Holiday Commercial--When Bah! Humbug! Meets Black Friday

I'm definitely turning into my father. When I was a kid, I could never understand why he got all "Bah! Humbug!" around the holidays. Hm."When I was a child, I thought as a child . . .." Anyway, I understand now.

The holidays and the winter weather are coming way too fast. That's the problem. Not much we can do about the cold and the light skiff of snow the red dog and I found on the grass this morning--not until we can erect one of those nifty weather nets around the planet that the sci-fi authors are always writing about.

But the holidays? I mean, what's up with my neighbors? They already had the Christmas wreaths in their windows by November 6th, for crying out loud. Now Christmas starts the day after Election Day?! And that's about when the local radio station started playing Christmas carols exclusively, and I do mean exclusively. If I were one of their advertisers, I'd pull my spots. By Thanksgiving, we'll all have heard quite enough and will quit listening to their station.

Okay, the holiday shopping thing is really getting out of control, too. Black Friday starts on Thanksgiving now. It's bad enough that the big box stores employ slavish labor practices that prey on people who so desperately need work, especially around the holidays. But now they want their people to work on Thanksgiving night? They're so greedy they can't suspend their profit gobbling long enough to let their employees digest that other gobbler?

Those dastardly retailers are descending even farther into the spirit of insane competition by trying to see who can open their store the earliest on Thanksgiving night. Target opens at 8:00 p.m., which, they proudly announced, is an hour earlier than last year. Isn't that special?! I hope that Amazon buries them all. (BTW, did you hear that Amazon has contracted with the US Postal Service for Sunday deliveries? Yup, not a joke.)

The young woman who cuts my hair told me she's already spent over a grand on Christmas presents and she's not done yet. Yikes! She makes more than a starving writer, but not much more, I think.

Linus and Charlie Brown were right about Christmas getting too commercial. Ditto for Yule, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, etc. How many ways can they try to get us to spend money? Perhaps they're hoping we won't notice that that little hiccup with the government shutdown and the debt ceiling debacle put the brakes on the economic recovery to the extent that more people had to enroll in unemployment benefits because they suddenly and unexpectedly got laid off.

Yes, they were hoping we'd just whip out our credit cards anyway and swipe, swipe, swipe--talk about a debt ceiling problem! And by the way, we're all no-good-nothings (as they said about three generations ago) if we don't buy our kids the most expensive electronics on the market. Maybe the e-trade commercials where the baby is surfing the net on his smartphone aren't so far-fetched after all.

But nothing substantive has really changed--there's just more bling now. That Christmas-is-getting-too-commercial complaint from the Peanuts gang is a true "Ghost of Christmas Past" because it's been echoing out there in the ether for over fifty years! Digital bling is just the au courant version of holiday commercial. "Second coming of the same old cavalry," to use that delightfully mixed metaphor from the movie Thunderheart.

But even with all his bah-humbugging, my Dad used to put on this really ugly holly-with-berries bow tie and mix up a few Christmas toddies for the family and friends who showed up on Christmas night.
He took us to the tree farm to pick out and tag a real Christmas tree right after Halloween, and he and my Mom saw to it that my sisters and I always had way too many of those commercial presents with lots of old-school bling.

So I'll try to keep things in perspective and do something to get into the spirit even as my Dad did. I'm afraid a bow tie isn't really appropriate, but I have these ugly Christmasy socks and I bought my dog a  pretty teal fleece coat which I'm calling an early Christmas (Yule, actually) present. Online. With my credit card. But not from Amazon. I'm hoping they'll sell a bunch of my e-books for Christmas. :) So everybody go put down the plastic for the new Kindle Fire HDX--it has lots of bling!--and buy my e-book! (You know I'm kidding, right? Well, sort of. There is that starving writer thing . . ..)

Here's a Jude Hayes excerpt for today. This one's from the new book, They Pull Me Back In:

I opened the door to a smiling Jonathon in his immaculate chauffeur’s uniform. “Good Evening, Jude.” Erstwhile co-workers, we’d been on a first-name basis since my last case. He always seemed sincerely happy, a man who obviously enjoyed his work. I reflected upon the fact that I really enjoyed my own work—and the fear that it could all change if I agreed to become “a chauffeur with wings” again.

“Hi, Jonathon. I’m all ready to go,” I said, grabbing my briefcase and gloves off the kitchen table and closing the door behind me. There was just enough room in the tiny garage to pass between the wall and my little car and covered motorcycle, both resting peacefully. 

As we stepped out into the cold night, I pulled a small remote from my jeans pocket. One button locked both the kitchen and outer door and armed my brand new security system, a Christmas gift from A.J. herself. It was probably unnecessary in this area of Grand Junction, a city not known for its high crime rate, but A.J. had insisted. I had the utmost confidence that Rachel and Decker could handle most unauthorized entries, but even they could use protection against some threats. I smiled ruefully—P.I.s are so suspicious.

        

Veterans Day

I'm ashamed to say that I've allowed too many Veterans Days to go by without appropriately contemplating their meaning. This year, while I didn't make any specific resolution to change that, my thoughts did take a turn in that direction. Perhaps one reason is that I've been reading a book about FDR and Eleanor Roosevelt in the run up to World War II and what it was like here on the "Home Front" during that war. The title is No Ordinary Time by Doris Kearns Goodwin.

Another reason is that I recently hung up a picture of my father that I pass by several times a day. He's in US Navy uniform and he's standing on a Jeep parked on a dirt road with a field of sugar cane in the background. The road is in Hawaii near an installation called Schofield Barracks and the year is 1944--well after the tragedy at Pearl Harbor. He was running a metals business pumping out war materials until he couldn't stand not formally serving any longer and joined up. As an engineer for the Navy, he helped design the VT fuse for munitions.

I thought about the time I struck up a conversation with a fellow airline passenger who told me that her National Guardsman son was getting ready to start his third tour of duty in Iraq--and that he'd already been wounded once. He was hoping to get a few days' leave at home for the holidays.

I think about a friend in my mystery writers/fans group who volunteers her time to help our local veterans and who told me about a shelter in a nearby town for female veterans who have nowhere else to go.

Then there are the heartbreaking stories on TV lately of all the servicemembers who've lost limbs, sustained traumatic brain injuries, been psychologically scarred--and some who've made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. A new state law has been passed in the name of fallen soldier Lieutenant Colonel Todd Clark to present flags which have flown at half staff at the State Capitol to families that have lost a loved one serving in the military.

I think of my brother-in-law who was shot in the leg by a sniper in Vietnam and one of my old flying buddies who spent many unpleasant months patrolling those same jungles.

Even my recent reading of a favorite sci-fi book, David Weber's The Shadow of Saganami, starts out with an address by his character Honor Harrington to the graduating class of a futuristic naval academy. Or the scene from A Few Good Men where Jack Nicholson as Col. Nathan Jessup describes how crucial the Marines in Guantanamo Bay are to the defense of their country.

It surely can't be a coincidence that I've noticed all these vignettes of service this year. I have no explanation. It's nearly impossible for a citizen who's never been in the military to fully comprehend the extent of the sacrifices our veterans have made. But at least this year I've made a small effort to try.

To all our veterans, Happy Veterans Day and thank you for your service!

Typhoon Haiyan Isn't a Disaster Movie on the Syfy Channel

A horrible typhoon, Haiyan, has hit the Philippines--a behemoth of a tropical cyclone which has broken a record for wind speed, outstripping even the famous Hurricane Camille. It reminds me of the B-grade and C-grade disaster movies the Syfy Channel likes to play starting at seven o'clock on Saturday nights--except this is for real, folks.

The themes of the Saturday movies usually run to (1) weather-related and other quasi-natural, never-before-seen disasters, (2) scary mutant animals in someone's backyard lake, or (3) intentional/unintentional weapons created by mad scientists--or merely well-meaning but stupid scientists--or some power monger in the government/military--that generally bring about the circumstances which obtain in themes (1) and (2).

Usually the films are so bad, so campy, and so low-budget, that I love to watch them and laugh. Not quite as bad as the sci-fi movies of my childhood, though, in which my older sister insisted that hugely magnified plastic dinosaurs and common varieties of ants were cast as the villains. At least the ants were pretty good actors, which is more than I can say for the casts of the modern movies.

This typhoon, however, is really tragic, no-kidding, wrath-of-God stuff. Meteorologists and climatologists were predicting that its wind speeds might break a record. It roared ashore with 195 mph sustained winds and gusts of 235! Yikes. Someone said heavy metal roofs were flying like kites.

An old TV commercial from many years ago used to admonish, "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature!" Indeed not. But the severity of the weather in the last few years can almost make me believe that some lunatic has done just that. Remember the giant tornado outbreaks? The unrestrained wildfires? The flood birthed from a garden variety rainstorm gone mad that happened right here on the Mohawk River last June? Superstorm Sandy!

Yes, Saturday-night-at-the-movies is making me a little uncomfortable lately. Some of the plots of these cinematic underachievers are hitting a little too close to home. Especially the ones about gamma-ray bursts, near-Earth asteroids, super volcanoes, popcorn tornadoes, and mutating bacteria. And have you seen how BIG some of those alligators lounging in the Florida canals are getting?! It was more fun when my sister and I could watch a sci-fi film and say, "Oh, that's so fake!"

Hey, Fellow SyFy Channel cultists out there--what are your favorites? Leave me a comment! I'll start--one of the best titles, if nothing else, is Atomic Twister. 

I don't have a good Jude Hayes quote for the blog today. But maybe we could listen in on Ming and Clicker's discussion of our topic:

   I staggered through the office door, arms overloaded with a stack of case files. Ming and Clicker, who were draped around my desk chair and the "client" easy chair in their usual contortionist slouches, ignored me in favor of the spirited argument in progress.

   "Okay, what about the one where there was this tornado made out of ice shards? Ming asked defiantly. How ridiculous is that?!"

   "Dude, that could happen," Clicker declared solemnly. "Flash freezing! Same thing they do to baby peas." 

 

 

Restaurant Magic

I love dining out, love restaurants of all kinds. There's something extremely relaxing about sitting across the table from a good friend or family member and chatting during the dining ritual. It's definitely not the same experience as sitting around the kitchen table at home.

It's difficult to pinpoint why this is so for me. Perhaps it's the sense of being removed from one's usual environment--like being transported to an alternate reality. There you are in your little booth or table, an island unto yourselves amid the other diners and the restaurant atmosphere. Somehow it focuses the concentration, neatly frames the subject at hand, preparing it for a more thorough discussion than is possible at home, because, after all, what is there to do but eat and talk?

This is why I am not a fan of the dinner theatre. And while a good hot dog at the baseball game is one of life's great experiences, entertainment at an actual restaurant somehow detracts from the experience I go there to enjoy. And this definitely includes singing waitstaff! Oh, please, restaurant owners/managers out there, if you must congratulate someone on her birthday, just give her a free beverage, or a free appetizer and spare us the bad vaudeville numbers performed by people who fervently wish they'd taken any other job in the world.

Going to a restaurant recalls happy times and funny stories. As in, "Remember when we rode our bikes (motorcycles, that is) out to that family restaurant we always used to go to and the owner told us he had a fabulous moneymaking plan to turn it into a seafood restaurant by serving fresh lobsters flown in from Maine (to Colorado)?!"

As a motorcyclist, there's something really festive about riding to a restaurant. Even if it's just an old divey diner not far from your house. It's the realization that you've finally escaped for a few hours to go riding and now you get to have one of those special eating experiences with your riding companion--how perfect is that? And you arrived there on a bike!

Okay, I understand if you've never ridden a motorcycle and most definitely don't want to. The same intensification takes place when you combine any jubilant experience with dining out. Try this one on for size:  your son just won the big game with his grand slam homer and you're taking him out to celebrate. I guarantee that food is going to taste fantastic--even if it's really only mediocre--while you relive every detail of the game.

Or how about the day you got your dream job--finally? You and your significant other went straight to your favorite place and ordered steak. You'll remember that celebratory meal a very long time and it will add to the store of pleasant restaurant memories readily recalled the next time you head out to eat.

I can rarely afford to dine out these days, but when I do go, it seems that much more special. An occasion to be planned and anticipated for weeks, savored when it arrives. "No hurry with the food. Just hold the singing, please."



Much of the Jude Hayes mystery Remover of Obstacles, centers around food, as that is Jude's niche market as a private investigator. I did a lot of unknowing research for the book while I owned a restaurant in Rhode Island and I wanted to create a cozy, welcoming restaurant for Jude's friends, Elio and Simone Tremont, to own and run.

Here's our excerpt for today:

Seated under the sun umbrellas—it seldom rains in Grand Junction but our high-altitude sun feels like a microwave oven broiling unprotected skin—we scanned the colored paper menus that Elio prints up every morning. The kitchen offers a continually changing bill of fare and every meal is a new surprise. Simone whips up original daily specials as her culinary muse instructs. Repeat customers are sometimes dismayed by the changes, expecting to order a dish they’d enjoyed the previous week, only to discover that it has vanished from the menu. Generally they find something that they like even better, but Simone is not above being flattered into re-creating the missing entrée if she has the ingredients in house. Some persuasion from Elio, ever the mediator between chef and diners, is usually called for in such cases.

Personally, I like the variety of dishes. It’s the kind of serendipity that you feel on Christmas morning when you get a really great gift that you never expected. All of Simone’s food is wonderful, even the dishes you never thought you’d like. She has a gift that cannot be taught in cooking school. I call it “cooking clairvoyance.” Somehow, she seems to know ahead of time exactly what the particular customers who appear that day will each find personally delightful and she creates it with the ultimate confidence that it will be savored and adored. It’s very spooky.

“I’m going with the Reuben special, Jazzy, how about you?”

“Same. Definitely. Shall we decide on dessert now or prolong the suspense?” An evil smile appeared as she rubbed her hands together. Jasmine, The Mad Diner.

“Nah, let’s just wait. I love a surprise. Maybe Simone has something special back there—like the last key lime pie of the season!” I tried not to drool on the placemats.

“Capital idea, Hayes!”

Praise for the New York State DMV

Everybody loves to bash the Department of Motor Vehicles. I've done it more than once myself. But I have to tell you, the negative criticism really isn't deserved everywhere--probably not in most places.

Things were pretty tense at the DMV in Dallas when I lived there in 1995. It was not uncommon to spend three or more hours waiting for your number to be called in order to complete a routine transaction. Obviously, it had to be an effect of the enormous population density. But that was before the Internet appeared to save the day and carry some of the load of transactions. The Dallas offices are hopefully much better today. Anyone out there from Dallas care to comment?

One place where the DMV seems to be working very well is . . . New York! At least, here in upstate New York--you will remember that we chased that "upstate" concept around in yesterday's blog--specifically, the greater Albany area, a.k.a. the "Capital District" or the "Capital Region." Granted, I don't go to the bigger, busier offices, but I've never had to wait more than twenty minutes--and usually only five or ten minutes--on the busy days in the Clifton Park office, for example. The employees are friendly, helpful, reasonable, and efficient.

I know what you Colorado people are thinking:  "In New York?! You must be kidding." No, not kidding. And the Internet site works really well, too. It has a wealth of information. Lots of FAQs and useful links. A great search feature. It's easy to use and easy to make changes.

For instance, I moved last winter. Changed cities, changed counties. I was able to make all those changes to my car registration and driver's license online in a few minutes. No confusion.

Yesterday was election day, and a few weeks ago, the deadline to register to vote in the upcoming election really snuck up on me. In fact, I happened to hear on the TV news one morning that it was the last chance to register for eligibility to vote on November 5, 2013.

I was really busy writing that day and had no idea how I'd get to the county seat to register. I didn't really trust the post office to get my application postmarked in time. Then I read a news story from the only daily paper published in the Adirondack Park, the Adirondack Daily Enterprise, that said it was still possible to register online at that very late date. At--bet you can guess where, boys and girls--the New York DMV's website.

I didn't have much hope that the registration information would be transferred to the proper authorities in time, but I went to the DMV website, logged into my account, and in a very few minutes completed the registration. As the pioneer TV chef, Chef Tell, used to say, "Very simple. Very easy."

Lo and behold, my voter card arrived in the mail at least ten days prior to the election. When I arrived at the polling place in a small church in my new home town, my name was on the list of registered voters--and everything was completely correct! All thanks to the New York DMV. I was snoozing at the switch when it came to what I take as a very serious responsibility--registering to vote and actually voting--and the NY DMV saved my bacon.

So, anyone from out of state who may have . . . an inaccurate impression, shall we say, about the courtesy and efficiency of New York State DMV employees, all I can say is, move here, go to the DMV, use their website, and I bet you'll come away with a different idea.

Here's our not-particularly-germane Remover of Obstacles excerpt for today:

As I patiently waited, a bright green Kawasaki sportbike flashed by, weaving in and out of traffic. I decided to look on the bright side—maybe this wasn’t just a transient rider and she actually lived around here. I’d been seeking a gal pal sportbike rider for the longest time with no success.

Finally, my lane of traffic started speeding up abruptly and I almost caught up with the green bike. After two more lights, I managed to pull abreast as the two cars I was following turned off at the red light.

I knew this was a long light so I lifted my helmet visor, looked over at the Kawasaki and gave a friendly wave, eager as Odie—Garfield’s canine sidekick—to make friends. She turned her head momentarily in my direction, then swiveled it back to the road view. No wave, no customary nod. Nothing. I’d been snubbed, no doubt about it. Either she was a snob for her brand of motorcycle or she was just, well, a snob. I shook my head a little in wonder and cussed under my breath. Whatever. No new gal pals today.

When the light turned red she came close to smoking the back tire as she catapulted through the intersection. Add idiot to snob, I thought, making a normal acceleration and not feeling the need to prove anything. My Suzuki GSX-R 1000 fears very few motorcycles—and my mechanical friend seemed to snarl a challenge at the green bike—but we ignored the impulse to chase her. Riders that do stupid things like that in heavy traffic make us all look bad and are quickly removed from the gene pool, anyway. I figured a wheelie was her next trick and she didn’t disappoint, easily raising the front wheel under the considerable horsepower that her bike possessed.

Also not disappointed were the occupants of a Grand Junction police cruiser sitting by the side of the road who immediately flipped on their lights and siren to give chase. Girl on the green bike was not quite so stupid as to attempt eluding them and she promptly pulled over to the shoulder. I gave her a happy little wave as I motored by in synch with the traffic. Some other time, stunt girl, I thought darkly. So much for sisterhood. If this was the only other female sportbike rider I could find, I’d gladly stick with my male riding buddies. Besides, there was always Gina who worked at Gage’s and rode a Honda cruiser—she was a good rider who wasn’t a reckless show-off.