Archive for February, 2011

February 18, 2011

Woke up with the birds and an incredible love for the American people. We are a feisty lot. Sometimes apathetic, sometimes a bit dimwitted, often slow to respond but don’t get us riled. I think of a leprechaun’s pot of gold and the wonderful guys in yesterdays FORUM.

It all began at 4:27 AM Feb.17  when AiMoKea said, “Wow. just when I thought it couldn’t get any more lame…Rumor has that some here have been frequently hitting the abuse button on Bettejo and she has been 86’d!!!  ARE YOU F’ING KIDDING ME?Anybody got the huevos to fess up? Who is censoring around here? I want to know!!! Un-be-lieveable!!!! What a bunch of wusses!

AiMoKea, 4:29 PM  The above has been confirmed. Will the biggest wuss please stand up! Pathetic.

ITEREADER, 5:15 pm. I don’t always agree with BJO, but I would NEVER  hit the abuse button on her. Hope you don’t look in this direction AiMoKea. Is that for real?

AiMoKea, 5:26 PM, LTE, I believe you. It is unfortunately true. There have been time where I was totally and completely disgusted and offended by peoples comments, but have NEVER  hit that button either. This is just not right. I’m angry

ITEREADER, 5:33 PM And AimoKea I ‘think’ the block last 10 days, it’s not permanent. Like a suspension from school 😦

WHEEULZ, 5:39 PM…Don’t look in my direction either. Indeed here’s news I think you’ll be interested in. Bettejo and I just got off the phone. We talked for half an hour and spent much of that time laughing. ..and will Not, refer  TO or ABOUT each other in any and all future posts. I will keep the specific contents Confidential. As a result of this conversation and agreement, I invite each and every one of you to go go ye henceforth and visit Bettejo at http://bettejo

He repeated this three times. Ending with, “Once again, operators are standing by. the address is

At 5:46 KALAHEO wrote words to a song.

It was Feb. 17, just another Off Topic Day I was babbling while some others had some good things to say Then around sunset when the roosters finished their bug counting Some of us noticed the comment count didn’t seem to be mounting We immediately recognized this to be a bad sorry sign Sure enough one of us got axed off the LTE line.

When AiMoKea asked the question which wuss swung the axe Well, Bettejo never had this much time off ’cause she chats BJO’S  at BETTEJO.WORDPRESS.COM/ for certain And somehow it’s a shame that some wuss closed her curtain Seems like nothin’ ever come to no good with all the new rules Look for her Floppy Blue Hat to find our BJO always lookin’ cool.

p.s. it wasn’t me.

I was back on line at 5:46PM!

At 6:23 WHEELZ popped in again. Okay…LTE, AiMo…and let’s invite Kimo JamesSabe and DMorel to join in. WHAT, I said WHAT, is Bettejo’s blog (er, column, she said she hates the word “blog”) address. ALL-TOGETHER-NOW-ON THREE. One, two….http://bettejo If you don’t get your bu++ to that address right now, you will have to answer to me.

PAYBACK  said  at 8:03 PM Har! Har! You’ll not run the irish off this blog! (or from your neighborhood or country club, deal with it!)

Welcome back Bettejo!

DEBBIE  wrapped it up at 10:18 PM. with this closing statement, refering to the annoymous button pusher, which she wasn’t,  “Thanks to me, and some of the goon squad, the poor soul has been dinged…but please, please, everyone visit this elder on her column at :blah, glah, blah. BJ is not allowed to mention her column any longer on TGI, bu I can recognize her column, and you should, too.”

So what’s this got to do with leprechauns?

Well,  Leprechauns always have a pot of gold buried under a tree and if you catch one he must tell you where the pot is buried. A bully caught one. Got the little critter to show him the tree. The bully tied a yellow ribbon ’round the tree and, after making the leprechaun promise he wouldn’t remove it,  headed home to get a shovel. When he got back, guess what?  Every tree in the forest had a yellow ribbon tied arund it. Thank all my fellow Americans for the yellow ribbons.


February 17, 2011

A very strange thing happened on the way to the discussion group this morning, I discovered that I am being censored. I mean cut off at the pant’s pocket. I can’t respond to any discussion group-which in many ways is the soul of The Garden island paper, it’s the people, the ideas, the thoughts of minds open-and shut- on Kauai and how we address our differences. My account has been closed. My voice has been silenced. And, know this, if they can silence mine, they can silence yours.  Interesting, what?

There is quite a noisy and very vocal Johnny One Note faction, some of whom do not even live on Kauai, who object to everything I write, including my name, which, by the way is Bettejo Dux. I am a writer, a former Editor and columnist, one who loves to rock the boat, stir the pot, and tweak tails.  I am far from being a submissive and humble old lady. To say I lean slightly to port is putting it mildly. I am one who thinks freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of religion are American rights to be defended-and I’m not being melodramatic-with one’s life if that’s what it takes.

What these abusers have done, and it is they who do the abusing, is something any of you could do to them- and I most sincerely do not suggest any of you try it, we are far above such tactics-whenever any of my posts appear they punch the abusive button. Now this certainly puts the Publisher and the Editors of The Garden island Newspaper on the spot, doesn’t it? it’s much easier to deal with one voice-mine in this case- than it is to deal with many. The abusers can, with the ‘power’ of their numbers and their narrow minds, censor anyone- not just me-with whom they disagree. With any thing-any subject- to which they disagree. They can peddle their wares-religious, political and economic -with no dissenting voice to question or disagree. They can talk themselves into believing there are no other voices out there. They could, if they had the  power, make that happen.

I ask you, is this what our country is to become?  Are those of us with other voices, other views, to roll over and play dead? To relinquish our right to speak our minds?  “Either we leave everything open to question and the skeptic wins, or we treat some beliefs as immune to question-and there become dogmatists…” Ths is a quote from Andy Norman in his wonderful article THE UNMAKING OF REASON.

Al Gore addressed it in his book ASSAULT ON REASON. Everyone reading this should take the time to peruse it.

We are a blue state. The best state in the Union. Be thankful. We can become a beacon of reason and truth and intelligence to the rest of our messed up country. Let’s don’t fail to do this.

May the voice of dissent, like clear blue water coursing down a river, overflow  its banks and nourish the land we love.

February 17, 2011

Bill Clinton left the office of President  with the highest end-of-office rating of any President  since World War II, three points ahead of Reagan. He also left a 350 billion federal deficit surplus and the longest span of relative peace and prosperity America has ever known.

Bush increased the national debt from 5.6 trillion to 10.4 trillion dollars which we inherited and two unpopular and unwinnable wars. George Bush was the least popular president in polling history.

At no time during the Bush administration did Republicans complain of this irresponsible spending. Deficits are good. Borrowing money is good. Buying wars are even better. Wars are good business, very profitable.

Creating jobs, educating kids, feeding the hungry, housing the homeless are bad. Taking care of  people is bad. Health care for those who can’t afford it, caring for the sick, the needy, the elderly are very bad. Repairing the roof when it leaks is a waste of money. Build bombs in the basement, sell them to your neighbors, rile them up so they’re an easy sell.

Fifty four percent of every  tax dollar you send the Fed goes to National defense. The numbers: 30% to human resources, 11% general government, 5% physical resources, 18% past military, 36% current military are there for all to see.  Endless wars. Endless profits. All paid for with your tax dollar.

One percent of the people control 90% of the wealth. Please read The Rich and the Super Rich by Ferdinand Lundberg. There is more truth in yesterday’s truth than in today’s fantastic fiction, but the veil of fantasy fiction is fast fading. We see it everyday with our own eyes.We have incredible resources of truth that cannot be denied.  Thank you Julian Assange and all of you who dare to speak and recognize the truth.

For so many of us who are honest witness to these sad events, the incredible relationship between the American Christian fundamentalists and the killing for profit machine is most disturbing.

We have Franklin Graham’s Rock the Fort event, sponsored by the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association in Fort Brag preaching the Christian message to  young recruits. The creation of the army of God is partnering with local churches to come together for one purpose-and that is to glorify god and share the gospel of Jesus on the military bases. “The Rock the Fort outreach is designed to channel new believers into your church, so you can encourage them to further spiritual growth. The future of the church is reaching and discipling the next generation.”

“Rock the fort’ is not an event designed to minister to the needs of soldiers unable to otherwise access religious services: rather it is an event designed to proselytize soldiers and community members into the worship of Jesus Christ.”

The closeness between the Army and the Graham fundamentalist ministry sounds an alarm. How in the world did that penniless, barefoot, peace preaching Jewish rabbi get mixed up in the war for profit mess?

I suggest, the next time you want to discuss the tax dilemma you face, you consider and address some of these sad truths.

February 15, 2011

Tourists. Tourasses. We’re talking about two different critters. Does anyone on this line love Roget as much as I? I must have half a dozen and all of them are tattered, beaten down, beloved and torn and not one of them lists tourass-a word, I guess, I invented so guess I’ll have to invents some synonyms.

Tourass: critic,  complainer, fogy, malcoontent, antagonist, back friend, rude, nasty, pushy-hey these are synonyms.

If they’re visiting your domain and trundle off the cattle boats, they usually waddle. I think all they do on those floating ghettos for the adventurously impaired, is eat, drink, eat, drink, party, dress up, show off  and throw up over the side or in their heads. I think they also weave baskets, play shuffle board and  learn to dance the funcky chicken.  They float around in over-size swimming pools, as the Captain of this ship of fools, who has to endure their company at dinner, hires gigolos to dance with the single old frumps, sails them in circles so they might bask in the sun. If a storm dare show up on a screen on the bridge, like a great galloping gooney bird in flight, he steers this floating nightmare for safe cover.  They trundle  around the world in great ugly cities, Las Vegas on high or low seas, never leaving home, they take it with them when they go, and, occasionally, when they stop in a foreign port, go ashore to grab some of the same kind of food and drink they ate or drank at home only it’s called something else, of course, and shop for trinkets made in China if they’re not in China.  If they’re in China the trinkets are made in Mexico.

Met a lot of them in a lot of ports and always wished them back wherever in the world they came from. “We’re the millionaires off the Whoever,” a gaggle of these wandering geese-and I’m insulting the bird- once brayed, pointing at the ugliest ship afloat, anchored in one of the most beautiful bays in the world,  “Show us around but we  gotta be back in  bed before the lights go out.”

Sometimes, quite often in fact, they end up with some ravaging, raging illness on board as the whole world watches, hoping none of them will bring it ashore in their port.

These critters also come in flying boxcars in which they are packed, belly to belly, like sardines. You find them filling in and out of airports.

They also, on sad occasions, manage to fall off a cliff or drown in the surf,  if they venture out into the real world, or get hit by a bus or a trolley, or get a ticket for speeding and then there’s holy hell to play.

I’ve actually seen, on friendly beautiful Kauai, bumper stickers that say IT’S OPEN SEASON ON TOURISTS  and I always want to get out and use my red pencil. The sticker should be bigger and it should read OPEN SEASON ON TOURASSES BEGINS TODAY.

February 15, 2011

In America we do not have a tradition of aging gracefully. We get old and rumpled, fat and slobby, rickety of mind and body and spirit ending up, eventually, heaped in a warehouse for old folks who do  nothing but pal around with each other, gossip, play bridge or commit rinky dink pursuits. Basket weaving? Horrors!  The worst, of course, are the  zombies who sit in chairs and stare at walls. Visit the ‘old folk’s wards in your friendly neighborhood hospital and then high tail it the hell out of there fast as your little old lady tennis shoes’ll carry you.

If health is the number one brick in the creation of  graceful  aging  and happiness the second, staying with it, being here now, is the third corner of  this foundation. There’s nothing wrong with remembering the past but you don’t have to dwell there. All of us have sailed some stormy seas, crashed on rock strewn beaches, sunk in deep or shallow water and swum or dug our way out, and the secret to these events is to delete the scary parts.You got here, didn’t you? Forget the cuts and scrapes and bruises. Forget the slurs and barbs of cruel misfortune. Learn from them. “The beauty of the soul shines out when a human bears with composure one heavy mischief after another, not because she does not feel them, but because she is a human of high and heroic temper.” Aristotle, my horse, taught me that.

As you’ve aged- if you’ve been a collector of anything, people, books, animals- clean house.  The closer you get to the end of the line the less you need to carry. Lighten load. You can toss things, trash things, give stuff away. You don’t need twenty-two cats, three thousand books, a half a hundred people. Travel light, at your own sweet pace enjoying every minute of the journey. And know this, you can stop any time you want. There is no law in the book of life that says you have to continue if you don’t want to. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Don’t fear the end of the journey, who knows, it may be the beginning of a new one. Or, perhaps, most probable, it’s the end of the dream. Who knows? No one knows. But whatever it is, it is, and sooner or later you will have to face it. Better to look death in the eye than hide from it.

Think this, no matter what anyone tells you, you’ve acquired a lot of wisdom on the way. Anyone who tells you it is an error to think you are wise is the least wise human of all. “Life is a festival only to the wise.” Ralph Waldo Emerson said.

To age as a woman  in America today can be vaunting.  There is such a senseless value placed on youth. I think many women grow old poorly because they don’t know how to reckon with this folly. Start young. Build strength. Grow old with grace and  beauty.

February 13, 2011

The four of us, Al, Fred and Carl-that’s Albert Einstein, Fred Hoyle and Carl Sagan-started out early this morning, long before the sun came up, the night sky was alive with stars, and headed to the top of Mount Kahili. It was a long, brisk, refreshing walk. I was a bit winded, silent actually, overwhelmed by such splendid companions. Sarve, that’s Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, met us by the Alexander Dam.  Sarve, I must say, was a pleasant surprise and a welcome addition.

When we reached the stretch of road that borders the cliff, way at the top, we kept on going. Hand over hand we clung to the rope and climbed to the very tip of the mountain. I went first. They followed.

Stunned by the glorious Kauai sunrise, Al was the first to speak.  “I believe in the mystery of the universe. See it here.”

“Awesome,” said Fred. “Imagine now, if we were to look around 360 degrees and all we could see, as far as we could see, were bees, each of them would be a galaxy.”

“Billions and billions of”em,” Carl grinned.

“All of them moving away from each other. Strange,” Al said, shaking his famous gray locks.

Carl nodded. “The red shift. I wish we’d never seen it.”

“Worse. If we ever looked out and saw it shift back, the universe, the entire universe,” Fred said, “would collapse back on itself in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes! I won’t even have time to grab my  hat and I ain’t goin’ without my hat,” which, by the way, because the wind had come up with the sun, was trying to escape my head.

“Imagine that immense pool of  energy collapsing to a core of pure energy  the size of a period at the end of a sentence.”

“Some now think it won’t collapse. All those bee galaxies will just keep flying apart and the sky’ll go black.”

“I don’t like to think of a sky with no stars,” Carl whispered.

“it certainly would be the end of man…” Fred sighed. I sighed with him.

“Of everything,” Al sniffed.

“So sad,” said Carl.

“Ah, come on fellas,” Sarve spoke for the first time, “That won’t happen. All that energy’ll go off again. Kaboom. And we’ll have a whole new game.” The four of us turned. “We call it the breath of God,” he grinned.

“Do you think man’ll play a part?”

“Who knows?”

Their voices rising, busy considering a mathematical answer to this complex question, they forgot about me, typical men, and soared off leaving me standing there all alone. I grabbed my hat which was flapping up a storm and  woke up clinging to my pillow. Such a pleasant dream.

February 12, 2011

I think, if good health is the number one  factor in aging gracefully, happiness is the second. Joy, laughter, love of life and living things, sharing thoughts, finding creative endeavors that last a life time are the most we can expect from life.

I think the happiest people in the world are those who woke up one morning when they were three and said, “I like to color, ” and the kid had a relative who gave him some color crayons and a coloring book, maybe even some blank pieces of scrap  paper and said, “Do it.” One of the happiest grown ups I know loves to color. He uses crayons, blank white typewriter paper, and when he’s finished with his creative work that makes him happy, he sets it out in the sun to bake which does surprising and wonderful things to the waxy  pigment. I guess you could call it sunshine art. He doesn’t sell it. He doesn’t care about money or being famous. He cares about coloring.

Don’t you think that’s nice?

I know another guy, big guy, big-boned, strong arms-he work as a carpenter & is not gay-who decided if he had to work the rest of his life for his bread, butter and board, he’d find something to do he really enjoyed doing. So he became a clown. Self made. Dressed up in silly homemade costumes. Once he went as Cupid, in pink tights and a tutu, to an engagement party and, of course, reaped a harvest of laughter.  Made tons of money that he cared little or nothing about. He tossed most of it away. Literally. Threw it out the window of his car as he drove through town laughing as people- little kids, old folks, men and women-chased the long green funny stuff as it drifted and floated like wayward leaves up and down the busy streets.

I think of Bhutan, hidden land of happiness, where they have an enlightened development policy of  Gross National Happiness.

“Our gross national product now is over 800 billion dollars a year, but that gross national product, if we judge the US by that, counts air pollution, and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and jails for people who break them. it counts the destruction of the redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic squall. it counts napalm, and it counts nuclear warheads, and armored cars for the police to fight the riots in our cities. it counts Whitman’s rifles and Speck’s knives and the television programs, which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children. Yet, the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages, the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. it measures neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country. It measures everything, in short, except that which make life worthwhile.” Robert F. Kennedy, March 1968. We miss you, Bobby.

Read a book. Take a walk in the rain. Talk to a dog. Pet a cat. Listen to the birdies sing. Paint. Dance down the aisles of the super market. Smell the flowers. Taste the wind. Find something simple-free-to be happy about today.

February 11, 2011

If you deny there are conflicting views, you’re in denial. Religions, all religions, are hard-nosed. You quote your books, chapter and verse, you quote your silly gods, you interpret your books and fight with each other over the interpretations. But all over the world, in the Islamic world, in Israel, in America, South America, voices of reason,  voices of the people,  are rising.

We speak out against war, we speak out against dictators, religious fanatics and other unevolved humans. Strong words here, but appropriate. Muslim women are fighting for the right not to wear the veil. Our troops, many of them, come home sick to the heart about our senseless carnage of innocent people, men and women and children who have done us no harm. We speak out about a ridiculous economic system that never has and never will work. We dare to speak out against those who silence us with guns, with ridicule, with lies, with stupidities. Dare I mention Limbagh, Grundge, and other purveyors of your drivel.

How was your god in America been hijacked by the rich? By the powerful? By the killing machine?  By Cheney, by Palin, by the Waltons, by the lunatic religious televangelist? Who was it said, wisely, “We love you, Jesus, we just don’t like the guys you hang around with,”?

At the very base of this madness lies, in his crypt, your murderous patriarchal gods. I love to hear the nonsense from the leaner brained evangelical bunch who sputter, “God has no sex.” Are you nuts? He seems to be everybody’s father and as most of us recall fathers are usually male. And, further, we are all sinners in his eyes. Well, I ain’t baby and you ain’t gonna stick that thorny feather in my blue bonnet. May I quote a few quotes?

“Religion, which should most distinguish us from beasts, and ought most peculiarly to elevate us, as rational creatures, above brutes, is that wherein men often appear most irrational, and more senseless than beasts themselves.” John Locke.

“There are scores of great religions in the world, each with scores or hundred of sects, each with its priestly orders, its complicated creed and ritual, its heavens and hells. Each has its thousands or millions or hundreds of millions of ‘true believers’; each damns all the others with more or less heartiness–and each is a mighty force of graft.” Upton Sinclair.

“I regard monotheism as the greatest disaster ever to befall the human race. I see no good in Judaism, Christianity, or Islam-good people, yes-but any religion based on a single, well, frenzied and virulent god, is not as useful to the human race as, say, Confucianism, which is not a religion but an ethical and educational system.” Gore Vidal

“The way to see faith is to shut the eye of reason.” Benjamin Franklin.

And last, but not least, “…the government of the United States, is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion…” President John Adams on June 10, 1797

February 10, 2011

It’s difficult for a non-believer to understand the mind of the believer. We are so often accused of attempting to turn the state, the country, the world and all its people into atheists. The truth is, none of us really gives a hoot what believers believe. You will never see one of us going door to door peddling a book about atheism. We don’t stand on street corners ringing bells or preaching or singing praise to an invisible something in the sky.  You will never find us in the halls of the believers-their churches, temples, mosques, synagogues, what have you-extorting those seated or kneeling, rumps in the air, to non-convert. We have issues with the idea of god and religions-all of them- we feel we have a right to express, but we don’t  push them.

You will never find one who knows the sun rises in the east running off to kill or harangue someone who ‘believes’  the sun rises in the west. We would never condemn  those who do not believe as we do not believe to a hell our god created. We’ve never burned witches. Witches are make believe creatures in fairy tale books written to frighten little children.  You will never meet a scientist who proposes the theory of  global warming threatening one who doesn’t. Our reasoning minds won’t allow us to do that.

So, out of  a bottomless pit of base, ruthless, wretched, dangerous insecurity, you shriek and scream and carry on to still the voice of reason. Accuse us of  that which you are guilty.

The devout believer is he who believe the most ridiculous absurdities and absurdities are hard to sell. Strap a bomb to a kid’s back, ship him off to blow up a busload of  infidels, and  he and his entire family will ascend into paradise with virgins and other whatnots. But don’t be smug Christians and Jews, you also play the game. You quote a book you insist your god wrote that gives you the right to commit atrocities no moral human being would even consider. Further, you assume the more people who believe the absurdities you believe the more likely these absurdities will be true. if everyone but thee and me believed the moon was made of green cheese, it would still not be made of green cheese.

Most believers have found it necessary to declare war on reason. Martin Luther called reason “the devil’s bride,” a ‘beautiful whore” and “god’s worst enemy.” “There is on earth among all dangers,” writes Luther, “no more dangerous thing than a richly endowed and adroit reason, especially if she enters into spiritual matters which concern the soul and god. For it is more possible to teach an ass to read than to blind such a reason and lead it right: for reason must be deluded, blinded, and destroyed.”

If there were a reasoning god a reasoning mind could pray to all of us non-believers would pray this madness would peacefully go away. There isn’t. The best we can do is hope.

February 9, 2011

Truth. I hate to cook. When I was a little girl I learned, if you never learn how to do it, you’ll never have to do it. So I very quickly learned how to learn how not to cook. When we came back from the Philippines  I knew how to cook grilled cheese sandwiches not built to set the world on fire.

Then I found, living in suburbia USA, if I wanted to eat and feed my family, I had to learn how to cook. Keep it simple, stupid, was my motto, a can of this, a sprinkle of that, toss in some beans or noodles, give each kid a bowl and a spoon, a dab of lettuce and tomato with a some bottled  dressing, a glass of milk, a cookie and everybody feasted. Lunch? Everybody but me ate at work or school. Breakfast? A bowl, a box of cereal, milk and a spoon and it was on your way, kiddies. Down the ramp and into the sea of life.

Then, I discovered Adelle Davis, my savior. Her LET’S GET WELL got me on the path. LET’S COOK IT RIGHT became my bible and  I discovered  soup. I love to make soup. So much fun. So creative. Soup, soup, beautiful soup. Not too hot for breakfast but a huge hot nourishing bowl of soup in a bowl with a spoon and a cracker was heaven on earth for dinner. At least in my kitchen.

Which I don’t have any more. You heard me. I have a refrigerator, a hot plate, a microwave and a pot or two. Some china, crystal and silver, which look pretty on shelves and when you open a drawer but otherwise do little towards earning their keep.

I used to love making Portuguese beans soup. During summers when the kids were  in college and they trooped home with half the faculty and student body  to the Kauai house on the bay, a boat, and a barn full of horses, I would make an enormous pot of Portuguese bean soup, set out some bowls and spoons and crackers which everybody ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

But now it’s chicken soup. For me. Consecrated. Slaving over a hot gourmet counter I buy  chicken already baked. Fake dressing, none of these birds are stuffed, and about twice a month, today’s the day, when I’ve munched a baked chicken  down to bare bones,  I make consecrated chicken soup.

Take a pot of water, toss in some bones and salt and vinegar. Don’t forget the vinegar, it brings out the calcium in the bones if you remember to break the bones. Boil for a reasonable amount of time, I don’t like being chained to a clock, let it cool, pick the meat off the bones and pour the stock in the freezer in little one-bowl size containers. Now comes the magic.

Slice, chop or mangle onions, tomatoes, carrots, whatever, saute in olive oil, dump in the stock, stick in the micro, find a spoon and a cracker and  eat. Bon appetite.