In which we come up with our word for the day

There is some joy, when a person complains about a certain aspect of a tournament, to be able to point out the email they ignored that, in fact, negated that aspect of the tournament. I do write a lot of emails before a tournament, but this is not because I like to hear myself type. An invitation is posted months in advance. Shockingly, life can intervene between that posting and the tournament itself. We know that most people do not thoroughly read the invitations. We also know that a lot of people don’t really pay attention to emails either, especially judges. And then they wonder why there were in the wrong place at the wrong time and why are they paying $100 as a fine as a result. When you can point to the date of your email—and maybe even the date of your second confirming email—that they ignored, well, it is a pleasant feeling. 

Yes, I know this is sanctimonious. Number it among my many flaws. 

Baby Bump is now closed. It’s small but viable. And I can practically walk there. Sadly I won’t have Marty Meat, JV or Catholic Charlie there, as each has other obligations. We’ve often said that BB has be best tab room staff in the country, when all it really needs is a few index cards. Oh, well. We’ll (mostly, excluding JV) be together again at the BenF. Speaking of which, when CC and I were working on the rooms Saturday, I went to the school’s website to track down campus maps. There is a rich supply of them, including specialized maps of the school’s historical sites, its statues, and its lactation stations. How the world has changed: They didn’t have lactation when I went to college. 

My next chore is shoring up the Penn judging. The BenFers have been hiring away, and now they need to go into tabroom. Mindless work, of course, except that lately tabroom has been showing its exceptions as Friday, Sunday and Saturday, in that order. I challenge anyone not to get the Sundays and Saturdays mixed up at least once. I wish more people handled this on their end, rather than writing a note like “No Friday rounds” and expecting us to do it. This is especially true when the note is vestigial from a tournament here years ago, and there are no Friday rounds at the tournament you’re running. 

Ah, sanctimony!