So there’s finally a candidate willing to challenge Tom Lantos. This has been floating around since early last year , but it appears to be serious now, and it’s much overdue.
Speier isn’t the most progressive politician in California (or even in the district) but she’s a lot better than Lantos. Naturally, I assume Rep. Nancy Pelosi and the rest of the incumbents will support Lantos, but he’s way out of touch with his district and should have (been) retired long ago.
So it looks as if two former mayors — Willie Brown and Dianne Feinstein — are going to be the chairs of a campaign for a new 49ers stadium. It’s a bit odd, especially since the chief consultant to the current mayor, Gavin Newsom, is helping run the campaign … does Eric Jaye think Feinstein and Brown play better in the city right now than his main client, who just got re-elected with more than 70 percent of the vote?
So, there’s this cool thing called the Sunshine Ordinance, which allows people to access public records generated by our dear city family, including the daily calendars of the Mayor, City Attorney, and all department heads.
A group of Sunshine activists have been trying to get copies of Mayor Gavin Newsom’s calendar regularly emailed to them, but rather than just hit the forward button, a mayoral aide dutifully copies the daily calendar into a Word document, prints it out, turns it into a PDF, and THEN sends it, attached to an email.
Sounds efficient. Needless to say, the calendars arrive in fits and spurts — days, weeks, months after originally requested.
A new batch came in today, which the activists posted on the PROSF group email list. I was clicking through it, checking out what the Mayor’s been up to when I noticed a glaring omission.
According to my calendar, on October 1, 2007, me and my fellow editorial staff met with Mayor Newsom at 11:30, here at SFBG headquarters.
According to his calendar, no such meeting occurred.
One could reasonably infer that someone redacted that bit of information for some bullshit security reason. However, there are several other entries on several other days showing the Mayor met with the Examiner editorial board, the Chronicle editorial board, and — in a whirlwind press tour on October 12 — the editorial boards of the World Journal, Sing Tao Daily, and Ming Pao. (Sorry for all the PDFs. That’s how the Mayor rolls.) He also regularly met with anonymous local and national press members throughout the month of October.
O Caetano. Photo by Fernanda Negrini.
By Benedict Sinclair
Despite his age, Caetano Veloso refuses to slow down. Showcasing his latest album, Cê (Nonesuch), on Nov. 17 at the Masonic Center, Veloso clattered around on stage – dancing between verses, jogging in place, invigorating each section of the audience with jumping and waving. You’d think he was younger than his bandmates, none of whom appeared to have passed the 25-year mark.
And maybe that’s the best possible thing he could have done: surround himself with a trio of hot young musicians, positively seething with chemistry and chops, clearly still having fun, still discovering music and the world it inhabits. His trio – a drummer, an electric guitarist, and a bassist who doubled on a twinkly old Fender Rhodes – navigated from delicate bossa to surf-infused pop, bouncing across minimalist polyrhythms.
Back in the day, Veloso mixed traditional Brazilian samba sounds with the most adventurous strains of American and British ’60s rock and pop, and in the process, he carved out – and fused – a new genre: tropicalia. He hasn’t stopped working on it since he started in the mid-’60s. Songs linked swiftly to each other throughout the show, further exploring a mood or abruptly changing styles. The group went from rockier tunes to those with softer arrangements: mallets on drums, hushed keyboard textures.
Well, the move to censure Dianne Feinstein was shot down by the Democratic Party, but not before party Chair Art Torres was forced to give a painful, embarassing speech about it.
By Bruce B. Brugmann
Well, I’m non grata in the Venezuela of Hugo Chavez and so are hundreds of other members of the InterAmerican Press Association (IAPA), a hemispheric free press organization based in Miami.
I’m off early tomorrow morning, Nov.17, as a member of an IAPA delegation visiting Venezuela to try to put some pressure on Chavez and his accelerating crackdown on press freedom.
Earl Maucker, IAPA’s president and editor and senior vice president of the South Florida Sun-Sentinel in Ft. Lauderdale, put it this way, “Once again we are here in Venezuela to demonstrate our solidarity with journalists and news media at a time when they are facing difficulties in carrying out their daily task of providing information to the Venezuelan people and to request that in the constitutional reform process absolute guarantees be given that freedom of the press will exist in full.”
This will be the l0th time during the Chavez administration that IAPA officers are visiting Caracas.
IAPA has stated that over the past six months, the Chavez government has committed more “transgressions: against the press than has any other country in the Western Hemisphere.
Chavez has countered by saying he does not recognize the legitimacy of IAPA. He declared the organization invalid through Parliament. The National Assembly declared that IAPA “feeds lies and misinformation in the media” and has declared the members “non grata,” according to Reuters. IAPA is so “non grata” to Chavez that his administration is making it difficult for IAPA to hold its March assembly in Venezuela, which has been scheduled for two years.
Three hotels in three different Venezuelan cities first accepted, then mysteriously canceled, IAPA’s reservations for its mid year meeting. The first two hotels told IAPA that they had no vacancies. The third hotel said it would provide rooms, but that the group could not use its conference facilities.
The delegation will try to meet with Chavez and is scheduled to meet with government officials, members of civil society, and individual journalists and representatives of the news media.
We will wind up our mission with a press conference on Tuesday, Nov. 20. I’ll keep you posted. B3
The indictment is in: the bases were loaded and so was Barry.
(From the answering machine of Sup. Tom Ammiano on Friday, Nov. l6, 2007.) B3
The City Hall rotunda was packed last night for the Jim Rivaldo memorial. I knew him as a political guy, a campaign consultant and activist with a strange and wonderful sense of humor and a big heart. But many of the people who spoke, including Judge Ellen Chaitin, her husband, defense lawyer V. Roy Lefcourt, and their two children, talked about Jim as a part of the family, an honorary uncle who loved kids and acted like a kid himself, to the very end. There were, safe to say, plenty of tears — and plenty of smiles and laughs as the speakers reminded us of how fun, and funny, he was. Which would have made Jim Rivaldo very happy.
Thanks to Luke Thomas for the photo.
All us krautrock lovers have been hurting for far too long – no more: this weekend will see the launch of a new krautrock and cold wave club, Sauerkraut, at Retox Lounge. Expect Erase Errata’s Jenny Hoyston – a creative powerhouse if there ever was one – to take the stage as Paradise Island and Weed Wolf on Sunday, Nov. 18. Also up: DJs AC (Donuts, Klaus to the Edge) and Rob Spector (Spector Protector, Bronze). Expect drink specials and free weiners for all you hot dawgs out there – as well as visuals by Cliche Molestations.
Retox Lounge is at 20th Street at Third in SF; the door is $4. Wallow in the schnitzel.
A disingenuous ploy (reported by us but mostly ignored by the other media outlets in town) by the Hotel Council and Sup. Michela Alioto-Pier to have San Francisco taxpayers give millions of dollars in corporate welfare payments to the national airlines will be heard Monday at 11 a.m. by the Board of Supervisors Government Audit and Oversight Committee. The three-person committee is weighted in favor of the conservatives on the board, and this will likely be the only opportunity for public testimony, so come by the board chambers if you want to help counter the politically influential Hotel Council. Also on the agenda is a proposal by Alioto-Pier to increase taxi gate fees.
By Todd Lavoie
The saddest music in the world? I still haven’t finished watching the 2003 Guy Maddin film of the same name – wherein legless beer-company baroness Lady Helen Port-Huntley (Isabella Rossellini) hosts a contest to find the single most sob-inducing melody in the world – but if such a match were to be held, I’d reckon Robert Wyatt would leave his competition sweating. He’s been practicing quite a bit: the recently released Comicopera (Domino) carries enough emotional heft to even send the bitter, joyless Lady Helen herself whimpering underneath her platinum wig.
Lest I give the wrong idea, Comicopera – as sweeping and ambitious as it is in its depictions of the human experience in the era of the so-called War on Terror (copyright 2001, Bush/Cheney Mafia) – offers much more than just sadness and loss. Any such meaningful analysis of life in the 21st century would be seriously limiting itself by failing to consider the rest of the emotional spectrum, and so Wyatt has injected the album with a considerable amount of whimsy and wide-eyed wonder at how heart-stoppingly beautiful the world can be. It’s a quality he’s brought to his recordings ever since his 1971 solo debut, The End of an Ear (Sony Import) – and even before then as the drummer and occasional vocalist for jazz-art-prog fusionists Soft Machine and Matching Mole – but it’s perhaps on his latest that these juxtapositions are best-articulated. Comicopera is a laugh, a cry, a wince, a raised fist, and awestruck sigh all at once. I’m not sure how many other albums this year can say the same about themselves.
But back to that “saddest music in the world” tag: the first thing you’re bound to be hit by on a Robert Wyatt record is his voice. It’s the sound of a disappointed angel, perhaps – still capable of shining a bright light upon all that is worthy of wonderment, but tempered by a sense of world-weariness and frustration with how we mortals never seem to get it right for too long before messing it up all over again. His frail tenor frequently cracks and wavers around the notes, and can be quite devastating. And the falsetto? Even the most jaded of hearts would have a rough time fighting off the ache induced by a Wyatt falsetto. Exhibit A: “Shipbuilding,” a moving Elvis Costello-penned lament. As much as I adore Elvis – and his version which came out afterwards was mighty fine as well – I’ve always been partial to Wyatt’s interpretation, which became a small hit in Britain. Here’s a performance from BBC’s The Old Grey Whistle Test:
By Bruce B. Brugmann
And so the U.S. Justice Department of George W. Bush, the Justice Department of Ashcroft, Gonzalez, and Mukasey, the Justice Department of Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo, and rendition, the Justice Department that condones torture and cannot condemn waterboarding, the Justice Department that helps facilitate and “legalize” Bush lying us into a preemptive war and then lying us into staying, a Justice Department that refuses to prosecute any private contractors for their crimes against Iraqis and shows no interest in prosecuting the Blackwater security guards who killed l7 Iraqis in the September shooting spree, the Justice Department that fires a batch of U.S. attorneys for political reasons and then contemptuously defies Congressional subpoenas investigating the scandal, the Justice Department that makes a mockery of truth, justice, and the American way, this Justice Department after waiting four long years charged baseball’s homerun champion on five felony charges, four for perjury and one for obstruction of justice, for testifying before a federal grand jury that he never used steroids.
What kind of justice is that? B3
Click here to read:
Busted by a Broken System:
The Indictment of Barry Bonds
By Dave Zirin
By Ben Richardson
The spotlight will be on Isis this Sunday, Nov. 18, at Slim’s, and deservedly so – surviving as a band for a decade is quite an accomplishment. While many concertgoers will wonder if the retrospective mood will inspire the group to trot out some of their older material, I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the opening band, who have the unenviable task of greeting somebody else’s party guests.
If anyone’s up to the challenge, it’s Big Business. Having cut their teeth this summer opening for Tool, the LA-by-way-of-Seattle pair is poised to burst out of the avant-garde annex of underground metal and make their butt-rumbling mark on the world. Bassist Jerry Warren and drummer Coady Willis are a dynamic duo of low-end, hewing huge riffs out of slabs of E-string and floor tom.
Warren and Willis have been moonlighting in the Melvins, surely a dream come true for any fan of heavy music, and they appeared on A Senile Animal, the seminal sludgemasters’ most recent disc. Their own material hasn’t flagged, however, and Warren’s distinctive, frenzied vocals were recently joined above the hard-grooving fray by the guitar and Minimoog stylings of David Scott Stone, who joined the band for the recording of their second album, Here Come the Waterworks.
Yes, this is news. The guy who broke the all-time home run record has been indicted. It even belongs on page one of the local paper. But is it the most important thing happening in the world right now, worth two-thrids of the entire Chronicle front page, the top six or seven minutes of the evening newscasts and all the talk shows?
No, it’s not. I have to agree with Dave Zirin: This is a silly indictment and a distraction from the real issues of the world.
I almost (almost) feel sorry for Barry Bonds. Think about his dilemma here: He goes before a grand jury, and is promised that if he tells the truth, he will never be prosecuted for it — and anything he says will remain totally secret. But Bonds knows better; there’s no way his testimony will remain confidential. Whatever he says is going to leak out (guess what — it did), and if he admits anything, his career is over.
Of course, if he hedges, then he can be indicted for perjury (if the U.S. Attorney’s Office has nothing better to do, which it apparently doesn’t).
I heard somone ask on Forum this morning why Bonds just didn’t tell the truth to the grand jury. That assumes, of course, that he’s guilty, that he actually lied, and I have no way of knowing that. But let’s, for the purpose of argument, say he did lie. Why? Perhaps because he didn’t trust the grand jury process. That’s a reasonable point of view that later events totally vindicated.
Does that justify lying under oath? Of course not. But I can understand what he must have been thinking.
Guardian photo by Lane Hartwell
Presidential hopeful Barack Obama’s speech last night in Bill Graham Civic Auditorium looked more like a rock concert than political rally, with a crowd of about 7,000 snaking through San Francisco for almost a mile and taking several hours just to get inside, past the metal detectors and large contingent of Secret Service agents. “I am fired up!” he told the enthusiastic crowd when he finally appeared on stage at 9 p.m., about two hours late.
Many attendees I interviewed before the speech were eager for Obama to take a bold stand — to come out and finally support gay marriage, socialized medicine, fundamental political reform, or leaving Iraq completely rather than having massive permanent U.S. military base there — and he didn’t go there, sticking to a fairly safe platform.
But his rhetoric was still inspiring and he captured the potentially epic nature of this race: “What’s next for America? We are at a defining moment in our history. The nation is at war. The planet is in peril.” And he took a couple of veiled swipes at frontrunner Hillary Clinton — “When I’m the Democratic nominee, my Republican opponent will not be able to say I voted for the Iraq War because I didn’t.” — and the timidity of his party: “The triangulation and poll-tested positions, because we’re afraid of what Mitt or Rudy will say about us, just won’t do it…If we’re going to seize the moment then we can’t live in fear of losing.”
Click below to listen to Obama’s full speech of about 30 minutes:
Part 2
By Justin Juul
People with addictive personalities tend to bounce back and forth between incredible productivity and unchecked hedonism. They may spend years diligently pursuing a goal — like grad school or becoming a respected journalist — only to risk fucking it all up upon near-completion by developing an obsession with alcohol and speed. Some addicts – the smart ones like Andy Dick — have learned to catch themselves before they fall too far, while others – like Britney Spears — simply lose their minds and cascade into insanity. If you spent last Thanksgiving, oh say, coked out of your mind at a house in the Mission with a bunch of people you barely knew (ahem), you might want to think about changing things up this year with a light meal and some after-dinner dodgeball at Dolores Park. You can still have a few drinks of course, but the elementary-schoolishness of the whole deal, plus the physical exertion, should keep you from overdoing it. Plus: balls!
3rd Annual Thanksgiving Dodgeball
Thurs, Nov 22. 9pm – past Midnight, free
@ The Dolores Park Tennis Court
Near 18th ST & Church ST, SF
http://sanfrancisco.going.com/invite-16135
Today’s Ammianoliner:
Was the mayor’s hair responsible for the oil spill? Newsom responds, “Don’t ask, don’t gel.”
(From the answering machine of Sup. Tom Ammiano on Thursday, Nov. l6, 2007.)
Postscript: As attentive Ammianoliner fans read yesterday on my blog, I quoted him as saying “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
He called this morning with a crucial blog correction: The quote ought to read, he said, “Don’t ask, don’t gel.”
Thanks, Tom, Stay in close touch. B3
By Sara Schieron
Michael Peña and Andrew Garfield give the illusion of a long association. Funny enough, they never appear together in Robert Redford’s new war drama Lions for Lambs, and yet they get along well enough to finish each other’s sentences. Perhaps we can credit this familiarity with their shared experience working with actor and director Redford, whom they imply, helped them smooth out their respective anxieties. And who wouldn’t be anxious? They’re working with the freakin’ Sundance Kid. Anxious is exactly the right mindset.
Lions for Lambs is split into three storylines in three locales: one takes place in a California university, another in Washington D.C., and the third in Afghanistan. Revolving around the plight of two soldiers (played by Derek Luke and Peña), the story in California (starring Redford and Garfield) relates to the soldier’s decision to enlist, while the story in DC (starring Meryl Streep and Tom Cruise) explains the tragic strategy these two soldiers are en route to execute.
Lions for Lambs director and star “Bob” Redford.
Ultimately, Lions is a message film about America at war, and it’s rare in that no other message films are filling the role of direct criticism. The Kingdom was an action movie with a comment about retribution, The Situation was a suspense film with an observation about truth in war, and In the Valley of Elah was a family drama with a massive overstatement about the nation in peril. Lions, on the other hand, is a straight up message film. But Garfield and Peña would explain it a little differently.
British by birth, Garfield made waves in Toronto with his film debut, Boy A, but before that he had a run playing lead character Billy in a theatrical adaptation of Kes, a lesser-known gem in the oeuvre of the great Ken Loach. Peña, in contrast, is far more seasoned than you’d expect such a young actor to be. He’s worked alongside many American bigwigs, appearing in Crash, World Trade Center, Shooter, and Babel. Both actors toured with the film to answer questions at a myriad of pre-screenings with Q&A devised by Redford to get the word out. Our conversation about acting, conviction and working with Redford follows.
Excitement! ’70s-kid, Gen-X (and very probably gay) excitement! Charlotte Rae, aka Mrs Garrett from The Facts of Life is coming to the Empire Plush Room to perform cabaret versions of tunes from her album Songs I Taught My Mother.
What??? From her Broadway debut as Mrs. Peachum in The Threepenny Opera to her carrot-headed brooding over Jo, Blair, Natalie, and Tottie Tootie for most of my childhood to her current incarnation as cabaret vixen, Charlotte is tuly … a Renaissance woman!
Tue, Nov 27 – Sun, Dec 2, $40
Empire Plush Room
940 Sutter, SF
(415) 885-2800
www.theempireplushroom.com
PS: OMFG Sally Kellerman is there Nov 23 & 24 ….
Fifty-three comments in 20 minutes. Extraordinary. Here’s the original press release from the U.S. Attorney’s Office:
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE CONTACT: Natalya LaBauve
November 15, 2007 (415) 436-7055
WWW.USDOJ.GOV/USAO/CAN Natalya.LaBauve@usdoj.gov
BARRY BONDS INDICTED FOR PERJURY ARISING FROM HIS TESTIMONY IN THE BALCO INVESTIGATION
Indictment also includes charge of obstruction of justice.
SAN FRANCISCO – United States Attorney Scott N. Schools, Special Agent in Charge Scott O’Briant of the Internal Revenue Service Criminal Investigation and Special Agent in Charge Charlene Thornton of the Federal Bureau of Investigation announced today that a federal grand jury in San Francisco indicted Barry Lamar Bonds, age 43, of Beverly Hills, California, on November 15, 2007, with four counts of perjury, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 1623(a), and one count of obstruction of justice, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 1503(a).
Bonds is charged with knowingly and willfully making false material statements, regarding his use of anabolic steroids and other performance-enhancing substances, while under oath during his testimony before the federal grand jury that was conducting the investigation into the Bay Area Laboratory Cooperative (“Balco”), and with obstructing justice in the same investigation. A copy of the indictment is attached to this press release.
The penalty for perjury is up to five years imprisonment and three years of supervised release. The penalty for obstruction of justice is up to ten years imprisonment and three years of supervised release. However, any sentence following conviction would be imposed by the court after consideration of the U.S. Sentencing Guidelines and the federal statute governing the imposition of a sentence, 18 U.S.C. § 3553.
Bonds is scheduled to make his initial appearance before United States Magistrate Judge James on December 7, 2007, at 9:30 a.m. in San Francisco.
An indictment contains only allegations against an individual and, as with all defendants, Mr. Bonds must be presumed innocent unless and until proven guilty.
Matt Parrella, Jeff Nedrow, and Jeff Finigan are the Assistant U.S. Attorneys who are prosecuting the case. The prosecution is the result of an investigation by the Internal Revenue Service Criminal Investigation and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Electronic court filings and further procedural and docket information are available at https://ecf.cand.uscourts.gov/cgi-bin/login.pl.
Judges’ calendars with schedules for upcoming court hearings can be viewed on the court’s website at www.cand.uscourts.gov.
All press inquiries to the U.S. Attorney’s Office should be directed to Natalya LaBauve at (415) 436-7055 or by email at Natalya.LaBauve@usdoj.gov.
Assemblymember Mark Leno told me yesterday that he’s going to pursue one of the suggestions in our oil-spill editorial and see if the state can put a lein on the Cosco Busan. That way California could compensate the local crab fishers, whose livelihood is in danger, and get the money back directly from the ship’s owners.
The crab folks are hurting: The governor has suspended all fishing in and around the Bay and within three miles of the coast. And local processing facilities can’t accept crab, so they’re shut down.
But there are still big crab boats from Oregon, Washington and Vancouver that come down and place crab pots outside of the three-mile limit, Leno told me, and then haul the crab back up north — where it gets processed and sent back down here as “safe.”
It will be a nightmare trying to sort out who actually owns the ship, and if the crabbers sue, it could take many, many years before they ever see the money; the fishermen who sued Exxon over the 1989 Exxon Valdez oil spill still haven’t seen a penny of the $5 billion they won at trial.
So seizing the ship and putting leins on it may be the only way anyone’s going to see any compensation for this mess.
Guardian Class of 2007 members King City have three new videos posted on YouTube.
Check out “Road to Madrid” below, and the rest here!
There’s been a rash of Warholia on the club scene of late: A number of art-party installations, an attack of Joe Dallesandro clone-looks among the gay, and, of course, big sunglasses and drugged-out looking stares everywhere. Thank goddess the whole screw-on fright wig thing has yet to take off, but I bet someone’s tryin’! Could it be our continued spiral into decadence caused by political powerlessness? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just another generation discovering the silver-clouded joys (although hopefully not the overdoses) that fueled the Factory.
Whatevs, it’s a joy. And the funnest manifestation is Club Heat, a tribute to the giant influence — and even gianter “personalities” — that Warhol’s superstar system effected on modern club life (and art, and politics, and means of production … ). Heat’s a new monthly at the Stud — last month’s was off the hook, and this Friday is electro-stud DJ Donimo’s b-day, which will most likely be scandalous — that combines all the arty with the party to bring back the golden early years of Clublandinalia. Plus — this one’s got an ’80s/kind of post-Studio 54 theme going on, which is a little mixed up, timeline-wise, but hey — post-postmodern!. Pour one out for poor Edie, darling.
PS. I WANT MY MONEY! JUST GIVE ME MY MONEY! (Sorry, you can’t call something Heat without me quoting the movie!)
Oh, Little Joe
Intrepid reporter Justin Juul hits the streets each week for our Meet Your Neighbors series, interviewing the Bay Area folks you’d like to know most.
I was reading a newspaper in the doorway of Mama’s Market one day when an old golden retriever appeared, unattended, with a happy look on his face. I did the natural thing and bent down to give him a little pat, but recoiled in horror just as my hand was closing in. The poor dog’s feet were mangled and bent and his back was spotted and hairless with huge weird-looking bumps sticking out in all directions. He looked up at me with his cute little dog eyes, pleading for attention, but I just couldn’t do it. I quickly shuffled inside to grab some beer instead, feeling like a dick.
I thought I was in clear as I approached the check out counter, but there at the end of the line was the dog and his owner. I had no choice but to stand behind them and wait for the dog to snuggle up to me again. I tried to contain my disgust as he got closer and closer, but then stepped back and blurted “uh…what’s wrong with your dog?” The lady just rolled her eyes and bent down to give the dog a big hug. “There’s nothing wrong with him,” she said. “Sam’s just as good as any dog out there.” She went on to tell me that she had adopted Sam from an organization that rescues abused canines. Sam had been tortured for years, but was now living the high-life with this woman, Mary E. Fahey, the owner of a dog-walking service called Chattanooga Pooches and Kitty Cats 2. I got to know Fahey over the next few days and eventually sat down with her at her house to learn more about Sam, the ugly golden retriever.
SFBG: So, Mary. Where are you from and why did you choose to settle in SF?
Mary Fahey: I came here in the ‘80s. I was in a high tech graphics company, installing computers and stuff. They transferred me from NYC to Nor Cal and then I lost my job right afterwards. This was in the dark ages, right before the personal computer came out. The whole game changed as soon as I got out here and everything I had learned was quickly becoming obsolete. Things were becoming kind of cut-throat around here.
SFBG: How’d you get into dog-walking?
Fahey: Well I got back into the computer industry for a while and suddenly I was just too old. Well, I didn’t think I was too old, but people were looking at me, like, you’re too old. At this point I had a dog walker, but I had to let her go. I sat around the house for a while after that, just gaining ten pounds a day, feeling sorry for myself. And then my old dog walker asked me for some help and I said okay. I’ve been doing it ever since…almost 15 years now.
