jeffconlin

unused…

jeff — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 01:40:10 +0000

jeffconlin.com has been up in one form or another now for 14 years… once a design sketchpad / portfolio, then a long-running blog before blogs were blogs (currently archived but not easily accessible), then a second short-running blog (seen here)… now really the only thing I use it for now is a file dump and a place to store all of my excellent mixtape/podcast/radio show files.

I think the original intent for this most recent version was to be more of a photoblog than anything else. I think it still can be. I just got a little too lost staring at my navel for a while. So I’ll think about getting back into photoblog mode, and until next time, it’s Facebook and Flickr.

opposite vs. absence

jeff — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 22:08:24 +0000

(the beach at La Push, WA on my birthday)

I think my least favorite feeling on earth is hurting someone. I’m fine with being hurt – hell, I’ve gotten good at it. Stuff tends to roll off my back pretty well at this point in life, but letting someone else down, making someone feel betrayed, knowing that someone’s lost their trust in you. That’s brutal.

It could be argued that its my damn fault for wanting to please everyone all the time. I wouldn’t deny that’s been an aspect of my personality that took a long time to figure out and deal with. Genuine selflessness is admirable, but nobody respects a doormat. The line is fine but easy to call when you see it.

Ultimately, relationships are simple. You just need friendship, attraction, compatibility, trust, and determination, right? How hard is that? I am sometimes envious of my friends who found someone they work with so naturally, so early on in their life. I’m not terribly extroverted though many people tell me I am. I’m not quick with meeting people and making friends, and I usually see no real value in casual dating – its like playing slot machines. I tend to want to get to really get to know people first. I blame my parents for that in a way – their marriage was one of the most incredible relationships I’ve ever bore witness to, and their mantra was always friendship. Even when you do focus on that first, there’s no guarantee… but it’s a good starting point, right?

Maybe… but it also means more vulnerability, and more at stake if you then find that there are still some significant incompatibilities. Maybe the old me would shun that word entirely, saying that if there’s a strong friendship, then everything else is worth fighting for. But I’ve spent the last decade of my life fighting hard for a lot of different things that all ended differently than hoped… and if I’m honest, it may have been obvious far earlier in some of those relationships that things just weren’t compatible.

Compatibility is a serious grey area… and I’d say its not even a factor in many relationships. But its high on my list for whatever is next… because its what you can depend on in the rough times, when the rest of it isn’t working out so well. It’s that spark of being amazed, yet comfortable; it’s what allows you to laugh, or to speak freely, or to ask tough questions all in tough times. It’s not saying that you want a carbon copy of yourself, or that you have a list of prerequisites that someone must match – but if you’re honest and self-aware, there’s just a gut feeling that comes along whenever you get to know someone… that you’re two of a kind or not. Sometimes its immediate, sometimes it takes a while. But ignoring it or faking it only adds more tension as things go on. Its not like a conflict that can be worked out. Hell, who knows – maybe this kind of compatibility is just another word for love when it all comes down to it?

And that’s where the real hurt can come from… because it’s intangible and hard to describe. If you like someone and have a lot in common, but clearly aren’t getting along naturally – is that rectifiable? My history says it’s asking for a hell of a lot more work and strife than a healthy relationship needs. If you love them enough to be honest about your feelings and not drag things out, then aren’t you doing the right thing? There are no easy answers there, just the dread that you know by being honest, you’re going to really hurt someone, and potentially lose an all-important friendship – though if that happens, maybe it confirms your feelings afterall, not that that’s any comfort.

Sometimes adulthood kind of sucks.

g’mornin’

jeff — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 06:17:11 +0000

The new morning routine (subtitled, “toast crumbs on granite”). Breakfast, coffee, sunrise. Even when its overcast and gray, the skies are pretty amazing. I needed this.

Coming back to Seattle from an incredibly uplifting trip home was a drag. Already a little bittersweet on the cab ride home, I walked in the door to find my water heater had given out, soaking half of my apartment. Seattle was in an intense cold snap. Work was at its most intense: budgeting, inventory, year end evaluation. Broke my lease that night, got my entire deposit back (that never happens!), and found something too good to be true just across the neighborhood. Volvo wagon + big calf muscles = a very successful move despite everything else going on. The new place is amazing (except for the neighbor that plays buttrock real loud at 3am, but I’ve already… encouraged… him to stop).

All of that was at the expense of enjoying the holiday season. I pretty much skipped Christmas this year, my favorite holiday by far. I’ve also yet to get out into the mountains like I wanted to this year. But I’ve been able to spend January collaborating with old friends on new music projects, and finishing up my own band’s forthcoming album. The quality of this album, combined with recently being recognized for all the effort at work and and great times with a few great new friends have all given me a sense of… well, vindication isn’t the right word, but it’ll do. Also took a trip out to the ocean for my birthday.

Much of the time since I moved here has been a blur. Being able to stave off feelings of… betrayal? (also not the right word, but it’ll do) by simply taking off alone and exploring such a brilliant, unknown landscape… the enjoyable anonymity that allows movement among neighborhood and scene without even really being noticed. I’ve always been a documentarian of sorts, and just sitting in the background, observing over the last 2 years has been fascinating. I do find it strange when people say, “Oh, it sounds like you’re having an amazing time out there!”. I mean, I guess that’s good that that’s what it seems like, but truth be told, I feel like I’ve only found my stride in the last few months – and even then, I’m still not sure how long this Seattle experiment will last.

Everyone did their New Years retrospective… but I’ve been looking more at the last decade. My head asplode. Ask me when I was 21 where I’d be 10 years later, and I’d have probably given you a predictable list of suburban prereq’s… married, kids, career, house, etc. There’s nothing wrong with any of that… but I’m glad it didn’t work out as such (despite a shit-ton of effort!) – at least not yet. Sure there was a lot of crap… a LOT of crap… but it was balanced out (or, often, answered) by spontaneous decisions, last-minute, large-scale changes of plans, and total shots-in-the-dark that all worked out in some fantastic ways: sharing the stage and studio with good friends and true legends of music history alike; buying a run down house in a fairly craptastic place and enjoying the hell out of it; seeing the US Space Program closer than even most workers get to see it; exploring remote parts of North America both solo and with dear friends; witnessing the outpouring of love, power, and community that happens when people come together to really make an effort for something they believe in.

Even the things that didn’t work out yielded near-sacred knowledge: The difference between caring and loving; the calculated risk versus the faltering hail-mary pass; the idea that self-sacrifice shouldn’t imply self-flagellation; understanding that the idea of compromise is itself a grey area; knowing that some promises, no matter how heartfelt, are often outweighed by prior obligation. Ultimately, just observing the vulnerability of the human experience… understanding that no one is infallible, that nothing is guaranteed… but its all still intensely beautiful (if frustrating).

Heck if Conan O’Brien didn’t put it as poignantly as its ever been put, as his dream job was yanked away from him on national television the other night : “Please do not be cynical, it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard, and you’re kind… amazing things will happen. I’m telling you. Amazing things will happen.”

A fresh new year off to a good start… a fresh new decade filled with nothing but the potential for amazing things.

keep going

jeff — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 06:55:32 +0000

You’ve been quiet lately. How are you?” asked a new friend

New job, more responsibility, more overtime (at 31, I’m finally making more than I was when I was 22 – thank you Social Security Administration for that awkward factoid); great forward momentum with my band, new studio project, great opportunities coming up; insurance reimbursement for the break-in means I’m rebuilding the home studio, some work travel coming up, some big family events and reconnecting with old friends back in MD all in the works… I have been quiet, but its going well and I’m getting a lot done, much to the dismay of my knees.

The Northwest basically has two seasons : hiking and skiing. When Seattle gets its trademark perma-drizzle around mid-November, the Cascades and Olympics get buried in snow. Knowing this first-hand this year, I tried to get out as much as I could to see some things on my must-do list. First was hitting some fire lookouts like Granite and Pilchuck.

Holdovers from the beginning of the 20th century, there are still many preserved lookouts at the top of some of the most scenic peaks in the area. They’re all at least a 4-mile strenuous hike up, but the payoff makes it all worthwhile. Of course, being the Northwest, all the other granola eaters have the same idea. Having a job that has Mondays off is a real blessing in this regard. I usually wind up having the trails to myself.

Also on the list was a ride out to Montana to do the legendary Lolo Pass (US-12 through Idaho to Missoula, MT). Preferring to ride a great road with the sun at my back, I explored some unverified backroads and trails on the way out (taking a $20k full size touring bike that doesn’t belong to you on miles and miles of rutted, rocky fire roads and trails better suited to dirt bikes is hell of a lot of fun), stayed the night in Missoula (where I found out that its a college town, filled with college women… who like to disrobe), and hit Lolo early the next morning. Words can’t even describe what a great road that was. I realize many people can’t wrap their heads around why I take off for a weekend to places unknown just to ride a road. The photos usually do a good job of explaining.

Hours of being alone in the wilderness, on foot or in the saddle, with some near-religious-experience views thrown in now and then… it will get you to thinking. Not that overly emo introspective kind of thinking, just a matter-of-fact sort of reckoning with the Universe. Usually a good thing. I mean, if you’re at 6,000′ surrounded by mountains and forests and rivers just doing what you love, chances are you and the Universe are pretty well in sync. Its been a wild path thats led to this place, and no one really knows where the hell its heading. Its also damn lonely. But out in those places, you never really think about any of that, you just keep going… taking it all in… living in the moment, hoping you can share it somewhere down the road.

Otis

jeff — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 08:01:57 +0000

It was a time of big transition… professional, emotional, mental… I had just come through a very intense couple of years, and the symbolic step forward was getting out of an increasingly bad situation in the suburbs and renting a great house in the city owned by a good friend, alone.

Moving day was a little hectic. Mom insisted that she come help out despite my gentle protests. Its not that I didn’t want her around, but I thought Dad and I could just get the move done simply and efficiently. I figured (correctly) that Mom would offer help, then realize she couldn’t offer much, then feel bad about not being helpful enough. I just didn’t have much time or energy for that emotional static. Ask anyone who I’ve helped move… moving is not a time for emotion or feelings, its a time for pushing heavy shit around.

So emotion ran high as patience and energy ran low, and instead of dutifully reassuring mom that her presence was help enough, I recall saying something to the effect of “I didn’t really want you here anyway.” Words that will haunt me until the day I die.

Unsuccessfully recovering from that asshole move, I recall Mom and Dad heading home, and I spent the rest of the night just setting the place up. It had a lot of room, almost too much. I called Tom and asked if he’d mind me getting a pet.

The next day after work, I swung by a shelter and met Shirley (then Suzy). A demure little ~5 month old kitten rescued from deep southern MD, sharing the cage with a larger orange male from the same rescue. Our family has never had good luck with male cats, and I wasn’t really thinking about 2 pets… but as I held Shirley and talked to the shelter coordinator about maybe taking her home, Otis (then Toby) had discreetly opened the cage door, and began crawling up my pant leg. He made it all the way up to my shoulder, and sat down like a pirate’s parrot, completely content, purring away, confident and clear about the fact that they were going together, and they were both going home with me… that night. Who was I to argue?

They were barn cats, but their transition to Baltimore life was relatively quick once they realized everything was safe and food and love were plentiful. Less sickly by the hour and putting on healthy weight, I took a few pictures and fired them off to family members, hoping the frustrations of the previous might be forgotten with the good news. Two nights later, kitten playtime was interrupted by a phone call from dad saying that Mom had just had a fatal heart attack. They were about the only things grounding me that entire week. At one point Dad made sure to mention to me, “Mom was so happy to see the pictures you sent of Otis and Shirley.”

and I thought I had rescued them…

He was a ladies man… with more human swagger than feline. The consummate “bro” with good looks and an excess of machismo, but clearly insecure inside. Like his daddy, he yearned for affection, but preferred to be alone. Loyal, though stubborn, he always knew when to come home. Despite being one of only a handful of cats who have been lucky enough to actually see both the Chesapeake Bay and Puget Sound… he grew more and more unhappy after the move to Seattle. I tried letting him out more, but it only seemed to amplify his unhappiness when he was indoors. He also developed some strange health issues, including the discovery that he had an abnormally small heart (a fact that would be debated furiously by anyone who has met him).

This morning, on a walk around the neighborhood, I was shocked to find his body two blocks away from home, lying on his side in the middle of the sidewalk. No sign of external injury, maybe he could have bounced off of a car, maybe it was completely natural? (turns out he’s been sneaking out for a while – I found an Otis-sized corner of a screen window carefully pushed out)

After letting the initial shock sink in, I went back to the apartment to get a sheet. When I came back, Animal Control had just shown up. I feel infinitely grateful that I was able to find him… as uncomfortable as that is, I can’t imagine how terrible I’d feel spending the next week searching in vain for him and never knowing his ultimate fate. I waved Animal Control on and took him to his vet to be cremated. We usually bury our cats in their favorite places, but the urban flower beds Otis rolled around in are all only inches deep and on other peoples’ property… not that that’s a surprise.

The good times

(MP3) "Tramp" by Otis Redding and Carla Thomas

hey bartender, another knotty head

jeff — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 20:03:10 +0000

Though he passed on over two years ago, I’ve been thinking about Jesse James a lot lately. I don’t remember the exact chain of events, but somehow shortly after I started showing up at blues jams around DC at the tender age of 19, I fell in with Jesse James and The Raiders. Looking back, It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

The first night, I remember his amp being unreliable, his guitar going way out of tune, him getting belligerent after the third set break (smoking a Newport, downing a Seagram’s, and yelling at his drummer Lee to “stop messin’ with the TIMING, man!” – even though Jesse himself was speeding up or slowing down). He was running the show (sometimes into the ground), and the people who came out to listen loved every second.

Adams Morgan hadn’t quite turned into the bridge and tunnel brodeo yet… it was still strong on its bohemian international flavor when I started with them. The owner of La Fourchette next door would give us amazing French food on set breaks while he rambled on about his undying love for American blues in a heavy accent; people would make the circuit of Columbia Station for jazz, any of the great African dance halls on the block, Madam’s Organ, Mambo Room… there was always good, authentic music being played, attracting crowds of people from all over the city. Jesse’s shows at Cafe Toulouse (“right about now its showtime here at the Cafe Too-Loose!”) were a cornerstone of it all for years.

My first night with him was a rollercoaster, and I dove in and played what I could, then backed off when I didn’t know where the song would go next. It wasn’t the best playing I’d ever done, but it was the best listening. At the time, I didn’t even realize it, but I was in the middle of an American Soul Music master class. Within only about a month, I knew half of Otis Redding’s catalog. Albert King, Junior Walker, Rufus Thomas, Eddie Floyd… sometimes I had no idea who wrote the songs or how the originals actually sounded until years later, but I damn well knew the songs note for note.

His bandmates had been with him for decades, but I never felt like the odd man out. I was 45 years younger than them, but we joked like old friends. “Brother Jeff” had joined “Brother Lee” and “Brother Turner” as his permanent backing band. I really never thought of it as “Look at me! I’m playing with this cool old black guy!”, but I understand that a lot of his friends were wary. We’d usually play outside the scope of the established “DC Blues” scene, and do big shows in old R’n'B clubs of the more segregated parts of NE and SE DC. I’d get stared down by doormen (“I think you’re looking for 14th St. NW, this is 14th St. SE”), or visibly make some folks uncomfortable as we loaded in and enjoyed a pre-show meal (“Sorry, all we have is soul food”), until the music began… then we were all friends. A massive 4th of July block party in Anacostia will undoubtedly go down as my favorite memory of *real* DC. We played on the front porch of his friend’s house. The whole neighborhood was out dancing, grilling, carrying on in the street… then we watched the fireworks over the river while old LPs spun on the record player. It was 2002, but it may as well have been 1967.

We would occasionally meet up to rehearse at an old red brick house on Rhode Island Ave NE. Have a cigarette and a beer on the stoop, neighborhood folks would walk by laughing and smiling when they saw Jesse. We’d go into the wood-paneled basement, and an unmistakable electricity was in the air. Some old recording equipment was in the corner… yellowed framed photographs on the walls. I strained to look closer between songs. Bo Diddley, 1961. The Bo-Ettes headshots. Tour photos, festival programs, letters from all around the world, framed 45′s. “Oh, yeah man… I didn’t tell you? This is Bo’s house. We recorded here a lot when I was in the band.”

He never bragged about his career… I think 95% of the people who came out to the clubs to see him didn’t even know he was there from the beginning… but it didn’t matter. Jesse James and the Raiders was his world now, and it was going strong. Every now and then he’d show up to a gig in a full cowboy-getup, shooting cap guns at women in the audience and strutting around like he was in a duel during his solos. Putting the guitar down and dancing with the young women in there with their nervous dates. Thinking about it now, he could barely play lead guitar worth a damn (he was actually Bo’s bass player). But none of that mattered. Even into his 70s, He was a true soul showman, playing with heart and conviction, making audiences feel connected with everything the band was doing through nothing more than his gravelly, infectious laugh.

Some live cuts from a benefit show at Jackie Lee’s, NE DC :
(MP3) Cissy Strut
(MP3) Cleo’s Mood
(MP3) I’ve Been Lovin’ You Too Long

be (not) afflicted

jeff — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 05:03:24 +0000

Descending out of Captain Point (5500′ above sea level) the other day, in a fairly easy stretch of doubletrack between two rocky, rutted washouts, while sneaking in the longest glances at the scenery I could afford to take in… I had a brief spark of an idea. Simply put, “faith = humility”. The ability to let things stand on their own. To relax the ego, the control (or worse, the attempted control of outside observation). The more humble (within reason) you can approach something, the less likely you are to take unforseen complications personally (or melodramatically); the more comfortable you are with the chaos of possibility just… working out – no matter what that means. Whether you want to extrapolate that out into the realm of God, the Universe, formal theology, or society in general… whatever. Not an amazing revelation by any means, but you never know what kind of things you’ll find alone in the wilderness.

Paul Allen Carter via (of all places) bOINGbOING:

“Long after the dinosaurs had left their footprints and their bones in what would become the siltstones and sandstones that underlie the Navajo Nation, a Singer named Latson Ih Begay, preparing to officiate at a nine-day healing ceremony, warned two belacani–Anglos–who in 1923 had ventured on horseback into Navajo country that although they were welcome to watch almost everything except the healing climax, the kinds of religion their own people practiced were not welcome. Possibly mindful of Scriptural passages like James 4:9–”Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep: let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness”–Hosteen Begay told them: ‘You white men do not pray, you grumble.’”

Between surprise visits from distant family members, a new promotion with lots of immediate stress and strain, and the day to day battle with complacency and idleness, there has been plenty of good time out revelling in the (almost) wilderness, whether on 2 wheels, 2 legs, or 2 skis.

F800ST at Washington Pass, North Cascades, WA

perched at the summit of Mt. Si, North Bend, WA

July backcountry skiing at Mt. Rainier National Park

riding up to 5500′ in the Cascades, near Stevens Pass, WA

the face of america, 2003

jeff — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 05:43:04 +0000

I was sent out ahead of the pack about 20 miles, intending to help control traffic at an rural no-signal intersection with poor visibility. Instead, I decided to set up camp 2 miles closer at the steel grate bridge. We hadn’t planned on the fog and mist rolling in off of the ocean, and the problems we actually were prepared for suddenly became secondary.

My Suzuki’s low-fuel light had gone from solid to blinking at some point, but I couldn’t remember when. I put the sidestand down on the concrete shoulder about 500 feet from the bridge deck. Hell if I knew where I was, or where the next gas stop might be. Didn’t really think about it. There was no traffic to speak of. I clicked open the topcase, traded my helmet for a rain hat, lit a few flares, and pulled out my cell phone.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

“How’s Missouri?”

“Tough. For a lot of reasons. But its good just being here and seeing everyone. We’re in the car listening to your CD right now. Thank you.”

“I was listening to yours last night.”

“What are you up to?”

“Sitting on a bridge. In New Jersey. There are some ducks, rain, my motorcycle, some flares…”

“Sounds perfect.”

(Those innocuous conversations were the ones that hit the hardest, making you realize that life was a lot bigger than you could handle on your own, and not in that painfully predictable melodramatic detached This American Life kind of way, despite how similar it sounds).

On the horizon, I saw the first wave. The pros came through quickly and quietly, but behind them was the real story. The NYC/DC firefighter team was first, each pulling 10′ US flags attached to their bicycles despite the brutal coastal winds from the storm system. Then the blind pedalers on the tandem bikes with their lead riders calling out cues to them. The team of Palestinian and Israeli bombing victims, riding together… most on modified handbikes since they were missing limbs. Senior citizens who usually got sagged out, but tried like hell anyway. Office workers, concerned citizens, family members, total strangers. Hundreds and hundreds of people, all pedaling from Manhattan to DC… without a real unifying cause or banner.

The next day, during the last 10 feet of an incredible 300 mile journey, my friend Michelle and I somehow crashed our motorcycles into each other at speed. It made us better friends.

seattle, explained

jeff — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 21:18:05 +0000

in most places when you want x, you ask a question as follows :
“May I have x?”

in Seattle, it goes something like this :
“So… I’ll just assume that I’m going to get y becaaauuuussssee… ?”
[then pause with a shrug and an awkward half-questioning/half-accusatory facial expression]

elevate

jeff — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 06:21:44 +0000

First off – thank you so much for your comments, concern, calls, and good vibes. I really appreciate it, and in a time and place where I’ve been feeling kind of disconnected, if nothing else this break-in reminded me that I’m not… and that means way more than the value of any crap lying around the apartment…

I’ve been asked “are you moving?”, “will you put bars on the windows?”, “can you even sleep at night?” I’m beginning to think that most people get their notions of “bad guys” from television and movies, and not from real life. First of all… theft happens everywhere. Actually, I’ve had more petty car break-ins in the suburbs than in the city. Secondly, its not like the people who do this have any sort of vendetta… they’re looking for stuff to sell, not people to mess with. Taking it personally, imagining some sort of after-theft, or radically changing the routine is pointless, and would only serve to further inconvenience and demoralize.

You lock your doors, you make sure valuables aren’t clearly visible, you keep an eye out, but most importantly you live your life in a way that makes you happy. Fear is often a terribly vain emotion. The world is not out to get you. On the contrary, it doesn’t really give a damn about you, which often explains its actions way better than premeditation could.

Thursday night was an incredible Satellite 4 show splitting the bill with a hip west coast funk style blues band. Their keyboard player graciously let me use his rig – a new Hammond XK3 through a Leslie 122. I don’t think he was happy with how hard I pushed the Leslie, but it had an amazing tone, especially turned up to about 9.5. Something to consider…

Friday was a very long day at work, then another amazing Satellite 4 show. There were go-go dancers on stage. I need to pay go-go dancers to follow me everywhere. It adds a lot. Great show, though. We went on at midnight, everyone was dancing… it just amazes me how well those things all come together. Three and a half hours of sleep later, and yet another long day of work.

Saturday night into Sunday was pretty much just sleep.

Had a big gig in Oklahoma set for this coming Friday that cancelled at the last minute (was going to take three days off this week and get a pretty handsome payout from it), but wound up playing a last-minute invite in Kirkland Sunday night. Like I said, music is really about the only thing that’s panned out out here for me, but that’s fine… it wasn’t even really on the to-do list at first.

Today Jenelle, a dear old friend from college, needed a ride to the airport from her post-grad-school sabbatical on Whidbey Island. Catching up with old friends is a rare thing out here, and Jenelle is definitely one of my favorites. We had a few hours in between, so I figured she needed to see the mountains. A quick trip out 90 to eat God’s own pancakes at Snoqualmie Summit, and take in a too-short hike along Denny Creek… I had never done that before, and its really quite amazing to be in the middle of the wildnerness, look up, and see the interstate flying through the air. I’m sure there’s a profound deep and multifaceted illustration there. I’m too tired.

Both Amazon and iTunes appear to have authorized redownloads of the missing music collection that I got through them. I have a new, much better TV and laptop… just waiting on the insurance to come through so I can afford new gear. It would be awesome if I could find the old Nord (it – and the backup hard drive – are all I’m really interested in), but like I was saying about a drastic change in lifestyle being kind of pointless… I could have spent this whole weekend on the phone, frustratingly trying in vain to call every pawn shop and used gear store in the Northwest to track this stuff down, putting bars on the windows, adding more deadbolts, feverishly cobbling together a time machine…. or I can go outside, enjoy my life, and use the insurance I’ve been paying for. Life’s too short to stoop down to the bastards’ level. They do what they do, you do what you do… hopefully they balance out, preferably you win.