andrewski's Xanga

Tuesday, February 17, 2004

Tue, 17 Feb 2004 12:30:36 GMT

My pictures are available online.

Enjoy!

Thursday, December 04, 2003

Thu, 04 Dec 2003 23:00:24 GMT

"Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar."
—Bilbo Baggins

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Tue, 02 Dec 2003 02:43:23 GMT

Today is the day of reckoning for our old friend Andrew. Today he pays for all of his shortcomings and failures throughout the semester: why has he yet again waited until the last minute to finish his work? why has he become so cynical? why is he out of energy? why is he so disconnected from his home, from his friends, and from the goals he has set for himself? why in the world hasn't he learned a few lessons by this point?!

What will come of ol' AC? Well, in four days he'll be home, and perhaps the respite will rejuvenate him; he is sure that being there will give him a fresh perspective to face the coming days. In the meantime, we all wish him a hearty Godspeed.

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

Wed, 26 Nov 2003 23:17:35 GMT

The last weekend for us in Austria begins. Here I stay, opting out of another weekend of travel. I'm tired. I've travelled so much, am worn out and homesick, and am sapped of energy. It's been a long time since I've been to church. I don't mean to lament....

Yesterday (Tuesday) we had our Thanksgiving dinner. It was really nice to let our Austrian friends join in our holiday. I was able to talk with Georg (the hotel owner's wife's 15 y/o brother), mostly about school and English and German. It was fun. The food was good (but not Mom's) and a few of us even provided some musical entertainment.

The opportunity afforded me a chance to remember all that I indeed have, all that God has given me. In that respect, my travelling matters less and a few other things—family, church, life goals—come out to the forefront. Call it the lament of the weary traveller, but I am looking forward to getting back to those dear things.

At the same time, I am not at all down about Europe. Aside from not having free refills or other equally insignificant things, I really enjoy it. It's not Europe I don't like, but the incessant unsettled travelling; if I were living here (preferably with my family around), I think I'd be fine.

Speaking of, lately I've been really thinking about teaching English here. (I know, Don.) Being in these German-speaking countries has done wonders for my German, and as I've been helping friends out with their German homework, I see how much I really do have a knack for relaying the ideas... and I love doing it! Of course, I'm not majoring in English, ESL, or even education, but there are plenty of options out there. We shall see.

So, here's wishing you all a happy Thanksgiving!

Monday, November 24, 2003

Mon, 24 Nov 2003 20:54:30 GMT

Die Herren der Schöpfung
von: Andrew Conkling

Mit Freunden find' man Freud'
Aber sie ist flink und flüchtet
So jene folgen ihr
Folgen ihr in fremde Fantasien
In finst're ferne Flammen
Und in der Ferne entdecken sie flimm're Fried'
Aber viele feste Felsen fratzen sie
Sie werden flau
Obwohl steht's nicht flach
Folgen sie an Freudes Fersen

Aus das frierte Land
Zu den Friedensberg
An Gotts Gipfel
Sich über ihren Erfolg zu freuen.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

Wed, 19 Nov 2003 22:57:06 GMT

A few reflections this week. I'm still quite ready to come home, but have more or less resigned myself to enjoy the remaining time that I have; it's certainly not every day that one has the chance to travel around Europe and I should not treat the opportunity lightly! I've noticed an ironic fault of mine: I have gotten homesick on this trip, of course for family, but also for random small things that I would have never have expected to miss. All the while, I realise that I'm missing out on the very good things around me. What seems like a reappreciation of those things back home is really just a reversal of the age-old "grass is greener on the other side". So I will set out this weekend trying to appreciate all the things that I have in such abundance!

The other thing I've been thinking about lately began with a reading from my intercultural communications book. It's been talking about the experience of travelling and then returning home. It reminded me that when I return home, I need to watch out for elevated expectations and idealisations of people, things, routines, and relationships. I must remember that I will not be returning home to a vacuum, picking up exactly where I left off with life and routine. It's been good in that regard that I've been in good contact with family and friends. And yet, it shall be interesting, it shall be interesting indeed.

The Schwarzwald (Black Forest) was quite nice. The ride from Munich to Ulm was increasingly beautiful and the last leg from Ulm to Titisee was even better; rolling hills with tall pine forests, purple bare trees, and large fields through which we could descry small towns—the largest thing in them a church steeple—in the distance. It was beautiful.

Our destination was the small (yet somewhat touristy) town of Titisee, and our hostel actually lay even outside of it. It was nicely picturesque, with a lake off to one side and trees all around. Yes, yes, they had cuckoo clocks and all sorts of Christmas decorations, and yet no grocery store. They had only a small market that closed from 12.00 to 14.30. So we trekked to the nearest town (Neustadt) by train and walked 40 minutes outside to—of all things—an Aldi's. Yup, just like the States's: cheap good food, although the selection was pleasantly different. Zach and Brian went in on a bottle of cognac and I bought some cashews and carrots; when you don't have a kitchen, you stretch the meaning of "good eating". All in all, the trip lasted four hours! The best part was the fact that we had such a good time indeed—no complaining, no pressure to get back so we could do 50 thousand things, no anxiety at all. Quite a respite. When we got back, we ate and ate... and sat in the room all night. You can imagine—especially if you know Brian or Zach—the breadth of things we talked about... oh, to be a fly on that wall.

Saturday, we went hiking in the forest. Not as gloomy as expected, but quite beautiful. It reminded me a lot of the foothills of the New York Adirondacks, though with thicker trees and a slightly different colour: darker, deeper green. The view around was amasing: small towns everywhere, the glimmering lake between the hills, and a bit of snow on a small mountain in the West. Quite a different experience than Gimmelwald, but you could see how Beethoven and company were inspired by it all. Brian and I spent much of the walk back talking about music, which was nice; there hasn't been much of that on this trip, and he has unique and strong opinions. Once again, we hung around the hostel that night—Brian and Zach gulped down the last of their burning alcohol—and we stepped outside for a bit to see the Moon greeting us in the East behind scattered clouds. My favourite kind of night, compounded by the presence of some good company and—aha! here it is!—the awakening of the gloominess of the forest in the night. It was indeed Black—blacker than you would simply expect from being away from lights.

What was it about that group that was so amasing? I still don't know, though I imagine that part of it is that we are all serious-minded young men with more than a penchant for the noble and high things that call us by name. As we stood outside in the night, Brian and I looked to the sky and Zach looked around expectantly, waiting for horsemen to come and deliver their message. We were all watchers, looking in wonder, looking around us for truth. We know it will come, yet we know not when; until then, we wait in hope.

I bid you all a fond and loving adieu as I leave for Krakow. Godspeed you all in your ever-dynamic lives....

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Thu, 13 Nov 2003 00:20:26 GMT

I've been so long away,
Now there's quite much to say!

(2 entries tonight; watch for it.)

Hello again. After what seems like much longer than the three weeks that it's been, I'm back in Salzburg, at this moment getting ready to leave once again for the weekend.... Am I too spoiled if I say that the travelling I am doing, though decidedly wonderful, is a bit much? In the past two weeks, I have been to Barcelona, Spain and Florence, Rome, and Venice, Italy. Some of the neatest places in the world, and yet I have become so calloused and just plain worn out that I just sort of whizzed through them.

Spain was pretty wonderful. The travelling was decidely not so—30 hours of trains, sleeping on airport floors, and bumpy planes—but we ended up making it ok, though more than a bit tired. The next few days were pretty good, though the girls even got on my nerves a bit, something I chalk up to a bit of my own selfishness and lots of combined stubbornness.

By the end of the trip, I was pretty tired of lots of things, namely the trip. In a lot of ways, it really encourages selfish behaviour in us. We can get pretty self-centered and focused on seeing and doing a bunch of things that really have no basis in normal life: money appears every week from nowhere, our biggest worries are about train times and hostel reservations, and I (I don't know about others) am putting a lot of things on hold back home to do this trip. We don't have any sort of good spiritual basis, other than the number of churches we happen to stumble into just to look at. Reading Ecclesiates on the train out of Spain just increased the mood; it indeed often feels like we are simply "striving after wind" on this trip.

Fittingly, I got ridiculously sick after I arrived in Italy. I was able to see the important sights in Florence—like Michelangelo's David; wow!—before I was bedridden, but I had to ride out a day there and one in Rome just trying to muster up some energy. I got a chance to see St. Peter's (and the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's Pieta) and we had an audience with the Pope—both pretty cool experiences—but we were pretty worn, and by the time we got to Venice, I think almost all of us just wanted to go back to Salzburg or, better, home. Quite unfortunate, because St. Mark's Church was quite beautiful with its mosaics and peaceful with its darkness, one of my favourites that I've seen on this trip, but I was too worn out to really appreciate it.

Needless to say, it was nice to get back to Salzburg, where my mood has improved and my mom's cookies were waiting for me. A well-timed taste of home! It's been good to settle back into relatively comfortable living, but nothing will beat heading home and seeing my family. Off this weekend to the Black Forest (Schwarzwald) of Germany with Zach and Brian—an appropriately quiet weekend.

I've affectionately been given the nickname "Grandpa" for my beautifully cheesy sense of humour, though there are some that would be reluctant to even call it that.

Well, dear family, I love you and miss you and look forward to talking to you perhaps this weekend...? :) Dear friends, I miss you all dearly and am thinking of you quite often!

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Thu, 13 Nov 2003 00:16:47 GMT

I wrote a paper for my intercultural communications class that sort of sums up much of my thoughts lately. You'll have to sift through the required term usage, but here it is:

Prejudice is often thought of as behaviour exhibited against another group for one reason or another--all of them bad. However, in examining my own prejudices, I have found that the one that I exhibit most often in recent is directed at my own group: Americans. Granted, the context of my prejudice is against the backdrop of the European culture in which I presently live, where Americans are the minority, but the fact remains that I am still one of them... and this is still prejudice. An account of my prejudice reads as follows [compiled into one story from many small incidents]:

I was on the way to the train station in Salzburg to leave for my trip for the weekend. Two friends and I were heading to Switzerland for a chance to see the beautiful mountains and to get away from all the big touristy cities. I was particularly excited to be going with two other people who knew German; perhaps we could all blend in a bit more and not stick out as ignorant tourists as we so often seem to do.
Speaking of, as we were walking down a street, we saw a group of people that I immediately pegged as Americans. It was obvious; their dress, their loud, flamboyant speech, their exaggerated action. "Hey guys, those are definitely Americans," I mentioned to the other two. Sure enough, they were; it was obvious as we passed them. They were swearing in American accents--loudly. I made eye contact with the other gentlemen with an annoyed look as if to say, "I'm sure glad we're not that loud and obnoxious."
After we arrived at the train station, we had to confirm our printed train times against the actual running times that day, so we approached the train information booth. Directly in front of us was an American couple getting information on tickets to somewhere in Germany. The clerk was apparently not able to help them adequately enough, because they were getting particularly short and pushy with him. Their voices were beginning to rise and the man complained to his wife--thoroughly ignorantly, in my opinion--about not being able to understand the clerk's broken English... right in front of him! How rude! I glanced once again at my compatriots and raised my eyebrows; what did they expect?! They were in Austria! I was glad when they left, and more than a little embarassed to be standing there at that moment; even though I spoke to the clerk in German, it was probably completely obvious that I was an American. I was pretty sure that he was giving me sideways disapproving glances, and for more than a moment, I felt that I was somehow bearing the weight of the other Americans' stupidity.
It was certainly good to be on the train and in a compartment, where at least I could let my guard down for a bit. After a beautiful train ride to Zürich, we had to switch to a train to Interlaken, where we had no compartment. Suddenly my friends' loudness and our behaviour was particularly apparent to me: Why were they laughing so loud?--Why couldn't they talk more quietly? I was right next to them!--Is it rude of us to make sandwiches on the train?--Oh, I wonder what the others in this train car think of us.... I hunkered down in the Austrian coat I bought on this trip, and hid my unwelcome face beneath its welcome collar.
Once again, it was good to be out of there. We got ourselves up to the hostel and settled. That evening, much to my chagrin, as all the people staying there that night were cooking up their food or playing pool or just hanging around, the hostel owners turned on some loud American music. I had half a mind to go back to my room--where at least I had some quiet--and read the book I had brought along. However, I was quite a bit hungry, so I stayed. We ended up making small talk with a few Americans, and of course, it was a less-than-pleasing experience: they were rather uninteresting chaps and had little to say that I found interesting about the places they had visited . Turns out that it wasn't long after all before I retreated to that quiet room with that bed with that book....

It is fairly clear that my behaviour exhibited a lot of prejudice. Looking at Bradford Hall's communications book Among Cultures, it is possible to analyse exactly what types of prejudice I was reflecting. The first he mentions is conceit prejudice, where one looks condescendlingly at the other group, thinking them inferior and trivialising them. I certainly did that: jokes and comments with my friends, finding other Americans "lacking in social abilities" (Hall, 211, Among Cultures), thinking them uninteresting, rude, and loud--all decidedly negatively. Of course, all those are characteristics I embody--quite often, in fact--and ones that my friends also reflect at one time or another. My values are not necessarily perfectly reflected in my behaviour. However, here I exemplify what is called the fundamental attribution error: I cross the line of rational (if not still overly judgmental) criticism and step into hypocrisy. Though others and I may behave in the way I reject, I will explain those away situationally: we were so loud because we were excited, he was rude because he was hungry and had not slept well last night, I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt because I had nothing else clean, she does not say much because she has a host of old reasons why she now does not share her opinion much. However, when others behave the same way, I will immediately stereotype them. It does not help that on any given day, I may walk by ten Americans who are not acting stereotypically and not notice them, because their behaviour fades into the background of the "approved" European behaviour.
Of course, my conceit prejudice does not cross the line into blatant prejudice, which would be more direct, active, outward, and likely violent. However, the internal prejudice is there, and is arguably more dangerous for its ability to be easily concealed.
Another type of prejudice that my behaviour does not quite represent is symbolic. I have no position of power over the group (other Americans) and can thusly not act/think prejudicially out of worry for that power. However, if anything, I am fighting out of the opposite corner: by breaking away from the stereotypical Americans, perhaps I can remove the implicit stigma that Europeans have for us and gain some social advantage (a small form of power)--even if only incidental social graces--with the Europeans.
I also show a relational form of the tokenism brand of prejudice. By giving pat conversation to Americans when I feel like it or when the situation forces it, I can pacify most by not relating with them on a deeper level, something I tend to immediately consider undesirable. Of course, with my blanket rejection, I fulfill my own prophecy and quell any chance of actually meeting some exceptions to my self-induced stereotype of superficiality.
My tokenism--passing off my trivial conversation to avoid the better personal sort--operates to support my ability to keep 'undesirables' at arm's-length, another of Hall's types of prejudice. I may avoid as much contact as is possible to preserve my distance. Often, I have even avoided my own group members--or at least wanted to--in some public situations (restaurants, trains, tourist sights, etc.) where I thought them to be embarassing.
In addition to the forms my prejudice takes on, it also serves a multitude of functions. Unlike some other forms, it is not utilitarian, in that I do not derive any material or tangible gain from it. However, I do attempt to derive social status from my prejudice, in that through separating myself from the stereotypical American, I hope to gain more respect and acceptance from the Europeans. This, of course, is all a reflection of my own insecurity with my own identity as American, where I feel particularly out of place in Europe where many have negative opinions of us. How many times I have wished that I was able to walk around and completely blend in with those around me! I forget that my American identity has some value too and end up wanting to shed my entire identity--good and bad--to avoid the bad qualities.
On a side note, it is particularly interesting to examine my attempts for social status in light of one of my espoused worldviews: I would say that I value ascribed societal positions over achieved ones, yet I obviously work hard--and worry and prejudge--to achieve and to maintain a status of social respect that I cannot claim to own.
Though I do use social standing to bolster my ego by trying to harvest some benefits from my reactions, I do not operate in the ego-defensive mode as Hall defines it. I do not blame my own failures on other Americans to make myself feel better--or at least, if I do it is not because they are Americans.
However, I do exhibit the value-expressive functions of my prejudice, albeit cast in the inverse. Instead of prejudging outwardly on another group to preserve some inward values my own group possesses, I espouse the values of the outer group (Europeans) and use them to eviscerate my own (Americans).
Lastly, it would be appropriate to mention the narrative types that my story represents. It would not fit the Personally Afflicted model, for I have never experienced any awful things among Americans that would colour my prejudices therein. Nor have I experienced the vulnerability or assumed danger that would be indicative of the Their Turf type. Lastly, I harbor no presumptions of System Abuse about the Americans that I have found; there is little opportunity for them to abuse the European systems in the same way they could their own in the States. (Perhaps these are only because I am indeed, no matter what I may think otherwise, an American and thusly a member of the group about which I have prejudice.)
However, my narrative reflects some Social Pressure around me, though again on the inverse side from what Hall describes in his book. Here I am pressured by the outgroup, the Europeans--though admittedly thoroughly self-induced; I do not think the real pressures on me are as high as I perceive--and when in situations with both Americans and Germans present (like the train station and hostel mentioned above), I try to completely avoid all American identifiers--for example, I wish to speak German with those around me, even my peers. I even have gone to the point of valuing the Austrian coat I bought here because when I wear it, I fit in better and look decidedly less American.
Even more completely does my narrative represent the Morally Better type. I certainly do find other Americans to be inappropriate and would probably say that that is their fault. I, of course, would count myself (and, admittedly, some others) as exceptions to that rule. However, because Americans on a whole are more than a trifle embarassing, I tend to try to avoid the title of American and all of its assumed connotations. Hall characterises my behaviour in social identity theory; disliking the negative connotations of being an American, I "seek as much as possible to join the dominant group and to distance [myself] from [my] home community" (Hall 120). My German-speaking, my coat, my attempts to observe public social norms and interpersonal communication--all these reflect my attempts to "join" the Europeans.
All of this culminates for me as I began thinking about this paper. In reality, all of these actions--though I lumped them together for the narrative's sake--have happened piecemeal, spread out over time. Yet when I have been forced to step back and to reflect, I see that each brick of prejudice has built one house of cards that I hardly recognise. Almost everything that Hall talks about under the prejudice umbrella fits under my own umbrella, in my prejudices, in my actions, in the logic that leads me to think and to act. It must stop. I had not ever really thought about the level where my thoughts and actions fundamentally turn from harmless criticism into flat-out prejudice. However, I realise now just how much my prejudices are present and how they really do influence my actions and thoughts... at a near-unconcious level, even; my intention has never been to treat people with immediate prejudicial contempt, but that is what I end up doing. The worst part is that it can easily pass unnoticed, for much--if not most--of my prejudice happens in my mind, while my actions more or less veil the thoughts.
One strategy that I am working with at the moment is to consider rationally my prejudice outside of a given situation, to come to decisions about things, and to try to manifest them when the rubber meets the road. In the thick of a situation, it is easy to revert to one's preconceived thoughts and prejudices, but if I take the time to tear those down and to build better ones, it will become easier and easier to affix the new thoughts when appropriate. Of course, the process itself is quite hard, and more than a bit taxing on the mind and the spirit, but soon, the bones which have broken will rejoice (Psalm 51:8), being reassembled with conscious positive effort.
One of my friends, when we were talking about my experience of this prejudice, remarked, "We can neither hate nor love something about someone else except that we hate or love it about ourselves." He and I do not know where he first heard that-and a search on the Internet was to no avail-but it is certainly appropriate and an invaluable reminder to my struggle with prejudice. My American identity is certainly something with which I struggle, but I grapple with it precisely because it is something I value; it is not something I can loosely toss aside, and it is not something I am happy with. Therefore, I am trying my best to take up some of the European values that I appreciate, and I have simply gone too far at pitting them against my own native values. It is a problem, to be sure; I must not rationalise away or discount my wrongdoing and faulty thinking. However, it is equally as important to maintain a positive attitude about the fruit of my labour and the point of my effort as I attempt to reconcile my actualised thoughts with my ultimate values and ideals.

Thursday, October 23, 2003

Thu, 23 Oct 2003 23:14:20 GMT

Grüßen von Salzburg... yeah, I know, I'm supposed to be leaving for Spain, but as I mentioned to a few people, a large group of aliens all named Rupert abducted a group of train cars headed for Barcelona this weekend. That is to say, we couldn't get seats and are flying out Sunday morning. It's actually nice, because I get a day to do nothing in particular tomorrow—for the first time in a while—and because I got to register for classes tonight. (That's why I'm up past 2am.) Here's the tentative list:

Advanced Calc, Discrete Math, Topology (no, not maps, though there are surely a shortage of topographical ones in Switzerland), Native North American Peoples, American Mind, and Music Connections II.

Should be a good, if not hard, time. I'm going to have to reteach myself calculus when I get back to the States, which should be fun.

Other than that, not much going on. We finally made the trip to Füssen and the Neuschwanstein castle today. It was foggy, but nice. And now, off to bed!

Sunday, October 19, 2003

Sun, 19 Oct 2003 22:37:50 GMT

Gimmelwald. ...Wow. Take a look where I was this weekend:

Those houses in the distance make up the small mountain town of Gimmelwald. Ahh....

Thursday morning Brian, Zach, and I got up quite early and headed for the train station, leaving at Zürich at 6am. We slept for quite a while on the train, and I woke up to the sight of the Alps, still in Austria, looming outside our car window. From Zürich we took the train to cloudy Interlaken, which was not all that wonderful. Our hostel ended up costing around $30 a night and was a lot like I expect typical college to be: loud music, crude and cheesy jokes—at least from "our fine-feathered friend" who checked us in—boisterous people watching dumb movies and drinking a lot of beer, and no rest for the weary who want to sleep, as they want to wake up and...

So we got up relatively early (7am) on Friday and began our ascent. At that point, we had yet to see the peaks; the clouds were particularly low, leaving us only to imagine what lay above the trees that faded away in the fog. We left Lauterbrunnen and began walking in the valley along the Trümmelbach Falls, and we slowly began ascending to the level of the clouds. At one point, we began to see the shape of the mountains above us through the fog. It was then that we realised that we were surrounded by them. Ahead lay snowy lofty peaks, to our left and right were lower, rocky cliffs with small streams issuing out of crevasses and caves. We were walking among the cow pastures, the sound of their bells coming from all sides. It was really a glorious walk. And they had a bus... pish posh....

We reached Gimmelwald after a nice steep ascent with switchbacks, and our view began to get quite good. As we came out above the trees approaching Gimmelwald, we turned around to see the Jungfrau. We were already high above the valley, yet her snowy peak loomed high above our heads. When we finally reached the hostel—aptly called The Mountain Hostel—we just sat back and enjoyed the view. We decided that this would be a bit nicer a place to spend our third night than another night at Balmer's, especially considering it's HALF THE COST and THE VIEWS ARE INCREDIBLE! After a nice evening of ravioli and bread, conversation with some other hostel guests, and staring out our room window at the mountains, we drifted off to sleep.

We woke up early and began hiking in the frosty cold. It was wonderful. As we left Gimmelwald, Greenberg the cat—we knew his name because of his distinctive personality; another hiker had named him the day before—began following us. Bounding around us, leaping up trees, and shaking his tail, I think he was protecting us. Regardless, it was a nice start and got us all chuckling. He left us as we deepened in the valley, and just as we began our ascent around 10.30, the sun finally came over the mountains and hit our backs. In T-shirts we continued ascending the ridge with the sound of the river behind us. Around noontime we stopped on a hilly meadow and made ourselves lunch. While we were enjoying some meat and cheese, we heard the sound of thunder, looked up, and saw an avalanche on the facing mountain. It was terrible and wonderful at the same time... but more wonderful, knowing that there was no hiking trail underneath that part of the mountain. We continued onward and upward, approaching the desolate peak—we were well above the tree- and bushline—of the Schilthorn. We stopped at Rotstockhütte for some fresh spring water, which tasted like snow, and began heading around the ridge back towards Gimmelwald. There were some treacherous portions, especially along the steep shale hills, but the views were wonderful, so that made it worth it. Another night of ravioli and bread, little conversation (apparently, one of the few things you will find even in the Swiss Alps is loud rock music), and the recounting of tales led into an early night of sleep.

We awoke at 5.00, an early hour, but Orion was already up and hunting. After taking the cable car down we began retracing our steps down the valley by moonlight. It was wonderful; the sound of the river was strong, a tinge of manure was in the air, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. We made our trains all day long, and though it took us the entire day, we made it back to Salzburg without event.

Only three days before I leave for Spain and Italy. It's going to be quite a trip. I'll write when I can, but I can't guarantee anything until I return to Salzburg.

Bis dann, Freunde!

(Many of you have asked for details on my various ventures. I hope I am providing well. Do remember that I'll write you back if you write/email me.)