So, I'm guessing that this is going to be my last entry from within the Galapagos Islands. The next time you hear from this blog, I'll be back in Guayaquil, in what will either be my second-to-last or possibly last entry before being home. What a concept, eh? Truth be told, I'm genuinely not sure if I want there to be 75 entries or 76. 75 is a mathematically pleasant number in many respects, but 76 has the added bonus of also being the number of photo albums I have from the trip. A coincidence, to be sure, but a fun one. Stay tuned to find out, I guess? But first, let's look at what just happened in the past few days. There are wasps, guaranteed!
On Monday, it was back into the breach, although we got off to a bit of a slow start, mainly because this was the first time that the new Danish people had to get up for work. So when they were told that we were having breakfast at 6am, I don't think it was immediately clear that the point was to be at the table, eating breakfast, at 6am. Instead, people were just getting out of their rooms, washing up, and then preparing their breakfasts. All the while, I could see the light of the sun rising in the distance, and I knew it wasn't going to get any cooler throughout the day. I also knew that my foot was still going to be an issue. It didn't feel strained, but the big cut-and-bruise on the heel was still too painful to walk on, and the cuts on my ankle made it a little sensitive to walk, so I was still limping and/or just walking funny. As such, I decided to hoof it to the top before everyone else was ready, as I felt I'd be going pretty slowly. And yet, I arrived there before anyone else, and for the new folks, well before. Not that I'm complaining; quite the contrary - it allowed me extra hammock time and an ego boost.
The activity for the day was exclusively mora. (As horrible as it sounds, every time I mention doing something with mora, I get the urge to make a "That's a-mora" quip.) We basically had to take some shovels and dig up what we could find in the area. Most were small, but a couple singular stalks were as big as, maybe, seven feet long. When we started, it seemed like a pretty innocuous task, because you literally had to walk from one plant to the next (which is to say, they were few and far between). However, as I moved down a bit, I found some areas where you could pretty much see that the mora was on its way to taking over. In that case, it became almost too much, but hey, at least I was getting at it. And I was pretty much in my area all by myself; the rest of the group was up on the top of the hill. It was kinda nice in some regards; I was able to just be there with my thoughts and let some ideas stew in my heads, somewhat similar to when I'm in the shower. However, the disadvantage of being by myself is that when break was called, I was completely unaware until I looked up several times, realized that nobody was there any of the times, and then decided something was amiss, and so went up to the hammock area. Sure enough, everyone was lying down, and had apparently been for 20 minutes. However, I still got a good break out of the deal, since they all ended up napping for over an hour, about double to normal break time. For my part, I had 40 minutes of rest, so I can't complain. In any case, we went back to work, but only did so for an hour or so before heading back to the Hacienda, where lunch was just waiting for us.
We all planned to head to town at 2pm, so we asked Jose to call a taxi. He then left, and we just had some time to kill. I decided to refill my supply of on-the-job snacks, but found that my box of crackers, which had one-third of its contents left, was gone. I thought maybe it had just misplaced, but no, it was flat-out gone. Crackers don't just disappear, so I came to the only reasonable conclusion that, despite it having my mark very prominently written on it, somebody had stolen my stuff. The question was who. And between the other volunteers, who each had their own food, and the locals who occasionally came into the house, the choice seemed pretty clear to me. However, I had no silver-bullet evidence, so all I could do about the whole thing was just stew in my own indignation. And then some other problems walked through the door, namely the dogs Ardia and Capoli. Apparently, someone hadn't closed the doors all the way, and so they came in and went straight to the kitchen, where they tried getting into the food waste bin. I tried moving them out, but suddenly they began snarling and fighting with each other, until Capoli came out on top. I moved Ardia out the door (which basically involved me pulling - dragging, if you will - him out the door), and then went back to the kitchen, where I found Capoli eating out of the basket. Long story short, these dogs were hungry, and I sincerely doubt they've ever been given any sort of obedience training. The way that most people get the dogs to go outside (and this seems to apply not just here, but elsewhere in South America) is to flat-out threaten them. For my part, I tried moving Capoli the same way I had moved Ardia, but when I put my hands on him, he turned his head slightly towards me and growled menacingly. At that point, I put up my hands and gave up. The fact is, these aren't my dogs. This isn't my home. And if they're going to be in a situation where they come in and eat discarded food to satiate their appetite, I don't really care. They can do as they like. I won't let them in, but I'm not going to force them out, either. Their actual owners can do that.
The taxi ended up coming quite late (so much so that we thought it hadn't been called). Since it was the full house heading into town, I decided to hop in the bed of the pickup truck, where Julie and Lina joined me. While there are the occasional downsides to sitting in the bed (bumpy roads seeming bumpier, dust, and in this case, some light rain), I really do prefer it. It's a little thing that just makes the act of riding along seem a lot more fun. Anyway, we talked on the way there, and then got into town, where we briefly met up with the Finns, who were literally just standing where we were being dropped off. (That's the thing about this town, I think; you keep running into the same people.) However, they headed off to try to get some cash (apparently, though, nobody could get any cash from any of the ATM's in town for some reason). The new Danish then went to an Internet cafe, whereas I went to the regular WiFi cafe. To get my WiFi, I had to order a milkshake (and I have determined that the amount you get for a regular is not proportionate to the amount you get in a small, when looking at the price-to-shake ratio. As I was sitting there, the light rain that we experienced on the ride over picked up a bit, which I'm sure made everyone planning to go to the beach (namely, all the Danish), reconsider. Anyway, while I was there, Bronn showed up, and I gave him the photos from our snorkeling trip, admitting that his were almost universally better than mine in the water. Anyway, we then all just sat and talk, and used the WiFi to check email; I posted the prior entry, and tried to get whatever I could get done, done. Eventually, Lina joined us, feeling she had nothing else to do, and so we all decided to head to the supermarket. I again wanted to get some apples to last me the rest of the week, and again they didn't have any. I was beginning to think this supermarket (the same one that blatantly overcharged me when they had the opportunity) was pretty crap. In any case, I bought some kiwifruit and some crackers to replace the ones that had been stolen. The four of us then walked back to the cafe, stopping along the way for the girls to look at things they were interested in buying, like snorkel masks and sunscreen.
Oh, and I should note: the price for sunscreen in the Galapagos. For about 200ml bottles? Depending on the brand, anywhere between $15 and $23.
Back at the cafe, we chatted a bit more until Bronn had to leave to try to make his plans for the week at his hostel. I then spoke with the girls while the sun was setting, about everything from our expectations of the Galapagos (mine being, similar to many places on this trip, "I didn't have any; I just came") to our favorite movies (and a side topic about what a great and dreamy actor Leonardo DiCaprio is). At 6:30, the rest of the Danes found us (turns out, they'd been waiting on the other side of the street for a half-hour without seeing us), and we took the first taxi we could catch back to the Hacienda. Dinner was ready for us almost immediately, and we just talked more. I know I've been mentioning things like "we talked", but y'know what, I like talking. Also, it's only in situations like these, when you're with a group of people who can speak your language (even if it's not their first), and when you have a lot of free time, that talking sometimes seems more than right, it seems nearly obligatory to maintain sanity. So I take advantage of it where I can. That's not to say we're having hifalutin conversations all the time. Case in point, after the meal ended, the conversation continued, but it quickly devolved into a discussion of popular books for the lady folks, which I kept misinterpreting due to the accents and syntax of the Danish girls (examples: I briefly thought in Fifty Shades of Grey, they used whips to sign contracts, and in Twilight, there were Nazi vampires. Either being true would make me read those books). There was also a moment where Lina asked me how old I was, and I pulled a trick I've been meaning to do for a while: I said I was 36. This got a couple surprised stares, and they said I looked younger. I smiled and said, "How old do I look?" Lina squinted a bit, and said "30." It was then that I told her I was actually 26, at which point she got really embarrassed, and promised that she thought I looked younger than 30, but didn't want me to be insulted by saying too young. But more-or-less, that exchange couldn't have gone any better. And then we also talked about the Spanish language a bit, and I tried to help the folks out with some vocabulary. If you had told me two months ago that I'd be teaching Danish people about Spanish, I'd call you a dirty rotten liar. Hell, I'd call you that a week ago, but here we are. Anyway, that continued until we all decided to get ready for bed, after which I just relaxed in my room until I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Complete tangent here, utterly unrelated to the Galapagos or anything else written in this post: I have an idea for the next time I go on an out-of-country trip like this, where I'll meet people. I want to create another alternate identity (different from the ones I already have in use), and then create a Facebook page for him. However, this FB page would be created "In Memory" of this person by his/my friends (or else I'd really have to have it for a couple years beforehand). People would then be posting on the page, saying things like, "I miss you," or "Condolences to the family of Steve (or whatever the name is)." When I'd travel places, I'd use this name when I met people, and then I'd be as good a person as possible. Being nice, trying to help them where possible, and even giving life advice. If they'd ask me how old I was, I'd answer in a way like, "Last time I checked, 26." Then, if people wanted to get in touch, I'd just say to find me on Facebook, where they'd go and see the profile of someone who has apparently been dead for two-plus years. And maybe they'll have a Touched by an Angel-style epiphany. (References to saccharine early 90's TV shows? You get what you pay for, folks.) I dunno, I think it'd be an interesting experiment. It'd be even better if I could rig it so I didn't appear in their photographs, but that may take some doin'.
Anyway, tangent aside. I woke up on Tuesday at a relatively late time, 6:10. I had almost eight hours of sleep, and yet for some reason I felt incredibly tired. I then felt incredibly annoyed when I saw that my big box of cereal, with my could-not-be-more-prominent mark all over it, sitting on the table for everyone to eat. I then felt incredibly angry when I found that a significant portion of it had already been eaten. Again, I knew this wasn't the volunteers, so there was someone in the Hacienda just taking my stuff. And then when I checked the fridge, my milk was gone, too! When Julie was throwing something away, she found the milk carton in the trash. I showed it to Jose and complained about the fact that all of my very-much marked food was being taken. He seemed a little confused at the situation. And I should note, all this stuff I've lost is just a total of a few dollars, but dammit, it's the principle of the matter. We were asked not to leave food in our rooms. We were asked to mark in and leave it in the kitchen to be safe. Safe, forsooth!
Anyway, after eating my toast and breakfast sandwich with a side of sour grapes, we all got ready for work, and then walked down the street for maybe about a mile or so (since we didn't have to go up the hill, we were able to start the day a tad later). At one point, we turned from the road into some veritable jungle terrain, and it almost seemed as though we were walking into the Amazon for a few minutes. However, this eventually opened up into what seemed like a piece of farming land. In fact, it was a piece of farming land, owned by the Hacienda, in the sense that Hacienda Esperanza is actually a collective of farmers over a wider area, not just the volunteer house. However, the place wasn't filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, ripe for the plucking; apparently, some other group of volunteers benefited from that at a different point in the year. Instead, there were a few patches of otoy (including one large patch that seemed ready for harvest), and a lot of dead leaves and branches scattered across the ground. Our first activity of the day was simple: clean up. For the most part, this just involved us moving branches and stuff to a couple of big piles. It didn't take long to realize, though, that some of these branches were still connected to trees, and even when not, could be considered trees in and of themselves. We only had one pathetic little machete to start out with - which Jose was using to mostly cut down some banana trees at the fringes of the land - but another one was eventually brought. And it may have been only one more, but it was the right one; the same one I've been using whenever I can, which I nicknamed "The Scimitar". Once we got this, the two Danish guys took turns hacking away at the problem areas. I was giving them advice about good machete technique (cut at an angle, not straight down, etc.), but eventually, they took a break, and gave me the machete. Funnily enough, I hit the branch hard enough (and, against my own advice, straight down) that people literally thought there was a gunshot. It also split through the remainder of the wood, though since it was two-thirds down anyway, I wasn't terribly impressed. In any case, moving the branches and stuff was dirty, sweaty work.
We took a break, though this time it was only Jose who took a nap. The rest of us were just sitting there until he got back up. They then asked me to ask Jose what the second task for the day was, since it seemed like we were finished with what we had to do. Going back to the whole me-being-the-expert-in-Spanish thing, it's kind of humorous to see that I'm the translator of the group, going between them and Jose. Do I deserve such a position? Hell, no, but I'm doing the best I can at it, which seems to be good enough so far. Anyway, the second job was to continue cleaning the place up, but also to cut down the large patch of otoy to feed to the tortoises, presumably the next day. Since I was the first person up from the break, I grabbed The Scimitar and began work at the otoy. I have to say, cutting a fairly watery plant, such as a banana tree or, in this case, otoy, is incredibly satisfying. There's a little bit of resistance, but just enough to let you know you've hit something. Otherwise, you just slice right through. And if you go fast enough, there is an ever-so-slight delay between when your blade crosses through and when gravity finally pulls the upper part of the plant down. You kinda feel like a samurai, only with a much less impressive sword. But yeah, really fun, so I didn't mind going through the whole patch and cutting it down. This was moved into a big pile (by which I mean a really big pile) for the tortoises, and then there was yet more cleanup to be done. First, there were some young avocado and banana trees that had to be taken down, and then we had to clear out the mound that the otoy was growing on. I don't know anything about otoy, really, but it seems as though it likes to grow in the mulch of other plants. Because underneath the roots of this stuff (little of which I included in the pile for the tortoises, because I didn't want to have to carry that weight) was just various old dead trees in various states of decay. But any sort of big pieces of wood were thrown out (often in multiple pieces, as they kept breaking apart whenever we tried applying momentum), and then the rest was raked up using these absolutely pathetic homemade rakes (whose tines were made up of small pieces of rebar that bent if you ever hit anything except for exactly head-on). Twice I saw a rat scamper out of the mulch pile, and I briefly considered trying to chase it and kill it with my rake, which I quickly deduced that, were it even possible, would be more of a symbolic gesture than anything, because even though rats are an invasive species to the Galapagos, really, you can't get rid of them, especially just by killing two random ones.
Before long, Jose told us that we were finished. It seemed a little early to me, but I didn't care. We walked back to the Hacienda, where I took a quick shower with my clothes (though not wearing them), to get the dirt and sweat off of them. I wanted to use the shirt at least once more and the pants until I was finished at the Hacienda, so while I didn't care if they were pretty, I didn't want them feeling gross, y'know? Anyway, after I came out of the shower and hung up my clothes, I found that not only had lunch already been served, but pretty much everyone was finished eating theirs. I quickly ate mine, and found that half of the group was heading to town. I had no reason to go myself, so I stayed home with Elizabeth and Lina, who I had a lovely discussion with over some hot cups of tea. Elizabeth, in particular, had a honey-chamomile tea that I immediately vowed to mooch off of her before the trip was done. Unfortunately, while we were talking, we could hear the rain begin to come down, alternating between soft, hard, and off for quite a while. Obviously, this didn't bode well for my clothing hanging on the laundry line. Well, they weren't going to get any wetter than they were before, but they definitely wouldn't get drier, either. I then went into my room, and did some writing for a while, before reading a bit. I suddenly realized that I was likely not going to be able to finish The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo before my time here was over (unless I really blasted through), but hey, reading isn't about speed, it's about enjoyment, right? ...Am I right, folks? ...Fine, I'll just go into the corner and use my slow eyes to cry a bit.
Anyway, after I saw the other two get up from their sleep, I decided to join them in another conversation over tea. This time we were drinking a cherry tea that was available in the Hacienda, which I swear was nothing more than food coloring, because despite the fact that it had several dehydrated plants in its ingredients (none of which were cherry, by the way), it tasted nothing like cherry. In fact, it tasted of nothing at all. While we were drinking down the colored hot water, I showed them how I was able to make an origami t-shirt of the tea bag packet, like I learned on the Inca Trail (though not nearly of the same quality). I also mentioned my time in magic school when I was younger, which always seems to be a punchline with everyone. Still, I also taught them how to do my favorite magic trick, and then taught them how to shuffle a deck of cards properly (they had a long way to go). Jose then asked us if we wanted dinner then, or if we'd wait for the others. We said we'd wait, but he served us then anyway. It made little difference in the end, since the others showed up within a few minutes, and we continued eating and talking. My favorite topics of discussion for this were free refills, and trying to explain why the secret menu at In-n-Out is secret (I don't know, but I just said it was tradition). We continued like this until everyone prepped themselves for bed.
I had another fairly odd dream that night, though I really doubt that this one has any real significance, because it mostly just revolved around some things that have been in my mind for one reason or another. I'll try to mention where I think certain elements came from. First off, I don't remember the first part of my dream, but the real meat and potatoes came in when I was discussing Magic: the Gathering cards with people [I had taught Elizabeth and Lina a magic card trick, and that made me think of playing Magic before going to bed]. Because the people I was explaining to didn't understand, I decided to take them into a real battle, completely unrelated to the game. I brought up a user interface that would allow them to select the time period and battle they wanted [no particular influence I can think of, but it seemed very video game-y], and they ended up choosing a naval battle [like in that new 300 movie I saw in Lima] where one of the sides was led by a witch doctor general [no clue]. However, everything went downhill quickly, and the simulation became real, which started destroying things [that hypothetical tsunami?]. People started losing their homes and their jobs, including the NYFD who was helping to fight [back when conspiracy theories were mentioned the other weekend, the NYFD was brought up in regards to 9-11]. I and all the other people fighting were just in rafts and kayaks [both of which I had done relatively recently], but were terrible for fighting full-on witch doctor war ships. Also, my camera got totally wet in the ocean [I suppose this is just a general concern I have]. In order to help the homeless, McDonald's began giving them free food and jobs [we were talking about McDonald's during dinner] and Bronn [a person I'd been speaking with a bit in the last week] was noting how McDonald's only does this kind of things in times of crisis; an oddly specific bit of cynicism, to be sure. And that's all that I can remember happening, because then my alarm went off.
We didn't know when we were supposed to wake up the next morning, so I just set my alarm for 5:30. Turns out, this was exactly the right decision, because when I woke up, I could hear Jose just getting in to cook breakfast. It was a pretty standard fare of the sandwich, eggs, and some fried yucca, which I had never tried before, but heard people praising. However, it was just okay in my assessment; hot sauce was definitely needed. As for everyone else, the waking up process seemed a bit slow, as some people hadn't even set their alarms. Additionally, Sebastian wasn't even going to be working with us, as he was heading off later to go diving. So the first bunch of us that were ready went up, and was rewarded by having an extra-long post-walk rest in the hammocks, under the gray, gray sky. It was such a gray and gloomy day that I had brought my poncho with me in case it rained (and also because I thought we'd be moving otoy; I could use it to hold stuff without getting quite so messy). Once the rest of the people came up, though, the machetes came out, and it was revealed that there wasn't any otoy feeding that day; instead, it would be us cutting down guava younglings. For some reason, Jose was able to talk me into using a different machete than normal, as it was bigger and (according to him) more powerful. This proved a mistake, because everything took me twice as many cuts as it should have. Anyway, I worked my way down the slope where we bring up the otoy, and I find myself cutting down everything from tiny saplings to medium-sized trees about seven feet tall (as long as they didn't have really thick branches, they were fair game).
And then at one point, I bothered a wasp nest.
Now, I'm no expert on the subject, so I can't say if they were wasps or hornets or yellow jackets or whatever. Hell, it wasn't even sure it was anything like that when it started; it could have just been a bunch of flying beetles or something. But basically, I chopped down a branch of this one medium-sized tree, and suddenly I see...no, I don't see anything. I just hear a very audible bzzzzz-ing sound approaching my face in half a second. Then I feel them on my face and instinctively, with little care for grace or decor, drop my machete and run back into the open, shaking like a dog trying to dry off. The sound was gone almost immediately, but I could feel some sharp pains on my upper arm and on my chest (both under my shirt, mind you). When I looked, I had indeed been bitten/stung by something, and it was definitely painful, so much so that it was giving me the pain shudders. Amazingly, while it seemed like I was stung several times on my body, I didn't get stung at all on the face where I felt a whole bunch of them go. So thank God for small blessings, eh? (Also, better me than anyone else getting attacked; I worry to think how some of the others may have reacted.) Now, I've never been stung by any bee or wasp or anything before, so I didn't know if I was allergic. My desire to observe, as well as the pain still in those spots meant it was a good time for an impromptu break. Julie was with me, so we sat and talked until the pain subsided into a kind of dull ache (the stings themselves, though, swelled up a tad before shrinking back down later in the day). We then got to carry some of the guava branches up the hill with us, but before that, I went back to the spot of destiny and, sure enough, there was a wasp hive sitting in one of the unbroken branches, with a good two-dozen wasps crawling over it. Again, small blessings, as I think they were just giving me the warning shot. Had I actually knocked down the hive, my fingers might have been too swollen for me to type.
However, while I still had a dull pain for the next couple hours, the wasps weren't the most annoying part of that day's job. No, that distinction would go to the kids. You might remember what I mentioned an entry or so ago; it was that the other thirteen girls traveling with the Danish quartet were doing some different volunteer work, with school kids. Now, when you hear this, I think that everyone assumes you're going to be working with underprivileged kids who just need a leg up in life. Orphans, maybe. But no, it turns out that they'd be working with kids that are quite privileged; possibly the richest kids on the island. And brats, too. Apparently, they only had to work with these kids three hours a day (9am-noon) and they all hated it. We got a small taste of this. So, when we were on our break, Elizabeth noted that she saw somebody she recognized from her group at the hill's drop-off, and so she and Lina got up to walk to them to say hello. However, shortly afterward, about twenty-five kids in that horrible tween age (10-12) also came up over the hill, and before long, raced to the hammocks. They literally just pushed off any stuff that was on them, and just lay down. "What is your name!" one particularly obnoxious one said in a way that was completely non-inquisitive and purely mocking in nature. I only offered them a death glare in return. Had we not needed those hammocks ourselves, I would have loved to have used my machete to chop off one of the supports. However, I wasn't the only one with a machete on my mind. A couple of the annoying boys seemed fascinated by them, and one of them flat-out put on Elizabeth's gloves while she was gone and started swinging her machete to the ground. I initially thought to tell him not to touch it, but I instead decided to wait and see if he'd teach himself a safety lesson. Unfortunately, he remained intact when they were all called to do some work, and actually had the audacity to try to take the machete with him. "Hey! Caída la machete!" I screamed at him. ("Hey, drop the machete!") He and his couple of friends looked back and seemed to get scared that a) I was yelling at them, and that b) I could speak Spanish, and could thus understand most of what they were saying when they were near me. The kid quickly dropped the machete. "Y los guantes también!" I yelled with as much ferocity as before. He quickly tore off the gloves and hurried off. I wasn't willing to put up with this little brat's BS, I tell ya what. The other volunteers, who found the kids just as annoying as I did, nodded at me in approval.
We were all genuinely worried that Jose would have us working with the kids, in which case I just would have refused and/or pushed on of the more pestilent ones into the wasp nest. But it turned out that they would be working with mora - and only ended up working about twenty minutes - whereas the rest of us went back to work clearing guava on the hillside. This continued for about an hour before we were finished for the day. No more pests (or wasps) to bother me, and the sun finally decided to come out. But pretty much right when we were finished, we began walking down to the Hacienda. There, we had a pasta for lunch that included at least three different animals in it for meat (hot dogs, chicken pieces, and beef bones), and dealt with the hungry dogs and cats (well, I didn't; I was well over that). I then showered, finding it almost sad that one of the two kinda-big (three-inch) spiders that shared the bathroom was dead and half sticking out of the drain. Afterward, I just went into my room to do some writing and relaxing. And then I went outside to read more of my book. And then I went back to my room to read more of my book. (I got a lot of reading done.) By the time I was finished, it was time for dinner, and the topics of conversation this time ranged from the books we were reading to commercial jingles (to which I contributed the Mentos theme). I then managed to bum a pack of that honey chamomile tea from Elizabeth, and it was as good as it sounded. We also discussed what would be happening next week; I'd be leaving on Saturday, so if any of the new people - assuming there were new people - didn't know Spanish, all these Danes were out of luck. And then, as Sebastian used my laptop to sort through his legitimately cool diving photos of a shipwreck (which he'll also be out of luck on once I leave), the rest of us just read or wrote. It was one of those weird situations that I don't quite get when it comes to social interaction: we were all there, sitting around a table, completely engaged in our own thing, not talking or even acknowledging each other. And yet, it felt as though if any of us were to go to our rooms to do the exact same thing with the exact same level of interaction, it'd seem anti-social. I dunno, that kind of thing always struck me as odd. However, I got to the end of a major section in my book, so I got up to brush my teeth, which seemed to trigger the exodus of everyone else to their rooms to prepare for sleep.
And I did so myself, to relax and write a bit more. I wonder, now that I'm on my, what, second- or third-to-last entry that I'll make while the trip is still going on, if this is exactly what I was originally planning. Just having enough free time that I could write almost each day (which I've been very good about here). And in this little fantasy world, would I have actually made posts daily or so, at least insomuch as to use that third digit in my entry numberings? That was probably the dream, but unless I literally post about four times a day from here on out, I think I'll just have to be satisfied with what I got.
...I'm not going to post four times a day, folks.