The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

And Ott has a reputation as the original nice guy. Imagine what they say in the shower about Leo.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Eh," shrugs Lottie. "T'ey make me go t'bed at nine. Sergean' Solly lets me stay up an' lissen t' Red Skeleton!" "I can't stan' Red Skelt'n..." mutters Solly..

These two together have been great. I gonna miss their pairing.

Separately, it's been a tough weeks for safes.

********************************************************

"Ain' no shame," declares Sally, "in comin' in fift'." "I still say," mutters Joe, "t'ey put some kin'a grease awnat flooeh..."

Even Joe is susceptible to the cliché about the greatest lies being the ones we tell to ourselves about ourselves.

********************************************************

"Hmph. It'll nivvar catch aaahn." -- Ma.

It's only 80 years later, a blink of an eye on any real time scale, and these people would be stunned at what is legal and acceptable now.

Now or 80 years ago, a 6' 1" blonde still stands out. Though, the model industry today would demand that she'd be twenty pounds lighter.

********************************************************

"I came all the way from Boston to do this joke."

Good one, Lizzie.

*******************************************************

If she has any sense, by now she's about six hundred miles out of town.

If she has any of these people had any sense, by now she's they'd be about six hundred miles out of town.

 

[Harp]

Lt Brown seems to have hit the jackpot with his Sweedish fiancee.

The Las Vegas Turf Club makin n' takin some book. Now its like a NASA launch center.

Terry's got a date with the tigress, however, with Milt all-tease and no stripes Caniff, he won't get First base.

...and Serene seems to have fallen for Ian. All he needs do is use this Sapphic passage:
The rose is the eye of the flowers;
The lightning of beauty.''--Sappho, Song of The Rose

I've personally gotten a lot of mileage with this, only adding, ''Your beauty strikes lightning, its thunder echoes in my heart.'' There's plenty of tread still seen this tire. Girls came across like the Mayflower.

Gonna give Saturday's Preakness a serious look today. A race that has proved instructive, its 2016 rendition
had Exaggerator; Cherry Wine; Nyquist, and Stradavari lined over Pimlico. Nyquist; whom I hit in the Derby, faltered from a low white blood cell count. I suspect his connections knew this but let him run hoping for best, all things considered with stud fees stacked against a scratch. After an unusually dull performance by this gallant steed, truthful revelation was made; supposedly unknown condition....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("We jus' get oveh t' measles," sighs Sally, "an' now we gotta worry 'bout polio season." "We'eh gonna sen' Willie t' camp again'is summeh," nods Alice. "Get 'im outta t' city. Camp Ching-atch-goo k, t'at one he wen' to las' yeeh. T'at friend a' Misteh Ginsboig t'at runs it, he says Willie can come f' free again if Siddy woiks as a counseleh." "Din'ee fawl out'va tree las' yeeh?" chuckles Sally. "An' break 'is awrm?" "Yeh," shrugs Alice. "I ast'im if he wan'ned t' do it again, an' y'know what 'e says?" "Yeh," snorts Sally. "I mean," adds Alice, "he's got two awrms." "I wisht Leonoreh was old enough t'go," sighs Sally. "She's sposta stawrt public school inna fawl, an' she needs t' loin t' be around a lotta kids. Not like t'em kids at t' clinic, I mean reg'leh kids." "Y'gotta be seven t'go t' Ching-atch-goo k," sighs Alice. "Leonoreh's big fawr'eh age," shrugs Sally. "An' she's gotta mout'on'eh like she's fifteen, nawt five. Maybe I could slip 'eh past'm." "I don' t'ink she'd like it," suggests Alice. "It's jus' made outa wood. Notta brick awna place...")

("Get back in bed this instaaant!" orders Ma. "It's two in th' maaaarnin!" "I'm awl betteh," insists Bink. "I wanna b'nana split." "We got noo oice cream left," insists Ma. "An aaaahl th' bananas is spoiled. G'wan back oop with ye." Bink gazes toward the phone, hanging mute on the wall. "Barbara," sighs Ma. "Oi'll tell ye as soon as he caaaalls." Exhaling deeply, Bink turns and opens the door to the stairway. She glances back at Ma, sitting alone at the counter of the darkened store, and reluctantly heads back to bed...)

("T'at'sa pretty good sign," grins Solly Pincus. "Meet Big Joe In Poisson, T'is Week On'y." "Lil done it," nods Morrie Schreibstein. "She took awrt in high school, y'know." "T'at face is really good," marvels Solly. "Lot betteh'n'at one I got on my sign. I hadda pay t'is guy Inky Quinlan twenny bucks t' drawr t'at pitcheh an' I come out lookin' like Joe E. Brown wit' Clawrk Gable's eehs. But t'at one you got t'eh is really sump'n." "She hadda pitcheh inna Eagle oncet," declares Morrie, a touch of pride in his voice. "When she was elev'n. She drew a pitcheh'ra Harold Lloyd, an' sen' it in t' Aunt Jean. Won a dolleh!" "Y'know, t'ey say Joe looks like Jawn Gawrfiel'," observes Solly, "but I neveh really realized how MUCH...." "Act'chlly," confesses Morrie. "T'at IS Jawn Gawrfiel'. She din' have a good pitchehr'a Joe t' go by, so she jus' copied'at outa one'a t'ese movie magazines. Y'know, she says 'e's a lot hawrdeh t' drawr t'en Harold Lloyd." "Oh," ohs Lil, emerging from the back room. "Solly. I wanned t' t'ank you f'taking caehr'a Lottie. She keeps sayin'...." "Oh, I c'n imagine," eyerolls Solly. "But look, I jus' wanna say..." "She says," continues Lil, "you was awrf'l strick wit'eh, an' made'h go t' bed at nine onna dot ev'ry night." "Oh," ohs Solly. "Well -- uh -- y'gotta -- you know -- uh -- putcha foot down..." "Yeh," chuckles Morrie...)

("And it comes with this convenient chin strap so you can wear it for a helmet...")

(Well this is certainly going to be a nervewracking summer....)

(Watch him take a dive in the second round just to mess with them.)

("I don't THINK so. I'm NOT THAT EASY!")

(NOT THE HORSE)

("Next time, Go Pullman!")

(Everybody's a back seat parent.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Sugar and Bebe?" What is this, 1926?

A headline in iambic pentameter? Find joy in your work wherever you can.

Dreams are the last casualty of encroaching reality.

"Can I stick one in Wilmer?"

"And good riddance." -- Chili Pepper.

A herringbone suit with the herring still in it.

"I suppose I can get used to it. But what's that smell coming from the basement?"

Where's Big Stoop when you need him?

It isn't every kid that gets to sleep in a fine bombe dresser.

"I'll take care of him. I'll take GOOD CARE OF HIM and he will NEVER GO AWAY AGAIN."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

All right, top THAT.

 

[Fading Fast]

"We jus' get oveh t' measles," sighs Sally, "an' now we gotta worry 'bout polio season." "We'eh gonna sen' Willie t' camp again'is summeh," nods Alice. "Get 'im outta t' city. Camp Ching-atch-goo k, t'at one he wen' to las' yeeh. T'at friend a' Misteh Ginsboig t'at runs it, he says Willie can come f' free again if Siddy woiks as a counseleh."

I assume this is a sleep-away camp and, if so, how is Krause able to leave the building for that long? Especially, since the only other person who knows how to run the building is Willie.

********************************************************

I wanned t' t'ank you f'taking caehr'a Lottie. She keeps sayin'...." "Oh, I c'n imagine," eyerolls Solly. "But look, I jus' wanna say..." "She says," continues Lil, "you was awrf'l strick wit'eh, an' made'h go t' bed at nine onna dot ev'ry night." "Oh," ohs Solly. "Well -- uh -- y'gotta -- you know -- uh -- putcha foot down..."

That's perfect. If this were a TV show in the 1970s, we'd have to consider spinning those two off into their own show: "Solly and Lottie in Chicago" (he goes for the store; she goes for some special school program, but her parents only let her go if Solly assumes responsibility for her).

********************************************************

Well this is certainly going to be a nervewracking summer....

Looks like the arrogant owners are basically going to win if Holmes is right.

*******************************************************

"Sugar and Bebe?" What is this, 1926?

That's quite a complicated little donnybrook those three have working.

*******************************************************

A headline in iambic pentameter? Find joy in your work wherever you can.

Good one, Lizzie.

*******************************************************

"I suppose I can get used to it. But what's that smell coming from the basement?"

1313 Mockingbird Lane.

 

[LizzieMaine]

It'll be interesting to see how it works out this year. Last year, Uncle Frank and the boys were on call to deal with any boiler issues, but Frank has other enterprises going, and I doubt if Jimmy will be able to get away from the Tuckahoe social whirl this summer...

 

[Harp]

Didn't catch any criminal hijinks, divorce, or trust accountancy legal impairment this morning.
However, the Laraine Day adoptions sweeten my coffee. Ms Day later married Leo Durocher; whom my maternal White Sox fan grandmother absolutely hated. Aside from a Cubs managerial stint, Leo achieved the pinnacle of his career when he appeared in a Munster's episode.

The death of Ms Quarrel in love embrace is beyond tragic.

Ian has an Irish glib tongue, makin' all the right moves too.
And Munchkin's gonna get his little azz kicked over cold-as-ice Dragon Gal if he doesn't shut his yap with Slits.

The Malmedy massacre where several hundred Americans were massacred by SS ****s was never addressed to the fullest extent of the law, Colonel Joachim Piper should have been strung up by a hangman's rope. The ******* got off scott free, left fate to perish in a house fire twenty years later. Helmet should have been passed in the 101st Airborne and the job done much sooner.

Incrediboldt looks Saturday's man with three or four others. I'll have the squad lined out tomorrow. Not a stellar fourteen lot, but there is some prime horse ready at Laurel since Pimlico is under repair. A bit shorter track, tight fit favoring stalkers just off pace. And there is speed but questionable distance.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Don'ee look like Jawn Gawrfiel'?" marvels a bobby-soxer, exiting Schreibstein's. "Ain' it awrf'l," headshakes her companion, "he's married t' t' loon? Oops, scuse me, Misteh." "Eh," ehs Solly, frowning as he hears the young women giggling in a marked manner as they saunter across 18th Avenue. He steps into the store, to find Joe wiping his hands after serving a counterful of customers. "What'd I tell ya?" grins Solly, nodding toward the "Meet Big Joe" sign. "Tol'ya it'd woik. Ya'rra celebrity!" "My han's smell funny," winces Joe. "Awlat han'shakin'." "Gimme a special," requests Solly, sliding onto a recently vacated stool. "An'na Coke. An'na packa Camels." "T'em t'ings'll kill ya," warns Joe, sliding the pack across the counter and slapping the lump of beef on the grill. "Afteh t'las' t'ree weeks," snorts Solly, "nut'n can kill me. T'ree weeks wit' a eight yeeh'r'ol' goil t'at makes Baby Snooks look like Mawrgret O'Brien." "She ain' so bad," dismisses Joe, stirring the Coke. "I did loin one t'ing," declares Solly. "T'best t'ing about kids is whenney go home." "Heh," hehs Joe. "Anyt'ing you say....")

("Ahhh," sighs Uncle Frank, sipping his two-cents plain. "Thim was th' happy days. Proohibition. A good ploomber with a waaarehoose fulla coppar tubin' could do nooo wrong." "Hmph," hmphs Ma, counting the contents of Heckie's canvas pouch. "Oi r'mimbarr th' day Oi bought th' troock," continues Uncle Frank. "Faaaar cash. Sivin hoondred an' siventy dollars, an' tharr Oi stood, big as Ooold Nick, peelin' thim bills aaahf me rool, an' knoowin' tharr was moor wharr that coom froom." "Hoop ye kipt th' receipt," snorts Ma. "Ahhhh, ye was happy too," insists Uncle Frank. "In thim days, when we was yoong an' th' waaarld didn't seem soo...." But his soliloquy is interrupted by the sudden jangling of the telephone. Two pairs of eyes flick in synchronization to the stairway door, and with a deep breath Ma steps to the phone.....)

("Just for that, you'll skipper the fleet!")

(Denying everything by shaking hands with a Pasquel while you board a plane for Mexico? Only the Babe could do it.)

(The players change, but the game remains the same.)

(Eh, you might get a tiny little mention at the bottom of page 35, right next to the rassling ads.)

(Live Alone and Like It.)

(Who needs Red Ryder when we've got -- um -- this one guy...)

(Boy, Paul Whiteman's really let himself go.)

(Could it be a challenger for Worst Dad Ever?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Oh those Barrymores.

You're on the right track, Mr. Powers. Now, just dig a little deeper into the whole story about what happened with Reiser in 1938, and you might just find out something that probably won't shock you at all....

It's so hard when you don't have anyone to root for.

Now, about that wage scale...

Come hot weather, there's going to be a really interesting pothole...

GET UP AND FLIP IT YOU LAZY LUMMOX

Pot stirrer.

There are trains leaving for Reno every day.

Guess what -- Fred never left at all...

If he's staggering drunk in the middle of the day, he'll never remember anyway.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Events seem to be racing to some sort of climax.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Afteh t'las' t'ree weeks," snorts Solly, "nut'n can kill me....'



*******************************************************

The players change, but the game remains the same.

Indeed. It gets tweaked and updated, but the same garbage is still with us today.

*******************************************************

Boy, Paul Whiteman's really let himself go.

Good call; you see it most around the eyes.

*******************************************************

Oh those Barrymores.

They do like to have their public contretemps, but it is also a good looking family. Diana is quite attractive in that pic.

*******************************************************

Guess what -- Fred never left at all...

That would be freakin' hilarious.

 

[Harp]

Still with the morning's first cup and saw a Mrs Ajinsky discovered a .50 caliber machine *** slug tore inside her Jamaica apartment bathroom which shattered a medicinal cabinet mirror, nailing an innocent toothbrush.
A .50 Cal doesn't have a trigger but a thumb depressant for two-handed wood handle grasp firing.
Lady's lucky day, she should get out to the Jamaica track.

A few small petty crimes duly noted; including a major case matter in Francis, wherein a seventeen year old will return to an initial capital sentence. Although not conversant case factual, attendant circumstance pleads life mitigation.

And speaking of track visits, today's Preakness offers a full fourteen entrant field; however, prudent past performance handicapping class, form, pace with myriad intangibles finds a handful of horse primed progressive improvement: Taj Mahal, Crupper, Bull by the Horns, Ocelli. Incongruous maiden Ocelli, Derby third, returns off the lay arguable best closer but more bust than big bucks bet. Doubtful virgin just off a fortnite lay.
And lightly raced but on a roll Taj Mahal is a thrice king Laurel Park little league baseball veteran who hasn't faced major league fast pitching. A big step up in class n' sass with himself. And Napoleon Solo after a fabulous 2 year-old season cannot get started this trice. Incredibolt looks best banana in the bunch. Early voting started the other day, so I tossed a few chips in the pot last night. Just dime box superfectas stud percentage play, will see where the smart money leads later this afternoon. There are underlays here with discernible improvement, so long shots are default key chain gang play.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Leonoreh!" commands Sally. "Get Stella awffa t' table when we'eh eat'n. LEONOREH!" At the raised voice, Stella fixes Sally in an accusatory glare, and retreats, hitting the linoleum with a pronounced thud. Leonora looks over, having heard little of this. "Whatcha do t'at fawr?" she mutters, poking at her beans. "She's got anot'eh appernt'men' wit' Docteh Glass nex' week," sighs Sally. "I gotta woik, so can you..." "Yeh," nods Joe. "I do'wanna go see Docteh Glass," scowls Leonora, stabbing a bean with her fork. "He smells like Lysawl." "She c'n heeh when she wantsta," chuckles Joe. Stella glares at her family long enough to make her point, and retreats to her lair beneath the stove while the meal continues. "Hey Joe," resumes Sally. "Less go t' t' game t'marra. Awl t'ree'v'us." "Ah," ahs Joe. "I dunno, Morrie ast me to be oveh t'eh, t'meet me public. S'posta be a busy day." "Ahhhh," scoffs Sally. "You been doin'at awl week. Less go t' game. We ain' been awl yeeh." "Who's playin?" queries Joe. "If it's t' Cawrdn'ls still, f'gettabout get'n tickets." "It's, uh," hesitates Sally, "t', um, t' Pittsboigs." "Ah," nods Joe, thru a mouthful of bread. "Should be easy t'get tickets," continues Sally. "Maybe even downstaiehs. T'oid base dugout, even, we get t'eh oily enough." "Ah," repeats Joe, lifting a forkful of beans. He chews, swallows, and leans back in his chair. "I heeh Coscarawrt still ain' playin'." "HE NEEDS ENCOURAGIN"!" snaps Sally. Leonora looks up from her plate and scowls, as Stella scurries into the next room. "Yeh," acknowledges Joe....)

("I believe it's safe to say, Mrs. Scanlan..." begins Dr. McCann. "Who?" gapes Bink. "Oh. Oh yeh. I mean, yeh?" "I believe it's safe to say," resumes Dr. McCann, "that you are no longer contagious. So.." "Zat mean I c'n go oveh't hawspit'l?" injects Bink. "An' see Frankie?" Ma and Uncle Frank exchange looks, and make eye contact with the doctor, who flicks them an inscrutable reply. "Y'said," continues Bink, "he was doin' betteh. Y'said 'e was gainin' back weight. Y'said..." "I believe, Mrs. Scanlan," replies the Doctor, "that we could permit a visit. However, there are a few things I believe we should discuss first." "I ain' gonna steal nut'n," vows Bink. "Uhh," puzzles the doctor, as Ma glares at Bink and quickly draws a finger across her throat...)

(THAT'S A JOKE SON!)

(You'd think there was a wall around home plate, the way he runs for it...)

(Maybe you should take up basketball. I hear there's no corruption there.)

("SHE"S NOT MY SISTER SHE'S MY MOTHER AND SHE SOLD HER SOUL TO MOLECH! There, are you happy???")

(That high-pressure ammo is downright dangerous.)

(Next time, get a compartment.)

(If you want to achieve a goal, you must be single minded about it.)

 

[Fading Fast]

"Should be easy t'get tickets," continues Sally. "Maybe even downstaiehs. T'oid base dugout, even, we get t'eh oily enough." "Ah," repeats Joe, lifting a forkful of beans. He chews, swallows, and leans back in his chair. "I heeh Coscarawrt still ain' playin'." "HE NEEDS ENCOURAGIN"!"

Sally needs to have s*x with him to get it out of her system. She and Joe will be better for it and Joe would probably be the first to understand that.

*******************************************************

"I ain' gonna steal nut'n," vows Bink. "Uhh," puzzles the doctor,

It's like when an outsider gets a glimpse into the crazy of your family and it reminds you of how crazy it is.

*******************************************************

If you want to achieve a goal, you must be single minded about it.

Solly just got a taste of this.



Did you mean to post this today? Now I'll have to stretch the Daily News and Daily Commie Worker out tomorrow morning or the entire start to my day will be off.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Erroneous post. Consider it a peek behind the time warp that connects us to Brooklyn 1946....

 

[Fading Fast]

Erroneous post. Consider it a peek behind the time warp that connects us to Brooklyn 1946....

My comments participated in the same space-time continuum micro-breach.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Incidentally, Pete Reiser has already stolen home three times, in a season that is just a month old. That might just be the single most impressive micro-record I've ever seen in sports. THe man was either the most fearless player that baseball will ever see, or the most insane. Or both.

 

[Harp]

Incidentally, Pete Reiser has already stolen home three times, in a season that is just a month old. That might just be the single most impressive micro-record I've ever seen in sports.

Mickey Mantle was my boyhood idol. My dad came back from a biz trip to NYC and recounted stepping into an elevator occupied Mickey and Yogi Berra. Base thievery is a lost art, something Pete Rose did with skilled characteristic aplomb. And the hat adjustment afterward, standing on Second was his deft signature capping the steal.

Well, the Preakness has mercifully passed. Stopped a superfecta; only because I couldn't ignore Napoleon Solo depite his desultory third year, nor overlook Iron Honor or Chip Honcho Equibase past performances, for which I pay a dollar to study. And Ocelli likewise for tail end finish. Not third but fourth. A effing maidenhead who can't score a win but hits the board. Taj Mahal had won thrice but not faced major horse league fast pitching; although this didn't necessarily mean he couldn't hit whatever thrown his way. He scared me and showed heading a few tickets. Same with Incredibolt, whom finished behind the maiden at fifth.

After several surprise preps and the Derby whackjob finish, it feels good winning a hand and raking in a pot.