I’ve mentioned before that when things are going well, I often find myself walking around singing Besame Mucho. Why is this? I hate Besame Mucho. Awful in Spanish; hideously, grotesquely, worse in English.

Kiss me, kiss me a lot,
As if tonight were the last time
Kiss me, kiss me a lot…

Excuse me while I hurl. I admit that in certain circumstances, “kiss me a lot” is an excellent idea. Not much could be more enjoyable. But if you’ve got to urge it on your object of desire over and over? Yuck.

Mind you, I’m perfectly okay with a good love song—How Much Do I Love You is a standard around here on certain days, but that’s because it actually says something.

How far would I travel
Just to be where you are
How far is the journey
From here to a star
And if I ever lost you
How much would I cry
How deep is the ocean
How high is the sky

Now you can kiss me a lot.