There exists, amongst my people, a tradition known as the summer mix. It's mostly competitive, only, no one else plays. It's mostly naughty, or, at least what you'd want to be hearing while doing naughty things. Dancing, drinking and kissing girls. Real naughty. My summer mix looks like this:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwco0WkqD2Boianj0muq_9fdt_ygD-Nyemv_O0LVjA_pA3H1y6QEToZpKZkWVFLj9OIZBKzOOppa7raykvzsxnmoikJAyQtG28aZvbuJKvXGP82fV20tIpa6ppJFp6PLsXSZEz4g/s320/Screen+shot+2010-05-26+at+8.24.20+AM.png)
I'm digging on you. You're digging on me. We're digging on we...I can't stop how I feel.
This is what I know: I'm reading in Minneapolis on July 1st. Then, I'm reading in Cedar Falls on July 31st. I'd like to read more. Maybe sell some books. Could I read for you? I would be an honest boy...promise.
Jojo eats lightning bugs. Once, she sprang herself from our retaining wall and caught one mid-air. In other words, we have lightning bugs.
I'm reading Lorine Niedecker's Collected right now. I'm not entirely sold; New Goose was not great, but my Midwestern affections and general politeness really hopes it gets better, and believes it will if I just sit quietly and don't fuss. Also, this is exactly how I write poems.
I've got lots of stuff I want to do this summer. Will it get done? Stay tuned...