Going Somewhere

June 24, 2008...One year, one month and nine days since I started my journey as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Romania. I cannot believe how fast the time has gone by..."time flys when you are having fun" has never been more true! I finished my first school year as a teacher just two weeks ago. I have to be honest, I am glad to be on summer vacation until September. I love working with kids and I did have a lot of fun this past school year but I dont see my self being a teacher after this peace corps experience. However, I do believe looking back on the whole school year, my teaching performance improved as the year went by as well as my kid's english speaking ability. There was a lot of trail and error this first year, and I won't lie there were a lot of errors. I do take pride in learning from a lot of those mistakes and trying to correct them, but it is going to take some more time. When I first started with classes back in September, I think I had some pretty high goals in mind as far as my effectivness as a teacher of English and what the kids would accomplish. Because of those self impossed, out of reach standards, I would get easily frustrated which was not helping anyone, especially the kids, learn english. I learned that each day was going to be different, there would be certain variables I could not control and in the end the kids reacted to what I brought to the classroom, phyisacally and emotionally. Instead of worrying that my 8th grade class could not write a paragraph using only past tense verbs, I focused on the fact that they were able to write an understandable paragraph in english, which they could not do when we started the year. Instead of preparing minute to minute lesson plans everyday, with an introduction, practice and conclusion, I would show up with nothing but a smile, a sence of adventure and ask them where they wanted to go...and trust me, showing up to a middle school level classroom and putting them in charge you need a huge sence of adventure. Kids are just like the rest of us just smaller, they have good days and bad days and if anything they are even more vulneriable to the emotional roller coaster that is life. As an English teacher I realized some days my only concern was teaching english, which is not my primary role if you ask me. As a teacher in the school I have a much larger role than just teaching them English. First of all I should be somebody they can trust, I should be a good role model and be attentive to whats going on in their crazy "middle school aged" world. After all of that then the English can come into play. Instead of trying to introduce some english grammar in a lesson that I am not even sure how to use as a native english speaker, when the next day is a huge "sink or swim" math exam for those that would like to have a chance to move on to a high quality high school in the future...I brought in my guitar and taught them some Jack Johnson songs or had a class discussion in Romanian about what is important in their lives. Through out the course of the year I think I kicked out every single one the boys in my 7th grade class at one time or another, no joke. Finally, I realized that most of them just loved the attention of getting called out in front of the whole class by the "push over" American english teacher..."push over" because their other Romanian teachers would probably give a nice tug on the ear. So, the next time one of the same boys acted up worthy of getting kicked out my class and instead of embarassing him in front of the whole class, which I have to say is very effective and kind of fun for me, but probably not very appropriate and I only did once...maybe twice, I just simply asked the class what they wanted from english class... complete and utter Silence! "Wait, did he just ask us what we wanted from english class? Is this guy for real?" Obviously, very student wanted the highest grade possible, a 10 in the offical grade book. Then I told them what I consider a 10 in the grade book. Number one my list was not speaking perfect english or even acing every single test, it was respect. Number 2 was effort and number 3 was responsibility. These are all things that I wish I would have known from day 1 but whats the fun in knowing everything?! I learned a smile, a question, a high five, a pat on the back, a turn of the head can go along way in the survivial of being a teacher. Needless to say, I learned an incrediable amount about myself this school year and I am looking forward to getting back started with school in Septembr, but after taking full advantage of these next few summer months!
The school year could not have ended from me any better way. The Peace Corps Director for all of Peace Corps from Washington DC was in Romania for an offical country visit. Part of his tour of Romania was to Poienile Izei to visit with myself and all those who have played such a large role in my wonderful experiences thus far. I was very honored at the inviatation of hosting the Director and I have to say it went better than I could have imagined. The Director from DC was accompanyied by the Peace Corps Director of Romania as well as by the TEFL (Teach English as a Foreign Language) director for Peace Corps Romania, in other words every singe one of my bosses at every level was present! The whole village played a part in the visist and rightfully so, since the whole village has been such a huge part of my life here. There was an official/tradional greating by the mayor, vice mayor, school director, myself and of course the priest... with bread, salt and horlika...in that order! There was a wonderful tradional song & dance performance put on by some of the children from the village. There was a visit to the really old wooden church in the center of the village (I always forget how old but it is really old, there was a visit to my home to meet my amazing host family. Finally the visit was brought to a close with a great home cooked "picnic sytle" meal in a neighbors backyard. However, all of these events took the back seat to the performace by my 6th grade class, who sang "Cupid" by Jack Johnson accompanied by myself on accustic guitar, in front of the largest American audience they have ever seen. Not only did they nail the song they received a standing oviation as well...there were calls for an encore...one small problem, I only taught them that one song, way to go English teacher...way to go! I was very proud to show everyone who came, the progresses that I have made and all the sucesses I have had.
This may be my longest post yet...a large part of that is because I am waiting for my train to leave at 5:41 p.m. and it is only 3:12 and I sitting in an internet cafe. I am making my way down to Bucharest tonight arriving tomorrow morning to get my teeth cleaned and have my yearly medical check-up. I get to spend a bit of time in the country's capital before I catch a flight to Barcelona, Spain Thursday afternoon. I will in Spain until July 5th, relaxing on the beaches of the Mediteranian, drinking sangria and searching the land of Duende for my continous search of my Duende...Salut!

OBAMA!

OBAMA! OBAMA! OBAMA!

The Sound, Sight & Smell of Silence

I really do live in a kind of paradise! I have never seen a landscape this color green in all of my life. There is a smell in the air that is the true definition of "clean air." Although the lack of transportation in and out of the village can be a bit frustrating at times, the absence of smog and/or pollution allows you to see for km's on km's when the sky is filled with blue. The grass has grown to about thigh length which is the indication to start making hay. I have spent the last 2 weeks learning how to make hay. The process of making hay is not all that complicated, it really just involves a lot of common sense and of course a strong back. Most of the villagers have purchased this kind of industrial lawn mowers from the Romanian government about 2 years ago for a good price...apparently the government paid for half of the cost and the villagers were left to cover the other half, not a bad deal. However, just as when you cut the grass at your home you are not able to reach certain spots of grass with the lawn mower, well the same is true here with these mowers. One slight difference though is that back in the states you just fire up your weed whacker and call it a day. Well here, the weed whacker is a scythe (the instrument that was made famous by the grim reaper) and of course this is human powered. It is a kind of custom or right of passage to be able to use the scythe. It is a very sharp blade and can obviously slice off a finger or toe just as easily as it does the blades of grass. Last summer when I arrived, I asked if I could help with using this instrument and I was told no, that it is a lot of work and that I should just stick to the rake. Now I understand why I was not allowed to take part in this ritual. First, you have to flatten the blade to make it nice and straight. This is done by pounding a wooden stub into the ground in between your legs while sitting down on the grass. Next you start with the part of the blade closest to the handle putting it on the wooden stump. After this you spit a large portion of spit on the blade and whack the blade with a small hammer until flat and straight. I have not yet learned the art of this technique, but I was told I would be taught in time as long as I swore to secrecy I would not tell it to anyothers. Next you sharpen the blade with a sharpening rock starting with the wide part of the blade sharpening your way down to the slim part. I did learn this part of the ritual and I will tell you it scares me to death. I am not a very good guitar player as it is with 5 fingers I could only imagine what it would sound like trying to play with 4 or 3! Finally, after the sharpening of the blade it is time to start cutting. It looks so effortless for the men and women of the village, it is so rhythmic with equal movements. Again, not so easy! If you go too fast you do not cut evenly, if you go too slow the blade gets stuck, if you are too close you can lose a toe, if you are too far away you will be there all day...it is defiantly a skill of touch and finesse. After a couple of days of practice, countless instructions from bunica (the 70 something year old grandma of my host family, who could cut a field with a scythe faster and more evenly than with a lawn mower)I would consider myself a decent cutter. I asked my family why they would not let me use the scythe last summer when I arrive and they told me "last summer you were an American, this summer you are a villager, I have earned the right!" Once all the grass is cut, the next day, as long as the weather is warm and sunny you go back with pitch forks and turn the grass over, so that the underside of the grass is allowed to dry. Wet grass in a haystack creates mold which not matter how hungry the cows and horses are they will not touch. Once the grass is finally dried all the way around it is time to make the hay stacks. We make different hay stacks depending on the type of grass it is...again I swore to secrecy I would not give away the secrets of this practice either, sorry! So this has been my life for the last 2 weeks. School is in the last week and then we begin summer vacation! I am preparing for my first visit to Spain in the end of June. However, before I leave for the beaches of Barcelona, I have a few things to take care of. The director of the Peace Corps in Washington D.C. is coming to Romania for an official visit for a couple of days and is even making time for a visit in the village of yours truly! It should be a great experience and the whole village is really excited. I have to teach a pracice lesson in front of the troop from DC. I have taught my 6th graders "cupid" by Jack Johnson and we will be performing it for our visitors. The kids are doing a great job with the song and are excited to show off their skills. Other than that life is good, everyday is a new adventure with a ton of surprises! Ciao :)

4 a.m.

There have been few things that I can recall waking up for at 4 a.m. A flight to Las Vegas, a hike in the mountains, maybe a sunrise but never in my life did I ever think I would be waking up at 4 a.m. to attend a church service! Here in the village, it is 110% Romanian Orthodox and that is what they do and have been doing for generations on Easter Sunday, waking up before dawn and heading to the church for the Resurrection of Christ... something I felt I should experience. Generally speaking I do not go to church on Sundays or on any of the Saint's days that occur through out the year...ok so I have been once since I arrived back in August of 2007. Because of my lack of attendance I receive a lot of questions about my religion, everyone thinks because I am American I am catholic. Just as they are getting all wound up to tell me why Romanian Orthodox is the truth and Catholicism is not, I inform them that I am not catholic...which I think kind of disappoints most of them. Next on the "stereotypical religion of an American" list is Baptist, which was a bit of a shocker for me...but again it is another disappointing no. I have always been told it is not polite to discuss politics, money and religion with people you don't really know or in general for that matter. This is a glaring cultural difference between Romanians and Americans and one that I am still having a hard time getting used to. With out a doubt, one of the first questions I was asked when I arrived in the village was "how much is your salary as a English teacher?" When I confuse them and tell them that I am a volunteer thus without a salary, I receive a "why in the world would you ever work for free" kind of look then am asked how much does a teacher make in the States? Every time I am asked about my family, I am interrupted in the middle of my description by "how much does your father make a month? Your Mother? Your Sister? Her husband? Your brother? Their neighbor's distant 3rd cousin? After I fumble around with a some what Politically Correct response...usually pleading that I don't know, it is not discussed and I have lost touch with our neighbors distant 3rd cousin, naturally leaving them unsatisfied, it jumps directly to Religion. So as I was saying, since I am neither catholic nor baptist next on the list is a Muslim, which I find incredibly interesting as well. To their credit they are not tyring to convert me, although I was told it could happen with the snap of a finger, they are just really curious. Generally I am able to beat around the bush long enough and explain that in the States there are representations of all kinds of religions and that I respect their beliefs and customs. Inevitably, they get bored with this non imformative answer and the subject is changed to Politics or why I am not married yet! Like I was saying before, these peoples religion and beliefs play a major role in their lives and I felt like I should try a bit harder to understand more about them. Thus, I made my appearance Easter Sunday morning at 4 a.m. looking sharp in a fresh pair of slacks, dress shirt and traditional style hat that the men wear in the summer months in this region, and was a gift from my host family! Before we left the house, a hand crafted bag was stuffed to the brim with homemade breads, meats, cheeses, colored hard boiled eggs and a bottle of red wine. A small wicker basket was also filled with the same tasty delights but was also decorated with a large white candle jetting out of the top. On the way to the Church in the center of the village, all the people were dressed in their traditional clothing and own bags and baskets in hand. The typical "good morning" was not used once it was replaced by a biblical "Christ has risen" followed then by "It is true, he has risen." This greeting will be used for the next 7 weeks after Easter sunday...dont worry I practiced the night before so I didn't blow it! The church service was jammed packed with a lot of new faces...because of the Village's traditional customs many Romanians from the big cities come into town to experience a Traditional Easter with warm welcoming people, fresh air and of course horlinka. It was a very impressive service that last about 4 hours...I was offered a seat on one of the highly sought after benches from one of my neighbors, SCORE! All of the baskets and bags spilling over with food and drink were placed along side the perimeter of the Church and the last part of the service involves the priest going outside and blessing them with nag-champa like incense and holy water. Immediately following the service everyone fills the streets slowly finding their way home to break the 7 week fast of not eating meat products or drinking alcohol. My traditional hat was a huge hit as was my appearance at the service. Once at home, we ate a tremendous amount of meat, cheese, eggs, cakes, pies and cracked open bottles of wine, beer and horlinka. By the time 10:30 a.m rolled around I was back in bed full to the brim and fast asleep until later that afternoon. Easter officially lasts for 3 days here...sunday, monday and tuesday. So for three days I went to church and for three days we all ate way too much food and probably drank way too much drink. My attendance at church was noticed by everyone which lead to a lot of people wondering why I was absent yesterday (Sunday May 4th, the first sunday after easter). Regardless if I dug myself in a hole or not, I was very happy to experience the one part of village life I have not really been apart of and has helped me become more apart of the community than I was already.


PS - in theme with my last entry "breathe" I wanted to add these thoughts...Ciao

"Breathe, breathe in the air
Don't be afraid to care
Leave but don't leave me
Look around and chose your own ground
For long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be"
- Pink Floyd

Breathing

"Don't go too fast, but not too slow...not too much to the left but not too much to the right...hold the reins firm but not too firm...don't worry it is easy!" I managed to squeak out a passive "ce ma," we started to move a bit and then finally I breathed. The elderly man behind the horses, maneuvering the plough with the greatest of ease as if it were an extension of his arms let out a roaring "Bravo Alexandru, Bravo!" Although I was breathing again I don't think my heart had restarted and despite the damp April weather my hands were sweating ice cold bullets. We had not reached the end of the field when I began wondering how in the hell I was going to turn these two horses attached to a plow attached to an old man around in a single, swift manor that is mandatory when ploughing a field. With my anxiety filling the air the old man shouted with a large grin, "Don't forget to Breathe...they can smell fear!" I let out a kind of laugh you let out when your standing on the edge of an open airplane door at 13,000 feet with a parachute strapped to your back. With a more commanding "ce ma!" than before and a meaningful few jerks of the reins I maneuvered a respectful left turn and had the team of myself, horses, plough and old man all lined up for the next row of soil to be plowed. I had regained my composure, heartbeat and confidence with a couple more successful rows and I was on cruise control! A crowd of spectators began to form at the far gate with cheers of "Bravo Americano," "Good Job" and my favorite "what the hell is the Americano doing this time!" Naturally, just when I was feeling as if I was a natural horse trainer, one of the horses leaned over to the other and give her a little "kiss" as they call it in the village but it is more of a nip on the ear than a kiss and the victimized horse let out a piercing "AHHHHHH" but in horse talk and started to get on her hind legs! With one hand yanking hard on the reins, the other with the whip smacking the "spirited" horse on the nose and my voice yelling whatever came to mind which I think was a mix of half English and half Romanian I had everything under control. Well except the old man, who was laughing so hard tears were forming in the corners of his eyes and could not catch his breathe to say a word if his life depended on it. Then the thundering laughs of the spectators entered my ears and there was nothing else to do but laugh with them. If there is one piece of advice that I could give to anyone thinking about joing the Peace Corps or going to live in another culture or just a piece of advice for general everyday life...it would be you must have a sense of humility about yourself. Once the old man regained his compose he walked up to me, patted me on the back and laughed out "you should have seen your face when that horse yelled out, it was white as a ghost, ha ha ha." Then he, said with a proud grandfatherly tone, "but you did what you had to do, you got'em back under control and back on track...good job." This was my first time ever leading the horses by myself and I was nervous, to say the least. Horses are unbelievable animals. They are so intelligent and have such strong senses, the old man was not lying when he told me they can smell fear. Not to mention that they are powerful, powerful animals, as well as valuable merchandise to the family who own them. So when the old man told over a cup of coffee before we left for the fields that he had a surprise for me I never imagined it would be teaching me to handle the horses. Village life is very hands on, out of necessity. There are not seminars on "wood chopping safety," courses in "Barn construction 101" nor are there permits given for horse drawn wagons to those who pass a driving test...you just do it and figure it out along they way and hopefully learn from your mistakes. Unfortunately as a result of these methods most men over the age of 30 are missing one tip of a finger from a table saw accident and some barns sway in the strong summer thunderstorms as if they were dancing with the rhythm of the rain drops. However, in this situation of me learning to work with the horses, it is the only way to learn. The old man began with me just talking to the horses, petting them, brushing them and feeding them from my hand. This he told me develops the trust between the horses and their leader that is mandatory for productive work. Next he instructed me on how to attach the reins to the horses heads and just had me lead them to a nearby creek for a quick drink of water. After the "introduction" it was up to me, I had to make the blind jump, head first into unknown waters. And that is exactly what I did, I jumped head first with out reservation and I will damned if I did not take my first giant step at learning how to lead a horse. Don't get me wrong, I was scared as all hell when that horse acted a little spirited but if I had not had that experience I never would have known how to react...thankfully she did not land on my foot or become too rowdy. The old man said she was testing me because I was a new scent and she wanted to see how I would react...after that I swear she had a bit of a cocky smirk on her long face, almost mocking me! On my walk home after the long adventurous day, everyone on the street told me that the color on my face was back to normal form, undoubtedly everyone in the village heard of my experience today and I am sure had a laugh or two. To me this is a direct indication of my integration into the village life. If I were to get discouraged at every laugh I heard at my expense because of a mispronounced word, piece of mischoped wood, unusual eating habits (ketchup on eggs is not standard here), and smoked filled room because I forgot to open the vent in my wood burning stove before starting the fire, I would have returned to the States a long time ago. Instead, I look at it from their perspective and realize that if I were in their shoes and saw some long haired americano standing outside his house while smoke was clearing out from every window I would laugh too. I also believe that I have earned my place in the village from gaining their respect and confidence. Just like with the horses, I take time to talk with them, eat their food, drink their drink and invest my sweat into their work. Probably the greatest compliment I received that day was when the old man told me "you did what you had to do and you figured it out." This is what I do everyday to a certain extent and at least so far I have done what I have had to do and I have figured it out...(well at least I have figured somethings out, I have not figured "it" out whatever "it" is).

City Slicker

A little hitch hiking and 4 hours on a bus next thing you know you have arrived in Cluj. Cluj is a great university city just south of the village on the far northern edge of the famous Transylvania region. I decided that I needed bit of a break from all of the fresh air the village has to offer and get back to civilisation for a few days. Cluj has a lot to offer...shops, restaurants, a night life and even starbucks (the second one in Romania)! Oh and Obviously a plethora of internet cafes. So that gets us up to speed to where I currently am. So now for a brief update on the last couple of weeks.
So I thought digging a 1/2 meter deep trench was back breaking...little did I know that filling it in would be just as tiring if not more. We laid the plastic piping from the source of the spring all the way down to a valley where more pipes will be needed to led to the respective homes. All in all we laid and re-filled 100 meters of pipe and dirt respectively. I was given a spade and slap on the back and we got started. My hands became blistered despite the nice hard layer of Clausius they have developed from all the wood I have chopped, but I kept on. That afternoon was quite unusual, it rained, snowed, hailed, the sun shined and there were bouts of wind that almost knocked me over. Just I as I was hitting my stride we broke for lunch, which because of the fast going on consisted of bean soup, garlic and orange soda...a far cry from the traditional "mountain spread" consisting of pig fat, smoked sausages and horlinka...however it satisfied the emptiness in my stomach. Just as it was digging the trench, filling it in takes no special talent, just a lot of elbow grease and back breaking effort. Everyone on the hillside laughed as they asked me if I has ever done this type of work before in the States. This was a saturday and as with every saturday around 6:30 - 7:00 pm a bell rings out from the church letting everyone know to cease whatever work they are doing and go home, relax and clean up for Sunday, the day of church, family and cabbage rolls. We still had a touch of work left as well as a ray of sun still shining from the fast sinking sun when we heard the bell ringing off the mountain side. Immediately, all of the women with us dropped their shovel or spade and said good night. I was exhausted, really really exhausted, but I just wanted to finish and not have to worry about coming back up here the following week. So being the team player that I am and the only one of the troop who is not Orthodox I keep the spade in my hand and kept rocking. All the old women told me that I did not have the permission from god to keep working but I joked back that I didn't understand what they were saying in Romanian and that because I was not Orthodox I was cool...one of the benefits of speaking more than one language! Finally we finished filling in the trench, all 100 meters and needless to say I sleep damn good that night! I could not bend my fingers the next day, or my body for that matter... however I always feel better about stuffing my face with cabbage rolls on Sunday after a hard days work.
With Easter on its way, we have 8 lambs running around the barn and just as a couple of days ago a baby goat which I just looked up and is called a kid on english. We started off with a set of twin lambs and then over the course of the last 3 weeks every so often there would be another one on the barn floor in the morning. They are amazingly playful, soft and cute. For the first 6-8 weeks they are not able to eat anything but their mothers milk and cows milk out of a bottle. I have been assisting the two boys with this process, which is not as easy as one would think. The lambs and kid do not stay in the same part of the barn as their moms, because other moms will kick them and be abusive. Therefore, when it is time to feed the lambs we bring the mothers into one part of the barn from the field and then go after the lambs and kid. However, the lambs and the kid stay in the same part of the barn as the horse and cow, but in a separate compartment. We have to be careful when letting the lambs out because they spook the horse who could easily crush them with her hooves and from the cow who tries to gore them every chance she gets. Finally once the are in with their mothers they feed and then we have to separate them and put them outside. This is the best part of me. Once away from their moms the start running wildly and jumping every where. If you run with them they get even crazier and more out of control. After a bit of play time they are carefully guided back to their pin where they await the cows milk. I have been assigned this task which I signed up for but had no idea what I was getting myself into. As soon as those lambs see the bottle of warm cows milk the all attack me and try to climb up my legs, in my boots and over whoever is in their path to the milk. Once one has a hold of the nipple on the bottle, others push, shove, bite, do whatever is necessary to saviour a taste. The even resort to biting at my pants which scared the hell out of me the first time and brought tears to my families eyes because they laughed so hard. As hazardous as it is with those sweet Innocent lambs and kid I love doing it and look forward to it every night. Oh also, in my two attempts at milking the cow I have failed miserably, not even a drip comes out! I try to warm up to her before but she as nothing to do with me, I think she is playing hard to get. Maybe some candles and a glass of wine would help?

Ciao, SUTW & Keep smiling

"Pickles! Why wouldn't we want Pickles!"

I hope this find all who read it well and good! I have not been able to write in awhile but today the internet is working, at least for the time being, and it is raining outside so no work to do outside. Life has been really good. I have summited the highest peak in the surrounding mountains, it was not very high however there was plenty of snow which made it very challenging. Every step I took I would sink about 2-3 feet down and have to lift my foot up and over the next bundle of snow. I really enjoyed it, I am all ready planning trips to other parts of Romania for summer excursions. I went with the husband of the family I live with, his brother, a neighbor and one of the boys I live with. On the way up to the peak we came across these concrete blocks along the road. I asked what these were or what they will be for. I was informed that during Communism these were electricity poles but after the revolution, even though they worked perfectly well they were destroyed just from what they represented. As we continued up the mountain we came across old abandoned buildings, again I asked what these were. They used to be check points before the revolution, anyone and/or thing crossing these mountains would be checked and as one of the men said, forced to pay a bribe to the patrol not matter if you had papers or not. I have not asked too many questions about the days before the revolution, but on this day the men spoke freely and with a lot of emotion. It was way more than a sunday afternoon hike, this was a real life history lesson! Since then, I have helped put in new fence poles and fence, I have dug over 65 yards of ditch to lay a pipe that will send water from a natural spring in the mountains to a certain part of the village. By the way I have a whole new respect for ditch digging, no two ways about it, it is just back breaking work! The weather has been mild and with a lot of rain. The kids as well as I have spring fever. Everyone is fasting for Easter, April 27th in the Orthodox calendar here. For seven weeks, people do not eat any animal products or drink alcohol! Fortunatly, not everyone is required to follow this fast, for example long haired, American teachers are exempt, but I am abiding 50/50. I am enjoying the break from the pig fat and horlinka but I have already eaten some chicken and some cheese, opps! Well I hope all is well for everyone and keep smiling!

PS - the title of this post is a direct quote from the husband of the family I live with. One evening after coming home from the forest we were all eating and Angela, his wife asked if anyone would like pickles with the food. Ion responded with "Pickles! Why wouldn't we want pickles!?" I dont know maybe you had to be there but we all laughed until we were red in the face, or maybe it is just funnier with horlinka! Oh and the pickles here are to die for, homemade with plenty of deliciousness

SUTW