Stuck In My Head

Okay, four days later and I’m still on this song. I’ve got bones to pick with those first two lines though.

Love is but a song we sing
Fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why
~ The Youngbloods, Get Together 

Love is but a song we sing

I don’t know what Chet Powers (AKA Dino Valenti) meant when he wrote this line but, to me, it comes off like he’s saying love is some ephemeral wisp of a thing. No, no man. I got to disagree. Love is some heavy duty, bullet proof, muscular shit. Sure, sure, there’s the hearts, flowers, and dreamy frosting-like delirium but that’s really the least of it. Honest!

 Love is The Amazing Bob, Jen, Celeste, and Oni sitting with me in the pre-op cubby before I was wheeled down to one of my big-ass brain surgeries. We were laughing, cracking wise with the dark humor. TAB was stashing boxes of rubber(?) gloves into his backpack for me for later (I was the glaze chemist and mixer at a group ceramics studio back then. Gotta glove up before handling that toxic shit and it costs!) He (57) and I (40) were giggling like little rugrats over what us sneaky kids were getting away with.

It was 6AM and surgery would last at least 12 hours. Coming out with hearing was unlikely (but, that one last time, I beat the odds).

Love is sitting with TAB in his hospital room during the last couple days of his life, talking baseball, with a boombox playing Monk and Miles in the background. TAB was hallucinating that he was on a pitcher's mound. I followed his focus to the far side of the room where the batter was prepping at home plate waiting for the next pitch. I asked TAB if he was going for his knuckleball or if he was just gonna throw heat. We talked about the batter – what they might expect. In hospital room world, TAB was nearing the end. On TAB's baseball field though, he was still in the game and the very least I could do was stay with him until the last out.

Love is Ten being here for me every damn day, helping me walk up the stairs, get into the car, changing the sheets on the bed twice a day when poor Cake had a UTI, doing endless laundry, and, worst of all, driving me to all my doctor appointments through always awful Boston traffic. Ten makes me laugh and laughs when I crack wise. The man’s a fucking saint, I tell you! Also, he knows a lot about rocks, geologic shit, and climate stuff – I like that in a man.

Love isn’t all great sex and the completeness you feel when that person's near. It’s handling what life throws you with your best friend(s) by your side.

The song’s next line:

Fear's the way we die

Much more than that – caving to fear is the way we die.

When I’m afraid, (which, let’s face it, is a daily happening) I think, what’s the worst possible outcome. Is there anything I can do to prevent or mitigate this worst thing from happening? If yes, what’s that look like and let’s be creative, fer fuck's sake. If no, I figure I’ll just have to see how things roll out and go from there. Scary but I don't see a lot of other options on the damn menu.

Certainly my surgeries scare me. I try not to live in the fear zone. It doesn’t help — anxiety serves no purpose so I stuff it away somewhere, somehow. I suppose it leaks out in other places — being short tempered, hyper critical, easily fatigued, excessively snackish. 

//shrugs// Chips, guac, grilled brussels sprouts, salsa, cake, and cookies were invented for a damn good reason, ya know! If I believed in gods, I would consider carrot cake from Fratelli's bakery proof thereof. (Yes, I just had some leftover birthday cake for breakfast!)

Life is scary. It's also relentlessly pissing me clean off. This whole planet is just plain nuts. I’m talking about people – they’re strange and frightening.

People are strange
When you're a stranger
Faces look ugly
When you're alone
~ The Doors, People Are Strange 

Caving to fear is how we begin to die.

Oh, Please!

This is such a minor thing but OH so typical and utterly infuriating. 

The Right Wing Noise/Distraction Machine – in their latest attempt to cover for their lord and master, Prez Pedo’s myriad crimes, blatant incompetence, mind-bending narcissism, and stupidity that would put Larry, Moe, and Curly to shame – are really scraping the bottom of the old barrel. 

What is it? The big carnivalesque hoochie coo they’re performing is all about Jon Ossoff dropping the Crimer in Chief’s Executive Stalker's name into a sentence containing actual serious criticisms which should not be glossed over.

“He golfs and trades stocks. See, he doesn’t want to do the job. He wants to build his ballroom and travel with Natalie on their apparently defenseless flying palace gifted by the emir of Qatar.”  (source)

That’s it. That’s his only mention of Natvanka.

Complete Bozos like Megyn (I had a respectable career once!) Kelly, Meaghan (DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS) McCain, Eric (the dumb one, not the cokehead) Trump, Steven (deformed conehead) Cheung, etc. have been shrieking SEXISM (???) and accusing Ossoff of implying they’re having an affair.

OH COME ON – as if!!! There can’t be a single sane person on the planet who believes that obviously unwell 80-year-old sack of way too many greasy Big Macs, fries, Diet Cokes, and backed up fecal matter has the functioning hydraulics to get it up anymore. No one thinks an affair is happening and no one's making the implication.

Natvanka is just Pedo’s emotional support blonde and she's clearly emotionally unstable (to put it ever so kindly). All the noise, as usual, is to distract from the the real horrors that Pedo and his crew are up to.

In other news …

Russia’s still murdering people in Ukraine because Putin is a soulless bastard and hasn’t yet run out of bombs.

Israel has expanded it’s genociding to Southern Lebanon but that’s not new news is it? Yesterday, the Israeli army rigged and detonated the reservoir in Mansouri, Lebanon. This was the only freshwater source for the town. BTW, demolishing civilian infrastructure? That's a war crime and an act of genocide. 

I only mention it.

Also, Israel’s far-right national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, is filled with absolute glee as he anticipates using his new “gallows complex." This is where Palestinians who’ve been convicted of terror offenses will be hung. Check out his "gallows cake" at the link. //shudder//

How absolutely medieval of him.

In ICE news, Minnesota is suing Texas to make Governor Abbott extradite an ICEhole (Christian Castro) who shot Julio Sosa-Celis through his front door and then made up a whole fairy tale ass story about why he just HAD to do it. Trump suck-up, white supremacist, immigrant killer and total dickhead Abbott says Castro will be sent north for trial but, waddya know, two months later Castro’s still safely tucked away in Texas. He’s probably being served steaks and martinis while he cools his heels. It’s a little vacay for Christian, eh?

Can we also find out where the government has Jonathan Ross, Jesus Ochoa, Raymundo Gutierrez, and Brian Palacios stashed? Let’s get them charged, extradited, put the fuck on trial.


How about some motherfucking justice for all of us, hmmmmm?

Bubblegum Life

Last night I dreamed that my beloved friend Kevin (who died 35 years ago due to Bush I’s Gulf War) was on the USS Lincoln. I was heavily stressing about how he was doing – so much so that I went in to the local Navy office to get information and, just generally, kick up a fuss. My tantrum was tamped down by the fact that the official at the desk was an old coworker of mine of whom I was quite fond. I didn’t want to go full metal Donna on him.

Where did this dream come from? 

The Little World of Liz

Yesterday was my birthday. I was feeling old and thinking of all those I’ve loved and outlived. I’m also, of course, stressing my ass off over the news.

Kevin was a Hebrew and Arabic linguist for the Navy.

The official at the desk who was a former coworker? In real life his name is Israel.

I wish all my dreams were so easy to figure out.

How did I spend my big b-day?

Well, Ten made my favorite breakfast – blueberry pancakes with spinach. He and Cake brought them to me while I lounged around in bed, blogging, doodling, and being a basic slug (one of my better innate talents). Later, I went over to Jen’s – she had picked up fish and chips from our local pub. We watched the final four (count ‘em four!) episodes of Resident Alien. OMG! I’m sorry the show came to an end BUT they wrapped it up in the best possible way. NO spoilers here!

Okay, just one. They FABULOUSLY placed The Youngbloods song Get Together. When the lyrics came up on the screen, I was stunned – I mean, it was perfect! I was immediately transported back to a naive, happier, hopeful time. I think I was 9 or 10 when the song came out. 

I actually had a friend that year (until my family moved away to the alien midwest). She and I listened to 45s on her older sister’s record player – things like Incense and Peppermints by Strawberry Alarm Clock, Simon Says by 1910 Fruitgum Company, and Pleasant Valley Sunday by The Monkees. 

I wonder what Julie’s doing now. She wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up. Her dog was named Tippy. My parents were friends with hers so, years later, I heard some news about the family. One of Julie’s older brothers committed suicide on the night of her senior prom. Her father went into the dance to tell her and bring her home.

What was his reason for deleting himself? I never heard but it was implied that it had something to do with him having moved to Boston and that not working out. Not long after returning to rural Western Pennsylvania he did the deed. So, he felt like a failure? Dunno.

A few years later, when I told my folks that I was moving to Boston, my mother freaked. For the first time that I could remember, she expressed actual concern for me, my plans and safety. She wanted me to know that I could always come home. Two things:

1. With my violent, wackbrained brother, anyfuckingwhere on this planet (or any other) was safer than home. 
2. I’d just come off the road from my final season with a scuzzy Midwest carnival where I’d encountered a whole ass variety of insane dangers and I survived. Go me, eh?

I'd already been hit with some pretty solid shots. All it did was piss me off and make me more determined to get the fuck up, out, and on my own. Which I did. 

In any case, I’ve tried doing a search for Julie – no luck. I'm not looking to reconnect. Much more I’d just like to know if she became a vet or what other path her life might have taken. Did John’s suicide, just a few months before she was due to leave for college, derail her? Did she get help to understand, process and cope?

Last night I could clearly hear Get Together in my head and, yeah – you bet – my eyes got all watery.

Love is but a song we sing
Fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why

Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now

If only life was that simple. Bubblegum pop did not prepare me for the harsh realities of life.

Whoosh!

One day you’re young confused, angry at the world and everyone in it. You’re struggling to find your place socially, job-wise, artistically. All while suffering the slings and arrows of a rare, outrageous neurological disorder. 

Then a whole bunch of years whoosh by.

You may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?"
You may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?"
And you may ask yourself, "Am I right, am I wrong?"
And you may say to yourself, "My God, what have I done?”

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the blue again, into the silent water
Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground
~ Talking Heads, Once in a Lifetime

And then, one day, you wake up and you’re old, a little less confused but still angry at the world. Maybe anger is your/my normal state – sort of like resting bitch face? I’m no longer struggling with jobs and careers because I’m retired. Socially? I’ve accepted, after giving the Party Person/Social Butterfly persona a real solid go for decades, that I’m a bit of an introvert. Not completely but really!

Artistically? While, physically, I can’t do the big canvases anymore and working in clay isn’t logistically possible, I’m still finding ways to be visually creative. Having gallery showings would have been awesome but making art has never been about sales, attention, and adulation (though I surely wouldn’t have turned any of that shit away had it come a knockin’). It's always been about the work, the act of creativity. 

Picasso said, “We don't grow older, we grow riper.” I’m ripening like a pumpkin, left on the porch rail too long after Halloween. Interesting from a biologist's point of view perhaps. Otherwise? Ewwww.

And meanwhile time goes about its immemorial work of making everyone look and feel like shit.
~ Martin Amis, London Fields

Yes … well. I hope that I will soon begin to feel better, rejuvenated even, as I recover from this long-ass foot horror show. Meanwhile, there ain’t nothing that can be done about my lopsided visage (facial paralysis – aftereffect from brain surgeries) or my scalp that resembles the tracks in busy train yard more than a human head. Sure, sure, there’s cosmetic surgery and wigs but that shit costs $$$$$$ and $.
 
Most people don't grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging.
~ Maya Angelou

I hope to hell I’ve matured, at least a little bit, over the years. I *think* I may have. I’m kind but not the nicest person you’ll ever meet. I have firm boundaries.

Certainly not everyone’s cup of tea/coffee/adult bev of choice – I wouldn’t want to be.

We're all fools," said Clemens, "all the time. It's just we're a different kind each day. We think, I'm not a fool today. I've learned my lesson. I was a fool yesterday but not this morning. Then tomorrow we find out that, yes, we were a fool today too. I think the only way we can grow and get on in this world is to accept the fact we're not perfect and live accordingly.
~ Ray Bradbury, The Illustrated Man

Rainy Days and Mondays

That song, Rainy Days and Mondays by The Carpenters came out in 1971. It played incessantly on my little transistor radio that didn’t pick up the 70 long mile away cool FM stations from the city. 

What could I hear when I got my hands on a better radio? The Doors, Riders on the Storm. Led Zeppelin, When the Levee Breaks and Stairway to Heaven. Rolling Stones, Brown Sugar and Wild Horses. Marvin Gaye, Mercy Mercy Me and What’s Going On. The Who, Baba O’Reilly and Won’t Get Fooled Again. Gil Scott-Heron, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. Maggie May, Rod Stewart. Ain't No Sunshine, Bill Withers. Sly & The Family Stone, Family Affair, Cat Steven AKA Yusuf Islam, Peace Train.

I had just turned 13 but even I could tell the difference between Hallmark card, corporate pablum and art. 

I was stunned when, years later, people whose options I truly respected seriously claimed Karen Carpenter was an underrated drummer and praised her vocal abilities. But … but … their songs were nothing more than elevator music, grocery shopping and dentist office soundtracks. They were torpid, beige, approximations of life and NOW you’re praising her? Mes amis, Karen was no Terry Bozzio, Steve Gadd or Elvin Jones – she was no Tina Turner, Julie London or Annie Lennox but sure, yes, she definitely had talent. 

I only mention it BUT you can have angelic, high functioning pipes and fab abilities but if you lack verve – if you can’t tap into the juice of life – your music, art, writing, whatever, won’t have soul. Without soul, it will NOT live. DEAD TUNE WALKING! At best you've got something that's gonna start reeking if you don't bin it soon! I'm tellin' you.

I just read Carpenter’s Wikipedia entry. She died in ’83, a month shy of her 33rd birthday. Her long battle with anorexia nervosa finally did her in. Anorexia won.

Two years later, the coroner told colleagues that Carpenter's heart failure was caused by repeated use of ipecac syrup, an over-the-counter emetic drug often used to induce vomiting in cases of overdosing or poisoning.
~~~
Carpenter's friends were convinced that she had abused laxatives and thyroid medication to maintain her weight and felt that the problem had begun after her marriage began to fail. (source) 

Man, I thought she’d died in the late ‘70s. I guess that was just her career.

What brings this up today? It's Monday. It's raining and I'm a little down. Possibly my minor sad is because tomorrow's my birthday and I really thought I'd be a LOT farther along on my recovery path at this point. I blame my stupid, asshole toe.

Weird trivia for the day – Karen and I were born in the same town and in the very same hospital, eight years apart. Weird.

Strange Fruit

Black people do NOT hang themselves.

More to the point – Black people do not lynch themselves.

The cops would like us to believe differently. Of course. The authorities are ultra quick to dismiss these as suicides.

Look how many come up in a quick internet search. This is hardly comprehensive.

Tasia Fortune, 29-years-old – August 3, 2026, Jackson, Mississippi 
Jerard Jackson, 28-years-old – June 30, 2026, Rothbury, Michigan 
Justice Kai James 21-years-old – June 21, 2026 Albany, Georgia 
To’Nea Miller, 27-years-old – June 18, 2026, Miami, Florida  
Cedric Tahuye, 36-years-old – June 6, 2026, Harrisburg, North Carolina 
Juliana Nzita, 16-years-old – May, 8, 2026, Charlotte, North Carolina  
Kyle Bassinga, 21-years-old – February 18, 2026, Marietta, Georgia  
~~~
Earl D. Smith, 58-years-old  –  June 18, 2025, Albany, New York 
Trey Reed, 21-years-old – September 15, 2025, Cleveland, Mississippi 
Javion MaGee, 21-years-old – September 151, 2025, Vance County, North Carolina  
Torrance “Tory” Medley, 39-years-old – November 13, 2025, Brookfield, Wisconsin
~~~
Dennoriss Richardson, 39-years-old – September 28, 2024, Sheffield, Alabama 

Trevonte Jamal Shubert-Helton, 29-years-old – February 21, 2024, Hiawassee, Georgia
~~~
Yolna Lubrin, 31-years-old – September 28, 2023, Orlando, Florida
~~~
Omari Bryant, 18-years-old – December 5th, 2020, Homerville, Georgia 
Robert Fuller, 20-years-old – June 10, 2020, Palmdale, California 
Dominique Alexander, 27-years-old– June 9, 2020, NYC, New York
Malcolm Harsch, 38-years-old – May 30, 2020, Victorville, California
~~~
TeTe Gulley, 31-years-old – May, 2019, Portland, Oregon 

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
~ George Santayana

 I realize that the billionaire class needs to keep those of us in the lower echelons fighting amongst ourselves. If we're battling over the color of our neighbor's skin or their religion or who they like to knock boots with or what they have in their underdrawers, then we're too busy to see that these Richie Rich motherfuckers are robbing us blind.

Those mutant moolah maggots want to return the U.S. to a gilded age when slavery was legal, women were the property of their fathers or husbands, before Native Americans were considered U.S. citizens, and it was illegal for us all to vote. You know, back when rich white assholes owned the playing field and made all the rules.

They already have their damn mansions, yachts the size of aircraft carriers, golden monuments to themselves, hot and cold running servants, and blow up doll wives. They also need us dead? Who's gonna shake up their fresh Watenshi gin martinis? They might sprain an eyebrow if they try doing it on their own.

 Rather shortsighted of these twats wouldn't you say? 

Strange Fruit, Billie Holiday 

Darwin and Dunning-Kruger

Dan Piraro, in a post about, essentially, our dying  country (it’s monstrously banjaxed at the very least), mentions the Darwin Awards.

One famous recipient mailed a letter bomb with insufficient postage. When it was returned to his address, he opened it and blew himself up. This seems the perfect metaphor for those who voted for the United States’ 45th and 47th president, the Naranja Narcissist.

Thanks to decades of flag-wrapped propaganda disguised as news, a (barely large enough) minority of US citizens fell in love with a spoiled-rich-kid-turned-failed businessman-turned-reality-show-phony who claimed to hate all the same people they did, and used him to mail a letter bomb to the rest of us. Now, his inability to do anything other than talk like a schoolyard bully while stealing people’s lunch money has caused their democracy to blow up in their faces. (source) 

My only quibble with Piraro’s assessment of who should be awarded the Darwin is that Prez Pedo's flag waving, addlepated, white trash cult must share the win with the wealthy (yeah, I’m looking at you MusKKK, Bozos, Zuck, Thiel, Adelson, the Uihleins, the Winklevoss Twins, etc.) who were well aware of Trump’s utter incompetence as well as his brain’s batshit totality. They backed him anyway, contributing millions to push the election in his favor. They thought he was controllable, that he was their tool. They were complete fools and we’re the ones paying the price, not them.

If we the people/the government held the Confederacy accountable for treason; if Ford hadn’t pardoned Nixon; if Reagan hadn’t rigged the Iran hostage crisis in order to win the presidency; if Oliver North and John Poindexter had not been pardoned for their Iran Contra crimes; had George W. Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfeld paid the price for the crimes committed at Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo Bay would this nation be in the vile, fractious, sick and most likely terminal condition that we are today? 

Gore Vidal famously said, “We are the United States of Amnesia, we learn nothing because we remember nothing.”

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
~ George Santayana

Bizarro, Dan Piraro

I mean, HOW is it even possible for a person who has been convicted of 34 felonies to be elected to the highest office of the land?!!!! Without laws on the books prohibiting convicted criminals, all it took was basic Republican chicanery, skulduggery, and gaslighting. Add in the apathy and complacency of the masses. Shake on a dose of naïveté and idiocy – “that can’t possibly happen here!” “I just don’t like her laugh” and “burn it all down!” et voila, we have a dead country.

A people that elect corrupt politicians, imposters, thieves and traitors are not victims… but accomplice.
~ author unknown. Possibly Rudyard Kipling. Often misattributed to Orwell. 

Piraro asks, “Can an entire species be a victim of the Dunning-Kruger Effect?”

 The Dunning-Kruger Effect is when someone overestimates their knowledge and abilities because they’re lacking self-awareness – they can’t see their own lack of knowledge and ability. Essentially, it’s when you’re too stupid to know how stupid you are. 

e.g. Trump is a Dunning-Kruger President. He has a Dunning-Kruger administration. His children are Dunning-Kruger. He has a Dunning-Kruger wife and a Dunning-Kruger MAGA cult.

Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge.
~ Darwin

Pearls Before Swine, Stephan Pastis

Manners

There are a ton of very good guidelines for living in a civilized society – most of which Pedo’s Republican Party defy daily but we won’t delve into that today. I want to bring up a few basic ones.

😺  Saying please, thank you, and excuse me never goes out of style. Holding the door for the person behind you is nice, especially if they're older or using some sort of mobility device.

🤧  Covering your mouth when you cough or sneeze is more than good manners. In this age of RFK jr. authored healthcare devastation, it may well save someone’s life. 

🖐🏽  If you’re in a group with strangers, go on and introduce yourself to the people you don’t know. 

👩🏽‍⚕️  Address people by their name or title. I call my myriad docs by their title and last name – Dr. Plotkin, Dr. Miller, Dr. Jacobs, etc. etc. ad infinitum. If they say “oh, you can call me Scott/Dallas/Deb” I will but otherwise, no.

👂🏽  Listen to others without interrupting. When there’s a break in their talking, ask open-ended questions. Engage in active listening. 

🗣️  On having a conversation? DON’T monologue! Engage in active listening!

🍽️  You’ve been invited to a dinner party? Bring a bottle of wine or flowers or both. Frankly, cannolis are always welcome and appropriate. Also, it’s better to arrive 10 minutes late to a dinner party than half an hour early. If you’re early to a dinner party, you’re bound to catch your hosts still prepping or dressing after putting the finishing touches on the meal they’re about to serve. Awkward. Also, do NOT be more than 10 or 15 minutes late unless it can’t possibly be helped (10 car pile-up on 93N, babysitter canceled last minute and you're calling for a replacement, dog threw up on the Bokhara and I must clean it up NOW). In that case call the host, make your apologies, give an estimate as to how late you might be and ask if you should still show. Maybe you could still make it for dessert and coffee?

 🍽️   Dining: Wait for the everyone to be served and the host to sit down before digging in. 


📞  Phone: Do NOT check your phone while you’re having conversations. If you’re having dinner, coffee, drinks, whatever, with a friend, TURN OFF YOUR DAMN PHONE! Now, I understand there are exceptions. You may be expecting an important, can’t-miss-this call. Let your friend know that you MIGHT need to interrupt your time with them to take that specific call. Do NOT engage in other random texts or calls. For fucks sake, focus on who you’re with!


👥  Don’t Stand So Close To Me: The good thing about COVID times was the six-foot distancing standard. I really liked not having strangers breathing down my neck in grocery store lines. While six feet is a bit much now, we can still maintain an extended arms length (coupla feet) when standing in queues … can’t we? 


😳  Handling Embarrassment: Be gracious and smooth when you or someone else makes a mistake. Don’t light someone else’s *oopsie* up in neon lights. Be a mensch. Sure, you can highlight your own *oopsie* for laughs if you want but never do this to someone else.


👥👥  Sidewalks: Walking with a group of people? Do NOT take up the whole sidewalk. Walk in twos. You don’t own the damn sidewalk!

👥  Escalators: Single file! Also, right side is for standing, left side is for passing/climbing. Remember this!


🚂  Elevators, Train and Bus Doors: Let people fucking exit before you try to get on, for for god’s sake!


📫  RSVPs: Be quick to respond to invitations, even if you’re saying you won’t be going. 


🌝  Social Media: Don’t air out your private, sensitive shit on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok or whatever social media site you use. Especially avoid doing this with people you work with. I mean, you can do this but brace yourself for fireworks and consequences (which may include lost employment, friendships ended, no contact relatives, etc. Go ahead, ask me how I know!).

🐛  Manspread at your peril! When you manspread you’re advertising to the world that you’re an incredibly insecure jerk with a schwanz that’d make a roundworm look tall and thick. Put your legs together you soft sackless radish!

💦  Wash your hands after using the can! What – you’re trying to be RFK jr? Are you gonna start snorting coke off the toilet seat next?

And use a damn coaster! Never put your beverage down on a wooden table unless there’s a coaster underneath it. Coasters are our friends.

Goddamnit.