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Today is the anniversary of the first performance of “The Nutcracker” in 1892 in St. Petersburg.

In celebration, via Let Teddy Win comes the following vid (paraphrasing The New Yorker¹) doing to Tchaikovsky what ought to be done to Tchaikovsky:


¹ From its review of the Marx Brothers’ treatment of Il Trovatore in “A Night At The Opera”

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo doesn’t seem to have much vim and viggah today, in part because I haven’t quite shaken the effects of the weekend’s alarums and confusions, in part because my hols start on Friday and I’m realizing just how badly I need ’em.

Anyway,  I thought I would pass on this video, lifted from Nancy French:

While the content made me smile (which is why I’m reposting it), I couldn’t help also reflecting on the fact that in a couple weeks the Middle Gel becomes an O-fficial teenager and the Youngest Gel an O-fficial pre-teen.  Many of the aggravations noted in the vid – baby food hell, core-breach poopy diapers, fiddling with car seats,  sleep-deprivation – that seemed at the time to stretch out to an infinite future, in retrospect seem to have vanished in the blink of an eye.

How the heck did that happen?

On the other hand, the current set of aggravations (and there are, of course, plenty) don’t have that air of perpetuity about them.  Indeed, I feel an almost desperate lack of time to get them sorted out because, although the gels don’t sense it yet, I can see the nest-leaving future coming down on us like an avalanche.

“Parent Time”.  I do not believe there to be a comparable chronological measurement in terms of head-turning quirkiness and inconsistency.


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December 2012