Test Drive

Hello World, Happy April Fools Day! Saturday opens the new month with the day when all the fools come out to play - although it's been my experience through many long and challenging ages, that they don't require an official day to cavort about and wreak havoc upon the rest of humanity, heaven knows. In fact, if they were actually limited to just one day a year, the world could certainly be a much different place, and that might not be such a bad thing after all. On the other hand, any of us can play the fool at times, often without even realizing it. I was reminded of this when The Employer of Last Resort replaced their antiquated telephone equipment throughout the entire campus, for a brand new Northern Telecom system with all the latest bells and whistles at the time. They gave us all instruction manuals to explain the various buttons and features available to us, and I dutifully kept this trove of knowledge carefully secure in a desk drawer for probably 15 years or more. It was when I was cleaning out my office after the hospital went under, that was the first I noticed the instruction book was entirely in French, from cover to cover, and was obviously never going to be any help to me, if I ever did need it. Or should I say, merci beaucoup non. In other curious goings-on, I found myself behind a car last week, which was not remarkable in any way, or driving in a manner to call attention to itself by any means, except for its rather alarming license plate, which read: EYEDONOR - and while I applaud the selfless magnanimity of organ donors, I have to admit that finding myself on the road with this driver did not fill me with the steadfast confidence and reassurance that I would have preferred at the moment, I dare say. Which also reminded me of a recent Facebook post that purportedly explained how the tiny bumps on your car's steering wheel are Braille, to help blind drivers locate the horn if they need to honk at anyone. Here again, while I'm completely in favor of accessible communications for people of all ability levels, I have to wonder with some trepidation (and here, outright terror might not be out of the question either) BLIND DRIVERS???!!! The mind reels. As long as we're on the topic of eyes, alert readers may recall that I had a laser treatment years ago to correct an inherited cornea condition that was making it more and more impossible for me to see as time went by. That was in October 2013, beginning with my left eye (you can feel free to go right ahead and look that up, I'll wait ..... dum dee dum dum ..... ) and was supposed to be followed up with my right eye around 6 months later, but instead, I lost my job and health coverage, and that whole idea went by the boards. I hadn't considered that I wouldn't be able to find a new job with health benefits, but all these years later, it still hasn't happened, and since it may never happen at this rate, I had to face the quandary of what to do about the worsening condition of my right eye - especially since, even with my previous medical coverage, the entire process proved itself to be somewhat beyond our means, and working as a temp with no coverage at all, it would have been altogether out of reach. Into this impasse stepped a generous benefactor to make it possible for me to have the necessary procedure on my second eye, and I don't mind saying that I am really looking forward to it, especially after all this time. I can't imagine what it would be like to see clearly with two eyes, like just about the rest of everyone else in the world, but I would expect it to be interesting times ahead, and that's not just a lot of rose-colored glasses, believe me. And speaking of things to look forward to, I was recently apprised of a development announced by the minions at the Long Island State Parks & Historical Preservation Commission that there's a plan afoot to construct rental cabins at 2 of their state parks, Hither Hills and Wildwood, for the benefit of their long-suffering campers on all sides. Frankly, I have only one thing to say about that: "Be still, my beating heart!" The idea of cabins at Wildwood is something that I have dreamed of for literally decades, and while I don't expect them to be available by 2018 as they promised (AS IF!) I still think it's a great idea, and long overdue, and I can't wait to see how it turns out. In fact, of all the innovations that I had ever hoped would be introduced out there, I honestly believed that it would be the beach tram that would have been the first to become a reality, with cabins trailing along far in the distance, if at all. It occurred to me later that even if they build 10 of them (at a campground that already contains over 450 tent and trailer sites) I would never, A) be able to afford one for a week, or 2) manage to snag one for myself before they were all snapped up by the thundering herd of a clamoring populace yearning for an outdoor experience with more amenities. Of course, right now this is still nothing more than a hypothetical pipe dream, and may not pan out after all - or may not actually have any more amenities than the park already offers as it is, to be honest. But for that, I guess we'll all just have to wait and see, and when I'm at the park in July, it should be interesting to see if there's any hints of this forthcoming undertaking anywhere. I would expect them to have brochures with all of the details, but with my luck, they would probably be in French, n'est-ce pas. Elle

Rats!

Hello World, Happy Spring! For those of us in this hemisphere, the vernal equinox arrived right on schedule, this past Monday morning, and while chilly at the time, blossomed into a rather lovely day, in spite of bedraggled piles of snow still scattered about from the unwelcome visit by Winter Storm Stella last week, thanks not. In fact, we've had a refreshing string of clear sunny days in a row in the area, which is not only a nice change of pace, but can't help but give us all hope for better days ahead - and not a moment too soon, I don't mind saying. Of course, there's also several channels on TV where you can watch pre-season baseball in all its glory, and I can assure you that the sights and sounds of robust young men tossing around the old horsehide out in the balmy hinterlands of Florida or Arizona - well, it's certainly a tonic for what ails you, and that's not just a lot of peanuts and Cracker Jacks, believe me. I've lived here long enough to know that all too soon we'll all be complaining about the heat, but right now, it's nice to have something to look forward to. That reminds me when we went to visit my sister on Long Island, we brought along a printout of a cartoon that had been making the rounds in cyberspace lately, and thought that my sister would get a kick out of it as well. She was indeed tickled by its humor, and asked to keep it so she could share it with friends and colleagues here and there, as a break from the routine drudgery of the average day. We were happy to oblige, but I warned her not to be surprised to find out that everyone else she knew, active on social media, had already seen it before on Facebook - or I explained, as they are calling it now, "Facebook minus Diane," since she's the only person in the entire world who still doesn't already have an account. She laughed. And speaking of social media, here is our LOL of the Day, courtesy of Twitter: ===================================== When the man who invented the intermittent windshield wiper died, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Then there was. Then there wasn't. ===================================== Meanwhile, I discovered last week that our friends at www.verizoncustomerservicenumber.com encourage us to "Leave Your Ratting for Verizon Customer Service!" Here I'm thinking, I have to very much doubt that they really want my "ratting" on their customer service, especially after being on hold with their telephone version of tech help (AS IF!) with loud scratchy synthesized music at such length, that I forgot who I had called, and when they did finally pick up, I asked to buy 2 tickets for the O'Jays concert. (Sorry, that was the punch line to a different joke altogether.) What with it being Lent and all, I figured I should refrain from leaving any "ratting" at their web site, but I admit it was a tempting opportunity that was hard to pass up - and that goes double for the rats, I dare say. And while we're on the topic of people not saying what they mean (one hopes!) here's a headline that you wouldn't expect there would be any reason to see, and yet here it was in last week's newspaper, big as life: ================================= Yonkers bans bullets in schools ================================= (I'm going to let that sink in for just a moment.) By golly, the dinosaurs and I can remember a time when the very thought of ammunition in school was so outlandish that there was no need to have a policy about it in the first place. Back in the day, as they say, that would have been like handing out a directive to say, "Until further notice, students and faculty are prohibited from bringing their unicorns onto school property." One might suppose that guns have already been banned by the minions overseeing the Yonkers school system, and bullets are simply following along in their wake of guilt by association, but this is not the case. They modified the Weapons Law [please insert elaborate eye rolling from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery here] to criminalize bringing explosive devices to school, including bullets, ammunition, grenades, bombs, or fireworks. Well, all I can say is, school has certainly changed since the thousands of centuries since I graduated, and not necessarily for the better, I can tell you that. In other local news, Bill and I were going out to dinner last week when we collided head-on with some sort of police activity (which might have been nothing more than closing streets for a parade or block party, perhaps) and were therefore stymied in our attempts to reach our intended target for the meal of our choice. We were already hungry and getting grumpy, so we turned in the opposite direction to find some other eatery that we could actually reach, and we found ourselves at Pizza Hut, more or less out of the blue. We hadn't been there in years upon years, but we were prepared to give them another shot, on the assumption that things had changed since our last visit, which I believe was in The Paleozoic Era. Like many chains nowadays, they have completely revised their menu to include numerous pub-style options, like wings and sliders, to go along with their signature pizza, and we found their choices wide-ranging and interesting. We took a chance on their cheesy breadsticks, stuffed garlic knots, and French fries - which were not only out of this world, but each one was better than the next. I figured I would like the stuffed garlic knots, with the breadsticks and fries just tossed in for good measure, but they were all outstanding, and each one worth the trip all by itself. The breadsticks were clouds of savory goodness that seemed to simply melt away in your mouth, so that the entire platter was gone before you knew it. In contrast, the French fries were sturdy and deep fried, packing a wallop of hearty potato flavor that you just don't get anymore, and I could have made a meal of just that and been perfectly satisfied. I hate to say that the poor stuffed garlic knots, ostensibly the star of our meal, suffered in comparison to these other surprising treats, and while they were certainly delectable, we didn't rave over them like the others. We went home full and happy, and inordinately grateful to whoever's parade or block party prevented us from having another merely humdrum meal at our original destination, and missing a gastronomic adventure that was well worth the detour. Anyway, it was probably just as well, since the other place was right near a school, and I obviously would have had to ditch my bullets and unicorn first. Elle

Party Central

Hello World, Top o' the mornin' to ya! Normally, here is where I'd be saying that this is the time for all good souls of the old sod to get their green on, because after all, everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day, etc., etc. Not so fast! The plain truth of the matter is that local communities around here have long since been celebrating the saint's special day with parades and activities for weeks already, so that it scarcely qualifies as current events any longer. But that is one of the peculiar charms of movable feasts, and The Holiday Police notwithstanding, I maintain that there is no wrong way to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, from the tail-end of February, to the very doorstep of April, with plenty of green beer to go around. Anyway, something must be working, green beer or not, because there wasn't the annual donnybrook and legal wrangling over the venerable parade in New York City, or even the more recent news frenzy over politicians boycotting the time-worn march for the newer versions that have popped up around the boroughs, whose aim is to include all of the disgruntled groups who felt unwelcomed by the exclusionary policies of the original. I admit that it doesn't really seem like St. Patrick's Day around here without all the usual controversy, but I'm sure this new and improved spirit of peace and harmony would cheer the heart of the good saint, and that's certainly not just a bunch of blarney, believe me. Speaking of movable feasts, last weekend also brought us the random scourge that is Daylight Saving Time, that seems to come earlier and last longer every year, and twice as unwelcome at that. Of course, with a new administration in Washington, there's always the possibility that someone will decide that enough is enough, and do away with the whole tomfoolery altogether, if only for the sake of an aggrieved citizenry struggling with the dreaded time change twice a year. In fact, I heard on the radio about scientific studies that show a pronounced spike in heart attacks and strokes in the two days following the DST switch-over, as well as increased car accidents, a drop in retail sales, adjustment difficulties for farm animals, and general complaints of moodiness, sleep problems, and lower productivity at work. Heck, if this was a drug that the pharmaceutical companies were trying to introduce, with these sorts of side effects, they would be laughed out of the FDA so fast, it would make their heads spin, by golly. And frankly, for anyone who's a farmer with a family history of heart disease and drives a car, I really don't care for their chances all that much. On the other side of the coin, March also brings us some immovable feasts, of which our anniversary is one, and my birthday is another, although I admit that we don't always celebrate them on the actual date in question. We took advantage of our anniversary falling on a Friday to invite our friends to join us at La Villa Brick Oven Pizza & Restaurant for dinner, and it was all that we could have hoped for. Alert readers may recall that we had tried to do this once before with these same friends, only it turned out that we inadvertently went to two different restaurants and waited in vain for the other couple to show up, which was as unsatisfying as it was embarrassing at the time. So for this dinner date, cooler heads prevailed, and we went there in one car, to avoid any unfortunate slip-ups in time, date, or location that plagued our first attempt. Everything worked out much better this time around, and our friends enjoyed their eggplant and lasagna with no complaints. For my birthday the following week, we went to visit my sister on Long Island, and had lunch at Denny's, where they offer a free birthday Grand Slam with no strings attached, and we were all over that like a bad suit. My sister also provided special birthday decorations, and snacks like eclairs and brownies, so the birthday train was definitely firing on all cylinders, as it were. To keep us occupied, she trotted out a small puzzle, and even though it looked simple and only had about 100 pieces, it still managed to thwart our best efforts, and in the end, after much time wasted, we were left with 2 blank spaces and 2 pieces that did not match, thanks not. But it was still a very nice birthday, even with the dinosaurs reminding me, once again, that I am not only older than dirt, but that I was the one who first told Thak that his invention of the wheel was nothing more than a fad that would never catch on. In other local news during the week, we took a hit from Winter Storm Stella, which roared across the country and into our region, dumping deep swaths of snow every which where, up to several feet in some areas. It wasn't that bad here, and I was lucky that the construction company where I'm working now was closed on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I didn't have to try to battle the conditions and get to the office all the way on the other side of the county. Bill works at home, so he had no travel issues, and we were able to free up one of the cars to get out if we needed to. A bigger problem was the continued freezing temperatures, especially overnight, so that even with several days of bright sunshine, there was a notable lack of melting in the piles of snow everywhere. It doesn't seem possible that the first day of spring will be here on Monday, with its age-old promises of flowers, gentle breezes, and better days ahead. At least that's what we're hoping for around here, although I admit that this arresting headline in the local newspaper last week really gave me pause: ============================ New stunt school brings Hollywood flare to New Rochelle ============================ Gee, I sure hope not! Here I'm thinking, about the last thing we need is flares in the Queen City downtown, on top of everything else. Alas, as is all too often the case, the spell-checker is not going to help the poor befuddled headline writer who chooses the incendiary "flare" in the place of the more stylish "flair" in this situation, and changing the tone of the article from the merely interesting, to more alarming levels at a stroke. According to the story, their goal is to train participants how to fall safely, throw a punch or kick for visual effect, use weapons correctly, and engage in fight sequences without getting hurt. There's no mention of how to handle flares, so one can only assume that is not included in the coursework, in spite of the headline's inference to the contrary. So if you've ever harbored a hankering to be involved in a classic bar-room brawl like in the movies, I invite you to check out our friends at Up Against the Wall Stunt School here in town, for all the fist-flying, rough-and-tumble action that you can handle. But please, leave your flares at home. Elle

Kitchen Nightmares

Greetings, Mr. & Mrs. America, and all the ships at sea: It's really true that anyone at all, who spends any time at all on social media, would know that it was my birthday last week, thanks to our friends at Facebook - from whom no secret is safe, and privacy is just an antiquated notion from a bygone era - and admittedly, things seem to have slipped away from us in an overall sense of dropping through the cracks, laying down on the job, and falling asleep at the switch, like some irresponsible malingerer out on a spree. And so, in honor of my (now belated) natal day, I have called upon JULIEBUGSMAMA and her friends at www.seriouseats.com for a couple of kitchen cautionary tales that should, at the very least, make the rest of us feel better knowing that no matter how bad things may appear, they can indeed always be worse, believe it or not. So without further ado, anchors aweigh, Miss Julie! ============================= HALF-BAKED I remember it like it was yesterday, even though now it's been 28 years. Mom and I decided it was time to get a serious cleaning done in the kitchen. We scrubbed the kitchen floors on our hands and knees, and then followed up with a hand applied wax. Then we tackled the oven. Not a self-cleaning oven, rather an old-fashioned gas oven which needed to be sprayed and scraped and scrubbed. This took the better part of a whole day. We then decided that, as a reward for all of our efforts and toil, we would bake a batch of Toll House cookies. So we measured, sifted, and stirred, then put our rounded tablespoon measures of perfect cookie dough onto our greased cookie sheets, and went to put them into our pristinely scrubbed and preheated oven, which sat on our shiny, freshly waxed floor. Then it happened. The fates looked upon our activities and smiled a sinister smile. In this June Cleaver moment, they instead envisioned Lucille Ball ... and the planets re-aligned to alter the scene. My stockinged feet slipped ever so slightly, just at the precise moment I was leaning into the oven with the cookie sheet full of dough. The sheet up-ended, landing dough-side down all over the hot interior of the opened oven door. Frustrated and panicked that the cookies would begin baking on the hot surface, my mother filled a bucket of hot, soapy water. We set the bucket down on the clean floor. We began scooping hot, melty cookie dough out of the oven, and into the bucket of soapy water. Just as we were cleaning the last of the mess out of the oven, my knee hit the bucket. Two gallons of sludgey, cookie-dough, melted-chocolate-infused water spilled all over our newly waxed floor, leaving a pool of mush and mayhem all over the kitchen. We sat in the mess and laughed until we cried. Even though it was, by all counts, a complete kitchen disaster, it remains one of my mother's and my favorite memories of being together in the kitchen. What is your funny kitchen disaster story? <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> COMMENTS: Oh Julie, thank heaven you could both laugh about it. What a hilarious story! Here's mine: It was one of those days where you didn't have an extra minute. I had a toddler and an infant. I was baking a cake and was stressed-out because I had a million things to do. I forget who the cake was for, but probably somebody's birthday. Anyway, I had mixed it and was walking the bowl across the kitchen to pour it into the baking pans when I slipped, threw the bowl into the air and when it hit the floor, not only did it break, but batter was everywhere, including the ceiling. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So, I cleaned it up and started over. About a week later we were visiting my husband's family when his mother dropped something, and my adorable little angel daughter, who was just learning to talk, let out a long string of very inappropriate 4-letter words in a row, getting louder and louder. Of course, my shocked mother-in-law wanted to know where she had heard such language. (Hanging head in shame.) I promised myself that I would be really careful not to drop stuff and curse for a long time after that, although it was my dear hubby's suggestion that I be banned from baking, since it made me hostile and use really bad words. PerkyMac

Paint Your Wagon

Hello World, Happy March! I won't say that the month actually came roaring in like a lion on Wednesday, but it did kick February to the curb unceremoniously, hard on the heels of Mardi Gras on the 28th, without so much as a backward glance. Mardi Gras seemed to go off without a hitch, and there were no big news stories of celebration-related calamities coming out of that (French) quarter. Of course, the 28th was also Shrove Tuesday, once renowned for its lavish pancake suppers, but now that is apparently nothing more than a relic from a bygone era that has pretty much faded into oblivion by now. In current events, it seems like they've really put The Little Rascals gang (our younger readers may need to ask their grandparents about that) in charge of the Kremlin's infernal weather machine recently - one day it will be a balmy 70 degrees with blazing sunshine around here, and the next it will be 20 degrees with snow flurries and gale force winds, thanks not. It's no wonder the vast assemblage of prognosticating marmots couldn't agree on anything for Groundhog Day. March started off with a bang this week with Ash Wednesday, ushering in the penitential season of Lent for grouchy Christians everywhere, who have given up things that they like for the next 7 weeks, presenting a more than hypothetical danger to the rest of humanity in the process, and I still maintain, should be required to wear warning signs for the duration. We had our usual Ash Wednesday service at church, and I bumped into a parishioner whose family has been one of the pillars of the congregation for generations, but she said she had never been to the Ash Wednesday service before. "And the church didn't even burn down," I declared congenially, "so I guess that means that we can lay those rumors to rest once and for all." She laughed. Also at church, the festival of the Transfiguration was celebrated on Sunday, and perhaps owing to a little too much sacramental wine on the part of the projectionist, we were greeted with this somewhat perplexing slide on the projection screen: ====================== His face shown like the sun. ~ Matthew 17:1 ====================== I will not blame St. Matthew for "shown" instead of "shone," but apparently you can't count on the good Saint, or your spell-checker, to help when you simply use the wrong word, rather than mis-spelling the right word, alas. In other church-related matters, I had previously described how the corner of the Concordia College campus gets decorated with voluminous displays of lawn decorations for various holidays, most recently Valentines Day and Presidents Day. Well, I'm here to report that things continue apace on the ostentatious corner, and it didn't take long for the inflatable Uncle Sam to get the old heave-ho, only to be replaced by dozens of Irish flags, and - I kid you not - giant inflatable leprechauns, begorrah. It certainly seems as if they've got way too much spare time on their hands at Concordia - and not to mention, perhaps too much sacramental wine besides, I dare say. And speaking of lawns, I can't let the end of February slip away without remarking on our veritable explosion of early crocus all over our yard on February 25th, springing up in hearty patches of deep purple on all sides, and a more welcome harbinger of spring would be hard to come by. Bill even found very early jonquils popping up in the backyard, with shoots of daffodils and hyacinths not far behind. It's pointless to mention spring birds, heaven knows, because the winter has been generally so mild that they basically just stayed here the entire time, and seeing robins on the wing has no particular significance at this point - and more's the pity, I'm sure. And while we're on the subject of colorful things, we have our resident artist, Bill, to thank for the following observation about the wonderful world of cars: ============================== I wonder why no one seems to have thought of no paint at all? A clear-coated raw metal and plastic marvel. (Maybe a matte clear-coat so you don't reflect into the eyes of other drivers.) And think how inexpensive it would be to replace a bumper -- let alone a door panel -- without having to paint it? ============================== I think he may be on to something there. I mean, when you think about it, that's really not such a bad idea after all, and it's a wonder that car enthusiasts haven't embraced this concept long before now. It would certainly be different, set the vehicle apart from all the others, and as conversation pieces go, it would be hard to beat. Heck, I've already come up with a slogan for them: "Go nude, or go home." You saw it here first, folks! Meanwhile at work, I was in the office last week, where they have the monitors that show what is on the security cameras in the garage and outside in the parking lot, and which I have to say, is a lot less interesting than it sounds like it would be. Mostly I just look at them to see what the weather is like, because there are no windows in the garage, and after a while, it can start to feel somewhat disconnected from reality in the office. I heard a funny noise, so I checked the camera just below the office inside the garage, but couldn't see anything. But apparently there must have been a person just out of range of the camera, because I could plainly see a variety of items coming off the shelves below the camera, but not anybody moving them - even though somebody clearly must have been there. It was fascinating to watch, in an offbeat sort of way, as an assortment of lumber, tools, paint cans, copper pipes, and supplies danced through the air, entirely on their own, and effortlessly stacked themselves in a neat pile, by all appearances, untouched by human hands. The whole thing reminded me of nothing so much as an old episode of "Topper" (okay, youngsters, once again - go ask your grandparents about that one) where the prop department would fly objects on fishing line through the scene as if the resident ghosts were moving them in their other-worldly transparency. I didn't bother to check the parking lot cameras, on the theory that if it really was ghosts, they would certainly be driving an invisible car - but then it occurred to me that, of anyone, ghosts would probably go wild for Bill's nude car paint innovation, and let's face it, this is a demographic that has been woefully neglected by the auto industry up to now. Honestly, where is Earl Scheib when you need him??? (Okay, children - oh, never mind.) Elle