Overly Verbal

So the DVD I was waiting for arrived, and it is absolutely true that the crayon factory tour appears on the DVD, and so I’m going to go ahead and insist that if you have children, or know children, those children must possess this DVD immediately, and, yeah, maybe your children are better off not watching a DVD over and over and over again, but the crayon factory tour is as captivating now as it was when I was little, only now that I’m an adult, I can appreciate to a slightly greater extent the fact that learning about collating machines when you are very young gives you a pretty remarkable head start, and, yeah, the kids you know probably have a pretty remarkable head start already, but you’re only young once, and it’s not like you’re going to actually take the kids to the crayon factory (because it’s in Easton, Pennsylvania), so please just go buy as many copies of the DVD as you may need.

In other news, all of the buses in Northern Virginia are free tomorrow, because you people keep on driving your cars all over Creation and ruining the environment, and about that I am glad (the free part, not the you wrecking the environment part). Sure, it’s an awareness-raising promotion, so that more people will know that when the air quality sucks the buses are free, and I’m already well aware of that fact, being a person nearly entirely dependent on buses to get anywhere further than 1.23 miles from my home, so I should just go ahead and pay for the bus tomorrow, but I’m not going to, because I’m pretty sure the WMATA owes me at least $3.20 for pain and suffering they’ve inflicted upon me.

In other, other news, I checked Wikipedia, and while it appears to be true that the entire state of Oklahoma has access to public television, it also appears that to this very day, the nine Iowa Public Television stations reach “almost all of Iowa”. That’s not so bad, unless you live in the part of Iowa that doesn’t have public television, in which case I imagine you don’t have Internet access either, so you’ll never know about your deprivation. And ignorance is bliss, or so I’m told.

So last night I’m having a beer with a friend, as people do. That’s fun and all, but it’s even more fun if your friends are quick-witted and clever and say things such as:

Waiter: Here are your nachos.

Me: They look delicious. I’m sure we’ll make swift work of them.

Quick-witted, clever friend: We’ll make them wish they were never corn!

I didn’t even know things could be that funny. All day today whenever I thought of this little exchange I laughed out loud, whether I was on the bus, or walking down the street, or sitting here typing it out to share it with you. (Truth be told, I was pretty much smiling already, because someone brought me flowers on Saturday, and without my telling him to, chose daisies. Daisies make me happy, and people that just land on daisies without my having to alert them to the fact that daisies are my favorite flower are nifty.)

And because I’m a little short on content today, Mouse and Molly have agreed to review some new cat food: Fancy Feast’s Elegant Medleys.

Saturday they tried a “Delightful Soufflé”:

Seafood and Whipped Egg Soufflé, with Pacific Shrimp and Garden Greens

Mouse: This is a little rich, and I don’t quite understand what the deal is with the vegetables, but I’ll eat it. (But not all of it. That would be gauche.)

Molly: Yum!

Then this evening they had a “Tuscan Enticement”:

Yellowfin Tuna Tuscany in a Savory Sauce with Long Grain Rice and Garden Greens

Mouse: Again with the vegetables? And is that rice? Gross! This sauce is good, though.

Molly: Yeah, this one’s pretty gross, but I agree with Mouse: that’s some yummy sauce!

Mouse and Molly: Let’s lick up all the sauce and leave two dinner plates on the kitchen floor, covered with tiny flakes of sort of expensive tuna! That’ll teach her to buy any more of these Tuscan Enticements!

Tomorrow they’ll be having a regular old boring can of Fancy Feast, because I don’t want to spoil them, but then on Wednesday, it’s back to the “exquisite taste” of the soufflés. “White Meat Chicken and Cheddar Cheese Soufflé with Garden Greens”, which will likely make Mouse declare, “Enough with the vegetables already!”

Feel free to share this information with your cat or cats. The information that humans need to know,* which I am happy to share with you (as I shared it with a woman in line in front of me at the PetSmart yesterday), is simply that these fancy new cans of cat food are something like 15% cheaper at the ghetto grocery store than they are at the PetSmart. (Bags of Iams are cheaper there too, but only by about 70 cents.)

In other news, there is no other news, except that yesterday I tried a new miniature apple muffin recipe, and the muffins were not delicious. I have a standard miniature apple muffin recipe that yields delicious muffins, so it will all be fine in the end, but I feel like I wasted a lot of time, and flour. I like to try new things, but I wish every new thing was delicious, or that you could tell ahead of time whether something was not. That would just be nicer.

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* But which the cats neglected to point out on account of they don’t have jobs, or pockets, and aren’t allowed to go outside, let alone all the way to the store . . .

Yesterday I learned that some people who grew up in the middle of the country did not have PBS when they were young. This disturbs me on many levels. How did they learn how to count to ten (or tell you whether the door is open or closed) in Spanish if they didn’t have Sesame Street? Why do I always assume that everyone in America has the same cultural touch points I do when it’s abundantly clear that not everyone had the same privileges I did?

But the worst? No PBS means no Mr. Rogers. A childhood without Mr. Rogers is like no childhood at all, if you ask me. So next week, when Netflix delivers to me a DVD that is alleged to contain the segment in which Mr. Rogers shares with the children what it’s like inside a crayon factory, everyone I know who has never seen that segment is going to be required to watch it with me.*

Two things about that segment I would like to point out now: a) the portion available on YouTube is an excerpt that was shown on Sesame Street, I believe, and is not precisely what I’m talking about, and b) the proper pronunciation of crayon is “cray-on”, and not “crane”. I have a newfound appreciation for the fact that some people grew up in places where there was no PBS, but they at least have crayons in the middle of the country, I think, and while regional language differences are interesting and all, it upsets my delicate sensibilities to hear words mispronounced. A temporary solution has been to refer to crayons as “paper-covered colored wax writing implements”, and while that’s unwieldy, at least it’s not wrong.

In other news, a confluence of events has prevented my visiting the National Museum of Health and Medicine today, so that I will be unable to participate in the special “National Hairball Awareness Day” commemoration, which includes “an opportunity to handle an actual hairball”. However, the exhibit runs through next weekend, so I’ll get to see 9 of the 27 hairballs the NMHM owns then. Plus, Molly ate some grass yesterday and woke me up in the middle of the night when she was loudly and forcibly removing an actual hairball from her belly, so I’ve had an opportunity to handle one today already, and may get another such opportunity if Mouse is feeling frisky. My life is rich.

Finally, I am really, really irritated with Microsoft. They broke my Netflix, and I can’t unbreak it. Apparently, if you’re running Vista, and you install Service Pack 1, which should make your machine work better, it screws things up royally. Compared to some problems people have had when installing Service Pack 1, like having the mouse cease to function, or finding the machine doesn’t want to boot at all, my problem seems minor in comparison. Thing is, one of the prerequisites to Service Pack 1 is an un-uninstallable update. That’s the one that seems to cause the problem, and I would be able to restore my machine to the point before that unremovable update was installed, save that Vista is only saving a limited number of system restore points, and I don’t have one old enough to make my machine and Netflix get along again. In any event, it’s all my fault, because I should have done more research, or dealt with the problem as soon as I recognized it, but instead I’m stuck. I think it would be nicer if the people who create and maintain operating systems would never, ever present to me an update that cannot be removed, and I might just have to write Microsoft a letter, particularly given that the Service Pack has also made my machine do a number of other things that are truly annoying. Either Netflix or Microsoft will find a way around this problem eventually, but until then, I’m annoyed.

Did I say finally? There’s one more thing: on a happier note, these newfangled Pretzel Crisps are about the most delicious things ever! You should get some.

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* If you haven’t seen it, because you were deprived as a child, let me know, and you can come over too.

While I am well aware that today was Earth Day, and I do enjoy nagging people about recycling and whatnot, I’m afraid I only have enough time this week to celebrate one Day. And that day is going to be Sunday, which happens to be National Hairball Awareness Day.

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried!

This is some funny stuff: The Catcher In The Retirement Home, by Teddy Wayne

I try not to be too jealous when other people have ideas that I wish I had had, but sometimes it’s hard.

In other news, I was sort of mad at my computer this morning, so I thought I’d do something that would put it back in my good graces - I taught it to respond to voice commands, so that I could talk to it. Turns out the speech recognition software is actually pretty good. I tell the microphone to “Start Listening”, and it does. I say “Open Word”, and it does. I say “Close that”, and it does. Later, I think I’ll try to see whether I can’t put a DVD in my computer, and then sit on my couch and talk to my computer instead of using the remote. I love technology!

And I can speak right into Word, and it will get very many of the words correct, if I speak slowly and carefully. I type well over 80 words a minute, and I know I speak far more quickly than that, but I’ve discovered that I cannot write a blog entry by saying it, because if I have to say the word “comma” every time I want to see a comma, or “open parenthesis” every time there’s an aside — well, it’s fairly obvious why that won’t work. Anyway, it’s still pretty cool, even considering that I am easily amused. Sure, I could have done something slightly more productive with the time I spent fiddling around with my computer, but I feel better about my computer now, and that’s important. (Plus, on a scale of productivity, the time I spent training my computer to recognize how I pronounce words was slightly more productive than the time I spent taking a nap.) (But even less productive than the nap was the time I spent at the grocery store, in the self-checkout line, behind a guy who was buying a bottle of wine and chose to pay for it entirely with dimes. Someday I will not live in a ghetto anymore, and that will be keen.)

Also, I learned something that I didn’t know before. I mean, it may or may not be true, because I learned it at Wikipedia, but the entry there entitled “Words per Minute” says that “People handwrite at about 31 words per minute for memorized text, and 22 words per minute while copying.”* And then, “Using stenography methods, handwriting speed goes above 100 wpm up to 250 wpm.” Clearly, I need to learn stenography. I’ve thought about learning it before, because it just seems like a cool skill to have – you could be a court reporter! (As it happens, my new job comes with “educational benefits”, so I really oughta find out if I can take an online course and get them to pay for it.)

Here’s hoping your weekend was slightly more interesting than mine.**
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* I wish there was some data there about how quickly people write original text, because I owe someone a letter, and I would like to explain to her that it’s taking so long because people handwrite very slowly, but if I take the time to look up how many words per minute people handwrite original text, that will delay mailing the letter to her even further. (Instead, I think I’m just going to type a letter, then print it. That’s not nearly as nice, but I’m afraid it’s the only way that letter is ever going to be written.)

** Here’s also reminding you that I don’t publish to the Internet everything that happens to me, so there is no need to worry that my weekend was as boring as it may appear.

So say you go to McDonald’s for breakfast and order a Sausage McMuffin without any egg, after having to deal with three separate people in order to actually order your breakfast, because it’s “Hey! Let’s Have the Undertrained Staff* Run the Cash Registers! Day” at McDonald’s.

And say you receive an Egg McMuffin without any egg instead of a Sausage McMuffin without any egg, but your patience for dealing with the staff at McDonald’s was entirely used up during the first encounter you had with them, so you refuse to make a second encounter and just eat an Egg McMuffin without any egg for breakfast.

I don’t know for sure, but I’m pretty certain you’re going to spend the rest of the day with a vague, haunting sense of dissatisfaction.

In other wholly dissatisfying news, I finally went ahead and purchased $13 worth of cables so I could plug my laptop into my TV, making it so that I can watch movies instantly on Netflix on the TV instead of the monitor, and while I can now replicate my computer desktop on the TV, and get any number of DVD-playing devices to play a DVD from my laptop on my TV (using my computer speakers, which not only sound better than my TV but also have surround sound), all of a sudden Windows Media Player and Netflix have decided not to be friends anymore. Windows Media Player believes itself to be fully up-to-date, Netflix believes WMP to be in need of updating, and I think what really needs to happen is a roll-back to a previous version of WMP, but I don’t have the patience to deal with this anymore today.

Why is modern life so complicated? Can’t a girl just buy a sausage sandwich and watch a movie?
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*Who Happen to Be Entirely Unfamiliar With the Menu Items and Have to Refer to Pictures in Order to Assemble Said Menu Items When They’re Back Near the Grill, Perhaps Never Having Worked a Breakfast Shift at McDonald’s Before

She’s spending a quiet moment reading the dictionary:

So I’ve been engaged in some pretty interesting conversations lately. For example, last Friday night I went dancing, and a young man chose to start a conversation with me by shouting “Woo!” at me. Then he kept talking, and started dancing way, way too close to me, all the while holding some beverage that seems to be called “Sparks”. (If I understand it correctly, it’s a combination of alcohol and caffeine. I think he’d had about eight at that point, and I’m now convinced that stuff should be illegal.) Anyway, when I eventually told him he was harshing my buzz (having adjusted my language use to better match that of my audience), he told me that the only thing that could harsh his buzz would be if I walked away. (God that’s a good line, eh? I felt pretty.) Sorry, dude, but your buzz just got harshed.

(I also had a rather curious conversation with a cab driver, who I nicknamed in my head “Mr. Magoo”.* It was raining pretty much sideways, and he picked me up, I told him where I wanted to go – a numbered street that intersects a lettered street. Sure, DC can sometimes be confusing, what with all the circles, but since we started out on a lettered street that intersects a numbered street, I didn’t think he’d have such a hard time locating my destination. And in fact he didn’t have such a hard time, although he somehow found it necessary to repeatedly ask me what street we were crossing next. Given that I intended to pay him for not only the temporary use of the inside of his (smelly) vehicle, but also his navigational skills, I grudgingly helped him out the best I could, but I sort of wonder where he is now. Or if he even knows.)

Some other conversations have been less amusing, however. I think we all know that I can be brutally honest, say what I mean, don’t sugarcoat things, etc. And I expect to be challenged a lot.

So say you write a blog. It’s important to remember that a blog and its writer (or writers, as the case may be) are two different entities. I know that lots and lots of people, many of whom I know and like, don’t enjoy reading my blog. Criticisms my blog has received include:

• Chattiness
• Pretention, arrogance, condescension, pomposity, wielding my vocabulary as if it was a weapon, etc.
• Too many parentheses
• Blurry pictures
• Boring content (too many pictures of my cats, endless going on about the food I eat and make, silly stories about things I see on the bus)

Fine. All that may or may not be true. Doesn’t matter one way or another, because I write my blog to entertain myself first, others second. I didn’t insist you come here, don’t pester you if you don’t, couldn’t give a good god damn if I was the only person reading my blog. Attack it as you see fit, and if your attack is well-written, not unreasonably hostile, and on topic, I’ll even post it here. I don’t take criticism of my blog personally, because “the author of Overly Verbal” is only one of the very many identities that interact to make me who I am.

When I don’t like reading a blog, I simply avoid it. When a blog I enjoy reading links to a blog I do not enjoy reading, I might say so, but when I do say so, I’m not criticizing the author(s), I’m criticizing the blog.

Blogs about politics, for example, tend to not interest me at all, particularly because my political beliefs are so remarkably different from those of most other people. I am a woman who does not consider herself a feminist, an atheist who strongly believes in the separation of church and state but just as strongly believes in the right to worship. I’m fiscally conservative and socially liberal, lean toward Libertarianism but register as a Republican. And I am not only not ashamed of my beliefs or my party affiliation, I am fully capable of defending them when the need arises. (Heck, I’ve even sometimes changed hearts and minds, particularly on the issue of school vouchers. While the public school system does a reasonably good job with the middle 80 percent of students, it does a miserable, potentially dangerous job with those in the top and bottom 10 percents. Since I expect any children I might have to be in the top 10 percent, I would like the freedom to choose where they go to school, and having the government give me back some of the money they would have spent educating my children would make it a heck of a lot easier to do so.)

And I know that some political issues are so intensely personal for me that I am incapable of talking about those issues without getting emotional: abortion, gun control, Israel, animal rights. I don’t generally talk about those topics here, therefore, because when I get angry I can be not only shrill, but completely insufferable.

So I’ve got friends who are politically active, and I like those people quite a bit, but I can’t participate in rallies or protests with them, because my ideas are so complicated that they simply don’t fit on a placard. It offends my delicate sensibilities when people set up false dichotomies when the issue is much more grey** than black and white.

(Actually, some of my beliefs are so simple they can be stated in six words or less, but there are only about five of those:

• Be nice to animals and children.
• Reduce, reuse, recycle.
• Read more books.

Well, okay, three.)

So when someone doesn’t agree with me about an issue, political or otherwise, I take that pretty much as a given. And if someone doesn’t agree with me about something I’ve said on my blog, I expect that disagreement to be handled in a number of different ways.

Some people might huffily decide never to read my blog again. (Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!)

Other people might call me names.***

Other people might choose to take the words I write here and post them on their own blog, thereby unleashing a flurry of comments about those words, and in some of those comments the author might be gently reprimanded for proclaiming intellectualism but admitting to doing things that are anti-intellectual. I mean, that’s unlikely to happen to words I write, because I don’t often do things that serve to incrementally break down the very core of civilized society, but nobody’s perfect, so it could happen. And if that were to happen, I’d probably write another entry to my blog, explaining myself further, or just sucking it up if it turned out I was wrong. (You may not be aware that I once was wrong. It was July 21, 2007.) (Since I’m only wrong about once a year, I guess I’m due again. I’m sure it’ll be fun.)

Anyway, one takes on some risk when one chooses to publish words to the Internet on a blog. You might say something that people don’t agree with, but because you said it digitally, it can be disseminated endlessly, discussed by people who have never met you, taken out of context, judged, mocked, or ignored. I’m cool with that, otherwise I wouldn’t write a blog.

If you’re not cool with that? Don’t write a blog, individually or as part of a group. It’s that simple.

Finally, and just for the record, I remain steadfast in my conviction (as stated earlier in the comments section at Oklahomeless) that when one encounters a book in a bookstore and finds the contents of that book distasteful, it is simply unacceptable to move that book to a different section of the store, turn it around so its cover cannot be seen, put it behind another book one likes better, or otherwise prevent people searching for that book from finding it easily, right where the bookstore employees shelved it. I don’t think people who engage in that sort of behavior are bad people, necessarily, I just think they need to be a little better educated in the basic, fundamental principles of American society, where each of us are equally free to exchange ideas without having the will of others imposed upon us.

I try not to speak for other people, but I think it’s safe to say that regular readers of my blog share that conviction, and are willing and able to defend your right to read whatever you damned well please without interference, however minor that interference might seem. If you’re a regular reader who disagrees with me about this, let’s discuss it in the comments section, because I had you all wrong.

And if you’re a new reader, wandering over from somewhere else in hopes of being engaged in a lively, intelligent discussion about the matter, welcome. I’m not sure how lively the discussion will be, as I expect most people to simply agree with me, but one never knows.

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* In case anyone is alarmed that I’m being insensitive to the visually-impaired, I’d like to point out that I’m highly sensitive to the topic, because I have a degenerative retinal disease. That’s why I nicknamed him that in my head, instead of saying it out loud. If you have a visual impairment, and are offended by my remark, feel free to contact me personally so we can discuss the matter further.

And if you just want to read a truly touching book about macular degeneration (which is not the kind I have – mine’s lattice degeneration, which is far less damaging), try this one: Henry Grunwald’s Twilight: Losing Sight, Gaining Insight. I’ll lend you my copy, if you’re local, or you can find it in your local bookstore. (Probably in the memoir section, depending on the types of people who hang out in your local bookstore.)

** Is it pretentious to spell the word grey with an E? I think it might be, but that’s how I do it.

*** Name-calling has been beneath me since I was approximately four years old, but that’s not to say that my blog doesn’t include some gentle ribbing among friends. (Goethe, for example, called me “ignorant” in a comment he made yesterday, but that’s okay, because he’s an over-educated boob.)

you can blame it on the Pope. He’s been here a couple of days now, and I’ve had no problems making my way around town – the train was super-crowded Tuesday evening, but I just got real cozy with a tall guy near me, practically had my head tucked in his armpit, but I was only on the train for two stops. (I really enjoy being taller than the average woman, but never more so than when I need to hold on to an overhead railing in order to keep my balance.) (Well, okay, maybe I enjoy it more when I can intimidate someone because I’m 5’10” in my favorite heels: hi, I’m Jennifer, and I am shallow.)

Problem is, tomorrow approximately every Catholic person in the world (on God’s green earth?) (in Creation?) is going to be headed to the baseball stadium at precisely the same time I am headed for work, and all of the media in DC is acting as if I should be prepared for the apocalypse. There are a couple of ways I could tackle this problem – I could work from home, but if you need to conduct an interview with someone, as I do tomorrow, and if your employer does not yet have video-conferencing technology, you kind of have to show up for the interview, instead of, um, phoning it in. I could leave super early, hoping to beat the crowds, but since the Metro opens at 5 a.m., and people are supposed to be at the stadium at 8:30, that would requiring leaving for work right about now – I’ve been trying to convince them I need a hammock in my office, but that hasn’t worked quite yet.* Or, I could leave for work just a tiny bit earlier than my regular time, hope that my way is not barred by people who have never seen a public transportation system before, let alone used one, and simply arrive at my workplace whenever I happen to, trusting that people will understand if I am late. The people I work with are smart, and I’m sure they’ve noticed that the Pope is coming. (No, I really am sure that they’ve noticed, because I’ve had many conversations about his arrival, on such interesting topics as whether there is more than one PopeMobile or whether he just takes the same one with him everywhere,** and whether it’s impolite for me to call his driving through the streets a “Pope Parade” when everyone else seems to be using the more dignified phrase “Papal Motorcade”.***)

In any event, I just thought I’d lay out my commandments for using public transportation systems. I don’t have a direct line to God or anything, but I’m pretty sure if there was a God, he’d agree that these are some pretty sound rules:

• Remember that you are a guest in the public transportation system, and that your fare entitles you only to as much space as a regular-sized human being normally occupies.
• Honor the rule to walk on the left and stand on the right, so that all may enjoy free passage on stairs and escalators.
• You shall not run in a station, nor sleep on a train, nor stand too close to the platform’s edge. (Remember, safety is everyone’s responsibility.)
• You shall not enter the train before all those who want to exit the train have done so.
• You shall not eat smelly sandwiches on trains or buses, or even on station platforms. (While you may have been made to become a fisher of men, fish are really better eaten in more private venues, with superior ventilation to that which our trains and buses enjoy.)
• Neither shall you simply stop moving at the bottom of a staircase or escalator.
• Neither shall you leave your newspaper or other personal belongings on the seats or floor.
• Neither shall you forget that the center doors of a train are the only doors that will open in an emergency, and it is therefore necessary and prudent to place your bicycles, strollers, livestock, and other unwieldy encumbrances accordingly.
• Neither shall you neglect to wear antiperspirant and/or deodorant.
• Neither shall you allow your small children to run rampant throughout the system. You shall hold their hands, lift them up if they are small, teach them well, let them lead the way (if they know where they’re going, and won’t come to a screeching halt at the bottom of the stairwell), show them all the beauty they possess inside, but you really shouldn’t let them lick the poles. (Sure, the little bitty babies are in His hand, but the toddlers? You gotta keep an eye on them.)

Well, there I go again, preaching to the choir. In any event, wish me luck tomorrow.

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* I do know now that there is a shower in the gym in the building though, which is not knowledge I will ever put to use personally, on account of I never actually use gyms, but someone might someday ask me about showering facilities on site, or maybe just show up to work all smelly, and then I’ll be glad I know that.

** Someone told me earlier that there were at least two different PopeMobiles in the Pope Parade today, but I’m not sure that’s accurate, because if it’s not got the Pope in it, I don’t think you can call it a PopeMobile. I don’t know who was in that second vehicle, but it was likely a ReallyImportantBishopofSomeSortMobile, don’t you think?

*** Whatever. It’s just semantics.

There are two things I like about April 15. One of them is that it’s tax day, and most years I get to feel all smug because I did my taxes months ago and got my refund sooner than all the people who left their taxes until the very last minute did. The other of them is that I have a friend whose birthday is April 15, and because it’s tax day, it’s easy to remember his birthday.

This year, however, I cannot feel smug, because I owe the federal government money, and therefore continued to put off doing my taxes in full until just now. I mean, I gathered all the paperwork, sketched them out, and then let them sit. Now all I have to do is find them and I’m set, but there are a lot of other things I’d rather be doing right now.

However, this year I am glad about one thing I didn’t know before: someone mentioned to me that the deadline for personal income tax returns in the Commonwealth of Virginia is not April 15th, but May 1st. Happy day! I can procrastinate on half my taxes for two more weeks! I can’t say I’m generally all that thrilled to live in Virginia instead of DC, but today I am.

In other news, I don’t know how long the timestamp on my entries here has been incorrect, but I just now fixed it. (Or I think I fixed it. This one’s right anyway.) In any event, I haven’t checked to see whether the error was contained to my writing, or whether people have somehow managed to comment on things I’ve written before I actually wrote them, as the time seemed to be off by two hours, and I know some of you all enjoy checking my blog every 15 minutes to see what new brilliant thing I have to say, so in case you’re actually reading this 100 years from now, and this is the last vestige of modern America to remain, please let it be known that we were still bound by time in the year 2008. (Sorry, but I wasn’t in charge of everything!)