I am not Owl Meat

A colleague at The Baltimore Sun believes that she has outed me as Owl Meat.

She is mistaken.

Owl Meat — some civilians may require a little background — is one of the frequent commenters in the Sandbox on Elizabeth Large’s blog, Dining @ Large. The members of the Sandbox are largely harmless, though they occasionally stray onto this site. (I drew their attention, and they’ve been conducting conversational exchanges here.) Owl Meat is given to baroque extravagances, sometimes extending into the rococo, and it should be obvious even to the casual observer that he lets his id out on a longer leash than I allow mine.

In any case, I am prepared to place my hand on a copy of Fowler’s Modern English Usage and attest before any civil magistrate that I am not Owl Meat, neither have I ever made any use of that pseudonym, nor have I any knowledge or speculation as to Owl Meat’s identity.

My own identity is burden enough for any man to bear.



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