There’s this theater in Toronto (or there was) called “The Silent Cinema.” My mother and I drove by there once.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s ‘The Silent Cinema.’ They show silent movies there.”
“You mean like The Marx Brothers?”
“No, Mom. The Marx Brothers are ‘noisy’.”
“Of course they are,” she now realized, explaining with irrefutable logic, “Otherwise, how would you know one of them couldn’t talk?”
Happy Birthday, Gertie P.
I love you dearly.
And thanks for passing a little of that special kind of thinking along to me.