0528 - Seasonality

Yes, it is that time of the year. Anguilla is notably lacking in two-foot snowfalls and theaters showing sappy seasonal movies, yet we are always alert as the year winds down. Partly this is because the entire Staff is getting ready for a big birthday party today for our leader, and wrapping thoughtful gifts. The Revered Investment Guru is giving a hot stock tip: a company that makes buccal delivery systems for drugs (look it up). The Ethicist is giving pure thoughts, and the House Steward is bottling dried fruits in Special Reserve Rum. At such times, it is only appropriate to declare a (temporary) cease-fire in our broadsides directed to politicians of all countries and parties. In particular, we propose no more rants about the mess in Iraq until 2004. But then, just wait.

[Aside: do you know the fine old story about Mrs. Piffleman, who loved nothing as much a big bowl of chicken noodle soup? One day, she was sitting down to a big bowl of her favorite, when there was a knock, and in walked three grave-faced men. She took a slurp. “Mrs. Piffleman” said the leader, “We have bad news about your husband.” Slurp, slurp. “He was hurt at work, and, well, it was bad. In fact, he’s gone.” Slurp, slurp goes Mrs. P. “Mrs. Piffleman! We’re telling you your husband is dead, and you are eating soup!” “Gentlemen”, says Mrs. P., “When I finish this bowl of chicken soup, will you hear a woman scream!” End of aside.]

We did have a dream about that certain ill-fated country. It seems that after the U.S. took over, a public relations campaign began at once. For example, when they found that ton or so of gold bullion, they minted some souvenir coins and gave them out to every registered Iraqi as a memento. Then, they signed everyone up as a stockholder in the oil wells, and promised dividends from the earnings. This worked brilliantly, since when the old gang blew up the pipelines, everyone knew this cost a share of this month’s earnings. A PR coup! Then, the old regular army and police were all kept on pay, had new and fancy uniforms, and got awards on a daily TV program for establishing order, assisting ladies across the streets, and finding explosives. There was also a lottery for information needed to find you-know-who, with numbered envelopes for submitting tips, and big prizes awarded to these numbers if the tips worked. As a result of this and many similar brilliancies, the country rapidly recovered, although it began to show certain similarities to Southern California. But, hey, was that all bad?

Back at the Observatory, the Chief Information Officer has been collecting those imaginary names of spammers, and we now have: Rotunno Sheer, Mankin Becvar, and one Gains Brott. That last sounds like a German greeting: “Wie geht’s?” “Gains Brott”.

The C.I.O. also acquired a shredder for the office here, in order to protect sensitive information. It wasn’t a bad idea, but the shredder keeps clogging up, and then makes some ugly noises and spits out clots of partly-digested notes for OO columns, draft grumpy letters to suppliers of bad software and hardware, and thoughts that shall never see the bright light of an Anguillian day. Note for you jealous Northerners suffering from weather: as a matter of fact it has been rainy, windy, and cold by local standards (below 78 F.) for several weeks. But there’s plenty of ideal days to come, so c’mon down and do send for your special cut-rate tickets for the Observatory tour.

Next time: Cheer [OO #529]

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