February 12th, 2008

"I been thinkin today.

Just about the wonderful nature of information and knowledge. It’s baffling. Trying to obtain any information within this world, to climb that mountain of knowledge, is like trying to open your eyes against the sun. And what’s so incredible to me is that faith is so entwined with knowledge. It’s obvious that you can’t be an expert on everything, that you cannot know all there is to know. But within that realization comes an inherent faith that there is absolute knowledge, faith that there is a truth to knowledge (whether or not that truth simply is that knowledge exists), and faith that we’ll never know the extent of it.

So we’ve all got a little faith. What we don’t have is fucking intelligence (kick the record spin)."

Where are all the Chris' going?

To Heaven or Hell?

R.I.P. Chris Feinstein A.K.A. Space Wolf
R.I.P. Chris Henry A.K.A. Bengals' Last Hope Aside From Bootsy Collins Taking The Field and Funking The Steelers To Death.

This post brought to you by: a final that was actually me taking a paper to the library and typing answers. Love you Juvenile Delinquency.

I'm blogging a lot lately

I found this in a notebook from this semester. It's in relation to a class. Obviously.

This class is like a Chinese finger trap. Bruce pulls and we pull. Bruce points and we point. But all we end up with are sore fingers.

Real Life Spirituality

This is happening as we speak. Something just happened in my life that was important and now I'm blogging about it, maybe cheapening it, but for serious.

Last night I had a big revelation. I had checked my bank account a few days ago and realized I had a set amount of money. I was like. Cool. Awesome. That's some money. What I'd forgotten about was that I hadn't paid rent yet. Then I realized that last night. And freaked out. And realized, "I have no money, this is the scariest thing ever."

So I prayed fervently last night for some help, some way to figure out my financial situation from Heavenly Father.

I just checked my bank account. Whether it was just my eyes, a clerical mistake, some sort of pending check, whatever. Suddenly I have like 200 extra dollars in my bank account.

What in the world. Wow. I usually don't get very personal and spiritual and things like that, or at least anymore. But that was pretty incredible. Your prayers are answered, that is the truth right there.

I'll be danged. I've been humbled.

Sorry if I've been busy lately

So I've been living pretty crazily recently. Just. Busy. Insane. Busy. Busier than I think I've ever been busy. And it's been amazing. This is going to be my life and I love it. So. Much. It's so rewarding. I stay up all night reading books, then get up and go make movies/edit movies/talk about movies all day. Sweeeet.


Here's what I've been up to the past week and a half or so:

I shot, edited, and mass produced a documentary. I started a website and wrote three articles for it. I shot, edited, and spammed a promo for my doc/website. I made my brother make me a sweet poster and had it printed ad nauseum. I saw a play. I watched a movie. I wrote a 7 page paper. I wrote two 1 page papers. I read two books. I wrote a three page essay. I made transparencies. I helped make a 16mm movie. I signed up for a feature length film and a short film. I went to a film festival. I met 6 people in one day. I lost my cell phone. I made a few lists. I wrote some things. I stayed up all night. I did my laundry. I went shopping— twice. I played in the snow. I performed rhythmic gymnastics. In the snow.

All in a week. whut. Am I missing anything? Probably. I'm too tired to think right now.

And tomorrow at 11:30 AM, I’m heading up a fake protest on campus, distributing said DVDs and posters, and hoping some people think it’s interesting.

Oh and on Saturday I’ll be playing Hitler in a comedy show at a swank party. You guys should come.

Finally, really, finished my reading for Comp. Lit.

I keep wanting to call Parzival like, Partyzville or something. Because that's funny.

Some vulgar thoughts about my class project: a reconciliation

At first I was insulted and mad about my partner's accusations. But now I just think; well. What else could you ask of me? If you wanted your ideas implemented, don’t just suggest them. Tell me why they would work within our project. Persuade me. Otherwise, then I DO get the impression that it is my project and not ours. Because to me it seems like you are waiting for me to do the next thing. Also, I shouldn’t be insulted by that charge. That “This seems like your project, not ours. You’re taking too much control” thing? Well, so what? That’s what I want to do for a living. Create my ideas. I want to create and sell my ideas. I didn’t have total control. I didn’t want total control. I relegated ideas. You revamped the script. And it looked great. We used it. You’re drafting blog content. Sweet. But overall, yes. This is my fucking project. These are my fucking characters. This will be my. Fucking. Result. So fuck off. This is mine. You made it that way. You let me take control because you didn't step. up.

And this is how I’ll live. Nobody was like “Uh, Achilles? You mind not leading this charge? You’re lookin’ like a dick. Some of us want some glory. Ajax is a little pissy.”

Nobody was like “Hey, dude, you wanna knock that shit out Homer? Some other people want to write epic poems for the first time. Kthanx.”

I’m not Homer and I’m not Achilles, but whatever. Those guys didn’t care. They did what needed to be done. And so will I. At the risk of sounding like an asshole, I will take over the project that I created, and I will make it work. Thanks for helping me, thanks for reigning in my flagrant disregard for self editing, consistency, and my incredible oversight. Thanks for letting me down when I needed communication, commitment, and leadership. And thanks for apologizing. Now let’s get this fucking thing over with.

Something I've learned very easily

Reading without music is very, very tough for me. Actually, doing anything without music is tough for me. Falling asleep without music, up until about this past summer, was inconceivable. It hadn't happened since I was little.

So, without a computer, without an mp3 player or stereo that you put that thing on, I've been kind of struggling to figure out how to get things done.

To the person who stole my Zune: I'm going to kill you man/woman/child. Because of you, I cannot listen to Ratatat and Lands & People while ingesting literature at 4 AM. You are scum. I spit on your grave.

Sometimes I can't put sentences together y'all

So sorry bout that.

Sometimes I just think to myself over and over again: gotta get back to Northern Kentucky.

I can't wait for some babe to see the little poof of hair that is my Joey McIntyre bookmark sticking out of my classic works of literature and for her to basically BEG to give me her number. But I'll be like, sorry sister. My phone book is full.

Hello Children. It's me. Your illegitemate dad.

Ok, so in the interest of posterity I've decided to go ahead and think about and then document a few cardinal rules for the raising of my children. This is, of course, in case of the rare possibility that I'll take "responsibility" of my children and their subsequent "expenditures" like food and a crib and teeth doctors.

1. Children, I will never make you join an intramural sport, club activity, or youth group (gang) if you do not want to. This is mainly because I don't want to have to kid myself that you'll be good at anything. I'm trying to love you, you know? And how can I love you if I get my hopes up that you'll be good at soccer and it turns out you can't even run straight?

2. Children, at the risk of goin' "totally granola", I will not allow cable television into the house. This is a two-fold up. One, you won't be fat and lazy and obnoxious. You won't make me suffer through the Suite Life with Zach and Cody. You won't bother me with pleas for toys that nobody thinks are cool (nobody=me). The second sweet part of this is that cable television is so on it's way out. We'll get our television, if it's rated highly enough by The Onion AV Club and Newteevee.com, through youtube and surfthechannel. We'll be riding the wave of the future, as Howard Hughes would say. This will add an edge of elitism to you at school.

3. Children, I will never, ever make you sit through a dinner at Olive Garden, Red Lobster, or a steak house that isn't Jack Ruby's. This is motivated purely by bad childhood memories. We would eat and then I would be full and tired and the adults would be talking about boring crap. All I wanted to do was lay down in the booth and that was strictly not allowed. Plus the bathrooms smelled awful and I had to look at everybody's sweat shirts and Nike's. Not a fan. I'm saving you from that awfulness.

4. Children, you will not attend a daycare or private school. You'll go through public school like the rest of us. What, you think you're some sort of privileged rich kid? You think you're smarter and more special than your peers? You won't be. You aren't, especially right now because you're (hopefully) unborn. It's called humility. Learn it, jerks.

5. Children, you will not drink soda. This is another moment of "granola-ness", but frankly I don't care. I just watched King Corn and that shit is scurry. If this means I have to go soda-less as well, then... Hell. I'll commit. For you, you hellions. I'm saving you from diabetes and cancer; please repay me by not turning into a meth head or person who wears Bodman cologne.

6. Children, I will never, ever ever give you what you want unless what you want is love, knowledge, taste and style, basic human needs, and a modicum of safety and comfort. You will not get what's fashionable known as "in" because I'll make sure I marry a woman who, like me, knows what's timelessly trendy (big-collared shirts and flannel dresses). I will foster a love of learning in you, which will supersede all material want (idealism alert). You will be an amalgamation of Spartans and Athenians. Judicious, daring, quick-witted, resourceful, courageous, with killer pectorals and diphurnals (not a real muscle).

I don't know how you'll turn out for real. In my mind you guys are going to be awesome, cooler versions of me. You guys will listen to the music I listen to, but like. Times 20x on the coolness factor. You guys will love film and art and movies. We'll have lively discussions about it on our veranda late into the night while you're home from studying abroad (on scholarship dog. Cause you're paying your own way through college). We'll try and play basketball, because I think that's what families do. Although, I kind of hate actually playing, and you probably will too.

These are just some important thoughts. I hope that some fox with a PhD in Comparative Studies reads this and emails me with her number. And at the bottom of the message it'll say like "Sent from the Blackberry!" And I'll be like, "Dude. That's so hip."

Link Day!

Troll 2 on NPR

Drew Danburry on Daytrotter

Great Online Film Community

This is my day today and I'm totally happy with that.

You know the cover art for that Department of Eagles album "The Cold Nose"?

I feel like that today. I just shrug!

So I think it's time to go home. Nothing's getting done here in the library. Time to finish The Inferno and move onto Purgatorio, and Paradisio. After that I'll try and cram in Parzival, write a film script, cast a documentary, watch a movie, write a paper on said movie, take a quiz, meet with a group, watch another movie, and go to another shoot Friday night. Anything else? Probably.

Mainly my life is like I was like um.

This is simply outstanding

"Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" is a horrible experience of unbearable length, briefly punctuated by three or four amusing moments. One of these involves a dog-like robot humping the leg of the heroine. Such are the meager joys. If you want to save yourself the ticket price, go into the kitchen, cue up a male choir singing the music of hell, and get a kid to start banging pots and pans together. Then close your eyes and use your imagination.

-Roger Ebert

I just had the pleasure of reading this.

You should do that now too.

Continuation of thoughts from last night

I didn't mean to make it sound like I was all broken up about not making friends in Provo, boo hoo, got nobudy to talk ta. What I'm saying, perhaps in some way, is that here in Provo there is a disparaging difference between those who "get it" and those who "don't." Oh and "it" is "me".

That being said, I think that's case with the world. And it makes me extremely grateful and happy to have the friends I have. Because they make this town awesome. Whether it's driving around some mountains or eating mulligatawny or breaking lightbulbs by the airport or playing Mario Kart all morning. It's just awesome.

So. Thanks friends. You guys rule. You guys are the best. Shout out to Austin Dressman. Even though you don't live here, it feels like you should. So. Move here.

Do it.

-Love,
Alex

Thoughts about people in Provo

Sometimes it's really hard for me not to be angry with the people I come in contact with here. It's hard because I never feel like I can express myself to them; I can't ever communicate. My humor is always too dry or referential or I use too many abbrevs. People just kind of shrug and look blankly at me. Not their fault, I understand that. Just a simple frustration.

I'm only writing this because my triumphant return to FHE, after like a year, was pretty awkward and punctuated with people turning to me and saying, "You're in our ward?"

I just walked out and blasted a Black Lips GZA remix. 2 4 Biggie, my homiez in the ground.

EDIT: I think the reason people generally don't have a clue what I'm talking about is because the way I talk is usually the way people doing hard drugs talk. Nobody not on speed or coke should reference Max Headroom or Joey McIntyre repeatedly in a roomful of people who don't understand what the hell you're saying. Just a thought.

Edit II: I am not on coke or speed or any other drug. I'm just internetified.

An Ode to a Sunny Monday

Dear Chase,

I feel like I can call you Chase because you and me are so much alike. I would love to meet you some day. It would be great to have a catch. I know I can't throw as fast as you, but I think you would be impressed with my speed. I love your hair. You run fast. Do you have a good relationship with your father? Me neither. These are all things we can talk about and more. I know you have not been getting my letters because I know you would write back if you did, and I hope you write back this time and we get to be good friends. I am sure our relationship would be a real home run.

Mac

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5S88vVTDS0

Sometimes you just have to spread music around like syphilis. I'm sure you know this one though. I just needed to give give give.

We sang this all summer you know? Everybody laughing at each other for not realizing how quickly we were drifting apart. When we finally all did go our own ways, it was like the continental divide, that space between our legs on the car upholstery.

Sometimes I can't help but want to write write write!

Fuck these words from this cruel mouth. These sentences coming out of these folded hands. I feel like a wretched shyster. I never knew I could just create until someone told me to.

I can't live without writing. I can't lie without writing. I can't write without living and lying. Love love love.

I had one of those things called an "epiphany" last night. Things are on the upswing, starting with an overhaul of my attitude. Time to come to grips with reality and start bein' rough, tough, and real. Raw.

Yeah, so I've completely abandoned caring about school anymore. I think it's inevitable. I'm alright with that. I don't know what else to do. The only things that interest me are watching movies, making movies, reading books, internets, and trying to make people hate me.

Those are pretty much what I'm "about."

As Jans Lekman puts it, "It was a strange time in my life."

Hates average, hates convention, hates complacency, hates radical adjustments, hates mediocrity, hates all voices in the human conversation, hates LCD screen, hates blue ray, hates enough for the whole collective race. This post is called Haters. Stop being average, I hate average, you just read that.

Seriously, why is just caring so hard right now. I'm gonna quit this school.

The more and more that I watch movies, the more and more I only want to watch movies.
The more and more I read books, the more and more I only want to read books.
The more and more I make movies or write books, the more and more I want to just create.

Give me funding! Or give me death!

I'm in the library. Some guy just got really angry at an internet chess game and smashed the keyboard. I need to remember this moment forever.

Kind of just makes me want to bash these old brains in. Yeah yeah yeah, I'm going to get out of here.

I'm lost in residue and confused, like the first time you tried soft water.

Lyrics blog!!!

Seriously though, I need to move to the city, get a place with hardwood floors, watch John Waters Trash TV Spectacular, get a terrible job that pays well, hate my life, your life, this life, who's life, whose life? Maybe I'll just buy a life.

Read books, read minds.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMVulUbt2-0

Update Number Three:

Mother. Fucker.

Fuck.

Secondary Update:

The internet rules.

Somedays are days only meant to be on the internet.
Somedays are days only meant to watch movies.
Somedays are days meant to read texts for class.
Somedays are equal parts all of those things.

Mostly though, days are just for the internet or movies.

Kiss off academia.

Just some admissions

Sometimes I get so nervous about the future that I feel like vomiting. I didn't know I was like this and it's been happening so often lately that I'm being forced to reconcile with it.

I am nervous about the future.

There's nothing else to do but to continue fear(fully)lessly into it and to know I'll be somewhere doing something at sometime.

Oh and I'm afraid of needles too. Screw giving blood.

So, it’s Tuesday, 5 A.M. What do I find myself doing? Oh that’s right, cooking steak and watching Empire Records. It would seem that in my never ending quest to reinvent the 90’s, I’ve picked back up one of the classics, the icons, the Great Patriots of the late 20th century. This movie shaped me in ways I didn’t understand. It’s probably responsible for every single stereotype I’ve ever held about my peers, and for my sense of justice. I knew at a young age that the good guys were the ones sticking it to the man and that stealing nearly ten thousand dollars was understandable, nay, encourage-able! It also might explain why I would run around with no shirt on screaming about having no parents, a speed addiction, and everyone else’s “PERFECT LITTLE LIFE!!!!!!”

Looking back on this movie, one asks themselves the inevitable questions: why was this made? Who thought this was real life? Why is this movie so GOOD?
Seriously, I love this movie. It’s in the same leagues as Heavyweights, Camp Nowhere, Fox Fire, and Can’t Hardly Wait. Also, Liv Tyler is possibly the hottest chick of the 90’s. Freals.

"Mark man, you play a mean guitar. It is really a shame that you must DIE!"
"I love you Eddie."

If a man can learn to appreciate good art, he may live a thousand lives in one lifetime. Sometimes three or four in one night!

A quick thought on hip Christian music.

Cool. I get it. I understand your message. I don't have a problem with it. People write about various topics in many genres of music; I don't have a problem whatsoever with you talking about people being made from clay or being lifted up or something or whatever. Even the LDS music that I've heard, aside from hymns I mean, ok. That's fine. It's a little belabored but I dig your deal and continue on.

But for real. The only thing that would EVER turn me off from Christian music is the subculture surrounding it. I went to find lyrics to some Derek Webb and Sandra McCracken songs and BAM. There in almost every page. Hordes of emaciated, tattooed, dudes and girls smiling beguilingly. Every dude's gotta beard. Every chick has those loose, fly away bangs. They all look humbled and endowed with knowledge. Sigh. I don't know why this bothers me. I just think that this whole Shane Claiborne thing needs to end now. For every cool Christian in a suit and tie, there are twenty dudes wearing Red Wings jersies and torn jeans to services on sunday. It's like Jesus blessed the Last Supper and they sipped their local coffee house blends and nibbled on some pita and hummus. Maybe they did. But they sure weren't listening to Half-Handed Cloud and discussing the depth of C.S. Lewis.

I guess I just don't like the subculture because it's so desperately predictable. You guys are interesting people. I like hanging out with the people that I know that are in this lifestyle. I mean, half of Northern Kentucky is like this. That's great. But I like these people for a reason: for the people they are. And when I go to parties or concerts with these people, it's like I'm talking to one giant person, and all it wants to discuss is Rob Bell or Donald Miller. And everybody is so damn aloof. No I didn't hear the latest Mars Hill podcast, but I'm sure it was a doozy.

This was incoherent and more disgruntled than I intended it to be. I just really like people for who they are, not the Christian banner they wave. I'm a Christian. I love my religion. I love your religion. But we are not friends merely because of that aspect of our personality. I like you because you're intelligent and have a lot of funny stories/jokes/memories/ways to say things.

Two last ideas: This isn't about any ONE person. And this isn't about religion. Just the idea that we need to be starving, bearded, tattooed, pierced, and wearing a thrift store t-shirt to get into heaven. Holla at me if you wearin' a suit on Sunday. Holler.

Notes on my TMA 277 class

Sometimes I think about how all of this stuff we're chasing around, the internet and how to harness it and cultivate it and make it our money-maker, our sugar daddy, is so 1995 it's not even funny. I'm writing papers about how "the playing field is leveled because of the ease and ability of users to create their own individual content, breaking into an array of entertainment as yet unharnessed by any corporation (and possibly could never fully conquered and employed)." But all I can think about is ascii art and MS DOS and "the net" and how I should have a dot com business model or something.

Dude, the next level of storytelling is going to take place like in people's brains or something. I don't know. I can't understand it. I don't really care that much either I guess. I write things. None of this interests me. I think I read too much Seneca.

All I do know is that Ingrid Michaelson is the new Lisa Loeb. And that we may laugh at the dirty, mealy-faced 90's. But soon enough we'll be looking at the 2000's saying, "What the hell was wrong with us?" And also, "Hoverboards rule!"

"He had in mind a bouncing, black-haired, large-lipped, party-going peach.”

-Saul Bellow’s The Adventures of Augie Marche

My Emotional Response to the Britney Spears/Pussycat Dolls concert I attended: via text

My reactions to the Britney Spears/Pussycat Dolls concert via text:

To Austin: So far we’ve seen a lot of gays and skanks. Excited. We paid 50 bucks for seats that are 10 rows from the very top. Section 130.

To Nate: Holy shit. At Britney Spears concert. Found new form of wolf t shirt. It’s a black shirt. Panther roaring. Incredible.

To Fred: not too bad. Just.. At this concert. Seeing the pussycat dolls with [Natalie].

To Eric: I’ll guarantee there are more queers here than at hurrah [in reference to an archenemy of ours mispronouncing Mirah’s name; saying it was pronounced like Hurrah.]

To Eric: haha. A britney mirah duet. Also. Officially the worst public bathroom experience of my life

To Austin: Natalie is busy taking pictures of people’s crappy tattoos

To Eric: i wish i was at a sisqo concert

To Austin: i wish i was at a sisqo concert

To Fred: Hell yeah! It’s like the boone county fair in here

To Austin: The preconcert music is ‘tell me somethin good. Tell me that you like me’

To Eric: Janice kapp perry is here. She thought it was a jazz game. She wandered on stage. She’s confused

To Natalie: Janice kapp perry is here. She thought it was a jazz game. She wandered on stage. She’s confused

To Eric: Jkp loves the jazz. She stalks karl malone

To Austin: The pussycat dolls just came on stage. Natalie freaked out. started yelling ‘do you think puff is here?! Do you think puff daddy is with them?!’

To Eric: They’re wearing silver sequin hoodies

To Eric: Flamboyant gay Mexican man in front of us. better performer than the dolls

To Mc: Flamboyant gay Mexican man in front of us. better performer than the dolls

To Mc: A crowd member. Going nuts

To Melanie: This pussycat dolls performance is an exercise in stupidity. Their dance moves consist of walking, nodding, and flapping like a chicken.

To Austin: Three straight single dudes sitting in front of us. Sat down with beers. Haven’t moved, clapped, or talked since they sat down. they look confused

To Austin: first audible reaction to the concert from those dudes: the lead singer [of the dolls] asked if anyone had heard their new album and one of the guys loudly farted

To Melanie: really. Pussycat dolls. Worst dancers. Ever.

To Mc: really. Pussycat dolls. Worst dancers. Ever.

To Austin: The intro to her show was perez hilton chewing baby doll heads. And then she shoots him with a crossbow. It goes from there. It’s like i’m watching a live version of pasolini’s 7 days of Sodom.

To Austin: Holy shit. Indescribable. The things I’m seeing.. they can’t be described.

[In response to “Well try anyways!”] To Austin: bollywood. Indians. giant floating parasol. Om shanty shanty.

To Austin: atom ant cover

To Austin: Woops. I mean soft cell. Hahaha

To Austin: holy shit.

To Austin: Holy shit woah. It’s with marilyn manson. now she’s dressed as an angel. Wings. Dangling from chains. I’m serious about that pasolini reference. on the screen above where she’s dancing there are just pictures of clocks and deer heads

To Austin: a salvador dali painting came to life on this stage.

To Austin: Literally the stage caught fire, and the screen was in flames and everything looked like hell.

To Austin: It’s over. I feel like taking a 7 day nap to forget what I just saw.

To Austin: Reflecting back, I’m glad I went. It was enjoyable.

To Mc: It was fun! Natalie is in heaven right now.

To Austin: In the car listening to.. britney spears. Damn it all.

LiFe In UtAh RoCkS?

Life in the 801 (I'm calling it that now):

-Sundance Film Festival. Rock. Definitely worth getting like 3 hours of sleep and driving all over the state to get to. We only saw one celebrity too: the dad from Freaky Friday. My opinion: I shouldn't care at all about celebrities because I can't even recognize them on the street if I do see them. I had hope in my heart to meet Bruce Campbell or Steve Buscemi. I only met stuck up hipsters and rich socialites. Park City is one giant GAP commercial.

-Walking With The Dinosaurs. Awesome. Even better when you buy nosebleeds and sit wherever you want in the high rises.

-Roommate of the month. A delicious idea.

-Art, music, films, books. I'm living the Barnes and Noble's life right now.

All in all, I'm busier than I've been in a long time and life is flitting past like scenery from train window. Even my imagery is rushed. I'm at work learning how to negotiate music rights. This will come in handy one day right?

The new semester

Ok. So here I am in the new semester. I got home to good old Utah. I found natalie in the airport. I didn't let her go. Travelling was kind of a big treat. I flew out of Cincinnati and had a nice lay over in O'Hara. Which I guess is like me saying, "I had a very pleasant root canal." But I did. It's so huge and busy.

I'm back now though. We've had snow storms like crazy here. I love the snow though. I love it when it's coming down thick and awful and dirty like ash all over the roads. Mt. Vesuvius exploding. Pliny the Elder engulfed. My car has been stuck in a few places, but everything is melting off now. For the next few hours at least. All the snow people are melting and falling down. People are skidding over the ice on campus.

My classes are nice. It's a true semester. Kind of a hassle. Kind of exciting. I'm taking a comparitive literature class. I feel like Sylvia Plath. Sick of the head-nodders. Sick of the mundane. The class is super easy. I'm noticing how much people like to add to the simplicity of the class. Just so it sounds more complex and complicated than it is. Hell, you could rewrite the scripts for Little Bill with a scholarly vocabulary and study it as an art. It's an interesting class though I guess. I'll finish it, prove my point, and never major in comparitive lit.

I'm at work now. Always at work. ha. I've got a few Bukowski books to read when I get the time. Some wasabi nuts to eat. Some White Stripes to listen to. All's well that ends well.