The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Coming Events...

 

[Fading Fast]

"At'sa stupides' t'ing I eveh read," sneers Sally. "T'at's whatcha cawl hallucinations. Seein' t'ings t'at ain' t'eh." "Ah," ahs Alice. "Bring back t' Bungle Fam'ly," Sally adds, wdding up the paper and tossing it under her seat. "Hey," she snaps, glancing across the car. "Look oveh t'eh! T'at's..." "No, Sal," sighs Alice. "No it ain't..."

Hopefully she'll tell Dr. Kaplan about these hallucinations - she should be seeing her tomorrow, right?

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

Still not Raven and Dude.

Not even close.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(The luminous hands on the alarm clock stand just after two as Sally's eyes snap open. She feels the weight of Stella the Cat in deep sleep upon the heavy comforter, and from behind the folding screen at the opposite end of the bedroom, the soft rasp of Leonora's snore. She lies in the darkness, conscious of another presence. She reaches for the bedside lamp and snaps it on to see Joe, in his civilian overalls, sitting quietly on the bedroom chair, his feet warming in the oven. "Wondehed how lawng it was gonna take ya," he remarks. "You ain' really heeh," exhales Sally, in a low, even voice. "Sueh'r' I am," shrugs Joe, suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed, now dressed in his Class A uniform. He taps her on the side of the head. "I'm awrways heeh." "Lot of us in there," observes another voice. Sally glances across the room to see Pete Coscarart leaning against the door in full Dodger regalia, slapping his fist into his glove. "I don't know why I'M here," sniffs Dorothy Kilgallen, examining her nails as she sits primly in the chair. "Do I even KNOW you?" Sally's eyes flare, but she says nothing. "I might have known you'd end up like this, though," comments Mildred Kelly with a smirk. "You always were the neurotic type." "Such wasted potential," sighs Miss Estella Vedder, third period English. "Don' lissen t'none'a t'em," admonishes Joe, now clad in a blue serge suit with a belt in the back. He executes a sweeping dance move. "T'em people don' know ya like I know ya." "It's yaaar ooon fault," snaps Ma, young and angular, with no grey streaking her hair. "Noobaaady waants t'be aroond a garrl doon't know whin t'keep arr mooth shut!" Behind her, Mickey snickers insolently, a cigarette drooping from his lips as Jimmy and Danny exchange knowing glances. "Now Nora," admonishes Uncle Frank. "Leave th' choild be..." "Easy f'YOU t'say," interjects a railroad guard, as he plummets out of view. "Indeed," adds Branch Rickey, his eyes beneath the heavy brows darting anxiously from side to side. "Look, " declares Patrolman Doyle as he handcuffs a Woolworth's picket. "I'm jus' doin' me duty." "Same as me!" nods Frankie Germano, adjusting his torn polo shirt. "Yussel has gone to do HIS duty," argues Mr. Ginsburg. "Just as you do yours by accepting his going," adds Mrs. Ginsburg. "But is duty the action," challenges Zippy the Parakeet, "Or is it the obligation to perform the action? " "Oh yes," nods Dr. Levine. "The fear of abandonment is the most primal of human fears. It begins at the moment the infant is separated from the mother at birth, and..." "I concur!" declares Leonora, looking thru absurdly oversized spectacles over the top of an enormous book. "Me too," agrees Stella. "Aren't they clever?" smiles Dr. Minkoff. "But Joe desoives betteh!" insists Miss Kaplan, as Mozelewski fusses with her slinky red gown. Rudy Vallee steps to the microphone and softly croons "The hoooouse is haunted -- by the echo of your last goodbye...." before he is cut off by a flying pair of step-ins. "Ain'tchoo gonna DO sump'n about t'is?" demands Alice, throwing a pot roast at Kirby Higbe. "Yeh," adds Krause. "Yeh," echoes Willie. "AWRIGHT, AWLAYEZ!" commands Joe. "SHADDDUP!" The apparitions vanish, as does the entire room. Sally's bed floats in a featureless void, as Joe, now in a grimy field jacket, takes her hand. "I'm comin' back," he insists. "He jerks his thumb toward a figure in a First World War uniform, back turned, as it walks off into the darkness. "I ain' nut'n like him," assures Joe. "No," acknowledges Sally, "You ain't." "MA!" interrupts Leonora, as Stella thumps to the floor. "STOP TAWKIN! TRY'NA SLEEP!" Sally's eyes snap open and her eyes flick to the alarm clock, its luminous hands standing just after two....)

("Thaaat was Shaughnessy!" announces Uncle Frank, hanging up the receiver and turning to Ma with a triumphant grin. "Oi told'jee he'd coom thru!" "He ain't coom thru YET," frowns Ma. She looks around the store. "Oi doon't see no tarrkey." "He's coomin' ovarr farrrst thing t'marra marrnin'!" assures Uncle Frank. "He's been oopstate. He waanted t'be surre he gaaaht exaaaaaactly what we needed!" "Ooopstate?" frowns Ma. "Good place farr a guffar loike him." "Oi can taste that baaaard roit now," beams Uncle Frank. "Bettar hoold onta th' leftoovars," frowns Ma...)

("And what," frowns Mr. Rickey, "is YOUR draft status?" "Um," sighs Mr. Parrott. "I'm 4-F." "Can you PITCH?" demands Mr. Rickey. "Um," stammers Mr. Parrott...)

Illustrator Charles Dana Gibson, creator of the famous "Gibson Girl" of bygone days, has died at the age of 77. Mr. Gibson sold his first illustration to the old Life magazine in 1886, and achieved great success with his creation of the pinups of Grandfather's day. The model for most of his drawings was his wife, Mrs. Irene Langhorne Gibson, sister of the famous Lady Astor, who was at his bedside until the end.

("Owoo?" That doesn't begin to describe it.)

(Hazard to air navigation? That's a federal rap, rabbit!)

(I mean, we ARE all a bit curious, right?)

(Leave on the spats, though.)

(Absenteeing from work NOW? SHAMEFUL.)

(That tombstone is real. Adolf Hittler was a Rumanian hat-maker. BELIEVE IT OR...oh, wait, wrong strip.)

(It'll serve them both right if they end up in Belgium.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The Copa? Well, they'd never let him in the door at Leon and Eddie's.

"JUST what I always wanted! A bottle of -- ah -- paregoric!"

Is this trip REALLY necessary???

Awww, it's a Christmas miracle.

"Oh well, as long as we're changing the rules..."

Once again, the most realistic married couple in the comics.

Brain, heart and courage. He's a one man Wizard of Oz.

But that's as far as it's gonna go.

Yep, a Real Old Fashioned Christmas. And I'm sorry, but that kid looks more like Wagonwheels than Jack. Hmmm.

Meanwhile, Pat, Connie, and Stoop creep thru a treacherous jungle, battle knives clenched in their teeth. Merry Christmas!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

Yeah, and I'm still sore about the World Series. GO BROWNS!

 

[Fading Fast]

Kudos on the dream sequence, Lizzie, it was very well done.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Believe it or not, I actually dreamed it. Most of it, anyway.

 

[Fading Fast]

Believe it or not, I actually dreamed it. Most of it, anyway.

That's fantastic - quite the vivid dream. It's probably why it played so well when you wrote it out.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The Eagle doesn't publish today, and even if it did, the blinds are drawn at Lieb's Candy Store as Ma paces the floor. "Oi thaaat ye said he'd be here faaaarst thing in th' marrnin!" she fumes. "Naaaaht everybaaady gets oop at four tharrty th' way you do," yawns Uncle Frank. "Listen, hoo about a coopa caaahfeee." "You moit want caafeee," frowns Ma, "butchee oolcer doon't! Have tea aaar have a Coca-Cola," "Coca-Cola at foive A-M," mutters Uncle Frank. "THAT's good far me oolcer." The conversation is interrupted before it can escalate by a knock at the door. "That's him," exclaims Uncle Frank, snapping up from his stool. He rushes to the door, snaps the door, and as expected, admits Shaughnessy the Butcher. "It's aboot toime," fusses Ma, whipping out from behind the counter. "Wharr is it? Whaar's me baaard?" "Roit here," smiles the meat man, proferring a small shoebox-sized parcel. "Whoot's this?" demands Ma. "His loogage?" "That," proclaims Shaughnessy grandly, "is a paaartridge. Shot it meself." "A WHOOT now?" erupts Ma. "A paaaartridge," repeats Shaughnessy. "Tharr's noothin' soo delicate as the flavarr oova fresh game barrd. An' joost th' roit soize, moind ye, faaar an intimate haaalidy soopar farr two newlyweds spendin' tharr farrst Christmas as man an' woife." "YE BLOODY GAMBOON!" roars Ma, veins erupting from her forehead. "OI GAAAHT ELIVIN PEOPLE COOMIN' OVAR HERE!" "You nivver said noothin' aboot elivin people!" hisses Shaughnessy out of the side of his mouth, a bead of sweat running into his eye. "Oi moosta mentioned it," quivers Uncle Frank. "Ye moost naaahta bin listen..." Ma swallows hard and sets her jaw. "An' WHOOT, moit Oi ask," she exhales, in a lethal voice, "arr ye praaapoosin' t'DO aboot this?" "Ah," stammers Shaughnessy. "Well -- ah -- it -- uh -- joost so haapns that Oi -- ah -- Oi gaaaht anoothar doozen partridges oot aahn me troock. I was plannin' to -- ah -- provoide thim to th' -- ah -- Friendly Soons'a St. Patrick farr th' annual -- ah -- dinnar, boot in view -- ah --" The meat man pauses and shudders under Ma's relentless gaze. "Ah," he resumes, "Oi'd be happy t' sell-- ah -- a sooficient noombaar t' you -- at a fair -- ah -- proice." Ma's gaze grows stonier. "Ah, that is to say," Shaughnessy resumes, "in view oov aaarh laaaang friendship, Oi'd be happy to -- ahh -- doonate..." "An' jooost HOW," growls Ma, "d'ye pr'poose that I COOK aaaahl these baaards in that little range Oi gaaaht oop thar?" Uncle Frank's mind races. "Ah," he ahs. "Oi know a place that's gaaaht a very large range, and -- ah -- do we have any moor'a thim matchbooks with th' telephoon noombar farr th' -- ah -- Dragon's Den....?")

And in the Daily News...

"Turkeys didn' get thru?" queries a shivering infantryman, holding out his mess kit. "Neh," shrugs Joe, slapping a blob of Spam and gravy out of a bubbling kettle. "If ya close ya eyes, t'ough, y'might t'ink it's toikey. If y'close'm hawrd enough." "Yuh got mo' imagination 'n I do," mutters the Corporal. "Nawt really," sighs Joe. "I c'n close me eyes an' see home, an' Sal, an' Leonoreh, an' awlem, but I open'm again an' awl I see is you." "You ain' exactly a vision a' Bummin'ham," snickers the Corporal, as the endless line of tired soldiers plods past...

"Yeh," yehs Sally, sitting on the Krauses' couch as Leonora and Willie rampage thru their Christmas presents. "I hoid it awna radio las' night. He got awna plane an'nat plane neveh got t'weh'r it was goin'." "Awrful," sighs Alice. "Yeh," agrees Krause. Sally closes her eyes and sighs. "Me'n Joe went t'see him a few times, upta t' Glen Islan' Casino? Lotta collitch kids, seemed like we was t'oldes' ones 'eh. But we showed'm a few tricks." "Hey," heys Alice. "I t'ink we got a coupla reckids a' his. Lemme put'm onna Victrola t'eh." "No," shrugs Sally. "I ain' inna mood." "Heh," hehs Alice, "t'at's a pretty funny joke you -- um -- oh -- you meant t'at..." "Yeh," nods Krause. "Yeh," sighs Sally...

There are people in this world who are always good to know.

Yeah, even Charlie.

"Hmph, SHE gets a suitcase..." -- Chief Brandon.

*snif*

"I'll Be Home For Christmas..."

That's what you get for using those plastic candy canes.

"What about my COAT?"

Wait'll Next Year.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally, spend your Christmas with Olsen & Johnson...

With a BEAR, yet!!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Wharr is it? Whaar's me baaard?" "Roit here," smiles the meat man, proferring a small shoebox-sized parcel. "Whoot's this?" demands Ma. "His loogage?"

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

"No," shrugs Sally. "I ain' inna mood."

Good one.