The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Isn't it romantic?

It takes two to neck, Vinnie...

Ahhh, the butter shortage...

The Great Reconciliator.

"Pay attention now, we've only got this one book, and everybody has to share.."

I hope before this is over, somebody puts a crease in Jon's perfect hair...

You can see where Skeez gets it.

OK, let's move on...

A sedan chair?? Rickshaws all booked?

His hand has never lost its skill...

 

[Fading Fast]

"It's t' principle'a t' t'ing..."

If she's having this conversation, at least she didn't end up in jail after "talking" with the shop steward yesterday.

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When a joke doesn't go over with the studio audience, Eddie Cantor drops his pants. Are you sure you want to see that?

Wait till they discover laugh tracks.

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The party's over...

I know he's got enough trouble, but the secretary is cute, just sayin'.

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You can see where Skeez gets it.

"Wilmer sees his mistake, Sheriff. He'll think twice next time."

Challenge.

 

[Harp]

The Schmitt psychological profile highlights the pinnacle aspect of mens rea legal qualification
for deliberate intent cruelty as opposed actual insanity. I sympathize with the learned trial judge in his
perplexity.

As to Mrs Arthur Smith of brides crossing fame towing four children amidst gossip, rumor, and innuendo
among the girls, I basically like movies to end the way I want them to end. Roman Holiday with Audrey and
Gregory Peck is a case in point. I prefer a happily ever after conclusion. Marriage, elopement, whatever.
And The Way We Were with Babs and Bob calling it quits, then that chance street meeting just kills me
no end.... Hopefully the widowed-and-wedded Mrs Smith and Arthur and all the kids will find happiness.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awr you sueh," frowns Sally, "y'otta be doin'at?" "Leave me t'me miseries, choild," sighs Uncle Frank, stripping the foil from a roll of Tums and dropping the chalky white pellets into his two-cents-plain. "Ye moothar's aaahn th' rampage." "I hoid awlabout'it," nods Sally, sipping her post-workday Coke. "Jimmy gett'n married. It jus' don' seem natcherel." "A rich wooman froom Toockahoe," marvels Uncle Frank. "How'dya know she's rich?" queries Sally, pushing back on her stool. "Thaaar ain't noo poor people in Toockahoe," observes Uncle Frank. "Good pernt," agrees Sally. "It's one'a t'em kin'a places." "She's a widdar," continues Uncle Frank. "Oi sent'im oop tharr t'get soom paaarts f'r th' aaaarl barrner, an' she luuuuuured'im in with'arr woiles. Loike a spoidarr lurrin' a fly." "Jimmy ain' no fly," snickers Sally. "Patateh bug, maybe." "My son," laments Uncle Frank. "Soom rich vaaampoire's bitta rough." "Huh," huhs Sally, draining her glass. "T'at's a t'ought. Wondeh what she'd do if'ee -- wasn' like'ee is?" "Ye mean,' sighs Uncle Frank, "naaaht an' eejit?" "What'if'ee wasn' so -- " ventures Sally, "you know. What'if 'ee was -- I dunno, moeh like t' kin'a men she's useta. Maybe she'd get boehd an' f'get awlabout 'im?" "Y'mean loike woona thim fellars stand on tharr head in the-ay-teh lobbies?" ponders Uncle Frank. "Woona thim shoiny noit-cloob gents?" "Heh," chuckles Sally. "Good luck to ya." "Oi couldn't do it," admits Uncle Frank. "But Oi knoo who could....")

("I do'wanna tawk about it," fumes Danny. "T' bum. T' rat. T' married louse!" "Keep gooin'," sours Ma. "He says'ee's pullin' out'at t'at room we got oveh t' Nostran' Aveneh, an' leaves ME holdin'a bag. Lan'lady says it's a double room, an' I can't stay t'eh alone. So she ad'vehtises one-half foinished room f' rent, wit' meals. An' eighty-seven people show up! You eveh see a matinee 'a Hellzapoppin'? T'at's what it looked like! An' she put's TWO of'm inna room wit' me. T'ree people innat one bed. We gotta sleep in shifts!" "Soomthin's got t' be doon," glowers Ma. "I s'pose I could fight'm fawr it. One'vm was a 4-F, I could probly knock him outta t' runnin." "You was a 4-F," sneers Ma." "Yeh," shrugs Danny, "but t'is guy come by it hones'...")

(It's one of those places.)

(In the courtyard behind 1762 63rd Street, Leonora crouches in her grimy overalls and picks a choice chunk of brick out of the muck...)

(Florida, pondering its place in history...)

(You know, ten cents worth of ground glass in the gearbox would do just as well.)

("Yes'm. Cream cheese or peanut butter?")

(Look, Lucifer, if you're going to keep hanging around here, Scarlet will have to put you on the payroll...)

(Only half blind. Eh, I'll go halfway back.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Those English gals, so refined...

Nuff 'sed.

1946 understands ironic detachment.

History is the interpretation of the past thru the lens of the present, with the prescription subject to change.

Agents of the DL. She needs a dancing partner.

Jimmy Jemail gets his revenge.

Ew, creepy.

Yeah, he's talented that way.

Pop's been selling a lot more science fiction magazines lately.

Moon took the bronze in the 110 meter hurdles at the 1932 Olympics. He had to give it back, but he did take it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Another triple for Padgett? He'll be down to 220 in no time.

 

[Fading Fast]

"A rich wooman froom Toockahoe," marvels Uncle Frank.

They all agree he's an idiot, so why not be happy that some rich, older widow married him. That just might be the singularly best outcome there could ever be on earth for Jimmy. I sincerely don't see what the crisis is or why they are all so upset. It appears to be a nice solution to the Jimmy problem.

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"But Oi knoo who could...."

Looks like a combined job for Mozelewski and Inky.

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In the courtyard behind 1762 63rd Street, Leonora crouches in her grimy overalls and picks a choice chunk of brick out of the muck...

"Let her be natural and g*y and carefree in her play hours..."

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Please tell me the overarching theme of "The Gumps."

 

[Harp]

The Carbone divorce suit looks interesting. Jean engaged in ''criminal conversation'' with Beschen;
conceived and bore a child by Beschen; flew to the United States on Carbone's dime and marriage certificate;
then fled to her lover's parental address. She entered the United States under false premise and is now in
Reno looking for a divorce on cruelty's ground. And Carbone contests. Were he my client, I would advise a desertion fraudulence pursuit; however, man-to-man, also counsel a quick out of court settlement.
Whether **** intended or circumstantial, a tort of misadventure has occurred that needn't be prosecuted.
And a discarded joker cannot reshuffle himself back within Cupid's deck.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now what??" mutters Danny Leary, bending to examine a puddle collecting under the improvised fermentation tank. He touches a reluctant finger to the fluid, and, even more reluctantly, tastes it. "JEEZUZ!" he retches, jerking upright from the shock of the vile liquid on his tongue. He hears a clatter in the warehouse, and glances at his watch. "'Zat you, Pop? You betteh get back'eeh, t'at jackass Jimmy made a complete..." "Izzat so?" comes a stern voice most definitely not that of his father. "Ohhhhhh..." stammers Danny, turning to face the glaring scowl of Sergeant Solomon J. Pincus....)

("Aaaaaaand a good aftarnoon to ye," smiles Uncle Frank, removing his derby as he enters Mozelewski's of Brooklyn. "Yeh," frowns Miss Kaplan. "Hiya, Frank," nods Mozelewski, pausing as he takes his assistant's measurements for a new design. "Ya gotta lose some'a t'at pooch," he directs. "T'is one cuts awna bias." "Hmph," growls Miss Kaplan. "Is -- ah -- Mistarr Quinlan aboot?" queries Uncle Frank. "Inna back," nods Mozelewski. "Eat'n'is lunch. An' tell'im not t'get no cream cheese on me cutt'n table." As Uncle Frank retreats to the rear of the shop, Miss Kaplan glares daggers at his aftquarters. "Y'know what?" she whispers. "I hoid'at guy's a crook. A bootleggeh! Black mawrket cigarettes! T'whole woiks!" "Nooo," gapes Mozelewski, making notes on a clipboard. "T'at whole FAM'LY's crooks, y'know t'at? T'at wife'a his runs a bookie jernt, an' banks numbehs. Be'foeh t'wawr she even had BINGO." "What izza woil' comin' to," shrugs Mozelewski, looping his tape measure around his assistant's waist. "T'oity two, huh? Betteh lay awff t' cream cheese yaself." "An' she's gotta son at'sa jailboid!" continues Miss Kaplan. "An'nem two boys a' Frank's? T'eh t' muscle f't' whole opehration. T'eh'r awl crooks, 'cept f' Joe, t' pooeh sap. An' ya know whoza masteh min' 'at runza whole syndicate? T'at WIFE a' Joe's, t'at one'at neveh shuts'eh mout'. She's whatchacawl t' Queen Bee a' t'whole doity bunch! I'm tellin' ya, we gotta do sump'n!" "Breat'e in," sighs Mozelewski, looping the tape measure. "We gotta do sump'n," repeats Miss Kaplan, "befoeh'rit's too late!" "Hmm," frowns Mozelewski, examining his tape. "Betteh lay awff t' blackout cake too.")

("Hmph," hmps Sally. "T'ese kids t'day. Music ya can't dance to! Singehs t'at jus' stan'neh'r'n moan! Sawngs t'at don' make no sense!" "Floy-doy, floy-doy, floy-doy," shrugs Alice. "What?" "Nut'n...")

("...filling a job that Freddy Fitzsimmons had to relinquish to save his sanity." There's a story there that we've never been told, and it makes me very sad to think about it. You deserved better, Fitz.)

(Never chop down a roof you're standing under.)

(Twist the knife.)

(Wait, isn't there a company policy against this? Somebody check the employee handbook.)

("Better keep moving, old man. This is OUR block, see?")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"A jawr'a col' cream?" snorts Bink. "Whatevveh happn't'wa bawr a' soap?? KIDS T'DAY!"

And don't miss Page Four, cheesecake photos of Clare Boothe Luce!

Come now, Terry, you've been over here long enough to know when SOMEONE wants to see you.

What, you don't have a pocket?

Job's not over till the paperwork's done.

Never mind that, get to the funnies!

You know, Lil, you could do better.

"When you've been married thirty years, you'll understand."

And the G stands for "Gonnaloseitall."

Yes, if there's one thing you notice right off about Annie it's her slick city ways...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Don't worry, Pathe News will be there, in the interests of eighty years' worth of stock footage.

 

[Fading Fast]

T'at WIFE a' Joe's, t'at one'at neveh shuts'eh mout'.



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

That's two days without Jane Arden. How long goes it take Jane to put a fine fur like that in storage?

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Never mind that, get to the funnies!

Congenitally mismatched.

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Don't worry, Pathe News will be there, in the interests of eighty years' worth of stock footage.

How has he not already died of a stroke or heart attack or brain explosion. It can't be easy going through life with that much unbridled anger.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Mike will make it to 1967, and he'll mellow quite a bit in his old age. But he'll never ever become a fan of Henry James.

Meanwhile, I hired Scarlet and Sandy to go look for Janie --

(Don't sweat so much there, Nebsie, you're staining the chair.)

("All right, get him out of here. I've got an appointment at I. J. Fox.")

 

[Fading Fast]

As much as I can't stand the guy, I'm glad Gold mellowed a bit – life is too long to be that angry every day. Doesn't matter if you're right (or think you're right), it's just too exhausting and God help the people around you.

Thank you for the "Jane Arden" strips, Lizzie. Boy that wrapped up very easily. Now scurry along, Jane, and don't forget to get the claim ticket.

Having never done it, storing a fur with a company must be a pretty complicated and security intense process. Once in a blue moon, I'll be walking around the city and see a faded (ghost) sign on the side of a large old brick building that says "Cold Fur Storage" or something like that.

 

[Harp]

The Albany, New York Mahoney-Dwyer bill limiting Grand Jury ''extramarital'' presentment beyond
strict mandate is extraordinarily important. In my humble opinion, juries should adhere instruction
relative discernible evidentiary and not presume interference prerogative outside evident testimony.
This phenomena dovetails trial jury nullification.

Thomas Paine's exquisite American advocacy is refreshing; especially after watching a The Crown snippet
on YouTube, where Churchill flies off the rail with his condescending attitude towards American diplomacy.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was up all night over the Virginia Derby chalk board. The ninth race
at lovely Colonial Downs this afternoon is an important Kentucky Derby prep filled with the oddest
assortment of speed, proven past performance, and also-ran after shots racing for a piece of its
$500k purse. And looking for value underlies amidst pace makes the race improbable long shot viable
stalkers running for a piece perplexed the hell out of me. My box, TVG, however threw me a fifty buck bonus,
so I spread an X ambush over the track. Chalk and longs all together hodge poge whiskey tango foxtrot.
Anyway, Baffert's guy Buetane rides the rail boasting the highest recorded Beyer. Other horses will be
instructed to block and trap Bute, leaving Lockstocknpharoh, sired by Triple Crown winner American Pharoh
out of a Nyquist sired mare, a strong suit. High Camp, Confessional, and Incredibolt can upset expectations
as well. A $.10 superfecta, #1,5,6,8; #6,1,5,8; #7,5,6,1 are all playable sound wagers for those so inclined.

 

[Harp]

^ Incredibolt won, and Grittines placed. Confessional followed by Buetane for a handsome
$4,290.70 per dollar bet this particular superfecta. Incredibolt was a recognized long shot with a
$90,794 win pool, but Grittiness only raised $6,237 for the place, throwing bettors off saddle. This accounts
the superfecta payday, which a more predictable finish probably wouldn't have topped over $1,500 to dollar scale. I had scattered tickets-all swung fence superfectas, with six or seven dimes having Incredibolt top
and more sensible deserving underneath, but it proved a bunch up whackjob finish line result.

I believe I screwed the pooch by not simply taking a flyer with Incredibolt to win and hitting ALL for place
exactamundo. Going for the gusto me trying to homer just struck out silly.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Nooo see here!" sputters Uncle Frank. "Oi was gooin' alaaang joost foine befarr ye stoock yar snoot in. Oi was doin' business when ye was roonin' aroon' Williamsbaaaarg in shaaart pants cadgin' apples! That waaaaaarhoose is MOINE, an' Oi'll do as Oi please in it!" "Read ya contrack," growls Solly, slapping a sheaf of papers down on the desk. "Ya put up t'waehhouse in lieu a' cash as youeh shaeh when we stawrted'a business! T'at makes anyt'ing goin' awn inneh MY business, ya get me? S'pose ya get raided? Whassit gonna say inna papeh? 'Soiplus a' Bootleg Beeh at Sawrgeant Solly's Soiplus Waehhouse.' I ain' woikin' my head awff so you c'n roon evr'y'ti'ng witcha lit'l schemes!" "OI was th' woon coom oop with th' whool sarrrploos oidear!" huffs Uncle Frank. "An' ya wouln'a got it awff t'groun' if it wasn' f' me!" retorts Solly. "What's aaahl this??" interrupts Ma, thrusting her head in the door. "Oi can hear yee next door, an' Oi'm troyin' t' do me books! Now th' bootha ye shoot oop an' leave me t'me waaark!" She slams the door behind her, leaving behind exhalations of frustration. "Awright," sighs Solly. "Heeh's how we'eh gonna woik it. You got t'at room at t' backa t'a waehhouse wheh ya gotcha -- stuff. Ya gonna put a lock onnat dooeh, an' whatcha do inneh is ya own business. I dowanna heeh nut'nabout it. An' if ya get raided, it's awn ya own head." Uncle Frank blinks and replies with a nod. "Oi ain't been raided," he proclaims, "in twinny-foive yarrrs." "On ya own head," repeats Solly, his face stone...)

("Whattaya mean by T'AT?" growls Jimmy Leary, glaring slit-eyed at Ignatius J. Quinlan. "I merely suggest," purrs Inky, "that your recent -- ah -- ascension in social status should perhaps be accompanied by the observation of certain rules of refinement in dress and deportment." "T'ey can't depoeht me," sneers Jimmy. "I was bawrn innis country. Um, I t'ink." "Ah," ahs Inky. "As I say, you will be expected, by virture of your marriage to the -- ah -- stunning Widow Ten Eyck -- to participate in certain social functions that require by custom that certain protocols of correctness in dress and etiquette be scrupulously observed. Now, for example, take that -- ah -- sport coat." "I din' take it," denies Jimmy. "I paid f'rit. Ten bucks at Davega. Pretty snazzy, huh?" "For certain occasions," concedes Inky, "windowpane plaid in -- ah -- that combinaton of shades may be in order, but social events at the higher levels require a standard of evening dress.." "I ain' wearin' no dress," snaps Jimmy. "Even if ya DO woik innat dress stoeh." "Let us approach the matter from a fresh angle," sighs Inky, patting his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Doubtless you have observed gentlemen of refinement as portrayed in the cinema. Such personalities of the screen as -- oh, let us say, William Powell, ah, and Adolphe M--." "Adolphe Mongoose?" enthuses Jimmy. "Yeh, he's pretty slick. Jus' like a head waiteh." "Very well then," acknowledges Inky. "You concede my point. What I suggest then is..." "I ain' gonna get no job as no head waiteh," frowns Jimmy. "In fack, I ain' gonna woik at awl. Isabel says she's gonna take caehra evryt'ing." "Impossible," mutters Inky. "Huh?" "No matter....")

("Yeh, Ma ast me t'get a buncha Leonoreh's baby stuff t'get'eh," sighs Sally. "She wants t'give it t' Bink Scanlan." "When's she due?" queries Alice. "Coupla weeks," shrugs Sally. "She ain' doin' a t'ing about it, neit'eh. Ma keeps tryn'a make'eh stay upstaiehs inneh room, an' she keeps comin' down an' hangin' aroun'a stoeh readn'em confession magazines an' eat'n ice cream out'a t'freezeh wit' one'a t'em lawng spoons." Alice weighs her next question carefully. "She eveh," she hesitates, "heeh'r anyt'ing from -- um -- Mickey?" "Nobody's hoid a woid from Mickey since las' summeh," replies Sally. "Ma won' even tawk about 'im, an' Uncle Frank jus' changes'a subjec'." "Maybe HE foun' a rich widdeh," mutters Alice. "Sometimes I feel like," exhales Sally, "I got a funny fam'ly." "Sometimes?" inserts Alice. "What?" "Nut'n...")

("Quiet, I'm putting together a parlay.")

(Connie Mack is slim and trim and has plenty of hair, and Leo is half his age and is getting fat and bald. I guess there's something to be said for finishing last.)

("Um, does anyone around here know how to turn it on?")

(It takes two to -- ah-- tango.)

(There now, Janie, don't you feel more comfortable without that ridiculous pelt getting in the way?)

(I guess this explains why they have a couch in the office.)

(If AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG doesn't get busy, this story will end before it starts...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Well, at least he's keeping cool.

"Honey???" Does Goofy know?

And I think we all know who "the Master" is...

Careful now, look what happened to Diet Smith.

"And somebody give that bed another crank, he might still be comfortable."

What'll it be, kid -- the pants factory or the jute mill?

Don't worry, you can deduct all your business losses...

"Search warrant? That's for cops!"

I haven't even thought of the word "polynomials" since the eleventh grade, so I'll just trust you on this...

And that won't even cover the damage deposit.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker....

You don't say. Hey, do Ford next...

 

[Fading Fast]

"On ya own head," repeats Solly, his face stone...

The sad thing is that Frank by accident stumbled into the best thing in his life in Solly and he can't see it, or his ego won't let him see it, or his small thinking can't see it. All he has to do is shut up, go along, and help Solly and he'll get rich the honest way.

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

"In fack, I ain' gonna woik at awl. Isabel says she's gonna take caehra evryt'ing."

We don't know yet if there's a catch, methinks there is, but for now, he's another Leary man who stumbled into a situation that is way better than he could have gotten had he tried for it.

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

Connie Mack is slim and trim and has plenty of hair, and Leo is half his age and is getting fat and bald. I guess there's something to be said for finishing last.''

I hear ya, but the guy obviously had something in his personality as he kept doing well.

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

"Honey???" Does Goofy know?

For a moment, I wondered if they had finally caught the Asbury Park (I think it was Asbury Park) bank robber.

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

Don't worry, you can deduct all your business losses...

Only if they have something to deduct them against.

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You don't say. Hey, do Ford next...