Another Present!

This one I made for you, Anderson. They say that "a rose by any other name is still a rose" Who said that? Plato? Aristotle? Homer? Ovid? Descartes? St Aquinas? Hobbes? Spinoza? Hume? Nietzsche? Sartre? Le Marquis de Sade? William Shakespeare?! Well, he was wrong. A rose, or a geranium for that matter, by any other name will not be Anderson Cooper... Nor would he smell as fragrant nor would he tell the news so dreamily.

Anyway, just watch and compare (or is it shop and compare...?) Whichever. Enjoy!

Just for you Anderson and all his fans:

Anderson Cooper and Other Handsome Reporters
(03:02 min.)

From: PeterGay

Added: June 2, 2009

Description: Anderson Cooper, the handsomest, and other also handsome reporters, journalists and anchormen from many news and other stations. Stay tuned for Reporters #2. There are just soooo many good looking newsmen out there it was impossible to put them all in one slide show. But Anderson will always be Número Uno in handsomeness! Enjoy!

Music sung by the great Joan Manuel Serrat!

URL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnbtL7WvTOA

Poema de Amor (para Anderson en su cumpeaños -- June 3, 2009) El sol nos olvidó ayer sobre la arena, nos envolvió el rumor suave del mar, tu cuerpo me dio calor, tenía frío y, allí, en la arena, entre los dos nació este poema, este pobre poema de amor para tí. Mi fruto, mi flor, mi historia de amor, mi caricias. Mi humilde candil, mi lluvia de abril, mi avaricia. Mi trozo de pan, mi viejo refrán, mi poeta. La fe que perdí, mi camino y mi carreta. Mi dulce placer, mi sueño de ayer, mi equipaje. Mi tibio rincón, mi mejor canción, mi paisaje. Mi manantial, mi cañaveral, mi riqueza. Mi leña, mi hogar, mi techo, mi lar, mi nobleza. Mi fuente, mi sed, mi barco, mi red y la arena. Donde te sentí, donde te escribí mi poema...

Love's Poem (for Anderson on his birthday -- June 3, 2009) The sun forgot about us yesterday on the sand, the smooth rumor of the sea wrapped us, your body gave me heat, I was cold and, there, in the sand, between the two of us was born this poem, this poor poem of love for you. My fruit, my flower, my story of love, my caresses. My humble lamp, my April rain, my avarice. My piece of bread, my old saying, my poet. The faith that I lost, my road and my wagon. My sweet pleasure, my dream of yesterday, my luggage. My tepid corner, my better song, my landscape. My spring, my sugarcane land, my wealth. My firewood, my home, my ceiling, my hearth, my nobility. My source, my thirst, my ship, my net and the sand. Where I felt your skin, where I wrote you my poem...