Lourve-worthy lips

Some women can’t leave the house without their lipstick.   Ummm.  I'm not one of those.

Seriously!  Before I started doing theater, I wore lipstick on only two occasions: my wedding and Halloween. 

In fact, my lipstick application skills are not unlike those of Betty Davis’ in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.  I just haven't had enough practice!

So I was really excited when I learned about lip stencils!   

At the risk of sounding arrogant, I'm a stinkin' stenciling genius. My work with alphabet stencils in kindergarten was nothing short of stellar.  And that tree I made in 4th grade with the plethora of leaves in autumn colors was simply Lourve worthy!

But much to my disappointment, I discovered that lip stencils became obsolete decades ago (perhaps with the advent of Optometry).

Did that stop me?  Of course not!  I decided to make my own lip stencil. 

In fact, I was able to apply some of the tips I picked up in my advanced cake decorating class to build my prototype.  (You do recall that I was a Magna Cum Laude graduate from the Michael's Cake Decorating College, right?)

All I needed was parchment paper and some model lips.  I didn't have any parchment paper in stock, so I used wax paper.  I decided to use my own lips as a model (although I seriously considered tracing Angelina Jolie's lips from an article in an old People magazine).  I simply outlined around my lip perimeter with a Sharpie.   

Next I cut out the stencil.

My biggest challenge was getting the stencil to stay on my lips while I applied lipstick.    

Of course, being the resourceful nerdling that I am, I quickly solved that problem by leveraging two cloth headbands, crossing at acute angles on my acute face (Sorry..I couldn't resist).

Then I began to paint my lips with lipstick!

Guess what.  Stenciling is just like riding a bike.  You never forget how to do it, and if you fall off you should get right back on (or something like that).

Linda gave me a drum roll as I removed the wax paper from my face.  What I saw brought a tear to my eye.  I am still a stinkin' stencil genius.

 My lips were Lourve worthy.

 

I'm not sure the chick on TV agrees.

But what does she know?

Piped Down Peeing

I'm sorry. I can't even pretend that this is a good product.

There's only one word to describe it: lame.

(Actually, there's another word:stupid.)

Did they conduct any research before developing this product? Exactly how large can the market possibly be for men who care about how loud they sound when they pee? 

Seriously!

I don't believe one word of the advertising claim: "The Pee Without Noise Stool is one of those ideas that's so cool we're embarrassed we didn't think of it before. We've all been there: it's 2am in a sleeping house, your mother-in-law is right behind you in line for the potty, or you don't want to broadcast the fact that you downed six glasses of beer over the course of your date."

Yes, I've been there.  I've heard plenty of these "broadcasts". But I've never met a man who cares enough to want to kneel on a pew in front of a toilet to minimize the sound of his peeing!

(On a side note, I actually did hear a live broadcast of a man draining his main vein once when my Body Jam instructor forgot that his mic was on during his visit to the Mens room before our class began.)

Don't get me wrong.  The product concept is not, in itself, bad.  However,  it is completely off-target with regard to gender. I, myself, have been in numerous social situations where the bathroom has been a wee bit too close to the action. 

The conversation outside the bathroom inevitably comes to a complete halt once I've taken a seat.  And the walls serve to amplify my....well, my urination.

But I have a couple tricks up my sleeve for such situations. Placing toilet paper boats atop the water prior to peeing is somewhat effective in muffling the sound.  And, as a back-up, peeing at a 45-degree angle into the water works most of the time (although you can't count on it). 

The people who sell the Pee Without Noise Stool also offer a product for women: Eco-Otome Toilet Sound Blocker. 

"We all know what's it like. You are sitting on the toilet and you know the people right outside can hear your every noise. Well, now we have the perfect product to help you in this embarrassing situation. Small and clipping easily to your mobile phone, the Eco-Otome Toilet Sound Blocker makes the noise of a toilet flushing to hide the other noises you might be making." 

I must be missing something.  

Why wouldn't you just flush the toilet you're sitting on? 
  

But, back to the Pee Without Noise Stool. It costs $91.  Aren't there less expensive ways for men to pee quietly? Granted, I'm not a guy, but I suspect that sitting down on the toilet might cause a bit less noise, right? I mean, it would, at least, START closer to the water.

Or how about a portable hose going from point A to point B? Something like a dryer vent?

It's not that I think the Pee Without Noise stools are unattractive. I actually like their look.  But their target marketing is completely wrong.

In fact, they should hire me to do their Marketing Strategy.  I would recommend a complete repositioning of the product.  

Introducing the: Puke Without Mess Stool?  "Why sit on a cold hard floor when you're losing your cookies!  Take a seat on our cushioned Puke Without Mess Stool!   You'll be six inches closer to the target and 100% more comfortable on our extra soft (washable) seat!"


I'm a stinkin' Marketing genius.

The Nose Knows!

If you thought the Beauty Trainer Smile was an example of creative genius, you will love my latest find!

First allow me to show you a picture this priceless innovation out of context. 

Guess what it is!

A super-hero Gumby doll? 

A can opener? 

A sex toy?

Nope. It's a "beauty gadget."

And you will not believe what this gadget can do!  According to the product's advertisements, it will "push up that nose of yours to create the perfect profile!"

Introducing the Beauty Lift High Nose!

I know what you're thinking. 

Lou, how can it possibly push my nose into the perfect profile? 

Let me explain: the Beauty Lift High Nose applies gentle electric vibrations from the bottom, side and front of your nose. You just slip it on, turn on the switch and wait for your nose to become firmer and higher.

"While the supports hold your nose in place the buzzing will help shape your nose. All you need is three minutes once a day and you (and everyone else) will soon notice the difference!"

You want to know the best part?  It only costs  $144!  

Do you have any idea how expensive a nose job is? This is a real bargain.

In fact, I'm thinking of hosting a Beauty Lift High Nose Party (kind of like a Pampered Chef party). Guests can come and try out the Beauty Lift High Nose in the privacy of my home, before purchasing their own (or a set for their family).

This product could really take off!   I'm looking for a very select group of friends who may be interested in hosting their own Beauty Lift High Nose Parties.  I've got some pretty amazing hostess gifts in mind.

The Butterfly Nose Clip is a perfect companion to the Beauty Lift High Nose. According to the advertising: "Not only does this beauty product look cute, it spreads that cuteness onto you too. Like the Beauty Lift High Nose, The Butterfly Nose Clip firms your nose."   But it also tightens your nose, giving you the high profile you've always desired. (Notice the before and after photos.)

Of course, I'm always looking for ways to reduce costs.  

I found my own version of the Butterfly Nose Clip at the Dollar Store. (It only cost a dollar.)

 And if you sell $1,000 or more at your Beauty Lift High Nose Party, you'll get a very special prize: 

Dead Man Walking

I went to Niagara Falls last weekend for a high school reunion. Before I got there I learned of the death of a former classmate of mine. Tom Forrester (pseudonym) had died years ago from AIDS. It was such a loss. Tom was very talented and was an extremely nice guy.

My brother Jim came with me to one of the reunion events. I told him about Tom's death on the drive to the party.

Except I got his name wrong. 

Because I'm bad at names. 

"Did you hear that Dan Forrester died?"

"No way!" Jim said. He and Dan (Tom's younger brother) had been on the high school swim team together; both were divers.

"How'd he die?" he asked.

"He had AIDS."

"Are you kidding me? Was he gay?"

"Yes," I said, pulling out all my stereotypes (Frank and Richard don't hit me). "Don't you remember how good he was at art? He was so gifted."

Jim was stunned. "I never knew he was gay. But, you know Greg Louganis, that Olympic diver is gay, right?"

"So maybe you're gay?"

He rolled his eyes.

About an hour later I was checking people into the reunion. I did not recognize ANY of my former classmates. I handed yet another complete stranger a name tag. He wrote down his name and I gasped.

Dan Forrester.

CRAP!!!

What do you say to someone you thought was dead? Then Dan told me that his brother Tom had graduated with me.

AH-HA!! I put two and two together, being the brilliant nerdling that I am.

I began to babble, "Hi DAN! Oh... Tom and I were good friends, Dan!  Tom was so good at art!"

And without thinking of the repercussions I told him my brother Jim was at the bar.

DOUBLE CRAP!!

I had to find Jim fast. Before Dan did.  Because Jim was drinking, and he seriously enjoys torturing his sisters..especially after a few beers.

I spotted Dan heading towards Jim.  I raced up behind him, flapping my arms, trying to get Jim's attention.  I looked as if ready to take off in flight, and was frantically shaking my head no.

Jim looked at Dan, then at me, took a big swig of his beer and said, "Dan? Didn't expect to see you here!"

My sign language became more desperate. I was never good at charades. How do you act out: I had the wrong Forrester. This one's alive. Don't tell him I told you he was dead, and that he had died of AIDS...

Then Dan turned and looked at me. I did a Lucille Ball "I'm just scratching my head" pose, and said "Oh, DAN!...I see you found Jim."

I KNEW Jim could not be trusted to keep "our little secret". But what could I do? I backed away, "I better get back to the front table, Dan"

I handed out more name tags, drank some wine and tried to forget about my little faux pas.

And by the second glass of wine I started to get a little defensive about the teeny little blunder. It was completely understandable.  In fact anybody could have made the same mistake!

Seriously!

Dan and Tom looked alike. They both had 1 syllable names. And 'Dan' and 'dead' both begin with the letter D!

It's no wonder I messed up.

By 10:00 or so I had completely forgotten about my blooper and was walking around the bar when Jim and Dan came up to me. Jim said, "Hey Lou! I'm talking to a dead guy!"

I had to think fast. 

"Have we met?"

The Bio

It was one of my proudest moments.

I received the Best Bio award at the Beauty and the Beast cast party. And at the risk of sounding conceited, it was like receiving a stinkin' Pulitzer Prize in theater!

Lou Clyde (Spoon): Lou is so very proud to once again be cast in Beauty and the Beast. Although she was hoping to play the role of Spork, she understands that the enchanted castle has both Spoons and Forks. When faced with the unenviable choice of fork vs. spoon, she decided that the spoon would represent a greater acting challenge than the violent, piercing, fork.

I still have the award tacked up on my refrigerator. Just looking at it brings a tear to my eye.

Kevin and I are both in rehearsal for Anything Goes. You know what that means for me? 

Two bios!!!

I usually have fun coming up with bios. I'm afraid, I may have had a little too much fun coming up with Kevin's:

Kevin Walt (Cheeky) welcomes the opportunity to be the center of attention. This is Kevin’s theatrical debut, and he is still waiting for the private dressing room and personal attendant his agent promised. By day Kevin hangs out in the Clyde-Walt asylum. His favorite hobbies include chasing socks and eating tampons. 

I read it to Linda. "Mom, that's embarrassing! You can't say he eats tampons!"

"But he does!" I said defensively.

So I ran it by Becca. She wrote back, "LOL...except for the tampon part"

"Would it help if I said they're unused?"

I kept going until I found someone who liked the bio. Dave voted was to submit it.

"Do you think it might offend people?" I asked.

"Well, maybe older people who can't even SAY the word tampon," he suggested.

Who can't say the word tampon in this day and age?  I saw an angel made out of a tampon at a craft fair!  (And Kevin would probably find it delicious.)

But then I thought about what the bio might do to Kevin's reputation.  Would people look down upon him if they found out about his sordid hobby?

I can just imagine the conversations: "Shirley, did you read that dog's bio? I thought he was absolutely adorable, and such a good actor! But he likes to (in a whisper) eats tampons."

Maybe I should change his hobbies to chasing socks and eating dog treats.

That's much more socially acceptable. 

But not nearly as funny.  

And unlikely to win any stinkin' Pulitzer Prize for theater.

Massage Memoirs: Tales of the Twitch

I think I need to change careers.

Although I love my job, it doesn't provide any blog material. I'm afraid I'd have no readers if I blogged about my typical workday.

Today I analyzed a bunch of channel usage date. You wouldn't believe the outliers! OMG. Did I mentioned that SAS crashed on me 3 times? But I pulled the data into a stacked bar chart in Excel, using the table format. It looked better than putting data labels on the chart.

WAKE UP!!! I'm just making a point.

Now if I were a massage therapist....

"What's the weirdest thing that ever happened when you were giving a massage?" I asked Jo, while she was attacking a knot in my shoulder.

"Well," she began, and for the next 45 minutes I was in complete awe.

"I have blog envy," I moaned.

On a somewhat related note, I wish someone would invent a jump drive for the brain. You could pop it in your ear, like an I-Pod bud, push a button and back-up your brain, or certain portions of it. If I had such a device, I would have saved my conversation with Jo that day as 'massage_blog_material.doc'.

Because when I try and open the document entitled 'massage_blog_material.doc' from the hard drive of my brain, some of the details are missing.

But I do remember Jo telling me the story of the 85-year old Southern lady who came in for her first massage. Jo escorted her to the room and instructed her to get undressed to her 'level of comfort'. She told the lady that she'd be back in a few minutes to start the massage.

When Jo knocked on the door a few minutes later, the woman (let's call her "Betty Sue") said, "Come on in!"   Betty Sue was standing in front of the massage table, naked as the day she was born- 85 years ago. Jo, diplomatically said, "You can get on the table. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jo left the room, knocked again and Betty Sue said, "Come on in!", however this time she was laying ON TOP OF COVERS, as if she was preparing herself for a pap smear. According to Jo, the only thing more unsettling than seeing a naked octogenarian standing in front of a massage table, was seeing one on top of the table.

But Jo, unlike myself, has excellent giggle control. She maintained her composure and finally got Betty Sue under the sheets, where she could begin the massage.

Keeping your composure is critical when you're a massage therapist. Because sometimes surprises await you. Jo is nonplussed when massaging a man with bra strap marks on his back. And what about the guy who hung his lacy panties on the hook for her to see? Jo yawns..."Whatever..."

But what she does not tolerate are twitchers: the guys who 'twitch their things' during massages (that's exactly how she described it).  Apparently one of these twitchers twitched his thing with such enthusiasm that his thing became exposed.  Jo told him that the massage was over, and then promptly threw up.

Nope. I don't get any twitchers in my nerdling day job. And no flashing octogenarians.  Just data, and charts and meetings.

I have to rely on my life outside of work for blog materials.

Thank God for the asylum I live in. 

Because I don't want to have to look for a new job.  Plus, I'd be a lousy masseuse.  I giggle too much.

Calling All Suckers!

There's a sucker born every minute.

That was my reaction when I opened the box containing my order from Linda's fund raising campaign.

I had ordered "The Sensational Tomato Babylon Bag."

The box contained a plastic trash bag with punched out circles and a packet of seeds.  Seriously.

Oh... pardon me. I also got instructions. "Step 1: Start your seeds. About 6 to 8 weeks before the last anticipated frost in your area, start your seeds in small pots or open flats with good drainage".

So, if my math is correct, I was to have started my seeds in late January. Oops. And let's not forget that I HAVE A BROWN THUMB! I'd have a better chance of winning the Miss South Carolina beauty pageant than of raising a crop of cherry tomatoes from seeds!

Call me naive, but I thought I was going to open up the package and make myself a salad!

The whole think reminded me of the pet rock craze from the 70s. For those of you in diapers during this decade, advertising genius Gary Dahl made millions by developing the pet rock industry. The pet rock sold for $3.95, but cost less than a quarter to package. 

Dahl sold over 5 million of his pet rocks in a six month period.

The wheels started turning. I was inspired. You see, I'm an advertising genius, too.

Allow me to me introduce you to the latest in pet rock technology: The Nerdling Pet Boulder.

I built my prototype from a boulder I found in my back yard, and supplies from my blog bag (a collection of the many priceless items that I have used in previous blogs or for use in future postings).

And the Nerdling Pet Boulder is completely customizable, so you can create your own unique Pet Boulder, to meet your personal needs.

 Options include:

Scarf: blue scarf, black baseball cap or green-striped do-rag

Hair: white (Kevin Hair) or gray (dryer lint)

Glasses: 3-D glasses or Rear View Spy Glasses

Nose: beak, snob, wino, Durante, punk or Cyrano nose

Lips: Wax lips or Red Neck Sippin' Lips

That's 144 different combinations of fun, exciting Pet Boulders!

And the price is right: only $3.97.

I'm hoping there are a few suckers out there who don't notice the $99 shipping fee.

Learning How to Smile

When I was in grad school, I had a professor who never smiled. He wouldn't even crack a grin. It was ridiculous. My friends and I tried everything: bad jokes, compliments, tripping on statistic books. Nothing.

Dr. Gupta needed a Beauty Smile Trainer.

I know what you're thinking.  "What in the world is a Beauty Smile Trainer?". Simply put, it is a device that you place in your mouth that will teach you how to smile.   And if you don't believe me, check out the before (right) and after (left) pictures on the packaging!

I decided to test drive the Beauty Smile Trainer this week, so I went online to order one of my own. 

I looked everywhere  for a site that sold this amazing product: E-Bay, Amazon, goofybeautyproducts.com. Nothing!

You don't have to be a stinkin' economic genius, or an expert on the theory of supply and demand to realize that this product must be off the charts valuable!

But don't worry readers. You know how resourceful I am! After reviewing the engineering materials, I decided I could make my own Beauty Smile Trainer. It required only 2 ingredients: a bendy stick (which I obtained from a strategic planning facilitator at work) and a pair of wire clippers to make the bendy stick fit my mouth.

How does it work?

Easy! According to the diagram, you place the Beauty Smile Trainer in your mouth, immediately below your "canine" teeth. 

I was admittedly a bit confused by the bottom part of the diagram (the lips); it’s difficult to tell if the device is supposed to remain inside or outside of your mouth.  

Probably on the inside.

I tried a couple other positions.  Not looking too smiley here.

This might work for Halloween.

I finally figured it out. 

Well, I THINK, I figured it out.  What do you think?

Being the crafty nerdling that I am, I was able to locate an English translation of the Japanese product highlights. 

I can verify that claims a - d are correct.

a. This is device that can be fitted into the mouth. - why, yes it is!

b. It is a curved plastic device. - and so is my bendy stick version!

c. It is shaped like a small and slim banana - a blue banana...

d. It gives the wearer the perfect smile. - only if I squint....

I'm less convinced about claims e and f:

e. It also has the ability to give one a face lift.

f. It tones the facial skin and muscles and reduces sagging.

I think I need a longer bendy stick.

Or some duct tape.

Desperate Measures and Dried Puke

The truth is, I was exhausted...both mentally and physically.

I had just started my new job in Jacksonville and I was living in temporary housing with 2 small kids and a homesick baby sitter. Dave was back in Wisconsin. Every day I'd leave the house at 6:30 a.m. and return at 6:30 p.m. bringing 2 hours of work to do at home that night.

It was my birthday, and I decided to take the kids to Chuck E Cheese for dinner.  (They serve beer).  In my weakened mental and physical state that evening, I let 7-year old Kimmy take 10-month old Linda into the Chuck E Cheese rat maze.

Once a child enters the Chuck E Cheese petri dish of fun, it's nearly impossible to locate them again.  Sure, there are some small plastic windows on the side of some tubal ports, but they are completely gunked up with --- well, let's not think about what it might be.

Which makes it difficult to locate your kids when you're ready to leave... unless you are bold enough to enter the hamster tube yourself.

I was wearing shorts. Crawling over hard plastic on bare knees may not be as painful as a root canal, but it's close. The further I traveled into the maze, the hotter and steamier it became. And the noise was deafening. Kids enjoy this? The smell inside the tubes was nauseating - a mixture of pizza, sweat, and feet. When I turned the corner into the blue wing I realized too late that I was crawling through a pool of vomit. 

I nearly added to the inventory.

I finally found the girls and practically had to apply a crow bar to remove Linda from the apparatus.

I must step back for a minute and mention that I have never experienced a child who could out-cry Linda.  Her crying was ear piercing...actually deafening. In fact, it's a shame we didn't live in Japan. She would have been a slam dunk in any sumo wrestling baby shaking contest.

I got the girls in the car. I slimy. I was sweaty. I was fantasizing about taking a shower. And Linda was screaming in the back seat. In fact she was wailing so loudly, I almost didn't notice the police car attempting to pull me over in Orange Park.

CRAP! I pulled over into the Orange Park Race Track parking lot. When the police officer asked me for my driver's license I discovered that I'd left it in our temporary apartment. DOUBLE CRAP!

I then proceeded to tell him the biggest sob story ever about my sad life: how I had moved down to Jacksonville with 2 small kids to start a new job and that my husband was 1,000 miles away trying to sell our house. The officer fell for it hook line and sinker. That is, until I got to the part about how Linda had been screaming her lungs out in the car.

He looked in the back seat and Linda, damn her, was laughing at the police lights.

I know it was wrong. But desperate times call for desperate measures. While the police office went back to his car to look up my name and address on some Inter-State-DMV database, I gave Linda my keys to play with. When I saw him coming back to my car I snatched them away from her.

You see, the police officer needed a demonstration.

And Linda did not let me down. She began to howl.  The policeman said something to me and I replied loudly, "I can't hear you! What did you say?"  He shouted some words I couldn't hear over Linda's howling.

I got out of the car in order to hear the officer. Since I couldn't leave poor Linda in the car, I took her out, too (dangling my keys in front of her face before shoving them back in my pocket.) Through Linda's screams I heard the policeman inform me that, not only was I speeding, but I was driving with an expired license.  (My license had expired on my birthday.)

That made Kimmy cry. I let the tears well up in my eyes as well. We were quite a sight.

The officer looked at me, then at Linda and Kimmy and said, "I think you have your hands full."

I nodded, pathetically. "I sure do."

He gave me a verbal warning.  Bless him.

Did I feel guilty?  Nah.  He was right!  I did have my hands full.  

And dried puke on my knees. 

Give me an "H"!

Okay. I'll admit it. I'm somewhat of a hotel snob. But I prefer my "otels" to start with an "H" rather than an "M".

We stayed at the M-variety on our trip to Wyoming last week.

Since we flew into Denver and were driving about half way to Jackson, Wyoming that night, our options were quite limited.

I must also mention that Dave is hotwire.com fan. Yes, hotwire paid off a couple years ago when we booked a 5-star hotel in downtown Chicago for about $79/night.  I trusted him. 

Fool that I am.

The Rawlins Quality Inn was just what you'd expect for a 2-star motel. The beds came up to my knees. The sheets were somewhere between 50 and 75 thread count. Although it was non-smoking, I felt certain that the Marlboro man had been a previous guest. The room air conditioner sounded like a B-52 turboprop taking off, followed by 3 minutes of placidity before the B-52 took off again, followed by another 3 minutes of placidity. (You get the picture.) 

(I suppose It could have been worse. About 20 years ago I cut open the bottom of my foot on a Dorito hidden in the shag carpet of a Cleveland Motel-6 I was staying at. At least I didn’t require first aid this time.)

I knew I was going to have a hard time falling asleep. Dave snores, and the trick to a good night's sleep is to fall asleep before he does. But I was prepared. I had brought along a special friend for the trip: my good buddy Ambien.

I brushed my teeth, popped the Ambien, and settled in for a deep, drug-induced sleep. 

The last time I'd taken an Ambien I was on a flight to London. I swallowed it at take-off and woke up rested about 8 hours later with a smile on my face and trail of drool down my shirt. So my expectations for a good night’s sleep were very high.  

I lay on my back and waited for the powerful wave of sleep to overcome my body. After about 15 minutes, Dave started snoring. CRAP!!!  The bed springs started poking into my back. I got a sliver from the sheets. And my mouth started tasting like nicotine.

But I was patient. I knew the Ambien would eventually kick in. (And thankfully, the B-52 air conditioner blocked out half of Dave's snores.) 

Midway through the night I fell asleep, but unlike on the flight to London I woke up sore and cranky. 

Then I attempted to take a shower. This is the way the shower was supposed to look. 

This was our shower.

It wouldn't have been so bad if there had been a way to keep the shower curtain open: perhaps a set of magnets or some duct tape. 

Even talented Body Jammers like myself have a difficult time washing our bodies while holding a shower curtain closed with 2 hands. 

Thank goodness for the breakfast at the Hoot'n'Howl, the bar/diner attached to the Quality Inn, and it's remarkable decorating scheme! There was a wall of fascinating oxymoronic concert posters, such as the 1967 Monkees’ concert with Jimi Hendrix as the opening act.  

Then there was the celebrity mug shots section.  

It was a nerdling blogger's wet dream!

It even made up for the waiter who came to our table announcing that they didn’t get a food delivery that week, "so don't even bother looking at the menu. You can have pancakes or pancakes”. We had pancakes.

The next night I was bound and determined to get a good night's sleep. I decided to have a heart to heart discussion with my good buddy.  

"You really let me down last night. You'd better work tonight!" 

My Ambien laughed at me.  "You should put on your reading glasses before taking prescription medicine," she said. 

"And by the way, Einstein, I hope you didn’t mess up your thyroid by taking that extra dose of Synthroid last night." 

With friends like that who needs enemies?