The Subject Was Beer

Hello World,

Happy Spring! It certainly feels like it's been a long cold winter in these parts, but at least today, it seems like it's finally starting to warm up and give us all reason to hope for better days ahead. Speaking of days, we had a sales rep in our department last week, who had to ask me when Easter is, which is one of the problems you have with moveable feasts like that. He explained that he and a coworker had been trying to schedule some plans using a free calendar that had been sent to their company, and it was only now that they noticed that instead of identifying any normal holidays that you would expect on a calendar, like Easter, it skipped all of those in favor of more arcane observances such as National Corn Dog Day, the Annual Alcohol Free Weekend, and International Goof-off Day instead. Of course, March is already famous for St. Patrick's Day (and the wandering festivals of parades in honor of the saint, that can happen anywhere from the middle of February to the beginning of April, and they still call them St. Patrick's Day parades for some reason) when it's easy to be green, inside and out, and that's not just the green beer talking. Just after that on March 19 is St. Joseph's Day, and decades ago, a coworker told me that I should wear red for the day, and I have continued to do that ever since, even though I have no idea why. In some circles, March is even more famous for the college basketball Madness that bears its name, which is now in full swing, in all of its bracket-busting glory, and that's also not just the green beer talking, believe me.

While I think we can all agree that March does seem to be crammed with notable days, it can't be said that everyone is on the same page when it comes to the actual dates, not by a long shot. We recently got a new magazine at church called Connections, which describes itself as for evangelical Lutheran Christians, and this was its issue for January-February 2009. However, in their Happenings section, I couldn't help but notice a quarter-page ad for the Annual LCMC Leadership Conference on April 27-29, 2008, ironically being held in Minnehaha Falls, apparently 11 months ago. Frankly, that's not the kind of leadership I think we're all looking for at a time like this, although I might have taken them up on their invitation to REGISTER NOW, except that my Way-Back Machine is in the repair shop. I might even be tempted to describe this as a maxi-haha, rather than a mini-haha, but that would not be evangelical, or Lutheran, or Christian, and probably the kind of thing we would want to avoid during Lent if possible. Meanwhile, our local newspaper ran a front page story about the economy, with this arresting statement: "The AIG bonuses have Democrats and the administration backpeddling." Just taking a wild stab at this, I would figure that backpeddling is when you travel backwards in time to sell your wares from door to door, like Simple Simon the Pieman, from a pushcart. Of course, the economy was much simpler back then, and after all, they could not have meant "back pedaling," because bicycles hadn't even been invented at that time. It was later that same week that they ran a big story about the upcoming Chocolate World Expo, which was described as a fund raiser for Camp Venture, a local facility that serves people with developmental disabilities. Of course, we want to be supportive of charitable initiatives like this, especially during Lent, but it would have been a lot easier without the following explanation: "They'll be helping Camp Venture fund the construction of its indoor equestrian center in Stony Point." Excuse me??? At our house, we file this kind of thing under the category of "This is Why the Terrorists Hate Us," and that's not just the green beer talking either, because at Chocolate World Expo, the beer is chocolate instead.

Alert readers may recall my comments about the nearby Exxon (formerly Mobil) gas station that changed overnight into a Shell station, prompting me to observe that I have closed Mobil stations everywhere I've been, and still at it, in spite of their reputation as a hulking multi-national monstrosity. For his part, Bill didn't feel that I went far enough, and should be prepared to do more for the common good of the wider community:

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Do you want to bet that if you got an electric car Exxon would start its free delivery service where they drive a tanker to your car and gas it up while you sleep? (What are you waiting for? Give the rest of us a break!) But maybe for all our sakes it would be a better thing for you to get an Escalade -- it would need so much gas that the whole Evil Gas Conglomerate would go out of business.
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Of course, everyone knows how I worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me. I admit that even I was surprised when I got gas last week at the only remaining Mobil station that I know of in town, and in a matter of days, the price of gas went up, at stations all over the place. Usually after I finally break down and get gas, the price goes down everywhere, so I thought this was a new, and I don't mind saying, unwelcome novelty in the ongoing gasoline saga for the local area.

Speaking of the local area, we already had our very own early Easter miracle, when one of our cats snuck out the front door, jumped over the wall and vanished before our eyes. Zanzibar was not technically one of the invisible cats, but he shared many invisible qualities with them, and with a nature that was alternately naive and skittish, I frankly didn't care much for his chances in the great outdoors. We went outside calling for him, and when he didn't come back as I expected he would, I asked the neighbors if he was stuck in anyone's garage or crawlspace, but no one had seen him. After being out all alone in the freezing cold, we hoped that he might be susceptible to cat food in a trap, so we set that up in the backyard and watched for the prodigal's return. The first thing that happened was that we trapped the neighbor's cat, and I'm not sure which of us was more surprised, although she seemed to take the indignity in stride. Fortunately, the next day, Zanzibar walked into the trap, and we were able to carry him back inside the house safe and sound, and return him to the bosom of his feline family, where all the other cats had been wondering whatever became of him for a day and a half. On the scale of epic events, ours was just a little tiny itty bitty teeny weeny miracle, but it was just the right size for us, and came at the right time, so we were hugely grateful, and if ever there was a reason to break out the green chocolate beer, this would have been it.

At the beginning of the month, we had the switchover to the inaptly named Daylight Saving Time, and the first thing that people would notice is how dark it was in the morning after that, for anyone who gets up earlier than 8:30 or so. Everyone knows that I'm no fan of these time-shifting shenanigans, and thanks to the Internet, those of us in the anti-DST faction know that we're not alone and just whistling in the dark. We have Bill to thank for uncovering this interesting web site (and please feel free to go visit them at
http://www.nodaylightsavingqld.com/index.html and see for yourself) where they have many informative resources and insightful essays. Those of us steeled to the idea of blaming DST on shady politicians and nefarious business tycoons from the past, would find this commentary from our friends at Light of Day alarming indeed:

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'Daylight saving is a virus that thrives on rejection.' - Michael Downing
Daylight saving was first introduced to Tasmania in 1968 and to the Australian mainland in 1971. After a short trial period, the more temperate southern states of New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania and South Australia continued to change their clocks each October and March; however, tropical Queensland and the hot desert states of Western Australia and the Northern Territory chose to keep standard time all year round.
We have received emails from daylight saving opponents all over the world bemoaning, among other things: the annoying imposition of having to change up to twenty household time pieces twice a year; the utter uselessness of having to defer summer sunsets to 10 pm and beyond; fatigue at having to cope with the twice-a-year disruptions to body clocks; the relief in finding out how many others hate daylight saving too; outrage at all the 'daylight bias' in the media (which seems to be near universal); and the tedium of having to endure ridicule, taunts and accusations of anti-progress.
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Heck, DST is bad enough when it's already been in place for decades before you were born, but the whole concept is mind-boggling when it's being foisted on a modern technologically advanced civilization in the 1970's of all things. But at least now we know that we can relocate to Queensland if we want to get away from DST, although even I'm not sure that the cure might not be worse than the disease in the long run. They go on to mention the pressure on other countries to conform to DST in order to be "in sync" with the major economic and political world powers, including numerous places that gave it a try and then had to give it up as a lost cause that wasn't worth the trouble, which I could have told them right from the start. On the other hand, if there was any way of putting these time-shifting shenanigans to good use, I could have my Way-Back Machine travel back in time and invent green beer, and by now, I would have made a fortune, especially with St. Patrick's Day parades on every weekend for two months all over the state. Now that's my idea of the kind of Daylight Saving Time that I can live with, because when it comes to going back into the past and selling green beer, you can be sure that my pushcart and I will be backpeddling.

Elle

Spring Fling

Greetings, Mr. and Mrs. America and All The Ships At Sea!

Welcome to the First Day of Spring, getting off to a rousing start in the local area with snow flurries, of all things, which I suppose only goes to prove that Mother Nature has a sense of humor, or that Old Man Winter still has some tricks up his sleeve. Of course, we can't rule out the possibility that our old nemesis comrade Mischka has been fiddling around once again with the Kremlin's infernal weather machine, and there's also the Revenge of the Reporter Who Got Bit by the Groundhog to keep in mind, so there would seem to be plenty of culprits if we want to spread the blame around on this one. Under these conditions, a person like myself who would be normally susceptible to Spring Fever, would be more likely to contract a bad case of Spring Fuddles, being rendered incapable of accomplishing the most routine tasks, so I'm sure you will all understand if I succumb to the urge and go lay down until the crisis has passed. But while we're on the subject of Spring, I wanted to share with you the brilliant insights of a kindred spirit, on a topic near and dear to my heart, and perhaps even nearer and dearer to what's left of my poor addled brain cells. In fact, this is an idea whose time has not only come, but is long since past, and I only wish that I had thought of it first, or my name isn't --

Fuddles

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Daylight Savings Time Reform
RICH@suhep.phy.syr.edu (Richard S. Holmes)(topical, smirk, original)
An original item.
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IMMODEST PROPOSAL #1: DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME REFORM
Richard S. Holmes
It happens every spring: crocuses, baseball (with any luck), and the switch to
Daylight Savings Time (DST).
Coming off DST is not hard. In the Fall, we set our clocks back one hour. We
all get an extra hour to sleep, and those who forget find themselves at church,
or the airport, or wherever an hour early. Embarrassing, but not catastrophic.
But in the Spring we set the clocks forward, and the trouble begins. We lose
an hour of sleep. Forgetful people miss Mass, planes, breakfast, and the big
game on TV. Some are thrown into disarray for up to a full week. Annual
losses due to DST confusion have been estimated (by me) at over a million
dollars. I myself have missed a flight to Washington and a showing of The
Seven Samurai because of DST.
There is no need for such tragic waste. We can -- we should and must -- urge
our lawmakers to reform Daylight Savings Time as follows:
Setting clocks back is easy; setting them forward is difficult. Therefore, let
us keep the fall ritual as it is. However, one Sunday each Spring, let us set
our clocks not one hour forward, but TWENTY-THREE HOURS BACKWARD.
Think of all the advantages. We will not lose an hour of sleep; we will gain
(almost) a day of rest. It will be Saturday all over again. You will never
again miss Confession, or an airplane, or the Redskins game.
Naturally, if this were the whole plan, our calendars would fall behind one day
in each year. However, the second part of the Revised DST Plan deals with
this. Every four years, instead of adding a day, let us SUBTRACT THREE DAYS.
Furthermore, let these be Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, which according to
recent polls are the least popular days.
If done in February, which seems reasonable considering what a miserable month
it is, this would have the beneficial side effect of shortening the
excruciating presidential primary season by an effective four days.
The advantages of this plan are clear. Let us waste no time. With a determined
effort we can have Reformed Daylight Savings Time by Spring of next year.
Write your congressperson today!
(From the "Rest" of RHF)

Goody Two Shoes

Hello World,

And so here it is, Friday the 13th again, and right on schedule, although none the more welcome for all that. Hard on the heels of February, March also started on a Sunday, and as we've learned from painful experience before, whenever that happens, there's bound to be a Friday the 13th in our future, and most likely sooner rather than later. For most of us, it's just another day, and nothing to get alarmed about, so I do hope that you were not a victim of misfortune, or unlucky events befalling you on this superstition-inducing occasion. Speaking of days, I bumped into a kindred spirit in a book that I'm reading now, "The Hills at Home" by Nancy Clark: " ... this was Little Becky's calendar, devoted to some singing group she adored. Significant days in the life histories of the group's members were outlined in red as if the birthday of someone named Donny were a national holiday. Once or twice when consulting the calendar, Lily had been caught short, imagining that she had forgotten some occasion for which she ought to have sent out greeting cards or roasted a Butterball or displayed the Flag." Now, there's a woman after my own heart.

While we're on the subject of heart, or at least the heart of rock and roll, I heard a radio commercial yesterday that started out with a jagged crash of electric guitars and pounding drums, while the announcer shouted, "ROCK YOUR WORLD!" The music subsided, and he went on to say, "If it's rock you're after, come to our showrooms and see the latest selection of granite countertops and tile floors for every room in your house." I had to laugh. Normally, that would be all the humor I would expect on the home improvement front, but not so! I was watching "Mission Organization" on the cable channel HGTV, where a professional organizer was helping a young family with their messy garage. The finished project had customized shelves and cabinets for their various tools, sports equipment, garden implements, household items and automotive products, as well as a special cubby near the door for all of their shoes, since the young housewife had stated very matter-of-factly, "We don't wear shoes in the house." They finished the project by installing a new floor of colorful plastic tiles that snap together easily, but are rugged enough to stand up to a lot of wear and tear. They chose two colors that mixed well together, and alternated the colors in an attractive pattern, which prompted the husband to observe, as they were admiring their handiwork: "I don't think we're going to be allowed to wear shoes out here either." And this is the garage, mind you.

And speaking of garages, I have my own garage story to relate, only it's not nearly as funny, at least not to me, and certainly not as decorative. In a weak moment, I had gone to the nursery and bought some plants, as well as flower seeds that I was going start early on the porch in pots, before relocating them to the garden later. I had some left-over pots from plants I had bought the year before, but I wanted to use fresh potting soil, and not old stuff that had been left out in the yard and probably full of weeds. Nowadays, they make potting soil in handy resealable plastic bags, and I knew I still had a bag in the garage that may have been opened, but would still have plenty left to use for my flower seeds. That is, it would have had plenty left in it, except for the juvenile delinquent squirrels and incorrigible raccoons living in our neighborhood, who decided that if it was a bag, and it was in our garage, it might very well contain food, so they were just going to have to tear into the bag and find out. Now, they do this in spite of the fact that the bag says very clearly in large letters that it contains potting soil, never mentions anything about food, but of course, they can't be bothered to read, they just tear into the bag anyway, thanks so very much not. So if my flower seeds don't do well, I already have a built-in scapegoat, and will be prepared to lay the blame squarely on their little furry diabolical shoulders. Although more likely what will happen is that the seeds will do great, I'll get bunches of happy healthy seedlings, plant them outside in the garden, and THEN the squirrels will dig them out and chew them up, leaving the scattered remains strewn about in a disreputable manner. That's all that I've come to expect from our local wildlife, who have taken misbehaving to a whole new level. Anyway, it's lucky for them that they live here, instead of near those people with the newly renovated garage, because they would make them take their feet off, before they could come in and chew into their bags of potting soil.

In other outdoor news, after the surprise snow storm and frigid temperatures of last week, it did actually warm up after a while, and by the weekend, had gotten fairly sunny and pleasant, especially in comparison. It was on March 8 that I spotted our first crocus in the front yard, and when I cleared out some leaves piled up in the corners, I found the early shoots of many other spring bulbs were already starting to make their appearance, like daffodils and even hyacinths. After what seemed like a long and cold winter, it was a refreshing change and a welcome sight to see these harbingers of better days ahead, right under our feet. (And I didn't even have to take my shoes off.) It suddenly occurred to me that if winter is truly over, this would be the first time that I can remember, and possibly ever, that both bird bath heaters actually worked for the entire season, without one or both conking out and being replaced in the middle, and sometimes even the replacement would conk out as well. So this would be a notable achievement, and here I am making a note of it right now, and while I wouldn't rule out the possibility that Old Man Winter still has some more tricks up his sleeve, or maybe hidden in his shoes, it's still an improvement over just about every other year that I can think of, at least in the outdoor heating category.

Of course, everyone knows that my decorative concrete fountain has been pressed into service as a bird bath, for lack of having another bird bath that wasn't already broken or leaky, but it was never intended for that function, and I'm sure the designers would be appalled at the idea. I wasn't expecting the center support to crack, which it did a few years ago, allowing the ornamental upper portion to tilt over in a precarious manner that does nothing to enhance its functionality or appearance, believe me. In fact, the entire support would have broken completely apart, except for the fact that the bottom of the fountain is filled with gravel, so even after it split, it really had nowhere to go. All this time, I've been blaming what I consider this sissy center support for not being strong enough to stand up to the elements, but recently I've had a change of heart. The bird bath heater that's in the fountain now is not very powerful, and in very low temperatures, much of the water freezes, except in a small area right around where the heater is. Since this was such a cold winter, there was ice in the fountain more often than in other years, and as we all learned about glaciers, ice can be a relentless and destructive force, even against the sturdiest objects. When I was busy clearing leaves out of the flower beds around the fountain, I noticed that a brick that was in the water to hold down the heater cord, had been completely crushed by the ice into shards all the way through. I was really surprised, although probably not as much as the poor brick was, which likely didn't even see it coming, not that it would have been able to do anything about it, even if it had. And don't forget, this was with the heater still working all winter, mind you, so just imagine what would have happened if it broke. Somehow, I can't find any way to blame this on our juvenile delinquent squirrels and incorrigible raccoons, try as I might.

Of course, I always say that there's no time like winter for sawing firewood for camping, and I've been making great strides in the piles of branches that have been laying around our back yard, waiting for me to cut them up into logs that I can take on vacation. Now, it must be said that some of this wood has been lounging around in the open so long that it has basically disintegrated to nothing more than sawdust at this point, being held together only by its bark and not much else. When you pick it up to saw it into pieces, it just breaks apart in your hands, without a saw getting anywhere near it. There were other pieces that were so dry, that they would simply snap into segments if you stepped on them, and even the bigger sections would break if you smacked them against something hard. That saved me a lot of time and effort over sawing, and decreased the amount of stuff that I did have to saw, so I got a lot more done than I would have expected. It didn't take long to reduce three huge and gangly heaps of jumbled wood, into two neat and manageable clumps, with the rest going to its proper place in the firewood rack, and even the overflow bundled together in a tidy manner and out of the way for a change. So now it actually looks a lot more like someone organizing their firewood for a purpose, rather than the catastrophic results of a rogue tornado blasting through the yard, tossing wood around randomly in a willy-nilly manner everywhere, and looking like who done it and ran. I'd love to invite people over to see how nice it looks, but I admit that I would be tempted to ask them to take off their shoes.

In other local news, and it doesn't get any more local than this, Wednesday was my birthday, and around here, you can really count on the birthday elves to pull out all the stops and come across with the goods, so this was no exception. We had a nice relaxing dinner at home, rather than going out, and of course, presents are always something to look forward to. Since our anniversary is only a week before my birthday, it's a challenge to come up with more and different presents, but Bill is more than equal to the task, not only coming up with ideas and shopping, but wrapping everything up in fine style besides. This time around, there were more books, more music CDs, a new MP3 player, and a wonderful LED flashlight that stands up on its own tripod, which has a cool factor that would be hard to beat. Best of all, I got my very own Garmin Nuvi GPS, just like Bill has in his car, so I can drive around with impunity, going hither and yon, and not worry about getting lost. Friends of ours have the newer versions of GPS devices in their cars, and they always seem awfully bossy and antagonistic to me, so I'm glad to have the same nice friendly recorded lady in mine that I'm used to already, who doesn't bark at you or sound all snooty and disparaging about your travel choices. After all, the last thing I need is to park the car in the garage and have her tell me that I have to take my shoes off.

Elle

Winter Wonderland

Hello World,

Happy March! I always say, there's nothing like 10 inches of snow to start your week off with a bang, and that's what happened here on Monday, when many people were ready to hope that we had already seen the last of Old Man Winter in these parts, no thanks so very much not. After that, they turned on the deep freeze, which was so uncharacteristic of March in New York that a person couldn't help but wonder if it was beginning to look like the Revenge of the Reporter Who Got Bit by the Groundhog, rather than just the usual six more weeks of winter. It finally started to ease up by Friday, but everywhere you go, people still have that wary, haunted look, as if they don't trust what Mother Nature might be getting ready to throw at them next. And with the way the weather has been going, with tornadoes in the plains, snow in the deep south, and wild fires out west, you honestly don't know where to go to get away from these crazy conditions. Personally, I figure my best bet is to move in with our old nemesis Comrade Mischka and his infernal weather machine in the Kremlin, because then at least I'd know what was coming.

Also this week, Tuesday was our anniversary, and we went out to dinner to celebrate, which had its good points and bad points, and was not the unalloyed joy that we might have preferred. After that, we came home and opened presents, which included apparel, books, music CDs, household items, jewelry, plants, and a new HP H470 mobile color printer, which weighing in at a hefty 15 pounds, is my idea of "mobile" only in the sense that you could plop it on a rolling luggage cart and drag it around with you. On the other hand, I always say that any day that includes presents and eating out is a good day, so by that criteria, our 26th anniversary was a rousing success.

The next day, we paid a visit to our accountant for the preparation of our annual taxes, which was not as "taxing" (get it?!) as we might have feared, in spite of the climate of economic doom and gloom all around. Since we weren't overly thrilled with our anniversary dinner from the night before, that was reason enough for us to try again, and so we stopped at the diner on the way home, and had a better dinner than the previous one, and glad of it. What with all the snow, and appointments, and celebrations, and a lot of other things going on, it turned out to be a long week that made Friday all the more welcome when it finally rolled around at long last, and not a moment too soon, believe me.

Speaking of moments too soon, it should come as a surprise to no one that this weekend will be the beginning of the dratted Daylight Shifting Time, which contrary to its actual name, does not "save" any daylight, but merely shifts a confused populace around it, by forcing them to get everywhere an hour earlier. Everyone knows that I'm no fan of this cockamamie folderol under the best of circumstances, but trying to foist this on a bunch of grouchy Christians in Lent, first thing on Sunday morning, is just asking for trouble, and I don't mind saying, they're bound to get plenty of it. Even in this technologically advanced age, something that would seem as simple as automatically adjusting the time to account for DST seems to be way beyond the abilities of electronic equipment everywhere, so everyone either has to reset the time manually on everything they own, or learn to live in the varying time zones between their watch, computer, alarm clock, car radio, microwave, answering machine, fax machine, cell phone, digital camera, copier, VCR, alarm system, appliance timers and cable TV boxes. At the hospital, even the employee time clocks, which cost a fortune, do not automatically adjust for the biannual change in time, so that when you do the time cards later, it appears that everyone came in an hour late on Monday. (In a normal place with Engineering staff on the job 24/7, you might expect it to be someone's responsibility to go around and reset the time on the clocks before everyone starts to arrive for their regular shifts on Monday morning, but somehow that never seems to happen.) With all of the various equipment scattered about the campus, in offices and nursing units and clinical areas in different buildings, it can take a month or more for everything to get to being all the same time once again, only to find ourselves doing the exact same thing all over again in reverse, later in the year. People can call me a hidebound reactionary (they'd better not!) but it certainly makes me doubt the process of evolution, that a supposedly advanced civilization is still mired in the tar pits of Daylight Stupid Time, and no end in sight. At this rate, I expect that beetles will finally stop falling into water bowls, while future generations of mulish human beings will still be torturing themselves with this chronological rift twice a year for no reason. You can bet that somewhere, the dinosaurs are laughing themselves silly.

Speaking of silly things, it was in Sunday's local newspaper that they ran a front page story about the Jonas Brothers appearing at a movie theater in West Nyack, for the premiere of their 3-D concert film. The audience response was electrifying, although they stopped short of giving it a name, like what they would have described back in the old days as "Beatlemania." The reporter interviewed two sisters, among the screaming and cheering fans, who had burst out crying at the sight of their idols, up close and in person, right in their midst. The story described one of them as being " ... overwhelmed to tears, and practically speechless. 'They're cute, and I like their music,' she eeked out'." Seriously, eeked is what it said. I would appreciate if you would just go right ahead and supply your own punch line here, because with something like that on the front page of our newspaper, I find myself also being overwhelmed to tears and practically speechless.

On the subject of speeches, I inadvertently discovered the reason behind the new and improved shorter sermons that we've been enjoying at church recently. Alert readers may recall that our music director retired at the end of last year (and strenuously denies that our ineptitude at Lessons & Carols had anything to do with it) and so we've had a series of substitute musicians since then, while we look for a full-time replacement for the position. Apparently, one of the people filling in on a semi-recurring basis has a train to catch after church, so that if the sermon runs too long, our organist would have to run out while we're still having communion, and not make it to the end of the service, much less play the recessional for us. So it turns out that what years of complaints, and wholesale falling asleep in the pews, failed to accomplish in the pulpit, the simple expedient of a musician catching a train has turned into reality at a stroke, sort of like Cinderella's coach turning into a pumpkin at midnight. Obviously, it would have been better to discover this secret much earlier in the pastor's tenure, which would have saved us all a lot of time and aggravation, not to mention being bored into a stupor over the course of many years, and I ought to know. But just like Daylight Screwy Time, once those precious hours have been wasted, there's no getting them back, to use again for some better purpose the second time around, although I don't mind saying, that would be the kind of Daylight Saving Time that I could really go for in a big way, and that's not just a lot of Wabash Cannonball, believe me. I'd love to stay around and work up the details, but frankly, I'm all eeked out.

Elle