Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yep, summah is definitely here with a vengeance in the Great Commonwealth of Virginny.  But as Ol’ Robbo surmises from his traffic meter, most of you probably don’t want yet another post about mowing the lawn.  So how about a little random, some serious and some not so much?

♦  Following up on my post about mysterious calls from Mrs. R, the fons et origo of that one was our landscape guy, who has a very bad habit of not staying within the scope of work we ask him to do.  Part of this is a language barrier – he’s from Chile and still struggles with English – but part of it, I think, is shear pig-headedness worthy of Angus McAllister, Lord Emsworth’s head gardener.  We had him clear out the Port Swiller Manor gutters this week, and I notice that while he was at it he killed the Virginia creeper that was wrapped around the chimney.  We’ve been arguing about the creeper and ivy on the house for some years now, and I’m positive he took the opportunity for a little accidental-on-purpose chicanery.  Suff on him.

♦  Ol’ Robbo did not watch the Donk debates this week but did see some clips and reactions.  By all accounts they went Full Progtard.  Never go Full Progtard.***  They evidently want me dead, so why should I listen to them (or to the Never-Trumpers, for that matter).

♦  I do not wish to speak ill of the dead or for an instant suggest that the monster who did it does not deserve everything he’s got coming to him, but this Utah college girl murder has me incensed in large part because a whole lot of stupid brought it about.  (I don’t know if the rumors the kid was looking for a Sugar Daddy are true, but what possible good reason could explain meeting a stranger in a park at 3 o’clock in the morning?)  I have told the Gels time and time again: Don’t. Do. Stupid. Things.  In the twisted reasoning of the current zeitgeist, this makes me some kind of patriarchal misogynist, but dammit, this story is precisely why I continue to say so.  (They’ve taken it to heart, too, thank God.)

♦  In case you haven’t noticed, Ol’ Robbo’s beloved Nats have quietly pulled up over the .500 mark for the first time since, well, Opening Day almost.  I confess I feel a bit ashamed of myself for setting my hair on fire and prognosticating doom and gloom earlier on.  (Tom Paine no doubt would deride me as a “summer soldier” and “sunshine patriot”.)  Ain’t baseball just like that, though?  What else is there to say, except GO, NATS!

Whelp, as I like to say, lawn ain’t gonna mow itself.  Be back later.

**Spot the reference.

UPDATE:  Done and done.  Nasty job in this weathah.  Truth be told, I think I overdid it somewhat, as I can feel all the symptoms of my internal thermostat red-lining now.

Help me, Obi-Wan Iced Kawfee! You’re my only hope!

Speaking of which, Ol’ Robbo spotted an article some time earlier this week noting that the term “Climate Chaos” is now back in vogue among the meteorological scare-mongers.  Funny, I thought that happened a few years back.  As I recall it, they stopped saying “Global Warming” after several of their high-profile conferences got snowed out and people pointed and laughed.  Some of them tried “Global Weirding” for a while, but that didn’t seem to stick.  So they hit on “Climate Chaos” both because it’s scary and because it’s enigmatic enough to be used at all times and in all conditions.  BOOGIE-BOOGIE-BOO!!

 

 

 

 

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