PDQ

Hello World,

Well, everyone knows that I hate to be an alarmist, but just about the next thing we know, we'll be staring down both barrels of the merry, merry month of May, and it will be here way before you think, which is pretty darned quick. It's only a good thing that I have basically given up on the idea of accomplishing anything around here, or I'd find the prospect of this year quickly rushing by headlong to be a very discouraging one. Fortunately, I have a new and improved approach to reality, which is more of a "don't-call-us-we'll-call-you" variety, and I'm finding life in a delusional state to be much more to my liking. Sure, I'd be happy to join your committee! I have all sorts of time on my hands.

Speaking of time, it was a good thing that I wasn't pressed for time earlier in the week, when I needed to open a new organic lip gloss that Santa's elves had thoughtfully stuffed into my Christmas stocking. Now, I don't mind saying that I'm on board with the idea of protecting consumers from product tampering and all that, but honest to Pete, this confounded lip gloss had been wrapped in so much protective tamper-proof packaging that it took me 15 minutes to get into the darned thing. I mean, it's only lip gloss, for heaven's sake, it's not like the launch codes for the nuclear missile program or anything. Honestly, it was harder for me to get into this lip gloss than for Britney Spears to get an audience with the Pope (oh, hit that easy target!) as if contaminated lip gloss was the world's number one health crisis. (It's not.) But at least we can all rest assured that my lips are perfectly safe, so if I bump into Arnold Schwarzenegger in my travels and give him a big fat smooch, the world is in no danger of losing The Gover-nator. No hasta la vista for you, baby.

Anyone who works in an office or has a calendar would certainly be aware that Wednesday was that glorious day devoted to recognizing the contributions of hard-working clerical staff everywhere, the eagerly awaited Administrative Professionals Day. (Although Bill and I were at a building in White Plains on Tuesday that had a big sign announcing their events planned to observe Administrative Professionals WEEK, which even I had to think was over-doing it somewhat.) The person I report to must have decided that flowers or a card would be just too much of a cliche, so I ended up getting nothing at work, which at least had the distinction of being unexpected. Of course, there's always the Chamber of Commerce luncheon to look forward to, and even The Lord Himself knows better than to rain on that.

So there I was on Wednesday afternoon, taking a quick drive over to a local country club for the luncheon, and glad of it. The luncheon is at a different club every year, although all of the clubs are always lovely inside and out, with gracious appointments and sweeping views of the bay. This year it was at the Davenport, which I never remember being at before, so I found it a special treat. Also, I was the first person to arrive at the table I had been assigned to, so I was spared the usual sight of people already at my table fleeing my approach, hoping to escape the jinx of not winning any raffle prizes, that has long been attributed to me by my table-mates. That turned out not to be an issue, but for a different reason than anyone could have anticipated. We began with platters of fresh fruit, seeded rolls, cheese and crackers, plus waiters carrying trays of hot hors d'oeuvres of all descriptions. Once people started to settle down, the program got underway with some quick announcements, greetings, invocation and Pledge of Allegiance. Right away, I could see this was not your grandfather's Administrative Professionals luncheon of yesteryear, not by any means. In the first place, the spokesperson for the event was a young and perky representative of the Chamber of Commerce, who was charming and friendly, and everything she said was right to the point and made perfect sense. This was already a big improvement over every other luncheon I have ever attended, where the program is in the hands of an old crabby woman that no one can hear, and when you can hear her, she just seems to ramble on to no purpose. The other amazing improvement was that for the first time, the audio system worked perfectly, so you could hear every single word spoken by anyone at the podium, as if the country club had just gotten wind of the idea that the technology to amplify the human voice has been around for 100 years. This is in stark contrast to previous years of microphones being too quiet, too loud, too muffled, or marred by a variety of hums, whistles, squeaks, screeches and pops. If this was a brave new world for our luncheon, I have to say that I was all for it and then some.

The new Mayor was introduced and said a few (very few) words thanking all of us for our contributions to the local businesses. He quickly acknowledged that there were other dignitaries present, and proclamations and certifications in honor of the occasion, but he wasn't going to take up our time with that. In fact, he basically said that we could just take for granted that there were the usual proclamations for the event, as there always were, and after all, we all know who the dignitaries are who show up for these things, so we could just go ahead and greet them by ourselves and not waste everyone's time. Right from the beginning, it seemed that the theme for this new and improved luncheon was that it wasn't going to just drag on all afternoon as in past years, but get right down to business and get finished at a reasonable hour, so people could go back to work. With that as their goal, they probably should have sent out notices inviting us to the 2007 Ad Pro Quick Lunch instead. I don't mind saying that I haven't gone back to work afterwards since the director of our department stopped going with me, so I found this an unwelcome direction to be going in. But there was no slowing them down, and pretty darned quick they were serving us salads and entrees, at the same time as presenting awards to the honorees and scholarship recipients. For all of us old-timers, this was our luncheon at warp speed, with none of the old and boring trappings of days gone by.

Well, almost. In an unexpected twist, the luncheon's honoree this year turned out to be the CEO and President of the hospital where I work, and he received their Humanitarian Award, which even he admitted was far-fetched, but which he accepted in recognition of the excellent care provided by our clinical staff. Where everyone else had dispensed with long and boring speeches, out of concerns for time constraints, our CEO instead launched into a numbingly insipid barrage of blather about the staggering costs of providing health care to the uninsured in our coverage areas .... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz .....

Where was I? Anyway, I'm sure he must have finished at some point, because the place erupted in applause, or perhaps it was snores instead, but in any case, something must have happened to wake me up ..... er, I mean the next thing I knew, they were starting to announce winners of the raffle prizes. Here's where that new-fangled idea of keeping the luncheon to a reasonable length really took a lot of fun out of the event. In years past, there would be about 100 small prizes, such as a discount coupon for a pizza, a dozen donuts, dry cleaning or a manicure, as well as a half dozen large prizes, including trips, appliances or a year's membership at the country club. It does take a long time to announce all of the winners, even if you do them in a hurry, but it's one of the most fun features of the luncheon, because with so many prizes, it's possible for a good proportion of the 200 or so attendees to win at least something. In this year's "quick step" version of the luncheon, they elected instead to go for quality over quantity, and there were only about 25 very nice prizes, plus 3 big prizes, and all of us hoping for pizzas, donuts or dry cleaning were plumb out of luck. I will say that it had the desired effect, because even with coffee and dessert, the luncheon was over by about 2:15, but it certainly didn't have the verve and excitement of years gone by. The one advantage was that no one asked me to leave the table for being a jinx, because so few people won anything that it was an unusual table with a winner, and not the reverse. I will admit that I found it small comfort.

However, I will say that their ploy failed entirely in its gambit to induce me to return to my office afterward, as I left the club with my (very tiny) bag of goodies, and went directly home with impunity. (I was going to leave impunity behind, but it was wearing tamper-proof organic lip gloss, so I figured it was okay.) I had some time on my hands, and unexpectedly so, and I put it to good use, pulling through piles of old computer media looking for some missing documents. I had boxes full of floppy disks going back to the Year of the Flood (no thanks to the weasels at Dinosaur Insurance, who insisted it was "an Act of God," of all things) and I sorted through all of them to find what I was looking for. I didn't (although it turned up later at work for some reason) but I did come across a remarkably pristine and original diskette for the new and improved AOL version 4.0 still in its original packaging and unopened after all these years. (The current version of AOL is 9.0, so that tells you something right there.) I said to Bill later that we need to hold onto that, because it's probably going to worth something someday. I'm thinking of asking our friends from the organic lip gloss company to wrap it up nice and secure for me, and be quick about it, once again making the world safe from 20-year-old steam-powered software. No, please don't thank me, for us Administrative Professionals, it's just another job well done.

Ding-A-Ling

Hello World,

Greetings again from beyond the half-way point of the month. Where does the time go? And for once, we can't even blame that on the nefarious impact of Daylight Saving Time, because that happened in March. In fact, that was one of the only good things about the government moving the change of time back a few weeks, was that you didn't have hordes of confused Christians going to church at the wrong time on Palm Sunday, or even worse, Easter. (Pardon me, that should have been, "Easter DAY" as they say nowadays.)
But other than that, there certainly hasn't been much to recommend April so far, between bad weather, bad news and all around bad karma, it's like we got stuck with the Mr. Hyde part of April, rather than the Dr. Jekyll part instead. Of course, Dr. Kildare would have been even better.

A further disadvantage of April, apart from just the local weather, which has been frightful (and to our old nemesis Comrade Mischka, thanks nyet!) we've entered that precarious time of the year when the potential exists to watch two of our teams lose on the same day. I can't even begin to explain what a revolting development this would turn out to be, because mere words would be woefully inadequate for the purpose. Luckily, we didn't have that problem to contend with last week, because the Rangers managed to sweep past their opponent in the opening round of the playoffs without losing a game, so the worst we could do with them and the Mets was a split. In fact, on several occasions, we were in the enviable position of both home teams winning on the same day, which is a rare jewel beyond price. Of course, we harbor no illusions for the second round of the playoffs, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, with our memories to console us. For the moment, we're Cinderella, before the clock strikes midnight and everything turns back into mice and pumpkins. (Frankly, I'd rather see the Buffalo Sabres or Ottawa Senators turn into mice and pumpkins instead, which would certainly throw a new and welcome wrinkle into the semi-finals for the Rangers.) Or in the immortal words of Harry S Truman, who was obviously a big hockey fan, "The Puck Stops Here."

Meanwhile at work, I hadn't seen our bookkeeper from down the hall at any point during the day, so when I finally bumped into her after lunch, I said, "Just getting in now, are you?" "You bet," she quipped, "and I'm drunk, besides!" I laughed. I was glad to see her, because I needed to give her a refund check that the hospital had received from AT&T for a credit on one of our numerous accounts with the phone company. It had been given to me, so that I could put the correct cost center on it, for the department whose account had earned the refund, and they would get the credit for it. It was important to get this information precisely accurate, because the refund check was for the stupendous amount of 76 whole cents, and we certainly wouldn't have wanted that to be applied to the wrong department. And I don't mind saying that the dinosaurs and I had a good laugh over it, because we remember when no one would consider it cost-effective to produce an actual check for any amount under $1.00, but I suppose that kind of thinking has gone the way of, well, the dinosaurs, I guess. I don't have any idea how the department is going to be able to decide how to spend this windfall that has dropped into their laps. They'll probably form a committee to look into it.

Today after work, I was cut off in traffic by someone who did so many things wrong, you couldn't help but look around for Allen Funt and the "Candid Camera" crew, expecting this to be an elaborate practical joke, and not just some moron who got their drivers license out of a Cracker Jack box. I said to Bill later that it was just too classic to have this "accident waiting to happen" end up in front of me, who turned out to be an old bald man in a silver Corvette convertible (no mid-life crisis there, right?) and with a vanity license plate that said: "ASYLUM." I admit that I laughed out loud, and even though the window was open, I couldn't stop myself from blurting out, "I don't doubt it!" I'm thinking that if you're going to drive like that, you really can't have that license plate, it's just asking for trouble, and I don't mind saying, just as likely to find it. Like the purple cement mixer from last week, which can only be described as indescribable, this may be an idea whose time has not yet come. Sort of like Daylight Saving Time, only without all the sand mixed in.

Speaking of bad timing, here is a story that only became note-worthy (by the way, that pun is intended, as you shall see) over the course of several months. It all began innocently enough no doubt, many years ago, although the details are lost to the mists of time at this point. All I know for sure is that I needed a cardboard shopping bag to carry presents with us when we were visiting our friends for a late mini-Christmas on MLK weekend in January. I wanted something sturdy that would stand up by itself and not tip over, and I dashed into the attic and grabbed the first likely looking bag that I came to, and when I noticed that it was decorated with a Christmas motif, I considered it a serendipitous coincidence. I packed it carefully with our treasures, hoping to keep the bows from being squashed, and then took that and a bunch of other things out to the car. When I got to the driveway, I started hearing this faint but noticeable sound that went "Ding-ding-ding! Ding-ding-ding! Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!" Mind you, this was the middle of January, and even if someone had programmed their cell phone with a seasonal ring tone, I couldn't figure out why I would be hearing the unmistakable strains of Jingle Bells at this late date. It just kept up like that as I was walking to the car, although it didn't get any louder or softer, if I was getting closer or farther away from it. The next surprise was when it stopped with Jingle Bells and went right into We Wish You A Merry Christmas, and when I got to the car and put everything down to open the door, this was the first I noticed that it was in fact the decorative Christmas shopping bag that was making all this noise. Apparently years ago, someone had given us this bag with a gift, and no doubt picked it out special, with this feature that you can press a decal by the handle and make it play Christmas music like tiny synthesized bells. I had forgotten all about it, and it stayed forlorn and neglected in the attic all this time, and never made a peep when I picked it up and packed it, but apparently in the jostling motion of carrying it out to the car, it was just enough to induce it to play its little medley of seasonal tunes. I told Bill that story later, and we both had a good laugh over it, especially when we carried the bags up the steps at our friends' house, and it went off all over again. We all got a kick out of it, and appreciated its enthusiasm, however misplaced. I thought no more about it until three months later, when the Easter Bunny needed a sturdy bag to carry a couple of pots of hyacinths and tulips to Mom's house, and grabbed that same bag, which suited the purpose admirably. This time it waited until we got to Mom's to burst into song, and to say that Jingle Bells and Deck The Halls made even less sense on Easter than on Martin Luther King would be putting it mildly.

While we're on the topic of music, I can finally say after all this time that my camping experience has been immortalized, because my campsite now has its own theme song. Bill is not always recognized for his creative efforts, but should be, and he recorded a lovely and harmonious paean to that prize among campsites, the superlative C-35 of lore and legend, not to mention those halcyon days of yore. It's true that other campsites may be more desirable, and other campgrounds may have more amenities, but I don't know of any other site with its own theme song, so as far as I'm concerned, that has trounced the competition right out of the starting gate and there's no hope for them now. They will be forever among the also-rans, and only C-35 will stand head and shoulders above the rest, unique in its musical heritage. Now all it needs is its own motto to really round things out. I'm thinking of: "The Clock Stops Here. This Site Is A Daylight Saving Time-Free Zone."

Grin And Bear It

Hello World,

Well, it certainly seems with everything else that's been going on around here lately, that Friday the 13th has certainly snuck up on us all, and none the wiser. This year, we'll be having two of them, with the other occurring in July, and you know what they say about fore-warned is for-got and never brought to mind, or some auld acquaintance thing like that anyway. In any event, now that you know when it is, if you're planning to have any bad luck, at least you'll know when to schedule it. After all, these old superstitions don't just happen by themselves, you know. So let's all get out there and do our part, and be just as unlucky as we can possibly be. I don't mind saying that for some of us, that won't be any challenge at all.

Of course, this is not the only important day in April, not by any means. We all remember Helga, our retired co-worker who comes to visit us on a regular basis at the hospital, and even in the most horrible weather, which she could never seem to accomplish when she was a paid employee of the place, but that's neither here nor there. She brought us a list of events for the month that had been compiled over the years by one of her neighbors, and so we have Joseph J. Cusimano to thank for the following excerpts of historical trivia:

April 9
Civil War ends (1865)
Ebbets Field opens (1913)
Hugh Hefner born (1926)
Hitler invades Norway (1940)
April 15
President Lincoln dies (1865)
Titanic sinks (1912)
Jackie Robinson breaks color barrier (1947)
First McDonald's opens (1955)
Shea Stadium opens (1964)
April 18
Paul Revere's ride (1775)
San Francisco earthquake (1906)
Yankee Stadium opens (1923)
Doolittle raid on Tokyo (1942)
Albert Einstein dies (1955)

It just goes on and on like that, with some notable tidbit on every date, from the NYC subway strike on April 1 1980 to George Washington's inauguration on April 30 1789, and everything in between. Some of the births of note included Adolph Hitler, the young princess who became Queen Elizabeth II, Thomas Jefferson and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. Among those picking this month to breathe their last were Benjamin Franklin, Martin Luther King, Jr., Jesse James, Benito Mussolini, Franklin Roosevelt, Joe Louis and the Third Avenue Elevated Subway line. The month also saw the first cosmonaut (1961), a royal wedding in Monaco (1956), a new Pope (2005) and a Bay of Pigs in 1961. Some days have only one event to boast of, while other days have 2, 4 or even more over the course of many different years. This is certainly all the proof, if any was needed, that April is not a month to be trifled with, and no fooling.

Speaking of things not to be trifled with, and people in the local area know this weather has been no joke, I had the following communication forwarded to me, courtesy of an alert reader (thanks, Rich!) and I pass this along as a public service:

===========================
Dear Comrade,
Pleasing to report to you on great progress of new glorious weather machine. For reliability to exceed 5 year plan, it is now with pleasure to announce conversion to Kelvin temperature standard of 0' Absolut. During hours of 0200 to 0600 on 1 May 2007, (glorious day in Mother Russia), we will be preforming great transition. Please accepting apology in advance for small errors in programming. In converting F to K, brief periods in excess of -300' Fahrenheit may be possible. It is not advisable to have little katski & dogski on the outside during this period.

Comrade Mischka

============================

Well, once again, remember what they say about being fore-warned. (I think it had something to do with our fore-fathers having fore-bears with four arms, but I'm not exactly sure of the specifics. Or perhaps it was that two-fisted Second Amendment, which protects our right to arm bears, or maybe it's our right to arm-wrestle bears instead, although I have to say that I've never been 100% behind that idea.) Well, whatever happens, don't say I didn't warn you. Of course, if the arm-wrestling bears show up, you're on your own.

Last Saturday, I went into the city to visit one of NYU's prize students (thanks, Jenny!) and we took the opportunity to attend an exhibit on Taxis of the Future at the Jacob Javits Center along 11th Avenue. The meter was running on this show (get it?) at the same time as the International Auto Show was tearing up the main exhibition area upstairs, and drawing throngs of automotive enthusiasts from all over. The taxi program was interesting and informative, and had the major advantage of being free to anyone who wanted to meander downstairs from the main event, or wander in off the sidewalk as we did. The Javits Center is certainly an imposing structure, and with the Hudson River right behind it, not to mention New Jersey hard on its heels, it's hard to imagine that the crowded skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan are just a few blocks away. We had a good time and even learned something along the way. (The year 2007 marks the hundredth anniversary of the first gas-powered taxi in New York City.) The day after that was Easter, and some of us met at the Roslyn duck pond (whose official name is Gerry Park, although why anyone would call a duck "Gerry" is beyond me) for old time's sake and to enjoy the scenery. The park has signs all over about not feeding the waterfowl, however no one explained this to the birds, who routinely ignore these signs, and everywhere you go in the park, you can be trailed by a phalanx of eager seagulls, mallards, white ducks and Canada geese, all on the lookout for whatever treats you may have brought along for them. The park is quaint and old-fashioned, with a grist mill and small wooden bridges over babbling brooks throughout, and remains charmingly untouched by the passage of time. It was too cold to picnic at the park (and I can't say that I would have liked our chances against those geese in any case) and there was even snow, no doubt courtesy of our old nemesis Comrade Mischka, who obviously didn't have the day off, and thanks very much not. So we had lunch at the diner instead, and then went to Mom's to wrap up a very nice day. Here the Birthday Caravan bearing early pansies collided with the Easter Bunny bringing pink hyacinths and tulips, and the resulting riot of color was a sight to behold, and refreshing as a spring breeze.

Later that night, Bill and I were checking in with the news on television, looking for sports scores of the local teams, and instead spotted a story from a young correspondent who explained that the blustery weather had been no deterrent to those hardy souls who donned their gay apparel to participate in what she referred to as "the Easter Day Parade." Now, you just hold it right there! I said to Bill, for heaven's sake, there is NO such thing as the Easter Day Parade. It's not like St. Patrick's Day or Memorial Day, or even Groundhog Day, nobody calls it Easter Day, as if it's just any old event that they pick a day for and people wear funny hats. This would be like having a July 4th Day Parade, or a Halloween Day Parade, the "day" part of it is simply insupportable. And that sound that you hear is poor Irving Berlin spinning in his grave, and I can't say that I blame him. "In your Easter Day bonnet, with all the frills upon it, you'll be the grandest lady in the Easter Day Parade!"

Speaking of music, I suppose I may be the only person that finds this funny, but I was at an online purveyor of entertainment products recently, and while looking for some audio CDs from a particular era, they were quick to point out other suggestions that I might be interested in. I admit that I laughed out loud when one of their recommendations turned out to be a selection from a group called Freakwater with the intriguing title of "Feels Like the Third Time," and which was just oblique enough to be oddly humorous for no particular reason. Perhaps you had to be there, sort of like this other story. Today at work, I was starting to get everything packed away for the day, and two people from our department said good night to me as they were leaving. I noticed they bumped into our bookkeeper down the hall, who made an elaborate show of pretending to look at her watch, and made some comment about everyone leaving so she would be the only one working the night shift. (She was kidding, obviously, because the administrative staff already makes enough mistakes just during the day, that if they made that same amount of mistakes also at night, the hospital would never recover.) They wished her a nice weekend and went on their way. A little while later, I went down the hall to put out my paper recycling, and also bumped into the bookkeeper, who regarded me with her hands on her hips and announced in an indignant manner, "And I suppose that you're thinking of going home, too!" as if I was taking a great liberty and she was affronted by my audacity. I laughed.

Well, I suppose now that Easter and Passover and even Friday the 13th have come and gone, there's not much else to look forward to around here. Unlike those halcyon days of yore, when President Taft threw out the first baseball on April 14, 1910, or the Whitestone Bridge opened on April 29, 1939. Ah, those were the days indeed. Not a bit like nowadays, for instance, when I was coming home from work last week and found myself in the same intersection as a purple cement mixer, and you can believe me when I say that sight has very little to recommend it, and I say that as a person who happens to like purple a lot. So my advice to you would be to remain vigilant, because there are a lot of things to watch out for, and if you can't be four-armed, at least you can be four-warned. Of course, if the arm-wrestling bears show up, I'd personally prefer to be something with four-wheels instead, and just watch the fur fly!

Thank Your Lucky Stars

Hello World,

Happy April, and no fooling this time. I think we all learned our lesson about poking fun at Comrade Mischka and the Kremlin's infernal weather machine, when two weeks after the first day of Spring, we found ourselves looking like the inside of a snow globe, with swirling white flakes going every which way. Although here we only had flurries, other areas got some significant accumulations, and I don't mind saying, plenty unhappy about it at this late date. And I will also have you know that everyone can just stop looking at me like that, because for once, I had nothing to do with it. I did not take the flannel sheets off the bed, put away my winter coats and fuzzy boots, or even put the snow shovel back in the garage. In fact, I still have the bird bath heaters plugged in, even though it was 70 degrees last week, so please don't think that I'm taking the fall for anything this time around. However, just to be on the safe side, I'd like to take this opportunity to say, "I love Mother Russia!" And now I'm going to make like Vladimir, and I'm outta here.

Of course, last week was Palm Sunday, which everyone knows is the highlight of the church year, at least as far as the cats are concerned anyway. I don't dare come home from church without new palms, because it wouldn't be worth my life to show up at the door empty-handed and in the face of this collective feline multitude. Don't ask me how they know it's Palm Sunday, because they don't go to church, and we don't let them watch the news, because it only upsets them. I'd rather not know how they find this out, because I'd be afraid to discover that there's an international kitty short-wave radio frequency that they all use to keep in touch with the diabolical genius in charge of the species, which is the only explanation I have for how they always seem to be one step ahead of us poor befuddled humans in their thrall. In any case, you can't pass off old palms from last year on them, because they know the difference and don't you doubt it. It must be the smell, or the palm oil in the fronds or something, because they really go for them when they're brand new. In fact, we left a few in the living room, and even the invisible cats have been playing with them (!!!) including the Invisible Matriarch of the Invisible Clan, Miss "Don't-call-me-Muffy" Invisible Muffin her very own invisible self. And here all along, I thought she was Jewish.

For anyone who was wondering if things could get any more ridiculous at the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation & Historic Preservation, and well may you wonder, we have the following message from one of our alert readers (thanks, Rich!) with some helpful suggestions on their behalf:

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Dear Friend at Wildwood campsite C-35

As per our previous directive, it is no longer advised to bring your own firewood to camp. In our previous correspondence, we failed to notify you of the local resources available. Please take notice.

1 - Locally purchased firewood, (available by the full cord only @ $235 per cord), This eco- environmentally correct dead wood, is gleaned from state land in Westchester County.
2 - For smaller quantities, premium hardwood toothpicks are recommended. Available at the local 7-11. Please call ahead to reserve 200 - 300 boxes. Thank you, come again.
3 - Any dead wood found on park property. (State park permit necessary, as well as local landscaping license. Also provide certificate from NYS Heath Department on completion of pesticide handling course. ** It is also recommended that you have a 2 yr degree in Entomology, from any state accredited school - specializing in the recognition of non indigenous insects.)
Special note: It is NOT advised to use any camp tables or benches as firewood (DESPITE THEIR APPARENT CONDITION). This would result in possible expulsion from the park, and we would not want to burn our bridges behind us, would we.
Note: Burning any part of any bridge is also prohibited.

Have a happy camping season
NYS Dept of Recreation & Parks Department
======================================

Well, I certainly do hope that this manages to clarify any misunderstandings there may have been among our vacationing public out there. Of course, we all know how I always worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me!

Speaking of things that make no sense, last week Bill and I were coming back from being out, and we drove past a Citgo station where the sign said it was selling regular gas for $2.65/gal, which in this area right now would be 30 cents cheaper per gallon than anyone else. It seemed too good to be true, because as I pointed out to Bill, the line for that would be around the block and it would look like some old news footage from 1975. But on Sunday after church, I drove over there to check it out, because I wasn't going to pass up a bargain like that, but it turned out that they had gone out of business (and you could tell when, because it was 30 cents ago) and just left the signs up with the gas prices, which in retrospect, seem like nothing more than a cruel joke. I bit back my disappointment and gassed up at another neighborhood purveyor of quality petroleum products for $2.93/gal, which only set me back $17 thanks to the tiny gas tank on the Escort. (Unlike the Gremlin, which has a massive 26-gallon tank, and imagine what an investment that would be to fill with gasoline at these outrageous prices!) In any event, now that I have caved in and put gas in the car, I expect that the prices should come inching slowly back down for the rest of humanity, although I noticed that it had climbed to $2.99/gal at the Sunoco yesterday, which is the opposite of what I would like to see happening. I've done everything I can, so I certainly hope it helps. No please don't thank me, after all, virtue is its own reward.

Last month, I took the Monday after my birthday off from work, so I could enjoy a nice long weekend for my birthday, and that was a nice break in the routine and a change of pace. Then last Saturday, we were back at Mom's, and a lovely day it was too, but even with a couple of extra weeks thrown in there, the Birthday Elves still seemed not to have completed all of their necessary preparations, and so the birthday caravan just continues to roll along, and just like March Madness spilling over into April nowadays, my "birthday month" shows no sign of quitting, all this time later. Of course, you know I always say there's no bad time for gifts, so I'll be just as glad to see them whenever they finally materialize, as I would have been to see them in March. Some things just can't be rushed. I also elected to take some days off for Good Friday and the Monday after Easter, which should provide some much needed time for relaxation in an otherwise busy weekend. HOORAY!!! Of course, everyone knows how I feel about those short weeks at work, and now I'll be looking at two of them in a row. No thanks very much not!

Of course, as we all know, things can always be worse. There's a recent Monkees song that starts, "Unlucky stars are in my sky; my fortune teller, she saw me and cried." Don't I know it! I mean, that's got to tell you something right there, and sometimes you've just got to stay in bed and pull the covers over your head, rather than taking your chances out in the wide world. Some people who should have stayed in bed were in our computer department last week, when they sent out a notice that said:

PLEASE SIGN OFF YOUR TERMINALS BY 6:00 PM.
WE WILL BE PREFORMING OUR DAILY BACKUPS.

Someone must have called and complained, because five minutes later, they sent out another message that corrected the part where they claimed to be "preforming" their backups, only in the second revision, they started out with a different problem, or as Daffy Duck would describe it, "pronoun trouble:"

PLEASE SIGN OFF YOU TERMINALS BY 6:00 PM.
WE WILL BE PERFORMING OUR DAILY BACKUPS.

Well, that stops far short of solving anything, in my estimation, and people can call me a stickler for accuracy (don't you dare!) but I think when you only have two sentences with 15 words, and even after you correct it, you still can't get it all right, then I really wonder if it isn't time to re-think that career path, and look for a job that doesn't require quite so much literacy. Perhaps they're hiring at the Kremlin, and I wouldn't be surprised if their infernal weather machine uses pictographs instead of words for the different weather conditions. So as long as you can tell the difference between a thunderbolt and a plague of locusts, you're all set. No please don't thank me, I'm just happy to help Mother Russia in "preforming" their daily backups. Go right ahead and tell Comrade Mischka that I sent you.