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Broken Record

Posted in Rants on June 9, 2015| 2 Comments »

This post is going to feel like a broken record. Or maybe it’s just me – I feel like a broken record.

Part of me wants to spend my first day back from vacation doing what I do best – navel-gazing and talking about food. I don’t know that I need to say anything about that police officer’s behavior in McKinney, but if my choice of risk is between saying too much and saying too little, I do know what side I want to land on.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, let me sum up – the world is broken and awful. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say about the McKinney situation that hasn’t already been said by people who understand what it’s like to watch that video and still hear people wonder what the whole story is.

When it comes to analyzing the situation as a whole – why the police were called, who did things right, who did things wrong – sure. Get the whole story. I suspect that it will still reveal that when it comes to race, community, and police relations, there is still work to be done. Saying that doesn’t mean that I hate McKinney and think everyone who lives there are unwashed racist miscreants. It just means that I have some hope that doing better is possible.

I also find hope in the courage shown by some of those kids. My ideal world is a place where everyone has friends like that.

But when you talk about the girl…don’t tell me to look at the other side of that story. Nope. Not gonna happen.

PSA to grown men everywhere – HANDS OFF THE TEENAGE GIRLS. You may think you have a good reason, but let me make it simple for you. No. You do not. Unless you are personally saving her from a burning building or pushing her out of the path of a moving vehicle, do not touch her without her permission (and if she’s below the age of consent, even with her permission most types of touches are not okay). He verbally attacked her, and when she responded in kind, he physically attacked her, flinging her to the ground and kneeling on top of her. What possible other-side scenario makes that an acceptable course of action? A grown ass man laying his hands on a girl in a violent way (or in any way, for that matter) is completely inappropriate – and in most cases, criminal – behavior. There is no other side to the story that changes that. Just….DON’T.

Good police officers everywhere – this man assaulted her, and he did it in uniform, providing the whole world with yet another place to point when they tell their kids that sometimes they can’t trust the police. When you defend him or dismiss it with an attitude of “well, yeah, that can happen sometimes,” you give them another place to point. Even if he had been a great cop in every other situation in his career, that is irrelevant in this story. In this case he was not. This time, he failed to live up to the exemplary standard that you risk your life to live up to. He dishonored you. Good cop friends, I am livid, and I don’t understand why you aren’t. My expectation is that when things get out of hand like that, my good cop friends would be the first to stand and say, “That’s not what a police officer is supposed to do, and that’s not okay.” You want me to trust you? Stop siding with the bullies instead of the bullied. I hope that you can turn this narrative around, but I can’t do it for you. It has to come from you.

I have hope, but it’s buried under a lot of frustration.

Edited to add: The police chief’s response. I have a little more hope today.

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Black. Lives. Matter.

Posted in Rants, Revolution on November 25, 2014| 6 Comments »

As the grand jury’s decision in Ferguson was announced, I did something unusual for me. I have ignored my Facebook feed and have clung to the hashtags #Ferguson and #blacklivesmatter. I am not quite myself today. This is the fourth or fifth version of this post, and this is the nicest way I can say it. I know I’m usually Ms. Every-Voice-Matters, but the truth is that some of them don’t to me.  Not today.  Maybe not ever again.

I am ignoring my feed because I don’t want to see any of my friends’ faces next to a defense of this decision. I am nervous about going home for Thanksgiving and hearing it there. I am combing through the documents of evidence presented to the grand jury, but if anyone wants to have a conversation about it that is not tempered by grief and loss, they’ll have to have that conversation with someone else.

I am unwilling to believe that a system in which a young man can be denied due process and killed by a one-man judge, jury, and executioner without the case inevitably going to trial is a system that works.  At all.

I don’t understand how anyone, knowing anything about our country and its history, can hear an officer describe how he looked into the black face of his alleged (because remember – never forget – Mike Brown never got his trial) attacker and saw a demon – something subhuman – and not be triggered by how much that REEKS of Jim Crow.

Sitting here and reading this little bit of history repeating, I cannot view anything other than further investigation as justice.

People can hide behind The System and How It Works and shut their eyes against anyone for whom it doesn’t, but they don’t get to do it with me. I know it looks complicated, but it’s really not. Black lives matter.  You either agree with that, or you don’t. And if you don’t, I don’t see myself putting my precious effort into taking anything you say seriously.

I used to talk about laying down privilege, but there was always something inside that bucked against that notion. I assumed it was my own privilege talking – the fear of being without its protection. And that’s probably part of it. But when I look at the benefits afforded to me by my white, well-educated, employed, straight(ish), cisgendered, healthy(ish), beloved daughter of two still-alive and still-married parents existence, I see another reason for my hesitation. I see my ability to walk – or even run – up to a police officer of any race and not get shot. I see my ability to walk into an establishment with my currently imaginary significant other and not be denied the same service enjoyed by others. I live, move, and work in a world where my mental, emotional, and physical states are not treated as arguments against my humanity.

I hesitate to lay down privilege because I am angry that these benefits are considered privileges. They are basic human rights and should be the shared experience of everyone who is human, not doled out selectively, based on arbitrary demographics.

Nor will I wear my privilege like a cape as I swoop in to save the day. I am not anyone’s savior. In fact, I’m sure there are areas in which I am so blinded by my privilege that I don’t even realize I’m part of the problem.

But I am listening. And I will not stop speaking up. When I see injustice, I will say so. If you find that annoying, maybe you should examine why. Look for a little chunk of privilege wedged in your own eye, because that’s probably where that’s coming from. You might want to get that checked.

I had planned to extend an invitation during my Easter Feast course to other people to guest post about what it means to them to be invited to the table. I’m not sure it can wait until then. More information coming soon.

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Flash post

Posted in Rants on October 31, 2014| Leave a Comment »

The Internet is on my nerve today, so I’m going to run away (or just focus on Pinterest and Instagram). But in case anyone is unclear on (or cares about) my position on privilege, here it is:

To acknowledge my privilege is not humiliating. It’s humility.

To have someone else point out a privilege when I did not see it on my own is not humiliating.  Even if they are mad about it – the injustice of it – it is not humiliating to me. It’s really not actually about me at all.  If I were to assume it’s about me? To expect the societal default that it’s about me?  That’s a sign of privilege – an effect of the privilege of living in a world that goes out of its way to make all the things about me.

Is it sometimes hard for me to remove my head from my ass and listen to their point of view?  Sure.  But I have found that if I will check my defensive reaction long enough to listen, I will hear the heart behind the anger.  It still may not be easy for me to hear, but my personal difficulties don’t invalidate their experience.

If you are white (in this country at least – I can’t speak to white experience in other countries), you are person of privilege, whether you feel that way or not. There may be other ways in which you are not privileged, or ways in which others are more privileged than you, but that doesn’t erase that you have it easier in some ways than others do. This is not your fault, but it is also not the fault of the person who is angry (and justifiably so) about it.

Just.  Listen. There is a time to tell your story, but in the middle of someone else’s story is not that time.

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#Ferguson, Part Two

Posted in Rants on August 19, 2014| 2 Comments »

I’m finding it hard to think about anything else but the goings on in Ferguson, Missouri.

A friend posted on Facebook yesterday that his observation was that his conservative friends seem to be siding with the police, and his liberal friends seem to be siding with the victim and his family. That seems an accurate assessment of my Facebook and Twitter feeds as well.

I have little patience with the oversimplification of any issue to the point that it divides on party lines. I don’t blame anyone in particular (except maybe the general state of our country only having two major parties so maybe we should change that). I do uphold that justice should not be a liberal or conservative thing.  It should be an everyone thing.

When even the most conservative reports are indicating that the officer in question shot an unarmed man, I’m not sure how one spins that to make it debatable.  I’m not sure how a person says, “He shot him, even though he wasn’t armed, but…” There’s no “but” there.  I want to shake everyone who is trying to do so and yell, “What if that unarmed man were your son? What if it happened in your neighborhood?”

This may be cheesy, but I keep seeing Matthew McConaughey at the end of A Time To Kill as he described the brutalization of the defendant’s daughter, asking the jury to picture what happened to her. He ended his argument with, “Now imagine she’s white.”

Imagine Mike Brown was white.

But that’s just another problem.

Should we have to imagine that shooting an unarmed man – regardless of who he is or what he has done – is within a different demographic to be appalled by the event? Should his skin have to look more like mine, or his voice sound like my voice, or his address be next door to mine, in order for me to demand that his death be investigated and the officer be brought to trial?

The answer is no – hell, no – just in case you were confused by my phrasing it as a question.

I’m not suggesting that we convict without all the facts. I’m not suggesting that we blindly believe everything we hear (although I am personally inclined to believe people who are in Ferguson, taking pictures with their camera phones, posting firsthand accounts without having to run it through the filter of it being their job, which automatically spins it one way or another).  I’m not suggesting that we deprive the officer of due process (even though I understand the temptation to do so, as that’s exactly what he did to Mike Brown, according to even the most conservative reports of the event).

I am suggesting that we pay attention – that we never stop paying attention.

I suggest that we read things like this, even if they make us uncomfortable.

I am suggesting that we support people who have cause to press charges and people who have injustices to fight.

I am suggesting that we support them publicly by saying that we support them.

I am suggesting that we then put our money where our mouths are and support them financially so that justice can be for everyone, not just the people rich enough to buy it. Don’t know where to donate? Let me help you – The Southern Poverty Law Center, the ACLU, and the NAACP.

I am suggesting that injustice is an everyone problem and that we should act like it is.

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#Ferguson

Posted in Rants on August 14, 2014| Leave a Comment »

It might be quiet here for a few days. I am watching what’s happening in Ferguson (yes, I’m even following hashtags on Facebook and Twitter – it seems I don’t hate hashtags this week). I don’t know what is going on, but I do know that unless all of us are equal, none of us are free.

Lord, have mercy.

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Unpopular Opinion #322 – I Hate Hashtags

Posted in Rants, Story Sessions on July 17, 2014| 5 Comments »

photo (15)

Shocking, isn’t it? Controversial?  Yes.  But it’s true.

I hate hashtags (and I am DELIGHTED that WordPress doesn’t recognize it as a word. I mean, WordPress also doesn’t recognize “WordPress” as a word, so it’s a small or possible even imaginary victory, but still).

Now, before you pull our your pointy lecturing finger, I concede that I get it.  I understand how useful they are. They are community-builders, and that is why, almost every Saturday, I happily put aside my personal feelings and post pictures on the Instagram with the tags #jointhestory and #storygrams. If I had a cat, half my posts there would be tagged #catsofinstagram (it’s possible that said cat would probably also have his or her own Facebook page, so…grain of salt), because have you clicked on that hashtag?  It will lead you to adorable and hilarious things. Hashtags are also essential when it comes to social media marketing. An added #amreading or #amwriting or #writing added to a link to a post will multiply traffic to said post. At least 75% (an estimate – and probably a conservative one) of my followers on Twitter, where all of my blog post links automatically go, found me via a hashtag. I have had people tell me that they followed me based on my frequent (if by frequent, one means once or twice a month) use of #idowhatiwant.

So I get it.  I KNOW. And I will use them – sparingly – in the manner in which they were intended to be used. I will market myself on social media.  I recognize self-promotion as a necessary evil part of the getting-people-to-read process.

But.

I still hate hashtags. They are the sole reason I was so slow to warm up to Twitter. And now, they’re friggin’ everywhere. I cannot escape them. Oh, Twitter – what hast thou wrought?!

First of all, they’re shady.  They’re fake words pretending to be real words, and they promote laziness. I have the same disgruntled feelings about hashtags that I have about the use of “u” in place of “you” – or worse – “ur” in place of “you’re” or “your” (LEARN THE DIFFERENCE – IT’S NOT HARD. /mini-rant). It’s the chance to say one more thing without having to waste one of the precious 140 characters one is allowed on Twitter on a space.  It’s also the chance to avoid editing and choosing one’s words wisely so that they will actually fit into a succinct, 140-character message. One thing that Twitter lets me practice is getting across my message in fewer words – a practice one might argue I desperately need. And I suspect other people would benefit from such practice, too. So here’s a challenge – if your initial draft is 154 characters, instead of copping out by using shortcuts, Hemingway that shit so that you can use real words and still get your point across.

Second, instead of helping the message, hashtags actually distract me from the person sending it.  I have lost count of the times I have been scrolling through Instagram and see a large block of text under a beautiful picture taken by my friend Horatia (fake name – conglomerate prototype of multiple beloved friends). I say to myself, “Hey, self, let’s go see what gorgeous words Horatia has chosen to caption this stunning photograph,” only to discover upon first glance, that only five words of the caption actually came from my brilliant friend. The rest is a sea of hashtags pressuring me to go elsewhere and see other people’s pictures and words. And here’s the thing – if I gave a damn about those other pictures and words, I would be following the people who posted them. I’m not.  I am, however, following Horatia because her pictures and her words are important to me. I specifically chose to follow her because what she has to say has struck a chord with me, and when I see her name, I get excited about what she has to offer. And that’s what I want to see.

And again – I get it.  I understand that those hashtags are a way for other people to find her easily and see the glory of what Horatia has to offer the world. I support self-promotion, particularly for artists of all kinds and particularly for women, because we have been socialized to support others (particularly men) first and ourselves second (or third…or fiftieth…), and I’m all for breaking that ridiculous cycle.  But if I see more content promotion than content creation, I will eventually lose interest in the content, no matter how much I love and respect the person as a friend.

Third, I find hashtags aesthetically unpleasant. I know – I’m an old woman.  I mean, I’m not. At all.  I’m 39, which puts me in what Jill Conner Browne of Sweet Potato Queens fame (point of reference – for those who have ever enjoyed my margaritas, she’s where I got the recipe) terms the larval stage of my development as a human. But as someone who has vivid, adult-ish memories of life and reading before the Internet (point of reference – Google.com was registered as a domain name three months before I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree), in Internet terms, I am a dinosaur. And like all damn kids who need to get off my lawn, the Internet likes to screw with my expectations of how things are to be capitalized and spaced.  In this regard, hashtags are a visual nightmare. I recognize that there’s probably some legitimate, computer-codey reason why the spaces need to be left out to create a link.  But I need hashtags to evolve linguistically, because I also can’t help but notice that proper computer code stays backstage, out of sight, so as not to ruin the effect of the presentation.  Take note, hashtags.

And finally, let’s call hashtags what they are – advertising.They are the billboards of the intrawebs. And like billboards, they are effective.  They are great at directing attention to a specific corner of a saturated market. But for those of us who are acutely aware of and thus hypersensitive to the CONSTANT bombardment of people trying to sell us something, hashtags – like billboards – can really ruin the landscape. If this post hasn’t tipped you off, let me go ahead and spell it out – I am easily overstimulated. The Las Vegas Strip and Disney World? Not so much examples of my ideal vacation spot as they are examples of what I imagine Hell must be like. And I am not alone.  We might be the minority, but for those of us hindered by this affliction, repeat advertising (and the nature of hashtags is inherently repetitive) actually has the exact opposite of the intended effect. It all becomes noise, and we tend to go to great lengths to shut out noise.

So friends – please – do this old curmudgeon a favor – use hashtags, but use them sparingly.I want to hear what you have to say.  I’m probably even interested in buying what you’re selling.  I will do both these things willingly.  You don’t have to kick my cane out from under me and steal my purse.

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Two things

Posted in Rants on July 1, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Okay, two things regarding the SCOTUS decision, then I’ll get back to talking about food, coffee, and the ridiculous amount of possessions I have shoved into my tiny, tiny apartment.

First, since I still don’t have nice words, I am going to direct you to someone else. This article sums up my disappointment nicely. The only time I ever took medicine traditionally used for contraceptive purposes, it was not for contraceptive purposes.  I had abnormally large cysts on my ovaries that exploded every month.  They were not cancerous, but every month they just kept getting bigger. And exploding.  The last month it happened, I landed in the emergency room because we thought something vital had ruptured. The impact so distressed the inner workings of my abdomen that I was on a mostly liquid diet (on good days, I could keep down vegetable soup) for six months. My doctor prescribed a hormone therapy drug because it regulated the hormone imbalance that was causing the abnormal growth. It probably saved my life.  This decision denies that life-saving opportunity to others. I take this personally because it is personal to me.

(I could also make the argument that birth control used as birth control is also life-affirming and life-saving, but I won’t. Oops.  Guess I just did.  But you can pretend you didn’t see this, if it makes you feel better.)

Second, this is a minor annoyance, but still…I’m annoyed that we keep referring to the money the company pays to insurance as the company’s money.  Frankly, I’m shocked that my highly conservative Facebook feed is doing so, given their usual proclivity to jump on the get-out-of-my-pocketbook train. This is a not a case of a company using its resources to engage in unethical practices (like sweatshop labor, for example. But if it were such a case…*cue pointed glance*…but I digress).  This is not a case of a company using its resources to encourage certain behavior. This is not a case of a company using its resources for anything. Dear Hobby Lobby, when someone works for you, the money you pay in insurance?  THE EMPLOYEE’S MONEY.  Not yours.  THEIRS.  Payment – in the form of benefits, sure, but part of the compensation package all the same – that they EARNED by working for you.  You know how you can tell it’s theirs?  If you would stop providing it when they stop working for you, it falls in the category of payment for services rendered.  It’s theirs. No corporation – regardless of their tax status – should have any more right to tell employees what to do with their benefits than they do to tell employees what to do with their paycheck.

Okay.  We now return to our regular programming.

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Going to My Happy Place…Be Back Tomorrow…

Posted in Rants on June 30, 2014| 2 Comments »

I have three posts to write – a Getting It Together plan, a GIT recipe, and What I’m Into – but I don’t think I can say anything nice about anything today.

Hobby Lobby, we have been having issues for a while now.  But as of today, we’re done.

SCOTUS, you’re on my list, too.

Get ’em, Ginsberg (scroll to page 60 for the dissent).

If you need me, I’ll be avoiding my conservative Facebook feed and pinning comfort food recipes and pictures of cute animals on Pinterest.

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Awful…for a minute…

Posted in Rants, Work on April 8, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Can I be awful for a minute?  I mean, just tacky and graceless and snotty?

Good.  Because I’m gonna.

I tell my students that, contrary to popular belief, there is such a thing as a stupid question.  I then go on to explain that any question that someone has not only already answered but also answered in writing falls under this category.

Because don’t be lazy.  Also, try to listen.

As the semester winds down, though, I want to add a couple of things to this category.

1.  Any question to which you could easily find the answer yourself is a dumb question.  Especially if you look at me, see that I’m busy doing something, and decide to interrupt and ask me anyway. For example, don’t ask me what time it is.  That is my pet peeve question.  I cannot think of a situation where I can be trusted to answer this question politely.  You can look at your phone just as easily as I can.  Also, there’s probably a clock on the wall.  Just turn your head.

You will get a look from me.  I’m not sure I can help it. It might be involuntary.  It might look something like this:

Image

(Actually, that’s more my “stop being funny – I’m trying to look angry here!” look)

It will be the look that says, “Look how accessible this information is to you without any assistance from me whatsoever.  Don’t you feel foolish?”  I will give you a look, then I will slowly and deliberately turn my head to look at the clock or to look at the phone IN YOUR HAND while I put down what I’m doing and pick up my own phone.  Then I will sigh.  Then, finally, I will answer.  This process will take at least five times longer than it would have taken you to figure it out yourself.

Overreaction?  Maybe.  Tacky?  Sure.  But not nearly as much as what I’m thinking about you in my head.

Because don’t be lazy.

2. Any question that forces me into small talk.

This is something that not many people know about me.  I like greeting people.  I like making eye contact, saying, “hello,” and wishing them a good day as they go off to class.  I like doing my part to help set the tone for a pleasant day.  I also enjoy welcoming the residents home and asking how their day went.  It’s pretty much my favorite part of my day job.

You know what’s not my favorite?

Small talk.

When I say, “Good morning,” I mean it.  When I ask how someone’s day is, I really want to know.  It’s fine if they only want to mutter “okay” as they shuffle past.  That’s their prerogative. But if they want to have a real conversation, I’m for it.

What I am not for is answering mindless questions about what I think of the weather 4,000 times a day.  If you ever encounter anyone behind a desk, do us all a favor.  Don’t talk about the weather.  Be the one fantastic person in our day who doesn’t make us have that terribly boring “conversation.”

I mean, I will answer it.  It’s not your fault that everyone in the history of the building has asked the same question.  I will be nice about it.  Usually.  Unless it’s hot.  Then I have feelings, and you will get to hear them, because hey – you asked.  But if your goal is to be nice, you’ve failed.

3. Any question that isn’t a real question but is designed to “teach” me something through manipulation and general asshattery (i.e., condescension disguised as pleasantry).

“How are you today?”
“I’m okay.  How are you?”
“Just okay?  Why not GREAT?!”

“Why don’t you smile more often?”

“Good morning!”
“How are you today?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure? You don’t look it.”

You clearly don’t know me very well, so let me explain some things.

1.  I have an MA in Communication.  I know how to communicate, and I do it just fine.  I do not need you to teach me how to act, and it’s rude of you to try to do so.
2.  I am 39 years old.  If you have ever encountered a grown ass woman before, you should know how to interact with one (hint – the conversations above?  Not the way to go.).
3.  I’m particular.  I have reasonable expectations, but it takes a lot to impress me.  And to get the reaction you are wanting, you have to impress me, not just meet the general expectation.
4.  I am analytical.  I am precise and honest.  If I’m not “great,” I don’t say that I am.  And as I am at work and NOT on a beach sipping an umbrella drink handed to me by a delightful cabana boy (who can smile or not, just as long as he keeps the drinks coming), I’m probably not going to be “great” when you see me.  I’m okay.  I like my job reasonably well, I’m glad to have it, and I choose to be here.  But it’s still a job, not happy fun time.

People have different personalities.  We aren’t all Polyannas.  And thank God for that.  We wouldn’t be able to breathe from all the syrup flying through the air.

I smile, but it’s usually pretty subdued, particularly compared to the bubbly stereotype you seem to want me to be.  And it’s going to stay subdued until I have something to get bubbly about.

Or unless my boss requires it, but I don’t see that happening.

But if you are a random person trying to tell me how to act at MY desk in MY building?  That will bring out the anti-bubbly. That’s a good way to get me to go from “okay” to “pissed off” in no time.

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I Choose Them

Posted in Hope, Rants, Revolution on February 17, 2014| 4 Comments »

Disclaimer: Yes, this was inspired by a real-life conversation.  If you were there, you know it, because I wasn’t subtle.  Nothing here will identify you, nor will it offend you, because it’s so much nicer than what I said to your face.  All others, if this post offends you because you feel that, in some theoretical way, it could be directed at you, maybe take it up with Jesus. Maybe talk to him (or a licensed professional, if you prefer) about why it could have been directed at you.

If you say something racist within earshot of me, I consider it my business.  I will confront you.  Even if you weren’t talking to me at the time. Even if I don’t know you. I will do my best not to embarrass you, because shame is a lousy motivator, but I will address it.

I will confront you, just like I expect you to confront me when necessary, because I am not perfect and need to be confronted sometimes.

It’s not that I think I’m better than you.  This is not image management; I’m not trying to look smart or culturally sensitive.  I’m not even really trying to teach you something, although in the best case scenario, we would both come away from the experience having learned from it.

It’s just that it is my business.

Racist speech inevitably draws a line, dividing the whole of humanity in two. It breaks the natural design of the universe. Our differences are meant to empower us and to give us voice. Racist speech corrupts this design and turns difference into a silencer. Your racist remarks draw a line and force me and everyone else around you to choose which side of the line we’re going to stand on. And lest the word “force” sounds like it’s some great burden, the truth is that my having a choice in this situation in the first place is a privilege afforded to me by my lily white skin.  The easy choice is to stay quiet and pretend that it doesn’t concern me, or to say that there’s nothing I can do, or to hide under the cloak of “no one needs me to speak on his or her behalf.”

But as a friend recently reminded me, I don’t have to make the easy choice.  So I choose to use my privilege in a different way.

When you draw that line in the sand between us and them, I choose them.

If you are a complete stranger, I choose them.

If you are my very own flesh and blood, I choose them.

If you are randomly wandering through my building at work, I choose them.

If you occupy any rung of the ladder at my workplace(s), even rungs that are far above me, I choose them.

If we are friends despite our having nothing in common, I choose them.

If we are friends because we have so much in common, I choose them.

If you are trying to get my attention because you want to date me, please note that this is the exact wrong kind of attention to get from me.  I choose them.

If I have shown interest in dating you, don’t expect my crush to silence my response, because I choose them.

Even if telling you that you’re wrong will cost me our relationship, I will still choose them.  If that’s going to break the deal, I’m going to go ahead and let it break (for a little while at least). My hope is that eventually you will cross over the line with me. My hope is that one day the line will be destroyed and diversity will be a place of celebration, not competition.

But if you draw that line in the sand, I will choose them.

 

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