That's a good name for it.

It looks like spring is finally going to come to Michigan, which opens the door to many possibilities, not the least of which is the opportunity to enjoy outings that involve driving around more or less aimlessly on back roads to see what we can see. For a detailed description of this activity, see my posting entitled "Sploring" of August 20, 2010.

As I said in that post, we often add scratch-off lottery tickets when sploring, which requires stopping at mom-and-pop stores to buy the tickets and trading in the winners and/or buying more tickets at the next little store.

On one such occasion we ended up mostly north and west our home base, and quite a long way off. We stopped at a convenience store that appeared to be on the outskirts of a town, but we didn't know which one. I waited in the car while my wife went into the store to deal with the lottery tickets. Parked next to me was a pickup truck with an older gentleman at the wheel whose companion had also gone into the store.

Both our windows were down, so I leaned my head out and said to him, "Excuse me. Can you tell me what town this is?"

"This is Lakeview," he said.

I admit I do have a rather shameless tendency to be -- well, a smart ass, and before I could stop myself, I said mildly, "Oh, I'll bet you can see the lake from here."

"Oh, no," he said earnestly, "not from here.  But from town you can."

Good to know. Thank you, sir.

Please? Pretty please?

One time my mother and I were watching a Cubs game on television. When a player made the sign of the cross before stepping into the batter’s box, she said, “Do you think he’s praying for a home run, or that the pitcher doesn’t bean him with the ball?” Maybe both, is what I thought.

Back then only a player who crossed himself revealed he was asking for favors from a higher power.  Nowadays you might see a pitcher remove his cap and bow his head – and sometimes go down on one knee – before taking the mound. Praying he throws lots of strikes, maybe?

And batters, even without an obvious pre-bat prayer, will raise their eyes and point to heaven above when they arrive safely at a base or cross home plate. So, again, is he saying, “Thanks for the base hit,” or is he giving thanks that he didn’t break his arm sliding head-first into the bag?

It is temping to wonder if God takes sides. Can the MLB standings be a reflection of divine intervention?

Well, I kind of doubt it, actually. I don’t think a merciful supreme being could ignore the prayers of Cubs fans for a hundred years before assisting them in winning the 2016 World Series.

Although – the turning point in the Cubs' fortunes came after that 17-minute delay before the start of the 10th inning of Game 7, caused by the sky opening and a deluge falling upon Cleveland.

Hmm.

Reality Check

My mother was in charge of the household budget, and one time she got to thinking it would be nice if there was just a little more money left over after the bills were paid. She thought maybe getting the monthly house payment lowered might help, so she called the bank that held the mortgage. She was connected to a loan office who told her that it might be  possible to refinance the loan.

“I’d like to understand your situation,” he said.  “Are you carrying large balances on credit cards?”

“No, we don’t have any credit cards.”

“Are you making payments for a lot of things you bought on credit?"

“Just our car,” she said.

“Are you behind on any payments?”

“No.”

“Do you have a lot of medical bills?”

“No.”

“Do you have kids in college?”

“No.”

Sounding a little irked, he said “Well, what’s your problem, lady?”

“I guess I don’t have one,” she said, then thanked him and hung up.

Very Like Schenectady

I’ve lately been mulling over figures of speech, of which there are myriad types. The ones most of us remember from our high school English classes are the very common simile and metaphor.

The distinction is the presence or absence of comparison words like “like” or “as” since simile says one thing is similar to another:  The sun was like a big orange ball.

Metaphor tells us one thing actually is another: The sun was a big orange ball.

Where I started to bog down in my mulling was in the various subspecies of metaphor, two of the most common of which are metonymy and synecdoche.

A metonym is a word or phrase that substitutes for another, as in, “There was no comment from the White House,” where the building stands in for the President.

On the other hand, a synecdoche represents something by one characteristic of it, such as calling a car “wheels.”  One source I consulted gave as an example of synecdoche the use of “long hair” for hippie.

That brings me to my original point, which I admit was a long time coming.  When I was young – well, before the Beatles, anyway – “long hair” didn’t mean hippie, it was associated with classical music, probably because of the longish and often untidy heads of hair seen in portraits of famous composers of the past and one or two eccentric orchestra conductors of the present.

It was that meaning that frequently caused my father to deliver the indirect referential synecdochic locution of, “I think I’ll get a hair cut.  It’s cheaper than a violin.”

(I hope that was worth waiting for.)

What'll you have?

In previous postings, I’ve talked about my adventures with the sidecar, a popular World War I-era cocktail. I was curious when it was mentioned in several episodes of the British series “Upstairs Downstairs,” so I researched it and made one for myself. And liked it. A lot.

The popularity of the drink faded long ago, and I gave up trying to order a one in a restaurant. Only experienced mixologists know how to make a sidecar. Most bartenders, especially wait staff who are pressed into service behind the bar, have never heard of it.

Yesterday I went into our local Outback to buy a gift card for a friend. The hostess directed me to the bar, tended by a very pleasant young woman who, at 3:00 in the afternoon, had no other customers. She was ringing up the sale, and just on a whim, I asked, "Do you know how to make a sidecar?"

She stopped what she was doing, looked off into space, and after a significant pause, said doubtfully, “Do you mean, like for a motorcycle?”

Never mind. Thanks anyway.