The best dog we never had

Last week there was some sad news around our house - our neighbours lost their dog.

They were on holidays down south - and (what we seem to have understood) is that they were out for a walk with friends and they came accross a big-horn sheep (??) and Zola took after it, and never came back.   Zola was a hunting dog by training.  The Ribo’s had her for 9 years, but Jean-Paul told me that they got her from someone else (who had to give her up becuase he had a mental breakdown …again, that’s what I got from the story) who had trained her.  He said she was such a funny dog to walk in the woods with, as she would run off into the bush, find some animal and chase it back to the trail and then look up at him.  It was if she was saying, “OK, I did my part, now you do yours” - but then she always seemed rather dissapointed when he didn’t shoot the animal, but merely walk past it.

Zola (named after the 20th century French literary figure Émile François Zola ) was a pretty good deal for us.  Our  kids had a dog to play with, but we didn’t have to feed her, or take care of her, or clean up after her, or worry about what to do when we’re gone.  We just played fetch with her (note: she liked to retrieve very large sticks - often about 1m long and very heavy), we bought a box of treats for the kids to give to her, and that was the end of our responsibility.


The day the kids found out she was gone, Micah suggested we buy Messieur and Madame Ribo a puppy right away - but we convinced him that perhaps we should just wait on that for a bit.

I suppose if there is a silver lining to losing a dog you never had - it’s that the Ribo’s felt terrible, as 2 of their grandkids were coming from Paris for a week of holidays and they told me “they don’t come for us, they love the dog.”  So - in an act that shows grandparenting transcends cultures and nations - they tried to buy their love, and got a pool and trampoline for the yard.  So that weekend our kids were in the pool, and have spent a good amount of time on the trampoline this week as the grandkids have now gone home.

So thanks Zola, you truly did bring us happiness both in your living and dying.

Education...for the real world

Yesterday the kids had some sort of ‘cheese tasting’ at school.

 It was supposed to be a few weeks ago - but somehow got bumped to this week.  Now, this is not to be confused with the chevrettes [baby goats] that are coming to the school later for the kids to learn about, play with - and then taste goat cheese.

Of course - as is par for the course - we really have very little chance of getting any clarity on what really went on.

We got the following commentary from our three kids:

1) We had cheese tasting all day long.  It’s all we did. All I had was Comté.  I ate 15 pieces of Comté.  

2) We were separated into groups and got to taste 3 kinds of cheese.  There were questions and I was the only one who knew that a vache has 4 estomach.  That was it.

3) First we were separated into different groups. There was red, blue, green and orange. I was in the orange group. Then they made boards that had different kinds of cheese on them and we had to answer questions and then sample the different kinds of cheese on each of the platters. When you answer questions correctly your team got points and each of the teams were competing for…..{editor’s note: I don’t precisely recall the rest of this report..but it did go into quite some level of detail, but still rather sketchy and not altogether coherent }

Bottom line: the kids had cheese tasting/appreciation/identification as part of their public education curriculum.  I guess in a nation where the average person eats around 25kg of cheese per year - it’s something that you want to get right.

Now that’s something I don’t mind my  tax euros    money from people who actually have jobs and pay taxes going towards.

Tis True.

For those who have not yet heard..we do have some very exciting news…We are in fact expecting. Yes - that’s not some tricky code for something else…Susan is pregnant

The little one is due mid-September (this would be a good time to NOT remind Susan about 35 degree days in July and Aug here)

We told the kids last weekend and they are pretty excited.

Lots of questions - from where is the baby going to sleep (hmm…good point actually), to names.

Matea suggested Hope Joy  if it’s a girl  - and in an unrelated conversation Micah suggested Zach Pope  if it’s a boy.  Zach - after his stuffed animal - which is named after cousin Joy’s dog - and when I said “what?” he just replied: “Pope! You know - like in Rome” mmmmkay.

Strange that it looks like we’ll have two kids born at the same hospital in Grenoble - and two in the same hospital in Edmonton. 

I thought we already had that.

So today  we have done the last step - en principle  -to get our carte de sejour. That’s right - we may actually get a visa.  We are one step closer to not being illegal immigrants! What a thought. 

The last step was just to pay for them.  For some reason the kids have 1-year renewable visas that were issued in Vancouver - so they’ve been fine since before we got here.  I will get a ‘researcher/scientist’ visa - and Susan get’s a ‘spouse of a researcher’ visa. Both apparently are a type of work visa - and will be good for 1 year at a time.  So by the time we get our one year visa - we’ll only have a few months until we need to start the renewal process.  Honestly - it’s been pretty much a complete gong show.  No one seems to know if I’m a student with a small stipend, or a really-poorly paid employee who takes classes. Is it a work visa or a student visa? Do I get social security with the temporary one - or wait for the real one.  Do I go to the Marie, or the Prefecture?  Is Susan’s a work visa or not? Do the kids need an additional document?  Are we entitled to this benefit or not?  Can anyone even tell me who to talk to or where to get an answer? 

I can’t even start to explain the number of trips to different offices that I’ve been to since last August. It’s taken so long that we’ve missed out on all kinds of benefits, have been without health coverage, and a bunch of other stuff.

But I digress….

Today - was the last step.  I had to pay €340 for each.  In order to do so - I needed to get some timbres fiscaux.  Some type of ‘financial stamps’ that are a kind of government money order.  So I had to find a Tresor Publique  and wait in line to buy them, so that I could bring them to our Marie, for them to send by mail to the prefecture in Grenoble, for them to release the cartes that are ready to our Marie, who will tell us to come and pick them up.   So ignore the 8x back and froth - and you’re still left with les timbres fiscaux.  It’s a small paper document issued by the government, to create a secure and portable way of transferring wealth from one place to another. Yeah - pretty much the exact thing that currency is.  So I went and paid with my bank card, to get these stamps, to bring to the Marie, to go to the prefecture, so they can turn them back into the currency from whence they came.

The French administration  may be tonnes of redundant paperwork -  and highly frustrating - but man is it ever slow!

I just don't get it

Sometimes - scratch that….. often, things happen here that I just don’t get.  That’s just what happens when you live in a culture other than the one in which you were raised. I get that. However - it seems with our kids in school - this happens a lot.

Perhaps it’s because they still don’t really get what’s going on - plus we don’t really get what’s going on - yet we depend on them for info…it’s kind of the blind leading the blind.

Over the vacation, Jonah had a note in his yellow notebook (where all parent - teacher communication happens) that was one of those things.

I understand the words that were written - but I have no idea what’s going on.

It went something like this:

“The kids went to an art exhibition where they were invited to artistically take part. For this, they decorated a cheese box on the theme of an apple.  For the first day back, have your child bring a cheese box with them.  However, it must be a cheese box that has a sense of meaning to them.”

uh. ok.

Elevation

It’s cool and rainy here today. Well, at least it is here at our house, it’s snowing just a little bit up from us.

That difference is one of the things that struck me as truly strange when we first arrived here - how important elevation is to your daily life.    

Pretty much everyone who lives up out of the city (on any of the three mountain ranges around Grenoble) can tell you the elevation of their house, often to within 10m or less. Some places are even have their elevation as part of the actual name. When there is precipitation you are told the limite pluie/neige. It is something that seems to be as natural to speak of up here as your neighborhood would be in a normal city.

Although the area around Grenoble truly does experience four full seasons - it seems that altitude is one of the key factors that moderates them.  Elevation changes temperature, and therefore also rain vs. snow, and therefore skiing, driving, living conditions etc.   (our house is about 690m above sea level, in case you were wondering).

I have been told that - all else held equal - the temperature drops 0.6 degrees for every additional 100m of elevation.  We are close to 500m above Grenoble - which means that there is almost always a few degrees of difference between our house and the city.  However, since Grenoble is in a bit of a Y-shaped valley (two rivers coming in -merging and heading out as one) and thus three mountain ranges around it - the city can also get some strange inversions that can drop the temperature to be colder than us, or can have weather systems that sit on the city and absolutely trap the head (and smog) in the summer time.

Living in Grenoble, you would  never need snow tires, up where we are, you could possibly get away without them - but would be resigned to parking your car at the bottom of certain hills and walking home a few days a year.  Up just 10 kilometers past us you would (in a normal year - this year not being normal) likely need snow-chains to ensure you can get into your driveway.

One other strange thing that really shocked me the first time I learned it was the elevation of Grenoble.  Much of the city is around 200m above sea level.   To put that in context - when you are in Grenoble, surrounded by mountains, looking up at snow capped peaks and within a short drive of world-class ski resorts - you are almost half a kilometer LOWER than when you are sitting on the prairies in Edmonton.  (I know, weird right?!)

Learning quite well

The other day Micah and I were driving home having dropped the older two off after their (two hour) lunch break.

As we approached the village boulangerie he piped up from the back seat “papa - stop at the boulangerie and I will get a baguette all by myself”

Wow.

 How much he’s learned already.

 His grasp of French is already good enough that he has confidence to go into the store and buy bread.

Jonah started doing this a while ago - so I guess he feels now he is also up for the challenge.

I thought I better double-check his abilily to do so, and make sure he is using polite forms of verbs etc.

“What would you say”

“uhh - Bonjour! Un pain au chocolat et une flute”

that’s right - a croissante-like pastry filled with chocolate and (for some reason) a long skinny baguette.

Nice Try.

Unfortunately the boulangerie was closed - must have been Tuesday or something.

Maybe next time

Paris

We had a very quick trip to Paris - it was a mere 24 hours and 8 minutes from the arrival of our train on Friday - until our train pulled away from the platform on Saturday.

While it wasn’t tonnes of time - it was enough to see and do some things.  Having never lived in a big city - places like Paris always leave an impression on me.  It is a completely different world - and seems especially so when it was a very short slice of life in the 18eme arrondissement of Paris shoved right into the middle of our life in a little house on a narrow winding lane in the alpes on the edge of a quaint village up the mountains outside of Grenoble.

The following is a collection of rather scattered memories that I have from our day in Paris:

1. A city worker in the Cimetière de Montmartre who was apparently supposed to be removing layers of moss and grime off the centuries old grave markers - but was instead cleaning off his friends Peugeot hatchback.


2. A woman driving a scooter in a mini-skirt and high-heels


3. Multiple groups of tourists stopping mid-stride in the middle of the sidewalk to unfold their “Free Tourist Map of PARIS!” and attempting to deduce their location


4. People crammed so hard on the No 14 Metro that through the windows they looked like the smushed gummy bears through the clear portion of the bag that we picked up before the opera


5. A courtyard in Nathan’s building: about 1.5m wide and 3m long - but 6 stories tall - like an inverted silo. 


6. A group of about 10 older men who were playing Pétanque on the crushed stone sidewalks in Jardin des Tuileries just in front of the Louvre


7.  A middle-aged woman on the metro with a violin case completely covered in skateboarding decals and US sports team stickers


8. A small bakery in Montmartre where all three of the young employees were (apparently) American.


9. The amount of guys aged 16-25 who jump the turnstiles at the metro


10. City-workers turning on curb-side taps to let the water flow down the street in hopes of cleaning it - but essentially end up making a river of cigarette butts sliding along the curb


11. A 20-something guy who had just climbed the stairs out of a metro station, got to the top just in front of us and noticed a woman with a stroller. Without a hesitation he turned right around and helped her carry it back down the equivalent of two floors or so, set it down, then just turned back and headed up again.


12. A young father walking away from the local hardware store who had his purchase (a sheet of MDF that he had cut in the store, apparently) on a dolly that he pulled down the crowded sidewalks with his young daughter.


13. Two gas-pumps installed basically right on the sidewalk - just on the side of a busy street. Apparently a heart-of-the-city version of a gas station.

Things that I sorta knew would happen...

but still seem strange.

1. our youngest using “Oh la la” - and in a totally non-ironic, not satirical manner


2. my kids not only correcting my pronunciation in French, but actually being unable to not laugh at it


3. hearing the kids yell “the German’s are coming!” when they were playing outside and heard a siren

Doing Fine

Just wanted to let you all know that I am still doing fine, am feeling just bruised and sore - as if i had a bad fall on my bike or something. 

The day it happend  our neighbour told Susan that  she had seen almost this exact same thing when she was first practicing as a doctor. It was a young man who presented with extreme chest pain, shortness of breath etc. so she rushed him to the hospital suspecting a heart attack. Turns out it was the same thing - and intercostal muscular spasm.  This man however was our village garbage-collector, so they assumed he had pulled it somehow in his work. Then today she said she was speaking with another doctor who had experienced the same thing, but it was a young man who ran his own business, was sitting at his computer, and then - Boom - chest pain, shortness of breath - and since he was under so much stress at work, again diagnosed as a heart attack until the EKG proved otherwise.

So when I was saying how incrediblly bizarre the whole thing was, about how one day I was rushed to the hospital, and the next I didn’t reallly feel ‘sick’  or anything - just worn out and sore and tired. She said that’s what’s to be expected.

Or at least - that’s what I think she said.  Conversations like that about medical stuff remind me of what our kids say when we ask what happened at school or something - and they just look at us matter-of-fact like and respond: “I have no idea.”

January 2, 2011: the day I didn't have a heart attack

Yesterday morning at about 6:30 I woke up with pretty bad pain in my chest; left-hand side.  It was so bad that I basically lunged forward to sit up, as almost a reflex -and it got worse. It was then I realized that my chest was so tight and there was so much pain that I really couldn’t move - so I lay back down. Then it dawned on me that my chest was so tight and there was so much pain that  I really couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t take anything other than very short, shallow breaths.  Susan had woken up - and I told her that I thought something was indeed wrong - so she ran next door to get Madame Ribo. (Let me interject this: next time you look for a place to live in a foreign country, you should seriously consider having “next door to a Doctor who retired this summer” as one of your top criterion.)

Madame Ribo ran across the yard, and took my pulse, pressure etc - and said that the ambulance should be called, which she actually did for us.  I was having quite a bit of problems breathing.  Actually, when Susan ran across to get Madame Ribo everything in my periferal vision got blury, then dark, then things closer to the middle of my field of view got blurry - and I realised I was about to pass-out so I tried to just concentrate on my breathing. It was actually hard to concentrate on my breathing when I realised that this could in fact be serious -and I could not stop thinking about our children.  I guess it’s kind of true what they say; about what you really value when you think your life may be in danger. All I could think about is that I would be leaving my children without a father when they are so young. That feeling is about the worst sense of failure, or sorrow, or deep regret that I have ever known.

When the ambulance arrived it came fully stocked with what I gather was a sort of orderly/ambulance driver, a paramedic, and a doctor. They had a mobile EKG so they quickly hooked that up to start to look for - whatever it is they look for with that thing.  Madame Ribo told them that my pressure had been constant, and they checked again, in both arms, ran two tests with the EKG and said that it did not at all appear to be my heart.  At least not a heart attack, they said it could be more ‘mechanical’ than ‘biological’ - meaning perhaps an air bubble or even a piece of cartilage was dislodged or putting pressure on my heart.  They also took blood samples etc so tests could be run as soon as we got to the hospital.  They then gave the OK to hit me with some morphine (I guess they didn’t want to until they knew what was going on with my heart). They loaded me in the ambulance, and we drove down to Grenoble.


(Susan - following the ambulance - takes time to snap a picture)

At the hospital they ran a battery of tests (more EKG, x-rays, blood work etc.) and deduced that it was some kind of severe muscle issue.  Depending on who said it (and how it gets translated) it was some sort of “strain” “issue” “pull” “popping” etc.

My discharge papers read, literally translated: “Thoracic pain probably of mechanical origin, without grave criteria”  (OK buddy - the next time you can’t breathe and morphine doesn’t numb the pain I’ll make sure I use the phrase “sans critéres de gravité” with you!)


Poster in the waiting area of the hospital.



So in some ways it is very encouraging to be told “there appears to be absolutely nothing wrong with your heart” - but to be completely honest it’s also a bit troubling to be told, “we ran a whole battery of tests, and they were all negative, so it must just be what amounts to a pulled muscle.”  So I am home, with just some pain medication, and instructions to go see our doctor in a few days to make sure that everything is OK.


(these were most of the little EKG-thingy’s)

Also you realize, especially when living in a country that is not so familiar to you, how much you need and value the kindess of friends and strangers.  From John & Anna running up to get our kids (actually beating the ambulance to our place!) and taking care of them for the day, to Cindy…who was by Susan’s side the entire day, to our neighbour who was actually calling the hospital and using her status as a doctor to get updates when Susan was unable to.  I am also incredibly thankful for living in a country where they commit massive amounts of resources to health-care, a place that believes that using the collective wealth of the nation for protecting and sustaining life is as important as also using those same resources for things such as education, roads and national defense.

I suppose it’s true that there is something about what appears to be a possible life-threatening situation to give a clearer, more accurate sense of life.  To be honest, there was just that one moment when Susan ran to get Madame Ribo that I honestly thought that it was very serious.  I guess things like that give clarity of mind, and clarity of purpose. In some ways I suppose it wouldn’t be all that bad if each day we were awakened by a potentially life-threatening event.  I imagine that we would re-prioritize each day.  More time spent speaking and listening to people we really care about, less time reading about people we don’t even know. More time actually doing things on this earth we feel are meaningful, less time figuring out how to balance our desire to climb socio-economically, without appearing to look like we’re trying to.  

I guess in the end, that’s the true irony of it all.  That we all do have potentially life-threatening events every day. There is no guarantee that I will live to see this weekend, or that you will even finish reading this.  Let’s face it, driving on the roads around our place in the winter, with a little black-ice, a blind turn, and someone racing up to get in a good day of skiing could easily end my life.  I don’t think that’s a particularly morbid thought, I think it’s just realistic. In fact, for those of us who believe in a hope for life after this life, I suppose it’s actually rather optimistic.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolution type proclamations, but I do hope this event will help orient this coming year to be one that is more full of things that actually count, that actually have meaning, that really help others; things that I will be able to look back on if there’s a next time that I’m in the back of an ambulance and be able to say with confidence the words that Paul, the first century follower of Jesus said when he thought he was facing the end of his earthly life:  ”I have fought the good fight. I have completed the race. I have kept the faith.”

Le Beaujolais Nouveau

Question #1:

Le Beaujolais Nouveau is:

• A) the third Thursday of November


• B) really mediocre red wine


• C) a trick the French play on the rest of the world


• D) a party at the kid’s school

Wong - the answer is…all of the above, let me explain.

A) The third Thursday in November has been the traditional day for the release of Beajolais Nouveau for a few decades now.  The choice of a Thursday, instead of a specific date in November, is assumed to be done in order to associate the release with a weekend.  The Beajolais Nouveau phenomenon really got kick-started in the 1980’s when one of the largest producers decided to add a bit of excitement to the release of this previously locally consumed low-quality wine: a race to Paris to see who could get their wine their first.  This then spread to other cities in France, then Europe, and on to the US, and eventually Asia.

B) Beajolais Nouveau truly is a  really mediocre red wine, partially by nature of the rules that they have put in place, and the hype that they have created.  Just by stating that a wine shall be ready by a certain date seems a bit odd, for an agriculturally dependant product. It would be like saying that you will sell your first apple pie made with apples from a certain valley on a certain date, every year.  No allowance for late rain, cool weather, freak storms, problems with harvest, dry spring…nope, if you will have the finished product ready by the Third Thursday in November - then you will have to harvest with enogh lead time to absolutely ensure that you have the wine ready by then.  This is now especialy true since they seemed to have succeeded in convincing many people into thinking that not only is this wine something worthwhile, but that drinking it on a certain day is even more so.  On top of that, apparently the rules that are in place for the actual fermentation (letting the smashed grapes sit and actually turn into wine)  of Beajolas is mandated to something like 3-10 Days…then bottled. That’s it. 

C) It would seem at first easy to criticize the French - until you realize they are in on the joke.  It seems easy to criticize them for creating a circumstance that in a way forces them to hinge their reputation on what has a very good chance of being an inferior product.  At first many seem ready to call their bluff: “But you know what?  It’s not even good!”  To which the French seem ready to reply “shhhhh.  C’est vrai. Mais don’t tell the others…especially the Japanese”  I read an article in Le Post  entitled: “Beaujolais nouveau : mais pourquoi est-il aussi mauvais ?”.  Basically: “Beaujolais nouveau: but why is it so bad?”  So it would seem that indeed they are well aware of this - they know what it really is.

Why ‘especially the Japanese?” - well it would seem they are by far the largest importer of this wine. Estimates are that Six Million bottles are sent there every year. The vast majority it would seem - are express-air shipped. They retail there for almost 10x the 3Euros they fetch here in France. Plus - you can count on the Japanese for ‘adaptations’ like this:

wow.

In Japan it is apparently the most popular wine, and there is even a spa where one can bathe in the stuff.  <insert your own joke here re: wine finally having some body in it>

D) Friday night was the Soiree Beajolas at our kids school. It was sort of like a parent-association thing- dinner and an auction -to raise money for the school.  We were told prior to the evening: “don’t worry - you only have to have one glass of Beajolais, and then they bring out the good stuff”  Well unfortunately, that did not turn out to be true this year, but it was a pretty interesting evening.  There was a live auction, but we didn’t buy either the fois gras, the diving vest, the weekend at someone’s vacation house, nor any of the other many fine things that were up for grab.  It was in the cantine at the school - and for a small school, there were quite a few people there.

Location, Location, Location.

So we have been trying to find a place to rent for about a month and a half now - with little success (OK - NO success).  

UPDATE: since I started writing this we have now indeed found a place - (we hope) will update with details etc when we have them.

One of the problems is that we look dangerous.  Well - not ‘dangerous’ per se - but risky. Whenever you go to a agency to find a place they will expect: last 3 pay slips, last years taxes, copy of your national ID card, copies of your last electric bill, your maternal grand-mothers grade 1 report card, and a vial of unicorn tears.  Since we lack a good number of those things - we were finally told by one agent “don’t bother coming back.”

Even after we got a French friend to graciously agree to be our garant (guarantor) we were still told: “OK - so you now meet some sort of minimum threshold -but if anyone else also applies, we’ll take them before you”

There also seems to be a strange void in the housing available around our village: there are plenty of small 1 & 2 bedroom apartments, and then a number of really large houses.  It doesn’t seem like there is so much in the middle - which is what we need.

Oh well - the seats in our Zafira fold flat, and it doesn’t get TOO cold here at night, so…

NOTE: ‘location’ is French for ‘rental’ 

well, that was weird

I was extra tired this afternoon (having left the house at 6:44) - so by the time I was leaving the business school - I was dragging a bit.  I also had an incredible pounding headache- which I had thought may be attributed to caffiene (I have pretty much stopped drinking coffee altogether {thank you Transcend Coffee for elevating my tastes to a level that I cannot find here} but had had a shot or two the previous two days).  I was debating whether or not to get a coffee - just to wake me up - and for my head, but decided against it. 

So I continue my solitary walk towards the tram stop.

Suddenly right in front of me a giant Monster Truck drives up over the curve and parks on the side walk.  As in a giant (OK giant for here - but like what people use for commuting in Alberta) American pick up - all jacked up -and custom painted lime green for ‘MONSTER ENERGY DRINK”  A guy and a girl jump out - and the techno-rock music spills out to the street.  He jumps up into the back - flips up a door - and reaches in to a giant ice-chest and starts handing out cans of the Caffiene-Turarin-Ginsigng-Panda-Blood-nicotine-whatever-else-laden stuff to whoever walks past.   This all happens directly between the entrance to the school and the tram stop. So basically without changing a step - I reach out and take his half-litre offering, and keep walking.

It was suddenly as if Robert Munsch was writing the story of my day. As if I was a bit actor in a screenplay written by Dr Seuss.  Like my day was a theactrical rendition of a Salvador Dali sketch.

then I went home. (and my headache went away)

huh.

September 30, 2010

“This was a day that will go Down in infamy. On September thirtieth, two-thousand-and-ten, Jonah Watts wore a pair of pants for the first time since we left Edmonton in early August.“

It’s not that it’s been cold here, in fact we’re experiencing a loverly “Indian summer” right now (for what it’s worth - I’m pretty sure summer in India is nothing like this).  However, there have been a number of evenings below 10° - which of course means mornings of the same. One day it was 6° here (due to our elevation) - but he still wore shorts to school. A few weeks ago it was cold, cloudy and rainy on Sunday morning - yet he still wore shorts to church.

Do not get in between that kid and a routine.

French stores whose names I enjoy saying:

• Darty 


• NafNaf 


• Quick


• Podmod


• BUT


• Ed


• FNAC

and my personal favouite:

• Flunch

Ça Marche Comme Ça

Some of you have noticed that - due to overwhelming demand (i.e. one person) - we added the ability to subscribe to the blog (so you don’t have to waste all those valuable seconds of your day looking at pictures of us to see if there is anything new).  To do so - just click on “subscribe” up there at the top [see how easy I make this] and you will have options of email, RSS etc.   Also, due to demands of our readership (i.e. Susan mentioned it) we have added a little groupie thing over there to the right.  Sign in and watch your indie street credibility soar!