Robert Galvin

Dec 6, 2024 | rv-times.com | Robert Galvin

Lately, I’ve been feeling nostalgic for the future. Not the future that appears before us — the one filled with trepidation and doomsaying, distrust and sociocultural wars over America’s identity and spirit. You can take that future and stick it where the sun don’t shine. No, these days when I look out on inversion-draped mornings, my mind wanders to the wide-open horizons of the days of yore. Days when we were told that “anything is possible” by those who might still conceive of that to be true.

Nov 29, 2024 | rv-times.com | Robert Galvin

Sometimes, I wish I could have been born a character in a comic strip — where life seldom throws you curveballs as you attempt to carry out the most daunting of tasks. Case in point: Purchasing a needed tube of toothpaste. In the comics, my doppelgänger would simply grab a box labeled “TOOTHPASTE” — likely printed in Comic Sans — and the arduous chore would be completed lickety-split.

Nov 22, 2024 | rv-times.com | Robert Galvin

Rain … nature’s metaphorical cliche. Poets, filmmakers, songwriters and novelists — even lowly newspaper columnists — have turned to the silver lining accompanying an approaching dark cloud to alleviate the anxiety of an artistic drought. We trick ourselves into believing there’s more to drizzles and downpours than just water leaving the sky. As Carole King reassured us in a scientific principle as of yet deemed a hoax, rain is wet; but, more than that, it chills our souls down to the marrow.

Nov 15, 2024 | rv-times.com | Robert Galvin

I’m watching television the other day — could’ve been the weekly “Bones” marathon on BBC America; could’ve been “Ocean’s 8,” a Bullock/Blanchett caper flick I’ve DVD’d and seen three or four times — when this commercial pops up before me … and, suddenly, I’m my father. I should explain. The ad is for shoes. Not just any shoes, but shoes you can slip into and immediately start walking — so, clearly, we’re entering science fiction territory.

Nov 8, 2024 | rv-times.com | Robert Galvin

The horses gallop at precarious speeds after the clock strikes 10, as soon we might arrive to sleep. Or, something like that … I ain’t all that well-versed in the elegant memes that pervade our social media. Besides, our clocks no longer “strike 10.” That’s for church bells and sinister Victorian manors where evil lurks. And, if we’re being totally honest, the four-legged creatures thundering through the house aren’t horses — but I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you knew that.