On The Move

Hello World, Merry Christmas! I hope that everyone out there in our perusing public found their own way to observe the occasion in the exactly the most perfect manner possible, The Holiday Police notwithstanding - from the most Norman Rockwell-esque traditional, to the wildest outrageously radical, or simply ignoring it altogether, as it might suit their fancy. With the holiday on a Thursday, many businesses took advantage of proximity, and stayed closed on Friday as well, giving their employees a chance to enjoy a bonus 4-day weekend. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to see a groundswell of support for the idea of turning Christmas Day into a standard weekday holiday like Monday or Thursday, so people can make a long weekend out of it every year, like Thanksgiving or Memorial Day. Admittedly it would be a hard sell to change the whole ho-ho-ho hullabaloo into a movable feast at this point - or July 4th or New Years Day, for that matter - but it can't be denied that stranger things have been known to happen, so I wouldn't rule anything out either. While they're at it, they could move New Year's Eve to a time of year when the weather would be a whole lot better, and I'm sure the millions of revelers freezing in Times Square would be especially grateful. And unlike Affirmed, I don't think we have anything to fear from the evil unquiet spirit of Dick Clark, at least not yet. Speaking of revelry, at my new temp job, they've been having renovations to the building, and made the perhaps misguided decision to carve a new break room in what is essentially a garage where the files are stored. The new area is a small room side to side, but with a high ceiling like the rest of the garage, and has a noticeable echo when you walk or talk nearby. I bumped into one of the owners down there checking it out, and she remarked that it would help to have some carpeting, curtains, pillows or other sound-absorbing elements to make the room less reverberating. Or, as I pointed out with unassailable logic, we could form a singing group, and take advantage of it instead. She laughed. In other seasonal news, anyone who hasn't been living under a rock for the past 4 months, and has spent any time at all driving around the local area, couldn't help but notice the latest fad du jour, because it seems that every other vehicle is sporting them. Yes, Virginia, joining the ranks of car bras, bumper diapers, headlight mascara and hood mustaches, new for Christmas is roof antlers, lending just the needed holiday touch, which had been sorely lacking on the region's streets and thoroughfares up to now. Normally this is where I would say, this is exactly the kind of tomfoolery that at our house, we would file under "This Is Why The Terrorists Hate Us," but let's face it, how can you not love cars driving around with antlers for the holidays. Next it will be white beards to go along with the mustaches, and red Santa shirts to go with the bras, I shouldn't wonder. Just when you think that things couldn't possibly get any more ridiculous, somehow they manage to find a way. And while we're on the subject of ridiculous things, along comes the following story in the local newspaper last week: =============================== Zachys Vice President Andrew McMurray secured the largest business deal in the history of ABC's "Shark Tank" with a $2.5 million commitment for Zipz Wine. =============================== They go on to explain that Zipz is a single-serving glass-shaped container that feels like a real wine glass, and conveniently comes already filled with wine, and how handy is that. The wine varieties include cabernet sauvignon, pinot grigio, merlot and chardonnay. Zipz's wines are sourced in California's Mendocino, San Joaquin and Sonoma counties. Now, normal people might think this cockeyed idea was nothing more than a pipe dream, and would never see the light of day once cooler heads prevailed - but actually the "Shark Tank" producers approached Zipz after they saw the product in use in California over the summer; it's sold at AT&T Park in San Francisco, as well as Angel Stadium of Anaheim. (Here I'm thinking, they must love that at the ballpark.) (NOT!) Even more incredibly, Zipz is not the only single-use wine container out there, in fact, Copa de Vino was already presented on "Shark Tank" in 2 previous seasons without success. Luckily for our local imbibing public, they don't have to "Go West, Young Man" out to "California or Bust" - they're selling them right here and now at Zachy's for $2.99 each, so any old anybody could waltz into their Scarsdale location with a ten dollar bill, and literally not have enough hands to walk out with all of the pre-filled wine receptacles that would buy. The article goes on to mention that next up in the planning stage is to sell the libation at Costco, of all places (YIKES!!!) which if nothing else, certainly adds new meaning to the age-old phrase, "Shop 'til you drop," I dare say. Along the lines of roof antlers, which may seem at first blush to be an idea whose time has not yet come (and which, frankly, may never actually come) all you can say in a situation like this is, "I'll drink to that!" On the home front, anyone who has tried to call us at our home phone within recent memory (and nowadays they have to specify that as your "land-line," as opposed to other more portable options, when previously, just referring to it as your home phone was all anybody needed to know) can tell you that we have an answering machine that picks up all of our incoming calls, and came already programmed out of the box with a pre-recorded greeting for lazy people like us, who didn't want to record their own message. We call ours "The Hello Man," because after the machine picks up, he barks out "HELLO!" in a rather obstreperous manner that does not seem very friendly, and in fact, has the perhaps unintended effect of scaring off all but the most intrepid callers on a regular basis, who all (probably wisely) opt to hang up without making a sound - and likely relieved to escape without further jeopardy. That's why I was surprised when I was standing near the phone the other day when it rang, and after The Hello Man shot off his opening salvo, I was expecting the usual silent treatment in response, but not these people, by golly. I heard a bunch of background noise, and then a woman's voice saying very plainly, "We need an air freshener in there, it's awful" and that was it. I said to Bill later, finally here's some people who really know us, or at least our cats. They haven't called back since, so maybe they decided that all of the air fresheners in the world weren't going to help improve things around here, and personally, I can't say that I blame them one bit. On the other hand, if they don't want to come here because of the smell, we could always meet elsewhere, and I'd be happy to bring the wine. After all, I'm sure I can scrounge up $2.99 somehow. Elle

Stand Still

Hello World, Of course, everyone knows how I hate to be an alarmist, but I feel it's only fair to point out that we're now staring down both barrels of the fourth and final Sunday in Advent, believe that or don't, and no more wiggle room before "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" for real. It's truly amazing how Advent goes flying by, especially for those procrastinators among us who are woefully unprepared for The Big Day - and I won't mention any names, but it goes without saying that you know who you are. On the other hand, it must be said that our Jewish brethren have it even worse, since Hanukkah has not only already started on the 16th, but unlike Christmas, this Festival of Lights is also a rather slippery character which tends to move around from one end of the month to the other, so you don't even know where it's likely to show up from one year to the next, thanks not. At least Christmas, for all its faults, stands still in one place all the time, and doesn't prance about like some wanton fugitive one step ahead of the long arm of the law, and that's not just the sugar plums talking, believe me. Alert readers may be wondering, and well may they wonder indeed, if we're already at the last Sunday in Advent, whatever happened with Lessons & Carols at church - or as we call it at our house, the highlight of the church year. Well, wonder no more, because it showed up right on schedule last week, to the delight of its adoring fans, although that might be something of an exaggeration on my part. However, its small but loyal audience seemed to enjoy themselves, and the whole thing went off pretty much without a hitch, with the exception of the occasional hiccup or two along the way. Now, it's certainly true that things can always be worse, heaven knows, and that could have easily been the case this time around, after the somewhat questionable decision to squeeze the choir on the chancel steps, wedged in between the pulpit on one side, and the phalanx of stampeding poinsettias on the other, and it's a wonder that we didn't all just tumble over into a heap on the floor of the sanctuary, like a bunch of bowling pins. (I have no independent corroboration of this supposition, but it must be said that the possibility of Divine Intervention cannot be ruled out.) Luckily, disaster was narrowly averted, and we made it through the program from one end to the other, in one piece and without incident, and I can safely report that a good time was had by all. And now that we no longer massacre "For Unto Us a Child is Born," we have nothing to fear from the poor aggrieved spirit of the late and lamented George Frideric Handel coming back to haunt us. Although on the subject of unquiet spirits, everyone realizes by now that I know better than to turn my back on Affirmed, that's for sure. As much as I love Lessons & Carols (and it has no bigger fan, believe me) it does tend to make things a little more complicated than they otherwise would have been, and especially during a busy time of year as it is, when it doesn't take much for the wheels to come off completely. For the most part, our Christmas decorations went by the wayside, and it was only a miracle that Christmas cards actually got to the Post Office before Easter. (See note above concerning Divine Intervention.) The wreath went up on the front door, and the porch lions were also decked out in their yuletide adornments, but so far the only sparkling lights aglow are in the kitchen windows in the back of the house, which I'm frankly embarrassed to admit, stay up all year because they're too much trouble to take down. Another victim of the seasonal overload was lighting the Advent wreath at home, which we normally do before Sunday dinner, just like ordinary people out in the real world. All too often, this turns into a new and possibly unwelcome innovation that we call "Advent Monday" or even "Advent Tuesday" instead, and last week, we got all the way to "Advent Wednesday" before the candles actually got lit. This may just be delusional on my part, but here I'm thinking that anyone who invents a timer that automatically lights your wreath when it's supposed to, is going to have a big hit on their hands. In other seasonal news, we took advantage of the very fine weather last Saturday to pick up our Christmas tree at the local VFW Post as we do every year. Considering the pleasant conditions in the middle of the day, it certainly wasn't as crowded with holiday shoppers as we would have expected - in fact, we've been there often in rain, snow, and bitter cold, and still found ourselves fighting off surging mobs on their relentless hunt for O Tannenbaum perfection, as well as battling the elements on top of it all, thanks not. Our evergreen of choice was not the most colossal one on the lot, but it was perfect in its own way, as it fit precisely in its stand with the angel perched at the top just grazing the ceiling, and a very nice shape all around. The cats regarded it with their usual indifference, although the one cat who wasn't with us last Christmas (Charcoal) has yet to see it, and his reaction to it might be a little more interesting, I dare say. Of course, there's such a thing as having TOO much interest in the tree, which has happened to us before, with extremely deleterious results for the living room as a whole, and the poor beleaguered tree in particular - so I'm guessing O Tannenbaum would greatly prefer a lack of interest from the cats, than otherwise. And speaking of interesting things, I recently had occasion to try something different in the Dairy aisle, which was Siggi's Yogurt, and which they took great pains to inform me, is in the Icelandic style of skyr, much different than common American yogurt, or even the new fad of Greek yogurt. What I noticed about it first was that it had the consistency of spackle, unlike your usual yogurt, which is more like pudding. I don't even want to think about how good this stuff must be for you, because they never mention the taste, but they make sure I know it's full of live culture bacteria and made with no fat, no sugar, no preservatives, and using milk products from free-range cows unadulterated with bovine growth hormones. In addition, they're obviously environmentally friendly as well, and even the label has a perforated peel so you can zip it right off to recycle the plastic container and paper label separately. They certainly don't want you to use a plastic spoon, heaven forbid, I can tell you that - in fact, it should come with a warning to use only metal utensils, as I discovered, because if you put a plastic spoon in there, you can easily snap that thing right off when you try to stir it. Now, it's been known to happen that I've been wrong before (as the derisive howls of laughter from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery will surely attest) but I can't help but think that like Advent Wednesday, this is an idea whose time has not yet come, and in fact, may never come, I wouldn't be surprised. Say, I'm beginning to wonder if this isn't the revenge of George Frideric Handel after all. Elle

Saint Nicholas

Hello World, Well, the time has almost come that we can wish all of our Jewish friends and neighbors a very Happy Hanukkah, as the Festival of Lights will be upon us this coming Tuesday, and don't spare the latkes, my good man! This joyful occasion lasts for "eight crazy nights," as Adam Sandler reminds us, bringing us right to the very brink of Christmas, with scarcely any time to spare, or catch our collective breath. Say, how's about some candy cane sauce on that kugel? Also on the seasonal front, one can't help but notice all of the holiday decorations cropping up on area businesses, houses, lawns and parks - because after all, as the song goes, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go." Now, it's all too true that Christmas means different things to different people, The Holiday Police notwithstanding, from the deeply religious to the crassest commercial (ka-ching!) and everything in between. In a season of frivolity and excess, it can't be denied that over-indulgence is all too common, and often in the most unlikely situations. Earlier in the week, Bill and I were coming home from White Plains and spotted a display of Christmas inflatables congregating in a convivial manner on someone's front lawn, with reindeer, snowmen, angels and trees all lending a festive air to the neighborhood. But perhaps getting a little too much into the holiday spirits, as it were, poor inflatable Santa was definitely the worse for wear, and was weaving about woozily in an extremely tipsy manner that would in no way enhance his reputation as a respectable role model. In fact, if he wasn't attached to a blower and light, he probably would have been headlong in the bushes already. Even worse was another splashy display of large plastic lighted decorations representing the Holy Family, and in spite of there being no particular weather conditions to blame, Saint Joseph was completely tipped over and laying flat on his back in the most unsaintly fashion that you can imagine. Not to cast aspersions, but he certainly exhibited all the signs of someone having way too much spiked egg nog (egg grog?) and the poor Blessed Virgin could be forgiven for wondering if she hadn't made a giant mistake in pairing up with him in the first place. And his Almighty Father-In-Law, even more so, I shouldn't wonder. By now, just about everybody who's anybody, that hasn't been living under a rock for the last year, is no doubt familiar with Internet sensation Grumpy Cat - and please do feel free to go right ahead and search for The Official Grumpy Cat online, for all of their very entertaining merchandise and Grump Of The Day. And yes, even Grumpy Cat has a holiday movie of his or her very own furry self, called "Grumpy Cat's Worst Christmas Ever," which is only to be expected from a self-professed grouch. Bill and I were in a holiday frame of mind, so we took a chance on it and found it had much to recommend it, if only in a sort of goofy way. Obviously a movie with a talking cat as its title character is not going to be taking itself too seriously, and this certainly fits the bill, with all manner of unlikely scenarios, exaggerated special effects, and not to mention, a variety of plot elements that go far beyond the implausible to the blatantly impossible. But it's all in good fun, with a game cast of perky newcomers and seasoned veterans, including Aubrey Plaza as the suitably cranky voice of the Grumpster, whose wish for an unhappy ending is luckily thwarted. I already have a lot of experience with diabolical felines, so I would advise Santa Claus (Claws?) not to turn his back on this one when he comes down that particular chimney. Everyone knows when it comes to over-consumption run amok, it must be said that the Jolly Old Elf himself is the 900-lb gorilla in the field, launching a shopping juggernaut that starts when the Dog Days of August are still barking, and runs non-stop just about until Valentine's Day - steamrolling everything in its path from pumpkins to pilgrims, witches to students, intrepid explorers or labor advocates regardless. So it came as quite a shock to find someone else angling to beat St. Nick at his own game, by trying to squeeze him off the stage before his time is up, making him the surprise victim of "holiday creep," rather than his usual perpetrator instead. This unexpected turn of events was brought about by the Radio City Rockettes of all people, with their Spring Spectacular program, that I actually saw TV commercials for at the beginning of December, believe that or not. Around here, this what we call having the Santa boot on the other foot, although admittedly the idea of the Rockettes dancing in Santa boots does tend to conjure up a profusion of mental images that are about as unwelcome as a stocking full of coal, I dare say. Personally, I always say it's awfully late in the year to get on the wrong side of the man in the red suit, but perhaps the Rockettes figured it was about time for Father Christmas to get a taste of his own medicine for a change. Say, Santa, you want some candy cane sauce to go with that medicine? Elle

Tom Terrific

Hello World, Happy December! Admittedly, it doesn't seem remotely possible that it could be the last month of the year, but unfortunately, as the saying goes, "... to ignore the facts does not change the facts" (with thanks to Andy Rooney) as much as we all might wish otherwise, and that goes double for the procrastinators among us, oh by gosh, by golly. Now that good old Tom Turkey has come and gone, and before we know it, we'll be seeing the jolly old elf himself in the red suit, reindeer and all, and the jingle bell juggernaut will be well on its year-end jaunt for real. Once it gets started, everyone had better jump on board with a hey-nonny-nonny and a fa-la-la, or be left in a hail of sugar plums and candy canes, wondering where it all went wrong. Anyone can tell you that I always say it's awfully late in the year to get on the wrong side of the Nice and/or Naughty divide at this point. Speaking of holidays, ours got off to a sort of rocky start, and we weren't alone in that calamity, heaven knows, not by any means. The weather forecast for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was grim at best, and in some areas, it was positively dire, so that even normally adventurous travelers were filled with foreboding. The interesting response to this sense of impending doom turned into what could only be described as "Getaway Tuesday," as millions of wandering pilgrims took to the roads, rails, and wild blue yonder a day early, to avoid the bad weather to come. Trying to get home from my temp job soon became an exercise in futility, enough so that we decided to just pull off the highway and have dinner, hoping to wait it out until it cleared up. In the end, we didn't get home until 8:00 PM, but it was still better than sitting in traffic the whole time. On Wednesday, the snow wasn't as bad as predicted in our region, and they also let us go home early - although that didn't turn out as planned, as Bill got held up in such a profusion of work-related tasks and other errands, that it ended up as another long day's journey into night, and no thanks to Eugene O'Neill, believe me. Thursday dawned damp and blustery, with residual snow scattered about, and it was nice to have a chance to relax, and not have to run around like a bunch of Neanderthals after a herd of wild mastodons, which to be fair, is at least moderately better than the other way around, I dare say. Although we had been invited to join friends for the holiday, who had kindly taken pity on us poor unwanted orphan pilgrims, it was not until later in the evening, when the rest of humanity was already firmly hunkered down at the groaning board - and I don't mind saying that driving through the wilds of Greenwich at 6:00 PM in the pitch dark was a lot more like the dreaded Zombie Apocalypse than I personally cared for. However, our hosts greeted us with open arms, and invited us into the bosom of their family, where we combined to form a nicely rounded-out group of 8, and not to mention, 2 large and excitable dogs and 2 remarkably easy-going cats. They had also just adopted the world's tiniest, most adorable kitten, which you could hold in one hand, and just basically eat it right up and forget about dinner altogether, and I ought to know. In an interesting twist, the proud owners of a new pool table decided to press it into service as a dining table, along with a motley assortment of mis-matched chairs, which even normal-sized adults admitted was way too high, and people were pretty much reduced to shoveling the food right into their mouths from the table top at chin height. Fortunately for me, they gave me an adjustable stool instead, so I didn't just disappear under the table completely. That would have been too bad because the copious home-cooked meal was a nice variety of old favorites, with a few novel innovations tossed in for good measure, including deviled eggs (YUM!) and fresh baked bread. Bill brought along his guitar for after-dinner entertainment, and with various family members pitching in, there was plenty of picking and grinning to go around, that was lots of fun and a barrel of laughs. If nothing else, it certainly cleared the dogs and cats out of the room, although the reports of them scurrying around for earplugs were greatly exaggerated, I'm sure. When our hosts finally started falling asleep on us, we had to reluctantly say goodnight, and head back out into the dark and lonely empty streets, which looked even more like Zombie Apocalypse than before, and the prospect of Chainsaw Bob leaping out of the shadows was a very real possibility, at least in our own minds. On Black Friday, it was time to travel over the river and through the woods to my sister's log cabin out in the wilderness for more holiday cheer. This not being our first time at the rodeo, we stopped along the way at the SuperLodge motel to check in and turn up the heat, rather than showing up at midnight to a deep freeze in the dark deserted. At the cabin, it turned out that only one of our hosts was on hand, due to a family emergency, so we were welcomed with only half-open arms, but not the less sincere for all that. Here we were presented with even more delicious food and desserts, and plenty to go around - although the resident tabby kept calling attention (in a rather woebegone manner) to her empty food dish, where the vittles seemed to vanish mysteriously out of it as soon as it was refilled. After stuffing ourselves to the gills and beyond, and watching all the football that any 3 people could possibly stand, we figured we should call it a night and hit the road while we were still awake and at least semi-functional. We were surprised when we got to the SuperLodge to find the parking lot packed with cars, since it had been completely empty when we had been there earlier in the day. This prompted unwelcome visions in our minds of hot-and-cold running Shriners, carrying on and cavorting up and down the hallways at all hours, which has happened to us before, and is not a pretty sight, believe me. But our fears proved to be unfounded, and the place was still quiet and comfy, and even warm enough, which is a lodging trifecta we can all live with. In the morning, we headed back to the cabin for toasty warm cinnamon buns, date nut bread, and left-over desserts that had very much not worn out their welcome from the day before, I can assure you. After that, we tramped around the Ashokan Reservoir, where the chill did not dampen the spirits of our hiking and biking brethren, although the nesting eagles and foraging deer were nowhere in sight, and must have had other plans for the holiday weekend. After even more left-overs and football, as impossible as that might sound, we finally had to bid our fond farewells, and get outta Dodge while the getting was good. They were as glad to see us at Denny's in Newburgh as we were to be there, and that was plenty, I can tell you that. The traffic wasn't as bad on Saturday night as it would have been on Sunday, and we arrived home safe and sound, where the cats greeted our return with a curious mixture of disappointment, relief, confusion, and outright terror. Frankly, I didn't think we looked all that much like Chainsaw Bob, but then, I suppose it all depends on which side of the Zombie Apocalypse you're on. Elle