Journey to the East

This is a brief update. I returned from my holiday on the Yangtze River this morning VERY early (like 6 AM early) and as such, don’t have it in me to really recap the trip at the moment. It’s been a great several days, and (rest-assured) there will be plenty to come about the last week and a half or so. Stay tuned over the next few days for reflections on Chongqing, Chengdu and the legendary 3 Gorges. For now, I’m going to rest up and get ready for a full week of teaching!

A Happy Mid-Autumn Festival to all of you! In China, like everywhere else I guess, there’s always a special kind of air you feel on holidays. Today there was an almost tangible sense of the holiday atmosphere in Ji’nan. Spirits seemed to run high all over the town, buoyed by incredibly blue skies and beautiful sunshine. The weather was too perfect today, so much so that I felt guilty staying inside (indeed, many of my Chinese friends told me when I talked to them today that they took this opportunity to get out and go to the zoo or to the park). And so, of course, I went out to seek what I could of the holiday.

And what does one do as an American on this traditional Chinese autumnal festival? You import your own American autumnal traditions, of course: We played football. Yep, we walked across the street to the large open parking lot in front of Hero Mountain and threw the football, which made for an incredible and pleasant September afternoon. I found it somehow appropriate that on this holiday, which is not unlike Thanksgiving Day in its sentiment, we marked the day the way that many Americans do on Thanksgiving at home: tossing around the pigskin.

All around the park, people were out doing the same as we were: enjoying a beautiful day. On the way to throw the ball, we passed various clusters of activity. Amateur opera troops had set up shop and were drawing crowds with their performances. Groups of people with colored scarves or flags were waving them around as they did line dancing to blaring Chinese Pop tunes. Kite-fliers were out in abundance. The roller-skating rink in the middle of the park was PACKED with skaters. People were flocking up the mountain, making an effort to get to the summit and gaze out. Something was going on almost EVERYWHERE today.

As afternoon began to fade in to evening, we all headed for  a favorite dumpling restaurant for a big holiday dinner. We weren’t the only ones with this idea, though. The restaurant was crowded and buzzing. Like us, many of the patrons were out enjoying a lively holiday meal. Again, in places so boisterous it’s hard not feel like the excitement of the celebration, or the “holiday spirit” if you will, is something you could literally feel or take hold of. At times like these I always feel like I’m (tangentially or not) sharing in some larger part of the Chinese experience. It’s a good feeling, like I’m very connected to the place where I am, and I’m always grateful for moments like these.

On the way home from dinner tonight, I caught a glimpse of the moon. As Mid-Autumn Festival is centered around the moon, moon-gazing is one of the many past-times you’re supposed to enjoy on this day (An aside: My roommate, Chris, told me that at his University Chinese class they were asked share– in Chinese of course– what folklore existed about the moon respective home countries. Lacking a better response, he apparently talked about werewolves, much to the amusement of his teacher. Later, when asked to explain how Americans feel when they look at the moon, Chris apparently responded– after a moment of trying to think of something to say– “Because we’ve sent a man up there, we look at the moon and feel very proud,” which apparently prompted the teacher to laugh and confirm that there was an American flag planted somewhere up there). So, of course I took a moment to take a good look. The moon tonight (fittingly) was round, bright and beautiful as it sat up above the top of Hero Mountain. The skies which had been so clear and blue during the day had deepened into an inky navy blue dotted with stars. Of course, wrapped up in the spirit of the day and also in a bit of nostalgia, I felt like this was the perfect end to the day.

Tomorrow we’ll go back to work and before too long will come my much awaited trip to the Three Gorges. All of this means that I’ll probably be M.I.A. for a while, but stick around as updates will surely come upon my return. Until next time!

So, today is Mid-Autumn Festival. Plans for later aren’t exactly  clear yet, but I think that some friends and I will get together to have dinner, eat mooncakes and possibly climb Hero Mountain. The story of Mid-Autumn Festival is best summarized on Wikipedia, and I won’t try to do it justice since all of the details of the myth are pretty intricate. Basically, it involves a beautiful woman living on a palace on the moon with a magical rabbit who makes her immortality pills as she awaits the arrival of her lover. Pretty nuts, right? In any case… in the spirit of the holiday, I thought I’d post some pictures of the main attraction of the Mid-Autumn Festival: Mooncakes.

Today, rain swept into Ji’nan. With it came an awakening: cold weather will soon be here. The drizzle was nothing terribly new (much of late July and August here were marked by overcast skies and buckets of rain). Unlike the showers of summer– which only made the air steamy, and the city feel like a greenhouse– the rain brought a chill with it. Suddenly, temperatures dropped into the low 60s and I found myself wearing long pants and a sweatshirt.

Is this the end of the warm weather I’ve been living with since nearly May? Last year, it was almost November before the seasons really turned. In this sense, there really wasn’t a long Autumn and vaguely warm weather lingered on until nearly Halloween. For the temperature to drop so dramatically now seems premature. To be sure, it would be nice to get away from the searing heat that has characterized this city over the past several months BUT, I can’t say that I’m looking forward to the full plunge back into winter (the last one here was perhaps the longest and coldest of my life). Nonetheless, as previously noted, Ji’nan is beginning to take note of the change of seasons, and it won’t be long now before the warmer days are really over for good.

The end of this week marks the start of a nice little vacation for Chinese National Day. As I mentioned before, I’ll be headed with some friends to take a cruise down the Yangtze River’s Three Gorges area starting in Wuhan and ending in Chongqing. We’re also trying to work in a side-trip to Chengdu (and possibly to the panda reserve there). Stay tuned as plans get more specific. I’ll be sure to fill in the pre-trip itinerary soon.

Last week, in my highest-level class (6th year English speakers), I closed with an activity called “Open Questions.” Every student is given a blank square of paper on which they are able to write any question that they’d like me to answer, and we in turn have a class discussion about it. Among the may questions given to me last week, this one stood out:

Do you wish you could eat mooncakes with your family on Mid-Autumn Festival this year?

And so, it’s that time again… Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up next week. Last year at around this time, I wrote a little blurb about the festival, which is still online here. To briefly recap, Mid-Autumn Festival is much like Thanksgiving in America: the focus is on being together with loved ones and eating mooncakes.  Sounds like a pretty good deal, right?  Appropriately, mooncakes have been back on the shelves in grocery stores for a good few weeks, baijiu sales are on the rise, and people have begun to ask me the question that always seems to get asked around holidays over here: Are you planning on going home to celebrate with your family?

It’s at this point that I usually have to explain that since my family is in the U.S. (where the holiday is not really celebrated) that this would be virtually impossible. This usually elicits a response of something like “Oh, that’s too bad,” from whoever I happen to be talking to. It does, however, bring up a more interesting point: I’ve never really celebrated this holiday before. Last year, I was traveling in Xi’an and spent the day sightseeing, so any real “celebration” was more or less lost on me. I admit, the concept of the holiday seems really nice, as it’s an opportunity to be with those who are close to you, and appreciate them and their company. In that sense, Mid-Autumn Festival seems to be a holiday with fairly little pretense, which is also welcoming. In fact, the holiday seems to lend itself to a sort of wistfulness about family, loved ones, and home– perhaps best expressed by the legendary poet Li Bai in his poem “静业思” (Jing Ye Si), “Thinking in the Quiet Night,” which I wrote about a while ago here. With all the talk of togetherness and celebration, I can’t help but think that it would be a lot of fun to observe the day in some way, no matter how small.

As for my plans? This year, the festival falls during the course of a pretty hectic work week (another holiday, Chinese National Day, follows very soon afterwards and as the schools will be closed for that day, Aston is forced to reschedule classes, sometimes on weekdays). So, unlike last year, I’ll be in Ji’nan for the festival, which means that I may get an actual opportunity to celebrate. It’s my hope that, true to the spirit of the holiday, my friends and I can use it as an opportunity to get together and appreciate each other’s company, but as of yet plans have not been made.

Big plans are on the horizon, however. As I mentioned earlier, National Day (which falls on October 1) is a BIG vacation opportunity since everyone is given a week off from work. I’ll be no exception. With my classes canceled for National Day Weekend, I find myself with a good 9 or 10 days to go somewhere. My group is heading south and west on a cruise of the Yangtze River in an area commonly referred to as the “Three Gorges.” We’ll be starting from the city of Wuhan, and then floating down-river towards Chongqing and (hopefully) Chengdu. In total, this means about five days on a boat. It should end up being a really interesting adventure. I’ll be sure to post updates as plans develop. Until then… stay tuned.

Sometimes, living in a foreign country, one feels a bit disconnected from the rest of the world. This is especially the case when news media (print, radio, televised or otherwise) is delivered in a language you are still a relative beginner at– while my Chinese is, no doubt, much improved I still wouldn’t presume to understand lots of what I hear on the radio or see on TV. Similarly, the news reflects concerns of domestic importance. Any news of things that are important within the United States have to be gleaned from reading American papers online or watching rebroadcasts of US TV shows. In essence, it’s a little hard to keep up. Even in an age of instant communication and previously unthought of connectedness, it’s hard to get the exact slant on things which are happening in the US with any kind of accuracy or insightful perspective.

Truly international events, however, are a different story. Take, for instance, the FIFA World Cup. Despite not having a team in the field this year (China’s men’s team is notoriously bad; I have seen grown men spit on the ground and declare their matches unwatchable), China is totally obsessed with international football’s largest event. I am prone to think that events like this, because of the magnitude of their scale and the global nature of their context, are somewhat magical. Surely this is what those who make money off of this event want me to think. I agree that, in some senses, talking about the  pageantry and passion of the World Cup is hackneyed and trite. However, it’s hard not to feel that way given the way China has fascinated itself with this tournament.

The buildup for the event has been going on forever. As early as the start of May, we began to see signs of growing anticipation here in Ji’nan. Restaurants started working the cup into their advertisements. Pepsi issued an ad featuring the most notable players in the game (Didier Drogba, Lionel Messi, Frank Lampard, Fernando Torres) which was put on a HUGE billboard near Quancheng Square. Stores have begun to offer team gear (replica jerseys, t-shirts, polos, jackets, etc.; I intend to buy one of the (high quality) knockoff US jerseys that are being sold for very cheap at one of the soccer shops) and people in the streets have been wearing lots of soccer themed gear. McDonald’s– ever the barometer for important events– began to offer collectable World Cup glasses, “South African BBQ” flavored chicken wings, World Cup themed kids’ meal toys, and 24 hours of continuous cup coverage on the flatscreen TVs in every restaurant. From a commercial standpoint, this is a big deal in China.

From the cynical perspective, it would be easy to say that that’s really all this is to most Chinese people: a money-maker for people who can use the cup for advertising. Several of my roommate’s adult students have stated this opinion: this tournament is only really important to people who can use it to sell food, merchandise, or airtime. This seems, however, to undercut the sincerity with which people seem to follow the sport here. My roommate, Chris, recently purchased a replica jersey for the Spanish squad which has attracted lots of attention from people when worn in public. These folks know their stuff, and they are VERY enthusiastic about the tournament. Even though China does not have a stake in this year’s cup, they are all VERY excited to see the sport played on it’s highest level, and each interested person we meet seems to have one team or another which they are choosing to follow. Barbeque joints in the area are setting up bigscreen TVs and putting out tables outdoors to accomodate lots of viewers. Last night we watched the opening match of the cup between South Africa and Mexico at one of these local places, and the excitement there was palpable. There was a sizable crowd, all seated pretty close to the TV. They watched intently. They cheered for goals. The groaned for botched plays. They were absolutely into the match. To say that this event only really matters from a financial point of view just seems to completely miss the point. People here really do seem to care about this stuff. A lot.

Even my students at Aston seem to have caught cup fever. I made a point to casually mention that I would be watching matches during my classes this weekend. Many of the students (mostly the boys) went absolutely berserk when they heard, and started excitedly spouting off times for the start of matches, asking me who I would support (as if there was a doubt I’d be pulling for my home country), and talking about random teams, players, and pieces of trivia. Cup fever is hitting even in the schools.

Of course, the Aston staff has its own particular reasons to care so much about the tournament this year. Our blend of staff here is pretty unique: Native English speakers from many different countries work at Aston. Primarily though, Aston employs people from two places: the US and the UK. As you can imagine, the announcement of the group pairings caused quite a stir in January when it was revealed that the US and England would not only be in the same group together, but would be the first matchup either team would face in the tournament. There’s been a persistent stream of trash-talking that has gone on ever since. One of my British co-workers has dubbed the event “Independence Day 2,” and we’ve all been trying to make our boldest displays of national pride lately (as an aside, the Brits here have been so dismissive of the US squad that if we win tonight, I think I will become the most obnoxious and boastful winner in the history of sporting events). So tonight, at 2:3o in the morning, we’ll all meet up at shaokao (Chinese BBQ) restaurant that has graciously agreed to stay open late enough for us to watch the game, and the months of casual harassment will come to a head.  Should be a lot of fun. More to report later.

So, to wrap up my blogging on the trip to Xinjiang, I thought I would post the best of the rest of my photos from the trip. To enlarge a picture click on it, and click again on the picture in the screen that pops up. Enjoy!

Welcome to Urumqi

First on our tour of Xinjiang was the bustling provincial capital city of Urumqi. I’m probably not going to be able to say exactly what I want about Urumqi… its a complex place. In many senses, it is growing and bustling like its counterpart Chinese cities on the east coast. In another, completely different sense, Urumqi is infused with a strong flavor of central Asia. That much becomes apparent as soon as you arrive and see the multiplicity of culture which abounds in every place. The hallmarks of cultural fusion are everywhere: Street signs in both Chinese and Uighur (the language of Xinjiang’s local minority people), Arabian-style mosques standing next to very traditional Chinese-style buildings, the broad array of cuisine from local favorites to traditional eastern Chinese staples, the dizzying number of people from such incredibly different places (Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Kirgystan, Mongolia, Russia, Tajikistan, Eastern China, etc.) who are out walking on the streets. The web of multiculturalism, when layered over Urumqi’s ancient history and recent surge in economic development, make it a place with a complex and fascinating identity… one which is hard to adequately summarize or describe.

Like many of Xinjiang’s cities, Urumqi has a pretty long history as an oasis town in the middle of the desert, making it a pivotal stop on the ancient Silk Road. However, the city has a tendency to be historically overshadowed by it’s western neighbor, Kashgar, which has long been the center of local Uighur culture, a major nexus of cultural exchange, and a strategically important city located on the edge of mountain passes. This is not to say that Urumqi should play second fiddle: it’s got a vibrant and cosmopolitan feel of it’s own these days. It is to say, however, that we knew fairly little about it when we arrived. We knew it was a big city, but what was there to do there? No clue. In a sense our time in Urumqi became very flexible. Some cities are like paint-by-number portraits: you know that there are certain things you’ll have to see when you stay there. Urumqi is more like a choose-your-own-adventure novel.

The attractions in this city aren’t so much buildings as they are neighborhoods. Whereas in other cities in China, tourism revolves around touring specific temples, mountains, nature preserves, or other areas of cultural or historical significance, Urumqi’s appeal comes in visiting whole areas to get a feel for it’s cultural uniqueness. There are no huge temples to tour in Urumqi. While there are plenty of mosques (Xinjiang’s majority religion is Islam), these are not frequently open for public visitation, and rather must be seen from the outside. To see the real attractions in Urumqi, one must head out the Uighur neighborhoods in the center of town. There, you can experience a bit of what has always made this area famous, trade.

Yes, the place to go in Urumqi is the Grand Bazaar, a network of outdoor markets and street vendors in Urumqi’s Uighur neighborhoods. Starting out in the midst of markets for fresh produce, baked goods, meat, and handicraft gives you an idea of how important market culture has always been in Xinjiang. Here you see a fairly real slice of Urumqi that is as it has been for a LONG time. While the outer parts of the city are being modernized at a fairly alarming rate, Urumqi’s Uighur neighborhoods still display a good deal of the kind of bazaar-culture that has driven the economy of this region for millennia.

The sights, sounds and smells of the bazaar are pretty cool: roasted meat, fresh baked bread, freshly sliced melons, spices, towering Arabic-style domes, the shouts of vendors, the insistent honk of car horns, women in headscarves and men in prayer hats. It’s an absolute attack on the senses. From these areas, its easy to wander off down any number of other, smaller streets. We spent most of the afternoon on our first day there winding our way down these backalleys, following the spires of minarets toward what we though would be interesting buildings. Inevitably, we found ourselves amidst the real neighborhoods of Urumqi, away from the bazaar. Here, I think we witnessed a very real culture. Children played in the streets, people gathered in front of mosques before prayer. This wasn’t a show. This was Urumqi without any tourist pretense.

Ending up in these neighborhoods wasn’t an entirely comfortable experience. They were for the most part, fairly poor. We were received with some pretty strange looks. There has been some recent tension in this city (I won’t recount the history of that particular incident here) and there is still a sense of unease that lingers over areas like this. The curiosity about our presence there was less hostile and more confused: Why would tourists want to come and see this part of the city? What was there to see? In the end, though, when we were able to engage these people in whatever limited conversation we could, the barriers were lowered slightly, and people were generally warm towards us. If there is suspicion in Urumqi, it melts away after a little bit of communication.

After a full day of wandering through it’s streets, I still don’t think that I can pretend to understand all of the undercurrents which are running through the city. However, I am a little closer to feeling what lies at its heart. While Urumqi, on it’s face, may be a very complicated place to navigate, it is one that I think is worth getting to know and understand.

In any case, here’s a glimpse of Urumqi in photos. More updates will come soon.

Urumqi's buzzing cultural heart: The Er Dao Qiao Bazaar.

The view at the center of Urumqi's lively Bazaar district.

Multi-lingual street signs in Xinjiang: The language written with Arabic script is Uighur.

Fresh watermelon for sale in Urumqi's Bazaar.

Freshly baked naan: the flatbread which is the staple food in Xinjiang.

Mosque domes peek out from down an alley in Urumqi.

Roast Chicken, anyone?

Melons are a local specialty in Xinjiang, and can be found in abundance just about everywhere.

Vendors with carts line the streets in Urumqi.

A mosque in the Er Dao Qiao Bazaar in Urumqi.

Unlike their counterparts in Eastern China, most of the mosques in Xinjiang, like this one, are built in a Middle Eastern architectural style.

Women's fashions on display in Urumqi.

... and in menswear: all the hottest styles from Pakistan (not kidding).

A typical storefront in Urumqi.

An ornate gate in front of a mosque in Urumqi.

A common sight in Urumqi's Uighur neighborhoods: minarets.

Inside of the Grand International Bazaar in Urumqi.

Dried fruit, another local specialty, is certainly available in Urumqi's Grand Bazaar.

High Lonesome: Life persists in the midst of the Gobi Desert.

Deserts occupy a truly fascinating space in the human imagination. In the unforgiving, barren, and at times alien surroundings of a desert we find something of ourselves. Perhaps this is because in the sheer absence of other living thing, in the midst of sheer exposure to the elements, in the midst of such inhospitable conditions, we are truly able to strip away the distractions which prevent us from honestly considering who we are. It’s almost an archetype throughout human history: one goes into the desert to reflect and seek some sort of deeper reality. Consider the staggering list of people (fictional or otherwise) who have arrived at some point of self-actualization in the course of their itinerant wandering in the dunes: Moses, John the Baptist, Jesus, Mohammed, Zarathustra– the list is extensive. Why are we drawn to these places where life is so scarce? Prior to this past holiday trip, I had never really seen a desert in person. I can’t claim to have any extensive experience now. But, even the slightest exposure sheds light on the issue for me. Simply put, these places are incredible. The vastness, openness, emptiness: it’s all absolutely captivating. I will not pretend to understand the search for truth in the midst of the desert. I will, however, say that I think I can now understand it’s appeal.

One of the truly amazing things about taking the train from Ji’nan to Urumqi is watching the change of landscape. It’s not a subtle or gradual process. Rather, it is a jarring experience. The verdant countryside of East China doesn’t slowly give way to the sandy and expansive west. Or at least it doesn’t when you’re riding in an overnight train. Our first full day of riding the train took us through the familiar landscape of Eastern China: low fields, green with miscellaneous crops, and the occasional rolling hills in the distance. Pastoral, if it can be called that. By the time we were approaching the city of Zhengzhou in Henan Province at around sunset on the first day (roughly 1/4 of the way done) some signs of a change of landscape had slipped in: the soil was turning into the cakey, yellow loess that surrounds Xi’an, the gateway to China’s west. But, as dark fell, my surroundings still felt familiar.

First light the next morning revealed just how different our environs had become while we slept. No more trees. No more farmland. No more rolling hills. We awoke in the midst of a world full of rocky, parched ground and scrub grass. The gentle roll of the hills of East China had been replaced by vast flatness, except in the distance where low, sharp, rocky mountains rose. At the roughly halfway point of the journey, we had entered a completely different world.

The sight that greeted us after waking up on the train: The Gobi Desert.

Wide open space in the Hexi Corridor of Gansu Province.

"Desert Pastoral?": A herd of sheep grazing near the train tracks.

Yes, those are real (and possibly wild?) camels visible from the train window

As far as the eye can see, craters and rock. At times, it really felt like we might have been traveling across the surface of the moon.

Our new surrounding was none other than the legendary Gobi desert.  The change was beyond surprising. Any vestiges of familiarity had been removed from the landscape. It was clear that we were far, far away from home. Our exact location was in the middle of China’s Gansu province, in a place called the Hexi Corridor, a long stretch of open land between the Yellow River and the Tibetan Plateau which was formerly a crucial passage on the Silk Road. Basically, the Corridor is a huge basin dotted with many tiny oases which made it a passable route for traders to haul large quantities of goods from the west (Tibet, India, Persia, and even Greece) into the ancient Chinese capital at Xi’an. Wikipedia has a pretty great description of the landscape:

There are many fertile oases along the path. A strikingly inhospitable environment surrounds them: the vast expanse of the Gobi desert, the snow-capped Qilian Mountains to the south, the Beishan mountainous area, and the Alashan Plateau to the north.

Strikingly inhospitable is right. It’s very difficult to imagine this region sustaining any kind of life. Waking up to the craggy, rocky, barren expanse of the Gobi was a shock. It was also incredibly transfixing. I found myself staring endlessly out the window, soaking up every inch of the alien terrain. I’d never really been in a desert previously, and this was pretty amazing. As we progressed further west, the ground got even more sandy, the scrub grass gradually disappeared, and the mountains began to rise higher. Suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of completely lifeless flat expanses ringed in by the enormous, towering mountains of the Qilian range (actually, at the time we had no idea what these mountains were called we just knew that they were HUGE). Mountains have always fascinated me (maybe it’s because I grew up near the Appalachian chain? Who knows?), and these peaks– part of the vast and towering network of mountains which form the Himalayas– proved no exception. Like most people in the face of stunning or magnificent natural landscapes, I could only gawk as the train continued to roll on.

As we got further west, the mountains became taller and snowcapped. These peaks are part of the Qilian range.

More snowcapped peaks in Western Gansu province.

Sunrise in the dunes: Morning near Urumqi

The western end of the Gobi: Asia's Painted Desert?

From that morning on, desert scenery was par for the course. This made for some pretty dramatic background scenery while riding the rails. To say the least, our travel periods were not boring. Often, in the midst of these vast expanses of nothingness, I was struck by just how isolated this part of the world is. Clusters of ranch-style houses would sporadically pop up along the landscape, and beside them shepherds tending to large flocks of sheep, or herds of cattle, yaks, or horses. How did these people get here? How did they find their way to this place in the middle of absolutely nowhere? Around the houses were the occasional low lying stone wall, closing in little squares of the desert, and marking them as belonging to one person or another. Passing them, I couldn’t help but wonder: What’s the point? Why put up fences all the way out here?

As we moved farther west, closer to the great spine of the Himalayas, the mountains grew taller and more magnificent. We took in the vistas provided by the Tarim Basin, the Tian Shan and Karakoram ranges. It was an amazing ride. Here’s a look at some of the best photos from the train:

The vies from the Tarim Basin near Kashgar.

In the Taklamakan Desert near Kashgar the desert became much more sandy.

These peaks are either part of the Tian Shan or Karakoram Chain that runs between Urumqi and Kashgar through the Tarim Basin. Either way, they're VERY tall.

Time to shake the dust off the blog again, I suppose. I got back from “Spring Break ‘10: Wild West China Edition,” last night VERY late. Unfortunately I was unable to update in real time during my trip like I hoped that I would be able to. So, as a result, all of my posts about my recent adventure will be retrospective… Luckily, I have plenty of stories and pictures to post and it’ll be a good read, I hope. In all it was a really exciting trip, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you… except that I have to. Just through the weekend. My return to Ji’nan means a return to classes and so I’ve got to get through a full weekend of teaching before I can really get down to sharing tales of far-flung adventures and epic train rides. So, just sit tight. Hopefully, by the time that Monday rolls around I’ll have some new stuff up. Until then, stay tuned…