Bars Poetica

By Bob Hicock

This is the story I’ve tried to tell. Guy
exists. Father mother sister brother.
Oh pretty stars, oh bastard moon
I see you watching me. The trembling
years leading to sex, the trembling sex.
Death as garnish. Death as male lead,
female lead, death as a cast
of thousands. God in, on, as, with,
to, around, because who knows
because. All the while feeling air’s
a quilt of tongues, that spaces
between words are more articulate
than words. It’s not like you’d hope,
that anyone can make sense.
Look around you, let your ears
breathe deep — almost no one does.
Have another drink. When they throw us out
there’s a place down the street
that never closes, after that
we’ll climb a fire escape and praise
the genealogy of light. The Big Bang
sounds like what it was, the fucking
that got everything under way.
That love was there from the start
is all I’ve been trying to say.

So…I think I’m slowly becoming addicted to racing. And it’s funny—while I loved it in high school, there was always this added pressure being on a team. Some people live off that, but it just stressed me out. Now that I’m only running for me, I can go into races not freaking out. And there’s something to say about the camaraderie. Runners just connect, and even though racing is competitive, everyone is down-to-earth and super friendly.

And for me, there is something way more satisfying about a Friday night in with friends and a documentary followed by waking up early and joining a herd of runners by the starting line. Saturday was an 8am wakeup call for another 10K (over in Riverside Park). I wanted to run it as a workout—not all-out, but not at a normal pace—and was pretttty successful! My hip was sort of out of whack and my breathing not so hot, but the power of positive thinking really did its thing as I kept repeating “it gets easier, it gets easier.” Which is so true. I ran negative splits (check em out) and felt better during the second loop around the park (except for those two damn hills. Eek.) And it’s super rewarding when you cross the finish-line, no matter what the clock says. Six miles is six miles, and now it’s over!

Unless it’s not. Which is also awesome. Laura, Jocelyn and I reconvened after we all finished, and slowed down the pace to run a comfortable five miles down to City Bakery to eat overpriced, but well deserved food. 11 miles in before 1pm? Try it sometime.

And as I woke up late this morning, sort of hungover, all I wanted to do was erase all the cabernet floating in my bloodstream and lace up my sneakers.  I want to race again, and maybe push myself harder this time, and see how fast I can really go. And now I’m wondering, is 10K the magic distance? Will a half-marathon be feasible? Will I cross a marathon off my bucket list in the next year? Time shall tell.

But until then, Jocelyn tagged me in this blogger-question thingy. And to be honest, I wasn’t going to do it..but she said she “highly doubted” we would. So, gotta prove her wrong 🙂

1. If you were an animal, what would you be and why?
Probably a giraffe, so I could see the world at crazy heights. Or a cat, because they’re mischievous little creatures that hard chill all day.

2. What is the best date you have ever been on?
A gentleman took me out to a really nice restaurant once, and we were engaged in such an interesting conversation that we barely remember the awesome food. That’s how it should be, right?

3. What is your favorite book?
How We are Hungry, Siddhartha, A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, The Dance of Life

4. Dogs or Cats?
Both. If you’re an animal lover, you like cats & dogs for different reasons.

5. If you could be any character from a TV series who would you be?
Bret McKenzie from Flight of the Conchords, or Sawyer from Lost.

6. What is your favorite fruit?
Raspberries.

7. If you were able to live any where in the world, where would it be?
Right now? Has to be NYC. Forever? Pacific Northwest. No job or no obligations? West Africa or Northern India

8. What would you do if you won the lottery jackpot?
Invest in Greatist, start/invest in a project abroad, give a bunch to my parents, lease out an apartment in Williamsburg on the water. Buy an amazing mattress.

9. Favorite flower?
Tulip? Sure!

10. What’s your favorite Web site?
The New York Times (nerd cough AH)

11. What is the best concert you have ever been to?
Fleet Foxes. Magical.

So, we rate things (sometimes unknowingly!) in life, right? And some things are overrated, and other times… they’re underrated. And I was thinking about this when walking home in the rain the other week, because I believe this to be a lovely, yet underrated activity (which I wrote about this summer!). So then I thought to myself that I should create a list with allllll the things I think are over or underrated and put them on this blog. Cause I can.

Overrated:

1. Fantasy Sports—I don’t understand the point of taking players and putting them on different teams and having “imaginary” games and betting lots of money and constantly checking stats… when you can watch REAL sports on tv. I just..don’t get it and never will  

2. Rain boots—The thing with rain boots is… you need it to be raining ALL day for them to be a sufficient article of clothing. In my experience (singular because I’ve worn my pair once), rain boots aren’t really an all-day kind of wear-fare, and only really come in handy if you’re outside ALL day and it’s raining ALL day. Doesn’t seem worth the splurge.

3. Brad Pitt—Sorry Brad you have a square head and will never be good-looking.

4. Cheese—I knowwww,  I just, don’t really like cheese that much? Add it to a sandwich or scrambled eggs and I can’t really tell! Some hard-cheeses are good (parmesan!), but goat cheese is whack and way too sophisticated for me (esp w/ beets). And fondue? That’s weird. It’s like fancy cheese-wiz.

5. MGMT—Hi I like wearing American Apparel and I like listening to MGMT. All their songs sound the same/ make me kind of anxious, they’re apparently bad live, and their band name isn’t an acronym. (But still in caps). Elitists.

6. Vodka—Rubbing alcohol in a bottle… even the good stuff. Vodka, unless you’re in a bloody mary, I hate you.  (Plus you make me reaaally drunk).

7. Netflix—Why do I feel like everyone I know has/loves Netflix? I don’t have the attention span to sit and watch television/a movie on my laptop. Besides, I feel like films and episodes should strictly be a real-sized TV/couch kind of thing.

8. The Color Blue—Blah blah blah EVERYONE loves the color blue (as do I), but pick a new one. No one likes orange. Try liking orange.

9. New Years Eve—If I had it my way, I’d sit at home with a few friends and have wine (sans cheese) and play board games and maaybe acknowledge the stroke of midnight before putting some more houses on Park Place. The hype of New Years always freaks me out (although I genuinely enjoyed this past one), and a single champagne hangover is more than I can handle.

10. Money—There is having enough money (and being smart and generous to yourself and others for all your hard work to earn it)… and then there is having too much money and spending it for the wrong reasons and being greedy and unhappy and dramatic and oy. Money can make shit weird.

11. Facebook—Facebook, you official creep me out. I learned that the Giants won in OT because of you. You now have this timeline feature that confuses me. At least the poke thing is gone me thinks?

Underrated:

1. Loofahs—Okay, if you’re showering without a proper loofah, there is no way you are making that body wash soapy enough. Good loofahs are the key to cleanliness and happiness, and lots of soap suds.

2. Giraffes—These camels meet leopards are the COOLEST. I don’t understand why everyone isn’t talking about them all day. Their necks are insane (which these use as weapons!), their tongues are two feet long, they can’t cough, and one was famous enough to sponsor Toys R Us!

3. Seltzer—Why is non-flavored carbonated water so good? I dunno, but it is. And I drink a gallon and a half of it every night. Everyone else should too…it makes you feel “classy.”

4. Fela Kuti—All it takes is a few seconds of listening to realize Fela is a musical genius (RIP). So give him a try, he’s a pioneer of the Afrobeat: a multi-instrumentalist and composer meets human rights activist and political maverick. Not to mention a 100% Nigerian badass. 

5. Flight of the Concords—I’m pretty sure this show died after two seasons, but the first season is hilarious, their songs are amazing, and they wear non-hooded sweatshirts better than anyone I know.

6. Lamps— I am pretty convinced there is nothing worse that those abrasive fluorescent lights in dorm rooms, offices, and apartments. If I had it my way, I’d never turn them on, and just plug in a bunch of quirky lamps. I currently have one in my room. It’s a tree lamp with bears climbing up it. Yep.

7. Graphic novels—Nope, these aren’t comic books. Not really. They’re longer, bound differently, and..well I’m not sure exactly how they’re different. But graphic novels are amazing and you should definitely give them a read. I recommend Persepolis or Fun Home

8. The NHL—Sigh. Nobody likes hockey these days (around here), and it’s a shame! It’s just as fast moving as basketball, except there are sticks, ice, and fights (!) involved. It’s like the perfect hybrid of the NFL, the NBA, and figure skating. I’m not sure why people aren’t obsessed.

9. Bob Dylan—Every now and then, I meet a Bob Dylan hater (ahem.. Rich). And this boggles my mind! His voice is cranky? Realllly? But that harmonica is just sooo good, and his songs are a crazy influential mix of Woody Guthrie meets Buddy Holly meets Little Richard. What’s not to love?

10. Socks—Can’t live without socks, and neither can you. There is nothing more perfect then getting home and putting on a pair of wool socks. Nothin!

11. New Mexico—This state— the Land of Enchantment— is by far one of the most magical in the U.S. New Mexico has both landscapes and urban culture. Albuquerque is colorful and crazy. Taos is breathtaking. New Mexico is a billion times better than Arizona, even though they’re next door neighbors. It’s insanely beautiful. You should go!

Latency

Fingers intertwine, locking moments: fleeting, often

too stoic to tell most secrets of a secret life, laying

twisted on springs and letting go

of stories of sadness never fit in this life too lovely,

smiling often since

it’s easy to move the mouth. It’s easy

to move.

My body hurts. But in a good way.

 This weekend was another one chocked full of friends, working-out, and (thankfully) sleeping. The adventures started Friday afternoon when Greatist  headed over to Chelsea Piers to try SurfSet, a brand new fitness class that had us paddling out to the “ocean,” ducking under and catching waves, jumping up, and definitely wiping out—all indoors. The board simulates a real surfing experience, and was a full-body workout too (insert: planks and squats on a wobbly surface). And while SurfSet does help people train for the real thing, I kind of hate waves (don’t like large bodies of things collapsing on me) and am  not a huge fans of sharks (heard they’re not that friendly). So I’d be more than happy to stick to the indoor version and try it again.

Later that evening, I went to Jim & Kate’s for sushi and was re-reminded that spicy tuna and soft-shell crab topped with eel, avocado, and caviar is the best thing in the entire universe. Then it was time for immediate sleep, since I had a 5:30 am wake-up call.

On Saturday morning, I ran my first 10K ever down in Prospect Park, and had a blast. But before the race, might I add that I wasn’t expecting the L to be crowded at 6 am, but I barely got a seat? Where was everyone going?! Anyway, about 50-thousands trains and hours later, I made it to the starting line with Jocelyn and Laura, and  Beyonce led me out through mile one.

Now, I really had no idea how I was going to feel, especially since I’ve been doing a lot more strength training recently and haven’t clocked in more than four miles a day (on those silly treadmills, mind you). But I felt surprisingly good, so I just went for it—comfortably.  I kept a steady mid 7-minute pace throughout, experienced an amazing runners-high at mile five, then finished strong. All good things! However, the best part came after—breakfast—which was with Laura and Jocelyn, along w/ new pals Susan and Betsy.

I devoured an omelette, and then trecked back to Brooklyn to collapse in my bed (at noon) and wake up an hour later, starving (woops). I ate what was probably the largest banana I’ve ever seen in my life, and went baaaaack on the train to attend a Kettlebell Kickboxing class with Kelly! I was half-ready to fall asleep, half-ready to foam roll my legs out for days, but I put in as much effort as my body could muster and felt the burrrrn. Unfortunately, I have awful coordination and take to direction poorly, so any sort of fitness class that involves lots of movements and sequences and left rights kick jump twirl spin loop-dee-loop, makes me feel lost and confused and sometimes I just stop. Till someone comes over and helps me. Which happened.

The rest of the evening was a haze as I was in-and-out of napping and reading and writing and listening to music with Ali, until I rejoined the rest of the Saturday-night world for some drinks with some frieeeends. I treated myself to a delicious bourbon cocktail, then went back home with Nicole and Ali to make cookies and watch The Daily Show before collapsing happily, for the third time, into bed.

Ali, Nic, and I all woke up around eight, and enjoyed a morning of coffee and mellow tunes before heading to different boroughs—Manhattan, Queens, and Brooklyn. I went yet again to South Brooklyn to run, but this time it was a group fun-run with Jack Rabbit that took us over the Brooklyn Bridge, through Chinatown’s New Year celebration, and back over the Manhattan Bridge. And it was also 10 miles—a distance I have never run.

Verdict? It was AWESOME. The pace averaged at a comfortable 9:30, but the last mile was around a minute faster, and I felt like I could’ve kept going (always a good sign). But besides the run itself, it’s always great to meet new runners who share that same crazy passion and who ALL have stories of ironmans and marathons and what have you. (One day?).

Then, of course, there’s the view.

After the run, the group enjoyed some bagels and coffee at JackRabbit, then Laura, Jocelyn and I headed over to The Bell House for their mac-n-cheese takedown. Before the doors opened, we headed to the bar (obv) and ordered three mighty-fine classy drinks: zin, allagash, and bloody mary (hydration at its finest). Then once the event began, we ate about five thousands pounds of mac n cheese and discussed some favorites (lobster mac, that one with all the bacon crumbled on top, and the leek and sauteed onion dish) while critiquing the not-so great ones (oyster mac, kale and chicken sausage, and the deep-friend ball). Winners were announced, more mac and cheese was consumed, and then it was time to go home. And collapse (again) in bed at 5PM. And not get out till tomorrow. Life rules.

So, a surprising number of you read my blog post about Search Engine Terms. (I still don’t understand the whole “i hate it when a chinchilla eats the universe” thing either). Like….an oddly large number of people.

What I’m trying to say is, if you liked that post…. you’re welcome. Now, I have a favor to ask.

Greatist is in the running  for Healthline’s Best Health Blog of 2011.  And it’s silly. We need a lot of votes.! So I would be extremely extremely appreciative if you can vote here! And yeah, they ask for a login with Facebook/Twitter, but just delete it afterwards if need be. The vote (which you can do everyday) counts!

AND…once you vote, send your address to swag [at] greatist [dot] com and we’ll send you a STICKER. Yup, you heard right. A sticker!

Oh, and your support will help us win $5,000. But it’s not (all) about the money. It’s about getting by with a little help from our friends. That we appreciate so much. For whom we strive to deliver the most high-quality and entertaining content to daily.

So from my heart, to yours, please vote. It’ll mean a lot! 

Love, The Greatist Team

On a whim, I joined spring track my freshman year of high school. I was always an athlete, playing basketball, soccer, tennis, heck—even golf— for most of my life. So I thought I’d give myself a “break” from balls and racquets and considerable coordination and do track for a few months. I’d be a sprinter.

Except that my coach made me run the 400m at my first meet. The 400 is technically still a sprint, but it’s a long one. One whole trip around the track. A quarter mile. It’s pretty much 350 meters longer than you’d ever want to sprint, and in my awkward running briefs, tanktop, and bulky sneakers, I got on the line and ran it in 71 seconds. Not terrifically fast.

But fast enough. My coach came over to me and said, “Laura, it’s time to get you a pair of racers. And turn you into a runner.”

Spring track was mostly a blur, as I blindly fell in love with the sport. I didn’t feel much pressure since I was young and new, but I kept getting faster and breaking personal records, surprising my coaches while staying completely oblivious to time. Mostly, I enjoyed the people. Only a certain person voluntarily “runs for fun,” and our team was bound by this shared delirium that running is painful, and it’s hard, but it’s…oddly addicting and satisfying, and…fun. We’d sing songs on long runs, have rain dances when it’d pour, and treat ourselves to Paradise Pizza after a tough workout. We’d dye sports bras and socks before big races, and eat boxes of LIFE on school buses before all-day meets. We all bought bright red spanex, too.

I soon learned the big names in Suffolk County—Cummings, Sheffey, McDermott, Tschirhart—and slowly entered this secret, underground running world. I knew what 300m cut-downs meant (and that they were way harder than 200m cut-downs), I could feel paces, teach drills, dominate a fartlek, and measure my stride at the long-jump pit. I’d go on dyestat, and finally read Once a Runner, becoming engulfed in that 400m workout scene: amazingly epic, and terrifying.

And of course, there was Prefontaine. I watched Without Limits  and quickly learned about Pre, the running legend who raced under Bill Bowerman (who founded Blue Ribbon Sports, now known as, well..NIKE) at the University of Oregon. He tragically died at 24, at that time holding American records in the 2,000 to 10,000 meter races.  Pre is probably best known for the quote “to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”

But let me tell you, that gift is hard to use well. Really hard. Expectations are created, but certainly not always met. Turns out 5K’s are way harder than 400-meter sprints, and I could barely finish a cross-country race without wanting to collapse. A horrible 800 leg in a Distance Medley Relay moved us from a 2nd place seed to an eighth place finish. I developed asthma and was hooked up to nebuilzers before races, I dropped batons, fouled on the long jump line, and sometimes… just ran slow. I knew which workouts to dread (mile repeats at 6:30 pace, hill repeats up Laurel Avenue) and when to freak out on race day (doubling in a back-to-back 4×800 and 4×400, or quadrupling with the triple and long jump). It’s actually incredibly easy to hate running, to lose patience, or to simply burn out.

But it’s also terribly addicting, and naturally therapeutic. And besides, who needs drugs when running can make you high? It goes beyond that, though. Running changes people. Everyday I read about someone who picked up running and it changed their life. And it’s so incredibly empowering to know that you, yourself ran X miles—your legs carried you that far, at that speed. By now I’ve run thousands of miles. Thousands! That’s so cool. And it doesn’t matter how fast or how slow, it just matters that they happened, whether pounding on a treadmill or circling on a track, running through trails in the woods or dirt paths in Africa, through bustling streets in Manhattan or humid beaches in Puerto Rico.

And your running relationship may change, which is totally okay. I was a mid-distance runner that would barely venture out for more than four miles. I retired my racing spikes (and competitive nature) and lost all my speed, learning how to simply enjoy the wide-open road, ditching my watch and just going.  I’ve become my own teacher— disciplining and supporting, critiquing and congratulating. And it’s often the only time in the day when life is …just about me.

Running both balances and challenges, exhausts and relaxes. It makes me sweat and think and release and work. But most importantly, it makes me appreciate my body that goes the length…. and my mind that allows it to happen. 

Well, well. I’ve noticed some prettttty interesting keywords people have used to get to this blog. At first I thought only supportive friends and family that oddly want to hear what goes through my crazy head read this, but turns out there must be some randos who accidentally search for something weird in google and end up…here.

So here are the top ten search engine terms from this week…..and my comments. Ya crazies.

Laura Schwecherl camping Okay. You know me well enough to be able to spell my last name and know I have a blog with the word “camping” in it. But you don’t know the exact URL, which means you are a peripheral friend, if I had to guess. Friend of a friend? Stalker? Ex-boyfriend? Uncle Bob? Fess up.

I hate it when a chinchilla eats the universe  Yeah, me too

A hidden wholeness  Guess my blog is so #namaste now, since I write about all this deep. shit. But let’s be real, I have an emotional side. It’s just hidden…. (but whole!)

William j Clinton museum Not totally random, since I did go to this museum and had a damn good time. But seriously, how many google pages did you go through to end up here? 

Bedroom hotel new york I’ll consider it.

Bizarreness This makes sense, seeing as I’ve used this adjective quite often to describe my life. Even in a blog-post title. But the weirdest thing about that post is I took the first picture a block away from where Greatist HQ is (months before I worked there!) Now that’s bizarre.

Sister fuck brother  You’re sick.

Mountains K, this makes me happy. Love me them mountains! Gonna climb Kilimanjaro! And get married on a mountain! And ski down one soon! …Glad you found me here.

Is a broken down hottub worth buying Probably not.

Movie with deformed face  Batman returns? Hunchback of Notre Dame? Mask?…..Pay it forward? Sorry you didn’t get what you were looking for here.

PS) I posted the cutest video of Ali on my tumblr (with her permission). So go watch it.

OK. First, go visit the nicest place on the Internet. 

Thanks, okay. Hello! Happy Sunday! I’m currently at my favorite Sunday spot—Second Stop Cafe. It’s a little hide away in Williamsburg with strong coffee, amazing soup, and a creaky-floor. Very lovely.

I had wanted to get out of bed super early to run a 4-mile race in Central Park, but couldn’t get myself on another subway since I’m preeeetty positive 80 percent of my weekend was spent on mass-transit. Someone was killed on the tracks on 3rd ave (very sad), so I took a sneaky (and very, very, long) detour through Brooklyn, Queens, and Uptown Manhattan to make it down to Flat Iron to hard chill at HQ, get some writing done, and go to the gym to work on my new goal of doing three unassisted pull-ups. DAH. Afterwards, I jetted back to BK since the L started up again, and quickly changed and got some food together before attending a house warming party in Prospect Heights. Since New York City has yet to assemble a reliable train that runs north-south in BK, I went baaack to Manhattan to grab a train that would take me to my destination (an hour later!). It was great great great to see Melissa’s new place + all of her teacher friends. Most people there were Peace Corps fellows at Teachers College, & it was fun to hear them gossip

about their students (just like little kids always talked about their teachers) while asking about their past travels abroad. As far as food goes, there was a mixed spread: raw oysters, home-made Chex Mix, and rice krispies treats. I approved. Lots. Alas, when it was time to return north, I tried to transfer back at the L when I was greeted with the dreaded ….red tape. Thinking I was stuck in Manhattan, I happily (those few Hot Toddy’s may have helped) wandered around Chelsea while thinking of who I could call to crash with, until I realized I should just walk as far east as possible, then get a cab, till I aaalso thought that maybe just the 6th ave entrance was closed and tried my luck at another entrance and voila! Got on the train. But had to wait for awhile, of course. And… I  may or may not have taken a quick cat nap on the platform, until a very nice old lady woke me up so I could get on the train. 

In other news, Penn Badgley from Gossip Girl (not that I’ve ever watched the show or anything you know?) wandered into this hole-in-the-wall bar on Friday night, and I watched him start making out with a gal that was asking him WAY too many questions about the show (gotta play it cooooool). I wasn’t totally jealous or anything, so I started chatting in spanish with an Argentine who happened to be sitting on the other side of me. I know approximately seven words in spanish, so the conversation was sort of repetitive and awkward and the Guinness wasn’t sitting well (who buys a girl a GUINNESS?!) and I eventually fled. Sad face.

And, now, NOW I would love to go running in this beaaautiful snowy weather, but I only brought home one sneaker. So I may go run in one shoe. Or go to yoga. #namaste.

I’ve always had a weird fascination with stars. As a kid, I remember waking up in the middle of the night to go to the beach and watch this crazy, crazy meteor shower. Another time, I set my alarm for 2am so I could go out on my neighbor’s roof and search for shooting stars with him. And today, I do my best to look up to find any in this washed out city — letting myself appreciate even a few small blinking dots. (They’re probably just planes, but shhh.) 

But what are stars, really? The boring answer is they’re huge exploding balls of gas that are roughly, oh, 25,300,000,000,000 miles away. They’re (literally) hot commodities  with a surface temp of 100,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Regardless, it’s an interesting concept. Most dont really care to know about the thermonuclear fusion of hydrogen, or its radiative and convective processes, or even that they’re biiiillions of years old (great retirement plan, huh?). Instead, there’s this universal (pun!) feeling of peace, wonder, mystery, and romance, as we glance up at these incredibly massive spheres of plasma, recreating them into tiny, twinkling dots of hope — and comfort.

Which brings me to this photo, courtesy of Nat Geo:

Here, a man gazes out at the stars along a beach in Southern Malawi. I was struck by this photo when I saw it for a few reasons. First, well, I thought this was a picture of someone on the moon (woops), but once I realized he was on solid (earth) ground, I mused at how he could literally… be anywhere. And this reminded me of when I stumbled upon my own African shoreline, and gazed out into an abyss of starry dots. I was wondering where the hell I was — I was in such a foreign place — but I looked up at a familiar sky, and felt a tension between the ordinary and the unremarkable.

I had arrived in Ghana a few weeks prior, and when I wandered to this beach, this was the first time I saw three little dots in a row: the tail of the Little Dipper. I didn’t know what I was actually seeing at the time, but that overwhelming moment of realizing where I so significantly and insignificantly was, was marked by these three stars.  I never really took the time to figure out and identify constellations. Stars are seemingly chaotic; how was I supposed to look up and find these patterns in the sky?)

And these three little dots followed me. I made a note to look after them as I traveled to other shore lines, villages and jungles. And when I returned to New York — icy and bitter, fast— I continued to gaze out at what were now my little dots, pretending I was back in the warm palms of Western Africa, recreating memories and moments that were thousands of miles and minutes away, by simply looking up.

And I dunno, it’s a cool concept to me. That we can literally be anywhere in the world and see the same three blinking stars, reproducing them into whatever memory or emotion or concept we’d like. Stars can connect so many person on this earth, making the world seem a bit smaller as we gaze at these ginormous astrological objects that are incredibly out of reach but so conveniently wrapped up in our minds eye.