Don Bauder 4:30 p.m., Dec. 9
List in this direction, mateys! Thanks to Pike and his “I like lists” blog title—It’s a REAL list blog!
Share your list here with utter abandon: List your passions, list your hatreds; list your groceries; list your past loves. List your top five restored Chevys (tikicult)! …Or your favorite authors or ingredients for your favorite meal (refriedgringo). List the best or least known traits about your person. List the worst traits about your person. List yesterday’s tasks or tomorrow’s dreams. List your favorite films, or list the worst films ever made.
Abandon dualism altogether, and list your top twenty ambivalences!
Somewhere in cyberspace, PistolPete has begun with relish and a devilish glint in his peepers the all time to beat all, philosophically pure, top ten reasons to hate San Diego, as surely as magicsfive has penned with deep sigh her top ten for loving and missing San Diego. Let’s hear them!
Pike has a list of bike parts and ads, comics, and tasty dishes; antigeekess or singleandawesome a list of dating don’ts and do-s! Under his doggy bed or deep within his briefcase, SurfPuppy has lovingly scribbled his favorite doggy treats or legal torts—and Duhbya’s top five witty retorts. Russl’s favorite albums or lines from the Marquis de Sade; Nan her favorite haunts and loves, and Cuddlefish her family traditions and deep sea confessions. Certainly fumbler has a top ten reasons for loving/hating Fred, who must have a list of Czech beers to rival gofurry’s Courbets and German brews!
Or—guess each other’s lists! You get the point, folks.
To start us off, Walt Whitman, of course—that great, blowsy, lover of catalogues—his favorite subject to list? Why, himself!
Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
[…And we’ll let Walt ‘finish,’ last, from many pages later, ‘cause we love these lines]
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.