With a Wrong Near My Heart

Tuesday night, we watched "With a Song in My Heart," 20th Century-Fox's 1952 hit about the famous American singer Jane Froman.

I had been amazed to uncover a recent report that star Susan Hayward's breast pops out of her dress during a glamorous musical sequence. I'd seen the movie years ago on TV, but certainly had no recollection of such a blooper.

Why would I care about a mammary and clothes? I was eight. I had Milk Duds.

Well, let me interrupt my being aghast to announce the alleged snafu is absolutely true. I have rubbernecked Susan Hayward's nipple and the greater metropolitan areola.

"DVD Savant" adds:

"...In the film's one big dance number, Hayward's partner (Richard Allan?) apparently stepped on her gown, tugging it down and exposing her left breast for a good second....

"Hayward must have known; as she spins we can see her holding her partner closer, on purpose. Did she not tell anyone, and the 'whoops' camera take ended up as the only good one? I think that even on a little Moviola screen editor Watson Webb would have noticed the nipple. Did the movie go out this way and nobody noticed? On a big screen this must have looked like a 3rd row view at Minsky's. Or did nobody spot it? Were audiences back then so numbed by sanitized entertainment that such a thing could slip by?..."

No comment about the you know is found in the DVD's supplementary materials, yet much praise is made of how this motion picture is an exceptional Hollywood biography, accurately chronicling the real events, enhanced by Susan Hayward's spot on mimicry.

Hmmm. Perhaps Jane Froman had a breast pop out?


Of Mice and Menagerie

Oh, What a Beastly Morning
In a single 10-minute period on one remarkable forenoon:

I freed a rodent on my way to the county dump. ("The Cat in the Hut and a Mouse in the House")

Moments later, I spotted a rooster loitering in the center of the street. ("Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?")

Shortly thereafter, I tossed my garbage bag up into the gigantic trash compactor.

"MEEOWWWWRR!!" squealed a scaredy blur as it jumped into the air and hurdled out of the dumpster, hitting the ground running.

I choked on my Pep-O-Mint and the lost hope of seeing another day.

"What the heck was that?" I yelped, rocketing skyward, my fall broken by a deft catch in the arms of the landfill overlord.

"You mean that cat?" he said. "Or your invitation to a kiss?"

I was a squealy scaredy blur!

Back home in a bolt!


Constructing a slapdash safe room out of bundling boards!

Finished in seconds, I locked myself in, under the bed, in my security jammies, wondering about feeding time here in the zoo.


The Cat in the Hut and a Mouse in the House

Living in the country, as we do, folks learn to expect unwanted visitors. I've written about brushes with bears, but so far none have invaded our cabin or my baby blues.

We do have insect homesteaders traipsing about the abode, although our cats have gallantly performed their duties as sheriffs to the varmints.

Well, except for Morty, who thinks crickets are the best cat toy ever.

He knows all of their secret boudoirs and camouflage tactics. He lives to play hide-and-go-pounce and leap-Gryllidae.

This cat becomes surreal whenever a moth flies across our threshold in search of light. His eyes bug out (ironic, huh?) as he goes into a deep trance of attention riveted to the insect's flight pattern. All of this fascination is musically accompanied by Morty's spooky chattering noises.

I half expect Bela Lugosi to materialize from the shadows, fracture some English, and needle mark my armchair.

Recently, there was a frantic tapping noise coming from under our stove.

"Aha," I said, grasping a fresh explanation of another of Morty's peculiar behaviors. He had been spending long periods of precious nap time seated in front of the oven, awake and observant. He knew something was afoot .

It was a field mouse, connoisseur of Skippy peanut butter that it was, cornered inside a humane mousetrap baited with the creamy goodness.

We try to catch and release our trespassers outdoors. That goes for moths and meeces, and everything in-between and census takers.

So, I escorted the frightened rodent to my car and we motored down the lane. We talked cheese.

Far from the residence, I placed the trap in a patch of grass near the woods and raised the lid. The paroled mouse sped away. With eight fast bounds of freedom, he was out of sight.

Sorry, Morty. I'm sorry you couldn't keep the *toy* mouse, surely the greatest thing since sliced bream.


Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

A new back street has been carved through a forested area about a mile from our house. Several months ago, while driving along the isolated pavement, I faced a surprise and the answer to an age-old question.

As I passed over the hill, I saw a motionless rooster perched on the bright yellow line. I stopped the car and fumbled for my camera, but before I could grab a photograph, he strutted away.

And why did the chicken cross the road?

Chicks on the side.



Cat photos: Where's Morty?

Our boy Morty's glued to Britney Spears and all of the claw-biting developments.

She's a Mouseketeer, you know.


Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Jesus Air Freshener

Thanks to the oversight, my car does not smell like Jesus.

I'm thinking He's more of a Mysore Sandal Soap than Cashmere Bouquet.

Certainly not Lye.

My biological father was a classic orange Lifebuoy with a Blatz, maybe a sweet cordial.

Me, this morning, Caress and Gumout.

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Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: 'Caddyshack' Trivia

Who needs their ol' "Caddyshack" Trivia, anyway?

I've got my own.

1. On "Caddyshack's" opening day, July 25, 1980, I was special guest projectionist at the Perimeter Mall Cinema I-II-III-IV in Atlanta. Although I had never played golf, I was deemed qualified to present the movie. I'm a Union member. We putter.

2. The first show of "Caddyshack" was 12 minutes late on the screen because the equipment required repair. I think I may have used my teeth.

3. I ran "Caddyshack" twice that afternoon and threaded the next one before being relieved at six to go to my regular job as projectionist at the Rhodes Theatre. On the way, I stopped at Zesto's for a Nut Brown Crown ice cream cone. I think I may have used my teeth.

4. Beginning July 22, 1988, I exhibited "Caddyshack II" for several weeks at the Merchants Walk 8 in Marietta, GA. I never watched, but, through the auditorium wall, I think I may have heard the gnashing of teeth. Jackie Mason starred.

As the gopher?

I'm not sure.

5. I purchased a "Caddyshack" DVD for eight dollars. I think I may have used my Tooth Fairy futures.

6. Morty and Mr. Gopher have settled their differences ("Gopher Break"), co-existing in harmony and boogie fevers for the past four years.

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Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Mr. Yummy Critter Goo

I've been carrying this snapshot of Mr. Yummy Critter Goo (with lemon!) in my wallet since Halloween. It's also taped to my Dream Mirror and my Lucky Plain Jane Donut.

First, the Great Pumpkin failed to bring me Mr. Yummy Critter Goo, followed by that heartbreaking Santa Claus. How many laps do I have to lower myself?

I'm looking forward and maintaining a stiff upper mustache-free lip, putting my hopes and longings on Punxsutawney Phil gifting me some Mr. Yummy, Groundhog Day.

Then, Cupid on Valentine's, or Dakota Fanning (Feb. 23).

If they flop, I guess I'll be buying goo or making my own.

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Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Cat Naps

I asked for the Cat Naps calendar. Instead, Santa bestowed additional napping time to Morty. That kitty only gets up to pee and check his email.

I don't wish to complain, because his naps do allow me quality time alone with the ball of yarn and the little mechanical scoot mice.

I need the exercise.

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Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Self-Adhesive Stylish Mustaches

I really could use these sweet kisser follicles' fluffy pelts.

Imagine: "A mustache for every day of the week," including "The Hollywood," "The Hero," "The Square," "The Bruiser," "The Weasel," "The Sheriff," "The Grandpa."

Nonetheless, I told Santa I need only six.

My Saturday lip is reserved for chocolate milk!

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Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Mr. Clean

Mr. Clean may be America's foremost superhero, what with all of the tough scrubbing and the twinkle miracles.

I was a fan as a little kid and wanted to be him.

Mom wouldn't let me wear an earring, so I clamped a three-ring notebook binder to my lobe and covered my head in soapy Brillo pads.

Master Clean hadn't lost his hair, yet.

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Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Garage Sale Labels

I hoped Santa would bring me garage sale labels, because I can't afford them otherwise.

I was kind of embarrassed at the store. When the clerk finished adding up all of the individual price stickers, the package cost something like $175.50.

I said, "No, thanks," and went home, where, ironically, we can't afford a garage.

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