Earl Cranston Pomerantz was born 72 years ago tomorrow, it was a Sunday, it was at 5:28 am, it was in Canada, it was fucking cold. With the slap of an ass, a legend was brought into this world the same way he'll go out, naked and bawling. According to the ancient art of Chinese astrology, Monkey is the mythical animal and Wood is the element of a person born Feb. 4th, 1945. To paraphrase Bill Murray in Caddyshack, Earl's favorite movie, "he's got that going for him."
Earl was born to write. Writing is not something you can learn folks, it's a gift from God. That gift first appeared at the age of 6 when Earl received an Underwood for Christmas and he immediately commenced banging out ideas which were the genesis of what would become award-winning scripts, blog posts about orange socks and Bob Kettle, as well as a Pulitzer Prize winning book called "Saddle Up." Earl's book was a labor of love, a book about his favorite subject, TV and movie "Westerns". Ironic because Earl's never even been on a fucking horse! He's never owned one, ridden one or pet one. Closest he's come is feeding a giraffe a carrot 2 weeks ago at the Santa Monica zoo. But that's Earl's gift, the ability to convey experiences, sentiment and passion while sitting at his Apple computer, instead of, you know, actually going out to the track and offering an apple to a horse.
Earl's biggest accomplishment has been winning the elusive "life trifecta". An Emmy award, a WGA award, and a trophy wife. Two of those he keeps locked away in a vault, the Emmy is prominently displayed in his bedroom.
Earl won't be posting tomorrow, this "Annual Announcement" is today because Saturday will be reserved for family, cake and candles, party hats, gifts and a toast to a Major Dad, Major Husband, Major Grandfather and a Major Writer. So Happy Birthday Earl. Jed and I send our best wishes from Canada, Bob Kettle sends his from France, and John Wayne sends his from Monument Valley.
Another Happy Birthday from Canada. We are the same age for a week each year. As I sit looking out at a snow covered lake I cannot for the life of me see the appeal of Santa Monica. Well, maybe the weather.
5 comments:
Happy Birthday, Earl. And you can still fit in your old camp t-shirt. Amazing.
Earl Cranston Pomerantz was born 72 years ago tomorrow, it was a Sunday, it was at 5:28 am, it was in Canada, it was fucking cold. With the slap of an ass, a legend was brought into this world the same way he'll go out, naked and bawling. According to the ancient art of Chinese astrology, Monkey is the mythical animal and Wood is the element of a person born Feb. 4th, 1945. To paraphrase Bill Murray in Caddyshack, Earl's favorite movie, "he's got that going for him."
Earl was born to write. Writing is not something you can learn folks, it's a gift from God. That gift first appeared at the age of 6 when Earl received an Underwood for Christmas and he immediately commenced banging out ideas which were the genesis of what would become award-winning scripts, blog posts about orange socks and Bob Kettle, as well as a Pulitzer Prize winning book called "Saddle Up." Earl's book was a labor of love, a book about his favorite subject, TV and movie "Westerns". Ironic because Earl's never even been on a fucking horse! He's never owned one, ridden one or pet one. Closest he's come is feeding a giraffe a carrot 2 weeks ago at the Santa Monica zoo. But that's Earl's gift, the ability to convey experiences, sentiment and passion while sitting at his Apple computer, instead of, you know, actually going out to the track and offering an apple to a horse.
Earl's biggest accomplishment has been winning the elusive "life trifecta". An Emmy award, a WGA award, and a trophy wife. Two of those he keeps locked away in a vault, the Emmy is prominently displayed in his bedroom.
Earl won't be posting tomorrow, this "Annual Announcement" is today because Saturday will be reserved for family, cake and candles, party hats, gifts and a toast to a Major Dad, Major Husband, Major Grandfather and a Major Writer. So Happy Birthday Earl. Jed and I send our best wishes from Canada, Bob Kettle sends his from France, and John Wayne sends his from Monument Valley.
Happy Birthday. 🎂
Another Happy Birthday from Canada. We are the same age for a week each year. As I sit looking out at a snow covered lake I cannot for the life of me see the appeal of Santa Monica. Well, maybe the weather.
Happy Birthday Cousin Earl! Sorry I missed you on the day.
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