Tiny Bubbles

Hello World, Any reasonable person might think it would be only logical, since this is the last weekend in August, that it should be Labor Day weekend, but alas, they would be sorely disappointed to find that it is very much not the case. Although it seems ridiculous that September will be hard upon us next Thursday, we will have to wait for the following weekend to enjoy all the treats of the long holiday occasion, and this weekend of August's last gasp has no particular significance at all. It doesn't even qualify any longer as the line of demarcation between summer vacation and the start of school, since so many schools have already started up again, some are starting next week, and yet others might be holding off until after the Jewish holidays or whatever else. In fact, it's obvious to anybody that the seasons have lost all their meaning, since I was at Staples last weekend, which you would expect to be a hotbed of frantic families crowding the aisles to snap up the bundles of supplies on their back-to-school checklists - but instead, besides me and one other lonely old codger, there wasn't a soul in the place. Go figure. And speaking of things that are hard to figure out, here's one for the proverbial books, as it were. Being very hospitable, we have another congregation that uses our church on Sunday after our weekly service, and last week I was patiently waiting for them to arrive, and killing time by playing some games on my phone at the time. I think it was Cookie Splash Mania, or some such nonsense, which is a game that I had been stuck on the same level for quite a while, and either couldn't fend off the evil sugar gobblers, or had used up all of my magic spatulas, and invariably ran out of moves before accomplishing the necessary goals (collecting milk bottles or rescuing the trapped pastries, perhaps) in order to move to the next level. So here I was lounging around in the Narthex all alone playing my game, when the Assistant Pastor of the other congregation showed up on the doorstep and I was interrupted - I put my phone down on the chair so I could get up and unlock the door for him, and we exchanged pleasantries (actually we complained about the weather, as I recall, but then, what else is new) while I switched on the lights and fans in the Sanctuary. When I got back to my seat, lo and behold, apparently all by itself, the phone had completed the level, AND WON, and proceeded to move to the next level without any input from me whatsoever. Frankly, I have to admire a game that plays better all by itself than with me at the controls, and I was grateful for its help, heaven knows, however supernatural it might have been. After all, it was in church at the time, so Divine Intervention cannot be ruled out, in fact, I think it's the only plausible explanation at this point. Take THAT, evil sugar gobblers! And while we're on the subject of sugar, unlike cultural icons of whom it is often said that they "need no introduction," the following object is something that not only needs a copious amount of introduction, but quite frankly, I don't even know where to begin. We received a flyer from our friends at A.I. Friedman art supplies (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.aifriedman.com and see for yourself) and right on the cover - along with paint brushes, markers, and sketch pads - is a bunch of multi-colored spray cans emblazoned with the word SUGAR as big as life. Thinking this was some new scientifically engineered food product (the only other things I could read on the label were "harvested sugar cane" and "less toxins") it had me considering the merits of spray sugar - similar to spray salad dressing and Butter Buds that you shake out of a can - that would provide a hint of sweetness without the calories. (You heard it here first, folks!) Not so fast! On closer inspection, it turns out to be an artist supply described as follows: ====================== BREATHE EASIER SUGAR THE WORLD'S FIRST AEROSOL PAINT PRODUCT MADE FROM HARVESTED SUGAR CANE NOT PETROLEUM SPRAY SMART FOR A SUSTAINABLE FUTURE CONTAINS LESS VOC's (VOLATILE ORGANIC COMPOUNDS) LESS TOXINS ABSORBED INTO YOUR BODY AND LESS LOWER LEVEL OZONE DEPLETION PROTECT YOUR HEALTH SUPERIOR QUALITY MADE WITH THE FINEST ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY MATERIALS HIGH QUALITY MATT FINISH ======================= Now I'll admit that I don't know what else they do at Breathe Easier Spray Smart, but they certainly had me going right up until the end there, when the legendary Art Fern showed up with the Matinee Movie for today, featuring "Matt Dillon, Matt Damon, Matt Helm, Welcome Matt, Matt Finish, and Matt the Wonder Iguana in 'It's A Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt World'." Here I'm thinking if they distribute other art supplies in their product catalogue, they should certainly know the difference between "matt" and "matte" by this time, and once again, the poor over-matched spell-checker is not going to help you with this either. So I'm sorry to disappoint any potential fans of the hypothetical spray-sugar-in-a-can idea, but if you are looking for something with a matt finish, at least now you know where to turn. Tell them The Matinee Lady sent you. In other entertainment news, anyone who has watched the cable network HGTV for any length of time can tell you that the "tiny house" movement has become a major phenomenon, as people down-size from McMansions to MicroManses across the country, and also around the globe. There's no lack of programs centering around this idea, including "Tiny House Hunters," "Tiny House, Big Living," and the international version called "Tiny House World." One of these shows is "Tiny House Nation" where genial host John Weisbarth and his jack-of-all-trades contractor, Zack Giffin, actually build a custom tiny house for the hardy folks who have decided to take the plunge from mega to mini, and devil take the hindmost. Zack is a creative genius who can basically do just about anything he sets his hand to, in the face of the most outrageous requests from the clients, and has been known to craft a headboard out of an old piano, a storage cabinet out of junked car parts, and an outdoor deck out of discarded surfboards, to name just a few. One of my favorites was from a recent episode where a couple planned to go tiny with their pair of large and active dogs, and while the pups would have plenty of space to romp around outside, they wanted something for them to play with indoors as well. Always up for a challenge, Zack created a built-in container with a chew toy attached to a stout rope, and when the dogs pull on the chew toy, the container dispenses a tennis ball, which comes bouncing out for them to chase around. It didn't take long at all for the dogs to get the hang of this concept, and they had a ball (pun intended) with it, I can tell you that. Of course, cats are much too diffident to go for anything so plebeian as that, but I honestly wouldn't put anything past Zack's amazing gift for invention, and he could probably come up with something that even our couldn't-care-less kitties would find irresistible. Of course, knowing them, it would probably be some sort of fiendish device that would lock us out of our own house, and which no doubt they would find ever so highly diverting, I dare say. Fortunately I think Zack is more of a dog person underneath it all, and most likely would not succumb to their feline wiles, at the risk of our safety and well-being, especially if we were footing the bill. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking with it, or my name isn't - Matt Finish

School Spirit

Hello World, Oh, blessed relief! The weather here has finally moderated a bit, and people are not just collapsing from heat prostration on the streets, or reduced to subsisting on a steady diet of malls, movie theaters, and the supermarket frozen food section to stay cool enough to survive the onslaught. Unlike the previous heat wave in July, this latest one came with a complement of rip-roaring thunderstorms, almost every night, and the sound and fury was a sight to behold, believe me. Even our cats were rattled, and you've got to go a long way to spook a pack of battle-scarred alley cats from the school of hard knocks, who can sleep through just about anything, except vacuuming. (The only explanation that I can come up with is that in a far distant galaxy, the peaceful residents of The Cat Planet are routinely terrorized by evil marauders from their sworn enemies on The Electrolux Planet.) Speaking of school, anyone active on social media can tell, from their various friends and relatives (not to mention, what we refer to in our house as "Norwegian Strangers") that many locales have already gone back to school, as witnessed by pictures of countless smiling youngsters sporting new clothes and backpacks, and eager to hit those books once again. Mind you, this has been going on for a week or more, which was not even within hailing distance of Labor Day, much less after Labor Day, when the school year started for our old friends the dinosaurs and the rest of us geezers from the primordial ooze in the great unformed land masses. Frankly, I can't blame "holiday creep" for that, and it's no wonder that the retailers start putting out their back-to-school displays in June, if schools are going to open in the beginning of August, and not September, like they're supposed to. Admittedly, there are many of us oldsters who can remember school in August, but the difference is that we used to call it "summer school." Also in social media lately, I believe we have the ubiquitous auto-correct feature to thank for the following story that cropped up on my Twitter feed this week: ================================= Buglers Use Van to Ram into California Store ================================= One might suppose that it could be a music store that was their target, otherwise, what the buglers had in mind is a mystery to me, I'm sure, and their bugles even more so. (CHARGE!!!) More likely, the writer of the post mis-spelled the word "burglars," and the double-edged sword that is auto-correct "improved" the errant subject to "buglers" instead - thrilling the hearts of the Twitter-sphere's boogie woogie bugle boys, no doubt, but rendering the headline not only completely meaningless, but inadvertently comical in the process, and thanks ever so much not. And speaking of technology run amok, anyone using a computer with a Microsoft operating system is probably familiar with Windows Media Player, which generally comes built right in when you buy a new PC, or you can certainly download the newest version for free directly from their web site. I have the feeling that the tech giant doesn't want you to know this, but theirs is not the only media player out there, for instance, VLC Media Player has a good reputation in cyberspace, and untold legions of fans are happily using it around the globe. Years ago, I installed VLC on an old computer when the clunky antiquated operating system couldn't make heads or tails out of Windows Media Player, which was a handy solution for me, and I didn't have any trouble with it. But yesterday I noticed it demonstrated a very peculiar maneuver, when I accidentally selected a second audio file when VLC was already playing one from the same playlist. Unlike the Windows version, which will stop playing the first one once you click on another one, VLC is delighted to go right ahead and play both songs at the same time, and to the improvement of neither, I can tell you that. In fact, I now have every reason to think that VLC will play as many music files as you choose, all at the same time and at full throttle, with reckless disregard for genre, time signatures, or listeners' eardrums, I dare say. So if you want to mix polka music with heavy metal, or big band with hip hop, VLC is definitely the program for you. Just don't tell the buglers, please. Meanwhile in the wide world of sports (at least for anybody who hasn't been living under a rock for the last two weeks) there's the Olympic games in Rio, where there has been no lack of physical mastery, speed, grace, strength, teamwork, good luck, bad luck, Cinderella stories, excellent sportsmanship, terrible manners, euphoria, despair, and every manner of melodrama, from the ancient Greek tragedies to the futuristic sci-fi thrillers, all under the microscope of media hoopla. (Synchronized media hoopla is a new sport that's just been added to the Olympics, and personally, my money's on The Daily Planet.) Here we had our own athletic drama on the local scene, as the hometown faithful had a chance to cheer on their heroes in yet another subway series at the beginning of the month, with each side hoping for Joy in Mudville, and some significant momentum to build on. In the end, the junior franchise split four games with Da Bombers, with 2 games played at Citi Field, and then 2 at the erstwhile House That Ruth Built in the Bronx, featuring a real see-saw of lopsided scores, and certainly not the finest moments for either team. At least the Amazin's came out of it at 56-52 and still in the thick of the Wild Card chase, and although the struggling Yanks didn't lose much ground, they remained mired in 4th place and 8 games out in their division. The difference between the two clubs was dramatic at the trade deadline, where the Mets made a bunch of high-profile acquisitions to bolster their run for the playoffs, while the Yankees essentially threw in the towel, indulged in some (perhaps much-needed) housecleaning, and bid farewell to several high-paid veterans in exchange for an exciting batch of strapping young prospects. A cursory look at the standings will show Texas running away with it in the American League, and the surprising Cubbies still on fire in the National League, with so far no actual pennant races to speak of (except in the AL East and NL West) where most of the division leaders already have a commanding lead over their nearest rivals. It remains to be seen if the standings tighten up at all down the stretch, with 40 games left, and for those of us who bleed Mets blue, at least the dratted Royals will be missing from the post-season, which is already an improvement over last year, by golly. I'm thinking this might be a good time for them to try out for synchronized media hoopla instead, so remember you heard it here first, folks! At our house, we file this kind of thing under the category of "This is Why the Terrorists Hate Us," and no wonder. As a result of widespread TV commercials and online pop-up ads, it's extremely easy to find out that our friends at Cottonelle want us to know that we can sign up for automatic delivery of their products - so that we can relax without worry and never run the risk of running out, no matter how disorganized, busy, or forgetful we may be. (!!!) (???) Seriously? Let's face it, this is toilet paper we're talking about here, folks, it's hardly diabetic supplies or cardiac medications, for heaven's sake. What's next - automatic deliveries of hair color before the ladies' roots begin to show, or a pre-determined schedule to keep fellows from running out of cologne, or why not catnip mice and rawhide chews for the family pets while we're at it. Honestly, sometimes you just don't know whether to laugh or cry, and frankly, at times like this, wailing and gnashing of teeth might not be out of the question either, I don't mind saying. Unfortunately, I can't spare the time for that right now, because The Daily Planet just called and I have to go help them practice their synchronized media hoopla. Say, who let those buglers in here? Elle

Midnight Special

Hello World, Woof! Just when we thought the worst of the dreaded "Dog Days" were behind us, along comes another genuine heat wave rearing its ugly head, with oppressive temperatures and suffocating humidity, so that if you go outside, it feels like you are trying to breathe through a steaming hot towel, thanks not. The occasional pop-up thunderstorms have done nothing to help, and the poor over-burdened window air conditioners are no match for it. It's at times like this that I am always surprised to see that, yes, not only have the pro football camps opened, as impossible as that might seem to believe, but they're playing actual pre-season games on television, no less. One can only hope that they're doing all this in a much cooler climate (like Siberia) because after all, it's all fun and games, as they say, until the players start to spontaneously combust due to the excessive heat. I realize that football is not for sissies, but I think even the KGB agents monitoring my email (whose name is legion, heaven knows) would agree that this would be considered taking things to extremes, da? Speaking of fun and games, we have The Hallmark Channel to thank for bringing us the 2016 Kitten Summer Games, their adorable adoption event in delightful counterpoint to the summer Olympic Games in Rio, where skill is not a factor, playfulness reigns supreme, and the cuteness is off the charts. The event featured 4 teams (North, South, East, and West) easily identifiable by their coat colors (South = orange tabby, West = black, and so on) "competing" in such categories as de-cat-lon, high jump, balance beam, rings, long jump, meow-athon, and somewhat surprisingly, synchronized napping. (This is when all members of the team fall asleep at the same time - no peeking!) My personal favorite was boxing - and they did in fact have a tiny boxing ring set up with boppers and streamers for the kittens to play with - but the real boxing challenge was the kitties climbing in and out of empty boxes on the floor, and which actually ended up in a tie, and had to be decided on cuteness points. (Purr-cules pulled off the upset over track star Jesse Meowens on that one.) It was all in good fun, and very carefully edited and scripted for maximum entertainment value, besides being wildly successful as an adoption event, and that was the most important part. But I will say that if they ever decide to turn pro, my money's on Kristi Yama-cat-chi. Also speaking of cats, alert readers may recall our previous next-door neighbors, who brought their menagerie of 2 large dogs and 4 cats into our lives (the irrepressible Cinna-Mooch, Squeaky, Sugarfoot and mini Cooper, not to mention Flopsie, who we basically cat-napped right out from under their noses) and then summarily folded up their tents and snuck off in the dead of night several years ago, for reasons unknown. The house had remained empty since then, although a few weeks ago, I bumped into a young man in the street who introduced himself as the new owner. I would like to tell you our impressions of the new neighbors, but unfortunately the jury is still out on that question - because currently the property appears to be occupied by nothing but contractors at every turn, and no actual residents to speak of. Of course, anyone who's lived anywhere can tell you that neighbors tend to be a very mixed bag, so it remains to be seen if the new people turn out to be the good neighbors everyone hopes for, or more of the "Nightmare on Elm Street" variety instead. I can tell you that we are not going to miss their contractors - with their loud power tools and blaring Mariachi music at all hours - when they go, and frankly, I already feel sorry for their neighbors, wherever they live. In any case, one of the tasks assigned to the contractors before the new owners moved in was apparently taking down a rather large but nondescript tree in the backyard, and ordinarily I would have thought nothing at all of it, one way or another. This was scarcely a centuries-old iconic specimen, or stately weeping willow sheltering wildlife in its capacious branches, or magnificent chestnut bursting with blossoms, adding a cheerful decorative touch for everyone to enjoy. To be honest, I never took any notice of the tree in any way at all, and would not have done so now, except for one little thing. Once it was gone, it turned our family room into a "window on the world," and suddenly the whole neighborhood was right in the room with us, as well as the blazing sun, as if we were a satellite out in space, orbiting around with the sun on our shoulders, and nowhere to hide from its relentless glare. It was the first thing I noticed when we walked into the room afterward, and we also realized at once that it would be impossible to see anything on the television under the circumstances. I never would have believed that taking down something so unremarkable in the next yard would have had such a profound effect on that side of our house, but there was no getting away from the fact that our family room had been suddenly rendered uninhabitable in one fell swoop, as it were. We scurried around and grabbed some old shower curtains to tape up over the windows temporarily, and at least make the room fit for human occupation once again. Admittedly, the room was somewhat dimmer during the daytime, but it was still better than the feeling of a World War II fighter plane caught in the beams of enemy searchlights on a midnight raid. And for the KGB agents monitoring my email, well, frankly, I thought the anti-aircraft guns were just way too much, nyet? The mention of trees sheltering wildlife reminds me of yet another story from camping that was unaccountably omitted from my vacation chronicles, as long-winded as they were. On our last day there, we packed up both campsites and then set off for the beach as we usually do, to enjoy one final splurge of sand and surf before heading back to mundane reality. Not so fast! At the top of the hill to the beach, we ran into a handful of youngsters tormenting a poor mole, who had somehow come out from underground where he should have been, and had fallen into the clutches of these ruffians, chasing him around for sport. We stamped into the middle of the fray trying to disperse them, and managed to hold them at bay by brandishing our beach chairs at them in a menacing fashion, while giving the mole some much-needed breathing room. (Anyone who knows me can tell you that my prowess at the hymnal toss was legendary, from the annual donnybrook known as our old raucous congregational meetings at church, and while my chair throwing skills were not at the top of the class, they were still nothing to sneeze at either, by heaven.) We soon realized that the substantial curbs proved to be an insurmountable obstacle for the tiny critter to find his way to safety, and away from the ceaseless tramping steps of beach-goers all day long. Finally I just scooped him up with a beach towel and deposited him into the brush, then prodded him into the bushes and away from the hill, hopefully out of harm's way. In retrospect, I can't imagine what the people behind us must have thought - since they hadn't seen the original incident to start with, and had no idea why we were behaving in such an outlandish manner - but to give them credit, most of them did stop and give us free rein to accomplish whatever lunacy they thought we were up to. When we came up from the beach much later, we saw no evidence of the beleaguered rodent, which we considered a good sign, and with cautious optimism, reckoned our ad hoc mole rescue to be a success. While I can't pretend that I possess any unique talents for rescuing furry varmints, please be advised that I am available to fill a need for hymnal tossing at any time. Elle

Don't Rock The Boat

Hello World, Happy August! Now it can be said that we have well and truly entered into that well-worn season of "The Dog Days of August," which in the metropolitan New York area, is not for the faint-hearted, that's for sure. Oddly enough after the sweltering heat of late July, the new month has started off with the most glorious weather - brilliant sunshine, moderate temperatures, and reasonable humidity - to make even the jaded denizens of The Big Apple environs positively giddy with spring fever-like euphoria, albeit 6 months too late. Our old friends the dinosaurs and I would call this "Dog Days for Sissies," and I don't mind saying that personally, I'm all for it. I know the Calvinists out there (and you know who you are!) would insist that suffering builds character, but frankly, I already built all the character in July that I could possibly stand, and that's not just a lot of sackcloth and ashes, heaven knows. Garcon, more lemonade and watermelon, if you please, and give my hammock a push while you're at it. Speaking of The Big Apple, we had occasion to brave the mean streets of lower Manhattan last week, when 2 sisters from the wild, wild west coast paid a visit to the region, taking in shows, visiting friends and colleagues (like Bill from the Warm Strangers group of Vienna Teng fans) and seeing the sights. They agreed to shoehorn us into their busy schedule on Friday, so we hopped on a train to Grand Central, and then took a cab to the Gotham West Market, an eclectic food court on 11th Avenue in Hell's Kitchen. This interesting space features about a dozen ethnic food vendors - including sushi, Latin, Asian fusion, organic, craft beers, exotic coffees, and even ice cream - with communal seating indoors and out, and a congenial atmosphere despite the crowds. We played it safe with a plate of French fries (served with a searing hot sauce they claimed was ketchup) which was half-heartedly topped with some rubbery cheese, and was no improvement to the fries, which were actually very tasty on their own. I took a chance on a few huevos de diablo, which looked a lot like ordinary deviled eggs, but were so spicy that I would recommend having a fire extinguisher close at hand. There was also a long counter for people to play games, and it was there we noticed their very large sign pointing the way to their "CLEAN BATHROOMS" - leading Bill to wonder where they kept their dirty bathrooms instead. (After all, wouldn't you expect tourists would want to have an authentic New York City experience in their travels?) Thus fortified, we set out on the next phase of our adventures. Just about everyone is familiar with the venerable Circle Line boats, which have been showing tourists the sights that can be seen from the city waterways, since I believe, at least the time of Peter Minuit and Henry Hudson's first sojourns to the region or thereabouts. There's the standard excursion, which covers a lot of ground, so to speak, in two different directions and takes many hours, and a not-to-be-missed attraction for first-time visitors to the boroughs. Then for the short attention span contingent, there's a more compact version which starts in the same place, but goes faster and doesn't travel as far, so you can be there and back in about an hour and a half, and get on with the rest of your day. Bill thought this was a novelty the sisters would enjoy, so that was our plan. After lunch, we were early for the cruise, so we traipsed around the area to see what else there was to see. Out-of-towners like me would find it somewhat disconcerting to take a cab west from Grand Central on 42nd Street, through Times Square, and suddenly around 9th Avenue, here's the USS Intrepid aircraft carrier looming up in front of you, looking for all the world like it's right there on the street with you, and you and the taxicab are going to slam right into it. I can try to convince you that isn't the case, but believe me, when you're riding along on the street, that's exactly what it looks like. We found it sitting sedately in the harbor, basically next to where the Circle Line launches from, and a certified tourist attraction of its own that draws people from all over the world. In between the two docks, you will find the charming Pier 84 Park, which packs a pretty big punch for such a tiny space. There's an Irish pub with outdoor tables so people can enjoy the view, plus plenty of food carts selling the usual pretzels, ice cream, and assorted drinks and snacks. They have one of those newfangled programmable fountains, the kind that shoots up from synchronized water jets right out of the ground, and apparently anyone is welcome to just frolic in its cooling spray as it goes through its paces. There's also a fenced-in section functioning as a dog park, complete with toys, a couple of kiddie pools, a water hose, and other assorted apparatus to keep the pups entertained while their owners relax in the shade. The view across the river (which turns out to be Weehawken, New Jersey, of all things) seems so close that you could reach out and touch it. It's a custom-made photo op that is impossible to resist, and if Peter Minuit and Henry Hudson were there, I'm sure they'd be taking selfies along with everybody else, I dare say. Finally it was time for the Circle Line to set sail, as it were, so we took our seats with the rest of the happy throng, and settled in for adventures on the high seas. (Well, the Hudson River, the estuary known as the East River, and New York Harbor, anyway.) There's a very engaging tour guide highlighting all of the points of interest along the way, and his running commentary is so fascinating that the time seems to just fly by. It's certainly a unique way to see the city's famous skyline from a completely different perspective, not to mention, parts of Brooklyn and New Jersey that you wouldn't see otherwise. The boat skirts both Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, and seeing them from that vantage point is worth the trip itself. You go over the Lincoln and Holland tunnels, and under the fabled Brooklyn Bridge, 133 years old and still going strong. (Take THAT, lousy Tappan Zee Bridge, ya big baby!) For the most part, the passage is calm and comfortable, with refreshing breezes on the open upper deck, and gentle air conditioning inside. There's even a snack bar and gift shop, and I can vouch for their hot pretzels, by golly. They bring you back to the pier right on the dot, so if you had something else to do afterward, you'd be in no danger of missing the boat, as they say. It just occurred to me that they ought to put these people in charge of running the trains, which would certainly revolutionize mass transit in this area, and that's not just Casey Jones talking, believe me. We had a (perhaps far-fetched) notion of touring the USS Intrepid after we got back to the pier (we didn't dare try it beforehand, and risk missing the Circle Line's launch time) but unfortunately, by the time we were back on dry land, the carrier had closed up shop for the day, and we left disappointed, alas. At this point, the sisters were on their way to visit Chinatown (and coming from San Francisco, they obviously have their own local Chinatown to compare it with) and being young and energetic, thought it made perfect sense to hike the 15 or so blocks to the subway that would take them there. Having clearly lost our marbles at sea, Bill and I elected to hike along with them, which with the heat and humidity and unrelenting sun, seemed like a worse and worse idea the farther we went. Finally we bid our fond farewells and packed them on the subway, then tried to catch a cab back to Grand Central. This proved impossible (even though, yes, "there's an app for that!") so we walked around the corner to Penn Station and took the subway and Times Square shuttle to our destination. Luckily we arrived at the terminal in time to catch the next train home, and after a long day of walking, boating, sight-seeing and picture-taking, it was only a miracle that we were still awake when we got there. We had long since given up on the idea of making dinner - just thinking about it made us even more exhausted - so we headed for the diner and indulged in a couple of cool mixed salads and fruit platters to revive our flagging spirits. Overall, it was a fun day chockful of special and unusual elements that set it apart from our regular journeys, and we returned a little the worse for wear, but still all in one piece, so that was the best part. I can happily recommend the Circle Line (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.circleline42.com and see for yourself) to anyone on the lookout for an aquatic adventure that is sure to please. Tell them Peter Minuit and Henry Hudson sent you. Elle