by Laurelin

The old woman cupped my hand in hers. Narrowing her eyes and making a clicking noise in the back of her throat she looked up and smiled warmly. “You are untrusting in love,” she said. “Why? What is there to worry about, you have had two great heartbreaks in your life and they are over, it’s time to put the past behind you. I look in your eyes and see such warmth, too bad you cannot speak with your eyes.” She lets my hand go and it falls into my lap. I guess that lady gets paid to say those things, but at 2 AM in New York City it suddenly seems so real, and I walk back through Times Square to my hotel wondering about what she said. Was she right? Was I totally untrusting?

I went on a date the other night with a bartender from a trendy bar downtown. He wasn’t anything like me, and while once that would have really frightened me, now it seems really appealing, challenging, intriguing. I had a great time, and at the end of the night back home at my apartment I found myself smiling stupidly, wishing my roommate was home so I could talk her ear off about it. I never heard from that guy again, and it was a bit unsettling for a few days. What did I do wrong? This was so typical.

After a few days of not hearing back I moved on; not everyone gets an explanation as to why something doesn’t work out. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself a little bit — here I was wondering why everything seemed to click when it didn’t really. Who does that? “You do that,” my roommate points out. “You do that all the time. Have a great time and then freak out and run away and never tell the guy why. That’s like, your favorite thing to do!” I think about it and I can’t help but laugh, at myself, at the poor guys I have dated in the past five months, and at the whole situation in general. She’s right, I have an inability to tell the truth when it comes to wanting to end something before it really starts; I just slither back to my bar scene life and immerse myself in work. One can always trust the reliability of a 45 hour work week. Does that make me untrusting? Easily bored? Non committal?

I have always considered trust in relationships to be something that is created over time once you find someone who doesn’t drive you nuts. All of a sudden I realize that I’m looking at the cell phone you left on my nightstand when you were rushing to work and I roll over and go back to bed – instead of flipping through your texts. I’m left alone in your apartment and your computer is right there with your e-mail up on the screen, and I sign out and into mine without even a second glance. You want to go out with your friends to the strip club with an eight ball of cocaine in your pocket? Sure, have a good time. I trust you. See? I can be trusting.

That old lady was wrong. I have trust in a lot of things. I trust that my friends will get me through anything. I trust that I’m a good judge of character, and that even if something doesn’t work out that I chose that person or that path because I saw something good in it, because I thought that it would make me a better person. I trust that I will not always do the right thing but that I will know the difference between the two, and that I will do better next time, be stronger and able to learn from my mistakes. I might be untrusting in love, but that is only because a lot of times the way it’s ended up for me has left me feeling like I trusted something that wasn’t real, or that was only real for a little while and that is devastating. I was never mislead, nor was I ever misleading to anyone I ever called mine. If I mislead you, you were never mine, nor I yours.

Untrusting in love seems normal to me to an extent; it’s good to be cautious with your heart after you have spent so long learning to trust yourself. I’ll open up when the time is right. For now, the only trust I need is from the bartender shaking my martini or muddling my mojito. It’s almost summer time, and I smell some really poor life choices on the horizon. If there’s one thing I can trust in, it’s that.

[..]

by SnakePlissken

Fuck breakfast. Not breakfast foods, just breakfast the meal. It’s too goddamn early to be awake, let alone eating. And who can eat anyway when their guts are rolling harder than Andy Dick at a rave from last night’s bottle of bottom shelf whiskey? Not me, not usually anyway. But sometimes you just have to get some goddamn grease in your system to keep your stomach from eating your asshole. And when I think grease, I think about the golden arches.

I grew up poor. I know this because we called McDonald’s a restaurant and we went there for breakfast on Sundays like it was high fucking tea with the Queen mum. And the star of this meal was always the Big Breakfast. A fuck-ton of grease-laden mornin’ death all crammed into a big styrofoam container that’ll outlive you by a few hundred years. And it all comes with a tub or two of caramel colored high fructose death sauce, aka “syrup.”

And that’s still what it is. Except now they only use half the environment killing Styrofoam. Instead of a lid with proper thermal preserving properties we get this weird clear plastic lid embossed with the McDonald’s logo. Holy shit, it looks like the Lenin of fast foods all splayed out and sad. Come to think of it both probably decay at similar rates. But as bad as that mental image is the worst part is it lacks insulation leading to inevitable and undesirable side-effects.

Cold flapjacks. Fuck shit ass cock piss bitch cunt fart. Now I love the environment, don’t get me wrong. Trees are awesome and shit, but I’d sacrifice our children’s and their children’s children’s future for piping hot, butter-melting pancakes first thing in the morning. God I miss that top layer of Styrofoam. Fucking Captain Planet.

This biscuit isn’t too bad. But it isn’t too good. It’s just sort of there, but somehow you know you’d miss it if it was gone. This biscuit is to breakfast what a hand job is to casual sex. You don’t really need it, and it’s really not that fulfilling, but you’d sure miss it if it was gone. On a side note, both sometimes are in need of butter.

I love hash brown patties like this. I know they’re the bologna of potatoes, but I still love them even if they are made from bits swept off the floor and smashed together in a factory press operated by an immigrant laborer with questionable at best hygiene. That being said, when it comes to shitty hash browns McDonald’s wins the gold goddamn prize. Greasy and golden brown, they’re like eating the cast of Jersey Shore. Well almost; the hash browns don’t give you herpes.

Ok, so these patties have always worried me. Not because they look like a mole that was removed from Larry the Cable Guy’s gooch, but because of how they react within the gastrointestinal system. To put it gently, McDonald’s sausage is an investment; eat one in the morning and you’ll know it all day long with every foul-tasting belch that gurgles up from your grease-laden stomach. Work on that shit, Ronald, or at least throw some Tums and breath mints into this combo.

I’m not sure what to make of these eggs. Mostly because they seem to be exuding a sort of liquid. Normally I like things that exude liquids when hot *winkwinknudgenudgesaynomore* but I’ve never seen a scrambled egg sweat before. And given the flavor of these suckers I imagine they were included merely to soak up the grease leaking from the sausage patty. Sort of like a paper towel that came out of a chicken’s ass. Personally I’d rather eat that. Welp, time to break out the one sure cure for bland bullshit.

Ahh, that helped. That helped a lot. Now, I know a lot of you are thinking “you’re putting hot sauce on fast food eggs?” right now. It may seem as risky as shitting in a public restroom in New Delhi, but let’s face the facts here and realize that there’s not really any chance of it making me poop more. The McDonald’s alone will be adequate to make my colon reach critical mass. I will admit the spiciness could make things interesting, but I like to live dangerously. That’s why I don’t have health insurance. Well, that and poverty.

So they might be a little cold, but these cakes really aren’t too bad. Sure they’re packed with more chemicals than Charlie Sheen, but I kinda like them. The syrup is another story. It tasted like diabetes and kissing Wilford Brimley. That said it was high time these suckers got some doctoring as well.

And here’s where the strawberry preserves comes in. Sure they contain roughly as much fruit as a tall glass of Kool-aid, but it works with the syrup to make these rather ordinary cakes into a magically shitty taste treat. How do I describe the experience? It’s like going down on Strawberry Shortcake.

So, all in all, it’s not really that different than what it was twenty five years ago; a grease and chemical-laden platter impersonating a real breakfast. Not something I’d have again given the fact there are a million greasy spoon diners that serve far superior breakfast food, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected it to be. Basically, if you wake up drunk and need to eat somewhere within stumbling distance it’s not a terrible choice.

7/10

Related Posts
Plissken’s Shit Food Review: The McRib
Plissken’s Shit Booze Review: Chelada
Plissken’s Shit Booze Review: Four Loko Uva
Plissken’s Shit Food Review: Totino’s Pizza Rolls

by Tita Suicide

There has been a copy of Betty Crocker’s Cookbook in my house for as long as I can remember. You know the one…It’s bright red, with white lettering, and regardless of the edition, features over 1000 recipes from green bean casserole, to New York cheesecake.

The first one I recall seeing was my Grandma’s tattered and well loved 1950 edition. Then there was my Mum’s hardcover, published in the1980s. And now I have my very own copy, the soft cover, with a spiral spine. (Of course I have my Grandma’s original tucked away safely for nostalgia’s sake.)

According to my Gran, recipes such as this one were a staple in war-time kitchens everywhere. Since fresh groceries were of high value, and often in low supply, it was common to bake with recipes that didn’t require valuable commodities such as butter and eggs. In modern times, baking without these items is more likely to be a lifestyle choice, or dietary consideration, rather than necessity. In my case, I often bake to accommodate the needs and likes of my friends. There are a few vegetarians, several vegans, and one who cannot eat too much protein.

And so, with its lack of eggs, milk or butter, this “accidentally vegan” cake recipe is easily the most well loved page in my Betty Crocker cookbook. (The drips of batter, and spills that adorn the page serve as proof.) – Tita Suicide (a.k.a. @Cupcakedujour)

Ingredients:

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour*
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup baking cocoa
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/3 cup vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon white or cider vinegar
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 cup cold water

*I often substitute wheat-free flour in this recipe, and it comes out just as nicely!

Directions:

1. Heat oven to 350 degrees.

2. Grease bottom and side of 9-inch round pan or 8-inch square pan with shortening; lightly flour.

3. In a medium bowl, mix flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda and salt. In a small bowl, stir oil, vinegar and vanilla until well mixed. Vigorously stir oil mixture and oil into flour mixture about 1 minute or until well blended. Immediately pour into pan.

4. Bake 30 to 35 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 15 minutes.

5. Top / decorate as desired.

6. As prepared (without frosting), each serving contains 230 calories, 10g total fat, 0mg cholesterol, 310mg sodium, 37g total carbohydrate and 3g protein.

If you’re in the Seattle area this weekend you can experience more of Tita Suicide’s hospitality at Lo-Fi on April 1st at the SuicideGirls Take The Northwest soiree to mark the closing night of Emerald City Comic Con. Full details can be found here.

[..]

by Ryker Suicide

Every year in high school some friends and I would venture down to the Carolinas for a beach vacation. Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time down south knows the best BBQ is found on little pits at the side of the road. I remember my junior year this was this one that we stopped at that had the BEST BBQ I have ever had in my life. It was smoky, spicy, with huge chunks of onion. Once I got a bit older and a little more efficient in the kitchen I spent a lot of time trying to replicate this recipe with my own BBQ sauce and pulled pork. Now this is a recipe you will need all day to make, as it requires being slowly cooked (if you have a crock pot, SUPER, if not, a heavy pot and an oven will work just the same). Here is my recipe for Chipotle Pulled Pork BBQ-N-Slaw sammies!

Ingredients: For The Pork

• 1 pork shoulder-butt roast (about 5 lbs or so)
• Salt/pepper
• Brown sugar (for a sweeter-style pork, I omit this because I prefer my BBQ with more of a bite)
• 1-2 cans of chipotle peppers in adobo sauce (1 for more mild, 2 for spicier)
• 2 cans of Dr. Pepper
• 2 small, or 1 large onion
• 1 bag of hoagie rolls

Ingredients: For The Sauce

• 3/4 cup of Jack Daniels / bourbon (my rule is, if you wouldn’t drink it, don’t cook with it – use something good!)
• 1/2 finely chopped onion
• 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped1/3 cup of apple cider vinegar
• 4-5 TBS Worcestershire sauce (to taste)
• 1/4 cup of brown sugar (also to taste, I like my sauce less sweet)
• 1/2-3/4 cup of molasses
• 2 cups of ketchup
• 1/2 tsp each salt/pepper
• 1/4 cup-ish tomato paste
• 2-3 tsp liquid smoke
• 1/2 tsp of Tabasco or your favorite hot sauce (to taste)
• 2-3 TBS horseradish mustard or Dijon mustard
• A *dab* of grape jelly or jam

Ingredients: For The Slaw

• 1 bag of coleslaw mix
• 1/4-1/2 cup of apple cider vinegar (to taste)
• 1-2 tsp celery seed (to taste)
• 1/2 cup of low fat mayo
• 1/2 tsp each salt n pepper
• 1 TBS horseradish mustard
• 1-2 tsp of sugar (to taste)

Directions:

1. Start with the pork because it is going to take hours for this baby to cook to perfection. First, cut onion in half lengthwise and then quarter slices. Place onion wedges at the bottom of the pot. Salt, pepper and rub with brown sugar (if so desired) the pork butt generously, and place in pot on top of onions fat side up. Empty can/cans of chipotle peppers and sauce all over top of the roast. Then add two cans of Dr. Pepper, cover pan and cook on high on crock pot (or 300 degrees in oven) for about 6 hours. You will know roast is ready when it is fork tender, if it isn’t fork tender then cook longer. Trust me, it is so worth the wait.

2. When the pork is starting to get close, you can start on your other goodies. I like to start with the BBQ sauce since sometimes I have to play around with it a bit to get it perfect. Like many people, I don’t always cook with exact measurements so these listed above are as guestimated as I can get. So, first combine onion, a little olive oil, and Jack Daniels/ bourbon in a sauté pan. Fry until onions are translucent and then add garlic and cook for an additional 45 seconds or so. Combine remaining ingredients and bring to a boil. Simmer uncovered for about 15 minutes or so until the sauce gets nice and thick. Here, you can add more Jack/bourbon should you want a little more bite to your sauce.

3. Now time for the slaw. I typically use a slightly different recipe for a spicier slaw, but since this pork is already pretty spicy, I went with a more Carolina style slaw recipe (modified a bit, of course). In a medium bowl mix together all ingredients except for the coleslaw mix. Taste dressing and modify as necessary. Coleslaw, like many other picnic style salads, vary from batch to batch and I tend to use recipes for salads like this as a basic guideline. Once your dressing is to your liking, toss with the coleslaw mix and refrigerate.

4. Is your pork ready yet? If it is, it’s time to get to pulling! Remove roast from pan and place on a large platter or cutting board. Trim fat off of top and discard. Using two forks, pull the pork roast until every bit is off of the bone, discarding fat pieces as they come. Now, here is where things get a little tricky. Everyone has a different preference for their sauce thickness in pork BBQ. I always have to play with it a bit, so what I do is drain about 1-2 cups of the Dr. Pepper/roast juice from the pot and SET ASIDE. Then return pulled pork to pot and stir in remaining juice. Add BBQ sauce and stir. Add more of the juice that was set aside earlier to reach desired consistency/flavor.

5, Serve pulled pork on a toasted hoagie bun, top with slaw and viola.

Enjoy!

[..]

by Justin Beckner

During a trip to Iowa (don’t ask me why I was there) I came across a brewpub called the Olde Main. It was slightly after noon and I was thirsty so I went inside. Upon speaking with the bartenders and other patrons there, I found that everyone in the bar knew a lot about the beer they were drinking. This was a place where beer was appreciated rather than simply consumed – this was my kind of bar.

The Olde Main had six classic styles of in house brews on tap. The vats that gave birth to the delicious beverages rested just beyond a sheet of glass behind the bar. As I sat there enjoying my beer –– A Scottish Ale called “Off Kilter” –– I began to ponder the rich history of beer brewing process. Everyone can enjoy the obvious effects of beer but it takes another breed to enjoy the science behind it.

I arranged to meet with the brewmaster Jeff “Puff” Irvin the next morning for a tour of the beer making process. Puff spoke with true passion as he explained each step taken to ensure that the beer at Olde Main is held to the highest standard. The following is an interview with Puff, an architect of delicious beer. A thorough explanation of the process used at Olde Main can be found here.

Justin Beckner: What are your credentials as a brewmaster?

Jeff “Puff” Irvin: I have an undergraduate degree in Biology from Iowa State University. Then I went to the University of California Davis and I graduated from the Master Brewers Program down there. Then I came back here to Ames, Iowa and started brewing beer.

JB: Was it always your plan to become a brewmaster or at what point did you decide that was what you wanted to do?

JPI: I had a job as a bartender here to put myself through undergraduate college and I wanted to learn more about the stuff I was serving so I did some brewing experiments at home before I went to school for it. I took a class at Iowa State called Plants & People where we talked about how plants have impacted society over the years so we learned a lot about the ingredients that go into making beer which I found to be really interesting. But I always had a passion for spirits, beer and wine, and I was fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time and have the opportunity to get accepted to UC Davis. I’ve found that brewing beer has been a great fit for me and I’ve been doing it for the past eight years.

JB: Now, on the website people can check out the brewing by way of photos and your process is very well explained. You describe your brewing process here as being very “traditional”. What does that mean exactly?

JPI: We basically use large buckets to brew the beer which is a very old process. We don’t have a lot of the state of the art technology that some places can afford. But people have been making beer the same way for a very long time. We make it 500 gallons at a time. There are some things that we need to take into consideration because of that but the general process is the same as brewing it 5 gallons at a time in your home. It’s not rocket science.

JB: How many people work here?

JPI: The brewhouse in just myself and John, and then we’ve got four part-time guys who come in from time to time. We’ve also got a full time sales guy who’s always out on the road trying to sell the beer.

JB: Is the marketing world as difficult for breweries as it is for things like music and independent films?

JPI: It’s very similar in the fact that there are a lot of great breweries out there who are very good at marketing their product. In that sense, even though we’ve been around for eight years, we are still very new to the marketing aspects of the industry. We do have aspirations of getting bigger and hopefully soon building a new facility off site from here to keep up with production. We bottle five of our beers right now and we’d love to add some more seasonals to that.

JB: In your experimentations with making different kinds of beer and liquors, what would you say is the oddest ingredient you’ve ever used?

JPI: We do a chocolate porter here every year where we add 45 pounds of real Bavarian Chocolate – that’s our winter seasonal and it sells really well. We do an Irish Red beer for St. Patrick’s Day. We do a pumpkin brew for our fall seasonal. Some of the crazier stuff we do are our one-off runs. We did a 13 grain beer that had a bunch of holistic aphrodisiacs in it like Horny Goat Wheat Powder and Yohimbine. That was kind of funny and it sold well after we explained what was in it. We did a 4 Oat beer which we made with malted oats, flaked oats, toasted oats, and then an oat cereal that I can’t tell you the name of it because I called the company and since it is marketed to kids, they wouldn’t let us use the name anywhere. I can tell you that it was Magically Delicious – that’s what we called it. The interesting thing is that the cereal we used had marshmallows in it. We poured the boxes of cereal into our mash tub, so that was pretty interesting. We did a double IPA last spring which ended up being like 15.5 percent alcohol content. We used a process called dry hopping which we’d never used before here. It was a delicious beer but it was really a messy process. We’d like to make it again but we’ve got to figure out a better way to strain it from our tubs because it tends to clog everything up.

Related Posts
Interview With Justin Sane of Anti-Flag: The Occupy Movement Gives Me A Lot Of Hope
Interview With Jeremy Kasten – The Theatre Bizarre

by Laurelin

Change over time is a strange thing; it’s so gradual and so fast at the same time. One day you open your eyes and you’re like, wow, where did the time go? How did I get here in this apartment with all this stuff, with this job and this… life.

That’s how I felt high school and college were, and then all the years after that –– a montage of years blending, flickering in my memory like old movies, set to the most beautiful music. It all seemed to be only an exhale in a series of breaths, and all the breaths gone with only the slightest breeze before I’m even aware I’ve drawn another. It was forever and no time at all at the same time, and when it was finally over I couldn’t place how I had changed, or when; I just knew that somehow, I had. Looking back on the past month of my life I am finally able to look at something and know that without a doubt, this instance was when everything changed. This moment was mine.

I have always coasted though life with minimal responsibilities. At almost 30 I have to say I have the best and worst of it all: I have worked hard for every penny I’ve earned. I’ve always paid my own way. I fell into bartending because it paid my bills and still allowed me to party. This was a community where I could drink and stay up late and have a family, and a home away from home. I watched every friend I ever had in high school and then college settle and get married, start families, buy houses. And I stayed the same. I don’t think I ever had a problem, but I certainly never had any solutions. I never thought of it as a career, but it all of a sudden was mine, and while others turned up their noses I decided to make it my own. I never thought that anyone else would imagine me as being able to run a bar on my own; it was always someone else’s job. But then all of a sudden, there it was. An offer for this place to be mine –– really, actually mine.

Being offered a management position in an industry that has always allowed me to coast through life with minimal responsibilities seemed at first frightening. I can’t do this! Other people do this! It was scary, knowing that someone saw something in me, someone thinks I could run the show. What if I’m not good at it? What if I let everyone down? A chance to shine is also a chance to fail, and I always ran from responsibility in fear of failing. Mulling over my fate clutching my usual pint of beer, I consciously make a choice. This job I’ve chosen might not be what “everyone else” is doing, but it can be a career, it’s always been mine. I took a week to think about it and when I was finally ready to say “yes,” I knew that my life would never be the same. This was one of those moments where you take control and literally steer your life down one path. Mentally, I strap on my seatbelt and brace for impact.

My new manager pants seem to be fitting alright, but at the same time I am still so lost; working amongst friends and ex-boyfriends, trying to find my voice of authority while also trying to remain one of the gang. I have no idea who this person is who is supposed to be in charge. I feel like I haven’t found my voice. I can’t even control the color of my cheeks around my ex, how can I control the bar? I may not feel like I can find that voice of authority, but I have always had MY voice, and sometimes I hear that person I want to be stepping forward and speaking, as though someone else is finally accepting a role, and it takes a minute to realize that that person really is me.

I’m settling in in my own way, piece by piece. I’ve come to the conclusion that for me, there really isn’t a life beyond the bar scene. Some people were created just for this; born of late nights, shaken cocktails, of phone numbers and thoughts scribbled on cocktail napkins and spilt beer. I like to think that I didn’t just fall into this because it was easy. That’s how it started, sure. But it’s not how it’s going to end.

[..]

by Laurelin

People always think that as a bartender I must be always surrounded by men. Flirting with the bartender is just what people do, it’s true. I’m going to be honest though — besides the occasional coworker, in my years behind the bar I have never once met and wound up hooking up with or dating a guy I’ve met while working. I am friendly, but I am not one of those girls who bats her eyelashes for tips. I would rather impress you with my knowledge of beer selection than with my boobs (although I do have a pretty perky rack).

That being said, let’s move on to something a little on the girly side: hair. I have spent the majority of my life as a faux ginger. My hair is naturally mousy brown, and in high school (without my parents permission of course) I started dying it auburn. With the exception of a few years of rebellion with crazy haircuts and experimenting with pinks, blues, and purples, I have always had long, red hair. I woke up one morning about a month ago with a new idea in my head. Blonde. I wonder…Not an hour later I found myself in a salon chair covered in foils, and an hour after that, I was a different person. I looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe it. Could I touch it? Is this me?

I didn’t think anyone would care, but as the days went by I started to notice a serious difference in the way men talked to me. People held doors, bought me drinks, smiled more. Is this for real? Maybe it was in the way I held myself; I had just received two promotions at both my jobs and I admit to having a bit more pep in my step as of late. Either way, people always say blondes have more fun, and I’m starting to think they weren’t kidding. My bar shifts end in multiple phone numbers written on napkins and bar receipts. Guys hang around a little past closing and ask what I’m doing after work, I need to shove them out the door and try not to laugh. People whistle in the streets and I’m wondering, was I invisible as a red head? Seriously?

The other night at a charity event I met this guy who on paper, seemed perfect. We chatted, I wasn’t exactly interested but I wasn’t not interested. He wound up having too much to drink and in ordering us a round of beers he made a snide comment, purposely insulting the bartender. I was horrified, but I thanked him for the chat and went to find my friends. I could feel his eyes on me for the rest of the night, and I wished I had anywhere else to be.

One week later, I’d just started a shift at work. Before I can even take off my coat, I look up and there he is, the guy from the charity event. My cheeks burn and I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Do you remember me?” he asks.

“Yes…” I say.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says. “I can’t believe I didn’t get your number. Please, go out with me.” I look around, wondering if anyone else is hearing this. The coat I have taken only halfway off suddenly feels like a million pounds of wool, and I start sweating.

“Um, I’m flattered, but I’m kind of seeing someone…” I manage to stammer.

“I don’t care,” he says. “One coffee date.” Whelp, that’s it for me. The scent of desperation on anyone makes bile rise in my throat but at the same time I feel so bad for this guy that I can barely stand it.

“You should go,” I say. He doesn’t go, he stares at me, and as the other bartender walks up I hold my hand up in a half wave, and he finally gets it. He leaves, and I start my shift shaking.

Fucking blonde hair, seriously. I’m in trouble.

[..]