A Little Scare

For the past few days, I've been sick.

Some minor cold, the usual stuffed sinuses, sore throat...I'm thinking it's either because of the lack of sleep I've been getting (stupid heat wave) or the current unhealthy eating habits. (When I get home from work at 10 pm, sometimes I don't feel like cooking and eating dinner at 10:30 - 11 at night. So I skip a meal. And don't eat breakfast.)

In any case, I thought I had it under control. Slept 11 hours on Monday. Went to bed early last night. Sucking down lozenges.

This morning, I woke up at 3 am, partly due to the warmth, mostly due to the fact that my right eye, which has been irritating me, was in pain. In fact, I couldn't open it for more that a microsecond at a time.

So I start trying to wash it out with hot water. No dice. Cold water. Sorry, chum. Damp washcloth over my eye. Still no luck.

I have a cold shower at 3:45. Doesn't help at all.

I'm thinking, crap! Do I have to call in sick tomorrow because I can't see what I'm doing? Because the constant fluttering of my right eye will scare off customers? Will I have to go to a doctor? Wear an eyepatch?

I sit down in front of my computer, but the glare of the montior was very painful. I lay down in bed, trying to calm down and relax.

Finally, two hours after I wake up, I'm able to blink and look again. I relax. Read a bit at five in the morning. Fall asleep for another few hours.

I realized that if I were to lose one sense, I could NOT go on without sight. Seeing the world, observing with my eyes, is a very important thing for me.

Which make me ask myself, if I were to lose a sense, which one would it be? I'd have to go with five bucks. Or my sense of moral outrage. But not my sight.

A candid look into my family history...

Since I switched to Messenger v.6, I've been intrigued by the Picture window that shows up. You can put any pic in there, and I started out by having some cartoon or something in there to start.

Then I got to thinking (which, in my case, usually leads to some sort of mischief): Maybe I should take pics of myself in different emotional states. And so, Jamoticons were created.

Problem is, some of them are pretty subtle. You can't really see a difference between "dangerous" (me, with sunglasses, in sort of an Agent Smith three-quarters face view, complete with subtle frown) and "cool" (sunglasses, full frontal view, neutral expression).

Granted, I'm no Frank Castle, but there are some emotions I can't try to do in a mirror and photograph. I'm by NO means this guy (thanks, Grank!)...

* * *

I was revealing some things about myself that girlone hadn't previously known: My acts of contortion, being duct-taped to a truck, my many acts of stripping, and, somehow, we got to my convoluted family history.

It's not really history, per say. It's only this past generation of my branch of Jago that has a very different make-up that what could have happened.

My mother has had three babies die prematurely on her.

Needless to say, she's been a VERY strong woman in coping with this, especially since it happened in a two-year span. In fact, it makes for an interesting look at what my mother has been through, birth-wise.

Back in 1977, I was born. And, being the contrary person that I tend to be, I decided in the womb to make it something she'd never forget.

I came out ass-first. Perhaps THIS is why I'm a contortionist.

In 1980, my sister Kenna was born, prematurely. She died the next day. Apparently, I actually met Kenna (I was 3), when my dad took me into mom's hospital room. My parents, understandably, took it hard, but they kept trying to have more kids.

In 1981, Graham and Devon were born, prematurely. They died the next day. This time, knowing what happened last time, my parents didn't show me my twin brothers.

(Hmmm...Going over this chronology now, I realize that, while I've seen a lot of pictures of my childhood, I can't remember seeing any pictures from when I was two or three that had my pregnant mother in them. The thought has NEVER occurred to me prior to typing this...)

My parents decide to adopt a child, not caring if the kid has any physical or mental problems. NOTHING can be worse than seeing three children die a day into their lives.

So we adopted Erika in 1982. Erika had nothing wrong with her, other than clubbed feet. As an infant, she had casts on her feet and a brace to straighten then.

(Yes, this is why people can't believe Erika and I are related. I am a tall guy with a relatively large nose, VERY strong chin and chestnut brown hair. My brother is along the same lines. My sister is tall for a girl, with auburn red hair. And, yes, she's hot...Shut up...)

1983: Braden was born. He was a ceasarian, but he came out fine.

So, all of us were complications, in different respects. Every now and then, I'd like to see how my family would have been had the circumstances been different.

Would Mom and Dad have stopped after twin boys? Three boys and one girl, all within four years? Hell, would they have stopped after Kenna?

It would make for a completely different family picture...

* * *

This has turned into quite the different post that the one I was typing yesterday, when Netscape decided to freeze up.

In that one, I would have started, "Today, I cradled a dying man in my arms."

And, before any of you freak out, it was to be a piece of fiction about a cop. I tried writing it again after the computer problem, but I couldn't capture the whole vibe I had earlier. Ah, well...

Frustration and envy in Las Vegas. And dropping to my death!

It's kind of scary to realize that while I am friendly with a lot of people, and consider myself a friend to quite the bunch, I tend to get into a disturbing percentage of "surface" relationships, and very few confidential friendships.

I am feeling very frustrated about it.

I know that I am a very social animal. I have a story or anecdote for eveyone. And I'm sorry if I tend to repeat myself. I tend to think that it's something that people are interested in, and if you happen to be with me when I'm telling a friend a story you've already heard, chances are, you'll hear it again.

So far, so good. Problem is, while I tend to feel that I pour my heart out or tell these stories, some of which are frighteningly candid, I don't have many friends who feel they can confide in me. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can count my confiding friends on one hand. Which is pretty disproportionate to the number of friends I confide in.

And I feel envious when I see friends of mine that DO have someone they can confide in. Because it's not me.

And because I want people to be candid with me. Sharing thoughts with me. Confiding in me. Because I do it to them.

Grrrr.... Frustration and envy: Two of the darker feelings I've been having constantly in the past while.

* * *

Speaking of frustrations, my job, now that Kiel will come back from vacation, will be a lot less stressful, because I'm back to having more than a day off a week. And dealing with Marilyn, the world's most unlearned employee (after seven fucking MONTHS!, new hires, and the city's least intelligent customer base do NOT make Jago happy.

I'll be so glad when Fringe is done and I can get a different job. Because I really want to leave this one.

* * *

Went to the exhibition this week. Had a great time with Astro, Marauder and his friend Lindsay. Even though I got a cold from the torrential downpour.

I certainly got my money's worth out of my ride pass, going on the Drop of Flair/Fear not once, but twice. Quite the difference from last year's excursion, where I went on against my will, but facing my fears.

Last year, I got to the top of the ride, and was freaked out. I am leery of heights, due to my flatland upbringing.

"Hey, wait a sec. I shouldn't be able to see fucking Leduc! This is horribly, horribly wrong. I want to get ofGAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! FUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuu..."

On the way down, my body decided to get as much surface contact with the ride as was humanly possible. So my legs, having a mind of their own, decided to curl under the chair. THIS, my brain realized was a very bad idea, because if the chair were to hit surface level, my legs would get there first. And I didn't want to have crushed legs.

So my brain and legs were fighting it out, and I was a slave to the gravitational pull. Once I got off the ride with D! and Marauder, the first thought I had was "God! Ground, I loves ya SO much." Which was then followed by "Oooh! Let's do that again!" I am SUCH a sado-masochist.

This time, with Astro, Marauder and Lindsay, it was Lindsay who was the newbie, Marauder and I having had our initiation last year. And Lindsay was having second thoughts.

"I dunno. Let's not do this one! I don't want to die."

Marauder: "Lindsay, you're not about to die. Besides, it's a near death experience that makes you embrace life all the more!"

Me: "Lindsay, it'll be okay. I, myself, have died twice on this ride."

[Lindsay glares at me.}

Me: "What? I got better!"

Lindsay: "I don't know about this..."

We sit in the chair, waiting for the restraints to come down. I'm on the outside seat.

The bar comes down. It doesn't lock for me. We try it again. It doesn't lock for me. I switch places with Astro to get in the middle. The bar finally locks. I, suddenly, for SOME reason, have doubts to my safety on this ride.

We travel up the long pole, Lindsay, freaking out, Marauder yelling out "Life! Life!" and me screaming for Lindsay's benefit (and mine as well) "For the love of God! Do not look down! Look straight ahead! You WILL come out alive!" and promptly join Marauder's "Life" chant.

The chair unlocks, we scream, we drop, we leave the ride.

"I want to go back up!" Lindsay yells.

Owner of a Statue of Guilt

Played Knights of the Old Republic (Bioware Star Wars RPG) today. Since Canton's part of the Bioware staff, he threw in a few names from our SW campaigns to be considered for the storyline.

As such, my last name's a first name in the random name generator. So it was a thrill to see my name pop up.

Although, the name "Jago Organ" has to go down in history as the world's scariest Star Wars name...

* * *

Had the pleasure of taking in some Shakespeare today with Girlone, Kristus and Beth. I enjoyed the afternoon immensely. The production of A Midsummer Night's Dream was very well done, and I was able to hang out with friends I haven't seen in a while.

And today was the first time I've driven in an open top convertible. It was cool, but, alas, the Chrysler Sebring convertible has gone in my books as a car that I can't drive. Unless I slouch. A lot.

* * *

Received the statue girlone got for me in Rome. Another thing to add to my "authentic things from places people who are not me have travelled to" collection, which now consists of a Roman statue and a Yankees basbell cap my sister picked up for me a few years back on a trip to New York.

One dark, dreadful secret about my statue, though. For me, it is a statue of guilt. Because I harrassed my way into it, in my opinion.

Before girlone left, we were talking while she was packing. I told her to have a fun time.

ME: "Oh, and pick me up a statue from Rome."

GIRLONE: "Okay."

ME: "I'm not talking some stupid little tourist statue. I'[m talking about a big one. A permanent fixture on the streets of Rome. An national landmark. I want one."

GIRLONE: "Riiight. How would I send it to you?"

ME: "Purolate it."

GIRLONE: "And I'm assuming you'll be paying for shipping?"

ME: "Nah. Just send it to my store. That's what my parents do with packages."

GIRLONE: (laughs) "Alright, then."

So, over the course of the three weeks that she was gone, every time she popped up on Messenger or called her friends long-distance, I'd throw a reminder to her, usually pretty brusquely.

"Where's my statue?"

When she was talking with Rach on Canada Day, I'm in the background, yelling, "WHERE'S MY STATUE? It'd better be big!"

When girlone came home, I immediately changed my handle to "Where's My Statue???"

"Nice," she said.

"Hold on," I replied. And changed the handle to "Where the HELL'S my FREAKING statue!!!???"

GIRLONE: "Just for that, I might not give it to you."

ME: "Hold on, what are you talking about?"

GIRLONE: "Your statue. Although now it's more authentic."

ME: "WHAT? You GOT me a statue?"

GIRLONE: "His head broke off."

ME: "I can't believe you got me one."

GIRLONE: "Why not? You asked for it?"

ME: "Well, yeah. By bullying you into it."

GIRLONE: "You didn't bully me into it."

ME: "What are you talking about? I practically berated you nonstop!"

So, yes, girlone. I feel guilty about the statue. Because I feel it was a coerced gift.

Here I was, just jokingly yelling at you about a statue, being a jerk for comic effect. And what do you do? Thoughtfully buy me one. The NERVE!

But the headless charioteer has a place on my makeshift mantelpiece, my stereo. And I will cherish it as a gift from a friend.

Rain, customer arguments, and Justice's gargantuan member...

When I left work this evening, I was treated to a post-rain horizon. An oil painting of the sky, with hues of black, blue, bright white and red from the sunset reflection. It was amazing. Sometimes I really hate working evenings, but today it was definitely worth it.

* * *

My friend Justice has been seeing some of the nicknames I give my friends in this journal. He says if I ever want to refer to him, I have to use a specific nickname (although I think Justice is a great name regardless...:

20-Inch Penis.

I heartily agree! Even though I have no idea how based in fact this is, it's a great nickname and one I'd definitely have fun using. From now on, Justice, I will refer to you as such!

In other news, my "0" key has somehow broke on my keyboard.

* * *

Today must have been "Idiot Customers Who Have Beefs and Try To Return Products Way After They're Able To Wednesday."

Just a mindnumbing day. My favourite: The guy who phoned at the beginning of my shift.

Ring ring!

Me: "Good afternoon, RadioShack. Kyle speaking."

Customer: "Yes. I bought a watch from you and I need to get it replaced. I have an extended warranty."

Me: "Okay, sir. When did you buy it?"

C: "I'm in the computer."

Me: "Excellent. When did you buy it?"

C: "I said I'm in the computer."

Me: "Okay. Do you have the receipt on you?"

C: "Well, yes, somewhere. But I'm blind. I'm in the computer."

Me: "I need to know when you bought it so I can look the receipt up. Was it in the past year? A few months ago?"

C: "Last year."

Me: "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not seeing the receipt on my computer system. Do you have the receipt with you at home?"

C: "Well, yes. But I'm in the computer. You should have it there."

Me: "Not in my computer, sir. Did you buy it from my location?"

C: " No, from Westmount."

Me: "Oh, well then, sir. You'll have to go to Westmount if you don't want to find the receipt. They've got in it their computer. We're not linked."

C: "Oh. Well, if I come there and exchange the watch, will you put on a new strap for me?"

Me: "I'm sorry, sir. No. We don't install watch straps."

C: "What? I bought it there!"

Me: "We only sell watches, sir. We don't replace straps. We don't carry watch straps."

C: "You sold me my watch, you can replace the strap!"

Me: "No, sir. I really can't. Company policy."

C: "What's your district office's number?"

I give it to him, he hangs up. About two minutes later...

Ring!

Me: "Good afternoon, RadioShack, Kyle speaking."

C: "Can I speak to your manager?"

Me: "Let me just check. Sorry, sir. He's stepped out of the store."

C: "He's out of the store??"

Me: "Yes, sir. He'll probably be back in five or ten minutes."

C: (click)

After Jeff comes in, he answers the phone in the back. I go in there about five minutes later.

Jeff: "Arrogant prick. Just because he's blind means we're supposed to treat him like a king?"

* * *

For the second time in two nights, the Number 9 has been rerouted through the River Valley. So, to go down to 109 St, we had to travel 12 blocks to Groat Road, cross the river and go back to 109th. Adds about 15 minutes onto my journey. Hope it doesn't happen again.

Quick hits and an interesting RAW development...

So many things to discuss...

It's been an interesting week: Understaffing at work has made for some long hours at work. This week, I work until Saturday. Yup. That'll make for 10 consecutive work days. As much as I hate this, I'm glad I'm not in my manager's shoes. He's booked himself for seven days of work, and he gets to work two 12-hour shifts. God bless understaffing.

Last week, I was able to hang out with Kit and Caboodle (I know, groan. Hey, shut up, it works...) as well as Beth. We got to see the Street Performer's Festival. Was able to have some good conversation with the adults, and was able to play with a toddler. Fun times.

Finished up The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. It was a very good read. Now I can give it back to D! and see what's next on the reading list. I'm thinking Memoirs of a Geisha. I've heard good things about it. (Girlone: D!'s wanting to know how the Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is going. Finish Potter off! Get to Eggers!)

Had a decent day at work today. I sold $2400 worth of merchandise. A computer to a nice couple, a digital camcorder and a fax machine. Whooo! Let's hope I can maintain something like this through the week...

Was able to talk with Kingston today. Talked about his wedding plans and what arrangements I'd be needing to make for a kickass groomsman job. I miss having the old guard to talk to. Must contact Heath, and find Kaz and Perry's numbers again...

Kow's gearing up for the Edmonton Fringe at the end of August, where we have an outdoor stage and about 12 or so shows. Whoo! Any proceeds we get from the shows will be going towards a fall CD, hopefully...So come to Fringe! Watch us perform! Throw bills! Or, if you're female, throw yourselves! At my feet! Wheee!

* * *

For those of you not in the know, I'm a huge wrestling fan. So, I'd like to talk about the current major WWE storyline and what I'm thinking of it:

Kane was a guy who spent five years in a mask and body suit. His angle was that he was the Undertaker's brother who was scarred as a kid in a fire. This origin explained the full mask, no openings on his costume and his aversion to talking. (Apparently, his throat was scarred...) He used a throat synthesiser whenver he needed to talk, but usually had someone do the talking for him.

So, over the past year or so, Kane has changed. He started to lose parts of his costume. Skin, unblemished, would be shown, his mask would become more streamlined and he learned to talk properly again. Soooo...his vocal cords healed then? Riiight...

In the past month, he had the chance to become champion by going up against Triple H, the World Title holder. There was a stipulation added: If Kane loses, he unmasks. He lost, a swerve in the plot I didn't see coming. I mean, why would Kane unmask? He was popular already and he's had a successful gimmick since 1997. So, he unmasked.

The first time we saw him, he had a burned face and clots of hair falling out. Apparently, he wears a wig.

The next week, his face was clear. A bit of make-up to make him look related to the Undertaker (nice touch), but a clear face. And his head was shaved bald.

So he had a sit down interview with Jim Ross, explaining that he was a hideous beast. Ross said, "Look, Kane. You've been wearing this towel over your head for three weeks now. But there's nothing wrong with the way you look."

Kane flipped out, saying that Ross was laughing at him like the doctors did when he was young. They'd SAY he was fine, that the fire burns were superficial and would heal, but they'd laugh behind his back about how ghastly he was. He beat up JR. (Oh, and set him on fire. But that's another story...)

So, what just happened? Kane has been wearing a mask for the past while because of something psychosomatic? Okay. Granted, it's taken the WWE a while to decide on this angle, since for a while, nobody could look at an unmasked Kane because he was so hiseous, so despicable. But they've decided to rewrite continuity this week, apparently. Fine. The psychological aspect works in my mind.

But there's one thin I kept thinking of: So, are we saying that Kane is Doctor Doom? Certainly looks like it.

Also, Trish Stratus teamed up with Scott Steiner and Kevin Nash in a match tonight. It's scary to thing that the girl who's only been wrestling for two years is considered the worker of the team...When Trish is carrying a six-man tag match, you know things are topsy turvy!

* * *

That's about all I can really think of. More when something eventful happens...

Lost income! Gay Bulgarians! All this and more on the next Maury!

I've been tinkering with my HTML today. This way, you'll actually be able to see where one entry starts, if it's all in weblog format. (Sorry, Kit. No clue as to how to retroactively make previous entries into separate posts. Unless I want to restart...) Say hello to GOLD POST HEADINGS! Ooooh!

And Horizontal lines! (Lord, I'm such a design geek...I worship the masters of Quark XPress...)

* * *

Whooo! Girlone's back! And she comes bearing gifts! I'll tell you the story once I receive said gift...

* * *

I was talking with Canton last night about the origins of Jago. So I decide to do a web search. I go on to Google and look up "Jago" and "origin".

What pops up? A site called Bulgayria.

No, this guy is CERTAINLY not me. Although, scarily, we share a lot of the same attributes. My eyes are blue, not brown. And I don't smoke. And I'm not gay!!!

Of course, there's a lot of Jagos in the United Kingdom. It is where we came from, of course....In fact, Girlone and Beth found a restaurant named after me in London. I'm SO looking forward to seeing that picture.

* * *

I found myself out of a photography gig when a choir friend forgot to tell me she had found someone else to take wedding photos. I wouldn't have been miffed if I hadn't found this out mere days before the wedding.

There goes an easy few hundred dollars. Damn.

By the time I reach thirty, I will be unmarried and lighter than air...

It rained today.

Not the usual summer rain, the kind that comes down in sheets of small droplets. This was an angry rain, complete with wind. The large drops completely dousing everything it comes in contact with. The rain that cleans with each drop, beating all it touches until whatever the rain fall upon submits to it.

A rain that I had to walk in, yet wasn't displeased with. Somehow, it fit right in with what was playing on my Discman. For some reason, it perfectly associated with the acoustic folk pop sounds of Jars of Clay's second album, Much Afraid.

* * *

I've lost weight.

I'm down to 212 pounds (from about 220). I hope I don't drop too much more. If I go below 200 pounds, I will consider myself underweight.

It's a habit of mine: Whenever I go into someone's bathroom, and they have a scale, I weigh myself. This time, it was at the Canada Day party I attended. Can't distinctly remember the last time I stepped on a scale, but I think it was at the Party House in about March or April. Maybe later, like when I hung out with Girlone before she left for Europe...

* * *

Yesterday was my parents' 30th wedding anniversary. It made me realise that I am older than my dad was when he married my mom. Yipes. Just...yipes.

Grumbling and getting stuff off my chest...(and an exercise in futility)

Grrr! I spend about half an hour writing, and all of a sudden, I hit a link accidentally. Poof! No more writing! Yargh! So here's take two...(Actually, I'm writing this in Wordpad first, just so when I throw my links in at the bottom of the page, I won't lose everything I've written....) A shame, since I thought I had written pretty well the first time...

* * *

Jago's "Customer Hate Story of the Day":

A customer comes in wanting to return a calculator. I ask him what his problem is with it.

"It doesn't add properly. I'm using it to balance my checkbook, and it's not giving me the right figures!"

I look at the receipt, and he bought an extended warranty with it. Fair enough, the purchase was made just over a month ago, but I'll give the customer his refund anyway. I start playing with the calculator, and for about twenty calculations, I get a crapload of correct equations. So I figure the guy just doesn't nkow how to use a calculator properly. I give him the benefit of the doubt.

ME: "No problems, sir. Do you have the packaging?"

CUSTOMER: "No. All it was was the pastic cover and cardboard."

ME: "Okay. I'm going to need to take ten percent off the money I'm giviing you back because you don't have the packaging, though. Company policy. It's a restocking fee."

CUSTOMER: "What? All it had on the packaging was the RadioShack logo! If you don't give me all my money back, this will be the last time I'm coming to this store! You'll never see me again!"

If there's one thing I've learned in my three years of working at RadioShack, it's to not cotton to a customer's threats. If they go to another store, so be it. Especially since I'm dealing with a guy who can't use a calculator properly. I'm not going to beg a customer to buy another item he doesn't know how to use. So I decide to call his bluff.

Okay, I just erased half of the post again! FUCK! Why am I still trying to write this post?

ME: (shrugging) "Okay."

Now I'm not sure what made this guy angrier: The dollar he was losing due to not having the packaging, or me not caring about his threat to never come back to RadioShack. So he decides to be a prick for the rest of the refund.

ME: "Can I get your phone number for the receipt? It's needed for refunds."

CUSTOMER: "I'm not giving you any personal information! I don't want you guys to send me any junk mail!"

ME: (give him a blank look for a few seconds, shrug, and type in a fake number.) "Now, you're going to have to sign the receipt saying you're getting the money back."

CUSTOMER: "I'm not signing nothing!"

At this point, I'm ready to say, "Okay. You're not signing the receipt? Fine. No deal. I can't give you any money back." But I'm not really wanting to have a guy go berserk over a ten dollar refund. i don't get paid enough.

Besides, if he calls the RadioShack customer service line, the company will just have me give him the refund anyway. This way, I was saving the store and myself a whole lotta stress...

* * *

Decided to save my progress at this point, just in case. I don't want to retype a fourth time...

I had to go to Zellers to pick up some store supplies. As it happens every time I go into a store with my nametag on, people decide that I work at that store. It wouldn't annoy me as much if people decided to be aware of what's happening.

Now, the last time I checked, Zellers employees wear a red shirt and a big Zellers nametag. They do NOT wear a dark dress shirt, tie, and RadioShack nametag. In fact, when you enter a Zellers these days, they've got this HUGE sign saying, "THIS IS WHAT A ZELLERS EMPLOYEE LOOKS LIKE!" followed by a big picture of a Zellers employee. But, as always, people assume that since I'm dressed up, I work there.

I'm going up the escalator, and this guy sees me, looks at me for a bit, and asks, "Do you work here?" I shake my head, and say, "Sorry, no. I work at RadioShack."

Not four feet away, a guy who is watching this encounter yells, "I could use some help here!" I don't notice he's talking to me, so he repeats it a bit louder. At this point, both me and the first guy look at him and say, in one voice, "I (he) don't (doesn't) work at Zellers."

* * *

While writing this, I'm currently listening to the radio play, "A Whyte Avenue Canada Day: A Whole Bunch of Drunk Fucks Celebrate Our Nation by Being Assholes on the Night Before." And, I almost delete the entire post again. WHAT"S WRONG WITH ME???? (Saving again just to make sure...)

* * *

I've been reading a lot of autobiographic journal web comics these days. Some of my favourites include: Les McClaine, David Twomey, Dumbstruck, and Drew Weing.

These ones pretty much show snippets from the artists's lives, one day at a time. These ones are GREAT! God, I wish I could draw. But as most of my friends know (such as Grank), I can't draw worth a damn.

Honourable mention: Bolt City. There's not a lot autobiographical about this one, but the guy can really draw!

I should be heading to bed now. Between the noise of drunk fucks outside my window and the contant retyping I'm doing, I'm getting pretty wound up here...

Besides, I've been writing for two hours now...