From a letter to the editor, in the August 15 Goldmine:

In my opinion, the 45 rpm record is the greatest invention in the history of popular culture because it meant that for the first time in history, anyone — especially kids — could buy art — real art — with just the change in their pockets.

I bought some of that. I also bought a fair amount of crap, but Theodore Sturgeon could have predicted that, I think.

If it’s seemed like MAPS for Kids was concentrating on the basket cases first, well, who can blame them? Now that the projects are starting to wind towards a conclusion, they’re finally coming to my neck of the woods: there will be an official Community Meeting on Thursday, 6 August, at 6 pm at Belle Isle Middle School, 5904 N. Villa. From the invitation I received:

Learn more about the process, become acquainted with the project consultant and express YOUR ideas for the new Belle Isle!

Elementary schools feeding Belle Isle: Andrew Johnson, Nichols Hills, James Monroe, and West Nichols Hills. (My neighborhood school is Monroe.)

You can get hard time in the Big House if you do:

Shoving a meter maid and interrupting the issuance of a parking ticket is now a felony in the state of New York. Legislation passed unanimously in the state assembly and senate took effect last Tuesday elevating any physical contact for which a meter maid can claim an injury to a Class D felony carrying a prison sentence of up to seven years.

This act extends to the Traffic Enforcement Agents (that’s their official name) the same legal protections given to firefighters, police officers and paramedics on duty; the NYPD reports that there were 60 assaults on TEA personnel last year.

(Via The Truth About Cars.)

I opened up a jar of pickles last night — Braum’s house-label Hamburger Dill Slices, which will (mostly) be used for their stated purpose — and for some reason began reading the Nutrition Facts on the label. I grinned weakly at “Calories: 0″ and frowned slightly at “Sodium: 300 mg.” But the one thing that caught me off-guard was at the very top: “Serving Size: 1 oz (28g/about 7 Slices).”

Seven slices? Have I been gypping myself on my burgers all these years? And since when does Braum’s actually put seven on one of their burgers?

There is no way on God’s green earth that the National Basketball Association is going to approve “Outlaws” as the name for the nascent Oklahoma City franchise.

Still, this proposed ad campaign (part of an ESPN contest) gets far enough up in your face to count your nose hairs, and who doesn’t love that?

Bad attitude? Yeah. But still funny.

As a by-product of digging into Atlas Shrugged, Sarah describes a person she says is herself, but really sounds a lot like me:

Clearly, we can’t all be leaders. We can’t all be the person who’s up in front, getting the attention and calling the shots. Some of us are followers. Some of us are actually happier working behind the scenes, doing the things that need to be done. Sure, there’s no glory in that, but it’s still important. The “up front” people need the “behind the scenes” people, as much as the “behind the scenes” people need the “up front” people. There must be followers as much as there must be leaders. It’s a symbiotic relationship, and everyone has their role.

So my question then becomes: is it possible to change your role?

I definitely fall in the “behind the scenes” camp. My entire life, I’ve been the epitome of a follower. I have mediocre ability, a whole lot of laziness and not a drop of assertiveness. My ambition is as short-lived as most of my interests. I’m aimless. A dilettante. And when I’m honest with myself, I recognize that I don’t really like having responsibility, and I generally prefer doing the “busy work” than being the Big Idea Person. It feels natural.

Compare this to one of my Big Ideas, borrowed from General George C. Marshall: “There is no limit to the good you can do if you don’t care who gets the credit.”

I turned down a promotion once. It wasn’t much more money, but the scary aspect of it was that it meant I’d have to go to staph staff meetings, and you really can’t pay me enough to sit through Management Fantasy Time. (If you’d like to try, the meter starts at $75,000 per annum.)

The following, reports Julie R. Neidlinger, are “things God never intended”:

• Skinny jeans on guys

• Tattooed makeup on women
• Huge spoilers bolted on the back of hilariously nonathletic-looking cars
• Women’s short-shorts in any size above 12
• Fried Oreos

Alas, my Photoshop skillz aren’t sufficiently mad for me to conjure up a picture of a guy in skinny jeans driving a slammed Mitsubishi with a wing the size of a surfboard, sitting next to his size-16 true love with the permanent mascara and the Daisy Dukes, chowing down on a cookie that used to have no trans fats.

Disclosure: I’m sorry, 12 doesn’t strike me as being all that darn big. What’s more, I was once married to a 20½. (She’s smaller these days. Or I’m bigger.)

If you’ve been seeing this lately:

Internet Explorer cannot open the Internet site http://<Web site>. Operation aborted.

it’s apparently the result of an unfortunate interaction between a known Microsoft bug and behind-the-scenes changes to the script at SiteMeter.

This should no longer affect IE users of this site: I have reinstalled a much-older version of the SiteMeter script (there’s a reason I never throw anything away) which still apparently works correctly with the IE parser.

Users of non-Microsoft browsers were not affected by this bug.

If you have any problems with any page on this site, please write.

Update: SiteMeter says they’ve fixed their issue. Microsoft? Don’t ask.

Further update: “This is one of the problems with complex systems,” observes Roberta X: “they break in places nobody’s looking.”

Former Oklahoma State guard JamesOn Curry was waived by the NBA’s Chicago Bulls on Thursday. (The sad story starts here; Curry pleaded guilty, drew a one-game suspension from the NBA, presumably to take place at the beginning of the season, and now he’s been released.)

This is well before the season starts and the rosters are set, so why now? Apparently it meshed with Curry’s specific two-year contract with the Bulls, which guarantees $100,000 of his $711,000 salary if he’s waived no later than the 31st of July, exactly when they turned him loose. Had they waited another day they’d have had to pay him $250k, and had he made it through Halloween he’d get paid in full.

Meanwhile, life on waivers isn’t all that much fun, I suspect. During the waiver period (seven days now, 48 hours when it happens between mid-August and the end of the regular season), another team may claim Curry and take over the rest of his contract; once he’s cleared waivers, another team may sign him to a new contract, though it would likely be for the same $711,000, that being the standard minimum for a player with one year experience.

The Bulls presumably won’t miss him: he spent most of last year in the D-League, and while they called him up once, he never made it off the bench. Will another team (say, the Oklahoma City Pseudonyms) pick him up? Doubtful, but you never know.

Lost Tunes is a download service of the British branch of Universal Music; it’s more or less in the larval stage right now and doesn’t stock a whole lot yet, and what it does stock, you probably haven’t heard.

Then again, that may be the whole point. Some things I found notable: Jerry Butler’s Gamble/Huff sides; a lot of post-Atlantic Stax; Peter Cook and Dudley Moore’s semi-filthy “Derek and Clive” ditties; everything Spanky and Our Gang recorded for Mercury; and the infamous Rolling Stones Songbook by the Andrew Oldham Orchestra, from which you’ve probably heard one track and didn’t know it. (Short version: The Verve licensed a sample from the Oldham version of “The Last Time” for their “Bitter Sweet Symphony”; Allen Klein, who owns the Sixties Stones material, sued the band, claiming that they’d used more of the track than the license permitted, and eventually ownership of the song wound up with Klein, with composer credit to Jagger/Richards. No one offered to cut Pop Staples in on the deal, unfortunately.)

After poking around for a few minutes, I found one track I had to have: “Where Are You Going To My Love,” the follow-up to the Brotherhood of Man’s 1970 hit “United We Stand,” very much in its style and rather ragged on my vintage 45 (Deram 85065). The tracks vended by Lost Tunes are non-DRMed MP3s at 320. They’re pricey, though: £0.99, which is a couple of bucks US these days. (There’s usually a discount on full albums.) Still, if you’re anxious for Scott Walker or Cerrone stuff, this may be the place you’re looking for.

Dawn Eden’s book The Thrill of the Chaste has now been published in Chinese, and it might be instructive to compare the cover art, above, with the cover of the English-language version, which you can see here. Now there’s nothing unusual about changing cover art for specific markets, but this particular example, at first glance, might seem a little sexier than the book’s premise might suggest. (The Spanish-language version, on the other hand, uses the original cover.)

Dawn herself, however, thinks it’s okay:

I do like the chic, Mod stylings of the cover model. The angle is provocative, to be sure, but the opaque tights and medium-height heels (as opposed to stilettos) make it modest by Sex and the City standards. Ultimately, it looks like what is being sold is not so much sex as mystery. It’s perfect for enticing young hipsters to pick up a book that invites them to rethink their idea of what a love relationship should look like.

Given her own previous history as a Mod-come-lately, I had to look at that photo two or three times (at least) to be sure Dawn herself hadn’t posed for that cover. Then again, if she had, I’m reasonably certain she would have said so.

And besides, it’s not like anyone’s asking you to dress like an extra from Little House on the Prairie or anything.

Disclosure: This item is referenced in said book.

Which is not what Maureen Dowd does here:

If Obama is Mr. Darcy, with “his pride, his abominable pride,” then America is Elizabeth Bennet, spirited, playful, democratic, financially strained, and caught up in certain prejudices. (McCain must be cast as Wickham, the rival for Elizabeth’s affections, the engaging military scamp who casts false aspersions on Darcy’s character.)

Miss Bennet’s strain is as nothing compared to the strain of Miss Dowd’s attempt at metaphor. And it gets worse:

In this political version of Pride and Prejudice, the prejudice is racial, with only 31 percent of white voters telling The New York Times in a survey that they had a favorable opinion of Obama, compared with 83 percent of blacks.

And the prejudice is visceral: many Americans, especially blue collar, still feel uneasy about the Senate’s exotic shooting star, and he is surrounded by a miasma of ill-founded and mistaken premises.

So the novelistic tension of the 2008 race is this: Can Obama overcome his pride and Hyde Park hauteur and win America over?

I point out merely this: “Nothing is more deceitful … than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”

(Via Robert Stacy McCain.)

This much we learned in school:

Birds are highly visual animals, like humans and other apes, so their plumage color evolves because it serves as a signal to other birds, especially when choosing a mate. Plumage color and ornamentation also correspond to the birds’ mating system: long-lived monogamous birds that mate for life are often sexually monochromatic, while polygynous birds where the males do not assist in parental care are very strongly dichromatic where males have brilliant feather coloring and often have elaborate plumage adornments while the females are usually smaller and drably colored.

As opposed to humanoids of Western civilization, where the males (the breeding ones, anyway) tend toward the drab and the women — well, Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Not that these birds are taking after us:

Eclectus parrots (Eclectus roratus solomonensis) are medium-sized parrots that are endemic to several islands in the south Pacific Ocean, including Australia. This parrot species is famous because it has such extreme sexual dichromatism that when the birds were originally discovered by white explorers, the emerald and royal blue males and scarlet and royal blue females were thought to be different species. In fact, males were first described in 1776 while females were not described until 61 years later.

It’s not a reversal of the “traditional” sex roles, either:

Males are primarily brilliant green because they range widely in search of fresh fruits for their mates and chicks, so they face strong predation pressures, particularly from peregrine falcons, Falco peregrinus, and rufus owls, Ninox rufa. These predators, whose eyes are attuned to movement, cannot distinguish green parrots against the green foliage of flowering trees.

Meanwhile, the females have adapted to staying home:

Since there is fewer than one nest hollow per square kilometer of rainforest, female eclectus have sometimes been observed fighting to the death over this rare and precious resource. Thus, the female’s brilliant scarlet coloring serves as a warning to potential interlopers that a particular tree is occupied. Predatory birds can also see the female’s contrasting plumage, especially because she positions herself prominently on top of her nest tree, but she quickly retreats into the safety of her nest hollow when threatened.

But the housing shortage imposes its own conditions:

Limited nesting opportunities prevents this species from having either a relatively common monogamous pairing, and it also prevents a classical polyandrous mating system where the female competes for and mates with several males who have their own nests. Instead, the rarity of nest hollows caused eclectus parrots to maximize their reproductive output by evolving cooperative polyandry. This is where the female mates with two or more males and all of them remain together to raise the chicks. The resident female, who cannot leave her nest tree for fear of losing possession of it, is dependent upon being fed by a number of males.

I was originally going to work this into a “Things I Learned Today” piece, but the more I read of it, the harder it became to boil it down to a one-liner.

A hundred and four yesterday, and it stayed at 100° or higher for a good seven hours. This is bearable, just, but cooling off after dark seems to be theoretical at best: I made my trip down to the curb to retrieve the Sunday paper this morning, circa 5 am, and it was still sorta sweaty out there. (Sunrise comes around 6:40 these days.) From the looks of things, the heat isn’t going away any time soon.

None of this is especially remarkable for this part of the world, this time of the year, but it does wear on you: I knocked out about twenty-five minutes of yard work yesterday, and afterwards I felt like I’d been swimming in potato soup.

Had this sort of story come from anywhere else on the globe, it would have made News of the Weird at best. We are not, however, so fortunate:

Hamas has resumed its policy of shaving the mustaches of rival Fatah members to humiliate them as a form of punishment, the Jerusalem Post reported.

Reports of such punishments surfaced in January, though Hamas denied it had resorted to close shaves in its struggle to assert dominance over Palestinian politics.

Fatah officials renewed their allegations Wednesday, according to the Jerusalem Post, which said Hamas, in turn, claimed followers’ beards had been sabotaged by Fatah officials.

You know what happens next: the dreaded Escalation. Snoopy the Goon sees what’s coming. (Think of it as the equivalent of a thousand belligerent bees.)

Let’s see what we can shake out of SiteMeter (other than new variations on old Microsoft errors) this week.

o’reilly olbermann erotic fanfiction:  You’ll notice Anderson Cooper isn’t complaining about being left out.

marlon brando “undisciplined ham”:  I’m not one to go around disciplining hams.

“hot goat sex”:  I’m not one to go around disciplining goats.

yellow discipline piss:  I’m not one to — oh, never mind.

Photos of Adjustable Japanese Tongue Gags:  Hey, good thing they’re adjustable, huh?

dire modes of sexy behavior:  I’d say anything that involves a tongue gag is pretty darn dire.

250 diphenhydramine hcl enough to kill you:  The only thing I know for sure is that 150 didn’t kill me.

how do i disable the gps in my 2006 infiniti to keep the repo man from finding it:  Have you considered 250 mg of diphenhydramine HCl?

why is family nudism so common in europe yet extremely rare in the united states:  It’s not all that rare, but the combination of neighborhood loudmouths and venal state government agencies will tend to make it inadvisable to talk about it here.

grow taller yogurt:  I should think yogurt is tall enough as it is.

did the partridge kids get spanked by Shirley?  Just Keith, and I suspect he liked it.

blame San Andreas:  Well, it’s his fault.

I took my vacation in June this year, instead of the usual July. I am insufficiently qualified, however, to go in August:

In August, tree-shaded neighborhoods and private membership pools all over snoburbia empty out as the entire snoburbs goes on vacation.

In snoburbia, you must choose your vacations carefully. Any beach anywhere is okay, especially if you own a beach house. If you don’t own a beach house, you must go to Cape Cod or environs, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont. Or California wine country, Italy or maybe the Caribbean. If you stick around here you are not interesting.

I’ll admit to “not interesting,” but just once, I’d like to hear about someone who lives year-round in the Hamptons and vacations in, say, Bismarck, North Dakota.

The Oklahoman’s Steve Lackmeyer is looking for ideas for restaurant revivals: places that are gone and that you’d like to see brought back to life. He’s already tossed out one suggestion: Molly Murphy’s, with Hal Smith running the show in the absence of the late, lamented Bob Tayar.

There might indeed be some market for this sort of thing: for instance, Casa Bonita has returned to Tulsa, in its original location (21st and Sheridan) yet. So far in the thread, there seems to be some sentiment for the return of Glen’s Hik’ry Inn. Lackmeyer suggests as a location the old Able Rents building in Midtown at 8th and Walker, which could make it the southern anchor of a nascent Restaurant Row, extending past the roundabout at 10th through 1492 and Cafe do Brasil. (I have no idea when the Steak and Catfish place in Legacy at Arts Quarter is supposed to open; it’s about five blocks farther south.) While Molly’s, I think, could fit into Bricktown, which is designated as an entertainment district, something like Glen’s wouldn’t work there. And a strip along Walker is perfect for me, since that’s my usual escape route from downtown.

There’s a piece in the Guardian’s “content is free” section by Feargal Sharkey, which responds to an earlier piece by Cory Doctorow. The topic: a recent agreement between the British music industry and UK-based ISPs. Doctorow argued that the agreement would simply push file-sharing farther underground and hammer another nail into the coffin of the industry; Sharkey replied that it’s nothing of the sort, that it’s the beginning of a process which will eventually lead to new business models.

I’m not quite sure where I stand on this matter, but I mention this here because when I first happened upon this (at Coolfer), my first reaction was “Surely not that Feargal Sharkey?”

As though there could be another. Feargal Sharkey, director of British Music Rights, is Feargal Sharkey, quavering vocalist on the Undertones’ seminal single “Teenage Kicks,” which I just plucked off my shelf to hear one more time. He was twenty then; now he’s about to turn fifty. This is not quite like finding that Johnny Rotten had become a chartered accountant (no, he didn’t), but it’s close.

What are they feeding these people?

A death row inmate has argued that he is so fat that Ohio executioners would have trouble finding his veins and and that his weight could diminish the effectiveness of the lethal drugs.

Lawyers argued that Richard Cooey — at 5 feet 7 inches tall and 267 pounds — had poor veins when he faced execution five years ago, and that the problem has been worsened by weight gain.

The lawsuit, filed on Friday, says prison officials have had difficulty drawing blood from Cooey for medical procedures and cites a prison nurse’s report from 2003 that said Cooey’s veins were so difficult to find that nurses would need extra time.

And Ohio, like most states, has no fallback position.

This is not, incidentally, a new tactic:

Two years ago, convicted killer Jeffrey Lundgren argued unsuccessfully that he was at greater risk of experiencing pain and suffering because he was overweight and diabetic.

A federal appeals court rejected the claim by Lundgren, convicted of killing a family of five in an eastern Ohio cult killing. He was executed in October 2006.

Sources do not indicate whether Lundgren’s victims were overweight and/or diabetic.

Since certain previous shoes proved surprisingly controversial, here’s a different approach to basically the same style. What you’re looking at is #13 of the “Nuncio” series by Nine West, a classic pointed-toe pump with a 2½-inch heel and a modest price tag. Nine West has lots of variations on this specific theme coming up, but this one, recommended by Style Spy to accompany a sheath dress, struck me as particularly apt, what with the simulated-reptile upper (which is leather here, but which can be had in satin or “cow hair”) and the relatively restrained heel. (I was an avid reader of mainstream mail-order catalogs, especially Spiegel’s, as a kid, and I don’t remember anything much over three inches until the early 1970s. This one fact in isolation probably explains more about me than I wanted explained.) I can’t see anyone wearing this with opaque hosiery, either.

El Orfanato is in Spanish. Seriously.

But extreme?

The Extreme Value Item, for those of you who do not shop at Jewel, is a daily designated grocery item that has been deployed to a special location right there at the cash register, where the cashier can point out the fabulous savings opportunity it presents.

Is the value of the Extreme Value Item truly extreme? I have no idea because it’s never an item I’d buy. It’s always a can of nuts, or fruit roll-ups, or one of the more dubious flavors of Doritos. And the cashier has to point to it and say something like, “Have you seen our Extreme Value of the day?” Even when there isn’t a distinct subtext of I’d rather I didn’t have to ask you this the whole thing is extremely awkward. One time I tried just going, hmm! while pretending to deliberate about buying the Extreme Value, but that felt really pathetic and on some level unfair to the cashier. I’ve tried to say just, “no thanks,” but even that seems too much somehow, because when it comes down to it, I suppose I deeply resent having to take a position regarding the Extreme Value appeal of Blue Gatorade.

The late George Carlin likely would have questioned anything ingestible that appeared to be blue.

And aren’t all flavors of Doritos at least somewhat dubious?

… your least-informed:

“WE need to place Voter Registration forms in the Administrative office of every highschool in Oklahoma with the hope of pushing the Senior Class to register for the General Election (cut off date to register is October 10th). ANY individual who turns 18 by November 4th can register NOW (before they turn 18) to vote.”

I have no particular problem with this, generally — I was one of the first beneficiaries of dropping the voting age from 21 to 18 — though the motivation here is transparently obvious:

“I sent the following email out yesterday to all Obama Supporters: Many of you are asking to help so here’s what you can do: PLACE VOTER REGISTRATION FORMS IN YOUR HIGHSCHOOL (Alma Mater) polling shows 83% of those voters under 35 will vote for Barack Obama: Oklahoma’s Public Schools will be opening soon, most school buildings are open now with teachers and staff members preparing for the school year. Registration activities are set to start this week and next….”

Had the percentages fallen the other way — but never mind, you already know the answer to that one.

It wasn’t all that long ago that Chisholm Trail Broadcasting moved Enid’s KNID-FM, 96.9, into the Oklahoma City metro, and after various shufflings and a programming deal with Citadel, the station was named Bob. The KNID call was moved to another Chisholm Trail station, licensed to Alva, on 99.7.

And now the second version of KNID is being moved into the Oklahoma City metro: CTB has a construction permit to relocate to Mustang (!) with somewhat reduced power (39 kW instead of 100). Suggestions for name, imaging, and format are welcomed — by me, anyway.

Meanwhile, I will continue to snicker at this exhibit provided to the FCC by the owner which asserts that after all, this is a Mustang station, not another OKC outlet, and Mustang deserves a radio station of its own because, among other reasons, “Mustang has its own zip code and phone book” and “Mustang is a separate and distinct advertising market from Oklahoma City.”

Fearless prediction: When Bobette, or Jeannine, or Bubba, or whatever goes on the air, you will hear Mustang mentioned exactly once an hour: at the mandatory station ID. Period.

Apparently there exists something called eXtreme [sic] croquet.

I know from nothing about this, which puts me a step behind [F]oxymoron:

Unfortunately I’m in no position to rate the extremeness of this particular game (since I’ve only played once), but if I had to try, I’d say DC’s extreme croquet is a cross between putt-putt golf and pool. So throw out the idea of pretentious Victorian snobbery and go play. It is fun. Throw in a couple beers and it’ll be a blast. And you’ll get to say the word “wicket” many, many times — and seriously, how often do you use that word in everyday conversation?

(Original working title: Something Wicket This Way Comes. Expect to see it should this sportlet ever catch on locally.)

These are bullet-proof bras:

German police women are to be issued with bullet-resistant bras to give them complete undercover protection.

The new underwear was developed as a second barrier of defence after normal bras were found to cause injuries while on duty: the officers’ bullet-proof vests, while stopping the force of gunshots in an attack, pushed the plastic and metal parts of their underwear into their flesh, causing injury.

The new garments have neither plastic nor metal to cut into one’s skin. Three will be issued to each of the approximately 3000 front-line women in German police departments.

(Via Breda.)

The Downtown Ranger makes the case for renaming SW 25th Street:

There are good feelings all around Capitol Hill, but much work remains to be done. It is doubtful if the city is willing to make the kind of investment in Capitol Hill that has been proven to work in several other areas of the inner city. It is time to bring back Capitol Hill’s heritage and identity. Many of the original south side families are still there on the south side, and others would be astonished. Many of the original graduates of Capitol Hill High School and U.S. Grant High School still live in S. OKC, just right on the other side of I-240. Many of the elderly in the area trace their families to the original 1889 Land Run, and remember running family businesses butcher shops, bakeries, groceries, newspapers, etc that all called Capitol Hill home. It is time to bring back the legacy of Commerce Street, because perhaps then the area will be as close as it ever was to its once-thriving self. Dominoes will fall into place once SW 25th Street gets completely reverted back to its original name. There are so many things one can imagine that could turn Capitol Hill into a star, or at least an exciting and vibrant modern, urban district. But first let’s just bring back Commerce Street, just like it was.

That may be a lot to ask of a handful of street signs, but there is precedent, a mile to the south: most of the signage along 36th Street has been replaced with “Grand Blvd” signs, reflecting the old 1930 plan. And they don’t have to do the renaming all over the southside, either: Western to Shields is probably enough. It’s not like the city is averse to having streets change names all of a sudden, as anyone who’s had to drive Eastern/Martin Luther King/American Indian Blvd. already knows.

When the sysadmin comes hobbling out of his office, one foot in a cast, it is seldom advisable to ask him about GIMP installation.

I’m just saying.

The work box currently contains 3349 songs in iTunes; I have an auto-generated playlist called “Randomator” which is not actually random. It is set to pull, and then shuffle, according to the following criteria:

• 220 songs at a time

• not played in the last 23 days
• play count less than 10
• do not pull classical or podcast items
• do not pull Tubular Bells

As the play counts increase, sooner or later I’m going to run out of songs with suitable play counts. As an experiment, today I kicked the playlist up to 300 to see what would happen when I did. Answer: nothing memorable. The available tracks dropped to 299, then to 298, and so forth.

Some time before tomorrow I’m going to have to either allow the 10-count songs or back off to a 22-day interval. I think more likely the latter.