grrgoyl: (amelie dog)
Well hi, LJ. Bet you've forgotten about me. I'm around, just not much happening.

Unless you count two of Nancy's dogs going missing from her yard. Tery saw the news on Facebook. I would have been content to pretend I didn't know (don't judge me; let me remind you of a few posts back where I showed how much of a shit she gives about my life), but then Tery stupidly had to go leave her a comment. Nancy assumed someone had stolen them and "didn't expect to ever see them again." Oh, drama. Like anyone wants your slobbering, poorly trained mutts (we reasoned Jasmine, the service dog, wasn't one of them; she's so fat and lazy it's a chore to get her to move when you WANT her to).

After a day I emailed my mother because Tery was demanding more details. Evidently the gate was left open, probably by the pesky gas man who has to come on the property to read the meter and who goes way back with a history of adversity with the dogs (Nancy's reluctance to limit her dogs' freedom extends even to controlling them enough to ensure the safety of utility servicemen). They had been spotted by acquaintances in the vicinity, putting to rest the stolen mutt theory.

The day after, presumably while putting up flyers at the local pound, Nancy and mom adopted two more puppies. Her beloved girls are gone three days and she's already replacing them! As Tery put it, "I've looked for a pair of slippers longer." (Later on the phone Nancy justified this impulse buy by insisting that losing the other two was "creating a serious detriment in Jasmine's training" because she was moping so much. I didn't ask what the plan was going to be if and when Jasmine (the service dog) goes to an owner who doesn't own other dogs.)

The day after THAT Elise the schnauzer turned up at a different pound. She was microchipped so was easily traced, and was home within four hours. Nancy wrote on Facebook, "Praise the lord, one of my girls is home!" She's gotten very religious lately, though between you and me and Tery, we think if Jesus's niece came to visit he'd be a smidge more gracious about it. In fact, when I called Amy with the original news of the dogs' loss, her first speculation was maybe this was karma's way of punishing Nancy for her abominable treatment of our niece (though if it was karma, this was a very shortlived lesson indeed). Doubt if Nancy would ever see it that way. The lord is only at work when good things happen.

So as of this writing Morgan (the Newfoundland mix with the incredibly annoying licking addiction) is still missing. But since Nancy has two new puppies, I doubt she'll be missed for long. Oh, and the silver lining of all this is we never received Christmas presents from her (see past Xmas posts on why this is a very, very good thing).


So enough blabbity de blah. I leave you with some pictures (plus backstories).

Wheel truing becomes necessary when the wheel spokes become loose and disrupt the delicate balance of push and pull performed by each and every spoke, causing the wheel to wobble. This is the problem I thought I had after changing a tire on a recent ride (where I discovered that, as miserable as biking in 40-degree weather is, not half the pain of changing a tire when you have to take your gloves off to do it and can't feel your fingers after two minutes). My front tire was wobbling something fierce. I decided maybe I could dip my toe in the waters of wheel truing, which seems like a useful thing to know how to do when you're as cuckoo for bike riding as I am.

A truing stand can cost upwards of $200+, not an investment I'm prepared for at the mo'. It would be nice to have because it has calipers you can hold up to the wheel to see exactly where the wobble is, and apart from that I have no idea what it is about it that justifies that enormous price tag. I settled instead for an $8 spoke wrench and the biggest stationary object I could find in our house, a very large gargoyle.

This is how they trued wheels in medieval times

P.S.: Turns out my rim was already true. The problem was my worn-out old tire didn't have the bead seated evenly all the way around. Has since been fixed (by me). Also good to know!

This photo needs no explanation, other than I think it would make a lovely book or album jacket:

We literally let our cats walk all over us. I adore the look of utter resignation

Lastly, this is Tery's big big present this year (DON'T YOU DARE TELL). She wanted the Dorothy Hamill diamond encrusted heart pendant, but since that cost $1800 on the first site I found, she's getting this instead:

I think it's perfect. It represents the huge steps she's made in her life, her fight against alcoholism, her newfound spirituality, and her determination to be a triathlete and next year (hopefully) a marathon runner.

Merry Christmas (or whatever you celebrate) everyone!
grrgoyl: (Default)
Thank you everyone who commented on my Thanksgiving post. It was one of those, "I really, really, REALLY need some comments" posts. You're all the best set of online friends a girl could ask for (except [ profile] lizzieloudotcom, who's just a brat. No, ferrets aren't related to rats, Bear (I know you're just taking the piss)).

Anyhoo, in light of such a wordy post, this one will be all pictures. Not so many, hope you enjoy.

First, the video I've been talking about. It's not terribly interesting, unless you really love me. It's mostly all Vegas, which kind of irritates me; when Tery visits her own family she gets literally hours of footage. On this trip, despite being a "scientific observer" in the background for much of the week, it never occurred to her to pick up the damn camera. Nevertheless, there's a clip near the end of us with Jane whose real purpose for inclusion is to hear my mother droning on and on at poor Rob in the background, to give you some idea of a sample conversation.

Now, pics:

This was titled by Rob "The Intensity of Wii." Amy looks like she could kill you with that Wiimote

(A word about the Wii: We played after Thanksgiving dinner, and it was the only evening I really felt like we were a family. So fun. Also, it became a running joke that I would always forget to mention some important aspect of playing the game until halfway through it, so I was accused of this being my winning strategy.)

This was found among my late father's effects. Mom said, "Daddy loved his porn" which became the favorite quote of the week. Amy, the bitch, immediately claimed the original for herself

Some at-home pet shots:

Look at this stray cat. His new nickname is "Logan Bunnyfoot"

I was pretending to yell at Bird (not that she knows the difference). I love what the antiquing effect does to the mood
grrgoyl: (Dylan parka)
No new adventures to report this week -- I know, one week in and I'm already a failure. Stupid me put off leaving too long and the sun looked too brutal to go anywhere. Of course, it's easy to forget that sometimes it's 10 degrees cooler outside than inside our condo.

I did attend a party at Chris and Liana's. We had sort of fallen out of vogue at the parties when Tery quit drinking. We went to Halloween and she claimed the temptation was too great -- though I personally failed to see what she thought she was missing watching everyone else get progressively stupider and more obnoxious (perhaps she missed the numbing effects that made the stupidity and obnoxiousness more bearable).

So we just haven't been invited, until this weekend. Which means no one has seen me and my 50-pound weight loss. They all marveled appropriately (and I won't be modest, it is a marvel; I never thought I'd see the downside of 190 before my deathbed). For once I was skinnier than even Laura, the big party flirt, who in her defense is happy in a new relationship, and that always packs on the pounds.

I was a bad girl and ate more fatty foods than I've ever dared since my ER visit, though still less than once upon a time: I only sampled one each of the crab cheese mushrooms and cheddar cheese bruschetta (EVERYTHING had cheese on it), and one whole Omaha steak. I was okay at the time, but later that night I felt a shadow of the chest pain, just a friendly reminder that Mr. Gallstone was still along for the ride, my Dark Passenger.

Still, I've realized that if I could have the surgery today and go back to eating whatever I wanted, I wouldn't do it. I like my life (and how I look) too much this way. I know, I'm sickening, aren't I?

Another of my agendas for attending was to hopefully plan some bike riding with Chris and Liana (it's all about the bike with me). They're pretty serious too, taking frequent trips into the mountains and even once or twice to Alaska to ride. They acted pretty gung-ho about going with me to their local park, and so was I, until I learned that not only does Chris not believe in helmets, he fills his water bottle with a vodka mix before barreling down the mountain at 40 mph -- without a helmet. I was nervous enough with Ryan bare-headed but at least stone cold sober in our little Cherry Creek park. I don't know how I'd handle Suicide Man.

It's okay; if there's one thing I've noticed about parties, it's that people spend a lot of time sitting around making all sorts of grand plans that never amount to anything. Which isn't always a bad thing.


Ahh, Rogue Leader. We've had our ups and downs. I've been getting mysterious chronic flats, always on the rear tire of course (much harder to change). Always after a lovely afternoon of riding, I'd come back, put him back on his rack, and by morning the tire would be almost completely flat. No visible punctures and nothing obvious causing the damage.

I went through three tubes and decided I'd had enough. I brought the tire into Bicycle Village to ask the opinion of their service department. I showed it to a big burly blonde guy who spent most of the conversation staring off over my head, obviously happier dealing with spokes and chains than human beings (not that I can point fingers). He gave it the most cursory of looks, said, "I don't know what to tell you," set me up with a new tube (that he impressively stuck on, tire casing and all, in about 30 seconds with barely a glance) and sent me on my way, free of charge at least.

This tube lasted a total of three days before going flat, a personal worst. Whut. I didn't relish the thought of facing Blondie's cold stare again, so I determinedly plunked down with a flashlight and went over every inch of the inside of the tire. I found the teeniest tiny bit of a wire sticking out of it, no larger than a grain of sand, but certainly sharp. Knock on wood, it might have been the culprit. Blondie might be quick with his hands, but not so good with attention to detail.

Funnily enough, this was one of the first suggestions I found when I searched Yahoo Answers for my problem. God, I hope it was the problem. To be extra sure, I went back to Bicycle Village and ponied up three times the dinars for a thorn-resistant tube, because I'm really, really, REALLY tired of changing tubes. My rear wheel now weighs more than Tery's entire bike, but I don't care if I can get longer than a week's use out of it.

(ADDENDUM: Today was the maiden voyage of my new tube. Definitely feel a difference -- have to work harder to maintain momentum, etc. But good exercise, right? I expect soon my thighs will be so powerful I'll have to start dragging cinder blocks behind me to get any sort of challenge.)

On the plus side, I'm now pretty damn good at changing tires (not Blondie good, but at least I can look people in the eye). And I've got a collection of partially inflated tubes that's the talk of the town.

But when Rogue Leader is up, I'm the happiest girl in the world. The other day I was racing down a big straight-away hill, my iPod rocking the bagpipe solo in "Under the Milky Way Tonight," and, at that moment, that was all I wanted out of life.


Here's a silver lining to the whole iTunes debacle: My hospital debtor who insisted on a $78 payment plan waited until about two days after my account had been cleaned out to take their money, so the payment bounced. I did the right thing, called the bank and called the debtor to explain. I was told they would just re-bill the account after the money was returned.

There the $78 sat for another month. I dutifully recorded the charge in my Quicken so there were no unpleasant surprises when it suddenly disappeared, but still there it sat. I forgot about it, thinking they were waiting for next month to try again. And there it sat.

Then I started getting daily calls from an unidentified number. I picked up one day and it was them -- which I didn't realize until halfway through the conversation. They started going through the spiel of "Can you pay the balance ($820) today?" "No I can't." "Can you pay X?" "No, I've been paying you $50 a month and that's all I can handle for now." Blah blah, on it went, until it dawned on me they were the $78 people.

You know what would make this less confusing? Consolidating into one big bill. Yeah, revolutionary thinking, that's me.

"I already set up a payment plan with you," I told him.

"I was wondering. The notes are sort of confusing on here," he said.

I explained my whole sad tale. He commiserated, and offered to reinstate my plan. Since he had seemed happy with $50, I confessed that I was really more comfortable with that than $78. He said that was fine. I wondered aloud then why the first person would only settle for $78. He just chuckled knowingly and made it happen.

If they hadn't tried to change the deal on me in the first place, I wouldn't have missed two months and they would have been $100 richer by now. But no, they couldn't be happy with a regular payment every month. Let's just all do things my way and no one will get hurt.


Some photos. First I noticed the cats were playing with a moth in the kitchen. Kitten to Logan: "No way, YOU like chasing moths? I DO TOO."

I thought nothing of it, until I saw the moth and realized it was MothRA. It looked like a damn sparrow in our kitchen.

Tery's so brave. She scooped it up and put it outside without even flinching. My hero

Logan has reverted back to Homeless Cat, loves sleeping in a tent made out of my overhanging bed sheets. So much so that one day I forgot to put it down and he yelled at me until I did. Crazy boy.

Can you spot the cat in this picture?

Just a little one of me and Rogue Leader. If I don't look very happy, it's because off-road biking takes a lot more concentration
grrgoyl: (kitten in clocktower)
I know no one else wants to hear this pseudo-complaint, but today is the first day Denver went above 95 degrees. For awhile there I was wondering if summer was ever going to come! But I was a good girl and went for my bike ride at 8 am, before the heat started pressing me down and changing my mind. I rode for 2 hours, and decided to head home when even my iPod earbuds felt too hot and heavy to wear.

I took another picture of my brook: I know I said it was "off limits" to bikes, but there's still some controversy (in my head) about that. Deb (who is a big hiker and knows all about state parks) says budget contraints meant they could only afford one sign, and so were hoping to keep half of the bikers off the trail at least. I'm not so sure -- other paths have just a tiny road marker on the side with a "bikes banned' symbol that I respect. I can't believe those cost so much they can't put one up if it's really that crucial.

So I reached a compromise and instead biked in on the big, wide gravel path that leads straight to the stream, ignoring the lovelier, smaller side paths that wend through the meadows.

Couldn't resist adding some digital saturation to improve on nature's beauty

This one, however, is completely untouched, from my drive to work Saturday. I like how the street lights look like demonic eyes

Sunday MyFriendDeb and I again hit the annual Chalk Art Festival downtown. Perhaps it was because it didn't rain so there was no sense of tragic urgency, or perhaps the artists weren't as good, but not nearly as many pieces really impressed us.

Cute! With a message

This was wild; you had to look at the reflection in the cylinder to see the undistorted result of this Daliesque piece

This was Deb's favorite. I thought it was just a phoenix until she pointed out the BP symbol in the upper left. I thought the message was that BP would rise from the ashes of this disaster, an uncharacteristically optimistic view for an artist. She just thought it was supposed to be an oil-covered bird.

My favorite was a bit less profound -- the DIA Mustang stands atop the "cash register" building (the only distinctive landmark of our skyline) and shoots planes out of the sky with his devil laser eyes. Cheeky and locally topical!

My first celebrity sighting in Denver! This is Kirk Montgomery, who not only has acted in several soap operas but who currently does the entertainment segments on our local news, which is the only thing I know him from

Can't have a chalk art festival without chalk

This pic might not look that special, but I actually took it in the process of lifting my phone up and hit a button accidentally. Check out that composition!

This by contrast is the result when I try to be artistic. Denver has a new bike rental service set up. Good for tourists, kind of pricey if you already have a bike here
grrgoyl: (KITH rehab)
I hereby take back everything I said about the health industry. Today I got the hospital bill: $5300 with $4300 discounted. I can't complain about that, no sir. I'm just happy it's not hanging over my head any more. Almost makes me regret applying for insurance.


I went to the movies yesterday with Ryan (still wallowing in the Evil John's clutches, trying to decide how badly he wants to escape) and Kristin, my sometime movie friend. I wanted to see Avatar again, but Ryan had already seen it once and Kristin didn't really seem all that enthusiastic about it.

This left kind of slim pickings of what was playing. I would have been happy having them over to my place for some recent Blu-ray releases. I have a library of over 200 movies; in theory I shouldn't ever have to go to the theater again. But we all want to see the latest and hottest big screen titles.

The choice was between Daybreakers and Legion, except Daybreakers didn't start until 9 pm or some craziness. Guess it can only be watched by vampires? So by default it was Legion. I would like to make it clear we by no means were DYING to see this or anything. In fact, the others hadn't heard of it until I mentioned it, so I guess I have to take full responsibility.

::Cut for such badness I hate to pollute your F-list with it:: )

I agree with most of the reviews, it starts out very promising, then completely loses steam halfway through and never recovers. I felt so bad for dragging my friends I offered to refund their money.

It wasn't a complete waste though. According to the trailers, Rorschach is the new Freddy Krueger. I don't mean this in a "white is the new black" way. I mean Jackie Earle Haley is the new Freddy Krueger. I don't have any affinity for the franchise, but THIS I would go see.

I think Jackie is a fabulous choice, but honestly, Robert Englund could probably play the role until he drops dead of a heart attack while chasing sleepless kids around. That makeup would easily hide any normal wear and tear on his face. (but rumor has it he doesn't want to play Freddy anymore)


I'll leave you with this lovely photo Tery found in our closet: band photo, circa 1978(?)

It's never pretty when you force a tomboy into a skirt. I look like I want to stab the photographer's eyes out with my mouthpiece
grrgoyl: (Dr. Horrible)
My tax refund arrived, just in time for the realization that Depeche Mode was coming to Red Rocks Arena.  Have you seen their new video for "Wrong"?    Me likey.  Me hopey stupid record company doesn't take it down before you get to click.   

I agonized for a couple of hours over whether should I or shouldn't I.  The problem is a.) concerts are no fun alone, and not something you can invite just anyone to (which has been covered previously in this blog) and b.) cheap seats evidently START at $100.  Eek.  Hey, DM?  Did you hear we're in a recession?  c.) I've been to a show at Red Rocks once.  If you aren't seated just right, all the sound is literally blown away on the Rocky Mountain breeze.  Like in the $100 seats.

I don't know what made me think of it, but I cruised by the 24-Hour Fitness site.  Wait, I do know what made me think of it.  A bunch of people from my hometown have appeared out of the woodwork to find me on Facebook, and some of them have gotten, well, kind of LARGE.  Not that I can really point fingers, hence the 24-Hour Fitness drive-by.  We've always had one across the street, a five-minute walk away.  It's one of the few useful things we have in that plaza (half of it is a Furniture Row, not helpful in the day-to-day), but I've always had the Bowflex.  I started thinking that the Bowflex, whether I use it consistently or not, doesn't really provide terribly dramatic results for me, and certainly nothing cardio, which I definitely need with my clerical job/DVD-watching hobby. 

It turned out 24-Hour was featuring a promotion, ending naturally in just three days, $200 for a year -- $16 a month.  How could I ignore THAT?  Hell, for $16 a month I could just walk around with a water bottle and a towel, pretend to be working out and still feel better about myself.

My sister, who I can always count on to talk me into spending money, was in full support of it.  The idea had way more pros than cons.  For me the biggest pro was the money.  Money is a BIG motivator for me (despite my lack of ambition career-wise), and spending it on a gym membership, even as little as $16 a month, might get my ass moving across the street the way I couldn't get it to the foot of the bed every morning. 

My sister recommended I pop in and visit before making a decision, which I did Friday afternoon.  I was paired with Aaron, a gung-ho salesman who took me on a whirlwind, 3-1/2 minute tour of the facility.  He wanted to sit down and talk numbers immediately, specifically $600 for 3 years, and thereafter only $100 a year for life.  A great deal, but I wasn't exactly ready for that level of commitment before having set foot on a single machine.  They offer 7-day free passes, which didn't do me much good considering the promo ended on Sunday.  I could check it out that night and Saturday, if I weren't about to embark on my 2-job work weekend.  My timing is in all things outrageously off. 

So instead I spent the whole weekend fantasizing about the way my life would change with this decision.  The way I might finally have the energy, strength and body shape I've always wanted.  No, I'll never be petite, but that doesn't mean I can't make some improvement.  The way I might get some routine back in my life besides working, lounging around and sleeping.  Big changes were coming.  I could feel it.

Sunday I jumped out of bed, ready to change my life.  I walked in and asked three times for Aaron (he had mentioned they worked on commission).  No, that's okay, the young punk currently behind the desk would be more than happy to make the commission without doing any of the leg work help me.  Young Golan, who could hardly bear to make eye contact with me and seemed more eager to get me back out the door than anything.  He took my money, announced, "You're all set!" and that was that.  No suggestion of how to get started, etc.  The only way my life had changed was that I was now $200 poorer.  Not as exhilarating as I had imagined.  I must have missed the commercial where the vivacious young woman (you know, the one who's already slim and sexy and really doesn't need a gym) pays for her membership and leaps off like a joyous gazelle with all her newfound energy.

Fortunately our neighbor Anna has been going there for almost a month, and offered to bring me in Monday.  Thanks to her I felt comfortable, and once I started using the machines I felt instantly like I'd been assimilated into an exclusive club, which I guess in a way I had.  Maybe someday I'll work up the courage to try the Nautilus equipment.


Speaking of 2-job weekends, in Alexandra Pelosi's documentary about the 2008 presidential campaign trail ("Right America:  Feeling Wronged"), she asks a typical redneck rightwinger if America is engaged in a civil war.  "Sure," he twanged.  "There's the homosexuals and then there's the hard-working Americans!"  Evidently "Middle America" thinks teh gays just spend all day and night having teh gay sex.  No wonder they're so jealous.  But what about us bisexuals?  Are we all only employed part-time?

The movie is worth a watch, if only so you can see grown men weep because they're so convinced that Barack is a terrorist and will singlehandedly destroy America. 


As part of my big life change, I also got my hair cut on Sunday.  Since I usually avoid most places of business on the weekend, I'd never met the young girl who drew my name off the computer, Tracy.  She was nice enough.  The first half of the session was spent discussing my exciting new lifestyle.  The conversation took a turn for the worse when I admitted I worked at a vet hospital.  Tracy politely asked if I had any pets, so I told her.    Then we had this exchange:

Me:  Yeah, the vet job isn't bad, except I don't especially like dogs.
Her:  Oh, I HATE dogs.  I've been bit like three times by dogs.
Me:  Wow.  Well, that would make me hate them too. 
Her:  I hate cats too.  I'm more scared of them than dogs.  They're SNEAKY.
Me:  O....kay.  I can understand that.  How do you feel about ferrets? 
Her:  Ooh, they're UGLY.  I wouldn't get close enough to one to know if I liked it or not.
Me:  Fair enough.  I hate kids, so we're even.
Her:  What??!  You don't hate kids.  How can you say you hate kids?

This is what I can't stand.  People are free to spout all sorts of vile prejudices against animals, fair or not.  But if you say anything bad about kids, you're a monster.  You'd think I said "I hate kids and want to make them all into sandwich meat."

Anyway, it was really funny when she noticed me playing the "pronoun game" about Tery, "my partner."  As soon as I dropped the first "she," she blurted out "Do you watch The L-Word?"  She gets an A for effort, F+ for subtlety. 


If cats are guilty of sneakiness, it's sneaking their way into your heart.  At least in the case of my Mitten.  I give you more in the photo series.  The two visually interesting ones as appeteasers:

The ever-precious head tilt

Head tilt and a "here, move that camera closer so I can rub against it"

::+3 more abstract:: )

I promise the next installment will be the last.

Here are some attempts at being artistic. 

My sexy new water bottle for my sexy new lifestyle

I picked this mongo huge strawberry out of the pack.  I knew some people would never believe the size without some scale for comparison.  Then I gave up getting a good shot with my face and instead ended up with this series of shots. 

The Strawberry Series

1) Hello, Strawberry  2)  I like the way you look, Strawberry  3)  I REALLY like the way you look, Strawberry  4)  I eat you, Strawberry.  No hard feelings.
grrgoyl: (Sweeney time for song)
I'm happy to report a happy (sort of) ending to the Ryan quandary.  Friday he was talking "therapy, working it out."  Saturday he was suddenly all "fuck this" and had kicked that loser John to the curb.  This earned a big "GoooooooOOOOOO, Ryan!" from me.  Because John, knowing full well that their relationship was on its last legs if something didn't change, didn't let that put a crimp in his weekend plans for getting trashed (again).  Ryan is a great guy and I'm certain can find a man who will try a little harder to respect his feelings.

My biggest concern in the break-up was Ryan not being able to afford his condo, until he revealed that he's been paying his bills all along AND helping John with his credit cards.  John is about 40 years old.  This makes John a DOUBLE LOSER.  As Ryan said (though with considerably less glee than I would have), "He's in for a rude awakening when he starts paying for his own stuff."

We did hang out most of the day Monday, first going out to lunch and then back here for an epic Rock Band session (no video documentation, sorry).      I'm sad Ryan is alone again, but can't pretend that I'm not happy to have my friend back. 


That was the happy part of my weekend.  This is the unhappy part.  ::The sad tale of Kane the dog: cut for animal death and bodily functions :: )


At last "The L Word" is over.  God.  If "Six Feet Under" was the best series finale we've ever seen, "L Word" had to be the worst.  We were thrilled beyond words when the season premiere featured Jenny, easily the most hated character, being found dead in the pool.  Until we realized the whole season would be one massive flashback, where every episode gave another person reason enough to want to see her dead, even more than us.  Making the finale a big whodunit (with a comically repeated reference to that dangerous railing over the pool they need to get fixed) without ever revealing the answer.  COME ON.  Our DVR cut off the last 90 seconds, and thank god I just happened to find it at that moment playing elsewhere so we could finish it properly, because those last 90 seconds weren't any more illuminating, and it would have SUCKED to sit through the whole episode a second time hoping they were.  Bleah, L Word.  You SUCK.


The next in my popular art photography series:

Series I:  Favorite Parts of a Cat; Feet Part Two

One of her namesakes -- her Tufty Toes

She got legs//she knows how to use them

Okay, I promise to move on from the feet next time.


grrgoyl: (Default)

December 2011

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