The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Wha'ssis --" repeats Solly. "Just a few routine questions,"

"If we are doing this 'voluntarily,' I'm gonna need more or get a warrant and I'll get a lawyer: your choice."

Separately, there are some great economic lessons in the meat article. One, in particular, is called "substitution" and forms a core tenet of how they calculate inflation. It's cool to see it in action even if, like me, you think it’s far from a perfect solution to a complex-as-all-heck problem.

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"...Sell 'im some p'tection."

What a scumbag.

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They can say "D i c k" all they want and the censorbot can't touch them!

Only a few days ago, I wanted to make a somewhat similar point and I had to take a screenshot of the name that I wanted to use as, obviously, the bot doesn't censor within pictures. It's all so stupid, especially since it could easily be improved with some free, i.e., open-sourced programming, but of course, somebody, somewhere would have to care enough to do that.

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Well, well, well.

Could our boy Nick be just around the corner?

Also,

"What's a pro-tee-jay?"
"Dat's th' brat, Annie."

Charming.

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Once again, Mr. Rodney is ahead of his time.

He is indeed. I like the little tidbit about the Soviet lifting team. I'd bet you they get all the food they need.

 

[Harp]

I tried the circuitous Goelet article but one-and-a-half cups of coffee proved insufficient
to the task of comprehension. I also noted and recalled Murray; wherein wife's lover slain
and Murray legally passed, but now accused of cruelty by spouse...

The Chicago Stockyards/meat markets fluctuation article recalled childhood reminiscence
of being with my dad, a local cattle buyer, and walking through stockyards muck and mire.
He'd dropped out of high school during the Second World War years to work the Yards,
drafted Korea, returned and went back to the Yards. He married my mother and fathered
four children. He was killed in a car accident at thirty seven. I never saw him with a book but
he respected schooling. I sometimes wonder what he would have thought of me since my
childhood had been rebellious and scholastically erratic. I was a bad apple fell far from the
paternal tree; almost forgotten distant memories trip wired by a newspaper cattle commodity
report. Cattle, pigs, horses, sheep, and Judas goats that led livestock to slaughter pens.

I wouldn't mind seeing Ms Allen and Terry wed before returning back home.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's getting late, Bill," observes Detective McManus. "Almost 2 AM. Think we've got all we need?" "Just a couple more questions," continues Detective Brosnan, as the door to the interrogation room opens and a patrolman hands in a paper bag. "Got some sandwiches," continues Brosnan, opening the bag. "You like cheese?" "Meat's hard to get," nods McManus. "Like to have some coffee with this," adds Brosnan. "Pete, why don't you run down the hall, bring the pot in here. How 'bout you, Pincus? Sandwich?" "I'm fine," glowers Solly, sitting back in the hard wooden chair with his arms folded in front of him. "Don't mind if I eat, do you?" continues Brosnan, unwrapping the wax paper. "Whateveh," sighs Solly. "All right," resumes Brosnan, thru a bit of sandwich. "Just a couple more things. We talked to a few people around your neighborhood, and it seems that last December you were seen around town a bit worse for the wear. Black eye, cuts on your face, that sort of thing. Mind telling me how that happened?" "You know how it is," shrugs Solly. "I don't, Mr. Pincus," replies Brosnan. "That's why I'm asking you." "Nut'n to it," insists Solly. "Jus' one'a t'em t'ings." "Mm," nods Brosnan, taking another bite of his sandwich. "You deal in g uns, don't you? At your shop, I mean, surplus g uns?" "Yeh," acknowledges Solly. "I got awla poimits an' licenses f't'at too." "What kind of g uns?" presses the detective. "Depends," shrugs Solly. "Whateveh I can pick up." "Ever pick up any .45s?" questions Brosnan. "GI pi stols, that sort of thing?" "T'em are hawrd t'get," declares Solly. "Do you own a g un yourself?" continues Brosnan. "Bring one home from the war, maybe?" "I toined in awl my geah," declares Solly, "when I got out." "I see," nods Brosnan, making another note. "On the night of December 26th," exhales Brosnan. "Do you remember where you were?" "I tol' ya awready," frowns Solly. "I drove out t' Joisey in Frank Leary's truck t' look oveh some moichendise." "On the night after Christmas?" interrupts Brosnan. "Chris'mas schrmismas," retorts Solly. "Y'gotta do whatcha gotta do when ya gotta do it." "Mm," mms Brosnan, carefully evaluating the man across the table. "All right, Mr. Pincus," he concludes, closing his notebook. "I think we have everything we need for now. If we need anything else, we know where to find you." "Ah," glowers Solly, rising from his chair. He buttons his jacket and steps toward the door, pausing only to select a sandwich from the paper bag. "Guess I'm hungry," he notes, "aftehrawl." "Mm," acknowledges Brosnan. "Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Pincus. We'd appreciate it if you'd stick close to town...")

("YOU ARE A MOST INTRIGUING PERSONALITY, MISS SCANLAN," rumbles Zeno, his eyes glowing thru the smoke. "I hoid'at one befoeh," smirks Bink. "NONETHELESS," intones the prophet, "IT IS TRUTH, AND TRUTHS MUST BE SPOKEN LEST THEY BE FOREVER LOST." "Huh," huhs Bink. "I neveh t'ought'uvit t'at way." "YOU CAST A RARE LIGHT UPON THE WORLD OF MAN," continues Zeno. "AND THAT LIGHT MUST NOT BE EXTINGUISHED, OR, YEA, ALLOWED EVEN TO BURN LOW." "Zatso?" questions Bink. "IT IS THE TRUTH," thunders Zeno, his breath stirring the incense cloud. "I SEE YOU CASTING THAT LIGHT ON THE UPTURNED FACES OF A BEAMING THRONG. I SEE YOU RECEIVING THE PLAUDITS THAT ARE YOUR DUE." "Huh," huhs Bink. "Plawdits, huh? I neveh had no plawdits. Whatt'v I gotta do?" "I SEE DESTINY, CIRCLING, CIRCLING YOU," proclaims the wizard. "AS A PLANET MUST CIRCLE ROUND ITS SUN." "Y'don't say!" gapes Bink, her attention riveted....)

(You know a faster way to dry 'em?)

(See, the football Yankees are owned by Dan Topping, who also owns a third of the baseball Yankees, and are actually the old NFL football Dodgers, relocated to the Bronx and transplanted into the AAFC. And the new football Dodgers are an expansion team owned by the guy who used to own the baseball Phillies but got thrown out for betting on his own team. So when the new Dodgers play the old Dodgers, it's hard to say who's actually dodging what, and why. Make sense?)

(These ghost ships can be so exhausting.)

("Seems I used to read like this to my own grandchildren. What were their names again? Oh, never mind.")

(Snafu is one of those great multipurpose words that can fit just about anywhere.)

("Look down, you'll see him!")

("Woulda been nice if there was some actual meat on the bone...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania?"

Hey, Gould -- when you get done with the mouthwash guy, here's your next story.

They've certainly done a good job keeping the bomb out of the papers.

Well, there were no three-yard penalties at Anzio.

Cheer up, maybe the doc can fix you up with a new car.

We've been following you for a long time, and have we ever once seen you go to the office?

Yes indeed, with this kind of ambition, you boys will go far.

Good luck...

Y'got me. Who haven't we seen in a while that we want to see one last time?

Get his good side.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Just about sixteen weeks till pitchers and catchers report.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Y'don't say!" gapes Bink, her attention riveted.

Oh, Bink, do you have to be stupid in this way?

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So when the new Dodgers play the old Dodgers, it's hard to say who's actually dodging what, and why. Make sense?

Are either or both teams the antecedents to any pro football teams today?

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"Woulda been nice if there was some actual meat on the bone..."

"You can always tell if someone owns a restaurant or not." — Big Joe of Big Joe's

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"Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania?"

Does he possibly have a girlfriend there?

Every so often, we encounter the combination story of parents who don't trust banks so they keep their life savings at home, and a kid who steals it from his parents for some sort of rumspringa. I bet you this is the sixth or seventh time we've read a story like this. I'd like to believe I'd never steal, period, but I know I'd never steal from my parents.

Very good Page 4 today.

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Y'got me. Who haven't we seen in a while that we want to see one last time?

April? Burma? And of course Hu Shee.

 

[LizzieMaine]

If you squint a bit, there's a train of history connecting both the original NFL Football Dodgers and the new AAFC Dodgers to the Dallas Texans/Baltimore/Indianapolis Colts.

And of course, Mr. Topping will continue to own the baseball Yankees into the 1960s, and will directly influence the move of the Philadelphia Athletics to Kansas City. The A's of course, are presently on their way to Las Vegas by way of Oakland, and Topping's partner in owning the Yankees, Del Webb, is, in 1946, intimately connected to Bugsy Siegel and the construction of the Las Vegas Strip.

The past is never dead. It isn't even past.

 

[Harp]

^ Da Bears are leaving Chicago. My psychological goal posts are staked Soldier Field
and Notre Dame, which have been life-long coordinates fixed through thick and thin,
rain or shine. Period end-of-discussion. I better understand the grief stricken anguish suffered
Dodgers fandom when that snake in the grass azz leprechaun O'Malley tore their hearts out
for Los Angeles. May his larcenous soul be staved Lucifer's pike.

Anyway. Reginald Wright has lawful claim against Cornelia pursuant their divorce, but only
if said agreement was put down written specified with signatures, duly notarized; which is
doubtful wherewithal newsprint. Were he my client, and all the particulars in order, I'd recommend
suit against his rival gigilo, Joseph Wahl; whose keister I would nail to the wall starting with
criminal conversation. And Cornelia for damages pertaining to the marital institution. Her felicitous nature,
res ipsa loquitar is plainly scrawled out indelible scarlet red ink. And this entire case demonstrates absent counsel. Cornelia quite evidently sought competent legal advice a bit too late as the damage she inflicted upon herself is damning.

Now Milt's confused the tarmac strip. Dunno whose who there.