As I have long hoped, my brilliant friends have decided to contribute to the blog and I urge them to do so more! Inspired by the same topic of conversation from Copenhagen Hold Em poker night, below is a story written by Ben Pearson that I found to be pretty effing awesome. Enjoy!
The Lookout : A retelling of the boy who cried wolf for modern times
by Ben Pearson
There once was a small village living down in a valley lined by a mountain range on all sides. All along this range there were outposts, and at each outpost a member of the village was assigned to, among other things, keep a lookout for wolves. No wolf had ever entered into the valley before, but the villagers knew that if one did, it might eat most of the villagers very quickly. Some debated how many villagers a wolf could actually eat, but nevertheless all agreed it was a grave threat.
On one day many years ago, one of the outposts rang their alarm bell, sure that he saw a wolf descending into the valley. Another outpost nearby saw the same thing, and began to ring his bell too. Soon a third and fourth, fifth, six and seventh outpost were all looking in the direction of the supposed wolf. These later outposts however had a better view, and one of them happened to be an expert on very large deer that sometimes visited the valley. "Its just a large deer," he declared, and soon the others saw it too and all the bells stopped ringing.
A few years later a similar incident occurred - of the hundreds of outposts lining the valley- only a few rang their bells before others spotted the false alarm, reported their findings and the bells died down.
Then one evening a few bells began to ring once again. The other outposts went to their lookouts expecting to see a large deer, but low and behold it definitely wasn't a deer! Very slowly a large wolf-like shape was descending into the valley. None could see the wolf completely, as the sun was setting, but each could see enough to ring their bell. One outpost saw a long bushy tail, another could see clearly some very large wolf-like ears. One by one more and more outposts began to ring their bells until 13 of the 16 outposts were ringing their alarm bell. Incidentally, two of the three remaining outposts did not ring their bell because they could not see anything, and the third refrained because although he saw it clearly, he was not convinced that wolfs posed any real danger at all.
Down in the village Bob the hog farmer was very distraught. Plans had been made for this occasion to set loose most of his hogs onto various paths leading out of the valley. The idea was that this would lead the wolf out of the valley as it chased the hogs. At each path hunters were camped, so that they could easily shoot and kill the wolf insuring that it did not return.
Suffice it say, Bob was not happy. He had worked his whole life to raise pigs and his herd of them was only so large because of his great sacrifice and ingenuity over the years. Hogs was all he knew, and to release so many was like to loose a part of himself. A few of the villagers too were unhappy, because they enjoyed eating bacon more than anything else, and were sure that the price of it would go up after this evening.
As villagers began to surround Bob's farm, Bob stood firmly at his gate.
"Remember a few years ago, when we thought it was a wolf but it was a deer? How do we know that its really a wolf?" Bob asked of the approaching villagers.
"Almost all the bells are ringing this time Bob," one villager answered. "Last time only a few rang before the others quieted them down," said another.
"I already donated 2 hogs last winter to be delivered to another valley and keep the wolfs there," Bob reminded the villagers. "So surely I take this threat as seriously if not more than any of you. I'm just not convinced that a wolf is approaching," he continued.
The villagers were unimpressed. "You must release your hogs!" one shouted impatiently.
"If I release my hogs, many in the village will be hungry this winter," Bob said in return. "You think you want me to release them now, but you will likely regret it this winter, especially if there is no wolf!"
There was a moment of silence at this, as some of the larger villagers rubbed their bellies and considered a winter with no hogs. Finally a cousin of one of the lookouts spoke, "There is a wolf. They have seen its bushy tail and it long wolf ears and two of its hind legs. You must release the hogs now!"
One of the larger villagers replied, "A tail and ears? Is that all? Surely we should not go hungry until we see the entire wolf."
Another large villager added, "Look at us, we are acting crazy. In the past we have thought there were wolves but they were only deer. Because of our fear, we are not thinking this through carefully."
The alarms along the mountain range continued to ring, and the wolf entered the village and quickly ate an old woman who was hard of hearing and had not heard the warnings.
"See there, it is a wolf for sure, now release the Hogs," cried the villagers.
Bob, convinced now that it was a wolf, turned toward his the pen to release his hogs. Just then one of the largest villagers grabbed Bob's arm.
"Bob, think of what your doing, we all may go hungry this winter," he said. "Anyhow there is no proof that releasing the hogs will work as planned."
Bob nodded but looked confused.
"We have already seen for sure that the wolf likes to eat old women," the villager continued, "and many of our old women are soon to die anyhow. Perhaps we should send our old women to the path leading in and out of the valley."
A few of the villagers agreed, but others did not and began to shout protests. In turn the ones who agreed began to shout even louder. By now the alarm bells along the mountain range were ringing so loudly, and so many villagers were shouting, that it became hard to hear exactly what anyone was saying at all. In the midst of all of this shouting and confusion, the wolf arrived at the villagers and ate them all very quickly.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Copenhagen Hold Em
Hours into a recent, and far too infrequent, poker game with four of my best friends in the world, the wife of my buddy who was hosting came home. Upon hearing ten seconds of the topic of conversation she remarked astutely that we sure don’t talk about the things we used to talk about on poker night. Thankfully it’s true that what seemed important in our twenties seems embarrassingly unimportant in our thirties. So involved were we in our discussion about the proper role of the state in the control of fossil fuel emissions that over the first hour or so we had only played about ten hands. We had to establish a rule whereby the dealer was held responsible for the fluid progression of the game--read, crack the whip--just so we’d remember to play.
One of the interesting things about growing older with a tight knit group of childhood friends is that you get to see them develop their own political outlooks, and not all of them develop along the same trajectory of political ideology. If nothing else, this makes for more interesting and spirited discussions on poker night.
This particular night the discussion revolved mostly around climate change. When an exciting flop didn’t rudely intrude, we discussed the severity of the issue at bay and debated the merits of different political solutions.
Unsurprisingly, for a poker game held amongst residents of Southern California, most participants agreed that climate change is a very serious problem that should be addressed swiftly and directly. But one of our buddies took the counter position. Despite tendencies towards more conservative political positions, when the evening was over he admitted that while he didn’t feel the urgency that the rest of us did about climate change he was largely playing devil’s advocate for shits and gigs. In addition to serving as the key ingredient in what would have otherwise been a more mundane discussion where all conversants agreed with one another (yawn), he enabled us to respectfully challenge each other’s positions while engaging in an important and crucial dialogue. I could only hope that similar poker games were being held across the country.
As the night progressed we challenged one another more and more. As can happen, as the empty beer bottles accumulated the conversation grew livelier, to the point that the devil’s advocate actually began to feel ganged up on. After we date raped him- sorry, different poker night. And don’t worry, we all learned a valuable lesson… just like on Different Strokes, but I digress. Anyway, he felt ganged up on. Admittedly, my own emotions ran hotter as what I perceived to be reasonable and logical points were largely discounted; and no doubt vice versa. But what really stuck with me was an argument he made that I had heard before from Dennis Miller along the exact same lines. It must be orbiting through the Republican cosmos which means soon it’ll be rattling through the right wing echo chamber like oxycontin and hatred through Limbaugh’s bulbous belly or crazy trying to escape from Beck’s vapid porcine noggin like Tim Robbins in Shawshank… New game, the never ending simile.
Anyway, the argument goes something like this:
“Okay, here we are facing what some so called experts contend is a catastrophic challenge. But in a situation that affects the great masses, isn’t it always beneficial to maintain some semblance of healthy skepticism? And why, when I try to impart some healthy skepticism into the discussion am I shouted down and made to feel ostracized by those who have obediently swallowed whatever information the scientific community has spoon fed them? None of us are climate change experts, so we shouldn’t just accept the present current of scientific contention as gospel. It’s like the believers in climate change are some sort of pagan cult that vehemently shout down the opposition at the slightest inkling of dissent. To curb your collective hysteria, you need a sober voice like mine; someone who doesn’t jump the gun whenever someone tells you that they think the shit’s hitting the fan.”
When I heard this argument from Dennis Miller it bothered me. When I heard it from my buddy it bothered me more. At the time I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but after thinking about it for awhile, I think I figured it out.
First and foremost, no one who calls themselves a friend wants their buddy to feel ganged up on, ostracized, and unable to speak his mind amongst his own pals. Dennis Miller I give two shits about, upsetting one of my closest friends is a different story.
Second, it’s an annoyingly effective argument. Astounding as it no doubt sounds to conservatives, liberals like to think of themselves as the sober voice of reason in the national political discussion. When you tell them that they’re acting like members of a hysterical pagan cult it catches them off guard. In their minds, that’s how the other guys act. The argument momentarily demolishes their self identity and they’re immediately forced to rethink their position and reflect on their behavior. It’s just in the liberal DNA. Most conservatives aren’t stricken with the burdensome ailments of self reflection and it can make for a stronger, if less logical, debate style.
Finally, it’s logically fallacious. Being emotional about something doesn’t mean that you’re wrong about it. Being a member of a group of people who are emotional about something doesn’t either.
I wanted to understand why I was more emotional over this particular issue than I was over others that I feel just as strongly about. There’s no shortage of hysterical, angry liberals who’ve earned the caricatures bestowed upon them by their conservative counterparts, but I pride myself on being able to hold a polite conversation about volatile issues amongst even the most fervent members of dissenting ideologies. Why was I getting worked up?
Sometimes it’s easier for me to work things out through analogy (read, LSD trip), so I gave it a go here and it helped clarify things for me. Hopefully it translates.
Imagine that you live in a house with only one other person; a roommate. (Awesome so far, right?) Okay, one of the stipulations of your living arrangement is that in order to make any decision about the house, you both have to agree to it. (Just go with it.) So one day you’re in the kitchen and you begin to smell smoke. You tell your roommate that you smell smoke and he says, “Yeah, maybe”. You tell him that you think you should call the fire department, but he says not to be hasty. (In this fantasy scenario, it costs money to call the fire department and he doesn’t want to incur the costs if it’s just a false alarm.)
Now, in addition to this, you live in a neighborhood comprised solely of neighbors who are professional fire inspectors. (What are the odds?!) Slowly, they begin to gather on your front lawn. After a while, they begin to get agitated and start shouting to you that your house is on fire and that you should call the fire department. You look to your roommate who looks undaunted. He calmly points out to you that of the dozens of fire inspectors screaming at you, one or two don’t really seem too concerned. (They must be the smart ones!) He reminds you of the time a couple of years back when some fire inspectors encouraged a neighbor to call the fire department only to find out that there was no fire. He cautions you that it could be that these inspectors benefit in some way each time the fire department gets called and that he doesn’t want to jump the gun. (‘Cause people join the fire department to make money, just like scientists, see?)
So, every possession you care about is in this house. It seems ludicrous to you to ignore, not just the fire inspectors, but the smoke that you can smell as well, just to protect against a nominal fee or a chance that the inspectors might be getting kickbacks. Rational as you normally are, you start to get a little worked up. Minutes pass. Hours go by as you debate with your roommate about whether or not to call. You get more excited. As smoke begins to billow from your vents you get even more worked up. When the inspectors jump and down on your lawn like chimps on meth, stopping just short of flinging their own feces at you as a warning, you can’t take it anymore and you lose it. “Hey dipshit, it seems pretty clear that our house is on fire! You might not give a shit about this house but I sure as hell do! WE NEED TO CALL THE FUCKING FIRE DEPARTMENT.”
He looks at you calmly but sternly and then hits you with it. “Hey, I’m just maintaining healthy skepticism here. I don’t know why every time I suggest that we think about this more and not act hastily, you get so emotional. It’s like you’re a brainwashed member of some pagan cult.”
(Okay, how good was that?!)
To my buddy who played devil’s advocate I offer my apology. You deserve a calm and respectful discussion regardless of anything else. But for guys like Dennis Miller and anyone else who has a role in swaying national sentiment and a hand in generating political capital, try to understand. We’re emotional because we’re pretty sure that our house is on fire. Sadly and obviously it would seem that we can’t call the fire department without your say so. Most issues discussed at the national level have some measure of urgency to them, but the stakes of climate change couldn’t be higher. The urgency with which the vast consensus of credible experts demand we address this issue ensures that it will continue to be an emotionally charged one so long as some of us think all of our shit is about to go up in flames WHILE THOSE WITH THE POWER TO MAKE THE F%@$ING PHONE CALL THAT WILL EXTINGUISH THE GODD%@$ED FIRE CONTINUE TO PLAY KEEP AWAY WITH THE MOTHER@#%@ING TELEPHONE!!!!!
And I’m spent…
One of the interesting things about growing older with a tight knit group of childhood friends is that you get to see them develop their own political outlooks, and not all of them develop along the same trajectory of political ideology. If nothing else, this makes for more interesting and spirited discussions on poker night.
This particular night the discussion revolved mostly around climate change. When an exciting flop didn’t rudely intrude, we discussed the severity of the issue at bay and debated the merits of different political solutions.
Unsurprisingly, for a poker game held amongst residents of Southern California, most participants agreed that climate change is a very serious problem that should be addressed swiftly and directly. But one of our buddies took the counter position. Despite tendencies towards more conservative political positions, when the evening was over he admitted that while he didn’t feel the urgency that the rest of us did about climate change he was largely playing devil’s advocate for shits and gigs. In addition to serving as the key ingredient in what would have otherwise been a more mundane discussion where all conversants agreed with one another (yawn), he enabled us to respectfully challenge each other’s positions while engaging in an important and crucial dialogue. I could only hope that similar poker games were being held across the country.
As the night progressed we challenged one another more and more. As can happen, as the empty beer bottles accumulated the conversation grew livelier, to the point that the devil’s advocate actually began to feel ganged up on. After we date raped him- sorry, different poker night. And don’t worry, we all learned a valuable lesson… just like on Different Strokes, but I digress. Anyway, he felt ganged up on. Admittedly, my own emotions ran hotter as what I perceived to be reasonable and logical points were largely discounted; and no doubt vice versa. But what really stuck with me was an argument he made that I had heard before from Dennis Miller along the exact same lines. It must be orbiting through the Republican cosmos which means soon it’ll be rattling through the right wing echo chamber like oxycontin and hatred through Limbaugh’s bulbous belly or crazy trying to escape from Beck’s vapid porcine noggin like Tim Robbins in Shawshank… New game, the never ending simile.
Anyway, the argument goes something like this:
“Okay, here we are facing what some so called experts contend is a catastrophic challenge. But in a situation that affects the great masses, isn’t it always beneficial to maintain some semblance of healthy skepticism? And why, when I try to impart some healthy skepticism into the discussion am I shouted down and made to feel ostracized by those who have obediently swallowed whatever information the scientific community has spoon fed them? None of us are climate change experts, so we shouldn’t just accept the present current of scientific contention as gospel. It’s like the believers in climate change are some sort of pagan cult that vehemently shout down the opposition at the slightest inkling of dissent. To curb your collective hysteria, you need a sober voice like mine; someone who doesn’t jump the gun whenever someone tells you that they think the shit’s hitting the fan.”
When I heard this argument from Dennis Miller it bothered me. When I heard it from my buddy it bothered me more. At the time I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but after thinking about it for awhile, I think I figured it out.
First and foremost, no one who calls themselves a friend wants their buddy to feel ganged up on, ostracized, and unable to speak his mind amongst his own pals. Dennis Miller I give two shits about, upsetting one of my closest friends is a different story.
Second, it’s an annoyingly effective argument. Astounding as it no doubt sounds to conservatives, liberals like to think of themselves as the sober voice of reason in the national political discussion. When you tell them that they’re acting like members of a hysterical pagan cult it catches them off guard. In their minds, that’s how the other guys act. The argument momentarily demolishes their self identity and they’re immediately forced to rethink their position and reflect on their behavior. It’s just in the liberal DNA. Most conservatives aren’t stricken with the burdensome ailments of self reflection and it can make for a stronger, if less logical, debate style.
Finally, it’s logically fallacious. Being emotional about something doesn’t mean that you’re wrong about it. Being a member of a group of people who are emotional about something doesn’t either.
I wanted to understand why I was more emotional over this particular issue than I was over others that I feel just as strongly about. There’s no shortage of hysterical, angry liberals who’ve earned the caricatures bestowed upon them by their conservative counterparts, but I pride myself on being able to hold a polite conversation about volatile issues amongst even the most fervent members of dissenting ideologies. Why was I getting worked up?
Sometimes it’s easier for me to work things out through analogy (read, LSD trip), so I gave it a go here and it helped clarify things for me. Hopefully it translates.
Imagine that you live in a house with only one other person; a roommate. (Awesome so far, right?) Okay, one of the stipulations of your living arrangement is that in order to make any decision about the house, you both have to agree to it. (Just go with it.) So one day you’re in the kitchen and you begin to smell smoke. You tell your roommate that you smell smoke and he says, “Yeah, maybe”. You tell him that you think you should call the fire department, but he says not to be hasty. (In this fantasy scenario, it costs money to call the fire department and he doesn’t want to incur the costs if it’s just a false alarm.)
Now, in addition to this, you live in a neighborhood comprised solely of neighbors who are professional fire inspectors. (What are the odds?!) Slowly, they begin to gather on your front lawn. After a while, they begin to get agitated and start shouting to you that your house is on fire and that you should call the fire department. You look to your roommate who looks undaunted. He calmly points out to you that of the dozens of fire inspectors screaming at you, one or two don’t really seem too concerned. (They must be the smart ones!) He reminds you of the time a couple of years back when some fire inspectors encouraged a neighbor to call the fire department only to find out that there was no fire. He cautions you that it could be that these inspectors benefit in some way each time the fire department gets called and that he doesn’t want to jump the gun. (‘Cause people join the fire department to make money, just like scientists, see?)
So, every possession you care about is in this house. It seems ludicrous to you to ignore, not just the fire inspectors, but the smoke that you can smell as well, just to protect against a nominal fee or a chance that the inspectors might be getting kickbacks. Rational as you normally are, you start to get a little worked up. Minutes pass. Hours go by as you debate with your roommate about whether or not to call. You get more excited. As smoke begins to billow from your vents you get even more worked up. When the inspectors jump and down on your lawn like chimps on meth, stopping just short of flinging their own feces at you as a warning, you can’t take it anymore and you lose it. “Hey dipshit, it seems pretty clear that our house is on fire! You might not give a shit about this house but I sure as hell do! WE NEED TO CALL THE FUCKING FIRE DEPARTMENT.”
He looks at you calmly but sternly and then hits you with it. “Hey, I’m just maintaining healthy skepticism here. I don’t know why every time I suggest that we think about this more and not act hastily, you get so emotional. It’s like you’re a brainwashed member of some pagan cult.”
(Okay, how good was that?!)
To my buddy who played devil’s advocate I offer my apology. You deserve a calm and respectful discussion regardless of anything else. But for guys like Dennis Miller and anyone else who has a role in swaying national sentiment and a hand in generating political capital, try to understand. We’re emotional because we’re pretty sure that our house is on fire. Sadly and obviously it would seem that we can’t call the fire department without your say so. Most issues discussed at the national level have some measure of urgency to them, but the stakes of climate change couldn’t be higher. The urgency with which the vast consensus of credible experts demand we address this issue ensures that it will continue to be an emotionally charged one so long as some of us think all of our shit is about to go up in flames WHILE THOSE WITH THE POWER TO MAKE THE F%@$ING PHONE CALL THAT WILL EXTINGUISH THE GODD%@$ED FIRE CONTINUE TO PLAY KEEP AWAY WITH THE MOTHER@#%@ING TELEPHONE!!!!!
And I’m spent…
Monday, May 3, 2010
Back
So it's been awhile since I've posted anything. The last entry was The Trust Deficit Part II. Since then, two things have conspired to delay a follow up.
First, I found out last week that I was accepted into UCLA and I’ve been consumed with trying to figure out how to make their color scheme more masculine without having to overhaul it entirely. Tradition has its place you know. I thought at first that the blinding radiance of my gruff machismo would have a photosynthetic effect, and that the colors would grow manlier just by basking in my potent virility. But then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized that my masculinity actually ranks somewhere between that of Ellen DeGeneres and George Will.
National Masculinity Rankings (2010 U.S. Census Bureau)
645,942: Ellen DeGeneres
645,943: Ryan Fisher
645,944: George Will
Deck me out in baby blue and canary yellow and I fall closer to Elijah Wood.
National Masculinity Rankings (2010 U.S. Census Bureau)
245,695,320: Dakota Fanning
245,695,321: Ariel (The Little Mermaid)
245,695,322: Elijah Wood
So that plan’s shot to shit.
Then I thought about calling one of the D.C. public relations firms employed by our two political parties but came to my senses when I realized that if they’re worth anything close to what they’re paid then our elected officials must actually be entirely corrupt, glue sniffing, hobo molesters instead of the mostly corrupt, alcoholic, hobo molesters we’ve been led to believe they are. Plus I don’t have any money.
Plan C involves calling Erik Prince and convincing him to adorn the Blackwater (now known as Xe) mercenaries in Bruin blue and gold. While this would no doubt toughen up the soft image the colors currently connote, I (unlike our President apparently) am concerned about potential blowback from Iraqis and Afghanis whose families have been inconvenienced (read raped and murdered) by Blackwater security forces operating in the Middle East. After last season’s limp college basketball performance we have enough on our hands without having to worry about a makeshift dirty bomb detonating at Pauley Pavilion.
So as of now there is no plan, but I’ll come up with something.
The other thing was that I didn’t really have anymore to say on the subject of The Trust Deficit for now, but since I tailed the last one with “Part III coming soon”, I felt obligated to come up with something. But most trilogies suck and I’m not gonna force a Matrix Revolutions out just for the sake of symmetry. So I’m moving on but reserve the right as master of my own little slice of cyber space to revisit the issue as I see fit.
This has also taught me a valuable lesson. The beauty of the blog is that there are no rules but the ones that you make for yourself. But an environment completely devoid of structure isn’t conducive to attracting or keeping readers. So I’m committing to a minimum of one new post every week from here on out and adding a couple of new features to the blog. Since I love to share little tidbits of pop culture with anyone who’ll humor me, I’m adding a “Song of the Week”, “Quote of the Week”, and “Moment of the Week” to the blog. Hopefully I can share a little beauty, humor, and knowledge this way as well.
Thanks for continuing to read. I hope you enjoy the new-ish format.
First, I found out last week that I was accepted into UCLA and I’ve been consumed with trying to figure out how to make their color scheme more masculine without having to overhaul it entirely. Tradition has its place you know. I thought at first that the blinding radiance of my gruff machismo would have a photosynthetic effect, and that the colors would grow manlier just by basking in my potent virility. But then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized that my masculinity actually ranks somewhere between that of Ellen DeGeneres and George Will.
National Masculinity Rankings (2010 U.S. Census Bureau)
645,942: Ellen DeGeneres
645,943: Ryan Fisher
645,944: George Will
Deck me out in baby blue and canary yellow and I fall closer to Elijah Wood.
National Masculinity Rankings (2010 U.S. Census Bureau)
245,695,320: Dakota Fanning
245,695,321: Ariel (The Little Mermaid)
245,695,322: Elijah Wood
So that plan’s shot to shit.
Then I thought about calling one of the D.C. public relations firms employed by our two political parties but came to my senses when I realized that if they’re worth anything close to what they’re paid then our elected officials must actually be entirely corrupt, glue sniffing, hobo molesters instead of the mostly corrupt, alcoholic, hobo molesters we’ve been led to believe they are. Plus I don’t have any money.
Plan C involves calling Erik Prince and convincing him to adorn the Blackwater (now known as Xe) mercenaries in Bruin blue and gold. While this would no doubt toughen up the soft image the colors currently connote, I (unlike our President apparently) am concerned about potential blowback from Iraqis and Afghanis whose families have been inconvenienced (read raped and murdered) by Blackwater security forces operating in the Middle East. After last season’s limp college basketball performance we have enough on our hands without having to worry about a makeshift dirty bomb detonating at Pauley Pavilion.
So as of now there is no plan, but I’ll come up with something.
The other thing was that I didn’t really have anymore to say on the subject of The Trust Deficit for now, but since I tailed the last one with “Part III coming soon”, I felt obligated to come up with something. But most trilogies suck and I’m not gonna force a Matrix Revolutions out just for the sake of symmetry. So I’m moving on but reserve the right as master of my own little slice of cyber space to revisit the issue as I see fit.
This has also taught me a valuable lesson. The beauty of the blog is that there are no rules but the ones that you make for yourself. But an environment completely devoid of structure isn’t conducive to attracting or keeping readers. So I’m committing to a minimum of one new post every week from here on out and adding a couple of new features to the blog. Since I love to share little tidbits of pop culture with anyone who’ll humor me, I’m adding a “Song of the Week”, “Quote of the Week”, and “Moment of the Week” to the blog. Hopefully I can share a little beauty, humor, and knowledge this way as well.
Thanks for continuing to read. I hope you enjoy the new-ish format.
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