We entered another studio and there it was – the throne of all Hollywood. It was the desk of Johnny Carson. I couldn’t help myself, I ran at full speed toward the desk, an out-of-control, precocious 11-year-old.
It might be silly to talk about clocks, but that’s another reason retirement is such a wonderful reward for years of hard labor. Our lives are no longer chained to the numbers on a timepiece.
Comparing the newsreel versions of Mr. Morrison’s “live” audio inserted into the film footage, with other versions that have standard narration voiceover, audiences were impressed with the difference between the sound of “live” news and “canned” news, and how much less exciting it is to be told of an event after it has happened than to hear of it while it is occurring.
Superman battling Lex Luthor, crime and deadly kryptonite; the Justice League of America tackling foes; The Lone Ranger and Tonto; and the dynamic duo of Batman and Robin fighting fiends. In a willing suspension of disbelief I lost myself in the fantastic stories while faint footfalls of customers trod around me.
I have long been an admirer of abandoned buildings and places inhabited only by left-behind ghosts and shadows, whispers and memories. But this was my car. This capsule of long-forgotten things and times was my 2001 PT Cruiser.
But when we think of the Empire State Building, we think of a fictional monster and a different tragedy, an enduring symbol of our lost innocence, more than of the terrors of our imagination. That innocence is the reality to which we choose to cling.
Pre-teen years of the '40s found me being forced into a machine-wave permanent that actually burned hair in its attempt to bend. Electric wires dangled and I thought I was the center of a horror novel.
On one of her rare appearances my aunt leaned over to kiss my cheek and I became mesmerized by the waft of perfume she left behind (and in front, beside and over me) as she passed. I remember this particular occasion well because it was also the first time I’d heard the word floozy!
* * *
Even as a grandmother I still wear the same scent today – although now it’s less about being wife-mommy-sassy and more about being companion-superfluous-stubborn.
Who really wrote the letters in the movies? Was it a staff of talented handwriting stand-ins? A studio secretary with a high school prize for penmanship? Sometimes we actually get to see a close-up of a hand in the graceful act of writing the letter, usually with a fountain pen in flowing, neat script.
When I was just out of college, potlucks contained seven or eightselections of salty munchies and dips and only a few casseroles whose main ingredient was pasta. Criteria included cheapness, ease of preparation, and appeal to the lowest common taste.