68. Making food for my friends! (Pics to come)

67. Analog Clocks

66. Joni Mitchell

65. The term 'slunt' -- look it up on urbandictionary.com (warning: vulgar!)

64. Joan Baez

63. Pocket watches

62. Beach towels the size of blankets

61. Trashy, girly magazines

60. Megan Barnes!

59. Caterpillars

58. Raggi, millet, quinoa and other lesser known grains in the Western hemisphere

57. Handmade Valentine cards in months other than February

56. Cast-iron pots and pans

55. The term 'granola' used as an adjective. Example: People who live in Olympia, WA tend to be hella 'granola'.

54. The Canon Rebel EOS

53. Western Montana in July

52. Skype

51. New cell phones

50. Automatic rice cookers

49. Being naked

48. New brassieres

47. Homemade soap

46. The Krups FLF 2 Electric Kettle

45. Kitenge cloths

44. Baby bjorns

43. Little old men with big eyeglasses

42. Wearing the same clothes for a week

41. The smell of new paint on old walls

40. James Taylor

39. Tattoos that really mean something

38. Tattoos that people get 'just for the hell of it'

37. blogspot.com

36. Porcelain elephants

35. Mormon boys on bicycles

34. Handouts with directions to make your own dental damns

33. Picnic baskets

32. Reusing ziploc baggies

31. Homemade water tornado bottles (you know, the kind made out of two 2-liter pop bottles?)

30. Honey-nut cherrios

29. Shane Co. radio adverts

28. Lysol Disinfecting Wipes (as 'bad' as they are)

27. Mattilda Berenstein Sycamore

26. Dykes on Bikes

25. Rat-tails

24. Peppermint hand lotion

23. Mojitos

22. Dead Ass by Michael Cirelli

In the bodega, a young girl wearing
jeans so tight she has to use turpentine
to get them off, says to her friends,
Damn, it's dead ass raining out!

I was enamored. Instead of cats and dogs,
I pictured donkey corpses falling from
the sky, clogging the gutters.
That's some serious rain.

The song on the radio said that the po-po was:
"tryna to catch me ridin' dirty," I imagined
Chamillionaire wearing a 20 lb. gold chain
with mud dripping off Jesus' shiny toes,
Krazie Bone in four hundred dollar jeans,
with grass stains on the knees.

In Oakland, the sound there is "hyphy." To me,
that alien word means gooney-goo-goo.
To me, that word is my dead father's kiss.
But to thousands of kids with trousers that sink
below the Plimsoll line of their asses, hyphy
music makes their bodies dip up and down
like an oil drill.

These words make me feel old, and alabaster.
When I hear something new, it's like I
discovered it
for the first time, like I excavated it from the
mouth
of a teenager. So I dust it off with my fossil
brush
and try to jam it into the keyhole of academia.

I'm not afraid of dope lyrics, not dope meaning
weed
but dope meaning good. My kind uses scrilla to
board
up the windows of shook, Duke University
graduates
who holla, "Go Brooklyn! Go Brooklyn!"

Fo shizzle, crunk, hella: I put in glass jars like
rare moths.
I want to hang them on the doors of sonnets
like a welcome sign to an apartment
I don't live in.
*
21. Dial radios

20. Dream catchers

19. Clothes hangers with the little slots for straps so that things don't fall on the floor of the closet

18. Keeping lists

17. Old baseball cards
16. Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem, To a Skylark

To a Skylark

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven,
In the broad day light
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows
Of the silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see -- we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a Poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden
In a palace-tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aereal hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from view!

Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent of it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves:

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass:

Teach us, Sprite of Bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus Hymeneal,
Or triumphal chant,
Matched with thine would be all
But with an empty vaunt,
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest -- but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Out sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we should ever come near.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then -- as I am listening now.


15. White Tailed Deer
14. Singing

13. Olympia, WA's Procession of the Species
















12. Antique family photographs
11. Cheez-its
10. Old Spice
9. Spring's first daisies
8. Harmonicas
7. Dinosaurs
6. 'Decorative lighting'
5. Garden gnomes
4. Heart-life altars
3. ELEPHANTS
2. Living
1. Myself
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