From Me, With Love

Hi all,

So, my throat is sore and my head is spacey, and ironically this is making it difficult for me to focus on the book I have with me, called The Body in Pain, by Elaine Scarry. Instead, I think I will make a nice survey for you to take, if you feel so inclined. And I will answer my own questions now, so as to be fair and not pave a road with good intentions like the last time.

1. Close your eyes. Turn your head slightly to the right. Open them. What do you see? A white table, chairs with gray cushions, a sign detailing what is prohibited in Cabot Science Library.

2. Are you reading a good book now? What is it? I am almost done with Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie, but can't quite bring myself to finish it. I think this is because it is the last novel I have to read for class, and beyond that it's all scholarly stuff. Not that I'm not reading the scholarly stuff now, but somehow this is psychologically relevant.

3. It's 2008. Do you believe this? Not really. I mean, I get the date right when I write it down or something, but I think sometimes I still believe it is 2004, when I graduated Bryn Mawr. I don't know why, but when I pick up a book or something that was written in 2004, I'm always like, wow, that's really new... wait... it's not.

4. Do you want to do a paper about Christian tattoos as icons? No.

5. Is it abnormally warm today where you live? Yes!

6. Have you ever been in a serious physical fight? Tell me about it. Why did it happen? What did it feel like? If you've been in many, pick one. I have not been in a serious physical fight. I have been in play-fights, and they feel like there's this energy I always carry that is suddenly focused, absorbed, and released.

7. Can you see out a window right now? If so, describe the first person you see out the window. If there's no person, or no window, tell me who is not there. I see a woman in a denim jacket with red-brown hair, walking on the rock fountain with a child who is out of view. I was going to make up a story about her, but it seems suddenly disrespectful.

8. What is right in front of you that you love? Right now I feel warmly toward this man sitting in a chair with his hands interlaced on top of his bald spot. He is wearing a tan jacket, a button down shirt of an indescribable browny-gray color, and a watch.

9. What is right in front of you that you find perplexing? I am perplexed by two small squares of velcro affixed to the circulation desk.

10. Are you tired? Yes.

11. When is the last time you made a conscious decision to lie? Why did you do so? It was a couple of weeks ago. I did it to preserve a man's good opinion of me across difficulties of language, culture, religion, sexual mores, etc. I did it to make my life easier. I don't know if it has or not.

12. What worries you right now? I am worried because I feel like I have a cold or something, and I need to be healthy when I go to Baltimore. I am worried about my school work. I am worried about the future.

13. What pleases you right now? I am pleased to be wearing shoes, not boots. I am pleased by the feel of the rim of the little garbage can against the arches of my feet. I am pleased that my shift is over in 45 minutes. I am pleased by seeing Charlotte every day, and I am pleased to be home with Rachel and Amy. In a general sense, not right at this moment, clearly.

14. What can you hear right now? Security guards discussing politics. It's interesting.

15. What (approximately) was happening in your life 5 years ago? I was 20 years old... I was still in Europe, I think, travelling with Rachel and Katie. Now I want to look up and see exactly where we were, or if we were coming back yet. I'm going to guess that it was a later part of the trip, perhaps Berlin or Paris or Dublin. Was it in Ireland that Katie told us about this blackcurrent ale or cider or something? And we got some in a pub? I remember the way the streets looked in Dublin, somehow, more than anything else. And I remember that statue of Oscar Wilde. That was in Dublin, right?

16. Has anything fundamentally changed about your emotional life since then? That's a hard question. But I have no one to blame for it but myself. I think I'm on a little more of an even keel than I was then, but fundamentally... I'm not sure that anything is fundamentally changed. Or, I think the way I understand my emotions is a bit different, but the sensations themselves are not, really. Oh... I have noticed that I am much more easily moved by things than I used to be. I find myself tearing up over lots of things, on TV or whatever, that never would have produced such a reaction before. I don't know why that is, but I think it has something to do with getting older, having a range of experiences that stretch out to contact more than they could before, and... something I can't describe, something about a broader awareness of just how vulnerable we are, of just how bad things can be. (That doesn't explain what I want to explain at all, and sounds weird. But still.)

17. Do you have any secret that you have never told anyone, at all, ever, even anonymously? I honestly didn't think so as I was writing that, but now I am thinking of things that I don't think I ever told anyone. However, I don't have anything that is a constant presence with me, that I have never told anyone, at all, ever, even anonymously.

18. Have you ever hugged a book? Yep.

19. Thrown one across the room? Yep.

20. Hit one? Yes.

21. Kissed one? I think so.

22. Destroyed one on purpose? No.

23. Yelled at one? Yes.

24. Refused to continue reading at one point due to a moral objection to certain events, but then just had to get back to it? Would I make up such a question if the answer was no? It was The Witching Hour by Anne Rice.

25. Have you done all those things to other people? I have not thrown a person across the room, nor destroyed one on purpose. And... this is interesting... I don't think I have ever explicitly refused to associate with someone because of moral objections. I think the only people I have had deep, sincere, lasting moral objections to with regard to their behavior have not been my friends. What does this mean?

26. What is the strangest thing you have ever hugged? Probably a dumbwaiter. It was a big one.

27. Kissed? A locker.

28. The very first time you were enamoured of someone, what did you do in immediate reaction? I ran weird circles around my room, sort of jumping over my bed, listening to an a capella tape of "For the Longest Time" and singing.

29. Name something unusual that had some influence in your sexual development. Lucius Cornelius Sulla.

30. And something cliched? Spin the Bottle. But I wasn't playing, really.

31. How about a minor guilty secret? Doesn't have to be about sex, just something not-huge that bugged you. Hmm... I never bought Annie on my Mind, in high school, even though I wanted to read it, because I didn't want the cashier to think I was a lesbian. And I thought that was dumb, especially since I was often buying books with gay men in them. But I still didn't buy it.

32. What about a small act of heroism? There was this man lying in the alleyway beside Merriam Theater, and everybody was sort of uncomfortably hoping he was ok and not dead and not in serious trouble, and I finally just went out myself and woke him up and made sure he was alright. That's pretty small, but it felt like kind of a big deal when everybody was older than me and technically more experienced in life.


That's all folks, time to leave work!  Take my survey for a rip-roaring good time!

Merry Christmas! (Or, random thoughts about my dad)

Here I am, with my beautiful new laptop, having beautiful internet in my very own room at home, and sadly my phone has to be plugged in around the corner and so at the moment is more awkward to reach than my computer... but no one is online to talk to me!  

Well, that's not true... the automated moviefone thing is online, as is a person I only knew on the internet except for meeting once randomly in person, but with whom I have not spoken in any context for some time.  And some people have away messages up.

But that's ok, because I have a delightful public-private inner-thoughts-to-outer-world forum to keep me company until my phone gets more charg-y.  Or until I just get sleepy, and forget all the things I wanted to say, which seems to be happening right now.

It's been an interesting time so far.  I spent some time with my dad Saturday and Sunday, and that was good.  It's amazing how I can feel so connected to him in some ways, like when we talk about the big stuff of life and the spirit, which sounds, as such things often do, ridiculous to write down, except that I really mean it... and I feel like we're really sharing something important, and special, and we are... and then I try to tell him what I think about a movie, or what I'm doing next year, and it seems like we're communicating but suddenly he says something that has all the ingredients of what I've been saying, but isn't actually my point at all... and then I look at the picture we took together using Photo Booth, and our smiles do the same thing to our faces, our noses are the same, the stretch of our mouths... or I see him almost-sleeping on the couch and he moves his thumbs against each other restlessly like I know I do, or his feet, absurdly high arch tucked and rubbed against the top of the other foot, and that is just like me.  And somehow all these things, connections, disconnections, awkwardness, alikeness-- come from the same person, in not even 48 hours.  And he tells me he wants to know more about what I like and I am quiet, not knowing what to say.  (We are talking about music, should I give a list?)  And sometimes I think he creates an idea of me quite fully out of pieces of true things, and sometimes I think he knows me in ways I cannot know myself.  

This is ironic, since part of our discussion, a real heart of it, was how you cannot see yourself, how if you look for the self you cannot find it, that self-hood itself (ha) and everything around it is created... but if there is no self, created by whom?  This is one of those statements that should maybe come with warnings, like the Cloud of Unknowing: Don't read me or think about me unless you're way gung-ho about the whole spiritual path deal.  Or maybe I'm just posturing.  (Who is?  Ha.)

He can irritate me intensely, and I am terribly afraid of displeasing him in some small way.  He bought me beautiful shirts-- in size extra-large.  I take a stupid pleasure in being more educated than he is, in thinking silently that I understand more while he speaks.  Especially about eastern religions.

I can see now how crippled he has been, because he is not so big and full of power as he used to be.  When he hugs me, he is still the strongest person in the world, the whole world still goes away.  I think he is trying to protect me from his family, or protect himself through me.  I think he has systematically removed me from their reach... he may be fully conscious of this, or totally unconscious, or I may be incredibly wrong.

I love him.  I can't decide if that statement encompasses all of this I have said before, or not.

So, there's actually a lot more I have to say, about things other than my dad, like... my mom!  ;)  Well, and how Christmas Eve went and how it was singing at Mass and how my extended family is responding to my telling them about Charlotte with a wonderful outpouring of love and support so far... and how I got some cool presents at Jeff's family's party, and... well, but this will all have to wait.

In the meantime, the merriest of Christmases to you all!  I love you!  (Or I don't know you, but you can have some love too, if you want!)

Twenty-Four Things I Have Experienced in the Past Twenty-Four Hours

I have...

1. talked theology until 3 AM
2. seen a visual representation of Krsna as ultimate transcendent divinity
3. skinned my knee
4. walked in stocking feet on the wet, cold ground chanting "walk walk walk" to keep myself going
5. had a moment of complete understanding and connection with what my professor was saying
6. heard a description of what it was like to be in Iraq with a rocket zooming overhead from a classmate sitting next to me, directed only to me
7. received an adorable stuffed chick dressed in bunny ears that chirps when you press its middle
8. been invited to two parties
9. eaten soup
10. been walked in on in the bathroom
11. thrown my books on the floor both to get them out of my hands and to hear them bang
12. not attended a rehearsal I was (somewhat surprisingly) looking forward to
13. counted out almost my last non-penny, non-foreign change for a bag of m&ms and a bottle of ginger ale
14. worn a new skirt for the first time
15. given a present
16. fallen asleep while reading the Gospel of John
17. made my bed
18. mentally compared the discourse of a divine being to the way I try to introduce bizarre statements to my friends, and then attempted to explain this out loud
19. forgotten (again) to take my sleeping bag up from the dryer
20. touched a very fuzzy sweater
21. seen Rachel for the first time in over a week
22. photocopied almost 100 pages
23. Learned that Thessalonians come from Thessalonica.
24. Been almost too tired to finish my list.

Tart and Startling and Strange

Who am I talking about? Jesus, in the Gospel of Mark. I read it today for Intro to New Testament, and it was so bizarre and interesting... very quick, action-packed, this happened then this happened in style, and Jesus was sort of... brisk and unpredictable and hard to read, but a very compelling presence, at least to me. I am so curious about what the experience of reading this would be if you had no background in the story, and also concretely realizing how much I know the Gospel stories in the chunks they are told in in church, and how little I know the actual Gospels straight through.

I'm also a little confused about all the methods of New Testament criticism. Some of them seem kind of problematic, but maybe I just don't completely comprehend them yet.

Bracing, that's another good word for Jesus-of-Mark. Has anybody else read it? What are your thoughts?

A Little Bundle of Books

It's kind of sad, because lately I read so many parts of books, but it seems wrong to count those. So, the complete books I have read recently:


*The Heart of Whiteness by Robert Jensen
*The First R: How Children Learn Race and Racism by Debra Van Ausdale and Joe R. Feagin
The Book of Jude (books of the Bible count, right? I think they should.)
The Second Letter of Peter (I wish I could recommend this one, since I love Peter so much, but at least he didn't really write it. Not that it was awful, it just wasn't that compelling.)

Questions from Harvard

So, before I got sick forever and ever, I made a list of questions that Harvard asked me, on just one side of a little poster posting post. I thought it would clarify why this place is both fascinating and overwhelming:

Need some wheels?
Do I like her... or just admire her?
Does God exist?
How can God allow pain?
Why is religion full of hypocrites?
What is HPV?
What is democratic socialism?
Christianity: Boring, untrue, irrelevant?
Why did Jesus die?
How and why should I pray?
Are you interested in applying your analytical, financial, and programming expertise to a challenging and rewarding career as a Quantitative Equity Analyst?

Pretend it's a survey if you want... maybe I will try to answer one of these questions at a time. I'll start with the last one. The answer to the last one is no.

Eleventh Book: The Great Divorce

My mom sent me this one, out of the blue. She's been sending good books lately! The Great Divorce is by my old friend C.S. Lewis, and though it is not for children or really that much like Narnia, I recognized and relaxed into his familiar style right away. I have said many times that Lewis, in The Last Battle gives the only version/description of Hell that I am able to understand and fit into the context of a loving God. The Great Divorce, interestingly enough, is also a sort of supposal, like the Chronicles, and in it, Lewis recounts a dream he has had about Heaven and Hell. It's fascinating. He does not disappoint, nor does he lose the distinction I just mentioned. I am fascinated, in fact, to read more of his theology. I think it's so interesting, because he is definitely (as far as I know) considered a fairly orthodox Christian writer, but his theology seems (to me) quite mystical. Not that mysticism precludes orthodoxy, but it's interesting. To tie in with my last post, he also mentioned Julian of Norwich. ;) But anyway, while absolutely affirming the idea of Hell, he also leaves it open as to whether anyone will be there forever. He leaves a lot open, in fact, while being absolutely convinced of the ultimate, all-encompassing good of God, and the need to turn toward Him.

There are some quotes I marked to put in here... I will do that when I'm at home and have the book to hand.

In the meantime, I am very enthusiastic about this book, and I want to read more of what my old friend has to say. He's one of those people of whom I wonder whether he would like me/think me talented/approve of my work. Just as a by-the-by. And to close, if you're looking for some very readable theology, give him a shot. I think I will seek out some more. And thank you, C. S. Lewis, for being so honest and interesting.

A Prize!

For Rachel and Katie, winners of that long ago contest. Totally unedited, and may not make any sense if you don't know these characters already. Or at least be unsatisfying. But anyway, no more caveats, here it is. Oh, except one, and I will take other precautions re. this... I'm always really paranoid about posting my work online... it's mine, the characters are mine, I made them up and/or have permission to use them, and so keep your hands off, all you random bitches who are coming around to steal my shit. Ahem. Thank you for putting up with my paranoia.

So, this isn’t how I met him, but this is how I knew I was in love. I didn’t know that I knew at the time, but later, I knew that that was when I would have known, if I’d been paying attention and not just fucking around. And do you know? It was before we ever had sex. Which is good, because if we’d just stumbled into sex I’d have been totally blindsided. Every time he gets an award for his work or some kind of honor or whatever I want to stand up and yell, and the best lay on the whole fucking island. I would say planet, but that might embarrass him a little. And overstate my sluttiness, which, while considerable, does not encompass the entire earth.

God, the sex is so good. One time, before the virus obviously, he had just finished some big deal article for one of those journals with the impossibly long names. And we were fooling around on the floor in the kitchen in his tiny apartment. He’d gone in to get some wine glasses and I followed him, and we ended up knocking over one of the glasses—before we started playing, actually, just, you know, normal slippage, and then we got carried away and I ended up with my legs around his waist and my head pressed against the wall, uncomfortably, staring at the oven. But it was incredibly hot, and I was picking bits of glass out of my back for days.

You know, I’ve said I’m a masochist, but that’s not really true. I just like to be taken care of. Swept off my feet. Sometimes I get that mixed up with pain. It’s a little embarrassing, the whole thing. But whatever, my lover reads romance novels, and he’s a fucking Ph.D. So we’re well matched or something. I’m not entirely comfortable with that side of myself. I just pretend to be. You’ll see that in a lot of maricones like me.

Right, but I was talking about being in love. It was… well, here is where I get confused, maybe our third or fourth date. I mean, the first sure wasn’t anything to make you fall in love, unless you get off on car accidents and hysterical boys. Boy, singular, man I guess, but I was hardly ready to think of myself that way. Besides, boys could be a bit more flitting and fey, and men… men were part of that strange class of creatures who could set your throat pulsing when they moved so carelessly from the locker room to their shiny manly cars, hair and skin all damp with sweat. I wanted to be a sponge, to soak it up and remain blameless. But to name myself as one of them would tip the scales, send me tumbling into some other class of being from which I could never return. I remember sobbing in the shower the day I graduated from high school, because everyone kept calling me young man, saying I was growing into a fine young man, things like that. And I wasn’t.

Boys could be fucked, but men did the fucking. Men did the choosing, boys could wait, and dally, and let things happen to them, let everything pass over them like clouds in a blue sky. You would think I’d have done a lot of pot, given my basic desire for a spacey state of mind, but I was afraid of drugs in high school. Reefer madness and all of that. I could see the red animal with small sharp claws under my skin, and I danced attendance on everything that would keep him at bay. I was afraid of everything, really, and the day I graduated from high school I was breathing in the steam and the soap and the tears until my head pounded and my fifteen year-old sister came into the bathroom without knocking and started to put on her makeup, and said, Jesus fuck in the fucking arsehole, David, you’re such a bloody fucking dishrag, why don’t you mop yourself the fuck up? She was going through an extremely profane phase at the time, which seemed to correspond with her extremely cruel phase, and preceded her extremely loud and yet romantic phase, which was a direct segue into her extremely drunk phase… but I digress.

I guess the point is that once I got out in the world, I realized you could stay a boy for as long as you wanted; there were always men ready to fuck you and ask no questions. And a little part of myself kept floating above it all, a balloon on a string, never quite part of the world of the me who went about interacting with things, just tethered a little by the red animal portion of myself.

Of course, I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I figured I was basically happy. I figured that happiness was like that, interspersed with inexplicable nervousness and uncontrollable tears. You just factored those things out.

On our third (or maybe fourth) date, I decided to take Andrew to a bar. Sort of a bar/club/gay dive, basically. We’d done the movies, and a cute little jazz show, but I was nervous because he hadn’t decided to fuck me yet, and I figured I’d get him buzzed and see what happened. That and I liked to dance. I wasn’t completely an insecure asshole. It was quiet there that night, fewer people than usual on the dance floor, and I was a bit uncomfortable with that. Andrew, for his part, was a bit uncomfortable with the whole scene. I mean, he hid it well. But he was quiet. I don’t know how I knew his bad-quiet from his good-quiet even then, but I did. He wasn’t drinking, either, so I followed suit. It felt very awkward. More so than our other dates, even the initial catastrophe.

After awhile Andrew went to the bathroom, and I waited for him so long I began to think he’d definitely scampered out the window, like people you read about or see in sitcoms, trying to escape their Very Bad Dates, and I was starting to get nervous and even a little mad—I didn’t think I’d done anything that horrible. You’ll think this is ridiculous, I guess, but it was at least ten minutes he was gone. And that was after I’d started to check my watch. I suppose I should have gone in and checked on him, but I kept thinking he’d come out any second and I wouldn’t have to make an ass of myself. So, anyway, finally he appeared, and he had this very strange expression on his face.

The thing about Andrew, I guess, is that he has a tendency to look sort of dreamy. I mean, his hair and eyes are rather soft to begin with, and if you’re not really paying attention, I can see how it would be easy to just sort of conclude, absent-minded professor, you know, and move on from there. But if you do happen to pay attention, you realize that the dreaminess actually comes from this focus that’s just utterly formidable. That he’s taking things in and processing them and giving them back at a level that’s probably well beyond you, no offense. It certainly is beyond me. And sometimes the dreamy fog-curtain of his outside thoughts just kind of peels away, and you’re left with his sharp, unvarnished interest. It’s a bit shocking. Like… lemon, or a deep-pore cleanser. Thank God he’s into religion, you know, and not, I don’t know, something black and white. He has a gentleness that he retains, even when he’s just chewed up whatever your argument was and spat out the bones.

Anyway, my point is, that as he came out of the bathroom and rejoined me at the bar, I saw that not-dreamy, not-veiled face of his for the very first time. It was like… well, I don’t know, I don’t want to get too dramatic. But I wasn’t expecting that kind of light in him. It’s like he had some kind of special hidden radiance he had suddenly let out… I don’t think he knew it. I don’t think he saw it. He seemed troubled when he came over to me, upset.

“Hey,” I said. I smiled, all sideways and crooked. I was trying not to run my hand over his arm to see if I could find the bottom of that glow against his skin.

“Hey. Um. Sorry I took so long. That was weird.” He let out a breath, and smiled back at me, looking nervous. “There was a weird guy in there; he sort of hit on me or something, I don’t really…”

I wasn’t sure what to say about that. Some guy in the bathroom hits on him, and he comes back to me all lit up? It looked not so good for me.

“Oh… was he hot?” I laughed. It sounded like my stupid sister’s laugh. Andrew’s eyes focused on me, looking mildly surprised.

“Sure. Yeah, he was.” Apparently this was the last thing that Andrew had considered. Apparently I was a bizarre, idiotic, horny prick.

“Oh.”

“He was… he seemed to have been sweating. He’d taken his t-shirt off and was wiping his face with it when I came in. It was white, the t-shirt, or it had been once. He was rather tanned.”

I bit my lips to keep from giggling inanely. What was this, some kind of porno set up or what? Maybe handsome, studious Andrew was actually a raging kinkster.

“But he was wearing a scarf,” Andrew continued, oblivious to my squirming. “I mean, like a muffler. A big knit one, made of this fuzzy gray yarn. It seemed completely… out of place. And it was torn, on the end. And he didn’t smell good. I sort of hate that, when people don’t smell good, because you know you should just ignore it, but you don’t. I don’t. I have a lot of trouble with that. Well, anyhow, he was obviously sort of agitated, and I didn’t want to stare at him, or whatever, so I just sort of went over to the urinal and tried to mind my own business. And the next thing I know he puts his hand on my back. I mean, actually on my back, not my ass or something, but still, I was very startled and I sort of whipped around, and he said, sorry.

“He had a really interesting voice. Low and a little rough, but not too rough. He swallowed, and he seemed to be hesitating about something. I was… frightened, but less frightened than I figured I ought to be.”

“Jesus,” I said. “He musta been on drugs.”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, slow and considering. He takes so little for granted. He spread his fingers out on the bar, looked at them, drummed them there.

“Well, what happened?” I said at last.

“He said, ‘Did you lose these?’ and he holds out my glasses that I must’ve lost, I don’t know, two months ago, certainly not here, and one of the lenses is broken and the side is bent, but they’re definitely mine…”

“Let me see,” I demanded, as though I had any idea about his missing glasses.

“Well,” he said, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t take them.”

“What?”

“I said they weren’t mine. I was freaked out, you know? Some weird guy handing me my glasses out of the blue sky in the middle of the washroom? I don’t know if he’s a stalker or some weird homeless prophet or what.”

“Oh.” He looked so nervous at this revelation that I touched his hand. “It’s ok, it does sound pretty fucked up. I bet I wouldn’t have talked to him at all. Unless he was really hot.”

Andrew smiled. “Well, so he tucked the glasses back in his pants pocket and watched me wash my hands, and then he was rooting around in his pocket again and I was really scared he was going to pull out my stuffed duck from when I was a kid, or something, and sort of hoping he would, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he asked if I minded if he smoked… and I said yes. Which I think startled him, because after all you can smoke everywhere in the bar. But I figure, why ask the question if you won’t take yes for an answer, right?”

I laughed. “Gutsy,” I said.

“He took out a cigarette and passed it between his fingers, but didn’t light up. I would’ve thought he was being challenging, or something, but he just seemed curious. Somehow the smell wasn’t so bad now, either. I dried my hands and figured I should leave, but the whole thing seemed unfinished. I turned to leave anyway. After all, this isn’t a fairy tale, right? So I was heading out of there and I felt him touch my elbow again.

“ ‘You dropped this,’ he said ‘Anyway, I don’t like poetry.’” And he gave me this grimy, folded up piece of paper, and I took it, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

I waited expectantly, but Andrew was looking at the bar again. “Geez, what was on it?”

He looked up at me, with that sudden, unexpected clarity. “I don’t know. I wanted you to read it with me.”

“Why?” I said.

“You know, I don’t know,” he answered, and I figured I could trust him, because he wasn’t just being romantic, he was real and strange and talked to strangers and didn’t like cigarettes and saved things just because. “It just seems like it’s your story too.” And he took my hand and we walked out of the bar right then, really, and I couldn’t stop smiling. We read the paper under a street lamp, and this is what it said:

man like a blade of grass in sunlight

boy are looks ever

deceiving, he’s the moon

man.

he’s the moon man,

after all.

I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now, except that it produced such a longing in me, such a stupid longing, maybe it was just waiting to come out, waiting for something incomprehensible it could wrap itself around. And I looked at Andrew and I knew he understood, and we joked about how dumb it was to write incomprehensible poetry. And we made out for awhile and he took me home.

I stayed awake all night, and in the morning I called him and I said I wanted to sleep with him right away. And he didn’t laugh at me, but he made me wait until he went to all three of his graduate seminars.

It was great! Well, probably it was horrible and clumsy, and I thought it was great. But after all, I was in love already.

Thank You, BlogThing, I Feel Much Better Now...

Now if I can just finish the goddamn applications...

Should I say goddamn when I'm applying to programs in Religion?

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher. You'd make a talented professor or writer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Cain On a Fucking Stick.

Really Long Survey (over 200)
What is your name?:	Rebecca Lynne Just Realized Maybe I Shouldn't Put My Full Name in My Blog
Are you named after anyone?:	No... Sort of my mother, I guess, because she's Linda. Sort of my father because he's Just Realized Maybe I Shouldn't Put My Full Name in My Blog? *chuckles*
What's your screename?:	BeckyF342
Would you name a child of yours after you?:	Probably not directly, or as a first name.
If you were born a member of the opposite sex what would your name be?:	According to my preferences? Peter, since it is my confirmation name. According to what my mom and dad planned? I think Andrew or Nathan. I like Andrew better, I think.
If you could switch names with a friend who would it be?:	Jesus Christ.
Are there any mispronounciations/typos that ppl do w/ your name constantly?:	Not constantly. Once I was Rebecca Fawn in a mailing.
Would you drop your last name if you became famous?:	No! I would sound silly.
Basics
Your gender::	Female
Straight/Gay/Bi::	Basically straight, but since I just had a whole revelation about how the entire system of sexual labeling is in fact a service to the patriarchy, I feel compelled to object.
Single?:	Multiple! But not dating, if that's what you mean.
If not, do you want to be?:	But I am.
Birthdate::	4/20/82. Not 3/20/82.
Your age::	23
Age you act::	God, I don't know.
Age you wish you were::	God, I don't know.
Your height::	5'2"
Eye color::	Dark brown.
Happy with it?:	Ecstatic.
Hair color::	Dark brown.
Happy with it?:	Desperately un, but my religion forbids hair dye
Lefty/righty/ambidextrous::	Righty. If that really requires an y.
Your living arrangement::	I don't believe in an arranged life.
Your family::	What about it? I love them; they're crazy?
Have any pets?:	No living ones.
Whats your job?:	Finding missing apostrophes all over the internet and pointing it out.
Piercings?:	Ears.
Tattoos?:	Ears.
Obsessions?:	Ears.
Addictions?:	Ears.
Do you speak another language?:	Spanish.
Have a favorite quote?:	START WEARING PURPLE FOR ME NOW!
Do you have a webpage?:	Where you are if you're reading this, and www.uncutpages.org
Deep Thoughts About Life and You in it
Do you live in the moment?:	Of course. I just keep forgetting.
Do you consider yourself tolerant of others?:	Never.
Do you have any secrets?:	I always have secrets.
Do you hate yourself?:	That's an awfully dramatic way of putting it. Let's just say mildly detest.
Do you like your handwriting?:	That's an awfully dramatic way of putting it.
Do you have any bad habits?:	Never.
What is the compliment you get from most people?:	You are the most intelligent and stunning person I have ever met. Please come to bed with me at once, and afterwards talk about all things in life.
If a movie was made about your life, what would it be called?:	Deep Thoughts about Life and You in it
What's your biggest fear?:	Hippodick. Wait, I thought it said favorite swear word, but that will do.
Can you sing?:	Never.
Do you ever pretend to be someone else just to look cool?:	Not JUST to look cool. Also to gain prestige and sexual partners.
Are you a loner?:	In fact, I am alone now.
What are your #1 priorities in life?:	Ears.
If you were another person, would you be friends with you?:	Not JUST to look cool. Also to gain prestige and sexual partners.
Are you a daredevil?:	Not JUST to look cool... ok, I'll stop.
Is there anything you fear or hate about yourself?:	You mean the whole demonic possession thing? I've basically accepted it.
Are you passive or agressive?:	Best of both worlds!
Do you have a journal?:	I have.
What is your greatest strength and weakness?:	Profound. Are they in fact always the same? In any case, ears.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?:	Sexier ears.
Do you think you are emotionally strong?:	In fact, I have a psyche of steel.
Is there anything you regret doing/not doing in life?:	Yes. Both, at the same time.
Do you think life has been good so far?:	No life is good except your father in heaven. Wait, doesn't work.
What is the most important lesson you've learned from life?:	Take care of your ears, and they will not fall off due to frostbite.
What do you like the most about your body?:	Elbows.
And least?:	Belly button.
Do you think you are good looking?:	You should see my fucking elbows.
Are you confident?:	With these elbows?
What is the fictional character you are most like?:	A sort of combination of Jay Gatsby, Boo Radley, and Catherine Earnshaw. Duh.
Are you perceived wrongly?:	Not JUST to look cool. Also to gain prestige and sexual partners. Sorry, I lied before.
Do You...
Smoke?:	When burning with passion.
Do drugs?:	Why is it "do" drugs?
Read the newspaper?:	When burning with passion.
Pray?:	When burning with extra passion.
Go to church?:	Why is it "go" to church?
Talk to strangers who IM you?:	And lie outrageously. I know... you wouldn't think I had it in me.
Sleep with stuffed animals?:	It's better than drinking alone.
Take walks in the rain?:	It's better than drinking alone.
Talk to people even though you hate them?:	I do hate people, and therefore I eshew verbal communication whenever possible.
Drive?:	I like to think I have drive.
Like to drive fast?:	Well, the one time I tried it, it was fun.
Would or Have You Ever?
Liked your voice?:	Never, and therefore I eshew verbal communication whenever possible.
Hurt yourself?:	When burning with passion. The burning, mostly.
Been out of the country?:	Never been in it.
Eaten something that made other people sick?:	Yes. I have carefully built up a tolerance to all known poisons. It was a grand state dinner last fall.
Been in love?:	Is that the opposite of the country?
Done drugs?:	Let's not get redundant, here.
Gone skinny dipping?:	Not JUST to look cool... hehe, you know the rest.
Had a medical emergency?:	In fact, I am currently having a medical emergency. Never mix burning and arsenic.
Had surgery?:	NEVER mix burning and arsenic. NEVER.
Ran away from home?:	Walked. Slowly. If you run, they will shoot.
Played strip poker?:	I won, too.
Gotten beaten up?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Beaten someone up?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Been picked on?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Been on stage?:	You've been talking to Charlotte, haven't you. DON'T believe her. I HATE PLAYS!
Slept outdoors?:	In a blizzard. Luckily, I was having sex with a Klingon at the time. #1 for body heat production.
Thought about suicide?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Pulled an all nighter?:	And it pulled back.
If yes, what is your record?:	The Original Cast Recording of Brigadoon.
Gone one day without food?:	It's better than sex with Klingons. And drinking alone.
Talked on the phone all night?:	Talked to the phone all night. I was very lonely.
Slept together with the opposite sex w/o actually having sex?:	Impossible.
Slept all day?:	Impossible.
Killed someone?:	That would be one of those secrets. Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Cain.
Made out with a stranger?:	Made off with a stranger.
Had sex with a stranger?:	You think I have a lot of Klingon buddies, or something?
Thought you're going crazy?:	I've heard that only sane people think they are going crazy, because crazy people believe they are sane. Yet I persist in thinking that I am going crazy. Which may be proof.
Kissed the same sex?:	I'm not sure I've kissed sex at all.
Done anything sexual with the same sex?:	You didn't think I meant a male Klingon, did you? At least not the first time.
Been betrayed?:	One doesn't carefully build up a tolerance to all known poisons for one's health, does one? That didn't come out right. Yes.
Had a dream that came true?:	In an abstract Kinder Egg way.
Broken the law?:	Shattered it, and walked barefoot over the pieces.
Met a famous person?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Cain.
Have you ever killed an animal by accident?:	Not by accident.
On purpose?:	Oh, I got ahead of myself there.
Told a secret you swore you wouldn't tell?:	Not by accident.
Stolen anything?:	Only livers. Wait--hearts--was thinking in Chinese again.
Been on radio/tv?:	Radiotv is my favorite place to be.
Been in a mosh-pit?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Had a nervous breakdown?:	Have you been reading this carefully?
Bungee jumped?:	By accident.
Had a dream that kept coming back?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Cain.
Beliefs
Belive in life on other planets?:	Hello! Klingons.
Miracles?:	After observing the perfection of ears... how could I not believe?
Astrology?:	Does Astrology mean Star-Words? 'Cause that would be hot.
Magic?:	I'm an alchemist.
God?:	I have seen the perfection of ears... how could I not believe?
Satan?:	Then again, it never hurts to hedge your bets.
Santa?:	Does it sound like I had the sort of home life that would facilitate such a belief?
Ghosts?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Banquo.
Luck?:	No.
Love at first sight?:	No.
Yin and yang (that good cant exist w/o bad)?:	No. And yes.
Witches?:	They were persecuted.
Easter bunny?:	Great ears.
Believe its possible to remain faithful forever?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Hester Prynne.
Believe theres a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?:	Absolutely.
Do you wish on stars?:	I have never been on a star.
Deep Theological Questions
Do you believe in the traditional view of Heaven and Hell?:	No, I have a telescope and I intend to use it.
Do you think God has a gender?:	Many.
Do you believe in organized religion?:	Many.
Where do you think we go when we die?:	Limbo. Limbo. Life without life.
Friends
Do you have any gay/lesbian friends?:	You're really NOT paying attention, are you? Isn't half the survey about Cain?
Who is your best friend?:	I talked all night to a telephone. I don't really have a lot of friends.
Who's the one person that knows most about you?:	George W. Bush.
What's the best advice that anyone has ever given to you?:	The thing about burning and arsenic from before.
Your favourite inside joke?:	The thing about burning and arsenic from before.
Thing you're picked on most about?:	The thing about burning and arsenic from before.
Who's your longest known friend?:	See above re. demonic possession.
Newest?:	The telephone.
Shyest?:	You.
Funniest?:	Karl Rove.
Sweetest?:	Death.
Closest?:	See above re. demonic possession
Weirdest?:	The guy who got me started on the whole poison thing.
Smartest?:	The guy who got me started on the whole poison thing.
Ditziest?:	Probably the Klingons.
Friends you miss being close to the most?:	My GOD, I'm SORRY already about this whole killing business.
Last person you talked to online?:	Rachel.
Who do you talk to most online?:	The spirit of Napolean Bonaparte. Fascinating conversationalist, but can't spell.
Who are you on the phone with most?:	Haven't we been over this?
Who do you trust most?:	Trust no one.
Who listens to your problems?:	The goddamn fucking telephone.
Who do you fight most with?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Who's the nicest?:	Nice isn't really high on my list.
Who's the most outgoing?:	Death! Really knows how to work a room.
Who's the best singer?:	Napolean Bonaparte. Self-proclaimed, since obviously I have never heard him.
Who's on your shit-list?:	Am I going to write that in a public forum?
Have you ever thought of having sex with a friend?:	Not just thought.
Who's your second family?:	I think I'm starting to lose brain function.
Do you always feel understood?:	Always.
Who's the loudest friend?:	Oh, absolutely the Klingons.
Do you trust others easily?:	Yes. Can you hear my snide tone of voice through my typing fingers?
Who's house were you last at?:	My own.
Name one person who's arms you feel safe in::	NOT Klingons!
Do your friends know you?:	In fact, we've never met.
Friend that lives farthest away::	Oh, absolutely the Klingons.
Love and All That
Do you consider love a mistake?:	Always.
What do you find romantic?:	Ears.
Turn-on?:	Ears.
Turn-off?:	Having to sing or talk.
First kiss?:	No thanks.
If someone u had no interest in had interest in dating u how would u feel?:	Like I've been reduced to a meaningless vowel.
Do you prefer knowing someone before dating them or going:	Going. God, please, going.
Have u ever wished it was more socially acceptable 4 a girl 2 ask a guy out:	Night and day.
Have you ever been romantically attracted to someone physically unattractiv:	Night and day.
Do you think the opposite sex finds you good looking?:	Night and day.
What is best about the opposite sex?:	Ears.
What is the worst thing about the opposite sex?:	Feet.
What's the last present someone gave you?:	Ears and feet. It gave me this strange feeling of trembly and sadomasochistic pleasure.
Are you in love?:	That would be telling.
Do you consider your significant other hot?:	What did I say about burning and arsenic?
Who Was the Last Person...
That haunted you?:	Did you read what I said about ghosts? And Cain?
You wanted to kill?:	Did you read what I said about ghosts? And Cain?
That you laughed at?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
That laughed at you?:	Rachel. A lot.
That turned you on?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
You went shopping with?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
That broke your heart?:	In fact, I have a heart of steel.
To disappoint you?:	This survey writer in the love section with all the bad grammar.
To ask you out?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
To make you cry?:	In fact, I've been sobbing for the last twenty minutes of this damn thing.
To brighten up your day?:	Codename "Cain." Doesn't that suck?
That you thought about?:	Obviously, for everyone, it would be the person in the previous question.
You saw a movie with?:	My ex-siamese twin, Edgar.
You talked to on the phone?:	We've been over this.
You talked to through IM/ICQ?:	Bekah.
You saw?:	I've been staring at my neighbor across the street for three successive mornings now.
You lost?:	STOP IT!
Right This Moment...
Are you going out?:	No, I'm sitting here.
Will it be with your significant other?:	No.
Or some random person?:	Yes.
What are you wearing right now?:	No.
Body part you're touching right now::	Heh. Ears. You caught me.
What are you worried about right now?:	That this agony will never end. In a literal as well as a figurative sense.
What book are you reading?:	Wizard's Holiday
What's on your mousepad?:	I use actual mouse skin. Do you think that's creepy?
Use 5 words to describe how you're feeling::	No, I won't, you fellator. (Ironically, these were also you-know-who's last words)
Are you bored?:	I take the 5th.
Are you tired?:	Never.
Are you talking to anyone online?:	Yes.
Are you talking to anyone on the phone?:	Leave me the fuck alone about the phone already.
Are you lonely or content?:	Both.
Are you listening to music?:	Both.
Take this survey | Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

Morality Play

Things got kind of strange at work today... Tall young Michael made some comments about women, how he thought women should be subordinate to men or some such, and it all sort of went downhill from there. Heather countered him, mentioned my name, and the next thing you know we're embroilled, eventually getting all the way to gay marriage and religion. I feel rather odd about the whole thing. On the one hand, I feel like if I'm going to go around with a very good opinion of my own articulation of ideas, and support for my positions, I can't really avoid these kinds of conversations. And to a point, they can be very interesting. But it's hard with tall young Michael, because he's so naive and definitely uneducated in many, many ways... but somehow he also strikes me as sort of innocent. He says terrible things, really not ok... but I feel, ironically, that I should be gentle toward him, because he is still, in some fundamental way, a little boy. He wouldn't thank me for that, I know. And it's hard because I express myself in such measured, qualified prose, which at this point is natural for me in matters of import, but doesn't seem to be natural for anyone else there, so I'm not sure if they understand what I am really trying to say. I think the really difficult thing there is that I have adopted such phrasing because I have been taught that it is in some ways essential to clear communication, and yet often it hinders my ability to communicate in situations where people have not been so trained. So that kind of defeats the purpose right there, doesn't it? I have an inordinate love for linguistic care, and I don't know if this makes me a more precise communicator, as I would wish, or not. And Heather is so forceful and convinced that it is hard to disagree with her. Or maybe it's just that now we are on a "side" together in the argument, but in actual fact I do not agree with all the conclusions she draws.

Maybe the point is that I am really, really, really confused about morality, and it preoccupies me to an extent that even my closest friends don't always understand the mixture of intensity and trepidation with which I approach the subject. Because intellectually it is clear that morality is a relative, culturally detirmined thing. But my heart wishes for a standard against which I can hold my own actions and those of other people, and therefore... be justified in judgement, I suppose, be it good or bad. I know judging is a trap, but it is so incredibly hard to avoid, and to be honest I like it. When I can make a judgement I feel safer, more certain about the world.

And it's easy to question morality when those around you have a different point of view, but it's not something we even think to question when we are all making a moral judgement in consort. For example, later in the day we watched Oprah, and there was no debate over whether the mother who gave her children Xanax to sedate them was morally wrong to do so-- we were all certain that she was. And I am certain. But what if this was a highly contested issue? Would I remain certain?

I think one of the bottom lines I come to is that morality can be detirmined situationally rather than generally. Take the issue of gay marriage, or marriage at all. There definitely may be couples where it is morally wrong for them to marry, and couples where it is not wrong (I don't know if marriage is morally "right," since to me that carries a bit of a compunction to commit a right act). This has nothing to do with their respective genders. Are there actions, then, that are always or almost always wrong? It's interesting to get to this point, because I think that murder is essentially worse than rape, however I would say that rape is always wrong, while killing may not be. It's so CONFUSING!

Also, I'm often nervous about expressing my views in a company where people disagree with me, and I don't like this about myself. I am morally scrupulous, but I'm not sure that it makes me essentially better as a person.

Then there's the fact that I love shady characters and antiheros, and can forgive in fiction what I would condemn in life, and especially in myself.

WHAT IS MORALITY? Is it relevant? Is it absolute? Is it relative? Is it the essence of what makes someone a "good" person, or is it merely an attempt to codify compassion? Does it actually relate to compassion directly? Now accepting submissions on all of these questions!

Ooh... and if anyone really thinks that women are inferior to men, I think your opinion is the intellectual and moral equivalent of horseshit.

I'm a bundle of contradictions. Love to my faithful readers, if you happen to exist... sound off! Inquiring minds want to know.

Normal

No matter what font I choose, this font happens.

I'm reading a book called Normal, by Amy Bloom, whose name is inexplicably familiar to me, though I am not certain I have read anything else by her. It's about Female-To-Male transsexuals, heterosexual male crossdressers, and finally, the intersexed, commonly known as hermaphrodites.

Endless fascination. I could do about a hundred riffs on the subject(s), but I'll try to limit myself to some hopefully cogent thoughts, as the endless toil of phone answering again beckons. I'm also still pondering a talk I went to with Rachel last night about GLBT issues and religion.

I think perhaps a good entry point, therefore, would be the conversation I had with Randi, a Male-To-Female transsexual where I work. It wasn't really even a conversation. The box office was crowded and loud, and people were sort of going back and forth shouting things, as happens occassionally. Randi was across from me at Albert's (the treasurer, my de facto boss, and another story) chair, and one of the noisy men I have trouble keeping straight was saying some noisy thing with a lot of swearing in it. And Randi, a very slim, tall, well-but-a-little-tartily dressed African American woman (ok, tartily is not quite right. I say tartily because she's thinner than I am, and there's something about her sexuality that is sharp and metallic and therefore threatening, therefore to be distrusted), Randi looks up and says something to the effect of "Don't use that language, there are Christians in here, myself among them."

Without thinking about it, I look up, and catch Randi's eyes, and smile. I know the kind of smile it is, it's a sly one, a little grin, a you-and-me-are-in-this-joke-together smile. I get good results from that smile. People like to be together, and people like to be together at the exclusion of those who are not in the together at the moment. Jokes are the best for this. Jokes, between friends, are like a clannish sort of love. I like this smile, too. I feel worldly-wise and smart when I wear it, fun, my insecurities just a jacket that this keen minded, sharp, sparkling eyed person wears from time to time. Randi, however, does not appear to like this smile.

"Why're you laughing?" she says, smiling back in an uneasy way I am not used to from her; she always seems so confident. "I am a Christian." She's laughing too, but something in our exchange has gone wrong. "Don't laugh at me, you'll hurt my feelings."

"I know," I say, or "I believe you," or something, backpedeling as fast as I can. I know there is still a sly bubble of laughter in my voice, as much protection as her smile, I now see, may be. She looks suddenly vulnerable, her eyes want my approval, but don't want to ask for it. Oh no, I think, I've done something wrong. I, who wrote my whole thesis on religion and gender-crossing, do not even have the necessary skills to have a normal social exchange with the only real gender-crosser I know. What, exactly, I wonder, is the joke? What did I assume Randi and I were sharing, that we clearly were not?

First of all, I should admit that from the beginning, Randi made me nervous. There is really nothing masculine about her, in any overt sense. Yet, before I knew her history, every time she came into the office, something inside me said, man, or at least, not a woman like you. I thought I was being ridiculous and crazy. So her voice was a little deep, this was clearly unwarranted. But I couldn't relax. I was on tinterhooks every time she was in my presence. Of course, this could partially be explained by her outspoken, politically incorrect, and, in my ever-so-careful, academically-trained mind, often incoherent opinions on everything from race to sex to the war in Iraq. (She voted, if anyone is interested, for Bush, and she indicated this by gesturing to her hard-won genitalia.) However, whether or not this was a factor in my discomfort, I have to say that I felt a good deal of relief when it was finally stated clearly that she is a transsexual. I also felt clever, and intuitive, and generally grand about my own perception, especially when I just learned that Heather, a co-worker who I think is generally on top of things, did not know she was a transsexual at all.

All right, so, my always very limited relations with post-revelation Randi were, in my mind, a bit more comfortable than those with pre-revelation Randi, and gave me fodder with which to ponder (Do you ponder with fodder? Well.) all sorts of questions of femininity, hers and mine, and where they intersected and did not intersect. Apparently to the point where I had invented, completely unconsciously, a secret understanding we could inhabit together.

I'm worried about this, though not in a terrible way. After all, I doubt that Randi has given this moment a second thought. Just yesterday she made a comment to tall young Michael (explanations later) about how nice it was to have a "real man" in the office, that women "got nervous" without one and "these two foo-foos," (meaning, I assume, Albert and short older Michael) did not count. So, while I would still hate to be offensive to her, I assume that political correctness is not high on her list of priorities.

But I want to know. What was the joke? Is it (and should I be ashamed of this, if it is so?) that she is a sexual deviant, socially speaking, and therefore occupies a transgressive space in religion. I, on the other hand, am not a sexual deviant, or not in any obvious way, and not in any obvious way a deviant at all. The church has been happy to have me. Nonetheless, I am a mental deviant, and in some ways a spiritual deviant, from some of the doctrines of the church. So, somehow, her public and visible transgression enrolled her in a transgressive Christian club, we might say, which I myself am enrolled in, though without my consent, no one need ever know. And that was the joke, which somehow she was supposed to get? I think maybe I expected her to get it because her incongruity with mainstream Christianity is so obvious, and that... well, I'm not pleased about that. I would like to not make such assumptions, even if my society does (as though that is a breezy sort of task.)

I think it's something like that. That her difference is so public, and so others (namely me) can project a shared differentness, or use her as a place to locate difference.

I'm not sure this is readable, but I do think the ideas are interesting, so ask me if you don't get it and I'll try again.

Time to post this, since it is several days after I began.

With a Little More Substance

I suppose it's time to make a real post to this journal that as of yet no one really knows exists. Nonetheless, I feel some amorphous obligation to say something beyond how much time it took to set up this blog. I'm mostly sort of curious as to why I have actually decided to set one up, or... what kind of space this will turn out to be. Like, will I be seduced into laying bare all sorts of dark and hidden secrets, because of the illusion of privacy laid over a very public forum? Or is it the very fact that it is not private but not... with any direct, specifically intended recipient that makes it appealing? I think that may be the case. I can be more forthright than I actually would be to a specific face... or, even if not more forthright, at least more.... long winded! And yet it isn't just me, there's at least a charming possibility of communion.

*chuckles* Which brings us straight back to my web address name, doesn't it? Transubstantiated chicken... named in honor of the fact that as a child I assumed that if I simply knew the words the priest said over the host at Mass, I too would be able to transubstantiate any food into the Body of Christ. I was quite captivated by the idea of presiding over entire dinners all made of the Real Presence, perhaps keeping this a secret from the other guests.

So that's a good place to end the beginning, I think. Welcome to my charming possibility. Tell me what you find, what you think. I can be the amorphous partner for you also. :)