Thursday, September 29, 2005
When she dropped him off at pre-school today, the teacher asked to speak with her for a moment.
The teacher said "Now, I realize that during story time, not every kid is going to be thrilled with the story...but yesterday during story time, Joey got up and went over to the window without saying anything to anyone. I became concerned, because he was just standing there looking out of the window."
She continued: "So I put the book down and walked over to where he was, and asked him if everything was "ok". He wouldn't respond, he just stood there silent looking at me. Then, when I asked him again...he said...
'I don't speak English'. And I know he speaks English. So why did he tell me he can't speak it in English? Do you speak Spanish at home?"
MOJ attempted to stifle a laugh when the teacher told her this. Apparently, Joey's Grandma speaks Spanish, but his normal "native" language is English.
MOJ leaned down to Joey and said "Did you tell the teacher you can't speak English?" Joey rolled his eyes and sighed. MOJ said "Why?"
Joey said "Sheesh Mommy, I was just bored, ok?"
And, I just remembered a story MOJ told me in the last week or two:
MOJ packs a lunch for Joey to take to school with him. On this particular day, Joey's Aunt did it because MOJ was working and couldn't do it.
When Joey came home from school, he said: "Mommy, we have to talk." MOJ said "Ok hon, what's the problem?" Joey put his index finger up to his eyeball, and said "Now PAY ATTENTION! When I went to open my lunch today [MOJ says he was acting out opening an invisible lunch box with his hands while he was telling her this], I open it up and inside was a HOT POTIT! YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE HOT POTITS!" [Hot Potit = Hot Pocket].
How do you people raise kids without bursting out into hysterical laughter when they do this kind of thing?
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
In honor of that, I'm going to share a recent bit of, eh...I guess one could call it advice, I received from my mom's nutso neighbor, Janine.
Janine asked me what C and I would like as a wedding gift. Being totally uncomfortable with this, I just said "Really, nothing. We've got everything we need. But thank you so much for offering."
With this, Janine proceeded to tell me about her own marriage, years ago. Her husband George had gone over seas. He was in the military. While he was over there, he bought and sent back to her a mini bar.
Years later, they got a divorce. According to Janine, George would call her regularly after the divorce and ask for the mini bar back. She told him "No, you got that for ME. It was a present TO ME, I'm keeping it."
So as the years pass, apparently this mini bar becomes her trump card, and she begins to find such glee in the fact that she is in possession of it. And he wants it. But he can't have it.
Janine is probably in her 80s these days. Eventually George passes away. Janine immediately had him cremated, because "he'd have hated that."
But it gets better.
She took his ashes, put them in a cardboard box, and stored them IN THE MINI BAR. She said "Well, he always wanted the damn thing, now he has it."
She wrapped up this little story by telling me that she'd show me the ashes in the mini bar, but her daughter took them and put them "in a nice container, with the grandparents. I told her though, don't put my ashes in there when I'm gone, because your dad will rise to the top and screw me."
I swear to you, only the names have been changed. The rest is absolutely what she said.
Very pretty, No?
*No thanks to me, of course. People should know that C worked really hard on them, and I'm just so happy with the way they came out. Also, I'm super happy because now that he put them in the mail, I can say later in our married life when I've pushed an eye rolling moment a little to far.... "yes but remember, YOU mailed the invitations, I didn't touch them. That means you can't escape. It does! I saw it on Westlaw just a week ago. It was a case reaffirming the "you are totally screwed" issue some guy in your EXACT situation tried to appeal. Something about "let the invitation mailer beware". I love law.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Our office loo is double doored. This is a term I just made up, of course. It means that you go through the first door, and then into a second door to get to the actual place of looness.
So when entering or exiting the double doors, you will notice that there is a square of carpet between the two doors.
Apparently, this square of carpet came from an old, Indian paper towel cemetery. The reason I say this is that every day, the spirits of dead paper towels materialize there in groups of 3 or more. These are some damn angry spirit towels, I'm telling you. Why else would they continue to show up on the 14th floor of some office building? They are, in fact, more regular in attendance than some of my co-workers. Angry indeed.
What is wrong with people? Even if there was any reason to use a paper towel hand condom on the door handles, WHY do they have to be discarded on the floor? Is it too much to ask that you take it to a trash can? It's as if they expect people to believe that "ooops!! I accidentally dropped it on my way out and shoot I just didn't realize it!"
And you can't tell me that touching the copier, office refrigerator, elevator buttons, computer keyboards or telephone receivers in this place is any less germy than the bathroom door handles. Because I've seen what happens to people who use certain phones around here.
I'm not saying it's bad to take a precaution or two, but don't leave your used precaution in the space I'm forced to share with you. Let's face it. I can avoid a disgusting kitchen, but I can't easily avoid the place my morning coffee wants to go about 10:00 a.m. every day. Not without causing a few more serious germs to be spread, anyway.
Either take your paper towel to the nearest trash can, like the civilized person you want us to believe you are, or stay home and walk through your own used paper products. Get yourself a bubble. I hope it comes with a wheel and slot for your food pellets.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Which is why when "Garden State" came out with the deadly combination of Zach Braff and Natalie Portman, there was no dobut that Zoom and C were going to see it. C for the Natalie, me for the "Scrubs" connection, no matter how remote or irrelevant.
Loved the movie. I really did. But here's the thing that makes me want to kick Zach Braff in the male coolie if I ever, somehow, found myself face to face with him.
The soundtrack. It's a great soundtrack, and that is exactly the problem. It has been on constant rotation at the house of Zoom and C so much, that I'm ready for Operation Make It Stop. That is, to sneakily corrupt all of the itunes files and burn the physical version of it that resides in our cd holder, in the microwave. Over and over. And not just because I love fire.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
C told me that I need to write them down. Am I really the only person who can see these?
11. Thou shalt not reach for Zoom's food without permission. Thou shalt especially never sneak a french fry or a black olive from her plate/area of food. Zoom doesn't always use a plate, so one must observe the invisible boundaries of Zoom's food.
11. (a) Thou shalt never EVER try to share Zoom's dessert.
12. Thou shalt not read Zoom's magazine(s) before she does. Doing so will cause the contents to evaporate, or so you would think by the hissy fit that follows.
13. Thou shalt not try to watch more than one show on t.v. at a time. Unless, of course, thou hast provided a second t.v. in the household with cable.
14. One sided tickle attacks: Commandment of Engagement - When one begins a tickle attack, thou shalt make the strike and GET OUT. There is no holding in tickling of this nature. Otherwise, screaming will be heard and kicking will be done.
15. Thou shalt never say "That's something your Mom would do/say", unless thou wantest a poke in the eye.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
THIS is why.
When they accidentally give you the high octane stuff, you can blame EVERYTHING on the fact that you are innocently, I might add, drunk on warm caffeine goodness.
When I got in the car with C this morning, I suspected my coffee was fun in a cup with a cardboard coozie - just not the kind of fun C would purposely sign up for on a Tuesday. It was flavored, and my coffee place never has anything but tame, plain decaf. I gave it a sniff and said "oooh ooh, I think this is regular." And five seconds later I was pouring it down my throat while making excuses like "we are already late, might as well get to the office. No time to go get a decaf now."
Here are just a few of the superpowers my caffeine cape gives me:
1. The ability to hard transistion mid conversation from one obscure topic to the next - at 10 times the speed I normally do this. Thing is, I'm also talking in made up words and mispronounciations at 10 times my normal speed as well.
which usually leads to...
2. Super Pouting! I can go from laughing to lower lip protrusion in a matter of seconds.
3. I can and will reach a Danger Hungry state about an hour before C and I can actually go to lunch. This is especially fun for him because I run into his office and try to convince him to "Please let's go NOWWWWW I'm hungry, no I don't want the pretzles you thoughtfully brought for meeeee". Pout.
4. Sooper Logic. When C and I came back from lunch today, there was a HUGE spider swinging from the ceiling of the parking structure. Of course I got my camera out and started to try and take pictures. But I didn't want to get too close to it. And the thing is, why did I want/need pictures of the biggest, ugliest, scariest spider I've seen since the one that tried to cross a river to get me about a month ago? THERE WAS NO REASON. My brain just said "Oh, something horribly wrong? Take pictures!"
AND, when we got to the lower level where our office entrance is, I said "HEY, how come the ceiling on this floor is painted? I bet it's spider resistent paint. They don't care about us who park up there on the other floors. Apparently.
This statement actually made C drop his head and say "...it's hard to be me."
And I laughed, and then super pouted all the way back up to the office.
Monday, September 19, 2005
The super cool double rainbow was, of course, on HIS side. And, I'm a teeny bit possessive of my camera. Every time he tries to "borrow" it, I pout. Big time pout. I can't help it. I love that camera. And I've never had any real "thing" of my own that is just mine. Very selfish and immature, but well...what can I say.
So on my side of the car is the weak rainbow:
Which you can barely see here....and on his side is the super cool one:
I got a little bendy being selfish and refusing to give him my camera in order to get this.
After we got home, we decided that we had to go to the grocery store. We were out of a lot of stuff, like food. Our cabinets contained a package of novelty pop corn and some Oreos. Not exactly things one can make a meal out of while sober. Or even drunk.
When we got to the store C noticed how cool the sky looked with all of the rain clouds. I ran with the camera all over the parking lot while he found himself a bench to sit on.
When we came out of the store, it was raining. Not only raining, but full thunder and lightening. It's just so dang rare to have that happen in September, AND not at 3 a.m.
C and I love weather. We stood out there in the rain yelling "DO IT AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN!" at the lightening.
When we got home I tried the consective shoot thigie on the camera and got a bit of a bolt:
And I'd like to point out *cough*OTTER*cough* that this picture would have been SOOOO MUCH BETTER if that damn poodle palm tree wasn't in my way.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
As you may have already heard, the movie focuses on the trial part of the story. This allowed me to emerge from my scary movie gear and relax at times instead of being wound up for the entire 2 hours. I'm not going to discuss it in detail here other than to say that I really liked the movie.
When we were buying our tickets, C was trying to figure out why the guy was charging us full price for what we believed to be a matinee. There was a sign posted on the window saying matinees were any show before 5:30 p.m., and we were buying a 4:55 p.m. show. The man behind the window just kept saying "read further down". It turned out that the part about Saturday and Sunday shows was on the bottom - and you basically have to see a movie at 10:00 a.m. on those days. It wasn't that we had to pay full price that annoyed - it was the teeny tiny print at the bottom of the sign that had the weekly prices in huge print on the top, making you THINK you might have a chance at a matinee.
As we walked away from the window, C said "I almost told him "Just TELL me the rules instead of making me read your silly matinee conversion table."
The commericals they play before the movie starts did not have any sound. I went to the customer service desk to tell them and was routed the the oldest living human being working in customer service. He said "SO, you want to make a complaint?" I said "Nooooo, I just want to tell someone so that it is fixed before the movie starts." he said "THAT is a complaint." So I had to say "Ok then. I want to complain that we have no sound in our theater."
With this, he started rolling around back there [his office like chair with wheels] and saying "where's my radio? where is it?....wheeeeerrreee is my RADIO?" He asked me what theater number and I told him "10". Then he literally asked me again. "10" I said, and offered up my ticket stub so he wouldn't forget again. He didn't even want to look at it. He gave up looking for his radio and picked up a telephone. Why he couldn't use that in the first place? So he looks at me and says AGAIN, "What theater number?"
If I have to pay $10 for a ticket, $50 for a soda and watch commercials before the movie starts, WHY CAN'T THEY HIRE COMPETENT PEOPLE TO RUN THE PLACE? Or at least give me a fair chance at a matinee on Saturday and Sunday.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Last time, Jeebus went to Vegas.
This time, my friends went to Vegas and left Jeebus with me to feed Miss X (pal's cat) and water the plants.
Jeebus always has to be in control, so he insisted on being the one to open the door. I tried to tell him there was no way he could reach the lock, but he wouldn't be happy until he got there and experienced it for himself. He created some cover story about a losing contact lense on the welcome matt and that was my chance to get the keys away from him.
Once we got inside, Jeebus ran up onto the couch and shouted "I smell sin here!" I told him to knock it off because nobody cares; it's time for some new material. And actually, sin smells pretty good.
Jeebus was goofing around in the cat condo most of the time. When I yelled at him to knock that off too, he tried to hide.
Miss X's mom left me with her baby plants. Now, a rambunctious Jeebus I can handle - but a plant might die on me and that makes me nervous. I really needed Jeebus to help me out on this one.
Here is Jeebus trying to get Miss X to come out of her closet hiding spot. He's offering up a couple of cat treats, but apparently that isn't enough to bring Miss X into the flock. I think he should have tried some cat nip crackers - but every time I bring that up he squeals "unclean!"
Jeebus even tried the Amazing Technicolor Cat Toy - after all, it seems to have worked for Joseph.
I went to fill Miss X's water and food bowls. When I came back, Jeebus had given up trying to get Miss X to come out of her hidng place. He wore the cranky robe with a poutty rope belt all the way home.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
As I suspected would happen, my steamy contribution piles were bringing the place down. The other writers were far more talented than I could ever be. So I stopped submitting.
And this was before I knew what individual blogging was, or that it could be accessed by anyone. Even though it had been around for years at that point. That's just my way. I don't usually discover anything until it's fit for a history book.
I was going through the back ups C made of my pre C computer and found some of these drivel gems that I wrote. I figured that I'd put them here from time to time, for a giggle.
My eyes open. I know I’m in bed, at home. Something is different though. I don’t know what it is yet..."What time is it?" I wonder. I look to where my clock should be and there are no familiar red numerals. I realize that it’s awful quiet. It is awful dark. "Ah, the power must be out." "What time is it?" I think again.
I pick up the phone by my bed to call the computer voice that tells one the time. The phone is dead. No, I’m not in a predictable horror movie. I’ve forgotten that cordless phones need electricity. "What time is it?"
I am driven now. As if whatever took the power away will be at my mercy when I find out the time. Cell phone, battery operated savior. Ah, but I must find it. On my way through the house to find it, I step on the cat. "Sorry kitty, I just have to know what time it is!"I can’t find my cell phone and I can’t stop asking myself "What time is it?".
This is silly. It’s pretty obvious I don’t have to be at work yet...unless I’ve managed to sleep through an entire day. The whole neighborhood is dark. Quiet. I never realized how many lights and sounds there are 24 hours a day in my little hood. I look to the east. I can actually detect a small patch of black sky turning ever so slightly blueish. Quick calculation tells me that it must be about 6:00 a.m.
Guess what? I still want to know exactly what time it is. After all, it’s not like the sunrise would be close to accurate...or anything. Aha! Found my cell phone. At that moment, the power is restored to my home. I look at the blinking 12 12 12 of my VCR and think "Ooooh, what? What? Mighty electricity provider trying to foil my attempt to find out the time?" "I will not fall for your 12:00 illusion!"
I click on my cell phone. It is 6:12 a.m. I’ve been robbed of 18 minutes of sleep and one hit of the snooze button by the power outage. I reset my clocks. I realize that my fridge and heater are actually pretty loud appliances. I can hear the man-made electric powered stream that runs through my complex kick back on. Well, at least I know what time it is.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Maybe it's just MY Mom. And if so...can someone explain why my Mom - who is scared of my driving in the first place - positions herself so that her forehead is literally a half an inch away from the windshield? And really, I don't blame her for being nervous. I know I drive badly. But I can't relax when she's in pre-ejector seat position the entire time I'm trying to drive "properly".
And the back of the seat! She pulls it so far forward that while driving, I have the sensation that 1) An invisible person is trying to load an invisible cargo into the back seat of my truck, and they have pushed the seat forward despite it being occupied by her OR 2) that I should turn off my Mom's airbag because she appears to be in some kind of adult child seat. And I think one is instructed to turn off airbags for child seats in the front passenger seat.
The only other humans I've ever encountered that do this to car seats on purpose are the guys at the car wash. And they don't ever sit in it that way. Just vacuum.
My Mom's cheeks literally flap in the wind of the air conditioner when she speaks she's so close to the dash.
And the seatbelt. She can NEVER find the seatbelt. It is in the same place it has been for the last five years, but each and every time after adjusting the seat - she makes a comment about how it's impossible to find the seatbelt. As if I've moved it from it's BUILT INTO THE FRIGGING SEAT location just to mess with her. Well sheesh Mom. If you sat in the seat in a way that allowed your head to turn instead of being lodged between the dash and the headrest, you might be able to turn your head and SEE where the seatbelt is.
And this woman, who can't find a seatbelt inches away from her head insists on calling out the location of all cars within 50 feet of my vehicle. "You've got a red honda on your right, in your blind spot....and a Toyota 4 miles back that will reach your left blind spot in approximately 2.3 minutes."
So far the only benefit I can imagine this position grants her is the ability to spot empty parking places and taunt me with "There's one....OH! there's one....oh, that one you just passed was PERFECT....oh, nevermind....walking is fine with me. I could use it anyway...."
Sunday, September 11, 2005
...the undisputed "poodles" of the tree world. Actually, I believe they are worse than that.
Poodles are unfortunate dogs that have been made to look like they are the source of clown outfits. Waiting to be harvested and dyed wacky colors, and then sold to drunk department store santas who need work in the off season as kid party clowns. Or Halloween costumes.
Palm trees, on the other hand, grow that way. Long skinny trunks with a pouf on the top that does absolutely nothing in the way of providing shade. And all the new development here appears to have nothing but palm trees for landscaping.
I know other trees do quite well in this area. There are tons of them all over the place. Very shady places, I might add. So why do developers continue to utilize the ugly, non-shade providing poodles? Why?
And don't give me that "oh, because they are the native vegitation of the land" crap. Nothing about the land around me is native anymore, save a national park or two - maybe.
And even if you could give me a great reason to use them in landscapes, I'd still hate them. Just because I really hate direct sunlight and being hot, and I look like an idiot in a hat. I've got a child sized head on an adult sized body.
But maybe my dislike of palm trees goes further back - to when I was a kid.
I spent some time growing up on the Marine Base in 29 Palms with my two older brothers. I also spent the first 2 months after we were stationed in 29 Palms wondering why there were more than 29 palm trees - what was wrong with the people counting in this town? This did not help my already deeply rooted confusion of all things mathematic.
My brothers and I used to play in the desert on the base and often came accross live blanks and sometimes live ammunition. They discovered that if they took a fallen palm frond and connected the bullet to the frond with a bb between the bullet and the frond, they could throw the entire thing in the air and cause the ammunition to go off when it hit the ground. They totally MacGyvered a palm frond gun. This scared the hand me down tough skins right off of me, but I was sworn to secrecy. I don't know what scared me more - the bullets flying in random directions or the threats of "If you tell, we will get you." After all, they had just built a gun! I belived them.
People today worry about violence in video games. HAH! Apparently sending your kids outside to play with the plants is far more dangerous.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
The other day I saw an ad for the new poop your pants scary looking movie "Emily Rose" or whatever the exact title is. I won't even look it up on google, because I'm terrified I'll come across the official website for the film and I won't have a chance to do laundry before Saturday.
That movie looks absolutely terrifying, yet I MUST see it. I still can't watch "The Shining" or "The Exorcist" alone, at night. I can barely watch them alone on a bright sunny day. Yet, I insist on watching these things.
When I first saw the previews for "The Grudge" and "White Noise", I literally screamed "Fuck You, scary movie!"... at the movie screen, through my scarf. We were at our local go go plex and I can't remember what movie we had gone to see. Now that I've seen both of those movies, I laugh at my initial reaction. They have their moments, but they aren't the kind of movies that give me the wibblies so bad that I have to sleep with a light on that night.
This "Emily Rose" thing though...seems like it might be. And laugh at me if you must, but "The Ring" did a number on me as well. I wasn't living with C at the time. I lived alone, and I had a t.v. in my bedroom that, until then, I had used to lull me to sleep on restless nights. That night I turned the t.v. around, and it stayed that way for a while.
So yeah, that whole couch jawa thing up there is how I watch a scary movie. Head and face MUST be covered, preferably only glasses are exposed. Sometimes nose coverage causes my glasses to fog up, so adjustments have to be made periodically. If available, extra clothing is used to cover the legs, which are generally drawn up and hugged close to the body.
And if you think this scary movie armor is only worn at home, think again. I take a hoodie and a scarf with me to scary movies in the movie theater.
A friend of C's does NOT like scary movies. We will call him Joe. So Joe's wife convinces him to go see a movie, and at the time it was "The Ring." Joe was all kinds of unhappy. But he made a funny. Because when the commentary went around that the Japanese version was "much more scary" than the American one, he said: "Why? How? What, do you actually DIE after watching that one?"
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
As luck would have it, I needed a visual for this entry anyway.
I'm in the office loo this morning, and it is unusually crowded. There's no delicate, lady like way to explain happenings in the loo, so I'm just going to get on with it.
I'm getting myself a butt gasket and making the necessary adjustments, when I notice my neighbor's foot positioned perfectly so that the tattoo she has on her foot is looking RIGHT AT ME from the next stall over. I've never even been able to see the feet of neighbors in the loo before.
And when I say her foot was looking at me, I mean LOOKING. It's the image here, an Egyptian eye thingie. She has it on the top part near her pinkie toe. Her shoes make it so that the eye is perfectly free to freak me out.
I can barely pee when other people are in the bathroom with me, let alone pee when someone's foot eye is looking right at me!
Back in the 80s my parents got cable for the first time. They had some movie channel, and it ran "Beastmaster" about 4,562 times in one month. And then it did that again for the next 3 consecutive years.
There's an evil ring in the movie with an eyeball or something...it can see stuff. It was as if I was transported back in time to sitting in front of the family t.v., and I was watching the Egyptian version of the Beastmaster...only it was set in my office loo, I was IN the movie, the ring was now a tattoo, and I REALLY needed to pee after a large cup of coffee. I became the Peemaster, and I was doing a really lousy job of it.
I don't need eyes, evil or otherwise in the loo with me - ever. Even my own eyes would blind themselves if they could.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Friday night C and I went out with Skillit and her man. We were at one of our favorite Chinese restaruants.
When these little sauce dishes came out, Skillit turns to me and with the most serious look in her eyes said: "My sauce has a little mustard poo in it."
C immediately said "I like to call it MusTurd, myself."
And we laughed. And laughed. And of course I had to take a picture because I knew I wanted to put this conversation on the blog.
Our waitress became the circus leader. She began to tell us about how she and her friend were headed to "Pimp and Ho" in Vegas this weekend, and how she really didn't care about what we were saying to her [we were asking her for boxes for our leftovers at this point], because she was already checked out.
How her friend had a staff like object for "Pimp and Ho" with a giant orb on the top. But the staff had melted in the car, in the heat. So our waitress took it to Home Depot for repair. She explained that her cover story was that the item was "for a play". And how that story worked, unti another employee came over and flat out asked her "Pimp and Ho?"
And we laughed and laughed some more. We left her by saying "Take some pictures, we'd love to see how things turned out." As if we were going to come back next week and she would sit down with us and share?
I hope we do. Because that would be the weirdest talking to strangers story I've ever had. With pictures.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Today's post is simply a little idea that came to me while my mind was chewing on all of the media and blog coverage of Katrina. And that's all it is.
I've heard many comments that compare Katrina to the Tsunami of recent and Iraq. "If we can offer aid to them, why can't we do that here, on our own land?"
Isn't it possible that we, being the the people of the all powerful USA, have been led to believe that the government can do more than is actually possible? If the government has much control over the images and stories we receive from places like Iraq - and we've been shown things that lead us to believe we can seriously kick ass not only against other leaders, but Mother Nature herself - Isn't it possible that we've fallen for the airbrushed, magazine friendly model of the USA? And that while they are doing what they can, they can't make it look as good as easily when it's in our own back yard?
I'd like to credit Otter, the one I call the Managerial Otter of Scaggsville as being the catalyst for my thought.
And just like my political commentary skills, my fancy linking skills are non-existent.
Otter found the blog of an embedded reporter in Iraq and became one of this guy's biggest fans.
This has been banging around in my head like a pop up ad from the internet that won't go away.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
I DONE GOT TAGGED!
Top five things for the Friday afternoon drive home:
1. You and Your Friend - Snake River Conspiracy
2. Man Without Skin - Boy Hits Car
3. Common People - Shatner and I think Ben Folds
4. I want to Break Free - Queen
5. Just about any song by - Lords of Acid
Bonus: Old Motley Crue and Kiss. Crap lyrics, damn catchy tunes.
But quite honestly, this list would change in one or two days. This is simply what I'd throw in if you asked me RIGHT NOW.