Dribs & Drabs

Just thought I'd throw another post on the fire.

I'm so out of habit with this blog that I don't know where to begin (or what I should or shouldn't say anyway)

Rereading The Pillowman for the sixth time. Kevin Becker let me borrow it. It's a fucking brilliant play.

Amber's birthday is tomorrow - many shout outs should be sent her way.

Watched HBO's new show, ROME, yesterday...looks pretty good.

I just added Marcie to my MySpace friends....I love that. But I haven't seen her in ages....I hate that.

Hopefully the next time I see her we won't both end up crying like last time....next time it's all laughter and dancing and bubblegum and rainbows and baking cakes....

But that does remind me to tell Amber that story. And to tell my Dad. I don't know if I have the words to tell my Dad how much I fear his mortality. It just seems like a fucked up thing to bring up to someone.

Susan is the latest Song Of Ice And Fire victim. And like all the others (or should I say, 'like all The Others') she is hooked. The new book, A Feast For Crows, comes out on the 8th of November. Nobody should try to contact me at all on that day.

I can't wait for September.

For real.

The Germans Are A Patient People...And Good Things Come To Those That Wait.

"I look back on where I'm from....look at the woman I've become..."

It just seems like the proper time to change the old blog title.

Had the first rehearsal for Poe tonight. It went really well. It's going to be an interesting show.

There's always more to say...and when I'm a big boy and I have my own computer I promise to bore you to death with all of it...for now, this is it.

It Only Sounds Good If You Say It Out Loud

I still have my sunglasses on. I'm pretending to doze. I just don't have anything to say (Or maybe I don't have anything good to say). I've spent the last two hours training my face to be dead, slack. I've pulled back into my head. This was a mistake. I already know that I'm not going to enjoy myself.

I still have my sunglasses on. There's less and less excuse for this, the sun has gone down. I can feel the good time in the air but I feel detached from it. Like I'm wearing a radiation suit. I don't want to drink. I don't want to talk. I don't want to act like things are normal. I don't want to hang out. But I know it's important to be here. More medicine. Swallow.

I still have my sunglasses on. Okay, okay - list the good things, pan for gold: Beautiful Mess was amazing, they put on a great live show, it was fun to watch Amber with her friends, to watch her work the room, her friends all seemed really cool, and I enjoyed exchanging filthy jokes with the band's lead singer, Michael.

I still have my sunglasses on. I had a dream the other day. I was reading a book and I had one of those moments where you think, 'I just need to close my eyes for five seconds'. So, I closed my eyes and fell asleep (which is unusual for me) and suddenly.......I was standing in a circular office that I KNEW was The Mayor's Office. And, sure enough, behind a huge desk, there's a man...The Mayor. And on the Mayor's desk, there's a RED BLINKING PHONE. I look down at myself and I'm wearing a superhero costume, a yellow costume with a cape. And standing next to me is another superhero, wearing a blue costume. I don't know if he's my sidekick or I'm his or if we've just teamed up for this one adventure. Suddenly, Blue Costume's cell rings and he answers it and gives me and The Mayor a gesture that I just know means, 'I have to take this'. I look at the Mayor and he looks annoyed and he gives a look at the RED BLINKING PHONE and then at me and gives me a gesture that tells me, 'SURE, take your time ASSHOLE, it's just THE CRISIS PHONE ringing'. Then I wake up.

I still have my sunglasses on. Holding patterns. Every other word I won't let myself type. Composing an essay in my head. Holding patterns. Ready for next month. Ready for next year. It's not The End that makes me angry - it's living the next couple of weeks in the remains. I'm ready to pull the tooth, tun the page. Instead, it's this last little wiggle, this last little paper cut. We haven't been friends for so long and now we have to be friendly until we can arrive at the place we've been runnning toward for the last three years.

Sieze The Day - Pull The Trigger - Drop The Blade - And Watch The Rolling Heads

I feel like I exist right now just to get myself to the end of the week when and where I might be able to relax and have some fun.

Jack & The Beanstalk. The World. The Emporer's New Clothes. The Midas Touch. Peter Pan. Rapunzel. Just a few of the Tarot cards that came up in my last reading with Marcie. (She's really good).

I'm planning on seeing PRT's Summer Shorts tomorrow night, if anyone is game.

Steve Miller, I'm trying out this new font and letter size for you so you don't have to rearrange and scramble my blog - but I have to say that this size and font makes me feel fat and useless and thick, so, I'll be back on my finger-down-my-throat-skinny font pretty soon.

Yesterday at Swank was sooooo boring, please, if you don't have anything going on tonight - drop in (watch, I'll say that - and tonight, I'll be too busy to talk).

And now, the question of the day:

How sexy is your soul?

Laments The Child Star Of The Josh Geoghagan Show

Laugh track is broken
I'm not on the same sitcom
This time slot sucks balls

A Sort Of Snapshot

Dropping off applications. That's the only thing I promised myself I would do today. It's hotter than Satan's cum outside. I can feel my scalp starting to burn just from the walk down the stairs to the car. My car looks like it has eczema - bright metallic blue next to dull, faded patches. Mange. Scabies. It always looks as defeated as I feel. I'm almost positive that the car has as much loathing for me as I have for it. It's a talent I have - giving personalities to inanimate objects. Just creating more plots and enemies. The steering wheel is rubber-y, wet, hot tar. My palms burn as I touch it. Brer Rabbit. The whorls and loops of my palms and fingers shift and they feel like they're melting. Wicked, wicked witch. Maybe if my fingerprints are gone, I can be someone else for a change. I clench the wheel harder. If my hands were sheep they would bleat. In a movie or a dream sequence, there would be steam snaking its way between my fingers. But there's not. I'm very much awake and this is very much just another couple of minutes of my life. There's just the bright windshield, the slow trinkle of air from the AC, that insect sound that you only hear on hot days, and the smell of 500 once wet now dry Orlando Weeklys. I usually keep my windows rolled down and it rains in my car. A lot. My hands feel completely fused to the wheel. If I were the Zodiac Killer - I wouldn't kill people so I could have slaves in the Afterlife, I'd kill people so I could have air conditioning units in the Afterlife. What would Anubis make of my soul? Watery and weak, sinewy and bitter, black and burned...with just the faintest traces of something decent and sad. I smile and think to myself: I deserve this, somehow. I know I do.

Where Are My Pants, Ma!!!

You call this a day off:

Cleaned the house, check.

Blogged, check.

Masturbated, check.

Filled out Library applications, check.

Watched Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, check.

Made a few phonecalls/text messages, check.

Left the house......oh, wait....oh.

Love Will Keep Us Together/ Love Will Tear Us Apart Again

I always cheat at Marco Polo.

I think about my maternal grandfather's suicide almost everyday. In a weird way, I admire him.

I think about how much of a hardcase my paternal grandfather was.

I love rollercoasters but don't want to stand at the top of a ladder..

I get vertigo.

Self deception is mother's milk to me.

I love spoilers.

I love reading the last page of a book or a play first. Hell, I'll even read the last poem in a collection.

I wish I was slick enough to be a con man.

I hate my teeth.

I always get this nagging feeling like I'm in the crosshairs of a rifle.

Sometimes while someone's talking to me ( a friend, a stranger) I'll wonder what they would do if I sudden;y kissed them, or what they would do if I suddenly stabbed them. It's scary how often this kiss you/stab you thought crosses my mind. It just pops in there - can't help it. Oh well.

I could watch great white sharks all day long.

I think about cunniligus 1500 times a day.

Since I'm not in a show - I feel like I've been playing musical chairs for the last year and a half - and the music finally stopped and I'm just standing here - with nothing to do.

I wish I truly felt cooler about this California vacation.

I need more money (everyone can go ahead and give a big, 'Hell Yes' to that).

I need to get out of the house today.

I need to hear some cogs whirling around.

I need to shave.

Josh Division

I'm glad I'm not a funeral director.

I feel a strange sense of brotherhood with other Left Handed People (except for those Uncle Tom Leftys - the ones who suck up to the Right Handed Man)

I wish I understood quantum physics.

I secretly despise you.

I'm up and down.

I'm trying real hard to act like I'm NOT nervous about my Mad Cow audition and my Rep callback.

Music from WICKED makes me want to kill.

My bellybutton smells great (to me).

I miss you.

I miss yoga.

Cleaning feels me with a sense of peace I've never found with religion.

I want to go rollerskating.

My favorite song (right now) is 'Chicago' by Sufjan Stevens

I love reading to little kids.

When I look in the mirror - I see something malformed and horrible.

I'm scared of ending up in a wheelchair.

Happy is hard - sad is effortless.

I like my jobs.

Things are going going gone.

Smile and smile and smile and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow....

Here I Sit, All Broken Hearted...

Just a quick ghetto ninja style post (from the bowels of the Downtown Public Library) to say hello....

Meeting Sarah for lunch in five minutes at the Pita Pit...doesn't leave me much time to gnash my teeth about any of the teeth-gnash-worthy things going on...oh well, the secret to being a bore is to type on your blog and prove it...

BANG! The World Is Round!

Made/Forced Mom to tell her two best stories this weekend:

The Morpha-Dyke Story &
The One About The Retard Who Wanted To Take Her Under The Bridge With Him.

It was good to see her.
I'm glad I stopped by.
Wish the weekend had been longer.

I'm kicking myself for NOT eating at Pizza Palace - since that's one of the few things I wanted to do.
Oh well, next time.

Me? I'm Full Of Impotent Rage.

Last night's rehearsal for SOTR was pretty interesting. David and Steve told everyone the background of why they wrote the play, where some of the themes come from, that sort of thing. Then it turned into an interesting discussion about violence and history and America and fight-or-flight and nature and change and - well, hopefully, if we all do our jobs right, people will be having conversations like that in the lobby, on the car ride home, the next day at work...
The whole thing is one of those sticky issues...the more you get into it the more layers you uncover and the deeper you are...
And, at some point, we were talking about guns....gun laws, responsibility, power.....real 'red in tooth and claw' type stuff...and it occurred to me...I'm not the kind of person who ever needs to own a gun, a weapon. I'm just the kind of high strung/tightly wound person who would make some sort of costly mistake. Luckily for myself and everyone else...guns freak me out. A lot. I've never held a real one, never shot one. Don't want to.

But.

But...there's part of my brain that knows that holding one, shooting one...would feel a person up with a sense of power, of control. Could give me that feeling.

This is my take on the play: Most of us, in this day and age, spend our lives as cogs....we do what we do and it doesn't really matter...except, most of us are under the delusion that we ARE DESTINED FOR GREAT THINGS....WE ARE DIFFERENT...SPECIAL...NOT LIKE THEM...this is, maybe, the American Myth, the cult of celebrity...call it whatever...everybody, on some level, feels like they're unique (maybe not understood in their own time - but still special)...then, every once in a while, a situation comes along that shows us the harsh reality...YOU ARE A COG...now, if you're lucky (or maybe, at least RICH, WHITE, STRAIGHT, and MALE) you won't get too many of these wake up calls during your life...but some people aren't so lucky...some people are given pretty brutal slaps-to-the-face...SHEEP...COG...DISPOSABLE...and some people aren't meant for such revelations...and so, some people, full of the American Myth (I'M IMPORTANT, I MATTER) can easily find a form of power, of veto, of expression, of control, of revision...through the use of violence. The editorial in the form of a U-Haul. Here's what I think about how I've been treated, how my people have been treated. Here it is, writ LARGE. Now, you'll have to see, now you'll have to hear...now you'll have to pay attention.

I'm not a cog.

You can't treat me this way.

This isn't how it's suppose to be.

Bugger You All

A tiny ant, three of its six legs crushed, moves slowly along. It can only walk in ever decreasing spirals.

More and more rooms are dark, lightbulbs smashed, doors locked and chained.

Trials and tests and feints and small, meaningless lies.

Boarded up, repressed, stifled. Slippage.

No words left on the vocabulary list - they've all been scratched off.

All the maps shrink to little patches. Mongol hoards, dragons, blank white space. Surrounded.

Hours crash and recede, endless and futile and the same. Over and over.

Scenes are written and repeated with only slight variations. Tricks. Overlap. Loops. Whorls.

Prisoner. Test subject. Slave. Flunky. Beggar. Confessor.

Sick of everyone. Tired. Frustrated. The rules are written in Chinese ideograms. All the service lines are down.

Box jellyfish stinger. Sharp teeth. Lungs full of water. Fingers stained with chalk and calculus problems.

Tarot flip. Fool. Hanged Man. Wheel Of Fortune. The Devil. The Empress. Death. Life.

The black and red of a roulette wheel - no gray, no black & white. No strategy. Random. Bitch-goddess Luck.

I've been here before. This place. I hate this place. I hate this place.

And yet I end up here every fucking time. Every non-confrontation, every non-decision, every swallow, every blink, every jet of semen, every smile, every half-truth, every defeat, every step...brings me back here: mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally...

Baboon. Ape. Mindless. Stupid. Speechless. So easy to just dismiss me. I make it easy.

I don't have the Words. The Voice. I'm not worth it, really.

This doesn't help.

Bugger You All.

I SO Have No Time For This

I'm starting to feel those classic symptoms of Josh Geoghagan Getting Sick: my ears are draining into my throat, I feel hot/feverish, my bones are feeling ache-y, my breath feels short. Fuck. And I'm sure six hours of running around like a spastic whoreson tonight won't improve any of those things.

Sit Still, Fucker!

I started learning to juggle at work yesterday - slow news day.
Ants in my pants. Spastic.
My ass laughs when I sit down, like, 'Thank Christ'.
So busy, so special, so smart, so pretty, so what, sew buttons.
Maelstorm.
Last night was wonderful. Warm. Beautiful.
Reminded me of other times.
Need to get up from this seat.
Wash some clothes - especially the clothes I have to wear at Swank tonight.
(Can I just say that I'm not a huge fan of the sound of that word - Swank - it sounds like the definition for thigh/ass/labial/scrotum sweat - I'm just saying I wouldn't name my club that)
I'd call my my club HEAD - and if you went there, you'd know what was up.
Little clown car - defeated by two wires - fucking blower motor - the new one sits in my passenger seat - my mocking copilot.
{clap clap}

Music Is The Victim

Thanks to my jobs, I end up with the strangest music stuck in my head. At Club Swank they play a lot of Rat Pack type stuff - which is fine for the most part - but there this one song - these evil looping song - a song that I KNOW is being channeled through the sulfur and magma encrusted speakers of Hell. I don't know the title. I don't know most of the words - but - the little OCD fixated part of my brain does know how it starts:

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

There's tons of little Rat Pack tangents and jokes and ha-ha-ha and for some reason my mind can't follow what the fuck the song is about - are they Romans - is the joke that The Rat Pack is touring The Ancient World? Anyway, it doesn't matter - I hate/loath/detest/shit on the song. And it's gotten so bad that like Pavlov's dog - I now start to get sick when I hear the song that comes on the CD before it (which happens to be Sammy Davis singing, 'Yes I Can' - a decent song that I hold no malice towards). Only now I do - cause I know that the next fucking song will be THAT FUCKING SONG, so the hate starts to bleed over onto Sammy Davis cause I know with every note he takes me on a journey that will open in Venice and next play Verona.

The music from Fairy Tales is more sickly-sweet kid songs, or worse, kids singing adult songs. Singing them in this real passionate way - you can just picture these little asshole kids and their showbiz, pushy parents and the kids complaining about their voices and needing water with lemon and man, I just want to fucking kick that girl singing, 'Never Fall In Love Again' in the temple.

"I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOOOVE AGAAAAAAAIIIIINNNN. I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN."

Or those fucking kids singing CATS.

I never thought that I'd be so happy to hear Jack Johnson and John Mayer. Thank goodness for semi-bland/passive/innocuous/and/yet/basically/tolerable music. My body is,indeed, a wonderland and my toes are, indeed, bubbly. Thank you gentlemen.

The best stuff we play at Fairy Tales is They Might Be Giants and G Love With Special Sauce. Followed closely by The Putamayo Series { Caribbean Playground, DreamLand, World Playground, French Cafe, American Blues }

I love this one song that goes:

"DADDY WAS KING OF THE BONGO, MAMMA WAS QUEEN OF THE CONGO, DEEP DOWN IN THE JUNGLE, I START BANGING PAPA'S BONGO"

And the chorus goes:

"KING OF THE BONGO, KING OF THE BONGO (BABY WHEN I COME HOME)"

And the best part is that it's this French Reggae guy.

And as far as Club Swank is concerned - there's something potent and poignant about cleaning up, sweeping up and listening to Billie Holiday. She always sounds like she's singing just for you, for some private shame, private pain. End of the night, cigarettes jabbed out into ashtrays, lingering smoke, dim lights, broken promises, hard luck, last slug of your drink, humid night, dry mouth, sweaty palms, blurred vision, two time losers, loud drunks, full garbage cans, tired muscles, insomniac perceptions....car keys....last moments....

....and that's just when she singing, 'Sunny Side Of The Street'. You don't even want to follow the trail of my thoughts during, 'Good Morning Heartache' or 'Strange Fruit'. But I suppose Billie can be a little intense when you're trying to keep people happy and buying drinks - not sad and getting wasted.

It was fun the other night when Christian put in a burned CD of the U2 concert he and Peni went to last month. Good CD, sounded like a great concert to get to see. And good music to clean up/work to.

- - - - - -

I feel so busy. Still not an expert at juggling my two jobs. This week I did pretty well. Fairy Tales yesterday and today. Club Swank tomorrow through Friday. Off Saturday. Fairy Tales on Sunday. Next week is when it's going to start to get hairy because I've gotta throw Sons Of The Revolution into the mix - which reminds me, I need to pick up my script tomorrow. And tomorrow I'm finally going to talk with Matt about Rollins. And I've already asked for the dates of my Mad Cow audition and Rep Callback off. But I like being busy. In fact, I need to wrap this up and head out to Target soon.

Cooler Heads Will Prevail

I should already be in the shower...oh my stars and garters, it's later than I thought. So much for a blogging tangent that I've been thinking about atacking for awhile. Another day, another post.

Don't Get Lost In Heaven

I feel like I've beaten - Deadwood-style.

Late late night at Club Swank (their grand opening). That's the busiest it's ever been. I was running around like a spastic. But at the end of the night, the tips ruled and I was more than a little drunk...got home around four this morning.

I think the thing that I like about the job is - when it's busy and you're basically chasing after this or that crisis (or, if you're lucky, heading them off at the pass) - everything just kind of falls away - I'm not Josh, not a series of problems and bullshit and a thousand minor fuck ups - I don't know, you're just so consumed with doing what you've got to do - I can't think, can't worry, can't do anything but move move move - like a fucking shark. Not to equate working in a bar with being zen on the mountaintop or anything like that - but you do really have to be in The Present - no brooding, no repenting. Move move move. Reminds me of Joseph Conrad quote - something like, "I don't like work - no man does - but I like what is in the work - the chance to find youself."

The absolute, final farewell performance of Horror Over Drink went great. Great audience. Gina and Geoff were able to come down to see it. The time putting on that mask. Our show was the 'venue winner' of this Five From The Fringe event - we had a ton of people come and check it out. So, we should have a little money coming to us from this, so, that's cool. And I got to throw in a line that I really wanted to say, "So what? Sew buttons!!" It seems like something my Pinhead would say. The funny thing is, I wanted to tell Mike to say, 'So what?' during our arguement - but I forget - and for whatever reason, he ended up saying it anyway - it was like being a sniper in a movie, this little voice in my head was screaming - 'Take The Shot! Take The Shot!'

After the show, John had a bottle of Dom Perignon for us - which was nice. But it was a little embarassing because all the people from Obsenity were back there getting ready for their show and the backstage area already felt like their space. And I just wanted water, I was hot as hell. But it was funny, John buying that, to celebrate our run.

So, Gina and Geoff and their friend Vance and myself stuck around to watch Obsenity. Their performance Friday was better than when I saw it at Fringe. Afterward, we all went to The Peacock Room - hung out. It was good to see Gina and Geoff - it had been forever.

Also, I got a call from Chad Lewis Friday --- I've been cast in Sons Of The Revolution. I'm really excited. I'm been really impressed with everything I've seen Chad direct - so to get to be on the inside of that is really amazing. And it's also very...I don't know...very cool to get to be one of the people that brings David and Steve's baby to life.

Things seem to be just dashing along, don't they?....

Well, I need to shower, figure out what I'm going to do today, and go do it. My eyes are killing me. They're so dry - probably from wearing my contacts for so long yesterday.

I feel fabulous. Content. Like all my bullshit is...pushed...a smidge further away today.

{smirks}

5,6,7,8....

This morning starts an insane 48 hours of Fairy Tales-Club Swank-Fairy Tales again-oh-hello-Club Swank....then I'm off Friday for a little Horror Over Drinks....then back into the fray with Fairy Tales-Club Swank on Saturday....get me to Sunday.

What's The Frequency, Joseph?

Keep the plates spinning - the fine, fine china.

Had an audition for SOTR Sunday - not my finest hour - and somehow I knew it wouldn't be. I don't think that it was horrible - I just felt bland as white walls during my scenes. And my monologue - which I love - I never felt the flow of it - I heard myself slipping into this sing-song-y cadence, this unnatural rhythm - fuckfuckfuck - I could hear it and I don't know if it was nerves because of Chad Lewis or because I wanted to kick ass in front of David and Steve - if I wanted to seem...legit somehow...I don't know exactly what I mean...well, I sort of do...but the thoughts connected to it are too complex....wheels within wheels...layers...anyway, I don't feel like I disgraced myself or anything. I just don't really know how to take that short amount of time at an audition and milk it and wring it for all it's worth -- I don't have any fireworks for that shit.

Man, I miss Todd. I was looking for somebody to hang out with yesterday - just get some food and shoot the shit. And I was scrolling through my cell and something...I don't even know what...kept me from calling any of the numbers in it. All those names and they just looked like locked doors. Dim. Barred. And I was just overwhelmed with missing Todd. The Archetype Of Male Friendship, you know. Maybe missing him was just an extention of missing all my old friends. Not that I couldn't have used some Todd time last night: Sarah was at rehearsal. Jeff, on vacation. So many people getting home from hard Mondays at work...people don't like The Drop In as much as I do...

Yesterday, I just really wanted...I don't know...a buddy, you know.

1) What's the most vicious thing you've ever said to someone?

I'm more of vicious thinker than a vicious sayer...the words are always more watered down, even if they seem pretty bad.

2) You HAVE TO get a tattoo on your face. What will it be?

The Red Queen. The Mad Hatter. The Queen Of Hearts. The White Rabbit. That sort of thing.

3) Utopia or Dystopia?

Of course, I'm going to say dystopia - that way I can be pleasantly surprised if we get our shit together.

4) What's your favorite Myth? (Ancient or Modern, your choice)

The Minotaur. Or maybe Icarus. Or the Norse Ragnarok.

5) Rub the lamp, see the genie, get your three wishes. (You can even wish you never got that tattoo, Lord, what were you thinking when you did that.)

Bliss on tap. The ability to 'push' people to do what I want them to do. And 1 million perfect ideas for novels, plays, poems, songs, etc.

6) Would you rather see The Future or travel to The Past?

See The Future. Cassandra, now there's a Myth that ends well....

7) Order or Chaos?

Order. Clean lines, that's me. Winston Smith here I come...

8) What's the worst Monster you can think of?

Something to scare Marcie, Steve, and myself: A monkey-with-cymbals that's also a marionette...and it's dressed like a clown....clown-white smeared on that monky face.....ghoulish strings making the cymbals clang together...

9) Do you pray?

Sort of. To a pseudo-amalgamation of my own design, a Buddha/Ka/Odin/Great Wheel/Grandfather Ancestor/ Cthulu/Whore Of Fate/Coyote/The Force kind of a thing.

10) You are given the ability to fold reality in such a way that you can change any one Law of Science, give Darwin a black eye, knock Steven Hawking out of his wheelchair, pinch Newton on the ass - what would you change if you could fold physics and make origami of all the Givens...?

I'd fold things in such a way that occasionally people would end up with superpowers....


11) What's the next book you're going to read?

The Warrior-Prophet by R. Scott Bakker.

12) What are your last words, Rosebud?

Let's see how this plays out.

13) What would you name your children, male or female? Or the young clones of yourself that you'd raise like your own children?

A son: Iggy. Titus.
A daughter: Scherezade or Sansa or Zoe.

14) You're not a Werewolf, you're a Were...?

...clown. Could there be a more loathsome creature than a Wereclown?

15) When was the last time you went swimming?

I can't even remember, damn.