I don't handle compliments well. No, I have not tagged myself with that Five Idiosyncrasies thing from Kathy. No way I could narrow mine down to single digits. Double digits, maybe.
No, it's just that this blog is more or less the electronic version of what my Poor Wife has endured for neigh-on thirty years now, only with pictures: me talking to myself but with other people in the room. It was just wonderful when people followed me here from other locations where I'd been making an ass of myself. I actually enjoyed attracting a stalker. I became a little embarrassed in garnering links from Julia and Chris Clarke and s.z. and everybody, and emails from galactic blog stars like Norb or Roxanne made me go sorta gooey. But then in short order this week I had a comment and a nice note from Tom Burka, who is one of the three funniest men in America, which was sorta like if John Lennon had turned to me that day in 1964 and said, "Nice shoes, toff." Although now that I think of it I'd just climbed out of the motel pool, so I wasn't wearing shoes, and it would have been really weird if he'd said, "Nice suit." I guess it's best he never turned his head. Ringo smiled at me, though. Where was I? Oh, yeah, then I turn up on The Daou Report, my little blog up there on the same page with Wolcott and Talk Left and Americablog.
So, just so you know, if this keeps up I'll probably be headed to Mexico to follow the trail of Ambrose Bierce, or I'll be changing my name and starting a new blog dedicated to celebrity musical tastes. I'll try to leave a trail of breadcrumbs if I do.