Pin The Tail On The Donkey
Hello World,
Of course, everyone knows how I do so hate to be an alarmist, but with Thanksgiving less than a week away (I kid you not) just relating the plain fact of the matter should sound the tocsin in the minds of all rational people everywhere. This is especially true of addle-pated individuals like me, who feel like we have only recently gotten back from summer vacation, and it should still be July or thereabouts. To get the unwelcome news, as I did earlier, that there are only 37 shopping days until Christmas was just about more than I could bear, no thanks very much not. Now, it's true that Thanksgiving is extremely early this year, and for which I blame the dratted switch-over to the Julian Calendar, in addition to the blasted Daylight Saving Time, and even the hypothetical Comrade Sergei and his confounded Russian date machine. A more impartial study of the facts might indicate the problem to be that the month started on a Thursday, rendering it inescapable that the fourth Thursday would have to be the 22nd, but you can believe me when I say that the day hasn't dawned that would find me being swayed by the facts, and I don't mind saying that I am unanimous in that.
As long as we're in a holiday frame of mind, last weekend we had friends visit from upstate, in what has turned out to be an annual ritual of enjoying the seasonal attractions at Fortunoff's in White Plains. Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on our cross-county neighbors, but for a city that prides itself on being a retail Mecca, it must be said that their culinary options all seem to fall into the same four categories: closed, bad, crowded or expensive, and sometimes, all at once. There is no such thing as the venerable White Plains Diner just along the highway, that draws throngs of locals and tourists from all over, with its cozy charm, generous portions, friendly service and tasty fare. No, all of the good places that anyone remembers have long since shuttered their doors and been bulldozed for the latest CVS, bank, Gap or nail salon. Every time our friends come to visit, we try some place different to eat, and we seem to lurch from one disaster to another, with no end in sight. This time around, we decided to try our luck at the Food Court in the Galleria, where we also thought their holiday decorations would be a welcome treat. We were out of luck on that score, since the Spirit of Christmas Present had yet to transform the mall into a twinkling snow-covered extravaganza, but we did find that for brunch customers, the Food Court had a lot to offer. Even on the Mexican and Asian menu's, it was possible to find interesting breakfast ideas, like egg-and-cheese wraps or apple-cinnamon dumplings. Bill and I might have tried any number of the delectable offerings we found all around us, except for the fact that first we discovered one of the only Cinnabons we had seen in years of traveling, since they closed all of them in the Thruway rest stops, and so we took one look and were all over that place like a bad suit. Ah, Cinnabon! This would probably be a good place to share my epic "Ode to Cinnabon," except that, well, it's very personal. I'm sure you understand.
At the risk of being gauche, I will say that the ladies room at the Food Court stands alone in perennial memory as the only place I have ever been, where all of the automated facilities, from the toilet to the sink to the paper towel dispenser, all worked flawlessly. By that I mean that they not only did automatically what they were supposed to do, which is certainly rare enough, but also at the correct time that they were supposed to do it, which has never happened to me personally up to this point. In fact, it made me so giddy that I accidentally wandered a little too close to the automatic hand dryers, and turned them all on as I walked past. So I guess I would call that a "3-blow salute" and it was worth every bit of it.
Of course, White Plains was designed by space aliens from a distant galaxy with no cars, so at its core is an impenetrable maze of one-way streets, dead-ends, parking garages and highway ramps. For the purpose of keeping traffic moving smoothly (which it doesn't, by the way) the planners came up with the idea of pounding metal posts into the roads at strategic locations, so that drivers who might inadvertently find themselves in a lane that takes them where they don't want to go, like onto the highway, cannot move back into the correct lane without slamming into these handy posts instead. This has the perhaps unintended effect that unwary drivers go to a lot of places that they never meant to, besides having no idea of how to get back. This may help to explain the White Plains motto, which is "Visit White Plains and See The World," although for the unlucky motorist who has been forced onto the third highway that they didn't want, it probably loses a lot of its charm. In any case, getting from the Galleria to Fortunoff's, which should be a piece of cake, or at least an apple-cinnamon dumpling, and is less than a mile as the crow flies, only narrowly avoided disaster with Bill's expert navigational skills and presence of mind. And while my suggestion to try jumping the cars over the posts was universally rebuffed, in the spirit of the holidays, I refused to sulk.
Every year when we go to Fortunoff's, the Christmas display has changed enough to be different and interesting, and while we miss the elaborate train layouts from days of yore, there's still enough to tickle the fancy of the most discriminating shopper. One thing you can say about Fortunoff's is that you will never see the same old, tried and true, shop-worn and time-tested seasonal merchandise year after year, because each time we go, every single thing is completely different from the year before. You don't dare buy a set of something, like decorative lights, holiday plates or Nativity figures, because you'll never see them there again. Why, you'd end up with the most mis-matched mishmash of Bethlehem ever, with a porcelain Holy Family, silver sequined Wise Men, terra cotta shepherds, gingham angels, hammered-tin camels, chenille sheep, sandalwood cows and donkeys made out of clothespins and pipe cleaners. It would be the laughingstock of Nazareth, and don't even get me started on the little drummer boy. No, Fortunoff's eclectic wares are not for the faint of heart, although if that cuts down on the crowds any, we haven't noticed it. There was lots to look at and enjoy, and we even bought a few things, which should come as a surprise to no one. You just can't have too many clothespin and pipe cleaner donkeys, I always say.
It would not be an understatement to say that we caused our usual ruckus with all six of us having our picture taken with Santa, who was a good sport and infinitely patient with six crazy lunatics. You can believe me when I say that they don't pay those people nearly enough. By the time we were finished shopping, not to mention, creating the havoc that is our trademark wherever we go, and besides which, the security staff that was busily escorting us off the premises as fast as their legs would carry them, we were scouting around for some refreshments to bolster our flagging spirits. I suppose because Fortunoff's is in the same complex as The Cheesecake Factory and Morton's Steak House, they don't have their own dining facilities, so we asked them if there was a place nearby we could get some coffee or a soda. They suggested Whole Foods located handily downstairs, and when we pointed out this was a well-known chain of organic supermarkets, they assured us it also included a snack bar with chairs and tables. This sounded like it was right up our alley, so we set off in haste, and soon found ourselves standing around a small and cramped counter with a couple of bar stools, where they were serving flavored coffees and bad warm cocoa. Actually, there seemed to be a very nice and wide-ranging buffet of hot dishes and cold salad fixings, but for us, it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so we stuck to drinks instead, although I can personally attest that the cocoa had nothing to recommend it. All the while, we were unmercifully castigating the knaves at Fortunoff's who steered us to this dive, instead of some place where we could all sit down and relax with a snack. As we were getting ready to leave, we decided to use the bathrooms, which were located on the opposite side of the store from where we entered, and so this was the first we discovered that entire wall of the store was taken up with rows of roomy cushioned booths, cozy corner tables, and more chairs than you could shake a stick at. We didn't have a stick to shake, but we didn't need one to know that it was just the irony gods toying with us again, blast their dastardly ironic little hearts.
After that, our friends took to the roads for the long drive north, and we returned home tired but happy, and don't think that I don't have the pictures to prove it. In ritualistic fashion, this annual excursion kicks off the holiday season for us in fine style, so now we're as ready as we'll ever be for the jolly old elf in the red suit, and I don't mean The Flash, although there's no denying that it would be handy to have someone around the house who could do things at supersonic speed, what with Christmas a mere five weeks away. (Gadzooks!) It certainly does seem that every year, the merry-go-round spins faster, and I must have lost a step or two over time, because it always seems harder and harder to keep up. So I'd better hop aboard the holiday caravan before it pulls out of the station, since I've got an awful lot to do before the reindeers fly, and I already know that I can't count on The Flash to help me out. After all, those clothespin and pipe cleaner donkeys don't just make themselves, you know.
Of course, everyone knows how I do so hate to be an alarmist, but with Thanksgiving less than a week away (I kid you not) just relating the plain fact of the matter should sound the tocsin in the minds of all rational people everywhere. This is especially true of addle-pated individuals like me, who feel like we have only recently gotten back from summer vacation, and it should still be July or thereabouts. To get the unwelcome news, as I did earlier, that there are only 37 shopping days until Christmas was just about more than I could bear, no thanks very much not. Now, it's true that Thanksgiving is extremely early this year, and for which I blame the dratted switch-over to the Julian Calendar, in addition to the blasted Daylight Saving Time, and even the hypothetical Comrade Sergei and his confounded Russian date machine. A more impartial study of the facts might indicate the problem to be that the month started on a Thursday, rendering it inescapable that the fourth Thursday would have to be the 22nd, but you can believe me when I say that the day hasn't dawned that would find me being swayed by the facts, and I don't mind saying that I am unanimous in that.
As long as we're in a holiday frame of mind, last weekend we had friends visit from upstate, in what has turned out to be an annual ritual of enjoying the seasonal attractions at Fortunoff's in White Plains. Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on our cross-county neighbors, but for a city that prides itself on being a retail Mecca, it must be said that their culinary options all seem to fall into the same four categories: closed, bad, crowded or expensive, and sometimes, all at once. There is no such thing as the venerable White Plains Diner just along the highway, that draws throngs of locals and tourists from all over, with its cozy charm, generous portions, friendly service and tasty fare. No, all of the good places that anyone remembers have long since shuttered their doors and been bulldozed for the latest CVS, bank, Gap or nail salon. Every time our friends come to visit, we try some place different to eat, and we seem to lurch from one disaster to another, with no end in sight. This time around, we decided to try our luck at the Food Court in the Galleria, where we also thought their holiday decorations would be a welcome treat. We were out of luck on that score, since the Spirit of Christmas Present had yet to transform the mall into a twinkling snow-covered extravaganza, but we did find that for brunch customers, the Food Court had a lot to offer. Even on the Mexican and Asian menu's, it was possible to find interesting breakfast ideas, like egg-and-cheese wraps or apple-cinnamon dumplings. Bill and I might have tried any number of the delectable offerings we found all around us, except for the fact that first we discovered one of the only Cinnabons we had seen in years of traveling, since they closed all of them in the Thruway rest stops, and so we took one look and were all over that place like a bad suit. Ah, Cinnabon! This would probably be a good place to share my epic "Ode to Cinnabon," except that, well, it's very personal. I'm sure you understand.
At the risk of being gauche, I will say that the ladies room at the Food Court stands alone in perennial memory as the only place I have ever been, where all of the automated facilities, from the toilet to the sink to the paper towel dispenser, all worked flawlessly. By that I mean that they not only did automatically what they were supposed to do, which is certainly rare enough, but also at the correct time that they were supposed to do it, which has never happened to me personally up to this point. In fact, it made me so giddy that I accidentally wandered a little too close to the automatic hand dryers, and turned them all on as I walked past. So I guess I would call that a "3-blow salute" and it was worth every bit of it.
Of course, White Plains was designed by space aliens from a distant galaxy with no cars, so at its core is an impenetrable maze of one-way streets, dead-ends, parking garages and highway ramps. For the purpose of keeping traffic moving smoothly (which it doesn't, by the way) the planners came up with the idea of pounding metal posts into the roads at strategic locations, so that drivers who might inadvertently find themselves in a lane that takes them where they don't want to go, like onto the highway, cannot move back into the correct lane without slamming into these handy posts instead. This has the perhaps unintended effect that unwary drivers go to a lot of places that they never meant to, besides having no idea of how to get back. This may help to explain the White Plains motto, which is "Visit White Plains and See The World," although for the unlucky motorist who has been forced onto the third highway that they didn't want, it probably loses a lot of its charm. In any case, getting from the Galleria to Fortunoff's, which should be a piece of cake, or at least an apple-cinnamon dumpling, and is less than a mile as the crow flies, only narrowly avoided disaster with Bill's expert navigational skills and presence of mind. And while my suggestion to try jumping the cars over the posts was universally rebuffed, in the spirit of the holidays, I refused to sulk.
Every year when we go to Fortunoff's, the Christmas display has changed enough to be different and interesting, and while we miss the elaborate train layouts from days of yore, there's still enough to tickle the fancy of the most discriminating shopper. One thing you can say about Fortunoff's is that you will never see the same old, tried and true, shop-worn and time-tested seasonal merchandise year after year, because each time we go, every single thing is completely different from the year before. You don't dare buy a set of something, like decorative lights, holiday plates or Nativity figures, because you'll never see them there again. Why, you'd end up with the most mis-matched mishmash of Bethlehem ever, with a porcelain Holy Family, silver sequined Wise Men, terra cotta shepherds, gingham angels, hammered-tin camels, chenille sheep, sandalwood cows and donkeys made out of clothespins and pipe cleaners. It would be the laughingstock of Nazareth, and don't even get me started on the little drummer boy. No, Fortunoff's eclectic wares are not for the faint of heart, although if that cuts down on the crowds any, we haven't noticed it. There was lots to look at and enjoy, and we even bought a few things, which should come as a surprise to no one. You just can't have too many clothespin and pipe cleaner donkeys, I always say.
It would not be an understatement to say that we caused our usual ruckus with all six of us having our picture taken with Santa, who was a good sport and infinitely patient with six crazy lunatics. You can believe me when I say that they don't pay those people nearly enough. By the time we were finished shopping, not to mention, creating the havoc that is our trademark wherever we go, and besides which, the security staff that was busily escorting us off the premises as fast as their legs would carry them, we were scouting around for some refreshments to bolster our flagging spirits. I suppose because Fortunoff's is in the same complex as The Cheesecake Factory and Morton's Steak House, they don't have their own dining facilities, so we asked them if there was a place nearby we could get some coffee or a soda. They suggested Whole Foods located handily downstairs, and when we pointed out this was a well-known chain of organic supermarkets, they assured us it also included a snack bar with chairs and tables. This sounded like it was right up our alley, so we set off in haste, and soon found ourselves standing around a small and cramped counter with a couple of bar stools, where they were serving flavored coffees and bad warm cocoa. Actually, there seemed to be a very nice and wide-ranging buffet of hot dishes and cold salad fixings, but for us, it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so we stuck to drinks instead, although I can personally attest that the cocoa had nothing to recommend it. All the while, we were unmercifully castigating the knaves at Fortunoff's who steered us to this dive, instead of some place where we could all sit down and relax with a snack. As we were getting ready to leave, we decided to use the bathrooms, which were located on the opposite side of the store from where we entered, and so this was the first we discovered that entire wall of the store was taken up with rows of roomy cushioned booths, cozy corner tables, and more chairs than you could shake a stick at. We didn't have a stick to shake, but we didn't need one to know that it was just the irony gods toying with us again, blast their dastardly ironic little hearts.
After that, our friends took to the roads for the long drive north, and we returned home tired but happy, and don't think that I don't have the pictures to prove it. In ritualistic fashion, this annual excursion kicks off the holiday season for us in fine style, so now we're as ready as we'll ever be for the jolly old elf in the red suit, and I don't mean The Flash, although there's no denying that it would be handy to have someone around the house who could do things at supersonic speed, what with Christmas a mere five weeks away. (Gadzooks!) It certainly does seem that every year, the merry-go-round spins faster, and I must have lost a step or two over time, because it always seems harder and harder to keep up. So I'd better hop aboard the holiday caravan before it pulls out of the station, since I've got an awful lot to do before the reindeers fly, and I already know that I can't count on The Flash to help me out. After all, those clothespin and pipe cleaner donkeys don't just make themselves, you know.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 11:05 AM
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