Vote or Experience Cardiac Arrest

I’m sure you all have either heard or seen P. Diddy’s “Vote or Die” Campaing, complete with Radio and Televison advertisements, and a hideous white T-Shirt emblazoned with the words VOTE OR DIE spelled out in patriotic red, white and blue.

Now don’t get me wrong. Everyone of legal voting age should be voting in this Tuesday’s election, and anyone who refuses to do so disgusts me beyond all possible imagination. (You are, nonvoter, an abomination to society.) But there are less intrusive ways of campaigning to young people to vote.

MTV has been running a campaign with the catchy slogan “20 Million Loud”. 20 million is a pretty impressive sum, wouldn’t you say? 20 million loud means that, were I 18, I would be a part of a very large voice in our society. 20 million loud means that I could be a major factor in this election.

But Vote or Die? Do you mean to tell me, that were I not to vote on November 2, P. Diddy will send armed gunmen to my house to shoot me?

That seems kind of pointless, doesn’t it?

(P.S. John Kerry for President!)

Halloween Whores

This week at WHS is Spirit Week, the fun-filled festive week that leads up to Homecoming. Due to the fact that Homecoming lands on Halloween weekend, today was “Trick-or-Treat Day” where everyone wore (or should have worn) Halloween costumes. (I dressed up as a Newsie.) However, while my costume was cute and fun, I was disgusted, then repulsed, then ultimately saddened by some of the costumes I saw.

Before I continue my rant, I’d like to say that the people who wore the unfortunate costumes I am about to verbally rip to pieces, are extremely nice people, and I’m not trying to insult them in anyway.

But these wonderfully nice people would not have looked out of place on the set of a porno. (Not that I’ve seen one or anything.) Huge high, clunky heels, skirts and dressed so short and plasticine that underwear was quite visible. Dresses that stopped milimeters from the bottom of one’s posterior. Nurses, fairies, angels, devils. Corsets, see through shirts, black lacey bras. There are some things I don’t want to know, or see on my fellow female classmates.

And why someone would dress like that is beyond me. It’s fun to be a Newsie. Everyone loves Newsies. It’s one of the best movies of all time. I enjoyed being told that my costume was clever or cute. But I would never walk around with my ass hanging out. I have more dignity and self-respect than that. (Plus, it’s not fair for my mom to have to serve the rest of her life in jail for murder.)

I don’t know or understand why someone would dress like that. Do they enjoy the attention? If the answer is yes, is that the attention that is desirable? I’ll admit, I like being complimented on what I’m wearing, or how I look, or being told that I’m “cute”, but that’s me in my regular clothes. Being told that I was hot while dressed like a porn star would kind of bother me. No, it would piss me off.

Maybe I’m naive, maybe I’m an old soul, but I find these costumes extremely disturbing.

Hi, I’m Sarah, and I’m not a 17 year old prostitute, thank you very much.

Looking Back.

I sat crosslegged on a wooden chair in front of the computer today, trying and failing miserably to write a conclusion to my supplementary essay, when it occurred to me that I’m going to be on my own next year. And that jumpstarted my train of thought, chugging away until it arrived in a hustle and bustle of memories I thought I had forgotten.

A heart shaped magnet with a crack down the center, a small picture of five-year-old Sarah cut out in the middle that I made in kindergarten. I had white blonde hair, just brushing my chin, in perfect, frizzless banana curls. I wore a blue cotton dress with a pink collar, and an embroidery of flowers on the front. I had chubby little cheeks, and bright big eyes, and to be perfectly honest, I was adorable. Rick, the man who took our family photographs when I was little, apparently thought I should model. And according to my mother, strangers used to stop her in the street and tell her how beautiful her children were. It’s funny how things change. I grew up though not neccessarily in height.. My hair grew and thickened and frizzed into brown, and my cheeks lost their chubbiness. My nose grew and grew, and to my dismay, showed no signs of stopping. The cute factor I had as a little girl dropped, and I only received compliments on my looks from family, and really old people. (Something I never understood.) I don’t claim to be hideous, nor do I claim to be flawlessly attractive, I occupy the middle between the two. It’s just so surreal looking at old pictures of myself. I don’t see how I ever could have been like that.

And then on the Memory Express, that cliched old engine, I thought about my grandparent’s old house in East Meadow. I can’t forget the deep foresty-blue-green color of their carpeting that led into the off-white linoleum of the kitched. I don’t remember where the stove and the cabinets were, but I remeber there was a table pushed up against the wall. And that the linoleum was very slippery when you were small and wearing cotton socks. And it was just comfortable. I had to sit on my feet to see over the table at meals, and I needed someone to reach the cookie jar for me, but it was a place of comfort. My grandmother made her famous applesauce there, giving our family gallons upon gallons upon gallons of the sweet stuff, that we would freeze and use throughout the year. It was a house untouched by time. The set up of my mother’s room remained the same as when she was a little girl. Her stuffed animals held me as I fell asleep on overnights. I miss the house, I miss the memories. I miss my grandmother. I suppose as long as I don’t forget I’ll always have them, but I never did learn how to make that applesauce.

How Marching Band Saved My Life — Part Deux

Last night was the first Marching Band performance of the season. It was also my last first marching band game of the season. And baby, it was the best it could have been.

The reason for the late start was due to the fact that, apparently, my high school is nothing without a real turf field. (Although part of me is grateful, because marching in mud increases slippage factors) However, the first game of the season would usually have been in early September. On the plus side, this gave the entire band an extra month to create a kick-ass show. (More on that following)

At 445, I pulled on my uniform, a navy blue and white warm up suit, over a white mock turtleneck with the school insignia. I grabbed my band shoes, white adidas with navy blue laces, pulled them on, looked in the mirror, and grinned. As much as I claim to despise marching band, I secretly love it. (So, I guess the secret is out.)

I pulled into the parking lot at 5 03, approximately 3 minutes late for the 5 oclock call, and stuffed my arms full of the candy bags I had made for my squad, my jacket, my wallet, keys, cell phone, and scissors. Scissors? Scissors! You see, the entire band marches with white cotton gloves. If you happen to be part of the super-select wind instrument club, you get to cut the tips of your gloves off. Which, although makes your fingers freeze faster in 20 degree weather, also looks really cool. So, I spent a good 15 minutes snipping the tops of gloves for students of all ages. (Technically, only freshman should get them, but I go through at least 4 pairs of gloves per season. I spill and I lose.) So, to a great many pleas of “Sarah, I love you ! Snip my gloves!” I proceeded to wield my scissors in a most dexteritous manner, and cut those gloves into oblivion.

Then, the time came. Pre-game. Pre-game is when the marching band marches out on the field and plays the school theme song for the Football team as they rush across the field. Then we march into lines and play the national anthem. My squad consists of a freshman, a sophomore, a junior, and me. Unfortunately, do to various other sports, only my freshman and I marched pre-game. And she was nervous. And then I got a bit nostalgic. I remember how nervous and excited and freaked out and happy I was at my first game. (Granted, my squad leader had given me waaaay to much candy in the prior 20 minutes). She did well though, and the band marched well.

Anyway, after pre-game, we all perched ourselves in the stands and played our stand cheers louder and better than we ever have before. The cheerleaders coordinated dance moves to our songs, and we cheered along with the cheerleaders. There was so much energy rocketing through us all, I don’t think I saw anyone who was not smiling.

Finally, the moment of truth.

Halftime.

We waited for what seemed like hours at the long side of the field watching the first selectman “christen” the field, and then as the cheerleaders did their dance number. Although 2 of them fell, I have to congratulate them for doing an amazing job, and really dancing their hearts out.

Finally, we marched onto the field. I can’t really explain the moves, so just smile and pretend you understand what I’m about to say. We double timed out onto the field, and I lead out half of the band, and I couldn’t help but smiling. Heck I couldn’t stop smiling. The crowd was cheering, the cheerleaders were cheering. We lined up and burst into a hard, loud rendition of Soul Man, then marched conversions into 25 or 6 to 4. (A song which my squad loves, because we’re squad 25) I shouted out the moves to my squad at the request of my freshman, but it turns out, they didn’t need it! We marched the show better than we ever have before, and towards the end of the show, right before the tag ending, when we are all bent over at the waist, I shouted down to them “YOU GUYS KICK ASS!” and we all smiled.

We marched off the field and in front of the stands, and I felt better than I have in months. I wasn’t worried about college applications, or family issues. I wasn’t worried about school or grades.

I was just flat out happy.

And that, my dear readers, is How Marching Band Saved My Life. Part Deux.

Bush Disgusts Me

85 Nations have joined a population agenda that will “ensure every woman’s right to education, health care, and choice about having children.”

George Bush refuses, due to a reference to “sexual rights”.

That bastard. That stupid rat bastard.

I can’t think of anything else to say.

I’ll try tomorrow when I’m not fuming.

I Should Be Doing College Applications

And because I haven’t got anything better to do.

The Life List..

1. Bought everyone in the pub a drink
2. Swam with wild dolphins
(3. Climbed a mountain (Mount Snow, baby)
4. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive (Yeah, I’m not allowed out of the Taurus)
5. Been inside the Great Pyramid
6. Held a tarantula
7. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
8. Said “I love you” and meant it (boy was that a bad idea)
9. Hugged a tree
10. Done a striptease (Okay, so it was taking off my band jacket and pants, and I was wearing clothes under them, but it counts!)
11. Bungee jumped (I don’t have a death wish, do you?)
12. Visited Paris (Oui! Et j’ai mange les crepes a 3 AM)
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Stayed up all night long, and watched the sun rise
15. Seen the Northern Lights
16. Gone to a huge sports game (Let’s Go Mets!)
17. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa (No, but I did walk to the top of Sacre-Coeur and Notre Dame)
18. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
19. Touched an iceberg
20. Slept under the stars
21. Changed a baby’s diaper (Babysitting does pay $10 an hour)
22. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
23. Watched a meteor shower
24. Gotten drunk on champagne (Drunk, no. Tipsy, yes)
25. Given more than you can afford to charity
26. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
27. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
28. Had a food fight
29. Bet on a winning horse
30. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
31. Asked out a stranger (ew, that’s skeevy)
32. Had a snowball fight (It’s the middle of Connecticut, yeah I’ve had a snowball fight.)
33. Photocopied your bottom on the office photocopier
34. Screamed as loudly as you possibly could
35. Held a lamb
36. Enacted a favorite fantasy
37. Taken a midnight skinny dip
38. Taken an ice cold bath
39. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar
40. Seen a total eclipse ( I think)
41. Ridden a roller coaster
42. Hit a home run (That would require the ability to actually hit the ball)
43. Fit three weeks miraculously into three days (Cramming for Finals)
44. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking *(All the freakin’ time)
45. Adopted an accent for an entire day (Yeah, cuz that would make a lot of sense)
46. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (Yay Germany!)
47. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment (Yeaaah! Although it was Passover, and there was wine involved. No, just kidding. Well about the point where I was happy)
48. Been to the top of the World Trade Center (Yeah, a couple times)
49. Visited all 50 states (the entire East Coast)
50. Loved your job for all accounts (As Editor-in-Chief of Lit. Mag. Helll Yes!)
51. Taken care of someone who was shit faced
52. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
53. Had amazing friends (Especially the one who bought me a milkshake after my car accident)
54. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
55. Watched wild whales (It’s the east coast. We went whale watching. Although I was passed out on Dramamine)
56. Stolen a sign
57. Backpacked in Europe
58. Taken a road-trip
59. Rock climbed
60. Lied to foreign government’s official in that country to avoid notice (What the hell?)
61. Went for a midnight walk on the beach
62. Gone sky diving (Once again, I’d like to graduate college before I die)
63. Visited Ireland
64. Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love (Puh-lease. )
65. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them
66. Visited Japan
67. Benchpressed your own weight (I can leg press twice my weight. Does that count for anything?)
68. Milked a cow (The udders are slimey.)
69. Alphabetized your records/CDs (All the freakin’ time)
70. Pretended to be a superhero (dude, i was a kid once, u know)
71. Sung karaoke (Helll yes!)
72. Lounged around in bed all day (Uh, yeah, I am in High School. It’s part of the job description)
73. Posed nude in front of strangers (I think that’s illegal)
74. Gone scuba diving
75. Got it on to “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye (It wasn’t getting it on, but it was The Who – Behind Blues Eyes, which, as it turns out, is a really lousy make-out song)
76. Kissed in the rain
77. Played in the mud
78. Played in the rain (If there is rain, I will be in it)
79. Gone to a drive-in theater
80. Done something you should regret, but don’t regret it (All the freakin’ time)
81. Visited the Great Wall of China
82. Discovered that someone who’s not supposed to have known about your blog has discovered your blog
83. Dropped Windows in favor of something better
84. Started a business
85. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
86. Toured ancient sites
87. Taken a martial arts class88. Swordfought for the honor of a woman
89. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
90. Written “For Sexual Favors” on the memo line of a check
91. Been in a movie (I’m a kid made for radio)
92. Crashed a party
93. Loved someone you shouldn’t have
94. Kissed someone so passionately it made them dizzy (Yeah, right)
95. Laughed so hard you spit milk through your nose
96. Had sex at the office
97. Gone without food for 5 days
98. Made cookies from scratch (Twice! For my brother. In college. Aren’t I nice?)
99. Won first prize in a costume contest
100. Ridden a gondola in Venice ( I WISH I WISH I WISH)
101. Gotten a tattoo (Yeah, because I have a death wish. And besides, Mom wouldn’t like being in jail for life.)
102. Found that the texture of some materials can turn you on
103. Rafted the Snake River
104. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
105. Got flowers for no reason
106. Masturbated in a public place
107. Got so drunk you don’t remember anything
108. Been addicted to some form of illegal drug
109. Performed on stage (I’m an attention whore)
110. Been to Las Vegas
111. Recorded music
112. Eaten shark (Um, ew)
113. Had a one-night stand (Once again, illegal.)
114. Gone to Thailand
115. Seen Siouxsie live (Seen a whoise whatsit?)
116. Bought a house
117. Been in a combat zone (Assuming Jerusalem counts)
118. Buried one/both of your parents
119. Dyed your hair (Please refer to 101. It’s not fair for my mom to serve a life sentence for murdering me)
120. Been on a cruise ship
121. Spoken more than one language fluently (Ish. I’ve studied french for seven years, I’m as damn fluent as I’m ever going to get.)
122. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone (Verbal, yeah)
123. Bounced a check
124. Performed in Rocky Horror
125. Read – and understood – your credit report (I’m sorry, what’s a credit report?)
126. Raised children (I think that would involve having children. And once again, the process is illegal)
127. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy
128. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
129. Created and named your own constellation of stars (refer to the margins of a years worth of chemistry notes)
130. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
131. Found out something significant that your ancestors did
132. Called or written your Congress person (Actually, I lobbied to him)
133. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
134. …more than once?(Wait till fall, then there’s college)
135. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
136. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking. (Uh, every day of my life! )
137. Had an abortion or your female partner did
138. Had plastic surgery
139. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
140. Wrote articles for a large publication
141. Lost over 100 pounds (Yeah, cuz then I’d die.)
142. Held someone while they were having a flashback
143. Piloted an airplane
144. Petted a stingray. (Yay for aquarium field trips in third grade!)
145. Broken someone else’s heart.(Yeah, u know me, total heartbreaker.)
146. Helped an animal give birth
147. Been fired or laid off from a job
148. Won money on a T.V. game show
149. Broken a bone (Fractured my rib and wrist snowboarding. yeaah!)
150. Killed a human being (Nope, noly a mailbox.)
151. Gone on an African photo safari
152. Ridden a motorcycle (Oh, hell no)
153. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of greater than 100mph (My car doesn’t go bast 55 without making scary noises. Plus, speeding is stupid.)
154. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced (Haha, no.)
155. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
156. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild (God, i hope not)
157. Ridden a horse (And stepped in horse poo too)
158. Had major surgery
159. Had sex on a moving train (Tom Cruise! Risky business! Aaah! I wish..)
160. Had a snake as a pet
161. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
162. Slept through an entire flight: takeoff, flight, and landing (Texas. Dallas to San Antonio. “Wait, why are we getting off the plane? We just got on!”)
163. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours (yeah, it’s called the Flu)
164. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
165. Visited all 7 continents
166. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
167. Eaten kangaroo meat
168. Fallen in love at an ancient Mayan burial ground (Yeah, cuz those mummies are really kinky)
169. Been a sperm or egg donor
170. Eaten sushi (Bleh)
171. Had your picture in the newspaper (It’s a small town. I’ve been in it a lot)
172. Had 2 (or more) healthy romantic relationships for over a year in your lifetime
173. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
174. Gotten someone fired for their actions
175. Gone back to school (Uh, I”m still in school)
176. Parasailed
177. Changed your name
178. Petted a cockroach (9th grade Biology, baby)
179. Eaten fried green tomatoes (Nope, but I saw the movie)
180. Read The Iliad
181. Selected one -important- author who you missed in school, and read their work (Voltaire!)
182. Dined in a restaurant and stolen silverware, plates, cups because your apartment needed them (What kind of kletp do you think I am?)
183. …and gotten 86′ed from the restaurant because you did it so many times, they figured out it was you
184. Taught yourself an art from scratch
185. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
186. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt
187. Skipped all your school reunions (Once again, still in school)
188. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
189. Been elected to public office
190. Written your own computer language (People actually do that!?!?)
191. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream (uh, no. defeats the purpose of it being a dream)
192. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
193. Built your own PC from parts
194. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
195. Had a booth at a street fair (Nope, just the activity fair)
196: Traveled more than 200 miles for a hookup (uhhh)
197: Been a DJ
198: Found out someone was going to dump you via LiveJournal (thats wierd)
199: Attended a presidential inaugural ball (Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah…..)
200: Been arrested (HHAHA! NOT YET!)

You know, doing this thing actually made me realize how lucky I am.

Whoa…

War & Phil Ochs

A few years ago, my father added folk and protest music to my extensive in-the-car musical education. He has recently bought a 4-disc set of Phil Ochs, and I enjoyed the music immensely, the guitar and Phil Och’s mellifluous voice offsetting eachother perfectly, like a lullaby.

And finally, as I near my seventeenth birthday, and politics have become almost purely slanderous, the lyrics of Phil Ochs make more sense. For example:

“It’s always the old to lead us into war, always the young to fall. Now look at what we’ve won with a saber and a gun. Tell me, is it worth it at all?”

I don’t remember the name of the song, nor anything else about it, it just floated into my head a few moments ago as I read an article about the debates between who went to war, and what they did.

I know the lyric I submit barely relates to the Who-Went-To-War dilemma, but it really jump started my train of thought. There are young men and women dying in Iraq and Afghanistan, while Dick Cheney and George Bush, neither of whom have fought in real combat, sit comfortably at Camp David discussing how to siphon the oil out of Iraq.

What have we “won”, or even gained from this War on Terror?
The respect of nations? No.
Lower gas prices? No.
Over 1000 dead? Yes.

I fail to see what good has come out of this war, and I’m afraid of what is yet to come.

War & Phil Ochs

A few years ago, my father added folk and protest music to my extensive in-the-car musical education. He has recently bought a 4-disc set of Phil Ochs, and I enjoyed the music immensely, the guitar and Phil Och’s mellifluous voice offsetting eachother perfectly, like a lullaby.

And finally, as I near my seventeenth birthday, and politics have become almost purely slanderous, the lyrics of Phil Ochs make more sense. For example:

“It’s always the old to lead us into war, always the young to fall. Now look at what we’ve won with a saber and a gun. Tell me, is it worth it at all?”

I don’t remember the name of the song, nor anything else about it, it just floated into my head a few moments ago as I read an article about the debates between who went to war, and what they did.

I know the lyric I submit barely relates to the Who-Went-To-War dilemma, but it really jump started my train of thought. There are young men and women dying in Iraq and Afghanistan, while Dick Cheney and George Bush, neither of whom have fought in real combat, sit comfortably at Camp David discussing how to siphon the oil out of Iraq.

What have we “won”, or even gained from this War on Terror?
The respect of nations? No.
Lower gas prices? No.
Over 1000 dead? Yes.

I fail to see what good has come out of this war, and I’m afraid of what is yet to come.

Going Postal!

This afternoon, I pulled into a recently exited parking spot directly in front of the post office. Thrilled with the good fortune of my aquisition, I hopped out of my car and into the post office…
Only to find that 7 or so Typical Fairfield County Mothers had arrived before me, Luis Vuitton handbags in tow.

The silence is deafening. What little noise escapes the customers and post office employees drifts ominously above our heads. We all shift on our feet, looking at the ground. Unwritten law states that no one have a conversation in our Post Office. Always has been, always will be. A mother walks in, her two toddlers at her heels. The Typical Fairfield County Mothers stare at them, daring them to make a sound. They do. The boy, however, has clearly been told by his mother not to talk. He quickly learns that noise can be made without speaking. And he proceeds to clank on poles and run his hands over package selections.

We all clutch our prosective postage in a vice grip, and try not to hiss at the boy. Well, I tried not to laugh, the Typical Fairfield County Mothers were livid.

Ah, society amuses me.

How Marching Band Saved My Life

Last night, around 10 o’clock PM, I was on my way home from an away game where I was in the pep band. (We lost, no surprises there.) As I stopped at the stop sign prior to a left turn, for some obscure reason I can’t remember, I glanced behind me. And went forward.

Hello, Mr. Mailbox!

Not only did I knock this fine specimen of a mailbox over, I managed to plow right over it, and remove the post from the earth in which it was planted. The mailbox itself, unharmed and on it’s side, was a good 10 feet from the post. I speak of this now humorously, but at the time, I was not the calm, cool, collected individual who wrote the words you now read.

Then, as I drove on in my confusion, unsure what to do, Battlestar Galactica, my beloved 1990 Red Ford Taurus L that doesn’t go up hills with the air-conditioner on stalls. And I can’t pull over. So, stuck in the middle of a windy road, in the pitch black, I whip out my cell phone.

Only to find there is no service. Anywhere.

Though my emergency blinkers are on, three cars pass me. Finally, I stick my entire torso out my window and flag down a BMW. They pull over for me, and (though they have no cell service either) fate smiling on me, they happen to be Norwalk Police Officers. Both of them. So there was no safety issue there. One walks me to the nearest house to have him call my parents and the police. (One promply arrives within three minutes.)

I return to Battlestar to find it sobbing, literally. A steady more-than-stream-not-quite-gush of oil (and a smaller leak of gasoline) is begining to coat the road beneath my car. I made my car cry.

But back to the police officer. Officer N—- was completely understanding, and was very nice about the fiasco. During the hour in which it took for AAA to arrive, Officer N—-, my mother, and I had a conversation. He asked me what had happened earlier and I had explained that I had been coming home from a football game where I was with the band. Officer N—– admitted to being a fan, and had seen us march at Cavalcade. (!!) (His own daughter, recently sent to college, was in the marching band in her town.) And the following excerpt from our conversation follows.

Officer: “Well, I know you Marching Band kids are a good group.”
Me: “Thank you, Officer.”
Officer: “Well Sarah, what happened tonight was an accident, and you’re going to have to drive more carefully, but I’m going to let you off with a verbal warning, which means nothing is going to go on your record.”
Me: “No way !! Really??” *Disparaging glance from my Mother* “Thank you Officer, thank you so so much.”

And that, my dear readers, is how marching band saved my life. Or at least my license.

Shame it couldn’t do the same for the mailbox.