Pray Tell

Hello World,

Hop, hop, hop! Here's wishing you a very "hoppy" Easter weekend, and hopes that Sunday morning brings you some very special treats and pleasant surprises. Failing that, of course, you can always go out and shop 'til you drop for things that you would rather buy for yourself, because Easter has long since lost its sanctity as a day of religious observance, and the well-oiled retail machinery is busy churning out sales from early morning to late at night, and it goes without saying, with no qualms about it. It wasn't that long ago that Easter was one of the last sacrosanct days for stores to be closed, and you were lucky to find so much as a deli or gas station open that day, but not anymore, that's for sure. Nowadays, it's just another day of commerce run amok, and over-stimulated consumers out there running amok right along with it, and not a halo or a chasuble anywhere in sight. These days, if the disciples went to the tomb on Easter Sunday and rolled away the stone, they'd find a super Wal-Mart in there, merchandising away 24-hours a day, and don't spare the marshmallow Peeps and chocolate bunnies. Between Easter and Christmas, I'm beginning to think that the most iconic figure representing the pinnacle of business success throughout the ages is not Henry Ford or Bill Gates, but Jesus Christ. After all, there's no major shopping holidays known as "Henry-ster" or "Gatesmas," so that tells you something right there.

Speaking of running amok, the ubiquitous golden forsythia, the joy of early spring, has now been followed by the lovely landscapes of flowering cherry and crabapple trees, as well as stately magnolia and traditional crape myrtle, bringing exuberant color in every shade of the rainbow, to yards and parking lots everywhere you look. Even the maples are starting to bud, lending their bright green to the profusion of pink, peach, rose, fuchsia, red, coral, yellow, orange, lavender, periwinkle, purple and violet all over town. Many of these otherwise non-descript trees, which are so easily taken for granted the rest of the year, put on a show in the spring that is a sight to behold, and a cheery restorative to lift anyone's spirits. Unfortunately for us, our neighbors' newly missing dogwood punches a hole in our usual decorative array of brilliant white flowers along the driveway, alas, and the vista is much unimproved by the loss, I can tell you that. But we console ourselves with our bounteous bevy of daffodils and tulips, which seem to open in greater abundance of colors every day, and even early bleeding heart and grape hyacinths in the flower beds, adding their welcome appearance to the mix. When I was out taking pictures, I stumbled across a creamy white checkered lily, an apparition from days gone by, that I would not have expected in that spot or at this time, and yet, there it was in all its glory. It's all too easy to complain about the weather around here, heaven knows, but apparently the plants are all finding it much to their liking.

And while we're on the subject of plants, of course everyone knows that last week was Palm Sunday, and I can tell you that there was no shortage of palms at church, and they certainly didn't skimp on handing them out and there were plenty for all, which is especially important for those of us with lots of cats. I'm well known for always making a point of saying how popular the fresh palms are with our cats, so that I wouldn't dare go home empty-handed, out of fear for my life, and that's not just a lot of suffering succotash, believe me. So it would probably come as a surprise to everyone, as it did to me, when I got to the bank last Sunday to deposit the offering, and realized that I had completely forgotten the palms at church, which were still in the office where I left them while I was using the computer. You can be sure that I hurried right back there and picked them up before I went home, after all, I may be forgetful and not the sharpest cheese in the cave, but I'm no fool. Suffering succotash or not.

In other news, you don't have to be a fool to appreciate the serendipitous juxtaposition of the upcoming 60th National Day of Prayer, which somewhere along the line was established as the first Thursday in May, and which this year, happens to fall smack on top of Cinco de Mayo, and please don't spare the tequila, por favor. I'll admit that I'm the first person to say that there's no such thing as too much prayer, but teaming up with our brave caballeros south of the border, I can see where the praying would tend to take a back-seat to the partying, and I can promise you that the Mexican Hat Dance would do nothing to put anyone in a meditative state of mind, and that's not just a lot of red hot chili peppers, believe me. Or to paraphrase the immortal Mark (Chihuahua) Twain, "Against the onslaught of 'La Cucaracha,' nothing can stand." So to the malcontents and zealots at the Freedom From Religion ramparts, a quirk of the calendar has accomplished what decades of litigation and protests had failed to manage, which is to render the National Day of Prayer moot, irrelevant, and trampled into insignificance by a relentless torrent of sombreros, castanets and sangria, that would make the Napoleonic forces quail before it, much less stop to pray. So better luck next year, for all of you prayer partners out there, and to that, I can only add a resounding Amen! Or rather, should I say, ay caramba!

Speaking of prayer, the local sports teams could certainly use more of it, in a hurry, and in a variety of different venues, including but not limited to such varied surfaces as grass, hardwood floors and ice, and sometimes, all on the same day. While it's too early for panic on the diamond, the fledgling season has barely gotten off the ground, and already the ship of the junior pinstripe franchise needs to be righted before it goes completely off the rails, and pitches over the falls beyond recovery. With new leadership in the front office and on the bench, the hometown faithful had reason to expect the revamped lineup to jump out to a fast start, maybe even justify their huge payroll for once, before the honeymoon phase wore off and the long arduous reality set in for the rest of the season. Instead, they've been out there playing so far like the under-achievers of last year, and the year before that, and ..... well, you get the idea. In fact, it was during a recent interrupted game that their woeful record prompted one wag on the Mets fans FaceBook page to quip: "The Mets are winning the rain delay." I guess the only thing we haven't lost so far is our sense of humor, although the way they're playing, I expect that will be the next thing to lose. Meanwhile in the playoffs, it's been one ugly loss after another for both the Knicks and the Rangers, and at this point, the odds are overwhelmingly stacked against them making a comeback to win the opening round. This is where my idea of having the losers play each other in a series of charity baseball games is starting to look better and better, and while it's true that the Knicks have the height advantage, I'd be willing to bet that Carmelo Anthony can't hit whatever Marion Gaborik throws at him, and with Henrik Lundqvist blocking the plate, even Amar'e Stoudemire doesn't stand a chance, believe me.

We finally decided that it was long past time that we should take our genial new addition, Rusty, to the animal hospital for his shots, blood tests, surgery and all the routine things we have done before we introduce a new stray to the rest of the household. Obviously, this was our idea, and we did not poll Rusty for his opinion ahead of time, but it certainly turned out to be not the most popular idea that has ever been presented to him in his young life, that's for sure, in fact, I'd wager that it way down at the bottom, especially the way things ended up. It all started innocently enough, as these things so often do, when Bill put him into the carrier and closed it up, only to come back later and find that Rusty had found a way to sneak out the side, and looking like he wasn't going to fall for that a second time. Trying to catch him all over again turned into a daunting task that left both sides exhausted and grumpy, and not something that anybody would want to repeat, I can tell you that. But finally he was back in the carrier, only this time, it was tied up with a bunch of stout bungee cords, which were luckily close at hand, since my camping supplies are still handily located in the living room, rather than being tucked away in the attic where the varmints could chew on them, thanks not. Rusty was a hit with the hospital staff, who found him handsome and well-behaved, although I will point out that they didn't chase him around the kitchen for 45 minutes trying to get him into the carrier. Normally, I would bring a new cat in and then leave, picking the cat up after its surgery later in the day, but they surprised me by saying that Rusty was already altered, and so I had no reason to leave him there and pick him up later. The veterinarian said that rescue groups often "notch" the ear of feral cats that they trap-neuter-release, and that certainly fits our Rusty-bear to a "T" because his lopsided ear is much too neat to be the result of an accident or a fight. So it was live-and-learn for us, because it's the first we're hearing of that, but apparently everyone else at the animal hospital said that it's a common practice in the animal protection field. And it made us realize that this was not Rusty's first time at the rodeo, as they say, at least as far as animal hospitals go, but if it was up to him, it would certainly be his last, and that would be putting it mildly. So a gift certificate for veterinary services would not be at the top of Rusty's wish lists for any upcoming holidays, and to be on the safe side, he asks me to point out that includes all spurious holidays such as Henry-ster and Gatesmas as well. Not to mention, the National Day of Prayer, a solemn occasion of reflection and dedication ..... say, who let that Mariachi band in here?

Elle

There Oughta Be A Law

Hello World, Happy Cat Sunday! For everyone with cats at home, you know that Palm Sunday is their favorite day of the entire year, as they just can't get enough of those fresh palms, which draw them like a magnet from everywhere in the house. I can tell you that the florists are missing a bet, not selling them year-round to pet stores, because they'd make a fortune. And don't think our cats wouldn't be applying for their own credit cards, and hitch-hiking rides over there, because they would, you can believe that. In other botanical news, in spite of the unpredictable weather in these environs, the spring flowers continue to explode all over the place. Already we see that the hyacinths are out in earnest, and our backyard smells heavenly from one side to the other. We even have some early tulips, which seem not only very hardy, but obviously must taste terrible, because usually our neighborhood juvenile delinquent squirrels chew the tops off of the tulips before they have a chance to bloom. Our pansies are putting up a brave fight on the porch, in the face of some very cold and nasty weather we've been having lately, and their cheery faces are certainly a tonic for what ails you, that's for sure. In fact, like the cats with Palm Sunday, I'd be happy to vote for Pansy Sunday, which I think would have the same euphoric effect on people that palms have on cats, and that's not just a lot of ecclesiastical compost, believe me. While we're on the subject of things you can believe, or rather, that are simply impossible to believe, I just noticed yesterday that the Sunoco station around the block was actually selling regular gasoline at the staggering price of $4.11 per gallon, of all things. I can't imagine what the premium grade must be at that rate, but I'm sure I don't want to know, and luckily I'm driving a car that doesn't require it, or it would be a long time between fill-ups for us, I can tell you that. I'm beginning to think that Fred Flintstone car that you propel with your feet is looking better and better all the time. They had a cartoon in the newspaper last week about gas prices during the tenure of different Presidents, and by golly, people can complain all they like about Richard Nixon, but gas was 25 cents a gallon back then, which is a number that I can certainly live with. Heck, at this point, I'd even go for the 55 cents under Gerald Ford, and I say, let's dig the guy up and give him another shot at it. And speaking of ridiculous numbers, the early baseball standings are enough to make the sports prognosticators tear their hair out, and the local fans despair all over the country. Living down to its historic designation as the AL "Least," the Yankees jumped off to a middling 7-5 start, while the favored Red Sox wallow in the cellar at 2-10, and sporting the worst record in the majors so far. Heck, even the lowly Orioles are 6-6 already. It's Kansas City and Cleveland knotted up in the Central at 9-4, while Texas is running away in the West at 10-3, and 4-10 Seattle has yet to get on track. In the NL East, the dratted Phillies are leading the pack at 9-4, with the Marlins on their heels at 8-5, and the hapless Mets find themselves in the basement with their sorry 4-9 record looking like a bad investment for the size of their payroll, thanks not. Cincinnati barely leads the Central at 8-5, while the surprising Colorado Rockies are all alone at 11-2, the best record in baseball, and for which they should send Mayor Bloomberg a plaque, since it was our very own Mets who handed them a bunch of those wins, and once again, thanks not, I'm sure. In other sports news, the NHL season ended with the Rangers squeaking into playoffs on the very last day, when they won and the Carolina Hurricanes lost, only to enter the playoffs against the mighty Washington Capitals and promptly lose the first two games. There are 16 teams in the first round of the playoffs, making the local fans happy all across the nation and in two countries besides, although it must be said that the long-suffering fans in New York, Chicago and Phoenix already have reason to fear for the worst, and it may not be long in coming. The NBA also wrapped up its regular season, and the playoffs are starting this weekend, also with 16 teams in a variety of cities around the country, although I'm afraid that I cannot tell you which ones specifically. A cursory perusal at nba.com shows the playoff brackets and game times, but without the team names, only an acronym of the city and an infinitesimal pictograph of their logo, and if you're not really familiar with NBA teams, it really doesn't help you much. Some of the teams, like DEN and MEM are easy to figure out, but I admit I was stumped on the likes of NOH, SAS and OKC, for example - so unless the NBA has expanded its horizons and fielded teams in Nohopahu, Hawaii and Saskatoon, Canada and Okca, Turkey; well, then I just don't know what else to tell you. In any event, the Chicago Bulls drew first blood in the playoffs against the Indiana Pacers, while the poor 76ers got stuck playing the Heat in the first round, and I'm sure the Knicks will have their hands full with the Celtics as well. My personal feeling, since the playoffs line up with such propinquity in the number of teams and dates, is that they should pit the first-round losers in the NHL against the first-round losers in the NBA in a series of charity baseball games, followed by the second-round losers in each, which would at least give the home-tiown fans some entertainment value for their shattered playoff hopes. And some of those home-town fans might be us, so I'm thinking, the sooner, the better for this idea. And so it came to pass that one week dragged into the next while Bill was still in Rental Car Land with the cute-ish maroon Kia Spectra, and he was starting to appreciate some of its particular advantages, notably that it was better than walking, especially in foul weather. While it may not have been the peppiest vehicle to ever roll off the assembly line, it was sturdy and reliable, with enough room to be comfortable, and enough features to be convenient. Suddenly the rug was pulled out from under him, so to speak, and they swapped his ride for a smaller blue Hyundai Sonata, which they considered a step up in automotive class, but which Bill found did not suit him at all, and a few days of that was more than plenty. So on Friday, he dove back into the used car waters, and surfaced with a 2004 Dodge Neon that was in his price range, with the added benefit that they gave it to him the same day, all registered and inspected and everything, so you can't beat that. It's a nice looking, almost sporty 4-door sedan, that is dark gray with a spiffy metallic finish and chrome wheels, not to mention the requisite spoiler to round out the look. It's the closest we've ever come to a new car, being a mere 7 years old, and has many of the amenities that come standard on new cars nowadays, that have heretofore been nothing but a mystery to us, such as key fobs that open the doors remotely. It's surprisingly roomy for a smaller car, and more comfortable than the Kia (which wouldn't be hard to do, because as much as I liked the Kia, it was like sitting on a park bench) and we found it remarkably clean and shiny, inside and out, for a used car with relatively high mileage. So we've entered a new chapter in our lives, as we bid a fond farewell to the Buick, our faithful steed, and welcome the new Neon (which Bill has named Snatam Kar, in honor of the CD that is stuck in the car stereo, and please feel free to check out her web site at www.snatamkaur.com if you need some quiet reflection) that we hope to enjoy for many years to come. I don't mind saying, it's got some pretty big shoes to fill, and it's not going to get by on its looks forever, even with that spoiler on the back. Earlier in the week, we had all gotten an email at work from the President of the hospital, with the following unexpected message: ================================ Tomorrow, April 13, the hospital is hosting a shot for the TV program "Law & Order: Criminal Intent." The crew will be on campus from 8:00 AM until mid-afternoon. They will be using OR-3 for their filming, as well as my office. The disruption should be minimal, but your cooperation in keeping our focus on healthcare will be appreciated. ================================ My favorite part is where it says that the "disruption should be minimal," which is a curious statement from anyone who has worked at the hospital for very many years, as he has. It's been proven time and again that ANY extra-curricular activities on the property can bring the normal functioning of the institution to a standstill in a matter of moments in most cases. Please feel free to ask me about the demolition of the smokestack, or even better, the enormous crane that installed the gigantic turquoise temporary boilers in the employee courtyard, lo these many years ago. I saw staff standing around and gawking at these events that I hadn't seen at their desks in so many years, that I thought they didn't work there anymore. Even an itinerant hawk making a lunch raid on a resident pigeon was enough to draw the kind of a crowd that the annual Safety Fair could only hope for. So as far as being a disruption, that goes without saying. But the other part is what you find out if you have any experience with filming, which is about the opposite of what most people expect. When the idea is first suggested, everyone seems to approach it with enthusiasm, and they all say: "How exciting!" or "This should be interesting!" or "I can't wait to see the celebrities!" Then around half-way through the proceedings, just about everybody has changed their tune, and now all you hear is loud moans of: "Never again!" It held true at the hospital on Wednesday, as the caravan of trucks rolled in, debarking the dozens of technicians and service staff, and copious welter of equipment everywhere, and suddenly what might have seemed like a good idea in theory, was turning into a nightmare in reality. Everyone complained that they couldn't get from one side of the building to another, there were no elevators to be had, and even the President's secretary ("Her Executiveness") was summarily chased out of her office for the duration, and nowhere else to go, poor thing. So it didn't take long for them to wear out their welcome, and probably the feeling was mutual by the time all was said and done, and both sides probably happy when it was time to pack up and call it a day. So I would advise you to be on the lookout for an upcoming episode of LOCI that has an acknowledgment in the credits to the effect: "With no thanks at all to The Employer of Last Resort in the Queen City on the Sound," and you'll be sure to know which is the episode in question. I would tell you more, but that would be a spoiler, and after all, my name isn't - Snatam Kar

If I Had A Hammer

Hello World, Play ball! Well, the baseball season has finally gotten under way in cities all across the country, although it must be said that tossing around the old horsehide in April can be an exercise in character-building that is not for the faint-hearted, and that goes for players and spectators alike, in some of the more inhospitable climes. And while it's a well-known axiom that early season records are no indication of things to come (after all, no one expects the Red Sox to go 0-162 simply because they started the season 0-5) it can't be overlooked that the Mets are already playing like a .500 team, with a record of 3-3 in their first two series out of the gate. I suppose there is something to be said for the old standby reassuring sameness, although I have to point out that it is Lent, and so those are words that I am not at liberty to use at this time. Speaking of time, for anyone who wondered when the switch-over to Daylight Saving Time would have occurred under the old schedule, I have the answer to that, because my Palm just changed the time over to DST finally on Monday, April 4, springing ahead belatedly to join the rest of humanity at long last, thanks not. This is the kind of Johnny-Come-Lately that's not going to win any punctuality awards, and that's not just a lot of peanuts and Cracker Jacks, believe me. Meanwhile at work, I found myself at a meeting recently, where someone used the phrase: "You can just put your 'John Henry' right there." Now, I realize that the mighty John Henry was a steel-drivin' man, Lord, Lord, but I'm not sure how much his signature would be worth as a guarantee of integrity, compared to a more upstanding citizen such as John Hancock, for example. And while we're on the subject of integrity, I was on the phone last week with an insurance adjuster, who was emphasizing the fact that we all need to protect ourselves from the threat of lawsuits these days, because as he put it, "There are a lot of scrupulous people out there." Personally, I'm more worried about the unscrupulous people, and if we have to worry about the scrupulous ones as well, by golly, the world really is going to blazes in a hand-basket, and at this rate, we're all bound to die with a hammer in our hands, Lord, Lord. Also at work, I answered a call in our department from one of the executive secretaries in Administration (and please remember that she called me, not the other way around) who said she needed to ask me a question about someone in another department, that is to say, oh you know, what's-her-name ... and here, she just sort of trailed off with a resigned air of bewilderment and unable to continue. At that point, I admit that I laughed and said I couldn't help her with that, because I would never be known for my ESP, so without any further clues, she could not count on me to come up with the person in question. She apologized, and made a point to acknowledge all of the many things that I always do for her, and here she's asking me to be a mind-reader on top of everything else. "Oh no," I assured her. "Heck, I can't even read my OWN mind anymore, much less someone else's!" She laughed. Alert readers may recall that Bill and I enjoyed an interesting train adventure in January, rather than driving the Buick all the way to Albany and back, in order to spare the balky transmission even more wear and tear. We don't like to complain about the Buick, not only because it's 25 years old, but also because we've had it for 10 years and it hasn't given us any trouble in all that time. But when Bill took it to work on Monday and tried to back up into the driveway, he discovered to his chagrin that was no longer one of his options, as the transmission had unilaterally decided to reduce its mobility selections to moving forward and standing still, while going in reverse was now a thing of the past. Fortunately, our mechanic was still in front of him by just a couple of blocks, and he was able to drive forward over there without needing to back up at any point, which was indeed fortuitous under the circumstances. The mechanic declared that the day had come, as we knew it would, that the noble Regal was past repairing, and it was time for us to part ways. Even worse, since he's our usual source of replacement cars, he said that he had no cars available for us to take off his hands, because he claimed that the economy is so bad that nobody is getting rid of their cars, and may I say to the President's economic advisers, thank you so very much not. Striking out on his own, Bill's first try was at local used car dealer around the corner from his job, where they had a couple of nice cars that were reasonably priced, but our eagle-eyed mechanic voted them both down after a cursory examination. Undaunted, Bill then walked over to the hospital to pick up the Escort from the parking lot, and drove to another used car dealer across town, and they offered another nice car, but with high mileage that didn't bode well for the future. This time, the mechanic not only voted it down, but trotted out the whole tag-team effect with the mechanic and his son playing the good cop/bad cop routine, until Bill threw in the towel and gave it up as a lost cause. On the other hand, they're not the one hoofing it to work every day, and not being able to go anywhere that's not within walking distance, day after day and no end in sight. Besides that, it was turning into a busy week, with lots of places to go and people to see, and mine wasn't any better, so we couldn't even share one car between us and still get everywhere we needed to go. Finally he had no choice but to rent a car for the duration, which is how we wound up with a cute maroon Kia Spectra, and it's been keeping us going ever since, albeit slowly, as Bill is convinced that it obviously needs more peanuts for the squirrel-in-the-wheel that's under the hood. It at least has the advantage of going backward as well as forward, but the legend of John Henry has nothing to worry about, because it's not going to be this squirrel that dies with a hammer in its hand, Lord, Lord, and that's also not a lot of peanuts and Cracker Jacks, believe me. In these uncertain times, we've started off on a safety kick at church, where we grabbed everything out of the files, including the mounds of historical records in the balcony, and moved them all to a secure location off-site as a precaution. This wasn't done in a blind panic, but a more methodical process, at least for some of us, with the intended result that our important documents would be protected from any unsavory individuals for their own nefarious schemes, whatever they might be. As I said, this was a methodical process for some people, but what I found myself doing was snatching everything I had from the file cabinets, and just tossing it helter-skelter into my car with no rhyme or reason. Then I just ended up carrying it all around with me everywhere I went from then on, from pillar to post and hither and yon, and dragging parts of it into church with me on Sunday when I would need something filed or updated. I finally got tired of this last week and took a look through what I was lugging around, and in the cold light of day, the realization eventually took hold that I didn't really need to take everything that I had originally grabbed, such as my spare mouse pad, paper-clips, scrap paper, tape dispenser, magnifying glass, batteries, hidden stash of extra pens, blank envelopes, wooden ruler, push pins, rubber bands, key tags, tissues and golf pencils. In fact, I would go so far as to assert that returning them to their place in the file cabinets would in no way jeopardize the security of the church's sensitive information, which prompted the pastor to concur: "Probably not the FIRST thing they'll go after." Amen! But I will say that unlike the legendary John Henry, that steel-drivin' man, if it comes to a final showdown at church, I doubt that anyone will be writing folk songs about me if I die with a mouse pad in my hand, Lord, Lord. Elle

Thanks A Million

Hello World, Happy April! It finally looks as if spring has really sprung in these parts, and the early spring flowers are a joy to behold, especially after wrestling with Old Man Winter all this time, and I don't mind saying, good riddance. The crocus were open two weeks ago when it was still snowing, but now we have very early daffodils and jonquils in the sunnier areas, as sunny and yellow as anyone could hope for. I see now that the scilla and blue squill have also popped open, with the white anemone and blue windflowers not far behind, and always a treat to find them scattered about in wild profusion, brightening up even the shadiest recesses, however remote. In the backyard, I actually spotted a hyacinth, which I think is much too early, even by early standards, but there was no disguising its cheery pink petals and heavenly fragrance, that's for sure. And while it might be rushing the season, we couldn't resist adding a splash of color to our front porch with pots of pansies, whose cheerful faces can't help but bring a smile to the most winter-weary among us. At work, even the forsythia has busted out all over, and a more welcome sight would be hard to come by. We even have our very own forsythia in our front yard, courtesy of the previous neighbors, who put up a decorative ersatz fence along their driveway, in between their yard and their own forsythia, so that's how it ended up in our yard instead - and not like we kidnapped it out from under their noses, like one of their cats. Meanwhile at church, the multi-hued carpet of crocus has given way to the riotous golden explosion of creeping ranunculus everywhere, front to back and side to side, like a thousand little rays of sunshine all came to play in the same meadow, and spreading joy far and wide. So there are certainly encouraging signs and harbingers of better days ahead, everywhere you look, and Old Man Winter can just head right on out of here and keep going. Or as they used to say in the old TV Westerns, "There's a train leaving town today at noon - be under it." Although the new month has only just started, April Fools Day has already come and gone, although I find that it almost never takes all the fools away with it, more's the pity, and we're still stuck with them, like it or not. For many cities, the first day of the month also brought the Opening Day of baseball season, which as harbingers of better days ahead would be hard to beat. It came as a surprise to nobody that the fabled New York Yankees won their opener, as their opening day record is an impressive 65-45 going back to 1901, which is almost a .600 winning percentage that is not to be scoffed at. On the other hand, it came as an unpleasant surprise to me that the junior franchise in the city lost its opening game, because their opening day record up to last year was an amazing 31-17, or a .646 winning percentage, in spite of many long years languishing in the basement of the standings. One good thing about being in the basement is there's no place to go but up, that is, unless you're the heroine in a horror movie, in which case, you would be down there in your skimpy lingerie with a broken flashlight, of course. In other sports news, they're finally wrapping up March Madness, now that it's April, and apparently the NCAA hasn't invented the "month stretcher" so that their signature tournament finishes in the month that it was named after. They tell me in the NHL that there are only four games left to play - with the plucky Rangers holding onto a playoff spot by the very skin of their teeth, and frankly, they don't have that many teeth for this to be the most effective strategy - in spite of the fact that we won't be seeing the Stanley Cup finals until June, believe that or don't. The same is true in the NBA, where the season is winding down, and teams are jockeying for playoff spots like Dennis Rodman going after a rebound, and while it's true that both Wilt Chamberlain and Bill Russell have more than twice as many career rebounds, it's the rabid Rodman contingent who insist their man is the Rebound King of all time. (That reminds me of a funny story about a vintage NBA playoff game, where the young announcer has gone totally bonkers over a perfect shot that he claimed could not have been blocked by anybody in the history of the game, and he just kept going on and on, and gushing over it, and finally said to his partner, "Bill, I don't think even Wilt Chamberlain could have blocked that shot, do you?" And the legendary Bill Russell, who was acting as a guest commentator in the booth at the time, deftly delivered a knock-out punch with his withering observation: "Only if he was here." Ya gotta love it!) Despite the propitious acquisition of Carmelo Anthony, the hapless Knicks continue to squander their chances in these last games, until their playoff hopes are fading faster than a Michael Jordan fade-away shot, although here again, he'd have to fight off the Kobe Bryant loyalists as to who deserves that title, and personally, I wouldn't turn my back on the Dennis Rodman faithful either. Meanwhile on the economic front, it can't come as good news to find out that the US Postal Service is raising their postage rates once again, although at least the one-ounce first-class rate remains the same (outrageous) 44c as before, with only the second-ounce rate increasing from 17c to 20c thereafter. Postcards will change from a ridiculous 28c to an even more ridiculous 29c, which is an exorbitant affront to society that would have made our proud forebears howl in derision, and who would have considered a penny postcard an extravagance not to be indulged in. According to a USPS announcement, beginning in 2011 "all first-class mail one-ounce rate stamps will be issued as forever stamps," which is to say that they will be non-denominated, with no amount printed on them, and sold at whatever is the first-class rate at the time. (Personally, I think that being non-denominated sounds like what happened to Gen. Leonard Wood, who lost the nomination to Warren Harding in the much maligned "smoke-filled room" convention of 1920, a victim of political shenanigans that were scandalous even by the lax standards of the day.) Taking matters into their own hands for financial stimulation, I was approached by a coworker from upstairs who asked if I wanted to join in on their lottery ticket for the upcoming Mega Millions Jackpot for a mere $5 investment, against potential winnings of, well, many mega of millions, I guess. I had to turn him down, on the unassailable grounds that I didn't have $5 to my name at the time he asked me, which is a pretty sad state of affairs, or as Bert Lahr once famously quipped in a movie: "I'd have to float a loan to weigh myself." It seems that everybody else upstairs and down the hall went in on the venture, and while I'm happy to wish them well and good luck, it must be said that if they win, our entire Finance department is suddenly going to become a ghost town. Speaking of work, even the most oblivious individual couldn't help but notice that things have gotten a lot less temporary in the temporary replacement boiler situation in our employee courtyard lately. Alert readers will recall the ill-fated day in October 2010 when I was off, and the temporary boilers (which had been taking up space in our courtyard since 2001) suddenly erupted in flames and took out everything in their path, including the cavernous boiler house that had been built around them, and had just recently enjoyed its own renovation project, alas. The very next day, speedy crews from the boiler maintenance company cleaned up the danger zone to a fare-thee-well, with only the rusted empty hulks of burnt-out temporary boilers as evidence of the recent catastrophe. Immediately after that, another temporary boiler was hauled in on a trailer, and hooked up so we were once again provided with all the heat and hot water that we could ever want, which I don't mind saying, in that old rattle-trap of a flea-bag building where I work, is often what can only be described as too much of a good thing. The new temporary boiler required longer connecting pipes and hoses to do its job, since the original temporary boilers were still in the way of moving the new one closer to the building, but that never slowed them down, although it must be said that it added considerably to the unsightly aspect of the situation. Perhaps a more gullible person might suppose that the eventual plan would be to dis-assemble the rusted empty hulks of burnt-out temporary boilers and remove the debris, to make it possible to maneuver the new temporary boiler into the same original position, where it might not be more decorative necessarily, but much less of an inconvenience in the courtyard. As for the rest of us, we saw the handwriting on the wall when we noticed that the trailer under the new temporary boiler was now sitting flat on the ground, and no longer exhibited any wheels by which it could be moved. It also sported its own chain-link fence, with no-nonsense posts that had been drilled right into the concrete foundation of the courtyard, not just propped up on the surface for show. Yes, dear friends, that's yet a third temporary boiler in our courtyard that's not going anywhere, by golly, and it can't be long now before the plywood shows up for another temporary boiler house, so that we will end up not only right back where we started, but even worse. Frankly, I think that's the kind of rebound that even the mighty Shaquille O'Neal couldn't pull off, but for all of the Dennis Rodman fanatics out there, you didn't hear that from me. Elle