A Cloud of Confusion

For my master’s class, Writing for Electronic Communities, the class read Johndan Johnson-Eilola’s Datacloud: Toward a New Theory of Online Work, which focuses on how we inhabit an information flooded world. Eilola further discusses symbolic-analytic theory and articulation theory in an effot to point out how we weave our way through technologies and remain of the edges of dense texts and masses of information. I was most fascinated with the final chapter of Eilola’s book, Coda: A Text in Fragments where what appears to be (as described) fragmented pieces of information: quotations, images, website shots, a total mish mosh of information which doesn’t seem to make much sense – at least not to me. This last chapter is split into segments but all of these pieces of information obviously allude to technology in some way or another. What is Eilola trying to point out? That a deluge of information, as we are often confronted with online and with new technologies, just leads to confusion and a lack of comprehension? Or is he trying to be clever and point out that fractured texts lend to new contexts and avenues of comprehension that a linear presentation of text could grant the reader/user? I don’t know, I just don’t know…..

Segmented Memoir

I’m loving my memoir class right now; I’ve found a new way to explore creativity in a genre I previously thought to be restrictive. One of my favorite writing exercises this semester is below, a segmented memoir, focusing on one event, the arrival of my younger brother and my consiquent jealousy. The memory is broken into pieces, flashes of memory that try to express the frustration of the child through the voice of experience. I think the best way to write from childhood memory is to remember the simple things, the ones that pop into your mind more readily than others. Take one instance from your childhood, it doesn’t have to be something amazing, try something that was mundane, an announcement, a comfort, a bad habit or a routine, then explore the memory in three pages or less, restricting yourself to that topic without straying to other memories. See what you can get out of it. Enjoy my childhood memory! LOL

Not the Baby

 

The moment my mother told me she was pregnant, I wailed incessantly, inconsolable in my selfishness. I turned from her and flung myself at my father, clinging to his neck, hands flailing, my arms a death grip. Usually, Dad would untangle me from him and order me to stop being a baby, but when he didn’t do his duty and set me on my own feet, I knew I really had something to fear. Mom’s hands were perched on her belly, showing me where the problem lay. With a wisp of premonition of a queen about to be deposed, I knew that the identity I had possessed for six years was to be ripped away from me. My security blanket was shredded.

“Are you not pleased? You’re going to be a big sister.”

I glared at my invisible advisory, hidden beneath the camouflage of a blue flowery skirt. Mom rubbed her belly, Dad rubbed my back.

A big sister? Was there anything worse in the world? I had two big sisters. They were sitting on the couch, two book ends of smugness. Until now Laura and Claire’s only reason for existence had been to teach me to appreciate the delights of being the youngest child; the excuses made for my bad behavior, the extra hug or kiss at the end of the day and the last candy bar given to me because I had the most growing to do. But now, now it would be gone. The room was filled with a thick silence, full of expectancy. The queasiness I felt in the pit of my stomach was not in sympathy for my mother’s condition, but for my own.

Standing over me, Mom promised that things wouldn’t change, I’d still be the number one child. I looked over to my sisters’, the empty space between them was just big enough for me. Laura and Claire fidgeted, bobbing up and down on cushions, smiles twitching on their lips. They were like two fishing boats on a sea of juvenile contempt, each casting out their nets and trying to haul me in. This little fishy did not want to be caught.

 

The day my mother told me she was pregnant I began to wage war on my unborn sibling.

I watched Mom grow, her stomach bulging like a large egg was shoved under her dress – I would have gladly cracked and scrambled it. I danced on the outskirts of her attention, trotting into tantrums with a red faced flourish and waltzing away pacified when a treat was thrown my way.

I stalked Mom’s every move, not really knowing why I suddenly craved the need to be cradled every time I saw her. I took to hiding behind the living room door, crouching, waiting for her to settle on the couch before launching myself at her, my arms steel traps, my knees clambering for position. The ambushes always failed. Mom pushed me aside, her hands thick armor linking over her stomach, keeping me at bay. I sat at her feet instead, content with an idle pat to my head. Scraps were delicious when you were starved.

 

At school all the teachers and dinner ladies congratulated me. Word got around that I was going to be a big sister and wasn’t that wonderful? In a blaze of confusion I nodded and agreed, letting myself become falsely indoctrinated into the joy of awaiting the new arrival. But talk got old and I drifted away from my friends, consumed with the need to be alone. I noticed the more distance I put between myself and other children, the more attention I gained from concerned teachers. One day Mrs. Bales was walking around the school yard and spied me all by myself. I was digging in the ground, making mud pies with the bubbles of dirt that earthworms had spat up after the last down pour.

“Not long now, is it Rebecca? Two-three weeks?”

I ignored the question, molding the mud into perfect spheres, my fingers caked brown.

“Did your Mom pick any names out yet?”

I squashed the mud, lodging it under my nails. Mom hated having to clean my nails.

“Do you want a little brother or a little sister?”

I finally responded, my eyes spitting salty, bitter tears. Mrs. Bales gathered me to her and tried soothing me, stroking my hair. I reveled in the softness of her shoulder. She asked me what was wrong, my tears soaking her blouse. I told her my cat had died. It had been run over by a car right in front of my eyes. I had held it in my arms as it wriggled and died. It was my Mom’s fault because she had let the cat out when I told her not to.

I didn’t own a cat.

 

I lived on Dad’s promises that I was still number one and I deflected my sisters’ teasing, firing rapid rounds of fists and words back at them. One evening Dad asked me to stay and watch over Mom as she took a bath; I was to be her guardian and alert him at any sign of trouble. I sat on the toilet seat and watched as Mom splashed around, half submerged, her face rosy as she washed herself. The bathroom was like a jungle, the wallpaper slick with condensation, the air thick and wet. I breathed it all in, liking the taste of the water vapor in my mouth and the feel of it prickling my skin.

Mom hummed a tune that sounded familiar; it skittered along the edges of my memories leaving me quiet and mournful. I stretched my mind trying to recall the time and place she had once hummed it to me, but no sharp memory stepped forward. Occasionally, Mom threw questions my way and I caught them but didn’t answer. My eyes strayed back repeatedly to the mound of her stomach, pale and wobbly. Every now and then that lump of flesh would lurch against Mom’s skin, a franticly energized earthquake causing ripples in the water. Mom winced, patting her belly and I marveled at the fact that my usurper could kick her and get away with it.

“Come and say hello to your little brother or sister.”

Mom held her hand out to me and I didn’t know whether to take it or bite it. I crept closer, cautiously kneeling by the bathtub, the steam from the water turning my cheeks red. My hand bypassed Mom’s and landed directly on the moon of her stomach. I held my breath, letting the heat of her skin seep into my palm. For a moment I felt a flutter, I felt connected.

“Hello?”

Nothing. No movement, no acknowledgement. Nothing. Disappointed, I took my hand back and returned to the toilet lid, a sentry for my father.

 

Color Monitors

Martin Kevorkian’s Color Monitors was the reading material for my master’s class, Writing for Electronic Communities this past week. In class we discussed some of the major issues we had with the book, including what some students deemed to be overtly negative and racist in nature. I cannot speak for anyone else, but after our in class discussion, I started to think more in depth about the author’s intentions and my own reactions to the book. At first I was a little confused, especially being from an isolated area in England, I did not grow up in a society where racism against African Americans was an issue, therefore I did not have the contextual history to draw from, but once my teacher started to try and make a case for the author, that he was not trying to aggravate the reader, but instead was attempting to open up a discussion about contemporary racism. I believe now that perhaps Kevorkian was just trying to explain how technology could be a new medium to hide black men ‘behind’ – a remediation of servitude in the guise of something benign…what better way to hide stereotypes other than behind intellectual and technologized pursuit?

Color Monitors is a tough nut to crack – I think that to be able to access what Kevorkian was trying to discuss, the ‘reader’ needs to be able to put aside their own baggage, their instinctive reactions of defensiveness and its not an easy thing for some people to do…including myself.

Questions: YouTube and Facebook

It has to be said, Wired.com is fabulous. If I had been a more diligent student and read these links ahead of time I would have been aware of the wonderfulness that is encapsulated in this web site. Ok, so maybe I don’t agree with all of the writers, I have a brain so I’m not expected to, but I utterly appreciate the topics that make up the majority of the site’s content. Bravo Wired, Bravo.

Ass kissing over, lets get to the meat of this post. Below are a few questions, as requested, for my Writing for Electronic Communities class. The readings for the class included Garfield on YouTube, Davis on LonelyGirl15 and Vogelstein on Facebook.

Q1) Money rules, or at least, it always has in TV land and Hollywood. To make something in these industries, you need money, or the attention of people who have money – but not so for the creators of YouTube and Facebook. They started off by themselves, without the influence of huge corporations, creating a vision of their own. But as sites gain popularity and influence, they eventually sell out. YouTube sold to Google, Facebook was going to sell to Yahoo – does the selling of these sites to larger corporations endanger the integrity of the site itself and how could it effect users? Should the creators of these sites maintain ownership or is it just not feasable?

Q2) On Garfield’s reading, one YouTube user states, “One of the biggest obstacles to advertising success is the damage that success could inflict on the YouTube experience, till now an oasis of relative noncommercialism in a world of brand inundation. The Google deal has already spawned bitterness at the grass roots, where some are dubious that GooTube will retain its soul. “I think its the beginning of the end of youtube as we know it,” wrote a poster named SamHill24. Another, Link420, declared simply, “ITS OVER!!!! youtube is screwed.”"

Is it really screwed? Or will Google’s investments help push the Internet-TV medium forward and provide new opportunities? What, exactly, do you think Google plans to do with this site?

Q3) LonelyGirl15 creators Mesh Flinders and Miles Beckett wanted to harness the power of authenticity and exploit the anonimity if the Internet to pull off a new type of storytelling. They hired an actress to play the part of Bree and for all intents and purposes, pretended that this girl was real – why? What did they think this would accomplish? Eventually, as LonelyGirl15’s popularity grew, the truth came out:

“IN EARLY SEPTEMBER, MATTHEW FOREMSKI, the 18-year-old son of a Silicon Valley tech reporter, dug up an old version of Rose’s MySpace page. She’d deleted it when she became Bree, but Google cached a copy, and Foremski posted the link to his father’s blog. Within 48 hours, The New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and a slew of TV stations ran the story. The jig was up. Many assumed the series would sputter and die. Media reports zeroed in on how viewers had been duped, suggesting an inevitable backlash. But the fans – raised on the unreality of reality TV and with the role-playing ethos of the Web – seemed to take the revelation in stride.”

Some people lament about the popularity of reality TV shows, between American Idol and Survivor, but these are what people want to see. Obviously LonelyGirl15 follows that trend, so why bother to hide that it was fictitous? What does it say about our society that we are generally not concerned if something is ‘fake-reality’? What do sites like YouTube provide for us that makes us clammer to watch and participate?

Q4) Davis muses that Internet TV is created by advances in technology, sites like YouTube and a hybrid of storytelling. It is this idea of hybrid story telling that has me fascinated. What the hell is hybrid storytelling? We have clear genres for traditional text based writing: novel, scripts, plays, poetry, memoir, creative non-fiction… but what about this master’s class we are taking? What constitutes as Electronic Writing? Anything that is published online? Does hybrid storytelling include hypertext? What category exactly does LonelyGirl15 fit into; it is interactive with viewers, its followers can influence the outcome of the story line, so in a sense, do you think it can be experienced and has the same qualities of a hypertext novel, only in a visual form?

Q5) What bothers me about sites like YouTube and Fackbook is that no matter what, like a frigging boomerang, money keeps coming back into question. Vogelstein, when discussing Facebook’s creator, Mark Zuckerberg’s success, mentions the Three C’s: Connection, Communication and Commerce. I hate that last C, inevitable though it may be. Think about why Facebook was started – so Zuckerberg could stay in touch with his college friends. This whole social networking phenomenon was started by the first two C’s, Connection and Communication – and it worked just fine. Now commerce is added and yes, the site and logo gain nortoriety, but does money diminish the original goals of Facebook? Is it not more impressive that Mark Zuckerberg created a site that re-connects/connects millions of people, rather than applaud him for the amount of zero’s that are put on his paycheck? Even with a potentially limitless medium like the Internet, does Capitolism triumph over the freedom humanistic endevour, expression and interaction?

Production and Interpretation

While reading Gunther Kress and Theo Van Leeuwen’s Multimodal Discourse for my Writing for Electronic Communities class, I came upon a very interesting concept, one which I had never really taken into consideration before. On page 68 Kress/Van Leeuwen state that “production plays an independent semiotic role in communication and does not merely realize what we have called design.”

I sat there and thought about this statement for a while, wondering what the authors meant. I had to reread the example passage to wrap my head around what, to some, might seem obvious, but I think I finally understand what is being discussed. Kress and Van Leeuwen explain how an existing design of writing is influenced by the voice that reads it out, or a song is changed by the physical articulation of the singer’s voice, the original written design is effected directly by the speaker or singer. In a sense the speaker and singer have added further meaning to the final production of the written piece, “meanings which are not pre-figured by the designs.”

Take for instance the written song, American Pie. When Don McLean sings it, his voice offers an interpretation that others don’t. He is the original singer, some might see his voice as the authority of the song. His voice offers a cadence of rock and roll Americana wrapped in musical reverence for America’s cultural and musical heritage. Then I looked at the covers of this song and wondered what other artists brought to the song to influence the final production and alter the interpretation. The most obvious is Madonna’s version. Put aside that this version is shorter than the original lyrics and composition, Madonna’s voice has morphed a rock song into a dance-pop song, opening the piece up to a different interpretation, a younger generation and a new audience. While we can take into account the physical and vocal differences of each artist, noting how their voices physically change the final product of the song, you also have to look at how the artists personalities effect the final results. Don McLean is nostalgic and relives the 1950’s, lamenting the days when rock and roll was purer, but likewise, Madonna’s version is also reflective of history, setting the video of the song back in the 70’s, when McLean first recorded it, but her version also reflected social awareness of the present time (2000’s), focusing on issues such as gay relationships, AIDS, interracial families and ordinary people.  Even if my interpretation of what Kress and Van Leeuwen are trying to get at is inaccurate, I have come away considering how an original piece of writing can be changed and communication revolutionalized by the human touch of individuality, both through physical and vocal cadence, to personal morals and societal ideologies.

Primary Language Record

Reading Margaret Syverson’s The Wealth of Reality, I came across a section pertaining to the Learning Record, a system of academic observation and evaluation which I am presently using in my master’s class Writing for Electronic Communities. On page 192 Syverson describes the Learning Record as “an integrated approach to literacy research, pedagogy, and assessment, [providing] one model for an ecological account of the development of students as readers and writers.” Its funny, in the process of creating writing, I never usually consider the effects ecology may have on my writing, nor that my ideas may stem from anywhere other than my own cognitive cache. Syverson not only emphasizes the importance of acknowledging cognitive distribution, but also puts forth the Learning Record as a prime example of a teaching method that can be instrumental in recognizing research, pedagogy and assessment, a plausible practice which can be effectively used by both teacher and student that also considers the importance of ecology in the creation of all types of work.

The Learning Recordwas originally developed in my home country, England, by Myra Barrs, in response to teachers frustrations over current evaluation procedures. Myra Barr’s version is called the Primary Language Record, and as I read Syverson’s description of what the PLR entailed, my memory started to stir and I began to recall the process of evaluation I was taught as a child back in Britain. Primary school starts at the age of four years old until the age of eleven. During this time there is an emphasis on three core subjects, English, Math and Science; these three subjects are controlled through governmental agencies depending on the region of the country. I attended Primary school from 1987-1994 and I can definitely recall the use of PLR-like systems of evaluation, all of the time. There was a system of whenever you finished reading a book, each student had to give an observation of what the book was about, why you liked it, what you struggled with and what you think you could do in the future to improve your reading abilities. The same process was followed with written language. When I look at the examples Syverson gives on page 238 of the California Learning Record, I was surprised that it resembled the same evaluative process I was given in Primary school. The only problem I have, is that back then we were not given an explanation of what we were doing, as primary students we just did what we were told and reacted to the questions asked, rather than thinking about the larger scheme of the evaluation process. In essence, we were not given the PLR that is probably used today, but a form of one that did not exactly offer much for the student. It seemed, instead, like a documented process that would better help teachers guide students in the right direction, almost like a journal of where we were struggling so he/she could help us in the areas we were weakest. The Learning record, adapted from the PLR is definitely an improvement on what I was taught to use. Today’s PLR and LR make more of a conscious effort to involve the student in a manner that helps them recognise their achievements, weaknesses and areas of improvement, all taking into account environmental and situational influences on the individual. All I really know is that when I am recording observations and taking into account outside factors that influence my work, I am able to come to terms with my own level of progression much more easily than in a regular class that merely documents grades. Whether my primary teachers were trying to encourage this sort of documentation and observational behavior when I was a young child, I don’t quite know, but I am glad that more and more academic institutes in Britain are adopting PLR and are beginning to expand its potential, just like they have in the United States, including students at an older age.

 Some of the features of the PLR:

“
•	“Its grounding in a coherent theory of children’s language and literacy development. This theory draws on a wide range of international research and is set out clearly in the Primary Language Record Handbook accompanying the Record, which has sold more than 100,000 copies in the UK, USA and Canada
•	The possibility the PLR offers for recognising and documenting children’s very different learning styles within common frameworks
•	The clear recognition that the PLR gives to cultural and linguistic diversity, and its systematic inclusion of children’s first languages in the documentation of their linguistic progress
•	The fact that parents and children’s views are included in the PLR, and that it promotes meaningful parental involvement in children’s education
•	The potential that the PLR offers for structuring portfolio assessment, and providing information about children’s progress for teachers, parents, and wider audiences
•	The value of the PLR in staff development, and the framework it offers for teacher education and professional development, as well as for the observation of children”

Communities of Practice in WoW?

 

 

My seventeen year old brother is my favorite person in the world. We do everything together, at least, we did until I moved countries to go to college. Even so, he would constantly phone me and we’d chat for hours after hours on the phone or online. In the last year or so, my time with him as been eaten away. I kind of expected this to happen, he’s a teenage boy and I knew girls would get in the way sooner or later. I was ready to bow down gracefully and step aside to give him room to mature and experience the wonders of autonomy – that is, until I realized that the reason he was no longer talking to me on the phone was because he was busy playing an online game called World of Warcraft, not meeting up with girls and other teenagers like I’d thought.

At first I just couldn’t understand it and was quite hurt by his actions. I couldn’t believe that he wanted to spend hours and hours playing a game and talking to people he didn’t even really know, all to slay a dragon or collect gold coins. I thought it was pathetic, especially when my Mom informed me he was online playing WoW until four or five in the morning. I began to worry he was addicted, I began to believe that maybe he was having a sexual relationship with one of his WoW friends. Whenever he got on the phone with me I shouted and demeaned him, angry that I had been given up for a stupid game.

It wasn’t until we discussed Wow in my Writing for Electronic Communities class that I began to understand a little of what was going on. Reading Wenger’s Communities of Practice, I was introduced to a new concept which helped me to look at my brothers situation differently. Communities of practice (CoP)are groups of people that work together and build relationships, even in non-traditional situations such as the members on WoW. If you see below, there is a great video that helps explain why WoW can be considered a community of practice and why then, I should not be criticizing my little brother so much. I don’t understand his actions because I am not a member of his community of practice, but that doesn’t meant that I have the right to put him down – I know that now.

According to the video above, WoW has a CoP, as it fulfills several criteria:

1) The average member dedicates 20+ hours a week to WoW

2) WoW employs the use of a small set of tightly integrated tools

3) The game supports collaborative work (specialized interface)

4) It has a set of worthwhile challenges and rewards

5) Problems that need to be solved are tackled by group work

I’m still reluctant to accept that right now I rate less attention because of an online game, but put into perspective, I can at least now get some comprehension as to why my brother is so dedicated to this game.

The Wonders of Wiki

This video is a great little piece about how writers should learn encourage emergence and collaboration, using free software such as Wiki. (Did anyone know that Wiki mean fast in Hawaiian? I didn’t…)

Influences on Writing

This semester in my Writing for Electronic Communities class, each student was assigned to present a book relating to the course. This week it was responsibility of the ever fabulous Famous In My Own Head to produce questions that help the rest of the class members think about the book we read this week, Margaret Syverson’s The Wealth of Reality. After reading the first three chapters and musing over Famous’ comments, the question he asked that stuck with me was this:

 ”I’m fairly certain that everyone in my Writing For Electronic Communities class has had a freshman comp course. How do you feel it shaped you as a writer? How do you feel our current class is shaping you as a writer?”

I hate talking about what it means to be a writer or how experiences have shaped me, but I must admit this question is a veritable goldmine for creative-non-fiction pieces. I could, no doubt, delve into great detail about how my experiences as an international student learning American English have scarred me for life, but I wouldn’t want to bore you. All I have to say about my 101 undergraduate courses were that they made me regress – I hated them – I could not believe that my teachers wanted me to continue to write traditional 5 paragraph essays with only one point of view. I stopped writing those in England when I was twelve. Needless to say, my freshman comp was frustrating and did nothing to shape me as a writer, other than make me resentful.

Then we have this class, Writing for Electronic Communities. The wonderful thing about this class is that it forces me to interact with the people, to form bonds and take note of other people’s opinions. And as a writer and a self professed loner, this is fantastic for me. On page 9 Syverson states that:

“By privileging the individual writer composing in isolation, we have slighted or ignored compelling evidence that writing, like other cognitive processes, occurs in ecological systems involving not only social but environmental structures that both powerfully constrain and also enable what writers are able to think, feel, and write.”

This is a perfect way to describe how I feel WEC class has influenced me as a writer. In the classroom environment I am constrained and am forced away from writing methods that I prefer, such as being alone and only taking my own views into consideration. Being in an ecological situation where I have to take other people’s opinions into consideration forces me outside of my level of comfort and into new areas of awareness that I would never have experienced on my own. Sure, I restrict myself to certain topics, hoping to integrate my ideas with other students’, but in the long run this helps me to develop social ideas in much greater depth and my classmates perspectives have offered me insight that has spurred a wealth of writing material. I am, and always will be, a lone writer, but I do believe that there is worth in forcing yourself to be a part of a group, to experience the different dynamics and I think I will continue to welcome the changes these experiences can have on my writing.

Blue Addiction

  

 For my Writing for Electronic Communities , the class was directed to read a non-liner hypertext material to explore hyper text’s that deviate from ‘traditional’ forms of literature. The circular hypertext that really tied me up in a obsessive knot was The Jew’s Daughter, both frustrating and scarily addictive.

 I started off reading this text with the usual confidence and bravado of a writer who thinks she knows it all. I could take what was coming, I had read War and Peace, and other such strenuous literary examples, what could this text do to me other than bore me?

I soon ate my words. 

Once a page of The Jew’s Daughter appeared before me, my eyes zoomed in on the one blue link that existed, a highlighted word that begged to be pressed from the moment I spied it. I tried to read, tried to make logical sense of the progression of the story, but it didn’t mean anything. Instead of coming to grips with the text’s meaning, as one does with a regular book, I became more in touch with the psychological pull of links. 

By the end of the third page I spent more time trying to NOT press the blue link than concentrating on reading. What was the impulse that drove me? My eyes would march like soldiers down a sentence, only to return to the blue. I managed to read one more page but felt the impulse to press blue eat at me. The insane need tickled my brain. Press it. Press it. Do it. You know you want to. You’re not concentrating on what you’re reading anyways. The only gratifying action is to press, press, press.

Gradually my eyes would stray again and again to that blue word. It waited for me, it called me. The normal black type had little meaning and I eventually I broke down and my mouse hovered over and over and over and over the bluelink. I was like an individual suffering from OCD, blue, blue, blue. Switching the paragraphs, the structure of the text, I didn’t care, I just wanted to see what the next blue word would be. The frustration mounted, because I chased these words around and around in a circle, but never got to click. A link comes with a click, I felt cheated and chased a click that, like comprehension, would never come. I started just listing the blue words. The rest of the text was no good, the blue meant everything.

Dog

Countess

Breaking of pages?

Memorable friend

Fatherless……

But then the next page held nothing. No word was high lighted blue. For a moment I panicked. I knew the pattern, the visual guide promised me a blue word, but no word was blue. Bereft I searched the text, was FORCED to read it. Finally, there at the bottom of the page, not a word but a single parenthesis was blue. I was flooded with a blue relief, my fixation gratified once more. But why highlight grammar and not a word? The words had meaning, didn’t they? So then, does grammar have just as much meaning? Is the placement of grammar as imperative to meaning as words? Yes, it is. Thanks for the lesson Judd Morrissey, but not for the obsession.

 Blue

bLue

blUe

BluE

Why are links blue? Blue is supposed to calm people. It doesn’t calm me. Blue is supposed to repress hunger.  It makes me hungry to know what is behind the link. Some people sing the Blues and some people swear a Bluestreak. But for me, as Eiffle 65 prophetically reports; I’m now Blue, daba dee daba di.