And just between you, me, and the sponsors, lady, I wouldn't pour any of it over the side

Traditionally 1954 is the year I associate with things like Alan Swann and The King Kaiser Comedy Cavalcade as far as live, on-air entertainment is concerned, but I'll make an exception now for The Frank Cyrano Byfar Hour and its associated programming, by which you may understand that I really enjoyed The Big Broadcast of 1954. So did my parents, who I didn't even have to drag. I am so used to the show existing within its own convincing timestream, I didn't realize the rolling coast-to-coast Legend of Sleepy Hollow was real until I got home—look: Ada, Oklahoma?—but I quite liked their essentially faithful adaptation, narrated with the correct grim relish by Tom Champion; I heard three songs by Jaggery before I left, so I bought their latest CD. (Their keyboardist and lead singer is the sister of someone my brother went to high school with. Especially since the band didn't even form in Boston: was not expecting that.) It is not actually the fault of the Post-Meridian Radio Players that I now have Allan Sherman's "Rat Fink" stuck in my head.

Oh, yeah, and it's snowing.

The frozenness where the apocalypse came and went

Okay, I was having a terrible afternoon, and then the mail arrived.

hylomorphist sent me Andrei Rublev (1966). From Germany.

However strangely, it helps.