February 18, 2008

Gratuitous Prezdents' Day Grumbling

It's a gloriously beautiful morning here in Your Nation's Capital and I'm stuck all day in my former fortress of solitude summarizing a deposition, a thankless task in any event but made much worse here by the fact that the depo was taken by an utter doofus (no, not me). I don't really have the time to check up on the nooz and surf the intertoobs, but I think I'm going to use this post as a point for rolling updates throughout the day, as random thoughts drift across what passes for the mind of Robbo while I toil away. That's me, Mr. Scattershot.

Speaking of glorious days, I looked out yesterday afternoon to discover the back yard full of robins and starlings. A sure sign that spring isn't all that far off. I love watching robins - there's something infinitely entertaining about the perky and cheerful way they hop about listening for Mr. Worm. Starlings, on the other hand, I can take or leave alone, as they are intensely ugly birds. (I know, I know. That's so hurtful.) I used to listen to a concerto written by a French Baroque composer - either Couperin or Charpentier, I believe - based on the starling's call. But I believe European starlings have a different song than American ones.

So how's it going with the Llama-ettes, you ask? Well, no fatalities so far, although there has been a fair bit of low-intensity skirmishing. They're all outside messing about at the moment and I've got the window open in order to monitor for the sound of shrieking (well, okay, also in order to shoo the squirrels off the bird feeder). I used the same line on them this morning that Mom used to use on us: do not bother me unless the house is on fire or one of you is bleeding to death. On the other hand, last evening I whipped up some bacon and water-chestnut hors d'ouvre for them. And there was much rejoicing.

Alright, alright. Back to the salt mines. I'm sure I'll be checking in again.

UPDATE: Oh, by the way, I hate the concept of Presidents' Day. Bring back the celebration of Old George's birthday, sez I.

SHAKING THE DEVIL'S HAND UPDATE: The gels have gone down the street to play with their friends who happen to have a Wii. I really don't mind.

Posted by Robert at February 18, 2008 09:11 AM | TrackBack

Hear, hear!!! Bring back ol' George's birthday! I support that idea.

The keysunset clan opined this morning that being as Presidents Day is in February, then only the great USA Presidents have been born in February (of course, dear George coming foremost to mind here). However, since my little darlings were home from school today (and tomorrow as well) I haven't had time to try to research the birthdates for all our Presidents to test the validity of our theory.

Hope your day summarizing despotisms, or whatever, went well. ;-)

Posted by: keysunset at February 18, 2008 10:25 PM

I used to sail dinghys in the winter as a child. I was crew for my father. One day, while taking down the sails, our dinghy capsized. Prior to that event, my mother had bought me a pair of Sperry Topsider dinghy boots. She told me that if I lost them she would kill me...
I found myself in the drink in January... I refused to kick off my dinghy boots and swim for it. I was fished out by a rescue boat, boots still on my legs...
My point is; be careful about your rhetoric Robert. It might come back to haunt you. I still own the dinghy boots even though they no longer fit me...

Posted by: Babs at February 19, 2008 03:14 AM

Starlings: there are no American ones: they're undocumented birds, making squawks that Americans won't. How they got here is weird and in some dispute. Sturnus vulgaris is, on both sides of the Atlantic, though, the European Starling, and I say to hell with it.

Related to the mynah, maybe that's who your composer had in mind.

Posted by: Ed Flinn at February 19, 2008 08:41 AM