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Tag Archives: friends

Even the Goldfish Died

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by Flor in context-ual

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family, friends, future, me, politics, society

Damn this year, amirite? Just to get that out of the way – the major, macro level things were fairly crappy and damned near traumatic, weren’t they. David Bowie to Carrie Fisher, Prince, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Florence Henderson, Debbie Reynolds and on and on, even in geopolitics, Janet Reno and Fidel Castro, all trampled under this blind troll of a year.

And then there was an election that may yet have consigned us all to hell. I definitely feel like I’m in a hellmouth, being frog-marched toward the flames. After a year and change of being forced to listen to Donald Trump, I was looking forward to having him turn into an obnoxious footnote of history. I wanted so bad to forget this asshole by Nov 9, the garbage he had said, the mockery it made of a Presidential election. That he won the election – that he won despite his opponent receiving almost 3 million more individual votes – probably makes me the most sick out of all the major level disasters of this year.

If you’re wondering about the goldfish, well that’s the real point of this post. Trauma and tragedy extended into my personal life; and it’s been difficult to grapple with given the noise and fury of political and social losses.

My dad’s baby sister, my aunt Sister Virginia passed away in May. My dad is down to just one little sister, after growing up as the middle child of eleven. Sister Virginia was always a no-nonsense, organized and take-charge sort of person. The (gigantic) family hung together because she kept everyone’s phone numbers, mailing addresses, email addresses, and birthdays, weddings, baptisms, etc, together and knew how to reach *everybody*. What I didn’t realize because she was always bustling little bundle of energy in a Franciscan nun’s habit, was that she was always a bit anxious. And she kept the anxiety in check by helping other people, her family, the students of the school where she taught years ago, the elderly women of the convalescent home where she spent the last dozen years of her life working, and so on. When I was a child at family parties I didn’t find her very warm and sweet, but she was always moving, getting food and drink for her aged mother, singing or dancing, clapping for others as they sang or played guitar, looking after kids when they fell and scraped their knees, finding extra chairs for extra guests, and cleaning up when everything was over. Sister Virginia rarely sat down and never stayed sitting for long.

Lying sick in a hospital bed, racked with pain, Sister hated the family coming to see her. *Hated* it. And it finally sunk in then, that being in a position of helplessness was her worst nightmare. When I saw her the doctor was frustrated that she wouldn’t permit them to do more. From where she was, I was told, she’d have a week to live, maybe 10 days. She could extend that by several months if she agreed to further procedures. Well, the doctor was wrong. She passed away that night.

Losing Sister Virginia was a severe gut punch. But it wasn’t the only loss close to the family. My Uncle Frank – dad’s remaining little sister’s husband – passed away in the fall. And Ernestina Rivera, Tina, one of my parents’ oldest friends and a woman who had been in my life for as long as any family, passed as well. I’ll miss Tina and her wonderful cooking. Her husband, Hector, passed away last year. He had been a good friend to my dad for a good 50 years.

Of course, over the summer Paul Backer, one of my college professors, died suddenly.

And the goldfish? hehe- Well that’s part of some of the odder and less-horrible things that went on this year. Friends in Encino invited/asked me to stay in their house and take care of their goldfish while they went on vacation to Florida. The fish was the excuse, since I’ve cat- and dog-sat so much in recent years. They just meant to give me as much of a vacation as they could, and it was well appreciated. So, the fish itself. In my defense, the thing was a freak of nature. It lived a good six-ish years before kicking off. Just… did it have to do that when I was trying to look after it? At least I was warned it could happen, and furthermore instructed NOT to replace it. I can say this for it, it was the biggest won-at-fair goldfish I’d ever seen.

Other than that, I lizard-sat later in the summer at another house in the valley. 20 year old iguanas are fairly tough and only barely need some tending. So I fed him, avoided his claws, and relaxed in my friends’ house.

I don’t really feel like going through the year and the stuff I did. I can barely remember, honestly. But there were some really nice steps forward in the career and interesting artsy projects I worked on. I got into voice classes with some of my heroes – a workshop with Mary Elizabeth McGlynn, Matt Mercer and James Arnold Taylor, a class led by Richard Horvitz – and received some really nice compliments as well as endlessly useful insight and instruction from them. I worked on a text and voice message-based alternate reality game (ARG) that was all about Shakespeare. And I landed a fairly hefty gig translating content from English to Spanish and then recording it at home for a real estate video designer. It took a couple months to get through it all, but hey for a while there I was a real, working voice over artist!!

Between working on that project and the class with Richard I felt more and more emboldened to call myself an actor – something I already was, but felt nervous saying out loud. So before I could talk myself out of it, I joined a theatre friend’s workshop and now I’m part of the cast. I’ll be onstage in WONDER CITY next month at Son of Semele’s Company Creation Festival.

I got to fit in some adventures with friends, too. I went to Wondercon, which was a lot of fun. I like getting to panels (I find the shopping really tedious, there’s rarely more than what I’d find at a local comic store (that I’d buy, anyway) and I have to dodge throngs of people, some of who are wearing large bulky costumes with spiky armor or ridiculous weapons poking out). But the most amazing part of cons is always the surprise encounters. And frankly, that’s usually with friends I haven’t seen in a long time. Thiiiis time though…img_10771

 

I met Edward James Olmos!!!!!!

And that’s one of the crazy things that can happen to LA. Meet an actor, strike up a conversation, get invited to a movie screening. Okay, that rarely happens – but now I can’t say it never happens!

Back to talking about the family, we also fit in some good times. A few months ago my cousins put together a 90th birthday party for their mom, Teresa. She is the widow of my dad’s oldest brother, Tony. They hired a mariachi band to come and sing her favorite songs, and 90 being just a number, my Tía Tere got up and danced over and over, and even grabbed my sleeve so I would dance with her! And just last night we had a 91st birthday party for my dad at his favorite restaurant – a Chinese all you can eat buffet. My mom and sister invited everyone they could think of, friends and family. I got to see people I hadn’t seen in over 20 years. We all hugged and delighted in seeing each other – for happy reasons. For many years we’d only see each other at funerals (again, my dad had nine siblings who’ve all passed away).

So, that’s how it goes. Tragedy and worries, deep concerns for the future, as well as continued efforts in the career, and really cultivating more boldness. It’s really scary. I can’t say anything without mentioning that. I’m full of doubt, and when I look around at the world around me, everyone is nervous of what the next year will bring. Will we lose equal rights and harassment protections? Will businesses be granted the latitude to treat human beings as mere resources to be scavenged? Will the environment be ravaged without an ounce of protection? Will unions be completely undermined? And on and on…

There’s this saying, “as above, so below,” and I’ve watched it be true in human institutions time and time again. If the leader of an institution is thoughtful and calm, the institution they lead will be thoughtful and calm. If the leader is rash and prideful, so will the people who follow them. If the leader is either mindbogglingly stupid or crass and cruel, I’ve watched institutions follow suit. The man who is about to be installed at the head of the government – at least at the head of the Executive – is a frightening mix of self-involvement, pettiness, greed, and superficiality. And he is surrounding himself with people have shown open disregard if not disgust for the responsibilities of a government toward the governed.

I hate that we have to face this at all, to say nothing of being without our heroes, the big men and women who shined so brightly we felt like we could find our way.

I felt this keenly when Sister Virginia died. Who was going to keep the family together? Who would organize the major parties and keep the phone trees up and running? Who would keep all the old photo albums and baptismal certificates? It’s still painful to think about.

But it was at her funeral that I realized we were going to have to step up now. That if the times made me anxious, I’d have to take a page out of Sister’s book and see how I could serve others. Getting stuff done, like she always did, really does calm the nerves. My heroes may be fading out, but it’s time for us to be heroes.

Resist movement toward the dark, be a beacon of light. Does it sound cheesy? How cheesy were you feeling at the end of Nov 8th? People are going to need help finding their way. You may be one of them–we’ll all take turns. We’ll need light. We can’t hope someone else will provide it. It’ll be difficult, it might be frightening. But it’s never the wrong time to the right thing. Sometimes the goldfish dies despite everything you could do, and sometimes you meet a movie star and he turns out to be cool, friendly guy.

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Korean Spa to Walla, and Dallas to Dallas, with a layover in the kitchen; and what I learned there.

30 Monday Dec 2013

Posted by Flor in Background

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acting, art, family, friends, home life, me, theatre, voice

If I put together all the voice over that I did this year that wasn’t in a class, it would probably take three or four, maybe five days.  Maybe six, when counting email, the Web site, business cards, etc.  But the last professional thing I got done this year, before holidays and overeating killed all forward movement, was a walla session.  So I am doing stuff.

I just need to do more.

It’s been a hell of a year, huh?  I don’t know anyone who hasn’t been figuratively booted in the head at least once in the last 12 months, and plenty of us were still reeling from previous sucker punches from life.

I knew it would be trouble from the moment I decided to stop stage managing FOOTE NOTES through yet another extension. It sucked up my January and I really wanted to get going on my goals…  The problem immediately manifested as how was I doing to get anything done without any structure to my days.  To say nothing of the added chaos that comes with living with someone who is schizophrenic.

Though, the truth is I did start to get somewhere. And it started on my last day at FOOTE NOTES.  (The two one-acts were located in a small town outside of Dallas.)  After several good-bye whiskeys and hugs to the cast, I met M and we went to a spa in Koreatown.  I’d never been so I had a few minutes to get used to the idea that the “co-ed” section one wore the facility-provided uniform of t-shirt and shorts, making it look like a bus station overflowing with Korean tourists to Disneyland, and in the women-only section one wore only one’s birthday suit.

I’ll skip over the details – which I remember keenly – and get to what I’ve taken with me.  And it’s that I’m enough and there’s nothing really wrong with my body.  And if I change it’s just a change.  In the years to come I’m going to lose as much as I could possibly gain when it comes to physical looks, and the point of that is it doesn’t mean jack when I’m laying down on hot clay marbles and my mind is wandering while impossibly insane Korean TV shows are playing in the background.  From the tiny little naked girls chasing each other around to the old grannies pushing walkers and letting it all hang out, we’re all here.  It’s all good.

The last trip to Dallas was aboard DALLAS NON-STOP, stage managing with a tiny bit of voice over thrown in for shits and giggles. I’ve always loved theatre for the chance to see the world through different eyes and this was something new and different still.  It was all located in the Philippines and imagined and realized by Filipinos and Filipino-Americans… and as much as it reflexively touched on the realities of Filipino life and culture, it was situated so that it looked squarely back at America.  I found I was looking at my own country and my own (Western) culture through their eyes.  Quite a heady experience.

Layovers are such a pain in the ass.  Enough time to not know what to do with yourself, not enough time to really go find an adventure.  That’s what it felt like this summer.  True, I was hitting a patch of depression by late spring, so I was forced to get up and take care of things when my mom had surgery.  Nothing else was getting me to productivity.  But some two-three months of pretending to be mom, cooking and cleaning, etc, at the same time that mom was around being mom and no one else was helping it out…  It just put on pause any attempts to work for myself while I couldn’t do anything to get away and relax.

And at the end of all that? My sister moved in and I started sharing my bedroom with my niece.  Hey, I love these people, even my asshole schizophrenic brother, but this house is ready to pop.  I was staying up until the wee hours before simply from being nocturnal, but as I tried to rearrange my life so I could get life moving in a more productive direction, I was starting to make good on getting some decent sleep during the night.  Now I’m back to nearly fully nocturnal because it’s the only time I can hear myself think.  This is the hardest part.  Making the life I’m aiming for work while the place I live in is slightly completely crazy.

At the least I have awesome friends who are generous with their resources.  S let me crash at her house while I worked on DALLAS and on a few occasions I got some recording done there.  It maybe that I have to do all my recording there.  It’s still not a studio, but it’s far calmer than my house.

Those are just the places I landed.  Spots where my feet touched the ground and I saw clearly what I was trying to get done, whether I was close to or far from my goals.  I coasted over fitness & weight loss, sometimes going to the gym regularly, and sometimes taking a month or more off.  I skimmed some Japanese without serious demands that I improve and commit more to the long-term memory banks.  I’m trying not to get too frustrated about these.  They’re important to me but I can have only one No 1 goal.

Walla is a term for the chatter produced when a group of people in a sound booth fill in the background conversation for scenes on TV or movies.  I can’t get into detail about the ones I’ve done, but I can say it’s a fun exercise in semi-free form improv.  Anyhow, I like that someone thought of me and called me in.  Next up: getting someone to think of me and pay me to come in.

The Little Gifts

04 Saturday May 2013

Posted by Flor in context-ual

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friends

A year later and it still doesn’t seem right that I won’t see John’s smile again. I can look at pictures and see his beautiful face, but I won’t see it move with the light in his eyes or the truth of his intention. It’ll be an empty memory of color and shape but not the feeling.

When John gave a smile, he gave it. It was the real deal, it was a gift and it was just for you.

John was in my extended tribe. That just means I didn’t know him nearly so well as my friends who saw to it that I would know him. But that smile… that smile made it ok. It was true and real as a material thing, as a conversation deep into the night. It told me he saw me, didn’t just skim past me and back to his good friends. It was a gift he made on the spot and it was just for me.

He didn’t do things half way, that’s for sure. He was a born daredevil, from all I’ve heard. But he knew his business. If setting up electrical rigging for a lighting system in a rainstorm didn’t get him, what possibly could? That he would die in a motorcycle accident surprised everyone. All his friends assumed by this point he was more or less immortal.

All Burning Man tales are extraordinary, and of course John managed to go over and above. Literally. He would typically sky dive into camp. In the buff. Of course, I’ve heard of many other stories of his Burn exploits, the elevator in the desert is my favorite. But the sky diving one is the first I heard and it’s the one he told me the way you might recount where you prefer to park your car when you go to the mall.

It’s funny, and fantastic, how someone just passing through my periphery, a friend of a friend, can stop me cold like that. Really, I usually have to meet someone a couple of times before I can really notice them (I try not to be a jerk about these things, I’m just socially myopic), but John had a way of being unavoidable.

Thank God. Thank you, God, for not letting me miss meeting John Pedone.

John Pedone 1971-2012

John Pedone 1971-2012

New Wine, Old Friend

15 Monday Aug 2011

Posted by Flor in Vino

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friends, me, wine

I hadn’t seen T in a long time.  How long?  Long enough that his condo had accrued a layer of brightly colored plastic baubles and other loud toys that are safe for a toddler.  I still have not met this toddler, but her impact on his life is difficult to underestimate.

I usually pass on Italian wines.  I either can’t afford them or I find them…dull.  Well, that is, they’re generally quaffable. I don’t think I’ve ever tried an Italian wine that wasn’t at least “ok” but it seems to be quite the effort to find any that rise above mere table wine.  And look, there’s something to be said for a reliable drink that suits nearly any supper.  But the usual montepulciano or sangiovese is a bit awkward by itself; even a bit of cheese or chocolate won’t quite suffice to hide the fact that an Italian red is primarily refreshment to chase one’s meal.

So I can’t quantify the impact of a child (I won’t even try), but I wanted to properly contextualize finding a delicious new wine to appreciate. Colosi’s 2009 Nero d’Avola surprised the hell out of me. Really, I was figuring I might have to pour myself a small glass and leave it on the counter for at least an hour before it filled out to something I wouldn’t mind drinking while T and I got caught up.

It’s also a bonus on top of being a pleasant surprise from another friend.  First, it was her birthday but she gave me a present.  Second, even if she felt she owed it to me, I’d completely forgotten about the story of hers that I edited a while ago. Third, well.. remember that “wine snob” thing?  If I’m never given another bottle of Sutter Hill or Charles Shaw it’ll be too soon.  But hey, gainsaying that moniker was my lack of familiarity with nero d’avola.

At T’s house I offered the Colosi, I must say, without a lot of confidence.  That’s perhaps something more ingrained in my personality than I like to admit. It could be a wine, it could be a subject I’ve been studying, it could be my driving or my memory of a particular scene in a movie: I frequently find qualifiers in the information I’m giving if not complete statements designed to distance myself from representing what I just said with full faith and diligence.  Doesn’t really matter why, so long as I don’t try to compensate with over-confidence.  But my friends, good people that they are, breeze right past it.  And T and I dug into the nero d’avola and were readily impressed.

In a few ways T’s appreciation was the harder win – he’s not a big fan of red wines.  Likely the fact that Colosi barrels this nero d’avola in steel instead of oak contributed considerably to the initial pleasure, but T and I kept passing the bottle back and forth over a smoked gouda and later the orange chicken and mixed vegetables that made dinner.  It was such a pleasure that I forgot to leave a little for dessert – a bar of Swiss milk chocolate.  Now that’s saying something!

But back to old friends: It always struck me when I was a kid that my parents didn’t get out to see their own friends terribly often – and that’s without appreciating the scheduling contortions they had to go through to pull off visiting.  In a way it prepared me for the idea that adults can’t take friends and time spent with them for granted.  I saw my friends every day at school.  At college we lived a few blocks from each other and hanging out was a given.  Even the first couple of years after graduation it was easy enough to see each other.  But by and by chaos introduced itself to the system.  One friend had a child, another got married, another left the state for a job….  It’s the way things go, and it went on until I found myself hosting dinners in my tiny bachelor apartment just so I could see my friends.

It can be a little jarring to think of T as a family man.  I remember the guy in college with whom I stayed up late pretending to be vampires and pretending we were all bad ass because, well, that’s the kind of people we were…are…whatever.  We gamed, watched movies, traveled to events around the state attended by like-minded dorks, took care of our friends and generally grew up.  And I know first hand it can be a little jarring to look at one’s personal evolution and find not only embarrassment but pride that somehow, against all odds, we became the sort of reliable, upstanding folks society would call adults.  Well, T did anyway.  He got a whole private school to rely on his computer tech expertise, sought and earned an MBA, bought a condo, married his girlfriend and set about having a child.  Laid out in a sentence like that it sounds extremely simple, but anyone who’s ever attempted anything remotely like it knows no solid bullet point is made without a lot of hidden blood, sweat and tears.  I may stick to the highlights but it’s because T actually accomplished them.  I could be wrong, but I think that’s the definition of “respectable.”

Wine Pairing: vino y vida

11 Thursday Aug 2011

Posted by Flor in Vino

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friends, me, wine

Long ago my friends learned that I will answer to “wine snob.”  It’s because it’s funny to me.  I’ve put a little bit of effort into knowing wines and over a dozen years that continual effort has turned into a moderate amount of knowledge.  It’s not like I’ve taken any classes, I’m lackadaisical about reading up on varietals or trends or such (the only critic I keep up with is the New York Times’ Eric Asimov and I usually skim his columns).  Even when I’m flush with cash I balk at paying more than $30 for a bottle unless it’s a knock out.  I’m well aware that my minimal efforts leave an extensive body of knowledge beyond what I know and that “real” snobs have a price point usually twice my line.

Nonetheless, I’ve become known as the one who brings wine to the party, wine to the hangout, wine to the dinner table.  For this my youngest brother once accused me of turning French.  Little did he know that my favorite offerings to bring with me to any old meet-n-feast is fine bottle of pinot noir (Schug maybe?) paired with some raspberries and blackberries, a creamy cheese (oh who am I kidding, brie) and a French roll.  Or maybe I’d make a meal of a heady zinfandel (just polished off a great Bogle, but Seven Deadly Zins will always be my go-to when I don’t want to think too hard), hard cheese (aged cheddar or smoked gouda), garlic crackers and maybe some salami – any zesty Italian dish works, really – and wrap the whole thing up with chocolate.

I’m not a dedicated foodie.  I’m don’t feel up to what I consider true connoisseurship.  I hesitate to even make rules for myself, knowing I’ll just break them because that’s what I do.  So even as much as I wish I could just eat food that I enjoy savoring and always avoid food that doesn’t meet this lone metric, I’m fine with tossing back a passable, cheap wine with a sandwich.  How about with pizza that tastes just like the cardboard box it came in?  Oh what the hell, as long as I didn’t pay for it.  But bad wine is bad.  Never order the wine at Sizzler’s.  Trust me on this one.  Life is way too short for crap wine.

Probably the least amusing assumption about me as a wine lover is that I mightn’t also like other alcoholic drinks.  I admit, I have a limited appreciation of bar drinks.  I know maybe a dozen mixed drinks that I like but I really don’t know most mixers.  I’d be an utter failure as a bartender.  However, I like scotch.  Perhaps even love it.  Not great for pairing but good for before and after meals and during any slow points in the middle.  But a few friends of mine have staked out the rich ground of scotch snobbery, so I don’t have to.  Thus I don’t like to say what expressions I like more than any others, but I have found I like a good Isle of Islay, say the Ardbeg, pretty darn well.  And further proving I’m not the scotch snob, I really like bourbons, appreciating the sweetness as well as low price.  Bulleit is as reliable as children losing balloons at the county fair.  Finally, I dig a good rum and it’s hard, maybe impossible to beat Pyrat.

It’s just, if I’m going to put it in my mouth I should enjoy it, I figure.  The only guidance I go by when it comes to figuring out what to drink next is a pair of questions: 1. Was that tasty?  2. Seconds?  Still, friends expect me to be ready with wine recommendations.  I don’t understand why.

I drank a lot of wine in 2007

Wine and Sympathy

21 Thursday Jul 2011

Posted by Flor in Vino

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friends, wine

The day had been warm, even a little muggy around sunset.  But by late night it was chilly out on the porch. M and I shrugged on coats that would have been unbearable when we were away from the porch.  We drank a crappy cabernet sauvignon – I had meant to bring quite a good pinot noir but had rushed out of the house without it – and chain smoked her Virginia Slims.  We blinked back tears.

We don’t get to pick our families but we do pick our friends.  Well, I guess.  I don’t think it’s a particularly conscious choice.  But we group up with people with similar…something.  Attitudes? Priorities? Outlooks?  Sometimes, but not always, I just end up hanging out with whoever invites me over.

Animals, though, don’t pick friends and their actual relatives are soon enough taken away.  Pets come into a home and adjust as they will.  A dog or cat warms up to someone each in its own way – or doesn’t warm up, each in its own way.  The pack tendency in canines makes it easy to see their relationships in a household.  Outsiders are judged individually for fitness as a part of the extended tribe.

Or at least, that’s how it felt with Ahab.  She barked the first couple of times that I came over. But the reactions of M and the others to me convinced her to stand down.  After that, when I came over she would run to the gate or the door to see me in. She didn’t jump into anyone’s arms or dance, she was far too dignified for that.  Though she made no secret of sniffing hopefully at any grocery bags.

Sometimes I would sit on the lower steps of the stairs to the porch, alone and lost in thought.  She would come up to me then, bring her muzzle close to mine and stare into my eyes.  It didn’t matter if I was just wandering inside my head, pointless poking at some esoteric idea, or if I was grappling with pain and anxiety, her huge gold-brown eyes would bring me to the present.  She waited patiently until my eyes locked on hers, until she knew we were present to the same moment.  Then she would lick my face.

At the HP Haus, what I call my forward operating base and my home-away-from-home, Ahab was notorious for a certain regal cuteness that somehow never put at odds her tendency to  beg for beer with her typical posture, alert to any threats to her pack.  She didn’t want anything to do with my wine, but boy would she give me Pleading Puppy Face for a bite of cheese.  One evening, not that long ago, M and I spent the evening over some wine, cheese and blackberries at one of the stone tables in the Haus’s backyard.  We sat catty-corner to each other, smoking and chatting.  Ahab sat between us, facing M. At every opportunity she gave M The Eyes.  When M would turn away would no response the brazen dog would reach a paw up and gently poke her.  After the second or third time M addressed Ahab directly telling her in no uncertain terms that she would not be eating human food, Ahab stood up, shifted around and repositioned herself facing me and redirected her begging to me.

The sweetness, the protectiveness, the I got your back-ness, the patience and occasional utter cheek are all attributes I’ll always think of as characteristic to the HP Haus. It’s a locus in my extended tribe.

I lean pretty heavily on M at times, because she invites me to do so, and because I have few other options.  It’s a tiny world and each one of us isn’t really that far away from any other one of us.  A toast, friendship, the bond of shared stories, a cool evening on a porch; these are worth relishing.  It all goes by too fast, otherwise.

I miss you, Ahab.  Thank you for letting me into your tribe.

Haus Guardian, Ahab

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