You are currently browsing the daily archive for April 13, 2012.

If you haven’t done so already, my friends, don’t forget to send along your returns!

Then go ahead and have an extra round on ol’ Robbo.

And in their hands they bore glasses of rosé Port:

In a bid to reverse a decade-long slide in sales, some producers of Port wine have gone pink.

They have given the sweet red or amber colored Portuguese fortified wine, which is traditionally sipped as an accompaniment to the cheese course or dessert, a makeover with a lighter rosé version that is 20 percent alcohol.

“It’s port without rules,” Adrian Bridge, chief executive of Taylor-Fladgate in Vila Nova de Gaia, Portugal, said of his rosé, Croft Pink.

Well, at least he didn’t say it was “edgy” or “in your face”.

How much would you pay? Don’t answer yet, because it gets worse:

Croft Pink, first sold in Holland, Canada and Britain, was marketed in Texas last fall before its 2012 roll out to the rest of the United States.

“One restaurant was going through three bottles a day – that’s an awful lot of port,” Bridge said.

He discovered that rather than sipping the drink, the bartender at the restaurant was pouring the bottles into a slushy machine to make icy drinks.

“They were selling it as slushies, sort of ice cream for adults,” he explained. “This is definitely not your father’s port.”

No.  No, it isn’t.  Deo gratias.

 

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Ol’ Robbo has begun to notice recently, when he has had occasion to pontificate bloviate lecture speak on topics relevant to the correct moral, spiritual and intellectual upbringing of the port swiller family,  a definite and increasing amount of eye-rolling, winking, suppressed grinning and the like.  Nothing absolutely indictable, you understand.  Nothing point-blank.  Instead, I catch such activity flickering around the edge of my peripheral vision like lightning shimmering on the summah horizon.

It seems that Dad is becoming a Certified Bore.  [Ed. – “Becoming”?]

That’s okay, though.   In fact, it’s a title I’d really be rayther happy to carry.  After all, “boring” is simply another way of saying “steady” or “dependable” or “solid”.  It seems to me that, especially as we enter the turbulent waters of the teenaged years,  this will be of immensely more benefit to teh gels than any effort to be, as my grandmother used to put it, “popular with the young people”.

Which isn’t to say, of course, that if I do catch one of them out, I won’t threaten, in the immemorial words of Emmy Schmaltz, to “smack [her] sassy face!”

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Via the Puppy-Blender, I came across this video about the joys of the Dee Cee Metro escalator system:

Yep.

There is nothing quite like the feeling, after an especially crowded, hot, sweaty, smelly, backed-up ride on the trains, of finally getting to my home stop and seeing that the escalators are out again.  It’s as if the system has one last kick in the teeth saved up for you before it lets you out.

Of course, ReasonTV is wrong about “the nation’s top bureaucrats” having to walk when the escalators are on the fritz.  The big dogs all get driven everywhere.  It’s us rank-and-file that have to do the leg-work.

UPDATE:  Overheard on the sidewalk at lunch time, “The Metro! Let’s go ride the Metro tonight just so we can say that we did it!” 

Tourons.  God love ’em.

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