Moving House

I spent the better part of the past two weeks moving out of my lair on the third floor of an Ortigas medium-rise and back into my grandmother’s house that sits smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

Not that I miss being able to quite literally crawl home from Metrowalk and from 90 Proof, but I’m not bitter at all about moving. First of all, I don’t have a choice in the matter. The water and power rates were melting our bank accounts at an alarming rate, and something had to be done. Second, years of errant cigarette butts and spilt earthen pots from higher balconies had taken their toll on my skylight-cum-roof (I used to live in an enclosed balcony), creating a waterfall in my bathroom that was most unwelcome. The damage to our roof was so great we had to move out before any serious work can be done.

***

Philippine suburbia being as it is, this move means at least another hour must be added to the total amount of time lost while doing the daily commute.

Well, I suppose I can always use the extra hour just to bond with my wife. Frequent readers will note that I have the most meaningful conversations of the day with my wife. I suppose the extra half hour will do my relationship good. What else is there to do when you’re stuck with just one person in traffic that never seems to move?

***

Now that I live in a village, I can really start losing my gut. I used to complain that it was unsafe to walk for exercise in a place where there are more buildings than there are trees. Now that I’m in a proper village again, I’ve lost that excuse.

The best feature about my grandmother’s house isn’t within the house. It’s the fact that the village basketball court is now just a block away. I cannot tell you enough how happy this makes me. I have only lived this close to a basketball court only once before, and all I can tell you is that it was six months too short.

So it was that I gave basketball, one of my first loves, a shot last Sunday and found, to my dismay, that having acquired a gut the size of Tarlac since my last time out, my game had diminished so much that it was shameful to think of lacing up a pair of sneakers. That’s alright, though. I’m sure that with time, my game will find me, and together we will go to basketball paradise, now that I live in a village.

***

Oprah once said that one of the greatest little joys in life is to lord it over a table with great food and even greater friends. Now that I’m in a proper house with a proper yard I figure that it’s high time for me to indulge in that one happy thing. Let the beer flow and the barbecue roast! When you live in a building, it’s almost impossible to hold a cookout for your friends. There’s no parking, no place to put the barbecue without irritating the hell out of the neighbors, and no space to just be drunk in good company.

That is going to change.

While some may argue (my wife included) that the idea of holding regular cookouts with your bestest friends in your backyard is anathema to the idea of losing weight, I posit that it’s one of the little concessions granted to suffering married suburbanites, so I might as well indulge. At its worst, it’s just another reason to go out and exercise some more.

***

As it is, I’m still not finished moving. I’ve left some stuff behind, as the old unit has become an office-cum-warehouse. It’s a 30-minute drive just to get there during the day, and three 30-minute drives can really take it out on you.

I’d really like to know when I’m going to stop doing these 30-minute runs, but I’ve noticed that the amount of stuff that needs to be taken out of the old unit seems to grow longer and longer with every time I go back to get stuff. It’s become that every trip is always the last trip back, until either of us decides that we’ve left something really important, and then that trip becomes the last trip back.

I’m making my last trip back tomorrow. If I should tell a lie, then cross my heart and hope to die.

Kiko got Published!!!

I got one of my older stories published today in TwoFourth, which I am led to believe is run by a poetry collective.

Thanks, guys.

Fake Smiles, Fake City

We might look happy here, but we're really, really stressed out by this point. This is actually the high point of our Shenzen trip. It's a city of fakes that takes pride in it being one big fake. I couldn't stop laughing at the irony.

I also figured out that if the tour bus left me behind, there was nothing to say that I wasn't from the area, except that I couldn't understand a single word in Mandarin. I guess I look too much like the natives.

I'm not going back to Shenzen, unless they pay me a LOT of money.

Sub/Versive Link No. 3

Back when the idea of a blog was something so radical they hadn't developed engines for it, a British man who answers to the name of Mil Millington put down into words the little inane things he and his girlfriend have argued about and put them on a website. Soon, word of the website spread among netizens.

In those days, you could copy something off the Internet, claim it as your own work, and none would be the wiser. Unfortunately, the page was written at a time when Internet authors began to realize just how much their intellectual property rights were being violated.

Then, in a brazen act of plagiarism, the British publication Mail on Sunday (MoS), ran his work as a running column, passing it off as original work by a fictional staffer.

This came to the attention of a friend of Mr Millington's, who promptly wrote the MoS. The MoS replied with the threat of a suit for Mr Millington's apparently true insinuations (only in Britain!). Eventually MoS settled with Mr Millington for a tidy sum (not to mention throwing in a two-book deal for good measure).

Anyway, it may take a long time to read, so I suggest you stock up on beer and chips. Find a comfy chair while you're at it. It's going to be a hell of a ride.

Shot in the Middle of Nowhere

I shot this somewhere between New Mexico and El Paso. This, I believe, is quite right in the middle of nowhere.

Signs of the Times No. 2

Vic Icasas caught this motherly-looking lady doing the unmotherly thing for Ateneo during their embarassing, lopsided loss to the Archers. I heard Vic was road-testing the new Canon professional digital SLR. Talk about cameras capturing priceless moments.

New professional level SLR - $2,000.
Digital photo kit - $1,000.
Press ID for Ateneo-La Salle playoff match. - $500.
Capturing old lady in Ateneo shirt giving the finger - PRICELESS.

Max Brenner

Went to Max Brenner. Got a really thick chocolate that felt like ganache. Cliff calls me a loser for not getting a suckao. Well, I'm not a sucker for advertising. I'll take whatever everyone else isn't taking. If that's still good, then good for the place.

Anyway, all that I needed was a chocolate fix, and I got it. It's funny how much chocolate is in that little thing.

It's overpriced, though, so I don't think I'll be back there any time soon.

Sub/Versive Link No. 2

Self-Regulation

I wonder if this stuff will fly here. Again, more proof that pornography isn't the evil that moralists purport it to be.

Small Things

Joey Alarilla, in his Palanca-winning essay about living the wired life in the Zeroes, notes that our lives have now become subject to the whims of the gods of small things. You don't have to look very far to find examples:

• Does my PDA have enough juice to last me the whole day?
• Is the office mail server down again?
• Must I load my phone card with phone credits right now?
• Is the car charger for my phone busted?
• Will Blogger go down again and refuse to publish my posts?

I think the theory is that these things have no direct connection with living. Therefore, they are small and insignificant compared to other things, such as whether or not you make it through the day without losing your sanity.

One of the most significant themes that you find in literature is the theory that says it's the small things in life that count, that make life worth living.

I read a short story once about how women notice the small things that men often overlook, and that sometimes that can spell the difference between murder and suicide. This story was written, of course, in a time where forensic science was more the work of fiction and fantasy than the serious academic subject that it is today. However, the point was made, and quite eloquently, too.

After all, it's the thousand straws that break the camel's back, to restate an old saying.

I'll be the first to admit that it's hard to look at the big picture. People who study human nature say that people notice the faults of a person they see wearing white hats. They use this theory to explain why when famous people make mistakes, it's funny. You don't expect them to make mistakes. That's why you also remember their booboos more than anything substantial that they may have said. Bill Clinton will probably be remembered more for Monica Lewinsky than for being the American President who led his country out of an insurmountable budget deficit, revived the American economy, and played a mean saxophone.

Last Tuesday, my wife had her own personal experience with the Gods of Small Things. dropped her new phone from the bedside table. Although that phone's been dropped from higher places and on harder surfaces, this particular drop blanked out the phone's LCD. She was despondent the whole day, until we got to Globe and had the thing fixed. Even though she got her phone back sans directory and unsaved images, it was as if she had been touched by an angel.

I think she was. Having her phone fixed made her happier than scoring at least 90 on all her midterms, the pain in her tooth (now pulled out, thank God), and the unending war she wages with acne.

So today, I had a small toss-up with my wife about where to have her tooth pulled. We weren't seeing eye to eye on the whole thing, so I took a dive. As my friend Louie says, "you can't win an argument with a woman, especially your wife." My wife insists it's my fault because I didn't wake up early enough to get everything done so that the only thing left to do would be to take her to my friend, the dentist and have her tooth pulled out instead of the drama we had to endure earlier. After her tooth got extracted, it was as if she never got mad in the first place.

Amazing how the small things matter. I hope she notices.

Tremors

An earthquake hit Manila around 3:10AM (+800 GMT). Sure brought me back to my senses. All it took was one small shove in the Manila Trench, and you've got all these massive forces unleashed on the Philippines. Among those unleashed was a small voice that said just how insignificant our little troubles are in the grand scheme of things.

Earthquakes tend to be worse than they actually are in buildings. Engineering-wise, it's because of a concept called sway. Ground movements are amplified by a certain factor, and I've been told that the higher you are on a particular building, the higher this factor is.

As a result, even the smallest of earthquakes has disastrous potential. However, that I feel earthquakes more strongly than the ordinary man on the street is not to say that sway is a bad thing. Engineers can usually set the sway frequency of a building during construction. Set your building to sway just right and you've got yourself a pretty earthquake-proof building. Remove sway totally, and the push-and-pull action the ground makes during an earthquake can level everything.

When we bought this unit in 1988, they told us that this was one of the most earthquake-proof buildings in the Philippines. Well, the support beams are among the thickest I've ever seen (the columns are more than a meter wide), but I have been told by some engineers have that this width is merely an illusion: most of the building's piping runs through these columns, considerably weakening the building's structural integrity. Chalk one up to falling for what legal people call "trader's talk". In other words, BS.

Just last year, people found cracks on the facade that ran from base to roof. No one can point, with authority, as to the cause of these cracks. Some have argued that these cracks are from a waterproofing problem encountered during the building's construction. My personal suspicion is that there is some flaw in the building that's developed over time. When your association dues are among the lowest in the Ortigas Central Business District, building maintenance probably isn't one of your strong suits.

The tremor itself wasn't so strong. However, it did last quite a bit. My wife suggested that perhaps it was time to head for the nearest door frame, and I'd wondered why the shaking hadn't stopped at least twice, all during the main quake.

I can't wait to move into my own home. Then I wouldn't have to worry about sway anymore. I also woudn't have to worry about a host of other things, but the earthquake's pretty much made those little things seem like a bonus.

On the plus side, David slept through the whole thing, and all by himself too. This is, I think, a first for David. In school, I'll bet those who woke up during the earthquake will talk all about it, and David will just look at them as if they were from Mars, eyes filled with blissful ignorance.

Signs of the Times No. 1

My family and I went to Hong Kong last summer. When we came back, this was the first thing we saw. This was also the first thing other foreigners saw.

I think you can tell how a country is by their signs. This, I believe, is so indicative of ours. Nothing says more about ineptitude than this sign.

Hint: I encircled the error. Couldn't help it. Must be the editor in me.

Cibo

Went to Cibo the other day for a vegetable panini. This is a diet by my standards, mind. Now I get full on one cup of rice, and I don't overeat as much. It's amazing, actually.

Anyway, my wife's taking her mint iced tea while playing Fried Rice Paradise on her cellular phone. It's a bit like Lemonade Tycoon, except that it's about fried rice. Just be careful not to press the quit button, or your saved game goes to the dustbin.

Today, she wrote to our friends. It's so heartwarming. I'd almost forgotten how well she writes. She wrote about how sad she was that our friends have all gone their own separate lives, and that we don't extend the effort to reach out and be part of each others lives again.

I hope our old friends do listen.

Blog Critique No. 1

no one will see us...

Lawyers come in all shapes and sizes, in all forms and persuasions. Here's a new associate, who's younger than me, but is now working for some law firm in Makati.

She hasn't updated her blog for September, but the posts that are already there should be enough for the intrepid reader.

Someone should warn her though, on the danger of writing about her work on her blog. That can be quite disastrous. Just ask Joyce Park.

Sub/Versive Link No. 1

My good friend supa_proxy sent this cartoon to me through Yahoo! Messenger last night.

I'm glad for cartoonware. It's not as hard to create biting satire using words and images as it used to be. Now, all you need to have is a little time and something funny to say.

w00t!

Subpoena Ad Testificandum

I went to court yesterday. That's my name on the calendar right there. Damn trial got postponed because the private prosecutor, who was supposed to continue my cross got "sick".

I got to choose when I'll continue with my cross, however. I set it on the 20th. Criminal cases take so long to prosecute because of these Urgent Motions to Postpone. There should be a stiffer fine for infractions like these. Something like 20,000 pesos per postponement or similar.

Anatomy of an Argument

In anthropology class, we were taught that we, as a people, abhor direct confrontation.

In his column in the Inquirer, anthropologist Michael Tan notes that this tendency is reflected in the way we address difficult issues. Humorist Tomas Andres calls it "the sandwich method." We confront others in between slices of small talk.

We don’t just do it when we converse. In the old days before changing rooms became fashionable, writes Ambeth Ocampo, we created privacy for ourselves by which we could change clothes turning our backs on the rest of the room. Asking everyone else to leave would just be, well, rude.

Instead, we resort to passive-aggressive techniques to show our displeasure with others. We rely on subtle hints that may or may not hit the mark. The thing is, we fully expect those against whom we show our scorn to fully appreciate the extent of our scorn, hidden though it may be through layers and layers of Tupperware.

I personally experienced this while in the grocery with my wife today. I suppose it's her form of retail therapy, having had trouble in class earlier.

In my ten years of being attached, I've found out that when women want to do something for themselves, they want their significant others to do it with them. I'm no psychologist, but I think my experience as my wife's whipping boy qualifies me.

Anyway, I think that the logic behind the behavior goes this way:

1. Girl wants to do something. Remember that this something can be any activity. Let's call this activity "shopping", for lack of a better term.
2. "Shopping" is relaxing for the girl. People have been "shopping" for years as a way to relax. In fact, everyone should go "shopping".
3. It would be wrong to go "shopping " alone. Not only is "shopping" fun, I enjoy "shopping" more if I'm with people I love.
4. I love my boyfriend.
5. Therefore, my boyfriend should go "shopping" with me.

(I showed this diagram to my friend Cliff, who retorted, "That's stupid. Women have no logic.")

When girls go to the bathroom, you can apply the same logic to explain why you need a whole army of girls to go peepee. In a female world, not only does it work, it's an agent for world peace. Imagine that.

Unfortunately, there is one big flaw with this argument. Men, strange creatures that we are, do not usually find all things that women find relaxing as actually relaxing.

Take shopping for clothes, for instance. I would think that most of the time, shopping is less pleasant an experience than going to the dentist. I may speak only for myself, but when I go to the dentist, I not only get a nice, comfy chair where I can sit and listen to your dentist tell me stories about her and her boyfriend’s (mis)adventures in cyberspace. When my wife drags me to go shopping, I ought to expect nothing, except being asked a million times, “Do I look fat?”

On the other hand, if we were to replace “shopping” with “getting drunk at Hooters”, you’d find most men in agreement with female logic, and agree that this, indeed is one of the most pleasant things to do in the world.

Which brings me to my story. Did I digress?

So it was that I found myself dragged against my will into the depths of Rockwell, trying to appear excited over shopping for salad ingredients. As with all supermarkets, girls end up buying things they never intended to buy in the first place, and today was no different. Among the non-salad items that we bought were:

• Two tins of tuna in water (how appetizing!);
• 100g of fresh cherries (which I don’t eat);
• One issue of YES! Magazine (featuring Marjorie Barretto).

We ended up spending more than eight times the cost of the salad greens that we got. Apparently, Rustans Fresh! is not the place where one can expect the freshest vegetables at the lowest price. That would be the wet market, I think.

That we had to pay so much for salad greens irritated me to no end. I wanted to show my disgust at the state of things, but couldn’t because decorum wouldn’t allow me and experience told me that it would only make matters worse. So, in typical Filipino fashion, I kept quiet until we made it home.

By the time the salad was done, all was right with the world.

Coloring Books

This is what my Criminal Procedure textbook looks like. This picture was taken before midterms, so you can see just how many times I've gone over the text (marginal notes notwithstanding).

Besides, I share this textbook with my wife.

At any rate, I think that as we get older, our coloring books get bigger and bigger. Now my coloring book is the size of a real large textbook, with a faux leather cover to boot.

As you can see, it becomes more and more important to color within the lines as one grows older.

Pork and Beans

Warning: This may kill you.

Pork knuckles, slow cooked in bagoong and beans. I call it pork and beans in jest, and I call it heavenly in private. My mom says it comes from an old Ilocano recipe with a Tagalog twist.

There's nothing like it. The meat just falls off the bones. Considering that this is pork knuckle meat we're talking about, you can only guess how soft this dish is.

Family Outings - Hong Kong 1

We got some weird terminal when we landed in Hong Kong. Apparently, they have light trains from the planes to the main terminal, effectively increasing the size of Chep Lap Kok. This is all well and good, but the old attraction of Hong Kong was that the airport was so close to everything. Now the airport is close to nothing.

That's me, my wife, and my mom. This was the last time we were caught smiling on camera. The entire holiday was that bad. I heard they shoot criminals in China. I found out after this trip that it isn't true. They turn criminals into tour guides up there.

So long, Friendster. It's been fun.

There. I've done it. I changed my mind and deleted my account early. Like most Friendster users, I wasn't using my account lately, so I figured I could do without. I lost my connection to 292 friends.

I figure I'll find them all sooner or later. :)

I'm deleting my Friendster account for ethical reasons. So should you.

Friendster Fires Programmer for Blogging

Today, Friendster did the unthinkable. They fired one of their programmers for publishing good comments about her company.

Friendster's firing of Troutgirl (aka Joyce Park) may be legal in California, where you can fire any employee for any reason, save discrimination, but I'm sure it isn't ethical any way you look at it.

In law, she can rightfully be considered as one whose property rights were violated by an ex post facto law. An ex post facto law is defined as, inter alia, a rule that makes punishable an act which, at the time it was committed, carried no sanction.

Lawmakers are prevented from enacting ex post facto laws because it strikes against the very heart of fairness.

I understand that the people at Friendster want to tighten their screws on corporate secrets, but how corporate secrets were revealed through her blogs is puzzling to me. The change from Java to PHP-based programming was pretty obvious to begin with.

It's too late now. The new CEO of Friendster may want her back to assuage the feelings of the programming community, or those who give a damn, but people should learn from their mistakes.

In response, I am terminating my Friendster account by the end of the month. Due notice and all. It's only fair. I do not want to be associated with a company that has such horrible employee relations.

To those who wrote touching testimonials for me, I cannot thank you enough. Thank you for being part of my life. I'll see you when I see you.

Them Belly Full

Am in Saisaki, blogging thanks to AvantBlog, whose existence I learned about through my friend Cliff. He swears by AvantBlog. For Cliff, it's helped him keep on posting, even though he's far from a computer. Talk about making the most out of downtime.

On a different note, I've finally gotten people to sign on to the class blog, but so far I'm the only one posting. I hope everyone gets to post, though. That way, it really becomes our voice.

At any rate, Saisaki's only worth it when there's sea urchin on the menu. Otherwise, you're just eating for tomorrow.

Are You Experienced?

OkCupid - The Virgin Game

If so, let me know what score you got. I got 52% at first, thought I could do it better after smoking some, and got 38%. That's like me getting really good at spotting experience, but saying virgin.

That's what smoking will do to your brain.

Mobile Computing Nirvana

It's been a long day. It's been a long semester for that matter.

Thanks to a scheduling snafu, I don't have classes for the next two Wednesdays. The wife and I decided to celebrate this occasion by going to Greenhills, where we scoured the aisles for accessories for my new PDA. Finding nothing within our budget, we had to settle for hopia at Baker's Fair.

I found this little store while walking around on the second floor. They carry a wide array of PDA covers, and have a few pretty xda II holders, including one that doubles as a fine leather wallet. It costs P2,200.00, which is more or less one-fourth of a minimum wage-earner's keep for a month.

I refuse to see things for their dollar value, it becomes confusing that way. I decree that no one will see currency conversion factors in this blog, at least when it comes to how much things cost in this part of the blue marble.

Point is, we went in with some money, and we left with no money. Greenhills is a black hole for your wallet. Damn.

I'm sick and tired of being broke. I can't wait for this mad season to be over.

Not All News is Bad

I read this today from Rolling Stone:

R.E.M., the Dixie Chicks and Maroon 5 are singing for a considerably younger audience on a new compilation album, "Mary Had a Little Amp", set for an October 5th release.

Personally, I wish I was a father so I could buy my kid a Mary Had a Little Amp album. When my kid starts asking me about chord progressions, I'll be the happiest dad in the world. I want my kid to be so musically grounded he starts laying down roots.

Although I think this album won't be as miraculous as Schoolhouse Rock (that great 70's opus!), I expect this to be a lot better than 1998's Saturday Morning Cartoons. It's great to see these rockers involved in projects like these. On a side note, I have trouble imagining what an album that features REM and the Dixie Chicks on the same track list would sound like.

Sho' would be some kind of funky.

Thank You, Ninoy.

My Hero

Thanks to Ninoy and GMA's proclamation declaring his death anniversary a non-working holiday, we got a long weekend, which unfortunately ends today.

In class, I made a small litany for the events that led to this small mercy.

Salamat, Ninoy, sa inyong pagkabayani.
Salamat Tita Cory, dahil pinayagan ninyong umuwi si Ninoy.
Salamat Apo Ferdie, dahil gahaman ka.
Salamat AVSECOM, dahil sa pagiging inutil ninyo, nagkaroon tayo ng bagong salapi.
Salamat Ate Glow, at medyo uto-uto ka.
Salamat Ateneo, at mayabang ka.
Salamat, salamat, dahil tumama sa Sabado ang ika-21 ng Agosto.

The holiday will be over in a few minutes. Blech.

I make you lait, Kris Aquino.

My good friend and fellow oldie, noringai, wrote a column about Kris Aquino the other day, and how, like Kris Aquino, she also likes to be the center of attention when it comes to chitchatting with her amigas and palanggas, even if it means divulging nasty details about oneself that no one really cares to hear.

At the same time, I have noticed, to some dismay, that Kris has become a Filipino answer to Jerry Springer.

I happened to have the misfortune of catching the househelp watching The Buzz while on my way to the neighborhood sari-sari store for a soda. She was grilling one guest - I forget who, it's not important - over something equally unimportant, and the guest looked like she was on the verge of tears.

It is clear her interviewing style borrows heavily from Boy Abunda's: badger your guest needlessly while spouting obviously fake sympathy (don't bother hiding it from the discerning viewer, the camera does not lie!). It's become so bad that Boy doesn't interrupt that much anymore.

Sometimes, it's just too painful to watch. But people DO watch, and watch with fascination as the cherished daughter of a national hero disgraces herself on national television every single day.

How does she disgrace herself? Her lack of tact, among her other flaws, is legendary. Television could be the worst industry she could have picked, because it magnifies your flaws like no other. Finally, she puts her flaws out on display, day after day. People watch it because there's nothing more entertaining than watching a person self-destruct. Don't believe me? Watch The Buzz every Sunday on Channel 2. You'll get hooked, and I'll bet it'll be for the wrong reasons.

She's William Hung, except that William Hung isn't the favorite daughter of the country's national hero.

I am led to believe it's called schadenfreude, that guilty feeling of pleasure you get out of watching someone else's pain. I don't get any pleasure out of watching her, because I feel more for the pain she (un)consciously inflicts on those who may really care about her.

That doesn't mean I like her. I admit I watched Pido Dida 8 times, but that was when I was a mean little child with a lot less empathy than I do have now.

Once upon a time, I heard that that's the way women feel better about themselves: when they hear about someone who's having it worse than them. The theory goes on to say that this is the principle that explains the concept of lait. Sure, it's fun, but girls do it mostly to cover up their own insecurities.

I have girl friends who pick on other girls in the law school, and have become quite notorious for their antics. No one is safe from their broadsides, so I guess it all evens out. Equal opportunity offenders and all that.

Now, I'm not sure what their tirades mean, but I'm not in a hurry to find out.

Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll

I've always been an advocate of the holy trinity = sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I don't think I'll look like Pepe Smith in a few years, partly because I'm too fat to look like him. That's neither here nor there.

What I was thinking of though, was about the effects of MDMA, taken in a sufficient dose, to a group of orgy participants. Would it make them more conjoined? I went to ecstasy.org to find out and the testimonials there are somewhat promising. Since the drug tests on MDMA have been confirmed as one big hoax, I've felt a lot more safe in considering using it in a "clinical" trial.
Now, to find a test group.

Swing, batta batta, swing!

Tractor Beam: On

This is what a typical lecture class looks like in the Ateneo. I was only able to take this shot because the professor was talking about land patents, and I think I give a good impression with regard to taking notes.

What Work Looks Like

I usually spend nights studying for the next school day. I make my notes and place it on my PDA. Some days, I come to school bringing only the PDA because practically everything's already there.

The work that I put in often seems pointless to my wife, but I swear this work comes in really handy for class. There are times where you will not be called for days for any subject. Those days are bad because there's a good chance of slacking off.

This way, I get to keep on my toes. Or so I keep telling myself.