Holy Smoke
Hello World,
Happy, happy! This certainly has been one of the most eventful weeks of the year, no matter how you slice it, and we very nearly had to break out the week-stretcher to fit it all in. It started with Palm Sunday, which was also April Fool's Day (although I hate to say that I don't find that the fools tend to restrict themselves to only one day around here, and more's the pity, I'm sure) and which as we all know by now, is the cats' favorite Sunday of the entire church year, as they can't get enough of those fresh palms, that's for sure. Not so fast! Unfortunately, my brain was not where it needed to be last Sunday, and I dashed out of church with my coat-tails flying behind me, and left my palms in the office, placing me in the unenviable position of going home empty-handed and facing a houseful of angry, glaring felines, thanks not. Luckily, as Bill pointed out later, the cats have no smart phones or Internet access, and were thus blissfully unaware of the day's significance, and were more than satisfied to wait until Wednesday, when I was meeting the electrician at church, and picked up the errant palms while I was there, and happy to report, disaster was narrowly averted after all. So that was an April Fool's prank that I played on myself, and no thanks to my two poor addled brain cells, which I have renamed Moe and Curly for the occasion.
Of course, once we have Palm Sunday under out belts, you know that it's Holy Week in earnest - that is, except for our Easter Orthodox brethren, who are following a week behind the rest of the Christian world this time around, and celebrating their Easter not on the 8th but on the 15th instead. (They can certainly score a bunch of Easter bargains like that, believe me, and the President's economic advisers couldn't be happier if they tried.) But not content to rest on its laurels with Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, the week also included the first night of Passover on Friday as well - and which, since they are both movable feasts, is an occurrence of random alignment that happens less often than you would suppose. In many places, the schools were out, and area churches and temples were filled to bursting with the faithful taking part in the same age-old rituals since time immemorial, or at least as long as the dinosaurs, Druids and I can remember anyway. With all of the hoopla and hubbub, you couldn't help but wonder how one single week could possibly hold any more than it already has, by golly.
Once again not resting on its laurels, and as they say on late-night TV commercials: "But wait, folks, that's not all!" As incredible as it might seem, it was this very same week that the major league baseball season got underway, and around our house, any week that includes Opening Day is a good one, if only for that alone. The junior franchise in the city got off to a good start by winning their opener, behind strong pitching from their ace Johan Santana, returning to form after 19 months off the field following shoulder surgery, so that was good news on a lot of different levels for their beleaguered fans. They improved their Opening Day record to a remarkable 33-18 over the course of franchise history, which seems impossible, when you consider that their ratio of winning seasons to losing seasons is a woeful 23-28 over the same period. Meanwhile across town, the vaunted Bombers of lore and legend were losing their opening game in dramatic fashion, which is certainly not the direction they wanted to be going in, I dare say - although I think we can all agree that the first game of a 162-game season is way too early for panic. Although being that it was Holy Week, after all, some extra prayer might not have been a bad idea, and everyone knows that I always say, there's no such thing as too much prayer.
Speaking of too much of a good thing, one of the unexpected treats that Santa Claus had tucked into his sack for Christmas was a gift certificate for a nearby nail salon, where I could go for the beauty treatment of my choice, and thanks ever so, lah-dee-dah, and all that. Bill had discovered these nice helpful Russian ladies previously, when he was having problems with his nails cracking and splitting from the dry winter weather, and sought out their advice. Of course, anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm no fashionista, not by any means, and I have never made much of a fuss over my fingernails, much less my toenails, and that's putting it mildly. But I was getting to the point where just reaching my toenails was becoming too much of a challenge for me, besides not being able to see what I was doing from that distance even if I could, and a professional pedicure was starting to sound like not such a bad idea after all. So one day at the end of December, we trundled off to the salon, and gave it a try, and I don't mind saying, it was all that I could have hoped for and more. You get to relax in a massaging lounge chair, with your poor tired feet in a nice warm little whirlpool bath, and then a perky young girl comes to rub your feet with oil, smooth them with pumice, massage your legs with lotion, and then work her magic on your pitiful nails, making them look and feel like the million-dollar tootsies of a Hollywood starlet, and not some homeless vagrant. It was almost too wonderful for words, and I was sorry when she said that I should have it done every month, rather than every day, which would have been my personal preference. I had also signed up for a manicure, which was also very nice, with more oil, lotion, hot towels, massage and all the pampering a person could ask for. Since then, I've been sure to go back every month for my "mani-pedi" (see - I even know what the insiders call it now) and I couldn't be happier with the results, especially since my rough raggedy toenails don't keep tearing holes in my stockings anymore, which is worth the cost of it right there. If this is Bolshevism, then I'm all for it, and may I just say for the record, I love Mother Russia.
As an entertaining sidelight to our trip to the salon, we have learned of several new cosmetic procedures that we would not have been exposed to previously, or would have had no reason to find out anything about them. These include things like waxing and shaping, and another very interesting technique known as "threading," which somehow is used to remove unwanted hair, for instance, on the face. We've even been there when customers are having this done, so we know that it's actually happening, and not just some strange and made-up idea that nobody really uses. Apparently it's a new and exciting feature offered by the finer establishments now, and not every old ordinary garden-variety salon can boast this option in their repertoire, so it's obviously a selling point worth advertising, far and near, to the wider community and beyond. Unfortunately, here the nuances of the language tripped up the best efforts of the salon's Russian management, and when they hurried to the sign maker with their request, what they came back with was a very large and very bright neon sign hanging big as life in their plate glass window, for all the world to see, inviting the public in for what is described as "EYEBROW TRADING." Frankly, I'm not sure that could sound any less appealing than it already does, and I doubt it would seem any better in Russian, spasiba nyet. I can't even blame the sign company, as I normally would, since how the heck would they know that it should have been "threading" instead, which is a salon-specific kind of jargon that they could not be expected to understand. But I can tell you that sign really does get your attention, that's for sure, although if people do indeed show up to have their eyebrows traded, I've yet to find out about it. Personally, I'd much rather have my two addled brain cells traded than my eyebrows, and I would gladly give up Moe and Curly for two others that would be more like Bill Gates or Stephen Hawking, if you please. Of course, then we would run the risk of them arranging for the cats to have smart phones and Internet access, which might very well be responsible for the end of civilization as we know it. And I may go out with a bang, but at least I'll be going out with great looking nails, by golly.
Elle
Happy, happy! This certainly has been one of the most eventful weeks of the year, no matter how you slice it, and we very nearly had to break out the week-stretcher to fit it all in. It started with Palm Sunday, which was also April Fool's Day (although I hate to say that I don't find that the fools tend to restrict themselves to only one day around here, and more's the pity, I'm sure) and which as we all know by now, is the cats' favorite Sunday of the entire church year, as they can't get enough of those fresh palms, that's for sure. Not so fast! Unfortunately, my brain was not where it needed to be last Sunday, and I dashed out of church with my coat-tails flying behind me, and left my palms in the office, placing me in the unenviable position of going home empty-handed and facing a houseful of angry, glaring felines, thanks not. Luckily, as Bill pointed out later, the cats have no smart phones or Internet access, and were thus blissfully unaware of the day's significance, and were more than satisfied to wait until Wednesday, when I was meeting the electrician at church, and picked up the errant palms while I was there, and happy to report, disaster was narrowly averted after all. So that was an April Fool's prank that I played on myself, and no thanks to my two poor addled brain cells, which I have renamed Moe and Curly for the occasion.
Of course, once we have Palm Sunday under out belts, you know that it's Holy Week in earnest - that is, except for our Easter Orthodox brethren, who are following a week behind the rest of the Christian world this time around, and celebrating their Easter not on the 8th but on the 15th instead. (They can certainly score a bunch of Easter bargains like that, believe me, and the President's economic advisers couldn't be happier if they tried.) But not content to rest on its laurels with Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, the week also included the first night of Passover on Friday as well - and which, since they are both movable feasts, is an occurrence of random alignment that happens less often than you would suppose. In many places, the schools were out, and area churches and temples were filled to bursting with the faithful taking part in the same age-old rituals since time immemorial, or at least as long as the dinosaurs, Druids and I can remember anyway. With all of the hoopla and hubbub, you couldn't help but wonder how one single week could possibly hold any more than it already has, by golly.
Once again not resting on its laurels, and as they say on late-night TV commercials: "But wait, folks, that's not all!" As incredible as it might seem, it was this very same week that the major league baseball season got underway, and around our house, any week that includes Opening Day is a good one, if only for that alone. The junior franchise in the city got off to a good start by winning their opener, behind strong pitching from their ace Johan Santana, returning to form after 19 months off the field following shoulder surgery, so that was good news on a lot of different levels for their beleaguered fans. They improved their Opening Day record to a remarkable 33-18 over the course of franchise history, which seems impossible, when you consider that their ratio of winning seasons to losing seasons is a woeful 23-28 over the same period. Meanwhile across town, the vaunted Bombers of lore and legend were losing their opening game in dramatic fashion, which is certainly not the direction they wanted to be going in, I dare say - although I think we can all agree that the first game of a 162-game season is way too early for panic. Although being that it was Holy Week, after all, some extra prayer might not have been a bad idea, and everyone knows that I always say, there's no such thing as too much prayer.
Speaking of too much of a good thing, one of the unexpected treats that Santa Claus had tucked into his sack for Christmas was a gift certificate for a nearby nail salon, where I could go for the beauty treatment of my choice, and thanks ever so, lah-dee-dah, and all that. Bill had discovered these nice helpful Russian ladies previously, when he was having problems with his nails cracking and splitting from the dry winter weather, and sought out their advice. Of course, anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm no fashionista, not by any means, and I have never made much of a fuss over my fingernails, much less my toenails, and that's putting it mildly. But I was getting to the point where just reaching my toenails was becoming too much of a challenge for me, besides not being able to see what I was doing from that distance even if I could, and a professional pedicure was starting to sound like not such a bad idea after all. So one day at the end of December, we trundled off to the salon, and gave it a try, and I don't mind saying, it was all that I could have hoped for and more. You get to relax in a massaging lounge chair, with your poor tired feet in a nice warm little whirlpool bath, and then a perky young girl comes to rub your feet with oil, smooth them with pumice, massage your legs with lotion, and then work her magic on your pitiful nails, making them look and feel like the million-dollar tootsies of a Hollywood starlet, and not some homeless vagrant. It was almost too wonderful for words, and I was sorry when she said that I should have it done every month, rather than every day, which would have been my personal preference. I had also signed up for a manicure, which was also very nice, with more oil, lotion, hot towels, massage and all the pampering a person could ask for. Since then, I've been sure to go back every month for my "mani-pedi" (see - I even know what the insiders call it now) and I couldn't be happier with the results, especially since my rough raggedy toenails don't keep tearing holes in my stockings anymore, which is worth the cost of it right there. If this is Bolshevism, then I'm all for it, and may I just say for the record, I love Mother Russia.
As an entertaining sidelight to our trip to the salon, we have learned of several new cosmetic procedures that we would not have been exposed to previously, or would have had no reason to find out anything about them. These include things like waxing and shaping, and another very interesting technique known as "threading," which somehow is used to remove unwanted hair, for instance, on the face. We've even been there when customers are having this done, so we know that it's actually happening, and not just some strange and made-up idea that nobody really uses. Apparently it's a new and exciting feature offered by the finer establishments now, and not every old ordinary garden-variety salon can boast this option in their repertoire, so it's obviously a selling point worth advertising, far and near, to the wider community and beyond. Unfortunately, here the nuances of the language tripped up the best efforts of the salon's Russian management, and when they hurried to the sign maker with their request, what they came back with was a very large and very bright neon sign hanging big as life in their plate glass window, for all the world to see, inviting the public in for what is described as "EYEBROW TRADING." Frankly, I'm not sure that could sound any less appealing than it already does, and I doubt it would seem any better in Russian, spasiba nyet. I can't even blame the sign company, as I normally would, since how the heck would they know that it should have been "threading" instead, which is a salon-specific kind of jargon that they could not be expected to understand. But I can tell you that sign really does get your attention, that's for sure, although if people do indeed show up to have their eyebrows traded, I've yet to find out about it. Personally, I'd much rather have my two addled brain cells traded than my eyebrows, and I would gladly give up Moe and Curly for two others that would be more like Bill Gates or Stephen Hawking, if you please. Of course, then we would run the risk of them arranging for the cats to have smart phones and Internet access, which might very well be responsible for the end of civilization as we know it. And I may go out with a bang, but at least I'll be going out with great looking nails, by golly.
Elle
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 3:10 PM
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