From "The Garden of Eden", the last uncompleted novel by Ernest Hemingway.
"But what about when I'm dead?"
"Then you're dead."
"But I can't stand to be dead."
"Then don't let it happen until it happens. Look at things and listen and feel."
and
"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."
Sunday, February 8, 2015
XVIX
Checking back in after 6 consecutive at Lompoc.
Got today and tomorrow off. I can breathe. I can live.
Guess I am kind of coming down from THE PATS victory, but not really. It lurks in my genes and cells and nerve endings, travelling ferociously through brain synapses to settle in quite comfortably in my nucleus accumbens.
Yeah, I admit I just looked that one up. I wanted to make a dopamine reference and inadvertently stumbled upon the nucleus accumbens.
From helpguide.org - "Understanding Addiction" - "Dopamine release in the nucleus accumbens is so consistently tied to pleasure that neuroscientists refer to the region as the brain's pleasure center."
I could have just said that THE PATS' FOURTH Super Bowl win brings me pleasure, but I am struggling to expand my mind and increase its flexibility even as I slide inexorably towards senility.
This is what happens when I don't write for a week.
It has been an odd arc of emotion since THE PATS ripped the heart out of the seahawks. On Monday I was tired at work and surrounded by women, so conversation did not focus on football. A couple of obligatory comments.
I was deflated.
In the other liquor store I once worked in, sports was a major topic. Lots of ball busting, statistic quoting, predictions, conversation, debate and...........laughter.
Of course we - the heart and soul of the store - were five guys in the same relative age range with similar interests and experiences.
Change, baby. The only thing you can count on. And it doesn't always deliver you to a better place.
The odd arc continued on Tuesday night when I was home alone and watched a replay of Super Bowl XVIX. The entire thing. The only stuff cut out was some random commentary and between play delays.
It even included the half time show, which I don't understand. Anybody watching a replay of that game doesn't give a damn about the half time show.
I didn't. I skipped right through it.
The catch is that I never tape sporting events. If I can't watch it live I don't want to see it. Not interested. It's just who I am.
But I noticed before we left for Keith's house on Super Bowl Sunday that the NFL Network was running a replay of the game from 2:00 a.m. to 5:30 a.m..
I taped it. Glad I did.
I watched it on Tuesday night like I was watching a movie. Being along I could focus in on specific details and pay more attention to commentary and analysis.
And of course knowing the outcome made the start of the 4th quarter, when THE PATS were down 24-14, quite delicious.
When I was done I deleted the game. Seemed like a bold and decisive move.
It wasn't. They re-ran the thing later in the week. I hesitated about taping it. Suddenly, as the night progressed and Carol and I watched other stuff. I switched over and started taping the game. Again.
Caught half time. Again. When I changed stations Katy Perry was just riding out on her gold, life-like lion. I couldn't believe it.
So I have the second half of the game saved. I already watched the 3rd quarter again. Looking forward to the fourth soon.
I spent the week listening to sports talk radio. Heard the replay of Malcolm Butler's interception 4 million times. Got goosebumps every time.
98.5's station ID says "The flagship station of the four time Super Bowl champion NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS."
I heard that 4 million times too and got goosebumps every time.
I vacillated all week between a strange kind of calm to almost uncontrollable excitement.
It's cool. It feels good. I feel like I have absorbed this championship into my DNA.
No more football for a while. I will adjust.
Lots of good stuff to come.
Got today and tomorrow off. I can breathe. I can live.
Guess I am kind of coming down from THE PATS victory, but not really. It lurks in my genes and cells and nerve endings, travelling ferociously through brain synapses to settle in quite comfortably in my nucleus accumbens.
Yeah, I admit I just looked that one up. I wanted to make a dopamine reference and inadvertently stumbled upon the nucleus accumbens.
From helpguide.org - "Understanding Addiction" - "Dopamine release in the nucleus accumbens is so consistently tied to pleasure that neuroscientists refer to the region as the brain's pleasure center."
I could have just said that THE PATS' FOURTH Super Bowl win brings me pleasure, but I am struggling to expand my mind and increase its flexibility even as I slide inexorably towards senility.
This is what happens when I don't write for a week.
It has been an odd arc of emotion since THE PATS ripped the heart out of the seahawks. On Monday I was tired at work and surrounded by women, so conversation did not focus on football. A couple of obligatory comments.
I was deflated.
In the other liquor store I once worked in, sports was a major topic. Lots of ball busting, statistic quoting, predictions, conversation, debate and...........laughter.
Of course we - the heart and soul of the store - were five guys in the same relative age range with similar interests and experiences.
Change, baby. The only thing you can count on. And it doesn't always deliver you to a better place.
The odd arc continued on Tuesday night when I was home alone and watched a replay of Super Bowl XVIX. The entire thing. The only stuff cut out was some random commentary and between play delays.
It even included the half time show, which I don't understand. Anybody watching a replay of that game doesn't give a damn about the half time show.
I didn't. I skipped right through it.
The catch is that I never tape sporting events. If I can't watch it live I don't want to see it. Not interested. It's just who I am.
But I noticed before we left for Keith's house on Super Bowl Sunday that the NFL Network was running a replay of the game from 2:00 a.m. to 5:30 a.m..
I taped it. Glad I did.
I watched it on Tuesday night like I was watching a movie. Being along I could focus in on specific details and pay more attention to commentary and analysis.
And of course knowing the outcome made the start of the 4th quarter, when THE PATS were down 24-14, quite delicious.
When I was done I deleted the game. Seemed like a bold and decisive move.
It wasn't. They re-ran the thing later in the week. I hesitated about taping it. Suddenly, as the night progressed and Carol and I watched other stuff. I switched over and started taping the game. Again.
Caught half time. Again. When I changed stations Katy Perry was just riding out on her gold, life-like lion. I couldn't believe it.
So I have the second half of the game saved. I already watched the 3rd quarter again. Looking forward to the fourth soon.
I spent the week listening to sports talk radio. Heard the replay of Malcolm Butler's interception 4 million times. Got goosebumps every time.
98.5's station ID says "The flagship station of the four time Super Bowl champion NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS."
I heard that 4 million times too and got goosebumps every time.
I vacillated all week between a strange kind of calm to almost uncontrollable excitement.
It's cool. It feels good. I feel like I have absorbed this championship into my DNA.
No more football for a while. I will adjust.
Lots of good stuff to come.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
A Wise Man Once Said
"What the mind perceives to be one minute on an exercise bike is typically much less."
Socrates
Socrates
February 2015
Step out of the way children, February is upon us.
And a good month it shall be.
It is the month of our 37th anniversary. Carol and I were married in 1978. Ever heard of that year?
Recent events in our life tempt me to organize an insane bash by way of celebration. But we will probably just go out for a fine and quiet dinner in a favorite restaurant. Maybe a movie. Some peaceful time at home together. Quiet conversation spiced with reminiscence.
When you get to a certain age reminiscing slips into conversation naturally. It is comforting.
My brother Ed will experience his 60th birthday this month. A milestone in the life of a man who commands enormous respect and love from family and friends just by the way he lives his life; just by the honest truth of who he is.
My brother who I love and respect so deeply I cannot truly express my emotion.
It will be the most bitter sweet birthday of his life. I am hoping we can find a way to bring some happiness to the occasion.
The month starts off today with the Super Bowl. Huge game for PATS fans. Very exciting and over the top anticipation which will collide with the reality of the game itself starting around 6:30 and hopefully ending with insane celebration.
There will be other happiness during the month. I guarantee you I will exert my will to make that happen.
For now it is good to have these three big deals in my pocket. Three events I can look forward to, to make this vicious month of February more special.
You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep swinging.
And a good month it shall be.
It is the month of our 37th anniversary. Carol and I were married in 1978. Ever heard of that year?
Recent events in our life tempt me to organize an insane bash by way of celebration. But we will probably just go out for a fine and quiet dinner in a favorite restaurant. Maybe a movie. Some peaceful time at home together. Quiet conversation spiced with reminiscence.
When you get to a certain age reminiscing slips into conversation naturally. It is comforting.
My brother Ed will experience his 60th birthday this month. A milestone in the life of a man who commands enormous respect and love from family and friends just by the way he lives his life; just by the honest truth of who he is.
My brother who I love and respect so deeply I cannot truly express my emotion.
It will be the most bitter sweet birthday of his life. I am hoping we can find a way to bring some happiness to the occasion.
The month starts off today with the Super Bowl. Huge game for PATS fans. Very exciting and over the top anticipation which will collide with the reality of the game itself starting around 6:30 and hopefully ending with insane celebration.
There will be other happiness during the month. I guarantee you I will exert my will to make that happen.
For now it is good to have these three big deals in my pocket. Three events I can look forward to, to make this vicious month of February more special.
You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep swinging.
I Wish
Started reading "The Garden of Eden" by Hemingway this morning.
Novels like these create a deep longing in me for more leisure in my life. A soul-deep longing.
In the 1920's a segment of the American population was referred to as the Lost Generation. These were people who had come of age during World War I and felt disillusioned in the post-war world.
In the literary world the Lost Generation was represented by a group of writers who travelled to Europe and wrote there up until around the Great Depression. They adopted a bohemian lifestyle of travel and leisure in reaction to an America they felt had been broken.
The two biggest names in this group were Ernest Hemingway and F.Scott Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald's books, at least the ones I have read, evoke this lifestyle of wealth, leisure and experimentation. "The Garden of Eden" does the same.
Creative people travelling around Europe, people with no financial worries, moving from country to country, spending their time on beaches and in cafes, doing whatever their moods dictate on a whim.
Rising for breakfast, then down to the beach for sun and swimming, back for lunch, then biking or walking, back for dinner, then socializing. On to the next country as the mood dictates.
When I read these stories my soul rises up in hunger to demand just a taste of that feeling.
I will never be rich. I will never enjoy that lifestyle.
Our vacations feel like desperate things. A couple of weeks or days or weekends when we escape work for a short while knowing full well the job awaits with its meaninglessness and frustrations and path to nowhere.
It is human nature to want to enjoy life. To really taste it, to slow it down and examine it and improve upon it in ways that tailor it to our own unique needs.
The vast majority of us never get that chance.
A middle ground would be nice. Many foreign countries offer their employees six weeks of vacation. A slower pace, some breathing room during the day.
This falls under the heading of treating employees like human beings.
Not so in America. In this country we are human resources. Resources to be exploited, used up and discarded.
When I read these magnificent novels the stories tap into that part of me that is forced into hiding in reaction to the ridiculous lifestyle of America.
They tap into the purely human part of me that longs for some sort of freedom, some sort of reprieve from the burdens imposed by life.
I can never figure out if these feelings are good for me or bad for me.
I only know that on this February 1, 2015 with a temperature of 13 degrees and a wind chill more evil than that, I wish I did not have to get up to go to work tomorrow to do something so meaningless to me that it claws blood from my eyes.
I wish I could take Carol to a warm place surrounded by beauty and spend money on simple pleasures without looking over our shoulders at the suffocating budget.
I wish.
I will continue to wish.
Novels like these create a deep longing in me for more leisure in my life. A soul-deep longing.
In the 1920's a segment of the American population was referred to as the Lost Generation. These were people who had come of age during World War I and felt disillusioned in the post-war world.
In the literary world the Lost Generation was represented by a group of writers who travelled to Europe and wrote there up until around the Great Depression. They adopted a bohemian lifestyle of travel and leisure in reaction to an America they felt had been broken.
The two biggest names in this group were Ernest Hemingway and F.Scott Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald's books, at least the ones I have read, evoke this lifestyle of wealth, leisure and experimentation. "The Garden of Eden" does the same.
Creative people travelling around Europe, people with no financial worries, moving from country to country, spending their time on beaches and in cafes, doing whatever their moods dictate on a whim.
Rising for breakfast, then down to the beach for sun and swimming, back for lunch, then biking or walking, back for dinner, then socializing. On to the next country as the mood dictates.
When I read these stories my soul rises up in hunger to demand just a taste of that feeling.
I will never be rich. I will never enjoy that lifestyle.
Our vacations feel like desperate things. A couple of weeks or days or weekends when we escape work for a short while knowing full well the job awaits with its meaninglessness and frustrations and path to nowhere.
It is human nature to want to enjoy life. To really taste it, to slow it down and examine it and improve upon it in ways that tailor it to our own unique needs.
The vast majority of us never get that chance.
A middle ground would be nice. Many foreign countries offer their employees six weeks of vacation. A slower pace, some breathing room during the day.
This falls under the heading of treating employees like human beings.
Not so in America. In this country we are human resources. Resources to be exploited, used up and discarded.
When I read these magnificent novels the stories tap into that part of me that is forced into hiding in reaction to the ridiculous lifestyle of America.
They tap into the purely human part of me that longs for some sort of freedom, some sort of reprieve from the burdens imposed by life.
I can never figure out if these feelings are good for me or bad for me.
I only know that on this February 1, 2015 with a temperature of 13 degrees and a wind chill more evil than that, I wish I did not have to get up to go to work tomorrow to do something so meaningless to me that it claws blood from my eyes.
I wish I could take Carol to a warm place surrounded by beauty and spend money on simple pleasures without looking over our shoulders at the suffocating budget.
I wish.
I will continue to wish.
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Guilt
Walked outside to get Carol's paper this morning.
It was 8 degrees with a howling wind. I gotta believe the wind chill was 3,188 degrees below.
In the three minutes it took to walk out and back, my cheeks froze in a grotesque parody of a smile.
In Glendale Arizona it is 54 degrees with a projected high today of 65. That's not as warm as I expected but it is light years away from where New England is at.
Glendale Arizona is where I am supposed to be.
It is warm. THE PATS are playing in the Super Bowl.
Why wouldn't I be there?
I have to admit I am disappointed with my sons.
In October they marshaled their considerable financial resources to send me to the second to last Allman Brothers concert ever to be held in the history of the world - in NYC.
Interestingly enough, Keith and Craig's incomes are exactly the same, even though they toil in completely different industries.
They each earn $14 million annually.
What a magnificent gift, what an incredible trip that was. Me and my longest standing friend in my life, Mr. Phil Camerlengo, meeting up in New York City to dig on the band that has kept us young and interesting for 45 years.
Amazing.
I'm sure my sons figured they had raised the bar as high as it could go. That they had done something for me that I could appreciate deeply, and would never forget for the rest of my days on earth.
Wrong.
They established a base from which to improve upon.
I knew THE PATS were going back to the Super Bowl. I was secure in my gut feeling. Even during the Baltimore game my gut calmed me into football serenity.
When THE PATS destroyed the colts, I sat back with a smug smile, a cold beer, a short whiskey and an excited air of expectancy, waiting for the phone to ring.
I knew it would not ring that night. You gotta absorb the reality, adjust your focus to championship levels and allow the excitement to subside into every day survival mode for two weeks.
Besides there are logistics. You gotta do research, you gotta plan ahead, you gotta coordinate and communicate, you gotta free up funds.
It takes time.
A few days later I became concerned. There was no phone call.
I had spent the intervening time rehearsing the feigned excitement I would project over the phone.
A conference call. "Dad - it's Keith and Craig. Guess what? We got you two tickets to Glendale. You and Mom are going to the Super Bowl."
"What? What are you talking about? Are you serious? What a surprise." As I smiled in smug satisfaction and expectation realized.
Today is the day before the Super Bowl. Still no call.
I just went to Stub Hub. There are 181 tickets left priced from $10,000.
I don't know what the problem is. $10,000 is not even one week's paycheck for either of my sons. I don't think $20,000 is to dear a price to pay to purchase happiness for their frail and tired and aging parents.
Apparently they have become selfish.
That's all right. It is what it is.
We'll go to Keith's house tomorrow to watch the game. We'll pretend to be enjoying ourselves.
However, I am going to sneak unapproved snacks to Cooper and Jack at every opportunity. I have already arranged for a friend of questionable character to raid Craig's house to appropriate his infamous shoe collection.
I am not a father to be messed with.
I look forward to 2015 and enjoying the Bruins in the Stanley Cup finals, the Sox in the World Series, tennis at Wimbledon, golf at the U.S. Open, a couple of Mumford & Sons concerts, a couple of Ray LaMontagne concerts, a nationwide blues tour, and front row seats to The Stones and U2 if the come around.
Courtesy of my loving and respectful sons.
Guilt is a powerful motivator. Really it can be applied as a synonym for love.
I really love my sons.
It was 8 degrees with a howling wind. I gotta believe the wind chill was 3,188 degrees below.
In the three minutes it took to walk out and back, my cheeks froze in a grotesque parody of a smile.
In Glendale Arizona it is 54 degrees with a projected high today of 65. That's not as warm as I expected but it is light years away from where New England is at.
Glendale Arizona is where I am supposed to be.
It is warm. THE PATS are playing in the Super Bowl.
Why wouldn't I be there?
I have to admit I am disappointed with my sons.
In October they marshaled their considerable financial resources to send me to the second to last Allman Brothers concert ever to be held in the history of the world - in NYC.
Interestingly enough, Keith and Craig's incomes are exactly the same, even though they toil in completely different industries.
They each earn $14 million annually.
What a magnificent gift, what an incredible trip that was. Me and my longest standing friend in my life, Mr. Phil Camerlengo, meeting up in New York City to dig on the band that has kept us young and interesting for 45 years.
Amazing.
I'm sure my sons figured they had raised the bar as high as it could go. That they had done something for me that I could appreciate deeply, and would never forget for the rest of my days on earth.
Wrong.
They established a base from which to improve upon.
I knew THE PATS were going back to the Super Bowl. I was secure in my gut feeling. Even during the Baltimore game my gut calmed me into football serenity.
When THE PATS destroyed the colts, I sat back with a smug smile, a cold beer, a short whiskey and an excited air of expectancy, waiting for the phone to ring.
I knew it would not ring that night. You gotta absorb the reality, adjust your focus to championship levels and allow the excitement to subside into every day survival mode for two weeks.
Besides there are logistics. You gotta do research, you gotta plan ahead, you gotta coordinate and communicate, you gotta free up funds.
It takes time.
A few days later I became concerned. There was no phone call.
I had spent the intervening time rehearsing the feigned excitement I would project over the phone.
A conference call. "Dad - it's Keith and Craig. Guess what? We got you two tickets to Glendale. You and Mom are going to the Super Bowl."
"What? What are you talking about? Are you serious? What a surprise." As I smiled in smug satisfaction and expectation realized.
Today is the day before the Super Bowl. Still no call.
I just went to Stub Hub. There are 181 tickets left priced from $10,000.
I don't know what the problem is. $10,000 is not even one week's paycheck for either of my sons. I don't think $20,000 is to dear a price to pay to purchase happiness for their frail and tired and aging parents.
Apparently they have become selfish.
That's all right. It is what it is.
We'll go to Keith's house tomorrow to watch the game. We'll pretend to be enjoying ourselves.
However, I am going to sneak unapproved snacks to Cooper and Jack at every opportunity. I have already arranged for a friend of questionable character to raid Craig's house to appropriate his infamous shoe collection.
I am not a father to be messed with.
I look forward to 2015 and enjoying the Bruins in the Stanley Cup finals, the Sox in the World Series, tennis at Wimbledon, golf at the U.S. Open, a couple of Mumford & Sons concerts, a couple of Ray LaMontagne concerts, a nationwide blues tour, and front row seats to The Stones and U2 if the come around.
Courtesy of my loving and respectful sons.
Guilt is a powerful motivator. Really it can be applied as a synonym for love.
I really love my sons.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Small Talk
Inhabited the recliner for the 5:00 to 6:30 slot before cooking supper last night.
You know, "Around The Horn, PTI," miscellaneous. Flipping back and forth between ESPN and the NFL Network.
Caught coverage of THE PATS' plane landing in Arizona. Watched them "de-plane." Got excited.
I do not apologize for this. This is the approach I am taking this week. I am going to watch a lot of coverage. I will laugh at stupidity, wallow in sentimentality and ride a wave of excitement.
I do get caught up in seemingly silly things. Like getting excited at watching THE PATS walk off their plane. I refuse to be embarrassed by this. Instead, this year I champion my obsession.
It is the goddamn Super Bowl for Christ sake, and I am going to wrestle every moment of anticipation and future memory out of the event. I will do it my way and dig what I dig with an easy grace and an emotions on my sleeve boldness.
Got a kick out of the de-planning commentary, though. Andrew Siciliano. I have to believe he was doing it tongue in cheek. I think he is too smart to "report" details like "Looks like Brady is wearing a scarf."
Turned out Brady had a pair of high priced headphones draped around his neck, which Jamie Dukes did not hesitate to point out.
I sense tension on the set - always - when Siciliano is the anchor. I think the ex-athlete/sportscasters do not like him. I don't. He is obnoxious. It is obvious to me that Mike Mayock despises him. Then again Mike Mayock is a bit of a turd himself. Got that old school tough football guy mentality and no sense of humor.
Siciliano noted "Here comes Vince Wilfork all dressed in black."
To which Solomon Wilcots remarked "Very slimming."
I'm pumped. Forgot to watch the 8:00 p.m. Brady/Belichick press conference last night. Carol and I were watching "Rescue Me" on Netflix.
We are flying through every season every episode. We loved it when it was on the air and we are digging it on Netflix.
Great show.
Anyway, it is Tuesday already. FYI the Super Bowl is on Sunday.
Luckily I have today off. Carol does too. Snow, baby - snow. The only thing it is good for is panic and bonus days off.
Frankly I am stunned. The NH State Liquor Commission has proved over and over again that they do not give a damn about their employees in any way, shape, form or manner. I have driven white knuckled to work through blizzards so many times it makes me nauseous to think about it.
So the store can rake in $118 in sales.
I have it on good advice that it took some high level prodding to get these bozos to close the stores today and that they did it hours after every other state run agency had already announced closings.
Cannot wait to escape their evil, greasy clutches.
BUT I am home today with my extra special wife and we will dig this bonus time deliciously.
Gonna be Super Bowl coverage, gonna be "Rescue Me", gonna be shoveling, gonna be a nice dinner.
Meanwhile the countdown to Super Bowl XLIX continues as January slides into February.
A week to remember, baby - a week to remember,
You know, "Around The Horn, PTI," miscellaneous. Flipping back and forth between ESPN and the NFL Network.
Caught coverage of THE PATS' plane landing in Arizona. Watched them "de-plane." Got excited.
I do not apologize for this. This is the approach I am taking this week. I am going to watch a lot of coverage. I will laugh at stupidity, wallow in sentimentality and ride a wave of excitement.
I do get caught up in seemingly silly things. Like getting excited at watching THE PATS walk off their plane. I refuse to be embarrassed by this. Instead, this year I champion my obsession.
It is the goddamn Super Bowl for Christ sake, and I am going to wrestle every moment of anticipation and future memory out of the event. I will do it my way and dig what I dig with an easy grace and an emotions on my sleeve boldness.
Got a kick out of the de-planning commentary, though. Andrew Siciliano. I have to believe he was doing it tongue in cheek. I think he is too smart to "report" details like "Looks like Brady is wearing a scarf."
Turned out Brady had a pair of high priced headphones draped around his neck, which Jamie Dukes did not hesitate to point out.
I sense tension on the set - always - when Siciliano is the anchor. I think the ex-athlete/sportscasters do not like him. I don't. He is obnoxious. It is obvious to me that Mike Mayock despises him. Then again Mike Mayock is a bit of a turd himself. Got that old school tough football guy mentality and no sense of humor.
Siciliano noted "Here comes Vince Wilfork all dressed in black."
To which Solomon Wilcots remarked "Very slimming."
I'm pumped. Forgot to watch the 8:00 p.m. Brady/Belichick press conference last night. Carol and I were watching "Rescue Me" on Netflix.
We are flying through every season every episode. We loved it when it was on the air and we are digging it on Netflix.
Great show.
Anyway, it is Tuesday already. FYI the Super Bowl is on Sunday.
Luckily I have today off. Carol does too. Snow, baby - snow. The only thing it is good for is panic and bonus days off.
Frankly I am stunned. The NH State Liquor Commission has proved over and over again that they do not give a damn about their employees in any way, shape, form or manner. I have driven white knuckled to work through blizzards so many times it makes me nauseous to think about it.
So the store can rake in $118 in sales.
I have it on good advice that it took some high level prodding to get these bozos to close the stores today and that they did it hours after every other state run agency had already announced closings.
Cannot wait to escape their evil, greasy clutches.
BUT I am home today with my extra special wife and we will dig this bonus time deliciously.
Gonna be Super Bowl coverage, gonna be "Rescue Me", gonna be shoveling, gonna be a nice dinner.
Meanwhile the countdown to Super Bowl XLIX continues as January slides into February.
A week to remember, baby - a week to remember,
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)