Calamity Cash Update: Rumble.

I won't say you've seen the last of the "Top Ten Horror Films of the Decade" lists here, but we're definitely close enough to handle some other business.

Justin has posted some new comic sketches [re: Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name] over on his blog, including this one that I've snagged just because of how cool it looks, and the fact that it features what I consider one of the most badass words in this glorious English language.

Justin's post is also pretty informative, and gives you at least a partial look at what my comic book scripts used to look like, as opposed to the script to "Real Quality Comics" I posted which used the strict template included with my screenwriting program. I still, honestly, haven't decided which I liked best, and am hoping to figure out how to set up my own custom template with the software somewhere down the line, as both formats have things I do and don't like.

More important than my shit, however, is that Justin gives you a good look at how he goes from script to layouts, which for me is one my favorite parts of the process to look at, because it's truly the half-way point between what I wrote, and what he's about to draw. There will always be changes, of course -- I'm not Alan Moore, and even when my panels and dialogue get really out of hand and specific, it's my philosophy to default to the artist's judgment 99% of the time when it comes to things like page layout and paneling. A good example is that excerpt posted above, which was not scripted as a separate panel but works far better in the overall flow of the action/dialogue than what I'd written for it to be.

I've been writing a little bit this past week/week and a half/two weeks, but admittedly the bulk of my free time has went to preparing everyone's lists for Horror Week, which was actually a much bigger job than I expected at times. A lot of this blame lays squarely on the shoulders of blogger.com, if I dare bite the hand that feeds me, as layouts filled with images and links do not look the same in preview mode as they do when actually posted. Admittedly, this is probably partially my fault for using a custom template, but a better preview option would likely solve a few of my minor headaches. Then again, the fact that I only get minor headaches from a free service is kind of amazing of Google, so I'm hesitant to bitch much more.

And... honestly I think the whole "Best Horror Films of the Decade" lists turned out incredibly well and I'm really thankful for everyone who stepped up and got involved, and it was never bothersome digging up links or images to go along with all these fun commentaries because it really felt like thought and care were put into these lists. Thank you all for that. The Mojo Wire also saw record traffic, and there were more comments on entries than there ever were when it was just yours truly writing them, and I hope at least a few of the visitors will choose to stick around, and see what I'm up to, and what's on my mind. Furthermore, if anyone has any ideas for guest blogs, or just would like to do one, absolutely feel free to suggest it to me. This turned out really well, and I don't mind sharing at all.

Anyway. Back to what I was saying about the little bit of writing I've been doing -- I've had a couple of small breakthroughs on old projects, specifically "Assisted Living" and "Trendsetter." The latter was particularly interesting, and came to me while listening to the Mountain Goats's song "No Children." As far as either project goes, I haven't really made a plan to move forward on any actual scripting yet -- I've been really busy in my day-to-day lately, and also, frankly, I've just been reevaluating what's a good use of my time, or more specifically, what kind of realistic goal I can really have working on screenplays knowing I don't have the funding or connections to proceed beyond the writing part.

Then again, there's also something to be said just for writing for writing's sake.

As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I've also been doing some prose, which if I can get myself focused I may post some of here. Though I'm pretty sure my next project will involve going back to, of all things, Nova. For a particular reason I find myself in a place where I need to sweat about seven pages out of it, and if anyone is up for helping me with this, I'd be much obliged. I'm actually kicking myself pretty hard because I did do a much shorter version of Nova which I called the "Severe Cut," but that particular copy has mysterious disappeared from my hard drive -- and anyway, it was closer to ten or twelve pages shorter, and took out too many things that right now I'm pretty keen on keeping.

More soon. And thanks again, to everyone, who made these past two weeks work so well.

And so begins the Idiot Summer.

Title is a Gin Blossom reference. There's a shocker.

Past two days were hot ones, but I'm acclimating better than I expected. Never been good with hot weather, despite the pilgrimage west that's upcoming. I think I can get away with calling it a "pilgrimage," even though I don't know if it's the proper term for a trip you have no intention coming back from.

Cue "Canterbury Tales" reference here.

Today was busy. Had to go out with Dad, for soda, a new hamper. He had errands too, then we got dinner for everyone [Re: pizza] on the way home. Strange that took up most of the day. Meant to pick up "The Wrestler" on DVD, slipped my mind. Knew I needed a few other things -- legal pads, for sure. Irregular hours are getting to me a little bit... been dozing off closer to nine every morning, and waking back up around noon. Surprised that's been sufficient, but I haven't been feeling tired lately -- only the minor slips in memory, upset stomach. No panic attacks, at least not like usual.

Actually, there might be another reason for that last bit. Blew up about something. Surprisingly cathartic. Certainly don't want to turn into one of those people who has to make a huge scene to feel better about something, but for the moment, can't argue with the results.

Been trying to pick up my room some. Hasn't been cleaned much since moving in -- honestly, short of the bed and the bathroom [both of which are easily tended to], haven't needed to clean much. Just stacks of books and clothes, but somehow, knowing roughly how much longer I'll be here has left me thinking it's time to start using drawers. Before, something about it seemed counter-productive, even though I knew I wasn't going to whisked off into the night to a new location like before. Maybe some of not moving in was denial. I think some was defiance too, after being ousted from my house like I was [pleasantly, but quickly, and still ousted].

Entirely possible some was laziness. Will neither confirm nor deny.

My mind has been on many things the past two days. Finished a book about "Columbine" by Dave Cullen, I'd recommend it, if you have any interest in the subject matter -- I cried once, got pissed off a couple of times, and spent some of the book almost... scared. But it is keenly interesting to me, always has been, and the Columbine shootings have marked a lot of my work, going so far as to make a couple appearances [sort of] in "Un-Filmable."

Also done some brainstorming about other projects, and find myself, strangely, looking ahead. Idle, non-movie talk with Casey has gotten me on another conspiracy kick, and a little bit of Wikipedia here and there have given me a few ideas for a "bible" to a X-Files-like project. Likely doesn't have legs, rarely gotten far with it before, but there is something about taking all these claims and dumping them into a drama. I've always been a big Rod Sterling fan. I also have a copy of "The Octopus" coming in the mail. Probably talk about it more later.

Old ideas seems fresher, too. "Assisted Living" and "Fragile" have both slipped back into my head, even though I haven't given either much thought since I finished first draft on "Trendsetter." I also know a very talented actress, who I don't get to talk to as much as I like anymore, and I promised her once I'd write a movie for her to star in. I haven't forgotten, and thinking of her, and thinking of everything I've done up to now, putting all these stories in a sort post-Christmas, never spring, winter months... I can really see her in one, against that white and gray backdrop. As soon as I have time... maybe she's even Joan, in "Fragile." Maybe there's something else, even better.

I'm really getting ahead of myself. Other things... wrote to Kaley today, really glad she's willing to keep up correspondence. Mean to write to Ian soon, but I understand his internet has been sort of... spotty. Likely, there's no rush.Can't begin to describe what it's like having all these letters back and forth with all these creative people -- I feel a little like Samuel Johnson, if I can take a minute and be so arrogant. God, I've been such a literature student today.

Need to call the girls, have been trying to get Sam. Sent her a text tonight, but as usual, it was a bit late for normal people. Story of my life. Sent some Facebook messages to some people I haven't heard from in a bit, but started thinking about -- Alex, and Genevieve, and Andrew had a birthday recently. I miss his music, from his Solo Project blog.

Lots of music in my head lately. Not sure why, been hearing a lot of Regina Spektor, and Team Dresch when that lets up, and it seems so crisp and clean that sometimes I don't even have to pull up my iTunes to enjoy the songs. Funny I mention that, because nothing ever strikes me as less interesting than when people write in their blogs about the music they've been listening to. I get... embarrassed for them, almost. Isn't that strange?

Dad is going to a friend's birthday party, and wants me to make him some mix CDs, so I'm spending a lot of time on a particular message board, pulling up music I haven't listened to since high school. Could never have swung such a project on the old laptop, and dad got me a few DVD-R's for my trouble. Always up for more storage space, even though I just recently discovered ADrive.com.

Hoping to get out this weekend, and see "Wolverine." Would like to go opening night, depends on if anyone I know is up for seeing it, giving me a ride.

And I should be writing [Re: Trendsetter].

Lots to keep me busy.

Finally, importantly, Justin has some new work up on his blog [Re: Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name]. As always, be sure to check the M.R.C.R.W. Just great, exciting stuff. He's really getting into some of the meaty, action-filled parts of the book, and I feel like every drawing is just dripping with that tension, and anticipation. Definitely worth the look.

Like Sisyphus, without the balls...

"I have made mistakes in my life -- admitting that might be the biggest."
-- William Lind Kurdt.

I could really use a friendly voice, a friendly face, or a friendly e-mail today. I just spent the last several hours in bed, staring at the ceiling or attempting to paperback my way into dreamland, neither of which worked all that well. Losing sleep really becomes a negotiation after a while, and I struggle now knowing that though the clock says "8:23" as I start this entry, if I could find it in me to pass out when I'm done, even if I only managed to sleep until noon, I'd get four hours and be able to function pretty well. But instead, I'm just tired, and not "sleepy" [a word that strikes me as juvenile this morning], so, as usual, I bring my grievances here. Fair warning to my regulars -- there's bitching ahead. And a wealth of self-pity.

Yesterday [still today for me] was worthless, or I'm saying it was as I can't recall doing anything productive and there's no ink stains dried to the pinky side of my hand. Full disclosure -- I slept through the majority of the daylight hours. It was pleasant when I went out to get the mail, which only sort of pissed me off since ever single person from WV I've ever met regards snow and cold as the devil's magic, and use any warm day to go sleeveless and frolic around happily, making sure to ostracize anyone who doesn't appreciate springtime in February as much as they do. Well, I still have one hell of trench coat fetish, and miss winters in Vermont and New York and even Connecticut [who choose to do New England weather like we do in the south] like I miss dead relatives, so excuse me for not being ecstatic at the prospect of everything getting sunny again. And the birds... damn chirping birds, starting up again as they did in the summer at 5 a.m. on the dot. And I wonder why I can't sleep.

I take consolation in knowing at least the Lord is on my side, and ended all this unseasonably warm February weather with a torrents of rain and 50-mile per hour winds. If only he'd drop the temperature another forty or fifty degrees and turn it all into a LOTR-style ice storm so I didn't have to put up with neighborhood methheads and roving bands of teenagers as I walked to the store, then I could go out and enjoy the weather we're supposed to be having.

All told, I don't even know why I'm in such a sour mood. Certainly, the lack of sleep is part of it, but I've been this long before, and know I'm no where near the bad stuff that this insomnia, or "insomnia-lite" can bring. Plus I'm not exactly Mr. Cheerful, anyway. Things were actually going pretty well. This previous day, or previous previous day [Re: Tuesday], all went to plan I managed to use my wrapped change to snag a new pair of shoes [a pair of Comancho-style Vans that weren't nearly as cool-looking as my Airwalks, but are suede and black, and not something to be picky about] and even had enough extra to snag a few new pairs of boxer shorts, which, thanks to my active lifestyle [hate that "word"], makes it look like I'm trying to amass the world's biggest collection of male underwear. It is rare for me to go shopping, and actually find everything I want in that trip, and I remember feeling almost high on the way home that things had worked out so well.

Better, in fact. While out I hit a couple of bookstores, hoping to snag a copy of "Welcome to the N.H.K." a manga that is supposed to have a Japanese shut-in as one of the principle characters, and considering my plans for "Assisted Living," as I thought it might be helpful to see if someone had beat me to the punch on my hikikomori story. No luck there, but paperbacks are still dirt cheap, and I picked up a copy of Chris Jericho's biography, and Jane Austen's "Persuasion." Post-Bennington, I decided my embargo on all things Austen was stupid, because I was a literature student, dammit, and I needed to catch up on these things if I had any hope of being a real intellectual. Having read "Emma" [Re: Clueless], I had to admit to being charmed by the endearing characters and the social settings which made them all work so hard to move as little as possible [that's right, I'm likening another classic to something I'm trying to do], and "Sense and Sensibility" was next on my list -- but after watching a gaudy and addictive version on PBS's Masterpiece Theatre a couple of weeks ago I decided I'd get bored too easily going over things again, and opted for "Persuasion" which claims to be "darker" in some way than the rest of her work. Since a lot of people lately have pointed out I'm quite the dark, serious guy, it sounded more up my alley.

Jericho's book only took me a day. No-brainer who's next at bat.

I also ran into Kate and Lana, two of my old co-workers at "Books-a-million" [actually, they were my co-workers at Borders, but at some point everyone who didn't quit to go work on being a full-time writer and a sap on their grandmother's living expenses joined in a mass exodus to work at the other book store in town]. It was nice to see both of them again, and I think they also enjoyed the change of seeing me in a mood that wasn't foul or anxious. Lana actually left Borders before I did, to go off to school to become a person trainer [she's been having some trouble finding work here], but unless we start hanging out on weekends together, I think what I'll always remember was that on the day she left the store she came to work dressed like the hottest version of Billy Joel I've ever seen. She was always exceptionally chill to be around, and managed to keep it together despite the constant rain of shit that was her family life, a song and dance I was only starting to know myself [and even now, not in the same way], and I have a lot of respect for her, for a lot of reasons that probably shouldn't pontificated on here.

Kate I actually knew a little better, mostly because how bold the girl is. On our second or third day at the store together, she was verbally trying to pry me out of my shell [not shyness then, just a damn good way to hide the panic attacks that stupid store put me through], and when I actually took the bait, she playfully started to throw rapid-fire phantom punches into my [too] soft stomach. This was shocking to me because, generally, people don't break my personal space bubble out of what I can only assume is fear -- I don't exactly welcome physical contact from strangers, and some of my closest friends have actually asked before hugging me goodbye, and in totally legitimate hugging situations no less. By the fifth or sixth punch, the girl had pretty much melted me, and now I smile every time I see her. And you can ask around -- I smile less than I hug.

Naturally, while there, I told them about the comic [Re: Calamity Cash and the Town with No Name], and the movie [Re: Trendsetter], and Kate mentioned that her brother was in to acting, so I promised to let her know when Kyle and I decided to hold auditions. We traded cell phone numbers, which officially makes them the closest friends I have made during that "Randall Does Retail" outing, and if stars align right maybe I'll get to hang out with them again in a setting that doesn't smell like paper cuts and despair.

Since I've brought up my creative projects, I suppose I should come clean and admit no more work has gone into either on my end since last posting. The one-to-two line rewrite on "Calamity Cash" is still in the back of my mind though, and I'm hoping to knock that out soon, just so I don't have to keep admitting I haven't done it yet. The re-writes for "The Trendsetter" are also kind of stagnant -- I spent a few hours scribbling out possible shenanigans for Eddie and Brandon, coming up with the golden Eddie line of -- "I believe the punishment should fit the crime. It's why I really want to have sex with the chick who cut me in line at the Haunted Mansion when I was 15." -- though when I was finished, I found most of what I had done unusable, since none of it got me any closer to the extra scenes I need with our leading ladies, Tess and Faye.

And I really need to read the damn script again, and give myself notes on it, but thanks to the current printer ink famine, I haven't been able to make myself a hard copy to carry around/mark on/curse at, and I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't part of the reason I haven't gotten much done [doubtful]. And even though I know I shouldn't be relying so much on feedback, I am really hoping for some more to trickle in, or just someone really excited about the script who wants to engage me/talk about it to come along. Kyle does a great job, but he's also really busy, and I already talk to myself too much for any more to be healthy so... I don't know. This is one of those things that is totally my responsibility, and totally in my means to do on my own, but it's just such a pain in the ass to bring myself to it one-on-one, especially as my mood dips around so much.

Then there's this weekend, and it's goddamn "holiday."

Pressure I'm putting on myself also is no good either. My nerves are fried, and I've yet to type up a single scene -- effectively cutting out the productive part of writing all together for the highs and the lows. Punk rock, baby.

Other things. It looks like a Myspace site will soon be in the works for "Trendsetter," and crazier still, it looks like I might wind up the guy who sets it up. While of this may seem a little premature without having the script finished yet, when Kyle and I start begging for money in the coming months, it can only help us to make the film look as legit as humanly possible, and a nice network of internet promotion isn't a bad way to make us look like we know what we're doing. I have been anti-Myspace for most of my online life, preferring Facebook's "you deal with the bullshit you want to deal with" policy much better to the exhorbent loadtimes and garbage coding so prevelant on "the" social networking site. But knowing I'm going to have to deal with the whole process eventually anyway, I've been considering setting up a Myspace for the Mojo Wire, and further self-promotion of... well, myself and "Trendsetter" goodies.

So far, I've thought of plenty of reasons not to do it -- the "exhorbent load times" and "garbage coding" I mentioned above being two strikes, and just general hate for anything that damn trendy. Another big problem, much bigger than my own rallying cry against hipster bullshit, is that my kid brother has one. Which wouldn't be a problem at all, would actually be a check in the "keep up with the members of the family you like" column of why it wouldn't hurt for me to make the damn page, except [and this is the shocker even to me] my mother has a Myspace page too. An already strained relationship will only become more strained if, on the off white chance she shows interest in what her eldest son is doing for a change, she comes here and sees the [limited] airings of my frustrations over the internet. And while I feel completely justified and honest in everything I've said here, I also feel completely justified in saying that the relationship is enough of a mess already and I don't need that kind of fucking heat on me.

I suppose the alternative would be to just not accept her friend request. I wonder if anyone's ever been disowned over that?

For now, I just have a test page I'm playing with, and likely it'll never see the light of day. Nevertheless, I do seem to have an ever-amassing group of friends who stand in the "Myspace" camp instead of the Facebook one, and being able to contact them a little more easily could maybe improve my social life a little. Or at the very least get the Wire some more attention.

It's kind of lame that I'm starting to care about that.

John suggested I do a post about "Death Note," which I recently watched in its entirety on Hulu.com. I wasn't planning on writing it, but that was before I almost walked out of Hot Topic with a Near t-shirt charged to my every shrinking checking balance, so I guess I have to admit I'm a fan now. I'm going to give it a shot in the next couple of days, though don't be surprised if it never appears here -- I'm very particular about reviews I do. As for that t-shirt, well... I only wish I had a Valentine's Day present coming from someone this year. That would be a great one.

Or printer ink.

Ending my bitching on a lighter note I think.

That is my friend Ally at the NY Con with Terry Moore, creator/writer/artist of "Strangers in Paradise," and one of the biggest reasons I do what I do, the way I do it. Growing up, all the comics my friends and I read were superhero comics, as you really couldn't find anything else. I discovered "Strangers" [along with Neil Gaiman's "Death, the High Cost of Living" and Alex Robinson's "Box Office Poison"], and was mesmerized that not only could comics not have guys in spandex punching each other, but that sometimes they were a lot more entertaining that way. From there on, I just knew that those were the kinds of comics I wanted to read more of, and eventually, that turned into to those being the kinds I wanted to write.

And if it wasn't enough just having one friend of mine meet him, Lex was also at the Con on Sunday and talked to Moore about me too. While I'm sure the gravity of the situation didn't sink in for him [honestly, even if I told him what I just wrote in the paragraph before, I'd probably just get a "that's great, kid,"], I'm stoked because now I have two different two degrees of separation between me and one of my heroes. Short of meeting him myself, that's pretty damn cool. And a big "thank you" to both of my girls for knowing this would be something I'd totally mark out for, and a sorry to Ally for stealing her picture.

I expect the typos in this are numerous. I couldn't bring myself to proof it.

Shalom.

About me.

Broken? Well, yes, sometimes I think so.

This is difficult, because this is not what the blog is for, but I feel I have to address it somewhere, as it's rattling too hard around in my head for me to get any peace.

If someone asked me how I saw myself, and I wasn't up to lying, I'd probably say "broken." Or rather, "busted," a word Anna [innocently] introduced me to, which I find particularly appealing here because it not only means damaged, but also ugly, even sometimes abhorrent. It also pleases me, in some small way, to use a relatively shallow term to describe something I feel so personally -- I once tried to use it for a small project I was working on, a movie idea that wasn't much of an idea at all, really, just two pages of notes, and a lot of scribbling in the margins. While "Busted" the project never got off the ground, the idea, the new definition of the word has stuck with me strongly, so strongly, that rather than using it in the physical sense, I identify with it in a more figurative sense. A mental sense, I suppose, which strikes me as a contradiction of terms.

I'm wandering. The point is, I feel busted, broken. And its hard for me to feel that way, not just because it's hard to feel that way, which it is, but because I don't really think I'm justified in feeling that way. There was never a single blow that destroyed me, I never felt anything I would equate to a truly, epically tragic loss. Yes, my father drank. Yes, my parents got divorced. No, I never truly found a groove with my stepfather. Yes, I've had my heart broken a few times. Sure, I've lost a loved one or two. I'm twenty-three, for God's sakes. Odds said some of these things had to happen. But none of it was uncommon, and no blow struck me down completely. I was always loved. I have friends. I am not William Maxwell -- I have never been devastated.

But I still feel the way I do. Busted. And it's annoying, because isn't it so cool to be "tortured," another angry young man. I have so much more respect for the man who laughs. And I'm afraid, afraid I took this "identity" upon myself, because of my time spent in nineties, when apathy was cool, because of my hero from Aberdeen, because of all those Gin Blossoms songs that painted a romantic picture of heartache and defeat.

I hope, sometimes pray, this isn't the case. That feeling like this wasn't a choice, isn't a choice as some would tell me. At least, if it were thrust upon me, it wouldn't have to be my fault, only my problem, a much larger comfort than most would think. But I have time to split these hairs. To think about why I feel so bad, so often, and feel worse for it.

Perhaps I am a strange factory reject, one that came off the assembly line with the plastic not molded quite right -- but passed too loose of an inspection, only to be that child's toy who's head turns differently than the rest, who can't quite stand without being leaned against the others. Disappointing, but not enough to discard.

I suppose that could make it clinical. There would be some comfort in that, I suppose, though I don't know that I'd be willing to medicate it away. I don't know why, though. Sometimes I think me is supposed to be me, even if that means being depressed. Does that mean I don't want to be better? So not only could I have caused this, but I also might not want it to go away?

Maybe it's just a phase. Or an affectation. But it feels too overreaching, too real, and it colors everything I remember. I can't find joy in happy times, oh, sure, I can think back to a conversation, or a friendly smile, or an accidental midnight rendezvous, and I smile. And then I feel like my heart is breaking. And I don't know why.

Perhaps it is as melodramatic as I treat it -- perhaps nothing can stay beautiful, and nothing is good or perfect. When I was younger, I had a few perfect memories, one, about a cabin, possibly my first memory, where I burned myself while making marshmallows and fell out of bed, but found ultimate comfort for the first time from both of my parents. Aware, not only of the world, but of the safety that came instinctively before I could recall... anything. And being taken outside, under the stars by them [sometimes Mom, sometimes Dad, sometimes both -- I never remember it exactly the same], and finding there was no hurt that could not be healed by the arms of those you love around you. Years later, I'd find out that very night was the beginning of the end of my parent's marriage, and as much as I'd like to be better than that, my perfect memory was never the same. It hurt to touch again.

Oh, and that, in case you're wondering, is not my origin story. There are several other instances like this, some predating that ruination, some after it -- toast sneezed on a dashboard, an awkward kiss, a mix-up at an airport gate, a graduation. All perfect memories. All painful for me to take out of their boxes, especially when I need them the most.

Again, I'm wandering.

The point, if there is one, is that I am up again at 7:00, and despite being oh-so-close to slipping away to dreamland, there is no sleep for me tonight. And that is disappointing, because part of me thought all these odd hours and erratic naps, as well as the return of my nightmares and the insomnia, was because of the script [Re: The Trendsetter], and my compulsion to get it done. My process has always been hard on me. But no, I am exhausted, and while there is still work to be done on the script, I feel satisfied with how it is at the moment. A kind of finished. And yet I'm not sleeping. So I am, again, annoyed, and sad. Because this is not that, it's what it has always been. That busted feeling.

The upside is, sleep will come. I'll pass out or black out before it's over, no worries there. And I have a new project, my next quarter-life script, which yes, I know, I'm doing to death. But god dammit, I'm not good enough yet to go with anything but my strengths.

So next up is "Assisted Living"... which is probably going to be a comic, since in my head I can see the cover and Page 1, but honestly, I think I might work it just as well as a pilot or a film. Decisions, decisions. Does anyone have Alan Moore on speed-dial? I suppose it could be more than one before I'm done. But one thing at a time.

And yes, "Assisted Living" sounds a lot like it'll deal with old people too, which it looks like it might, I'll also be up front and admit "Reading Turgenev" might be more than just a fleeting influence on the final work. And if anyone wants to beat me to combining all those things, I welcome you to try. Three hours in, and even I'm thinking I'm crazy. And that I have a million-dollar idea.

If I can make it work. We'll see.

More later. I have something far more upbeat to share.

Cheers.