Keeping It Real

Hello World, Happy happy, joy joy, as they say in the cartoons. There's so much to be happy about, a person wouldn't hardly know where to start. Thursday was Boxing Day in much of the world, and there's also Kwanzaa, and the bright shiny new year is right around the corner in the middle of the week - so for anyone who didn't care for the way things were going in 2013, you won't have long to wait until the whole darned thing gets kicked to the curb once and for all. Last Tuesday, we had our candlelight Christmas Eve service at church and right on time, with some wonderful special music from our soloists, and our plucky choir-ette pitched in gamely with an anthem of their own, which was well received by the indulgent congregation. If all that wasn't already enough to celebrate, it's still a buying bonanza out there for those individuals who got in the habit of shopping back in November, and just can't seem to stop. A normal person might think that 2 months would be plenty of time for stores to move just about all of the merchandise that they could possibly want to sell at one time, but apparently not, because desperate retailers were already advertising their after-Christmas sales earlier in the week when it was still before Christmas. Admittedly, some of these ads were for cars, which only qualify as Christmas gifts in the loosest possible interpretation of the term, but many of them were for the hottest toys and gadgets that people were paying top dollar for, scant weeks previously. It would be a year-end good deed for all of us to get out there and snap up some bargains in the whole ho-ho-hullabaloo aftermath, and the President's economic advisers would thank you, I'm sure. Of course, Christmas was on Wednesday, and it must be true, because NORAD was tracking Santa's movements all night Tuesday, and we can be sure that it would not have been all over the Internet if it wasn't real. Speaking of other-worldly reality, I recently heard a commentator explain that almost 20% of Americans don't believe that the Apollo space missions actually landed astronauts on the moon, but that hundreds of millions of citizens were duped by a wide-ranging conspiracy, using a variety of complicated special effects to make the impossible seem plausible to a gullible nation yearning for a return to its glory days. He went on to explain that for a mission of that complexity (or even a fake one) it would have taken many tens of thousands of individuals working on every single aspect from the tiniest transistors to the most mammoth rocket engines, all the while willingly participating in a gigantic ruse and keeping mum about it for no apparent advantage. He said it probably would have been easier to actually land on the moon, than to get all of those untold thousands of people to keep a secret of that magnitude, and frankly, I can't help but agree with him there. After all, in the immortal words of Benjamin Franklin, "Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead." In other updates from the North Pole, NORAD wasn't the only one paying attention to Santa during the week, as anyone with a television set can readily attest. The holiday movies and specials came thick and fast, at all days and times, and on every channel from one end of the spectrum to the other. We caught up with one of the newer selections on Netflix, where it came as a complete surprise to us, and out of the proverbial blue, like a snowball in July. It was an animated flick called "Saving Santa," featuring the voice talents of Martin Freeman, Tim Conway, Joan Collins and Tim Curry, among others, and just what the doctor ordered for some holiday cheer when we needed it the most. It struck me that it's been a busy time for Martin Freeman, not only making two Hobbitt movies in a row (the newest one is in theaters now) but also the recent "The World's End," a good-natured romp about a band of English revelers on a pub crawl, as well as the upcoming season of the BBC mini-series "Sherlock" supposedly returning in January with the equally over-worked Benedict Cumberbatch in the title role. Anyway, this story seems simplistic on the face of it, with a few unmemorable songs tossed in for good measure, which is about par for the course of formulaic holiday movies since just about forever. But unlike many lesser examples of this ilk, it soon turns into a rollicking, time-traveling, intricately inter-twined free-for-all, that skitters along rambunctiously from one unlikely escapade to the next, dragging you along in breathless wonder right behind it. One of our continuing disappointments in Netflix as a whole is that they don't offer any 3-D entertainment for our viewing pleasure, but we chose to experiment with this showing in the fake 3-D mode that Sony provides on our big screen TV, and we considered it a spectacular success, making the entire experience all that much more exhilarating than it would have been otherwise, in the same old dull and flat version. If this is what they're calling "enhanced reality" nowadays, or some other euphemism for basically making stuff up out of whole cloth, personally I have to say that I'm all for it. Also from the "fact or faked" casebook, we have the curious Christmas caper whodunit, where alert shoppers in the stores on the 26th would have found precious little evidence of the yuletide spirit, in the merest hours past, still on the shelves, or even in the discount bins, to reveal that the holiday had ever taken place to begin with. All was summarily swept away or sent packing, until scarcely a snowflake, jingle bell or candy cane remained to tell the tale. Of course, this is what comes of people rushing out to buy their so-called Christmas trees in the first place when it's still before Thanksgiving, so that by the day after Christmas, those self-same trees are already out in the street, and all the lavish decorations from the previous month are nothing but a fleeting memory. The commercialization of the season has actually served to turn Advent into Christmas, and the 25th - rather than ushering in the Christmas season that continues through to Epiphany in January - is now nothing more than a jumping-off point to the football playoffs and Valentine's Day. Alas poor Christmas, which has somehow managed to become eclipsed by its own unbridled popularity, while inexplicably, being a victim of its own runaway success. And speaking of inexplicable, I was at work when I happened to overhear two Jewish doctors discussing the age-old miracle in Bethlehem, and since one of them was apparently married out of the faith to a Christian woman, felt qualified to pontificate on the festival's rituals, traditions and religious practices, at least as far as he understood them. I will say that he probably did a better job explaining Christmas to a Jewish person than I would have done, say, trying to describe Yom Kippur to another Christian, but there was still a lot that seemed to get lost in translation, like seeing a familiar movie in a foreign language with sub-titles that you already know are wrong. I almost spoke up when he got to the part where The Wise Men show up in a sleigh with reindeer, but hey - I've always felt that reality is over-rated anyway, and I just love a happy ending, don't you? Elle

Ground Zero

Hello World, Happy Winter Solstice to all! Saturday represents the shortest day of the year, and ushers in the official first day of Winter, and if that's not enough to warm the cockles of any respectable Druid's heart, well then, I personally don't know what it would take, by golly. The good news for the rest of us is that it's all on the upswing from here, as every day will get longer and longer as we go along, with an incremental increase in daylight time from one day to the next, until we're not all going to work in the dark of the morning and coming home in the dark of night like a bunch of grumpy vampires. Of course, the welcome glitter of holiday lights certainly helps to dispel the winter's gloom, but there's nothing like real sunshine to cheer things up, as the Druids would be happy to tell you. After all, they didn't build Stonehenge just for the heck of it, and I ought to know - although frankly, I have always found that it runs a little too fast for the pinpoint accuracy I prefer in my prehistoric astronomical monuments. And while we're on the subject of things going too fast, I was reminded this week that it's probably just as well that we don't know what's right ahead of us in this crazy world, or we'd likely all run off into the hills screaming, I shouldn't wonder. The killer storm from the Midwest blew east earlier in the week, leaving most of the horror behind it, but still dumping an ugly mix of snow and freezing rain throughout the region, that closed schools and made getting around an exercise in frustration for all concerned. Bill and I had an appointment in Elmsford after work on Tuesday, and set off with determination, but luck was not with us on this occasion, as conditions were treacherous and traffic was heavy. We hadn't gotten far on the highway when the car in front of us got a flat tire of all things, and somehow we managed to come to a stop in spite of the ice, only to be rear-ended by the car behind us, which failed to slow down before it was too late. At least it didn't push us into the car with the flat tire, because Bill had just gotten a brand new bumper on the front, and also the air bags didn't deploy, so that was even better. But the SUV behind us made a mess of the Neon's rear bumper, and although we were all able to drive away from the accident under our own power, we elected to cut our losses, cancel our appointment, and just focus on getting home safely. We didn't notice that as a result of the crash, the trunk didn't close properly, which caused the trunk light to stay lit for two solid days, so that on Friday, the battery was completely dead and the car wouldn't start, and we had no idea why. At that point, I expected that we would be unavoidably late for work, but Bill called a cab, which showed up almost instantly, then peeled away from our house at breakneck speed, running every red light, taking corners on two wheels, with pedestrians leaping out of the way in fear of their lives, and dropped us at our destination with time to spare. Later, our young wizard mechanic solved the mystery of the dead battery, and soon had it set to rights, so we were once again back in the driver's seat of happy motoring. Pretty soon there will be a brand new rear bumper to match the brand new front bumper, or as we like to think of it, buying a new car, one piece at a time. In other news, alert readers may or may not have noticed a story about former teen heart-throb Joey Lawrence on the AOL Welcome screen, with this perplexing announcement: ======================== "Woah! He doesn't look like this anymore" ======================== "Woah?" Seriously, is that Noah's long-lost nephew or something? I mean, what kind of word is that supposed to be? It certainly isn't anything that I would recognize in English, at least on this planet, and I didn't just fall off the back of the inter-galactic turnip truck, I can assure you. I would expect even the most rudimentary of spell-checkers to pull up short at the likes of that, and give it the old heave-hoah long before it made its way to untold millions of eyeballs in cyberspace, just like it was a regular word that should be seen by people, instead of some derelict cast-off from the ark that should have been left behind with the rest of the overfloah. (I understand that Overfloah was Noah's third cousin twice removed on his great-grandmother's side of the family.) Honestly, sometimes you just don't knoah whether to laugh or cry. And people may call me a literary stickler and a curmudgeon (don't you dare!) but I really do hate to complain about our well-meaning volunteers at church, whose selfless hard work and unsung efforts help to keep the doors open and things running smoothly, week in and week out, with no thought of material reward. These days, they've pulled together a sort of small ad hoc choir that sings offering anthems periodically, and recently favored us with a contemporary composition for the Advent season, whose official title is: "Emmanuel, Hallowed Manger Ground" about the holy birth in a stable. Normally, I wouldn't pick on a typo in our Sunday bulletin, where overworked volunteers can be forgiven for the occasional lapse, but this managed to have two of them in only four words, and I just couldn't resist when I spotted it printed in the bulletin as "Emmanuel, Hollowed Manager Ground" instead. Frankly, I don't know what a hollowed manager would look like, but it certainly doesn't sound good, grounded or not. Although personally, I happen to believe that some management would be vastly improved by being hollowed out, and if anyone is interested, please contact me because I have a list. Speaking of church, last Sunday was our annual celebration of Lessons & Carols, and while the weather was not as cooperative as might have been hoped, a fine time was had by the few hardy souls who braved the elements to enjoy this seasonal treat. Earlier in the year, I had approached our organist to ask if he could rustle us up a tenor that I could sing a duet with, as a change of pace from the same old routine, and he said he would see what he could do. You can imagine my surprise - and here, chagrin would not be too strong a word - when he showed up not only without a tenor, but with yet another soprano, of all things, and thanks ever so much not. She also did a couple of solo pieces that were well received, and added a dash of novelty to the proceedings that had been sorely lacking in recent years. The good thing about our duet was that it made no difference whatsoever what I was singing, because I was completely drowned out by this large and imposing Wagnerian valkyrie, bursting with booming vibrato and rafter-rattling volume at full throttle. I was obviously no match for her, so the pressure was completely off me, and I found I wasn't a bit nervous, as I normally would have been in that situation. The rest of the program came off without a hitch, and don't think that we don't have the videotape to prove it, and the plucky choir (choir-ette) did a commendable job despite their reduced numbers. I still haven't given up on the tenor idea at some point in the future, but it occurred to me that it was probably a good thing I didn't ask the organist for a watch, or he most likely would have turned up with Stonehenge instead, for all I know. Or should I say, knoah. Elle

A View From The Bridge

Hello World, Well, the good news is that this was already the last Friday the 13th we're going to have this year, so that's one less thing to dread in our near future. That's a good thing, especially the way things have been going on the local sports scene lately, where even the teams that aren't technically playing right now, have been making off-season moves (or not making them) that are so atrocious that even their staunchest admirers have been wailing in anguish. On the hoops front, it appears that the Knicks and the Nets are engaged in a struggle to see which of them can set a new low for ineptitude, and still be considered professional athletes. In frozen circles, the lackluster Rangers have nothing but excuses to show for a season that is quickly spiraling out of control, so obviously the coaching change was not the solution that the ownership might have hoped for. Among the gridiron gang, the pathetic New York Giants were mathematically eliminated from the playoffs, while the hapless Jets are somehow still in the hunt, of all things. It's enough to make a normally sane person decide to turn their back on sports altogether, and find another hobby to occupy their time, like origami or glass blowing, or just give up and join a cult that prevents all contact with the outside world, and be done with it. In fact, in the immortal words of their signature hit, "Done," by The Band Perry, "You're a bridge I'd like to burn," and that's not just the Zamboni talking, believe me. And speaking of futuristic things, alert readers could not help but notice the sensational pop-up ad on the AOL Welcome screen two weeks ago that was touting the 2015 Ford Mustang in screaming headlines and zippy graphics. Yes, you read that right, sports fans, and it was no typo - in early December 2013, they were already hawking the 2015 model year Mustang, and apparently without irony, as impossible as that might seem. Of course, Bill has always insisted that haute couture and holiday-creep would finally get so far ahead of themselves that they would come back around to being at the right time of year once again, but from the other side, and personally, I never doubted it. But this takes chronological anomalies to a whole new level, which you would think would have caused a rift in the space-time continuum of such epic proportions that the whole fabric of the universe would have been rent asunder, and the Federation's inter-galactic forces would have to step in to keep the Klingons and the Romulans from running amok among us. Not that Ford cares if the entire solar system is jeopardized by their willful disregard of proper time management, heaven knows, but as for myself, I'll take good old terra firma over worm holes and warp speed any day, and they can just keep their dilithium crystals, by golly. Meanwhile, in seasonal news that is right on time, we picked last Saturday to go looking for a Christmas tree, when there was just the slightest dusting of snow, and could not have been more perfect conditions for the occasion. Our regular lot at the nearby VFW smelled just as good as ever, and families of eager shoppers set their sights on just the most ideal tree for their particular holiday needs. After years of wrestling mammoth trees into the house, this year we decided to pick one slightly less humongous, and we were lucky to find one with an excellent shape to make up for what it lacked in stature. It still seemed heavy for its size, which I guess was Mother Nature's way of having the last laugh after all, but Bill was more than equal to the challenge, and soon had it upright in its stand, with all its coniferous grandeur unfurled before us. Alert readers may recall that we have 2 new black cats this year - Truffle in May and Inky in June - so this is their first exposure to Christmas trees in our living room, and it certainly seemed to come as a big surprise to both of them, and not a very welcome one at that. Of course, Truffle has always considered us 3-headed polka dot space aliens from a far distant galaxy, since the first time he ever set eyes on us, which is a good long while ago, so pretty much nothing we do is any more of a surprise than everything else, in his opinion - which I don't mind saying, is pretty far down on the popularity scale, as opinions go. Inky, on the other hand, has become more acclimated to the family environment around here, so when we do something that she regards as an outrage against humanity, like this evergreen interloper, she considers it an affront against her royal authority and an invasion of her majestic domain, which is not to be tolerated. Truffle's solution to the problem is to give the whole tree the go-by, simply avoiding the living room altogether, while anyone could see the wheels turning in Inky's cunning brain, and frankly, I don't care for the tree's chances all that much in a battle of wits with our nubian Princess. On the local scene, in our continuing efforts to support local businesses, Bill and I recently patronized a new restaurant to the Queen City on the Sound - or, if it wasn't exactly new, at least it was new to us. This particular establishment was the aptly named Calcutta Curry House, featuring their fine Indian cuisine, and not just a slap-dash grab-and-go spicy mouthful, but a wholly elegant dining experience that is meant to be savored and enjoyed at leisure. The place is basically within walking distance of our house, all aglow in charming and authentic decor, with food that is lovingly prepared and graciously served, whether the grandest feast or the simplest appetizers. We had been at the nail salon earlier in the day, and decided to eat out rather than go home and cook, so it turned out that we got there when it was still very early for dinner - in fact, it was so quiet at that time, we could have had our pick of tables, and since we were easily outnumbered by the wait staff, the service was way beyond attentive, to the point that they could have just pulled up a chair and joined us for our meal. Comments online at Yelp and GrubHub give it outstanding reviews, and I'd be more than happy to direct all alert readers to their web page - that is, except for the fact that they don't seem to have one, which is just about unheard of in this age of digital miracles, let's face it. We enjoyed their seasoned naan, and creamed vegetables with rice, plus samosas on the side, and I can tell you that their lassi (sort of fruit smoothies) are scrumptious, I can assure you. Their menu is wide-ranging and enticing, and they have lunch specials for folks on the go, as well as dining al fresco in fine weather. Although it must be said that the fresco includes Huguenot Street at full throttle, not exactly the most scenic or relaxing of landscapes to pair with your meal, ethnic or otherwise. You might even see a Klingon drive by in a 2015 Mustang, but that wouldn't worry me - I've got the Federation's inter-galactic forces on speed dial, after all. Elle

Busy Signal

Hello World, Happy Advent! Often the first Sunday in Advent happens in November, but Thanksgiving was so late this year, that Advent had to hold off until December 1st, so there was no getting a jump on the season like it usually does. This will already be the second Sunday in Advent, and we all know what that means - that is, except for the godless Communist apparatchniks and KGB agents monitoring my email (whose name is legion, heaven knows) who may not be aware that there are four Sundays in Advent leading up to Christmas day, so we're getting to be halfway there now. As much as I hate to be an alarmist, it behooves me to point out that anyone who is not already prepared to jingle all the way, would have reason for concern, and had better get busy, and pronto. Not to mention, Donder and Blitzen, it goes without saying. And speaking of the reason for the season, of course, last Thursday was Thanksgiving for parts of the world, reminding us all that we have much to be thankful for, in spite of it all. I had to work on Black Friday, so we enjoyed a quiet holiday at home with some Tofurkey and all the trimmings (I have the feeling that Stormin' Norman "Tofu" Rockwell would have been so proud) and glad for a bit of a respite from the busy pace and demands of the most wonderful time of the year, as the song goes. We held off the whole turkey and pilgrim celebration until Saturday, so we could have 2 days together for the festivities, and stay overnight, rather than try to cram everything into one hectic day. So in the morning, we headed to my sister's log cabin in the woods, and were greeted with open arms and all the hospitality anyone could hope for. We started with snacks and appetizers that were tasty enough to entice weary travelers back for seconds, as well as interesting drinks, like apple cider with peach - which was way better than it sounds, as the peach cut through the sharp edge of the apple's tartness, and added some welcome sweetness without being overwhelming. You can't get enough of their big screen TV, especially when there's college football to be seen, in all of its colorful pageantry, so we were certainly not bored while all the food was cooking. At last, we made our way to the groaning board, which was piled high with a bountiful cornucopia of seasonal favorites, including baked ziti, which may not be traditional for everybody, but suits us just fine, and thanks ever so. Our appetites made creditable inroads into the abundance, and there were no complaints, I can assure you. I won't say that we went as far as licking the plates, but I will admit that if there had been a dog there, he would have found no crumbs to clean up after us, by golly. After tackling a big meal, there's nothing like a brisk walk along the scenic Ashokan reservoir to revive flagging spirits, and the weather was pleasant enough for the occasion - unlike other times when plunging temperatures and piercing winds make for teeth-chattering conditions that scared the wildlife for miles in every direction. On the contrary, on this trip, we found the deer were so plentiful that it became almost boring to see them come right up to the fence and regard us - or rather, disregard us - like some fusty museum exhibit that had long since lost any interest for them. I suppose we can't expect anything else but snickering from the juveniles, but frankly, I thought their elaborate yawning was completely uncalled for. Back from our hike, we took the opportunity to swing by Kingston, to check in at the SuperLodge where we had stayed last year, and found it perfectly adequate and reasonably priced to boot. Nowadays we always try to check in while it's still early, and turn up the heat (on these winter trips to the northern climes) so we don't have a repeat of the frigid Russian winter that sabotaged our last visit to the SkyTop several years ago. Better safe than frozen is our motto, and we already learned that lesson the hard way, da? We got back to the cabin just in time for dessert, with a variety of pies and plenty of brownies and ice cream to go around, plus more college football to keep things interesting. After a long and busy day, we settled into the SuperLodge for the night, which was so quiet and comfortable that I certainly didn't stay awake tossing and turning, that's for sure - in fact, Bill will tell you that I was sound asleep before my head even hit the pillow, and I have no reason to doubt it. They probably have some sort of breakfast nibbles available at the motel in the morning, but we already had plans to head back to the cabin for pancakes and cinnamon buns, so we wasted no time in getting there, and it was worth the trip, I can tell you that. We followed that up with a technological experiment that managed to be both informative and hilarious at the same time, which is not an easy combination to pull off. Bill's iPhone takes pictures and videos, of course, but it also has another interesting feature, in that it can combine a series of snapshots into a single panorama. He first tried this at the reservoir, but then couldn't figure out how to stitch the separate photos together afterward. So he found a handy tutorial online, and discovered the correct camera settings to use on the phone, in order to make this work - and they also suggested a cute trick that seemed way too irresistible to pass up. If you start to take a picture in panorama mode, you can have a person pose there at the beginning, and once you move past that point in the frame, they can then run around behind the photographer, and pose again at the end, and they will then appear two different times at two different places in the same picture. (Remember this is a still picture and not a video.) If they have enough energy, they can run behind the photographer twice, and show up 3 times in the same picture - which is what we did in my sister's newly renovated kitchen, so you see the same 3 crazy people in 3 different places and poses in this one panoramic view. Not that you necessarily would want to, in fact, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't. It was way too early in the day for anyone to be drinking, but we still thought this was one of the funniest things we had ever seen, and I can highly recommend it to anyone with some spare time on their hands and a motley assortment of kooks at their disposal. Of course, running around the kitchen three times was hungry work, and fortunately, there was still ample dessert from the day before, so we tucked into that, and once again, there were no complaints, I can assure you. Finally the time came when we had to leave, so our hosts loaded us up with plenty of left-overs, and bid us farewell and good luck on our journey, and off we went. Halfway home, we pulled into Denny's in Newburgh for dinner, expecting it to be the same as always, but were surprised to see a welter of pennants flying outside like it was something new or different in the same old place. We discovered that it had been completely renovated, just since the last time we had been there, scant months earlier, so they had obviously been very busy in our absence. Most importantly, the food was just as good as ever, and here again, if there had been a dog in the place, he would have found nothing worth waiting for when we were done. The drive home was uneventful, and even the cats seemed indifferent to both our leaving and returning. You can be sure that we've been enjoying our left-overs ever since, and that's not just the pumpkin pie talking, believe me. Although truth to tell, if the pumpkin pie were talking, it would certainly confuse the heck out of the KGB agents listening in around here - but when it comes to taking a chance on another Russian winter, all I have to say is, "Nyet!" Elle

Let's Talk Turkey

Hello World, Happy Thanksgivukkah! It isn't often that ol' Tom Turkey gets the chance to spin a dreidel with the family, so this is certainly an extra special occasion in more ways than one. They tell me there won't be another such alignment of these two events for another 79,000 years or so, give or take, so it really behooves all of us to take advantage of it while we can. Then it seems like the Thanksgiving left-overs are barely cold when the Black Friday extravaganza kicks into high gear, and every year, bargain-obsessed shoppers leave the comforts of hearth and home to camp out in front of big box stores, and get into fistfights with other customers over the latest gadgets and playthings. If that legendary observer of everyday life, Norman Rockwell, were alive today, I shudder to think what he would be painting as the typical family holiday in November, but I daresay it would bear no resemblance to his original heart-warming masterpiece of days gone by, alas. The mind reels. In other local news, alert readers may recall our first-ever excursion to Mohegan Sun at the beginning of October, where we enjoyed some good food, world-class entertainment, and a trip to the spa for some much needed pampering. What with one thing and another around here, it turns out that was the last time I was at a nail salon, and hadn't been back since, which is a good long time ago, and it certainly showed, I can tell you that. Over the last many weeks, my poor neglected nails had gotten so cracked, split, torn and jagged that an intoxicated vagabond hobo would be too embarrassed to claim them as his own, much less a respectable member of society within shouting distance of any number of salons, and could take their pick. In fact, they were so bad that when we finally went to the salon on Sunday, the horrified manicurist actually gasped at the sight of them, and if she could have held my hands away from herself with a pair of tongs, that's exactly what she would have done, I shouldn't wonder. Needless to say, I came out of there looking worlds better than when I walked in, and from now on, the hoboes will have to fend for themselves. I'm going to miss those campfires down by the freight yard, I have to admit. Even more alert readers may recall our incomparable auto mechanic par excellence, an old schoolmate of Bill's with the magic touch, and his son who has followed in his father's footsteps at the family business, carrying on a tradition of quality and integrity that has been a beacon of sanity and stability in a whirlwind of change. For years, I was amply bemused at the idea of this fresh-faced youngster working on my fabled Gremlin, which I was driving before he was even born, and which the dinosaurs will tell you, would be like sending Bill Gates in to fix your ancient Colossus encryption machinery from the World War II era. But the young lad was nothing if not game, and not one to shy away from a challenge, no matter how antiquated or arcane, often performing miracles far beyond the abilities of mere mortals. In his spare time, he plays with a heavy metal band known as Demon Boy, and for us devoted patrons of his mechanical skills, seeing this music video on YouTube was something of a thunderclap, showing us a side of him that was heretofore not only unknown to us, but completely unimagined. [Please feel free to go right ahead and watch it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP8At2Mbv-I and see for yourself.] Of course, we're more than happy to support the flower of American youth in their pursuit of self-expression, and wish him well in either one or both career paths, howsoever he may choose - but I would be less than candid if I didn't point out that the whole situation has made my new Chevy Aveo understandably jittery, and with good reason, I might add. Meanwhile, in the wonderful world of snack foods, untold legions of long-suffering fans were elated at the welcome return of Drakes coffee cakes and devil dogs, plus their beloved Wonder bread to store shelves at long last, following in the footsteps of Twinkies earlier in the year. Hostess was the big name in the labor dispute that snatched our favorite treats out of our very grasp, and the focus seemed to be all about Twinkies at the time, but the fact is that Drakes was part and parcel of the collateral fall-out, and took all of their branded specialties right along with them when the parent company kicked the proverbial bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, met its maker, cashed in its chips and breathed its last, so to speak. It seemed like forever that we had to make do with inferior products from Little Debbie and Tasty Kake in the meantime, but anyone can tell you that forever is certainly not as long as it used to be, and now they have finally rejoined the ranks of the living, cheering the hearts (and tummies!) of a clamoring public. It's true that they are back again, although I won't say, "and better than ever," because that never seems to be the outcome in cases like this - but it's still better than nothing, so the dinosaurs and I feel that it would be petty and captious to quibble at this point. After all, it is Hanukkah, when the spirit of miracles ought to be embraced unequivocally, and let's face it, nobody wants to look a gift turkey in the mouth. Elle