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Luke was the second artist I "interviewed" for a story. I didn't really know what kind of questions to ask so we ended up talking about stuff more than doing an interview which is kind of what I was going for anyway. I think this picture says says a lot about Luke's character.

Listen to Luke here: www.myspace.com/lukesiedle

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As I take the first foamy sip of my cappuccino I’m thinking about Luke Siedle’s surname which is pronounced Seed-Lee. The name got me thinking about a certain John ‘Johnny Appleseed’ Chapmon renowned for wandering around North America in the seventeen hundreds planting apple tree nurseries as he went. He’d return occasionally to collect any money, old clothes or corn as payment for trees purchased. The story is something of a legend that I remember hearing about as a kid. This shoeless, humble man wandering around being kind to people and collecting very little in return somehow built something worth remembering. That’s his story and I’m seeing some parallels with him and the world of musicians out there on the road spewing forth their art into a world that sometimes gives very little back. The thing that keeps them going might be the idea that they are building for themselves some kind of legend; that maybe one day they’ll be remembered and thought of with the same fondness and affection we reserve for the likes of the Johnny Appleseeds of the world.

Luke’s strolling across the street in my direction now and he’s got his own story to tell. Indeed, if his new album titled, “Our Stories” is anything to go by Luke has more than one story to tell. If comparisons must be made then Luke’s album is something like a South African Fionn Regan or Bob Dylan. The difference being that Luke has a better voice and is already a far more accomplished guitarist that Bob ever was. This is an intellectual, songwriter’s album full of great guitar driven, melodic, soulful stuff.

Sitting down at the table we exchange greetings and order another cappuccino. I’m trying to play the part of the interviewer and asking Luke a lot of questions. It seems we’re both new to this situation but we nevertheless manage to get bite out of an interview-type-thing. On his beginnings Luke shares that he’s been playing the guitar since age 14 and had the good fortune to be taught a few things by Durban legend, Guy Buttery. “It was a bit intimidating playing with someone like him but he was always very chilled about it. We’d mostly just share our ideas.” On his goals for the future I find we share the dream of doing this ‘music thing’ for a living. Luke’s ambition is to keep challenging himself and not become like so many prolific young songwriters who seem to lose it as they age. When it comes to songwriting we also seem to share the habit of writing words and music at the same time, “It needs to happen all at once. If I force one on the other I usually end up getting rid of it.”

If you can picture a couple of songwriters sitting and chatting over a cappuccino; If you can picture them parting ways and going home to pick up their guitars; If you can picture them feeling a little awkward about their place in an industry that seems to swallow up so many people like them; If you can picture a man walking barefoot across a country planting seeds hoping the sun will shine and the rains will fall; If you can hear a guitar and a warm voice somewhere behind those pictures then you’re starting to see this story more clearly. It’s not much perhaps but it’s a story and it ours so far. As Luke says, “We’ve got the rest of our lives” to finish this one.

Folk On!!!

“It’s sort of acoustic-indie-folky-rock.” I say. California-guy looks at me and says, “Well folk on then.” I think this is kind of funny. We are standing on the balcony (which is really just a very tall porch) of an establishment on Belmont Rd in Nashville, TN called PM. This restaurant stays open until 3 am and I initially assumed that the name PM was a reference to that fact. I now know that that’s not the case but I can’t remember what the name actually does mean. That and the fact that this place has excellent burgers that you can buy late at night are a little off the point though.

California-guy is a songwriter and I’m talking to him and his wife, a female friend of theirs (whose name escapes me) and one of the waiters at PM. This is Nashville so we are talking about music and bands and songwriting. Actually it’s mostly California-guy and the waiter and me doing the talking. I get the impression that California-wife is a little bored by yet another conversation about songwriting. But that’s also a little off the point.

The thing that California-guy said; “folk on” is the point here. People have referred to me as “rock star” and on occasion people have said to me, “you rock man”. I’m always mildly flattered by these sentiments because I get that this is a show of support and encouragement (mostly from friends who would say “you rock, man” even if I really didn’t at all, in any sense of the word, at any time because they like me and care about how I feel). However I’ve often wondered if I really do “rock”. I wonder if I am perhaps more of a “folker” than a “rocker”.

Sometime during 2008 I did a gig at a place in Durban, South Africa called Boogie’s Rock n’ Roll Diner. The place is sort of a white elephant; the manifestation of one man’s rock n’ roll dreams. Every inch of the walls are covered with guitars in glass cases signed by various famous rock bands. Gibson Les Pauls and Fender Stratocasters abound. There’s even a few really nice Telecasters and I think a Gretsch. The collection must be worth as much as the restaurant itself. Again this is a little off the point.

I finished my set on the night in question and this guy and his wife came up to me and asked me if they could buy my shirt. I don’t sell t-shirts as part of my merchandise. They wanted to by the shirt off my back. This was my favorite t-shirt. I bought it for $5.00 in Knoxville, TN in 2005. It was green and said “IRELAND” in orange letters across the chest. It had deodorant caked in the armpits and on the night in question was soaked in my sweat.

Of course I thought they were kidding. They weren’t kidding. They said they would give me money and the husband’s t-shirt and they wanted me to sign the shirt. I knew that this would make for a good story so I agreed to this exchange. The couple were really nice and they bought a CD. I still get e-mails from them every so often.

Until last night, I think that may have been my only real “rock n roll” moment. No matter who you are or what you do for a living, if someone asks to buy the t-shirt you are wearing (not because they like the t-shirt but because they like you or something you just did) then you are in that moment a “rock star”. This kind of thing happens to rock stars on a regular basis. It doesn’t happen to me on a regular basis and that’s why I still don’t think I am in general a “rocker”.

Last night was another “rock n’ roll” moment for me though. I played a gig at Café Coco with two other solo artists, Andy Elwell (www.myspace.com/andyelwell) and Adam Burrows (www.myspace.com/adamburrows). After some discussion we decided it would be best if we each did a couple of short sets instead doing one long set each. Now it’s been a while since I played a real gig so I was a little nervous. My first two sets didn’t go without hitches as a result but were still decent. By the end of the night the people who’d come to see us play had gone home and a new crowd of young punk rockers had arrived for the show that was after ours. This was a good thing because we each got to play to a full room of people who’d never heard our music before.

For some reason I was really relaxed during my third set and played two songs just because they were the songs I wanted to play. I nailed them both. Most performers are either naturally gifted with a sense of empathy or they develop it the more they perform. This means we can read a crowd and we can usually tell the difference between polite applause and genuine applause. After my last set last night I got the latter and as soon as I got off stage this guy came up to me and asked to buy a CD.

While I was packing up my guitar, Adam came up to do his last set and he said he really liked those two songs. I said something like, “yeah, I always play better when I don’t care what the crowd thinks.” To which he responded, “Exactly. That’s how you should always play.”

I think that’s what makes a real “rocker” though; a person who lives genuinely all the time. A real “rocker” plays what they want to play because that’s what they want to play. Even though they want to be liked (because why else do you get up on stage and play music) they don’t play that way. They just play and they play better because of that. So in that sense it’s possible for a classical pianist or a ballet dancer or a sculptor or, I suppose, an accountant to be a “rocker” sometimes.

Lately I’ve been trying hard to be the person that I am all the time. I tend to be a “politician” in that I sometimes say things I don’t really mean just to be polite. I agree with points of view that I don’t really agree with because it’s easier than arguing the point. I realize that’s no way to be so I’ve been trying to tame my natural tendency and just be who I am and think what I think and play what I want to play. I think that will make me a better person and a better “folker” and probably more of a “rocker” too.

Nibs Van Der Spuy

When I started taking the whole music career seriously a few years ago and began performing on a regular basis in South Africa a lot of people kept asking me the same question; “Have you met Nibs?”. Everyone agreed I needed to meet Nibs and talk to Nibs. “What the heck is Nibs?” I thought. I was vaguely aware that someone named Nibs Van Der Spuy had been in a band called “Landscape Prayers” that had been pretty popular in South Africa when I was in high school or maybe university, but I wasn’t certain that the Nibs everyone was asking me about was the same guy. It seemed like everyone had met Nibs but me. Finally someone gave me his number and I called him up. We arranged to meet for coffee and a few days later I wrote this piece. Since our first meeting I’ve bumped into Nibs a few times and he really is a genuinely good guy.

One of the things Nibs told me to do was to record an album. I had done demos and demos and demos and had even released an EP but had never done a full album in studio. In a strange way he made it seem very important and at the same time managed to convey that I should relax and just get the thing done. I think he was probably instrumental in getting me to that place where I believed an album was the ‘essential’ next step.

SNAPSHOT: NIBS VAN DER SPUY

According to John Mayer, “Belief is a beautiful armor”. What makes belief so beautiful is that it cuts through all the ‘stuff’ of life that makes you feel like you’re nothing or wrong or worthless; the ‘stuff’ that just leaves you tired, sick to your stomach and wanting to run away. Sitting on a black pleather couch at some little coffee shop somewhere I’m feeling fairly hopeful that my life and my career could be looking up.

Much like the rather orange cushion I placed to one side when I sat down, my anxiety over the music industry and my place in it has momentarily been shelved. “You’ve got to get out there and take the music to the people, Tim. In the beginning they won’t always come to you. But if you believe in what you’re doing then you’ve just got to do it.” Nibs’ eyes are bright as he speaks to me from across the coffee table amidst orange cushions and black pleather. Enthusiastically bobbing its agreement, his braided, beaded goatee nicely punctuates this wisdom like a flashing exclamation point. Belief practically oozes from this easy-going, but clearly energetic man; a quiet confidence that he’s on the right path and that everything will be o.k.

Cars need petrol. Cows need grass. Belief needs feeding just the same. That powerful force that enabled men to walk on the moon and build churches in the jungle and sometimes just ‘keep on trucking’ is the same thing that got me here talking to Nibs. Certainly it wasn’t a direct route. It all started in a Biology lab a few years ago, sometime between teaching Sexual Reproduction to my Grade 9s and The Digestive System to my Grade 12s, with the seeds of belief.

Those seeds have names like; “I can”, “I have something unique to share”, “If they can do it, so can I”, I really want this more than anything”, “I will try”, “I won’t give up until I’ve done this”. With seeds such as those great journeys begin. But as the days turn to weeks and months and years the seeds are sometimes forgotten, buried in muck and dirt from too many frustrations and too many unrewarded efforts.

Suddenly though, while sharing a coffee with Nibs amidst the orange and black, I’m reminded of my seeds. Nibs’ belief in what he’s doing stirs something in me and I realize that while my seeds of belief may have been battered and bruised they haven’t gone anywhere. They’ve begun to sprout and are soaking up the good energy that seems to be a part of Nibs. My belief in myself, so hard-won, so tired and fading, is being fed by the belief of another.

Consuming our coffees we talk about integrity and sound engineers and the perils of being pigeon-holed as an artist. Our CDs have been exchanged and we’ve each discovered a new thing and it’s time to head our separate ways. Belief is a beautiful armor and with guys like Nibs around that armor will stay polished and gleaming and the journey will continue. Thanks Nibs.

Please do check out Nibs for yourself here: http://www.nibs.co.za/site/home

Tis The Season For Porches

Sitting on porches is something I’ve done a bit of in my life. Something about a porch makes sense. Porches are sturdy and elevated. It’s important I think that they’re elevated because it gives whoever is standing or sitting on them a sense that they are overseeing something. That’s a good feeling in general as long as it doesn’t involve a lot of pressure and most porch experiences I’ve had were fairly scant of pressure. The porch is a place to sit and think and smoke and drink coffee. It’s a place to be with a friend and talk about good times. It’s a place people in the movies go when they’ve just been given bad news and the great thing about that is they always seem to be rescued by someone while they’re on the porch and then everything seems like it’s going to be ok.

It’s springtime in Nashville and porches are in fashion. In the past week I’ve sat on three porches. Here’s a few glimpses of my fairly ‘porchy’ week:
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There are two women sitting at a table on the porch at the 12th South Tap Room. The brunette with long hair keeps getting up to fill her glass with water and I notice she’s wearing green camouflage pants with cowboy boots. It looks wrong but somehow o.k. at the same time. None of the guys who keep chatting to her seem to mind anyway so it must be o.k.

From where I’m standing on this particular porch I can see two more young women playing guitars and a cello and a ukulele (not all at the same time of course) on the stage located inside the bar. These young women are beautiful. They’re singing songs that have obscure meanings I think but which I love. These young women are smart. I know this because I spent a couple of evenings talking to them and their respective boyfriends about music, which I like to think I know a little about, and politics, which I know almost nothing about, and songwriting and America. There were no porches involved but the conversations were still pretty good.

If they weren’t already spoken for I’d probably fall in love with one of them. These are not average girls. These are music-playing, opinionated, independent girls. The high school I attended in South Africa had class rankings. The A class was the really smart people. The B class was the nearly, really smart people and so on. After the D class or so everyone was lumped into ‘mixed ability’ classes which was really just a euphemism for ‘not conventionally bright’. Tristan and Larissa are A class girls. When they play it’s all smiles and passion and swaying hips and head shakes. The head shakes are from the cello player, Larrisa, who does that very cello-esque head shake at particularly intense musical moments. It’s very attractive. The hip sways are from Tristen who sings and sways just so. It’s likewise very attractive. If these two girls aren’t famous in a few years then the world is truly a dorky place.

From where I’m standing on the porch I’m suddenly thinking that Nashville is a pretty cool place and that this is some of the best music I’ve heard since I’ve been here.

you can listen to Tristen and Larissa here:

www.myspace.com/larissamaestro

www.myspace.com/tristentristen

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I’m on another porch about a stone’s throw away from where camo-cowgirl sat last night. I’m drinking a glass of Pig’s Head merlot, writing a very long letter. The letter is a relationship post-mortem addressed to a woman who I was engaged to only a few weeks ago. I don’t think I’ll be sending this letter but I need to write it as much as anything I’ve ever done.

The view on this porch is stunning. It’s full of girls drinking wine and wearing their spring wardrobes. Something about the post-relationship haze combined with the change in weather and accompanying shift in the clothing Nashville is wearing makes every woman I see seem strikingly gorgeous. It’s not so much that the ladies are wearing less, even though they are wearing less. I grew up in a town where it’s always hot. The ladies there wear bikinis a lot and that’s very awesome but you get used to it eventually and don’t think much about it. This winter I appreciated all the ladies wearing their cool coats and bum-hugging jeans and scarves very much. They looked lovely and stunning and chic and cute. Now the seasons are changing and a metamorphosis is taking place. I’m seeing legs again. I must say there are a lot of runners in this town and that makes for a lot of good legs. But I think it’s the change more than anything that’s made me suddenly aware of all the ‘amazingness’ surrounding me. I can’t compare it to butterflies emerging from a cocoon because cocoons are ugly and that’s not what’s happening here. It’s a bit like all the lovely, bum-hugging jeans wearing camp were packed up along with their cool scarves and coats and beanies and shipped off to a colder climate and they’ve been replaced with a whole new set of summer-dress wearing, wine-sipping joggers.

Again I’m struck by the thought that this town is looking quite attractive at present.
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The expansive porch I’m sitting on is full of metal chairs and tables. There’s a not-quite-awesome cappuccino in front of me and I’m reading a book by Chuck Klosterman. The cappuccino is at least in a ceramic coffee cup and I like that a lot. The contents are too milky and more like a latte than a cappuccino. I think a place called Café Coco should know the difference. But I’m not all that upset by the average jo because I’m sitting in the sunshine and there are people chatting quietly around me and I’m reading a book about rock music, musicians and other famous people and I like that a lot.

I think I need to instruct the barrister next time to please make sure my cappuccino is what it’s meant to be, i.e., 3 equal volumes of espresso, steamed milk and foam. Actually I probably won’t instruct the barrister about anything because she seemed nice and I work in the service industry too and I’ve served ‘that guy’ before; the obnoxious, know-it-all who likes exactly half a slice of lemon in his water and absolutely nothing on the plate except the sandwich. I think that guy should relax a little and I probably shouldn’t care so much that my coffee is a little milky today. I still get to sit here and appreciate the day and its wonderment and read this excellent book and that’s all pretty great.

So Nashville, when it’s not freezing my too-small-for-bum-hugging-jeans-that-even-the-guys-are-wearing-these-days bum off, in the springtime, is a pretty cool place for porches and lovers of music and jogger legs and wine sipping…. Oh, and coffee.

That Worky Me

So I have a facebook and a MySpace and a website and this blog and several other micro-sites around the internet that I established mainly for the purposes of promoting my music. Lately though I’ve noticed that the internet has started encroaching into my real life and into the lives of the people I meet.
I’m at work talking to a customer and I’m dropping the phrase, “you should check out my website” into the conversation, “I was just writing a blog about that the other day..ha ha ha.”. Now when people casually ask that old party favorite, “so what do you do?” I find myself wondering how I can work an URL into the answer.
I noticed during my years of teaching Biology to high school students that my colleagues had two personalities. They had the “teacher” persona which was strict and stern and conscious of the rules of the school and in very many ways this persona was very much like a jerk. I don’t say this to be derogatory to my colleagues because in general I liked most of them. I liked them a lot. But I knew the other “normal, average-joe or –jane as the case may be, every-day” persona because I hung out in the staff room with them and listened to their jokes and drank coffee with them.
I think that’s a pretty common fact of human life though. People tend to separate their job and their personal life. But it goes deeper than just a division of labor. It affects our personalities. Weekday dad is not weekend dad. Power-suit mom is worlds apart from sweatshirt-n-jeans, soccer mom. One of the reasons I couldn’t be a teacher was that I knew to be a really great teacher I needed to embrace the “teacher” persona and basically be an asshole for 8 hours a day, five days a week. I’m not saying all great teachers are assholes. I think the ones who get it right without being an asshole are amazing people though. I was the ‘nice guy’ teacher. I had a hard time enforcing rules and being strict so for me to do those things I felt like I was being an asshole. In any case I wasn’t being me.
I had a hard time being someone I wasn’t for the sake of the job. I know I can’t be the only one and that brings me back to facebook and other such social networking sites. I wonder how real our profiles actually are and I wonder how much thought people put into the candid pictures and comments they post. I wonder how many companies Google potential candidates to find out what the person is really like. I wonder if what they find out is really worthwhile information or not.
I could be the biggest jerk on the planet and still be good at my job. Would a ‘jerky’ facebook profile cost me a job or a career? I could be a totally different monster at work than I am during my free time. Should it matter either way? More importantly, will it matter and does it already matter? Maybe switching personas is a natural part of humanity and it’s ok. Maybe we should be allowed to be a jerk, or a nice guy when we’re not at work and whoever that ‘work’ persona is should be judged strictly on the merit of their ‘workiness’. Actually I suspect I have it backwards. Perhaps we are in a dangerous place in society when it has become so common to do the personality switcheroo every Monday morning. Maybe we need to be aiming for a more balanced equilibrium between ‘workiness’ and normality.

I’m imagining a time when the facebook profile (or its equivalent) becomes as closely guarded and masked as the work personas we now portray. Maybe this is some kind of golden age where everyone is using social networking as its creators intended, i.e. to connect with people, exchange information and generally show off to the world and be ridiculous in a fairly public but controlled manner. Are social networking profiles doomed to become just another résumé which only tell people what we really want them to know about our achievements and experience and leave the personality at the door?

Fearful - Defining Moments

I’m afraid of just about everything. I am the guy who never raised his hand in class. I never talked to girls who I thought were pretty. I never tried so many of the things I wanted to try. I didn’t dance because I didn’t want to look stupid. I didn’t take the game winning shot…I passed the ball to someone else. I didn’t say what was on my mind because of that little voice in me that told me I would fail. “You will look stupid.”, it said. “You will miss.”, it said. “She will think you’re a doofus.”, it said. “You will sound like an oaf.”, it said.
A habit of behavior becomes our very personality. Maybe I’m not cautious by nature. I just learned to be that way. That old familiar feeling of excitement that comes when some new opportunity presents itself is something I learned to dismiss so much so that my demeanor has been molded by it. I play it safe. I stay in the background. I’m the “strong silent type”. But really I know I’m just scared.
There is some truth in the voice. I do look insanely stupid on the dance floor. But in those moments when I did venture out and shove a sock in the throat of that voice and I did dance…I had fun. I had fun. Let me say it again. I had fun. It could be the fear itself that makes the experience all the more enjoyable.
So I wonder sometimes why I still listen to the voice. I wonder why I still accept the fear. I am convinced that successful people hear the same voice that I do but somehow they learn when to listen and when to disregard that voice. They’ve learned that sometimes failing is not so bad as it might have seemed. They’ve learned that certain, “must fail” situations turn out to be brilliant success.
In the movie, “Tin Cup”, Kevin Costner’s character talks about ‘defining moments’ explaining that at certain moments in life, either you define the moment or the moment defines you. I know that in my own life I’ve let the moment define me far too often. I’ve listened to the thundering sky and decided not to go out of my cave. I’ve heeded the call to safety. I’ve missed a lot of opportunities. I’ve missed a lot of fun.
I don’t know who said it but I am beginning to understand that famous statement, “The only thing to fear is fear itself.” Was it Churchill? It doesn’t matter. It’s true beyond belief. I hope and yes even pray that instead of listening to the voice I might start to understand that the moments when the voice is calling at its loudest and clearest are the very moments that I must act. Those are the moments that lead to greatness perhaps. At the very least I won’t spend my life sitting in the back of the class, never speaking out, only ever being noticed for the fact that I don’t say much.

ER

I’m in the backseat of a black Volvo with a bumber-sticker that says, “Ithaca is Gorges!”. My feet inside my shoes are swollen and painful and burning and itching. I’ve got red bumps all over my body…
Saturday night after work I go out with a few of the guys from RuSan’s. My left shoe feels like it has a stone in it. I keep taking it off and trying to find the troublesome titbit that I’m convinced must be in there somewhere. It’s late and I finally decide to leave the partying to the pros and go home and get some sleep.
I’m home now and my left foot is really giving me trouble. I have to walk on the side of my foot. I shower and go to bed. At some point Sunday morning I wake up and get up to go to the bathroom. Both feet are sore. I’m walking on the sides of both feet and the pain is getting worse. I sit down on the bed again and a burning stinging sensation shoots through both feet. I’m freaked out now.
What the bejeezus is wrong with my feet? I’m sitting on the bed staring at them and notice that both balls are really swollen. I can’t touch them because it hurts and itches and burns. I stand up again and can hardly walk. There’s a lump in my throat and I keep drinking water. It feels like a vitamin got stuck and won’t move. I’m not sure if I smoked too many cigarettes last night or if this is related to what’s wrong with my feet. I start looking at my body and notice the red spots which have started to appear all over me. They itch. I count the spots starting with my legs. I stop counting on the right leg at 20-something. There’s more on my hands and arms.
What the bejeezus is wrong with me? I need to eat food. I have oatmeal in the kitchen. I limp to the kitchen and am very concerned that the pain isn’t getting any better. I put water on the boil and then sit down in the middle of the kitchen floor. I’m freaking a little bit now but not too much. I stand up and finish stirring the oatmeal and grope around to find a clean bowl.
Sitting on my bed eating oatmeal I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. What did I eat? What did I touch? I think I might be reacting to too many bags of trailmix which I’ve been snacking on a lot lately. I had a bag of trailmix for supper last night. And the night before. Maybe I should ease up on the nuts. Is this shingles? I just had the flu and got off antibiotics. Maybe my immune system is weak and this is shingles. My dad wrote an article about giving blood after he’d had shingles so I’ve got shingles on the brain. Maybe I’m reacting to the antibiotics.
I limp to the computer and Google medical clinics in Nashville. Everything’s closed because it’s Sunday night. I decide to go first thing in the morning. I read my book and go back to sleep. I wake up to go pee and I still can’t walk. I’m limping really badly now. The balls of my feet feel like grapefruits.
I give Tim a call and get no answer. I call Larissa and get no answer. She sends me a text a few minutes later and I send one back asking if she knows of a medical centre I can go to on a Sunday night. She calls and speaking to her I start to freak out good and proper because now I’m explaining my situation to someone and thinking how weird it sounds and we decide she and her boyfriend will drive me to the ER.
So I’m in the back seat of her Volvo smoking a cigarette and looking at Nashville and wondering what my body is doing. Jonathan (Larissa’s very cool boyfriend) is making jokes about how he was planning to go to the ER later anyway, trying to make me feel better about dragging them both out on a Sunday night.
I talk to a bunch of doctors and nurses at the ER and the consensus seems to be that I’ve had an allergic reaction to Amoxycillin which I had been taking because of a cold/flu type thing that I’d had a couple of weeks previously. They give me drugs and I go home.
I’m thinking about how something I put into my body made me sick and so I have to put something else into my body to make me better. We do very little taking out and a whole lot of putting in and I’m wondering why we don’t do more taking out or at least less taking in. There’s a constant stream of food and drink and medication and vitamins and nicotine and caffeine and ‘stuff’ going into me. All of it affects my body and my attitude and my behavior. I’m wondering if any of that means anything or if that’s just the way we are.