Holy Mac Flecknoe, Batman!

      Indeed, indeedy-do, this blog is now one year old. Whoda thunk it? This blog is as shocked as everyone else is.

      Sorry, there's not likely to be much updating today. I absolutely must finish my remarks for my kids in the next several hours even if, frankly, I'd rather be doing just about anything else, including exfoliating my face with steel wool and Comet. And before any of you say it: I know, I know, it wouldn't make a difference, anyway. Smart alecks. Regardless, a few words on this silliness spring to mind:

All Things Can Tempt Me

All things can tempt me from this craft of verse:
One time it was a woman's face, or worse--
The seeming needs of my fool-driven land;
Now nothing comes but readier to the hand
Than this accustomed toil. When I was young,
I had not given a penny for a song
Did not the poet sing it with such airs
That one believed he had a sword upstairs;
Yet could be now, could I but have my wish,
Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish.

--- William Butler Yeats (1909, from The Green Helmet And Other Poems)

Oh, if only verse came so ready to the hand, this blog a partial and sometimes snide replacement, but I still end up wishing I were colder and dumber and deafer than a fish. Taken all in all, I'd rather be tempted. But like Frost's ice, this blog is also great and must suffice. Kick it, Van:

^~~Tore down à la Rimbaud
And I wish my writing would come
Tore down à la Rimbaud,
You know it's hard some time,
You know it's hard some time.^~~