Queen Of The Hop

Hello World,     Hong Kong Bok Choy! The time has certainly come to pull out all the stops, and wish everyone a very healthy and prosperous Chinese New Year, and don’t spare the paper lanterns and fire dragons, my good man! This is the Year of the Dog for anyone born in 2018, 2006, 1994, 1982, 1970, 1958, 1946, 1934, 1922, 1910, or 1898, and as anyone can tell you, Dog people are often considered to possess the best traits of human nature. They are honest, friendly, faithful, loyal, smart, straightforward, venerable, and have a strong sense of responsibility. On the negative side, they may be self-righteous, cold, stubborn, slippery, critical of others, and not good at social activities – with the possible exception of obstacle courses, that is. So cover yourself in red, get out there and paint the town red, and make it a red-letter day all around, to ring in the new year in style. Toss in some red wine, and you can be auspiciously red on the inside as well as the outside, because after all, who wouldn’t rather be red? (Don’t answer that, Sen. McCarthy!) (All of you youngsters out there can ask your grandparents about that one.)     Even without the parades and fireworks on Friday, this was an extremely eventful week all on its own. Of course, Shrove Tuesday was on the 13th, and the annual bacchanalia known as Mardi Gras, turning The Big Easy on its collective ear for the duration. When it comes to “Any excuse for a party,” Mardi Gras pretty much wrote the book on that scenario, and that’s not just the king cakes and beads talking, believe me. Wednesday brought us Valentine’s Day, where all things hearts and flowers, or satin and lace, were de rigeur, and chocolate was the order of the day. This was in sharp contrast with Ash Wednesday, also happening on the same day, a time devoted to self-denial, somber reflection, and aiming for spiritual improvement going forward during the season of Lent. Frankly, I was hoping that our cats would take this opportunity to give up their dastardly habit of being continually under my feet at every moment of the day and night, but so far I don’t see any of them taking the moral high ground on this ethical question, and more’s the pity, I’m sure. Apparently the kitties don’t care about Lent one way or another – that is, until Palm Sunday rolls around, and then it’s a whole different story, I can tell you that.     And while we’re on the topic of notable dates, we were surprised at work to receive a broadcast voice mail message from Yonkers City Hall that they were going to be treating Abraham Lincoln’s traditional birthday as an actual independent holiday on the 12th, suspending trash pickup, closing schools, and shutting municipal offices, of all things. Mind you, this is on top of the federal Presidents Day holiday next week on the 19th, presumably including The Great Emancipator along with the rest of the thundering executive herd, when everything will be totally closed up all over again. Now, I defer to no one in my appreciation of our 16th President, but even I find that clearly excessive – and that’s not just a bunch of Lincoln logs and stovepipe hats, by golly.     Here’s a few other February tidbits that should be squeezed in before the month suddenly runs out, in less than 2 weeks already. Of course, the 2nd day of the month is famous for being Groundhog Day, which is also a well-known movie comedy of the same name, where the identical things keep happening over and over again, with humorous results. Alert readers may have noticed this comment on social media at the time, which creates its own circular logic: =========================== Dr. Awkward - They should announce that they are making a sequel to Groundhog Day & just show the original again. ===========================     Also obviously, anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock lately can tell you that the Winter Olympic Games are taking place in Pyeongchang, South Korea – with plenty of luge, biathlon, curling, figure skating, snowboarding, hockey, and skiing for all, and maybe more than enough for some of us, I dare say. The leaders in medal count so far are Norway and Germany, with the USA trailing off in the distance, and since the NHL opted to keep its players out of the competition, we can’t even count on that (professional) advantage to boost our meager results, alas.  In other sporting events, The Big Game gets out of the way on the first Sunday in February, but we mustn’t also forget the paw-some Kitten Bowl from our friends at The Hallmark Channel (not to mention, aww-some!) which around our house is considered counter-programming at its finest, and for a good cause besides. This premier nationwide adoption event gets bigger and better every year – and let’s face it, could it possibly be any cuter? (I don’t think so!) This year featured animals rescued from hurricanes in 2017, including Harvey, Irma, and Maria, in the wake of those storms taking an impartial toll on people, animals, and businesses alike, thanks not. We also have this final note from the TV Section Best Bets, regarding what they refer to as the NBA All-Star weekend. Its kickoff was on Friday with the NBA All-Star Celebrity Game, that included comic Kevin Hart and singer Pharrell Williams joining retired NBA players, and members of the WNBA, for some light-hearted hoops action with plenty of fun and games inside and outside the paint. And since it’s February, let’s not forget that would be red paint, after all, and keep it coming.     Meanwhile at work, I often invoke that age-old vaudeville joke about my office being so small (“How small was it?”) that you would have to go outside to change your mind (rim-shot, please!) but then, sometimes it turns out that it’s not small enough. Last week I took off one of my shoes to remove a pebble, and suddenly realized that I could hear a faint humming noise somewhere. All at once it dawned on me that it must be my cell phone trying to get my attention, only because of the new operating system that was recently updated, it doesn’t ring or buzz anymore, making it insanely easy to miss incoming calls, even when it’s sitting right next to you, much less on the other side of the office with one shoe off – and once again, thanks so very much not. In a perhaps misguided attempt to snag the ill-timed call before it was too late, I immediately started to hop across the floor in my one shoe toward the phone, flinging myself on it at the end, without regard to my personal safety, like a single-minded Olympic athlete in hot pursuit of a world record. It occurred to me later that it was just as well there are no surveillance cameras in office, or this could have very quickly turned into a viral video, and not putting my best foot forward, by any means. And to say that the “5-Meter Phone Hop” is not likely to be accepted as a medal sport in the upcoming Summer Games, would be an understatement of Olympic proportions, by Jove. Elle

Cause For Alarm

Hello World,     Happy February! Of course, it's all too easy to complain about the weather at this time of year, but anyone who's paying attention can tell you that there's a delightful progression of earlier sunrises, and later sunsets, so that every day is getting undeniably lighter and lighter, longer and longer, one after another as they go along. It may still be winter, but I think this is the kind of happy direction that we can all appreciate the days going in, so we're not getting up in the dark and coming home in the dark, and living like mole people on some god-forsaken outer planet where the sun has gone out. This is way better, if only incrementally so, and giving us all reason to hope for better days ahead. Besides, when it comes to weather, everyone knows that things can always be worse, heaven knows, and often in the most unexpected ways, by golly.     As a cautionary tale, our local newspaper recently ran a story about a nearby resident who was enjoying her vacation in blissful Aruba (and sipping a cool Margarita wouldn't be out of the question either, I dare say) when she decided to check the weather app on her phone - only to be confronted with a screaming orange notice announcing a tsunami warning for the White Plains vicinity (!!!) and where her empty house was ostensibly waiting placidly for her return. Sure enough, apparently the National Weather Service had unaccountably issued a tsunami warning for the east coast of the United States, on top of already being 26 degrees and snowing at the time, thanks not. Unfortunately, due to the emergency alert for an incoming ballistic missile attack in Hawaii last month, the citizenry is justifiably jittery that these alarming notices might turn out to be truly real (after all, the bogus missile attack particularly specified: "THIS IS NOT A DRILL") and don't dare disregard the announcements without fear of the consequences. Luckily after some time went by (which probably felt a lot longer than it might have been, for anyone waiting ominously for a tsunami to hit, I shouldn't wonder) the weather folks posted a recorded statement that there was no tsunami warning for our area, in an attempt to calm down any callers or visitors to their web site - especially considering that White Plains is a full seven miles from the Long Island Sound, much less the Atlantic Ocean, so that would have to be the mother and father of all rampant alien mutant tsunamis to hit all the way over there in the first place, believe me. For their part, the minions at the weather service released a rather perfunctory message, under the extraordinary circumstances: "We are currently looking into why the test message was communicated as an actual tsunami warning and will provide more information as soon as we have it. Local officials are being notified that there is no tsunami threat at this time." As for our vacationing beachcomber, she decided that the appropriate response was to order another round of drinks, although perhaps this time something with a bit more stiffness to it than Margaritas, I wouldn't be surprised.     Well, you know it's the middle of February when even the Super Bowl is over and done with, and there will be literally no more football on television for whole weeks at a time from this point. The last Sunday in January brought us the Pro Bowl from Camping World Stadium in sunny Orlando, with the AFC Pro Stars just edging out the NFC Pro Stars, by overcoming a 17-point deficit to stun their rivals 24-23 at the wire. The NFC had built a comfortable 20-3 lead before half-time, but finally the AFC went ahead with 90 seconds left in the game, and then their defense sacked the quarterback to seal the win and make those last points stand up, for the AFC's second win in a row. For a contest that CBS Sport generally describes as "an exhibition game filled with soft tackles, trick plays, and many interceptions," this one had a surprising amount of juice instead, and no joke.     Meanwhile, up in the frigid north last week, the plucky Philadelphia Eagles carried off their first ever Vince Lombardi Trophy in franchise history, against the mighty New England Patriots in Super Bowl LII, one might almost say in decisive fashion, if the score is any indication. Mind you, this is quite an accomplishment for a team that finished last in the NFC East at the end of 2016, of all things, when the vaunted Pats were going on to win Super Bowl LI. Actually, the score sounded closer than it was, except for yet another improbable late game comeback from a Patriots team all too well known for them - but not this time, because the defense swarmed all over them like a horde of angry bees, and the Eagles then tacked on some insurance points with a last-minute field goal on top of it all. And for all of the fans and odds-makers who expected New England to win their second trophy in a row, I'm sure they all felt like a misguided White Plains tsunami had smashed into Minneapolis instead, and they certainly didn't see that one coming. Seriously, where are the tsunami warnings when you need them?     On the local scene, Bill and I snatched a couple of unsuspecting friends of ours, and dragged them off on one of our downtown adventures, on the theory that they are simply much too well-mannered to complain, even if they hated every minute of it. So last Friday after work, we jumped aboard a very crowded commuter train to Grand Central Terminal for the first segment of the excursion, and managed to accomplish that without incident. (That includes using digital apps on Bill's phone for the parking garage and train tickets, so it's not as easy as it sounds, believe me.) It's probably been decades since our friends had any reason to be in Grand Central, so we took some time to show them around the lower level and concourse, always impressive enough to make just about anybody stand around gawking like the most star-struck tourists fresh off the turnip truck, and I ought to know. Outside, we were surprised to wait on line for a taxi, when usually there are plenty of taxis already lined up for everyone who wants one. After a short delay, we were on our usual hair-raising ride into lower Manhattan, and once again, the fact that we arrived at our destination in one piece is irrefutable proof that the Age of Miracles has not passed, Amen. We stepped into The City Winery with plenty of time to enjoy dinner and drinks before the show, and you can believe me when I say that we made the most of it - with not only a sampling of appetizers and entrees, but their famous flat-breads and signature hearty hand-cut fries as well. Our friends were impressed that The City Winery actually makes their own wines, and did not hesitate to give them a try, and glad of it. Thus fortified, we settled in for a long program of rather eclectic music by Amber Rubarth (a personal favorite of Bill's that we have seen before) and Joe Purdy, who is new to us. They are performing together in a small independent film called "American Folk" (and please do feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.americanfolkmovie.com and see for yourself) which is a sort of road trip travelogue through the country, full of memorable classic folk music along the way. This show was part of their tour for the movie, and although not the type of music that we would normally go out and see, we found it all much more interesting than we would have expected. For our friends, this was pretty much virgin territory all around, and they lapped it up like honey (although in fairness, that might have had more to do with all of the wine than anything else) and were more than ready to sign up for any other shows we wanted to invite them to, sight unseen. Now, it must be said that we've been to many of these tiny venues featuring alt-indie musicians, and they generally play for about 45 minutes to an hour, before making way for the next performers - so we were more surprised than anybody to look up and find out it was just about 11:00 PM when it was all wrapped up, and we were taking another death-defying cab ride back to the train station. You can believe that we didn't shilly-shally, but hopped right on the train home, and even still, didn't cross our threshold until after midnight, and here we were, still awake and on our feet. Also please keep in mind that our combined ages for this escapade (let's see ..... carry the 2 ..... divide by pi ..... take the square root ..... multiply by the radius ..... find the right angle ..... round up to the nearest prime number ..... ) would be somewhere in the neighborhood of The Paleozoic Era, if carbon dating is to be believed.  And let's face it, if we can't trust science and technology, what kind of world would this be anyway?  (INCOMING!!!) Elle

Get Over It

Hello World, If it’s 6:00 AM on Friday, this would certainly be the song of the day (and the next day, and the next, and the next ….. ) “They say we’re young and we don’t know Won’t find out until we grow Well, I don’t know if all that’s true ‘cause you got me, and baby, I got you Babe, I got you, babe I got you, babe ….. “ And if it is indeed the day in question, I wish a very happy Groundhog Day to all, with the fuzzy prognosticators poking out of their burrows right on schedule to offer their opinions on the weather – presumably on the theory that they can’t possibly do a worse job than the meteorologists who get paid the big bucks on TV to do just that. (Although frankly, I personally think that I could randomly throw darts at a board and do a better job than that, on mere chance alone.) Of course, it’s also Super Bowl weekend, with the big event happening on Sunday in Minnesota, cheering the hearts of beer companies, pizza makers, and potato chip purveyors everywhere – and that’s not just a lot of Buffalo hot wings, believe me. And of course, February still has much more to offer, even with that as a start, obviously including Black History Month from beginning to end. “But that’s not all!” as they always declare on late night infomercials. On the 13th is Shrove Tuesday, made even sweeter perhaps with the revitalizing sight of young men frolicking in the grass, as pitchers & catcher report for spring training throughout Florida and Arizona, with plenty of hot dogs and cotton candy for all, by Casey. That same Tuesday is also Mardi Gras, although I probably should say “the first day of Mardi Gras,” since according to the media reports, that celebration appears to go on for about a week nowadays, and not limited to Tuesday, no matter how fat. As if all of that wasn’t enough to pile onto the same day, it’s no better on Wednesday, with Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day both squeezing onto the 14th, as well as ushering the season of Lent, for anyone looking for another chance to fail at unrealistic expectations, if New Year resolutions weren’t already enough of that. The 16th brings us the first day of Chinese New Year, and you’d have to look long and hard for a better excuse for a party, so get out there and shake your dragon booty with all the paper lanterns and rice wine that you can muster. On the serious side, we honor all things presidential on the 19th with Presidents Day, which is one of those occasions that some places observe, while others give it a pass, and you never know what to expect from the schools, banks, stores, or garbage pickup, from one location to the next. The month finally wraps up (whew!) with Purim on the 28th, and although something is telling me that it’s not a festival about Purell hand sanitizer (that something would be the ill-mannered snickering from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery, thanks not) I’m afraid that I have no alternative theories on what it might be instead, so that will have to do for now. And while we’re on the topic of getting our facts straight, I will be the first to admit that my familiarity of California geography is spotty at best, so I knew when I was trying to find out if San Diego is farther south than Pasadena, I realized that I was going to need more than a little help. Incredibly, with the resources of the entire Internet at our very fingertips, this is one thing that is impossible to pin down, no matter how hard you try, or how many search engines you turn to, however sophisticated they might be. You would think that this sort of query would be routine for even the most rudimentary search engine, but I discovered that no matter how many different ways you phrase the question, the results are completely unhelpful to a staggering degree, that would seem impossible to achieve under ordinary circumstances. I finally asked the mighty Wolfram Alpha to give me the distance between the two cities, only to have it come up with the unlikely answer of 3,299 miles (!!!) because it decided that I was asking about Pasadena, Maryland, of all things. Honestly, you can’t make this stuff up. Also on the subject of being out and about, I don’t know if this is true for all cat owners, but it’s certainly true around our house that you literally can’t take two steps without being forced to wade through a sea of fur on every side, and I don’t mind saying, thanks not. Apparently these blithely oblivious kitties have no dread of being stepped on, so they make not even the slightest effort to get out of your way – in fact, if you’re trying to make any type of forward progress at all, they will very deliberately walk in front of you in a sort of zig-zag pattern, so no matter which way you turn, they’re still directly under your feet. They seem to consider this particularly effective if you’re on the stairs, or even better, carrying things at the time, and once again, thanks so very much not. Even worse, for the first time now, we have the only clairvoyant cat in our family history of furry individuals, who somehow seems to know where it is that I’m planning to go, so that she’s already in my way before I even get there. If I’m going to check the mail, she’s right in front of the door, and if I’m in the market for a cold drink, sure enough, she’ll be plunked directly in front of the refrigerator, with no intention of budging from the spot, by all appearances. It’s positively uncanny how she manages this, and while I can’t rule out the possibility that alien interlopers from The Cat Planet have implanted electrodes into my brain to read my thoughts (heaven forbid!) it does seem rather excessive for the end result of just being a pedestrian hazard around the house, I dare say. Not to over-think it, but it does seem a very long way to go just for that, but let’s face it, the poor space aliens might have just been trying to get from Pasadena (Maryland) to San Diego, and got tripped up along the way – probably should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque after all. Elle