2 AM

Yep, up at 2 AM, working on the Neil Gaiman book...

Marge and I nodded out around 9:30 PM. We did so after a day of work for both of us, an afternoon of heavy snowfall -- and inch an hour! Via dumb luck, I got home from my CCS teaching for Thursday around 3 PM, tired one shot at climbing our driveway (unsuccessfully) and then had to completely scrape the driveway down with my trusty shovel to get my car up to our garage (said driveway is paved, but steep and buttery snow/slush is a climb-killer; knowing the storm was coming, I laid out a top-to-bottom ripple of road salt to make the shoveling easier and more immediately effective mid-storm). As luck would have it, Marge's car came cruising up our road just as I was turning around in our neighbor's oh-so-enviable flat driveway. So, we both easily made the climb to the garage, and were home together after only three of the eventually 6 inches of snow we have to this point had fallen. A blessing.

Actually, we conked out for the night after a modest dinner (soup and garlic bread) and pleasant evening and after enjoying the Seymour Hicks 1935 British A Christmas Carol aka Scrooge. It's one of the lowest-budget of all theatrical Dickens, but a treat thanks to Hicks and the actor who plays Bob Cratchit, but that's neither here nor there -- it's part of Marge's seasonal Christmas movie viewing ritualistic lineup, and I went for the ride with her merrily. Alas, Bob Clark's Black Christmas isn't part of Marge's lineup; I'll have to watch that alone this year, now that Danny's long out of the nest. Sigh.

Anyway, we went to sleep. Drifted off around 9:30 PM, with Tuco sidling up between us (he loves to sleep up by our shoulders; we often wake up with his head or paws on one or both of us). Off to Sandland, folks.

My dreams, though, began to circle the same sort of scruffy dream-locations -- Marge and I living comfortably, but surrounding by encroaching industrial squalor; I wander off our property to a neighboring abandoned house/structure, again and again, in different dreams, one following another, each ending with increasingly discomforting "I'm stranded in an abandoned house/room/basement" scenario --

____________

Last dream I remember from tonight:

Marge and I are living, later in life, in a ranch-style house stranded in what has become an industrial stretch of Vermont road. I walk out our back door and wander up our lawn to look down at the gas station nearest us, just north, as a second life-size animatronic fiberglass dinosaur -- a goofy, cartoony Apatosaurus ("Brontosaurus" to you old-timers) -- is delivered. As the crane lowers it into position, I take in the whole expanse: shit, we used to live in such a nice, secluded neck of the woods. It's all built up now: gas stations, convenience stores, some sort of industrial park, a procession of self-storage acre-eating facilities. Ah, shit.

All that remains to us is a now-oddly shaped patch of about two acres I'm now standing on, which connects to a now-abandoned structure behind our acreage. Despondent at the sprawl surrounding us, despite the cool pair of giant fiberglass dinosaurs, I decide to go and see if I can still access the abandoned house. The guy closest to my age who used to frequent the property was comfortable with my using it as a studio once, and I'd left some of my stuff there with his permission. I make my way to the place -- no lights, but the door is unlocked. I go in and start poking around, a little uncomfortable.

As I do so, it's evident that everything once here is long gone. Even the walls are stripped of wallpaper, and it looks like somebody has partied here in recent times: bottles, a stained mattress, a little bit of garbage, even 'old sex' smell in one grimy room. I continue until I'm heading down into the cellar, which has an odd rippled-glass ceiling and narrow stairway.

I go down the stairs, tentatively, and look around in the half-light. Even the furnace is gone, it's just bare cement flooring and roughhewn walls. I realize, now even more uncomfortable, I can't go back up the stairs: the entry seems to have merged with the glass ceiling, and there's no way up back to the main floor! Hmmm, can I make it through one of the narrow little windows to the lawn?

A light streams in the window I'm looking at as I weigh my option -- headlights. Who's here? And how will they cotton to my being here -- ??
_________________

As I say, these patterns of dreams had circled variations on this kind of 'stuck in urban sprawl/stuck in a room in an abandoned structure' scenario all through my sleeping, and this finale -- the headlights, the rush of claustrophobia and not wanting to be found, trapped, in the cellar -- was the last straw. Fuck it, I want out of this dreamspace for the night!

I woke myself up, made myself lurch to the bathroom, then decided to just get up and work on the book project for a few hours before returning to sleep... after all, the book project is, in my waking life, arguably the 'abandoned housing project' I'm wandering in (till we're done): exploring someone else's (in this case, Neil's) "houses" is preoccupying my days. The anxiety over "an old neighbor about my age" is likely tied to the need to bother Neil with some last-minute questions for the book, and ongoing attempts to contact old cronies, also for the book. I feel like a pest, an interloper in this process. Neil's away writing, he doesn't want to be bothered -- and I don't know if these old friends want to hear from me after all these years -- so, dreams.
Of old houses.
Encroachment.
Trespass.
Not wanting to be 'found' -- you get the idea.

So, wake fully, engage, work, get sleepy, find a new dream space. It usually works (welcome to the writing life)...

...and, yes, the shoveling of soft powder snow lays ahead of me once daylight arrives.

I look forward to it.

_________

An addendum to yesterday's post (corrections have been made to the post itself, below):

1. Adam Silver of the Brattleboro VT-based Asian Cultural Center wrote me to point out that I -- well, actually, he -- got one thing wrong in yesterday's post: "One date correction: The Rumi Sema (last item in what you put in) is SUNDAY the 16th, not Friday. Mea culpa." Thanks, Adam!

2. This is the link to the Asian Cultural Center site, hosts of the upcoming Godzilla dinner, etc. -- check it out. I didn't have this in reach when I posted yesterday, apologies.

Bon appetit!

_________

Have a flatulent Friday!

Tween Dream, ChiChi and Joe & Steve's Big Adventure

For those of you seeking more personalized Bissette posts, here's your fix for the week.
_______________________

Tween Dream, dreamt this AM, twixt 6 AM and finally getting out of bed at 8 AM (that's sleeping in way late for me):

Marge and I are watching a CGI-heavy fantasy film from a theater seating area that is our bed. The movie is tedious, and I have a hard time staying awake, especially with Tuco (our tabby cat) purring next to me. I barely make it to the end, in which an oddly-pitched camera angle of a 19th-Century flying contraption and a closeup of the film's nominal villain with a ridiculous wig akimbo fill the screen before the end titles. At this point, a red-haired Marlboro College professor wearing glasses plunks himself into the bed at my end, and announces he's speaking at the Center for Cartoon Studies, and asks if I can get him there. So Marge, Tuco and I head out, walking down Lower Dover Road [in Marlboro, where Marlene, Maia, Danny and I used to live] toward our house. Tuco uncharacteristically allows me to carry him, content to just look around.

En route down the tree-lined dirt road with this chatty professor, we pass a small roughhewn barn on the left I've always noticed was there, but didn't know was a bookstore. The proprietor, a middle-aged woman who seems to know all of us, places a book in my hand saying, "You told me if I found a copy of The Lost World, you'd do a dinosaur sketch in it for me!" At first glance, though, I can see this isn't Conan Doyle's book: it's something unusual, a hand-colored (very nicely done!) comic-form parody of The Lost World, drawn by an unknown and uncredited cartoonist very much in the E.C. Segar school, featuring Dr. Seuss-like faux-dinosaurs. I offer to trade a copy of the genuine Lost World for this book, and she seems interested, though I also offer to buy the book if that doesn't seem fair. Tuco gets restless on my shoulders with all this banter, and it's really time to go -- we still have to scrounge up lunch for ourselves and the unexpected visitor.

I wake up, Tuco beside me, purring.
________________________

ChiChi's New Face

ChiChi (on the right), next to my sis Kathie

This just in:

A photo of my younger sister Kathie with her hubby Jim Szeredy, retired U.S. Army officer and active Shriner clown, in his "new ChiChi face" -- yep, my sister married a clown!

Mucho love to Kathie, Jim and ChiChi!

__________________________

Joe & Steve's Big Adventure

So, Joe Citro and I stole away from our respective homes for a two-day jaunt into the wilds and not-so-wilds of New Hampshire this past Sunday and Monday. We went with a tuned car, full tank, overnight packs and no fucking clue where we would head to or why, though we gravitated toward a few long-discussed destinations before the days were out.

All photos are by Joe Citro, shared here with his full permission and a co-conspiratorial wink.

"On zee rud wit Fronchie" (caption & pic by Joe)

After a fine day of dining and book hunting, we spent the wee hours of the evening fruitlessly searching for accomodations for the night that would cost less than $100 per room. We passed countless car washes, pet hospitals, plant nurseries and used car lots, but the classic 'motor inn' of yore seemed completely vanished, devoured by chain hotels (Days Inn, Comfort Inn, Holiday Inn were all entered and negotiations were attempted) demanding well over $100 (up to $169 plus taxes and such) for evening digs.

Fronchie drove and drove fearlessly, at one point even spilling into Maine, ontil heez Fronchmon radar brod us to da Roude 125 Modor Een, w'ere fella Fronchmon Paquette servt us weel! Mon dieu!

A mere $80 per man got us each a clean and comfortable room with comfy sleeping accomodations. Merci, Monsieur Paquette! Monsieur Bissette tanks you!

By 8:15 AM, Joe snapped these daylight pix and we were back on the road, valiant (never violent) hunter/gatherers in search of morning grub. Routing ourselves back into the depths of NH via Route 11, we passed many a grand and glorious diner and settled on a '50s-style eatery called "Pink Cadillac", where the grub was delicious. Joe had grits, too; we both savored the country sausage. Our arteries suitably packed, we returned to the tarmac path of life.

We ended up spending a good chunk of Monday in Gilmanton NH, a picturesque classic New England town with sturdy white houses, churches, town halls and fences that reminded me a bit of Craftsbury Common, VT...

The reason for Joe gravitating us to Gilmanton: it was the first home of the notorious Herman Mudgett, aka H.H. Holmes, the true-life 'devil' of The Devil in the White City, harbinger of the ultimate 19th Century horror hotel...

...whilst I was there seeking info on Gilmanton's other most-despised, most famous citizen, Grace Metalious (September 8, 1924 – February 25, 1964), born in Manchester NH, author of the scandalous and immensely popular 1956 novel Peyton Place, which was based on Grace's then-home-town of Gilmanton, nearby Laconia, and also nearby Alton, where the news of an abused daughter killing her abusive father fueled the novel -- and still-lingering local resentments of Grace.

We visited her grave at Gilmanton's Smith Meeting House Cemetery, where Joe snapped this photo. I was hoping to find out why the 1957 feature film was filmed in Camden, Maine instead of Gilmanton, and that questions was indeed answered!

Next stop: Tilton, NH, where we snagged a tasty lunch. We tried to eat here, at the Tilton Diner, but the line spilled out the door, so we dashed to a local sub-and-pizza eatery, where the food was delish. As we dined, the Italian proprietor was unhappily talking with a meat supplier on the phone: "Look, the ham was shit... know what I mean? The shit-ham was just no good..."

Tilton was a busy burg named after a wealthy 19th Century patriarch who, while he lived, erected all sorts of granite and marble monuments to his own greatness all over town...

...the greatest of all being the famed Tilton Arch, which loomed over the town on its highest point (yes, Joe indeed snapped this photo -- though this was taken a couple or so years ago; Joe wanted you to see this shot, as it indeed shows the Arch in full-tilt boogie beauty). This was to be Tilton's final monument, his vast tomb and gravestone.

Here's a shot of the Tilton Arch on Monday, as the clouds moved in. Awesome, in't it? The delightfully perverse irony of all this is despite the grandiose marble statuary and stonework all about town, despite having built this massive monument to his own greatness, Tilton was not allowed by the town to be buried here! His grave is in a neighboring township. Gotta love those stubborn Granite Staters, they sure know how to live free or die!

The fact that Tilton shared its name with a fellow I was in court with a couple of years ago only sweetened the stopover (he lost in court, BTW), though Joe hadn't made that associative link.

Then we were off to the biggest book store of 'em all, and ah, sweet book booty was found.

As Joe can attest, I really am a much better driver than President Bush. We hardly ever lost our way, I never willingly steered us down blind alleys or into unnecessary conflict, and when we did get a wee bit lost, why, I'd just back up and turn around until we found a better way to get to where we were going. It really is much simpler, wasting less gas, time, and killing nobody at all. I didn't even run over a chipmunk or woodchuck doing so. And I didn't once get us stuck in a rut, much less "proving" my masculinity by spinning our tires for over five years, saying "Stay the course! We must be resolute!"
[This July 5th caption is dedicated to addled Bush supporters everywhere]

Have a great Thursday, one and all...

“LORD WARD of the State"

Dream:

Set up is a vaguely Dickensian orphanage or group home, kids from toddlers to young adults are the wards, myself included. Our master looks like John Neville, only haughtier and more arrogant in his bearing. He is an insufferable prig.

Meals are swill; treatment is brutal. The cellars are full of bodies.

As train pulls out for gathering, children/wards who have fallen on tracks (four or more) will be run over; we are being taken by force via train to a party and film-showing our master is hosting.

They show rich, ruling-class biopic Bertolucci film; cut off before ending as elite go to party, me and handful of others try to stick with film, though projected image goes on to walls too cluttered to view, and film shut off. We are incensed.

Furious, I confront our ward master, collar him and scream at him, including how he KILLED our fellow wards to make it to this gathering and the truncated showing of the Bertolucci film; now, I know I am to be hunted down.

Front doors covered by his peers; back doors by police; I find a glass cabinet entrance to a lower level apparently unguarded. Assuming it’s a trap, I hide in an inaccessable cupboard, determined to simply wait them out.
___

Later dream:

In a vast underground bunker facility, I'm assigned a coded badge and instructed to wear it at all times.

I am assigned to work with Kevin Bacon on a second 'hollow man' project (in reality, not a film). He walks naked with me (though we're both completely unconcerned with his nudity) alongside two decks of outsized anatomical texts, each with dimensional layered models of various human and animal anatomies. He moves from deck to deck, book to book, with a simple polevault-like flexible board, lifting himself into the air to leap from deck to deck, book to book.

I'm to select just one key text, and I ask Kevin which one he recommends. Walking again alongside me instead of polevaulting, he steers me to a huge, flat book with all the internal organs and structure molded in a pliable plastic material, capped with a 'visible man'-like cover, and says, "This is by far the best of them. Ya, work with this."

But I'm unsure of how to remove the top copy, much less cart it around, and no one answers my questions. I leave it in place, but tag it as my copy before moving on.

Taboo art, 24 Hour news, dinosaurs, and dreams...

First off, a timely announcement for Taboo fans and art collectors:

I received an email this week from the cover artist of TABOO 6, Cruz Montoya (then signing as Cru Zen), who writes:

"I am selling a few paintings. One happens to be the painting titled "DEPRIVATION". I painted this oil on canvas in 1990. You chose the work for the cover of TABOO #6 [in] 1992.... The painting is up on ebay at the moment. Yea, I am still painting."

That was an astonishing cover painting, and one well worth picking up. The auction on ebay still has a few days left, but you should go and take a peek regardless, just to savor the imagery. Check it out at

Cru Montoya's site

or go right to ebay and place your bid:

TABOO 6 cover Deprivation

The particulars: "Original OIL on CANVAS - Painted by CRUZ 1990 - TABOO COVER Issue #6 1992 - PAINTING IS AUTHENTIC -Canvas measures 24 X 36 inches w/frame 25 1/2 x 27 1/2 inches - SIGNED ON BACK - NOTE: Cruz continued to work on this painting after the transparency was sent to SpiderBaby Grafix for reproduction (long before publication) - Minor changes appear in finished work(study images) - ...email with questions before bidding - Painting is in EXCELLENT CONDITION with Original Frame - Selling AS IS - LARGE FILE PLEASE WAIT -" ...and yes, it can take some time to load, unless you have DSL.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, go for it!
__

On a more personal note, I've been having vivid dreams of late. I don't keep a record of 'em, the way my amigo Rick Veitch (Rarebit Fiends) does, but sometimes they stick. I had an amusing one this morning I thought I'd share. Tucked betwixt two winter dreams -- one involving traveling on a narrow, icy road that became a pleasurable sliding fest, and the other culminating in a spectacular, too-close-for-comfort view of a gigantic fallen oak caught in a span of power wires shuddering and splintering into pieces until it was clear of the unbroken lines (Hurricane Katrina ripping through the dream pool?)-- I had a hilarious dream early this AM involving Eddie Campbell coming to Vermont to film a Pepsi commercial he had been assigned to direct. I talked him into doing a ‘nunsploitation’ commercial that began, Ken Russell-like, with an attractive young imprisoned nun facing an unorthodox exorcism, and ended with a shot of a happy-Jesus statue clutching a can of Pepsi after the nun’s escape (thanks, somehow, to Pepsi).

It was great to see Eddie again, even if it was in the Jungian realm; it’ll be a loooong time before Marj and I are able to visit Australia.
___

I've just added an active link to Dr. Michael Ryan's marvelous Paleoblog on the menu at right, and highly recommend you visit long and often. Michael was among the most energetic paleontologists who helped me through the arduous Tyrant research efforts, as he has Mark Schultz (Xenozoic Tales, aka Cadillacs and Dinosaurs) for years. Michael is now curator of paleontology at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History, posting ongoing illustrated blogs detailing his own fossil digs (lots of photos!), travels, and all things saurian, including past entries by yours truly (a history of dinosaur comics that will soon be archived on my own site, now under construction) and a link to a very engaging history of dinosaur movies. Check it out!
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And hey, speaking of dinosaurs, the Chinese dinosaurs are coming to Vermont! I can't believe it! I saw a few of these fossils close-up back in my Tyrant days, when I was an active member of the Society for Vertebrate Paleontology (an adventure I'd love to re-engage with soon). But now we can all have a look at 'em, when the traveling exhibition of Chinese dinosaur fossils visits the Montshire Museum of Science starting on October 15th, 2005.

Here's the scoop: "Chinasaurs: The Great Dinosaurs of China" will be at the Montshire from October 15 through December 18. The exhibit features six full-sized skeletons originally excavated from the Gobi Desert their home, along with ossified remains of some of the creatures that lived alongside and underfoot. The exhibit includes the ever-popular Velociraptor, displays of the unusual feathered dinosaurs that have captured the imagination of us all since their discovery, and many other fossils from China's prehistoric past (including dinosaur eggs and footprints). It looks like a fantastic exhibition -- see you there, I hope! Free with Museum admission.

The Montshire Museum of Science is waiting for you mid-state at One Montshire Road, Norwich, VT 05055 (phone: 802 649-2200, Fax 802 649-3637, E-mail montshire@montshire.org), and they're open from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day. For online info and pix, go to:

Montshire Musuem site

Heartfelt thanks to writer and dear friend Diane E. Foulds for bringing this to my attention.
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You know, I'm told that Diane once said: "If God is supposed to be so loving, why did he create all those awful dinosaurs?"

Diane, the short answer is, He may not have. All hail the True Creator, The Flying Spaghetti Monster!

Since the ongoing struggle by devout Christians against Darwinian theory and evolution continues unabated, and since the latest offensive front spin-doctoring Creationism into “Intelligent Design” has now opened a fresh can of worms, it only seems appropriate that

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

should rear its fettucini-like head. As my cartooning bro' Tim Truman exclaimed, "At last! I have found a religion with which I am completely comfortable" (and Tim was a preacher's son, y'all, so say amen!).

There's clear scientific evidence (well, as clear as anything Creationist and "Intelligent Design" acolytes have provided) that the Church might be on to something here. I mean, look at other cultural myths: the snake-headed Medusa might have emerged from a visitation of the Flying Spaghetti Monster settling on a female worshipper's head in ancient times, and more contemporary manifestations like Toho monsters Dogora and Hedorah were clearly inspired by the Flying Spaghetti Monster's fossil record. Besides, we all know there are indeed midgets in this world.

Given the recent words of wisdom from none other than our own President, I implore you all -- really, we need to leave no child left behind in exposure to the many alternative theories and myths of creation. There are some lovely Creation stories from around the world, but few are as awe-inspiring and utterly convincing as the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Why do they think they call it "Angel Hair"?

I'll leave the final word to Tim:

"May His Words and His Wisdom be taught to all young Kansas school children who are not yet of drinking age."
___

A few more odds and ends:

There's an ongoing online discussion about the Creator Bill of Rights (another Scott McCloud invention!) that I've been participating in for a few months. Cartoonist Al Nickerson is the brave soul who re-opened discussion and is providing a one-stop venue for the debate, which is

here

and now among the permanent links on this blog (see right).

There's also some more 24-Hour Comic news to report:

* First, a reminder: 24-Hour Comics Day is October 7, 2006 -- not 2005. Sorry for the confusion in my last post. Thanks for the correction, Nat, who adds, "I'd prefer people not think it's sooner. We've moved the date of 24 Hour Comics Day from April (where it was this year and last) to the fall for next year, due to various logistical reasons."

* Ryan Estrada (see yesterday's post, below) writes, "The two 168 hour comics have indeed started something. Why, Bez, the individual who was to be 'going down,' has since started his 24 pages a day, every day for the rest of the year effort, and is going strong. Sure, a lot of them are quick doodles and stick figures, but it's still an incredibly awesome thing to do. But none of it would have happened if you two crazy kids hadn't started it off to begin with. And for that, I salute you." Ah, garsh, Ryan, nice of ya to say so.

* Vermont Public Radio broadcast an interview with yours truly and curator Gabriel Greenberg the week before the Brattleboro Museum event, and you can check it out

here.

* Alan David Doane has also just posted a follow-up interview with the guest curator of the Brattleboro Museum 24 Hour Comic Marathon that's worth a read, and that's over

here.

* One more permutation of the 24-Hour Comic deserves mention. This event coincidentally fell on the very weekend of the Brattleboro Museum and Art Center’s 24-Hour Challenge: actor Will Keenan’s Go-Kart Films (distributed on video & DVD by Koch;

click here for more info)

and Hoverground Studios had a major hand in Cinemasports. I held on to the press release I was emailed on Friday, August 26th, and here it is:

"Shoot your own movie in less than a day! Cinemasports is the Iron Chef of Filmmaking, where teams work feverishly to complete a movie in less than a day, that must contain a specific list of ingredients. Finished movies screen that very night. Concurrent global events often exchange movies in time for the evening screening. This is a community based, one-day filmmaking event open to all levels of filmmakers . Participation is free and open to anyone wanting to make a movie. This Saturday there will be two events happening on each side of the country - San Jose, CA & Manhattan, NY.

Here is how it works: Teams of filmmakers will get together and will be given ingredients that must be included in a 3 minute film. Each group has 10 hours to write, film, edit and complete their project...at 8pm participants and an audience will get a chance to watch each of the finished masterpieces. Whether you put together a team of your own, or want to come by yourself and be a part of the magic - this event is ready for you to participate: actors, directors, editors, writers, technicians, and anyone with an idea that really need to be turned into reality. To register for the event go

here!

If you are looking for a team or just want to touch base with other filmmakers, please visit our forum and feel free to ask for help (or just join the community)

here!

The whole thing starts the morning of Saturday, August 27th:
09:00 AM Filmmakers' Kickoff / Ingredients Announced Plaza de Cesar Chavez Park - Southern Corner at the Statue of Quezalcoatl - The Plumed Serpent Market and San Carlos Street, (near San Fernando Street)(VTA Light Rail access), San Jose, CA, 95113 USA
The films will be screened later that same evening:
08:00 PM Public screening of finished movies
MACLA - Black Box Theater
510 South First Street, San Jose, CA, 95113 USA
Tickets: $5 Participant / $10 Audience
For more details, examples of past submissions and specifics on the NYC event,
please visit:

Cinemasports

See you there!"

Did you catch the reference to "concurrent global events"??? Why, Quezalcoatl must be writhing in his ages-old sleep. I wonder if Scott McCloud knows about all this. This is astounding!
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Speaking of indy actor Will Keenan (star of Tromeo and Juliet, Operation Midnight Climax, Love God, Waiting, etc.), there’s a bit of a controversy brewing over the overt similarities between Patrick Hasson’s Waiting (2000), a feisty independent film Will starred (and ate shaving cream) in, and the trailers for an upcoming comedy entitled (ahem) Waiting..., from writer/director Rob McKittrick.

At the time of this writing, online promotion or sources (including imdb.com postings by McKittrick) deny any association with Hasson and Stefanic’s film: on August 27, 2005, McKittrick wrote, “I can assure you, it's not a ripoff of the Will Keenan film. I wrote it back in '97 (and have the writer's guild registration and copyright to prove it), a couple years before the Hasson film came out” (see

McKittrick's comments,

and check the related threads).

I never judge a creative work before I see/read/hear/experience it, but I must say the trailer immediately rang bells and had me assuming Waiting... was a remake of Waiting, until I saw not one name associated with the 2000 film in the credits. It’ll be interesting to see how this develops and plays out.

Thanks for joining me here... more later!