Jeepers H. Creepers, as one might say if one were rather twee. I just grabbed the data from this week’s CFL contest (the one I always like to give a nice heathen name to, given the weekend on which it always falls, and being the person that I am). There’s more people here than [insert humorous metaphor—you know the drill by now]. 154 Nov and JV LDers. And I think O’C has something like another 154 tyro parent judges to be trained. This is going to be a traffic jam of incredible proportions, but aside from the inputting, on the tabbing side it will be, of course, rather tame. The more people, the easier it is to run (and I’ve solicited the assistance of young Peanuts, whose trip to Manchester was unceremoniously harpooned by the illness of his partner: teams are a dicey prospect, as any polician will tell you). On the other hand, there are hardly enough Pfffters to throw together a surprise party for someone no one likes. And, speaking of surprises, the vast majority of them are of the Regi persuasion. More a scrimmage, then, than a ball game. Whatever. I do hope to give the most people the most possible number of rounds, and have proposed some alternatives. That’s the point of these exercises, n’est-ce pas?
I’ve also managed to throw together the travel plans for Manchester-Under-the-Sea. One forgets, when one is not going, that one has to tell someone else what to do. Mere d’1F is the chaperone, so I gave her the shooting match from dragging the Byram spalpeen and his aged g.p. along to where and when to eat, who to throw off the bus in Hartford if they look at her funny, when and where to find the motel, etc. I didn’t tell her to avoid the albino bagels once she arrived, however. Some things one either knows intuitively, or are lessons one has to learn for oneself. In any case, there’s that bus, plus the Regis bus, which demonstrates why debate costs so much money that you never think about. People have to get there somehow.
Bump is now in the adjustment phase. Someone drops here, someone moves off the waiting list there. Too bad I don’t have a room list. At the moment I’m still making it all up. This is, of course, the fault of my Hardware Engineer and his Miserable Apprentice (Miserable Apprentice is the official job title). Feh, says I. Feh. If I could get the list by, oh, say, Christmas, that would be good. Obviously I do have last year’s lists, but there is always a little variation on the theme, and one can assume nothing. Feh again!
I recorded a nice half of a long Nostrum last night, at which point the software crashed and all was lost. Let’s bring down one of those fehs from the previous paragraph. FEH! I gave up. And it will be a while before I redo it. Tonight I’ll have to TRPC the CFL data, as tomorrow night there’s a poker game, and one does have one’s priorities. This will not be tournament play, although I will dazzle my opponents with the ceremonial wearing of the bling, to remind them what they are up against.
Maybe I’ll wear the bling to Regis. They all might need some reminding too.
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