Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1950)

Record Details:

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Sowvm ■npnBBi ■■"'■■■■■■■■■■•"'■■■""■■•■■■■■■■■■■■■•^■■H IT HAPPENED ON HOUSE PARTY— Linkletter (to five-year-old boy) : You look like a cowboy today. Did you punch any cows? Boy: Nope. Linkletter: What would they say if you did punch a cOw? Boy: Ouch! August — in which month come the dog days, probably called that because they're so doggone hot. (Sorry; I apologize to everyone, including dogs — of whom some of my best friends are . . .) It'll be a run-ofthe-mill August, according to the Old Farmer's Almanac, with the usual thunder showers sandwiched in between plenty of hot, dry days . . . "Watch for shooting stars from the 9th through the llth," says the same source — must tell the kids about that. . . . This month there's the usual number of commemorating this-or-that days (like, for instance, the 29th, which is the anniversary — I don't know which one — of the beheading of John 'the Baptist) but for me, August is chiefly memorable for corn on the cob. Now there's a food fit for kings, princes, and working guys like you and me; I could — and will — eat it every day as long as it's in season. The best way, of course, is to snatch it off the stalks, run at top speed into the house, tear off the husks like a house afire, and pop the lovely cobs into the pot while the kernels are tender and oozing with milk. Cook it just long enough so it's get-your-teeth-into-able, spread with butter, sprinkle with salt — well, pepper too, if your fancy leans that way — and you've got a subject for a lyric poem if I could only write one. And about that butter — my wife has a trick with that worth mentioning. Melted butter's the thing, but if you put it in a dish or a bowl it takes buckets of butter and a lot gets wasted which, at thes« prices, is nothing to take lightly. Try Lois's way: pour the melted butter into an ordinary drinking glass, about half-way full, and dunk the corn in that — every kernel buttered, and no waste. Ah, me! THOREAU SAID IT: "You cannot kill time without injuring eternity." If You're a Soup-lover — Don't get caught making that delightful noise known as "slurping" if you live in New Jersey — there's a law against it there! IT HAPPENED ON HOUSE PARTY— Linkletter (to small boy) : Do you know who Pancho Villa was? Small Boy: I think he rode with the Cisco Kid. . . . READERS' OWN VERSE— Lines To A Thirsy Child It's fine, indeed, my infant daughter, To have a healthy thirst for water; But why must yours, my little gem, Assert itself at two A.M.? — Richard Wheeler