Since I was very young, I've been a part of a church. I've gotten a lot of different perspectives on the ways things work, and I've been at a lot of services. Overall, it's been a great journey, meeting different people and living different places and understanding different things. However, regardless of the churches I've visited, or the topics I've studied, I noticed something that is the same, regardless of the church or its standards.
The distractions.
EVERY TIME. Not to say that I'm easily distracted, but...
Actually that's exactly what I'm saying. Hmm.
I have compiled a list of the top ten most distracting things in church. For the record, these are mostly in my experience, and if you have ever had some major malfunction that completely threw everything off then...that's cool.
Some close runners up were suddenly feeling itchy, sirens going past on the street, earthquakes, hay fever, going into labor, and wondering if you left the oven on. I chose not to include them because I had better explanations for the other ones.
Semi-related side story #1: Once in my yearbook class, I confessed that the time when I came up for the designs for the majority of my pages was during sermons. The supervisor being a Bible teacher, I expected him to be surprised and/or disappointed.
He told me that's when he had written most of his football plays.
I thought that was funny.
THE TOP TEN MOST DISTRACTING THINGS IN A CHURCH SERVICE:
10. Breath mints.
Okay. I know this is random. My family has this odd practice of bringing mints for us to partake during the sermon when we need to ease our growling stomachs or halitosis (look it up). We prefer the Altoids brand because they're so strong (the advertisements are NOT lying) that you really can't have that many without your tongue falling off, so they last a while. Unfortunately, if you've already had one, and maybe you bit into it and the dust spilled all over your tongue and you started sweating a lot as you could feel the hole in the roof of your mouth getting bigger, it gets difficult to focus on what anyone is saying or praying or whether or not you still have feeling in your face.
9. Pastors.
One of the strangest facts of life is that sometimes the best distractions are the things you're trying to focus on. I have a really good pastor, but every now and again, he lets slip a mispronunciation or a couple of odd phrases. My favorite story is during one of his sermons, when instead of telling the story of Jesus going to Perea (which is in Israel), he read that Jesus went to Peoria (which is in Illinois).
But that doesn't happen often.
8. Weather.
If it's super hot, you know it. If it's super cold, you know it. If it starts raining outside, you know it. And you hate it. That's just how it is, and sometimes you can just move on with your life and sometimes you will just go completely bonkers. I suggest bringing a big bag with an emergency sweater, electric fan, and raincoat, just in case. Because that won't distract anyone else.
7. Trains.
Have you ever just been sitting in church when a random train chugs past and blows its whistle? Yeah. Crazy.
6. Sleepiness.
I'm sure you understand this, especially if your church has comfy chairs. So I won't go into detail.
Semi-related side story #2:
So you know the Puritans, right? ("Puritan" is synonymous with the phrase "super intense people, probably named John, who might show up on your AP US History Document Based Question essay.") When they went to church, the ushers had these sticks with a feather on the end that they would use to tickle the people who went to sleep and wake them up again. Not that bad, until you realize that the other side was a club and the dudes who fell asleep twice would get a nice fat whack on the cabeza.
5. Siblings.
I have two brothers who never completely agree on anything. Sometimes they poke each other incessantly, sometimes they nap right next to you and make your shoulder go to sleep, sometimes they draw pictures of you, and sometimes they eat too many Altoids and you have to resuscitate them. You have to constantly be alert, and that can distract you from...um...being alert.
4. Phones vibrating.
Don't act like it's never happened to you. This is usually what happens to me:
*zzzzzzt*
That's my phone! I wonder who it is! No I shouldn't check my phone. I'll look after the service.
*pause*
What if it's...no he wouldn't text me.
Would he? Maybe he would.
No. He didn't text you. Stop thinking he would text you.
Deborah's looking at me weird... Great. She can see me blushing.
Great.
It's not him I'll just check it later.
It's not him I'll just check it later.
It's not like it hasn't happened before...
It's not him I'll just check it later.
*pause*Okay, well it's not like I'll be able to focus on the sermon unless I check. It's justified.
*click click clickety click*
Deborah: Hey girl did you realize that you were supposed to be in the nursery today?
3. Birds.
I went to a high school full of birds, so dive-bombing sparrows in the sanctuary probably wouldn't be all that distracting. What's weird is when they just walk in, strutting like they own the place, and bring all their friends to congregate under the pew next to you. It's quite amusing. They look like a little mafia of bobbleheads.
2. Beats me. I needed a list of ten.
AND THE WINNER FOR MOST DISTRACTING ELEMENT IN CHURCH EVER EVER EVER IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS...
1. Babies.
Let's be honest, they're kind of the cutest things ever, and when a chubby little bald person is staring at you from two rows in front of you like you're the Jolly Green Giant, you stare back and make faces. And when they sit across from you and stare at you, you stare back and make faces. And when they make faces back at you, your brother notices and starts making faces at them, and then the baby is staring at both of you and making faces and laughing at yours, and then you all look stupid except the baby who still looks adorable, and then church is over.
The end.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Snorkel is a funny word.
It's not every day I have deep, meaningful thoughts about fish.
That in and of itself is probably a good thing.
I used to really really like fish. I still do, but then... I was actually kind of obsessed with fish. I wanted to be a scuba diving marine biologist and have a pet shark in my house when I grew up. I did two book reports (probably more, but for some reason I haven't been able to force these two out of my memory) on undersea life. During visits to beaches, I could occasionally spout out useful information about why it's dangerous to step on sea urchins (because they're pointy). When I was even younger, I got a fish tank starter kit with a little brochure of the different kinds of freshwater fish that I could purchase, and I read it, multiple times a day, so I could plan out exactly which of the little creatures would get along.
...yeah.
Anywho. One day during a manatee special on National Geographic, I figured that marine biology might be a decent career for me, seeing as I waste all this time learning about these things anyway, I mean, might as well get paid for it. And that became my plan, and I was going to work at Sea World, and my future looked peachy. Sadly, one day I went snorkeling, kind of maybe had a minor panic attack-type occurence, and decided if I couldn't look at the fishies in their natural habitat, then I should maybe do something different.
I have recently gotten over my fear of snorkelling (today), and as a strictly unscientific observer, I have noticed a few things about fish that rather intrigue me.
Actually they're not that cool, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
First and foremost, fish are flippin' boring. And don't just say that's my "personal opinion." I followed the same fish around today for a few minutes, to see if it would wig out like people do, and it literally just swam around in a circle, nibbling off the same blotch of algae, and swimming away again, in the same circle, unaware of the mounting criticism behind him.
La de dahh, I'm a fish... Oh look there's that rock again! Hey! It tastes the same as it did two minutes ago! I think I'll swim around for sheer joy of the prospect! La la la la la laahhh...
Secondly, no one really gets excited about the brown fish. I feel sort of bad for them until the yellow ones swim by and distract me, because it's not like they do anything different (other than maybe swimming in a straight line). But all of the conservation laws revolve around the pretty fish, because the pretty fish are the ones that everyone wants to keep around! If you caught a pretty fish, you probably would throw it back and talk to your kids about how important it is to leave a good impact on the wilderness, but you catch a brown fish? Om nom nom.
Look at all those stupid orange fish. They think they're so hot. It's just like high school all over again.
Get it? School?
Thirdly, I might as well say it... Parrot fish look nothing like parrots.
We got back your name results. They've decided on "parrot fish."
What the heck is a parrot?
A large, tropical bird.
Uhh...
*awkward pause*
Better than "sea cucumber."
Touché.
Lastly. Have you noticed that the appreciation levels of fish are directly correlated not only to their colors, but to their appearance in the media? For example. Dolphins. Dolphins are friendly and cute. Dolphins are also posted all over T-Shirts and souvenirs and their own little TV shows (not that I would ever hate on Flipper). The result? People flip out over dolphins. Other forms of porpoise? Not so much.
What it should be: "DAD!! DAD!!! LOOK!!! It's a Zanclus comutus, more commonly known as a Moorish Idol, which is indigenous to tropical reefs such as this one!!"
What it really is: "DAD!!! DAAAD!!! LOOK!!!!! IT'S GILL FROM FINDING NEMO!!!!!"
So I wrote this whole thing out and then realized what I was having for dinner.
FISH STICKS.
That in and of itself is probably a good thing.
I used to really really like fish. I still do, but then... I was actually kind of obsessed with fish. I wanted to be a scuba diving marine biologist and have a pet shark in my house when I grew up. I did two book reports (probably more, but for some reason I haven't been able to force these two out of my memory) on undersea life. During visits to beaches, I could occasionally spout out useful information about why it's dangerous to step on sea urchins (because they're pointy). When I was even younger, I got a fish tank starter kit with a little brochure of the different kinds of freshwater fish that I could purchase, and I read it, multiple times a day, so I could plan out exactly which of the little creatures would get along.
...yeah.
Anywho. One day during a manatee special on National Geographic, I figured that marine biology might be a decent career for me, seeing as I waste all this time learning about these things anyway, I mean, might as well get paid for it. And that became my plan, and I was going to work at Sea World, and my future looked peachy. Sadly, one day I went snorkeling, kind of maybe had a minor panic attack-type occurence, and decided if I couldn't look at the fishies in their natural habitat, then I should maybe do something different.
I have recently gotten over my fear of snorkelling (today), and as a strictly unscientific observer, I have noticed a few things about fish that rather intrigue me.
Actually they're not that cool, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
First and foremost, fish are flippin' boring. And don't just say that's my "personal opinion." I followed the same fish around today for a few minutes, to see if it would wig out like people do, and it literally just swam around in a circle, nibbling off the same blotch of algae, and swimming away again, in the same circle, unaware of the mounting criticism behind him.
La de dahh, I'm a fish... Oh look there's that rock again! Hey! It tastes the same as it did two minutes ago! I think I'll swim around for sheer joy of the prospect! La la la la la laahhh...
Secondly, no one really gets excited about the brown fish. I feel sort of bad for them until the yellow ones swim by and distract me, because it's not like they do anything different (other than maybe swimming in a straight line). But all of the conservation laws revolve around the pretty fish, because the pretty fish are the ones that everyone wants to keep around! If you caught a pretty fish, you probably would throw it back and talk to your kids about how important it is to leave a good impact on the wilderness, but you catch a brown fish? Om nom nom.
Look at all those stupid orange fish. They think they're so hot. It's just like high school all over again.
Get it? School?
Thirdly, I might as well say it... Parrot fish look nothing like parrots.
We got back your name results. They've decided on "parrot fish."
What the heck is a parrot?
A large, tropical bird.
Uhh...
*awkward pause*
Better than "sea cucumber."
Touché.
Lastly. Have you noticed that the appreciation levels of fish are directly correlated not only to their colors, but to their appearance in the media? For example. Dolphins. Dolphins are friendly and cute. Dolphins are also posted all over T-Shirts and souvenirs and their own little TV shows (not that I would ever hate on Flipper). The result? People flip out over dolphins. Other forms of porpoise? Not so much.
What it should be: "DAD!! DAD!!! LOOK!!! It's a Zanclus comutus, more commonly known as a Moorish Idol, which is indigenous to tropical reefs such as this one!!"
What it really is: "DAD!!! DAAAD!!! LOOK!!!!! IT'S GILL FROM FINDING NEMO!!!!!"
So I wrote this whole thing out and then realized what I was having for dinner.
FISH STICKS.
Family bonding is overrated.
Everyone has this really romanticized view of Hawaii. Apparently it's all flowers and beaches and peaceful natives with ukeleles, a perfect place for a honeymoon or vacation or just a break from everyday nonsense.
HA!
Okay. Hawaii's great, don't get me wrong, and I have seen lots of flowers and beaches and natives smoking illegal substances in front of the entire public with absolutely no shame, but just because you're going somewhere perfect doesn't mean your journey itself will be. I know this because my family is terrible at taking these kinds of expeditions.
Actually, we always have lots of fun on trips, but never for the reasons we should.
...let me explain.
First, I should probably make the statement that any vacation that starts off with spending $35 at McDonald's is probably destined for trouble. Sure enough, after a 5 hour plane ride in an exit row with my brother (only available to those 15 years of age or older because anyone younger would react immaturely to a seat that doesn't recline) (not that we didn't), we arrived in the Honolulu airport and promptly got lost in the parking lot. We were planning on borrowing a friend's car, which had been left in the structure with the keys ready to go (because theft is actually frowned upon in some states that aren't California!), but the elusive vehicle was nowhere to be found. So naturally, we did what any organized and well-prepared family would do: ride the same elevator up and down twenty times. Soon after, we conveniently noticed there was a bridge to another parking structure, where we eventually found the car, but not without disrupting a moving sidewalk like good little tourists (as if you haven't ever wanted to go the wrong way on those things).
The next step on our journey was to locate the residence in which we were staying, or in layman's terms, hit the "Go Home" button on the GPS. Out we went, chuckling at our silly mishaps and the pronunciation of the Hawaiian streets by the voice-over lady in the system.
Now might be a good time for me to explain that until recently, I was under the impression that the language of Hawaiian was actually invented as a joke by the natives who saw the American settlers coming, and that no one in their right mind would name a street Ahumaaaaunuuuenehaha or anything to that effect. But that is a very closed-minded statement that I probably shouldn't publish.
Anywho, apparently my comments must have angered the traffic gods of Hawaii, who have been hanging out under freeways since their volcanos went dormant, and about the time we crossed onto the Awanakanakna (?) highway, a demon entered our GPS. The route spastically recalculated itself, but we weren't too worried about our location, because if those ladies know when to turn right in Hawaii, they're never wrong.
Then we pulled into the naval base.
Technically, that wouldn't have been a problem unless it was trespassing on government property against armed men who sacrifice their time learning how to shoot people. Which is exactly what it was. But they seemed very understanding when they gave back our licenses.
Post the most awkward U-turn of my life, we hit "Go Home" again, but this time we went home, and after a few promising sightings of Taco Bell, we got some dinner which unfortunately was not Taco Bell, sat down for a relaxing evening, and disconnected their DVD player.
Moral of the story: never travel without your mother.
HA!
Okay. Hawaii's great, don't get me wrong, and I have seen lots of flowers and beaches and natives smoking illegal substances in front of the entire public with absolutely no shame, but just because you're going somewhere perfect doesn't mean your journey itself will be. I know this because my family is terrible at taking these kinds of expeditions.
Actually, we always have lots of fun on trips, but never for the reasons we should.
...let me explain.
First, I should probably make the statement that any vacation that starts off with spending $35 at McDonald's is probably destined for trouble. Sure enough, after a 5 hour plane ride in an exit row with my brother (only available to those 15 years of age or older because anyone younger would react immaturely to a seat that doesn't recline) (not that we didn't), we arrived in the Honolulu airport and promptly got lost in the parking lot. We were planning on borrowing a friend's car, which had been left in the structure with the keys ready to go (because theft is actually frowned upon in some states that aren't California!), but the elusive vehicle was nowhere to be found. So naturally, we did what any organized and well-prepared family would do: ride the same elevator up and down twenty times. Soon after, we conveniently noticed there was a bridge to another parking structure, where we eventually found the car, but not without disrupting a moving sidewalk like good little tourists (as if you haven't ever wanted to go the wrong way on those things).
The next step on our journey was to locate the residence in which we were staying, or in layman's terms, hit the "Go Home" button on the GPS. Out we went, chuckling at our silly mishaps and the pronunciation of the Hawaiian streets by the voice-over lady in the system.
Now might be a good time for me to explain that until recently, I was under the impression that the language of Hawaiian was actually invented as a joke by the natives who saw the American settlers coming, and that no one in their right mind would name a street Ahumaaaaunuuuenehaha or anything to that effect. But that is a very closed-minded statement that I probably shouldn't publish.
Anywho, apparently my comments must have angered the traffic gods of Hawaii, who have been hanging out under freeways since their volcanos went dormant, and about the time we crossed onto the Awanakanakna (?) highway, a demon entered our GPS. The route spastically recalculated itself, but we weren't too worried about our location, because if those ladies know when to turn right in Hawaii, they're never wrong.
Then we pulled into the naval base.
Technically, that wouldn't have been a problem unless it was trespassing on government property against armed men who sacrifice their time learning how to shoot people. Which is exactly what it was. But they seemed very understanding when they gave back our licenses.
Post the most awkward U-turn of my life, we hit "Go Home" again, but this time we went home, and after a few promising sightings of Taco Bell, we got some dinner which unfortunately was not Taco Bell, sat down for a relaxing evening, and disconnected their DVD player.
Moral of the story: never travel without your mother.
This is why I am a dog person.
So I'm sitting here at the computer, trying to find an idea for a new post. As I put my head in my hands and breathe deeply to calm the overwhelming feelings of inadequacy (actually I don't really care, but that sounded pretty cool), I smell a familiar sour tinge on my hands. It brings tears to my eyes to even consider what caused that familiar scent. Therefore, I recount to you the epic tail* of my day's journey. I must remind you that this story is not for the faint of heart, mind, or estomágo.
I was innocently minding my business all day. I had nothing to study for in economics or yearbook, and continued to read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (by the way, if you tell me how it ends, you will come to know in a very real way the wrath of Vol... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named [see that? Nerd joke (don't be too upset if you don't understand [which basically means you're missing out on the greatest thing EVER (did you know these can just keep going and going as long as you alternate between brackets and parentheses? [I really want a gerbil!!!!])])]) during English. Then I went off campus with Zach and Christian to get a frosty for lunch and chatted with my friends about getting jobs at coffee places.
The End.
Just kidding.
Sad to say, my lovely bubble of solitary peace and joy and all that is good in the world found itself unceremoniously popped as I entered my final class of the day. On a table laid my assignment, as hopeless and gruesome as could be imagined. The orders were given:
"Skin the cat."
The poor dead creature lied paralyzed in its plastic bag, filled with the organs, dyes, and ethanol (the essence of nastiness in a preservative) that were trapped inside its body, mine for the taking if I could only make the cut*. Knowledge, triumph, and success, as it seems, pulsed through its veins, along with my potential anatomy grade. I looked deep into its shriveled eyes for any form of help. It continued to lie there, useless. Stupid cat. I took up the scalpel, donned my goggles and gloves, and proceeded with grim determination.
There comes a time in every person's life when they are faced with greatness if they only take up the courage to achieve it. I personally cannot wait until that day, because I feel like I have better things to do than sit around disembowelling dead animals. And besides, if I can skin a cat, I probably have no soul. That kind of concerns me.
SOME TIPS FOR THOSE FACING A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE IN THE NOT-TOO-DISTANT FUTURE:
*indicates a pun. Kudos if you caught it.
I was innocently minding my business all day. I had nothing to study for in economics or yearbook, and continued to read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (by the way, if you tell me how it ends, you will come to know in a very real way the wrath of Vol... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named [see that? Nerd joke (don't be too upset if you don't understand [which basically means you're missing out on the greatest thing EVER (did you know these can just keep going and going as long as you alternate between brackets and parentheses? [I really want a gerbil!!!!])])]) during English. Then I went off campus with Zach and Christian to get a frosty for lunch and chatted with my friends about getting jobs at coffee places.
The End.
Just kidding.
Sad to say, my lovely bubble of solitary peace and joy and all that is good in the world found itself unceremoniously popped as I entered my final class of the day. On a table laid my assignment, as hopeless and gruesome as could be imagined. The orders were given:
"Skin the cat."
The poor dead creature lied paralyzed in its plastic bag, filled with the organs, dyes, and ethanol (the essence of nastiness in a preservative) that were trapped inside its body, mine for the taking if I could only make the cut*. Knowledge, triumph, and success, as it seems, pulsed through its veins, along with my potential anatomy grade. I looked deep into its shriveled eyes for any form of help. It continued to lie there, useless. Stupid cat. I took up the scalpel, donned my goggles and gloves, and proceeded with grim determination.
There comes a time in every person's life when they are faced with greatness if they only take up the courage to achieve it. I personally cannot wait until that day, because I feel like I have better things to do than sit around disembowelling dead animals. And besides, if I can skin a cat, I probably have no soul. That kind of concerns me.
-----------------
SOME TIPS FOR THOSE FACING A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE IN THE NOT-TOO-DISTANT FUTURE:
- Chew gum
- Wear gloves
- Wear goggles
- Don't like cats
- Don't take anatomy
*indicates a pun. Kudos if you caught it.
You're welcome, Rica.
The other day, I was making some brownies for a friend that I promised her a month ago, and as I was reading the instructions, I noticed that I was a complete idiot for not having them memorized already. I imagined all the scratch bakers in the world laughing as I looked at the little picture of eggs and the measurements of the water and oil, which, if you have not noticed, are probably the only ingredients besides the mystery powder that went into all of your birthday cakes. Mmmm. Either way, for some reason my mind was running rampant at the time, and I decided to interpret the back of the box into what I actually was thinking while I was cooking.
BROWNIES: (or so you think)
For fudgy brownies, which turn out the same way as the other kind but are undercooked, because let's face it, if you're making box brownies then you fail at life, you will need:
2 eggs. (see the pretty picture?)
1/4 cup water.
Be sure to not use the measuring cups that Dad used to garden.
1/2 cup oil.
The powder in the DON'T THROW IT AWAY box.
For cakelike brownies, you need a box of chocolate cake mix and the ingredients required therein.
Now you may move on to step two.
...step one.
STEP 1: Preheat oven to 350 degrees for glass or metal pans and 325 degrees for dark or nonstick pans. Yes, those pans are metal too. Just heat it to 325 to be safe.
Grease bottom of pan with shortening or cooking spray.
Go buy shortening because you don't have any.
Now grease it.
Good job.
STEP 2: Empty brownie mix, eggs (go back to the top and check how many), oil and water in a large bowl. No this isn't large enough. Start over.
Stir until you darn well feel like quitting.
Spread in greased pan, carefully hiding the powdery parts that you didn't mix well enough and bake immediately. Or when the oven finishes preheating. Oh wait. I haven't done that yet.
STEP 3: Lick spoon. Find smaller spoon and scrape chocolate off inside of bowl. Sneak bits of batter out of the pan. Waste half an hour eating batter.
STEP 4: Bake at the following times (I'm not typing this out because I sincerely doubt you care). Add 3-5 minutes for dark or non-stick pans. Oh crud, I forgot to grease it. Brownies are done when toothpick inserted blah blah blah blah comes out clean? What? Just like cake?
STEP 5: Wait for oven to finish preheating.
STEP 6: Finish anatomy homework.
STEP 7: YAY!! 325!!! Put it in and wait some more!!!
STEP 8: Remove brownies after you get sick of smelling their deliciousness, resist temptation to devour them on the spot, turn off oven so that you don't burn down your place of residence, and leave them out all night uncovered because, well, as I said, you're making box brownies. You're not the brightest cookie in the jar.
Uhh.
BROWNIES: (or so you think)
For fudgy brownies, which turn out the same way as the other kind but are undercooked, because let's face it, if you're making box brownies then you fail at life, you will need:
2 eggs. (see the pretty picture?)
1/4 cup water.
Be sure to not use the measuring cups that Dad used to garden.
1/2 cup oil.
The powder in the DON'T THROW IT AWAY box.
For cakelike brownies, you need a box of chocolate cake mix and the ingredients required therein.
Now you may move on to step two.
...step one.
STEP 1: Preheat oven to 350 degrees for glass or metal pans and 325 degrees for dark or nonstick pans. Yes, those pans are metal too. Just heat it to 325 to be safe.
Grease bottom of pan with shortening or cooking spray.
Go buy shortening because you don't have any.
Now grease it.
Good job.
STEP 2: Empty brownie mix, eggs (go back to the top and check how many), oil and water in a large bowl. No this isn't large enough. Start over.
Stir until you darn well feel like quitting.
Spread in greased pan, carefully hiding the powdery parts that you didn't mix well enough and bake immediately. Or when the oven finishes preheating. Oh wait. I haven't done that yet.
STEP 3: Lick spoon. Find smaller spoon and scrape chocolate off inside of bowl. Sneak bits of batter out of the pan. Waste half an hour eating batter.
STEP 4: Bake at the following times (I'm not typing this out because I sincerely doubt you care). Add 3-5 minutes for dark or non-stick pans. Oh crud, I forgot to grease it. Brownies are done when toothpick inserted blah blah blah blah comes out clean? What? Just like cake?
STEP 5: Wait for oven to finish preheating.
STEP 6: Finish anatomy homework.
STEP 7: YAY!! 325!!! Put it in and wait some more!!!
STEP 8: Remove brownies after you get sick of smelling their deliciousness, resist temptation to devour them on the spot, turn off oven so that you don't burn down your place of residence, and leave them out all night uncovered because, well, as I said, you're making box brownies. You're not the brightest cookie in the jar.
Uhh.
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