travels in Pennsylvania

Just spent two weekends in Pennsylvania: with Joyce in Pocono Mountain, and with Jannah in Yardley. I wouldn't say I know Pennsylvania well - hard to know any state well without doing a lot of driving - but I like Pennsylvania and have some good friends there.

Joyce's house is more rural and Jannah's more suburban, but it's all very different from my little castle in Brooklyn. Lots of talk about cars and boats and homes: costs and methods of repair and maintenance, comparisons, troubles, comparisons, and so on. Pool patches. Gardens. Guns. It's all very foreign to me, and some of it is very interesting, some...less so. But it's interesting to see how much less important my city-girl concerns are to non-urban folks.

It happened that there was a birthday party for John A. - his 60th - when I was at Jannah's, so we went to the party. I do love going to parties out around there (John is in Bordentown, NJ), except for some excessive drunkenness...and then it depends on who the drunk parties are. John was pretty rocked by the end of the evening, but he was very sweet and sentimental. Then there was another guy who was just plain obnoxious and was passed out by the time I left. (Needless to say, the latter was the only only guy at the party who flirted with me.) Some folks I knew and some I didn't. Linda made piles of food. John and his posse played some old-timey/bluegrass stuff, calling themselves "The Clam Daddy All-Stars," and even slightly out of tune, it was a good time. Before the weekend, I had a vague fear that V. might turn up, but I don't see John inviting him for a social occasion at this point. (One of the first times I V's incredible self-centeredness was when he was invited to John's wedding. V's response: "Why should I go?" Not a clue about being there for a friend. Of course, when he learned he'd have a chance to play, he decided to go.)

Jannah's life is insanely busy, like being inside a blender. She commits herself to a lot of stuff and then runs around like crazy. For instance, she joined a boat club so he could dock her boat (they actually call it a "yacht club," but the boats are not at all what you'd think of as a yacht). Next thing you know, she's an officer of the club and knows every single person there and is organizing all kinds of events. I accompanied her to a "short" meeting she was running there, which lasted three hours. Most of her boat pals are heavy-drinking white non-Jewish blue-collar men. Not really my crowd, though I met a few nice folks.

Things around Joyce are a lot more quiet. We went to see "Raymond, the Amish Comic" near Jim Thorpe, PA (we thought he'd be laughably bad, but he was actually pretty good). We walked around Jim Thorpe before the show, which is a quaint, touristy little town, not unlike New Hope. But the buildings were more impressive. It was certainly more relaxes in the Poconos than whizzing around between Yardley, West Trenton (where Jannah's boyfriend lives), Bordentown, and wherever the yacht club and the marina are (it's called the Bristol Yacht Club but I think the town is called Easterly).

I'm kind of all over the place here, but just wanted to post something...the bottom line, I suppose, is that it's good to get away, good to be with friends, and good to be with close women friends. Joyce and I have gotten pretty thick after years of not seeing each other - and when we did see each other, she was primarily my uncle's wife and not my pal. But we always liked each other, and in fact I absolutely worshiped her: she was so attractive, talented, funny, adventurous. Still is. And I still worship her a bit. And am so enjoying the way we slipped into a very warm friendship.

All of my women friends have been having bizarre relationship problems and arrangements (except for L., who doesn't have a boyfriend or boyfriends or girlfriends or husband or some combination thereof). Joyce's seems to be the simplest - which doesn't mean it's easy. But I can understand it. With some of my friends, I simply have to step back and just watch to see what happens.

A little plug: John's daughter Ashley and her fiance Joe have a charming blog called Our Bklyn. I feel like my blog has a lot of potholes in it, but their Brooklyn blog hits all the right notes.

bad fingers and Bol Bachchan

Amitabh shows how it's done, in the title song from Bol Bachchan. The young man with the mustache is Ajay Devyn and the cleanshaven young man is Junior Bachchan, Abhishek.

I have a bad trigger finger and a not-so-bad trigger finger, and it's back to Dr. Patel for me on Monday. If you weren't around for last year's trigger finger here's what it's all about. So it's either going to be a shot of cortisone. or what I had done last year:

"Percutaneous trigger finger release:  Trigger finger release can be performed in the office under local anesthesia using a percutaneous technique.  Numbing medicine is injected in the hand near the base of the finger.  A larger needle is then placed through the numb area and is used to divide the pulley that is causing the triggering.  Advantages of this procedure include that it can be done in the office and does not require an incision.  The main disadvantage is that the surgeon cannot see the pulley or nearby nerve and there is a possible higher risk of injury to the nerves or an incomplete release.  While these complications are unlikely, patient should take them into account when choosing to have a procedure."

It's gonna hurt like hell if he has to do this again, especially on two fingers. I remember being in howling pain the day after. The bad one is the right-hand pinkie, and PTFR is usually done one the middle three fingers. The not-yet-as-bad one is the left-hand ring finger, so it may be a wait-and-see, or a PTFR. And if I have the surgery, there's physical therapy after, for maybe six weeks.

So I may be very limited as far as using the computer, although of course I'll have to at work.  Send good thoughts for a nice needle full of cortisone.

Recent reading: The Leftovers by Tom Perotta. Surburban folks try to get along after a Rapture-like event. Love the way he writes, and the post-Cheever look at surburbia. See also, his Little Children.

Somehow, I hopped into another post-apocalyptic novel right after, Stephen King's Cell. Just started it, and it's pretty much as un-put-down-able as most King books. I am an unabashed fan.

Too much to write about with hurting fingers: out in Yardley with Jannah last weekend, Saturday night party on her boat (six boats all tied up together), and then slept on the boat. The whole deal was kind of like camping but less grubby. Relaxing by the pool on Sunday, parade on Monday. I dearly love the Memorial Day parade in Yardley...I hate to use the word "quaint," which it isn't, quite, hut it very old-fashioned and I look forward to it every day - I've been going there for Memorial Day the past 4-5 years.

Very hard, busy season at work, what with classes ending, getting evaluations from teacher, updating transcripts, trying to get a second summer intern, overseeing registration, orienting new faculty, etc. If I must say so myself, I've been coming through like a champ, but I'm seriously exhausted. Part of me (no lie) is kind of hoping to spend Tuesday in bed, on painkillers.

I'm having a really good time on Twitter, especially when I get replies from (can't deny it) well-known people. This past week: Raghu Dixit and Adnan Sami. Both good dudes, and Raghu is supposed to come to the US in the fall. I also have a little joke-topping thing with @Disalmanic, who is a damn funny guy.

bad mental health week...or two

So it wasn't just one of those little stressy recurrences of depression. Not only was it bad, but I had my first experience of delusions, albeit minor. A few times this weekend, waking up or falling asleep, I found myself worrying about mind control of children, accompanied by an image of upside-down red and purple tulips falling like a rainstorm - I suppose this was the delivery system for the mind control agent. Those thoughts showed up about three or four times.

That shit is fairly scary, and told me that it was high time to get my meds managed. I haven't seen a doctor in the year-plus I've been on this health plan because it's a $30 co-pay to see the primary doctor, and then a $50 co-pay to see a specialist. Plus my long-time primary doctor is not in the network. But I picked a new primary doctor today, made an appointment for Monday, and called my old doctor to arrange to get my records.

I need a psych consult, a consult for what seem to be two trigger fingers, and a new set of labs, since my body chemistry is no doubt a mess.

Luckily, work gets slightly easier after tonight. Classes are over until September, so no more late Monday nights. There'll be a lot of work through the end of June, three kinds of end-of-term evals to collect and some fundraising stuff, but July and half of August should be dead. I have ten vacation days coming to me and I'd like to take a full week in July and maybe a few other days. I do need some serious stress relief.

Part of the bad stuff was triggered by another horrible money squeeze last week. Barry was under the impression he would be paid in the middle of last week (when actually it's this Friday), and Verizon suddenly decided that no one can carry any back bill at all, did not notify us, and cut off our TV and internet (and would not reinstate it without full payment). We had zero money and no TV or internet, and really no resources to raise what we needed. So we ended up borrowing from my uncle and aunt, which I loathe doing, although they are very kind and generous and non-judgmental. We asked for $300 (Verizon needed $165), and they sent $500.

This kind of thing kicks up more shit than I can even start to get into. My issues with parental generosity/lack thereof are deep and broad and are making me cry right now.

Needless to say, I found I had no interest in reading riddles by an insecure wealthy actor.  SO not into Big B.

I also found some of my weird self-comforting behavior kicking up, the easiest one to mention being excessive playing of computer games (the really dinky puzzle ones). Another one is sleeping most of the weekend. One other I'm too flat-out embarrassed to mention, but I'll simply say it's been a few years since it kicked up.

Oh, and I pretty much ran out of lorazepam in the middle of this, which is what I take as-needed for anxiety, up to two 2-mg pills per day (this is the generic name of Atavan). Since I'm not seeing a psychiatrist now, it's a bit of a hassle to get it, though I don't do it illegally.

It sucks, it sucks, it sucks. But we had back-to-back functions at work today, and I am off to eat some leftover cheese.

Bad news and good news: Jannah's dog Sasha died last week, one of her two little Yorkies. I don't generally like small dogs, but hers are very sweet. Were. Max still is. The upside is that I'm going to visit over Memorial Day weekend.

I also had lunch last week with a friend from Penguin who doesn't want her name in this blog. Can't blame her. I'll just call her Liz, and say I haven't seen her in nearly a year. We ate Thai food at Qi, and I gave her some raspberry sours in a Hello Kitty tin that I bought at Dylan's Candy Bar.  That Dylan's sure is one dangerous spot if you don't want to be eating candy.

I am such a smart-ass on Twitter! plus, what is a knish? bonus: the movie where Salman Khan speaks Yiddish

@northofconey if you want to see for yourself. I go smart-ass on some famous people sometimes and don't even care if they respond. I did get a retweet from Merrill Markoe, which made me happy for a whole day. I'm connected to almost a totally different set of people than on Facebook. Of course I mostly follow well-known people I don't know, I was found there by Tricia Vita, who writes the excellent Amusing the Zillion blog about Coney Island. Now I'm also linked to one or two other Coney Island groups. We post links to things about how fucked-up business interests are trying to ruin Coney Island and how much we hate Mayor Bloomberg. (a lot.) I'm loving Twitter, though I read a lot more than I write. I retweet and sometimes reply.  Fun.

I am glad Amitabh is going home soon. I am glad Shiva is feeling cheerier (and that he likes seeing his name here). I am glad that Barry had a job interview today. I am glad I am going to Jannah's this weekend. I am glad Bob Steiner is being a bit flirty on Facebook; I was fairly crazy about him when we were teenagers at summer camp. I am glad I went to that Indian store on Second Avenue last week and bought silk pants and glass bangles; there were photos of Indian movie stars taped up inside the dressing room. I am glad to be learning how to get the glass bangles on and off without busting them, and I am glad for the pretty sound they make clinking together on my wrist. I am glad that my jewelry is in a store, for the first time in many years. I am glad it was a warm day. I am glad I had a big discussion about knishes on Facebook today with someone I never got to know well at college but always admired.

I am anxious for a friend who won't read this because she's too busy doing the thing I'm anxious about.

Knish (pronounce all the letters) is a savory pastry usually stuffed with seasoned mashed potatoes but sometimes with kasha (buckwheat). It's about the size of your fist. There are other kinds, but potato and kasha are the only ones that matter. A knish is old-school Jewish food, meaning that it's extremely heavy, about the density of lead, and one of the most delicious things you've ever eaten.

I've explained Yiddish words on this blog on and off for some years now. I don't know nearly as much as I'd like to; American Jews of my generation have parents who felt it was not "modern" to speak Yiddish, that it made them like their old-fashioned parents, so my parents didn't pass it on the way their parents did. Barry's parents were about ten years older than mine, so they spoke more Yiddish, Barry knows more than I do, and I've learned a bunch from him. It's way cool. It's extra-cool when you hear it from people you wouldn't expect. There's an old James Cagney movie, The Fighting 69th, where he suddenly says a line in Yiddish and it's a shock. Cagney was very Irish, but he also grew up playing in the New York City streets with other children of immigrants.

One day I want to see Salman Khan turn to the camera and say, "Meshugganeh ayeh, meshugganah lockshen." The literal translation, "Crazy eggs, [so] crazy noodles," basically, "the kids turn out like the parents." I would write a whole screenplay around having him say that. Salman Khan is in love with Kareena Kapoor, but she's a little odd. He goes to her house, and meets her father, who is totally wacky (Johnny Lever?). Then he says the line, then they sing and dance next to a tree, alternately dressed in tacky disco clothes and rich traditional garments. Subplot: Salman's widowed mother (maybe Kirron Kher) meets Kareena's wacky widowed father, and it turns out that she's also kind of wacky, but has always felt she had to act in a very serious manner. Kirron: I've finally met a man I can be myself with! Then they sing and dance in a colorful marketplace, during which they grab different things from the various vendors (a scarf, a piece of fruit, a pot) and do funny things with them. I could so write this movie.

Next up: I write a movie around Amitabh singing "Who Let the Dogs Out?"

Last but not least:

Raghu Dixit is a crossover artist in the best sense of the word. His western sensibilities are from acoustic singer-songwriters, not glossy pop stars. And he sings without some elements of the Indian vocal style that are peculiar to a western ear not acquainted with Indian music. I said to Barry, "It's Indian David Hidalgo!"

Actually, if you put Cesar Rojas' beard on David Hidalgo, he would kind of look like Raghu Dixit.

much better now

I was feeling pretty crappy over the weekend. My head kind of ran away with me. I fret too much over the past sometimes, I obsess about the future, and therefore I am miserable in the present. Smart, huh?

So I'm taking the "friend cure." Dinner with Robin tomorrow (plus I plan to take my jewelry to The Village Scandal beforehand).

Barry and I are going for dim sum on Saturday, which is a late valentine's something. Significant gifts don't really happen with us anymore except birthdays, when we do manage something. But to be entirely truthful, I'm a little bummed that I didn't get flowers yesterday, not from anyone. Maybe I'm a little old-fashioned, but I love getting flowers. Kama Sutra says you should give flowers with your tooth and nail marks in the stems. Call me ancient-fashioned, but I think that's kind of hot.

Monday, a little wine-and-cupcakes get-together for Bob Steiner's 60th birthday. Even though he only lives in Park Slope, it's probably been about 20 years since I've seen him. He's another one I've been in touch with on FB. On top of that, his old summer-camp roomie Ethan Ries is showing up, and I haven't seen Ethan since camp (I think I friended him on FB but he doesn't really post and we haven't communicated). Bob and Ethan were each briefly a bit more than a friend to me, but that's how camp was.

A week from Friday, I am off to Yardley for a weekend with Jannah, which is always so wonderful. We will just be taking it very easy, talking about everything, and cooking and eating and partaking of our favorite herbal remedy, and we usually watch a movie at night. (Oh man! I gotta bring an Indian movie with me! Of the 11 Indian movies that I actually have on DVD, all but one are Amitabh, big shock. Jannah will love him, I think. Which movie to bring? I'm thinking Don, and maybe also Nishabd, for younger Amitabh and older Amitabh. Quien es mas guapo?) Anyway, I'm going myself; I go about three times a year, and Barry comes with me maybe once. So it's very serous girl-time. Jannah is bummed out about something (either husband or difficult teenage daughter), and said I should bring a lot of earrings, so I guess she's in a buying mood. (No matter how much I give her, which is always quite a bit, she wants to buy more.) I always feel so great after a weekend there: lots of talk-time, a slower pace, laughing, sitting out back when weather permits. She sometimes uses my visits as an excuse to invite a bunch of folks over, and by this time (I've known her 8 or 9 years now), I know her friends pretty well. They're very eclectic, mostly quite smart, and comfortable to be around. If I'm lucky, I'll get to see John and Linda Andrews; I first met Jannah at a party at their house. Love them. Love Jannah.

So yeah, I already feel better to have so much friend-time scheduled, and of course my online posse also does my heart good. I've gotten a little less absorbed in FB and Twitter and such, although I've been watching a lot of music on YouTube and posted quite a few videos on FB.

And speaking of online communities...Amitabh is still in the hospital. He was doing very well for the first day, but did not go home after 24 hours as expected. He started to have pain, then more pain, and then it was determined that the pain was not from the surgical incisions but from something else, so he's having more CT scans, x-rays, tests and so on. He's been blogging and tweeting through all of it, but his blog was very brief today, and he actually tweeted something mildly angry, which I've never seen him do before. It was something along the lines of "Anyone who is asking me to reply personally right now is being very inconsiderate!" More cranky than angry, maybe. He's is not doing well. The EF are extremely freaked out. And this isn't just the FmXt (same as EF) that comments on the blog, about 250-300 people per day. This is also the people who read the blog but don't comment, and I have no idea what kind of page hits he gets.  This is also the (wait for it...) TwFmXt (figure it out), the two million plus people who follow him on Twitter. Then lets add in the people who aren't online and only get their news from radio, TV, and newspapers. There are a lot of freaked-out people out there.

As far as the blog EF...all of the religious people are getting really religious. (Most Hindus, maybe some Muslims, and a couple of Jews - also an astrologer.) The non-religious in-love-with-you ladies are somewhat hysterical, and offer to come to the hospital (some from overseas) and help with anything. Everyone else is just a little on-edge and frantic. Amitabh reports his his discomfort pretty bluntly, and the blog hears more detail than the Twitter followers. He doesn't name or detail any conditions, but we always know how he feels. He reports mild worry, but I think he's a bad liar. I think he's scared.

The blog EF definitely consider him a friend. He treats us like friends. He's at least skimming the comments, because he never fails to wish happy birthdays, wedding congratulations, get-wells and condolences. He mentions certain of us here and there, and every so often replies to about 40 comments. It's not an equal relationship we have with him, but it's also not entirely one-sided.

But enough about Amitabh for now. Check this out:

I don't want to say when this was taken because I am lately a little self-conscious about my age. I refuse to explain why that is. In this picture (which Robin took, in her old apartment), my hair was still naturally brown. I started to go grey when I was about 25, so I'm a young kitty here, 23 or 24. I do not appear to be wearing a speck of makeup. I dressed a different kind of weird than the other girls my age, and I dressed fairly fearlessly.

Video time! (no Indian ones today.)

The extremely great Emily Kaitz, singing a cougar song before anyone used the word "cougar." For many years, I had a cassette of a performance she did with The Dysfunctionells in the early 90s. Met her once. Very shy. But her songs are great and I love her voice. She's pretty low-profile. A couple of her songs have been recorded by The Austin Lounge Lizards and Trout Fishing in America, which is slightly less low-profile than Emily. I really try not to be an asshole hipster about obscure music and bands, but the truth is that I was truly truly into some really fringey music for a lot of years, most of which radiated out from The Holy Modal Rounders and Michael Hurley.

I'm not gonna scare anyone with the Rounders just yet, because they're something other than an acquired taste. It's more like, you have to be born with a genetic abnormality to like them, and the first time you hear them, you get it immediately and become deeply into them. If you don't have that predisposition, you just go, "they suck," and nothing will ever change your mind.

Michael Hurley is a far gentler vice:

Michael (and also Dave Reisch, playing bass here) are serious old-school country hippies. I met Michael (generally known as Snock) many years ago, and I used to see him every time he was in New York. Despite his relative obscurity, he was one of my major musical idols, and I did get to spend a little quality time with him on a couple of occasions. Way back when we both still drank, we were both at a party at Peter Stampfel's, and Snock and I stood and talked and drank a huge amount of red wine for about two hours. I cannot remember a thing we talked about. And maybe fifteen years later, he was in town gigging, possibly with Stampfel or The Du-Tels (Stampfel and Gary Lucas), and for some reason - maybe killing time before soundcheck? - we ended up going out to eat pirogi at a Polish restaurant in the east village, just the two of us. Michael's a good guy. but I find it hard to connect with those DEEP country hippies. Even at my most relaxed, I'm a little too urban. Dave Reisch lives in an old school bus on top of a mountain in Oregon. Which is not to say that I don't have mutual warmth with some of these guys.

Oh, all right.

So now you either love this or you think I'm crazy for liking such sucky music.

The above album, of course, is way old, and I didn't hear it until many, many years after it was released. Here are Steve and Peter the way I knew them:

And if I do not stop thinking about those days right now, I will get myself into a dark mood once again. Good night.

working, at last, with a cameo by the old neighbors

Working is good.  For some reason, even though it's more or less the same hours as Back-to-Work was, I'm really beat at the end of the day.  Maybe it's because I'm actually doing things all day long, and trying to stuff a huge amount of info into my noggin.  I keep thinking about the Far Side cartoon (I think it was Far Side), where a kid raises his hand in class and says, "May I be excused?  My brain is full."  My brain gets full around 4:45.  It's only my first week, and I'll have one more week with the outgoing administrator, but there's a lot to learn.  It's not the same kind of pressure that characterized my first weeks at Dweck, although there are a heap of web-based services I have to learn (one for class registration, one for e-mail blasts, one for room reservations, etc.).  It's very different from the institute where I worked before, which was a good thing.  NYCPT was all-Freud, all the time, and very patriarchal.  PPSC teaches analysis along with other theories and treatment modalities, and is run by women.  Much better.  I feel very comfortable with the women I work for (the Founding Director and Executive Director), and they seem to be happy with me.  In fact, they seemed to be happy with me before I started working.  I think I have exactly the right skill set and temperament, plus the therapy culture is very familiar to me.  Before she died way too young, my mother was a candidate at NYCPT, and many of the therapist and trainees were social friends of hers in some way, so I knew what therapists were like (plus I was in therapy myself, on and off, for many years).  In fact, after my mother died, I stayed with one of her therapist friends (who was actually equally my friend) for some weeks.

Also, it's great not to be po' any more.  We're not exactly wealthy, but we're a lot better off.  PPSC as nice enough to arrange (at my request) for me to get paid right away, so the pressure was off almost immediately.  (They generally pay a month in advance on the first, but cut a check for me for two weeks in April.)

It's kind of a best-of-both-worlds window, where I'm working and earning, but still have a few po' people benefits.  I have my free Lifeline cell phone for a year, Medicaid for six months, carfare for 90 days.  Plus we still have some food stamps money (which may lessen or end soon), and maybe one more rent assistance check.  Ironically, our Medicaid HMO (United Healthcare Community plan) has some of the best medical benefits we've had for a long time.  Free prescriptions (which means I've finally started on Januvia). Dental care, for chrissakes!  Dental care!  Barry and I are both getting our teeth done pronto.  (I need a three-tooth bridge, a cap or crown or whatever on a broken molar, and a cavity filled -- any and all of these that are covered.  I'm seeing the dentist Sunday.  Barry's mouth is basically a disaster, a bunch of missing and broken teeth.  He may end up with dentures.)



I was reading something in a magazine that reminded me of a neighbor I had as a kid.  When I was maybe eleven or twelve, I used to babysit for the kids of my across-the-hall neighbors.  The wife was an absolutely stunning hippie-type who sewed and did all kinds of crafts.  The husband -- I'm not sure I knew this at the time, but he was an English teacher.  He had a lot of cool records and gave me some jazz albums stamped with his last name, maybe from college-dorm days.  (They were lost in The Great Storage Disaster.)  The husband wanted to make movies, though, and they split up and he went to California.  (The beautiful wife started dating, an eventually married, yet another neighbor, the singer-songwriter Tom Chapin.)  Some time later, my brother and I were on the subway, and stopped dead in front of a poster for a movie the husband had directed!  We laughed our heads off at the ad -- it was a horror movie, and the tagline was "Just keep telling yourself -- it's only a movie, it's only a movie, it's only a movie..."  It just seemed so cheesy to us.  Of course, within a few years, Wes Craven's success seemed anything but cheesy.  And I recently got back in touch with the beautiful wife, Bonnie Chapin, who is still amazingly lovely; Tom, of course, became very successful.  (Tom was just a local hero back then -- the big star was his brother, Harry, whose "Taxi" album came out while the Chapins, the Cravens and I still lived at 136 Hicks.  My mother went to a party for the record release, and Harry's bass player hit on her.  My mother was pretty lovely, too.)  Bonnie and Tom had a couple more daughters, who sing with Bonnie and Wes' daughter as "The Chapin Sisters."  I'm not sure what Bonnie and Wes' son is up to.  But the 136 crew had a lot of success and happy lives, plus varying degrees of fame and fortune.

On another topic -- I invited myself to Jannah's for Memorial Day weekend, and she accepted.  (That worked pretty well.)  It'll be my third Memorial Day weekend there...I adore the small-town Yardley Memorial Day parade, where they parade vintage cars and vintage veterans.  Jannah's husband John, who works with the Army Corps of Engineers (though he is not military and not an engineer), is very involved with all things military and rides in the parade in his Army truck.  Last year, Jannah's son Alex played his last parade with his school's marching band, which is a hugely well-known band (and even took Alex on a trip to China!).  Alex is now a freshman in college, I think RIT.  It's always nice weather there over Memorial Day, and Jannah's boat may even be launched by then!  It's something to look forward to.  It's nice to have the peace of mind to do something fun.