Strike Up The Band
Hello World,
Well, here we find ourselves already past the half-way point of April, and I don't mind saying, no end in sight, that's for sure. This Sunday will be Easter for the Eastern Orthodox Christians among us, while last Sunday was Easter for the Western churches, and after that, all bets are off. We'll be looking down both barrels of May before we know what hit us, and although it seems impossible to believe now, pretty soon we'll be complaining about the heat around here. I have the feeling that hospitals have been doing a land-office business in treating frostbite, because it seems whenever the sun is out, you find people in the local area wearing shorts and tank tops, even though it's not even 50 degrees yet. Ever since February, hopeful individuals have been trying to rush Spring along, and although the calendar may say that it's here, the temperatures have certainly not cooperated, day after raw, blustery day. Winter-weary folks are so anxious for Spring to finally get here, that they must have decided that if they just go ahead and start wearing summer clothes, the weather might wake up at last and follow their lead. The way things are going, I might call that a long shot, but you know they say that Hope Springs Eternal, or perhaps it just seems that we've been Hoping for Spring for an Eternity.
Speaking of long shots, I couldn't help but notice the following sports note in the Best Bets section of our newspaper's TV listings. [[ One of the roads to the Triple Crown runs through picturesque, palm tree-lined Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California, home of today's Santa Anita Derby. Six winners of this grade one race have gone on to win the Kentucky Derby, the last being Sunday Silence in 1989. At this writing, starters for the 1-1/8 mile race include The Pamplemousse, winner of the G3 Sham Stakes on Feb. 28, and Chocolate Candy, who won the G3 Camino Real Derby on Feb. 14. ]] Well, now you're just being silly. I said to Bill that there's so much jargon in that short blurb that it's like they fed a random selection of words into a computer and let it spit out the results in three sentences. First of all, it's been 20 years since one of their horses went on to win the Kentucky Derby, so that's a long time to wait for lightning to strike twice, and obviously the road to the Triple Crown is not running through this park as much as they want to lead me to believe, at least not recently. And I have no idea what G3 means in horse racing terms, and I thought I knew pretty much of what there is to know about the Sport of Kings, but apparently not. I'm assuming that the Camino Real Derby is not named after the infamous 1960's muscle car of the same name, but rather the town that gave its name to the vehicle in the first place. But there is nothing that would share the name that would have Sham Stakes make any sense, and whoever came up with that idea basically needs to be banned from naming things ever again. Or at least, put some new words into the computer and start over again, but heck, Sham Stakes has to go, baby, go, as they say at Belmont racetrack.
Moving right along, we had our very own little but speedy "And they're off!" moment at home last week, however inadvertent. I was in the living room during the day, as I often am, because that is where several of my computers are located, as well as other gadgets and papers that I need on a regular basis. I was about to go upstairs after I straightened things up, but I started to notice an odd buzzing noise that I couldn't identify. I assumed it was coming from outside, and must be one of the neighbors using some new yard equipment, and certainly nothing to be alarmed about. I walked over to the window, but the noise didn't seem to be coming from outside. I walked along the whole back of the living room, trying to get closer to the buzzing, which seemed steady but not very loud, and did not seem to be coming from any of my electronic equipment, any of the lights, the thermostat, radiator or wall outlets. In the corner, I realized that it must be coming from the next room, so I went through the door into the den, and once I opened the door, I recognized the sound immediately, as anyone would if they were in the same room with it, because it was the unmistakable sound of an electric pencil sharpener grinding away at full tilt. Mind you, the room was completely deserted at the time, except for one of our cats Potfourri (and we don't let her have pencils) and this pencil sharpener has been in the den, and plugged in just like it was, probably for the last 15 years or so. So unless the Invisible Man snuck in to sharpen his invisible pencils, for some reason, the pencil sharpener just picked this time out of the blue to turn itself on and grind away its little gears, all by its little old lonesome and with no one touching it. Of course, everyone knows that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational beings, so I didn't try to make any sense of the situation, I just pulled the plug and left it at that. I don't need to be hit over the head with a brass band to know when it's time to just cut your losses and get out while the getting's good. I can't claim that I would ever win the Sham Stakes, but by golly, I won't be left standing in the starting gates, that's for sure.
Last Saturday, I settled down to watch an old episode of The Lawrence Welk Show, which they play on public television for people who like that sort of thing. Lawrence introduced the program by saying that it would feature what he described as "big band hits of the swing era," which I thought would be interesting, because they usually perform music that is so obscure, it makes you wonder where they dredged them up from. So I admit that I was lulled into a false sense of expecting to hear familiar classics from the glory days of the big bands, and I don't mind saying, looking forward to it. I should have realized what we were in for, when they started the show with And The Angels Sang, then followed that up with La Vie En Rose played on accordion, their country singer belted out Heartache, the pianist jumped on board with April in Paris, and finally the baritone weighed in with You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You. If any of that is anybody's idea of big band music, well, it's just a good thing that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational beings, that's all I have to say. After 15 minutes, they still hadn't played one classic big band tune that would be familiar to anyone with fond memories of the period, and I had long since given up on the idea that I would hear many of my favorite songs from that heyday of popular music. But I have to admit that even I was surprised when the band suddenly launched into a rollicking pull-out-all-the-stops version of Hava Nagila, the renowned Israeli folk song, which could be considered big band music only because the bands always play it at every wedding reception, anniversary party, high school reunion, cruise ship, vacation resort or other gathering where they make strangers get up and dance with each other. So just when I thought that the self-starting pencil sharpener was leading in the Sham Stakes, along comes this cockamamie tribute to big bands, with music selected by aliens from a far distant solar system.
Speaking of aliens, it should come as a surprise to nobody that after I was out doing yard work last week, I noticed the tell-tale spots of a rash from poison ivy on both of my arms. I don't mind saying that I think it's way too early for this nonsense, and I was really annoyed, although I have the feeling that I said exactly the same thing last year at exactly this same time, so I guess it does no good to get annoyed at the poison ivy at this point. Usually I get a rash if I work in the wrong area without my gloves on, or if I have short sleeves and I'm not careful about what I touch. But this time I was wearing long sleeves and gloves, and I wasn't expecting any trouble, especially since I thought it was way too early to worry about things like poison ivy, being that it was still 40 degrees every day. The problem was not just that I was in an area where I didn't expect poison ivy, but unlike Thorndale ivy, which looks the same year-round, the poison ivy and honeysuckle hadn't even started to leaf out yet, so if I picked up a loose vine along with a bunch of leaves and twigs, I couldn't even tell what sort of vine it was, only that it wasn't Thorndale. I still figured it was too early to worry about it, and if it was honeysuckle there was nothing to worry about anyway, but I honestly think that getting a rash from a vine that doesn't even have leaves on it yet is a low blow. Of course, this is all I have come to expect from our rampant mutant alien poison ivy, thanks so very much not, and I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of my long-standing policy against using logic with irrational beings. So far the space invaders seem to be taking the lead in the Sham Stakes, with the poison ivy just edging out the aliens from the black hole where swing music is destroyed. In astronomy, this is known as The Big Band Theory.
We did have a very nice Easter last Sunday, and the weather even cooperated for a change, which is not something to be taken lightly, the way things have been going, and I ought to know. The Easter Bunny stopped by bright and early, so we had plenty of treats and goodies to start the day, and no complaints on that score. Then we packed up the car and went to my Mom's on Long Island, and not even bad traffic to slow us down, in spite of all the stores running Easter sales, as if a holiday without crass commercialization would be somehow un-American. We had lunch at the diner and also brought home some food for Mom, and then ran some errands, because you sure don't want to miss out on those Easter sales, by golly. It turned out that the Easter Bunny had shown up at Mom's house also, so there were more treats and goodies to go around, including Mallomars, because the Easter Bunny certainly knows what my Mom likes after all these years. He also brought an adorable bunny cake that was chocolate with white icing, and we made short work of that, and came back for seconds, and in fact, if the Easter Bunny had brought another one, it would not have gone to waste either. (Waist perhaps, but not waste.) We left about 6:00 and were surprised again at the lack of traffic, so those Easter sales must have still been going strong, and we stopped at the deli to pick up some sandwich makings on the way home, which we thought would be a more sensible choice than having more bunny cake for dinner. (Not more popular perhaps, but definitely more sensible.) I had the added advantage of taking off Monday from work, although I did have to go in for a while to get the weekend time cards to Payroll on time, rather than do them on Tuesday and be late. So it all shaped up to be a very nice holiday, where never was heard a discouraging word, and the skies were not cloudy all day, E-I-E-I-O. And when all was said and done, who do we suppose actually won the Sham Stakes this time around, between the nags, the pencil sharpener, the anti-music aliens, the ivy-less poison ivy, the Spring hopefuls shivering in their shorts and Greeks bearing gifts? In a surprising come-from-behind victory, crossing the finish line first is the Easter Bunny dancing the Hava Nagila and tossing chocolate coins to the cheering crowds. I'm thinking that they should probably save those coins, because they might be worth something someday. In astronomy, this is known as The Big Bank Theory.
Elle
Well, here we find ourselves already past the half-way point of April, and I don't mind saying, no end in sight, that's for sure. This Sunday will be Easter for the Eastern Orthodox Christians among us, while last Sunday was Easter for the Western churches, and after that, all bets are off. We'll be looking down both barrels of May before we know what hit us, and although it seems impossible to believe now, pretty soon we'll be complaining about the heat around here. I have the feeling that hospitals have been doing a land-office business in treating frostbite, because it seems whenever the sun is out, you find people in the local area wearing shorts and tank tops, even though it's not even 50 degrees yet. Ever since February, hopeful individuals have been trying to rush Spring along, and although the calendar may say that it's here, the temperatures have certainly not cooperated, day after raw, blustery day. Winter-weary folks are so anxious for Spring to finally get here, that they must have decided that if they just go ahead and start wearing summer clothes, the weather might wake up at last and follow their lead. The way things are going, I might call that a long shot, but you know they say that Hope Springs Eternal, or perhaps it just seems that we've been Hoping for Spring for an Eternity.
Speaking of long shots, I couldn't help but notice the following sports note in the Best Bets section of our newspaper's TV listings. [[ One of the roads to the Triple Crown runs through picturesque, palm tree-lined Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California, home of today's Santa Anita Derby. Six winners of this grade one race have gone on to win the Kentucky Derby, the last being Sunday Silence in 1989. At this writing, starters for the 1-1/8 mile race include The Pamplemousse, winner of the G3 Sham Stakes on Feb. 28, and Chocolate Candy, who won the G3 Camino Real Derby on Feb. 14. ]] Well, now you're just being silly. I said to Bill that there's so much jargon in that short blurb that it's like they fed a random selection of words into a computer and let it spit out the results in three sentences. First of all, it's been 20 years since one of their horses went on to win the Kentucky Derby, so that's a long time to wait for lightning to strike twice, and obviously the road to the Triple Crown is not running through this park as much as they want to lead me to believe, at least not recently. And I have no idea what G3 means in horse racing terms, and I thought I knew pretty much of what there is to know about the Sport of Kings, but apparently not. I'm assuming that the Camino Real Derby is not named after the infamous 1960's muscle car of the same name, but rather the town that gave its name to the vehicle in the first place. But there is nothing that would share the name that would have Sham Stakes make any sense, and whoever came up with that idea basically needs to be banned from naming things ever again. Or at least, put some new words into the computer and start over again, but heck, Sham Stakes has to go, baby, go, as they say at Belmont racetrack.
Moving right along, we had our very own little but speedy "And they're off!" moment at home last week, however inadvertent. I was in the living room during the day, as I often am, because that is where several of my computers are located, as well as other gadgets and papers that I need on a regular basis. I was about to go upstairs after I straightened things up, but I started to notice an odd buzzing noise that I couldn't identify. I assumed it was coming from outside, and must be one of the neighbors using some new yard equipment, and certainly nothing to be alarmed about. I walked over to the window, but the noise didn't seem to be coming from outside. I walked along the whole back of the living room, trying to get closer to the buzzing, which seemed steady but not very loud, and did not seem to be coming from any of my electronic equipment, any of the lights, the thermostat, radiator or wall outlets. In the corner, I realized that it must be coming from the next room, so I went through the door into the den, and once I opened the door, I recognized the sound immediately, as anyone would if they were in the same room with it, because it was the unmistakable sound of an electric pencil sharpener grinding away at full tilt. Mind you, the room was completely deserted at the time, except for one of our cats Potfourri (and we don't let her have pencils) and this pencil sharpener has been in the den, and plugged in just like it was, probably for the last 15 years or so. So unless the Invisible Man snuck in to sharpen his invisible pencils, for some reason, the pencil sharpener just picked this time out of the blue to turn itself on and grind away its little gears, all by its little old lonesome and with no one touching it. Of course, everyone knows that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational beings, so I didn't try to make any sense of the situation, I just pulled the plug and left it at that. I don't need to be hit over the head with a brass band to know when it's time to just cut your losses and get out while the getting's good. I can't claim that I would ever win the Sham Stakes, but by golly, I won't be left standing in the starting gates, that's for sure.
Last Saturday, I settled down to watch an old episode of The Lawrence Welk Show, which they play on public television for people who like that sort of thing. Lawrence introduced the program by saying that it would feature what he described as "big band hits of the swing era," which I thought would be interesting, because they usually perform music that is so obscure, it makes you wonder where they dredged them up from. So I admit that I was lulled into a false sense of expecting to hear familiar classics from the glory days of the big bands, and I don't mind saying, looking forward to it. I should have realized what we were in for, when they started the show with And The Angels Sang, then followed that up with La Vie En Rose played on accordion, their country singer belted out Heartache, the pianist jumped on board with April in Paris, and finally the baritone weighed in with You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You. If any of that is anybody's idea of big band music, well, it's just a good thing that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational beings, that's all I have to say. After 15 minutes, they still hadn't played one classic big band tune that would be familiar to anyone with fond memories of the period, and I had long since given up on the idea that I would hear many of my favorite songs from that heyday of popular music. But I have to admit that even I was surprised when the band suddenly launched into a rollicking pull-out-all-the-stops version of Hava Nagila, the renowned Israeli folk song, which could be considered big band music only because the bands always play it at every wedding reception, anniversary party, high school reunion, cruise ship, vacation resort or other gathering where they make strangers get up and dance with each other. So just when I thought that the self-starting pencil sharpener was leading in the Sham Stakes, along comes this cockamamie tribute to big bands, with music selected by aliens from a far distant solar system.
Speaking of aliens, it should come as a surprise to nobody that after I was out doing yard work last week, I noticed the tell-tale spots of a rash from poison ivy on both of my arms. I don't mind saying that I think it's way too early for this nonsense, and I was really annoyed, although I have the feeling that I said exactly the same thing last year at exactly this same time, so I guess it does no good to get annoyed at the poison ivy at this point. Usually I get a rash if I work in the wrong area without my gloves on, or if I have short sleeves and I'm not careful about what I touch. But this time I was wearing long sleeves and gloves, and I wasn't expecting any trouble, especially since I thought it was way too early to worry about things like poison ivy, being that it was still 40 degrees every day. The problem was not just that I was in an area where I didn't expect poison ivy, but unlike Thorndale ivy, which looks the same year-round, the poison ivy and honeysuckle hadn't even started to leaf out yet, so if I picked up a loose vine along with a bunch of leaves and twigs, I couldn't even tell what sort of vine it was, only that it wasn't Thorndale. I still figured it was too early to worry about it, and if it was honeysuckle there was nothing to worry about anyway, but I honestly think that getting a rash from a vine that doesn't even have leaves on it yet is a low blow. Of course, this is all I have come to expect from our rampant mutant alien poison ivy, thanks so very much not, and I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of my long-standing policy against using logic with irrational beings. So far the space invaders seem to be taking the lead in the Sham Stakes, with the poison ivy just edging out the aliens from the black hole where swing music is destroyed. In astronomy, this is known as The Big Band Theory.
We did have a very nice Easter last Sunday, and the weather even cooperated for a change, which is not something to be taken lightly, the way things have been going, and I ought to know. The Easter Bunny stopped by bright and early, so we had plenty of treats and goodies to start the day, and no complaints on that score. Then we packed up the car and went to my Mom's on Long Island, and not even bad traffic to slow us down, in spite of all the stores running Easter sales, as if a holiday without crass commercialization would be somehow un-American. We had lunch at the diner and also brought home some food for Mom, and then ran some errands, because you sure don't want to miss out on those Easter sales, by golly. It turned out that the Easter Bunny had shown up at Mom's house also, so there were more treats and goodies to go around, including Mallomars, because the Easter Bunny certainly knows what my Mom likes after all these years. He also brought an adorable bunny cake that was chocolate with white icing, and we made short work of that, and came back for seconds, and in fact, if the Easter Bunny had brought another one, it would not have gone to waste either. (Waist perhaps, but not waste.) We left about 6:00 and were surprised again at the lack of traffic, so those Easter sales must have still been going strong, and we stopped at the deli to pick up some sandwich makings on the way home, which we thought would be a more sensible choice than having more bunny cake for dinner. (Not more popular perhaps, but definitely more sensible.) I had the added advantage of taking off Monday from work, although I did have to go in for a while to get the weekend time cards to Payroll on time, rather than do them on Tuesday and be late. So it all shaped up to be a very nice holiday, where never was heard a discouraging word, and the skies were not cloudy all day, E-I-E-I-O. And when all was said and done, who do we suppose actually won the Sham Stakes this time around, between the nags, the pencil sharpener, the anti-music aliens, the ivy-less poison ivy, the Spring hopefuls shivering in their shorts and Greeks bearing gifts? In a surprising come-from-behind victory, crossing the finish line first is the Easter Bunny dancing the Hava Nagila and tossing chocolate coins to the cheering crowds. I'm thinking that they should probably save those coins, because they might be worth something someday. In astronomy, this is known as The Big Bank Theory.
Elle
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 9:06 PM
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