Duck!

Hello World, Well, when it comes to movable feasts, Ramadan turns out to be one of the slipperiest character ever, skittering around the calendar from the frigid deep freeze of winter, to the sweltering Dog Days of summer, like some shifty underworld kingpin one step ahead of the law. This time around, it started on May 15, but don't bother looking for it there again, because it will be nowhere in sight, I can tell you that. I don't know how they arrive at the date, year by year, but it's a wonder to me that it ever caught on, the way people have to chase around after it all the time. And this is without even fireworks or green beer, for heaven's sake. Speaking of fireworks, of course, the last weekend in May brings us Memorial Day weekend, and all that it entails, by jingo. Like any movable feast, I know that it seems early, since the month doesn't actually end until Thursday this year. Actually when May starts on a Friday, Memorial Day (observed) will be the earliest it can be, which is the 25th, and conversely, when May starts on a Saturday, the holiday will be observed on the 31st, which is the latest that it can be. (For instance, this happened in 2010.) Of course, for us purists, the holiday-formerly-known-as Decoration Day will always be fixed in our minds on May 30th, so having the occasion celebrated on May 31st is not only ridiculous, but an affront to our patriotic sensibilities, by George. And speaking of special occasions, last Saturday was the 143rd running of the venerable Preakness Stakes - or once again, perhaps "swimming" might be the better term than running, thanks not. (I'm sure the famous Maryland ducks thought the world of it, and not to mention, the terrapins, it goes without saying.) A tiny field of only 8 horses left the gates at Pimilico (compared to the thundering herd of 20 hopefuls at the Kentucky Derby previously) splashing through the same slop that bedeviled man and beast at Churchill Downs, and once again, thanks so much not. Unlike the Derby, where Justify ran away with it, basically wire to wire, this time it was much more of a horse race, as they say, and Justify was lucky to hold off the hard-charging Bravazo and Tenfold at the finish, to claim the first two jewels, and set up a potential Triple Crown at the Belmont in a few weeks. Honestly, at this point, if the sun comes out at the Belmont, the poor horse is not going to know what to do with himself. In 140-odd years of running these races, only 36 horses have won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes, so Justify is already in pretty select company right there. Besides Justify, the only horses who ran in both races now are Good Magic, Bravazo, and Lone Sailor. There were 16 horses who ran in the Derby but skipped the Preakness, while 4 gave the Derby a pass and then ran in the Preakness later. Of the 24 total horses (apart from Justify, obviously) it should be interesting to see who likes their chances over the long haul in the final race, and makes the trip to Queens - or conversely, shows up at Belmont for the first time, without running in either of the two earlier races. I would call these Johnny-come-lately's "spoilers" (I'm looking at you, Sarava) but frankly, I think the evil spirit of Affirmed has already long since got that covered, I dare say. Meanwhile at work, we recently prevailed upon one of our sub-contractors in the Bronx to do some work at an on-going project in Queens, that seemed like something they would take to, like a duck to water, as it were. But first they sent us a quote for their part of the job, asking us to indicate that we agreed to the terms of their proposal, by signing on the line under what they described as "CONTRACT ACCEPTATION," whatever that might mean. Seriously, you would think that any spell-checker worth its salt would have balked at a spurious term like "acceptation," and not just let it slide on past without tossing out a bunch of proof-readers-type obstacles in its path, by golly. For my part, i wasn't a bit afraid to sign the document, on the theory that they couldn't hold me to an agreement of nonsense words, at least in what might be referred to as common parlance. Or perhaps that should be "parlatation," under the circumstances. Elle

Under The Weather

Hello World,     This is normally where I would be saying something like, "What is so rare as a day in May?" and waxing poetic over the beautiful weather, with balmy breezes and glorious sunshine, and thanks ever so. Unfortunately, except for a couple of days here and there, this has seemed more like February around here, with damp and chilly weather, leaden skies, and gale force winds that turn a routine garbage day into an Olympic-worthy steeplechase event of sprinting after errant trash cans as they go skittering down the block, thanks not. Seriously, where is Usain Bolt when we need him?     Speaking of weather, I have always felt that The Almighty God exhibits a woeful indifference to the Indianapolis 500, and every Memorial Day weekend, the race cars could be out on the track in the balmiest sunshine, or the thickest fog, or crashing thunder and lightning with torrential rain, or hail the size of tennis balls, or raining frogs and plagues of locusts, or any of the other Biblical calamities of epic proportion, heaven knows. But I will say that His Infinite Mercy always seems to smile on the second Sunday in May, at least in terms of the weather, as if even Divine Providence wouldn't dare attempt anything so unpopular. Not so fast! We were upstate visiting our friends around Albany for the weekend, and it pretty much poured the entire time, so that anyone planning a Mothers Day picnic (or heaven forbid, miniature golf) would have been sorely disappointed, I can tell you that.) And when it comes to Mothers Day, anyone can tell you that the one thing to be avoided at all costs would be trying to take Dear Old Mom out to a restaurant for lunch or dinner, because it's an absolute madhouse out there, and impossible to get a seat anywhere, anytime, no matter how long you wait, and once again, thanks so very much not. Well, once again, and surprisingly enough, not so fast! We had no plans for Sunday, but happened to be in the neighborhood, so we threw caution to the wind and stopped at one of our favorite Denny's for lunch, and glad of it. We had no trouble getting a table, without even a wait, and the service was prompt and attentive as always. We had a wonderful meal, and no complaints, and certainly not the jam-packed horror show that we would have expected for the holiday. Even better, in honor of Mothers Day, the nice folks at Denny's were giving long-stemmed carnations to all of the ladies, mothers or not, which I thought was a nice touch. Our cats thought it was delicious. (Only kidding.)     Alert readers may recall that it was a couple of weeks ago when we hazarded a trip into New York City to enjoy the musical stylings of Caitlyn Canty at Rockwoods for her album release show - which turned out to have more than its usual share of ups and downs, but we still lived to tell the tale, in spite of it all. While we were upstate last weekend, we invited our friends to join us at the historic Troy Savings Bank Music Hall to see Caitlyn for themselves, where she was doing a short set opening up for folk singer Josh Ritter. The music hall has been entertaining the residents since way back in 1875 (probably Stephen Foster played there, I shouldn't wonder) and in fact, the old wooden seats still have handy attachments for holding top hats and evening gloves, and thanks ever so. It features a balcony and boxes, the only disadvantage of which would be the necessary support pillars to hold them up, and you can actually find yourself sitting behind a pole, which I would consider a quaint anachronism nowadays. Caitlyn's show, although very abbreviated, was well received by the substantial crowd, and we were glad our friends had a chance to experience it as well. It was over all too soon, and the headliner took the stage, where apparently he is a local favorite, based on the enthusiasm that greeted his appearance. His music was not exactly to our tastes, so we didn't stay for the entire show, which certainly made it much simpler to extricate ourselves from the minuscule parking lot, and navigate the constricted alleyways out of the area. From there, we set a course for The Century House in Latham, another historic site, which includes a charming hotel and separate restaurant, serving the public on this venerable property from 1790. Including probably Stephen Foster when he played at the Troy Savings Bank Music Hall with his minstrel show. (Please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.TheCenturyHouse.com and see for yourself.) We expected this out-of-the-way old place to be quiet, fusty, and maybe a bit rundown around the edges - not like giant modern chain hotels, lined up on the busiest and flashiest streets in town. But my, oh, my, and once again, not so fast! We got there late at night to find a large and rollicking wedding party in full swing, with hot-and-cold running guests enjoying themselves hugely in every corner of the hotel, restaurant, party tent, and even the parking lot - as if this was Miami Beach during Spring Break, and not the sleepy backwater of Latham, in the middle of nowhere. I have to believe that Stephen Foster didn't think much of it either, and that's not just whistling Dixie, by golly.     Well, you know that the summer movie blockbuster season is well underway when you discover that The Avengers are back in town, and nobody had to ask us twice to go see "Infinity War" at the IMAX in 3-D, I can tell you that. And this is no reflection on the movie, but this is the first time ever that we have gone to this theater, only to find that they had no individual pan pizzas, which was a major disappointment for us, believe me. We had a dish of pretzel bites with cheese (and also some of their new Cinnabon gooey bites) but it just wasn't the same thing at all. Phooey. Anyway, this latest flick seems to be over-stuffed with a cast of thousands, many of whom I don't even remember from previous offerings of this same franchise, although I'm pretty sure I've seen them all up to this point. You would think anything this over-populated and sprawling would be nothing but a colossal train wreck (I suppose "dogs breakfast" would be the technical term) and hopelessly sink under its own weight without hope of salvage. But I have to say, I loved it. It manages to be enormously entertaining and never lags - the time flies by in spectacular battle sequences and eye-popping excursions to weirdly exotic outlying planets. (I hate to think what it must have cost to create all of those elaborate, and frankly subordinate, sets. The mind reels.) The two-fisted film makers forcibly manhandled the runaway narrative somehow, kept it more cohesive than ever could have been imagined, and peppered it with a wealth of genuine laugh-out-loud moments that are usually sorely lacking in these sorts of comic book space operas, heaven knows. We welcomed back a spate of familiar faces, and introduced the always excellent Josh Brolin as the dastardly sinister villain, and the wonderful Peter Dinklage as a giant alien dwarf. (Giant dwarf, get it?!) Unfortunately, because it's part one of a continuing story (the second part will be released in 2019) it ends on a bit of a downer, with a considerable amount of casualties, even among the most major of the major characters. (Although it must be said that in the Marvel Studios universe, "dead" doesn't always mean "permanently dead," so the possibility remains that some or all of the victims may yet live to fight another day, as it were.) I have to admit that it lived up to the hype, and I'm really looking forward to the next one. Although I might suggest to Stephen Foster to bring his own pizza. Elle

Hold Your Horses

Hello World,     Happy Mothers Day! There's no better time than the second Sunday in May to recognize with joy and wonder, our very own precious mother, and/or the kindly spirit of our dearly departed precious mother, and/or the contributions to our life by all of the many invaluable women that we have known, across the years and across the miles. They have all had an impact, and touched us in profound ways that made us better than we would have been otherwise, heaven knows. Speaking of new and improved, it reminds me of a recent circular from our friends at Home Depot, for something they call their Spring Black Friday sale, of all things, where they want me to hurry in and snap up one of their varied selection of bagged rock, and a bargain at a mere $2.75 each. Honestly, it really makes me wonder what our hardy pioneer forebears would think of us actually paying good money to buy rocks nowadays - as if the world isn't full of rocks all over the ground everywhere, and just there for the taking. George Washington would be weeping, if he wasn't already laughing his wooden teeth out at the very idea. Bagged rock, indeed.     Also on the new and improved front, after just a few very pleasant days in the neighborhood, the changes in our landscape have been dramatic. The lovely wisteria has busted out all over, wafting its welcome fragrance through the front yard with every gentle breeze. Meanwhile in the back yard, both of the lilacs have burst forth, bringing yet another treat for all of the senses. Underfoot is a carpet of lamium awash in sunny yellow flowers, and even the delicate columbine has put in an appearance after a challenging winter. Colorful azaleas have been open all over town for a while, but in our shady yard, they're just getting started now, in wonderfully bright shades that light up even the darkest corners and crevices. All of the delightful English wood hyacinths have continued unabated, in creamy soft hues of white, pink, lavender, periwinkle, and purple on all sides. The early bees have found plenty to their liking all over the property, and I don't mind saying that I agree with them wholeheartedly.     On the bracket side of things, both the NBA and NHL playoffs have gotten down to their final fours, with Boston, Cleveland, Houston, and Oakland in hoops, and (expansion darlings) Las Vegas, Tampa Bay, Washington DC, and Winnipeg on the ice. It would be amazing if the Golden Knights won the Stanley Cup in their inaugural season, but frankly, I don't care for their chances against the Jets all that much. On the other hand, I never expected the Bruins or Penguins to get eliminated early like they did, so I guess it just goes to show that anything can happen. And while it's easy to think that the Cavaliers are a shoo-in on the hardwood, let's face it, they've got to get through the Celtics first, and anybody who thinks that's going to be easy, can just go ahead and ask the disgruntled fans in Milwaukee and Philadelphia, thanks not. The playoffs, by their very nature, can truly be the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows - and while I understand that there's no way to keep the hometown faithful away from partaking of their favorite spirits, I'm of the strong opinion that the authorities in playoff cities should at least make sure that they can't go to Home Depot and buy bagged rock.     In other sports news, last weekend saw the 144th running of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs - although in the interests of full disclosure, perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as the "swimming" of the Kentucky Derby, rather than running, under the circumstances. They say that 3 inches of rain fell on a soggy but festive crowd of 157,813 people, not to mention the horses and jockeys as well, and once again, thanks so very much not. A crowded field of 20 horses took off gamely from the gates into a pelting downpour, and a sloppy track more suited to mud wrestling than horse racing. The race was surprisingly clean and fast, considering the conditions, although I personally felt that it fell very well short of its famous slogan as "the most exciting 2 minutes in sports." In fact, the only real victim of the weather was poor Mendelssohn, the only European horse in the line-up, who was firmly bumped coming out of the starting gate, and then unceremoniously manhandled all the way to the very back of the pack with no way out, and went on to finish dead last by 73 lengths. I thought that was not a very hospitable way to treat overseas guests, and was certainly a kick in the pants to the whole concept of sportsmanship, and not to mention, chivalry. (Which, after all, is a word that is based on chevalier, an old French word meaning "mounted rider.") In the end, it was the favorite, Justify, who swam his way to victory, almost wire to wire, and nobody in the slop behind him even came close to catching him, in fact, he was pulling away even further at the finish. It became an ironic tell-tale sign that winning jockey Mike Smith, in pristine white silks, looked just as clean in the Winners Circle as when he had left the clubhouse before the race started, so that tells you something right there. The rest of the mud-splattered jockeys seemed genuinely happy to congratulate Mike on his victory, and I'm sure he will appreciate their gift of bagged rock, it goes without saying. Elle

Fan Club

Hello World,     Feliz Cinco de Mayo! On Saturday, we go "mano a mano," in a manner of speaking, with our Mexican brothers and sisters, in commemorating the victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla in 1862, and don't spare the tequila, my good man! Admittedly, this may not yet be a holiday that has caught the fancy of the country at large, from sea to shining sea, but let's face it, here in New York, any excuse is good enough for a party, and nobody quibbles over the details, amigo. Best of all, this is a celebration that has been going on for over 150 years, dedicated pretty much to nothing but food, folks, and fun, and not a bit of controversy associated with it, to put a crimp in the festivities along the way. (Waitangi Day, please take note.) So grab your maracas, break out the sombreros, and if you're not authentically Mexican, you can still party like a gringo loco, if nothing else. Say, who let that Mariachi band in here?     Well, it's certainly been a long cold winter in the local region, and has taken many more months than expected to kick mean old Captain Cold to the curb - but now that it's finally May at long last, I think we can safely say that we've turned the page, and closed the chapter on that part of our seasonal experiences, and good riddance, it goes without saying. Once we finally got the weather above 50 degrees, all of the trees broke out en masse, bugs suddenly appeared in hordes, and spring birds are bob-bob-bobbing along like there's no tomorrow. Any sections of the yard that weren't already covered in wind flowers and grape hyacinths, have now exploded into a virtual sea of dandelions and violets everywhere you look, including the driveway and between the cracks of the sidewalk. It didn't take long for the foreign invasives to re-assert themselves, and the garlic mustard and rampant alien mutant poison ivy are already standing up in clumps, and looking like they mean business, I can tell you that. Speaking of invasives, it reminds me of a church meeting we had recently, where a member commended the minister for being such a good fit with the congregation - or, as she put it: "You've grown on us." To which I added, "Like a fungus." He laughed.     Last week, we carved some time out of our busy schedules to go see Caitlyn Canty at the Rockwood Music Hall in the city, and lived to tell the tale, which only goes to prove that the Age of Miracles has not passed after all. It must be said that the evening began inauspiciously when we got to Grand Central Terminal early, since there is no food to be had at the venue, and we were looking for something a little more substantial than a food cart out on the street. We were concerned that Frankie's Dogs on the Go in the dining concourse might be closed by the time we got there, but that turned out not to be the case - the problem was that even though they were still open, they had no veggie dogs at all, thanks not. Bill opted for a bagel at Zaro's, and I went for their triple grilled cheese once again, only this time, it was so much uncooked, that I would dare to say that it never actually touched a grill at any point, and the cheese wasn't melted, much less grilled, so to say that it lacked a certain wonderfulness would be putting it mildly. Oddly, even though it was a Thursday might, we had to wait on a ridiculously long and slow line outside of the station for a cab, and once again, thanks so very much not. The attendant finally managed to snag one for us, only to have the poor fellow get lost along the way (!!!) even with his GPS, so that Bill finally had to get the right directions to put us back on track, with the upshot that we ended up being late to the show, in spite of leaving home 3 hours ahead of time. Honestly, sometimes it's the simplest things that turn into the biggest headaches, and after doing this same thing numerous times, the last thing we were expecting was for the cab driver to get lost. But at least we didn't have the usual harrowing breakneck sprint through lower Manhattan, and although we did arrive late, it was without the customary full-throttle panic and outright terror that generally brings us to their door, and I ought to know.     Fortunately, we are on Caitlyn's V.I.P. list, so there was a reserved table waiting for us upstairs, and even though we were late, we still had great seats. The headliner was sharing the bill with Molly Parden (not to be confused with Dolly Parton, obviously) another pretty young singer/songwriter, who came on first, and did a short set of original songs, that was very well-received by the small but attentive crowd. Thursday's show marked the album release for Caitlyn's newest effort, and she was touring with Noam Pikelny in support of it, and together, they made a very tuneful pair indeed. After the show, we went downstairs to check out the merchandise, and Bill had a chance to speak with Caitlyn briefly, before the surging waves of her other fans basically pushed us right out the door and onto the sidewalk. From there, we actually flagged down a cab all by ourselves - old school, without a concierge or a taxi app! - for a very routine trip back to Grand Central, where we arrived just in time to catch a train for home. All in all, the occasion ended up better than it started, and we were glad to be back at home, sweet home before 11:00 PM, and still on our feet, just like a couple of young whipper-snappers out for a night of clubbing in the big city. Now, where did that Mariachi band get to? Elle