Hey lobster fans! Moving apartments took me out of the running for a couple of weeks, but I'm back to the blog.

I don't imagine that many of you were waiting with, um, baited breath for the answer to my last entry's dramatic cliffhanger. Besides, there's a new question now: Did I move apartments just to escape the lobster kitsch that had begun its inevitable creep at my old place? Is my new apartment lobster-kitsch-free?

Before we crack open my shell and dig into the details of the lobsterness of my home life, I'd like to share a few morsels of lobster news. No, I haven't decided to go on tour wearing a bright-red lobster Elvis suit with cape and giant claws. But I can report something almost as good. THE SECRET LIFE OF LOBSTERS is now in bookstores everywhere and, I, Trevor Corson, have become a sex symbol.

That's right, people can't stop talking about me and sex. Well, me and lobster sex. It's true that the Christian Science Monitor called my book "a love story," but that's the Christian Scientists for you. Less circumspect, Newsday says the book should have been titled "The Sex Life of Lobsters" and received an X rating. "Who knew," the Newsday reviewer asks, "that lobsters are such astonishingly randy critters?" Articles in the New York Times and elsewhere have also lingered over the mating habits that I describe in such mouth-watering detail in the book.

The other day on the radio, even Captain Lou couldn't stop saying my book was X-rated. Capt. Lou, a South Shore native, invited me down from Boston to be on his show, "Navigator Talk Radio." Capt. Lou's charming mother, in her eighties and nearly deaf, flirted with me in the studio and passed me questions about lobster sex on a napkin while Capt. Lou expounded excitedly on the X-rated nature of the book.

After the interview, Capt. Lou's mother asked if I knew any nice girls. She went on to explain that her grandson was available. (I met him -- he's handsome and charming.) I hesitated to recommend that he try the lobster approach to dating. That would require that he beat up the other guys in the neighborhood, piss in their faces, and then stand on his doorstep pissing at passing females. It was perhaps not the best way to attract a girl. At least, not a nice one.

As for me, I'm still waiting to open the New York Times in the morning and read the article that will complete my transformation into a full-fledged sex symbol. "Who knew," it will say, "that Trevor Corson was such an astonishingly randy critter?"

So, now that we're getting personal, what about my new apartment? I'll tell you right now that it's not well-designed for the purpose of pissing at passing females. And perhaps that's just as well.

But more to the point, is it already filling with lobster kitsch? No. Currently, the count is one -- just one -- lobster potholder. Whoops, I forgot. There's also a little ceramic tile painted with a red lobster sitting on the stove. But that still seems manageable. I'd say I'm holding fast in my commitment. Oh crap, I forgot about the box of stuffed-animal lobsters, lobster pens, and lobster gummy bears I haven't unpacked yet. (What, you have a problem with bears that are also lobsters? Biology is making dramatic new discoveries every day. For example, think of the rapper Kool Keith's self-portrait in the song "Half Shark-Alligator Half Man.")

Other lobster news: Check out the great new lobster story in the Lobster Fun & FAQs section of my site, submitted by Janet Spurr of Marblehead, MA. Janet is working on a humorous book titled Life is a Beach Chair.

Got a lobster story of your own? I know you do. Send it to me. It doesn't even have to be about sex.