Tuesday, March 30, 2004

HASH(0x8ba95b8)
You are CLARISSA EXPLAINS IT ALL. She is a rad
chick with absolutely no fashion sense. If you
are a guy and chose this... you are gay.


Which old school Nickelodeon show are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Shout out to Natalie who spent her time taking stupid online quizzes.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

I am the Girl Anachronism!

Word of the Day

ANACHRONISM
Definition:
something out of place in time

Example:
The aged hippie used ANACHRONISTIC phrases like "groovy" and "far out" that had not been popular for years.

Synonyms:
relic, holdover

-My Homepage "Word of the Day"

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Yes Dana, I was totally fucking listening to The Doors. I do rock. Thank you.
wink*

Hmm...

The Pyromaniacs are gonna get you! With their extremist artist florist Marxist exist-tents, they will prove, as the supposed superhero said, "Destruction as a form of creation." Art can be seen as a creation, a mimic of a creation. And in part, streams of consciouness haunt you too.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

This is neat

Whoa Nat, that's crazy. Tara Reid? [This will be an entry all entirely in inside jokes between me and Slick Biddy N, since, we probably are the only people who read each others'' bloooooooogs.]

Wool, OO doon't Knoo woot tooo toolk aboot. Figures. Inside jokes, inside jokes? Can't think of any, except that Drew is probably all alone at sivisx right about now wishing we would come in to buy things we don't need and blank tapes to make him a mix. Meanwhile, fucking what's his name, uhh, oH, Deeevo the Blasphemous, is eyeing us up for sodomy. I hope you're the only one that reads this! pfft. ooooo sodomy. SODOMY

Natalie, I know you're laughing. So go get your duck and schlob it. It will last for months, you know.

Monday, March 22, 2004

And if you're real bored...

Who's Your Inner Artist?

Your inner artist is Salvador Dali!

Okay, so maybe you don’t dream about melted clocks, but you do share a hint of Dali’s passion for the surreal. Let’s face it -- you’ve got a different way of looking at the world and that means that things aren’t always as they may seem… It’s not necessarily that you have a rich fantasy life – it’s just that you can appreciate different perspectives and points of view. I mean who are you to say something can’t exist? But even when you do come out of your dreamscapes, it’s clear, like Dali, your feet are planted on terra firma. And your unique combination of inspiration and creativity are sure to spell success.

Cool!

Click on "Who's Your Inner Artist?"

Saturday, March 20, 2004

I have two Buddhas on my window sill. One is serious and stone, one is laughing and jade. Each of them sit next to one of the two items; my miniature La Pieta or a pewter angel candle holder. And it makes me think,

"I must seek Buddha. I must seek Christ."

~I'm Only Creative When I Smoke Smoker, Half Baked
...See Janeane Garofalo in her most demanding role as a poet with an unfortunate and incurable addiction-to writing bad poetry.

Thursday, March 18, 2004

Today---

Word of the Day

KNELL
Definition:
sound of a funeral bell; omen of death or failure
Example:
The loss of Richmond to the Union forces sounded the death KNELL for the Confederate cause.
Synonyms:
peal, ring

Quote of the Day

"Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but rather we have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit."
- Aristotle

On This Day
Mar 18, 1673, Lord Berkley sold his half of New Jersey to the Quakers.

My Horoscope
Libra
There's no waffling on your part. You know what you want as soon as you see it. Maybe it's an irresistible bargain, or maybe you'll pay full price without batting an eye. Be smart about this along with being brave. Strategy doesn't have to slow you down. Your excellent timing gives you the perfect opening to go forward and claim the wondrous thing that you discovered. The stars favor romantics and treasure hunters. Finding what you deserve means that on some level you always knew it was there. Many people would pay a lot of money for that skill.

Daily Fortune
Your fortune for today...
You aspire to be a Viking.




Tuesday, March 16, 2004

It's 2 pm, do you know where your _______ is?

I will fill in the blank, but only during the weekdays, that's only when it fits. How do you spell that? You can't spell it. Sometimes words just fail when a simple primal sound can suffice, and does it suffice. It's the afternoon and it's a Tuesday, for the next 45 minutes or so, I will be rather quiet, unless I have absolutely no shame at all, and I have a little, but it's justified. I don't want to offend anyone. But if no one would be offended, I would let her go. hehe

***

"Future Legend." I remember Christmas day, my dad and I played Diamond Dogs on my new record player, it was the second thing we played after part of The Beatles, 1967-1970. My dad was half remembering half forgetting Bowie's speech "...as the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimey thorough fare...red mutant eyes gazed high on hunger city...fleas the size of rats...and 10,000 peoploids..." That was fun. I called home today, and my dad was sick! :( Hope you feel better soon! :)

Monday, March 15, 2004

Update

For those of you who really want to know what "the answer to all the questions that ever were" and will not settle for my, "simple story" (See March 3 entry) answer, here is something for ya.

Brain Greene, currently prof of physics at Columbia U, claims with a school of other physicists, that they have the answer of ALL QUESTIONS. It is called the Superstring Theory, better known as The String Theory.

I am currently reading The Elegant Universe by Greene, where he unites Quantum Mechanics and Relativity Theories, which have been feuding since Einstein created the Relativity school.

For those of you who have no clue as to what I am talking about, well, honestly, I suggest you get into it if it sounds interesting. It is so insane to think that these mathematical equations and theories and all these proven but unseen things exist and by understanding them we can know everything there is to know about everything. According to Greene, the String Theory will consist of just one equation that unites all theories about the universe. That's crazy! But it could possibly be true, and that makes it even more crazy! Science kicks ass!

Maybe I will find a link that could explain this a little better than I have. As of now, relative motion and quarks.

Sunday, March 14, 2004

To Janis Joplin, it is Summertime whenever I play that song. So I just watched out the window at that damn rain and cold and gray and listened to that song. Winter is nice, and summer is too. But a taste of them is enough. I am ready for the Coming of Spring (The Rapture) and April Skies (Jesus and Mary Chain), It's Summertime (The Flaming Lips) and of course Summertime, JJ. A easy drip into Summer from Spring, and then some dead leaves to shed and a snowflake, but in abnormal time, so I can sit and watch it happened in something like twenty minutes, but minutes won't exist. Well, tree shakes No. I suppose so.

Saturday, March 13, 2004

Someone put two pennies outside my door this morning.
Well, I assume someone put them there.
I thought they fell out of my lucky pocket,
but there were two from before
found in there later,
so I had two new pennies.

Then later, the record stopped
and all was quiet again,
but I think there is someone
around, leaving me pennies.

Friday, March 12, 2004

Late August Sugar By Dana Kaufman

The dry end of summer, the county fair,
where I paraded around with a plain vanilla cone melting in my fist.
I wore short shorts, I thought I was Daisy Duke,
catching the horny eyes of the boys in the hog stables.

I told one of them to shimmy up the oak outside my window around eleven and was home before curfew, in time to wash dust-caked cotton candy from my cheeks.
When Mom came to say good night, I was absorbed in syndicated eighties sitcoms,
the asexual, naive girl she raised to wait until marriage.

My window squealed at moist midnight,
Tobacco-stained fingers at my zipper, hot sausage tongue seared my soft inner lip as
I tossed my shoulders back like an underdeveloped Naomi Harper in his hillbilly hands.
I flung the moral angels from their perches with a haughty shudder.

In the early morning hours, four days before school started again,
I was on my knees, spewing scrambled eggs and rye toast
in a fount to put Regan to shame, but I was possessed
by a stupid soul more apathetic than Satan.

This is honesty

Ms. Kaufman, a personal friend of mine I must say, really has a knack for being honest, but not blunt or attacking. Contrary to the title, which works very well, there is no sugar in this poem about adolescent sexual ventures. Adding sugar when describing something that was not sweet to begin with is, I think, a fault for writers. It can make them sound immature. This experience for the narrator could have been trimmed, shaved, and, shined, buffed, built, and trite. It could have been made into a Hollywood sex scene, which is pathetic. Kudos to Dana for putting together such honesty.

Thursday, March 11, 2004

Ambivilance, that's Van Gogh's Night Cafe.

Perhaps someday, grasshopper, I shall explain.

For now, let's make like L7 and pretend that we're dead.
Pragmatic means practical or opposed to the idealistic. I just learned that from my homepage's "word of the day." Words are cool.

***

I had a dream I was on a boat in an ocean that studied aquatic life. I watched seals and dolphins play, until a HUGE Great White Shark comes around. I backed away from where I was watching. That's when one of the scientists went to the edge of the boat and the shark jumped out of the water with its jaws wide open, it could have been smiling. I thought I saw the guy disappear into the white splash of water made by the shark's force, but he came back later with a few bloody scratches on one of his hands. However, after seemingly seeing the man disappear, a woman in a black suit ran around panicking, and fell into the water. Creepy, woman in a black suit, she was dressed for her funeral, heh.

--Dana tells me she had a dream last night about nearly getting chomped on by an alligator. Weird!

***

But, I am partial to alligators. I'll have a pet one someday, he'll be named Gromit or Chris, I haven't decided yet. He'll have his very little red water dish on my front porch with his name on it, and he'll just sit there people watching, slurping his water. And all the kids will be able to come up and pet him and say "Hi Gromit or Chris." and G / C will purr away with all the attention he gets. However, when robbers or squirrels come around, the only purring going on will be in his stomach after he eats them.

***

In my dream I was saying that getting lost in the ocean is my biggest fear. Like the woman in the black, she was without anything in all that danger. I never was really that afraid of the ocean. But it is quite vast and powerful. It's pure nature.

***

But that's not it. In between sleep, thinking about the dream, I thought, if I were lost in the middle of the ocean stalked by a shark, I might as well give up, not even tread, and just sink away. It is nature after all, it's going to win anyway.

***

Though, I think it is more of the vastness of the solitude of being exhausted and surrounded by all that is more powerful than you as a single human, that is scary.

***

So, kids, let go and float and don't be afraid to just float away and sink and prove you are a part of the world. That's the decision based on faith.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Natalie said I can come to her beach utopia! Yay!

Meanwhile...
What is Your Destiny? by Valcion
Name
Color
Birthday
DestinyEnslaver of all humanity
Date when you fufill your destinyJune 26, 2014
Created with quill18's MemeGen 3.0!


"Enslaver"? ---> dominator ---> Dominatrix!
Secret thoughts of my intentions on becoming a dominatrix, twisted and revealed. I will be the Dominatrix to All Humanity. My minions will be a world (scantly) clad in black vinyl and chains. Whhip-shaw, mweow. Slap. *Blush* "Ouch, heh."
"Learning to Swim" By Natalie Clark

Over rapping tapping waves
She perches
crouched in thought,
searching for the cunning will
She knows she has
to speak.

Raging rapids, pensive chaos
She builds
busied by the day,
hoping for the single moment
She feels is best
to burst.

In peaceful autumnal streams
She wades
half immersed in stillness,
striving for balance
She knows she needs
to live
to smile

to love.

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

Why won't that post delete??? I am embarrassed by the redundant appearance of my blog. Why won't that post delete??? I am embarrassed by the redundant appearance of my blog.
In case you wanted to know, here's an update on Jack White.

White Stripes Lead Singer Pleads Guilty Condensed and abridged

DETROIT (AP) -- ...

White was accused of repeatedly punching Von Bondies lead singer Jason Stollsteimer and originally was charged with misdemeanor aggravated assault. He could have faced up to a year in jail, but will avoid jail time under the plea deal.

White must pay a $500 fine, plus $250 in court fees, and Judge Paula G. Humphries ordered him to attend anger management classes.
She also told him not to contact Stollsteimer.

The Dec. 13 fight between White and Stollsteimer began shortly before midnight...


Stollsteimer,
of Detroit,
told police that White
punched him
7
times in the face--

--Police said Stollsteimer's right

eye was bruised and swollen,
and he was bleeding
from the nose.

He was taken the hospital,
where he was treated
and released...


In court Tuesday, White gave his account of what led to the fight--

I went up to
him
to say it to me
face to face--

Stollsteimer ignored
me
I spat at him
we
started fighting.

Stollsteimer landed on my hand,
--(which White had recently injured in a car accident
in July)--
I then punched Stollsteimer
in the face
a couple of times
--with the same "injured" hand
Stollsteimer "landed" on.
***
Outside the courtroom,
White told reporters
he regretted the incident--
White's lawyer
said White
had put the incident
behind him...
until he was threatened
with Celebrity Jail Time--
There are so many things I want to say today that I should write down that I forgot to say today that I should write down. Post-its, notepad, pen, pencil, lipstick, napkin, hand, permanent marker, forehead, backwards for the mirror.

But otherwise, today I saw that Jack White is on trial and will be sentenced today for beating up this guy*.
*(It was the lead singer of the Von Bondies, who were in Pittsburgh this passed Friday and I missed because I have no car, trapped at the 'rents home in the 'burbs)

He could be sentenced for up to a year in prison!

AND I HOPE HE GOES TO JAIL!

He ought to. Celebrities usually get off easy. If he wasn't "Jack White" he'd just be Jack White, that asshole who beat up some guy, and go to jail. I mean, if I were playing Monopoly with Jack White and he landed on the "GO TO JAIL" spot, he would have to go, and I would not give him my "Get out of JAIL free card."

Plus, it would be good for his image as a blues-punk-alt country sort of musician. Also for his big thing about going back to the older, more charming ways (the kind of throwing-your-coat-over-a-puddle-for-a-woman type things).
---Writing forsaken love letters with the penitentiary stationary to a lovely girl whose parents reject him and his "sins." The girl sneaks letters through the gate of her home to the lonely letter boy, who then delivers them to the prison guard. The letters, wrapped in red ribbon, are tear stained inside and smell of a cheap, yet sweet perfume...Jack spends his days weight lifting those pallid arms, reading the Bible, making license plates, and writing letters to Miss Suzy Lee, the girl I was speaking of. And since this is supposed to be a quaint story, there is no butt fucking.

So yeah, I think Jack White should go to jail.

Monday, March 08, 2004

hon' est adj free from deceit; marked by integrity; respectable; trustworthy; fair --hon' es-ty n --hon'est-ly adv .

That is also one of my favorite words-the adjective especially.

You can tell people what they want to hear, or you can be honest. That's assuming people don't want to hear the truth. I think that's an honest assumption, huh?

Honestly, think about honesty, and be honest.

And why is it that some people are so offended when others are (saying that they are) being honest?

And when one says she or he is being honest, how can you believe them?

I suppose this all came about when started realizing how
much I dislike a lie.

For now, let's just all agree to be honest
with ourselves
first
because, if you tell yourself things you know are not true
-and you become a lie-
then you can't possibly be honest
to other people--
unless you are an honest liar.

In The English Patient, the young, yet intellectually mature, Katherine says the one thing she hates most is a lie.
And when her lover is asked about a certain bite saw on his body, he says it is from a fall or a fox, he's not sure. Katherine chimes in and says it could be from a woman. And the men laugh, but she was being honest.

Honesty is the best policy. -That's one of few cliches I believe to be true.

I will close this entry with a few lines from a guy who wears vivid green pants up to his armpits and pearls and calls himself Andre 3000:

"I don't want to meet your daddy,
I just want you in my Cady.
I don't want to meet your mama,
I just want to make you cumma.
I'm just being honest."

~"Hey Ya" Outkast

Sunday, March 07, 2004

...But I always thought of her first.
I saw my hair being curled with a hot iron, cheeks pink, wearing red meant -forgetfully- for new beginnings. Something sweet was to be presented, and that's all I could think of. Seeing just an image that will most likely never exist tangibly. This picture is a feeling, and it can touch people.

***

Sunday evening radio shows that come and go.


So, here are the main points for my Womanifesto:
-Independence
-Honesty
-Individual

The book Cunt by Inga Muscio suggested every woman write a "Womanifesto." Here she talks about it:

Defining and articulating your beliefs serves you in any context. By taking
that step further and causing those beliefs to exist in the material world, you
contribute to a social climate of cuntlovin' evolution...

A womanifesto does not have to be written. It can be a song, dance, painting or
whatever medium stirs passionnin your heart.
(185)

I think this is a great thing for any woman, any age; any socioecon. status; any religion; any whatever to do. I have done mine (in writing, my favorite medium). I started it after I finished Cunt which was a while ago, and I am still perfecting it. Only part of it I posted above. It can be a lot of fun, but mostly an interesting thought provoking process - thinking about society, gender / sex, but especially deeply thinking about yourself -all this as a woman.

I also greatly suggest reading Cunt. My friend Dana suggested it to me, and I loved it. My personal opinion, some of it is rather radical, Muscio is obviously a man-hater, a little but of a flake. BUT, she writes the book as objective as she can, she "warns" the reader about her predisposition, which has its slight undertones, but does not interfere when the reader is willing to communicate. ***And not just for girls either. I think it is an very interesting book for a man to read. Muscio doesn't suggest this anywhere, and though I don't think she would. Though, I do. Guys ought to read this and be proud of their

so-called
counterparts.

That's Cunt: a declaration of independence. Muscio, Inga. Published in 1998.
IBSN: 1-58005-015-8

See what all this Cuntlovin' is about.

Friday, March 05, 2004

Ambivalence.
I don't have my dictionary on me in order to type out a definition. But it's a cool word. I like double meanings, when words can mean two things, good and bad, and it creates ambivalence. When one says "" and the other hears "" and feels
Picture a wedding dress 5 years old stained with wine. It was a wonderful day save the wine spill, due to a small tiff, small but unresolved. But 5 years later the wedding picture without the wine still hangs in the living room. And the beautiful bride 5 years later still looks at that and smiles and then remembers the wine. That's ambivalence.

look it up, in a thesaurus, I love thesauri
It's a great word. Try it in dialogue.

Thursday, March 04, 2004

The suburban mall...
Near the time I was to meet my little brother, who made me take him to the mall, I had my mental radio on The Clash's "Lost in the Supermarket."
"I'm all lost in the supermarket, I can no longer shop happily.
I came in here for a special offer, a guaranteed personality"


I used to spend whole afternoons there, after school before dinner, Friday and/or Saturday nights. I got a a total of ten ear piercings there, ate probably 80 servings of Manchu Wok Sweet and Sour Chicken, and 3000 Basken Robbins' Mocha Blasts, and roughly 45 hundred No. 1 combos at Chick-Fillet. Three pair of shoes I can clearly recall, 2 Adidas Superstars of odd color and 1 pair red Chucks. I've got infinity shirts on sale. 1 pair of plaid pants.
Rain or shine hot or cold. The Mall was my rat hole.

Early on though, in my stroll through the bazaar bazaar I spent about 1/4 of my teenage life at, I grew bored. Passing The Gap, I challenged myself to The Gap Game. My mission: to make it to the back of the store, touch the back wall, and make it out of the store without the interference of an employee. And about halfway through-going strong-I came upon a pair of black straight leg slacks, though a ridiculous $49.50, they looked just like I always dreamed, a pair of fucking plain black pants, and in my size, go figure. Fondling the inconvenient piles of oddly folded pants, still, no one approached me.

Could it be that I was in heavy black eyeliner, a 1982 Goodwill pirate looking shirt, and fading jeans with a flare of safety pins? I fear I was not Gap enough.

I tried on the pants, did not look how I expected, I did not fold them properly, I put them on top of the pile-the size 12 on top of the size 00. I think 00 is an imaginary number.

Still, I browsed. Still, alone. Alone. In The Gap. Utterly, cargo pantsed, alone.

Needless to say, I made it. A triumph I shared...Alone.

Then, I went a few stores down to the Wet Seal, (a clothing store called Wet Seal, but there were no aquatic mammals). They gave me two free shirts, a free pair of pants and a free jacket, an totally insane buy 1 get 2 free sale!

But most of all, the two girls working there were very helpful and nice. They set up a dressing room for me, helped me find black pants, and greeted me just as kindly as they did everyone.

--As opposed to walking into other stores where the kids (most likely younger than I) ignore me and rather greet the kids that look more like them. The girls at the Moist Aquatic Mammal store weren't dressed like me, so what gives man? Say Hi to me! I will say Hi back. But maybe, that's what they are afraid of...

Well, all was lost when I entered an American Eagle Outfitters looking for sandals. I still can't believe it, "Warsaw" by Joy Division playing in the store. Fucking Joy Division!!! I was so out of it, I thought in my head, "Whoa, I believe they are playing Gang of Four." Oh, but no, it was indeed-Joy Division. I wonder if the guy working there, who did not say Hi (and who obviously thought he was on the Virginia Beach Boardwalk) knew that song, that band.

I left the store, (imagining myself) knocking over racks of halter tops...

But, the Cherry Coke from the food court made it all right. The End
Taking off
makeup
black smudges
and even
a little red blood
on white wash
cloth
slightly moist
cold--
you wait
for her to say
something
profound
but she just smiles
silly though it's so
sweet to see.



Wednesday, March 03, 2004

Professor Stevo and his young student, Ms. A. Jones, departed on a wondrous journey through...The Brave New World, in keeping with the theme of this blogger. IT was a -daunting- task for sake of an adjective, but one quite anomalous.

Aborting the former study, the ESP of carpenter ants under the influence of Tropicana Pulp Free orange juice in 50 degree weather at 5 am-okay this is just getting silly-the two scholars decided to go out for some pizza. Here, at a stereotype Italian pizza shoppe on the Lower East Side, they found the mysteries of the universe, have been SOLVED.

Solved, yes, solved I say, in a simple story. So simple, it will be detrimental to those seekers of knowledge who read astrophysics books in between English classes and during their lunch breaks. It would add a capital "A" to all the capital "Q's" that ever were, and therefore, completion. And completion, why, what would be the point then?

Professor Stevo was devastated, "What have I to do now?" he exclaimed, even his normal flat computer voice was full of sorrow.
Ms. Jones attempted to comfort him amongst her own distress. Nearly 6 years and hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans were meaningless, and a hunger for pizza brought her to her own demise. "But, there is nothing for me anymore, what do I do Professor? You have so much more than me, you have a family, respect and valor, a cool talking wheelchair. Me, I have a cramped third floor room in South Oakland, an 18th century etiquette book, and past due rent."

And then, from behind the pizza counter, "You have an 18th century etiquette book?"

"Why yes, I do?"

"With a red cover and gold trim?"

"Uhh, I think, yeah sure I do."

"Eureka! I have completed all my searching! I have found the piece to end my lifelong search!"

And Ms. Jones hoped that she was right about the book.

Going home to her apartment, while being hounded by the landlord, she found the book, only with great disappointment. It was in fact blue with silver trim. Was that guy at the pizza shoppe going to be pissed! And, Ms. Jones knew he would be disappointed, that his life was not complete. He seemed so happy, how could she fail him? Going to her landlord, who was also a warlock, she pleaded he conjure the book into a red, gold trim that the man wanted and promised to pay the rent as soon as she could get the guy to pay her for the book. This was a deal, and soon enough she had brought the book to the man, who nervously discussed a payment.

"Well, you see, I have no money," he said. An argument ensued, but Ms. Jones was no good at arguing with hard ass Lower East Side pizza shoppe Italians. So , she just him have it, right in the nose, a swift right hook. Then, she took the book, now full of magic, and hopped a train to Arles, France. Yes, I said train.

There, the book found itself in a tourist shoppe, Ms. Jones found herself awaiting her warlock landlord in Cafe Van Gogh sipping cafe creme, and sure enough Professor Stevo was in England with his family and fellow scholars who respect him, looking for his lost marbles. That's one thing that he never did, was find his marbles that he lost when he started his studies.

Therefore, the pizza man never got his book, the landlord never got his rent, Ms. O never had enough cafe creme and constantly was jumping at every landlord that crossed her path and could never figure out how she hopped a train to France, and dear old Professor Stevo never found his marbles. No one was ever complete.

Nevermind the truth about the universe, we've never found our marbles.

THE END

Monday, March 01, 2004

Re-cover-ree
RE: Monday in the boondocks, I don't know.
Sometimes, I just don't want to be serious, you know? Ever, I never want to be serious. It's so surreal, and it's so real, when there is a woman somewhere in the World - such an odd word - somewhere in time, who is quite alone in her head and has nothing and no one, she's lost a child, not by accident, and she takes care of a man who has no identity himself, not even a face for the people he knows now in this World he was dropped off in. It's unimaginable in tangible existence, but somehow I found it fathomable in feeling on an Ohio turnpike, West, the sky was pink and purple, while something like shoegaze played in the tight car, and I was really safe as far as I thought. I put the handmade bookmark on page 76, and watched what little constellations I knew come out to play.

Oh, but you are to laugh, Ashley's ugga wugga potato is rotting. Have a nice day kids.

RD: The English Patient