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to the inevitable threats of violence and ceasing only when Quentin moved we change the name of our group from Lovers of Leann to Victims of Leann. The motion was soundly defeated, and we voted to adjourn.
    Elmo closed the meeting by singing “Oh, Leann,” including a new verse that had recently come to him in a dream:
    Oh, Leann ,
    I love you ,
    Love you still ,
    I love you ,
    I love you ,
    I love you still ,
    I always will .
    LEANN ALERT…
    My special friend Jane, who has been so supportive during this difficult time, has suggested there is a need for a group addressing the concerns of the lovers of the Lovers of Leann. Anybody who knows somebody who might be interested in such a group should have them write to Leann Anon at this address.
    THIS WEEK’S LEANN CHALLENGE…
    Leann is what she eats, but how well do you know what she eats? Everybody knows Leann likes horseradish on her hamburgers, but how many of you know what kind of horseradish? (Here’s a hint: She received a case of it last Christmas.)
    The answer to last week’s challenge: From left to right.
    LEANN’S MAILBAG…
    The mail ran heavy this week with entries to the “Candid Leann” photo contest, and it’s obvious I need to remind everyone that the rules clearly stipulate that Leann must be the only person shown in the photograph.
    In consideration of those who may wish to resubmit, I’ve decided to extend the deadline two weeks, until Dec. 10. And remember, entries cannot be returned.
    One of our far-flung correspondents, Miles, writes from New Orleans, “I’m going to be in town in the near future, and I was hoping to finally meet this Leann I’ve heard so much about. Do you have her phone number or an address where I can write her directly?”
    No need for that, Miles. Just send your correspondence to Leann in care of this newsletter, and I’ll make sure she gets it.
    And finally, Reggie, of Oak Lawn, Ill., writes in and asks:
    â€œLarry, isn’t it time you got on with your life? It’s been nearly two years [ sic ] since Leann broke up with you [ sic ], and I hate to be the one to tell you, pal, but it’s over. O-V-E-R [ sic ].
    â€œBut listen,” Reggie continues, “there are a lot of other chicks in the sea, my friend, and they’re yours for the picking. Go for it!”
    Well, Reggie, I don’t know quite how to answer that. It’s difficult to determine exactly what it is you’re driving at, since I’m afraid I do not share your bitter perspective, or your particular gift for playground aphorisms. So please understand when I suggest this: You know nothing about love.
    But thanks for the letter, Reg. Your “Larry Loves Leann” T-shirt is in the mail.

My Heart: My Rules

    If this thing is going to work, and I for one am pulling for it, things are going to have to be different. Not different than they have been for us, certainly, because at the very least I hope we can agree that you and I are not yet an us (that being my sincere goal), but different than the way things have been for me, and I suspect have also been for you.
    We’re not kids anymore, so let’s be adults about this. The countless past couplings (and perhaps I am getting ahead of myself here, but I believe they should remain countless) that propel you and me into each other’s arms have taught us both, individually, that love, alas, does not conquer all, and that for these things to work, there have to be rules.
    My Apartment
    As we walk around my apartment, please note:
    1.   This is my apartment.
    2.   As the result of years of painstaking trial and error, the television, stereo, thermostat, refrigerator, toaster, and furniture in this apartment are all set at their optimal levels in every regard. Any attempt to adjust any appliance or object in my apartment will only
    a.   result in them having to be reset,