Two of my favorite performers from the Golden Age of Radio—Fred Allen and (wife) Portland Hoffa—have generously baked yours truly a birthday cake to celebrate the tenth anniversary of my 39th natal anniversary. (Though in the tradition of the “feud,” I think Fred might have winced at that last part.) Many thanks to Facebook chum John Wells for posting this on my “wall,” as the kids call it—I’m always up for a good snapshot of Fred and Porty, who was once told by James Thurber “everything you and Fred said to each other was somehow akin to The Sweetheart Duet from Maytime.”
The ‘rents and I have planned a simple celebratory affair—I was very fortunate than Mom made pancakes this a.m. (the best to me this morning!) and will later work her magic on her new barbecue grill with a couple of twenty-pound butt steaks. (Kroger’s had a sale on rib eyes a while back…and we socked a couple away for the occasion.) Mom is in charge of grilling around Rancho Yesteryear, because Dad hates it…this will come as a complete shock to BBFF Stacia, who loves grilling more than life itself.
By the way, the doyenne of She Blogged by Night is currently whooping it up in
I’m not normally a corny or sentimental guy…but I am in extraordinary good spirits today simply because I have been receiving a torrent of heartfelt birthday wishes from my boon companions on Facebook, and though I will probably be mocked in the comments section I still believe wholeheartedly in the lesson to be taken away from It’s a Wonderful Life—no man is poor who has friends. To each and every one of them who gave me a shout-out…you’re a good group. But for those of you who’d like a bit of lemon to cut the sweetness, I will share this goodie sent to me this morning by Peter Nellhaus of coffee coffee and more coffee (a title card from the 1927 silent film Girls, directed by George Marshall):
I had planned to talk about a trip to the library Mom and I took this week…but that will have to be a post for another day. (Besides, I have writing to catch up on.) So until next time—on with the opera. Let joy be unconfined. Let there be dancing in the streets, drinking in the saloons, and necking in the parlor. (Play, Don...)