America’s Pasttime

“Vince, it’s a beautiful day for America’s Pastime here at Money Bank Ballpark, and we have two teams struggling to stay above .500, dealing with the decimation of their respective rosters.”

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This photo doesn’t have anything to do with the story. We were at a game and took a few shots…I mean, photos.

“That’s right, Robin, a beautiful day. Of course, flags are flying at half-mast, this time for the recent shootings in Seattle, Albuquerque, Waltham, Haverford, and Kansas City.”

“That would be the Kansas City in Kansas, not Missouri.”

“Correct as always, Vince. Kansas City, Missouri was last spring if memory serves.”

“Right, and a particularly difficult time that was for the country.”

“But we move on, and on we move.”

“OK, the lineups have been handed in, and the boys choir of Carterdale is out to sing the anthem. And symbolically, there is a single gap in the first row of singers for the boy who was tragically  and senselessly gunned down while he walked to school yesterday morning, just a few blocks from the stadium.”

“Very moving scene here on the field. A reminder, the national anthem is brought to you by Hartford Ammunition and Arms Supply Company of Hartford, Connecticut.”

“And, Vince, the hometown Whackadoos have a couple of new faces – recent callups – as they take the field. In left, Jimmy Marksman, who hit an impressive .330 in single A ball, and at first, Walt Pellet, who was the player to be named later in the Snark deal.

“Robin, on the mound, we see the return of Randy Cartridge, the fireballer who last saw action at the end of last year before going on injured reserve.”

“Yeah, he’s got a dangerous sidearm delivery – no pun intended – and it’ll be interesting to see what his command will be like and if he has that famous temper of his under control.

“First batter he’ll face for the visiting Comanchos is Frank Glick, the shortstop.”

“All right. Here’s the pitch, and it’s high and tight and Glick doesn’t like it. He takes a step toward the mound, but changes his mind.”

“Yeah, good idea on his part. Cartridge is packing and he’s really quick on the draw. You don’t want to challenge him.”

“And Glick isn’t carrying, though he’s quite the shot. To me, that’s a real head scratcher.”

“You know, a growing handful of players don’t arm themselves  while batting saying that the gun and holster interfere with the swing. Anyway, no need for him to pack heat. First base coach Tommy Flintlock has him well-covered.”

“I’ll say, that’s looks like a semi-automatic rifle of some kind from here…and it’s trained right on Cartridge. Don’t think that isn’t in the back of the pitcher’s mind as he rears back and fires a pitch. Oh no! He’s plunked Glick right on the knee and Glick is hot. He’s tossed his bat and he’s running out to the mound. Cartridge has drawn his pistol though and you can see the laser dot aimed right at the Comancho logo on Glick’s kevlar lined batting helmet.”

“Even with the laser sighting, You wouldn’t want to make a mistake here and hit your own catcher.”

“No one  wants a repeat of what happened in Milwaukee !”

“Whoa! Someone’s taken a shot and it isn’t the pitcher. Is it Flintlock?”

“No, the first base coach throws up his arms and shrugs as if to say, ‘not me.‘ Everyone’s looking around and, Cartridge has gone down. The pitcher’s been hit, but who’s taken the shot?”

“Well, this is an open carry stadium. Could be a fan…judging by the bloodstain blooming on the downed pitcher’s back, it looks like it came from the Whackadoo bullpen, which is in the outfield behind the right field wall.”

“Now that doesn’t make any sense. Why would one of his own teammates shoot him? The Whacks are desperately short on pitchers and they really needed to get innings out of Cartridge.”

“All right. The trainers are out on the field now, covered by a security detail…”

“And I have to say those guys at Trank security do a marvelous job!”

“That they do, Vince. Indeed. OK, they’re taking Cartridge off the field and as soon as we know what’s going on, we’ll report back to you.”

“We’re going to break for commercial while the Whacks warm up a new pitcher. This pitching change brought to you by Guns on Wheels, dedicated to keeping elderly and shut-in Americans locked and loaded. An armed America is a safe America. Not affiliated with Meals on Wheels.

“–All right, folks, we’re back. Trank Security has the Whackadoo bullpen surrounded. Though a few shots have been fired, it’s been quiet for the last minute.”

“Vince, for folks in the stands listening to the game… As you know stadium policy limits gun sales to the third through sixth innings, but the Whacks have announced that sales will start in the bottom of the first as a safety precaution.”

“And there is a special on now, for every HappyTime gun and clip you buy, you get a free 24-ounce Schlitzerman Beer.”

“Now that’s convenience.”

“It sure is, Vince. It sure is. Nothing goes better together than HappyTime and Schlitzerman, the best gun/beer combo you’ll find at any ballpark.”

“Oh, Robin, the fans have started doing the wave and chanting, ‘drone strike, drone strike!'”

“And here they come Vince, a pair of quad copters with automatics mounted and the Jumbotron is showing the drones eye view. They’re swooping down now on the bullpen, and folks are scattering.”

“Robin, just listen to this crowd – they’re going nuts. It gives you goosebumps. This has been one heck of a first inning and we haven’t even had the first out. It promises to be one heck of a game.”

“Reminder, this drone strike brought to you by our friends at SkyBullets.com, meeting all your personal aerial defense needs. Remember, with a drone, you’re never alone.”

New York weekend

Posing at the Whitney

So we were back in hot, smelly, tasty New York over the weekend where it was too uncomfortable to stand outside and wait for a cab or an Uber. Forget the subway platform with its superheated unventilated barely breathable sludge that passes for air. Forget walking on the sunny side of the street. Always check the air conditioning of that restaurant before the menu.

And, oh yeah, apparently  cockroaches took flight.

I do love New York though, even when it’s like this. You can walk around with a camera and take pictures of people posing on one of the Whitney’s terraces, and see avant-garde Fringe Festival shows. Which is why we went – to see a friend’s poignant and hilarious production of Gorges Motel at Players Theatre, which made Huff Post’s curated Fringe Festival list. See it.

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Anyway, pluses and minuses regarding New York City.

Minuses: It costs a lot of money to get there, stay there, eat there, drink there and entertain yourself there. There are unidentifiable odors mixed with some unfortunately recognizable ones. Tourist destinations waste your valuable time. The city is not what it once was.

Pluses: New York City is still more unlike anywhere else than anywhere else. It is strange, electrified, multicultural, demanding,  ecstatic, entertaining, stimulating, exhausting. No matter how great the thing is that you’re doing, you always have the feeling that there’s something else even better. You can order Indian food and  have it delivered just about any time of day or night.

The first shots fired in a long war

Today, we’re on a break from the detective story. That doesn’t mean that the writing team has no idea where the story is going. Just that something urgent popped into the inbox this morning. See below for details:

A few years ago I purchased a DropCam mostly so the family could observe our then new dog when she was home alone, and scare the bejeezus out of her through the remote mic whenever she got into something she shouldn’t.

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Anyway, Nest acquired DropCam awhile ago… and while that isn’t too much of a big deal, every now and then they try some shenanigans like this here email which arrived today:

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I was almost lulled into inaction by the cheerful, apologetic, chatty tone of the email. “What a nice note,” I thought. “They’ve given me the option of ignoring it. How thoughtful. I love ignoring things…”

Then the caffeine kicked in and the sense that I was being wronged by a faceless entity started rising up from deep within. Error or no error, I want my free Video History. I paid for it and it’s mine. Right is right.

Essentially, they were telling me that they “accidentally” provided a free service and now that service was no longer free. Well… I sent the following email response:

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That should clear things up! Questions for you, the above average* reader: Is this an overreaction? An underreaction? A just right reaction? I don’t know, but justice must be served.

Continue reading The first shots fired in a long war

Carried off by the swift waters

“All right,” I said. “Tell me all about it.” Like I said, I had time and more than anything, I like a good story.

Alder Fanspree got up from the bench and turned to face me and his wife.

“I had just dug into breakfast, egg and cheese on a toasted roll, when a man sat down to share the table. This was outside. This happened often and I didn’t bother to look up. ‘Does the name Shnabullious Traffletum mean anything to you,’ he said.

“I looked at him over the top of the Post. He sported an outlandish  thick moustache, curled at the ends, and his cheeks were ruddied as if by a raw winter wind.

“‘Of course it wouldn’t,’ he continued. ‘You’re just an average man caught up in a mundane life. You’re married. You have two children. The girl, the older one you have named Willow, is an athlete, a decent student who will no doubt get into a state school one day. Although, she dreams of an Ivy, it’s beyond her and she knows it. The other struggles. Maybe he’s on the spectrum. Maybe he isn’t.  You think he may have difficulties in social situations that will make it harder for him as he grows up.’

“This man’s information was only partly right. I am nothing if not average. You’ve met my wife, but, we’re childless. I told him, ’You have me mistaken for someone else.’

“’So, that’s how you’re going to play it,’ he said. And he smiled and twirled the end of his moustache.

“‘Look,’ I pressed on. ‘You have confused me with someone who looks a lot like me. I get it – I have one of those faces. But I don’t have children. You’re after another man. Not me.’

“He slid a 9 & 12 envelope across the table to me. ‘Open it,’ he said.

“There was a photo of a man jogging in the early morning along the river. It was an excellent capture of a tall, strikingly handsome man in the midst of an easy run. In the background, another runner out of focus, followed.

“‘That is Shnabullious Traffletum.’”

“I flipped the photo over and in the next image Mr. Traffletum was out of focus and the trailing runner was in sharp focus. That runner looked a lot like me, but it wasn’t me. For one thing, he wore a knee brace. I didn’t know who he was, but he must live nearby. We’d seen him around. I could see how we’d get mixed up. I often run past the same place.

“This man had information about a guy who looked like me, his children, and maybe every salient detail about his life. Stuff he could use to leverage the guy.

“‘Look at him,’ I said. ‘He’s wearing a knee brace. I don’t have one. My knee’s fine. And I don’t run that early. It’s not me.’

“‘That was Saturday,’ the stranger said.

“The next image showed Mr. Traffletum again, this time from the side passing a gate that separated the running path from the river.

“‘The gate is not latched,’ he said. ‘What I’d like you to do, Mr. Grass, is nudge Mr. Traffletum as he passes the gate tomorrow morning on your run. The gate is not latched – it’s there for kayakers and they never lock it. It will be low tide and the rocks at river’s edge will be exposed and Mr. Traffletum will trip as he falls through the gate and if god is with us, he will strike his head on the rocks below, hopefully doing permanent damage. Or, render him unconscious so he can drown. If he remains conscious, he will get carried off by the swift waters, and as he cannot swim, he will likely drown anyway. Eat your sandwich before it gets cold.’

“I noticed the egg and cheese perched in my hand next to my head and took a bite. It was still warm and the cheese was gooey.
‘What do you say? Can we count on you? Do this for us, and our relationship ends and Willow grows up and, who knows, maybe Princeton takes her. Maybe Clem – is that short for Clematis? – gets a little specialized attention to help him over this rough patch he’s going through. Maybe your beautiful wife doesn’t get snatched and held and…’ He paused and fiddled with his moustache again. ’She’ll live. We’re not animals. But would she ever be the same?’”

Laurel had stood up some time ago and she was pacing back and forth.