After his death, I couldn’t listen to him regularly, but I’m back in the Lou groove.

If you never hear from me again, it’s because Steve smothered me after my stunning rendition of “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine.” I can’t do the bass parts, but I do a mean background singer. “Whoa whoa whoaa!”

From here:

None of that bothers Collins, who has continued, since stepping down from the job in 2003, to preach his gospel that poetry ought to be written so that ordinary people can understand and enjoy it.

Poetry oughtn’t to be or do anything. Poets can. Poems can. There is no hadn’t oughter.

I have been accused of being too easy a poet, and I have been accused of being too abstruse. But “easy” and “limp as an old cod” are not synonyms, and Collins is more often accused of the coddishness than just accessibility.

Still, I want to write so that non-poets can read and enjoy it. But to say I ought? Bullshit. There are as many intentions as there are poems, and anyone who’s paying the slightest bit of attention would recognize that.

With thanks to Jilly for the link.

This is Steve’s, entitled “I C You.”

You, too, can be an artiste! Go here, and paint away.

I came downstairs this morning and Steve was on his exercise bike, watching a movie. It had Robert Duvall in it.

I swear that every movie he has watched lately has had Robert Duvall in it. The movie ended, and I mentioned the Robert Duvall thing.

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too. I didn’t even know he was in this one.” He paused for a minute then added, “At least it isn’t Carrot Top.”

I think that we can all pause and reflect upon our lives, and so long as we can say that, we’re okay.

I’ll admit I know little about the program, but can you go wrong with something called Poetry Butt Camp? I think not!

It spans Steve’s birthday, so no butt camping for me.

Wow, that didn’t come out right.

Bring in the bunny!

My headphone/microphone combo makes a squeaky popping noise on occaision as I’m doing recordings. I tried loosening and tightening, gripping one part or the other. But the solution was right in front of me all the time.

So I did some recordings tonight with a stuffed brown rabbit wedged between my skull and the headphones. Steve didn’t even notice.

My mother just called from the Greek isle of Rhodes. She says it’s gorgeous. I say I’m envious as hell. Postcards just aren’t the same, you know?

I say that, but I’m not big on travel. I’ve never seemed to have the energy. I love new foods, new people, new sights and sounds, but I hate planes and cars, hate jet lag and vette lag and someone needs to invent a transporter so I can just be here and then there. So I can just be.

Major eruption at work, like perching an office chair on Krakatoa. In the next few days, I get to see if I’ll have lava on my shoes or just a nice toasty feeling.

Well, WEE is alive, but can’t be declared well, yet. BRAAAAINS for the zombie blog.

And these people are way talented, so keep your eyes peeled.

Way talented? I can’t believe I just said that. They’re gnarly, dude!

I swear, the older I get, the more I talk like a surfer. An 80s surfer.