Let us celebrate the simplest of things!

-After all the rain, this grass is out of control. When the Party Sisters stopped by my house yesterday, Ashley laid in the grass and dissappeared! Undulating blades of green beauty to stare at while enjoying the High Life and a mild burn. Now everyone is cutting their lawns and Chicago smells fresh and earthy like a city never should.

-These fancy toothbrush makers have been enticing me with their giant super special effects robo-brushes for too long. I got a small, cheap toothbrush yesterday and it was like a Ferrari in my mouth--fast and zippy. That's the last time you use my fear of the dental establishment to sell me the toothbrush equivalent of a Hummer, Oral-B.

-I have taped this poem from the April 9th New Yorker to my mirror, making the last two mornings awesome. Last week I replaced my Chicago Crafter's pin with a cameo of Lincoln at his desk. I'm sure you'll agree: Lincoln's ghost has something to tell me.

Lincoln’s Dream
by Dan Chaisson

It is impossible to state just how in love I am
with my own body, the white snows of me,
the sudden involutions and crevasses of me,
my muscles tensed or slack in anger or fear.

This is why, wherever I go, I am in Lincoln’s dream.
A sentry stands by, the stairway is eerily lit,
light is a little milk splash on people’s faces,
the faces of my Cabinet, grotesque and funny masks.

Who is dead in the White House? I demand. Who’s not?
answers a soldier, pointing to a shrouded head
on my own body, encased like a gangly insect
on the catafalque, and the loud sobs wake me up.

Reader, when you caress yourself in the morning,
amazed that you are made the way you are,
sure that yours is the finest body of all,
remember, you are Lincoln having Lincoln’s dream.