Living It Up

Last Saturday night, as Zach and I drove home from an early dinner at The Happy Sumo (soooo mediocre, by the way . . . tasted like sushi straight from the grocery store) to an exciting evening of three episodes of the HBO John Adams documentary , I saw a sign in the window of a coffee shop advertising a concert for a band I sort of like. So while watching the John Adams documentary, I looked up the local concert schedule, and discovered that a band I really liked was playing. I immediately bought two tickets to The Mountain Goats, opening band Kaki King.

So last night we donned the hippest clothes we could find and went to In the Venue for the show. It was awesome. I hadn't heard anything from Kaki King prior to the concert, but she was an incredible guitarist. The Mountain Goats have funny and thought-provoking lyrics. They also have something like five hundred million songs, so I didn't know most of the songs from the first half of the concert. They played Going to Georgia and International Small Arms Traffic Blues, which were both great, and then a few songs with Kaki King. Then they ended with a bunch of songs that I like. They slowed down Dance Music, and I didn't think it was nearly as good slow--certainly less fun for dancing. I think my favorite that they played this perverse breakup song called No Children. Listen to it; you'll laugh. I was sad not to hear Sax Rohmer and This Year, but thrilled to hear You or Your Memory. They ended with The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton. Anyway, John Darnielle and his band put on a great show; he was very funny and appeared to be having a blast, and it was a great night out.

Two observations. First, there are an inordinately large number of very short, very small hipster girls. I am about the most average sized person on the planet, and I felt like a giantess next to most of the girls at this concert. Kaki King included. When she walked into the crowd to sign autographs, for a second I thought she was a kid. And I'm still not sure if the very small girl that kept flashing her SLR in my eye was short or an actual little person. Second, going to concerts hurts my legs. Maybe it was the added fun of the compressed disc, but I thought I was going to die by the time we left. I keep worrying that I'm too old for this kind of fun.

Diagnosis Herniated

Growing up my dad's favorite saying was "Any excuse for nonperformance no matter how valid the excuse only weakens the character." So when I finished the marathon twenty minutes later than expected, I figured there probably wasn't any worthwhile excuse for it. I had some painful miles, but assumed it was my lack of preparation that caused the pain, exacerbated by the pounding, incessant, freezing rain. My back hurt. I couldn't lift my left leg. Pain ran through the back of my knee. My foot burned. I self-diagnosed a hamstring tendon injury, but it didn't quite fit. Then, a week ago, as the soreness subsided, I realized that my left leg was still dragging. More leg symptoms ensued. On Friday I ran five miles (because any excuse . . .) and limp-ran the last mile. After some quick consultation with Dr. Google, I discovered that every description of my symptoms ended with "stop running immediately and see a doctor." That didn't stop me from running three miles on Saturday and six miles today. But I did go to the spine doctor after I ran today. He thinks I have a slipped/herniated disc. At first when I learned something was actually wrong I was a little excited because, yay, not a hypochondriac. Then I learned that I have to get an MRI on Thursday and take medicine, luckily for only twelve days, which has side effects that include weight gain and crazy (seriously). On the bright side, I can run as much as I can tolerate, which is about three miles. Right now my primary reaction is "ugh."

Marathon Training

I've been half-heartedly training for the St. George Marathon for the past three months. It's not how I always imagined training for a marathon would be. For one, I have only run about three times a week with no speed workouts. I'm slow, weigh the same I did when I started training, and when I finished my twenty-mile run last Tuesday, the thought of running another 10K made me want to cry. My original goal in signing up for the marathon was to qualify for Boston--not all that out of the question if I would have started five months ago and run five days a week. Now my goal is to finish, but even thinking about how painful this is going to be makes me wonder if just finishing is even worth it. After a relatively leisurely fourteen-mile run with my sister this morning, I have a blister the size of my pinkie toe on my big toe, a vague pain in my arch, and a triangle of chaffing under one of my arms. The marathon is two weeks from today. I feel queasy just thinking about it.

Bar Results

On Friday I went to judicial conference in Park City. A few of my classmates were there, and one woman took it upon herself to inform all of us that, if it were last year, bar results would come out that day. I could have killed her. I've spent the last six or so weeks purposely forgetting that I even took the bar, much less speculating when bar results would come out. By the afternoon, the entire Supreme Court corridor was in a frenzy. Bar results posted at 5:00, my co-clerk told me after a phone call from another classmate who had no better idea than any of us when they'd come out, as far as I could tell. I went home early, checked the website, left to get my car safety inspection, checked the website, watched Definitely, Maybe, and refreshed the website every few minutes just in case. You can understand why I didn't want to figure out when results would come out. After 7 or 8 I decided that results probably weren't coming out, and put the computer away. The next morning I woke up late, took Huck on a five mile run, and when I came home, Zach handed me a thick envelope from the bar. "You better sit down," he told me. I tore open the letter and scanned quickly seeing the words "pleased to inform you . . ." I shrieked. I think I scared the dog. We celebrated by going to dinner at Takashi with some friends. And for the last few days, whenever I think about it, I'm thrilled that I won't have to spend February holed up studying for the bar. Also, I get a raise, about the equivalent to one Takashi dinner per paycheck. Not much, but I'll take it.

Milli Vanilli

It's no secret that my family has pretty much no musical ability. We can't make it through "Happy Birthday" without laughing because we're so bad. In spite of years of piano lessons, I can hack at best a few hymns to be used in emergencies when the pianist doesn't show up to Relief Society. If it weren't for the piano lessons, I may be able to sing blithely oblivious to the way the notes I sing bear little resemblance to the ones in the hymnal. Singing in the church choir is, obviously, out of the question. Singing anywhere, except along to the radio when nobody but Huck is in the car, is obviously out of the question.

I'm fairly open about my singing ability. I have a funny anecdote about how I lip sync at church and one time in college a new roommate complimented my beautiful voice and my other roommate guffawed because she knew I lip synced all the words. I refuse to be the singer when Zach's family is playing Rock Band, which they do surprisingly often. I thought my lack of singing ability was common knowledge, which is why when I got an EMAIL (another can of worms . . . email is NOT an acceptable mode of urgent communication, people . . . if it's important, pick up the damn phone) from A, my sister-in-law asking if I would sing alto with her for a grandchildren medley of How Great Thou Art at Zach's grandpa's funeral, I didn't hesitate to respond "Nope."

But it didn't work. My sister-in-law called our house to beg Zach to make me sing. The program said that the "grandchildren" would be singing. If I sat out, I would have been the only grandchild sitting in the pews. Which also means that I would probably have to keep my eye on the thirteen great-grandchildren who would be unsupervised during the musical number. During the viewing Zach and I were sitting in the back of the empty chapel next to his mother while G practiced her solo of Come Thou Fount when A came in to encourage me to join in the musical number. "I will if I can lip sync." I told her. "If you can lip sync?" my mother-in-law asked incredulously. "Yeah, I can't sing." She turned to Zach, "How did you manage to marry someone with no musical ability?"

So I got up with the grandchildren. And I lip synced.

Always Surreal

Zach's grandpa died on Monday. It was quite sudden, though he has been frail for quite some time, only leaving his house, as my mother-in-law often loudly pointed out, for his daily cup of coffee. We went to the hospital separately after the doctors told Zach's grandma, about an hour too late, that she better start calling people. He'd been in the hospital for pneumonia, but planning to transfer to a rehab center for recovery when he died. Zach got there at 5:30, but he'd already been dead a half hour. Zach couldn't get a hold of me, of course, because my cell phone was out of batteries, so I came even later. I'm always worried I'll say something inappropriate at these things because I (well my entire family, really) has a bad case of gallows humor. What can I say, tragedy brings out my inner Chandler Bing.

Zach's grandma encouraged us to go look at the body, which was gruesome to be quite honest. I will never take morticians for granted again. She came with us to see the body and proceeded to talk to us for several minutes next to it. After a half hour or so camping out in the hospital situation room (mercifully down the hall from the body rather than the same room), the family decided to head to Zach's grandma's house. Zach and I stopped with his brothers at Maui Taco (not good) and none of us said anything about the death, just some about likely funeral dates since Zach needed to go to Cali.

Only Zach, his brothers, and his great aunt Bernice came to the house. His parents and sister were on vacation in Montana. His brothers came straight from work and by the time they got to the hospital it was too late for their wives to have a reason to join them. His aunt and uncle stopped for a dinner somewhere better than Maui Taco and didn't get there for quite some time. At first it was silent. Zach's grandma offered to get us drinks from the fridge, but we declined. Then Zach's brothers started talking about work and Zach tried to bring up his new infatuation with his road bike.

Finally I asked his grandma how she met his grandpa, what they did for fun, where they lived. They met when a man named Mr. Schwartz, who sometimes dated Zach's great-grandmother, gave his grandmother a free ticket to a show in Salt Lake. Zach's grandpa was in the service and he and his friends flirted with her friends. His grandma even remembered which of her friends were with her at the show. They wrote to each other through the war, met up again, and were married a week after he came back. Their first child, Zach's uncle, was born nine months and two weeks later. She talked about Zach's grandpa worked two jobs and went to school at the same time, how they had an ice box in their first apartment (Great Aunt Bernice could not believe that Zach and I had never seen one), and about camping at Fish Lake while she was 7 months pregnant with Zach's dad. Zach's brothers sat off to the side and talked about the Georgia-Russia conflict and the conquistadors--at least that was what I could make of the conversation from the words that drifted our direction.

Once the phone rang and Zach's grandma answered in the other room and told another person that her husband had died. She kept it short, and when she was done, instead of coming back she called someone else to share the news. I had a sense that she wasn't the one that should have to make those calls. "Hello . . . Not so good, J___ passed away this afternoon . . . . Yes, it's hard . . . No, I don't know when the funeral will be . . . I'll let you know." It felt like she made the call to help absorb what had happened, to reinforce what was real by saying it again out loud. The night before she had been trying to find his shoes so he could make a smooth transition to the rehab center. They had been married for 63 years.

"I told him I wanted to go first," she said to Zach's aunt when he got there. "I can't believe he didn't listen," I joked (gallows humor, it is hard to suppress). She was taken aback, but she laughed. "I know, how could he? I told him I wanted to go first."

Corporeal

When I run more than fifteen or twenty miles a week I spend most of my life famished. It feels nearly impossible to appease my appetite for any appreciable amount of time. Four hours after eating an entire Cafe Rio salad on Saturday, I was ready for another meal. The hunger reminds me that I'm alive.

Zach bought me two bouquets of flowers in honor of finishing the bar exam: two dozen bright pink roses and a multi-colored bouquet of chrysanthemums, daisies, yarrow, and baby's breath. After he left for California (about a half hour after I got home from finishing the bar exam) I spent an hour dividing and arranging them. I have yellow and white flowers in the kitchen, purple and pink chrysanthemums and pink roses in the living room, and red carnations in my bedroom. My house is full of flowers, but only for a week or so until they wilt and I have to gather them up and throw them away.

My sister got in a car accident yesterday, at almost the exact moment that I was leaving the bar exam. It wasn't her fault--a guy was riding a motorcycle really fast (witnesses estimated 70 mph) and passed on a double yellow so she didn't see him as she pulled out of the street. When I saw the picture of her car on the news I freaked out, even though I already knew she was fine. The door behind the driver's door was obliterated. The rear windshield blew out. I couldn't help but think that some idiot (not the nicest thing to think about someone who was life flighted and in critical condition) almost killed my sister.

Summer

I recently reread some journal entries from before I went to law school, and realized just how cool it is to look back and remember--and just how little I remember when I don't write anything down. At the same time, I've had such trouble blogging lately. It feels like I don't have anything worth writing (mostly because I don't--I just finished taking the bar!). Of course, I still need to write about Korea and Bali, two fabulous places to vacation. And it's not like studying is all I've done. Anyway, here's a brief update of my life since graduating law school.

May 15-19 Explore Korea, see where Zach served his mission.
May 19-31 Fun in the Bali sun in Indonesia--diving, biking, snorkeling, sailing, and beach bumming
June Work and try to study for the bar. Unsuccessful at both. Ran the Wasatch Back relay even though I was terribly out of shape.
July--my new niece Heidi was born, I went to the rodeo, and we took Huck up to Dog Lake. Other than that, I studied and dinked around intending to study but not succeeding. Also, I took the bar (finished today!). I've also run a ton--a couple of fourteen milers, the Deseret News 10k (not as good of a time as I'd hoped, though), and more or less on track to run the St. George Marathon. Zach has been finishing up building a Michaels craft store in Lancaster so he's been in California a lot. He got a super cool racing bike and I'm planning to get a bike so we can go together.

Ugh, all that seems so boring. I will try to post pictures and some anecdotes later. For now, I'm going back to work on Monday, starting at the court in three weeks, still training for the marathon, hoping that I passed the bar. And I do plan to post more...

Stuff White People Like Me Like

I was at a bbq a couple weeks ago when someone brought up the blog stuff white people like. I'd heard of it, but never checked it out. As I read through some of the entries yesterday I had sinking sense of recognition. Then when I went out to lunch (over expensive sandwiches) with Katie today she mentioned that she thought that the site particularly applied to people like me. I would try to deny, but my sushi lunch tomorrow (and twice last week), dog-child, and whole foods habit say otherwise.

Adventures

Sorry to have been so neglectful of the blog. First I was busy graduating and planning world's best bbq celebration. (I exaggerate, but it was a nice party and I was touched at how many people came.) Then I was busy globetrotting to South Korea and Indonesia. And now I want to die because I'm working full time (45-50 hours a week, though that does include relatively frequent two-hour sushi lunches) and studying for the bar (15+ hours per week), which pretty much zaps me. Oh, and I'm attempting to train for the St. George Marathon. I've been signed up twice before without running it, but, as they say, third time's the charm.

I'll try to post a bit about my trip, which was so cool that we're already planning another adventure or two. I also may post an ode to sushi, as I have gone twice already this week and am not sick of it. Anyway, I'm alive. No time to think, but it's kind of nice to have so many great things going on.

Circle of Life

Today as I walked back to my car after TAKING MY LAST FINAL EVER, I finally remembered that the crosswalk button pointing south is broken so I pressed the one that points west and was able to cross without delay (it's one of those crosswalks where everybody crosses at once). That's one piece of knowledge I will never need again.

To celebrate I got my hair cut and colored, splurged on produce at Whole Foods, and bought some salad dressing containers and ramekins (because I want to make the Babbo Maple Crema recipe) at Bed Bath & Beyond. And then I realized that I am completely boring. After that, I gathered together my old textbooks to sell, replaced the battery in the smoke alarm, straightened the kitchen, and twiddled my thumbs.

The first week of law school, Zach took a picture of me with four cans of Diet Coke, a stack of books, my shiny new laptop, and some flowers he bought to celebrate new beginnings. Today I drank 64 oz of diet coke, sold the last of the books in the pictured stack of books, and threw away some dried flowers that Zach bought me as a consolation when I didn't get the clerkship I wanted. My laptop is worn on the corners, the "A" and "N" keys are almost completely worn off and the spacebar sticks.

Six Six-Word Memoirs on My Last Day of Class EVER

Law school was my backup plan.

I'm special just like everybody else.

I never once got a 4.0.

Unfortunately, Zach didn't like New York.

My mom would rather have grandchildren.

I can't please everybody or myself.

Delusions of an Open Mind

At a farewell to class dinner last week, a professor of mine commented on how people insist on clinging to a version of their identity that contradicts reality. Her example: people who have lived in Utah for most of their lives that deny being Utahns. This woman is very liberal, probably the spitting image profile of the voters in San Francisco to whom Barack Obama made the condescending remarks about small-town Pennsylvanians clinging to guns and religion. (I love Obama, but my goodness what was he thinking!)

In response to the comment about denial of Utah citizenship and the arrogance it implies, a friend of mine, who is from a small town in southern Utah, commented that she also thinks it is arrogant for people to refuse to call small towns by the local pronunciation. Her example: people who pronounce Hurricane, Utah like the weather system instead of Hurricun, which is the local pronunciation. It took me a second to understand what she was saying because, since my dad grew up in Richfield and I spent the summers of my youth exploring small town southern Utah, I forgot that people would actually pronounce Hurricane with the long "a".

The liberal adjunct law professor responded "I know, I can't believe how small towners pronounce the names of their town. I went all the way out to Hooper, Utah to get my puppy and when I got there they were calling it Whupper. When I called it Hooper, they said I must be from the city. And I was like damn right I'm from the city and I had to drive all the way out here to the sticks to get this dog. But the dog is great so it was worth it."

Cooking

I've been cooking, something I tend to do when I'm really busy but not interested in the things that occupy my time. Before law school reading would have been in the same category--something worthwhile that feels like a valid excuse to put off something I don't want to do. Now, though I still read for fun occasionally, cooking is a little more relaxing. After all, I don't have to cook for Administrative Law!

And so on Saturday night, after an exhausting day, I began chopping onions, peppers, garlic, and parsley. I soaked beans for dinner Thursday but ended up having to go to a law review party at a local bar (The first time I've been to a bar since New York, and it was kind of nice. I like bars because the objective is to sit and talk, so you don't feel rushed to leave--as long as some of the people you're with are drinking.). I made Refritos and, because I bought a six-pack of multi-colored bell peppers in the Costco run last week, I decided to try Mexican Pepper Casserole. Both recipes were from The Moosewood Cookbook by Mollie Katzen.

The refritos (aka refried beans) were super simple--I cooked the pinto beans and then added them to sauteed onions and garlic with some salt and cumin. I left them a little lumpy and the texture was a definite plus. Zach said that they were the first refried beans he ate because he actually liked instead of because they accompanied his chile verde burrito.

The casserole involved sauteing peppers, onions, and garlic with cumin, dried mustard, and cayenne pepper. On Sunday I spread them in an 8 x 11.5 baking dish and covered with an egg-yogurt mixture and baked for 45 minutes.

Partway through the Saturday night cooking extravaganza, I realized that there was no way Zach and I would eat that much food for dinner. So I decided that we would eat my dishes for Sunday dinner. A few minutes later it occurred to me that Jeffery is our only addition for Sunday dinner, and he's 9 and doesn't eat much, so I decided to invite my parents, who now go to church just 4 blocks from my house, and my sister. On Sunday Zach made some (delicious) Mexican rice (without a recipe), and I whipped up a salad and some dressing, for a complete Sunday meal.

Jeffery didn't like the casserole because it was too spicy and my mom would only eat a small dollop of beans, but other than that, the meal was a hit! Especially the tortillas from Costco. But also the casserole, beans, and rice, all of which were both relatively easy to make and will now be part of my regular cooking routine. Until I quit cooking and go back to reading.

How To Spend $280 at Costco without Even Trying

I am my father's daughter. To try to induce me to come visit him from college, he would always call on Saturday afternoons: "Emily, if you come home now, you can come to Costco with me." This was actually more tempting than it sounds as my father's usual penny-saved-penny-earned mentality flies out the window as he walks in the warehouse door. Printers! Office Supplies! Clothes! DVDs! Books! Garden Implements! Baked Goods (never mind that there were only two people at home to eat twelve jumbo muffins)! Fruit! Jalepeno Poppers! Snacks! A kid in the candy store, my dad.

Last night I went to Costco to purchase some more Jackson Perkins roses (Sixteen Candles and Queen Elizabeth) and Adobe Photoshop Elements. That equals $100 worth of goods, for which I paid $280. As a bonus I got

• Forty-eight string cheeses (to be fair, I eat at least one a day)
• Six peppers: two red, two yellow, and two orange (these always look so good but at least some always go bad)
• Six bags of pasta (that serve eight people per bag)
• Two packages of spinach cheese ravioli
• A jumbo carton of peeled garlic
• Two containers of Cetaphil facial cleanser (even though I still have half a container)
• Jalepeno stuffed olives (a sucker for gourmet olives, this one)
• Two pounds of spinach (better get cooking or this will end up in my next almost-rotton-vegetable primavera)
• Six rawhide bones (untested--and turns out Huck only likes them so-so)
• Forty-four uncooked tortillas (I froze half immediately)
• A large carton of feta crumbles (I need a half cup for this recipe I've been meaning to make. There are at least three cups in this carton)
• A large wedge of amazing blue cheese
• Dried basil (A steal: only $2.88. You can't expect me to pass that up)
• Eight cans of organic canned tomatoes (which I could have purchased for a dollar less with basil added had i forgone the organic. am sucker)
• Forty-eight cans of Friskies cat food (need my year's supply)
• Dried cherries (for my cereal, but I currently don't have any milk)
• Salsa (but no chips, and I don't have any at home)
• Twenty-four diet dr. peppers
• A large carton of grape tomatoes
• Some rice stuffed in grape leaves
• A multi-grain baguette (of which I ate a hunk on the way home)
• Some lovely sushi for dinner
• An InStyle magazine (I subscribe to the Economist, the Atlantic, Harper's, and the New Yorker, but considering the frequency with which I purchase InStyle, I should really subscribe to that too.)

Almost-Rotten-Vegetable Primavera

Food goes bad at my house. There are just two of us and I love to cook, but my schedule doesn't always allow me to make dinner. It's rare that I go shopping and use up all of the vegetables and herbs that I buy before they go bad (but conversely I nearly always use some of the vegetables!).

Tonight I cooked up some tortellinis, ten days past their expiration date. And I made a sauce with an onion and garlic clove that were both starting to sprout green from their stems, mushrooms that were several shades darker than when I bought them, a spare stem of broccoli from a casserole I made a couple of weeks ago, a small zucchini of which I could only use half because the bottom was already turning to mush, some spinach that was starting to show signs of slime, and some basil for which I paid $5 three weeks ago, and from which I salvaged about seven leaves. Then I poured in some vegetable broth that I opened 2 1/2 weeks ago (though the box said to discard seven days after opening) and some cream that expired last week. I added some flour to thicken.

It was surprisingly good. Zach claims he could tell that the veggies weren't as fresh as usual, but I really don't think I would have noticed had I not fixed the dinner myself.

Sometimes I do make real live dinner, particularly on Sundays after church. We never used to make anything, but the last year since Jeffery started coming with us, I've felt a pleasant obligation to feed him something other than Indian food leftovers from Saturday's night out. Last week Jeffery slept in and didn't go to church, but I went and retrieved him from his house so I'd have an excuse to try a tomato-olive compote I found online (I think on Martha Stewart).

We cooked the frozen salmon using the broiler on our oven. I made Zach do the heavy lifting on that part, but it involved olive oil, about 15 minutes of cooking and a switch from broil to bake halfway through. He also made the sticky rice, which he bought from the Asian market and cooked in the rice cooker he bought from Costco a couple years ago.

I made a side dish of asparagus and the tomato-olive compote to go on the fish. First I sauteed half an onion and 4 slivered cloves of garlic in 2 tablespoons of olive oil (extra virgin from Costco), and some salt & pepper for about five minutes. Then I added a can of diced tomatoes (even though Alice Waters swears you should buy whole canned tomatoes for better flavor), 1/2 cup chopped Kalamata olives, and 2 tablespoons of capers. It was delicious if I do say so myself. And beautiful.

Overbooked

Not posting is a vicious cycle. I keep thinking I'll just quit blogging, but I know I'll come back sometime. May as well stay here.

This semester is INSANE. I'm taking six more credits than I need to graduate, doing insane amounts of law-review editing, and about a month ago I got a part-time job. I feel like I haven't slept since. This week is spring break and I'm mostly working and hoping to catch up on some reading for class.

Today, after planning and teaching a lesson on mediation to a class of mostly apathetic high school students, I did some research for my new part-time job, and then took Huck up City Creek. It was lovely. Huck used to be afraid of water but now he splashes away. He was mostly pretty good, but got a little crazy around a rambunctious bulldog (the same kind of dog that bit him at daycare a few months back) and an old lazy middling size dog named Scooter.

Anyway, hope to post a little more often.

School Days

I have a serious case of senoiritis. Ten days into the semester and I'm still short a book. Not much going on. Or rather, same old.

• We are going to five Sundance screenings: The Great Buck Howard, American Son, IOUSA (actually I'm going to that one with Kristin), Phoebe in Wonderland, and Be Kind Rewind. Yay!
• Huckie started doing the doggie day care thing last week, but today he got into a fight with a renaissance bulldog who tried to bite his face off. The day care people said that it was completely the other dog's fault, which is some consolation, but it's hard to look at the stitches under his eye and at his jaw.
• As usual, I completely overreacted regarding grades this semester. I did an exact repeat performance of my first semester: not too shabby.
• I've been making dinner. A New Year's resolution of sorts, though I haven't really made any new recipes. Cauliflower Green Olive Spaghetti, Tortilla Soup, and Zucchini Quesadillas are some of the old standbys that I've made in the last couple weeks.
• Supposedly I'm running the Moab Half-Marathon, a couple months away. I went 6 miles on Saturday, very slowly. But I'm excited nonetheless.
• I'm taking the Utah Bar.
• Zach still loves his job.
• We are Obama '08 fans, and following the election closely.

I'll try to update more frequently.