picking up my piece of the continent

"No man is an island, entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friend's
or of thine own were:
any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind,
and therefore
never send to know
for whom the bells tolls;
it tolls for thee..."

~ John Donne, Meditations XVII

I stumbled upon this today while doing some reading about Hemingway's For whom the bell tolls, and two thoughts popped into my head: 1. Simon & Garfunkel TOTALLY stole this idea for that song, "I am a rock," and 2. I love the first line, "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, part of the main." I am sometimes surprised at how we lose an awareness of how important each of us is in community; how each one us is a signifigant, though maybe small piece of the puzzle.

Coming back from vacation I am exhausted, yet glad to pick up my piece of the continent and keep working.

remembering a recluse

J.D. Salinger, recluse, author of much--most notably The Catcher in the Rye--died this week at age 91. All I keep thinking is that I wish I would have read Salinger in high school and maybe I would have appreciated it more/differently than I did when I read it in my early/mid twenties. Here are some links to interesting articles post and pre Salinger's death.

• New York Times, Salinger's NY
• S.J. Gilman's reflection on NPR
• A funny reflection on Salinger, which a friend, Bill Shein wrote back in 2004 here.

This is the dialogue in the book which I most remember. Funny how some things stay with us for a long time.

Holden: "You know that song, 'If a body catch a body comin' through the rye'?..."

Phoebe: "It's 'If a body meet a body coming through the rye'!... It's a poem. By Robert Burns."

Holden: "Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be."
~ J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 22

*link to Robert Burns poem, "Comin thro' the Rye," (includes the Burns-ian English and the modern translation).*

HP update

A Harry Potter update for any of you Potter-ites. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 is due out 11/12/2010.

A trailer for HP 7 Part 1 found here.

They better not push back the opening! I am looking forward to it, and dreading it too, as the last two movies mean that it's finally really over.

missing the same imaginary place

"A community is a group of people united by the common objects of their love." ~ St. Augustine, The City of God

Spending time at home always makes me realize a couple of things:
1. Though I love spending time with my family and friends in Michigan, I love my home at the Farm; I love having my own space and I miss it while I am away from it.
2. I love community. I love living in community, I love knowing and being friends with my neighbors, I love that as a community we care for each other.

Community is what I missed after I left the Farm, but for whatever reason, this time being at home made me really aware of the little communities I had created for myself when I wasn't at the Farm. My small community of college friends, my community at church, my community of the besties--the group of friends I hold most dear here in Michigan. All of these communities; groups; urban families. There is something to be said about the ability to connect with people on some level, call it, "united by the common objects of (their) love," as Augustine suggested; or a linking deepened sense of understanding after years of comiseration (like in families); call it mutual fondness for the same things.

I am amazed at how these communities have changed; dynamics shifting after people come and go, as waiteresses in this restaurant called life; how strong some bonds have become; how friendships that have been tested by really trying times continue and how some fell by the wayside. I am amazed that, though I feel a million miles away at the Farm, we pick up where we left off when I come back into these communities.

I have used this quote before, but it rings so true to what I am feeling tonight, and also seem appropriate as I prepare to make my way back to the "group of people who miss the same imaginary place."

When you read this, you can even replace the word "home," with "community."

"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone....You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place." ~Andrew Largeman in Garden State

beyond the Motor City

Much to say about my vacation, but until I can set aside some time to do that, want to at least share this.

"Detroit Public Television and the Kresge Foundation are hosting a special night focused on Detroit's transit infrastructure:

On January 27 at the Detroit Public Library main branch, come to a special forum on Blueprint America and an important discussion on transportation and infrastructure.

5:45pm - a special preview of Blueprint America: Beyond the Motor City

6:30pm - a panel discussion with transportation and development experts"

I believe that RSVPs are required, so if you are around the Metro Area, check this out! Info and picture found here.

2010 Caldecott and Newberry award winners

The two most presitgious awards in the childrens' literature world are the Newberry and the Caldecott. The Newberry, according to the ALA website, "is awarded annually by the American Library Association for the most distinguished American children's book published the previous year." For non library people, this book is a chapter book, think grades 2-5.

The Caldecott on the other hand is (according to the ALA), "awarded annually by the Association for Library Service to Children, a division of the American Library Association, to the artist of the most distinguished American picture book for children." 

The 2010 Newberry Medal goes to:

Rebecca Stead, When you reach me

The 2010 Caldecott Medal goes to:

Jerry Pinkney, The Lion & the Mouse

library articles #432

For those of you interested in/participating in Library life:

• For those of you who enjoyed, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, check out this article
• This was a really fascinating blog about the illustrator Gustaf Tenggren and the advent of Golden Books
• Lois Lowry to deliver 2011 Arbuthnot Honor Lecture, here
• 2010 YALSA Alex Award winners here
• 2010 YALSA Printz Award winners here
• 2010 Geisel Award winner here 

I had to smile when I saw the Alex and Printz award winning books...in one of my Young Adult Lit classes in Grad School I had to read and write 12 page papers on Alex and Printz award winning books. Ahh, grad school.

looking forward to creeping across the map

I am exhausted this week. I am not sleeping well--this usually coincides with my going home. Work has been for crap this week; been left feeling ineffectual and ugh. So tired. Should have napped. Now need to get into shower and make myself somewhat presentable for staff gathering at M&N's house. Urgh. So tired.
Going through my previous blogs earlier this evening; doing some copy and pasting of "kernels," (what a writing prof. called it when we read through our writing excercises and picked out pieces that intrigued us enough to want to write more about them) into a document so I can meet last years's goal of getting something together and published before I die.

Flipping through old blogs, momentarily stopping to read an entire one; found myself reading over things I'd written about visits to the Farm when I was living back in Michigan; realized in rereading those entries how much I loved and missed this place when I couldn't be here all the time. Sometimes reading things like that is exactly the reminder we need of why we are where we are after weeks like this.

Reliving my travels as I reread previous posts made me antsy to be on the go again. I think it may have even made me a little more ready to go home next week. I am looking forward to the 12+ hour train ride to Michigan. Time in which I can stare out the window and watch as the world blurs by. It also made me think of this great poem, which I have posted on the blog before, but will post again.

"The Map"

Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drawing it unperturbed around itself?
Along the fine tan sandy shelf
is the land tugging at the sea from under?

The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.|
Labrador's yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
--the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.

Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending the land their waves' own conformation:
and Norway's hare runs south in agitation,
profiles investigate the sea, where land is.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
-What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North's as near as West.
More delicate than the historians' are the map-makers' colors.

~ Elizabeth Bishop

trying not to get excited

Today was a hell of a day. It seems like it's been a hell of a week for a couple of friends. The rest of the week/weekend will be busy, mostly fun things which I am looking forward to, and which will speed up my vacation. I am going home to Michigan next week for a week of (hopefully) R&R.

My calendar looks like:

• Dinner with Julie & Danny, Wednesday night
• Work related meeting, Thursday night
• Drinks with John O., Friday night
• Dinner and drinks for M's bday, Saturday night
• Sunday-Tuesday work, then off for 13 days straight!!

In feeling a little stressed and like there are a lot of things going on, I do my normal and seek out poetry which is calming. I found this and found it appropriate.

"And we shall not get excited"

And we shall not get excited. Because a translator
May not get excited. Calmly, we shall pass on
Words from man to son, from one tongue
To others' lips, un-
Knowingly, like a father who passes on
The features of his dead father's face
To his son, and he himself is like neither of them. Merely a mediator.

We shall remember the things we held in our hands
That slipped out.
What I have in my possesion and what I do not have in my possession.

We must not get excited.
Calls and their callers drowned. Or, my beloved
Gave me a few words before she left,
To bring up for her.

And no more shall we tell what we were told
To other tellers. Silence as admission. We must not
Get excited.

~ Yehuda Amichai

movie mush

Feels like I can't finish a book lately (hoping to do some serious reading while I am heading home/home at the end of the month), but I did just rent a SLEW of movies from the library, so I thought I would share some thoughts.

Food Inc. : I felt like some of the horrible things that were shared about how our food is processed didn't blow me away as much as I thought they would. I think that the Farm's culture is to really push supporting locally; we are also very fortunate to have our own nearly organic food grown right here at the Farm; and I have learned so much about food processing and how much crap goes into processed store bought food.

Chatting about this very fact with JBean this weekend; we also acknowledged how in the dark most people are about what goes into their food, and also how a huge percentage of people can't afford to buy the foods that aren't as processed. This very point is well executed in the movie--it IS cheaper to feed your family at McDonalds than to buy good, wholesome food. The movie presents a lower class, working  family who talks about what it is like when both parents have to work and have limited means when it comes down to grocceries; this very family also is an example of the side effects of a high fast-food diet: the father has diabetes and one of the children is obese; also offered is footage of one of the children in a support group discussing the effects of their eating.

The most surprising thing for me in this movie was how affected farmers are by the mass produced food craze. The director interviewed various farmers, both those who work with the huge companies and those who are trying to sustain their livelihoods by doing what they feel is right.

Overall, I think this is a really great movie for people to see, because as the movie says, change HAS to come from the consumer base!

Adventureland: I was a little disappointed with this movie, which might be due in part to the fact that I read such good reviews of this movie and friends also told me how much they enjoyed it. Too much build-up maybe? The story line is about a recent college grad who realizes that he is going to have to get a job to pay for grad school, so he winds up working at the theme park in town. There were some fun scenes with SNL actors Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig, but otherwise I didn't find a whole lot to connect with in this movie. Maybe it's because I wanted a light comedy and this felt a little too frustrated and angsty to me? The soundtrack is great, full of lots of great 80s jams.

Sunshine Cleaning: I thought this movie was so wonderful. There was nothing pretentious about this movie. S.C. rang truthful to me: the jumbled up relationships the family members have with each other, moving forward in life only to realize that certain things still haunt you. I really love Amy Adams. And I loved this movie. I don't even know how to sum up my thoughts in a fashion other than these broken up, short sentences. Worth the rental!

Inglourious Basterds: I was surprised how much I liked this movie, since I am not a big Quentin Tarantino fan. Tarantino reshapes the outcome of the war in Basterds; the work being done by the "Basterds," his renegade group made up of Americans, Brits and former Germans (both Jews and Christians). There is a master plot being carried out by the Basterds, which becomes intertwined with other events and other lives who were effected by the Nazis. In Tarantino style, this film is gory, but otherwise, I really enjoyed it, even Brad Pitt's funny Tennessee accent.

Avatar: Went and saw Avatar in 3D tonight. Looking at the website I was surprised to see how many awards this seems to be being considered for. It's a Cameron film;' to me this means slight plot, little character development outside of what cliche calls for, but lots of cool special effects. I guess that's the best selling point on this film; seems Cameron has raised the bar again, which made seeing Avatar in 3D worth it. The film is visually stunning and Pandora (the land of the blue man group meets Thundercat characters) is lovely, but other than that fact I walked away from this film with little more than a sense of satisfaction in finding a film which did not take too much thought.

living spontaneously

Occasionally I have these sit-up-and-listen-to-the-urge moments where I do the aforementioned. These moments come at random times, when I least expect it to spring up on me, and it's funny how I am getting better at indulging myself. I have this fear that as I grow older I may become boring or sedate or have a routine or laugh less or dance less or sing less or eat fiber all the time. So, I try and embrace my spontaneous moments, whether they be dancing around my room alone; or getting in the car at 1am and driving up and down Woodward Avenue on a hot summer night, listening to oldies with the windows down, just wondering where I will be in five years, in five minutes! (I did this a lot when I was in my last two years of undergrad).

Yesterday after work I was lying on my bed, just staring at my bookshelf and marveling at the fact that all of these authors felt and wrote of things that so touch and inspire so many people; thinking about the universality of their gifts. For whatever reason in that moment of connectedness I jumped up and grabbed Mary Oliver off the shelf and thumbed through until I found a poem that spoke to something inside me. I can't even explain to myself what possessed me to grab my jacket and hat, grab the book and get into my car. I picked TSO up at work and told him that we needed to do something spontaneous. I was amazed that he willingly went along with it without too much trepidation, and he even managed to tolerate me as I blathered on and as my thoughts ran one hundred different directions as they do sometimes!

And we found ourselves at the Lake in town. I pulled off the road into the snowy parking lot and we got out and made out way to the snow covered lawn leading down to the snow covered sands. The lake is no different than most lakes, I suppose, but what I love about our Lake is the vista from the shore. A body of water with a little island out in the middle, the water curving around a jutting strip of land--curving forever back, unfolding like a map--with mountains in the background. And what made the Lake so different and special yesterday was the smoky, almost blue gray look of the mountains in the distance, the hushed iced-over water, which under the shroud of its snowy cover felt as though it could be anything. A desert perhaps, buried in white; artic waters; a white sanded beach. But we knew better.

We moved forward onto this empty beach and TSO remarked that he had never been here in the winter, and that made all the difference. Neither had I and it seems in those moments there is something sacred. And in whatever it was that had compelled me to embark on this days' strange journey I just knew that I wanted to hear the words of the poem aloud. So, I entrusted Mary Oliver to TSO and he began, reading the first page of the poem, handing me the book to read the second page. As he read I marvelled at the silent stillness over the blanketed water, as I read I paused to look up as though addressing the very Lake itself. And in the same fashion that the spontaneity began it ended, with a journey, this time back to the Farm.

The glorious poem:

"Pink Moon - the pond"

You think it will never happen again.

Then, one night in April,

the tribes wake trilling.

You walk down to the shore.

Your coming stills them,

but little by little the silence lifts

until song is everywhere

and your soul rises from your bones

and strides out over the water.

It is a crazy thing to do -

for no one can live like that,

floating around in the darkness

over the gauzy water.

Left on the shore your bones

keep shouting come back!

But your soul won't listen;

in the distance it is unfolding

like a pair of wings, it is sparking

like hot wires. So,

like a good friend,

you decide to follow.

You step off the shore

and plummet to your knees -

you slog forward to your thighs

and sink to your cheekbones -

and now you are caught

by the cold chains of the water -

you are vanishing while around you

the frogs continue to sing, driving

their music upward through your own throat,

not even noticing

you are something else.

And that's when it happens -

you see everything

through their eyes,

their joy, their necessity;

you wear their webbed fingers;

your throat swells.

And that's when you know

you will live whether you will or not,

one way or another,

because everything is everything else,

one long muscle.

It's no more mysterious than that.

So you relax, you don't fight it anymore,

the darkness coming down

called water,

called spring,

called the green leaf, called

a woman's body

as it turns into mud and leaves,

as it beats in its cage of water,

as it turns like a lonely spindle

in the moonlight, as it says

yes.

~ Mary Oliver

finding that good feeling again

A hope for myself this year is to get patient or better at just being; being in the moment; being able to know that I am HERE and not THERE; being able to be present in each moment of each day. I am always a work in progress. I was reading Friend of the Farmer, where I found this quote, and just had to share it. I like it. I like it a lot.

"Wendell Berry in Bringing It to the Table quotes Terry Cummins, the author of Feed My Sheep, on what its feels like to provide husbandry.


'The feeling inside sort of just happens, and you can’t say that this did it or that did it. It’s the many little things. It doesn’t seem that taking a sweat-soaked harness off tired, hot horses would be something that would make you notice. Opening a barn door for sheep standing in a cold rain, or throwing a few grains of corn to the chickens are small things, but these small things begin to add up in you, and you begin to understand that you’re important.


You may not be real important like the people you read about in the newspaper, but you begin to feel that you’re important to all the life around you. Nobody else knows or cares too much about what you do, but if you get a good feeling inside about what you do, then it doesn’t matter if nobody else knows.


I do think about myself a lot when I’m along way back on the place bringing in the cows or sitting on the mowing machine all day. But when I start thinking about how our animals and crops and fields and woods and gardens sort of all fit together, then I get that good feeling inside and don’t worry much about what will happen to me.' "

This quote also made me stop and think of our wonderful life here and how the ordinary, daily things we do begin to feel mundane, and these things really shouldn't. Our life here is so extraordinary. Maybe reading this was a gift in itself. I am realizing how blessed we are here. I am being thankful. Life is good.

a child going forth

I always feel a rush when a new year begins; a new adventure just lurking behind dates and months on a calendar which has yet to be filled in; a fresh chance at something, everything; possibilities. I always feel an exasperation too; goals and resolutions to set forth; things that when unaccomplished at this new years' end I might find myself feeling guilty about. So, this year, instead of setting forth an agenda--with things like: lose weight, excercise more, eat healthier, find the love of my life, make lots of money--I have decided instead to become a child who goes forth. Thank you, Uncle Walt, for always knowing exactly what I want and what I mean!

"There was a child went forth"

There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal, and the cow's calf,
And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there--and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads--all became part of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him;
Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,
And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the fruit afterward,
and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;
And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,
And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way to the school,
And the friendly boys that pass'd--and the quarrelsome boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls--and the barefoot negro boy and girl,
And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

His own parents,
He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb, and birth'd him,
They gave this child more of themselves than that;
They gave him afterward every day--they became part of him.

The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;
The mother with mild words--clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor
falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust;
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture--the yearning and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay'd--the sense of what is real--the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time--the curious whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets--if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?
The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves--the huge crossing at the ferries,
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset--the river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide--the little boat slack-tow'd astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away
solitary by itself--the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

~ Walt Whitman

no distance that can hold us back

I am still fumbling over what I want to say about another year coming to a close, until then, if I were eloquent or clever I would say something like this.

"The New Year,"  Death Cab for Cutie

So this is the new year.

And I don't feel any different.
The clanking of crystal
Explosions off in the distance (in the distance).


So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions

So everybody put your best suit or dress on
Let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once
Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn
As thirty dialogues bleed into one


I wish the world was flat like the old days
Then I could travel just by folding a map
No more airplanes, or speedtrains, or freeways
There'd be no distance that can hold us back.

There'd be no distance that could hold us back (x2)

So this is the new year (x4)

New Years Eve, a recipe

Wondering how to throw the perfect New Years Eve party? Follow these simple instructions.

Mix:

• 2 dozen people
• 8 bottles of wine
• 4 cases of beer
• 1 bottle of champagne
• and an eclectic playlist which looks like this:

Just Dance, Lady Gaga featuring Colby O'Donis
SOS, Rhianna
Paper Planes, M.I.A.
Whip It, Devo
When You Were Young, The Killers
Rock Your Body, Justin Timberlake
What I Got, Sublime
We didn't start the fire, Billy Joel
A well respected man, The Kinks
Bad Romance, Lady Gaga
The way you make me feel, Michael Jackson
The Way You Move, Outkast, Featuring Sleepy Brown
Please Don't Stop the Music, Rhianna
New Year, Death Cab for Cutie
Wagon Wheel, Old Crow Medicine Show
Mr. Brightside, The killers
Umbrella, Rhianna
Sexyback, Justin Timberlake
Video Phone, Beyonce & Lady Gaga
Lebanese Blond, Thievery Corp.
Paparazzi, Lady Gaga
In the waiting line, Zero 7
These Days, Necco
Take on me, A Ha
Love Games, Lady GaGa Gaga
Take me on a trip, Kanye West and Estel
Take me home tonight, Edie Money
Still wanna be a player, Big Pun
So Fresh So Clean, Outkast
Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It), Beyoncé
Sin Wagon, Dixie Chicks
Poker Face, Lady Gaga
Shake it, Metro Station
Say My Name, Destinys Child
I Wanna Dance With Somebody, Whitney Houston
1999, Prince
Obsessed, Mariah Carey
Safety Dance, Men Without Hats
Rockin The Suburbs, Ben Folds
Ooh Boy I love you so, Shaggy featuring Janet Jackson
My Humps, Black Eyed Peas
Ms Jackson, Outkast
Cotton-Eyed Joe, Renex
Mr. Jones, Counting Crows
Little less conversation, lot more action, Elvis
Like a Virgin, Madonna
Jonas, Weezer
I'm yours, Jason Mraz
Jumpin Jumpin, Destinys Child
The Joker, Steve Miller Band
Jenny Don't Be Hasty, Paolo Nutini
Independent Women, Destiny's Child
I Kissed A Girl, Katy Perry
I Feel It All, Feist
I'll stop the world (and melt with you), Saves the Day
I'd Rather Dance With You, Kings Of Convenience
Hurricane, Bob Dylan
The Humpty Dance, Digital Underground
Hey Ya!, OutKast
Hey Me, Hey Mama, Ray Lamontagne
Harder to Breathe, Maroon 5
Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen
Halo, Beyonce
Hands Down, Dashboard Confessional
Ghetto Superstar (Raggae Remix), Wyclef Jean
Friday, I'm in love, The Cure 
Free Fallin, Tom Petty
Forever In Blue Jeans, Neil Diamond
Forever, Chris Brown
Everytime I Look For, Blink-182 
Don't You want me, Human League 
Don't stop believing, Journey
Disturbia, Rihanna
Cassadaga, Bright Eyes Cassadaga
Caroline, Outkast
Buddy Holly,  Weezer
Burn one down, Ben Harper
Bright Side Of The Road, Van Morrison
Boston, Augustana
Blister in the Sun, Violent Femmes
American Girl, Tom Petty
(Always have to) steal my kisses, Ben Harper
All the young dudes, Mott the Hoople
Bennie and the jets, Elton John
Smooth Criminal, Michael Jackson

sprinkle in:

• interesting conversation
• multiple games of cards
• lots of dancing
• a tribute to Lady Gaga
• shameless flirting

finish with:

• one long heart-to-heart conversation