Susan, have you come across the story of Rfm. Thomas Plunkett? [link]

I like this bit: "...raised again to corporal 'notwithstanding little fits of inebriety,'...." Hah.

Yep, I've heard of Plunkett. Quite a character. I don't have anyone directly based on him, but he's one of the ones I keep in mind as I'm writing.

That supine firing position seems very strange. When you get together with the re-enactors, ask if any of them have tried it.

eta: better picture, bottom right of page [link]

Unfortunately the reenactors I'm going to meet are all using your standard-issue Brown Bess musket, which I don't think you could fire that way. The Baker was significantly shorter than muskets or hunting rifles to make it easier to fire and reload while crouching or lying down in cover.

I've got my novel open in another window, and I'm typing in and doing an initial edit on this week's handwritten work. I have a minor villain named Colonel Robuchon. (All my French characters are named after Canadian figure skaters or French chefs who show up on Iron Chef. All my Spanish characters are named for baseball players.) MS Word suggests "Robocop" as a correct spelling. Colonel Robocop. That'd put a whole new spin on the plot.

MS Word suggests "Robocop" as a correct spelling. Colonel Robocop. That'd put a whole new spin on the plot.

Hehehehe. Hehehehe. Sorry, just, hehehehe.

Susan, heh. The best Word correction I've ever gotten was when it was trying to cope with a paper I'd written on film and the female gaze (the meaning of which I no longer remember), and after puzzling a bit over Sontag, it suggested that possibly I meant Sandhog.

Hehehehe. Hehehehe. Sorry, just, hehehehe.

Exactly my reaction!

after puzzling a bit over Sontag, it suggested that possibly I meant Sandhog.

t snerk

Oh, and in sad news for linguistic pedants, today I found "free reign" rather than "free rein" in a very well-written and otherwise clean and polished book.

grr, argh.

Had what I thought was a nice night out with the girls. Ate a lovely plate of steakfrites, had a few glasses of wine, a few glasses pf beer. The evening ended badly, with my best friend yelling at me on the streets of Cambridge because I'm married and am buying a house and she's not. I let her vent for a while, hoping she'd come to her senses. I finally, in a break in the action, asked, "are you aware, you're YELLING at me?" she said, "yes, I am." I turned on my heel and walked home.

It was pretty awful. I knew there was no reasoning with her, but I couldn't just stand there any longer and let her berate me.

I don't blame you, Nora. I'm sorry your evening came to a bad end.

Damn, Nora. Just damn. Need someone to smite her? I think we should smite her.