Could be worse

Get Me Out

2006-02-22T20:33:00.000-05:00

Wow, so this one will probably kind of suck because I’m totally sober (no really, I’m not even being sarcastic) and I have to keep myself in check based on my current surroundings. So today’s topic is one near and dear to my heart, New England’s Rising Star, suck-ass Hartford, CT. And not so much the city, but how much I need to pack my shit up and move out.

This place sucks. Really. A lot. I can’t put into words how much better I think my life would be right now if I lived somewhere else, like Boston, or Baltimore, or West Palm Beach, or Northern Cali, or Beirut (say what you will, the national sport is Beirut! Wait, it isn’t?). I’ve been stuffed up America’s left nostril here for 7 ½ of the longest, worst, most boring years of anyone’s life. I’d have rather spent the time in the Tower of freaking London wearing an iron mask. I would have had more fun working in a sweatshop in Borneo making Nikes for 3 cents a day. Ok, quick tangent, where the hell is Borneo? Does anyone even know? Are there any Borneans (not born-agains) in my reading audience that can tell me? Is it in Africa? Is it an island? Is it even a real place? For all I know it could be in Middle freaking-Earth with the Hobbits and that shit. Back to my problems now. This place sucks. And I say this stuff every day, and what do I do about it? Nothing! Why? Because as much as I hate it here, I’m this place’s bitch. It owns me. Damn you Hartford! Let me go! Geez, you let every other person I know get out, what’s so bad about my Karma that I have to stay. Is it because I defiled my roommate’s tent at Woodstock? What else are you supposed to do when a girl flatly asks you, “So, are you going to take advantage of me or what?” How is the answer to that not yes? So what if I had to soil a tent I didn’t own and she turned out to be married. She clearly wasn’t married to the concept of monogamy!

And with that 10 cent word, I will now calm down and leave you. Anybody with job possibilities, call me. I’m off to try to eat my own face. What does that mean?

Screw Valentine's Day, and Screw You

2006-02-14T20:40:00.000-05:00

I wrote "screw" because "fuck" seems mean, but seriously, fuck all of you.

Dear anybody who enjoyed Valentine's Day,

Please go directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Now, you all may think I'm just bitter because I didn't have a date for national "Everybody gets laid except me" Day, but trust me, it goes WAY beyond that. First, I get the pleasure of dealing with my own redardedly loserly life, then everybody and their mother starts calling me to bitch about their own problems. Here's a news flash for the whole world. You'll recognize the time when I give a rat's ass about your problems by the smoking gun in my hand and the 4 inch hole in the back of my skull. Now, some folks may see all this from a jackass like myself who spends WAY too much time trying to fix other people's problems ans say something like, "Physician, heal thyself". And of course, to that I respond just like DeNiro did in the Untouchables, "Fuck you, and your family".

So now I'm home with my engaged roommates (making me mental, but not their fault, not in the least) and all I want is a distraction to get me through the remainder of the night. And what does TV, my trusted ally, respond with? The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Really? That's the best you could come up with? You couldn't give me The Hunt for Red October? Hell, I'd have settled for Red Sonja, at least a lot of extras get their butts chopped up in that one. And this was back in Brigitte Neilsen's prime (or however that freaking amazon spells her name, hey, she was in Cobra, I refuse to show any respect) and she looked hot.

So back to my original point. May you all get syphillis and go blind, or deaf, or mute, or lose your keys, or whatever happens to people who dare cross me. Huzzah!

And they said drunk people wouldn't enjoy typing. Now excuse me, I have to drunk dial (or text maybe) someone who will soon also hate Valentine's Day. Love, Octo-boy.

PS - I know, and I don't care. TFB, jerk-faces.

Reasons Why iPods Suck

2005-10-26T18:13:00.000-04:00

1) Mine ate itself after only 4 months of half-assed employment.
2) Too thick to be used to steady wobbly table.
3) Only white or black? Where's the color? Where's the love?
4) Easily confused with pack of cigarettes, ends up being a very dorky offer at a bar.
5) Ineffective as boat anchor, but startlingly effective as bank account anchor.
6) No sharp edges, how do you kill a drifter with it?
7) Looks like a bar of soap, but DON'T take it into the shower!
8) Music, video, pictures. No braille?
9) Last year, NBA refused to let me listen to mine during warm-ups.
10) I have it on good authority that Steve Jobs beats puppies.

Bah, Humbug

2005-10-22T02:35:00.000-04:00

So I hung with the First Lady tonight. Super hot and super cool, how the F does that happen (note: "F" stands for Fuck, moving on)? Of course, I couldn't meet a chick like that if she was made of steel and I ate magnets every day for a year. You know, a little magnets au gratin, maybe magnets parmesan. Tasty stuff. So we totally hit it off which may seem like a waste of time because of the whole First Gentleman thing, but you have to keep in mind that when you meet a new girl, she has new friends. Of course, my luck is that she'll be friends with the 10 hottest women I've ever seen and they'll all be engaged, except for one who just dates black dudes (which isn't me, and let me just say to any and all black men reading this... white girls love you... TAKE ADVANTAGE! You never know when a social situation like this willl happen again, milk it for all it's worth. Back to my suck-ass life...). So enough of that, primarily because she'll probably read this and even eventually write here. Fortunately, she's cool enough to probably find that last sentence funny and rib me about it, as opposed to some ladies who would get pissed at me and cut their boyfriend off from getting any, which is crap.

So what do I end up with at the end of the night? Some aging hippie who thinks it's cool that I'm not trying to hit on her and that I used to be a geek. Ok, now I admit that things weren't always as rosy for ladies I turn my attention on as they are now. Your captain here used to barely fill out his exoskeleton, have an extremely dorky side part on the old scales, and sport humongo glasses big enough to serve as screens at the local 100+ scren multiplex. But the term "geek" still hits a little close to home here. How about keeping it civil if you're striking up a conversation with me? I mean, nobody appreciates the attention more that yours truly, but let's avoid the left-hander compliments. Unless you really are left-handed, and you're not so much complimenting as fondling. Anyway, my retardedly drunk friend had been trying to work her and came back into the picture just in time to prevent me from doing something I almost certainly wouldn't have admitted to in this space, so it's a happy ending for everyone involved, especially me, the only person any of us care about for the purpose of this writing. Yay me, boo world.

Ok, so as a last note/ out-of-town scoreboard type of thing, it's still Hot Chicks I Know Will Never Like Me And Only Want To Be Friends But I Still Insist On Pursuing Rabidly Anyway 2, Me 0. And the perfect game is even still intact. Sometimes I think I'm the stupidest man alive. Then I wonder if stupidest is really a word and things just kind of fade away.

So I was told to keep this blog more "bitter and drunken". At least one of those is right on as of now, and more than likely both. You all take care of yourselves. And if you meet a girl who's cute, single, and isn't exactly hung up on her date's looks, ask her if she likes pink octopi.

How is it only 8:30?

2005-10-15T20:32:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm watching college pigskin at my buddy's place, and I'm all over my phone trying to keep myself in the race with this one chick. The PBR is flowing and it's just a manner of time until the drunk dials start up. Wow, I'm using my buddy's computer and the keys are way too springy. Okay, it's broken down to a beer can fight now. All right, so what do you do when a girl tells you her friend is fat. I mean, you just want to give her kudos for telling the truth, but at the same time you want to tell her to leave her ugly fat friend at home. And I'm still on the phone with the first chick, hoping she doen't hook up with the dude she's hanging with right now and decides she wants to get it on with a guy 6 years older and fatter than her. Dear god I suck. Where's the cheese sauce?

I Remember You

2005-10-13T20:55:00.000-04:00

Wow, I am really bad at this blogging stuff. And you know the sad thing? The sad thing is the reason I haven't written anything in so long. I'm back in CT and the chair in front of my computer is broken. I was too lazy to stand at my computer and write. I am currently sitting on a pile of laundry (clean). Oh don't worry ladies, there's plenty to go around.

Let's see, where to begin... Work? Just got the fabulous gift of more responsibility without any more money. Fuckers...

Personal life? I spent Tuesday night talking with a girl I like who has no interest in me, about a girl who likes me but I have no interest in.

Weekend? Actually pretty awesome. Spent the weekend in Gainesville watching the Gators whoop up on Miss St, then drinking my brains out. We ate a lot. You know, thinking about things right now, I'd have to say that aside from carousing with the opposite sex, eating is probably my favorite pasttime. What's better than that first bite of pizza when you're just ravenously hungry? (Sorry to anyone short on food, but I swear this is the kind of stuff I spend my money on.) I mean, taking a leak when you really have to go is all well and good, but what about spreading french onion dip on a burger after a night of drinking? Now that's cooking with gas!

So in summary, I'm lazy and I eat a lot. No wait, giving is better than receiving. What about, no man is an island, and if I'm not mistanken, neither are the Florida keys? Yeah, I like that one.

Hopefully good stuff to write about after I go to the casino this weekend.

I Want $168 Million

2005-09-30T00:54:00.000-04:00

At what point do you stop hoping you're going to win the lottery and start just assuming you're going to win? I mean to the point that you're surprised when you lose?

How do you tell someone their friends are ugly? I just spent about 20 minutes on a friend's website, which consisted entirely of pictures, and the only conclusion I came to was that she had ugly friends (male and female) and probably bad taste in both. No wonder my hopes are high with her.

People are always asking me, "Mr. O, What does 'Could be worse' mean?" Simple! Your parents are fat, that means you're probably going to be fat. At least you're not ugly and annoying. (Oh wait...) (PS, that was not some clever self-deprecating remark. I may not be rail thin, but I'm certainly not fat, and clearly my charm knows no bounds... other than northern Canada, that's far! Those in the know are aware who I'm talking about, everyone else... wait, where was I going with this?)

I know I shouldn't write this. I know it. But I'm going to anyway. And why? Because I'm stupid and I really believe that almost no one will ever read this. Tennessee must be home to the women with the highest average breast size on the planet. I was in a bar tonight and there were so many enormous boobs I lost count. I'm pretty sure it was an even number. And the girls are cute! So what the hell happens between college (it was definitely a college bar) and 30 that they have to gain 40 pounds and drop 6 kids out of their ever-widening uteruses (uteri?). I'll tell you what happens... Waffle House. That place is like a communicable disease, spreading through the heartland. It's white trash AIDS. Or at least syphillis.

OK, so maybe I had a few before I wrote this.

72 Hours In CT, Give Or Take...

2005-09-27T20:51:00.000-04:00

So I got my last second reprieve from the Governor and got my hindquarters out of Tennessee for the weekend. And of course, when the upwardly mobile of us have a little time to kill and want to party with the rich and/ or famous, where do we go? That's right, Hartford, CT.

So the weekend got off to a sparkling start when I cut the line at the Southwest gate in Nashville. It's nice to hit the ground running (or air as it were). But here's a good and bad thing. I bumped into a friend in the line and ended up sitting next to her on the flight (cute, but I'd already been shot down there, and for once I took the hint, don't worry I won't let it happen again). So I was all set for the flight back with my iPod and a book and stuff, and then all of the sudden I was obligated to have a 2 hour conversation. Not that the conversation was all that bad (except for the stiff neck), it's just that I was all primed for some me time and then it just flushed down the toilet. Anyway, my plane landed without being featured on CNN and time moved on.

Not much to say about Friday, so let's move on to Saturday, and in particular, is it just me or are lesbians less fun than they used to be? I mean, I was hanging out with the ladies Saturday night and it just wasn't the same, you know? And as a quick aside, I don't want to hear a damn thing about generalizing that all women not interested in me are lesbians. With the exception of two of them, they WERE all lesbians. And nobody's hiding anything (except possibly one of the "straight" girls who had another girl's tongue down her throat, remember I said less fun not no fun). Okay, back to chicks. They didn't seem to be drinking all that much, they weren't getting all that crazy. What's the deal? I think there's a tragic story here. Is it possible binge drinking is losing its' appeal? I mean, I wouldn't swear to this in court, but I'd bet there are maybe 5 weekends in the past 12 years that I haven't drank. And most of those have included at least one night where I drank (as one fateful lady told me) "too much". And look at me, I'm over 30 and writing a blog while my friends are busy having sex with models and hair dressers. Clearly I'm a role model for America's youth.

So let's get it together people! I'm going to announce one of the weekends after I get back to CT as International Get Really Wasted Night. I'm supposed to bartend one of these weekends, so maybe it'll be then. Until then, let's keep hope alive!

Eastern US-trotting

2005-09-24T14:41:00.000-04:00

Ok, so in another last-second decision I jumped from Nashville back to CT for the weekend. I know what you're thinking, now that's excitement! Well shut up smart-ass.

This brings me to something. You know the expression, "Nobody likes a smart-ass"? (Or it might as well just be "Nobody likes a FILL IN THE BLANK") Is that really true? Doesn't everybody like a smart-ass except for the person forced to deal with them. I mean, normally that guy's getting frustrated and his freinds are all laughing at him, and getting ready to buy the smart-ass a beer. I'm just saying...

Now Available In Living Color

2005-09-21T18:16:00.000-04:00

Just trying to get my new picture up...

The Four Whores Men

2005-09-17T04:29:00.000-04:00

Some nights you and your buddy meet two whores. Some nights you meet four whores. Those are the nights when you are the Four Whores Men. Tonight was one of those nights. Let me set the scene for you. We're at Coyote Ugly, and the trashy bartenders are dancing up a storm on the bar while I'm drinking. As any red-blooded American male would do, I went off to pee. On my way back, I made a few friends who appeared to be out for an extremely good and story-full time. Four women out for a bachelorette party. (This seems like a good point to insert my theory. There are two types of bachelorette parties, the kind who bring lots of fake jokey panises with them and the kind who try to find the real thing along the way. Tonight was one of the nights where we started drifting out of column A and into column B) Now one might ask, how does a schmuck like you pick up four women.

A) I didn't pick them up, I just started the ball rolling.
B) Trust me, they were looking for fresh meat.
C) Go fuck yourself.

So I bring these pillars of the community back to my buddy for some freaking help, and we all start talking about whatever it is men and women talk about. I would be more specific, but I really wan't paying attention. So of the four, one is starting to climb all over me. She's from Equador and teaches Yoga, which to me seems like I just hit the jackpot. Meanwhile my buddy is preventing one of the group from just holding up the building, but that's not the good part. The good part is that the bride-to-be has drifted out onto the dance area and started really grinding with some random dude (I know he was random because I was asking around about this). So up until now, none of this seems too out of the ordinary. The part where it really starts to grow hair is when the bachelorette starts snaking her toungue down this dude's throat. Oh, but it's just a one-time thing right? Wrong. For over an hour she was cleaning this guy's tonsils while her girlfriends alternated between being concerned and rubbing against anything with a pulse. So back to my latino chick. We're dancing, we're grinding, she's showing off her rock-hard stomach and then out of nowhere I hear, "You know she's married, right?" No! I did not know that! She had the full court press going, her slut friend was playing tongue hockey with Dr. Anonymous, and the other two were at least sizing up my buddy, and I'm supposed to be doing the hardware check? Screw that! So I started pulling away from the group a bit and we drift outside (OK, it was last call) and bache-whore-ette girl starts pushing for us to all go back to this guy's hotel room. All I'm thinking is that somebody's getting date-raped or vomitting. Either way, I wanted none of it, and also I was pissed about the South American teaser ruining my night, so we bailed. As we left, I couldn't tell if they were going with the guys or going home. Who cares?

Double Deuce

2005-09-16T20:51:00.000-04:00

Holy crap Road House is on! How is it that you can make an Oscar-winning movie which is almost unwatchable after the 2nd time, but a crap factory like Road House provides loads of enjoyment time and again. Look at the dialog! I mean, I'm way too lazy to go on IMDB.com and check this out, but the guy who wrote this script, do you think he's actually proud of it? Does he keep a movie poster in his den with a big picture of Swayze on it? Does he get Christmas cards from the guy who played Glen Wesley? These are all questions I'd like to know the answers to. And at what point in your martial arts training do they say, "Alright, today's lesson is how to rip out a dude's throat. This will come in handy more often than you think." By the way, worst bad guys in the history of movies here. None are intimidating, all are boring, nothing memorable about any of them. And why is everyone in the movie so weird looking? I'm confused.

I'm in Nashville. 'Nuff said.

What's one step below trying to sabotage someone's relationship? Because whatever that is, I think that's what I want to do with every hot girl I know who just wants to be "friends". Okay, maybe not, but I'm still bitter. You know Patrick Swayze isn't putting up with this crap. Probably not even Don Swayze.

My friend is text messaging some chick right now. He has no idea I'm writing about him. He's just sitting across the room pretending to watch this awesome drama/ action masterpiece, when in reality he's trying to hook something up for himself. Riiiiiight. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

This is Totally About Movies

2005-09-13T21:18:00.000-04:00

So here's the thing about movies. Sometimes you go to the movie place and there's a movie you'd kill to see, but it's never available. At the same time, there's 600 copies of Batman & Robin sitting there and nobody wants them. Nobody. No matter how many times they try to pretty up the package. And sometimes, just sometimes, out of nowhere you bump into a copy of The Big Lebowski, you drive home as fast as you can and watch the shit out of it.

Now, I'd all love to get my hands on a copy of Caddyshack or Mallrats and might not even mind if it got stuck in the player and I could watch only it forever. Some of us are more interested in being able to watch as many movies as we want, no matter what they are.

So last weekend I watched the same movie all weekend. It's a good movie, trust me you'd like it. But you wouldn't love it. You'd want to love it, it has good characters, an interesting story, and even a couple of those little twists that make you like a movie more than you thought you would. But there'd just be something missing about it. And the killer is you'd know if you returned it, somebody else would probably check it out immediately and then it would be really tough to rent it again. But you have to do it. Somebody else is going to enjoy it more. And even if you get stuck with basic cable for a while before you find anything worthwhile again, you've got to convince yourself it's worth it.

Wings and (wed)Dings

2005-09-08T00:36:00.000-04:00

Ok, so here's a belated story from the festive holiday weekend (did you allremember to carve your Labor Day pumpkins?). I was out of town for awedding. The wedding was in a Buffalo, where I knew exactly zero people. Thewedding was to contain one person I had ever met or spoken to before, thebride. Needless to say, I figured she'd be a little busy to be showing mearound town and introducing me to people. I figured I had one strategy.Start drinking early and hope that life's little "social lubricant" would beenough for me to break the ice with the 98% of the wedding who would have noidea who I was. And then at least if that didn't work I'd be plowed and notcare. And now, after my long-winded intro, a quick summary of the weekend'sevents (and let's hear it for the bride who had talked me up to everyone tothe point where people were officially searching me out at the reception,kudos).

Friday
Cocktail hour - consumed cocktails, wore an old dress shirt, discovered that my neck has gotten fat along with the rest of me, met the groom (managed not to say, "Your wife there is HOT")
Rehearsal dinner - sat with the bride and groom along with a bunch of other younger folks, tried to figure out who the single women were, answer was avery round number less than 1

Saturday
Slept in (very important)
Found a pizza place for lunch (gross)
Almost missed the shuttle to the ceremony
Wedding ceremony - cute little church, all your standard stuff, I held acandle, B&G drove off in B's father's classic Rolls (sweet ride), bus tourback to the hotel
Nap
Reception - rolled in late, how old are those cousins?, 14-yr-old tendingbar, apps are good, no sit-down dinner a bit disappointing, lots to drink
Went out with the groom's family for wings and beers
Scamming chicks in the hotel bar with the bride's dad
Passed out hammered, so drunk I got a cold

Coming this weekend, potential disaster...

An unfortunate visit from reality

2005-09-04T20:26:00.000-04:00

Ok, every once in a while we all come face to face with some bit of truth we'd like not to believe, but it's just too obvious to ignore. For me, this came about last Wednesday.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but I'm 30 this year (all year long). With this comes certain assumed behaviors, one of which is denying the inevitability of aging. This all came crashing down for me right at the end of my haircut last week, when I was shown the back of my head in the mirror, including what can only be decsribed as a massive bald spot. I'm balding. I say balding instead of bald because it's clearly going to continue to get worse before it gets better (especially since it's not going to get better). For years I've contended when people accused me of having a bald spot that I just had a short haircut, or fine hair. Well, now that's over. I'm balding. It's in black & white (or whatever font I have going here when you read this).

But that leads to an interesting question. Now that I've come to terms with the exodus on the top of my head, what's the next step? As it is I wear my hair relatively short, which does nothing to hide the issue. The way I see it, I have four options:

1. Continue to cut and wear my hair the way I do now, laughing in the face of baldness. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! (Or something like that)
2. Try to grow my hair long, pushing for a little more "coverage". This will lead to the inevitable comb-over jokes, and worse yet, to deserve them. On the plus side, the long hair could end up looking good. Of course, it'll take forever to grow and in the mean time I'll look like a homeless guy. I'm gonna put this one on the back burner.
3. Shave my head. Now this one is a pretty popular option these days. And that would be all well and good if I didn't already have friends who call me Charlie Brown because of melon-like round head. This is going to stay just a contingency unless things really start to get out of hand.
4. Wear hats. This isn't really as far out as it seems, but I just don't know if I can be a hat guy. And if you're a hat guy, do you have to wear the same hat every day? Do you rotatae through a few? Do they need to match whatever else you're wearing? These are all questions I'd need answers for ahead of time.

Ok, so I've got some thinking to do. In the meantime, I should probably start drinking or something.

Disclaimers, Random Thoughts

2005-08-30T22:48:00.000-04:00

Ok, so it's either been 300 years or a week and a half since my last post. I guess I'm getting into this slowly. Of course, I'm sober right now so that could hinder my candor, content, and just general ability to write words in bunches (I think they're called sentences). Bear with me, I'm 97% natural fibers...

Ok, so everyone wants me to write my blog exclusively drunk, which would probably actually be pretty funny and a cool psych experiment. Instead I'm just going to indicate in here whenever I'm writing under the influence of several refreshing beverages of an adult nature. Then again, it shouldn't be too difficult to tell by the content. I'll be all over the place, I'll make really random comments, and I'll be unbelieveably bitter. I'm talking super-sized, extra-innings, not drinking a Keystone bitter. Yeah, that means it'll revolve around women. So stay tuned!

Why is Falling Down on Lifetime?

How come tap water tastes fine, but when you freeze it and it melts again at the bottom of your glass, and you drink it, it tastes like crap? Shouldn't it taste the same? How about at least close to the same? What the hell could be in the freezer that would cause ice to taste that bad. I mean, the freezer always smells frosty and refreshing. Just disappointing really. Maybe somebody can invent a Brita ice tray or something...

Ok, I've bitched about this to my friends in the past, but it's not getting any better. Every diet soda on the market tastes like shit (sorry, I held in the cursing for an entire paragraph, and that's going to be it). There's nothing in there but carbonated water, food coloring, and fake sweetener, it can't taste good?! Everything else made entirely of fake stuff tastes great (see Food, Fast), but Diet Coke tastes like you're drinking it out of a wolverine's asshole. (You're no better Diet Pepsi, I've got my eye on you, I will turn this car RIGHT around)

Ok, enough of this. I'll get drunk and strike out with a couple chicks next time, just for you guys. Love ya.

Mr O

Drinky, drinky

2005-08-21T02:26:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I'm hammered as hell and the question I have now is nothing new. At what point does it just become sad that I insist on continuing to hit on bartenders? 100 times? 1000 times? We've all been through the same thing. It's a cute girl paying lots of attention to you and you want to make something out of it. Except it's their JOB. Nobody expects a stripper to be into them for real (I hope. I mean, sure there are perople who hook up with striuppers, but you know it's because they want the money, right? Just say right...) So now I'm at home and I feel like I made an ass of myself because I was pissed at some bartender. Well what am I supposed to do? Suck down the generic compliments and insults and pretend that either mean a damn thing? Here's what it comes down to everybody, pay attention. Over the course of your life, you'll probably meet less than 10 people who really and truly give a shit about you. And you know what? You won't care about them at all. You'll think they are ugly, or fat, or boring, or too tall, or too short, or something that makes them undate-able or just simply useless as a friend. I know, I've done the same thing... recently. The killer is, those are the people that have the potential to make you a happy person. But you could care less, because you're too busy going after the people who could give two shits about you.

And that's why I believe in God. Because you think something that hilariously funny could be an accident? We are God's entertainment and he (or she, whatever) is eating it up with a spoon. Well I for one am done being an actor in this pathetic play. You know, until the next time go out... and hit on the bartender... and get pissed off again.

On what must be a completely unrelated note, am I the only one not getting laid these days?

And now we're cha-cha-ing

2005-08-17T13:51:00.000-04:00

Ok, I guess this is as good as it gets for right now, because I just got started and now I have to go to work. Thankfully almost no one else will be there and I can get something actually done. Or nothing, my call really. Nothing's probably more realistic...