By The Book

Hello World,

Happy Halloween! I hope that you are ready for the ghouls and goblins on Sunday, and with any luck, there will be good weather for the annual costume extravaganza. I've already made up my goodie bags for the youngsters (and oldsters - what the heck, we have no standards in this place) who may come calling, and I rounded up my Halloween preparation supplies from the clutches of the furry varmints in the attic, which may be one more thing that stays in the living room for protection after the fact, like my camping gear. At least if I need to grab a plastic spider or glow-in-the-dark skeleton on short notice, they'll be close at hand.

Around here, whenever Halloween falls on a Saturday or Sunday, I always wear my costume to work on the Friday before, and that's also when the hospital has its holiday parties in the nursing home and Adult Day Care. Alert readers may recall that I had already ordered this year's costume last year, when I needed an emergency addition to last year's costume, and didn't want to have them ship me nothing but a $4 clown wig overnight, so I tossed in another costume so I'd be way ahead of the game. It will come as a surprise to no one when I say that certainly didn't work, not only in spades, but clubs, diamonds and hearts as well. And I can't even blame the furry varmints this time, try as I might.

A normal person would think after 25 years of this, I would certainly know better, but the fact is that I never looked at the extra costume until it was way too late, and then discovered that it had several shortcomings, of which fit was one, missing pieces another, and malfunctioning props yet a third, making the entire costume problem impossible to remedy on short notice. With time running out, I headed to our local Party City with a list of about 20 potential costume ideas that I could look for, and was highly disappointed in their selection, finding only one from my list at the store. But at the eleventh hour, I was glad that at least they had something that I could use, and even luckier that it fit, although I found that the tail was too long and I had to tie it in a knot to keep from stepping on it. (I should also mention that whoever invented the safety pin has been a godsend for me and my costumes over the years.) And that was how it came to pass that The Cat in The Hat went to work at the hospital on Friday.

I haven't found any calendar that identifies October 29 as any kind of holiday, but it was certainly quiet when I left the house in the morning, with scant traffic on all of the roads all the way to work. There was no one on the sidewalks or in the intersection (you remember, the one with the blinking light - NOT) when I got to the hospital, and I had the crosswalk to myself, even though I was pretty sure that the usually reckless drivers wouldn't dare run down a cartoon character in full regalia. I passed through the Clinic with my footsteps echoing in the empty reception area, and basically snuck into my building without being seen by another living soul, which you would think would not be easy to do with a 15" red and white striped hat, by golly. Upstairs in my own department, both of my coworkers liked it, while the consultant appeared to be baffled at the situation, but made an effort to be polite nonetheless. It was to be the pattern of the day that so many people were off, but as a few trickled in and noticed my costume, I was once again reminded that when it comes to costumes, there is no character so iconic that people won't get it wrong, and this was no exception, in fact, even more so than usual. I was amazed at the number of people who simply had no idea what the character was to begin with, and even after having it explained to them, had no familiarity with it, in spite of at least one recent Hollywood movie with the same name. I was routinely accosted as "Dr. Seuss!" which I think would make the late and lamented Ted Geisel blanch, and caused me to wonder if someone dressed as Quasimodo would find people calling out "Victor Hugo!" as they went by. In fact, so many people called me Dr. Seuss that I finally just said they could call me Doc instead. I guess it was a good thing I wasn't dressed as Romeo or Juliet, and half of the people would be yelling "Shakespeare!" while the other half were yelling "Francis Bacon!" and in the ensuing fist-fights, probably would have spilled my candy all over the floor.

When it came time to make my rounds of spreading joy and sunshine throughout the campus, what with so many people off from work, the trick-or-treating was much worse than usual, even in the departments that I could ordinarily count on for treats. The party in Adult Day Care was more subdued than their usual jaunty affair, as the staff didn't wear any costumes, and there were no goodie bags being handed out. When I pointed that out, they tried to give me some Ensure, but I said they'd have to catch me first. I found the computer department deserted except for the Telecommunications director who was decked out in a garish orange sweater that did nothing to enhance his Asian complexion, believe me. In an attempt to be hospitable, he poked around for something appropriate to give me for my trouble, suggesting batteries, loose screws and a house beeper before finally settling on a packet of instant oatmeal, which is certainly a first in my experiences. At least the nursing home party did not disappoint, and was its usual rollicking shindig, complete with Harvey the DJ, the Pet Therapy dogs and the staff dolled up in costumes - of which my favorite was the young lady dressed as a giant yellow M&M, who was handing out fun-size packets of, you guessed it, M&Ms. The aides roll the residents into the Day Room, and give them all hats to wear, so some of them have straw hats, some cowboy hats, some are wearing tiaras, and many were all wearing the same witch hat with spider-web design that must have been the big seller on the local retail scene this time around. They all look so happy and festive, but the one that caught me up short was the sweet little old lady with pearly white curls, who was wearing black glasses with a big plastic nose and fuzzy eyebrows. Did I laugh! Harvey the DJ played "Alley Cat" when I came in, and we all had a lot of fun with it. Then we all had our pictures taken, and did some more dancing, there were plenty of goodies to go around, and lots of laughs. I'm not sure if anyone knew what my costume was, but it didn't matter.

One place it did matter, in an unexpected way, was the President's Office, where I went to be sociable, and found they actually had candy and you could really trick-or-treat there for a change. In a surprising coincidence, the Executive Secretary showed me the picture on her desk of her grandson in his own Cat in the Hat costume, and he was certainly way more adorable than I was, although she was too polite to point that out. I wouldn't complain about the costume, especially as a last-minute emergency replacement, and I was just happy to get something that would work in a pinch. But if I had known that so many people wouldn't recognize the character, I probably would have wanted to carry around a copy of the book with me, so I wouldn't just look like some nut in a big hat. At least it had the advantage of being very comfortable, which makes a difference when you wear a costume all day long, and I must say, what a beautiful day it was, too. Although it was a lot windier than it seemed, and whenever I went outside between buildings, I found the hat kept blowing over, so that I finally had to prop it up with plastic bags inside to keep it standing up straight. Also, I used the same white gloves from last year's clown costume, and by the time I got home on Friday, they were abysmally dirty, so I guess we would have to say that at least in the non-clinical areas, it seems that the hospital fails the white glove test, and I ought to know.

And thanks to the month starting on a Friday, this turned into another of my favorite kinds of Halloween, where I get to wear my costume to work on one day, and still have a whole separate day to get ready for actual Halloween at home, making a long and involved process much less complicated on me. I can come home from work, have time to take pictures in my costume, and still get to the diner as usual for dinner, while the regular Halloween scramble is a problem for a different day. So now at least we can close the book on Halloween at work, and in many ways, I guess we could say it was one for the books. And you can believe me, because after all, I'm a doctor, or at least, that's what people call me.

Dr. Seuss

A Watched Pot Never Boils

Hello World,

Just when you think that October is going to go on forever, and nothing interesting is ever going to happen, suddenly the breaking news starts breaking out all over the place, until it seems that everything that can break has already broken. Well, I hate to be the one to break this to everyone, but we won't have the temporary boiler house at the hospital to kick around anymore. Alert readers may recall that it made its first appearance on the scene in October 2001, when the temporary boilers were deposited in the employee courtyard, and then a whole plywood structure was erected around them, measuring an imposing 16-feet high and 36-feet square, and painted barn red, making it a ghastly eyesore of epic proportions, that surprised even long-time employees. Then they surrounded it with a tall chain-link fence, and wove green plastic bush-like fronds through the links, one supposes on the theory that it would be more decorative, which in fact only made it look even more slovenly and menacing, as hard as that might seem to believe. Fortunately, the fence installers came and repossessed their ugly fence when the hospital failed to pay their bill in a timely fashion (when it comes to paying bills, the hospital subscribes to the policy of being fashionably late –– say, a year or so –– which is remarkably unpopular among our vendors) so after that, we only had to look at the unsightly boiler house, rather than the combination of the hulking red boiler house and the prickly green fence together. Not that it was much of an improvement in the looks department, but after all (they kept telling us) it's only temporary, so we should just stop squawking and get over it already.

It was just shy of a full nine years later –– and certainly not as "temporary" as we might have supposed originally –– that the original exterior was entirely dismantled, and replaced with all new plywood earlier this year in April, and then covered in what appeared to be brick-red paneling all over. At that point, we all just assumed that the temporary boiler house would be with us forever, now that it had already been here ten years, plus had its own renovation project on top of that, and the "temporary" part of the temporary boiler house was just a figment of our imagination, based on a hopeful naivete in spite of the cold hard facts that were staring us right in the face. At least they didn't put up another ugly fence, so we were content to be grateful for small favors, and just learn to love the temporary boiler house in all its apparently permanent glory, however grotesque that might be.

Well, for all of you fans of the grotesque, please step right up, because what happened next was classic theater, that is, if the Theater of Grand Guignol is your style. I wasn't at work on Monday, but apparently all day long, people were complaining about a funny smell and smoke coming out of the boiler house, although it seemed that no one in charge was paying it any mind. Suddenly at 5:30 PM, the structure erupted in flames, and I've been told that the video clips of it have been posted all over the Internet and are extremely entertaining, so please feel free to check it out for yourselves. The fire department raced over and did an admirable job of keeping the boilers from exploding, and even prevented the old rattle-trap of a flea-bag building where I work from burning down, although it did break a bunch of windows. Luckily at that hour, most of the employees were out of the building, away from the courtyard, and safely on their way home, so a full-scale evacuation wasn't necessary. The conflagration wasn't close enough to the main hospital building to pose any real danger to the patients, and the smoke compartment doors worked properly to keep the ash and fumes from becoming an indoor problem. Because the boiler house was a stand-alone structure, it was able to burn down without impacting any other buildings, and the only other casualties of the event were the benches in the courtyard, as well as the unfortunate new smoking shelter, which was in the unenviable position of backing up against the boiler house, which probably seemed like a good idea at the time, but not the way things turned out later.

I came in to work on Tuesday morning to find that the courtyard had been roped off, and we all had to get into our building from a different route. When I looked out the window, I found the smoldering wreckage of what used to be the boiler house –– loose charred remnants of plywood, blackened pipes, melted tubes and sooty wads of debris –– already being carted away by an industrious cleaning crew working at a furious pace. Nothing was left of the house itself, and just the collapsed boilers and some of the larger pipes were still in place, and looking pitifully forlorn and unkempt in the cold hard light of day. In our old flea-bitten hovel, we thanked our lucky stars that we didn't come in to find the building burnt right out from under us, and years worth of documents burned up with it, thanks not, and instead resigned ourselves to a long cold winter before they ever replaced the boilers or cared if we had heat or hot water around here. So it came as a big surprise –– and here, "bombshell" would not be too strong a word –– when a new temporary boiler was delivered that very afternoon, and even though it wouldn't fit in the courtyard with the other two boilers already there, they still managed to hook it up from where it was, and give us all the heat and hot water anyone could possibly want, which was especially welcome under the circumstances. It's true this was a disaster for the temporary boiler house, but everyone kept saying over and over that it could have been so much worse, so we had much to be thankful for. They did open up the courtyard again, but it's just not the same without the temporary boiler house that we all loved to hate, and we certainly won't have that to kick around anymore. Somewhere, a tall prickly green fence is having the last laugh.

Of course, it wouldn't be hospital management if they didn't send out a memo after the event, and this was up to their usual standards, which is to say, alternately incomprehensible and inadvertently funny, especially with this opening salvo:

=========================
As many of you know this Monday we experienced an unfortunate fire. In the early afternoon, employees alerted engineering staff to an odor. Engineering determined the issue was in the boiler building and put in an emergency call to our boiler maintenance company. Upon arrival, the outside maintenance engineers determined that a component of the boiler was excessively "hot" and the boiler was immediately shut down. Even with quick action, the overheated boilers erupted into flames around 5:30pm. The fire alarms were pulled; the emergency management team was called into action alerting staff, patients and visitors of this situation. The New Rochelle Fire Department quickly responded and had the fire extinguished within 20 minutes. =============================

Now, my personal feeling is that there's no point in that whole first paragraph detailing all the things that were done to keep the situation under control, if they were all just going to stand around and watch the thing burn to the ground anyway, and take the ill-fated smoking shelter right along with it. Of course, this is why I'm nothing but an obscure and low-paid underling, and not the high-priced CEO of a middling community hospital, where it takes them all day, and scores of people, to baby-sit a smoking boiler that burns down right in front of their faces in spite of it all. And if you had to send out a memo to thank the fire department, and acknowledge the employees who remained calm and professional throughout, I certainly wouldn't showcase the management's ineptitude by enumerating all the things that didn't work, as if it was some proud accomplishment worth sharing, for heaven's sake. In the immortal words of the legendary Branch Rickey, "We could have done that without you, Ralph."

In other news, I was shooting the breeze with a colleague that I know from work, and she was waxing poetic in a wistful way about how she wished that she could ditch it all and go live like a beach bum in some island paradise, except as she pointed out, she would never be able to afford her cell phone plan that way. I said that we couldn't do that, because Bill wouldn't want to be without his cable channels, which must have struck a nerve, because she suddenly launched into a diatribe about all of the couch potatoes in her life, sitting around and doing nothing but watching television every waking moment, and she was plenty sick and tired of it, I can tell you that. I said that I wouldn't complain about Bill enjoying his TV shows, not only because he is a prince among men, but because he does the bulk of the heavy lifting around the house –– doing all of the cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping, as well as cutting the grass, without fanfare or complaint, year in and year out. She thought about that for a moment, and then asked me very plainly, "So what do YOU do?" I explained to her that I'm the brains of the operation, but even as someone who is basically a total stranger, even she could tell that couldn't possibly be true, and she would be right. So one day last week when I was at home and Bill was out, he came back to find that I had washed the dishes and cleaned the bathroom in his absence. Fortunately, the paramedics responded promptly when he went into cardiac arrest, and disaster was narrowly averted. I was going to send out a memo, but first I have to settle this argument between Branch Rickey and the prickly green fence over who gets the last laugh, Ralph.

Elle

Count To Ten

Hello World,

Well, it certainly does seem as if the month is chugging right along out from under us, with even Columbus Day having come and gone, and the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria right along with it, by golly. This is obviously no time to shilly-shally, as we could all nod off only to find ourselves staring down both barrels of Thanksgiving at this rate, and just like Old Mother Hubbard, the cornucopia would be bare. Speaking of time, anyone who was up early last week on Sunday would have been privy to a unique moment in time when digital clocks all over the East coast were putting out a textbook example of binary code at 10:10:10 10/10/10 and nothing but. It was certainly a holiday for the rest of the numbers from 2 through 9, and I wouldn't be surprised if they took that opportunity to sneak away and cause some mischief while no one was watching. In fact, it might go a long way toward explaining why people always seem to get on the express lane at the supermarket with the wrong amount of items, because with numbers on the lam, the poor addled shoppers can't count more than ten items without having to take their shoes off, thanks not.

Meanwhile on the baseball front, we've already entered the second round of playoffs, with half of the original teams eliminated, some of them swept right out of the first round in three straight games, like the unfortunate Twins, who were slammed like kindling by the buzz-saw of the Yankees. Another victim was the surprisingly persistent Tampa Bay Rays, who many people thought were for real this time around, but were instead ousted by Texas in a grueling match-up that went all five games. The long-suffering fans in Atlanta and Cincinnati also had nothing to cheer about, alas, and joined the "wait-until-next-year" brigade of teams that missed the playoffs altogether. We're actually having our very own baseball playoffs right here in the house, and loving every minute of it. We have our TiVo record all of the games that the Mets win, and then watch them later when we have time. Since the end of the season, we have about 10 games still recorded that we never watched, so we have enough games to go through the first round, second round and right into the World Series, and we can watch our favorite team tossing around the ol' horsehide all the way up to November. The best part is that the otherwise hapless Mets never lose any of these games, so at least in the fantasy playoffs in our house, the Mets will be the world champions, and you know with all those wacky numbers running around loose, they can't even demand a recount.

Of course, it's easy to cast aspersions on the woeful Mets, the junior franchise in New York, the consolation prize for the baseball-starved boroughs after the Dodgers and Giants both pulled up stakes and headed west at the same ignominious time. However, if you take the time to look up the history of the franchise with our friends at wikipedia.org, as I did, you may be surprised, as I was, by a tidbit or two along the way.

==========================
The history of the New York Mets began in 1962, when the Mets were part of the National League's first expansion in the 20th century. The team's history includes two World Series championships and four National League pennants.

During their history, the Mets have won two World Series titles (1969 and 1986), four National League pennants (1969, 1973, 1986, 2000), and five National League East titles (1969, 1973, 1986, 1988, 2006). The Mets also qualified for the post-season as the National League Wild Card team in 1999 and 2000. The Mets have appeared in more World Series — four — than any other expansion team in Major League Baseball history.
==========================

Well, imagine that! It appears that our very own lovable losers have got some juice, as the youngsters say, and not just the patsies of lore and legend that everyone seems to remember. Of course, I'm always happy to set the record straight and give credit where it's due, and obviously, it behooves us to treat this franchise with a little more respect, in honor of their accomplishments over the years. After all, they say that numbers don't lie, unless it's those same darned zany and capricious numerals that have been out tripping the light fantastic since last Sunday, and then all bets are off.

In other sports news, we have this item from the front page of the Sports section in our local newspaper, which appeared just like this in its entirety -

==========================
Meola Sitting Pretty at Treiber Memorial

Mamaroneck resident Charlie Meola has a seven-point lead
heading into today's final round of the Treiber Memorial.
==========================

Now, I read the sports every single day in the paper, and I have no idea what that means. In fact, I don't even have a clue as to what sport this story is about, and to be on the front page, you would expect it to be pretty significant. It's amazing to me that they can use so many words - including the name of the tournament, plus "point" and "round," which should narrow down the field somewhat, but somehow fails to do even that much - and still convey absolutely no meaning whatsoever, so you have no way of knowing if they're talking about golf, tennis, running, drag racing, ping pong or tiddly-winks, for heaven's sake. Of course, the way things are going, our friend Chuck could easily be out in front at the local Sudoku championships, but frankly, with all of those errant numbers out and cavorting about, kicking up their heels and raising a ruckus, I don't care for his chances all that much, lead or no lead.

On the local scene, alert readers may recall a few weeks ago when our neighborhood was tied up in knots with a commercial shoot across the street, and everyone who could, got out while the getting was good, except for the resident "mooch" cat, who marched over there for whatever hand-outs were available. All of the neighbors had been given a leaflet to explain what it was all about, although the names meant nothing to me, and when I checked them out online, I found out that it was some new medication that was being introduced for the treatment of arthritis, from our friends at Astra Zeneca. Well, I admit that I have yet to see the commercial for it on television, which is not surprising, since I wouldn't expect them to advertise in college football games, ice hockey, or technology pod-casts of the latest electronic gadgets and gizmos, which is mostly what we watch around here. But I did notice last week that they were running ads for the product, Vimovo, on the AOL Welcome screen, as well as the home page of MSN.com and bing search results, so their digital campaign is certainly in full swing, and grabbing all the attention it can by bits and bytes along the (information super high) way. I was thinking of getting a prescription for it, but if they were going to give me more than ten pills, I'm afraid I would have to take off my shoes.

Elle

A Hole In One

Hello World,

Happy Columbus Day weekend! I hope that you're taking this opportunity to explore new vistas, conquer new territories, meet new and different people, and generally navigate new waters of adventure in various aspects of your life and times. Of course, it's true that our poor old pal Christopher Columbus has long since become the poster child for the "what-have-you-done-for-us-lately" syndrome, and relegated to the trash heap of holiday history, where his special day is no longer observed as a day off by many, including the hospital where I work, thanks so very much not. But I find that the intrepid sea-faring legend is really taking a beating this time around, as even Bill is going in to work, and his company was historically one of the last bastions of championing the neglected heroes of yesteryear and their traditional celebrations. (Let's hear it for League of Nations Day!) Even in places where the legacy of Columbus is still celebrated, the local citizens had their annual parades canceled right out from under them, in cities where the economic hardship made the municipal government insist that the parade organizers pay for the extra police and sanitation costs, with the result that they pulled the plug on the whole idea - leaving the marching bands, scout troops, fire engines, clowns and Shriners without a leg to stand on, and the stilt-walkers, it goes without saying.

And also finding themselves in the "what-have-you-done-for-us-lately" category, the New York Mets certainly won't have their General Manager Omar Minaya and coach Jerry Manuel to kick around anymore, as they were both unceremoniously fired by the owners last week. In fact, the body wasn't even cold yet, as they say in political circles, as the ax fell bright and early on the morning of the first day after the season ended, so they were wasting no time getting their housecleaning out of the way. Of course, the baseball pundits will tell you that when you have a talented team that under-performs, it's usually not the manager that's the problem, but since they can't fire all 25 players, they end up firing one person instead and hoping for the best. (That reminds me of Ron Darling's famous observation, during an inning of woeful defensive lapses, that when the manager comes out to the mound, in many instances, he would rather take the other eight players off the field, and leave the pitcher instead.) I said to Bill that the problem with the Mets is that they tend to go from bad to worse, so most likely the next two people that they hire will be even worse than the two that just got the boot, but if you listen to sports radio at all, you would find that this move has been about the most popular thing the franchise has done in decades, and don't forget, that includes Mr. Met Bobble-head Day in the 60's.

So it really is true that the regular season in baseball is finally over and done with, and a handful of lucky teams have made it into post-season play, to the delight of their legions of fans in places like Tampa, Cincinnati, San Francisco, and of course New York - at least those fans of the pinstripe variety, that is. Just as the divisional series have gotten underway, this weekend also sees the home openers for the hockey season, giving their dozens of fans something to look forward to through the long cold winter in the wilderness outposts of Minnesota, Edmonton, Vancouver and the North Pole, where I hear their frozen-egg-nog-on-a-stick is enormously popular among the elves and reindeers at the rink, and I have no reason to doubt it. Pretty soon, even basketball will be back, as the hometown faithful hope against hope for better days ahead, except in New York, where they pretty much have given up on that idea, at least as far as the Knicks are concerned. Of course, I'm no sports doctor, and I don't even play one on television, but before they fire their General Manager and coach, I have one suggestion for the Knicks to make the fans happy, and that would be: frozen-beer-on-a-stick. Hey, don't knock it until you try it. Just ask the elves.

In other baseball news, and this of the more momentous variety, we get this alarming headline from the local newspaper, above a story about Alex Rodriguez of the Yankees:

==================
A-Rod's numbers down
but his heads still in a
good place after 2009
==================

Now, I'm not a language doctor, and I don't even play one on television. But that headline - just as it is, with no punctuation - makes it sound as if the baseball superstar has more than one head, which I'm pretty sure is not the case, or it would have no doubt made much more of a splash in the media. I can just envision this story:

[[ STEINBRENNER SIGNS TWO-HEADED SLUGGER
The owner chortles, "The other team's bullpen will be
useless against him, because with four eyes, he'll be able
to hit from both sides of the plate - at the same time!"
He went on to say, "Then after the game, he can do
two interviews at once, in English and Spanish
simultaneously, which will be a great time-saver, so
we can travel that much faster." Meanwhile, the
equipment manager downplayed the added expense of
extra baseball caps and batting helmets. ]]

Well, I have to say that actual headline is a classic example of "for want of an apostrophe, the meaning was lost," and that's not just a lot of frozen-beer-on-a-stick, believe me.

On the work front, we had an unexpected wardrobe malfunction that at least was more fizzle than sizzle in the prurient interest department. I always wear my sneakers in to work from the car, and change into my dress shoes once I get to my office. Yesterday, I noticed as I was walking around that there was a large gaping hole all along the side of the left shoe, so that my toe was sticking out for all the world to see, not that the world was clamoring for that sight, I can tell you that, but there it was. Obviously, I would not have worn those particular shoes to work if I had put them on at home instead, since I would have been aware of the hole ahead of time, but once I was already at work with them, there wasn't much I could do about it. I thought it was peculiar that only one of the shoes would develop this problem, since both of them would be the same age and getting the same amount of wear over the years, one supposes - unless I spent a lot of time hopping around on one foot, and the fact that I don't remember it is no guarantee that it didn't actually happen. So there I was, walking around and looking like a homeless person who should have a tin cup and be out panhandling on the street corner in their raggedy shoe with the toe sticking out. Honestly, you have something for 30 years, and suddenly it flies completely to pieces on you, I just can't understand it.

Last week, Bill and I were in Norwalk on business, and when we were finished (believe me, this made sense at the time) we decided to drive another 30 miles to have lunch at Denny's in Danbury, as long as we were up there. They were happy to see us, but not as happy as we were to be there, and we hunkered down to enjoy one of our special treats of traveling. They had recently unveiled some new blended tropical fruit drinks, and I'm always willing to try them if they're new, so I fearlessly ordered a Pacific Chiller, with the captivating fusion of coconut, lime, banana and orange, plus a splash of ice cold Sprite for an added boost. With that line-up of ingredients, frankly the last thing I was expecting our waitress to bring to the table was a tall glass full of fizzy blue liquid, and garnished with lemon and lime halves. It reminded me of comedian Larry Miller and his famous routine of the Five Stages of Drinking (and if you've never seen this before and you have 8 minutes, you should definitely check it out at -


YouTube - Larry Miller Drinking

and see for yourself) especially the part where he mentions the blue liquor, like something you would expect to see them drinking at a Vulcan wedding. I thought it was an interesting combination, but I found that it really didn't hold together as well as I might have hoped, and I also wondered about it turning my mouth blue, as well as the added possibility of that color scheme turning up later in the bathroom, if you know what I mean. Of course, like the New York Mets, I'm on board with the idea of "out with the old and in with the new," but as for me, I think I'll be staying with frozen-egg-nog-on-a-stick instead, thank you.

Elle

Candy Land

Hello World,

Happy October! It's getting to be an interesting time of year, as football gets farther along in its season, a handful of lucky baseball teams are gearing up for the playoffs, and even the home-town fans watching their pre-season basketball and hockey teams can eagerly anticipate the upcoming season stretching out before them, bright with promise. Of course, for the die-hard sports fan, this can also be the time of year when four of their teams can all lose on the same day, but after all, I'm pretty sure that's why they invented beer in the first place. Although it is true that hominid creatures have been imbibing fermented beverages since about the time that the dinosaurs and I were roaming the vast unformed land masses around the primordial ooze, and that pre-dates the hapless Mets stinking up the joint by at least a decade or two, so perhaps the connection between beer and losing teams is not as direct as we might suppose.

Anyone can tell you that our old nemesis Comrade Mischka didn't fall asleep at the switch this past week, as his infernal weather machine has been throwing everything at us that it's got, until just about all that's left would be the Biblical plagues, and meteorological conditions that are only found on alien planets in far distant galaxies. It was hot, it was cold, it rained. It was sunny, it was cloudy, it rained some more. It was windy, it was foggy, and when it didn't rain, the humidity was so drenching that it might as well have been raining. As a change of pace to the ordinary downpours, there were severe thunderstorms that included everything from hail, to violent winds, local street flooding and power outages that made driving an adventure, and brought businesses to a standstill. In dangerous weather, I'm always happy to go to work, where the hospital is composed of serious brick buildings that have stood the test of time, even the old rattle-trap of a fire hazard where I work. But I did notice during one particularly nasty rain squall, when I brought some papers upstairs to Finance on the third floor, that they had trash buckets out in the hallways collecting water that was dripping in from the roof, which at least is a problem that we don't have where I am on the second floor. I would say that the hospital's Finance department apparently does not have a contingency plan for that proverbial rainy day, but everyone knows that I'm not one to hit an easy target.

Speaking of work, apparently 'tis the season when the corporate gift-giving catalogues are showing up in droves, to encourage businesses to thank their employees, customers or suppliers for their continued support and hard work. These run the gamut from simple holiday cards or imprinted calendars, to personalized trinkets like key chains and travel mugs, all the way up to luxury gifts like fine watches or fountain pens. In Purchasing, we get a steady stream of them from companies like The Popcorn Factory, LL Bean and Hickory Farms. In amongst the seasonal bonanza last week was one from our friends at Godiva chocolates, with their premium confections in a wide variety of gift options to suit every taste or budget. One of my favorites was their New Grande Celebrations Gift Basket, and not just because it explained about all of the treats that were included in the capacious cornucopia, and then closed with this startling remark: [[ Tied with red Christmas ribbon. Kosher. ]] How refreshingly ecumenical of our cotton-candy-picking friends at Godiva, by golly. No, my favorite part was at the bottom of the page, where they were eager to let me know about their discount offer, which they described as "Our gift to the givers - Save 5% on orders over $600." Excuse me? This is where, if I had a business, I'd be saying thanks but no thanks so very much not, at least not in this economy. I don't think you have to work in a building with trash buckets collecting rain water dripping in from the roof to draw the line at spending $600 on kosher Christmas chocolates, and that's not just a lot of ho-ho-hava-nagila, believe me.

Meanwhile at church, there's been no let-up in holiday catalogues there either, and no surprise in that. But I was surprised to see one from our friends at Spiritual Expressions (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at http://www.spiritualexpressions.com/ and see for yourself) and features their 2011 collection of worship dancewear. Who knew! I have to say that I have been going to church for a very long time (some people might say "TOO long," but I figure that's just the neighbors in a 12-block radius who complain about my singing) and I have never in my life heard of any such thing as worship dancewear. They tell me that I can trust their "worship dancewear for the best prices, quality and service" and for many years, they have "brought you garments to match your passion for liturgical dance" in order to "let the spirit of the music move your dance ministry in our reverent and flowing garments!" They certainly do have a nice selection of gowns, tunics, pants, scarves, ribbons, capes, and even leotards and shoes, to get my dance ministry up on its feet and off the ground, as it were. There's even a section of worship DVDs with instructions for your soloists or groups, in the event that your church doesn't happen to have a choreographer to go along with all of your worship dancewear. Well, it seems that things have certainly changed in church, and I can't even say "since the last time I looked," because I've been here all along, while apparently church was changing right out from under me. Can the kosher Christmas chocolates be far behind?

And while we're on the topic of catalogues, what may be new and exciting in the world of adult education, you may be wondering, and well may you wonder. Well, wonder no more, as we have just received the Continuing Education 2010-2011 brochure from New Rochelle High School, which describes itself as "An Award Winning School District." (Their award: Naps Well With Others.) They tell me that their goal is "to present a wide range of courses to the New Rochelle community and beyond," and they do in fact have eight pages full of courses in subjects such as arts and crafts, computers, photography, language, music, and dance, as well as two pages of health and fitness, to keep the Queen City residents, uh, healthy and fit, I guess. Of course, I could find more information and registration forms at their web site, where they've apparently saddled the school system with the unlikely domain of http://www.nred.org/, of all things, which sounds to me like the web page for some team full of nerds in a paintball league, for heaven's sake. One of my favorite parts of the whole brochure is in the back after the course listings and directions, where they show a map of the school building, so visitors know where to go for which classes. I found it peculiar - and here, perhaps "disturbing" might be the better word - that according to the map, the second floor was larger than the first floor, and included one entire wing on the second floor, where nothing is shown under it on the first floor. I'm thinking this must come as a big surprise to the local residents of the area, where the architects have apparently relied on some sort of anti-gravity device to keep the second floor wing hovering above the ground with nothing beneath it. Certainly sounds like the same bunch that came up with the 3rd floor ceiling in the Finance department, if you ask me.

In any case, they offer adult education in piano, guitar and belly dancing, plus 4 languages, including Chinese - although I think it's only fair to point out that the instructor for the course is something called Hui Altman, so I'm not sure if that's actually genuine Chinese, or more of the kosher Chinese Christmas chocolates version, thank you very much. There are numerous painting and drawing classes, all reasonably priced and including a variety of methods, such as enameling, collage, and printmaking. My personal favorite was Ceramics, which starts out with this arresting description: "Advanced hand building techniques will be introduced along with basic wheel throwing." Now, that sounds less like an art class, and more like the bad old days at our church's annual congregational meetings, where people would shout and toss chairs at each other, and I ought to know. (I still hold the record for distance, although my accuracy was so woefully lacking that even people on my side would run for cover, although they often discovered to their dismay, that cowering behind me was often not the safety zone that they were hoping for, alas.) Interestingly, the Ceramics description concludes with this curious tidbit: "The open studio sessions will be facilitated by the instructor for the students to practice previous techniques or explore their personal goals." Hey, what is this - Ceramics or some sort of wacky New Age transcendental retreat, full of pop culture psycho babble, like "self-actualization," "paradigm shift" and "family dynamic." Unfortunately, I'm afraid I won't have time to find out what that's all about, because someone just showed up at the door selling kosher Chinese Christmas chocolates, and I'm planning on throwing a wheel at them.

Elle