A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE . . . TO MEMORY LANE?

(This is in italics on purpose. It'll make sense soon enough.)

Between the busy week I had, and the effort to put together the two-part Mets season preview that nobody asked for, I have about as much left in the tank as an SUV after a trip down the driveway. I'll admit that upon waking up this morning and finalizing the baseball post, I didn't even bother starting up a Friday Silly Movie Of My Youth Of The Day. It would've been garbage if I tried.

Anyway, there's no way I'm leaving you to face this beautiful, sunny Friday without the support, the virtual crutch, the cyber cuppa' Joe we all know as the FSMOMYOTD. So, in a display of my overblown sense of self-importance, I leave you with not only a re-run of a FSMOMYOTD, but a re-run of the very first FSMOMYOTD.

(Note how short this was at the git' go.)

Ladies & Gents, the first. And appropriately, it was Thank God It's Friday, from August 25, 2006:


In my constant effort to entertain you, not to mention having no idea what to write about this morning, I now present the first in what might be a Friday Tradition here in the Neighborhood (Or, it won't. I admit my track record on these "Running Themes" is worse than Bush's track record with the truth). Yes, folks, may I present to you, for your coffee-supping enjoyment, the awkwardly-titled, and even more awkwardly conceived . . . Friday Silly Movie Of My Youth Of The Day.

(And yes, I'm aware that the "Friday . . . Of The Day" construction is completely preposterous, but preposterousness is my goal most of the time).

So, with no further ado, the most-appropriate flick for day one of this inappropriate meme:

Thank God It's Friday

If you've never seen it . . . well, thank god for that fact, and don't do a thing to change it. I haven't seen it in the 28 years since it came out, and I'm planning on keeping that way. I suspect it would fall on the Rocky V side of unwatchable.

But that's not to say I didn't like it when I saw it as a 10 year-old. Cause I did. I actually saw it with my parents, some time in the spring of '78, after the release of Saturday Night Fever, but before Grease. And when I think about it, with Animal House coming that fall, 1978 was a helluva year for me in terms of busting into the "grown-up movie" world.

In retrospect, what the hell were my parents thinking???

I can't remember much about the flick other than lots of disco music, lots of chicks in satiny dresses, and guys with gold chains, leather, poofed-up hair, and all the other accoutrements of that wacky era known as the late-70s. And all I recall in the way of the "plot" was an ingenue played by Donna Summer trying all night to get to the mike to sing her song.

Come to think of it, that's pretty much the whole plot, and the marketing, all wrapped into one. Of course she eventually got the mike, sang Last Dance, and boldly began charting her course to TopOfTheChartsDiscoDiva as the credits rolled.

Finally, check out the credits: The Commodores (including a fully-afro'd Lionel Richie); Debra Winger, fresh off her TV success as Wonder Woman's curvy sister, Drusilla; and Jeff Goldblum, as the owner of the swinging disco where all the fun went down. Still a few years away from breaking into the leading roles he saw in the 80's, I guess it was a step up from the bit parts of the previous years: the guy who "Forgot his mantra" at Tony Lacey's party in Annie Hall, and one of the rapists in the first Death Wish. Oh, the ignominous beginnings of many an actor.

And, oh, the world I grew up to in the 70s: afros, revenge flicks, Lynda Carter in a red, white & blue bikini on a "family show," and Jeff Goldblum trying to remember his mantra at Paul Simon's party in a Woody Allen film. Dazed & Confused, indeed.

And anyway, thank god it's Friday.