The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"You done?" sighs Sally.

We've all been there.

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"Step this way, Inspector," injects Shirley Blick. "All of the kitchen equipment is newly installed, and the premises have been thoroughly cleaned and freshly painted. I believe you'll find everything is thoroughly sanitary." "Uhhhhhhhhh...." exhales Joe, as they disappear into the kitchen....

Like this kid already. Worth her weight in gold when you can find one like her.

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Television will put an end to this....

No more radio ad-libbing of ballgames from the wire services either.

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Fitz has lost a lot of weight. Hey, maybe he could go a few innings...

"Love to try, but gotta tell ya, the knee still hurts when it's gonna rain." — FF

Kidding aside, it's nice to see that he seems to be staying in shape, for him anyway.

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Wilmer's not so smart. He doesn't even realize the guy just sold him his own hat.

Wilmer also looks so small in this storyline.

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All Cops Are Killjoys.

So is there a line from the AYDers to today's DSAers?

 

[LizzieMaine]

Possibly. I know a few DSAs who are very good on the ukulele.

 

[Harp]

Terry isn't thinking straight. Nor was Dragon Gal.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whattaya MEAN," erupts Joe into the phone, "I can't get no meat till nex' week?? Y'said it was a DEAL!" "Uh oh," mutters Uncle Frank, resting his two-cents-plain on the counter. "Look," resumes Joe, his voice shaking. "I gotta place I gotta open in two days. Ev'ryt'ing I got's tie d up innit! An' now ya tellin' me....Hello? HELLO? Gawdammit!!!" Joe slams the receiver onto the hook, and turns, conscious of the fact the he is not alone in the store. "Heckie," he mutters. "Yawr in chawrge. I gotta go somewhez, get some aieh..." He glowers out, the screen door banging shut behind him. "I neveh seen'im like 'at," marvels Heckie. "Nawt eve'nat time 'e t'rew is back shovelin' snow." "Soomthin's gaaat t'be doon," sighs Uncle Frank, observing the bubbles in his glass. "I c'n getcha some meat," tosses off Heckie. Uncle Frank glares with disbelief. "Din' I getcheh t'at toikey at T'anksgivin'?" "Ye did," acknowledges Uncle Frank. "An' wasn'nat a GOOD toikey?" presses Heckie. "Oi wouldn' knoo," frowns Uncle Frank. "We nivver et it. Nivvar moind why." "Look," continues Heckie. "Soon's Bink comes downstaiehs, I'm takin' awff. An' when I get back, Joe's gonna have 'is meat." Uncle Frank scowls, toying with his glass as he weighs the alternatives. "Awright," calls out Bink, thumping down the back stairs. "Baby's fed." She glares at Heckie. "An' tell ya lit'l sisteh t' min'eh own business." "I'm awff," declares Heckie, tossing his apron on the counter. Uncle Frank grabs his arm. "Doon do noothin'," he warns, "Oi wouldn' do." "Heh," hehs Heckie as he heads for the door....)

("At'sa funniest lookin' one baby," snickers Angie Capiello, "I ever seen." "You ain't noo proize package yeself," glares Ma, pinning her grandson's sleeping suit to the mattress. "Howcome ya doin'at?" demands Angie. "So'ee woon't twist'n taarrn whoile 'ees sleepin'," sniffs Ma. "Doon'chee knoo anythin'?" "T'at's stupid," dismisses Angie. "Oi doon it with me oon babies," glares Ma. "An' doon'chooo staaaaaart in!" Angie gazes down at Frankie as he squirms in his sleep. "Howcome," she queries, "he got black haeih like'at? Bink's a blawnde." "Froom a bottle she's a blooonde," snorts Ma. "Who's 'is ol' man?" demands Angie. "Ev'ry kid's got one." "Keep askin' fool questions," growls Ma, "an' Oi'll pin YOU t' th' mattress...")

("She's never been the same since she signed that wrestling contract...")

(Dressen used to play a pretty good shortstop, if you can keep his mind off the racetrack...)

(Toss it over here, I could use a break.)

(And an actress too?? It's a wonder she's not living in a box on the street.)

(Everybody wants to be the next B. O. Plenty/Gravel Gertie.)

("Why not come back to the city with me? I could use a goofy rural sidekick just like Jane Arden!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG regrets many of his choices.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

Powers is such a name-dropper.

"And if he tries to make us wait in the emergency room, tell him I'm bringing my associates -- Sgt. Smith and Lt. Wesson."

"Come. The sacrificial blade awaits."

She's here to be reckoned with.

"Oh, and don't forget to get all the beer bottles out of the washing machine..."

And she didn't even sign an NDA.

Cue the flashback...

The pony isn't buying it either.

"Bloom?" Another drinking companion, Mr. Willard?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Someday Mr. Newhouser will make the Hall of Fame, and even then people will have to point out who he is.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Why not come back to the city with me? I could use a goofy rural sidekick just like Jane Arden!"

I was done with this storyline when it started. Now everyday is just more pain.

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

"Come. The sacrificial blade awaits."

Jail time! Jail time! Jail time! No punishment is good enough for these scumbags. Especially when you see the smugness they hold for the law

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She's here to be reckoned with.

Do we dare allow ourselves to believe?

 

[Harp]

Farrell v Stavrou, the lieutenant is lying. His mendacity and related converse under oath
seems contrived; also, it's rather implausible that Ms Stavrou branded herself. A none too
bright defendant with a discernible malicious streak.

The Crandall homicide is disturbing but defendant Jones is psychologically impaired to some extent; although avarice might prove prosecution's case.

Cannot follow Terry this morning all things consided. Wrong guy, definitely not her.
All appears connected Dragon Gal's heroin operation.

 

[Fading Fast]

Considering that Hu Shee spent several months schlepping a wounded Terry all over China while covertly begging him for s*x along the way, one assume that she wouldn't only be asking about Hot Shot. Then again, maybe it's Hot Shot's family that hired her to find him and she is efficient and loyal almost to a fault.

 

[Harp]

^ All true. While not familiar with Charles' personal side, presumably his family knows where
he is and his employed status. Any emergency should only occasion a telegram, not a private investigator. Any skullduggery however calls all bets off table. Perhaps April Kane might be looking for him.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's inna bag," confides Heckie Capiello. "He's gonna d'liveh fifty pouns'a chuck an' t'wenny poun'sa plate out'eh Satehday mawrnin at 7 AM awna dot, C-O-D. Awl groun' up. Awl Joe's gotta do is mix it t'get'eh an' it'll get 'im t'ru t' weeken'." "An' Joe knoos this?" frowns Uncle Frank. "He ast'a buncha questions," shrugs Heckie. "But'ee trusts me." "Oi moost have a laaang talk with th' boy," sighs Uncle Frank. "An' joost who is th' 'he' who is goin' t' make this d'livery?" "He prefehs t' remain," smirks Heckie, "incawgnito. Butcha know t'em Lawngchamp's restrunts? Run by'at guy t'ey sen' up f' cheat'n 'is taxes an' 'is woikehs?" "Ah," nods Uncle Frank. "T'is guy does too," nods Heckie. "Ye stoock Joe with STOOLEN meat???" gasps Uncle Frank. "I neveh said no such t'ing," Heckie insists. "I jus' whatchacawl brokehed a deal. T'is man had some meat t'sell, an' Joe wants t' buy some meat. I just brawt t' two sides t'get'eh. Now, t'eh is one moeh piece t' t' deal..." "Oi'm sure," glares Uncle Frank, "tharrr is." "How's ya stock," ventures Heckie, "of eight yeeeh'r ol' Canadian whisky?" "Oi s'poose," exhales Uncle Frank, "Oi c'n have Danny cook soom oop....")

("But if t'ezza buyeh's strike," questions Alice, "what's gonna happn'ta Joe?" "T'is is jus' retail," declares Sally. "An' it'll be great f' Joe, people won' be buyin' nut'n in stoehs, so t'e'll eat out." "Oh," ohs Alice. "Whatcha lookin'at me like t'at foeh?" demands Sally. "Nut'n," sighs Alice. "But tell me t'is. Whezza restrunts gonna be gett'n stuff?" Sally blinks, and her frown deepens. "Joe wouldn' do t'at," she insists...)

(Peace Is Hell.)

(If only we had some young, supremely-talented players at Montreal and Nashua...)

(Never believe your own publicity.)

(The ratings are in and your show is being replaced by a transcribed livestock report.)

(All's well that ends.)

(Least she could have done is get Scarlet a handcar.)

(Hey, at least your mortgage payment didn't just jump $300 a month...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The Trifecta of Ew.

"When A Man Loves" is one of those hybrid silent pictures with a Vitaphone music soundtrack that were all the rage in 1927, but it's also, for me, John Barrymore's finest hour as he engages in a furious swordfight against a band of fops and coxcombs while simultaneously cuddling a cat. We shall not see his like again.

Better get another table ready.

Pfft, we know you got that hat in Namm's Basement.

Gotta get the public service announcement in...

"And if by any chance the firm needs a new partner....."

THE FIRES GROW STRONG

Dirty tricks? That never happens.

The horse? Nayyyy!

"Well, come on in."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

One step forward, two steps back...

 

[Fading Fast]

"But tell me t'is. Whezza restrunts gonna be gett'n stuff?" Sally blinks, and her frown deepens. "Joe wouldn' do t'at," she insists

The biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves to get through the day and through life.

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

Never believe your own publicity.

"Most good salesmen can be sold" is an old quip for a reason, but they usually are not sold by their own spiel.

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

The Trifecta of Ew.

Ms. Parado, of "the platinum hair and chiseled features," is now up to five children.

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THE FIRES GROW STRONG

Vigilante justice is wrong, but boy can it feel good.

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One step forward, two steps back...

Well, at least we no longer argue about how to conduct an election.

 

[Harp]

Farrell is a liar and innately flawed as revealed his brazen testimonial delivery.

Minor Albert Jones is clearly incapacitated by insanity and cannot be legally prosecuted.
His life however is remanded custodial confinement.

Terry dead reckoning draws nada, zip, zero coordinate focus. With a Dragon Gal humdinger,
the gallant lad is dragging his valiant chaste self across the finish line. Chuckles is a convenient foil with Chopsticks fronting, but any serious linear reasoning is O-U-T out. A week ensconced
the Peninsula with a de rigueur Macau run, Dragon Gal in tow . Grilled steaks, ice cold draft
beer; before cutting out to Chicago for econ and finance. And the Cubs at Wrigley Field.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("What time y'got again?" frets Joe. "Seven forty six," replies Shirley Blick, examining her watch. "He was s'posta be heeh'rat seven shawrp," growls Joe. "ROSA!" he shouts, as Miss Capiello executes figure-eights in the parking lot. "Yeh?" she replies, gliding gracefully to a stop at the service window. "Run down'a t'at gas station downeh, use'h phone," commands Joe. "Cawla stoeh, INgehsawl 2-6683. If Heckie's 'eh, ask 'im what t' hell's goin'awn. If 'e ain'neh, tell Ma t' twist'im by t' eeh as soon's 'ee comes in an' fin' out what's'is awlabout! GO!" "It's now seven forty nine," reports Shirley. "Did I ASK?" snaps Joe. "You were about to," shrugs Shirley. "Wait," interrupts Joe. "Whassis comin'?" He squints into the eastern sunlight as a grimy truck grinds along Rockaway Boulevard toward the stand. "T'is betteh be it," exhales Joe, as the truck pulls into the lot. "You Petrauskas?" gruffs the driver, flicking his cigarette out the truck window onto the immaculately swept lot. "Yeh," nods Joe. "Y'got my meat?" "What meat?" snorts the driver. "I gotcha cigarette machine." "I din' awrdeh no cigarette machine," retorts Joe. "At'sya name right'eh," counters the driver, exhibiting a clipboard. "One cigarette machine, d'liveh t' Big Joe's." He frowns and gives Joe a quick appraisal. "You ain' so big," he observes. "Whassis awlabout?" yelps Joe, his patience at an end. "Take it up," shrugs the driver, "wit' Misteh Lansky." "Who?" gapes Joe. "Ohhhh," comprehends Shirley, as the driver begins unloading the machine...)

("Oi doon't loike this at ahhhl," declares Ma, hanging up the phone. "That was Roosa. She says Joseph ain't got his meat yet. What's gooin'aaahn??" "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank, nervously drumming his fingers on the counter. "An' whoo'ts THAT s'poosta mean?" demands Ma. "Ivvry toime ye coom oot with an 'aaaah,' it means yarrr oopta ye neck in soomthin' ye ought naaaht t' be in!" "Ahhh," chokes Uncle Frank. "Fraaaancis Xaaaaavier Leaaaaaaary...." threatens Ma, just as the screen door skeens open and Heckie Capiello saunters in. "YOU!" roars Ma. "Ahhhh," sighs Uncle Frank. "Ummmm," sweats Heckie....)

(It's been that kind of week all around...)

("It's -- uh -- ATOMIC!")

(A dead tie? All right, it could be worse.)

(Some people have to hire press agents, some people just have the knack.)

("Is that so? I just assumed Prudence Powers was really a middle-aged bald man from Elmhurst.")

(SNAKE EATER! SNAKE EATER! SNAKE EATER!)

("What, you've found a new boyfriend? SEE YA!")

(Not another insane hermit. Anything but that.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Phony perfume? Well, at least it's not eight year old Canadian whisky.

"HAH!" hahs Alice.

And who is it that we know who enjoys -- ah -- driving?

You aren't in love with him. You aren't.

Two quarts of oil a week? Somebody needs a ring job.

When you know the trend is over.

The key to effective serial storytelling is multiple plotlines.

"Oh, I have no plans to let them take you." "No indeed. We're going to hand you over."

Careful what you wish for.

I challenge anyone who doesn't work as a circus contortionist to hold that position for more than two seconds.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Somebody's going around the National League writing "WHERE IS PETE COSCARART?" on ballpark walls...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Take it up," shrugs the driver, "wit' Misteh Lansky." "Who?" gapes Joe. "Ohhhh," comprehends Shirley, as the driver begins unloading the machine...

Corruption is very good at defending its market share.

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

"Fraaaancis Xaaaaavier Leaaaaaaary...." threatens Ma, just as the screen door skeens open and Heckie Capiello saunters in. "YOU!" roars Ma. "Ahhhh," sighs Uncle Frank. "Ummmm," sweats Heckie....

Oy.

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

"Is that so? I just assumed Prudence Powers was really a middle-aged bald man from Elmhurst."

"She" is on Cheri's days off.

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

Phony perfume? Well, at least it's not eight year old Canadian whisky.

"Suic*de while mentally disturbed."

Sure. Once again, the lies we tell ourselves; this time it's a society telling itself lies about itself.

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

"HAH!" hahs Alice.

What the P.S. left out was that one more bank clerk was looking for a job. It was a less forgiving era.

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

And who is it that we know who enjoys -- ah -- driving?

Being a stunt driver and all. Ohhh!!!