Maté Me!

When I was talking about the Argentineans visiting us, some of you may have wondered what the hell maté was. Well, here's a picture of me drinking a maté that Nacho and Julia brought me, in all it's gourd-and-metal-straw glory. It doesn't contain caffeine or any stimulants, but tell that to my body at 11 p.m.! Recently, about 95% of the content of this blog has been written by me and my trusty maté. (Don't worry, I still have my first love: coffee. It's just that I drink that coffee in the morning and till about 3 p.m., when I switch to maté. And I don't like writing much in the mornings).

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PDA

Look: if you two are going to make out the whole bus ride home from San José to Palmares, that's fine, but I'm going to watch you until you knock it off. You can have your Public Displays of Affection, but I get to have my Public Display of Bastard.

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A Weird Story

As you probably know, I used to teach school. My students were in all the grades from 6th to 11th, so I had a lot of interesting experiences. Some people ask me, "So, do you miss teaching the high school / junior high kids?"
Ha ha!
You must not have taught high school or junior high.
No, seriously, I do miss some of the students, although they were really whiny at times. And it's hard to focus on the really good, nice 5% of your students, when the other 95% falls into that whiny category.
But in any case, I was thinking of this because I came across a snippet of a student's paper from last year. His name is Issac, and he was in my 8th grade class. Their assignment was to write a short story, and this is how his began. It was titled "Ryan Sitzman," and this includes my corrections that I made for the final paper. For example, before it said “I know this question are stupids for you because you don’t know what I’m talking about…”
In any case, just read it. It's weird. Then you'll know why I love my job now:

“Short Story
Ryan Sitzman.
Have you ever had a dream? Have you ever killed somebody? Have you ever died? I know these questions are stupid for you because you don’t know what I’m talking about. But I know a man, for whom the answer to all these questions is “yes.” And here is his story.
15/11/70. That date, a boy was born in Colorado U.S.A. He was born to a poor family, in a poor town, but with a “rich life.” his name is Ryan Sitzman. At the age of 11, one morning he talked with his mother about a dream: “Mommy, last night I dreamed I killed a very nice black man named Issac. I don’t know why, but I did.”
“It was only but a dream, Ryan,” said his mother."

(Yeah...weird. And keep in mind that this was one of my favorite students, one that I liked, and who liked me as a teacher. Imagine what it was like with the "difficult" ones...P.S. I also docked him points for adding 10 years to my age)

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What's Going Down

Well, it's been a pretty busy week, so I don't have as much to post this weekend, but I do have some pictures that I've been meaning to share with you. Hope you enjoy!

This is at Angela's cousin's wedding. She has hundreds of cousins (literally), so weddings happen quite frequently, and you need to find things to keep them interesting. At this one, we saw a machete stuck in a stump, and pretended like it was the Sword in the Stone (Oh, did I mention that Berlin can get a bit boring at times?).

I was also not The Chosen One.

My car is pretty cool, but lately it bitched out on me a few times. There was some thumping sound, and after Angela's brother looked at it for a while, he removed a rubber piece. Apparently, he might have replaced it with something else, or he will, but in any case, the thumping stopped. Still, that didn't matter anyhow because as I was coming back from work a week or two ago, the car died and made a bubbling sound. Turns out, a belt broke, and I was driving at night on the Interamericana Highway (which, to tell you the truth, is probably the only place you'd want your car to break down at night in Costa Rica).

Anyhow, I happen to have the full-package insurance, so we called the company. Within like 20 minutes, a guy showed up in a beautiful tow truck, playing "Bette Davis Eyes" on the in-cab stereo. Huh? Since when did "service" become a concept around here?? In any case, I was grateful for the guy (named Conrad) who brought me all the way home to my front door (no, I didn't get to ride in my car on the back of the truck the whole time). And as it turns out, he would have taken me to anywhere in the whole country, all for free, as part of my insurance coverage. Costa Rica, touchee. You've won this round with your unexpected customer service.

And finally, here we have my lovely wife Angela placing one of the first blocks of our house. For an explanation of this picture, a picture of a little Jesus statue in a hardware store (of course), and much, much more from this week in construction, check out our construction sblog!

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Internet This!

By the way, not that anyone really checks out ryansitzman.com too much, but I have been putting up quite a few new pages in the last month or so. I put up picture pages from Angela and my wedding reception in Colorado, a Mixed Bag page that has pictures that go all the way back to 2004 or so, a second series of Costa Rica pictures from 2007, and pictures from our visit to the U.S. over last Christmas. So, have a look at them. If you know me, there's even a good chance that you'll see yourself in one of the pictures. I'm also planning on getting some different sorts of pages up in the coming weeks and months, so be on the lookout. You can see what's new by going to the homepage at http://www.ryansitzman.com, and then clicking on the "What's New?" link on the left.
Also, my brother Paul's site is expanding, and it's pretty good. As you possibly know, he and I are in a race to finish our A-Z music reviews. He's on B and I'm on J, but he's gaining ground pretty damn fast. In any case, his site is pretty cool, and it also has the videos that he's been making in his film classes, which are pretty cool. There is a link on the left of this page, or you can go directly to http://web.mac.com/paulman97970/Site/Home.html
Either way, this will help you kill a few hours at work.
Have a good one.

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"Third World" Wars: Episode II: Jimmy Hats, Baby-Mamas, and Book Learnin'

I have in front of me (and so do you) two newspaper clippings from issues of this week’s editions of La Nación, which is generally considered Costa Rica’s most reliable and reputable newspaper (although that might not be saying much, based on a glance at its competitor newspapers, all of which heavily rely on covers that display bloody traffic accidents, an overuse of exclamation points, and girls decked out with fake titties and/or g-strings). In any case, the point is that these two articles caught my attention because they illustrate, to a saddening degree, that I do in fact live in a country that is, at least in some ways, still a third world country.

Before I go into this, I hope that this doesn’t sound like more preaching/bitching about Costa Rica’s problems. As a foreigner who is still getting acclimated even after nearly two years here, it’s still the differences between my new country and my old home that catch my attention, and these two stories fairly broke my heart.

The first story was from a cover page article that continued onto pages 4 and 5, in which it was stated that the country would begin to teach students how to use condoms in schools. Now, as far as I’m concerned, sure, knowledge can be power. Schools should teach kids how to use condoms, geometry, the five-paragraph essay, the Pythagorean Theorem, chainsaws, hand grenades…whatever. But that’s not my point here. The thing that made this story alarming to me was a sidebar that described some of the motivations behind the government’s decision to teach condom use. It talked about birth rates in Costa Rica and had other statistics like STD and AIDS numbers, single-mother births, and births to underage mothers. This is where I started to become concerned. It says that in the last year, “only 0.7%” of the babies born in Costa Rica were born to mothers under the age of 15.

Now, 0.7% may seem like a small percentage, and I suppose that it is, relatively speaking, but in this case, that still means that 500 babies were born to mothers that were 14 years old or younger. The paper further elaborated upon this. Apparently, in the last year in this country, 366 babies were born to 14-year-olds, 102 were born to 13-year-olds, 16 were born to 12-year-olds, and four eleven-year-olds gave birth. Eleven years old! Man, that’s young. It’s so young, I feel comfortable, APA-style-wise, writing “11” in letters instead of digits.

I realize that in this country of 4,000,000 people, 4 babies born to eleven-year-olds may not be a big deal. And indeed, in the U.S., maybe the same statistics are much higher, proportionally speaking. But what really nags at me is the idea that these condom-teaching programs had been put on hold about 10 years ago—right around the same time those four new mothers were born themselves—due to objections from the church about the curriculum. At this point, I don’t want this post to devolve into a theological criticism or debate, but I do think that the government has made a wise choice here. I realize that for many families, sexual education is taught at home, and for still other families, condoms or other types of birth control are not morally justifiable. But still, when 500 babies are having babies, it’s obvious that the abstinence-only programs aren’t working out so well. Instead of giving them a guilt trip, give these kids a box of condoms! And for the majority of the kids who won’t use them: Great for you! Use them to make water balloons, and play around like kids your age ought to.

The second article that caught my attention was one from Thursday. It’s titled (approximately): “Youth Want A Secondary School On Isla Caballo, Puntarenas.” This caught my attention because Isla Caballo is one of the islands in the Gulf of Nicoya; it’s only about 30 miles away, as the cockatoo flies, and on a clear day you can even see the island from our backyard. Apparently when it comes to educational opportunities, though, those 30 miles will take you into another world. Another world that doesn’t have high schools. That’s right, there’s apparently no high school on the island, so the local kids were collecting signatures to send to the Ministry of Education, in order to get the Ministry to open a high school on the island.

Let’s pause and consider this for just a moment. (Pause)

OK. It’s been considered, and I’ve come to this conclusion: Kids are collecting signatures and asking to be allowed to go to school! What the hell is going on here? Am I in Bizarro Costa Rica here? This all makes a little more sense when you read the quote by Yahaira Alvarado, the 17-year-old girl who is leading the signature collecting. She says, “The youth of Isla Caballo need a school to be opened because after we finish 6^th grade, we need to start jobs as fishermen.” The article states that she finished 6^th grade in 2003 and is now a fisherwoman. I realize that shitty agricultural work can be a good motivator, educationally-speaking (my wife Angela has said many times that she started to study English mainly because she “hated picking coffee”), but imagining 6^th graders “graduating” from elementary school by receiving a diploma and a fishing rod is just sad.

Anyhow, to make a long story short, about 50 kids collected 5,000 signatures, but the outlook for a school still doesn’t look so good. According to the Ministry of Education’s representative, they need 120 students to open a new high school, while this one would only have about 40 or so. The article says there may still be a possibility, or that perhaps they could open a “tele-school” on the island, but for now, the children’s educational future remains uncertain.

To summarize and conclude, let me leave you with a case study. I taught 6^th grade last year, and let me tell you, it was a pain in my ass. Those kids were whiny, hyperactive, and lazy, usually all at the same time. But they were also my favorite classes. They have that certain indescribable characteristic of youth that makes their energy both draining and contagious at the same time. But, obviously, all of my students were attending school, and they had the opportunity to continue doing so until they graduate from high school. Also, as far as I know, none of the little tykes popped out a baby, so they’re doing pretty good on that front, too. When kids are that age, teachers have to try to cram in as much knowledge as possible to prepare them for some of the stuff to come. That way, when the bell rings and the kids leave class, they can bitch and moan to their classmates about having to study for the upcoming sex education exams. And if you should happen to overhear their protest-filled lamentations, just look at them and smile, for all is as it should be. At least they have a school to go to, and the whining is coming from their mouths, not the mouths of their newborn babies.

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Invisible Monster

It’s still pretty much “summer” here in Costa Rica, so that means that when you go down from the mountain, it’s pretty warm. I’ve been rolling down my car window about halfway, but it makes me nervous.

See, I once read this book called “Invisible Monsters” by Chuck Palahniuk, and it said something to the effect of how amazing it is that so many people who die in traffic accidents are beheaded due to having their car windows rolled halfway down. This idea is creepy, and I know that many people focus on it, at least jokingly, because my brother Paul warned my mom about it one time when we were driving on the highway.
But still: could it be true?

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"Hey, Where Is All That Money Coming From?" – A Too-Much-Information Chronicle

Not that this is really something you necessarily need to know, but it’s rather inexpensive to build a house in Costa Rica, at least compared to the U.S. That is also probably the only reason that Angela and I are able to even build a house here, because we’d never be able to afford it in America. I say all this only because many people have asked about this at some point, and also to introduce today’s topic: our funding of our Dream House In The Mountains. (By the way, if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, check out our house blog at http://gringiticasa.blogspot.com). The reason I am writing this, then, is because as I was at the ATM the other day, it occurred to me that paying for this house has been really bizarre so far. Since it made me laugh at the absurdity of it all, you might like to read about it, too.

To pay our contractor and to pay for the materials we buy, we’ve been using cash so far. I know that may sound strange, but apparently, it’s the best way to get good prices around here. No one here has or accepts checks (in fact, the girl at the bank flat-out refused to open a checking account for us). Additionally, most places, if they do accept credit cards, they apply extra charges which can rack up the cost of materials by 10% or so. All of this translates into cold, hard cash. Or, as in the case of colones, which is Costa Rica’s currency, it translates into warm, limp cash.

This issue is more complicated because most of my money is still in my account in the U.S., and I’ve not made a large transfer so far partially because of safety concerns, and partially because of a Costa Rican anti-drug-trafficking law which requires a lot of paperwork for large transfers. So now, on various occasions, I’ve had to resort to the ATM.

Fortunately, the company I work for is located in a free trade zone or a duty free zone…I’m not really sure what it’s called, but the bottom line is they look in your car’s trunk when you leave, and while you’re anywhere in the commercial park, you have to wear a badge that makes you look like a big tool. But, the ATM is inside of my company’s building, so it’s probably the safest ATM in the entire country (which IS actually saying a lot, if ATM robbery reports on the news are to be believed).

So, when we need money for construction, I go to the ATM, take out 250,000 colones (about $500), which appears to be the maximum that I’m allowed to get in one day. I quickly snatch the money, fold it, and cram it into my pocket. I then head toward the bathroom, find a stall, lock the door, and sit down. This is where it gets weird. In my other pocket, I’ve already placed a napkin and a rubber band (wow, this is turning into a totally heroin-y story!). I count the money, just to make sure it’s all there. It always is, which is somewhat remarkable, due to the colon’s notoriety for being a physically flimsy bill that is prone to mold and ill odors; I’m just surprised that the mechanical parts of the ATM’s bill counting machine would not have more problems with this currency.

When I know it’s all there, I carefully wrap the napkin around the money. I then double-wrap the rubber band around the bundle. Then I stick it in the front of my underwear. Of course! I know this may sound totally weird, but it was a technique that developed through trial and error over a long time. I used to carry my money in my shoe, like when I had to go pay my immigration lawyer in San Jose, but I noticed that that technique left me with a slight gangsta limp and a sore foot at the end of the day, to say nothing of the subtle humiliation that comes from handing a lawyer a slightly moist and smelly wad of bills.

That, of course, could possibly explain the use of the napkin, but it’s actually not to absorb sweat; instead, I do it to protect my own skin, as there are few things I would like less than a moldy paper-cut on my wang. And the rubber band keeps all the money in place; I’d feel somewhat like a hooker if I pulled forward my drawers to find a disorganized and scattered collection of large-denomination bills. So, the napkin and rubber band are a must. If you have tight-fitting drawers, you can put the stash against your thigh, right about where your front pants pocket would go. Tight-fitting? Oh, I’d recommend boxer briefs. Conventional boxers are obviously out of the question, and bikini briefs are just too small (and pervy) to get the job done. And it shouldn’t be just any style of boxer brief. I’ve found that the American Hanes and Fruit of the Loom just aren’t nad-squeezingly adequate; for our purposes, you’ll have to look to the Old Country and track down some good quality tight-weave Eurotrash boxer briefs. Try Germany.

If all else fails, you can stow the “package” of money by placing it under your pants button, and further secure it with the help of a tight belt over that. Then top all that with a some ribbon, a bow, some whipped cream, a cherry, and a small cocktail umbrella. This whole process should obviously be done near the end of the day, because it’s not comfortable, mentally or physically, having that much cash bouncing around so close to your junk.

From there, it’s probably smooth sailing. If you’ve got a car, you can basically head right home. If you’ve got to wait at a bus stop like a loser, you can take comfort in the fact that at least if you’re mugged, the homophobic nature of most Latin American criminals will probably mean that although they may steal your wallet, they probably won’t be looking to do a pat-down in your groinital area.

Anyhow, the only reason I mention this is because the other day, as I was securing my cluster of currency to my body much like a police informant secures his hidden microphone, I asked myself, “Man, I wonder if paying for house construction is this complicated in the U.S.” And my immediate answer was, “No, of course not. I’d just use a check.” Oh well, different strokes for different folks, I guess.

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Berlín is Full of Master Bakers

I always said that if I had a ton of free time, I'd hang out and home and get really great at making bread. Well, I don't have a ton of free time, so my bread is merely "adequate." But that's OK for now. In any case, there has recently been a lot of cooking being done in Berlin, and some of it has made for interesting pictures. The one above is me making bread from a recipe that I found in Martha Stewart Living. Seriously. I'm not proud that I have the magazine, but I gotta hand it to the ol' bag: She's good. Martha is really good. So the other night I was making a bread from the magazine, as well as an eye-popping stew that is based on beef, potatoes, and Guinness. So, at least it's not something as sissy as a potpourri sashé or anything involving the word "cozy."

I know that this technically isn't baking, as it was never put into an oven, but this is the cake that Angela made me for my birthday. It's really tasty, and is based on cookies, cream, condensed milk, and lemon.

Cutting the cake with my trusty machete, which Angela gave me for my birthday last year.

The happy couple.

Speaking of birthdays, I've been trying to make some cakes recently. The one I tried to make for my birthday (which I wanted to take to work) got all screwed up, and ended up sticking to the pans. No matter, because it was still damn tasty, so seeing as we had 4 Argentineans visiting us at the time, we decided to just eat the whole thing with our hands. The cake in the picture above is similar to the one that I made for Abuela's birthday on March 25th (I didn't take a picture of that specific cake). She liked it a lot.

Here is a turtle-shaped empanada de chiverre, which is like a bread thing filled with spiced fruit from a gourd. Angela's sister Toni made it for me. It's also a traditional food in Costa Rica around Easter (although usually not shaped like a turtle...that was just because Toni is awesome).

This picture is totally unnecessary, except for the fact that it displays my robe, the Technicolor Dreamcoat, in all its splendor.

Here is the meal that I made with the Martha Stewart stew. It's also a tribute to my grandma, who has taken a picture of every family meal that we've sat down to since...well, probably the 1950s. I hear that my grandma reads this blog, and even passes it on to her friends, who enjoy it immensely. I am somewhat bothered by the idea that my grandma is reading my profanity-infused musings, but I am also happy that she enjoys them. So, hi grandma!

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Construction Sblog

Today I set up a new blog so that anyone who wants to can view the construction of our house. Since a "blog" is actually an abbreviation of "web log," I suppose that a "house web log" would be called a "sblog." So, I started a sblog.
In any case, we started the construction this past Monday, and so far...we have some ditches and some twisted metal. But that's the way it's supposed to look so far, I'm told. In any case, I'll try to put up a few pictures every week, since my family requested that I do so. There's a link to the blog on the bar to the left, or else you can go directly to http://gringiticasa.blogspot.com/.
Hope you enjoy it (or at least don't hate it).
--The Management

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Something Something Superstar

(This was written in the evening on Sunday, which happened to be Easter)
Many people from the U.S. have been asking me recently what Easter is like in Costa Rica. This is my first Easter here, since I was in Colorado last year for the holiday (once again, I had to renew that stupid Costa Rican visa). In any case, I can report on a few things about Easter in Costa Rica.
First of all, the bulk of the Easter observance is during the so-called Semana Santa, or Holy Week. For many places in Latin America, this means a whole week of vacation, sort of like a religiously-tinged spring break. Many people go on trips, and some people, instead of going to the beach to flash their tits, stay in their own town to flash their rosaries at church, if you know what I mean (I mean “show religious piety and devotion”). In Costa Rica, though, most people don’t seem to have a full week of vacation (unless you’re a school kid, those lucky little rats). The company where I work is even less observant, seeing as it’s an American company that still needs to provide customer support service to American customers around the clock. In other words, when you call from the U.S. to complain about your credit card bill or broken cell phone charger, you make it so that Costa Ricans don’t get to stay home during national holidays.
But hey! I got Thursday and Friday off, so who cares about those losers answering the phones? Since we don’t directly attend phone calls as part of our job, all the English teachers in my department were given Thursday and Friday off. Thursday and Friday are called Jueves Santo and Viernes Santo, although they’re both etymologically unrelated to the legendary Santo, the famed Mexican Lucha Libre wrestler. It’s debatable how holy either Thursday or Friday actually are, but I can tell you that most of the stores were closed, at least.
Theoretically, the stores are closed on Holy Thursday and Friday so that people can stay home and pray, and then walk to church to pray some more. Evidently, in the past it was seen as very disrespectful to even drive a car in those days. But, those days seem to be fading quickly. In Berlín, many people went to masses, but Angela and I aren’t the most avid churchgoers. Angela stays away because she was forced to go as a child and also hates how the only reason most people go is to gossip and backbite, and I also generally sleep in on Sundays because I’m not Catholic, I probably wouldn’t understand Spanish mass, and I’m not even 100% sure that churches here do their thing on Sunday morning, anyhow. But, we pray and believe in God and all that, so at least we’re not the biggest bitches on the block. This all, by the way, is just a bit of background information, to help set the stage.
Now, the biggest difference here is that Easter…well, it seems to be missing. I know that in some places around the globe, people bitch and moan about the commercialization or even “Americanization” of holidays. In many countries, a gringo Santa Claus is replacing a Christ Child or Saint Nicholas as the bearer of gifts at Christmas, and Valentine’s Day seems to be increasingly prominent and stupid throughout the world. But Easter here? I expected at least something along the lines of, “Well, HERE we think about the TRUE meaning of Easter, and we don’t celebrate using that Great Satan Easter Bunny with his heathen ability to lay eggs.” But, I got nothing like that. In fact, I got nothing at all. Today is Easter Sunday, and my whole family was gathered in Colorado to celebrate Easter, my aunt Kathy’s birthday, and my birthday (I’m informed that they ate cake and ice cream for me…really, thanks a lot, guys).
In any case, since my birthday was last week, they called to wish me a belated happy birthday, and everyone I talked to on the phone asked me what we were going to do for Easter. Something like, “I don’t suppose they hide Easter eggs, but what DO they do to celebrate? They’re pretty religious down there, right?” Well, they don’t really do anything. I was out of things to do earlier today, so I went to the internet café—which was closed Thursday and Friday but open Saturday and Easter Sunday—and worked on putting pictures up on www.ryansitzman.com . We also went to Angela’s parents’ house to eat dinner, but we do that every Sunday night, Easter or not. I even noticed that on page 13 or so of the national paper, it mentioned that today was the “Sunday of the Resurrection,” but that was about the only Easter name-dropping I heard the whole week.
So what gives? I might be treading on shaky theological ground here, but it seems that if you have a religion that is literally entirely based on the idea that your lord and savior was raised from the dead, then you should probably recognize that idea somehow. But instead, the entire focus is on the betrayal (Thursday) and crucifixion (Friday) of Jesus Christ. The papers, news, and local chat were filled with descriptions of passion plays throughout the country, and many even carried around living “Jesuses” tied to crosses to make it “more realistic.” And apparently, many people were praying. Now, it might be a good thing that people are at home praying for a day or two, but in my opinion, it shouldn’t be out of shame or remorse. I have heard of so-called “Catholic Guilt” before, and although the people I’ve talked to in the last few days haven’t seemed particularly culpable, I can still easily see how such a phenomenon could arise.
It kinda makes me think of the musical Jesus Christ Superstar (but in a way, everything does these days). That musical is entirely focused on the last few weeks of Jesus’ life, as well as his crucifixion. And the Resurrection? Well, maybe it’s in the director’s cut, because it’s sure not in the movie. In that way, Berlín, Costa Rica is kinda like an Andrew Lloyd Weber musical from a parallel universe. I’m not trying to specifically promote Christianity or the Resurrection or anything here, but I’ve still been waiting for someone—anyone—to say something—anything—about their religion maybe mentioning something about a guy who came back from the dead, but I just haven't heard it. I know that religion is a deeply personal thing for many people, but I feel that many people call themselves Christians here, but only because that’s what their family has always practiced, and they’ve never taken the time to think about whether it’s right or true for them. And for me, the idea that habit or custom can so easily act as a replacement for conviction or actual thought is what really drives me crazy.
People of Costa Rica! People of the world! Hear my words! You must be passionate (no pun intended) for something or show conviction for something, and not just go through the motions because it’s what you’ve always done!
So sure, call it a bastardization or even blasphemy, but bring on the Easter Bunny! Bring on the Cadbury eggs! Bring on the scrambled egg and sausage casserole and annoying personal questions from the family! All those things may not be the “true meaning of Easter,” but for me they represent “Easter,” and at least they mean something to me. And if, during the day, I pause in my sugar buzz to consider that around 2,000 years ago, a man may have come back from the dead, then at least we’re getting somewhere.

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New Phone Number

Hey Everyone,
Not that anyone ever calls us (thanks a lot, by the way), but our phone number is different. The ICE, which is the company that provides Costa Rica with phone and electrical service, as well as being my arch-enemy, has added a "2" to all land lines. So, if you're calling our number from the U.S. or outside of Costa Rica, you'd need the country code of 506, then our phone number at 2452-3357.
So, now you can avoid calling that number.
Thanks,
The Management

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The Rumors About Comprimising Photos of Ryan Sitzman on the Internet Were TRUE!

What has two thumbs, wears short shorts, and exercises while playing Star Wars video games?

THIS GUY!!

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Who'll Shave My Neck?

No, seriously, someone needs to do it. I can't ; I've tried and it just gets all lopsided. So, step up... c'mon, everyone's gotta take a turn, eventually.

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