Alas, my full name as known to you few appears not within my blog, and as My Three Initials (with D S and L. shot from their knees down in place of Robbie, Chip and Ernie) are rather common in our wired age, they will avail you not.

Send me telepathic messages, if all else fails!

The good karma generated by your kind compliments to me back at Dreh-Rod's Chez Rod 1.0 over my 2008 sketching, in serial installments of what forms a Sexual Olympics might take, entails that targeted good vibes are always radiating in beeping, concentric RKO circles from Maine to Minneapolis, though given the latitudes involved, to the extent the wind beneath your wings is partly me, don't take personally the fact that for six months each year I feel for all the world like the chilliest of Arctic blasts.

I did manage, finally, to figure out who sigaliris is when she’s at home, but she dropped so many hints over the years that it just took a dedicated hour or so.

You have to go through all the names in Zabasearch from A. To. Zed. Though you can get her from there, to invert the reigning plaint from Maine, it's pain if you lack my advantage, i.e., a thirty-year immersion in the literature of the postwar conservative intellectual movement as profiled in, e.g., the eminent George Nash book in whose photo gallery Papa Sig features among the two dozen or so signature scholars and publicists from Mises and Hayek to Kristol and Rothbard.

You, buddy, have left a trail of breadcrumbs on Other People’s Blogs.

Some might call it a trail of tears and with all faces indeed red to boot, in my case and perhaps that of a few other “buddies” from laughing all the way, with a few others wot not got either the memo or the jokes crying tears unconverted.

earcherd1 (that symbol that means “at”) at Google’s free web mail (you know)

earcherd, n. See cornfield. See also Archerd's Army, Minnesota Division.

For all else, keep watching the skies – and your Inbox…]]>

-Jake