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Supplemental greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo rarely does double posts on Saturdays, but my muse provoked me to offer up second helpings this evening in re various DVD’s I’ve watched over the past couple days, baseball season now being over and done.

Know what remains a perpetual delight to me? “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure“.  I’ve watched it umpteen times over the years, both in videotape and now as part of my DVD library, and its loose, good-natured, non-serious tone never grows old.  One of my favorite bits of dialogue:

Bill:  You ditched Napoleon?  Deacon! Do you realize you’ve stranded one of history’s greatest leaders in San Dimas?

Deacon:  He was a dick!

The original Bill and Ted became a cult classic, largely because it didn’t take itself seriously.  The sequel tried too hard to capitalize on this success, largely IMHO because the suits got hold of it, and to me was a dud as a result.  I understand they’re trying for the hat trick now.  Eh, it could go either way.  I’d love if they could recapture the original goofy spirit, but I’m also doubtful.

On another comedic note, I have come to the conclusion on my second viewing that “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House” simply isn’t funny.  Cary Grant and Myrna Loy, I know.  But it just. doesn’t. click.  Sorry.

Speaking of Cary, though, this evening Ol’ Robbo indulged himself in “North By Northwest“, probably his very favorite Hitchcock.  The presence of a young and talented Eve Marie Saint may or may not be part of the appeal.  Certainly the fact that I love the theme musick is.

Incidentally, to show what an ignoramus Ol’ Robbo actually is, it was only within the last few weeks that I became aware that the title of this movie was a direct nod to Shakespeare’s Hamlet:

Hamlet: “I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

– Act 2, Scene 2

Makes a lot of sense when you think about it, given that the whole damn plot of the film is built on concentric circles of confusion, play-acting and deceit.

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Is there some kind of postal regulation that gives a mail carrier the discretion not to serve a box if, in his opinion, it doesn’t meet a given set of safety and anchoring requirements?  Ol’ Robbo is inclined to think there must be, as it’s the only reason that comes to mind to explain why Port Swiller Manor has been boycotted the past couple days by our mailman.  (The only other reason I could think of is that we’ve become victims of the “cancel culture”, but there’s nothing visible outside to give us away as potential targets, and I doubt if the USPS is organized or competent enough to carry out such a campaign on a systemic level.)

What happened was this:  A few weeks back, our box got clipped again for the umpteenth time since we’ve lived here.  The snowplows often get it, but we have our fair share of “clear conditions” hits, too.  One wouldn’t think this likely, since the road is quite straight with a modest uphill grade, but people manage it nonetheless.

This particular strike revealed that the wooden base that sits athwart the crossbars and on which the box is anchored has rotted out over time.  Not having the time to attend to it properly, I just wedged it all back together.  Since then, it’s been disintegrating steadily, and a couple days ago I was reduced to just setting the box atop the wreckage.

I suppose this was just too much for postie.  Not only has he not delivered our mail the past two days, he hasn’t picked up our outgoing stuff either.  (The neighbors confirm they haven’t had any issues.)  He might at least have told us, you know.  Or perhaps slapped a “condemned” sticker on the box.

Anyhoo, all this prompted Ol’ Robbo to get off his duff and fix the damn thing properly this morning.  This entailed ripping out all the rotten stuff, digging some fresh lumber out of the workshop, measuring, sawing, and hammering.  I must say that there is a certain keen enjoyment in successfully completing a job like this (and without getting hit by a car myself).  And, if I may say so, that mailbox ain’t going nowhere now.

At least until the next time somebody hits it.

UPDATE:  My surmise seems to have been correct.  The box was full of the usual bills, catalogues, and college solicitations this afternoon when I got home. Evidently, the postal gods have been appeased.

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