Grazing in the Grass

Hello World,

Happy Halloween! I hope that you are having a ghoulishly good time with all of your fiends and familiars, because tonight is the night when all the ghosts and goblins come out to play, and if you're out there playing with them, I hope it's utterly spook-tacular. And not to be an alarmist or anything on this creepy occasion, but apparently this is the weekend that the new and (not) improved Daylight Saving Time takes effect, switching back over to Standard Time on Sunday morning, so that dazed and confused Christians everywhere will be going to church at the wrong time all over the country, and I don't doubt that I will be one of them. This isn't so bad at the Catholic churches where they have worship all day long, one after another, but for those churches like mine with only one service, we'll be finding ourselves out in the cold. If this was a horror movie, it would be called, "The Return of the Battle for the Revenge of Beneath the Planet of the Sleepy Protestants," and it would not be a pretty sight, I can tell you that.

This holiday, I finally broke out a costume that I've had for many, many years, but could never talk myself into wearing, so whether the world was ready for it or not, we finally had The Hula Girl at work. Yes, complete with (plastic) grass skirt, flower leis, flower head band, barrettes, sandals, even a ukulele, and of course, the requisite coconut bra. (Obviously, I was wearing a tan leotard underneath.) It turned out to be a popular costume at work, or perhaps their standards have just dropped over the years, or else they've realized that I'm not going to stop, so they may as well just humor me. In fact, some people at our sister institution in Mount Vernon, who had heard about the costume but not seen it, asked me to send them pictures, because they didn't want to miss it. On the contrary, I averred, this costume might actually be an idea whose time has not yet come, and in fact, might never come, and that being the case, they would be just as glad not to have pictures of it. Meanwhile, another colleague from the Mount Vernon campus sent me a goodie bag full of Halloween candy via inter-office mail, which was not only a sweet treat, but had a novelty factor that would be hard to beat.

When I first tried the costume on, I thought it would be comfortable enough to work in, but I had no idea until I left the house in the morning, how a grass skirt is just about the most impractical thing you can wear. It's not a problem to walk in, but when you try to climb stairs, you step on the front of it. When you sit down at your desk, the wheels on your chair roll over it so you can't stand back up again, without sliding onto the floor and pulling the strands out from under the casters. If you go outside, every little breeze that comes up blows the skirt in every direction, so anyone in the world can see the plaid clam diggers that you're wearing underneath for modesty's sake, and a good thing, too. It didn't take long for me to realize that it's no wonder that grass skirts never caught on in the business world to any extent. In fact, not to be indelicate about it, but when the time came for me to use the ladies room, I had no alternative but to just take the skirt off completely (it has Velcro at the waist, so it's very simple) because there was just no way to maneuver around it. Over the years, I've worn dozens of different costumes at work, and I wouldn't say this one was uncomfortable, but it certainly took a lot more concentration than they usually do.

When the time came for me to make my rounds to trick-or-treat around the hospital campus, I greeted everyone with "aloha" and said that I was spreading sunshine everywhere I went. The costume was a big hit, and everyone particularly loved the coconuts. One co-worker clasped her hands together and gushed, "You are just absolutely, absolutely ..... " And then she stopped right there, shaking her head and leaving the rest of us to wonder where she was going with that thought. Adorable? Absurd? Obscene? Insane? I guess we'll never know. Another co-worker from the next department, every time I saw him in the hallway, he took another stab at guessing what my costume was, starting out with pumpkin, and moving on to bumble bee and light bulb, before finally winding up at fairy godmother, over the course of the day. In my travels, I found more people dressed up at work than I have in years, which really surprised me. The entire Medical Records department was in costume, as well as Employee Health, although I told them in the department of Medicine that they had no imagination, since everyone was dressed up as a doctor. They were having a swinging time of it at the Adult Day party, with cake and decorations that were a sight to behold. I love going to the party in the Nursing Home, because they always put funny hats on the residents, and the staff has the greatest costumes. (They change into them for the party, so it's not like trying to work in them all day long, which makes a big difference.) There were even two dogs there, dressed up as a bride and groom, and they were just too adorable. It was a little bit challenging to get around everywhere I needed to go, up and down stairs, without tripping on my grass skirt or flowered flip-flops, which added a nice effect, but like clown shoes, were way over-sized and hard to walk in. But I was very popular everywhere I went, and everyone knows that popularity is its own reward, or something like that.

This year was a fairly good one for trick-or-treating at work, which is not something that can be counted on, and I actually got candy in most departments that I visited. Even better, I didn't "hemorrhage" candy along the way, which is when you go to a department to trick-or-treat, and they not only have no candy to give you, but they look in your bag and mooch stuff that you've already gotten from other departments (I point out that this would be considered the reverse of standard trick-or-treating practice) so that you return to your office with less candy than you started with. At least it was a big improvement in that respect. One thing I couldn't compete with was what appears to be our resident hawk, who had caught something for lunch and was putting on its very own nature documentary in the courtyard, drawing employees out of their departments and to the overlooking windows all around the campus, as if this was the most fascinating thing that had ever happened there. You would think a person in a hula costume walking the halls would get some attention, but you can believe me that this raptor-themed version of reality TV single-handedly brought the entire hospital's productivity to its knees at a stroke. I'm not sure I've ever had a costume that would compete with that, although one of my co-workers always requested Lady Godiva, and I suppose that might have had a shot at it after all.

After what turned into a long day of wrestling with plastic grass, sliding out of my sandals, trying to hula dance (badly) when asked, and pretending to play my prop ukulele (even worse) when prompted, I was just as glad at the end of the day to pack it in and head for home. I rushed to the parking lot with all of my plastic grass trailing along out behind me, with my leis blown over my shoulders and holding onto my head band with both hands. I straightened myself out so that Bill could take pictures, which I keep in my Halloween memory album to show people at work who missed my costume. After that, I had time to give the front steps and walk another quick swipe, and wolf down a bagel for dinner, so that I would be all set up and ready before anyone came to the door. I followed that with a few handfuls of fun-size candy bars from the bowl that I leave in the vestibule when we're at work, in case anyone stops by for candy when we're not home. I've had that candy for a month, and hadn't eaten any of it so far, so I figured I could indulge in some now, in honor of the holiday, and not to mention, its well-known therapeutic benefits, which I certainly needed. Hawaiians may seem like jolly people, but I can tell you that being a hula girl is hard work.

Halloween started early at our house, with our first callers arriving at 6:30, which seemed a little earlier than usual nowadays. The weather held up at night, nice and clear as it was during the day, with a little bit of a chill, but that's not a bad thing for people traipsing around in costumes. We already had 50 tricksters by 8:00, and I figured we might see record numbers before the night was over, especially being a Friday night and good weather. I had made up 110 goodie bags, so it was easy to keep track of how many callers we had, by counting up the bags that were left. What happened instead is that it really tailed off after that, with only another 7 or 8 in the next 45 minutes, and we ended up the night with only 65 altogether, which really surprised me, and I couldn't help but be disappointed. I also didn't see as many older teenagers as I expected, who usually come later, and out with a group just goofing around. Usually, I have bunches of youngsters coming together with one or two adults shepherding them around, but this year was notable for children coming singly, with only one relative who often didn't even come up the steps to trick-or-treat for themselves or another family member, like an infant who had already fallen asleep, or the family dog dressed up as a nun. I had my last two princesses at 9:00 sharp, and after that, it was like turning off a light switch, and it was all over, including the shouting. I found this an odd year for costumes, even more than usual, especially since I had no one from High School Musical, which I thought would be a big deal this time. This is also the first time I can remember having no Freddie Krugers or Michael Myers, because those masks are so pervasive and timeless, they're something that I can count on seeing year after year. Not this year though, and I also had no ghosts or clowns, and only one witch, unlike usually, when I have them in abundance. It was a big year for princesses at 9, and pirates at 4, plus vampires also at 4, of which two were technically vampiresses. There were 3 Screams, 3 Batmans, 3 babies, 3 football players, 2 Power Rangers, 2 fairies, and 3 people claming to be "gangstas" although they seemed pretty clean cut to me. Among the singles, I had Stewie from Family Guy, SpongeBob SquarePants, Darth Vader, Chucky, Hellboy, a baseball player and a basketball player, a cat, an elephant, a ninja, a French maid, a scarecrow, a devil, a zombie, a skeleton, a wizard, a ladybug, a jester, a genie, and the most adorable Lightning McQueen from the animated feature Cars. This was my first year for having a plumber, as well as Barack Obama, so the presidential campaign had more effect on costumes this time around than any of the current movies. Last year, Halloween was on a Wednesday and I gave out 94 goodie bags, and although it was warmer than this year, I wouldn't expect that to account for the difference. And in economically troubled times, you would think there would be more, rather than fewer, people going around looking for a hand-out, and I wouldn't have been surprised to see a few bank presidents and stock traders stopping by for some free food while the getting's good. Perhaps they already heard about my hula costume, and were scared off by the thought that I have a prop ukulele, and I'm not afraid to use it. Oh Danny Boy, anyone?

Head First

Hello World,

Well, these are strange days indeed, and likely to get even stranger before long, I shouldn't wonder. You just don't know what next is going to come flying out of left field and smack you in the back of the head, and you don't dare turn around and look, because whatever is back there just might be gaining on you. This is no place for the faint-hearted, not by any means, and even those of us who aren't, seem to be wearing the sort of shell-shocked expression usually reserved for victims of alien abductions or worse. After a particularly trying day at work last week, when I was attempting to put the best possible face on things, I remarked to a co-worker that someday, we would look back on this and laugh, to which she retorted, "Only if I'm drunk." I guess this is why people say, "I'll drink to that!" or perhaps that's just in the committee meetings that I go to at the hospital.

I don't know if everyone else was having the same sort of week I was having at work, but at one point, I got a phone call from a very friendly gentleman who wanted the opportunity to introduce his company, which provides continuous passive motion devices for patients recuperating from orthopedic surgery, such as knee, shoulder or hip replacements. He asked me if I was familiar with this therapeutic treatment, and if I had ever heard of his company. Oh yes, I assured him, in fact, we were already one of their customers and used quite a lot of their products. This apparently took him by surprise, and left him nonplussed, which is the only explanation I have for what he said next, which was, "Thank you for your call." Inasmuch as I hadn't called him at all, but he had called me instead, I didn't feel that "You're welcome" would be the proper response on my part, so I said "Okay" and left it at that. Of course, it's always nice to be thanked, but there is such a thing as taking it too far.

Also at work, I was asked to track down an errant purchase requisition that had passed through my hands on its way to Finance for signatures, and bring it directly to the CFO's secretary, so that it could be hurried along faster and not waste time wending its weary way through the normal channels. When I spoke to the secretary about it, I said I had left it in the wall pocket of the next person who was supposed to get it after me, however, since that person was on vacation, I could take the paperwork back and give it to her instead. She assured me that she would be happy to take care of that herself, and not to trouble myself. I thanked her and remarked that since she was so much taller than I am, it would be much easier for her anyway, since the wall pocket is over my head, and we both got a chuckle out of that. I was surprised to see her a few minutes later back in my office, and empty-handed, and I certainly wasn't expecting what she asked me next, about what I meant when I said that the wall pocket was over my head. I will spare you the next few minutes of pointless jabbering, as we danced around and around this issue totally at cross-purposes, until it finally dawned on our dull-witted consciousness that the person in question apparently has TWO different wall pockets, in two different places, and we were each aware of only ONE of them. The one that I use on the second floor is in a group of wall pockets for various Accounting staff, and because there are so many of them, the upper tier of pockets is over my head and I have to stand on my tip-toes to put anything in the one that I'm trying to reach. The CFO's secretary had never heard of these wall pockets, and was entirely in the dark as to their existence, up to the moment that I brought her down the hall to show them to her. Likewise, when she told me that up on the third floor where she is, this same person had a different wall pocket, it came as a surprise to me and was the first I was hearing of that idea. But later, as I had something else to deposit for our vacationing staffer, I figured I may as well take it upstairs and try out the mystery wall pocket as an experiment, and at least find out where it was for the first time. I had no luck tracking it down on my own and finally had to ask someone for help, and it turned out that the wall pocket I was looking for was at the bottom of an assembly of attached pockets, so that it was about a foot off the floor, and you practically had to get down on your hands and knees to put anything in it, especially if you wanted to read the name on the pocket first. This only became funny in retrospect, when I remembered how I told the secretary that the wall pocket was over my head, and it would be easier for her to take the papers out than me, because she's taller, and at the time, she only knew of this one wall pocket, which is just barely off the floor. I tell you, it's no wonder that our motto at the hospital is: "You don't have to be crazy to work here, we'll train you."

Speaking of crazy things, here is a perfect example of something that just makes no sense to me at all. Alert readers may recall Mac Talla M'or from our experiences at the Scottish Games in July this year and last year, and while I might describe them as a Scottish rock band, according to their web site (and please feel free to visit them at www.mactalla.com and see for yourself) they would be more properly identified as a Celtic fusion band instead. It's true that the band features bagpipes, but also guitar, piano, organ and drums, and its music represents varied influences from Ireland, Scotland, America and elsewhere. I had been listening to one of their CDs, and it came as no surprise to find them choosing "Oh Danny Boy" as one of their selections, which apart from "Scotland the Brave" is possibly the most famous bagpipe song of all time. In fact, the words immediately after the song begins with "Oh Danny boy," are "the pipes, the pipes are calling," so you would figure this to be a natural for any Celtic band with bagpipes, it would be pretty much inescapable, much the same as accordions and "Lady of Spain." So here we have this Celtic bagpipe band doing "Oh Danny Boy" and nothing could have prepared me for them playing it as a piano solo instead, of all things. I just can't imagine what they could have been thinking, but it seemed to me like an accordion band deciding to play "Lady of Spain" on glockenspiel instead, and to the improvement of neither. And while I'm certainly on board with the concept of avoiding the obvious, then leave out "Oh Danny Boy" altogether, rather than play it in a way that mystifies fans and foes alike. Perhaps they'd be interested in my version of "Chopsticks" as played on the banjo, not to mention a humdinger of "Scotland the Brave" for xylophone. And before we go any further, I feel it's only fair to warn everyone that I have a kazoo, and I'm not afraid to use it. "Oh Danny Boy," anyone?

Of course, everyone realizes that there are no standards anymore, heaven knows, and what people wear out in public can be alternately perplexing or downright disgraceful. This prompted the wife of a colleague to bemoan the lack of decorum by observing, "They don't leave anything left for the hookers to wear." Ain't it the truth! I was reminded of that recently when Bill sent me this tidbit from his daily online calendar:

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Great calendar entry again today featuring my favorite -- useless stats:
UNCLE JOHN’S RESEARCH LAVATORYIn 2004 researchers at Odeon Cinemas determined that celebrities making appearances at awards shows and movie premieres expose an average of 59 percent of their skin. That’s up from 39 percent in 1994. After scanning thousands of celebrity photographs and videos, they also determined that the least skin-flaunting decade was the 1970s, when stars showed off just 7 percent. If the trend continues at this rate, the researchers say, movie stars will be completely naked by 2030.
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Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I certainly consider that good reason to look forward to the future! In fact, I already see signs of hope in the present time, in spite of the continuing economic uncertainty, at least in one respect, and not a small thing at that. It feels like only a month ago (actually it was August 29th) that I considered myself a sharp customer for getting gasoline for my car at under $4/gal for regular, because it was "only" $3.93 at the Sunoco station around the corner, which seemed like a great deal at the time, and glad of it. Since that time, the price at the pump has been dropping in what can only be described as a precipitous manner, sometimes every single day, in spite of the fact that the gas that is already in the ground cannot have changed in price since it was delivered to the station. Last Friday after work, the price for regular at the Sunoco was $3.15, and when I went past them again on Sunday morning, it was $3.13. When I went to work on Monday, it had dropped (overnight, mind you) to $2.99, and while I admit that I never before thought I'd be happy to see $2.99 for gas, you can believe that I really was. It's no joke that there were times that I doubted if I would ever see gas under $3/gal again in my lifetime, so this was as unexpected as it was welcome. Today after work, it had come down again to $2.89. I said to Bill that the gasoline that I got in August was so much more valuable than today's gas, that I should siphon it out of the tank and save it. In fact, I know a handy wall pocket where I could keep it, but the problem with all this high finance stuff, well, it's over my head.

Land Of The Lost

Hello World,

Well, whoever said "these are the times that try men's souls" wasn't just whistling Dixie, and that's putting it mildly. It's gotten to the point that you don't dare ask anyone what's new, because they'll probably go right ahead and tell you, and it won't be good, believe me. In fact, there's such a scarcity of good news these days that people have probably forgotten that there used to be two kinds of news, good and bad, and not just the frenzied hysteria that's the sum total of the media recently. It reminds me of the wag who quipped, "It's always darkest before it gets even darker," or the other pundit who noted that when you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, it's probably an oncoming train. So if misery does indeed love company, then everyone should at least be feeling very companionable, because it does seem as if we're all in the same boat, that one with all of the leaks and not looking very sea-worthy at the moment. But if laughter is our lifeboat, then it came as a relief to see this story in the newspaper about the annual Alfred E. Smith Memorial Foundation Dinner, a dazzling white-tie affair for the benefit of Catholic charities, that was chockfull of the powerful and celebrated. The grandson of the event's namesake, Alfred E. Smith IV, announced to the crowd, "My bank just sent me their 2009 calendar. It only goes up to February, and shows my bank president standing on a ledge." I think that's the kind of high-rise gallows humor that we can all relate to.

In other financial news, my friends at Citibank are well-known protectors of the environment (please feel free to go visit them at www.paperless.citicards.com and see for yourself) and included this discomfiting notice in with my credit card statement: "A paper trail is an identity thief's best friend. Sign up for paperless statements, and you can rest easy knowing all your account information is locked away safely online." By golly, Toto, let's make sure that all of our sensitive financial information is at some international conglomerate's web site, where nothing could ever happen to it that would compromise the security of the data, like being hacked into by a couple of 13-year-old juvenile delinquents from South America or anything. Yeah, right. Personally, I think that Citibank telling me that my account information is safer with them than the U.S. Post Office is nothing more than the pot calling the kettle black, and probably both of them should go stand on the ledge with Al Smith's bank president.

I don't mind saying that I'm no advertising executive, and I don't even play one on television, so I don't pretend to be qualified to determine what is a good subject for an advertising campaign, especially in this day and age where there are no standards, heaven knows. But one thing that I never do understand is commercials for ingredients, like the fat-substitute Olestra, which isn't even an item that you can buy, it's simply included in other products as part of the production process. Why have ads for this, or Intel processor chips, that the computer manufacturers install inside their equipment without asking you if you want those, or chips from some other company. I have never understood the concept of spending probably millions of dollars to promote something that you can't even buy on its own, except as it comes included in other things that you may or may not already be buying, but you see this kind of thing happening over and over. Just when I thought that things had gotten as absurd as they could possibly with this sort of nonsense, I bumped into a commercial that literally left me with my mouth hanging open. I'm not even kidding about this, I actually watched a commercial that was trying to sell me on the idea of high fructose corn syrup, of all things. I said to Bill, you may as well have a commercial touting the benefits of Agent Orange ("Effortlessly defoliates your yard in seconds!") as trying to put a positive spin on something with such a bad reputation. Even people living under a rock for decades know that high fructose corn syrup has been widely blamed for every imaginable ill, including rampant obesity, increased diabetes, childhood brainwashing, allergic reactions, corporate greed, governmental extortion, economic skullduggery, environmental calamity, as well as being a scourge among developing nations. the list just goes on and on. I've never heard a single person have one good thing to say about it, at least until this ad, it was just one of those things that was foisted on an unsuspecting public and you just had to live with it or lump it. But apparently the High Fructose Corn Syrup Anti-Defamation League has been hard at work trying to change our perceptions (they obviously can't change the facts, which speak for themselves) and by golly, they want all of us to love this slop as much as they do, or die trying. And once again, you can't go out and buy the stuff, it's just an ingredient that's already in or not in whatever you're buying as it is, so I can't understand why they need commercials for it. They may be bound and determined to win us over, but as for myself, I'd be voting them off that ledge with Al Smith's bank president, and no thank you so very much not.

Many of us had a good laugh when the hospital president informed us that he had received "over 7" cards to recognize employee excellence, but apparently this problem is more contagious than we realized. Last week, the local newspaper announced a new model railroad train set in honor of the 25th anniversary of the Metro-North Railroad, with a big front-page story featuring lots of pictures and interviews. So it was easy to spot someone else suffering the symptoms of this syndrome: "Tim Trewhella, owner of Treat-Station, a shop selling train sets, toys, candy and ice cream in Peekskill, said he has almost 10 people on a waiting list for the Metro-North train set ... " I don't know about you, but I have to feel sorry for that ninth-and-a-half person on the list, because that's got to be pretty uncomfortable, waiting for the other half to come along. And I sure hope that other half isn't up there on the ledge with the bank president, because that could be a long wait.

Speaking of long waits, I had been walking down to the park around the corner on weekends, and noticed on a pole in front of the municipal marina, there had been posted a flyer that said in large letters at the top MISSING, and then there was a picture of a boy, and below the picture it said Perdido, which I assumed was the boy's name. And I passed this pole and flyer many times, back and forth, on my way to the park for a few weeks in a row, and I couldn't help but think to myself that Perdido was a silly name for a person. "After all," I found this little voice in my head saying with all the logic my poor addled brain cells could muster, "I'm pretty sure that means something in Spanish, so it's not really a name, but a word, and it would be like calling someone Cable or Brook or Foster, which is just bound to cause confusion, and you would really think that the parents would give this more thought." And so I was walking along and just musing on this miscarriage of justice, where the parents gave this poor lost boy a silly name (and I'm starting to think, it's no wonder the poor kid got lost, I don't blame him) when finally enough of my semi-functioning brain cells woke up enough to get my attention by insisting: "Yes, you moron, it does mean something in Spanish, it means LOST." Oh well, as the late and lamented Emily Litella used to say on Saturday Night Live, "Never mind."

Of course, it's a well-known fact that my brain is a lost cause (I'm planning to wear a sign that says Perdido and points to my head) but I had high hopes for improving the fitness of other areas, which turned out to have mixed results for unexpected reasons. Years ago, I had amassed a motley collection of exercise tapes, that included all the big names in the fitness world, and ran the gamut from aerobics to yoga, and everything in between. (One of them was the Playgirl Workout for Couples, so you can see that when I say there was a little bit of everything, I do mean everything.) Recently, I decided to dust them off and give them another try, except for one small problem, which was that they were mostly on old VHS tapes, perhaps better known as an antiquated relic from days gone by. Even that was not the biggest problem, but I had recently let my sister borrow my combination TV-VCR, because hers was broken, and the only other VCRs we still had were in places where it would be impossible to exercise. Not to be daunted, I resolved to copy the tapes to blank DVD's instead, because I still had that equipment available to me, and that actually worked a lot better than I would have expected. The next part of my plan was to make use of my portable DVD player for this purpose, and which I could easily move to any suitable location, so that in the summer, for instance, I could be near the air conditioner, which would be very important. I was all fired up to get going with this program, but I wasn't counting on one little detail, which turned into a very big problem, or rather, an extremely tiny one. That is, I never realized before how small the screen is on the portable DVD player, which is fine if you're watching a movie up close, but if you're trying to follow a bunch of skinny instructors doing an exercise routine from three feet away, it's just about impossible to see what they're doing. Obviously, it defeats the purpose of the exercise to stop and watch them all the time, so I would just keep hopping around in a more or less aimless way, or do something like jumping jacks until I could tell what the next part of the routine was and could follow along. I admit that I wasn't expecting to break new ground with my fitness goals, but I do believe that I have invented a new indoor sport that I refer to as "Squint-erobics," and with good reason. No please don't thank me, it's enough for me to advance the cause of athletic endeavor and be on the cutting edge. Or perhaps it's the ledge that I'm thinking of instead, with the Post Office and Citibank and Al Smith's bank president, but whatever you do, please don't follow me, because everyone knows that I am Perdido.

The Suite Life

Hello World,

Happy Columbus Day weekend! Of course, we all know that Christopher Columbus, the poor dear, nowadays suffers from the "what have you done for me lately" syndrome (in fact, he might well be the poster child for it) so you find very few places that still celebrate his supposed day as a holiday anymore, and I don't mind saying, oh how the mighty have fallen indeed. But where Bill works is closed on Monday, because as far as they're concerned, a 500-year-old explorer should not be relegated to the trash heap of history,and cast off like some outmoded gimcrack from days gone by. The hospital doesn't observe Columbus Day as an officially sanctioned holiday (please forward your complaints to We_Hate_Famous_Italians@sshsw.org) but my plan is to take the day off anyway, so I'm looking forward to a nice and relaxing three day weekend. At least, I hope it's going to be nice and relaxing, because when I get back to work, I'm going to be faced with one of those dreaded short weeks, and I think we all know how I feel about those.

For anyone who thought that it had been much too long since my last hotel review (and don't think that I don't know who you are!) then you're in luck, for the time has surely come, and in fact, it's long since past, for us to take a trip with our friends and stay somewhere overnight. Last weekend, we actually stayed in a new and exciting hotel that we had never heard of before, and lived to tell the tale, so here goes. It all began innocently enough, as these things so often do, when our friends from the Albany area decided that they wanted to experience the locally famous "Haunted Graveyard" attraction at Lake Compounce in Connecticut. The original plan was to stay nearby at the classically beautiful Chimney Crest Manor, where we had stayed once before and loved it, but now found out to our dismay that they had implemented a policy of a 2-night minimum, which amounted to an investment in time and money that was beyond what we were prepared to spend. Scouting around for an alternative was easy, because the Lake Compounce web site offers a variety of lodging options in the surrounding area, and we pounced on the Centennial Inn & Suites in Farmington, which seemed ideal for our purposes. Even for their Master King Suites, the rates were very reasonable, and they had three rooms together for the date that we needed, so we snapped them up and glad of it. Since we couldn't check into the hotel until 3:00 PM, we made other plans for the morning, and heedless of the storm clouds brewing on the horizon of this scenario (and where is Daffy Duck when you need him?) we looked forward to our get-together with happy anticipation.

Last Saturday was cloudy and threatening when we hit the road early in the morning, with the plan for everyone to reconnoiter at the hotel in Farmington, and then find a likely spot for brunch. By the time all of the participants arrived and we were ready to start scouting around, it had turned into a lovely day, and we set off with high hopes. We discovered that the next town over, Bristol, is a happening burg, with not only the ESPN headquarters and numerous tourist attractions, but just about every sort of food option known to humanity, some of them more than once. I had compiled a list of possible choices, including 4 diners, plus well known chains such as Friendly's, Panera's, and Ruby Tuesday. We settled on Luiza's Diner, more for the entertainment value than anything else, and in fact, had to chase around after it, since it wasn't in the first place we looked for it, in spite of finding the address online and using the GPS to get us there. After a lot of driving around in circles, we finally turned it up, and went inside hoping for the best. I had my heart set on pancakes, which I hadn't had in years, since we rarely go out to eat early in the day, and I don't fancy pancakes for lunch or dinner as a rule. I ordered a short stack, and prepared to savor a special treat that I had been waiting for a long time. Alas, I'm still waiting for that special treat, because these pancakes were horrible, and I was so disappointed. I'm always concerned about a diner that can't make good pancakes or omelettes, because these would be the bread and butter of their business, and if they can't get that right, as far as I'm concerned, they can't be much of a diner. My two pancakes were the size of a dinner plate, and as tasteless as they were dense. In contrast, Bill's grilled cheese sandwich was miniscule, and served naked on a large platter, without even a lettuce leaf to keep it company, while the tiny cup of coleslaw they offered as a side dish needed a magnifying glass just to see it. Our other friends gave low marks to the grilled chicken salad and quiche of the day, and also had to hound the waitress for the right drinks, sugar substitute and condiments. And after chasing around after this place to begin with, when we had numerous other options available, only to be disappointed in the food as well as the service, was doubly vexing.

Since we were in Bristol anyway, we took advantage of the opportunity to visit the American Clock and Watch Museum, where we had been before, and none the less entertaining for that. It has wonderful and wide-ranging displays of historical clocks and watches, plus educational exhibits, books, artwork, decorative objects and much more. There is so much to see, upstairs and downstairs, and every single thing is either beautiful, unusual, historically significant or simply adorable, until you think that you just can't stand any more of it. Their gift shop has much to recommend it, that is to say, if you need any clocks, watches, books, toys, socks, gadgets or ornaments, which we certainly don't. Needless to say, we picked up a variety of them anyway, because I can never have too many souvenir spoons, and for Bill, there's no such thing as too many gadgets. And I ask you, who wouldn't want a clock that looks like a calico cat, where the tail wags back and forth?

Once it was late enough, we returned to Farmington so we could check in at the hotel, which is located on 12 bucolic acres of rolling countryside, with separate buildings for different types of suites. We were all in the same building, so our rooms were identical, including bedroom, kitchen and living room with fireplace, plus two TV sets and network connection but no WIFI. There was also a fitness center and laundry room in another building next to the lobby, and a lovely outdoor pool, which unfortunately was not only closed, but completely empty of water, no doubt to discourage disreputable guests who might have gotten any funny ideas. Since the hotel has no dining facilities, we used their network connection to locate a place to have dinner, and settled on one of the chains located handily in Bristol, this time the 99 Restaurant, which some of us had never even heard of, much less eaten at one before, so we approached it with some trepidation, especially after the brunch experience. Luckily, it turned out that our fears were groundless, and we had a wonderful meal, the service was excellent, the drinks were divine, and the fried ravioli was worth the trip all by its little fried self.

After that, it was time to head to Lake Compounce, and even though we were just in the next town over from it, and had been there before, it was so hard to find in the dark that even the GPS couldn't get us to the entrance, but left us stranded behind the back of the place, looking at the rides through the fence with no way to get inside. They will tell you that they are the oldest operating amusement park in America, and while there's no arguing with success, I still say that they should have changed the name a long time ago, as mostly everyone seems to refer to them as Lake Compound or Crompond or Compote, or anything except Compounce, which is a ridiculous name, considering that it's not the name of the family or the town that it's located in. For the Halloween season, they are only open at night on weekends, and not all of the rides are in operation, plus the whole water park section is shut down. We finally found our way in and bought tickets for the Haunted Graveyard as well as rides, which is an expensive proposition that only makes sense if you plan to go on a lot of rides. Because one of our friends brought his scooter to help him get around, they pushed us right to the front of the line for the Haunted Graveyard, cutting off everyone who had been waiting on line patiently the whole time. This attraction is very well done, and takes about 45 minutes to walk through a variety of maze-like structures that resemble a graveyard, a haunted hotel, a dungeon, a spooky jungle, a corn field, a slaughterhouse, an ancient temple, an unappetizing restaurant, and much more that simply defies description. Along the way, there are animated objects, as well as real people, who jump out at you, but it's more fun than scary, and well designed so that you never feel trapped or in danger. Here I would like to give an endorsement to the brand of scooter that our friend uses, because it did an amazing job maneuvering through the narrow confines and tight corners of the mazes, and over a variety of rough, uneven or hilly terrain, without any complaint. That is, I would like to endorse this product, except that I don't know what kind it is, and unfortunately, about halfway through, the batteries gave out completely and it died on the spot. The helpful park employees rescued us out of the maze and rolled the scooter back to the parking lot with our friend, while the rest of us finished the maze, and met up again later. We went on some rides, but as it had turned very cold, flying through the frosty air was less like fun and more like a test of endurance instead, so we didn't do much of that. We tried to warm up with some hot chocolate, which we found was served lukewarm, and I was eager to have some funnel cake, but it too cooled off almost immediately, so that it was like eating a frozen waffle, and under the circumstances, thanks not. Our best idea came just before we left, when we went into one of the shops for souvenirs, and it was positively balmy by comparison, so we stayed in there long enough for our teeth to stop chattering.

After a long and hectic day, we went back to hotel and went right to bed, and I know for a fact that at least one of us fell asleep instantly. It was already raining when we woke up on Sunday morning, which was a discouraging prospect for taking pictures, but even worse was when we realized that we would have a wet dash all the way across the considerable property from our building to the main lobby, in order to avail ourselves of their complimentary breakfast, which we found nice enough, but nothing spectacular. All in all, we found the Centennial to be a good value for the price, but not the charming country inn that we expected. After we checked out, we headed back to Bristol once again, this time to the New England Carousel Horse Museum, which we had also been to before, and even with the GPS, still managed to go the wrong way once again. A young man there was eager to give us the tour, which proved to be a little too much of a good thing, as it ended up being very long-winded and somewhat boring, so much so that our friends bailed out part-way through it, and went home early. We found that the gift shop had not improved in the years since we had been there, and even worse, the "rocking horse carousel" that I was desperate to see again (we have a rocking horse just like these, because they were made from the same popular kit of the time) was out on loan and I was hugely disappointed. We had originally planned to stop at Denny's in Danbury for dinner on the way home, but since we had been left to our own devices in the middle of the day, we asked the GPS to find us a Denny's nearby, and it turned one up in Southington about 4 miles away, so we went there for lunch instead. We had another wonderful meal with excellent drinks and dessert, and while they had no coconut custard pie, which is a personal favorite, their chocolate pecan cheesecake was delicious in its own way. We arrived home early and without incident, and it even stopped raining, which is important to us, since we routinely travel carrying all of our worldly possessions along with us, that we have to drag back into the house when we return. Our re-appearance got a mixed reaction from the cats, which is part of their strategy to keep us humble, although it must be said that we were a little more popular after they got fed. Overall, our trip had its ups and downs, but we still had a lot of fun, and I have the pictures to prove it. Not to mention, the cat clock that wags its tail!

Another Day, Another Dollar

Hello World,

Happy October! I don't know about where you are, but around here, this is when we'd normally be expecting to start enjoying those crisp clear fall days, with the leaves changing color by day, and frost on the pumpkins at night. Obviously, that's not happening, because there are no standards anymore, heaven knows, and we probably haven't had that sort of classic fall weather since the dinosaurs roamed the vast unformed land masses, or at least, that's how I remember it. But whenever I am tempted to complain about the weather in these parts, I am reminded of the poor people who got hit with hurricanes last month, and I remember to be grateful for small favors instead. It's important to realize that no matter how bad things might be, they can always be worse, and that's not just the pumpkins talking, believe me.

Last week, the bookkeeper down the hall was about to set off on her regular trip to the cashier's office in the other building, and as she left her office, she announced to no one in particular, "I'm off to see the wizard." I happened to be in front of her in the hallway as she was leaving, so I said, "Oh, bring me back a brain." She laughed.

While we're on the topic of money, I was making a deposit of what we collected from the flea market at church, and I noticed a very unusual coin in with the loose change. I pulled it out, figuring it would be one of those goofy Sacajawea dollars that they have now, but it wasn't anything of the sort. I looked all over for what denomination it was, and finally found it stuck in a small corner of the back, so I exchanged it for a dollar bill in the deposit, and took the coin home to show Bill. He was also expecting it to be Sacajawea, so when he turned it over and found himself face to face with some ugly mug in a bad wig, he said the same thing I had said, "Who the heck is this guy?" At first I thought it might be a foreign coin, with some other country's Prime Minister or famous military hero on it, so naturally we wouldn't have recognized who it was. Instead, it turned out to be James Monroe, of all people, in what is probably the new Presidential series of Liberty dollar coins, and everyone else may already know about them, but this was the first we heard of the idea, and here I already had one in my hand. When I complained that it didn't tell you anywhere on the front how much the coin was worth, Bill pointed out that it was probably a Liberty coin, so it says $1 on the side with the figure of Liberty, and James Monroe is on what would be considered the back instead, and probably all the rest of the Presidents will be shown on the back, while the Liberty on the front stays the same for all the coins in the series. So there you have it, coin fans, all the news and hot off the presses, and while you still shouldn't take any wooden nickels, at least you won't be surprised if someone gives you a new Liberty dollar coin with a former President on the back, although if it looked like President Bartlett from "The West Wing," you would have reason to be suspicious.

Our local newspaper must figure that anyone can find out what they need to know about professional sports in many other ways, so the front page of the Sports section spotlights teams of the local high schools for the most part, and not their more famous professional counterparts that everyone knows. So I wasn't surprised last week to see one of their top stories featured a picture from a high school cross country event, but I admit that I was taken aback by this arresting caption:

==========================
SHOWING WHAT HE'S MADE OF

Yorktown's Manu Kumar cements himself
as a top runner by taking second in
yesterday's Gressler Invitational.
===========================

I said to Bill, "I hope not!" He's certainly not going to get very far as a runner after he cements himself, that's for sure, and I can tell you that for a fact, even though I don't run. I don't know what kind of athletic advice they're giving out to students in Yorktown, but they can have this tidbit from me for free: "Eat Right. Get Enough Sleep. Don't Cement Yourself." I don't claim to be a fitness guru, but I can't help thinking, that's gotta hurt. In other fitness news, and I use that term guardedly, I couldn't help but notice an interesting item in a recent mail order catalogue, which they described fulsomely as a Motorized Pedal Exerciser. This contraption would set you back $170, so it apparently considers itself a real piece of serious fitness equipment, although I personally do not see how. Their description begins, "Sit in a comfortable chair and enjoy a great workout," which is a contradiction in terms if ever there was one, and don't forget, this is hard on the heels of the runner who cemented himself. The idea seems to be that you strap your feet to the pedals, and then use the remote control to adjust the speed of the revolutions, as the motor spins away, dragging your feet along with it. Honestly, how anyone considers this exercise is a mystery to me. This would be like using an escalator for exercise instead of a stair-climbing machine, where the escalator is doing all the work to carry you up the stairs, but you did get up to the top, so it must count as exercise. They tell me the Motorized Pedal Exerciser weighs 12.5 pounds, and here I'm thinking that you would get more exercise carrying it from one room to another, rather than sitting in your easy chair and letting it pedal your feet around in a circle for you. It seems to me that this is right up there with runners cementing themselves, in terms of sound fitness advice.

In other sports news, once again there really was no joy in Mudville, as the Yankees were eliminated from the playoffs earlier in September than had been expected, while across town, the Mets waited until the last game of the season to lose their way out of a possible Wild Card berth. From a fan's standpoint, it was probably a bad time for both teams to renew the contracts of their respective General Managers, who many might figure, were the very people who got them into this mess in the first place, where the teams don't even make the playoffs, much less winning the World Series like they're supposed to. (Well, the Yankees are supposed to, anyway.) That sound you hear, that the owners apparently don't, is the legions of local fans wailing and gnashing their teeth in anguish over yet another in a series of lost seasons of dashed hopes and shattered dreams. Most people would find it impossible to believe that any team with so many famously high paid and talented players could somehow fail to win their division, much less two such teams in the same city, but far from being impossible, the local teams manage to prove how very possible it is, year after year. So the playoffs continue apace, with teams from far and wide, but none from near, and more's the pity, I'm sure.

The sad news doesn't end there, as the world bid a fond farewell to Paul Newman last week, and after decades in the public eye, it would be difficult to imagine life without him. Of course, he made so many legendary films, of all different types, so in many ways, he will always be with us. I'm sure that everyone remembers famous scenes or lines from his classic movies, and I'm no different. One of my favorites was from a movie that I didn't care much for, which was the western, "Hud." The stage coach makes a stop along its route, and everyone climbs off, hot, tired and dusty, most of them heading straight for the saloon. We see Paul Newman's character relaxing in the shade behind a shed, and thinking she's alone, another one of the passengers slips behind the shed to remove some of her voluminous clothing to cool off. Just before she's about to become indecent, she notices that she has an audience, gasps, covers herself up and cries indignantly, "You might have at least cleared your throat!" To which he replies in a perfect laconic drawl, "I couldn't, my heart was in it." Good night, Butch Cassidy, or should I say, adios.

In happier news, last Saturday we were on Long Island to celebrate Mom's birthday, and she's still going strong at 86 years young, and looking like a princess in her pretty pastel stripes from head to toe. Mom didn't join us for lunch at the diner, but we had them make a special meal for her which we brought home, along with a selection of their locally famous pastries, which are always a welcome treat, whether it's a special occasion or not. In fact, they gave us one for free, in honor of Mom's birthday, which we thought was very nice, and I don't mind saying that I'm one of those people who believes that there's no such thing as too much pastry. Since it was such a beautiful day, we also ran some errands while we were there, and then wrapped it all up with presents, which are always a big hit with Mom. Although I have to say that once you give her a box of Mallomars, she does tend to lose interest in everything else after that, but I'm sure she was glad to get other gifts of a more practical nature as well. So it was a lovely day all around, and the birthday girl was all smiles, especially when we brought out the pastries, because time has certainly not dimmed her enthusiasm for pastries, not by a long shot, believe me.

And speaking of special days of interest, we get the following courtesy of Bill from his Excite home page:

===================================
You still have to go through your "Excite Home Page", which was the original "personalizable" page, much like iGoogle. Unfortunately, the new owners are too busy lousing up the e-mail and the home page is dying of neglect. The tides are just blank and the sports scores haven't updated in two weeks. So I've been a bit surprised that the "personal calendar/holidays" reminders section kept going. I looked at it today, to see if there were any events I needed to remember coming up and got the following list:

Today: Sat, Sep 13 2008
Event
Date
Days
Grandparents' Day
Sat, Sep 13
0
Stepfamily Day
Tue, Sep 16
3
Citizenship Day
Wed, Sep 17
4
Fall Equinox
Sat, Sep 20
7
Mom's Birthday
Wed, Sep 24
11
Rosh Hashanah
Mon, Sep 29
16
Yom Kippur
Wed, Oct 08
25
Columbus Day
Mon, Oct 13
30
Sukkot
Mon, Oct 13
30
Thanksgiving Day
Mon, Oct 13
30


Now I realize I'm a fuddy-duddy and, like most curmudgeons, I complain too much about the modern tendency to creep the holiday celebrations forward. But I AM a bit surprised to find they've actually moved Thanksgiving to October. Do you figure it features Christopher Columbus at the end of the parade now? I mean, they could still have Santa as the big finale, only now it would be the Santa MARIA (Ba-DUMP-bump! Thanks, folks -- I'll be here all week.)
===================================

Well, I don't see any way to improve upon that, try as I might, and many thanks to the minions at Excite for that welcome humor, however inadvertent. On the other hand, we do want to remember to be grateful for small favors, so having Thanksgiving more often during the year could not be a bad thing, compared to, say, income tax day, which is already once too often at just once a year, and that's not just a lot of cranberry sauce, by golly. In fact, if they wanted to do away with income tax altogether, so we could all keep more of our hard-earned dollars, I'm sure it would be about the most popular thing to come along since the Founding Fathers first started throwing dollars across the Potomac, and let's face it, they've just been throwing money away ever since and no end in sight. Please feel free to pass along this suggestion to your elected officials with my blessing. Tell them James Monroe sent you.