24,000

The intellectual property of the web site is in quotes; my comments are not.

http://www.thehungersite.com/

"HUNGER: DO YOU KNOW THE FACTS?

"It is estimated that one billion people in the world suffer from hunger and malnutrition. That's roughly 100 times as many as those who actually die from these causes each year."

"About 24,000 people die every day from hunger or hunger-related causes."

"Famine and wars cause about 10% of hunger deaths, although these tend to be the ones you hear about most often."

"The majority of hunger deaths are caused by chronic malnutrition. Families facing extreme poverty are simply unable to get enough food to eat."

"Please remember to click every day to give help and hope to those with nowhere to turn. Every click counts in the life of a hungry person."



In these places 99% of the populus do not have:

Epstein Barr Syndrome
ADD
ADHD
Ritalin
PMS
Chronic Fatigue god damned Syndrome
Clean water
Curiousity about "celebrities"
Carpal-Tunnel Syndrome
Automobiles
Machines that wash clothing
Machines that wash dishes
Pets
Air Conditionining
Munchausen Syndrome
SJÖGREN'S SYNDROME
COSTOCHONDRAL SYNDROME

The USA is wealthy enough to have every "thing" yet we are fraught with infirmities.

The people in the poor countries do not have the comfort of having these pains. Rather, they have pains that require comfort. The next time you feel disappointed about something in your life, think about that. You have food.

If you have not already done so, please buy, and read:

"The Progress Paradox : How Life Gets Better While People Feel Worse"

by Gregg Easterbrook

http://www.amazon.com/


The average person in the USA buys 52 items of clothing per annum. In Bangladesh, when it is the busy season, they work 20 hours per day and sleep under their work station for the remaining four hours or so and begin again. They do not have days off. That is why your clothing is so cheap.

Consider them as people. After all, they are. Look at the tags on your clothes, that you are wearing, right now. I cannot say I have done all I can to fix this, but I want to try. Don't you? It does not seem like a bad idea.

OK, off the soap box.

Pain in the Neck

Today I had my neck stabbing quarterly meeting. I have been seeing the same neurologist for six years now, he has moved four times in that time and gotten richer of course. But then so have I. He is Indian and very affable. Yet, he stabs me in the neck, with a needle, from behind, once every three or four months. It is a thirty minute process; there are about 18 injections; one felt like it hit my skull. He has some sort of machine, and it detects the vibrations in the muscles; the ones in my neck are off the chart, they make a buzzing crackling sound, just like static. So I need to get shot up with BoTox to keep things in line, calm those specific muscles down. It's called Spasmodic Torticollis, or a Cervical Dystonia. It is kinda a pain in the neck.


I remember my father sitting on the couch one day when I came home from 4th grade, he had a big bandana wrapped upside around his head, packed with ice. Why I asked? He refused novocaine and all other numbing agents and had had two teeth pulled out of his head. There were huge bulges around his cheeks, where the ice was. No medicine, but there was a large bottle of bourbon whiskey in front of him. My sister wanted to kill him, after all, he almost passed out in the elevator on the way home. I think she drove him home. That must have hurt.

I remember a lot of things. And they really don't hurt as much as they used to, before, when I was younger.

You Musicians, On the Porch Summer Music

I am thankful to:

Muddy Waters, he taught me how to be sad
Jonathan Richman, he showed me how to be glad
The Clash, they told me to be mad

Luckily, the lessons did not happen in that order, exactly. But they commingled to make an entire sound, containing all.

This I think on the porch, on July 19, 2005. There is a heat advisory in effect, heat index above 100 for the next 24 hours. There are great rhythmic armies of insects, cicadas and other bugs in this mid-Atlantic area, in the poplars and oaks about me. They make an interesting sound, because there are three species or so, like horn sections or wind instruments conspiring to create an orchestra, and they begin their music at different points and trail away at others, the interplay, the counterpoint, and it is always majestic to me.

I can only imagine this is how contrapuntal aural concepts came to the first truly musical hominids, for the enhancement of song. But that is just a guess.


I grew up in Los Angeles, where the people live without the magic of: Humid summer nights when it is 85 degrees at 10 PM, and six months later, everything is silent and frozen. Now, in mid-summer on the east coast the lightning bugs come out in the gloaming. I feel cheated not to have had the chance to chase them down with a jar when I was young.


Every 17 years the cicadas come. They came in 1987, and they came again last year. They make a fine whirring music during the day, then after a few weeks of life drop to the ground and burrow and slumber for 17 years and emerge again. The old faithful Lazarus of the entomological world.

I love all of this, the music, the bugs, the trees, the weather, and it is all mostly free. Such a gift, and I wonder who to give thanks to.

Back in the USB, but Unplugged

Back to this. Well, it is a living. At least I have a door.


One of the first things I do when I return to the United States of Bush is call the cable company. Turn off the TV please. Thanks! Is there anything I really need to see on that box that I do not choose myself? No. I can spend the money I will save each month on books.

I think three books per month is a good amount. One to make me laugh, David Sedaris; one to make me think, A Brief History of the Human Race, Michael Cook; one to make me unmade and made again perhaps, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, Sogyal Rinpoche.

I visit my Ma today and collect some books that my late Father had and my Ma needs to rid herself of; some of them were actually my textbooks from the college days. He kept them all, and so did my Ma. But now they have to go. I bring boxes from work and construct them; there are many boxes already full of books, I only select from the jetsam. I remember being quite young and picking up The Anger of Achilles, written by Robert Graves, a big musty black hardcover. It was the first book I ever read from. I read the first three pages. I was very young, I think five or six, I do not remember my age, but I remember that I understood it and I liked it. I liked the smell of the big black musty book. I found that book again today, amid at least 100 books in slapdash piles in my Ma's living room. Today.

It is not a good day but it is good enough. Each one is actually. And I will not miss the television even one little bit.

The Return

Today I will say goodbye to everyone and return tomorrow to George Bush's country. In two days I will be on a train and no one will talk to one another. There will be no basketball song. For lunch I am eating with Namer, Irish, Josie, Lorna, etc. etc, etc. NAMER. There is a prominent Senator here, his name is Joker Arroyo. His real name. Then for dinner I will have farewell with Cajoe, Toto, and the family of Cajoe. Toto and I will play PIG again.

I am going to miss this place. The only danger in this part of Mindanao is that too many people will become your friend. And that is it. For now, as they say.

Let's go to Mambajao Tony!

Mambajao is the capital "city" of Camiguin island. It is just a few streets. I walk around in the central market and of course everyone stares at me. It is very dark inside and there is a suffocating heat. There are many sellers and there are few buyers. All about I hear Visayan being spoken, punctuated now and again with 'good morning sir'. I duck into a maze of rice and burlap sacks filled with raw good, I need water. There is a boy, he leads me around, he finds water, he finds beer, then I go to pay. He is staring shyly and smiling, I know by now I have to initiate any conversation, but I can tell he knows little English. I see a Mr. Clean ad, I point to the head and I say Bald, no hair! and he laughs and so does the woman counting my money. She says, It is good, no need shampoo! Then we all laugh. The boy asks me Where country are you from sir. America, USA. I can't tell if it registers, but he follows me all the way out to the street, we wave good bye.

In another stall I see small basketballs. I motion to Toto and he begins to sing a song about basketball. Now after the billiards thing I know I can beat him at this game. Are there larger basketballs? No, only junior, no senior. It is OK, I buy one. We will play PIG later. Toto takes the ball and begins to bounce it from knee to knee, it seems he is a soccer player as well. Where do these talents end?

We travel to the cold springs at Santo Nino. Some things are universal, Toto is very reluctant to stop and ask for directions. He seems puzzled when I pull out a map, I don't think he has ever seen a map. Finally we find the springs. Toto brings the ball and we rent a 'cottage' for 10 pesos. The 'cottage' is a picnic table with a roof. We also rent a 'dunkin donut' for 10 pesos; a 'dunkin donut' is an inner tube. Toto throws the basketball in the water and he swims like a fish; each time he comes up for air he butts the ball with his head. I don't bother to ask what this game is. The water is indeed cold and feels very good after the heat of the market in Mambajao. Above me there are towering coconut trees and many smaller banana trees. A man comes to me with a wide smile, he says Swim? I say yes, swim. You swim? Yes, I swim. You swim in water? Yes, in water I swim. This goes on for another minute, I don't see a way out but to keep repeating swim swim swim. He is drunk on Fighter wine. He holds up the bottle? No, thank you. Ok he says Friend! and we high five. Well that is enough of that so I go back to the water.

Toto is on a wooden slide which doubles as a diving platform. He has the basketball. He stands with his back to the water. I say is this the olympics? What will be his next trick? I don't know, let's watch. We wait for the big event. It seems very serious. I wait for this acrobatic...finally he tosses the ball in the water nonchalantly, turns around and falls sideways with a splash. Joke only!

I float on the dunkin donut and I see the drunken man with the Fighter wine. He is hugging another man. I say, I think he is gay. Well...maybe he is just drunk. No, I don't think a man can get that drunk! Laughter of course. It is time to go. Toto has trouble with my name, Johnny comes out as Tony, I try to correct him a few times then say OK I am Tony. Why not? I am Tony Montana. Let's go Tony! he says.

At the sunken cemetery. It was submerged in 1871 by the Vulcan Daan volcanic eruption. I ask if we can see the graves underwater, but they are covered in lava from the eruption. Toto find a sea horse, it is alive and it sits on my arm wiggling. This is good luck for a man to find a sea horse. Toto finds a blue star fish and puts in on top of his head like a jester cap so I can take a picture. It is enough, Let's go Tony!

We play billiards again, I have learned whose side to be on. I am always on the team with Toto. Jesus Christ! We win every game. We play a Filipino man with a small moustache, he laughs about the Jesus Christ, we all laugh. It grows boring to win each game so I leave the two of them to play for a while. The lady bartender has a serene face and her name is Tita. We call her Aunt Tita after the first round, and this is normal. Everyone is family. When I return Toto is about to put in his last ball. The other man has 6 balls still on the table. He laughs and says 'Jesus Christ!' It is only a game. Let's go Tony!

We take a boat out to White Island. I snorkel and look at the fish, then we drink San Miguel. There are 7 men under a makeshift shed, they wear bandanas on their heads and smoke. I ask if we can rent a shed, or cottage as they call it here. They say there is no owner and they all smile. Then they get in a boat and row away. They are fishermen.

The sun goes down and the ink sky returns, we head to the hot springs. Again Toto will not ask for directions; it takes an extra hour to arrive so I just sit in the back and drink San Miguel beers. The one main road on the island, named the National Highway, at night it becomes a sidewalk. Everywhere there are people walking, children, men, women, families, they walk everywhere. Everyone waves to us and I wave back. Finally we get to the hot springs and swim some more. It is late and the San Miguel has taken over now. I walk carefully, and I wander away from the 'cottage' and up a slope to get a better view of the stars, away from the lights that ring the hot springs. My mother used to tell me about this, seeing the milky way. It looks like a wispy cloud. I grab a wooden staff and I say I am Abu Sayaff! I am Tony Montana! Say hello to my little friend! Toto comes up the slope. No Tony, don't go up there! There are cobra snakes. There are many and they live in the grass. I come down quickly to the cottage. I am with my friends and am very happy and safe. Everyone looks out for me.

The next morning, while waiting for breakfast of Lapu Lapu at a fishery, I wander down a lane. There are two girls and a mother, they are bathing in the river near a banana tree and a canoe. They all smile and wave. I hear them talking in Visayan, American, American they say. I take their picture and they cover their smiles with their hands. They are too shy. Around a bend in the road. I find a wooden makeshift basketball rim. Aha. Toto, get the ball! It is time for Tony to win for once! First Toto sings his basketball song, and everyone sings along except me. I don't know words but I write them down later.

"Basketball! Basketball! Ang Sarap Sarap Mag Basketball! E Shoot Mo, E Shoot Mo Ang Ball!"

We play PIG. As we warm up Toto dribbles the ball between his legs on the gravel road. Am I in for it again? He makes a shot, but I follow with a make yes! He makes another, I am P. After a few more turns I have PI and he has nothing. He makes another shot, a bank shot. I concentrate, crouch my legs and toss it up carefully. It misses entirely and bounces into the grass. I am a PIG.

Toto is maybe 5'6" and 140 pounds. Much of that weight is in his pot belly, which he announces to the world proudly by distending it when he walks. I have not seen a less self-conscious man. He smokes like a chimney. I am convinced he can knock me unconscious with his forefinger and thumb if he wants. But he does not want that. He wants to eat Lapu Lapu and then return to his wife, Ginging, and his boy, the one I call King Roy. It is OK. Let's go Tony.

The Jesus of Camiguin

The road out of Cagayan de Oro is choked with traffic as usual. Filipinos may not have invented the wheel, but they surely are inventive with it. We pass Jeepneys, Pedicaps, Motorelas, everything that spins is attached to some sort of housing and employed for transit. It is an hour travel to Balingoan where the ferry travels to Benoni on Camiguin island. As we leave the city proper things open up a bit. The road is smooth and unmarked, it is an amazement to me. We stop at a shell station for snacks and the mini mart inside is spotless; the entire set up is identical to a shell station in the United States except the man inside calls me sir and he smiles. I ask Toto what is that mountain, he replies Abu Sayaff, much laughter of course. They like to tease me with Abu Sayaff.

When we get to Balingoan there is a lot of negotiating. Toto has to pay the man, pay the man pay the other man. The government jokers. He returns with a wad of receipts and stamps, stapled six times. We board the ferry and wait for a half an hour. I am told this ferry is "broken". We troop off and board another one. The people sleep, I think they can sleep standing sometimes.

In the dirty water beside the boat small boys bob about like coconuts.

What are they saying?
They want coins. I will throw one, you see.
Wow, he is all one lung it seems. He was under for a minute at least.
Yes, he has that. And now he has a peso.
What is that one saying?
I don't know. It is a muslim language.

At night on Camiguin island the sky is made of ink. It is so black that the stars crowd one another to be seen. I see clouds of stars, oceans of stars. This is further from man made light than I have ever been. I did not think this was still possible, but it is.

We return to the hotel and play billiards. The cue is slightly bent and there is a small warp to the table. We play teams, and Toto begins, he picks up the chalk and says 'Jesus Christ!' Each time he shoots, he picks up the chalk and says 'Jesus Christ!'. He does not miss much. However we rearrange the teams, I am always on the losing team and Toto is always on the winning team. At one point I have an impossible shot, two rails and then english? It is my only shot. As I lean down to size up this impossible shot Toto tosses the chalk to me, 'Jesus Christ!' It bounces off my forehead, leaves an ash wednesday mark, I shoot and the ball goes in, somehow. Jesus Christ indeed. Finally I let the others play, I am no match for them. I sit at the bar and at one point I turn around and see Toto laying on the pool table, shooting with one hand. Every few minutes I hear 'Jesus Christ' and an eruption of laughter.

I walk back out to the lane to check the sky. There is only sky and sea and Mount Hibok-Hibok, a volcanic mountain with big shoulders. Black sky, deep indigo water, and the dark green volcano, they all melt together. Then I go and float in the ocean, look at the stars, many of them falling. Is there any other place like this on earth, I wonder. Jesus Christ.

The Men Who Open Doors in Mindanao

There are men who stand at the doors of most shops, they open the shop door as I approach and they open again when I exit. They are polite and they have guns. Most have revolvers, with bullets arranged around their belts, some also have first aid kits tucked into their belts. In the banks they hold pump shotguns. And not a single one of them is overweight, they have ramrod straight backs, are tall, dressed in very clean uniforms that have the world SULTAN on their left chest. Other than the firearm, they all appear to have been molded from identical samples.

Ah, uneducated! Poo!
Why do you say that?
They say 'Hey Joe' to you.
What does that mean?
It means they are uneducated. See that man?
Yes.
That is Antoinette's Mom's husband, he is working.
He doesn't look like he is working to me he looks like he is smoking and standing.
No, he fixes the electricity. But I am not close to him. See that building?
Yes.
There is a german man in there. He is doctor. My sister sees him, it is free.
Do you know every Kano in town?
No, just the good ones. When you come to live here I will know you.

Tonight there will be Lichon, it is a roasted pig, Lorna tells me that it weighs 60 kilos, after cooking it will be 40 kilos. Her aunt is an expert at Lichon. I ask if the head will be there and Lorna says of course! And you must eat the tongue or the ear! Much laughter, joke only, I found out later. Toto will eat the tongue. Toto smokes, but he always leaves the area to do so, even after I tell him it is fine. I find out later, this is because if someone opens a package of cigarettes they are obligated to offer one to everyone present. For this same reason, he buys them one at a time.

The woman who is the Lichon expert is not actually her aunt. She is just a very good female friend who is older than her. I feel like I am always one clue away, but it is ok. Right before I departed for this place I read an account from southern Mindanao, where men from the NPA disguised as police swooped down on the actual town police station and kidnapped them all, drove them away in trucks to the jungle. The one person who was quoted about the incident said "Oh, they will return with the real police soon. They are just trying to embarass them, and the government too." Now I think I understand that. Joke only.

What car do you drive in your place?
Honda...Honda civic.
Oh, a Carrito!
What does that mean?
Means a car made of wood! Ha, joke only. What color is it?
I don't know...sort of silver-gold.
Oh...skintone we call it. Hondas cannot be taxis here, only Toyota or Nissan.
Why is that?
Who knows? It is the government. They are jokers...like clowns, you know?
Yes, sure. Like me, right.
Yes, exactly! No, joke only. When you come to live here I will know who you are.

I have the feeling at some point I will eat part of the head of the lichon tonight. It is just a feeling. They sell machine guns in the mall here. I will swim in the Mindanao sea tonight. Tomorrow I go to Camiguin island. Toto is at the joker government office now getting permits to take his car on the ferry. I am going to have Jolly Spaghetti for lunch. That is really what it is called. It is sold near the place called Piggypie Snackshop.

Joke only!

Time in the House of Cajoe, Mindanao

Filipino time is different. I am in my hotel and I have visitors; I am also very tired, I want to rest and be alone. This is delicate, so I take aside the one who speaks the best English, and I explain to her, in painstaking detail that the plan is for her to say *after five minutes*, "Oh, John, are you tired, do you want to rest?" This gives me the perfect out. We rehearse this at least three times and I know she understands this perfectly. We return to the group and she *immediately* announces something in Visayan and everyone troops out, apologizing for disturbing me. HIYA!

The funny thing is, the next day no one mentions it and we have a great time, and the one who made the announcement apologizes.

I visit the home of Cajoe, who is Toto's boss, at least he owns his taxi car. He is in arrears from the Bureau of Receipts and has to work off the meter. We travel down many roads and I am astounded there are no collisions. There is no thought of seat belts. Finally we pull onto the side of the road and get out. We walk down a mud path about 3 feet wide, I see cats, they are called Ming-Mings I am told. Everyone wants me to learn Visayan. The Ming-Mings are not friendly or they are afraid of me. I am told this is because I am too handsome with my long nose, to much laughter. Every 10 feet or so along the path there is a doorway, children stare at me like someone from another dimension or planet. Finally, fifty yards down we turn right and I am told to mind the lintel after entering. It is about 5'9" tall and very solid wood. It is small and dark, cooled with a fan and full of faces, all smiling at me. Cajoe and his wife Lina are seated in two chairs, there is a small loveseat that I am told to sit on. I meet Cajoe's daughter Meloy, her uncle Benjie, the sister, the other sister, the brothers in law, the son, and the other daughter. They are all perched on a staircase that runs upstairs. I later discover they sleep on mats up there. They do not have beds. There is a surprisingly large kitchen, with a refrigerator. The place is remarkably clean and one of the sisters holds up a baby with the largest eyes I have ever seen. The baby does not blink for at least 45 seconds and just stares at me. I am offered a drink of root beer and we talk for a bit. They all come from Bislig originally, but that town is too small to have taxis. Cajoe drove a "tricycle" there, which is a bike with a sidecar for hire, 4 pesos for a ride, which is about 8 cents. Cajoe has about two teeth and a pot belly attached to his skinny frame but he is a beautiful man. As I am about to depart I happen to glance out the window and see my t-shirt on a clothesline, along with my shorts. They insisted on washing all of this by hand for me. It is all very humbling. And I forget and hit my head on the lintel on the way out of course. Toto and I laugh a lot on the way back to his quasi legal car. There will be good times tonight, despite what the Bureau of Receipts has to say about it. He calls me Mong-Mong. I call him Restauraunt King.

I notice before I leave that Cajoe's clock is 37 minutes slow. I do not mention it. The children play with blocks of wood and stones on the ground.

What state to you live in?
Why are you staying such a short time here?
I want your long nose!
I am chocolate, you are milk.
I am too shy, he is too shy, she is too shy.
That lady lives under the bridge, avoid her.
Please take another picture of us!
You can't take a picture of three of us at once, it is very bad luck.
You have a red mole, that is good luck did you know that?

I don't know, but I do feel pretty lucky just to have shared the company of these people.

City of Golden Friendship

These are the words of one of the mayors of Cagayan de Oro city. It is on a plaque underneath his statue. His name was Justiniano Borja. I am told by Lorna that he was a good man and cared very much for all of the people. I believe her.

Life is a gift, and what a gift is is! I have learned that the more you give of yourself, the more you have the gift of life; that he who forgets self and gives all that he is entirely and devotedly to something or somebody; and he who lives for justice and truth without caring for the consequences receives a thousand times more than he gives.

I have learned that the only immortality, the enduring and permanent things in a transient world, are truth, honor, decency and courage; and those who build their lives upon these intangibles of the spirit build upon foundations that can never be shaken by any force on earth.

Being...Here

I got into Cagayan de Oro, Misamis Oriental Province, Republic of the Philippines yesterday around noon Friday 1 July. I lucked out and met a nice guy who is now my driver. His name is Toto. Everyone here has nicknames. Once I met him it was like a floodgate, then I had to go meet Cajoe or Joe, Lina, Antoinette, and Mary. I have his number anyway he can drive me around for 500 PHP/day that is a little less than 10 dollars. I am probably going to Camiguin Island tomorrow, so it will be nice to get to the ferry with him instead of on a bus.

So we all went out to eat and drink last night at this place about a half hour out of town, I don't know the name of it, Toto kept saying it was a floating restauraunt. I kept joking that they were taking me to Iligan or Davao to be kidnapped. It turns out the "floating restauraunt" was a pier right on the ocean. It was gorgeous, I took some pictures. We had a great time and San Miguels are 25 PHP here, that is 50 cents.

Other than one guy in the Manila airport I have not seen a single tattoo on anyone man or woman here. They are all quite well dressed no matter how poor, this I suspected from previous visits to the developing world. It is ironic that Americans, especially suburban ones, think it is cool to look poor and "ghetto", mainly because it is so uncool to have money or dress nicely. They should all visit a Barangay for a week. There are no distinctions, other than those that have dignity and those that do not, and if you have any, you dress that way. Dignity is free.

I am having a double culture shock problem because I am accustomed to being in Spanish speaking countries and here I am surrounded by people who basically look hispanic. I keep wanting to go up and speak Spanish to them. When I first arrived yesterday and wandered out of my hotel, I had to come staggering back, the incessant beeping of horns was a cacophany that I didn't want to deal with. It was not clear who had the right of way. At least in New York you can be expected to be run over, here it is not clear. But after walking around this morning I have figured out the reason for the beeping of horns: There are no traffic lights. Not a single one. Further there are *no stop signs*. Each intersection is up for grabs. So people honk just as a courtesy. I read that road rage is absolutely unknown here. That would be confrontational, and Filipinos will do almost anything to avoid an actual confrontation since they often wind up in death or maiming. No one wanders around talking about punks and bitches. Outstanding.

The German government has collapsed. George Bush is going to appoint a S. Ct. justice. Now I know why Shane MacGowan wrote that line "Thank Good Christ for the BBC!" I look through my hotel window at 3AM and there is a dog eating from a pile of trash, a big one, that has been swept or thrown into the street. At 4AM the dog and the trash are gone and the street is wet. I do 125 push ups and wait around for light. I walk out into the predawn and go to the central square. All the people without homes are still asleep, no one disturbs me. I notice two boys sleeping in the plaza. They are maybe 6 years old, orphans, probably brothers. My heart breaks and continues to do so for at least an hour, even though I find a beautiful University grounds, Xavier University, with gardens and benches. Education is very highly desired here. On my return to my hotel I see the boys are still asleep. I can't look, I can't do anything about it. A man has risen and is washing his balls on a side street, standing up. The beeping of horns is commencing, but I can hear birds.

I have only a vague idea of what I am going to do today. People here call me sir all the time, everyone, older people, younger people, men, women, children. That takes getting used to.

They ask

Are you Russian?
Are you Britishman?
In Visayan we call that something else.
I have a friend in London.
May I know your family name please?
Let me introduce you to my friends!

I just stopped to ask where I could find an ATM. I was there for 30 minutes. Well, I would write more but I have more roaming to do. Toto is going to drive me around later. It is 8:30 AM here. It is indeed not uncool to have money, trust me. Or just ask one of my new friends.