On the big game

Welp, it looks like it's that time of year again. The big game is tomorrow, and I for one am pumped. This was a particularly long and grueling season, but it all comes down to one glorious moment in time when nothing matters but the action on the field, the beer in your hand, and maybe some nachos and hot wings. Perhaps some sort of dip. Chili is good too. Oh, and some of the commercials are pretty funny. Remember the one with the office linebacker? That one was hilarious! And there's always one with a talking baby or something, and usually there's one that's some elaborate dance sequence with some pop star singing the jingle. I bet this year the dance commercial will have the Jonas Brothers, or High School Musical or something. Man, High School Musical, anybody see those movies? I can't believe they made three of them, I mean was the story really so complex that it needed to be a trilogy? I mean they probably could have wrapped it up in two, or maybe even just one if they had, um, wait what was I talking about? The game? Right.

Does anyone even remember the preseason hype? It was meaningless. The brutal trench warfare of mid season? Long forgotten. The amazing post season blitzkrieg that transformed the down-and-outs into upstart heroes? Utterly irrelevant. All that matters now is what happens in this one final game. Let's take a look at some of the players that should be the real difference makers on the field tomorrow:

Mac - German Shepherd - 10 Weeks Old

Mac has been on the MVP radar all season long, and tomorrow will likely be another showcase of his impressive skills. Even though he's still only at 10 weeks, he plays with the poise and intelligence of a 15 week vet. If he establishes himself early, Mac is capable of dictating the pace for the entire game.

Gypsy - American Cocker Spaniel/Poodle - 10 Weeks

Facing off against Mac is the previously unheralded Gypsy. Considered a bust by many after a slow start to the season, Gypsy reached her stride late and absolutely took off down the stretch. Prone to gutsy, heartstopping maneuvers and occasional boneheaded plays, Gypsy is one of the most exciting players in the league today.

Eli - Australian Shepherd Mix - 12 Weeks

Eli is an absolute monster in the backfield, and is one of the greatest defensive playmakers the league has ever seen. Eli is known for effectively shutting down the run game, but with his freakish combination of size and speed look for him to get involved in a few offensive plays as well.

Jacob - Miniature Pinscher - 15 Weeks

Jacob is a wily veteran who is no stranger to pressures of big games. He's been in the league a long time, and is undoubtedly counting on his experience to serve him well against his younger opponents. He's not as quick as he used to be, but if he can recapture some of his earlier spark he's still capable of making a splash.

Charlie Brown - Doberman Mix - 9 Weeks

At only 9 weeks, Charlie Brown will be one of the youngest players taking the field. He struggles at times with the nuances of the game, but he is a rising star and tomorrow's game could really be his coming out party. Look for him to shine not only tomorrow, but in the years to come.

Griffey - Labrador Retriever Mix - 10 Weeks

Griffey is a silly puppy! He likes playing catch and going for walks! He especially likes it when you scratch him behind his ears! When he gets hungry his favorite treat is Frosty Paws ice cream! Isn't he a cutie!

Enjoy the game everyone.

On dogs

So I was in the grocery store the other day, and as I was walking down the ice cream and popsicle aisle I happened to spy with my little eye something I had never seen before.

It's called Frosty Paws, and it's an ice cream made for dogs. It comes in two flavors, original and peanut butter.


First of all, I love dogs. I think dogs are awesome. The rest of this post might sound as if I'm badmouthing them, and to a certain extent I am, but it is done out of love.

As stupid as it is, I understand why this product exists. There are a lot of dumb people out there that think pampering their pets means giving them the same food that people eat. They want their dogs to enjoy the same delicious treats that they do.

I have one thing to say about that:

It's a goddamn dog!

Do you honestly think that your dog cares what the hell you are feeding it? My dog used to eat plastic bags. Seriously, she would sniff out a plastic bag with a molecule of food inside and gulp down the whole damn thing before we could stop her. She also liked eating garbage that she found in the street during walks. Her very favorite thing to do was to lick the dirty floor after a crumb had spilled. This is not just her, this is all dogs. They don't care what they're eating, and half the time they don't care if it's edible. And this ish comes in two different flavors? What's the flippin' point of that? All of the dog food companies act like dogs have discerning palates and that they are doing a major service by adding in rich flavors and new textures. Like the dog sits there and savors its meal. No, stupid, it's a dog! It's wolfing it down as fast as it can, chewing it just barely enough so that it can swallow without choking! The very idea of ice cream for dogs falsely assumes that dogs not only care what their food tastes like, but also that they are capable of comprehending and appreciating the human concept of dessert. Are you kidding me? Dogs need dessert now? Is America's obesity problem really so bad that we have to spread it to our dogs too? Lean dog food isn't enough, they have to feast on processed fat and sugar just like us? What's next, video games for dogs? Beer for dogs?

Seriously people, all you need to make a dog happy is a handful of dog food and a tennis ball. And maybe a plastic bag or two.

On pretending like I'm the president

This thing is pretty neat.

On what I guess are my favorite songs

So last night, after a show by my friend's-girlfriend's-roommate's band, I came home and watched the movie Kickboxer* and goofed around in iTunes until about 3 am. At one point I decided to check what my #1 most played song is. I figured it would be by one of the bands I have loved for a long time, like the White Stripes or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or the Detroit Cobras or P.O.S. or Mike Mictlan or something. I was therefore surprised to find that it was actually the song "12:59 Lullaby" by the band Bedouin Soundclash:



My second most played song was also a little unexpected, "Look Out Young Son" by the band Grand Ole Party:



I'm not really a huge fan of Bedouin Soundclash other than that one song, and Grand Ole Party is something of a Yeah Yeah Yeahs-lite. And both of them are fairly recent additions to my library. But I guess I shouldn't have been all that surprised. I'm more of an iPod man and don't listen to music from my computer all that often, so none of the playcounts are very high. And I really do love both songs. When someone eventually makes a movie about my epic life, I would recommend both of them for the soundtrack.

But I ask, dear readers, what are your most played songs?


*Please watch this clip from Kickboxer. You will not regret it.

On strangers

So my last few twitter updates have been about this, but I thought I would blow it up into a real post.

Sometimes I feel like I am a crazy person magnet. I almost never meet normal people, and it always seems like the only people that want to talk to me are insane. Especially lately.

Last night I went to a bar in Uptown with a few friends. We were just standing around talking, and a girl came up to us and asked if any of us wanted to play pool with her. My friend Diddy said yes, however, and the rest of us went back to doing nothing. After they played a couple games, she came over to the group to chat. Here is how the conversation went (paraphrased):

GIRL: Where are you guys from?
DIDDY: South Minneapolis.
GIRL: So, what, Richfield? Edina?
DIDDY: No we're from Minneapolis.
GIRL: No you're not. You're obviously suburban kids.
THAD: Uh, no, we all live in Minneapolis.
GIRL: You don't live in the real Minneapolis though.
ME: What does that even mean? I live like ten blocks away.
GIRL: Yeah whatever, I live three blocks away.
ME: Oh, wow. Awesome. I bet you're good friends with Slug, too.
GIRL: Actually, I hate Atmosphere.
PETE: What is your problem?
GIRL: How many of you live with your parents?
SAM: Huh?
GIRL: I bet you all live at home.
SAM: Actually, no.
GIRL - I bet all of your parents are rich.
ME: You don't know any of us.
GIRL: So what are you guys doing after this?

I had a bunch of questions that went unanswered. First of all, what are you doing at the bar by yourself? Why do you go up to strangers and try to insult them? Who cares if you live in Uptown? Do you think you are cool and edgy because you hate Atmosphere? Do you think you are cool and edgy because you have an apartment? And why the flip would we want to hang out with you after the bar when you spent fifteen minutes trying to prove that you're better than us?

I met someone else today while waiting to take a test for a job I applied for at the census bureau. The conversation with her went like this (again, paraphrased):

ME: *fiddles with cell phone*
WOMAN: What company are you with?
ME: Huh?
WOMAN: What company?
ME: What are you talking about?
WOMAN: *points at cell phone*
ME: Oh. Uh, Cingular?
WOMAN: What kind of phone is that?
ME: Sony?
WOMAN: Are you on a family plan or what?
ME: Why are you asking?
WOMAN: Are you here for the census test?
ME: Yeah. Are you here for that too?
WOMAN: Are you unemployed?
ME: Excuse me?
WOMAN: Where did you go to school?
ME: Uh, the University of Puget Sound.
WOMAN: I've never heard of that.
ME: It's in Washington.
WOMAN: Oh it's a junior college.
ME: No, I said it's in Washington. Washington State.
WOMAN: Yeah, a junior college.
ME: No, it's-
WOMAN: I already took this test last week.
ME: ...
WOMAN: I need to get a better score this time.
ME: Great, see you there!

Again, questions. Questions like who the eff are you and why are you talking to me? I don't want to talk to you. Also, the test was the easiest piece of crap ever. If you had trouble getting a good score, you really have no business judging me on what college I went to.

I don't know why these weirdos keep heaping condescension upon me. And I know that everyone has interactions like this, and that it's really not worth harping over, but some of it really got to me. Yeah, I live with my parents in a yuppie neighborhood. No, I don't have a job. I graduated from college at the worst possible time, and there hasn't been a whole lot that I have been able to do. If you are going to make fun of people for things like that, do so at a time when the economy isn't in the toilet and when there are actually jobs to be found.

On fine art and college

Last spring, during my final semester of college ever, I took a painting class. It wasn't my first foray into world of visual arts. I did a lot of painting in high school, and I took some intro classes my freshman year of college when I thought I would minor in art. Because having an art minor looks so good on a resume.

Out of all of the projects we did in painting class, there was only one that I was really proud of. It was a self portrait. Notice how the soft, yet deliberate brush strokes bring to life the Kahlo-esque expression on my face. Or just notice the sailor suit.

Louvre-worthy? I think so!

I lived in a house with 6 other dudes last year. My housemates all loved the painting, and they begged me to leave it for them in Tacoma. They were all at least one year away from graduation, and four of them were going to be living together again this year. They wanted to hang my enourmous portrait in their living room. In retrospect, I really wish I had left it for them because they would have gotten so much more enjoyment out of it. But I was selfish and wanted to keep my precious.

Well my housemate Tashi never gave up, and using a technology that is juvenilely known at 'rasterbation' he recently created an exact replica. Sort of.

It's glorious, isn't it? I think it's about the exact size of the original. It's really an honor to have my portrait displayed in such a proud way. The best part is that Tashi made one of Obama too, and hung it right next to my painting. So it's kinda like me and Barry are buddies in a way. No big deal.

Ah jeez... now I really miss my house from last year. It was called F.O.S. and our mascot was a wookie. The house itself was a bit of a dump, but my housemates were awesome. By far the best place I lived in college.

I designed this wookie stencil but it was unfortunately never used. It's no Banksy, but I thought it would have looked good sprayed on some stuff. We did spray F.O.S. everywhere though.

I think a homecoming trip is going to be a necessity.

Things I learned from Wikipedia

So you are probably wondering about the BIG THINGS I referred to in the last post, and when I am going to tell you what they are. The answer is, unfortunately, not any time soon. Indeed, a friend and I are beginning work on a few creative projects which I am quite excited about, but we are looking at a timeline of months and potentially even years. As such, it wouldn't really be prudent to give any details at this stage. Plus, keeping it secret probably makes it seem much cooler and more important than it actually is. So hang tight.

But enough about that. I want to talk about Wikipedia. I probably spend more time there than any other website, with the possible exception of Youtube. So as such, I just want to share some of the countless things that Wikipedia has taught me:

1. Bonnie Tyler's classic 80's power ballad "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was inspired by Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights
2. The lyrics to Will Smith's late 90's smash hit "Gettin' Jiggy wit It" were written by Nas
3. Professional wrestler Stone Cold Steve Austin took his name from Jane Austen, who was his literary hero
4. Not only are telegrams still in use, but Pope Benedict XVI sent one to Barack Obama today to congratulate his inauguration
5. Top Chef judge Tom Colicchio has a character named after him in World of Warcraft. Also, apparently two days ago he gave someone the Heimlich maneuver at an inaugural celebration.
6. Rapzilla is one of the top Christian hip hop websites
7. One of my current favorite bands, the Black Lips, have a reputation for live shows that include vomiting, urinating, nudity, band members kissing, fireworks, a chicken, and flaming guitars
8. Hawaiian mythology includes a figure known as Kawelomahamahai'a, who was a human that was transformed into a shark
9. Despite what websites such as IMDB have claimed, Danny DeVito is not a vegetarian and he does in fact consume meat
10. Survivorman star Les Stroud has released an album

Maybe I will make this a regular feature, doing like a weedly roundup of the facts that I learned from Wikipedia. Maybe I will never do this again. Eh, we'll see.

On the future

Big things are in the works, people.

Big things.

That's all for now.

On the tell-tale phone call

Remember a few months ago when I received an unexplained phone call and wrote several meandering entries about it? Yeah I had fun with that.

Well a few minutes ago I received a series of phone calls that were legitimately unsettling. This is some legit spebector ish.

I let the first one ring through because I don't recognize the number and don't really feel like answering the phone at the moment. It has a 952 area code, so I know that it's local. Probably a wrong number. They leave a voicemail, but when I check it there's no actual message. It's nothing more than one loud, piercing beep. A little odd. Maybe a robocall from a telemarketer or something?

Then about 45 seconds later, the same number calls again. Oh, I get it. They meant to leave a voicemail but somehow it got screwed up, so they are calling again to leave a real one. I let it ring for a few seconds, enjoying my ringtone (it's the song Bump Bump Bump by B2K if you were wondering). But I eventually answer, reasoning that if they are calling a second time it can't be a wrong number and it must be important. When I answer, all I hear is that same piercing tone, repeating over and over, getting louder and louder, building to a crescendo, then silence.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Guh? A little creepy.

Then about 45 seconds later, the same number calls again.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Okay seriously, what the eff is this?" I blurt. There's no one there to respond.

Then about 45 seconds later, the same number calls again. I swear, something about that sound just drills right to the center of the brain. I hang up after one beep.

Then about 45 seconds later...

This time I end the call without answering, then call the number back. I immediately get the voicemail of some guy named Joe Huzzo, or Hutzo, or Hutso, or some such name that sounds like Hut+Zo. I don't know who Joe Hut+Zo is, but I leave a message telling him to stop calling me, or trying to fax me, or whatever the eff he's trying to do.

The phone calls stop, but I'm left confused. Was Joe Hut+Zo trying to send a fax? Fax machines don't beep like that though, they just make that screeching internet noise. Right? But I don't really have any other explanation. It was the fact that the beeps got progressively louder that made it so creepy. Like it was getting closer and closer. Like it was about to burst through my phone and into my cerebrum and I would hear nothing but beeps for the rest of my life. It felt like something out of LOST. Or better yet, something out of Poe. It was like being called by the tell-tale heart.

On surreal 80's movies, those who have fallen

This past Saturday, after a long and exhausting and very fun game of broomball, my friends and I went back to their apartment and watched 80's movies.

First we watched Weird Science. I'd seen it before, but I didn't remember how bizarre it was. The movie just doesn't make any sense. Two nerds use a computer to create a perfect woman. Okay, sure, whatever. Then they try to do it again and it goes wrong, which for some reason creates a gigantic missile, traps a kid inside a television, shoots the couch out of the chimney, and turns everything in the kitchen blue? That's pushing it. But thank god for 1985, because I can't think of any other era in which that movie could have been made.

After the credits rolled, and we finally were able to learn who played the cranky bartender during the zany party scene (it was D'Mitch Davis), we decided to check out the selection of free on-demand movies. There was a movie called Malibu Bikini Shop, which we decided to watch for what should be obvious reasons.

Now, I could probably write ten thousand words on everything the movie did wrong. It was terrible. I would like to know who at Comcast had the final say on the movie's inclusion in the on-demand listing. Why this movie? Why?

But what I really want to talk about is a scene that occurs near the end, which I was serendipitously able to find on youtube. At this point in the movie, uptight nerd Alan has just sold the bikini shop which he inherited with his brother Todd. They need to raise six thousand extra dollars in order to buy it back. To do this, they get the humble artist Ronnie to design a new line of bikinis for a massive one day sale to save the store. This is the scene in which the new bikinis are unveiled and modeled for Alan and Todd's approval. If you're reading this at work, you might want to make sure your boss isn't standing behind you before you start watching it.



Even in a harebrained 80's bikini movie, there's really no explanation for a four minute long commando-themed jazz dancing fantasy. I mean really, what the eff is writer/directer David Wechter trying to say with this? Was it his lifelong dream to direct a music video so he awkwardly shoehorned one into this movie to fulfill some selfish ambition? Did the one actress insist that her contract include a clause dictating that she be allowed to show off her extensive dance training? Was there some surplus of fog machines that they felt they needed to take advantage of? What what what why why why?

Also while watching the movies, we played a morbid game using imdb in which we tried to guess whether or not the older actors/actresses were still alive. Many of them weren't. This post is dedicated to their memories:

From Weird Science:
Ivor Barry
Ann Coyle
Pamela Gordon
Fred D. Scott
Vince Townsend Jr.
Chino 'Fats' Williams

From Malibu Bikini Shop:
Frank Nelson
Kathleen Freeman
Karen Anders
Michael Fox
Elias Jacob
Dwight Larick

On Clown Girl

Rather than the usual silliness, I have decided to try a little semi-serious writing. So here goes a book review. But here's a warning, I'm much more familiar with literary analysis than actual book reviewing, so it's bound to be a little verbose. Also, spoiler warning, I'm going to be discussing the plot.

The book is called Clown Girl, written by Monica Drake, published by Hawthorne Books.


I gave the book to my sister for her birthday back in June, and she just recently loaned it back so that I could read it too. I picked it out mainly because of the quotes on the back. It had blurbs by Chuck Palahniuk and Katherine Dunn. Chuck Palahniuk even went as far as to write a forward for the book, which struck me as rather pretentious (it's a book about clowns, and you're a guy that writes about strippers and necrophilia... does the situation really warrant something as scholastic as a foreward?). I'm not the biggest Palahniuk fan, but I have enjoyed his work before, and I read Katherine Dunn's Geek Love* and thought it was fantastic. I was convinced that I would love Clown Girl, too. I really came close to loving it. I should have loved it. It was therefore very frustrating to get to the end and realize that I didn't even like it.

I will start with the parts that I did like. The book tells the story of Nita, a twenty-something girl leading a desperate life as a freelance clown. It takes place in a surreal world in which clowns are a normal, albeit low on the social ladder, part of society. It's filled with coulrophiles (clown fetishists) and coulrophobes, and 'clown dating' is a popular form of prostitution. It's a brilliantly surreal concept. It also works very well with the books primary motif, which is the struggle between maintaining artistic integrity and surviving in a commercial and sexualized world. Nita has dreams of high concept clown acts (such as translating Kafka's Metamorphosis into mime), but is forced to prostitute herself both figuratively and literally in order to get by.

Nita is a terrific character, and is terrifically well developed. While she makes incredibly poor decisions, she is so believably written that one identifies with her rather than criticizing her. Her dialogue is especially well done. She has a nervous tic in which she responds to stressful situations by spouting off corny one-liners. It's hilarious, and I don't think it would work with any other character but Nita. The book carries on at a manic pace, mirroring Nita's downward spiral into anorexia and herbal stimulants. It's a tragic story, but Drake's writing is so stylish and clever that it never gets too dark. For the first 250 pages, it really was enjoyable to read. It's easy to see why Pahlaniuk liked it, as they have a similar style of dark humor.

In addition to the struggle of maintaining her artistic integrity, Nita struggles with the absence of her boyfriend Rex Galore. Nita was pregnant when Rex left to get into a prestigious clown college, and she is unable to tell him of her traumatic miscarriage. Nita extols Rex's strength and virtue on nearly every page, but while he is away she finds herself pursued by an equally noble police officer named Jerrod. She is caught between her loneliness, her longing for the absent man she obviously loves, and the dashing cop to whom she is deeply attracted. It's the moral ambiguity of Nita's romance with Jerrod that makes Clown Girl interesting. Deep down she knows that Rex is never coming back, but she is unable to give up on her happy past and embrace a different future. It's fascinating reading.

Then, 50 pages from the end, Rex comes back. He immediately shows himself to be a complete asshole and tries to steal Nita's deeply personal Metamorphosis act. Nita kicks him to the curb, meets up with Jerrod, and presumably lives happily ever after.

It was an obvious turn, and I had been expecting it from the beginning, but it was utterly unnecessary. It was obvious that Rex couldn't possibly be as great as Nita made him out to be, but I kept reading, thinking that maybe Drake would end the book with the romantic tension still intact. Instead, Drake took the obvious and predictable route, completely removing all of the moral ambiguity that was the heart and soul of the story. It struck me as, dare I say it, lazy. Lazy and frustrating. Argh. Seemingly perfect boyfriend turns out to be a jerk, and the humble new guy really does have a heart of gold. Congratulations Monica Drake, you followed the same plot as Wedding Crashers. Hell, you followed the same plot as Harold and Kumar: Escape from Guantanamo Bay. I can't even describe how much better the book would have been if Rex had never come back. If Nita had simply never heard from him again. It wouldn't have been as cheerful of an ending, but it would have been infinitely more interesting.

I plan on reading more by Monica Drake in the future, as I really enjoyed her style, but I pray that her next novel is better plotted.

*A quick side story about Geek Love: At the end of my senior year of high school, my awesome history teacher Mrs. Borges decided to give everyone in my class a book from her private collection based on their personalities. She said that I was one of the easiest to pick a book for, and handed me Geek Love. It's a book about depraved mutant circus freaks.

On a small programming update

I was thinking that this blog needed more pointless junk, so I just signed up for Twitter. If you direct your eyeballs to the immediate right of this post, I guess that's where the new science goes.

On attending a very frustrating sporting event

I just got home from the Minnesota Vikings/Philadelphia Eagles game. I felt I had to go because hey, who knows when the Vikings will be in the playoffs again.

I don't want to talk about the game.

After it was all over, and after my friends and I made the long and incredibly cold walk across the Stone Arch Bridge to my friend's Dinkytown apartment where we were parked, we drove back to south Minneapolis and went to the Chipotle in Uptown. As we ate we talked at length about who should be cut from the Vikings. Amongst others, my friend Roy loudly suggested that the Vikes get rid of linebacker Ben Leber, about whom he said "I just don't like him."

As we were walking out, we passed by an enourmous dude sitting and waiting for his food. It was none other than Mr. Leber himself! I don't know how he got out of the Metrodome and the surrounding traffic snarl so quickly, but I know that if I were him I wouldn't want to stick around either. I don't think he heard our conversation (at least I hope he didn't), but holy moly did he ever look glum.

God damn Minnesota sports teams.

Extremely blurry photo taken with my cell phone.

On all things papal

Today I went to the Vatican Splendors Exhibition at the Minnesota History Center. It was somewhat interesting to see some of the ridiculously opulent excesses of the Catholic bastion. Mostly it was crowded and boring. But I have a few thoughts:

First, buying the tickets. Know how almost every website nowadays has some sort of security deal where you have to type random words to prove you are an actual person and not a scary robot? Take a look at the words that Ticketmaster gave me:

Maybe it's just me, but the phrase "skin removals" seems just a little creepy. Especially in the context of a religious institution with a long history of torturing people. But the exhibit itself didn't mention torture at all, which was kind of a shame because that might have actually been interesting. Instead it was a bunch of reliquaries and other jewel-encrusted artifacts, which some might find fascinating. I was kinda bored. There were, however, two things that I enjoyed:

1. There was a collection of atlases and maps from hundreds of years ago. One book was beautifully handwritten in like 1700. One of the books was from the mid 1500's. I like books, so that part of the exhibit was relevant to my interests.
   
2. The uniforms of the papal army, the Swiss Guard. They are absolutely hilarious.
   

One of these men is a member of the Pope's elite bodyguard. The other is a clown from Cirque de Soleil. Can you tell which one is which?

Bleh

Welp, it's a new year I guess.

Last night could have gone better.

I went to a party in Uptown.

I left my coat in a friend's car, who left the party without telling me.

Instead of stealing someone else's coat like last year, I just walked home alone around 3:30 in 5 degree weather in just a shirt.

My car key was in the pocket of my coat.

My car is still parked in front of my other friend's apartment.

I have yet to pick up either of them.

At midnight I was caught in the middle of a huge group of dudes and nobody to kiss.

I sent like a hundred text messages saying "happy two thousand million" which I still don't really understand.

I smoked several cigarettes, which I don't even enjoy.

Worst of all, someone dropped my camera and it broke. I guess you won't be seeing any more pictures on here anymore.

I have an Armageddon-level hangover.

But you know what?

It was still a blast.

J Ry trying to lick my face with Brooks yelling in the background.
Mannnnn... I am going to miss my camera.