As Vlad’s World Cup comes to an end. Allons enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire. Pour qui? A PR win for him. He enters the Helsinki Discord with an edge. Could there be a grand accord with the Middle East? Netanyahu & Abbas have met with Putin recently. Syria & Iran traded for Ukraine & Crimea? Or. Will it all result in a Trumpian Hell Stinky.
Meanwhile, hope London loans the baby Donald balloon to Macy’s for this year’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’a a natural addition.
Rakatich to Kovasich to Brozovich to Modrich to Mandukich. Score! Eat a sandavitch while you watch the Sunday Finalavitch. Croatia is a scrappy team with lots of heartavitch. France is a polished corps of stars. What say the Witch? Maybe The Frogs will get Croaked.
World Cup Final 2018. Either way. It has been fun!
World Cup Semi-Finals. All EU-members. France. Belgium. England. Croatia. Jingoistic fans reflect the return to nationalism in Euroland. France’s team of individual stars has come together as a cohesive force and looks to be the strongest of the four. Only victory was 1998.
The last time England took home the Cup was also the last time the world watched on black-and-white TV’s. They beat West Germany. Yes. Still a Wall. And. A Soviet Union.
It was 1966. I was staying with a friend of my uncle’s in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire when the earth shook. I looked at Hazel as her black great dane Pip jumped. What’s that? She laughed and said England must have won! Won what? Wembley Stadium’s roars could be felt far and wide. Then hell broke loose. Pandemonium spilled out to London and every country lane. That day into the next. There was crazy serious joy in all the land.
Spent these past hot humid days having football fun. Despite the histrionics and bad acting. Still don’t get how the refs arbitrarily tack on extra minutes and then blow the whistle at some random point after that. How they let players saunter off the field hugging everyone while the clock ticks and substitute waits on the sidelines. Or jump into the stands in the middle of the game. But. Hey. When a goal is rarely kicked, it’s exciting. And. The shootouts are even better. Plus the guys are still cute. If soccer is the choice over General Hospital, it’s gotta be good.
Will Trump take Barron to the finals when he meets up with Putin next week?!
World Cup in Russia. For a month. Groups A-H. Mexico is leading F. How are groups formed? Standings show many teams tied at the moment. Games. Lots of running. Ronaldo of Portugal and Lukaku of Belgium scored the current tournament high of 4 goals each. Yeah. Not many balls go into the net. At the end of two 45-minute halves, the referees tack on more minutes. Sometimes 3. Sometimes 7. Who knows? Then they still keep playing until the whistle blows. Why? Refs can rig the outcome. FIFA anyone?
Anyway. Most of the guys are gorgeous. So.
As an aspiring flâneuse, strolling undetected along the backroads, random thoughts for the weekend. Apologies to Baudelaire.
World Cup. Argentina’s twelfth player. Not fair to have Il Papa silently praying behind the scenes. Did he sway the Dutch coach to leave the tall goalie on the bench? Pazzo. Due dueling Papas Benedict v. Francis for the Final. Ave Maria. Germany does have the best team. We’ll see.
Yay for Jon Voight Emmy nom. Ray Donovan returns Sunday.
Border crisis. 3-year olds bunched into buses by Central American scam-lords. Christian Right says round them up and send them back. Are they less God’s children because they weren’t lucky enough to be born here? It’s not an immigration issue. It’s a question of humanity. Who are we? Beck most “Christ-like”? Mediaite. Strange bedfellows. Bon weekend, Charles.
Will never watch This Old House the same way again. Always marveled at the skill of the craftsmen. Richard soldering pipes. Roger caressing root balls. Norm inserting rabbets into dadoes. Tommy tooling mortises and tenons. Drill. Screw. Fasten-ating to watch. What I never appreciated before was those poor suffering neighbors next door. What they went through. Now I do.
Trucks blocking the driveway. Earth-moving machines bigger than the house. Louder than B-52’s. Bulldozer guy who seems to enjoy banging boulders with his shovel just to get his rocks off. So to speak. For some reason shirtless young carpenters’ hammering doesn’t annoy me quite as much. Photo voltaic panels save energy. Great. As long as you don’t like trees. Oh, and the gigantic garbage bin couldn’t have been dumped anywhere but our front doorstep?! Bong. Clang. And it’s not a muted drab brown. No. It’s screaming RED. Like Brasil feels about Germany today. At least the porta-potty is on the other neighbor’s lawn.
The carbon footprint of a “green” home?