The Olympics are nearly over, and I’m glad. Not that I don’t love the Olympics, I do. But I’m getting tired of the Russians—“we are number one,” even when they’re not. Those Aboriginal costumes and dance...what were they thinking? Even if we ignore the socio-political aspects of the fiasco, it was still lame.
Or, my favorite, “I didn’t win silver. I won platinum.” Yeah, right. Um, hello, didn’t your parents/coaches/friends ever mention two words: gracious loser. Or even one word: humility. On the other hand, Ariel’s Russian violin teacher always used to say, “You must always think you are the best. You are the best.” So the Russians may be reaping what they sow.
I have to admit that I haven’t been watching the Olympics on television. We don’t have cable, and thus we have no TV reception (yes, I consider this a blessing in disguise), although we did watch part of the women’s freeskate last night at my parents’ house. And we got to see the South Korean girl skate a nearly perfect performance. Sadly, we heard that her home country puts so much pressure on her that she gets nasty emails when she comes in second. (Note to South Korea: it is a game, not a referendum on your greatness as a country.) The TV commentator said that she was an amazingly humble competitor. Maybe the Russians can hire her to teach them humility.
In spite of the “life lessons,” I am glad it’s almost over. People tend to obsess over the Olympics. I understand the draw it is for people to watch the athletes as they try to achieve a moment of sheer perfection under inhuman stress after having spent years and years of training (there’s a comparison to be made to writers who spend years toiling over books that may never sell). But it’s time for Americans to get back to productivity. Have you noticed how many bleary-eyed, crabby people are walking around these days? They’re all staying up way too late. In fact, Luke’s professors come to class and say, “Sorry, I didn’t get the exams graded this week either. I still was too busy watching the Olympics.” I’m sure it will be better after the Olympics are over. Although Ariel has a prof who can’t grade anything when NASCAR is on. NASCAR?! It’s just a bunch of guys (and sometimes Danica Patrick) driving cars around and around and around and around. I don’t get that at all.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Helicopter Moment
You may not have heard the term “helicopter parent.” It’s a term professors use to describe parents who are “involved” in their children’s college education, i.e. those kids who call their parents when they walk from class to class.
Cal and I had a serious helicopter moment today. We have two kids, Luke and Ariel, who started college this year. We were a little more concerned about Ariel since she started college a year early. Most parents I talked to who had a child who started early, especially a girl, admitted that they were fairly protective of their child.
But I was actually doing pretty well. Okay, pretty well for me. I didn’t talk to the kids while they were at classes—if they called between classes I said, “Do you need something because I’m busy?” Though I listened with great delight to their stories over dinner.
But this morning, Cal discovered Ariel’s calculator on the floor. This wouldn’t be a huge deal except that Ariel has a differential equations exam this morning. DE is a class from the nether regions. The prof? Suffice it to say I’ve blogged about him before.
Given that Ariel has a history of last minute preparations, we assumed she forgot the calculator. We mulled the options: Ignore the find and hope things went well, hope she could borrow a calculator from the prof (though I’ve heard horror stories about students who forget calcs), or bring her calc to her.
As we pondered, I said: “I’m not sure she needs a calculator for DE.”
Cal said: “What do you mean? It’s a math class.”
Me: “Yeah, but I don’t think they actually do much with numbers. I think it’s weird alphabet math.”
Cal: “But what if she needs it?”
We called her cell. Sadly, her phone was off. Deciding it’s better to be safe than sorry, we drove down to UTC. I navigated the convoluted corridors of the Engineering, Math, Computer Science (EMCS) complex of buildings. When I found the class room, I looked through the glass windows. Heads were bent over sheaves of paper. But only about ten heads. Ariel told me there were 25 students. I guess a lot of students dropped the class after the first exam. The prof, who curiously did not have horns, was reading a book. He noticed me. I held up a calculator. He nodded, and I walked in. Not a single head looked up. I slipped the calculator onto Ariel’s desk. She glanced at me and said, “I didn’t need it.”
I left quickly. I haven’t heard from her yet. I’m considering blaming it on Cal.
Cal and I had a serious helicopter moment today. We have two kids, Luke and Ariel, who started college this year. We were a little more concerned about Ariel since she started college a year early. Most parents I talked to who had a child who started early, especially a girl, admitted that they were fairly protective of their child.
But I was actually doing pretty well. Okay, pretty well for me. I didn’t talk to the kids while they were at classes—if they called between classes I said, “Do you need something because I’m busy?” Though I listened with great delight to their stories over dinner.
But this morning, Cal discovered Ariel’s calculator on the floor. This wouldn’t be a huge deal except that Ariel has a differential equations exam this morning. DE is a class from the nether regions. The prof? Suffice it to say I’ve blogged about him before.
Given that Ariel has a history of last minute preparations, we assumed she forgot the calculator. We mulled the options: Ignore the find and hope things went well, hope she could borrow a calculator from the prof (though I’ve heard horror stories about students who forget calcs), or bring her calc to her.
As we pondered, I said: “I’m not sure she needs a calculator for DE.”
Cal said: “What do you mean? It’s a math class.”
Me: “Yeah, but I don’t think they actually do much with numbers. I think it’s weird alphabet math.”
Cal: “But what if she needs it?”
We called her cell. Sadly, her phone was off. Deciding it’s better to be safe than sorry, we drove down to UTC. I navigated the convoluted corridors of the Engineering, Math, Computer Science (EMCS) complex of buildings. When I found the class room, I looked through the glass windows. Heads were bent over sheaves of paper. But only about ten heads. Ariel told me there were 25 students. I guess a lot of students dropped the class after the first exam. The prof, who curiously did not have horns, was reading a book. He noticed me. I held up a calculator. He nodded, and I walked in. Not a single head looked up. I slipped the calculator onto Ariel’s desk. She glanced at me and said, “I didn’t need it.”
I left quickly. I haven’t heard from her yet. I’m considering blaming it on Cal.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Candlelight
By Friday night, we had a functioning dishwasher and stove. I thought, “Yay! We are good to go. Everything’s back to normal.” Hehe.
Saturday afternoon, the power went out for about ten minutes. I should have known that was a portent. Saturday evening the power went out. Jacob studied Shakespeare by candle light. Luke studied for a biology exam surrounded by seven candles. I told him that he was like Abraham Lincoln who studied by candlelight.
I sat in a hot bath encircled by candles. It was vaguely romantic, until I had to shave my legs. Let’s just say that it’s not an ideal situation. There’s a reason women didn’t shave until the modern era—electricity.
Eventually, I got frustrated and called EPB (our electricity provider). After an interminable hold during which I punched in an infinite number of buttons, I finally got a recording saying, “We are unable to process your call.” Just as I was sucking in breath to scream at them (metaphorically, of course) the power came back on.
Afterwards I discovered that boys, no matter what their age, love to play with hot wax. I have dried circles of candle wax everywhere—now I know what they were doing while I was in the bath. In a few minutes, they will be learning how to scrape dried wax. Yep, parenting is not for sissies.
Saturday afternoon, the power went out for about ten minutes. I should have known that was a portent. Saturday evening the power went out. Jacob studied Shakespeare by candle light. Luke studied for a biology exam surrounded by seven candles. I told him that he was like Abraham Lincoln who studied by candlelight.
I sat in a hot bath encircled by candles. It was vaguely romantic, until I had to shave my legs. Let’s just say that it’s not an ideal situation. There’s a reason women didn’t shave until the modern era—electricity.
Eventually, I got frustrated and called EPB (our electricity provider). After an interminable hold during which I punched in an infinite number of buttons, I finally got a recording saying, “We are unable to process your call.” Just as I was sucking in breath to scream at them (metaphorically, of course) the power came back on.
Afterwards I discovered that boys, no matter what their age, love to play with hot wax. I have dried circles of candle wax everywhere—now I know what they were doing while I was in the bath. In a few minutes, they will be learning how to scrape dried wax. Yep, parenting is not for sissies.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Books Rule
I love books. And I love movies. But sometimes the two shouldn’t mix.
I know that when I go to see a movie based on a book that I loved, I should pretend that the movie I’m seeing has nothing to do with the book I love. But I can’t do that. Instead, I get excited. I think:
“I’m going to see Percy and Annabeth and Grover and Clarisse.”
Oh, wait, they dumped Clarisse for the movie.
“I’m going to see Posideon in his Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts.”
Oh, wait, they put him in Greek leather armor instead.
“Ares will be wearing his biker dude leather outfit and Percy will best him in a battle.”
Oh, wait, no Ares in the movie at all. And instead of Ares coveting Zeus’s
lightning bolt, it’s Hades.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the Percy Jackson & the Olympians movie. It’s just not the book. A two hour movie can’t do justice to a book that’s read over a period of days. And it’s especially true of a book you read aloud. Read-aloud books, by virtue of the time involved and shared enjoyment with your family, become a special, almost sacred experience. No movie can compete with that.
Maybe I’ll enjoy it more when it comes out on DVD and I’m no longer hoping for things that don’t exist.
In the meantime, I’ll enjoy remembering the sweet ride when Percy, Annabeth, and Grover escape from the Lotus Eaters. I’m sure that I could make it from Vegas to LA in three hours—in a Maserati.
I know that when I go to see a movie based on a book that I loved, I should pretend that the movie I’m seeing has nothing to do with the book I love. But I can’t do that. Instead, I get excited. I think:
“I’m going to see Percy and Annabeth and Grover and Clarisse.”
Oh, wait, they dumped Clarisse for the movie.
“I’m going to see Posideon in his Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts.”
Oh, wait, they put him in Greek leather armor instead.
“Ares will be wearing his biker dude leather outfit and Percy will best him in a battle.”
Oh, wait, no Ares in the movie at all. And instead of Ares coveting Zeus’s
lightning bolt, it’s Hades.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the Percy Jackson & the Olympians movie. It’s just not the book. A two hour movie can’t do justice to a book that’s read over a period of days. And it’s especially true of a book you read aloud. Read-aloud books, by virtue of the time involved and shared enjoyment with your family, become a special, almost sacred experience. No movie can compete with that.
Maybe I’ll enjoy it more when it comes out on DVD and I’m no longer hoping for things that don’t exist.
In the meantime, I’ll enjoy remembering the sweet ride when Percy, Annabeth, and Grover escape from the Lotus Eaters. I’m sure that I could make it from Vegas to LA in three hours—in a Maserati.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
One of Those Days
I just had “one of those days.” Except it lasted for three days. It all started on Saturday. First, Jacob relapsed with the nasty upper respiratory infection we’ve been passing back and forth in our family since Christmas. High fever, hacking cough. Then the dishwasher backed up onto the kitchen floor and the laundry room floor. (Their wastewater pipes are connected.) I just love mopping filthy water and washing dishes in a bathroom sink.
And the stove, which had been acting quirky lately, died. Burner by burner. Kind of odd really. We popped the lid. All the electronics were melted. I was very thankful that it didn’t catch fire. Of course, that gratitude morphed into we’ve-only-had-that-hunk-of-junk-stove-for-just-over-two-years irritation by the time I closed the stovetop. Especially since I hadn’t cooked the chili for Fellowship Lunch. And the greasy dishes were going to have to be washed in the shallow bathroom sink. Grr.
Okay, so I’m out a kitchen sink, a washer, a stove, and I have a sick child. Add to this, a sick child whose nose begins pouring blood (I’m beginning to think his nose is hemorrhaging) and the sick child doesn’t want to use toilet paper to absorb the blood because then he has to sit up and he’s got a 101 fever and it makes his head dizzy. So sick child decides to hang his face over a trash can and let the blood just spatter into said can. This would be bad enough. It becomes worse when his sibling sees the blood draining into the can and has a hissy fit.
Now I’m out a kitchen sink, a washer, a stove, and I have a sick child with a high fever and an almost hemorrhaging nose, and a sibling who is grossed-out by blood spatter. (Note to self—do not let sibling become a homicide investigator or a surgeon.)
It’s Monday now. The plumbers have come and worked their magic. Of course, their magic comes with a hefty price—no fairy dust there. But then, in the basement we discover water. Not on the floor. The sump pump actually is still working. No, this water is dripping from the ceiling. It turns out that the seals on the dishwasher have blown out and water is seeping out of the dishwasher, under the flooring and into the basement. Isn’t it just jolly? Now I’m out a kitchen sink, a washer, a stove, I have a sick child with a high fever and an almost hemorrhaging nose, and another child who is grossed-out by blood spatter, and I’m out a dishwasher. And the water seepage destroys the cheap kitchen linoleum. (Okay, the nose thing was over by now and the sink and washer were working, but you get the point.)
By now, I’m beginning to feel hugely sorry for myself. Normally, when things get this ridiculous I begin to laugh. But, hey, I was enjoying a little pity party. I wasn’t about to let a little humor ruin a bout of self-pity. Until Cal said, “God disciplines those he loves.” I got the giggles. Cal knows I won’t say, “I wish he’d love me less.”
I now have a perfectly good hand-me-down dishwasher, a new stove is on order, a throw rug covers the linoleum, Jake’s fever is down, the sibling’s equanimity is restored, and the sink and washing machine both work. Everything’s good...except Matt’s started coughing.
And the stove, which had been acting quirky lately, died. Burner by burner. Kind of odd really. We popped the lid. All the electronics were melted. I was very thankful that it didn’t catch fire. Of course, that gratitude morphed into we’ve-only-had-that-hunk-of-junk-stove-for-just-over-two-years irritation by the time I closed the stovetop. Especially since I hadn’t cooked the chili for Fellowship Lunch. And the greasy dishes were going to have to be washed in the shallow bathroom sink. Grr.
Okay, so I’m out a kitchen sink, a washer, a stove, and I have a sick child. Add to this, a sick child whose nose begins pouring blood (I’m beginning to think his nose is hemorrhaging) and the sick child doesn’t want to use toilet paper to absorb the blood because then he has to sit up and he’s got a 101 fever and it makes his head dizzy. So sick child decides to hang his face over a trash can and let the blood just spatter into said can. This would be bad enough. It becomes worse when his sibling sees the blood draining into the can and has a hissy fit.
Now I’m out a kitchen sink, a washer, a stove, and I have a sick child with a high fever and an almost hemorrhaging nose, and a sibling who is grossed-out by blood spatter. (Note to self—do not let sibling become a homicide investigator or a surgeon.)
It’s Monday now. The plumbers have come and worked their magic. Of course, their magic comes with a hefty price—no fairy dust there. But then, in the basement we discover water. Not on the floor. The sump pump actually is still working. No, this water is dripping from the ceiling. It turns out that the seals on the dishwasher have blown out and water is seeping out of the dishwasher, under the flooring and into the basement. Isn’t it just jolly? Now I’m out a kitchen sink, a washer, a stove, I have a sick child with a high fever and an almost hemorrhaging nose, and another child who is grossed-out by blood spatter, and I’m out a dishwasher. And the water seepage destroys the cheap kitchen linoleum. (Okay, the nose thing was over by now and the sink and washer were working, but you get the point.)
By now, I’m beginning to feel hugely sorry for myself. Normally, when things get this ridiculous I begin to laugh. But, hey, I was enjoying a little pity party. I wasn’t about to let a little humor ruin a bout of self-pity. Until Cal said, “God disciplines those he loves.” I got the giggles. Cal knows I won’t say, “I wish he’d love me less.”
I now have a perfectly good hand-me-down dishwasher, a new stove is on order, a throw rug covers the linoleum, Jake’s fever is down, the sibling’s equanimity is restored, and the sink and washing machine both work. Everything’s good...except Matt’s started coughing.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Lost is lost
Let me start by saying I’m not a Lost fanatic, I’m not even a Lost fan. Though I did watch it over several years, until last year I got fed up with Ben and his encounter with the black smoke, which found him “Not Guilty.” Personally, I couldn’t think of anything that he was “not guilty” of. Have you murdered someone? Check. Have you tortured people? Check. Have you gotten your daughter murdered? Check again.
But a friend convinced me to watch the final episode last year. So I did. And then, I had to see what happened the final season. After all, maybe the writers could make it all work out in the end.
So Saturday I decided to stream the most recent episode of Lost. Normally, we watch Columbo, and I nap—I’m not excited by detective shows where you already know who committed the crime and how.
When the show started, Cal said, “Hey, is this Columbo goes to the island?” And it occurred to me that Columbo could solve the problems on Lost if we shipped him there. All he needs is a plane crash—I’m sure the island is calling him. Maybe we could put some other experts on the plane too.
Imagine:
Columbo: So Locke you were crippled and then you could walk?
Locke: It is the power of the island.
C: Right. Uh, huh. And I heard you were dead and now you’re alive?
Locke: It is the great and powerful Oz, no, I mean island.
C: Yeah, I got that. Thanks. Oh, wait, one more question. How’s that possession by the black smoke going for you?
Or what about some therapist like Dr. Phil (actually I’ve never watched him so bear with me.)
Dr. Phil: Kate honey, you got to decide between Jack and Sawyer. You’re one of those girls who loves the bad boy, but can’t stay away from the emotionally stunted Jack, who’s really an amazing spinal surgeon and the half-brother of Claire who’s “alive” again.
Kate: You know, I think it all stems from the murder.
Dr. Phil: Of your step-father?
Kate: Uh huh.
Dr. Phil: You’re trying to make peace with your step-dad by chasing two different men.
Kate: Absolutely. Besides I have to track someone and run from someone—two guys works for me.
Dr. Phil: Sweetheart, you can’t be going from one man to the other and back again—it gets confusing. Besides Sawyer has Juliet. Oh, wait, she’s dead. At least, she is for a couple more episodes before she comes back as part of Claire’s posse of black-smoke-possessed-female-forest-survivors-a-la-Rousseau.
Kate: Could I do that?
Maybe we could hire a nuclear physicist for the show (Oh, wait, they’ve already had two. But this time we’ll get them one who has not lost his marbles—sorry, pun intended.)
Physicist: Jack, you’re a man of science, are you telling me that you really believe that a nuclear explosion is going to turn back time so that you can have an alternate reality?
Jack: Well, sure. It happened. I think. Although it’s not totally clear.
Physicist: And you survived the nuclear explosion at ground zero?
Jack: Yep. It bothered my ears a bit though.
Physicist: Let me get out your prescription pad.
What about you? Can you think of some experts who might help sort out the issues on Lost?
But a friend convinced me to watch the final episode last year. So I did. And then, I had to see what happened the final season. After all, maybe the writers could make it all work out in the end.
So Saturday I decided to stream the most recent episode of Lost. Normally, we watch Columbo, and I nap—I’m not excited by detective shows where you already know who committed the crime and how.
When the show started, Cal said, “Hey, is this Columbo goes to the island?” And it occurred to me that Columbo could solve the problems on Lost if we shipped him there. All he needs is a plane crash—I’m sure the island is calling him. Maybe we could put some other experts on the plane too.
Imagine:
Columbo: So Locke you were crippled and then you could walk?
Locke: It is the power of the island.
C: Right. Uh, huh. And I heard you were dead and now you’re alive?
Locke: It is the great and powerful Oz, no, I mean island.
C: Yeah, I got that. Thanks. Oh, wait, one more question. How’s that possession by the black smoke going for you?
Or what about some therapist like Dr. Phil (actually I’ve never watched him so bear with me.)
Dr. Phil: Kate honey, you got to decide between Jack and Sawyer. You’re one of those girls who loves the bad boy, but can’t stay away from the emotionally stunted Jack, who’s really an amazing spinal surgeon and the half-brother of Claire who’s “alive” again.
Kate: You know, I think it all stems from the murder.
Dr. Phil: Of your step-father?
Kate: Uh huh.
Dr. Phil: You’re trying to make peace with your step-dad by chasing two different men.
Kate: Absolutely. Besides I have to track someone and run from someone—two guys works for me.
Dr. Phil: Sweetheart, you can’t be going from one man to the other and back again—it gets confusing. Besides Sawyer has Juliet. Oh, wait, she’s dead. At least, she is for a couple more episodes before she comes back as part of Claire’s posse of black-smoke-possessed-female-forest-survivors-a-la-Rousseau.
Kate: Could I do that?
Maybe we could hire a nuclear physicist for the show (Oh, wait, they’ve already had two. But this time we’ll get them one who has not lost his marbles—sorry, pun intended.)
Physicist: Jack, you’re a man of science, are you telling me that you really believe that a nuclear explosion is going to turn back time so that you can have an alternate reality?
Jack: Well, sure. It happened. I think. Although it’s not totally clear.
Physicist: And you survived the nuclear explosion at ground zero?
Jack: Yep. It bothered my ears a bit though.
Physicist: Let me get out your prescription pad.
What about you? Can you think of some experts who might help sort out the issues on Lost?
Friday, February 12, 2010
Friday Five
A follower of the blog (Andrew) emailed me this week and asked if we could do a Friday Five. I realized that we haven’t done one in a long time so we’re due for one.
I asked my kids for suggestions for Friday Five topics and they suggested “Favorite Computer Games.” I immediately protested that I didn’t have five computer games that I played, let alone five favorites. They suggested I could choose Pong—then, they laughed derisively. Yes, I did play Pong back in the day. (And I was a master Asteroids player.) Maybe we’ll do that Friday Five eventually—when I have five computer games that I like. In the meantime, tell me what your five favorite songs are and why. Here are mine.
1. Anything by J. S. Bach. Okay, not anything—I am so sick of Sonatas and Partitas. *Gag* Ariel’s violin teacher believes S & P are the most beautiful things. They’re not. Get over it.
2. “It’s a Beautiful Day” by U2. Also “Vertigo” and “Elevation.” The music video for “Vertigo” is bizarre, but notice the visual allusions to Dante’s Inferno. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98W9QuMq-2k
3. Cooking music. My kids will hassle me for days if I don’t admit to my cooking music. When I cook, I listen to an eclectic mix of songs on playlist.com. My playlist includes everything from Pat Benetar’s “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” to “Sloop John B” to “Dreams” by the Cranberries to “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” (which I really, really love and I don’t know why) to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” (I have to say that based on the fiddle playing, the Devil should’ve won, which would be more Faustian anyway.)
4. Dissonant music. Honestly. I like Bartok—it reminds me of forests shrouded in fog and mystery. I even like Schoenberg. *Gasp*
5. “Who Spiked the Eggnog?” by Straight No Chaser. They’re an amazing a’cappella group. (I know that sounds lame, but they make it cool.) Here’s a link to the song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7byjAaLcRM And every aspiring writer, who thinks they’re never going to be published, ought to read SNC’s story on their website.
I’m sure you haven’t failed to notice that I’ve listed way more than 5 songs. Neener. It’s my blog. But you’re welcome to do the same—just make them fit in five numbers.
I asked my kids for suggestions for Friday Five topics and they suggested “Favorite Computer Games.” I immediately protested that I didn’t have five computer games that I played, let alone five favorites. They suggested I could choose Pong—then, they laughed derisively. Yes, I did play Pong back in the day. (And I was a master Asteroids player.) Maybe we’ll do that Friday Five eventually—when I have five computer games that I like. In the meantime, tell me what your five favorite songs are and why. Here are mine.
1. Anything by J. S. Bach. Okay, not anything—I am so sick of Sonatas and Partitas. *Gag* Ariel’s violin teacher believes S & P are the most beautiful things. They’re not. Get over it.
2. “It’s a Beautiful Day” by U2. Also “Vertigo” and “Elevation.” The music video for “Vertigo” is bizarre, but notice the visual allusions to Dante’s Inferno. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98W9QuMq-2k
3. Cooking music. My kids will hassle me for days if I don’t admit to my cooking music. When I cook, I listen to an eclectic mix of songs on playlist.com. My playlist includes everything from Pat Benetar’s “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” to “Sloop John B” to “Dreams” by the Cranberries to “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” (which I really, really love and I don’t know why) to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” (I have to say that based on the fiddle playing, the Devil should’ve won, which would be more Faustian anyway.)
4. Dissonant music. Honestly. I like Bartok—it reminds me of forests shrouded in fog and mystery. I even like Schoenberg. *Gasp*
5. “Who Spiked the Eggnog?” by Straight No Chaser. They’re an amazing a’cappella group. (I know that sounds lame, but they make it cool.) Here’s a link to the song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7byjAaLcRM And every aspiring writer, who thinks they’re never going to be published, ought to read SNC’s story on their website.
I’m sure you haven’t failed to notice that I’ve listed way more than 5 songs. Neener. It’s my blog. But you’re welcome to do the same—just make them fit in five numbers.
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