Post Haste

Hello World, Happy Hanukkah! The Festival of Lights will be upon us on Tuesday, bringing its own special joys of the season, and not to mention, plenty of rugelach and hamentashen besides, I shouldn't wonder. It's also true that Advent started last Sunday, almost a whole week later this year because Christmas is on a Monday. Speaking of things that are late, I found myself coming home from work this week behind a large truck from appliance giant P.C. Richard & Sons, which was emblazoned all over with the announcement that they are still going strong in their 105th year in business. For me, this begs the question of what exactly were they selling to the likes of John Q. Public way back in 1912 anyway - wood burning stoves? Horse-drawn lawnmowers?? Steam-powered toasters??? The mind reels. And speaking of other traffic-related matters that make us wonder in transit, everyone may or may not be aware that our friends at Nissan manufacture a broad range of SUV's to suit a variety of lifestyles and budgets, such as their popular Rogue. I personally know that they make this vehicle, because I often find myself behind them on the highways and byways, and it has its name clearly on the back for all the world to see, even me. But yesterday, I was stopped at a traffic light in back of one, and even though it was obviously a Nissan, the chrome lettering on the back very plainly identified itself as "Rouge" instead of "Rogue," for some reason. I realize that many people think that I don't see very well (with the ill-mannered snickering from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery only adding insult to injury, I dare say) but at that distance, and the size of the lettering, even I could see it plain as day. Perhaps even a red-letter day, at that. Meanwhile, the AOL Welcome screen may have startled alert readers with this arresting tidbit last week: ============================== Princess Charlotte sparks furry at private tennis club The 2 year old princess' presence at an exclusive club has left members upset for one major reason ============================== Well, everyone knows by now what I always say about modern technology being a double-edged sword, and in a case like that, the spell-checker is going to be of no help at all, if you pick the wrong word (furry) in place of the right word (fury) but even though it's the wrong word, it's still spelled right. Later, I received an email from a colleague that concluded with this curious advisory: [ ... lick here for the accessible version ] Gee, I sure hope not! I realize that touch screens are all the rage now, but I can promise you that the day hasn't dawned when I am going to lick any of my devices for any reason (including covered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream, and that's saying something, believe me) and I am unanimous in that, by golly. It might have been later on that same day when I noticed a football game in the TV listings with a match-up between Dallas and Washington DC coming to us direct from AT&T Stadium, deep in the heart of Texas, where the stars at night are big and bright, pard'ner. [Please insert jingling spurs and warbling harmonica music here.] In any event, it made me wonder if anyone else might find it funny to consider all of these young men outside playing cowboys and Indians, which was a common enough activity way back in the old days, among those of us "of a certain age." What's next - kick the can? Stickball?? Ringolevio??? The mind continues to reel. Elsewhere out in the wide world, there has been a new and unwelcome development on the sidewalks, which may come as an unpleasant surprise to unwary postal patrons nowadays. Apparently the Post Office, in its infinite wisdom (actually, the phrase "idle hands are the devil's plaything" springs immediately to mind) has eliminated the handy pull-down flap on area mail boxes, and replaced it with nothing more than a narrow slot that is just wide enough to slip one slender envelope through it at a time, thanks not. I can't help but think that this would get old really quickly, and turn into a big fat nuisance for beleaguered folks tasked with the chore of mailing out a voluminous amount of holiday cards to their nearest and dearest - or even worse, hundreds of wedding invitations, God forbid. In fact, even at the Post Office itself, they've removed the handy boxes out by the curb with the extended chute out the back, so that you can no longer conveniently slide all of your mail right down the chute from the comfort of your car, without having to get out and walk around to the front, and once again, thanks so very much not. I'm sure that this is what they call progress, and I say, the heck with it. It's no wonder they came up with the expression "going postal" in the first place, and I've got half a mind to jump on my post horse and take the post road to complain to the post master general, and at a post trot besides. On the other hand, as much as I would love to just stay here and blather on and on, I see they're getting together a game of hopscotch outside, and my potsy is still in the wash, so I'd better hop, skip, and jump right on out of here, if you know what I mean. Elle