The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Youd'a been real good at camp, Sal," she comments. "I bet t'ey could heeh you yellin' awlaway t' Peekskill...."

You cannot not love Alice.

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Get it in small unmarked bills. Just in case.

Somebody's been watching her film noir ransom movies.

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At least she doesn't smash up police telephone boxes.

How bizarre was that?

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Don't forget to tip the baliff on your way out...

Will they actually serve jail time or appeal until they get a suspended sentence? It will probably come down to if they have money left for lawyers.

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Gawdawmighty, it's the Old Bible sc*m.

A special place in hell.

 

[Fading Fast]

Should be OK now. A confluence of weirdness on my end.

Yes, all is good now. Thank you.

 

[Harp]

The Furness article made interesting read this morning; although as a son who inherited
a shaving mug, I suspect the kid will ultimately be severely disadvantaged by such largess.
And that Oechsner silver spoon oil scion born with a derrick shoved up his ***, is already a wanted man whom will never be assured a woman's genuine love. Ms Briston-a Honolulu Hotel Street
songstress-is the first of many chasers he'll likely contend with. Were I his family counsel, I'd advise at least the nominal GI Bill college route, anonymity, and part time employment.

Terry needs to deliver a coup de grace ******, grab Dragon Gal, and fly straight to Hong Kong
where she can be hospital placed for recovery.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So t'way it looks," explains Joe, consulting his notes, "is I'm gonna be out t' Ozone Pawrk from 10 inna mawrnin' t' 7 at night." "Hawrse racin' is f' suckehs," observes Bink, drawing a glare from Ma. "T'at means," Joe continues, "t'at yawr gonna hafta keep t'ings goin' heeh wit' t' san'wiches. T'at means ya gotta have t' meat made up inta t' patties an' stacked inna tubs wit' t' wax papeh between 'em, an'na bread ready an'na grill hot at 11 AM shawrp. Bink, ya gonna do t'at. Ev'ry day." "Yeh," Bink acknowledges. "Heckie," continues Joe, "yawr gonna be heeh t'ween noon an' one t'oity f' t' lunch rush." "I gotcha," nods Heckie. "Y'each get one reg'leh f' y'self f' lunch," Joe continues. "But jus' one, an' y'gotta put a ticket inna draweh fawr it. An' Ma, yawr gonna be in chawrge an' keep'n eye awn t'ings, an' coveh t' grill when Bink hasta go look afteh t' baby." "Oi'll have 'im in th' back room with me," declares Ma. "Whoile Oi'm waarkin'. An' Hector's little sister is goo'in t' be here t'' help with'im too." "Awright," sighs Joe, his eyes surveying the group. "We'eh hopin' if we get t' meat, we'eh gonna op'n up a week fr'm t'marra. An' look, t'ezza lawt ridin' awnis, OK? I ain' sayin'ez anybody gonna make a lotta money out'a t'is a' nut'n, but -- well, t'ezza lot ridin' awn it. So...." "We getcha," nods Bink. "Yeh," agrees Heckie. "Indeed," adds Ma...)

("I'm tellin' ya," gasps Miss Kaplan. "I seen it! I seen it wit' me own eyes!" "Calm yourself, my dear," purrs Inky Quinlan, gently releasing her grip on his immaculate lapel. "I do not question your veracity, merely your -- ah -- interpretation." "I seen 'eh big as brass," repeats Miss Kaplan. "A streetwawkeh! A common floozy! Goin' inta t'at stoeh Joe's mot'ehr'in'lawr runs! She's toin't t' jernt int'wa denna ill r'pyoot! A bawdy house! I see it awl now, she's t' Polly Adleh a' Rogehs Aveneh!" "Ah," eyerolls Mozelewski. "She had awn," pants Miss Kaplan, "a skoit upta HEEH! An'neh haeih was awl done up fancy, an'eh face awl painted up! An' y'know what ELSE she had awn??? ROLLEH SKATES!" Inky's eyes flare, as Mozelewski palms his forehead. "I do'wanna IMAGINE," quavers Miss Kaplan, "what kin'a AWRGIES t'ey got goin' awn inneh! I bet t'at wife a' Joe's is backa t' whole t'ing, t' HEAD MA'DAME'a t' whole opehration. An' right undeh pooeh Joe's nose! We gotta do sump'n!" "I -- ah -- may I be excused from this meeting?" queries Inky. "I must wait on a customer." "We ain' got no customehs," frowns Miss Kaplan. "We betteh get some," grumbles Mozelewski. "Lissen, you know how t' rolleh skate?")

(A nice lean-to in the park can be very romantic...)

(If you really want to rile up a Cubs fan, disdain Wrigley Field.)

(This is why I never mow mine. Just in case.)

(Confidential Lodgings.)

(Ah, so it's going to be THAT kind of wedding.)

("Ploop.")

(You never want to know how your food is made.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Soon after, they separated." He's lucky he was able to walk.

And nobody even tried to throw an eephus pitch.

"But first, another round of drinks. It's your turn."

KIDS TODAY

CANE HIM! CANE HIM! CANE HIM!

Fish in a barrel.

Out of your league, kid.

Optimists.

This would be a good time for Aunt Pruny to pay a visit.

If more than one person knows a secret, it isn't a secret.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events....

 

[Fading Fast]

"We ain' got no customehs," frowns Miss Kaplan. "We betteh get some," grumbles Mozelewski. "Lissen, you know how t' rolleh skate?"

Good for Mozelewski for reminding her to worry a bit more about her own living and less about a guy who married someone else.

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"Soon after, they separated." He's lucky he was able to walk.

He had quite the nerve. Wow, just wow.

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Fish in a barrel.

And still, a special place in hell.

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Out of your league, kid.

"...little Yankee."

She is the best.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," nods Lil Schreibstein as she slides a Big Joe's Regular across the counter. "We got jus' enough meat in t' get t'ru t' weeken'. I dunno 'bout nex' week." "Joe says," comments Sally thru a juicy bite, "t'at he's prob'ly gonna hafta raise t' price t' fifteen cents f'ra reg'leh an' t'oity cents f' t' Special." "We awready done'at heeh," shrugs Lil. "Morrie 'n Joe tawked it oveh, an'neh wasn' any ot'eh way." "Still bettehr'n y'get anyplace else," sighs Sally, taking another bite. "He's gonna op'nat stan' out by t' racetrack nex'week, y'know." "He was sayin'," nods Lil. "He ast Sammy if 'ee might wanna woik out'eh some, helpin' out awna grill. But he's got so much awready, wit' woikin' f' Misteh Ginsboig 'n'awl. But 'ee tol' Joe maybe Shoiley Blick might be innehrested." "Who?" mumbles Sally, pushing a morsel of beef back into her mouth. "You know," continues Lil. "T'at goil 'e goes aroun' wit'. Lives up on 65t'." "Oh yeh," nods Sally. "I seen'm inta t' Maneh Cafeterieh a few times. Whas' she like?" "She likes Sammy," shrugs Lil. "She's awright, I guess. She's pretty smawrt, y'know, awlem Blicks is smawrt. Her ol' man is Docteh Blick t' dentist." "Oh yeh, right," realizes Sally. "He pult' out Joe's wisdom teet'. "She's kin'a -- " hesitates Lil. "I guess y'd say, uh -- fawrwehd. Y'know? Cawls up Sammy steada wait'n f'him t' cawl her, stuff like t'at. Sammy says she's real smawrt t'ough, she helped 'im wit' 'is biology." "Ah," nods Sally, dabbing her lips with a paper napkin. She looks around the store. "Y'know, Lil," she observes, "it's awrful quiet in'heeh t'day. Awlese customehs, but it's so quiet y'can ac'sh'ly have convehsation." "Yeh," agrees Lil. "Ain'it great? An' she ain' gonna be back fr'm camp f' t'ree moeh weeks....")

("Have ye ivvar doon any proparr babysitt'n?" frowns Ma. "Aks anybody," counters young Angela Capiello. "Oi'm askin' YOU," glares Ma. "I done some sitt'n," shrugs Angie, "f' one'a t' gals oveh't Missis Dineen's place." "Misssaaars Dineen's place," gasps Ma. "Blanche Dinneen??? Oovar on Kingston Avenarr? THAT Missars Dineen??" "Yeh," nods Angie, casting a longing eye over the display of candy bars on the counter. "Coupla' t' ladies t'eh got kids. T'ey live upstaiehs, y'know, awna t'oid flooeh." "Mooothar'a maaarcy," mutters Ma. "All roit, yaaaar hoired t' waaark farr oos, start'n t'marra. Th' pay is thaaarty cints an hoor, ahhhhhhhn th' c'ndition ye give oop warkin' in that Dineen place, an' ye nivvar goo in tharr no moor, ivvar again." "I get fifty," snaps Angie. Ma glares. "Fifty," she grits. "Fifty it is." She whips a Milky Way off the display rack and slaps it on the counter. "Now ye take that," she commands, "onnn th' condition ye goo straight hoom, and ye take a verrrrry laaaaang bath....")

("I guess we just wait till he's old enough to be drafted!")

(Well, at least it's a suspenseful race.)

(What you do when they slash the marketing budget...)

(Look, couldn't you work with rescue dogs or something?)

(Janie enjoys living vicariously thru the excitement of others...)

(I really hope you're going to boil that water first.)

(You get used to the smell. Eventually.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ewwwwww

Peace Is Hell

"This ain't even the Authorized Version!"

"Get changed. We're going to forage."

Well, you can always sign up with Mike Jacobs.

On to the next con...

There comes a time when you must put up or shut up.

You know what you need, kid? A big orange dog.

It's always a good day when you find a newspaper under your seat, especially if it's a long ride.

And let's not even talk about the future.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

It is known that Mr. Williams occasionally loses track of fly balls because he was too busy calculating his batting average down to the fourth decimal.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Now ye take that," she commands, "onnn th' condition ye goo straight hoom, and ye take a verrrrry laaaaang bath...."

Must be a tight labor market for babysitters. I like how Ma's opening offer was one Joe's Special per hour, but the kid bid her up to almost two. Nothing will ever replace a market for putting demand and supply together where the outcome is driven by individuals making the tradeoffs each one is willing to accept.

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Hard to believe there was a time when politicians actually thought this way.

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It is known that Mr. Williams occasionally loses track of fly balls because he was too busy calculating his batting average down to the fourth decimal.

Even on the sports pages, I'm always just a bit suspicious when I agree with an article in the DW, but I'm with Mardo on this one.