I’d gotten out of the habit of making bread in the bread machine, and I’m back to that now, especially with school just on the horizon.

I’m also making myself promise to make homemade cookies and muffins and such on the weekends, so that there are sweet healthier snacks for them to have in the lunches.

And tomorrow, I’m planning on making homemade Chex mix.

We’ll see how it goes. This is another one of those things that I enter into with the grandest of intentions: everything I’m doing is for the right reasons–health, cost savings, and just caring about the family–but I hope it doesn’t go badly or backfire. A bad omen reared its ugly head today when I discovered that there was a small collection of mold in the container I’ve been using to get the sourdough starter going. I think I got the starter out of there without getting the mold into it, but I don’t know for sure. I’ll have to watch it and see what happens. Thankfully, I guess, it’s still a few days away from being ready for bread.

I know, it’s extra work that I might not have time for, but it’s something that I need to do, and I have gotten the kids involved in the past, and hope to do so going forward, since I want to make it part of the weekly jobs for the kids to do or help with.

Part of it too is that I’ve realized that my kids are all either 10-years-old or older, and none of them has much cooking skill, beyond making boxed macaroni and cheese, or doing simple things in the microwave. By that point in my life, I was cooking breakfasts every weekend, helping frequently with dinners, and even making lunch for myself, Julie and our babysitter during summer vacation.

It’s those little nagging things that plague you with thoughts that you’re a bad parent. Oh, I know I’m not, so don’t flame me with retorts that I’m doing the best I can, or something…I know everyone goes at their own pace, and that someday the kids will come around and want to learn what they can from me. It’ll come. I just face that realization that either I haven’t pushed things enough, or I was one extraordinary or strange child.

It’s a lot of work to be a parent, husband, employee, child, and whatever other labels everyone carries with them. Every role has its responsibilities, and they don’t seem to overlap as much as one would hope. But I’m trying. Tonight: peanut butter cookies. Tomorrow: Chex mix and sugar cookies and banana muffins. But at least everyone’s been helping with the laundry lately. That’s been really nice.

I’ll report back on the grand experiment later.

See you tomorrow.

After weeks of long weeks–the two Great Printer Projects beating down on me, along with all that the normal part of the job requires–it will be nice to have that extra day to use to just try to recharge. I’ve said it all along, though: these projects are very good things professionally, and I’m not complaining about having to do them. They’re just tiring, even though I seem to really “get” printing and enjoy what I do with them.

School preparations are the order of the weekend. Shopping was completed this evening, and I’ll admit that it was a bit odd: for the first year ever, Patrick didn’t have a supplies list provided by the school. I know, I know…He’s in high school now, they expect the kids to be ready and will tell them what additional items they’ll need. But it was still strange to wander through the store with just a list of the girls’ needs in hand.

This weekend is the last of the trifecta of summer ending events: you’ve got the State Fair, Patrick’s birthday, and Labor Day weekend. After that last milestone, it’s all normal, or at least the normal that comes from the family all being back to a fixed schedule day after day. It’s those seventy two hours of summer that will give way on Tuesday to “Fall,” even though it isn’t.

I’ve decided that either I’m getting old, or I’m anxious to just get on with things, because it seems like summer just started, or at least the part of the summer that marked the kids being home every day and not having school. Today seems too soon after Patrick took his servant trip to Chicago, experiencing his first truly “big city.” This weekend seems to be following too closely after going on an afternoon swimming trip with the girls, Patrick, Jenni, and my parents.  Just seventy two hours remain before all of the memories of the summer are placed in the memory box in my head with everything else marked “last summer.”

I’m looking forward to the year: Jenni’s one step closer to getting her master’s degree. The girls are fifth(!!!) graders at a school that is being remade right under their feet, giving us a lot of things to think about for them for the future. And Patrick…Well, you’ve heard all about that situation.

By next summer, hopefully the Great Printer Projects will have finished successfully, and I’ll have gotten the promotion that they qualify me for. Hopefully the kids will be that much smarter, more well-rounded, and larger. And hopefully, Jenni will continue to find God’s calling to be what she wants. I don’t doubt any of it, it’s just where things should be on the other end of the school year: the part bracketed by Memorial Day weekend–seventy two more hours to rest and transition.

Enjoy your weekend.

See you tomorrow.

Everyone has traditions at the fair: foods to eat, things to see and do, and maybe even a specific route or order to take throughout the grounds. And yes, we do too, or we usually have a specific order to do things, settled on about two years ago as the best way to make our way around to do things without having to backtrack or cover more ground than needed.

Yeah. Yesterday was different, for a whole host of reasons. But let’s get to the highlights, shall we?

Ah yes, the obligatory “before” picture, on the bus from the parking lot:

Within minutes of walking in the gate, we come across “Fairchild,” the gopher mascot of the fair. Patrick, always one to hug and pose with an oversized, stuffed mascot, obliged:

But wait…off on the right edge of the picture, there’s a guy with a video camera on a tripod. Wha? Why’s he shooting a video of my kid and the anthropomorphic creature? He looks so familiar…Oh, wait! Let’s get a better picture:

Ah! That, kids, is James Lileks, erstwhile columnist/blogger/video dude from the Strib, and a guy whose work I read and admire on a daily basis. And the video camera? Yeah, he used that to produce this piece: note Patrick around the 44 second mark of the video. I just have to say, though, he looks a lot shorter in person than he does in print.

Moving on, the obligatory “cheese-on-a-stick” picture, a tradition around these parts for six years now (to see them all, you can hit last year’s State Fair entry here):

And no, I have no idea what the guy is doing in the background…They just would not move.

But the main event, at least as far as Patrick goes, was the Weird Al concert last night. The tickets he and I had were unbelievably close, and he just kept saying “you’ve got to be kidding me,” as we kept walking toward the stage. Once seated, he quivered for about 15 minutes, just from the excitement.

So where were the seats? Here’s Patrick and the view from our seats:

For those of you who may not know who Weird Al is, he is a parody and comedy music star who’s been performing since the early 1980’s. His songs are always funny, and you have to admire someone who can perform such a wide variety of music and still put goofy lyrics to pop hits of the day. His live shows incorporate many costume changes, and a lot of energy. And Patrick just loves his stuff.

So as you can see, we were very close to Weird Al, probably 50-60 feet from him at any time during the show. And between telling me that this was “the best birthday ever,” and checking the time to see how long until the concert started, he spent the whole time before the show talking to the fans around us: a younger guy and his girlfriend in front of us, and a late 20s single woman next to him. They talked favorite Weird Al songs, how many albums they have of his, whether they’ve seen his shows before, or the movie…Patrick was in geek heaven, and I was a happy father because of it. In short, my son was in his element.

He and I sang along during almost the whole show. Screamed when our favorite songs played, laughed at the gags, and high-fived each other after almost every song. It was great: good music, a very close view of the artist, that we were sure couldn’t possibly be any better…

Well, until he came off the stage and wandered through the audience during a song:

He passed within about 15 feet from us, right at the end of the row. Patrick was thrilled, because he has now been “that close” to a musical hero.

The rest of the concert was a blast, and could have ended after just about 2 hours with Patrick perfectly contented with the whole show, but then came the encore:

Song one: A parody of Don McLean’s “American Pie,” called “The Saga Begins,” about a young Anakin Skywalker, who would eventually become Darth Vader…Please note all the Star Wars characters in the background…

Song two: “Yoda,” a parody of “Lola” by the kinks. Patrick stood for the whole encore, bouncing up and down, singing along, cheering as loud as he ever gets. And this picture, even though it’s blurry and not terribly clear, is one of my favorites from the night:

This was during “Yoda.” Patrick’s voice was hash from screaming and singing. He’s been standing up for the whole encore by now, and his energy and excitement never waned one bit. That blur on the right is him–moving just as constantly as he had throughout the whole show. Oh, and Al’s the guy on stage with the long dark hair in front there…

It was a hell of a day, and a great evening. A very happy birthday for Patrick. And a great family day at the fair. You can check out a few more pictures at the Flickr site. Or you can see all of these photos in a larger form or even download them for yourself. Enjoy!

See you tomorrow.

Tomorrow is also Patrick’s birthday, a fortuitous happenstance, especially considering that his musical hero, “Weird” Al Yankovic is the headlining performer at the Grandstand tomorrow night. Patrick and I will be partaking of that for his birthday. He’ll be 14. It hardly seems possible at times, and at others, I really have to work hard at remembering what life was like before he came into our lives…Back in the old days of a one-bedroom apartment in St. Paul, and five-bedroom houses in North Dakota. That all was a whole different life ago.

But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Sure, the girls are an amazing thing to watch–I mean, having twins around you every day is just a fascinating thing to behold. But Patrick–nothing against the girls–is a whole different thing. He has a mind that is turning 24×7, and the thing with him is that you can see it happening. And I just sit back and wait for the next thing to come out of that head. It’s one hell of a kick.

It’s turning into quite a week with him: high school orientation, turning 14, and an evening with Weird Al…If he doesn’t collapse at the end of tomorrow night, I’m pretty sure I will. And somehow, I didn’t take two days off this week. (Well, printers had something to do with that…*Surprise!*)

So to the State Fair tomorrow. I’ve scoped out some discounts and deals already to have them in mind: Library cards will be in tow to get us $2 off per admission!. I go in every year with limited objectives, because it’s all I really need to make it a fun time: pork chop on a stick, a chocolate malt, mini donuts, and a Pronto Pup. Outside of the food, we’ll troll the booths in the grandstand, get the obligatory picture at the cheese on a stick sign, and just wander the grounds, giving everyone a chance to get through their list of must-do items.

This year will be different because I’ll have a 14-year-old along. Wish us luck.

See you tomorrow.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

Roseville Area High School had it’s open house for the incoming frosh earlier this evening. We got to walk the halls that Patrick will be walking in just over a weeks time, see his classrooms, find his locker, and get his schedule. In short, the whole of the ninth grade school year was just briefly played out for us in just under and hour.

But, as seems to be the standard MO for parents, it set my mind a-wanderin’, back to those days now about 27 years ago (oh…my…God…Really??? Holy crap, I’m old…).

The first thing I wondered is if all high schools come with that smell of teenage sweat, hormones and paper dust. It’s as if it was painted onto the walls, or infused into the industrial grade flooring that covers nearly every square inch of floor in that school…And let there be no mistake: it’s a huge school.

That’s the second thing: is my son’s school bigger than mine was? The stats I’ve seen put it larger in terms of student body size–mine was right around 2,000 kids, his is 2,400. But physically, the building just keeps going on and on. There are signs at every turn pointing you to A-wing, B-wing, C-wing or D-wing, and that’s just one half of the building: the other half has gymnasiums, the main office, the auditorium, the lunch room, and who knows what else. My school at least was a giant, two-story rectangle, so if you kept going, eventually you’d have to turn around, or end up coming back to some area where you already were. At Patrick’s school, there seem to be a nearly endless supply of offshoots, branches and dead-ends. But this is what happens when one building is added onto enough to eventually engulf another–it’s a mish-mosh of styles, levels, and the like, with ramps and stairs everywhere. Hence the wings, none of which seem married to another in any cohesive way.

Then there was one of the big questions: did my parents do the same thing when I was heading into high school? I don’t remember an open house for high school. I’m sure there must have been something. And if we were all there, was it similar to tonight? Did my parents go through thinking to themselves that there’s no way in hell that their kid is either old enough or ready to face high school? Or at the very least that they as parents weren’t ready for it either? I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, but then again, as much as I think I know about most of what’s going to come at us this year, I’m certain that there are things I can’t possibly forsee with any accuracy. And let’s face it: I’ve never been the father of a high school student before. This is entirely new ground.

It’s the problem with perception, though: walking through his school, I couldn’t remember myself that young–I’ve always been the age I currently am and carry that as the frame of reference, no matter if I’m 14 or 41. It all feels the same.

The beginning of a new phase of our lives is coming, and very soon, judging from the smell.

See you tomorrow.

Yes, it’s a love story, centering on four men, though we don’t really don’t know it’s also telling the story of the fourth until the end of the story, all of whom have issues, baggage, or problems being in love, finding love, or showing love.

One guy is a former rocker who dumped his girlfriend at the time, and now, eight years later, has decided he made a mistake and wants to get back together with her. Another guy is a petty thief who is afraid of hurting his victims, so he and his partner use chloroform to knock out their victims after they take withdrawls from ATMs. And the last guy is living with his ex-wife in their house that they are unsuccessfully trying to sell because one side of it is slowly sinking.

A cab service and three cabbies act as the sages in the film, talking about romance and sex and women and men, both amongst themselves and to their fares who are both the men and the subjects of their advances.

The thief chooses a neurotic who lives in constant fear of life, really: she’s afraid of germs, car accidents, flying, and bacteria in and on food, among other things. Yet she owns and operates a business that tends to graves for those who can’t do it themselves because they’re too busy or out of town or out of the country.

The rocker’s girlfriend has discovered herself and isn’t sure a life with him is what she wants anymore, and isn’t sure he’s changed at all.

And the final guy has fallen for a bookish museum technician who restores the art.

And they all meet, fall in and out of love, and discover a lot about life and love at a club that hosts salsa dancing.

In the end, everyone gets what they want, and we find that love does indeed conquer all. It’s the path that the movie takes to get there that’s interesting.

At it’s base, it’s a simple story, about six people (well, seven, but I’m not giving that one away in case anyone reading this wants to see it) who are messed up, have difficult situations to work through in their lives, and are, as pop culture constantly reminds people who aren’t in a relationship, alone. And yes, the film is an allegory, meant to draw we the viewers in and recognize traits in each of the characters that we possess while it makes broad statements on life and love. But what it’s great at is doing all this and being obvious about it while still not pounding it over your head or doing it in a way that makes you want to stop watching. In that sense, it’s a very charming film.

The acting is understated, with Craig Ferguson in the lead as the divorced man, and he isn’t playing any of the over-the-top characters I’ve seen him play before. The filmmaking itself is also pretty basic and plain, letting the story do the talking and not making the visuals too disruptive.

But for some, the film will be too slow and too confusing at first…Or perhaps even too strange: the whole story revolves around two basic locations: the cabs and cab company/cafe (yeah, it’s operated out of a cafe), and the salsa club. And the characters are absurdly messed up enough to make you recognize what their problems are. So I could see how some viewers would probably go through the first half of the movie and wonder what the hell they’ve been watching. But if you like a well-made movie, or a good love story, or a good character study, it’s worth sticking through. Four out of five stars.

See you tomorrow.

I had a membership to Costco ages ago, in fact before the girls were born. The store near work at the time was brand new, and they were handing out free memberships like candy. I got mine, and I think I shopped there probably three times in the year. Sure, the prices were impressive when you ponder the quantities you were buying, but that was just it: I just can’t bring myself to buy twenty pounds of pork roast at a time to get a deal that brings the price down to $1.79 a pound.

The other major problem is that they’re so damned far away. Well, okay, they really aren’t, but a 20+ minute drive to the closest Costco for me needs to be justified, and in my head, I can’t see myself saying “gee, we really need to restock the house with 30 pounds of beef, 48 rolls of toilet paper, and a six-pack of dish soap.”

Here’s the thing: I’ve pretty much figured out how to shop for values, collect coupons, and for the last several months, how to score some freebies. And until things get a little more settled in the house situation, I can’t justify laying in a six month supply of anything because space is still at a bit of a premium. Sure, when things get cleared out, then I’d have room for the super-economy pack of 26,000 cotton balls, but until then, it’ll just be another box sitting in the way.

And another thing…The skeptical, uptight, curmudgeonly part of me keeps asking the question “are you sure you’ll save the $50 on the membership over the course of the year?” I know that the price doesn’t just help subsidize the deals, it helps assure you’ll be back several times during the membership. Plus, I do the math, where most people don’t. I see what that 30 pound bag of roasts costs per pound whereas most people see it selling for $50 or something and simply say good deal. No. Of course, I need to be rational about all of this.

Oh, there are those who swear by the store, taking trips to the store on the weekend that they’ve planned–out loud, I might add–during the course of the week. They’ve saved oodles of money of socks, bags of candy, barbecue sauce, and even, in one case, a 50 pound bag of flour. But really? Were the savings that huge? If I shop right, I can get (as I did today) 10 pounds of flour for just over $3.50. Multiply that by five, and you get $17.50…And the person who got the 50 pounds of flour paid $19.99. Sure, relative quality can be questioned, but I’m sure my store brand will be pretty comparable to the unnamed brand from Costco.

So it’s a dilemma: join and make sure I use the membership and try my best to measure the savings just so that my brain won’t go all wobbly with regret, or don’t get the membership and don’t shop there and continue to live with the guilt and nagging feeling that I’m missing out on something.

So what brought this on today? Our family trip to target for some groceries and a few other things. That’s where I scored the 2 five-pound bags of flour for $3.60. But then I looked for some toilet paper, and outside of having neither of the brands and types our butts have become accustomed to, the next best deal was on an 18-pack for $10. Seeing as how I don’t have the room for 18 rolls of toilet paper, but do have room for 9 rolls, I’ll stick to the 9 roll pack I can get at Walgreens with a coupon for $4.

But I’ll still wonder…What am I missing behind those doors???

See you tomorrow.

Whoa. Pretty weird stuff, when you think about it…I mean, who would stage a musical at 8 in the morning?

Okay, well, I went into the session pretty confident that I had this one figured out: I’m feeling unprepared for something, and I think it’s the coming school year for the family, but that seems a little transparent and obvious.

Well, yes, that does seem obvious, she said. But I’m not sure that’s it.

Well, dammit, what then? It had a school theme and I was preparing to go onstage for a play that I had absolutely no knowledge of.

What if it’s just that school is a focus in your mind right now, and you’re just feeling unprepared for many other things, including your work?

I just want to connect the dots, that’s all. Usually in heavy dreams like this, my cat chimes in and starts giving me a lecture about how stupid I’m acting or reacting. In this dream, she didn’t even appear. Though my family did sort of sweep through the kitchen like it was some sort of TV show when everyone is trying to leave at the same time to go five different directions.

I know I’m feeling overwhelmed: by work, by some aspects of life at home, by school being right around the corner, by things that I want to do and need to do and don’t seem to have the time, energy, or desire to pursue them. But does my brain really need to go there and put me in the wings of a stage musical with the script in my hand as I’m trying to scan the page to memorize it?

The doc asked me how I felt during the dream. I don’t really recall feeling anything. I wasn’t particularly sad, anguished, nervous, or anything. I was just incredulous that in mere moments, I’d step out on stage, hit my mark (which I also realized I’d have to look for, since I apparently hadn’t been to any rehearsals), and begin singing a song that I hadn’t practiced. At all. Nor recognized.

Ah, but then there’s the kicker. It was a while before I realized that by the time I finally looked at the script and began to read it in the vain hope to memorize some of it before I hit the stage, I noticed that the script was in German. Not any language I might have studied before, but German.

I have no idea what that means.

You think?

See you tomorrow.

I mean, keep in mind that last year I wrote just about 300 entries. That means that I had to come up with something to write or tell you 5/6ths of the time. It would be like me talking to you about whatever is coming up in my head for 20 hours every day. Which, when you think of it is just creepy. Or like living with Patrick. Either way. The kid never stops talking. That’s all I’m saying…

So just think of the sheer effort that would go into trying to come up with something to talk about that much: the research, the organization of thoughts into cohesive sentences and paragraphs. Being able to back up statements with relevant facts. Or talking about the latest movie or TV show you’ve seen.

Now before you start to think that tonight’s entry is just trying to cleverly hide the fact that I don’t really have any good topics to write about, you’d be wr….er…right.

Yeah. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Nary a good topic to be found, at least one that springs to mind. But I had to write about something. That’s the rule.

Rules, you say? But of course there are rules. Even though it’s my blog, and my content and design, there have to be rules, like writing to you an average of five-to-six days a week.

I’ve been trying to think up things to say here  during the whole day today. Yet the response from the brainpan is just crickets: that chirping noise when it’s quiet.

I really don’t know what’s causing it. Could it be the projects at work? The fatigue from everyday life? Dunno. I’m just suffering from a content drought.

So, with that, and the feeling of failing you, the gentle reader, I bid you a good night.

See you tomorrow.

Religion used to be the great untouchable in the world, even when it was the cause for so much hatred and pain. Now let me back up and explain this, because it’s important to hold on to going forward.

Politically, religion was historically avoided–not ignored, but also consciously not made a topic in a campaign. The religion of a political candidate in this country was irrelevant, even though some, if not most of the voters knew what religion their candidate belonged to. It was their message and views and beliefs that were important, even though those messages, views and beliefs were rooted in the candidates religion, but still not trumpeted or held up as a sign of superiority over others.

But keep in mind that religious beliefs have always been the root cause for so many conflicts throughout history.

So with that as a framework, let’s take a look just at the last week in this country.

I am incredulous not only that there are an alarmingly large number of people in the nation who believe that President Obama is a Muslim, but also that people don’t know enough about our president to even believe such a thing. And I wonder how those same people would have answered incorrectly whether Bush was a Baptist, Methodist, or Jew. (He’s a Methodist, by the way).

That the question has been given any importance at all is unsettling, because in a democracy like ours, does it really make a difference? Should anyone even care or be concerned? Does it make Obama a better or worse president because of it? Certainly not. Because in a system of checks and balances, other thoughts and beliefs all represented equally in the institutions of our government, the religion of one man, regardless of where he sits in the power structure, is irrelevant because no one single person can control this government and society and economy. Besides, when you look at the “major” religions of the world, does anyone in this country realize that Islam is the most populous of all?

Sure, there’s fear of “them” and the unknown they bring to the table, and some of it is well founded: in our media age, it was hard to live through the attacks on September 11, 2001 without feeling some emotion, and when you realize it was a deliberate attack, those emotions just grow. But just as the Spanish Inquisition doesn’t represent the whole of Catholicism, and Isreali military attacks on innocent Palestinians don’t represent the whole of Judaism, those attacks on a couple of our country’s landmarks don’t represent the whole of Islam.

There’s been a paranoia fostered here, and I fear it’s the kind of paranoia that leads to dark times and unreasoned actions. For a society that has always viewed wars it’s involved in as a “we versus them” affair, when we’re fighting a relatively small group of Muslims, the “them” in the conflict unfortunately becomes all Muslims. And fighting an entire group of people and wanting to wipe them out or at least confine them and forcibly retrain their thinking becomes frighteningly close to genocide. Which, supposedly, our society has always been against (see: World War II, Chechnya, and Darfur).

So then, doesn’t that kind of thinking cast us in a light that makes us look as evil as the group we’re fighting against? After all, wasn’t the reason we were attacked in the first place in 2001 because those radicals found our religious beliefs and freedoms to be contrary to their beliefs?

The proposal for the mosque (we’ll address the semantics there in a moment) “at ground zero” is not new. That was proposed about a year ago, and was widely supported (including by many conservatives). Yet it too has become a political issue. Sure it’s a couple of blocks away, which means the definition of “ground zero” is deliberately fuzzy. But so too is the American definition of a mosque. A mosque, as defined in any dictionary you care to research (and I’ve looked through several online before writing this) is a Muslim house of worship. It is, for lack of a better term, a Muslim church. What has been proposed is a community center. Christians have separate churches and community centers. Heck, we even have separate schools. By the same definition, those are all churches. And I don’t think most Christians would define them as such, because they serve different roles: the church is for worship, the other physical buildings are all about outreach.

So, we’ve got to tighten our definitions quite a bit. And we need to stop being so paranoid. I mean honestly, would any criminal come back to the scene of the crime to plan his next crime? Terrorists might not be the most clear-thinking group of people on the planet, but they still have basic smarts enough to work to keep from getting caught. Planning your next move in a cave is vastly safer than from a building in the heart of hallowed ground where everyone knows what it’s for.

That said, is the imam a bit short-sighted to think this proposal was smart? Absolutely. But by now, backing out doesn’t save any face because it just looks like you’re giving up because of the outcry, not because you think it’s the right thing to do. But I’d hope there was that moment when someone looked across the table and said “Hmm…you think we really should put the community center there?

Humans are incredible creatures: we can do incredibly stupid things to ourselves and others, and incredibly painful things to each other. We can be unbelievably loving and also amazingly hateful and hurtful. We can be understanding and we can be simply ignorant. The human goal of being the best person you can be has fallen by the wayside, to a point where being the best person you can be is a definition made by someone else in your society and not by yourself as an intelligent, well-reasoned person. Contributing to society has become defined in terms of meaningless actions that are purely self-serving (making money and distributing it to others, becoming famous, and advancing in a career field). And this is the problem: we have always been meant to be a community, and for other communities to exist around us, and for all communities to exist if not in harmony, at least in peace and respect. And right now, even the community is starting to crumble.

Nothing seems to be sacred anymore: religious beliefs, people’s feelings, or even community. And for that, we all suffer, regardless of which side of the political or religious fences we find ourselves on.

See you tomorrow.