The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

\
But hey, we blew up an island.

 

[Fading Fast]

"She has a way," agrees Uncle Frank, "oov gett'narrr point across."

Indeed.


"Joe, me boy," he requests. "Ye knoo hoo ye soomtoimes get a cravin' ye can't explain? Well, take this glass away an' see if we gaaat any toomatarr juice..."

Cute.

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"You think Petrillo got where he is today without practicing his scales???"

Didn't have the perspective to know this as a kid, but one benefit of coming from a home without any cultural aspirations is I never took an extracurricular lesson in anything (not that I can see my dad ever paying for any of that stuff anyway).

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That's a very well equipped junky charter plane.

Including possibly our old friend and plot devise amnesia.

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Honor among thieves...

"Get your coat, we're moving."

What, no looking around first? No comparing apartments? No carefully packing up the fragile stuff? No sending the PO change of address form in?

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A stitch in time...

Skeezix needs to come completely clean to the Gloriana because, while it was unintentional, he helped defraud the hotel.

 

[Harp]

Binnie returned from the dead is great news, but Selene and Ian I fear are doomed to part.

Slits is overly mercurial and peripatetic, plus he has a Thompson. With tree top height and concealment,
he could have finished Terry and Hotshot with a single squeeze. As to his continued harsh tone with
Dragon Gal, it certainly appears as though Slits is a tad ***** overall. Terry, flyboy that he is, still should have
equated grass trail end for reasoned height climb into the trees. Paw prints indicate weight with depth gauge,
weaponry by ground butte indentations. Heat in visible excrement waste time factor; similarly pungent urine
trace linger. Perhaps Slits has ample opportunity to abuse and slay his captive whose corpse would be deliberately
left for Terry to find.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey Sal," queries Alice. "What'sa 'Anglo-Saxon?'" "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Fancy way'a sayin' ya ancestehs come oveh'raw'na Mayfloweh." "Oh," ohs Alice, absorbing the remark. "Who caehs about'tat stuff?" T' kin'a people'at go aroun' sayin' 'Anglo-Saxon,'" snorts Sally. "See, t'eh wasn' no Irish awna Mayfloweh, no Irish like you'n me an' my Ma an' Uncle Frank. Wasn' no Lit'uanians like Joe. No Jewish like t' Ginsboigs awr t' Schreibsteins awr Solly Pincus. No Italians like poor ol' Mrs. Nucci." "Gawd rest'eh," nods Alice. "An' not even no Goimans like Krause," adds Sally. "No Dutchmen like, oh, Pres'den' Roosevelt. Awr Spanish, like Luis Olmo. An' gawdknows, no colehed like P'fesseh Cut'be't, teaches my sociology class out t' collitch. Jus' English. An' jus' one KINDA English at t'at. Well, t'ey foun' out pretty quick y'can't have too much'va country wit' jus' one kinda people in it." "Awr even a neighbehood," injects Alice. "But t'ez some people," sighs Sally, "t'ink it's a big deal 'cause t'ey got off t' boat b'foeh anybody else. "Cepta Indians," reminds Alice. "Now ya gett'n it," nods Sally. "Ev'rybody 'cepta Indians got offa some boat. An' some people din' even wanna get ONNA boat t'begin wit'. So what'sapern'a gett'n awl woiked up oveh what boat come'eeh foist?" "Izzis Bilbo," queries Alice, "one'a t'ese 'Angle-Saxes?" "Whatta YOU t'ink," snorts Sally. "Name some English people." "Um," ums Alice. "Ronal' Colman? Winston Choichill? Ray Noble? Princess 'Lizabet'?" "Awright," nods Sally. "You eveh heeh'ra any English cawl't 'Bilbo?'" Alice ponders. "Aaaaaaah," she ahs. "Yeh," sneers Sally. "I know one t'ing," sighs Alice. "I like *oueh* neighbehood a lot bett'eh'n his...")

("I got jus' t' t'ing f'ya roof," declares Solly. "Corrugated met'l. I got a deal awnese leftoveh pawrts fr'm Quonset huts. Ain' enough t' build one, but'ezzanougha t'ese pieces t' put a whole new roof on ya stand out'eh." "Huh," huhs Joe. "Oh, yeh, t'at's swell." "Whatchoo lookin' at?" queries Solly. Joe nods toward the newspaper. "I t'ought," he sighs, "t'ey din' have no moerha' t'em t'ings. Whennawe gonna loin, anyway?" "I dunno," admits Solly. "I wish," sighs Joe, "t'at somebody did....")

("Woof!")

(Definitely not Loeser's basement, but maybe Namm's...)

(Careful what you wish for...)

("Who ARE you people?")

(Love's tender glaaaances bring mod-ern ro-maaaan-ces...)

("But she said, nawwww, I'm too worried 'bout th' situation in Ethiopia...")

(It's always the guest who's the pushiest one in the car.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

You can make a ton of money in radio if you don't have to pay your talent.

Wait and see.

"And she's up in that tree over there getting ready to throw a rock at us, right now..."

"An' if he don't, these ladderback chairs will bring a pretty penny from them antique dealers in th' city!"

"And so was born that grim avenger of the night..."

Page Four will love this.

Bored so soon?

Never mind that, what are going to DO about it?

You know, kid, you can go to jail for this.

Beefcake.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker....

"Three cents farrrr a glass a' seltzarr! It's robbbbbbarrry!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"You eveh heeh'ra any English cawl't 'Bilbo?'" Alice ponders. "Aaaaaaah," she ahs. "Yeh," sneers Sally. "I know one t'ing," sighs Alice. "I like *oueh* neighbehood a lot bett'eh'n his..."

According to Google AI:

"Theodore Gilmore Bilbo came from a Scotch-Irish ethnic background."

I was surprised as, often times, those characters come from one of the groups they hate. I'm guessing, as we'd say today, he'd "identified" as Scottish. So he's one of your people, Lizzie.

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You can make a ton of money in radio if you don't have to pay your talent.

I thought radio stars were paid well back then - no?

I could be wrong, but I'd bet Ms. Goldschmidt here manages to find another husband if she wants one.

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"An' if he don't, these ladderback chairs will bring a pretty penny from them antique dealers in th' city!"

Honey needs to talk to a professional. Maybe Dr. Levine could fit her in.

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Bored so soon?

Nice, Lizzie.

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You know, kid, you can go to jail for this.

He would not do well in prison.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Yeah, a lot of the pointy-hood crowd down south claim Scotch-Irish heritage when they're forced to admit that they are not in fact descended from noble Cavaliers. The real Anglo-Saxons would dismiss them as gardeners and golf caddies.

I don't think Sal has any Scottish in her, but given her temper I wouldn't totally dismiss it.

Bowes made his fortune hosting the Original Amateur Hour, and all his acts -- which included the likes of a very young, very nasal Frank Sinatra -- were paid only the cost of a restaurant dinner the night of the broadcast. Ca-ching!