Sarvam Brahma Mayam

Kunti's wisdom:
My dear nephew krishna, I want to be constantly harrowed by sorrows; for only during times of great misery do we really take comfort in your divine name...

किं वचनीयं किमवचनीयं

किं रसनीयं किमरसनीयम्  

Ah. The wind amplifies the sounds of the rustling of the leaves in this beautiful month of maargazhi, and you do not wish to wake up in the morning! Come now, get up. Look at that amma selling kola maavu. She has a scarf around her head trying to muffle out the sounds of her life and the cold from the headwinds. of her life. I have to say, the breeze sways the kovalai of the paalkaaran on the cycle beautifully, interfering beautifully with the song of the wind to produce random notes! Have you seen the newspaper boys yet? They are in a hurry, well, they should be. The winds are strong and a little carelessness can make things very uncomfortable.

किं पठनीयं किमपठनीयं

किं भजनीयं किमभजनीयम्  

The distant rumble off the densely populated venkatnarayana road slowly dissipates across the by-lanes before it reaches the kalyana mandapam nestled in a tiny corner behind a quaint and beautiful house constructed ages ago; the house retains an aura of the unhurried past, and is unflinchingly stubborn in not keeping up with the meaningless fast paced life of the present. The house looks at the people with the same disdain it has for the current generation, and mocks at us from behind the lovely thulasi plants and parijaatham blossoms.

किं बोद्धव्यं किमबोद्धव्यं

किं भोक्तव्यं किमभोक्तव्यम् 

The dazzlingly lit temple on the ekadasi of the maargazhi month is subtly inviting the chilly wind of the evening to gently comb the wasps of the arali plant that she blushes red by her beautifully blossomed flowers. Raaman looks imposing in his new attire flanked by the valorous Lakshman and the divine Sita. The parama padha vaasal conjures the image of the sight of Maha-Vishnu and Maha-lakshmi in procession followed  by a never-ending retinue.

सर्वत्र सदा हंस ध्यानं

कर्तव्यं भो मुक्ति-निदानम् 

Renganathan opens his eyes, and the illusion sweeps us, and we succumb to the maayai of his grand theatre, as he laughs at his joke and the Maha Lakshmi tries to suppress a smile that has surreptitiously gathered at the corner of her lips.

Kootu to glory.(probably the worst title for this post)

"The arc of justice bends towards something"-someone

"எப்படி பாடினரோ அடியார் அப்படி பாட நான் ஆசை கொண்டேன் "

I am simply astounded by what has happened to my life in a few split seconds. I am never the person who wants to see the bright side of things. I am quite the contrary. I am glum, and I believe human beings face perennial destruction by mutual greed and hatred and that the society as a collective only strengthens our mutual egos to dominate and outlast the others and that, ok, you get the picture.

And then, the most beautiful thing happened(The worst thing being this grammatically wrong statement beginning with 'and'). I was listening to a lovely raguvamsha sudha on the tape, and chopping vegetables, little realizing that I was on the verge of a cataclysmic change of unheard proportions, one that would change the entire human way of thinking and the blah.

I slowly lifted the lid off the pressure cooker, and poured some ghee onto the kadai, and watched the satin silky goo of moong dal rubbing off on the kadai, reluctant to leave her, lustily clinging onto her, licking her insatiably, wanting to savor every single caress, ok, what are we talking about now?

The mixture simmers to a boil.

My blood rushes to my head, and I hear the sound of my own pulse. My heartbeat, tak, tak, like that villain knocking a maiden's door at 12 in the night to murder her for no reason. I mean, why would someone be stupid enough to live all alone in a house so big and make yourself an easy target for serial killers? Its much easier to just put a bulls' eye on top of the house with a marquee going "I am alone, queer people".

The mixture, yes. The slimy thing, the beautiful slimy thing, the varnished beautiful slimy thing, the still-using-redundant-phrases varnished beautiful slimy thing...

I am in the throes of passion, tempted to taste it. It is hot, very hot. A sachin-tendulkar-straight-drive hot. A vvs laxman-late cut-hot. But let's be honest, dravid's is much better. Then again, chanderpaul has a nice variation on that one. 

I neatly touch the tip of my finger(I could have written fingertip, but no) and taste it.

Michelangelo, completed the sistine chapel and yelled 'I am extremely phenomenal'. Alan turing cracked the enigma and screamed 'Spank me hard'. Ok, maybe something else too.

I had, for a moment, stopped to understand everything and understood everything.

It was a paatum-naane feeling, when he goes 'naan asaindhaal, asaiyum, akilamellame'.

I had created the most divine capsicum poricha kootu. 

I am now burdened with the responsibility of this greatness thrust upon me. Future generations will refer to my work as the work of 'kootar'. I bow my head with all humility at this unprecedented gesture of the gods and goddesses(I didn't know how to type this word, who knew goddess had two d's?) to this simple, humble, naive, moronic, crappy, fumbling, disgusting, irritating, hmm, must stop now.

It is time for us to listen to this:

எத்தனை கோடி இன்பம் வைத்தாய்

எங்கள் இறைவா! இறைவா! இறைவா!

சித்தினை அசித்துடன் இணைத்தாய் - அங்கு
சேரும் ஐம்பூதத்து வியனுலகமைத்தாய்!
அத்தனை உலகமும் வர்ணக் களஞ்சியமாகப்
பல பல நல்லழகுகள் சமைத்தாய்!

Hallucinogens.

The child has been cajoled to sleep in the next house. The cook has been sent to keep her company. 
Two past midnight. We have all exhausted ourselves, a deep quiet has descended on us. Susila lies there under the window, laid out on the floor. For there is the law that, the body, even if an emperor's, must rest only on the floor.
We squat on the bare floor around her, her father, mother, and I. We mutter, talk among ourselves, wail between convulsions of grief, but our bodies are worn out with fatigue. An unearthly chill makes our teeth chatter as we gaze on the inert form and talk about it. The first thing to do is to send for the priest and the bearers...(extracted from English teacher, rk narayan)
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The irony of having to kill and be moved by it did not sink into the madman yet. His lust for killing and torture were way too strong for the trivial powers of premature spirituality. The blood thirsty rage to kill all the brothers  and fight a succession battle for four long years have desensitized what little mercy and human-like qualities he had had. He is now the demon, as he sizes up the enemy formation ahead. He bows down, looks at his sword, and inhales. The war, begins. His mind loosens and departs him and he sinks his fangs into his maniacal spirit, injecting more venom to the existing madness. This battle is not for his children, not for his wife, not for his hundred concubines, not for his people, but for him. All this blood sacrifice, only for his ego. 

The battle of kalinga begins.
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Forgive me for intruding. I am what you often refer to as an epiphany. Oh no, by no means trouble yourself with waking up. I am meant to show up suddenly, and shock people. Now, you wanted to know what loneliness is? Ah, a very interesting question indeed. More often than not, people are mildly amused at this introspection. 

Now, where do I begin. Let's see. You have things under control. You think you have things under control. You see things are under control. Now, one fine evening, everything you have is taken away from you, every single paisa. 

You have nothing. How do you react? What is the first lesson that you might learn? 

Would it be wise if I presume that you would begin to think that not everything is under control?

Brilliant. Moving on then.

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I am conducting a ritual of deliberate self-humiliation on the instruction of Albert Ellis...he designed it to provide a vivid demonstration of an ancient philosophy, that of the stoics, who were among the first to suggest the path to happiness might depend on negativity.(the antidote, oliver burkemann)
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He spots the blood mark on his shoulder, and thinks it is only a bruise. But then, what about a shaft that is sticking out of the wound? No, nobody would dare do that. Only a coward would. A coward who is symbolical of all that is weak and effete. This would be the work of an asura, an asura so cunning of the mind, that he had had to sink to such depths to win a war. A dishonorable person with an intention that is so low-down, that even the gods would not forgive this man.

But why is the noble prince of Ikshvahu's bow pointed at him? The personification of everything that is perfect -shoots a man in stealth.

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So, now you have nothing. What can we learn from this? Nothing. It is an extreme situation that is even hypothetically impractical given the odds, but then, hypotheses are not always logical. I digress.

Going back, we see that we have been under the simple impression of a life that seems to follow a certain path to a place where there is a denouement in the form of death. When we see a trough, we expect a crest at some point in the future, because we see it as zero-sum. For something that is going up, something has to go down. But what about a loss, from which we can never recover? What about the death of our family, of a child still-born, of a mother who dotes on her child, of the husband who provides for his family? What is this abandonment, and what is a rational way of looking at this? 

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"If you think that merely reading history books would help you learn from other's mistakes, consider the following 19th century experiment. In a well-known psychology case, the swiss doctor had an amnesic patient completely crippled with her ailment. Her condition was so bad that he would have to reintroduce her at a frequency of once per fifteen minutes for her to remember who he was. One day, he secreted a pin in his before shaking hers. The next day, she quickly withdrew her hand as the tried to greet her, but still did not recognize him."(the antidote, oliver burkemann)

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Her screams wake up the entire universe. How can anybody send such a young boy, hardly of age, to the minefield? How will the little one know the dastardly tactics of the merciless mad world? Why do they go to such great lengths to kill a calf, who is not even aware of the perils of this world? Why, did the good Lord oversee this gruesome act? She curses everyone. Her husband for sending her son into the vortex of death; her brother, the man who audits the checks and balances of everyone's karma; the people around her, for sympathizing with her; the universe, for all the madness that runs around. 

That man must be tortured and must scream like her, for her abhimanyu. He must roam the earth, with nary a morsel of food, not an ounce of steel must protect his body and not one on this god-created planet shall provide him haven until compunction brings him to his senses. Yes, he must not die, but suffer.

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Is there a rational way of looking at this? Probably. The first thing that philosophy might be hinting at-detachment. The reason why we lose hold of the things we hold so dear is to learn a lesson: everything has a shelf life. Which is exactly why we tend to hold on to our grief with us in the absence of the loss. We need to siphon something into the vacuum and the only way to keep ourselves occupied is by thoughts of gloom and negativity, which had always existed. These are not something that seem to appeal to our intuition in times of joy, that we negate negative emotions to the point of calling their very existence into question. Happily, we always have the good friend optimism to cast a convenient veil and tell us all is well.

All is well. Yes. 

What goes around.

"I have always been fascinated by the law of reversed effort. When you try to stay on the surface of the water, you sink; but when you try to sink, you float...insecurity is the result of trying to be secure...contrariwise, salvation and sanity consist in the most radical recognition that we have no way of saving ourselves."-Alan Watts, The Wisdom of Insecurity

you know poonkuzhali,

All the grown ups out there are idiots. For instance, when you ask them if they had planned for things to happen this way, they would tell you that it was indeed the case. How much they underestimate the role of chance, and how much they are overwhelmed by their achievements; nobody cares, and they fail to understand this! When things go out of control, they become helpless, and only when they do go out of control, do they acknowledge their helplessness, a sense of uncomplaining resignation and acceptance. I would never do that. I live in denial. All the time.

When you tell them that the past is beautiful, they will cast a fake, longing glance and get back to looking at their cellphones. Oh yes, unabashed consumerists, not just materialists. I got a new smart  phone, by the way. That's probably why I have not written letters to you in a while. I think writing letters is a waste of time, my lovely little niece. I can spend that time staring at the phone or the computer as opposed to actually recording something on a pen and paper.

I tell them that geetha cafe is a great place, and they laugh! Bah! What kind of people make fun of rava idlis, little one?

There are so many things that I want to do like you:

Care about absolutely nothing. Nobody. Not even your mother, father, siblings, nothing. I think I am halfway there, but nonetheless.

Look at all the things with a sense of wonder. You like the perungayam dabba. I think that's quite fascinating too. Alas, I have taken a liking for the turmeric powder container. 

You eat, sleep, wake up and get attention. Ah, it is not easy, dear girl, not at all. I try that, and when I fail, I just do what you do. Go back to sleep.

You have absolutely no clue as to what the world is, or what anything is. I am trying to unlearn and go back to that. Its a very simple thing to you, this concept of enlightenment!For the old ones out there, its some complicated idea and they go on and on about all this karma and other nonsense. Boring, I know!

I usually go to a particular temple to see an old man rant about his misfortunes. I realized after writing this blog that I was a little like him, and how, every one of us, in our own little ways, are crazy.

Interestingly, talking about madness and beggars, every time I think of you:

மின்னலைப்போல் மேனி! அன்னை சிவகாமி
இன்பமெல்லாம் தருவாள்! எண்ணமெல்லாம் நிறைவாள்
பின்னல்ஜடை போட்டு பித்திப்பூ சூடிடுவாள்
பித்தனுக்கு இணையாக நர்த்தனம் ஆடிடுவாள்
சின்னஞ்சிறு பெண் போலே சிற்றாடை இடையுடுத்தி
சிவகங்கைக் குளத்தருகே ஷிறீ துர்க்கை சிரித்திருப்பாள்!

Kashaya.(astringent)

மாற்றவள் பெயர் கூறக் கேட்டு வருந்துதல் தைக்கின்ற வேல் நோக்கினள், தன் உயிர் அன்ன மன்னன், மைக்கொண்ட கண்ணாள் எதிர், மாற்றவள் பேர் விளம்ப, மெய் கொண்ட நாணம் தலைக்கொண்டு, வெதும்பி, மென் பூ கை கொண்டு மோந்தாள், உயிர்ப்பு உண்டு கரிந்தது அன்று . Hearing her man shout out another woman's name, she glances sharply towards him and casts a fiery look, but  noticing that it is not appropriate to do it in front of others, she takes a flower, looks at it and smells it, and it turns dark(burnt)!(her breath is equated to that of fire,for reasons explained above)

Katu.(pungent)


I am not usually fond of air travel. There are two main reasons for this:

#I never have enough money to travel by air.

#I have never travelled by air that much.

I was a little jittery on the plane, that my friend was trying to comfort me by talking about ailerons, rudders and other interesting things that made us be awed about the physics of flying. Suddenly, he asked me if I had seen any of the aircraft investigations on TV. Because that is exactly what you want to talk about when the plane is about to take off after taxi, and there can be no other opportune moment to talk about black boxes and death in mid-air collisions. During the course of the flight, there must have been someone who wanted to have some fun with me by testing the endurance of my kidneys and bladder. There were two things that seemed to keep the toilet sign always crossed-turbulence and someone else. I need to investigate this particular person who so kindly and involuntarily prepared me for a urine test. 

Tikta(Bitter)

He spots the blood mark on his shoulder, and thinks it is only a bruise. But then, what about a shaft that is sticking out of the wound? No, nobody would dare do that. Only a coward would. A coward who is symbolical of all that is effete. This would be the work of an asura, an asura so cunning of the mind, that he had had to sink to such depths to win a war. A dishonorable person with an intention that is so low-down, that even the gods would not forgive this man.

But why is the noble prince of Ikshvahu's bow pointed at him? The personification of everything that is perfect -shoots a man in stealth? No, this can't  be.

Lavana.(Salty)

These days my english has become so rusty, I struggled with some very primitive sentence structures. I found it very hard to string a sentence with a coherent set of words, that I could have been taken for a pre-historic man by the person at the other end. But, in the last few days, I had managed to hone my hindi skills. By hone, I mean the honing of a 'ek gaon mein' into other forms and tenses and the like. I can boldly say things like 'yahaan aao', wahaan jao, ab thoda aur and 'bas bas'. The people who know speak hindi too well and too fast that I had to actually smile and pretend to understand what they were talking about. Thank god I was not asked any questions, or I would definitely have had to lapse back to ek-gaon-mein ways.


Madhur.(sweet)


The poonkuzhali blush. 

She looks up at the sky, and tearfully lunges at the empty space ahead of her. She looks at the man, and at arms length, looks up and down the strange man. She notices a smile on the man's face from the corner of his mouth, extending up to the ears, flailing his hands as if he was inviting her! She is not sure what to do, and suddenly, from one corner of her eye, she tries to suppress a smile, but the smile wouldn't let her! She is now confused, and she is not quite sure what to do. He winks, and she thinks she should acknowledge this strange man. How? How can a woman do this? She doesn't know him! Ah, how beautiful this நாணம் in a woman! Hard to spot these days.

Amla. (Sour)
I am unusually excited over the last week because I bought a bicycle air pump. Something about that pressure gauge is causing unnecessary amount of unwarranted excitement and not even a skimpily clothed silk's image can cause this much disturbance.(Or maybe it can) This pump, its cool. Its new, and it has a really shiny dial and a plastic handle. Also, there is a new bata showroom very close to my house. If that is not going to be a cause for screaming with excitement, what else would? 
Now, where was I? Yeah, excited. So much for the little things in life. 

ஈண்டு நான் இருந்து, இன் உயிர் மாயினும் 

மீண்டு வந்து பிறந்து, தன் மேனியைத்

தீண்டலாவது ஓர் தீவினை தீர் வரம் 

வேண்டினாள், தொழுது, என்று விளம்புவாய். 

Tell Raman that even if I were to die, I would pray to be born again for him to come and touch my body.(sita to hanuman)

Cheers.

ps: 

#poonkuzhali is my marumagal(niece) as you might know. The way she blushes, I cannot  explain it in words.

#Kamba ramayanam references. I did read a bit, but the rest is just copy-paste. I think it would be wonderful to read it in entirety.

# The six different tastes-katu, lavana, tikta, amla, madhur and kashaya.

#I took liberty with the vaali story. Lots of it.

http://www.tamilvu.org/slet/l3700/l3700son.jsp?subid=1265
http://tamilnation.co/literature/kamban/kambaramayanam.htm

 From ambattur with love.

ஆனாத செல்வத் தரம்பையர்கள் தற்சூழ 

வானாளும் செல்வமும் மண்ணரசும் யான்வேண்டேன்,

தேனார்பூஞ் சோலைத் திருவேங்கடச்சுனையில்,

மீனாய்ப் பிறக்கும் விதியுடையே னாவேனே.

The stairs leading to the motta maadi is just glazed concrete. The steps spiral all the way to the top leading to a wooden door that is locked most of the time. Right next to the area in between the door and the stairs is a raised wooden platform with the pillows and mattresses. The room, when opened, smells of the 1950's.  It has black and white photos of newly weds, very little kids who now have grey hairs. The windows inside the room are directly opposite to the ti cycles ground, and the road right outside the house is next to the railway track. No sounds of traffic.

Sitting in the stairs, looking at the railways track for a long time is probably the most tiresome and counter-productive thing to do in life. No, this little fellow begs to differ. He spots the trains and notes down the time, every one of them. He nods his head as he counts the number of coaches on the goods train and becomes a little disappointed when he notices the guard cabin-the train is not as long as he thought it would be. He wonders in silent amazement as to why there are so many trains clustered around six in the morning. He is worried that the mumbai mail is a little late and he might have to see that train before he takes up his journey to the other end of the house to visit the bathroom. He looks at the unit train standing in eerie silence in the scorching afternoon sun, waiting for signal. When he doesn't stare at the trains, he looks at the chappal rack and the ammi located a few feet away from the rack, right below the stairs. Never used, he wonders why. The sound of a mixie from the kitchen doesn't seem to ring any bells for him.

The little paambu puthu right opposite to the neighbor's house is a sacred place and a scary one as well. Its almost impossible to play cricket along the length of the road. Change of plans, change of orientation. Someone would still hit the ball in that direction, and someone would still have to crawl under the thick growth of bushes and thorns and god knows what else. The open sewage licks the ball and throws it out. Now they have to pitch it up continuously up and down, up and down, and they would go ahead and play. Oh, to hell with cleanliness, there are other things in life...

The ti cycles ground is huge. But we have to cross the tracks! Even when we play on the streets, we have to be careful to not hit the ball hard, or the ball might run off to the tracks. We are not allowed there without adults."They are very dangerous, very fast trains. You cannot go there all alone."How do we even play then? One- pitch-one-hand catches, and the concept of six and out.The incredibly sweet lemon juice is here after the game. The lemon tree at the rear end of the house is huge, and it is beautifully positioned right behind the washing stone and the water tank and the well. Ah, the well.

From the one end of the house, we start to run, and we reach the kolla pakkam in to discover a whole new world of vaazhai marams and goyya marams. The lovely pendulum clock on the way seems to have forgotten about time in this beautiful house too!The creaking bed in the room right next to the clock stacks a lot of pillows one on top of the other is a delight to snuggle in whenever there are rains or too much heat. The wooden windows would blanket the entire house from the mind-numbing agony of the heat outside. The croaking of the frogs in the midst of a monsoon is a reminder to stay inside. Come october, we witness the golu and eat sundal and go the nearby temple to see little kids singing lovely varnams.

They started building a flat there. Too many houses in such a small space!That is practically not a great place to live. Functional, yes. But what can people do, it is all livelihood. They pay good money if you sell the land here. 

செடியாய வல்வினைகள் தீர்க்கும் திருமாலே,

நெடியானே!வேங்கடவா! நின்கோயி லின்வாசல்,

அடியாரும் வானவருமரம்பையரும் கிடந்தியங்கும்,

படியாய்க் கிடந்துன் பவளவாய் காண்பேனே

 Now, there are no houses in that road. Only big apartments. No lemon trees. No life.

Cheers.

ps:
#Very obviously autobiographical. I was in ambattur yesterday, and a flood of memories of the south end street. Lovely times, those.
#Tamizh quatrains are from naalayira divya prabandam. vaguely translates to not wanting anything materialistic and wanting only the lord's feet.


பெருமாள் திருமொழி-678 and 685

What are the chances?

'For there is nothing so imperfect, so helpless, so naked, so shapeless, so foul as a newborn babe: to whom almost alone nature has given an impure outlet to the light of day: being kneaded with blood, and full of defilement, and like one killed rather than born: which no one would touch, or lift up, or kiss, or embrace, but from natural affection. And that is why all the animals have their udders under the belly, women alone have their breasts high on their bodies, that they can lift up their babes to kiss, to dandle, and to fondle: seeing that their bearing and rearing children comes not from necessity but love. 
-plutarch.

This year, so far has had a spectacular beginning. There have been some tremendous changes in my lifestyle, that I am beginning to understand and appreciate and throw them into the dustbin:

I turn my bike to the right and lock it, as opposed to doing it from the left.

The wallet goes into the left pocket, instead of the right.

The quota alloted for idlis is raised from Rs 20 to Rs 25.

The message that I do not like podalanga has been very clearly, unequivocally, carefully reported to amma. (And duly rejected, but that's different.)

No more amrutanjan. Only zandu balm and iodex.

The calls I get on my phone have a significant improvement in quality-previously, they were automated voice messages from my service provider about low balance, now they are wrong numbers. atleast human.

New saloon. Same old haircut. (Let's face it, there is only so much they can do with what little is left on top.)

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I know. You are all confused. I am too. I ask myself the same question every now and then. How can something like this happen to me? Perhaps you don't know the whole story, but a long story short-I was selected to play cricket. I am torn by this sea of conflicting emotions that appear to engulf me and destroy the very person that I was, that I want to be. How, can I be selected? If we do a root cause analysis, we find that the answer is quite simple:

No one else was available.

Ok, then again, how can I shoulder so much responsibility, to be taken into confidence at such a short notice? This has raised some very serious self-esteem queries that were so dormant from all that chakkara pongal and thayir saadham, and the occasional paruppu usuli, and the paal payasam and the...oh, wait. where was I?

Anyway, I decided to go meet my destiny. I was standing there, with all the props necessary for the 12th man, the substitute, with the water bottles in had and an annoying cheering noise asking people to go for it, and god knows what that 'go for it' is.

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You would be interested in knowing about my performance. Ah, yes. we always have to know how well we do, don't we? We need some comfort in knowing that we are a little better than some, and that we fit somewhere on the normal curve-only to the right of the average line. The exceptional ones. The talented lot. Oh, no, you cannot settle for the averages, or anything less than that. That would just shatter that already fragile self-esteem and ego, that we so shamelessly and pointlessly cherish...Ah, anyway, I fielded.

Yes, I fielded at fine leg. I saved two runs. I am now short of breath from all that adulation people foisted on me for such an excellent piece of...oh, what crap.

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I'm going to give some simple answers for some simple questions:

Why did I not write for such a long time?

Because I am between unemployments, and I am walking a real tight rope. Well, not physically, a little metaphorically. Actually, not even metaphorically...So, yes, I don't understand what I am saying right now.

Why is the world such a mean place?

Because everything is based on law of averages.

Why is the mount road in such a bad shape?Or Indian politics as such?

Pass.

What is karma?

A bitch, according to a trying-to-be-hip song.

What have the people done to my beautiful madras?

Destroyed it. Its gone. 

Why am I trying to do a cho and write q&a columns?

I am bored, and so are you.

What is the point of our existence?

chakkara pongal and rava idli, as opposed to perfomance and stupid notions called 'ambition' and 'pride'.

You only say that because you suck.

Yes. ok. moving on.

Why did it take 10 seasons for ross and rachel...

Shut up. and get out of my life.

புத்தாண்டு வாழ்த்துக்கள். 


Cheers.

ps: performance, do a cho, yes. very funny. I will laugh when I am in high school again.