That's The Spirit

Hello World, The time has surely come, and not a moment too soon, when we can join with the ancient Roman soothsayers in announcing: "Beware the Ides of June," if in fact, they ever had occasion to make that observation. In many places, schools are already out, except for those students taking Regents exams, and it's "no more homework, no more books" for the next three months or so. That may be good news for some, and not such great news for others (and I think you know who you are) and while I won't be the one who says that it causes a spike in psychiatric visits by parents, I think it's safe to assume that many people not currently under a doctor's direct care may indeed be self-medicating with their preferred drug of choice, if you know what I mean. Of course, anyone can tell you that mine is chocolate, and don't spare the nuts and nougat while you're at it, my good man. It's true that Friday was Flag Day, from sea to shining sea, from purple mountains majesty to amber waves of grain, from the redwood forests to the gulf-stream waters, and from the dawn's early light to the twilight's last gleaming, with liberty and justice for all. Unfortunately, the weather forecast was too ominous to risk hoisting Old Glory in the not-so-great outdoors, and we had to console ourselves with flying the colors at home, in the library and sun porch as we always do, when they're not outside lending their patriotic hues to the neighborhood. Of course, the dinosaurs and I realize that there are no standards anymore, heaven knows, but there are very strict rules about the national emblem being out in inclement weather, and I figure that I'm already on the wrong side of the aggrieved Barbara Frietchie's unquiet spirit as it is, after completely forgetting about Decoration Day, so I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and didn't chance it. I'll admit that we can't count on The Flag Brigade for much around here, but by golly, nobody's going to rain on Francis Scott Key's parade while I'm on the job, and that's not just a lot of stars and stripes forever, by Souza. Last Saturday saw the 145th running of the venerable Belmont Stakes, making it easily the oldest of the Triple Crown races - although trailing behind them on the schedule, it all too often falls victim to a bottomless trough of apathy when there's no potential Triple Crown winner in the offing, such as this year. Hopes were high that Kentucky Derby victor Orb, or Preakness winner Oxbow, could run away with two of the three, and the odds reflected this optimism, with Orb at 3-1 and Oxbow at 5-1 when the race started. However, it was not to be, alas, as the 13-1 long-shot, Palace Malice, handily took the longer length in stride, and won by 3-1/4 lengths with Oxbow and Orb trailing behind him, along with the rest of the field of 14 starters. Palace Malice, who had set the pace at the Derby, went off in that race at 25-1, leading most of the way, but then fading badly to finish a dismal 12th at the end. His owners elected to skip the Preakness, giving him more time to prepare for the Belmont, and that strategy certainly paid off in spades - or should I say, carnations, since a blanket of carnations is awarded to the winner of the race. (Even the Belmont loyalists would concede that "run for the carnations" has never caught on in the American lexicon the way "run for the roses" has at Churchill Downs, and that's not just the mint juleps talking either.) And you can surely tell that the evil spirit of Affirmed has been working overtime from the great beyond, because instead of a singular exceptional horse capturing the public's attention with the expectation that a new Triple Crown winner could be a real possibility, the reality is that this is the 4th time in 5 years that a different horse has won each of the three races. I've said before that I don't know what it would take to shake the late Affirmed's steely grip on the record (here I'm betting that Babe Ruth wishes he had that book of hexes, by George - not to mention, Roger Bannister) but I'll know that we've finally turned a corner when horses start showing up in the starting gate with names like Pact With The Devil, I Ain't Afraid o' No Curse, and Death to Affirmed. Somewhere off in the distance, Seattle Slew would be having a great big laugh. In our continuing efforts to rejuvenate our flagging spirits and weary bodies, we paid a visit to a local establishment that we had recently discovered right under our very noses on Main Street in the pulsating heart of the Queen City's bustling downtown scene. On a lackluster part of the street, chockablock with Peruvian restaurants, jewelry stores and insurance agencies, we stumbled across the Tranquil Spirit Day Spa (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.tranquilspiritspa.com and see for yourself) where they offer the latest in hair techniques, massage, aromatherapy, facials, reflexology, nail care, paraffin treatment, body scrubs, waxing, and hot stone therapy for whatever ails you, and then some. Unlike many salons that we have tried lately, whose staff was all firmly rooted in Communist regimes (and may I say for the record, and the KGB agents monitoring my email, "I love Mother Russia," comrade, and Chairman Mao is my idol, yellow peril or not) this new place was populated with friendly island natives who were like a breath of fresh tropical air. Although a plain-looking storefront outside, it had a spacious and well-appointed interior, with plenty of comfy furnishings, soft lighting, flickering candles, and delightful fragrances wafting everywhere. Bill had signed me up for a mani-pedi and foot massage, while he opted for a massage, and we embarked upon our adventure with high hopes. It must be said that the ladies were extremely attentive (in welcome contrast to salons where they pointedly ignore you at the door) and genuinely wanted us to relax and enjoy the enveloping ambience of calm and quiet that they had worked so hard to achieve in a busy urban setting. Unfortunately, the place had too many drawbacks for us to try it again - not just that it seemed wildly overpriced, but also that we were disappointed in the services provided. But even if I loved my mani-pedi and foot massage (which I didn't) the deal-breaker for me would have been their music. They actually played the same song for one solid interminable hour, the entire time I was there, over and over and over again, until I was just about ready to scream. It was way too loud to ignore as just random background music, and although it started out as a nice enough tune, the constant repetition quickly turned it into a kind of vile water torture that even the big bad Commies would have drawn the line at. I was thinking this might be the handiwork of Barbara Frietchie, stalwart protector of our country's flag through the centuries and across the great divide - but frankly, this has all the earmarks of the evil spirit of Affirmed to be a coincidence. And let's face it, has anyone ever seen Chairman Mao and Affirmed in the same place at the same time? As they used to say in communist Russia, "Nyet!" Or in this case, perhaps that should be, "Neigh!" Elle