Safe And Sound

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves finally in Lent, with both Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday behind us, and that sound you hear is the wailing and gnashing of teeth from millions of grouchy Christians who have given up swearing, booze, or even worse, chocolate (gasp!) for the duration. This may be the season for repentance and building character, but it's no time for the faint-hearted, not by any means, and my advice would be not only defensive maneuvers, but protective clothing such as helmets, elbow and knee pads - and frankly, chain mail would not be out of the question either. An even better idea in case of uncertainty, would be to avoid contact with Christians altogether, and this would be an excellent opportunity to cultivate relationships with your nearest Buddhist, Hindu, Hebrew, witch, sun worshipper, atheist, pagan, secular humanist or even the occasional Moslem terrorist in your midst, just to be on the safe side. Of course, you're safe with whatever Eastern Orthodox folks that you may know, because their Easter is so late this year that they won't be starting Lent until April or so, and you can cavort with them all you like, without fear of consequences. As for ourselves, the dinosaurs and I are sticking with Troglodytes for the time being, and I'm not turning my back on any Druids, believe me. Of course, Tuesday was Mardi Gras, and in New Orleans and Rio de Janeiro, they're probably still sleeping off the effects of that unbridled Bacchanalia even now, and no doubt wondering whatever became of the rest of the week, their clothes, their friends, their personal belongings, their memory, their sobriety, and most importantly, their dignity. That sound you hear is the universal groan of recognition at viral videos all over the Internet in the revelry's wake, thanks to millions of cell phones capturing limitless examples of reckless abandon, bad judgment, and all around outrageous behavior on an epic scale. In these over-exposed days of YouTube and FaceBook, as boxing legend Joe Louis once famously observed, "He can run, but he can't hide." On the local scene, our neighbors toss an extravagant party for the occasion, on the Saturday before Fat Tuesday, and the whole neighborhood shows up in force, and not to mention, in elaborate costumes and masks that are a sight to behold. These are people not to be trifled with, and determined to party hearty come what may, up to and including being carted home in a wheelbarrow, if necessary, by well-meaning friends. The hosts go all out, with festive decorations everywhere, endless tables piled high with tasty Creole fare, hurricane punch, Zydeco music, and decadent desserts that are worth the trip all by themselves - and that's not just the rum balls and Amaretto beignets talking, by golly. Unlike normal people, I have a well-stocked closet of costumes accumulated over the years, and I had a hard time deciding what to choose for the event - Uncle Sam, Easter Bunny, Cat in the Hat, Statue of Liberty, Mr. Monopoly, clown, wizard, Pope, or 20 other options from angels to witches. In the end, I elected to go in my devil costume, mostly because it was comfortable and close at hand, so I jumped into my red velour pants suit, popped on my red sequined bow tie, horns and tail, grabbed my triton, and wrapped it all up with my red cape, and I was ready to set the town on fire, and devil take the hindmost - you should pardon the expression. And while everyone showed up in fancy dress of one sort or another, the devil costume was certainly a big hit from one end of the party to the other, and I couldn't have been more popular if I tried - well, short of striking a Faustian bargain with you-know-who, that is. Or in the immortal words of Flip Wilson, "The devil made me do it!" Meanwhile at work, everyone who works at the ol' House O' Quacks, knows that after being named after the Queen City on the Sound for a century, the management in its infinite wisdom (NOT) decided that they had to come up with a new and improved (NOT) appellation that would make the place appear more expansive and cosmopolitan than it really was, and not just some pathetic measly community hospital in the back-water hinterlands. As a result of their inspired ideas, we were soon saddled with the unwieldy moniker of Sound Shore Medical Center of Westchester, which certainly does not flow trippingly off the tongue, and in fact, with a little hurricane punch under their belt, I would defy anyone to be able to say it in the first place. Now, as names go, I think we can all agree that it's pretty dull, but on the other hand, you would expect it to be a fairly routine matter for people to get it right. Well, I'm here to disabuse you of that notion, and I can assure you that it is anything but, and that's putting it mildly. Since the name change, the place has been regularly called South Shore instead, and since there is already a South Shore Hospital on Long Island, you can imagine that we get a lot of their calls, mail, and deliveries of medical supplies, thanks not. But that's not all, not by a long shot, and there is no lack of creative substitutes that cross my desk on a frequent basis. Our friends at the American Parkinson Disease Association requested our support for their organization by referring to us as Ound & Shore Medical Center, of all things. After that, I should not have been surprised when Structure Tec sent an invitation for Sand & Shore to attend their building envelope symposium, which I had to regretfully decline on behalf of both the sand and the shore, alas. Stepping out confidently in a different direction, there came a package from Xerox addressed to us as Sound Sure, proving that phonetics is not something that you can count on in every situation. Then there were the folks at U.S. Diary, who were kind enough to send us one of their executive planners that we could distribute to our valued customers, embossed with our name and address for promotional purposes - however, inasmuch as they identified us on the sample as Sound and Town instead, I kind of doubt that we would be using many of them for the intended effect. Of course, there is still my personal favorite, when one of our former vendors - perhaps having computer issues, or maybe a case of irony run amok - sent us their Lab Safety catalog addressed to SOUNDS HORE, which is no way to drum up business, I can tell you that. Right about now, I'm thinking that sound you hear is the Board of Governors tearing their hair out, probably wishing that they had left well enough alone, with the old name that didn't lend itself so readily to confusion, bloopers, typos and downright farce, not only coming from all sides, but at the speed of sound besides. Or perhaps I should say, Wall of Sound instead, but I'm pretty sure that joke has been filled already for today. Elle