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A musickal tribute to the Kennedy Boys:

BOSTON — The Boston Pops is taking the wraps off a musical tribute to the Kennedys.

The world premiere of “The Dream Lives On: A Portrait of the Kennedy Brothers,” is set for Tuesday night at Symphony Hall. Celebrity narrators Robert De Niro, Morgan Freeman and Ed Harris will read from some of the most famous speeches of President John F. Kennedy and Sens. Robert and Edward Kennedy.

Boston Pops conductor Keith Lockhart commissioned composer Peter Boyer and lyricist Lynn Ahrens to write the piece, which will be performed several other times this spring and during the Pops summer season.

Lockhart says he first began thinking about a tribute to the Kennedys several years ago and decided to move forward after Edward Kennedy’s death from brain cancer last summer.

Lincoln Portrait” this ain’t, I’m thinking.

I wonder if they’re going to work Teddy’s defamation of Bob Bork in somewhere.  Or perhaps an underwater chorus?

And as far as the readings go, I think the Pops should get rid of all those stars and have Dan Castellaneta do them in his Mayor Quimby voice instead.

Come to think of it, that might almost be worth hearing!

A horrid news story from the Port-Swiller summah haunt back porch:

(NECN: Portland, Maine) – A spokesman for the U.S. Coast Guard says that two kayakers who went missing in Casco Bay while on a kayaking trip from Peaks Island to Ram Island have been found dead.

Coast Guard Cmdr. Brian Downey said18-year-old Irena McEntee and 20-year-old  Carissa
Ireland were unresponsive when they were found Monday morning,  three miles off Cape Elizabeth.

They were located after an all-night land and sea search that began when the pair were reported missing about 5 p.m. Sunday.

Downey said the two were wearing life jackets, but they were dressed in just t-shirts and shorts when they were located in the water about 9 a.m. Monday. The pair’s kayak’s had been located Sunday night, along with some of their belongings.

The water temperature in the bay at this time of year is only between 46 and 48 degrees.

Not to sound overly fussy or anything, but I hope that certain persons near and dear to ol’ Robbo who also splash about in this particular stretch of water take the proper precautions before heading out.

There are times when that fact that I live in such a female household impresses itself on my consciousness much more than usual.

This morning, for instance, a squabble broke out over which leotard the middle gel is to wear for her figure-skating competition this weekend.  Voices were raised, tears were shed and doors were slammed.

So far as I could tell, there really wasn’t much difference between the two choices.  They both had sparkly things on them and they were roughly the same color, with only some minor variations in detail.  But from the fuss that was being kicked up, you’d think the child was being asked to wear a burlap sack.  And why Mrs. R really cared one way or the other remained quite outside the scope of my comprehension.

Whether this question of such importance was satisfactorily resolved, I can’t say.  Choosing a moment when all parties had paused to draw breath, I made a break for it.

Sigh. I suppose it’s only going to get worse.

Late last evening, just as he reached the top step of the basement stairs, ol’ Robbo managed to lose his footing and fall head first and backwards all the way back down, somehow even taking the dog-leg on the landing.  I do not believe I’ve ever pulled such a stunt before.

Mrs. Robbo has covered the walls of the basement stairwell with various photos of the gels (thus causing me to think of it as the “Rogues’ Gallery”).  With one hand, I managed to knock a dozen of them off.  With the other hand, I managed to break the glass I was carrying.

I had that most curious sensation of time slowing down as I took my toss.  It seemed as if I had three or four goes at grabbing for the door knob, and even as I bumped and slithered down I had time to think what a hell of a fool I must look.  I was certainly glad that none of the gels was present to see ol’ Dad sprawled on his backside amidst the wreckage.  Wouldn’t have done much good for the paterfamilial dignity.

Fortunately, the stairs are carpeted.  So I’m perfectly all right, having received nothing more than a bruise or two in the fleshy parts and a couple scratches from the glass (including one on the tip of the Robbo nose for some reason).

As for why it happened, I had been watching the old Errol Flynn movie Captain Blood and I can only surmise that I hadn’t got my land legs back before attempting the climb.

The 4th movement from Haydn’s Symphony No. 92, known as the “Oxford” because it was one of the works Haydn conducted there in 1791 when he received an honorary degree from the University.  (In fact, the piece originally had been commissioned by a French count and was actually completed in 1789.)

For some reason, I never got to know this symphony in my younger days and it is only in the last few years that I have begun to appreciate it.  (Heck, I don’t even own a recording of it.)  I particularly enjoy the last movement because of the way ol’ Papa repeatedly builds up the tension and then releases it in an outburst of good-natured silliness.

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