NO.

I hate reality television, I really do. Doesn't really matter what it is - D-list celebrities dancing like they just discovered they have legs, ridiculous cooking shows that try to find out who the best chef is by putting them in situations no chef in real life would actually come across, storage locker auctions where people argue about whether a Huffy bicycle from 1985 is a priceless heirloom or a piece of shit, anything with a Kardashian in it - I just absolutely do not care and can't grasp anyone's emotional investment in their preferred X-factor contestant or poorly educated duck hunter (is that what they do? Hunt ducks? I don't even know. Also it doesn't seem that hard to me considering if I leave my back door open too long ducks will walk right into my kitchen like they own the place. Then again, I didn't quit school in the 3rd grade).

Be that as it may, my absolute favorite show right now is a reality show. I have no idea if a version of Gogglebox has made it's way to America yet, or if in fact it started there first (like I said, I don't watch reality shows). In case you're unaware, Gogglebox is a show where they put cameras in people's living rooms and then film those people while they watch tv. Which sounds stupid in principle, but is actually brilliant. They watch everything from the news to Downton Abbey to police reality shows, and it is hilarious, particularly Steph and Dom, known as "the posh couple" who appear to have no filter whatsoever and have pretty much become the stars of the show. I love it and I watch it every week, even more religiously than I watch Doctor Who (by the way, DID YOU SEE THAT LAST EPISODE? I did not see that coming AT ALL), which is saying something considering the number of daleks I have in my house.

That is until this week. I mean, I was watching it, but I ended up missing the last almost ten minutes of the show, despite the fact that I was still right there in the room. Why, you'd like to know? Well, this week, the producers thought it would be just a *peachy keen* idea to have everyone watch a nature documentary...ABOUT FUCKING SPIDERS.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK GOGGLEBOX? I TRUSTED YOU.

When I say "documentary about fucking spiders" I am not being derogatory either, like, "oh those fucking spiders again, always trying to eat my face". I mean fucking spiders literally: the show was about those creepy monsters getting their freak nasty on. People study this you see. For a job. They film spiders doing it and then they deliberately watch the most terrifying porn in all of history including the shit those Romans were into. I am personally and deeply offended by the idea of spiders having sex. That is MY thing, you guys. Walking horror shows should NOT be allowed to enjoy my hobbies. EVER. And of course now, not only am I on high spider alert for any of the living nightmares that may be inside my house at the moment, but I am also now faced with the knowledge that they may not only be lurking inside my house but porking in it too.

THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE, SPIDERS. ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO HAVE SEX IN MY HOUSE (and StereoNinja. Because that's sort of an important aspect to the me doing it in my house scenario). You shouldn't even be here in the first place. You can live wherever you want; you carry the materials needed for home building inside your own butt. But you DEFINITELY need to not be boning in here. Is it boning if you have an exoskeleton? It doesn't matter, just STOP DOING IT.

Thanks, Gogglebox, my life is ruined now.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Last night I spent several hours watching some 70-year old men tell penis jokes. If this sounds like a weird thing to do, let me follow that up by saying said men are the surviving members of Monty Python, and that I did NOT get choked up when I realized I was singing "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" with the actually Pythons, and I definitely did not cry when they put "Graham Chapman 1941-1989" up on the screen behind them. They say this is the last time, and while celebrities "retire" all the time, this is entirely likely - John Cleese is 75 years old and it's starting to show.

Having said that, it was fucking brilliant. I don't want to say too much about it because it's going to be live on tv tomorrow night and I don't want to spoil it for everyone. Let me just say that if you were thinking "Hmm, maybe I'll watch that", fuck the "maybe" part, drop what you're doing and watch it.

The Epic Weekend of Pasta Salad and Loud Noises

I'm in the midst of a recovery day, my friends. There has not been so epic a weekend since the Epic Austin Weekend of Boobs and Cake. I am in actual physical pain due to its awesomeness and am also having a small existential crisis, and that is the result of only one of the three, THREE!, fantastical events in a roughly 30 hour period.

I would begin at the beginning, but I feel a need to explain something first. I noticed back in autumn that homesickness seemed to be at its worst during times that are important to your culture but just a regular day where you live now. For example, I suspect that Canada Day, for a Canadian who now lives in Spain, is probably kind of a bummer since no one is saying "Happy Canada Day!" or pouring maple syrup all over their naked bodies (is this what you do on Canada Day? I don't know, I'm not omniscient). I felt it a bit at Halloween - because people do Halloween here, but not like it's done in America where everyone goes insane - but when it really jumped up and kicked me in the cunt was on Thanksgiving, which in this country is just known as "Thursday" and everyone goes to work just like a normal day. I had Thanksgiving dinner with my neighbors, but it was on Saturday, not Thursday, and they were all very excited about this novelty dish I made called "cornbread" - I mean, they raved about it (because of course they did, it's CORNBREAD) which was very nice, but delighted surprise is not a typical reaction to cornbread at Thanksgiving dinner. Also there wasn't a shitty Cowboys game going on in the background. It felt weird.

Having experienced this once already, I decided that I would try to head off the "boo-hoo everyone is having fun but meeeeee" feels by having a 4th of July party. Unfortunately this is the time of year that literally half the country goes on holiday so most of our closer friends couldn't make it and also our neighbor The Commodore, so called because he recently became commodore of the nearby yacht club, stole all of our neighbors and took them to a ball at said yacht club, so it ended up being a much smaller affair than I had intended. BUT! It actually worked out great because the people who did come were my American study buddy (hereafter known as the academic) from my masters program and his English husband, my childhood friend the turk, who now lives in London with her English husband, and another American classmate from my program who I don't have a blog name for yet. We did it up American style, with burgers and brat(wurst)s on the grill, florescent yellow mustard, America shaped cookies, buckeyes*, and an enormous pasta salad. I have never seen people so excited about a pasta salad. It's not like pasta salad doesn't exist here- I've eaten some from M&S myself. But it seems using an entire package of pasta to make a party snack is uncommon here. This arrangement turned out to be perfect. We sat in the garden (these people all live in the city and were absolutely knocked the fuck out by the sheer volume of wildlife available a mere 40 minutes from London) drinking beer and/or wine and/or margaritas playing rounds of Cultural Differences and debating the proper pronunciation of words. One I didn't know is the word skeletal is pronounced here as skhe-LEE-tal, which by the way is wrong as evidenced by the fact that He-Man's nemesis is not called "SkeLEEtor". Eventually it got dark (i.e. spiders were starting to surround us) and we went indoors to tell childhood stories of terrible camp songs, fencing lessons (the turk and me, 5th grade) and archery. In the midst of this we saw some flashy lights outside and upon opening the door realized they were accompanied by exploding sounds...IT WAS FIREWORKS YOU GUYS. WE GOT TO SEE FIREWORKS IN ENGLAND ON THE 4TH OF JULY. Having achieved a perfect day, I took some people back to the train station, the academic and his husband (potentially Mr Coffee???) stayed overnight and I went to bed happy and exhausted.

StereoNinja and I got up very early the next day and rudely left our guests to fend for themselves, because we had tickets to the British Grand Prix and it is well known that driving to and from Silverstone on race day is a colossal clusterfuck. Now, I know nothing at all about F1 or any racing really, mostly because I don't have any real interest in cars or going fast and in my country the popular racing to watch is NASCAR, an interest I find fucking hilarious in other people. Conversely, prior to my converting him into an ice hockey fan, F1 was literally the only sport StereoNinja followed or gave a single fetid shit about. I haven't been exposed to his F1 fandom however, because we don't get Sky on principle so he can only watch about one out of every three races which makes it hard to follow. I was excited to go because he was excited and because I got to do a new thing, but my excitement had little to do with with the race itself. We got there and inhaled a shitty hamburger before finding our seats in the grandstand. Which is about when the Red Arrows started flying their impossible formations of awesomeness, complete with red white and blue smoke and a fucking heart that they drew in the sky. I got some sand or something in both my eyes.

And then it was race time. I was all ready to experience my first F1 race and excitedly awaited the first time they would go flying past me. I wound up waiting a long time, since 58 seconds in there was an enormous crash that knocked three cars out before it had even really started and damaged the barriers to a degree that took and hour to replace. But eventually the race got underway again and...You guys. The last thing I needed was another sport to follow, particularly another sport that it was difficult for me to be able to watch due to limited availability. However. FORMULA ONE IS FUCKING AWESOME. It wasn't even a particularly good race as it was clear from about halfway through who the winner was going to be and the only thing in question was who would win the battle for fifth place. But. For serious. Driving inches from each other at those speeds, making a play to get past someone in a corner by breaking later, which is pretty much challenging them to a game of high stakes chicken...I don't know how these cars can even go that fast with how much their balls must weigh. Next thing I know I'm reading in the program about innovations in engine design and strategies for dealing with the new limit of 100kg of fuel per race. So apparently I'm now both a racing fan and burgeoning petrol head. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE.

The race ended with with a British racing driver as the winner making everyone mad with joy and patriotism, and me bewildered at myself and realizing that I had a sunburn for the first time in over 10 years (it's all coming back to me now. Having a sunburn SUUUUUUUHHKS). StereoNinja and I hightailed it back to the car in order to drive all the way to London to see Ben Folds with the Heritage Orchestra at Barbican. I've seen Ben Folds with an orchestra before. What I had not seen before was Ben Folds' new piano concerto which he'd spent a year writing and which was a highly unusual mix of classical and modern styles. Nor had I seen him lead an entire orchestra in a spontaneous episode of Rock This Bitch. For the uninitiated, Rock This Bitch is a thing that happens at many Ben Folds shows in which someone in the audience waits til a quiet moment to shout "ROCK THIS BITCH!" and then Ben Folds makes up a song on the spot containing the words "rock this bitch" that is completely different from any version of Rock This Bitch he's played before. This is not the first orchestra he's convinced to play Rock This Bitch with him, but it is the first time I'd seen it live, so I can pretty much go ahead and die now. If you'd like to be ready to die also, here's a video of the whole process:

Once Ben Folds had finished blowing my fucking mind again, we headed home. After a concert, an F1 race, and a brilliant party, I was completely exhausted (also crispy and pink as all fuck) and not looking forward to going home and cleaning up the mess we'd made on Saturday. So imagine my total fucking delight when we finally got home only to find that the guests we had abandoned in our house had cleaned up absolutely EVERYTHING before they left like a couple of magical party debris erasing genies, thus making the entire thing into a PERFECT weekend. Or indeed, the Epic Weekend of Pasta Salad and Loud Noises.

Update: I have just remembered another conversation from my 4th of July party between the four Americans that occurred when the turk mentioned she had gone somewhere that had REAL rye bread and the other three of us all sat up and went "Get out. Seriously? With the seeds and everything? WHERE? WHERE IS THIS RYE BREAD?" The reason we all reacted so strongly is that we've all had a common experience, shared I suspect by almost all Americans living here, of having ordered a sandwich on rye or rye toast somewhere and being served instead with bread that is actually white bread and pumpernickel swirled together. Listen, because I cannot stress this enough: that is not rye bread. There's not even any caraway seeds in it, which while some real rye bread doesn't have caraway seeds either, that kind of rye is pointless. If there is one food I miss from America more than any other food it is rye toast to go with my omelette. Without rye toast, an omelette is just eggs with some other shit in it. Rye toast is the shit, man.

I now return you to you irregularly scheduled self deprecation and spider freak outs.

*These were specifically for the benefit of the turk since as a native Ohioan she was the only one likely to have had them before. If you don't know what a buckeye is, as far as I can tell it is a nut (or seed? I'm too lazy to google which one it technically is but I think of it as nut) that is either exactly the same as or indistinguishably close to a conker. The tree it grows on is the state tree of Ohio and it is the mascot of the state's largest institution for secondary education, The Ohio State University. Somewhere along the line, some total fucking snack genius got the idea to make balls of candied peanut butter and dip them in chocolate, which is both delicious and looks exactly like a buckeye. Despite not encountering them before, the group ate the crap out of them and now I don't have any more.

I Should Not Be Allowed At Concerts

A conversation between my cousin Kelly and me on the occasion of StereoNinja taking me to see Arcade Fire, which I was uncomfortable about it because the only thing I knew about Arcade Fire was that I'd heard of them, maybe: 

me: We are going to Arcade Fire tonight and I feel kinda bad because I literally do not know even one Arcade Fire song and [StereoNinja] is SO EXCITED and I'm like "whee I guess, I don't know". Am I the only person who doesn't have any idea what Arcade Fire are like? I think maybe I am.

Kelly: I've gotta tell you about arcade fire from my pov.

1. they're talented.
2. there's A LOT of them
3. you're prolly not gonna like the music.

me (now at the show): People are dressed up like it's some kind of masquerade and there are hipster beards EVERYWHERE help help

Kelly: oh shit. i forgot to mention the hipsters. aaaah, masquerade, yeah that sounds about right. is there an opener?

me: Oh my god the opener was AWFUL and they played 45 minutes I don't even
Ok a metal Michael Jackson just popped up on the stage where the djs are and is dancing, why am I not into drugs?!?!?
Ok they are on now...this band really likes hexagons there's like a million of them
A guy has a light box for a head and the curly haired lady was shinning lights on us with mirrors this is hilarious
Pretty sure the entire band raided bono's wardrobe

Kelly: aaah, a few scarves and orange sun glasses??

me: Also bizarre suit jackets. Ok you were right I don't get it at all. It's listenable but I can't tell any songs apart and if I never heard them again they wouldn't be missed. Everyone around me is losing their minds however

Kelly: yuuuuuup.... that's pretty much it

England: They Have Stuff Too

Here's another example of "little differences": Last night, StereoNinja and I went to dinner at a steak restaurant called Cattle Grid. It was the most American thing I've encountered since I've been here. Now, I have no evidence that its intention is to come off as American, but it absolutely fucking does. It has a very American decor to it, authentically, not "this is what we imagine America looks like" decor, a menu that list its beef and pork dished under the headings "COW' and "PIG", enormous American sized portions of things including a massive rack of barbecue ribs the likes of which I have never seen here, onion strings which I have also never seen here before and which caused me to actually audibly gasp when they were offered to me and a highly American looking desert menu meaning we didn't order any because StereoNinja couldn't get a cheese plate (also that whole thing about the giant portions). There were only two things that gave it away. One was a completely disinterested server - not a bad server, just a man who was clearly not working for tips. The other is a thing that keeps happening to me every time we eat somewhere which is StereoNinja has to remind me to properly arrange my cutlery. Because unlike America, where they are watching you and waiting for you to slow down, or coming by to refill your drink since it's free refills ALL THE TIME in Fatassland, and they ask you while they're there "Can I take your plate?", the only way to have your plate cleared here is to align your fork and knife right next to each other across your plate. If you leave your utensils either on the table or strewn about your plate all willy-nilly in the wrong configuration, you will be sitting there waiting for the check (cheque) for hours. It's like the Bat signal for "I have finished my meal." And I ALWAYS forget.

Right so, anyway, not my point. What I actually meant to do right now was write about some of the things I love about being here, because I feel like all I've done is complain so far, and it's really not that I don't like it here, it's just that it's not home yet. So here's a few things that I think are fantastic that you have thus far dropped the ball on, America:

Roast dinner. Yeah, ok, we have roast dinners in the U.S., but there are certain designated days for them which are Thanksgiving and Christmas. The rest of the year you just are like "Oh won't it be great when it's Thanksgiving and we'll have roast turkey again?" Yeah, um, yer doin it wrong. Because it is Roast Day here EVERY SUNDAY. You can make a roast at home or you can go to a carvery or you can go round someone else's house - whatever. Oh and another thing: Yorkshire puddings. Get in on that, Murica, you are missing out.

QI. There is not a show being produced right now on American television that I am aware of that is nearly as awesome as QI. A show that is funny AND has Stephen Fry AND you get to learn cool stuff? It's like an arrow of joy aimed straight at my little nerd girl heart. I am particularly overjoyed when there's an episode that has either Bill Bailey or Jeremy Clarkson who say they funniest things and know some of the weirdest shit. And I lose my fucking mind every time I actually know the answer and shout things at the television like "NO! It's because it has a three foot long tongue!" or "Oh my god, I know this one! IT'S A THING FOR EXTRACTING BOOGERS FROM A CORPSE!"

Road signs. I find the road signs here to be generally more helpful than the ones in America. Like, coming up to a roundabout or a slip road (this is an on or off ramp), there will be a sign with a picture of the exact roundabout or shape of slip road you are about to encounter. But that's not even what I like about them. The best thing about the signs is how ambiguous they are if you don't already know what they mean. Before I started driving, I started making up my own meanings for some of the ones I thought were funny.

Windsocks are dangerous

WARNING: Killer duck

Sad wiener

No perspective

I didn't make up a meaning for this, I just want to vandalize it and make it into a centaur.

Beware of men with giant umbrellas

Caution: Bra in the road

SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER.

See, so some stuff is great, but it's not gonna get me a slice of Pequod's or an episode of Tosh.0.

Who Dat?

Today is Doctor Who Day, or for the three readers I have who aren't gigantic nerds, today is the day that the 50th Anniversary Doctor Who special episode airs. I have prepared by putting on Dalek socks and forcing StereoNinja to sit through episodes from the 10th doctor era that he had somehow missed. (He hadn't actually seen 'Blink' until Wednesday somehow. I'm not sure he's a real nerd. Or a real ninja*.) I also got lost on Cake Wrecks for a few hours after the cake master sent me this link to some amazing Doctor Who cakes, which is what happens every time I wind up looking at Cake Wrecks. I'll come back and update this post with my reaction after it airs. Whee!










*OR IS HE?

Dial A Blogpost

I am currently enjoying the They Might Be Giants concert. They have an out of tune melodica and some sock puppets. Describing it any further would be futile, so instead please enjoy this video of The Mesopotamians.

Total Written Nonsense

It's not really helping with my paper situation that I just happened to have packed as many social obligations into this week as I normally allow for in 6 months. On Saturday night, StereoNinja and I were at a charity ball. I wore a long evening gown because it was a ball and in my head that's what you wear to a ball. I've seen Cinderella, I know what goes down. Realizing that I am the worst ever at being a girl, StereoNinja checked with a couple women at work who were going and who told him no one wears long dresses, which he relayed to me in fear that I would be the only one in a long dress and would be mortified. And there was a time when that may have been the case, but once you've been naked on stage, wearing any sort of clothes in public seems pointless, so I wore it anyway. I was not the only one - there were loads of women in long dresses which I pointed out triumphantly and repeatedly every time another one walked in to the room, though in absolute fairness I think I was the only one under 50 wearing one. WHATEVER I LOOKED FABULOUS. Particularly after I took the little confetti foil stars that were adorning our table and stuck a dozen of them to my chest. They stayed on all night and now our house has a bunch of stars all over the floor.

Tonight was a Gary Numan concert in Brighton. I was complaining on the way home that I had nothing to write about for NaBloPoMo this week and StereoNinja was all "But we just left Gary Numan" and I was like "It's a blog, not a fucking diary. Nobody wants to hear about every stupid thing that I'm doing." and he frowned at me and said "Maybe you should write about how your boyfriend doesn't know the difference between a blog and a diary." So...that happened.

Tomorrow we are going to a They Might Be Giants concert, so maybe there will be something I can write about that, or if not I'm sure there's some kind of new cat video I could get my hands on. This is the internet, after all. As soon as my paper is done on Friday, I'll get to work on another 50 Shades post.

Meep Meep

I've just realized I never blogged about my student show over the summer, which is incredibly convenient as I had no idea what I was going to write about today (I am at StereoNinja's office right now as both of us needed to get some work done. It is not very exciting, despite there being a flamingo standing in the corner and goofy little puppets everywhere. Though the arm fell off one of them and we did turn it into a penis.)

I ended up going with a temporary stage name that I came up with myself, Phoebe Moon, after Saturn's irregular and probably captured satellite, because I am a massive, massive geek.

Phoebe. Sexy as FUCK

I also got StereoNinja to edit my music and add the Merrie Melodies theme to the beginning and end of my song (Bo Diddley's Roadrunner): at the beginning to compliment the title cards for my number that StereoNinja designed for me, and at the end for maximum ridiculousness whilst twirling the tassels on my pasties (followed immediately by a cartwheel. Seriously.)

Sorry, Warner Brothers.

I'd had a bit of trouble pulling the costume together. The woman I hired on Etsy to make my bustier and frilly panties did a beautiful job, but the fabric wasn't the right color, which is exactly why you don't try to color match things over the internet. I bought another cheap, shitty bustier that the zipper immediately fell off of, and took it to the world's most incredible tailor to cover in appropriately colored fabric and sew a better zipper on, which he accomplished with less than three days turn around (finding a new zipper in the correct color and length was also an adventure and ended with me in the basement of L Z Fabrics poking around in the zipper over stock section, a portion of the store I had no idea was there until that exact moment). My biggest costuming issue was my tail and how to attach it to me. The final solution was to wig tape it to my ass, the process of which is the least attractive thing ever to happen to stripping. I also had to spray paint some heels orange since the first pair I bought was far too high to dance in comfortably, let alone do a cartwheel. Similarly, I ended up dying several pairs of fishnets before I got them to the correct orange for the roadrunner's legs.

My legs are blurry because I am running REALLY FAST. Because, you know, roadrunner.

StereoNinja and the cake master both flew into town for the show, and BrownsFan and her husband, my former boss and his partner, and the CEO all came as well, because the first time you take all your clothes off in public, you should definitely invite all of your former co-workers. I was the last solo act to go on (StereoNinja says it's because I was one of the best acts, but I think it's just because it was the most ridiculous) before the finale group act, which was 10 women dancing to the Scissor Sisters' Filthy Gorgeous doing the choreography from Michael Jackson's beat it video and opening up our legs like Christmas, among other things. I can't show you my number because my normally rule flouting boyfriend was afraid to video it after Michelle said not to (in fairness, she is a bit terrifying), but I do remember everyone laughing in all the right places and audible surprise over the cartwheel (I had decided I was doing a cartwheel long before I decided what my number was going to be).

Wile E. Coyote knew something the kiddies did not, evidently. 

After the show, the bar was having a 90's hip hop party, which some of us stayed for, and during which I recited all the words to The Humpty Dance from memory approximately 10 minutes before they played the song because I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom.

I haven't performed since I moved to the U.K., in part because I'm still waiting for the shipping company to send me my things, one of which is my tail, but allegedly it will be here next week, if anyone knows of a burlesque show they think I should try to get booked for. I've also been working on a BDSM themed number with a flogger because of course I have.

(All show photos by the wonderful Ethan Coal. He recently took some other photos of me, but they are in no way appropriate for a general audience or anyone not into soft core porn. But if I know and trust you, email me and I might give you the password to the online gallery. Maybe.)

How I Celebrated Valentine's Day

Right, so I hope everyone had a happy Valentine's Day or whatever, love, roses, blah blah blah. The bartender seemed to think it was also "sabotage your roommate who has to be naked on stage in four months day" and the house is now fucking full of candy.

As some of you already know, I hate Valentine's Day with only slightly less passion than I love Christmas. It's almost like it was specifically set up to be a no win situation. If you're single and sad about it, the entire day is like getting stabbed repeatedly with a magical dull knife called the Knife of Loneliness that turns your unhappiness into physical pain. If you're single and happy about it, tough luck pal, enjoy being excluded from absolutely everything today and by the way, just wanted to remind you that everyone else in the whole entire world is looking down on your personal choices because if you're happy AND single something is obviously wrong with you. Being in a relationship doesn't help you either. There are requirements that must be met: flowers, candy, an unreasonably expensive dinner, jewelry, or some particular combination of these things is expected of you and god help you if you get it wrong because not only does it mean you're not having sex tonight/this week/until your birthday and then only grudgingly but it is also obvious that YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME AT ALL WAAAHHHHHH. That isn't love, it's extortion. And don't even get me started on how shitty it is to be in a long distance relationship on Magical Togetherness Day because there is no better reminder than a Skype chat that you are not actually anywhere near the person you most want to be near.

No matter what my relationship status is in a given year, Valentine's Day never applies to me: I don't like getting flowers because they're dead, I don't need or want jewelry and don't give enough fucks to ever wear any, I have anxiety attacks in large crowds and under no circumstances is it a good idea for me to go out to dinner that day, and if it's true you are what you eat I'm basically made out of candy to begin with.

My favorite thing from this Valentine's Day was my friend Erin's exchange with her girlfriend as she was rushing out the door on her way to work:

Girlfriend: Oh yeah, I forgot, happy Valentine's Day.
Erin: (stares blankly for a few seconds) Shut up.

The bottom line is, if you're not showing your affection and appreciation for someone every day without being prompted, you're doing it wrong, and Valentine's Day is not going to fix that.

Anyway, none of that is even the point. The post is called "How I Celebrated Valentine's Day", not "Why Valentine's Day is a Soul Sucking Waste of Time and Money Designed to Make Your Life Seem Way Worse Than it Really Is". And I celebrated Valentine's Day by doing the most awesome thing possible: I went to the 10th anniversary of Michelle L'Amour's Big Sexy Show at the Part West. Alone, because even if you do the most awesome thing possible you can't escape the fact of life that Valentine's Day is meant to remind you that you've failed.

The show was amazeballs because there is basically no chance for it not to be - it's called MICHELLE L'AMOUR'S BIG SEXY SHOW for crying out loud. And to be fair, while I did arrive and leave alone, I didn't spend the show alone, as I happened to sit next to the boyfriend of a girl I have class with who was also by himself because said girlfriend was a stage hand in the show. FYI, whenever someone asks you how you got interested in being a burlesque dancer, "Spite" is never going to be the answer they were expecting.  Anyway, Cameron Esposito hosted, and if you've never seen her perform, I suggest you do so immediately. Michelle did the cutest number with pink balloons in which all of her clothes floated away. The Chicago Starlets did a super cool number with most of the girls dressed as french artists who were strategically holding up pieces of paper that covered the important parts of the other two girls (plus Michelle) who were otherwise not dressed at all. There was a magician and a belly dancer.

And then there was Mr. Gorgeous.

Michelle had told us that Mr. Gorgeous was going to be in the show a few weeks earlier. "He does this act...I can't describe it. He's about 6'4" and he has this chair....you're just going to have to see it." I honestly can't do a better job at describing it than that. He is a giant, and sort of clumsy, but in a completely deliberate way that is actually not clumsy at all, and is awkward in the most awesome possible way and he is THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN AND I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN WHY. Just go watch this and be amazed. And then when you're done, watch this one in which he is the Jolly Green Giant and OH MY GOD THE PEAS. He is a genius.

Anyway, the Big Sexy Show was big. And sexy. And great. And Valentine's Day still sucks.

Birthday Wrap Up

HOLY CRIZAPPLE YOU GUYS. Thank you SO MUCH for all the amazing birthday wishes here and on Twitter, especially since I barely reminded anyone about it this year! And also greetings to my birthday twins Lola Cherry Cola and Cat Spinster - I hope you both had as wonderful of a day as I did. Because I did. You know why? Because StereoNinja bought me the stupid Fifty Shades party game we're going to be playing at the UK meet ups and you guys, YOU GUYS, it is FUCKING TERRIBLE. I made a video for you of me opening and examining the contents of the box. Let me tell you something, it is a fucking scene inside that box. Unfortunately it won't be ready for a few days because my esteemed video editor is doing actual work that he gets paid for, but that and the spare notes from 11-13 will be up soon.

Other things I got for my birthday:

• Books (good ones, not this "erotic" novel crap)
• Dalek socks (which I hope won't exterminate my toes)
• A giant Reese's peanut butter heart that I plan to crack open and eat the peanut butter out of with a spoon (THERE'S NO WRONG WAY TO EAT A REESE'S DAMN IT)
• A pirate Santa (I'll say that again. Pirate. Santa.)
• Drunk with my coworkers Thursday night, a night that culminated in my patented sleeping on the bathroom floor move, a raging hangover all day Friday, exactly zero desire to drink on my birthday, and no posts over the weekend (sorry). Also there were feathers EVERYWHERE.

Damn You, Science Channel

I've spent almost the entire day today watching Fringe on Science Channel, which is really, really stupid because this is exactly the sort of show that will give me nightmares. After I collapsed from making dinner for five hours and then eating the crap out of it yesterday, I spent a good part of the evening watching Dark Matters, also on the Science Channel, which I got completely obsessed with last season even though it scares the shit out of me. So basically, the Science Channel is stealing my days and is probably about to steal my night as well. If that show about extrasolar planets is on tomorrow I might end up fused to the couch forever. DAMN IT, SCIENCE, STOP BEING INTERESTING.

I Got Nuthin'

I'm having some serious writer's block tonight, either because I did actual work all day long and nothing interesting happened, or because two and a half hours of stripper classes is fucking exhausting. Therefore, I will be cheapening the NaBloPoMo experience tonight by simply posting a video of something else that has nothing to do with me, other than this being the woman who just put me through an evening of very fun torture that I will no doubt be paying for with soreness for the next two days.

Here is Michelle L'Amour in "The Most Naked Woman".


Michelle L'amour in "The Most Naked Woman" from franky vivid on Vimeo.

Butthoven's Fifth

H-Town suggested to me last week that one thing that could help me in coming up with something to post every single day for a month is if I posted a few links to some of my favorite burlesque performances. And since I got to see one of my favorite burlesque performances in history live and in person last Wednesday at Naked Girls Reading, and also since I am backdating this post because I am a lazy fucking blogger (or possibly because I got drunk during a 6 and a half hour Skype call yesterday (in which I may or may not have also been naked and reading) and subsequently passed out before writing anything), I am going to do exactly that.

A year ago, the queen of Chicago burlesque, Michelle L'Amour, who also happens to be my dance teacher, walked into class and said "You guys, last night I did the most ridiculous thing I think I have ever done on stage. I played Beethoven with my butt." In the year that has passed since then she's been to Spain and France specifically to perform Butthoven's Fifth on television. Last Wednesday was the one year anniversary of that first performance, and to celebrate she performed it in between reading us stories about a guy who accidentally marries a big yellow cat and demonstrating that despite what countless movie adaptations would have you believe, Frankenstein's monster as portrayed in the actual book is exceptionally fucking articulate.

So, here is a video of the original performance of Butthoven's Fifth, which I can tell you from experience does not do justice to seeing it live.

Many thanks to H-Town for once again saving me from myself on this blog.

A Weekend In Pittsburgh - Day 1

I went to Pittsburgh this past weekend because my phone is an asshole.

For the record, I still hate my iPhone. I even went so far as to name it "Asshole Phone" so every time I connect it with iTunes it asks me if I want to update things on my asshole phone. On this particular day I was hating my phone because it allows me to be recklessly impulsive. Earlier in the day, I had been insisting to StereoNinja that Ben Folds is the greatest lyricist ever because he is. I was thinking about it on the way home and started wondering if he had any shows coming up in Chicago. But wait! I have an iPhone now, I don't have to wonder! A quick search showed me that he did NOT have any Chicago events coming up. What he DID have was a concert in Pittsburgh with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra on Memorial Day weekend. I have always wanted to see Ben Folds play with an orchestra. I found myself wondering if there were cheap flights to Pittsburgh that weekend. Asshole phone told me that there was. Before I knew what was happening to me I'd bought tickets to the show and booked a flight. I was still on the fucking train, and I had impulsively planned an entire trip on my way home from work, in a situation where if I didn't have a fucking iPhone I would have had to wait until I got home and probably talked myself out of it. It was only when I did finally get home that it occurred to me I had not bothered to check with TupperDoug to see if he was even going to be in town. Stupid phone. Luckily he was available.

I have been to Pittsburgh many times, but this was my first time actually flying there. It turns out they have a very nice if somewhat confusing airport. Not confusing as in difficult to navigate, confusing as in what the fuck is happening here? On the way to baggage claim, I was greeted by two similarly sized statues appearing to be of equal importance. The one on the right is of George Washington, leader of the revolution and the first President of the United States of America. The statue on the left is of Franco Harris, who was a tailback with the Pittsburgh Steelers in the 70's and early 80's. Apparently in Pittsburgh those two occupations are roughly the same.

football players = the founding fathers

I was still struggling to process that when I got to the bottom of the escalator and discovered the skeleton of a T-Rex for apparently no reason at all.

Welcome to Pittsburgh, bitch.

I hadn't seen TupperDoug since Simmy's wedding nearly 7 years ago and I hadn't been to Pittsburgh for several years longer than that. This turned out to be irrelevant: from the moment he picked me up from the airport it was as though we'd just seen each other yesterday, right down to our traditional game of What Do You Want To Do I Don't Know What Do You Want To Do. Before we did anything though, we went home to his new house so we could drop off my stuff and I could finally meet his partner, Ron Jeremy (not the actual Ron Jeremy. What happened was we were talking about how all of this was going to end up on the blog and I mentioned that he'd get to pick his own blog name since we were discussing it before hand and how that was good because then he wouldn't get saddled with something stupid like MrBalls or StereoNinja. He said he'd think about it. Later we were watching a Showtime show called Dave's Old Porn (which we will get back to in a minute) and it was jokingly suggested that his blog name be Ron Jeremy. We laughed about it, but he never did get back to me about what he'd like to be called, so...he's Ron Jeremy. Thankfully, he in no way resembles the actual Ron Jeremy.) and have a drink while we decided what to do. Ron Jeremy was concerned that 11 a.m. might be too early to start drinking, which TupperDoug and I found completely hilarious and so rum was poured. This is also when TupperDoug brought out his photos (the only ones known to exist) from the Legendary Night of Christmas Eve Eve, which are even more ridiculous that I remember (this may be because I don't remember half of them because I was passed out on the bathroom floor with no shirt on).

After playing catch up on what's been going on for the last 7 years (i.e. I am still slutty but now with more public nudity and trapeze classes; TupperDoug has literally become the "damn kids get off my lawn" guy and yells at kids for being on his lawn), we noticed we were hungry so off we went to drink beer in a church.

The Church Brew Works is exactly what you think it is: a building that was once a church but is now a microbrewery. What makes it special is how little they have changed the building. Arches, a narthex, pew seating, the nave, stained glass windows have all been maintained. The brew kettles sit on the completely intact altar, perfect since I more or less worship craft beer (ok, more). I went the Saaz Monster because it said "monster" in the name and was described as hoppy, an IPA, and a taste of the Coconut Stout because coconuts. Also there was food, but my point is, beer in a church.

That evening, TupperDoug and I went to the Ben Folds show as per the pointplaying it with the Western Australia Symphony Orchestra which will give you some idea of how it works even though it sounds nothing at all like the version we heard.

After the show we found ourselves in that weird state people our age tend to get in, where you're too jacked up to go to sleep but far too tired to go out. I used this to my advantage and began phase one of what has been my super secret sinister plan all along - to turn America into Britain. I started with getting them hooked on some of the finer television shows BBC America has to offer, first Top Gear and then a sci fi classic. I e-mailed one of my friends in England: "I am introducing [TupperDoug] and [Ron Jeremy] to Dr. Who. I am on a mission to make everybody English. Send scones." David Tennant and his crazy eyes kept us up past two in the morning, proving once again that Dr. Who has magical powers.

Next up: Pittsburgh Day 2 - The Weirdness Continues

Epic Austin Weekend of Boobs and Cake

You may have noticed that I didn't get as out of control wacky over my birthday this year as I normally would and I have a very good reason for that, which is that I decided to make a big deal out of someone else's birthday the following weekend and so I planned an epic trip to Austin instead.

I should back up a bit. I have a friend from college named Ashley, who you may remember from this story involving several failed drunk dialing attempts and my keychain winding up in another person's crotchal area. In fact, prior to Epic Austin Trip, that was the last time I'd seen her. Well, back in October or so, I made some sort of offhand comment about coming to see her for her birthday (which is the week after mine) and that also the cake master (who you may remember from when she tried to invite me to go camping) and H-town (who you may remember from every cool thing I have ever done in my life) should come along too. I made this offhand comment on Ashley's Facebook page, where it was seen by Jil with one L (who you will not remember from previous stories because I hadn't seen her in 15 years) (also she has the same birthday as me) who responded with something to the effect of "Is this for serious?" and promptly booked a flight. Well at that point it was ON LIKE DONKEY KONG, so I then set about systematically eliminating every excuse the cake master and H-town could come up with not to go, coordinated the booking of flights and told Ashley it was done and done. "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS!" was her actual verbatim response.

I met up with the cake master at Midway airport Friday morning. The fun began immediately when we noticed a girl in a pink cowboy hat with a veil attached to it that nearly reached the floor and "Bride" written in glitter across the front. We hated her immediately, a hatred I accidentally expressed after we'd boarded the plane. She was one of the last people on and was looking around for a seat when a flight attendant yelled "there's seats back here!" just as she was standing next to the empty seat on my right.

"Not this one," I said.

"Oh my god," said the cake master while laughing hysterically.

"Oh, did I say that really loud?"

"YES."

On landing we were greeted by H-town, who had landed just a few minutes before us, and we all went outside to meet Ashley. On the way to her house we discussed the plans for the weekend: we were going "Texas" and planned to use the phrases "I'll tell you what", "That dog can hunt" and "Bless his/her heart" as often as possible. Also, we were going to replace the phrase "that's what she said" with "sounds like my first time" as pioneered by a friend of my cousin Kelly (my whole family is doing it now, it's brilliant. Try it). We got to her house, dumped all of our stuff, and immediately started going through old photos from college that H-town had the forethought to actually bring with her. After a few rounds of "remember that time when", Ashley hunted down her old photos which were mixed in with photos from high school (Ashley and H-town went to high school together also), some Glamour Shots and a dick picture the rest of us weren't meant to see.

Ashley and H-town both do improv comedy. Every Friday night, the Coldtowne Theater in Austin has a show called Cagematch where two improv groups face off against one another in a battle judged by the audience. Ashley had gotten them a slot, and so for the first time ever on the same stage they did a 20 minute set and TORE THE ROOF OFF THE PLACE, which you can see here. It really wasn't even a contest. Afterwards we went for a drink, did some shopping for snacks and cake supplies and then all went to pick up Jil from the airport, where they have a big picture of Texas on the floor which I alternately pretended to shit on and did cartwheels across. I am 34 years old.

Saturday morning, H-town and I woke up first and elected to go jump on/steamroll Ashley and Jil, after which we all got dressed and went on a mission to find a food truck called Biscuits and Groovy which sells, oddly enough, biscuits. An adorable kid with curly hair and a Texas accent took our order and told us "Y'all can go wait in yer car if ya want and I'll bring it on out to ya when it's ready." We dubbed him Biscuit Boy (bless his heart).

The bulk of Saturday was spent hanging around the house baking a somewhat ridiculous amount of cake. This was for the party we were attending at some friends of Ashley's who were all having a joint birthday party. The theme of the weekend was boobs, because Ashley has huge boobs, I had been tapped to strip at the party, the whole thing had kicked off with "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS" and mostly because boobs are awesome. So we made a boobs cake along with a sheet cake on which we ended up drawing Ryan Gosling's abs after watching Crazy Stupid Love while we waited for the cakes to cool. Then Ashley wrote the name of every January birthday person she knew over the top of Ryan's abs and we left for the party.

There was some sort of themed drink thingy going on at the party which we all quickly abandoned in favor of beer. We hung about the party until after the cake cutting, when I disappeared to go get dressed so that I could then turn around and get undressed in front of 60 people. Ashley introduced me for the first time as Poppy Coq "who has come all the way from Chicago to take her clothes off to music." Which I then did for my first solo strip tease performance of my life. Afterwards I was told by both Ashley and H-town they had overheard some girl say "My god, that ass!" while I was performing. When I was back in street clothes, I went and found the others who were now sitting in the front room drinking more beer and watching whatever crap movie was playing on the tv in there. As we didn't really know anyone else at the party, we elected to play a new drinking game we invented for the occasion called "Spot the Hipster", in which you drink every time someone comes in the room wearing black rimmed glasses, a plaid shirt, a decorative scarf, or a beard. We were wasted in 11 seconds. Also, I kept telling everyone who walked in the front door "You missed it. I was naked 10 minutes ago."

Back at Ashley's we were tired, drunk, hungry, and not at all ready to go to bed, so we sent Ashley out to buy us some frozen pizzas while we hung her bras from her ceiling fan and threw an exercise ball at each other up the stairs. Then when Ashley got back we dressed H-town up in heels and made videos of her walking around until we were all slap happy enough to think that me responding to Ashley's question "What time did we put the pizza in?" with "Your mom" was the most hilarious thing we'd ever heard. Which was about the time we realized we should probably go to bed.

Epic Austin weekend was truly Epic, and it is mad ridiculous that it took us 15 years to all get back in the same room at the same time. I can't imagine that it will take us another 15 to do it again. I've already started my campaign for Summer of Chicago 2013. If we get just one more woman to come I can even call it Summer of Chicago Epic Trip: Now With MORE BOOBS!

In conclusion, boobs. And your mom.

Having A Social Life Makes It Really Hard To Blog Sometimes

I was told this morning by StereoNinja that I am being a shitty blogger in 2012 so far. Which I know, but see, there's this thing where I'm busy at my job and travelling and other excuses both legit and complete and utter bullshit. One of them is that I went on an epic trip to Austin last weekend. And I really want to tell you all about it, but chronologically it doesn't make sense if I skip over all of December and my birthday. Also, personally it doesn't make sense either. I have never skipped December or my birthday, they are my favorite things. So herein I will attempt to briefly recap the last month and a half so that in the next post I can describe the most epic reunion of my entire life. Cool? Cool.

A Brief Recap of What Amberance Has Been Up To Since Early December, Minus The Parts That Are None of Your Business and You Don't Want to Know About Anyway (Trust Me)

• On December 10th, as advertised, I walked onto a stage at Martyr's with 16 other women and took off all my clothes in front of hundreds of strangers and it. was. AWESOME. Despite it being oddly disconcerting to be walking around in a bar all night in a nightie and a robe while everyone else around me was dressed, but whatever. The show on the whole was excellent. The girls graduating were amazingly talented and creative and their acts included a girl who stripped to the Imperial March as Darth Vader and left the mask on the entire time, two girls who did a number together to Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive" in which one of them was the cowboy and the other one was her horse, and a girl who according to Michelle L'Amour said that she wanted to do a number in which "I do all of the things you always tell us we should never do", and so did a completely disinterested strip tease dressed in a ratty house coat with her hair a complete mess and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth, then finished with taking her bra off to reveal another flesh colored bra underneath to which she had sewn baggy tits that hung down to her knees and when she couldn't get the nipple tassels to twirl she just picked them up in her hand with a shrug and juggled them. It was the most hilarious strip tease I have ever seen.
• The bartender bought me an auto hammer for Christmas and I was filled with joy. I am a tool for tools. And puns.
• The next day I flew to Cleveland for two days because something is seriously wrong with me. I packed a backpack for the trip. My brother had also come to town, for four days, and had brought three huge suitcases and a garment bag, prompting me to ask my dad if it was weird for him that his son is his daughter and his daughter is his son (I did, after all, get an auto hammer for Christmas).
• I saw my brother again the following weekend when he came to town for the annual New Year's Eve party thrown by some friends of ours. My loving brother greeted me with a loud "Fuck you," when I walked in, due to my having worn an amazing tank top with chains and tiny handcuffs for straps that everybody but him loved, including all the women who were pregnant which was ALL OF THEM.
• The following week we had our work holiday party, to which I took the gorilla after giving me his word that he would behave himself. I shouldn't have worried, he was absolutely fine. It was me and my coworkers who were out of control, but it wasn't our fault - someone had brought a Shake Weight to the gift exchange which we were inappropriate about, and then we were under the minimum for the contract we'd signed, so the obvious thing to do was to order lots more booze which led to me teaching everyone how to twirl nipple tassels and shouting "It's PHYSICS" at everyone who tried to object.
• The following Monday I flew to Portland and didn't even try to kill my boss once!
• Which leads us to my Amber's Super Ultra Fantabulous Birthtacular Celebration Extravaganza: Now With MORE KELLY! weekend. This did not start out well. El Nino or whatever the hell the weather is doing had kept things pleasantly warm and dry in Chicago this winter, right up until the night of my birthday when it decided to drop 8 inches of snow on us overnight. This meant that only Charlie and Mrs. Sizemore showed up to my party at Tai's and got to see my Epic Cake which depicted me in not a whole lot of clothing.

  

  So hot it is literally on fire.

  This gave me the opportunity, after we had partially eaten it, to yell "WHO IS GOING TO EAT MY CROTCH?" at some innocent strangers for a totally legitimate reason. Earlier in the day, I had taken my pink princess wand to work with me in order to command people to do my bidding, such as wear hats and sing to me, and had ended up using it help my co-worker figure out what NOT to get his wife for her birthday by waving it at him after every suggestion and saying "No, that's stupid." Because of this, I decided to name it the Wand of Truth and then brought it to the bar and had a duel with the bartender and his magic wand because his Schwartz was as big as mine. The next day, Kelly and Mike showed up and we spent the weekend playing Pulse on our respective iPads and eating/drinking our faces off. Kelly ate some caterpillars. Lots more awesome things happened, but that is the thing that stands out - Kelly eating her way through a plate of caterpillars at Sticky Rice.

So that about brings us up to speed, and though I've missed some major things out (see bolded header), I feel better about blogging the Epic Austin Trip. Which I will do shortly to avoid further admonishments from StereoNinja. You don't want to piss off a ninja*.

*he is not a real ninja**.
*OR IS HE?

Day 29 And I'm A Star! (A Little)

I'm just now back from dance rehersal for the group burlesque number at the student show at Martyr's on December 10th and I am very excited about it, despite the fact that everything hurts right now because double rehersals suck bowls full of dick and my abs, good lord, the pain. So. Much. Pain.

I'm trying not to read too much into it, but the lines have been set and I am in the front row just stage right of center, despite being taller than many of the girls behind me. There's a possibility that this is because our instructor thinks I'm one of the better dancers. It could also not mean that, and merely be an indication that I've got the choreography down more than some of the others. And, of course, they don't really know me all that well, but there's a slim chance they've sensed what kind of not-a-lady I am and have put me in the front row because they know I will not be nervous about taking off all my clothes as opposed to some of the women who have specifically requested to be in the back row. All I know is I didn't make a request for any specific row, I was just told to go stand in front so I did.

I've had a number of people tentatively ask me if I wanted people to come, or if I'd prefer they didn't because of concerns it might be easier to take my clothes off in front of strangers rather than people I actually know. If you're one of the people who has been wondering this but hasn't asked me, here's what I told everyone else: I have no problem with anyone coming to see me in this show, but I am not going to ask anyone to go. This is not because I don't want you there, it's because I'm part of a group number that is a part of a student show. I'm going to be onstage for less than three minutes with 16 other girls and I'm not comfortable asking people to spend $15 and sit through tons of other numbers in order to witness my three minutes of shared fame. But you're more than welcome to do that if you'd like. All the other numbers will involve girls getting undressed as well, which is pretty cool. It's not like you'd be sitting through an entire Star Trek convention to catch a brief glimpse of my ass. Tickets are available here if you want them.

Day 19 And Surprise! The Television Is Upsetting Me

The bartender pointed something out the other night while we were watching New Girl, and as much as I am loathe to criticize anything Zooey Deschanel is involved with because I want to kiss her whole face, I have to admit he has a point. Every single sitcom, every year, has an episode that revolves around making a disaster out of trying to cook Thanksgiving dinner. They are never funny, ever, and the reason why is this: It's not actually that hard to cook Thanksgiving dinner. It just isn't.

I know this because I've done it a number of times. And I really can't figure out how people think that putting a roast in the oven and leaving it there for hours is at all difficult. There is almost nothing you need to do with a turkey as far as roasting it, other than to remember to defrost the thing in time, but even if you forget that, there are completely thawed turkeys at the store and you can run out and get one if the one you bought isn't ready by the day before.

The most difficult part of making Thanksgiving dinner is getting the timing right, but even that isn't really that hard if you make a schedule. It's simple really, you work backwards: figure out what time you want to have dinner, figure out how long each individual dish takes to cook, subtract that from what time you want to serve dinner and write it all down in chronological order. You don't even need to factor in the prep work most of the time. You can bake the pumpkin pie a day or two ahead of time, cube bread for the stuffing and chop onion/celery/apples/whatever you put in your stuffing the night before, peel the potatoes and the parsnips when you wake up in the morning. Even making homemade gravy shouldn't really throw you that much if you want to try it, because you need to let the turkey sit for half an hour anyway so the juices have time to redistribute (FYI, if you are carving up your turkey immediately after pulling it out of the oven and it comes out dry, this is the reason), which is more than enough time for gravy making.

Sitcom writers: this cliche is getting really, really old. If it's that hard to come up with an idea for a Thanksgiving episode, don't worry about it. You can skip it and I promise you no one will miss it.

Day 17 And I Have An Announcement To Make

The e-mail I'd been waiting on tenterhooks to get for over a month showed up in my inbox at 8:32 p.m. last night. I'll be performing in my first burlesque show, the "TEASE! The Season" Student Showcase, at Martyr's on December 10th. Immediately following that show, the Chicago Starlets will be performing their own show, "BrrrrLESQUE!", which will be amazing if the last show I went to was any indication. Thank god I don't have to follow them.