n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Saturday, September 27, 2008

he *seems* comfortable, right?

when I came home from prison,

it made me sad.

We need flexibility in a president, after all I went there once, and what you don't understand is: This is a different situation! An existential situation, an existential position, an existential nuclear possibility. I know the difference between a tactic and a strategy, and what our friend doesn't understand is what flexibility in a president is needed.

What he doesn't understand is, we need, the difference between strategy and tactics is his naivete, what he doesn't understand is pride, Iraq, (Afghanistan?), is we will lose if we come home, is I wear a bracelet. I wear a bracelet! Existential problem. Cut programs right now with bad guys.

One doesn't want to undo the fragile sacrifice we've made by understanding it, by this is a different situation. What young Senator doesn't seem to grasp is when I came home from prison, I am a mavarick, and someone special next week is a maverick, as you will find, maverick, maverick, maverick alone, Reagan and Kissenger, what you don't understand, stand alone, didn't ever coincide with, what!

This is a different existential situation: I'm not sure what you mean by Afghanistan. Safe havens, what our senator doesn't seem to understand is that I was there, and how dare we threaten, how dare we venture towards violence. This is not very like us! Pakistan?

Really, Pakistan?! Existential, Flexible... Naivete.

This is a fragile different naivete, Senator doesn't understand, flexibility in a president, my years, my many many years, my hero Reagan, my true experience, at the record, so much I really don't believe this man is ready: Afghanistan, Cold Russia, Pakistan? Wounds of war, Dear Adversaries: there are advantages to actual experience; this is a different situation. What you don't seem to understand... fragile sacrifice that we made... different situation...

I went there once.

[ps. I think BBC was rather off in their reporting this time around, saying McCain 'won' the debate on points. McCain only twice that I noticed actually spoke outside of cliche or generalism. He didn't take any notes as Obama spoke, which made it seem like he could really give a crap what Obama was saying, and it seemed that as a result, McCain always latched onto the superficial character of whatever argument was presented, rarely addressing the issue directly. I'm tired of platitudes, and was thrilled by how cogent and precise Obama was, but however it may be, the unfortunate side to intelligent speech is lack of soundbite.]

[pss. Is it just me, or does the world seem a bit scarier and crazier than normal? Thank-god for family, music and books.]

Monday, September 22, 2008

again older

It never takes longer than a few minutes, whenever they get together, for everyone to revert to the state of nature, like a party marooned by a shipwreck. That's what a family is. Also the storm at sea, the ship, and the unknown shore. And the hats and the whiskey stills that you make out of bamboo and coconuts. And the fire that you light to keep away the beasts.

The Yiddish Policemen's Union, Chabon
Today, at age 2 to the 5th (!!!), I have been contemplating, while at work updating a three-year-old list of doctors [considering when available their pictures, many of which make them look young and hopeful, sweet even - rather startling for doctors - but a few of which make them look like psychopathic rum-runners, usually when they're in the pediatric department, and some of whom are likely couples (based on similarity of name and age, not likely mother and son -- possibly brother and sister, although when one considers that particular familial proximity, one must realistically acknowledge how it's like putting skulpy - pure white plasticine baked in the form of puppies and violets - alongside ceramic mugs or elaborate bongs -- which makes one wonder what happens when these doctor couples start to hate each other after years of living and working alongside each other, unless of course they are mother and son or father and daughter, whereupon different horrific homicidal likelihoods arise), and others who simply look so much younger than myself that I wonder how they managed to get so wise, so beautiful, so useful so quickly and intelligently. Were they gifted unusually? Were they quick to win their teacher's affections? Or were they stubborn and ungrateful, but clever, very very clever? Are they writing prescriptions for themselves that involve high dosages of codeine? Are they brilliant like House, or do they fancy themselves so? Do they hate House because he's a brilliant jerk, much like the third-to-last girl I 'dated', the one who made me feel like my approval of House's sheer bitchiness was a sign of my wretched decline into Hell? Perhaps they're the kind of doctors who never listen, or maybe they listen too long and overrun their schedule. Perhaps they are inclined to doubt, to always think their patients liars, pure hypochondriacs (and to what degree are they wrong? Can they afford to be wrong? Are they like the doctor who misdiagnosed me with hypochondriac flu when I actually had a form of salmonella that caused hallucinations, massive pukings, and a 25% weight loss?) Or are they like the doctors who give tictacs as Vitamins, tea for thought?], how I've managed to make my life what it is.

As of thirty-two, I feel I should soon be done with the anxiety attacks that have been waking me daily at night, causing hours of panic panic at my failure and ineptitude and lack of deep fiber tissue. I shouldn't be thinking in the wee hours of stories unwritten, family not made, love lost or unmade, bills looming, lack of insurance property accomplishment, lack of everything but really good friends, family and Herald. I shouldn't be reading Herald's eyes as opening with sleepy criticism.

Herald just wants a bone. Probably he really needs to pee. Mostly, he's been waiting all night for my morning alarm to go off so he can climb fuzzily into my bed and cuddle until my second alarm goes off and I get up and sneak around him, softly leaving him my pillow for the few minutes left until he frantically needs me to let him out to pee, long and pristinely into the nearby greenery.

Is this the normal meaning people find? And I'm not doubting my puppy here, but I am wondering how to calm down and think about life 'rationally'. I'm searching for it, the next step to me feeling myself in the day by day.

It's partially about writing, la la la, but it's also partially about me needing a narrative. I really need a narrative. Once upon a time, J - at age 32 - woke up and found herself, despite the drool and dog slobber upon her sleeve, inexplicably able to [...]. She was able to explain this by [...] and made use of it by [...] and showed all those she loved (...) how much they meant, not just to the world, but also to her, by [...]. She grew above her selfish lust for endless love by [...], and saved, if not the whole world, then at least a very very small part of it, scattered by the mathematical equation written by [...].

She had many people to thank, but she did so by [...]

32nd B-day
Happy Birthday to me, I will figure it out. Garsh Darn-Ned It.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

mary mary, quite contrary...

Bville Autumn
Bville Autumn
Bville Autumn
Bville Autumn
Bville AutumnBville Autumn

It smells of fall around here... one more week 'til it's true...

And I went tubing for the last time this summer, and boy was I grateful I brought my wetsuit. Damn, that river's cold.

Siegfried the Tomato Plant bit the dust due to The Blight, but otherwise my patio is a haven. People should come visit it.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

it's the end of the world as we know it...

I am really irritated about the unsatisfying reminders I've recently received by more than two friends... that due to the flagrant new Big Experimentation with Physical Reality Along a Switzerland Tube, perhaps tomorrow we'll quickly / disappointingly experience a Black Hole that quite possibly might swallow all of everything and destroy history and humanity etc -- all gone due to our curiosity and the lack of regulation to subdue it.

How dare they (friends and scientists both) scare me on this crappy day?
1) It's scary shit, but I'm not in a place to do anything more meaningful than snuzzle my puppy, which I would do anyway.

2) The thought makes me feel simultaneously sad and like a sci-fi freak dressed up, of course, as Spock.

7) I can't help hoping that folks would never, ever do this experiment if there were even slightly more than a nil chance of Utter Destruction. What's the percentage?, I need to know. And if it's more than nil, how did it get allowed by God/dess or Government?

9) On the day I get turned down by the only place that's given me a job interview in 6 months, really: that's what you're leaving me with? Isn't there something wrong in the way of karma with that? Have I historically been so bad? Don't I deserve to be rejected at least twice after job interviews before I die via galactic implosion?

9b] By the way, I got turned down by the only place that's given me a job interview in 6 months. It was a great interview, a cool job, and most irritatingly, the company was totally sweet about the whole thing and told me they'd keep my cv on file. They get intense kudos for breaking my heart gently. But I still feel pretty much like subpar peat after it's been mined near an old-fashioned wastewater pit. Perhaps 'someone other than you' was always, always going to be employed.

9c] Other job options to consider: Collecting aluminum cans? Grant-writing for Jehovah Witness Solicitation? Starbucks? Bagging groceries? Writing irrelevant memos? Ground-keppppping (as I recently saw it spelled on someone's paperwork)? Receptionist, waitress, salesgirl (I've applied for these; they don't want me.)? 9$/hr, part-time, no insurance, no vacation, and we'll treat you poorly because we had a bad day?

Maybe I should just focus, because I haven't tried that yet.

Or maybe I should create a time machine, go back and either a] not get a stupid, stupid art degree (completely worthless, obviously I just spent my time doing squat and learning nothing) or b] not even get a B.A. degree but go into physics, because that's the only worthwhile, lucrative, helpful field. I could re-create in the Big Bang in real life instead of just verbally.

That welding class I took wasn't bad either. Or maybe I could trail along the dog-walkers and pick up feces? Did I lose everything I learned in the past three years of my life? Guess so. So I guess it's a chance to start anew. Like as a McDonald's cashier to satisfy my need to be around peoples. Or something akin, or away.

Seriously, I wish I had taken my talents towards being a doctor or scientist or an Airforce Officer. Sheeeet, I even had scholarships in the mathematics arena. Why Why Why did I decide to learn nothing [commercial] over an extended period of time?!

9d] I shouldn't take all this so personally.

9d-2] I apologize for ranting and raving. I'm just freaked out.

early jobs9e] Because. I haven't been this unemployed since I was 10 years old and started babysitting, taking inventory at a small engine store, and clipping the hedges at the local Hotel - all the while putting away 25% of my earnings towards my illustrious future.

910] Perhaps I could tastefully duplicate the polled response of those questioned about "what they would do if a nuclear bomb hit their city" and state that I'm fully prepared to respectfully care for the dead, and achieve great things in the new infrastructure?

Surely I'm up for that.

9e] I just want to support myself. And Herald. Maybe a little child in the future if I could. I'm not stupid, am I? I don't have to give up everything I care about, do I? I just need a sign. A sign, like a fucking bolt of lightening scarring the sky for three weeks, if not in a row, then at least nearly a row.

9n] Hard economy, ain't it?

9s] Surely I'd be a more interesting/productive artist if I weren't so concerned with surviving. Is that enough for a grant?

9t] Maybe I won't always be looking for a job. I've applied so many times this past year and received so many rejections... sometimes from more than strangers. The people I've thought on my side i.e. those I thought believed I was smart and worthwhile; is it just me, or have they have bailed whenever they're in the position of not bailing, or just said 'keep trying,' 'keeping considering other locations,'... 'not here.' Not here, not here, not here.

9x] I'll figure it out. I'll be courageous and bold. I'll be more aggressive. I won't rely on old friendships. I'll expect the difficulty.

9z] I just need to relax more.

15] I know I have to keep searching, without bitterness. I don't know what will happen. But this year, minus my new puppy, has really sucked ass. I'm starting to get scared. But I still hope we don't get destroyed tomorrow.


Here are the adorable puppies:

step up to the plate

ain't nothing shameful in calling a lipsticked pig a fat, porky shit-roller.
"You can put lipstick on a pig," he said to an outbreak of laughter, shouts and raucous applause from his audience, clearly drawing a connection to Palin's joke even if it's not what Obama meant. "It's still a pig. You can wrap an old fish in a piece of paper called change. It's still going to stink after eight years."
work it, Obama, work it. We've all be wondering when you'd start campaigning in the real world again.

Monday, September 08, 2008

it troubles me

I just read this on one of the endless news banners:
About the most [Hillary Clinton would] say about Palin is that she and Republican presidential candidate John McCain "are not the change that we need."

Former Clinton adviser Howard Wolfson is dismissing any notion the Obama campaign would dispatch Clinton to take on Palin, as much as he thinks some people would revel in seeing the two strong women butt heads.

"Don't hold your breath," he wrote in his New Republic blog. "Clinton-Palin might drive ratings and sell magazines, but it wouldn't be good for the Democratic Party, or the cause of women's rights. Some might enjoy the spectacle, but don't expect Hillary Clinton to play along."
Something about this freaks me out. Hard to touch, but... I think Hillary Clinton has an obligation to the women whose votes she had holyrolling down her side. You know, the obligation to not let the accomplishments of those who've worked for feminist ideals, progress and Hillary's own political progress be stolen by those who will use the idealistic language, but reject the actual character.

You know, I do appreciate the whole not setting womens on womens approach - based sheerly on my experience of Jr. High and my well-acknowledged experience that women do more to destroy each other than men ever dreamed of. But.

I'm sick of Democrats doing this to themselves. I really am. It is not for the Republicans who have resisted so many genuine efforts to reform corruption to deceitfully claim these efforts that they rejected when it wasn't in their own interest.

How many times did we hear them say 'gender (or race) card'? How many times did they punch the ticket of their fat rich intolerant whitemale card before turning to the very thing they resisted to find their new, disguised source of power?

It's not fair or right for liberals to be such jackasses as to give in for the sake of personal notions of good, mannered behavior. Or political revenge. So:
Dear Hillary (this is my personal telepathic message),

I listened to the speech you gave at the Democratic Convention. I heard you at the primary debates. Not to mention that I listened to the people who believed in what you said, and then I genuinely considered you as presidential potential. Ultimately, I admired your strength if not your political stance.

But speaking to this moment. You owe it to American women to disconnect yourself from the bogus rhetoric of Palin. You owe it to yourself to speak to the difference between your glass ceiling and Palin's. She is not a feminist. She is not someone for you to protect. The ideals you supported during the campaign are, however.

Please use your power to support what's been fought for and what needs to be fought for. It's not 'playing along' to demand that your achievements not be commandeered by those who will use them, and ours, to achieve very different, certainly problematic ends.

Sincerely, Me
I really hope that folks can pull together on this stuff.

Certainly, the language is becoming more and more important. So many people seem to reject voting from actual life, instead voting in the context of their own Lala-Land of Personal Value. Because of America's growing cowardice. Because all folks want to focus on is Roe vs. Wade and Homophobic protection because they are too petrified to face economic strife, failing banks, global warming, limited resources, and in general, the changing nature of the universe. Peoples: focusing political attention on these personal beliefs is not going to make your life, or anyone's including God's, better in the slightest.

Grow a pair, seriously, and I don't care if it's testes or ovaries, but not everything is about taking care of only yourself for the next 3.14159 years. Ug.


I went down to the Whatcom Democrat Center today with SP, and bought signs & bumper stickers. And signed up for volunteer work. SP said when we left the center, "Well, that was less than I hoped for." Seriously.

Shoved into a one-room studio space, the folks at the Democrat Center seemed too concerned with their own fascinating analysis to even really say Hey, ask why we were there, and tell us about what's going on, or what we can do.

I know it's a blue state, but I still think it'll take more than that.


On my daily Pleased with the World Notes. The weather has been perfect lately. Hallelujah!
-This week I should hear back about the interview (or figure it timely to call about said interview). There's not been anything lately even remotely appealing to apply to, so let's all bow our head in deep prayer.

-I danced with a cutie Saturday night after my irritated post, and immediately felt better.

-My mom's doing well. She's pretty damn cute too.

-The sister's dog apparently does better just one-on-one with the pup. She spent too much time today concerned with policing to even get a picture in. She's a taskmaster. She's a fascist pigpup.

-Herald puked twice in my car after playing with the other dogs at the dog park and drinking too much saltwater even though I yelled at him every time he did that. How does one get the puppies to stop drinking saltwater?

-KX, you sly dog. I didn't even notice it was The Onion at first. Hmph. Hummingbirds are Sexy Miniature Rockstars of Natural Violence! Rah!

-My sis found an apartment abroad and is soon done with her intensive first 1.5 months. I still reject that she is so far away (mentally), but it sounds like it'll be less stressful and more settling for her soon. Excellent.... so when I win the billion-dollar lottery I never buy tickets for, I can go visit without being toooo much of a burden (not sharing a cardboard box)! In the meantime, I try not to beat her dog with a stick too many times per day.

-Here's my new favorite show that is so hilarious I actually feel happy (top 3 faves):

Saturday, September 06, 2008

nobody stands a chance against memory

because It's extremely stupid, but considers itself prime.


Fuck You TooA quick note of advice [on the trials and tribs of dating]:

When someone (such as myself) asks, "So, would you still be having this same conversation if I weren't even here?"

Quite possibly, and maybe it's just me, but perhaps or maybe... you're being a bit of a jerk.

So yeah, sure, I've been seriously fucked-up before too, but I don't recall putting all that on whomever I'm with. Maybe the opposite, even though the hurt a person carries always effects the situation. I do remember making an effort to not date when I was fucked the hell up because that's exactly what EC did with me and it ended up simply splattering the carnage. I do particularly remember the time in my life that was unbearable because I held it all and was determined not to share the load.

Ultimately, maybe that was a dumb idea because it was also opening myself to the friends I now have that helped, but really: going on a 'date' and dumping all your shit?

I know it's not personal-like, but there's something insulting in that very act. Like I might as well not exist.

Like hello.

I don't know how to say this, exactly, but being "in your own head" is a upper-right across the cerebellum of all those around.

I don't even care if it's about sexy connection or friendship at that point, but man, being there - that moment you are, in this case hiking along the Washington Coast on an incredibly filterlight day that included even a porcupine, along the cedar heat-smelling cliffs, with someone else. Perhaps it asked for more than repeating how sad one was to be 'alone'. Alone.

Damn. How it made me feel really alone. [Could've done that by myself, right?].

Probably I still deserve that. Just for being me. Again against again.

Guess I needed to realize that. In the meantime: Please God, Please Please Please God, Let Me Feel Skin Again. Let Me Show Off My Hilarious New Underwear, and Not Feel Ugly or Dumb. Let Someone In-Affairs-Of-SexyAttraction-Not-Only-Friendship Offer Something besides their Own Pain.

Pretty Please.


Kenyon Etch-SketchYeah, so. Enough of that. You know, one of things I love about Herald is how he will snatch up nasty scratchy items - such as bottle caps - in his mouth and pretend nothing has happened when I tell him to drop it. And how he accepts me opening his mouth and taking it out without any fuss. As if he were waiting for me to remove it.

Herald is doing well.


So, we've technically reached the end of The Postcard Project, which makes me sad, but happy because as of today I reached my hoped-for goal. I sent out a postcard for every day of August, actually a bit more, some silly and goofy, some closer to my heart, but all of them done, profound or not. And I received 20 postcards, which was what I stated at the beginning as being my hope. Thanks M, for being #20 today:

Day 20, Postcard 16

Postcard Project
Postcard ProjectDay 21, Postcard 17

Postcard Project
Postcard ProjectDay 22, Postcard 18

Postcard Project
Postcard ProjectDay 23, Postcard 19

Postcard Project
Postcard ProjectDay 25, Postcard 20

Postcard Project
Postcard Project
Very cool.


Also on my mind besides the Friggin Election: the Alger shooting affair that happened S-bound on I5 at the exact time that I was N-bound on I5 at the same place. One person got shot dead two blocks E from the backwoods where I live. I received a couple concerned phone calls over that one, and it twas a pretty fucked up deal. My personal reaction was nil, like my other reactions to apparent danger: hey, I'm alive, why worry anymore? If I were dead, I wouldn't be worrying either.

But the whole thing, after much local attention, just seemed to turn out very sad; CR here is fussing about parental fuck-ups and all I can think about is what bloody options exist for parents who need help when their kids are dangerous. That man needed to be off the streets, and the only way he knew how to achieve it was to kill other people. One of the ladies he killed was a deputy trying to help his mother find an environment of grace. For him, they didn't even register; they were a means to end to his freakOut. Like the only way he and his body knew of saying "help" was to destroy.

And I'm not so softie as to excuse him, but I'm not so softie as to excuse us. It seems sometimes to me that one of the main failings of Democrats is to let the Repubs define the meaning of words like courage and strength. Surely they're always redefined in actual situations.

Which acts as a segue into the whole political forum right now, which I'm determined not to let me get depressed...

If McCain wins, I don't know what. Leaving the States seems like abandonment, staying seems like approval. But McCain / Palin is so sick it leaves more than bile in my nasal cavities; it makes me feel like considering self-immolation as a safety tactic.

These are dangerous people politically, but one of the unfortunates is that I could take them down like dried-up salmon in real life. In American politics they have power, and that's some scary shit. The difference between actual and political means the difference between an easy: 1) physical bout, in which I would have both Palin or McCain, at any time of their life, pinned to the the mat via vicious compassion, fury, and suffering; or 2) verbal bout, in which it would be like talking to an effing immobile wall programmed by the sunshine alone to think itself so very, very hot. Neither sounds helpful. This world we live in becomes more separate, and when it comes down to creating healthy surviving communities, their big words will mean nothing to my life as a survivor, or as an artist. Blah Blah Blah.

I've finally reached the point where I'm thinking to actively participate, and that's intense; I guess word-of-mouth, voting, and caring in daily interaction doesn't seem like enough anymore. I need to solicit. I need to volunteer in person. I also keep thinking of Photoshop potential with PaMcC pics because so much of the time liberals seem like big ol' wimpasses in 'slander,' and that's not a problem I have. You know. Like geysers of oil shooting from Palin's mini-brainspace, or the Two Sides of McCain in action. Braaah... computer geeks unite to create Tshirts, right?

Anyhow, thank god for John Stewart. Every day he refreshes and assures me that I'm not just imagining this horrific stupidity alone.


WhatcomTo end positivo, I recently got to see my buddy NM and her lady. In fact, they came and visited me. Twas unexpectedly good. Slow meeting all around, but good. I wish I could have my friends every(other)day visiting my home, settling in, saying hey to the puppino, admiring Siegfried and the Sunflowers, sitting in the hot tub. I could have a gauntlet of sass and talky around me at all (most) hours.

Except I get less and less articulate at interaction. Maybe inept is the word. I was looking forward to seeing NM, and I was looking forward to meeting M, but I'm not sure I was super-talented at doing both simultaneous. I felt distracted or dull some of the time. A la', I did my best. Like that pic to my left. blur/unblur.

And we went to Bumbershoot 2008 - in particular I saw Neko Case [good to see once since I love her shit, but she didn't really jive more in concert], Lucinda Williams [hello, my rockstar hat-toting sassmaster], Band of Horses [ok, Dude's into his hair], Nada Surf [no music besides what I've already heard, but something really gained by experiencing it in person], Walkman [forgetable], !!! [the find of the night, what a combo], and the last fluting trills of Beck mainstage but me elsewhere with the minors by choice.

It's been about a million batrillion years since I've been to a concert, and why have I been so dumb about that?

WhatcomThe next day, I dragged M and NM out in the kayaks... put them in the two-person and let them circle it out. I knew I was letting them rough it, and M later gave me the Sheepish Twinges when she mentioned how I used my Sweet Voice to tell them How Well They Were Doing.

It wasn't like that; they were getting better. Plus, they were the first of my friends who were out there kayaking with me. It meant quite a bit that I am no longer able to competently express. Ah well: at least I'm still in love with my all my friends. Kisses.


PS. My reading is progressing like molasses these days. How does everyone manage reading what they want in addition to cleaning the kitchen? Seriously.


For my sis: Your dog is in love with [bossing] my dog. They are the most adorable duo on history. I've taken movies on my phone but can't figure out how to make that anything transferable, so more film to follow soon.

Pickle misses you though. But when she's with you, it'll seems like you are actually gone. So it's nice to have her bossy ass around.

Hope the cows' rears smell all intellectually sexy!!!


Tuesday, September 02, 2008

she captured them both herself with a spoon in left hand and rapier sharp wit in the right

Palin with Crab & BearAnd yes, I am talking about the hearts and minds of America.

pic posted at girlfriday's request


I actually do have more to say about Palin, having grown up not that far from the miniscule town of Wasila (which our basketball team consistently spanked), and also that outlandish rustic appeal of Alaskan woman, clearly visible in my own mien... [but I have to go to work in 20 minutes, so quickly:] Having some of the same experiences as this lady, I can honestly say that every Alaskan woman, in a wheelchair or not, has fished and done some of the stuff everyone's all oogly-eyed about down here.

But it takes a very particular breed of Alaskan woman to have been a beauty queen. Veerrrry particular.

Alaska is butt-ass weird to have voted for her in the first place, but do they love their dumbed up oil-loving Repubs up there. But seriously, McCain: what were you thinking? I know people are all excited and she's getting good blog drool, but a) it would scare the shit out of me if it ended up that she were all there was between us and total anarchy, and b) one rather inane woman certainly can't pull the vote of all those women who were dying for representation at the national level; we/they wanted an awesome, brilliant woman to remind all men everywhere that so many ladies are mighty supergeniuses to be reckoned with.


By the way, the bear and the crab in above photo are still alive. She's just trained them using a single leash, barrels of peanut butter, and several spite-eyed glares.