If there is ever an overhyped movie that deserves Ricky Roma’s “law of contrary public opinion…”

I get very skeptical when I hear about a movie like Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey” getting a near perfect score on Rotten Tomatoes from over 400 film critics (most, if not all of whom I never heard of) with a 95 percent score and an audience score of 97 percent.

The idea of saying a “perfect film” exists is like saying there is such a thing as a perfect movie franchise. There isn’t!!! (See the much hated and now appreciated Star Wars prequel episodes 1-3 - 1999-2005 if you need proof).

I don’t listen to the movie critics any more than I heed the words of aliens from space, friends, family, its, dogs or cats who either boast how great or how bad a film was. I’ll see the pic myself, assuming I want to throw my money away seeing it on the big screen or wait two months where I can save half that cash wasted at theaters and stream at home. At least when at home, I’ll have the luxury of turning the film off should I loathe or finish watching later – hence the beauty of streaming.

That’s not to say I don’t follow a couple notable reviewers online. Those writers, however, I do read have nothing to do with my hopes he or she will like the film I was planning to see. Their unique writing styles are what draw me to their weekly reviews.

Writers like Stephanie Zacharek of Time who called “The Odyssey” an “eye-glazing dud of a movie” in her July 15 review.

“It churns so dutifully towards its predictable conclusions-summed up roughly as “War dehumanizes men!” and “Civilization, now as in Odysseus’s time is on the brink! -that you begin to wonder if it wouldn’t be a better use of your time to stay home and read The Odyssey.”

Or Armond White of National Review who wrote “The Odyssey is remade specifically to please leftists and declare a new cultural perspective on morality, civilization, patriotism, masculinity — all the issues now out of favor. The result is the usual and emotionally hollow, unheroic Nolan epic. The casting of Matt Damon as Odysseus (rather than an ambiguous figure like Gerard Butler’s feral King Leonidas in 300) lets us know that this makeover is meant for liberals.”

Or writer Emily Wilson, a professor of classical studies at the University of Pennsylvania and a noted translator of both Homer’s “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey." 

Wilson wrote in her essay on Nolan’s film that appeared in the London Review of Books, that the epic “lacks many of the elements that make the poem great. It has nothing convincing to say about time, memory, history, war, or about the relationship between one warrior’s glorious return and the lives of his family, adversaries, comrades, friends and neighbors. It lacks psychological, emotional, political and ethical depth. Its narrative structure is gimmicky. The writing is abysmal. None of the characters has convincing motivation for their actions or words. There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.”

In short, the positive scores and word of mouth I read on the internet about certain movies are not what peak my curiosity. The negative commentaries I see and read are what I pay the most attention to.

Hence my quoting and following Al Pacino’s Ricky Roma from “Glengarry Glen Ross” (1992) on his rule of the “law of contrary public opinion”, “If everyone thinks one thing, then I say, bet the other way.” 

To be fair, I’m holding off writing a review of "The Odyssey" until seeing it a second time. 

Like Nolan's previous box office and Oscar winning triumph, "Oppenheimer" (2023), I made the fatal mistake of giving in to the accolades and saw "The Odyssey" four days after its nationwide opening July 17 in IMAX (but not the 70mm IMAX screen the director intended for it to be shown in).

I didn't appreciate "Oppenheimer" until streaming it again a year later.

Should my opinion of "The Odyssey" be in the resoundingly negative you can rest assured my reasons will have nothing to do with Helen of Troy, who in previous film adaptations has always been portrayed by a white actress and is here being portrayed now by a black actress (Lupita Nyong’o) and isn't a central character in this new version. 

Or the film’s other controversial “woke” casting choices (from Elliot Page to Zendaya) which may well be called Nolan’s melting pot of an epic. The kind of movie that receives multiple Golden Globe and Oscar nominations and ultimately wins in a majority of the categories at such low rated trivial televised ceremonies few viewers watch in today’s “Hollyweird-land.”

I’ll decide upon my seeing “The Odyssey” a second time if the reason for my not embracing it the first time was the result of overhype.

Or if, like so many movies I’ve seen the past four decades where my reactions to them was the opposite of what everyone else said and was so disgusted by the time wasted watching such assortments of celluloid trash on the big screen that as the end credits of "The Odyssey" roll, I wind up screaming at the top of my lungs yelling “Da fuck was this shit!?!?!?!”

©7/29/26

Gone Too Soon: Kyle Busch (1985-2026)

“But is there someplace far away, someplace where all is clear 

Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear

 Or are you left to wonder, all alone, eternally 

This isn't how it's really meant to be

 No it isn't how it's really meant to be”

- “Always on Your Side” – Sheryl Crow

Although singer/songwriter Sheryl Crow’s single “Always on Your Side” from her fifth studio album, “Wildflower” released in 2005 was more about the deterioration of marital relationships than mourning a loved one, I’ve found it hard not to get emotional anytime I’ve heard it. Especially when I learn of someone, whether I knew them personally, or an icon who had legions of devoted followers, passed away too soon.



The list of iconic legends in politics, entertainment and sports who went before their time as a result of either an assassin's bullet, a devastating auto or plane crash, or a terminal illness is endless. Charlie Kirk. President John F. Kennedy. Robert F. Kennedy. Martin Luther King Jr. John F. Kennedy Jr. Diana, Princess of Wales. Gene Siskel. Chris Kyle. John Lennon. Kobe Bryant. Payne Stewart. Dale Earnhart. On May 21, NASCAR legend Kyle Busch joined the list at 41.

Lives unfinished.

I confess I knew almost as much about stock car driver Kyle Busch as I did about Charlie Kirk, the conservative political activist who founded Turning Point USA in 2012. Which is less than zero. As unfortunate as it may sound, I didn’t learn about the impact Charlie Kirk had on conservatives at college campuses and Kyle Busch’s racing fans until barely 24 hours after their untimely ends.

Kyle Busch with wife, Samantha, and their two kids.

Among the less than handful of fun facts I learned about Kyle Busch was the nickname, “Rowdy”, that was bestowed on him as a result of the run-ins he had with fellow drivers on the track. Busch’s nickname was inspired by Rowdy Burns, the villain race car driver Michael Rooker played in “Days of Thunder (1990).” A nickname the NASCAR legend had no problem living up to.

“You come to the point where you’re like, ‘Okay, I’m going to wear this black hat. They want me to be the villain? Let’s do it.’ I went full in just being ‘Rowdy,’” Busch said on the “NASCAR Full Speed” television series. “I’m not going to say it wasn’t fun being the villain, because I was also winning. I don’t care. I’m going home with the trophy, and I’m going home with the check.”

As for Busch’s many achievements and awards he earned over the course of those 24 years on the track, information I had to do a google search on, go to Wikipedia, if you’re too lazy to get your information from a more trustworthy online source. You won’t find that list here. I’m sure if there are any NASCAR fans reading this blog, I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked themselves, “Why is he even writing a blog about Kyle Busch if he never followed much less heard of him?”

Charlie Kirk, with wife Erika, and their two kids.

There’s nothing wrong in shedding a tear for someone you didn’t know whether you were a fan or not or whether you liked their right or left leaning opinions that could often alienate their fan base. 

The reason I got emotional for Kyle Busch as I did for Charlie Kirk was because of the gaping void they left behind leaving two grieving widows, Erika Kirk and Samantha Busch, who’d now be raising their kids alone. It’s heartbreaking to know Charlie and Kyle, much like countless others who went before their time didn’t live to see their kids grow up. I can’t look at the YouTube video showing Kirk’s three-year-old daughter greeting her father on the “Fox & Friends Weekend” show last July now without my eyes watering just a little.

The same goes for Kyle Busch’s 11-year-old son, Brexton, who posted the photo of him hugging his dad Feb. 21 earlier this year on social media two days after his father's passing. The photo was taken moments after Kyle won the NASCAR Craftsman Truck Series Fr8 Racing 208 at Echo Park Speedway in Georgia.

The shot reminded me of that photo, taken Oct. 10, 1962, showing John F. Kennedy, Jr. and Caroline Kennedy playing in the Oval Office as the President clapped. A brief moment capturing happier times.

It’d be easy if I said how when such admirable figures pass away that most of us are realizing we are reaching the age, if we haven’t already, that life stops giving us things and starts taking them away. That may be so in the cases of notable Hollywood legends we’ve lost since last year (Gene Hackman, Val Kilmer, Diane Keaton, Robert Redford, Catherine O’Hara, Robert Duvall, Chuck Norris). Except those actors passed away in the twilight of their years leaving behind decades of movies and/or television shows to fondly look back on.

Kyle Busch’s sudden passing is like watching a biographical movie like Clint Eastwood’s “American Sniper” (2014) about Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle where I already knew how it ends and was unable to get that unsettling feeling I had in the pit of my stomach of what was to come two hours before the end credits rolled.



I wanted to yell at the screen near the film’s conclusion as Kyle (Bradley Cooper) kisses his wife, Taya (Sienna Miller), goodbye and heads out the door that fateful morning of Feb. 2, 2013, to meet a U.S. Marine Corps veteran who suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) at a shooting range. Kyle, 38, along with his friend, Chad Littlefield, 35, were shot and killed by Eddie Ray Routh, the person Kyle was attempting to help.

If only such shocking moments can be permanently rewritten using a time machine. The most we can rely on is for overrated directors like Quentin Tarantino to rewrite tragedy Tinseltown style as he showed in his less than stellar and overhyped “Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood” (2019) where pregnant actress Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) lives to give birth and Charles Manson’s cult followers meet justifiably grisly violent ends.

If only…

A lot has been said in the sports world since the events of May 21 about Kyle Busch’s final days and hours dating back to May 10 where he finished eighth place at Watkins Glen in Charlotte, N.C. in which he was heard radioing his team on the track requesting a doctor.

“Can somebody try to find Bill Heisel? He’s the kindred doctor guy. Tell him I need him after the race please,” Busch was heard. “I’m gonna need a shot.”

“I’m still not great,” Kyle told reporters on May 16. “But the cough was pretty substantial.” His final competition was the NASCAR All-Star Race May 17 at Dover International Speedway.



According to the Associated Press, Busch became unresponsive while testing in a Chevrolet racing simulator at Charlotte Motor Speedway in Concord, North Carolina May 20.

When Busch’s family released a statement on social media hours before his death May 21 that Kyle had been rushed to a Charlotte hospital in what was reported at the time a severe illness and would not be competing in any scheduled races Memorial Day weekend at Charlotte Motor Speedway, there’s no doubt his wife and kids, his racing team and the thousands of fans thought this was just a temporary setback.

“He will be back in no time,” wrote one user on X. “Probably just a stomach virus.”

It wasn’t to be. By May 23, the racing world learned of "Rowdy's" cause of death.

“The medical evaluation provided to the Busch Family concluded that severe pneumonia progressed into sepsis, resulting in rapid and overwhelming associated complications,” Busch’s family said in a statement.

I won’t be surprised if a year from now if Kyle Busch’s final days and hours become tabloid fodder for the REELZ show, “Autopsy: The Last Hours of…” where forensic pathologist Dr. Michael Hunter gives a much more graphic hour-long rundown of what killed the husband and father of two at just 41-years-old. A show that is NOT a celebration of the lives such notable figures lived as it is a warning to viewers of what NOT to do to your bodies. When your body’s telling you something isn’t right, one should listen. A lesson not all of us heed, myself in particular. Ignore the problem. It will go away has always been and continues to be my motto.

The lesson learned from Kyle Busch is perhaps the temporary realization of how fragile life is. Here today. Gone tomorrow. Time is a luxury none of us have.

When asked by a reporter why winning never gets old, Busch said “Because you never know when the last one is.”

A comment that was much more about the thrill of winning a race at the time seems more prophetic now in its finality.

NASCAR fans are not the only ones reeling from their sudden loss. For someone who wasn’t a devoted follower, the next time I open up a bag of peanut M&M'S that my doctors list as the treats they don’t want me chomping down on because of my high blood sugars and out of control A1C levels related to my continuing battles with diabetes, I’m going to find it hard not to recall that yellow M&M’S car Kyle Busch rode on the track promoting the much popular candy product.

©5/27/26

My First "Remember Where Were You When So-So" Happened Moment

Everyone has a “remember where you when so-so happened moment.” Most of them, if not all, are ones that brought the nation and possibly the world to a halt. The Hindenburg. Pearl Harbor. JFK’s and John Lennon’s assassinations. Challenger. O.J. Simpson’s Bronco chase and not guilty verdict. 9/11.

For me, my first remember where you when moment happened locally on the afternoon of May 25, 1979. I don’t think I’d be far calling the moment Chicago’s 9/11 when American Airlines Flight 191 with 272 passengers and crew aboard crashed into a nearby hangar and trailer park 31 seconds after takeoff from Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport killing all aboard and two more on the ground after its left engine separated as the aircraft taxied down runway 32R.

Unlike the passengers and crew aboard the doomed DC-10 bound for Los Angeles who no doubt had holiday plans that three-day weekend in what officially marked the start of summer, I had nothing on my agenda. My being only nine-years-old then I am not even sure what an agenda was. What I did know upon coming home from school at 2:30 that Friday afternoon is that I didn’t expect to be glued to WLS-TV channel 7 news.

Living in Chicago at the time, Channel 7 news was my preferred station (in Dallas, Texas where I live now, the local station is WFAA on channel 8). I watched veteran news anchors Fahey Flynn (with his signature bowtie) and Joel Daly anchor the special report back and forth from the news desk to the live coverage from eyewitness reporters on the scene at the northwest corner of Lee and Touhy Avenues near the airport.

The first images I saw on TV were of billowing black and white smoke as first responders descended within minutes of the crash only to be told within almost a half hour of their immediate arrival their rescue services would not be needed.

The scenes seen live of the smoldering remains of what was a DC-10 and then the next morning on the front covers of the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Sun-Times that showed a front landing gear, the tail engine and a piece of fuselage that landed on a trailer home, let alone the left engine lying on runway 32R were not what haunted me. Not even the photos of first responders placing numbered flags at the crash site marking fatalities who would soon be moved to a makeshift hangar to serve as a morgue near the airport.

The picture, taken by pilot Michael Laughlin, was what would haunt me. The shot would join other infamous front-page photos of troubled jetliners that got readers attention seconds before disaster struck that would of course include 9/11, Pacific Southwest Airlines Flight 182 in September 1978 and Air France Flight 4590 in July 2000.

My morbid interest in the nation’s worst air disaster would not come up again until 15 years later on Halloween night October 31, 1994. For some reason early that day my mind was on American Airlines Flight 191. I couldn’t put my finger on it as to why other than the fact my parents were coming back from Chicago that night after visiting my grandparents in the “Windy City.”

While I didn’t think anything tragic was going to happen to my parents aboard the flight coming home, I still had this ominous feeling something else was going to happen that night.

When I came home on a lunch break from work, mom told me that an American Eagle twin engine Aerospatiale ATR-72 carrying 68 passengers and crew went down in a field in Roselawn, Indiana killing all aboard.

This wasn’t the first time I found the events surrounding the May 25 jet crash to be more than just a series of coincidences.

Wreckage of Delta Airlines Flight 191 - 8/2/85

I’d have thought nothing when DFW like Chicago experienced its own 9/11 moment six years after the O’Hare jet crash the early evening of August 2, 1985. During Friday evening rush-hour traffic, a Delta Airlines Lockheed L-1011 TriStar arriving from Fort Lauderdale, Florida crashed in a freak thunderstorm as it attempted to land at Dallas/ Fort Worth International Airport killing 137 passengers and crew and one on the ground. Of the 163 aboard, 24 survivors, all of whom sat in the charred tail section which was intact upon impact survived.

The number assigned to the ill-fated L-1011 was “191.”

Mention Lee and Touhy Avenues let alone May 25, 1979, to someone and chances are they will have no idea why you’d even mention the place or date. They wouldn’t understand the significance.

Lee and Touhy Avenues, let alone O’Hare airport are not Pearl Harbor, Dealey Plaza, Oklahoma City, the World Trade Center or the Pentagon. Lightbulbs don’t immediately turn on when one mentions May 25, 1979, the way one knows what happened and where they were on Dec. 7, 1941, Nov. 22, 1963, or 9/11.

The ones who know the significance of Lee and Touhy Avenues if not May 25, 1979, are those like me who lived in Chicago at the time and recall the eyewitness news reports, the front pages of the city’s newspapers in the days to follow, and/or knew someone aboard the flight.

For a lot of people Memorial Day weekend is nothing more than another holiday to mark the beginning of summer vacation – a chance to hold family barbecues.

Memorial Day is not, however, like July 4 or Labor Day. The holiday has always been a time to honor the men and women who died during their service in the U.S. military. The day has never been a time for celebrations.

For the families of the 274 lost over four decades years that sunny Chicago afternoon, the three-day weekend is as much a time for mourning and reflection as it is for the ones who died in the line of duty.

©5/25/26

As emotionally cold and distant as the ice the hockey players compete on

Miracle ««½
PG, 135m. 2004

Cast & Credits: Kurt Russell (Herb Brooks), Patricia Clarkson (Patty Brooks), Noah Emmerich (Craig Patrick), Sean McCann (Walter Bush), Kenneth Welsh (Doc Nagobads), Eddie Cahill (Jim Craig), Patrick O’Brien Demsey (Mike Eruzione). Screenplay by Eric Guggenheim. Directed by Gavin O’Connor.

Midway through "Miracle", based on the true story of Coach Herb Brooks who led the United States hockey team to victory against the Soviet Union in the 1980 Olympics, is a moment where a few players want to have a word with their headstrong leader: stoically played by Kurt Russell.

The teammates are concerned about Brooks’ sudden decision to bring on a much more experienced hockey player to the group. Their concern is understandable. It’s bad enough knowing, as Brooks’ makes it perfectly clear at the beginning of the film, that only 20 of the 26 players he’s chosen can go to the Olympics and that as the weeks and months get closer, six of them will be let go. Some of the players have already bought their parents tickets to see them play. Now they have to worry about a guy who’s got enough experience in the game that they must wonder which of them will be cut for sure?

Brooks will hear none of it until finally, one of them speaks up and says the reason for their concern is because they are all like a family.

I have no doubt that what this team went through in the months before going up against a Soviet team who was not just our rival when it came to the Olympics (they won the Gold medal four times in 1964, ’68, ’72 and '76) but also our enemy when it came to world affairs made this group a close-knit family. I didn’t get that kind of closeness, however, watching the film.

"Miracle" is not only bogged down with familiar plot clichés of sports’ movies past that include Russell’s Brooks’ who is determined to get what had been denied him back when he was the same age as his players. There are rival team members who fight amongst themselves and have personal problems of their own. And Brooks’ loving wife (Patricia Clarkson) who stands by her man even though he tends to brush her aside letting his feelings for the game get in the way.

The film is also emotionally distant and at times, as icily cold as the rink the players compete on, or as chilly as the snowy weather gets at Lake Placid. Every time an emotional moment comes on, especially in the case of Russell’s character, something happens that keeps him from saying how he really feels.

That’s not to say "Miracle" isn’t without its surprising moments, many of which are ironically provided by Russell who steals the show, which stands to reason since he is after all the coach. In particular is a great scene where immediately following the team’s loss in Sweeden, Brooks orders all the players on the ice to practice skating drills long after the lights in the stadium have been turned off.

I tried hard to embrace "Miracle", almost as hard as Brooks works his team to the brink of exhaustion. It’s obvious the kind of mood the film’s studio, Walt Disney, was pushing for; to give us a feel good movie where we’re not just left in our seats cheering but perhaps maybe even shed a tear. You can tell this has the makings of a Disney movie just by the way the hockey games are shot. We see players ramming each other while others are hit so hard they fall into the stands. But there is no sense of excitement here, not to mention very little blood.

Imagine, for example, how director Oliver Stone would have handled shooting such action sequences. It’s a good bet I would have literally heard the sickening sounds of bodies colliding together the way I heard bones breaking in his ode to the NFL, "Any Given Sunday" (1999). Stone would have probably incorporated a time clock at the bottom corner of the screen to put us on edge as the game time gets closer to zero. He might have even provided us with a puck’s eye view as it is passed around from player to player before finally arriving at its final destination; the goal.

We get practically none of that here as the team plays several different games leading up to the climax. The mood director Gavin O’Connor and screenwriter Eric Guggenheim wanted to leave the audience with was a winning combination of both hope and pride in light of such depressing events as Watergate, the Cold War, and the Iran Hostage Crisis. Events of which gave Americans a feeling of uncertainty in the 1970s.

The problem in viewing this film is it’s hard to get past the fact a lot has changed in the 20 plus years since the 1980 Olympics. Russia is no longer our enemy. If this film had come out at around the time "Rocky IV" (1985) did back in the mid-1980s where Stallone’s Italian Stallion was seen going up against a towering Russian boxer and where our relations with the Soviet Union were still on shaky ground, I might have felt a little differently.

I know there are those who read this review will say I am being a little too hard on this movie suggesting I give the Mickey Mouse studio a break and say, “It’s Disney for God’s sake. They’re just trying to cater to the masses, hence their PG rating. "Miracle" is supposed to be a family film.”

The bottom line is I’ve seen far better sports movies that could also be deemed family films and also boasted the PG rating. They have not only either kept me on edge but also left me cheering and maybe even brought a tear to my eye. "Remember the Titans" (2000) was made by Disney and perhaps part of what made that movie work, aside from good acting was the fact Jerry Bruckheimer produced it.

The one film I associated "Miracle" with most was 1987’s basketball movie, "Hoosiers", simply because it had the same plot elements. In that film, which was also loosely based on a true story, Gene Hackman played a coach trying to redeem himself leading a high school basketball team who were faced with impossible odds. I got choked up when that movie ended as the camera focused on the photo of the team and you heard Hackman’s coach saying, “I love you guys.”

By comparison, "Miracle" is about a team who was also faced with impossible odds. This was a group of guys whose average age, as sportscaster Al Michaels said, was 21 years old and were going up against a rival team who had been playing hockey for 15 years or more. These Russian hockey players were towering monsters compared to the Americans. The fact the U.S.A. beat them not only made for an incredible victory but obviously a great story.

I would have loved to have been cheering the words, “U.S.A!” the way the spectators did back in 1980 when they watched our country’s team and the Soviets square off against each other. I would have been proud to have known this small close-knit family of hockey players as Aerosmith’s Dream On was heard playing during the end credits revealing what the real-life hockey players are doing today.

I admit I did kind of get choked up in the end of "Miracle" but it was for all the wrong reasons. For a movie that’s promoted to be a feel-good picture, the only emotion I was left with was one of lingering sadness over the fact Herb Brooks died shortly before filming began.

Originally Published 2/6/04

©2/23/26

Question should NOT be what will I give up for Lent but WILL I

Today begins the season of Lent.

Lent is that time of year Christians all over the world and us “lapsed Catholics” or “Chreasters” like me who according to the Urban Dictionary is defined as “someone who only goes to church on Christmas and Easter” are supposed to give up some vice we can’t live without the next forty days beginning on Ash Wednesday until Easter Sunday when Jesus Christ rose from the dead.

According to Christianity.com Lent is defined as the time Christ spent forty days and nights in the desert without food and water being tempted by Satan.

In short, we Christians are supposed to follow by Jesus’ example as a means to cleanse our sins (I haven't been to confession since Christmas Eve 1993) and be closer to God. According to crosswalk.com, however it seems Jesus Christ got the better end of the stick. His battle with Satan lasted only 40 days. In 2026 our time of fasting and giving up that one little thing between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday lasts 46 days.

Doesn’t seem fair, does it?

To be truthful, I have never taken Lent seriously which dates back to my early years in grade school at St. Louise de Marillac (1976-1984) being taught by the nuns. For much of the time from first grade to my entering junior high that’s all I heard from dad who asked me “what am I giving up for Lent?” God not only knows what I supposedly planned to give up but also knows how long it took for me to go back on my word hours later and scarf down candy, cookies and soft drinks.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve compared to my giving up something for Lent to the list of New Year’s resolutions I make up on December 31 as midnight approaches that I plan to accomplish the coming year. Every year the result is the same. I do not complete that list of resolutions, nor do I give up anything for Lent.

This year, however, I decided to take Lent seriously. I can’t explain the sudden change of heart except maybe the older one gets (certainly not the wiser in my case) one’s interests and attitudes change.

I remember the priest saying at an Ash Wednesday mass I attended one year how the one thing you give up for Lent should be something you can’t live without.

I’ve got less than half a handful of things I could go without the next six weeks.

Taking the Lord’s name in vain is one. God knows just how many times I say the “G” word multiple times on a daily basis whenever that Italian/Hispanic temper of mine kicks into overdrive – usually at work or behind the wheel.

Finding something else to say when venting my anger would indeed be a struggle if I gave that up. If I did so successfully the next six weeks, perhaps it will score me some brownie points with St. Peter as he goes through my long list of wrongdoings debating whether or not to let me through the pearly gates when I become one with the “Dark Side of The Force” and am called home by either the Almighty or 666.

I could give up diet cokes. I sometimes drink two or three a day. I know my liver and pancreas would appreciate it. So too would my doctor given my being diabetic in hopes my A1C blood sugar levels gets below six versus the 18 plus level it's been at for a while.

I could give up working the next six weeks and act like I am working. It’d be a great test to see how long I could get away with that.

I could give up pizza and pasta. The servers at Joe’s Pizza and Pizza Getti might miss me given how I always show up a couple days week and know exactly what I order and where I like to sit.

Such are the things I could give up for Lent with the exception of not working. I was only kidding on that one despite what the powers-that-be at work will say during their little private “Come to Jesus” meetings they schedule with me often.

I only know two things that will happen today - Feb. 18. One is whatever I give up that’s between me and God – yet another thing I heard a priest say which is whatever we give up should be private.

The other is I what I plan to eat after mass that day, if I go. My meal will either be a couple fish sandwiches from McDonalds with extra tartar sauce, a salmon bowl with rice and veggies at Red Lobster or assuming I don’t give up pasta for Lent, a large plate of angel hair with extra marinara sauce at Joe's Pizza (since I can’t eat meat that day).

Hopefully when the server asks what I want to drink I won’t say a Diet Coke and out of habit wind up drinking it not realizing that that might have been what I planned to give up.

That wouldn’t be a good start to the season of Lent now, would it?

©2/18/26

Gone too soon: John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. (1960-1999), Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy (1966-1999) and Lauren Bessette (1964-1999)

Writer's note: I'll address producer Ryan Murphy's latest nine-part episode "biographical" FX series, "Love Story," airing Feb. 12 (just in time for Valentine's Day) that covers the too-short lives of John F. Kennedy Jr. and his wife, Carolyn Bessette at a later time, if ever. 

As I posted under the heading, "ABOUT THIS SITE" I created this blog to write on subjects I want to talk about. "Not what the rest of the country and the world feels is the flavor of the day!" 

That being said, here is my tribute article I wrote back on 7/21/99 following the iconic couple's untimely ends along with Carolyn's sister, Lauren, that feels more appropriate than whatever embellishments Murphy's FX series conjures up as the "truth."

To those who were old enough and watched President Kennedy’s funeral in November 1963 to those who weren’t alive yet or too young to remember but have seen the historic yet heart breaking photo, John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. will forever be known as the little three-year-old son of the late president who saluted his father’s coffin as it rolled by that Thanksgiving weekend almost 36 years ago.

Today, that is still how I see him.

The sad, tragic weekend that began the night of July 16 was like a macabre, nightmarish sense of déjà vu that recalled the night Princess Diana was killed in a car crash in France in August 1997.

The way Princess Diana in 1997 and now JFK Jr, his wife, Carolyn Bessette, and her sister, Lauren, died are so similar, it is almost eerie. Both occurred in the summer and on weekends. I was at work when it was announced on the radio that Princess Diana, along with her boyfriend, Dodi Al Fayed, and their driver, Henri Paul, died in a car accident. I did not learn about the latest tragedy to strike the Kennedy family until Saturday afternoon when I turned on the TV and saw live coverage of naval ships and helicopters at sea off Martha’s Vineyard searching for something.

I had no idea what. For about ten minutes or so, the news coverage seemed like a cruel joke in light that July 17 was the day TWA Flight 800 exploded over the Atlantic three years ago killing 230 passengers and crew. I immediately figured the worst that maybe another jetliner had gone down. But then below the television screen came the words “JFK Jr’s Plane Missing” and to Americans, to me, and to the world, it was as if more than 200 souls were lost again that day.

It did not take long for the country to react to the news. New Yorkers laid flowers, memorial cards, and tributes down outside JFK Jr’s and his wife’s Tribeca apartment where the two lived in much the way people did outside Buckingham Palace when Diana died. Hundreds more visitors poured in at the graves of the late president and his wife, Jackie, at Arlington National Cemetery and at the Sixth Floor Museum, formerly known as the Texas School Book Depository in Downtown Dallas. Some wrote condolences in guest books. Others wept.

Like Diana who was dubbed in the press as “The People’s Princess”, flags were flown at half-staff for “The People’s Prince.” Outside the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port, Ma., mourners left flowers while the press sat and waited to see which family members would come out next. Not even Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg, now the last surviving and most private heir to Camelot, could escape the media glare as she and her family awaited news at their own home on Long Island and began to make what has become an all-too-familiar scene for America’s most prominent first family, funeral arrangements. When she and her husband came out of seclusion a few days after the crash, the couple took a bike ride followed by the press. It was the couple’s 13th wedding anniversary.

It all seems a little silly yet poignant. Like Diana, why did Americans grieve over someone they never met but felt they knew through past press coverage and photographs? Perhaps they grieved over how tragic it was for such well-liked celebrities to lose their lives so unexpectedly at such an early age. Their life stories were biographies only half finished.

It seems by all news accounts, JFK Jr. lived life to the fullest dating various models and well-known Hollywood icons like Daryl Hannah before marrying Carolyn Bessette in 1996, playing sports, and trying different things that included flying. But it seemed the man, who People magazine called “The Sexiest Man Alive” years ago, was still trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life whether it should be in politics or continue working as an assistant district attorney in Manhattan while involving himself in various charities.

Then in October 1995, he created and became editor-in-chief of George, a struggling magazine that parodied and treated politics as entertainment and featured several female celebrities on the front covers from Cindy Crawford and Madonna to Drew Barrymore and most recently, Salma Hayek. But there was a serious side to the publication as well. Over the course of the magazine’s three and half years, JFK Jr. interviewed such figureheads that included Gerald Ford, Colin Powell, George Wallace, and Louis Farrakhan.

Now the magazine is a collector’s item. The current issue out at bookstores immediately sold out the week of the tragedy and it is also being reported that the publication, whose profits have been down for some time, will likely fold. I will not be surprised if back issues of George are sold at used bookstores for $20 behind the counter inside plastic see-thru bags next to the July 1997 $20 issue of Vanity Fair that featured Diana on the front cover posing in a dress later auctioned off at Sotheby’s.

Now we are left asking ourselves, what would the future have held for the trio had they lived? Perhaps JFK Jr. would have pursued politics and run for public office like his father and uncles before him. Perhaps Carolyn would have involved herself in various note worthy causes. While Lauren would have lived her own life staying out of the media spotlight.

As the coast guard, navy ships and divers continued their “search and retrieval” efforts off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard, there was a certain sense of false hope in the back of my mind. I kept thinking the three were alive on some remote island awaiting rescue.

I knew the inevitable result as did everyone else. The search though, which ended July 21, finally brought a sense of closure for the Kennedy and Bessette families and for Americans. Days after the crash, we were told by the press what might have happened in those last moments as the private plane made its deadly descent. Questions have arisen over whether JFK Jr., who just received his pilot’s license last year, was experienced enough to fly at night.

It would be easy to say the fates of JFK Jr.; his wife and her sister could have been avoided. Some think it is a “Kennedy curse.”

Originally Published ©7/21/99

©2/11/26