Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?

Hello World, Happy Thanksgiving! I hope that your big day of thanks was all that could have been hoped for, from the most hidebound traditions of Norman Rockwell and Tom Turkey, to the most radical experiences far removed from the mainstream, and everything in between - and the heck with The Holiday Police, because I stoutly maintain that there is no wrong way to celebrate. At my temporary job, they decided that they didn't need me on Friday after all (or just didn't want to pay me for the day) and in fact, made a point of mentioning several critical items they needed to get done, with the implication being that I would just "be in the way," and so I ended up having the day off when I wasn't expecting to. It was nice to have a long 4-day weekend to look forward to, but frankly, while it may have been long on appeal, I found it notably short on tactfulness, and thanks so very much not. In other holiday news, the Black Friday juggernaut continues to have its multitude of detractors chip away at it, however incrementally, but with dogged determination, and as relentless as rushing waters. The latest salvo to hit social media is OptOutside on Black Friday from our friends at REI, the outdoor adventure outfitters, who are turning their collective backs on rampant conspicuous consumption, and encouraging people to unplug, unwind, and enjoy the great outdoors instead. (Please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.rei.com and see for yourself.) Black Friday isn't technically a holiday, so The Holiday Police shouldn't have any quibbles with whatever people choose to do on the day, from working to shopping to any-old-anything-goes-with-a-cherry-on-top, but I think we can all agree that spending more quality time outside, while spending less money in overcrowded malls inside, can only be considered a good thing. Except perhaps by the President's economic advisers, that is. Speaking of the great outdoors, when I was going to work last week, I noticed a woman with a stroller and 2 toddlers on the sidewalk next to me. Since I was stopped at a traffic light, it gave me plenty of time to realize that the two tiny tykes were straggling along after her on foot, while the ample stroller was being occupied by her adorable schnauzer instead. Around our house, this is what we call a person with their priorities straight, and that's not just a shaggy dog story, Scooby Doo. Meanwhile on the home front, I'm not embarrassed to admit there's a dime on the floor downstairs in front of the washing machine that probably fell out of a pocket in some load of laundry, and has likely been just lounging around down there ever since, lo these many months gone by. I don't pick it up in case the day ever dawns that I want to climb into my Way-Back Machine, go back to the 1960's, and make a call from a pay phone. You can say that to young people nowadays, and they would have absolutely no idea what you were talking about. I don't doubt that our old friends the dinosaurs may be snickering in The Peanut Gallery, but unlike me, I know they can remember a time when phone calls were actually a nickel, before they shot all the way up to ten cents, and that's not just John D. Rockefeller talking, believe me. And speaking of old, our local newspaper has a real estate supplement once a week that is basically just a full-size advertisement for developers to hawk their listings, with a welter of pretty pictures and often fanciful artists' renderings of hypothetical future projects which may or may not ever actually see the light of day. In last week's section, The Retreat at Carmel wanted to let me know that their fully-appointed residences provided all the amenities that I could ever want for my active senior lifestyle, and sure to thrill the hearts of us old-timers on the prowl for carefree accommodations in a convivial community adapted to our elder needs. Not so fast! They obviously went to great lengths to come up with a much more diplomatic way of phrasing that, enticing us with their pragmatic features without hurting our feelings, which is no mean feat to pull off. But they were more than equal to the challenge, as they assured me this place was exactly perfect for what they described as "55 and better" homeowners to settle down in. I certainly admire their spirit of unbridled diplomacy, and I'm not sure that anybody could have come up with a kinder and gentler way of getting their point across without offending anyone's sensibilities. In fact, I'm ready to sign up right now - I already have my dime, now all I need is a 1960's pay phone, and I'll be all set. Say, who let John D. Rockefeller in here? Elle

Bus Stop

Hello World, Gobble, gobble! I know it seems impossible to believe (and of course, everyone knows how much I do so hate to be an alarmist) but the plain fact of the matter is that next week is Thanksgiving already - and we can't even blame it on the holiday being early this year. Thanksgiving is not technically a movable feast, since it's always on the 4th Thursday in November. But since the month starts on a different day of the week every year, the holiday can fall anywhere from the 22nd at its earliest, to the 28th at its latest, and any day in between. This time around, it's on the 26th, and anyone who isn't ready to prance with the bird by then had better tie on their running shoes, and turkey trot their way onto the fast track, and I don't mind saying, on the double. Let's face it, those sweet potatoes are not going to just go ahead and candy themselves, after all, and the mini marshmallows, even more so. That reminds me of a recent post on Facebook, which pointed out yesterday that it's only 35 days until Christmas, and I think we can all agree that's a piece of information that might have been better off not being shared with an unwary public, but there you have it. As they say on television, that's a bell you can't un-ring. Of course, we all know that the holly-jolly, merry-bright decorations have long since been in the stores since just about back-to-school, so it's not like the holiday is just sneaking up on us now or anything. In fact, we saw our first illuminated Christmas tree on the lawn of Concordia College in Bronxville last week, and I noticed that the nearby municipalities all had their yuletide lights and wreaths hanging from the street lights since last month already. Between Halloween and Christmas, poor Thanksgiving really doesn't stand a chance. Although it's also true that every facet of social media lately has been all abuzz over the backlash from Black Friday going so completely overboard nowadays (big-box stores opening on Thanksgiving, or at midnight on Friday to get a jump on their outrageous bargains) so that many stores now have decided to pull the plug, buck the tide, and embrace a return to sanity in the marketplace, where customers and employees can relax and enjoy time with their family and friends, rather than slugging it out with strangers at the mall. Heck, people can just stay at home and fight if they want to, there's no sense in getting up in the middle of the night and driving all the way to Wal*Mart for a tussle over the latest toys and gadgets. Besides, the President's economic advisers would much prefer that you buy a new house, or a more expensive healthcare plan instead, and you don't need special Black Friday deals for that. So save the fisticuffs for when you really need them - and when the time comes for grouchy Christians who give up chocolate for Lent, I've got a punch with someone's name on it, believe me. Meanwhile in sports, it would be an understatement to say that it has not been red-letter days on the local sports scene, and not only have the local teams not gotten off to a blue-ribbon start, but rather more of a waving the white flag sort of season so far, alas. The workmanlike Jets are actually doing the best of the bunch, although their 5-4 record is only good enough for 3rd place in the AFC East, where the Patriots are running away with things. The woeful Giants are 5-5 (and even managed to help the dratted Pats stay undefeated, thanks ever so much not) although actually leading their division with that record, so that tells you something right there. On the hardwood, the surprising Knicks at 6-6 have already exceeded expectations of their supposed ineptitude, and playing .500 ball looks pretty good at this point. The even more surprising Nets have stumbled badly out of the gate to a pitiful 2-9 start, but it's early days yet, and plenty of time left to right the ship and sail right back into contention where they belong. Most surprising of all are the hard-charging Rangers, who have been on a 14-2 tear, including 9 straight wins, one shy of the franchise record set 75 years ago - by the club that went on to win the Stanley Cup in 1940. They've opened up a 7 point lead over the teams behind them, and although June seems like a long way off, they've already played almost 25% of the season already. It's all too true that Thanksgiving and Christmas are still ahead of us, and as much as I hate to say it, June will be here before we know it, and way before we're ready for it, that's for sure. Suntan lotion, anyone? Also on the local scene, even the most unobservant person couldn't help but notice that blatant, flat-out ineptitude is not limited to professional athletes, not by a long shot and then some, I can assure you. There was a recent front page story in the Life & Style section of our newspaper (their motto: "Where Fact-Checking Goes to Die") about a new book that was published posthumously from author Ivan Doig, after a storied career with several popular novels. His final work got a big play in the newspaper, featuring a large picture of the book cover right next to the article, presumably so we would know what to look for, if we went searching for it at our neighborhood book shop. Unfortunately, that would only work for anyone who didn't also read the affiliated article, because while the picture of the book very clearly says "Last Bus to Wisdom," the paragraph right next to it inexplicably identifies the piece as "Last Bus to Freedom" instead. That groaning sound you hear is generations of editors, spinning in their graves, gnashing their teeth, and pulling out whatever remains of their moth-eaten hair at this point - and decrying so-called journalists who don't see the most egregious discrepancies right in front of their own noses. Honestly, you can't make this stuff up. In fact, it reminds me of nothing so much as when high-priced meteorologists on television, with the most advanced technology at their very fingertips, will assure their viewers with solemn insistence that it is raining, when all they would have to do is look out a window to see that the sun is shining, despite their ponderous pronouncements to the contrary. In a perfect world, the spirits of the maligned cultural standards would rise up as one, and cram all of these offenders of common sense onto their very own bus out of town - and it wouldn't be the last bus to Paradise, I can promise you that. Elle

Pet Peeves

Hello World, Good news! This is the last Friday the 13th of 2015, after the twin terrors started off the year on the wrong foot in February and March, and thanks so very much not. Even better, 2016 will have only a single one for the entire year, so that already sounds like a big improvement over this year, I dare say. This week was also notable for Veterans Day on Wednesday, as the country took a collective pause to honor the sacrifices of brave men and women (and their service animals) in uniform. Armistice Day, as it used to be known, has taken a real beating over the years, and like Columbus Day, is in grave danger of being relegated to the scrap heap of holiday history, through no fault of its own. Banks, post offices, and some schools may shut down for the day, but for everyone else, it's still business as usual, without even the sanitation men around here getting the day off, and that's saying something. Pretty soon, they're just going to designate one day a year and call it "Miscellaneous Occasion Day for the Observance of Antiquated Holidays That Have Fallen by the Wayside" and lump them all together in one place, once and for all. As long as we're on the subject of animals, it reminds me of the latest rage that is all over social media these days, and is not only the top dog, but also the cat's pajamas, the bee's knees, and the king of the (ant) hill. Along the same lines as uncovering your perfect porn star name [your first pet's name and the street you grew up on] or your inner Mafia gangster name [your middle name and your most prominent physical or psychological feature] thanks to our friends at The Black Cat Appreciation page, there is now a handy chart from Fresh Step for choosing Your New Cat Name, to satisfy your own feline cravings, or share with your special furry companion. They take the last digit of your phone number, each of which has been assigned a specific title, like General or Emperor, and follow that with your zodiac sign, each of which has a particular adjective associated with it, like Scratchy or Fluffy. Then they wrap it all up with your favorite color, which goes along with its own nonsense words like McPaws or Von Scooper - and you end up with something like Princess Bossy Pants or Count Fishy Whiskers for your trouble. Unfortunately when I do it, I get Sir Hairy Bottom, thanks not, so there's obviously room for improvement there, and that's not just the catnip talking, believe me. And speaking of room for improvement, recently at my temporary job in the real estate office, I needed to check out an empty space, amply armed with a comprehensive checklist to record any damage left behind by the vacating tenants. It came as an unwelcome surprise to discover that the lights didn't work in the hallway, so that when I opened the outside door from the parking lot, that provided the only light to be had. Looking about, I could come up with nothing at hand that I could use for the purpose of propping open the outside door to let in any light, so at least I could find my way to the vacant space down the hallway. But from the door, I could make out a bathroom across the hallway, and I figured that I could reach it even in the dark, once the outside door closed behind me, and then use the bathroom lights to help illuminate the rest of the way. I could just barely make out a dim red light inside the bathroom door, so I followed that and started to feel around for a light switch, which I'm thinking must be near the little red light, no doubt helpfully provided so you can find the light switch in the dark, after all. (There I go, using logic again.) You can imagine my astonishment (and to say that I jumped out of my skin would not be overstating the case by any means, I can assure you) when suddenly it spit out a paper towel at me. Yes, that red light in the bathroom was the motion sensor on the automatic paper towel dispenser, and when I waved my hand in its general direction, on the prowl for a light switch, it very dutifully (if misguidedly) responded in the only way it could, by supplying me with a paper towel for my efforts. I can't tell you how I laughed (which really reverberated eerily in the dark vast emptiness) when I realized what was going on. Once I came down from the ceiling, that is. Anyway, the punch line to the story is that I found out later that the hallway lights actually did work, but a previous electrician had installed the light switches upside-down, so you needed to push them down (OFF) to turn the lights on. (Silly me, using logic again.) Since I came in the building when the hallway was dark and both switches were pushed up (ON) I just assumed that the lights weren't working, and although I did flip them up and down a couple of times, apparently it wasn't enough to fire the ballasts and power up the fluorescent tubes. So apparently the whole bathroom shenanigans could have been avoided in the first place, although admittedly, it would have been at the expense of one heck of a story that was the cat's meow and then some. The even more punch line to the story was that I inadvertently left the outside light turned on when I finished and locked up behind me, thinking everything was not only hunky, but also dory, and both at the same time. Au contraire! (That's French for "Who turned on the dark?") Remember those upside-down light switches by the door that I thought didn't work? It seems that one of them was for the spotlight above the outside door to the parking lot, and so I accidentally turned it on (by pushing it down) when I thought I would have been shutting it off instead. I didn't think about it after that, although I did notice it was on during the day, and I just figured that the timer was set wrong, so the light was coming on at odd times. In any case, it stayed on for 3 days straight, until the janitor figured out what the problem was (he already knew that it wasn't attached to a timer, so that couldn't be the problem anyway) and when he explained to me that he went inside to turn it off, that was the first that I realized the part I had played in the upside-down light switch caper. I can tell you that somewhere, Con Edison is having a great big laugh. Speaking of capers, alert readers may recall the prospective tenants (Sheldon Leonard and Vito Scotti) who seemed so inordinately keen on that poor derelict space crammed full of the bathroom contractor's various and voluminous piles of supplies, and were ready to sign a lease the same day - in fact, we sent one to them and were just waiting for them to send it back, they were so anxious to move in. Not so fast! Apparently they had a change of heart (or wallet or conscience or something) and decided against taking the suite in the end, which made a lot of sense, but only surprised me because they seemed so overly wild about it to start with. The only thing I can figure is that they must have realized that they couldn't tunnel into the bank vault from there after all, and they lost all interest in the space at that point. So we're still on the lookout for someone to give that suite a good home, or vice versa, in spite of its shortcomings - although with my luck, it will turn out to be someone like Professor Hissy Von Litter, I shouldn't wonder. Elle

Chief Executive

Hello World, Happy November! It hardly seems as if the new month has even really gotten underway, and already it's been eventful times around here. Of course, October 30th was Reformation Day, when back in 1517 Martin Luther posted his 95 Theses, basically told Pope Leo X to go peddle his papers elsewhere, and pretty much started the whole Protestant Reformation singlehanded. The following day was Halloween, capped off with a bang as Daylight Saving Time came to a screeching halt at 2:00 AM, and the switch-over back to Standard Time for the winter. We all get a lot more exercise traipsing around changing times on everything, which is probably all part of the plan, I shouldn't wonder. (Although I have to agree with the joke about the wise old Native American tribal leader, when someone explained Daylight Saving Time to him, observed dryly: "Only the government would believe that you could cut a foot off the top of a blanket, sew it to the bottom, and have a longer blanket." You tell 'em, Chief!) On top of all that, Sunday was also All Saints Day, followed by All Souls Day on Monday, which should pretty much cover all those dearly departed we would like to remember, leaving out the unquiet remains of the Netherworld, the undead, and the various paranormal of all sorts. Then Tuesday was Election Day, featuring its own various paranormal of all sorts, only just barely masquerading as real human beings and fooling nobody, I dare say. In fact, if anything, it sounds suspiciously like cutting the top off the blanket all over again, Paleface. Alas, now there really is no joy in Mudville, as the over-matched Mets were blown out of the World Series in 5 games by Kansas City, in contrast to their surprisingly steady march through the playoffs previously. They did manage to win one game, salvaging a shred of their dignity and avoiding the ignominy of a sweep - but they had to pull out all the stops to do it. They had the iconic Billy Joel sing the National Anthem, the legendary Mike Piazza throw out the first pitch, and the fireballer Noah Syndergaard on the mound, the combination of which proved to be too much for the Royals. Unfortunately, the other 4 games told a different story, and in the spirit of the season, it was quite a horror story at that. Now we have only 3 other sports to console ourselves with over the long cold winter, and the local teams may not all win, but at least we know it would be mathematically impossible for them all to come in dead last. And speaking of dead (and loving it!) Halloween reared its ghoulish head on Saturday, right on schedule, with plenty of frightful fun for all, and I ought to know. For this time of year, Saturday was a glorious day with blazing sunshine, unseasonably mild with just a hint of crispness in the air. I was looking forward to great things, although I admit that I've been sorely disappointed at other times, when high hopes and excellent conditions still failed to achieve the desired results. There were actually a tiny handful of intrepid souls who went out during the day, but that was before we were set up for visitors, and I didn't actually see them. The regular procession started early, just after 6:00 PM, and I thought we were in for a big night of it, by all indications. That first group included a pair of Tinkerbells, of all things, plus a pirate, and our neighbor's irrepressible Emmett, a Halloween mainstay from infancy, as a werewolf. It turned out to be a good long while after that until the next callers, and they continued to show up in dribs and drabs through it all, which was particularly disheartening, considering it was Saturday night and very fine weather. I'm figuring our old nemesis Comrade Mischka at the controls of the Kremlin's infernal weather machine, must really be a goblin at heart. All told, we had 49 trick-or-treaters, far below our holiday heyday when we scraped 100 on a routine basis, but at least a tiny uptick over last year's dreadful 42, so I suppose the lesson is to be grateful for small favors at this point. And it's not because Halloween is losing its popularity and being relegated to the scrap heap of outdated or discredited holidays like Arbor Day, Veterans Day, or Amerigo Vespucci Day, I can tell you that. (For some reason, The Holiday Police are waving frantically and trying to get my attention, but I'm sure it's nothing important, they're notorious sticklers and tend to over-react about the most inconsequential things, honestly.) Retailers are happy to report that Halloween is now the second biggest holiday of the year in terms of merchandising, behind only Christmas in total dollars spent for the occasion. On the bright side, out of 49 callers, I had only 1 with no costume, so that meant at least the remaining 48 went to some trouble to dress up, and that counts for a lot with me. I found it sort of an odd year for costume choices, starting with 6 characters from movies that I had never heard of, which outnumbered the others, like Anna and Elsa from "Frozen," that I already did know. There was a Darth Vader and a Star Wars Imperial Storm Trooper who showed up separately, and I'm thinking it was probably a lucky thing for all of us that they weren't together. There were 4 cats and 2 mice, 2 princesses, plus a bumblebee, bunny, lion, and pony that looked nothing like what they told me their costumes were. I had one skeleton, one witch, one demon, one vampire, one monster, one dragon slayer, one Grim Reaper, one Crypt Keeper, one Spiderman and one SpongeBob SquarePants. There was one inventive young chap dressed up as a Starbucks coffee cup that I thought was hilarious. Inconceivably, I had two children show up separately as mimes (I kid you not) and both of whom announced, "I'm a mime" without prompting. I told both of them that they probably shouldn't say anything if their intention is to be a mime, but regrettably, the irony was lost on them. My favorite costume of the night - and this is well on its way to being my favorite costume of all time - was a young fellow with small cereal boxes taped to his body with plastic knives punched through them, because his cohort explained, he was a "cereal killer." (Oof!!!) The whole shebang, which started early and bright with promise, had all petered out with a whimper before 8:30, which really surprised me. Among the missing, I noticed there were no infants in arms that parents usually carry around, dressed as Elmo or a ladybug, and looking so adorable in their cute baby costumes. Heck, some of those outfits are so precious, it just about makes you want to go out and rent a baby, so you can parade around with it for the night, and it's a wonder that the Costume Baby Escort Service hasn't already caught on in a big way. Why, it would be just like taking candy from a baby, as the saying goes, and that's not just a bunch of rubber baby buggy bumpers, believe me. One little hiccup in the proceedings came courtesy of a couple of tiny tykes who arrived together, and the over-ambitious one on the left - after I had already asked about her costume and given her candy - continued to surreptitiously filch more candy out of the bowl I was holding while I was asking her companion about her own costume. I don't like to be captious, and I hate to complain, because she obviously had no way of knowing that's exactly how I keep track of how many visitors we've had, by putting a specific quantity of candy in the bowl, and then checking the remaining numbers against my list of costumes. Clearly, this only works on a one-to-one basis, not if one over-enthusiastic urchin takes numerous candies on their own initiative, and messes up my whole system, thanks not. Fortunately, my costume list was still accurate, and I certainly didn't begrudge the youngster her extra treats, but if it had been a really busy night ... well, suffice to say that I'm afraid I might have behaved in a way that would have done me no credit, and scared the wits out of anyone in the vicinity, and that's putting it mildly. In fact, if she had been carrying around a blanket, I would have cut the top right off of the thing, and the heck with the peace pipe, kemo sabe. Elle