Cliff Dwelling's What We're All About

Brock and I decided to take a much needed day trip up to Flagstaff this past week. For those not so familiar with the layout of Arizona (I'm assuming most of you,) Flagstaff is about 2 hours north of Phoenix, 7,000 feet higher and most importantly, 30 degrees cooler. Once we got there, I completely forgot that we were still surrounded by the vast South West desert; everything was so green and beautiful. I felt like I was in Yellowstone or somewhere equally as vegetation rich. (In fact, the whole time I might have pretended I was...) I was also able to sport a particular Carolyn classic- my gray hoodie- a favorite articles of clothing that I sadly haven't been able to touch since July. (Seriously, even looking at long sleeves make me start to sweat some days.) Somehow nature just has this way of making me feel so good. No matter what is going on in life, a deep breath of fresh air always makes everything better. Who needs Prozac when you've got the mountains?

Here are some pictures from the day:

 Presenting... Mormon Lake. Ta-da! Impressive, isn't it? Totally worth the 40 minute drive, right? Just kidding. This "lake" was quite the enigma. Although it has it's own signs on the freeway, webpage and small village complete with a town lodge and a jam-packed KOA, Brock and I failed to see what the hype was all about. I mean, it's basically a swamp right? I just don't get what so many RVs and boats were doing camped out on its banks... What were they all planning on doing? Mud masks? Maybe a mud wrestling competition? Or perhaps the members of Mormon Lake Village haven't been paying their tithing...? 

 We decided that the degree to which you can see this lake is a direct reflection of your degree of righteousness. So although it wasn't the overflowing reservoir a temple president might see, we were proud to see a little moisture down there.

 After visiting the highly anti-climactic Mormon Lake, we went to some sort of state park which features an entire cliff full of Anasazi dwelling ruins. I typically feel that any picture with no people is pointless, unless it's an artistic gem (which this certainly is not.) But this kind of gives you an idea of what was going on there.

 When we got to the visitor's center, Brock told the old, mustache adorned man behind the ticket counter that we were interested in hiking and seeing the cliff dwellings. His enthusiastic response? "Well, you've come to the right place folks! Cliff dwelling's what we're all about here!"And that's when we knew that the day had been a success. We re-quoted that line for the rest of the day.

 I posted this picture for two reasons. 1. To demonstrate this beautifully crafted and preserved Anasazi cliff dwelling. 2. I think my legs look misleadingly thin in this picture (a rarity these days, I'm afraid), and I felt it would be a pity not to post it.

 Once again, I am fascinated by my body and it's ability to so closely resemble Gumby's. Stretchy, bendy and gooey all at once. It does showcase the hoodie nicely though.

 Brock demonstrating an ancient Anasazi war pose. Anasazis often wore cargo shorts and plaid button downs, I've heard. 

I was pretending to pose by this small door/window, but really I was just taking a much needed rest. This little hike required far too much stair climbing for my current fitness level. Brock and I spent 3/4 of our time here discussing the purchases of Weight Watchers subscriptions and home gym equipment. Between huffing, puffing and gasping for air, of course.

 All in all, it was a great trip. I'm planning on writing a hefty tithing check, deleting a few rap songs from my iTunes and giving Mormon Lake another go. This time, with the Jet Skis.

The Principal/Principle of the Thing...

As the official "HR Person" at my work, my job includes keeping track of all employees' personnel files. These files contain the usual documents: social security cards, W-4 forms, background checks etc.

The other day I was informed that a certain employee had been terminated due to having "questionable documents" in his file.

So of course, I had to look.

What did I find? A forged high school diploma.

How did I know it was forged? Only because it had been signed by the school's "principle".

Seriously, I'll give the guy credit-- he must have spent hours creating this gem on Microsoft Publisher. It looked like any other photocopied high school diploma. He even incorporated a little school seal and some sort of official looking watermark. But then he had to ruin it by adding that signature line...

So the moral of this story? Stay in school, kids. If only to gain the knowledge needed to successfully forge a document later in life- even a high school education pays off.

Housewife of the Year (Or at Least the Month of September...)

Disclaimer: the following post consists mostly of me bragging about my new found "house-wiving" skills. It also contains incriminating details about the kind of music I listen to when Brock is not home. Basically, read at your own risk. (I'm sorry, I am just really proud right now and feel the need to brag via Blogger.)

Due to Brock's new work schedule, I am now spending every Saturday husband less. This doesn't thrill me, but I have decided to make the best of it by actually using the time constructively. Let me explain. I don't know if it's because we're newlyweds and still just thrilled to be around each other or what, but for some reason I feel like when Brock is around, I never seem to get anything done! I think it is because since we both work full time, we only get to spend a few hours together every day; neither one of us is about to spend that valuable time vacuuming crushed goldfish crackers off the floor or folding the laundry. Yes, we've been living out of a heap of clean laundry that's been piled on top of the living room chair for a week now. And yes, there has been a ground up goldfish cracker underneath the coffee table for a few days too. Hey, if were still in one piece there's no way it would still be there. I'm a firm believer in the "5 day" rule. 

So I took advantage of today as an opportunity to make some progress on the cleanliness/hygiene of our apartment. I literally tackled every square inch of this place (which isn't actually all that many). Okay, maybe not every inch, but you better believe this place is looking great now. I (gasp) actually moved the couches and vacuumed underneath them. Yeah, I know. Big time. That goldfish cracker, along with some other gems (fruit snacks...bobby pins...hairballs) are all history. And the bathroom? Let's just say that I'm actually considering a bath tonight. This wouldn't mean much if I wasn't completely disgusted by baths. There is something about marinating in a puddle of my own lukewarm filth that really sicks me out. Or maybe I've just never had a clean enough tub. So back to cleaning- I even dusted. As in, the inch thick layer of dust that used to reside on top of the tv, dressers and pretty much all other horizontal surfaces in the house has now been replaced with smooth, shiny cleanliness. And apparently taking out both bathroom trash cans actually makes a difference in how the entire place smells. Imagine that!

A few hours (and an air freshener purchase) later, the apartment was looking (and smelling) fabulous. I figured I might as well not waste this fabulous momentum, so I continued the domestic streak by applying my energy to the kitchen. An hour later, these babies appeared. Yes, you are looking at homemade whole grain banana nut muffins, my friends. With cream cheese frosting. (I don't know if frosting is a typical muffin component, but everything is better with cream cheese frosting.) I'd like to add some extra emphasis to the words "homemade" (no Krusteaz muffin mix for this domestic goddess) and"whole grain" (because anything made with whole grains is healthy, even if it's slathered in cream cheese frosting and cinnamon sugar, right?)

Admittedly, this painfully amateur photo is actually the best of multiple shots. I don't know how these "pro food bloggers" seem to get such appetizing shots of their culinary creations! 

I'd like to pay a quick tribute to what really made today's feats possible: my stretch leggings from Costco and the fabulous new mix on my iPod. Kirkland really knows how to make a pair of pants, I'll tell you that. Somehow these guys suck in the trouble spots while still allowing breathable comfort. And somehow they make me feel like I could do the splits if I really wanted to. But I just don't want to. ;) I never could have squatted behind the toilet for so long without them. Oh, and by "new mix" I definitely don't mean mix of new songs. Let's just say there is no way I could have cleaned for 3 hours straight without a mix containing the winning combination of Wilson Phillips, Keith Sweat and songs found on the Goofy Movie Soundtrack. Had Brock been here today to witness this musical selection, I doubt he'd ever let me live it down. I'm still getting crap from the time I suggested we bump some Maroon 5 on a road trip...

If I were more confident in my cooking skills, I'd post the muffin recipe. However, I got the recipe off the back of a yogurt container, which I may or may not be able to cite as a credible source. Also, I haven't actually tasted them yet. I was so smitten by the fact that they actually slid right out of the muffin tin, yet didn't come out charred, that I kinda wanted to bask in the moment for a while. 

I can't wait for Brock to come home to be greeted by a clean, Febreeze scented apartment with a plate of muffins and a spandex clad wife waiting for him. And possibly a little Keith Sweat. 

The Situation in Which I Will Never Be a “Cool Wife”

For the most part, I consider myself a pretty cool wife. I keep the fridge stocked with Costco hotdogs, I give a mean full back scratch (as opposed to the all-too-common partial back scratch which consists of repeadedly running the fingernails across the same two inches of skin, practically burrowing a hole through the shirt) and I actually enjoy watching shows on Comedy Central. I can quote Dave Chappell with the best of ‘em! (Well, my accent might be a bit off…)

But when it comes to the sport of football, I will just never be cool.

I absolutely hate football.

I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t. But I do. Maybe it’s because I’ve never played it myself, and therefore don’t appreciate the skill involved. Maybe it’s because I was too busy flirting/socializing during my own high school football games to actually learn the rules. I guess I just don’t see how the things the players are doing are that impressive. I mean, in baseball I find it amazing that the players are actually to use a wooden bat to make contact with a ball moving over 90 mps. In basketball, it fascinates me that those players can run for hours non-stop, and consistently shoot the ball into a foot-wide hoop. In football? I just don’t see what is so impressive about a bunch of fat people crashing into eachother. And that only lasts about 3 seconds. Then everyone gets to rest for 5 minutes. 

 

Anyway, a few nights ago the Arizona Cardinals hosted the Denver Broncos in a pre-season football game. Since it was a pre-season game, tickets were available for literally $3. So of course, we had to go.

Honestly, here are my problems with football.

1.     Why does the game have to be SO long? I mean, the fact that it takes an hour to get through a 15 minute quarter is just ridiculous. But if that’s how the game is played, why can’t they switch these 15 minute quarters to 15 minute halves? The game would still be a good two hours. Which is still plenty long, in my book.

2.    Why is there more time-out than time-in? I’m not kidding, WAY more time is spent huddling/discussing plays/standing there than actual play time. The second things actually get exciting, the whistle blows and the clock stops. And the huddling resumes.

3.     Why isn’t the football brightly colored? I mean, at this particular stadium, the goal posts have been painted bright yellow-green. I assume this is so they can be easily seen, right? Well, why can’t they spray paint the ball this color? Because I personally don’t think I actually saw the football once down there. This can probably be blamed on our nosebleed seats, but still- I can’t even see the ball when it’s on HDTV! The players have it cradled up all secretly in their arms when they’re running with it. Then they throw it so far and fast, I have no idea it’s even moved.

In hindsight the game was actually pretty fun, but not because of the game itself. We met up with our friends Greg and Lindsey Smart. Luckily Lindsey and I are on the same page when it comes to football so we were able to spend the last half of the game discussing important matters, like the outcome of last Monday’s “Bachelor Pad” episode. Plus, the people-watching was great. I’ve never seen so many belted jerseys worn as sexy mini-dresses. Here are a couple of pictures from the evening. 

 Despite having worn my glasses, I still couldn't tell what was going on down there.

 Greg and Lindsey. I was jealous that Lindsey looked so stylish and cute.

 Token "boys picture".

 And yes, the token "girls picture".

Things I Miss Most about Utah

Cafe Rio

Naturally, food is the first item to make my list. After having battled cravings for six weeks, Brock and I finally made the 45 minute drive to the Gilbert, AZ Cafe Rio this afternoon. Their pork very well could be laced with crack. Withdrawl symptoms usually kick in about ten minutes after I've finished the above pictured beauty. Although I feel lucky to still have Cafe Rio as an option down here, I definitely miss having the luxurious and tasty option of dining there once a week. (At least.) 

The Canyon

Although of course I didn't realize it during the 18 years I lived ten minutes away from it, I am convinced that Provo Canyon is one of the most beautiful places on earth. Well, at least in this part of the country. I may have a slightly distorted memory of the place, because the month right before we moved happened to be the most beautiful it  has ever looked. Because of the loooong winter, the grass and trees were extra green and the river was higher than I'd ever seen it. Brock and I went on walks in the canyon about once a week the entire time we lived there. We even got engaged there! I also have great memories of long morning canyon runs with some of my best friends last fall. As great as Arizona is, I doubt I'll ever find a place that compares to Provo Canyon.

Family (duh)

Family should have been number one on here, but to be honest, a Cafe Rio salad picture was easier to google and upload. Being away from my family for the first time in my life has proved to be MUCH harder than I thought it would be. Living ten minutes away from my parents was always so convenient, I'm afraid I sometimes took it for granted. Why wasn't I over there every single free minute of every day? I feel so lucky to have such an awesome family who support Brock and me in everything we do. There is always something going on at my parents house; there is never a dull moment. I have the most fun, laid back hilarious family ever. This picture is missing Jeff (although there are some with him photoshopped in floating around somewhere) who I also really miss. He'll be home in February from his LDS mission to Germany. He and his new brother-in-law will get along great. Then there is the Sargent family. I am so grateful I got to marry into such an awesome family! They made me feel so included and comfortable from day one. (I was the nervous, probably awkward girlfriend on my first ever "meet the parents" trip.) They are always so much fun and I miss them like crazy too. I can't wait for it to cool down here, so we can hopefully get some visitors!

My Besties

I have never been much of a phone-talker until we moved. Now I find myself searching through the contacts in my phone every time I have a few minutes to kill. My drive home from work flies by when I'm having a nice chat. Even though I can't be there to go to lunch with, exercise with, or just hang out with my favorite girls, I know that we'll all stay in touch.

My Old Job

I don't have a picture of this (I am also sick of uploading things. I have a new found respect for professional bloggers and the effort they put into all of this uploading!) I know I've always said it, and I probably always will, but I seriously feel lucky to have worked at Magleby's all during college. I'm pretty sure that never again will I find a job that I actually enjoy doing. I loved being a server. I loved that the shifts were laid back and flexible, I loved making tips and walking home with cash at the end of the night, and I loved the people I worked with. I am now working 9-5 which is what grown ups do. This is normal and this is good. I know I can't just dink around and wait tables with my best friends forever. However,
I do realize how good I had it back in the day.

Maybe I am just a total "grass is greener" person. Because as much as I miss Utah now, I specifically remember being absolutely thrilled when I found out we were moving to Arizona. I couldn't wait to get out. And you know what, as much as I miss things back there, I really do like it down here. I mean, we haven't even been here a month! Sometimes I get kind of lonely and homesick, because I put everything in Utah on a pedestal. I remember the beautiful sunny days, the baseball games, the fun nights out etc... I tend to filter out the early mornings scraping the car, the months and months of rain, and the beauty (lack thereof) of State Street in Orem. All of my memories are there. Of course I don't have any fond memories here. There hasn't been enough time to make any! I really do like it down here. When it comes down to it, I like Arizona because this is where my husband is and as long as I'm with him, things are good!  

...however, we do have a modeling job available...

I have always been proud of my ability to laugh at myself.

When crushing, life-altering situations arise (ie. missing an episode of “The Bachelorette” or arriving at Chilis ten minutes after closing) I am pretty good at using laughter to cope. However, for some reason I tend to get embarrassed by really small, stupid things. Things that should not be embarrassing, but for some reason are! I cringe at memories of strutting around campus confidently, only to find out later that my backpack was partially unzipped the entire time. Why is this so mortifying to me!? It’s not like anything particularly incriminating was exposed. Well, aside from the Chelsea Handler paperback and melted fruit-by-the-foot tucked in with my Health Science textbooks…

Maybe it’s because I’ve had a lot of free time, but it seems I’ve recently had more than my fair share of these experiences. Here are some highlights- or to be more accurate- lowlights.

Since I have yet to find a job, I’ve dedicated myself to being the best housewife possible. I’ve actually begun sorting laundry into appropriate color loads before washing, vacuuming the carpets before the visible toast crumbs/popcorn kernels/dirt clods appear and cooking dinners that require the chopping and stirring of ingredients, as opposed to pressing “high-3 mins” on the microwave.  As part of this “ideal housewife” persona, I’ve also taken it upon myself to regularly visit our apartment clubhouse gym.

I’m usually the only one there. The Barossa Apartment residents seem to prefer carne asada fiestas over the Stair Master. (Actually, I do too. I just can’t afford to buy bigger clothes.) The other day I actually had a work out companion. A Black or maybe part Hispanic boy in a do-rag who looked about 15 years old was pumping some iron. He was probably getting ready for nearby Aqua Fria High School’s football season. I had been going strong on the treadmill due to extra energy provided by a few bagels and an excellent workout playlist. I needed a drink, so I stopped and removed my headphones. To my horror, my music was blasting for all (well, both) to hear. The weight room was too quiet, and my ipod volume too loud. The song was sort of tinny and far away sounding, but every lyric and note was easily being heard by Mr. Aqua Fria High, who gave me a curious look when I sheepishly paused the music, cutting off the upbeat chorus of a song that came straight from the Space Jam soundtrack. I felt myself turn red. Why did this embarrass me so much? Again, this was not even a big deal! I quickly reviewed the songs in my previous lineup to assess the damage. Katy Perry, Lil’ Wayne, some random Fleetwood Mac… not too bad. Uh oh. Not only had I listened to Tupac’s “Life Goes On”, I had listened to it twice in a row. (In my defense, it has a good running beat.) I thought of Aqua Fria High watching me, a painfully white girl, thumping out a 12 minute mile to a tribute to victims of the streets and homies doing life etc. No doubt this kid had more street cred in his pinky finger than I’ll ever have in my life. I imagined him shaking his head in dissaproval. “She knows nothing about the hood life,” he’d be thinking. Ugh, and then there was the Space Jam song…

Yesterday I was applying for jobs via Craigslist. One job in particular asked for a resume and a picture. I couldn’t find a decent picture of myself- all recent pictures seem to be of me in my Yellowstone t-shirt. I decided to take matters into my own hands (or hand, I guess) and take a picture of myself to upload. I came up with a decent shot (again-decent, not great-this is important) and sent it along with my resume. I made sure to crop out most of my arm that was extended out towards the camera.

(Notice the obviously outstretched arm-

dead giveaway that it was self-taken. 
The messy kitchen has been cropped out)

Now I don’t know what posessed me to do this. I don’t know if it was a sudden surge of confidence due to endorphins from the treadmill, or my increased alone time making me crazy. For some reason, I felt it might be a good idea to attach this “head shot” to my email responses to all my application emails- even though no others asked for one. Again, I don’t know what I was thinking! I mean, how tacky is that, right?! I thought about it for the rest of the day, wishing I could retract those emails. I personally would jump at the chance to make fun of someone for sending an unrequested picture with her cover letter. Especially since it wasn’t even a nice, professional picture. It was a crappy self-taken shot with a messy kitchen in the background.

Before I went to bed last night, I checked my email. I had gotten a response! I opened it.

“Carolyn, the receptionist position has already been filled. However we do have a modeling job available. ;) Sincerely, Joe Something-or-Other”

Oh my gosh. I totally got called out. I wasn’t fooled for a second. This was not a modeling job offer. Believe me, I watch a lot of “America’s Next Top Model”-mine was no gig-worthy head shot. This email was a blatant stab at my bad behavior and I completely deserved it! The job was at a Collision Repair company, for heaven sakes. Unless this modeling job was for MySpace, Joe Something-or-Other was making fun of me. Lesson learned.

The last awkward instance happened while interviewing for a job. It wasn’t a typical interview at an office. The company hadn’t fired my predecessor yet so our meeting was covert in nature; I was to meet my interviewer at a local coffee shop. I arrived 45 minutes early. (I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get there and wanted to be safe.) I filled the time by looking Susan (my interviewer) up on Facebook. I was slightly worried I wouldn’t know who she was. For all I knew, she could already be there, nestled up in a booth with a laptop and cappuccino. It’s not like we’d both arranged to appear with red roses or anything. When she arrived, I stood up.

“Hi Susan,” I greeted her in my most personable, “hire-me” voice. She greeted me warmly and we exchanged a solid handshake. (I pride myself on my firm handshake.) Then I ruined it.

“I stalked you on Facebook,” I blurted out. It was silent for a good seven seconds. Which is a long time when you’re suddenly being watched by every poem reading hippie in the place. “You know, so I’d know who you were…” I fumbled, trailing off.

“Oh!” She sounded a bit alarmed. It was quiet for another few seconds. Crap, that one really did not land.

Despite my facebook blunder, the interview went pretty well. Although about halfway through I realized that everybody in the coffee shop had tuned in to my interview. Not only was I trying to convince Susan that I had what it took to be a fabulous assistant, I was performing for all of “The Urban Bean’s” staff/customers as well. At one point I said something really cliché- something about taking the initiative- and I could have sworn I heard a snort/chuckle coming from behind a bearded man’s laptop.

I’ll find out about the job next week. I may have humiliated myself at the interview, but at least I didn’t send them a picture.

The Legend of Joe Greeson

Aside from throbbing zits that won't pop and DVDs that skip during the climax of "Prison Break", there is nothing more frustrating to me than rental housing contracts.

If I were a property manager, I like to think I'd be empathetic (not to mention Christlike) enough to work with tenants and be flexible with exit dates and liberal about additional fees. Especially if said tenants were absolute model renters. Renters who always got their full rent check mailed weeks in advance. Renters who put up with a kimono wearing techno enthusiast living upstairs for six months. Renters who literally went through four paper towel rolls, three Windex bottles and a gallon of bleach the day before cleaning check.

As you can probably guess, this was not the case with our previous landlord. Our contract was about as thick as a National Geographic and peppered with nit-picky clauses and addendums. Every detail was spelled out down to the last nail hole and cobweb. ($5 a pop if either are found after check out.) Another annoying little clause was brought to our attention when we found out we were moving. The contract stated that not only were we responsible to pay a nice little "early exit fee", we also had to find a new tenant to take over the remaining months on our contract. So the Craigslist ad was written and fortunately the calls/emails started coming in.

When we got the first email from "Single White Guy", we dismissed it as a joke. Craigslist responses are notorious for being scams, after all. (After recently applying to about 40 jobs via Craigslist, the only response I got was from some character named Jose Pancreas offering me $1,000/week to work from home. This was all in broken English, of course, and ended by asking for my Social Security number and bank account info. Jose Pancreas? I'd just love to know what was going through that hacker's mind when he came up with that creative little Latino name/vital organ combo...)

Okay, back to "Single White Guy." In his email, Joe Greeson introduced himself in great detail, making sure to include all important information including his height (5'10") weight (180-185 lbs) and the fact that he works out often. With weights. (I'm dead serious here.) He then explained that he was a retired Fidelity Securities Trader with an excellent credit score and solid references. Sick of the crime rate in Tuscon AZ, he was looking to move up to Provo. This single white guy was extremely interested in the apartment and expressed a desire to come look at it ASAP.


Like I said, we assumed this email was a scam, so we had a good laugh then forgot about it. But then, like a true business professional would, Joe Greeson decided to take the initiative and placed a follow up call. He chatted Brock up for a good 30 minutes, furiously selling himself the whole time. The phone call ended up with arrangements made for Joe to come see the apartment in a few days. I don't know if I'd drive 14 hours plus just to see a ground level apartment in South Provo, but hey if the guy wants to take over our contract, I'm all for it!

The next day was a Sunday. Brock and I were still up in Idaho at Brock's family's cabin, but we were planning on leaving the following day. We got a call from Joe that evening. Really, how on-the-ball is this guy? He actually wanted to check in with us and let us know that he had just arrived in Provo. He continued by informing us that he was exhausted from driving all day and going to bed early. Whew, thanks for the info, Greeson. Good thing you let us know; we had been planning on a nice phone chat later that night. Just kidding. Brock sent him a text explaining that we'd be home the next day and he could drop by then.

On Monday night, we rolled back into town. I dashed straight to the mailbox and began rifling through the J Crew catalogs and Costco leaflets, in search of the NetFlix Prison Break DVD. It was there! I was so excited to get Season 2 started, I almost didn't notice the small note scribbled on a piece of Travelodge stationary. In shaky, old man (white man, to be specific) handwriting, it said:

"Hi. I'm on my way back to Arizona. This town is trashier than Arizona. -Joe"

Really Joe? You drove 14 hours to look at the outside of our apartment, only to turn around and leave hours later? I was overcome with a variety of emotions. I was shocked that somebody (a supposedly successful businessman none the less) would actually make that much effort for a $625/month apartment. I mean, between the hours spent drafting that email, keeping in touch via cell phone on a daily basis, and the 14 hours he spent driving up, this ordeal was a time commitment! I was hurt that after only minutes in my hometown, he decided it was trashy. On that note, I was confused. What could he have possibly seen that would convince him that Provo is trashier than Tucson? I mean, unless he took a scenic stroll by the Provo Town Center mall... Still, overall Provo is a pretty nice area, right?  Lastly, I felt violated. How creepy is that? Some old dude was lurking around the outside of our house, probably trying to look in windows. He probably looked through our mail as he left his note. Ewww. 

We've now been moved out for over a week. We still haven't sold our contract, but we actually only have a month left on our lease so it's not really a huge deal. We would like to give Joe Greeson- Tucson's infamous "Single White Guy"- a huge thank you for providing us with jokes that still haven't gotten old. Not quite, at least. 

You stay classy, Joe Greeson.