On the even lighter side (and still off message, but not much longer): one of you has made me aware of an author named William Monahan, who wrote this sentence in the final installment of his serial story Dining Late with Claude La Badarian (reviewed here):
I was able to convince the police, after a few minutes difficulty on the landing (I was coming back from the shower, inconvenienced by precarious towel, soap-on-a-rope in the form of Sneezy the Dwarf), that I was not “Claude Le Bandarian,” blackmailer, but a paperless German anthropologist named Andreas Kluth.
I would be flattered, but No, as far as I know, I cannot have inspired this reference. (Paperless? I try. German? Largely, but that’s between us. Anthropology? More as object than subject. Andreas Kluth? Unequivocally.)
I admit that my name is not exactly household. But you do notice that I couldn’t get the .com or .net domains. I’m aware of a municipal politician somewhere in Germany who has my name. He must be the anthropologist. 😉