump Day! Look, Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble. But the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. (Actually maybe they do, considering the stink beans produce!) Someday you’ll understand that.

Rick: (turning to audience) Yes, folks, it’s still 1942 and it’s still SOP to talk to women – even Ingrid Bergman – like they’re dependent morons!

Rick: (to Ilsa) We’ll always have Paris. And there’ll be rude waiters for us wherever we go.

Ilsa: And I said I would never leave you.  Well, okay, I’ll leave you.  Here’s the number where I’ll be, make sure the sitter gets it!

Rick: Here’s lookin’ at you, kid! I’m saying it again because the stupid goat movie sort of tanked and I’m using up any excess dialogue!

Victor approaches to squire Ilsa onto the plane.

Rick: (to Victor) There's something you should know.  Ilsa was at my place last night.  She did everything she could to try to get the letters of transit. She even pretended to still be in love with me.   For my sake, I let her pretend.

Victor:  I understand. Since no one is to blame I ask for no explanations.

Rick:  Geez, are you easy!  If I'd have known that, we would have done a hell of a lot more pretending, including the one where I pretend to be the Orthodox Rabbi and she's the humongous pig roast!  

Victor: Welcome back to the fight! This time I know our side will win --- or at least finish in the money!

Victor and Ilsa board the plane as Rick and Inspector Renauld look on.

Louie: I suppose you realize this isn't going to be very pretty for either of us. Especially you.

Rick:  Yeah, but I do plan to do my bunk at the concentration camp in a light mauve with pinkish overtones.

Louie:  You know I'll have to arrest you.

Rick:  As soon as the plane leaves, Louie.  Maybe also wait until the boring in-flight movie with Nicholas Cage starts.

As the plane taxis down the runway, Major Strasser arrives and tries to stop it. He reaches for a nearby phone to order it halted.

Rick:  Step away from that phone!  You know it's too expensive to call Information.  Look up the number instead!

Major Strasser persists.

Rick:  I said stop!  I was willing to shoot Inspector Renault and I'm willing to shoot you.  I kind of want to see if when I hit you it makes a clanging noise and you turn about and start immediately going in the opposite direction.

Major Strasser pulls a gun and  BANG! BANG! BANG! (I am so juvenile!)  Rick shoots Major Strasser and he falls dead to the ground. Louie's deputies drive up in a jeep.

Louie: Major Strasser’s been shot!

There follows a pregnant pause as Rick and Inspector Renault cautiously regard each other.   No, they're not literally pregnant, you idiot!

Louie: (to his men) Round up the usual suspects!

Rick, quite relieved, half smiles knowingly at Inspector Renauld.

Louie:  What?!!   Who took Rick's name off the “Usual Suspects List?"   Ha-ha-ha, just a little joke, Ricky!

Rick: You’re still no Claude Rains, Louie.

Louie: You know, Rick, you’re not only a sentimentalist, you've become a great patriot!

Rick: Seemed like a good time to start.

Louie: I think perhaps you’re right.

Inspector Renault drops a bottle of Vichy water into a trash can and kicks it. And it goes through the uprights for a winning three point conversion, unlike Rick’s guts earlier in the movie!

Rick and Louie walk off together into the dense airport fog.

Rick: You know, Louie, this looks like the start of a beautiful friendship!

Louie: You're right, Rick! You follow me on Twitter, and I follow you back.

Rick: And you’d better ….. or I’ll unfollow your ass!              

THE END 

Return to Casablanca --- But Not For the Waters

 With that, our classic tale of heroism, intrigue, and romance concludes! I hope you enjoyed it. I personally am sick to death of it!

Let’s return now to our own crappy little lives, OK folks?

~~~~~~~~~~~