Riding The Rails

Hello World, Happy Memorial Day weekend! I hope that you have a star-spangled, rootin'-tootin', red-white-and-blue humdinger of a holiday, with all the parades, fireworks, barbecues and all-American revelry that you could ever hope for. Memorial Day (observed) is a bit early this year on the 26th, with almost a whole week after it still in May, before June finally puts in an appearance next Saturday. Of course, you didn't have this problem with traditional Decoration Day of the past, which stood firmly fixed and proudly rooted on the 30th, come what may, and no cavorting around back and forth like a puppy with a new toy, so you never know where to find the darned thing when you're looking for it. It also adds another complication to the job of the beleaguered Flag Brigade (who certainly don't need any added complexity in their lives, heaven knows) taking the patriotic high ground by flying the colors, upstairs and downstairs, on both the 26th and the 30th, weather permitting. Most of the time, putting the flags out is not the hit-or-miss part of the operation, but rather, remembering to take them back in again after dinner that turns out to be the proverbial Francis Scott fly in the Betsy Ross ointment, and that's not just a lot of Yankee Doodle Dandy, believe me. Speaking of high flyers, I regret to report that the scrappy Knicks were eliminated by the Pacers in 6 games, but giving credit where it's due, they played them tough throughout, and lost the final contest by a mere 7 points. As for Indiana, frankly, they're welcome to take on the juggernaut that is Miami, and try their luck at unseating King James and his court - although the sports prognosticators will tell you that the Pacers already beat the Heat twice during the regular season, so their long-suffering fans have reason to believe that their optimism is not entirely misplaced after all. Faring only slightly better than their arena-mates, the plucky Rangers just barely staved off being swept out of their series with the Bruins, winning the fourth game in overtime to force a fifth game in Boston. The winner of the series goes on to face Pittsburgh, who handily knocked off Ottawa in the previous round, which I suppose qualifies as the ice hockey equivalent of "out of the frying pan and into the fire" for the opposing teams. Of course, anything can happen in the playoffs, where the only sure thing is that there is no sure thing. You can just ask the Flag Brigade if you don't believe me. In other sports news, and here I am resolutely NOT saying, "I told you so," but it didn't take long for the evil spirit of Affirmed to prevent Derby winner Orb from becoming a potential Triple Crown winner, when no last-minute heroics could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in the 138th running of the Preakness Stakes last week. The 15-to-1 long-shot, Oxbow, ran wire-to-wire in a small field (less than half of the seething mob at the Derby) on a fast track, with no real competition from start to finish - and certainly no drama like the Derby's heart-pounding wind-up, to make it memorable in any way, even among the Pimlico loyalists. And poor bewitched Orb, the 3-5 favorite after his pyrotechnics at Churchill Downs, carrying the extra weight of Affirmed's diabolical curse, was never a factor, finishing a distant fourth out of 9 horses. So once again, there will be no Triple Crown in horse racing this year, which really takes the wind out of the sails for the luckless Belmont Stakes in another few weeks, with no media circus to look forward to, and promises to be a rather humdrum affair. So it remains to be seen if Orb or Oxbow can achieve a personal "Double Crown" by winning a second race of the triumvirate, or whether this will be another one of those years that the separate races are won by three different horses instead. Heck, I say bring back I'll Have Another from last year, and give him another shot at it - we could invent a whole new "Trip-Flip Crown" for a horse that wins all three races, but in different years, and really give the odds makers something to think about. Not to mention, the long departed Affirmed, who would probably have to break out a whole second book of hexes to thwart this new threat to his supremacy, I shouldn't wonder. Last weekend, we prevailed upon our retired friends to carve some time out of their busy schedules and join us for an adventurous day of discovery at the Trolley Museum of New York in historic Kingston in the upstate Ulster county region. (Please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at http://www.TMNY.org and see for yourself.) We met first for brunch at the Broadway Lights Diner, a mere hop, skip and a jump from the museum, where their voluminous menu would prove the undoing of any indecisive types of your acquaintance, and you would have no choice but to leave them there still dithering, and get on with your life. I can tell you that their potato pancakes were divine, and Bill was equally rhapsodic about their stuffed French toast, which was all the sustenance we needed for a busy day of exploration. The Kingston historic district is a sight to behold, with many stately old buildings and charming attractions from days gone by. East Strand is off the main thoroughfare, right next to the Rondout Creek, along with The Hudson River Maritime Museum, and the launching pad for Hudson River Cruises, among other interesting diversions, so it's quite the happening spot in its own right. Since the museum was celebrating its 30th anniversary, everyone was invited to enjoy plenty of live music and refreshments in the hospitality tent, and even better, they were offering their famous trolley rides for free, all the live-long day, Casey Jones. Their beautifully restored 1925 trolley car takes a leisurely but enchanting ride for 1-1/2 miles, from Gallo Park at the beginning of the street, all the way to Kingston Point Park, where the majestic Hudson laps at the very shore. Here, they let you get out and look around for a few moments, and take pictures if you like, while the hard-working crew readies the trolley for the return trip. (There's no room to turn it around, so they have to shift control of the driving functions from one end of the car to the other.) The current museum building is on the foundation of the old Ulster & Delaware Railroad engine house from the 1900's, and the upper level features a viewing area where visitors can observe the restoration shop below, where up to 8 trolley cars are being housed and renovated - including four that are over 100 years old. Of course, there's also a gift shop, and don't think that I don't have the souvenirs to prove it, by golly. Besides the rolling stock of trolleys, subway cars and assorted train equipment, their dedicated volunteers also service and upgrade the tracks themselves, and their Herculean efforts can be seen and admired in every inch of rail along the way. The fact that they can still run a trolley along tracks embedded in the streets from distant decades ago, is in itself an eloquent testimony to their diligence and determination in the face of daunting obstacles. We found the whole trip very interesting and informative, and we were glad we decided to hop aboard. After a busy day of new experiences, we relaxed for a while at Boice's Dairy, locally famous for their wide variety of ice cream and other sweet treats, which did not disappoint, I can assure you. By then, it was starting to get late, so we bid our fond farewells, and lit out in opposite directions. We were going right through Newburgh in any case, so we stopped at Denny's for dinner on the way home, which like a scrumptious dessert, is always the perfect ending to a memorable day, and it goes without saying, on the right track all the way. Elle

The Iron Age

Hello World, Well, May is certainly charging along like the proverbial Dashing Dan with a train to catch, and here it is, already past the mid-way point of the month - and if you're anything like me, with nothing to show for it, I dare say. Of course, if you're looking for a show, you need look no further than our buttercups, which burst upon the scene like a golden yellow bombshell featuring a cast of thousands. We had been enjoying the resurgence of our creeping phlox, in spite of the gardeners' vigorous efforts to eradicate it, and just stumbled across a colorful display of wild phlox along the driveway, whose heavenly fragrance could never be duplicated. Now indeed the time has come when the stately chestnut trees are showing off their cascades of creamy blossoms all over town, except of course, across the street from our house, where the neighbors recently had their venerable chestnut tree cut down, and more's the pity, alas. Joyce Kilmer wasn't just whistling Dixie when he observed, "I think that I shall never see, a poem lovely as a tree," and that's not just a lot of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, believe me. It goes without saying that Mother's Day was last Sunday, and it turned out to be a lovely day, which is so remarkable lately as to excite comment. Here at the old homestead, things got underway with donuts and presents, which is very possibly my all-time favorite way to start any day and thanks ever so. Then we headed out to a local nursery, and reveled in their beautiful plants on every side, like a rainbow of tiny treasures. We snapped up petunias and marigolds galore, plus more dwarf celosia that we found so enchanting last year. Apparently there's a worldwide impatiens blight going on now, so there's none of that to be had anywhere, and we had to content ourselves with vinca, dianthus, stock and verbena in its place, but frankly, those are pretty big shoes to fill, and I have my doubts that these interlopers will be equal to the task. I was dismayed to learn that it was too late for pansies, but it was right on time for canna, so I threw caution to the wind and decided to take a chance on them. A vibrant hanging fuchsia rounded things out, and we were good to go. It was late when we got home, so we left the plants out in the yard - only to scramble outside after them the next day and have to drag them all inside, owing to the ominous reports of frost overnight on Monday and Tuesday, and once again, thanks so very much not. I can tell you that we were certainly not expecting frost in the middle of May, and did not find it very funny, but probably somewhere, Joyce Kilmer is having a great big laugh, I shouldn't wonder. On the local hoops scene, the plucky Knicks have been staying alive against the Pacers, and playing them tough through 5 games so far, which even their most ardent fans might not have dared to hope. Elsewhere, it didn't take long for Chicago to be eliminated by the juggernaut that is Miami, which at least gave the surly Nets faithful something to cheer about anyway, if only sardonically. Then to the astonishment of literally dozens of hard-core hockey fans in both cities, the Rangers actually beat the mighty Capitals in 7 games, which not only stymied the odds-makers, but served to prove once again that The Age of Miracles has not passed. Setting the stage for an Original Six match-up, they then moved on to face Boston (after their own grueling series against Toronto) and promptly lost the first game in overtime, thanks not. I keep saying that nothing comes easy in the playoffs, and it's probably a blessing in disguise that they don't last longer - after all, the athletes might be up for it, but I don't think the fans could take it. And speaking of the short and sweet, I was delighted to learn that the official slogan of the Kentucky Derby is: "The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports," and frankly, I can't think of any way to quarrel with that. It must be said that Bill took exception to my offhand synopsis of the big race last week, and justifiably so, as it was an eye-popping example of rip-snorting, full-throttle, high-octane horsepower that not only had to be seen to be believed, but even then, you still couldn't believe it. It's all too easy to say that there's no surprise when the favorite wins the race - but bear in mind that at the 3/4 pole, with only the homestretch left, Orb was in 15th place out of 19 horses, and not only caught up to all of the horses that had been in front of him the whole way, but somehow managed to outrun them by almost 3 lengths at the finish. Anyone who didn't see it live at the time, or hasn't already seen the video replay of it, please do take a few moments out of your busy schedule to watch something truly exceptional, and I can guarantee that you will be duly impressed. Orb Wins the 2013 Kentucky Derby - YouTube Next up is the Preakness Stakes, and as much as everybody loves the darling of Churchill Downs at Pimlico, personally, I have to say that my money's on Affirmed. The summer movie season started off with a bang already at the beginning of May, and we banged it right back, by going to see "Iron Man 3" in 3-D at our local cinema. I had never read the comics, and had no idea what the character was all about until we saw "The Avengers" a while back, and found it hugely entertaining. When we heard that the new IR3 was going to come out, we knew that first we would have to catch up with the rest of the world, and watch I and II, so we would be prepared to understand what was going on in the latest installment of the franchise. We were disappointed to find out that the first two were not available in 3-D, because my personal feeling is that everything is better in 3-D, especially something that you're not particularly interested in seeing in the first place - it really gives it a lot more pizzazz and adds an extra layer of visual excitement to even the most humdrum subject matter. Unfortunately, when we went to the movies on Thursday, we discovered that we had missed the IMAX version of the new one, when "Star Trek Into Darkness" opened in theaters and took its place. Now, I thought the first two were a bit slow getting off the ground, and although the special effects were outstanding, there wasn't as much action as I expected from your basic superhero movie. The third one has all the action a person could possibly hope for, and then some, with only the merest wisp of a plot to stand in the way of a staggering procession of fiery crashes, mid-air explosions, car chases, equipment meltdowns and building collapses - all culminating in the captivating idea of blowing up the President of the United States on an offshore oil rig. (Which I don't mind saying, some days that doesn't sound like such a bad idea after all.) The 3-D and special effects are spectacular, and you will certainly not fall asleep at any point, try as you might, whether seeing Gwyneth Paltrow in a sports bra is exactly your cup of tea or not. It's true that Don Cheadle might not be everybody's idea of an action figure side-kick, but Ben Kingsley is hilarious as the evil Mandarin bent on world domination, or best offer. I said to Bill later that nowadays - between the 3-D and special effects, separate shooting locations and complicated stunts - sitting through the credits all the way to the end is like watching another whole movie, that's how long it takes to get them all in. But it's always worth it in these Marvel Studio films, for their quixotic little epilogues, where they may tease an upcoming release, provide a clue that solves a mystery in a previous story, or tie together some loose ends that had come unraveled, presumably when excess footage had been left on the cutting room floor, so to speak. This one featured someone else we remembered from "The Avengers," and although his diffident remark, "I'm not that kind of a doctor" might not seem like grand comedy on an epic scale, I can assure you that for those of us who understood what was going on, it was uproariously colossal in its own (puny human) way. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised, if you listen hard enough, that you can actually hear Joyce Kilmer laughing - through the trees, that is. Elle

Over The River And Through The Woods

Hello World, Break out the champagne and flowers! The time has come around once again, as it surely must, for all of creation's children to celebrate the ladies, and pay homage to the extraordinary maternal figures in all of our lives, biological or otherwise, in the annual mommapalooza extravaganza known as Mother's Day. The big day will be here on Sunday, and you can be sure that there will not be a spare restaurant reservation to be had, for love or money at any place worth going, except perhaps Hooters - and frankly, I wouldn't be so sure about that either. We may all be past the point that dear old Mom would be satisfied with a macaroni necklace and finger-painted card, alas - and I can already tell you that an even worse idea is to listen to your well-meaning but misguided pets, and shower the poor woman with catnip mice and rawhide bones. I can also unequivocally not recommend any of our rampant alien mutant poison ivy, which would certainly give new meaning to the idea of a "gift that keeps on giving," and I ought to know. All it took was a little rain in the local area, and our entire yard erupted in an explosive riot of abounding weeds on every side, so much so that it would have made the natives at the American Weed Council positively giddy with delight - that is, if only there was such a thing. Along the driveway, the chickweed and crabgrass are taller than the yard lights, which is certainly no sort of improvement, and there's rye grass and wild onion next to the sidewalk that's already higher than my knees, thanks not. The azaleas have just started to pop open, while on the fragrance front, the lilacs in our backyard finally bloomed, and we can just see the first early blossoms of wisteria dangling overhead in the front, together filling our whole property with the most heavenly aroma, that it makes you loath to go indoors - especially when the kitty poop-meisters in our midst have made the litter boxes a place to avoid at all costs. It certainly makes you wish that hyacinths, lilacs and wisteria could last all year to charm us with their intoxicating scents, or that olfactory enhancement could be cultivated in common longer-lasting plants instead. Note to botanists everywhere: Poison ivy that smells good would be a boon to mankind, that future generations would wonder how we ever lived without it. You heard it here first, folks. Speaking of firsts, or rather, how the first shall be last, our friends in the Greek Orthodox Church finally got around to celebrating Easter last Sunday, long after the resurrection bandwagon pulled out of the station for the rest of us, and the Easter Bunny had packed away his baskets for another year, to enjoy the off-season in peace and quiet. Or I suppose under the circumstances, that should be "in Peeps and carrots" instead, and don't spare the malted milk eggs while you're at it. Garcon, I'll have mine with extra hot fudge, if you please. I regret to report that there is no joy in Mudville, as the NBA playoffs continue without the Nets, eliminated in the first round by Chicago, who then went on to the unenviable task of facing Miami, so Brooklyn might end up having the last laugh after all. The Knicks finally beat the Celtics to advance to the second round, but ran smack into the formidable Indiana Pacers, fresh off their rude manhandling of the overmatched Hawks. (The actual term employed by the sports pundits was "dismantled," which makes it sound like Indiana barged in and stole Atlanta's fireplace - and frankly, I think even Dennis "Bad As I Want To Be" Rodman would draw the line at that.) Speaking of bad boys, it was a relief to the Blueshirts faithful when the Rangers finally won a game against the vaunted Capitals, and then won another, knotting their series at 2 games apiece. Nothing comes easy in the playoffs, which are no place for the faint-hearted, as disappointed fans in Milwaukee, Denver, Houston and Boston can surely attest. Or even worse in Los Angeles, where both of their teams saw their hoop dreams shot down in flames, with the two clubs ousted in the first round, and that was probably without Dennis Rodman filching their fireplaces, I dare say. In other sports news, the 139th running of the Kentucky Derby saw 5-1 favorite Orb overcome a shaky start to run away with it by two and a half lengths, in a crowded field on a sloppy track, with jockey Joel Rosario claiming his first Derby win ever. So now that one jewel in the Triple Crown is under our belts, as it were, we can sit back and watch how long it takes for the unquiet ghost of Affirmed to work his evil machinations behind the scenes, and fix his hex on the poor unwary Orb to jinx his chances in the next two races, so if I was Orb's publicity crew, I wouldn't hurry out and have those Triple Crown souvenir T-shirts printed up just yet. I don't know what it would take to break Affirmed's steely grip on the sport's premier achievement after 35 years, but at this point, I would expect the owners to band together and hire a "ghost horse whisperer" who could remove the curse once and for all. And that's not just the mint juleps talking, believe me. It may be 60 degrees out, but it's not too early to start thinking about vacation, and everyone knows that means camping at Wildwood for me, and plenty of it. I found it impossible to get a straight answer about storm damage at the park in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, and I was not about to take anyone's word for it after last year, when their ill-conceived building replacement project was still in full swing during July, leaving beachgoers like me with no concession stand or bathrooms for the entire week, and once again, thanks ever so much not. So leaving nothing to chance, we took the prudent way out, and drove all the way out there last Saturday, picking up my sister along the way, and also made a stop at the Denny's in Centereach for lunch, which would have made the whole trip worthwhile all by itself. Officially, the park is still closed for the winter, and doesn't actually open until Memorial Day weekend, so if you drive in and wander around, you can enjoy the beauties of nature, but no services will be provided. We certainly picked the right time to commune with nature, because it was probably the only nice day we've had all year, and could not have been more perfect if we had special-ordered it for the occasion. We found plenty of people in the picnic area having barbecues, and even campers in the two sections that were open - although they would have only been able to use the bathrooms in the trailer section, all the way on the other side of the park, which would be kind of a hike if you were having any sort of bathroom emergency, I'm thinking. There were trailers galore in every corner of their own section, so that you would never know it wasn't the height of the season already, in spite of the cool temperatures. The access road to the beach was closed, which was not about to stop us, but rather than trailblazing through the back of the playground and clambering down the face of the bluffs to the beach, we drove to the nearby Hulse Landing Beach, and walked along the water back to Wildwood Beach from there. Even from that distance, we could tell that the boardwalk and bathhouse were still standing, which was an encouraging sign, especially compared to the devastation that we were expecting for such an exposed location. When we finally came right up to it, we saw the construction fencing was still around it, and they were in the process of replacing planks, banisters and stairs on the boardwalk - while the spiffy new (retro) bathhouse appeared completely intact, and in fact, had its lights on, as if welcoming us to its sturdy embrace. The bluffs were a little the worse for wear, but the beach had rebounded nicely, with hardly a trace of any damage remaining from the harsh conditions. Meanwhile in the campground, we saw only a smattering of stumps where trees had once been, which is about the same damage as they have in any ordinary winter at the park, so there was nothing alarming about that. In fact, we found the whole circumnavigation to be extremely reassuring, allaying our fears about what horrors might have awaited us in July. After all these decades, Wildwood remains the Timex of state parks - it takes a licking, but keeps on ticking. Since my sister the explorer was with us, she also directed us to Wading River Beach, all the way on the other side of town past the Duck Pond, where I had not only never been before, but never had any idea it was there. In fact, I was more surprised than anybody after 50 years of camping out there, because I always thought the town beach was the one at the end of Hulse Landing Road, where we just were, but apparently they're two completely different places and miles apart. The real Wading River Beach turned out to be a lovely secluded enclave with a nice playground and refreshment area, and a wide beach that was unexpectedly sandy, compared to Wildwood's famous pebbles. So that was a special treat, and a new experience that I wouldn't have surmised from the oldest of old haunts. It was almost anticlimactic when we left, scooped up our favorite local pizza, and pounced upon belated happy birthday and hoppy Easter presents, although they were no less welcome for all that. I would say it was the end of a perfect day, made even better when we discovered that the Indiana Pacers hadn't absconded with our fireplaces. Say, who let Dennis Rodman in here? Elle

Merry, Merry Month of May

Hello World, Feliz Cinco de Mayo! Actually, on Friday we find ourselves halfway between May Day on Wednesday and the Battle of the Puebla on Sunday. and if that's not enough reason to get out there and celebrate with dancing and tequila, well, then I just don't know what it would take, and don't spare the burritos, my good man. I feel it is only right that I should also warn people that Mother's Day is next Sunday, so anyone who isn't prepared for that yet, should certainly shake a leg - and here I'm not talking about the Mexican Hat Dance, that's for sure. Anyone in the local area can also tell you that this is "the time of the green fuzz," where suddenly whatever is beneath the emerging maple trees, is covered in a blanket of bright limey green that sticks to anything in spite of wind or rain. At home, I've finally learned to park my car farther away from the culprit in our parking, and one of the great advantages of the big employee parking lot at work is that it has no trees to make a mess all over everything, unlike the stupid little lot whose narrow confines made it impossible to escape from the fallout. Also speaking of new growth, our yard is awash with enchanting English wood hyacinths, in a rainbow of colors that the finest artist's palette could never do justice. In fact, I was out taking pictures of them when I inadvertently waded into a sea of rampant alien mutant poison ivy, which is already 18 inches tall, and you certainly can't miss it, because it is the brightest shiny bronze all over, like the Poison Ivy Beautification Committee had been around to polish it or something. I would have to grudgingly admit that they did a heck of a job, but if they come around asking for donations, frankly, I may not be responsible for my actions. Also on the topic of doing a good job, there's the surprising Mets phenom, young pitcher Matt Harvey, who the sportswriters always refer to as a "fireballer" - which term is a quaint throwback to a bygone era from the likes of Sandy Koufax or Bob Feller, quite unlike the usual soft tossers that proliferate nowadays. To the delight of their perennially disappointed fans, Harvey leapt out to 4-0 start, despite his team playing .500 ball or worse out of the gate. In the great white north, former Mets darling R.A. Dickey has been unable to right the ship of the woeful Toronto Blue Jays, whose 11-21 record so far is an unfortunate reflection of his own 2-5 mark, with an ERA in the 5.5 range, for which the technical term (not to get too pedantic about this) is "stinky." I dare say this is surely not what the Toronto management was expecting when they made the deal for 2012's Cy Young award winner, which they rushed into with such blazing speed that he was basically still holding the trophy when the contracts were signed. It can't help but remind the dinosaurs and me of the famous sports axiom that "Sometimes the best trades are the ones you don't make." In other baseball news, it seems that the Houston Astros have been moved to AL this year after 50 years as a National League mainstay all along. Apparently the addle-pated trolls in the Commissioner's office (who obviously have not only too much time on their hands, but way too much time in the "Hospitality Tent," if you know what I mean) decided that instead of having 14 teams in one league and 16 teams in the other, that they would shift one franchise over, so there would be 15 teams in each. Somehow they managed to get the owners and players association to go along with this malarkey, which really has to make you wonder who knows what skeletons are in whose closet, and where all the bodies are buried, in order to get that unprecedented level of consensus - when normally, these people are at each others' throats, so that if the owners had proposed the Law of Gravity in the Middle Ages, the players would have come out full force against it. Then rather than moving Milwaukee back to the AL where they started, for some reason they picked on the poor Astros instead, tossing them willy-nilly into the wild and woolly AL West, along with the Texas Rangers, Oakland Athletics, Los Angeles Angels and Seattle Mariners. The problem this creates for the schedule is that in order to have enough time for the teams to play a full 162-game season in 6 months, starting now there has to be a continuous rotation of inter-league play at all times - otherwise, one team in each league would always be idle for 3 days in a row, and run out of days before they ran out of games. Previously, inter-league play was a novelty that happened only sporadically, and gave the fans in two-team cities like New York, Chicago and Los Angeles something else to tussle over in the taverns of their choice. As a result of this bird-brained move (with apologies to birds everywhere) now it's just going to be another hum-drum aspect of the game, like stirrup socks, spitting and steroids. (Oh, hit that easy target.) That sound you hear is the unquiet soul of poor Judge Mountain Landis, the no-nonsense Commissioner who ruled over the rambunctious early days with an iron fist and brought the free-wheeling palookas under his unyielding control for the good of the game. You can bet the shrewd Judge would have none of this tomfoolery, and in fact, he would have long since torn down the Hospitality Tent before anyone had a chance to come up with a cockamamie scheme like this in the first place, and that's not just the Cracker Jacks talking, believe me. On other sports fronts, the playoffs continue apace in the NBA and NHL, with the plucky Rangers losing the opening game of their series to the dratted Capitals, which although not unexpected, was still disappointing to their long-suffering loyal fans - and everyone knows that in this house, we bleed Rangers blue. Playing in the same building, but with different results, the new and improved Knicks won their first 3 games against the Celtics in handy fashion, and then proceeded to drop the next two, thanks not. It occurs to me that this might be a good time to move the Celtics out of the Eastern Conference altogether, and get them out of the Knicks' hair once and for all. I hear that Houston is very nice this time of year. Meanwhile at work, alert readers may recall our irrepressible former bookkeeper, and pride of Ireland's bonnie shores, Jean McPaddy O'Shamrock, who had the uncommon good sense to take advantage of that pension plan peculiarity for staff in a particular category, and left on December 31st with the other old-timers. She popped in for a visit last week, looking like a million bucks, which is what always happens when people leave the Employer of Last Resort, so that when they come back, you just about want to haul off and smack them. In any case, I bumped into her in the hallway when she was telling a story about her neighbor taking his grandson to McDonald's for lunch, and in spite of the fact that he ordered a Happy Meal for his young charge, the toddler did nothing but cry the whole time they were there. He said he wanted to go back to the counter and ask for his money back, since the inaptly-named Happy Meal utterly failed to provide the happiness that he was expecting. For her part, Jean said she could totally relate to that, because when her husband had a company car, she never found it to be very good company at all. Well, everyone knows how I worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me, and next thing you know, I'll be out there with the Poison Ivy Beautification Committee, digging up Judge Mountain Landis to knock some sense into the baseball idiocracy, before any more teams go the way of Houston. Or in the immortal words of the legendary General Sam Houston, "Remember the Astrodome!" Elle