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Greetings, my fellow port-swillers!

As I mentioned in a post below, the local classickal station has started in on its annual fall pledge drive.  Ol’ Robbo, being the civic-minded fellah that he is, re-upped his membership today, for which contribution he has been promised a brand-spanking new latte coffee cup.  Robbo likes him some coffee.

I also mentioned an idea for a kind of reverse-incentive offer that amounts to the aural equivalent of a protection racket.  (“Oi.  Nice ears ya got there.  Be a real shame if they was ta hear Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’ again, wouldn’t it?”)

So far, the station doesn’t seem interested in adopting my tactics.  However, I think I’ve hit on an even better version that goes something like this:

And now,  Ravel’s ‘Bolero’.  Until we hit 500K in donations.  You want it to stop?  Pony up.  Simple.

There are volumes and volumes contained within that “Mm.”  My last instructions on my way out the door this morning were, “No drama today, please.”

I was looking at an email thread between Mrs. Robbo and my sistah-in-law regarding arrangements for our travel to their neck o’ the woods for the Thanksgiving hols.  In it, Mrs. R specifically requested a recommendation for a place to stay that features suites.

It’s true:  The gels have got old enough (and big enough and, well, girl enough) that trying to share a single hotel room amongst the five of us has, at least for me, begun to feel like something out of Operation Petticoat.  It’s well worth the extra wodge of dosh to find someplace with a little more elbow room (and privacy).

This just strikes me as one of those things you don’t really even think about as a parent until it forces itself upon your notice.

Over at the Corner, Patrick Brennan quotes a NYTimes article about the free foodstuffs being handed to the OWS crowd in Manhattan:

‘I’ve been here for 12 days, and I’ve put on 5 pounds,’ he said, sitting on the ground in front of a handmade sign that said ‘Class War Ahead.’ ‘I’m eating better than I do at home.’

All he had to do was amble toward a ramshackle cluster of tables and boxes in the middle of the park and, without paying a cent, grab a slice of pizza or a warm slab of homemade vegan casserole. Last Thursday he had encountered ‘a bunch of Katz’s Deli sandwiches,’ he said. ‘That was good.’

This brought back to mind a small but memorable episode that occurred during ol’ Robbo’s days in the People’s Glorious Soviet of Middletown, CT.  A group of us had decided, one sunny autumn afternoon, that we would have a little cookout in the courtyard of our dorm block.  To this end, we all chipped in a few bucks and somebody duly toddled off to the store to get the fixin’s.   A short time later, we were grilling up our burgers, munching our chips and knocking back our Mister Beer.  (Hey, it was college and we were all broke.)

As we sat, eating and chatting, another student wandered into the area.  I knew him by sight, but that was it.  He was pretty typical of the denizens of my particular residence:  long-haired, unshaven, slovenly, lanky in a pharmacologically-induced way, an eager participant in the protests du jour and, so far as I could tell, utterly alien to the classroom.  Without saying a word, he ambled up to our foodstuffs and began to scavenge.   Once he had found what he wanted, he simply drifted off.

All of us were rendered speechless.

Now, if the fellah had acknowledged that this was our picnic, or even just said hello, we’d have been more than willing to invite him to tuck in.   It was the brazen presumption, the notion that to see is to possess and that food is just left out by the pixies,  that left us so thoroughly gob-smacked.

The article reminds me of this hipster-doofus of my misspent yoot because it describes exactly the same type.  Indeed, I am sure that a poll of the OWS talent would reveal that many of its ranks hale from my old alma mater.  I detested that sort then and I positively loathe them now.

UPDATE: Oh, and read George Will’s take this morning.  His remark that, “in comportment, OWS is to the Tea Party as Lady Gaga is to Lord Chesterfield” made me laugh and laugh.

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