Over Kill

Hello World, Happy Halloween! Of course, the big day is technically on Saturday, but as we all know, it's basically been Halloween in the stores since just about back-to-school time. (And I don't mind saying that I'm a big fan of those fun-size back-to-school candies, yum!) Since Halloween is on the weekend, Friday is normally the day I would be wearing my costume to work, spreading joy wherever I go, and maybe picking up some treats along the way. Alas, it's one of the fun things I truly miss about my old job at the Employer of Last Resort, and the temporary job where I am now doesn't seem to have that same happy-go-lucky approach to the workday that would embrace such frivolity, and more's the pity, I'm sure. So I'll be going to work on Friday dressed as an ordinary everyday office temp, rather than a cartoon character or historical legend like SpongeBob SquarePants or Cleopatra, and appearing as mundane and respectable as any one person could possibly look. But I can tell you in my innermost heart of hearts, I will be Hello Kitty through and through. Meow! In other depressing news, so far there has been no joy in Mudville, at least on the local front, as the World Series has gotten off to a rocky start with the Mets losing the first two games, thanks not. Of course, the Royals are no slouch, having been in the World Series as recently as last year. In fact, ESPN tells me that they are the first AL team since 1961 to return to the World Series the following year, after losing the 7th game the previous season, so that tells you something right there. In an interesting coincidence, the franchise entered the league in 1969, the year the Mets won the World Series, and last won the World Series in 1985, the year before the Mets last won in 1986. On the other hand, the Mets are also nobody's patsy, and once again it's ESPN who informs us that the team has the most World Series appearances of any expansion team in the history of major league baseball. That may not sound like much, but it encompasses 14 teams since 1960, so that's quite a pile to be on top of. I admit that it would be cold consolation if they lose this year, but I'm sure the Royals fans said the same thing last year, so all we can do at this point is hope for the best. Obviously next time around, the front office needs to do a better job of having the evil spirit of Affirms jinx the opposing team, and not just leave these things to chance, after all. And speaking of taking chances, I heard on the radio yesterday that misguided tourists have suffered more injuries from taking dangerous selfie shots with their phones, than being attacked by sharks in treacherous waters - and don't even get me started on the perils of tourists taking selfie shots with sharks, by golly. And for people who feel that they don't already have enough ways to kill themselves, it reminds me of another story on the radio about how to figure your chances of surviving a zombie apocalypse - and I think we can all agree that there is woefully too little information on this subject at the moment, heaven knows. Apparently there's an app (there's always an app!) that takes into account the current population of your location, and factors in the number of people buried in the local cemeteries, and gives you the odds you can expect if and when the undead rise up en masse, and the unthinkable suddenly becomes all too real. According to their figures, the worst places to be when re-animated corpses hit the streets would be Boston, Bridgeport and Hartford in Connecticut (I've been to Bridgeport, and I see no reason to quarrel with their findings) and some odd spot called Nashville, Texas, of all places. I think it was Mark Twain (although he attributed it to the famous statesman Benjamin Disraeli) who railed against what he referred to as "lies, damned lies, and statistics," so you may feel free to regard your own results with the proverbial grain of salt, and I in no way vouch for their accuracy, much less the credibility of the whole idea. Personally, I think we're a little too close to Bridgeport and Hartford for comfort, under the circumstances, so I'm counting on some sort of Early Zombie Warning System to alert us when it's time to make a run for the hills. Unless of course, the evil spirit of Affirmed has anything to do with it, in which case, the zombies would be in charge of the Early Zombie Warning System, and that would be the end of that, I dare say. Heading for the hills reminds me of another travel tidbit that I came across in my recent online excursions through cyberspace with all of its many wonders. Bill's family history traces back through the illustrious Clan Maxwell and their ancestral home on the southern coast of Scotland in Dumfries. Our friends at www.VisitScotland.com describe it this way: "Visit Caerlaverock Castle and discover one of Scotland's great medieval fortresses." They go on for several paragraphs about its many distinguishing features, such as a moat, twin towers, imposing battlements, and even reproduction siege engines. Modern travelers can enjoy snacks in the tea room, as well as nature trails through the grounds, and a playground for the youngsters. Lest potential visitors get carried away and giddy with excitement, they close with this curiously ominous advisory: ================================ Very occasionally the property has to close at short notice due to adverse weather conditions or other reasons out with our control. ================================ Frankly, I was with them at the moat, the portcullis, the ramparts, the gatehouse, the battlements, the crenellations, and even the siege engines, but once they dredged up "out with our control," they totally lost me, and I'm not sure I ever found myself again, even still. It seemed like a simple concept, but still somehow managed to be entirely beyond my ken, as it were, and I found my last two poor addled brain cells (who I have renamed Loch and Ness for the occasion) wandering aimlessly around, as if through the foggy mists of heath and moor that dot the landscape of the Lowlands - or perhaps even more so, under the influence of countless distilleries that produce the legendary spirit that bears their name. In fact, I'm thinking that Scotch might not be such a bad strategy for the upcoming zombie apocalypse after all, although even better would be tricking them into taking selfie shots in shark-infested waters, but admittedly that would be out with our control. Elle

Win Big or Go Home

Hello World, Happy days! I'm thinking these are salad days indeed for our old nemesis Comrade Mischka at the controls of the Kremlin's infernal weather machine - and it goes without saying, with croutons and dressing on top, I shouldn't wonder. Around here, the weather hasn't known what to do with itself lately, with cool crisp fall days and glorious sunshine to cheer the soul, interspersed with gray clammy days full of pelting rain and fierce winds. Even with the shorter days, it's been unseasonably warm in the 70's for days on end, but it was so cold on Sunday that people came to church wearing everything they owned, and was still no defense against the chill. (The person who decides when to turn on the heat at church is a no-nonsense Calvinist of the old school, from sturdy pioneer stock, and doesn't let a little thing like freezing temperatures stir her sympathies, I can tell you that.) Nobody fell asleep during the sermon, that's for sure, although it may have been a little difficult to concentrate when the precious few were all huddled together for warmth. I heard later that someone was sharing a video of a crackling fireplace on his cell phone to the rest of the frost-bitten congregation, but let's face it, that was just third party hearsay, and would never stand up in a court of law. Of course, anyone who knows us can tell you that we bleed Mets blue at our house, so the only real news worth mentioning is the Amazin's sweep of the Cubbies right out of the NLCS in four amazing games, as impossible as that might seem. Especially since the Cubs won an impressive 97 games during the regular season, and then went on to robustly manhandle the Pirates and Cardinals (with the two best records in all of baseball) out of the playoffs previously, so I frankly didn't care all that much for the Mets' chances against them. But the eternal "Ya Gotta Believe" spirit of Tug McGraw lives on, and even the scoffers and nay-sayers would have trouble making this out to be some sort of fluke - or any other type of fish, for that matter. Along the way, Daniel Murphy set a major league record by hitting home runs in 6 consecutive post-season games, which is a stat that no one else in the history of the game can lay claim to. Next up is the World Series beginning on Tuesday for all the marbles, where the Mets haven't made an appearance since 2000, when they lost to their cross-town rivals in pinstripes, the mighty Yankees, in 5 games, alas. They last won it all in 1986, so it's been a good long time since their last trip through the ticker tape in the Canyon of Heroes, and not to mention, Joy in Mudville. Ya Gotta Believe! Last week, readers of the local newspaper were treated to an article about the New Hampshire Oyster Project, aiming to restore the natural population all along the East Coast, which has plummeted in recent decades due to disease, over-harvesting, and other problems. They're using a multi-disciplinary approach, involving numerous partners to implement the best solutions to a wide array of problems. One important aspect they mention is volunteer "foster parents" (or as Bill rather wittily referred to them, "foyster" parents) who raise baby oysters, safe in cages tied to their docks, until they're big enough to survive on their own, and not easy prey for crabs or sea birds. Marine biologists then transfer them to artificial reefs, which not only provide significant water quality benefits and habitat for fish, but also act as "speed bumps" to help prevent dangerous storm surges from damaging the coastline. The project has added 18 acres of reefs and more than 3 million oysters to the ecosystem, where they each filter about 20 gallons of water every day, so it's a win-win-win all around. They're also busy developing disease-resistant oysters to further protect this delicacy for its clamoring public - although even the stodgy National Geographic couldn't help but observe - "There are many food items in the world that evoke the question: 'How hungry did the first person to eat this have to be'?" Indeed! This may well be one of those items that only a "foyster" parent could love. Also recently in the paper, there was a front page story about youngsters hanging out at the mall, which was not particularly interesting, except for a curious chronological anomaly that would rouse even our old friends the dinosaurs out of the primordial ooze on the great unformed land masses, and I ought to know. Under the headline was a giant picture that the caption identified as a trio of 12-year-old girls, all carrying their H&M shopping bags, and the center one wearing a Doors T-shirt, of all things. Inasmuch as the band basically broke up in 1971 when lead singer Jim Morrison went on to rock and roll heaven, and even though I admit to being somewhat math-challenged, even I can figure out that not only were these children not even born then, there's a good probability that their parents weren't either. Personally, this strikes me as such an odd fashion statement for anyone born in 2003 to be sporting, it would be like a teenager in 1971 wearing a shirt emblazoned with the likeness of Paul Whiteman or Ukulele Ike from 1927. I'm pretty sure it was Albert Einstein who said, "Time is relative, so time travel is when you go to visit your relatives" - or at least, that's what it says on my T-shirt anyway. And speaking of time out of joint, it's next Sunday on November 1st that looming ahead of us on the horizon is the ominous specter of the nefarious Daylight Saving Time to befuddle us once again, like it or lump it, and thanks ever so much not, I dare say. This is the time of year that we "fall back," so that what is now 6:00 will be 5:00, and what is now sleep time will be wake time, and adding in an extra hour of darkness that nobody wants, and I don't mind saying that I am unanimous in that. And while it may not be unanimous everywhere, at least I can rest assured that I am not alone, not by a long shot, and like any cultural malady that befalls us, it's axiomatic that laughter is the best medicine. We have Bill and our friends at Facebook to thank for this well-deserved skewering of the baneful DST, with all of its wretched ramifications, and is certainly more than worth the two minutes it would take to enjoy the highly comical video. Of course, next week, that would be two minutes an hour ago, minus four cousins, on the theory that everything has relatives, after all. Say, who let Albert Einstein in here? ==================================== https://www.facebook.com/liketimely/videos/1087919847885673/ Elle

It Takes A Thief

Hello World, Beware the Ides of October and then some! Of course, even the most backward schoolchild remembers those evocative words of warning - although to be fair, spoken about March and not October - in Shakespeare's stirring "Julius Caesar." In a similar vein, anyone with even the most basic understanding of Latin could figure out that "octo" stands for 8, and "sept" for 7, and so might wonder (as well they might wonder indeed) why these months aren't the 7th and 8th months of the year, instead of the 9th and 10th months - with the same holding true to for "nov" (9) and "dec" (10) at 11 and 12 respectively, and not where their namesakes would be expected. It would be all too easy to lay the blame for this at the sandal-clad feet of the very same Julius Caesar (for whom the month of July is named) and also responsible for the Julian Calendar in 45 BC, which stood its ground, keeping the world on time until Pope Gregory in 1582. Not so fast! Actually, it was a reform of the ancient Roman Calendar in 700 BC by King Numa Pompilius, which added January and February to the beginning of their original 10-month calendar, that pushed everything back by 61 days and prevented the names of months from lining up with their numbers, even 2700 years later. No wonder he didn't name them after himself, he probably went into hiding after that, when everyone started asking why he didn't just add them to the end of the year instead, and leave everything else in its proper place. Personally, I think having New Year's Eve on the last day of Pompuary has a nice ring to it. Speaking of holidays, it can't be denied that Halloween will soon be upon us, with all the fun and frivolity that entails, and to the delight of little ghouls and goblins everywhere, I dare say. (Although alert readers on Facebook may have noticed a recent post encouraging the idea of an "Adult Halloween," where grown-ups wander the streets knocking on doors, and the homeowners oblige them with a shot of booze rather than candy - I should be horrified to report that this particular post had already garnered something like 143,750 Likes, and of course, everyone knows how I worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me.) But I do have to point out that's not the worst of it, not by a long shot. Anyone watching television or glancing at circulars lately, couldn't help but notice what I would have to consider a whole new low in the category of "This Is Why The Terrorists Hate Us," which is Halloween treats for your pets, and I kid you not. They feature the seasonally-themed colors and flavors of the holiday, like they do with fun-size candies now, only they're for house pets instead of people. In fact, our friends at Petco refer to this as "Treat-Ween" for your furry companions, and apparently without a hint of irony, or even (heaven forbid!) embarrassment in this challenging economic climate, where you would figure that the very last thing we all need is one other stupid triviality to waste money on, heaven knows. (Come to think of it, I'm sure the President's economic advisers would be exceedingly grateful if we all would, and thanks ever so.) Now I'll be the first to admit that I find pet costumes to be adorable and harmless fun for the whole family (although at our house, we know that if we ever tried to put one of those frightful concoctions on any of our fur-ocious felines, well, let's just say that people could call us "Stumpy" from then on) but even I have to draw the line at holiday treats for pets, and that's not just the bacon-flavored candy corn talking, believe me. Meanwhile, at the temporary job I have in the real estate office now, I got a call out of the blue from a couple of strangers who were looking to rent some office space for their construction business, and they were hoping we had something in the range of 1,000 square feet that would fit the bill. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I always aim to please, so I invited them over to check out a vacant space we had in one of our buildings, and I hurried over there to meet them with a fistful of keys, that I had every reason to expect would be the right ones to open the door in question. Not so fast! It turned out that the contractor doing our bathroom renovations was using that empty space for their construction tools and materials, and had also changed the locks, so I couldn't get inside, thanks not. I managed to flag down one of the maintenance staff and he was kind enough to get the new key from the crew working on the bathroom, so at least I didn't have the prospective tenants cooling their heels in the hallway even longer than they already were. This was not making such a great first impression, I'm thinking, and as much as I tried to put a brave face on it, things actually got even worse when we did get inside, and were confronted with piles and piles of tile, pipes, grout, plywood, sinks, paint, ladders, and every other darned thing for the bathroom project, and once again, thanks ever so much not. At this point, I figured that my best efforts would be in vain, and who could blame them, but in a surprising turn of events, that ended up being very far from the case, as it were. They assured me that they loved the space, even in its bedraggled and derelict condition (did I mention that we had apparently also ransacked the joint for ceiling tiles that we needed for replacements in occupied spaces?) and without so much as making measurements or taking pictures, they were ready to sign the lease and give us a check on the spot. In retrospect, I said to Bill that they were obviously way too eager, and overly pleased with the poor abandoned place, out of all proportion to an objective examination of the premises, that would have sent any normal prospect running for the hills, or quite possibly even farther. In fact, on further consideration, they reminded me of nothing so much as a quintessential example of a pair of sitcom hoodlums, who arrange to buy the empty candy store next to the bank, so they can drill into the vault through the common wall, undetected and at their leisure, without arousing any suspicion. All I needed was Officers Toody and Muldoon to show up from "Car 54, Where Are You?" ("There's a hold-up in the Bronx, Brooklyn's broken out in fights ..... ") to make it complete. (For the rest of you old-timers out there, one of them would be playing the Sheldon Leonard part, while the other would be the Vito Scotti half of the equation, mustache and all.) As far as I know, there's no way for them to reach the bank from where they would be located, and I admit that I'm no detective, but I've watched enough television to see that there's obviously more going on here than meets the eye, and that's not just Sam Spade and Bulldog Drummond talking, by golly. On the sports scene, beleaguered Knicks fans must be loving their team roaring out to a 3-0 start (tied with the mighty Celtics, believe it or not) and probably only wish that these pre-season games could count for something, alas. None of this might translate into the regular season, but at least it was fun while it lasted. On the gridiron, the Jets (3-1) and Giants (3-2) continue to have respectable records, although nothing like the still unbeaten Bengals, Broncos, Packers, Panthers and Patriots - but on the other hand, way better than the woeful 1-4 records of the Chiefs, 49ers, Jaguars, Ravens, Texans, or even worse, the 0-5 Lions. On the frozen front, the plucky Rangers have a somewhat dubious 3-2 record, and while they're currently leading their division, and it's early days yet, this sluggish start certainly doesn't have "Stanley Cup" written all over it, by any means. But the best news of all is that the surprising Mets surprisingly ousted the Dodgers in 5 games, advancing to the second round of the playoffs in surprising fashion, and with their legion of loyal fans just as surprised as anybody, believe me. Even more unexpectedly, the unheralded Chicago Cubs somehow managed to actually beat the pride of the Midwest, the St. Louis Cardinals, in their series - which means that the teams with the two best records in the regular season, St. Louis and Pittsburgh, have both been eliminated. Next up will be the Mets playing the Cubs for the National League, and Kansas City playing Toronto in the American League, with the respective winners going on to the World Series after that. The Boys of Summer should wrap everything up by the end of October, but the way things go nowadays, it could easily take even longer - and thanks to the ancient Roman Calendar and King Numa Pompilius, they might still be playing in Numuary, albeit in their long johns and ear muffs, I shouldn't wonder. Speaking of wonder, at least it's not the winter wonderland of Pompuary, no doubt with its own red and green holiday treats for your pets. I tell you, this kind of nonsense is just a crime. Say, who let Dick Tracy in here? Elle

Dance Fever

Hello World, Happy Columbus Day weekend! It goes without saying that this is not considered an actual holiday anymore by practically anybody, although I understand that a smattering of banks will be closed for the occasion. Where I'm working as a temp now, Monday is a standard work day, but I take that as no historical rebuff or cultural condemnation of the legendary explorer, because they only acknowledge a scant 6 holidays in the entire year, and everybody else gets the old heave-ho and no (skull and cross) bones about it - much less sailing ships, dead Presidents, or civil rights leaders besides. For anyone who does have the opportunity to enjoy a long holiday weekend, please feel free to get out there and explore the world around you - taking in all the parades, festivities, and community events that are sure to crop up on every side like whitecaps on a choppy sea. Tell them Queen Isabella sent you. Now that the baseball season is well and truly over, alas, and even the Wild Card teams have been set, lucky fans in select cities have the prospect of the playoffs looming before them, bright with the promise of post-season glory - or conversely, fraught with doomed hopes dashed on the rocky shoals of remorseless failure, and not to mention, no joy in Mudville. Only half of the local pinstripe platoon will be advancing to the divisional series at this point, as the Mets will be taking on the Dodgers in the first round. After that, I frankly don't care for their chances all that much against the buzz-saw that is St. Louis, last time I checked, on a pace to win over 100 games, and certainly look awfully tough doing it, thanks not. But that's a bridge to be crossed on another day, and the only way to get there is through Los Angeles first, so there's no point in putting the cart before the proverbial horse, as it were. (In other words, "Go Cubs!") Over in the unhappy urban landscape of the Bronx, the Yankees may be doing some tinkering in the off-season, but most of their recent woes were injury-related anyway, so there's every reason to expect them to bounce right back and good as new in the spring when everyone is healthy. My advice to GM Brian Cashman is not to make any trades for other players, but to strike deals for better doctors, and that's not just a lot of peanuts and Cracker Jacks, believe me. Speaking of doctors, on my way to my temporary job, I now go past a youth fellowship center on a busy corner that is affiliated with a popular church up the block, as evidenced by the large sign over the front windows, which announces in screaming type: ======================================== The Reverend Dr Albert Peter Wilson Jr Senior Pastor ======================================== Now, that might not seem particularly noteworthy to anybody, but I can assure you that it's a lot funnier if you say it out loud, especially when you get to the "junior senior" part, by heaven. I don't know if punctuation would have helped at all, but it certainly couldn't hurt. And speaking of hurt, alert readers couldn't help but notice this arresting tidbit for DWTS on the AOL Welcome screen last week, about one of the dancers getting ready to return to the show after an unfortunate medical emergency: ================================= Kim Zolciak, who suffered a stroke this week, is determined to continue on "Dancing With The Stars" What she's been doing in her hostpial room ================================= You can believe me when I say that even the most rudimentary spell-checker is not going to think much of that "hostpial" idea, even if, like me, you're running ancient bug-ridden software on a wheezing steam-powered clunker of a computer, by golly. It's a wonder to me that AOL doesn't have some sort of sophisticated auto-correct feature that doesn't depend on grammar-challenged minions or their questionable fingers to make these posts come out right the first time. On the other hand, any program worth its salt would have auto-corrected poor Kim Zolciak into Kim Zodiac long before they ever got to the "hostpial" part, so I suppose there's no escaping the fact that modern technology is a double-edged sword after all. Meanwhile on the international scene, alert readers may be wondering what has been making waves lately, and well may they wonder indeed. First up in the wave department was Hurricane Joaquin, which made a mess of things in many places, but fortunately skipped the local area and turned out to sea, where we could all happily wave him goodbye and good riddance, I don't mind saying. On a different front, that is not all wet, we have the spunky New York Jets playing the Miami Dolphins at Wembley Stadium in London, of all things, in what the gridiron brain trust refers to as the "NFL International Series." There were no complaints from the hometown faithful about the results, which saw Gang Green clobber the Dolphins with a lopsided score of 27-14 that actually made it seem closer than it was, before a raucous crowd of 84,000 - more like the giant arenas at college football powerhouses, than the smaller pro stadiums around the country nowadays. Of course, it's refreshing to find American football so popular in England, but thanks to the NFL's puddle-jumping antics, local fans of both eastern seaboard teams had no choice but to watch the game at 9:30 in the morning on Sunday, due to the time difference across the vast Atlantic Ocean, when I'm thinking the Buffalo wings, chili and beer would not be the breakfast options most people would choose at that hour, I dare say. In even more international sports news, the NBA hoops action has finally gotten underway, featuring the scrappy New York Knicks in their pre-season opener, beating the pride of Brazil, the improbably named Paschoalotto Bauru, 100-81 at Madison Square Garden, in a game that was actually televised in prime time, like it was a real thing. On the other hand, the poor Knicks were so pitifully bad last year (a woeful 17-65 under first-year coach Derek Fisher, thanks not) that they probably figured a non-NBA opponent would be a better match for their abilities, and I can't say that I blame them one bit. Frankly, I'm surprised they didn't come up with a team from Vatican City, or maybe the Girl Scouts instead. Of course, there's always Kim Zolciak from "Dancing With The Stars," she's obviously looking for more of a challenge in her life, and the Knicks might be just what the doctor ordered. The way things are going, it would probably be the Knicks who ended up in the hostpial after all. Quick, somebody call Brian Cashman! Elle

It's Good To Be Pope

Hello World, Happy October! Considering that it's way too early in the month for anything to have happened already, it's certainly been some eventful times around here lately, and that's saying something. After a disappointing homestand against the Yankees last week, the plucky Mets righted the ship in Cincinnati, clinching their division in dramatic fashion, and heading to the playoffs for the first time since 2006. A small but noisy contingent of their fans made the trek to The Great American Ballpark to enjoy this special moment with the team, which turned into a rollicking celebration by all accounts, and much deserved after all this time - including the announcers (understandably after witnessing many more bad seasons than good) who were positively giddy. The hometown faithful erupted in the kind of euphoria generally reserved for winning the Powerball sweepstakes, and by no means taking for granted this return to post-season play for only the 6th time in franchise history. So for all of us who bleed Mets blue (and you know who you are) now is the time to get out there and party like it's 1969, 1973, 1986, 1988, and 2006! Of course, the other local newsworthy event was the visit by Pope Francis to New York City, in between his stops in the nation's capital and Philadelphia, and spreading good will in his wake like a crop duster on a field crowded with amber waves of grain. His Holiness could not have been more popular (perhaps that should be "pope-ular" under the circumstances) if he tried, and he was welcomed everywhere with open arms, throngs of well wishers, and a media frenzy not seen in The Big Apple since the last time Alec Baldwin appeared in court for slugging a photographer. (Oh, hit that easy target!) Admittedly, a media frenzy happens so often in the city as to be commonplace nowadays, but perhaps kicked up just an extra notch for the papal visit - and not to mention, the retailers had a field day with commemorative items to beat the band. My personal favorite was the Pope Francis bobblehead doll, but there was also no lack of mugs, T-shirts, buttons, caps, bags, jewelry, plates, bumper stickers, and every other darned thing under the heavens. In what I consider an interesting coincidence, it was exactly 10 years ago, almost to the month, that I went to work in my Halloween costume as a pope, and was very popular everywhere I went as well. Between the two of us, I can't deny that there's only one who could be considered actually "pope-ular," and I will defer to His Eminence on this point without qualm, and that's not just a lot of bobbleheads, believe me. Even more on the local scene, we had every reason to expect interesting times around the old stomping grounds - anything from plagues of locusts to zombie apocalypse and everything in between, including flaming arrows at the covered wagons, pard'ner - when we received yet another notice about yet another film shoot in our neighborhood. Our idyllic enclave has already been host to commercials and movie projects, so this should be a routine walk in the park for us old timers by now, but each production seems to come with its own surprises, disadvantages, challenges, and inconveniences that can't help but make a normal person wonder why anyone would agree to this a second time - much less a third, fourth, fifth, or so on. This time the culprit - I mean, the esteemed sojourner in our midst - was the crew from the critically acclaimed TV series "Orange Is The New Black," which they were filming at one of the neighbors' houses. They turned up on Tuesday tacking notices to the trees saying that we couldn't park on the street Wednesday or Thursday (in front of our own homes, mind you) or be towed away, thanks not. We expected the equipment and food service trucks at 7:00 AM on Wednesday, but still hadn't seen hide nor hair of them by 9:30, so they either got a late start, or perhaps parked around the corner. I will be the first to admit that we don't subscribe to the premium cable channel that carries this particular program, but at a distance, my impression of it was that it was about people in prison, which is where you would expect the filming to take place. Since we have no prison in our neighborhood, or anything that even remotely resembles one, it can only be surmised that there must be occasional scenes of a "non-callabozo" nature, among acquaintances of the incarcerated, and that our neighborhood would serve as the ideal habitat for the friends of convicts. Frankly I find the implied connotations somewhat disturbing on several levels, I don't mind saying, and that's not just a lot of jailhouse rock, I can tell you that. Meanwhile at work, one of our vendors was trying to fax over an insurance certificate, and the cover sheet came over fine, but the second page with the actual certificate quit after a couple of lines and the rest was completely blank, thanks not. They tried again with the same result, with the first page being perfect, while the page that I actually needed still tantalizingly out of reach, and looking to stay that way, by all appearances. I finally called them and asked them to just send the second page by itself, since I didn't need any more copies of the cover page after all, and hoped for the best. I apologized profusely on behalf of our recalcitrant fax machine, for making their hard-pressed staff do extra work through no fault of their own, but as I explained, occasionally the equipment acts up for no good reason, and all we can do is try our best to work around its intermittent idiosyncrasies, and apologized again for the inconvenience. They seemed to think it odd for one page to print while another page wouldn't, and I found myself saying helplessly, "Oh I don't know, sometimes after the first page, it just sort of loses its focus, and doesn't care what happens after that." At least that made them laugh, if nothing else. Also at work, I was traveling around the property handing out notices to the tenants about an upcoming elevator shutdown that people needed to be aware of ahead of time, and to say that I was extremely unpopular (much less unpope-ular, heaven knows) would be an understatement of epic proportions, believe me. In any case, one of the offices that I went into was full of chatty folks, and we fell to talking about various things in a convivial manner. Just as I was leaving, one of the ladies remarked, "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like ... " [And here is where, upon having this opening salvo shot across your bow, as it were, you tend to think of exotically glamorous celebrities that you might be compared to, such as Elizabeth Taylor or Cary Grant, Robert Redford or Marilyn Monroe, for instance] so I was understandably pulled up short when she wrapped up this promising query with " ... Aunt Bee from the old 'Andy Griffith Show'?" Ouch! I admit that I didn't see that one coming, and it certainly came as a bolt out of the proverbial blue (and an unwelcome one at that, I don't mind saying) especially since my new companions obviously considered this a great compliment, and a lucky happenstance much to be embraced. Fortunately for them, I was brought up to have better manners than to burst into tears at a time like that, in spite of what I might consider ample provocation, so I mustered the will to smile gamely, and thank them for their observations on behalf of long defunct 50-year-old television shows everywhere, and matronly spinsters in particular, it goes without saying. Personally, overall I much preferred being the pope instead, even without attaining his lofty heights of "pope-ularity," and I've always felt that bobblehead dolls were vastly over-rated in any case. Anyway that's my story and I'm sticking with it, or my name isn't - Aunt Bee