Soy Plural
The word "literature" has different meanings depending on who is using it. It could be applied broadly to mean any symbolic record, encompassing everything from images and sculptures to letters.
Friday, November 09, 2007
RecStay Studies Poetry
THE PROJECT In March I attended the Associated Writing Programs Conference in Atlanta, an annual meet-and-greet of creative writing teachers from all over America, who are there ostensibly to attend panels, but really to gossip. During one panel, Timothy Liu—an Asian American, gay, ex–Mormon missionary poet whose frank and often brutal work about sexual abuse, homosexuality, and desire is lyrical and meditative—spoke about what he thought constituted teaching expertise, then smiled a little hostilely and announced that he reads five books of poetry a week. Some people gasped. The woman next to me began furiously writing in her notebook. Liu also said he drank five bottles of wine a week to improve the quality of his palate. No one batted an eye. Liu’s point: we learn best through repeated exposure. Was he taking that to an extreme? A fellow poet I told about Liu’s regimen all but shuddered, as if so much verse might send her into anaphylactic shock. Maybe there’s something to this, I thought. To find out what other people were reading and how much, I surfed the blogosphere. Some blogs listed poetry books purchased but not how many of the books these readers finished or what they thought of them. One New York poet said she’d stopped reading poetry altogether because she was tired of it. Others thought no one was worth reading past Wallace Stevens. The serious readers I spoke to agreed that reading a lot of poetry—even after Stevens—might help you as a writer, but that Liu’s volume seemed insane. Is there some magic number of books one should read? Too few books, and you’re left out of the loop. One too many and your head explodes. And what is that number? Thinking about Liu’s project, I’m simultaneously irritated and guilty. My day job is teaching poetry to ambitious graduate students: if anyone “needs” to be an expert at reading poetry, it’s me. But my competitive side wants to match Liu’s stamina. I try counting the books I’d read the previous week, can’t come up with one, panic, start counting up the past three weeks, then the past two months, for a total of five (a generous estimate, since one was so bad I hurled it across the room after 15 pages). Before Liu’s talk, I would have confidently announced that I read at least two books of poetry a week. Five minutes of generous self-analysis reveals that I’ve been reading, at best, five pages. If I unconsciously inflate how much I read, does Liu? Does he pile five books on his nightstand and flip through them? Squeeze in a poem or two before sleep, thumb through a collection at his desk? Spend a frantic hour on the couch cover-to-cover? What exactly constitutes reading a book of poetry? I decide to test myself by reading five books of poetry a week. To challenge myself, I establish a few rules:
1. Books I’ve read before won’t count toward the total. 2. I’ll make no period, length, or aesthetic restrictions. 3. Books must be published by a press more reputable than Kinko’s. (A serious consideration: I could fill a whole month with student manuscripts alone.) 4. I must finish books in their entirety, or they’ll be added to next week’s reading list in addition to the newest five. (Ouch!) 5. I must keep accurate records.
WEEK ONE, DAY ONE I troll my shelves for books I’ve recently purchased. I choose “I Am,” the selected poems of John Clare; So What? , the selected poems of Taha Muhammad Ali; Bob Hicok’s This Clumsy Living; Quan Barry’s Controvertibles; and Michael Dumanis’s My Soviet Union. The prospect of all this reading isn’t daunting, it’s liberating. In order to make my deadline, I even allot my precious writing time (two hours a day) solely to the task. Feeling self-satisfied about my supposed sacrifice of time and talent, I only sigh at my boyfriend’s bewilderment when he finds me in my office, lounging on the floor in my pajamas, eating cookies and reading John Clare at 11 a.m. on a Monday. “I’m working,” I tell him piously. “This is a real project here. I’m reading five books of poetry a week.” “And how much have you read?” he asks skeptically. I wave my 300-page book at him triumphantly. “Fifty pages,” I reply. It’s a lie: I’ve read only 20. “I’m flying right through it.” I smile condescendingly and go back to Clare. Smiles like dews of heaven. Cool. I concentrate deeply for about ten minutes before I have to go and change my shirt. I come back, turn a page, read 50 lines of “Helpstone.” Then my ankle itches. I scratch it, lose my place, go back and read the last five lines, start fantasizing about lunch, reread the last few lines again, turn the page, perk up at the entrance of one of my dogs, praise him for the interruption by scratching his ears and calling him the master of the universe, go back to Clare, reread the last few lines again. Smiles like dews of heaven. Forget it and move on to a poem titled “What Is Life?” Reading is like exercising: you need to develop the right muscles for it. How long has it been since I’ve read for two hours straight? How long has it been since any of us have had the time to read for two hours straight? Typically I read just before I fall asleep, which takes about 20 minutes. I can’t even read in a chair anymore: I have to read lying down. Which now makes me want to fall asleep. I doze and reread, doze and reread, get up, root around in the refrigerator, waddle back to my office, order some more poetry books from Amazon for next week, pick up the Clare, reread the last 50 lines again. What is life? I have no idea. Something about the long, slow slog toward death. My boyfriend comes upstairs to see what I’m doing, and I glare at him. “Stop bothering me,” I snap. “I am busy here. I am reading!” “I just wanted to know if you want to get lunch,” he says. I throw the Clare down and run for my coat.
WEEK TWO, DAY SEVEN
Books: Dana Roeser’s Beautiful Motion; Martha Collins’s Blue Front; Sherwin Bitsui’s Shapeshift; Rick Hilles’s Brother Salvage; Brenda Hillman’s FortressNeed to avoid anything with “collected” or “selected” in the title. Getting through the 300 pages of Clare (do you realize how long Clare’s poems are?) forced me to skim at the end. So many haystacks, so little time. What with the dozing and the continual grazing, I didn’t get much from it. Clearly I’ve been reading too many living poets: to read a Romantic like Clare, I had to slow down calculably. I can see my goal of reading Milton’s Samson Agonistes will remain a dream. A diet of five poetry books a week necessitates shorter works (90 pages or less), preferably in contemporary English. The other nine books I’ve flown through. My critical response is gut-based: it counts more if I immediately “get” the poem, since my enjoyment has to be taken in quick gulps, like sights from the back of a tour bus (Look, the Eiffel Tower! ). I can tell you that Michael Dumanis’s poem “My Mayakovsky” rocks, and that the Hicok poem about the cow is so funny that I read it again—but that’s about it. I can say this with authority: poets today really like the word “analgesic.” It appeared three times in my reading. The smug part of me knew it would be like this: Paisley Rekdal Reads Five Books of Poetry a Week, Learns Nothing, Wallows in Self-Induced Anxiety. The optimistic part maintains this is only the “first-week effect.” The more and faster I read, the better I’ll know how to read more and faster. Perhaps I’ll soon ingest five books with the same efficiency I now apply to five pages. Optimism also tells me—in its passive-aggressive, Glenda-the-Good-Witch voice—that my reading habits are fostering better environmental habits. In order to keep up, I now take the bus.
WEEK THREE, DAY FOUR
Books: Myung Mi Kim’s Under Flag; Geraldine Kim’s Povel; Michael Palmer’s The Promises of Glass; Mei-mei Berssenbrugge’s I Love Artists; Cathy Park Hong’s Translating Mo’umIt struck me last Tuesday that I was choosing books based more on proximity (what was lying on my floor) than aesthetics. Reading as fast and hard as I am, I’ve become obsessed with how other people read. I watch people on the bus as they read, tracking their eyes to see if they are (as I sometimes have been) skimming to finish pages, or carefully taking in every word. This afternoon, one woman laughs out loud as she reads, then looks up with a half-smile. Somehow I doubt she’s reading poetry. The longer I pursue this exercise, the more I think I should be getting something out of it. Isn’t reading supposed to be entertaining? So why can’t I let myself be entertained? I find myself thinking instead about what I’m reading and why I’m reading it. I’m competing now not just with Liu’s quota, but with the quality of books he might choose. Liu’s a smart, cool, and savvy guy. He probably wouldn’t be caught messing around with someone as narrative, as confessional, as Dana Roeser; he’d be reading Mr. Stone-Cold Seriously Oblique Michael Palmer. But I like the confessional poems of Roeser. I’m interested in her bad mother and the problems of aging and being angry and female. I revel in the books that are the most narrative: I love Geraldine Kim’s Povel for its insane humor, its overt navel-gazing. The narrator is smart and awful, self-absorbed and inventive, evasive and too revealing. The speaker is an actual, evolving character—like one you might find in a good novel. Still, I can’t decide whether or not the book is really “good.” Do I like it only because I’m reading it side by side with the much-harder-to-ingest Berssenbrugge and Palmer? I’m starting to realize that I’ve always thought that novels were for entertainment and poetry was for intellectual self-improvement. So it should be no surprise that the book of poetry I am most entertained by reads a hell of a lot like a novel (hence its title, invoking both forms). But what about the poetry I’m supposed to be intellectually improved by? The inherent problem is that there isn’t just one “POETRY,” one monolithic national art. Instead, there’s a collection of fractious city-states: neo-formalists, Language poets, post-confessionalists, maximalists, minimalists, neo-Christian spiritualists, lyric nature poets, New York Schoolists, postmodern experimentalists, Black Mountainists, Beats, neo-Beats, neo-Lite Surrealists, flarf poets (!), etc., etc. In the past few years, these different “sides” have picked up other groups’ aesthetic strategies. Post-confessionalists now write epic poems filled with advertising jargon. Neo-Christian spiritualists sound like Robert Creeley. Language poets write pantoums. So much aesthetic intermarrying suggests that contemporary poets must be reading a lot, and without aesthetic loyalty. I am particularly struck by Translating Mo’um and Under Flag, since both books approach identity politics—a topic that’s often dealt with in autobiographical poems—in fragmentary lines filled with wordplay. It’s clear that Hong and Kim have woven together different aesthetics. Isn’t this what poets are supposed to be doing—writing across time and party lines? To achieve that myself, don’t I have to read the way Liu proposes: constantly, and with little reverence for sides? Or is this all, frankly, a little naive?
WEEK FOUR, DAY FIVE It’s naive. Over lunch, a colleague asks what I’ve been reading. She says she’s out of the loop, “hopelessly unhip.” I mention some of the titles by the youngest poets I’ve read in the past weeks, and she blinks at me. “Huh,” she says. She looks horrified when I try to describe Povel: a book of completely unmetered, unlineated paragraphs that describe everything that happens to the poet over the course of a few days, from breaking up with her boyfriend, to recalling her abusive father’s favorite joke, to looking for the perfect bubble tea. “Jesus,” she mutters, unsettled. “Who has the time?” Perhaps the real problem is that there are so many books of poetry being published. If you aren’t a poet but are interested in reading poetry, your reading is limited to what you can get your hands on: the poets who publish at the biggest publishing houses. Do these books really reflect what’s happening in poetry today? At home, I stand in front of my growing stack of books, looking at the authors’ names and pondering their similarities and differences. Considering the parameters of this project and my inherent love of narrative, am I reading widely enough? The more I look, the more the stack seems to expand, to thicken, widen, until it resembles a wall. I feel claustrophobic and begin to shake a little. I have to leave the room. By Thursday, I no longer react to the stack of books I’m reading. I simply move my eyes across the page, processing words but not caring about them. Poems have become little machines to be studied, broken apart, reassembled into arguments and images. I struggle to decide which I prefer. I begin to wilt at my desk, unsure whether this stanza is as strong as the following one, whether this or that image is a cliché. I look at the last book I’ve yet to finish—goddamn Michael Palmer—and think, You are not helping. I stare at the pile I’ve assembled for next week. I throw the Palmer under my desk and meet up with friends. “I am having an existential crisis,” I tell them. “I think I am this far away from having to force myself to believe in God!” “You want my advice?” Jennifer asks me. I nod, as sweat beads my back. “Stop reading,” she says.
WEEK FIVE, DAY THREE
Books: Michael Palmer’s The Promise of Glass; Albert Goldbarth’s Budget Travel through Space and Time; Mark Ford’s Soft Sift; Dan Beachy-Quick’s Spell; Tracy K. Smith’s Duende; C. Dale Young’s The Second PersonI can’t do it. I cannot do it. I’ve drifted through Soft Sift, gotten caught up in the Goldbarth, but trying to finish the Palmer on top of all this new work is killing me. I stuff the book in my boyfriend’s truck: the most cluttered, least sanitary place I know, the place we’ve lost lunches, shirts, backpacks, shoes (and once, for a terrifying moment, our smallest dog), the one place where it will assuredly disappear so that—in all good conscience—I can say that I tried to read the book but hey, it got lost, nothing to do but go on, which I do. Or don’t. In my office, I break rule number one and pull down books of poetry I’ve already read but want to reread: Robert Hass, Alice Fulton, Jack Gilbert, Larissa Szporluk. I’m reading H.D. and then, oh shit, I’m taking down Rilke’s Duino Elegies, I’m deep into the eighth one, getting slobbery and gross over those animals who make us all look like zombified monsters, yes, yes, only they know what it is to be alive, so screw Liu’s reading grind, I’m going on his drinking plan instead, which is when my boyfriend appears in the doorway, Palmer in hand and what by God better be a smear of custard on its cover, saying, “Babe, I think you left this in my truck—”
NO NO NO! WEEK SIX, DAY ONE
Books: One bodice-ripping novel, The Blood of FlowersI always knew I’d quit the project—office-space constraints require it and someday I hope to have a child—but even I’m surprised by how quickly I abandon it. All this month I’ve come up against the platitudes I once spouted about the “usefulness” of reading: read what you love, read as much as you can, read what will teach or inspire you. But it’s clear these statements break down when applied so (im)practically. Liu’s assumption that there is an essential connection between reading, learning, and writing now makes me want to laugh: What, really, do these activities have to do with each other? What if reading actually impairs this connection? What if reading only points out how isolated we all are, how isolated each part of our conscious life is from the other parts? Or—to be accurate—what if reading this much impairs my connection and isolates parts of me? Last week, I kept sadly recalling my favorite bookish moments: the pleasure I experienced reading Ovid’s The Art of Love in college, the sensation of thumbing through Dante on the couch, book propped up on my knees as I stared at Doré’s dark etchings of Hell, those insomniac nights of my late 20s plowing through Henry James, or the way I thought I was going to pass out with excitement on the airplane reading Inger Christensen’s Alphabet. This is what I miss: complete, uncontrollable absorption, to be in someone else’s mind and for once just want to stay inside it. I miss the attention reading meant to me then, that it must occasionally mean to me still, though less and less so. A lot of writers complain that reading loses its charm once you enter the profession. An ironic and completely bourgeois tragedy: to get paid to do what you learn to dislike. And yet I’d never say, Forget reading. Or now, conversely, Read more. I wouldn’t even say, Don’t read five books of poetry a week. I’m back to square one on this. There’s a magic number of books for each of us for sure, and I’ve passed mine. I sit on the couch and open my only book for the week. It’s a novel, so it takes a second to readjust from poetry to prose. I turn the pages. From the floor, one of my dogs grunts in its sleep. The sky outside the window turns black. Lights go on in the valley. A gray moon rises. I turn the pages. I keep on reading.
Archives
Mar 3, 2007
Aug 18, 2007
Sep 2, 2007
Nov 9, 2007
Jan 5, 2008
May 15, 2008
Jul 11, 2008
Jul 16, 2008
Jul 19, 2008
Jul 22, 2008
Jul 25, 2008
Jul 29, 2008
Jul 30, 2008
Aug 8, 2008
Aug 15, 2008
Aug 21, 2008
Sep 11, 2008
Sep 15, 2008
Oct 7, 2008
Oct 9, 2008
Oct 10, 2008
Oct 14, 2008
Oct 25, 2008
Nov 7, 2008
Nov 10, 2008
Nov 20, 2008
Dec 9, 2008
Dec 16, 2008
Dec 31, 2008
Jan 13, 2009
Feb 17, 2009
Mar 5, 2009
Apr 2, 2009
Apr 3, 2009
Apr 14, 2009
Apr 15, 2009
May 4, 2009
May 8, 2009
Jun 11, 2009
Jun 17, 2009
Jun 21, 2009
Jun 28, 2009
Jul 3, 2009
Jul 6, 2009
Jul 17, 2009
Jul 22, 2009
Jul 30, 2009
Aug 3, 2009
Aug 12, 2009
Aug 13, 2009
Aug 14, 2009
Aug 18, 2009
Aug 21, 2009
Aug 24, 2009
Aug 27, 2009
Aug 31, 2009
Sep 1, 2009
Sep 4, 2009
Sep 7, 2009
Sep 8, 2009
Sep 11, 2009
Sep 14, 2009
Sep 18, 2009
Sep 21, 2009
Sep 29, 2009
Oct 1, 2009
Oct 8, 2009
Oct 9, 2009
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 19, 2009
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 27, 2009
Oct 28, 2009
Oct 29, 2009
Nov 9, 2009
Nov 18, 2009
Nov 19, 2009
Nov 20, 2009
Nov 24, 2009
Nov 25, 2009
Nov 30, 2009
Dec 7, 2009
Dec 27, 2009
Jan 1, 2010
Jan 20, 2010
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 29, 2010
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 25, 2010
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 23, 2010
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 14, 2010
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 30, 2010
May 3, 2010
May 6, 2010
May 8, 2010
May 25, 2010
May 29, 2010
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 30, 2010
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 16, 2010
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 31, 2010
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 29, 2010
Oct 1, 2010
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 23, 2010
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 25, 2010
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 28, 2011
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 21, 2011
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 28, 2011
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 29, 2011
May 4, 2011
May 9, 2011
May 13, 2011
May 19, 2011
May 23, 2011
May 27, 2011
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 9, 2011
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 26, 2011
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 31, 2011
Sep 1, 2011
Sep 2, 2011
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 28, 2011
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 27, 2011
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 30, 2011
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 30, 2011
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 31, 2012
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 29, 2012
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 30, 2012
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 30, 2012
May 2, 2012
May 3, 2012
May 4, 2012
May 7, 2012
May 8, 2012
May 9, 2012
May 10, 2012
May 11, 2012
May 14, 2012
May 15, 2012
May 16, 2012
May 17, 2012
May 18, 2012
May 22, 2012
May 23, 2012
May 24, 2012
May 25, 2012
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 29, 2012
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 31, 2012
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 31, 2012
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 28, 2012
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 31, 2012
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 28, 2012
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 30, 2012
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 31, 2013
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 26, 2013
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 26, 2013
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 30, 2013
May 3, 2013
May 6, 2013
May 8, 2013
May 10, 2013
May 14, 2013
May 22, 2013
May 24, 2013
May 27, 2013
May 30, 2013
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 29, 2013
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 30, 2013
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 29, 2013
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 26, 2013
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 29, 2013
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 30, 2013
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 30, 2013
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 30, 2014
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 27, 2014
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 21, 2014
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 29, 2014
May 3, 2014
May 5, 2014
May 7, 2014
May 8, 2014
May 10, 2014
May 12, 2014
May 13, 2014
May 14, 2014
May 15, 2014
May 16, 2014
May 20, 2014
May 23, 2014
May 26, 2014
May 29, 2014
May 31, 2014
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 25, 2014
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 26, 2014
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 22, 2014
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 30, 2014
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 29, 2014
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 26, 2014
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 17, 2014
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 29, 2015
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 28, 2015
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 30, 2015
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 29, 2015
May 2, 2015
May 5, 2015
May 6, 2015
May 12, 2015
May 14, 2015
May 16, 2015
May 20, 2015
May 23, 2015
May 26, 2015
May 27, 2015
May 30, 2015
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 26, 2015
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 31, 2015
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 31, 2015
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 29, 2015
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 31, 2015
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 28, 2015
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 15, 2015
Jan 19, 2016
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 25, 2016
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 19, 2016
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 21, 2016
May 3, 2016
May 7, 2016
May 8, 2016
May 13, 2016
May 20, 2016
May 31, 2016
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 28, 2016
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 31, 2016
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 27, 2016
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 27, 2016
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 25, 2016
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 28, 2016
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 31, 2016
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 31, 2017
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 28, 2017
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 29, 2017
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 18, 2017
May 4, 2017
May 12, 2017
May 16, 2017
May 20, 2017
May 27, 2017
May 31, 2017
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 24, 2017
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 24, 2017
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 26, 2017
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 21, 2017
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 28, 2017
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 7, 2017
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 23, 2017
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 31, 2018
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 24, 2018
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 26, 2018
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 23, 2018
May 2, 2018
May 5, 2018
May 12, 2018
May 18, 2018
May 24, 2018
May 29, 2018
May 31, 2018
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 22, 2018
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 27, 2018
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 31, 2018
Sep 4, 2018
Jun 13, 2019
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 30, 2019
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 29, 2019
Sep 9, 2019
Oct 2, 2019
Oct 31, 2019
Jan 14, 2020
Feb 1, 2020
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 29, 2020
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 29, 2020
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 30, 2020
Jul 7, 2020
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 22, 2020
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 17, 2020
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 19, 2020
Oct 6, 2020
Nov 28, 2020
Dec 27, 2020
Jan 24, 2021
Jul 15, 2021
Jun 27, 2023
Dec 6, 2023
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]