lawn

I mowed our lawn last night. The first time in my life that I have ever mowed a lawn. (That's what happens when you grow up in Egghead Family: you've read the Odyssey, seen Renaissance paintings, and understand the Library of Congress cataloging system, but you don't know how to mow a lawn. Or check your car's oil, or repair a toilet, or any number of other things I've taught myself along the way to adulthood.) We had a pretty large yard growing up, but neither of my parents ever considered that they would mow it themselves. (Because they were Eggheads, and also because they had very specific ideas about how to demonstrate their middle-class status, which was important to both of them.)

When I left home, I lived in apartments, and happily never thought about outdoor plants. When my partner and I moved in together a few years ago, it was to a house, the first one I'd lived in for many years. According to the lease, the yard was to be kept up by someone else, so we didn't get a mower. When we wound up having to take care of it, we borrowed the neighbor's. Or, to be precise, my gf borrowed the neighbor's temperamental lawnmower.

I have a very strong fear of fire and explosions, so gasoline-powered lawnmowers have always made me nervous. (Not that I've ever seen one explode, but having all that gas around freaks me out.) So when we moved to our current house, and knew we'd be responsible ourselves for the lawn upkeep, I lobbied for us to get an electric-powered mower. (My gf, who usually does the lawn, ruled out the old-fashioned push-only style.) So we got a Black & Decker electric mower, which I already thought was great: much quieter than a gas mower, and no pollution. The simple engines that run gas mowers produce horrific amounts of waste. And now that I've actually tried it out I love it even more -- it's safe and simple enough for me to use without being afraid of explosions, maiming, or losing an eye to flying rocks. (Yup, I'm the Safety First! officer in our household.) You plug in the extension cord and there's a squeeze trigger you hold as you push the mower. Want to cut the engine off? just release the trigger. There's no way it can run off by itself or chew a hole in anything. It's awesome. We have a small city yard, so 200 ft of cord is plenty. If you had a lot more territory, the cord might be a pain to manage. But for a small-medium yard, it's no problem.

So I cut the grass and it was actually kind of fun. I like any task where you can so clearly see your progress as you go along.

bitch-ing

I've been skimming through some of the essays in the collection The Bitch in the House which fortuitously showed up on the browsing shelf at my local library branch two weeks ago. I'd heard about it when it came out (winter 2003 I think) but wouldn't have made any effort to locate a copy. But, it showed up and I checked it out, and have been thinking quite a bit about it since I myself have become a horrible bitch of late.

Some of the essays are quite good (i.e., well written and/or thought provoking) and others are not. 26 women of varying ages, most of them "writers" (journalists, novelists) wrote personal essays on a variety of topics. Marriage, singledom, relationships, childrearing, etc. The editor's starting point was her own overwhelming feelings of rage towards her husband and children even as she recognized that she had a more equitable marriage than her parents did, that she had a life that allowed her to have a creative career and a home life. Although many of the lives described in this book bear no resemblance to mine (my partner & I have 1 1/4 incomes, no kids, no legal marriage), some of them do at least in one important respect, which is that these women are trying to balance work & life when "work" doesn't necessarily mean "go into the office." Most accounts of work/family balance rarely examine the pressures of work-at-home couples (and several of the authors in this collection are partnered with other writers or artists).

Glancing back at the editor's introduction, she writes that the collection was born out of conversations she had with friends about their marriages, and that she felt that learning other women's stories helped her understand her own position. Basic feminism 101. Which I agree with, even when the reading is pretty depressing.

But one of the things that struck me was -- do people really talk to their friends about their marriages this way? When I was single & dating, I would talk over every detail, every drama, every upturn and heartbreak with my closest friends. But once partnered and committed, I really haven't. It would seem disloyal. Once I've introduced my close friends to my partner, and wanted them to like her, it would be unfair to then ask them to listen to me complain about some stupid thing. Or even about a not so stupid thing. This is the best relationship I've ever been in, and I treat it as permanent. So I don't talk about it with anyone. And I don't usually blog about my relationship life either.

But I've been a total bitch lately. I feel bad about my behavior, and I'm trying to squelch it, but I've been awful. It's all tied up with some of the same issues treated in this collection of essays -- the pressures of domesticity, the difficulty of balancing two creative careers. That balance isn't really about equity. Even in typing this, I'm thinking "get over yourself" -- I don't have kids, after all, and I have a pretty great life. But the domestic really overwhelms me sometimes. It's hard for me to just block it out, focus on what I ought to be doing. It's hard to be the wife and the breadwinner. It's hard to be the responsible one and try to have smart ideas. I know my anger about trivial stuff is really just misdirected anger at myself. I know I have to take more responsibility for my feelings and get over them. But until I figure out how to do all of that, I've been horrible to be around. I'm lucky that my partner is still putting up with me.

lightbulb moment of the morning

For the past several days, I've been having this nagging tightness and pain in my left hamstring, up near the ischial attachment. I've been stretching and doing pressure point work to relieve the pain, but until this morning had been really puzzled as to the cause: my workout routines hadn't changed significantly, my shoes are in decent shape, and I hadn't had any noticeable falls, sprains, twists, or other injuries. The only thing I had been doing was stepping up my time at the computer, which if it isn't arranged just right sometimes gives me problems in my shoulder. Because I've had issues in the past (dissertations are killer on the body) I have an ergonomic chair, an adjustable keyboard, and an adjustable computer table. After our move to this house I spent a few days trying to get everything adjusted again, but I'd thought it was set up OK.

And then finally the lightbulb went off. Our house is old, with wood floors that are no longer level in some places. So a couple of doors tend to swing open or shut, there's a cupboard that doesn't stay closed, that kind of effect. And I finally figured out that my desk chair is excellent for my spine, but the floor it was positioned on was tilted. Wedged a folded towel under one side and a-ha! my leg is happy again.

This is why certain mechanical problems (whether of machines, the muscular/skeletal body, or computers) really appeal to me. If you just start thinking clearly enough about chains of causes and effects, you can eventually get to an answer.

to anyone else I know about to have a baby:

Please, please, please. If you send out a mass email to your friends with a link to an online photo gallery of "photos of the new baby," WARN ME if the slide show is going to include completely horrific explicit photos of the actual birth. I was eating my lunch & checking my personal email. I was not expecting to have to see your genitals (I don't know you that well), or your blood-covered baby, or the cutting of the umbilical cord. At that point I managed to hit "stop" on the damn slideshow -- I was only on slide 5 or 6 out of 45!

Eeeccch. Now I feel kind of queasy. Not at all like going out and buying you a baby present.

house clothes

Many years ago, when I was a young and impressionable MA student, I went with a friend to see another grad student from his department. We were going to look at her laptop because he was thinking about buying one. So we went to the other side of the city where she lived with her husband who had some sort of real job, and stopped by her house in the late morning. This visit made a huge mark on my young mind because she was "studying for her comprehensive exams." Something which we knew we would have to do soon. She had an organized system of notes involving massive 3-ring binders. She had an incredibly charming little apartment in a funky neighborhood. And she was wearing an outfit that managed to strike the perfect balance between at-home studying comfort and super-cuteness. In short, I was in complete awe of this woman -- she had a kind of life that seemed so far beyond my sloppy student ways.

Reaching further back into my memory, I pull out the mesh shirt my dad used to wear at home around 1980 or so. No doubt a horrific fashion artifact were it to survive today. But it was comfortable in the hot summer, and my dad (an academic himself -- I grew up in the Egghead Family) spent most of his time in his big chair reading and writing. If he were going to leave the house, then he'd put on a t-shirt or even a real shirt. My parents each had several definite categories of clothes: dressed up, full-on professional, semi-professional, respectable casual, errand-running, and house clothes. At home, my mom even wore those old-fashioned "housedresses" that snapped all the way down the front. You didn't wear your street clothes around in the house unless you were expecting company, in which case everyone had to move up a level or two in attire. (And you had to dress up to get on a plane, but that's another story...)

About an hour ago, my partner returned home with a bunch of 20-somethings who are working with her on a project this summer. I was in my house clothes and -- a sure sign of middle age -- didn't even care. Of course, in the summer my errand-running or acceptable casual clothes are pretty comfortable and not dressy at all (t-shirts, jeans). But today I've been doing chores and sorting through piles of stuff. I'm wearing men's basketball shorts and a gang-style t-shirt from the local neighborhood shop (a gift from my partner -- it's ironic we think, but even so I don't quite feel up to wearing it out of the house ever). I have flat hair from last night's ball cap (no shower yet today) and I'm wearing my glasses. My body parts are covered and I'm comfortable. But presentable? stylish? nope. Sometimes I think I'd like to be one of those people like the girl from our MA program, whose at-home clothes were cute and presentable at a moment's notice. But obviously my family's training wins out. And, just as wearing my teaching clothes puts me in the frame of mind to teach, wearing my at-home clothes helps me tackle the chores. But I'm definitely in at-home mind. When I make the grocery store run later, I'll have to change my clothes...

Friday DOG blogging

I think she's enjoying her summer a bit more than I am . . .

day at home

Courtesy of the washing machine repair guy, I spent the afternoon at home -- he arrived at the end of the four-hour window they'd given me. But actually that was fine -- my partner was out at work, and I got to enjoy an afternoon of light chores and some semi-professional reading. It made me realise how much of my summer I've spent at the office. Sometimes it's useful for me to have the structure of going in to work. But sometimes that can be its own distraction.

I'm still figuring out my non-computer work spaces in this house -- figuring out where the light is good when, and what the feeling of the house is. We're almost at the point where I can just settle down and live here -- there have been a lot of distractions this summer. Or a better way of putting it would be that I have been allowing myself to be distracted this summer. I'm trying to start a No Excuses rule. I'm just sick of hearing excuses coming out of my mouth.

And, now the washing machine works again. A loose wire connection apparently caused the problem. Unfortunately, if it happens again, it's in a place that would be very difficult for me to get at myself.

why UT isn't wrong

So to spell this out as clearly as possible: I love reading, and have since I was 3 years old. I've devoted my adult life to studying and teaching literature. At the most basic level, I believe that reading is good for people -- the Harry Potter hoopla is great, as far as I'm concerned, even though I've never gotten as entranced by those books as many other people. Reading -- reading anything -- is good for the imagination, good for the mind's agility, good for expanding our sense of what it means to be human.

And I also care about books as physical objects. Much of my research deals with material from the historical past, and is concerned with details of publication history, physical formatting, and the technological and economic history of the book as a physical object. I teach my students about the development of the book, not simply since Gutenberg, but going back to the earliest systems of writing. Once you expand your concept of "book" to include not just printed texts, but medieval manuscripts on vellum, or Egyptian scrolls, or the clay tablets of Mesopotamia, you see how rich and various the book has been and will undoubtedly continue to be. Over the past 15 years or so there have been a variety of commentators exclaiming about "the death of the book" and complaining that you can't read a computer in the bathtub, as if that was the sine qua non of reading. Yes, I understand that books have become fetish objects for many people -- especially those of us in the academic tribe. But we are in a time of technologic shift,as new forms of electronic textuality become more widely available and affordable. Reading is still reading, even if you do it in a different way. For some of us, reading on a screen is still tiring. But for many younger people, that's what they're used to. When papyrus scrolls were beginning to be replaced by bound wax tablets in ancient Greece, older people probably complained a lot too . . .

These thoughts were prompted by this column in the Chronicle, which is typical of the fusty stance that many academics in the humanities seem to feel that they have to put on once they get a Ph.D. The columnist "Thomas Benton" has in earlier columns confessed to being an obsessive book collector, so maybe he's an easy target. But this column conflates too many different things and winds up not really saying much at all.

Yes, using rare materials in Special Collections departments can teach us a lot about the history of a text. Yes, browsing in the stacks of a library can create wonderful moments of discovery and serendipity. But that's for those of us who have devoted our lives to research. The typical undergraduate doesn't ever have that experience, in part because most fields of study at the BA level do not require significant advanced autonomous research.

University of Texas at Austin's much-cited decision to remodel its undergraduate library and relocate its books is hardly the death knell of libraries. At the 7 or 8 university libraries that I've been associated with over the past 20 years, in every case, the "undergraduate library" (sometimes a separate building, sometimes only a wing) was never a place for conducting research. Undergraduate libraries were designed to keep the drunken 20 year olds away from the precious materials held in the main library. So you might have some encyclopedias, dictionaries, other reference works, and a few tattered copies of classic novels. But these spaces have primarily been for students to sprawl and study.

At Ivyesque Public U, for instance, the undergrad library had five levels. Where you studied depended on who you hung with -- Greeks on one floor, engineers on the silence-only floor, random mixtures on others. Except for the bottom floor, which was the smoking floor. There, the English majors reigned supreme, joined by the neohippies and the clubkids. Good times.

At Prestigious Private U, the undergraduate wing had no barcodes on the books -- the library staff put old half-destroyed books in there that they wanted people to steal. But there were rarely any takers.

But if you had research to do, at these and other campuses, everyone knew you went to the main library. Chances are, something similar goes on at UT. So removing the old outdated dictionaries and putting in coffee and computers sounds like a great idea to me, in terms of retaining the library's place as a central location for studying & socializing. That's what the undergraduate experience at a traditional U is like.

lost hours

Why is it that household problems become such a monkey wrench for me? Errgh.

Our washing machine -- our new f'ing machine -- stopped working today. Now, I didn't come home this afternoon planning to spend my time futzing around with the washer, or with anything particularly domestic. I wanted to take care of some bills, do some work, even do some reading that is semi-serious. So I came home, and thought I'd throw some towels into the washer. And then when it didn't work, I lost easily two hours, what with finding the manual, trying to figure out if there was anything I could do, cleaning various parts of the machine etc. I even watched the stupid DVD that came with it (this is why the manuals tell you less and less of any value, because they assume that users don't even know how to read and would rather watch a video.) And then I started looking around on the internet, and learned about all the other problems people have with this machine, but not about my problem.

I know, the machine is under warranty, and I just have to call Sears and get an appointment for a service guy to come out. As if that isn't a huge irritation. And I'm just afraid it will be something incredibly stupid that I didn't know to do or not to do.

And most irritating is that if I were the kind of person who could just shrug and say "oh well, it doesn't work" and go on about my own business I'd probably be so much more productive. But instead, I'm the one who has to try and understand the problem, and find the receipt for the warranty, and make the appointment, and be here when they come. I sometimes wish I weren't the responsible one in our household.

visit

A long-time friend (which is truer than saying "old") came to visit today and that is a great thing. Of course, since we talk fairly often, it's not as if we're not pretty much caught up on each other's lives. But there's something different about hanging out in person. Eating good food, going out to a movie. Totally good times.

The movie we saw tonight, Heights, was very enjoyable. I like this sort of movie -- several intersecting lives in a short span of time. Little slices of the human experience. There were only a couple of wince-worthy lines -- the worst when one of the characters said something like "you know, most places there's six degrees of separation but here in New York it's only two degrees" -- which sets you up for the intersections among the various characters, but seemed a bit unnecessary. It's a little New Yorky in that way, but not oppressively so. I found the characters interesting, their situations compelling. Relationships are complicated, and it's nice to see a film that tries to do justice to that complexity without subsuming everything to a traditional romantic plotline. There is a bit of that in the ending, yet it's not too heavyhanded. Some star names in this one (Glenn Close is surprisingly good) but it's the lesser-known people who really shine.

And, we saw some good previews. I really love watching previews in the theater -- and I hate watching them on those DVDs that force you to sit thru them before the menu. Odd. In the theater it's all about potential, the unlimitedness of the movies -- reassurance that there will always be more movies I want to see in the future. On the DVD, it just seems like wasting time to sit thru a trailer, whether or not I saw the film being advertised or not.

eye exam

In 2 hours I have to leave for my eye doctor appointment -- the routine eye exam and contact lens updating thing. So I'm frantically trying to fit all my reading and computer time into the first half of the day, since afterwards my eyes will be all dilated and useless for reading. I hate that part, the squinty drive home with my sunglasses plus the weird plastic roll-up ones they give you. And then waiting for several hours for my eyes to return to normal. (Somehow it seems to take longer the older I get. Or maybe I'm just more impatient?) Tasks I'm saving for post-appointment: washing dishes, laundry, sorting through some old things that I want to get rid of, mopping floors, and vacuuming the couch in preparation for Julie's visit this weekend! (I know, maybe cleaning the house with impaired eyesight isn't the best way of doing things, but I really need to keep working at the computer right now...)

confronting my stereotypical expectation

It's always good to be shaken out of a stereotype I didn't know I held. This morning the gate was up in the parking lot, so some students were parking in what is usually only a staff/faculty lot. A bright yolk-yellow Mustang pulled into the space next to me. As I was getting my things out of my trunk, I glanced up to see the driver getting out, a woman in khimar & jilbab. Now I don't suppose the Qu'ran says anything at all about what kinds of cars you are supposed to drive and maintain your modesty. But somehow a Mustang doesn't seem to me to be the hijab sort of vehicle. But what do I know, right? My main associations with Mustangs involve Midwestern guys with mullets . . .

summer

I came home today around 4:30 and thought I was just grumpy and out of sorts. I thought, "well, I didn't get enough sleep, and the sink is full of dishes to wash." So I washed the dishes.
And then I thought I felt weird because I hadn't eaten in a while, so I had a snack.
And I still felt bad, so I laid down on the couch.
And then it was time to take the dogs out, so I went to the park.
Then I thought it was the weather that was making me feel odd.
And then I realised what the heck was going on. I was having anxiety. The sort that sits an inch or two below my throat, squeezing hard. I hadn't had serious anxiety for several months, so long that I almost didn't recognize it for what it was. My mind hadn't caught up to my body to figure out that I was anxious.

So what triggered it? Lots of possibilities. The most obvious candidates are the fact that today was the beginning of my "real" summer -- and I spent nearly all of it at the office, trying to get things in order, rather than focusing on my Priority Project. Combined with lunch with two junior colleagues, whose talk about work definitely raised my stress and fostered a bout of imposter syndrome. After all, I have tenure. At some level, it doesn't matter if or when I publish my work. Except, of course, that it does matter -- we are constantly being evaluated, by our colleagues and chairs and deans and so forth. For all that I do seriously believe in the choices I've made, and the path I'm currently treading, I also know that there are things I would do differently if I could go back and change time.

The other plausible scenario is that some schedule changes and other things recently have evoked memories of last summer, when I was wrestling with serious depression, of a scarier sort than I'd ever had before. I'm in a much better place these days -- but I need to figure out a new version of summer to replace the model from last year. Because I certainly don't want to do that again.

the last move I want to do for a while

My new office at the U rocks. It's huge, and I have natural light. It actually could be a nice space in which to work. Of course, it comes with major administrative duties, so there is a price I'm paying. But for now I'm thinking optimistically.

My predecessor in this post, Dr Frazzle, is someone who means well, but often doesn't know how to go about getting things accomplished. Plus, she's organizationally challenged, reduced to tears by the thought of having to create a spreadsheet, and never able to distribute memos or other materials without some kind of problem. So simply by being reasonably organized, I can do a better job than she did.

Of course, she wasn't entirely packed up for the move this morning, so I had to help her finish up. As we were doing this, I said something about having cleared out three boxes worth of papers for recycling yesterday. She said "I'm so worried about recycling in the department. Sometimes I find contaminants in the recycling container. We need to have signs. We need to educate people. I'm so worried about the recycling that I can't clean out my office because I worry about all the paper." O.M.G. I mean, I'm all for better signs over the recycling bin, and increasing awareness about recycling (although I actually think we're doing OK). But to use that as your reason for not cleaning out your files?

I'm feeling better and better the more stuff I can get rid of, in my office here at work, and in our new house. I realized last night that during the past six weeks I have now handled every single item that I own. Every book, every object, every piece of paper. Moving offices at work thus turned out to be a bit more involved psychologically or emotionally for me than I'd expected. Not because I'm especially attached to my old office. But because the last time I moved every single thing I own was when I moved across country to take this job. When I moved into my old office, I was a different person than who I am now. It's good to be aware of all the changes.

It wasn't planned, to do all this moving at the same time. But I think it's good, it seems to be loosening up something. A kind of life tune-up from the Universe. A chance to re-evaluate the material things in my life and free up some energy by clearing them out.

packing the office

Because I didn't get enough packing and unpacking this summer already (ha!), I'm moving offices at work. Actually, it's because I agreed to serve as Director of Undergraduate studies in my department. So tomorrow I am moving to a much bigger and nicer office up the hall in the main suite, where the Directors, Chair, Advisors, and staff are located. So I get two windows (I've had none) and an extra bookcase! It will be a much more pleasant working space -- although with the downside of more interruptions and a greater expectation for my being in at the office and available.

It would be easy enough to simply dump my bookshelves and filing cabinets into the boxes and leave it at that. But since I have to handle everything, I might as well sort through it and get rid of stuff -- I know I have a lot of paper files that don't need to be kept any longer. Plus there's library books that could be returned, and my own books that I need to weed out and put some up for sale. It's not all going to happen today, obviously. I have limited time and energy for this sort of thing, especially since I've been doing so much sorting, purging, and reorganizing in my study at home as I try to get settled after our move. I'm ready to use my brain for other sorts of things.

So, the priorities for the rest of today:

• finish sorting and clearing files and items from desk
• move superheavy 1950s metal desk to wall to make room for boxes
  
• purge filing cabinet 1 and box up the remaining files
  
• box up filing cabinet 2 (these are already archive and utility files, no need to purge)
• box up library books
• box up my books
• box up personal items
  
• dismantle computer
  

Seeing it in a list makes it seem a little more manageable.

hoping for a good grade

I have a dentist appointment in an hour or so. Just a regular cleaning. My dentist is gentle, nice, and smart -- she actually pays attention to you and even does the cleaning herself. And I'm not nervous in general about going to the dentist (the way I am about doctors, for instance). No, it's the fear of being graded. Going to the dentist brings up a particular kind of anxiety about being evaluated -- and evaluated on things over which I have no control (genetics), plus behavior (which I do have control over, but always know I could be doing better...)

So far, I've been blessed with solid (though crooked) teeth and having grown up in the age of flouride. I have no cavities, though I do have gum recession caused by the years of braces etc when I was young. Which probably makes me more anxious each time . . . is this the year I'm going to have a cavity? (my dad was 43 when he got his first one, and I basically inherited his teeth, so I've got a couple more years I hope) And even worse is sitting there as she reads off the gum measurements to her assistant. I'm always wondering, is it worse than the year before? Will I get a passing grade?

Update: not only did I pass, but she said complimentary things to me about my clean back teeth. whew!

movie roundup

Some quick thoughts on things I've seen lately:

• D.E.B.S. (2005 DVD) -- there's a 10 minute short film that I saw at a festival that was the basis for this 90 minute feature -- and when I saw the short, which is funny, sexy, and appealing, I had to wonder how it could possibly be extended into a full-length film. And I don't think it was that successful. Premise is that the SAT is secretly a spy training selection test, and there's an academy of young girls in plaid skirts with big guns training to take out super assassins. It's kind of campy, but in places it wants to be serious too -- and that's where it isn't very succesful. The lesbian love story between one of the spies and the assassin works OK, but the scenes with the rest of the DEBS squad are really lame. Worst problem for me is that director Angela Robinson doesn't just "evoke" 80s classic movies (as one interview I just saw suggested) -- she blatantly lifts huge sections of plot and dialogue from my all-time favorite 80s teen movie, Valley Girl. When homage begins to look like theft, you've lost the audience you might be trying to woo with your references (ditto with her soundtrack).
• Saving Face -- here, on the other hand, is a lesbian film that manages to use existing conventions of the romantic comedy plus the cultural clash/1st-generation comedy and still come up with something sweet and new. Plus, I haven't seen any feature-length Chinese-American lesbian films before. Recommended.
  
• Mr & Mrs Smith -- beautiful people, lots of explosions, fine for a really hot summer day. Though after the first couple of minutes you kind of forget how good looking these two are -- without ordinary looking people around them as contrast, they sort of cancel each other out. The whole film works as a fantasmatic version of couples therapy (which serves as the narrative frame) -- the stages of identifying problems, anger, each person having the option to end the relationship, and then uniting as a team against some other enemy -- which might not be how couples therapy works for everyone, but that's how it worked for us a few years ago. So I appreciated the wit of this film in playing it outin the most exaggerated symbolic way possible -- because, after all, that's how the subconscious works.
  
• Crash -- good attempt to open more dialogue about race and racism in urban settings -- plenty of moments that make you wince, which I think are good and hard to achieve. But the film doesn't quite follow through on its gritty approach. I think maybe the conventional plot coincidences and twists are there to try and manage the material, but one in particular really deflates the film.
  
• The Story of Us (DVD) -- ok, I know the preview for this movie made it look terrible. I only rented it because I'm on a Bruce Willis kick in my Netflix queue. And because it's a Rob Reiner film. And I'm glad I did. It's basically When Harry and Sally Hit Midlife. More thoughtful and funny than I expected (only terrible scenes are when the kids are on screen, but that's pretty rare).