The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

Dunno Ian's quandry. Understand jilted state but his feelings for Binnie now look a bit too soon before
the dust had settled over Selene crash and burn. And now no crash just dash.

And Terry's always in a fix, so nothing new here. Dragon Gal really owes this kid what Slits craves, though
doubt he'll ever collect.

The Catanias wedding pix is sweet. And the Davis story about his returning to England to marry his girl.

 

[Farace]

"Take me advoice. Doon't look'a gift haaaarse..." "Ohhhhhh," exhales Joe. "Ohh," inhales Uncle Frank. "That ain't what Oi meant...")

I remember there was a big beef boycott here in the early ‘70s, and a local meat market was selling horse meat. My mom was buying it, but didn’t want to tell us. Somehow we found out, but we weren’t bothered. It was actually quite good. And it has nothing to do with why I’m a vegetarian now.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I had relatives who called it "Jersey beefsteak."

 

[Harp]

When Lewis&Clark reached the Pacific Northwest, they bought tribal dogs to sate Caucasian appetite
for meat, buffalo being indigenous Plains territory. Horses presumably were scarce and far too valuable
to consume.

And speaking of horses, Emerging Market looks prime NYRA Belmont Stakes meat on the hoof alongside
Renegade, back from rest after his Kentucky Derby pin ball romp. There's not much pace in this edition for back closers such as these two to adroitly vantage, but after Churchill Downs' first Saturday, this Saturday should be a breeze.
A forward runner in the mold style favored Powershift can theoretically lead to wire the Belmont, and after a whackjob Derby cautious tablestakes stud poker is advised.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("In twinnty-foive years," sighs Ma, "Oi've nivvar had t' waaarrry 'boot no plainclothes d'tectives. Noo, evr'yboody comes in th' daaarr here wearrin' a Sears 'n Roobuck suit Oi give'm th' woonce-oovar." "Oi talked t' Doyle," assures Uncle Frank. "Tharrr's noothin' t' waaarrry aboot." "Hoo mooch?" scowls Ma. "Anoothar fifty," sighs Uncle Frank. "We'll be in th' poorhoose ," groans Ma, "befaaar this is oovar." She looks up to see a truck pulling up at the sidewalk outside. "What's this noo?" she demands. "That's th' meat Oi got farr Joe," declares Uncle Frank, rising from his stool. "Didjee get some bread too?" glares Ma. "Bread?" gapes Uncle Frank. "Ye can't have a saaaandwich," headshakes Ma, "with noo bread." "Oi thaaat you an' Bink," sputters Uncle Frank, "warrr gooin' t' BAKE bread with that p'taatarr floour Oi give ye." "Th' less said aboot THAT," exhales Ma, "th' betttarr...")

("I don' like sneakin' aroun' like t'is," mutters Sally, stepping into the Manor Cafeteria, just around the corner on 18th Avenue. "Jus' two ol' friends havin' a snack," dismisses Solly. "Cool, calm an' c'lected." They select their items and proceed to a small aluminum table. "I got t'ese papehs drawrn up," announces Solly, thru a mouthful of coffee cake. "Look'm oveh, lemme know if y'see anyt'ing y'don't like." Sally pokes at her slice of cheesecake as she examines the documents. "I don' like none of it," she sighs. "But'cha said y'self," reminds Solly, "he wasn' gonna go fawr it by 'imself. Well, t'is way he c'n do it wit'out eveh knowin'ee done it. An' he don' eveh have t'know t' whole stawry." "Jacleen Entehprises," frowns Sally. "Whassat?" "My middle name's Jacob," explains Solly. "An' you said yoeh middle name's Aileen. Jacleen Entehprises. We gotta have some kin'a name t' put awna papehwoik. I get t' VA loan in my name, transfehr'it t' Jacleen Entehprises, we buy t' prope'ty, an'nen Joe makes a deal wit' Jacleen Entehprises at cawst payin' outta what'ee makes. He don' hafta deal wit' t' V-A, Snodgrass is outa t'pitcheh, an' he ain' even out a down payment." Sally taps her fork on the edge of the chipped china plate. "An'nis is gonna woik?" she exhales. "I'm gonna go see Gelman t'marra," declares Solly, "an' run t' ideeh by him. We'll be a legal comp'ny, t'ez nut'n wrawng wit'tat. An' you got yoeh name awn it too, so t'ezza connection t' Joe, even if'ee don' know it. An' when I go see t' V-A, you come alawng as repr'sentin'at half'a t' pawrtnehship t'at's gonna run t' business. You can tell'm awlabout Big Joe's, 'cause you seen it awl fr'm t' beginnin'. Y't'ink you c'n handle it?" Sally hesitates. "Yeh," she finally nods. "C'n you absentee offa woik on Friday?" "I guess so," she shrugs. "Be at t' subway station," he directs, "inya city clo'es, at 9 AM shawrp." Solly crams the last crumb of his cake into his mouth, and drops his fork on his plate. "Awright," he chews. "Oh -- an' lemME do awla tawkin'." "Hmph," hmphs Sally...)

(Every promotion comes with its own gold-plated bottle of milk-of-magnesia.)

(Who did Dixie hit this ti-- oh, wait, never mind.)

("You better win this fight! We paid ten dollars for that silk robe!")

(MARY DOES NOT APPROVE OF YOU.)

(Well, she's got enough to buy a dyed muskrat on time from Namm's.)

(What an irony.)

(Never name your kid something you'd be embarassed to yell out the back window.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The things that go on on the Upper East Side.

"Hmph," hmphs Mr. Rickey. "Maybe next time," shrugs Mr. Parrott.

"And if you make one wrong move, you'll never walk again. We clear?"

Counting those chickens...

Does Petrillo know about this kid?

At least with the farm, you'd be eating. Don't you pay attentio to Grampaw?

The Gumps join Willie and Mamie Mullins as the only comic strip couples who sleep in a double bed.

Does this airline ever get thru a single flight?

Isn't there some kind of "boy code" against this?

Moon used to be a prizefighter too. He's looked up at the ceiling of some mighty fine arenas.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oh -- an' lemME do awla tawkin'." "Hmph," hmphs Sally...

That would never please her. I like the plan though, all things considered.

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

Well, she's got enough to buy a dyed muskrat on time from Namm's.

"It's sable." — JA

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

The things that go on on the Upper East Side.

And even with John Barrymore gone.

Plenty of women are thinking, "Six is a lot. Take a few off honey, but six was pushing it."

 

[Harp]

Sleep spanking mixed May-December homicide place Mrs Worth's dislike of Ian McLane and his
mother-daughter quandry into perspective. A crash and burn is a crash and burn. It is what it most certainly is.

 

[EngProf]

Concerning the dialog in "The Neighbors" cartoon:
"He dreams of a chicken farm and I about a penthouse in the city."
Did anyone else start humming the "Green Acres" theme?
Da da da dah da, thump thump...

""I just adore a penthouse view - Darling I love you, but give me Park Avenue"

"You are my wife" - "Goodbye city life" - "Green Acres we are there." Thump thump

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey," heys Bink Scanlan, as Joe scrapes the grease trap. "I hoid sump'n about you." "Eh," ehs Joe, unimpressed by this news. "I hoid," she continues, "t'at t'day is ya boit'day." "Whe'dja heeh t'at?" frowns Joe. "Ya kid tol' me," shrugs Bink. "When she was ineeh wit'eh mot'eh t'ot'eh day." "Kids tawk too much," mutters Joe, attacking the grease with vigor. "I jus' t'ought it was innehrestin'," continues Bink. "I mean, bein' bawrn awn D-Day." "I wasn' bawrn awn D-Day," sighs Joe. "T'eh wasn' no such t'ing as D-Day when I was bawrn. An' now ev'ry damn boit'day f't'resta my life, I gotta heeh 'bout D-Day!" "Sawry," commisserates Bink. "I know ya don' like t' tawk about t'at kin'a stuff." "Hmph," hmphs Joe, slapping his spatula's load of grease into the Sanka can on the counter. "Um," resumes Bink, "you gonna have a pawrty?" "Boit'day pawrties is f' kids," grouches Joe. "I ain'no kid. I'm t'oity-t'ree yeehs ol'. I do'nneed no boit'day pawrty." "Y'don' look it," ventures Bink. "Huh?" huhs Joe. "I mean," she resumes, "Solly Pincus, I ain' sueh how ol' HE is, but what'eveh it is, he looks it. You jus' look like t'at acteh, John Gawrfiel'." "You been tawkin' t' Sal," snorts Joe. "Neh," nehs Bink. "She neveh lets me get inna woid. Anyways, even if ya don' wanna cake, me'n Ma made ya t'is donut." "Huh?" huhs Joe. "Yeh," nods Bink. "We was try'na make bread wit'tat pt'ateh floueh, an'nit din' come out so good, so we made donuts instead." Joe takes the proffered cake, and takes a bite. "Huh," he repeats. "Huh." "Yeh," agrees Bink. "Hey," adds Joe, with a small smile. "Y'know sump'n? I don' caeh what t'ey say. Yawr awright." "Don' let it get aroun'," sighs Bink. "I gotta repyehtation...")

("I'm tellin' ya," growls Sally. "I know why t'em Pittsboigs got ridda Petey. R'membeh what Hilda said, he was in awnat union t'ing t'ey got goin'. He was one'a t' awrgehnizehs! An'nat Benswangeh run 'im awff t' club t'shut 'im up! An'now t'eh gonna STRIKE!" "I hope it ain' like oueh strike," sighs Alice. "Basebawl season be awl oveh by t'time t'ey get done. Y'can't play a league wit' on'y seven teams." "An' y'know what else?" Sally contends. "T'is 'splains why Rickey wouldn' bring 'im back! An'now t'eh gonna awrganize ANYWAY! HAH! Hey, y'know what Jimmy Powehs cawls 'im? EL CHEAPO! HAH!" "Ya MIND, sisteh?" glowers a man in the seat forward. "T'ese buses is bad enough wit'out'cha yellin' in me eeh." "Hmph," hmphs Sally, nodding toward Alice. "Yankee fan...")

("Cadwell?")

("What's this?" frowns Mr. Rickey. "Uh," uhs Mr. Parrott. "It's the bill from Dixie's dentist. He wanted you to settle up." "Ah," rumbles Mr. Rickey. "Perhaps, in view of -- ah -- circumstances, it would be wise to place the matter in abeyance until after the Chicago series has ended. Advise the good doctor that we will be running a -- what is the word ---" "Tab, sir," eyerolls Mr. Parrott. "Precisely," nods Mr. Rickey, lighting his cigar and tossing the smoldering match into his wastebasket...)

(I'm impressed with Waite's knowledge of obscure English folk parodies of the 1840s, but he still needs to keep his left up.)

(Gramercy 3??? Sorry, wrong number.)

(I know if I was going to spend a month on a ranch, that's the outfit I'd bring...)

(Point of Order: If Scarlet turns invisible when she's in bed, does the bed also turn invisible?)

(Long term investment or short term gain?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

You can never have too many second lieutenants.

Awwwwwwww!

Everything's a racket...

She's like Reiser after he hit the wall.

There's certainly no chance of that happening...


You'd think all the times Andy's been swindled...

Tough judge...

"And hey, as long as you're in there, bring me a sandwich..."

It's really a lot less trouble in the long run.

Of course he is, how many actual paying customers does he have?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"No, I don't know who 'Sally Petrauskas' is."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Solly Pincus, I ain' sueh how ol' HE is, but what'eveh it is, he looks it.

This line almost makes no sense, but it is also spot on – you know exactly what she means.

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

"Cadwell?"

Seriously, shouldn't he be at his club now having his second martini?

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

Awwwwwwww!

Frank King is the only real competition Caniff has for adult-quality entertainment in a comic strip.

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

She's like Reiser after he hit the wall.

Man, that's funny. Still, I keep hoping she's playing them all. I don't want to see an attenuated DL.

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

"No, I don't know who 'Sally Petrauskas' is."

 

[Harp]

The Hesse-Darmstadt jewels theft undoubtedly will trace back to 82nd Airborne brigands serving
postwar garrison occupation with too much time on their hands.

Congressional squabbling over teenage draft practice amuses this former teen draftee.

Ian McLane, glib gentleman that he most certainly is, will be tongue lashed by this comely maiden.
Life without women would be a cruel miserable state.

Saw the trotter syndicated by former PT boat officers. Chariots never appealed to this saddle track crow
but to each his and therein own. As to today's Belmont Stakes, Renegade and Golden Tempo top my tickets,
however long shots Commandment; whom I liked in the Derby, paired Chief Wallabe with Emerging Market and Powershift fill a heavily bet superfecta. All corners covered in this superb bettor's race with crisp
lettuce spread down across betting window counter. Peeled off the bankroll entirely like a degenerate.
The Derby craziness and Renegade's pin ball rail ride calamitous finish paired Golden Tempo matched Beyers are cause for endless pace makes the race speculation. Closers traditionally here are disadvantaged; while what speed there is enrolled, remains capricious chance default wiring. Covered my azz even after I bet it off.

After careful thorough consideration, Dragon Gal appears a pneumatic 34-D rather contoured Sino silhouette.
Her Terrence disclaim suited veracity per doubtful envious Slits. Yet, still Charlotte Bronte's quip rings mind,
''The heart has hidden treasures, in secret kept, in silence sealed.''

 

[LizzieMaine]

("'Sbout time y'got heeh," grouches Solly Pincus, resplendent in a sober gray pre-war suit as he waits on the platform at the 18th Avenue BMT station. "I couldn' get dressed till Joe an' Lenoreh was gone,'' explains Sally, pulling irritably at her gloves. "Bad 'nuff I hadda give'm some bunk 'bout t' bus not runnin' t'woik, if t'ey'd seen me gett'n dressed up t'ed been questions." She adjusts her glasses and squints at the discharge button gleaming in Solly's lapel. "Gotcha costume jew'lry awn, I see," she comments. "Whyn'cha weah ya Brawnze Stawr?" "Eh," ehs Solly. "Look, have ya got ev'ryt'ing straight?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "I wen'oveh t'em papehs, I know what I'm s'posta say. W'eh we goin', anyways?" "Williamsboig Bank," declares Solly. "T'ink big," snorts Sally. "Ya wanna be big league," scowls Solly, "y'gotta ack big league." "Ah," sighs Sally. "T'is betteh woik. T'ese shoes make my feet hoit." "Kick'm off," exhales Solly, as the train pulls in, "when we get awna cawr." "Yeh," nods Sally, squeezing thru the crowd to claim a seat." "But," warns Solly, "keep 'm awn when we get inna awffice...")

("You are right," nods Mr. Ginsburg, clasping Leonora by the hand as they emerge from the subway station. "To smoke in the subway, it is against the law. But to keek the man so he drops his cigar, it seems to cause..." "He drawpped t' cigawr, dinee?" argues Leonora. "The end, it justifies the means?" postulates Mr. Ginsburg. "Is that perhaps what you argue?" "It woiked," snorts Leonora. "Din'nit?" "Well," begins Mr. Ginsburg, preparing a salient response. But he is interrupted by Lottie Schreibstein, rushing toward them as they approach the corner of 18th and 63rd. "Y'know what *I* seen??" she smirks, thrusting her finger in Leonora's face. "Nut'n I caehr'about," sniffs Leonora. She glances longingly at the window of Ebinger's Bakery. "Papa Ginsboig," she queries, with a carefully-assumed angelic smile, "c'n we getta donut?" "I think that..." Mr. G agrees. "I SEEN," emphasizes Lottie, "YAWR MA, comin' up t' street awl dressed up! Wit' Sawrgean' Solly!" "I wanna cinnamon do --" begins Leonora before stopping short. "Yawra lieh," she glares at Lottie. "Crazy an' Solly, up a tree.." Lottie chirps. "Oh yeh???" growls Leonora, searching for a chunk of brick. "TWO cinnamon donuts!" interrupts Mr. Ginsburg, steering Leonora toward the bakery. "Genug shoyn!" he rattles at Lottie, as he shoos her away...)

("I couln' make no sens'at'at pitcheh at AWL," headshakes Bink Scanlan, emerging from the Patio Theatre. "It's whatchacawl psychologial," shrugs Rosa Capiello. "Like Joe's wife?" wonders Bink. "Um," ums Rosa, as they head down Midwood Street...)

(Snodgrass has his hand in everything!)

(Honus Wagner a scab?? Say it ain't so!)

(Never bring a g un to a fistfight?)

(Today an escapade, tomorrow Page Four...)

(Not worth the trouble, is it?)

(Aren't you cold?)

(Where's AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG when you need him?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Which merely enhanced the voluptuous effect." Never mind painting, he's got a future drawing comics.

"And whoever keeps sending those 'Where Is Pete Coscarart?' telegrams, cut it out!"

How did you even get to be a judge?

"Ever hear the phrase 'cut out the middle man?'"

"Two pounds of hamburger??? And it's still frozen!"

"You're already twice as useful as Wilmer!"

Torn between raging appetites.

I knew a kid who used to bring a goat into the grocery store. And you always knew he was there.

Behind every star, there's a manager taking his cut.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Kick'm off," exhales Solly, as the train pulls in, "when we get awna cawr."

Nothing could get me to take my shoes off on a NYC subway. Might was well walk barefoot through dog p*op or industrial sludge.

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

"Crazy an' Solly, up a tree.."

"Crazy," perfect.

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

"I couln' make no sens'at'at pitcheh at AWL," headshakes Bink Scanlan, emerging from the Patio Theatre. "It's whatchacawl psychologial," shrugs Rosa Capiello. "Like Joe's wife?" wonders Bink. "Um," ums Rosa, as they head down Midwood Street...

My God, it would be hard to think of two people less suited to see "Spellbound." When it makes it out to Brooklyn, those knuckleheads should go see "To Each His Own."

I do love how the entire neighborhood thinks Sally is nuts. Even the people who like her know she's got a screw or two loose.

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

Aren't you cold?

Maybe she's wearing an invisible sable.

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

Re Page 4 and Gould. Allow me to translate, "He's banging the h*ll out of me and I can't get any sleep. BTW, we're expecting our second soon."

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

How did you even get to be a judge?

It is Smokey Hollow.

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

Coming events...

Meant to post this June 1 headline from the WSJ back when I first saw it. Basically no major battles are ever permanently won or lost:

MLB Owners Just Proposed a Salary Cap. It Could Cost Them an Entire Season.​

In the first salvo of a potentially ugly labor battle, the 30 franchises proposed a ceiling for the first time in more than 30 years​

 

[Harp]

The two British stowaway girls looking for their Brooklyn boyfriends pulls a heartstring or two,
however, cynical Cupid suspects an apparent American indifference.... No engagement rings or tangible
evidence GI reciprocity. A most interesting article almost completely hid the usual trials, tribulations,
congressional inquests, and pending maritime workers union strike leave.

Yesterday's Belmont Stakes caught an exacta and a lower-bet waged superfecta; although handle paid
was a tad low. A dollar put down the superfecta only returned $234, surprising but still satisfactory.
Golden Tempo proved himself while Renegade fell third behind Commandment. Powershift exhausted himself and slipped out my heavily wampumed superfectas.

Meanwhile, Ian McLane looks aw shucks chastened as well as surprised. And Dragon Gal leaves little to chance
fate, though war torn China holds little certitude for her. She'd be a fun date.