Springtime Musings

Is it true? Has spring finally arrived? Is it time to turn on the attic fan and replace the front storm door with the screen door? Sunday was a tease, Monday an encore, with temperatures in the 70’s. But I’m still a little leery about the actual arrival of spring. It’ll take several consecutive nice days to convince me.

Gilda and I did take advantage of the mild weather Sunday, before it poured, to walk around parts of nearby Scarsdale (for those unfamiliar with the burgh, Scarsdale is one of the more upscale communities in the country, let alone Westchester county). As we ambled along, admiring many of the enlarged and renovated houses, we kept up a running dialogue as to which older homes would be spruced up or knocked down and recast as mansions befitting the corporate and Wall Street elites who can afford a Scarsdale address these days. Somewhat perversely I also I also postulated the grown children of the parents living in those older homes can’t wait for them to move out or die off so the lots can be sold for tidy bonanzas. I guess it’s the cynic in me cultivated by years of reporting.

If spring has indeed arrived it came a few days too soon. How can I say that? Well, it’s purely a selfish response based on a purchase over the weekend of a heated mattress pad. Gilda and I are tired of subjecting our feet to cold sheets at night, so we invested in a heated mattress pad, as opposed to an electric blanket. We tried it out Saturday night, it worked fine, but one night is not a definitive test.


Cap Day: In his fourth season with the NY Yankees, Joba Chamberlain no longer looks like a kid brought up from the minors who didn’t have time to do anything but grab a new cap from the equipment manager. Fans might have noticed the dough-boy from Nebraska has shaped a slight arc into the bill of his cap, instead of keeping the flat-brim look favored by rappers from the 'hood.

Not that the new fashion statement helped his pitching Sunday. He gave up a 2-run home run to the host Baltimore Orioles in the seventh inning, enroute to Mariano Rivera’s second straight blown save in the ninth. We’d be talking about more important things than a baseball hat if the Yanks hadn’t come back to win in the 11th inning.


Scratch Me If You Can: I’m what I call a scratch golfer. That is, whenever I succumb to outside pressure to take club in hand, I prompt people, including myself, to scratch their heads wondering why this idiot is out on the golf course, hacking away to no avail, making an enjoyable round impossible for his foursome and for any playing behind him.

Now, some of you conversant with the nomenclature of golf might know the true definition of a scratch golfer is one who plays a round at par or better. By that definition I’m still a scratch golfer, at least in my mind, as I set par at 135 and dammit, I usually come close to beating it.

Of course, golfers at all skill levels reveled in the misfortune of Kevin Na, who carded a 16 on the par 4 ninth hole at the recent Valero Texas Open. Watch the YouTube video from the Golf Channel for this humbling experience. Keep in mind that Na is ranked 65th in the world: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWTXoNzuk8c

When I played golf semi-regularly back in the late 1970’s, I would wind up in the woods just like Na did. So did the rest of my threesome, but while Dave and I would own up to a (fudged) 11 or 12, Rudy would triumphantly report a 7. Pretty soon it no longer was pleasant playing with Rudy. Then Dave moved back to England and my playing days were over, except for an occasional corporate outing.

During one such adventure, I almost bonked one of our company's other publishers in the head with an errant tee shot. She thought she was safely standing to the right of me, about 15 degrees north of the tee. But my slice almost beaned her, much to the chagrin of her staff who intensely disliked her.


Act Your Age: I’ve often been told I was immature. Now here’s confirmation—I’m a loyal viewer of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report. Since their target audience are 18-34 year old males, I must be younger than my 62 years, at least mentally. My friends will tell you that physically my body, at least my complaints about it, make me more of an octogenarian.