A Club in the Hands of the Politically Correct – Part 3

So, now I come to the turn in events. On the 19th of August I got a call from the Peace Corps/Albania Country Director: “Bill, I interviewed all the staff and about two-dozen volunteers; this morning I submitted my report to DC. I made it clear that the sexual harassment complaint made against you was without foundation.” Well, as unsettling as was his other phone call ten days earlier, his findings came as no surprise. What was surprising was his next statement: “I know this has been hard, but my best advice to you is now move on and get back to work.” “How do I regroup after something like this?” “Bill, this will be old news in two weeks.” I told him there wasn’t a chance in hell.  

A housekeeping note here (which might elicit an occasional “whew”: in this post and the next one – or two), I’m not going to mention any names. It really wouldn’t serve any purpose. Well, there will be one name figuring prominently in the next, but most of the Peace Corps/Albania volunteers would expect that, right?

As you would also expect, I’ve played over – over and over and over – the circumstances which led to this moment. I’ve come to some conclusions, some tentative, others more solid. The most solid of which is I can only blame myself – it’s my own damn fault. My excitement to finally serve in the Peace Corps, even euphoria, got the best off me. So, here it goes.

In all that follows and in light of the horrific aftermath, I have made some pretty good friends in the Peace Corps, volunteers for whom I have great respect and fond affection. Losing the regular connect with these kids is regrettable. Many have kept in touch, with a temperature check now and then and I’m always happy when they give me an update on their continued PC work. They certainly know who they are and it’s nice that even though we are worlds apart in many respects, they’ve taken the time to get to know who I am. 

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After joining up with the group in the middle of March last year, I could tell I didn’t have a lot in common with most of my fellow volunteers: all but a handful were more than a generation or two removed, still had careers and more education ahead of them, were less traveled, had greater fears, concerns and anxieties regarding the next two years, liked to drink and socialize more, and I was (by perception anyway) more financially set. After a few weeks I gathered that most of them, from what they shared, had decided on the service because they had reached a dead end, a period of uncertainty, a moment of academic disappointment, or simply needed a break. The Peace Corps looked like a pretty good place to get their act together. Not a bad idea at all, but a bit removed from the idealism I had hoped for in my companions. Frankly, the biggest difficulty I had in connecting with the group was their self-absorption was tough to handle; I didn’t hear too many expressions of the good they felt they could do as volunteers but rather a lot of how much good they could get with a Peace Corps line on their CV, or simply how much fun they were going to have. I was also greatly surprised at how little most of the volunteers associated with the locals – no question about it, it’s a bit of a stretch to get out there especially at the beginning when you can’t speak the language. Many of the volunteers remarked how well I acculturated, especially since it was common knowledge that my grasp of the language was pitiful. But I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary except greet people, note their names in this little book (I still carry), say hello on a regular basis, and pretty soon I was invited to sit, have coffee, visit. Most of the volunteers on the other hand typically stayed in their comfort zone with each other and I think that any early effort to interact was primarily to beef up their language or complete a training assignment.

As I wrote this I stopped to consider if I was being too hard regarding the last bit. This doesn’t apply to all of the volunteers, many of the volunteers developed close relationships with their host families and I know quite a few who travel from their sites for visits on regular occasions, and just as many tell me how they’ve gotten quite close to Albanians outside their job assignments. Additionally, my observation is primarily based on about a couple months of hanging out with these kids during pre-service training – then I headed off to my site and shortly after I was out completely.

On the other hand, I attended an ELTA (English Language Teachers Association) conference at beginning of October with a banquet held on the first evening – the volunteers are now seven months in Albania, right? There were about sixty or seventy Albanian English teachers at the dinner and probably about eighteen Peace Corps volunteers, a few of whom presented at the conference. Now, all of these volunteers were in the education sector and except for maybe the two or three assigned to universities, all of them taught in Albanian high schools or elementary schools – a great opportunity, if not to talk shop then to get to know other teachers besides those in their own school. I traveled to the conference with my next door neighbor who unlike me (by this point) is still a card-carrying PCV. Well, he and I sat next to a couple of Albanian teachers, introduced ourselves and enjoyed the company. The rest of the volunteers all sat alone at the most removed table. Then having eaten got up and left as a group, a real exit statement – I gathered at the time that at least a couple of the volunteers didn’t even attend the conference, just showed up for the free meal and to see their friends. I wasn’t aware of it but understood later there was some energy regarding what more than a few Albanians thought was a hell of an intercultural slap in the face. So yeah, I don’t think my generalization applies to all, but there was enough evidence, at least with this instance, to firm it up for a good number.

Anyway, going back to the early days, we’re in about our third week of pre-service training. The Training Director makes this pitch about the difficulties some of the volunteers are having adjusting – “…and even though you may not be having trouble yourself, reach out to your fellow volunteers who may be stressed. They might not say anything but I’m sure they would appreciate it. We’re in this together.” Well, I feel like crap now, I’ve been self-absorbed, having a great time, and I hadn’t given too much thought as to how any of others were doing; well, yeah, I had noticed that some of them were a little out of sorts. OK. One of my favorite volunteer kids had nicknamed me Xha-xha Bill, which means uncle (though I think she originally had in mind the Ja-Ja Bing character from the crap Star Wars set). I took it to heart and started making a point to greet a new volunteer every day, visit, check on them, and give them a hug. (I can hear you now, “Holy shit!! A hug?) Yeah, that’s what I do, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, girlfriends of, boyfriends of, and my friends, men and women. (As an aside, some of you PCVs may recall we had a “hug” exercise back in staging. I tell you what, over the last months I’ve gotten quite a few from volunteers and Albanians alike and I’ve appreciated every damn one of them.) But as it turned out and despite my intentions simply to show a little compassion – a very stupid and fatal mistake.

Thanks, Virginia, but probably not in the world of the Politically Correct.

A couple of weeks later I stopped by the Training Director’s office to say hi and I told him I had considered his comments and decided to make an effort and reach out. (I know he pretty much realized I could have parachuted into Albania with a language tutor, or not, and gotten along just fine – looking back I wish to hell that had been an option. As much as I enjoyed a lot of them, I didn’t come out here to spend all my time hanging around Americans.) He said he had noticed and he appreciated it – “Most of these volunteers are away from home for the first time, it can be tough. And older volunteers can give the younger ones some stability.” I walked away thinking “cool” – but I completely disagreed with the last item, enough evidence in a life-time to convict that I’m a bit off-the-wall.

Though during lunches I typically studied or headed out to explore, I did start to join the groups getting together for beers after our sessions – I usually met up with them at least once a week. Language continued to kick my butt; the training sessions were boring as hell (in a side conversation with the Assistant Country Director he confided that the worst of the PC experience was the training – “Just get through it. It may seem like it but it doesn’t last forever.”); the anxiety questions volunteers asked were becoming insufferable (how many time can you ask about stray dogs?) and I’m thinking most of these would be answered soon enough once we got out there. But the biggest shock to me, my greatest off-the-charts cultural irritant was the gossip – by the American Peace Corps volunteers. I could not believe it; I still can’t. And man, did I get hit with this – from the very beginning all the way back to our staging in Philadelphia in March when we didn’t even know each other.

In one of our staging small group get-acquainted sessions, I had related that I came to academics later after I sold my business. Word got around that I was the one millionaire volunteer; as humorous and maybe as annoying as that was, another was that I had arranged to have a call-girl meet me at the hotel bar for an evening out! Well, she was a very dear friend of mine I had known for about a dozen years and she came by to pick me up for dinner. She’s a striking lady and conclusions were made – I didn’t find out about this until three months into our training when another volunteer told me about the gossip going around about him, “But you know what I’m talking about.” “What do you mean?” It seems that the early take on me was I was a big-spender and a player – women beware. In the last week of our training, late June, I was having lunch with a volunteer and another came over to our table and took him aside. I laughed and said “What was that all about?” He looked up and said, “Well, she wanted to warn me that I should take care of myself and my reputation; watch out who I hang out with. But hey Doc, you know what she’s like.” Yeah, I did. This was the same young lady I met walking into the training center one morning, she was walking out, I stepped back; she stopped at the top of the steps, looked down at me and said, “Bill, I just don’t like you!” (Months later I was told she had similar words to other volunteers.) She walked away and I stood there taking in the surprised looks of the half-dozen or so volunteers around me. I thought, just hang on a few more weeks and this will be over – I could get back to some sense of sanity, humanity even.

Over the months of training, some of the staff shared with me their take on our group: never had they witnessed a bunch of whiners or gossipers like this one. I didn’t get the sense that they had heard anything about me (and for the most part I was oblivious to the most hurtful gossip) – they just felt it was a strange group. They expected that things would settle down after we got to our permanent sites, the training was taking its toll. Gossip is a way to pass the time. My friend and I were not the sole items of conversation. It seemed that too many of the volunteers passed the time dispensing judgment on others in our group. I have gathered that many have now purposely avoided those who enjoy the diversion, even to the extreme of keeping their distance, no contact at all except when association was mandatory – very unfortunate.

That many of the volunteers had mentally checked out of the training was obvious during our sessions; at any given moment most were surfing the internet with their lap-tops or smart phones – hell, I probably checked out sooner than most. To stifle my boredom, I spent most of the time just observing the group dynamic and picking up on the little ironies in the comments and in the material we covered. Much of the material was pretty valuable, but I also observed that a lot of it was Peace Corps efforts in covering its butt (even a couple of “trigger” warnings sprinkled here and there): don’t leave anything to question that the volunteers may have later complaint – “Jeez, no one told us about that.” Safety, security, health, finance, on and on and on… The record keeping requirements had morphed beyond comprehension. At the end of our training we had a long in-depth session on this massive computer-generated quarterly report. None of the volunteers were happy with this. The question was asked about the purpose; the answer was to make our service experience something future volunteers could build on. OK, fine. I should have kept my mouth shut and just have gone with the flow. “So, we can expect copies regarding the work at our sites and assignments generated by other volunteers?” “Well, no.” “Really? Where do the reports end up then?” “They go back to DC and then they are reviewed.” “I get it. These quarterlies are reviewed by top, top, top people and then filed, right next to the Ark of the Covenant.” What a mindless, bureaucratic-driven, style over substance, waste of time. The 60s Peace Corps had come of age.

Another moment is more to the point of these extended posts on Politically Correct/Critical Thinking and subsequent events – a forever-memory moment and illustrative of my fatal time with the volunteers. Gender equality is a major topic and concern; understandably, not just in Albania but world-wide. The Country Director was a prime mover in PC/Albania’s adoption of a program called GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). I had not heard of this program but I have always considered empowerment, especially of young women, a good thing (I mean seriously, that’s what teaching is all about, right?). At the same time I wondered why, in all of our training sessions there was no attention to the problems the young Albanian men were going through, zip. I hit on the “no hope” attitude of the young men in an earlier post, “Site Assignment and more,” so I won’t go any further here except to say that from what I observed, enrollment at the university level in Albania is somewhere around 75/25 in favor of young women; unemployment levels for males in the 18-30 age group were as high as 40% in recent years. I asked the group to consider these things regarding our secondary projects.

Now, if that wasn’t enough to rile some of the volunteers (not my intention of course), my sense of humor, iconoclasm, general irreverence, and my proclivity to point out bits which I think are not only amusing but telling in our human experience got the best of me. I asked, “And, for all of our promotion of gender equality, doesn’t the word ‘leading’ assume, even demand that there are those to be led, which must be boys, or men? This seems to be a subtle promotion of a reverse of the current hurtful situation. I think we should not be surprised if the young women in the program feel justified in something more than gender equality, but an expectation where the balance turns markedly in their favor.” I wish to hell I had had a heart attack before I spoke those words. (I almost shared another, historical irony with the acronym: Over a hundred years ago there was a great debate regarding the assumed species differences between men and women. One argument pulled into the contrast a nod to the animal world: “Horses sweat, men perspire, and women glow.” Apologies – well, not really – but I considered the program name and acronym misguided on a least a couple of levels.) Anyway, after I finished, silence – dead silence. All except for one female volunteer (who told me later she had earlier harbored her own prejudices and stereotypes – going back to Philadelphia) who offered a truncated applause (three claps at the most) – ah, the fear of being politically incorrect.

Well, after the session I’m out in front having a cigarette, by myself. A few volunteers (both sexes) came over to me and offered that they had felt the same way – their Peace Corps training experience had brought them to the same conclusion, “Thanks for sharing, Bill.” My thoughts: “Thanks for the support (?).” Another older volunteer came up, “You know what? I need to set you straight on gender relations and gender equality!” I told her I’d look forward to the conversation.

A couple of days later at the end of a full day I stopped the volunteer, “Hey, let’s visit.” “No, I thought about it and I realized it wouldn’t do any good – you’re set in your ways and that it would be a waste of time.” It really surprised me to see how upset she was and I persuaded her to sit down. (We were closer to the same age, maybe ten years apart, and I had always felt we got along with each other quite well – I always enjoyed her comments.) I asked her what exactly did she think I had said. She proceeded to tell me what kind of person I was – after a few minutes I was finally able to cut in, “That’s all fine and well, but what exactly did you hear me say, what points do you think I was trying to make?” I could see this irritated her and I told her I just wanted to understand her position – restatement for better understanding. (We had just had a session on communication! Remember the earlier quote on Critical Thinking? “It entails effective communication…”) She just threw up her hands, knocked over her chair as she got up and gave me a parting shot: “I knew it wouldn’t do any good to talk to you – set in your male-centered, back-in-the-50s ways!” Holy hell. I said a little prayer, “Please save me from close-minded people.” I could hardly wait for our training to get over.

Well, Rushdie is accurate to a point. You might still have freedom of thought, but God help you if you decide to voice contrary ideas or opinions because some of your fellow-travelers won’t cut you any slack. 

Now, I never assumed that it was only a number of my fellow volunteers who were bereft of Critical Thinking or the only ones comfortable in their stereotypes and prejudices, but the next day offered another shock – another memory moment. After the visit above, I spent a sleepless night going over my remarks in the training session. Am I completely off the wall on this? Have I missed something? The next day I approached a staff member who had been in the session and I asked her to give me her candid criticism. The training staff was made up of Albanian nationals and we relied on them heavily to better understand how to effectively navigate this new culture; regarding my observations on the empowerment of the Albanian youth, she was somewhat perturbed that I would even suggest spending any effort to empower young men. She stated unabashedly that the men of Albania were hardly worth the time: lazy, living with parents, drinking coffee all day, worthless, etc. Hmm. I kept my mouth shut, not a favorable opportunity for a grown-up conversation. I found out later that this thirty-something staffer had experienced a very bitter divorce – her own indelible, significant emotional experience.

One of my close volunteer buddies was really a mainstay following my separation. As he commiserated with me late one evening (what a thankless task!) he commented, “What really bugs me is the staff lied when they told us to think of our training sessions as safe zones.” We both thought this was a false message; well, we got it wrong. I mean, we got it wrong because neither of us understood the new meaning of “safe zone” or “safe place.” It wasn’t a safe place for free discussion, in fact it was just the opposite – what we had taken as a reassuring word was instead really a warning: in the new Politically Correct-trigger-warning environment a “safe zone” is basically a place where an individual secures refuge from painful, discomforting, and even dangerous influences – including ideas that are disturbing, or simply those which make the listener uncomfortable. Safe zones are popping up all over – college campuses, places of work, etc. Intruders, who disturb with new ideas or even suggest some Critical Thinking it seems, are not welcome. Damn. True ignorance, we didn’t know what we didn’t know. My friend typically kept his mouth shut, I didn’t – what an idiot: I’m not being sarcastic here, I’m as sincere in this self-appraisal as I have ever been about anything. The training environment was nothing short of toxic – and I wasn’t paying attention.

Ironically, the training sessions were safe zone moments for criticisms about Albanians – that was certainly a safe topic. The sessions weren’t by any means a steady fare of finding fault and most of the comments were quite harmless, even humorous observations on cultural differences. Others I thought were barbed with a distinct sense of American ethnocentrism. Another memory has to do with how Albanians greet each other. As I think about it, this may have been an observation in a session or on the PCVolunteer Facebook page. In America the greeting is the typical “How’s it going? – Good, and you? – Great! – See you later.” This volunteer had pulled up a “happiness profile” of European nations, noting Albanians at the bottom of the list (well yeah, no work!). She concluded, to the effect: “I always had an inkling that the constant ‘shume mire’ [‘very well’] we hear in Albania was really a fake front.” Are you serious?! Give me a break!

I’m pretty sure you realize I had no anxieties acculturating to this new country and people; I figured I’d make my share of mistake and I would learn. And I’ve found the Albanians pretty damn charitable when I do screw up. But my possibilities of culturally screwing up with the Americans were infinite: getting on the bus, “After you ladies” – Jeez, I heard about this sexist ‘micro-aggression’ for days! Discussing teaching styles, “We can’t all be rock-stars like you, Bill!” Wow. And a few more I didn’t even know about until the complaint was filed (hang on, I’ll get to it).

By the end of April I began to disassociate myself from some of the volunteers – a few I could tell I was really pissing off. We took the oath on May 11 and then off to our sites for about five weeks. What a relief. Very little contact with the volunteers, conference address, settling in with the university, meeting with students, teaching and observing classes, secondary project plans, preparing lessons, and I had more time to spend with the locals – it was great. But then we’re back together for our last two weeks of training. What an absolute pain. And most of the volunteers hated it, we were all bummed. If you read the “PST III, Glasses…” post, you’ll know I lost my glasses on the second day. Crap. Dark glasses most of the time (which probably sent another message) but I used headaches to good effect, as an excuse to cut out of meetings.

I just now thought of what was probably the worst small-group session during these last days together. It goes to my take on this my-feelings-are-my-reality from the earlier post. The session with about two dozen volunteers was run by a couple of volunteers from the group before us. After an introduction we broke into even smaller groups of four or five to list all the different emotional bits regarding anxieties, fears, trepidations, etc. during our three and a half months in the country. Then we gave reports to the rest of the group, and then (!) an invitation to share our pain on a more personal level. I wasn’t the only one who felt that this kind of group therapy was a little much. I spent the time taking pictures of other volunteers – not very courteous but I thought that was better than walking out on the damn thing, or maybe slitting my wrists in the event of overwhelming group empathy. My head hurts just thinking about it. Please, please release me; let us just get on with our work!

After we finally finished up the training I was able to go to work full-time, hang with the volunteers I wanted to, and finally on with the next two years. I had a lot of plans; my counter-part already commented that I should plan to extend to a third. I had arrived; it was great; the high-point of my life; it was not real. I was in the eye of a perfect storm.

So, get the picture: two months in training with the volunteers (mid-March to mid-May), and then with the exception of the two-week final phase at the end of June (from which I absented myself as much as I could), no contact, and then another six weeks at site with very little contact – never joined in for the weekend get-togethers or group trips to the beach, just wanted to work. It’s on August 7 the Country Director calls me about the complaint. The Director did not receive a copy of the complaint – which bypassed the local PC office and went directly to DC – I think just an email summary and maybe some bullet points. I never received anything, ever. And over the course of the next couple weeks all communication with the Director was either in person or by phone or a “hang in there” email; I get nothing in writing, nothing, nothing – talk about fumbling in the dark. Here are the opening lines in my August 10 response which itemizes the complaint:

To start with, I am still reeling from your phone call Friday. After the call it was impossible to get my head around this. I’m in just a bit better shape today. As I understand, five volunteers (I assume women, but I don’t recall what you indicated), unnamed, filed a complaint with the Washington, DC office accusing me of sexual harassment, namely unwanted physical attention to volunteers, staff, and Albanian women. The manner of this attention was in the form of touching, hugging, the “fist bump” with the attendant “Gimme some love,” and finally my use of the phrase “you’re not just a pretty face.”

Yep. That’s it. I’ll let you come to your own conclusions as to how the last two warrant bringing charges of sexual harassment. But the “unwanted” touching and hugging was a concern. Before I responded, I replayed my entire time, every moment, in the Peace Corps over and over and over, moment by moment by moment. Sleep was impossible – probably eight hours total the whole weekend. Nothing. In the course of hugging volunteers, male and female, I couldn’t think of a damn thing; had any volunteer ever said anything about feeling uncomfortable? No, and if they had I certainly would have offered apologies. I couldn’t recall any discomfort. I got back to the Director, “Are you really telling me that five complaints went in from five women?” “I don’t know if they are women; the communication I got said five ‘volunteers.’ And no, not five complaints, just one complaint submitted by five.” Well. Remarkable. In the five months since I got to the country I’d never been alone with any volunteers, staff, or Albanian women. (My counterpart observed that even if I had been in the presence of Albanian women, how would the complainants even know this? It didn’t make any sense.) All my associations had been in our sessions, at cafes, or at the university with my counterpart. And interestingly, I’m pretty indiscriminate on the hugs – and I know I hugged far more males than females. So, where could this be coming from? I immediately thought of committees, courts, kangaroos, gripe sessions, herds and star chambers. Holy hell. And can you consider this: Isn’t it a bit sexist to automatically label a touch by a man to a woman a sexually motivated instance; but usually from a man to a man, or a woman to either, just simply a human to human, a friend to friend?

Over the weekend I tried to make some sense, give the benefit of the doubt (it’s all perception, right?). I was second guessing everything, every moment, every interaction. I reached out to a few volunteers and to a couple I explained the complaint. They all, including the young women, said they had no clue what I could possibly be talking about; they had not heard or seen anything inappropriate, not a damn thing. What they couldn’t understand was why the complaint hadn’t been made four months prior at the time when this harassment must have occurred? “Why didn’t they tell the staff?” One of the young volunteers I talked to had some pretty harsh words to say about the whole thing – I’m laughing as I recall them; if the words she spoke had been uttered by a man, he most certainly would have been considered a male chauvinist pig. Well, evidently that’s how I was esteemed, at least by a few volunteers. My son was telling me during a recent Skype about a TV show where the guy is falsely charged with rape – after a while when people recognized him in social company he would finally just remark, “Yeah, I’m the rapist.” “Yeah, I’m Bill, the male chauvinist pig and sexual harasser.” Ah, but not television, right?

The parallels between this clubbing and the one I got at the hands of the student years before were unsettling. But where there had been one complainant before, now there were at least five. The earlier bizarre event I chalked off to a rather unsettled young student, but was it possible to write these current charges off? My grandfather told me decades ago, “Billy, if someone ever calls you an ass, shake it off. But, if you hear it from someone else, get yourself a saddle.” Grandpa was a no-nonsense German. As rough as his words were they made sense. As I said, after the shock of it all I spent the weekend playing over the moments that could remotely have caused offense. In fact the rest of my letter to the Director went ten pages – I put in every instance I could think of. Well, there were quite a few – I can irritate, and I’ve been told many times that I sound sarcastic even to the point that when I share something heart-felt, quite often the response will be “Bill, are you being serious now?” I get this, all I can say is that it’s my manner – I’m working on it. And except for the people who take the time (which is not by any stretch a responsibility) many others will get the wrong impression – no doubt about it, my behavior lends itself to stereotype.  

I don’t know who the volunteers are who submitted the complaint. And when others have come to me I make it clear I’m not interested in their list of the usual suspects – I just don’t think about it. And what good would this knowledge serve? None. Unfortunately there never were any statements to me about these offenses taken (at least the university student from years before was transparent – for all the demand for transparency lately in PC/Albania, there sure as hell wasn’t any here). There was nothing except for the two or three moments I recounted above and those went to personality clashes more than anything. Too bad there was no dialogue. There wasn’t dialogue with the student from years ago but I would have expected it with this group. How much distress and discomfort (on both sides) would have been alleviated if there had been? So, I’m giving it my best shot on coming to grips with the complaint – that the toxic environment gave rise to something this extreme has been tough to entertain. And note that this description is not original with me; one of the young women volunteers offered this appraisal when she came to me with her own Peace Corps social clubbing. Yeah, a lot of mental fumble-butting, second guessing, grasping for some understanding. Perhaps it’s not down to Politically Correct, Critical Thinking, victimism, emotional reasoning, my-feelings-are-my-reality…on the other hand, maybe it is – you guys will come to your own conclusions, and the PCVs I’m sure will have an even better take on this.

It was a horrible time: I had no anxiety or concern regarding the results of the Director’s investigation; I just couldn’t get my head around the situation, I still can’t. Well, as I said, he interviewed, submitted his report to DC (reviewed by top, top people), got back to me, and told me to let it go – “Just get back to work.” Fat chance. Last post on the story up shortly – well, maybe not the last, I know I go on and on and I don’t want these posts to be too long (another fat chance!). The next one will be the climax; I’m living in the anti-climactic now and that is proving interesting, too.

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Time for some comic relief, a funny moment to finish up – last week I was visiting with a couple of volunteers who have been close at hand through the whole thing. One asked about the blog traffic and I said, yeah, hell of a lot more than I expected, “But I’m guessing you haven’t read the damn thing.” “Well, it’s not like you haven’t given us a steady diet of this stuff, so I’ll wait for the movie to come out.” We all started laughing, “Yeah, it’ll be called The Critical Mind with Jeff Bridges as you – looking a lot like The Dude!” Way too funny.

Later. XOXO