Professional Parting Of Ways Or Break-Up?

The day after sticking to my decision and the day after the day after announcing it, a very strange feeling came over me, and one I absolutely did not see coming (at least not in the context of leaving my job). It wasn't regret or guilt or relief. It was sadness, and it was intense. Being so unexpected, I had no way of coping with it and had to let it take over for awhile. It was the last thing I expected to feel, and it brought with it a compassion for the people I'm leaving behind at my job. All these years I knew I was valuable, but I would not have guessed that my value transferred so extensively to a personal level. It took me by surprise, and my shock manifested as a deep, deep sadness over the mutual (if temporary) emptiness my boss and I will both feel. To be cared for, even if it's not always healthy or mutually beneficial, is a powerful and special thing.

The important things are to know when to move on and to be able to separate emotions from actions. Part of my sadness, if I am to analyze myself, comes from having made a decision I believed to be a practical and unemotional one that turned out to have an unexpected consequence: a genuine emotional reaction from my boss, which in turned sparked my own. I was prepared for a fight, but I wasn't prepared for a hug.

In any case, I have to deal with, learn from, and be thankful for these strange feelings as they pop up. I have to realize that a certain amount of discomfort is going to come with a new beginning. I have to give myself a chance, or I'll never know either how good I've had it or how much I've been missing.

I've Gone And Done It

Today I finalized the first step of my still-forming plan: I gave my notice at work. My emotions are mixed and I'm still processing; I've definitely considered the ramifications but in reality I have no idea what's coming. There's a sense of relief, but there's also a nagging uncertainty. The goal is, instead of letting it become my enemy, to exploit that uncertainty. To that end I am considering this a challenge, a self-administered test I have no choice but to pass. And that's about all I can say right now.

Today's Childhood Rediscovery

I recently remembered a favorite treat from my childhood, Iced Circus Animal cookies, which are animal crackers dipped in pink or white icing and covered with tiny rainbow-colored candy sprinkle balls. After listening to me go on and on about them (but not having ever heard of or tasted them herself), a friend of mine saw them on display at the supermarket and picked up a bag for me. And I've been stuffing my face with them nonstop since. Isn't it amazing to rediscover something you loved as a kid and find that it's still as wonderful as you remember it? Now THIS is a happy moment.

The Very Mysterious Mystery of the Milk Cartons in NYC

I've wondered since becoming independent in New York City (and by extension purchasing milk on a regular basis) why there are two sell-by dates on milk cartons sold in the area. There is the standard sell-by date and then there is the NYC sell-by date, which is typically two to three days earlier than the standard sell-by date. Well, mystery solved. Not surprisingly, it has to do with city regulations on how long a grocer can sell milk after 6:00 a.m. on the day of pasteurization. Thank you, Gothamist, for enlightening me. I'm glad to see there are others curious about this (one of very, very many) New York City quirk.

Selling Myself

I'm not very comfortable with it (or good at it), and yet I've got to figure out a way to be. My indecision with regard to my future has messed me up to the point that I don't feel I have anything all that great even to say about myself. Now as I begin writing cover letters (again) I'm finding it difficult to muster the enthusiasm I once felt for my transferable skills.

I've written some pretty good cover letters in my time, or so I thought. They didn't get me hired. (In fact, what got me hired at my current position was my GPA and alma mater.) In a cover letter I focus not only on my skills but also on my passions -- how I make a connection with my product, how I pride myself on the quality of my work. I relate the relevance of a personal or professional experience to the job I'm applying for. I tailor each resume submission accordingly. I put a lot of myself into a job application, which means I spend a lot of time on it and I take it personally when I'm not considered. I don't see how the personal touches could be so easily overlooked, but in reality, isn't the person looking at these documents merely glancing, scanning, absorbing words here and there, but not the full picture? Am I putting too much of myself into (i.e. working too hard on) these job applications?

Most jobs these days are posted online and offer as a point of contact only an email address (and usually a generic one so you can't get a person's name, e.g. resumes@abc123.com), with an all-caps warning: "NO PHONE CALLS." In this day and age, you'd think a passionate cover letter would be just the ticket to impress a prospective employer given that you can't get any face or voice time like you could in the old days. You'd think in the flood of mundane applications that one demonstrating the respondent's actual personality would stand out at least a little. Well I thought about these things last night as I re-evaluated a cover letter I'd written earlier this summer and that I intend to revise this week to apply for a different position at the same company. Studying my words, I saw the requisite boring stuff about my skills and achievements, but I also saw the anecdotes about my education and experiences that tied me to the company's mission, and how these anecdotes offered up my human side to the prospective employer. I saw all this and I got frustrated. In conclusion, let me borrow from Carrie Bradshaw. As I reflected on the many hours I spent on cover letter brainstorming sessions that proved in the end to be no more than an exercise in missing valuable sleep on a weeknight, I couldn't help but wonder: Have we been OVER-selling ourselves? Or are there really so many more qualified candidates than me? Maybe it's time to streamline. If nothing else at least it would allow for more job applications completed.

I Have Nothing To Say, So I'll Post Some Favorite Travel Photos

With any luck, to be continued. And continued, and continued. . .

Papohaku Beach on Mokokai, HI

Foothills on Kauai, HI

California Wine Country

Smoky Mountains Cabin


Cades Cove (Smoky Mountains) Stream

British Museum Interior

Beijing - Forbidden City


China's Great Wall


Saugerties, NY Lighthouse

The F.A.M.S.B.T.T. Results

Well, the results are in. I don't want to say that the F.A.M.S.B.T.T. was a bust, but I also can't say that I'm going to be looking for a job as a sommelier any time soon.

Below, a recap of the contenders, the judges' comments, and the final decision.

The Contenders:

Contender #1 (The Favorite): Kim Crawford 2007 Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, $11.99

Contender #2 (The Challenger): Cooper's Creek 2007 Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, $8.99

Contender #3 (The Longshot): King Shag 2007 Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, $7.99

The Judges' Comments:

Judge #1 described the Kim Crawford as "better" than the King Shag. The King Shag he deemed "verdant," and the Cooper's Creek impressed him with its "spiciness."

Judge #2 disagreed with his characterization of the Cooper's Creek as spicy; she found it fruity and on the sweet side. The Kim Crawford smelled and tasted "fuller" to her than the others. King Shag, she felt, tasted the "cheapest" and offered a "very green" finish.

Judge #3 (yours truly) also got a green feel from the King Shag, in which she tasted grass. She found the Cooper's Creek to be the lightest of the wines with a hint of green pepper, while the Kim Crawford had a fuller flavor and a syrupy mouthfeel with tropical fruit hints.

The Final Decision:

Pour 'em all!

All three were delicious (a cop out, I know). Who can decide? I leaned toward the old standby Kim Crawford, but it might be worth it to do a blind tasting next time to see how/if that changes things. Kim Crawford is a great buy at under $15 and it has a good reputation. In fact, during our tasting another friend stopped by and when we offered her a glass of it she said, "Ooooh, I love Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc!" So there you have it.

Don't Get Me Started

My friend Pam recently blogged about her English-language pet peeve, which got me to thinking about my own. There are undoubtedly several, but the one that really jumped out at me is this (I'll demonstrate with an example): "A recent study demonstrated that more women ride the bus." This was in today's paper.

More women ride the bus than WHAT? More women than men ride the bus? More women ride the bus in 2008 than rode the bus in 1998? More women ride the bus than ride the subway? More women ride the bus than ride in cars? More women ride the bus than ride horses (or cowboys)?

You simply canNOT make that statement. You MUST elaborate.

It absolutely infuriates me when people try to make a comparative statement but leave off the most important part. Have we become that lazy?

The F.A.M.S.B.T.T.

My sister is the first to point out that my memory sucks.* Buuuuuut I will not forget (or at least have not yet forgotten) discovering the wonderful Sauvignon Blanc from Marlborough, New Zealand, which for about a year now has been my white wine of choice. I first tasted a Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc last May at a big family dinner. I certainly didn't order it and probably even grumbled at its being ordered, but once I tasted it I made sure the bottle stayed on my end of the table. That MSB was by Kim Crawford, and it was the first wine in which I was accurately and unmistakably able to identify an actual organic flavor in wine. (It was passion fruit, which gave this wine an edge given my weakness for tropical fruit.) I subsequently not only committed to memory the name Kim Crawford, but I also went out and told my friends about it.

This weekend I've planned the First Annual MSB Taste Test. While it's obviously an excuse to consume a lot of wine, I'd like to consider it a learning experience too. Who knows when wine flavor-identifying skills will come in handy? I intend to hone mine now (especially with unemployment on the horizon).

We'll be pitting Kim Crawford against two or three other contenders. Full details -- and of course, results -- to follow.

*(She's right. In fact I very nearly recounted my discovery of Kim Crawford as having happened at her high school graduation dinner when in fact it was at my stepmom's grad school graduation dinner.)

My Peruvian Dreams Have Turned To Poi

It has been my dream for the past several years (since seeing a History Channel special on Machu Picchu; I am a big fan of ruins) to go to Peru. And even before Machu Picchu, I'd dreamed of floating down the Amazon in an itty bitty boat looking for pink river dolphins. This dream formed in first-year Environmental Science class and while at that time I felt this experience had to happen in Brazil, I've since learned that Peru's Amazon is far more untouched than Brazil's and just as ecologically exciting. I got the silly idea I'd be able to afford this trip to Lima/Cusco/Machu Picchu/the Amazon between jobs (the job following this one, mind you, is still hypothetical at this point), and reluctantly came to the conclusion that while I could certainly spend all of my money and go to Peru, I'd come back broke and unemployed. Not wishing to default on loans but at the same time wishing to do a little between-job (there I go again) soul searching, I considered other places to which I might travel without depleting my entire savings account.

And the obvious answer was Kauai. The decision was basically made for me by the almost-unbelievable airfare (and I believe it only because I bought it) to Honolulu, combined with the chance to see an old friend who'll be visiting and my aunt and uncle who live there. So Peru is on hold for now, but I know it will happen.

This trip is a big step, as it more or less cements my unemployment plans. Yay, or oy? A little bit of both, I think.

Waimea Canyon, my Machu Picchu substitute

I Want One!

I realize this video has been around for awhile and gets a lot of attention, but I couldn't resist posting it. Watching it for the first time, I'm ashamed to say, my eyes welled up and I felt a sudden and powerful urge to nuzzle my own (if much, much smaller) feline.

I have two questions:

1. Is it possible my own Stanley would recognize and embrace me after a long separation? I'd like to think so, though I hope never to have to test it.

2. Um, where can I get a baby lion? I was at Harrod's a couple years ago and they didn't have any.

Here, Stanley demonstrates his best stand-n-hug.

Don't Buy Me A Jersey Just Yet

I've been taking some heat over my post on Football Legend! Brett Favre. I stand by my words, first and foremost. I'll add, however, that I do respect his work at Green Bay, especially his games-played streak, and before this I've never had any issue with him that wasn't related to interception-throwing. I don't blame him solely for the fiasco that was his return to pro football, and I don't blame him for moving on in the end; it was the idea of the return I groaned over. After all, I didn't stop liking Joe Montana when he went to the Chiefs. It never did feel the same after that, though, and I imagine a lot of Packers fans will share that strange feeling come September. It would have been a different story entirely a) if he weren't "retiring age" or b) if he hadn't already retired, but as it stands, in the presence of the settling dust I've been wondering how much "about the fans" it can ever really be.

Favre has already connected with fans here (they even cheered him on as he ran a penalty lap at practice for botching a snap the other day -- no comment) but New Yorkers are notorious for their fickleness when it comes to sports figures. He comes here with what is essentially a clean slate, and he'll face our invasive and scrutinous media and fans who are quick to judge (and do so collectively). His accomplishments at Green Bay won't mean a thing to New Yorkers -- and even, albeit to a lesser extent, to historians -- if he doesn't deliver here. It's not the kind of pressure I'd ever want. In any case, I am tepidly rooting for his success, thank you very much, even if I don't approve. (That's both because I'm not a Vikings or Bears fan and because it pains me to see an aging QB embarrass himself.)

But don't be surprised if I keep an interception tally this fall.

When Not Fretting, I Can Usually Be Found Eating

Coping with indecision is exhausting and requires frequent refueling. As I find it relevant -- not that relevance matters -- and as I am in charge here anyway, I'll begin posting some favorite recipes/dishes.

A friend of mine developed the following delicious recipe as a variation of something she'd seen online. It's an easy family meal, goes great with a salad, and even works as leftovers (not something I usually have to worry about). Consider it a sort of Tex-Mex shepherd's pie.

Taco Pie Larue

1 box Jiffy (or similar) corn muffin mix (requires 1 egg and 1/3 cup milk)
1 - 1.5 lb lean ground turkey
1 medium onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
4 oz shredded cheddar cheese
3/4 cup frozen corn kernels
2 scallions
2 chipotle peppers in adobo, minced (more or less to taste; they're very spicy. Those seeking a milder experience can substitute 1/3 cup taco sauce or 1 tbsp taco seasoning + 1 tbsp water.)
Salt to taste
1 8 oz container lite sour cream

In a saucepan, saute the onions until they begin to soften. Add the meat, garlic, and salt and saute until the meat is just cooked. In the meantime, prepare the corn muffin mix in a mixing bowl. After mixing, fold in the cheddar cheese, corn kernels, and scallions and mix to incorporate. Into the meat stir in the chipotle peppers or taco sauce, then transfer the meat mixture to a baking dish. Pour the corn muffin mix over the meat mixture and bake according to the corn muffin mix instructions. (Note that depending on the size and type of the baking dish, you may need to increase the baking time to accommodate for the thickness of the corn muffin mix layer. Test it with a butter knife or toothpick before serving to make sure the mix is thoroughly cooked.) Serve with sour cream.

If You're Happy And You Know It, Kick Your Legs

There's something about putting two babies together on a blanket and watching them wiggle that causes hysteria in childbearing-age women. Last weekend such hysteria ensued when my godson had his first date with his future girlfriend. (They had met before, but neither was dressed for the occasion.) He shyly initiated by touching her neck. She consented to hand-holding, then realized just how pleasant his stroking her neck had been and took charge of the situation. Now, lest it be interpreted from the sequence that my godson is hanging out with a loose lady, I must point out that she has two months on him. It's only natural for her to show him the ropes.

Just To Be Clear, I'm a 49ers Fan

What, Bernie Kosar Wouldn't Take Their Calls?

What is it the Jets love so much about old quarterbacks?

It's an exciting time in New York! The Yankees and the Mets are playing baseball, and I don't have any idea how either team is doing (but it's quiet enough that I assume they aren't either winning or losing their divisions these days). There are some basketball and hockey teams here, and I suppose people care about them, but it's not basketball or hockey season so that means we must all be gearing up for . . . FOOTBALL! Yay.

The Giants are the defending Super Bowl champions (I still find this hard to believe) so expectations are high. In order to compete and not to feel mediocre next to Big Blue (wait, the Giants aren't mediocre?), the Jets had to go and sign Brett Fav-re, the almost-39-year-old Green Bay legend who should have retired not after last season but the season before. Can anybody forget that season, aka the season of more interceptions than touchdowns? This guy couldn't find a green jersey on the field to save his life. So I'm sorry, Gang Green, but things aren't looking good (unless you change your colors to purple/yellow, black/orange, or blue/silver).

I feel naughty writing smack about Mr. Favre. Everybody knows elders are to be respected, and elderly heroes are especially taboo! So I'll happily eat my words if the Jets make it past the wild card round in 2008.

Yes, I'm That Interesting

It still amazes me when I turn on the TV hoping to find something, anything, other than the same episode of "Ugly Betty" I saw last time I turned on the TV hoping to find something, anything, other than the same episode of "Ugly Betty" . . .

Which also happens to be one of only two or three episodes of "Ugly Betty" I've ever seen.

Greece in Review: In Which I Prove Either My Keen Observation Skills or My Reckless Ignorance

I went to Greece not just for a wedding but also to experience a new place and culture. Here I present what I've learned about the Greeks, a gross generalization that is probably offensive and also at least partly inaccurate. But please understand that it comes from my own observations, which are rooted in nothing but endearment, and which are mine for the judging (and sharing). And after all, I came back with respect and admiration for these people.

1. They won't scold their male children. That's all there is to it.

2. They won't scold their grown-up children for breaking silly rules that only exist to provide an opportunity for scolding anyway. ("Ladies and gentlemen, we have not arrived at the gate. The seat belt sign is still illuminated. If you do not take your seats, the pilot will not move the plane. We will wait here until everyone is seated." You can bet it wasn't on Greek soil I heard that.)

3. They're not above bending the rules in the name of a happy ending. On my last day, I went with the bride and groom to the priest's house so they could sign the marriage license. In looking it over the groom discovered that his names were inverted and that the best man had signed in the wrong place. Not about to let this rain on anyone's parade, the priest ushered us into his garden, took out his pad of marriage licenses, and began filling out a new one. As the best man and witness had both already returned to the States, a fellow friend who was with us forged the best man's signature and I signed as the witness. (At least my witnessing wasn't totally bending the rules; I did actually witness the marriage. Through a window with bars on it, but I witnessed it nonetheless. And while I may not have understood a word of what was being said other than the bride's and groom's names, I got the gist, didn't I?)

4. They do things much later than we do.* This includes waking up, going to sleep, and eating. If we ate dinner at 11:00 p.m. it was a good night. This seems to come from being social, carefree, and fun-loving. Plus, if everybody else is out you don't want to miss an opportunity to socialize (see below).

5. They are endless gossips and are never without what to say. (I only experienced gossip of the good kind, but I've heard plenty about the other kind.)

6. They are warm and generous people to whom family means the world.

7. They have absolutely no idea what they're talking about when it comes to serious things like airport security, as proven by the airport cashier who wouldn't let me purchase the prepackaged candies for sale at Duty Free (where I had to show my boarding pass to shop) because honey was an ingredient in said candies and liquids above 100mL aren't allowed for transport to the U.S.

8. They're in no hurry.** And why should they be? They only laid the foundation for civilized society. They put in their time some 2500 years ago; they deserve to coast now, don't they?

9. Please don't expect them to be on time. This is not only ignorant but also a bit rude.

*Farmers and the elderly excluded
**Except on the road. Oh boy, look out.

Ah, Greece, thanks for the hospitality

Night 4 (Chios): Wait, There Was A Wedding, Wasn't There?

Saturday evening in the town square the men congregated at long tables, perhaps drinking or perhaps telling stories about the groom, or perhaps both. The women gathered at the bride's house, ostensibly to help her get ready. But she was already ready when I arrived, and those who weren't eating were fawning over her. (It's always about eating, isn't it?) Watching the bride being bounced from one cousin/aunt/friend to the next was like watching someone being passed around a mosh pit with different but no less harrowing potential consequences, e.g. her dress being stepped on and dirtied or torn, tears ruining her makeup, someone's dress getting stuck to hers and causing a run (this actually happened), etc. The flower girls darted around the room, rambunctious little things who sat still long enough to have a photo snapped but not long enough to coordinate synchronized smiling. After about a half hour of this commotion, a collective excitement overtook us as someone shouted, "The men are here!" The congregation of men filled the narrow alley leading up to the bride's grandparents' house, fronted by a three-piece band and the eager groom, who was holding her bouquet to offer as a gift.

The serenade begins

I had been prepared by the bride for this but seeing it happen was really thrilling. All the women gathered on the two balconies -- except the bride of course; she had to remain inside playing hard to get -- and smiled and waved down as the band played and the groom stood in front smiling optimistically. (The point of the serenade is to convince the bride to come down to join him, but she doesn't show herself to the groom until she gets to the church. He stands at the entrance waiting for her, not sure until he sees her that she'll actually show up.) After about twenty minutes of serenading, the groom and his entourage "gave up" and started for the church, which was about a half mile away. Once they were gone, the bride and her family descended and the rest of us followed her.

The scene at the church was unlike anything I'd ever seen at an American wedding. The church itself was tiny, accommodating the the bride and groom, their families, and about 15 or 20 other people. As the entire village showed up, it meant most of us remained outside (a blessing anyway, as it was about 100 degrees inside) while the ceremony was broadcast to us. It was entirely in Greek and I had no idea what was happening, but that didn't stop me and a friend from perching on a ledge and staring in at the proceedings through a small window. Other guests milled about, socialized, snapped pictures, and explored the surrounding monastery. No one seemed to pay any mind to the wedding ceremony going on (I think they were anticipating their favors).

Waiting for the ceremony to finish

After the ceremony was the receiving line. (Entering the receiving line also entitled you to your wedding favor of Jordan Almonds and an almond-flavored cookie, so this was mayhem.) It seems a wedding in Greece is as much about getting face time with the bride and her family as it is about celebrating a union. The poor girl didn't get a break.

The tail end of the receiving line

Between the ceremony and the reception we had a couple of hours to kill and spent them in stressful search of gas to fill our empty tank. According to the conversion given to me by one of my friends, gas came out to be about $8.50 per gallon on Chios. (I would check this but I'm terrible at math.)

The reception was as I expected: delightful. An entire seaside village was shut down and tables were set up in front of the harbor. The bride herself arranged for the lamps and candles that served as simple decor, and we couldn't have asked for better weather. The first dance lasts forEVER, as anyone who wants to dance with the bride takes a turn doing so. A group of us took our turn together, and while I had no idea what I was doing attempting to follow the traditional dance of Chios, I sure enjoyed making a fool of myself trying. I loved hearing the Greek music and watching the traditional dances. After more wine came more dancing, and the 450-person-strong party was still going when we left a little before four.

A video of the first dance between the bride and groom:

After waffling on whether or not to go (no surprise here), I'm so happy I was there to wish my friends the best and have a blast doing so. There was every opportunity for cliche (I am very much avoiding the words "big" and "fat" here) but the whole experience felt so authentic and laid-back that I think even the bride was satisfied.

Day 4 (Chios): Another Non-Beach Activity

After spending a few hours at Agia Dynami beach on Saturday, we drove through the medieval village of Mesta, which, according to my friend the local, is one of the most beautiful and charming villages on the island. All crowded stone houses and winding, narrow alleys, it was also a driving hazard. We took what was in retrospect a wrong turn and ended up stuck in an alley waiting for a tour group's leader to finish his spiel and herd the group on to the next attraction. Not surprisingly, our presence in no way motivated the tour guide to hurry his subjects along or even to encourage them to move to the side of the road so we could pass. Here, a photo of whatever he was talking about, taken after we had the road back:

Mesta alley

Day 3 (Chios): A Non-Beach Activity!

Finding ourselves with some time to kill before extending our car rental, my friends and I did a little exploring. Armed with a map of the island marked up with "what to see" by our friend the bride, we decided to visit the Cave of Olympi, a 200,000 year-old natural wonder filled with stalactites resembling pipe organs and wedding cakes. As we descended into the cool, musty interior, our bi-lingual tour guide described (via a script from which he didn't dare stray) the climate and chronology of the cave. He ushered us along grumpily, almost as if he resented our presence. Humorless tour guides always amaze me. Why and how do they get into it? If you would rather play with rocks than talk to people, wouldn't you be a geologist and not a tour guide?

Cave Interior

It looks gooey but it's not.

Days 2, 3, 4, and 5 (Chios): A One-Track Mind

Chios is a medium-large (as far as I can tell by Greek standards, anyway) island in the eastern Aegean near the coast of Turkey. The island's claim to fame is the mastic tree, a small shrub-like evergreen that when wounded produces a sap used as, among other things, varnish, chewing gum, and body lotion. (There are even mastic-flavored yogurt and soda.) While mastic trees grow in other locations, the one that produces the valuable sap grows only on the southern side of Chios.

The summertime population of Chios, according to a local source, is almost four times its winter population (can that really be or did I misunderstand?), so making a living there isn't easy if you don't farm. A lot of people live in Athens most of the year and spend their summers on Chios running a business catering to tourists. Happily, there are few tourists on Chios and most of them are Greek. (In fact most Americans haven't even heard of it.) Knowing this in advance, I worried Chios would be lacking in the natural beauty we imagine when we hear the words "Greek island." Happily again, I was wrong. For four days in a row my only concern was getting to the beach (and hoping my camera battery didn't fail me). Here I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Vroulidia beach

Vroulidia water

Vroulidia rocks

Vroulidia sunset

Mavra Volia part 1

Mavra Volia part 2

Mavra Volia cliff

Emporio harbor

Agia Dynami from above

Agia Dynami lagoon

Agia Dynami water

Only in trying to do a little retroactive Chios research did I discover that that on Chios there is a UNESCO World Heritage site -- an 11th century monastery called Nea Moni -- which apparently has some of the finest mosaics around. I LOVE mosaics, so to have missed seeing these makes me hurt inside a little. I would have skipped the beach one afternoon in a heartbeat to go to Nea Moni.