mouse chronicles (interrupted)

I was smack in the middle of writing about my misadventures with live mouse traps and female overlords when my morning was sidelined by an unwelcome intrusion. The incident caused me to re-examine my reasons for writing some of the things I do. It also made me consider yet again whether my blog is doing what it should. The internal debate continues whether Shmohawk, the personna and the blog, are heading in the right direction.

This I know: a lot of people, and a lot of journalists, will never understand or agree with my views on public affairs or life. It’s a free country. There are lots of people who prefer safe confines and walled communities to exploration. It’s easier to reject something than to put yourself out there and try to understand other peoples and their perspectives. Believe me, because I find it so hard to get out of my realities and attempt to understand yours.

As a journalist, I found that other journalists read less about life, and more about what they needed for that day. They don’t make time or feel the need for grand ideas which tend to be shoved out the back door while bureaucratic reports jam the front one. It isn’t that they don’t want to be better informed, but daily journalism is insular. Lost focus and intellectual wandering may lead to fuzzy thinking. This, I think, is why so many try to negotiate time to tackle larger issues with bigger stories. These are gross oversimplifications, stereotypes which are the stock-in-trade of journalism.

I know as well that the body reacts, at first, to anything it considers foreign or even dangerous. Ideas, for example, especially powerful ones, can be infectious. Some ideas may be beneficial but new ideas are almost always attacked. The body may eventually use the idea to develop an immunity to more destructive illnesses. At least that’s how I like to think about information, and journalism, and why I decided to get into the game. That’s right. I wanted to infect as many people as possible with ideas. I wanted to use them to counter racism; the dreaded “r” word that shall not be spoken in polite company. But I know racism to be a destructive illness that needs to be confronted. Ignored or avoided, race hatred can infect and even destroy the host.

It isn’t completely selfless. I’m just as worried about my welfare as anyone else’s. You see, racism is an everyday fact of my life. Race and racism are unfortunate side effects of being an Indigenous person today. I cannot pretend it doesn’t exist. I can try to pass, and hope no one notices. I can dye my hair, bleach my skin, insert tinted contact lenses to change the colour of my eyes. I have friends who have been told to change their accents. Cut their braids. Stop being so damn Indian! I know some Mohawks who have done it all in order to try to fit, to escape, to survive. But I know a whole lot more who are prepared to stand and fight, if necessary. Bring it.

Getting back to ideas, I’m going to post Article 8 of the UN’s Universal Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. I sense that most people in Canada haven’t a clue what it states, what it means or might mean for the average Canadian. I suspect it’s because they’ve depended on news people to explain the Declaration to them. Never a good plan.

I hope anyone reading this gets a little more curious about why Canada is one of only four nations in the world that refuses to sign it. Go, find it and read it for yourself. A Canadian mind is a terrible thing to waste.

I hope this helps explain a little behind Shmohawk, the personna and the blog. It won’t reveal everything, but it may help me decide whether to continue down this path or, as Bugs Bunny put it, take that left turn at Albuquerque.

Article 8 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples deals with assimilation and forced integration:

1. Indigenous peoples and individuals have the right not to be subjected to forced assimilation or destruction of their culture.
2. States shall provide effective mechanisms for prevention of, and redress for:

• Any action which has the aim or effect of depriving them of their integrity as distinct peoples, or of their cultural values or ethnic identities;
• Any action which has the aim or effect of dispossessing them of their lands, territories or resources;
• Any form of forced population transfer which has the aim or effect of violating or undermining any of their rights;
• Any form of forced assimilation or integration;
• Any form of propaganda designed to promote or incite racial or ethnic discrimination directed against them.

the good, the bad, the (ugh) ugly

(the good)

Shut down yesterday afternoon to help my sister get back online. Her modem crapped out and Bell (don’t remind me) sent her a replacement. Long phone call with a nice woman who, I believe, was in India. With her help, the sister is back online. Managed to get to Laval for a bike part.  Whoo-hoo!

(the bad)

Things are piling up. I wake to (pause…) clear skies and good weather?! So much rain and/or cold for much of late June and all of July.  I crave a bike ride whenever there’s a nice day. And THIS is the first sunny day in nearly a week and the only one expected for the rest of this one.  Here are my options: waste time sitting at my keyboard, or do much-needed yard work then get ready to hit the road while the sun is out. Must make coffee first (stumbles toward coffee grinder – not Starbucks brand).

(the ugly)

Still, at least I should turn on computer and download email. What’s this?? My very own brand of “Scenty” (a fave paranoid of a reader) shows up in my Inbox. Three messages in a row. One threatening legal action. My feelings go like this: surprise, consternation, anger, rage… followed quickly by mirth. (The guy can’t write. He must have good editors cleaning up his stuff.)

Here are some excerpts from his brand of intelligent discourse. Let’s begin with the threat:

First the legal issues: On  July 3, 2009, you wrote these statements on your blog: “Then again, if the National Post didn’t exist anymore, where would people like Joe Quesnel, Peter Foster, or Jonathan Kay be able to spout their outdated racist crap? Macleans?”

You will remove the offending portions that refer to my writings as “racists”(sic) or I will pursue legal action against you, as this is a false allegation. I have never said anything “Racist” (sic) against indigenous people. I will require a response from you. You cannot hide in blogosphere and make irresponsible claims about other people.

Then this one, from Quesnel’s next missive:

I would actually like to engage you in a respectful discussion, but this is how you speak, so if I am being engaged from the gutter, I will respond likewise.

And to wrap...

Lastly, you are upset about a comment a CBC reporter made referring to the AFN national chief as “national king of the Indians.” I NEVER said that! Stop confusing me for someone else. I would not say something like that. Please stop misrepresenting my views or the intentions of the Frontier Centre.

Obvious questions pop:

• Who’s hiding?
• Why not go the Human Rights Commission route?
• Does he realize how ridiculous he comes off; him a free speecher/ libertarian and all?
• Doesn’t he realize I’ve made him my butt (in so many ways) to show how ridiculous I consider his opinions and those of his assimilationist crowd?
• Is his work at the office as poor as his work here?

Hang on, Joe. I have chores first. Then I’ll give your legal threat and rants all the consideration they deserve – if that.

CNN 1st Time on TV, Jessica Yellin Hologram – Star Wars

Evidence that even if you can do it, that doesn’t mean you SHOULD do it. This is the first time I’ve actually seen this bit of video. I don’t find it engaging or even interesting. I find it appalling because it steals the emphasis – the importance – of the event itself and puts it on Blitzer. The problem: Wolf should NOT be the story. The story is out there, not in the CNN studio.

more about “CNN 1st Time on TV, Jessica Yellin H…“, posted with vodpod

tomorrow is marvin the martian day

Whoopee! Yahoo! Yippee! Miami Beach. Yikes! Musta taken a left turn at Albuquerque. Because Saturday, July 24, is… his day.

Do not give him the X-Q-34 Modulator under ANY circumstance!

welcome back, mr. johnson

In the mid-to-late 1970s, William Johnson at the Globe and Mail (later Montreal Gazette) was a must-read columnist for anyone (especially young journalists) wanting to know more about federal/provincial politics, the developing Canadian constitutional crisis, debates on patriation of the the BNA Act, and native affairs (as it was then called).

Back then, you could count on the fingers of one hand the number of national journalists showing the least bit of interest in native issues. Johnson was anything but a cheerleader for native peoples. But he understood the policies that confronted them, and explained them to his readers. He had a keen eye for those little flashes in huge events that reveal so much, such as this that he describes in today’s G&M:

A telling moment occurred at Tuesday’s all-candidates meeting when a Quebec chief, Gilbert Whiteduck, said: “We’re telling each other what we already know. We’re telling each other that we own the land. What we need is action. And I ask all of the candidates: Are you thinking about the poorest of the poor, of our men and our women and our children who are suffering? Is your message just wait and see, I have a vision for change, while they’re suffering now, tomorrow, the day after? When will we rise?”

Ricky Gervais… Obviously.

It’s great. Beware. That’s all.

NOTE:  See the vid on the sidebar. For some reason, it won’t embed in the pages. Durn it.

more about “Ricky Gervais… Obviously.“, posted with vodpod

what you don’t know…

…can hurt us. I mean us who live out here in these communities and territories. Not you who comment from afar based on… what?

AFN's logo

Lately, I’ve had some interesting conversations about the Assembly of First Nations and the candidates running for the job of head of that organization. We talked about who might win the job and replace Phil Fontaine. We’ve discussed the way the candidates applied for the job, and the strange method the voting chiefs have chosen to conduct job interviews (elections, if you prefer).

In other words, we’ve analyzed a lot more than what we’ve seen in the coverage by the mainstream news media, and the media’s select court jesters such as Joe Quesnel. (I compare him to one of my regulars and his fascination with a well-know conspiracy theorist-cum-blogger nicknamed “Scenty.” What would life be without them?)

As we talked about the AFN, and picked apart the coverage by the Globe and Mail, the National Post, the CBC, and other news organizations, we agreed that the mainstream has this weird idea (aided and abetted by the aforementioned court jesters) that the AFN is actually a national government.

Now where did they get that idea? More to the point, how might anyone dissuade them of this ridiculous fallicy?

The mainstream news media seems hell-bent on accepting – without a shred of skepticism – that this “election of a national chief” is taking place so that Indians across Canada can select someone who will become, as one CBC reporter said, “the most powerful Indian in Canada.”

WTF!? I damn near fell off my keyboard when I heard that one. Tell me that a senior CBC national reporter did not use those words. Oh, yes, she did. Where did she get the information to back up that statement? Certainly not in any Native Studies or Canadian history or political science course. Because it don’t exist.

In our growing alarm over inaccuracies by the media’s coverage of the AFN, and the selection process of a new head of this organization, we decided to try to correct inaccuracies by explaining what the AFN is NOT. Hopefully, along the way, it might also explain what the head of this organization is NOT as well.

The AFN has never been an organization of individual status Indians. It was once an organization of regional and provincial Indian organizations. It changed into an organization representing the heads of band councils on reserves, aka “chiefs.” This is why 633 chiefs across Canada get to vote for the candidates running for Phil Fontaine’s job. This is also why there is NOT “one member, one vote.”

What’s that, Joe? You don’t get the concept? Hmmm… I wish I had some pop-up pictures. Let’s try this again, shall we?

The AFN is not a national government for status Indians in Canada, despite what some idiots (come on down, Joe) would have you believe. The AFN’s structure is closer to that of a national union, like CUPE, for instance. The union’s membership in a local (say Local 233) vote for a local representative, much like band members vote in band council elections.

Local reps may then elect regional or provincial representatives, similar to the way in which John Beaucage was elected to head up one of the regional Indian organizations in Ontario.

Local and regional union reps then get to select the national executive for CUPE. (Correct me here, but I don’t believe every member has a direct vote for national president of CUPE.) Similarly, every now and then, the chiefs cluster to select a new head of their national organization, the AFN. It was never meant to be a “one member, one vote” system. Capiche?

Why not, you ask? Have you done any homework at all, Joe? You really should try reading some day. We have some good schools you might ask about.

Similar to the relations between locals and the national office of CUPE, or any number of other unions and associations, locals guard their autonomy or authority with vigour. They resist encroachment on their turf by the regional offices, and much more so with the national office.

At the same time, the locals may recognize that there are some things the national office may do best, such as lobbying, coordinating or conducting research on issues in common across the country, monitoring government actions or changes in policy. But national executives in unions try hard to avoid encroaching upon or undermining the locals or the regional representatives. It tends to piss them off.

Y’unnerstan? To paraphrase that great philosopher, Spider-man: With great executive power comes great checks and balances upon the executive.

This isn’t rocket science, Joe. So stay awake, and listen up.

I know you want to make the head of the AFN into some sort of national king of the Indians. After all, why put up with 633 chiefs that you and your so-called think tank consider corrupt and dishonest? Do I have that right, Joe? You suggest cutting out the chiefs so that the Feds need only deal with one corrupt and dishonest bozo at the AFN. Right?

C’mon, admit it. That’s what you and the Frontier Centre think of the chiefs, and what you propose as more effective and efficient. It’s also dumb, as in: You don’t know what the f*ck you’re talking about.

Big problem. How do you get the chiefs to surrender their local authority and autonomy? Or to continue the union analogy: How do you get the head of a union local to hand over its autonomy to the national executive? First: Why the hell should they? It would be difficult enough with a union local, but the head of a reserve (unlike a union local) is also the head of a local government.

What? You didn’t factor that in when you thought things out? Maybe you didn’t think in the first place? But I digress.

That’s right. Indian band councils have constitutionally and legally recognized political powers as local governments, as per the Indian Act. Band councils can make by-laws, for instance. Okay, they can make by-laws for dog licences – but it’s still a law-making power of a legally-constituted government as defined in Canadian law.

The AFN, on the other hand, does not have governmental powers. It is an organization, a registered national corporation, representing the interests of band council chiefs. Big difference between the two. One can make laws regulating human behaviours and conditions (a government) while the other cannot (an organization).

Do you honestly think any chief in her right mind is going to hand over that kind of power to the next Phil Fontaine? Or hand over the authority to negotiate a land claim? Or make deals on oil and gas exploration? Diamond mines? Local health emergencies? Do you honestly think the folks on any reserve will let that happen? Be honest, Joe.

There are other considerations too. Why should the Mohawks surrender something they’ve repeatedly defended for more than 250 years, have never sold or surrendered, have not had taken away in war or by conquest. Wanna guess? After all, you claim to be Mohawk, Joe. No answer? Can’t figure it out? Refuse to admit it?

Their sovereignty, Joe, as an Indigenous nation. Confused? Or just in deep denial?

More to the point, I dare you to come on down to Mohawk country and ask the folks down here to put their rights into the hands of a Plains Cree, or an Ojibway, or a Coast Salish. I can predict a very tragic outcome in your future, if you decide to do so. The folks down this way would run yer sorry butt out of town faster than the SQ on July 11. I’m just saying.

Go ask the Cree of Quebec to hand over the James Bay Agreement to the AFN and to the next Phil Fontaine. I double dog dares ya.

Next, go ask the Nisga’a to do the same with their Agreement. I think you’d be called a lot of very rude names.

But then ask yourself: Why would those two groups consider such an idiotic suggestion in the first place?

I doubt whether you could ever find a single Cree in all nine communities across northern Quebec, or a single Nisga’a citizen in their B.C. communities,willing to say they’d voluntarily agree to hand over their rights to the AFN (or anyone hoping to become the next Fontaine).

Finally, Joe, the AFN is not now – nor has it ever been a national government. It was never designed to act like one, or to be one. It was created to do a very particular job, and that’s all. I know, Fontaine didn’t like the structure and spent a lot of time and money trying to convince the chiefs to hand over their power. He failed though.

Similar to the office of a national union, the AFN was designed to conduct and compile research in certain areas in support of local reserve or regional initiatives, to monitor governments for changes in policy and law, to lobby government to make changes in policy and law that the chiefs see as advantageous to their populations. It was designed to work from the bottom-up; not the other way around.

The head of the AFN is a national spokesperson, a national lobbyist, a national figurehead with no real power except to run a national office effectively and efficiently. He ain’t no king of the Indians. The media made him out to be the “11th premier” in the mid-1980s, but that didn’t change reality. Get it?

Still, you and most of the news media seem to have decided – without a single fact to back up this lame-brained idea – that this is what the AFN must be or become. Ergo, your dumber and dumberer “one member, one vote” idea.

If you and most of the mainstream media reporting on this story would only educate yourselves before shooting off your big yaps, spreading disinformation, you might actually help advance organizational change.

Instead, you seem determined to lead from a position of ignorance. In doing so, you serve no one but the gods of stupidity – not to mention doing the Canadian public a huge disservice.

Nuff sed.

f**k you, starbucks

I recently discovered that a Starbucks grinder was the subject of a recall. Actually, I stumbled across the recall notice when scrounging for repair information. I googled. Health Canada had a recall notice. Strange, I thought. I read the information at Health Canada. Then I sent an email to the public relations address at Starbucks asking where to send or drop off my grinder for a new one. I explained about my malfunctioning grinder, Health Canada’s website, and that I live near Montreal. Then I asked:

grinder recall information from the Health Canada website

Please let me know where and how I can return my grinder for a replacement.

Back-tracking, I finally found the recall information at the Starbucks website. The information mirrored that at Health Canada. There was the same 1-866 phone number, but also seemed to suggest that if I had questions feel free to call or email Customer Relations.

I have a pre-paid cell phone. No land line. It costs me a lot to make calls especially when calling some of these 1-8xx numbers. It’s can be really expensive if trapped in voice mail hell. I once spent $25 trying to reach my own cell phone provider (Virgin) on a recall of my cell phone.

The point of my emailed question was to get the Customer Relations person at Starbucks to email back an postal address and any requirements to meet any conditions for the recall. I did not want to waste air time on my cell phone. This is what I got back:

Thank you for contacting Starbucks Coffee Company.

Starbucks is conducting a voluntary product recall of the Starbucks Barista® Blade Grinder that was sold in eight colors in our company-operated and licensed store locations throughout the United States, Canada and many international markets from March 2002 through March 2009. We are conducting this voluntary product recall in cooperation with the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission.

Please discontinue use of the grinder immediately. The button which starts the grinder may become stuck in the on position, causing the blades to spin.

The grinders included in this recall were produced in a variety of colors including: stainless steel, green, pink, orange, teal, cranberry, olive and black.

If you own, or think you may own, one of the Starbucks Barista® Blade Grinders, please call (866) 276-2950 for return and exchange instructions. The grinder must be returned in order to obtain an exchange for a new, black Blade Grinder.  If you have purchased one of these grinders in the last 60 days, you may return it, with a receipt, to a company operated Starbucks store.

If you have any further questions or concerns that I was unable to address, please feel free to let us know.

Thanks again,

Not a single bit of information that I hadn’t already read at the Health Canada or Starbucks websites.  Nor did the reply answer my question. So I expanded my question back to Starbucks Customer Relations thus:

I knew about the recall, as my previous email noted. That’s why I sent it.

I stopped using my grinder after I experienced trouble with it. Which is why I began to search for product information, and stumbled upon the recall information at a Canadian government website, also noted in my previous email.

I saw the toll-free phone number (again, and below in your reply) but decided to ask for return instructions by email, so I would have the address and instructions in text.

So your reply gives me no more information than I had before, and fails to answer the question I asked:

What do I need to do to return my grinder?

Please include a Canadian address, as I live in Canada.

Thanks in advance,

This is what I got back within an hour:

In regards to the Starbucks Barista® Blade Grinder Recall, please call (866) 276-2950 for return and exchange instructions, including address. This recall is being handled solely by this hotline and Customer Relations is not processing any returns related to this recall. As you have indicated that you would like the instructions emailed to you, I suggest that you make that request when you call the recall hotline.

My first instinct was to reply with a great big F*ck YOU! Instead, I chose these words:

Just exactly the opposite of helpful.

Tally: one lost customer.

Have a nice day.

No wonder the company is in trouble. It actually believes that people like being treated like crap. Now I can say it:

F**K you, Starbucks.

one picture

Did I really look like that, I ask myself? I’m in standing against the front fender of my old maroon Buick Skylark. A pretty, thin, blonde woman clutches my arm. She’s wearing a wide straw hat and a long flowery summer dress. I look like a hippie beside her. I’m wearing flared jeans, a button down shirt, and a crumpled old top hat. I look skinny, young, and happy. We both do. My hair is curly and rebellious, flares out past my shoulders.

“Everybody says you look like Slash in that one,” my older sister says looking across her kitchen table. “All the kids looked it. They said you look like Slash.”

Later in my kitchen, at my table, I flip the picture over. In smudged blue ink, someone’s written our names, a date and the event. My sister’s wedding at the Longhouse in Kanehsatake on June 21, 1975. I can’t take my eyes off it. I can remember that day, and the evening that followed, with a clarity that scares the hell out of me.

My sister was about to marry a man that, I think I knew even then, was beating her. She did her duty for years. She gave birth to two wonderful children, a boy and a girl, then threw her husband out. Even on her wedding day, there were omens if one really wanted to look.

Back then, though, we didn’t want to see the signs. This was a wedding day. A happy occasion. So we dressed up, went to the Longhouse, and watched the second traditional marriage in Kanehsatake in nearly a hundred years. We went out into the sun for pictures afterward, put on big smiles, and wanted desperately to be happy. I’m sure we were.

Afterward, some went home. Others had to travel a distance and caught the early ferry to Hudson. A bunch of us decided we wanted to celebrate by going to the hotel in Oka. My girl and me followed my sister, her new husband, and the rest of the wedding party to the Auberge d”Oka. We went there because this was a special occasion.

For ordinary Friday or Saturday nights, there was the Oka Inn, the “Indian bar,” the pool table and Georgie Paul. To make a statement about racial equality, we might head to the Marina. But this was a wedding. We didn’t want to get into any fights, which would probably happen at the Oka Inn. So we piled into the Auberge d”Oka.

We sat, about twenty of us. We waited. We sat some more, talking small talk to each other. Eventually, we began to wonder why no one was serving us. My sister began to look intently at the waiter, who was trying to look distracted in conversation with the owner at the bar. The rest of us tried to have fun, or at least look like we weren’t seriously insulted.

The waiter was tall and skinny with a dull face. He had pretentions. He wore a double-breasted blue blazer and white pants and a sailor’s cap; a wannabe yachtsman slinging beer at the Auberge d”Oka. He seemed to sigh, before sauntering over to my sister and her husband. At that very moment, I think I knew that we were in for one helluva night.

The waiter, who also doubled as doorman, leaned over the table where my sister and her husband sat. They spoke in low tones that the rest of us couldn’t hear. I could tell my sister’s dander was up. She turned away from the waiter, made clear she was pissed. The waiter went back to bar.

Once there, the waiter appeared to get involved in a conversation with the owner. You could tell by the way the lips pouted, the hands waved no, and the sudden parting that the conversation had gone nowhere. Naturally, that was the point. It was all show; an act to show that they had considered the matter and, against their better judgement, had turned down my sister’s request.

The waiter returned to my sister’s table, He leaned forward. He held his hands up as though to say it wasn’t his fault. My sister made clear she held him absolutely responsible, despite his protestations, and pointed back at the bar and the owner. We all knew she was instructing him to go back and try one more time. Or else.

I don’t think he got that last point. By now, we all knew what was going on. My sister’s best friend leaned over to confirm that my sister’s husband had a problem. We weren’t being served because of him. My sister’s husband was barred. Two years before, he didn’t tip this same waiter/doorman 25 cents. They refused to serve him then. They refused to serve us now. Worse, they refused to serve my sister on this, the most important day of her life, an innocent in all of his past sins, with her family sitting at tables around, come to participate… well, you know the rest.

We could see that every other table had drinks while our tables were empty. We sat patiently, waiting to be waited. We continued to talk and joke with each other behind increasingly tight smiles. We could have left then, but I think we made a conscious decision amongst ourselves to stick with my sister. Our attention focussed as the waiter returned one more time.

The waiter was probably the only one in the room who didn’t know what was about to happen. My sister muttered loud enough so we call all hear that if that waiter came back one more time to tell her that we could not be served – on her wedding day… Well, there would be hell to pay.

The waiter leaned over the table to tell my sister that she and her wedding party would not be served. I saw my sister’s lips narrow to slits above her chin. Her eyes widened. She rose slightly as the waiter leaned forward. She pulled back from way back. She threw a punch that connected with the waiter’s chin, lifting him slightly off the rug and back into the table behind. She cold-cocked the bastard.

Chairs flew. Tables too. People jumped up and pounded that poor waiter. Someone leaped over the bar in pursuit of the bar owner. The owner, wearing a horrified look on his face, ran into the walk-in freezer behind the bar and slammed the door shut behind him. A couple of locals tried to intervene but were quickly convinced by my sister’s righteous anger. It wasn’t brutal. No one was hurt. That wasn’t the point.

Someone then said that we should split before the cops arrived. We should take off in all four directions so that any stoolies wouldn’t know what to tell the cops. “Well officer, they went that way, and that way, and that way…”

We rendezvoused in another town and and another bar for last call. We sat, traded information, laughed long past closing time. That night became inflated beyond all recognition, as all such nights should be. We agreed that this was the best wedding we’d been to in a long, long time.

the amazing richard burton

Dick Cavett has been writing a column for the New York Times for some time. It’s a good column, well-written and interesting. It often is a great column. From time to time, Cavett will  include video from his former talk show to share with readers what went over the air on this live program. Sometimes it works well. This time, it works to perfection.

Cavett’s column this week is about the time he tried to get Richard Burton to come on his show, and his surprise when Burton agreed.  The column sets up the interview perfectly. I honestly cannot remember when I’ve enjoyed watching a TV interview more. Or how much an interview has added to my appreciation of any actor before or since. It’s an incredible interview, and the kind of program that today would be killed at the planning stages.

Go watch. It’s great.