Spitball Army

Today we saw a short movie and got a haircut. After about 20 of the 63 guys in the platoon had theirs cut and we had had mess, cleaned up the hut, and seen the movie, they raised the colors. (They raise the colors at 8:00 a.m.) If you see any hair on this letter, think nothing of it. Just call me baldy.

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Folks that have engaged me in political discussions probably know that I greatly admire Chris Matthews for his intelligence and energy and boundless curiosity. This sometimes throws people because – I think – the same attributes I admire in Matthews are characteristics that annoy the hell out of them (especially the over-the-top energy and shrillness of his speech).

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I believe it’s warm where you are but it’s a darn sight hotter here.

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After the show, we went over to Manuel’s Tavern. The place was filled with Democrats. Democrats! They had the CNN wrap-up of the Pennsylvania primary on the big TV screens. It felt like Cambridge, but it was Atlanta.

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Members of the black community protested that any film version of the Uncle Remus stories was bound to portray black Americans in a servile and negative way. A “vicious piece of hocus pocus,” one group called it.

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The name of the Eepher is unknown.

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And everyone was just in these human piles and the ones that were freaking out and the ones that were giggling were just like mixed up like a whole can of worms. And I’ll tell you, it worked.

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The collection is worth millions of dollars — Mawhinney’s personal estimate is at least $50 million — but he has received only one solid offer. That bid of $28.5 million fell through. Other parties have shown interest, and Mawhinney says he continues to talk to a few interested parties. He has set of goal of selling the collection by March 1.

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V-mail was originally based on the British “Airgraph”, and was an unusual and ingenious system for delivering mail from United States troops to home addresses during World War II. V-mail correspondence worked by photographing large amounts of censored mail reduced to thumb-nail size onto reels of microfilm, which weighed much less than the original would have.

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I read the news today, about a gang of kids who broke into Robert Frost’s winter farmhouse in Vermont and had a party. This was no mundane social gathering – the evidence of the event provokes a mental image wherein some human sub-species unleashed itself within the walls of the historic home and hurled objects, burned furniture, urinated and vomited at will and wherever it felt the need. Oh, boy.

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