Oh, What A Night

Hello World, Happy Labor Day weekend! I can see by the unquiet spirit of the late and lamented Samuel L. Gompers, that we have reached the unofficial end of summer, and the copious sales circulars arriving daily stand in silent reproach to his ideals of the original Labor Day, especially in the retail sector, where the down-trodden rank-and-file seem to be working more days and longer hours than ever. It's true that back-to-school is in full swing, and the bulk of those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are behind us already, but the weather is still lovely, and hopefully there's still a bit more fun left to be wrung out of the season before we hang it up for good. So take a tip from that old show tune, and remember "... before the parade passes by ..." get in your last licks while you still can, and drain the cup of summer goodness right down to the very last dregs, with all the food, folks, and fun that you can possibly muster. Samuel L. Gompers would be so proud. Speaking of fun and games (or not) if this is pre-season football, can the Snoopy Bowl be far behind? I think not! The New York metropolitan area teams squared off at MetLife Stadium in the wilds of East Rutherford, New Jersey, last week, with the Giants besting the rival Jets by a single point - in spite of the fact that the senior franchise spent almost the entire game trapped in their own territory. Of course the games don't count yet (except for bragging rights) and the 21-20 outcome, far from being a nail-biter, could not disguise the sloppy offensive play and haphazard defense that marred the contest throughout. I think even their legions of die-hard fans would agree that Big Blue at 2-2 and Gang Green at an even worse 1-3 is no way to limp into the regular season, and woefully far from sending a message to the rest of the league that either team is ready to charge into contention and play with the big boys. Sometimes you can't help but wonder if playing in a swamp isn't more of a metaphor than the owners would like us to believe, I dare say. Also on the subject of fun and games, we took advantage of the beautiful weather to attend the 56th Long Island Scottish Festival and Highland Games at the spectacular Old Westbury Gardens, and please do feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.liscots.org and see for yourself. We met my sister there, and how she managed to pick us out of a mob scene of literally thousands of visitors, vendors, musicians, dancers, athletes, staff, and local dignitaries - covering an area of about 200 acres amid a forest of tents, booths, rides, and food trucks - is a mystery to me, I'm sure. We had been to the event a couple of times before: once when the threat of Hurricane Irene kept everyone away in droves, and again when triple-digit temperatures (even in the shade) made us worry that we would just die from the heat right on the spot. This time, although it was hot, it wasn't unbearable, and we were totally unprepared for the crowds that greeted us on the property, a surging sea of humanity that would resemble DisneyWorld - that is, if they were to throw open their gates and give everything away for free. Besides the usual bagpipe bands, folk dancing, and Scottish game competitions, there were exhibits of jousting, kilt making, dog agility, birds of prey, battle re-enactments, antique automobiles, classical music, juggling, and story-telling, as well as a bouncy castle, giant slides, and other activities for the wee ones to round things out. Our old friends Mac Talla M'or, the Celtic fusion band, did two shows on the main stage, and although they are now a mere shell of their former selves, their rollicking electric version of "Scotland the Brave" is not to be missed, believe me. We were able to dodge the throngs at the food court because my sister somehow packed an ethnic-themed picnic onto her bicycle, so we enjoyed scones with toppings and other tasty tidbits in the shade, with the Cameron Scottish Music Ensemble for accompaniment. We wrapped it all up with dinner at Denny's, which may not be exactly ethnically appropriate under the circumstances, but since their honorary Grand Marshall was someone called Dr. Lawrence Blumenkrantz, frankly, I admit that I have some doubts about the cultural integrity of the whole situation anyway. Meanwhile on the local scene, after about 6 months of trying to come up with a date that would work for all four of us (it's a shame how working full-time cuts into your social life, alas) we finally came up with a time to meet our friends at La Villa Brick Oven Pizzeria, which recently opened up for business in the place of an old Chinese restaurant on Route 1. We thought the hard part was behind us, after setting a date at long last, and looked forward to a nice evening out with our peers and contemporaries, who at least understand what we mean when we talk about Captain Kangaroo, S&H green stamps, 8-track tapes, and The Great Garloo. I guess anyone could see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon of this scenario, and need I say, "Not so fast!" In a very new and unwelcome wrinkle in the age-old tradition of meeting friends for dinner, what actually happened was that the couples ended up going to 2 different restaurants, and never meeting up at all, believe it or not. This comedy of errors was helped along by the fact that there were (unbeknownst to us) two Italian restaurants on the same side of Route 1, probably within about a quarter mile of each other, and we went to one, while they went to the other - and never the twain shall meet, as Rudyard Kipling once famously observed. Compounding this fiasco, our friends didn't have Bill's cell phone number, while I left mine at home, and as for our counterparts, we only had his work number, and she had her phone turned off, thanks not. (If nothing else, it served as potent proof that old people shouldn't date, because you can only imagine a pair of baby boomers connecting on one of those Singles Over-50 dating sites, and after setting up a blind date, he's busy pacing at one place, while she's nervously waiting at another; besides which he's forgotten to give her his number, but she left her phone home anyway.) Back at our restaurant, Bill drove back and forth to home twice, once to pick up my phone, and once to listen to the answering machine, so at least we knew they had tried to call us - and in fact, let us know they were waiting at the restaurant (but not which one) and gave us her cell number, although she had neglected to turn it on. For our part, we both left numerous messages on her phone, and at their house, but in spite of the wonders of modern technology, we could find no other way to contact them. Now remember that we had retrieved messages from them, so we knew they were waiting for us somewhere, but on their side, they had absolutely no idea what to think, since they couldn't reach us and didn't get our messages. So at their eatery, the sympathetic waiters commiserated with our friends for being stood up, bemoaning the lack of manners and consideration in these uncivil times. I said later that it was even worse where we were, because the indulgent staff assumed that we were so unpopular that nobody would go out with us, so we just made up these "imaginary friends" that we pretended were going to have dinner with us, but didn't actually exist in the real world. In the end, both sides decided independently to go ahead and eat anyway, since we had been lounging around each place tying up tables at great length, and at least on our side, I will say that we had an excellent meal that almost made up for the whole confounded snafu. Anyone who knows us can tell you that we're not easily daunted, and we are planning to try this again, but whenever and wherever we decide to go, you can bet that we'll be taking one car, and leaving Rudyard Kipling at home, that's for sure. Elle