The Hot Seat

Hello World, Happy Passover! Alert readers of all faiths may be surprised (and justifiably so) to find Passover lagging almost a whole month behind Easter, when usually they are more congruously located on the calendar, and not just for chronological reasons, but historical and theological as well. But apparently each contingent has their own arcane and labyrinthian calculations for determining when these movable feasts occur (if the sun rises in the east ..... divide by the hypotenuse ..... any month without a "Y" ..... then carry the 1 ..... turn counter-clockwise ..... times velocity squared ..... plus compound interest at 5.25% ..... stir to combine and shake until frothy ..... 5:00 in the afternoon on July 4, 1776. Oh, for heaven's sake, that's when the Continental Congress approved the Declaration of Independence all over again.) So now and then, there's a lot more divergence than congruence, and this is one of those times, like it or not. But in the "better late than never" category, I'm sure we're all glad to see Passover at last, and no less welcome for the delay. Besides marking the beginning of Passover, the 22nd was also Earth Day, and I hope that everyone did their part to make the world a better place, since after all, it is the only planet in the universe (that has been discovered so far) with chocolate, and which, let's face it, is the basis of all life as we know it. Around here, our yard was fully primed and ready for Earth Day, ablaze with our heavenly lilacs, early tulips, delicate English wood hyacinths, creeping phlox, bleeding heart, and even the elusive checkered lily put in an appearance for good measure. Garcon, more Passover peeps, if you please, and don't spare the hot fudge! In other local news, last week we took a break from the workaday world and went to the movies to see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2," the sequel to the surprise hit from 15 years ago, which we had also seen. Unlike back then, in our callow youth, this time we qualified for the Senior Discount, which we were all too glad to accept, and scored a free drink at the concession stand, as well as a small bag of popcorn, that we passed along to some younger patrons, since we were already having our favorite personal pan pizza, as usual. Since we ordinarily go see super hero movies in 3-D at the IMAX, we had not been aware that the regular theaters in the multi-plex had all their seats replaced with comfy wide reclining seats that you can control with the touch of a button, and if there's a better way to watch movies, heck, it hasn't been invented so far, believe me. That was absolutely the most comfortable I have ever been at the movies, and in fact, if the movie wasn't already so loud, they would have had to come around and wake me up afterwards, by golly. It's all too easy to complain about how expensive it is to go to the cinema nowadays, but this is an innovation that really makes it worthwhile, and that's not just the Raisinets talking, believe me. As for the film itself, it was fun and entertaining, with many of the same ingredients from the first one, plus some new faces, and a few twists and turns along the way. It was light-hearted and sentimental, and while I wouldn't exactly say that it was worth waiting 15 years for, we still had a good time. And heck, at this point, I would basically go see a movie about paint drying, just to get back into those seats. Usher, another pillow, if you please! Speaking of being out and about, Bill and I were at the supermarket last week, of all places, when I was startled to see the following sign on the rear entrance to the Pharmacy, which announced in giant letters: ================================= DOOR MUST REMAIN CLOSED AT ALL TIMES ================================= I said to Bill later, it seems to me that entirely defeats the purpose of a door in the first place, in fact, it sounds rather like a textbook example of a wall, and not a door, in my opinion - and I don't mind saying that I am unanimous in that. I'm also struck with the peculiar thought of the beleaguered pharmacists hopping in and out of the place by leaping over the countertops to and from the outside, so as not to defy the edict of the sign, and risk opening the door at any time for their passage. Personally, this is what I call words having lost all their meaning, and civilization going all to blazes in a hand-basket, right along with them. I just hope the door isn't closed when we get there. Also on the local scene, and something nobody would expect from us oldsters, we actually went out clubbing earlier in the week, just like the young whipper-snappers of today, and the veriest Millennials from this century, and not shrouded in ancient mists from the Age of the Dinosaurs, or even earlier. On Monday after work, we jumped aboard the train to Grand Central Station, and then took a taxi downtown to see the one and only Amber Rubarth at the Rockwood Music Hall - and which I don't mind saying, even the taxi driver had never heard of the place, and turned out to be so far downtown, I could smell sea water. But we succeeded in getting there early, ostensibly to fight off her legions of eager fans, although that concern resolved itself quickly, when we realized that we were the only ones there. Luckily they let us in early, even before the bar was open, and it was an unwelcome surprise to find that they didn't serve any food, since that was part of our dinner plan for the evening. Since there were still no lines of clamoring fans, Bill trotted down the block and returned with a couple of pizza slices that were not half bad, and under the circumstances, I would describe them as virtual manna from heaven. When it was time for the show, they led us downstairs into a tiny dark venue that would be a staple of stand-up comics everywhere ("How small was it?") which claimed to seat 60, but that would only be if half of the audience were sitting on the other half's laps, I can assure you. With no fanfare, out from behind a curtain stepped Amber Rubarth herself, who is a pretty young girl and very engaging, playing an acoustic guitar with an interesting blend of folk, alternative, and as the saying goes, a little bit country. She brought along some ladies to play violin, viola, and oboe, plus a pair of fellows to handle the cello, and tenor harmonies. According to Bill, who knows her work well, they played some old favorites, as well as covers of popular tunes, and music from her new album, all of which was very well received by the indulgent crowd. There was even a meet-and-greet afterward, and Bill wasted no time - which was just as well, since the management was soon shooing us all out of the place, since apparently there was another artist performing in the same space right after that, believe it or not. I wouldn't expect them to run two shows on a Monday night, but if they can get 60 people each, with a $10 cover charge per person (and they have 2 other stages besides) I guess the numbers speak for themselves. We were lucky to snag a cab off the street to take us back to Grand Central, where we were on the prowl for dessert before catching the train home, so we skipped downstairs to the food court, which boasts a variety of options to suit just about every taste, from the weird to the wonderful and back again. Just about the first thing you stumble upon is the justly famous Magnolia Bakery, where you can buy their "Complete Magnolia Bakery Cookbook," right out front on the counter for all the world to see - and which probably seemed like a good idea at the time. That is, until they came out with a second cookbook (oops!) which they then had no choice but to call "More From Magnolia Bakery," and probably regretted calling the first one "complete," since the second one pretty much rendered that description null and void, in yet another textbook example of words having lost all their meaning, thanks not. Anyway, not to cast aspersions on our friends at Magnolia Bakery, since their skill at baking far outpaces their skill at cookbook titles, and you can believe me when I say that everything on the shelves looks and smells positively delectable, and that goes double for their signature caramel pecan cheesecake, which is nothing short of perfection on a plate, and I ought to know. It was a couple of full but happy geezer tourists who climbed aboard the train for home later, and I can tell you right now that if the railroad had those same seats as the movie theater, the conductors never would have been able to wake me up at the New Rochelle station, try as they might. Say, how's about a blanket over here, Casey Jones? Elle