Unread Nonsense: Educational?

I started this blog in August of 2006 in an effort to prove to myself that my summer job hadn't rendered me illiterate. It sounds like a stupid concern, I know. But you should have walked with me one of those nights as I ranted to myself about the fact that Fancy Feast not only saw fit to make like 100 flavors of cat food; and not only deemed it necessary to create separate "Grilled Beef Feast" and "Sliced Beef Feast" flavors, as if cats could differentiate between the two so soon after licking their own assholes; but then had the nerve to make such similar-flavored tins the exact same fucking color, rendering cat food almost impossible to stock without causing an aneurysm. And you should have been there as King Soopers' late-night classic rock soundtrack (which is the same to this day) played songs like Jackson Browne's "The Pretender" and The Who's version of "Summertime Blues", and I became convinced that the playlist had been designed with the sole intent of mocking my station in life. And when the night crew took its breaks outside and spent the entire time discussing bowhunting excursions, you should have read my mind as I wondered how hard it would be to commit suicide with a bow and arrow (all I could think of was to shoot the arrow way up in the air and catch it with your brain). Because if you had done all these things, you would understand that I had gone a little bit insane, and it was therefore not at all inconsistent for me to wonder whether I could still read and write above a third-grade level.

So the day I quit that job, I started this blog. I decided to call it "Unread Nonsense" as a sort of lameass play on words, since "unread" can either mean "uneducated" or "nobody reads this". I'm confident that this site has lived up to its name in each respect. Until this week. Because on the heels of Nate's learned Constitutional discussion, I'm here to one-up him and present an educational post concerning something even more important to Americans' collective psyche than the Bill of Rights. Pin this to your lapels, fuckers: it's state flags time!

My favorites, in alphabetical order:

Alabama

Educational Fact: Alabama's state flag has won the Flaggy for "Flag That Most Perfectly Sums Up The Rest Of America's Feelings About The Statehood Of The Place It Represents" every year since the awards were created to drum up Cold War jingoism in 1957.

Delaware

Delaware's flag is a love story in one frame. Listen, it's the 21st century. It's sad that our society is so hung up on what consenting adults like to do with each other's genitals. That said, these guys are totally gay. And not because one of them is wearing pink; we all know that wearing pink doesn't make a man gay any more than liking The Notebook or being secretly psyched to hear a Corinne Bailey Rae song does (so shut up!). No, these guys are gay because of the besotted glance we catch them sharing, the kind of glance that in a single second betrays feelings that years were spent hiding. These guys are gay because the farmer on the left is trying way too hard to seem insouciant, with his aw-shucks posture and his hand in his pocket. He's not fooling anyone. Also, these guys are gay because they're masturbating a hoe and a gun, respectively. I don't know what ever happened to Vernon and William (I named them Vernon and William), but I hope their story turned out happier than Ennis and Jack's, or Romeo and Juliet's. Let's hope it was more like Allie and Duke's, though I'm sure we can all agree that theirs too is bittersweet at best... right?

Oh, and Educational Fact: "December 7th, 1787" commemorates the day Delaware became the first state to ratify the US Constitution. Of course, December 7th eventually became much more well-known for two "days which shall live in infamy": the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, and the RIAA attack on Napster in 1999. The former forced the United States to enter into World War II; the latter forced me to pay for an Everclear CD instead of just downloading that one song I like for free (I know there were other file-sharing sites, but I was stupid, OK?).

Hawaii











Educational Fact: Hawaii became the 50th state in 1959, but its flag predates its statehood by over 100 years. It is the only state flag to feature the Union Jack, which honors Hawaii's friendship with the British during its years as an independent kingdom. After Hawaii became a state, President Dwight D. Eisenhower attempted to replace the Union Jack with America's flag, famously stating "It's OK for your new wife to be friends with her ex-boyfriend, but this is like finding out she has his name tattooed on her vagina."

New York

Educational Fact: The woman on the left represents Liberty, and the woman on the right represents Justice. Liberty and Justice are in a sorority at SUNY Oswego. Many people erroneously believe that Liberty is holding a Phrygian cap; actually, it is just some cap that she stole off of an old couple's garden gnome as part of her initiation. And while it is popularly held that Justice wears a blindfold because "Justice is blind", she is in fact very drunk, and is playing a game of strip "Pin the scale on the donkey" with some frat guys. Such shenanigans often have a price and this is no exception, as in the process of playing she inadvertently punctures a bald eagle's left wing with her sword.

Bonus Fact: Derek Jeter sucks!

North Dakota















Educational Fact: In a 2004 poll of worker birds, Buzz, the eagle on North Dakota's state flag, was named "The Hardest-Working Bird In The World". "It's crazy," said Milo, a carrier pigeon from Chicago. "Every bird I know would take one trip for the holly, one trip for the banner, one trip for the arrows. Hell, I can't even carry arrows. This guy, he does it all at once. He's a freak of nature." More recently, due to his skyrocketing blood pressure, Buzz has been advised by his doctor to take it easy. Predictably, he is said to have responded "Shove it up your ass, pussy."

Rhode Island
















Educational Fact: The following is a heretofore-unseen transcript of the 1897 meeting during which Rhode Island's flag was created.

John: I propose that the flag have 13 stars, arranged in a circle, to denote our status as one of the original 13 colonies, and as the 13th state.

Robert: A splendid idea.

John: And I further suggest that we include our state's motto, "Hope". Perhaps we could place it within the circle of stars.

Robert: Fantastic! This is shaping up wonderfully. And maybe if we just add an image within the circle... one that signifies hope... I'm reminded of Shakespeare here: "True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings". Perhaps, then, we could include some sort of bi--

Steven: (interrupting) Anchor!

Robert & John: ... ... ...

Robert: ... Yes, an anchor. Brilliant idea, Steven.

(Steven smiles and leaves)

Robert: I fucking hate that Steven is the governor's son.

Virginia

Educational Fact: Virginia's is the only state flag celebrating murder. Beneath the king's corpse is the motto "Sic semper tyrannis", which is Latin for "What now, bitch?".

West Virginia

(close-up)















Educational Fact: West Virginia's flag commemorates the date that zombies (pictured above) rose from the dead and seceded from Virginia. The slab of rock is meant to resemble a tombstone, and the flowers framing the picture represent zombies' love of pretty flowers. The state motto "Montani semper liberi" (translation: "Mountaineers are always white") was a last-second inclusion, replacing the original motto, "Uuunnnnnnng" (translation: "Flowers are pretty").

There you have it. To the states whose flags didn't make the cut: better luck next time. And to you, my twelve readers: just remember to thank me when you go on Jeopardy and "State Flags" is the final category. And Nate: Sic Semper Tyrannis.

I Love Summer!

So the plan for this post was to talk about how much I love summer. I was going to do this facetious thing where I have an epiphany that I love summer, and I was going to say that it's funny how love can sneak up on you that way. I was going to say that summer is the season of my dreams. Then I was going to go tell my best friend (Google) that I love summer, and Google was going to tell me that everyone (427,000 results for "I love summer") loves summer. And I was going to cry and cry because summer is such a cocktease and I was going to lament my youthful hubris in thinking that summer would ever settle down with me. It was going to suck.

Luckily for all of us, my attention span is as short as that of a guy whose attention span is so short that he can't be bothered to concoct a decent simile. So what ended up happening is that after I googled "I love summer," I forgot about writing the post and I started googling "I love" followed by random things and drawing definitive conclusions about their popularity based on the results - conclusions which I will maintain are correct for the remainder of my life. Because what better way to determine the relative popularity of something than to see how many people have explicitly stated on the internet than they love it? (That was a rhetorical question: there is no better way.)

So here for your learning pleasure are 25 of the things I googled (e.g. "I love [blank]"), ranked in (now-indisputable) order of popularity:

1. Lucy - 3,640,000
2. Jesus - 1,080,000
3. Summer - 427,000
4. Harry Potter - 241,000
5. Baseball - 240,000
6. Cancer (!) - 39,200
7. Apples - 33,300
8. Elephants - 25,100
9. Shakespeare - 23,400
10. Ping Pong - 14,300 (with "table tennis" 20,140)
11. Oranges - 13,700
12. Uranus - 4,340
13. Peeing - 4,090
14. Heroin - 3,160
15. Porcupines - 2,570
16. Pooping - 1,940 (with "shitting" 2690)
17. Tony Danza - 161 (with "shitting" 911)
18. Cutting Myself - 146
19. Canoodling - 25
20. Shawn Davis - 7
21. Renaissance Poetry - 1
22 (tie). Beating The Elderly - 0
22 (tie). That Video Of The Monkey Peeing In His Own Mouth - 0
22 (tie). Harpooning Whales - 0
22 (tie). Immature Blogs - 0

Before we discuss, I'd like to singlehandedly render this list inaccurate:

I Love Beating The Elderly!
I Love That Video Of The Monkey Peeing In His Own Mouth!
I Love Harpooning Whales!
I Love Immature Blogs!

Congrats, you four! Each of you is now as popular as Renaissance Poetry. Suck on that, Roger Ascham!

Roger Ascham is bummed about it.

Also:

I Love Shawn Davis!
because none of you assholes has ever said this on the web. Fuck you guys.

Anyway, let's talk about the list. I'm sure you'll notice that I tried to compare things that have historically been linked and bitterly debated: Apples vs. Oranges, Pooping vs. Peeing, Tony Danza vs. Cutting Yourself, Shakespeare vs. Elephants, etc. The matchups were sometimes close (elephants win by a nose! woo!), but I think we can safely say that each of these classic battles has finally been settled forever. You're welcome. But beyond the obvious oppositions, there are some interesting results:

- This Lucy girl is more than three times more popular (which my pappy raised me to read as "better") than Jesus. Waaaah is right, Jesus.

- Cancer is much more popular than the mainstream media would have you believe. Maybe Iraq does smell like ginger bread.

- Porcupines are underappreciated.

- So is Uranus...but not by me.

- People who harpoon whales don't love to do it. Their high school guidance counselors are probably very disappointed.

- Summer is fucking awesome! I love you, summer! XOXOXO.

Weekly Dervish Update: Musical Edition

I'm going to make this one relatively quick, because I don't have too much to say. The Dervishes played The Rocks two consecutive times. We really wanted both of these games, not only because we didn't want to suffer the ignominy of an 0-12 season, but because apparently the Rocks were talking shit in the stands during our first-week drubbing at the hands of the similarly lamenamed A-Town Nugs. A tale of two weeks (with accompanying music!):

Week 1

(Hit play, then read. Except you should check out the guy at 1:18. He would definitely be a Dervish groupie.)

Victory! If I had to come up with one sentence to best describe how we felt as this game unfolded, it'd have to be "Where the fuck did this come from?". Playing the undefeated Rocks (who Nate oh-so-cleverly dubbed "The Walks" due to their baffling refusal to swing the fucking bat), we couldn't have hoped for much. To this point, we had generally hit and fielded like a blind softball team might hit and field if you took away their BeepBalls. But our bats inexplicably came alive, and our fielding was good enough, as we swapped our clown shoes for cleats and triumphed, 23-8.

Highlight: Some might point to our 14-run outburst in the first inning during which we batted around twice and yelled "Yeah!" a lot. But my personal favorite moment came when our first baseman Tim "En" Garde attempted to slide into second base but instead performed a maneuver that looked like a cross between a fencing thrust and that scene in Bambi where he's trying futilely to walk on the ice.

Safe

Lowlight: Our umpire was a dickhead. There are not a lot of things sadder than when Bambi's mom dies, but an old, double-knee-braced umpire who compulsively injects himself into the game with unsolicited commentary and crotchety stipulations just might bum me out more. Seriously, fuck that guy.

Is the music still playing? Hit stop. John Philip Sousa's boisterous songs of American triumph have no place in week 2.

Week 2

(Once again, click and read.)

Oh yes, friends, we were riding high. But we knew that if we didn't do it again the next week, the first win would feel hollow. That didn't stop us from losing, though. We fell 19-9, though the game was actually closer than the score might indicate. The Rocks had a couple of players who weren't there last week, though I'm not necessarily claiming that shenanigans were afoot. I am, however, claiming that the new players were fucking assholes. Their new shortstop dropped a double play ball and proceeded to scream at the umpire, claiming that he dropped it during the glove-to-hand transfer (he didn't). Their new left-centerfielder slid into every base cleats high, even if there were no outs to be had, claiming he was "just tryin' to scare ya". We weren't scared or impressed. So in a span of two weeks, they went from Rocks to Walks to Cocks. And from losing to winning. Funny how that works, I guess.

Highlight: I'm tempted to just go with what makes me laugh again (walking into the complex, Nate was looking at a scoreboard and walked directly into a trash can, knocking it over. It was both awesome and a bad omen.), but the highlight has to be Cody Ray hitting two long home runs in the losing effort. It was so impressive that after the game I told him he could date my sister. Yeah, he was already dating her. But still. Also noteworthy here is a spectacular diving catch by left-centerfielder Matt Hockett. Also also noteworthy is that our team has two players named Matt Hockett, and they are in no way related. That is insane. How many people do you know named Matt Hockett? It's not that common a name. My name is way more common than that, and it would still blow my goddamn mind to meet someone named Shawn Davis. I'm not sure how I'd react: I'd either join arms with him and jump around gleefully for 10 minutes, or I'd push him out of a tree in a fit of insecurity like Gene in A Separate Peace (terrible book).

Lowlight: Plenty. But like Rowlf, I'm prone to crying jags, so let's not talk about it anymore. In conclusion,

Thank-Yous

I know that people love to crib the thoughts of well-spoken others and insert them into conversations. It's hard not to, really. And it makes you sound smart and classy. Take me, for example. Just the other day my friend Tim and I had this conversation:

Me: (reacting to Tim's dog barking outside) Are you going to let your dog in?
Tim: The back door is open.
Me: That's what she said.

And then we laughed for like 20 minutes. Even though she's the one who said it originally, my decision to call it back at that moment was impressive, and obviously reflected well upon my intelligence and character.

But there are thousands upon thousands of quotes out there, competing with the always-unnamed she to be casually dropped into conversations. I think I hear this one the most often:

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result."

I'm going to go out on a limb here and designate this phrase "stupid" and people's use of it "annoying". My reasons are several and boring, and I'm not going to talk about them because I hate to sound serious. Besides, everyone knows that the definition of insanity (unverified by the dictionary) is "any act that can be described by a googly-eyed emoticon or by the sound made when you simultaneously hum and flick your finger over your lips" (that's what she etc.)
 
But as I finally sat down this weekend to write thank-you notes for my birthday, I couldn't keep that goddamn quote from coming to mind. Not only because I wait way too long every year to write these things and still expect family members not to think I'm an asshole, but also because somehow every year I sit down expecting to write the rip-roarinest, most awesome letters ever written in response to 25-dollar checks. Then immediately my brain gets all constipated and I struggle to remember which way the letters S and N are supposed to go, much less how to write effectively. Inevitably, two hours and 5 sentences later, I've come up with a lame-ass form letter to duplicate on every other card, and I slink away thinking much less of myself as a writer and as a human being. It's crazy, man. In almost every other area of my life, I can say that I've learned something since early childhood. But somehow my thank-yous are stuck in a Never-Land of Stupidity. As a point of reference to show you how far I haven't come, I've tracked down a thank-you note I wrote to my parents at age 7:


Your first instinct might be to say something pithy and cutting like "BLAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Oh my God I can't breathe. HAHAHAHA What a moron!" Me? I'll go with a knowing sigh. Oh, 7-year-old me, you probably thought you'd get considerably better with time. Fool. A few things you might notice:

- I had written a first line, but decided to erase it and start again a line lower. You might wonder how bad that line must have been to be deemed unsuitable for this letter. I just wonder whether I did such a bad erasing job because I couldn't see very well through the anxious tears.

- You would probably figure that by age 7 I'd know which direction question marks are supposed to go. Actually, I would figure that, too. This might be one of the few areas of this letter that I can identify as no longer an issue in my thank-you note writing. And that's only because it is such a breathtakingly stupid mistake. To say I've gotten better would be kind of like commending a murderer for at least sparing the family's goldfish this time.

- My lowercase Ks look like uppercase Rs. I should actually point out that my handwriting here is probably a thousand times better than it is today. I've regressed in this area. Now my lowercase Ks look like uppercase What The Fucks.

- "I got everything I wanted" is awkwardly slipped into a list of things I got. It seems like the kind of thing on a standardized test where they'd number the sentences and ask which one seems out of order or shouldn't be there at all. Right now, for instance. I still do this.

- I got a book and a microscope (which I call "neat") and claim to like my gifts "very much". Both the gifts and the adjectives I apply to them would be classified by a child psychologist as "things that are lame".

(Super-long aside: I feel like I need to explain myself here. I was the oldest child, and in case you weren't aware, the oldest child is a fucking hero. By the second kid, parents have usually realized that children are not as sensitive as the egg babies they took care of in high school home-ec classes. But the first kid is shielded to the point of absurdity - never exposed to things that might be dangerous or cool. By the age of 7, kids who are second and third have not only led less-coddled lives in general, but they've also been privy to the cool things that the older siblings picked up at school between having their lunch money stolen and being called words that they don't understand because they're not allowed to watch anything awesome. While younger siblings are at home torturing the cat, the oldest kid is at school every day chipping away at his lameness with a little pickax, then he comes home and readily makes gifts of the cool he mined. I very clearly remember my friend Woody Potter (awesome name? yes) telling me in kindergarten that Santa Claus isn't real, and me arguing vehemently and confidently that he was mistaken. Imagine my embarrassment the next day. Or in first grade, my friend Bryce told me that the F-word was "fuck", and I was positive that he was just fucking with me. It blew my mind that the F-word wasn't a word I already knew. I had always just assumed the F-word did other work when it wasn't being the F-word, like Clark Kent did lame stuff when he wasn't Superman. So I argued vehemently again, going so far as to keep saying "fuck" in the middle of class, so sure was I that it was nonsense. These are the kinds of public defeats that first-born kids have to suffer on the road to knowledge of cool things. I will definitely be sitting my first kid down on the first day of kindergarten and just schooling him(/her) in every vile, depressing thing known to man. He will be bummed for a few days, but will soon be psyched when he earns cool points by telling his friends about Santa* and Fuck and what "teabagging" means.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. I called things neat and liked microscopes. Fucking sue me. This is another area in which I've improved, though when I'm writing letters to my grandmother, using words like "neat" actually isn't a bad idea. Better than "epic" or "sickmendous".

- Probably the most ridiculous part of this whole letter is the fact that I ended a note to my parents - people who conceived me and gave birth to me and changed all my shitty diapers and taught me to walk and taught me to talk and took me to the hospital when I ate a whole bottle of Flintstones vitamins and protected me and bought me a microscope that I wanted for Christmas - with "Sincerely, Shawn Davis". Like it's a fucking business letter. Like when they walked me to my first day of school I turned and said goodbye with a handshake and told them we should have lunch sometime. I can just imagine them getting this note:

Mom: Oh, we got a thank-you card from Shawn Davis.
Dad: Who?
Mom: You know, Shawn Davis? Our real estate agent? He was just thanking us for the radio and the microscope and the books. He said they were really neat.
Dad: (coming over to take a look) Huh. Isn't it weird that we didn't just pay him in money?
Mom: I don't know. He said he wanted those things a lot worse. Remember, when we were closing the sale he gave us that JC Penney catalog, and he'd circled the things he wanted?
Dad: Oh, right. Odd guy.
Mom: He was nice!
Dad: His lowercase Ks look like uppercase Rs.

So yeah, "Sincerely, Shawn Davis" is embarrassing. But I'm pretty sure that within the last three years, I've signed a few of my thank-yous "Shawn Davis" in cursive without even thinking about it.

If I'm being completely honest, I know my notes have gotten better since this one. But not much better. They start with "Thanks" and end with "Thanks again" and in between they very briefly mention how I used the gift (since it's always long-gone by the time I'm writing the letters). So pretty much the same sentiment as when I was 7, but with slightly better execution. It's pathetic. I'm a grown man - I should at the very least be able to come up with something small-talky and inane. I do, after all, write this blog.
____________________________________________________________________

*I would like to mention that I don't blame my parents for not telling me about Santa Claus. Because without a belief in Santa, I doubt I would have been inspired to create masterpieces like "Santa Mouse". It's like, who knows what Caravaggio would have painted if he wasn't a Christian. It's just like that.

Santa Mouse sees all with his big squiggly left eye. He must have also seen that coming to my house would have been a mistake, because if my mom had seen him she would have freaked out and smashed him with a book.

Post About Not Always Writing Dervish Posts Which Is Nonetheless Still All About The Dervishes

It was too much, I know. I think that Nate decided to post as a sort of passive-aggressive intervention, before my descent into Dervish-inspired madness was irreversible. I was young and foolish, and I kept telling myself that I was just a hobbyist - that I could stop any time I wanted to and go back to how things were. Besides, I don't have to tell you that Dervish posts always feel so damn good. And that's the thing about addiction, friends: what feels so much like transcendence is really about as base and earthbound as it gets. But you don't usually figure that out until your tongue has already been in somebody's butt; I was one of the lucky ones who had a support system that cut me off before it came to that. Really, taping "Dervish" over the "Cheeri" on my cereal box isn't that bad. And neither is editing the nutrition facts, because Dervishos do have one billion percent of your daily Pimp Juice. And Boardwalk is a stupid street name in Monopoly, anyway. But I shudder to think of what I've no-doubt driven my readers to do under the influence of my powerful Dervish posts. So I had to do something, for you.

But I can't quit Dervish posts altogether; you (I) love them too much. It's just about moderation. To that end, I recently got some great blogging advice from the Foundation for Alcohol Responsibility. It was pretty poorly-written, but I know exactly what they were going for:

Pair your (blog posts). The single best habit you can adopt is to always (blog) one non(Dervish post) for every (blog about) (Dervishes), (softball), or (pussies who take walks).

(...)

Pairing your (blogs) in this way offers several benefits (for your readers):

You are slowing and diluting (their)(Dervish) intake. This gives (their) (minds) more time to adjust to and metabolize the (Dervish posts) (they) consume, and gives (them) more control over (their) (reading) experience, since (they) can "slow down" by switching to (non-Dervish posts), making (them) more likely to be enjoyably relaxed as opposed to (frothing at the mouth) and (having dangerously powerful orgasms).

(Dervish posts) (are) a (roller-coaster ride of emotion), (titillating) you and making you (randy), so (reading) a non(Dervish post) keeps you (clothed). [This also helps to prevent (becoming a Dervish groupie), which (is) partially caused by (Dervish posts).]

(They) can also better enjoy the (metaphorical) flavor of (their) chosen (softball team), because (non-Dervish posts) can help clear your (metaphorical) palate.

It's good advice. My next post will not be even vaguely Derv-ish, which will calm everyone down before I launch into the Weekly Dervish Update (which should be a doozy). But as I take my first tentative steps back into the world of non-Dervish-related blogging, I simply ask for your continued patience and understanding. If I occasionally interrupt a post about words that sound funny with "Hit your fuck-damn cutoff man!", please forgive me and continue your regular yawning routine. Funny word: milquetoast.

Fortnightly Dervish Update: Brave Face Edition

We're back. After taking a Sunday off to barbecue and remember something, the Dervishes today enter Phase 2 of our super-secret master plan for interstellar softball supremacy. Phase 1, you might have guessed, was "Suck balls." Mission accomplished. Phase 1 reached its successful conclusion two Sundays ago, when a 7-5 loss to "Dem Cats" left us 0-3, thereby granting us "Clown Shoes" certification, and the attendant league-wide disrepute that is so important to our cause.

And our cause is a movie. Because while there's something to be said for the purity of amateur pseudo-sports, there is also something to be said for the purity of really pure cocaine. And that something is "LET'S GET NAKED!!! WOOOOO!!!" But movies don't get made about juggernauts. Hollywood wants the unlikely champions, man. The first half-hour of any sports movie worth its salt has to include enough comic bunglery to justify intermittent reaction shots where the coach throws his hat on the ground and contemplates suicide. And the Dervishes have delivered. Now we can "miraculously" turn it around and set ourselves up for a showdown with the seemingly-unstoppable team that beat our asses early on (the 4-0 A-Town Nugs). If all goes according to plan, Hollywood won't be able to resist, and the Dervishes will soon come to a multiplex near you, to be played by the cast of 300 (which would be about akin to casting Dennis Quaid to play Jim Morris -who really looks like this, yet apparently does not molest children or run a saloon).

Anyway, today we play "The Rocks", one of two undefeated teams in the league. Next week's opponent: "The Rocks". Good fucking job, schedule makers. And all false bravado aside, we will probably lose. If so, I'll see you here next week, armed with some equally mealy-mouthed attempt to laugh off our soul-crushing shittiness. If we win, I'll probably post something ejaculatory later on tonight, then go get drunk. So again, see you next week.