Café PSA: A Timely Reminder

While I know that such Gentle Readers as regularly pass by here hardly need such basic information, once again I feel obliged to remind a broader cher publique...

Wedding Belles

A little tableau en style Warhol, in honor of yesterday's good news.  Café regulars are well aware of my longstanding amusement with American's vinyl sweetheart...

Join the Jubilee!

Well, it is, by all indications, a great day for the Irish, and who better to sing us in than St. Judy?

Ladies of a Certain Age

One of the goodies that appeared during My Dear Sister's recent whirlwind visit was a disc of family photos that she's had scanned.  The person who did the scanning did his or her level best to read the backs of those photos that were inscribed, which is helpful, but sadly this formidable lady is described only as "Auntie Harriet."*  Just think; here she's very likely just about the same age as Jane Fonda.  Getting old isn't what it used to be, although in Auntie Harriet's defense, she's less shy about showing her hands than Madonna.

And Then There's Me

  

As I may have mentioned once or twice, dear Miss Beatrice Arthur and I share more than an at times flinty temperament; we are both May babies, born today.  As the years go by, I feel ever more something of a kinship with the old girl, bless her memory.

Oh, What Can I Do?

I'm developing a thing about this perfectly awful song (given even more of an absurdist twist in this nearly phonetic karaoke cover).  See below for why in God's name that should the case.

But first, proof positive that my life, whatever else is happening, remains more interesting than some people's:

Redux: M is For...

M is for... first appeared on May 10, 2009 and appeared again in 2012, 2013, and 2014.  And yes, even as we head toward 15 years, I'm still getting over the surprise.  Happy Mother's Day, Mother Muscato, wherever you are...

And the People Hide Their Faces

As usual, Miss Nina tells it like it is.

Talk of the Town

In these low days it's such common knowledge that even stock-photo models know all about it:  Stephen Haines is stepping out on Mary.

Many Happy Returns to a Pretty Nice Girl

So now she's 89 and a day.  I was remiss in missing the big day yesterday, but it still seems worth noting.

Say-Zoo Goes Noir

I'm starting to think I may have too much time on my hands...

Keep Breathing

It occurred to me that I've been remiss of late in my occasional mission to bring to a wider audience the splendors of Arab pop; the little gem above should take care of that for a while, with a new twist...

A Very Mary Easter

Having now perused several galleries of vintage stills for this weekend's holiday (including this very special one from which the treasure above is culled), I can tell you one thing:

Twilight of the Clamstrips

Oh, dear - here's one that I wish were in fact an April Fool's joke...

The Fickle Finger...

So I'm still, mostly, stuck at home, and with the time not spent entertaining Rick the Physical Therapist, exercising to "Pee-Wee's Playhouse" (my current routine being conveniently the length of one episode), or catching up on old movies and new TV, I'm spending far too much time on the Interwebs.  It's got me thinking.

Shameless Sunday Camp Explosion: A Happy Song

Sometimes the depth of what I don't know really startles me.  How, for example, could I never have heard of Folies Bergère de Paris, a nifty little confection from 1935 that ends with this remarkable number?

Portrait Gallery: The First Mr. Streisand

For no particularly good reason other than I must be on the mend, as eye candy is once again appealing, Mr. Elliott Gould, once upon a time.  I don't know about you, but I'm intrigued; say what you will, Babs has good taste in more than just music...

Prohibition in Curls

It's her birthday, making her - depending on what source one prefers - anything from 111 to 107.

Sprung

I'm just going to let dear Miss Durbin (looking uncharacteristically sultry - she is rocking that Vera West gown) sing us into the new season.  Which started, this morning, with snow.  Bother.

A Fond Return

Bonus points to the clever Gentle Readers who know for 

what poem this charming illo was originally intended...

So it seems I'm getting better.  I won't say it's all been roses, but from the beginning one is told over and over again that every day brings a little improvement, and on the whole that's proving true.  The mental and physical fog that follows the sort of things I've been through is lifting, and my convalescence, as of this week, is heading in new directions.