Dull as Dish Water

Hello World, Well, I certainly can't tell you what in the tarnation is a-going on around here, but you can be dang sure I'm fixing to get to the bottom of it, and then they'll have to reckon with little old me, and be pretty darned quick about it, too. Apparently they've once again put the time-shifting foxes in charge of the chronology hen house, so to speak, and the results are about what you'd expect - or as we say at our house, "no good can come of this." Through no fault of our own, we find ourselves inexplicably at the very last weekend in February already, and that's with a whole extra day tacked on at the end, since 2016 is a Leap Year - which should have given us more breathing room, and not to mention, time and space besides. But the relentless march of time continues to march on, regardless, and no rest for the weary, that's for sure. Speaking of time marching on, the merry, merry month of March will be here starting on Tuesday, with its promise to come roaring in like a lion, but departing quietly in 31 days like a lamb, so we'll see if that hoary old chestnut holds true, or turns out to be just another old wives tale that doesn't stand the test of time anymore, and those old wives can all just pack it in and give it up as a lost cause. Say, who let those foxes in here? In local news, the time had surely come, as it must, for the government to extract its pound of flesh from our financial hides, as it were, so we gathered up all of our various documents, papers, and receipts from 2015 and hurried over to our trusty accountant for his invaluable assistance. Normally this would be a veritable cake-walk, or walk in the park if you will, since his office is in Mamaroneck, a few scant miles from our house, and we would have plenty of time to get there by 6:15 PM. Not so fast! This particular appointment happened to be on Thursday, just after our region had been pummeled with a nasty winter storm overnight, replete with pelting rain and blustery winds up to 50 mile gusts, that flooded streets, blew down trees, and knocked out electricity to tens of thousands of households. It made getting from Yonkers to Mamaroneck a virtual nightmare, with bottleneck traffic being diverted on all sides for road obstacles, high water, or electrical repairs to poles and signals. It took us all the time we had to just barely get there by the skin of our collective teeth, and lucky to make it in one piece after all that. (Although admittedly it would have been a lot easier at the very end, where the parking garage featured a giant sign with the blaring announcement NEW PAY STATIONS TODAY, without divulging which spaces were meter parking and which were permit parking, or even the whereabouts of these supposed new pay stations, thanks so much not.) Fortunately our accountant is unfailingly even-tempered and accommodating, so we were soon set to rights, and managed to conduct our business with dispatch and admirable efficiency. After the ordeal, we considered our options for dinner on the town, and decided to hop over to IHOP, just down the road, for some of their scrumptious menu choices, and not to mention, bottomless drinks. As luck would have it, Thursday is apparently Seniors Day at the International House of Pancakes, so that made it even better for a couple of old geezers out for a bite. Bill settled on their Cinna-Stix French Toast, while I tucked into one of their delectable crepes, and there were no complaints, I can assure you. Getting home was a breeze, compared with getting to our accountant from Yonkers, and there's even some left-over French Toast to look forward to later. So now at least we have nothing to fear from Tax Day when it rolls around in April, regardless of how those darned time-shifting foxes play havoc with the chronology hen house, and that's not just a lot of cock-a-doodle-doo, believe me. Also on the local scene, at the real estate management office where I'm working as an office temp now, we had some complaints about shopping carts running amok in the parking lot from one of our retail tenants, which was about as unpopular as you would figure, among the vehicle owners of the other tenants and their customers. It fell to me the task of sending out a notice to the offending retailer, reminding them of their responsibility to keep their wayward carts under control, so as not to pose a hazard to life and limb (or door and bumper, as it may be) in the wild and woolly reaches of the lot - a situation which is exacerbated by the lot being not only wide open, but hilly, so the carts can easily roll a considerable distance, and therefore build up quite a bit of momentum, before slamming into something stationary in their path, thanks not. It would quickly occur to even the meanest intelligence that if there was a place to put the carts when not in use, it might cut down on their wandering ways, so they would be less of a nuisance than otherwise. In fact, there is just such an invention for this very purpose, which they call a cart corral, as it serves the function of corralling the errant carts into one confined space, on the same principle as used for centuries with livestock, for the protection of both inside and out. Indeed, there is nothing new about corrals, and the word itself has been in use since the 1500's at least, all over the world. So it came as a surprise to find an earlier note in the tenant's folder, referring to the derelict state of what was described (apparently without irony) as the "cart corals in front of your store." It goes on to request "these corals are replaced immediately, as they present a liability to the general public, and as these corals are quite old, we recommend replacing all of them." Now, I have no squawk with corals either, and as a word, has been in continuous use since around 1275, so it certainly doesn't need me leaping to its defense at this late date, I dare say. But I will point out that a person who doesn't understand the basic difference between a coral and a corral is probably not the best choice for sending out notices to a store about their shopping carts, and it shouldn't take the Earp boys and Doc Holliday to show up at the OK Corral to know which is which. Let's face it, if they'd had that shootout at the OK Coral, it would have been underwater, and a whole chapter of American folklore would have gone right down the drain, sure as shooting. As a point of information, it's unfortunately true that the famous Shootout at the OK Corral of lore and legend, is yet another in a seemingly endless string of fanciful fabrications that have become established as fact in the popular consciousness, but which turn out to be way more fiction than fact upon examination - and which I don't mind saying, like Liberty Valance, I'm squarely on the side of leaving the colorful fiction intact for future generations to enjoy, rather than scraping it down to its humdrum drabness, and sucking all of the romance out of the thing, like that's any sort of improvement. It reminds me of a passage from humorist Patrick McManus, who was determined to tear away the cloak of hyperbole and mendacity, common among fishermen spinning yarns about their mythical big catch, without a grain of truth to be found anywhere near it. =========================================== I banged the table for attention. "Now," I said, "I'm going to tell you about a real fish, not a figment of my senility, not some fossilized hope of my gangling adolescence, but a real fish." Now I could tell from looking at their stunned faces that the boys were upset. There is nothing that angers the participants of a bull session more than someone who refuses to engage in the mutual exchange of illusions, someone who tells the simple truth, unstretched, unvarnished, unembellished, and whole. The boys at Kelly's shrank back in horror at this heresy. One of them tried to slip away, but I riveted him to his chair with a maniacal laugh. His eyes pleaded with me, "No, don't tell us!" they said, "Don't destroy the myth of the one that got away!" (which is a pretty long speech for a couple of beady, bloodshot eyes). ============================================= Of course, anyone who knows me can tell you that in cases like this, you can count on me being firmly in the camp of those beady, bloodshot eyes, and I'll take the glorious legend over the mundane reality any day of the week, and the more the merrier, my good merrie men. Give me George Washington tossing a silver dollar across the Potomac, Barbara Frietchie standing up to the invading troops, Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicking over a lantern, and Robin Hood enforcing redistribution of wealth in Sherwood Forest, rather than the insipid alternative. Why, heck, I'd even go along with an underwater shootout at the OK Coral, if it was a better story, although I suspect that successfully wearing a 10-gallon hat on top of scuba equipment would be a bit of a tricky proposition for even the most proficient gunslingers of the Old West, try as they might. But if you've got a hankering to catch a modern aquatic re-enactment of the legendary gunfight among the reefs, please remember to put your shopping cart back in the corals where they belong, and go ahead and tell them Doc Holliday sent you. Elle

Wheel of Fortune

Hello World, And so here is the second month of the new year charging along at break-neck speed, showing no signs of slowing down, and not to mention, all of us charging right along with it, like it or not, from the most forward-thinking visionaries that the 21st century has to offer, to the most hindward-wishing, foot-dragging Neanderthals resisting progress at all costs regardless. (And don't think that the Druids and I don't know who you are, by golly!) Why, at this rate, the month will be over before we even know it, and pretty soon we'll look up and there will be dandelions and rampant alien mutant poison ivy all over the place (okay, that might only be at our house) and we'll all be standing around shaking our heads and wondering where it all went off the tracks. Of course, things were much simpler when the dinosaurs and I were roaming the great unformed land masses in the primordial ooze, and you didn't have to worry that all the wheels would fall off, since the wheel hadn't even been invented yet - and I don't mind saying, a good thing, too. That was obviously the beginning of the end, although we didn't realize it at the time, and we probably should have just tossed Thak and his infernal wheel invention into the volcano right then when we had the chance, and the heck with it all. Let's face it, modern homo sapiens are the only species on the entire planet that routinely get into car accidents, so that should tell us something right there about how every other living creature in the history of the world decided that wheels were just not worth the trouble, and at this point, I'm inclined to agree with them. Speaking of ideas, alert readers of the Facebook variety may have noticed posts about this phenomenon, which is a book vending machine called "Novel Idea." (Great name, wish I'd thought of it!) These handy contraptions dispense contemporary books and magazines in airports, hospitals, train stations, malls, or other public spaces where people gather while waiting, and have time on their hands but no nearby news stand or bookshop to grab a good read on the go. They're small enough to squeeze in where a conventional store or kiosk would never fit, and as a business proposition, have the advantage of no staff, low cost, and practically a complete lack of overhead. What could be better? Not so fast! It seems that the parent company of Novel Idea (which is either based in Australia, Ireland, or New Zealand, depending on which source you accept) apparently went out of business years ago, after the first roll-out of the machines in 2006. They might have fallen victim to desperate financial conditions at the time, unluckily - or this may just be an idea whose time has not come, or perhaps come and gone, or might never come, for all we know. I still say it's a great idea, but then, don't forget that I would have been the one voting to toss Thak and his wheel into the volcano in those halcyon days of yore, so I might not be the most qualified expert on the subject. Also on the topic of unqualified experts, I was surprised to get some mail recently from our friends at Comcast Business, purporting to be "IMPORTANT INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR INTERNET SERVICE," as it was splashed all over the front of the envelope, like someone wearing a sandwich board announcing that the end of the world was imminent. This might have seemed perplexing, since I am not a customer of Comcast Business, but I needn't have worried. Apparently the person they were looking for, to reveal this IMPORTANT INFORMATION, was somebody named GUIDO TANGO - and frankly, after that, I pretty much lost all interest in the matter. Now, it's true that my first initial is the same letter as the errant addressee, but when it comes to answering to Guido, well, all I can tell you is that's where I draw the line, and I don't mind saying, I am unanimous in that. Admittedly, it would have been even worse if I actually was one of their customers, and they couldn't get my name right, and as it was, they're the ones who are out 23 1/2 cents (or whatever they're charging for bulk mail these days) sending unsolicited mass mailings to random fictitious personages at addresses where no one has ever heard of them. It does say ELECTRONIC SERVICE REQUESTED on the envelope, but I seriously doubt if it would make any difference to them if I let them know that dear old Guido doesn't live here, and in fact never has, apart from not being a customer of theirs in the first place. I might even go so far as to say that good old Guido can join Thak and his infernal wheel in the volcano for all I care, and Comcast Business can like it or lump it. On the other hand, that's still not as bad as our friends at Triple T Roofing, who also recently sent out an unsolicited mass mailing, this time very congenially addressed to the one and only BILL BALLDON OR CURRENT RESIDENT at our address. (I don't know about you, but to me it's starting to feel awfully crowded around here.) Now, I realize that not every single person in the whole wide world is all that familiar with my better half, but I can assure everyone that his last name does not happen to be BALLDON, or even anything close to it - in fact, it doesn't even start with the same letter of the alphabet to begin with. Adding insult to injury, as it were, we actually are customers of theirs, unlike Comcast Business, and my personal feeling is that, inasmuch as we paid them many upon many thousands of dollars to replace our ramshackle roof during the infamous Porch Project [please insert elaborate hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing here] I'm thinking it shouldn't be too much to expect them to recognize our address as one of their former work sites, or get the homeowner's name right at the very least. And while I have no squawk against big bad BILL BALLDON, this time I'm thinking it's the morons at Triple T who need to join Thak and his wheel in the volcano. Of course, it's all too easy to say, what's in a name, indeed. Last week when I was at work, I glanced up from my desk to find a truck from the hard-working minions at American Shredding Services, basically right in front of my face, in the parking lot on the other side of a chain-link fence. It was a pretty sizable truck, so you figure they must be doing a good business in shredded paper, and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.americanshredding1.com and see for yourself while you're at it. Apart from having their web site painted on the side for all the world to see, there was also a giant emblem on the truck assuring us that they're AAA certified, whatever that means, presumably on the theory that this certification would make me feel more comfortable having them shred my documents with impunity, and devil take the hindmost. Come to think of it, though, it occurred to me later that the nice folks at American Shredding Services certainly can't use their initials as their logo, obviously, because having their initials plastered across the truck would be a rude awakening for everyone else in the vicinity - and might very well violate any number of decency standards among various localities in their travels, I shouldn't wonder. So, discretion being the better part of valor, it's AAA for them, instead of ... well, you know ... and the highways and byways are safe from any hint of impropriety driving past them with reckless abandon. Of course, if we had only thrown Thak in the volcano right from the start, we wouldn't be having this problem with trucks now, much less vulgar lettering splattered all over them, I dare say. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, or my name isn't - Guido

Play Ball

Hello World, Happy Presidents Day weekend! I hope that everyone out there across this great land of the free and home of the brave will have the opportunity to enjoy a long holiday weekend, with all of the pomp and circumstance that anyone could possibly dream of, from sea to shining sea, and purple mountains majesty above the fruited plains, by George. Of course, the day before is Valentine's Day, and grouchy Christians notwithstanding, I do hope that all romantics out there can indulge in all the jewel-encrusted, heart-shaped, lace-trimmed, or chocolate-dipped goodies that might tickle their fancy - and don't spare the long-stemmed roses, my good man! Speaking of grouchy Christians, I have it on good authority that the actual Saint Valentine was a 3rd century Christian martyr who was Bishop of Terni and Narnia - although how he came to be associated with a holiday celebrating romance is a mystery to me, since his most reputably accepted exploit seems to have been restoring the sight of a colleague's blind daughter. (Other accomplishments credited to him appear to be more of the "man-who-shot-Liberty-Valance," "Silent-Night-mice-chewing-the-bellows," "George-Washington-chopping-down-the-cherry-tree" sort of apocryphal fabrications that revisionist historians love to debunk, and I don't mind saying, spoil a lot of great stories in the process.) But that's the way the ball bounces, as they say, and not always by the way that could be considered any type of improvement, that's for sure. Say, is that Liberty Valance chopping down that cherry tree, and who let those mice in here? Alert readers may recall that Presidents Day is not considered a holiday at the temporary job where I'm working now, which is one reason why it surprised the heck out of me when I discovered that the New York City schools were all closed on Monday the 8th in observance of what they referred to as the Asian Lunar New Year, of all things. Not to cast aspersions on our friends from the Far East, but I have never heard of such a thing in my entire life, and let's face it, that includes the dinosaurs and I celebrating Fire Day and Wheel Day, and school hadn't even been invented yet. On the other hand, everyone knows how February loves to party, or commemorate occasions, and besides Chinese New Year, there's the venerable Groundhog Day, Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Valentines Day - and let's not forget Waitangi Day (oh, for heaven's sake, put down that chair!) to keep things hopping. So my advice to you is to get out there and give it your best Hail to the Chief, with all of the Executive Privilege that you can muster, and that's not just the Presidential Seal squawking, believe me. Nowadays, when it comes to February events, the biggest of the big has to be on the gridiron, and how's about that Super Bowl 50 for plenty of surprises, topped with a big helping of I didn't see that one coming. In spite of the sports pundits, media prognosticators, and odds-makers, the Denver Broncos handily defeated the Carolina Panthers, in a game that still managed to be interesting despite the somewhat lopsided score. (That is in contrast to several less-than-memorable contests where the commercials and half-time show were more entertaining than the whole game put together.) Of course, at our house, we were busy watching the Kitten Bowl instead, and taking nothing away from Peyton Manning, Cam Newton, or Von Miller, but frankly, they can't begin to compete with a room full of kittens playing with toys, I can tell you that. This was Kitten Bowl III, and is actually an adoption showcase for participating rescue organizations, with nearly 100 stray kitties being adopted, basically right off the 50-yard-line of the televised event. The Commissioner of the FFL is former NFL great Boomer Esiason, so you know there's no hanky-panky going on there - although between the Catnip Lounge and the Top Cat Teeter-Totter, it was a little hard to tell. But thanks to the likes of Mr. Whiskers, Snuggles, Tomcat Brady, S'mores, Puma Esiason, Wiggles, Jason Pierre-Paw, Cheddar, Rob Gron-Cat-Ski, Socks Fifth Avenue, Jerry Mice, Nacho, Howie Long-hair, and Coach Bill Beli-Cat, a good time was had by all, and I ought to know. I think my favorite part was half-time, when the shelters let their adoptable puppies onto the field with the kittens, and if there's anything cuter than a room full of kittens, it's a room full of kittens and puppies, and that's not just a lot of tall tails, believe me. Of course, you don't have to take my word for it, you can just go right ahead and visit our friends at www.hallmarkchannel.com and watch the videos for yourself. Tell them Prince Purr-Purr sent you. Now that the football season is finally well and truly over, even for the kittens and puppies, it's time to turn our attention south and/or southwest, for pitchers and catchers reporting to spring training camps - and which will be here before we know it, on Thursday the 18th for the local teams of the pinstripe variety. (Actually, I don't believe that the junior franchise has any uniforms with stripes anymore like they used to, and more's the pity, I'm sure.) Hopefully they've got plenty of time to get everything ship-shape before Opening Day on April 3rd, ready or not - although the hapless Mets have already suffered a considerable setback in their pitching prospects, as one of their relievers was banned from the majors for life, after two suspensions for drug use, and then failing a third drug test on top of it all. (At the Kitten Bowl, we call this type of thing "too much time in the Catnip Lounge.") (And here I'm thinking, this is what Liberty Valance would describe as "shooting yourself in the foot," and he wouldn't be far off the mark, I dare say.) So looking on the bright side, there's a roster spot that's opened up for some ambitious lad, and might be just the opportunity they're looking for. I don't mind saying that I've seen Brett Furr-ve throw a mean slider, and he not only has youth and boundless energy on his side, but the team can probably pay him in tuna. (That might sound fishy, but I guess you could say he was working for scale.) (Get it?!) Anyhoo (as the dinosaurs and I used to say back in the old days) also having a bad year is Derek Fisher, the embattled coach of the woeful Knicks, who was fired by the front office after a sluggish 23-31 start, and losing five in a row. It remains to be seen if they start making deals for other players, or try to right the ship with the crew on hand, trusting to some miracle worker behind the bench to reclaim the magic of glory days gone by. Personally, my vote goes to Coach Bill Beli-Cat. Remember, you heard it here first, folks! Elle

Church and State

Hello World, Eventful times ahead! We find ourselves not only at the weekend of Super Bowl Sunday (happy 50th, NFL!) but also at the time we want to wish everyone a very Hong Kong Bok Choy, because of course, Monday will be Chinese New Year, and we certainly don't want to miss the (dragon) boat on that one, fortune cookie. In the cycle of Chinese birth signs, 2016 is the Year of the Monkey, and I expect that we will be looking forward to a big bunch of monkeyshines, besides all manner of monkey wrenches in the works, and not to mention, a barrel of monkeys, no doubt. Specifically this year is considered a "fire" monkey, which is described as "ambitious and adventurous but irritable." Monkeys can be clever and well-respected, as well as wealthy, with an auspicious career. Our friends at www.travelchinaguide.com describe them as: "...lively, flexible, quick-witted and versatile. They are admired for their gentleness and honesty, which may bring them an everlasting love. Although they were born with enviable skills, they still have several shortcomings, such as an impetuous temper and a tendency to look down upon others. Their strengths are being enthusiastic, self-assured, sociable, and innovative; however, they can also be jealous, suspicious, cunning, selfish, and arrogant." So for anyone born in 1920, 1932, 1944, 1956, 1968, 1980, 1992, 2004 or now, go right on out there and make a monkey's uncle out of yourself, and don't spare the bananas, my good man! Speaking of eventful times, it was supposed to be the previous Sunday, on January 24th, that we had our annual congregational meeting at church - and some of us (who shall remain nameless, and for good reason) had been practicing their shouting, fisticuffs, hymnal throwing, and chair tossing skills, just in case. Alas, the good Lord, in His infinite wisdom, had other plans, and elected instead to pummel the region with a virtual avalanche of snow (up to 36" in some areas) until even the staunchest Lutherans among us, with the stoutest Calvinist character-building determination, finally had to admit defeat in the face of implacable nature, and give it up as a lost cause. (On the other hand, it occurred to many of us in retrospect that having the meeting at a more weather-friendly season of the year - like May, for instance, rather than January - might very well be an idea whose time has actually come, and that's not just the snowshoes talking, believe me.) So the meeting was unavoidably postponed for the following week, and we wound up having it instead on the 31st, just barely squeaking in under the wire on the last day of the month by the skin of our proverbial teeth, as it were. The weather was better by then, but the roads and sidewalks were still somewhat dicey, and the meeting was sparsely attended by the hardy few - or should I say, the stout Calvinist character-building determined few of the proud Lutheran tradition from glorious centuries past. The meeting itself was amicable (I won't say, unexpectedly so) and not especially lengthy or tiresome, considering that we covered all agenda items and actually conducted the business that needed to be taken care of. The fact that there was not a punch thrown (or a chair or hymnal, for that matter) continues to be a remarkable change of pace for us old-timers, and I don't mind saying, can only be considered an improvement over the bad old days in (what used to be the inaptly named) Fellowship Hall. Anyway, so now we have that out of the way at last, and we can put it behind us for another year, and move on to more important pursuits, like tormenting grouchy Christians who have given up chocolate for Lent. Oh, for heaven's sake, put down that chair! Meanwhile at work, I can tell you for a fact that at the real estate management office where I work now as a temp, they spent many tens of thousands of dollars on a project to renovate the bathrooms on four floors (and it must be said that they came out looking amazing, as indeed they should have, at that price) only to find the tenants and their visitors making an unholy mess out of them, even more so than usual, as impossible as that seemed at the time. As a result, I was requested by the management to walk around a memo asking people to please be more neat and considerate of the new bathrooms, and treat them as carefully as they would their own bathrooms at home - and which your average person might consider a perfectly reasonable proposal under the circumstances. Well, I don't mind saying that I was universally reviled at every turn, and could not have been more unpopular if I had been walking around with a memo asking people to sign up for bubonic plague, or volunteer with the presidential campaign of Dr. Evil. (I mean it, put down that chair!) I won't go so far as to imply that the tenants are deliberately sabotaging the new bathrooms out of spite, but they're certainly not treating them with kid gloves, or taking a proprietary interest in them, as their "home away from home" might inspire some attachment in their innermost being. Apparently their innermost being is a juvenile delinquent whose highest form of expression is vandalism, and presenting them with elegant new bathrooms is akin to casting pearls before the proverbial swine, and that's not just a load of hogwash, by golly. I'd like to say that the notice did some good, and the tenants cleaned up their collective act, but I think we all know the outcome of that particular experiment, and frankly, it doesn't look good. But one thing I am sure about, if they ask me to do anything like that again, you can bet that I'll be bringing a chair with me, and I'm not afraid to use it. And speaking of fear and loathing in the workplace (I'm not going to tell you again, put down that chair!) it reminds me of a recent experience in banking land, which I would rather forget than otherwise. As a bank of last resort, HSBC comes pretty close, and it continues to astound me that their entire ideology seems designed to prohibit access to their services, drive away customers in droves, and wear down even the most persistent individuals with an endless array of insurmountable obstacles at their disposal. It has been my experience (more than once) that if you were foolhardy enough to try and open an account at HSBC (silly you!) it would not be like pulling teeth, which would be a walk in the park by comparison - but rather more like pushing a camel through the eye of a needle, only harder. On the other hand, on my last trip there, I discovered to my surprise that if you want to close an account, by George, you will find that they can't get you in and out of the place fast enough, and they will go right ahead and close that account so quick, it will make your head spin. As a business model, I have to wonder what's wrong with this picture, where they're a hundred times more anxious to eliminate customers than to gain them. It's like the whole operation is really just a front for the clandestine business being conducted behind the scenes, which for all we know, might be a meth lab, fight club, bordello, or secret Mafia hide-out, I shouldn't wonder. If I were a person of unlimited curiosity, I would probably sneak in the back and check it out, but unfortunately, I left my chair at church. Elle