We told the boy to clean up his room and he took it to mean organizing all his Guys. He has many, many more than I ever did in 1979.

My brother tells me the monkey was named Irving, I think because it was originally his Guy. We didn’t call them Guys back then, just stuffed animals, but when you grow up in a global pandemic like my boy did, you make friends where and when you can.

No new publications this month—I’ve been busy revising my longer manuscripts the past six months—but my Nebraska manuscript was runner up for the American Buffalo Books Prize, courtesy the fine people at Kansas State University. Which means the fine people at Kansas State University are dead to me now, ha ha ha ha ha ha. Seriously though, congratulations to CG Dominique for the win. It’s her first novel. It’s got to be exciting to be part of such a cool project.

My latest music complaint is therapy lyrics instead of anything remotely poetic. Male youths still sound like wimps. But there are some goodies here. Turn up the New Age Healers song. Anna Tivel continues to impress. And gosh, what kind of sick, sad dork doesn’t love “Eminence Front”?