The onus of conversation

I can become quite the Chatty Charlie after I’ve had a couple of beers, but when I land in a situation where I am required to make conversation, expected to find common ground, the only thing I share with my fellow conversationalists is the desire to get the hell out of there.

Not surprisingly, my favorite table (my regular table) at Sam’s is someone else’s favorite as well. As the quiet afternoon passes over, giving way to evening and the after-work crowd, My choice little spot is looked upon jealously by the fixtures I have displaced. Successful integration with the fixtures, a key step in accelerated regularization, is the subject of a different post. This post is about finding yourself at a table with some other guy you don’t know. He wants to leave, you want him to go, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to offend you.

He knows you would rather he leave. Everyone knows that everyone will be happier if anyone could give up on the pretense of a connection and head your separate ways. Yet no one can act on what everyone knows.

Finally, some outside influence allows the escape. “I’m just going to go over and say hello to my buddy,” he says, and he bolts for the far side of the bar. Thank God.

Yet one day I went into a bar for the first time (at least the first time for that version of the bar), and I sat down next to a guy I’d never met before and we hit it off marvelously. We hardly said a damn thing to each other. We both talked to Melissa, the bartender, and exchanged a few pleasantries, but mostly we hung out. Because neither of us felt any need for conversation, the discomfort was gone. We were just a couple of buds having some beer. People who have been friends for 50 years don’t talk so much. Why wait so long?

Megan

It was hot in here, and it’s still warm, so the doors are open and there’s a breeze passing through. Megan is on crutches; she blew out her knee, I didn’t catch how. She seems cheerful nevertheless, and is having a nice conversation with her friends. She is about eight feet from me.

What does the breeze have to do with it? I am upwind of her. I pray for the sorry souls down the bar. I think the lid must have come off her perfume bottle. When she first walked in, I thought that perhaps she had just put her smell on. They can be pretty overpowering at first. But it’s not ‘at first’ anymore. I’m actually relieved that the guy next to her lit a cigarette.

I wonder if smokers tend to lay on the stink more than non-smokers?

Maybe I’m oversensitive. My personal level of hell will be a lot like a Hallmark store. (For the arrogance of thinking I deserve my own personal hell, it will now be a very crowded hallmark store, and all the other shoppers will be attractive, stink of smells made in factories, and be asking me what I think of this cute card with the kitten, with a verse inside something like:

You’re such a very special you,
I can’t believe how much it’s true,
so on this very special day,
I have to say hip hip hooray.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, odor. Don’t get me wrong, a little bit of the right smell can be very enticing. But a scent should be a whisper – you have to come close to catch it, and when you do it draws you closer still. That’s what makes it so exciting. When you catch that whiff it means you’re getting inside the usual barriers. Your nose is following a delicate trail, instructing your lips where to go next. When applying perrfume, put it lightly where you want to feel your partner’s breath on your skin. Scent, artfully applied, is a chemical instruction manual for the wearer’s body. It’s intoxicating, and it’s sexy.

If I got that close to Megan (not that there’s any chance of that happening anyway – I’m here and she’s there and that’s the way it always is and that’s the way it always will be) my head would explode.

While I’m on the subject of subtlety, perfume, cologne, and what-not are best when they enhance your own scent, rather than cover it up. Megan may be olfactorialy a very attractive woman. If today is any indication, no one will ever know. (There are exceptions to the enhance vs. cover rule, of course. I’ve been an exception myself. I’m under no illusion, however, that dumping a boxcar of cologne over myself will make things any better.)

If you knew me, you’d know that I’m the last one to be giving fashion advice. I am not a stylish man. Perfume is not fashion, however, no matter how it’s marketed. It is a personal statement reserved only for those you care to share it with. Keep that in mind, and maybe I can get through life without my head exploding.

Haiku for You

Haiku for You

rise from blow-up bed
rub eyes, stretch, scratch, yawn, make tea
and get back to work

1

Ooohhhh….

This is what happens when inspiration strikes in the middle of the night. Well, I haven’t gone and read over what I wrote last night, so I hope it’s not too incomprehensible. I’ll clean it up shortly. Last thing I remember was typing “Sweet Saints of Symmetry, Batman!” There’s a phrase you’ll be able to search on in a few days.

I’m looking into a couple of comment-related features for this site that might be possible. One is to have links on the right-hand side to the blog entries with the ten most recent comments. By the way, I’m pretty sure if you have a news reader you can get a list of the ten most recent comments by pointing it at http://www.haloscan.com/members/rss.php?user=vikingjs. If anyone tries it, let me know if it works. You can also use a news reader to check the blog itself. I’m told that going and checking for updates vis the Web is so 1990’s. I just tried it and it seems… OK.

One more thing – the limit on comments will soon be raised to 3000 characters. Get your typin’ fingers ready!

OK, off to fix the worst of that Whacked-Out, Nut-Assed post from last night.

Reusable Space Vehicle

Please note: There’s a lot of engineering and physics in here, but give it a try even if you hate that stuff. I’ve tried to give the Carl Sagan version here. I thought about splitting this entry up, but it’s kind of a big-picture thing. I’ll add some drawings tomorrow (er… later this morning). If you start to glaze over, you can always see what’s happening at the Suicide Squirrel Death Cult.

I’ve got it all worked out, see. I had most of the plan worked out some time ago, but I had put it on the back burner. The other day my brother sent me an article mentioning the space launch contest and that got me to thinking again. Now it’s the wee hours of the morning, and the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.

Here’s how space flight works now: you make a huge bomb with a nozzle at one end. You set off the bomb and hope it burns in a controlled manner long enough for it to carry something worthwhile into space. Now you have something way up there and when you bring it back down you have to do something to slow it down, or, like a truck rolling out of control down a mountain, something bad is going to happen at the bottom. To get rid of all that potential energy, you use the air to slow you down. That generates an enormous amount of heat, so you hope the payload makes it to the ground without burning up. We have seen tragedy both on launch and landing as our frail machines proved unable to handle those enormous amounts of energy. There are several other drawbacks as well. Off the top of my head:

  • Inefficiency: Most of the fuel is used to lift…fuel. I don’t know the ratio of fuel mass to payload mass with modern propellants, but it’s still ridiculous. You’ve seen rockets taking off – they’re huge cylinders of fuel with a tiny capsule on top.
  • Cost: even with reusable spacecraft, big parts are thrown away on each launch. That fuel ain’t cheap, either.
  • Environment: The exhaust from a rocket has some nasty, nasty chemicals, and nothing gets those chemicals into the upper atmosphere like a rocket. Manufacturing the fuel has some ugly byproducts as well.

It’s time to rethink the whole proposition and take a step backward. Remember Jules Verne? He shot his space travelers out of a cannon. If I remember correctly, that’s how the martians came to Earth in War of the Worlds. There are some problems with the approach, but with a little thinking a very elegant and practical space launch system could be developed.

Here’s the skinny: rather than use a huge explosive charge as a typical cannon does, use a long electromagnetic coil to propel the capsule. I’m not going to do the calculus here (I’ll save that for a later post. I bet you can’t wait.), but for a manned capsule you are limited on the acceleration of the payload by human endurance. Since I’m eventually going to be launching wealthy patrons up to my hotel on the moon, the barrel of the gun will be very long indeed. I’m thinking you find a tall mountain and start drilling down. (This needs to be in a remote area anyway, as it will be really freakin loud – more on that later.)

Now, it’s going to take a lot of energy to get your cargo up into space, though not nearly as much energy as a traditional rocket needs, because we’re not burning fuel to accelerate fuel. The total energy required will be a fraction of that needed to launch a payload today. Nonetheless, chemical rockets have one big advantage – they can release a whole bunch of energy at once. It is very difficult to store that much electrical energy and release it all in a very short time. That’s what had me partially stumped until tonight.

So here’s the story so far: we have a miles-long electric cannon that in a burst of energy flings a breathtakingly beautiful streamlined capsule into the heavens. The capsule is designed to be as aerodynamic as possible, so that the pesky atmosphere hinders it as little as possible. (No amount of streamlining will diminish the enormous shock it creates as it tears the atmosphere a new one, but we’ll try to minimize that.) There are certainly some hurdles into getting the thing up there, but things really get interesting on the way back down.

As I mentioned before, spacecraft returning to earth have a lot of energy to get rid of. They need a way to apply the brakes all the way down that big gravity hill. Spacecraft today use the atmosphere to slow themselves down, turning all that potential energy into heat. Not my aerodynamic little beauty. When it points its slender nose toward the earth, it’s going to slice through the air as cleanly as possible. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there will still be lots of heat, but this baby will only have to deal with a tiny fraction of the heat that other spacecraft do. Out of the sky our capsule plunges, greedily hoarding its energy rather than using it to heat the air. Down it comes – straight down the barrel of the gun that launched it.

Now those giant coils that first hurled our spacecraft upwards become the brakes, transforming the kinetic energy of the capsule into electricity. We actually get back some of the energy we used to launch the craft in the first place!

Here’s the beauty part: it’s very difficult to store electricity, and boy, we’re going to be getting a lot of it all at once. If it doesn’t find a place to go, there will be trouble. We need to use that energy right away, as it’s generated… by launching another space craft. Sweet Saints of Symmetry, Batman! As one goes in, another comes out of another barrel of the gun, like two people on a trampoline bouncing each other. Bounce! one comes down, sending the other soaring into the air. Bounce! the other comes down and sends the first even higher. Of course, there has to be energy added on each bounce. The trampolinists use their legs to supply the energy to send each bounce higher. Our bouncing space capsules will use a large electric power plant. But since the power plant doesn’t have to supply all the energy for each launch, the problem becomes manageable.

All that’s left is getting the bouncing started. That’s the part I came up with tonight. Like the two bouncers on the trampoline, you don’t start at full height, you bounce back and forth, building up your energy over time. If you have two capsules, first you give one of them the biggest kick you can. Maybe it goes 5,000 meters up then comes back down. You get some of the energy back from that one and kick again. The next capsule goes 9,000 meters up, and so on. The biggest problem with the electrical launch, how to store enough energy, is solved. Away you go, Chumley, laughing at the very idea that it would take two whole weeks to launch a capsule twice.

That Ten Million is practically mine. Anyone have a billion to loan me? Actually, better make it five billion.

Post Script: Please read the followup article which discusses a slight hitch in this plan.

Ugh

Someone explain to me why the (no longer supported) Mac version of Internet Explorer is more standards-compliant than the Windows version. On windows, my PNG is being blended perfectly – with the wrong color. Where the hell did that gray come from? Over at the Hut there is a similar problem, but since I’m flogging mac-only software I didn’t worry about it too much.

I mean, shit, when was the PNG standard adopted? I had big plans for a graphic treatment that simply won’t work if browsers don’t render images according to well-established standards.

Someone Microsoft laid off from their Mac Business Unit should go give the windows folks some lessons.

Meanwhile, I’d be grateful for some feedback from the field about how other winders and Linux browsers are handling my graphic. It should look like this:
Obviously, there was still a ways to go, but you see how the ampersand crosses into the lighter color? The ability to do that was very important for my plans. I’m sure there are ways to accomplish what I want to de despite Microsoft, but this way was easy.

I know it’s an old story: Microsoft choosing which standards to follow and which to ignore. I would have thought they would be all over PNG, since it gets them out of paying royalties.

OK, I feel better now. I have work to do. On my Windows machine. Huh.

A Brief Explanation of Muddled Ramblings and Half-Baked Ideas

It’s not such a big deal, really – I woke up one morning and realized that what I was doing was’t what I wanted to do. Five years later I did something about it. This is me clearing my throat, trying to find my voice. Some days I get close.

Other days, well…

It’s a strange conceit to think that people I don’t even know will give a rat’s ass what I think. I’m OK with that. There aren’t too many ‘dear diary’ entries here. I’m just looking for things I can write about. When I find them, I try to write about them well. My goal is to be interesting, or at least amusing. I almost had thought-provoking once. Maybe with practice I’ll get there. I know you don’t care what I had for breakfast. I don’t even care about that and it was my breakfast, unless there was something at breakfast that inspired me to write.

Like eggs. Mmmm… eggs.

Still, we do have fun here. If you know a great way to get poor quick, or if you happen to be a Belgian Buddhist Kung-Fu/Brew Master Monk, this is the place for you. Don’t forget to read the comments; there are people who hang out here who are much smarter and more articulate than I am. Chances are, you are, too. We cover a huge range of topics, so don’t form your conclusions based on one or two entries.

Things we have discussed here lately:

  • Space Launch Systems and Lunar Vacations
  • People in bars
  • What a government is and what it should do (and the best beer to use to buy votes)
  • Suicidal Squirrels
  • Bars
  • The Road
  • Rutabagas

There is also a running story, Feeding the Eels, which is in the style of an old detective radio series. I mostly do it for simile practice when I don’t feel inspired to do so-called real writing. Still, it’s fun—at least for me.

Also, please be sure to leave a guest haiku! Just leave it in a comment somewhere; I’ll find it.

two times out of five
haiku writ by someone else
a breath of fresh air

Finally, it’s worth noting that the look and feel of the site is definitely – and perhaps permanently – in flux. So far I’ve been mucking primarily with the main page, so the other pages seem fairly ho-hum in comparison. I have decided not to go too far out of my way to deal with all the quirks of Internet Explorer – IE is the biggest impediment to progress on the Web, and I’m not going to let Microsoft hold me back. You shouldn’t either.

Leave your mark in the sand before you move on.

Back to main page

Ogling Google

I’m sure this is far more interesting to me than to anyone else, but here are some of the searches that lead people here today (it was a big google gay):

  • Google: La Dolce Vida – 4 of them today! God bless that spelling. These seem to come in bunches. I wonder if something in the media triggers them.
  • Google: happy birthday clothes
  • Google: wingnut adams blues band – twice from the same domain
  • Google: darth vader returns
  • Google: squirrel death
  • Google: car passed over – again? Anyone who arrives here because of that search is welcome to explain what they were looking for

What is it with people and squirrels?

By the way, I think I’ve run out of antisquirrels. Can I get more at the dealership?

Obvious flaw in the plan

You see the result. It’s another friggin’ novel. I’m not well-known for my sparing use of words. The thing’s not even finished. The most important sentence of all is missing – the one that gives the whole thing the proper mood. Put on your x-ray gogs, kids, because the font is getting smaller! Wahoo!!!

Coming Soonish

Unless I decide to write something else.

Hey, you know what would be cool? I’d be cool if I was driving along somewhere, or more likely sitting in a bar with my laptop, and someone said, “Hey, are you that Homeless Tour guy?”

That would be cool. It’d be like being a rock star, except without all the money and chicks.

The real reason I’m posting right now is to warn both of you out there that I’m going to be messing with the site for a bit tonight and probably into the morning as well, so at times it may just fly apart. I’ve decided I need a better header. It’ll still have the name of the blog up there, but in some yet-to-be-dertermined artsy style. More important, it will have a short explanation for new visitors about just what it is they’re getting into.

As long as I’m sitting here bleary-eyed and weary-fingered, I just want to say thanks to all y’all for posting so many comments. It’s funny, some things I write I expect to get lots of comments, and nothing. Then, out of the blue, wham! Comment-o-rama. If you haven’t been pulling your weight in the comment department, it’s not to late to start. You know who you are.

But hey, if you just like lurking, that’s fine, too. Just don’t let it turn into stalking.

Addendum: Anyone know where I can find a font that looks like a typewriter that hasn’t been cleaned in 30 years, so there are blotches of ink everywhere?

Additional Addendum: This additional addendum is to call your attention to the additional addendum (labeled Additional Addendum) in the post “Great Googly-Moogly”. I wouldn’t want all that typing to go to waste.

You can see the progress I’m making on the header – the idea in my head far exceeds my ability to execute. The image is a PNG with an alpha channel, and I haven’t tried looking at it with any Windows browsers yet. If you could take a moment and let me know how it looks on yours, I’d be grateful. That Flowery font was just a placeholder, but now it’s kind of growing on me. You can see that the typewriter part is far too clean. I had the & cradling the H really nicely in a previous version, but the I made the & bigger so it could drop out of the dark blue area and break up that line. We’ll see how it goes.

Warranty

Most software you get comes with a carefully worded non-warranty. For instance, every time I launch my debugger, it comes up with the message “There is no warranty. Type ‘warranty’ for details.”

I’m not as keen on this one, as I intend to stand behind my work, but I can’t afford to be held responsible if someone does something stupid and loses their life’s work. Also note that I tweaked the EULA a bit (see previous post).

Oh, yeah, one more thing. Everyone’s doing it and I guess there must be a reason for that. THERE IS NO WARRANTY! Jer’s Novel Writer (JNW) is sold as-is and once YOU make the decision to put it on your computer you accept responsibility for whatever happens. Anything I might say or might have said that sounded like a warranty is not one. Sure, you could take me out and get me all liquored up and I’ll probably say whatever you want to hear (and you’re welcome to try), but sorry, Chumley, that won’t count. Anyone claiming to represent Jer’s Software Hut who says there’s a warranty is a big, fat liar.

Furthermore, if I say something like, “Hm, I think Jer’s Novel Writer is just what you need!” don’t go getting cheesed if you later discover that JNW was in fact not just what you needed. (I’ll bet you won’t be cheesed, though.)

I’d like to, but I just can’t promise that you’ll never lose work. No one can make a promise like that. Stuff happens. If through some bizarre set of circumstances your computer is damaged, you will have my sympathy but that’s all. This software was created for writing novels, not running space shuttles or guiding smart bombs or anything else where someone could get hurt. It says something about our society that I even have to point that out, but there you go.

I know it’s going to happen. I’m going to get a call from someone who’s been working on a project for months or years, and lightning will strike while he’s saving and his file will be lost. He’ll contact me and I’ll ask him “When was the last time you backed up your work?” and he’ll say “Never” and I’ll say “Oh. Well, you’re screwed.”

You are your own best warranty. Back up your work often. I’ll put some tips on how to do that at JersSoftwareHut.com.

Enough of all this technical jargon and legal jibber-jabber! Click “Accept” and let’s get started!

———
Again, not the final wording. I like the “sorry, Chumley” part the best. As I have now also indicated in the EULA entry, I am appealing for reasonableness rather than air-tight legal protection. I also think that by making it fun and relatively short that I greatly increase the chances that people will read it, and accept the software in the spirit in which it is offered.

Great Googly-Moogly!

I’d take a picture, but I’d have to get out of bed. Use your imagination.

Addendum:
OK, now it’s snowing pretty hard, and I’m out of bed. Your imagination is no longer required.
Additional Addendum:
The snow let up pretty quickly yesterday. the sun came out and the light dusting on everything quickly vanished. Still, it was pretty nice. This morning I slept a little later than usual, and when I opened my eyes to say good morning to lake and mountains, what did I see but several inches of snow covering everything. Well, that got me up in a hurry.

Winter Wonderland I grew up in the mountains, so I’ve seen snow in May before. Part of me is saying, “Jerry, what the heck’s the big deal?” But it is a big deal. The way the sun is shining off the snow-laden branches, the way the Internet is down so I can’t work, all these things make life special.

I think the best part about it is the surprise. Having lived in San Diego for so long, I pay no attention whatsoever to weather reports. So when I woke up this morning to discover I had been transported to a winter wonderland in my sleep, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. I’m so stupid giddy over the snow I went out in my bare feet for some of the pictures (photos). The picture I’m featuring here doesn’t have the bright sunshine, but I like the composition.

My Internet connection here is relayed over the lake by a satellite dish (although I suppose it’s not a satellite dish if no satellite is involved), and apparently the connection is quite vulnerable to poor weather conditions. Unfortunately, now that you’re reading this, I’m back connected to the outside world and that means I’m currently struggling to concentrate on work when what I really want to do is go out and play.

Ironically, with the Internet down, I would be able to concentrate on work much better, but the tools I’m using have been specifically designed to not work when they can’t connect to the mother ship, for no reason other than corporate paranoia. Ironically, anyone with actual malicious intent could hack the tools pretty easily, but that’s not how I plan to spend my day.

I’m going on a walk.

Venus

Venus.jpg

I had a friend named Venus once. Her father thought that was a feminine name. He went into the hospital to have surgery done to try to save the sight in one of his eyes. They operated on the wrong eye; now he’s blind.

Venus told me that in college she had been engaged to a guy named Jerry Mars. If they had married she would have been Venus Mars.

Red lights, green lights, strawberry wine,
A good friend of mine, follow the stars,
Venus and Mars are alright tonight.

-Paul McCartney

Sam’s Place

Location: Sam’s Place, Lake Tahoe, NV(map)
Miles: 1891.3

My usual table was taken when I came in, so I’m sitting with my back to most of the action at the bar. The bartender when I came in may be the boss, but I haven’t dealt with her before. As far as she’s concerned, my name’s “Buddy”. She did make a point of remembering where I sat last time.

The person sitting at “my” table was Norm. I’m reasonably sure I met him at a bachelor party once. I didn’t want to go through the false camaraderie we would both have to adopt if I introduced myself, though. I was pretty much a wallflower at that bachelor party anyway, except when we were playing poker. The groom, also my host currently, while not rolling in filthy lucre is doing all right for himself, as are most of his friends. Craig and I were there because our wives were friends of the bride. I think they reduced the money at the poker table dramatically to accommodate us. So while they were playing for what felt to them like monopoly money, to Craig and me it felt like bigtime gambling.

Norm has now left, and I just moved back to my usual table, the faint sizzle of the outward-facing neon in my right ear. It’s important when regularizing to establish patterns that bartenders and wait staff can recognize. Becky just started her shift, and she didn’t use my name, which I told her yesterday. Big setback. I’m going to try to sneak a picture of her now… crap. I jiggled it. Jiggled%20it.jpg

This isn’t a bad bar at all. Most everyone knows everyone else, so there’s plenty of stories to tell. It’s a safe assumption that some mutual friend did something stupid or outrageous lately.

Normally when I come to a bar I fire up Jer’s Novel Writer, not iBlog. I can concentrate very well on my fiction in a bar, much better than I can at home. At home there’s too many other things I could do, like check one more time to see if anyone’s hit my blog, or work, or (when I had a yard) yardwork. Then there’s the laundry that needs doing, the email, the bills, blah, blah, blah. You might have people shouting and laughing in a bar, but external distractions are much easier to shut out than internal ones.

Yes, sometimes someone will come up to me and say without a trace of irony, “Hey! Hey! How do you concentrate in here?”

The peak of my bar-writing career came two novembers ago for NaNoWriMo , when I took the motto “30 days, 30 bars, 1 novel.” I’ll tell you more about that another time, when I rescue the photographic evidence from my computer that is packed away. It was not a sustainable lifestyle.

Oddly, I am finding the bar to be a big distraction when it is the bar I’m writing about. The theme from Shaft is playing on the jukebox. Normally that would just be background noise, but now I find myself wondering, “Should I write about that? Would that be interesting?” It probably won’t be until I get home that I will be able to write about the bar.

beer%2c%20laptop%2c%20bar.jpg I’ll give you a few facts about the place before I give up. The bar itself is of a rich-grained wood and has a nice curvaceousness to it. There are a couple of separate seating areas. One has a fireplace which I’m sure is very popular when the snow is several feet deep outside. Another has bookshelves. The bookshelves have actual books on them. The floors are rough wood, the cieling in the main bar area is wood with large wood beams, and there is wood paneling behind the bar. The wood is light enough that the bar does not feel too dark. I like wood.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fire up JNW.

Addendum: This is a photo of Becky pouring a beer for me after she said, “Jerry, do you want another?” I would have said no, but she said my name. ARS is right on track.

A Lap Around The Lake

It was a very good decision. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the squirrels were behaving normally. I headed north from Zephyr Cove and around the lade counterclockwise, a trip of about 80 miles all told. Not really that much of note happened, I passed the Ponderosa (Home of TV’s Bonanza! Yee-haw!) I passed a ski resort that with a sign that said “Open From Top To Bottom” – I know there’s still snow up here but I have to be a little skeptical.

On the California side the views aren’t as spectacular, but there are more houses right on the water – some of them pretty damn amazing. Emerald Bay was indeed beautiful. I stopped to look around and take some pics. Soon after I pulled out of the vista point, I found myself on one of the most spectacular 200 meters of road I’ve ever seen. The road went along a ridge surrounded by water on every side (map). There was no way to stop – the edge of the pavement was the edge of the world. Sky above, water below, some forest in between, and a ribbon of asphalt seemingly suspended in space. At the end the road dove into some nice switchbacks.

I passed a bar with a homemade giant beer mug for its sign, but I didn’t get a picture. Sorry about that. I bet they had a blast making it.

It is also remarkable how patient the drivers are on those roads. People may be going slowly, but the person behind will hang back a polite distance and putt along with the rest of the crowd.

At the end I pulled into Sam’s Place, but that’s another entry.