Toss Up

Hello World, For all of the local denizens in our perusing public (and you know who you are - no doubt, as well as the KGB agents monitoring my email, whose name is legion, heaven knows) it's not your imagination, it really has been a summer in name only. But this time, you don't have to take my word for it, here's what they had to say in The Journal News recently: =========================== Cat days of summer? You can't fry an egg on the sidewalk, you don't feel like a sweat hog, you don't have to run the air conditioner every day and you might even need a sweater in the evenings. According to Accu-Weather, July 8 was the only day to reach 90 degrees this year in the Lower Hudson Valley, meaning that we're having warm - rather than hot - fun in the summertime. Enjoy it while it lasts. "The Old Farmer's Almanac" predicts a cold, snowy winter. Brrr. =========================== So there you have the scoop, the whole scoop, and nothing but the scoop on summer so far, and they're not just whistling Dixie, believe me - or in the immortal words of old farmers everywhere, "E - I - E - I - O." However, I will say that the unusual conditions in these parts haven't slowed down our daylilies and dahlias, not to mention the giant thistles, which have been going gang-busters all along our driveway, and no complaints from that quarter, I can assure you. I don't know if that's what accounts for other outdoor oddities at the moment, such as our errant rabbits around the neighborhood, but it does seem to be curious times about the old homestead lately. It was probably more than 10 years ago now that we saw our first Monk Parakeets in the bird feeders (and I still have the pictures to prove it, by golly, and don't think I don't) and a few months ago, we saw another one in our sycamore. In the "be careful what you wish for" department, that colorful visitor was soon joined by a whole flock of friends and relatives, who now seem to have settled into the environs for the long term, and exhibiting no indications that relocating to a distant locale figures into their plans in any way. In fact, our neighbors posted a picture on FaceBook with 8 of the flamboyant creatures on their bird feeders at the same time, so that tells you something right there. Like other areas where colonies have sprung up - sometimes with many dozens of the fine feathered flyers - we're starting to learn what everybody else already knows, about their boisterous habits and encroaching ways, so much so that local communities afflicted with them often search for means to be rid of them once and for all. Our other interlopers are cowbirds, which Bill remembers seeing before, but personally I have never set eyes on them in our yard in all the years I've been here, and the dinosaurs don't mind telling you, that's been a good long time now. It seems like there's been some sort of mix-up somewhere, and frankly, I don't even want to think what the Kremlin has been up to lately, thanks not. In other local news, it's really true that you can't get too far into the pre-season football schedule before you can expect the New York Giants and New York Jets to square off at MetLife Stadium in the Meadowlands (otherwise known as the swamps of East Rutherford) for bragging rights around the city that never sleeps. Unlike the long-standing baseball tradition of the Mets and Yankees playing each other in the Mayor's Trophy game, the gridiron counterpart is often referred to disparagingly as the Snoopy Bowl, and features the Snoopy Bowl trophy going to the winner. One can only imagine what that must look like (NOT) and further suppose that our friends at www.nydailynews.com were being facetious when they described it thusly: =================================== The coveted and magnificent Snoopy Bowl trophy is at stake Friday night when the Jets play the Giants and it’s clearly the next best thing to the Vince Lombardi Trophy for Rex Ryan. He just loves that thing. ==================================== The story goes on to say that with both teams playing so poorly over the years, there's no expectation that they might meet in the Super Bowl, so this meaningless tilt will have to be sufficient consolation for the home-town fans bleeding team hues on both sides of the color chart. And speaking of bleeding, they also pointed out that the participants are so competitive, and the games have gotten so chippy (resulting in busted knees, broken wrists, dislocated shoulders, yards of stitches and pools of blood) that the pundits call the stadium MetStrife instead. Frankly, I would hope that MetLife would at the very least offer the players a discount on additional health coverage, I dare say. Also in the great world of gaming, everybody knows there is certainly no lack of games that you can play on your smart phones, heaven knows, many of which are the exact same games, but from different companies. For instance, everyone has a bubble popping game (Bubble Island, Bubble Witch, Poppit) and a candy matching game (Candy Crush Saga, Candy Blast Mania, Charm King) or the same idea in bakery products (Cookie Splash, Cupcake Mania, Sweet Tooth) and a gem collecting game (Bejeweled Blitz, Diamond Dash, Jewel Beach) in their arsenal. Not to mention, slots, poker, Sudoku, solitaire, Mah Jongg, and arcade games of every sort under the sun, including suns in far distant solar systems full of 3-headed polka-dot space aliens, I shouldn't wonder. As for myself, I like word games, like Bookworm, Word Jewels, Boggle and Word Seek, all of which have the additional advantage of being completely free. Then I remembered two other games that I had found online several years ago, before I had a cell phone, and I had a hankering to play them again. Mind you, this is in spite of my comments about them at the time, which ran along these lines: [[ I tried a few games that I had never seen before, including Book of Treasures and Tumble Bees, which seemed simple enough, and with adorably childish graphics that would no doubt appeal to their target audience of game-playing youngsters. Therefore, it was with no small amount of consternation (and here, mortification would not be too strong a word) that I discovered that I was so bad at both of them, that a person might legitimately believe that I was not only illiterate, but had no understanding of the English language to start with. It was a humbling experience, I can tell you that. ]] Alas, I was destined to be disappointed even more so, when I discovered that these games were not available for my phone, since it doesn't support Java, and they could only be played online with a regular computer instead. So it's back to Candy Blast Mania for me, for my gaming pleasure on the go, and I can always count on their helpful instructions to keep me on the right track. For instance, they go to great lengths to explain to me how to match up the various items I need to collect: "If you can create a T or L-shape match, you will also enchant any charms you need in the corresponding row and column. You can even enchant charms twice, this way you can reach your goal even faster. But doing so is no walk in a cake." No walk in a cake, indeed! I admit that I have long since embarrassed myself at Word Whomp and Pop Words, with the derisive howls of laughter from our old friends the dinosaurs still ringing in my ears, but at least I didn't fail the idiom test like these simpletons trying to walk through a cake. Heck, I'd take my chances against them in Idiom Blast Mania any day, if only there were such a game - although with my luck, these would be the very people making the game, so "no walk in a cake" would probably be one of their idioms after all, and that's not just the chocolate chips talking, believe me. Elle

Hit Or Miss

Hello World, Now, it's true that we've all long since learned that it certainly does no good to complain about the weather, heaven knows, but it can't be denied that it has really been unusual conditions in these parts during the summer, and that's not just a lot of sun screen and parasols, believe me. Unlike the ordinary sweltering temperatures and wilting humidity of every other year, where triple digits are not in the least uncommon, this has been absolutely the coldest summer I can ever remember in my entire life. (And the howls of derisive laughter from our old friends the dinosaurs notwithstanding, thanks not.) Every day is in the 70s or 80s, with overnight lows near 60 degrees, which feels even chillier, since you expect it to be so much warmer at this time of year. In fact, yesterday morning when I came downstairs, I couldn't help but notice that the heat was on (!!!) which is just about the last thing I would expect in what would normally be the fabled Dog Days of August. (The constellations of Sirius and nearby Orion are so prominent at this period, it is surmised that it was the "dog star" which prompted our ancestors to name the "dog days" after it. For some reason, that reminds me of a TV show I saw recently where one of the characters - who could not be described as the sharpest cheese in the cave - asked a star-gazing colleague to show her what she referred to as "O'Brien's Belt.") On top of everything else, it's been a crowded field in the night sky lately, what with yet another "super moon" in our midst, and the Perseid Meteor Shower putting on a show of its own. You certainly don't want to miss it, and I'd be happy to tell everyone to get out there and enjoy it, but if you're anywhere around here, for heaven's sake, bring a jacket. Back in July when I was coming home from vacation, as I was pulling up in front of the house, I was startled to spot a rabbit in our neighbor's yard, big as life, and just sitting very calmly in the grass and watching the world go by, almost like a full-scale figurine they had set there for decorative purposes. But even from the street, I could see its little nose wiggling and ears twitching, so I knew it was a real bunny, although what it was doing there, and out in broad daylight was a mystery to me, I'm sure. It was a regular tan rabbit and full-grown, with a white cottontail as they do, not one of those black or patterned exotic rabbits that you find in pet stores, or some poor lost tiny baby that had gotten loose by mistake. Two weeks later, I saw one in a different neighbor's yard on the other side of our house, and a second one sitting right on our sidewalk at the same time - and here again, big as life and out in broad daylight besides. Last Friday we came home from the diner, and almost stepped on one in our backyard, who hopped right over to me as if looking for a handout (do people honestly carry carrots around with them, just in case of bunnies showing up unexpectedly?) but then hopped over my foot and headed off down the driveway. I don't know what constellation it is that brings out rabbits (probably "Elmer Fudd Major," if I had to take a stab at it) but it does seem to me that these have been more "The Rabbit Days of August" instead of the Dog Days around here lately. One thing that can be said about NetFlix is that you certainly get exposed to a vast array of entertainment options, that you never would have had any likelihood of stumbling across previously on your own, from the golden oldies of yesteryear, to more contemporary classics, and some of the most bizarre and far-out oddities that you could ever think of - and some that you simply couldn't, if you had a million years and unlimited access to mind-altering drugs besides. One of these curiosities that showed up in my list of suggestions was the heretofore unknown "Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse," which turned out to be an animated series with different episodes during its separate seasons, now handily gathered together in one place, no doubt for my viewing pleasure, and thanks ever so. Of course, it's all too easy to scoff, but I have to say that the show is way more entertaining than you would expect for a program about a small plastic doll - however iconic and beloved that doll might actually be, and let's face it, Mattel needs no help from me to justify the popularity of their Barbie juggernaut, and the billions it has raked in over the decades, I dare say. The animation is sophisticated without being fussy, and the stories have an endearingly goofy quality without being stupid. Anyone already on familiar terms with the "Barbie-Sphere" would quickly recognize the stable of friends, pets, and accessories (for instance, Midge, Skipper, and the flamboyant pink convertible) and there's plenty of fashion, gadgets, and youthful hijinks to keep everything moving along at a peppy pace. It's all good light-hearted fun played for laughs, and its self-deprecating skewering of the Barbie and Ken mythology is a major part of its quirky charm. So to give credit where it's due, here's a big pink shout-out to NetFlix for sending the Dreamhouse crew my way, which I never would have found on my own, even if I was actually looking for it, which I wasn't - and my world would certainly have been a lot less pink without it, that's for sure. Meanwhile on the sports scene, such as it is, there doesn't seem to be much controversy or earth-shaking news coming out of the pre-season football camps to keep the media buzzing these days, so they're pretty much reduced to reporting on "human interest" stories or whatever non-news they can scrounge up on their own. I'm thinking this is what explains the recent article in the local Sports section about the collaboration between famous NFL brothers, Peyton Manning of the Denver Broncos and Eli Manning of the New York Giants, that not only had nothing to do with sports, per se, but in no way utilized any of their considerable athletic prowess at all. In fact, it would not be over-stating the case to declare that it flew in the face of their remarkable talents, while making use of what would be described in kindness as their glaring weaknesses in the areas of singing and dancing instead, of all things. Apparently somebody came up with the half-baked notion (and in our house, this is when we always wonder where is Daffy Duck when you need him to show up and say, "Shoot me now! Shoot me now!") for the brothers to team up and make a music video on behalf of DirecTV, which was called "Football on Your Phone," and touted one of the company's new features, and they must have felt this was the perfect way to market the concept to their target audience. In fact, as Dave Barry always says, "You can't make this stuff up," and you can just go right ahead and check it out on YouTube and see for yourself. Not content to leave well enough alone, apparently, they followed up that inaugural effort with a second one recently, which is called "Fantasy Football Fantasy," and is much the same in terms of its musical and visual content, including guest appearances by celebrities, teammates, and even their poor beleaguered father, whose pristine reputation is likely to survive the indignity, although his pride may have taken quite a beating, I shouldn't wonder. When it comes to things you shouldn't miss, I can't say this would be one of them, by any stretch of the imagination, and that's not just the pom-poms talking, believe me. And thanks to NetFlix, we've all long since discovered that things can always be worse, heaven knows - but frankly, when they start to break out that pink convertible, all bets are off. Elle

Hi Bob

Hello World, It may seem like it's only the beginning of August, but apparently it's later than we think. The month was just barely underway, when what to our wondering eyes should appear, prancing upon the scene, but professional football, of all things, with the fabled Hall of Fame game in Canton, Ohio, this time around with the New York Giants and Buffalo Bills. In fact, the Giants have played another game since then, and won both, so things may be looking up for Big Blue, and the upcoming season may not be a total loss in the swamps of New Jersey after all. Meanwhile, for their cohorts in swamp-land, the Jets and Colts ushered in pre-season play for both teams last week, and Gang Green actually pulled off a win, which probably surprised them as much as anybody else, I dare say. I think it was legendary NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle who once famously observed, "The times, they are a-changing," or Bob's your uncle, as they say. Speaking of changing times, it was scant weeks ago that veteran powerhouse actress Elaine Stritch finally breathed her last at the ripe old age of 89 - which prompted her long-time colleague on "30 Rock," Alec Baldwin, to post the following tweet: "I'm sure that even God is a bit nervous right now." Ya gotta love it! And as long as we're sharing the love, it reminds me of a recent story in the newspaper about an errant SUV that struck a "utility poll," as they described it, and apparently without a hint of irony - although I tend to doubt that the utility's popularity or lack thereof had anything to do with the accident. (Or in the immortal words of The Grammar Police: "Irony is a note that says - YOUR AN IDIOT.") In other entertainment news, such as it is, there's a new reality show on television, all about the rock band KISS and their fledgling attempts to establish an arena football franchise in Los Angeles, no doubt with all the melodrama and controversy that would entail - and not to mention, rock & roll all night and party every day. Anyway, the show is called "4th & Loud," and I admit that I'm easily amused, but I thought that was so funny. On the local scene, I was driving around town last week, and found myself in back of a sharp little convertible sports car, that really got my attention in a big fat hurry - with a snazzy hit-you-over-the-head design and a throaty leave-you-in-the-dust rumble to suit the most demanding adrenaline junkies out there. At first, I thought it was a Corvette, but it lacked the trademark flags on the tail, so I was stumped, and assumed it was some mysterious foreign model that I had never seen or heard of before. On closer inspection, it turned out to be no mystery at all, because its brand and name were plainly visible on its rear end - and I was more surprised than anybody to find myself behind a Pontiac Solstice, which seems like a funny name, but this hot little number is no joke. Apparently GM started making them in 2005, and found themselves with a runaway best-seller on their hands, with 7,000 ordered in the first 10 days, and another 6,000 before the end of the year, followed by over 21,000 in 2006 and 24,000 in 2007 - which are some pretty great numbers for a sports car that nobody has ever heard of. Unfortunately, GM eliminated their Pontiac division in 2009, and the poor blameless Solstice right along with it, alas. Altogether, they churned out over 65,000 of these hot rods in a variety of colors, and while it wouldn't replace the magnificent Plymouth Prowler as my favorite new sports car, it was still a shame to have the rug pulled out from under it through no fault of its own. And while we're on the topic of cars, on another trip around town, I happened across a vintage Mustang parked on the side of the road that was in excellent shape - but you could tell it was really old, because it had all of the original design elements (distinctive tail lights, side scoops and front grille) that have long since changed over time, plus it was in an extremely retro canary yellow that they just don't make any more, and couldn't begin to sell it if they did. As Pete Rozelle once said about change, "I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more," and he wasn't just whistling Dixie, believe me. Of course, we've all long since resigned ourselves to the axiom that "the only thing that is constant is change," and let's face it, Heraclitus hadn't even heard of the Mustang or the Solstice when he said that lo, these thousands of years ago, by Jove. Alert readers may recall a few months ago when I was (making a valiant attempt to) watch the Miss Marple mystery series on NetFlix, only to fall asleep in the middle of "Towards Zero" and wake up in the middle of "Nemesis" instead - and I don't mind saying, to the detriment of both, to a considerable degree. Obviously, my plan was to go back and watch them over again, separately and completely, only this time with more vigilance and a determination to stay awake the whole time from beginning to end. Not so fast! Apparently, the evil minions at NetFlix, who have nothing else to do and way too much time on their hands, periodically purge all of the programming that's already in their repertoire, and replace it with all new selections, and without regard to the ramifications this may have on an unprepared populace, yearning to watch their favorite shows. In this recent go-round of purging, the redoubtable Miss Marple was one of the many casualties, and unlike her literary counterpart and untold legions of fans, I'm sure she never saw it coming, and left all of us high and dry without a clue. (Get it?!) So now I have the first half of one mystery, and the second half of a different mystery, stuck in my head - where my last two poor addled brain cells (which I have renamed Marple and Poirot for the occasion) already have enough problems as it is, heaven knows - and likely to remain that way for some indeterminate time at this rate, and no expectation of a reprieve from NetFlix, thanks not. I think Pete Rozelle was speaking for all of us aggrieved sleuths when he said, "To be on your own, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone," and that's not just the utility polls talking, I shouldn't wonder. I don't need a popularity poll (or would that be a "pop-utility" poll?) to recommend my latest find from our friends at Boy Howdy Technology, which is their hourly Jigsaw Puzzle game, free for your mobile devices and all sorts of fun, by golly. You can pick how many pieces you want, starting from 9 (3 big pieces each in 3 rows), and increasing in complexity with smaller and smaller pieces and more and more rows (16, 25, 36, 49, 64, 81) all the way up to 100. Whew! They have a variety of pictures that change every hour, or you can choose one of your very own pictures, and they will segment it into a jigsaw puzzle for you, which is a kind of cool option, depending on what sort of pictures you may have. It's strangely addictive, although I have the feeling that with lots of smaller pieces, it can turn into more of a headache than a refreshing interlude on an otherwise busy day. And unlike many of the more complicated word games that I often play, at least it doesn't make you feel like any old type of illiterate, incompetent moron - which my last two poor addled brain cells (Marple and Poirot) certainly appreciate, if nothing else. And now, following in the footsteps of the late and lamented Pete Rozelle, I find that "it's time for my boot heels to be wandering," so I'll wrap this up, because after all, these puzzles don't just assemble themselves, and I ought to know. Elle

Mother's Day

Hello World, Happy August! Normally this is where I would be warning everyone about the infamous Dog Days of August, but they just had a story in the newspaper that the previous month was one of the coolest on record for July (and anybody who had been sleeping in a tent would surely agree) so there's no telling what we may be in for at this rate. In fact, I just heard from a colleague that they recently had to dodge a tornado in Massachusetts, so that tells you something right there. I'm pretty sure it was New England's favorite son, Paul Revere, who famously observed: "The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind," and it appears that he was not far off the mark, or Bob's your uncle, as they say. Meanwhile on the local scene, it was during the recent Winter of our Discontent that we first noticed a couple of solid gray cats loitering around our premises and looking for handouts, and I took to calling them Frick & Frack when I would spot them through the windows, because they often showed up together, and there was no way to tell them apart. After a while, they were joined by a very large solid black cat, who was more standoffish than they were, and in that mysterious way that stray cats come and go, pretty soon two of them went on their merry way, and we were left with a single gray cat, who turned into a regular visitor at meal times. We started calling it Scooter, because whenever we would open the door, it would scoot away from us and stand watching from a distance. It went on like this all winter, and suddenly one day in early May, here was Scooter on our front porch with one tiny solid black kitten. (!) It was the very next day when I saw Scooter by the front door, while climbing out from under the front porch, was a tiny solid black kitten, followed by a second tiny solid black kitten. (!!) Admittedly, this was too adorable for words, and I took copious amounts of blurry pictures through the windows, as if kittens had never been born before in the entire history of the world. We cooed over the two kittens like doting grandparents, and found their antics an endless source of hilarity. It was a whole week later that I saw Scooter in her usual spot on the front steps, but this time, climbing out from under our porch were, yes, THREE IDENTICAL SOLID BLACK KITTENS. (!!!) Frankly, it was starting to look like a clown car out the front door, and we were beginning to wonder just how many more of these tiny black surprises she might have in store for us, the longer we waited. This was already more of a three-ring circus than we had bargained for, and that wasn't just the calliope talking, believe me. We knew we had to get the whole family off the streets before they started having even more kittens, and we had to act fast. Now, we're not easily stymied, and we've had a lot of experience taking in strays, so we thought our old standby Hav-a-Hart trap would do the trick for the mother - but it was obvious that the kittens would be much too small to set off a standard trap mechanism, and we were going to need a different approach to catching them. Fortunately our friends at Tomahawk make a handy drop-trap for these situations, and we figured that was our best bet, so we set it up and hoped for success. One disadvantage of a drop-trap is that you have to be there at the time, and pull the string in order for it to work, rather than the standard trap which you set with food bait and then leave it, to work its magic on its own. So we already knew that it was going to take an investment in time on our part to round up all four of them, especially if we had to do it one at a time. We did manage to trap one of the kittens the first time we tried it, and another one the second day, but after that, the two cats that were left wouldn't come near it, no matter what we did. When we brought the first two kittens to the vet, it turned out they were both boys, and we called them Shadow and BooBoo - although admittedly, we couldn't tell them apart, so it wouldn't have mattered if we just called them both "Hey You" for all the difference it would have made. A week later, we moved the trap to another location, and snagged Scooter herself, but it so spooked the last remaining kitten that we didn't see him after that, even when we put out food at the usual times. Our backup plan was to put food for him in the regular trap so that over time, he would get used to it, and eventually he would grow big enough to set off the trap mechanism, which he couldn't do when he was still so tiny. And then a funny thing happened. I was on vacation at the time, when Bill was at home gamely holding down the fort. He went out on Thursday morning to put some food in the trap, and discovered to his amazement that stuck inside was the last little kitten, who somehow managed to trap himself, when the trap wasn't even set - which you would think would be impossible, but there it was, big (or rather, little) as life in the trap, with only himself to blame. Of course, it goes without saying that the possibility of Divine Intervention cannot be ruled out. We already knew that Scooter was female, and when the last kitten (Zorro) went to the vet, he turned out to be yet another boy, so in the end we wound up with a solid gray mother and 3 solid black baby boys - which the vet said were probably born in February, although we never saw them until they came out from under the porch in May. One by one, between July 1 and July 17, we had the "mother and child reunion" in our library, until all of them were back from the vet and reunited in one place, and hopefully glad to be back together after their various travels and ordeals. Considering they live right in our house, you never hear them make a sound, but every time you go in there, everything is all knocked around. (I don't mind saying that I found the estimable "Anthology of American Poetry," a suitably weighty tome from 1941, face down in the litter box, which I thought was an egregious excess of poetic license, even for these forlorn days with no standards, heaven knows.) Another trick of theirs is unplugging the power strip we use for the lights, clock, cable box, and fan, thanks not, so you have to crawl on the floor under the table to plug it back in again, and then reset the time on everything - besides picking up all the books, newspapers, dishes, empty boxes, old videotapes, figurines, and assorted bric-a-brac tossed every which way. (As if they don't have enough toys to play with, I dare say - although it is a well-known axiom that when it comes to kittens, everything is a toy.) So far, they haven't exactly warmed up to us yet, and frankly after all that's happened to them, I can't say that I blame them one bit. On the other hand, they don't hide as much as some of the strays that we've taken in over the years, that not only never showed their faces, but also refused to eat, so we couldn't help but worry if they were even still in the room we put them in to start with. These newcomers are all happy to come out for food, and they eat like a herd of galloping Hoovers - which is to say, they vacuum everything up as soon as you put it on a plate. I'm glad to report that they're all strong and healthy, and growing bigger every day, although at this point, it must be said that I despair of them ever developing an appreciation for poetry, alas. Elle