Let Freedom Ring, Already!

Five years ago on the weekend just preceding Martin Luther King, Jr. Day I was at a motel. That is not an especially extraordinary fact in and of itself, but this was no ordinary motel. That weekend I was in Memphis, Tennessee for a work-related convention. As I had arrived some hours before the first event, I took time to make a very special trek to a very special place. Memphis is known for many things: the city hosts Blues heaven, Beale Street; Graceland, the final home of Elvis; a downtown tram, where you can ride the entire line for a buck; the city, where in April 1968, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. came to announce the Southern Baptist Convention’s financial backing for a strike by African-American sanitation workers. It was on the upstairs balcony on this motel, where Dr. King was fatally shot just outside his room. This was of course, the Lorraine Motel.

The Lorraine Motel is the site of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. The wreath marks where Dr. King was standing when he was struck by a bullet April 4, 1968. A flower wreath has hung there continuously since that day, replaced each week.

Today the Lorraine is the face of the the National Civil Rights Museum. It was here I had come to try to make sense of a time and a movement which had sadly been absent from my schooling. Being a Friday afternoon there were not many people there, so it was easy to take my time and linger, ponder and wonder while listening to the guided tour on headphones.

The museum is a must-see, must-hear, must-experience for anyone passing through Memphis. –Graceland is fine, I suppose.– The self-guided tour takes you through the Civil Rights movement from the 17th Century to the present day. The culmination of the tour is a look, through glass, at Room 306, where Dr. King spent his last night and his last moments before stepping out on the balcony just outside. Much like other sites of historic significance, the room has been left as it was on that fateful day. The bed is unmade, cigarette butts adorn an ashtray.

Closeup of the sign in front of the Lorraine.

I can not fathom the level of courage it took for people to march through hostile streets for basic human rights, knowing that at any time they could be beaten, or worse. If the Arab Spring movement which began a year ago this week has any similarities with the American Civil Rights movement, it is this: when the People are willing to buck the government and act on behalf of their countrymen and women; when they are willing to stare down the gun-barrels of oppression knowing that this could be their last day on Earth; when they dream of a better time for everyone, they embody the simple aim for jobs, peace and freedom for which people of color have have fought for centuries.

As a white guy in Vermont it is impossible to put myself in the shoes of the people who lived (and still live today) the Civil Rights fight. The color of my skin grants me certain rights that I am privileged not to have to think about. I can go into any grocery store and walk about the aisles without being followed by store employees. I can drive around without attracting undue attention. I can go about my life relatively unencumbered by negative stereotypes about white people. I have had the advantage of an education where my intelligence was never questioned. And today in 2012 there are people in my community for whom these are not a given. I look into the eyes of my African-American son and wonder what struggles he will have as he wends his way through life. I know that he will have experiences at a young age that I have never had to endure and it troubles me that I will not be able to stop them from happening.

That weekend was the National Conference for Media Reform. At the time I was employed at a Public Access station, so it was my task to go there to ‘be invigorated’ as I like to put it. That weekend thousands of media enthusiasts heard from Rev. Jessie Jackson, Bill Moyers, Sen. Bernie Sanders, Amy Goodman, Ariana Huffington, Benjamin Hooks and many more. Some months later, while watching an interview with Rev. Jackson tearfully recounting the assassination of his friend, I was struck by the significance of seeing Jackson in Memphis, about one mile from the spot where his life was changed forever 39 years prior. In the interview, Jessie Jackson talked about being with Martin Luther King on that balcony.

On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day the following Monday morning, I walked through dreary rain from my hotel (the one where I DID stay) down the few blocks to the Motel to take some pictures. They weren’t very good, so the ones seen here are from Wikipedia. This time there was a completely different sight from the Friday before: multiple bus loads of school-children descending on the museum for their walk through history. I would have liked to eavesdrop on their conversations as they went through the timeline; alas not this time.

So my take is this: should you find yourself in Memphis, you’re sure to get the Blues in the Beale Street District. Croon you favorite Elvis song at Graceland, but don’t skip the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel. They’ll leave a light on fer ya.

A Tisket, a Tasket

Today my wife Colleen brought home these beautiful Vietnamese handmade nesting baskets from her day out at the Sheep & Wool Festival in Tunbridge. The baskets have their own story to tell, which I will come to shortly, but first: another basket “case”.

In disclosure, my mother will not be reading this, so there is no worry that I’m about to spill the beans. We already have a set of these same baskets which Colleen purchased 15 years ago and which we use daily. Colleen remembered when she saw them that my mom had expressed interest in our baskets, so she bought them.

I know that my mom loves baskets. She sometimes goes to great lengths to obtain them. Back in the mid-eighties, Michael Jackson played what must have been a sold-out concert in Montreal. The hotel in which he stayed donated the unwashed pillow cases Michael had used to the Vermont Public Television auction that year. They were displayed on the TV auction in…wait for it…a basket! Those pillowcases had tell-tale makeup stains on them, and this I know because my mom bid on the item and won! As one may surmise, she was not so interested in the pillowcases; rather the basket.

At the time Mom was living part-time in Pittsfield, MA (where the auction had not been seen) and while there, she advertised in the local paper that she had Michael’s pillowcases for sale. Not surprisingly, the ad piqued the interest of the paper’s editor, hence an article with pictures. The end result? Two very happy little girls! And Mom had her basket.

Now – back to the nesting baskets. I noted the “Made in Vietnam” sticker on the bottom, and wondered about the sweatshop the baskets had come from. Colleen must have sensed my thought, so she explained to me that a California-based organization (whose name I do not have at my fingertips) that distributes the baskets is part of a very short chain of economic prosperity that goes back to the village in which the baskets are made. The baskets are picked up fair-trade style by the organization, which uses the money from sales to send promising young Vietnamese locals to college in the USA. The students then return to the local area to teach.

The bambu baskets that are now resting in our house have been lovingly made by hand, then hardened over a smoky fire. They put out a wondrous earthy aroma that you can only smell if you are deliberate about using your nose. From someone’s campfire halfway around the world to my living room. How ’bout that?

Who would have thought that a basket could tell a story? Well, they just told two.

To-may-to, or To-mah-to?

Through my work as a video production manager I have had the impetus this summer to take the video camera to the Capital City Farmer’s Market in downtown Montpelier, which takes place every Saturday from May through October, then twice monthly the rest of the year indoors. This year the “Montpelier Market” received a grant from the Ball Corporation, (the folks whose jars, lids and apparati our grandparents used) to provide four workshops over the summer, demonstrating the use of Ball canning supplies, and how easy it is to can. I was asked to videotape one of the workshops, which would be available to the folks at Ball. It being the right season in many people’s gardens, the Market folks decided that both the time and the tomatoes were ripe for me to tape the canning demo of that selfsame noble and versatile fruit.

Armed with the Panasonic HMC-80 HD camera, a shotgun microphone, a wireless lav, and a sense of levity I showed up for what NECI Chef-Instructor Tom Bivins, one of the people demonstrating, had dubbed “Tomatopalooza.” “Tomatopalooza” became my word for the week, for once the taping fun was done the edit fun began, and by Thursday the following week I had posted the resulting video to YouTube. See video.

First I taped Chef Bivins as he showed how to blanch and peel tomatoes, as well as take out the juicy bits, leaving the “meat” for use in dishes. Then it was Peggy Thompson’s (of Peg’s Pantry) turn. Peggy demonstrated salsa-making and canning right before the lens. She showed some of the gadgets that Ball makes to help in the process. When the mixture was cooked enough she spooned it into sterilized jars and placed them in the hot water bath.

What was really fun about this shoot was talking to the vendors and customers who make the Market so special. I asked them about their wares, what they like about the Market, and that “question of great import to national security” (which made them expect the worst) “Do you say ‘to-MAY-to’ or ‘to-MAH-to’”? Then a big smile and some very insightful answers. The verdict? Nobody I spoke to that day answered with ‘to-MAH-to’ except for one woman who faked a British accent just for the question. I guess Vermont is just a to-MAY-to sort of place.

A New Leaf

Like the leaves that transform Vermont’s landscape every fall, this week Vermont’s Statehouse will be transformed from a museum to the center of state government. Vermonters have turned over a few new leaves: we will not only have a new legislature, Governor, Lt. Governor and just about every other statewide officeholder, but I will be at the Statehouse nearly every day this legislative session getting to know all of them. I will video record meetings, events, press conferences, etc. so that the people of this state may also get to know them. There will be more information posted at orcamedia.net as programming develops. You will be able to watch some programs via video-on-demand. We will also be streaming some events live on the ORCA website. So check it out when you get a chance!

Traditional Welsh Singing

In March 2010, my wife Colleen and I went to Wales as drivers for my mother, who paid for our trip.  We knew about this little pub from our honeymoon trip two years prior, and wanted to make sure my mom got to experience a real Welsh pub. It was her first time in the UK (there are many’s the Welshman who would deny that Wales is part of anything besides Wales) but there we were.  Mom loved every minute of it.

I shot a little video on my Flip Cam, and it only took until now for me to remember I had shot it and to get it edited and up on YouTube.

The village in which this video takes place is Rowen, in Conwy, about four miles  west of Ty’n y Groes, off the B5106. It is a small quiet village, but you’d never know it on Friday nights. Promptly at 9:00pm the village pub, Ty Gwyn Hotel* becomes Grand Central Station for traditional Welsh singing.  This is something Colleen and I knew about, having been there on a Friday evening during our previous visit.

The three of us had forgone supper expecting to find it there at the pub, but when we got there were told that it was off-season.  Nevertheless, the owners took pity on the three hungry Americans and heated up the fryer so we could get some fresh chips. We were only too glad to reward them by staying for the whole evening and buying drinks (I had to drive, so sadly had to limit myself.) We even joined in on the songs we knew, the English ones of course.  Mom noted that many of the Welsh melodies were ones she knew from the Unitarian-Universalist hymnal, which are for the most part, bastardized Anglican hymns.

Needless to say the camaraderie in the Ty Gwyn Hotel was palpable. We were made to feel very welcome, and people wanted to talk to us. They were all genuinely having a great time, and were as willing to share their small part of the world with us as we were eager to feel at home. I have no way of knowing how many of the people in the packed house were actually from the hamlet of Rowen, but it was plain to us that they all knew each other. Indeed, I recognized some of the same faces from before. At the Ty Gwyn Hotel, no one is truly a stranger.

I don’t think words can give this community its due. Perhaps the video needs to do the talking.

Watch video.

* Not to be confused with a larger establishment of the same name down the road in Betws-y-Coed.

O’Bama is His Name-O

Lately I ‘ve been hearing a lot about people’s claims that President Obama is a Muslim in disguise, despite his protestations to the contrary.  An August 19, 2010 report by the  Pew Research Center concludes that 18% of Americans believe that Pres. Obama is a Muslim. Fox “News,” Tea Party members and right-wingers in general are doing their fair part to ensure that the most gullible of our fellow countrymen and women live in abject fear of an Islamic take-over of the USA, and that unless we get rid of the terrorist in the White House, we are looking down the wrong end of the barrel at the end of a free America.

It is hard to believe that people can be such nincompoops.  Anyone can see that the current POTUS is Irish!

To preface my discussion, it must be known that I have thoroughly researched this subject in a scholarly and erudite manner.  I have delved into that infallibly academic source, Wikipedia; I have scoured Google for true unfiltered images of our president in action; I have even searched videos on that bastion of truth, YouTube. After considering all the evidence I agree with and drawing from my own narrow-minded point of view, I have thus concluded that President “Obama” is Irish.

To clarify one point, “Irish” and “Muslim” are not necessarily mutually exclusive. As in many parts of the world, there are certainly people in Ireland today, native Irish or not, that were either born Muslim, or have reverted, as Muslims like to say, to Islam. Frankly if one sixth of the world population professes Islam, then it follows that there must be at least one or two families of Muslims in the Republic of Ireland.

We arrive now to my point that the President is Irish, by using the same stream of logic that leaves nearly 1 in 5 Americans actually believing that B. H. Obama is a Muslim.

Let’s start with his name:  

• Barack: ‘Barack” sounds a bit like ‘brick’, a tool of the building trade with which the Irish in the 18th and 19th centuries were largely responsible for using to erect many of the great edifices of the American east coast.
• Hussein: The letter ‘s’ when followed by an ‘e’ Irish is pronounced, sh.  (The English spelling doubles the ‘s’ in order to ensure that it is not pronounced like zz, as would be a tendency for American speakers of English.) In Irish, the ‘h’ sound in words is dropped, or aspirated, leaving us with  ‘Ushayn’, which through the natural evolution of language could become any number of words including, for example, O’Shaughnessy.
• Obama: If the Irish-ness of his first and middle names is not obvious to the casual reader, the president’s last name should clinch it. During a March 17, 2010 luncheon with the Irish Republic’s prime minister, Brian Cowen, the president said of his surname,  “I used to put the apostrophe after the “O” but that did not work.” He did not elaborate on why it didn’t work, but I believe it is that, in the Irish language, the character is Ô, and that takes too long to type when you are going for 70 wpm. And if I believe it, then it must be true.

Now we come to O’Bama’s physical features. The picture on the left shows Pres. O’Bama. The picture on the right shows another well-known Irish citizen, Bono. The resemblance of the of the two men to each other is uncanny. (The president’s resemblance to Dilbert will be discussed in a future article.)

Finally, a discussion of O’Bama’s historical connection to the Irish struggle for freedom.  Cornelius “Conn” Colbert was a hero and martyr of the Easter Rising, in which  a 1916 rebellion by Irish republicans was the catalyst of a struggle which eventually led to the creation of the Republic of Ireland. “Colbert” is also the surname of the American TV host,  Stephen Colbert, although the latter uses the French pronunciation of “Coal-BARE.” Nevertheless, the two names are spelled the same. (Stay with me here; this is going somewhere.) On October 30, 2008 Stephen Colbert publicly endorsed Barack O’Bama on The Daily Show.

Therefore, Brick O’Shaughnessy O’Bama is unmistakably and doubtlessly Irish.

Daddy’s learning…

People close to me know that Colleen and I are working to adopt a baby, and that every time the phone rings it could be “the call.” In an effort to be a better dad (I have not taken care of too many babies in my life) I have been dutifully researching my role. I have found this handy instruction poster that can be put up in Baby’s room, or to ensure that Daddy will see it more frequently, in the “workshop” or near the pool table. It is plain and simple with not too many words so that every Dad-To-Be has a fair shot at understanding it.

American Radicals Read the Quran, in Public no Less

Gotta love Free Speech! It allows anyone to come off as dumb as they want, and no one can throw them in jail to protect them from their own stupidity.

In our local rag, the Times-Argus, there was an article this past Monday about the Universalist Church of Barre, VT holding a public reading by several area ministers of sections of the Quran.

As could be expected there have been a broad spectrum of community viewpoints on this subject expressed in the comments section of the article. The way I see it, there are those that observe the entire forest, and those who look at the bark on one tree, and have decided that the entire forest needs to be cut down.

My first post, in response to the vitriol that had been published by the first few yahoos, er..excuse me… fellow citizens of the U.S., was this:

“I proudly stand with my Muslim, Catholic, Apostolic, Methodist, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, Evangelic, Baptist, Anabaptist, Orthodox, Atheistic, Polytheistic, Unitarian-Universalist and all brothers and sisters of the world. And I give my full name below.”
– Posted by Kenric Kite on Sun, Sep 12, 2010, 12:24 pm EST

A short time later I checked back and saw this comment from one of the “frequent flyers” who never seems to have anything good to say about anybody or anything when commenting on articles. I hope and pray this person does not hold public office: (Any similarity to Sarah Palin is purely coincidental, I’m sure.)

“If I am wrong why are there no more Twin Towers and a woman beheaded in Western NY, all at the alleged behest of the GREAT Allah and his shziophrenic (sic) prophet Mo-Mummer-Head.
Those that “embrace” Islam have no knowledge of its practices and its core beliefs.”
– Posted by Mindcat None on Sun, Sep 12, 2010, 1:33 pm EST

I responded thusly:

“Those who think Islam is nothing but beheadings and bombings have no knowledge of its core practices and beliefs. Such acts of violence are performed for political and economic reasons by people who claim religion as the basis for their actions, an excuse that has been the basis for wars since time began because religious passion trumps nationalism when you want to raise the rabble. How about Ireland’s “Troubles”?

“Take the time to look up the Five Pillars: profession of faith, prayers, fasting (during Ramadan), alms-giving, and pilgrimage to Mecca.

1. In most religions you have to profess the faith, i.e. “accept Jesus into your heart.”

2. Prayer is at the heart of most religions.

3. Jews and Catholics (and many others) observe periods of fasting as a means of cleansing the body and soul and reminding them of their sacred connection to the Almighty.

4. Giving to those less fortunate than yourself. How many of us do that?

5. Pilgrimage to Mecca (for those who are financially and physically able.) Can be roughly compared to celebrating the Mass with His Holiness the Pope or praying at the ‘Wailing Wall’ in Jerusalem.

The radicals that felled the Twin Towers were no more “Muslim” than the fanatics that caused the Holocaust were “Christian.”
– Posted by Kenric Kite on Mon, Sep 13, 2010, 8:00 am EST

Two days later another yahoo calling himself Olde Man posted this gem of insight:

“Iran, iraq, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Sudan, Pakistan, Syria, etc. Not exactly peaceful places. Every time there is a terrorist attack by Muslim extremists we hear very little from Muslim leaders condemning the violence.”
– Posted by Olde Man on Tue, Sep 14, 2010, 9:25 pm ES

My response to this comment:

“Olde Man, you are absolutely right on your last point – we never hear about Middle Eastern leaders condemning acts of extremist violence. That’s because American media are in cahoots with the government in censoring those voices from being heard. Don’t even imaging Fox covering it!

“Try reading Middle Eastern or European-based news sites or google searching for “xxx leader condemns”

“As for your prior comment, “the church that does not believe in God…” If the Universalist Church in Barre does not believe in God, why do they have a large image of the His Son at the front of their Sanctuary? And why would they be reading from a book that is all about God, who is known by many names, Jehovah, Allah, etc.?”
– Posted by Kenric Kite on Wed, Sep 15, 2010, 10:24 am EST

My main observation about all of this (beyond the obvious difference of opinion on the merits of various world religions) is that those who espouse the viewpoint that the desecration of a holy book is justified, also lack the balls to use their real names; whereas those who provide the voice of reason stand by their words in name as well.

I am proud that a majority of American religious leaders of all faiths have come together in this issue to find common purpose.

Burning the Quran in Gainesville is an Act of Evil

It would be great for the media to voluntarily embargo coverage of the event and instead cover the other churches’ counter events. Ya, right….

Of all the acts of violence against people ‘not in the Lord’s sight’ (smiting) propagated in the Bible, there are none that espouse the burning of sacred texts. The Quran contains a sura on the miraculous birth of Jesus, and treats him with respect. We can look back at the Crusades, the Holocaust, the Empires of Europe as well as U.S. history in regards to “manifest destiny” to get a sense of the violence that has already been committed with the backing –overt or not– of religious leaders of all kinds. Columbus sailed westward in 1492 with the financial backing of both Queen Isabella and the Pope, and subsequently laid waste to the natives because they would not be converted and convinced to give up their gold. Christians can be implicated just as much as anyone else.

Lest anyone of you too afraid to use your real names (previous posts excepted) think I am unpatriotic or irreligious for even thinking of including Christians in the circle of blame, let me say that my own ancestors, who stepped off the Mayflower to establish a “free religious” society (freedom from the Crown, that is) gave no thought to the religious beliefs of the people they encountered. Yes, my folks are also implicit. I am religious and patriotic and make use of those facets of my life in very positive ways, such as volunteering in my community.

Our military have worked very hard to get this far in Afghanistan and Iraq, and all it takes is one burned Quran on TV for that bigoted git in Florida to kick us back to September 10, 2001

…and the score is lions 3, Christians zero.

I live in a pretty cool city that in turn is in a pretty cool state. This morning Montpelier showed what it is made of. Our youth turned out in droves to counter-protest the protest visit to our fair city by members of the Westboro Baptist Church (I am purposefully not linking this post to their site but you can read about them on Wikipedia if you want.) We older adults were definitely outnumbered at least 4-1 by the under-20 set. The five WBC members, including one child of about seven, stood with their hate-filled posters.

Today, September 1, 2009 is the first day in which couples of the same sex can marry, (really marry, not just make vows and say they’re married) with a license and all the rights and privileges that go along with marriage, in Vermont. See my earlier post.

On getting ready to leave the house this morning, I could not help the unnerving feeling that I was going to witness something very disturbing. While Colleen was making final preparations for a trip out of state, I ate breakfast in silence pondering the morning ahead.

After parking the car downtown, rough handwritten poster in hand, I walked through the crisp morning air to the Statehouse lawn. I knew that at that very moment, WBC was protesting at the high school as students entered for class. I knew that there was also a student counter-protest. Approaching the statehouse lawn I was pleased to find a small number of Vermonters, mostly student-age already there. Some of them were even having a bake sale! My nervous energy immediately dissipated and I struck up a conversation with a friend. From that point forward I knew it was going to be a good day.

Waiting for the WBC members to come down the street I began thinking back 26 years across the span of my life to the time I marched with Coretta Scott King and a quarter-million others to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of her husband’s ‘I Have a Dream’ March on Washington, which had been a seminal point in the American Civil Rights movement in 1963. It was August 27, 1983 and I was not yet 20 years old. I was trying to remember when I had last stood in such a position, facing something discomforting to hold up a sign. I think I have not done this as much as I should.

The five WBC members, including Shirley Phelps-Roper, a daughter of WBC founder Fred Phelps came up the street toward the Statehouse, they were accompanied by the police and a handful of counter-protesting locals. Many more locals also approached from the other side. The group at the Statehouse now numbered about 150, plus the mayor, police and various other city officials. Television, radio and print media also swarmed in. As I silently held up my sign, indicating that ‘every minute WBC (spent) in Montpelier, hundreds of dollars (were) going to support gay/lesbian advocacy,’ I was approached by a reporter from Vermont Public Radio and two others who asked for my name. One I know to be a reporter; the other I have not seen before. (She could have been from the church for all I know.)

In all the people there, I thought the whole thing went pretty peacefully, which makes me super proud of my fellow residents. The only incident was that one woman threw the contents of her car’s ashtray at two of the WBC members as they were standing on the statehouse lawn. This act disgusted me, not only for the aspect of littering, but for its intent to incite. I watched as a police officer followed the woman as she walked away, and I hope she got a ticket for littering.

After about 20 minutes, the WBC members, on cue, packed up and proceeded to walk along the sidewalk toward City Hall. A series of multi-colored hearts had been chalked in the sidewalk. They each had cell phones, were talking to who knows and looked well-organized. They have picketing down to a science and know exactly what their rights are, as well we all should.

At Montpelier City Hall the protest and counter-protest continued but this time it seemed a little more frenzied. The entire local group was smaller, as some people had to get to class or work. Shirley Phelps-Roper was being engaged in ‘discussion’ with various locals, all of which focused on the vitriol which she was barfing from her mouth. I attempted to ask her the one question that had been on my mind, as stated above, “Does that little boy understand the concept behind the words on his sweatshirt?” … “Do you talk about sodomy in front of kids at church?” She only answered with questions and was to able not to say simply, yes or no. It does make me sad to think about the ideas that kids at WBC might be exposed to, before they are mature enough to even fully understand how babies are made.

After about 20 minutes the three remaining WBC adults and the boy put down their signs and demanded to be use the sidewalk to get to the street. Everyone cleared a path for them, watched as they crossed the street and waited for the van being driven by the fourth adult. As they got in, many locals yelled “bye,” and “thanks for coming to Montpelier!”

Therein lies the the crux of the importance of WBC’s visit here. It served to bring people together to support a cause. Moreover, at last count 700 people have donated $20 each to support Gay & Lesbian Advocates and Defenders, a New England- based advocacy organization, during their protest at the high school. That was $1 per person per minute. I took a little step further and donated $40 for the 40 minutes I was counter-protesting. Thanking them hopefully reinforced the statement that their visit had an unintended consequence. On September 11, the final donation tally will be in and I will post it here.

I can’t really believe that either side had any impact on the other’s views. But it was nice opportunity to get out and make some intangible differences.

I did not take any pictures or video, but there were plenty of people there who did, so I’m certain that you will find some if you go looking on-line. That’s why there are none posted here.

As much as I disagree with Westboro Baptist Church’s ideology, I whole heartedly support their right to have that ideology and to espouse (pun not intended) it on the street. As I told the Vermont Public Radio reporter, my ancestors fought the Revolutionary War for just that right. This is why I went downtown this morning. This is why I went to show my support for my neighbors. This is why I took the morning off.

And now that the morning is almost over, off to work I go.