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When I was young, “Connie Francis Sings Jewish Favorites” spun on the hi-fi every Jewish holiday. I loved Connie F., especially for her song “Teddy”, a lesser-known Francis spin but one of the first songs where I noticed how important a sweeping melody could be to a record. As a kid, music was like religion to me. Whereas RELIGION always felt so serious. So the fact that there was a Pop influence infiltrating the holidays in the Willis household was of great comfort to me. That Connie Francis was Italian and so far away from being Jewish did not deter me at all. The first paragraph of the liner notes was good enough for me:

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I wish that all it took these days to satisfy and amaze everyone was an impeccable Jewish accent.

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I only knew a few of the songs Connie chose to sing and am not quite sure how the “Anniversary Song” got in there but back then it was rumored she was dating Bobby Darin so I was fine with whatever she wanted to sing.

Last night I was hitting Jewish high notes myself when I partook in the Rosh Hashanah feast at Street restaurant, my favorite haunt be it Jewish holiday or not. I came dressed for the occasion.

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Just as Connie Francis wasn’t on the playlist at every Jewish household during the holidays, Rosh Hashana at Street wasn’t the usual latkes and macaroons fare either. Although my favorite, Gefilte Fish, wasn’t on the menu Matzoh Ball Soup was. It was seriously THE BEST Matzoh Ball Soup I have ever tasted.

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We also had Whitefish Salad with Apples, Celery and Bagel Chips. Though I never liked whitefish as much as I liked Connie Francis.

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The killer food of the night was the Brisket.

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It was served with carrots, onion and fresh herbs and Noodle Kugel.

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Sorry for the blurry photo. I was too excited to eat once I realized the kugel was topped with Sugar Frosted Flakes. The Feniger-tweaked food slid down the throat of this Chosen Person faster than freshly skimmed schmaltz.

When I went to pay for the meal I realized that some of my accessories may have been slightly inappropriate for the evening.

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I cannot attest to being the world’s greatest practicing Jew but I’m always happy to honor the holidays in above manner.  And I would hope that “Connie Francis Sings Jewish Favorites” would always be on the menu.

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I’ve never been on a cruise.  I’ve gone sailing twice. I’ve been in a motor boat maybe 10 times. But make no mistake about it, I love boats. I love the sound of the water lapping up against them when you’re in them, I love what they look like. I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise – between the buffets, lounge acts and seafaring decor what’s not to love? But for now, I content myself with ship artifacts like this 1940’s plastic salt ‘n pepper shaker.

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I have a lot of help around my house creating a perfect atmosphere for the ship salt and pepper shakers as it abounds with portholes. These particular ones came off a 1952 Chris-Craft boat.

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I turned this porthole into a laundry chute.

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When I had to spend tons of time in New York between 2002 and 2007 during the writing and production of my musical, The Color Purple, I insisted on staying at the Maritime Hotel. This is one of the most gorgeous buildings in the world as far as I’m concerned. Built in 1969 as the National Maritime Union, it’s 12 stories of pristine one inch white mosaic tiles with a four foot metal rimmed ship’s porthole in every room, of which there are are twelve on each floor.

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The rooms are decorated like a ship’s cabin – dark wood, curves including the ceiling and laid out meticulously other than  the contortions one must get into to operate the TV remote from bed. The lobby has  stone reliefs of maritime activites and the floor echos the giant portholes in the rooms. But I’m not here to give a hotel tour and I’m not in New York and God knows if I’ll ever get my ass on a cruise. But when I look at this little seafaring salt and pepper shaker, its gorgeous red and white perfect 1940’s plastic self, it chills out my brain as if it were riding the waves instead of racing to post this blog.

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Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t go to concerts. I don’t like the crowds, I don’t like the walking, I don’t like someone singing next to me or standing up in front of me dancing. I understand this is the nature of concerts and I’m not out to change that so I was always happier sinking my head under a set of headphones and listening to the intricacies of the music rather than the  idiosyncrasies of the crowd. This includes concerts where my own music is being performed. Of the hundreds and hundreds of songs of mine that have been cut I’ve seen maybe ten of them performed live. One of the most memorable nights ever for me was in 1979 at the Los Angeles Forum when half of the songs performed by Earth Wind & Fire were mine, including “September”, “Boogie Wonderland” and “In the Stone”.  Although I’m blessed to have some of my tunes among their most popular I never saw the band perform live again. Until last Friday night when I saw a performance that blew my head off my shoulders and still has me skipping along the sidewalks of Los Angeles, a very happy girl.

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On the slight chance you don’t know “September”, my first hit with the group, this will jog your memory. For “Boogie Wonderland” go here. There’s a lot more of them but that will suffice as context for this post.

About six months before “September” came out at the tail end of 1978 I started writing with Verdine White,  founding member of EWF, pictured with me at the top of this post, and to this day my favorite bass player in the world. We wrote a theme song for a short-lived TV dance show called “Hot City” for a singer named Shelly Clark. Verdine married Shelly and also put me in one of my most important relationships ever, my collaboration with Maurice White, Verdine’s brother whose vision EWF was.  Although I’ve seen Verdine often over the years I just saw Shelly for the first time last night since we did “Hot City”.  That kind of time span will never happen again.

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I wouldn’t have even been at this concert if my friend Nancy Ferguson hadn’t insisted that I go after almost every person I knew told me they were going.  The one photo I didn’t take last night was of my little family group, Nancye, Jim Burns and Prudence Fenton, who I go everywhere with and who schlepped me to The Bowl on Friday. Here we are a couple of months ago at a vintage slide show:

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I also hung out a lot with my excellent friend and EWF fan number one, Luenell.

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Luenell, Shelly and I took excellent head shots throughout the evening.

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Luenell came with Constance Tillotson.  Amongst the three of us we’re known as as Twinkie (Constance), Luenell (Ding Dong) and Hostess Snowball (me).

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The concert itself was astounding. It never hit me until it started that for the first time in my life I was about to hear  my songs played with a live 70 piece orchestra. It was actually the first time Earth Wind and Fire heard their songs this way too.

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Songwriting can be a lot of work. For me personally, many times along the way it was also a lot of trauma as when you’re a songwriter it’s oftentimes like being the attendant in a restroom; the restroom attendant is there to change the towels and service the patrons/ the songwriter is there to deliver options of music and lyrics and service the artist. I started doing art and videos and later, technology, because I was someone who needed to create all the time.  Whereas much of my time as a songwriter was spent babysitting, waking up an artists’ brain from seemingly eternal sleep, waiting around for hours while they decided whether it should be an “a” or a “the” in the lyric or to go to a D in the music and me knowing it should be none of the above.  But I have news for you – Every inch of blood, sweat and trauma was worth it when I saw EWF play “September” with a big  mofo 70 piece live ass orchestra and fireworks going off throughout the song. I think you can tell how excited I was by this little movie I took on my Canon Elf.

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People who filled the 17,000+ seats posted a zillion videos of this on YouTube. This one is shot from further back and shows all of the fireworks.

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Now I know I’m about to stay up all night writing this because I keep finding all these videos shot from different seats at the Bowl.  This one’s from about halfway back. As much as I’m tempted to post the at least 20 of these I’ve seen so far because I’m so eternally grateful for people around the world who’ve embraced “September” for all these years, I promise this will be the last:

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About a year ago, when I first opened my social network, The Allee Willis Museum of Kitsch @ AWMOK.com, me, Luenell, Verdine and Larry Dunn, original EWF keyboard player who played on all my EWF hits, did a slightly less orchestrated and lit performance of “September” when we performed it at the opening night party in an alley playing on thrift shop instruments.

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Not at the party that night but always in my heart is Philip Bailey.  As anyone who’s ever listened to EWF knows, Philip has just about the most extraordinary falsetto voice as any human being ever created. Until last night at the Bowl it had been at least 15 years since we’d seen each other.

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I can’t tell you how happy I was to be reunited with Phillip. Just like I can’t tell you how proud I was to be part of this extraordinary group whose message  has been rock-solid-2010-spiritually-evolved since they began recording in the late 60s. Phillip felt the same way about me as evidenced in this video that unfortunately cuts off right when he gets going. (I suppose I should be grateful for having even this much of the conversation on tape though truth be told, my heart felt like battery acid was lacing through it when I saw the camera dangling from the arm of the person I had given it to to shoot as opposed to being pointed at us capturing every single once-in-a-lifetime word.)

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I know it’s hard to hear so I’ve stooped to typing out what Phillip said because it meant the world to me. Phillip: “Allee Willis is one of the greatest writers who ever lived or breathed.  Without Allee Willis, a lot of those songs wouldn’t be here for us, for Earth Wind & Fire….”

Luckily I only went for a photograph when I saw Ralph Johnson, the third original member still in the group.  We hadn’t seen each other since the early 80s. It will most certainly not take another 30 years for this to happen again.

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Even the Godhead himself and the man without whom I would never be where I am today as a songwriter took the stage for a few moments. Maurice White hasn’t performed with the group for years and the audience went insane when he walked out. He left before the party afterwards but here’s a photo of us taken a few years ago at the opening of Hot Feet, a musical featuring all EWF music in which I had seven songs. We’re with two of my all time favorite songwriters in the universe, Ashford and Simpson, and LaChanze,  who won the Tony for playing Celie in my musical, The Color Purple, playing just down Broadway from Hot Feet at the time.

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Now back to The Bowl. Here I am with Greg Phillingaines, the completely brilliant artist and keyboard player who also was a prominent part of my musical history, not to mention playing on every important Michael Jackson solo record and about a trillion other ones you know.  Not to mention that he’s also playing on “I’m Here”, a song of mine from The Color Purple that’s on Fantasia’s new CD.

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I had the time of my life Friday night but I still don’t like the crowds, the walking, the people singing out of tune next to me or blocking my view because they’re up on their feet dancing. But if anything could change my mind it was this experience of 17,000 people going nuts while the group who changed my life, a dream orchestra and easily some of the most spectacular fireworks I’ve ever seen accompanied my music.

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Ba-de-ya.

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For all of you wielding BBQ tools this Labor Day there is now a fashionable addition to your tool universe, the BBQ Sword! I love stuff like this. Kitsch to be sure but also incredibly practical as the stainless steel hand guard protects your precious digits from the flames and spitting fat.

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Made from heavy gauge stainless steel, the BBQ Sword is perfect for grilling in safety and style. It even comes with a Musketeer Mask. I was never into swashbuckling stories or pirates (though I did take fencing in camp one summer) so I’m not really up on the importance of the need of the swashbuckling barbecue-e’s identity to remain secret, but as they’re throwing the mask in for free I’m willing to explore it.

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Besides, I’ve never been the person to take on the grilling of the meal. I’m the one choosing the perfect BBQ from among on my collection of vintage ones, a couple of my favorites pictured here:

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I’m also the one choosing the perfect dishes and serving pieces:

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Though I suppose that my possession of the BBQ Sword might induce me to take on the task of cooking the dogs one day.

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The sword, made by Slam Hebe, takes itself very seriously:

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And I take my hamburgers and hotdogs very seriously:

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I’m actually out the door on my way to a friend’s house who reliably takes on such cooking tasks on the holidays. I would bring him this BBQ Sword but I only bought one and have grown too attached to it while writing this post to give it up now. Perhaps I’ll wear the mask so the identity of the guest who walks in empty-handed is not revealed. But I’ll make up for it with my sparkling swashbuckling personality.

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As we in the states scrape down the barbecues and pack the picnic baskets getting ready for big Labor Day feasts tomorrow, it’s only fitting that I drag out my Capital Metals Company Inc. ashtray and shine it up as best as one can shine a piece of 60-year-old textured metal, so those who still smoke have something labor-themed to squash the labor of their puffing out in.  As we stuff hot dogs and hamburgers and baked beans and potato chips and potato salad and coleslaw and, if we’re lucky, barbecued chicken down our gullets this Labor Day, I hope we all remember what we’re celebrating. Especially this year when less and less people can even say they’re a part of the labor force. Some people fly a flag. I just  rummage through my drawer of over 200 vintage ashtrays and pull this one out for the weekend.

Although I spent almost every Saturday of my childhood poking through piles of metal in my father’s scrapyard in Detroit and thus have a much healthier knowledge of metals than the average gal, I don’t really know what the two mechanical wonders in the tray of the ashtray are.

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I’m assuming they’re both some kind of metal stamping or forming apparatuses and weigh several tons. I’m also assuming that they make a spectacular sound as they do whatever they do to the metal or whatever it is that passes through their jaws and conveyor belts. These are the kind of machines to this day that I’m obsessed with making recordings of and using as percussion loops under my songs.

Who knows if these babies are still around…? They probably met the same fate the Capital Metals Company Inc. that doesn’t show up in a Google search did. Depending on what these machines popped out and how they triumphed in the 1940’s, 50’s and 60’s, they may have taken a tumble in the 70’s when the transition from labor driven factories really started to kick in.

There’s no address or area code with the phone number on the ashtray so I have no idea where the Capital Metals Company was/is. One might think Washington DC from the little Capital dome at the bottom but being such a ubiquitous icon it still could be from anywhere.

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As we celebrate the once great tradition of the American workforce, I personally celebrate the fact that I had the good sense to snap up this ashtray for the 10 cents the labor force at Salvage Masters, “The Champagne Operators Of The Salvage Industry”, in Long Beach, CA asked for it.

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Here I am there moments before I stumbled on the Capital Metals Company metal ashtray in 1984:

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On this one-day-before Labor Day, all hail labor and, of course, gorgeous metal ashtrays!

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bowling-pin-mini_5294Anyone who knows me knows I love bowling.  It’s not the sport itself but, rather, the accessories that go along with it that make my heart sing.  I have no idea what this little mini pin was made for – I’m guessing a standalone trophy – but I found two of them and wish I had more.  I used the first one as the end of a banister going up my stairs:

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I don’t known what The Fun Club was but I want to be a part of anything with that name. I also love anything that’s formally printed up where someone can’t resist the urge to embellish it with their own personal painting touch.  The ‘Tom’ (or is it ‘Glom’?) and the ‘218’ add such an elegance to the pin.

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Nowadays, this little pin’s only job is to stand around and look pretty. Every now and then I hear it being batted around the house by the cats. I know it’s the bowling ball that’s supposed to roll but I hope this pin has some sense of the energy of its big brother bowling pin heritage and can enjoy its journey skidding over the hard wood floor, even though it’s been hit by a cat and not a ball.

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Not only is this an excellent salad/party condiments serving piece but it serves just as well as a conversation piece as its composition is a complete mystery. I haven’t been able to come to a 100% consensus on whether it’s made of plastic or glass since I bought it for a hefty $9 at a thrift shop a few weeks ago. It sits out on my dining room table and it’s become almost a ritual for guests to tap their fingers against it and register a vote.  It looks like glass and it sounds like glass and it certainly is as heavy as glass but every now and then a tap will deliver a dull thud, the signature sound of plastic. Actually, most votes are that it’s a bizarre combination of glass and plastic, one or the other covering the other one so you have the beauty of glass but practicality of plastic. I know this makes no sense but this appears to be the way of the world.

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I think the only way to know for sure is to drop it, a fate I hope does not befall this beautiful bowl. Did I mention that it’s quite chunky? 16″ across and 10″ high.

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When I went to measure it just now it clanked against the top of the metal shelf I pulled it out from. It sounded like glass and I was expecting it to shatter but it came out chip free and once again sounded like hollow plastic when I tapped it again.

The marks on the bottom of the bowl tell me nothing. Though that smudge looks pretty plasticy but then again, the base could be plastic and the rest of it glass.

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I’m just happy to own this pretty bowl. I don’t intend to eat it or use it for anything other than what it was intended for –  to be beautiful and make whatever is inside of it look even lovelier. And as a Kitsch lover I can make a case for whatever material it’s made of and love it just the same.

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I got this squirrel planter last week when I was up in Sonoma recording. At least I think it’s a squirrel. Maybe it’s a gopher, or even a beaver. I’m not that up on my animals with buck teeth but whatever it is I love that it’s got two separate compartments and, as such, I will be putting it to work here at Willis Wonderland. I’m not sure if the squirrel/gopher/beaver will hold pencils in the large compartment and paper clips in the little ashtray/bowl or Q-tips in the large compartment and safety pins in the smaller one. These types of decisions are the joys of being a collector who actually uses what they collect as opposed to putting things behind glass as so many collectors do, squeezing the life out of the object whose role usually grinds to a halt because of such practices. Though as a whole I find that very few collectors of kitsch actually relegate their artifacts to imprisonment in glass jails. Kitsch lovers usually put their objects right to work.  There’s a utilitarian pride in collecting such a genre, making this squirrel/gopher/beaver about to be very happy in its new home.

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Speaking of new homes for squirrels, I have long been the enabler of fine living among the species. I apologize for the graininess of the following shots, all grabbed from videos at least 15 years old. This particular squirrel is enjoying a corn cob at a miniature picnic table and chair I erected for him/her to dine at.

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Before I bought the squirrel his/her own patio set, he/she used to snack at my table:

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A few times the squirrel dined in a fashionable 1950’s wrought iron planter:

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And oftentimes when he/she was full he/she relaxed on the head of a statue that James Brown himself removed from my backyard when we wrote together in 1985 and he combed my collection for any mammys and Sambos and sent them packing.

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After a few years I had to close the squirrel cafeteria because it just got too messy as every squirrel in Los Angeles eventually heard about it. As much as I miss all the activity in my backyard, this goofy little squirrel planter fulfills all my animal needs as he’s cute and I don’t have to feed him.

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I’ve seen trillions of sculptures of hands giving the peace sign but this is the first time I’ve seen a foot flashing the international symbol of love and harmony. As if that wasn’t kitschy enough, a cheaper made sculpture you could never find. Adorned with a flimsy paper peace sign sticker and colored to make it look like rich wood, this peace foot is made of incredibly cheap plastic, lucky if it weighs an ounce despite being 6 inches tall.  There’s no manufacturers mark anywhere on the appendage, as if whoever made it didn’t want to take credit for such a lovely and peaceful foot.

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By the number of post-its that I’ve stuck in this book, 41 to be exact, it’s obvious that I’m as much a fan of the recipes in this hallowed hors d’oeuvres bible as the typical housewife was in 1958 when it was published by Good Housekeeping magazine and the Hearst Corporation. The fact that thanks are given to companies like Frito, Borden, the Hawaiian Pineapple Company, Lawry’s, the National Biscuit Company, Ralston Purina, Swift and the Shrimp Association of the Americas should be a great indication of the junk-tipped treasures that lie within. I have long followed the advice of this book when throwing small dinner parties, well, at least small parties for me, 10 to 20 people, and if you happen to be cooking this lovely Sunday afternoon or evening and haven’t decided on the menu yet I suggest you do the same.

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I don’t drink but any good hostess knows that keeping your guests in the state of mind they most like to be in, happy, one should always have plenty of these on hand:

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Never forget that what you serve a dish in is just as important as the dish itself. Party moods are all psychological and what something looks like effects perception.

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No plain white ones of these please:

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What makes me happiest of all about the Appetizer Book is that the people at Good Housekeeping chose to call appetizers “nibblers”.  I have always loved the word “nibble”.  So much so that when a cat had two litters of kittens 55 days apart on my roof I caught her and named her “Nibbles”.

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As you can see, her tail is a little “nibbled” on:

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I named her daughter, who I also caught,  Niblet:

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The simple truth this Sunday is that I’m on excruciating music and video deadlines so I’m going to leave you now in the good hands of the folks at Good Housekeeping. I’ll start with one of my favorite chapters:

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How could a cook book have a more beautiful centerfold than one that features fried saltines wrapped in bacon, cheese cubes with drippy white things on the toothpicks and a bowl of mixed olives decades before it became de rigueur to have one on your appetizer table?

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I hope you’re all having a very happy Sunday and enjoying some of these lovely nibblers. I’m going to pet Nibbles and Niblet and get back to work, but not before I eat some of these:

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