Room And Board

Hello World,

I know it seems hard to believe that it will be June already on Monday, but that's the plain fact of the matter and no two ways about it. In the local area, people could be forgiven for viewing this idea with some skepticism, if not outright hostility, as this whole week has been about 50 degrees, rainy, windy, damp and clammy. In fact, if those were some of the rejects from the 7 dwarves, there's a good reason why they missed the cut, believe me, because they wouldn't be winning any popularity contests around here. If it was up to me, I would have sent the whole week back to the drawing board, but I already know that it would do no good, heaven knows, in these days when there are no standards anymore. It seems like every year, there's a week that is roasting hot and way too early, so that people all run out and buy air conditioners all at once, and after that, there's always one week later that is way too cold, and makes everyone wonder why they took the flannel sheets and electric blankets off their beds. This is just the weather gods toying with us, but I've got news for them if they think that they are going to play mind games with me, because I've already lost my mind.

Speaking of losing our minds, I've been notified by any number of alert readers (well, it was two) that contrary to my assertions in my previous note, you cannot in fact visit our friends at www.bumperbuddy.com, because the web site does not exist. Personally, I can't understand that, because I was behind two different cars wearing bumper buddies, and the web site name is printed right on it so anyone can see it, which makes absolutely no sense if there really is no such place. In fact, if you search on "bumper buddy," you will find a variety of different products for your pickup truck, boat, lawn tractor, or license plate, but not the sort of rear end diaper that I came across twice in my travels last week. In the computer industry, when a company promises to release some exciting and full-featured new software, but then it never happens, this is known as "vaporware," and insiders have come to disregard the hype until they see the real product when it actually exists. But I find it so odd that people were actually driving around with these bumper buddies, which apparently are just a figment of an over-active imagination that is not to be trusted. I realize now that this is one of those cases where seeing is not necessarily believing, and I ought to know.

Obviously, we can't let May slip away without mentioning some of the notable events that occurred during the month. It's true that the 10th was Mother's Day, and I hope that everyone took advantage of the opportunity to celebrate all of the mothers, and other matronly figures, in their lives, without whose gentle wisdom and guidance, we would have long since poked our eyes out running with scissors and worse. We got a jump on the holiday by celebrating with Mom on Saturday instead, and it was a lovely day all around, and had the added advantage of being noticeably uncrowded everywhere we went. We had a nice lunch at the diner, which would have been unthinkable on actual Mother's Day, as we have learned from experience. Then we drove to Albertson and visited the lovely but unheralded Clark Gardens, with its winding paths, water features, and capacious variety of flowers, shrubs and trees of all descriptions, and some which defy description. This too would have been unthinkable on Mother's Day, where the narrow paths would have been choked with crowds and impassable, but a day early, we pretty much had the place to ourselves and enjoyed it immensely. We got there too late to check out their gift shop, so I would have to say that my favorite part of the place were the signs that stated "People who go off the path will be composted!" After that, we ran some errands, which turned out to be more interesting than we expected.

We were making the rounds of big-box retailers, and had been to Target, Bed, Bath & Beyond, and not one, but two Wal*Marts in our travels. At our last stop, which was the second Wal*Mart, we were on line behind a man buying some household items and snacks, who was obviously no youngster, but a grown adult well past his 21st birthday. One item he was trying to buy was a six-pack of beer, but the cashier said that she couldn't sell it to him. Of course, one doesn't like to be nosy (oh all right, maybe they do) but this unexpected turn of events certainly pulled us all up short, since anyone could tell that this man was plenty old enough to buy beer anywhere he wanted to, and everyone stared at the cashier like she had just landed in a space ship from another planet. She said she was going to have to call over a different sales associate to ring up the sale, because she was under the legal drinking age, and was too young to be allowed to sell beer, even though the customer was old enough to buy it. Luckily they found another employee who was older, and it all ended in a happy glow of barley and hops. But everyone said the same thing, that we had never heard of a cashier being too young to sell beer, and that was really a new one for us.

Another notable event earlier in the month was the Preakness, which follows hard on the heels of the Kentucky Derby, and where the surprising Mine That Bird was looking to win the second leg of the Triple Crown and make his mark on history. He was considered an early favorite, until out of nowhere, the eccentric owners of powerhouse filly Rachel Alexandra decided to enter her at Pimlico, and threw the mother and father of all monkey wrenches into the thing. This fleet-footed female had run roughshod over the competition in all of her previous races, which might make someone wonder why they hadn't entered her into the Kentucky Derby in the first place. If it was to try and keep her a secret and sneak her past the handicappers, so she would run at better odds, it certainly didn't work, because as soon as she was confirmed to be in the field at the Preakness, she was immediately the overwhelming favorite, so there was no sense in betting on her. By race time, I think she had gone into negative odds, so that if you placed a bet on her and she won, you actually had to pay the racetrack more than you had bet to begin with. Unlike our mythical friends at bumper buddy, she lived up to the hype and then some, running away with the race and winning handily against her overmatched opponents, leaving even the stalwart Mine That Bird in the dust. She became the first filly since 1924 to win the Preakness, to the surprise of apparently nobody, since she already had a widespread reputation of being unbeatable. The final jewel in the Triple Crown is the upcoming Belmont Stakes, with a longer length that makes it more difficult for winners of the previous two races, so we could see what I call a "reverse Triple Crown," which is that instead of one horse winning all three events, you have three different horses that each win only one race. You heard it here first, folks.

Of course, we can't bid farewell to May without my sister Linda's famous Memorial Day BBQ in the wilds of upstate New York, still going strong in its 37th year, and attended by literally hundreds of people from all over the world. My sister Diane and I went on Saturday, getting there early before the rest of the thundering herd, although several people who were camping out on the outskirts of the property were already there. It was just as well that we did, because even at 11:30, the traffic for the annual New Paltz Craft Fair was backed up all the way down the main thoroughfare of the town, and we were just barely able to squeeze around it and get to our destination through the back way. Admittedly, getting there early has the disadvantage that you then have to help set up the picnic tables, umbrellas, volleyball net, lawn furniture, barbecue grills, horseshoes and Frisbee golf, as well as ferry food and utensils back and forth from the kitchen. But we had a fun time, enjoying a beautiful day out in the woods, with even two deer passing through in broad daylight, which really got everybody's attention. Later, they do sports and grilling in earnest, and also arrange group activities like hikes or arts and crafts, but even if all you want to do is relax in a hammock and enjoy the birds in the trees, there's a little bit of something for everyone. We had to leave around 5:30 so that Diane could catch her bus home, and lucky to have no traffic there or back, which is something that you can't count on during a long holiday weekend for the most part. Of course, it goes without saying that a fine time was had by all, and naturally, I have the pictures to prove it.

One thing that I can prove happened, but not when, was that some years ago, one or another of the new neighbors in the revolving door of a house next to us, installed a fence-like structure on their property right next to our driveway. For me, it failed the first test of a fence, namely that it didn't enclose anything, because it ran from their backyard to the sidewalk and just stopped, without being attached to any other parts that would have made it live up to its description of fencing things in. This is what I would describe as a stand-alone wooden stockade wall, which I would not dignify by calling it a fence. It failed several other tests as well, because they elected to have it installed in three different heights, going from 5-feet tall in the back, down to about 4-feet farther along, and finally tapering off at around 3-feet at the sidewalk. You would expect the fence installers to know better, but they put it up backwards, so that the finished side was facing the neighbors, while we had to look at the back of the fence from our side, thanks not. Adding insult to injury, next they painted it a screaming white, so that when you pulled into the neighborhood, it looked for all the world like a billboard. We hated it.

Meanwhile, the revolving door kept on turning, and neighbors came and went, until now when we have Regina and Peter, with their dog Argo and cat Jake. They seem full of pep, and have been doing a lot of yard work, sprucing up the place, and doing a heck of a job all around. I said to Bill that I was surprised that they didn't do anything about the fence, which although as I recall is not that old (here I'm afraid that my original notes on it have been lost to posterity) has been falling apart badly, with slats coming out of it in bunches, especially in the 3-foot section. In fact, with the peeling paint and missing slats, it looks as ratty and unkempt as our yard, not the pristine and well-manicured property that it belongs to. This prompted Bill's insightful observation that the new neighbors probably thought it was our fence and not theirs, particularly since it was not only an eyesore, but facing the wrong direction. I was aghast at the idea that anyone would
think that was our horrible fence, and I resolved that the next time I saw them out in the yard, I would mention to them in a diplomatic way that if they didn't want to fix the fence, it would be okay with us if they just took it down. I think it was the next day when Bill and I were coming home from the diner, and we noticed that the neighbors had collected all of the slats that had fallen out of the fence, and had carefully propped them up in a pile on the other side of the fence in our yard. At that point, all you can do is laugh. I will admit, although not proudly, that it did occur to me that as long as they think it's our fence, we should probably just go right ahead and tear it down, since we always hated it to begin with, and they would obviously be none the wiser. It's true that this would not claim the moral high ground that we might strive for, but it can't be denied that it's a bit too tempting to just reject out of hand. As for me, I guess you could say that I'm sitting on the fence.

Elle

Bosom Buddy

Hello World,

Happy Memorial Day weekend! I hope that everyone is going to enjoy a rip-snortin', rootin'-tootin', double-barrel, star-spangled holiday, with all the stops pulled out and don't spare the horses, by golly. And while the Holiday Police may disagree, by and large, there's no wrong way to celebrate Memorial Day, so whatever you may have planned in the way of parades, barbecues, beaches, shopping, sight-seeing, hammocks, casinos, beer, amusement parks or sports, you should be right on target for a holiday to remember. Of course, somewhere amidst the fun and frivolity, we should all take a moment to remember those individuals whose sacrifices have made it all possible, and that's not just the lemonade and watermelon talking, believe me.

This may not be true everywhere, but around here, it's certainly been a bad week for newspapers, and that's putting it mildly. It all began when they ran a full-page ad with this blaring headline in one inch letters, as if aliens had landed from space or something: MOM GETS RAPID RELIEF FROM NEW JOINT PILL THAT WORKS IN JUST 3 DAYS! Obviously, there must be people somewhere who would consider it "rapid" if they got relief in three days, but I'm thinking, not necessarily if they were drowning, or trapped in a burning building, where the concept of "rapid" would take on a whole new interpretation. If you called 911 and asked them to send an ambulance in an emergency, which didn't get there for three days, I doubt if you would applaud their "rapid" service, especially since you probably could have crawled on your hands and knees to the hospital yourself in that time, even if you were injured. And a city that provided "rapid transit" that got people to their destinations in three days would find this idea had extremely limited appeal for the general riding public, except perhaps for homeless people, or others waiting for their joint pills to kick in. That headline could have been just as effective with either "rapid" or "3 days," but putting both of them in there at the same time created a hopeless oxymoron that it could not recover from. And while I can't technically blame the newspaper for that ad copy, it turned out to be just a portent of things to come.

Next up were two stories about local finances, on what I would call a slow news day, with front-page headlines in even larger type, as if the United States had declared war on some other country, like France or something. The first was the county government up in arms because the board at Westchester Community College approved raises for its staff, and because the county uses over $20 million of taxpayer money to fund the college in the first place, they insist that the college board requires county approval for any pay raises. A county spokesperson snarled: " ... the college thinks that they can take the money that we give them and spend it any old way. And we don't feel that that's the case." For its part, the college disagrees, as the president retorted testily: "It's just a difference of opinion," adding that the college's interpretation "has been supported by SUNY legal counsel." Since the county government had already scrapped their own raises due to the economic crisis, they described the pay raises at WCC as "insensitive," and I don't mind saying, with good reason.

It was on that same page, and right next to the WCC story, and also in large letters, this headline might lead you to believe "TAXPAYER FATIGUE PROMPTING SCHOOL CUTS," with a sub-head that mentions layoffs and austerity. Then it goes on for five paragraphs about school budgets this year calling for eliminating positions, pay cuts, layoffs, spending freezes and cutting back on special programs. It hammers home the specter of the foundering economy, while asserting that taxpayers have been pushed as far as they can go, and no further. I have no squawk with any of this, until it gets to that last paragraph, which actually says, and apparently without irony: "The result is that spending for the 2009-2010 school year is proposed to rise at an average of just under 2 per cent in Westchester and Putnam counties. Many schools are boasting plans that are the tightest in at least a decade, with a handful ... even looking at spending decreases." Now, this is what you call going from "news" to "blather," because after that 5-paragraph build-up of how the bad economy is making schools cut back, having budget INCREASES in the last paragraph simply doesn't make any sense, and turns this into a non-story, which should have been told from a different perspective. If all of the schools were going to have increased budgets anyway, except for that pitiful handful, then the whole opening needed to point in that direction, rather than starting off going one way, and having that kind of O. Henry twist at the end for no reason. Primarily, both of these stories highlight just how insular and out of touch the upper echelons can get, even in the fields of scholastic endeavor, where you would think they would know better, so that even the insular and out of touch cretins in the county government are offended by it.

It didn't get any better at the end of the week, with their story about reduced recreation plans for Memorial Day weekend, because of increased travel costs. AAA predicts that travel in the tri-state area will be 3.4 percent lower than it was last year, despite incentives like cheaper airfares, hotels and car rentals. The article surmises that more people will relax with backyard barbecues, time with family and taking in a parade. It goes on to quote the spokesperson for the Automobile Club of New York, who actually says this for attribution: "There are people that are still employed that are worried, they're holding their cards close to the vest, and are hanging on to their duckets," which I'm pretty sure doesn't even mean anything. (In fact, if anyone at the newspaper had a spell-checker, God forbid, they would have realized that "duckets" isn't even a word, and just because someone uses it in a sentence, doesn't mean you should print it in the paper, for heaven's sake.) It would be too much to hope that anyone would have noticed the "close to the vest" idiom was being misused badly in that context, where I suppose we should have been glad to get out of there in one piece and still hanging on to our duckets, whatever they might be.

In other local news, and I've seen this twice so far, so it must be news, just when we thought it was safe to get back on the roads, here is a new development to watch out for. For the second time, I have found myself coming home from work behind a car that is sporting a "bumper buddy" (and please do feel free to go visit their web site at www.bumperbuddy.com and see for yourself) which appears to be a fabric sort of covering for the rear end of your car. Presumably, it protects the bumper from dings and scratches, or perhaps fanatic promoters who slap their bumper stickers on unsuspecting vehicles to advertise their wares. Actually, I don't have any idea what it's supposed to do, since it doesn't say, and from behind, seems to serve only as a roving advertisement for our friends at bumper buddy. So for all of you fans of over-dressed cars, who feel that a nude ride is a rude ride, now you can outfit your vehicle with a bra on the front and a sort of diaper for the back, and welcome to it. As for me, the first 4-door silver doorstop with a spoiler that I see wearing a bra and a bumper buddy, well, I'm afraid that I will not be responsible for my actions.

In the even more local area, we finally had a few days this week that were warm enough that I didn't worry about the bird baths freezing overnight, and it must be said that the spring flowers loved it. We had buttercups springing up everywhere in jaunty clumps, spreading sunny yellow all over the yard. The violets and wild strawberries burst out at the same time, and looking very jolly, while the lamium was a sea of color, even in the shadiest spots. The star flowers are always a welcome sight, and the phlox look as good as they smell, and you tend to find both cropping up in the most unexpected places from where they were originally planted. Last year, I had chopped a lot of invasive vines out of our ivy patch, and perhaps that is why this is the first year that I remember noticing that the neighbors have planted spirea on top of their rock wall, and its delicate white flowers are a joy to behold. Speaking of the new and improved ivy patch, the beleaguered Thorndale ivy is making a comeback, slowly but surely, after years of being overrun with foreign invasives that choked off its access to sunlight and water, until there was practically nothing left of it. The ubiquitous porcelain berry has been practically nonexistent so far, while the honeysuckle and poison ivy have been behaving themselves in a manageable fashion for the first time that I can ever remember. In fact, a couple of weeks ago, I was in the ivy patch and pulling poison ivy vines out of our yew with both hands, and stuffing it into trash cans, and never even got a rash from it, unlike usually, when I can get a rash just thinking about it. That certainly doesn't sound like the rampant mutant alien poison ivy that we've all come to know and detest, that's for sure.

Last year, when I knew that I had to take the time and make a concerted effort to clean up the yard, I started on the front yard because parts of it were so overgrown that it looked like nobody lived here. I finally got the worst offenders more under control, reining in scraggly bushes and reclaiming flower beds, so that it does actually look like people live here, albeit lazy people with bad landscaping skills. At long last, I felt that I had done enough to get the front yard shipshape, and could move on to the backyard, which had been badly neglected, and not only looked like nobody lived here, but also that no one had ever lived here. Along the back fence where the neighbor's wall had collapsed, it was so overrun with weedy saplings, bushes and vines that it could have sheltered not only a herd of elephants, but an entire documentary crew filming them, and no one would be the wiser. I couldn't help but be struck with the thought that it's amazing how fast things grow when you don't want them to, in stark contrast to how difficult it is to grow the things that you do want. I suppose the secret is to change what you want to what you have, and if my heart's desire was wild rosebushes, poison ivy, dandelions and porcelain berry, I'd be the happiest person I know. I might even describe them as a bumper crop, but then someone would probably come along and put a bumper sticker on them, and the next thing you know, they'd be wearing a bumper buddy. With my luck, it would turn out to be more of a bosom buddy, and they'd all be wearing a bra instead. I won't say that I'm worried, but you can be sure that I'll be holding my cards close to the vest, and hanging on to my duckets, just in case.

Elle

Tooth And Nail

Hello World,

As far as I know, no one has ever said, "Beware the Ides of May," and I'm certainly not going to be the one to start now. But I will say that it does seem that there have been some strange times afoot, so being somewhat wary might not be such a bad idea after all. That cautionary warning reminds me of safety-related moment on "24-Hour Design," which I was watching on the HGTV network earlier this week, when the renovation team wanted the homeowner to help them build a cabinet, so they asked him if he had ever used a nail gun. "But of course," he replied smoothly, while the camera panned over the crew, all looking suitably impressed at this unexpected declaration. After a pause, he continued, "And I have the hospital records to prove it." That broke everyone up, and with good reason, but we wouldn't want to make light of safety concerns, so please remember this advice when using a nail gun: DON'T. A safety-conscious nation thanks you.

Of course, everyone knows how I hate to be an alarmist or anything, and I'm sure that no one wants to hear that Memorial Day weekend will be next week already, but there's no avoiding the reality of the situation, try as I might. This year, the last day of the month falls on a Sunday, and the next day would normally be when Memorial Day would be observed, but that would be June 1st instead of being in May. Of course, as Bill is quick to point out, since they don't celebrate traditional Memorial Day on May 30 anymore, what difference does it make what day they pick anyway, and there's no reason that June 1st can't be just as good as any other. But that's apparently against the "movable feast rules" or something, so instead they count backwards a whole week to the last Monday in May, which is the 25th, and is the earliest that you can have Memorial Day, since they started moving it around like a poor relation that no one wanted to get stuck with. So Memorial Day weekend will certainly be here before we know it, and if the weather holds up the way it has been around here lately, all of those people who launch the summer season by going to the beach for the holiday weekend, are going to come back white with frostbite, rather than red with sunburn.

It's true that I keep complaining about the weather, and that's certainly not because I'm a paid spokesperson for the replacement weather provider who's waiting in the wings and ready to take over, whenever the current climate retires or gets a better offer or whatever. And believe me, if there was any way to fire the weather and replace it with something better, that would have happened a long time ago, certainly by the Ice Ages, at least if the dinosaurs and I had anything to say about it, by golly. No, there's simply no point in complaining about the weather, which is not only a monopoly, but like the Public Service Commission, impossible to oust from its spot, besides being immune to flattery and threats alike. However, it must be said that as much as I have been displeased with the seasonal conditions in the local area, it certainly hasn't put a damper on our botanical neighbors, which have found plenty to their liking. The dogwoods have been putting on a show for weeks, and while the chestnuts have only just started to get underway, they seem primed for a big blowout as well. Our wandering wisteria, which is usually a nuisance that wouldn't win any popularity contests around the yard, has adorned itself with clusters of lavender flowers all over, filling the air with its heavenly fragrance. Everywhere you look, the azaleas have burst into eye-popping colors in every shade of the rainbow, from the palest pinks and dainty whites, to the deepest reds and beyond. Years ago, I bought a tiny azalea at the supermarket and planted it in the yard, but it never got much bigger and didn't bloom. But it's blooming this year, by golly, and looking like it means business. It's just a riot of nature run amok, so the weather must be doing something right after all. And my apologies to the understudy weather, still waiting in the wings just hoping for its big chance ..... now, what are you planning to do with that nail gun?

Speaking of making the most of their chances, I was pulled up short by a story in our local newspaper last week about area restaurants that had gotten good reviews in the new Zagat guide. You can imagine my surprise when I got to this paragraph: "The survey also named the top newcomers to the region, including Tarry Lodge in Port Chester, Spadaro in New Rochelle and Chutney Masala in Irvington." Alert readers may recall our visit to Spadaro on our anniversary (please feel free to go right ahead and look it up, I'll wait) where we found the food was terrible, the service worse, and the whole restaurant was about the size of a closet. It's a well-known fact that satire goes right over my head, but if they were serious about this, I think it would have to call into question the validity of all of their other reviews, if they can recommend a dive like Spadaro with a straight face.

It might have been in that same newspaper that they ran a front-page story about fare increases on public transportation that had been approved by the transit board. It went on to state: "MTA Chairman H. Dale Hemmerdinger said the plan was not perfect, but it put riders in a much better position than last month, when the board proposed fare increases as high as 30 percent." Please! Will somebody kindly tell me that the MTA Chairman is not something called "Hemmerdinger" of all things! That sounds like a character from one of those new animated movies about space aliens, and back in the days when there were standards, someone with a name like that would keep out of the public spotlight, and not call attention to themselves by showing up on the front page of the newspaper. Hemmerdinger, indeed. Next they'll be telling me that Burghermeister Meisterburgher is the new Chancellor of the school system.

We have Bill to thank for the following commentary on patient confidentiality:

==========================
And it's also funny that your remark
about this COO guy being MIA
engendered that entire HIPAA-violating
FYI that was, indeed, TMI.
(Of course, that's just my Initial response.)
==========================

Well, he certainly hit the nail right on the head with that nail gun, and in his usual fashion, PDQ besides. Not resting on his laurels, he also weighed in with this food-related observation:

=========================
My favorite was probably the Franchise Chicken and
I wondered if Tom Seaver had decided to branch out
from his wine business ("C'mon in and order a #41 --
that's a Bucket and a Bottle for only $41 Buck-buck-bucks!")
=========================

There's obviously no way to improve upon that, although if he were to go into business with Ducky Medwick, Goose Gossage and Larry Bird, we couldn't rule out the possibility of fowl play. (Ooof!) Hey, put down that nail gun!

While we're on the subject of chickens, I recently got a note from a colleague on a financial matter, who wondered about the likelihood of "recooping our money." Frankly, I wasn't in favor of letting our money out of the coop in the first place, so I figure that "recooping" it would probably be a good idea. Of course, with my luck, they'd put the money back in the coop, and then put the fox in charge of the hen house, who would soon fox trot off with our easy pickings, leaving us with an empty nest egg and no golden goose. I suppose this is why they invented banks in the first place, although these days, it seems that the banks are taking more of our money than they're giving, so maybe the coop idea doesn't sound so bad after all, as long as we can keep the foxes at bay. Say, where did that nail gun get to?

Elle

Chicken Little

Hello World,

Feliz (belated) Cinco de Mayo! Of course, the Mexican holiday commemorating the Battle of the Puebla was on Tuesday, May 5, and a jolly time was had by all, because just like everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day, everyone can also be Mexican on Cinco de Mayo, and get right into the swing of things with the rest of the caballeros, by golly. In this neck of the woods, any excuse for a party is good enough, so there was no hesitation in the local area about jumping on board that South of the Border bandwagon and party like it's 1862. Frankly, that last part surprised me, because I always thought the battle was considerably earlier in the century, as I had mis-read the details of the conflict as the Mexicans throwing off the yoke of Napoleon's army and their French oppressors. Turns out ..... not so much! Any student of history will tell you that Napoleon died in exile in 1821, so obviously the Mexicans could not have sent him packing at this battle in 1862, not by a long shot. It seems that Mexico owed debts of reparations to some European countries after losing some war or other, but Juarez, the president at the time, refused to pay, and it was the French army of Napoleon III that was attempting to collect this debt. Apparently there was an unfortunate series of miscommunications between the two sides, which probably would have been funny under other circumstances, but instead, the Battle of the Puebla broke out more or less by accident, the French were routed, and this is probably why there is no such thing as Napoleon IV, and probably just as well. We have our friends at wikipedia.org to thank for setting the record straight on this, so for all of you out there doing the Mexican Hat Dance and knocking back tequila on Tuesday, at least you would know what you were celebrating. On the other hand, people enjoying themselves for all the wrong reasons is probably why they invented tequila in the first place, and you know I always say, there's no such thing as too much tequila.

Meanwhile, the National Day of Prayer was on Thursday, May 7, and if there's a planet in the solar system that needs prayer as much as this one, I certainly haven't heard of it, and that's putting it mildly. In fact, it wouldn't be overstating the case to say that we could use a National Day of Prayer every month, much less every year, and it would still just be scratching the surface. I'm on board with the idea of trying anything that would stem the tide of the planet going to blazes in a handbasket, and you know I always say, there's no such thing as too much prayer. Another notable date coming up, of course, is Mother's Day on Sunday, which has become such a retail bonanza that, with all of the ads bombarding us from every side, it couldn't possibly sneak past anyone, unless they had been living under a rock for a decade, and on a far distant planet in a completely different solar system besides. Naturally, I'm on board with the idea of recognizing the contributions of all the great maternal figures in our lives, and you know I always say, there's no such thing as too much mothers.

While we're on the subject of too much of a good thing, I stopped in Administration today to pick up time cards and bring them back to Payroll after lunch. It had occurred to me that all of the purchase requisitions we had been getting lately were signed by one of our vice presidents, instead of the COO, who usually signs them unless he's on vacation. It seemed to me that the vice president had been signing requisitions for quite a while, so I decided to ask the COO's secretary if he was away, and not because I needed to know, just out of curiosity. At what I considered this innocuous opening gambit, she launched into a long and involved description of a surgical procedure that he had undergone, with such detail and specifics that I was expecting her to break out wall charts, and carrying on all the way up to his recuperation at a renowned rehabilitation center nearby and his progress in their therapeutic treatment. I was dumbfounded. In fact, when she first said that he had surgery (instead of what I expected her to say, that he was in Paris for 3 weeks, or some such happy activity) I waved her off, and said that I didn't need to know the particulars, since after all, patient confidentiality is such a bugaboo in healthcare these days. But she was determined to tell me more than I ever wanted to know about the whole situation, like I was a medical consultant on the case or something. I don't know where the HIPAA Police were at the time, but I kept looking over my shoulder and expecting them to break down the door and storm in, so they could plug this security breach full of gag orders or something, but they never did. I've been working at the hospital for a long time, and I understand that patient confidentiality is an elusive achievement, under the best of circumstances and with the best intentions. But I certainly don't expect the Executive Secretary to the COO to blabbermouth his entire medical history to anybody who walks in the door, and especially when they have already said that they don't even want to hear about it. Around our house, this is what we call a case of Too Much Information, and you know that one thing I never say is there's no such thing as too much patient confidentiality.

In other work news, our crack (or is that "cracked"?) Assistant Director of Community Relations (doesn't that sound like the kind of sleazy assignations you expect in a seedy motel?) sent us all a press release about our annual Spring Fling at the Extended Care Center, extolling the virtues of its popularity, decorations, flower displays, cuisine and hard-working staff who bring it all together. They say that they've been doing this for years, although this is the first that I'm hearing about it, in all the years that I've worked there, and I was all set to climb on board with this whole idea, until I got to this line in the press release: " ... the delicious menu, featuring Shrimp Scampi and Chicken Franchise ... " Now, I'll be the first to admit that I don't know everything there is to know about food, and especially nowadays, when they come up with such silly names for things like buffalo wings, pulled pork, chicken tenders and popcorn shrimp. But I find it hard to believe that anyone has named a dish Chicken Franchise, even if their name is Franchise, or they own a string of sports teams, because it just wouldn't make any sense. On the other hand, the idea that the person who does the hospital's press releases would leave a typo in there also doesn't make a lot of sense, so I'm afraid that in the sense department, we're kind of between a rock and a hard place, and no good can come of it.

Speaking of no good, I couldn't help but notice the following email that AOL had stashed handily in my spam folder, and with good reason, because our friends at Print Hero assured me that I could "RECEIVE 30% OFF HIGH QUALITY BROSHURE PRINTING - LIMITED TIME OFFER." No doubt! Somehow I don't trust the high quality of their printing on a product that they can't even spell the name of, and I love how they tack on the part about "limited time" as a ploy to entice me to jump on this opportunity before it's too late. I'd hate to be the one to tell them that their invitation actually has the reverse effect of making me want to flee in the opposite direction, so if that wasn't their intention, I'd say the whole advertising campaign needs to go back to the drawing board, and no buts about it. Of course, we can't rule out the possibility that the hospital's Assistant Director of Community Relations is working at Print Hero, so that sending it back to the drawing board could conceivably make it worse, rather than better.

Also getting worse, rather than better, along with higher gasoline prices at the pumps, we are now looking right down both barrels of higher rates for postage stamps, which will go into effect on Monday, making a first class stamp cost 44 cents, believe it or not. It seems to me that it took about 200 years for stamps to increase from a penny to five cents, and only about 40 years to go from there all the way up to where they're almost a half dollar now, and if anyone sees a commensurate increase in the quality of the service, well, I for one would bet my Chicken Franchise against it. Speaking of betting, it came as a big surprise at the recent Kentucky Derby when long-shot Mine That Bird ran away with it by over 6 lengths, resulting in one of the biggest upsets in Derby history, and a huge windfall for anyone who bet on the 50-to-1 underdog, er, horse. We can always count on Bill as our research maven to ferret out the truth of the situation, and he discovered that stakes races come in three grades, and based on the level of competition, they may be Grade One (like the Kentucky Derby and Santa Anita Derby) or Grade Two or Grade Three, as we saw recently in the G3 Sham Stakes with our pal The Pamplemousse at the forefront. Apparently the TV Listings did us no favors by touting the virtues of The Pamplemousse at us, because he fell victim to some injury and was pulled out of the Santa Anita Derby ahead of time, and he never even made it to the Kentucky Derby after all, where he might have given Mine That Bird a run for his money, but now we'll never know. Obviously I can't discuss his injury because of patient confidentiality, but if you want to call our COO's secretary, I'm sure she'll be happy to fill you in on the details. And if you get our Assistant Director of Community Relations instead, you can let her know that I always say, there's no such thing as too much Chicken Franchise.

Elle

High Wire

Hello World,

Happy May Day! This is a day which means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, so wherever you fall along the cultural, political, historical or ideological spectrum, I hope that you will be marking the day with the proper observances for the occasion. Frankly, that could mean just about anything, so no matter what you may or may not do, you could safely claim to be celebrating May Day in the appropriate fashion. Speaking of fashion, I'm sure that something which knows no geographical barriers is the tendency of people to throw their sneakers over electrical wires, where they dangle in a disreputable manner until the laces give way and they presumably fall back to earth. We have one such pair of sneakers dangling from electric wires across the street along the parking lot at work, and they've been there for weeks, in all weather, with apparently nobody taking any notice of them. So I admit that it was with some surprise when I left work this afternoon, and discovered that overnight, the sneakers had unexpectedly been joined by a dress shirt which had also been thrown over the electric wires. Now a person can't help but wonder where this will end, whether we can look forward to a complete outfit over our heads, including pants, underwear and socks, to represent a sort of electric scarecrow, or whether it will go more in the direction of a clothesline, with other random apparel added to the mix with no unifying theme. Of course, they say that idle hands are the Devil's workshop, and we all know that the Devil wears Prada, so it should be interesting times ahead on the fashion watch along Sickles Avenue.

While we're on the topic of haute couture, I couldn't help but notice in the TV listings of our local newspaper today, that WNYE, one of the local public television stations, was running what they described as The Designers Marathon. I didn't watch the show, and have no idea what this program may have been about, but I do know that it was in the listings from 10:00 - 11:00 PM, which I have to say, is not much of a marathon, no matter how you look at it. Frankly, except for holding your breath, I can't think of a single other thing you could do for an hour that would be considered "marathonic" in any way, much less an actual marathon of 26 miles or so. By golly, back in the prehistoric days when the dinosaurs and I roamed the vast unformed land masses, you had to actually do something at great length before anyone would describe it as a "marathon," and believe me, if it was only an hour, you'd be laughed right out of the primordial ooze. Personally, I think it's a sad commentary on the short attention span of modern humans that anything of a mere 60 minutes duration could be identified as any sort of "marathon," and seemingly without irony. Of course, The Irony Age has long since passed, and the dinosaurs right along with it, and more's the pity, I'm sure.

Meanwhile, in the LoHud Weekend section of the newspaper, Bill and I both spotted a quarter-page ad for the new Bean Runners Cafe in Peekskill, where they offer food, drinks and desserts along with live jazz and blues for your dining pleasure. This week's ad featured the Mary Creszenzo Trio, which was described thusly:
Mary Creszenzo - vocals
Paul Mesches - guitar
Joe Stelluti - sax, clarinet, flute
John Dunkerley - keyboard

By golly, the dinosaurs and I can remember when a trio had to have three members, no more and no less, and if someone else showed up, they either had to get thrown out, or call themselves a quartet instead. This is what comes of the appalling lack of standards nowadays, where words can mean anything, with the end result that they wind up meaning nothing at all, and also apparently without irony, once again.

I have it on good authority from an alert reader (well, it was Bill) who said that And The Angels Sing was a popular hit song in its time with the big bands of both Benny Goodman and Harry James, in spite of my casting aspersions on it in a previous note, as being a poor choice on Lawrence Welk's part for songs representing the era. Of course, Bill is our research maven, and he knows his stuff, so I'm sure he's right about that. However, it happens that I have in my collection of vinyl records, a compilation of their greatest hits by both Benny Goodman and Harry James, and it does not appear on either album, so I'm not completely prepared to climb on board with this idea just yet. I think we can all agree that Tuxedo Junction or In The Mood would have been a much more appropriate choice than some of the clunkers they came up with instead. Although I will say in his defense that Lawrence Welk never put four people together and called them a trio, and don't forget that one of his show's sponsors was Geritol, so I'm sure he knew a thing or two about irony.

Anyone with allergies can tell you what it's been like in these environs recently, where the streets are coated with the debris of budding trees, and people like me who park outdoors are driving flaky green fuzz-mobiles, with filmy shrouds where the windows should be, and the wipers no match for it. On the news, every year they say that this is the worst year ever with the highest pollen count, and every year, it gets worse than the year before. Apart from the allergens though, all of the flowering trees look great, with the dogwoods, cherry, magnolia, crab apple and redbud all putting on quite a show. In our yard, we still have some late daffodils, but the focus has definitely shifted to the cheerful clumps of fragrant hyacinths, tulips, grape hyacinths, bleeding hearts and violets in riotous proliferations of color everywhere. After clearing out all of the invasive vines and weeds in the ivy patch last year, I found we still had some checkered lily, which I planted when we first got married, and has continued to hang in there, in spite of all the obstacles. At church, the creeping buttercups are a blaze of sunny yellow all over the property, and even though I remember digging one up and planting it at home last year, I have no idea where I put it, so I can't tell if it's blooming now or not. Of course, it's never too early for dandelions, and we have them in profusion, and I also spotted some early rampant mutant alien poison ivy in the back yard, already standing about a foot straight up, and waving itself around as if it's looking for its next meal. It would have to catch me first, and while I would never claim that I can outsmart it, at least I can still outrun it, by golly.

I don't mind saying that I'm just as glad to see the tail-end of this week, which certainly had its ups and downs, and reminds me that it's often a good thing that we don't know what's about to come our way, especially if there's going to be bad news and plenty of it. After weeks of cold and blustery weather, residents of the local area were unprepared for temperatures of 85 degrees last Friday, and over 90 degrees on Saturday,which is so non-representative of April around here, that you would think they let Lawrence Welk pick the weather out of a hat. Sunday was even worse, at least on the playing fields, where the Mets and the Rangers both lost on the same day, which is one of the major disadvantages you have with the overlapping of seasons in different sports. Lately it does no good for the fans of the local pinstripe franchise to gloat over the hapless Mets and their woeful 9-12 record, because at the moment, the Yankees are not doing any better themselves. The first round of the NHL playoffs saw the league-leading Boston Bruins eliminate the Montreal Canadiens in four straight games, and hard on their heels, the Rangers, the Devils and the Flyers all lost their series, dashing the playoff hopes of their disappointed fans. At church, we bid a fond farewell to the beloved music director of decades past, who went on to his heavenly reward, while at home, even one of our invisible cats slipped away from us. This week might have been one for the books, but it would not have been a good book, that's for sure, and in fact, if it had shoelaces, I'd be driving it over to the parking lot at work and throwing it over the electric wires, with the rest of the scarecrow's belongings, and good riddance. Of course, that might be just a little too ironic even for me, because after all, no one knows better than the dinosaurs and me that The Irony Age has long since passed.

Elle