Polite reason to shoot the cannons
The little I know of diplomatic protocol has me convinced that the term is synonymous with polite. There is that time that a man in a mitre slapped me on the cheek, but I’ve forgiven him. On the whole, any time the cream (fluff) of the political class get their fancy duds on, there will be a surfeit of bowing and scraping.
I missed the live show yesterday due to other pressing responsibilities, but CPAC provided more than sufficient access to the taped version. You see, we “got” a new GG yesterday. I was fine with the other one, but these titles come with a “best before” date. Unwilling to commit to televised golf or fancy cooking, I let the ceremony stand for itself.
First thing: that earworm of 16 bars, a mashup of some God Save thing and the National Anthem tune. I got it; you didn’t need to play it over and over again. If you must have music, let the thing play, like the composers intended. Next up, thank you for not letting Terry Kelly walk into the doorframe. That was good of you. As for the kids on the big and little fiddles, I couldn’t dance to whatever that “sort of like a strathspey and reel” might have been.
The new guy only touched the multiple bling. It would have been much better if he’d put them on, all of them, at once. And then performed a regal rap. He seemed to like sitting in the giant chairs. I would, too, if given the chance. With a good book on my Kobo.
How many shots do you have to fire to make the point? Why does anything involving royalty sound like an Appalachian wedding party? I guess it comes back to the protocol thing.
