You are currently browsing the daily archive for September 27, 2011.

The local classickal station rebroadcast the recent National Symphony Orchestra season opener this morning.  One of the featured works on the programme was Ravel’s “Bolero.”  According to the commentator, the audience leaped to their collective hind legs at the end of the piece.

My fellow port-swillers, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise: The “Bolero” is musickal hokum, the musickal equivalent of repeating, “Neener, Neener, Neeeee-ner” for ten minutes or so, a calculated piece of impudence without any actual artistic merit that served no other purpose than to jerk the collective chains of Ravel’s own audiences.  In this day and age, when anything goes, it doesn’t even do that.

When I become Emperor of the World, I shall take steps about this.

Greetings, my fellow port-swillers!

Surely if we can pass legislation outlawing bad weather, we ought to be able to do the same thing about Tuesdays?

As we were getting ready to roll out the door this morning, Mrs. R and I suddenly both noticed that the eldest gel has grown again and is now almost as tall as me.  Scary how these things sneak up on you.

You may think me odd (well, you probably think so anyway), but whenever I receive mail from my old college, even after all these years there’s still a little voice inside my head wondering whether it’s a notice that they’ve changed their minds and would like the diploma back, please.

Actually, yesterday’s correspondence was an invitation to submit an entry for an album to be issued as part of our 25th reunion coming up next May.  You know, the sort of “what I’m doing now/what memories I have of the Old Days” thing.  The divil is whispering that I should send in something outrageous just to spike them.  It’s what I used to do when I was a smart-mouthed undergrad making fun of pretentious campus politics and I suppose old habits die hard.

Between last month’s earthquake and the monsoon-like conditions we’ve had since, I notice that the Port-Swiller residence seems to have shifted summut.  Certain doors are noticeably more difficult to get open and closed and there’s a new set of creaks and groans in the flooring, especially upstairs.

I certainly hope we don’t get another damned Yankees-Phils Series this year.   I think I’m going to cheer on the Brewers.  In the meantime, there’s pretty general agreement in Natstown that we don’t want the season to end because we’re having so much fun right now.  Behold the awesome power of Michael Morse in beast-mode!

I have embarked on a rereading of Anthony Powell’s A Dance To The Music of Time, which I first read about two years ago.  I’ve a bad habit of galloping through a book my first time around and only beginning to soak it in through subsequent perusals, so let the soaking process begin!  Somebody a while back asked the question: With whom would you rayther dine – Pamela Widmerpool or Brenda Last?


Blog Stats

  • 494,440 hits
September 2011