Nice Work If You Can Get It
Hello World,
Happy Labor Day weekend! Now is the time that we honor the great proletariat spirit of the immortal Samuel L. Gompers, which seems to take the form of rampant retail sales, and which you would think would have the opposite effect from honoring the proletariat, by making all the retail employees work on a holiday that was designed to give them a day off. Oh well, I'm sure there's some logic in there somewhere, but it's too much work for me to figure it out, and this weekend, I'm determined to honor the spirit of Samuel L. Gompers by doing no work whatsoever. In fact, as soon as someone carries me outside to the hammock and gives me some lemonade, I can get on with the rest of my plans for the weekend.
Of course, anyone who's been watching the news can see how Tropical Depression Ernesto has been spoiling people's plans for a week already, and the word is that he's headed our way for the weekend. Frankly, I think there's enough depression around here as it is, without Ernesto to contend with, so you can be sure that I would be voting against his visit to our area. We all know that the climate puts no stock in the power of the ballot box, however, so our choices with the weather that comes our way is to like it or to lump it, and that's about all. We'll have to wait until Monday to see if the weather is not too inclement to fly the flags for Labor Day, or whether we will simply have to honor the holiday by showing the colors in our library and sun porch, which is where the flags stay until the time comes for them to be seen outdoors. On the other hand, putting out the flags might end up being just too much work, and I'm determined to rest from my labors this weekend and not do any work, so all of those union organizers will not have died in vain. And thank you, Samuel L. Gompers.
Earlier in the week, I bumped into our Pharmacy Director, Tom, in the hallway, and he asked me if I was all set for Halloween this year. I said that I was in the process of gathering the costume parts and accessories that I would need, but I was mostly all set already. Tom, who we always refer to as "Father Bob" for obscure reasons, has always been a big fan of my costumes, and a great audience for whatever I come up with, so I never miss going to the Pharmacy on Halloween, even though it's a waste of time to trick-or-treat there. (And unlike the weasels in the Storeroom, he doesn't hound me every year to dress up -- or NOT -- as Lady Godiva.) Anyway, he said his suggestion for me this year would be to come as Finance or Human Resources, but I said that I had already been the Devil. (Oh, hit that easy target!) Oh no, he said, he meant as The Invisible Man. I laughed.
Anyone who's been to the hospital's web site lately (feel free to visit us at www.soundshore.org and see for yourself) would have noticed that we recently received the 2006 Hospital of Choice award from the American Alliance of Healthcare Providers, as well as designations as a Center of Excellence in Ante-Partum Testing, Bariatric surgery and Stroke treatment. In fact, we have one of just two Hospital of Choice awards in all of New York State, and only 40 nationwide, including the Mayo Clinic, of all places. Anyone could see how something like this could go right to our heads, but our fearless administrators refused to be daunted. They sent out a memo congratulating all of us, and I'm covered with kudos to prove it (or perhaps I'm thinking of cooties instead, I get so confused with these technical medical terms) and invited us all to the SSMC Celebrates Excellence Barbecue on Thursday. Just like at church, all you have to do to draw a crowd at work is to serve food, so the visitor parking lot was packed with kudo-covered staff on Thursday, scarfing down hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob and watermelon like it was going out of style. I wasn't about to miss it, because last year when we won some award and they threw a barbecue for the staff, they gave out T-shirts, and there's no such thing as too many T-shirts, I always say. (Actually, nobody in their right mind would ever say that, but it was still a nice enough T-shirt in any event.) People who turned up hoping for another T-shirt would have gone away disappointed, however, since the party favor of the clambake this year was a handy apron instead. I thought it was nice as a change of pace, and glad to get it. I'm using mine to keep the cooties off.
I stopped off at church in the middle of the week to leave some things in the office, and when I was standing in the Narthex, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a small electric motor kicking into motion. "By golly," I thought to myself, "someone has gone ahead and plugged in the darned water cooler after all this time." Mind you, this would be no mean feat, because right now, the cooler has been stuffed all the way at the far end of the Narthex, in between the coat rack and the umbrella stand, where there's no place to put anything, and certainly no electricity to speak of. But our janitor, whose name is Malcolm, although everyone in the world calls him Mel, had become increasingly apoplectic over the idea of the unplugged cooler, taking up valuable floor space and acting as a warm water dispenser, and for what he considered no good reason. So I have the feeling that he simply took matters into his own hands, and snaked an extension cord up the stairs behind the coat rack and into the carillon tower, and plugged it into the light socket over the door into the balcony. There was certainly no mistaking the sound of the little motor cycling on and off, chugging along happily and keeping the bottled water nicely chilled. In fact, if there had been any cups nearby, I could have helped myself to a nice drink of cold water right then and there. Of course, we keep the cups all the way the blazes downstairs in the fellowship hall, which is where the cooler started out in the first place, and at this rate, it's just a matter of time before Mel either moves the cooler back there, or brings the cups upstairs to join it in the Narthex. Mel worships at the Altar of Logic, and he simply can't abide things that make no sense, and that's all there is to it.
While we're on the subject of things that make no sense, we have the voting for Most Valuable Player in major league baseball. The announcers for the New York Mets feel that they have a legitimate MVP candidate in Carlos Beltran, and on the face of it, his numbers for the season are impressive. Of course, the same could also be said for Albert Pujols of the St. Louis Cardinals and Ryan Howard of the Philadelphia Phillies, plus a few other more long-shot contenders for the award. The analysts on the pre-game show were discussing the pros and cons of all the players under consideration, and how they might fare in the voting by the sportswriters. To them, the crux of the matter was whether a player was the most valuable to his own individual team, or instead, someone with the best individual statistics of the league overall. For instance, they expected Beltran to be slighted by the voters, because his team was running away with its division since Opening Day, and he was just one of many great players contributing to their success. On the other hand, they also felt that a stand-out player on a last place team would not get proper consideration, since his contributions were not enough to keep the team out of the basement, thus calling into question how valuable he was to them after all. I said to Bill that this MVP voting was turning into a textbook example of a double-edged sword, where you couldn't win if you were on a team that was too successful, and you couldn't win if you were on a team that was too unsuccessful, in spite of your accomplishments, which would seem to fly in the face of the whole concept of the Most Valuable Player. The result is that this pretty much narrows down the field to players on .500 teams that are in the thick of pennant races and fighting for their playoff lives with a shot at the wild card. That being the case, I'm proposing that they change the name of the award to the Wild Card .500, so the players with better stats on first-place teams and last-place teams don't feel rejected.
I don't know about anyone else, but I would have to ask myself the musical question, "What's not to love about a car called the Tango?" You'll be doing us all a favor if you visit their web site at www.commutercars.com and see for yourself. They claim this is The World's Fastest Urban Transportation, that has the maneuverability of a motorcycle, but safe and dry with cargo space. It sports the requisite four wheels and carries almost 2,000 pounds of batteries, making it highly stable for its size. Its looks are indescribable, since its actual dimensions are about 100 inches long by 40 inches wide and 60 inches high, or about as far from "car-like" as you can get and still have 4 wheels and doors. It can reach speeds of 130 miles per hour and travel distances up to 80 miles before recharging the batteries. The company loves the idea that these cars can drive two-abreast in regular highway lanes, as motorcycles do, and can also park sideways in one shared parking spot, or park in odd left-over spaces between cars, next to buildings or unused corners of lots everywhere. With its economical lead-acid batteries, it costs just pennies per mile to operate, and provides an alternative to foreign petroleum dependence. It seems to come in racy red as well as basic black, and for everyone who is wondering what's not to love about this automotive innovation, well, wonder no more. The T600 carbon-fiber model costs $108,000.00 (that's not a typo) and believe it or not, comes as a kit that you have to assemble yourself. (!!!) They assure me that it is easily assembled in less than 8 hours, although they also advise me to check into my state and federal laws about registering a kit car, which involves applying for a vehicle identification number and having the car inspected in order to receive a title for it. Oh well, they had me up until those last two things, anyway, and I still think it's a car that you have to love, even if the only people who could afford it would never want one, and vice versa. Of course, if I had one, I'd enter it in the Wild Card .500, and keep the award all to myself. As long as it didn't come with cooties.
Happy Labor Day weekend! Now is the time that we honor the great proletariat spirit of the immortal Samuel L. Gompers, which seems to take the form of rampant retail sales, and which you would think would have the opposite effect from honoring the proletariat, by making all the retail employees work on a holiday that was designed to give them a day off. Oh well, I'm sure there's some logic in there somewhere, but it's too much work for me to figure it out, and this weekend, I'm determined to honor the spirit of Samuel L. Gompers by doing no work whatsoever. In fact, as soon as someone carries me outside to the hammock and gives me some lemonade, I can get on with the rest of my plans for the weekend.
Of course, anyone who's been watching the news can see how Tropical Depression Ernesto has been spoiling people's plans for a week already, and the word is that he's headed our way for the weekend. Frankly, I think there's enough depression around here as it is, without Ernesto to contend with, so you can be sure that I would be voting against his visit to our area. We all know that the climate puts no stock in the power of the ballot box, however, so our choices with the weather that comes our way is to like it or to lump it, and that's about all. We'll have to wait until Monday to see if the weather is not too inclement to fly the flags for Labor Day, or whether we will simply have to honor the holiday by showing the colors in our library and sun porch, which is where the flags stay until the time comes for them to be seen outdoors. On the other hand, putting out the flags might end up being just too much work, and I'm determined to rest from my labors this weekend and not do any work, so all of those union organizers will not have died in vain. And thank you, Samuel L. Gompers.
Earlier in the week, I bumped into our Pharmacy Director, Tom, in the hallway, and he asked me if I was all set for Halloween this year. I said that I was in the process of gathering the costume parts and accessories that I would need, but I was mostly all set already. Tom, who we always refer to as "Father Bob" for obscure reasons, has always been a big fan of my costumes, and a great audience for whatever I come up with, so I never miss going to the Pharmacy on Halloween, even though it's a waste of time to trick-or-treat there. (And unlike the weasels in the Storeroom, he doesn't hound me every year to dress up -- or NOT -- as Lady Godiva.) Anyway, he said his suggestion for me this year would be to come as Finance or Human Resources, but I said that I had already been the Devil. (Oh, hit that easy target!) Oh no, he said, he meant as The Invisible Man. I laughed.
Anyone who's been to the hospital's web site lately (feel free to visit us at www.soundshore.org and see for yourself) would have noticed that we recently received the 2006 Hospital of Choice award from the American Alliance of Healthcare Providers, as well as designations as a Center of Excellence in Ante-Partum Testing, Bariatric surgery and Stroke treatment. In fact, we have one of just two Hospital of Choice awards in all of New York State, and only 40 nationwide, including the Mayo Clinic, of all places. Anyone could see how something like this could go right to our heads, but our fearless administrators refused to be daunted. They sent out a memo congratulating all of us, and I'm covered with kudos to prove it (or perhaps I'm thinking of cooties instead, I get so confused with these technical medical terms) and invited us all to the SSMC Celebrates Excellence Barbecue on Thursday. Just like at church, all you have to do to draw a crowd at work is to serve food, so the visitor parking lot was packed with kudo-covered staff on Thursday, scarfing down hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob and watermelon like it was going out of style. I wasn't about to miss it, because last year when we won some award and they threw a barbecue for the staff, they gave out T-shirts, and there's no such thing as too many T-shirts, I always say. (Actually, nobody in their right mind would ever say that, but it was still a nice enough T-shirt in any event.) People who turned up hoping for another T-shirt would have gone away disappointed, however, since the party favor of the clambake this year was a handy apron instead. I thought it was nice as a change of pace, and glad to get it. I'm using mine to keep the cooties off.
I stopped off at church in the middle of the week to leave some things in the office, and when I was standing in the Narthex, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a small electric motor kicking into motion. "By golly," I thought to myself, "someone has gone ahead and plugged in the darned water cooler after all this time." Mind you, this would be no mean feat, because right now, the cooler has been stuffed all the way at the far end of the Narthex, in between the coat rack and the umbrella stand, where there's no place to put anything, and certainly no electricity to speak of. But our janitor, whose name is Malcolm, although everyone in the world calls him Mel, had become increasingly apoplectic over the idea of the unplugged cooler, taking up valuable floor space and acting as a warm water dispenser, and for what he considered no good reason. So I have the feeling that he simply took matters into his own hands, and snaked an extension cord up the stairs behind the coat rack and into the carillon tower, and plugged it into the light socket over the door into the balcony. There was certainly no mistaking the sound of the little motor cycling on and off, chugging along happily and keeping the bottled water nicely chilled. In fact, if there had been any cups nearby, I could have helped myself to a nice drink of cold water right then and there. Of course, we keep the cups all the way the blazes downstairs in the fellowship hall, which is where the cooler started out in the first place, and at this rate, it's just a matter of time before Mel either moves the cooler back there, or brings the cups upstairs to join it in the Narthex. Mel worships at the Altar of Logic, and he simply can't abide things that make no sense, and that's all there is to it.
While we're on the subject of things that make no sense, we have the voting for Most Valuable Player in major league baseball. The announcers for the New York Mets feel that they have a legitimate MVP candidate in Carlos Beltran, and on the face of it, his numbers for the season are impressive. Of course, the same could also be said for Albert Pujols of the St. Louis Cardinals and Ryan Howard of the Philadelphia Phillies, plus a few other more long-shot contenders for the award. The analysts on the pre-game show were discussing the pros and cons of all the players under consideration, and how they might fare in the voting by the sportswriters. To them, the crux of the matter was whether a player was the most valuable to his own individual team, or instead, someone with the best individual statistics of the league overall. For instance, they expected Beltran to be slighted by the voters, because his team was running away with its division since Opening Day, and he was just one of many great players contributing to their success. On the other hand, they also felt that a stand-out player on a last place team would not get proper consideration, since his contributions were not enough to keep the team out of the basement, thus calling into question how valuable he was to them after all. I said to Bill that this MVP voting was turning into a textbook example of a double-edged sword, where you couldn't win if you were on a team that was too successful, and you couldn't win if you were on a team that was too unsuccessful, in spite of your accomplishments, which would seem to fly in the face of the whole concept of the Most Valuable Player. The result is that this pretty much narrows down the field to players on .500 teams that are in the thick of pennant races and fighting for their playoff lives with a shot at the wild card. That being the case, I'm proposing that they change the name of the award to the Wild Card .500, so the players with better stats on first-place teams and last-place teams don't feel rejected.
I don't know about anyone else, but I would have to ask myself the musical question, "What's not to love about a car called the Tango?" You'll be doing us all a favor if you visit their web site at www.commutercars.com and see for yourself. They claim this is The World's Fastest Urban Transportation, that has the maneuverability of a motorcycle, but safe and dry with cargo space. It sports the requisite four wheels and carries almost 2,000 pounds of batteries, making it highly stable for its size. Its looks are indescribable, since its actual dimensions are about 100 inches long by 40 inches wide and 60 inches high, or about as far from "car-like" as you can get and still have 4 wheels and doors. It can reach speeds of 130 miles per hour and travel distances up to 80 miles before recharging the batteries. The company loves the idea that these cars can drive two-abreast in regular highway lanes, as motorcycles do, and can also park sideways in one shared parking spot, or park in odd left-over spaces between cars, next to buildings or unused corners of lots everywhere. With its economical lead-acid batteries, it costs just pennies per mile to operate, and provides an alternative to foreign petroleum dependence. It seems to come in racy red as well as basic black, and for everyone who is wondering what's not to love about this automotive innovation, well, wonder no more. The T600 carbon-fiber model costs $108,000.00 (that's not a typo) and believe it or not, comes as a kit that you have to assemble yourself. (!!!) They assure me that it is easily assembled in less than 8 hours, although they also advise me to check into my state and federal laws about registering a kit car, which involves applying for a vehicle identification number and having the car inspected in order to receive a title for it. Oh well, they had me up until those last two things, anyway, and I still think it's a car that you have to love, even if the only people who could afford it would never want one, and vice versa. Of course, if I had one, I'd enter it in the Wild Card .500, and keep the award all to myself. As long as it didn't come with cooties.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 2:24 PM
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