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