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Middle Gel: Dad! I had a dream last night that you and I had to go to a Lady Gaga concert. It was horrible!
Self: Sounds like a real nightmare. I wonder what it meant?
Eldest Gel: I like some of Lady Gaga.
Self: Oh, sweetie, I wish you wouldn’t listen to that stuff – it’s soul-rotting garbage.
Eldest: Well, I don’t like Lady Gaga herself, just her music.
Self: There’s no difference. It’s all the same package.
Eldest: Nuh-uuuuh!
Self: In fact, that pretty much goes for all pop music – soul-rotting garbage.
Eldest: Look, Dad, just because you were born 2000 years ago doesn’t mean everyone else was. Your music is old. And boring.
Self: I don’t care whether it’s old, but it certainly isn’t boring. Thumpa-Thumpa-Thumpa-Oh, Baybee over and over again. Now that’s boring!
Eldest: You can’t just condemn all pop like that!
Self: Well of course I can. When the shoe fits.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Ol’ Robbo found himself behind a car this morning that bore a license plate reading “SOVI3T”.
This puzzled me mightily. There are still plenty of fellow travelers out there, but their adulation tends toward hero-worship of individuals such as Lenin and Mao, Castro and Che, not the bureaucracy.
Could the driver actually have been a fan of the Politburo itself? Or perhaps he was an historian and this was his particular field of expertise?
Mayhaps he lives in some collectivist enclave, although the car itself didn’t seem to be the sort that would be driven by a hippie. (An ex-hippie who cleaned up on Wall Street, though. Perhaps the fellah was just trying to be funny.)
An ex-Soviet immigrant? But in that case, I would think he’d have been more likely to have identified with a nationality – Russian or Ukrainian, for example – than a political organization.
Impossible to see, as Yoda would say.
Vanity plates that contain ambiguous or indecipherable messages often prove to be grain-of-sand-like irritants in Robbo’s braims, especially early in the morning. Somebody ought to invent an app¹ whereby you could scan one of those image thingies that look like cubist squished bugs located in the corner of the plate with your iWhatever and download an explanatory footnote. (I wouldn’t know how to use it myself, of course, but I’m sure any of the gels could get the information in a flash.) Call it VanExplan®.
Would save me a whooooole lot of useless musing, I can tell you.
¹ I can’t believe I actually used that word. We hates that word! Just goes to show you how much of a distraction this sort of thing is to me.
The Port Stands At Your Elbow 
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