I just get this bug sometimes where I have so many things I want to share. Here are some quotes I like:

“A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.”

Chuckles the Clown, The Mary Tyler Moore Show

“If parenting consists of shattering a child’s illusions, it can’t be hard.”

Eloy Azorín as Javier Alarcon in “Grand Hotel.”

“If we didn’t believe the unbelievable, what would happen to faith?”

Jennifer Jones, “Love is a Many Splendored Thing,” the movie, not the song.

“The president – who says black athletes protesting racial injustice by taking a knee during the national anthem are disrespecting the military – skipped two Veterans Day commemorations because of rain.”

Renee Graham, Nov. 14 Boston Globe

“Life is an act – most of it, anyway. Get out there today and pretend you’re in charge, for goodness’ sake.”

Kate Alcott, “The

Dressmaker”

“Mention the word Islamist, someone in Washington, D.C., adds another few noughts (zeros) onto the defense budget and no one complains.”

M.J. McGrath, “White Heat”

“How’s this for idiocy? Rowan University (in New Jersey) banned its women’s cross-country runners from practicing in sports bras because it was distracting for the football team … shame on those administrators who thought it was OK to shame the female runners for their appearance and blame their attire for the impact it had on football players who should have had no say in the matter.”

Tara Sullivan,

the Nov. 14 Boston Globe

Here are some other things that popped into my mind:

It’s a good thing Donald Trump didn’t decide to become a mail delivery person given that rain kept him away from a ceremony honoring the dead of World War I. The helicopter pilots were afraid to fly in the rain? Was that it? And he couldn’t take a car because, some noodnik whined, a motorcade would have disrupted traffic? Awwwwww.

Nonsense. He feared, as did the Wicked Witch of the West, water in any form.

“I’m MELTING!”

Yeah, well …

And now he’s blaming the Secret Service for … what? Refusing to drive in the rain?

The first time I saw “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert,” was at the Town Hall Theatre in Wilton, in the smaller of the two theaters. It was 1994 and I have no idea why we wanted to see it, but Kathy and I went with our daughter, Sara, who was 15, and maybe it was her idea.

But there we were and, as always for movies, early and, as always, Dennis, the theater owner, had pre-movie music going and this night it was Abba and The Village People and … ARGHHHHH!

I remember saying to Kathy and Sara, “I hope to heck this music isn’t in the movie.”

But it was. Oy.

Yeah, but less than a minute into the movie, I didn’t mind the music, I LOVED the music, when Hugo Weaving came out on stage in drag to the tune of “I’ve Never Been to Me,” which, on its own, is just awful but here was fantastic and Hugo, as Tick, was lip-syncing and that was cool and it got cooler when Guy Pearce came on stage holding a “baby” and it was hilarious and … nah, you’ve gotta see it. Guy Pearce and the “baby” just can’t be put into words.

“Priscilla” is one of those movies that never gets old, like “The Best Years of Our Lives” or “And Then There Were None,” and I was watching it again the other day and, yeah, it never gets old, and I still cracked up at Guy Pearce and the “baby” and you will, too, I kind of promise.

Years ago, when I was working for The Hudson Dispatch in Union City, N.J., a reporter friend — John Thomas — often complained that no one outside the building ever mentioned his stories. He covered Weehawken and was doing some good work on local politics, crime, and some neighborhood issues, but it was as if nobody was reading them.

Then one day Frank Sinatra came to Weehawken and got his hair cut. My friend did a story. He didn’t interview Sinatra, he just talked to the barber who told him what a great thrill it was and blah, blah, blah.

The story was about four inches long; that’s all it merited, and it was buried on the inside of the Dispatch.

For weeks after that, every time John ran into anybody he hadn’t recently seen, they brought up the Sinatra story.

“Hey, John, saw your story on Frank. Great story.”

It was FOUR INCHES LONG and was really about a barber but, “Saw your story on Frank” became a mantra of sorts.

Today’s mantra is, of course, FAKE NEWS which, of course, is nonsense spouted by people who are afraid the truth makes them look bad.