Nothing really different. Something different.

[fflo]

Quiet day today. Did up all the dishes and wiped down the cabinets. Feet are freezing. Why I don't submerge them in a hot tub, I do not know.

Talked to friend in Jersey again today. Talked about poetry a little. Talked about how I had been thinking Robert Pinsky was Joseph Brodsky, and had had four or five days anticipating a reading and lecture from the latter, vaguely confused about what he'd have to say about a Preston Sturges movie, but going with it. I'm happy to see Pinsky, but I was quite psyched to see Brodsky.

Comments

[vjsmom.livejournal.com]

or even Robert Pinsky

[fflo.livejournal.com]

No need to back off your like of the poet, girl! If he's an ass now, I won't think "Gee, vjsmom said she likes him; she must be an ass too!"

(I say this as one who can feel compelled to be as hedgey as the next guy... oh, hell, hedgier. MUCH hedgier. That's the whole point of Rash March; not to second-guess oneself in the endless self-consciousness of the damned.)

I'll let you know how the poet was.