9th of Av

The last couple of weeks has been an annual time of mourning marking the siege of the walls of Jerusalem by the Romans and then the destruction of the first (Damn Nebuchadnezzar!) and second (Damn Romans!) temples that occurred both, creepily, on the 9th of Av, 650 odd years apart.

When Jewish men mourn, they are not to shave or get a hair cut. So like Passover was a holiday for bakers, this season is a holiday for barbers. People have been looking mighty scruffy around here lately.

Today is the 9th of Av, so many people are fasting. At the Wailing Wall there will be a huge crowd of people mourning its destruction and praying for Temple Version 3.0 to be built. For those of you that are religiously inclined, check out the book of Lamentations which is the poems of Jeremiah, bemoaning the destruction of the first temple. This is what they will be reading at the synagogues and at the Wailing Wall today. Some of the text is the source of some of the most beautiful music I have ever sung.

I would like to go down to see what is happening, but I can image that without food, the crowd will be be very, very cranky.

Come tomorrow morning, bolstered by a rejuvenating breakfast, wives around the country will be sending their hubbies to the bathroom with electric razor hand.

The university is half closed, which means I had to do an epic walk around the campus to get to the one gate that was open this morning. I really despise all of these fences. I like the idea of Universities not having walls and students streaming in from all directions for higher education, but I can see the point here. Yesterday was the seventh anniversary of the bombing at the other Hebrew University Campus across the city that killed nine and injured 80 students.

Of course the non-religious grad students are hard at work today- which means all but two students, Itzik and the boss are here with their heads in the fume hoods. Sadly, there will be no glee-dah runs since all the restaurants will be closed.

Gleedah Scrooge

Here is a very important word to know: gleedah. Say it with me now: gleedah.
It means ice cream. More specifically "Shtai Gleedot" means two ice creams which you can get from the McDonalds for 6 shekels.

I love ice cream and could eat it daily, but lately James has been saying no to my ice cream urges and been quoting euphemisms like "A shekel saved is a shekel earned" and other nonsense that usually comes from my lips. But I make exceptions in my frugal nature for important things. Like ice cream in thirty degree heat.

When anyone is more frugal than me, you know they are seriously cheap. I am now calling James the Gleedah Scrooge.

But this is besides the point of this post, which is to tell you a funny story that can go amongst the ranks of "Gandaf the deer" pulling Santa's sleigh and Martin Luther King leading a protestant revolution three hundred years before he was born.

I was describing my lamentable gleedah situation to a labmate today. But after they gave me a bit of a blank stare, I asked them if they knew what a scrooge was.

"Yes, Yes," they said. "Scrooge, is like Scrooge McDuck."

Well sort of, but less ducky.

Fitting the Part

Recently, I got a call out of the blue from my old roommate Captain Kirk. He wanted to see how things were panning out for me in Jerusalem. I told him things were great and we had a little chat. A few days later I got another call from him and we were invited to the neighbours' house for shabbas dinner. These are the same folks hat had invited me in my first few weeks in J-town. James and I happily agreed.

But now James could no longer put off a task that he had been avoiding for months. James had to buy a kippah. At the shook there are a couple of Judaica sellers with their booths full of menorahs, silver cups, double handled mugs, rams' horns, Star of David key chains and a whole table full of kippas.

Of course, being The Chicken, he picked out a kippa with blue on it. (I vetoed any kippa that had a sports team logo knitted into it. As well The Chicken wisely avoided black ones- they are for the hardcore people.)

James' suit pants are black and his dress shirt white, so combined with the kippa, my hubby looked like seriously Kosher Chicken as we headed out for dinner. This made me giggle considering the man practices religion like he irons shirts: only on special occasions and only under wifely duress. If you are wondering what I was wearing it was modest. Long skirt. White T-shirt. Flat shoes. If I was really trying to play Haredi dress-up, I would have had long sleeves, nylons and have covered my hair with a scarf since I am married.

We had a lovely dinner and again, I got to ask lots of questions about the religious communities since the family is what is commonly called "black". This is not a reference to their skin colour but rather the black suits the men wear amongst the more religious communities. We laughed when Taniel told of us a sect of Jews who jump out of vans on red lights and dance around until the light turns green. Likewise, they got a kick of our description of what Happy-Clappy means.

I also learnt that some of my secular friends may have it slightly wrong. They often complain that religious men only study in the Yeshivas (torah school for life), the women start poppin' out kids in their teens, neither work and basically the families suckle off of the government teat. This family tells me the government stipend is only 300 shekels per month (100CAD) and that many "black" families work at least part time, many under the table. In this family, the man studies at the Yeshiva in the morning and works as a computer programmer in the afternoon. The wife teaches women's studies at a women's religious school a few mornings a week and otherwise takes care of her two kids with another on the way. Like me, they didn't understand how the hardest of the Hard-Cores, who really don't work at all, survive on such a pittance. There must be some charity going on or something.

Since cabs are hard to find on Shabbat, we had a long walk home in the cool evening. James de-kipped, I de-skirted and we both crawled into bed. Today woke up and managed to spend the day doing absolutely nothing. I have to say, this shabbat thing is pretty nice.

Back in Business

After 78 experiments, I may finally have a handle on this reaction from hell that has been plaguing me for nearly six months. Last week after going out for shwarma with the labmates for lunch my reaction worked for the first time since March. Then a few more bumps in the road this week and then I got two more to work.

The lessons:

1) Some common solvents are surprisingly reactive at several hundred degrees.
2) Obsessive cleanliness is next to Godliness.
3) Thiols stink.
4) Shawarma makes everything better. Especially with lots of hot sauce.

Ethiopian Church

Last Friday after completely botching a planned trip to a nearby town, the Chicken and I ventured into an unexplored neighborhood as a second choice. With my new walking tour guide book in hand, we visited a famous Rabbi's house, saw my first Yeshiva (Torah school), saw where Ben Yehuda brought Hebrew back from being a dead language, and other key sites. But the best part was the church we came across behind a wall with narrow green painted doors open to our curious eyes. To get into the courtyard we had to literally step through the threshold, up and over the door step.

For the first time ever, I stepped foot in a Ethiopian Church. And by stepping foot, I mean with my bare feet since shoes were not allowed. Some worshipers forwent the going inside and just came to the doors and prayed and kissed the footstep.

The church is completely round, but inside at the centre was a square curtained room with an altar inside. FYI. Nothing ticks me off more than chatty people or camera clicking people in a church when people are praying. I shot these pics when no one was around.

If you have ever thought that some old catholic churches tend towards tacky, they have nothing on the Ethiopians. Bright pink walls, Mediterranean blue domed ceiling, heavy mismatched curtains, rich rugs and lively paintings of saints. I imagine with decor like that, I can only imagine that services must be joyous.

I was a big fan of the paintings for two reasons: The Madonna and child were a realistic skin colour. After a few months here with people oohing and ahhing over my exotic look, I can let you in on a secret: fat chance Jesus was blonde. Although I have to say, the baby Jesus in this painting looks like he is sprouting a five o'clock shadow. Even for middle easterners who can grow the most spectacular facial hair, beards in infancy might be pushing it.

My favorite feature was the paintings of the Saints. They didn't seem to kill their beasts, instead they tamed their lions and serpents and rode them through the desert like trusty companions. I like the idea of taking a hold of your failings by the mane and riding off into the sunset. It seems so much more possible than getting rid of your faults all together.

Mystery Fruit 10: The Sabras

Israelis can count themselves amongst an elite group of edible nationalities containing the Kiwis (New Zealanders) and the Krauts (Germans) and possibly the Dutch if you count Dutchie doughnuts. Israelis call themselves Sabras which is a type of edible cactus (the prickly pear cactus to us anglos) that we have seen growing on the side of the road in abundance.

Itzik tells me as a child he and his siblings would risk life and limb collecting the fruit with the traditional weapons: a long stick with a tin can on the end and a bucket of water to help the thorns fall off. He said that even so, you often got thorns in your lips that would sting for days. We chose the less dangerous route and went armed to the market with a hand full of change and bought some de-torned specimens.

Indeed it is true that Israelis are like Sabras. They are thorny on the outside, but their insides are soft and sweet. Unfortunately, the insides also have seeds and you have to eat the seeds with the flesh. I guess no fruit or Israeli is perfect, even on the inside.

Both James and I agreed that there was something in the smell and the flavour that was vaguely pumpkin like, although when Itzik gave me one last week and I mentioned so, he looked at me like I was crazy.

The Sabras if a fun an exotic fruit to have while I am here, but it lacks the ka-pow flavour to make it a fruit I will really miss when I leave.

Bad English Choice

I was reluctant to buy this laundry detergent but The Chicken insisted.

Good thing I am not Dr. Lev

I know it has been a while since I complained about work, but you should not mistake my silence for success. In fact, I am working on the same irreproducible reaction as I was four months ago. I have recently tabulated all of my results trying to reproduce this reaction over the last few months. Every line, and there are more than sixty, represents a four to five hour process of setting up, running and cleaning up a reaction (let alone the electron microscope time to figure out what I made). The blue ones are the six times it actually worked. It has been frustrating to say the least.

But I keep laughing and smiling, because what else am I going to do, and at least this time when nothing is working I know I don't have to worry about finishing my PhD. And, heck, if my reaction is this persnickety, I know that no one else in the world is working on it. So I keep trudging away and every few days I go over my data and have a new theory to test.

Since morale is low (but not an all time low- that dubious distinction still belongs to several years of my PhD), I asked, and the boss has agreed to let me do some side experiments including scraping the very last of my cool particles out of the vial for some AFM measurements with my labmate Eyal, who is our local AFM guru. He wanted me to describe the particles we were going to measure and when I did he said "Wow, that's cool. You really need to reproduce them."

I'm working on that. Thanks Captain Obvious.

I have run out of a reagent and am waiting for it to come in from Aldrich. In order to keep doing experiments I went on a chemical hunt-and-gather for it today. A vial of my chemical could be found in Dr. Lev's lab according to the outdated departmental chemical list I was using as my only guide. I had mentioned to The Boss in mini-meeting that I may be trying to borrow a chemical from Dr. Lev and The Boss said that "this might be difficult". I got ready to charm what I thought was going to be a curmudgeonly professor, trotted down to the right building and found someone sitting at their desk and asked:

"Ani mehapeset et hamabadah shel Doctor Lev. Aifo Zeh?" (I am looking for the lab of Dr. Lev. Where is it?)
"Aizeh Dr. Lev? "(Which Dr. Lev?) she replied.
"Yesh harbe Dr. Lev? Ani mehapeset et Professor Lev." (There are many Dr. Levs? I am looking for Professor Lev.)
"Hoo blahblah." (He... something I didn't understand) she said.
"Mah zeh blahbalh?" (What is this word?) I queried, with my best confused foreigner face.
She paused for a moment, looking for the right English word and then bluntly said, "He died."

I made a hasty retreat with a slightly red face, and as I was heading back to the lab all I could think was, "Jeez, no wonder the boss said it would be 'difficult'!"
However, I did a little internet searching it turns out Professor Lev of the Physics Department died a few years ago, but Professor Lev of the Chemistry Department is alive and doing sol-gel chemistry in a new building. And indeed the boss was implying something about the man being grumpy or possibly frequently absent when he said it would be difficult. I finally found Dr. Lev's lab and borrowed the chemical. His student got a kick out of my story.

So no matter how bad my chemistry or my day is, it is not as bad as Dr. Lev's, formerly of the physics department.

Mystery Fruit #9: The Lychee

The other week, I let James sleep in and I ventured to the shook alone. I knew what these fruits were only because the booth owner was yelling out "Lychee!, Lychee!" at a superhuman volume. An iconic shook salesman, imagine a balding, middle aged man whose hands and once-white T-shirt are always shamelessly and brightly stained with whatever fruit is in season.

When I asked for some lychee, he started to energetically fill a bag and I cried "Hetzi, Hetzi!, Yesh rak Ani" (Half! Half! There's only me.) It is always best to stretch the truth a bit when haggling.

Shook dudes reply? "Give me one month, I solve this problem."

I laughed and declined his matchmaking services, and bought the lychee.

James was skeptical of the lychee when I got home. They have a leathery and bumpy red outer shell that is easily peeled off the pearly white flesh inside. You can see the big black pit beneath that takes up most of the volume of the fruit. James is correct, the fruit to seed volume ratio is disappointingly low. For a fruit the size of an apricot, you only get the flesh of a cherry or two. Plus all that annoying peeling. The lychee is for those who don't mind delayed gratification.

But on a hot lazy Friday afternoon, I didn't mind. I happily peeled and slurped away at the bag of sweet leche all afternoon while reading the news online and leaving sticky fingerprints on my keyboard.

Evening Concerts

Every evening our apartment building is a concert. Since the heat started we always have the french doors wide open that face out into the courtyard. Music is always wafting though those french doors like our own personal recital.

As evening descends, it is extremely pleasant to listen to Raffi and his son play violin duets from one of the corner apartments. Later in the evening, often the jazz piano starts from across the way or possibly the classical piano. Even the soft tooting of our beginner flautist make the building seem cultured. Once I even heard an opera singer practicing. If I have to trade spring peepers and calling loons for anything, this isn't too shabby.

The people in our building are a talented bunch, and considering how clearly I can hear them across the courtyard, every-time I make one of my frequent mistakes on the piano, I have to cringe. Ahh well, they should just be glad that I don't play the trumpet anymore.

Han-oo-ee-ot חנויות

Let me tell you about one of the great awsomesses of living in the "Old world": it is all the little stores or "han-oo-ee-ot" in Hebrew. They are the environmentalist's/too-poor-to-own-a-car-ist's dream.

In Edmonton, I could not go to the hardware store for the five months of the year where ice and snow kept me off my bicycle. Many a small repairs were left for months because buying the right sized nut was going to be a multi hour journey or 25$ worth of cab rides. The hardware store was a giant Home Depot about 5 km away with a bus route that ran only once an hour, on weekdays, and only during the full moon. Edmonton is a city for drivers and it was one of the few things that I truly disliked about my lovely Edmonton.

In Jerusalem, the mom and pop store reigns supreme. All shopping seems like boutique shopping. I have described the fabric stores before, and finally took a couple of pics-from the hip this morning. (FYI, I finally happened across a notions store and the source of needles and thread along with every possible kind of button and ribbon). But all the stores are like this. Housewares, hardware, socks and bras, toys, hats, electronics, each have their own little enclaves, and yes, there are entire stores dedicated to kippas.

Because these stores are small there are many dotting the city. Tiny, crowded and jumbled, these stores are best described by the phrase "Everything, there is. Selection, there is not." You will find the right kind of screwdriver there, and perhaps a half decent one to boot, but you won't find it in three different brand names in six different colours. For my purposes, these stores are great. I can access them in my neighbourhood year round, the prices are usually pretty fair, and I never feel like I am making journey worthy of an epic poem for a O-ring for a leaky U-trap.

I bought James' b-day present, a radio, at an electronics ha-noot that had no more than 20 square feet of open floor space. As I was looking at the radios, the lady asked me what I was looking for and I said "Radio katan" (small radio) "Rak radio simplisti" (only a simple radio). She shooed me away from the CD/tape/radio ones on display and pulled out the perfect specimen for our kitchen. She asked such a very reasonable price that I only haggled out of respect for the art. With simple questions and broken Hebrew from me, she wanted to know how long I was in J-town for, what I was studying at the university, where I was from, if I was studying Hebrew at an ulpan.... All very friendly. Service! Who knew such a thing still existed!

All hail the hanoiot!

Good lord, how did I become Thirty?

Today I have officially finished my third decade. And because this is a big year, I am entitled to reminisce. I was thinking about my state of mind with I finished my first and second decades and how they differ from this one.

At ten, lets see, that would be grade five. I was all head in the clouds about most things and was happy with the challenges of learning long division and seeing how many boys I could beat at cross country running. The biggest worry in my life was my sister who taunted me by asking if I was homosexual or heterosexual ("I live at home," I used to answer plaintively and then have to run to mom when the response was evil older sister giggles.) Little did I know that far worse tortures were to come: my teen years.

When I hit twenty, I was so happy and relieved that a was no longer a teenager. That ever present cloud of self doubt and loathing was lifting slowly in the sunshine that is University and all the self reliance that goes with it. All doors were open. I could do anything if I wanted to.

At thirty, I look back and think, wow, those twenties were a crazy ride. And where am I spending my thirtieth birthday? Didn't see that one coming! What a crazy adventure I am on! But of course uncertainty is always scary and I admit to some jealousy of old friends who have jobs and houses and the such. There is the looming possible future of unemployment or, possibly worse, lame-employment. Where will we settle down? Please god don't let me end up in New Jersey.

I would be lying to you and myself if I didn't mention that my biological clock is ticking. It is ticking so loudly that I think at any moment my uterus could start gonging out the tune of Westminster Quarters like a clock tower. And the Israelis don't help. It seem like everywoman, including the female cats, are pregnant and/or herding around a litter of progeny. At my age, seeing so many protruding female bellies is a little disconcerting.

With all of this pressure, I have to remind myself to "Revel in the selfishness of academic research while you can! Enjoy your young marriage! Explore Israel! Screw the house, two cars and the dog! All in good time! This is far more interesting!"

With that little self pep talk, I am going to go to bed to get some rest to prepare for the new adventures that thirty-plus-one-day will bring.

Par-TAY time!

At 4pm yesterday, James hauled the BBQ down four flights of stairs and out to the nearby park to get ready for our Canada Day Party. I filled the waterballons and lugged the bucket of missiles out to the park. We had all of the necessary supplies in grocery bags and were rearing to go. At 4:15, a guy who runs the park pointed out that our BBQ was next to a large sign that had a picture of a flame with a big red bar across it (See pic of James at the grill).

Ooops. So we moved the BBQ to the sidewalk and set up everything else next to the see saw and slide. Of course, Costi and Danny had to try out the kiddie equipment. A grown man going down a slide never ceases to make me giggle. Assi and James let out their inner cave men and manned the fire and roasted the hotdogs to Neanderthal perfection. Unfortunately, my plan for s'mores was stopped by disturbingly well aimed water balloon by Ehud which landed directly in the last coals of the grill. Even Ehud was amazed by his own aim; he was doubled over in laughter, but I got the last laugh because I followed up with a purple ballon that gracefully lobbed though the air and broke in a spray of water at his feet.


Of course we had way more food than we needed. True to form, leftovers from a Israeli pot luck involve a metric tonne of hummus, a half a watermelon, delicious pastries that should be on the banned addictive substances list and about ten bottles of juice and pop.

For my birthday next week, my labmates presented me with an awesome two volume book of walking tours in Jerusalem. I am really stoked about this one. Our first adventure is planned for tomorrow morning.

For the past two weeks I have been thinking up some seriously diabolical questions for the Canada Day Quiz. I have posted them to see if you can beat the Israelis. The teams did not bad, but after they listed Alannis Morisette, Celine Dion, Bon Jovi and Pet Shop Boys on the list of Canadian musicians, I feel it is now my responsibility to include musical as well as chemical mentoring into part of my lab duties. Here are the questions with the teams' answers for your amusement at their expense:

1) Hebrew University is dotted with buildings built from money donated from the Bronfman family of Montreal. How did they make their money?
Team A: Alcohol Team B: Real Estate

2) About six weeks ago, Governor General Michaelle Jean visited a Northern Canadian town. She made international headlines for something she did there. What was it?
Team A: Eating a seal heart Team B: (uh, I can't remember what they said)

3) Name as many Prime Ministers that you can. Bonus points for knowing who the current one, the first one and extra bonus point for spelling the fist PM's name right.
Team A: Bob, George, Mike, Nick and MacKenzie King Team B: Stephen Harper

4) Name a city on Vancouver Island.
Team A: Vancouver City Team B: Vancouver City

5) Name as many provinces and territories that you can.
One team got six and the other got five

6) What is a toque? Hint: it is an article of clothing
Team A: Scarf and Mitts Team B: a traditional dress

7) This is related to Food: What is a double double?
Team A: Two Hotdogs Team B: (uh, I can't remember what they said)

8) What are loonies and twonies?
Team A: Cartoons Team B: (uh, I can't remember what they said)

9) Which of these is not city in Canada?
Medicine Hat, Lone Buck, Yellowknife, Whitehorse, Moose Jaw, Salmon Arm
Team A: Medicine Hat Team B: Yellowknife

10) What do the two red bands on the flag signify?
Team A: French and English Team B: The two coasts

11) MacKenzie King was Prime Minister five times from 1921-1948 and was the longest serving PM in the Commonwealth. Like many politicians he talked to people he trusted for personal reassurance. This included his mother and his dog named Pat. What was particularly weird about this situation?
Team A and B: They were dead

12) What is the national icon and is pictured on the 5 cent coin?
Team A: Moose Team B: a Duck

13) If Americans are called Yankees, English are called Brits, Israelis are called Sabraim, what are Canadians called?
Team A: Not Americans Team B: Polar Bears

14) What does it mean when a soldier wears a blue beret?
Team A: UN Team B: UN

15) A J-stroke is a maneuver belonging to what popular sport.
Racquetball, Hockey, Canoeing, Lacrosse, or Curling.
Team A: Hockey Team B: Canoeing

16) What is the Capital city of Canada?
Team A: Ottawa Team B: Ottawa

17) Name as many Canadian singers or bands that you can.
Team A: Celine Dion, Alanis Morisette, PetShop Boys Team B: Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, Nelly Furtado and Bon Jovi.

18) If you drove the whole length of the Trans-Canada Highway straight from Coast to Coast, with good weather conditions and obeying the speed limit, how many hours of driving is necessary?
Team A: 72 hrs Team B: 40 hrs

Canada Day

Although we are a day late, James and I are hosting a Canada Day/ James Birthday/ Janet's Birthday party for us and about 15 Israelis this afternoon. It is partially pot luck with James and I serving "tube steaks" and s'mores.

Poor James. He spent his birthday evening last night buying groceries for the party. The only consolation was going for pizza in the German Colony for dinner. Since the place is kosher, there was no meat other than tuna on the menu. James ordered a tasty pizza-pie with pineapple, mushroom and eggplanet. Yep, that is right. It said eggplanet on the menu.

As I was waiting for James to order at the counter, I shamelessly people watched. I counted 18 children under the age of ten in this crowded little pizza joint. Not to mention the daytime high was 37 yesterday so it was also wicked hot. There wasn't one scream, cry, whine or fight. It occurred to me that not only do Israelis excel at having children, they must be good at raising them too.

Vision

Here are some curious aspects about Israel:

1) Non religious funerals and burials have only been legal for about ten years and have only been offered in the last few.
2) A bill was tabled in the Knesset this month to allow secular marriages. It was voted down after the first reading. (This one really bothers me for some reason, and I had a religious wedding myself!)
3) In the last few Saturdays in Jerusalem, there have been nasty protests involving rocks, dirty diapers and water cannons. The issue: whether a parking lot near the old city can be open on Shabbat.

It appears to me that Israel is a deeply divided country especially amongst the Jewish majority within. There is an ongoing debate between moral responsibility, religious values and pragmatism that is polarizing the Jewish citizens into separate camps that seem to not be able to find middle ground. One on the things I have taken for granted is the separation of church and state as being something desirable. But here, the exact role of religion in politics has yet to be decided.

Fundamentally, the vision of what Israel should be is very diverse amongst its people. Should this be a religious Jewish state? Or should this be a western style democracy protecting all of the minorities? Is Israel more morally responsible for the people they occupy, or to keeping its citizens safe? Should government be religious? Secular? By becoming more secular would Israel just be giving in to the pressures of America? Why should Israel aim to be secular when many of the countries around it don't even pretend? And probably most importantly: did God give us this land or the UN?

I brought up these issues of secular marriage and funerals and parting lots because they matter to people. These issues get argued over and over seemingly without resolution because, silly as they seem, they define the vision and direction of the nation.

Especially in Jerusalem, the population is growing more and more black-hat-wearing due to increased birth rates and immigration. The battle between secular and religious populations is becoming more and more heated.

So when you hear about conflict between soldiers who need body guards from the settlers, or Haredi black-hats throwing diapers and rocks at police over a parking lot being open on Shabbat, the issue isn't the parking lot or that specific group of houses in the desert. The conflict results from lack of a overriding vision of what Israel should be. These minor issues, because they represent the bigger picture of religious vs secular and super-zionism vs pragmatism, are not only fought with media friendly violence, but with political economic and even reproductive enthusiasm.

I had this whole second half to this verbose post relating these ideas to Canada, but The Chicken poo-pooed it. He says people can draw their own conclusions. In a way, I agree. At the same time, his poo-pooing is full of poo, because I don't trust people to think like me and we all know I have never been normal. What is the point of a blog if I can't draw conclusions and ask people to read them? My big point was this: Canada looks completely put- together and refined compared to this pot of political craziness, but there are still issues in Canada's past, present and future that will continually shape what "Canada" is. In some ways we are no different than Israelis, just with less diaper throwing.

Happy Canada Day everyone.