You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Root, Root, Root For The Home Team!’ category.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is loitering around over an extra cuppa coffeve this morning because he really doesn’t much feel like mowing the lawn. I think it has something to do with watching his beloved Nat’nals blow several perfectly good opportunities to win against the Cubbies last evening and turn the game into a humiliating blowout defeat.  I’m getting close to panic-mode with this team. I really am.

And speaking of panic, did you see where the UK Guardian has decided it needs to turn the volume up to eleven on its “climate change” reporting rhetoric?

The Guardian has updated its official style guide to more “accurately” address the seriousness of climate change, the British publication announced Friday.

In an article explaining the decision to readers, environment editor Damian Carrington said Guardian reporters will hereby be advised to use “climate emergency, crisis or breakdown” instead of “climate change,” “global heating” instead of “global warming,” and people who used to be described as “climate skeptics” will now be branded “climate science deniers.”

“We want to ensure that we are being scientifically precise, while also communicating clearly with readers on this very important issue,” Editor-in-Chief Katharine Viner said in a statement. “The phrase ‘climate change,’ for example, sounds rather passive and gentle when what scientists are talking about is a catastrophe for humanity.

Orwell smiles.  Control the language and you control the debate.  Note particularly how skepticism, which is supposed to be the bedrock principle of scientific inquiry, is mutated into anti-science wrong-think.

Well, call Ol’ Robbo a knuckle-dragging troglodyte, but I’m sticking with my skepticism.  The simple fact of the matter is that nothing about the Earth is static and Ma Nature has been fiddling with the thermostat herself for time immemorial.  (Could Mankind have some kind of impact on all this? Maybe.  But I’m willing to bet it’s most likely round the margins.)  The other simple fact is that the “climate science” at issue here appears to be absolutely full of holes: bad data (the sets are too small and I’ve read horror stories about some of the collection methods), inconsistencies, frauds, hidden calculations, and (it’s all modelling anyway) failure to conform with actual events.

As I’ve said many times before, this whole biznay is about politicks, not science, and specifically globalist authoritarian politicks.  The devil with Mizz Viner and her  catastrophes for humanity.

Whelp, enough grumbling.  The cold, hard fact is that Ol’ Robbo’s lawn ain’t gonna mow itself, so I better get myself in gear and git her done.

UPDATE: Done and done.  And because we’re having our first real hot stretch of the year, Ol’ Robbo flipped on the porch ceiling fans and is relaxing with a tall glass of iced coffee.  Nectar of the Gods, as I’ve said here many times before.  The fastest way to Ol’ Robbo’s heart may be a glass of wine, but a glass of iced coffee on a hot, summah-like day will get you mighty far, too.

Oh, and as I was standing about on the driveway waiting for Mrs. R to stop fiddling with her phone and pull out so I could finish clearing off the clippings, I got to say in my best Duke voice, “Get goin’, sister!  We’re burnin’ daylight!”  She didn’t think it was s’damn funny, but my day is more or less complete now.

 

Advertisements

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

How about a quarter of unconnected thoughts to start the week?

Firstest:  Despite the fact that it was cold and rainy in Your Nation’s Capital today, Ol’ Robbo went out for his usual lunchtime walk round the National Mall.  And as I trudged along, I was accosted by a nice-looking young woman -evidently from her accent a tourist from either the Caribbean or Africa – who wanted to know where the “Mall” was.  When I swept my arms around and said, “This is it”, she got a dumbfounded look on her face which I immediately knew meant she had been expecting a shopping mall.  This very same thing happened to me a year or two ago and at that time I was too surprised to respond tactfully.  This time, however, I kept my wits and said, “No, there aren’t any regular stores, but all the museums have nice gift shops.”  She seemed pleased.

Also, as I rounded the reflecting pool in front of the Grant Memorial, I noticed the air was full of swallows buzzing back and forth over the water in search of flying yummies.  I always love seeing this, as I also do the new hatches of Mallard chicks paddling to and fro across the pool’s surface.  Alas, this is my last spring to indulge this before my office moves away.  Gonna miss it.

Segundo:  Ol’ Robbo is very pleased that the two Elder Gels have gainful and interesting employment this summah.  Eldest started today working at Wolf Trap – she’s helping with set-up at first and will work concessions once the season starts –  and seems quite excited.  This sort of thing is right up her alley, combining the Arts with Hospitality (to which she’s always been drawn), and the more I ponder it, the more I wonder if this summah might not lay the ground-work for a future employment track.  We shall see.

Meanwhile, MIddle Gel is in the midst of an intense May-mester stats course, but when she’s done she intends to stay down in the Tidewater working for a dive-outfitter.  (She fell in love with scuba this year.  Also, boyfriend is down there.)  She’ll get paid to work in the store, but she also has a three-year internship for which she doesn’t get paid, but gets her dive-certification fees (which are hefty, so I gather) waived.  (As part of this, she’ll be going down to the Keys at some point this summah to help the outfitter conduct a dive for some clients.)  When she’s done, as I understand it, she will have gained her professional dive certificate, which she plans to parlay into graduate work and an eventual career possibly in marine biology.  (This is not a far-fetched idea at all.  Sistah’s hubby is in the field and is very enthusiastic about the opportunities for bright young ladies coming up.)

We’re not requiring Youngest to get a steady job this year, as she’s got a month’s worth of Bible Thumper Camp plus the college tour.  She herself said just yesterday, however, that she really needs to earn some money.  Musick to Ol’ Robbo’s ears.  I suggested she go with babysitting: Not only is it flexible, a responsible kid in these parts can make a killing in sweet, sweet, non-reportable cash payments.

Trois:  Regular Friends of the Decanter may recall Ol’ Robbo’s mention of his genealogy-obsessed cousin who regularly offers up new and intriguing bits of family lore?  (I believe the last time I mentioned her here was in connection with her news that one branch of the Family had been present on the Virginny Frontier in Colonial times and had suffered losses in Shawnee attacks on Kerr’s Creek in 1759 and 1763.)  Well, she’s at it again.  While in town this past weekend to go out with Mrs. Robbo, she informed me that she had definitely established our direct family tree in the neighborhood of Carlisle, PA, then very much the frontier, in 1763.  “Gawd,” I said, “I hope they weren’t mixed up with the Paxton Boys!” She’s enough of a history nerd that she laughed at the reference.  But I’m not so sure it wasn’t a possibility.

The Fourth Thing:  Well, Ol’ Robbo is off to watch “Bend of the River” which turned up today in his Netflix queue.  It’s not the best of the Anthony Mann/Jimmy Stewart westerns:  “Winchester ’73” takes that honor.  And why?  Because in the latter, Jimmah is driven by righteous anger to hunt down the no-good brother who murdered their father.  That I can accept completely.  But in the former, Jimmah plays an ex-Border Raider under Quantrill seeking redemption for his past wickedness by doing right.  Jimmah? A cut-throat hooligan? G’wan with ya!  I just don’t buy it.  But I like the film anyway.

Oh, and a Bonus:  At least Ol’ Robbo’s beloved Nats can’t lose today, seeing as they aren’t playing.  Sheesh. 

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Sorry, but my Muse is absolutely, stonily silent this evening.  Several ideas have popped into the Robbo braims, including thoughts on radical environmentalist headlines this week and their relationship to Gnosticism; the end last evening of Youngest’s school softball season; and today’s birthday anniversary of Johannes Brahms.  Try as I might to woo her assistance, however, she’s just not having anything to do with translating them into coherent posts.  (Hell, it’s taken me twenty minutes to suss out just this paragraph!)

Blame pollen, I guess.

I suppose I’ll go and see what new ways my beloved Nationals can find to lose ball games.  That’ll free up my tongue, probably, although not in ways suitable to a family blog.

Later.

 

 

 

 

I

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is patting himself on the back this morning because he actually made the effort to go out and cut the Port Swiller Manor grass last evening after work ahead of today’s forecast showers and thunderstorms.  So Ma Nature is free to throw her weight around all she likes this afternoon as far as I’m concerned.  (Not that she will now, of course, the fickle hussy.  I’ve heard exactly one clap of thunder this entire spring so far.)  Also, as we’re still in the Octave of Easter, today is a Bacon Friday for me.  So Ol’ Robbo is in a pretty durn good mood overall.  With that in mind, how about a bit o’ random?

♦  Not that I touch on politicks much here, but I must say I’m a bit surprised that Creepy Uncle Joe Biden decided to throw his hat in the ring for the Donks’ ’20 nom.  I suppose the Establishment figured he’s their best hope, as She Who Must Not Be Named will shortly be radioactive and there’s not much else available on the bench.  I’d be even more surprised if he actually gets it, as the Jacobins seem to have completely hijacked the Party and will eat him alive.  (My guess at this point would be an eventual ticket composed of some combination of Crazy Uncle Bernie and Kamala [nickname not repeatable on a family blog] Harris. In sane times, we’d be looking at another McGovern/Mondale-level blow out, but I’m not so sanguine about that just yet.)

♦  Speaking of benches, Ol’ Robbo is bitterly disappointed that his beloved Nationals are finishing up April as a .500 club.  This is troubling both because the NL East is so competitive this year that every game is probably going to count come September, and also because we seem to be picking right back up with the same mediocrity we displayed all of last year.  Is it too early to set my hair on fire and call for the sacking of Dave Martinez?

♦ How are the Gels, you may ask? Doing well, thankee.  Middle Gel is in the thick of freshman finals right now, and later will be going back for “May-mester” to take statistics, a task I do not envy her.  Eldest is just finishing up junior year classes and will be coming home next week to drop off a load of junk before heading back for her own exams.  As for Youngest, the college search is ramping up this spring.  We’re mostly looking in-state, but we’ve also got our eye on Miami of Ohio.  Want some fun facts about the place? My great-grandmother’s family lived in the area of Oxford, Ohio from about 1800 until the mid-1950’s.  In fact, a couple of them were alums of the school, I believe.  They had a house in town that was eventually bough and torn down by the University as part of its expansion.  They also owned a mill outside of town along Four-Mile Creek that served as a stop on the Underground Railroad until the end of the War.  (They were stout Scots-Presbyterian Abolitionists, the lot of them.)  The Mothe always insisted that Great-Granma ‘Rilla was crazy as a loon and that it was her family’s blood which gave all of us descendants our own peculiar taint, but the history is pretty neat nonetheless.

♦  Speaking of gels, did you see the article about the Scottish Maritime Museum being bullied by vandals into ceasing to refer to ships as “she”?  That reminds me of one of my very favorite lines from “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan”, where Spock says simply and elegantly as the Enterprise clears moorings, “Take her out, Mr. Saavik.”  Oh, and I suppose you also heard about Kate Smith being unpersoned by the Yankees?  If Ol’ Robbo ever found himself in Yankee Stadium – not that I’m likely to – I’d be belting out “God Bless America” at the top of my lungs during the 7th Inning Stretch, and be damned to these thugs and bullies.  Oh, and while I’m at it, a trio of Murrland Congress-critters is now trying to get rid of the statue of Robert E. Lee at Antietam.  Ol’ Robbo is old enough to remember when airbrushing people out of history was the study of Kremlinologists and was considered a Bad Thing.  I’m also old enough to remember when Orwell’s “1984” was considered a cautionary tale and not a how-to manual.

Anyhoo, enough of that.  As I say, I’m in a good mood today, so how is it that three out of my four bits of random are so cranky?  Well, you’ve got to keep your eyes open and your wits about you these days, but at the same time, illegitimi non carborundum.  (They hate that, by the way, bless their hearts!)

And now I’m off to go see about some of that bacon.  Sweet, sweet, delicious bacon……………

UPDATE:  Well, Ma is coming through, it would seem.  The first of the afternoon t-showers just rolled through and it looks like another one will be here in just a few minutes.  So I’m about up to seven claps of thunder on the year so far.  Now if Ma really likes us, she might just rain out Youngest’s softball game tonight, not because I don’t want to see her play, but because I’m so comfy where I am right now….

 

 

 

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

A long slog home this evening, probably due to all the Cherry Blossom tourism this week (which I believe is peak week here).  So as my rice and shrimp are getting ready to be cooked, how ’bout a quick odd or end?

♦  I never go see the Cherry Blossoms myself, although I can, of course, see them from a distance.  I avoid the scene for the same reason I avoid the Capitol Fourth down the Mall:  too damn many people clogged together.  I’m not so much misanthropic in this as claustrophobic.

♦  There are now plenty of ordinary tourists on the Mall even without special events.  As I go for my lunchtime walk, I have to dodge and weave among the various groups plunging in random directions.  I usually find myself with the theme from Han Solo piloting the Falcon through the asteroid field.  “Never tell me the odds!”

♦   As Ol’ Robbo’s beloved Nats managed to eek out a walk-off walk to beat the Phils this afternoon, I am putting on hold my call for the head of Dave Martinez.  But only temporarily.  Ol’ Robbo’s suddenly got a baaaaad feeling about this season so far.  UPDATE: A pretty solid win against the Mets this afternoon makes me feel a bit better about things.

♦   Speaking of bad feelings, the past few nights I’ve found myself going through cycles of sweats and chills.  I looked up the symptoms on line today and evidently I might either be experiencing menopause or else have developed thyroid cancer.  (It’s on the innerwebz so it has to be true, right?)

♦   I watched “The Thin Man” recently after a very, very long hiatus.  Maybe I was just in a cranky mood, but I found myself put off by the debauched character of the film.  Probably didn’t help that I recently learned the character of Nora Charles was Dashiell Hammett’s besotted tribute to Lillian Hellman, who was a thoroughly nasty piece of work.  Feh.

Well, the rice is now thoroughly soaked and the shrimp thawed, so I better get to them.  Later, gators!

UPDATE DEUX:  Yes, Ol’ Robbo knows these updated posts are the equivalent of reheated leftovers as opposed to freshly made new content.  I can only plead that we’ve had a heavy softball schedule for Youngest Gel’s team this week and it’s fouled up my usual evening routine.  I am, in fact, eating literal reheated leftovers even as I type this, as these games involve getting home rather latish from the ballpark and not only do I feel no inclination to cook, I also don’t want to fill up on a real meal this close to beddy-bye times.  (Which see nighttime complaints mentioned above.)

 

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo found himself unexpectedly released from having to go to a “Meet the Coaches” evening at Youngest’s high school this evening in connection with softball.  (The season starts Thursday if we don’t get snowed out.  May as well be playing at Progressive Field, amirite?) So with a bit of unmortgaged time on my hands, why not a little this and that?

♦  Despite the cold weather, Spring Break is actually upon us.  Middle Gel’s started this weekend.  Although she had no prior experience, she joined a scuba club at her school this past fall.  A group of them (including herself) drove down to the Florida Keys last night to do some diving this week.  Ol’ Robbo is envious.  Meanwhile, Eldest comes home Friday and basically plans to chill for a week.  That’s not so bad, either.

♦  When Ol’ Robbo was in college, Spring Break meant Spring Training for the rowing teams.  Somehow or other, the women’s crew always went to Florida, but the men’s stayed on campus at The People’s Glorious Soviet of Middletown, CT.  Connecticut.  In March.  The ice hadn’t finished coming down the river at that point, so the town had not yet put in the floating docks off which we launched.  This meant that we had to wade out into the water to put the boats in and take them back out.  And, of course, we had to take off our shoes and socks, and roll up our tights/sweats above our knees to do so.  I like to think it was character-building.  (And truth be told, I preferred rowing in the cold to rowing in the heat and humidity.)

♦  It’s also tax-prep time.  For the last few years, this has meant for us gathering up all the statements, receipts, and the like we could find and shoving them off on our accountant.  Somehow, this makes Ol’ Robbo feel almost like an adult.

♦  And, of course, we have Ash Wednesday this week. Ol’ Robbo likes to go to early morning Mass, receive the ashes, and then breeze about his office all day as if everything is perfectly normal.  Drives my lefty colleagues batty, especially as they don’t dare say or do anything.  Jesus railed against the hypocrites who stood on the street corners and proclaimed their piousness, but I’ll bet He gets a kick out of my modest subversiveness.

♦  And speaking of All Things Spring, let me say again that, the more I contemplate my beloved 2019 Nationals, the happier I get.

♦  Today, by the bye, is the birthday of Antonio Vivaldi, born this day in 1678.  He’s credited with composing some 500 concerti.  There’s an old musicians’ joke that he really only wrote two, but wrote each one 250 times.  Nyuck, nyuck.  As with all jokes, there’s a certain grain of truth here.  Vivaldi was the musick director for a convent school, and a lot of the concerti he wrote were for its students.  He fooled about with various orchestrations, no doubt influenced in part by the ever-changing talent pool available to him, but is it small wonder that he repeatedly borrowed from himself to generate fresh renditions?

♦ Finally, and to lurch violently in a completely different direction, Ol’ Robbo found himself watching “Quest for Fire” last evening.  Heaven alone knows what possessed me to toss it in the Netflix queue back when, but I’ve developed a rule that once I order a DVD, like Angel Eyes, I always see the job through.**  Let’s just say that, as far as cave-man movies go, this is no “1 Million Years B.C.” and that Rae Dawn Chong, nekked in blue-grey body paint, has nothing, nothing, on Raquel Welch in a leather bikini.

So there you are.

 

**If you don’t get this reference………

 

 

 

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yes, as I’m sure you all heard this afternoon, Bryce Harper signed with the Phillies for 13 years and $330 million.  Of course the news broke about 45 minutes after I teased a colleague in Philly that it looked like he was going to the West Coast instead.  The Baseball Gods are sadists.

Whelp, it’s over and done with and good luck to him.  Of course, Ol’ Robbo would have been mighty happy if the Giants had been able to sneak in and grab him, but there it is.

Frankly, I think Philly paid way too much and that the contract is too long.  (He’ll be, what, pushing 40 when it expires).

When Harps is hot, he’s very hot, but he’s also very streaky and capable of going into long slumps.  His fielding really isn’t all that, either.  (Cut off man? What cut off man?)  Finally, he’s something of a diva in the clubhouse, or so I hear.  I suppose the Phils figure they can cure him on the field and tame him off it.  We’ll see.

I’ll be very interested to see what kind of reception Harps gets from his new fan base, too.  Are they excited? Skeptical? Indifferent?  I’m sure of one thing: If he underperforms the way he can sometimes they will not hesitate for an instant to turn on him and release the Boo Birds. For a city of “Brotherly Love”, that place is pretty damned unforgiving.

As to us Nats fans? I’d say it was an amicable breakup.  (I certainly don’t feel any particular pang because I don’t think we’re really going to suffer at all for his loss, and also because I never really did warm up to him the way I did with, say, Zimm or Anthony “Tony Two-Bags” Rendon.)  I’d be very surprised if he got the raspberry on his first reappearance here.  It’s just too bad, as I say, that we’re going to have to see him so often.

UPDATE: On the other hand, it is said that a smile is a frown turned upside down.  Have I mentioned that we’re getting a fabulous new on-field sportscaster babe this year? Yes, yes we are!

Anyhoo, that’s that.  What else is there to say except

GO, NATS!!!

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

It’s a happy, happy day.  Know why? Because Spring Training starts today!  Yip! Yip! Yip!

Ol’ Robbo is feeling generally pretty good about his beloved Nationals going into the 2019 season.  Bryce or no Bryce,*** I think we made some good off-season trades to bolster our starting rotation, to bring some depth to the bench, and (hopefully) to shore up the bullpen, and making allowances for all the things that can go wrong over 162 games or more, I firmly believe we’re contenders this year.

(***Not the Phillies.  That’s all I ask.  Not the Phillies….)

Last year’s embarrassing mediocrity lay, I think, in a sort of languid assumption that we were going to walk away with the pennant again.  And I think it was unfortunate that we started out with rookie manager Dave Martinez doing weird things with camels and “group sessions” and all that other HR-inspired “community building” crap during spring training, rather than reminding the guys that they needed to be hungry for it from Day One.  I believe we really never caught up from that stumble.  Whole damn season felt positively flat.  Hopefully, he’s learned a thing or two about management and motivation from the experience, and we’ll see the Nats come out of the gate a lean, mean, fighting machine.

Plus, I think we kinda didn’t expect anyone else in the division to play very well.  Atlanta put paid to that.  Some of the other clubs are looking more promising this year, too.  Again, hopefully we’re not misunderestimating our rivals.

Anyhoo, as I say, I’m feeling pretty good, although I’ll save actual season predictions until after camp.

And apart from that, what else is there to say except

GO, NATS!!!

 

 

 

Friends of the decanter who also follow the Boys of Summah know that pitchers and catchers report next week, meaning Opening Day is just around the proverbial corner.

What you might not have seen was this week’s announcement that the MLB is officially changing the term “Disabled List” to “Injured List”:

Deputy Commissioner Dan Halem said Thursday the change is being made at the suggestion of advocacy groups.

“In recent years, the commissioner has received several inquiries regarding the name of the ‘Disabled List,'” Pfeifer wrote in a memo. “The principal concern is that using the term ‘disabled’ for players who are injured supports the misconception that people with disabilities are injured and therefore are not able to participate or compete in sports.

“As a result, Major League Baseball has agreed to change the name ‘Disabled List’ to be the ‘Injured List’ at both the major and minor league levels. All standards and requirements for placement, reinstatement, etc., shall remain unchanged. This change, which is only a rebranding of the name itself, is effective immediately.”

Cor lumme, stone the crows.

Ol’ Robbo doesn’t care about the language itself so much as the idiotic reasoning behind this nonsense.  Whose “misconception” are we talking about?  When I see Ryan Zimmerman or Adam Eaton was put on the DL for some injury or other, my immediate reaction is, “Oh, no, what happened to him and when will he be able to return to play?”  It is emphatically not, “Golly, Zimm and Mighty Mouse are now just like those people with disabilities who are not able to participate or compete in sports.”  Where is the evidence that people exist who would actually think this way?

Well, if MLB has decided to go down this road, allow Ol’ Robbo to suggest a few other changes:

“Strike” – This is far too violent, and especially in a men’s sport has particular connotations of violence towards women.  May I suggest “gold star” instead.

“Ball” – Again, with a men’s sport, I can’t help noticing that this word also is slang for a certain part of the male anatomy, and in this context might be seen as promoting rape culture.  Let’s go with “Good try”.

“Steal” – Obvious reference to theft, which is sure to be a pejorative re-enforcement of our prejudices regarding certain sections of the population.  Try something more uplifting like “sharing the next base”.

“Sacrifice fly/bunt” – Too Jesus-y.  In order to do away with antiquated notions of “God” and bring a proper sense of the proletarian struggle, call it a “People’s fly/bunt”.

“Designated Hitter” – Sorry, there is no better term for this.  Better get rid of it and the rule providing for it altogether. Now.

MORE:

“Foul” is out.  We now say “inappropriate”.

The “warning track” is now the “reminder zone”.

“Suicide squeeze”? Fuggedaboutit!

I’m sure friends of the decanter can think of some more apropos amendments to the patois in aid of further suppressing wrong think.

In the meantime, Ol’ Robbo is off to watch his copy of “Major League“, in part to get myself in the mood for spring training, in part to thumb my nose at those forces of darkness who have  disappeared Chief Wahoo from the Cleveland franchise and no doubt will try to do away with the Indians’ name altogether some time in the near future. Maybe they can be the Cleveland New Green Deals?

(Pro tip re the movie: If you fast-forward through the subplot love story between Tom Berenger and Rene Russo, this is a very economical little flick, and you’ve enough time left over for the behind-the-scenes extras which are quite informative.)

 

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

As a bounce-back from this week’s Virginia infanticide Debacle, which is now in the rake-handle-to-the-face-of-the-Left stage, how about a little of this and that?

♦  It’s snowing around Port Swiller Manor at the moment, and Youngest is out running errands in it.  (Needless to say, school is cancelled today per the county’s “one flake” policy.)  When I expressed some misgivings about this, she said, “But Dad, I need the experience, right?”  Yes, yes she does.  That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t worry.

♦  Ol’ Robbo recently had a birthday.  I’m now 54.  That puts me in my “mid-50’s” now, right? And have I officially hit middle age?  Red Ferrari and leggy young blonds, here I come! (Not.) Reminds me again of a favorite Basil Fawlty internal dialogue:

Shrroom!

What was that?

That was your life, mate.

Oh, that’s nice.  Do I get another?

Sorry, mate.

♦  How about some micro-movie reviews?

The Big Country (1958) – I first saw this on teevee when I was about 12 or so.  It was the movie that made me first fall in love with westerns, mostly because of the beautiful scenery.  The story itself is about Easterner Gregory Peck finding himself in the middle of a bitter fight over water rights.  I never understood the appeal of Peck, who to me always seemed so wooden.  Whenever I put this to the Mothe, who thought he was yummy, she’d always say, “You haven’t the genes, dear boy.  You haven’t the genes.”  It also stars the equally unappealing to me Jean Simmons, who always seemed like such a rabbit.  Charlton Heston struts his stuff and Burl Ives is a thoroughly creepy contender in the fight.

Gung Ho! (1943) – Pure WWII propaganda based on a 1942 Marine raid on the Japanese-held island of Makin in the Gilberts.  There’s not much to say about it, except that it stars Randolph Scott and a young Robert Mitchum, who is one of Ol’ Robbo’s favorite actors.

In Which We Serve (1942) – Another WWII film, written and directed by, and starring Noel Coward.  Survivors of a Brit destroyer sunk by the Luftwaffe off Crete think on their past lives as they cling to a life raft.  It’s actually pretty well done.  I wrote the other day about my misgivings over John Wayne’s decision to stick to his acting instead of signing up for the war.  Coward tried to sign on, but was specifically told by Churchill that he’d do more good sticking to entertainment.  The Nazis wanted to kill him at any rate.

♦ Is the Super Bowl this weekend?  I doubt I’ll watch.  OTOH, pitchers and catchers report in two weeks, so it isn’t that long until the real sports season begins! (UPDATE UNO:  Let me make clear that I’m not “boycotting” in support of Colin Kaepernick or anything.  I just don’t give much of a damn.  And the Pats are more or less a lock anyway since Belicheck signed his soul away to Satan.)

♦  Oh, and tomorrow is Candlemas, but it’s also Groundhog Day.  A fun fact about Robbo: I have never made it through the Bill Murray movie of that name without dozing off.  I don’t know why – time and place, possibly – but it’s true.  I’ve absolutely nothing against it, you understand, but to this day I don’t know how it actually ends.

UPDATE DEUX:  Well, we actually got a couple inches of snow after all.  Perfect for taking the puppeh on a long walk round the neighborhood.  On the other hand, Mrs. Robbo’s overnight school outing to the Murrland Science Center got cancelled, so now she’s more or less kicking her heals.  When Mrs. R has a lot of energy and nothing in particular upon which to focus it, it’s best to slide quietly out of the way and hide.

 

 

Archives

Blog Stats

  • 460,331 hits
May 2019
M T W T F S S
« Apr    
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  
Advertisements