MAY YOUR HANDS ALWAYS BE BUSY: July at AllianceBernstein was much like April, with the crush of quarter-end work building up so that there was hardly time to breathe during the second and third weeks, and then tapering off to more comfortable levels during the fourth. Charmae invited me to continue working full-time during August, and I accepted, only keeping a couple of days reserved for dealing with medical appointments—and also for finding The Kid's room before he gets home from his travels. (He should be enjoying his time in Europe as this gets collated, having left Africa behind on the first Monday of August.) Much of his Stuff got shifted to provide access to the radiator when we were ferreting out leaks last fall, and in addition, a few boxes of Stuff from Donna's room got moved in there during a couple of minor crises. With typical Cadre inertia, most of the Stuff has stayed where it got moved to ever since. Dredging operations are now in progress.

     The NYUSFS ferry meeting on the first Thursday of July was significantly better attended than last year's, though of course nothing like the glory days of the 1980s. Still, we got a couple of dozen folks, of which about 15 made their way up to Chinatown afterward for dinner at Nice Green Bo on Bayard Street. (Thanks to The Donewitz for the recommendation.) Next year will be the 40th Annual; I think I'm up for continuing the tradition at least through 42.

     HeiferCat has been diagnosed with a urinary-tract infection and treated with antibiotic injections; I'm desperately hoping that this will curtail the puddles on the living-room floor, and we can see how much permanent damage has been sustained. In the meantime, the creature has decided she will no longer use a litter box in the downstairs bathroom, where it's been for 25 years, but only a box placed over the spot she was marking over the past two months; so if you visit the Cadre, step carefully as you enter the living room through the front door.

     I experienced attacks of déjà vu in late July when my Samsung Galaxy S Vibrant "smart" phone lost its ability to communicate with laptop and desktop computers via its micro USB port—a crucial loss since that's how I load music files to play on it, as well as how I transport files (like this zine) back and forth between the computer at home and the one at work. This malfunction was identical to the one I experienced 13 months ago; hence the déjà vu. The first phone was replaced under warranty; fortunately, after the warranty ran out, I'd started paying monthly "insurance" on the phone, so once again I got a replacement at a nominal charge. Once again I also spent two weeks dealing with T-Mobile tech support on the phone, waiting on hold, telling the same story to six or seven different people each time prior to being connected with someone who had a clue what to do, doing unnecessary hard resets of the phone that necessitated reinstalling all the apps and restoring all my data, and then doing it again to the new phone once they sent it. By the time this gets collated, the new phone ought to be about where the old one was prior to the malfunction.
     For those keeping score, this is the third phone on a two-year contract that runs through the end of September. Withal, the time between repairs isn't much different from that of the Palm Pilots whose functions the phones have taken over, so while I can wish for more durable technology, I guess I'm no worse off than before.

Comments on APA-NYU, Volume 10, #7 (e-APA-NYU #99)

ICONOCLAST (Joel Nelson):

(¢me) "Someone can retain his belief that he is God and you are not by being surprised or shocked by you; he cannot if he allows himself to be impressed by you." If God is omniscient, can anything surprise or shock Him? /*/ "Younger people will reach UBC [Upset By Change] at a younger age." Then everyone's in trouble. A few old geezers (you know, like my age) unable to deal with the change around them, and complaining about it, can be laughed off. Half the population of working age having trouble doing the things they need to do in daily life can cause vast amounts of havoc. /*/ Your zine is earlier than usual because your cat came in at two in the morning and helped you write it? /*/ I don't expect to see the popularity of buying stuff at garage sales diminish noticeably because of a few magazine articles that will mostly garner attention from germophobes (who presumably already fear the risk of catching something from used clothing or housewares, and so shun any such event). Where greenness is concerned, I'm more worried about the inexorable march of technology toward things that are (1) obsolete a week after they're brand-new and (2) more expensive to repair than to replace. Will germophobes take over to the extent you imagine, banning the sale of used goods? Surely not in the current state of the economy (and there are plenty of politicians who are working to keep that state in effect for a long time). And even thereafter, cheapness, or, as we ingenious Yankees call it, "thrift," remains an American virtue, and will act as a countervailing force against germophobia. /*/ Banning more than 20 people on a bus? In this city? It is to laugh. Banning assemblies of more than a dozen people, though, is well on the way, through the efforts of the sort of people who pushed the U-Sap-At-Riot Act through a decade ago and keep pushing for its renewal.

DANCE* WITH FLEETING FAME (Ariel Cinii):

"He'd want his remains scattered from the Brooklyn Bridge..." Thanks for reminding me: I've wanted to mention this in these pages for some time, since I'm not sure where else I could post it to make it a matter of public record. (Do you put things like that into a will? I really need to get around to doing one of those, now that I'm 60.) Yes, when I die—and please don't take extraordinary measures if I'm brain-dead or in a persistent vegetative state—I want my body cremated (after any reusable parts have been harvested) and the ashes scattered from the pedestrian walk of the Brooklyn Bridge. Preferably during morning rush hour, so that I can be in people's hair all day. /*/ If "a nuclear exchange," "a major geological shift," or "a major astronomical event; i.e. an asteroid strike" (not to mention "all of the above") occurs in the Middle East, the place will be uninhabitable for a good long time, refuting all the biblical prophecies that have the God of one's choice setting up the seat of His new world government there (with the prophet of one's choice on the throne). If the event is big enough, it'll refute any prophecy that involves the human species continuing to exist on the earth, and subsequent scriptures will have the god of the cockroaches raining down death from the heavens upon the wicked mammals. /*/ "...there'd be licensed psychics instead of these damned 'reader and advisor' shops all around New York. You know, only a third of them are legitimate." Really, that many? How do you know this?

JAMISON, TAKE e-LETTER (Mark L. Blackman):

"Oddly, when I have blood tests, they have trouble finding a vein; I'm 'a bad stick'. ... I tell them give me a safety razor or piece of paper and they'll get all the blood they want." I shave in the shower (when I shave) for just that reason. (But you can't read or collate zines in the shower, so I'm still vulnerable to bleeding from paper cuts.) The "bad stick" may just mean your veins are a bit deeper than average at the points they usually look for them. Or it may mean the people looking for them aren't very good at it. (Some times when I give blood, it goes smoothly, and other times I get a bruise on the inside of my elbow that lasts for two weeks.) /*/ (¢me) "As I expect you know, Groucho's character, was originally Dr. Quackenbush, but the name got changed when a real Dr. Quackenbush complained." And I'd supposed that "Wagstaff" had been similarly modified from "Flagstaff," until I discovered how many real Wagstaffs there were. /*/ "it occurs to me to wonder if Spalding was a reference to the Spalding ball-manufacturing company [pronounced "Spaldeen" on the streets of NY]..." Pink rubber Spaldeens weren't yet around when Animal Crackers was made, though the Spalding company was (it made baseballs and basketballs). But Groucho's character spelled his name "Spaulding"; the Wikipedia entry (take it with however many grains of salt it merits) observes, "The name may be a topical reference to a real Captain Spaulding, an army officer who was arrested a few years earlier for selling cocaine to Hollywood residents. See Hollywood Babylon, by Kenneth Anger." /*/ "Something is only a prequel if it was written 2nd, but intended to be a prelude to the 1st book or movie." I type corrected.

I REALLY THOUGHT IT WAS THE ASTHMA (Deb Wunder):

"I now speak – as Dave Weingart pointed out – about four octaves higher than normal." I think it's really only about an octave higher, when your voice is audible at all. I'm just glad you're doing better, and getting medical care again which will presumably prevent any further crises. (I note, even as I type, that your roommate was in hospital for the past weekend. Crises, crises, you can't get away.)

>Portions of the preceding salute pet owners for their patriotism in supporting our vets.<

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