We'll Always Have Plymouth

Hello Mr. & Mrs. America, and All The Ships At Sea: Well, what's not to love about Thanksgiving, I ask you that. This is truly an occasion that everyone can rally around, and not only features good food and family, but has any number of other fine qualities, so sorely lacking in many other holidays throughout the year. It subscribes to no particular religious doctrine, so nobody can take offense at it on any ecclesiastical grounds. It is also not any sort of nationalistic day that celebrates independence or a crushing victory over a former foe, who is now probably a revered ally. (Awkward!) Even better, it does not require elaborate yard decorations, sparkling lights, or widespread indoor embellishments, and is also not burdened with tedious gift-giving demands like shopping, wrapping, or mailing, and even greeting cards are pretty much off the table this time around, which is very rarely the case. If there were more low-maintenance holidays like Thanksgiving, the world would probably be a happier place, although the retailers wouldn't think much of it, I dare say. Taking the holiday off around here, we turn to greater minds and better scribblers to fill the space, and conjure up this Gallic-infused morsel that is sure to please. Any amount of high school French will come in handy here, except perhaps the nonsense song I remember about "My Blackbird Has Lost a Feather," which was a counting game like "The 12 Days of Christmas," where you counted down the lost feathers in reverse order ("A perdu quatre plumes, trois plumes, deux plumes, une plume") and very quickly, deteriorated into utter confusion and helpless giddy laughter by over-matched students, and I ought to know. Moving along, although the writer needs no introduction, here is a foreword by the publisher: ================================== Humor columnist Art Buchwald wrote a lot of great columns, and one that is still remembered widely is his Thanksgiving column, entitled “Le Grande Thanksgiving.” In this column, which Buchwald wrote while living in France, the humorist explained Thanksgiving to the French. He told them it was the only time of year Americans eat better than they do. Buchwald’s Thanksgiving column became a classic, and newspapers have run it ever since. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Le Grande Thanksgiving By Art Buchwald Thursday, November 24, 2005 This confidential column was leaked to me by a high government official in the Plymouth colony on the condition that I not reveal his name. One of our most important holidays is Thanksgiving Day, known in France as "le Jour de Merci Donnant." Le Jour de Merci Donnant was first started by a group of Pilgrims ("Pelerins") who fled from l'Angleterre before the McCarran Act to found a colony in the New World ("le Nouveau Monde") where they could shoot Indians ("les Peaux-Rouges' ) and eat turkey ("dinde") to their hearts' content. They landed at a place called Plymouth (now a famous "voiture Americaine") in a wooden sailing ship called the Mayflower (or "Fleur de Mai") in 1620. But while the Pelerins were killing the dindes, the Peaux-Rouges were killing the Pelerins, and there were several hard winters ahead for both of them. The only way the Peaux-Rouges helped the Pelerins was when they taught them to grow corn ("mais"). The reason they did this was because they liked corn with their Pelerins. In 1623, after another harsh year, the Pelerins' crops were so good that they decided to have a celebration and give thanks because more mais was raised by the Pelerins than Pelerins were killed by Peaux-Rouges. Every year on the Jour de Merci Donnant, parents tell their children an amusing story about the first celebration. It concerns a brave capitaine named Miles Standish (known in France as "Kilometres Deboutish") and a young, shy lieutenant named Jean Alden. Both of them were in love with a flower of Plymouth called Priscilla Mullens (no translation). The vieux capitaine said to the jeune lieutenant: "Go to the damsel Priscilla ("allez tres vite chez Priscilla"), the loveliest maiden of Plymouth ("la plus jolie demoiselle de Plymouth"). Say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of action ("un vieux Fanfan la Tulipe"), offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. Not in these words, you know, but this, in short, is my meaning. "I am a maker of war ("je suis un fabricant de la guerre") and not a maker of phrases. You, bred as a scholar ("vous, qui tes pain comme un tudiant"), can say it in elegant language, such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, such as you think best adapted to win the heart of the maiden." Although Jean was fit to be tied ("convenable tre emballe"), friendship prevailed over love and he went to his duty. But instead of using elegant language, he blurted out his mission. Priscilla was muted with amazement and sorrow ("rendue muette par l'tonnement et las tristesse"). At length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: "If the great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, why does he not come himself and take the trouble to woo me?" ("Ou est-il, le vieux Kilometres? Pourquoi ne vient-il pas aupres de moi pour tenter sa chance?") Jean said that Kilometres Deboutish was very busy and didn't have time for those things. He staggered on, telling what a wonderful husband Kilometres would make. Finally Priscilla arched her eyebrows and said in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, Jean?" ("Chacun a son gout.") And so, on the fourth Thursday in November, American families sit down at a large table brimming with tasty dishes and, for the only time during the year, eat better than the French do. No one can deny that le Jour de Merci Donnant is a grande fete and no matter how well fed American families are, they never forget to give thanks to Kilometres Deboutish, who made this great day possible. 2005Tribune Media Services

High Five

Hello World, And so here it is, more than the middle of November already, and at this rate Tom Turkey will come a-trotting after us before we know it, by gobble. Tom's special day may seem early this year, although being always the 4th Thursday in November, it can range anywhere from the 22nd to the 28th, so it would be just about right in the middle this time around. Of course, Thanksgiving is beloved by all, for its sentimental focus on family, good food, and tradition (without the hassle of presents like so many other holidays) and needs no defense from me, heaven knows. Meanwhile, the following day, commonly known as Black Friday, is practically turning into a holiday of its own, sending untold millions of bargain-hunters loose at all hours, turning the long holiday weekend on its ear, and creating a "tail-wagging-the-dog" scenario of consumerism run amok. Quite unlike Thanksgiving, Black Friday appears to have an equal number of happy adherents and staunch opponents, by the look of it, and lately the backlash against excessive shopping hours has brought some welcome changes, with a few retailers even giving it up entirely, and staying closed for the benefit of their employees. Sporting goods giant REI has promoted the idea of "OptOutside" on Friday, encouraging people to ditch the malls, computers, and TV program marathons, and instead get outside and enjoy the great outdoors. I see that this idea is being reinforced in California, where their 116 state parks will be open with free admission on Black Friday. I think that's an idea we can all rally around, and that's not just Tom Turkey talking, believe me. And speaking of all things food, alert readers may recall my story about a winning lottery ticket at work during the summer, and using this windfall to take the small staff (myself and two janitors) out to lunch on New York State's dime, and thanks ever so. And now here we have practically a repeat of that same sort of capricious serendipity, and I don't mind saying, just as welcome as it was unexpected. Recently my eagle-eyed sister, who could absolutely read the date on a magazine in a newsstand from outer space, rescued a cast-off $5 bill on the street while riding her bicycle, and used that bounty to take me out to lunch, and once again, thanks ever so. We went to Panera Bread in Pelham Manor, where their half-sandwich-and soup combo is a steal at $4.99, with hearty selections and wide-ranging options that make it worth the trip. Of course, they're famous for their signature breads, but there's so much more on their menu board - from salads all the way to desserts, and smoothies in between - that a person doesn't have to love sandwiches to feel right at home there. My sister recommended the macaroni & cheese bowl for me, which was as creamy and flavorful as she promised, and felt like a warm hug on a cold day. An important aspect of the Panera chain is that they function like a popular hangout, where people can lounge in comfortable armchairs or couches, use their mobile devices, or play board games to their hearts content, and nobody hurries them along. This particular location did not have upholstered furniture as many do, but the booths were wide and inviting, and several people there were already enjoying their laptops, books, cards, tablets, and even a rousing game of Mah Jongg, in peace and harmony. There was also a very decorative fireplace built into one wall, which was an especially welcome touch on a rather nasty day that was damp and blustery, with intermittent showers and leaden skies. We had our lunch and spent most of the afternoon there, nice and cozy, as if we didn't have a care in the world. And to whatever unknown patron lost that $5 bill on the street in the first place, thanks for lunch! And while we're on the subject of fun and games, last week I couldn't help but notice when an ad popped up on my phone, using all of its marketing wiles to entice me to try their new game (admittedly I'm a sucker for new games, so it doesn't take a whole lot of marketing wiles to hook me) although I have to say that the pop-up did manage to fail the first test as an ad, since I didn't pay attention to the name of the game at all. But there was no getting away from their main advertising gambit, which was a screaming headline across the entire screen, which assured me this new game was "LIFE-RUININGLY FUN!!!" Sign me up! In other technology news, I was expecting a call from my eye doctor's office last week, so I was carrying my phone around with me everywhere, so I wouldn't miss hearing from them, whenever that might be. (Practically nobody has that number to start with, so ordinarily, my phone rings about as much as the Butterball turkey hot-line in July, I dare say.) So you can imagine my surprise when the phone rang, and not only was not my eye doctor, but was a long-distance number that I didn't recognize from a hole in the wall. I stared at it for a while, but could make no sense of it, and was not curious enough to answer it to find out. About 15 minutes later, I got a notification that there was a voice mail message, and when I checked, it was from that same number once again. So in the end, some poor schmo not only called my cell phone by mistake from Los Angeles, but also left me a 10-second voice mail of what sounded like their back pocket, which I'm sure they didn't want to use their allotted monthly minutes for, all things being equal. There's a reason I always say that technology can be a double-edged sword, as we find out all too often to our regret. Our other high tech story could be considered an extreme cautionary tale for our times, and there's no way to slap a pretty bow on this and turn it into something other than the red-haired freckle-faced orphan step-child that it is. Alert readers on social media may have noticed this tidbit making the rounds lately, and while it might have seemed peculiar at first glance, a more in-depth examination of the facts proves that it is even so much worse. Our friends at The Guardian put it this way, and please do feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.theguardian.com and see for yourself: ========================================== Nonsense Paper Written by iOS Auto-Complete Accepted for Conference New Zealand professor asked to present his work at U.S. event on nuclear physics despite it containing gibberish all through the copy A nonsensical academic paper on nuclear physics written only by iOS auto-complete has been accepted for a scientific conference. Christoph Bartneck, an associate professor at the Human Interface Technology laboratory at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand, received an email inviting him to submit a paper to the International Conference on Atomic and Nuclear Physics in the U.S. in November. “Since I have practically no knowledge of nuclear physics, I resorted to iOS auto-complete function to help me writing the paper,” he wrote in a blog post on Thursday. “I started a sentence with ‘atomic’ or ‘nuclear’ and then randomly hit the auto-complete suggestions. “The text really does not make any sense.” The title, "Atomic Energy Will Have Been Made Available to a Single Source" was also provided by auto-complete. “The atoms of a better universe will have the right for the same as you are the way we shall have to be a great place for a great time to enjoy the day you are a wonderful person to your great time to take the fun and take a great time and enjoy the great day you will be a wonderful time for your parents and kids,” is a sample sentence from the abstract. It concludes: “Power is not a great place for a good time.” The nonsensical paper was accepted only three hours later, in an email asking Bartneck to confirm his slot for the “oral presentation” at the international conference. “I know that iOS is a pretty good software, but reaching tenure has never been this close,” Bartneck commented in the blog post. He did not have to pay money to submit the paper, but the acceptance letter referred him to register for the conference at a cost of $1,099 (USD) as an academic speaker. Bartneck said that given the quality of the review process and the steep registration fee, he was “reasonably certain that this is a money-making conference with little to no commitment to science." ========================================= Ya think?! Right about now, I'm guessing those conference organizers are not only accepting the hard truth that technology can indeed be a double-edged sword, but also fervently wishing that were not the case, especially in this situation. But after all, as I'm sure we've all long since become aware, “Power is not a great place for a good time.” Now, where's that new game that's supposed to be life-ruiningly fun??? Elle

You've Got Mail

Hello World, Happy Veterans Day! Today we salute our gallant men and women in uniform (and not to neglect the transgendered individuals while we're at it) serving our country now, as they have for centuries past, no matter when or where. What used to be known as Armistice Day was once a pretty significant holiday from sea to shining sea, but now is a mostly forgotten relic of the distant past, and if you find anyone who actually has the day off, most likely they have a job at a bank or the federal government. That is to say, they work in organized crime. (Oh, hit that easy target!) Speaking of crimes against humanity, Sunday was the end of Daylight Saving Time for another year, and it seemed to shuffle out of our lives without incident, leaving behind it only the continued annoyance of resetting all the myriad clocks, watches, appliances, electronic devices, automobiles, and other assorted gadgets and gizmos that have taken over every facet of our lives - and often, not for the better, I can tell you that. So far my favorite part of DST was a cartoon making the rounds on Facebook, featuring what appears to be a rather pompous Civil War-era old aristocrat, with his thumbs tucked into his vest, announcing: "I will not turn my clocks back. I will then be living one hour in the future. I greet you, people of the past. Your ways are quaint." Ya gotta love it! Apart from that, there has been not much else going on lately, from the redwood forests to the gulf-stream waters, and across the fruited plain. NOT MUCH!!! Of course, history was made on Tuesday, as Americans flocked to the polls in record numbers to elect a white man as the next President of the United States. (There's something about the ill-mannered snickering from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery that makes me think that they take exception to that last comment, but frankly, I tend to find their political acumen sorely lacking, even in the best of times.) So far my second favorite occurrence of the campaign season was last week, when I called one of our church vendors to schedule a service call, and when they gave me a date of November 8, I asked them to double-check that they were actually open on Election Day. The nice young man remarked, "Oh, that's right, Tuesday is Election Day, I forgot all about it." (???) (!!!) Personally, I don't see how that could be even remotely possible, not even for space aliens living in far distant galaxies, or primitive organisms buried in fossilized rocks since time immemorial. Forgot about it, indeed. Once again, we have social media to thank for my first favorite thing about the elections, and even I wasn't expecting this one. I'm sure we've all long since become aware that whenever our various Friends/Contacts/Connections have a birthday, anniversary, promotion, or other milestone, we receive a notification from the service through which we are friends, contacts, or connections, so we can reach out to them with congratulations or other communications appropriate to the occasion. ("I should have gotten that promotion, you bum!") But I admit that I was taken aback when I signed on to Facebook on Monday, only to be greeted with this RSVP notification: "Election Day is coming up tomorrow. Let hosts know if you'll go." You bet! In other news of a historic nature, the scrappy Cubs came roaring back to win the World Series over Cleveland, in extra innings of the nerve-wracking 7th game, making this a Fall Classic to remember, in more ways than one. Chicago's last World Series win was in 1908, or 108 years ago, and they actually found a resident of the Windy City who was alive for both of them, believe that or not. Interestingly, the original club was one of the most successful sports franchises in baseball history, until the ill-fated 1945 squad that heralded the beginning of the end. According to our friends at www.billygoattavern.com, from the team's inception in 1876 through 1945, their overall record was an impressive 5475-4324 with 51 winning seasons, 16 first-place finishes, 16 pennants, and World Series appearances, winning it all back-to-back in 1907 and 1908. But in Game 4 of the 1945 series, the owner of the nearby Billy Goat Pub brought his pet goat Murphy to Wrigley Field for good luck, and was refused entrance, whereupon he placed a curse on the team, and stamped off in a huff. The Cubs not only proceeded to lose that series, but then went on to become known as the "lovable losers" of the Midwest, and laughing-stock of the major leagues. Between 1946 and 2003, their overall record was a dismal 4250-4874, with only 15 winning seasons, 4 brief playoff appearances, and the World Series was just a delusional fantasy. (Mets fans will never forget the Cubs' legendary collapse in what turned into their own World Series season of 1969, when Chicago led their division by a comfortable 9-1/2 game margin in September with 26 games left to play, only to go down spectacularly in flames by losing 17 of those crucial games, finishing a distant second place, and 8 games behind the team that improbably went on to become The Amazing Mets.) So, yet another famous sports curse bites the dust, and the long-suffering fans of their beloved Cubbies have lived to see the impossible happen right before their incredulous eyes, after 108 years in the making. And somewhere off in The Great Beyond, Murphy the billy goat is having a great big laugh, I shouldn't wonder. Speaking of laughs, this next one is on me. In my continuing efforts to move out of the temporary office pool and into something more permanent, I applied for a clerical position at a venerable community church, that I thought would be right up my alley. When they invited me for an interview, I checked with MapQuest to get driving directions based on the address they gave me. Since it was on the other side of the county, Bill and I took a drive out there beforehand as a dry run to find the place, only to smack into such implacable traffic that by the time we got there, it was dark, and not as helpful as might have been hoped. It was only later that I realized our bumbling around in the dark had led us to the wrong church entirely, so that was even less help than I originally thought anyway. On the morning of the interview, I used the GPS device in my car to bring me to the correct address, around the corner from the wrong church we went to previously, and incredibly, the GPS brought me to a DIFFERENT wrong church in the same neighborhood, thanks not. In a miraculous turn of events, just as I was dashing out the door in the morning, Bill had handed me a slip of paper with directions to their off-site parking lot, since the church had already turned what used to be their parking lot into a nursery school instead. That was a lucky thing, because without it, after the GPS took me to the second wrong church, I would have been up the proverbial tree without a paddle, as it were. Even though it was broad daylight, and I thought I left plenty of time to get there, I was hampered by road construction in unexpected places, highway ramps closed, and circuitous detours that made me despair of ever getting to my destination at all, much less in one piece. I finally pulled into their driveway, just barely getting there on time, and discovered to my horror that I couldn't find any doors that would open into the place, no matter how many I tried, on different sides of different buildings. Then I spotted a door with a paper sign on it, and thought I would go see if it had any instructions on it, as to how to get inside, and along the way, I bumped into a peppy young man going the same way (and sporting 3 earrings) in the front yard, all dressed in blue and carrying a large bag. He didn't volunteer any information, but I announced very plainly that I was lost, and couldn't find my way in, but hoped that he could help me because, as I had surmised with unassailable logic, "You must be the mailman." He accepted this assessment with good grace, but corrected my misimpression by explaining that he was, in fact, the pastor of the church, on his way to the same interview I was attempting to get to. To say that this was scarcely the first impression I was hoping to make, would be an understatement of epic proportions, and recognizing that there was no salvaging it at that point, all that was left was appreciating its comical aspects, however embarrassing. I'm sure it will come as a surprise to nobody that the church decided to hire someone else for the position, but let's face it, I ended up with the better story, so that has to count for something. Maybe not "Curse-of-Murphy-the-billy-goat" better, but for primitive organisms buried in fossilized rocks, I expect it will suffice. Elle

Trick Pitch

Hello World, Happy mostly post-ghosties! It's true that Halloween came and went on Monday, and the witches and monsters right along with it, so that means that after Election Day, there won't be anything scary left to terrify people with around here. (Oh, hit that easy target!) Normally, this is where I would be saying, "With the holiday starting the week off with a bang on Monday, and the weather unusually fine, I had high hopes for a big turnout, blah and blah and blah ..... " but I've reluctantly come to accept the fact that our glory days are behind us, and we will never again see the 100+ numbers from those halcyon days of yore twenty years ago, alas. But we continue to make do with what we have, and be satisfied with that, and no crying into our candy corn and skeletons, by ghoul-y. It did turn out to be a beautiful day here, clear and crisp, which I figured would be ideal conditions for costume-wearing travelers on their evening excursions. It all started here with 2 toddlers at the stroke of 6:00 PM, but it took until 6:30 to get another two trick-or-treaters. At that rate, I was afraid that I was going to be in for a long night of it, and boring besides. Luckily, it began to pick up around 7:00, and they came in bunches as they do nowadays, with either parents or adult chaperones for each group. Personally, I find it very telling that the grown-ups invariably come around dressed in costumes in their supervisory capacity, which tends to make me wonder just exactly who the holiday is really for, after all. I also started to wonder if I'm not getting too old for all of this tomfoolery (perish the thought!) when I realized after about 20 callers, more than half of the costumes were completely unknown to me. Even after I asked them what they were trying to be, I still had no idea what it all meant. (Paw Patrol? Sofia the First?? Pokemon Jigglypuff??? I mean, really! Whatever happened to cowboys, ballerinas, and hoboes?!) They might as well have said, "Bloorgety-bloorg-bloorg from Dipsey-doodle-dee-doo" for all I understood what they were talking about. Having said that, however, I will say that this was one of the most entertaining years I can remember, where a lot of thought was put into their creations, and even the most rudimentary or trite costumes were presented with an infectious enthusiasm that made it all a lot more fun all around. By around 8:00 PM, I started to see packs of urban youth, who were having a wild time of it, by all appearances, and some in the funniest costumes - such as a giant Care Bear (you wouldn't think they would even MAKE an adult Care Bear costume, for heaven's sake) and the patient from the board game "Operation." (OUCH!) One young lady told me she was Janet Jackson, and I greeted this news with a shout of: "REPRESENT!" which I understand is something that the young people say nowadays, and it so tickled the crowd, I was afraid they were going to fall off the porch laughing. Speaking of laughing, it may be politically incorrect to mention, but when a young lad of color came to the door dressed as a ninja, complete with black-face camouflage on top of his already Nubian features, I admit that I laughed in spite of myself. Also speaking of politics, I was surprised there were no Hillary Clintons or Donald Trumps drumming up candy in our neighborhood, when the prevailing wisdom was that this would be the costume of choice this time around. And I can't say that she necessarily has a future in politics, but the most articulate youngster of the evening was a small girl who stood before me holding a dagger, wearing bulky (plastic) chains, and splashed with (fake) blood all over her outfit, so when I asked her what her costume was attempting to convey, she stated very matter-of-factly: "Well, to make a long story short, I am a creepy child." So there you have it, spook fans, a modern miss who doesn't pull any punches and isn't afraid to tell it like it is. In the end we had a total of 54 callers, which compares favorably with the previous 5 years when we saw 49, 42, 56, 50, and 0 for Hurricane Sandy in 2012. There was no break-out costume this year, unlike previously, when Elsa from "Frozen" was all the rage. There were 2 witches, 2 zombies, 3 ninjas, 4 princesses, and 6 superheroes. Harry Potter, Jason, and Freddy Kruger showed up, as well as a puppy, cat, mouse, monkey, cheetah, giraffe, and not one, but two Cats in the Hat. I had a vampire hunter, a nerd, a baby, Alice in Wonderland, Evie from "Descendants," Connor from "Assassins Creed," and an Imperial Storm Trooper from "Star Wars." I thought it was beautiful weather and didn't seem a bit chilly to me, but after a while I did notice that all of the superheroes were wearing coats (and I don't mind saying, it's a real challenge to distinguish Iron Man from Supergirl from Batman like that, I can tell you) and one poor shivering cheerleader had earmuffs, so I'm guessing it must have been a lot colder out than I supposed. It was all over by 8:30 PM, which I thought was early, especially considering that it was a very clear and calm night, but that seems to be the way of things in the present day, compared to when our old friends the dinosaurs and I roamed the vast unformed land masses in the primordial ooze. I was sorry to pack away the decorations for another year, but it was fun while it lasted, and I have no complaints about left-over fun-size candy bars, so that might be my favorite part right there. Actually, for my absolute favorite Halloween story this year, I can only tip my cap and thank the wonderful wide world of entertainment, as odd as that might seem. Alert viewers may be aware that Kevin James has a new TV show, as a retired Police Officer living in the suburbs of Massapequa, which I'm pretty sure was chosen because it is right on the border between Nassau and Suffolk counties. In fact, Long Island is practically its own character on the show, with place names or local landmarks liberally peppered into every episode, and the lead character's wardrobe consisting almost entirely of T-shirts from area sports teams, businesses, or tourist attractions. (Jones Beach, anyone?) Last week was their Halloween episode, featuring an innovative idea that was news to me, called Trunk-or-Treat, where people dress in costumes and bring their vehicles to a vacant parking lot, then open their trunks or tailgates to youngsters who pick their treats out of this confectionery bonanza. It actually makes a lot of sense, if you think about it, bringing the candy and the kids together in one place, rather than wandering around the dark streets at night and knocking on doors. One participant at the event was such an atrocious actor (and not hired for his movie-star good looks, either) that he went way beyond "Producer's-Nephew" bad - our usual benchmark of thespian ineptitude - into "Some Fan Won a Contest" bad, a whole new category I just invented to describe the level of incompetence. So you can imagine my surprise later when the credits came up after the show, only to reveal the woeful performer as none other than the Mets' ace fire-baller, Noah Syndergaard, no doubt thrilling sports and comedy fans alike with his off-beat cameo. In retrospect, it was the Viking costume that should have tipped me off, but I admit it was a swing and a miss on my part, and it turned out the laugh was on me. I thought that was so funny. Certainly beat the heck out of Trump and Hillary, although Bloorgety-bloorg-bloorg from Dipsey-doodle-dee-doo would probably give him a run for his money, if it came to that. Elle