Neanderpundit

And Google hasn’t seen fit to even put a flag on the masthead.

My home browser is officially now Ask.com

Fuck google, and the whorse it rode in on.

Just so’s nobody gets the idea that this is going to be some professionally run convention with name tags and a tight schedule, let me clarify.

Itinerary:

Arrive in Chicago friday the 14th. Go to a restaurant. Eat. Drink. Yap. Go to a hotel or home if you live close by. Sleep.

Wake up with a pounding headache on the 15th. Decide the best cure for said headache is a trip to the range where the sound of blowing things up will drown out (hopefully) the hangover. Or make your head explode. I suspect there will be someone there with a grill, and that being the case, we can probably grill some burgers. If I have any idea how many people will show at that time., I’ll bring a cooler and and some supplies. I’m counting on other folks to bring stuff too.

I can get earmuffs and earplugs for at least a half dozen people, the range has rentals as well. Same with eye protection. This is a gravel pit, so stuff flies around.

Sunday: Wake up, go to mass or services if you’re so inclined, and have a large brunch. Eat, yap, maybe drink, go home. If you intend to fly, remember that clothes which have recently been to the range will have powder residue, and cause you grief at the airport. I like to have one clean set of clothing in a plastic bag, and when you change sunday AM, put your dirty clothes in a bag before taking a shower and putting clean clothes on. Years of experience prove this to be a valuable habit.

Everyone is responsible for their own wherabouts, though we will try to get some people to carpool, and if you fly in and rent a car, we’ll get maps to the range. Share a seat if you can.

Ok, if you want, print this out and write in your name, or copy paste your blog masthead.

There’s a bung for every hole

years ago I worked with a woman who got married to an offshoot relative of Mr Uecker. Her name was Cox, and she hyphenated the name, becoming Mrs Cox-Uecker.

She really had no idea what she’d done.

Almost a year later, she asked me why people always seemed to titter when she said her name.

I said it out loud a couple times, then mimed the act.

She thought about it for a few moments, turned a deep beet red, and walked away. They didn’t use the hyphenated name after that.