T and vgnwtch are well stocked now to make Bad Poetry Day an international phenomenon when they move across the pond--she was the second Queen of Cheese, and may still have the jalapeno cheddar crown. After all, if International Talk Like a Pirate Day can become a massive phenomenon, why not bad poetry, too?
International Bad Poetry Day, by the way, is really January 22nd, my actual birthday. Sometimes we have to settle for celebrating on Bad Poetry Day (observed), but we do aim for the real thing. It's kind of a race now: which will I manage to establish first--a goofy pseudoholiday, or a writing career? What if Bad Poetry Day turns out to be the whole of my literary legacy?
Sunday, Dan and I languished among the party dishes with our likewise tuckered out houseguests, twoeleven, radiotelescope, and gregoradon, who had crossed state lines to be here and were able to stay through most of a second day. Today, we seem to be recovered from the party, and mostly recovered from the dishes, but what on earth are we going to do with this refrigeratorful of cheese? Stilton with candied lemon peel, anyone?
Thanks to all of you who came out for the occasion. And those of you who couldn't be here--well, next year in South River. Have I mentioned recently how grateful I am to the universe for my good friend-karma? Not recently enough? I don't know how I got so lucky. You all make my life sweet.