Wonder Woman

Hello World,

Greetings from the New World! Of course, Monday was Columbus Day, now only vaguely remembered as the poster child for the "what-have-you-done-for-me-lately" school of revisionist history, and more's the pity, I'm sure. Back in those halcyon days of yore, the dinosaurs and I would celebrate the glorious voyage of the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, because otherwise, we'd all still be speaking "Caveman" to this day, and wandering Troglodytes would still be protesting the invention of the wheel as too radical. These days, they probably don't even teach schoolchildren about Columbus, because his heroic voyage of discovery has long since been debunked in so many ways, by so many people, that there isn't hardly a bunk left to unbunk off of anymore. However, where Bill works, they still observe the day as a holiday, so I took the day off as well, and it turned out to be a beautiful three-day weekend that was nice and relaxing for both of us. Unfortunately as a result, we both seemed to have a short week at work that was about as long and hard as a month in the Siberian salt mines, so we paid dearly for our indulgence, I can tell you that. But I will say that Columbus can do no wrong by me, and the rest of the revisionists can just kiss my Santa Maria, by golly.

Speaking of dropping out of sight, one thing you'd never know is actually still going on, would be the baseball playoffs, which seem to have reached a new low in what is usually a high-profile event. But since the Yankees or Mets are not participating this time around, the local media have apparently lost all interest in the proceedings, and you never see a word about it in the paper. I said to Bill that I couldn't remember playoffs with such centrally located teams right in the middle of the country, where you could practically draw a line right through them - Milwaukee, Detroit, St. Louis and Arlington, Texas all in a row. Heck, the teams probably wouldn't even have to fly from one ballpark to the next, they could just hitch-hike in between games. This can't be the dream line-up of the television executives, I'm thinking, where the sprawling center of this great nation is nothing but a blur to them on trips from New York to California. The old-time Broadway producers used to complain about avant garde theater by saying that it would "never play in Peoria," but I have the feeling that this kind of thing would be right up their alley.

Meanwhile at work, we received a copy of a note from a former patient, which waxed rhapsodic about his or her care and treatment at the employer of last resort in our fair city, with fulsome praise for everyone from the nurses and aides, to the dieticians, physical therapists, clinical technicians and even the housekeeping crew. Singled out for particular merit, it goes on to say: "I would be remiss if I didn't mention my extraordinary surgeon, Dr. Steven Zellindorf and his wonder staff." Now, I happen to know the good doctor personally, but this is the first I'm hearing of his "wonder staff" - which truth to tell, brings the clarion call of "Tom Terrific and His Wonder Dog, Manfred" springing unbidden to mind, no matter how I try to suppress it. Well, I guess it would come as no surprise that this patient had such an excellent experience at our fine institution, with the doctor's "wonder staff" on hand to lend their magic touch to the situation. In fact, probably good old Tom Terrific and Manfred couldn't have done any better in their place, I shouldn't wonder, and I say that without irony.

In other ironic news, one of my hard-working coworkers came in over the weekend recently to catch up on some purchase orders that needed to be completed, and seemed to have a bit more enthusiasm than the sort of pin-point accuracy that we strive for in Purchasing. (Or perhaps it was that darned Hospitality Tent getting in the way again.) Later in the week when I was filing the orders, I noticed that one of them said it was for "SPINAL MIMPLANTS," while another one included "HOLMIUM LASER AND ACCASSORIES." A simple repair became instead "FX ANKLE REAPIR," blades turned into "SCALPEL BALDES," and some poor patient apparently ended up with something called a "SKIN STAPPLER," which I don't even want to think about. This might be what I would describe as the Mad Libs version of purchase orders, and I can't see that it's any improvement over the original, thanks not. Around here, we like to give credit for good intentions, and I applaud her work ethic, but I can't say that she would be considered "wonder staff" at this point, alas.

Our next-door neighbors (ostensible owners of the notorious Cinna-Mooch with the two different colored ears, although she is really a citizen of the world) packed up the family a few weeks ago for a vacation in Cooperstown, to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame and take in the other local attractions. Most people would come home from there with an autographed baseball, or personalized bat, but not our neighbors. No, they picked up the tiniest gray and white stray kitten along the way, and brought him home to the rest of their brood of three cats and two dogs, where he settled right in with the rest of the crowd, by coming over and eating off of our front porch several times a day. (You can only imagine what the contractors thought of him, their ecstasy reached entirely new transports of joy at the sight of him, believe me.) The neighbors call him Cooper, from where they were when they found him, but I said to Bill that he's so tiny that we really ought to call him "Mini Cooper" instead. Now, that's what I call a home run!

Elle