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I considered going to the gym this morning, seeing as how I haven't been since I started the new job, but decided not to. Among other things, I'll be walking ten kiloometers tomorrow, which will should cover my exercise quotient for the weekend. Instead, I worked on kittypr0n screenshots, something which I have no excuse for not having gotten done before I was employed. I'd forgotten how free time gets focused when you don't have much of it. Replacing the fuse (what I guessed to be the correct one, anyway) didn't fix the problem with the brakelights. On the plus side, everything else is still working, so I didn't get the wrong kind of fuse or anything. I guess it means I'll be taking the car to the shop...sometime. Soon, it needs to be, but sometime.
5:05pm Take this, brother, may it serve you well...
6:12pm While looking in my notebook for something else entirely, I came across Zenyasha's phone number, which I'd forgotten that Tallulah had given me. I called and left a spaz-o-rific message about my idea to have her play violin if I should ever get the spoken word thing off the ground. Her voicemail system lets you choose the priority of the message; since mine is about something which may never happen, I went with the lowest. I wonder how many of her clients go with high, since, you know, they need head right now. I'm starting to write off the idea of anything happening at Jezebel's, especially since I've learned that one which Alan Kaufman was hosting there just shut down. A bad omen, that. Charlie apparently has a line on a place in the Mission which wants to get something going, so that seems a little more likely. If nothing else, she's better at responding to her email than Darren.
8:36pm Danielle called; she still wants to do Joey Ramone tomorrow night. So, after the AIDS Walk I'll be going to Violet's apartment to pick her up, then back to our place for a few hours for some form of rehearsal (although my favorite Ramones song is "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg," something like "I Wanna Be Sedated" will probably make life a lot easier), then out to the show. It's going to be a very long day.
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At Ump's suggestion, I've replaced the fuse for the brakelight. At least, I think I have. I was by myself so there was no way to tell if the light started working or not, and the owner's manual inexplicably fails to specify which fuse it is, so I had to take my best guess. (It is now more obvious than ever that I need this book.) Somehow, I managed to do all that and only get to work half an hour late. I'd called ahead when I knew that I wasn't going to be on time, and The Boss was cool with that. An equal relief is that he's mellowed a bit on the whole airplane nonsense. He's still annoyed, and I still have some unpleasant calls to make, but he's a bit more philosophical about it than he was last night, and most importantly, he doesn't seem to regard an of it as my fault. I can very much see how it could be spun to where I'm to blame, but his ire is purely with the airlines and their obtuse system, not my inexperience in navigating it. Hooray for small miracles. Oral Fixation is tonight, as is Blood Feast 2: All U Can Eat at the Cinemuerte festival. We may be doing either or neither; it's kinda uncertain at the moment, and will to a large extent depend on when Danielle resurfaces. She told Violet she wants to hang out with us again before she leaves town, but she does get easily distracted.
1:16pm I was in the process of writing about that bad day at work thirteen years ago, the one to which I so obliquely referred yesterday, when I started deja vu-ing like mad. Not just because I lived it, but because I already wrote about it. Causal synchronicity, indeed.
3:26pm So The Boss admits that I was thrown naked to the wolves regarding the whole flight business. I agreed, underplaying my own sense of frustration about the fact that a lot of it probably could have been avoided if he'd told me precisely what he wanted in the first place. To his credit, he's continued not to blame me for any of it, and hasn't hinted at me not being a good fit for the position, although I'm definitely going to be applying for those new positions at Good Vibrations. Unfortunately, he still Wants What He Wants and expects me to get it for him, even though all indications are that it simply doesn't exist. But I guess that's part of the job.
7:13pm Between the movie and Oral Fixation, we're doing neither. We haven't heard from Violet and Danielle, Maddy's in no condition to go out, and I have work which I'm going to attempt to get done. Writing, that is. I have to finish the kittypr0n interview, bang out a new piece for the reading on Tuesday (I've come to realize that I don't want to do all old material in front of Julia Vinograd—if you've ever been on the other side of her gaze, you understand why) as well as a prose poem for (e)'s writing group on Wednesday, and I promised Robin a review of Porn Theatre for Cinema Sewer. Some people say I'm too thin as it is, but if I had to do this for a living, I would have long since starved to death.
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To clarify some of my muddy writing from yesterday: I did not get an AIDS test on Tuesday. I was simply asked if I want one. Presumably, it will be part of the overall examination when I see a physician during my followup appointment next month. They're that booked, which doesn't surprise me at all. Fortunately, I can get my current hormone supply refilled there before then; all I have to do is bring in the empty bottles, and the social worker told me the best time and day to come in and who to ask for. (When she was making the followup appointment for me, she tried to finagle me an earlier date, with no success. It was very sweet of her all the same.) The official followup will be in the evening, but to get the refill I'll have to be late to work on a Friday in the near future. She asked me if I needed a refill right then and there, but since I wasn't actually out I said no. Kinda dumb of me. Monique's open mic in Berkeley next Tuesday is listed in the current Guardian, page 80, right above the Urinetown ad. I'm the featured reader, and much to my surprise, they actually spelled my name right. Wow. First time for everything. In retrospect, I'm not sure why we didn't get the reading at Sacrifice listed; certainly there was enough lead time, and if there's a fee I would have been more than willing to cover it. It probably just slipped our collective minds, since we were thinking more in terms of flyers and word of mouth and the like. The turnout was pretty good all the same, I think.
10:57am When I've had time over the last week (which is rarely), I've been working on an email interview about kittypr0n for a 'zine called Toby Room. It's been tougher than I expected, probably because the questions are so thoughtful. I mean, I have a pretty good idea of whether we do the show specifically as a response or an alternative to commercial television, or if it's more about public access being a venue that made the most sense for the project, but it can be hard to articulate, y'know?
4:22pm Today has been all about booking plane tickets. For other people of course, which is probably just as well because I hate flying. (Actually, I don't mind flying. It's the airporting that kills me, and sitting in those seats designed for people five inches shorter than me.) I'm learning plenty about bonus points and upgrades and other things which I'll never make nearly enough money to care about. No, that's not true either. It's all totally alien to me, but I can parrot back phrases just well enough to sound like I know what I'm taking about. Mostly it works, but sometimes my ignorance is palpable. (At least one person on the phone asked if I was completely confused yet. I said that I was close, but not quite. Yeah, so I lied.) It really is a different world. I half-jokingly told Tallulah last week that I'm a Corporate Whore. Now I'm not so sure it's a joke at all.
6:24pm I should have gone home two hours ago. Considering that I left early on Tuesday with no apparent penalty, I guess I can't really complain.
8:42pm I've had worse days at work overall—August 11, 1990 comes to mind—but this was not one of my better ones at this new job. Basically, The Boss told me to get him the cheapest available tickets to a certain place on a certain day, and didn't tell me until after I'd booked them (with his okay) that he actually wanted to go First Class and use his American Express Points. That's always been a big peeve of mine: not being given all the information I need until after I've done something, and having to go back and fix it as a result. A web page is one thing, but plane tickets are not so easy to fix, especially not when it involves everything that's being involved in this case. Feh. The adventure continues tomorrow morning, when The Boss wants me to find a way to convince them to refund the original ticket, even though doing so goes against their policy. (I suppose there are times when Tallulah or Danielle have to do things they'd rather not.) Then, after leaving two hours late, I'm informed by a fellow motorist on the Golden Gate Bridge that my brakelights aren't working. Sure, enough, I get home and discover that to be true. Maddy and I go to Kragen's and get new bulbs, which doesn't fix the problem. So I'm going to have to get my car fixed real soon, before I get fix-it ticketed. Yay. Swell timing, that. Balancing all that ickiness is out is something I witnessed on the corner of my block when I got home: a teenage girl showing a teenaged bo how to pluck his eyebrows. I've never been a plucker myself—as a rule, I don't pluck would could be more efficiently zapped—but I'm quite certain that's what was going on, and Maddy said that's what it looked like to her as well. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
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The photos from the St. James Infirmary Benefit at the DNA Lounge last month are online, and the pictures specifically of Chupa and I are on this page. They're thumbnails which open into bigger pictures, which then open into bigger ones still. Some of them are pretty good, despite the fact that it was late in the evening and we were both more than a little wilted from the heat. It's also fairly obvious that Chupa's been up way too long and working way too hard—and she still had several more hours to go—though she retains her inherent hawtieness all the same. On the other hand, that half-smile I'm attempting, based on the theory that I'd regret it if I didn't smile (and unaware that Chupa didn't), looks painfully stupid in the last two pictures. And it still kills me that the girl in line ahead of us was also wearing kitty ears. Alas.
9:24am I don't know what the hell I was thinking. More likely, I wasn't thinking, and that was the problem. I mean, how could I have left the house yesterday knowing full well that I would be spending an indefinite amount of time in a waiting room, and not bring a book along? What's happened to me? I had my notebook, at least, but still. I don't even know myself anymore. Thankfully, the Waddell Clinic is just a couple blocks away from the Main Library, so I was able to check out a couple books. It also helps that I know where the movie books are, at least by location if not number, so that speed up the process. And it's not like I read anymore anyway. The time just isn't there, not with driving to work and being at my desk through lunch. It's a good thing the automated book checkout machine thingy let me borrow books while having some out late and owing money. Yay for nonjudgmental technology. So, of course, I didn't do any reading at all, but a lot of writing. Which is how it should be. The clinic looked pretty much how I expected it to, bright yet grungy in that way once-sterile places get when very un-sterile things happen in them. I took a number and sat in the Room, Waiting to be summoned. They pulled a fast one on me, though; the people ahead of me were called in by an actual person, but my number was announced over the scratchy PA system, and I didn't even realize my number was being called at first. Dirty trick, that. The real scare came when I saw the triage nurse. (Am I the only one who associates the word "triage" with M*A*S*H?) I told her I was there for the Transgendered Clinic, and she said they couldn't do anything for me. Which is more or less what I'd been expecting in the back (and occasionally front) of my mind: you! you don't belong here! this place is not for you! you're a leech! Then she remembered that it was Tuesday, the day that they do in fact take drop-ins for the Transgendered Clinic. Whew. That was close. As I'd suspected might happen, I ran into someone I knew. He was one of the relatively few people at my birthday reading whose name I didn't know, and I'm pretty sure they'd come specifically to hear me since at K'vetch earlier in the month he'd said he wasn't familiar with (e) or Shauna were. Anyway, as near as I could tell he'd just finished his intake, and it sounds like our followups are on the same day. I could be wrong, though, and I'll be switching pronouns once I find out for sure. The actual intake interview with the social worker went well. A lot of it was about my risk factors, and is so often the case involving sex and drugs with me, it was almost embarrassing. Not the questions, but the answers, which are almost invariably "no." There are so many things I don't do, it's almost pathetic. At least I got to sorta sound a little wild when I said I smoke grass once every few months (if I'm at someone else's place and the vibe is right) and take mushrooms or acid when I can find them, which averages out to once a year. I have friends who are (ex-)junkies and (not so ex-)prostitutes, but I neither do drugs nor have sex with them, so I don't think that counts. Not that being at risk is necessarily something to be proud of, mind you, but to look at me it must be hard to believe that I'm so chaste. In any event, if she thought I was lying, it didn't show. She also asked if I've ever had an AIDS test, and if I'd like one now. No, and yes. I have no reason to believe I'm positive, not given my history, but at least I'll know for sure. A rite of passage, so to speak. Kinda like going to the Waddell at all. I know many people who have, and it's an interesting to be doing it as well, even if to a large extent I'm just going through the motions. It's a common experience which I'll finally have shared. I don't know if I'd gone through them the first time around, though. Aside from the fact that its existence was little more to me than a rumor I'd heard from Sondra, it was necessary to do things as by the book as possible. Not that it isn't legit, but I needed the validation of going through as official a system as exists for something which is still so underground and unspeakable for most of the population. Especially for dealing with my mother. I didn't come out to her until quite a few months after I'd started the process because, quite frankly, I didn't want to give her (or anyone else who might be so inclined) the opportunity to talk me out of it. For as much as I wanted/needed to do it, it was still a scary enough idea that getting preached to by someone who had no idea what it was like inside my head—especially a nominal authority figure—could very well have shoved me back into the closet once again. And that would have been badder than I care to contemplate. But it didn't happen, and five years on down the line I'm happier than I'd ever dared hope. And my mom couldn't be more supportive than she is, even if she probably did cringe at the "junkies and prostitutes" line.
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Tallulah's decided not to participate in the Drag King Contest on Sunday, which means I won't be either. She stepped back from her plate, realized how full it was, and had to make some sacrifices. I'll still be going (especially since Anderson was kind enough to guestlist me), but simply to watch. It's probably just as well that I won't have to expend too much energy, since I'm going to be in the AIDS Walk that day, and— Jeez, I haven't mentioned that, have I? I'm going to be on the sfgoth AIDS Walk Team. Sponsor me, damnit. Anyway, after having walked for hours in the sun that day, it's just as well that I won't then have to perform. Besides, if it comes together, nobody's going to be able to compete with Danielle doing Joey Ramone. I'm going to the Waddell Clinic this afternoon. (When I asked The Boss if I should tell the payroll person I'm leaving early today, he said not to worry about it. That's kinda cool.) I have medical records from both my current and old endocs as well as well as the "Yep, she's for real" letter from my shrink which started the process in the first place. Five years of documentation should be enough to prove my legitimacy, I think. What most concerns me is possibly taking resources away from people who need it more than me, kids (and adults) who are just starting out and aren't able to be all corporate about it like I was. It's a free clinic, but the money comes from the City, and I know there ain't much. I don't need a lot at this point, though, and I rode the insurance wave as long as I could, so I shouldn't feel guilty. Maybe whoever gets saddled with me will appreciate the fact that I'm prepared and relatively low-drama. (I know how my people can be.)
12:45pm The word adminitrix, which I'm considering making my title on the employee list, already exists but means something else. All the good ideas are taken. (Doesn't mean I won't still use it, though.)
9:30pm Remember that part in the opening credits of The A-Team where the guy who used to be on Battlestar Galactica is at a movie studio and one of the Cylons from that show walks by? That was pretty funny.
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I changed a printer cartridge this morning, which I think means my admin career has officially begun. Nobody expects me to make coffee, though, for which I'm grateful. Yahoo is buying Overture. That cryptic bit of news is a big deal around the office, though I haven't the foggiest idea what it means. Probably won't affect me too much. Larry-Bob pointed me towards Beth Lisick's Buzz Town column from last Wednesday:
Back in the days when Satanic blood-drinking junkie strippers roamed San Francisco, the executive in chief was Danielle Willis. She was smart and funny, published books ("Dogs in Lingerie" -- on Zeitgeist Press -- "Corpse Delectable") and wrote and starred in a hugely successful one-woman show, "Breakfast in the Flesh District," directed by the freakishly talented Cintra Wilson back in 1991. And then, with the exception of a brief comeback in the late-'90s, when she assisted in scandalizing the birthday party of political consultant Jack Davis by dressing as Pocahontas and sodomizing a fellow performance artist with a Jack Daniel's bottle, she disappeared. Rumors were flying that she was seen drooling on herself at the Paradise Lounge, that she had sold her custom fangs for drug money, that she was dead.No mention of the "hot little gothic chick" Danielle would be reading with at Sacrifice, but then again, why would there be?
11:49am Michelle Tea and (e) both read at a show last night for PEOPS (pronounced like the repulsive candy), a new book by New York-based arist Fly. Chupa is on the cover, and Michelle, Lynnee and a few other friends of ours are rendered inside. We were mostly there for the readings, though. My head was kind of swimmy through most of it, both since we'd been running around all day long and because of my seemingly perpetual cold was in one of its spikey periods. It didn't help that I'd been already anxious and nervous about the fact that I haven't started on anything new since Wednesday. After all, Michelle read something she'd written that morning, about a video shoot for The End of the World the night before. It was a few pages long, polished-sounding, and terrific. Of course, she's been doing this a lot longer than I have (professionally and otherwise), and I have no business comparing myself to her or anyone else in the first place, but it seems like every time I don't have an idea I'm actively developing I become convinced that I'm through, and boy, this would be a bad time for me to run dry. By the time Michelle was done, however, I'd gotten a couple ideas. Not directly from her, not by a long shot, but listening to her set my mind off in a certain direction, and it found a few things on to which it could latch.. It was interesting having (e) and Michelle reading in the same place (I don't recall it at any other event I've attended, though I could simply be blanking) since I tend to think of them as my two primary influences, the poles in between which I exist. (I'm speaking here of writing/performing styles, not talent or ability; I'm far from either of them in that respect.) The slant is a little more towards Michelle since my writing and delivery has more in common with hers; on the other hand, , (e) is the dirtymotherfuckinrockstar to whose energy and intensity I can only aspire. (And once Rae is done with my hair, I may look even more like (e)'s clone than I already do.) (Danielle had wanted to tease out my hair to look like hers before K'vetch last week, but I declined.) Ultimately, while I may be informed by both of them I do believe my voice-in-the-literary-sense is my own.
3:10pm Something I need to remember: I almost didn't write what proved to be the most popular piece at Sacrifice last week because I thought the subject was too mundane and self-indulgent. So I guess I need to give myself a bit more freedom. While killing time yesterday before the show, we went to the Serramonte Mall. On a Sunday afternoon. Nobody's fault but my own, really; there was a skirt at Hot Topic I'd been coveting for some months which they never have in my size, so I decided to try my luck. Found it, proper size and everything (I wish it was a little longer, but there are people who have needs a whole hell of a lot more basic than that), and since I was finally making a purchase big enough to warrant hauling out the 15%-off card which has been taking up wallet space for the last few years, I also got a pair of plaid bondage pants I've been wanting. Since I'm employed, don't'cha'know, I can do these things with abandon. I could be wrong, but I think that while I was there the clerk switched pronouns on me. Anodyne came in at one point, I joked to her that I never shop at Hot Topic, a reference to the fact that so many of our fellow scenesters scorn the place. The clerk, perhaps not quite realizing he was hip-deep in facetiousness, said "Oh, she shops here all the time." I thought he was referring to me, but when I was actually making the purchase a little while later, I had to correct him. So maybe he was referring to Anodyne in the first place. All I know is, after correcting him (and making a lame yet not entirely inaccurate excuse about my still-scratchy throat), I got quiet. I often do that in those situations. It's safer. I'm less likely to say things that I shouldn't. We walked around the mall for a bit longer, and I swear, the stare factor was like '99 all over again. Sometimes I would just ignore them, and sometimes I would return their gaze until they realized they were staring in the first place and suddenly look away. My hair had been in a high ponytail when we arrived, but I took it down after a while, in hopes that it might make me look a little less conspicuous. I don't know if it worked or not. One person did compliment me on my boots and black-and-white stripeys. (Well, heck, if that's how you were dressed, no wonder people were staring! What the hell did you expect?) She said they reminded her of "that cartoon character Emily," which is interesting considering that Emily usually isn't drawn wearing stripeys. I thanked her.
4:30pm I just had someone yell and swear at me on the phone because I wouldn't give them a name and direct number. I told them that if they yelled, I would hang up. They continued to yell. I hung up.
9:07pm Every so often, I learn more about the emotional havoc The Other continued to wreak after we parted company. It's sad, but it's a little schadenfreude-y, too. The best revenge, and all.
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So it turns out Rainbow doesn't have fennel honey. I don't doubt that they once did, but no longer, probably for no other reason than I need it. None of the employees that I asked were familiar with it, although one of them did recognize me as a producer of kittypr0n; she's a friend of Chupa's, who presumably pointed me out to her at Sacrifice sometime. (She said she'd recently saw a tall, slender woman with dark hair who she thought was me, but was in fact German and didn't know what to make of the question "Do you produce kittyporn?") I settled for getting some Echinacea Goldenseal Honey Straws, as I've read that even just regular honey is good for the throat, and at least with the straw I can go directly to the source and not have to taste it or let the sugar come in contact with my teeth. I'm a wild one, I am. Before that, Maddy and I went to Tallulah's apartment so Tallulah and I could hash out just what we're going to be doing for the Drag King Contest next week. As I suspected might happen, though, much of the time was spent taping Tallulah's cats. That's okay, though, since they're cute cats—one of them could be Oscar's long-lost brother, even more so than the neighbor's cat Max—and Tallulah is a total stage mother. We did decide to switch from Jim Backus's "Delicious" to Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn's "You're The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly." I'd never heard it before, but I'd wager my parents know it, since it came out when they were both still listening to country. It'll give us a bit more to work with, and Tallulah does (you should pardon the expression) white trash really well. Really, really well, almost to the point of being disturbing. It's astonishing the difference a little drawn-on facial hair can make. I also discovered that the girl with the violin's name is Zenyasha. If I ever get the thing at Jezebel's off the ground (and that'll depend on hearing back from Weaselboy, which is never a given), I'd like to have her play her violin. Indeed, I'd like to see if I can't get other sex workers to read/play instruments/whatever on a regular basis. It'll make it a little different from every other reading in town, if nothing else. In the evening we went to Phred's housewarming party at her swank new apartment in SOMA. Rae, Ilene and Timbre and The Boi were also present, and as will so often happen, the goth/industrial kids gravitated towards one another. (Thankfully, the center of gravity happened to be right over sushi.) Rae seems excited about putting colored extensions in my hair, and since she's moving to Chicago for college in a couple months, I guess it'll be happening soon.
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7:01am Okay, I've learned my lesson. (Which would be...um...don't get a cold before a reading, or keep water handy, or something.) Can I have my voice back now? It's a good thing I'm not reading anywhere in the next few days, and will probably be giving Monique's thing in Berkeley a miss on Tuesday so I can see Matthue in North Beach. My throat can definitely needs the rest. After the intensity of the previous several days, it was weird to come home last night to...nothing. No pressure. We weren't waiting to hear from Danielle and Violet, didn't have to get all of us to a show on time or wonder about Danielle's whereabouts. We just relaxed, watched Sullivan's Travels on DVD and didn't do much of anything else. And it happened to be the fourth anniversary of our becoming a couple (not to be confused with our first wedding anniversary, which was Pink Saturday), so it timed out nicely.
9:51am The Boss says he's going to start giving me a couple hundred extra a month on the side to cover my commute expenses. Presumably that means he wants me to stick around, but I also hope that isn't in lieu of actually paying me above minimum soon. Not that I'm expecting a lot, but a bit more than what I was making on unemployment would be swell, especially since I'm pretty much happy with the position otherwise. Answering the phone can be the sux0r, especially since unlike at home I can't screen out telemarketers, but at least I'm doing it in stripeys with Robert Rich playing. Though Maddy's insurance just shuffled off this mortal coil, I'm not going to bother asking about benefits. If such things existed, Kelly would have said "I'm underpaid and you probably will be too, but at least the benefits are good" rather than simply "I'm underpaid and you probably will be too." Hormones are way too expensive without insurance, though, so on Tuesday I'm at long last going to the Tom Waddell Clinic. I feel so punk rock.
3:07pm Every so often someone in the office will asked me how to spell something, and when I rattle it off the top of my head, they accept it as accurate. I always doublecheck on dictionary.com, but, still, it's weird. I evidently look like a good speller, and I'm not even wearing my glasses. Dirty Pretty Things. I honestly can't decide if I like the title or the poster better.
4:30pm I knew I was forgetting something—Danielle is going to be on Tallulah's show on San Francisco Liberation Radio tonight, from 7:30 to 9pm. It's at 93.7 on your FM dial in most of this Wicked City, and also listenable online through the previous link.
9:10pm Yeah, okay, we didn't have any right to be, but Maddy and I were feeling just a teeny bit snubbed when early on into Tallulah's show Danielle said hey to damn near everybody in the City—even friggin' Norman—except us. But it was okay. We slipped her mind. No biggie. So of course we were thrilled when, towards the end of the show, Danielle said apropos of nothing: I'd also like to shout out to Madeline and Sherilyn, who, although they are not whores, they are sexy enough to be whores, and they are part of the reason I was able to do so many shows while I was out here. Also guesting was the bouncy girl with the violin, whose name I can speak but wouldn't dare attempt to spell. She was taking requests, so a few minutes after Danielle mentioned us I called and asked for "Danse Macabre," leading Danielle to say:
We got a phone call from Sherilyn, who is a marvelous 'zine producer and very responsible for getting me to readings out here, and a hot little gothic chick, and, like I said, beautiful enough to be a prostitute, but she isn't, but here she is on Whore Church.... There are those who argue that "beautiful enough to be a prostitute" is a backhanded compliment at best. I am not one of them.
10:03pm I give up. Tomorrow, I'm braving Rainbow Grocery to get fennel honey for my throat, per Anderson Toone's suggestion. (Other Avenues, our local mini-Rainbow, doesn't carry it.) The notion of swallowing honey is unpleasant enough in and of itself, but anything's got to be better than this. On the plus side, I don't regret how my throat got so torn up. It was worth it, and it's a risk I hope to take many more times.
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