More ch-ch-ch-changes

Weird, in retrospect, that I went with a Sabres logo on the last post. A day later, mere weeks after they'd given their current management a vote of confidence going into Next Season Whenever THAT Is, the team's owners fired their general manager, all of his assistants, the Amerks' coach and GM and most of their scouting staff.  The recently-hired Sabres coach remains, as does an in-house choice for general manager with no prior front office experience.  And probably an usher or two, not that there's going to be any ushing to do down there any time soon.

The biggest visual change around here the past few days is on the dog.  Thursday was her long-awaited Spa Day at the place next to my Rochester office.  The day leading up to it was far more stressful in its own way, as I had no idea if a first-thing hearing on Thursday was going to go forward or not.  I received opposition a week before, got an immediate call from the court asking how I would respond to it, made numerous calls/email contacts to the guy who sent it who seemed incommunicado despite working for the biggest law firm this side of the Tappan Zee Bridge, and as of noon Wednesday still had no feckin' idea. Finally, I called the court to report the nonresponsiveness, the guy finally called me back and agreed to give me more time to work it out, the court said I'd have to "file something," I filed "something," but didn't get confirmation until leaving the office Wednesday that it was indeed postponed- for two whole months.

It remained unclear whether a related motion in the same case had also been postponed, so I felt the need to call in at the appointed time anyway. Which I did- from here, of all places:




I took that picture at the last playoff game played there last September (and unfortunately quite likely the last game that ever will be played there). The sign was unchanged in nine months; previous seasons ended with nice thanks to fans and promises of SEE YOU NEXT YEAR.

I picked the spot because it was on the way to Rochester and my two subsequent call-ins of the morning, one at 9:30 and one at 11.  I dialed the 9:00 number, and sat for five minutes confirming, You are the only participant. Formal word came later; that part of it was indeed also adjourned two months.

Pepper was with me in the car; she knew something was up even before we left, as she wouldn't eat. But she was a perfect lady the whole trip there, and through the next call, which wound up taking place in the parking lot of a Waste Management office near the Rochester Airport.  It went fine, and the actual dump is miles away.  That got us to Pepper's pre-groom playdate right before my third call of the day:



That's her longtime pal Sadie, who she last saw at that last Batavia playoff game. They hung out while I headed to the office for Call Number Three, ordered pizza for us for lunch, and brought her back over for her groom at the appointed hour.  I spent a couple of hours sending threatening letters and emails to various idiots, and got the call she was done.  She was barely half the dog she was when she went in-



- and, with the temperature and humidity heading back up the past few days, I'm sure is a much happier pup, too:)

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Yesterday was our first quasi-observance of Juneteenth.  Things were pretty quiet, a lot of places closed all day or at least early, and I got to contemplate the way our Dear Leader has tried co-opting the whole thing as if it was his idea all along. My reply:

Fair's fair, so I'm gonna let him take the credit on this one. Sort of.

I knew of the observance; not out of any particular thirst for knowledge on my part, but because Buffalo has had vibrant and well publicized celebrations of it back to when I first moved here. Still, and this is what I acknowledge: it's only been in the past week or so, after Cheeto made his offensive original attempt to desecrate the date for his Coronapalooza rally in Tulsa (originally planned for Juneteenth itself and near the anniversary of the Tulsa Race Massacre ), that it entered the broader public consciousness, since rising spectacularly to the level of a recognized formal holiday for all to observe.

So, yeah- you made it famous. The way a School Book Depository was made famous in 1963, a motel in Memphis was in 1968, an office building in DC was 48 years ago last Wednesday, and the Emanuel AME Church in Charleston was five years ago on that same date.

You get causation, not credit. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.

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Returning to sport: major league baseball players and owners seem more determined than ever to piss away any chance of a meaningful 2020 season as they fight over their shares of billions of dollars.  I remain optimistic, and even got retweeted (nice trick for someone who's not on Twitter) for this take on my own beloved team in these worst of times:

Mr. Met has announced that there will NOT be a change of the team name on account of historical oppression or cultural appropriation. However, in recognition of current circumstances, the theme song is being rewritten for the time being:

Meet the Mets, meet the Mets,
But please stay back six feet from Mets,
Wear your mask and wash your hands,
Never touch your face, your nose or your glands,
And while concession stands are open to serve,
Keep your mask on so we flatten the curve,
COVID-19,
Risk for it is still around,
And we want all our fans alive
In New York town!

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At last, the weekend. I need to secure a new electric can opener, since our 1990s one has started making noises resembling a chain saw, and take one more crack at finding a cord to connect our new cassette-playing boom box to this computer so we can record from old tapes.  At least the bird feeder's cleaned up and accepting new clients:



ALLLLLLVINNNNNNN!!!!