I attended a black tie drinks party at the weekend, hosted by CUCA (Cambridge University Conservative Association, aka mad upper-class tories who wear smoking jackets and drink port), and the dress I was wearing required tights underneath it. Now, all I had were stockings, and suspender stockings at that as opposed to hold-ups, and I couldn't get the stockings to attach to the suspender belt. So, like any good 21st century teenager, I googled it.

Or at least, I tried to. I had to stop as soon as I typed 'how to' to burst out laughing.

The top ten searches, according to google, are:
1. How to tie a tie
2. How to kiss
3. How to get pregnant
4. How to lose weight fast
5. How to cook a turkey
6. How to solve a rubix cube
7. How to make a website
8. How to download youtube videos
9. How to write a resume
10. How to lose weight

Several things about this struck me...
* Tying a tie is really the most googled thing on the internet?
* People actually google how to kiss? Should I do the same and try to learn something?
* How to orgasm vaginally, or even how to orgasm, does not come up - why not?
* How to lose weight comes up twice? That is depressing on so many levels.
* More people are worried about how to cook a turkey than are about writing a resume?
* People are that desperate to solve a rubix cube? Actually, that's something I've always wanted to learn...
* And finally, if you need to google 'how to get pregnant', you're probably doing it wrong. (I realise that this is not entirely fair, but it did amuse me nonetheless.)

The end of the story is that I worked out how to wear my stockings without the help of the internet, and the evening was a great success. That is all.

((ETA: On searching 'how do I'...
1. How do I find my ip address
2. How do I know if I'm pregnant
3. How do I get a passport
4. How do I love thee
5. How do I breathe lyrics
6. How do I delete my myspace
7. How do I download youtube videos
8. How do I delete my facebook
9. How do I find my wep key
10. How do I live lyrics

All I can say to this, is no.6 = LOL.))

To prevent myself from unnecessary panic, here is a list of all my first year texts, with how much I have read (in the original) so far.

Greek
Michaelmas Term
Lysias - Read fully at least two, more like three, times.
Odyssey 19 - Read fully with Lucia.
Odyssey 20 - Technically read fully in a reading class, but I didn't do particularly well at these, so though I know what happens, I don't feel confident at it.
Herodotus - Chapters 26-70 were on my IB syllabus, so I can translate these with the kind of fluency I long for in my other texts. First twenty five chapters still unread.
Lent Term
Crito - Read half, plan to do the rest in this term's reading classes.
Thucydides - HATE. Only sixteen chapters, making myself read four a day. Currently halfway through.
Trojan Women - Not started, but we have private reading classes for this.

Latin
Michaelmas Term
Cicero - Theoretically read all of this in reading classes, but I missed so many I have a lot of gaps to go over.
Aeneid 9 - Started this with Joe. *pause to mourn loss of Latin teacher* I think we did about 400 lines. Need to read the rest. Asap.
Lent Term
Eclogues - Read fully. Yay for random Virgil vocab and Mopsus/Flopsus etc.
Livy - Untouched.
Lucretius - Untouched, but scheduled for the reading classes, which I will actually not skip this term.

Okay, so with the exception of the Livy, I am totally on track to finish everything by the end of this term. I am not failing. I am not even doing remotely badly. Lucia wanted me to have read everything once through before revision, and that looks attainable.

I DO NOT NEED TO PANIC.

This is why I have 'DON'T PANIC - have a cup of tea instead!' pinned up on the board in my room, which is feeling a lot more like home now my lesbian vampire poster is up, along with my epic red duvet on the bed and a good supply of biscuits on the shelf. It is going to be an okay term. I will ensure this. And tomorrow I have a kinda-date with a pretty third year girl, who is awesome, and I am looking forward to this immensely.

I miss you guys already.

[Note: You know how I said earlier that here there's no one to reassure me, so I have to reassure myself? Well, that is what this post is. Watch me try to learn!]

I borrowed this idea from madhattie34 last year, so here we go second time round. (Yes, I know it's a few days late, but there's been a lot going on for the last few days, and right now I feel like writing about pretty music, okay?) 2009 has been a pretty mad and varied year all round, and I think this reflects it. Here goes.

The (revised) rules:
1. Can only have the number of songs that will fit on a CD-R. (This one only has 17 songs, because Emily is over 12 minutes long.)
2. Songs must represent events, people or musical phases of the year - they are not simply my favourite songs from the year.
3. Songs cannot have feature on previous years' playlists.
4. Only one song per artist.

( The princess of denial )

I've actually been putting my head down and did some work since I came to Switzerland, and I am now proud to say that I have finished reading Virgil's Eclogues! Go me! I have had to learn some very interesting vocab since I started, for example: corylus (hazel tree), caespes (grass-thatch), cicada (tree-cricket), and arbutus (strawberry bush). They're all pastoral poems, and quite similar, so to help me remember what each one is about, I have been renaming them as I go through them. Behold.

Eclogue I: I can haz magic reed / INVSBLE ROEM!
Eclogue II: I am in love - onoez!
Eclogue III: My song pwns ur song.
Eclogue IV: Biblical tiemz!
Eclogue V: The Tale of Mopsus, Flopsus, and Cottentailius.
Eclogue VI: Tell me a story NAO.
Eclogue VII: Corydon pwns Thrysis.
Eclogue VIII: Repetitive chorus FTW!
Eclogue IX: Epic fail - bring us The Master!
Eclogue X: Encore y/y? Kthxbai.

As you can see, I have been very productive. I am flying back to London tomorrow, and I still have nowhere to go on New Year's Eve. Any offers? I'm feeling fairly positive about heading back to Cambridge, and I plan to hang onto the feeling for as long as possible. More important, does anyone feel like taking me out for a drink when I'm back in the country? I am feeling the need for alcohol and gossip.

It's that time of year again. I don't want to give too much detail, but there is a lot of stuff going on that I find very hard to vocalise right now, and I feel lost. I also have no idea how people see me anymore. I don't even know who reads this now, but if you do, this is for you.

Comments are screened, and feel free to post anonymously if you want. Tell me something you want me to know. Tell me what you really think of me. Tell me I've fucked up big time and need to sort my life out. Tell me I'm melodramatic and difficult to deal with. Tell me the shit I need to hear, that I'm a bad writer, or enthusiastic, or emotional, or beautiful, or not beautiful. Tell me a secret. Tell me about the first time you met me, what you remember most, something you'd like to change. Tell me you trust me. Tell me you'll never be able to trust me again, and tell me why. Tell me something that's nothing to do with me at all, just something you need to get off your chest. Tell me anything at all, but please, tell me something.

If you want to know, ask. If you want me to explain, I will. But for now, I'm just throwing words into a void, and hoping that someone out there will make something of them.

Thank you.

Songfic. Well, song-original-fic. This has nothing to do with the actual song, it just made me want to write and see where it went. 2000 words.

( Can you extract me from my plastic fantasy? )

I'm down in London for the weekend, then back up to Cambridge on Monday for three final days. Home is weird. Weird weird. Oh, and Misfits is awesome. That is all.

I would like to fine the fresher girl who orgasms quietly, even though she uses whips and chains.

Afterwards...

"How the hell did you know I orgasm quietly?!"
"Just a guess. I'm right though, aren't I?"
"...That's three cups of coffee you owe me now."


Also, I has a plate! (If you want to know, ask.)

Some people are intentionally manipulative. Some people are unintentionally manipulative. And some people just preset the universe so it works out with them getting exactly what they want.

*

Halfway through first term and I am coping. Just. Emphasis on the just. It is hard. It is harder than I ever thought it would be. Every day is a toss-up between absolutely loving it and being on the verge of quitting.

"Go to Newcastle and be happy."

But I didn't. I came here. And now I am here, I want to make it work. Somehow.

I am a poor, penniless student, as I'm sure you've all worked out by now, and though I would really love to, I can no longer afford the extravagance of a paid journal. I got a paid account purely by accident, when light_spectre unexpectedly bought me one for my sixteenth (argh!) birthday, and I have become deliciously used to having many many icons. This cannot last. My account expires for good in a few days, and since the only paid feature I have ever used is the icons, it is time to say goodbye. But I have so many, mostly made by the amazing Dana, and it seems such a shame to lose them. Therefore I am migrating to a plus account (yes I am selling out, so shoot me), and have to downgrade from 44 to 15 icons.

And this is where you come in.

Some of them I was only keeping for the sake of it. Some I genuinely love. Below the cut are the ones I desperately want to keep, with a brief description as to why. You are my flist, you know me well. Some of you know me better than anyone else out there. So please, give me your opinions.

( Don't waste the pretty )

Okay then. Thoughts?

Also, just so you know, I am stressed out of my mind, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, loving Cambridge nonetheless, and generally insanely busy. It is not that I think my icons are the most important thing in my life right now, and therefore something I must post about. It is rather that I cannot get my head straight enough to post about anything else, and this is a nice procrastination technique. Now I must go off and translate Lysias and Homer with my DoS.

WHY DID THEY NEVER TELL US THAT CAMBRIDGE WOULD BE HARD WORK???

Lecturer: Virgil, Aeneid, contemporaries, Homer, reception theory etc etc.
Calli: I really ought to be listening to this, it's actually interesting, but so tired, messed up the test this morning, can't believe I actually got out of bed, when am I going to do my prose comp, how can I make my essay better, why am I so tired already, SLEEP!
Lecturer: Look at this example of PORN! See? This author has written a GRAPHIC SEX/RAPE scene using lines of Virgil! Just look at all the PORN made out of epic!
Calli: WTF???

Well, that certainly woke me up.

That is all.

Today was Yom Kippur, and, in keeping with family tradition, I went with my mother and my aunt to visit the cemetery, where their parents are buried. I have been visiting those graves - first that of my grandmother, who died a week before my mother discovered she was pregnant with me, and then later that of my grandfather, who was a constant through my whole childhood and only died six years ago - since before I can remember. We always go on Yom Kippur, and place pebbles on the twin graves. I love the inscriptions, in particular the names: Mirjam Brandler (Baby Rosenwasser), because no one ever called my grandmother by anything other than her girlhood nickname, and Ali Brandler (Opa), because Opa was what my sister and I called him, and it stuck.

As we were leaving the cemetery, I suddenly remembered my great uncle (my grandmother's bother). Uncle Harri who taught me Hebrew for my Bat Mitzvah, taught me everything I currently know, died in January 2008. I asked why we hadn't considered visiting him, and suddenly we were on our way to a different cemetery, one I'd only been to for the funeral and stone setting. When we arrived, however, we realised our mistake. Yom Kippur is a High Holy Day, and technically we shouldn't have been traveling at all. Well, that's our family tradition, and it's our decision, but the cemetery where Uncle Harri is buried is a Jewish one. When we drove up, the tall iron gates (about 3m high) were closed and padlocked. We read the sign in frustration, feeling somewhat cheated by it all.

"Why don't we break in?" I suggested, laughing.

My aunt turned to my mother and said, "Which side of the gate do you think is lowest?"

This is why I spent Yom Kippur this year helping my mother (age fifty five) and my aunt (age sixty four) over an iron gate into a cemetery. I didn't find it difficult (I am a rock-climber, after all), but I found an empty metal dustbin on the other side, which I upturned to help them over. Once in, we found the grave (Harry (Tzvi) Rosenwasser - husband, father, grandfather and teacher), and stood there with a sense of accomplishment. Yes, breaking in on the Day of Atonement to visit his grave would have made Uncle Harri laugh for hours.

On the way out, as my mother was stepping onto the dustbin to climb up, a car drew up. Being sensible, I attempted to hide behind the wall. My mother and aunt, however, stood their ground in defiance.

"Hello!" my mother called out to the man who stepped out of the car. "Do you have the keys?"

"Uh, no." He looked confused. "The cemetery's shut today."

"Yes, we know," my mother replied cheerfully, as I reappeared.

"Um. What are you doing?" he asked. Thinking about it, upon finding three women on the wrong side of the gate attempting to climb over, this is a perfectly reasonable question.

"We're just on our way out," declared my aunt, with conviction.

The man just stared for a moment. Then, "Would you like a hand?"

With his help, we all managed to arrive safely on the other side of the gate. Perhaps we should have been in synagogue (we went last night on Kol Nidre, which was a beautiful service as always), thinking about our sins and how we could do better next year. On the other hand, looking back on this Yom Kippur, I feel like I've really accomplished something, something more than just helping two relatives with vertigo over a gate.

Uncle Harri, it's due to you that I could read the service last night at all, and I wanted to come say thank you in person.

This is a story inspired by Dan's introduction to my family, which did in fact involve hamsters in a similar way. 1750 words, much much concrit needed. (This isn't quite right, and I'm very conscious of that, but it's the first original story I've written in months, so I thought I'd post it anyway.)

( Worst taste in boyfriends )


I am moving to Cambridge at some point this week! I do not know when, but it will be soon! If you want to see me before I go, please let me know! I will miss you!

There are many places in London, Above and Below, which seem to resent those who pass through them. There is something in or under or between the cracks of Soho which twists the streets around it, directing people around in circles, taking them along streets that lead to the wrong places, and a maze of buildings too closely herded in together to let the walker get their bearings. It's almost exactly like pouring iron filings in the space between two bar magnets to show the contour lines of magnetic force, and then dropping a lodestone in the middle to see what happens. There is something in Soho - under Soho, between the cracks - that warps space to its will.

--The Invisible City; or, Dick Mayhew and his Marvellous Cat by Calliope85, inspired by Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.


Yes.

Risked getting fired today, with two days to go.

Basically, over the last three weeks, one thing keeping me sane at my job as been the constant e-mails my friends (thank you!) have been sending me, especially an epic e-mail conversation with Dan (the guy who suggested Connor drop Emily). Topics in this conversation include (but are not limited to):

* Sex
* Oral sex
* Bondage (of various types)
* How bored we both are at work
* Threesomes
* Detailed accounts of my failed relationship history, especially the most current one
* Bondage gear
* My inexplicable crush on my hot female coworker

Most of this was originally in code. Recently, it has not been. But it's fine because I'm an intern so no one's going to check my e-mails.

Today I was sent to do some scanning, to be handed in to my boss, on the other computer, and I saw that Dan had just written me a long e-mail that I quite wanted to read. So I printed it off so I could read it and laugh over it as I did the scanning. Except it's an odd system, so I had to print the entire thing, not just the first page. That is two weeks' worth of e-mails.

Scanning sequence:
1) Take out staples from document
2) Scan document
3) Re-staple document

Yep. You've guessed it.

I was actually out of the office before I realised what I'd done. I had to race back in, sort through the entire pile of paper, before finding it halfway down.

This could have been really really bad.

I totally blame Dan.

I am alive.

I realise this is probably self-evident, but Dana was asking about it, so I thought I would clarify. Lots of stuff has been going on, mainly involving my internship at the bank, which is awesome but utterly exhausting. (I love getting e-mails during the day, so if you feel like sending them to me, drop me a line and I'll give you my insanely shiny work e-mail address.) I'm in one of those odd phases where so much is happening and changing, but I don't really feel like LJing it. Those who know, know. But rest assured that I am alive and well, and don't worry, I'll be back to fill your flists with my introspective drama soon enough.

Why does this time in August always feel like change?

Last night, I discovered something very interesting that I'd heard before but thought was a myth:

If you are on antibiotics, and you are drinking, each drink will make you considerably more drunk than it would without the medication. The increase in drunkenness is not linear, but begins as relatively unnoticeable after one drink, progressing to a factor of about ^5 by the end of the night. This can have interesting results.

Of course, I blame all of this on Emily, for hitting her head and nearly getting concussion, after which we all really did need a few more gin and tonics. Or I could blame Connor for being the one to trip and fall while giving her a piggy back, or Dan for deciding that a piggy back race (with me on his shoulders and Emily on Connor's) on the walk home after a night at the pub would be a good idea.

Regardless, the upshot was that when I took a cab home at 5am, I was pretty damn out of it. And we left for switzerland this morning at 7.30, so you can imagine how I was feeling for most of the twelve hour drive. Urgh, being kinda drunk and kinda hung-over and in a lot of pain from the thing you're taking the antibiotics for in the first place (tooth infection)? Not a good idea. On the plus side, I am in Switzerland, where the wifi internet actually works! No more ethernet cable that falls out every time I breathe on it! Life is good again... for a week. Hello internetz! How are you? Would you like a fanfic biscuit?

I still had a fantastic time, and it has reminded me that there is not enough Emily in my life. Or late night drinking. I need to be out doing stuff again, seeing people, getting my confidence back. I quite like Emily's 'Crazy Rae'. Change is good.

Write me comments with interesting stuff.

ETA: GT backwards is TG, as in Torture Garden! Isn't that cool guys? ...Guys?

So I took the Bank of America job.

It wasn't at all planned. In fact yesterday, after my first interview was laughably bad (a guy turned up who had no idea who I was and had evidently already decided to take someone else), I decided for definite that I wouldn't take it. In fact, I wasn't even going to go for the interview this morning. My mother convinced me. They called me less than two hours after the interview to tell me I had it.

I'm still in the terrified not-really-sure-if-I-want-it stage. It's not about the cafe, it's just... I don't know. My whole family are away for that entire month, so yes, I'm scared. But they wanted me. They chose me to do this, and that's not something I'm going to turn down. So yes. Thoughts are welcome?

Also, yet again I have missed my LJ anniversary. By three weeks this time. *sigh* It's been five fucking years since I started this thing, and in all honesty, I haven't changed at all. But I did remember another anniversary, and manage to mark it significantly. So that's something.

I received something today that I don't really know what to do with, or rather, I really really do, and that's the problem. It is both maddeningly exciting and kinda terrifying at the same time. And it certainly doesn't fix anything. But it's kinda sweet.

Can I stay with you during August?

So Jennie finally upload several hundred photos from Kephalonia up onto facebook. And since the weather in London right now is kinda cloudy and grey (I just typed 'green' there, what is wrong with me?), I thought some bright Greek sunshine might cheer everyone up. Oh, and shots of me in a bikini. You're okay with that, right?

The caption for Jennie's album:
13 IB girls, 40 bottles of suncream and 1 rubber ring let loose on a Greek Island. You say parties, we say Camus and Diet Coke.

( Bring on the Haloumi! )

Any questions?

Also, I have a job in a cafe/coffee shop on our highroad, so if anyone wants to visit me there, that would be awesome? It's so much fun! I get to work the coffee machine and the till and everything! Possibly quitting it for a city bank job if I get that, but still - I have an apron guys!

The only other thing worth mentioning right now is that I watched the Utena film again yesterday. It is even more crazy!weird than I remember it. I'm on a total Utena high right now, so if anyone wants to comment with musings/discussions on either the movie or the anime, I would very much enjoy it. (The end of the anime series does kinda make sense, right? I'm not just imagining it?)

Avenue Q on monday totally rocked.

...Going to Cambridge.

43 IB points. 7s in Latin, Greek, Philosophy and Maths (wtf?), 6s in Biology and English (WTF?!), plus 3 core points. Oh, and an A in my Extended Essay.

Also, special congratulations to chasingthecrow, who was one of eighty people worldwide to acheive a perfect score of 45, but was too modest to post it on her LJ.

As Shoults wrote on my valedictory report, "She is certainly ready for Cambridge... but is Cambridge ready for her?"

HELL YES!

I don’t know how to address this, and, when the time comes, I doubt I’ll be able to sign it either. Yours sincerely, the end of the world. You always had so many names for me, a different identity for every facet of my personality. And you weren’t the only one – I’ve been renamed more times than I can count. Does that bother you, knowing that you weren’t the first (or the last, now I think about it) to brand me in that way? It’s all George Orwell and Wittgenstein’s language games. Give a girl a different name and you own that small part of her.

I have been owned, marked and remarked. Or should that be remarked on? I forget. But I was thinking of how to address you. I never could find the right name for you, so I settled on nothing at all. If anything, you’re London to me. London, with its tangled streets spiralling into madness, its roads that lead nowhere, its buzz and its business and the sense that it doesn’t really care about you at all. But it does. A city that mourns the loss of every traveller to go missing, but lacks the means to express its despair. Yes, that suits you. London’s owned me for such a long time now. So to London.

I miss you. I suppose that’s why I’m back here, after all these years. I looked for you, you know, when I first came back. First: that’s an interesting word. I’ve had a lot of firsts with you. Not as many as I know you’d like, and never as many as you assumed, but more than I ever thought any one person could have. My first visit to that part of the city, my first night alone with someone else, the first time I ever

[fragment missing]

and I guess it was for that reason that I always imagined I might be special. Stupid, I know, but you see my point. You never did at the time. I don’t think I did either. For me it was just a flurry of tension and anticipation, followed by agonising release. Do you remember how I used to take half a step backwards whenever you came towards me? You thought that was my reaction to you, but you were wrong, and any one of the others, before or after you, could have told you that. I wasn’t backing away from you, I was backing away from the moment you’d realise I wasn’t all that special after all. Of course, you already knew that. I was the one who indulged in illusions.

I still panic sometimes, but never the way I used to with you. My world would close in, and I’d feel like a stranded tourist racing the wrong way up an escalator to escape from the underground, or a disoriented cyclist tearing down yet another dead-end alley. You were my city, and I was so utterly, utterly lost in you. You know how I used to hate clichés, but that one fits. I liked to play with words. Language games. You’d call me your

[fragment missing]

what I’m doing here. Wherever ‘here’ is, because it’s not you. I told you I tried to look for you, but you’d been gone too long for even someone like me to catch the trail. Or maybe I just wasn’t looking hard enough. I know you didn’t look for me – I was so careful to leave enough clues, enough signposts for you to find, if only you’d open your eyes. Perhaps you didn’t want to. If that’s the case, I know I did the right thing by leaving.

There’s a song about New York being a beautiful, but deadly, woman. New York is a woman, she’ll make you cry / And to her you’re just another guy. Well, that’s what London always was to me. The symbol of everything I ever hoped to achieve, tinted with the stains of everyone else who ever tried to get there. I’m a city girl, not a city. If you’re the town centre, then I’m just another cobblestone street, there to be walked over by a millions pairs of shoes. It was the designer heels that always hurt the most.

You left. I may have found you again, but you left, and what I found wasn’t what I had come looking for. There’s probably a poem somewhere about how that is always the case, but I don’t remember it, and you wouldn’t recognise it if I did. I can’t even say that you looked the same. There was something dead in your eyes, or maybe it was the shoes. Not your shoes. I couldn’t face being in the proximity of those shoes, so I fled. And now I’m back here, writing a letter I know you’ll have forgotten how to read, wondering if it’s worth trying to remind you. What can I even say? Hey, I’m here. It’s me, it’s your

[fragment missing]

will probably happen if you ever do manage to find me. But I’ll hope anyway. I can’t – won’t – wait forever, I’ve wasted too much time as it is. If you finish this letter, you’ll know where I’ll be. Where did I always go when the ground started to spiral away from me? Yes, I thought so.

I still love you. I don’t know why, or how, and nor do I expect you to believe it. But my city is falling to pieces, and if you ever manage to find me in the wreckage, maybe one of us will remember how it can be possible. That’s a lot of subjunctive tense.

Yours sincerely

Love

[end of fragment]




The WiFi internet has been slowly dying for the last month and a half. Today, I finally broke and started using the ethernet cable. I now have internet again! Life is good. But while my internet has been in its death throes, I have been rereading Neil Gaiman's short stories. You can blame him for this.

Those of us who were abandoned here when we were four...



Form class KAH, with the incredible Mrs Hedges.



My dress is psychadelic, people!


Yes, I cried during the last hymn. I also received a prize for classics, which included £35 of book vouchers. (This should help me with my reading list.) The dress, for anyone who was interested, cost £8 from a Cancer Research charity shop. Anyone else watch Mary Queen Of Charity Shops? (Yes, I fail, I know.)

Will I miss it? I find it incredibly hard to imagine not, that place has been my life for fourteen years. But time to move on, no?

Okay, so some of you (mainly Dormouse) may have been wondering where I've been recently. The answer is partly shiny and exciting, and partly involves watching lots and lots of tennis. My instinctive impulse to LJ every aspect of my life seems to have faded for a bit, so I'm going to do the summarised version, with photos to help.

( May Ball )

( His name is Luca )

( Canon Ball )

( Posed? Never! )

Finally, I received my Cambridge reading list today. Theoretically, I should aim to have read them all in the original before term starts (assuming I get in, sssshhhh). Luckily, this included Lysias 1 which I read at Bryanston, and Herodotus 1, which was my IB set text. Yay headstart! Also on the recommended reading list is a Homeric dictionary edited by R.J. Cunliffe. It was meant to be, people!

No thinking about results in less than two weeks. Not not thinking about it.

Lurkers out there? People from fandoms and comms who know me online but have never met me in person? People whose fanfic I love but whose real names I don't know?

I need you now.

Sorry if this sounds cryptic. To my long-term friends, I love you all so so much. But I need distance for this.

My e-mail address is callita@gmail.com. If you have time to talk, e-mail me, or comment with an address (comments are screened).

Thank you to anyone who replies.