The biggest loser

Next time anyone hears me commenting on how it might be nice to have a personal trainer, slap me with a 2x4, because honestly? The pain would be fleeting and sweet in comparison to the hell I am suffering right now below my waist.

I recently joined L.A. Fitness in order to be able to play racquetball with my family without paying a ridiculous fee each time (seriously, $15 to wall myself into a 20x10 space and run around willy-nilly to avoid being laid out by an erratic, speeding rubber ball?). As part of their generous "welcome" package, I was invited to experience a 30-minute session with one of their personal trainers (or "sadists"). 

Now, I haven't worked out since like 2003 or something like that. I think I watched an episode of The Daily Show while strolling on a treadmill once last year, and I went tanning a couple of times at a 24 Hour Fitness, but that's the closest I've come to anything remotely resembling exercise since returning from Costa Rica in 2005, where at one point I actually turned and asked James, "Do you think I'm getting TOO buff?" (What. We spent four months surfing and swimming and sweating all day. I looked good.)

So when I met with my trainer, I made sure to emphasize the fact that I am a soft, weak creature quite possibly allergic to my own sweat, and certainly not there training for the Iron Man triathlon. I just wanted to tone up a bit. I know he saw my mouth moving -- he even nodded a few times -- but I think what he actually heard was, "Look, I'm training to run to the moon, and I need you to help me build muscles in my legs that will defy physics. Today. If you do this, I will give you head for nine straight weeks." Because what happened next was in no way an ease-into-it workout designed for a fleshy wine-swilling, chocolate-loving, web geek like myself.

We started with lunges. Have you ever done lunges? I bet if I looked up "lunges" in the encyclopedia, it would show pictures of the Romans torturing early Christians by making them lunge across the length of the Colisseum with 8-pound weight balls repeatedly. This is what the sadist made me do (only twice, but COME ON, DUDE). After the first set, my legs were shaking. I mentioned this. He was all, "Yeah, we gotta strengthen those quads!" It was then I realized I had descended into the seventh layer of hell. There was no inferno, no gnashing of teeth, no wailing...just shaky legs, an embarrassing lack of balance, and a douchebag in slacks and loafers walking beside me casually talking about selling his motorcyle on Craigslist while I tried desperately not to fall over with each step.

After the lunges, I hoped it was over. Great workout! Smell ya later! But no. He grabbed some dumbbells and situated me on a machine I will never again be able to look at without fearing that I might wet myself at the memory. It basically simulated wall-sits, but with weight pressing down from above. I squatted and curled and tried not to cry. (I'm not kidding.) Then we did real wall-sits and different arm exercises with the weights. I wondered if it was normal to feel the need to poop oneself during this exercise, and thanked myself for not having another cup of coffee before coming.

Then it happened: I started to see flashes of light. I felt like I was going to faint. I was nauseous. I told the sadist that I didn't feel well. He told me to rest (as if I were inclined to keep going). I must've looked awful, because a few seconds later, he actually asked me if I needed to run to the bathroom. I nodded, ran as fast as my weak-ass, wobbly legs would carry me to the locker room, and THREW UP. In hindsight, I suppose not eating for 16 hours prior to pushing my body to its pathetic limits had a lot to do with it, but I prefer to think it was all due to his merciless circus of pain.

I returned a few minutes later, admitted to having painted the handicap stall in the bathroom a lovely shade of death, and -- I can only attribute this to a lack of oxygen to my brain -- continued the workout. For one minute. Until I realized my body was probably trying to tell me something, and that that something was "STOP FUCKING DOING THAT."

So we stopped. I went home sore and humiliated and worked up a nice migraine to complement the brutal destruction of my leg muscles. I missed out on an epic party (and dance-off!) that night because of my condition, and have been hobbling around like a 90-year-old woman ever since. You have not witnessed pure physical comedy until you have seen me try to lower myself onto the toilet (or rise from it) these past two days. No amount of potassium can save me now; there aren't enough bananas in the world. My legs are lost to me.

On Sunday, the gym rep who signed me up called my parents (I was added onto their family plan) to express their condolences at having raised a total pussy, and offered to give me another session free of charge to make up for it.

And just as soon as I can walk again without looking like someone removed my legs, filled them with Jell-O and reattached them (backwards), I'm marching right in there to tell them where they can shove their lunges. Right up their perfectly toned asses.

(I dedicate this entry to Carrie, who has witnessed firsthand my physical inability to exercise (the 1/8-mile marathon, my 15-minute circuit training) over the years and who came up with the title. How I miss our post-workout skinnies and corndogs.)

2009: Year of the probiotics

I am typically not a violent person, but I think if given the chance, I'd like to bitch-slap the year 2008 around a little.

Let's all admit it: barring a couple of high points (Obama! and, um...Obama!), 2008 was a shit year. I can't pinpoint exactly what it was that made it so lame, but whatever it was, I don't seem to be alone in hating this particular Year of our Lord to death; in fact, a quick review of New Year's comments on Twitter and Facebook reveals that it seems the most popular sentiment (after the requisite "Happy New Year") is some variation of "Hey! Fuck off, 2008!"

(My favorite salute to the year's awfulness? "2008 sucked a bag of dicks." Uncouth, perhaps...but pretty accurate, assuming you find the prospect of fellating a large bag of dismembered penises as unappealing as I do.)

So why is this? What did 2008 do that was so god awful that it has us all so glad to see it go? Mercury in retrograde? Collective expiring patience for the Bush administration? Recession? Sarah Palin? I have no idea (though I'd love to rest it all on the shoulders of Sarah Palin, that boob). As for James and me, it was a combination of things that all just added up to a bunch of suck. We suffered financial setbacks, selling the newspaper, relationship challenges, deaths of family and pets, more financial setbacks, the tension of a pivotal presidential election we felt passionately about, still more financial setbacks, and the typical pressures of a young couple trying to live meaningful, interesting lives in the midst of greater suburbia. Oh, AND Warner Brothers postponed the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince from November 2008 until July of 2009. Assholes.

And all I know is that I feel the need to seriously purge 2008 from my system. I want to start fresh, on the "right foot" as opposed to this gimpy-ass clubfoot I've been hobbling around on. I want 2009 to kick 2008's ass in a big way. But mostly, I just want to FEEL GOOD in 2009.

So I'm doing a cleanse, hurray! And by hurray I mean "hurray," laden with heavy sarcasm and followed by that sad trumpet sound. Cleanses are neither easy nor fun. The one I'm doing requires me to radically reduce my sugar, caffeine, alcohol, dairy, gluten and yeast intake over the next 2-4 weeks and take a candida supplement to purge all the toxins and crap out of my system. This basically means I can't eat or drink much of anything that I love...but only for a few weeks. I can do that, right? RIGHT?! We shall see.

Why a cleanse, you ask? Am I entertaining my masochistic side? Turning all New Age cuckoo? Making yet another idiotic New Year's resolution I won't keep? No. I'm doing a cleanse because you are what you eat, and if you eat crap, you are crap, and there's a lot of crap out there, and I feel like crap. CRAP! I eat pretty well, but I do still eat a lot of pretty bad stuff (damn you, sweet tooth!), and some stuff out there is produced in a vat of LIES, foodstuffs masquerading as nutritious when it's really not (I'm looking at you, Vitamin Water)...and it all builds up in your system, and the more it builds up, the worse you feel, not just on a physical level, but on a mental and emotional level as well. Basically, our bodies are ecosystems, and we are not just the sum of our parts, but the parts as well. WON'T ANYONE THINK OF THE PARTS!?

So I'm cleansing. I've only just started this morning, so nothing major to report so far. But I'm struggling already with the no coffee part. BECAUSE DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE COFFEE? I've officially been cleansing for less than 10 hours and already I'm grumpy to not have gotten my usual couple of cups this morning. Instead, I drank some rooibos tea (no caffeine, lots of antioxidants) and ate a bowl of plain oatmeal seasoned with just a dash of salt and cinnamon (herbs and spices are okay while cleansing, thank god). A sausage scramble, breakfast roll and cup of joe it was NOT.

Obviously I don't feel any different yet (except for the lack of caffeine), but supposedly the first week is the hardest, when you experience the "die-off." This is when all of the crap lurking around in your intestines and blood start to die due to deprivation of all that they love: sugar, yeast, wheat, processed and refined ingredients. Apparently they put up a hell of a fight, and the result is that you feel almost worse at first. But once the die-off tapers, I should notice a marked improvement in mental clarity and acuity, more energy, less soreness and indigestion, improved sleep, and fewer random ailments. I'm also hoping to gain the ability to fly and read minds.

So we'll see how this goes. Anybody out there have experience with doing a cleanse? Advice? Menu suggestions? Because so far the list of things I *can* eat makes me want to cry: rice, grains, beans, veggies, soy.

Also, when the hell is someone going to invent a chocolate Hostess Cupcake that's good for you? Somebody get on that. Shit.

Hallelujah, holy shit...where's the Tylenol?

Has anyone else noticed that the middle class is the new working class?

I realized it during the presidential campaign, when Obama released his 30-minute ad spot on TV just before the election. In it, he profiled (and bemoaned) the economic states of various families around the nation, how they were struggling to make ends meet and keep their heads above water. My initial reaction was, "Man, that sucks for them...how horrible," but then I thought about it for a second, and it hit me: "Holy shit. That's ME." I saw myself a little in each of the profiles. And we're not the only ones; a lot of people I know are in the same flimsy, leaky boat. Falling behind in paying bills? Check. Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul? Check. Living paycheck to paycheck? Check. Wondering how best to stew and serve old leather shoes? Not yet. But I'm not ruling it out.

It was an uneasy realization for someone who had grown up decidedly "middle class" and considered myself as still fitting comfortably into that niche. After all, I have a nice apartment, I always eat well-rounded, nutritious meals (thanks to James--if I were on my own, I'd probably be eating cereal for dinner every night), I have warm clothes. But in all reality, the real middle class nowadays are the people whose primary adjustment to the recession is to maybe vacation less and not eat out as often. And hey, great for them--I'm certainly not disparaging them for being better off. I'm glad they are; the fewer people struggling the better, and the middle and upper classes are integral in keeping the economy chugging along, however slugglishly, as it devolves.

But the working class? They (sigh...WE) are having to make some pretty substantial sacrifices, and are terrified of that one big unexpected bill or expense that will set them back for the next 6 months and threaten to force them to choose between food and medical care, or between electricity and clothes for the kids. And I have a great, stable job with a very decent salary. How must other families be surviving right now on less stable, lower-paying jobs? Even as I worry and fret, I feel lucky.

It's a strange gray area, this bizarre new purgatory between the middle and working classes. We seem to have all the trappings of the middle, but the tactical reality of the working. Most of us are surprised to find ourselves here, after living so long solidly in "the middle." But our country's social strata have changed. I'd wager there are more strata now, each with subtle differences but ultimately all fighting the same fight,  and that more and more people are being demoted into the lower and working classes as time goes on. Trickle-down economics, my ass.

Anyway, I was talking about this with a friend at work a few weeks ago, about how difficult times have gotten and how disappointed I was to not be able to really afford Christmas gifts for my friends and family (okay, I was totally whining), and despite his own precarious financial situation, his reaction was to selflessly and generously put what he thought would be an anonymous wad of cash on my desk when I wasn't around. Just like that. He saw someone struggling just as much as he was, and instead of doing nothing, he gave. He gave what he probably didn't really have to give. And I was floored and humbled. His only condition was that I "pass it forward" and help someone else.

And that's where you, my nine faithful readers, come in. I've yet to pass it forward--not because I'm lazy or don't give a shit, but because I haven't decided just how to do so yet. I want it to be worthy of the generosity that was shown to me. I have a couple of ideas, but I want to put it to you as well: any ideas? Have you done anything lately to help those less fortunate around you? Do you know of something or someone that could really use some help? Do tell. And even though James and I may only be able to take on one or two of the ideas, sharing them here with everyone else (you know, my other 8 readers) might inspire them to do something as well, and soon we'll ALL be reaching out to others.

It'll be awesome! Like a stadium wave, but one of giving instead of sports mania, and without the loud fat guys in body paint and big foam rubber fingers. Unless you know someone who needs that. But I doubt it.

The wheels on the bus go round and round...

Even with gas back down to reasonable prices, there are still a lot of people riding mass transit with me each morning. A lot. Many of whom I suspect haven't ridden the bus since like 1972, or maybe EVER, because they get on looking like wary gazelles amidst a pack of slavering hyenas (which, admittedly, some riders totally resemble), take their seats humbly, then, emboldened by the fact that no one has mugged or punched them yet, proceed to ignorantly violate every sacred, tacit principle of bus/train etiquette there is. And everyone wants to kill them.

So I thought maybe a tutorial was in order. I want to spare new riders the shame of committing such acts (and the threat of bodily harm), as well as spare seasoned riders the teeth-gnashing annoyance of dealing with stupid new riders. So, allow me to share my list of no-nos (all of which I have actually witness or experienced firsthand). Consider them my Surefire Ways Guaranteed to Make Everyone on the Bus Hate Your Effing Guts:

1. Talk to another rider whom you may or may not actually know. From seven rows away. Especially if the topic at hand has anything to do with the anatomically-explicit difficulties you encountered during childbirth or how you outsmarted your parole officer AGAIN!!!! OH SNAP!!!! Sigh.

2. Repeatedly (and cluelessly) rest your head against the "request stop" strip on the wall until the bus driver has to yell at you that it's "not a pillow" and "if you do it again you're getting off whether it's your stop or not."

3. Spritz yourself with the shitty perfume you just bought from the bottom shelf of the Rite Aid aisle...you know, the kind that comes in a plastic can and has a name like Malibu Musk or starts with "If you like CK 1, you'll LOVE..." and contains more toxic chemicals than Chernobyl. There's a reason it cost $2.99, kids: it's made from badger urine and canned asparagus. And no one on the bus wants to smell it. Ever.

4. Try to sell fellow riders your "just like Lord of the Rings elf pipes," and after that doesn't work, force them to endure a rune-reading. Really? It says I'm strong-willed and destined for fame? Does it also say there that in 3 seconds I'm going to go all Amon Hen on your ass with my pepper spray? Because I am.

5. Invite other people's children to rub your "Buddha belly." There is a phrase for this. It's called "sexual harassment of a minor."

6. Work out the kinks in your relationship...over a poor cell phone connection. "Baby...BABY! YOU STILL THERE? Aw, bitch betta notta hung up on me...OH, YOU THERE! Naw, I didn't call you a bitch...baby, NO! Come on, girl, LISTEN! I CAN'T DO DIS RIGHT NOW I'M ON DA BUS! EVERYBODY BE LOOKIN AT ME!"

7. Stare. Especially at another passenger's crotch (or your own, I suppose, which is only slightly less creepy).

8. Change your shirt. The bus is not a roving dressing room, we are not interested in your flab and fur, and you, sir, are no Brad Pitt. Also, you will inevitably get stuck in an unflattering position while trying to remove your shirt in the manly, sexy manner that you no doubt saw on Legends of the Fall.

9. On a similar note: friends, LEAVE YOUR SHOES ON AT ALL TIMES. Please God. We do not want to suffer your foot cheese, bunions, or cracked heels. This is a CITY BUS, not the goddamn Dr. Scholl's promo tour bus.

10. Eat tuna. Seriously, tuna? In a crowded, humid space? I have never wanted to vomit more while riding the bus, and that is a bold statement.

11. Use your craptastic Nokia cell phone as an mp3 player without headphones. Guaranteed no one else thinks that tinny rendition of "Crank That (Soulja Boy)" is as phat a beat as you do. Along those same lines, your commute is NOT a good time to pick a new monophonic ring tone, unless you wish to get shivved.

12. Sit RIGHTNEXT to someone when there are plenty of empty seats on the bus. If your intent is to hit on the person you plop down next to, a word to the wise: invading their space will not endear you to them in the least. You are doomed to fail.

13. Clip your toenails. I have actually witnessed a person doing this. At one point, a toenail flew through the air (as they are wont to do while being clipped) and landed on an old woman nearby. Thankfully (and sadly) she was too old to notice, but I was sicked out enough for the both of us.

14. Talk to the driver. No matter how nice you are, you are just another asshole rider, and they'd rather just drive in angry self-loathing debating whether or not to end it all by driving into a telephone pole than talk to you about your day/holiday/vacation or the amazing sock bargain you just enjoyed at Walgreens. And just don't even bother asking them any questions about THEIR lives, because you know what? The answer will almost always be awkward, awkward silence.

15. Sing. Oh please, please, please don't sing. Because chances are if you're nuts enough to openly sing on the bus or train, you probably really suck.

And there you have it. Keep these things in mind, or risk a shiv in the back. And with that...I'm off to catch the train. Here's hoping more than 40% have bathed in the last 72 hours.

UPDATE, 9:53am, next day: I'm adding one more to the list based on my experience this morning. If you choose to entertain yourself on the train by playing the awesome new PacMan app you just downloaded to your iPhone, that's cool. But TRY TURNING OFF THE SOUND, asshole. Thanks.

Dirty Pretty Things, part deux

Ohhh, I love me some stuff.

It's true, and I don't know how else to say it. I just love stuff. I adore little bits and baubles and gadgets and knickknacks and pretties and smellies and softies. I like to surround myself with this stuff because it all makes me happy to look at, wear, smell or use. I love to look around my home and see attractive things.

And that's it. So for those of you inspired to perhaps suggest again that I am personifying Veblen's theory of conspicuous consumption, I will just say this: don't hate the playa, hate the game. I like these things not because they're haute or trendy, but because I find them aesthetically pleasing, and the fact that some of the objects tend to be somewhat expensive? Ancillary. So blow me.

That said, here are my top eleven (I couldn't settle on just ten) latest objets du désir. I seem to be fancying lighting quite a bit these days, from the looks of it (also, I don't know why the damned images won't center and aren't framed, but I'm tired of fighting with them):


1. 'Sassi Luminosi' by Bosa (so expensive they make you email the manufacturer for the price) - When hearing the term "magical rocks," some people think "crack cocaine." I think of these incredible floor lights. (And I think the crack might be cheaper.)






2. Monyette Paris ($45 for 1/8 oz. roll-on, monyetteparis.com) - This is my signature scent. I discovered it by happenstance in a little boutique up in Seattle. It was the only thing I could afford. I'm not kidding. Anyway, it smells fantastic (like Tahitian gardenia, French lily of the valley, hints of island vanilla orchid) and wears really well. Also, IT DRIVES THE BOYS WILD.





3. Roost Porcelain Mushrooms and Cargo Mushroom Boxes ($6 and $24 respectively, velocityartanddesign.com) - I find myself attracted lately to '70s design...those ceramic garden gnomes, owl paraphernalia, starburst clocks...and these wee, unglazed porcelain and wooden mushrooms (with lids!!!) seem to be a smaller, modern iteration of those old school cement toadstool statues I played on when I was a kid in my grandma's garden. I'd line them up on a shelf over my desk or in the kitchen, or just use one as a little paper weight. I would NOT try to chop them up and put them in spaghetti hoping for a hallucenogenic high, tempting though that might be.





4. Capri Blue Volcano No. 6 candle ($28, anthropologie.com) - If you have never smelled this candle, BOY HOWDY, ARE YOU IN FOR A TREAT. My friend Megan introduced me to them, and good god almighty, this might be the most amazing candle ever. I'm serious as a heart attack. The manufacturer describes the scent as "tropical fruits, sugared oranges, lemons, and limes, redolent with lightly exotic mountain greens," but I'm here to tell you that it smells like NECKING IN THE DARK and BEING DESERTED ON A TROPICAL ISLAND.




5. Nakamol leather rose rings ($15, nakamolchicago.com) - These are actually sold locally (!!!) at Willows Boutique in Downtown Vancouver, and for a whole dollar less! They're adorable little leather rings with a colored leather flower on top. And I love them so.




6. Roost Berlin Pendant Lamp ($270, velocityartanddesign.com) - I love the exposed filament bulbs in these pendant lamps...they manage to be elegant and rustic at the same time. Had I a dining room that wasn't bordered on three sides by doorways and therefore basically an idiotic, glorified hallway, I would hang three in a row over the dining room table. But since my dining room is a total effing waste of space, I'll just make do with the dining room table shoved unceremoniously in the corner and the heinous boob-and-nipple-shaped, brass-and-frosted-glass ceiling light that serves as our lighting now. SIGH.

7. Dash & Albert rugs (prices vary, dashandalbert.com) - Rugs are awesome. They're also really ridiculously expensive. My parents bought a very nice rug to go in their living room, under the coffee table, and while it's a great rug -- soft, pretty, sturdy -- it cost thousands of dollars. THOUSANDS. I don't know about anyone else, but I've got a cat that likes to play with carpeting, and I also have two feet that often wear shoes that perhaps have not been cleared of debris entirely before walking around my apartment. That said, there's no way in HELL I would spend that much on a rug. But Dash & Albert rugs are not only well-made and cute...they're affordable. Like, seriously affordable. And I just found them being sold in a new home store in Downtown Vancouver called Heart of the Home (which sounds like the sort of place selling decor featuring geese festooned in blue bows, but in fact sells lovely French country stuff). And to that I say, "holler."

8. Biella Wool Trench by Suzabelle ($388, suzabelle.com) - Seriously, this might be the greatest coat ever. We met in a bridal shop, of all places, while gown shopping for one of my best friends, Gina. Carrie and I spied the coat at the same time; she fell for the black, I for the gray. It's soft, warm, pliant, and easy to wear and move around in. I know this because I wore it for the duration of our time in the store, refusing to take it off until it was clear that my only choices were to do so or face criminal prosecution. But I've never forgotten it, and I know that someday I'll have a spare $388 that isn't earmarked for T-Mobile or NW Natural or some awesome past-due parking fine, and I will buy this jacket.

9. Anthropology outfit, "The 3rd" ($770, anthropologie.com) - Oh, Anthropologie. Are your clothes made using the rare strands of unicorn mane? Perhaps from the marrow of endangered baby seals? Are the earrings crafted from the same precious metal as the Holy Grail? No? THEN WHY IN THE HELL DOES THIS OUTFIT COST $770. WHY. At any rate, I love every piece of this outfit (especially those shoes), and will happily seek to reproduce it for approximately $650 fewer dollars. At Forever 21. If that is possible.

10. Manzanita Candelabra by West Elm ($99, westelm.com) - We have a fireplace mantel that could be used as a guest bedroom, it's so huge. It measures 5 feet wide and 2 feet deep. 2 FEET DEEP. I have long wondered what exactly to put up there that wouldn't make it look as though I were hosting a small garage sale in the living room, and, conversely, tried to avoid putting too little up there because it just draws attention to its ridiculous size. Then I saw this manzanita branch candelabra, and HALLELUJAH, HOLY SHIT! Something large enough to fill the space well, but dainty enough to not overwhelm the space or the room. And, of course, West Elm tells me it is now sold out. Why do the mantel gods hate me so?

11. Monkey Portraits by Jill Greenberg - Simply the greatest coffee table book ever. Period. I mean, LOOK AT IT.

____________________________________________________

Want to share something you covet? Feel free to post it in a comment, or email it to me and I'll post it for you. Because product porn can be a lonely pasttime, I know. AND I'M HERE FOR YOU.

LOVE.

I know, I know...I haven't posted anything of real substance for weeks, and I'm sorry. I've been so. damn. busy. But things are slowing down just a bit, and I have a few real posts in the works. Promise.

In the meantime, I really want to share a video (yes, another video) with you all. Proposition 8, the California legislation banning gay marriage, passed last month, due in large part to the well-funded efforts of religious organizations the nation over.

This deeply saddens me.

Keith Olbermann of MSNBC, maybe best known for his animated rants and agit-prop persona, dialed it down many notches to deliver this Special Comment about the passing of Prop 8 on his show recently. It is a calm, rational, and respectful statement about and appeal to those who oppose gay marriage. It's not a rant. It's not an attack. It's not snide or disrespectful or haughty. If you distill it down to its foundation, the issue here is love. Nothing more, nothing less. Love.

I really, really encourage everyone to watch it with an open mind and heart.

There is no other time

James and I went to Fred Meyer last night to pick up some things, and on our way out the Boy Scout standing guard at the entry asked if we'd like to buy some popcorn. James answered with a jovial, "Maybe next time, man!" as we walked by, and the little redheaded kid, his last bit of baby fat stuffed into the blue badge- and pin-covered uniform, his round little face despondent after hawking popcorn all day, said, "There IS no other time" with the awesome cynicism that only honest little kids can produce.

His response was so funny, and just so HONEST, that we had to give the kid a few bucks just for making us laugh. We weren't sure if he meant, "Yeah right, you don't REALLY mean 'next time,'" or if he was trying to let us know that this was the last day they'd be camped outside Freddies, but either way, it was hilarious.

On a related note, there is also no other time to VOTE by mail (if you're in OR or WA), so if you haven't already, go drop off your ballots!