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Let’s Review!

Author: August 10, 2015 17 Comments

As one who is both regularly a pedestrian and behind the wheel I’ve noticed a lot of confusion regarding the rules of the road. Here are some helpful tips, clarifications, addendums, codicils, hacks, inclusions, annexations, impositions, and aggregations.

walkPedestrians: when you see this sign it means you can safely cross the street.

Drivers: when you see this sign it’s usually accompanied by a red light. Drive on through and yell at the pedestrians to get out of your way.

 

 

 

 

dontwalkPedestrians: when you see this sign it means you need to dart quickly into traffic, dodging oncoming vehicles as best you can.

Drivers: when this sign is lit be sure to aim your car at pedestrians to see if they’ll get out of the way. This is all part of a fun game we call “thinning the herd”.

 

 

 

 

018This is where pedestrians are generally known to cross, but, like a deer crossing, pedestrians might cross the street anywhere or at any time.

Drivers: be sure to keep some rope or bungee cords in your trunk so you can take home any pedestrians you happen to hit. They’re good eating, and that guy in the suit who was talking on his cell phone is going to look great stuffed and mounted in the corner of your den.

 

 

002In the United States this is called a crosswalk. In Britain it’s called a zebra crossing because of the large number of zebras who emigrated from South Africa. In Canada it’s called an oh, do you mind if I cross the street here, eh? In Australia it’s called a wakka-wakka-burra-burra.

When you see this sign it means this is a place where pedestrians who are already in the process of crossing have the right of way. If pedestrians are on the sidewalk drivers need to come to a halt, give that condescending two fingered wave, and then slowly inch forward. Drivers also get bonus points for blowing their horn at pedestrians in the middle of crossing.

 

 

 

I hope this makes everything perfectly clear for everyone except bicyclists and motorcycle riders who insist on coming up behind me on the sidewalk.

Adventures In Busing.

Keep Looking Up.

Author: August 8, 2015 9 Comments

003In 1879 amateur archaeologist Marcelino Sanz de Sautuola and his eight-year old daughter discovered prehistoric paintings in a cave near Altamira, Spain. The first time I heard about this I was told it was the cave that was called Altamira because they had to look up—the name roughly translates into English as “look high”, or, more accurately, to look from on high, since Altamira is on a mountain. The person who told me all this had their facts really mixed up, but whenever I think about prehistoric cave paintings, paintings that date back more than thirty-thousand years, I feel kind of like I’m floating. Looking back through that much time is like looking down from a very high point.

There’s something really impressive about any graffiti placed high, even if the graffiti itself isn’t that impressive. Maybe it’s because I’m not a big fan of heights, but I admire the effort it took an artist to climb up somewhere and leave their mark. In the example above it’s not particularly high, but graffiti is illegal, and whoever climbed up there was more exposed than they would have been if they’d just worked on the lower walls.

Here’s a more impressive example of high graffiti, snagged from Google Maps because I haven’t been able to get a decent picture of my own. The bus is in the foreground but should still give some idea of how high the piece on the left is.

busgraffitiCave paintings and graffiti in high places also makes me think of the poem Memory Cave by Yusef Komunyakaa from his book Thieves Of Paradise.

A tallow worked into a knot

of rawhide, with a ball of waxy light

tied to a stick, the boy

scooted through a secret mouth

of the cave, pulled by the flambeau

in his hand. He could see

the gaze of agate eyes

& wished for the forbidden

plains of bison & wolf, years

from the fermented honey

& musty air. In the dried

slag of bear & bat guano,

the initiate stood with sleeping

gods at his feet, lost

in the great cloud of their one

breath. Their muzzles craved

touch. How did they learn

to close eyes, to see into

the future? Before the Before:

mammon was unnamed & mist

hugged ravines & hillocks.

The elders would test him

beyond doubt & blood. Mica

lit the false skies where

stalactite dripped perfection

into granite. He fingered

icons sunlight & anatase

never touched. Ibex carved

on a throwing stick, reindeer

worried into an ivory amulet,

& a bear’s head. Outside,

the men waited two days

for him, with condor & bovid,

& not in a thousand years

would he have dreamt a woman

standing here beside a man,

saying, “This is as good

as the stag at Salon Noir

& the polka-dotted horses.”

The man scribbles Leo loves

Angela below the boy’s last bear

drawn with manganese dioxide

& animal fat. This is where

sunrise opened a door in stone

when he was summoned to drink

honey wine & embrace a woman

beneath a five-pointed star.

Lying there beside the gods

hefty & silent as boulders,

he could almost remember

before he was born, could see

the cliff from which he’d fall.

American Graffiti.

What Would I Do?

Author: August 7, 2015 12 Comments

ethicaldilemmaIt was right in front of the frozen pizzas. I turned and she was right there, well within my discomfort zone.

“I hate to bug you but do you have twelve bucks? I’m up here from Georgia and need a brake job for my car and that’s how much I’m short and it would really help me a lot.”

Being a good person is extremely important to me, but I also worry that I’m overly naïve, that I’ll be ripped off, or, even worse, that in my desire to do the right thing I’ll do the wrong thing. It’s the kind of dilemma most people wrestle with, and while there’s always a voice in my head that says I should err on the side of caution and throw a couple of dollars to someone who just might go and spend it on a nineball bag of methamsmackolaine or whatever’s popular on the streets right now most of the time I just mumble that I haven’t got any cash on me. And the fact that most of the time this is true does ease my conscience just a little. In the past I’ve even seen homeless guys standing on corners with signs that say, “Why lie? Want beer” And I’ve had friends who pulled over and gave those guys a couple of dollars.

“They were being honest and that should be rewarded,” my friends say. Oh, thanks a lot for further muddying the moral waters there. Now I feel guilty for not giving those guys money even though I’d feel just as guilty for giving them money. I want to help the homeless. I’ve done volunteer work for homeless shelters. And yet I still don’t know whether giving someone on the street a little money is the right thing or the wrong thing to do. It’s easy to look back on mistakes I’ve made, times when I could see the end result and how and where exactly I screwed up and say, hey, if a situation like that ever comes up again I should do the opposite, or at least something different, but it’s a lot harder to know what to do when I’ll never see the consequences.

And this isn’t helped by TV shows that set up these kinds of dilemmas and ask people, “What would you do?” and catch some people being really good and embarrass some people who get caught behaving like jackasses or just being silent bystanders, which may or may not be worse than being a jackass because all that’s required for jackasses to succeed is for good people to do nothing.

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t on camera, or at least potentially on a TV show, because that sort of thing only seems to happen to people who live near major TV studios. Not that it even occurred to me that I might be TV fodder because I was too busy doing ethical calculus in my head. Ethical calculus is even harder than regular calculus because there are so many more variables and with regular calculus you at least have a chance at getting the right answer, although I’m so bad at math anyway I don’t even know where to start with a calculus problem. I wonder if the possibility of being on camera so much ever alters anyone’s behavior, sort of like the Heisenberg principle, but then physicists tell me that’s a gross misinterpretation of the Heisenberg principle. And I can’t tell them I can’t even begin to understand calculus so physics is light years beyond me, but that’s another story.

I did have a pretty cool chemistry teacher. I wonder what became of him. Source: Wikipedia

The ethical calculus started with the woman herself. Nicely dressed in white jeans and a pink top, with bleach-blonde hair she clearly wasn’t homeless. But did that mean her story was likely to be any more true? The store was a pretty good distance from the nearest car repair place. It wasn’t a huge distance, but there were other stores closer to the car repair place. Why’d she choose one so far away? And I have no idea how much the average brake job costs, but what kind of car repair place wouldn’t spot someone twelve bucks? Maybe she’d collected money from other people in the store, since it seemed like an oddly specific amount, and that made her story seem a little more believable. But then I wondered why she drove several hundred miles without a credit card or a cell phone to call someone back home who could help. If she were obviously poor that would have explained it, but she wasn’t.

Written out it seems like I was frozen there staring at her like a tree frog for about three and a half days but the truth is it was only about ten seconds before I stammered out that I didn’t have twelve dollars. This was technically true, but technically true is also technically lying, since I think I had five dollars in my wallet that I could have handed over, but before I could do any ethical calculus weighing feeling guilty versus feeling ripped off she was gone.

On my way out I passed her holding hands with a guy the size and shape of a large whiskey barrel. With his other hand he was holding a cell phone to his ear and I overheard him say, “Yeah, we’re fine. We’ll see you soon.”

Had they gotten the rest of the money? Did she even really need any money? Was I part of some bizarre psychological experiment? I was still turning these questions over in my mind a couple of hours later when I got a call on my phone.

“Hi. This is Carl. I’d like to talk to you about your recent computer purchase.”

I hung up without having to do any ethical calculus, but why is it so much easier to spot a scam when it’s not staring you in the face?

The Weekly Essay

They’re In Every Museum.

Author: August 6, 2015 12 Comments

entrySelections from a museum exhibit audio guide:

You are now listening to the Museum Visitor’s Audio Guide, narrated by Victor Tenor. This guide will take you through the current exhibit, providing an interactive and enjoyable experience. Feel free to press Pause at any time you wish to take time to examine a specific exhibit more closely but, please, do not touch.

Are you ready to begin? Good. Turn to your left.

#1 GRANDMOTHER (Early Modern)

This work is notable for its pressed white shorts and solid white tennis shoes, all offset with a red-and-white striped shirt and topped with a green sun visor. Notice how the closely cropped hair and oversized glasses accentuate the weathered but kindly face. Is that a hint of a smile? Notice how it seems to wryly suggest, “My grandson could paint stuff like this.”

#2 GRANDFATHER (Early Modern)

As strange as we might think it the combination of white loafers and bunched black socks seemed shocking at one time, particularly after Labor Day, but as this particular work has aged it’s merely found itself part of a community of similar works. Notice the minimal hair around the ears and how this merely serves to draw attention to the clusters that protrude from the bulbous nose. Ask yourself, was combining plaid shorts and a striped shirt intentional?

#3 GRANDCHILD (Contemporary)

This work completes the triptych. Bold and aggressive the faux-distressed t-shirt featuring the symbol of a popular superhero adds a Pop Art touch. Look carefully and you may find similarities to the previous two works, although the gap in time between production and stylistic and cultural changes make this unlikely. This work is known to baffle even scholars with the questions it raises, such as, “Can we go home now?” and “Do we have to do this?”

#6 SINGLE WOMAN (Mid-Post Modern)

An intriguing, constantly shifting work only available for viewing during lunch hours on Thursdays, Fridays, and occasional Saturdays this work also regularly appears in the museum gift shop near the Tiffany style earrings and Georgia O’Keefe refrigerator magnets. The smart business suit and bob haircut seem straightforward, but this work is multi-layered. Notice the ladybug earrings. Look quickly. This work may disappear shortly after getting a latte to go from the museum café.

#8 ART STUDENT (Late Post Modern)

Kitschy and employing a number of ironic clichés, from the fedora to the vest worn over a white t-shirt to the raggedly cut jeans decorated with rhinestones this work is on almost perpetual display. One of the most popular exhibits it’s never seen without a sketchbook, always carried but never opened, its contents perhaps deliberately concealed.

#9 HIPSTER GUY (Late Post Modern)

Seemingly influenced by the ART STUDENT, though this is often denied, notice this work’s similarly cut jeans, paired here with a too-tight t-shirt, in this case a bright pastel color, and the soul patch. The monochrome tattoo on the left bicep appears to be a Celtic design, but, partially obscured by the sleeve, it’s difficult to tell. Too studied to fall into the category of Folk Art this work represents a new direction, an attempt at outsider status that has, nevertheless, become so common it’s now considered mainstream.

#10 HIPSTER WOMAN (Late Post Modern)

Connected to but distinctly different from the previous work this one combines the old and new in surprising ways. The heavy black boots appear to be influenced by the 1990’s, while the solid black tights paired with a plaid flannel shirt tied around the waist are clearly from a decade earlier. The Cookie Monster t-shirt is both retro and contemporary. Notice how the suspenders provide a frame, and how the entire work is unexpectedly capped by a small bowler hat.

#14 MIDDLE AGED MAN (Early Post Modern)

Are the khaki slacks and blue denim shirt ironic or are they applied without deeper meaning? That’s one of many questions raised by this work. With the receding hair line and thoughtful expression it could be the product of almost any college level art program, but the subtlety draws us in. Did you expect to see a tiny skull and crossbones lapel pin? The horn-rimmed glasses are the only thing about this work that’s transparent.

#17 THE TEACHER (Mid-Post Modern)

Transitioning swiftly from calm to harried this particular work both begs for respectful quiet and raises questions. Notice the focus on the next work, and the steady sweeping gaze offset by the occasional roll of the eyes. For this exhibit this work was supposed to be paired with THE DOCENT. The latter work is currently unavailable leaving this work to stand on its own wearing platform shoes that, in retrospect, seem like a really bad decision.

#18 THE STUDENTS (Contemporary)

This work is striking in its broad variety. Notice the broad range of colors, the activity, the multi-directional focus. Notice how parts of this work look in every possible direction and consider the questions loudly and aggressively raised by this work, such as, “Why does that statue have a big purple dick?” Responses may range from outrage to laughter.

This concludes the exhibition audio guide. If you have borrowed one of the museum’s players please go to the front desk and return it to THE VOLUNTEER (Date unknown).

artwork

Submitted For Your Approval.

Lizz On.

Author: August 5, 2015 10 Comments

lizzfreeHappy birthday Lizz Winstead.

She’s best known as a political commentator and co-creator of The Daily Show, but she started in standup comedy and theater, and her book of personal essays Lizz Free or Die provides some hilarious and poignant insight into her background. She explains a lot about who she is and how she moved so far from the conservative Catholic family she was brought up in.

She discusses her decision to take up babysitting even though she didn’t really like babies, and how babies knew she didn’t like her and would “scowl” at her. “Every photo of me as a kid holding a baby looks like a poster promoting a heavyweight championship fight.” And her young obsession with a praying hands statue mounted on the wall—wondering whose hands they were and why they’d been amputated—cracks me up every time I reread it.

Like these. Source: Amazon.com

Yeah, I can see why these would freak out a kid. Lucky me I was raised by Presbyterians.
Source: Amazon.com

Winstead also takes more serious turns, such as when, almost completely ignorant about sex other than how to do it, she got pregnant and her first boyfriend left her to deal with it on her own. Then there’s, among other things, the time she put in paying her standup dues. Winstead started at a time when comedy was notoriously unfriendly to women comics and she faced plenty of unfriendly audiences, including once disastrously opening for Frankie Valli.

The book seems to cut off too soon—she briefly covers her time creating and working on The Daily Show, but ends there—but that’s okay. Yes, I would like more, but she does some pretty serious soul baring in her essays, and it would be unfair to expect anything more.

Happy Birthday.

It’s A Douglas Adams Universe. We Just Live In It.

Author: August 4, 2015 19 Comments

The way it functioned was very interesting. When the Drink button was pressed it made an instant but highly detailed examination of the subject’s taste buds, a spectroscopic analysis of the subject’s metabolism and then sent tiny experimental signals down the neural pathways to the taste centers of the subject’s brain to see what was likely to go down well. However, no one knew quite why it did this because it invariably delivered a cupful of liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea.

-Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy

drink1drink2If you’ve encountered one of these machines you’ve probably discovered that no matter what you select it comes out tasting vaguely like everything else it also dispenses. Never before has anyone thought to combine lemonade with Coke, Vanilla Coke, Cherry Coke, green tea, Powerade, Sprite, at least four flavors of Fanta, orange juice, and assorted other beverages, and if you’ve tasted the result you know why.

It’s a classic example of good idea/bad design. Some engineer came up with a brilliant idea to collapse a standard drink dispenser into the same space as a standard vending machine, saving restaurants approximately six square inches, but didn’t think that something as simple as an intermittent squirt of water to clean the nozzle would be necessary.

Coming up next: how the ancient myth of Sisyphus anticipated Windows 8.

Quick Takes.

Adoption Agent.

Author: August 3, 2015 8 Comments

adoptastopThe adopt-a-highway program has always bugged me. I’m not sure what’s expected of the adopter. If I did it, for instance, would I be expected to mow the median? Or would it be enough to pick up garbage along that stretch of highway? That wouldn’t be so bad if they could stop traffic while I was out there. Having to stop on the highway and get out of the car for any reason makes me incredibly uncomfortable. It’s the way the cars speed by. I get unnerved even walking in residential neighborhoods where there are no sidewalks so I have to find that fine line between trespassing through peoples’ yards and walking in the street. In neighborhoods the drivers are supposed to be slower but they aren’t always. I sometimes see signs in yards that say “Drive like your kids live here” and then a car whips by me and I think, “Wow, that guy hates his kids,” but that’s another story.

And then I noticed that a bus stop had been adopted by a restaurant right on the same corner. It’s not a bad idea. I guess the restaurant owners, or rather the employees, will take responsibility for keeping the bus stop clean and looking nice. Maybe it was the frogs’ idea.

021

004And there’s valet parking, but why use that when the bus will put you right in front?

I’m tempted to adopt a bus stop myself. According to the MTA website anyone who wants to adopt a bus stop will be “provided all supplies, training, contact information, and recognition signage”. Maybe I can even paint it different colors. Maybe I can decide which buses stop there. Maybe I could alter the route or adopt a stop right in front of my house. The possibilities are endless!

The Weekly Essay

Carved In Stone.

Author: August 1, 2015 5 Comments

Some of the world’s oldest examples of graffiti are carved in stone. There are ancient Egyptian monuments that have been partially defaced because some ancient-but-not-as-ancient Greek guy chiseled “Stavros was here” into them. I think about that every time I see someone’s name or something scrawled in concrete even though that doesn’t require a chisel, and concrete was largely, though not exclusively, used by the Romans.

Also writing in concrete requires being at just the right place at the right time.

Or the right place at the wrong time. Source: "Blazing Saddles", copyright Warner Brothers.

Or the right place at the wrong time.
Source: “Blazing Saddles”, copyright Warner Brothers.

What’s surprising is how quickly concrete wears down. It seems like it would be a more long-lasting form of graffiti, but, looking down, I found that in places with heavy foot traffic examples of it disappeared pretty quickly. Still there are some places where it lasts. Here, for instance, is a bit next to Nashville’s own Exit/In:

stone1

I found this just a few blocks away. I think it’s more recent and already shows signs of wear:

stone2And then there’s this that directs people to The Red Door Saloon, a funky little dive near Music Row.

stone3

 

 

American Graffiti.

Helloooo Nurse!

Author: July 31, 2015 8 Comments

nurseIf there was a good thing about getting chemo it was the nurses. Now that I type that out it sounds kind of inappropriate, but my feelings for my nurses were always purely platonic, except on those occasions when my feelings were, “Ow! Hey! That hurts! Watch it!” Now if I were thirty years younger and still single my feelings still would have been purely platonic because I’ve always been a realist and still would have known the only reason my nurses were nice while they were sticking needles in my arm is because they were nice and enjoy working with people and sticking needles in their arms, which is what prompted them to go into nursing in the first place. I had four rounds of chemo, a grand total of twenty-eight separate days of dealing with nurses. Most of them were straightforward, professional types who came in, handed me my meds, maybe gave me some apple juice, and then left until the IV bags were empty and my needle needed to be pulled out. Before the first week was over I’d had minor surgery to install a port in my chest, a large plastic bulb that they’d stick the needle into rather than wrecking my veins and making me come out looking like a heroin addict. Having a needle stuck in the port hurts a lot less than having it in a vein, and I could tell the really professional and experienced nurses because when they stuck the port it hardly hurt at all. And I quickly noticed that if they were using cold saline I’d get a cool feeling in my chest, sort of like a peppermint melting under my skin, and then I’d get a faint taste of salt in my mouth. Most nurses would smile and say, “Yes, a lot of people notice that.”

I have a new respect and appreciation for nurses, but I guess it’s only natural that I would get to know some nurses better than others. Three in particular stand out. I’ve changed their names to protect their innocence even though the only thing they’re guilty of is jabbing me repeatedly with a large piece of metal.

Donna-After introducing herself Donna asked me, “Do you go by Chris or Christopher?” I told her “Chris” was fine and that the only people who normally use my full name are my wife and mother, and they only use it when they’re mad at me. “I’ll remember that,” she said. She was very brisk, very professional, but also very talkative. Donna excelled at multitasking, which I think was what made her such a great nurse. She could ask what I did for a living and what my plans were for the weekend while preparing my injection and drugs, all without missing anything. When she inserted the needle in my port I didn’t even feel it. When I told her I tasted saline she said sarcastically, “Everybody says that but I don’t believe it.”

After that I’d come in every day hoping Donna would be my nurse again. She wouldn’t be, but one day a couple of weeks later I’d get up to go to the bathroom only to find the closest one in use, and the next closest one also in use, so I had to wander all over the ward looking for an open bathroom. I finally found one and then realized I couldn’t remember where my room was. Donna was sitting at a desk and the third time I walked by her she snapped. “CHRISTOPHER ALLEN WALDROP, ARE YOU LOST?” She then turned to the nurse next to her and said, “I can call him by his full name because I’m mad at him.”

Dan-There’s a huge gender gap in the nursing profession. I’m not sure why, but most nurses are women, especially the famous nurses—Florence Nightingale, Mary Mallon, Walt Whitman. Interestingly when I was in college living in a dorm almost everybody on my floor was studying to be a nurse. That was before the administrators realized they’d accidentally put me in an all-women’s dorm, but that’s another story.

Dan was also talkative, but nicer than Donna. We talked about TV shows, what I did for a living, what our respective plans were for the weekend, and his tattoos. He had a couple of piercings, and when he put my needle in he did it with such grace I wondered if he’d done his piercings himself.

Lucy-More than any other Lucy made me appreciate that there’s nothing like a good nurse because she was nothing like a good nurse. I first met Lucy one morning when I was still in the waiting room and she came out to tell me my white cell count was so low she didn’t think giving me chemo would be a good idea, but she was checking with my oncologist to be sure. I know nurses are sometimes the last line of defense between patients and doctors, that doctors can make mistakes that nurses sometimes have to be there to catch, but she was trying to step in and make a medical decision. That didn’t bother me so much as the way she told me that my chemotherapy for testicular cancer might have to be put on hold until a mild cold would no longer be a major health risk. Having shared my diagnosis online I wasn’t exactly embarrassed, but I did wonder why she felt the entire hospital needed to know exactly what was going on at that moment.

Later she’d take me back for my infusion for the day. Fortunately this was a day when I was only getting a single short injection. Lucy prepped my port then without warning jabbed me with the needle. I felt like I’d been stung by a wasp. I gasped.

“Just take a deep breath.”

Thanks, Lucy. Most nurses told me to take a deep breath before inserting the needle—they gave me some warning, but then most nurses weren’t busy talking to someone else at the same time they were giving me my injection. Lucy would continue carrying on a conversation so I had to keep moving forward in my chair to prevent her from pulling out the needle. She noticed this and turned around to say, “Stay with me, honey,” before resuming her conversation.

Later I’d feel sick. A different nurse would tell me that sometimes happened when the drug was administered too quickly. I’m glad I’d been treated by Lucy. She made me appreciate the other nurses so much more.

Fun With Cancer, The Weekly Essay

Director’s Cut.

Author: July 30, 2015 11 Comments

Deleted scenes from famous movies:

A. “You know what the fellow said – in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? Seriously, help me out here. I can’t think of anything!”

B. “Frankly my dear I have to know what Mammy is cooking. It smells delicious! Do you mind if I stay for supper?”

C. “Sure, you can use my boat Sheriff Brody. Just remember that sharks are an ecological cornerstone vital to the health of the ocean and many species are dependent upon them. They’re also not as hostile as you might have been led to believe. I got to observe their predatory habits up close back in World War II. Say, have I ever told you I was on the USS Indianapolis? Interesting story. Maybe I’ll tell it when we get out on the water. Oh, that guy you’re with is a marine biologist? Guess I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t know!”

D. “Are you George Bailey? Oh. Do you know where I could find him?”

E. “Frank and I noticed HAL’s developed a bit of a glitch. We’re gonna turn him off and turn him back on again and see if that fixes the problem.”

F. “You want to follow the yellow brick road to I-70 as far as Laputa, then turn onto I-24. Oh, you want to see the Wizard? Well, that’s gonna take you out of your way, but okay…”

G. “Oh relax, honey, I’ve seen it all before. I just wanted to let you know I’ve brought you some extra towels. My son Norman the dunderhead forgot all about those. All he ever thinks about is stuffing his birds. Listen, if you need anything extra just scream.”

Bonus: Match the posters to the movies!123456007All movie posters from IMDB.

Submitted For Your Approval.