- The vernal equinox has come and gone, meaning that spring has sprung!
- Bruce Willis is a southpaw. He is now added to my ever growing list of celebrities with that most delicious of afflictions: left-handedness. (where my southpaws at? stand up!) He also just tied the knot with a woman 24 years his jr. She is thirty, and he is 54. Um... does this mean i had a chance with him? Its like when Chris Rock was hosting the VMAs and he commented on Jermaine Dupri dating Janet -miss jackson if you're nasty - "I had a chance!" LOL. But yes, i've had a crush on Bruce since his moonlighting David Addison days. The age difference is a bit to vast for me though. What do people with that many years between discuss? Speaking of talking - Demi and Ashton were invited to the wedding. Talk about blended family. I would love to be at one of their get togethers, i'm sure the conversations are quite interesting, to say the least.
- I'm a new aunt. :-) I don't think i have even mentioned that my sister was pregnant but she was, and the new bundle of joy is here. He's a boy, he's a doll, and he's my very first nephew. Actually he's my first anything. My sister is the only one of my siblings to have kids (so far). After seeing and holding him, i can definitely say i want one of my own. Props to my sister who delivered him sans any drugs. I am in awe of her right now. Childbirth is worse than the Spanish inquisition. (and nobody expects the spanish inquistion!) Word life.
- Speaking of childbirth and things of that nature, um.. I did not know you could induce lactation... like without being pregnant. WTF? Oh the exciting things you learn while talking about childbirth and childrearing. Anyway..so is that what chick in hand that rocks the cradle was doing?
- My grandmom played me twice this evening.
1.) - asking me whether or not i had an iPhone. When i said no, she's all: "but don't you have one of those fancy phones?" So when i told her that it was pretty fancy but its not an iPhone - its a Treo - i got the audio equivalent of a blank stare. "Oh i was hoping you had an iPhone." I won't even get into her reaction when she discovered i no longer had an iPod but a Zune. "Oh. What's that?" I could tell she was dissapointed with my not abiding by the current digital comme il faut. I totally lost major cool points with my bubbie tonight. lol. What does she want to know about ipods and iphones anyway? Grandmom better not be buying herself one...LOL.
2.) - Ever since my sister got married (and now that she has gone and had a bebe) My sweet grandmom has been on me hard about, you know, wtf i'm doing. So tonight, after she plays me for not having either one of Steve Jobs favorite chew toys, she decides to humiliate me further by mentioning (again) my status. I ran into one of her friend's sons at the supermarket over the weekend, and apparently he's been asking about me. Great. Now she's on a mission to make a love connection. "He's a really nice boy..." she asserts. "Not saying you have to be with him, but if you did he would be a good choice... just something to think about..." Oh grandmom...
- I will overthink something to death. I gotta get a handle on that.
- My favorite movie of all time (well one of them) is 70 years old this year. That movie is Gone With the Wind. You gotta see it to understand my passion for it. I used to ask folks to watch it with me, but they would beg off. (its too long, too boring, too racist...blah blah blah) After suffering such rejection, I realize that its probably one of those movies i will always watch alone, although i see a benefit in this, as i can cry unabashedly at some of the more moving scenes. This is what i did tonight. I'm still wiping tears actually. lol. *sniffle* Its funny, the first time i saw it, i was rooting for Ashley and Scarlett. But when i got old and came to my senses... Rhett all the way. I mean really. Pity that Scarlett didn't realize until it was too late. (yes, i know these are fictional characters.)
How do you go from this:
To this:
One of the best endings of any movie, EVER. Better than casablanca (yeah i said it) It gets me every time. I never fail to cry when i see this scene.
Scarlett: (tears) "I only know that i love you."
Rhett: "That's your misfortune."
Dang dude... cut a girl a break. Sometimes we don't get it until...
tears of a clown: i cry everytime i watch this movie.
Well i'm about to get all personal so i'll end my reverie now. But yeah Gone With the Wind. If youre into explosions and the frenetic pace of movies au courant, then this may not be the film for you. But if you can handle a slower pace, wonderful dialogue, and a rousing score? It doesn't get much better. Run Tell Dat.
Stravinsky - The Rite of Spring (Sacrificial Dance) Chicago Symphony Orchestra
Time; Evanescence. memory slips through fingers left with vapor trails
Once upon a time i considered myself a poet. Who knows why. I think it was that i was decent at stringing words together to form ideas. And while prose took a certain amount of dedication, i could rattle off a few disjointed thoughts and call them poetry. I'm like the yankee doodle of meter. Of course i know poetry isn't that easy, but i was arrogant you see. At the time it was all about instant gratification. Nevermind that nobody YOU didn't get it. Obviously my words are too deep for everybody YOU. Oh, and add to that the the fact that in first grade I won a poetry contest, among all the first graders in my school. I got to stand up at assembly and everything. Mmhhmm totally. A triumph that never lost its luster until i woke up, smelled those percolating coffee beans, and realized that i sucked. Reality bites you know?
Still, every once in a while i get the urge to dip my foot in some iambic pentameter -- until i remember i have neither the skill, nor the patience required for that kind of composition. That's why haikus were invented. They require even the most hamfisted person to be brief - and evocative. Maybe. Kind of.
So, for the last hour i've been listening to classical, writing haikus. (yes, i too am laughing and rolling my eyes at the "erudite" scene.) Inspiration came from admiring my fellow blogger's skill at verse. Reading her work made me want to try my hand once again at an art form that eludes me -- just as that whale did to that guy in that book.
Today's musical selection (Do yall even listen to these things?) Is a classical piece i've been repeating all evening -- Camille Saint- Saens' Danse Macabre. Danse Macabre is the medieval allegory on the plurality of death. It represents all classes of society, and the fact that none of us can escape its grasp. The musical piece is based on a poem written by goethe.
It has a very eerie sound, a jolting rhythmic structure and a driving timpani which I love. Enjoy.
Did you know that boredom -- in current parlance -- is a relatively new concept? The word, in its common usage, dates only about to the mid nineteenth century. Whoda thunk? Its amazing to think that it's had such a short existence, given its quotidian occurence in our lives. Who hasn't, as a child, exasperatedly uttered "i'm booooored?" (In my house this usually signaled that i, or one of my siblings wanted my parents to provide some sort of entertainment, usually at considerable expense. Mall trip, Amusement Park, etc.) While boredom is typically a childhood complaint, adults aren't immune. You ever been on mass transit, sitting beside someone who is searching for someone to talk to on the cell phone? They pick up and call someone, talk for a second, hang up -- usually because the other person has to go -- and immediately upon ending that call, begin scrolling through their contacts list again for someone else to talk to. This person refuses to be alone with their thoughts, for even a five or ten minute train or bus ride. They need constant stimulation.
Why are "we" so bored, when now, as never before, there are so many things to do? There is a surfeit of things to occupy our time, and, in theory, that should keep us from feeling that disinterested, yet anxious feeling that can only be described as "bored." Somehow it doesn't and this is apparently a recent development. I'm sure there is a message in there somewhere, and now would be the time to deliver some pithy and deep words about said "message", but really, i got nothing. Given the newness of the idea of boredom - I figure our progenitors were either never bored, or if in fact they were bored, they were too busy toiling in the fields -- perhaps the red clay of the deep south, or the rocky terrain somewhere in europe (can't front on miscegenation) -- to notice they were lacking some (un)necessary diversion.
And really, when i think about it, i am not surprised. When you work HARD -- i mean exerting physical strength, you don't have time to be bored. Sunrise to sunset, making it do what it do, leaves very little time for anything else -- save for eating, sleeping, and making babies. There is no room for tedium.
Earlier this evening i momentarily found myself in the throes of boredom. I was 12 years old again, all woe is me because i had nothing to do. At least, nothing i wanted to do. And the stuff i did want to do couldn't be done for logistical reasons. Even having the world at my fingertips (i.e. the internet) couldn't end my "suffering". The typical cause celebre failed to titillate, (The rihanna/ chris brown debacle being old and disappointing -- she went back to him??) which led to searching for some interesting bauble to buy, (amazon is my pusher) and searching for something worthwhile on television that wasn't reality based ( i think i'm over my reality tv thing.)
Finally, on the brink of existential meltdown (the drama!) i settled on blogging, which at least has my mind active, if nothing else. Unfortunately i have nothing to talk about(well nothing that isn't marked private lol) so i'm stuck writing about this minutiae.
I made a trip to target today (no petty theft so shutty) and made it out without spending egregious ducats. A big coup for me so give it up. I also got hit on by a young man who claimed he was 21 ( but he looked younger) and when i told him that he was too young for me *cue tower of power* his words were, and i quote:
"how old are you though...like 22/23? (shut your mouth!) That's not too old."
Bless his heart. That's a young man that's going places. lol. It just so happens that i was old enough to be his mother. Well not quite, but yeah. Anyway i don't do younger men so it wouldn't have mattered if he was 21 or 29, but it was an ego boost regardless.
Im cramming to lose this adipose tissue that "somehow" attached itself to my body. (It has nothing to do with my addiction to hershey's kisses i'm sure.) I'm back working out out regularly, which is requiring a lot of dedication considering i hate working out. I would kill for one of those effortlessly svelte bodies. It really sucks because all my siblings are naturally thin. I don't understand why that gene skipped me. Its a cruel world i tell you. Cruel.
So my eyebrows are freshly plucked and looking great but typing on this keyboard is a sad reminder that i did NOT do my nails. The worst thing about dark nail polish (loreal number 580) is that when it chips you can't fake the funk. And since i cannot stand seeing chipped nail polish i am going to have to make a remedy of this stat. How did everyone enjoy our balmy weekend? I was loving it. Spring is on its way and it can't come a moment too soon. I was so excited by the warmth that i didn't even miss the hour we lost when transitioning to daylight savings time. Usually i'm a bit draggy, but not this time. Hooray for spring!
Thirty years old is an odd place to be. You're a bit older than a decent portion of the population, so you don't fit in with them - - BUT, you're still significantly younger than everybody else, which means there isn't quite enough room for you in their ranks. Too old to be young, too young to be old.
And here i am, stuck in the middle with you. (its ok though. I like you.)
Unlike the majority of my peers, i didn't look forward to being 21. My birthday was not an exciting occasion for me. Being able to drink (legally) was not enough to offset my general uncomfortableness, awkwardness and cluelessness. I was an official adult, but i didn't feel like one.
My twenties passed by in a gaussian blur. People expected me to be an adult, so i assumed my role like any other self respecting person -- with as much hubris and machismo (wait..can females display machismo?) as I could muster. I was resolved to tackle life as it came at me. There were a whole lot of firsts then -- first job, first love, first heartbreak. First time being on a plane, first time leaving the country. First time understanding that sometimes its not your blood that is your closest relative.
These firsts made the transition from kid to adult, if not welcome, then exciting.
Still, it was in between these firsts that i often wondered when "feeling" like an adult kicked in. According to the numbers I was one, my physical appearance said i was one, and i certainly played the part when i walked out my front door every morning. Internally though? I was a mass of nerves. When would it be my turn to be cool calm and collected? When was i going to approach new hurdles with the jaded insouciance of one who has been down this road(s) before? When would i stop feeling butterflies when asked to make important decisions for myself? At my job? A job for which i still didn't feel qualified, but managed to land? How long could i keep on fooling them? Didn't "they" see the abject terror that lay just beneath the surface of my seeming calm? Weren't my eyes a dead giveaway? One day they would see me for what i was, a kid coming in to work in her mommy's clothes. And then what?
I assumed that by the time i reached my third decade i would be released from all these insecurities. I'd finally have some footing, some clarity, this adult thing would finally make sense. And why not? Thirty for most people means marriage, children, mortgages. All outward manifestations of being an adult. I mean they don't let you do those things unless you are a grown up right?
Funny thing is they do.
I recall laying in bed, the eve of my thirtieth birthday, viewing the stroke of midnight with something akin to dread. Dirty thirty, the age at which being "young" is no longer an excuse for... well anything. You're supposed to have your stuff together by now. The experimental 20s are behind you, now is for putting down roots. Time to leave life and all its wonderful eccentricities for the younger, more virile, cuter population to experience.
Crawl on that suttee and burn baby, burn.
The sins that were easily forgiven at 25 are not so much at thirty. By now you should know better.
The firsts are few and far between now. Its mostly a rehashing of experiences, different casts and settings give it variety, but a repeat all the same. And the repeats don't make me feel any more grown -- just old.
I expected to feel something when i entered this third decade. Unfettered desire to attend shows at the met, join the boards of some important community organization(s), put doilies over my prized pieces of furniture. You know, adult stuff.
Nunya.
Instead, i still get excited when i catch scooby doo on tv, buy star wars action figures, do the wop -- hard -- when a favorite song comes on, and i am not above reading, for the fifty millionth time, one of my prized collection of Nancy Drew Mysteries.
Whats that about?
Not that thirty has been all arrested development with a smattering of second childhood. I have made adult progress in certain areas. My body has never looked better(well when i'm treating it right that is.) The bank account has grown into something i'm proud of. The younger me was content to have just enough until the next check. I've made a decent amount of professional and personal accomplishments. I've made peace with a lot of my quirks. If its not harmful to myself or anybody else -- it is what it is. For the most part its been very very good to me.
But there's still part of me that feels like i'm playing a grown up instead of being one.
Sometimes i feel like adulthood was a present that was given to me -- and i have no idea what to do with it.
Those exceptionally pithy words were uttered to my by a friend of mine who makes it his business to call on random occasions to see whats poppin in my world (specifically my love life) and give unsolicited advice on all and sundry (specifically my love life).
I was ready to give some major props at his surprising (yet erroneous imo) display of insight, when he revealed to me that he was quoting from an article on that blog to end all blogs, the huffington post. Though his propers were quickly retracted, my curiosity was piqued. The article, while a bit tongue-in-cheek, made some salient points, points that touched me in some tender places.
I took the liberty of cutting and pasting, but the link to the article is here
addendum and in no way am i saying i am "smart", just that a few of the points resonated with me.
*****
I have a mini-confession to make: I wrote the Tao of Dating books specifically for really smart people. The writing of the books was precipitated by the endemic dating woes on the Harvard campus, as I observed them as an advisor and earlier, indulged in them as a student.
Those kids graduate and pretty much continue to have the same dating woes -- only now with fewer single people around who happen to live in the same building and share meals with them every day. So if they had challenges then, it gets about 1000 times worse once they're tossed from the warm womb of their alma mater.
From my observations, the following dating challenges seem to be common to most smart people. In fact, the smarter you are, the more clueless you will be, and the more problems you're going to have in your dating life. Once upon a day I used to be pretty smart, and believe me, I had a lock on clueless.
On the one hand, this makes no sense. Smart people can figure stuff out, right? And this stuff is simple!
On the other hand, it makes total sense. For simple things, it takes someone smart to really screw it up. So whether you went (or should have gone) to the likes of Harvard, Yale, Princeton, MIT, Stanford, Columbia, Cornell, Swarthmore, Amherst, Dartmouth, Brown, Oxford, Cambridge, Berkeley, Penn, Caltech, Duke, read on:
1. Smart people spent more time on achievements than on relationships when growing up. Smart kids usually come from smart families. And smart families are usually achievement-oriented. Bring me home those straight As, son. Get into those top colleges, daughter. Take piano, violin, tennis, swimming and Tibetan throat-singing lessons. Win every award there is in the book. Be 'well-rounded.'
Well, you're a talented little bugger. Of course you should develop those talents. At the same time, there's an opportunity cost associated with achievement. Time spent studying, doing homework, and practicing the violin is time not spent doing other things -- like chasing boys or girls, which turns out is fairly instrumental in making you a well-rounded human.
The upshot of all that achievement is that you get into a top college -- congratulations! -- and then continue doing even more of what you were doing before. Dating is at best another extracurricular, #6 or #7 down the list, somewhere between Model UN and intramural badminton.
I've been co-hosting young alumni events for name-brand schools for long enough to know that these kids come out a little lopsided (which sounds so much better than 'socially awkward', don't you think?). All they need is a little tune-up, or a little dating textbook like The Tao of Dating for Women or Men, to get them going -- plus a little practice.
Of course, as noted above, things only get worse once you graduate. And if you're frustrated with your love life, you just might try to compensate by working harder and achieving even more to fill that void. Left untreated, this condition can go on for decades. I know people in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond who still haven't figured out how to create an intimate connection with another human being.
It's because they've been going at it the wrong way. Which brings us to...
2. Smart people feel that they're entitled to love because of their achievements. For most of their lives, smart people inhabit a seemingly meritocratic universe: if they work hard, they get good results (or, in the case of really smart folks, even if they don't work hard, they still get good results). Good results mean kudos, strokes, positive reinforcement, respect from peers, love from parents.
So it only makes sense that in the romantic arena, it should work the same way. Right? The more stuff I do, the more accomplishments and awards I have, the more girls (or boys) will like me. Right? Please say I'm right, because I've spent a LOT of time and energy accumulating this mental jewelry, and I'm going to be really bummed if you tell me it's not going to get me laid.
Well, it's not going to get you laid, brother (or sister). It may get you a first date, but it's probably not going to get you a second date. And it certainly won't bring you lasting love and fulfillment.
Here's the thing: your romantic success has nothing to do with your mental jewelry and everything to do with how you make the other person feel. And making someone feel a certain way is a somewhat nonlinear process that requires a different kind of mastery than that of calculus or Shakespeare.
In other words, you need to earn love (or at least lust). Sadly, no mom, dad or professor teaches us about the power of the well-placed compliment (or put-down), giving attention but not too much attention, being caring without being needy. I wrote a whole 280-page book about that, so that's a story for a different day.
3. You don't feel like a fully-realized sexual being, and therefore don't act like one. At some point in your life, you got pegged as a smart person. From then on, that was your principal identity: The Smart One. Especially if you had a sibling who was better-looking than you, in which case she (or he) was The Pretty One.
Now you could be absolutely stunning (in which case you're both smart AND pretty and everyone hates you except for me -- call me, like, immediately), but your identity is still bound up in being The Smart One. So maybe you dress frumpy and don't pay a lot of attention to your appearance. Or never bothered to cultivate your sensuality as a woman. Or your sexual aggression as a male.
Attracting a partner is all about the dance of polarity. Energy flows between positive and negative electrodes, anode and cathode, magnetic north and south. Unless you actually convey femininity as a woman or masculinity as a man, you're not going to attract a suitable companion of the opposite sex.
Part of the issue is this: when all of your personal energy is concentrated in the head, it never gets a chance to trickle down to the heart, or, god forbid, the groin. By virtue of being born of the union of male and female, yang and yin, you are a sexual being. Deal with it. Now do what you need to do to perpetuate the race already. Use what mama amoeba gave you. That brings us to...
4. You're exceptionally talented at getting in the way of your own romantic success. Here's an incontrovertible fact: every one of your ancestors survived to reproductive age and got it on at least once with a member of the opposite sex. All the way back to Homo erectus. And even further back to Australopithecus. And even further back to monkeys, to lizards, to the first amphibian that crawled out of the slime, the fish that preceded that amphibian, the worm before the fish and the amoeba that preceded the worm.
And you, YOU, in the year 2009 C.E., the culmination of that miraculously unbroken line of succession, you, Homo sapiens sapiens, not just thinking man but thinking thinking man (or woman), are the only one smart enough to SCREW THE WHOLE THING UP.
Perhaps you should consider thinking a little less then. Because heaven knows that the amoeba, worm, fish, amphibian, monkey and primitive hominids didn't do a whole lot of thinking. Their DNA had a vested interest in perpetuating itself, so it made sure that happened.
Turns out your DNA works the same way, too. And maybe when you're really sloshed at a party and your whole frontal lobe is on vacation in the outer rings of Saturn, you've noticed that your lizard brain knows exactly how to grab that cute girl by the waist for a twirl on the dance floor. Or knows exactly how to arch your back, flip your hair and glance at that handsome hunk just so such that he comes on over to say hi.
To put it plainly, you are programmed to reproduce. Now quit thinking you're smarter than the 3 billion base pairs in your genome and 4 billion years of evolution. Actually, just stop thinking altogether. Let the program do its work.
5. By virtue (or vice) of being smart, you eliminate most of the planet's inhabitants as a dating prospect Let's say by 'smart' we mean 'in the top 5% of the population in terms of intelligence and education'. Generally speaking, smart people seek out other smart people to hang out with, simply because they get bored otherwise. And if they're going to spend a lot of time with someone, intelligence in a partner is pretty much a requirement.
Well, congratulations -- you've just eliminated 95% of the world's population as a potential mate, Mr or Ms Smartypants. Now, luckily, the world's kinda big, so the remaining 5% of the gender of your choice is still a plentiful 160 million or so people. Even if only 1% of those are single enough, good-looking enough, local enough and just all-around cool enough for you, that's over a million people you can date out there.
Still, that's less than one in five thousand people. And if you live in a smaller city, it may be just a handful of folks who are going to meet your stringent criteria. At this point, you have three choices: A) Loosen up B) Do a very thorough search all over the planet and be prepared to move to Duesseldorf OR C) Join a monastery.
My hearty recommendation is choice A. The purpose of relationship (and perhaps all of life) is to practice the loving. No partner is going to be 100% perfect anyway, so learn to appreciate people for what they have to offer, not what they don't. And love them for that. That's what real loving is.
Nobody's asking to lower your standards here; you should still spend time only with worthwhile company. But do question the standards to see whether they're serving you or you're serving them.
When you open your heart to love, you may find fulfillment in ways you never imagined possible -- like the day you tried sushi or beer in spite of your trepidation, found it surprisingly alright, and expanded your personal envelope of pleasure. Taking that into consideration, given a choice between happy-go-lucky and picky-but-lonely, happy sounds like more fun.
****
-- So, is this you? Is this me? Is this we? Do we care one way or the other? Does anybody really know what time it is? Lets discuss. Or not.
In other news, I'm having a major nostalgiac attack. It began last week, and its continued into this one. I'm reliving my youth with music from the decade that raised me, basically made me -- the 80s. There's something magical about reaganomics, shoulder pads, hair bands and day glo --frankie says relax baby-- n'est ce pas?
If you are located anywhere along the east coast, chances are you're getting snow. March has declared itself in the most obnoxious way possible. What happened to coming in like a lamb? A lamb on 'roids maybe. March has a Jose Canseco thing going on. Anyway, the snow started here yesterday evening, and its still coming down pretty serious this morning. There is a blanket of white outside, and everything is soooo quiet.
Normally, i would be frothing at the mouth at this dreadful turn of events. If you've been a reader of this blog you understand that i do not like winter, nor any of the things associated with it. However, yesterday afternoon when i saw that the chances of getting snow were increasing (the weatherpeople were fairly foaming at the mouth), i must admit that a tiny part of me was rooting for the snow to come down, and with ferocity. I wanted a valid excuse to stay in the house and do nothing, and the weather cooperated with me this time.
I'm planning to milk this day for all its worth. I got up plenty early for someone who wasn't going to work (isn't it funny how on days when you aren't going in you're full of energy and its SO easy to wake up?) and made a huge breakfast. (there went the 8lbs i lost being sick) Watched some cartoons - might i add the cartoon network is NOT what it used to be - and now, because the spirit has hit me, i have decided to blog.
My UPS guy (we have a rapport now - i've been on a mail order frenzy) delivered my package today (give it up to mr. UPS - someone who DIDN'T call out) and i am pleased to announce that my skinny jeans (the package) fit perfectly. In fact i could have ordered them a size smaller BUT i'd run the risk of sporting a muffin top. Not cute. But i have even more impetus to work on a killer waist to hip ratio. Lexy version 2.0 coming this summer!
One thing a day like this is good for is rumination. Without the usual distractions, i find myself swaddled in a mantle of jack handy-like deep thoughts. Serious stuff. I decided i need a hobby(ies). One that doesn't include shopping. Something that touches my soul and spirit. I gotta be good a something other than spending money dagnabbit! I've always loved photography so i put myself on a waiting list for a photography class. We'll see how that pans out.
I've also been slacking on my volunteerism. Normally i volunteer at a foundation which gives assistance to people with physical disabilities. Its daunting but fulfilling. My favorite uncle had a terrible brain injury back in 2001 and since then its been an uphill battle getting him the care he needs and deserves. I've been a witness firsthand to the inequities of healthcare, particularly to those who are deemed "vegetables" which he is not. To make a long story short, i've been an advocate of him and those in a similar condition. Unfortunately i've been wrapped up in my own little world, and i have not been as active as i could have been. I plan to rectify that immediately.
But that's a little heavy for a monday morning.
Fig. 1 Assumption of hipsterdom
...In the meantime, i've succumbed to the siren song of the hipster and purchased a pair of what my h8r brother calls hipster glasses, as illustrated in the above picture. I argued against him (i have always worn geeky glasses for style), but he does have a point. I don't need glasses, these are purely for looks (yes i'm a poseur) and they do have a hipster aesthetic. BUT. I am not a hipster. I am a nerd. Hipsters took their whole look from us. Now if you'll excuse me i've got a two finger ring to put on...
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