The best laid plans and all that. I was going to close the MHL First-Timers registration yesterday, but then it turned out that it was broken and nobody could get in to make corrections, and when I called CP (this was an emergency requiring conversation, not just a casual email situation), he was out gallivanting with Sara S, no doubt plotting all sorts of mischief at Little Lex, but the good news is he carries his computer with him at all times and he managed to fix it on the fly between the sorbet and fish course, so registration went on and on and on. Of course, it seems that CP was the one who broke registration in the first place, so adequate punishments are perhaps necessary. I might have to talk to Jules and the Nostrumite about turning off Dude Firmguns’s steady stream of willing girlfriends. I mean, sometimes you just need to make a point, you know?
(If any of this is too obscure for you, you’re not the VCA soldier that you think you are. There is a glossary over there on the right, for one thing. Sometimes I think the only one who ever looks at it is O’C, who actually has no reason to look at it except that he’s nuts that way. We did give him the data files for Big Bronx, after all. I figured that would keep him busy until Easter, but yesterday he bugged me that the MHL was still Mid-Hudson instead of Metro-Hudson. Jeesh. And then the Emperor of Hamiltonia threatened a lawsuit… Yesterday was a long day.)
Out of all that, the First-Timers’ Event is the biggest ever. Yay, us. There was some reservation among a few registrants about its first-timer-ness, but we learned last year that the vast majority of the entrants expect it to be firsters only, and that all the benefits of firsters only are lost when it’s not. We could make it open, but then we would lose those benefits. That’s why we went back to the way it always was. Sometimes you experiment and change. Sometimes you try something new and you realize you were right the first time. Read On Liberty if you need to apply this to your debate cases.
Meanwhile, Tik (pronounced teek) is home. (“I didn’t know he had gone away,” sez you.) It seems that while I was tabbing Jake, Tiki was breaking his leg. Or more to the point, shattering it quite a bit. They had to put in a metal plate, which means it will be difficult for him to get through security next time he has to fly somewhere. He returned to the chez yesterday with a collar to keep him from fussing with the area, and a rear leg that was shaven and stapled and sore looking, but this morning looked much less sore. He is surprisingly active and normal acting, for all the horror of the accident in the first place and the subsequent hospitalization and operation. What he can’t do is his normal running around like an idiot for the next six to eight weeks, which is like asking O’C not to hold an award ceremony at Jake next year. We have a cage for him (Tiki, not O’C), and that helps. (Come to think of it, a cage for O’C might not be a bad idea either! Why didn’t I think of that before?) Anyhow, let me warn you. If you’re considering breaking your cat’s leg, make sure you check your bank account first. This ain’t no walk in the fiscal park, let me tell you. It would have been cheaper to have broken my own leg (or, better yet, O’C’s leg, if I think it all the way through and factor in the pain).
What an interesting world we live in.
No comments:
Post a Comment