SUNDAY MORNING

For months, I have been waiting for a reason to publish this breathtaking photograph of the greatly underrated Stella Stevens, but, finally, I’m posting it for no other reason that its Sunday morning, the cat sleeps, and it pleases me. Dawn will come soon enough and the squirrels will play in jacaranda trees before the late-rising crows arrive like the avian Gestapo. I also have a clip of one of my favorite tunes for this occasion. Lou has ensured the song has a totally different melancholy whether or not you are alone. Does Sunday mean toast and newspapers or merely an unmade void? (But surely Stella Stevens could ward off any too-early contemplation of blue Monday.)

The secret word is Bagel