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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo doesn’t find himself particularly inspired, blogging-wise, today.  Perhaps it’s the pollen ramping up again, perhaps it’s the tummy thing.  Whichever way, I can’t bring myself to anything more than a few bits of random at the moment.

♦  One of my first acts upon establishing myself as Emperor of the World will be to make “walk the walk and talk the talk,” or any variant thereof, a flogging offense.   Ditto for expressions such as “drill down” or “unpack” when used in anything other than the relevant petroleum industry or shipping context.

♦  Speaking of which, I used to know a woman from Iowa who pronounced industry “in-dus-stry.”  Is this a particularly Midwestern thing?

♦  You know the state motto of Iowa? Gateway to Nebraska.

♦   No, I’m not picking on the Midwest.  (I’ve been to Des Moines a couple times and rayther like it.)  And in the spirit of balance, I will note that my favorite state “motto” remains that of Connecticut, told me by my former co-blogger Steve-O many years ago:  Left lane closed next thirty miles.

♦  And let us not forget that the favorite Mainer term for certain neighbors to the south is “Massholes.”

♦   Speaking of travel, I can almost, almost I say, understand the reasoning behind clothing large groups of seedy high school kids in identical, brightly colored tee-shirts and hats when they come a’touroning here.  But when it’s just five or six middle-aged adults doing it? No justification whatever.

♦   On a more positive note, I can’t recall Metro putting cherry blossom stickers all over the turnstiles during the season before, but I must admit that I rayther like the effect.

♦   Something I was reading the other day made passing reference to Evelyn Waugh’s novel The Loved One.  This immediately put me in mind of the character Mr. Joyboy, which name always makes me start snerking.

♦   My beloved Nationals have rolled out a new theme for this season, “Ignite Your Natitude.”  See what you think of it:

I dunno.  The team is definitely hungry, and expectations are running higher than they ever have.  (Wildcard dreams are not a’tall out of the question.)  But this, to me, seems perilously close to the kind of cockiness that might awake the wrath of the Baseball Gods.   I remember the fate of oarsmen back in college who gave themselves Mohawks before big races and then got waked by their opponents.   It isn’t a pretty thing.

So that’s that.  Ol’ Robbo will be hitting the road against next week on biznay, but I will probably posty a bit more between now and then.

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