Just Another Update, Ho Hum, Nothing To See Here

Or not. I decided that leafing through ancient tomes of dead languages to get all the letters I needed was far too time-consuming, and so I would fake you out with a rather boring title instead. This will undoubtedly be one of those jokes that I alone on the planet find amusing, but whatever. This is as much a work of self-indulgence as it is a message to the masses. So, on with my stories, many and varied that they are. This is, quite literally, the longest one yet.

When I read in a discarded newspaper that Bill Nye the Science Guy was coming to speak, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Bill Nye the Science Guy? The Bill Nye? (The the himself!) The man who made science fun and understandable? The man who won 28 Emmy Awards? I had to see it. But it seemed completely impossible. I was on the bus heading off campus, to Publix to get some groceries. The time was 7:00, and the event began at 8:00. Barring a lightning strike turning me into the Flash, I wasn’t going to make it over and back in time, given the rate at which the buses ran. (Let me put it this way: If a rival bus service decided to create a new line of vehicles that took five minutes per stop, broke down three times a day, and were in fact powered by pairs of seriously obese men on treadmills, they would still surpass the current bus service. I could get from place to place faster by gluing thousands of butterflies to my shirt and hoping they all flew in the right direction.)

So I abandoned the thought and consigned myself to a night of World of WarCraft. Not such a terrible fate, but it seemed drab in comparison to what I could have had. I emerged from Publix with groceries in hand at around 7:30. As luck would have it, the correct bus emerged just as I was exiting. On the way back, a germ of a plan began to emerge. Perhaps I could make it after all. I leapt from the bus to my room and bolted towards the Reitz Union, where the event was to take place. I arrived at 7:58, panting, but confident that I could make it. I threw open the doors to the Grand Ballroom.

It was empty.

As I later found out, the advertisement stating that Bill Nye was to be at the Reitz was a misprint. He was, in fact, to be speaking at the Phillips Center for the Performing Arts on the opposite side of campus. Glum, I slunk home, calling my father to tell him what might have happened. But he gave me the idea that I could try and go anyway! Why not, I thought? Sure, I’d miss the first part of his speech, but I’d catch the rest! Filled with a renewed vigor, I ran the rest of the way home, thinking all the way how I’d do it. It would take me half an hour to walk to the Center, and that was simply unacceptable. Fortunately, my decision was rendered easier.

There is a bus stop just across the street from my dormitory. A bus had pulled up. I ran inside, asking the driver where he was going. Since the Center was near the end of the long road my dorm lies on, and once a bus started on that road, they’d simply have to go to the end; it seemed likely that it would at least take me near my goal.

Me: Where are you going?
Driver: Phillips Center.
Me: O_O
Driver: Are you coming?
Me: ^_^

Alas, the ride over gave me no cause for jubilation. The bus’s air-conditioning had broken down, and it was packed with people to the point where I could barely squeeze past the yellow line one must not stand past when the bus is in operation. But it was even worse in the back of the bus. The windows were covered, for some arcane reason I still do not understand. I suppose it just isn’t public transportation unless all involved are thoroughly miserable. The worst part, however, was that the lights had failed in the back. This meant it was cramped, hot, and dark back there. Never before have I seen such a perfect example of the simile “packed like sardines in a can.” I half expected to exit by means of a giant key peeling back the roof.

But the bus took me to my destination, arriving around 8:20. (The fact that it would have taken only ten minutes more to walk than ride the bus may give you some indication of the speed of the bus service, if such was needed.) It was there that I realized I was not the only one who had seen the advertisement. The place was packed to the point of spontaneous nuclear fusion. There was apparently no room inside, so there was a massive projection screen displaying an image of what was going on inside. I craned my head to get a good view; even outdoors as we were, easily two hundred people were watching. There he was, Bill Nye, the Science Guy in the flesh. Or rather, in the photons that represented his flesh. This irked me.

What irked me even more was that the volume controls for the speakers were set somewhere between “Gnat’s Heartbeat” and “Cotton Ball Landing On Silk Cloth.” That combined with the background noise meant that I could hardly hear a word that Nye said. What I did catch, though, was very interesting. He spoke about the MarsDial project that he pioneered. Apparently, he worked on the Mars rovers that we’ve been sending out for years and years, and came up with the idea to put sundials on them, so as to calibrate their cameras each day. At least, that was the reason he claimed. I think he wanted to do it just because it was really cool and came up with a reason later, but whatever. His boyish enthusiasm for the project seemed to indicate as such.

I went indoors. There was still no room inside the actual theater itself, but there were television sets that were displaying the speech inside, with slightly smaller groups of people sitting around and watching. More importantly, the volume was actually set inside the human threshold of hearing, so that was a definite plus. This was where I heard the meat of his speech.

He spoke about sustainability and the importance of conserving our natural resources. After he finished talking about Mars (he talked about Carl Sagan, a once-great astronomer, and his habit of putting messages on everything we sent into space, including his Mars rovers), he went on to describe what he saw in the subject of "global climate change," as he called it. I noticed that he was careful to avoid taking one side or the other, merely stating that as he understood it, global climate change was a reality, and that the earth was warming up faster recently than it had in millennia.

Nye described this in a segment of his speech in which he traveled to Colorado to this ice core warehouse...study...place. I forget the details, but they take samples of ice from some of the deepest places in the world and study them. As it turns out, you can tell climate changes from layers of ice as easily as you can distinguish layers of rock. In an amusing anecdote, Nye related: "I noticed that the temperature was set to -34 degrees Fahrenheit. So I asked [the guy in charge], 'Why is it set to that particular temperature? Is it because of...[he described several technical aspects nobody in the audience had a hope of understanding]?' And he said 'No, Bill, that's just as low as our thermostat goes.'"

After this, he went on to speak about the environment and various ways in which we might aid it. Again, I was impressed at how he kept aloof from political concerns and just dealt with the straight science. Now that I think about it, though, he is Bill Nye the Science Guy, so perhaps it isn't all that shocking. It's like being amazed that Cobra Commander has set out to take over the world rather than help little old ladies across the street. Nye said that the environment was deteriorating, but not at the catastrophic rate some predicted. This didn't stop him from having a little fun, though. "I don't mean to alarm anyone, but we're all going to die!" he said. He stated that small contributions on our part could alter the entire planet, repeating several times during the course of his speech: "If we do this, we could - dare I say it?!" ("Yes!" the audience shouts.) "Change the world!"

It was about this time that I decided I had had enough of watching him on a tiny screen. I lurked outside one of the doors that led into the auditorium. When someone emerged, I asked if she still had her ticket stub. She said she did, and I asked her for it. She gave it to me. With it, I was able to enter, and see Mr. Nye in the flesh for the very first time. He's aged well. Didn't look as old as 51, although his 52nd birthday is coming up in just two weeks. (Send him a birthday card!) Taking my seat, I made ready to watch the rest of his speech.

Moving on, Nye began to talk about the fact that our generation was the first in the real and exploratory space age, what he termed the "age of discovery." Speaking about the differences between Mars, Venus, and Earth, he described the climate of Venus. "Did you ever, when you were a kid, play that game where...the floor was lava? Yeah? And this other part here, that was boiling acid? On Venus, it's really like that."

In the last part, Nye described how various inventions might change the world in many different ways. One in particular he focused on was the battery: "If you invent a better battery, you won't only - dare I say it?! Change the world!...you'll also make a lot of money! And I mean, a lot! You'll be richer than...well, anyone!" He criticized the modern alkaline batteries, demeaning the "huge alkali molecules" that we had to use for them. If someone could make a battery using protons or even electrons in place of alkaline molecules, he said, that would literally change everything. Nye even showed us a prototype hydrogen fuel-cell battery that fits neatly in the palm of the hand, that powers a laptop for over three days.

So that was great big barrels of fun. And that's the Bill Nye story. There was a question-and-answer period, but I didn't stay for it, because I ran into a friend who promised to give me a ride home, and he was leaving right away. Besides, I had no real interest in listening to Bill struggle through the incompetent questions he would no doubt be asked. And from what I heard later, some of them were real stinkers. It would be the equivalent of asking a chess-master "So, what's the point of that little horsey-dude? He moves funny. He must be a useless piece. How can anyone use him?"

Then we get to the matter of this weekend. (Nothing of exceptional note occurred during the week.) We left on Friday morning, early, though I had stupidly stayed up until 3:00 AM, when we were scheduled to leave at 8:00 AM. After the usual early-morning negotiation with myself to get out of bed:

My Brain: You'll be late!
My Body: But I'm tired.
My Brain: But you need to get there on time, or you'll miss the bus!
My Body: But I'm tired.
My Brain: If you miss the bus, you won't get to go to South Carolina, you'll blow your whole weekend, probably might get kicked out of band for missing such an important trip, and will definitely be pummeled by the rest of the section for screwing up the form by not being there!
My Body: ...
My Brain: Yes?
My Body: But...I'm tired.

It's depressing how often my body wins those sorts of arguments, but this time, rationality prevailed. I actually managed not to leave anything I needed behind. That's a record for me, not leaving anything behind on an away trip. True to form, though, I did end up bringing something I didn't need that just uselessly encumbered me. (My white uniform pants.)

The ride up was fairly uneventful. We watched several movies, among them the Nicholas Cage crud-fest Lord of War. It was a bland and uninspiring story made worse by Cage's unique ability to maintain a single facial expression at all times. Most people slept in the beginning, because obviously, we had all gotten on the bus at 8:00 in the freaking morning. We finally all began to wake up when we made our first stop at a rest stop in Georgia. Let me just say, that they know how to do rest stops in Georgia. There weren't any restaurants, but there was a solid wall of vending machines. There were spacious and clean bathrooms. Inside, there were helpful people ready to answer questions, and even leather couches. Outside, there were trees and grass, picnic tables, and generally nature abounded. A far cry from the dingy concrete islands that we have in our state. It was as Valhalla next to the stony fields of Nifelheim, minus the screaming rampaging warriors.

When we got there, we had to immediately submit to two hours of marching practice. Given that we had been on a bus for six hours previous, this was no laughing matter. The director was kind enough to give us an extra few minutes to stretch, but with some peoples' spines so warped by the uncomfortable seats that the Hunchback of Notre Dame would blanch and recommend a good chiropractor, this did little to assuage our pain. Complaining and grimacing, we nonetheless managed to band together (band! Ha! I made a funny) and complete the review of our halftime show. The director briefly contemplated making us go over next week's show music as well, but the understood opinion of the audience that they would rather undergo a catheter insertion by a caffeine fiend than continue the practice changed his mind.

We got back to the hotel, where we had some downtime. Some used it to sleep, others to wander around aimlessly. I accessed the hotel's wireless network and played some WoW. (What? You say I could have used that time to update? I would have mangled it, I was completely creatively drained by the trip.) Soon, 7:00 arrived, and we all took shuttle buses downtown to have dinner and sightsee. I joined a group consisting of Chad (one of my section leaders, a very charismatic and likable guy), several girls from the section, my hotel roommate James (a quiet, reserved person who only becomes animated on certain subjects, like video games - we get along well) and some of his friends.

We set about exploring, and we encountered a candy shop. I decided I simply had to have a gander at the inside. And, as it eventually happened, about three-quarters of a pound of candy to take with me. I rationalized it to myself as saving money on dessert, but apparently my comrades did not have as much of a sweet tooth as I. I exited the building to discover that Chad and the girls had vanished, and James and his friends were my only remaining companions. They're nice people, but they make Bill Gates look like Fabio. I was annoyed when I suggested a nearby restaurant for dinner, only to have it rejected out of hand for being too expensive.

Me: What about this place?
Friend: It's too expensive.
Me: You can get a burger on the cheap.
Friend: How cheap?
Me: *looks* $6.99 for a burger and fries.
Friend: No, too expensive.
Me: *dumbfounded* What were you expecting?
Friend: Something cheaper than that.
Me: This is about as cheap as it gets. You want cheaper, go to Burger King, and I didn't cross two states just to eat some fast food.
Friend: Burger King, huh? Did you see one?
Me: ...
Other Friend: I could actually go for Wendy's. There's one near the hotel.
Me: ...
Friend: Ooh, think the shuttle buses are still running?
Me: *blood vessel in brain ruptures*

I set off, with them bickering about the merits of one fast-food restaurant versus another and trailing behind me. We were recommended a certain restaurant called Hank's earlier by Chad, who said he was planning to eat there, so I looked all around for it, convinced that I could cudgel the rest of them into coughing up enough to eat there once I found it. Unable to locate it, I ducked into a nearby shop and asked directions. Once I had them, I exited the shop. Directly into Chad and his entourage. Funny how the world works, sometimes.

It was about then that I was told that they had abandoned their plans to go to Hank's, and instead wanted to go to a seafood joint called Hyman's. Anyone who knows the area will probably immediately know what I'm talking about, but for those unfamiliar with the Charleston area I will exposit further. James and his cadre sloughed themselves off from us and went their own way, so our party consisted of the following:

Myself, you know who I am.
Chad, the aforementioned fearless leader.
Renee, the artistic member of our group.
Raquel, a cheerful girl who is best friends with Renee.
Scarlet, one of two five-foot-tall 98-pound girls who joined the tuba section for some crazy reason.
Lalaine, the other such girl.
Her boyfriend, whose name I never quite got, so I'll refer to him as "Charles" from now on. Were he less of a nice person, I'd give him a less benevolent nickname such as "Booger." Such is my power.

We requested a table for seven when Hyman's came into sight. (Well, we did it once we had actually gotten to the restaurant. Requesting it when it was merely in sight would not have done much.) We were told there was to be a wait of 45 minutes, but this restaurant had been highly recommended by just about anyone who had ever heard of it, and the sign in front said it had been named the Best Seafood Restaurant in the Southeast by Food Magazine eight years running. So we waited, looking up our choices on the menu we were thoughtfully provided to pass the time.

We got inside. It was a nice place, we got a table by the window overlooking the street, and our orders were quickly taken. It was a family restaurant, and a member of this family, Rusty, came down to greet us. He asked who had thought of coming. None of us knew precisely, so we pointed to Chad, as followers point to a leader in such circumstances. (He really is a natural leader. And he's a sophomore like I am, so I'll be privileged to know him for two more years after this.) Rusty gave him a coupon for a free T-shirt from the general store downstairs. So that was nice of them.

One thing we noticed about the restaurant was the number of plates on the walls. All sorts of plates were strewn about in decoration. They had signatures and logos drawn on them from all sorts of groups and people, from the Monkees to Senator John McCain to the USC Gamecocks. We were intrigued by this, but had little time to ruminate further on the subject, for the food arrived soon.

Let me just say that the title of Best Seafood in the Southeast had not been unjustly earned. I've eaten in New England, at Fisherman's Wharf itself, renowned as some of the best seafood around, and still this place served up one of the best meals I've ever had. (One of the best non-home-cooked meals, anyway. Love you, Mom.) I had a combination platter of fried calamari (tender! juicy!), boiled shrimp (lightly spiced! flavorful!), and broiled salmon in lemon butter (melted in my mouth!). I was raving about the food for some time after, that's how good it was. Other people at the table were of a similar opinion. At the recommendation of our waiter, I had a baked potato instead of my customary french fries, and even that was scrumptious. I don't even like baked potatoes that much, but this one really did it for me. The plate was well loaded; I lifted up my portion of salmon at one point to discover more shrimp hiding under it, like buried treasures waiting to be unearthed. A fine, fine meal.

During said fine meal, we inquired our waiter, Gage, as to the possibility of obtaining a plate that we could decorate and put on the wall, to leave the mark of the mighty Pride of the Sunshine University of Florida Fighting Gator Marching Band. (That's our full title. A bit unwieldy, perhaps, but it can impress people.) He conspiratorially glanced from side to side before assuring us that he would "do what he could." We glanced back and forth, trying to puzzle out this mysterious behavior. At least, they glanced back and forth. Once the immediate mystery was over, I went right back to tucking in.

Soon, Gage brought a plate over, pressing us to keep it hidden from any lurking managers we might see. Apparently, these decorative plates were not to be handed out lightly, but a finished plate would likely be accepted (to not do so would be an obvious insult), whereas a request for one might not be. Renee, our master artist, set about drawing an elaborate design and escutcheon with a combination of a permanent marker that stopped working shortly after being uncapped and a dry-erase marker Gage had provided. Roving managers threatened, but our catlike reflexes prevented discovery midway through the creative process. Soon, the plate was finished, with a Gator logo on, the words "Hyman's Rocks" on the sides to encourage acceptance of this marvel, and all manner of decorations. We slipped it to Gage, who held it behind his back to conceal it in preparation for hanging it up.

Of course, the back of his shirt smeared around the dry-erase markers, and half the plate was unreadable. To prevent Renee from having an apoplectic attack, Gage quickly retrieved it and provided us with a working permanent marker. Having re-designed the sketch, it was hung up and approved by all. The Gator Band had left their mark. And what's even better, there was no immediate room to put ours up, so we suggested that they take down Auburn's plate, seeing as it was so old. So that was a plus for us and a minus for our hated rivals. That'll teach them to best us in football in our own stadium, we thought.

We left the restaurant, and having an hour before the buses were to take us back to the hotel, decided to lark about a bit more. We went through the remains of the outdoor market, surveyed a last few vendors hawking jewelry and small decorative objets d'art. Chad spotted an illuminated building in the distance, and we made for it, only to lose it behind looming buildings repeatedly. When it was finally found, it became apparent that it was a cathedral. Behind it, at the spot we came up to, was a graveyard. We could not make out any of the names on the graves, as it was so dark, but a sign with a light on it said "The only ghost here is the Holy Ghost." Being the sort of person I am, after reading this to the group, I turned to Scarlet and added, "And that one behind you." Since it was night-time in an unknown city, she jumped a mile, and we all had a laugh. This joke was repeated several times by several, all to great amusement. I suppose anything's funny after you've just had an excellent meal.

We eventually returned to the hotel. So was that night concluded. Saturday morning dawned bright, cold, and clear...a beautiful morning. Or so I was told. I slept until 11:00. Wishing to save money, I accompanied my roommates and some friends to the aforementioned Wendy's near the hotel. It was just as well: The money the band gave us for eating and such during the weekend had all but vanished after last night, and my funds were rapidly becoming meager. After lunch and a brief bit of exploration, we set off for the game.

The stadium was two hours away from where our hotel was. This vexed many until it was pointed out that we stayed so far away so we could explore the historic city of Charleston on Friday night and Saturday morning, which calmed the tempers of those who had previously complained. On the way, we watched a movie called...dang, I can't remember. It was about competitive gymnastics. Apparently, every other person in competitive gymnastics, from the coaches to the parents to the snotty superiority-complex performers to the judges, is a complete and utter jerk. Questions to Scarlet, who had previously participated in competitive gymnastics, revealed that this was pretty much true to life. It excited us to the point that when we arrived at the stadium (and sat pointlessly in the bus for an hour and a half after we arrived, no joke) and unloaded, the movie was just at its climax...the tuba players, who before we watched the movie would have cared about competitive gymnastics only insofar as we could watch the girls in their skintight leotards prancing around, were upset and anxious about knowing the ending. So better than Lord of War, anyway.

The game was piles of fun. As you know if you follow such things, we crushed the Gamecocks 51-31. Though they received the intial kickoff, they fumbled and we recovered on the very first play, which we quickly drove for a touchdown. And then another one shortly thereafter. Our fervor was dampened somewhat when the extra point kick for the second touchdown ricocheted off the side of the goalpost rather than going in, and the fact that they scored twice to put the score at 14-13 served only to depress the situation. That was the only time in the game that they were ever winning, though. We quickly regained our momentum and toppled their offense, and smashed their defense.

The game was an important one to win. For those who don't know, Steve Spurrier is the coach of the Gamecocks, but as early as five years ago, he was the coach of the Gators (he even led us to our first national championship title in 1996), when he left for other opportunities. Most Gator fans see this as a betrayal. So seeing him beaten was an important thing, like the student finally surpassing the master. ... I've spent the last ten minutes trying to think of a Darth Vader/Obi-Wan style metaphor to meet Urban Meyer and Steve Spurrier, and have come up with absolutely nothing. So fill in something appropriate for yourself, if you think it's worth the effort. (See? My writing is intellectually stimulating!)

Behind me were a few fans who were good to talk to. I had questions for them during the more technical aspects of the game, and they were full of questions about the marching band and its inner workings. We got along well. Another fan behind us was full of vigor for the band in the initial stages of the game (yelling such things as "WOOHOO TUBAS!" and during "Let's Go Gators," yelling "LET'S GO, TUBAS!!" instead), but quickly tired of our playing and began yelling "GIVE IT A REST!" and "COME ON, NOT AFTER EVERY PLAY!" later on. Some band members were of his opinion, but we had no say in the matter.

After the game, we rode home, finally getting to watch the ending of the gymnastics movie which we had so coveted on the way over. The interesting part of this story is pretty much over. I went home and immediately went to sleep. Our call time was 10:00 the following morning, so I set my alarm for 9:00, for plenty of time for packing and such. I was awakened instead at 9:51 by one of my roommates, Preston, charging in and yelling "Why aren't you guys [the other three of us] up yet?!? The bus leaves in ten minutes!" As they say, hijinks ensued. It's a testament to my skill to marshal my abilities in time of crisis that I was able to get all my stuff packed and get on the bus by only 10:15. (I guess my skill to marshal my abilities in time of crisis isn't really all it's cracked up to be.) Fortunately, we had apparently planned to leave at 10:30, and the 10:00 call time was to cull latecomers like me from the herd and get us in so we could leave "on time." Tricky, but effective.

That's really just about it. The rest of Sunday and most of Monday was mostly just me loafing around and playing WoW, and hearing the tales of the fun things my girlfriend had gotten to over the weekend (she had gone to her best friend's birthday party, which had lasted all weekend). So that's it. Dang, what an update.

I just realize that I had no reason to name Lalaine's boyfriend, since I never referred to him again. Oh well. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Crooked.

REPLIES.

Wednesday's first.

Stephe: I am starting to develop a mental block about you talking about cantaloupe. With a little luck, I'll be able to excise the wretched fruit from my conscious mind entirely. And my goblins are quite capable of a turn 2 win...if I'm extraordinarily lucky, but forget that. I can overcome any goblin hate you can come up with. And as for something on YouTube? I might implement that on Wednesday. In fact, I really like the idea of a Daily YouTube Mention (not daily, but I'll call it that, because "Tri-Weekly YouTube Mention" just sounds daft), and will do that as soon as possible. Which means Wednesday.

I meant like long-term detrimental effects, such as cirrhosis of the liver or whatever. I'm not interested in your anti-governmental ranting. There are better forums for that than here. You just heard about Bill Nye, how about that. I'm glad you're so entertained by the thought of me wandering around like an idiot, and you're an idiot if you think FSU will crush us. We'll wipe the floor with you.

Mom: The sermons are entertaining but unfortunately un-reproducible. Unless one of us decides to take up stenography and copies one down, it isn't happening. I think alcohol is more psychologically addictive than physically addictive, which is why some people get addicted and others don't, as opposed to something like cocaine or heroin, but this isn't the time or place to discuss such things.

Vic: I still don't get the pants thing either, and his opinion on the subject is pointless to me. I mean, it's him. What does he know from fashion? And, oh, yeah, I'm going to cut my hair soon. <3 br="br">
Stephe: My hair may be long no longer...is that correct? Yeah. Good. But I'll probably cut it soon. I think it makes me look like a girl. I'm sick of that.

Cantaloupe. Gngh.

Daniel (sign your posts, willya?): It's called proofreading, man. It'll only take a minute. I haven't followed FF or Messiah Complex, recently. But it's good you got a copy. As for mentioning Bill Nye, it's because I went and saw him. And who isn't Ultron-happy? She's Ultron, the robot everyone loves to hate and who also tried to take over the world a few times, but we don't like to talk about that.

Stephe: Don't worry about it.

Friday's, now.

Stephe: I don't know, Stephen. Have you sought treatment for your FACE? And that's good about Tuesday. It'll be in the evening, around 6:30-7:00, but I can make that earlier if that's necessary. Lalala, can't hear you, not listening, lalala.

Mom: Jake adequately answered that, so...

Jake: It was quite a lot of fun with Powerthirst being brought up in Toon. I hope we get to play again, but I think I'll actually go all the way and actually think of something ahead of time first.

Stephe: How long did it take you to come up with all that? And Chuck Norris can be persuaded to give up his hair in...certain special circumstances. Especially if those circumstances lead to the creation of a fighter jet made of biceps. I can see him approving of that.

Daniel: I just did! And Cobra Commander is such fun, isn't he? He's the villain you love to hate but who tried to...wait a minute, I did this joke already.

Irene: Glad to see you finally comment, Irene. I think that sort of blog would be quite entertaining to read about. Lord knows I enjoy the tales of students told by the teachers...I followed the writings of an American teaching English in Japan and the foibles of his students for quite some time. Yours should also be interesting. And yes, that is a classic.

Bye.