Check Check Testing One Two Testing Check Check (every good boy DIES FIRST Chapter 6)

Griff stood outside The Lounge handing out flyers for Garbage Truck’s next show coming up the following month. The music coming out of the club sounded pretty good.
“Why is it that music coming out of a club always sounds better than it does inside?” Griff wondered. It was a lot like the way popcorn smelled better than it tasted. Distance sometimes made things more appealing, and outdoor sounds of indoor music was one of them.
A few laughing girls walked by. “Hi, check out my band next month, we’re called Garbage Truck”, Griff handed out a flyer. One of them grabbed the flyer.
“I will definitely be there!” she said and stuffed the flyer in her pocketbook, walking away.
“Liar”, he thought.

“Hey! Griff! How’s it hanging, bro?” a corpulent hippie-looking guy approached him. It was Cheese, a writer for the punk fanzine Spitball. His real name was Hermosillo, but the punk rock gringos either couldn’t spell it or pronounce it, so he made it easy by calling himself Cheese.
“Cheese, King of the Blues”. They shook hands and banged fists together. “Check it out man, we’ll be playing the club soon”, he handed him the flyer.
Cheese appraised the flyer, “Awesome. I know Helena, the booker for punk nights so I’ll be there. But hell, you guys are really getting around, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know, your guitar players are doing double duty, y’know playing in Garbage Truck and their band, Lady Godiva’s Operation”.
“What are you talking about?” Griff looked dumbstruck.
“I think I have the flyer here”, Cheese searched his back pocket. “I got it here somewhere”. A joint tumbled out of his pocket and he chuckled. “Huhuhuh, makes music sound better. Oh! Here it is”.

Cheese opened up a folded flyer and handed it over to Griff. It said “LADY GODIVA’S OPERATION” written in big letters and in almost equally big letters, “Featuring members of Garbage Truck”.
“You gonna be there, dawg? I heard Kitten Claws are gonna be jammin’ with them, should be killer”.
“Hmmm…ain’t that a kick in the head?” Griff unsuccessfully faked a smile, “You learn something new every day”. He handed back the flyer. “Well, adios, sleazy Cheese!”
“Later, hoss!” he ambled away.

What a fuckin’ bunch of clowns. They’re not getting enough attention? I give them tons of solos so they can get a share of the spotlight and it’s still not enough. Griff couldn’t believe his eyes. They already had a band with shows booked and kept it a secret from him all this time. He finally had a steady band playing shows with a possible record in the works and they go and fuck it up by starting some band named after a lame Velvet Underground song. Griff hated The Velvet Underground; he thought they sounded like a transistor radio with dying batteries.

******************************************

After two hours of handing out flyers Griff went to Java The Hut, the new coffee house that catered to alternative bands. Java The Hut looked like some kind of perverse Nursery School homeroom for adults. Infantile finger paintings mixed with nude pin-ups, tiki statues, and the ugliest furniture from the Seventies festooned the bombed out storefront. A few tables and chairs were set to the side with a “coffee bar” against the wall. As soon as Griff entered he noticed a girl standing on a table throwing her coffee cup at another girl.

“YOU FUCKIN’ WHORE I’LL KILL YOU BLAH BLAH BLAH!” She screamed. She was blowsy, had dishwater blonde hair, no stockings, and the ugliest pair of shoes.
“Stacey, chill, baby!” Mort Mortuary, the gothy hipster owner of the club raced over, “Please get off the table!”
“Mort, Mortmortmortmortmort, get that cunt out of here or I’ll rip her fuckin’ hair of her head!” Stacey roared.

Griff walked around the pair and saw Trev standing by the coffee bar.
"Dude!”
“Who the fuck’s that?”
“That’s Stacey Gash, new fish in town”.
“What a pill. Does she come here all the time?”
“Well, Mort floats her all the free coffee she can drink and then some”.
“Yeah”, Griff scratched his chin,” That’s the kind of girl that needs more coffee, huh?” Trev laughed. “Did you know anything about those three guys starting a band?”
“What? Lady Godiva’s Operation?”
“YOU KNEW ABOUT IT?”
“Sure, they’re playing here next week”.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Who cares? They’re lame, and give them a month and they’ll be ass vapor”.
“They’re ass vapor already as far as I’m-“

“HEY!” He heard a girls; voice bellow behind him. He turned around and it was Stacey Gash, pimpled and too much lipstick staring at him.
“Hi, what’s new?”
“You’re Trev’s friend Griff, you’re in Garbage Truck, so are you like the big new band?”
“We might be”.
“I’m Stacey Gash, I have a band called Spinpsycho, you know like its’ a joke on Spin Cycle, you know? So are you going to be a big star and have hits and stuff? What do you think of Sonic Youth? I think they’re kina old but you know Patti Smith’s an old bitch and I’m a young bitch. Nobody likes me and I don’t like me. I wrote my name on my stomach when I cut myself last night. So you’re gay, huh? That’s cool all my friends are queers but I like really butch boys to date me. Hey, do you know Dead End Kyle? Doesn’t he have like the big, happening record company now? Aren’t you guys making a record for him now?”
“Yeah, I talked to him yesterday-“
“Give me his number, c’mon. I’m sorry I called you a queer, I take it all back, you’re not a queer”.
“I don’t have it on me right now, sorry, I-“
“Oh, okay, whatever! I mean, like I’m sorry I even asked. Look, I have to go can you drive me home? I’m house sitting at this record producer’s house on Pacific Coast Highway. He has tons of coke, you queers love coke, don’t you?”
“Um, well-“ before Griff could answer she spotted Miri from Kitten Claws across the room and ran over to her.
“WHHHOOOOORE!!!” They hugged. Griff looked over in the corner and Shawna smirked at him.

***************************************

It was 3:00 AM in the morning when Griff got home, dog tired in spite of the caffeine flowing through his veins.
“Jesus, how am I going to get up at 6:00 to go to work?” he pondered, plopping on the sofa, turning on a dim lamp nearby. “I guess I’ll call in sick again. I gotta get some sleep”.

Stretching out in the dimly lit living room, the cat raced out of the darkness towards him, jumping on his lap, and pretending not to notice him. Griff pet him, anyway and felt himself almost drifting asleep.
“Now, this is a sofa, huh?” He asked the cat. “Not plaid, not corduroy like at that junky coffee house, but a real nice sofa. Spanish leather”. He glanced at the coffee table in front of him, noticing a letter-sized page with a primitive scrawl all over it. He picked it up and read the scribble:

DUDE DON’T KILL ME
MY MOM CAME AND SHES TAKING ME TO CRI-HELP OR SOME OTHER SHIT
I GOTTA GET CLEAN BUT DON’T STRESS THE RENT
SHELL PAY MY SHARE WHYLL IM GONE
I LAMED OUT BUT THE NEXT TIME YOU SEE ME ILL BE CLEAN NO MORE JUNK
PLEASE FEED THUNDER THE BALL EVERY DAY AND GIVE HIM WATER AND LET HIM IN IF IT RAINS YOU KNOW THE REST
I OWE YOU A BIG ONE THIS TIME BRO
PEACE OUT
PIERRE (maybe lucky this time, ya think?)

“Let him in if it rains? This is fucking Los Angeles. Bull fuckin’ shit if it rains. Great! Well, what do you think of your Daddy now?” Griff asked Thunderball, who simply looked at him with his big, golden eyes.
“Surprise bands, surprise drug cures”, Griff mumbled, falling asleep. “Surprises are supposed to be fun…supposed to be fun….” Thunderball jumped off him.

Two hours passed by, and then the phone rang. The loud ringing scared Griff so badly he practically jumped off the sofa. He blinked his eyes wildly and grabbed the phone, answering it.

“Um, well, yeah, hello?” He heard street sounds on the other end of the line, the call coming from a phone booth somewhere.
“Griff, did I wake you up? It’s me, Jeffrey, your music teacher, we talked the other day, you remember?”
“Yeah……what’s going on?”
“Griff, I need a place to sleep, it’s really cold out here, Jesus, I’m freezin’”.
“That sucks, Jeffrey”, Griff said, thinking ‘how the hell did he get my number? I don’t remember giving it to him’.
“Please, Griff, just this one night. I’m out on the street and I need a place to get out of the cold!” he begged.
“I don’t know man, I’m a guest here, too. It’s not really my place, y’know-“
“I won’t make any noise, I swear, just let me come by this time”.

Griff pulled the phone away from his ear and held his head down. He didn’t know what to do.
“Griff, are you there? Griff?”
Griff pressed his fingers on the pins to disconnect the call. He then left the phone off the hook so it wouldn’t ring again for the rest of the night. It would probably be awhile before he could get any sleep, just like his dear old trumpet teacher.

Photo by Mike Blum

Ssshh (every good boy DIES FIRST Chapter 5)

“I’M NEUROTIC – BORDERLINE PSYCHOTIC- FEELING DOWNRIGHT EXOTIC, YEAH!!!!” The radio blared in the new apartment Griff was living in. The sun was streaming through the large, open windows in the AM. Pierre, his roommate, sat by the sofa, tapping his feet with a cigarette perched in his right hand. Griff paced around the room looking out the window. All of a sudden he heard a scratching sound at the door.
“Dude, open the door”, Pierre told Griff. Griff opened the door a crack and Thunderball, Pierre’s golden Abyssinian cat raced in, then just as quickly slowing down to a casual trot.

“Thunder, you’re home!” Pierre welcomed his pet. Thunderball jumped up on the sofa to join his master. Griff continued to listen to the radio.
“Um, that was a song called, uh, whatever, something by The Neurotics, they played a couple nights ago, at like, you know, some club”, the disc jockey chuckled. “Didn’t you go to that show, Henry? Yeah, ha ha. You’re listening to KXRV, broadcasting from Martin Luther Sacred Heart College, Lucifer Camacho at your service. My guests today are Monkey Wrench from Venice, California”.
“Monkey Wrench, wasn’t that the band you were in?” Pierre asked Griff.
“Yeah, I wanna check out what they have to say”.
The radio babbled in the background with the sounds of people entering the studio and microphones being readjusted and Lucifer himself mumbling indifferently, something he did very well.

“What was Monkey Wrench like?”
“You couldn’t keep them happy. They were always complaining about the way I was getting too much attention, like it was a bad thing that people came to see me play. They said I was on a big star trip”.
“Shit, they were jealous”.
“It doesn’t matter. Who ever heard of a trumpet player in a blues band anyway?”

By the time the band got settled in their chairs to chat with Lucifer he threw on some records so there wasn’t much talk going on.
“They’re not going to talk for awhile. Let’s have some breakfast!” Pierre jumped up from the sofa with Thunderball following him to the kitchen. The radio continued to play some punk rock rattle while they both sat down for some corn flakes and coffee.
“Shee-it, I almost forgot!” Pierre got up and ran over to the pantry. “Thought I forgot about you, Dude, huh?” He kidded Thunderball, who was dancing in place because he knew he was going to eat, too. “Alright, get ready for it, man. It’s your favorite!”
Pierre pulled out a banged-up sack of cat kibble and poured some in a bowl. The cat stood up on his hind legs and craned his head to see the kibble being poured. Pierre put the bowl down and then the cat stared at Griff.
“What’s he staring at me for?”
“He won’t start eating until you eat first”.
“No way”.
“Check it out. Start eating”. Griff began eating his cereal and Thunderball followed suit, burying his head in the bowl and crunching his kibble as noisily as possible.

“Okay, we’re back. Um, those were a bunch of bands, well, I couldn’t tell you who they were, but-“
“Lucifer, we played that last song”, somebody in Monkey Wrench mumbled, a little irritated.
“Oh! Well, there you have it, good stuff, brought to you by KXRV. We’ve got a fund raiser coming up soon. So, how did you guys all meet?”
“Oh, man, what a lousy interviewer”, Griff dropped his spoon.
“He sucks, but bands are always fighting to be on his show”.
“Where did you come up with the name Monkey Wrench?”
“Oh come on, does this asshole use flash cards with his interviews?” Griff griped.
Pierre laughed, “I get tired of being asked those same stupid questions”.
“And listen to these jerk-offs, answering these lame questions in stone seriousness”. They answered every question as if they were delivering the most profound messages.

“Who are your influences?”
“Now watch, the next question he’s gonna ask is what their favorite club to play at is-“
“So, um like, what’s your favorite club to play?”
“JESUS!” Griff yelled. Pierre laughed, but Thunderball jumped at the sound of yelling.

“Hey, my drummer told me Kitten Claws are playing Fuzzbox tonight. Wanna go?”
Griff dropped his spoon again. “We’re playing Fuzzbox tonight. Nobody told me Kitten Claws were on the bill”.
“I don’t know, all I heard was that they’re doing a top secret set at Fuzzbox”.
“I didn’t hear shit about that”.
“Sweet! Put me on the list, man. It’s gonna be a way awesome show”.

Griff sat there stunned. He booked his show a month in advance and Kitten Claws just decided to jump on the bill. He kind of knew what the outcome of the show was going to be like and he already dreaded it.
“So, what bands do you guys like to play with?” Lucifer bookishly asked over the airwaves.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Fuzzbox was packed, top secret show rumors be damned. It seemed like almost everyone in town knew about the show, and small club that it was, the club was unbearably hot and cramped. Griff had to fight through the crowds to get into his own show, trumpet case in hand. One thing was certain: Garbage Truck were scheduled to play at 11:30, the prime spot of the night. Not that it mattered, because it was 11:15 and Kitten Claws were on stage playing. Griff stopped dead in his tracks.

“Hey guys, y’all ready for some biiigg ffuunnn?” Miri, the loud-mouthed bassist screeched into the mike. The audience roared in approval.
“This here song’s called ‘Rolling Pin’”, Jackie-O, the front girl on guitar hooted. She had a fake Five O’Clock Shadow drawn on her face. She thought it was funny.
“This one’s for all the young’uns!” Shawna belched, turning up the volume knob on her Gibson Les Paul.

Kitten Claws ripped into “Rolling Pin”:
“Gonna bang my rolling pin between mah legs, Bang my rolling pin upside your head”, Shawna and Jackie-O buzzed together. Griff looked down at his watch in the dark club. Luckily the hands glowed in the dark. It was 11:22. Great, there goes our spot.

Bobby and Trev stood behind Griff, nudging him in recognition of his being there.
“Well, there goes our set”, Griff groused.
“WHAT?” Bobby yelled over the noise in the club.
“THERE GOES OUR SPOT”, Griff yelled over the noise.
“Kitten Claws are stars and we should be flattered they’re willing to share a bill with us”, Bobby admonished.

Trev nudged them both. “Look, there’s Dead End Kyle!” He pointed at a heavy-set guy with a hangdog face sporting a crooked blonde shag wig. Dead End Kyle shook his head to the music.
“Dead End Kyle! Dude, we’re so in the pocket. Doesn’t he run Paint It Black Records?”
“Yeah”, Griff said. “He usually records girl bands. I don’t think he’ll make a record with us”.

Kitten Claws ended “Rolling Pin” to thunderous applause. Griff noticed the majority of the fans mobbing the front of the stage were all guys. They fawned over the band like a bunch of hormone-driven housewives at a Tom Jones show. Griff wondered how soon one of them would throw his boxers at the stage.

“Who pissed in my coke?” Miri barked.
“So, like yeah, this one’s called ‘Sadie Hawkins Day’, it’s about girls being, like, totally powerful in charge for a change, you know?” Jackie-O yelled.
“This one’s for all the young’uns”, Shawna hooted. Guys in front of the stage pushed each other out of the way so they could take photos.
“WE LOVE YOU, SHAWNA”, a thick, swarthy girl in a leather jacket and mono-brow yelled. She was probably the only girl in front of the stage.

The band began “Sadie Hawkins Day” and one guy jumped up on stage and pulled his pants down. His pee-pee was smaller than his pinky. Miri booted him off stage, but would most likely get his phone number by the end of the night. She went back into her barefoot square dance on stage, throwing her bass guitar around.

“Face it, bro, they’re the queens of the underground”, Bobby said matter of factly.
“Yeah, it’s like Patsy Cline, only better, they’re like a band of four Patsy Clines”, Trev quipped. Griff winced and looked down at his watch. It was already 11:44 and the band showed no signs of getting off the stage.
“I think we can a cherry gig opening up for them. We’ll probably have to do it for free just as a token of good faith”.
“Ummmmyeah, let’s discuss it later”. Griff’s head was starting to hurt. He wished he had a drink. Griff glanced over at Dead End Kyle and thought he looked totally ridiculous.

“And now for the song you’ve all been waiting for”, Jackie-O coyly announced. “Watch out, boyfriends!” The audience roared in delight.
“Yeah!” Miri hooted. “Watch out, boyfriends!”
“This one’s for all the young’uns”, Shawna added.

Fritzi lifted her hairy armpit and kicked in the beat to their anthem, “I’m Mad At My Boyfriend!” and the girls all roared into their mikes, the guitars howling and getting progressively louder. Guys were shoving past Griff to get closer to the front. Griff wondered how much longer the band would play before they had their turn. Before he could get his answer he saw Jackie-O pick up a greased stick and spit gasoline on it, setting it on fire.
“Oh my God!” some guy gushed.
“Ballsy chicks-I LOVE IT!”
“THEY’RE SO ORIGINAL!!!”
Actually, they weren’t. Nashville Pussy recently did the fire-breathing gimmick, and then of course KISS before that. By the time Kitten Claws breathed fire it was staler than day old bread. Hold the yeast.

Griff finally got away from the teeming crowd of wet, greasy punk boys and found himself a nice, empty corner of the club. The loudness of Kitten Claws was somewhat muffled by all the bodies pressing the stage. He looked around and saw Dead End Kyle walk away from the crowd. Something was a little off about him but Griff didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was how soon was he going to play and how soon was he going to get to bed thereafter.

“Any requests?”
“No! YOU show ME your tits!”
“This one’s for all the young’uns! HEH!”

Painting by Brian Kokoska

X-Raying The Legendary Children

Some of the best videos on YouTube are the fifty second Go Sees shot at various modeling agencies and posted online. I find them fascinating because they show models in unguarded and unadorned ways that tell you a lot about the way they work.

I’ll start by presenting you with one of my favorites, Ranya Mordanova*, registered with The Ford Modeling Agency. The Go See video format begins with a verbal introduction, followed by a walk and then a quick profile. The video takes all of forty-five seconds. Ranya has a good, classic runway walk, stands well, and ends with a classic profile.

Paul Boche** is seen here at a Go See at MTC (Maurilio Carnino Casting). A “Go See” for those who don’t know is a sort of audition for modeling work in editorial, runway or other various commercial projects. Even if a model is hot or famous they still do them just to touch base with the agency.

In this video Boche looks a little nervous but still shows dynamic presence in front of the camera. His height is so imposing that walking through the narrow hallway is a little touchy. Cool video.

Misha is from Russia, in case her heavy accent doesn’t already give it away, and registered with The Ford Agency, too. She has a very good walk and manages to keep a good poker face in spite of the models in the background laughing while she’s breaking into her model stance. Her stance, by the way, is very good.

Francisco Lachowski from Brazil is a pretty dynamic print model, one of my favorites, in fact, but here his walk looks very underwhelming, not his strong suit. In fact, Robert Mitchum going fishing looks more dynamic than this walk. It’s pretty weird to see where some models' strengths lie. Some are better before a camera and others are better live on the runway. I always assumed they were great at everything.

Stephanie Rad from England is the exact opposite. Although I find her facial expressions in editorial print to be somewhat lifeless and even frigid, here she comes off as animated and pretty happy. She also walks in the classic model style, one leg crossing over another, and then breaks into the most badass pose, her legs spread out defiantly. And that's how you sell fashion designs!

* Previously seen in “No Runway In The Sky”, February 29, 2012.
** Previously seen in “Once Rock Stars Looked Like Models But Now Models Look Like Rock Stars”, January 12, 2012.

Springtime For Sweet Tooth

It was just about a year ago today that I blasted out of my nightmare job at the LA County Board of Supervisors and contemplated on my future. After clerking for the County since 1991 and feeling burnout setting in I needed a change of scene. You couldn’t have picked a more radical change of scene than working in wardrobe for the upcoming Sony Playstation 3 game, “Twisted Metal”.

Knowing virtually nothing about the story of “Twisted Metal”, what little I gathered from it, was that it takes place in suburban Anytown USA, where people are granted any wish from someone named Calypso, a sort of anti-Wizard of Oz. An evangelist named Preacher advises everyone to resist Calypso, but like any good conscience gets tossed aside.

One of the main characters is an ice cream man gone psycho killer named Sweet Tooth, a killer clown with a WWF type persona. A scarred model equally gone batshit named Dollface launches a vendetta towards supermodels on the runway. She looks a lot like Bruce Timm’s Calendar Girl from the Animated Batman Series, but I digress. Because this is a game in the driving genre (a la Grand Theft Auto) there are road rage rivals for Sweet Tooth, like The Dead Riders and the black Evel Kneivel father and son team, Grimm and Grimm Jr. Where a lot of this goes, I don’t know, because I don’t own the game or belong to the TM cult (this is the third version of the game). All I know is that the film we worked on turned out beautifully.

Rebecca was hired to work on “Twisted Metal” because she had a long resume of having created costumes for a wide variety of games, including “Infamous 2”, “Batman: Arkham Asylum”, “Saints Row”, “Gotham City Impostors”, and many more.

“Twisted Metal” was filmed at the Sony games sound stage in a suburb near San Diego in the middle of an industrial park (natch). Rebecca fabriced costumes and fitted the actors while I assisted her and grabbed clothes that were needed ASAP. I also had fun distressing ice cream vendor uniforms, mental institution inmate gowns and other uniforms, ironic given I had just shitcanned the most institutionalized government job in the world.

The footage was shot in front of a green screen, like in movies like “Sin City” where backgrounds are computer generated. Some of the costumes we fabricated:

Sweet Tooth– crazy polka dotted clown pants on white soda jerk uniform, held together with bondage-style leather suspenders.

Dollface – Red and black leather catsuit, more Emma Peel than Harley Quinn.

Grimm – Another evil onesie, this time with the Evel Kenivel drag look, but ghastly and ghoulish looking.

The Supermodel – beautiful red draped dress that had to be form fitting for the model that didn’t get cast until the day before shooting. (Yeah, it was a lot like that).

And as I said, for someone who just blew out his government job out his ass I had to distress a lot of uniforms: Doctor, Nurse, Policeman, Security Guard, Asylum Inmates, etc. I must have been the envy of every fetishist in the world! Makeup shared the same tent as we did so we were amused at Sweet Tooth getting fake scars applied to his body, because he had enough real ones to begin with. Paul was a great guy and had a million war stories for every scar he had.

One scene shot showed young asylum inmates cursing Calypso for driving them mad by granting their wish in exchange for their sanity. Every shot had to feature them wearing dirty, stained pajamas and wearing a strait jacket. We could only afford one strait jacket, and it had to look like it had vomit, spit and piss all over it. This required a few cans of creamy soup – Cream of Potato, Cream Corn Chowder, Cape Cod Clam Delite, etc. We debated on which was worse: the look or the smell of the fucking thing.

The asylum inmates were kids who worked in the Quality Control section at Playstation, so the opportunity to be in a game was thrilling to them. It was my job to dress them and for a brief moment I felt like somebody’s Dad. “Don’t forget your wallet”, “How old are you?”, “You have to take your nose ring out!” After the mind fuck of the government, I was going through a whole ‘nother mindfuck.

Just because it was a video doesn’t mean that the egos on set were any different than they would on any TV or movie shoot. There were attitudes, but mostly from the lackeys in the crew. The actors were easy to get along with except for one minor character who had problems understanding the meaning of the word “retake”. I guess he wasn’t used to using a shovel digging graves. He should intern for a month at Forest Lawn Mortuary.

Multitasking brought on a new meaning when Rebecca was called on to play stand-in for Dollface. When she played Dollface she wore the skin-tight outfit for long shots. The crew really woke up when they saw her – they’re probably still looking at the pictures they shot of her. She also played a Dead Rider in the video.

The shoot took about four to six weeks, and if memory serves most of the days were cold and drizzly. The sound stage wasn’t heated at all so our tent was very dark and damp. I could relate to the Crazy Calypso Kids based on our surroundings, so it didn’t take a lot to convince me to run out to the mall 25 miles away to grab stuff from Victoria’s Secret or Neiman Marcus. By the time the shoot was over and done I was ready to get back in bed with some grain alcohol, feeling more than a little bit like Sweet Tooth after scooping too many spumoni-on-pistachio waffle cones.

Fast-forward to the following year and “Twisted Metal” is finally out and it looks amazing, fun to play and cinematic as well. I don’t own any video games and don’t profess to being an expert on them but this is definitely one wild, cool, sickening joystick pounder. And I even got a credit on it. How wild, cool and sickening is that???

Get Twisted Metal here and drive yourself crazy!