*01.30.02 the white horse tavern

Hoping for a wink from one of those
Poet conspirators, drunks to a man, I'm here again.
Why is it so dark? What are we doing?
Looking for the wink.
The gin gives us the difference: each other
Shut off from the quotidian: our feelings
Blurring as the afternoon continues.

The silent man at my right elbow
Winks at me with his glass -
Is this a signal? He and I
Have long been quiet in the boredom, strangers,
But we watched for a certain moment - maybe this one -
For a flash, an insight, an exceptional view -

Evasion. The oldsters showed it too, the habit
And habitual disappointment
As they all wrote poems, novels, stories, waited here.

(diane wood middlebrook, 1983)
*01.29.02 pretend you've got no money

weatherpeople were very excited yesterday about the lowest high temperatures in twenty years. one must justify shuddering when it's forty degrees outside, i suppose, but i bet they have central heating, the pansies.

joe and i got to be The Last Line of Defense at the boxer thing last night, which meant that i whispered about sketchy rich people and he tattled on them to the secret service agents. most of the badgeless were genre authors who, er, didn't want to be swarmed. i don't really care about richard north patterson, though his wife's tapestry suit was fairly inflammatory.

as for clinton, he was very late and boxer didn't fancy a lag between his speech and hers, so a guy from battlebots took the stage and told jokes about bin laden's cellular plan. babs did a meandering bit about running again because of 9/11, then the authors and i rushed the one bathroom to primp for the headliner. i was already primped within an inch of my life, but i'd gone outside to smoke and was terrified that everyone could smell me.

then bill. i should point out that he was still the president last night: i was confused when he was introduced as such, but these donors were not in ha-ha denial, oh no. i wiggled through the guys with markers and athletic equipment, shook his hand and said it'sanhonorsir, and ran away. my hangnails didn't heal spontaneously or anything, but i was awed like a big old dork.

and my hair was on the ten o'clock news, whee!
*01.27.02 sand to silicon

the naked dancing neighbors are at it again. web search for "discourage nude frolicking" yielded more weird florida news (mayor performs municipal exorcism, ACLU lawyers get involved on satan's behalf) and rawr.net (burning man camp girl makes monsters). the dancing wound down when they saw us laughing.

joe needed an ironing board. the hippie lady has an ironing board, i saw it! but i should not buy. i've started bathing whenever i get the urge to spend money; it hasn't been especially effective, but i am exceedingly clean. tomorrow i'll attack the mold archipelago on the ceiling above the tub.

slim chance of meeting bill clinton tomorrow - i'm tagging along with the boxer office to a fund raising dinner, and he'll be hobnobbing. drop me a line if i should send your, um, love.

*01.25.02 in through the out door

the Plan gallops along. introduction of yoga has destabilized things a bit, though: i'm not hungry, but i've become (more of a) pack rat. the mechanic is right next to this one-woman bazaar thing in the mission, and fanfare rang down from the heavens when i dumped my ailing car and spied her orange wicker chairs. since then i've acquired an amber globe light, a brown glass vase, a linen LONDON tapestry, a brass/crystal candle holder, a hat box with a built-in shower cap / hair dryer, a short wave radio, and, um, baubles. i only spent $30, but - if my car dies again and i go back, there won't be room to move in here.

so bad, bad yoga. it's also led me to discover that the rug smells like italian food, and ew.


boys are smelly, by kim gordon (sonic youth tour diary '87).
wine snobs are full of it.
bea arthur wrestling dinosaurs (my new desktop).

purple rain (1984) #
+ guitar/hose sprays club kids; minnesota!
- incomplete domestic violence arc; no "raspberry beret".

*01.23.02 duty now for the future

Plan modification 1a: rental movies must be rented and returned sans car. the car goes wheee instead of vroom at the moment; it's suggesting, perhaps, that i should be climbing monster hills and coughing more.

1b: steer toward looking like kathleen hanna. i won't lie - the Plan is at least 75% vanity. health for health's sake is hogwash - i won't waste 50 years at the gym on 25 bonus years at the gym. who wants a long life if it's a clean life? mind-boggling pulchritude, on the other hand - for that i'll give up cheese.

that's better. i feel frivolous again.

salon went with "sympathy for the devil" for its masterpiece doo-dah this week, and i am all smiles. mick jagger deserves to be compared to baudelaire/byron/bakespeare every now and again, and it hurts me when folks kick him in the ribs for goddess in the doorway. sting doesn't take this much crap for his godawful solo career, and the police never held a candle to the rolling stones. if one must hate, one should hate jann wenner. he's always been an ass.
DEVO's like a verb. Maybe it is bullshit, but it's good bullshit. It's like an atmosphere; it's not a solid. DEVO is anything that people really like. People like something that's somewhat mysterious and something that's left somewhat to your imagination. As soon as you have it figured out, it ceases to be interesting; it ceases to have magic or life or vitality. The music and the look and the rap - it's all one thing: it's just an ambience. The clues to it have to do with infantilism, things falling apart, things unwinding - a minimal, primitive statement; direct. DEVO is like surgeons, the clean-up squad of the '70s - getting rid of all the flabby, horrible, derivative rock and roll crap. The 'industrial look': the clean-up crew, the robots, the spuds following their genetic imperatives.
*01.21.02 topless dancers of corfu

was planning on transvestite wrestling at 26 mix last night - the guy who cuts joe's hair is quite the champ, apparently - but the evening became drinks with school chums in the richmond instead, so i stayed home. not ready to champion the Health Plan by refusing gin and tonics, yet.

hip kids make cleavage unfun, part two: february's spin cover reads "ROCKBOOBS.COM: CONCERT FLASHING HITS THE WEB". the article (p.30) touts concertflashers.com, while the cover URL is the 'new image' of cheekybastid.com, a spin staffer's band site. combatants seem equally sad here: if pressed, i'd support the flesh peddlers. i appreciate the fact that their images are grouped by show (women of ozzfest, i salute you).

at press time, the devil-ettes remain the sole tenders of the vaguely satanic synchronized dancing flame. their magic is difficult to challenge, and for that my heart is glad.

rosemary's baby (1968) ###
+ suspense, ruth gordon as maude the dark servant.
- no baby satan payoff.

grosse pointe blank (1997) #
+ the pixies' "monkey gone to heaven".
- john cusack: dough boy.

moulin rouge! (2001)
+ free rental = no obligation to watch entire movie.
- baz luhrmann is still out there.

*01.19.02 fine thank you

says autumn, there's no money in coat checking at indie shows: "jackets are part of outfits." ditto for the hardcore sets - Skinny Puppy stencils don't grow on trees, you know.

cruel bay area alternafolk, all competitive edginess - they've even tried to ruin the pure fun of bra balls. i'd despair, but i saw nicolino's (1300 lbs) roll past the SPCA the other day - nothing can ruin that sort of fun.

*01.18.02 play your ouijas

a pleasant habit has stepped up and claimed my thursday/friday Lump Time (i work eleven hour days, so i'm at the hospital mon-tues-wed-sat): smart movie / slack movie. smartie today - le charme discret de la bourgeoisie (1972). i'm surprised my evil film professor didn't screen it for us, as it's a friendlier introduction to surrealism than un chien andalou (1929); as a manners piece, it kills la regle du jeu (1939). see it, it's fun.

slacker - the anniversary party, rented because i get sucked into 'pet project' movies and, um, los angeles stuff. it's a bit maudlin, but i'm always pleased to see parker posey play someone other than The Parker Posey Character. also worth seeing.

slicing up eyeballs / i want you to know -

*01.17.02 i was special

i'd goggle at providence in the small furrow - that everyone in the oxford house read the same sci fi novels in 1986, that the name game is always successful, that everyone i know is converging in new york in february - but coincidence is sleight of hand, a show of cutting and shuffling to the point where origins seem unrecognizable. abracadabra - your card was nerd. i don't resent the system: i gnash my teeth when my posts were better said yesterday by someone else, but i rarely feel isolated.

so joe, jacob, paul and i have an east coast holiday sandwiched around the lincoln center magnetic fields shows. as you'll probably be in new york 28 feb - 5 mar, drop us a line. we'll plan something nifty.

as i have apparently started collecting videos, i shall no longer make excuses for failing to own shu shan (1983). has yojimbo the eyebrow sage-warrior or cloud fortress priestesses who attack with toilet paper? of course it doesn't. i have lacked this for far too long; i'm taking a stand, even though i owe my exposure to the evil man with 42 blue coats.

the asterisks, incidentally, confirm daily adherence to the Fear Of Death Total Health Plan. my granola-induced misanthropy peaked yesterday, i think; i'm all optimism.

*01.16.02 she kept her motor clean

i might have suffered a christmas carol in miniature the other night; i woke up with a lingering horror of death and the urge to become a Healthy Person. it will seem comical for a while, but project robolau has begun in earnest.

synaesthesia, because manic depressive artists are so five minutes ago.
Where was I? Oh yes: assaulted by San Francisco, looking for a film to hide in. I opened the paper, turned to the entertainment part, and when I read the double-page ads for new releases I felt a thrill in my soul, so many wonderful movies, the critics were amazed, according to the testimonials. Poets of the age! hack off your tongues. The impression dawned that we'd entered a dazzling era - this week, this single week, would glow in racial memory - and I shared it all, was in fact dazzled, you know how I respond to those ads and feel cheated later in the dark by all the fakery. But it doesn't matter. Nothing can help us anymore. There's no escaping the contradictions: but only here, at the movies - window looking out on the home from which I'm exiled - land where people look in one another's eyes feeling the words they say. That's what I wanted in life, still want, I want blue light on their breasts, wet sorrows, endnesses, endnesses, death after every satisfaction -
lauren says brothers karamazov reading group; i say yes, ma'am.

01.14.02 sweat sweat sweat

i have tendonitis.
left wrist/fingers.
got a big black brace.
i'm billy idol.

01.13.02 yuko + hiro

my favorite favorite stanford classified ad popped up in the campus daily a few years ago and offered stranded students the opportunity to serve techies thanksgiving dinner for like $20 and some leftover turkey. my other favorite, courtesy of the latest alumni magazine: good genes, "an institution of higher pairing". mental image of stuffing kleenex down the front of one's resume: i like it.

if commentary is to be believed, radiohead's "palo alto" moonlighted as "ok computer". i tired of pop's mid-nineties fixation on paly a while back, but i suppose it's pleasant to feel that one slept and ate junk food in a notable place.
It is a lovely city and it works: it has given the world far more than it has ever taken, and to find any fault would be gratuitous and petty. It is the embodiment of middle-class tranquility and freedom. It is Palo Alto, or a platonic vision of a city like this, that lurks in the back of many minds as the ideal that is worth fighting for when fighting is called for.

(douglas coupland, polaroids from the dead)
speaking of radiohead, i have similar memories of oxford, though its souvenirs have been rather more substantial.

coupland dug up the paly piece for a prospective frosh talk in memorial auditorium, 5/96. he also introduced me, after a fashion, to my good friend tom, who asked him a convoluted question that he (d.c.) interrupted with his forehead and the microphone: "brain hurts, brain hurts". he's getting a JD in wisconsin and owed a lot of mail (tom).

the seventh sign that i'm getting old: i slept like a champ all day. sundays kick ass.

01.12.02 only knows

Still friend of many distances, feel yet
how your breathing is augmenting space.
From the beamwork of gloomy belfries let
yourself ring. What devours you will increase

more strongly from this food. Explore and win
knowledge of transformation through and through.
What experience was the worst for you?
Is drinking bitter, you must turn to wine.

Be the magic power of this immense
midnight at the crossroads of your senses,
be the purport of their strange meeting.

earth itself forgot your very name,
say unto the tranquil earth: I flow.
To the fleeting water speak: I am.

(rilke, sonnets to orpheus [2.29])
01.11.02 white suburban bedroom

hiding from a marianne faithfull album bought circa pup tent. her voice is gorgeously wrinkled, as rumor suggested, and her lyrics why certainly, but i was wholly unprepared for her new wave backup thing. the combination's effect is more than jarring: think taking the sketched fellow's hand in a-ha's "take on me" video and stepping into the shining's bathtub scene. it's not as disturbing as nico's solo stuff, but - i'm nervous enough on my own, is what i'm saying.

i tried to be a good citizen and hop around through blogsnob, but everyone wants money. what would they do with it? if kidchamp took donations, i mean, it would spend them on women and fast cars. these personal sites, i just don't trust them.

Since its inception in 1958 the Psywar Society has published a quarterly magazine, The Falling Leaf. It is an invaluable source of news, articles, and information about aerial leaflet propaganda.

Land of Origin: Germany.

Other Origins: None known.

Other Names: Poltersprites. Sometimes spelled Kobauld, Cobald, or Kobolde. In Scandinavia they are called Hutchens or Heinzelmannchens and are distinguished by their red felt hats.

Element: Earth.

Appearance and Temperament: Kolbalds (Coe-bolds) are dwarf faeries usually seen wearing little brown knee pants and caps. They can be helpful but will turn abusive if ignored or belittled.

Time Most Active: At night.

Lore: Kolbalds are a German version of the Scottish Brownie, though they have a less helpful nature. Alone or in small groups they adopt homes where they will live, expecting the full benefits of the household even if they do not choose to work for their keep. When not in human homes, Kolbalds live in hollow trees.
Kolbalds have pipes clenched in their teeth, but they do not smoke. In fact smoke seems to upset them greatly, and smoking up a room may be a good way to drive them away.
If they feel ignored or belittled they can turn abusive and will behave with poltergeist activity by making noise and throwing things about. There are very few of them left today, and they are nearly impossible to remove from your home once they decide to take up residence. In such cases a series of exorcisms is the best course of action. Burning smoky incense will also discourage them.

Where to find them: In infested homes and in hollow trees.

How to contact: If you really want a Kolbald in your house, leave out food and milk and make an evocation to them. Otherwise visit them in Faeryland, making sure they do not follow you home.

Magickal and Ritual Help: Undetermined, but may be able to help with home protection spells if they are feeling charitable. In general they are too untrustworthy to be of much use to humans.

(A Witch's Guide to Faery Folk, 1994)
from lukas,

God has fled. Avenging angels hide in the Everglades. And other tales from children in Dade's homeless shelters.

01.10.02 turning to bobby peru

last night's dream: i'm at a dinner party with a trio of eighties teen film disapproving popular girls, and i have a pile of mexican food balanced on a plate on my knees. jude law, dressed in a rust-colored suede cowboy outfit, keeps walking by and snatching pieces of this food in his teeth. "jude law, stop that!" i say. "you're making me very uncomfortable." he hisses and says that he's supposed to be anonymous. it becomes apparent that this is the opening sequence of already dead, aforementioned denis johnson novel, cover-blurbed by the times book review as "...pretty much impossible to stop reading." i consider this to be a fairly stupid dreampunchline and wake up, still uncomfortable. in actuality the book is passable.

no work today. ran errands, played with online pet sites, left pup tent (luna '97) in the stereo for three hours. it's punchy next to penthouse ('95)...but comparable. certainly doesn't deserve to be a $uper saver at amoeba. as for the pet sites, i have a ten gallon terrarium and the realization that mum can't actually prevent me from owning a turtle any more. 's too small for a turtle, really, but it's more than enough room for a toad or a blue crayfish or - and these are a big favorite so far - bad-ass death's head cockroaches. joe is decidedly anti-bug, but i plan to argue that these are bunnies compared to the hissing ones. it will, um, work.

plan B liberates feeder mice from the east bay vivarium. i've nothing against the snake people; it's a tic of mine.

i completely neglected to share the weekly world news the other day, and for that i apologize.

...The FBI has no plans to release the secret tape.
"The last thing the bureau wants is to humanize Osama," says the source. "They don't want people picturing him as a glamorous rogue like George Clooney in Ocean's Eleven."


The booze-soaked lost weekend wound to a close in a karaoke bar around 2 AM.
"Al-Zawahri had a surprisingly strong baritone and he belted out 'Viva Las Vegas' in a not-bad Elvis imitation," the FBI source said.
"Then bin Laden got up onstage, wobbling like crazy, and did 'My Way' in his reedy tenor...he certainly deserved to be shot for butchering Ol' Blue Eyes."
luckily, bat boy has retaliated by
attacking [the Taliban's] leaders in their beds, disrupting their supply lines and making hundreds of their best caves unlivable by "pee-peeing" in them.
mmm, denouement.

What Video Game Character are you? I am Mr Do.

I am sedentary by nature, enjoying passive entertainment, eating when the mood takes me, and playing with my food. I try to avoid conflict, but when I'm angred, I can be a devil - if you force me to fight, I will crush you. With apples.

01.09.02 the bees; two rants

there are families, i hear, who can't keep secrets because their inabilities to speak in the first person drive them to blurt everything they can about one another. by the time they're brave enough to speak for themselves, they sound both false and cheap. i resent works like the royal tenenbaums for wrapping that so wittily; i'd novelize it myself if i could solve it with something better than a non sequitur or a death.

and 'prioritizing' as an excuse - flinging oneself in a single direction because it's more elegant than juggling - is the worst sort of sloth. fuck that noise.

01.08.02 o sleepy girl, i want you to pass

i have a denis johnson novel. it is time for me to read things i don't want to read. i'm sure he's lovely - i enjoyed jesus' son, and his cameo with a knife in his eye was very affecting - but he makes me feel the way paul looked when i tried to make him eat the tapioca in my pearl tea. i also have a gorki novel, and it is old and fine-smelling. i may toss them both into the air to see which lands in a more inviting position. i may also go back to safeway and buy the tabloid with the BIN LADEN'S VEGAS VIDEO(high stakes, hookers and hummus) cover. mmm, safeway.

from the greatest rock band ever, through ritik's eyes. i sure did hate them when they jammed at four in the morning above joe's suite, but they 1) encapsulate stanford fairly well and 2) end rhyme richard rorty. also peterson is a hero of mine. he gives me faith in improv and the black mountain poets.
01.07.02 sometimes if the money's right

no more paul; i gave him back to the fisherman's wharf bus station on the way to work this morning. it's quite dramatic down there when the fog is as thick as it was - i might have been sending him to korea.

we finally did see the royal tenenbaums. hard to divorce the show from its hassles - it was sold out again, we got stuck in the second row, parking-unparking took two hours and cost $16 - but i tittered. paul thinks that films will need to be stylized, that the medium's tricks will be what make it useful in the future - i'm paraphrasing badly - and i should be convinced. anyway, everyone did what they were supposed to do.

is seinfeld the be-all of recent no most television? i'm behind buffy in the same field, but "masterpiece" is kind of a dirty word. don't let's argue.

Aliens are looking for a good time in the USA. Where do you send them?
D.C. death disco
buckets of fake blood
plants + birds + rocks + things
for coroners
get baptized in a bucket of ribs
4 corn, nerds
anne rice is always ready to party.
the bible belted out show tunes until the bartender slapped it
pit stop
World's Largest Chicken-Fried Steak (pop. 461)
my pants are and always will be more hip than yours
we're going to coffee to see if we can be a band
tit mug

01.06.02 a night at the talkies

The Royal Tenenbaums was sold out and Joe didn't want to rent Leprechaun 5: In The Hood, so we ended up with:

Slumber Party Massacre 3. Five minutes in, Lauren & Joe realized they had viewed this film on a previous occasion. We watched it anyway. Not so many breasts, and the ones they did display had weird coloring. In our enlightened and empathetic liberal society, slasher movies now contain psychological backstory to explain how the slasher got that way.

Event Horizon. This was hyped to me as the Most Disturbing Movie Ever, so I went into it with the attitude of "Fuck you, movie, you will not frighten me," and as a result it didn't do as much as it probably should have. They sustained a nice creepy vibe for the first hour or so, but after that it devolved into silliness. Once they got too literal with the chaos/hell dimension and Sam Neill started running around without eyes, it just reminded me of a Henry Rollins video.

Clash of the Titans. We got the first and last five minutes of this on NBC, and used them to sandwich Event Horizon. Zeus and Hera and Bubo the mechanical owl, who I doubt is to be found in Bulfinch's mythology or Chapman's Homer, but bless him anyway. Wing your way onward, Bubo, onward to a brighter world.

01.05.02 an outdated robot learns a magical dance

P.R. Kerschen here, guest writer in residence at Green Street, with Laurenjoe and 1.75 cats. Today we'd like to draw your attention to a Modern Humorist article a few months old but still full of beans: Harry Potter and the Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, complete with testimonials by Michiko Kakutani and David Foster Wallace.

“Three cheers for Harry Potter!” shouts Hermione from the beach below as I glide down. Three cheers. Brilliant. This is how we speak to each other, a ha-ha on ourselves and the important work we are doing. We are the ones who will save Hogwarts. We are wizards and witches and everyone else is a Muggle. They cannot conjure. They can not transfigure. Oh, they are over.

Apparently Eggers saw it before it went up and posted something on McSweeney's to the effect that he wasn't mad, then spent a long time talking about how the $1.4 million he got for paperback rights is actually more like $300,000. This is horrid. This means I will have to write three or four blockbusters before I can buy my death ray.

Last night we moved Beyond Balderdash. Movie title: "To the Last Man." Synopsis: "The story of two feuding families. Features a nude swimming scene and Shirley Temple." And that's the real one. We have to rent this. My grandfather danced with Shirley Temple once -- she swore like a sailor.

01.03.02 being rhythmically admired

jehovah's witnesses came to my door, jehovah's witnesses came to my door! i feel so grown up! i think they'll come back, as they were nice old handkerchief ladies and i didn't have the heart to yell at them or tell them i'm agnostic. that never works anyway - i think people can smell it on me or something, and they rope me into long conversations because i try to argue politely and then can't say no. so i confessed that i don't work thursdays and fridays, let them play with the cat, and got a copy of the watchtower. if anyone's free next week, help me hide, would you?

from awake!, a tower insert ostensibly about food safety,
When it comes to techniques of processing food, there is considerable uncertainty as to whether they are safe or hazardous. Such uncertainty breeds fear, discord, and disunity. - 2 Timothy 3:1-5.
i would like to point out that i have never had serious food poisoning, and i have leftovers that slap my hand when i try to take them out of the fridge. i think bacteria can smell fear, and they know they can't mess with me. i guess pride could goeth before a fall there, though.

this seems to be part of the same article.
All too often, though, the feelings are one-sided - and someone gets a broken heart. And even when the feelings are mutual, frustration and heartbreak still result when one or the other is not mature or old enough to get married. Really, where can such a relationship go? A Bible Proverb says: "Can a man rake together fire in his bosom and yet his very garments not be burned?" - Proverbs 6:27.
more on saying no: i told some slimy guy at zeitgeist that i was gay when he brought me a newcastle, and you could tell he wanted to run away but he wanted to seem sensitive, so i got into a long conversation about no, it's not because i was traumatized by a man, yeah, the girls in san francisco are okay, oh, it's nice that you hug your gay acquaintances. jesus never came up.

more in awake! on "Dirty Money", "Ailing Taste Buds", "Mosques Mushrooming in the United States". if you're worried, i'm mostly done reading my copy.

happy house! off to get mari for a sleepover (she keeps mentioning me spoon-feeding her beer,which is confusing but alright). frantic purchases of muffin and cornbread mix, but i still need to wash towels and clean. pray for me.

01.01.02 not of high heels and eyeshadow

OC was pleasant. home friend is well, folks and sisters are well, family dynamic is, well -

be it ever so pretentious, home is here. so cal's more of a trivial pursuit obligation pie (Ritual Chats, Home Friends, Group Dinner, Cat Time, Coffee Patrol, TV in Skivvies). the formality is a little awkward, sure, but it's far simpler to cover things when they're capitalized.

saw fellowship of the ring with em and pa: cgi or no, it's tough to ask a movie to top yer dad reading in front of the fire. the process was kind of hellish - i mean, i cry when i think about gandalf and the balrog, so waiting for him to snuff it onscreen was like watching a relative die. he's riding the peace train, emily points out, and i know what's coming - nope, doesn't matter. i'll be in therapy for years.

finally, finally saw hedwig and the angry inch - i hated tommy and ended up hating rent, but golly, rock musical, you're fabulous. the east berlin oven / "walk on the wild side" scene is better than most entire shows.

i love, love the rain, but cheap roof leaks > popcorn bowl catches water > cats drink from bowl > cats puke on my purse. screw this circle of life crap. say my diginame. say my pirate name!

cozy new year's fondue shindig chez val in san jose. i am old at last, for i 1) spent more on champagne than cigarettes, 2) didn't boot and 3) was wearing pajama pants before midnight. i feel that i might have danced to will smith without irony, however. miles to go before i sleep.

sure, i resolve to
- use my gym membership. at least once.
- donate bone marrow (really).
- have my wisdom teeth out.
- use my crock pot for food.
- sift the cat box more often.
- teach the world to sing.
finally scored the end of the philip pullman 'existentialism 4 kids' series. when my sisters spawn, i'll subvert their young with the golden compass / the subtle knife / the amber spyglass. scoff and you are deeply, deeply wrong.