Talk About Your Phantom Government….

A Party, And Nobody Came   (by bill)

I held a fine party a fortnight ago,
The mood was exceedingly bright;
A thousand balloons did a waltz through the rooms,
A once-in-a-century sight.
The tables were filled with a riot of frills,
There were wines in great crystal glasses;
The coffees were Turkish, served by maidens in burkhas,
Delivered in gold demitasses.
A lively brass band made music so grand
The echoes careened through the hall;
But despite all this sport, I regret to report,
Nobody showed up at all.



A Meeting, And Nobody Came

On Tuesday, Siobhan and I headed for the Orlando airport and a scheduled trip to sprightly Rockville, Maryland, home of the dreaded Food And Drug Administration, the FDA to you.  Siobhan’s company, Pathogenes, Inc. is attempting to get its EPM drugs, Orogin and Neuroquel approved by the government, no easy task, and this was to be our second visit to the Temple of Doom in furtherance of those efforts.  Most people pay teams of fancy lawyers to take care of matters like this but “most people,” in these cases, are rich pharmaceutical firms, of which Pathogenes is not one.  Matter of fact, we considered flying to the Old Line State in the wheel well of a jetliner to save money since that mode of travel is all the rage these days, but relented at the last minute due to a sudden attack of sanity.

Siobhan decided to wear her screaming orange outfit, the better to be visible from long distances in airports.  She was a big hit with Clemson fans, which is in no way a favorable endorsement.  We flew on dependable Southwest but we still don’t like the obnoxious no-seat-assignment policy.  No matter, we sat together anyway—in the Emergency Exit row, no less—when Siobhan’s seatmate opted to remove himself in exchange for a free ticket on a future flight, this one being “oversold.”  Coming and going, there was not a spare seat to be had, so Southwest knows what they’re doing, seat assignments or not.  The flight was our favorite type—uneventful—and we landed in Baltimore ten minutes early.  There were no snafus at the Dollar car rental counter if you don’t count the unexpected extra $28 we had to pay for an E-Pass.  We picked up Tom Kennedy, our ally for the fray, outside the baggage area and headed off for Rockville.  About Tom Kennedy: nice guy we met when he was working for Bayer some fourteen years ago when Siobhan was doing some testing for them.  Tom eventually left Bayer and hooked up with another pharmaceutical outfit out of Phoenix which let him run the show, that being the only way a Wisconsin boy was moving to Phoenix.  You might not know this but it’s HOT in Phoenix.  They scoff at 108 degrees there.  In Wisconsin, 108 is the total number of degrees all the daily Winter temperatures add up to.  Anyway, Tom retired last year and he is now a “consultant,” which, in pharmaceutical parlance, translates to “rich guy.”  We can’t usually afford these people but Tom likes Siobhan, believes in her work and is in on the ground floor of a potential blockbuster business, so what the hell.

And so dawns Wednesday, meeting day, in bustling Rockville.  Siobhan is up at the crack of dawn, rustling her papers and donning a more respectable grey and black outfit.  We won’t tell anybody at FDA, but the top half of it used to be a dress until it got a little….well, um….short would be the word.  Siobhan tells me that when you are 61 years old your ass is not allowed to peek below the hem of your dress, but I don’t know why not.  Siobhan may, indeed, be sixty-one but her ass is still thirty-five.

So now we have arrived at 7500 Standish Place, FDA Headquarters, a half-hour early for our nine-o’clock meeting.  We are greeted by a smiling black security man from Cameroon who, I am glad to discover, happens to know of brother Cameroonian Joakim Noah, ex-Gator (and current Chicago Bull) basketballer.  My intention is to hang out until meeting time and then leave the crew to their own devices, driving around for the balance of the affair familiarizing myself with the area.  I went to the last meeting.  To say it proceeded at a glacial pace would be an extreme in generosity, not to mention the eardrum-searing one experiences listening to the constant application of that scratchy red tape.  Besides, what do I know?  The only reason I even got Bs in Science was I brought Brother Paul Welch’s Frappe Bars.

At 8:50 and with no greeting committee, Tom Kennedy got a little antsy. “This never happens,” he said.  How many meetings have you been to, Tom?  “Twenty-five.”  Oh-oh.  We asked Cam, the security man, if he could scare up some help, but, of course, he had to man his post.  Make a couple of calls?  “They don’t answer their phones.”  We called home and had efficient employee Austin email and telephone everybody on our contact list.  We could envision a meeting room full of people thinking we were late because nobody thought to come get us.  The phone numbers were mostly outdated.  By 9:15, nobody had appeared.  Cam the Man suggested the meeting might have been scheduled for the building across the street.  “They have some meetings over there,” he said.  I went over, met another security guy and was told “an Asian lady came down around nine and was looking for a group.”  Oh, great.  “Any way we can get hold of her?”  He shook his head.  “I don’t think so.”  Your tax dollars at work.  I called Siobhan.  She had buttonholed a man on his way to work in the Criminal Investigations Division.  “This warrants a criminal investigation,” she told him.  He went upstairs, looked around the conference rooms but couldn’t find anybody.  He did locate a good email number for Tim Dalhouse, however, who was our liaison man who wrote Siobhan daily.  It was now 9:30.  Tim got back to the Investigator, who came to the balcony and told us he had finally hit gold.  At 9:45 Dalhouse came down, trainee in tow.  He said he was teaching the guy how not to hold a meeting, then apologized and told us he had given the committee members the next day as the time of the meeting.  But fear not!  Everyone had been advised and all would be present, in person or by Skype, forthwith.  “I’ve been here 18 months,” said Tim in shame, “and this is the only time this has ever happened.”  How’s that for luck?  Even the racehorses do better.

Long story short, the rest of the thing went off without a hitch.  Siobhan argued with Aimee.  Aimee argued with Siobhan.  Tom calmed the waters.  Priorities were put in place.  Followup plans were delineated.  A good time was had by all.  We went off and got ham sandwiches.  Tom was optimistic.  Siobhan was her usual glass-half-empty self. What sort of a day was it?  A day like all days, filled with those events that alter and illuminate our times.  All things are as they were then..and you were there.


Eight Days To Glory

The Kentucky Derby is a little over a week away and collateral damage is accumulating.  First, Constitution  pulled out with a hairline shin fracture, to race again another day but not anytime soon.  Then, Cairo Prince, oddly trained all along and not ready for his last race in the Florida Derby, was declared out by his trainer, Kiaran McLaughlin.  “We are not sure what it is,” said McLaughlin.  “We need (equine surgeon) Larry Bramlage to help us out.  Hopefully, he’ll be fine, won’t need surgery and will be back this summer.”  The trainer said his colt had come out of a work “a little jammed up,” whatever the hell that means.

“We thought it was his foot and we had been working on his foot all week. The foot got better but the horse was still not right.  We X-rayed him and he X-rayed fine but there is some kind of injury in his left fetlock.”

Meanwhile, favorite California Chrome finds his odds shrinking with each defection.  At this writing, he is probably 3-1, with nobody else below 7-1.  Still, if someone forced me to take California Chrome or the Field, I’d have to take the Field.  Is Chrome the fastest horse?  Sure.  But in a 20-horse race, shit happens.  Next week, however, we’re not allowed to pick the Field so on Thursday you get our final  choices.  Be there or be square.


Fastest Horse Update

Cosmic Flash went five-eighths in a frisky 59:1 on Monday, the best of the day, galloping out in 1:12.  One more prep, a three-eighths jump from the gate, and the fun begins, the good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.  Look for a race within the next two weeks.  Don’t forget to rub your magic amulets.


Invasion Alert!

Our grouchy mare, Wanda, is even grumpier than usual these days, which probably means we’ll soon be visited by a strange visitor from another planet in the form of a bouncing baby boy or girl.  The wax at the end of her teats says sooner rather than later, so the straw is in the barn, or soon will be, and the iodine is on the shelf.  Photos to follow.

Dot, on the other hand, is biding her time.  Both mares are scheduled to foal on April 28th, for what that’s worth, but maybe nobody told Dot.  Perhaps her barnmate’s delivery will spur her to action.  We once had a mare foal and almost immediately another in the adjacent stall did the same thing, despite showing no signs.  Didn’t want to be outdone, perhaps.  Anyway, in lieu of flowers for Wanda, please make your contributions to the Old Broodmares Retirement Home.  Gifts may be in the form of carrots.



That’s all, folks