Ma Bell

Hello World,


And so here we are, coming up to the end of February already, and nothing to show for it. If things keep up like this, it will wind up being just like last year, and I'm sure nobody wants that to happen. I don't know about other places, but around here, we managed to have not one, but two snowstorms in the same week, which is a concept that I find has very little to recommend it. For one thing, it interferes terribly with my wood chopping activities, because I can't cut up firewood in the snow. Everyone knows that I carry my own firewood with me when I go camping, but that wood starts out originally as fallen tree branches and old Christmas trees, and doesn't just cut itself up, you know. I like to saw wood in the winter, so as not to get so overheated, and also there's no pesky bugs. Of course, people who use chain saws can saw anything they want, anytime they feel like it, but I use a hand saw, and in order for that to work, you have to wait until the conditions are right. Snow-covered logs may look decorative, but they don't cut well, so that's a chore that will have to wait for another time.
Last week, I started developing those unmistakable signs of getting another cold, and you can believe me when I say that I didn't think much of this idea, on top of being sick at Christmas and this not even 2 months later. But there was obviously something else going around, because so many people also got sick, and many of them had also been sick at Christmas like I was. My co-workers at the hospital were sick, other members at church were sick, and the folks that I would speak to on the phone from other companies were all telling the same story. I was thinking that there was no escaping the fact that this has been a bad winter for illnesses across the board. Then suddenly in a recent issue of The Journal News (their motto: "Little Do Scoop") we find the estimable Ellen Goodman weighing in on this very same topic:
==============================
A particularly nasty little virus has taken down
two member of my family, and brought Sen.
Hillary Clinton to the floor in the middle of a
speech. The senator, however, picked herself up
and went off to her next speech, thereby proving
that she was suffering from "presenteeism."
Presenteeism isn't an ideology, a doctrine or any
other "ism." It's the opposite of absenteeism. It's
the practice of coming to work when you should be in bed.
==============================
I love that! I'm so glad that there's a word for it, because I think presenteeism is just so perfect. And while we're on the subject of things that are where they shouldn't be, I can tell you the story of my recliner. I don't like to complain about my recliner, because we got it nearly 20 years ago from the Salvation Army, so you know it doesn't owe us a thing at this point. So when the springs became "unsprung" on one side, I figured that I would just have to grin and bear it, although it was really too lopsided to be considered comfortable in any way. But everyone knows how Bill loves a challenge, so one day when I was at church, he turned the recliner upside-down and took a swing at re-attaching the springs to their brackets. Now I will admit, if anyone had asked me what I thought someone would find, if they turned the recliner upside-down and looked inside, that there would probably be a fair amount of vitamins and the like, because I'm always dropping my pills into my lap, and from there, they dribble down the side of the seat cushions and out of reach. And that did in fact turn out to be the case, as Bill retrieved a wide assortment of pills from the inside cavity of the recliner, and no surprise there. But I would be embarrassed to tell you how much silverware was also down there, such a ragtag collection of forks, spoons and knives that made it look like a family of trolls had taken up residence in there. The amazing part is that I not only don't remember losing all of these implements (and which you would have thought we would have missed long before now) but also some of which would have seemed impossible to work their own pointy way into the recliner without being deliberately put there. I've never known silverware to exhibit those sort of telekinetic properties before, but you can be sure that I'll be watching them a lot more carefully from now on.
Friends of ours are having renovations done to their home, which began in May of last year, as these things often do, with high hopes and enthusiasm. The contractor originally said that the project would take 12 weeks, and he would be finished by August. Our friends are no fools, and hoped instead to see the project completed by Christmas at least. Now 10 months later, and way over budget, the renovation is still dragging along with no end in sight. Most of that time, they've been living in two rooms with no kitchen, and subsisting on a diet of crockpot meals and Chinese take-out. Under the circumstances, you would expect their families to be supportive and sympathetic. Instead, they regale them with statistics such as, "Do you realize that the whole Empire State Building was constructed in only 18 months at the height of the Depression? And meanwhile, your measly little renovation has taken more than half of that time and isn't even finished yet." Our friends console themselves with the thought that there were 60 fatalities during the construction of the Empire State Building, while their project has a flawless safety record so far. Although, if I was their contractor at this point, I wouldn't turn my back on anybody.
In this bad weather that we've been having lately, I thought I would give our feathered friends a little bit of an extra treat, so I sent Bill off in search of bird bells at the supermarket. We were surprised to find that a person could go to two different Stop-N-Shop stores and find no bird bells to be had anywhere. After the second fruitless expedition on this quest, Bill announced that he was giving Stop-N-Shop the "no bell" prize, and no thank you very much.
Meanwhile at work, I had a woman call me today who said that she had placed an order on our web site and needed to speak with someone about the microscope she wanted. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not usually at a loss for words, but this had me completely speechless. I honestly didn't know where to begin. I finally told her that we are a hospital, and generally speaking we don't sell things, and as far as I know, you can't place orders on our web site. To her credit, she didn't argue with me, as she saw the logic of my explanation. But when I told her the phone number that she called, she said it was the number she had been given, so I suppose we can look forward to getting more of these calls in the future. I guess the thing to do would be to stock up on microscopes now, which might turn into a nice little fund-raiser on the side. Here's my microscope pun for today: More power to ya!

Back In The Box

Hello World,


Happy Presidents Day weekend! I hope that your days will be filled with appropriate pomp and circumstance, executive privilege, and all sorts of hail. Hail to the Chief, I mean. We also can't overlook Valentine's Day, which occurred earlier in the week, and you know that I always say that any day that starts with presents is a good day. But, alas and alack, there is no joy in Moosejaw, not to mention, Manitoba, Montreal, Minnesota, Montpellier, Minot, or anywhere else that grown men strap tiny metal blades to their feet and chase around after a frozen rubber disc. No, I'm not talking about the upcoming Academy Awards (oh, hit that easy target!) but rather the unwelcome news that the NHL has become the first national sports league ever to lose an entire season to a labor dispute. So not only has there been no hockey from October to now, but there won't be any from now to May, besides. And I don't mind telling you that I'm disgusted with the whole bunch of them. And that goes double for the federal government, which instead of throwing itself an inauguration party with my tax dollars, should have stepped in while this whole hockey crisis was unfolding right in front of their faces. Oh, way to go, eh?
In other sports-related news, at least we have pitchers and catchers reporting to spring training down south, and it's always a pleasure to see young men playing ball in the warm weather, especially in these chilly times. There's nothing like pre-season baseball to put a spring in your step, a glimmer of hope in your heart, and renew your faith in mankind. It's like a little Christmas present in February, and a good thing too, because there's not all that much else to look forward to. In fact, I was saying that to my fellow jurors just the other day.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "But I thought you were finished with that horrible trial!" Yes, it is true that the trial-that-would-not-end did, in fact, end just before Christmas, which made a dozen or so people very happy, and their families as well. And I will admit that at the time, we were mostly miserable and grouchy, and the deliberations featured more yelling and fistfights than desired. But as the case began to wind down, and I suppose the Stockholm Syndrome sets in, and after two months, it seemed unthinkable that we would never see these people ever again in our lives. It's true that we were thrown together unwillingly, and a motley assortment of humanity of all different backgrounds and personalities. But after all, for those eight weeks, we spent more time with each other than with our families, neighbors or co-workers, with no chance to be apart at any point during the day for lunch, phone calls or a breath of fresh air. We may as well have been tied together, because from the time the van picked us up in the morning until it dropped us off at night, we were never separated. Under those conditions, even the most dissimilar people will find commonality, which is why, I suppose, that summer camp is so popular.
And just like youngsters who become pen pals after going home from summer camp, the jurors decided to keep in touch after the ordeal was over. (Actually, I said to Bill that it was more like being abducted by aliens for two months, where they do unspeakable things to you, but after they finally send you back home, you still can't believe that you're never going to see them again.) So, a few weeks ago, I got a call from one of the ladies on the jury, who said there was a plan to get together for lunch, and I jumped right on board. We had a mix of people from the city and the suburbs, and it was decided to meet in the city near Grand Central, since we had all gotten so familiar with that area. It turned out to be one of those warm and sunny days in early February, and we had a wonderful lunch at Bloom's on Lexington at 40th Street. It was fun to see them again, and we had a great time rehashing the case and making rude comments about the attorneys. I had asked Bill to make us all matching buttons of secret jurors (with paper bags over their heads) and our juror numbers, and they were a big hit. The people at Bloom's figured that we were just a bunch of lunatics who had escaped from an insane asylum.
The funniest part of the whole thing was that while we were being secret jurors on the case, no one used their real names the entire time. The court staff always referred to us by our jury seat numbers, and we always had to stay in the same seats. We thought numbers were too impersonal outside of the courtroom, so we had nicknames to communicate among ourselves, like Kewpie, Sunshine or Pops. I can't tell you how funny it was when we got together afterwards, and found out everyone's real name, and how it seemed that somehow, their real name didn't really fit them as well as their nickname that we knew them by. We kept saying things like, "Paisley just doesn't seem like a Karen to me," or "I'll never get used to calling Flannel, Jeff." It was so funny. We had a great time at lunch, and unlike Jury Duty with its insipid cafeteria food day after day, we had a great meal besides.
I don't mind saying that when I had to get up every day at 5:30 to catch a train and drag down to the city, spend all day in court and then drag back home again in the dark, week after week, I hated it every step of the way. And yet, when it came time to go back for our "class reunion," it was an entirely different experience, and a welcome change, I can tell you that. Of course, it was sunny and warmer, and I didn't have to get the train until 10:30 instead of 7:00 AM. People on the train and in the station were tourists like me, out for fun, and not cranky business sorts going to work. (In fact, the woman sitting in front of me had dyed hair that was hot pink in the front and bright purple in the back, and you can believe me when I say that I never saw anything like that when I was commuting!) Everything was less crowded, more relaxed, friendlier, unhurried. I saw all of the familiar landmarks in a new light, with an almost wistful appreciation, all of their old bad associations stripped away. I was enjoying myself in a way that would have seemed impossible just two months ago. In fact, everyone said that even though it was out of their way, they all walked over to the secret van pickup location on 43rd Street, just for old time's sake. Your Honor, the jury rests.
For some reason, it's been about 150 degrees in my office all this week, the whole building in fact, even with the windows open, and the poor air conditioners really don't want to know about cooling things off inside, when it's 30 degrees outside where they are. And yet at the same time, there's no hot water in the bathroom. We don't dare say anything about the water, figuring that in order for them to give us hot water in the sinks, it will somehow manage to make our offices even hotter than they are now. Honestly, after 100 years of climate control, you would think that they would have more of a handle on this stuff. I have the feeling these were the same people involved in the hockey negotiations. Oh well, try not to think about it and have a jolly week.

Happy New Roosters

Hello World,


Happy Year of the Rooster! Wednesday, of course, was the beginning of Chinese New Year, and apparently no one has to tell the Chinese how to party, because it said in the newspaper that they celebrate Chinese New Year for 15 days. Now, that's my idea of a holiday! It's a far cry from the Moslems, where they seem to go out of their way to have these horrible holidays where you can't eat, can't sing, can't dress up, can't smile, which is more like the "Fear Factor" version of a holiday. No thank you very much! So here we are, enjoying the Year of the Rooster right alongside of our Asian friends, and glad of it. For the language purists among us, Bill unearthed a couple of audio files that I will be happy to send to any interested parties, with the correct pronunciations of Kung Hei Fat Choy (which means Good Luck and Prosperity) and Kung Hall Sun Hei, which is actually Happy New Year in Chinese. You can believe me when I say in all sincerity that I wish you many happy new roosters. Here is something else for all the language purists out there. Apparently, one of the most downloaded songs of last year was something called "Belleville Rendez-vous" which is a song that I personally had never heard of, so it came as a surprise that it would have been so popular as a music download. Besides which, it turns out to be entirely in French, although this seems to have had no affect on its popularity. We heard it when visiting friends upstate, and thought it was cute, and although between us, we have years upon years of high school French, we couldn't quite understand the lyrics. So Bill found a web page that had the lyrics in French, and not leaving well enough alone, also found two online translation services that would take a swing at bringing those lyrics into English for us. Bearing in mind that this is kind of a nonsense song, and uses quite a lot of idiomatic expressions, we want to give these places credit for not shrinking from the task. Here is a sample of some of what I hesitate to call translations: ========================= I want not to finish my life to Tombouctoo The pulled skin by machines to nail I want not to finish my life to Acapulco Dance all stiff one with gigolos I do not want to finish my life with Singapore To play the dictionary to eat small furnaces I want not to finish my life to Constantinople This is well too hard to do the rhyme in "nople" I want frost over Triply frost over The quadrature of the Triplettes of Belleville =============================== I suppose we should have seen what we were in for, when one of the sites translated the title as "Belleville Appointments" and the other as "Belleville Go." You would think that "rendez-vous" would have been less of a translating challenge than that. Anyway, it's still a cute song, but you have to admit that it would be a kind of a hard sell with those lyrics in English. We've been having our ups and downs in movie-land lately, and this was just part of it. Toward the end of last year, we went to see "The Polar Express" in 3-D at the IMAX in town, and although originally we hadn't much thought about going to see it, I have to say that we were completely blown away by it. If you ever have an opportunity to catch it in IMAX 3-D, you should run, don't walk, and spare no expense to see it. I wouldn't say that it had the world's best story, but the 3-D special effects were absolutely spectacular and not to be missed. It was an awesome experience, and it would not be possible to overstate the case for this extraordinary and transcendent marvel. In retrospect, we were so lucky that we went to see it, even in spite of ourselves. Shortly after that, we had occasion to watch "Death to Smoochy" on DVD. Never let it be said that just because a movie is universally panned, that we won't give it a chance. I actually expected to like it, in spite of everything, because I liked the people in it, and thought it would be a sort of fun, goofy lark full of juvenile humor and slapstick. How wrong I was! It really did turn out to be a horrible movie, and even more incredibly, everyone in it was also horrible, including people that we admire and enjoy enormously. Up until that point, no one could have convinced me that you could make a movie with Robin Williams, Danny DeVito and Jon Stewart that would not only be unfunny, but virtually unwatchable. How they managed to make it not be funny is a mystery to me, because it was full of funny people, and the basic idea had a lot of potential. We were so disappointed in it, and especially because it was a gift, and here again, I have no one to blame since I'm the one who picked it out. By now, I'm sure that everyone can see what's about to rear its ugly head. Yes, that popular French song "Belleville Rendez-vous" was from an acclaimed foreign animated film, "The Triplettes of Belleville," which is also handily available on DVD for your viewing pleasure. You'd be right if you guessed that we hurried right out and snapped this up on DVD, to see what all the fuss was about, and enjoy the title song in its native habitat, as it were. To say that this movie was a monumental waste of time would be an understatement of epic proportion. If it doesn't set back Franco-American relations for years to come, I'd be very surprised. It has a terrible story, horribly done, with grotesque animations, gratuitous violence and no redeeming qualities whatsoever. It not only made no sense, but it was stupid and offensive, while still being dull, which at least can't be said of other stupid and offensive cartoons like South Park or Beavis & Butthead. And I know you're going to love the punchline of this story, which is that the title song, the one that started it all, the snazzy French "Belleville Rendez-vous," isn't even in the movie. I don't know about anyone else, but it certainly made me want to play the dictionary and eat small furnaces. Yesterday on Family Feud, the teams were asked to name some President's wives that they would like to see on Mount Rushmore, if First Ladies could be included on the monument. You might expect people to come up with the likes of Martha Washington or Lady Bird Johnson. The team members were not daunted by this challenge, and jumped right in with their choices, which included some women that they referred to as Laura Kennedy and Nancy Roosevelt. It's certainly reassuring to see that all of the money they're pouring into the educational system is not being wasted after all. You go, Laura O! Last week, I had an unnerving phone call from the woman who cuts Bill's hair, asking us where we were on Saturday, because we missed our appointment. Now, I have to tell you that we've been going to this same woman since before we were married, and have chased around after her at all of the salons that she's ever worked in, even when she's working out of the basement of her house. And we've been there in every kind of weather, from hurricanes to floods to blizzards, and not even being in a car accident on the way has kept us from getting there. So you can imagine her wonder when we not only didn't show up as scheduled, but didn't call or anything. She was surprised when she called and found us alive and well, not lying dead in a ditch as she imagined, and I was even more surprised, because I had convinced myself (in spite of her appointment card to the contrary) that our appointment was two weeks later. I said it was just more proof, if any was needed, that I have no brain any more, and am fast becoming a hazard that should not be foisted on an unsuspecting public. I'm beginning to think that was is needed is a system of warning signs, to protect the general population from bad things, and I'm about ready to line up for mine right now. Right after "Death to Smoochy" and "The Triplettes of Belleville."

Bowling For Supers

Hello World,


Happy February! So here we find ourselves at long last, smack dab on the brink of Super Bowl Weekend, and I hope that you have some suitably "Super" activities planned to commemorate the occasion. To my way of thinking, that would include playing XX Questions, having cocktails for II, being dressed to the IX's, getting down on all IV's, wishing you were sweet XVI and partying like it's MCMXCIX. After all, when in Rome, do as the Roman numerals do, or something like that. So get out there and high V and hang X! This is turning into a busy week ahead, and some odd kind of lunar cycle has managed to get all sorts of things happening at the same time. Before we all know it, we'll be coming up hard and fast on Chinese New Year, in fact, it's next Wednesday, and this will be the Year of the Rooster. In Nickelodeon Jr. magazine, they tell me to greet my Asian friends with Gong Xi Fa Cai, but if that's the best they can come up with, I'm sticking with Hong Kong Bok Choy, and they can lump it. But even before that, Tuesday will be Mardi Gras already, which means that there's no escaping the fact that Wednesday is also Ash Wednesday. Now I know what you're thinking: If Ash Wednesday is next week, when the heck is Easter? I hate to be an alarmist, but you will be looking on the calendar in April for Easter in vain, because it's in March this year, believe that or don't. And this is also the second time I can remember recently when Valentine's Day found itself in Lent, in a cruel twist of fate to chocolate-deprived Christians everywhere. Oh, the humanity! In the "better late than never" category, the time has surely come, and in fact it's long since past, that I should be thanking people for their wonderful Christmas cards. We were so happy to get your lovely card with the wonderful snowman and stars, plus that great picture. It was such a unique card and we really enjoyed it. Everyone knows that I'm nothing if not a stickler for accuracy around here, so it's always a pleasure when the opportunity presents itself to set the record straight, especially if I was the person who steered people wrong in the first place. I have been notified by alert readers (thanks, Deb!) that the Social Security Administration does not send out all of their horrible wage and benefit statements in the dead of winter, as a cruel joke on poor dispirited folks who are already cold and depressed. Apparently, the timing of these statements being mailed out is related to each individual's birthday, so that only people born in March, like me, are getting theirs in the middle of January, and no thank you very much! I'm sure that everyone will be relieved to hear that we did have our annual congregational meeting at church on the 30th, even though it wasn't Super Bowl Sunday, and it went off without a hitch. There were no controversies to speak of, the proposed budget passed with flying colors, and it did not degenerate into fist-fights and throwing things. Yes, things have really changed at church, and now even the faint-hearted can attend the annual meetings, which has not always been the case, believe me. Ah, how fondly we remember Henry Thoreau, with his clarion call of "simplify, simplify," and even all these years later, he wasn't far off the mark. I am reminded of this because of some slipper socks that Santa Claus brought me for Christmas, and which I can't even complain about, because I'm the one that picked them out. I thought they were cute, and had little animal faces on the side, like bunnies, ducks or puppies. I've come to realize that the faces are only on one side, so that if you want the design to show, you have to wear each one on the same foot each time, so the design is on the outside. Now, this is just a little bit too much pressure for me, and we all know that I don't deal well with stress, to have right-side socks and left-side socks, instead of your usual devil-may-care, any-old-which-way socks that we're used to. I don't mind saying that I can see trouble ahead on this, and no good can come of it. After long years of abuse, my hospital badge finally gave out, and wouldn't stay attached to the clip that holds it to my clothes. Because they use these picture I.D.s as a security device (you need them around the campus in many places with card readers to open doors, access medical equipment, or get into the parking lots) if you lose it, Personnel charges you $25 for a new one. But I was informed by a reliable source that if you still have your old, beat-up badge, and bring it with you to Personnel, they will make you up a new badge on the spot, lickety-split, with a smile and at no charge. Now I'm no fool, and even I wouldn't fall for that, so I called them first and verified that it was indeed the case. Then they said it was okay for me to come right over, and I rushed over there all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, or at any rate something like that. I handed the nice lady my old badge, which she promptly cut in half with scissors and threw away. Then she went to look me up in their computer, and informed me with brisk efficiency, that I wasn't in there. I have to tell you, this was discouraging news, after working here for over 15 years! She did agree to make me a new badge in any case, but it did turn into a whole long drawn-out affair, with taking a new picture and all the rest of it. And just like my driver's license, the picture not only makes me look like a Mafia hit-man, but a dead Mafia hit-man besides. Isn't technology wonderful. I'll tell you, the business to get into would be software that would make pictures of people look better than they did originally, instead of worse like it does now, and whoever comes up with that will win the acclaim of millions of people with drivers licenses, passports, I.D. cards, and all the rest. Especially all of us dead Mafia hit-men, and believe me, our name is legion.