Beat The Band

Hello World, Well, here it is, the middle of April, and already our lilacs have burst into bloom, which is a treat for the senses that nothing can match. I keep saying that everything is two weeks early, and this is how I know it's true - my parents were married on April 30, and my mom had the very first lilacs for her wedding bouquet at that time, and yet here they are in our yard, already open two weeks sooner. That's why I was so surprised when we went to the supermarket this week, and found no flats of impatiens (usually a standard of spring flowers) and only very early pansies, petunias and marigolds for our consideration. Out in the wild, all of the local flora has been so ahead of schedule with the unseasonable weather, that I just assumed that the supermarket offerings would show the same gung-ho spirit of reckless abandonment, but not so. Apparently the greenhouses have taken a page out of Paul Masson's legendary winery, and declared: "We will sell no plant before its time." I regret to say that we all find ourselves in a sadder place these days, as we bid a fond farewell to the World’s Oldest Teenager, the venerable Dick Clark, dancing off to that great bandstand in the sky at the ripe old age of 82 years young. Now that's what I call the End of an Era, which is not only putting it mildly, but an understatement of mythic proportions besides. I understand that they're going to have to discontinue New Year’s Eve now, since there’s some sort of law that you can't have that holiday without Dick Clark – or at least it seems that way for as long as the dinosaurs and I can remember. Of course, that was back when we were roaming the vast unformed land masses in the primordial ooze, and at midnight on December 31st, we would all gather around the henge and watch Dick drop a rock from a tree to usher in the new year. Ah, those were the days indeed, and we didn't have to sit through a lot of nonsense from the likes of Avril Lavigne or the Jonas Brothers just to see the year turn over on the first of January, by golly. Times have certainly changed since then, heaven knows, and not always for the better, I can tell you that. Of course, we had to watch American Bandstand in the dark back then, because fire hadn't been invented yet, which is probably why I never did learn to do the Watusi after all. But thanks to Dick Clark, the beat goes on, although it must be said that he left behind shoes that even the most colossal dinosaur would never be able to fill. In other news of an iconic nature (or perhaps that should be “ironic” instead) the heroic lumpen proletariat at the employer of last resort were more surprised than anybody last week, when the third enormous temporary boiler in the courtyard suddenly vanished from its resting place, virtually overnight and without a trace left behind it after 18 months. Alert readers may recall in the middle of October 2010 when this last arrival was trucked in behind the two temporary boilers that were already there, and left to hang out the back of the courtyard, so nothing could get in or out of the place from that point. Now, this prodigious structure had long since stopped being a trailer, and had not only put down sturdy legs instead of wheels, but also had its own serious chain link fence installed around it – and I always say, nothing spells permanence like putting up a fence around something, so we figured the handwriting was on the wall as far as how temporary this temporary boiler was actually going to be. But sure enough, on some red-letter day recently, the power lines were disconnected, the pipes were packed away, the props knocked out from under the bottom, and the whole shebang was spirited away in the night as if by magic, leaving nothing but empty courtyard in its wake, and no evidence that it had ever been there in the first place. In fact, even the fence was yanked out and rolled up, like a bad dream that we'd all rather forget. Now all that’s left clogging up the courtyard are the gigantic rusted empty burnt-out hulks of the original temporary boilers from October 2001, looking pretty darned puny and forlorn all by themselves with nothing around them. And while I can't independently corroborate this, I've heard people say that there’s an actual plan afoot to dismantle the wrecks at long last, and cart them off piece by piece, which would certainly be the end of an era, or maybe several eras, in our little corner of the world. If all that’s true, I think it’s only fitting that we should call one “Dick” and the other “Clark” in honor of their swan song in our courtyard, on their way to that great boiler graveyard in the sky. And as swan songs go, I would give it an 85 because it had a good beat and was easy to dance to. And while we're on the topic of moldy oldsters, here’s a tale of mystery and adventure from the deep recesses of Christmas past, that will either warm the cockles of your heart, or perhaps raise the hackles on the back of your neck, depending on how sensitive your cockles or hackles might be. It seems that one of the timers in the living room stopped working, which necessitated Bill moving some furniture so he could unplug the cord and address the problem. An unexpected result of this activity was uncovering what appeared to be an errant stocking present from a previous Christmas, still wrapped in holiday paper, but now also sporting the tell-tale wisps of dust and cobwebs from the dark underbelly of heavy furniture that never moves. The paper, while very jolly, in no way identified which of us was the wrapper, and which the intended yuletide recipient, so neither could lay claim to the neglected object. While normal people might throw out this suspect stowaway without so much as a second thought – perhaps even holding it away from themselves with a pair of tongs – we're made of sterner stuff, and just tore the wrapping off of it to find out what was inside. It turned out to be a candy bar, and just out of curiosity, we checked it all over for a “Best Used By” date on the package, as they all do nowadays, which would at least narrow down which past holiday it may have been from in the first place. Try as we might, we could find no hint of this information anywhere on the label, no matter how hard we looked, leading us to wonder, somewhat uneasily, if it might in fact pre-date the introduction of these regulations by the FDA, lo those many years ago, and which would certainly make it quite old indeed, even by our very relaxed standards. Of course, everyone knows that Bill is nothing if not game, and he wasn't afraid to chow down on that candy bar and face the consequences, and I'm glad to report that he lived to tell the tale, so all’s noel that ends noel, and I ought to know. Speaking of food that people might want to shy away from, we took a chance this week and had dinner at the local IHOP, and once again, lived to tell the tale. We had been avoiding the place for years, since we found it not only crowded and noisy, but too cramped for comfort, at all hours of the day and night, which turned it into more of an ordeal than a pleasure, no matter how we looked at it. But times have changed at IHOP, and they've done a lot to make themselves more accommodating, and the whole dining experience had improved dramatically. If you haven't been there for a while, you may not realize that their entire menu has expanded tremendously, not only with a wider variety of their famous pancakes, waffles and French toast, but also new options such as signature salads, classic entrees, hearty soups, enticing appetizers, and a wealth of deluxe burgers and sandwiches to suit every taste. The menu could not look better if it tried, and with so many choices, it seems almost too good to be true. Not so fast! You remember our old friends at the FDA that slapped those “sell by” labels on everything edible – well, they also decreed that restaurants have to list the calories of their meals, on the theory that informed consumers can make healthier choices, but at least at IHOP, I can tell you that’s a heart-stopping revelation that you really don't want to know about. Their most popular dishes hit the 1200 – 1800 calorie range all by themselves, without having anything to drink, or God forbid, dessert. Even their selections of salads are over 600 calories, while their Fresh Crispy Salad with Fried Chicken weighs in at a whopping 1500 calories alone. On the other hand, if counting calories is not part of your lifestyle, I'd be happy to recommend their new Cinna-Stacks pancakes with cinnamon, icing and whipped cream, which sounds like way too much of a good thing, but is remarkably tasty and a delightful change of pace. So hurry on over to IHOP and give it a try, and the President's economic advisers will be glad you did, I'm sure. Tell them Dick Clark sent you, and I don't mean our outgoing rusted empty hulks of burnt-out temporary boilers, believe me. Elle