Life’s too short to remain unnoticed, at least that’s what Dali said. This is the catch-all mantra that many of today’s appreciable artists — including Rock musicians — whisper to themselves at night.  

Many of you, at least a dozen, know my work as a music journalist for CityBeat and a variety of regional and national publications — some actually still in business — but virtually no one knows I’m also a musician of some discernible skill. I’ve never been in a band nor played out, though.  

News about death keeps piling up. Anyone perusing the daily newspaper or the 11 p.m. TV newscasts lately knows about the 13-year-old SCPA student killed while jogging and the 11-day-old baby squeezed to death by his young parents in Batavia. My eye happened on a small item in The Enquirer about a 16-year-old in Over-the- Rhine arrested on suspicion of committing two murders 10 days apart.  

Floyd “Freshdaily” Johnson is a ubiquitous man in Cincinnati’s party scene. He’s the networker, the guy with the nickname who knows what’s going on every night of the week. Floyd supports any and all events, from art openings to house parties and shows at Northside Tavern to events at downtown nightclubs.  

Five FBI investigations into human trafficking are underway in Greater Cincinnati alone. Despite that, the Ohio Legislature is getting pressure from lawyers not to pass a law that would define modern-day slavery and make it a crime in Ohio.  

One of the great delights of being published in a widely read publication is the occasional communication from readers. Journalists, as if clarification is needed, are a curious bunch wrought with variably sized egos and a determined sense of right and wrong.  

Notions of how a voice achieves agency in the world. Its linguistic vitality is incredible. All the things that bring pleasure in poetry are there the texture of a particular voice, complex prosody, anaphor, sophisticated rhyme schemes and explosive punning.   

Buddakhan restaurant is still a bit of a secret downtown, but word is getting out ("Reflecting Over Crab Rangoon and Smiles," issue of Oct. 15). Happy hour should mean smiles all around, especially for those who are serving you.  

I would push their argument even further, in terms of film, due to the raging success and overwhelming output of the Judd Apatow factory. "Bromance" has remixed the romantic comedy rules and unwashed losers wittily slacking through the grind of love, jobs and weed.