Name that poem...
The recent cold spell has put in mind a poem that captures chill quite well...

St Agnes' Eve---Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:

And on it goes. Anybody know who/what it is? Guesses?

There is something about winter, Christmas, and my approaching birthday that always makes me poetic. I read it. Hell, I even write it. I wonder why? I don't get poetic in the summer. But the cold makes me all lyrical. Today I paged through my favorite contemporary poet, Billy Collins and loved every minute. Tomorrow I might get into some other favorites. Neruda. Auden. If I'm feeling strong, The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde.

Does winter put you into odd moods? For me it's baking and poetry. What is it for you?

Cat of the week: Mr. Peabody
Meet Mr. Peabody, he's black and he's proud! Mr. P is all about the love. I opened his cage and he was instantly in my face with a "hi, hi, pet me, hi, hello, hi" greeting that was completely endearing. He's 9-years old and extremely gentle, sweet, and affectionate. All the get acquainted rooms were busy so he and I hung out at his cage, playing with pipe cleaners and butting heads.

This cat has that spark of something extra. Charm. Savoir faire. Whatever you want to call it. And yet he manages to be both mellow and memorable.

It's a sad fact that black cats are often overlooked because many people are superstitious about them. Personally, I think anybody who adopted Mr. Peabody would be in for some great luck.

You can find out more at the Peninsula Humane Society website. Mr. Peabody's reference number is A435841.

No, I'm not ignoring you
Just haven't had much to say. Plus I was on the radio for 5 hours today, 3 hours yesterday.

Actually, in spite of the fact that I did a totally kick-ass show today, I've kinda got the blues. Today would have been my beloved best friend/brother Steve's 45th birthday. Only he's not around for the whole cake and presents thing because stupid ol' AIDS done him in. (Sorry, black humor is my personal savior.)

I tend to get sad on his birthday. My birthday is next week and he and I would always get together between our days and celebrate together. This typically involved lunch at the Patio Cafe on Castro Street (where I would pay because Steve would never have his wallet). I miss our lunches. I miss getting catty over the camp waiters, going window shopping for things we couldn't afford, and then splitting something gooey for dessert. Basically, I just miss him. Stupid AIDS.

It looks like I'll be taking over the airwaves again on Friday morning, filling in for Husband from 6-9 am. Then next week I'm off until the big KZSU blues marathon on the 27th. (If you've never heard me play the blues, tune in....I do a seriously fucking great blues show.)