Over Easy
Hello World,
Don't look now, but this is the last weekend in September, and October will be upon us before we know what's hit us. We've reached an unpredictable time at home and on the job, where you can never tell if it's going to be warm outdoors and cold inside, or cold outside and warm indoors, so you have no idea how to dress for either location. Speaking of unpredictable, we seem to have moved past the hurricane season of unstable tropical weather systems, and entered the bank failure season, where even the most seemingly robust financial institutions may collapse in spectacular fashion. I'll admit that I've never been a fan of hurricanes, but I can't say that I care for the bank problems any better, and that's putting it mildly.
Meanwhile at work, I contacted the vendor we use for our mailing equipment, to find out about removing the old equipment that had been replaced, but was still taking up space in the hallway and getting in everyone's way. The sales rep responded to my note promptly, and said that the leasing company had no interest in the equipment being returned to them, and we could dispose of it responsibly on our own. He closed his reply with what I'm sure he considered a professionally appropriate remark, that is, except for the part where Dr. Freud shows up with his slip: "If you have any additional questions please do hesitate to contact me." Well, I guess I will! There may have been more truth in that inadvertent comment than he meant to reveal, but it certainly served the purpose of making me hesitate to contact him again, that's for sure. If nothing else, I ought to know when I'm not wanted, and you can believe me when I say that I don't need to be hit over the head with a Freudian slip either.
Our local newspaper has created a new section on Thursdays that showcases events and establishments that people should patronize in the region, for something fun, unusual or entertaining to do with the family during the weekend, rather than the same old routine. (I feel it's only fair to explain, for the sake of clarification, that here I mean "patronize" in the sense of "go and buy something" and not "to belittle or treat condescendingly.") The offerings run the gamut from movies and restaurants, to community theater, music performances, antiques shows, crafts fairs, art exhibits, parades and everything in between. There are dozens of pages with hundreds of suggestions, and more than enough choices to entice even the most cosmopolitan tastes, so much so that a person perusing the selection and not finding any to fancy, would have to be considered legally dead. It was in this section of local attractions that Bill objected to a quarter-page ad for something called Weed Orchards (and please do visit their web site at www.weedorchards.com and see for yourself) where their Grape Festival is going on now, although what sort of grapes you would get in a weed orchard is beyond me. Bill couldn't help but feel that the name of the place was an unfortunate choice for an agricultural business, but I said I could top that without even trying. The previous week, there was a big front page story in the Business section about New York State apples, topped with an adorable picture of a little girl eating an apple, and as far as I'm concerned, the caption says it all: Bella Catarina, 3, of Somers bites into a apple she picked from a tree at Outhouse Orchards in North Salem. The farm, owned by Wayne Outhouse and his son, Andrew, will produce 5,000 to 8,000 bushels of more than a dozen varieties of apples in the fall." Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on anyone's heritage, but I may as well say right up front that if your family name is Outhouse, the one thing you cannot do is go into the food business in any capacity whatsoever, and there are no justifiable exceptions to this rule. There are lots of other career paths to choose (in fact, the Port-A-Potty industry springs immediately to mind) and of course, politics would be a natural. But anything in the edible industry is right out of the question, and I don't mind saying, that I am unanimous in that. Next thing you know, they'll be growing grapes and making Outhouse wines, for heaven's sake.
Even alert readers could be forgiven for failing to recall part of a note of mine from last year about a close encounter with fame:
==========================
Meanwhile in local news, and you can't get much more local than this, we received a notice from the president of our neighborhood association about a film crew that will be working at a neighbor's house down the block on the 12th, 13th and 14th, and we should be prepared for disruptions. They tell us that this is going to be a Coen Brothers movie about a CIA agent, starring George Clooney, or should I say, "Be still, my heart!" While it's true that I've been living for over 20 years in this somewhat exclusive neighborhood full of the rich and (at least semi-) famous, the prospect of having George Clooney down the street for three days can in no way be considered a "ho-hum" idea in my life. Although I will say that this would be my second brush with celebrity, as they filmed "The Hot Rock" with Robert Redford in 1972 across the street from my high school, and to say that academic life was brought to a complete standstill would be an understatement of epic proportions. So it should be interesting times ahead in the old stomping grounds, what with the film crews, technical equipment, trailers, supply trucks, production staff, actors and miscellaneous personnel that are invariably attracted to the bright lights and big city. I was thinking that I might even get into the movie as an extra, except for the fact that it's about the CIA, and everyone knows that I can't keep a secret.
==========================
Anyone paying attention to the current media would recognize that as the recently opened "Burn After Reading," which is most likely playing in a theater near you, even at this very moment. The neighborhood was all agog with excitement when the film first opened on Friday the 12th, and invaded the cinema en masse to watch it as a group outing, followed by a rollicking house party to celebrate. Bill and I thought that might be a little too much of a good thing, as they say, but we still wanted to be supportive of local film crews, so we waited a week and then went to see it by ourselves. We were not all that familiar with the Coen Brothers body of work, but the movie trailers seemed entertaining, and with George Clooney and Brad Pitt, we figured how bad could it be? Apparently the answer to that question depends on whether you expect comedies to be funny, which this film most definitely was not, in fact, it veered so far in the other direction that I think a genre has yet to be invented for it. Personally, I blame the studios for producing trailers to convince people that a movie is a light-hearted romp, when it isn't anything of the sort, which is a disservice to both sides and satisfies no one. The audiences expecting a comedy are outraged, while the people who would have appreciated its stronger content were dissuaded by its promotion as a piece of fluff. It wasn't dramatic enough to be a drama, and it was awkward rather than funny, with the most appalling language, and senseless violence that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Everyone in it was either miscast, or badly wasted in a poor role, and no amount of talent could redeem the fact that all of the characters were either obnoxious or boring, or both. The star of the picture (and at least for us, the reason for seeing the film in the first place) the neighbor's house where the movie was shot, performed admirably throughout, doing yeoman service in what was ultimately a hopeless cause. But even here, while it was interesting to see our neighborhood in a real Hollywood movie, I found the establishing shots of the house to be stale and contrived, like a display of period furniture in a museum, where nothing will ever make it look as if real people actually live there. We left the theater shaking our heads (Bill was muttering something about "the emperor's new clothes" under his breath) and wondered how anyone could have seen that script and decided to go ahead with the project anyway, it was just a mystery to us.
In other work news, the hospital management in its infinite wisdom, recently rolled out a new program to recognize excellence among the staff, because our motto is Always Choosing Excellence, and they felt it was important to reinforce those behaviors that match our motto. You may notice that the acronym for Always Choosing Excellence is ACE, so they developed paper forms that look like an ace from a deck of playing cards, and they announced the ACE Card Launch with all the fanfare and hyperbole that we have come to expect at the employer of last resort in our fair city: "The ACE Cards recognize distinct and extraordinary accomplishments with identifiable impacts ... to encourage and recognize those individuals who go above and beyond to make the patient care experience extraordinary." We were all invited to an Ice Cream Social to Kick-Off the ACE Card Program, and dotted throughout all of our facilities were new display boards with a description of the ACE Card Program, plus ACE Cards that people could use to recognize excellence when they saw it. A week later, we all received a cheery note from the President of the medical center, which began with this opening salvo: "This week we launched the ACE Card Program and I am pleased with the responses, as of today I have received over 7 cards submitted recognizing our employees." Now, I have been working at this chicken coop for almost 20 years and I don't like to nitpick, but what amount of something could you receive, that you would describe it as "over 7?" Seven and a half? Eight? It obviously wasn't as much as 10, or he would have said so. Did they receive seven cards, plus promises of others that were on their way, but hadn't gotten there yet? Perhaps it was seven ACE Cards, plus someone threw in a lottery ticket, or a real playing card, or a Cracker Jack prize that qualified as the "over" part of "over 7." Maybe in some other universe, populated only by hospital administrators, there are different incremental numbers between 7 and 8, so you can use the term "over 7" with legitimate reason, but to paraphrase our friend at geekycoder.com, how this expression can make any sense at all fathom me, and that's not just the ice cream talking, believe me. Honestly, you just have to wonder sometimes, and I don't mind saying, it's often more than just sometimes around here. I always say, just when you think that you can't be surprised by anything else that could happen at that place, they somehow manage to toss in another curve and throw us all for a loop. In fact, it might be "over 1" loop, but that would only be in the Hospital Administrators Universe, and probably after they'd gotten into some of that Outhouse wine.
Don't look now, but this is the last weekend in September, and October will be upon us before we know what's hit us. We've reached an unpredictable time at home and on the job, where you can never tell if it's going to be warm outdoors and cold inside, or cold outside and warm indoors, so you have no idea how to dress for either location. Speaking of unpredictable, we seem to have moved past the hurricane season of unstable tropical weather systems, and entered the bank failure season, where even the most seemingly robust financial institutions may collapse in spectacular fashion. I'll admit that I've never been a fan of hurricanes, but I can't say that I care for the bank problems any better, and that's putting it mildly.
Meanwhile at work, I contacted the vendor we use for our mailing equipment, to find out about removing the old equipment that had been replaced, but was still taking up space in the hallway and getting in everyone's way. The sales rep responded to my note promptly, and said that the leasing company had no interest in the equipment being returned to them, and we could dispose of it responsibly on our own. He closed his reply with what I'm sure he considered a professionally appropriate remark, that is, except for the part where Dr. Freud shows up with his slip: "If you have any additional questions please do hesitate to contact me." Well, I guess I will! There may have been more truth in that inadvertent comment than he meant to reveal, but it certainly served the purpose of making me hesitate to contact him again, that's for sure. If nothing else, I ought to know when I'm not wanted, and you can believe me when I say that I don't need to be hit over the head with a Freudian slip either.
Our local newspaper has created a new section on Thursdays that showcases events and establishments that people should patronize in the region, for something fun, unusual or entertaining to do with the family during the weekend, rather than the same old routine. (I feel it's only fair to explain, for the sake of clarification, that here I mean "patronize" in the sense of "go and buy something" and not "to belittle or treat condescendingly.") The offerings run the gamut from movies and restaurants, to community theater, music performances, antiques shows, crafts fairs, art exhibits, parades and everything in between. There are dozens of pages with hundreds of suggestions, and more than enough choices to entice even the most cosmopolitan tastes, so much so that a person perusing the selection and not finding any to fancy, would have to be considered legally dead. It was in this section of local attractions that Bill objected to a quarter-page ad for something called Weed Orchards (and please do visit their web site at www.weedorchards.com and see for yourself) where their Grape Festival is going on now, although what sort of grapes you would get in a weed orchard is beyond me. Bill couldn't help but feel that the name of the place was an unfortunate choice for an agricultural business, but I said I could top that without even trying. The previous week, there was a big front page story in the Business section about New York State apples, topped with an adorable picture of a little girl eating an apple, and as far as I'm concerned, the caption says it all: Bella Catarina, 3, of Somers bites into a apple she picked from a tree at Outhouse Orchards in North Salem. The farm, owned by Wayne Outhouse and his son, Andrew, will produce 5,000 to 8,000 bushels of more than a dozen varieties of apples in the fall." Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on anyone's heritage, but I may as well say right up front that if your family name is Outhouse, the one thing you cannot do is go into the food business in any capacity whatsoever, and there are no justifiable exceptions to this rule. There are lots of other career paths to choose (in fact, the Port-A-Potty industry springs immediately to mind) and of course, politics would be a natural. But anything in the edible industry is right out of the question, and I don't mind saying, that I am unanimous in that. Next thing you know, they'll be growing grapes and making Outhouse wines, for heaven's sake.
Even alert readers could be forgiven for failing to recall part of a note of mine from last year about a close encounter with fame:
==========================
Meanwhile in local news, and you can't get much more local than this, we received a notice from the president of our neighborhood association about a film crew that will be working at a neighbor's house down the block on the 12th, 13th and 14th, and we should be prepared for disruptions. They tell us that this is going to be a Coen Brothers movie about a CIA agent, starring George Clooney, or should I say, "Be still, my heart!" While it's true that I've been living for over 20 years in this somewhat exclusive neighborhood full of the rich and (at least semi-) famous, the prospect of having George Clooney down the street for three days can in no way be considered a "ho-hum" idea in my life. Although I will say that this would be my second brush with celebrity, as they filmed "The Hot Rock" with Robert Redford in 1972 across the street from my high school, and to say that academic life was brought to a complete standstill would be an understatement of epic proportions. So it should be interesting times ahead in the old stomping grounds, what with the film crews, technical equipment, trailers, supply trucks, production staff, actors and miscellaneous personnel that are invariably attracted to the bright lights and big city. I was thinking that I might even get into the movie as an extra, except for the fact that it's about the CIA, and everyone knows that I can't keep a secret.
==========================
Anyone paying attention to the current media would recognize that as the recently opened "Burn After Reading," which is most likely playing in a theater near you, even at this very moment. The neighborhood was all agog with excitement when the film first opened on Friday the 12th, and invaded the cinema en masse to watch it as a group outing, followed by a rollicking house party to celebrate. Bill and I thought that might be a little too much of a good thing, as they say, but we still wanted to be supportive of local film crews, so we waited a week and then went to see it by ourselves. We were not all that familiar with the Coen Brothers body of work, but the movie trailers seemed entertaining, and with George Clooney and Brad Pitt, we figured how bad could it be? Apparently the answer to that question depends on whether you expect comedies to be funny, which this film most definitely was not, in fact, it veered so far in the other direction that I think a genre has yet to be invented for it. Personally, I blame the studios for producing trailers to convince people that a movie is a light-hearted romp, when it isn't anything of the sort, which is a disservice to both sides and satisfies no one. The audiences expecting a comedy are outraged, while the people who would have appreciated its stronger content were dissuaded by its promotion as a piece of fluff. It wasn't dramatic enough to be a drama, and it was awkward rather than funny, with the most appalling language, and senseless violence that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Everyone in it was either miscast, or badly wasted in a poor role, and no amount of talent could redeem the fact that all of the characters were either obnoxious or boring, or both. The star of the picture (and at least for us, the reason for seeing the film in the first place) the neighbor's house where the movie was shot, performed admirably throughout, doing yeoman service in what was ultimately a hopeless cause. But even here, while it was interesting to see our neighborhood in a real Hollywood movie, I found the establishing shots of the house to be stale and contrived, like a display of period furniture in a museum, where nothing will ever make it look as if real people actually live there. We left the theater shaking our heads (Bill was muttering something about "the emperor's new clothes" under his breath) and wondered how anyone could have seen that script and decided to go ahead with the project anyway, it was just a mystery to us.
In other work news, the hospital management in its infinite wisdom, recently rolled out a new program to recognize excellence among the staff, because our motto is Always Choosing Excellence, and they felt it was important to reinforce those behaviors that match our motto. You may notice that the acronym for Always Choosing Excellence is ACE, so they developed paper forms that look like an ace from a deck of playing cards, and they announced the ACE Card Launch with all the fanfare and hyperbole that we have come to expect at the employer of last resort in our fair city: "The ACE Cards recognize distinct and extraordinary accomplishments with identifiable impacts ... to encourage and recognize those individuals who go above and beyond to make the patient care experience extraordinary." We were all invited to an Ice Cream Social to Kick-Off the ACE Card Program, and dotted throughout all of our facilities were new display boards with a description of the ACE Card Program, plus ACE Cards that people could use to recognize excellence when they saw it. A week later, we all received a cheery note from the President of the medical center, which began with this opening salvo: "This week we launched the ACE Card Program and I am pleased with the responses, as of today I have received over 7 cards submitted recognizing our employees." Now, I have been working at this chicken coop for almost 20 years and I don't like to nitpick, but what amount of something could you receive, that you would describe it as "over 7?" Seven and a half? Eight? It obviously wasn't as much as 10, or he would have said so. Did they receive seven cards, plus promises of others that were on their way, but hadn't gotten there yet? Perhaps it was seven ACE Cards, plus someone threw in a lottery ticket, or a real playing card, or a Cracker Jack prize that qualified as the "over" part of "over 7." Maybe in some other universe, populated only by hospital administrators, there are different incremental numbers between 7 and 8, so you can use the term "over 7" with legitimate reason, but to paraphrase our friend at geekycoder.com, how this expression can make any sense at all fathom me, and that's not just the ice cream talking, believe me. Honestly, you just have to wonder sometimes, and I don't mind saying, it's often more than just sometimes around here. I always say, just when you think that you can't be surprised by anything else that could happen at that place, they somehow manage to toss in another curve and throw us all for a loop. In fact, it might be "over 1" loop, but that would only be in the Hospital Administrators Universe, and probably after they'd gotten into some of that Outhouse wine.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 9:00 PM
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