Monday, July 04, 2011

Independence

I moved out on Independence Day.

Eight years ago today, I left the suburban home my wife and I had purchased three years earlier. She had not spoken to me since April, when I departed for a business trip she strenuously opposed. I had been offered an opportunity to write two related stories—one for a magazine to which I frequently contributed, the second for The New York Times—requiring a stay in Dubai.

I regarded these assignments as steps forward in my career. She regarded my consideration of them as idiocy. The invasion of Iraq was then underway, she argued; it was a dangerous time for Americans to travel anywhere in the world, much less to the Persian Gulf. I argued that I wouldn’t be remotely in harm’s way. She countered that I would be a “big dumb blond walking target” for “them,” all of whom “hate us.” If I went on the trip, she threatened, we were “finished.”

I had heard that threat before. By and large, I ceded to her preferences on day-to-day matters. I had learned that it was simpler to give way than to argue over the picayune. Yet now and then, I had strong opinions on matters, particularly those affecting my career. When I was accepted to graduate school, which she felt we could not afford, I was told that we were “finished.” When I took a job that paid more and demanded more time, she asserted we were “finished.” We had been “finished” so many times already, I felt I could write these articles and deal with the fallout later.

The trip was uneventful. The articles went over well and I was assigned more. My wife stopped speaking to me. She refused to acknowledge my presence. She constantly muttered to herself about the “asshole” she had married, never minding the listening ears of our three children. Her rage had surpassed concerns for putting forward any fronts. She fucking hated that “asshole” and made sure everyone knew it.

Her father came forward with a solution that he hoped would placate Lucy’s rage. He owned an apartment in the city that had gone unused since Lucy and I lived there with the children some years earlier. He urged me to move there, at least temporarily, until Lucy’s anger blew over. If Lucy has a problem with me, I said, perhaps she should move there. I saw no reason to leave my home. “She’ll never do that,” he said. “It’s up to you to create some peace in that house. Give her some time to get over this; she can’t be angry forever.”

When the school year ended, Lucy took the children on a trip. It was agreed that I would pack up some things and move to the apartment. I packed my car with the clothes I would need for work, a box of files and the iMac I used to write my articles, and drove off. I saw no reason to take more; Lucy’s rage would burn itself out, as it invariably did.

In the weeks leading up to my departure, as Lucy fumed, I confided in very few friends that I feared my marriage was ending. Dacia expressed sympathy, yet wondered if it might be for the best. Despite my efforts to keep my family intact, I was, she knew, exhausted by arguments and bitter silences. My long-time friend Marcus, himself recently divorced, encouraged me to look at the positive aspects of creating a new life. He still had conflicts with his ex-wife, he acknowledged, particularly over their children, but he was personally happier than he had been in years. “And then there’s the sex,” Marcus added. “Let me ask you a personal question: are you satisfied with your sex life with Lucy?”

“There’s no such animal.” It felt sad to acknowledge this out loud, as if confessing my shame at our utter lack of intimacy. “We’ve been through therapy and all, but she’s just not that interested in sex.”

“Are you?”

“From what I recall of it, yes.”

“Lucy’s giving you a gift,” Marcus said. “If she’s insisting on a separation, if she’s asking for divorce, she’s giving you freedom. Use it. Go get laid. See what freedom tastes like.”

I unpacked my car at the apartment I had once shared with my young family. I hung my shirts in a closet and set the rest of my clothes in half an empty drawer. My work files rested on a stack of boxes storing the remains of my father-in-law’s former office. I reset the clock radio next to the bed in which Lucy and I had conceived each of our three children. Dust covered its dark duvet.

I poured a bourbon and sat on the couch. Dusk settled. Two bourbons later, I picked up the iMac and put it on the dining table. I plugged the cord into an outlet, detached a nearby phone and ran the line to the computer. Before long, the modem’s familiar whines and belches echoed in the near empty room. I had mail. Ignoring that, I followed Marcus’s road map to chat rooms. ("It takes time to meet women," he had told me, "but hooking up with guys is easy.") It took a drink or two and several failed attempts, but I finally got into a chat entitled “M4MNYC.” Instant messages littered my screen with nonsensical terms:

sup

Pics?

Loc?

a/s/l?

Stats? Into?


I watched messages pile up in the main chat. I finally typed in one of my own.

My marriage ended today. I was exiled to an empty apartment. How does this begin?

An answer swiftly came. Wow, that’s hard. I’m sorry to hear about that.

Me too, I thought. Me too. What’s your name? I’m Jefferson.

Jim. Nice to meet you. Do you want company?

I twirled my glass and took a sip. Yes, please. Thirty minutes later, he was at my door. Jim was handsome, resembling Matthew Broderick. I offered him a drink.

“Can I have a kiss instead?”

I nodded and he came forward. Jim’s kiss was so warm, so inviting and so necessary. I had not felt desired in years. He tugged at my clothes. I tugged at his. “Where’s your bed?” he murmured into my mouth. I walked backwards, not daring to take my lips from his. We fell backward on the bed, sending up clouds of dust.

Sex, as it turned out, was much easier outside my marriage than it had been within. I knew that Lucy would eventually come around and I’d be invited back home. We would work it out and sustain a truce until the next time we were “finished.” There would remain this void in our marriage—one month, two, four—that we would refrain from discussing. She had given me this freedom, as Marcus pointed out, however temporarily. I had not been the one to put the brakes on our monogamy, but I intended to make the most of my freedom before being called back.

I was stunned when the divorce papers arrived.

The divorce was nasty and unnecessarily protracted. Not long after it was finalized, Lucy—stoned and drunk—proposed we get back together. By then, it was too late. Independence had taken hold. I had already begun to write about it here.

Years later, Lucy would discover my blog and sue for custody of our children. She shared my blog with her family, who read, in as much detail as they pleased, of my experience of Lucy’s mental illness, her problems with intimacy, and the impulsivity with which she ended our fifteen-year relationship. Lucy described the contents of my blog to our children, telling them that their father was bisexual and a bad man. A few months ago, Lucy took it onto herself to out me to my birth family.

If I enjoyed a new sex life, partly led in public, Lucy ensured that my public would include those I had chosen not to tell. It was a fitting punishment for my happiness without her, for abandoning her when she pushed me out the door.

But her rash behavior, as ever, backfired. No one really seems to care that I have a pretty great sex life. No one seems to care that the husband who loved her went on to love others. Her loneliness and rage weren’t mitigated by her destruction of my privacy. If anything, her outings only cleared my path to greater freedom. After all, who does she have left to tell?

Eight years ago today, Lucy sent me out the edge of the Earth, hoping I’d fall over. Instead, I found freedoms beyond her reach.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Family Picture

For spring break a couple of months ago, my ex-wife decided to take our two youngest children on a road trip to New Orleans. By saying “decided,” I mean to underscore that she didn’t consult me, or even tell me of her plans. She hasn’t said a word to me since Christmas. I heard of the planned trip when the kids mentioned it.

The trip took them through my hometown. Lucy asked our youngest daughter to contact my parents to ask if they could stop by for a visit. Of course, my parents agreed, and offered to arrange for other family members to visit as well. It would be the first time Lucy had seen my family since we separated eight years ago. We assumed this was a nice gesture. Presumably, Lucy had no special interest in being with my family, but she wanted to allow the children to see their Southern folks.

Afterward, Mom called to say that Lucy had been surprisingly pleasant. I was glad the trip went well. I had been a bit suspicious of it.

Last weekend, I went home for my high school reunion. I was sitting with my family when someone brought up how big my children have become since their last trip South. I said I had heard good things about the visit from the kids. I was impressed that my middle son had wanted to take so long a trip to see New Orleans as it recovers from Katrina and the Gulf oil spill.

My brother Frank looked at Mom. “Well, that’s not why they made the trip,” he said. He looked at me. “You want to know the real reason she came down here?”

“Do tell.”

“Brother, Lucy came down her to tell us about your blog.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope, he’s not,” Mom said. “She sat right there and told us you had a blog and were having all kinds of sex and writing about it.”

I shook my head. “Wow.”

“Yeah, she told us about the blog—what’s it called, ‘One Life, Take Two?’” Frank went on. “She said she found it and read about the things you do now. She took me over to Mom’s laptop and typed in the whatcha-ma-call-it and showed it to me.” He laughed. “You’ve got some hot pictures on there, man.”

“She typed in the URL for you? On Mom's laptop? Jesus. Well, what did you say, Mom?”

“Well, I told her I always knew you were a good writer. Your Dad said it sounds like you’re having fun.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much. Then I asked of they wanted to spend the night. They were planning to drive a few more hours, but I said that didn’t make any sense when we’ve got room.”

I stood up and put my hand on my brother’s shoulder. “Well, sorry you had to find out that way. Obviously, I didn’t see a reason to tell you. So know you know the dirt on why Lucy felt empowered to spend a year and two-hundred-thousand dollars chasing me through court.”

“There wasn’t any reason to tell us!” Mom said. “We don’t care what you do like that. You’re not married and you’ve been grown up for a long time.”

“Thanks.” I thought a moment. “Wait, you’re not still reading it, are you?”

“I read a little bit to see what she was talking about,” Mom said. “But honey, I don’t need to read about your sex life.”

“I mostly liked the pictures,” Frank laughed.

I can only imagine Lucy’s disappointment in my family’s reaction. Planning her drive to New Orleans, she must have rehearsed many scripts in her mind. When she outed me to her own family, Lucy found they rallied around her, severing ties to me and writing checks to her attorneys. When she outed me to our children—the youngest of whom was then eight years old—Lucy found they were frightened and confused as their mother wove dark tales about the father they adored.

My family shrugged off Lucy’s revelation and offered a place to stay for the night. Privately, they now told me, they felt pretty sorry for her. I suppose that’s how I feel about it, too.

It would be right to be angry. I began having sex at an early age, with males and females, and recognized my bisexuality at age nineteen. I went to college the following year and never returned home to live. I saw no reason to come out to my parents, particularly after I entered into monogamy and marriage with a woman. Now, as I near fifty years of age, Lucy took it onto herself to out me to my family. She did so by making it possible for them to read about my sex and sexuality in whatever ways I’ve reported it here.

It must have been a long, bitter drive back to New York.

“I still love him," Lucy told my family, “but I don’t like what he’s become.” As my Mom said in relating this to me, “I don’t know what that is, but it’s not love.”

Clearly, my family knows a few things about love.

A week before I returned home to my high school reunion, I attended the high school graduation of my eldest son. With our younger children seated behind us, Lucy kept her gaze trained to the stage, avoiding eye contact with me.

After the ceremony, everyone filed out of the auditorium to the lobby and street beyond, proud parents and family searching to congratulate the new graduates. We found Jason. Lucy pushed ahead to kiss his cheek, standing on her toes to do so. Collie shook his brother’s hand, smirking at his own staged formality. Lillie affected disinterest, saying, “Um, hello? Everyone just graduated. Why does he get all the attention?”

I laughed at her as I pulled Jason into a bear hug. “I love you, baby boy.” I pulled back and grabbed his shoulders. “And now, goodness, you’ve got two months until going off to college.”

“I know, “ he said, beaming as he does, his lips struggling to restrain a smile. “Guess I should start packing.”

“Not just yet,” I smiled, hugging him again.

We made our way to the sidewalk, which teemed with clusters of people, each centered on a graduate in a blue gown. I followed as Jason navigated through the crowd in search of his friends. Lucy and the kids trailed me. I took photos of Jason and his friends I shook hands with their parents, congratulating them as they congratulated me.

We found an empty space. Lillie goofed with her brother. I took more photos. Lucy had forgotten her camera, and I had promised to share mine.

Lucy came forward with Collie. “Let’s take a family picture,” she instructed our children. She gathered them together, wrapped an arm around Collie and looked at me expectantly. “Everybody say ‘cheese,’” she smiled.

I raised the camera to snap Lucy’s family picture.

A woman tapped my shoulder. “Would you like me to take a picture so you can all be in it?”

I smiled and handed her the camera. “Thanks, that’s very nice.” I showed her how to use the camera and took my place in the lineup. I beamed at the camera, our children arrayed between their mother and father. I thanked the woman and took back my camera. I turned to Jason. “Do you have any plans? Maybe we can all get an early dinner or something.”

“Um, no, no plans.” He paused. “Oh, I just realized I haven’t eaten today.”

“Oh, so let’s fix that.” I looked around. “Did you see where your mother went? Where’s Collie and Lillie?”

Jason peered around the families surrounding us. “Huh, I don’t see them.”

“They probably went inside to use the bathroom or something. I’ll wait by the door while you talk to your friends.”

Jason ambled over to pose in another photograph. I made my way to the door. Twenty minutes later, Jason joined me as the crowd thinned. “You see Mom?” he asked.

I shrugged. “No sign. You neither, I assume.”

“No.” He looked around.

“Why don’t you call her, then?”

He raised his gown to retrieve the phone from him pocket, pushed a few buttons and raised it to his ear. “Voice mail,” he reported. “I’ll try Collie.” Voice mail again.

“Maybe we should stand on the corner. Maybe they’re at the other exit looking for us.” We moved. They weren’t there. A few minute passed. I suggested Jason try his mother again.

“Hello?” He nodded to tell me she answered. “What did you say? . . . oh, okay . . . so what should I do? . . . okay, see you in a minute.” He hung up and look at me. “She said Lillie wanted to go home.” He began to walk down the street.

“Oh, okay. I’ll walk with you to say goodbye to them.”

“No, actually, I’m not meeting them. They’re already at home.”

“They left?” Not a word to me or our graduating son. “Okay, well, hmm . . . did you want to get a bite, or . . .”

“I’m hungry,” he said as we passed a diner. “But she said I should come home, and I can just eat there. Where are you going?”

“I guess I’m going to the subway.”

“Me too.” We walked along, talking about the graduation and fell to talking about movies. We rode the subway together until he reached his stop. I kissed him as the train door opened. “I love you, son. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He waved as the train pulled away.

I went home and downloaded the photographs. I sent them to Lucy’s family, my family, the kids and various friends. I posted our family picture on Facebook.

Madeline sent me a note, congratulating me on the graduation. “Nice-looking family, Jefferson. Lucy sure looks miserable, though.”

“She didn’t say a word to me, start to finish, and left without a word to Jason or me,” I replied. “She must’ve been pained to share that photograph with me.”

I may not like what’s Lucy’s become, but I do feel sorry for her.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Podcasts

If you’d like to hear my smut stories told in my own dulcet tones, you can! The newest installment of Kevin Allison’s Risk! Show, entitled “Perverse?,” features the story of the first accidental orgy after the end of my marriage. Listen to Volume Nine of the Standard Issues podcast to hear the woeful tale of my most disastrous date in college. Both are available as free downloads on iTunes.

Enjoy!

Friday, March 18, 2011

Standard Issues


This month the Standard Issues live show takes on Disasters! Calamities! Horrors great and small!

On hand to relive moments when the shit hits the fan will be a collection of brilliant story tellers including, but not limited to:

Jefferson (The Earth Destroying Asteroid)

Jennifer (Global Warming) Glick

Jeff (Titanic the Sequel) Scherer

Ben (Deli Out Of Lox) Lillie

Allison (Ishtar) Downey

Cyndi (Prom) Freeman

. . . and our mystery guest pulled from the hat! So, possibly, you.

All this and your host Brad (Was That Shellfish a Little Off?) Lawrence.

Tuesday, March 22, 8:00-11:00pm
Pacific Standard
82 Fourth Avenue
At the corner of Saint Marks
Brooklyn, New York

TOLD


You are cordially invited to the twenty-ninth installment of Told, a monthly storytelling show at Under Saint Marks Theater. This month we beat the trail with "Politics as Unusual," stories with backdrops of elections, protests and feisty government hearings. We try hard not to be timely with TOLD, but it seems that with all the news in Wisconsin and the Middle East, we'll have to settle for being relevant this one month.

With stories by the highly electable, constituent-serving:

Jim O'Grady (WNYC, New York Times, This American Life)

Cammi Climaco (Ask Me Stories)

Brad Lawrence (Standard Issues)

Jefferson (One Life Take Two)

Plus interludes by campaign veteran and former speechwriter to President Clinton, Ben Yarrow.

Rock the vote.

TOLD #29: Politics as Unusual
Monday, March 21, 7:00 PM
Under St. Mark's Theater, 94 Saint Marks Place
Between First Avenue and Avenue A
Pay what you will
Join us afterward at Grassroots Bar

Hosted by Seth Lind, Production Manager for This American Life.
Produced by Heidi Grumelot
Presented by Horse Trade Theater Group

Monday, March 14, 2011

Wednesday, March 02, 2011

Ravenous Readings

Ravenous Romance™, a leading online publisher of erotic romance novels and short stories, has announced the second night of monthly readings at the New York City literary hot-spot Happy Ending Lounge, a funky two-story club that was once a massage parlor, located at 302 Broome Street. Ravenous Nights is scheduled for Friday, March 4, 8 pm to 10 pm, and it is free of charge.

The lineup for March 4 includes:

Laura Antoniou, best-selling erotic author of the Marketplace series;

D.L. King, best-selling erotic romance author;

Kristabel Reed, Ravenous Romance ménage-a-trios author;

Jefferson, well-known sex blogger and author of male-male short stories for RR anthologies.

The lineup for Friday, April 1 will be announced in the coming weeks.

In celebration of Ravenous Nights, Ravenous Romance will offer free copies of the Ravenous Romance male-male anthology Manthology to the first one hundred people to download it. In addition, Ravenous Romance will give a free Ravenous Romance drink coaster to each attendee and the Happy Ending Lounge will create a special “Ravenous” cocktail that will only appear on the menu during Ravenous Nights.

LISTING INFORMATION:
Ravenous Nights
Friday, March 4, 2011
8 pm to 10 pm, Free of charge
Location: Happy Ending Lounge
302 Broome Street (at Forsyth Street)
(212) 334-9676

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Biochemistry

When I began organizing sex parties eight years ago, part of my impetus for doing so came from the necessity of filling a void. To the best of my knowledge, there were no ongoing parties welcoming of bisexual men. Most events for men and women held to a rigid double standard: women were presumed to be bisexual, whether or not they were, and men were prohibited from touching other men. My friends and I wanted a space where we could be open about our sexuality and so we created a space of our own.

Now, the good folks behind Chemistry have started Biochemistry, a party for bisexual/bi-curious men and the women who love them. I plan to be a regular and I’m talking it up with my friends.

Come join us! You need to be a Chemistry member to attend. Fill out the form below and submit it to thelist@chemistry-nyc.com. Do so now and perhaps I’ll see you at the next party.

Tell ‘em Jefferson sent you.


Thanks for your interest in Chemistry! Chemistry is a private membership club. We'd like to get to know a bit about you. Please answer the following questions thoughtfully. Your responses will not be shared with anyone. Note that each individual must submit an application.


What is your first name?


What decade were you born in?


If you are single, tell us how you feel about that. If you are in a committed relationship, tell us about it.


Do you plan on attending your first Chemistry party with a date? If so, please give his/her first name and email address.


Tell us about yourself (work, goals, interests, dreams, etc.). How would you describe your personality?


What is your favorite non-sexual hobby, past or present? Why?


What is your philosophy on sex? What role does sexuality play in your life?


Have you been to on-premise erotic parties before? If so, which one(s), and what did you like/dislike about them? If not, what is motivating you to attend one now?


What elements and characteristics would make a perfect night at Chemistry for you?


How did you find out about Chemistry? Please be specific (i.e., which friend, article, etc.). Jefferson's "One Life, Take Two" blog


Would you like to receive invites to our New York parties, our Philadelphia parties, or both?


Please send a G-rated photo.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Saturday, February 19, 2011

New York Confidential


Join me this Monday, February 21 for New York Confidential: Stories Exposed where I'll be telling a story of champagne dreams and cavier wishes with, of course, a fair dollop of smutty roe.

My upcoming storytelling events include:

Friday, March 4, 8pm: Ravenous Readings at Happy Ending Lounge.

Tuesday, March 22, 8pm: Standard Issues at Pacific Standard.

I regularly throw my name into the hat at The Moth, where anyone can be chosen to tell a story. I announce booked appearances and planned Moth nights on my Twitter; subscribe for updates.

See you there.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

HNT


Lori decided to celebrate her birthday by getting one nipple pierced. I went along to hold her hand and offer a supportive foot.

My toenails look lovely, don't they? Kay prettied them up.

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Ravenous Readings

Join me this Friday for the launch of Ravenous Readings. Details below.

Ravenous Romance™, a leading online publisher of erotic romance novels and short stories has announced a collaboration with New York City literary hot-spot Happy Endings Lounge to host a monthly erotic reading series on the first Friday of every month called Ravenous Nights. Happy Endings, a funky 2-story club that was once a massage parlor, is located at 302 Broome Street. The first Ravenous Night is scheduled for Friday, February 4 from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m. It is free of charge.

The lineup for February 4 includes:

Cecilia Tan, best-selling erotic author of the Magic University series

Caridad Pinero, New York Times best-selling erotic romance author.

Mo Beasley, founder of Urban Erotika, a spoken word performance series.

KT Grant, author of The Princess Bride.

Jefferson, acclaimed sex blogger and short story author in the anthologies The DILF Anthology and I Kissed a Boy.

Debra Hyde, acclaimed writer of BDSM erotic romance, and author of the BDSM classic,Blind Seduction.

In celebration of Ravenous Nights, Barnes & Noble has announced that they will offer free copies of the Ravenous Romance anthology Once Upon a Threesome to the first one hundred people to download it. In addition, Ravenous Romance will give each attendee a free Ravenous Romance drink coaster to each attendee and the Happy Endings Lounge will create a special “Ravenous” cocktail which will only appear on the menu during Ravenous Nights.

LISTING INFORMATION:
Ravenous Nights
Friday, February 4, 2011
8 p.m. to 10 p.m.
Free of charge
Location: Happy Endings Lounge
302 Broome Street (at Forsyth St)
(212) 334-9676

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Storytelling at Perch


Join me on Monday, January 24, 8:00-9:30pm, for Storytelling at Perch. The theme is "regrets." I've had a few.

You can have a few yourself; there are fine drink specials. This intimate space is also a lovely restuarant. Arrive early to reserve your seat.

Regreters:
Rob Asaro
Johanna Clearfield
Judy Goldschmidt
Jefferson
Ariana Seigel

With a very special guest: Vigilante, singing the stories of regret.

Perch Cafe
365 Fifth Avenue
Brooklyn, NY

Thursday, January 20, 2011

HNT


Scout wrote to ask if I’d like to have a girlfriend tie him up and watch as he sucked my dick. Lori was all about that. Here’s her rope handiwork just prior to the realization of the second part of Scout’s proposal.

Yesterday was Lori’s birthday. Show her some love at Kinky Sticks.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Story Collider


Story Collider is a story-telling series focused on science. On January nineteenth, the theme is “pathology,” and I’ll be there, telling the story of my brief career as a sociopath.

My story focuses primarily on the anticipated revisions to the Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) and the real-life impact of the categorization of sexuality by mental health professionals. In the current edition of the DSM, anyone involved in kink is potentially diagnosed with “paraphilia,” a catch-all term for any sexual attraction deemed outside normative behavior, be it necrophilia or a taste for latex. The new edition is expected to update diagnostic criteria so that kinky is not a diagnosis.

Until then, the current edition remains the guideline, as it was during my recent custody case. My interest in BDSM became the subject of a psychiatric evaluation that could have caused me to lose my children.

My story also includes the gossipy smear campaign undertaken by bloggers Dacia, Tess and Dee. When they learned that there would be a psychiatric evaluation, they filled blogs, anonymous attacks and cocktails hours with their diagnosis that I was, unquestionably, a “sociopath.” This feverish, sad drama consumed them even after the psychiatric evaluation and custody case were concluded.

Hear the full tale at Story Collider, where I’ll share the stage with great storytellers, including some of my chums from the Moth. The event is free but the house will be full, so arrive early to claim your spot; make Pacific Standard your happy hour destination.

Saturday, January 01, 2011

Orgasm Giveaway

With the New Year’s hangover comes my annual Birthday Month Orgasm Giveaway. Each January, I give away orgasms for duration of the month in celebration of my birthday, which is January seventeenth. My goal is to give away one orgasm for each year of my life, plus one to grow on. This year, I turn forty-seven, so that’s forty-eight money shots.

Last year, I exceeded my goal a tad—I gave out two-hundred and forty-six orgasms.

Each year, I meet new people who have read my blog for a while but never contacted me. If you’d like to shake my hand and get off to boot, here’s your chance.