The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

Charlie's pupil seems none too interested. And, if Terrence is her target, why she doesn't
simply draw a straight line has yet to be explained....

 

[Fading Fast]

Charlie's pupil seems none too interested. And, if Terrence is her target, why she doesn't
simply draw a straight line has yet to be explained....

My guess is she thinks this will make Terry jealous.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The quality of "devious plans" does seem to have declined terribly in this postwar world...

 

[Harp]

My guess is she thinks this will make Terry jealous.

Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands,
But more when envy breeds unkind divisions,
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion...---Shakespeare; Henry VI

Agreed, but envy isn't love; and Nasty should comprehend the limited purse carried Jealousy.
As Donne spaked, ''Cupid's day is night and a minute after Noon is Midnite.'' I think with his set tenure Milt should've brought Burma back for a long delayed romantic rendezvous with Terrence.

 

[Fading Fast]

Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands,
But more when envy breeds unkind divisions,
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion...---Shakespeare; Henry VI

Agreed, but envy isn't love; and Nasty should comprehend the limited purse carried Jealousy.
As Donne spaked, ''Cupid's day is night and a minute after Noon is Midnite.'' I think with his set tenure Milt should've brought Burma back for a long delayed romantic rendezvous with Terrence.

I'm guessing our Nastalthia doesn't really understand love, but she does understand jealously. We all play the game we know.

 

[Harp]

We all play the game we know.

Who do you like in Saturday's Whitney at Saratoga?

 

[Fading Fast]

Who do you like in Saturday's Whitney at Saratoga?

Too much other stuff going on and haven't been following it closely this year. Talented field. Whom do you like?

 

[Harp]

Too much other stuff going on and haven't been following it closely this year. Talented field. Whom do you like?

Currently leaning towards Magnitude but Nitrogen can take it away from the boys.
Going to strip the race apart tomorrow with the whole card for a more thorough approach;
however, the Whitney cast of characters is at first glance the most unusual bunch of usual suspects I've seen since my last Casablanca.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So I t'ought," suggests Sammy Schreibstein, handing Rosa a manila envelope, "you could sew t'is awna backaya -- um -- t'ing t'at you -- uh -- weah -- um -- when ya skatin' f' t' television t'marra night." Rosa opens the envelope and extracts a gleaming crest, stitched in bold red thread "Big Joe's Beef Wich." "T'at's real satin," declares Sammy, as Joe and Shirley Blick join Rosa in examining the patch. "Misteh Ginsboig had awlese scraps aroun', an' said I could use it. T'at's real silk stitchin' onneh, chain stitchin'. He showed me howta do it. I hadda make 'beefwich' inta two woids so it wouldn' -- um -- go aroun' ya -- uh -- waist..." "T'at is really sump'n," nods Rosa. "I'll sew it onneh t'night." "It'll show up real good undeh t'em lights," agrees Joe. "Just make sure," reminds Shirley, "to keep your back to the camera whenever you can." "Oh," remembers Sammy. "I'm woikin' awn sump'n else. I'm makin' a coupla aprons, wit' t'at same stitchin' awn'm. I figyeh, Misteh P, t'at you an' Shoiley c'n weahr'm when ya woikin' back 'eeh. You know, like a unifawrm." "T'at's prety good," grins Joe. "How much I owe ya?" "Awww," dismisses Sammy. "Misteh G. gimme a whole pile'a scraps." "He's got a lotta scraps," chuckles Joe, "innat lit'l shop." "Yeh," agrees Sammy. "He's like t'at...")

("Awright, Blinky," announces Heckie, emerging from the back room trailing a long, flat wire behind. "I strapped'at t'ing up awna roof, an' dropped t' wieh down'a sidea t' buildin'. Now what?" "Y'gotta screwdriveh?" requests Blinky, a cadaverous young man peering at Uncle Frank from behind thick spectacles. Uncle Frank frowns at the rough contrivance on the counter. "Ye bettar not," he warns, opening his pocket knife to a screwdriver blade, "set foire t' th' stoor. Nora woon't stand farr it." "Nut'n t' worry, nut'n t' worry," assures Blinky, attaching the two bare ends to a pair of screws at the back of the device. "Awright," he nods, gesturing toward Heckie. "Plug it in." He snaps the switch on the front panel, and a conglomeration of tubes, exposed by the device's lack of a back cover, begins to glow. "Whoot now?" questions Uncle Frank. "Just watch," counsels Blinky, pointing to the tiny round window at the front of the panel. A hum builds in the speaker, giving way to a low oscillating tone. A spot of light appears at the center of the glass, and unfurls to form a dim image. "Whoot's THAT?" blurts Uncle Frank. "Test patte'n," shrugs Blinky. "Sawl'at's awn now. It's so ya c'n set up ya set." "What's THIS do?" questions Uncle Frank, pointing to a thick black cable extending from a steel-enclosed box at the rear of the set. "I wouln' touch'at," warns Blinky. "T'ez 2000 volts awnat wieh." "Nora," glares Uncle Frank, "WOON'T stand farrr this...")

("The lap of luxury.")

(I always enjoy J. F. Meehan's cartoons, but this one is especially good. You can tell when someone is doing something they love.)

(Olmo??? Si!!)

(You can see why Ann Sheridan got fed up with it all.)

(You'll go far, kid.)

(Maybe you should try Horn & Hardart first.)

(Fashions today by Montgomery Ward.)

(Yes, that's always a good sound idea.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Jeeeezuz...

"Zatso? Well, monseweh, you AIN' in FRANCE."

Hey, give her a break, Farouk. It's pretty hard to do the Texas Tommy to "Cement Mixer."

Yes, by all means, let's leave Wilmer in charge of things for two weeks.

The salesman promised this leisurewear would make him irresistible...

War changes a lot of things.

You don't fly a plane from a chaise lounge.

D I C K Tracy is all heart.

You really should go back to wrestling, this act would be huge.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker..

Say it ain't so, Mickey...

 

[Fading Fast]

("So I t'ought," suggests Sammy Schreibstein, handing Rosa a manila envelope, "you could sew t'is awna backaya -- um -- t'ing t'at you -- uh -- weah -- um -- when ya skatin' f' t' television t'marra night." Rosa opens the envelope and extracts a gleaming crest, stitched in bold red thread "Big Joe's Beef Wich." "T'at's real satin," declares Sammy, as Joe and Shirley Blick join Rosa in examining the patch. "Misteh Ginsboig had awlese scraps aroun', an' said I could use it. T'at's real silk stitchin' onneh, chain stitchin'. He showed me howta do it. I hadda make 'beefwich' inta two woids so it wouldn' -- um -- go aroun' ya -- uh -- waist..." "T'at is really sump'n," nods Rosa. "I'll sew it onneh t'night." "It'll show up real good undeh t'em lights," agrees Joe. "Just make sure," reminds Shirley, "to keep your back to the camera whenever you can." "Oh," remembers Sammy. "I'm woikin' awn sump'n else. I'm makin' a coupla aprons, wit' t'at same stitchin' awn'm. I figyeh, Misteh P, t'at you an' Shoiley c'n weahr'm when ya woikin' back 'eeh. You know, like a unifawrm." "T'at's prety good," grins Joe. "How much I owe ya?" "Awww," dismisses Sammy. "Misteh G. gimme a whole pile'a scraps." "He's got a lotta scraps," chuckles Joe, "innat lit'l shop." "Yeh," agrees Sammy. "He's like t'at...")

I love all of this.

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

I always enjoy J. F. Meehan's cartoons, but this one is especially good. You can tell when someone is doing something they love.

Agreed - that's a wonderful illustration.

I've tried to get into this "Brooklyn Vs. The World" thing, but find I'm just not. It feels contrived or something about it seems off to me.

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

"Zatso? Well, monseweh, you AIN' in FRANCE."

And Spring Lake makes the paper again.

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

Yes, by all means, let's leave Wilmer in charge of things for two weeks.

And go somewhere where we are expected to do chores.

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

Say it ain't so, Mickey...

This is exactly why I don't want to know the politics of stars or athletes I like. I just want to enjoy their talents in their professional capacity. Now Mickey has this stink on him.

 

[LizzieMaine]

To be fair to Owen, he will go on in later life to operate a nationally famous baseball camp/school, where players of all races will be welcome. No less a figure than Michael Jordan will one day attend that camp.

It's the people who repeatedly show themselves incapable of growth who deserve the reproach of history.

That said, the story of Arnold Malcolm Owen would make a hell of a movie.

 

[Harp]

Today's news is horrid; especially the two young ladies who perished in an auto crash.
The London RAF *****t story eschewed. War profiteers.

Terry blase. Charles slow walking into Cupid's right cross.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(In an eighth floor NBC ladies' room, Rosa Capiello sits on a convenience while Shirley Blick fusses with her hair. "T'is ain'a same as'a las' time," laments Rosa. "T'is studio is biggeh'n'a ot'eh one. An' Sobol says'ez gonna be 'n AUDIENCE innem foldin' chaiehs. Nobody said nut'nabout'at befoeh!" "It'll just be a few people," promises Shirley. "They're just there to clap. I went to a radio show once, and they flash a light that says APPLAUSE and everybody claps like a bunch of trained seals." "I shouln'a 'greed t' t'is," groans Rosa. "I ain'no actress, I dowanna be on no stage." "It's too late to back out," warns Shirley. "Just concentrate on watching Sammy waving the time, and ignore everything else. You'll be fine." "I got a cramp," protests Rosa. "Awlat rehoisin' t'day, I c'n hawrdly wawk!" "You've got wheels on your feet," dismisses Shirley. "You don't have to walk." Shirley flicks a look at her watch. "Remember your timing. You go on at 8:35, right after the commercial. Show goes on the air in ten minutes. All right. Let's go." "Easy," sighs Rosa, struggling to her feet, "f'YOU t' say....")

("I can't see," snaps Leonora, pushing Jerry Capiello to one side. "Who'eh YOU?" Jerry snaps. "She's my COUSIN," defends Willie. "Can ye taaaarn oop th' vaaaalyume?" requests Uncle Frank. "Nobody caehs about no commoicial," growls Sally, as Blinky fiddles with the controls. "Hey, izzeh any ice cream left?" requests Heckie. "NO," glares Bink, finishing her banana split. "Hey Siddy," snorts Alice. "T'at guy onneh t'ats soeh cause he don' like 'is coffee, t'at's you!" "Heh," chuckles Krause. "QUOIET!" yells Ma. "Tharrr poot'n'arr on." "ROSA!" yelps Angie Capiello, stabbing her finger toward the tiny screen. "Willya lookit'at," laughs Solly Pincus. "Hey, move ya eehs," snickers Bink, "I can't see." "Look! Look!" yelps Sally. "BIG JOE'S BEEF WICH! It says it right onneh back!" "I can't see!" bellows Leonora, slapping Jerry across the back of the head. He glares at her as Willie grabs his arm. "Lookiteh go!" enthuses Sally. "BIG JOE'S BEEF WICH!" "You otta get a dress like'at, Sal," needles Alice. "Ooooh," winces Uncle Frank, "she aaaalmoost missed that spin!" "Hey, t'ez Sammy!" injects Willie. "See? Aw, ya missed 'im!" "T'ey otta show Joe," frowns Sally. "He's r'sponsible f' t' whole t'ing, I know I shoulda gone an' made sueh t'ey din' try nut'n!" "Hey, whe'd she go?" blurts Alice. "Wait, t'eh she is." "T'em cameras is huge," observes Sally. "T'ey can't move'm quick. I seen'm at t' Woil's -- HEY! IT'S JOE!! T'ey jus' showed 'im sit'n awf'ta side! JOE!" "He caaaan't here ye, daughtarr," shooshes Ma. "I KNOW T'AT," retorts Sally. "I CAN'T SEE!" bellows Leonora, as Jerry ducks....)

("Wait, I'm married? LOOK IT'S HARD TO KEEP TRACK!")

(I hope they get to keep the uniforms.)

(Ol' Satch. "Don't look back, something might be gaining on you.")

("Fine, good luck to her." -- Ann Sheridan.)

(I was in radio for fifteen years, and the only fan mail I ever got was from somebody trying to sell me life insurance.)

(We seem to be trapped in a recursive time loop, which is honestly not an angle I expected this story to take.)

(What did you expect? Feed a dog and he'll follow you forever!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

We've seen a lot of gruesomeness on Page Four over the years, but this summer has been uniquely and upsettingly brutal.

Oh, what a movie it'd be.

I never thought the time would come when I'd feel sorry for Charles C. Charles.

"No, this isn't the way you do it." -- Shirley Blick

It'll be the social event of the year.

You know, Andy, there's a reason she doesn't like you.

"Never get caught."

Cracking the books is a good start, but you do actually have to READ them.

TAKE A HINT KID.

He'd make a pretty good private eye, I think, because who'd ever suspect anybody so dumb?

 

[Fading Fast]

..."Remember your timing. You go on at 8:35, right after the commercial. Show goes on the air in ten minutes. All right. Let's go." "Easy," sighs Rosa, struggling to her feet, "f'YOU t' say...."

If there is one person whom you want to invest in now (besides Solly, but that's obvious), it would be Shirley. If she doesn't get derailed with something or (more of a risk) some stupid boy, she should do very well in the world.

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

"You otta get a dress like'at, Sal," needles Alice.

She's still the best.

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

It cannot be comfortable to pose like that.

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

We've seen a lot of gruesomeness on Page Four over the years, but this summer has been uniquely and upsettingly brutal.

What in God's name is with branding becoming a thing. Jesus.

This is why parents tell their children to never get in a car with a stranger.

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

Oh, what a movie it'd be.

He might be exaggerating, but it doesn't matter – that is insane.

Mickey's wife: "Mickey, dear, show them the box we brought with the threatening notes you received."
Mickey: "I can't; I dropped it somewhere along the way."
Mickey's wife: "Of course."

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

"Never get caught."

We've said it before, but kudos to King, in the last panel, their facial expressions say more than the dialogue.

 

[Madhouse27]

Really rooting for Seaweed here.

 

[Harp]

Marianne O'Brien, movie starlet, easily takes Golddigger of the Year hands down.
And Barbara Brewster ain't bad. She reminds me of luscious Jane Russell.

The abduction **** story recalls a criminal landmark case from law school, but too early this morning with only black coffee and bagel.

Nasty is a real piece of work. And Charles will crash hard after a violent tornadic spin.

Today's twelfth at Saratoga handicapping is like doing the New York Times crossword at
the Red Hook in Brooklyn, where the best cheeseburger east of Chicago can be found.
It ain't easy. However, there it is. Magnitude is arguably the best dirt track horse in the world,
but he rides an unforgiving cursed rail. Sovereignty, yesterday's man, is facing last post before stallion retire, and is trained by Bill Mott. I hold that this trainer believes Sovereignty can win the Whitney or he wouldn't be entered. Since Bill Mott believes in the horse, so do I. Nitrogen, after scrutiny is outclassed by the males here. She might hit board deuce or trey depending pace development; as might Baez or Antiquarian. Several wild jacks with jill, but the safe play is definitely Magnitude to win. However, I will also play Sovereignty at top for longshot.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(I still can't b'lieve t'at announceh, t'at guy Mayehoff," fumes Sally. "'Rosa Capiello, t' Rollin' Waitress, from Big Jim's Beefwiches in Ozone Pawrk." "Yeh," snickers Alice. "But y'gotta give Rosa credit, soon'see said'at, she toins aroun' an' pernts t' t'at sign she got onneh back. Got a big laugh, too." "She t'inks fast," nods Sally. "I'll giv'eh credit f' t'at. I still wisht I'da been'eh, t'ough. I'da given'at Mayehoff a faceful. I bet'ee wouldn' have'at dumb grin on 'is kisseh if 'ee'd said 'Chase 'n Sanbloom's Cawfee.'" "I neveh tried 'at kind," shrugs Alice. "We get Bocris." "I jus' hope it pays awff," sighs Sally. "I wondeh how many people seen it?" "I hoid'ey was gonna get a television," notes Alice, "at t' Ol' Reliable." "Joe don' wan'em kindsa customehs," scoffs Sally. "Welchehs an' bums." "How'dyou know?" demands Alice. "You neveh been'eh." "I went'eh t'at one time," reminds Sally. "Oh yeh," nods Alice. "When you an' Solly was..." "SKIP IT," growls Sally, as the train rolls on toward Newark...)

("I can't believe," sighs Bella Blick, "that's she's out there again this morning. What time did she get home last night? Ten thirty? Eleven?" "You heard what she said," sighs Dr. Blick. "They went out to eat after the show." "I don't want her," frowns Mrs. Blick, "prowling Broadway! At HER age! And that Joe Petrauskas should know better, taking her to a nightclub!" "She told me," shrugs Dr. Blick, "they went to Horn & Hardart." As that comment sinks in, its progress is interrupted by the telephone. "Hello?" answers Mrs. Blick. "Yes, I'm her mother. Who??" Eyes dilated, she clutches the phone to her chest and glares at her husband. "You see, Sheldon? Now she's getting phone calls from COWBOYS!" "Um," ums Dr. Blick, reaching for the phone. "This is Shirley's father," he announces. "Who? Tex....? I'm sorry, I don't -- oh! yes, HER I've heard of. You're THAT Tex. How's that? Well, I don't know as -- well, I suppose you *could* call Shirley Rosa's manager, but -- oh. Well, she's at work right now, but I -- look, let me take your number and I'll have her get -- all right, that's fine. I'll get her the message. Thank you. Thank you for calling. And -- ah -- give our regards to --- very good. Good bye." With a deep breath, Dr. Blick hangs up the phone. "Call the office," he sighs, "and have them get in touch with Mrs. Hirsch to reschedule her appointment. This time *I'm* going to Ozone Park...")

("Can't we try to make one that won't roll under the desk when you drop it?")

("Well I'm jus' sayin'," hmphs Bink Scanlan. "I t'ought she had awn too much makeup." "Noo moor than YOU do," observes Ma. "T'at's diff'rent," insists Bink. "I'm in coleh. Awnat television, she's black an' white. Awlat stuff on'eh face made'h look like sump'n outa t' coicus." "I t'ought," huffs Angie Capiello, "she looked like a movie stawr. Like Rita Haywoit'." "Leas' she had moeh clo'es awn," snorts Bink. "Mostly." "Barbara," snickers Ma. "Yaaaar jealoos." "I am NOT," snaps Bink. "Even'ough I COULD rolleh skate like'at. If I wanned to." "Hey t'eh," greets Solly Pincus, skeening thru the screen door and sauntering up to the counter. "Packa Camels," he requests, fishing in his pocket for two dimes. "Hey, wasn'at some show las' night? T'at Rosa, she's got poissonality!" "I'm goin' upstaiehs," glowers Bink.....)

(And in that Brooklyn vs. the World box score, there is one player who will not only make it to the major leagues, but also all the way to Cooperstown. And he won't even have to buy a ticket...)

(Yeah, that's what Mrs. Langford said.)

("Chip McCoy?" The office boy got a promotion.)

(It's good to have friends.)

(Isn't there some kind of paperwork needed here???)

(NO ROPE CAN BIND AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG!)