Fool Proof

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves, like it or not, at the very last weekend in April, believe that or don't, and where does the time go, I ask you that. This was actually an eventful week, especially on Wednesday, which featured not only Earth Day and all of its attendant environmental programs, celebrations, outings and community projects, but also Secretary's Day, where the hard-working backbone of corporate America can be recognized for their unflagging support. Unfortunately, I'm not working anywhere at the moment, so I missed out on the festivities this time around - although truth to tell, even at my old job, the occasion was rather more hit-or-miss than I would have preferred. But I'm thinking that like disreputable boyfriends who break up with their mates right before Christmas or Valentine's Day, so they don't have to buy them gifts, the demand for office temps probably picks up right after Secretary's Day, so the companies don't have to give them roses and lunch. As the saying goes, it's just business, it's not personal. As anyone in the local area can tell you, it can't be denied that the weather in April has been all over the map, from unseasonably warm to unseasonably cold, including pelting rain, gale force winds, fog, blazing sun, and even snow flurries, for heaven's sake - as if whoever is at the controls of the Kremlin's infernal weather machine is just tossing darts at a board from one day to the next, and sometimes, all on the same day, thanks not. Be that as it may, it certainly hasn't slowed down our veritable stampede of spring flowers, always a sure tonic for what ails you, after a long and dismal winter, believe me. Our jolly jonquils and perky violets have just popped open, and even the grape hyacinths have sprung up all over the backyard. The dwarf (firespray) tulips have added their own brilliance to the area, and there's even a couple of regular tulips open along the driveway, which even though I think it's way too early for that, obviously they are of a different opinion on that issue. When I was out taking pictures of daffodils, I found the jaunty bleeding heart just starting to turn pink, and I also stumbled upon the all-but-forgotten checkered lily, still fighting to stake its claim in the ivy patch, and making a valiant effort at it, I don't mind saying. Even the creeping phlox was just on the brink of bursting open, and long after I had given up hope, I finally discovered one last lonely blue squill along the driveway, so they were not all entirely obliterated in the massive porch renovations after all. As if all this wasn't enough, Bill decided that we needed even more of an infusion of riotous color, so he brought home a flat of assorted pansies, and even though they're still sitting in a plastic tray on our front porch, you can see their bright shining faces from anywhere in the neighborhood. And speaking of bright, alert readers may recall that Christmas day here was mild enough that I took a picture of a dandelion in the driveway (and after that, we had the mother and father of all miserable winters, with blizzards, ice, sleet, and piles of relentless snow that we thought would never melt) and almost exactly 4 months later to the day, I saw spring's first dandelion on April 22nd, in almost exactly the same spot. Apparently they are made of sterner stuff, and didn't take Nefarious Airways to Florida for the winter, unlike the rampant alien mutant poison ivy. One day last week it reached a balmy 70 degrees, with brilliant sunshine, and we took the opportunity to open up the windows and storm windows for the first time since the fall of last year. Well, this was news to our new kittens, and you have to believe that they loved that idea, and to say that they considered it the cat's pajamas would not be overstating the case by any means, I can assure you. There were plenty of windows to go around, and a kitten in each one, with every different window offering a new and exciting vista onto the great outdoors, full of sights and sounds that they weren't expecting after being inside all winter. Some of the windows feature what we call Bird TV, where the feeders are hanging, while others provide a view of neighbors' pets and local wildlife parading through our yard, for reasons known only to themselves. You can believe me when I say that this whole experience really made the kittens' day, and then some, and I can tell you that it was no small feat to clear them out later when it suddenly turned cold and blustery, and we had no choice but to close the windows once more, amid vigorous protests and a lot of scowling. I've long since resigned myself to the petitions and press conferences that are sure to follow, although I have always felt that handcuffing themselves to things is just taking it way too far. On a happier note, I re-arranged all of the bird feeders, and had room for one more, so I dug out an old dusty cylinder feeder from the garage, and filled it with thistle seed, hoping that our purple finches would rediscover it when they came back from their winter layover. I was more surprised than anybody when I looked out the window and found a goldfinch on it instead, which is something so rare to our yard as to be unheard of, especially compared with all of the hordes of other birds that our feeders attract. I was going to point out this esteemed visitor to the kittens, but they had already handcuffed themselves to the furniture. On other important matters, we recently received an official looking packet in the mail, with a screaming announcement emblazoned across the front in three different colors: =============================== IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS ENCLOSED FOR ADDRESSEE ONLY =============================== Normally, I would pounce on this type of vital communication, and tear it open to see what crucial information might be carefully secreted inside, but inasmuch as it was addressed to "New Rochelle Resident," that did tend to take a lot of the impact out of the whole thing, and for me personally, cast doubt on the veracity of the sender's assertion that these were, in fact, important documents at all. Of course, they might very well be, for all I know, because I have yet to break into it and find out what documents they thought were so important that they had to rush them directly to me - not to mention, the other 79,445 residents of our fair city who no doubt received exactly the same mailing as we did, and probably on exactly the same day. I suppose it could have been worse, it could have been addressed to "New York Resident," and then I would have been just one out of 19.75 million instead, alas. Now, before April is completely out of here next Thursday, and officially in the books for good, it reminds me that I should mention one of my favorite aspects of the month, which were The Internet's Best April Fools Day Pranks of 2015 - and I can't even say, that were foisted on an unsuspecting public, because like Super Bowl commercials, nowadays everyone expects them and looks forward to them eagerly. So here's a few that tickled my fancy - MS-DOS Mobile: The famous old blue screen with C: prompt and gray letters, for your smart phone or tablet, and just what the doctor ordered. (Dr Welby, that is!) PacMan Google Maps: The gaming world's greatest gobbler chomps his way through obstacles and rewards on the actual streets of your map, rather than random game mazes. T-Mobile Friends & Family Plan: Realizing that most families include more than just parents and children, now you can add your household pets to the data plan of your choice. ELGOOG: Everything on ELGOOG is printed backwards, making search results even more challenging - or should I say, "gnignellahc." ChromeBook Auto Driver: For busy people everywhere, it goes ahead and surfs the web for you, all by itself. Google fiber dial-up mode: Just like the olden days, with speeds up to 56k, so it takes 45 minutes for a 280kb download. Ideal for people with way too much time on their hands, who prefer the leisurely responsiveness of yesteryear's more sluggish computers, compared with today's breakneck pace. Virgin Airlines Paw Door Entry to VIP Lounge: The perfect way for frequent animal flyers to relax with a pre-flight water bowl, rawhide chew, or catnip mouse, among the pampered elite. Normally, here is where I would be saying things like, "This is why the terrorists hate us," and "You can't make this stuff up," but heck, it was all in good fun, nobody got hurt, and everyone had a hearty laugh at no one else's expense - well, except MS-DOS perhaps. The pundits at Virgin Airlines might wonder if their bogus VIP Lounge Paw Entry Door would give our mischievous kittens some ideas to add to their list of demands, but I'm not worried. I've already hidden all of their handcuffs. Elle

Stay Put

Hello World, The thing about April is that you really don't know what to expect from one day to the next, so it really does keep you on your toes, so to speak. At least we've gotten past the infamous Income Tax day on April 15th, and hopefully lived to tell the tale, so that's something right there. I was out early on Friday and spotted a mourning cloak in the bushes, which is the first butterfly to come out in the spring, and a more welcome visitor would be hard to beat, try as I might. On the other hand, the week before last, I heard the unmistakable sounds of the ice cream truck around the corner, and as it was a bracing 40 degrees and raining at the time, I found it somewhat incongruous to say the least. Of course, I don't work at the Employer of Last Resort anymore, which was always the first place that I heard ice cream trucks on their rounds, so they all might have been rambling around for weeks already, for all I know. Around the old homestead, it only took a few beautiful and sunny days this week, and everything in the yard exploded in a colorful panoply of blooms and blossoms to cheer the soul. There are sunny yellow daffodils everywhere you look, not to mention blue windflowers and creamy white anemones all over the place - some of which are not even actual places, but coming up between the cracks in the culvert along the driveway, for instance. I haven't spied any blue squill, but there's glory of the snow (a misnomer if ever there was one) cropping up every which where, while the forsythia is putting on a show of its own. I even stumbled over one very early hyacinth already, in the backyard by the kitchen door, where the tender shoots have been used to coming up early under the heat from the clothes dryer vent, oddly enough. I have yet to see a dandelion, but I did notice a bumblebee in the flowerbeds when I was putting out the recycling, so things do seem to be moving along right on schedule. I have reason to believe that our rampant alien mutant poison ivy spends the winters in Florida (it's too much of a diabolical genius to stay up here in all of that miserable snow) so I'm prepared for its imminent return at any time, no doubt courtesy of Nefarious Airways ("Fly The Evil Skies!") I shouldn't wonder. On the sports scene, the NHL playoffs are underway, with the surprising New York Rangers in the unusual position of favorites to win the Stanley Cup for the first time in, well, forever - after running off with The Presidents Trophy for the best record overall. Their 53 wins and 113 points are the most in franchise history, just edging out the 52 wins and 112 points from the 1993-94 season when they last won the Stanley Cup. And speaking of Lord Stanley's famous chalice, the defending Stanley Cup champions, the Los Angeles Kings, who handed the Rangers a heartbreaking Game 7 loss last year, missed the playoffs entirely this time around, so that's one less thing to come back and bite the Blueshirts in the backside. It's gotten to the point where the 16 contending teams basically have to get at least 100 points during the season to make it into the playoffs, with Calgary just squeaking in with 97, so the Kings at 95 points didn't stand a chance. For the pride of Broadway, they've got their work cut out for them, especially when it comes to putting points on the board, because although they are solid in net with their league-leading goaltender (affectionately known to the Garden faithful as "King Henrik") they lag behind many of their playoff rivals when it comes to putting the puck between the pipes. Their offensive star, Rick Nash, scored 42 goals (which was good enough for 3rd in the league) but was more than twice as many as anyone else on the team, including Martin St. Louis, who they had traded for previously and ostensibly for his offense, but apparently as Jon Stewart always says, " ... not so much!" But they're a scrappy bunch, and desperately hungry for success after coming so close last year, so there's a chance that things could go their way at this point, and give the hometown fans a reason to celebrate again after 20 years. It's a well-known fact that we bleed Rangers blue around here, but as for myself, you know that I'm not turning my back on the evil spirit of Affirmed, that's for sure. Meanwhile in baseball, the Mets have turned things around, shaken off a rocky 2-3 start, and gone on a 5-0 tear, to lead their division at 7-3 in the second week. This may not hold up, but so far, the pitchers are pitching well, the hitters are hitting well, and the fielders seem to have the whole fielding thing down pat, so that's a good sign right there. One potential improvement might be the stealthy move by management in the off-season to bring in the fences again at cavernous Citi Field, as a way to help pump up the offense, since their pitching was already expected to be top notch. (For years, everyone complained about the colossal dimensions of the old Shea Stadium, which historically led all parks in fewest homeruns hit out of it, with the possible exception of Yellowstone. So it made no sense at all when they built the new stadium, literally in the shadow of the old behemoth, that the fences were even farther out than they had been before, believe that or not. After a couple of years at the new place, the front office very quietly had the fences pulled in a bit, and now it seems that they have pulled them in a second time, hopefully with better results than last year.) Of course, the problem with moving in the fences is that it can turn out to be a double-edged sword, and obviously helps the opposing teams offense as well as the home club, which is certainly not something that you want to encourage, not by a long shot. So it should be interesting to see if the supposedly new and improved offense can take advantage of the new and improved dimensions at home, without the added disadvantage of giving up too much opposition offense in return. Here I'm thinking, if only the evil spirit of Affirmed was in charge of this franchise, instead of the bird-brains they have running it now, they would have come up with a way to move the fences in when the Mets are at the plate, and back out again when the other team is hitting. Talk about joy in Mudville, with Cracker Jacks on top! In other local news, a friend of ours stayed overnight at the Doral Arrowwood Hotel in scenic Rye Brook, and invited us to join her there for a visit, so naturally we jumped at the idea. This is a far cry from your typical urban lodgings, where they plunk a towering structure right on a sidewalk, surrounded by concrete and steel on every side, and there you have it. This place is lovingly ensconced in over 100 acres of rolling countryside, including a world-class golf course and all the outside amenities that anyone could hope for, such as tennis, basketball, squash and racquetball. In fact, they sell memberships for the population at large, so people can come and enjoy their facilities without being guests at the hotel at the time. This is a good thing, because their facilities are out of this world, and worth the trip, I don't mind saying. There's a spacious fitness center, with rows upon rows of equipment, plus rooms for steam, sauna, massage, and exercise classes with personal trainers to boot. They also have a recreation center with ping pong and billiards, arcade games and other activities for youngsters and oldsters alike. Whew! I get tired just thinking about it. My absolute favorite part was an innovative indoor-outdoor swimming pool, with an underwater hatchway, so you can swim from the inside to the outside, or vice versa, and how cool is that! There's also a hot tub, which is just what the doctor ordered for weary travelers after a long day, and I ought to know. Actually, the Doral folks don't call themselves a hotel, but rather a conference center and resort, and I wouldn't argue with them a bit. Interestingly, when you drive into the complex, you can't even see the hotel, and it turns out that most of it is underground, built into the side of a hill, so you enter the building on what is actually the 5th floor, but which is ground level on that side of the hill. They have elevators, of course, but an even more inviting feature is the array of wide and elegant ramps, to move effortlessly between the lower floors, rather than plain old exhausting stairs. There's quite a variety of dining options at the place, including a full-service restaurant, room service, Mulligan's Outdoor Cafe, The Pool Bar - as well as our choice for dinner, The Pub, where you can relax and watch your favorite sports, while enjoying a delicious meal, drinks, and decadent desserts. Anyway, between the pool, hot tub, and dinner, we certainly had a delightful time while we were there, and no complaints, I can assure you. Even better, on our way out, I spotted a display case with a small scale model of the whole compound, with all its little trees and tiny cars in the parking lots, and I just love stuff like that, so please be forewarned that I have the pictures to prove it, and I'm not afraid to use them. Ever since we left, we've been trying to come up with a reason to go back, and if we don't come up with one soon, it won't be from lack of trying, believe me. Please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.doralarrowwood.com and see for yourself - and if you'd like to make a reservation for a couple of weeks, I'm sure the President's economic advisers would be extremely grateful. Why don't you book an extra room for us while you're at it, and if you get there first, please save me a spot in the hot tub! Elle

For Whom The Bell Tolls

Hello World, Happy April! I hope that whatever holidays you may or may not have celebrated last week, if any, were chockfull of food, folks, and fun, and exceeded all of your expectations for the occasion, and The Holiday Police notwithstanding. Around here, Easter Sunday was a nice enough day, although nothing to write home about in terms of the weather, but it must be said that the Easter Bunny showed up right on time, and there were no complaints with the sweets he left behind, I can assure you. (Brownie-filled pretzel nuggets, I ask you!) Since then, the weather has had more downs than ups, but we are reminded of the old saying, "April showers bring May flowers," and so console ourselves with these timeless words of wisdom. If that isn't enough to turn that frown upside-down, I'd be happy to recommend some brownie-filled pretzel nuggets, which would be just what the doctor ordered - that is, if only the Easter Bunny was a doctor, alas. Of course, before Easter is Holy Week, which at my church includes evening services for Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, that are distinctly different than the regular Sunday worship all the rest of the time. Whenever we make a departure from the ordinary liturgy, it falls on the poor overburdened projector minion to rustle up new slides for the alternate service, with results that can be confusing, alarming, or inadvertently amusing, depending on the changes that have to be made. In any case, that is the only explanation that I have been able to come up with, for what I consider a glaring typo in The Lord's Prayer, of all things, which has been a mainstay of Christian orthodoxy since the very beginning, and which even the most wayward schoolchild knows by heart, and then some. But on Thursday, what greeted bewildered worshipers on the projection screen was this misbegotten curiosity: "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollowed be Thy name ... " Now admittedly, "hallowed" is a highly peculiar word that would be rarely encountered in everyday usage, and in fact, basically has no other application in the vast reaches of the English language, that I know of, except for the first line of the most famous prayer in the entire world. And it goes without saying - as our old friends the dinosaurs can attest, after all, I've certainly said it countless times already - (all together now!) "The spell-checker's not going to help you with that one, by golly!" Perhaps inspired by the season, I confess that the image of Almighty God as a giant hollow milk chocolate figure sprang immediately to mind, try as I did to suppress it, and I almost laughed out loud at one of the most solemn moments in a very sacrosanct week. And that was without giving up chocolate for Lent, mind you. Meanwhile in sports, the supposedly new and improved New York Mets opened their season on Monday, April 6th in the nation's capital, and by Friday, were already playing .500 ball, with an underwhelming record of 2-2 at this point. Frankly, this seems sadly reminiscent of the old and unimproved Mets of last year instead, and not the red hot 4-0 starts of the Braves, Reds, Rockies, Royals, and Tigers, who have yet to lose a game, home or away. On the other hand, this is still better than the vaunted Yankees, who began the season at a sluggish 1-3, in the bottom of their division, and losing all three games in front of the hometown faithful. At any rate, it reminds me that last year was not a total loss for the Amazin's after all. Their very own Jacob deGrom was voted the National League Rookie of the Year, leading the other rookie pitchers in ERA, strikeouts, and wins - although admittedly, it was only 9 wins, but don't forget, this was on a sub-.500 team, so those measly 9 wins were almost 12% of the team's total wins for the entire year. He joins a select company of Mets legends, including Tom Seaver, Jon Matlack, Darryl Strawberry, and Dwight Gooden, with the last one being over 30 years ago to be so honored. There is always a certain amount of controversy when a pitcher wins an award like this, rather than an everyday position player, especially on a losing team, compared with a rookie whose offensive or defensive prowess helped his team into the playoffs, for instance. Interestingly enough, the NL MVP last year was also a pitcher, but I tend to doubt there was any real controversy about that, because the stats speak for themselves. Clayton Kershaw of the LA Dodgers went 21-3, with an incredible 1.77 ERA, on a 94-68 team that was unfortunately eliminated in the first round of the playoffs. For his part, Kershaw became the first NL pitcher to win the award since the legendary Bob Gibson of the Cardinals, way back in 1968, who went 22-9 with a mind-boggling ERA of 1.12 (!!!) on a 97-65 team on their way to the World Series. Anyway, deGrom is obviously a long way from Gibson territory, but let's face it, Rookie of the Year is a good place to start. Even more surprisingly, the Mets management sallied forth in the off-season to snap up free-agent Michael Cuddyer from the Rockies, a legitimate slugger who won the batting title in 2013, and maintained a batting average over .330 for two years in a row. This is a big part of what's supposed to be "new and improved" in Flushing this season, giving their long-suffering fans reason to hope for brighter days ahead. After all, there's only so much that brownie-filled pretzel nuggets can help, if the team doesn't win, and you can feel free to ask Dr. Easter Bunny if you don't believe me. On the local scene, for anybody who hasn't bought a doorbell in the last 100 years or so, as we certainly hadn't, I can tell you that you should definitely check it out, and no mistake. Nowadays, these heretofore undistinguished workhorses come pre-programmed with dozens upon dozens of electronic options to choose among, from "Fur Elise" to "Tiger Rag," from "The Mexican Hat Dance" to "Chopsticks," from "Moon River" to "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain When She Comes," and just about everything in between, I dare say. There are synthesized versions of Broadway show tunes, folk songs, pop music, classical snippets, holiday favorites, TV themes, patriotic standards, and even some popular ethnic ditties tossed in to keep the foreigners happy. A poor overwhelmed person would hardly know where to start with this dizzying amount of variety, and like answering machines where people don't bother to record their own message, it's a wonder that these newfangled doorbells don't come with a default setting that just says, "Thank you for ringing our doorbell" when someone comes calling. Why, you could just go right ahead and change your chime every single week for an entire year, and not have the same one twice - or change it based on the events, festivals, or weather of each season as it goes along - and really keep people guessing as to what they might be hearing next. It's enough to make total strangers just scamper around pressing random doorbells all over the place, to find out what would be the "ring of the day" in one neighborhood or another. The dinosaurs can tell you, this is not your grandfather's doorbell, by golly (and they ought to know) and not by a long shot, that's for sure. Anyone in the local area is welcome to come on over here and give it a try, and you could easily tell that you're at the right house, because ours is playing "Alley Cat." Elle

Take Me To The River

Hello World, I suppose this is as good a time as any to wish all of our Christian friends a very happy Easter, our Jewish brethren a very joyous Passover, and for our Eastern Orthodox cohorts, a very blessed Palm Sunday! Yes, once again, the Western contingent has leaped ahead of their more sluggard counterparts (based on a bewildering formula of arcane variables, involving the vernal equinox, lunar phases, sun spots, inflation, humidity, miles per gallon, body mass index, currency conversion, radio waves, alcohol content, grade point average, seating capacity, carbon dating, exit polls, manufacturing output, musical chairs, plate tectonics, compound interest, box office receipts, and on-base percentage, I shouldn't wonder) to celebrate Easter this Sunday on April 5, while the Eastern set will be holding off until the following Sunday on April 12 instead. One of the reasons this happens in the Orthodox, well, orthodoxy, as it were, is so that the entire Passover festival (which lasts this year until April 11) is well and truly over before they start to observe Easter - which actually makes the most sense theologically, if you think about it. Be that as it may, and throwing caution to the wind, the rest of us will be ready to greet the Easter Bunny bright and early on Sunday morning, with his baskets full of treats, and colorful eggs scattered about for scavenging youngsters. (Or oldsters, for that matter - our old friends the dinosaurs can tell you that we're not in the least bit judgmental around here, so please feel free to get out there and dig around with the best of them, regardless of the year on your birth certificate, and hop to it.) As for myself, I'll be just as glad to tear into those chocolate bunnies on Sunday, and not have to wait another whole week, regardless of whether Passover is still going on or not, and the heck with carbon dating. Of course, last week on March 29 was Palm Sunday, and I dutifully brought home palms from church for the entertainment of the furry felines in our midst, just like I was supposed to. Actually, I don't dare come home without palms, because I already know that our cats have no tolerance for such egregious oversights, and they would just as likely tear my arm off at the shoulder without a hint of remorse, if I were ever so foolhardy as to give them that chance. (I don't mind saying that there have been times - and more than once or twice - that I've actually come home, and then turned around and driven all the way back to church to pick up palms, if I accidentally left them in the office when I was doing paperwork. The dinosaurs can tell you that I may look dumb, but I'm not stupid.) Alert readers may recall that we have new kittens in the household, that were born outside under our front porch, and we wondered how they would take to these unexpected botanical elements suddenly appearing indoors, and seemingly out of nowhere. It didn't take long to find out, because after I dropped them off in the living room, and went upstairs to change, by the time I came back downstairs, the palms were every which where, with not a single one remaining on the coffee table where I had left them. This is actually a big change from our previous cats, who were truly fascinated by palms, but only if you waved the fronds around so they could chase after them, and tended to lose interest when the plants would just lay about by themselves. The kittens had no such hesitation on that score, and were eager to play with these new toys on their own, without any need for outside participation to help things along. They were happy to pounce on them, push them around, fight over them, knock them under the furniture, and chew on them to their little hearts' content, like some sort of Palm Experts Masters Class, offering instruction for initiating the novices into the finer points of palm play. (And we have the digital videos to prove it, so scoffers beware!) I'm sure they think it would be an excellent idea for me to sneak into a Greek Orthodox church on Sunday and pick up a second set of palms a week later, but I really don't see that happening, and I told them they were wasting their time with the protest marches and petitions. Coming in right on schedule, April Fools Day was on Wednesday, and by all accounts, the Internet was awash with all manner of hoaxes, pranks, and outright tomfoolery on every side, to amuse the masses and trip up the unwary. Hopefully you were spared from any embarrassing hijinks, and managed to get through the day without incident, when all was said and done, with your dignity intact. Speaking of dignity, did you see the announcement about new Tesco Bounce, where the store installed trampoline floors, so shoppers can reach products on the top shelves? (Only kidding!!!) Also coming in right on schedule, I'm happy to report that our yard has exploded in jaunty purple crocus everywhere, front and back, and all along the driveway as well. Spring weather can be so unpredictable, but whether it's still chilly and dreary, or sunny and pleasant, there's nothing like a carpet of crocus to add a cheerful note to any day. And also on the home front, the temporary job that I had been doing since November is now a thing of the past, as the assignment came to an end, and we parted ways, and I don't mind saying, a little more abruptly than I would have expected. On the other hand, it was probably just as well, because it was admittedly getting to be something of a nuisance, having to drag all the way to the wilds of Valhalla every day - and especially during the long weary winter months when poor Bill was taking me to work every day, so that I wouldn't be stuck there driving home alone in the dark at night. So once again, I'm back out there pounding the pavement on the lookout for gainful employment, only this time, hopefully a little closer to home. Not to mention, trampoline floors would be nice, so I can reach things in the top of the file cabinets, especially if that's where they hide the chocolate bunnies, I don't mind saying. Speaking of travel, people outside of the region may not be aware of a massive $4 billion project underway to replace the derelict Tappan Zee Bridge over the majestic Hudson River, which has outlasted its useful life-span, and is now presenting more of a danger to commuters than its convenience warrants. The current bridge is in actual fact, named after a former governor, Malcolm Wilson, although everyone in the world still calls it the Tappan Zee anyway. There has been talk of naming it after the beloved and recently departed former Governor Mario Cuomo, which would figure to have a good chance of success, since his son is the incumbent governor right now. Another faction is in favor of naming it for the late folk singer Pete Seeger, who was an environmental champion and one of the Hudson River's greatest advocates and stoutest defenders. For their part, the local newspaper tossed out the challenge to their readers for their opinions about what the new bridge should be called, and they certainly got an eyeful and then some - "Boondoggle." - J. Goodman "The Tappan Zee Memorial Bridge ... it is a memorial to itself." - R. Deed "Why can't it still be called The Tappan Zee Bridge? After all, it was named for both the Native American Indian Tribe that lived there, and the Dutch who settled in New York." - B. Finch Rodino "Rockland+Westchester ... The Westrock or Rockwest Bridge." - T. Federici "Rather it is named after a non-politician. Pete Seeger did more for the Hudson River than Cuomo from the City of New York." - K. J. Fleckenstein "Name it the Hudson Bay Bridge or the Hudson River Bridge." - B. Rossi "There was a suggestion of naming it after Pete Seeger after he passed away last year. I still think that's a pretty good idea, considering all he did for the river it crosses." - D. Smith "The rail-less bridge." - C. Pollard "The Mario Henry Seeger Half Moon Headless Van Winkle Express Bridge." - D. Hogan "The Obama Fundraising Bridge." - C. Gatti "I've been calling it the 'Chopsticks Bridge' since the first model was unveiled." - M. Jonsson Evangelista "Washington Irving Bridge." - J. Speechley "The Honda Bridge and get them to help pay for it." - R. Stilling "The sky high toll bridge." - J. Garcia "Peoples Bridge since we are paying for it!" - S. Pesick-Pierro "The Obsolete Before It Is Completed Bridge." - M. Liscoe "The Cost-Overrun Behind-Schedule There-Go-My-Tax-Dollars Memorial Bridge." - D. Browne Well, there being no way to improve upon that, I may as well wrap this up right here and now. They expect the new nameless bridge to be completed by 2018, so there's plenty of time for the various delegations to wrangle over this flap between now and then. Of course, everyone knows that I'm never one to wade into the thick of partisan controversy, and it is always my byword to remain impartially above the fray, and resolutely take no sides in adversarial conflicts of any sort. Having said that, however, I've certainly learned a thing or two in my time, and if nothing else, I absolutely know better than to get on the wrong side of the evil spirit of Affirmed, so that's my choice for the new bridge, and that's not just the mint juleps talking, believe me. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, or my name isn't - Governor Mario Malcolm Pete Tappan Zee Seeger Wilson Cuomo

Half Baked

Greetings To All Alert Readers, Aliens From Far Distant Galaxies, Dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery, (and it goes without saying) the motley assortment of KGB Agents Monitoring My Email, Whose Name is Legion, Heaven Knows: Here I am, climbing into my Way Back Machine to resurrect this V.I.P. (Very Important Prose) from the tail-end of January, when it was supposed to have been sent out on its merry way through the wilds of cyber-space via the information super-highway, but instead, somehow got waylaid and entangled in the fathomless labyrinths of my computer's inner workings, where it languished until just now. I hope that I can count on an indulgent public to welcome it now with open arms, and enjoy this blast from the past, as if it was as timely and relevant as ever, and thanks ever so. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Happy (very belated) Super Bowl weekend! Sunday's tilt features two teams that are no strangers to The Big Game, the New England Patriots, with 8 appearances (including this one), and the Seattle Seahawks with 3 - although at this point, the Seahawks are the defending champions, so they're certainly not second best to anybody right now. The vaunted Pats are 3-4 in their previous 7 appearances, while Seattle is 1-1, which actually gives them a higher winning percentage than their northeastern counterparts. Of course, anything can happen in a single game, but personally, my money's on Katy Perry at halftime, and I like it. In other sports news, if we find ourselves already on the brink of the Super Bowl, alert readers could be forgiven for wondering, as well they should wonder, what the heck ever happened with the Pro Bowl - that annual tribute to fun and frolic in the sunshine, where the best players from every team get to relax and enjoy all the pleasures that Hawaii has to offer, maybe toss around a little bit of pigskin, all on the NFL's dime, as it were. Not so fast! Perhaps in a (possibly misguided) effort to take the game more seriously, the NFL management eschewed the Hawaiian islands for the extremely un-exotic University of Phoenix stadium in prosaic Arizona, of all places, which coincidentally, is the same venue that will be hosting the Super Bowl the following week. (The Pro Bowl is usually scheduled in between the last Sunday of the playoffs, and before the Super Bowl, so football-starved fans have something to console themselves with on that off week, and glad of it, I dare say.) This time around, Hall of Famers Chris Carter and Michael Irvin were in charge of assembling their teams of players, using a sort of fantasy draft type of mechanism, so that players who are normally on the same team during the season, could easily find themselves in the unexpected position of playing against each other suddenly at this late date. Meanwhile on the gridiron, these contests are quickly losing their powderpuff stigma as a romp in the park, and true to form, last week's game was a taut, seesaw affair, including some outstanding plays, with Team Irvin finally squeaking out a 32-28 win over Team Carter. My personal favorite part of the whole thing is that apparently they also invite the best cheerleaders from all of the teams, to perform at the Pro Bowl on behalf of the opposing squads, and while I have no idea how they pick the ladies in question, here I'm thinking the selection process has to be about the most popular thing the NFL has ever come up with, by golly. In other seasonal news, I am not in the least surprised to report that our juvenile delinquent squirrels chewed apart the Christmas lights we put up outside on the porch, for the first time this year, thanks not. For their part, the poor mistreated lights gamely stayed lit as much as they could, for as long as they could - with first one section going dark, and then another after another - until it was just about all over but the shouting. (And I did plenty of that, I can assure you, not that it has any hope of success against this onslaught of furry varmints, and I ought to know.) On the other hand, since the brazen interlopers left the electric cords with nothing but bare wires waving their exposed ends all about the place, it did tend to present more of a safety hazard to the neighborhood than we usually care for, and it didn't take long before we had to give up the whole idea as a lost cause, and I don't mind saying, plenty of ho-ho-bah-humbug to boot. I realize that it's early days yet, but you can believe me when I say that I have already crossed the squirrels off my gift-giving list for this year, and the way they're going, maybe next year as well. No sense doing things by half-measures, I always say, and that's not just the sugar plums talking, believe me. Back on the sports scene, I couldn't help but notice in the TV listings that the NHL-leading New York Islanders were supposedly playing something called the Arizona Coyotes, of all things, which seemed mysteriously unknown to me somehow. Apparently not! They turned out to be the old Winnipeg Jets of the WHA, and relocated as the Phoenix Coyotes in 1996. Now under new ownership, they're calling themselves the Arizona Coyotes instead, and they only seem to have sprung out of nowhere, for those of us who haven't been paying close attention. Interestingly, the original Winnipeg Jets played in Canada from 1972-1996 before moving to the American southwest, while a completely different franchise, the Atlanta Thrashers, were a staple of the southeast from 1999-2011. When the Thrashers finally folded up their tents, oddly enough, they were whisked away to central Canada, and re-christened as the Winnipeg Jets all over again, beginning with the 2012 season. There's a joke in here somewhere about not being able to tell the players without a scorecard, but I'm too confused to come up with one just at the moment. And while we're on the subject of moving all around helter-skelter, it came as a surprise to almost everybody when the New York Jets and Philadelphia Eagles basically swapped quarterbacks, more or less out of the blue during the off-season. Michael Vick of the Eagles was already a free agent when he signed with the Jets, and since Gang Green didn't need any more quarterbacks, they took the opportunity to cut ties with the under-performing Mark Sanchez, who in turn, was quickly snapped up by Philadelphia. Sanchez, who suffered under the burden of unreasonable expectations in New York, and sat out the entire 2013 season with injuries, bounced back in Philadelphia with a career year, looking like the first-round draft pick that he might have been all along. (Or as the New York Post's pundit Bart Hubbuch put it: "Sanchez’s defenders when he was in New York — admittedly a group small enough to meet in a broom closet — always contended he was a victim of the terrible supporting cast the Jets gave him his final two seasons.") For their part, if the Jets hoped that throwing Sanchez overboard would right the ship after a hapless 8-8 season, then finishing last year at 4-12 could not have been the result they were looking for, and the owners wasted no time in cleaning house, with the coaching staff and general manager tossed out on their collective ears. Heck, the way things were going, it's a wonder they didn't just boot all of the cheerleaders too while they were at it, and start all over again with a clean pom-pom - I mean, slate. Anyway, I'm sure we're all happy that Mark Sanchez had a chance to return to his successful ways, and find redemption with a team that seemed to appreciate him as he deserved. Somewhere, Chad Pennington is having a great big laugh. Speaking of laughs, it reminds me that in the "Hope Springs Eternal" department, I heard a radio commercial, on December 15th mind you, for Mets season tickets, as if people wanted to hurry out and snap those up before it was too late. I think not! Their already long-suffering fans endured yet another dreadful season, where The Amazin's stumbled to yet another below .500 year at 79-83 (which was actually their best finish since 2008, so that tells you something right there) and wound up the season 17 games out of first place, being mathematically eliminated from the playoffs early on. The team didn't follow the lead of their cross-town compatriots by firing all of the coaches, and I think even the cheerleaders made the cut, so I don't know exactly what they expect is going to turn things around for them from last year to the upcoming one, in terms of exciting the anticipation of the locals to chase after season tickets. Of course, once the Super Bowl is out of the way, we can't rule out the possibility that the Mets front office has made some sort of deal with Katy Perry, and once again, I would have to say I liked it. You heard it here first, folks. Elle