Toy Story

Greetings, Vacation Fans!     I suppose this has been true since the Age of the Dinosaurs (and I ought to know) that some vacations are great, some vacations are good, and some vacations are just plain bad. And then there are those vacations that are so perverse and incomprehensible, that the only explanation is that the Camping Gods are toying with us, and there is just no salvaging them, no matter what you do. On the other hand, I said to Bill, it's these vacations that help you to appreciate the good ones, and give you an abysmally low standard to compare all future vacations against, which will then seem a lot better in retrospect, I dare say. I believe the Vacation of 2018 will stand the test of time in terms of new low standards, and with that perspective, I look forward to all upcoming vacations without fear or trepidation. The new motto may not be, "The best is yet to come," but at least we can be assured that it won't be, "The worst is yet to come," since it is safely in the rear-view mirror at this point. Or as they say in the Valhalla of the Camping Gods, "Gadzooks!"     Anyone who knows me can tell you that I live by the axiom that when things are doomed, they're doomed from the start, and there are all too many reasons why I say that so often, heaven knows. Even still, when the Camping Gods are toying with us, you would think they would have the decency to start after we've already gotten out to Vacation Land, and enjoying our fun in the sun with the surf and the turf, for heaven's sake. Gadzooks! (What the frickety-frack???) In fact, we were still on the highway, many miles from our destination, when the Camping Gods tossed their first thunderbolts in our direction, thanks not. On the Long Island Expressway cruising along at 60 MPH without a care in the world, when the Screamin' Red Demon started making a terrible smell (like burning insulation) so that I had to roll down the windows or choke - and once again, thanks so very much not. The next unwelcome turn of events was that suddenly waves of thick smoke came pouring out of all the vents, and you can believe me when I say that it didn't take long before the whole car was one smoky mess, even with the windows open. This was an alarming situation, especially since even I quickly figured out that if smoke was pouring out of the front of the car, it might probably be followed by actual fire, and pretty darned soon, I shouldn't wonder. Discretion being the better part of valor, I pulled off onto the shoulder, stopped the car, and had the presence of mind to shut if off before anything else went wrong. Bill, who had been driving right in front of me, joined me on the shoulder to assess the damage and figure out what to do next.     A cursory look at the engine revealed nothing in the way of smoke, and even though the car still smelled terrible, the temperature gauge indicated nothing out of the ordinary. We called 9-1-1 to find out about getting some roadside assistance, like a tow truck to pull us off the LIE in one piece, and hopefully get the car back up and running - only this time, without all the smoke, thank you. The Lake Ronkonkoma police and fire department responded with laudable promptness, and once they determined that the car was not in any danger of catching on fire, they said they would escort us to a nearby parking lot, where we could make arrangements for a tow to a service station, which sounded like the best we could hope for, under the circumstances. Gadzooks! (Here we go again!) It turned out the Camping Gods had other ideas. Despite the fact that the car was still running when I pulled off the highway, now it utterly refused to start - turning the key made the dashboard lights come on, but not a sound from the engine, not a click, not a rattle, absolutely nothing at all. With that avenue of escape denied to us, the police called us a tow truck, and they left, while we sat and waited for what we hoped would be a speedy rescue.     The tow truck did not respond with promptness, laudable or otherwise, and in the end, it took over 2 hours for us to get moving again. This was certainly not shaping up to be the vacation of our dreams, that's for sure. Even worse (Gadzooks!) (Now, this is getting monotonous.) at the service station, they said they wouldn't be able to look at the car until at least Monday or later (!!!) which meant that the car with half of my camping equipment (such as the tent, for instance) would be tied up in Rocky Point for almost half of my vacation, but also that after Bill went home on Monday, I would have no car at all - and once again, thanks oh so very much not. Trying to make the best of a very bad situation, we had lunch at a nearby diner, and then made the first of a couple of trips back to the poor disabled Aveo, to off-load supplies from one car to the other, so at least we could set up the tents on the 2 campsites and get on with our lives. At that late hour, it didn't make sense to go to the beach, so we turned around and checked in at the Fairfield Inn on Route 112 in Medford, where we had never stayed before, and dared to hope for the best there. It turned out to be a lovely place (with a pool and a hot tub!) which really helped on that first very challenging Saturday, believe me. The complementary breakfast buffet was diverse and delicious, so we had no reason for complaints, and a good thing, too.     We were lucky to have a beautiful day at the beach on Sunday, and glad of it, especially after the Camping Gods ruined our first day out there. On Monday, we started in early at hounding the service station about fixing my car, so I wouldn't get stranded out in the wilderness after Bill left. They responded to our guilt-trip admirably (and the promise of donuts) and by 5:00 PM, I was driving the Aveo back to Wildwood with a brand new blower motor - which had apparently seized up on the LIE and blew a bunch of fuses in the dashboard, but in the end, turned out to be less serious than it seemed originally, through the billows of smoke. Bill was able to go home as planned, and after an inauspicious start, the rest of the week at the park was blissfully uneventful. Gadzooks! (Seriously???) I forgot to mention that the Camping Gods really had it in for my week in the woods many months ago, when the New Rochelle High School Class of 1968 50th Reunion Committee scheduled their signature event for my last Saturday at the campground, with several events over the weekend, including Friday night - which meant that we needed to cut my vacation short by a whole day and leave on Friday instead, if we wanted to attend all of the festivities. So Bill dutifully drove back down to the park on Friday morning, and we packed up both sites a day early (without even one last time down on the beach, as we normally do on the last Saturday, alas) and set off for home.     Gadzooks! (Oh, come on, already!!!) Driving out of the campsite, the Aveo started making a horrible loud clanking and squealing noise, like dragging a loose cluster of aluminum tent poles, but which Bill identified as coming from the brakes. (And need I say, thanks not?) Back we went to the service station, where they gave a hearty thumbs down to the brakes, control arms, tie rods, and bushings - although by then, thankfully the noise had stopped. We called our mechanic at home for a second opinion, and he assured us that the car was safe to drive home, and he would look at it once we got back. This was a better solution than leaving the car with half of my camping supplies, and then having to go all the way back to Rocky Point to pick it up again the following weekend. And so, with cautious optimism, and a wary eye towards the Camping Gods, we brought both cars safely home, and closed the book on the doomed Vacation of 2018 once and for all - and I don't mind saying, not a moment too soon. Or as they say in the Valhalla of the Camping Gods, "Gadzooks!" Toys R Not Us

Air Mail

Hello World,     YIPES! I see that it's back to being Friday the 13th again, thanks not, so I hope that it will not actually be an unlucky day for anyone out in the wide world after all. I suppose what could be considered the luckiest part of it all is that this is the last one for the year, while next year, we won't see one until September, with a second one to follow in December, and that's it for all of 2019. (YAY!) And speaking of occasional days, directly after the unlucky Friday, on the 14th is a day dear to the hearts of revolutionaries everywhere, Bastille Day, celebrated for the storming of the Bastille in 1789, and considered a turning point in the French revolution. It is observed in France much like our Independence Day here, with parades, dances, parties, and fireworks. Of course, unlike American BBQ and beer, in France it's patisseries and cognac - although whether that would be considered an improvement of any sort would be a matter up for debate, I dare say. Garcon, more eclairs, s'il vous plait!     Odd times around the old homestead lately, at least on the wildlife front, and that's not just the ratatouille talking, believe me. It all began a while back, when I came home from work and discovered a cute little brown bunny (with the requisite white cotton tail, of course) happily hunkered down in our buttercup patch on the front lawn, and looking very comfortable, I might add. In fact, he was so calm that I was able to get out of my car, creep up on him in an (admittedly) not very surreptitious manner, and take some pictures while he sat perfectly still, with only his nose twitching to give him away. After that, it was a groundhog, of all things, which I have never seen in our yard ever before, and making himself pretty much right at home around the bird feeders, I can tell you that. I thought perhaps he was on the lookout for a position predicting the weather on his namesake day in February, and scoping out a suitable location for his burrow that would be photogenic and easily accessible for the media. A few days later, I spotted him chomping on the weeds in the driveway, along with a companion groundhog, and I don't mind telling you, these are about the cutest things you are ever going to see in your yard, if only for the novelty factor. They didn't seem to bother the birds in any way, and our cats pointedly refused to acknowledge them out the windows, but they did scare off our wandering stray cats from the front porch for a few days. I haven't seen them now in over a week, so they may have moved on to greener pastures, so to speak, and not taken up residence in our crawl space, as originally supposed. And it must be said, with the "Groundhog Day" movie as a cautionary tale, it's probably just as well.     Meanwhile at work, I needed to get in touch with one of our sub-contractors, and the phone number I had for them wasn't working. So I searched for them online, expecting to be directed to their web site, or at least get a result for a clearinghouse of construction companies that would have their contact information. I was not disappointed when the search results turned up our friends at RIKA Construction Corp. right away, and not only gave me their address and phone number, but provided some background information on the company as well. They were quick to explain to me when the business was incorporated, how many locations they have (one), their annual revenue, and the types of construction they are licensed to perform. But my personal favorite was what I'm sure they considered this helpful tidbit: "Employs a staff of approximately 2." Frankly, I feel that if the whole sum total of the staff there is only two measly little working stiffs, the underlings gathering the company data should be able to verify if they have two people or not two people, without having to estimate an approximation of them. Heck, it's not like trying to nail down how many people work at General Motors, or Wal*Mart, for heaven's sake. Approximately 2, indeed.     For anyone with a hankering to be up, up, and away, our local newspaper ran a big front page story about upcoming hot air balloon festivals in the Hudson Valley - and you can believe me when I say that it was not "approximately 2," but a significant variety of these festivals in many different places throughout the region, and thanks ever so. With more than 25 to choose from, you would expect there to be a little bit of something for everyone, from the simplest to the most exotic, and no reason for anyone to miss out on all the fun, by golly. But you don't have to take my word for it, you can get it right from the horse's mouth, as it were, with this quote from the Dutchess County Regional Chamber of Commerce: "There's nothing like the experience of the hot-air balloons in the air, glowing, and the comradery and the smiles on families faces when the balloons are in the sky." Excuse me? Comradery?? Now, this could easily have been mis-transcribed from a verbal quote, but whether it was the newspaper or the Chamber of Commerce making the error, it's still an error that should never have happened. In this day and age, when everyone in the world has access to the information super highway - in fact, with most of us carrying it around in our pockets with us - finding the correct spelling of "camaraderie" is no challenge at all. On the contrary, "comradery" sounds like some sort of clandestine re-education program that KGB agents use on recalcitrant Russian dissidents, and I would seriously doubt that hot-air balloons would enter into it in any way, comrade. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I would have more than one doubt about it, possibly even approximately 2, da? Elle

Laughing Gas

Hello World,     G-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-A-L-L-L!!!!! Personally, I don't follow soccer, but apparently it's been interesting times afoot (get it?!) at the World Cup lately, and not just your ordinary everyday tournament, like all the rest of the time. (Yawn!) The teams have made it through the Knockout Stage (I have no idea what that means) and into the Round of 16, so from here on in, there's no room for error - and no more cream puff teams like Nigeria for an easy win when you need one. Mind you, to me this sounds just like every other World Cup that's ever been, and I don't mean that in a bad way, but the hardcore fans will tell you otherwise. Even in the local newspaper, there's been a story about the games every day in the Sports section, and whenever you hear anyone discuss the playoffs on television, ALL THEY DO IS YELL IN ALL CAPS!!! AND EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! AS IF THEY ARE ANNOUNCING A CURE FOR CANCER!!! OR A NEW ERA OF WORLD PEACE!!! rather than goals and penalty cards, for heaven's sake. And this is without even watching the USA (men's team) play, because even though there is a 2-year period to qualify for the World Cup beforehand, the USA men failed to qualify during that period, primarily by losing to Trinidad-Tobago, of all things. But there are still plenty of teams to root for (like the USA women) and for a variety of reasons, like Portugal's hunky Cristiano Ronaldo from those hilarious TV commercials - and that's a good enough reason for me, by golly. Also rooting against the Russians, which is usually the safe post-Cold war approach, after all. And may I say, for the KGB agents monitoring my email (whose name is Legion, heaven knows) "I love Mother Russia."     Of course, this week also included Independence Day on Wednesday, so I certainly hope that you declared your independence from drudgery and boredom, and instead, tossed off the shackles of tyranny to the old and irrelevant, by charting a new course to the refreshing lands of fun and frolic. While it's always nice to have a day off, with the holiday falling smack in the middle of the week, as it did, it made things a little more complicated than usual, for businesses deciding which day(s) to close besides Wednesday, if any. On the home front, it fell to The Flag Brigade to hoist the colors in the morning, as usual, and although it was a near thing, they actually remembered to take them back in again later. (Whew!) This is what I consider a successful outcome in the patriotic realm, and I don't mind saying, without a shot being fired. Garcon, more watermelon, if you please!     Bill noticed early on Wednesday that the neighbors had erected a rather large and unsightly sort of screen house in their back yard, as if they were planning to have a party, but since it was already about 2:30 PM, and not a sound to be heard, I was prepared to rule that out on purely logical grounds. But sure enough, when we checked in with them again around 6:00 PM, the place had gone full-on Mariachi, and there was no mistaking the furious guitars and pounding maracas, making it sound much more like the 5th of May than the 4th of July, amigo. And while I stand by my assertion that there is no wrong way to celebrate holidays, I think The Holiday Police would frown on this one - and that's not just the tequila talking, believe me.     Also on the local scene, I had to borrow Bill's car last week, when mine was in the shop for a pre-vacation tune-up, and glad to report that both cars lived to tell the tale, as it were. Driving home from work, I happened to notice that the gas gauge in Bill's Neon had moved into a whole new category of fuel quantities - going from FULL to EMPTY and then to FUMES, thanks not. Now, our old friends the dinosaurs will tell you that I can take a joke as well as the next fellow, but I still wanted to get home (not to mention, with the Neon also) and it should go without saying, without having to push it there at the end, and once again, thanks so very much not. So I dutifully pulled into the first gas station that I came to, and hopped out in a jaunty manner, and one might almost say, with a song on my lips. I had already put on my handy gas station gloves and was striding purposefully to the pump, when it hit me suddenly that I didn't know where to find the release lever for the gas cap door, and I would have to find that before I could pump any gas. "Oh well," I shrugged, "How hard could it be to find the thing, after all, there's a limit to where they could hide it." Au contraire! (That's French for "Hit the gas!") I checked under the dashboard, as well as on the floor and the door of the driver's side, but came up empty, much like the gas tank. (In my car, it's on the floor.) As long as I was already on my hands and knees at the gas station, I checked the dashboard one more time, and the whole door frame while I was at it, to no avail. I admit that it had me stumped, and I began to despair of ever uncovering the secret to unlocking the gas tank's mystery portal, alas. Anyone else who is the past or present proud owner of a 2004 Dodge Neon, already knows the punch line to this unfortunate sort of shaggy dog story: Apparently this is a car that doesn't have a locking gas cap door to start with, it just opens when you pull on it, and go right ahead and unscrew the cap. Unlike my Chevy, it seems the engineers at Dodge couldn't care less if any old schmo walks up to the Neon, opens the gas cap door with impunity, and after that, all bets are off. And while I'm happy to pitch in for the sake of family harmony, I think we can all agree, once again, thanks so very much not.     And just when we think we can happily envision the prospect of a long and balmy summer stretching out before us - full of endless days and nights of sun, surf, sand, and smiles - bursting upon the scene and popping our carefree summer balloons, I see that the pro football camps are opening on July 22, believe that or not. (Boo!) I don't mind saying that I consider this nothing less than an unwelcome cold weather interloper in the midst of our lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, and a textbook example of seasonal creep at its worst. (And when I say "creep," I do mean creep, in the creepiest sense of the word, I assure you.) So please hurry up and take this as fair warning that summer is a fleeting treasure, and almost before we know it, we'll be knee-deep in winter's icy grip once again. Oh, and did I mention that I love Mother Russia? Elle