I wish I could say that I know the dude and/or dudette that owns the bar in the image to the left, but I can’t. It turns out that my last name, rare at best in the US, is quite common on the British Isles. (The photo? It is of a building with a sign proclaiming itself as “Leeming Bar”. Look closely at the sign.)
My dad’s side of the family? Obviously British. My mom’s? Irish to the bone, complete with the “Erin Go Braugh” bumper sticker on her dad’s truck. And me? Incan, as anyone can plainly see. I will be extinct before you know it, but not before I hide the gold. If you think the Columbia drug trade is killing people, try the smallpox they inflicted on my (imagined) ancestors.
I took some vacation time today. Left work at noon for my court appearance. The time on my arraignment summons was 1pm and I was not very hopeful about getting out of there before 4pm. To my great surprise, I was home before 2:30. Just enough time for the wife to do some browsing on Craig’s List (and for me to listen to “Why Today Doesn’t Suck” on The Ticket).
And that is how I found myself driving to southwest Austin early in the evening to buy a home bar for $75. It matches the furniture – and would probably cost close to a grand if bought brand new – and is fully stocked thanks to our trip to Spec’s a week or so ago. So we are all set up to entertain visitors.
That is, if we ever get around to it.
After all, us Irish/British/Incan/Asian-name-sounding tend to go into hiding. Especially since I am full of shit about the Incan part.