Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yes, when the Eldest Gel, on her drive back to college, calls Port Swiller Manor an hour or so before she’s due to arrive at school but doesn’t leave a message when Ol’ Robbo can’t make it to the phone in time, I get somewhat agitated and am a wee bit snappish when I finally DO make contact with her and learn that there was never actually a problem.

Is this wrong of me?

Back in the day when I protested the Mothe’s seeming over protectiveness, she’d put on her best Jewish matron voice and say, “Just wait! Someday you’ll have children of your own!”

Yep.

Greeting, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo finds himself watching a program on the Military History channel this evening about “odd” and “bizarre” weapons ideas over the years.

The overall tone of the show is pretty snarky, as in some cases is fairly justified. But one of the topics covered was the Japanese balloon bombs of WWII that were launched against the American west coast. The show laughs them off as being random and ineffective, but ignores an incident that I recall from somewhere in the Pacific Northwest where a parson and his family stumbled across one while on a picnic. If I remember correctly without looking it up, the thing went off and killed most of them.

Ha, jolly, ha.

On the other hand, the show feels compelled to issue content warnings before sections dealing with weapons systems involving pigeons and bats.

What a stupid, stupid time in which we live.

Yeah, think I’ll go read a book.

BTW, I’m reminded again of a story that Churchill became interested in a project to train seagulls to poop on German U-boat periscope lenses. Dunno if that was true, but if not, it should have been.

Update:  Looked it up but can’t link here because I’m on my phone:  the incident occurred May 5, 1945, in Oregon.  Church outing. Five kids and the pastor’s pregnant  wife were killed. Not a good story line for a flippant show about “weird” killing machines.  Feh.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Never mind all the hearts and flowers and other commercially-driven humbug of the day, because there’s something far more important going on: Pitchers and catchers report today! Woo Hoo!

Oh, and GO NATS!!

Update:  Forgot to mention that I watched “Major League” the other evening just to get in the mood.  I always fast-forward through the love-interest plot line these days.  I also have “Bull Durham” coming from Netflix.  I really dislike Costner, Robbins, and especially Sarandon, but it’s such a good BB movie that I really don’t mind them here.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

I can’t link it here because I’m on my phone, but I see via Drudge that the Grammies are tonight and that some of the “stars” plan to “get political”.

Bless their hearts.

Friends of the decanter will already know that Ol’ Robbo has never had any truck with celebrity worship, nor given a wet slap about what some entertainer may think about things. But it seems to me that more and more people are beginning to come round to this same way of thinking, especially now that the totalitarian left has abandoned any pretense that it isn’t fighting a flat-out civil war against Middle America.

I could be mistaken, of course, but if my income depended on ticket or CD sales, I’d probably want to think carefully about who I’m alienating with my virtue-signaling.

BTW, watched “Hail, Caesar” last evening. Meh. The Coen Brothers have definitely done some good films, but they’ve served up some stinkers, too.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is enjoying a much-appreciated Friday off today. My sole achievement so far has been to refill the bird feeders off the porch, and even then I didn’t bother to change out of my robe and jammers. Hey, I like to watch the birds with my morning coffee. Got a problem with that?

On the whole home computer thing, I’m beginning to lean towards a Laptop of Robbo’s Own.  (Everyone else at home has one, so why not?) Any suggestions? I really only would use it for on-line shopping/research and blogging, so I don’t need anything fancy-shmancy (or pricey). Mrs. R wants me to take the desktop into the Apple store to see if they can fix it, but it strikes me that would probably wind up costing just as much.

Eldest Gel is home for the weekend.  She asked me last evening what I thought of Bitch McConnell telling Liawatha to sit down and shut up in the Senate.  I replied that he also should have told her to go make him a sammich.  The Gel laughed heartily.  That’s my gel!

Well, I suppose I should shift myself soon, as my non-paying job never ends: tax docs to prepare, lightbulbs to replace, and a run to the Bost Office today. But first? Maybe one more cup o’ Joe.


Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Well, the big nor’easter pounding the East Coast today brought exactly nothing to Your Nation’s Capital.

Not that we aren’t knee-deep in snowflakes here this winter, but they’re of the political rayther than the meteorological variety. Ha, ha, ha.

As a matter if fact, it’s been a relatively benign winter so far this year, and I even noticed yesterday that the forsythia is already starting to bloom. Must be all that glow bull enwarmening that ManBearPig is spreading about. AlGore promises that he’s on the case. Super serial, you guys!

For all that, I can’t remember a year when I so yearned for the return of the warmth as I do this year. Must be getting older or something.


Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Our home Mac desktop, about four or five years old now, has been slowing down gradually for a while now. This past weekend it went positively glacial, and now I can’t even get it to boot up.

Must be those damned Russian hackers. Bastards are everywhere, man!

That, or Apple built in an obsolescence bug to force me to buy a new computer.

Anyhoo, don’t know what I will do. Posting may be light for a while, since I will have to send over my phone or else borrow one of the Gels’ laptops.

By the bye, I take back my last comment on the Sooper Bowl post. I’d had no idea the shrieking harpies of the totalitarian Left were trying to politicize the game because the head honchos of the Pats are pals with The Donald. Now I’m glad they won, and in such spectacular manner. Still not a fan for the reasons I gave, but heh.

pats-jpegGreetings, my fellow port swillers!

Well, it’s Sooper Sunday once again and the nacho fixin’s are all in place and ready to go.

Ol’ Robbo really hasn’t paid much attention at all to pro football ever since Marino retired, but the Gels and I still generally catch the Big Game.

This year, my greatest motivation for watching is the possibility – however remote – that the Patriots fall on their collective backsides.

Ol’ Robbo detests New England.  Granted, some of that is because of my residual bias from being a former long time Dolphins fan.  But I’m also old enough to remember the days when they were perpetual bottom-feeders, and back then they bore their lowliness with a certain humility and dignity.  However, as soon as they became successful, they immediate turned into a gang of the most obnoxious and arrogant jackasses.  And the Cult of Tom Brady?  Sick-making to a degree.

This seems to be a thing with Bahston-based sports teams (which see the Sawx ever since their break-out season in 2003).  Perhaps it’s something in the water.

Anyhoo, I couldn’t tell you Thing One about Atlanta, and I have no earthly idea how they’ll do against the Belichick Juggernaut, but for what it’s worth, GO FALCONS!

UPDATE:  Oh, and on a much, much more important note, only nine days until pitchers and catchers report!  Ol’ Robbo can’t wait for the boys of summah to return.   GO, NATS!!

UPDATE DEUX:  Sorry, I was thinking of the 2004 Sawx, when they came back from a 3-games to nada deficit to take the Yankees in the American League title bout.  Best. Series. Evah.  And I was supporting them whole-heartedly the entire way.  Since then?  We hates them.

POST-GAME UPDATE TROIS: Dammit.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is back from his week of biznay travel safe and sound.  The trip itself was extremely productive and, apart from the fact that we had to return to the gate in Denver yesterday morning because a passenger suddenly felt sick as we were taxiing out to the runway and were therefore very late, it went remarkably smoothly.  (The fellah in the seat next to me was quite irate.  I pointed out to him that it was just as well the sickie piped up when he did and that it was a hell of a lot better than having to make an emergency landing in someplace like Kansas City.)

As I say, a good week.

Well, except for the rental car, that is.

I may have mentioned after my last trip on this same biznay early in December that these excursions involve driving hundreds of miles in the shadow of the Front Range of the Rockies.  After having been stuck with a small econo-car rental the last time we went out and getting caught in several snow storms, my colleagues and I demanded that the bean-counters let us have an SUV this time.  (Our foresight proved justified, because we got caught in snow storms yet again.)  Surprisingly, they agreed.  To this end, when we got into Denver Sunday evening, we found ourselves presented with a brand new, tricked out, 2017 Ford Explorer.

Ol’ Robbo was pretty pleased with the thing at first, but our relationship almost immediately soured when I realized at oh-dark-thirty Monday morning that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to actually start it up.  (The rental-wallah had started it himself Sunday evening when he was showing me all the whistles and bells and I hadn’t been paying attention because I was so tired.)

To me, starting a car is supposed to be a straight-forward process:

1.)  Insert key.

2.)  Turn key.

3.)  Profit!

Even with past rentals that featured the option of keyless ignition, I have always ignored such option and stuck with this tried-and-true system.  And so I wished to this time around.  However, after spending about ten minutes that morning trying to figure out where the hell to stick the key in, I suddenly made an alarming discovery:

Keyless ignition in THIS car was mandatory.

It was also ridiculously complicated.  First, you had to hit the “lock” button on the remote.  Then, you had to hit the “start engine” button on the remote twice.  Then you had to stomp on the brake and hit the other “start engine” button on the dashboard.  All that just to turn the stupid thing on?  How is this supposed to be an asset to me?

And of course, because it was usually dark when we were heading out in the morning or coming back in the evening and I was completely unfamiliar with the button layout on the remote, even after I figured out the magic sequence all kinds of hilarity resulted.  Sometimes I wound up opening the back hatch.  Sometimes I wound up setting off the alarm.   One morning when I had the remote in my pocket as I was leaning over the hood to scrape off the ice and snow, I managed to do both at the same time.

And of course, since the key wasn’t conveniently stuck in the side of the steering column, I was forever scrambling to find the damned thing amidst all the flotsam and jetsam of the center console whenever we got out of the car.

Yeesh!

This Explorer also featured side mirrors that automatically folded back against the body of the car like a bird’s wings when you shut off the engine.  Unfortunately, while trying to adjust the mirrors, through some combination of buttons on the door I managed to disconnect them from the servo-motor.  The result was that the things blew back against the side of the car all by themselves when I got anywhere above 40 mph or so, a situation that certainly didn’t make highway cruising any easier.  It took about two days for me to figure out how to reconnect them.

Finally, I have never driven a car that was so much of a confounded busy-bodying scold before.

For one thing, it was forever beeping at me in alarum about something or other and displaying all kinds of mysterious visual warnings on the dashboard.  We never figured out what these visuals were supposed to mean (although I suspect at least one of them had something to do with snow covering a headlight) because we couldn’t find the owner’s manual to look up the code.  (We learned later that the manual wasn’t in the glove compartment because it was stored with the spare tire instead.  It was explained that without the manual, changing tires on the thing would be virtually impossible, so the rental people thought it better to do so.)

Also, said Explorer had a hyper-active proximity warning:  One evening, as I was trying to parallel park in a fairly tight spot, the thing started clicking at me.  The nearer I got to the car behind me, the faster the clicking.  I can tell you that this does absolutely nothing for one’s concentration, especially when one is trying to get out of the way of the traffic coming up behind.  (Indeed, I found myself feeling like the guy attempting to disarm the nuke with ten seconds to go until detonation and feverishly trying to decide whether to cut the red wire or the blue.)

Ol’ Robbo can’t stand being nagged.  It’s bad enough when the nagger is one of the Port Swiller wimminz, but a stupid machine?  Even worse.  Over the course of the week, I found myself talking back to the thing in ever-increasing irritation.  “Shut up!” “Mind your own bloody biznay!”  “Who the hell asked you?”  “Which I’m doing it, ain’t I!”

My two companions (both wimminz themselves) thought this was hilarious, but after a while I wasn’t joking anymore.

Anyhoo, it’s just as well that this was only a week’s rental, because there’s just no way that Ol’ Robbo could see a long-term relationship with this car working out at all.

(By the bye, last time out we rented our econo-junker from some down-market outfit where the counter-guy didn’t appear to give much of a damn at all.  This time, we used Enterprise Rent-A-Car.   I dunno what it’s like in their other offices because it’s been years since the last time I dealt with them, but I can tell you that their people at the Denver airport are friendly and helpful almost to the point of ferocity.)

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Just to give you two or three who still come together here a bit of advance notice, Ol’ Robbo is going to be away from teh blogs this coming week on biznay.  (Unless, that is,  he can manifest the patience to dial in via his iWhatever phone thingy, which is laborious and highly doubtful.)

Perhaps it’s just as well.  The flu I’ve been dealing with recently has been unusually hard to shake.  Work has been (and will be) unusually intense.  And on the domestic front, at the moment aggravations, as Ol’ Will might have said,  come not single spies, but in battalions.

Evidently because of all this, Ol’ Robbo’s Muse seems to have wandered off and left me without inspiration for the moment.  (I mean, posting about Joan Collins getting flogged? Really?)

Anyhoo, I’ll be back round next weekend, hopefully tanned, rested and ready to bring you friends of the decanter something actually worth reading.

In the meantime, the decanter and walnuts are on the table and the Stilton is on the sideboard.

 

Blog Stats

  • 432,794 hits
February 2017
M T W T F S S
« Jan    
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728