Considering her darling, brilliant daughter devotes so much time, attention and ducats to a silly Irish rock band, I thought it would be a nice gesture to take Mom along to the first of, er, several, U2 shows that I am lucky enough to attend this year. So, leaving the menfolk to fend for themselves on the mean streets of South Philly, Mamasita and I proceeded to the Wachovia Center last night to rock.
Props must be given where props are due, for Mom spent the preceeding weeks studying lyrics and assigned albums. She bragged to all her "kids" at the office that her daughter was taking her to a concert. Appropriate excitement levels were attained. I, for my part, was six kinds of stoked as well.
Nosebleed seats, but a decent view. A nice mix of folks in the stands, although we could have done without a pair of flatulent fellows in front of us, but all in all a fine vantage point. We arrived just after the opening act, so we wouldn't have to wait long for the lads to take the stage.
And then lift off.
Those who know me and know of my musical predilictions would be forgiven for discounting any of my personal reviews as biased. But they are very much the bee's knees. The cat's pajamas. I lost my voice and pranced about like a lunatic. Mom occassionally shouted out the random lyrics she knew (very cute) and was as entertained by my antics as those of Mssrs. Bono and Company. After the show, she remarked that he really was an incredible performer. She may not be a full-on convert, but I think she at least gets it now.
And yes, I have made the transition from not wanting to be caught dead with my folks to happily inviting Mom along to rock shows. I might just be a grown-up yet.
Robyn
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Doo Doo Doo (Lookin' Out My Office Window)
A lovely day it was in DC -- a day such as one is very glad to have a big ol' window in one's office. So imagine my consternation when about lunchtime I heard a tremendous roar from two fighter jets streaking across the lovely blue sky. Having seen a lovely day or two marred by aerial malfeasance in my day, such an occurrance piqued my curiosity. I saw the F-16's go off to the north and west towards a hapless little Cessna. I then saw a big ball of light emanate from one of the jets, which then fired something off with a trail of smoke. This did not do much to allay my consternation, and I instructed our public policy director to fire up the old CNN. The jets circled the little plane, with one of them visibly dipping his wings a few times, before they flew out of sight, but still making quite a racket.
By then we all gathered in Nisha's office and eventually learned what everybody else knows by now, but for a few interesting minutes, we wondered whether or not to implement our trusty post-Bad Thing emergency plan. Eventually everyone went back to work, details to be learned on the evening news. Just a friendly reminder to anybody who thought about getting complacent about the state of things these days.
Robyn
By then we all gathered in Nisha's office and eventually learned what everybody else knows by now, but for a few interesting minutes, we wondered whether or not to implement our trusty post-Bad Thing emergency plan. Eventually everyone went back to work, details to be learned on the evening news. Just a friendly reminder to anybody who thought about getting complacent about the state of things these days.
Robyn
Monday, May 9, 2005
Savannah
I just got back from a weekend getaway to lovely Savannah, GA. I had only been there once before, on a very brief and wholly unsatisfying trip to the riverfront where rancid ice cream was purchased and not much of an impression was made.
Granted, the riverfront can be a bit of a zoo, albeit a zoo with wonderful candy shops (no rancid confections to be found) and cafes that have fabulous fried oyster po' boy sandwiches. The real draw of Savannah is beyond the riverfront, where the city is laid out in a series of lovely squares surrounded by gorgeous gothic houses and trees with Spanish moss. Many of the houses are open to the public as museums, including the birthplace of Juliette Gordon Lowe, founder of the Girl Scouts. So you often see a packs of Brownies traveling about the city as well as people in period costume and drunken college kids (open containers are oh so legal there).
It's a bit of a spooky city, and has a lot of ghost-story-oriented tours and histories which seem to drive a substantial amount of the tourist industry there. How much of it is real and how much is hype is unimportant. At the risk of sounding a bit morbid, they have brilliant cemeteries. We went to Bonaventure Cemetary overlooking the river (free tours on the second Sunday of the month!), which is a great park filled with really beautiful statues and an interesting combination of, er, inhabitants: Confederate soldiers, Pulitzer-winning authors, a healthy representation from the (surprisingly) robust Jewish community, Irish Catholics and Oscar-winning lyricists.
Aside from the spooky factor, I was also most taken by the chow. Savannah being a Southern port city, they specialize in fried fare and seafood. One establishment, The Lady and Sons, requires you to put your name in three hours in advance -- but has spectacular fare. We ate ourselves silly on this trip, which is a fine thing indeed.
Robyn
Granted, the riverfront can be a bit of a zoo, albeit a zoo with wonderful candy shops (no rancid confections to be found) and cafes that have fabulous fried oyster po' boy sandwiches. The real draw of Savannah is beyond the riverfront, where the city is laid out in a series of lovely squares surrounded by gorgeous gothic houses and trees with Spanish moss. Many of the houses are open to the public as museums, including the birthplace of Juliette Gordon Lowe, founder of the Girl Scouts. So you often see a packs of Brownies traveling about the city as well as people in period costume and drunken college kids (open containers are oh so legal there).
It's a bit of a spooky city, and has a lot of ghost-story-oriented tours and histories which seem to drive a substantial amount of the tourist industry there. How much of it is real and how much is hype is unimportant. At the risk of sounding a bit morbid, they have brilliant cemeteries. We went to Bonaventure Cemetary overlooking the river (free tours on the second Sunday of the month!), which is a great park filled with really beautiful statues and an interesting combination of, er, inhabitants: Confederate soldiers, Pulitzer-winning authors, a healthy representation from the (surprisingly) robust Jewish community, Irish Catholics and Oscar-winning lyricists.
Aside from the spooky factor, I was also most taken by the chow. Savannah being a Southern port city, they specialize in fried fare and seafood. One establishment, The Lady and Sons, requires you to put your name in three hours in advance -- but has spectacular fare. We ate ourselves silly on this trip, which is a fine thing indeed.
Robyn
Friday, April 15, 2005
Party Like It's 1999
Once upon a time there was a little idiot who went to New York to seek her fortune. It was a long ago time, when Paris Hilton was merely a luxurious hotel situated minutes from the Eiffel Tower. When September 11 was just...Saturday. And a small nebbishy bald man with horrible teeth and an even more horrible stage name was the great white hope of the future of music. It was September 1999. The little idiot was me. The orthodontically-challenged maestro was Moby, and oh how I loved him. Such strange and lovely music, like nothing I had ever heard before. It was new, it was exciting, and the best part was nobody back in my little suburban enclave had heard of him. Moby was my wonderful, avant-garde, oh-so-hip, New York secret.
Then about three weeks later Moby licensed every damn track on his CD to every commercial, WB teen melodrama and movie that came down the pike and traded quite a bit of his street cred with it. It was hard to be the vanguard of hip when your "art" was being used to sell shit at Nordstrom. The last time I saw Moby, when he was the uber-successful darling of the music scene, the concert hall was populated with somnambulant hipsters looking quite disinterested in the affairs, rather than the amped-up dirty hippie kids (read: fun people) at my first show.
Not easily daunted, I carried the Moby torch for quite awhile, but time, geopolitics, and something resembling maturity drew my attention away. When once I was going to Moby shows every three months or so, I recently discovered that I had not seen him perform in over four years. When he was to appear at the 9:30 Club in DC this month, I decided to buy tickets, but with a healthy share of skepticism. It couldn't possibly be the same. I was no longer the wide-eyed college freshman of yore, but a bitter old woman...an executive assistant. I doubted that I could heed Moby's poetic call to "rock the body, rock the body, uh-huh."
Oh but rock the body uh-huh I did. Alas, Moby is no longer as in vogue as he once was. But the fun people are back. It was like a convention of short geeky chicks with their tall boyfriends jumping about like mental patients. Many a Napoleon Dynamite shirt was to be seen. Everyone -- Moby included -- seemed happy with the proceedings. The critics hated the show, harping on the performer's fall from grace, as it were. The New York Post reviewed his show there with the headline "Moby Commands Geek Nation." I was delighted. I donned the blue eye makeup and waited for a (non-forthcoming) autograph as in days of yore and happily staggered into the office the next morning on too few hours sleep and a club stamp on my hand.
So much for maturity. So much for being on the cutting edge. So what?
Robyn
Then about three weeks later Moby licensed every damn track on his CD to every commercial, WB teen melodrama and movie that came down the pike and traded quite a bit of his street cred with it. It was hard to be the vanguard of hip when your "art" was being used to sell shit at Nordstrom. The last time I saw Moby, when he was the uber-successful darling of the music scene, the concert hall was populated with somnambulant hipsters looking quite disinterested in the affairs, rather than the amped-up dirty hippie kids (read: fun people) at my first show.
Not easily daunted, I carried the Moby torch for quite awhile, but time, geopolitics, and something resembling maturity drew my attention away. When once I was going to Moby shows every three months or so, I recently discovered that I had not seen him perform in over four years. When he was to appear at the 9:30 Club in DC this month, I decided to buy tickets, but with a healthy share of skepticism. It couldn't possibly be the same. I was no longer the wide-eyed college freshman of yore, but a bitter old woman...an executive assistant. I doubted that I could heed Moby's poetic call to "rock the body, rock the body, uh-huh."
Oh but rock the body uh-huh I did. Alas, Moby is no longer as in vogue as he once was. But the fun people are back. It was like a convention of short geeky chicks with their tall boyfriends jumping about like mental patients. Many a Napoleon Dynamite shirt was to be seen. Everyone -- Moby included -- seemed happy with the proceedings. The critics hated the show, harping on the performer's fall from grace, as it were. The New York Post reviewed his show there with the headline "Moby Commands Geek Nation." I was delighted. I donned the blue eye makeup and waited for a (non-forthcoming) autograph as in days of yore and happily staggered into the office the next morning on too few hours sleep and a club stamp on my hand.
So much for maturity. So much for being on the cutting edge. So what?
Robyn
Thursday, April 7, 2005
Think You're Having a Bad Day?
From the New York Times
With One Stuck in an Elevator, a Search Sweeps Up 3 Others
By MICHAEL WILSON and JENNIFER 8. LEE
While a Chinese-food deliveryman sat in a stuck elevator for more than three days in a Bronx apartment tower, the police searched the building with such fervor that one resident and his two friends were locked up and even questioned over a barbecue stain on one of their shirts that looked like blood, the resident and the police said yesterday.
The deliveryman, Ming Kuang Chen, 35, disappeared on Friday night after delivering three dinners to 40 West Mosholu Parkway. His bicycle was found locked outside the building.
What followed was an intense police search, which included Emergency Service Unit officers breaking down apartment doors in circumstances that required immediate action, Deputy Chief Michael Collins, a police spokesman, said yesterday.
One such circumstance arose on Saturday afternoon on the 34th floor, where all but one apartment had been searched, and no one was home in that unit, Chief Collins said. A neighbor had told the police that she heard screaming earlier in the hallway, so the officers broke the door down, he said.
Troy Smith, 21, arrived home with a friend and was shocked to find officers wearing helmets and flak jackets in his apartment.
"They cuffed me right there," he said. "I walked in, and detectives were guarding my door. The door was kicked in." They took him to a precinct and took his stained shirt, he said.
"I had sauce on my shirt from three days ago. They made me write, 'I'm Troy Smith. You can have my shirt for testing,'" he said, an account confirmed by Chief Collins. "They kept on coming back and saying, 'Where is the Chinese man and what did you do with him?' I said, 'I don't know.' "
And yet, the whole time, a small camera in a rear corner of the elevator car that held Mr. Chen, Car No. 2, relayed live signals to a functioning - albeit small and dim - monitor in the Tracey Towers security office, where security officers are always present and the police were a frequent presence during the search. No one could recall seeing Mr. Chen on the tiny screen.
He was found on Tuesday after he called for help over the elevator car's intercom shortly after 4 a.m. Firefighters lowered the car from where it had been stuck between the third and fourth floor of the 38-story building, and Mr. Chen faced a day of rehydration and reporters asking how he had survived for 81 hours in a 4-foot-by-61/2-foot box.
Mr. Chen has said that he called repeatedly on the intercom over the weekend, even speaking to security personnel on five or six occasions. A spokesman for the building's manager, Don Miller, said the first anyone was aware of him was on Tuesday morning.
New questions over the state of the elevator surveillance arose yesterday. For instance, even after Mr. Chen call for help was heard Monday morning, security personnel looking for him on the monitor could not see him, Mr. Miller said.
The video quality is far from superior, according to a reporter's brief examination of the monitors yesterday. There are three monitors in the security room, two of which are divided into 16 images apiece. One of those images, slightly smaller than a playing card, shows Car No. 2 in a dimly lit feed.
There is a blind spot of one or two feet in the corner under the camera, said Jennifer Givner, a spokeswoman for the city's Buildings Department.
When Mr. Chen sounded the intercom on Tuesday morning, a red light on a control panel indicated he was in Car No. 2, and yet, security personnel could not see him, Mr. Miller said.
Security for the complex is provided by Copstat Security LLC, a company based in the Bronx. A man at the Copstat headquarters who refused to give his name said that the company declined to comment on the events at Tracey Towers.
Whether Mr. Chen was ever visible on a monitor may never be known. While Mr. Miller said the footage was taped, and those tapes had been given to detectives, the police said no such tapes were made because the cameras are not designed to record, only offer live feeds. Tapes from other cameras in the building were given to officers.
Meanwhile, Mr. Smith's weekend went from bad to worse. After about two hours of questions about Mr. Chen's whereabouts, Mr. Smith was arrested on an unrelated disorderly conduct summons, and spent most of the next two days in a holding cell, awaiting processing. His two friends, a man and a woman, were released after five hours of questioning, Chief Collins said. The forensic test for blood on the seized shirt came back negative.
Mr. Smith knows Mr. Chen from his many delivery orders from the restaurant, Happy Dragon. "He's my friend," he said. "He's cool."
As for Mr. Chen, who spoke with reporters after his rescue on Tuesday, he was out of the public eye on Wednesday. He was convalescing at a friend's home, said City Councilman John C. Liu. Mr. Chen is an illegal immigrant, a fact that his family shared with the police and that was publicized during the manhunt.
"Is he worried? Yes. He's very worried. He has a family to support," Councilman Liu said yesterday, criticizing the police for effectively notifying immigration officials of Mr. Chen's illegal status.
Paul J. Browne, a police spokesman, said the police do not share immigration information of crime victims or witnesses with federal authorities. A spokesman for United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement said no contact had been made with Mr. Chen, and said it was unknown whether any would be.
"Anybody who is here illegally shouldn't be surprised if they're arrested by ICE and placed into removal proceedings. That's just common sense," said the spokesman, Marc A. Raimondi. "ICE prioritizes our enforcement efforts to target those who pose the most significant threat to national security and public safety."
But he added, "Being locked in an elevator doesn't give you a free pass to break the law."
With One Stuck in an Elevator, a Search Sweeps Up 3 Others
By MICHAEL WILSON and JENNIFER 8. LEE
While a Chinese-food deliveryman sat in a stuck elevator for more than three days in a Bronx apartment tower, the police searched the building with such fervor that one resident and his two friends were locked up and even questioned over a barbecue stain on one of their shirts that looked like blood, the resident and the police said yesterday.
The deliveryman, Ming Kuang Chen, 35, disappeared on Friday night after delivering three dinners to 40 West Mosholu Parkway. His bicycle was found locked outside the building.
What followed was an intense police search, which included Emergency Service Unit officers breaking down apartment doors in circumstances that required immediate action, Deputy Chief Michael Collins, a police spokesman, said yesterday.
One such circumstance arose on Saturday afternoon on the 34th floor, where all but one apartment had been searched, and no one was home in that unit, Chief Collins said. A neighbor had told the police that she heard screaming earlier in the hallway, so the officers broke the door down, he said.
Troy Smith, 21, arrived home with a friend and was shocked to find officers wearing helmets and flak jackets in his apartment.
"They cuffed me right there," he said. "I walked in, and detectives were guarding my door. The door was kicked in." They took him to a precinct and took his stained shirt, he said.
"I had sauce on my shirt from three days ago. They made me write, 'I'm Troy Smith. You can have my shirt for testing,'" he said, an account confirmed by Chief Collins. "They kept on coming back and saying, 'Where is the Chinese man and what did you do with him?' I said, 'I don't know.' "
And yet, the whole time, a small camera in a rear corner of the elevator car that held Mr. Chen, Car No. 2, relayed live signals to a functioning - albeit small and dim - monitor in the Tracey Towers security office, where security officers are always present and the police were a frequent presence during the search. No one could recall seeing Mr. Chen on the tiny screen.
He was found on Tuesday after he called for help over the elevator car's intercom shortly after 4 a.m. Firefighters lowered the car from where it had been stuck between the third and fourth floor of the 38-story building, and Mr. Chen faced a day of rehydration and reporters asking how he had survived for 81 hours in a 4-foot-by-61/2-foot box.
Mr. Chen has said that he called repeatedly on the intercom over the weekend, even speaking to security personnel on five or six occasions. A spokesman for the building's manager, Don Miller, said the first anyone was aware of him was on Tuesday morning.
New questions over the state of the elevator surveillance arose yesterday. For instance, even after Mr. Chen call for help was heard Monday morning, security personnel looking for him on the monitor could not see him, Mr. Miller said.
The video quality is far from superior, according to a reporter's brief examination of the monitors yesterday. There are three monitors in the security room, two of which are divided into 16 images apiece. One of those images, slightly smaller than a playing card, shows Car No. 2 in a dimly lit feed.
There is a blind spot of one or two feet in the corner under the camera, said Jennifer Givner, a spokeswoman for the city's Buildings Department.
When Mr. Chen sounded the intercom on Tuesday morning, a red light on a control panel indicated he was in Car No. 2, and yet, security personnel could not see him, Mr. Miller said.
Security for the complex is provided by Copstat Security LLC, a company based in the Bronx. A man at the Copstat headquarters who refused to give his name said that the company declined to comment on the events at Tracey Towers.
Whether Mr. Chen was ever visible on a monitor may never be known. While Mr. Miller said the footage was taped, and those tapes had been given to detectives, the police said no such tapes were made because the cameras are not designed to record, only offer live feeds. Tapes from other cameras in the building were given to officers.
Meanwhile, Mr. Smith's weekend went from bad to worse. After about two hours of questions about Mr. Chen's whereabouts, Mr. Smith was arrested on an unrelated disorderly conduct summons, and spent most of the next two days in a holding cell, awaiting processing. His two friends, a man and a woman, were released after five hours of questioning, Chief Collins said. The forensic test for blood on the seized shirt came back negative.
Mr. Smith knows Mr. Chen from his many delivery orders from the restaurant, Happy Dragon. "He's my friend," he said. "He's cool."
As for Mr. Chen, who spoke with reporters after his rescue on Tuesday, he was out of the public eye on Wednesday. He was convalescing at a friend's home, said City Councilman John C. Liu. Mr. Chen is an illegal immigrant, a fact that his family shared with the police and that was publicized during the manhunt.
"Is he worried? Yes. He's very worried. He has a family to support," Councilman Liu said yesterday, criticizing the police for effectively notifying immigration officials of Mr. Chen's illegal status.
Paul J. Browne, a police spokesman, said the police do not share immigration information of crime victims or witnesses with federal authorities. A spokesman for United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement said no contact had been made with Mr. Chen, and said it was unknown whether any would be.
"Anybody who is here illegally shouldn't be surprised if they're arrested by ICE and placed into removal proceedings. That's just common sense," said the spokesman, Marc A. Raimondi. "ICE prioritizes our enforcement efforts to target those who pose the most significant threat to national security and public safety."
But he added, "Being locked in an elevator doesn't give you a free pass to break the law."
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Mort Rubin
I just returned from Miami, where we attended the funeral of my grandfather, who passed away on March 17. Because my grandmother, his first wife, died before I was born, he is the first grandparent that I've had to bury.
In the past 20 years, Pop-Pop had developed emphysema, lost one kidney and had three heart attacks. But he continued a reasonably active lifestyle for a 79-year-old, and had been working for a cruise line greeting passengers. In the middle of February he became very ill. Heart failure followed by bronchitis and pneumonia and a host of other ailments kept him in a hospital for over a month, and required him to be on a respirator for much of that time. Mom and her brother flew in on the weekends to stay with him. Although he could barely talk and, as one doctor put it, "every organ in his body had been insulted," he still managed to give 'em hell at the hospital. Not content with the staff's assertion that a rather uncomfortable feeding tube couldn't be removed in favor of something less intrusive, Pop-Pop ripped out all 18 inches of the tube and laid it on his pillow while everyone else was distracted by the evening news. That won him a couple of days of comfort courtesy of a much sought-after IV tube, but he suffered another setback. Finally, he suffered a massive stroke that left him paralyzed on his left side. The day after he realized that the best-case scenario was to live in a nursing home in a wheelchair, he showed himself out the door, so to speak, and died in his sleep.
I spoke at his funeral, along with most of his other grandchildren. I don't have anything more original to add here than what I said there. He was the kind of guy who called waitresses "hun" and "doll" and drove around in a black and white Cadillac and was fond of dirty jokes. A trip to the dogtrack was as appropriate an outing for the grandkids as bike rides on the Boardwalk. He was a cool cat who at the end knew he was too hip for the room, and left before he had to face any further indignity.
Robyn
In the past 20 years, Pop-Pop had developed emphysema, lost one kidney and had three heart attacks. But he continued a reasonably active lifestyle for a 79-year-old, and had been working for a cruise line greeting passengers. In the middle of February he became very ill. Heart failure followed by bronchitis and pneumonia and a host of other ailments kept him in a hospital for over a month, and required him to be on a respirator for much of that time. Mom and her brother flew in on the weekends to stay with him. Although he could barely talk and, as one doctor put it, "every organ in his body had been insulted," he still managed to give 'em hell at the hospital. Not content with the staff's assertion that a rather uncomfortable feeding tube couldn't be removed in favor of something less intrusive, Pop-Pop ripped out all 18 inches of the tube and laid it on his pillow while everyone else was distracted by the evening news. That won him a couple of days of comfort courtesy of a much sought-after IV tube, but he suffered another setback. Finally, he suffered a massive stroke that left him paralyzed on his left side. The day after he realized that the best-case scenario was to live in a nursing home in a wheelchair, he showed himself out the door, so to speak, and died in his sleep.
I spoke at his funeral, along with most of his other grandchildren. I don't have anything more original to add here than what I said there. He was the kind of guy who called waitresses "hun" and "doll" and drove around in a black and white Cadillac and was fond of dirty jokes. A trip to the dogtrack was as appropriate an outing for the grandkids as bike rides on the Boardwalk. He was a cool cat who at the end knew he was too hip for the room, and left before he had to face any further indignity.
Robyn
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
Putting it All in Perspective
Yes, the Eagles lost the Super Bowl.
They were not annihilated, as many a naysayer thought they would be. It was a close game. That's the good news. The bad news, however, was that it was ::sigh:: a close game.
But it was a fun night, the last three minutes notwithstanding. Wigs were donned, songs were sung, families were drawn together, and it was all captured on videotape for the future
mortification of our progeny. A most disparate group of Shepherds, Bobby's friends and Bobby's friends' families gathered to pay tribute to that great equalizer of Eastern PA and South Jersey -- the Iggles. These are the things we should remember. It was a great season. Think not of the three interceptions, the poor time management, the missed onside kick and the tendency to run the ball up the middle time and time again to no avail as if this time will be different than the last seven can't you please once pass to the outside -- no to our guy NOT THEIR GUY WHY DONOVAN WHY????
But I digress
So Philly's in a funk right now. But now, with the benefit of a few days hindsight, it's not so bad. I even stumbled across a rather timely parable that made me less ashamed of our zeal for the Boids, and the fact that I'm still picking stubborn green nail polish from my cuticles. Hey, we might be okay after all.
SO what does he do when his team loses?
They were not annihilated, as many a naysayer thought they would be. It was a close game. That's the good news. The bad news, however, was that it was ::sigh:: a close game.
But it was a fun night, the last three minutes notwithstanding. Wigs were donned, songs were sung, families were drawn together, and it was all captured on videotape for the future
mortification of our progeny. A most disparate group of Shepherds, Bobby's friends and Bobby's friends' families gathered to pay tribute to that great equalizer of Eastern PA and South Jersey -- the Iggles. These are the things we should remember. It was a great season. Think not of the three interceptions, the poor time management, the missed onside kick and the tendency to run the ball up the middle time and time again to no avail as if this time will be different than the last seven can't you please once pass to the outside -- no to our guy NOT THEIR GUY WHY DONOVAN WHY????
But I digress
So Philly's in a funk right now. But now, with the benefit of a few days hindsight, it's not so bad. I even stumbled across a rather timely parable that made me less ashamed of our zeal for the Boids, and the fact that I'm still picking stubborn green nail polish from my cuticles. Hey, we might be okay after all.
SO what does he do when his team loses?
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