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It is gratifying, I must admit, to see evidence that every now and again ol’ Robbo’s bloggy musings influence the course of the discussion over these here inter-toobs.

Por ejemplo, a few weeks ago, after that outbreak of tornadoes in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, I posted some thoughts on the modern rise of professional and amateur storm-chasers and the sudden ubiquity of what is, admittedly, truly coo-el and virtually real-time video documentation of these storms.  In that post, I said:

I’m not quite sure what to make of this.  On the one hand, I would expect meteorologists to delight in the cornucopia of data that seem to flow in from each new storm system.   On the other? Well, I sometimes wonder at the prudence of some of these amateur photographers, whose first instinct on the approach of the potentially apocalyptic seems to be to reach for the phone-cam.   (This post isn’t big enough to go into the concept of the citizen-voyeur in other venues, but ol’ Robbo is keenly aware that he is only citing one particular point on an ever more prominent spectrum.)

Well, it is evident that The Capital Weather Gang’s Ian Livingston is a friend of the decanter, because he’s got a much longer post up today that covers this question in much greater detail than did your humble host’s (and has many more said coo-el twister pics).  Go on over and have a dekko.  (A glass of wind-swept wine with you, sir!)

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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

A very musickal Sunday yesterday.

First, at RFEC, there was some kind of mix up regarding a substitute organist who never appeared.  The yoot choir, in which all three gels were singing this time around, nonetheless charged forward with their offeratory anthem a capella.  It was a pretty tricky piece of musick, but they did quite the creditable job.

Not so much ol’ Robbo, who is still suffering from teh pollen in his ears, throat and lungs.  For Mass, we used a couple chant modes with which I am not a’tall familiar.  About halfway through, a family of three situated immediately in front of me (whom I’d never seen before and who spent a lot of time wandering back and forth up and down the aisle), abruptly departed.  I hope my feeble warblings didn’t have anything to do with it.

Last evening, the middle gel and I sat down for another round of Mozart arias.  As we ran through some of the trickier passages, it occurred to me that I really haven’t the faintest idea about the proper care and feeding of the human voice and that it would be absolutely criminal of me to crock the gel right at the beginning of her professional career by encouraging her to showboat.  (I have a vague idea that something like this once happened to Cindi Lauper.)   So I advised her to speak with Canon McC (her director) about the matter next time she sees him and see what he has to say.   Some might feel that this verges on aqueous poultryism, but I figure there’s no harm in asking.

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